Star 69
How did you get this number?
I can't get my head 'round you
Of course you're not coming over
Snap out of it
You're not making any sense
—Psychobabble, Frou Frou
Chapter Four: Warning Signs
Day 33
16:48
Wutai
Vincent Valentine stared at that slip of paper. A means of warding one's home from evil, he knew. If it worked, would his demons be able to pass?
"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded of the guards who had appeared.
"That's none of your business," the nearest guard replied. "We don't talk to gaijin anymore."
He nodded.
The guard's eyes narrowed. "That means you. And you're not going in, either."
Vincent glared. This was a Seventh Hell Doom Glare, guaranteed to melt brains in sixty seconds.
The guards backed away. "We're not going to let you hurt her," said the farthest.
"I do not wish to hurt her."
The second-nearest guard edged closer. "She said you'd say that."
Yuffie had been expecting him? And didn't wish to see him? So she was angry, then. But why? Did she hate him for that kiss? Did she hate him for walking away?
"She told you to turn me away?" A pause. "Me specifically?"
"Uh." Not one of the guards seemed to know the answer to that. Only the second guard seemed to have anything to say. "She just said to turn foreigners away, even if they said they meant her no harm."
"Ah. I am a friend of hers. Vincent Valentine."
"Sounds foreign," guard one said. "Prove you know her."
Vincent pulled out his PHS. He tapped the yellow button, holding out the speak-end to the guards, so that all of them could hear.
Yuffie answered. Her voice was wary, thin and sleepy. "Vinnie?"
"You have very zealous guards," he replied.
"I'd say sorry, but I'm not."
She didn't say anything further for a little while. The guards looked at each other and then at him; he had proven them wrong, likely throwing them for a loop.
At length, Yuffie said, "Come on in. Let him through."
The guards blinked and backed away. Vincent didn't gloat. It was not in his nature, and it would only prove to his disadvantage. People liked poor winners about as much as poor losers, and being on ill terms with Yuffie's soldiers wasn't likely to put him on good terms with Yuffie. Instead, he moved toward the door they had watched.
The kekkai—or was it an o-fuda? Both used kotodama, words of Power, and both required blood—did not impede the door's movement or his ability to put his hand in the grip.
Inside, nothing had changed. The presence of the protective ward was his only hint that anything beyond grief plagued the household. The halls were as neat as ever. The koi swam serenely in their pond. They must have brought Godo comfort. He stared at the greenery, at the stillness of the water and the vacuous mouthing of the koi. Their tranquillity must have seemed comforting or even pleasant to the aging Emperor.
He merely saw that they were fish. Simple, ignorant animals. They were incapable of knowing or thinking. Even if they had been capable of knowing, they would have nothing to know beyond a sheltered pond.
What Yuffie herself might see in them, he could only guess.
He turned away from the pond to see Yuffie standing outside her father's room.
"I didn't think it'd be this hard," she told him.
The sorrow in her voice and defeat in her posture, the suddenly frail cast to bones that had once seemed birdlike, made him want to enfold her in his arms. He saw Godo's death take its toll on her, he wanted to reverse it, to hold her and comfort her and—he couldn't bring himself to do it. So he moved toward her instead, forcing his spine straight and his head high, wishing she could remember the pride of who she was. A year before, she'd had that pride in abundance.
"Nobody does."
"I still miss him." Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper, and slurred: tired. But her eyes were awake, if resting deep in their sockets.
"That will lessen with time." Much time. Years, most likely, he thought but did not say.
She drifted toward him. "I hate living here." Step, step. Tabi-clad feet made bare whispers across the floor.
"So move," he replied. "Live in your mother's house."
She took another step nearer. He bridged the gap between them, small though it had been.
"Build a new palace. Refurbish this one. Leave Da Cha O." He smiled for her. It was the least he could do. "Flee society completely—live in a hut on the mountain."
She laughed, then. The sound was nothing like the laugh of a year earlier, but the mirthful nature was a start. Even better, she wrapped her arms around his middle.
He wondered why he had been so reluctant to return. She had obviously needed him—needed them all. Sending them away hadn't been her best idea. Cooperating, however, had been equally unwise. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close.
"How long are you staying here?" She murmured into his chest.
"As long as you want."
He heard her take a deep breath and then breathe out heavily. "Where are you staying?"
Vincent shook his head, and then realized she couldn't see it. He heaved out a sigh and said nothing, letting her draw her own conclusions.
Yuffie didn't disappoint. She lifted her head to look at him. Wide grey eyes in a hollowed, pale face went wider. "You don't have any plans, do you?"
He shook his head again.
"Then stay here." She was stick thin and reedy, like the tall, whistling river grass by the River Leviathan, but her voice came out strong and sure.
"As you wish," he replied.
