Post by michimoro on Oct 12, 2010 22:41:03 GMT -5
Velent Gram stood under the awning of a closed bar with one hand in the pocket of an old navy trench that had seen far better days. He held a cigarette with the other hand. He watched the street as rainwater flowed along the gutters and down the drains. It was monsoon season in Gongaga, and a thunderstorm had just passed through leaving the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass. It had been a long time since the air had smelled as such.
In the aftermath of the explosion of Gongaga’s MAKO reactor, the sweet after-rain scent had quickly turned acidic from the expelled waste. Now, more than fifteen years after the explosion, was the fragrance of nature slowly returning.
And only now had it come back in a strong enough level that he could actually smell the change.
”Actinomycete…” Gram murmured while leaning his head back against the building to watch the slick streets with half-lidded eyes. The analytical scientist within Gram idly recalled that the scent of rain, associated commonly with renewal and the lifestream, was really just the product of bacterial spores being kicked up by rainfall like an aerosol.
Yet, with the return of old, familiar scents, the part of Gram that lent itself to moments of nostalgia found it funny how old memories seemed to surface in the rain's wake—particularly those stormy afternoons he used to spend inside the Midgar University Library. He used to go there often, back in his college days, to camp out at a table in some alcove and work on his studies. Well… That’s was the intention, anyway. More often than not, he’d find himself on the top floor making out with the librarian behind the shelves of microfilm.
Gram shook his head at the memory, and lifted his cigarette to take a slow drag.
The after-scent of rain…
It was something that he had forgotten during his time in Deep Ground. Years of working directly with MAKO, machinery, and disinfectant had done much to dull his sense of smell. Not to mention the havoc wrought by his nicotine addiction...
He really should quit for the sake of his health, but what would be the point?
With one foot in the grave, literally as much as figuratively, it made no difference. He was dying. In fact, he should have died years ago. Yet, despite everything he’d done and been through—from surviving encounters with animals in the wilderness as a child to the MAKO exposure sustained as a Deep Ground scientist—he had somehow managed to live this long. He had to admit at even he was surprised by his…
Well, he didn’t want to say luck…
It was endurance, perhaps.
Yes, endurance.
If Gram was one to entertain notions of superstition, he’d wonder if the Goddess Minerva had some hand in this—some reason to hold off his death, like some grandiose task or journey to undergo, before he’d finally be able to return to the planet.
Gram then chuckled at the thought and dismissively shook his head. ”Minerva’s Hand… Huh?”
That almost sounded like some fatalistic nonsense his brother would believe…
But his brother was a damned religious fool—always putting too much faith in the Lifestream, in archaic ancestor worship, and in the maritime superstitions of their Nidavelian ancestors. It was preposterous, really, the idea that people long dead could communicate with the living. At best and at worst, Egil was a delusional nutcase who was completely out of touch reality.
So, when Gram had decided leave his brother’s Company in order to accept the scholarship that ShinRa offered to him over two decades years ago…
Well, the two hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.
Although willing to take their money and use their materia if it suited him, Egil had never liked the company. He did not like the idea of MAKO being used for energy, and he certainly never approved of Gram tinkering with MAKO Fusion technology. It never made much sense, to Gram, how his brother could so dislike the very clientele who fueled his business and lined his pockets.
However, despite the bitterness and resentment he held toward the older sibling, Gram had to admit that still missed the bastard. The part of him that was a boy from Junon—a fisherman’s son—wanted to see his big brother again. That same part of him longed to stand aboard Egil’s ship with nothing around but the sea. He still longed to feel the wind in his hair, to taste of salt in the air, and to listen to the calming drone of crashing waves.
But…
He had turned away from that life a long time ago.
With a grunt, Gram pushed himself away from the brick wall and tossed his spent cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then, shaking thoughts of his brother off for another time, he ran his hand through rain-damp hair while casting his gaze along the gravel street to see that life within the ruined reactor town was starting to pick up. Now that the rain was over, locals were starting to emerge and take to the streets. Gongaga was waking to a new day.
With a shake of his head, Gram shouldered his rucksack before making his way back toward the road. Heavy-footed boots crunched in a limped gait against the wet gravel as Gram tread on without a real destination in mind. He was out of money, again, and in needed to find work. Although unlikely in the still struggling economy, perhaps an opportunity would present itself…
LATER . . .
After wandering the town for a few hours, he had managed to score a job with a local pawn shop. The shopkeeper admitted that he had some old broken equipment in back that he hadn’t been able to fix, and if Gram could manage to fix them, the keeper would gladly pay. Gram agreed. He’d spent the whole day in the shop, and in the end, managed to earn 5,000 Gill. Not nearly as much as he’d made for some surgical jobs, but it was decent work for once.
