Roses and Wine - III

Cloud Strife, Third Class Mercenary of the Midgar Military Mercenary Academy, was not at all happy at what he was about to do. He somehow managed to sustain his mind from diverting to the handsome General, known as Sephiroth. Requested by his instructor, Cloud was now forced to endure the next few hours in the sterile environment of the infirmary, polishing away at the bedpans. And my, the place itself was a sight to behold! He paced his dormitory. Damn General Sephiroth. The man had made a mockery of him, and now he was forced to endure the consequence of it.

‘Cleaning the bedpans?’ Raphael blurted out amusedly when they were back at their dormitory. ‘Ha-ha, sucks to be you!’

Cloud flopped back on the bed he had been occupying earlier, opposite of his red-head companion, screwing his tired eyes shut as the other guffawed at the news. Raphael – being far, far above him in rank – could not be pulled for detention nor night duty anymore. It was the scourge of all the cadets, something they abhorred and loathed, and their instructors knew it. Cloud couldn’t believe he had to do it this time. And for what? All because of a simple inadvertent meeting with Sephiroth. It was a wonder he hadn’t fainted like what everybody else would have naturally done before the man.

The mattress jiggled as Raphael bounced onto the space near his right arm. Even before Cloud had opened his eyes to meet the bowman’s, he already sensed that the smile had vanished, replaced with a silent concern. Raphael’s voice was quiet when he spoke his next sentence, ‘Honestly, though, Cloud, are you certain you’re up for it? You still look a little too pale to me.’

‘I always look too pale to you!’ Cloud pointed out crossly.

‘Maybe you’re just always sick!’ Raphael retorted playfully, casting another smirk so that his beautiful hazel eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘I could try and pull rank to get you out of it, if you don’t feel well at all.’

‘Oh, that is nonsense; I am perfectly fine.’

‘It isn’t!’

‘Well, I won’t argue about the matter, you always want to argue about things.’

‘Because my dear Cloud,’ Raphael said fluidly, ‘that was what things were originally made for.’

The blond shook his head. ‘They still outrank you as instructors,’ he reminded the other warrior, subconsciously inhaling the fresh cologne smell that belonged to his companion. ‘You seem to forget, because you always offer to do this when I either get detention or night guard.’ He returned the previous smile given to him to show his earnestness at Raphael, who in turn pouted.

‘I could still try,’ he said sullenly.

Cloud’s blue eyes alighted upon the small mirror across the room from where he lay. Regarding his reflection, he saw himself on the outside for what he felt inside: pale and frightened. Even now he looked remarkably frail in his leather uniform and metal gear. Silently, he wondered if Raphael could sense his apprehension, since the red-head knew him through and through, just like the best friend he ought to be.

He was yawning already. Cloud frantically tried to stem it with one hand over his mouth and eyes closed, but couldn’t. It was only about seven and he was already dreadfully drowsy.

Reluctantly, he wearily proceeded to the sick chamber, hefting a rather big bucket on his shoulder, brimmed with soapy foam. At the bottom, rested a piece of rag, one of the three things of which he borrowed from a nearby janitor’s closet. Along the way, he passed two of his classmates: Kadaj, a lanky lad who had been crippled and therefore forced to rely upon a mechanical wheelchair for support that was being pushed by a raven haired young lady named Tifa. As usual, they were bickering. Neither paid much heed to Cloud as he passed them by.

‘I believe the tooth fairy might give me 50 Gil for my fallen tooth,’ said Kadaj in a somewhat vexed way.

‘Ho-ho,’ drawled Tifa, rolling her eyes and waving a gauntlet fist nonchalantly at nothing in particular.

‘So I got an idea. I poured plaster over the tooth to create a mould and now I’m casting duplicate teeth. I’ll put one under my pillow every night and by the end of the year, I’ll have over 1500 Gil!’ Kadaj beamed at his own wit.

‘What?’ interjected the young female fighter. ‘D’you think the tooth fairy will believe your mouth had three hundred teeth in it?’

‘Look, dolt, if she’d rather have an old tooth than 50 Gil, how bright can she be?’ Kadaj retorted.

Nevertheless, Cloud, being who he was, refused to engage himself in such senseless melodrama and chose, instead to move on. When the noise left him, he thought he felt utterly exposed without it. Cloud wondered what the world would be like without music. Perhaps it would be like death: cold and haunting. Remembering an old rhyme, his mind dwelled on the legendary story of how music came to pass.

Once upon a time, the winged serpent Quetzalcoatl ruled the air and waters, while the god of war, Mars, ruled the land. Theirs were rich days, full of battles and the exercise of power, but there was no music, and they both longed for a decent tune. The god of war was powerless to change the situation, but the winged serpent was not. He flew away to the house of Apollo, the sun god, which was the house of music. He passed a number of planets, and from each of them he heard musical sounds, but there were no musicians to be found. At last he came to the house where the musicians lived. The anger of Apollo at Quetzalcoatl’s invasion was a terrible thing to witness, but the serpent was not afraid, and unleashed the mighty storms that were his personal specialty. The storms were so fearsome that even the house of the sun god began to shake and tremble and all the musicians were scared and fled in all directions. And some of them fell to earth, and so, thanks to the winged serpent, they had music.

Finding the chamber was not as difficult as he thought. Staircases and turnings that had adopted a rather foreboding outlook within the shadows presented themselves to him and he knew instinctively which ones to take. On a much different level, it appeared to him that the entire academy itself was beholden to the great General.

Cloud paused on the threshold, balancing his bucket of soap and rag, trying to decide if a humble tap or a confident knock was called for. He had just decided that humility was probably his best course when the door swung open. A bristly face loomed over his. Midnight blue eyes scrutinized him from head to toe, making him squirm underneath its piercing stare. Bedecked in a long white coat, a fair-haired doctor addressed him in a coarse tone, ‘You are bloody late, boy!’

Hanging his head apologetically, Cloud replied, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘What, no excuse?’

Cloud fought to keep his voice free from strain. ‘None, sir. The fault was entirely my own.’ He was more than grateful to see the stoic façade of the grown man before him mollify and turn into something pleasant, even accommodating.

‘Well, well … we are an unusual chap. I will forgive you this time, boy, but don’t be late again.’ With a nonchalant huff, the older man bade him enter. Cloud followed him through what seemed like a huge sitting room, then into a large, well-lit chamber crammed from top to bottom with all manner of paraphernalia. ‘You will work here,’ said the medic, indicating the many cupboards that lined the vast space. Cloud was about to ask him of the bedpans on the other side of the room when the white-clad doctor cut him short. ‘I have no time for mollycoddling, boy. Get to it.’ With that, he busied himself with the crystal test tubes and glass vials containing chemicals that rested on his table at a corner of the room.

Cloud didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. The mattresses in the room looked spotless and dust free, yet he could not see why the bedpans needed a good wiping. He swivelled his head to check on the doctor and found that he was much too preoccupied with pouring a smoky white liquid into a beaker that stood on a tripod stand and wire gauze to care about him. Slowly, he bent down and wrung the cloth of water and ran it over the smooth surface of one.

‘Cloud…Cloud…’ He prickled his ears to hear the imaginary mocking voice of Sephiroth, who was gazing intently at him from an armchair, portrayed before his very eyes. Long, tapered fingers absent-mindedly twiddled a pen languidly between them as two platinum-like eyes watched him. The body was poised, relaxed. ‘I wonder what sort of trouble you got yourself into to have earned this.’ The uncertain frown on Cloud’s face was too much for the General to resist and he rose from his chair and silently glided over to him. Cloud backed away fearfully, braced himself for the very worst and screwed his eyes shut.

It didn’t come.

He feared the moment where Sephiroth would do something…unspeakable to him, not that he would, because the prospect, Cloud noticed, seemed absurd. Preposterous. As he wordlessly mouthed Raphael’s words over and over again like a warding, the grip on his hair tightened and he stared in horror as the General’s fair face loomed nearer and nearer. Fearful, Cloud’s breath hitched in his throat; this was the General, he wasn’t about to hurt him.

He tilted his head, as if about to question Cloud, and smiled the Devil’s smile. His lips caressed Cloud’s trembling ones in the manner only a phantom’s could and felt the heat radiate from the young cadet’s body. The body beneath him tensed and quivered like a leaf, fearful of this intruder’s feel upon his flesh. A frightful moan tore from Cloud’s windpipe, as if someone was slitting his throat, as if blood were flowing out from the scarlet smile of an invisible wound into a phantom goblet.

