Vanishing Points
Jul. 2nd, 2020 05:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: Vanishing Points
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core
Characters/pairing: Cissnei and Aerith
Rating: gen
Word Count: 524
Notes: First meetings... or something to that affect.
-
“What would your friend like?”
“Just a coffee,” the suit answers. “Cream if you have it, please.”
Turk’s aren’t nice people. They’re people, and people get into mischief. Mischief in the context of Aerith’s life means one or two things: something sour, or something deadly.
Cissnei may be stirring cream into her coffee, uncomfortable on the tall bar chair and looking mildly put off, but Aerith chalks it up to a lot of things. The chairs are wet and splintering, sour rain water has flooded most of the slum’s roads into micro rivers, and everyone has a sort of drowned rat look to them. Everything’s smoky because the power’s broke again. Old oil containers burn garbage, stinking, but warm. She hadn't made herself easy to find, either. She forgives Cissnei only a little for her appearance; still, she wasn’t in the mood.
Even Wren behind the counter isn’t having it. She keeps sending angry looks upward, scowling at them both, the plates in the open air sink behind her. The ones in the drain aren’t drying. Snob hill is pissing on us again, she says, sniffling, tops off her coffee. Aerith knows it’s a lot more than that.
Cissnei takes a long drink then rotates ninety degrees in the chair, suited knees bumping Aerith’s. She sloshes hot coffee on her hand and plucks a napkin from the dispenser, curses under her breath. “You know, I thought you’d be a lot different,” she says, not sounding very cool at all, “from what I’ve been told.”
Depends on who you ask, Aerith doesn’t say. None of the stories are really exclusive.
“Well. I thought I’d be having other company.”
“Fair. If it makes you feel better I do like the dress.”
Aerith props her chin in her hands. “Thanks. I thought it would be fun to take off. All the buttons, you know.”
Cissnei’s mouth twitches. “Tseng makes you sound like a disobedient school girl. I think you know exactly what you’re about.”
“Are you going to spend the day with me?”
She took another large gulp of coffee. “No, no -- I’m going to spend it a good fifty feet away. On duty. The usual.”
“Ohhh,” Aerith says, grinning. “You must be new on the rotation.”
“Excuse me?”
Aerith slid some gil across the counter and hopped down. “In that case, I’ll give you a briefing: I’m a difficult case. You’ll want to stick close, so you don’t lose me. I’ll fill you in on what Tseng hasn’t told you, too: I’d make a good suit.”
“What’s your talent,” Cissnei deadpanned. There’s grief there, sudden and then flickering. Begging her not to answer.
Aerith started winding through the morning crowds. The pale and hazy sky along the horizon taunted her, the industrial metropolis slowly humming to life far above. If the sky cleared it would be a good day to go top-side.
She was hoping Cissnei would ask her something else, spare her more than a look that was resigned to witnessing a death over and over again, but not today. She didn't rush to keep up, and Aerith didn't slow. “--Disappearing,” she answers, to no one.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core
Characters/pairing: Cissnei and Aerith
Rating: gen
Word Count: 524
Notes: First meetings... or something to that affect.
-
“What would your friend like?”
“Just a coffee,” the suit answers. “Cream if you have it, please.”
Turk’s aren’t nice people. They’re people, and people get into mischief. Mischief in the context of Aerith’s life means one or two things: something sour, or something deadly.
Cissnei may be stirring cream into her coffee, uncomfortable on the tall bar chair and looking mildly put off, but Aerith chalks it up to a lot of things. The chairs are wet and splintering, sour rain water has flooded most of the slum’s roads into micro rivers, and everyone has a sort of drowned rat look to them. Everything’s smoky because the power’s broke again. Old oil containers burn garbage, stinking, but warm. She hadn't made herself easy to find, either. She forgives Cissnei only a little for her appearance; still, she wasn’t in the mood.
Even Wren behind the counter isn’t having it. She keeps sending angry looks upward, scowling at them both, the plates in the open air sink behind her. The ones in the drain aren’t drying. Snob hill is pissing on us again, she says, sniffling, tops off her coffee. Aerith knows it’s a lot more than that.
Cissnei takes a long drink then rotates ninety degrees in the chair, suited knees bumping Aerith’s. She sloshes hot coffee on her hand and plucks a napkin from the dispenser, curses under her breath. “You know, I thought you’d be a lot different,” she says, not sounding very cool at all, “from what I’ve been told.”
Depends on who you ask, Aerith doesn’t say. None of the stories are really exclusive.
“Well. I thought I’d be having other company.”
“Fair. If it makes you feel better I do like the dress.”
Aerith props her chin in her hands. “Thanks. I thought it would be fun to take off. All the buttons, you know.”
Cissnei’s mouth twitches. “Tseng makes you sound like a disobedient school girl. I think you know exactly what you’re about.”
“Are you going to spend the day with me?”
She took another large gulp of coffee. “No, no -- I’m going to spend it a good fifty feet away. On duty. The usual.”
“Ohhh,” Aerith says, grinning. “You must be new on the rotation.”
“Excuse me?”
Aerith slid some gil across the counter and hopped down. “In that case, I’ll give you a briefing: I’m a difficult case. You’ll want to stick close, so you don’t lose me. I’ll fill you in on what Tseng hasn’t told you, too: I’d make a good suit.”
“What’s your talent,” Cissnei deadpanned. There’s grief there, sudden and then flickering. Begging her not to answer.
Aerith started winding through the morning crowds. The pale and hazy sky along the horizon taunted her, the industrial metropolis slowly humming to life far above. If the sky cleared it would be a good day to go top-side.
She was hoping Cissnei would ask her something else, spare her more than a look that was resigned to witnessing a death over and over again, but not today. She didn't rush to keep up, and Aerith didn't slow. “--Disappearing,” she answers, to no one.
