Vincent Comes Home

Here we go--onto bit two.


When Vincent opened his eyes he sat up, straight-backed, still in his clothes. Not as if he had others, really. It was simpler that way. He got up and went downstairs.

Vincent hunted about for the familiar clock by the door. It was eleven in the morning. He had slept long. Some habits were hard to break. He turned to the bartender.

This one, a woman, gave him the look she gave him every morning. A little smirk, appreciative, and then inclined her head—inviting him to tell her what he wanted.

“I need someone with a ship.”

She sat back, looking thoughtful. After a moment, she brightened. “In the next town over, North Valley, there’s a pilot. His name is Jeremiah Waters. He and his First own a little airship.”

“Is there no one here?”

She blinked at him. Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “Not that I know of.” Her tone said, Thanks for your appreciation, dirtbag.

Vincent looked away. He hadn’t meant to be unappreciative. But now that he had decided to go see them, suddenly it was important. Suddenly, it was right in front of him, making his heart yammer and his throat tighten. He wanted to see them. A nervous tick made his claw clench.

He turned away from her and walked out.

Out on the street, he went into a little shop and attempted to buy a bar of chocolate. Unfortunately, the shopkeeper—like everyone else—knew who he was and gave him three. Hiding these inside his shirt for later, he left the little town.

Snow was falling when he reached the next town. It was a tiny little thing, like Kalm. Little village, little houses. Or maybe like Rocket Town? Perhaps the little airship was focal point of the whole village?

A little boy with a dog was outside, pulling a cheery green sled. He stopped when he saw Vincent but instead of running back in his house and closing the shutters (and this had happened before) he waved.

“Hi!” The little boy called. He jumped through the snow drifts in a blue snow suit, stumbling over his boots until he was right in front of Vincent, staring up at him as if he were a giant.

Vincent nodded at him.

The boy fidgeted. He looked up again. “Are you okay, mister?”

Under his cloak, Vincent’s nervous tick clenched both his hands. His throat seemed to have closed over a little. Meeting new people, talking to them did this to him. No matter who it was. He nodded again. He took a deep breath. “I wish to speak to the pilot of that ship.” He pointed. The boy followed his finger and then turned back.

“Okay!” He turned around, going back to the sled and the dog, who, surprisingly to Vincent, had not moved but merely sat, wagging his tail. “Come on! My momma will show you!”

Vincent stomped through the snow, his long legs and large shoes carving out a path through the drifts.

The little boy’s mother, an older lady, looked mildly alarmed when the red-dressed, lanky man walked into her house behind her son.

Then, of course, she recognized him. She said nothing but he saw it in her eyes. First alarm, then surprise and then she smoothly asked him his business and offered him a cookie from a fresh tray from the oven.

He accepted the cookie (chocolate!) and put it inside his cloak for later. Thanking her, he told her about needing a ship.

The lady bundled up and led him away, not speaking. Her silence was something he treasured. Sometimes people purposely stayed out of his way, sometimes they never shut up. They couldn’t stop talking about how he did this and how he killed that. Her silence…

She led him to the house. He looked at her. “What is your name?”

She blinked, looked down shyly and then up. “Elmyra.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Elmyra.”

She seemed about to say something else, but then the door opened.

A man in a blue jump suit looked out at them. “Hallo, Elmyra. Hallo, stranger. I git up and looks out my window and I says to myself, ‘Now what on earth be that? Standin’ outside like a coupla dummies.’ An' then I see that it’s sweet Elmyra. An' you,” and he stopped to look up at Vincent. “Would ya like t’come in? Or would ya rather stays out 'ere? I've got coffee on.”

Elmyra smiled at him and shook her head. “I must get back, I'm afraid. Thank you.” She turned to Vincent. Her eyes searched him. “Thank you. Or, I mean—...goodbye.”

And she walked away.

Vincent was intelligent enough to be puzzled by the lady but, instead, turned to the man. “I am searching for a pilot.”

The man was staring after Elmyra. He glanced at VIncent, noted him looking at him, and straightened. “Well, come on in then. Can’t do business in the cold.” He stepped away and allowed Vincent to stomp into a cozy little house. It was very not like Cid’s. Cid was a true bachelor. He was the type of bachelor other bachelors aspired to be. And an utter wreck most of the time. Sure, that hardass could do his own dishes—it just took him several days. Sure, he might be a smoker, but at least he didn’t put out his cigarettes in the wood flooring anymore.

The man grabbed a chair from a neat and warm living room and set it down in front of the kitchen table. “ ‘ave a seat. Lemme gets ye sumthin’ to drink.”

Vincent nodded.

“Don’t talk much do ye? I like that in my fellow man. No idle chitchat. Jus' to the point, aye?” The man sat down across from him, sliding a mug of what turned out to be the afore promised coffee to Vincent. He took out the chocolate cookie from his cloak and ate it.

The man watched him for a moment. “So, what kin I do for ye?”

Vincent swallowed and looked at him. “I need to get to Midgar.”

The man nodded absently and then suddenly brightened. “Oi, really? That Elmyra’s from Midgar. You know her?”

Vincent paused. “No. I do not.”

“Yea,” said the man, absently again, waving his hand. “Came here a couple years ago, took in tha’ little runt of a boy. She—“

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “I simply need passage to Midgar.”

The man paused. “Aye.” He took a swig of his coffee. “Right. Midgar. Well, lemme git my First over here. What’s yer name, friend?”