Sephiroth was truly enjoying this. Cupping one hand to the youth of a mercenary’s face, he flicked a tongue at his jaw and pressed the other just below where his heart beat. Waves of energy pumped through under his outstretched palm like a jolt of electricity. Cloud gripped the shelf, too frightened to scream; water from the drenched cloth seeped through the gaps between his fingers and ran down onto the floor as terror was vented on it.

An inviting mouth descended to his neck. ‘And the taste of your skin…’ A sharp bite and Cloud felt pain sear through him. And there was another feeling, too, one which he could not name, that felt like fire. Almost a burning yet bruising sensation. Sephiroth pulled back. Cloud, now trickling with perspiration, glowed in the candlelight, making him seem almost ethereal, like a fairy in a tale. The hand above his pulsing heart slowly made their way inside Cloud’s shirt through the small holes between the buttons barely enough for it. Cloud’s head was swimming. Something cold intruded on his chest, trailing delicately, leaving marks that flared, like pyre. The hand on the shelf tightened. It was fear that made Cloud allow Sephiroth to do this. He had to act. Fast.

Hot breath trailed ghostly fingers on his face so insidiously, it itched. Was Sephiroth plotting something against him? He knew only so much about the General. Sephiroth was rumoured to only look at Vincent Valentine, the school gardener, to get him to start hauling snow when winter started true even before the snowflakes had a chance to land. He had a lot of that effect on people, the cadet reminded himself. Will his eyes work that sort of magic on me? He wondered. With a good measure of force, he shook his head. Thrusting that thought aside, he tugged himself back into the present.

It was not Sephiroth’s voice, though, that tsked sadly when he heard it. ‘Didn’t do a very good job, did you?’

The reek of charred cigarette assaulted his sense of smell and forced Cloud’s eyes to fly open like a ripened fruit bursting with seeds. His frightened black pupils dilated as he assessed the medic’s stubbly visage leering over his. Neither sultry flint eyes nor platinum strands framing a smooth face met his gaze. Cloud’s face burned with shame at the train of his thoughts. Quickly rinsing the rag, he attempted to make the bedpans shine.

A rusty sound, like when one scrapes paint off a metallic surface, came on the intercom situated just above the entrance door to the infirmary, cutting off all thoughts from his mind. Almost too roughly, Cloud shook his head. For a moment, it was virtually everything he imagined was real had been in the dream, and Sephiroth never actually touched him in the least because he was not there. And for that moment, before reality came crashing down around his ears, the overwhelming tidal wave of joy and relief were enough to make him drunk. Cloud’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt abashed at the trail his thoughts took. He desperately had to do something to atone for his lack of control. Hastily pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he stumbled out of the doctor’s way. Sapphire eyes hardened to cobalt as the robed man watched him, but the moment a male voice came up on the little box, the icy veneer fizzed out completely.

‘Testing, testing. One, two, three.’ Cloud thought it sounded more like a student. ‘Paging for Doctor Cid Highwind; Instructor Xu requests your presence in the Quad, sir. That is all, thank you.’

He turned around to release a stream of used air. The hand that had extended to grab hold of his own uniform halted. Dropping his arm, the blond-haired cadet took one look at Dr. Highwind, tripped on his own two feet and came crashing down in an ungraceful heap on the floor. The resentful glare he sent was almost fearsome to behold; it reminded Cloud of a fierce revolutionary warrior who lived centuries back with a baleful look that could drive a man to cringe in fear. It was as if Cid regarded him like he was the high-ranking man himself.

‘You are dismissed,’ came the familiar low voice of the medical expert. Cloud, who had been hoping to have received such a dismissal, bowed gratefully. In three fluid strides, Cid crossed the room and headed for the door. He never cast a look back at Cloud as he shut the door with a slam.

Cloud picked himself off the ground but did not stand. Uncharacteristically, he pushed himself against a wall and curled his legs to his chest as he placed his chin on the hard caps of his knees. The corners of his eyes stung as tears threatened to come forth. He shut them. He would not demean himself by showing fear.

As if feeling Sephiroth’s lips on him again, Cloud’s hand rose up to his neck, perhaps reassuring himself there was nothing there. Those humiliating thoughts would fade in time to come. He opened his eyes and stared at the dark water in the pail. And as the dirty liquid inside rippled, a cold shiver chilled him to the bone.

Enough, he thought as he stood up. He had had enough of it. Dusting himself, he resolved that this was probably the effect Sephiroth triggered in the students and felt disgust crawl up his spine. This wasn’t what he wanted from his superior at all, although he didn’t doubt it was the desire of many others. He understood that asking for a modest amount of attention was a little too much to be granted, given the circumstance, but he could at least try, could he not? Maybe Raphael would stop calling him crazy after that.

And speaking of the bowman, Raphael would be horrified if he knew how melancholy Cloud had become because of this. Scratch that, Raphael would be horrified. He was going to realise something was amiss sooner or later, Cloud mused. Queer enough, the thought of the bowman made the throbbing dread that was building up low in his belly deepen.

Calmly striding his way out of the office, Cloud specked a look behind him for anyone suspicious. Finding no one, he broke into a run for the cadets’ dormitories down the corridor, soles of his shoes pounding the cement, fists beating against the air and the frosty night wind whistling through his hair. Everything blurred behind him in a streak of multi-coloured waves as he raced for the only haven he knew in the school down the unfathomable chasm of the corridors.

A desolate sound heightened his senses. His head shot up. The clamorous noise of a metal door sliding open drew his attention to a seemingly formidable location not far from where he stood panting. An unknown form, hooded by thick shadows, emerged silently from the portal, gliding hither. The beating organ in his ribcage amplified when its luminous grey irises narrowed as they flitted over him, filing away the details as the cadet tried visibly to gather himself from the piercing gaze instead of cowering like a dog. He sent prayers to whatever deity that was listening for this beast to be a feeble one; a Bomb, or a Funguar, nothing more. He couldn’t possibly take down anything tougher than that with his … The blood that rushed to his face made him feel hot and heady; embarrassment made it even worse. A soldier always had his good sword strapped to his back, even Raphael said so, but he didn’t even have so much as his fists to fend for himself so he had to rely upon his next best form of protection. Courage.

Mustering every bit of bravery he possessed that ran through his veins, Cloud barked, as fiercely as he could, ‘Stay back, you! Whatever you are …’

The dark figure swathed in a robe of misty shadows advanced, oblivious to his threat, and glowered with frosty Mako-infused eyes. They narrowed dangerously. Cloud gulped uneasily: he didn’t know Bombs could do so. Only when a meagre bit of light shone upon it did the swordsman realise it was a person. A particularly lanky male with sleek ash-hued hair that fell endlessly behind metal pauldrons. Upon discovering it was merely the Great General, Cloud lowered his guard. ‘Sir!’ was all he could blurt out. He was astounded but tried to keep his voice levelled.

Cloud’s clever eyes saw a smarting scar on his left cheek, a fresh wound with dried blood caking the outline of it. Tilting his head in mild concern, he boldly inquired, ‘S-Sir … are you OK?’

‘I am surprised you even heard me coming.’ General Sephiroth, who had previously been draped in darkness, stood there, tall and striking, clothed in black. When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to a security code panel engraved into the wall on his left and begin typing in the numbers swiftly with his tapered fingers. His heavenly hair billowed thickly like oil, catching the light in its silvery shine.

After finding his voice once more, he answered, sounding a nonce disconcerted but it was replaced by unyielding confidence. ‘It’s what I’m trained for.’ If he sounded incoherent, the fact was not betrayed by the General’s facial expression.

A decidedly cold smile graced his thin lips as he regarded the young man, ‘At least they’ve done something right.’ His tone, on the other hand, indicated that his indifference was not directed at the younger man.

‘Yes, sir,’ Cloud said softly. As he serenely walked away, there was a suggestion of a bittersweet smile upon his lips.

Robbed of breath and energy, he stumbled into the room he shared with Raphael and two other friends, of whom were currently fast asleep. They did not stir from their slumber even as he burst through, but continued snoring soundly, lost in their worlds of dreams. Cloud saw this and closed the door without emitting any unwanted noise as best as he could and crept into his own bed. He wrapped the cool sheets around his body but soon found that sleep would not come. He tried shutting his eyes and cutting all thoughts from his mind, tried to make his bed more comfortable for sleeping, even willed himself to sleep, but each and every one proved useless.

He could not sleep. He was weary beyond telling, yet he could see the night sky beyond the draperies. A moonless, starless night shrouded the night sky in a black cloak, trees seeming ever more haunting with their claw-like fingers. Still, he remembered how brightly Sephiroth’s eyes glowed when they pinned him with that luminous gaze, how cold they seemed when they traced his own.

