not interested.

        but i still got miles to go before i sleep                                  still got miles to go before all is revealed                                                  still got miles to go before i sleep                                                                   still listening to the chainless wind sing

                                              rules | about | verses

— [ rough around the edges ]

Lately, Cloud hasn't been in his right mind.

When he thinks about it, actually, the blond doesn't think he's ever been in his right mind. He sits quietly, cross legged and head bowed, as he considers the way he knew he couldn't trust himself, mind or body - he had called Vincent over. Out of their entire group, he knew Vincent to be the only one he could trust to get the job done.

"Yeah." He says, hoarsely; he hasn't been drinking water, not all day. He should, he knows he should. But somehow, he's afraid he'll lose grasp on his own touch and drop it, waste it. Waste everything.

"I didn't want to say it in front of everyone."

A pause.

"But."

Silence stretches on as the ex-SOLDIER finally lifts his head up, those mako-kissed eyes searching for Vincent's in the dull light of the afternoon. These days Cloud tended to emote more than he used to, but right here, there's nothing to his face where he's schooled himself to be expressionless, to appear distant despite his tumultuous insides.

"... If ... I get out of hand, if ..." It's hard to even say it, he finds.

— [ rough around the edges ]

The short answer was 'yes.' The long answer was, 'well, it's complicated, but ultimately no I don't think I'm particularly hurt.' But that's how it went when you were SOLDIER-turned-mercenary and you endeavored to clean up some of the monsters terrorizing the space beneath the plate.

Either way, Cloud just shakes his head at Kunsel, tossing his palms up in a slight shrug; he didn't really want someone from ShinRa to pay attention to him anyway.

— [ rough around the edges ]

Stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his cargos, Cloud stares almost blankly ahead at the sight of his friends all around the tavern table. They were all chatting, smiling and grinning over their beers or plates of food; Cloud had taken his food, inhaled it, and promptly made himself a fixture of the far wall where the lights barely reached and he could sink into the shadows for comfort.

And it seems it wasn't just him, because at some point - how was this guy so god damned quiet? - Vincent had joined him on that same wall. There was a healthy enough distance between them, as there should be for two prickly men like them, which Cloud finds a comfort.

"... Enough socializing for a week, if you ask me."

— ( sentence starters )

Leaned back against his sword, plunged deep into the ground to act as stability, Cloud exhales a deep breath as he swipes the dirt off of his gloves. Red lays at his feet, curled around it, asleep - his tail bobs now and then, its flame burning as it bounces in an idle rhythm. If not for the fact that Vincent stood awake, leaned back against the near wall, arms folded as he thinks, Cloud might nearly fall asleep to the sight of it moving back and forth, back and forth.

"I'm tired. I'm want... to be done." Cloud admits, always and ever only comfortable discussing how he felt with Vincent; who else would he be able to understand? It wasn't that the mercenary wanted to sleep, not entirely ... he was just tired, bone-tired, exhausted and ready to be done with it.

What was it? The job they were doing now? The journey they were on? His very own life? In reality, it was a bit of everything.

Vincent is silent, as he always was, only lifting his head enough to bring his red gaze upon the ex-mercenary, for so long that if Cloud didn't know any better, he'd assume the gunman just didn't even hear him.

"... People like us... don't get to decide when we're done." His voice is firm, and it makes Cloud feel as if it's a punishment. Maybe it is.

Cloud leans his head forward, bumping it against his knees. Exhaling slowly, he just closes his eyes, allowing himself this momentary reprieve. What sort of people were they? What did 'people like us' ... mean? The sort, with heavy sins upon their shoulders? The kind who try and fail, and have to live with it? Mercenaries, killers, men bred in violence? Monsters? All of them, seemed like an apt answer.

— ( sentence starters )

Cloud was, naturally, being himself; which was to say he was being distant, silent, and awkward. Tifa had a way about her, with those thoughtful eyes that made him feel like she could see beneath translucent skin. Like she was a microscope and he a germ on a slide. He couldn't hide anything when she looked at him like that, and it always, always made him want to run away.

It looks like he's going to now, back slightly turned as she reminds him that he's always there to talk. It was easy enough to run to her when she needed it, but when he needed something? Foolish - a man like him never needed anything.

The blond gives the brawler a curt nod.

"Uh, yeah--" Shifting slightly, putting all his weight onto one foot, he nods, "... Yeah, I know."

Not like he'd ever manage, though.

Tifa had become very good at reading Cloud’s body language over the years. As he tensed in her hold, she bit back the urge to cry. They had gone through so much and were older now, yet he still reminded her of the kid from home. Unsure and scared, yet putting on a front of coolness as a form of protection.

