the elemental cycle xiv: forever

The woman walks into Winhill with a slow, steady stride. She is a drifter - that much is obvious from her slightly mismatched clothing and the state they are in. she is also a fighter, as evidenced by the shuriken strapped to her backpack and its condition - well kept. Today is a bright day. One wonders if the woman thinks it so.

She enters the general store, undeterred by the wary glances and disgusted looks. Her hair is cut to her shoulders, pulled back for a ponytail, but allowing the front to hang down, partially obscuring her eyes. She looks at the shopkeeper, who stands alert. Drifters are generally trouble.

This one is not. She moves quickly, and efficiently, like tightly harnessed lightning, selecting the things she wants and dumping them on the counter, no extra movement, just like there is no extra fat on her body. Lean, pared down: these words could be used to describe her.

The shopkeeper smiles. After a lifetime of catering to drifters - the store is invariably the first place they head for - she knows how to differentiate the good and the bad. There is a scar on her wrist from when she once misjudged one.

The woman accepts the change, picks up the items and packs them into her backpack. The storekeeper catches a glimpse of its contents. Food, bedding - the normal requirements, but what is significantly less normal are the phoenix downs, elixirs and potions in their own little corner of the pack. Not many people use those anymore. Not since peace came to the land.

Good luck on your journey, the shopkeeper says. It is what she always says.

The woman nods. Thank you, she says in a soft voice. It is slightly raspy from years of traveling and camping in conditions good or bad.

She heads next for an inn. After traveling for some time, she sorely feels the need for a warm bed and a bath. But first, she needs some hot food. A small sign on the wall outside the inn informs patrons that it was once run by Raine Leonhart, mother of Commander Squall Leonhart of Balamb Garden. Mayhap it serves to draw customers.

The notice is signed 'Rachel'. If the name of the inn, 'The Red Crossroad' bothers the woman, she doesn't let on. If the name of the proprietor, Rachel Almasy bothers the woman, she doesn't let on. If the symbol of a red cross - Hyperion - painted on a large sign bothers the woman, she doesn't let on.

It isn't her way.

The inn is small and homely. Rather dark, it is illuminated by a small fireplace, which lends warmth and light to the environment. Where the owner might have used lamps, she chooses not to - it helps with the décor.

To the drifter, it feels like home. Home, in the sense of somewhere safe to live, to eat, sleep and stay warm. Her homes have not been good.

She has barely found a seat - at one of the small, tucked away tables in the corner - than the innkeeper Rachel comes bustling over.

Are you well, she says, as if she knows the woman. It is Rachel's demeanor. Would you like something to eat?

The woman makes her order. Rachel bustles back to the kitchen to place it, and thereafter she buzzes back and forth, conversing with the regular patrons, serving and taking orders. But never once does she come close to the woman at the side table. Rachel is experienced at handling people. And she knows the woman wants to be left alone.

The inn doors open. A man - Rachel's husband - walks through, smiling and laughing happily. With him is their five-year-old son, Jacques.

The man is Seifer Almasy. What? - any person in Galbadia, Trabia, Balamb or the new Eshtar Garden might say, grinding his teeth and glaring. But the residents of Winhill know him as a kind man, a good husband and a caring father. He works outside of town with his partner, hunting down monsters that have exploded in population since the Lunar Cry. Although he could have worked at the inn, fighting is in his blood, and what he does best.

Some remark that their situation is remarkably like that of Laguna and Raine Loire, long before. Many joke that Jacques might be the next Squall Leonhart. Seifer laughs at them all.

Now he laughs as well, as Rachel is almost bowled over by Jacques' energetic greeting. The laugh dies away as he notices the woman in the corner. She does not meet his eyes, bowing her head to eat, not looking up.

Seifer pats Rachel's arm and kisses her on the cheek. He loves her dearly, but always in his heart is a bleeding wound, borne for someone else, someone he has long thought dead.

He goes to sit by the woman. She does not acknowledge his existence.

Why have you come, he asks softly.

She looks up, silver hair shadowing her face as it always has. I did not know you were here. The words barely disguise the pain beneath. He is surprised. She has always been adept at hiding her emotions. The years have changed them much.

How have you been? Rachel is studying them both, and he knows it.

Fine, she replies, toying with her food. He knows she has always done that.

Now she looks up, red eye emotionless. How are you?

He sighs. Fine.

There is a long silence. Finally he says, I thought you were dead.

I almost was, comes the answer.

I know.

This time the silence is broken by her. What happened to Raijin?

Living in my house. Jacques loves him. He still behaves like he always has, all grins and 'ya know's.

Pause.

He misses you, you know that.

Yes. Yes, I know.

Another long silence. She breaks it. Have you been. . .happy?

Yes, he answers. Very happy.

She nods. Then I am content.

He sighs. We could have had a chance.

Yes, she says. We could have.

Some things are not meant to be.

She gets up, leaving enough gil to cover the meal. He gets up too, returning the money to her.

It is the least I can do, he says.

She nods.

Papa! A small voice interrupts them both. Jacques tugs at his father's shirt. Papa, who dat?

Seifer smiles sadly as Rachel joins them. If circumstances had been different, it could have been her at his side and their son tugging at his shirt. An old friend, he says for Rachel and Jacques both as the woman leaves.

The woman stops at the inn door, looking back one. Just once.

Then Fujin Kazeno walks out the door.

Well, there you have it. The grand finale of the Elemental Cycle. Which'll probably draw less people than 'Wind Spirit'. Sad, isn't it, that I'm that bad? Hehe. Whatever.

And... Fuujin Almasy, if you're reading this, I really love your ezboard quote, and that's what inspired me to write this, and also inspired the title. If any of you want to find her, I've seen Fuujin at the AWO message board, which should be accessible from the spoonybard.nu website. That is, unless you're one of those 'Rinoa's knight' types, which in case you should stay clear, since AWO stands for Anti-Wingheart Organization.

Congratulations also to llamajoy, who writes such beautiful fics that I'll never be able to emulate. To Athena, do I need to dig those metal-toed boots out of the closet to get you to finish 'The Insane'? To the author of my new favorite check-it-every-day fic 'Legacy of Reiginsei', I hope you'll write fast before I choke from waiting. To Catalina... could you just pretty pretty please finish 'Sink to the Bottom With Me' before that Resident Evil series? 'Cos I'm not really interested in Resident Evil... [selfish ain't I?]

And to you flamers? All I can say is - flame away. I just bought my new flame-resistant Fujin-style blue shirt and pants.

Happy 2001 - Lockehart.

Ezboard quote: °¨°¨°Fuujin... she'll always be the WôµñÐêÐ Çhï|Ð... and she'll cry to herself... Forever.°¨°¨°