Not too far a distance, a long-limbed bundle bedecked in an eiderdown stirred, lifting a sleep-addled handsome face with auburn tendrils falling down to his face. The silhouette of the pale blond propped perfectly unmoving on the bed in a foetal position earned him a drooping jaw for three whole minutes. If a fly or two flew into his gaping mouth, he would not have noticed for he was too busy trying to provoke some sort of reaction from his somewhat quiet friend.

When Raphael had restored some dignity to himself and pulled back his hanging jaw, he smoothly glided over to a pondering Cloud. His fingers were crossed and his chin rested upon them and his eyes adopted that cold sparkle of rage. The red-haired soldier crossed to where Cloud was and sat on the bed. Springs underneath the mattress creaked as he settled his weight on the edge of it. Why was Cloud so silent?

‘Hey,’ Raphael whispered tentatively, nodding. ‘Cloud?’

If he had heard him, Cloud did not show it. Raphael’s voice pulled him only so far from where he was. Cloud still could not abandon the incident outside the office; like the memory of seeing a ghost for the first time, he was bound to it. He still felt wary. Still uncertain as to how to react to Sephiroth. They weren’t socially equal, if one counted these things by blood kinship and position, and Cloud was not acclimatised to the prejudices of the school. That sort of naïveté could only come from someone born high enough to not know fear.

‘Cloud.’ The boy sitting opposite him seemed gruffer than ever. When the lamplight shone on Cloud’s face, Raphael was forced to pull in his breath. Cloud looked somehow harder, wearier, older, not at all like what he normally appeared.

‘What’s the matter?’ His voice was tight, strained. Cloud raised his eyes and locked gazes with Raphael. Liquid blue eyes studied brown ones that seemed devoid of life and strength. They quickly looked elsewhere; on the floor, at his shoes, on the bed sheet … anything. Cloud tensed. Just then, Raphael realised something. Cloud was struggling not to cry.

A hand reached out and tenderly held his face. Momentarily dazzled by the contact, he involuntarily choked a gasp and then pressed a reserved sigh from his lungs. Unable to decide whether the touch was comforting or upsetting, Cloud turned his face away from it, silently pleading the hand not to follow him. Raphael questioned the young swordsman in a way he knew how, insisting that the blond soldier tell him what disturbed him, but his tactic ill-afforded him. He even lost count of the number of times Cloud’s name fell from his lips but the latter adamantly remained motionless throughout his probing.

After what seemed the final straw, Raphael spoke, his voice tired and drained. ‘Cloud, please tell me. It’s not about Sephiroth again, is it?’

It was difficult to answer, and Cloud knew it. But it was all Raphael needed to know to rush top his aid. Sharp eyes belonging to the man at the edge of his bed sought any twist of a muscle on his face or the sudden clench of his fingers on the covers or an abrupt jerk of the shoulders that gave away much emotion. He clutched the sheets. Cheeks burning as he worked an answer, he said, ‘T-This might sound inane, Raphael … but Sephiroth …’ His voice trailed off.

A moment of silence. ‘Sephiroth? What about Sephiroth? Did you see him just now?’

Nodding, Cloud looked over at him and felt a feeling of pure reverence. Raphael could be so understanding at times, however, he found he could not convey his message well enough to him. His lips twisted at the force of unwanted memories, but said naught. He hated nasty thoughts of any sort. Hated to repeat them.

When no answer was forthcoming, Raphael threw his hands up in the air in a resigned manner. ‘Cloud,’ he said hotly, eyes darkening, ‘if there’s something you want to tell me, go ahead. What did he say to you? Tell me so I have a reason to kick the living daylights out of him.’

A shudder of something unnameable ran through him as Cloud raised his gaze, revealing eyes that were innocent and filled with hurt it stabbed Raphael’s heart to see them. It was as if Cloud meant to say, How could you do this to me?

‘Nothing … it’s nothing…’ Cloud’s eyes found something interesting to stare at for they were fixed on his lap. ‘He didn’t say anything, not much, but he was very … cold. For a moment, it scared me, the way he looked at me with those eyes.’

‘Just his gaze?’ It sounded more of a statement than a question to Cloud’s ears.

‘Yes.’

‘And nothing more?’

‘No, not really.’

Raphael, who had been waiting a graver answer, raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? Because if he did say something to you, I can talk to him about it,’ he added anxiously, troubled at the sheer impact his older friend was having on the blond-haired cadet. Cloud nodded imperceptibly. He was not in a particularly divulgatory mood. With a twinkle in his mahogany eyes, the customary smile was playing on the bowman’s lips; locks of ruby fell on his cheekbones as Raphael cocked his head to one side. ‘Cloud, what did I say about me shearing you like a sheep?’

Annoyed at his partner’s good humour, Cloud frowned though he was still hesitant about it.

He closed his eyes and reopened them. Do you really need to know that? Do you really need to know I saw?

Raphael could see the instant change in the blond cadet’s face, the distracted look reappearing at the memory brought up by the question and the beam dissipated. He was sure to keep his voice necessarily soft, a notch above a whisper, and let his thumb move to Cloud’s cheek to gently rub the soft skin there, hoping that the physical sensation was adequate to soothe him. He would not push the boy now, not when he was facing a confliction of warring emotions, torn between the urge to cry and shout; but Raphael knew with a sudden fierceness that he would have no qualms about beating an answer out of his superior later on. Radiating an aura of displeasure and a unyielding demeanour was enough to bring most men to their knees, speaking to them not only sparked fear in their beings, it also tended to make them cringe in fear. With others, it was tolerable, in Raphael’s opinion, but not when it came to Cloud. The soldier-in-training did not deserve such unorthodox treatment by his superior, especially when that officer happened to be an acquaintance of his, as well.

‘Are you certain you don’t want to talk about this, Cloud?’ enquired Raphael. ‘I’m right here, I’ll listen if you need me.’

The pale youth raised his golden head upwards to speak out, ‘I was only – ’

‘Hmm?’

Faltering once more, Cloud shook his head from side to side. ‘No … I’m fine … just tired… I was … probably imagining things again.’ Blue orbs tried to look at him properly without faltering and almost managed before losing it in the recess of his mind again. ‘I just need to lie down.’

Silence draped all around them, save for the incessant snoring of Axel and Luxord, like an invisible curtain. Neither man felt comfortable at what had just been discussed, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. After a while, Raphael grunted. ‘Alright, if you insist, but if you need me, I’m always here for you, Cloud,’ he said softly. He clasped both Cloud’s hands in his big ones, enveloping them in warmth. The touch was like an extra hand at his throat, forcing him to look up to receive the next sentence.

Bringing his face close, Raphael sent an unreadable look, ‘Always.’

Cloud grimaced, but nodded nevertheless. From a side glance, he could already see Raphael returning to reshuffle the bed covers so he could sleep in it again. He considered the offer that was given to him with a slightly quivering lip. Timidly, he cooed, ‘Raph …’

His best friend stopped surveying his work and abruptly pivoted at the waist so he could glance backwards to reply. ‘Yes, Cloud?’

‘Would you … please stay here with me?’ Shy aqua orbs elevated minutely from the position at their owner’s lap. ‘Sephiroth did frighten me, but I think I’d feel much better if you were by my side tonight.’ The tender smile gracing Raphael’s face was answer enough for Cloud, who was beckoned to come thither to the small mattress.

‘It’s better if we slept in my bed. I’ve already warmed it up so it’ll ward off the chill in your limbs, Cloud.’ The skilled bowman took hold of a handful of his blanket and threw it around both of their bodies like a good cloak, keeping them sufficiently warm in its woolly embrace. They lay like that, Cloud hugged close to Raphael’s body while the latter gazed out the bedside window, over the brick rooftops of the residents around Midgar Military Mercenary Academy.

Suddenly, Raphael uttered a low whistle and nudged Cloud awake. Groggily he grunted something unintelligible in response as he was not at all amused to be woken up when he was having such nice dream. He shifted his head upwards to meet Raphael’s and was a mite disquieted about the distance between their faces but dismissed the matter.

‘What is it?’ he asked testily.

‘Look over there, by the rooftops,’ the older boy whispered with a hint of urgency.

‘Where?’ Cloud twisted his neck as far as he could without breaking it to see what had gotten his comrade so enthusiastic all of a sudden. A full moon peeked shyly over the feathery clouds, spilling rivers of light into the dark pool of midnight blue around it, and some were even bold enough to kiss the land of slumbering mortals. On the roof of one of the nearest houses stood a voluptuously shaped human figure, bathing in the soft rays. ‘I see something, but what it is, I can’t tell.’

