![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crankyoldmanFandom: FF7:BC (sort of)
Characters/Pairings: Veld/Ifalna
Rating: PG
Summary: "You're an unstable mix, you know."
Notes: Written because a friend was having a bad day and I was listening to earthy music. I also kind of love making Iffy being way older than everyone else and the possibilities of her having met them as kids is somewhat cute to me. Psychobabble arc, so if you have no idea about wee!Veld in Wutai, well. I have other stories about that.
It could be said that their place was always the kitchen.
Ifalna wasn't always there, and it was a real fact of the so called mansion that another matriarch existed to rule over everything, even if he was starting to suspect that Jenova was a collective delusion of the scientists. If Veld were to place her somewhere in that strange place, he'd place her where the heart was supposed to be. The fact it was absent should have chilled him, but he'd long since stopped being bothered by the lack of things in people, groups, or even places.
She always talked to the plants before she picked them, for the garden was her place, the place where she was herself alone. Even if she occasionally patched up arms and egos, she seemed more at place with the silent green things that he'd taken for granted having spent the parts of his life he remembered in cities.
"You're an unstable mix, you know."
He hadn't asked for a sandwich, but she was convinced he never ate enough. Veld had always made his own food and occasionally something for Valentine those odd times when they were still speaking to each other. He'd been a soldier long enough to know that you had to have some way to feed yourself. Maybe it was that working class blood he'd been unable to burn out of his system, or maybe it was something he didn't remember, but he'd never much liked relying on anyone else for the basic bits of survival.
Maybe that was why her sandwiches always tasted better than anything he managed to make on his own.
"A mix of what?" He could never shake the feeling that she was as old as the universe sometimes. It was impossible considering she was as fresh as a flower or something equally over-used as a metaphor. But he still couldn't shake it. Maybe that was why he liked her, really. She always made him feel younger, which was a strangely pleasant change from everyone else.
"If I told you, you'd just make fun of my superstitions."
He couldn't help but smirk a little, considering all the superstitions he'd adopted over the years.
---
The boy always seemed to sneak in during the times she was cooking.
He only ever called her Lady, in an entirely Wutain tone that didn't suit his entirely un-Wutain lips. Ifalna had been in the country long enough to know that Lady didn't mean what it meant in other places. Snowy places. Here it was only half reverence--there were samurai, but no knights. A man was more likely to give up his life for her family name than for the one name that was hers. But here neither of her names were worth much, which was why she'd come.
It was easier feeling a little out of place among humans when they made a point of it.
"The professor keeps thanking me for bringing you to him. He says you're a quick study with translations." Ifalna didn't want to patronize the boy, because he had that look about him that could have placed him within a range of ages. She suspected he was much younger than he acted, and only a little younger than width of his shoulders. Hard work and a tendency to get into fights usually made boys shoulders grow a little faster.
He nodded. Other than pleasantries, he barely said a word to her. If Ifalna hadn't started seeing little presents appear in places, she would have suspected that he didn't like her much. It was a little sad that someone so young was hard to read.
"Are you hungry?"
He shook his head.
Ifalna knew that she couldn't stay in Wutai for much longer. She'd seen the early signs of war enough now to know that it would reach the Eternal Place, where even old philosophy professors untouched by the winds and the waves would eventually have to uproot. It made her a little sad to think that Professor Feng would probably never see home again if he left, considering his age. But those were the people that always attached themselves to her--old, either by time or experience.
And she liked taking care of professors.
"I'll be you've never had your fortune read."
Fortunes were quite simple, if someone understood both nature, humanity, and the strange bond between them. In some ways, she was that bond, especially now that she'd abandoned her post as a guardian. But the last remaining Cetra would find a way to reach her when she had to go back there to the frozen places up north. Because only there could they hear a single Voice so clearly.
He was looking at her with that curious mixture of intensity and wonder that he could pull off. Like someone that had seen too much of the world but still couldn't help but be surprised by it. Ifalna partially hoped to see him when he grew up, and see if he looked at her like that.
She smiled at him as she pinched some fresh green tea leaves from a container on the counter, and spread them out on the table. It wasn't like talking to normal plants; they had long since been picked, their gossipy little voices hushed by the farmer's rough hands. The technique wasn't much different than looking at bones for some people, and really what she was doing was watching for signs that he gave. Whether or not he believed in superstitions, as he couldn't hear what she could.
"You're an unstable mix."
He leaned closer, looking at the little pattern she'd made with the leaves.
"Fire and water. You've heard what the priests say about elements, right?"
"That you need balance," he replied, his voice unused to his native tongue.
"Oh you'll have a hard time with a mixture like that."
---
He walked over to the metal tins on the counter that were supposed to hold cotton balls or tongue depressors but held Ifalna's crushed herbs and tea instead. He picked the lid off of the middle one, took a pinch of what was inside and scattered it on the sterile metal countertop.
"Hmm, earth and water. That's a very stable mixture."
Veld was never quite sure where he'd picked up the slight fondness for that old supersition. That time was lost to him, but for the occasional bout of almost memory, when Hojo started cursing in his dialect or Ifalna gave him the kind of look that made her seem like a beautiful old tree. Something permanent and yet lost. It didn't seem to wear her down though, so maybe it was why he associated her with such a thing.
She smiled, and if he were a different sort of man he would have done something about that. "Oh you don't need to tell my fortune, Velly."
The kitchen was their place, but sometimes she would take his hand and make him go for walks with her. Today was one of those days.
