Final Fantasy 7: Live and Let Die - Prologue
PROLOGUE
Part I
The house looked eerie.
At least, that was how she saw it. She paced in little circles out on the driveway pondering whether to step onto the porch and ring the bell or not. The small, straw-woven basket swayed under her arm as she walked timidly, chewing her lower lip in worry and furrowing those lean eyebrows ever so slightly into her beautiful, pale face.
She did not know how long she had been standing there.
With an indecisive look her eyes wandered and traveled along the curvy green vines that had crawled up the crumbling paint and formed giant, greenish cobwebs onto those dusty gray walls that once were white. She turned to see the other side of the old mansion and tried hard to tear her gaze away from the deformed tree - the singular, overly-large branch that plastered itself against the windows on the second floor, and that slanted, rotting stem that seemed about to fall and crash into the house any minute. Even in the midst of a mid-August day when the sun took its sweet time scorching the ground down here in the South and turning everything into a melting wax effigy of a summer, the house in front of her still emitted a strange feel of cold, damp darkness that she could almost... taste.
Yep, she said to herself, this is definitely creepy.
But then again, she had no choice. Every single time they did a sale, she always ended up having the most cookies left in the end. Although nobody ever said anything about her poor record, she felt bad nevertheless and therefore was determined to finish selling her basketful this time around at any cost. That was actually why she was here now, five miles away from her own not-too-philanthropic neighborhood and in the middle of nowhere, trying her damned best at selling these girl-scout cookies.
Gathering what courage she had, she held her light, angular chin high, straightening the wrinkles on her sleeves and her knee-length skirt and dusting off her hair, she marched up to the porch like a woman on a mission and firmly pressed the doorbell.
Hopefully someone answers soon, she thought as she lifted her free hand to her forehead, wiping off a few beads of sweat. I don't want to miss Sailor Moon this week.
Part II
To sum up the painfully long into the mercifully short, Vinny Vampherlive was having a bad day.
Actually, he had been having a bad day everyday since he retired from the CIA three years ago. Immediately after his retirement, his wife ran away with some other guy and didn't even bother filing a divorce. Said something to the effect that it was a payback for all those years in the service when he's neglected her because of his work.
In truth, Vinny loved his wife very much. Like many other dumped men, he often drank himself to a half-comatose state, seeking to relieve the pain in his heart. It was not until a year ago that he had found a rekindled love - the NRA.
The National Rifle Association had literally pulled him out of his two-year shock, and restored in him the ability to function like a human being once more. Vinny had always been obsessed with firearms, although he wouldn't admit it and even consciously suppressed himself from using a gun unless he absolutely had to, as it would make his professional career look very unprofessional otherwise. However, with the NRA he finally found an outlet to release himself and openly stock and treasure his guns as much as he wished. In fact, he polished each piece on his rack daily ever since, caressing the cold, steel barrels like a woman's skin and loving the surge of raw power that he felt when he held a gun in his hands. For a while, life for Vinny was passably good.
Things turned ugly when the congress, due to a rapid rise in assault-related crimes all over the country, passed a resolution that severely limited the NRA and its members from holding an excessive amount of small-weaponry in their houses. The slogan they used was very simple, "You have a right to bear arms," the spokesman of the House intoned in a news conference, "just not more than what your hands can carry."
In short, this translated to Vinny having to sell off every one of his beloved collections except for the two trusty shotguns that he treasured above all. And no, he was not happy about it. Deprived of his love for the second time in his life, Vinny resumed his drinking and left everything else, including his house, in shambles. He himself had long realized what a mess he's become and, prophesizing an early death for himself, he even bought some course materials and made a coffin that he stored down in the basement, very sure that it would come in handy sometime in the near future.
Then, the unthinkable thing happened today.
His long companion for eleven long years. His trusted friend who stayed with him and endured all hardships when others abandoned him. His pet bat, Reeny Rude, died earlier this morning of old age.
Vinny sat long in his chair after he buried RR in his backyard. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad or depressed. He just... was. Reeny Rude had been the only ties left between him and this world that had seemingly abandoned him, and with this last tie severed, Vinny Vampherlive felt nothing anymore. It was as if there was a gaping hole somewhere inside his body, and he was too tired to try patching it up any longer. It took every ounce of his energy to restrain himself from picking up one of the two shotguns he's left with and blow his own brains out right here and now. The only reason he didn't shoot himself yet was because he wanted to kill that damned boy who drove the dumpster truck first for being so damned late every single week, including today. So he sat in his chair, seething unholy rage at everything in general and especially at that dumpster-truck boy whose absence was detaining Vinny from going to his own maker, silently waiting to bestow this small farewell gift unto a world that had been cruel to him all his life.
