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seleniasTitle: Vestige
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/pairing: Aerith +/- Tseng
Rating: basically gen
Word Count: 600
Notes: I love how uncanny and curious Aerith can be and wanted to channel some of that. Tseng's not amused.
-
He had a stain on his suit, at the bottom lapel just where it kissed the button. Something purple and sticky when Aerith stuck her hand out, curious, and touched it.
Tseng caught her wrist, ever the bother, and pulled a cloth from the opposite pocket. He was in a mood. Something had gone sour, unrelated to her, fortunate there. Unfortunate timing. Rain was seeping between the edges of the plate and the humidity made everything sticky. His hand peeled off her wrist to hold the edge of her fingers and she squirmed, wondering if today was the day he wouldn’t let her go free.
“You had to stick your hand there,” he says. But he’s only amused. She’s fifteen.
“I saw you earlier,” Aerith says. “South, in some buildings. You weren’t alone.” He pulls her hand up close to knot the napkin around her finger. She twists it around, feels the sticky goop worsen. What a useless remedy.
She wants to catch his eyes but the look he gives her is from under lidded eyes; he’s still riding some kind of high. But he won’t hurt her. He’s not allowed to, and she’s sure he’s only revealed himself for his own amusement.
“You were serious about being an entrepreneur,” he says instead. “The flowers looked nice in the windows.”
“Oh, so you came here to congratulate me? I thought someone may have died!” Aerith laughs, breathless. He releases her hand from his iron grip and she points at the stain, then over her shoulder, the blue crank handle disappearing into gray earth. “Anyway. It’s not like you to make a mess. The faucet works, you know, or the flowers wouldn’t grow. Try it sometime. You’ll only smell like an egg for a little while.”
Tseng’s mouth slanted at the corner, though he didn’t move just yet. “A final piece of advice, Aerith: you should stay on the main roads today. There’s been a desertion in Shin-Ra. Worse than usual.”
“Monsters above, monsters below,” Aerith mutters. “So what. When are you going to leave?”
“Not. What makes you think I would?”
“Nothing. Except you sure spend a lot of time down here with me. I sleep for eight hours a day. Do you?”
“It just so happens that I’m in charge of the roster,” he says, voice wry. “Today’s my day.”
“Lucky me. You don’t like to slow for a moment. But you’re probably needed somewhere else.”
“I wonder. You do make for a challenging case.”
“Is that a compliment?” He turns his face away to hide his smile. She wishes he would turn toward her so she could see it, but whatever. It’s a win. She’s free for another day.
Aerith steps away toward the branching path, hair swaying against her back, loose and imprinted with curls from an earlier braid. She evaded him most days. She wasn’t going to start listening now.
“There are people expecting me who would notice if I was absent,” Aerith says at last. Tseng withdraws, smile mean since she’s forgone some good advice (though she will keep it in mind to consider often). “I have work to do. But I’ll be careful.”
“Do what you want,” he says, stepping away. While you can. Apparently that’s all the conversation he’s up to having for the day.
Later, Aerith threads her fingers together, tries not to think about the warmth from his glove, or the flash of his revolver, or the stains she will find later on a familiar path she walks home, so dark she mistakes them for puddles of drainage, oil or ink.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters/pairing: Aerith +/- Tseng
Rating: basically gen
Word Count: 600
Notes: I love how uncanny and curious Aerith can be and wanted to channel some of that. Tseng's not amused.
-
He had a stain on his suit, at the bottom lapel just where it kissed the button. Something purple and sticky when Aerith stuck her hand out, curious, and touched it.
Tseng caught her wrist, ever the bother, and pulled a cloth from the opposite pocket. He was in a mood. Something had gone sour, unrelated to her, fortunate there. Unfortunate timing. Rain was seeping between the edges of the plate and the humidity made everything sticky. His hand peeled off her wrist to hold the edge of her fingers and she squirmed, wondering if today was the day he wouldn’t let her go free.
“You had to stick your hand there,” he says. But he’s only amused. She’s fifteen.
“I saw you earlier,” Aerith says. “South, in some buildings. You weren’t alone.” He pulls her hand up close to knot the napkin around her finger. She twists it around, feels the sticky goop worsen. What a useless remedy.
She wants to catch his eyes but the look he gives her is from under lidded eyes; he’s still riding some kind of high. But he won’t hurt her. He’s not allowed to, and she’s sure he’s only revealed himself for his own amusement.
“You were serious about being an entrepreneur,” he says instead. “The flowers looked nice in the windows.”
“Oh, so you came here to congratulate me? I thought someone may have died!” Aerith laughs, breathless. He releases her hand from his iron grip and she points at the stain, then over her shoulder, the blue crank handle disappearing into gray earth. “Anyway. It’s not like you to make a mess. The faucet works, you know, or the flowers wouldn’t grow. Try it sometime. You’ll only smell like an egg for a little while.”
Tseng’s mouth slanted at the corner, though he didn’t move just yet. “A final piece of advice, Aerith: you should stay on the main roads today. There’s been a desertion in Shin-Ra. Worse than usual.”
“Monsters above, monsters below,” Aerith mutters. “So what. When are you going to leave?”
“Not. What makes you think I would?”
“Nothing. Except you sure spend a lot of time down here with me. I sleep for eight hours a day. Do you?”
“It just so happens that I’m in charge of the roster,” he says, voice wry. “Today’s my day.”
“Lucky me. You don’t like to slow for a moment. But you’re probably needed somewhere else.”
“I wonder. You do make for a challenging case.”
“Is that a compliment?” He turns his face away to hide his smile. She wishes he would turn toward her so she could see it, but whatever. It’s a win. She’s free for another day.
Aerith steps away toward the branching path, hair swaying against her back, loose and imprinted with curls from an earlier braid. She evaded him most days. She wasn’t going to start listening now.
“There are people expecting me who would notice if I was absent,” Aerith says at last. Tseng withdraws, smile mean since she’s forgone some good advice (though she will keep it in mind to consider often). “I have work to do. But I’ll be careful.”
“Do what you want,” he says, stepping away. While you can. Apparently that’s all the conversation he’s up to having for the day.
Later, Aerith threads her fingers together, tries not to think about the warmth from his glove, or the flash of his revolver, or the stains she will find later on a familiar path she walks home, so dark she mistakes them for puddles of drainage, oil or ink.
