Vision Lost: Mirrored Lapse
December 13th, 2008 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skerenTitle: Mirrored Lapse
Arc: Vision Lost
Fandom: FF7
Characters: Vincent
Wordcount: 1322
Warnings: None exactly
Note: Vincent is not to be excluded from things as they stand, now is he?
He pretended things were still the way they’d been, on occasion. He didn’t sleep constantly, waking at odd hours with no determination of night and day. He had no interest in which it was, and he stayed in the room with his coffin. It was home, every dank, wretched inch of it. He’d earned that.
He’d been a fool.
He shouldn’t have stepped into the issue that brought him to this, no matter how wrong he saw it to be. If he’d really had to be so determined to do it... he shouldn’t have been so up front. A Turk, as he himself had once said, never survived long as a fool. He’d seen enough people die in stupid ways that he’d made it a motto.
One, apparently, he felt the need to test out himself.
But, no matter the way things worked out, he still sometimes wondered at himself. He looked at his motives and considered. He even found himself building a sort of twisted fantasy world he could step into at will.
It had, he found, become incredibly easy to wish up an image of who he had been: neat, clean, too youthful, dressed in fine blues. In contrast, what he’d become was a ruin, tangled, twisted, appropriate.
He’d never once woken to that memory fantasy of an image. Not before today. But apparently, today was destined to be unique. The figure looked as though he’d been there for some time. The room was tampered with, small things moved from where they belonged, if, indeed, anything belonged anywhere in here. He certainly didn’t recall having done it himself but...
An image was just an image, and it couldn’t become real.
“Stop thinking that way.”
The words made him twitch slightly, and he focused on the man’s face. It was definitely him as he used to be, but there was no way he could be real.
“I’m not incorporeal.”
“You can’t be real. Unless, of course, you’re a clone.”
“I’m not.” The short haired figure moved silently across the room to where he was sitting in his coffin and stood next to it, staring down at him. “I’m you. Or, as you like to think of me, the fool you used to be.”
“But you’re just part of my imagination.” He tilted his head back, eyes narrowing slightly at the figure.
“Not really. There are some things you really don’t know about what you can do anymore. How old would you say you are now?”
“Late thirties.”
“Fifty seven actually. If you had a mirror you would see you look younger, not older than me as you like to think you do. The demons did you a service there.”
“What are you, if you’re not just a figment of my imagination?”
“Me? I’m a guide.” He leaned, fingers brushing just under the headband as he smirked. “I’m things you keep trying to forget about.”
He twitched at the warmth in the man’s hand, not expecting to be able to feel that touch so vividly. “I haven’t tried to forget anything.”
“Yes you have.” The tapered fingers, darker by a fraction than the skin they were touching, moved down to grasp his chin, red eyes fixed firmly on red. “You tried to forget that you were a killer well before you had the demons in you. You tried to forget that it was your job to help ruin good people. You tried to forget how monstrous you can be if you just tried. And all of that... well, that was all before you even tried to save that little baby who had nothing to do with you, no matter how badly you wanted his mother to be yours. No matter how badly you wanted to be a hero for once. It would be easy for me to keep listing. You’re quite good at denying things you have no desire to see.”
“You make it sound as though I deny what I was before I became this. I don’t. I haven’t forgotten, I haven’t put it to the side.”
“And you deem this your sin and all that, yes? You consider the demons fitting punishment because you never regretted anything you had to do.” He released him, stepping back and spreading his arms in a motion of ‘look here’. “Why do you insist on staying in this place Mr. Valentine? Why do you insist on separating you from me?”
“I do nothing of the kind.” The words were a growl, but the demons were, for once, nowhere under the skin waiting. Was this a dream then? Something his mind was thrusting on him?
“You created a fantasy where you weren’t your past anymore. You can’t do something that is exactly that any more completely.”
“I’m dreaming.”
“And your subconscious wants to tell you you’re a monstrous freak? Hardly. Nice try. More like... your past would like you to stop forgetting the lessons it had to teach you.”
