Dogmatix's prompt: Plus Ca Change
May. 2nd, 2010 05:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
norcumiSo... a Final Fantasy 7 snippet that ends up being about 5 pages long (O_O;;). Post game, given I haven't finished it yet, so potential story conflicts, though I think I'm ok. Title is lame 'cause I couldn't think of anything else to call this monster. Feedback is desperately sought.
Oh, and language warning. Since Cid is one foul-mouthed #@$%.
::crosses fingers:: Hope you like, Dogmatix!
Plus Ca Change
“Hey Cid,” said Highwind muttered in a sing-song, halfheartedly poking the butt of his spear against a rock, “howzabout a monster hunt?” When the rock didn't move in a suspicious fashion, he tried nudging the one next to it. “S'not like I need the company, but it'd be nice and maybe I can check out yer ass some more when I think yer not lookin'.”
Neither physical nor verbal poking got any feedback. Cid glanced over his shoulder, but Vincent was crouched over somethin' or other with a predatory air, and was at least pretending to totally not have heard him. Or maybe he really hadn't; some days it was hard to tell. So Cid just sighed and strolled further down the tunnel boring through the mountain, slinging his spear over his shoulder. Neither of them really knew what the locals had been whimpering about, 'cept it was rocky and liked eating goats, wild chocobos, and at least trying for a few folks who went looking for the goats. After about a week of nothing, he was pretty sure that the monster was probably somethin' lurking at the bottom of a beer barrel, but it was good to be out and about, spending time -
Well, whatever the hell it was they were doing. Felt good, really. Like old times, 'cept without the annoying kids and “Sephiroth!” this and “Sephiroth?!” that.
He had no idea if Vin actually did spend time checking out his ass, and he wasn't sure what he thought about it anyways, but it would be nice if the weird almost-not-quite-maybe? thing between them would be resolved one way or another.
'Course, if this goes on much longer, I'm gonna grab him and SIT on him till something happens. Don't think there's been anything more dangerous then us out here in ages!
Irony being the bitch she was, as Cid grumpily swatted one of the stalagmites he was passing, it swatted back. The airman whooped as he flailed back, the retort of Vince's guns already kicking through the air.
It just fucking figured the damn thing was clinging to the wall like the giant, overgrown salamander it looked like, until Cid slapped its tail, and the damn thing was now looking to smash the both of them. He let out another yell – did a damn fine job of getting its attention, even if he said so himself! - and started smacking it around the head with his spear. He and Vincent had this down - he'd be in the thick of things, keeping spear-vulnerable eyes on him, while the ex-Turk kept pounding away from whatever perch he'd found now.
Ok, so this was a bigger monster then they'd kinda figured – if it had a mouth, it'd have an easy time chomping them down whole so long as they didn't mind getting cozy fir-
“Fucking! Critters!” he growled. He didn't need any damn overgrown lizard helping with the what-IS-going-on-with-Vincent problem. He could feel the strange not quite push spreading through his shoulders of his limit – damn if those things weren't rarer and stronger then they used to was, when there was something around every corner just waiting to bite. Well, he was in the mood to use it!
“Hey ugly!” One good slice, alllmost in the eyes and more than enough to make the blood swell up, and he crouched. He was already vaulting up in the air, howling for all he was worth, as the critter reared up – ok, he could deal with that, it meant the head was closer than he'd expected, no problem.
Then the thing's head split open into a fucking maw, curled fangs springing into grabbing position, and that was not good! It lunged even as he struck, and if he was more of a betting man, he would've bet they both hit home at the same time, if physics didn't kinda say the thing was just too fucking stupid to know it had a fucking spear sticking out of an eye before it fucking chomped.
Freya's tits, that hurt! He was shocked too senseless to scream, and while he would've liked to think that he kicked the fucker in the tongue, it was a problem that he couldn't tell if he could feel his legs or not and that crunching sound sucked beyond belief.
