milliways_bar | (no subject)

From somewhere nearby there is the vague scent of fresh, spring flowers - slightly out of place in an interior setting like the Bar.

It might just smell familiar. Sort of like home.

It does smell familiar. It is a scent that has always offered him the sort of peace he doesn't find when he's alone with his (dark) thoughts.

He looks up, briefly searching the room for the owner.

The owner is standing somewhat uncertainly by the door - this is the first time she has come here on her own and she's not exactly sure of herself, or how she ought to be acting. Briefly she considers turning around and simply returning to Hollow Bastion, but she steels her shoulders and takes one step after another deeper into the Bar.

When nothing happens, some of her trepidation fades and she looks around her with curiousity.

It is when Aerith takes her first steps into the bar that Cloud happens to glance towards the door.

She is unmistakable to him; he recognizes her immediately and begins to straighten. Something within him seems to lessen, or lighten, in her presence.

He would wave in her direction, but he isn't the waving sort; in any case, it is unlikely she would see him from where he is.

He starts to walk towards her.

She doesn't see him at first, not until he stands up and starts to make his way toward her - but even with the distance there's no mistaking Cloud - she'd recognize that hair anywhere. It doesn't matter that it's only been a few hours ago since she saw him back in Hollow Bastion, seeing him now still brings a smile to her face. She waves at him and heads in his direction.

"Hello, Cloud. I was hoping I'd find you here." she says.

"Aerith," he greets, and allows a slight smile to reach his lips. "You found this place on your own."

She nods. "Yes. I needed a break from the bickering," she explains, knowing he'll understand what she means. Much as she loves the company of the other members of the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee, occasionally even she needs some time away to clear her head.

"I decided to go for a walk in the sunshine and ended up following the path we took, the time you first brought me here."

Ok, so maybe it wasn't as ...accidental a choice in direction as she's letting on, but he doesn't need to know that.

"I hope it's ok that I came."

He knows all about the bickering - especially when it concerns Leon's long-winded explanations and plans. It is one of the reasons why he keeps to himself, working outdoors, handling the manual labour while the rest of the Committee stays indoors, figuring out the technical bits.

He shrugs. "Of course it's okay," he says. Why wouldn't it? She can come and go as she pleases. (And he's happy to see her, even if that does not show explicitly on his face.)

Despite how his seemingly dismissive reply might sound to a stranger or casual passerby, Aerith knows with certainty that Cloud's response is in fact as close as he gets to rolling out the metaphorical red carpet. Privately, she'd worried that he might look upon her unexpected entrance to the bar as something of an intrusion into his space - but looking at him now, she doesn't sense any annoyance or resentment from him at all.

He's actually pleased to see her and the realization makes her smile.

The smile makes him want to smile, and he allows himself to do so - just a little bit, before he starts to walk back towards his table, leading her there through his slow pace.

"Are you thirsty?" he asks her.

"Yes, actually." she says. "Perhaps you could recommend something to me?"

"Anything you've ever wanted to drink, you can request it here," he explains. "Just ask the Bar for it."

In other words, he usually ends up opting for something terribly boring like water, or coffee, or your standard alcoholic drink. Not much for recommendations.

Ask the bar? If it were anyone else telling her this she'd wonder if they were pulling her leg... But in her experience Cloud doesn't joke, so he must be serious about his instructions.

She walks toward the Bar - which seems to be made of ordinary wood - and feeling a bit silly, speaks her order out loud.

"Chrysanthemum tea -" she says hesitantly, "- please?"

She feels somewhat less silly when a cup of tea appears before her, apparently under it's own power. "Oh. Um, thank you."

She collects her tea and returns to Cloud.

He simply nods when she returns to him as though to say, 'See?'

"We'll sit here," he says, gesturing to the table he occupied only moments ago. His drink is still there, untouched.

It is relatively close to the bar, but closer still to the Observation Window where the universe is resetting itself.