She smiled, and it was the wan smile from a month ago. The drawn, pinched, stressed thing he had disliked so much. Gang Wu lay at the root of that smile, already dead and Vincent wanted to kill the man. That Yuffie herself had executed Gang Wu didn't matter; he wanted to rip him to shreds with the claw.
But somewhere in those haunted-looking eyes—just the way she looked after Aeris died, after Sephiroth, after Meteor—he saw the faintest sign of hope.
It wasn't enough, nowhere near enough, but it would do.
"Three days," Yuffie told his chest. "Three days until the funeral."
"Ready?"
She shook her head. He could feel her breath through his shirt and shifted slightly. "Never."
He placed his good hand on the back of her head. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, but he didn't know that for certain. Things in life didn't really turn out for the best; they turned out the way they turned out, and people went on as best they could.
That this tragedy would destroy her, crippling her ability to rule Wutai, was entirely possible. He would do anything he could to help her bear it, but the truth was—almost every ruler Ascended the Pagoda in the midst of tragedy. For the Second to take the throne, the Emperor had to die. Godo would have prepared her for that. She had withstood the loss of Aeris; the loss of her father, while crushing, should not make her crumble like this.
The o-fuda, an unusual colour protecting Ashura, the doubled guards and new mistrust of foreigners: all of it hinted that something deeper and darker than her father's death had gone wrong.
"Something is wrong."
Yuffie gave a short, bitter bark. "Were you here at all a month ago?"
"Do not lie. That is not all that troubles you."
She shrugged. "I'm in the middle of a shitstorm, Vincent. Kim Canon—"
"—an o-fuda is no use against one who does not come in person. Do not lie to me."
Sighing, she looked away.
Vincent stared down at her, trying to discern whatever he could. But he learned little. Her condition told him only that her grief and stress had marked her significantly. Her body language gave no clue to the source of her distress. So he watched her and said nothing for a little while. She replied to his silence with silence of her own, a rarity, and that worried him as well.
"Tell me," he said at last.
"I want to handle it on my own."
She turned away from him, moving nearly soundlessly on nightingale floors. The carelessly-buttoned shorts slid on her hips as they moved. They were baggy enough at the thigh that she almost looked healthy.
Yuffie paused only to tell him, "You can have the spare room. You know where to find it."
And then she left.
17:04
"You wanted to talk to me?"
Yuffie eyed Sho Tzu. He was holding a bouquet—a vase, really, as there weren't many flowers. His brow had furrowed and his worry was almost palpable. What, did he want some sort of advice on girls? Like she was the person to give it if he did.
"We just received these. For you." He held out the tall vase.
Yuffie laughed. "Did you screw something up, so you're trying to stay on my good side by bringing me flowers?"
She was almost certain, though, that her suggestion wasn't the case. Sho Tzu wasn't that sort. If he messed up, which he almost never did, he told her up front, she forgave him up front, and they fixed it together.
The crease between his eyebrows deepened. "I did not. It was an anonymous gift." He made eye contact. "Is there something you wish to tell us?"
"No." Yuffie reached out for the bouquet. He gave it to her.
The arrangement of the flowers looked professionally done. It obeyed the usual aesthetic ethics of ikebana: a single branch from a cherry tree accompanied by three long-stemmed "lesser" flowers—pale, of course. The cherry branch likely came from an indoor greenhouse, as the sakura festivals had come and gone, and so had most of the petals from the cherry trees. The "lesser" flowers had white blossoms and large leaves. They were hybrids, she knew, bred for long stems and small buds.
Somebody had taped a tiny unmarked envelope to the vase.
Yuffie ripped the envelope off and opened it. It contained a white card, plain. The card's message was just as simple and understated as the envelope and bouquet:
Don't be afraid.
—Your Guardian Angel
She felt her face twist; her brows furrowed and jaw clenched tight. A strangled sound, somewhere between a disgusted "ugh" and a half-sob, rose in her throat and she hurled the vase at the wall. It struck one of the wooden supports and shattered.
Sho Tzu's alarm became even more palpable. He didn't move from his position, but she could hear the high rattling sound of his wakizashi trembling in their sheaths, the thin metal keening of strangling wires crossing.
"I want a list of the names and addresses of every foreigner living in Da Cha O."
Exactly what he thought of that order, Sho Tzu kept to himself. His face was perfectly blank as he pressed his fist against his heart and then bowed. He excused himself silently.
As soon as he was gone, Yuffie collapsed onto the nearest zabuton. The floor pillow made a faint sound as her knees collided with it.
What the hell was going on? Was this a genuine stalker, or some sort of scare tactic? Did Kim Canon have anything to do with this, or was this just, as her father had once quoted, "ascribing the flight of the fireflies to the nearest pretty girl"?
Neither answer seemed right. Who in the world would want to stalk her, of all people? But it seemed farfetched to blame every evil on Canon.
And now that he, whoever he was and why-ever he was doing this, had graduated to sending gifts… What was next?