Course, that meant that the thing realized it had his spear sticking out of its face, and that meant it was its turn to scream. Cid wasn't too sure what the hell was goin' on, other than it was thrashing around a hell of a lot, and he hurt a hell of a lot while watching as bits of the cave flew around, and there was some kinda cruuunching noise of stone crumbling, and one way or another the critter went one way, and he went another, and he was lookin' down most of the mountain while the lizard hissed and wailed and thudded down the rock.
Fuck. And he was starting to slide forward, and getting a better look at the splatted monster, and he could tell he was gonna becoming even more up close and personal with it. Fuck fuck fuck -
“Fuck!” he yelped – not a scream, totally wasn't a scream, even though Vincent's gauntlet had snapped bear-trap tight on his wrist, and he jerked to a halt to the lovely tune of bones snapping. He wasn't sure what sound he made, other'n it couldn't've been a scream, and he was a little surprised that the pain in his arm wasn't more'n the pain in his legs.
“I've got you!” Vincent snapped, straining backwards and hauling Cid a few precious inches upwards. “You are not going to fall.”
“Highwinds don't fall, we fly,” Cid growled in affront.
“Today, you do neither,” Vince growled right back, soft but determined in a really fuckin' stupid way.
“Vincent.” He could see the tightness around the ex-Turk's eyes before they finally flickered up and met his. They had a moment, as only friends can, and he could see the strange quiver around Vin's left eye, an almost frantic twitch like someone wanted to look away, deny what was damn fool obvious. “You aren't slotting a mastered Restore somewhere, are ya?” And they both knew it'd take a fuckin' bathtub of potion to start making things better, and they didn't have that kind of frippery. When he didn't get anything other than more tightness around Vince's eyes, he huffed a soft laugh. “Only thing I think I'm feelin' beneath the waist is pain. Might be kinder t'everyone if you just let go.” Ow! Nnngh, ok, so maybe he could feel Vince's grip tighten – trust a fucking Turk to fucking break your damn wrist to try to save your damn life! - but he couldn't seem to even find the strength to reach out, get a better hold or help or get the fucker to let go or anything, and things were goin' uncomfortably gray around the edges. Somebody might be in denial, but Cid Highwind knew his ticket had finally been punched.
Then Vincent swore – impressively even! - and fumbled his hold with the free hand from the cliff to his gauntlet, doing something with the cuff to make it detach from the glove proper. Cid was blinking at this, more impressed by the unwavering hold on his grinding wrist bones than anything, and fuck he was fading in and out, wasn't he, couldn't even tell for sure if Vin had really whispered “You'll damn me for this later,” or if that'd been his imagination, and then fuckall if something didn't spring out from the bottom of Vince's wrist, where most fuckers keep arteries and shit, and it fucking stung Cid's wrist. He howled a little – it was just one more thing his broken arm was not happy about – but he really screamed when pain blossomed like wildfire, fiery poison spreading through him with each fading but still too fuckin' loud beat of his heart until even consciousness burned away.
Shera had this habit.
Well, Shera had a lot of habits, but the one that drove Cid batshit was her humming. She never seemed to know she was doing it, just this idle background noise she made – and denied! - when she was doing shit. Was just one'a those things that folks do, but Shera also couldn't carry a tune in a bucket even if she engineered the handles herself.
That was one'a the reasons they were – well not that he'd admit it or anything – friends, sure admittedly with occasional benefits, but not, ya know, more or anything. Besides, she had that Turk fella coming over lately, the one with shades – ok, so they all had shades, but this one looked like he'd rather go without his suit before he went without the shades and it really made a guy wonder if he kept them on all the time or did he even bother takin' 'em off for the deed or did Shera like -
“What the fuck?!” Cid bolted upright with a snarl, blinking dazedly around his room - his room, in his house. Shera looked up with relieved smile, setting down the gewgaw she'd been tinkering with the way some women knitted.
“Captain, you're awake! I'll go get some tea, just sit tight, I heard from Vincent you had quite the misadventure.” She hustled out of the room with Cid staring after her in stunned bemusement.
