RAIN SONG
Every Time It Rains

BASED ON THE POPULAR VIDEOGAME FINAL FANTASY VII. FINAL FANTASY VII AND ALL RELATED CHARACTERS COPYRIGHT © 1997-2006 SQUARE-ENIX. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

An original fiction by UntoldCatamount – check me out at before we begin…

Hello fanfiction readers! I know it’s been ages since I’ve written any – I’ve been bogged down by too many assignments and projects. Anyway, I decided to scrap the original Rain Song II document and start from scratch. The problem was that I had no idea where to take the story and felt that it was best that if I instead take the same premise and apply it to a different theme. I promise that Raven’s adventure will continue, just not in this installment of the Rain Song series. Who knows? Maybe this world will clash with hers and the subsequent Final Fantasy VII universe that goes with it. Can you say paradox city?

In any case, this FF7 universe holds some twists and alternations that make it unique to this story. I draw inspiration from an old fanfiction called “Final Fantasy VII: Twisted.” I cannot remember the author’s name nor can I locate it on Google and the other search engines. I do remember vividly what it entailed and I enjoyed it greatly, even if it was over six years ago. There’s another one you should look for, too, called “Too Much in the Sun”: however, it is quite long, and may not be online anymore.

I got the inspiration after reigniting a love of one of my favorite characters: Aeris (Aerith for all my PAL friends). I got the idea after knocking around deviantART for Aeris pictures, and decided that it was time to dust off on an old fanfiction idea of mine and put it into action. There’re too many stories I’ve got left open that I need to finish, but for now, let’s see where this goes.

--UC

PROLOGUE – Part One

Next to Nothing

My back against the alley wall, he couldn’t see my arm wrap itself around his neck and drag him back into the darkness. Micah was a tall and muscular member of Midgar’s Department of Civilian Protection Enforcement – a heavy arms officer, specializing in extreme riot control and defense when things got too hairy. Such as the case, hand-to-hand wasn’t something that came second-nature to the blonde-haired brute. I slammed him face first into the cold concrete rectangular plane behind me. Micah didn’t even have enough breath to let out an ounce of pain, let alone build up enough oxygen in his blood to pump up a defense routine. I grabbed a thick handful of his gelled creation that rested on his skull and pulled back for an intimate chat.

I whispered in his ear as he clenched his bloodied teeth in vain, “Micah, you dumb shit, did you think I’d forget about you so quickly?”

He rammed his elbow into my abdomen like he was aiming to put a dent in a steel wall. I released quickly and fell back into a couple of garbage cans. Micah spun around and withdrew his firearm from its holster. Quickly guiding my way through the pain I twisted on the ground, using my legs to break in the back of his knees at the joint. Micah’s knees bent as expected, allowing the laws of gravity to overtake its latest victim. The gun went off pointed towards the top of the buildings hovering over us, guaranteeing that soon we would have a small audience of stationed SOLDIER patrol officers. Being the evening hours, most people looked the other way as Micah and I performed out ballet of death.

As Micah collapsed onto the pavement beside me, dampening and tarnishing his dark blue uniform, I gathered to my feet quickly. Without delay, I swiftly kicked my adversary in his stomach sending him onto his backside. Micah lost grip of his gun in order to concentrate on the new searing pain I delivered gracefully in the form of my steel toed shoe.

Through his groans he exclaimed, “God DAMN you Aeris!”

I spat on him, and said, “Try to apprehend me again and I’ll have your testicles as a new mantle piece.”

That being said, I picked up his gun and slipped it into the waistband of my pants; a souvenir for the troubles that I had to endure to make a point known. Midgar and the overlying Arcryllian government that ruled the top half of the eastern continent cared little about a lone flower girl. It was that goddamned Elena Davis – chairwoman and public representative of the CPE – that seemed to have the biggest beef with me. There were terrorist uprisings in some of the sectors; one such group, AVALANCHE, seemed to be making the most noise by bombing government weapon facilities and munitions post. Granted, what the government did was little concern of mine, unlike the Cetra Institutions and private academies. Students put on many demonstrations and protests on a weekly basis, praising AVALANCHE and the others for their nonconformity to the ludicrous imposition that our neighbors to the south, the country of Myceden and their respective capital Mythril, had intentions of invading Arcryllian. The terrorist groups contended to distract the government enough until the diplomatic talks ended, allowing us to continue on with our daily lives; and to keep the armed forces occupied with chasing internal “revolutionaries” (as dubbed by the underground extremists) so as to not cause any waves on the border. Whether this is a good tactic much less a good idea, is not my call.

