Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Mahogany Dreams ❯ Mahogany Dreams ( One-Shot )

[ Author's Notes: The inspiration for this should be obvious. I had that official picture of Vincent amidst the lightning storm as my wallpaper for the longest time before I finally started writing this. At first, I really didn't know where this was going, I just wanted to get it out. The more I typed, the more this began to take shape till I realized that I intended nothing by this, that I simply wanted it to be taken as it was and maybe reflected on for a few moments before the reader got bored and moved on to something else.

This is short, simple, and occurs sometime before the final battle. Don't read too much into it, this is as deep as it goes. ]

Mahogany Dreams

Just less than a mile away, lightning crashed down to earth, illuminating the night sky and foretelling of rain. Vincent liked storms. He enjoyed the sound of rain against the roof and windows, the wind billowing through the trees, thunder like the voices of angry gods. It all appealed to him, it drew him outside and into the heart of the melee.

He crouched on the edge of the roof of the ShinRa Mansion, gazing out over the lightning-illuminated rooftops. Nibelheim was dark and quiet, much like himself. He hated Nibelheim.

He closed his eyes to the storm, relishing the touch of the wind as it brushed his face and combed through his hair like phantom fingertips. The wind animated his cape, the red fabric fluttered behind him, producing the illusion of wings. The rain had yet to begin.

Why had he asked to come back here? Of all the cities in the entire planet, he had chosen this one, the single place he hated most. He had lived innumerable years here, forgotten and alone, drifting in an endless sleep and plagued ceaselessly by his guilt and nightmares. He had lain oblivious while Lucrecia's son finally relinquished control of his mind, driven to atrocities Vincent could barely grasp at, but realized nonetheless.

The rain still hadn't come, but Vincent knew it would be soon. Waiting for the sky to burst, to bombard him with slick droplets of pity, Vincent changed his position; he settled back onto his buttocks, allowing his legs to swing over the edge of the roof, heels smacking dully against the mansion's rotting wood. Lightning flashed again, revealing the neat rows of rooftops stretched out at his feet. The houses looked perfect and whole; it was inconceivable to him that they should have ever been anything but. He knew better. Midgar's disease had spread even this far north. Nothing held sacred on the Planet could escape ShinRa's madly flexing fingers. Like some needy babe, Vincent imaged them grasping, striving for a lock of Mother's hair.

The wind picked up and the rain finally began to fall, drenching him immediately and pelting his clothes and hair to his body.

He had no where else to go, he realized, coming back to his original train of thought. He had chosen Nibelheim simply because it was the most familiar to him. It's silent, labored breathing had echoed banally in his head ever since he had first left. Not even the drone of the Highwind's engines could drown it out. Its simple bleakness was the only thing he had sought out when offered the opportunity. This no longer seemed strange to him. Vincent understood the roots of his unexpected decision and would no longer question it.

He would spend a few hours here; maybe the night. It seemed all he had done was think, to hide in his head, since joining with Cloud, and yet, that was all he had wished for during these last moments of peace. Waiting silently in the midst of this storm, seated atop the wellspring of his new life and hatred, Vincent found that peaceful thoughts eluded him, chased away by the darker dwellings his subconscious was obsessed with.

Emotion, raw and painful, stung at the backs of his eyes. Vincent's feelings were so intertwined that he could no longer differentiate between them. Good or bad, they haunted him; repressed nightmares and ephemeral visions seethed beneath his skull and he did nothing to contain them.

A sharp, barking cry spilled out from him, stolen and smothered by the storm.

Nibelheim pulsed beneath him, its subcutaneous heartbeat raucous in his ears. He howled again, so long his throat began to ache from the effort. Again and again, he wailed out his misery, a solitary specter haunting the ruins of decades of horrors and muted torment.

Absolution came at a price. Tired and wind-sore, soaked to the bone, Vincent descended the stairs to the heart of the mansion. Waiting for him was Cid; the pilot looked as irritable as ever, puffing away at a glowing cigarette and leaning against the banister. He said nothing to Vincent, merely falling into step beside him, staring straight ahead as the two crossed to one of the building's dilapidated rooms.

Vincent acknowledged the silence with a small nod of thanks, strolling over to the far side of the chamber. Cid remained at the doorway, gazing at a spot somewhere to the left of the other man's ear. "The others're at that inn. Wouldn't set foot in here for nothing."

Vincent nodded again, turning to gaze out the window. He dripped a puddle onto the floor.

"Get dry, get some rest, and be ready in the morning. We're heading out then."

"All right." Vincent imagined that Cid would be done now, having made sure he wouldn't run off and kill himself, and would head back to the others. The dark-haired man was surprised to feel a large, awkward hand squeeze his shoulder.

"We've all got our demons. Some just cage them better than others."

Vincent turned to the pilot, streaks of drenched black hair sticking to his pale skin and dripping into his eyes. "You heard me?" He felt embarrassed suddenly, that Cid could have heard his pain was unbearable. He longed for his mask of cold detachment, and wondered briefly when he had lost it.

But Cid said nothing more, only patting him on the back and inhaling deeply on his cigarette before turning to a dusty recliner and settling himself into it. Vincent waited just a moment more before collapsing to his knees on the hard wooden floor and letting his head fall into his hands. Sobs shook his rain-soaked body as he allowed himself to become lost in the torments of his mind.

Smoke surrounded the mildewed recliner as Cid gazed fixedly at some indeterminable object before him, pretending silently to himself that there wasn't a full-grown man breaking down inches away from his feet.