(no subject)
Title: Origins
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7
Characters: Reeve
Prompt: 98, Writer’s Choice
Word Count: 2,454
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Well, since it eventually had to be done… A final piece, I hope, to the whole idea of Ret. Each one had to deal with more and more of his past. And so, now, at least, we look into the origins of a Turk who would have been famous, for all the wrong reasons.
“Father, might I speak with you in earnest?”
The question earned the child a sharp blow to the side from the cane held in the man’s hand. Tears came to the eyes of the boy as he fell to his knees. No doubt there would be a horrible bruise tomorrow from the blow; the man had struck him with the extravagant handle, an arc dragon claw wrapped around a large piece of glass shaped and colored to look like a summon materia, rather than the end. While the child was used to such blows, he was by no means capable of taking one without some sign of pain. There was strength in his father yet, despite the man’s advanced age.
“What have I told you about speaking, boy?”
“Never speak out of turn. Only speak when spoken to and then respond in a clear and concise manner. Always address your superiors and betters in ways befitting their status. Never take familiarities that have not been permitted.”
Another blow came, this time to the boy’s back. This one caught the child completely off guard and he was thrown to the floor by the strength of it. Tears that he’d barely had a hold on before now fell freely. Were it not for the knowledge that punishment would only get worse if he appeared to be weak, the boy would have been sobbing. Somehow he managed to hold his whimpers back, and quickly moved to wipe away the tears on the long sleeve of his practice uniform.
“Do you know what you have done wrong this time?”
After a moment the child nodded. When he answered it was impossible to hide the pain in his voice. “I forgot to address you as is befitting your status, Master Ishikawa.”
“At least you have come to learn from your pain, child. Now wipe your tears and straighten yourself. Your mother would be upset it we came to her at the dinner table with you in tears. Can’t you even control your emotions, boy?”
The question was rhetorical, and the boy knew it. So it was in silence that he slowly struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the pain lancing through his side that probably meant a cracked rib. There would be time enough after a formal meal with the family he hadn’t seen in years to have it looked at by the physician his father employed. So, the boy grit his teeth and bore the pain for now. Weakness would mean another blow from that horrible man who claimed to be his father. Already today he’d suffered four blows for his incompetence, and more at this point would be more than he could handle.
“Well, at least you learn to hold your tongue fast enough. Come, we cannot keep the lady waiting.”
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Theirs wasn’t a very normal Wutain family. The master of the house was an old man set in his ways, a Wutain lord who cared more for appearances and traditions than he did for his family at times. The lady was a beautiful woman born of Mideel, with hair like chocolate and eyes like emeralds. She was the only thing that the master of the house had seen fit to wave tradition for. Of course, she was his second wife, and mother of only one of the master’s three children. The eldest son was much like his father: cold, rigid, stuck in tradition, and hardly fair to his younger brother. The only daughter, the middle child, was a great beauty, who had suitors from all over Wutai, and other areas. She was soft spoken, sweet, and everything that one wanted in a woman to take as your bride.
And then there was him. The youngest of the family at only eleven years. The let down of the family. He took more after his mother than his father. His hair was brown, his eyes were green, and his body far less wiry than that of his brother. The child looked more like he was from the Junon area than the Mideel. Mideelian people had a similar exotic look to the Wutain. While their hair wasn’t as dark, and their eyes not as slanted, they were not as rough looking as those from the continents.
He was the disappointment, the let down. His father looked down upon him, his brother thought him a waste of their father’s time, and his sister wouldn’t even smile for him.
Not even was he given a name befitting his Wutain blood.
The name he was given was Reeve.
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“Wrong!” a voice bellowed, causing the young boy to flinch. And with that flinch came a pain lancing up his arm as Reeve’s sparring partner took advantage of a moment lapse in attention.
“Again!” Master Ishikawa shouted. When Reeve didn’t pick up the wooden practice blade fast enough his father rushed in and swung the cane at him. Reeve barely managed to move out of the range of the cane, but in doing so lost the chance to recover his practice blade.
Before the youth could really do anything, he found himself defending against the repeated and violent advances of his father. Each time he avoided being struck by less and less distance, and less and less time. In the end though, Reeve’s stamina just didn’t hold out, and his flexibility proved not enough to protect himself from the experienced fighter. The glass orb smashed into Reeve’s leg, throwing him to the floor, and arms were brought up to protect his face just in time to get his arm broken by another blow.
“Pathetic. I’ve seen children half your age defend better against such an assault. Get yourself to the physician. And I do not want to see you again until that arm is healed. Now, out of my sight!”
Despite the pain, the boy slowly rose and limped his way out of the training room to find the physician.
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“Ah, young master,” came the kind voice of the family physician, “Today is the day, is it not? We’ll have your cast off quite quickly. With your recovery rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d have full control over your arm quite soon. I’m sure that will please your father.”
Reeve had no response for the cheerful man. The time he’d spent in the cast, working with the servants of the family away from his father’s site, had hardly been kind. His whole body was still sore from scrubbing the floors with one hand just that morning. Still were his knees raw from the work, and his feet were suffering from running errands in the city barefoot. And it just so happened that their home was closer to the mountains, which meant sharp stones underfoot for most of the trip.
Finally the young boy found his voice, “Couldn’t you… tell my father that it didn’t heal properly?”
“Pardon?”
“Maybe… maybe if he thought I couldn’t fight anymore…”
“I don’t think that would be wise, young master. Your father would be upset to hear that.”