‘It’s a woman lying there.’

A look of unadulterated disbelief fleeted over Cloud’s features. ‘How would you know that?’

‘Because she’s stark naked, that’s how,’ came Raphael’s flat reply, never once taking his eyes off of her.

The blond’s bow shaped lips scrunched up into a poor imitation of an “O” as a blush crept into his pale cheeks. ‘Oh, that,’ he said, ‘It’s an Al-Bhed custom, a superstition that the first few rays of moonlight shining on a woman’s belly will increase her fertility.’

‘Yeah, but she can’t see us.’

‘Shan’t we leave her be, then? She’s obviously got her mind on other things, you know. Go to sleep, Raph. And,’ he added sharply, ‘stop gawking at her.’

‘I’m sort of an expert in that field if that’s what’s really bothering her,’ Raphael replied dazedly with a shrewd tone. ‘Maybe I should talk to her about it –’ He made as to leave but was violently pulled back by two surprisingly sturdy, small hands.

‘I said no. You stay put. The furthest place you’ll be going tonight is the toilet, so you’d better not try anything else,’ Cloud firmly said, snuggling under the comfortable bedspread and trying to relish its warmth as he spoke. After a few minutes, Raphael was quiet again, but Cloud was unsure whether he was awake or not as he was too tired to care. Subconsciously, he rubbed the tip of his cold nose against his friend’s pulsing neck in a vain attempt to get cosy when he heard his name being called again by the masculine voice above his ear.

Cloud didn’t bother opening his eyelids as he was trying his best to catch as much of it as possible before dawn rose in the horizon, and that would mean the start of a new day. Another school day. ‘Now what?’ he asked gratingly, clenching his teeth and inwardly wondering whether he was going to get any sleep that night.

‘That Al-Bhedian woman. She’s still there.’

‘It’s her roof.’

‘I know, but she seems much too interesting for me to ignore, Cloud.’

‘Why?’ Cloud, at long last, had fluttered his eyes open and glanced warily at Raphael’s glinting chocolate ones that adopted a faraway gaze to them. ‘Is she pretty?’

‘I can’t say, really,’ he admitted woefully with a mischievous grin smeared upon the area where his mouth was suppose to be. ‘I’m not looking at her face.’

Roses and Wine - II

Sephiroth stood in his office, as silent as a tree in the bitter embrace of winter. The meeting with the young mercenary, Cloud Strife, went well, as expected. The incident remained as a vaguely amusing memory in his mind, but he intended to forget it as soon as he could; there were other crucial matters occupying his mind. He looked up, regarding the chamber. Tapestries hung on the walls of the Quarterlords who founded the academy, depicting men who sat sophisticatedly in their life-size portraits. All four bastard lords: Theron Pengaron, Marafice Eye, Shor Gormalin and Robb Claw.

The rug he was standing on was priceless silk, embroidered with beads and tussles. Once, hides of every sort was draped in his office, but Sephiroth found them to be distasteful and would have none hung in any chamber he chanced to be in Midgar Military Mercenary Academy. But now he missed them. The office seemed bare without them.

Cloud. He could almost taste the skin, the skin that glowed like summer peaches, smooth as churned butter, soft as silk. He could almost luxuriate the feel of it, almost as if he was running a hand across it. In his mind, his hand moved up to trace a delicate pattern on his cheekbone, below those two wondrous, innocent sapphire eyes, glittering like two stars for him. The eyes that held so much trust. And the lips that quivered under his touch …

Sephiroth snapped himself violently from his reverie. Clutching his head with one hand, he worked to steady himself. What in Heaven’s name was he thinking? Cloud Strife, First Class Mercenary trained in the arts of sword fighting and self-defence, was a boy stepping into adulthood, and he, the Great General Sephiroth, boasted more than the same qualities any man had. He was faster, more intelligent and stronger than the average soldier without any knowledge of how that came to be and that was that. He was so perturbed at this particular attention given towards the young man that he nearly collided with his desk.

He swore silently when a humble tap was applied to his door. Swivelling around he bade the person enter.

From what he saw, tufts of butterscotch hair came into view. Curtained behind it, lurked a pair of intelligent aqua-green eyes, sparkling in the morning light. The man had sharp but handsome features; his skin was smooth beyond knowing and below one eye was a tattooed blue pattern, above his eyebrow was another of the similar sort. Draped on one hip was a small pouch, weighed down by sphere-like objects in it. Sephiroth had no desire as to what was in the bag. Pulling up a chair, he seated himself in it.

‘How are you, my dear Sephiroth?’ he enquired with a sphinx-like smile. The man moved thither with grace, leather pants creaking in complaint as he did so. The badges on his breast chimed like faraway bells when he stepped forward, and the tinny jingle resonated throughout the silent room. Even as he sauntered over, the General did not glance up. Trinkets embroidered into his black outfit tinkled as he bent his body forward in a fluid bow.

Finally, after what had been deemed a small eternity, Sephiroth said, in a voice of metered boredom, ‘Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel.’ He breathed impatiently. ‘What brings you here?’ He tore his eyes away from that twisted viper of a man he knew to the window at his side. Even the wind rustling the trees was more captivating. A red squirrel scampered on the branches of an acorn tree, nose and ears twitching for any sounds of danger as it eyed a cluster of acorns draped tantalisingly before it, the hummingbird flutter of its heart discernable to Sephiroth.

‘Oh, pleasure, pleasure! Why, what else should bring one anywhere? I wanted to see you, of course. Our meeting was due ages ago; I haven’t seen you in weeks!’ the Lieutenant replied courteously, flicking his hair with his hand, while the other scrumptiously snaked into this leather pouch and drew out a sapphire Materia, twirling it lazily between two fingers. ‘You know, Sephiroth—’

‘General,’ he interrupted, glowering. His eyes narrowed.

Nathaniel waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Yes, yes, General. You know, you should deplete the amount of time you spend sitting here accomplishing your minute tasks and instead, spend them with me. I highly doubt whether you recognise fun anymore!’

‘Whether I what? You have a very odd idea of what constitutes fun, Lieutenant Colonel!’ Sephiroth felt his blood pressure shoot up; a vein actually bulged out at the statement. But the Lieutenant merely raised a slender eyebrow at the General’s outburst, composure as aloof as a serpent. Truly, the man was a jewel in any woman’s harem; his physique was slender, his legs were an enticement to any girl and that, combined with the slight muscles on his torso served to make him look almost as beautiful as Sephiroth himself. Of course, his hips were another matter: they were only a little bit rounded. Womanish.

‘Oh, bite your tongue, man!’ said Nathaniel, bringing his gloved hand forth as if to swat away a passing fly. ‘You talk exactly as if you were a dentist, and it is perfectly vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist! It produces a false impression. I would have saved this meeting if it weren’t for you … General. You must be aware of the fact that you’re very good-looking, you know.’ He moved forward to stroke a finger on Sephiroth’s pale cheek; the other man quickly jerked his head out of reach. He did not favour any more contacts with Nathaniel. Like the squirrel he had just witnessed, he was alert of the dangers around him.

‘And a very good morning to you, too, General Sephiroth,’ Nathaniel murmured. The courtier’s trick. Politeness when none was called for. Sephiroth knew Nathaniel hoped that would stem the flow of invective that he seemed primed to unleash on his ears. ‘What were you doing staring at your office?’

The question was posed innocently enough; however, Sephiroth had no desire to speak with the Lieutenant Colonel for another minute. ‘Will you get out?,’ he muttered tersely.

‘Poor Sephiroth …’ The brown-haired man laughed gaily, proceeding forward and leaning in on his arms. Their faces were a knuckles length away. The office grew deathly silent as Nathaniel tried to pin the silver-haired male in front of him into an uncomfortable position in his seat. Reflexively, Sephiroth struck aside the offending hand that had been reaching for him with more force than he had intended. He realised instantly that that had been a mistake. Turquoise eyes shifted to mists of teal, all good humour evaporating in a flash. ‘And what is the matter with you, hmm?’

He tilted his head. ‘Someone’s bothering you?’ he asked sultrily.

Sephiroth cursed his complexion as he felt his cheeks burn. It was so near to the truth. Fingers, long and pale, curled themselves on the armrests of the chair as he worked a sharp answer out of his throat. ‘You being here certainly is. Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage and your presence in my office utterly absurd. You never talk anything but nonsense.’ Nathaniel drew away slowly. Sephiroth did not notice the small smirk on his face as he did so.

‘Well, if you think so… Nobody talks anything but nonsense.’ He flicked his hair out of his face again. ‘You always were a stubborn little boy, but you’ve got to grow up someday.’

