Random Chaos

I don’t know what’s going on here. I just found out that I can use my computer on one restriction: that I do not look at my pictures and if I do actual work on it. Heh heh, what they would do if they knew that the massive amounts of typing that go on in here were for fanfics and my updates here. Oh, and ranting on and on about them. But this is not about them. It is about my development conundrum for my ficcy. I’ve finally come up with a way to start the third chapter off, and since my muses have rediscovered plot, I’ve got to make sure it gets done. So it gets said that the work that is going on in here is class work.

You know, if I were lying any more here, I’d be flat on the ground right now. ::nodnod::

Wouldn’t have to do this if it weren’t for—wait, I said that this WASN’T going to be a rant. Darn.

Oh well, that leaves me to discuss productive things. Yay me.

For some reason, my muses have decided to work on a really weird schedule. They’ve begun planning about two chapters in advance, and I couldn’t catch up before. Now, however, I’ve decided to just work with what they’re making me do, and it seems to have paid off in the end, because they want me to hurry up and start writing like that. They got to work on where I was supposed to be right after I said "No más" and just gave in to their will.

It resulted in one very angsty little drabble. Right here.

Truth be told, when this one came to me, I was banned from my computer, which meant that I couldn’t type it out properly, which meant that I had to resort to my traditional media again: Loose-leaf paper and drafting pencil. Though effective, at the rate I was writing it tends to get a little uncomfortable. Oh well.

This is probably going to wind up in my fic in some way or another, but again, this draft is the result of listening to angsty FF music at 2:33 AM. So imperfections will be present.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

It was the first time that Cid had become aware of just what was happening.

It was uncommon for the pilot to have such a bad case of insomnia. Usually, he slept too heavily. But that night, sleep eluded him as his hearing perked at the strange pattern that Vincent’s breathing had taken. Seconds before, the easy rhythm of sleep had become panicky and labored.

Cid rose from his own bed with surprising grace and quickly crossed the distance to Vincent’s bedside. He was careful not to make a sound as he approached, but his practiced silence made the other man’s screams even more unsettling. There was a loud clatter as a lamp was knocked from the nightstand by Vincent’s violent thrashing.

Discarding his prior strategy of quiet stealth, the pilot tore across the remaining distance, vaulting onto the bed and landing over Vincent in a kind of half-straddle. "Hey! Val! Wake up!"

The only response was more thrashing, and without warning a punch connected solidly with Cid’s jaw. The impact barely registered, however, as he pinned down Vincent’s arm

That action seemed to register somewhere in Vincent’s deep consciousness; he bucked wildly against Cid’s hold with a strangled yell.

"Wake up—!"

"Let go—let go of me—"

"Calm down—wake up!" A film of sweat had formed on Cid’s body as he fought to hold Vincent still.

"Val—"

"Stop—release me—"

Cid grabbed Vincent by the shoulders and gave him a strong shake. "Vincent! Wake up!"

Crimson eyes suddenly flew open as Vincent finally broke free from the grasp of terror with a quiet choked noise.

"Are you all right?"

Even before he’d asked the question, Cid was sure he knew the answer. The man beneath him was even paler than usual, his body was shockingly cold, and he could feel his pulse, like that of a frightened animal.

"Are you all right?" Cid repeated.

The shock melted from Vincent’s features and was replaced with something else, deeper. Held down the way that he was, he could not look away from Cid when he answered him. "I’m fine."

Cid snorted, indigo eyes narrowing briefly. "Don’t give me that shit, Vincent. What the hell’s going on?"

"It’s nothing…" Vincent closed his eyes. "I’m fine."

"Bull! Swallow your damn pride and talk!"

The words were said with such force that Vincent found himself staring at the pilot for a few silent seconds.

"So. Talk."

Vincent said nothing, instead choosing to turn his face to a wall as he worked to steady his breathing. "I can’t."

"C’mon, Vincent…"

"Go away."

"You can’t just ignore—"

Vincent whirled about abruptly, tossing Cid onto the hardwood floor. "Didn’t I ask you to leave me be?!"

Picking himself up from the ground, Cid prepared to respond to the outburst, but whatever he’d planned to say died on his lips as he caught a good look at the gunman’s face.

Realizing what the pilot must have seen, Vincent turned to the wall again. "Sorry. …Could you please leave me for a while?"

"…All right. Fine," Cid said, walking back to his own bed.

"Than you."

"But if you need to talk…I’m right here."

There was no response from Vincent; only the sound of shivery breathing broke the silence.

*_*_*

Cid listened carefully for the return of steady breathing from the next bed. It was unbelievable, what had happened in such a short time. Even more importantly, he could see what had not.

"I know I’ve been giving you a hard time. But shit, Val, you gotta trust me sooner or later. And you gotta talk…" As Cid looked over at Vincent’s now quiet form, he was struck with what he’d seen only minutes before—an almost painfully sharp recollection of a face torn with loss and confusion, and streaked with bloody tears.

"What the fuck is going on, Vincent?"

*_*_*

Yeah. Eep. My muses seem to be angst junkies.

You may have noticed a pattern in my listening habits recently. Lots of the more angsty mixes recently. Seems to be working, though…my muses have found plot again.