![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Hunger Persists (2/?)
Characters (this part): Cloud, Barret, Denzel, Marlene
Rating (this part): T
Notes: More of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yuenmei 's (very belated) birthday prompt.
Cloud arrived home around nine in the morning, to find both Denzel and Marlene wide awake and waiting for him when he walked through the door. Marlene catapulted out of her seat to throw her arms around his neck, while Denzel launched himself across the space between them to wrap his around Cloud’s waist. Over their heads, he shared a glance with Barret, the older man smiling just a little as he shook his head.
Barret would always be Marlene’s ‘Papa’, but Cloud was... Cloud. A mix of older brother, father figure, and resident hero all in one. Even when the younger man was confused or uncertain, he had a way of making everyone else believe everything would be alright. And if he couldn’t handle the problem alone -- by virtue of mako-bright glares, pointed words, and massive swords -- he could still be counted on to come up with a plan to pool their skills and get the job done. In a group composed of exceptional people, he was the leader. Of course the kids were relieved to see him. So was Barret. Now it was only a matter of time before Tifa was back home, with them, where she belonged.
No pressure, right Spiky? Barret thought, and where once he might have felt resentment, now all he felt was an obscure sense of relief. He was definitely going to be part of the solution to this problem, but he wasn’t responsible for coming up with their strategy.
“Mr. Tuesti sent officers to stay with us last night after you reported Tifa missing.”
“You’ll get her back, won’t you Cloud?”
“I can’t believe we didn’t even hear it happen!”
Both children were chattering excitedly, but there was an extra note of guilt in Denzel’s voice. A tone of hurt. Cloud put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and just gazed at him quietly, and after a few heartbeats, Denzel broke.
“You knew! When you talked to me on the phone, you knew, and you just sent me back to bed!” The last word was filled with disgust and choked with anguish.
Setting Marlene on the floor, Cloud crouched down to face the eleven-year-old, blue eyes calm and expression compassionate. “No I didn’t, Denzel,” he quietly asserted. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. It could’ve been something as silly as the time you locked her out,” and although the man’s mouth curved a bit at the memory, the boy’s expression remained sober, “or it could’ve been something more.” Denzel remained unmoved and slightly mutinous. Cloud’s hands flexed on his shoulders, rocking the boy gently back and forth on his feet, just once, for emphasis. “Something dangerous enough to take Tifa out,” he elaborated. “I didn’t want you anywhere near the bar until I knew for certain what was going on.” In all honesty, he would’ve liked to tell Denzel to lock the bedroom door when he went back to bed, but he knew it would’ve alarmed the child and resulted in a conversation much like the one they were having now.
“I... maybe I could’ve helped, though!” The protest was half-hearted, guilt fading in the face of the calm facts Cloud was relating.
“You did.” Startled, Denzel raised his head from its bowed, sullen position. “Until you answered the phone, I couldn’t decide whether or not something had happened to all of you, or if nothing was wrong and you were all just... sleeping really soundly.” One hand released the child’s shoulder to rub sheepishly over Cloud’s nape – a familiar gesture that, to Barret’s more discerning eye, appeared feigned, but which apparently convinced Denzel that the words were truth. “If you hadn’t answered, I might not have called Reeve – Mr. Tuesti – to send someone over and check on things. You did help, Denzel.”
Peering intently into Cloud’s face, and reading the sincerity there, Denzel relaxed. Beside them, Marlene whispered, “Told you!” rather loudly, prompting Cloud to reach out and tousle her hair.
Standing, the two children scampering in his wake, Cloud moved to join Barret at the bar. “What’s the plan, Spiky?”
Cloud paused, eyeing their under-aged company, and both kids took the hint. “C’mon, Marlene. Let’s go change out of our pajamas,” Denzel suggested. Given the early hour and their upset, Barret had allowed them to wait for news in their nightclothes, half hoping – despite how unlikely it was – that they might go back to sleep. Marlene nodded agreement, and the two vanished upstairs to their room.