When he was safely away from Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel’s unnerving presence, Sephiroth allowed himself a relieved sigh. Nathaniel had let the matter slide—he barely could believe his luck. When he was certain the younger man was out of earshot, Sephiroth cursed Cloud aloud, and damned him to the bowels of Hell.

The first thing he comprehended was that he wasn’t alone. Sounds of movement and people talking filled his senses and he could feel the other presences around him. Just how many, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint but why weren’t they waking him? Had something happened?

Casting his mind back down to the vista of events, the last thing Cloud found he remembered was the assembly that morning, as it always had been on every other Monday morning; remembered, rather vaguely, that he had been excited about one thing or another. Running his mind along the trail of events to try and find out what had happened next, before an image of Sephiroth burned itself in the back of his retinas.

He moaned lightly.

The hushed whispers suddenly turned into nothing more than dancing dying hisses and halted, causing Cloud to wonder if he had done something out-of-place. The hadn’t registered before, not until the silence left behind the filled spaces in his ears of where he had been. The world returned with a sonic ‘pop’. Cloud lay unmoving, afraid to breathe, wary that he might cause an unwanted stir.

Something shifted but he couldn’t say where. Dimly, he was certain that there was a complain creak of leather. Just as he was quick to pay heed to it, his heart pulsed faster. Gently, a weight settled itself on the edge of his bed, dipping the mattress to the right. It advanced, and for a brief moment, Cloud’s mind fleeted over the image of a great, black, hairy rat the size of a chicken. He loathed rats. But this bundle of mass did not seem like one. For surely rats did not smell of cologne nor wore leather and rats definitely were not capable of shaking the bed from suppressed laughter.

A welcoming sensation of warmth came into contact with his cool skin. The voice, when it spoke, was very near as he heard it whisper his name. Cloud groaned, somewhat vexed at the foreign touch, but did not hasten to open his eyes.

‘Is he awake yet?’ asked a solemn voice from across the room.

‘Of course, he is!’ interjected a high-pitched one. ‘Cloud doesn’t sleep like a rock, unlike some people I could mention.’ This one was harsh, scathing.

An indignant voice answered it. ‘That’s unfair; I don’t sleep like a rock!’

‘Ha. You’re fooling no one.’

‘Oh yeah?’ it grated. ‘Well, if I sleep like a rock, you sleep like a– ’ But what the other slept like they did not know for it was that moment when Cloud chose to flutter his eyes open to reveal deep pools of azure, ringed with fierce dark amethyst irises of which rose to meet a pair of darker, friendlier ones across from his that sparkled with refrained laughter. The swordsman’s eyes roamed over from the long thin nose to the achingly familiar grin that was plastered, and screamed.

The older boy backed away. ‘Whoa, hey!’ he said, quite cheerfully. ‘Good morning, welcome to the land of the living! Press Go and pay 2000 Gil, please!’ He tilted his spiky auburn head to scrutinise his bunkmate, who only seemed to be focused on regaining his breath and working order of his heart for it pounded like a wild, caged animal, making it a coarse thing to breathe properly.

‘Hey, Cloud, c’mon, I didn’t mean it! It was a joke!’ The older boy flashed him a wide smile that radiated his handsome features. His only answer to that was a hacking cough from the blond, who was evidently trying to work with a parched throat.

‘Don’t do that, Raphael,’ he murmured, hoping it was sufficient enough to be heard. The fighter named Raphael quickly changed his expression to one of tender indulgence.

‘What’s the matter, Spike? I know it sounds corny … but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Cloud felt his heart rapidly starting to beat again. It terrified him because for one frightful moment, he had thought the grinning face above his belonged to none other than General Sephiroth himself. A smile like that he had seen before, rare in sanity, but all too common in madness. ‘I thought I had,’ was all he said.

The red-head grinned good-humouredly again, not fully fathoming the situation. ‘My face isn’t all that frightening, is it Cloud? It’s never spooked anyone before, you know; I’m sorry I scared you so much, but still! It’s a face, what else do you expect to cover the front of my head?’

Cloud appeared rather breathless and disorientated and his face had taken on the hue of a radish with a bad sunburn. He contemplatively studied Raphael for a while and decided that perhaps it was best to confide in him, what with him being his best friend and the General’s comrade as well. He would know what to say about it. Golden bangs hid a good portion of his eyes, sweat trickled down his neck as he worked to shake his friend and convey his story on the awkward encounter with Sephiroth. He began stammering. Raphael shot him a puzzled look as he was continued to be shaken vigorously. Finally, he grabbed Cloud’s hands to stop him and stared at him straight in the face before saying, ‘Thank you for testing the fluid in my semi-circular ear canals, I think they’re in working condition. Now, would you kindly tell me what the matter is before I decide to strangle the living breath out of you?’

Cloud made some vague motions with his hands, motioning Raphael to a quiet spot in the room. He then plunged into a more demonstrative explanation about the General’s very queer behaviour in front of him, of how he shook his hand, and drawing unwanted attention in the process. He even did a little demonstration for emphasis. The puzzled façade seethed its way into Raphael as Cloud waved his hands about madly in the air like a windmill, babbling excitedly. When he was done, Cloud awaited his partner’s advice to his setback.

‘Are we talking about the same person here?’

‘Of course!’

Finally, Raphael said, in a very as-a-matter-of fact tone, ‘Cloud, I think you’re perfectly paranoid. Seph is the General – he’s not about to do something like that to a cadet. Besides, he’s so stoic, he wouldn’t chance to notice a joke if it painted itself purple and danced naked in front of him on his desk. Maybe you held on longer than you intended to. Relax.’ He fixed him with a withering glare. ‘He has that effect on a lot of people all the time, you know, makes them want to pass out, but if you ask me, I don’t think he means anything by it. Even I thought he was trying to hew my head when he shot me that petrifying stare the first time. So, anyway, one more time you bound up to me screaming about Sephiroth, I’m going to bind your arse to the kitchen stove and shave your head! You hear me?’

The silly grin was back once more, lighting up the bowman’s face as quickly as if it had always been there earlier. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? I could talk to him about this on your behalf. It’s about time, too; he’s been frightening far too many students out of their wits lately.’

Hesitantly, Cloud shook his head slowly, unsure of his own feelings. He could’ve sworn it was not his doing that made him feel queasy on purpose, yet Raphael here was telling him it was and threatened to shear him like a sheep. ‘I’ll be OK.’

Raphael beamed confidently. ‘Yeah, you’ll have to be. I think you’re going to be late for class.’

Cloud did not take his lessons very well this time. The encounter he chanced with Sephiroth had affected him badly, so badly, he couldn’t even keep his mind in the now. Cloud could not put his mind to it: why had he done it? Mayhap, Sephiroth had found some interest in him? No, no, it couldn’t be, he thought vigorously shaking himself. It was just a little attention, that’s all.

‘As you know, Materia are equipped to holes, or slots in a weapon that either connect Materia together or keep them separate,’ the instructor was saying as she gestured to a virtual slide show on a screen. ‘For example, if you equip an All Materia into a slot which links to one that has a Fire Materia, you can now cast a Fire spell that affects all the enemies. Also, Materia gain levels, usually about four or five, and when levelled up, these orbs can cast stronger spells and offer …’

In one dark corner of his head, pure, unadulterated loathe poured like a river. In another distant corner, a part of him gibbered with terror and fear. But the voices were faint like whispers and were soon lost amid the wild storm of emotions and thoughts. Cloud Strife, I presume. Cloud winced inwardly as his name rolled from the General’s tongue, as if it stung his cheek like acid.

‘Strife!’

A womanly voice pierced his thoughts like knife slicing through butter. Cloud glanced up. His ageing instructor peered at him through her oversized framed spectacles, which only seemed to magnify her eyes. She looked crossed and Cloud instantly knew why. He had not paid attention to her lecture on Materia one bit and the topic was the utmost important one in the exam. With colossal effort, he tried to work and answer, his mouth opened and closed feebly.

‘I-Instructor…’ he stammered, gripping the edge of his desk so tightly, the skin bloomed white. ‘Could you please repeat the q-question?’

Another glare that sparked fear in him. For some strange reason, he associated that antagonistic look with one of Sephiroth’s and immediately, thoughts came cascading like a waterfall, clashing with each other, like water that shattered on rocks. He soon felt his cheeks turn red.

The instructor huffed her answer. ‘Suggest a way to equip yourself with Materia effectively.’

