Chapter 1 - Oops, Sorry About That

The rain poured down over the dark streets of Nibelheim. Between the flashes of lightning, a single figure stumbled through the streets. Its steps were shakey, and once or twice they slid on the wet stone streets. It clambered past the houses, glancing every so often into the warm windows, seeing the smiling faces of comfortable, content families. The figure let out a sad sigh before jumping at the sound of the rolling thunder. As lightning flashed again, the figure saw a santuary. There, half buried behind tall weeds and vines stood a mansion, its windows dark. As the figure drew closer, the house seemed to grow and become imposing, its windows like eyes that were looking down at the weary wanderer with disgust. Ignoring the glaring windows, the figure rushed up to the doors and pushed them open. They creaked open loudly and the figure fell onto the hard floor. Quickly rising and shutting the door behind him, it called out.

“Hello?! Is anybody in here? Hello!?”

No answer came but the echo of his voice as it bounced off the solid walls. The place looked abandoned, though everything seemed to be in order, with only a small amount of dust on the banisters of the stairways before him, revealed only by the lightning that shown through the windows. He shivered as he peered into the darkness, trying to see his way. Hand outstretched, he stumbled until he found the banister for the staircase and followed it up, hoping to find a place to rest, and perhaps make a fire. His hand brushed against the wall at th top of the stair, and he followed it until he reached a doorway. Another flash of lightning gave a brief glimpse at the contents of the room: two beds, a bookshelf, a desk and a small wood stove. Trembling from fear and cold, he felt his way over to the stove. Opening the hatch, he felt some old, half burned logs judging by the smell. Not thinking of how they got there, the figure spoke a command word, “Fire.” Instantly, the logs started to burn, and they released a small bit of warmth into the lonely room.

Looking around, the traveler tumbled onto one of the beds, his body too exhausted to resist the call of sleep, despite the haunting felling that he was being watched.



Eric Constantine yawned as he sat up in bed. It had been a rough night, the storm making things difficult for him, but at least he was able to find shelter. His clothes were still damp, so he dug through his rucksack that had fallen on the floor for a change of clothes. Grabbing out a black t-shirt and black pants, he stepped over to a mirror that hung on the wall and looked at his reflection. It's not too bad, he thought to himself, though his long, brown hair had frizzed slightly, and his green eyes had small circles under them. Sleeping in a strange house was unnerving, though he woke up safe and sound, and it was slightly warmer then when he had fallen asleep last night.

A small flicker of movement in the mirror grabbed his attention, and he looked at the right edge of thhe glass to see a man staring back at him. Eric gasped and jerked around. How long has he been there? He thought to himself.

“Who are you?” Eric demanded, backing up against the vanity, so much so that he was almost sitting on it.

“I should ask you the same thing,” the man asked. His deep, red eyes seemed to pierce Eric's, and it was all Eric could do to keep from looking away. “You are the stranger in this place, not I.”

“I..I'm sorry,” Eric apologized, “I needed a place to stay last night-“

“And wouldn't it have been better to just barge into the private home of another person?” the man interrupted.

“No, well, maybe,” Eric stammered as the man's eyes narrowed slightly. The man stood at least a few inches taller then himself. Fine, raven black hair framed his pale face, and his mouth covered by the tall collar of his blood red cape, the ends of which were tattered and torn. On his left hand was a golden claw, whose wicked looking finger tips reflected the light of the sun. The sleeves of his black shirt went all the way to his hands, and on his right hand was a black glove. On his feet was a pair of metal shoes, who's color matched his claw. Belted on the right leg of his black pants, just above his knee, was a gun holster, partially hidden by his cape.

“Then maybe,” the man said quietly, “You should leave.”

“But, I don't have anywhere to go,” Eric protested, “I'm alone in the world.”

“That is not my problem,” the man answered as he walked towards the door. His monotoned voice and empty face made it impossible for Eric to determine whether he was annoyed or not; still, he did not seem to enjoy having a guest.

“Could I at least get changed before you throw me out?”

“You may, but I want you to leave the moment you finish.”

“Alright,” Eric sighed, then watched as the man passed through the door and shut it behind him.

“Just who does he think he is?” Eric asked himself quietly as he changed, “I mean, does he think he's cool or something? Why, if he didn't have a gun I'd give him a good smack upside the head. You don't act so rudely to people in need.”

Eric pulled on his shirt and shoes, then grabbed up his rucksack. As he opened the door and stepped into the now well-lit hallway, he glanced around for the stairway. Spotting it, he headed down the hallway, when a sudden voice made him jump.

“Before you judge me for being rude, perhaps you should look at your own manners.”

Eric turned around, and there was the man, leaning easily against the wall of the hallway. “I'm sorry,” Eric blushed as he realized the man had heard him.

“Try to not talk to yourself when others are around,” the man said, pushing off the wall and walking towards his unexpected guest, “They may think you are strange.”

“Look who's talking,” Eric mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

“Now that you're finished, I once again ask that you leave,” the man reiterrated, still maintaining an unemotional tone.

“Aw, come on,” Eric pleaded, “I have no where to go, and I like it here.” Honestly, he didn't really like it here, because he found it rather creepy. But it was a warm place, and besides its quiet inhabitant, there didn't seem to be anyone else around.

