#Prickly would have the sharp teeth. Water Lily would have claws | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zephfair · 6 years

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Cloud ficlet, Gen, Humor

Based on this post by @silver-elite-official with a wonderful addition by @ardwynna I had this stupid idea for a little crack/fluff/humor fic. Many thanks to the wonderful @pttucker for all the encouragement! Thank you!

Poor Cloud; his life is hard.

Gen fic, no pairings, no warnings needed, I think?

Cloud doesn’t think anything of it at first.

His luck has—if he’s honest with himself—always kind of sucked, so when annoying little things start happening around him, he figures it’s just life.

Only they keep happening more often. Little things that are really irritating but usually easy to explain away.

The scratch along the entire side of his motorcycle, right through the clear coat and into the paint. He questions the kids quietly and calmly but they disavow any knowledge of what could have happened.

Cloud shrugs and writes it off as the neighborhood kids or some drunken neighbor. Even when it happens the next week on the other side and he fumes as he has to buff and repaint it as well.

Then there’s the unexplained flat tire one morning when he has an important delivery. After he borrows a vehicle and makes it back to Edge the next day—tired, cranky and thoroughly disgruntled with trucks that still manage to make him vaguely carsick—he busts a lug nut getting the wheel off. He drags it to a tire shop, only there’s nothing in it: no cut, no glass, no sharp edge to explain why the tire has gone flat.

So there’s no reason why it does it again. Or why the new tire he finally breaks down and buys suddenly is flat the very next day.

“Never saw nothin’ like it, mister,” the tire shop owner so helpfully tells him and fills it up again as Cloud grinds his teeth.

Then there’s the morning he picks up his leather sleeve and it’s cut through, a long gouge that was obviously made by something sharp.

He doesn’t have time to fume before he has to be on the road, but he sits the kids down that night with Tifa and delivers a very stilted and confusing talk about the importance of respecting people’s possessions and not damaging things that belong to others, careful not to assign blame or accuse.

As he flees the room embarrassed by his rare attempt at responsibility, he hears Marlene ask Tifa, “Is there something wrong with Cloud? Did he do something to your stuff?” and he knows that he’s on the wrong track.

The next day, his boot laces are knotted together and the strap breaks on his goggles as he’s putting them on and it stings the back of his head.

“Oh come on,” he mutters and revs the engine much harder than necessary.

Cloud’s toothbrush is always disturbingly wet, no matter how long it’s been since since he brushed, and his bath towel is never dry. His bottle of shampoo seems to empty overnight. He knows he didn’t drop the toothpaste with the lid off where he would so conveniently step on it and squirt it out all over the floor.

One morning he wakes up to scissors on his nightstand and what looks like bits of hair on his pillow. He panics and starts to worry that maybe he’s sleepwalking and somehow doing this all himself, but that ends when he’s in the shower and the toilet flushes. He’s doused in alternately icy then steaming water and he shrieks as he tears open the shower curtain to discover the culprit.

Only there’s no one there.

At least he stops worrying whether he’s somehow doing it to himself.

As his frustration and Tifa’s confusion grow, the incidents happen more frequently. When he lies down to sleep, his bedroom light turns on. If he wants his window open, it slides shut.

Only his super reflexes save him the night he slides on a skateboard left in the dark at the top of the stairs and he catches himself before he can take a tumble down the steps. He narrows his eyes and looks around and wonders if it’s true that it’s not paranoia if someone actually is out to get you.

It’s only when Tifa actually raises her voice at the kids for leaving the refrigerator open—again—and letting the milk out on the counter to spoil—again—that Cloud suspects there’s something weird going on. There’s no way the kids could be doing all this bothersome stuff, not with the way they are loudly arguing that they haven’t ever done it, and Denzel is lactose intolerant besides.

Tifa doesn’t mention it at first, but when Cloud’s trying to relax one evening at the bar and the overhead lights go out, she slaps down her rag and admits that it’s been happening several times every night.

When Cloud is there, the jukebox takes on a life of its own. The customers laugh when that one really obnoxious song starts playing again and they all swear they didn’t pick it, but when it plays again, and again, and again, they all breath a sigh of relief when it switches to another. But the annoying one comes back on again and Tifa swears under her breath as she scrambles for the plug.

Then Rude and Reno stop by for a drink one night and Tifa herds Cloud into the bar to keep them company, and Rude makes a face when he takes a sip of his beer.

“That’s not what I ordered,” he mutters and waves for another.

“You’re too snobby,” Reno tells him and happily steals the mug. “Whoa, that’s not beer!”

“That’s what I said,” Rude says as Reno chugs quickly.