“I got a call from Reeve about half an hour ago. Both the cordial and what was left in the glass tested positive for Sand,” Cloud stated flatly once they were gone. “Shelke said the cordial was over-saturated to the point that the drug wasn’t completely dissolved, and had formed a precipitate.” Which meant it was very likely Tifa had been overdosed on the stuff.
“Damn!” Barret’s voice was loud, the worry in it obvious. He made an effort to lower his volume when Cloud glared at him and then shifted his eyes to the ceiling in a pointed reminder that the kids would be able to hear any further outbursts. “That’s not good! Tifa’s already more likely to have a bad reaction, thanks to taking that spill in the lifestream, right?”
Cloud nodded, face stoic but eyes worried. It was no longer merely possible but probable that Tifa was in a catatonic state, unable to defend herself if she even realized it was necessary. He’d been wrestling with the possibility for hours; the certainty made him both sick and furious. Having had mako poisoning on two separate occasions, he knew the helpless feeling all too well: the inability to control his body or voice or thoughts, and being unable to understand or – sometimes – even perceive those around him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Tifa in a similar condition. Worrying, however, wouldn’t help... and there was one positive to knowing how much she’d been dosed. “Shelke is drawing up a timetable for withdrawal and recovery, working off the suspicion of how much Tifa ingested and the likelihood that she won’t receive treatment. That’ll give us a better idea of what kind of care she’ll need when we find her. We’ll be prepared.” Small comfort, but it was all they had. He sighed, settling his weight on a barstool. “Reeve sent someone around to Mrs. Groveby’s. I’m still waiting to hear how that went.”
The room fell quiet, silently attesting to what both men felt: they hated waiting.
So they filled the time by filling their bellies, the meal serving as a nice distraction for all concerned. Barret, being a bit handier in the kitchen than Cloud, assembled scrambled eggs mixed with cheese and ham, while Cloud made toast and had the honor of washing up afterwards. The big man then took Denzel and Marlene to the local park for a few hours, in the hopes that it would keep the kids from worrying and himself from brooding.
Cloud was left alone to grow ever edgier as he waited for his phone to ring. It seemed to be all he’d done since first realizing something was wrong, and he was growing heartily weary of it. His body protested the inaction, even as his mind knew he needed an enemy – or at least the suspicion of one – before he could go on the offensive.
If he didn’t hear something soon, though, he may decide to start his own manhunt, and his first target would be whoever was supplying Sand in Edge. The sheer amount used to drug Tifa would have cost a pretty penny; someone somewhere would remember such a large sale.
Eventually – thankfully before Cloud got too antsy – Reeve called to report that Mrs. Groveby was not only agreeable to answering any and all questions, but alarmed to hear what had happened. The liqueur she had remaining in her possession had already been willingly surrendered for testing.
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Groveby arrived, escorted by a gentleman of like age and trailed by an agent from the WRO. “Hello, Mr. Strife,” said individual greeted him, holding out her hand, “I’m Detective Fiona Hayden. I specialize in kidnapings and missing persons.” Fiona had auburn hair and a calm, no-nonsense demeanor with which Mrs. Groveby was obviously at ease. Cloud, although puzzled by a vague sense of recognition, found himself relaxing as well: Fiona would no doubt have an easier time than he getting answers without antagonizing the elderly woman.
Mrs. Groveby was short, with chubby limbs and a faintly pear-shaped torso. Cloud guessed her age to be around eighty years old or more. A cap of silvered white curls covered her head, and bright hazel eyes enlivened her cheerfully wrinkled face. Something about her fairly screamed ‘grandmother’, and adults and children alike were drawn to her, although whether it was the impression of age or the patient way she listened to others speak, Cloud couldn’t say. She’d always struck him as open and empathetic. He’d never had occasion to approach her, but Tifa enjoyed visiting with her, and had asked her advice on how to deal with both Marlene and Denzel on more than one occasion. How she could be involved in a kidnapping attempt – much less a successful one – boggled the mind.