Even though this is not the Cloud he knows -- the Cloud Tifa knows -- this one has much of the same look to him.

A different temperament, perhaps, but no less deserving of acknowledgment.

"Cloud." He spares a brief nod: he's not in a hurry but he also has little desire to linger if his company is unwelcome. With this Cloud, it's difficult to tell but he's not particularly at ease in social situations. Then again, he doesn't often try so very hard.

Cloud looks up and away from the sight through the Observation Window, eyes landing on the vaguely familiar man - familiar, because they've met. If he has any recollection of him from beyond that, he doesn't show it.

He returns the nod; it is a nod of invitation.

"...Vincent, right?"

"Right." He moves one step closer and that, he feels, is enough. It indicates he's received the accepted social cue -- the nod -- and...

Stop.

He's thinking like... a Turk.

"You've been well?"

Their common thread is... a visible similarity and that's it: they don't know one another. The concept is strange: Cloud spurred him to action after nearly thirty years asleep in a coffin. They fought side by side, survived untold dangers, untold strange circumstances... and yet, they haven't. Not he and this Cloud.

Still, it's hard to look at him and not see the man he knows.

"A drink, perhaps?"

Cloud nods again, stoic as always, never showing any more emotion or expression than he has to.

(Not that he has any real reason to in this situation anyway.)

"I'm nearly done with this one," he says in acceptance of Vincent's offer, gesturing to his own cup. He picks it up and downs the rest in one easy gulp. "Something stronger, perhaps."

"There's a drink called... Atlantean. It's quite strong."

If Cloud wants that, he might have enough gil to buy a glass -- since he offered -- but he won't join him in drinking it. It's far too much for him and the last thing he wants is to put himself willingly in a position where he might not be able to maintain control.

"And many other drink choices as well."

His one afternoon tending bar with Tifa certainly hasn't left him an expert: he only knows what he knows, and he rarely drinks more than a single glass of wine. His reasons, he's convinced, are completely valid.

"Atlantean," Cloud repeats. He's heard of it and seen many drink it in the bar, but he has never tried it for himself.

The strength of alcohol tends to lessen the weight of the darkness that threatens to crush him. It works to numb the unwanted focuses for just a little while.

Slowly, he nods. "I'll try it."

He did make the offer: it's a good thing he stocked up on funds when he was at home. As he's seen others do, he motions a rat over for one glass of Atlantean and one of water. There's no approval or disapproval implied in his request: it's simply all he has a taste for at the moment.

He doesn't know Cloud, but he recognizes discontent when he sees it. Maybe speaking to a virtual stranger will ease... something, although he isn't really interested in being anyone's shoulder to lean on. He can barely stand up straight enough to look at himself in the mirror most days.

"It's... Hollow Bastion you're from if I recall correctly."

This is as gentle as he gets, and he won't push for information.

The lack of pushing for information might serve to get the two of them no where, as Cloud is hardly the sort to volunteer anything without prodding.

It's an unfortunate thing, really. He's quite a nice guy once you get past the broody, emotastic exterior. Oh, and the darkness bit, too.

"That's right," he replies, simply.

"And things are all right there?"

He has to ask: regardless of the fact this is not the Cloud he knows, he can't help but care. There's a familiarity regardless of the duality and he really does owe a debt of gratitude to someone who looks just like this.

If it hadn't happened, he might still be in the Shinra Mansion basement and that... would be even sadder.

He nods, thinking again of the place he had come to call 'home.'

"As well as they can be," he says. "Everyone's worked to rebuild it as quickly as possible."

Him, included, though at the beginning, he didn't have any real ties to the place. He was a bit of a wanderer, lost in his own curse, a broken deal with Hades.

That's right: he remembers from their last conversation that while their worlds are distinctly different, there are still similarities. Destruction, rebuilding: it's a familiar story, he suspects, no matter what world a person might be from.

"Rebuilding seems to be a common theme for a great many people."