Misadventure. Right. What the hell had Vince -
Cid stopped mid-thought with a swallow. What. The hell. Had happened? His lower parts... felt weird, really, in a way he couldn't quite figure. Now, Shera would be reactin' differently if there was somethin' permanently wrong, but wiggling his toes felt royally fucked up. So movement of any sort was good, meant the back wasn't broken, but this didn't feel like things were okay. There wasn't even any pain, which was weird too, but there was some kinda sensation.
Cid Highwind was no fucking coward, but he didn't really want to look down.
“Here you go.” Shera bustled in with a small tray with tea, and small nibblies like she always baked when one of them was ill, setting it down on the nearer side table.
“Shera.” Shit, he didn't mean to snap, but she could hear the terseness, had to be a fucking moron to not realize it, and fuck if she didn't stop and compose herself like she was waiting for the hard questions she knew were coming. He held her eyes, not daring to look at his legs just yet, and he could see the acknowledgement there. Whatever it was, she'd seen it, knew what he was gonna ask, and was ready to dish it out, straightforward and gentle.
Like hell. Cid looked down, then did a double take. There was a light sheet covering him, but instead of the shape of his legs, there was... spaghetti. There was a sprawl of fucking overgrown spaghetti, or snakes, but Shera wouldn't put snakes in his bed – Yuffie, sure, maybe Aeris would've if they were fluffy sweet healing snakes or shit, but not Shera – so what the hell? He twitched a little, instinctively trying to pull away, but that meant the snake tangle twitched instead.
Oh. Hell. No. He yanked the sheets back and stared. Up until about the waist he was fine, but below that – Where his legs should've been -
“Tentacles?” And there were. Lots of 'em. Long, slender, skin-toned 'cept for the rusty streaks near the skinny ends, and not a single fucking leg to be seen. “I've got fuckin' tentacles?” He finally looked back at Shera, who shrugged a little uncomfortably.
“Vincent said there were two monsters in a cave, though he was rather vague about the second one, which he said... did this.”
“Mon – Oh for god's sake, where the fuck – VINCE! Gaia's fucking gallstones, VINCE! Getcher fucking ass in here!” He was bellowing, and it was almost funny that when Shera winced at the volume, the tentacles curled a little at the end same way his hands clenched into fists. Ok. Ok. He had tentacles. He could fucking deal.
“Captain, really. He said he was going to go take care of it. He went – ”
“What?!” He... what? For a single instant, Cid went utterly still. 'Take care of it.' What, all permanent like and everything? “Like fucking hell!” he roared, lunging towards the other side of the bed. One of the benefits of living together for years was the stupid little habits they'd developed. When he was ill, if Shera felt he needed to keep things quiet, she'd put his PHS on the far side of the bed, where the table was just out of comfortable reach, so he'd have the damnedest time getting to the fucker but it was technically still there, 'available' should he want it. They played this game all the damn time.
This time, though, he grabbed the mattress with one hand to haul himself over, even as some tentacles grabbed on too, and several others... lunged. They fuckin' lunged, and wrapped around the PHS, and delivered it nice and neat as you please to his reaching hand.
He had tentacles. Cooperative ones.
Fuck. He could deal with this. And besides, it looked like this meant Shera could never park shit out if his reach again. Heh. Ok, he could get used to this.
After he kicked some ass. He punched the speed dial, waited impatiently for the typical flat “Vincent” that preceded the beep for a message. And like always, he started in when the message was playing the first syllable. “God dammit, Vin, what the fuck do you think you're doing, running the hell away like that?” He was only dimly aware of the fact that Shera swatted casually at some of the tentacles, since they seemed to have picked up his habit of shredding things when he was worried and they were picking at the frayed sheet spread on the side of the bed. And since it was Shera, and this is what they always did, he casually swatted her on the ass with said tentacle since as he always pointed out that she didn't want his hands busy elsewhere then she shouldn't complain when he used them, and so she scampered on out. “You go through all that trouble to drag my over tentacled ass back here, which musta freaked out Shera something awful - ”
“No it didn't!” floated down the hallway, but he could ignore that.