The man with her – whom she introduced with a girlish giggle as her fiancé – was almost exactly her opposite. Where she was short and plump and – as Marlene put it – huggable, he was tall and thin, his manner ascetic. Steel-gray hair was worn cropped close to his head, and he looked out at the world through deep-set dark brown eyes. His arms and legs were long and spindly, the joints prominent. Compared to Mrs. Groveby’s friendly, outgoing air, he seemed positively drab in his serviceable suit.
The four of them moved to sit at the table closest to the front window, the elderly couple seated on the bench that ran the length of the bar, while Cloud and the detective sat across from them. To his dismay, Fiona’s initial questions struck Cloud as irrelevant and unlikely to shed any light on Tifa’s disappearance. It was only due to his trust in Reeve’s judgement, and the other man’s trust in the detective, that he swallowed his objections and simply observed. This was, after all, her area of expertise, and he knew enough to know that there were times when the direct approach – his approach – didn’t have the desired result. That didn’t change the fact that where he wanted to ask questions like: “Why did you drug Tifa?” and “Where are you keeping her?” the detective started by asking something far less pointed.
“Tell me, Mrs. Groveby, how long have you known Ms. Lockhart?”
“Oh,” the elderly woman replied, drawing out the vowel in thought, “close to two years now, I think.”
“And how did you meet?”
Mrs. Groveby laughed. “A friend of mine told me that there was a restaurant-bar in Edge where they had better dumplings than the ones I made from scratch! Of course, I had to taste that for myself!” She beamed at Cloud and nodded firmly. “My friend was right. Ever since, I’ve made a habit of coming in once a week for chicken and dumplings, and then going home to a clean kitchen with a full stomach.”
Despite his worry, Cloud returned her smile with a small one of his own. Tifa’s dumpling recipe was actually something she’d learned from his mother. He was partial to them himself.
“Have you always bartered for your meals, instead of paying in gil?” Fiona’s voice was friendly but focused, accepting the story at face value without betraying either amusement or annoyance.
“No, usually I pay in cash. But I enjoy making and canning my own preserves and such, and I have a particular fondness for blackberries. My fingers end up stained for several days afterwards, and Tifa – Ms. Lockhart – noticed. When I explained, she asked if she could buy some.”
“Cordial?” Fiona cocked her head in question. Liqueurs in general were a bit high-brow for a place like Seventh Heaven, and it had struck her as an odd arrangement when Reeve gave her the bare details of the case.
“Not at first. She was actually far more interested in my preserves,” Mrs. Groveby explained placidly. “She thought the children would enjoy them. Now, I trade her at least one jar out of every batch I make.” The underlying note of pride was unmistakable.
“I’m sure they do enjoy them,” the detective agreed, smiling. “So when did you start trading the cordial as well?”
The next hour continued in much the same vein, with the detective asking question after question, smoothly guiding the conversation, and Mrs. Groveby chattering amiably in response. Almost against his will, Cloud was impressed. Fiona had an easy, approachable manner, and was obviously well-trained in her job. Her questions were both tactful and insightful, and covered things Cloud wasn’t sure he would have thought to inquire about on his own – such as whether or not Mrs. Groveby had any reason to hold a grudge against AVALANCHE, or had ties to anyone who did. And she did it all indirectly; only someone knowing what she was looking for would realize what she was doing. In the end, however, the effort proved uninformative. The elderly woman seemed to have nothing to hide, and no motive for wanting Tifa to disappear. Add to that the fact that Shelke called halfway through the interview to say that the remaining cordial tested negative, and the mystery only grew. Besides, Cloud’s gut told him that Mrs. Groveby was as innocent as she seemed. Someone had used her to hurt Tifa, and that thought just made the anger inside him burn hotter.
There were no answers, only more questions.
As Fiona finished making a list of all the other people Mrs. Groveby had traded with recently – she did a fair amount of business around town bartering her preserves and cordials for various goods and services – the elderly woman surprised Cloud by reaching out to pat his hand.