He could tell Cloud what he saw in Midgar -- what he discussed with the Cloud he knows there, and with Barret and Tifa -- but it seems a bit irrelevant. But the rebuilding there seemed to be going on very well, all things considered. It's a dangerous place to be living but... where isn't?

"And Aerith. Is she well?"

In his world, she's dead but he will never share that information with this Cloud. Precious few people like to consider their mortality, in his limited experience, and he wouldn't inflict thoughts of it on anyone unsuspectingly. It comes with a great weight, and not everybody's up to the task of carrying that with them. Fortunately the rat returns with their drinks and distracts him from such... unhappy thoughts.

Cloud takes his drink, gratefully, pausing for a moment before telling Vincent, "Thanks."

He doesn't give them out very often, but he appreciates the man's gesture nevertheless. He vaguely thinks they should have known each other better - or rather, he should have known him, but it is fleeting enough to disappear before he can fully grasp it.

"Darkness is everywhere," he says with a nod. "It destroys everything it touches, including - or maybe, especially - people's homes. Their worlds." (And sometimes the people, themselves.) "That's what happened to Hollow Bastion."

He lets another moment's silence pass while he takes a sip of the Atlantean - and yes, it is strong, but he does not let it show.

"Aerith is very well," he tells him, glancing up. Tifa's prophecy (or whatever it might have been) still haunts him, and he doubts he'll soon forget it, or the pink ribbon tied around her arm. "She's ... planting flowers again."

The light from above gleams off his water glass and the reflection catches his eye. It's no Atlantean -- thankfully, because he learned his lesson with that the first night Tifa was here -- but it suffices. He's not on any self-imposed bread-and-water diet; penance takes many forms but starving himself isn't one of them. It's just that he needs so little and takes little comfort in the traditional vices: it's a fine line he walks when it comes to giving in.

In fact, he rarely gives in or gives up. That's what he did with Lucrecia, and he's still paying the price for that error. But... at the time he thought he was doing what was the right thing. Hindsight has changed his eyes in more ways than by simple color: he sees things much more sharply than he ever did before.

He should have stopped the experiment, no matter what the cost. He should have gone against Lucrecia's wishes and interfered. But he didn't, and... now he's here, more than thirty years later and a universe away, looking like something out of a nightmare, a claw on his hand and eyes the color of blood and a heart that won't stop beating no matter what, and an ability to destroy everything that lives and breathes and walks and senses and...

...he takes a sip of water as if it's the most precious gift ever, then nods to Cloud. "Flowers. That's... very good."

It fits, no matter what world Aerith is in.

He nods, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed before him. He isn't sure what to think of Atlantean; it's strong, and he's sure it'll do exactly what he set out to do, but any more of it, and he might lose some of the tight control he has over his darkness.

"It doesn't change much," he admits, almost uncharacteristically honest, "but it helps."

At least the world looks more alive, and not the barren wasteland it once appeared to be.

Two can wax philosophical as readily as one; it's probably lucky, he thinks, that he's not prone to small talk and flights of fancy. There was a time when that might have been the case but... well... things change.

"Flowers are..."

What? Loving reminders of times past? Beauty in a world of darkness? Scent in a void? Things of such simple innate loveliness that they ought to make grown men weep?

"...a favorite of Aerith's in our world as well. It seems some things are destined to be the same in both places." Luckily it's something as benevolent as Aerith and her flowers.

And then he looks at Cloud a little more sharply. "I don't exist in your world, but Tifa does. I wonder why that is." Personally, he's glad of it: one Chaos-hosting monstrosity is enough; the universe doesn't need to replicate him or his problems and concerns. But...

"Is... Lucrecia there?"

A very brief and very faint smile crosses his face as he thinks of Aerith and the fact that in both worlds, parallel to each other, she is still the same. She is still a constant.

It disappears as Vincent begins to talk of more serious matters, and he returns the sharp look with a deep look of his own. "I don't know," he starts, in response to why Vincent might not exist in Hollow Bastion, while Tifa does. He shakes his head. Even if he did exist, and simply chose not to appear, Cloud has no recollection of him.