“Vincent Valentine.”

The man hardly paused, just the smallest of double takes when he reached the phone. “That so? I knew a Valentine once. His name was George. You know 'im?"

Vincent furrowed his eyebrows again, frankly a little bewildered. "No, I do not."

Jeremiah nodded. "S'pose Valentine might be a pretty common name." He stared off into space.

Vincent raised his eyebrows at him.

The old captain straightened again. "Well, my name is Jeremiah. Plain, huh? Yay. Lemme git Zet over here.” Jeremiah punched in a number, apologized to whomever he got for getting the wrong one. Hung up. Thought for a minute. Brightened, punched in what Vincent assumed was another number, spoke to who must have been Zet and then hung up.

He came back, shaking his finger at Vincent. “I ne'er get th' wrong numbers. Th' phone numbers are always righ’, ‘is the people that are wrong.”

Vincent couldn’t help but half-smile.

A few moments later Zet showed up, snow packed around her. Jeremiah introduced her as Nozetta, his First. She sat down at the table with Vincent and accepted a cup of coffee. She didn’t say anything, merely nodded at Vincent and then turned back to Jeremiah.

“Man says ‘e wants t’go to Midgar.”

Zet nodded, eyebrows lifted a little. “How long?”

Jeremiah sat still for a moment and then, realizing he was being addressed, came to attention and looked to the other man. Vincent shrugged. “You may leave after you drop me off.”

Jeremiah gave a big nod of understanding to this.

Zet smiled at her boss and turned to Vincent. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

Vincent nodded. “How much would you—“

Zet was waving her hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve been wanting to get the Northwater out of here for awhile.”

Vincent looked at the Captain to see his reaction to his First talking about taking his airship. He was nodding absently again.

Zet followed his gaze and grinned. She waved her hand at him to get his attention. “You wanna leave today?”

“If possible.”

He tried one more time to give the absent-minded captain and his First money but both refused. No doubt because of who he was. It aggravated him but there was nothing to be done for it. So, while the Captain and his First prepared the airship, Vincent ate a chocolate bar and, on the other hand, was glad the shopkeeper had given him extra. In all things save chocolate was he a sensible man.


The ship prepared, a crew gathered, Vincent stepped about the little Northwater. It did not much compare to the Highwind. It was a much smaller craft and its Captain seemed so preoccupied most of the time that perhaps he did not maintain it as well as he should have. The crew seemed to be divided in half. Where—on the Highwind—people seemed relaxed and friendly, on the Northwater the people were either very boisterous or habitually silent. There was an undercurrent of tension between the absent-minded captain (not, that Vincent supposed, the man noticed) and the most bold of his crew. Luckily, for Jeremiah, he had Zet.

She seemed to be the real management behind this airship. Jeremiah obviously had experience and he was a very capable pilot but it was Zet who kept the crew in order and set them about their tasks. If any had a question, they came to Zet and allowed Jeremiah to do what he did best.

And Vincent had to hand it to him as he rocketed over the countryside, through turbulence and about cliffs; he was a good. Not quite Cid but better than anyone else Vincent knew (which, of course, narrowed it down significantly).

Vincent was given guests’ quarters in the ship, just down the hall from Captain’s. In pilot lingo, evidently this was something of an honor but Vincent didn’t much care or feel it. Neither, it seemed, did Zet. She had given over the room to him, presented a little nod—ever serious, and gone back to her tasks.

It seemed that she was treating him with a sort of calculating respect. Vincent only encountered this every once in a while. Zet was hearty and excellent with her crew but with him she backed off, granting him privacy if he wished, only inviting him to speak if he wanted to.

She kept most of the crew away from him. She was trying to be respectful of him, he gathered but, in doing so, she was further isolating him. No, perhaps not. Perhaps she was merely letting him set the rules. Everyone on the crew knew who he was. He could feel it the moment they saw him. Some recognized him right away and only few, like their Captain, had not and were told by their fellows in little whispers. He could feel their eyes on him when he moved about the airship. He hated it.

He hated being watched, but he hated being set upon and bothered even more. So he enjoyed the solitude—except for when Jeremiah or Zet would seek him out. They delivered him meals and messages. Jeremiah spoke with him like they were old friends, clapping him on the back—never once asking him about Sephiroth—always as if they were mates merely going on a trip together. Zet would come, perhaps say hallo, maybe smile a little, deliver whatever it was she needed to and then leave him to his own devices.


So, two days later, Jeremiah ambled down to Vincent’s room and threw the door open. He looked around before seeing the man in the middle, pacing and deep in thought.

“Hey-yo! Vincent! We’re there! Or. Nearly. Or. Yeah, it’s right ahead! Git yer things together and come 'ave a look!”

Not that Vincent had anything to grab, so he followed Jeremiah back.

Like Cid’s, the airship had a wide, tall, crystal clear window showing everything that was ahead. Vincent stood next to the helm with Zet while Jeremiah pointed ahead. “See tha’ little strip o’ metal? Midgar. Y'ever been there?”

Vincent nodded and, noting that Jeremiah was speaking to the window and thus, couldn’t see him, said quietly, “Yes. A long time ago.”

“Y’got friends there, huh?”

“Yes,” he said, quietly again.

“Where shall we land?”

Vincent left Zet and went to stand beside the captain. He pointed with his claw. “My friends live on the outskirts, just before the wasteland. Land outside the city. There. On the left.”


--