True enough. Another reason for his father to hate him. But it seemed like these days there were more than enough. Reeve wasn’t the fighter his father wanted him to be. He wasn’t the gentleman his older brother was. He wasn’t going to fetch a dowry that would be worthwhile like his sister. In all truth, he was completely useless to his father and his house. Maybe, just maybe, if he couldn’t be the fighter he wanted, his father would allow him to attempt something else that would help the family. There was always education. He could learn business like his brother had. Or take up a trade that would make him worthy of his father’s love.
“Forgive me. It was a foolish request.”
So Reeve remained silent as the physician removed his cast and checked over his arm for proper healing. What more could he do?
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“I will not allow this.”
“I am not asking you, Master Ishikawa. I am telling you.”
“And who are you to think you can speak freely in my home?”
“Your SON!” Reeve shouted, jumping to his feet. Two years had not changed his will at all. If anything, he’d become more resolved to be free of his father’s demands. If the man hated him, well then he would accept that. He’d known it for years anyway.
“A poor one at that!” was the old man’s retort. “No gratitude for all I have given you!”
“And what exactly is it that you’ve given me?” the youth demanded angrily. “Broken bones, a bruised body, and nothing that makes me feel like your son. I’m leaving and there is nothing you can do about that!”
In fact, the only reason Reeve was even speaking to his father about leaving was because the man had apparently been alerted to his intentions by a maid. Reeve had been on the porch, pulling on a pair of boots and a rain coat over the Midgarian clothes he’d bought from a traveling merchant. Apparently the foolish little woman had thought that the master would care. And apparently she’d been right in one way. Ishikawa hated people disobeying him.
“I’ll not have one of my children leaving my home dressed as… a begger!”
“This isn’t what a begger would wear!” Reeve shouted back, fists clenched. He’d been about to pick up his pack and the ticket for his boat to Midgar when his father had spoken. “Just because you are unaware of the world outside of your little delusions doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!”
“If you set one foot off this porch then you will never be welcomed back into my home. You will be considered a bastard child of a servant.”
“How do I know that isn’t true anyway?”
With that the young man grabbed up his pack and ticket and headed out into the rain. It didn’t matter that he was leaving all he knew behind. This place had never been a home to him, that man never a father. There had to be something better in Midgar, even for someone as young as him. Anywhere was better than this hell. Even the hell of Midgar.
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Midgar was a rainy place when you were up on the plates. Reeve had only come to know that in the last few weeks though. While he’d lived in the city itself for over a year, he’d only managed to make the plate about a month before. And even that was an iffy thing. It was just another hiding place, this time from a gang in the slums that he’d run afoul of. Time hadn’t done anything to rid him of the coldness that had been born in him the day he left home. The year hadn’t weakened the arrogance that even half blood Wutains had. And all the days did nothing to teach him how to keep out of trouble. Already he’d spilled more blood in this city than the whole of his life in Wutai as the son of a noble lord.
Gods only knew how much more he’d spill were it to be found out just who he was, or were he to actually go home and admit fault.
That wasn’t the kind of man that Reeve was these days though. Ishikawa was already placed far behind him. He’d taken up his mother’s maiden name, Evans, as the only reminder of his birth. And then he’d taken Tuesti in place of his own surname. It had been the name of the woman who’d taken him in for a week before she’d died from some illness that didn’t happen up on the plates.
“Hey… you. Kid!”
Reeve looked up from his hiding spot, and when he saw a man looming before him the instincts that had been beat into him from an early age kicked in. Before he even got a look at the man the youth was on his feet and lashing out with a kick. The man was caught off guard enough that Reeve managed to deliver a good hit to the stomach. As the man doubled over, winded, Reeve moved quickly around him and rushed into the rainy streets. It was time for a new hiding spot.
He didn’t get far before he heard the person he’d attacked starting to give chase. Really, like some man would catch him. Easily the youth ducked into an alley, hoping to lose his pursuer in the hopeless twists and turns of the Midgar plates.
For what felt like hours he ran, until Reeve was sure he couldn’t have been tracked. Panting, and drenched from all the rain, Reeve leaned against a building to catch his breath. While it had been nice and all to get some exercise, he wasn’t really appreciating the whole soaked to the bone thing. After a moment he pushed off of the wall and turned to head down the street, intending on finding a new place to dry off. When he passed an alley, though, a hand shot out and grabbed him. Before he could even lash out at his captor, Reeve found himself pinned to the ground by the greater bulk of the man who had been pursuing him.
“You’re good kid, but you’re not good enough.”
“Let me go!”
The man, whose face seemed badly burned, just smiled before pulling handcuffs from somewhere in his dark blue suit.
“Come on… I’m taking you in.”
“Let me go you pervert!” Reeve shouted, hoping that someone would see and help him.
The shouting did bring attention, but oddly enough, the people that stared only whispered to each other and shook their heads.
“They aren’t going to help,” the man said as he hauled Reeve to his feet. “No one questions a Turk…”
Fuck.
“You got a name?” the burned man asked as he pushed Reeve forward, hand clamped tight down on his shoulder.
“Ret,” the boy offered quickly. Giving his own name might be stupid after all.
“I’m Veld, not that you’ll have much time or cause to remember it… Kid, you really shouldn’t have kicked me.”
“Not my fault you left yourself open,” the youth sighed, defeated.
But hey, at least this way he’d have an easier death than he would have at the hands of that gang. And even if this guy was as good as the rumors made Turks out to be, Reeve was sure he would be able to get away. What exactly could the Turks get out of killing him anyway?
Not like he was any use to them, and just attacking a Turk who had scared him wouldn’t get him into too much trouble…
Right?