Skye: Is it just me or is anyone else disappointed that there are so few Shuyin and Lenne fics on Fanfiction? 119 compared to 611 Rippal fics. And so, in order to fight the death of this couple, I add my own humble contribution to the fandom. This story is AU and the environment and any other characters that were not involved in any Final Fantasy are my creations.
A warning to those who stumble upon this story. It features extremely dark lyrics and other elements that you might wish to digress from. And so, if you do not like my style of writing, do not flame, keep it to yourself.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even my own ass, which is a fairly nice one.
Thought
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"Gather 'round to hear this tale
A story which has grown old
Torn of their pride
Stars crash and collide
The wrecking yard grows cold
They may laugh and they may say that
This doesn't hurt them, oh no
If you happen to see them just listen
Take away some of their pain tonight"
-Switchblade Symphony, "Wrecking Yard"
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Bevelle, quite a beautiful city in its own. The right place to raise a family, be forever out of danger, and live a prim, perfect life. All of it courtesy of Yevon, of course. Every man, woman, child, animal, plant, element, and mineral believed in Yevon. That was what made Bevelle so crime free and safe. Everybody was the same, the strict codes of Yevon letting no individuality be showed. It ruled that Yevon was the one true religion and if one did not adhere to it, one would face total social status oblivion. Not only did that make it a dangerous city, but also…
"Boring." A girl rolled over on her cot with a sigh. "This city is entirely devoid of life."
She frowned at the religious imagery on her walls, not there by her own choice. "And I thought being a songstress would be fun. I can't even write my own lyrics and music. They have to always be happy and peppy and pertain to Yevon in some way, which I can't do."
She snapped her fingers in aggravation, "And now, I'm talking to myself, and will probably have to go pray in the temple if Mother Matron catches me."
Sitting up and shaking her head, causing her long, shiny cinnamon hair to cascade like a waterfall over her shoulders, she walked into the tiny bathroom to look in the mirror. Technically, it was vanity to have mirrors and wear makeup, but Yevon had allowed that this was invalid, so there was such a thing as makeup and fashion.
"So plain." Forlorn, weary brown eyes gazed back at her. Yevon had a much defined image of beauty and fashion. Gaudy, flamboyant clothes were their taste, and they frowned upon anything different and artsy.
She tugged at the cream-colored PVC miniskirt of her school uniform, wincing slightly as the starched, crisp collar of her white, long-sleeved shirt chafed the tender skin around her neck.
"Lenne!" The wooden door was knocked upon several times. "Lenne!"
Lenne walked over and opened the door to see a ripened woman standing there in a lurid robe with a large hat that came into two horns on her head.
"Yes, Mother Matron?" she asked dully.
"Come downstairs and have a snack before you go to your assignment, where you will stay after you have finished until dinner."
"Yes, Mother Matron. I'll be there in a minute."
She shut the door behind her and dug under her bed, burrowing through the dust, finally pulling out a box. Lifting off the lid, she took out a white leather jacket. All sorts of esoteric designs were drawn in black with permanent ink that would never fade, completely covering the coat, letting white poke through at carefully selected parts.
The product of her creation was boredom one day and despair that they were not allowed to do anything to their uniforms. She was punished for it and not allowed to wear the jacket; in fact, they wanted her to burn it. So she carefully hid it away until the time was right.
"This is the night." She muttered excitedly to herself, eyes taking on a determined spark as she packed the few possessions she had in one small bag.
For years, Lenne had dreamed and carefully plotted of her escape to Zanarkand, the decadent, rebellious, bold city of the arts. But security in Bevelle was tight, too tight for a very long time after their political disagreements with Zanarkand. But now, the borders were open. And this was the night when her dream would come true. She would run away from this horrid, hellish institution and never return. It would be her story now, not theirs.
Checking over the contents of her carrier one last time, she left the room, first ensuring it was carefully hidden in a place that was easy to grab it from.
Quickly stepping down the long flight of stairs, she turned to her left and entered the dining room, where a small plate with crackers on it and a glass of water waited for her. She ate the crackers and drank the water, knowing it would be her last meal in Bevelle, but that fact exhilarated her, not saddened her. She then opened the door and left.
The cool twilight breeze greeted her. Strolling across the green of the grounds, Lenne could taste the sweet anticipation on her tongue. Her last time here. It seemed almost too good to be true. But the plan was foolproof. It would work. Everything should go according to plan.
She strode into the building where the young songstresses were at work on their craft projects, all involving the Scriptures of Yevon, as was required. After checking in with the nun who had the clipboard, she drifted over to the cloth banner she was supposed to be painting and got to work.
"Well, look who it is, Dona," cooed a sickeningly sweet, snooty voice. "Here's Bevelle's own little misfit."
Lenne did not even have to look up to identify the person. It was Leblanc, daughter of the man who provided funding for the school to run. This made her the spoiled princess of the place, adored by teachers and students alike. Only Lenne saw through her façade and was not intimidated by her.
"She grows more wayward by the day. I can hardly look at her," crooned the voice of her fraternal twin, Dona, who was of equal social status. "What a horrible blemish on the beautiful face of Bevelle."
Leblanc adjusted one of the purple chopsticks in her blond hair, brown eyes scornfully upon Lenne's back. Dona smoothed her black ponytail, brushing imaginary specks off her deeply tanned skin while smirking down at the songstress.
She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the fact that their gawping was burning a hole in the back of her shirt. "Don't you have projects to do?"
"We are exempt." Leblanc sniffed. "Mother says we shouldn't overexert ourselves."
"If you're going to be great songstresses, you need your rest." Dona confirmed.
"Fame is a one-shot chance; that doesn't necessarily mean that you two will get it."
"You can be so naive, darling, especially for a heretic." Dona laughed. "We'll be worshipped. No one loves a common gypsy girl."
Lenne did not even register the fact that she had punched Dona square in the nose and sent her reeling backwards until she glanced down and saw blood on her knuckles. Leblanc screamed, eyes wide as she clutched her sister tightly. This was all the distraction she needed. Without a second glimpse backward, she ran out of the building and across the property.
After climbing up the tree and taking her tote out of the hollow, she tossed a letter of farewell onto her bed and disappeared out of the open gates. Sirens were not going off yet, so that was a good sign for her.
She reached the train station in the downtown part of the city in a matter of minutes and handed her money to the clerk in the ticket booth.
"One first class to Zanarkand, please," she panted breathlessly, fingers trembling.
"Here you are." He gave her the ticket and pointed to a nearby terminal. "The bullet train's just come in."
Sitting on the terminal's bench to catch her breath, she watched the train come in. A half hour later, she was watching the lights of Bevelle fade away behind her. Leaning back in her seat, rapture overwhelmed her. She had done it. The impossible to be sure. She got out.
She was on her way to Zanarkand.
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A bit rushed at the end, but it still came out well.
Please review.