Characters/Pairings: Veld/Ifalna
Rating: PG
Summary: "You're an unstable mix, you know."
Notes: Written because a friend was having a bad day and I was listening to earthy music. I also kind of love making Iffy being way older than everyone else and the possibilities of her having met them as kids is somewhat cute to me. Psychobabble arc, so if you have no idea about wee!Veld in Wutai, well. I have other stories about that.
It could be said that their place was always the kitchen.
Ifalna wasn't always there, and it was a real fact of the so called mansion that another matriarch existed to rule over everything, even if he was starting to suspect that Jenova was a collective delusion of the scientists. If Veld were to place her somewhere in that strange place, he'd place her where the heart was supposed to be. The fact it was absent should have chilled him, but he'd long since stopped being bothered by the lack of things in people, groups, or even places.
She always talked to the plants before she picked them, for the garden was her place, the place where she was herself alone. Even if she occasionally patched up arms and egos, she seemed more at place with the silent green things that he'd taken for granted having spent the parts of his life he remembered in cities.
"You're an unstable mix, you know."
He hadn't asked for a sandwich, but she was convinced he never ate enough. Veld had always made his own food and occasionally something for Valentine those odd times when they were still speaking to each other. He'd been a soldier long enough to know that you had to have some way to feed yourself. Maybe it was that working class blood he'd been unable to burn out of his system, or maybe it was something he didn't remember, but he'd never much liked relying on anyone else for the basic bits of survival.
Maybe that was why her sandwiches always tasted better than anything he managed to make on his own.
"A mix of what?" He could never shake the feeling that she was as old as the universe sometimes. It was impossible considering she was as fresh as a flower or something equally over-used as a metaphor. But he still couldn't shake it. Maybe that was why he liked her, really. She always made him feel younger, which was a strangely pleasant change from everyone else.
"If I told you, you'd just make fun of my superstitions."
He couldn't help but smirk a little, considering all the superstitions he'd adopted over the years.
---
The boy always seemed to sneak in during the times she was cooking.
He only ever called her Lady, in an entirely Wutain tone that didn't suit his entirely un-Wutain lips. Ifalna had been in the country long enough to know that Lady didn't mean what it meant in other places. Snowy places. Here it was only half reverence--there were samurai, but no knights. A man was more likely to give up his life for her family name than for the one name that was hers. But here neither of her names were worth much, which was why she'd come.
It was easier feeling a little out of place among humans when they made a point of it.
"The professor keeps thanking me for bringing you to him. He says you're a quick study with translations." Ifalna didn't want to patronize the boy, because he had that look about him that could have placed him within a range of ages. She suspected he was much younger than he acted, and only a little younger than width of his shoulders. Hard work and a tendency to get into fights usually made boys shoulders grow a little faster.
He nodded. Other than pleasantries, he barely said a word to her. If Ifalna hadn't started seeing little presents appear in places, she would have suspected that he didn't like her much. It was a little sad that someone so young was hard to read.
"Are you hungry?"
He shook his head.
Ifalna knew that she couldn't stay in Wutai for much longer. She'd seen the early signs of war enough now to know that it would reach the Eternal Place, where even old philosophy professors untouched by the winds and the waves would eventually have to uproot. It made her a little sad to think that Professor Feng would probably never see home again if he left, considering his age. But those were the people that always attached themselves to her--old, either by time or experience.
And she liked taking care of professors.
"I'll be you've never had your fortune read."
Fortunes were quite simple, if someone understood both nature, humanity, and the strange bond between them. In some ways, she was that bond, especially now that she'd abandoned her post as a guardian. But the last remaining Cetra would find a way to reach her when she had to go back there to the frozen places up north. Because only there could they hear a single Voice so clearly.
He was looking at her with that curious mixture of intensity and wonder that he could pull off. Like someone that had seen too much of the world but still couldn't help but be surprised by it. Ifalna partially hoped to see him when he grew up, and see if he looked at her like that.
She smiled at him as she pinched some fresh green tea leaves from a container on the counter, and spread them out on the table. It wasn't like talking to normal plants; they had long since been picked, their gossipy little voices hushed by the farmer's rough hands. The technique wasn't much different than looking at bones for some people, and really what she was doing was watching for signs that he gave. Whether or not he believed in superstitions, as he couldn't hear what she could.
"You're an unstable mix."
He leaned closer, looking at the little pattern she'd made with the leaves.
"Fire and water. You've heard what the priests say about elements, right?"
"That you need balance," he replied, his voice unused to his native tongue.
"Oh you'll have a hard time with a mixture like that."
---
He walked over to the metal tins on the counter that were supposed to hold cotton balls or tongue depressors but held Ifalna's crushed herbs and tea instead. He picked the lid off of the middle one, took a pinch of what was inside and scattered it on the sterile metal countertop.
"Hmm, earth and water. That's a very stable mixture."
Veld was never quite sure where he'd picked up the slight fondness for that old supersition. That time was lost to him, but for the occasional bout of almost memory, when Hojo started cursing in his dialect or Ifalna gave him the kind of look that made her seem like a beautiful old tree. Something permanent and yet lost. It didn't seem to wear her down though, so maybe it was why he associated her with such a thing.
She smiled, and if he were a different sort of man he would have done something about that. "Oh you don't need to tell my fortune, Velly."
The kitchen was their place, but sometimes she would take his hand and make him go for walks with her. Today was one of those days.