Suggest a way…suggest a way… Cloud’s mind worked frantically even as his eyes skimmed the sea of faces of his classmates. But visions of the General kept haunting him and he blurted out, ‘I don’t know!’ The class erupted with laughter, but the instructor kept on staring at him with that same angry look; if possible, she looked even angrier.

‘I thought so. Didn’t read your notes, did you?’ she snapped. Cloud hung his head in infamy; he caught his roommate Axel looking at him from the corner of his eye. He winked.

‘Now, Cloud, shall we try again?’ She waited for no answer. ‘Depending on the level of the monster, the item received after the battle differs. If the said monster’s level is higher, will the item you acquire be rarer?’

Another clench on the desk. ‘Why don’t you ask the monster yourself?’

‘Cloud, I tolerate many things, but insolence is certainly not one of them!’ she thundered. The instructor, now pale with rage, flushed scarlet and crushed her slate to her chest. She now possessed the look as if she had swallowed a lemon. ‘You must be going round the twist!’ Everyone flinched at the biting tone of her voice as she flung threats and severe chidings at Cloud, who was attempting to huddle into a hunch in his seat. A few more were thrown at him before the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. The pupils were glad of it; they shoved each other, eager to be rid of the sight of their teacher and head on to their next lesson, chattering in hushed voices. Cloud, however, sat still in his seat, the image of his sombre face reflected in the screen of his control panel. He could not fathom why he had acted so queer in class; he least expected to make a fool of himself.

The teacher raised her head. ‘Cloud, I would like to see you.’ Her eyes grew hard as she watched his every move. The swordsman quietly strode up to her desk, head hung in utter shame.

‘Cloud, I would have never expected this sort of behaviour coming from you. I confess I am somewhat bewildered by what you said to me just now. Foolish boy. I thought you had more sense in you and that you valued your merit points. I presume you know what your unfortunate movements led to?’ She took out a file containing papers and began signing in one specific corner. Whilst scribbling, she said, ‘You’ll be receiving detention—yes, you will. Twenty points will be deducted from your record.’

‘Twenty?’ Cloud squeakily parroted.

‘Yes, twenty—don’t give me that look.’ Her eyes challenged him. Fear stretched through him as he felt a small explosion take place in his stomach. Twenty points lost. And for what? Meaninglessly making himself the laughingstock of his class. Cloud resolved never, ever to bump into…that man again, even if his life solely depended on it. For once, he mused darkly, he was glad that their encounters were few and far between.

‘You’ll be scrubbing the bedpans in the infirmary at exactly 2000 hours today. Do you understand me?’

Even as he thought of a very rude word, Cloud nodded. He could think of nothing else to say.

‘If you wish, however, to redeem yourself,’ she added in a thoughtful tone of speech as though she knew that Cloud had not meant his actions, ‘I would strongly advise you to access the Tutorial corner in your control panel.’

Swiftly, he grabbed the slip of paper stating he had to spend his detention in the sickroom and furiously walked over to his desk. Something happened to his face when he decided whether or not he might read through his Tutorial or just walk out of the class. Thinking that it might do him some good if he did, he sat down and switched on his computer. Clutching the thin piece of paper in his gloved hand, he stared at the blank black surface as the computer came to life. On top of a blue backdrop of the main index were four coloured bars, entitled ‘Tutorial’, ‘The Basics’, ‘About the Academy’ and ‘Academy Square’. As recommended, he clicked the ‘Tutorial’ section and when a different screen began to appear, he started to read the information it contained.

‘Magic usage is a technique which involves controlling energy,’ Cloud breathed aloud, ‘This skill can be gained by proper training, however, it is difficult to achieve power levels that are comparable to conventional weapons …’

His back ached and his head throbbed as he leaned back against his chair after drawing in towards the computer a few minutes later. Cloud clicked the “Return” button. However, when the corner of his quick azure eyes caught ‘Academy Square’ displayed tantalisingly before him, he could hardly refrain himself and contain his curiosity from entering it. The page usually held announcements and suggestions by students for the school’s improvement, although at times, there were those who frequently got carried away. The blond swordsman would never admit it, but he quite enjoyed criticising other people’s lives. Cloud felt the heat rise in his cheeks when he browsed several amusing comments:

Your opinions are important to make our Academy a better place. Please write them down and place them in the drop box below.

“Ming Yen! I shall not forget you … how you made me panic each time before an exam started by asking me questions that I can’t answer.”

-Saïx

“Oh Aimy, I love talking to you in my sexy voice.”

-Karyn

“Karyn, you dirty-minded … diva.”

-A.L.

“Oh, Saïx, you naughty boy! I will miss pulling your ears.”

-John

“Abigail, my mother! Thank you for not feeding me and leaving me to fend for myself. History repeats itself, as today, I am a fertile mother with six children and no sense of motherly-hood responsibility. Ha-ha, thanks for giving me two gorgeous sisters, Jas and Sherine – all three of us have nothing in common.”

-Becky

“Raphael, General Sephiroth still scares me sometimes – I don’t know why! Maybe it’s because I’m hopelessly timid. Ha-ha … now everyone will know it’s a lie! If only you had protected me from his death glares. I think he’s always tried to kill me through them.”

-Jaysern

“Hello, Peter. Since everybody is posting a message, I thought I might take this opportunity to tell you that I wish I had known you before. You always seem to be that bundle of energy at the corner of Potions class, laughing, talking, laughing, talking, talking, talking, laughing … err …”

-Nida

“Harry, your drawings are lovely. I’ve never seen them before.”

-Anonymous

“Whee! I’ve decided to name my fart Tezuka! Yes, fart.”

-Thomas C.

“If you don’t stop your silly games, I am going to close this page down until you all grow up! This isn’t for your petty complains, got it?”

-Denise, Board of Prefects

“I wonder why Sephiroth has to call me Major Blunder. I mean, look – he does more blunders than all mine combined in one year, but he just never admits it! Arrogance, I tell you! And he calls me blur. We live, as you know, in an unjust world. Hey, school committee, try pinning up some balloons in his office – maybe that’d cheer him up, that sullen old woman. He’s too serious enough as it is. This comment is solely meant for Sephiroth because he needs to change and make the school a much happier place to be in.”

-Raphael

The youthful warrior snorted derisively at their utter childishness and wit, but immediately returned to the main page when he realised that he had spent an excessive amount of time reading pointless comments that did not even fulfil the requirements when he had detention in a few hours’ time. Cursing under his breath, Cloud chided himself; this was the exact attitude he showed which earned him his rewarding consequence!

In a moment, the control panel was switched off and the paper beside it was taken. He suppressed a groan as he left the classroom, knowing he was already behind schedule. He climbed up the flight of stairs up to his dormitory with unusual agility, trusting his feet to lead the way, all the while feeling the ache beginning to set in from all the work he had done when the distinctive dissonance of feet came his way. Judging from what sounds assailed his ears, this particular person moved in an agitated manner, or was probably rushing to get to some place.

Cloud spun around. Coming straight at him was an indiscernible figure in dark clothing moving at heart-stopping speed. It headed straight for him and even before his mind could register a thing, the knocked forcefully into him, sending him reeling from the aftermath of the blow. Although the floor did not rush up to catch him, he nearly lost his sense of balance; the other person, a young girl, had been on the receiving end and had gotten the worst of the impact. Landing painfully on her rear end and skidding to the floor, she let out a little wail that sounded much like a sick elephant in pain. After cursing in every language she could think of, she shifted her gaze upwards only to meet the inquisitive ones of Cloud’s. He probably imposed as a tall figure towering over her, making her appear minuscule and insignificant. The man stepping into adulthood with dark blue eyes that locked with hers pinned her with a cold hard stare. A firm jaw was set, and thin lips graced the line of his mouth. A curtain of her short-cropped ebony hair hid part of her face, but that was only to be expected when one crashed into someone else.

Miraculously, she rose to her feet, unhurt in the least and emitted a little squeak. ‘There, I’m fine!’ she said rather brightly, dusting off the dirt from her fresh navy blue skirt. She peered curiously at Cloud with her intense dark brown eyes, having never seen him before as she continued, ‘Sorry, I was in a sort of hurry …’ Pausing to show her sincerity, the short-haired lass nervously placed her hands behind her back, all the while shifting her weight nimbly from one foot to another.

The golden-haired warrior had never seen her in this Academy before, so he reckoned that she had to be a transfer student from another school. Upon closer inspection, her forehead was blistered with gobs of sweat trickling into the wilderness of her locks, which told him that she was most likely scuttling around in a quest for something. Calmly, he proffered, ‘Are you new here?’