“You’ll find her,” she promised earnestly, “I know you will. Mr. Tuesti said you reported her missing less than an hour after she was taken!” She patted his hand again. “I doubt whoever did this expected you to discover it so quickly. You’ll find her.”
“Indeed.” Beside her, the man stirred and spoke for the first time, his voice far more substantial than Cloud expected given his frame. A light, smooth tenor, rather than a reedy quaver. “It’s nothing short of amazing that you were able to deduce something was wrong, simply by her failure to answer the phone.” The tone was urbane and the words complimentary, but the feel was somehow... off. The sentiment behind them missing, or bitter, as if they were offered solely for appearance’s sake. “You must be very close,” he added, when Cloud failed to respond, and with that simple phrase his attitude suddenly made sense. Apparently, he didn’t approve of the relationship Cloud and Tifa shared, which was not unusual among those individuals old enough to be their grandparents.
“We are,” Cloud agreed, simply.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be with her again soon.” As he spoke, he helped Mrs. Groveby to her feet, Detective Hayden having indicated they were free to go.
“Thank you, Mr...?” Cloud hesitated, realizing the man had never given his name.
Mrs. Groveby laughed, apologizing for the oversight. The man smiled, the curve of his lips sharp, as if he were amused by some joke to which only he was privy. “Onraet,” he replied, offering his long-fingered hand for Cloud to shake. “Gethin Onraet. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Somehow, despite the note in his voice that Cloud took for disapproval, that statement rang with absolute truth.
Characters (this part): Cloud, Barret, Denzel, Marlene
Rating (this part): T
Notes: More of
yuenmei 's (very belated) birthday prompt. Cloud arrived home around nine in the morning, to find both Denzel and Marlene wide awake and waiting for him when he walked through the door. Marlene catapulted out of her seat to throw her arms around his neck, while Denzel launched himself across the space between them to wrap his around Cloud’s waist. Over their heads, he shared a glance with Barret, the older man smiling just a little as he shook his head.
Barret would always be Marlene’s ‘Papa’, but Cloud was... Cloud. A mix of older brother, father figure, and resident hero all in one. Even when the younger man was confused or uncertain, he had a way of making everyone else believe everything would be alright. And if he couldn’t handle the problem alone -- by virtue of mako-bright glares, pointed words, and massive swords -- he could still be counted on to come up with a plan to pool their skills and get the job done. In a group composed of exceptional people, he was the leader. Of course the kids were relieved to see him. So was Barret. Now it was only a matter of time before Tifa was back home, with them, where she belonged.
No pressure, right Spiky? Barret thought, and where once he might have felt resentment, now all he felt was an obscure sense of relief. He was definitely going to be part of the solution to this problem, but he wasn’t responsible for coming up with their strategy.
“Mr. Tuesti sent officers to stay with us last night after you reported Tifa missing.”
“You’ll get her back, won’t you Cloud?”
“I can’t believe we didn’t even hear it happen!”
Both children were chattering excitedly, but there was an extra note of guilt in Denzel’s voice. A tone of hurt. Cloud put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and just gazed at him quietly, and after a few heartbeats, Denzel broke.
“You knew! When you talked to me on the phone, you knew, and you just sent me back to bed!” The last word was filled with disgust and choked with anguish.
Setting Marlene on the floor, Cloud crouched down to face the eleven-year-old, blue eyes calm and expression compassionate. “No I didn’t, Denzel,” he quietly asserted. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. It could’ve been something as silly as the time you locked her out,” and although the man’s mouth curved a bit at the memory, the boy’s expression remained sober, “or it could’ve been something more.” Denzel remained unmoved and slightly mutinous. Cloud’s hands flexed on his shoulders, rocking the boy gently back and forth on his feet, just once, for emphasis. “Something dangerous enough to take Tifa out,” he elaborated. “I didn’t want you anywhere near the bar until I knew for certain what was going on.” In all honesty, he would’ve liked to tell Denzel to lock the bedroom door when he went back to bed, but he knew it would’ve alarmed the child and resulted in a conversation much like the one they were having now.
