Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Why Me? A Love Story For Manic Depressives ❯ Dance of the Black and Blue Faeries ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

A/N: Just wanted to mention that I really LIKE how this chapter turned out, though I will appologize to those who wanted to IMMEDIATELY get on with what happens to Yuffie and Vincent. There IS a plot to this damn thing, and certain elements need to move on.

That being said, I think there is a little something for everyone in this chapter, so please enjoy, and if you'd be so kind, review.

In any case, it's on with the show!

"And constant sorrow, filled his days... I am a man, of constant sorrow. I've seen trouble, all my days. I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky, the place where I was born and raised. The place where he, was born and raised. For six long years, I've been in trouble. No pleasure here, on earth I've found. For in this world, I'm bound to ramble, I have no friends, to help me out. He has no friends, to help him out." -Soggy Bottom Boys, Man of Constant Sorrow

For Godo Kisaragi, pain was like a storm.

Like the hurricanes that sometimes struck the land Leviathan had granted his people, it was a gale force of aches and sharp, inconstant piercing bolts of agony that threatened to topple his iron will, his determination. The sickness had crept up upon him, stealing his vitality, sapping his enthusiasm for anything but rest.

Godo could not rest. Sometimes it seemed to him that his people placed more value on perceptions then actualities. To the alert observer, it was obvious that Lord Godo Kisaragi should be in his death bed, not meeting with officials and carrying on business as usual. The old man was stubborn however, and if he was determined to pretend as though nothing was wrong with him, his court would, at least on the surface, take this at face value.

Even if the strain soaked his candle with gasoline and lit it at both ends.

Still, there were days when he could ALMOST convince himself that things were as they should be. When he broke through the wall of his pain; to the eye of the storm. Jailor that it was, however, it never failed to remind him with the occasional ache that the shackles were still in place, if the chains had been temporarily lengthened. These were good days.

Fortunately for Lord Kisaragi, today was a good day for pains, if a bad day for anything else. He was not yet aware that it WAS a bad day, at this moment he was actually in a pretty good mood. It was fated not to stay that way, however, and as usual these days, Sung was the bearer of bad news.

As was custom, Godo ignored the intrusion of the court messenger who whispered into his bodyguard's ear. The large man nodded quietly and dismissed the messenger, waiting until the boy had left before clearing his throat politely.

Godo looked up, expectantly.

"Lord, the lady Choshu humbly requests an audience with you." He announced in booming baritone.

Godo narrowed his eyes.

"That woman has never humbly done a thing in her entire life." He groused.

Sung choked a bit at this. "L-lord-"

"Oh spare me, boy. Of course I'll see that spider, but I certainly don't have to like it. At least, not in the privacy of my own chambers." He paused to lay down his pen and stood up slowly, brushing the wrinkles from his robes to hide just how much energy it cost him to do so.

"Still, this is sudden. She shall have to meet me during my afternoon meal. At her convenience of course." He muttered.

Sung nodded sharply. "As you wish, Lord. I shall relay the message." He opened the door and spoke to the waiting messenger.

Godo sighed wearily. -I wonder what that bitch has in store this time?- He thought unkindly.

Lady Yuki Choshu was a woman who could be (and in fact often had been) described as a classic beauty, at least, in the Wutain sense. She was a diminutive woman, slender and narrow of hip, but unmistakably feminine. Her skin was that unique shade of white that could only be described as porcelain and without blemish; flawless. Her age was undeterminable at first glance, a common trait of Wutain women, but where most traditional Wutain females (which Lady choshu most certainly was) were unobtrusive and meek, she was certainly anything but. She carried herself with a regal grace that took one back a thousand years, to the beginning of the empire. It was said that Lord Leviathan had chosen a mortal woman to be his consort from the Choshu clan, elevating her to the status of godhood, and when one looked upon the current Lady Choshu, one found one's self believing the old legends.

The Choshu clan had always been closely tied to the Kisaragi one, being one of the several High Families, and in truth, the only High Family that had ever given the Kisaragi Clan a run for it's money, at least where the throne was concerned. The two families had occasionally intermarried, though these offshoots had, for one reason or another, all died out.

More's the pity.

The Choshu are well known for their poise and carriage. They are masters of statescraft, glib and moving public speakers, masters of innuendo and charm. Devious and ruthless, they are long term planners and once slighted, never forgave, and never forgot. An ancient Wutain proverb says this of the High Families: Three things one must watch one's step around, a Kisaragi bearing gifts, A Katsura at your back, but most of all, a Choshu who is smiling.