18:52
Vincent stared at the clothing he had unpacked. He couldn't quite remember unpacking. Or packing, really. The trip to Wutai had been one long blur of guilt and fury. He'd reacted, not thought.
It was almost exactly the same as what had happened just over a month before. He'd reacted to the sight of Yuffie jumping from the statue. There hadn't been time for thought. And, honestly, he hadn't wanted to think.
The mid-evening shadows began to shift. They slanted in from the shoji walls, casting the room in a chiaroscuro of grey and making the floor look almost like a cage. The dark bars that lay across the floor began to squirm and writhe.
Vincent blinked.
The world went hazy, as if seen through a wave of heat. Everything seemed to have the funhouse-shimmer over it.
The quiet sounds of nineteen hundred in Heavenly Da Cha O turned, slowly, to radio static.
By the time his vision cleared, the shadows had formed words:
watching you watching
watching you watching
The growl was rumbling from his chest almost before he knew he was angry. That Chaos would speak again in this place. That Chaos could and would violate the laws binding a hallowed place. Barriers signed in blood should have bound him, should have silenced him.
If the demons could speak even now, then did that mean they were truly part of him?
His vision blurred again, even as his knees went weak. He caught himself automatically, thrusting out his hand to keep his torso from hitting the floor.
The shadows twisted again, this time reading:
eyes burn holes in her head
And the radio static in his ears became Galian's enraged howl, Death Gigas' desperate grunts, the high, shrieking whine of Hellmasker's chainsaw. And somewhere in there, he could feel it in his shoulder blades, Chaos was laughing his deep, rumbling, the world has collapsed laugh.
He forced himself to calm his breathing. His heartbeat was a fast, rattling, thunderous motor is his chest. It wouldn't seem to slow, no matter what he did.
And even though their voices had faded, the static hadn't receded. They had more to say.
"Explain," he demanded, voice harsh and grating.
He hauled himself to his feet and staggered forward. But the next—whatever it was, hallucination, vision, delusion—hit him with enough force that he fell again. This time, he couldn't even break his fall.
And this time, something clawed words into the wooden floor just a few centimetres from his nose.
SHE EXILED HUNTED AFRAID PACK NOW
Galian. There as no doubt about it. The claw-marks, the limited vocabulary. The direct, almost confrontational style.
This made it much clearer. For Galian, each word contained clear meaning. The wolf-demon had always used 'she' to refer specifically to Yuffie.
Exiled. To be in hell.
Hunted. To be ruthlessly tracked, planned for, watched, and then killed.
Pack. To be loved, to be protected by, to be protected by oneself, to be owed honour and duty to.
Galian's words, little as he liked them, explained nearly everything. The suspicion. The xenophobia. The little oddities like the colour of the silk over Ashura's chime, the o-fuda. It all made sense.
19:04
The shoji door slammed open.
Yuffie startled and flew to the nearest weapon, which happened to be an antique katana with its seiya nailed to the wall. With a metallic groan, the sword slid from the sheath. She whirled around, striking out with the slim blade.
A horrible metal squeal filled the room.
Yuffie stared as Vincent's claw caught the katana between two talons.
His eyes narrowed. The two talons closed. The claw bit down.
The sword's tip clattered to the floor.
She heaved in a deep breath. They stood there, her holding the hilt of a broken sword, him gripping the blade, for a few seconds. Before she could speak, he growled.
"What has you jumping at shadows, Yuffie?" His voice was cold, almost completely without emotion. And that was one of the worst signs.
"I told you, I want to handle it myself."
"Perhaps you have not noticed what a poor job of handling it you are doing." Anger crept into his voice, making syllables taut and lifting the pitch and volume of 'handling' just a little. Just enough.
Yuffie reeled backward, almost stunned from the sudden sting. That he would react like that hadn't occurred to her. And it hurt.
So she pulled the sword free of his claw, bent to pick up the fallen tip. Saying nothing. There was nothing to say that one.
She shoved the broken tip back into the seiya, then the rest of the katana in after it. Narrowing her eyes, she took a step backward.
Perfect. From the outside, at least, nobody would be able to tell that the sword was broken.
Vincent stepped forward, rubbed one human finger along the sheath, then turned to stare at her. He forced eye contact. "Let me help. Please."
"It's not like there's anything you can—"
"—That's a lie. You sent us away—"
"—You walked away, Vincent, you walked away from me like you always do. You never stop running so how the hell do you think you can help me?"
Vincent flinched. His eyes closed and he took in a deep, shuddering breath.
And then he left the room in a whirl of red fabric and white paper.
Yuffie watched him go and tried not to cry.
I hear she still grants forgiveness
Although I willingly forgot her
The offering is molasses and you say
I guess I'm an underwater thing so I
Guess I can't take it personally
I guess I'm an underwater thing I'm
Liquid running
—Liquid Diamonds, Tori Amos