“And ok, this is fucking weird, but so help me if you went and fucking offed yourself in some melancholic fit, I will find a whole fucking phoenix, dump its downy ass on your fucking moping head, and bring you back, beat you up, and do it all over again if need be you crazy fucker! Hell, next time I'll just shove the damn bird up your emo ass! Every time you fart healing magic, I will personally smack you one just so you know not to do this shit again!” Hey, his arm was all better, with only a strange little scar on the wrist, an impact point of some sort – healed way too fast to be natural but too much scarring for a Restore. Damn stupid thing not to notice. “You saved my life, so you better be all right, you crazed sonuvabitch!” He paused to pant, world a little too distant as his mind scurried around to figure out what the hell he had to say in the damned message next.
“Are you quite done, or did you want to get more invective out of your system?”
The soft question almost threw him. “ 'Course I ain't done, but if you actually answered the damn phone, it'll wait. WHAT THE HELL, VIN???”
He answered the phone? Vince never answered the fucking phone! He used the damn thing to take messages, and might call someone back, but he never just answered it!
Of course, the silence stretched out, longer and longer, making him worry that maybe it'd been a little too much, a little too far, and then Vince sighed. “Cid. I – Whatever it is you wish to do regarding this, I will cooperate. But you need to know. This is one of the... more unfortunate side effects of what Hojo did. This is no more reversible than my condition.”
“So I'm stuck with tentacles.”
Again with the silence. Finally, another soft little sigh. “Yes. It was uncertain what specific transformation would occur. Any number of mutations were possible. I....” Vin hesitated, then whispered it so damn soft Cid almost couldn't hear it. “I had hoped it would involve wings.” Then he continued, louder and in a rush so freaking unlike Vince it was surreal, something like Yuffie imitating Vince instead of Vin being rattled. “Among other side effects, you will heal much faster, be much hardier, and obviously given time and practice the tentacles will be useful for any number of activities where just two hands are limited.”
But he wasn't paying that much attention to what Vince was babbling. Cid was still dealing with the warm glow of how Vince had hoped – well it was just damn sweet.
Maybe... maybe it was time to push some himself. Cid shoved himself upright – easier than he thought it would be, but all the wriggly bits seemed to work well together so long as he just let them do their thing. Then he took a deep breath, realizing Vin had run out of steam and the silence must've stretched out uncomfortably long to the other man. “Ok. So you said you'd cooperate with what the fuck I wanted to do?”
“Yes.” And god damn, the pained sincerity that man could put in one fucking syllable!
“Ok then.” Deep breath. Brace yourself. Cut the engines and see if the fucker'll glide like it's designed to. “Then get your ass back here fast as you can. Don't freak out on me when I give you a thank you hug, especially since I think these things make me really fucking good at clinging.” Breathe deep. “And then, if you want, you can tell me if the tentacles make my ass look fat, and we see what these things can do when two hands aren't as much fun as many many more. Things. If you know what I'm saying.”
Silence. Vin had hitched in a deep breath at the ass comment, and then the silence just stretched out longer and longer. And then, ever so tentative, Vince gave a dazed little chuckle. “Are you insane?”
“I'm a fucking pilot, of course I'm fucking insane! But that's not why I'm askin' you.”
Again with the pause. “I – Cid, are you sure?”
“Yeah.” And the warmth stretched out through him, hair to tentacle tips, making the new limbs stretch and curl like contented cat tails. “So whatta say?”
And Vince chuckled. Then the fucker hung up?! Cid stared at his phone in bewilderment, then blinked as he heard the front door open. Soft voices murmured to each other, then Shera's footsteps went to the kitchen while others – solid, prowling footsteps – came to his door. Vin stood in the doorway, smirking all the way so it showed in his fucking eyes. “I say Shera will have to deal with her groceries herself.”