As Lord Godo Kisaragi sat down to take his meal with the Lady Yuki Choshu, she gave him a polite, perfectly proper smile of greeting.

It never even came close to reaching her eyes.

"Good afternoon, my Lord. I trust you are well?" She greeted him smoothly, seating herself immediately after him, as was proper.

Godo almost paused as he seated himself, but hid his hesitation well. Lady Choshu had just given him a very calculated and well obscured insult. It was just barely possible she meant it for what it was, but considering her network of spies and informants, indeed, truth be told, the very evidence before her eyes, it was unlikely that this was the case. He smiled politely and nodded.

"Indeed, Lady Choshu. As well as I can be. You need not worry on my account."

She let that pass without comment, though it was something of a counter. Instead she focused her gaze on the garden around them and inclined her head towards him.

"Your gardens are quite splendid, my Lord. So thoughtful of you to include my unworthy company during your repast."

He made a polite noise and narrowed his eyes at her, waiting for her to continue. -Get out with it, you snake.- He thought irritably.

The lady Choshu seemed determined to play the game out however, and the next few minutes were spent in idle conversation of less importance (for Godo) than the breath used to utter it. This was a contest of wills, to see who could be made to broach the subject of business first. Whoever DID broach the subject first would be in a slightly less favorable position during the ensuing conversation, as it would become obvious who had less time for subterfuge... less patience. A cheap and somewhat demeaning ploy, but a very Choshu one, and well hidden by a veneer of politeness, as usual.

Still, though Godo won the ensuing contest of banalities being tossed about, he got the impression that it was more because she had lost interest in the battle than any real effort on his part.

"I'm sure that you are aware that the Katsuras have been plotting against you for some time now." She said mildly, as though changing the conversational topic to the weather.

"Of course, Lady Choshu. I am aware of a great many things that happen in my realm."

She ignored the implied threat. "Perhaps you are not aware that they have set in motion a plot to ensure your daughter is never found." She regarded him carefully as she said this.

He had NOT been aware of this, but he hid his surprise like a master. "The thought had occurred to me. They will be dealt with in due time."

She inclined her head. "Indeed they will. My clan can no longer ignore their effrontery... this attempt to assassinate a guest of the Imperial household is the last straw, Lord Kisaragi. It smacks of a severe lack of respect for the throne and the High Families by extension. This is unforgiveable."

Godo watched her carefully, but she was every bit as much a master of subterfuge that he was. What she was implying was both alarming and deeply disturbing, all at once. The High Families, over the many centuries of Wutai's existence, had dwindled down to a mere seven families, of which only two, the Kisaragi's and the Choshu's, maintained any REAL power. By the covenant struck with Lord Leviathan one thousand years ago, as long as the descendants of the original settlers of Wutai still walked this land, the lands of Wutai, supposedly raised from the very sea by Lord Leviathan himself, would remain the sovereign right of those descendants. Unfortunately these families proved to be notoriously unfertile, and so some time in the fourth century of Wutai's existance, when faced with the very real possibility of extinction due to infighting, a peace arrangement of sorts had been made between the families, and strict laws enacted to ensure their continued survival. It was illegal, blasphemous, and taboo all rolled into one for one High Family to attack another.

However, this is what Lady Choshu was implying here... impossible as it might seem. Of course, even the strictest law had loopholes around it (in fact, the stricter the law, the more loopholes there generally are). There was nothing preventing the Choshu family from seeking foreign aid in their attempts to destroy the Katsuras, but Godo had received no reports of mercenary armies large enough to destroy a whole family, especially one that maintained its power through a large force of highly trained ninjas. This meant either she had snuck a force large enough to be a threat to a High Family literally under his nose, a disturbing and frightening revelation of his own grasp on the throne, or just how much power her family had acquired, either way...

Or she had some other method of destroying the family... something he could not have forseen.

He was unsure as to which possibility frightened him more.

Still, he revealed none of this, at least that he could perceive.

He could only hope she couldn't read him better than he knew himself.

He just wasn't sure anymore.

"I thank the Choshu Clan most sincerely for its offer of assistance, but rest assured that the Imperial Forces are more than equal to punish the transgressers, should such an action be required."

Her eyes found his like a hawk's. A faint smile graced her lips. This time it DID reach her eyes.

However, it was not a pleasant expression. Nor were her next words.