“I repeat, that's not my problem,” the man replied.

“Please,” Eric asked, giving his most pathetic face and most pleading voice, “I'll do anything. I clean and cook, or not even leave my room. Please let me stay.”

“First, I must say that I find it amazing that you have claimed a room in my home as your own. Second, I do not require a housekeeper, and finally, I do not have the time nor the inclination to keep an eye on you.”

“You don't have to babysit me,” Eric replied, sounding injured, “I am sixteen years old.”

The man didn't say anything for a moment, and Eric smiled slightly, knowing his triumphant claiming of a room in the house was near.

“Very well,” the man nodded, “But, if you are going to stay here, there is something that you need to see; hopefully, it will change your mind and help remove you from this house.”

“Go ahead,” Eric answered, “'Cause I'm not leaving, no matter what you show me.”

“Very well,” the man said, and started down the stairs to the front room. He turned to Eric with his plain face and looked at him. “I would ask now that you close your eyes.” Eric looked strangely at the man, but he seemed adamant, so Eric slowly closed his eyes. “I only ask this because I don't want you to know where what I am going to show you is.” Eric felt the man rest his hand on his shoulder, and lead him forward, then to the left, then right, then turned around, then forward. He heard a door click open, then felt himself being pushed forward through the door. Beyond the door, the air became less stuffy then the rest of the house, and it felt warmer. It also seemed to grow brighter, and his eyes flew open when he felt the man's hand let go, and heard the door close behind him.

He was standing outside of the mansion on the front step. The sound of a lock clicking on the door behind him made himi jerk around.

“You creep!” Eric shouted as he pounded on the door, “What kinda dirty trick was that?!”

“The kind that gets rid of unwanted intruders,” he heard from the otherside of the door. Eric slammed his fist against the door once more for good measure, then sat down on the stair in a huff. “What a jerk,” he mumbled. He adjusted his pack, then started towards the crooked gates of the mansion.

A noise over to the left caught his attention. Looking over his shoulder he saw nothing, but heard the sound again; a sort of raucus laughter. The sound didn't sound like something the man would make, so Eric followed the noise. It came from a window on the side of the manor that led into the basement, and when Eric peeked in the clouded glass, he saw a whisp of something sweep past the window. The laughter came again, and Eric couldn't let this pass. Someone else was in the house, one that didn't sound like it belonged. Eric had stop him; though the true reason for the action was that he was searching for a way into the house again.

As he slipped in through the window, he dropped into a large room, with books on the shelves all around. The corners of the room were empty, looking like something had been there, with circles of dust on the wooden boards.

The laughter came again, this time in the hall, and Eric ducked behind the doorway. Ahead of him was a long hall with a spiral stair at the end. A door was in the middle of the wall off to the left, but it was closed. Again, the sounder of laughter came from the hall, and Eric walked slowly towards the stairs. The materia that were on his belt, the materia he had carried with him through all of his trveling, glowed brightly in preparation, as if it knew that a fight was coming. Eric stepped closer to the stairs, but was unaware of the shadow that had dropped down from the ceiling behind him.

A swish behind him was his only warning, and he turned around to see the end of a large pendulum about to impale him. He dove against the rock wall, the blade missing him by mere inches. As the pendulum swung back, Eric saw that sitting on top of it was a man, or what appeared to be a man. It had dark skin and blonde hair. It wore no shirt, and a pair of tight, blue pants. On its deformed, ghostly face was a look of both disappointment and glee. It smiled wickedly as it swung the huge blade around towards Eric again, this time slicing his leg slightly.

Eric looked up and saw that the chain was not that long, and that thihs would be an easy victory as long as he cast magic from a safe distance.

Feeling the rushing energy of the materia, Eric spoke the words for the spell, then released it all with the command, “Thunder!”

A current of electricity shot from his extended hand towards the spirit, striking it solidly. The ghostly form seemed stunned for a moment, then slid off the pendulum and onto the ground.

Now's my chance, Eric grinned to himself, and ran forward, preparing to cast at close range. When he was but a foot away, the spirit jumped back onto the pendulum and swung forward, taking Eric completely by surprise. Without time to react, there was no chance of dodging it, and he watched in horror as the blade descended. It swept down, but before it reached him, a gunshot rang out. The chain holding the pendulum to the ceiling snapped apart cleanly, and the whole thing flew forward, still on a one-way course with the terrified Eric. Suddenly, a hand pushed the young man on his back just as the metal blade spun over his head. It swirled towards the stairs, but was stopped by the narrow threshold of the doorway infront of the staircase, and it stuck in the wall, firmly inbedded by the force of it's trip.

The ghostly man had once again fallen off the blade, and this time laid helplessly on the floor. Eric, without giving a second thought, cast another spell.

“Fire!” The flames exploded underneath the spirit, and when they dissapated, the spirit had vanished, leaving only a small whisp of smoke where it had been lying.

Eric was breathing heavily as he turned around to see his rescuer standing behind him, although he wasn't too sure if he would have rather faced the pedulum again. Standing before him was the man from earlier, and he did not look pleased.