All Cid could do was laugh and propel himself upright, to his metaphorical feet. Time to take things for a test flight. Even as he drew nearer, he wondered how many tentacles it would take to grope Vin's ass, and keep him from hitting the ceiling in shock. He'd never said it was gonna be a platonic thank you hug....
~end~
Oh, and language warning. Since Cid is one foul-mouthed #@$%.
::crosses fingers:: Hope you like, Dogmatix!
Plus Ca Change
“Hey Cid,” said Highwind muttered in a sing-song, halfheartedly poking the butt of his spear against a rock, “howzabout a monster hunt?” When the rock didn't move in a suspicious fashion, he tried nudging the one next to it. “S'not like I need the company, but it'd be nice and maybe I can check out yer ass some more when I think yer not lookin'.”
Neither physical nor verbal poking got any feedback. Cid glanced over his shoulder, but Vincent was crouched over somethin' or other with a predatory air, and was at least pretending to totally not have heard him. Or maybe he really hadn't; some days it was hard to tell. So Cid just sighed and strolled further down the tunnel boring through the mountain, slinging his spear over his shoulder. Neither of them really knew what the locals had been whimpering about, 'cept it was rocky and liked eating goats, wild chocobos, and at least trying for a few folks who went looking for the goats. After about a week of nothing, he was pretty sure that the monster was probably somethin' lurking at the bottom of a beer barrel, but it was good to be out and about, spending time -
Well, whatever the hell it was they were doing. Felt good, really. Like old times, 'cept without the annoying kids and “Sephiroth!” this and “Sephiroth?!” that.
He had no idea if Vin actually did spend time checking out his ass, and he wasn't sure what he thought about it anyways, but it would be nice if the weird almost-not-quite-maybe? thing between them would be resolved one way or another.
'Course, if this goes on much longer, I'm gonna grab him and SIT on him till something happens. Don't think there's been anything more dangerous then us out here in ages!
Irony being the bitch she was, as Cid grumpily swatted one of the stalagmites he was passing, it swatted back. The airman whooped as he flailed back, the retort of Vince's guns already kicking through the air.
It just fucking figured the damn thing was clinging to the wall like the giant, overgrown salamander it looked like, until Cid slapped its tail, and the damn thing was now looking to smash the both of them. He let out another yell – did a damn fine job of getting its attention, even if he said so himself! - and started smacking it around the head with his spear. He and Vincent had this down - he'd be in the thick of things, keeping spear-vulnerable eyes on him, while the ex-Turk kept pounding away from whatever perch he'd found now.
Ok, so this was a bigger monster then they'd kinda figured – if it had a mouth, it'd have an easy time chomping them down whole so long as they didn't mind getting cozy fir-
“Fucking! Critters!” he growled. He didn't need any damn overgrown lizard helping with the what-IS-going-on-with-Vincent problem. He could feel the strange not quite push spreading through his shoulders of his limit – damn if those things weren't rarer and stronger then they used to was, when there was something around every corner just waiting to bite. Well, he was in the mood to use it!
“Hey ugly!” One good slice, alllmost in the eyes and more than enough to make the blood swell up, and he crouched. He was already vaulting up in the air, howling for all he was worth, as the critter reared up – ok, he could deal with that, it meant the head was closer than he'd expected, no problem.
Then the thing's head split open into a fucking maw, curled fangs springing into grabbing position, and that was not good! It lunged even as he struck, and if he was more of a betting man, he would've bet they both hit home at the same time, if physics didn't kinda say the thing was just too fucking stupid to know it had a fucking spear sticking out of an eye before it fucking chomped.
Freya's tits, that hurt! He was shocked too senseless to scream, and while he would've liked to think that he kicked the fucker in the tongue, it was a problem that he couldn't tell if he could feel his legs or not and that crunching sound sucked beyond belief.
Course, that meant that the thing realized it had his spear sticking out of its face, and that meant it was its turn to scream. Cid wasn't too sure what the hell was goin' on, other than it was thrashing around a hell of a lot, and he hurt a hell of a lot while watching as bits of the cave flew around, and there was some kinda cruuunching noise of stone crumbling, and one way or another the critter went one way, and he went another, and he was lookin' down most of the mountain while the lizard hissed and wailed and thudded down the rock.