As for 'Lucrecia'...

He pauses, searching his memory, as limited as it is now. "I have never heard that name." Another moment passes before he adds (for whatever reasons), "Though I might not be the best source for answers. I've forgotten a lot."

He's both distressed and relieved that Cloud is unfamiliar with anyone calling herself Lucrecia -- he's not sure what he would think if there was a Lucrecia there. If she was happy, well... then... at least he'd know that somewhere in time, somewhere in space, she's smiling and that would be... a relief. Even if she wasn't his Lucrecia any more than this Cloud is Tifa's Cloud: at least he'd know that some version of her was alive and well.

Honestly, he suspects she never was his Lucrecia even on Gaia. But that's something he thinks about constantly, weighing the pros and cons of the situation, measuring his memories, trying to make sure they still match reality. Sometimes, it's so hard to tell and it's troubling. But the constant to the equation is the measure of his own heart; that's something that never changes, never wavers.

As far as Cloud goes... on the one hand, he doesn't want to pry. On the other, he's just left an opening so big it might require a leap to fill it. Experience has proved to him that whenever someone leaves a hint that big, conventional wisdom states that whoever's listening really ought to follow that lead.

"What happened to you?"

He is silent for a moment, staring at his still full glass of Atlantean, focused on the rim of it, wondering if he should provide an explanation or whether it would be wiser to keep it to himself. And if he is to share ... how much?

"I lost my light," he explains, straightening a little. "It made me forget..." About who he was, his history, everything. He clears his throat. "I'm still looking for it. Still trying to get rid of this ... darkness."

Of all people at this place, he's perhaps the most ill-equipped of any to give Cloud a pep talk on optimism. As Cloud straightens he slumps: this is not his area of expertise.

There's a long moment of silence where he doesn't know what to do and wishes someone else -- Tifa, perhaps, but no, she'd be the wrong person entirely -- was here to help. But they aren't, and he'll have to do it himself.

"Cloud."

Breathe, Vincent, just breathe.

"Bad things... happen. To all of us. We each... do what we can with that, in our own way. Darkness can either consume us or... not."

(He's one to talk.)

At that, Cloud almost smirks.

He hadn't been expecting any sort of pep talk. He hadn't been expecting anything, really.

And anyway, Vincent - someone he's only just met, really - doesn't understand what his darkness has done to him, and what it continues to do to him. It isn't simply a 'bad thing' that happened once upon a time.

"Sephiroth took it."

"Sephiroth."

His blinking is slow and impassive, but inside he's absolutely burning up: can it possibly be that his sins have propagated from one world to another? After all, Sephiroth's very existence is in large part his fault: he didn't father him -- thankfully -- but he could have stopped him from being... what: created? turned into what he is? He could have kept him from becoming an abomination and while there's no telling whether or not he would have been as... infused with evil as he is had he not been injected in utero with Jenova cells...

"Sephiroth."

This can't possibly be the same man.

"From SOLDIER?"

But if there is no Lucrecia... then again, Cloud in his world didn't know of Lucrecia either. If it was critically important for him to breathe a minute ago, it's doubly so now.

"SOLDIER," he repeats, and as he frowns, his voice suddenly falters despite his efforts to keep his confusion tightly controlled. "I...I don't know what that is."

He shrugs, and quickly regains his composure once more. "I don't know much about him, only that he is the one responsible for this." It is the only thing that makes any sense.

"Oh."

Sometimes, maintaining control is like walking on the sharp edge of a knife. It's nearly impossible, but one has to keep to where he is because if he slips he'll maim or kill himself. This applies to the physical as well as the emotional and if Cloud is confused, Vincent is equally if not more confused.

He picks up his glass of water and studies it. Unfortunately, it doesn't give up any answers and none of his background in research, none of his training in observation, none of his upbringing immersed in scientific theory is helping him at the moment. Sense and sanity are just barely within his grasp.