“Lessons like not sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“No.” He laughed, looking at the figure in red with just a hint of contempt. “No. Lessons like not ignoring something you can fix until you can’t fix it anymore. I find it amazing that you abandoned that child you tried to die for. Is that what your hope was? Dying to put away the heartache?”
“No.” He got out of the coffin, claws digging into the sides as he did, leaving furrows on that side as he stood.
“No? Then why are you still here hmm? Don’t you have something out there you should be up to?”
He met the mocking gaze evenly, and his lips twisted, slightly bitter. “No.”
“Then maybe you should find something to do until you do. You certainly won’t remember down here.”
“I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d miss everything.”
There was a moment of silence as the two held gazes, and not long after, there was a swirl of red before the man was gone.
“And now my child will be fine.” The doppleganger left behind laughed quietly, then vanished in a swirl of sickly green.
-o-o-o-o-
It was months before anything happened, but when it did, it was horrible. It was also, in a strange sort of way, cathartic. Nibelheim had been the bane of many things to him. It had been a start of horror, and an end of a lifestyle. It had been the end of comfort and security and power.
And Sephiroth had nicely destroyed it for him. He didn’t see that until after everything though, having fled to tuck himself up in a strangely comfortable niche out of sight of the reactor workers. It was a good place to hear news, and a good place to know and hear that Sephiroth had come to the town where he’d been born, finally. It was also a good place to wait, because honestly, what would he tell the boy?
‘I failed you as a baby because I wasn’t good enough for your mother’? No. He’d wait, and if no situation called for him, he would follow the boy when he left.
It seemed, however, that that wasn’t the case. The fighting above proved that, being loud, rife with yelling and anger, and, finally, a fall of distinctive pale hair.
That, at least, he’d been able, and willing, to help with. The man wasn’t fully conscious when he was grabbed, obviously stunned, and that was enough for him to get him pinned and out of sight as people above started to swarm.
Only once all of the ruckus from above was finished did he take his new charge from the reactor. And only then did he see the carnage wrought over the town.
It did not, however, stop him from leaving. He had wounds to tend on a charge he’d long since abandoned.
Everyone else could fend for themselves.
Arc: Vision Lost
Fandom: FF7
Characters: Vincent
Wordcount: 1322
Warnings: None exactly
Note: Vincent is not to be excluded from things as they stand, now is he?
He pretended things were still the way they’d been, on occasion. He didn’t sleep constantly, waking at odd hours with no determination of night and day. He had no interest in which it was, and he stayed in the room with his coffin. It was home, every dank, wretched inch of it. He’d earned that.
He’d been a fool.
He shouldn’t have stepped into the issue that brought him to this, no matter how wrong he saw it to be. If he’d really had to be so determined to do it... he shouldn’t have been so up front. A Turk, as he himself had once said, never survived long as a fool. He’d seen enough people die in stupid ways that he’d made it a motto.
One, apparently, he felt the need to test out himself.
But, no matter the way things worked out, he still sometimes wondered at himself. He looked at his motives and considered. He even found himself building a sort of twisted fantasy world he could step into at will.
It had, he found, become incredibly easy to wish up an image of who he had been: neat, clean, too youthful, dressed in fine blues. In contrast, what he’d become was a ruin, tangled, twisted, appropriate.
He’d never once woken to that memory fantasy of an image. Not before today. But apparently, today was destined to be unique. The figure looked as though he’d been there for some time. The room was tampered with, small things moved from where they belonged, if, indeed, anything belonged anywhere in here. He certainly didn’t recall having done it himself but...
An image was just an image, and it couldn’t become real.
“Stop thinking that way.”
The words made him twitch slightly, and he focused on the man’s face. It was definitely him as he used to be, but there was no way he could be real.
“I’m not incorporeal.”
“You can’t be real. Unless, of course, you’re a clone.”
“I’m not.” The short haired figure moved silently across the room to where he was sitting in his coffin and stood next to it, staring down at him. “I’m you. Or, as you like to think of me, the fool you used to be.”
“But you’re just part of my imagination.” He tilted his head back, eyes narrowing slightly at the figure.