Fuck. And he was starting to slide forward, and getting a better look at the splatted monster, and he could tell he was gonna becoming even more up close and personal with it. Fuck fuck fuck -
“Fuck!” he yelped – not a scream, totally wasn't a scream, even though Vincent's gauntlet had snapped bear-trap tight on his wrist, and he jerked to a halt to the lovely tune of bones snapping. He wasn't sure what sound he made, other'n it couldn't've been a scream, and he was a little surprised that the pain in his arm wasn't more'n the pain in his legs.
“I've got you!” Vincent snapped, straining backwards and hauling Cid a few precious inches upwards. “You are not going to fall.”
“Highwinds don't fall, we fly,” Cid growled in affront.
“Today, you do neither,” Vince growled right back, soft but determined in a really fuckin' stupid way.
“Vincent.” He could see the tightness around the ex-Turk's eyes before they finally flickered up and met his. They had a moment, as only friends can, and he could see the strange quiver around Vin's left eye, an almost frantic twitch like someone wanted to look away, deny what was damn fool obvious. “You aren't slotting a mastered Restore somewhere, are ya?” And they both knew it'd take a fuckin' bathtub of potion to start making things better, and they didn't have that kind of frippery. When he didn't get anything other than more tightness around Vince's eyes, he huffed a soft laugh. “Only thing I think I'm feelin' beneath the waist is pain. Might be kinder t'everyone if you just let go.” Ow! Nnngh, ok, so maybe he could feel Vince's grip tighten – trust a fucking Turk to fucking break your damn wrist to try to save your damn life! - but he couldn't seem to even find the strength to reach out, get a better hold or help or get the fucker to let go or anything, and things were goin' uncomfortably gray around the edges. Somebody might be in denial, but Cid Highwind knew his ticket had finally been punched.
Then Vincent swore – impressively even! - and fumbled his hold with the free hand from the cliff to his gauntlet, doing something with the cuff to make it detach from the glove proper. Cid was blinking at this, more impressed by the unwavering hold on his grinding wrist bones than anything, and fuck he was fading in and out, wasn't he, couldn't even tell for sure if Vin had really whispered “You'll damn me for this later,” or if that'd been his imagination, and then fuckall if something didn't spring out from the bottom of Vince's wrist, where most fuckers keep arteries and shit, and it fucking stung Cid's wrist. He howled a little – it was just one more thing his broken arm was not happy about – but he really screamed when pain blossomed like wildfire, fiery poison spreading through him with each fading but still too fuckin' loud beat of his heart until even consciousness burned away.
Shera had this habit.
Well, Shera had a lot of habits, but the one that drove Cid batshit was her humming. She never seemed to know she was doing it, just this idle background noise she made – and denied! - when she was doing shit. Was just one'a those things that folks do, but Shera also couldn't carry a tune in a bucket even if she engineered the handles herself.
That was one'a the reasons they were – well not that he'd admit it or anything – friends, sure admittedly with occasional benefits, but not, ya know, more or anything. Besides, she had that Turk fella coming over lately, the one with shades – ok, so they all had shades, but this one looked like he'd rather go without his suit before he went without the shades and it really made a guy wonder if he kept them on all the time or did he even bother takin' 'em off for the deed or did Shera like -
“What the fuck?!” Cid bolted upright with a snarl, blinking dazedly around his room - his room, in his house. Shera looked up with relieved smile, setting down the gewgaw she'd been tinkering with the way some women knitted.
“Captain, you're awake! I'll go get some tea, just sit tight, I heard from Vincent you had quite the misadventure.” She hustled out of the room with Cid staring after her in stunned bemusement.
