The Most Fun a Girl Can Have

Quick drabble. Four lies in the childhood of Vanille. No sugar and rainbows here, I wrote it in a bitter mood at two in the morning.

She's gripping her staff so tight her knuckles are white. "Ready, Vanille?" She asks, with a smile.

Ready to go to the home of the Fal'Cie, fight to prove myself, and then join a fullscale war?

"Yep!" I say, and laugh. She smiles, and the grip on her staff loosens.

Lying has always been easier.

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I heard the older ones talk, about Fang. How her father was a drunk, cracked, a waste--a burden on society, hardly better than a Cocoon viper. Not to speak ill of the dead, some of the women would tag on, but it was true. How it was bad luck, bad luck, to name her Fang. Tempting the fal'Cie, or the Ancestors, or the Maker, depending on who was talking and how superstitious they were. And look, they said. Just look at her.

Fang lived her name. When she heard the whispers, she snarled and said something horrible and completely true. "My father was a drunk, yeah, but at least he married my mum. Not like your nephew, eh? How's his little bastard coming along?" When she was a kid, she beat up the boys who tried to steal Bahtik or pull my hair. Or, if she was bored, she pulled on my hair and the hair of any other pretty girl in sight and climbed on the roof, or the windmill, and laughed when the Matron tried to get her down. It wasn't until I cried and asked her to stop that she learned to play by the rules. When adults watched.

And even then, it was only for me.

She would sit and let me make flower chains for her, for hours. I was only five, but even then I was trying. Trying to make the blossoms look right on her head. They never did. Her hair jutted out and made it look silly, or the chains came apart when she tossed her head or took off running, which she always did. At first I was near tears, begging her to please, sit. I brushed her hair with my fingers. She let me yank at her mane until my hands ached, because she heard the tremor in my voice and saw my desperation as I tried to fit the beautiful, delicate flowers into some semblance of order. I set the last of many crowns on her head, and she faked a smile. Her hair was wilder for the brushing and the flowers looked wilted and ridiculous.

"I'm tired of this game." I lied, and tried not to cry when she sighed in relief and ripped the chain off her head.

"Great let's play tag you're it." And she was gone, running.

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When she was thirteen I found her crying. She had cried before, once when she broke her arm and once when she twisted her ankle and many more times when the nightmares woke her up. But she wasn't bleeding now, and it was the middle of the day. She was in a corner of the wall, bottom level, and she wasn't making any noise. I would have assumed that it she had just gotten splashed somehow except her hair was dry.

When she saw me, she scrubbed her face clean. "Damn allergies. My nose is a right mess."

I sat next to her and leaned my head against her arm. We watched the windmills turn, together.

"Hey, Vanille. Does it bother you that--that I'm so weird?"

"Not really. I'm weird, too."

"The adults don't go around calling you 'unnatural.'" Fang said, and her voice caught. She breathed, slowly, for a long time. "You never heard them saying that you're going--going to ruin me. Ruin my chances at a--a good marriage."

That was the first and last time either of us mentioned it, directly.

I brushed her tears away with my thumb. She pulled away, as if I had burned her. "I think the adults are silly and talk too much about stupid things." I said, and tugged on her arm. "You're not ruining me for anything. You're my family."

Fang crumpled. She hugged legs to her chest--barely starting to fill out--and buried her face in her knees. "What's wrong with me? I--"

Instead of finishing her sentence, she whimpered. I sunk to my knees on the pavement next to her and hugged her against my chest. She leaned into me and shook. "Nothing's wrong with you, Fang." I said, even though it probably wasn't true. There was a lot wrong with both of us, otherwise the nightmares wouldn't bother us so much and we would still have mum and dad. (I had forgotten by then that her parents were different than mine.)

"I wouldn't have you any other way, anyhow." I said, and decided then and there that I meant it, had meant it since the day I gave up trying to fit her into flower chains. Saying it hard enough would make it true. She looked up at me with leaking eyes and I couldn't think of anything else to add, so I smiled.

She hugged, me, tight, and I kissed the top of her head. It started her crying again.

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I don't know exactly when I noticed the stares or heard wind of the rumors, except that it was when I was older. When Fang and I both looked like young women. We stopped at the market and I said something funny and Fang ruffled my hair. I closed my eyes and relaxed into her touch, not thinking anything except that it felt nice and the breeze was wonderful today.

"Pity, isn't it?" A man said.

He was my age, talking to his older brother. They were both staring at Fang and I.

If I hadn't grabbed her arm he probably would have lost his. His brother gripped his knife.

"You free tomorrow night?" I asked the boy, grinned, and tossed my hair. I glanced at Fang after he nodded--his jaw was open--and I swear my heart stopped beating. Her face looked like it did those first few days at the orphanage. Back when she started to realize that her parents were dead.

None of us spoke for an incredibly long second. Then her mouth smiled, even if her eyes didn't. "Thought I told you not to think so badly of yourself. You can do better than this lot." She tugged her arm out of my grip and walked away, leaving me alone.

I wanted to be angry. I wouldn't look so broken if she tried seeing any of the boys, I was sure of it. I almost yelled it at her back, but saying that would be facing everything else about us, and I couldn't. So I lied, and told the boy "Don't mind her, she's coming down with something bad."

He was boring and rude and ugly. I didn't plan a second date, and Fang and I never talked about it. It was easier that way. Sometimes, sleeping curled against her at night, I would almost ask. What are we, exactly?

But I didn't. I pretended to cry, so she would hold me closer.

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Weeks after that, we went hunting, gave up, and collapsed by the root of a tree. She flopped on her back, and I cuddled into her side. She smelled like bracken in the best way possible, same as she always had, and her heartbeat was the most comforting sound in the world. She was soft, despite the muscle definition she was starting to gain. I traced her tattoo gently with my index finger, drinking in the feeling of skin on skin.

Her heart to raced and her breathing changed. It came faster, shallower.

I had half a mind to keep idly tracing the tattoo, to see what would happen to her or me or both of us. I wanted to, but I had the vague impression that it would hurt her, somehow.

I looked up and caught her eyes without meaning to. The smiles and laughs from seconds ago was gone. Her face was painted over with light from behind the tree leaves.

This was eternal life. Lying next to her.

I wanted to be—closer. But, if things didn't work—if I found out that it wasn't what I wanted, exactly, after all—then I would lose her. And I couldn't. I couldn't risk that.

So I lied. "You're the best sister I could ever ask for."

She blinked, and her gaze flicked away from me before coming back to rest on my face. If I hurt her, it only showed in how she pursed her lips and how she had to cough and clear her throat before speaking.

"Yeah. I love you too, Vanille."

Her voice shook.

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So, here we are. Standing before the Fal'Cie's temple, ready to test ourselves. She's fighting so that she can have the power to avenge the deaths of her parents and destroy Cacoon. I'm fighting because I can't be away from her.

Maybe, I'll tell the truth once this test is over. Whether we become L'Cie or no. But not now.

Lying is always easier.

Trying to warm up to the characters. I don't think I quite nailed Vanille here, but Fang is easy to write. Reviews are deeply appreciated, like always.