However, when I for one become associated unwillingly with said groups and then become a target of espionage for the opposition by the powers that be, heads are going to roll. This was not the first bout Micah and I had; definitely wouldn’t be the last. In the last incident occurring a week ago, an attempted arrest with some mock warrant was enforced upon me as I tried to do my job selling flowers. I ditched my pursuers after jumping across three rooftops and getting lost in a crowded train headed for Junon. The ID scanners were not yet functional as the train itself was forty-eight hours old and was prematurely released to the public due to high demand to get to the coast. Money talks, and sometimes it works in my favor. Mom shit a brick when I finally returned home the following morning. The usual, “Aeris, you can’t keep going out like that. What if they catch you?” I can understand Mom’s motherly nature, but some faith in my abilities to protect myself would be a welcome change.

I left Micah in the alley and escaped back into the streets. Midgar was a metropolitan city situated about thirty minutes away from the ocean but nestled within an earshot of the mountains. Years ago, the city was composed of small townships and villages before electing an entire city council and incorporating into one big urban sprawl. Mom brought me here when I was very young from the Icicle Inn area up north. My father, Doctor Adrian Gast, was killed in a freak accident investigating some strange occurrences near the North Pole. I was still an infant when he died, forcing us to locate to the city in order to support ourselves.

At least, that’s what they say. My mother, Ifalna, tries to sidestep the question or give me the same response. Normally I would let it go, but there are a few unanswered questions, namely: what kind of disturbances was he investigating? The answer to that question is definitely a mystery, and finding the answer that suits me is even more taxing; damn near impossible really.

As I moved into a more crowded location of the city – people enjoying the night life, blowing gil on strip joints and places of imbibing – I weaved in and out. My long brown hair, kept together with one single braid that reached down to my waist, silently hit random bystanders as I made my way through the sidewalks. There was little doubt that Micah had called out an all points bulletin on a renegade flower girl with a gun – whether the police, SOLDIER, and anybody else on government payroll would take him seriously, less of calling him an outright pussy – and at least one person would keep their eyes peeled for me. I had to get home where I knew it was at least remotely safe.

I slowed my pace some and looked behind me: nothing but drunken partygoers and underage girls trying to generate some extra cash. Prostitution was legal in Midgar but was heavily regulated. Girls had to be registered and no younger than thirteen. Random disease screenings were performed to help control STDs and unwanted pregnancies. Life in Midgar is never boring, mind you.

I was on the edge of sector seven. Sector eight was the elite business unit of Midgar: skyscrapers, malls, uppity restaurants, and, of course, the underage prostitutes. Sector seven was the complete opposite: it was the elite recreation unit. All work and no play makes you a dumbass, the suits always said. Sector seven was known for its fair share of adult entertainers, bars, fighting arenas, and, if you know who to talk to, sleeper cells and recruitment. Rumors abound had spread that AVALANCHE operated out of a bar called the 7th Heaven – Elena, however blonde, was not the one to rush in shooting first and asking questions later. She watched the government approval ratings and consensus’ like a hawk and would dare not risk her job tearing a bar apart just to look for some folks that enjoyed blowing shit up. Besides, the 7th Heaven was my favorite watering hole and also a good place to hide. I had become good friends with the proprietor, Tifa Lockheart, over the course of my evasion of those pesky CPE officials. We shared the same bane and therefore found it prude that becoming allies would be in our best interests. Her partner, a towering black man that was a walking tank and a half named Barret Wallace, was believed to be the ringleader of AVALANCHE. His face resembled that of hardened steel and facial hair complemented with a flat top and neck that looked like it could stop a bullet: I figured he wasn’t the social type. Often he would bust in through the front door boasting, yelling, or both. His daughter, Marlene, was a four year-old brunette white girl. Although it was plainly obvious that this was not a government facilitated adoption, when dealing with Barret, it’s best not to ask questions.