Oh, Cloud…

His strength may have been seen as something negative, but to her it reminded her he was there with her. She could handle it.

At his suggestion, her eyes widened. “Really?” she asked, surprised by his offer. Cloud liked to do his work alone, like most things these days. While the idea of traveling had been enticing to her, Tifa allowed him that space. Especially now that he was back home.

“I’d like that,” the barmaid added, smiling a little to herself. “It’s been a while since I’ve left. It’d be a nice change of pace.”

She hoped the softness in her voice would assure him. Tell him she was happy to be included.

At last, the blond pulls away from Tifa, his gloved hands releasing his touch on her and dropping back down to his sides. As he looks down at her, he can tell she’s emotional, but then - a little excited. It draws the faintest smile upon the corners of his lips, an amused, nearly cat-like look that he’s a little embarrassed to show.

He turns away from her, not dismissive, but simply sheepish.

“Okay.” Even now, he still gave single word responses as he reaches for his keys once more, gathering them up in-hand. “I’ll bring you back in time for lunch, and finish my deliveries.”

“…you will always fail. There’s no hope worth believing in, if you only ever fail! But they are not blameless- none of them are innocent. If only one of you, if only you had stayed your hand just once,” but he can’t bring himself to entertain the very concept. There’s no mercy to be had with humanity and none whatsoever for the man that had taken love’s promise and allowed it to die.

It had stayed in his mind’s eye, tormenting him again and again as he participated in what was only a murder. He watched their target, the vampire that had ‘captured’ the maiden, burn himself to death in the light of the sun. Trying to reach her, trying to save her, all for the sake of the love that she had believed in. And clearly, their enemy had believed in it too. Never once did he try to fight in a way that mattered- it was always defensively, always with the aim to escape.

Vincent couldn’t get over it, he couldn’t live with the horrible truth. Seeing Cloud simply justify everything that happened as inevitable. That it would never survive their differences. The rift that was already there, tore open and left him feeling desolate.

If there is no hope, no miracle, no love, nothing- then there is no point in living like one of them. It would all fail eventually, it would die before its time. They would find some excuse, they would look to some fear of theirs, that he’s just a manipulative monster, no better than any other.

And so resolved, he threw his humanity away and let the monster he is now take his place. But…if his friend truly loved him, cared for him as he said…then maybe, he could live for that. They could live for each other, in a new life.

But that, too, failed. It was a betrayal. But he wouldn’t accept the blame for it entirely. He wouldn’t shoulder that weight alone.

If he had just loved me as I am…maybe…

The barrier is more than enough to weather the crystalline assault, but under the cover of it, he fires several rounds at the swordsman. But each one reflects off one of the hall mirrors, shattering each one in turn, but- through the manipulative space of the manor, attempt to ricochet and catch him unaware at some terrible angle. To put him on the defensive with his brutal strikes.

That’s all he could do. All Cloud could do is justify, rationalize, run away; from birth he had been a fragile, jittery creature whose understanding of the world was shaky at best. None of it ever made sense, and what others had, he never could - what was love but an unobtainable thing? Others had it, he did not; it did not exist to him, try as he might, and so, to those that did have it? It was doomed to fail. Cloud was saving himself by not partaking, by driving himself as far away from love as he could.

Love between two people was an anomaly, it didn’t make sense to him, for how could two people see all that each other are and still want to be together so deeply? Love between a human and a vampire was unfathomable. A beast that stole lives could have it, but he could not?

Cloud truly would always fail.

He knew it the moment he looked into that girl’s eyes, pretty as emeralds, devoid of the life they had so cherished, that he had helped to destroy something delicate and fragile. The remnants of the creature she had loved smoldered in the sun, scent acrid and coppery, and he felt something akin to regret. Cloud remembers it strongly, even now.

All around him the mirrors that line the walls shatter and burst, shards of reflective silver flying all around and bouncing off the barrier that encased him until it shimmered apart, leaving the hunter open. 

Yet, he proves too slippery, too fast, even for a vampire. Each bullet flies past him, one bouncing off his blade where it may just have embedded into his shoulder. From his spot, Cloud kicks forward off the marble, the anger building the longer he thinks on it; Cloud did not want Vincent to be right.

Cloud didn’t want Vincent to know him.

Cloud didn’t want to know Vincent - to love Vincent, because that meant his heart was broken. That meant this anger was sadness at its root, pain and hurt. In the back of his mind, Vincent was still there, with them, everything was okay, it was okay, it was okay -- but it wasn’t.