She nodded. ‘Why, yes, of course! Pray let me introduce myself to you, I’m Yuffie Kisaragi.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Yuffie, I’m Cloud Strife, ‘ the blond stated awkwardly, feeling quite peculiar at being sociable for it wasn’t really in his nature. ‘The lesson is over so you can’t register yourself for the classes today; you could try tomorrow, instead.’ Yuffie allowed a small frown to mar her features when she pondered his last statement but quickly replaced it with a cheerful mask.

Glancing apprehensively at the taller cadet, she asked, ‘Will it be alright for you to give me a quick tour of the school?’ Cloud was about to give his eager answer but faltered when he recalled that he needed ample rest so that he could carry out the arduous task of scrubbing the bedpans without dozing off.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m in a rush to get to my next class. Already, I’m running late as it is.’

‘Oh, alright! I’ll find my way around and not get lost, hopefully!’ she burbled, a tad disappointed but the expression quickly vanished instantaneously as she thanked him and bade him farewell.

In her absence, Cloud experienced a twinge of a certain unnameable feeling that set onto his shoulders and knotted his stomach. Stuffing the little piece of paper into his file, he stormed off towards the training centre for his second lesson of the day. There he was, then, mounted aloft: he who thought he could not stand shame, now exposed to a general view on a pedestal of disgrace. What his sensations were, no language could describe, but they all arose, stifling his breath and constricting his throat.

Roses and Wine - I

It began one day in the Midgar Military Mercenary Academy. One day that was no different from the unchanging, unceasing monotony that lurked in the halls in the realm of the cadets and militia alike. Monotony. Attainable throughout the years spent here. No one could set foot inside and not feel the lull of dullness pull at oneself. It was almost like swallowing sweet poison: you gave in to it at first, felt yourself weakening under its pressure and before you realised it was too late, your legs dropped to the floor. Soon, so did the rest of you.

Many a boy and girl would try their worth in the Academy where it ran a military programme called SOLDIER for gifted students. This special force comprising of militia frequently dispatched youthful fighters all around the world on missions that often required fighting, the usage of magic and summoned creatures called Guardian Forces. Thus, the students were often equipped with various lethal weapons and magical spheres called Materia that often took few to many years to master. There was no such thing as a limit to the number of weapons the instructors of the Academy could wield, which was also one of the things that made it renowned worldwide. Artilleries ranging from swords and guns to whips and gauntlets were as common as snow in the northern region as were nunchakus and staffs. Once they were fully mastered, the owner frequently chanced to either remodel it or try their hand at another instrument. It was always profitable to know how to handle more than one equipment in different situations.

General Sephiroth felt no inclination to shift himself from the calm tranquillity of the office of which he had been occupying since morning doing paperwork. He had been informed of the gathering of militia for the usual, lacklustre, weekly morning assembly in the Great Hall by another stuttering student who trembled at his belligerence. Tedious, that was what it was. Vain, weak-hearted and stupid revolting clowns who chose to bore the cadets with their equally useless speeches about themselves. In fact, if the academy could deliver its speeches without the students being involved, he would be more than obliged to listen. It usually pertained to unimportant matters, like the rules in the cafeteria, annual activities and awards.

Another factor that made SOLDIER so legendary was because of the hailed Wutaian warrior, the great Sephiroth. He became a sort of semi-god or idol to young boys aspiring to be like him in the programme and a heart-throb to maidens because of his remarkable progress in the ranks of the armed forces. From a mere trainee to a General, and a great General at that, in only two years, when it took a painful period of four to at least make it as Lieutenant. However, quickly earning himself a position high up in the ranks did nothing to diminish his ennui of staying there. Neither could he leave, even if he desired so.

Sephiroth sighed and glanced resentfully at the clock hanging on the wall. He would have to attend it anyway, as it was highly expected from someone who held the post of General.

Vain, weak-hearted and stupid, he cursed under his breath as he donned a splendid leather robe and fastened one of the many buckles on it. Fingers traced the fair expanse of skin on his chest as he admired himself in the mirror. Tendrils of platinum blond hair fell into his face, and with a delicate flick, he pushed them away, as if they would mar his appearance. With two violent movements, Sephiroth tugged on his gloves and flexed his lithe fingers a few times to ensure they fitted comfortably between them. Made from the finest elk hide which had been dyed three times to obtain the perfect shade of black, it was the most excellent pair of the highest quality and Sephiroth would settle for no less.

He carefully slid his hands underneath his head and pushed his hair outwards. Magnificent locks of hair fanned out, catching the morning light and finally coming to rest themselves just below his rear end. With a turn of his shoulders, he proceeded out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The General passed from compartment to compartment, from passage to passage, of the large and irregular building; till emerging from a somewhat total and dreary silence pervading that portion of the school that he had traversed, he came upon the hum of a thousand voices and presently entered a wide, long room with great deal tables, two at each end. Seated around the tables were a congregation of boys and girls, ranging between thirteen and twenty. Seen by the dim lights, their number appeared to be countless.

They were uniformly dressed in black straitjackets with white lining and baggy trousers; navy blue skirts for the ladies, which were graced by a pair of combat boots, as was how the militia wore. A bright yellow bow was woven into their collars. Strapped to their forearms, hands, waists, backs, thighs and calves were their weapons. General Sephiroth had done similarly: his long sword, Masamune, had been hung on the right side of one lean hip.

He took a seat near the door, along with the other instructors and a jovial-looking auburn-haired commanding officer of whom he acknowledged as he passed. He was met by a cool breeze and the view of the entire hall at his feet; now that he could see, there weren’t over a thousand students anyway, more like seven hundred. Figures in dark colours moved about, some fighting over for seats, others only chatting away. The buzz of talk rose like a fire belching soot into the air, wafting like smoke towards the rafters. Heads that were mostly a boring brown colour filled the assemble room. In some parts of the large crowd, red and yellow ochre burst brightly whereas others were accented by black. The place reminded Sephiroth of a prison, rather than an academy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sephiroth noticed many an avid cadet had paused momentarily in his or her tracks at a horse’s length to ogle unnervingly at him. Being famous throughout the world, the flint-haired man was quite used to this given attention when people stared in amazement either because of who he was or just his good looks. Unlike others, Sephiroth’s sharp but slightly feminine features that contrasted to his masculine body and baritone voice were a rare but wondrous beauty to behold in men, which was why he was sought after a tremendous number of individuals.

Finally, a noble-looking man strode into the Great Hall, the many badges adorning his breast catching the light and almost blinding Sephiroth. The Major General, Johann, wore the black of his school and a sword at his waist. He was lean like a fighter, and his most imposing feature was his elegantly hooked nose. He came to rest beside Sephiroth and held out his arm in welcome. The two men clasped hands in the military fashion, careful to show no weakness in grip. The voices of the students died away in a heartbeat as Johann stood close to the microphone: their Major General was about to present a speech.

‘A very fine morning greets us this day…’

Sephiroth ignored him. Vain, weak-hearted and stupid, he repeated to himself, without the slightest giveaway of emotions. It was nothing overly crucial, indeed, just as he had predicted. Cynical flint grey eyes surveyed the room. He noted the weary looks of the students as the effect of the excess of speeches became clear: some sighed loudly, others yawned. Several glanced at their wrists to check the time, many resolved to daydreaming. Poor souls.

He scanned the sea of murky brown. A bright colour of some sort caught the corner of his eye and he followed the trail until both rested upon a pinprick of blond hair just several yards away from him.

Sephiroth’s mind sharpened. This was interesting: fair hair was never really common amongst the students, nor amongst the instructors, and the said person happened to be a cadet himself. Upon closer inspection, the General saw that it was a rather tall boy, barely eighteen years old, with a broadsword strapped to his back. He was nodding gravely at a few of his friends, and whenever he did so, unkempt locks would fall into his face, obscuring the intense blueness of his eyes. His head was so full of spiked hair that Sephiroth knew with utter certainty and with concealed amusement that he’d have to get up extra early every morning to comb them. A spark of sapphire winked at him in the light from his ear as he tilted his head to a certain degree.

Sephiroth admired the lad’s physical form greatly. It was masculine, with firm muscles and taut limbs. Sephiroth’s grey eyes followed the movement of those luscious pink lips as he spoke, outlining every plane and crevice of his athletic figure, not missing a single sight of a curve of muscle on the student’s body. The fact that it was so drab in the academy was probably what made him stand out so much. The General could not help but look: he called for attention, just by being there in the same room. And he looked like the perfect candidate for SOLDIER; at least that was what Sephiroth told himself. If he did, how did this boy slip past his attention, as anything rarely did? Could he be a lowly cadet or a high-ranking officer?

Turning his head away from the pretty sight, Sephiroth made a mental note to find out the young buck’s name later.

