Fanfiction

The goldfish in the pond may be dead. There was some debate about it earlier. They float unmoving at the surface. Scattered ingots. Of more interest to Locke, however, is the grey luminescence at the bottom of the pond. Like the pupil of a murky eye. Like the moon is trapped down there. It could be an Esper.

"Oh, did I tell you? I got that job.

He doesn't move from the window.

"Hm?

"I thought I told you, didn't I? Oh, no. I remember now. I told everyone else, but you weren't there.

"What job?

"The job in Italy.

Locke turns from the window, but Celes isn't looking at him. She is stacking up empty plastic cups to throw in the bin. They both already have their coats on. Locke has his hat on. He is holding his driving gloves in his hands.

"I didn't know anything about that.

"I applied for a job in Italy, Celes pauses to dash her hair out of her eyes. "They rang me up yesterday and said I'd got it. So I'll be leaving within the month.

"Doing what?

"Camp attendant. It'll give me a chance to learn Italian, which is something I've always wanted to do.

Locke glances back at the probable Esper, two floors below. Just to check it's still there.

"A month?

"Well, less than four weeks.

"Wow.

"Yeah.

Celes hoists her bag onto her shoulder, and scans the room to see if she's forgotten anything.

"Did you want a lift back?

Locke pretends to think deeply about this. He knows the answer already, but didn't want to look as if he'd been hanging around waiting for the question. He strokes his chin. He examines the ceiling panels. He makes a long hmmmm.

"Yes, if you could. I'd be grateful. My car's still out of commission.

"OK, Celes shrugs. "Let's go then.

"Right.

On the landing, just before the stairs, Celes explains that she's just going to visit the loo, and disappears through the relevant door. Locke waits til the door has swung shut. Then he goes over to the window and presses his face up against the glass. His view of the pond here is at a slightly less agreeable angle, but the ashen glow is as noticeable as ever. Would it be a water Esper, or is that too coincidental? Locke tries to contain his excitement, but the idea that it might be Bismarck, ghost of the chancellor of Germany, thrills him to the marrow. He clutches his driving gloves tightly. His palms are sweaty. If he were to possess the Esper of Bismarck, he would acquire rare spells like Govern, Moustache and Kulturkampf. This in turn would make him more employable, but that concern is secondary, in Locke's mind, to the thought of having something that everyone else doesn't have. More than anything, he is sick of being unremarkable. There is no greater shame.

He hears the sound of flushing, and withdraws from the window, leaving the sticky print of his cheek on the glass. But the figure who emerges, idly adjusting his trousers, does so from the wrong door.

"Awright, mate, you off home?

It's Cloud. Smartly suited in a Marks and Spencer machine washable, with his foot wide sword heaved onto his back and his peroxide quiff waving about like a lady's handkerchief.

"Watcha lookin' at?

"Nothing, says Locke, more guardedly than he means to.

Cloud is over to the window like a shot, hands on the pane so violently it rattles. A moment later, he wolf-whistles.

"Mate! Would you look at that? There's some serious booty going on down there.

"It's¦it's probably just a fish, Locke replies.

Cloud gives him a funny look.

"That's what the security guard says. A big, grey bottom-feeder ' a catfish. Sleeps down there. That's all it is, apparently.

"Mate, do yourself a favour and lay off the doobies, says Cloud. "There ain't a catfish squeezed into that skirt. That's pure woman, that is.

Locke looks out the window again. In the carpark, beyond the pond, Tifa Lockheart is shutting the boot of her car. Sure enough, her haunches are prominence itself, squeezed into a short leather skirt.

Cloud shakes his head.

"Apparently, she plays it rough. Jesus, though. Imagine coming home to that in the evening. Just imagine it. I know I would. Would you?

"I guess. I dunno.

"Yeah, I guess she's not really your type, Locko. You're more into the magic-wielding type, aren't you? Like that Celes bird. Mind you, I've got to admit she's a nice little number. I saw her the other day after she'd had her hair done. Let me tell you.

"She's giving me a lift home, actually.

"Mate! Nice one! I didn't know you'd got it all sewn up. Got the evening all planned out?

The sound of flushing comes again. Locke hesitates.

"Er¦ actually¦

"You know I'm only kidding. Anyway, time waits for no man, and I've got to get home.

He pats Locke on the shoulder.

"Take care.

"Cheerio.

As Cloud disappears down the staircase, the door to the ladies' squeaks open.

"Right, says Celes. "Ready to roll?

~

The Danger Sign is obscured by the towering pond grass, and faces away from the carpark. A person stands a greater chance of walking into it than reading it. Locke can just about make out the red writing between the green spears: "1 metre deep. That's not even up to his nipples.

"Actually, he says. "You go on. I just need to hang back for a minute to get one, small thing sorted out.

"OK. You know my car's an Autobot, right?

"I remember you mentioning it. Bumblebee?

"That's the one. Makes him easy to find. He's a yellow Volkswagen. In fact, it's not too cold, so I'll just tell him to transform and stand up. That way you can see where we are from here. OK?

"OK.

"See you in a minute then.

"Right. Oh. Congratulations on your job, Celes. Sounds great.

"Thanks.

Locke turns as if to go back into the building. Idles lazily towards the entrance. Once Celes is out of hearing distance, however, he turns his attentions back to the pond. He pushes through the grass and crouches down, right by the water's edge. The glow is less intense here, perhaps refracted through the water. The goldfish are evidently alive. They're moving; just very slowly. Their mouths are blinking open and closed. Maybe they eat insects that land on the surface. Mayflies.

It could be an Esper. It could be Bismarck. Or Siren. On the other hand, what are the chances that it's lain there all this time without anyone noticing? It couldn't have arrived there recently. The captured Espers were scattered across the world after Emperor Gestahl's castle went up in smoke. Someone would have to have dropped it. Locke imagines a scenario; a drunken treasure hunter, or travelling warrior, urged on by a bet, stumbling into the carpark at night (the airport was only just across the road,) ' no! Pursued by Imperial guards. Or by rivals. Tossing his treasure into the pond with the aim of retrieving it the following night. It could be gone tomorrow morning.

Or perhaps something stirred the earth at the bottom of the pond? Perhaps it had worked its way to the surface of its own accord? Espers were known to have limited powers of movement in their materia state. Like Mexican jumping beans.

The glow does not pulsate, or undulate. It is steady, almost static. Like a torch. It could just be a torch, dropped in by a security guard at night. Running down its batteries. The general murkiness of the water makes it look grey, but it could actually be yellow.

The banks around the pond are squelchy. Locke doesn't much like the idea of getting mud between his toes. And if the water comes up to his nipples, he'll have to strip off completely. He'll be standing there in just his pants. Someone will see him. Unless he dives right in, right away, right into the heart of the pond. One big smash and grab. In and out in ten seconds. He could say he fell in.

Then again, it would probably be there tomorrow. He looks up. Sees Bumblebee, in robot form, standing up about seven rows back. He stands, and retreats back through the pond grass, then heads out into the carpark to meet Celes.