“I... maybe I could’ve helped, though!” The protest was half-hearted, guilt fading in the face of the calm facts Cloud was relating.
“You did.” Startled, Denzel raised his head from its bowed, sullen position. “Until you answered the phone, I couldn’t decide whether or not something had happened to all of you, or if nothing was wrong and you were all just... sleeping really soundly.” One hand released the child’s shoulder to rub sheepishly over Cloud’s nape – a familiar gesture that, to Barret’s more discerning eye, appeared feigned, but which apparently convinced Denzel that the words were truth. “If you hadn’t answered, I might not have called Reeve – Mr. Tuesti – to send someone over and check on things. You did help, Denzel.”
Peering intently into Cloud’s face, and reading the sincerity there, Denzel relaxed. Beside them, Marlene whispered, “Told you!” rather loudly, prompting Cloud to reach out and tousle her hair.
Standing, the two children scampering in his wake, Cloud moved to join Barret at the bar. “What’s the plan, Spiky?”
Cloud paused, eyeing their under-aged company, and both kids took the hint. “C’mon, Marlene. Let’s go change out of our pajamas,” Denzel suggested. Given the early hour and their upset, Barret had allowed them to wait for news in their nightclothes, half hoping – despite how unlikely it was – that they might go back to sleep. Marlene nodded agreement, and the two vanished upstairs to their room.
“I got a call from Reeve about half an hour ago. Both the cordial and what was left in the glass tested positive for Sand,” Cloud stated flatly once they were gone. “Shelke said the cordial was over-saturated to the point that the drug wasn’t completely dissolved, and had formed a precipitate.” Which meant it was very likely Tifa had been overdosed on the stuff.
“Damn!” Barret’s voice was loud, the worry in it obvious. He made an effort to lower his volume when Cloud glared at him and then shifted his eyes to the ceiling in a pointed reminder that the kids would be able to hear any further outbursts. “That’s not good! Tifa’s already more likely to have a bad reaction, thanks to taking that spill in the lifestream, right?”
Cloud nodded, face stoic but eyes worried. It was no longer merely possible but probable that Tifa was in a catatonic state, unable to defend herself if she even realized it was necessary. He’d been wrestling with the possibility for hours; the certainty made him both sick and furious. Having had mako poisoning on two separate occasions, he knew the helpless feeling all too well: the inability to control his body or voice or thoughts, and being unable to understand or – sometimes – even perceive those around him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Tifa in a similar condition. Worrying, however, wouldn’t help... and there was one positive to knowing how much she’d been dosed. “Shelke is drawing up a timetable for withdrawal and recovery, working off the suspicion of how much Tifa ingested and the likelihood that she won’t receive treatment. That’ll give us a better idea of what kind of care she’ll need when we find her. We’ll be prepared.” Small comfort, but it was all they had. He sighed, settling his weight on a barstool. “Reeve sent someone around to Mrs. Groveby’s. I’m still waiting to hear how that went.”
The room fell quiet, silently attesting to what both men felt: they hated waiting.
So they filled the time by filling their bellies, the meal serving as a nice distraction for all concerned. Barret, being a bit handier in the kitchen than Cloud, assembled scrambled eggs mixed with cheese and ham, while Cloud made toast and had the honor of washing up afterwards. The big man then took Denzel and Marlene to the local park for a few hours, in the hopes that it would keep the kids from worrying and himself from brooding.
Cloud was left alone to grow ever edgier as he waited for his phone to ring. It seemed to be all he’d done since first realizing something was wrong, and he was growing heartily weary of it. His body protested the inaction, even as his mind knew he needed an enemy – or at least the suspicion of one – before he could go on the offensive.
If he didn’t hear something soon, though, he may decide to start his own manhunt, and his first target would be whoever was supplying Sand in Edge. The sheer amount used to drug Tifa would have cost a pretty penny; someone somewhere would remember such a large sale.