“Not really. There are some things you really don’t know about what you can do anymore. How old would you say you are now?”
“Late thirties.”
“Fifty seven actually. If you had a mirror you would see you look younger, not older than me as you like to think you do. The demons did you a service there.”
“What are you, if you’re not just a figment of my imagination?”
“Me? I’m a guide.” He leaned, fingers brushing just under the headband as he smirked. “I’m things you keep trying to forget about.”
He twitched at the warmth in the man’s hand, not expecting to be able to feel that touch so vividly. “I haven’t tried to forget anything.”
“Yes you have.” The tapered fingers, darker by a fraction than the skin they were touching, moved down to grasp his chin, red eyes fixed firmly on red. “You tried to forget that you were a killer well before you had the demons in you. You tried to forget that it was your job to help ruin good people. You tried to forget how monstrous you can be if you just tried. And all of that... well, that was all before you even tried to save that little baby who had nothing to do with you, no matter how badly you wanted his mother to be yours. No matter how badly you wanted to be a hero for once. It would be easy for me to keep listing. You’re quite good at denying things you have no desire to see.”
“You make it sound as though I deny what I was before I became this. I don’t. I haven’t forgotten, I haven’t put it to the side.”
“And you deem this your sin and all that, yes? You consider the demons fitting punishment because you never regretted anything you had to do.” He released him, stepping back and spreading his arms in a motion of ‘look here’. “Why do you insist on staying in this place Mr. Valentine? Why do you insist on separating you from me?”
“I do nothing of the kind.” The words were a growl, but the demons were, for once, nowhere under the skin waiting. Was this a dream then? Something his mind was thrusting on him?
“You created a fantasy where you weren’t your past anymore. You can’t do something that is exactly that any more completely.”
“I’m dreaming.”
“And your subconscious wants to tell you you’re a monstrous freak? Hardly. Nice try. More like... your past would like you to stop forgetting the lessons it had to teach you.”
“Lessons like not sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?”
“No.” He laughed, looking at the figure in red with just a hint of contempt. “No. Lessons like not ignoring something you can fix until you can’t fix it anymore. I find it amazing that you abandoned that child you tried to die for. Is that what your hope was? Dying to put away the heartache?”
“No.” He got out of the coffin, claws digging into the sides as he did, leaving furrows on that side as he stood.
“No? Then why are you still here hmm? Don’t you have something out there you should be up to?”
He met the mocking gaze evenly, and his lips twisted, slightly bitter. “No.”
“Then maybe you should find something to do until you do. You certainly won’t remember down here.”
“I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d miss everything.”
There was a moment of silence as the two held gazes, and not long after, there was a swirl of red before the man was gone.
“And now my child will be fine.” The doppleganger left behind laughed quietly, then vanished in a swirl of sickly green.
-o-o-o-o-
It was months before anything happened, but when it did, it was horrible. It was also, in a strange sort of way, cathartic. Nibelheim had been the bane of many things to him. It had been a start of horror, and an end of a lifestyle. It had been the end of comfort and security and power.
And Sephiroth had nicely destroyed it for him. He didn’t see that until after everything though, having fled to tuck himself up in a strangely comfortable niche out of sight of the reactor workers. It was a good place to hear news, and a good place to know and hear that Sephiroth had come to the town where he’d been born, finally. It was also a good place to wait, because honestly, what would he tell the boy?
‘I failed you as a baby because I wasn’t good enough for your mother’? No. He’d wait, and if no situation called for him, he would follow the boy when he left.
It seemed, however, that that wasn’t the case. The fighting above proved that, being loud, rife with yelling and anger, and, finally, a fall of distinctive pale hair.
That, at least, he’d been able, and willing, to help with. The man wasn’t fully conscious when he was grabbed, obviously stunned, and that was enough for him to get him pinned and out of sight as people above started to swarm.
Only once all of the ruckus from above was finished did he take his new charge from the reactor. And only then did he see the carnage wrought over the town.
It did not, however, stop him from leaving. He had wounds to tend on a charge he’d long since abandoned.
Everyone else could fend for themselves.