“Yo, Tifa, I don’t know what you did to the drinks, but thanks!” Reno tries his own and smacks his lips. “I wanted rum and soda but this is just fine. Is it a new mixed drink? I think vodka and maybe tequila?”

“What?” Tifa drops Rude’s new mug onto the table and snatches Reno’s glass as he tries to cling to it. She sniffs at it then takes a tentative taste. “Oh no, what’s going on?”

She closes the bar temporarily while they check her bottles to find that many of the liquors and spirits were poured into different bottles while others were watered down or emptied. The taps had been switched as well, and as she set to work trying to swap them back, Reno says, “Hey, get me another mystery drink first. That was pretty good.”

Now that Tifa believes something is wrong, she is convinced that someone broke in to the bar, even though nothing is missing. She argues with Cloud about getting some kind of security alarm, and Cloud is still too weirded out about the situation to admit that he’s never seen a culprit for the pranks or whatever it is he’s been going through.

He tries to research what could be happening to them and wonders who would know what the hell’s going on. Should he could ask Vincent if he’s ever experienced something like this or seen anything like it before? Or should he just find a priest and beg for an exorcism? The word poltergeist comes up in a search, but whatever it is, it seems to be focusing on him.

Cloud thinks for just a moment—one hopeful moment—that it was all some kind of … message from the Great Beyond. That maybe Aerith was trying to get his attention from the Lifestream, but then he’d shut that down because if she wanted him, she’d shown before that she would get him.

And while Zack would probably definitely enjoy messing with him, he didn’t think Zack would ever be mean about it.

No, this definitely feels more nefarious, especially since he could be injured when his bike breaks down and he has to watch every step he takes in the house to prevent injury. He is sleep-deprived, he is exasperated, he is frustrated and he is ready to fight.

It’s suddenly an eerily familiar feeling, and he wonders if… maybe there’s a way he can find out for sure, without anyone else thinking he’s crazy.

So he heads out to the church, the one place he feels like he can just relax and be still. He sits down among what’s left of the flowers, closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

There’s a creak from behind him then a pew tips over and lands on its side beside him. It feels like something brushes his upturned face.

“You missed,” Cloud says smugly.

A lily uproots and slaps him in the face, getting pollen in his eyes. Cloud sneezes then pulls away and brushes it off.

“Is that really all the better you can do? I thought you were so amazing,” he taunts, no longer feeling strange about talking aloud because it’s obvious he’s really not alone.

“If you’re still so great, then here I am. Come and do your worst.” Cloud opens his arms and waits, but there is nothing. Not even a waft of displaced air, but he suddenly feels lighter and that prickly feeling in the back of his neck hair vanishes.

He goes home and everything is back to normal.

Until two months later when Marlene and Denzel run into the kitchen with shouts and yells of “Can we keep it, you have to let us keep it, we’ll take care of it, we promise.”

Tifa dries her hands on a towel and leans down while Cloud is curious enough to look up from his paperwork. Denzel carefully unfolds his shirt tail to reveal a tiny furball with a pink nose, teeny whiskers and a mix of silver/white/gray fur that is drenched from the rain.

The world’s tiniest mew comes out and all of them are immediately in love.

After drying and warming and milk and broth, then Tifa’s lecture on responsible pet ownership, the kids are thrilled they can keep the kitten. Marlene promptly christens it Fluffy Princess Silver Sparkle until Tifa checks and informs them it’s a Prince instead. Marlene is perfectly happy with Fluffy Prince Silver Sparkle although Cloud has to hold in a laugh at Denzel’s forlorn expression as he tries out that name.

The kitten explores the kitchen on wobbly legs, and Cloud gets back to his work until he feels a nudge at his foot. The fluff ball of silver-tipped white—or was it silver fur with white tips?—purrs like a miniature Fenrir and Cloud murmurs at it.

In response, the kitten digs in needle-sharp claws and tries to climb up his pants’ leg. Cloud yelps and instinctively reaches to grab the kitten and stop the pain, but Marlene runs toward him. “No Cloud, he just wants up on your lap!”

So Cloud bites his tongue as the kitten victoriously finishes the ascent to his lap with a joyful clap and grin from Marlene. It celebrates by turning around in his lap then settling down to knead at his thigh, perilously close to where it would hurt even more. But Cloud doesn’t say anything as the kitten meows and yawns, putting all those razor-sharp teeth on show, and falls asleep on him, just when he needs to get up.

Cloud shifts and Marlene grabs his arm. “You have to stay still, Cloud. Fluffy Prince Silver Sparkle needs to rest.”

“But I have to—”

“Cloud, sit,” Marlene commands and when she crosses her arms over her chest and glares like that, she bears an overwhelming resemblance to her father, and so Cloud has to grit his teeth and bear it.

And if his fingers sneak down to pet the thick ruff of neck fur, no one says anything. But the kitten does wake up and bite him.