As I entered the sector, I mulled around the idea of stopping in for a brew. It was indeed a time to celebrate: I had successfully pissed off Micah and therefore guaranteed that either he would be laughed at or bigger and better reinforcements would be dispatched. I’d be really excited if they sent a First Class SOLDIER out – it had been too long since I’ve had any real combat accomplishments to be proud of.

“What the hell,” I mumbled. One drink wasn’t going to hurt. Besides, Tifa was easy on the eyes, compared to Barret to say the least. At least she wouldn’t give me a monologue on personal safety. I looked at my watch: it was only eleven thirty-two. A few beers would be welcome.

I walked a few blocks into the more modest neighborhoods. This was not the upper-class bars and places of business – it was your average Joe’s place. The 7th Heaven was no different, although its clientele included some government officials from time to time. Whether it was out of gall or out of the fact that you can’t get better drinks anywhere else is a mystery. I pulled open the squeaky wooden door and crossed the threshold. Through the smoke, laughter, and outright drunkenness, I was immediately noticed by those who knew me. They called my name, whistled, commented on how nice my chest was… the usual tactics to see if I was dumb enough to take my clothes off for their benefit. It was hard enough when I wore my pink dress selling flowers because of the cleavage factor.

I smirked and waved them off as I approached the bar and took a seat. The 7th Heaven, while its location was not the most family-friendly neighborhood, was a standout in the collection of hangouts in Sector 7. Polished wood flooring, firm chairs and glossy tables; the bar itself was clean enough to eat off of sans the plate. The barstool made a pseudo-fart sound as I plopped onto it. Tifa walked over from talking with other patrons and greeted me. Her big brown eyes always had a hint of seduction in them aside from their soulful compassion. Her long black hair flowed unrestricted to the middle of her back; light glistened off of some of the fibers. I always envied her conditioner.

“Aeris, I didn’t expect to see you in this early,” Tifa said with a smile. “Much less dressed like that. What’s up with the jeans and tank-top? Don’t tell me that your dress actually gets dirty?”

She poured me a beer off the tap while I retorted, “Had to take care of some business in town; knock a few heads together. And yes, it does get dirty, but at least I’m skinny enough to slip into it.”

Tifa set my mug down and sneered playfully, “You bitch, I ought to drag you out back and kick your skinny flowery ass all the way to Sector Twelve!”

We laughed. I took a chug of the dark golden liquid as the door creaked open again. Tifa looked up and exclaimed, “Well, if it isn’t the dynamic duo!”

Rude took a seat beside me while Reno picked up a cue stick at one of the pool tables, turning his head towards Tifa while applying some billiard chalk.

Reno yelled back, “You bet your sweet ass we’re dynamic! How bout a few rounds to liven things up?”

Reno, the sly, messy red-haired epitomized bastard-child of all red-headed stepchildren, was by no means the kind of person who would be seen wearing a suit and tie. In fact, one would have better chances of successfully impregnating a rabid Chocobo than getting Reno to look halfway decent. Today’s attire consisted of a halfway buttoned flannel shirt and raggedy khaki pants. His partner, Rude, on the other hand, took his wardrobe seriously even though the line of work the two were involved in said otherwise. Rude wore a pressed navy blue suit, complete with shirt and tie. Compared to Rude’s features of sharp as a tack suit, baldness, goatee, and hiding behind his sunglasses indoors, his personality was very modest. Even through his olive complexion I could make him blush. Tifa would often do it on my behalf. What can I say? I thought it was adorable – the “Gentle Giant” we often referred to him as because of his towering stature. Reno and Rude’s daytime job consisted of laboring for the Shin-ra Electric Power Company: Rude was an executive researcher in charge of constantly finding alternative sources of energy and utilizing the ones readily available. Reno was, in a sense, Rude’s peon, even though they were heavily buddy-buddy. By night, Rude was a kick-boxer at the local arenas. In this case, Reno was his manager, always looking to win big off of his friend to help pay off drinking debts. His tab at the 7th Heaven required a notarized testament that Reno would turn over any firstborn children he had. Tifa didn’t seem to be joking when she shared that tidbit.

I looked over at Rude and commented, “Too bright in here for you?” in reference to his sunglasses.

Rude’s cheeks flushed as he removed them and slipped them into his inner coat pocket. His deep brown eyes tried their best to keep from staring at my chest and Tifa’s.