And then, of all the days in the world and for the first time in more years than Vinny could remember, his doorbell rang.
Part III
"Would you like to buy some girl-scout cookies?" She was about to say in the sweetest girl-scout-cookie-selling tone possible as the door swung open, but stopped short at the word "buy" and gasped when she found herself talking to the receiving end of a large, twin-barrel shotgun.
"Yea? What do you want?" The dark-haired man behind the half-opened door asked, his bloodshot eyes examining the uniform figure before him.
Her pretty green eyes widened in fear. Vaguely she seemed to recall to have read in the newspaper a few weeks ago with some headline that ran like "Girl Scout Shot By Raving Maniac While Selling Cookies." Even if she hadn't read it somewhere before, she was positive that it would appear very soon. "Uh, uh," she stammered in shock, staring at the gun. "N, Nothing, sir, I'll just be going now. Very sorry to bother you, yes, really, I'm terribly sorry. I promise you I won't ever show up again, please, sir, have a very pleasant day," she said while edging a few step backwards quickly and almost tripped herself on the stairs as she did so.
"Wait! I'm not done with you yet! Why did you come here?" The red pupils that stared at her maliciously glimmered in a predatory fashion as he spat the words out. Oh no, I'm gonna die, she thought, I'm gonna get blown to a thousand little bits and my dress is gonna be all bloody and messy.
"Please don't shoot me! Please!" She pleaded. "I'll give you everything I have but please just let me go! Look, I can give you-" she frantically began searching through her pockets and came up with... nothing here. "some, um-" Nothing here either, save a few dollars of change. "--girl scout cookies?" She offered hopefully. "I'm sorry but I only have two dollars with me and I need them to take the bus back home... but you can have all the cookies. They are very tasty, I'm sure you'll like them if you just give it a try."
"Wait, let me get this straight," the man seemed to lower his guard for only a few seconds as confusion seeped into his voice. "You're a girl-scout, and you're here to sell me some cookies?" She nodded.
"You mean, you're here to sell cookies?" He repeated. She nodded again.
"And you think that I would be interested in them? You think that someone whose wife ran away, who was forced to sell out his guns, someone whose bat just died this morning, Someone Like Me, WOULD BE INTERESTED IN BUYING YOUR GOD-DAMNED COOKIES?" The man took a step toward her, cocking his shotgun in one swift motion.
She trembled.
"Get the hell outta my house now and take your damned cookies with you and don't COME BACK OR ELSE I'LL SHOVE THIS GUN AND YOUR COOKIES UP YOUR **********!" He hollered in uncontrollable rage. Thankfully, she covered her ears with her palms in fear before she could make out what the raging madman was actually yelling about.
The poor girl fled in tears, making a beeline straight across the lawn toward the street.
"AND STAY OFF THE LAWN!"
She hopped over to the pavement and continued scrambling down the driveway, spilling cookies everywhere.
Out of the corner of his eyes Vinny saw the familiar green, juggernaut shape that was the dumpster truck speedily hauling itself up the slope from the other end of the street some fifty yards to the right. For a slight moment Vinny hesitated and wondered why the garbage truck was driving in reverse this time, but then he pushed the thought away and slowly took aim at the truck. A tiny voice nagged at his subconscious and warned him something about that girl who was currently making a blind dash down the street while constantly turning her head back to check on him, and about the truck that was quickly backing up from the other end of the road.
All of a sudden, an unreadable expression flickered across Vinny's face as the realization of some impending calamity dawned upon him and temporarily made him forget even his desire to kill.
"HEY!" Vinny yelled at the top of his lungs at the retreating figure, "WATCH OUT!"
Part IV
It wasn't that Seth was lazy or tardy in nature. Quite the opposite, in fact, would have held true for him: Seth was just about the most dedicated man ever lived. He would do absolutely anything to get a job done. And he never complained.
Which would be one of the many reasons why he was now in all his glory - complete with the cape and gloves and all the get-up, flickering aside a stray long strand of silvery-white hair as his eyes narrowed in anticipation like a soldier about to charge into the fray.
Then the green light flashed.
Seth promptly stepped on the gas pedal and, feeling the familiar trembles and the infernal growl of an overtaxed engine, proceeded to steer the green monstrosity that he currently sat in down the next block.
Many would wonder how on earth the great Seth Phiro had fallen to such state as to humble himself by doing menial labors like collecting trash for a remote town in the middle of God-knows-where, but the truth was very simple: Seth had chosen it himself.