Misadventure. Right. What the hell had Vince -
Cid stopped mid-thought with a swallow. What. The hell. Had happened? His lower parts... felt weird, really, in a way he couldn't quite figure. Now, Shera would be reactin' differently if there was somethin' permanently wrong, but wiggling his toes felt royally fucked up. So movement of any sort was good, meant the back wasn't broken, but this didn't feel like things were okay. There wasn't even any pain, which was weird too, but there was some kinda sensation.
Cid Highwind was no fucking coward, but he didn't really want to look down.
“Here you go.” Shera bustled in with a small tray with tea, and small nibblies like she always baked when one of them was ill, setting it down on the nearer side table.
“Shera.” Shit, he didn't mean to snap, but she could hear the terseness, had to be a fucking moron to not realize it, and fuck if she didn't stop and compose herself like she was waiting for the hard questions she knew were coming. He held her eyes, not daring to look at his legs just yet, and he could see the acknowledgement there. Whatever it was, she'd seen it, knew what he was gonna ask, and was ready to dish it out, straightforward and gentle.
Like hell. Cid looked down, then did a double take. There was a light sheet covering him, but instead of the shape of his legs, there was... spaghetti. There was a sprawl of fucking overgrown spaghetti, or snakes, but Shera wouldn't put snakes in his bed – Yuffie, sure, maybe Aeris would've if they were fluffy sweet healing snakes or shit, but not Shera – so what the hell? He twitched a little, instinctively trying to pull away, but that meant the snake tangle twitched instead.
Oh. Hell. No. He yanked the sheets back and stared. Up until about the waist he was fine, but below that – Where his legs should've been -
“Tentacles?” And there were. Lots of 'em. Long, slender, skin-toned 'cept for the rusty streaks near the skinny ends, and not a single fucking leg to be seen. “I've got fuckin' tentacles?” He finally looked back at Shera, who shrugged a little uncomfortably.
“Vincent said there were two monsters in a cave, though he was rather vague about the second one, which he said... did this.”
“Mon – Oh for god's sake, where the fuck – VINCE! Gaia's fucking gallstones, VINCE! Getcher fucking ass in here!” He was bellowing, and it was almost funny that when Shera winced at the volume, the tentacles curled a little at the end same way his hands clenched into fists. Ok. Ok. He had tentacles. He could fucking deal.
“Captain, really. He said he was going to go take care of it. He went – ”
“What?!” He... what? For a single instant, Cid went utterly still. 'Take care of it.' What, all permanent like and everything? “Like fucking hell!” he roared, lunging towards the other side of the bed. One of the benefits of living together for years was the stupid little habits they'd developed. When he was ill, if Shera felt he needed to keep things quiet, she'd put his PHS on the far side of the bed, where the table was just out of comfortable reach, so he'd have the damnedest time getting to the fucker but it was technically still there, 'available' should he want it. They played this game all the damn time.
This time, though, he grabbed the mattress with one hand to haul himself over, even as some tentacles grabbed on too, and several others... lunged. They fuckin' lunged, and wrapped around the PHS, and delivered it nice and neat as you please to his reaching hand.
He had tentacles. Cooperative ones.
Fuck. He could deal with this. And besides, it looked like this meant Shera could never park shit out if his reach again. Heh. Ok, he could get used to this.
After he kicked some ass. He punched the speed dial, waited impatiently for the typical flat “Vincent” that preceded the beep for a message. And like always, he started in when the message was playing the first syllable. “God dammit, Vin, what the fuck do you think you're doing, running the hell away like that?” He was only dimly aware of the fact that Shera swatted casually at some of the tentacles, since they seemed to have picked up his habit of shredding things when he was worried and they were picking at the frayed sheet spread on the side of the bed. And since it was Shera, and this is what they always did, he casually swatted her on the ass with said tentacle since as he always pointed out that she didn't want his hands busy elsewhere then she shouldn't complain when he used them, and so she scampered on out. “You go through all that trouble to drag my over tentacled ass back here, which musta freaked out Shera something awful - ”
“No it didn't!” floated down the hallway, but he could ignore that.