"Forgive my impertinance, My Lord, but you are mistaken. I was not offering the Choshu Clan's support, I was merely informing the Great Lord that he need not trouble himself over such a petty matter."

Her smile grew only the very barest of degrees, but grow it did.

"The Katsuras have already been dealt with. They shall not trouble us again."

This time, despite his iron control, Godo could not hide his reaction. He had received no reports that the Katsuras were under attack, and if they were indeed finished...

If the Choshu's had grown in power to THIS level, there might very well be no way to stop them, and with the throne hanging balanced on the life of a talented but oh so very mortal young girl, he could pretty much consider his daughter as good as dead. Oh, it would be determined to be an accident of course, but if she set foot on Wutain soil, she would be signing her own death warrant.

At the hands of her own people.

-Oh merciful Leviathan, what have I done?- He thought mournfully.

<end of scene>

Silent halls.

The Katsura Ancestral Home was a decently appointed one, if not as steeped in cultural tradition as the Palace, or as lavishly decorated as the Choshu's. This was only natural, the Katsuras were a High Family, but they lacked the martial expertise of the Kisaragi line, or the years of staggering wealth that the Choshu Clan enjoyed.

No, they were not the richest, nor the best warriors, nor most certainly not the most politically or civic minded.

They were, in some respects the boldest, and the most ruthless, but it was the ruthlessness of a petulant, cruel and overindulged child, and the bravery of a fool.

Some would say that that was enough.

They would not say such was the case this day, however.

The rich cedar floors were marred by the fallen bodies of Katsura ninjas, ferocious warriors who bravely stood their ground to the very end. Blood streaked the highly polished floors in surreal patterns, telling the story of betrayal to the trained observer.

Jinnai Katsura and his pitifully small band of defenders had barracaded themselves into the ancestral shrine room, a blasphemous and desperate act, but one that had saved their lives, at least up to this point.

Jinnai dazedly wondered how it had come to this... simply maddening. First the failure of his ninja to kill that interloper Vincent Valentine. That had been somewhat expected, after all, the man was a member of AVALANCHE to begin with, and had, in the time since the fall of Meteor and Shinra with it, forged quite a reputation as a bounty hunter. Most perplexing however, was how a man who spilled blood for money (Jinnai made no distinction between a bounty hunter and a thug for hire, although in his defense, there seldom IS a difference) would refuse a generous offer. He could only assume that whatever Godo had promised the contrary gunman, it was more precious to him than money.

It is ironic that Jinnai was somewhat correct in this respect, even if he had no way of knowing what that was.

Now everything was collapsing around him, his family was being executed by unknown attackers, and all his messages for help from his allies, those damnable Choshus', seemed to be falling on deaf ears.

Who WERE these phantoms that slaughtered his best ninjas seemingly at will?

In any case, they were about to get a rude awakening.

"HURRY UP, YOU IDIOTS!" He bellowed, kicking one of the ninja servants struggling to remove the lid from a slightly dusty wooden crate only just moments before removed from beneath his family's altar. The top came off with a squeal of protesting nails and wood, and the contents were revealed.

He smiled.

It had taken years of planning and smuggling, bribes and outright thievery, but it looked like his "investment" was about to pay off.

This crate, and the three being opened just like it, contained rows and rows of shiny black Shinra issue machineguns, still in their original factory sealed packages, greased and ready for war, with enough ammunition to mount a serious assault on the palace itself. Guns were severely frowned upon in Wutai, since the country was notoriously stubborn where technology was concerned. These Shinra stamped machine guns, not only the best and most highly recognized mass produced weapons in the world, were also outright illegal, a legacy of Wutai's past clashes with Shinra.

Jinnai couldn't give a rat's ass, as long as they worked as promised.

It took only moments for Jinnai and the ninjas to arm themselves, and if they were somewhat awkward in the operation of the submachine guns, this was hardly a cause for concern.

One doesn't need to be too terribly familiar with a weapon that sprays out 950 rounds a minute in order to kill someone, after all.

So they waited. An outside observer might have been somewhat amused to note that they resembled children huddled around, watching over their shoulders as though fearful that their parents might be just around the corner. The ninjas were good, but only human, and many of them had died this day.

The sound of bootheels on cedar were deafening, as SOMEONE very delibrately made their way to the shrine room.

Jinnai, always a firm believer in the golden rule (do unto others before they can do unto you) wasted no time.