"It's... the elite fighting force of the Shin-Ra Company on my world. Genetically modified fighters. Sephiroth was... the prototype. The standard against which all other SOLDIERs were measured." Letting out a deep breath, he takes a tentative sip of the water, then another, then a third.

"That you don't have them is good." Of all people, Cloud would know about SOLDIER: he used to be one of them.

Setting down the water glass, he takes a step back. "This conversation is futile. It is... apples and oranges, as they say. The goings on in my world have no bearing to the circumstances of your own. In the future I'll be sure to remind myself of that before we speak."

He shakes his head.

Even if he may not find any familiarity with these terms, or these explanations - Shin-Ra? SOLDIER? - he still figures it's important to hear. This might be his life. This might be what he's forgotten, or simply failed to remember.

"Maybe it is," he agrees, "or maybe it isn't. Sephiroth - what if he -" He feels stupid being unable to properly voice his (fear) thought.

He starts again. "There's a possibility Sephiroth might be blocking my ability to remember all of this."

"The possibility exists for a great many things to be true."

On his world, Sephiroth isn't blocking anyone's ability to remember anything. He can't, because he's dead.

Cloud killed him.

"But I fail to see how I might be able to help you make that assessment. Other than to listen which... I'm willing to do." He has no advice, no insights, no idea, no information. Only an expensive bar tab and more questions than answers. "And perhaps that's not what you require."

He shakes his head.

"Maybe you're right," he says. Either way, he isn't looking for company, and neither of them are very good with small-talk.

He doesn't think jogging his memory with anecdotes from his past life would work anyway. All of this has to do with his light, and in order to know who he is and his purpose, he'll need to find it first.

When he speaks again his voice is little more than a soft rasp. "Then perhaps the Atlantean will succeed where I've failed."

When one takes an accounting of successes and failures -- which he does on a daily basis -- he has to think that this is a... minor failure. For once, he at least tried.

"There's just one thing I'd like you to know, Cloud. On my world and in my... scope of social interaction, there are few people for whom I go out of my way. When I say bad things have happened, I... speak from extreme personal experience but that's not your concern. What should be your concern is that on Gaia, Cloud Strife is one of the very small number of people whose side I will leap to without hesitation. For whatever reason, the universe has seen fit to bring a different Cloud to this place but when I look at you, I can't help but see my... friend, although I can rationalize that you're different people. It's... simply something to bear in mind."

There: that's out on the table and he's glad of it. For whatever it's worth, some measure of friendship has been extended and that... is what he can do.

He glances up at Vincent from the glass of Atlantean sitting before him.

Strife.

Is that his surname, too? Had he once gone by that same name, lived this same life that Vincent (and Tifa, before) described?

"This Cloud you know," he starts, voice steady, "must be very lucky to have so many who care about him."

He doesn't have very much of anything like that here. Without Leon or Aerith, he has no ties to any place.

Silently, he nods, accepting.

That almost makes him smile and if this man before him was the Cloud he knows, he might. But a gentle voice reminds him that this is a stranger with familiar looks.

"He wouldn't say as much, but he's a good person."

No judgment is passed on the qualities of this Cloud sitting with his Atlantean largely untouched: he of all people is in no position to make such assumptions. Answers, he knows, have to be sought to be forthcoming and they're rarely found in the bottom of a glass of alcohol, although that can make for a good escape from the search.

"Good luck, Cloud." There isn't much else to say, and so he sets down his mostly-full water glass and steps back. He can't assure Cloud that the nebulous everything will be all right; he's got no right to make such claims. Still, if the unsettled feeling he has from this conversation is anywhere close to the way Tifa felt after she talked with him, then... then he understands it a little bit better and so it has not been in vain.

"You too, Vincent," Cloud returns, pausing for a moment before he picks up his Atlantean and has a last sip.

Then he, too, stands.

He may not know this man, but he believes him; he has no reason not to.