The next morning, Cloud wakes to kitten butt fur in his mouth.

The kitten sheds over everything Cloud owns to the point where he wonders if it has a skin disorder, but it just seems to make more hair. It’s worse when Marlene explains in her most authoritative voice that it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d actually wear a different color than black.

The kitten favors his leathers for sharpening those needle-like claws. No matter how secure his room is, the kitten gets in and sits on his face, bites his toes, nibbles his ears and chews on his hair.

The puddle in his boot is only an accident, Prince always uses the litter box, Denzel earnestly explains as he brings Cloud a fresh pair of socks.

“I’m going to put a bell on you, I swear,” Cloud mutters when the kitten twines around his ankles. It’s always when Cloud is on the stairs or just entering a room and unprepared for the attack.

The kids just tell him “He loves you Cloud! He’s marking you with his scent!” but Cloud and the cat meet gazes and Cloud wonders if this is what insanity feels like.

“That damn cat,” he mutters six to eight times a day but always under his breath because to do it when they could hear would be to face Marlene’s disappointed face, Denzel’s big eyes and Tifa’s eye rolls.

Isn’t until the early morning of a delivery run when things come to a head. Cloud creeps through the house so not to wake the others and makes himself a huge travel mug of coffee. He slumps against the counter, waiting on toast, when he hears a strange noise, and sees Fluffy Prince Silver Sparkle climb up on the counter.

The kitten’s long fur has a few small mats in places, Cloud can see, but he would allow no one but Marlene to brush him, and then never his belly. Cloud wouldn’t have tried it for anything. He valued his life and preferred his blood on the inside since he knew all too well that the kitten had perfected the art of death by tiny claws.

Now the kitten sits on the counter next to his mug with no lid, its bright green eyes unblinking and meeting Cloud’s.

Cloud shifts as he notices just how very bright those eyes suddenly look. Sure, they were green but didn’t most cat’s eyes change color at a certain age? Maybe they just looked glowing from the dim kitchen light?

Then the fuzzy paw reaches out and pushes at his mug.

“No,” Cloud says in a calm voice of authority and takes a step closer.

The cat reaches out again. Cloud stops and the paw retracts.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he breathes out.

The cat hasn’t taken its brilliant green eyes off him, hasn’t even blinked.

Cloud thinks, what is his life, how is he in a standoff with a cat, when the cat raises an eyebrow and bats the mug off the counter to splash coffee all over the floor.

Cloud’s “You have got to be kidding me” shout wakes the whole house.

Cloud is still raging and muttering the words “cut your balls off myself” when Tifa hurries into the kitchen.

“Isn’t that cat old enough to be fixed?” Cloud demands as he tries to wipe coffee off the cupboards.

Tifa looks from him to the cat primly grooming its paw on the counter and says, “Now that you mention it, probably. I’ll call the vet and find out.”

Cloud knows he shouldn’t feel such pride but he does, and he has to resist the urge to stick out his tongue at the cat as he leaves.

Only Fluffy Prince Silver Sparkle disappears the night before his appointment with the vet. Marlene is inconsolable, Denzel is bewildered and Tifa shoots glances at Cloud when she thinks he can’t see. He hums a little as he gets ready for the best night’s sleep he’s had in ages.

When the cat reappears a week later, Cloud corners it in the pantry alone for another confrontation, but Fluffy Prince Silver Sparkle only rubs against his ankles and bumps its butt into his shin. Cloud picks it up, at great risk to his major arteries and skin, but the cat only hangs limp and purrs, trying to rub against his wrist to make him pet it.

Tifa walks in when Cloud is holding the cat up to try and stare into its eyes, but she backs right back out.

“It’s just a cat,” Cloud announces, plopping it down on the floor next to its bowl.

“Well, yes,” Tifa says as the cat daintily laps at the water.

“It’s safe now,” he tries to explain.

“Okay,” Tifa says slowly. “Only he’d had all his shots before.”

“No, I mean, it’s just a cat now,” and at Tifa’s concerned and confused look, Cloud gives up.

“I’ll have to reschedule the neutering appointment,” she says.

Cloud glances down at the cat again, but it is sitting, licking a paw and passing it over its face. “I don’t think that will be any problem.”

And so Cloud was delivered from the wrath of Sephiroth again, and while he never shared the whole story with Tifa, he knew she was relieved when he stopped yelling at random occurrences in the house and started sleeping without fear.

Until Denzel and Marlene ran in one evening carrying a tiny dog with big pointed ears that trembled and snarled every time Cloud got near.

That was it. He was moving to Kalm.

The end

#my fic #humor and fluff #cloud #sephiroth #inspired by tumblr post #ffvii

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