Eventually – thankfully before Cloud got too antsy – Reeve called to report that Mrs. Groveby was not only agreeable to answering any and all questions, but alarmed to hear what had happened. The liqueur she had remaining in her possession had already been willingly surrendered for testing.
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Groveby arrived, escorted by a gentleman of like age and trailed by an agent from the WRO. “Hello, Mr. Strife,” said individual greeted him, holding out her hand, “I’m Detective Fiona Hayden. I specialize in kidnapings and missing persons.” Fiona had auburn hair and a calm, no-nonsense demeanor with which Mrs. Groveby was obviously at ease. Cloud, although puzzled by a vague sense of recognition, found himself relaxing as well: Fiona would no doubt have an easier time than he getting answers without antagonizing the elderly woman.
Mrs. Groveby was short, with chubby limbs and a faintly pear-shaped torso. Cloud guessed her age to be around eighty years old or more. A cap of silvered white curls covered her head, and bright hazel eyes enlivened her cheerfully wrinkled face. Something about her fairly screamed ‘grandmother’, and adults and children alike were drawn to her, although whether it was the impression of age or the patient way she listened to others speak, Cloud couldn’t say. She’d always struck him as open and empathetic. He’d never had occasion to approach her, but Tifa enjoyed visiting with her, and had asked her advice on how to deal with both Marlene and Denzel on more than one occasion. How she could be involved in a kidnapping attempt – much less a successful one – boggled the mind.
The man with her – whom she introduced with a girlish giggle as her fiancé – was almost exactly her opposite. Where she was short and plump and – as Marlene put it – huggable, he was tall and thin, his manner ascetic. Steel-gray hair was worn cropped close to his head, and he looked out at the world through deep-set dark brown eyes. His arms and legs were long and spindly, the joints prominent. Compared to Mrs. Groveby’s friendly, outgoing air, he seemed positively drab in his serviceable suit.
The four of them moved to sit at the table closest to the front window, the elderly couple seated on the bench that ran the length of the bar, while Cloud and the detective sat across from them. To his dismay, Fiona’s initial questions struck Cloud as irrelevant and unlikely to shed any light on Tifa’s disappearance. It was only due to his trust in Reeve’s judgement, and the other man’s trust in the detective, that he swallowed his objections and simply observed. This was, after all, her area of expertise, and he knew enough to know that there were times when the direct approach – his approach – didn’t have the desired result. That didn’t change the fact that where he wanted to ask questions like: “Why did you drug Tifa?” and “Where are you keeping her?” the detective started by asking something far less pointed.
“Tell me, Mrs. Groveby, how long have you known Ms. Lockhart?”
“Oh,” the elderly woman replied, drawing out the vowel in thought, “close to two years now, I think.”
“And how did you meet?”
Mrs. Groveby laughed. “A friend of mine told me that there was a restaurant-bar in Edge where they had better dumplings than the ones I made from scratch! Of course, I had to taste that for myself!” She beamed at Cloud and nodded firmly. “My friend was right. Ever since, I’ve made a habit of coming in once a week for chicken and dumplings, and then going home to a clean kitchen with a full stomach.”
Despite his worry, Cloud returned her smile with a small one of his own. Tifa’s dumpling recipe was actually something she’d learned from his mother. He was partial to them himself.
“Have you always bartered for your meals, instead of paying in gil?” Fiona’s voice was friendly but focused, accepting the story at face value without betraying either amusement or annoyance.
“No, usually I pay in cash. But I enjoy making and canning my own preserves and such, and I have a particular fondness for blackberries. My fingers end up stained for several days afterwards, and Tifa – Ms. Lockhart – noticed. When I explained, she asked if she could buy some.”
“Cordial?” Fiona cocked her head in question. Liqueurs in general were a bit high-brow for a place like Seventh Heaven, and it had struck her as an odd arrangement when Reeve gave her the bare details of the case.
“Not at first. She was actually far more interested in my preserves,” Mrs. Groveby explained placidly. “She thought the children would enjoy them. Now, I trade her at least one jar out of every batch I make.” The underlying note of pride was unmistakable.