Deciding to celebrate his earnings, Gram returned the bar he’d found earlier and celebrate by kicking back a few drinks.
A few soon turned into a lot as Gram lost track of the night through a haze of liquor and cigarette smoke.
In the aftermath of the explosion of Gongaga’s MAKO reactor, the sweet after-rain scent had quickly turned acidic from the expelled waste. Now, more than fifteen years after the explosion, was the fragrance of nature slowly returning.
And only now had it come back in a strong enough level that he could actually smell the change.
”Actinomycete…” Gram murmured while leaning his head back against the building to watch the slick streets with half-lidded eyes. The analytical scientist within Gram idly recalled that the scent of rain, associated commonly with renewal and the lifestream, was really just the product of bacterial spores being kicked up by rainfall like an aerosol.
Yet, with the return of old, familiar scents, the part of Gram that lent itself to moments of nostalgia found it funny how old memories seemed to surface in the rain's wake—particularly those stormy afternoons he used to spend inside the Midgar University Library. He used to go there often, back in his college days, to camp out at a table in some alcove and work on his studies. Well… That’s was the intention, anyway. More often than not, he’d find himself on the top floor making out with the librarian behind the shelves of microfilm.
Gram shook his head at the memory, and lifted his cigarette to take a slow drag.
The after-scent of rain…
It was something that he had forgotten during his time in Deep Ground. Years of working directly with MAKO, machinery, and disinfectant had done much to dull his sense of smell. Not to mention the havoc wrought by his nicotine addiction...
He really should quit for the sake of his health, but what would be the point?
With one foot in the grave, literally as much as figuratively, it made no difference. He was dying. In fact, he should have died years ago. Yet, despite everything he’d done and been through—from surviving encounters with animals in the wilderness as a child to the MAKO exposure sustained as a Deep Ground scientist—he had somehow managed to live this long. He had to admit at even he was surprised by his…
Well, he didn’t want to say luck…
It was endurance, perhaps.
Yes, endurance.
If Gram was one to entertain notions of superstition, he’d wonder if the Goddess Minerva had some hand in this—some reason to hold off his death, like some grandiose task or journey to undergo, before he’d finally be able to return to the planet.
Gram then chuckled at the thought and dismissively shook his head. ”Minerva’s Hand… Huh?”
That almost sounded like some fatalistic nonsense his brother would believe…
But his brother was a damned religious fool—always putting too much faith in the Lifestream, in archaic ancestor worship, and in the maritime superstitions of their Nidavelian ancestors. It was preposterous, really, the idea that people long dead could communicate with the living. At best and at worst, Egil was a delusional nutcase who was completely out of touch reality.
So, when Gram had decided leave his brother’s Company in order to accept the scholarship that ShinRa offered to him over two decades years ago…
Well, the two hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.
Although willing to take their money and use their materia if it suited him, Egil had never liked the company. He did not like the idea of MAKO being used for energy, and he certainly never approved of Gram tinkering with MAKO Fusion technology. It never made much sense, to Gram, how his brother could so dislike the very clientele who fueled his business and lined his pockets.
Egil… I wonder if you’re still alive… You hypocrite…
However, despite the bitterness and resentment he held toward the older sibling, Gram had to admit that still missed the bastard. The part of him that was a boy from Junon—a fisherman’s son—wanted to see his big brother again. That same part of him longed to stand aboard Egil’s ship with nothing around but the sea. He still longed to feel the wind in his hair, to taste of salt in the air, and to listen to the calming drone of crashing waves.
But…
He had turned away from that life a long time ago.
With a grunt, Gram pushed himself away from the brick wall and tossed his spent cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then, shaking thoughts of his brother off for another time, he ran his hand through rain-damp hair while casting his gaze along the gravel street to see that life within the ruined reactor town was starting to pick up. Now that the rain was over, locals were starting to emerge and take to the streets. Gongaga was waking to a new day.
With a shake of his head, Gram shouldered his rucksack before making his way back toward the road. Heavy-footed boots crunched in a limped gait against the wet gravel as Gram tread on without a real destination in mind. He was out of money, again, and in needed to find work. Although unlikely in the still struggling economy, perhaps an opportunity would present itself…
LATER . . .
After wandering the town for a few hours, he had managed to score a job with a local pawn shop. The shopkeeper admitted that he had some old broken equipment in back that he hadn’t been able to fix, and if Gram could manage to fix them, the keeper would gladly pay. Gram agreed. He’d spent the whole day in the shop, and in the end, managed to earn 5,000 Gill. Not nearly as much as he’d made for some surgical jobs, but it was decent work for once.
Deciding to celebrate his earnings, Gram returned the bar he’d found earlier and celebrate by kicking back a few drinks.
A few soon turned into a lot as Gram lost track of the night through a haze of liquor and cigarette smoke.