"Open fire!" He barked. To his credit, he didn't squeak.

Too much, anyway.

The ninjas obeyed instantly, startling him into silence with a staccato burst of gunfire at the closed shrine door. Hundreds of holes opened up in the door like magic, and the gunfire echoed long after the ninjas stopped firing to reload.

Silence.

A slow, inching thread of blood eased its way under the door.

Jinnai blinked myoptically.

"Did we...?" He started.

One of the ninjas started towards the door, gun ready.

All hell broke loose.

The ruined double doors burst inward as the bullet riddled form of a Katsura ninja exploded through them, catching the closest ninja in an involuntary body tackle as the force of his entrance wrapped his arms around the startled fighter, bearing him to the ground. Gunfire errupted on both sides, but no one really knew who they were aiming at, and the lacquered pillars, the already bullet riddled corpse atop their downed comrade, and their downed comrade himself took the brunt of the fire.

They missed the compact figure who rolled in past the corpse, having slammed it into the startled ninja in the first place, then rolled over the entangled ninjas and into the center of the room, and by the time they oriented on it, it was already too late.

The figure was in an upright fetal position, buttocks and feet on the ground, arms crossed inward, braced between thigh and chest, head down. Small puffs of smoke emitted from either side of the figure, along with an almost polite coughing noise, lost in the din of gunfire. Two ninjas on either side of the figure dropped with two precise holes in the dead center of their chests, eyes already glazing in death. The figure bounced up like a jack in the box, impossibly tall and thin, revealing a gaunt, wolf featured man with an expression that could be called a strange mix of good humour and boredom. His gray hair was drawn tightly back into a severe poney tail behind him that ran to his shoulderblades, and he was dressed all in black.

The man pivoted on the balls of his feet, and his arms spread out in wide deliberate arcs. In each hand he held an apparently silenced semiautomatic pistol, and ninjas dropped seemingly like magic as his hands crossed their paths. Both pistols clicked empty, their slides locking, and he dropped one, continuing his spin until he was behind one of the much abused pillars.

The four ninjas who remained standing along with a stunned Jinnai Katsura were quick to open fire on the stranger, to their credit.

Call the Katsura ninjas what you will... brutal... backstabbing... remorseless... cowards is not an appropriate term.

It did them very little good.

"YOU ARE OUTGUNNED!" Jinnai shouted, desperately. "THIS DOES NOT HAVE TO END IN VIOLENCE, I-"

"Where is the fun in that, Herr Katsura?" A strangely accented, tenor voice rang out from behind the pillar. It was coldly mocking, a predator's growl. "The Choshu pay well enough. The rest is just blood, mein friend."

"Choshu... but that's-" Jinnai started.

"I suppose it is rather upsetting, ja? Still, I don't suppose you have the grace to accept your fate gracefully, bin ich korrekt?"

More gunfire answered his query.

A black gloved hand snapped around the pillar and a single shot rang out into the room, then the hand snapped back behind cover. Jinnai flinched, but it immediately became obvious that no one on his side had been hit, when the small bronze gong behind them rang mournfully.

The tone vibrated around the room.

"You missed!" Jinnai sang out happily. "Go ahead, waste your bullets! You can't have much!"

Another ringing sound this one all too familiar came to Jinnai's ears. He blinked, then frowned in confusion. Who was drawing a sword?

The realization that it was behind him came just a moment too late.

He started to turn when he heard a clean hissing noise, and then his legs would not obey him. He caught the startled gaze of one of his ninjas as the man turned similarly, then watched in horror as half of the man's torso, one arm, and his head slid loose from his trunk and splashed messily onto the ground, spilling gore onto the floor.

The other ninjas followed suit, in more or less similarly grotesque fashion.

Jinnai's adam's apple worked furiously as he tried to make some comment, but his tongue also wouldn't obey him.

The dark figure walked around the pillar and shook his head.

"I do not waste bullets on dead men, Herr Katsura. Danke, mein Schattenblume."

Jinnai Katsura, last of the Katsura line, fell to his knees as a line of red seeped from his neck. His head slowly toppled loose from his corpse, releasing a gout of blood, but not before he thought he heard a voice answering him... a feminine one... how odd...

"I will never understand this absurd custom of removing one's boots when one enters a home, Reiko. It is verrückt... crazy, ja?"

The man in black cocked his wolfish head at the demure woman in a maroon kimono before him. The woman in question regarded him not unwarmly, though certainly without much animation on her pretty face. She appeared, if anything, somewhat embarassed for him. It was hard to tell what Reiko was thinking, the eyes were the windows to the soul, and she had none.