Make no mistake in thinking that he hadn't been successful at any of his other careers. He had been the best bodyguard one could ever wish for, the most-famed actor in Hollywood, a most amazing pitcher, and simply the greatest fireman ever lived. He had saved countless lives while working as a fireman, and his miraculous efficiency had been much publicized by the media, who attributed it as a result for having a "seemingly-fireproof hair and most definitely a fireproof cape."
In fact, he was at the top of his field in every single one of his past fifty-some different careers. Business bloomed with every store he worked for; lawsuits were won in his favor whenever he argued for a case... there was no doubt that he would have been voted as the next President should he cared to run a campaign. It would not be far off the truth if one claims that the whole nation was on a Seth Phiro high.
Then why in the world did Seth keep switching jobs? Perhaps one might ask. The answer was obvious; it's called "every pro has its con." And the con factor that came with his unparalleled beauty, grace, and fire-immunity was this:
Girls. Lots of them. All packed with starry eyes and usually a slight drool off one corner of their mouths. They swarmed about him wherever he went.
At first, Seth didn't mind. It was an attention that he didn't actively seek for, although it never personally disturbed him either. However, when they kept breaching security to find him and knelt in front of him professing their love whenever they did find him, creating mass human-roadblocks as a result, Seth was forced to quit being a bodyguard and went into acting. And he quit that too, when he was simultaneously awarded the Oscars for Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Director three years in a row when he only did a cameo as a passer-by in a low-budget documentary film. As for the fireman bit, it was indisputable that he had single-handedly saved more lives than any ten squadrons combined, but the national index for counts of arson had also risen 500% during the two years when he served on the task force. You had no idea how many housewives set their own houses on fire while their husbands were away... well, let's put it this way. It caused quite a stir when the First Lady, along with every female staff member in the building, burned down the White House and sent a note demanding that either Seth Phiro and Seth Phiro alone flew to Washington this minute and rescue them out, or they would all die waiting for him. And so on, and so forth, Seth drifted from one job to another, relentlessly hounded by packs of ravenous, lovesick females everywhere. Perhaps the only time when he had personally been part of the reason for an early retirement was that single season when he played for the Cardinals: The league could take his little fixation on coloring his baseballs green, but they staunchly refused when he insisted on using a twelve-foot-long bat.
And that was basically why he was stuck now as perhaps the most beautiful street-janitor in the history of mankind. Need to find a new job again, Seth noted to himself passively as he drove up toward Cemetery Drive. Two teenage girls had already discovered him here about half-an-hour ago and had tried to jump into the pile of garbage on the back and then work their way to the front to get to him. He had narrowly escaped from having his garbage truck hijacked both times by flooring the gas pedal before they could put their hands on the truck, but if he had learned anything from the past, he knew that those girls would not give up so easily. More likely than not, they would have been right on his tail this whole time.
Just to prove his theory was correct, Seth turned his head and looked back from the window. Surely, he could vaguely discern two tiny figures slowly gaining on him from the rear. Time was running short, Seth realized. He needed to think of a way to track those two and make sure they wouldn't jump on the truck while he was distracted... and suddenly, he had an idea. The last house in the service area was that old mansion up at the end of Cemetery Drive, and as far as he knew, nobody dared to go near the place because they thought it was haunted... Immediately, Seth shifted the gears and did a U-turn, then began driving the truck in reverse up Cemetery Drive, figuring that it would be safe to do so and he could monitor those two girls at the same time so that they wouldn't be able to sneak up into the truck.
Seth had so counted on the fact that there wouldn't be anybody running on the street near where he was going that he didn't hit the brakes until he heard the feminine scream coming from the back as he felt the rear bumper hit something solid and soft, and realized that he shouldn't have done an emergency break while driving in reverse because it would cause all the garbage bags to topple back out of the truck.
Part x x x
She screamed when she suddenly felt a mind-jarring impact on her body that sent her airborne. She felt her body hit the ground and almost passed out from the pain. Dimly she thought she heard a harsh, grating sound like someone applying an emergency break, but she couldn't be certain since everything around her became a haze. She struggled to see what was happening around her, but the only thing she could make out were strange, huge black bags descending down from the sky in waves toward her. It must be a dream, she thought, must be some weird dream like the ones she had a few weeks ago. She felt sleepy and slowly closed her eyes. The last thing she could sense was blackness... and a really, really bad stench.
Fourteen-year old Arisa Greensford had no idea what hit her.
[Standard Disclaimers]
ukulele studios
proudly presents
Live and Let Die (working title)
a semi-original #FanFiction based on Final Fantasy VII
Chapter One: The Dangers of Being A Bubbling Salesgirl
Coming Soon
p.s. co-writers welcome ^^; I've got a couple other projects to work on as well so I would like to have some interested writers share the load and work with me on this :)