“I’m sure they do enjoy them,” the detective agreed, smiling. “So when did you start trading the cordial as well?”
The next hour continued in much the same vein, with the detective asking question after question, smoothly guiding the conversation, and Mrs. Groveby chattering amiably in response. Almost against his will, Cloud was impressed. Fiona had an easy, approachable manner, and was obviously well-trained in her job. Her questions were both tactful and insightful, and covered things Cloud wasn’t sure he would have thought to inquire about on his own – such as whether or not Mrs. Groveby had any reason to hold a grudge against AVALANCHE, or had ties to anyone who did. And she did it all indirectly; only someone knowing what she was looking for would realize what she was doing. In the end, however, the effort proved uninformative. The elderly woman seemed to have nothing to hide, and no motive for wanting Tifa to disappear. Add to that the fact that Shelke called halfway through the interview to say that the remaining cordial tested negative, and the mystery only grew. Besides, Cloud’s gut told him that Mrs. Groveby was as innocent as she seemed. Someone had used her to hurt Tifa, and that thought just made the anger inside him burn hotter.
There were no answers, only more questions.
As Fiona finished making a list of all the other people Mrs. Groveby had traded with recently – she did a fair amount of business around town bartering her preserves and cordials for various goods and services – the elderly woman surprised Cloud by reaching out to pat his hand.
“You’ll find her,” she promised earnestly, “I know you will. Mr. Tuesti said you reported her missing less than an hour after she was taken!” She patted his hand again. “I doubt whoever did this expected you to discover it so quickly. You’ll find her.”
“Indeed.” Beside her, the man stirred and spoke for the first time, his voice far more substantial than Cloud expected given his frame. A light, smooth tenor, rather than a reedy quaver. “It’s nothing short of amazing that you were able to deduce something was wrong, simply by her failure to answer the phone.” The tone was urbane and the words complimentary, but the feel was somehow... off. The sentiment behind them missing, or bitter, as if they were offered solely for appearance’s sake. “You must be very close,” he added, when Cloud failed to respond, and with that simple phrase his attitude suddenly made sense. Apparently, he didn’t approve of the relationship Cloud and Tifa shared, which was not unusual among those individuals old enough to be their grandparents.
“We are,” Cloud agreed, simply.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be with her again soon.” As he spoke, he helped Mrs. Groveby to her feet, Detective Hayden having indicated they were free to go.
“Thank you, Mr...?” Cloud hesitated, realizing the man had never given his name.
Mrs. Groveby laughed, apologizing for the oversight. The man smiled, the curve of his lips sharp, as if he were amused by some joke to which only he was privy. “Onraet,” he replied, offering his long-fingered hand for Cloud to shake. “Gethin Onraet. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Somehow, despite the note in his voice that Cloud took for disapproval, that statement rang with absolute truth.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 11:02 am (UTC)From:I was so happy to see this. And now, after reading it I'm at the edge of my seat as the plot thickens and I am going to bug you endlessly to update this. Like...uhm, now? LOL.
Ok, maybe not right this second, but soon, yeah? **bats lashes** I'm wearing my eager face. It's adorable, I'm told. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 06:07 pm (UTC)From:Of course, if you'd rather have villains and plot over smut, just say so! =)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 09:25 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 11:37 pm (UTC)From:But, for now, there will be smut. Assuming Tifa can convince Cloud. He's going: We've only been 'dating' for ten minutes, I don't think we should jump into bed. (Which, I have to admit I think is the right attitude in general...)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 11:42 am (UTC)From:Did Cissnei change her name? I hope she recognizes a creepy old guy when she see's/hears one!
Nice job characterizing Denzel, too. And, I think Marlene's jumping up to see Cloud worked out great ^_^.