Or more accurately, if she did, they were hidden behind the low slung headband she wore.

<end of scene>

"It is a tradition, Jaeger-sama. A polite man removes his shoes before entering a house, so that he might not track filth in after him."

Jaeger's grin narrowed slightly in answer. "Eh. What about filth IN the house? I'm not the one with Katsura guts all over my socks, ya?"

Reiko did not bother to answer this, although it might have been because Lady Choshu had just made her appearance, gazing with distaste at the slaughterhouse the shrine room had become.

"Such a filthy business, this. Did you have to do accomplish this task so...," she paused to find the perfect word, "garishly?"

Jaeger busied himself by reloading his pistol and locating the one he'd dropped. "With all due respect, Frauline, we were hired to neutralize your enemies," he racked the slide of his pistol and slid it into a holster under his arm. "Clean costs more, ja?"

Reiko bowed deeply and, as usual, covered for her often overly blunt companion. "Forgive us, Choshu-dono. We will endeavor to please, next time."

Lady Choshu smiled faintly. "Nevermind. Speaking of next time, I have a new task for both of you."

If they were wolves, their ears might have cocked forward in interest.

"A man left Wutai several months ago, on an... errand for Lord Godo. He was a guest in the palace for a short time, and his hasty departure was... quite rude. I wish you to find this man and ensure he does not trouble Wutai with his rudeness ever again."

"And does this condemned man have a name?" Reiko asked serenely.

"Indeed he does. Valentine-"

Jaeger perked up. "Valentine. Vincent Valentine?"

Lady Choshu frowned. "You know this man?"

Jaeger's eyes flickered dangerously. "A passing acquaintance, Frauline, forgive mein interruption."

Lady Choshu looked at him strangely, but shook her head. "As you said, Vincent Valentine. He is not to be underestimated. He is reputed to be quite skilled."

"With respect, Choshu-dono, so are we." Reiko answered quietly.

"Indeed." Lady Choshu turned to leave, but paused deliberately, hiding her mouth with one perfect hand. "Oh... one more thing, a trifle really. He may be found in the company of a girl, one who is revered and... protected by Wutain law. If anything were to happen to this girl, it would be a deep blow to Lord Kisaragi... but accidents DO happen, in the barbaric world outside of Wutai."

Jaeger and Reiko looked at one another, a look of understanding passing silently between them.

Lady choshu made her way out of the room, speaking without turning. "DREADFUL accidents, my friends."

The two smiled grimly at each other. It was a look that said perhaps these two were not so far removed from wolves, after all.

<end of scene>

Strangely enough, while Godo Kisaragi was having his good day relatively free of pain, Vincent Valentine was discovering new forms of it.

This is not to say that Vincent had never felt pain before. In the long course of his life, or existence, as he might have put it, (Vincent is a gloomy sort) Vincent had been shot, stabbed, blown up, experimented on, maimed, and locked in a coffin for thirty years with the knowledge that the woman he loved was in the hands of his worst enemy, a mad man who would use her up and throw her away, and further more, WANTED to be there.

Yes, it is safe to say that Vincent was no stranger to pain.

Just, not the sort of pain that comes from being dropped off a large cliff with numerous leafy and not-so-leafy bits to stop his fall.

Fortunately for him and more importantly, the girl he held onto, this fall was not strictly vertical. If it had been, there would have been nothing left to narrate in this story but the eventual disposition of the Vinyufficent grease spot that would mark their passing, though it certainly would have made for a SHORT narration.

The gulf into which they had fallen dropped at a 90 degree angle for only about 9 feet, which is entirely survivable, if you know how to fall, which both Vincent and Yuffie did.

The PROBLEM, was that it then became a 30 degree angle hillside, and not a remarkably clean one either. This was, after all, the jungle. The numerous exposed boulders, vines, thorny and otherwise, bushes and scraggly trees (also of the thorned and unthorned variety) provided just enough cushion (though cushion is a relative term) to make the fall survivable.

It also made it take about five minutes.

Vincent immediately realized there was no stopping the tumble down the cliff and did the only thing he could think of. He curled into a fetal position and rolled with it, with one important variation. He also realized that Yuffie, unprepared for the fall and with her hands bound, would be unlikely to brace herself for the tumble, and injury... (well, MORE injury) would inevitably be the result. So he wrapped himself into a ball AROUND the startled ninja girl, which had the unfortunate effect of causing her to curse, bite, punch and kick at him until she was too stunned from the jarring bounces of their impromptu Vincent/Yuffie California roll to continue her assault (about halfway down).