“I know why you keep those on,” I said, lightly slapping him on the arm. “You just use them as a deterrent to make it seem as you’re not staring at tits, correct?”

Rude smiled shyly and said, “No, never.”

Tifa set Rude’s drink down, coughing, “Bullshit.”

Rude laughed, knowing damn good and well that men weren’t very good liars.

I turned back to Tifa, asking, “Where’s Barret tonight, Tifa?”

Tifa started pulling glasses out of the dishwasher as she spoke, saying, “To be honest, I don’t really know. He didn’t say much as he went out the door this evening. I don’t know… he seemed kinda edgy. But, you know, that’s just Barret.”

“You sure he’s not out to cause trouble?”

Tifa stood up and shook her head, “I never know. It’s anyone’s guess.”

I heard the door swing open, hard. I motioned to Rude to look behind me, unsure if it’s something that I should be glancing at. Of course, if I was being sought after, the hair and pink bow was a dead giveaway. Rude turned his head and looked over his shoulder. He grabbed my wrist as a signal for me to look too. I turned on my seat and looked. Standing there just after the threshold was a First Class SOLDIER. I would never forget that spiked Chocobo-blonde hair, or those piercing blue glowing Mako eyes. First Class SOLDIERS were all relatively young – about my age – as the older ones went into commanding positions away from battle, although some still performed acts as mercenaries for both sides of the playing field.

This one was the former.

Slung over his back was a Murasame, which signified that he had been in service for at least three years. Entry-level First Class officers are given a Buster Sword – a huge steel-reinforced aluminum-alloy sword that looks heaver than it really is – as a starter weapon until they are able to master the art of swordplay and materia usage. The elite are awarded the Masamune, a sword of immense destructive power. From the looks of things, this guy apparently had seen his fair share of nasty characters and assignments, therefore successfully climbing the food chain. His uniform was an all dark-blue sweater and pants, unrestricting compared to normal SOLDIER grunt attire. He slipped off his sword and hung it on the weapon and coat rack. I turned back facing the bar and prayed that this was not what Micah requested in the form of retaliation. Everyone else under the roof paid little attention to the SOLDIER. I kept nursing my glass; hoping, praying that he wouldn’t come near me. As the cold, bitter brewed hops slid down my throat, the worst possible thing happened.

SOLDIER boy sat down on the opposite side of me, two stools down.

“Hello Tifa,” He said solemnly.

Tifa had her back to him, apparently preparing his drink. She replied likewise, “Hello Cloud.”

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Cloud – the bastard had a name after all – kept his focus situated on the polished wood before him and Tifa. If he was watching me, he was hiding it well. Maybe there was an extra pair of eyes hidden in that spiky hair of his. I turned to Rude silently. He looked back at me and took another drink. Tifa sat Cloud’s drink down and walked away towards my direction. She made a motion with her eyes that suggested that I follow her into the back. I waited a few seconds, took one last swig, and slid off of my stool. We walked into the backroom; Tifa shut the door after I entered.

I asked, “Childhood friend of yours?”

“Once,” Tifa sighed. “But that was then. Aeris, please, for the love of God, tell me that you didn’t have a run-in with one of Elena’s goons.”

I crossed my arms and replied mournfully, “It wasn’t exactly a run-in… I take it Cloud’s presence is not common?”

“When there’s trouble,” she said. “Cloud’s usually in here shortly after. If he’s assigned after someone, especially involving AVALANCHE, he’ll be all over them like an adolescent boy at the Honey Bee Inn. Wait…”

Tifa turned and went and peered through a small hole in the wall. She immediately turned back and approached me quickly.

“Kiss me,” she said.

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Dammit,” Tifa said. With that, she sealed her lips around mine and pushed me back into a pile of empty cardboard boxes waiting to be flattened. While dazed and confused, I couldn’t help but sense my sexual motors revving up. Tifa began to pull off my shirt just as Cloud opened the door. Tifa immediately stopped, pretending to be surprised, shocked, and embarrassed in thirty seconds or less.

She exclaimed, “CLOUD! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Cloud immediately flushed and stepped back away from the door. He started stammering and uttering about wanting to see if everything was all right. Tifa began to give him a piece of her mind as I pulled my shirt back down and slipped past them, mentioning that I would be heading home due to our interrupted session.

Next to nothing, all I had left was luck.