Students flooded out of the hall and into a bright sunny day, twittering and chatting away, impaling the cold morning air. Winds blew about, changing directions, trying to tug trees and bushes alike from their grounds with fingers that could not be seen by the eye. Beyond the hall, wolfgrass and coltgrass sprang as insidiously and as quietly as mould on second day bread. Perfectly pruned shrubs were tamed to be kept out of the way of the footpaths under the trees. The trees, on the other hand, were in full bloom, branches bearing the weight of a thousand blossoms. They clawed at the Heavens, beckoning, calling.

Fleeting images of the blond youth flickered in his mind like an old movie, twisting itself like a snake. So he walked alone. Not actively avoiding the residents of Midgar Military Mercenary Academy, but actively seeking them out. Naturally, it was almost impossible for one to be alone in the corridors of the academy. Sephiroth watched the bright bloom of light in the skies from just outside the decorative boundary that divided the officer’s Headquarters from the rest of the Academy, though not out of appreciation for the view. He was in no hurry to return to his office on the fifth floor; the marble halls held no allure for him – they were only walled-in spaces and he did not miss them in the least.

The approaching figure was a familiar one. Sephiroth frowned, absorbing in the cadet’s slim figure making his way in the opposite direction towards him.

Pale hair loomed in sight. The boy stood in the same pathway, eyes scanning the editorial boards for anything that would catch his eye. His eyebrows tensed together, radiating a field of displeasure.

At the moment, the boy would probably not make a terribly easy opponent, judging from what was physically presented to him, Sephiroth decided, tucking a longer strand of silver hair behind his ear. Their physical stature was different enough to make it an unfair fight without even taking dexterity into account. The blond swordsman was only a little on the undersized side, but was still about a head shorter than Sephiroth. Still, he could prove to be a worthy opponent in sparring.

Swivelling his head to halt a passing student, Sephiroth waited for her to catch her breath. She was nothing short of pretty, with dark curls and olive skin. Brushing her hair from her eyes and smoothing her skirt and giving the General a salute, she smiled nervously.

‘General Sephiroth!’ she prompted, standing erect. The silver-haired man nodded in acknowledgement. He glanced at her nametag. Rebecca Lee. Student ID No. 11375.

‘Cadet Lee,’ said Sephiroth coolly. ‘Do you see that golden-haired student with a broadsword at his back?’ He nodded at the lone figure rather vaguely: a soft turn of the head. ‘Who is he?’

The girl was puzzled for a moment. Before she could think of a reply, she shot a look towards said student, fumbling for an answer. Studying him for only what could have been a moment, she looked back at the expectant General and said, voice strung with pride:

‘That’s Cloud Strife, sir!’

‘Cloud?’

‘Yes, sir! He’s a First Class Mercenary, one of the top mercenaries in his class.’ Lee was obviously pleased with herself for possessing that much knowledge.

Cloud Strife. So that was his name. It suited him well enough for a middle-ranking soldier and an excellent student who had looks that could maim. Sephiroth couldn’t deny not having heard the name before; but he knew little of the boy. He had heard of the school’s most reclusive and hardworking student—whispers were never very soft amidst students and instructors. Cocky, ambitious and probably as frigid as an icicle. Probably. Much was not said about that butter brown hair nor the fine features that were, at present, marred by a look of absolute and total boredom.

Cadet Lee was dismissed. Sephiroth was fighting away the irresistible impulse to speak with the blond boy a little. Shaking his head and casually stepping forward, the silver-eyed General shared Cloud’s viewing of the boards as he walked pass. He gave an inward smirk as the young cadet averted his gaze to meet his superior’s and bit back a frightened gasp. For a moment, as silver clashed with blue, the world slowed down. As always was between cadets and their peers, a respectful salute was given. But this time, Cloud seemed to perform this simple move with grace. Sephiroth saluted back; he knew much about salutations and this young boy’s seemed like an act of newly learned beauty.

‘Good day, General,’ said Cloud, not unpleasantly. Sephiroth smiled. Ah, the voice, so young, rich in power and force; low and inviting, like a purr from his throat.

Nodding, he began, rather politely, ‘Good day. Cadet Strife, I presume.’

Fervently, the younger man nodded, sending fair spikes swaying like a blade of grass. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘What’s your rank, cadet?’ his superior added thoughtfully.

Cloud seemed to falter for a moment. ‘Err … I’m a 3rd stage mercenary, sir.’

‘I see.’

‘Sir?’

‘With your built, I almost mistook you for one of the upperclassmen. It’s quite rare to see a student with your physique like you.’

‘Oh,’ Cloud murmured, hanging his head to hide his embarrassment. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Sephiroth held out his hand for the younger man to shake. He watched as Cloud’s head bolted upwards, many emotions conflicting upon his visage: his eyes first registered surprise, followed by panic and recognition. Tentatively, Cloud slid his gloved hand into the General’s unsure of what he had to do. With a firm but brief squeeze, he slowly drew his hand away, only to find a certain reluctance on the other man’s part.

A sly but sultry inward smile dashed across Sephiroth’s features as their fingers came into contact. An unreadable expression could be seen on Cloud’s face; he felt some electrical jolt in his spine. The hairs on his neck lifted as the feeling waned and dissolved into nothingness.

‘I’m going to be rude and leave our acquaintance early. Good morning, cadet Strife.’ Sephiroth allowed the boy’s name to roll off his tongue like a wave of emotion. He prudently left the place before Cloud could find his tongue again and made his way out of the school gardens swiftly. All in all, it had been a boring day, save that look on the boy’s face.

He was also oblivious to all the whisperings that trailed behind him. Oblivious, or perhaps he just did not care.

‘Wow, did he just speak to Cloud?’

‘He must have had some interest in him, that General!’

‘He’s said to be nearly beyond your reach! I wonder what it was he said.’

‘Did you hear it?’

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’

‘Shocking, I call it!’

Cloud was thrown into a stupor. Standing there, startled blue eyes wide with shock, palm still hovering in mid-air, he stared blankly at the spot the General had occupied merely seconds ago. Did he just caress his hand? It certainly seemed so, thought Cloud as he forced his gaze upwards only to meet the sight of the General’s silvery hair billowing flamboyantly behind him. Blue eyes watched as the lanky figure slowly disappeared into the horizon before shifting them downwards.

His cheeks were engulfed in flames. In all his two years of training in this prestigious school, he had rarely seen the General so closely before and when he did in the past, they were usually on opposite sides of the room or he was talking to an instructor. Suddenly aware of the looks of awe he was receiving, he hastily departed from the third-floor corridors, the belts encasing his sword chinking like shells. Students eyed him with a shrewdness about them as he swiftly entered another floor then proceeded about their businesses. The rumours of the unexpected encounter of the General and Cloud Strife would start to crawl around the school like vines, but it would be quickly dismissed as soon as the week was over.

The swordsman was not one to give an outward show of expressions, but this particular incident had unmistakably disturbed him greatly. It was the physical contact that had forced him to wonder why, to flinch and swerve his way from passing students, to shy away from their gaze. Cloud felt the part where their fingers brushed to be completely unnerving. The flesh burned now in an indescribable twinge.

The thoughts sounded downright ridiculous to Cloud. What a simple touch of the hand on his own did to turn him into a simpering maiden! It could be, after all, a small mistake. The idea made Cloud snort with amusement. He shook his head, and trudged up the stairs, booted feet padding softly against the cold marble floor as he took the path that lead him to the boys’ dormitory.

The door of the room he shared with three other boys opened without releasing so much as a squeak when it swung on its rusty hinges the moment Cloud pushed it, causing him to sigh in relief. The spacious lime green chamber was fairly well-kept, except for occasional sweet wrappers and loose notes scattered here and there on the floor, but other than that, the two double-decker beds facing each other were neat and tidy. However, the swordsman did not dive for his bed instantly, for he needed to confirm something first, so he squatted beside a duffle bag he owned and fished out a printed card that was his weekly schedule. Cobalt eyes narrowly scanned it. After a while, Cloud exhaled slowly: he had no lessons until an hour from now, which meant he had ample time to sleep before his class.

Cloud selected the lower bed on his right with the floral prints on a backdrop of green, pulled back the covers and hopped into it. He desperately needed to rest his mind after that unceremonious encounter.

Roses and Wine - Disclaimer and Others

Disclaimer and Others

All characters and events are fictious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright ©Micheal Lee 2005-2008. All rights reserved. No portion of this work of fiction may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

**Please take a minute and read this, for it applies throughout every chapter in the novel. I am not going to repeat myself!