The next few minutes became a jumble of confused images as Vincent and Yuffie tumbled down the mountain side with all the grace of an overweight and very angry Siamese Cat being forced down a slip n' slide with obstacles, namely, not very at all. Vincent kept his eyes shut but a catalogue in the form of pain proceeded as he bounced between two boulders, through a tangle of thorny vines, not quite cleared a bush of the non-thorny variety, and smacked off a tree.

Yuffie also elbowed him in a very sensative but not polite to mention location, but fortunately Vincent didn't remember much else of the ensuing gravity induced beating.

He lost consciousness.

"Hello Vincent... It's been a while." The voice was dark, threatening and soothing at the same time, like silk sliding across a snake's scales.

It was as familiar to Vincent as his own.

Vincent weathered it as he weathered all things. In silence.

"Still the stoic, silent marytr I see. How are you holding up, under the weight of your sins, Vincent? Tired of the cross yet?"

He couldn't help himself. The demon always knew how to push his buttons, make him angry. This was a problem. Angry was bad.

Angry was HIS playground.

"I don't need you anymore, Chaos. I never needed you."

This evoked that hateful chuckle that never failed to make him shudder. So many voices at once, Vincent's own personal army of demons showering him with spiteful mirth. Voices like worlds dying, cold wind howling.

Madness come calling.

"Vincent, my silly puppet." Chaos made a sound like a snort. "Your hypocrisy never ceases to amuse the living shit out of me."

"I am no..."He started, but paused.

"Not so sure are we? I kept you alive, you insufferable little speck. ME. When you were all alone in the dark, your HATRED for me, for what you'd become, for the man who took your woman, put you there... it kept you sane." It paused, thoughtfully.

"Well... relatively speaking of course."

"Never needed me? I AM you." It chortled.

"No-."

"Accept it. You owe me, Vincent. You owe yourself. Let it out, let ME out, just... let it go, all of it. Be free of pain... of sorrow, of loneliness. I can give you the oblivion you seek, but are too cowardly to give yourself. Be free of guilt, Vincent. Don't tell me you aren't tired of that insufferable burden."

Vincent was tired. Bone tired. SOUL tired. He would be lying if he said the Demon's offer wasn't somewhat attractive. He'd spent a large portion of his life after Meteor, after Hojo, feeling like he had no place in this new world. The demon knew him too well, was too cunning. Two things stopped him though.

Fear. What did HE know of oblivion? Vincent had come close... too close to madness in his little box. It had forced him to take a long hard look at himself, in the dark, with no illusions. His time spent with only himself for company had taken him to an important realization.

He didn't like himself very much.

What if oblivion was just eternity with one's mistakes with no way to set them right?

What if all of those he'd wronged down the years were waiting for him with open, eager arms?

Too many what if's.

Even this might not have been enough. More important to Vincent was responsibility.

He'd given his word. To Godo, yes, but to himself, more importantly. If he turned into Chaos, Yuffie didn't stand a chance, for if Chaos didn't get her, her multitude of enemies certainly would.

And so, Vincent snatched himself back from the brink of the abyss and tiredly picked up the gauntlet of life's challenge once more.

He sputtered awake, coughing up brackish water and crouched on the balls of his feet, swaying woozely as his head screamed pain at him. His head, no, his whole body felt like one big bruise. He checked himself for damage, (important things first, Death Penalty, other weapons, then himself) noting that while none of his weapons were damaged, the few potions and curative items he'd kept on his person had not, being either strewn about the course of his descent, or crushed and ground into his cloak.

He stood up, flipped his wet hair out of his eyes and cast about, looking for Yuffie.

He found her relatively none the worse for wear about ten feet away (relatively meaning it looked like she'd been hit with a mudbomb the equivalent strength of a tactical nuke) dazedly inch worming her way to freedom down the west bank of the foot wide stream that ran at the base of the gully they'd ended up in.

She was making surprisingly good time, too.

He sighed, staggered to his feet, (looking down, he realized he didn't look much better) then started after her.

Thus began the low point of Vincent's life, to date.

Every time he reached down to pick her up or help her, she snarled at him. Finally, he gave up and simply followed along side her, waiting for her to give up.