Weeeeeeee thanks again for writing this! I love it so far! I can't wait for the next part!
no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 06:39 pm (UTC)From:My first draft didn't have the actual discussion with Mrs. Groveby -- it just basically said that it happened -- but I'm trying to work on my "show" not "tell". (Which is hard... I really didn't care about the discussion as nothing much happened! ^^;) I told my hubby that my stories would be really short if I just stuck to the stuff that interested me... (they're still rather short)
LOL. I'm too heavy handed, I think, as well. Yes, that's Cissnei. I read that Cissnei could be a take on the Spanish word for swan. So she got a shortened version of a character name from the Children of Lir -- the daughter who was turned into a swan. (You probably know what I'm talking about better than I do.) She's missing from FFVII on, so I figured maybe she quit the Turks.
Mrs. Groveby also has a first name
(it's O-S-C-A-R): Caron, which is Old English and means "kind". But... I thought maybe Cloud/Cissnei would continue to call her "Mrs. Groveby" to be polite, so I never got a chance to use it.no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 01:25 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 06:40 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 02:45 pm (UTC)From:...into another cliffhanger!! :-o
Loved this update. The beginning with Cloud, the kids, and Barret was priceless. Denzel's attitude was spot-on and so very typical of him and his feelings of responsibility and desire to help. I loved Cloud'd gentle nudges with him.
I always enjoy reading the minor characters you create for your fics. I'm also curious as to whether Fiona is actually Cissnei, but either way, she rocks. Mrs. Groveby is so sweet and I feel dreadful for the poor woman when she discovers what her fiance is up to.
>_>
I'm still on pins and needles here, and I will be waiting
impatiently for the next update. ^_^no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 06:41 pm (UTC)From:TYVM! =)
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Date: 2009-07-03 05:55 pm (UTC)From:Joey
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Date: 2009-07-03 06:44 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-03 09:34 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)The interrogation was very realistic, and I like the subtle hints of how the finace was off. Gethin’s right under their nose!! Are they going to realize? Update sooooon please??
~ Akila (I remembered this time)
p.s. great icon! I would love to see Cloud say that during the course of this fic :P
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Date: 2009-07-03 10:57 pm (UTC)From:Of course, I realize that they can't ask Mrs. Groveby questions about her fiance while he's _right there_. But, I hope that such questions are on the list.
Of course, now I'm wondering if Tifa is going to be the "I'll just lie here" catatonic or the "interesting dreams and probably meeting up with Aerith and Zack et al." catatonic.*
*I vote for whichever will allow Aerith to punch Gethin in the nose!
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Date: 2009-07-04 03:39 am (UTC)From:Fiona has some suspicions. ;)
Aerith probably won't be making much of an appearance in this fic. But Cloud will be sure to punch Gethin (or smack him with his big ol' swords) enough for everyone.
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Date: 2009-07-04 02:43 am (UTC)From:I love your Cloti stuff, I check for updates everyday XP
This one has me on the edge of my seat, I can't wait for the next installment!
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Date: 2009-07-04 03:40 am (UTC)From:I think I spoil everyone with my updates. ¬.¬
Thanks so much for commenting!
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Date: 2009-07-04 06:27 am (UTC)From:But, beyond that, awesome. Denzel is spot on, and now I can't wait to see in Fiona is Cissnei. *Sighs and unrolls sleeping bag outside of fic* Now I'm going to be camped out here until you update.
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Date: 2009-07-04 07:37 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-11 01:41 am (UTC)From:|
Most. Definitely.
Evil little...person.
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Date: 2009-07-11 07:16 pm (UTC)From:Part 2: Hunger Persists
Date: 2009-07-04 10:23 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)no subject
Date: 2009-09-23 07:25 am (UTC)From:I really enjoyed this :D
You need to update it, its amazing!
Very well written.
I always enjoy your perception of Cloud and Tifa :D
It's great!
I loved this.
Please update it :D
no subject
Date: 2009-09-24 08:28 pm (UTC)From:I'm working on it! Got about a page and half written =)
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Date: 2009-09-24 11:54 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 08:38 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-16 10:32 pm (UTC)From:And you found this at just the right time, as I've just posted the next part. ^__^