Blah.

Blah, blah.

I really hate these share-icons, throwing off the formatting for the top few lines…

…Anyway. As much as I like the character, it must be said that Vincent Valentine is essentially a walking mess of props. And I wanted to knock up a drabble/ficlet-folder of some sort anyway, just for quick one-off bursts of writing without too much trouble taken to do them. I'll be doing various ones for specific props whenever I feel like it, or whenever someone suggests a really funny idea. But I'll start off with a mickey-taking of the entire ensemble.

(Oh, right. FFVII: not mine.)

Vincent and the Malfunctioning Wardrobe:

'…Why does this keep happening?'

—ox-oxo-xo—

It began with the farmers.

If one wished to take the longer view, of course, it actually began over thirty-three years earlier, with Lucrecia Crescent's decision to offer her baby to experimental research, and Vincent Valentine's decision to stand around moping and thumb-twiddling instead of trying to stop her – which of course led to Sephiroth, and SOLDIER, and Wutai and Nibelheim and Meteorfall and all the rest. And more importantly in this case, Vincent's death and subsequent alteration of his physical appearance.

In one sense, his magnificent death (again) in the ethereal conflagration that was Omega's demise was an ending. In another sense, his emergence from Lucrecia's Grotto was both an ending and a new beginning.

But that isn't really the point. For all that had happened, for all the endings and beginnings, some things hadn't yet changed.

So this 'it' began with the farmers.

—ox-oxo-xo—

It was the third time in three years that AVALANCHE had saved the world. And, as with the previous two times, the end result could only be a massive party. And of course, where else would they hold it, other than at a bar? especially when one of their number happened to own one herself?

But Cid was in a hurry to head back home and pick up Shera for the party, and Shelke was feeling a little poorly with her tapering mako-addiction treatments, and Elmyra wanted to catch up with everyone else too. And so when Elmyra came aboard Cid's vessel just outside Kalm, Vincent Valentine was hurriedly dropped off and left to walk the rest of the way in the dwindling afternoon.

Despite the unanticipated wrinkle in his plans, the gunslinger set off in relatively high spirits, strolling peacefully along the road to Edge – not precisely without a care in the world, given that monsters still roamed the wilds between towns, but still pretty close. (And anyway, most of the land near the Kalm end of the stretch had been converted to farmland, so the monsters there tended to be scarcer.) His tattered crimson cloak fluttered lazily in the breeze of his passage, the descending sun's rays gleaming upon his burnished boots and claw, Vincent began the final leg of his journey, actually looking forward for once to reuniting with the motley crew who had somehow become his friends.

His progress did not pass unnoticed.

Farmers they may have been, but many of these souls had been refugees from Midgar, holing out in Edge or Kalm before Reeve Tuesti's decentralising initiatives lured them out of the bloated towns to scratch out a new living on the slowly recovering soil. In addition, three years without mako energy had allowed for plenty of time to work out alternative ways to power basic electrical equipment, at least for the small-scale needs of farmsteads and hamlets. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that the vast majority of those rural communities knew of AVALANCHE and their heroic proclivities.

And so, when the hard-at-work farmhands saw the instantly distinguishable, presumed-dead hero of the recently resolved Deepground Crisis, ambling along the road to Edge, the farmhands went into wild paroxysms of celebration.

Some went tearing away to their farmsteads to round up their families and co-workers and tell them the miraculous news. Some ran ahead to enlighten those down the track of what was happening behind them. But most of the farmhands simply formed into a jubilant crowd around the person of Vincent Valentine, cheering and whistling and brandishing various farming tools in vaguely militant fashion with merry abandon as they marched alongside the seemingly indifferent gunslinger.

Those further along the road, having been given more time to absorb the news, came better prepared. Picnic baskets were brought out loaded with prandial supplies, and home-made brews of largely alcoholic composition were freely distributed among the rapidly increasing congregation of celebrating citizenry.

It might have surprised the unenlightened observer to note that the red-eyed ex-Turk at the centre of this thronging mass seemed utterly indisposed to outward acknowledgement of their joy. And indeed – because they did know of the AVALANCHE hero – the crowd took no issue with his lack of participation. They knew he wasn't really one for social gatherings. Quite honestly, many of them were surprised that he hadn't made some effort to lose his exponentially growing flock of admirers.

Inwardly, however, Vincent Valentine was becoming increasingly nervous. And as the sun began to dip below the western horizon, and the more well-prepared of those around him began passing out crude brands of tarred wood and bundled wheatstalks to light their way and warn off the monsters which roamed Edge's outskirts, it was becoming increasingly apparent to him that this could turn out very, very badly…

—ox-oxo-xo—

The 7th Heaven was of course abuzz with anticipation at the imminent return of AVALANCHE's lost comrade.

Tifa and Cloud were engaged in the tricky task of encouraging their usual clientele to vacate the premises, in preparation for the reunion party. Not that said 'usual clientele' were all that were present. Reeve had turned up with a new Cait in tow, and was happily chatting away with Rufus Shinra and his Turks in a corner. Marlene and Denzel had somehow managed to finagle a gaggle of neighbourhood children into the bar, and were currently leading the pursuit of Nanaki's fiery tail-tuft with great enthusiasm while Barret sat with a beer in his hand and laughed at him. And Yuffie, the last of those who had already arrived, repeatedly popped in and out of the front door, excitedly waiting for a glimpse of the man who had saved all their lives (not least hers) and come back from the dead.

Thus it was that she was the first one of them to notice it.

Tifa looked up at the admittedly not-uncommon spectacle of the youthful ninja trying not to burst into laughter as she burst back through the door. "What is it?"

Yuffie looked up at her, tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks despite her best efforts to keep them pent up. "Vincent's coming!"

The words they'd all been waiting for sent them all rocketing from their positions in her direction. "Do you see him?"

"Nope! But it has to be him!" And Yuffie went charging out the door, the others following in a stomping mass.

They found her gesturing grandly down the road. "I mean, come on! Who else could be at the centre of that?" At which point she gave up the ghost and fell over, screeching with laughter as she rolled around clutching her stomach.

And as they looked down that road, at the approaching spectacle, they could not help but agree with the breathless, hysterical Yuffie Kisaragi. Who else indeed would herald their arrival with a yelling, drunken mob, complete with pitchforks and torches?

—ox-oxo-xo—

And at the centre of that mob of thousands, the mob that he had decided not to try to escape from in case those at its outskirts had the wrong idea about why exactly they were there, Vincent Valentine shook his head with a despairing sigh. I'm never going to live this down, am I…?

So how's that? Like it? Because it's all going downhill from here… Next up: either boots or voice.