This took about 45 minutes, by Vincent's reckoning. In that time, (She was fast on her belly, but not THAT fast. Moreover, she was perfectly capable of standing up and walking. She was trying to make a POINT, however, about what a dickhead Vincent was being. Vincent, unfortunately, didn't get the symbolism of this act.) he studied their surroundings. The gully was narrow, only about fifteen feet across, but the sides of it jutted upward, the sky mostly obscured by foliage. Vincent estimated that the walls were probably fifty to sixty feet high, too high and too steep to climb easily, and since he'd lost ALL sense of direction from the pounding he'd received, he figured the path of least resistance (namely, the one Yuffie had chosen) was as good a choice as any.

As if things couldn't get any worse, as night fell, it began to get cold.

She finally stopped, and Vincent stopped with her.

She awkwardly rolled to a sitting position and glared death at him, her face covered in dried mud. It is a tribute to her outrage that Vincent avoided looking at her, but it was also quite possible that he didn't care.

As usual, it was hard to tell with Vincent.

"I'm not taking another step, Vincent." She announced.

She immediately regretted this statement, as she hadn't been walking a whole lot.

He pointedly raised an eyebrow, sitting down across from her.

"Shut up, Vinnie." She muttered, too tired to get properly outraged at the moment. Telling Vincent to shut up tickled her sense of irony, but she was also too tired, cranky, and upset to laugh, either.

As often happens in the jungle, it started to rain. Like most rains in a torrential area, it started as a few small droplets, then skipped the drizzle step and proceeded immediately a nice, steady downpour. They were shielded somewhat by the canopy ovehead, but they were all too soon soaked. The upside of this was that the rain made short work of the mud and blood from numerous small cuts that clung to her skin.

The downside was, it was miserably wet and cold.

"I h-h-h-hate you, V-V-Vinnie." she chattered, miserably, on the verge of tears but DAMNED if she was going to visibly cry in front of him. She huddled her legs to herself in an effort to keep warm.

Then Vincent did something that went down as the second most shocking thing to happen to date in her admittedly short life, the first being the death of Aeris.

He suddenly stood up, stepped next to her, looming for a moment. She blinked at him for a moment, staring up as rain dripped from his sharp nose and the tips of his long black hair. His face was expressionless, as usual, his eyes brooding.

Then, just as suddenly and without warning, he sat down behind her, his long blackclad legs going to either side of hers, soiled boots splashing into the mud.

"V-vinnie... what the hell are yo-"

"Shhhh." He whispered. It was an odd sound, and it took her a moment to reconcile such a human noise coming from Vincent.

"Geez, Vinnie, did you hit your head harder than-"

She stopped when tentatively, as though he hadn't quite decided this was the right thing to do, his arms curled around her, the warm human arm, then the alien metal one. As carefully as he tried to keep from touching her with his metal limb (as though he were ashamed of it) some contact was unavoidable. Surprisingly it was not at all like she thought it would feel... warm with some inner heat and light, where she expected cold heavy metal. He draped the cloak over both of them and sat, silent and unmoving.

She started to protest this, after all, this was Vinnie, the asshole who'd PUT her in this situation, not to mention the fact that this was the closest she'd ever come to a man who wasn't her father, and who's ASS she wasn't kicking, but he wasn't making a big deal of it, and he wasn't squeezing or crowding her really...

It was odd...

-He's probably only doing it for some practical reason. Yeah... that's it. He's conserving body heat. That'd be just like him. Pragmatic to the bone.-

"I still hate you, you know." She muttered, but she made no real effort to get free of him.

This didn't explain how comfortable, how... natural the situation felt... but it was good enough for her tired mind, at least, for now.

The trials and exertions of the day had taken their toll, and it was warm and while not cozy, at least not as miserable as it had been. Vincent made a hell of a good umbrella, she had to admit. He was so tall that the cloak didn't leave much of her exposed, in her huddled position, though it was somewhat awkward, considering the fact that her hands were bound behind her. They were pressed up against his chest (at least, she HOPED it was his chest, considering how it rythmically rose and fell).

She was falling asleep and fighting it, but it was not a battle that she was going to win. It was impossible to remain as pissed as she had been that day and not wreak an emotional, mental, and physical toll on one's self.

"...Hate you..." She murmured, yawned hugely, then quickly dozed off.

Vincent, for his part, simply stared off into the distance and said nothing in reply, but then, Vincent seldom did.