“And ok, this is fucking weird, but so help me if you went and fucking offed yourself in some melancholic fit, I will find a whole fucking phoenix, dump its downy ass on your fucking moping head, and bring you back, beat you up, and do it all over again if need be you crazy fucker! Hell, next time I'll just shove the damn bird up your emo ass! Every time you fart healing magic, I will personally smack you one just so you know not to do this shit again!” Hey, his arm was all better, with only a strange little scar on the wrist, an impact point of some sort – healed way too fast to be natural but too much scarring for a Restore. Damn stupid thing not to notice. “You saved my life, so you better be all right, you crazed sonuvabitch!” He paused to pant, world a little too distant as his mind scurried around to figure out what the hell he had to say in the damned message next.
“Are you quite done, or did you want to get more invective out of your system?”
The soft question almost threw him. “ 'Course I ain't done, but if you actually answered the damn phone, it'll wait. WHAT THE HELL, VIN???”
He answered the phone? Vince never answered the fucking phone! He used the damn thing to take messages, and might call someone back, but he never just answered it!
Of course, the silence stretched out, longer and longer, making him worry that maybe it'd been a little too much, a little too far, and then Vince sighed. “Cid. I – Whatever it is you wish to do regarding this, I will cooperate. But you need to know. This is one of the... more unfortunate side effects of what Hojo did. This is no more reversible than my condition.”
“So I'm stuck with tentacles.”
Again with the silence. Finally, another soft little sigh. “Yes. It was uncertain what specific transformation would occur. Any number of mutations were possible. I....” Vin hesitated, then whispered it so damn soft Cid almost couldn't hear it. “I had hoped it would involve wings.” Then he continued, louder and in a rush so freaking unlike Vince it was surreal, something like Yuffie imitating Vince instead of Vin being rattled. “Among other side effects, you will heal much faster, be much hardier, and obviously given time and practice the tentacles will be useful for any number of activities where just two hands are limited.”
But he wasn't paying that much attention to what Vince was babbling. Cid was still dealing with the warm glow of how Vince had hoped – well it was just damn sweet.
Maybe... maybe it was time to push some himself. Cid shoved himself upright – easier than he thought it would be, but all the wriggly bits seemed to work well together so long as he just let them do their thing. Then he took a deep breath, realizing Vin had run out of steam and the silence must've stretched out uncomfortably long to the other man. “Ok. So you said you'd cooperate with what the fuck I wanted to do?”
“Yes.” And god damn, the pained sincerity that man could put in one fucking syllable!
“Ok then.” Deep breath. Brace yourself. Cut the engines and see if the fucker'll glide like it's designed to. “Then get your ass back here fast as you can. Don't freak out on me when I give you a thank you hug, especially since I think these things make me really fucking good at clinging.” Breathe deep. “And then, if you want, you can tell me if the tentacles make my ass look fat, and we see what these things can do when two hands aren't as much fun as many many more. Things. If you know what I'm saying.”
Silence. Vin had hitched in a deep breath at the ass comment, and then the silence just stretched out longer and longer. And then, ever so tentative, Vince gave a dazed little chuckle. “Are you insane?”
“I'm a fucking pilot, of course I'm fucking insane! But that's not why I'm askin' you.”
Again with the pause. “I – Cid, are you sure?”
“Yeah.” And the warmth stretched out through him, hair to tentacle tips, making the new limbs stretch and curl like contented cat tails. “So whatta say?”
And Vince chuckled. Then the fucker hung up?! Cid stared at his phone in bewilderment, then blinked as he heard the front door open. Soft voices murmured to each other, then Shera's footsteps went to the kitchen while others – solid, prowling footsteps – came to his door. Vin stood in the doorway, smirking all the way so it showed in his fucking eyes. “I say Shera will have to deal with her groceries herself.”
All Cid could do was laugh and propel himself upright, to his metaphorical feet. Time to take things for a test flight. Even as he drew nearer, he wondered how many tentacles it would take to grope Vin's ass, and keep him from hitting the ceiling in shock. He'd never said it was gonna be a platonic thank you hug....
~end~