“I thought I had told you to leave,” the man said, a small touch of annoyance in his voice.

“I thought you were in trouble,” Eric lied, “I thought that ghost was going to kill you.”

“I have lived in this mansion for many years, young man, and have faced its many perils time and again. Do you believe that I would have sucumbbed so easily to such a simple spirit?”

“Well if you had let me stay, I could have found out more about you, and I wouldn't have made that assumption,” Eric replied, becoming just as annoyed.

The man didn't answer, but stood there, silently regarding Eric. “What is your name?” he asked quietly, his voice returning to the point of absolute monotone.

“Eric Constantine,” Eric replied slowly.

“Very well then, Mr. Constantine,” the man said, “If you wish to remain in this house, you are to never come down here again, understand?”

Eric smiled widely as he pieced together what the man had said. “Thank you so much,” Eric said gratefully, “I promise, I won't be any trouble.”

“Don't thank me too quickly,” the man said, lifting his right hand, “This is only for tonight, and I expect you to begon by tomorrow morning.” With that, the man turned on his heel, his cape swirling dramatically, and walked towards the stairs. Eric followed closely behind, a huge grin on his face.

“So, what's your name?” Eric asked quietly, still smiling widely.

“Vincent,” the man said over his shoulder.

“What? No last name?”

The man stopped at the bottom of the stairs, but did not turn around. “It would be in your best interest, Mr. Constantine, to not expect answer for every question. I would also remind you that some questions are better left unasked, especially from one who is in such a precarious place as to lose your room for the night.” Without another word, Vincent started up the stairs, with Eric once again trailing quietly. As the two climbed upward in silence, Eric became aware that he couldn't hear Vincent's footsteps, despite the metal boots he was wearing. He, however, heard every step of his own shoes echoing all the way up the brick cylinder that encased the stairway. He winced slightly with every step, and imagined that Vincent was probably thinking how ridiculous he was. Brushing away that thought, he decided to try to start a conversation.

“So, you're a pretty good shot with a gun,” he commented quietly. Vincent didn't turn around or respond, so he pushed a little further. “I mean, to be able to shoot a chain while its swinging like that is really good. I know how to pull a trigger and all that jazz, but I could never aim like that.”

“Years of practice have allowed for such aim,” Vincent answered, stopping once again, “Now, I will leave you to your own devices. All I ask is that you do not wander around the manor. Try to remain in the rooms. The hallways belong to the other denizens of this manor, as you have become acquianted with, and they do not like the living wandering within their domain.”

“So, what do you recommend?” Eric asked, looking around the room the had come into, expecting another spirit to appear out of thin air.

“There is a small conservatory and library next to the room you claimed last night,” Vincent replied, starting for the door. “You may remain in there, but I warn you again, do not leave that room, regardless of what you hear. I will fetch you when the time is right.” He stepped through the door, and Eric watched him disappear into the dark shadows of the manor's corridors. Eric tiptoed down the hall, towards his room, trying to mimic Vincent's steps and move as silent as he did. After several seconds and several sore toes, he gave up on the notion and rushed down to the conservatory, shutting the door behind him.

Looking around at the room, the first thing he noticed was the large window over-looking a dead patch of plants at the back of the mansion.

“Must have been a garden,” he said to himself as he looked at the dead patch of plants, “What a shame. Guess Vincent's not much of a gardener.” He sighed as he turned his attention to a small bookshelf standing in the corner. If there was one thing Eric loved, it was reading. He had spent a lot of time in books, usually fantasy novels simply because he found nothing interesting in factual books.

Settling down in front of the shelf, he scanned the bindings, picking out interesting sounding books. A stack sitting firmly beside him, Eric plopped down on a dusty arm chair and read through them. They weren't too terribly long, so he found it easy to read through them. As it grew later in the day, Eric became aware of a sound eminating from just outside the door. He rose to his feet slowly, picking up a heavy dictionary as a weapon. He stepped slowly up to the door, and leaned his head against it, pressing his ear against the old wood. The noise came closer, a clanking sound, like a piece of heavy metal being dropped sharply on the floor with a `clunk'. A dragging sound followed, and then another clunk, growing ever closer to the door. Eric tensed, holding the dictionary tightly in his left hand, reching slowly down towards the handle. Placing his hand on the handle, he began to turn it.

Suddenly, a gunshot erupted from behind the door, and Eric fell backwards in surprise. Three shots were fired, each one sounding like it was hitting a steel wall. After the echo of the bullets had quieted, the clunking didn't come again. Eric rose to his feet, trembling as the door nob turned. He scooped up the dictionary and dove at the door, the heavy book raised for a downward swing. The door opened quickly, Eric closed his eyes and brought the dictionary down hard. It thudded against something, but Eric couldn't tell through his eyelids. A grunt followed the thud, and Eric brought the book around for another swing. Something stopped the strike, however, and Eric tried to jerk it free, opening his eyes in frustration.

When he saw Vincent glaring at him, a red mark on the side of his normally pale face. His red eyes were staring at Eric's, annoyance and irritation pracically shooting from then like sparks, and Eric looked at the floor as he blushed.

“Hehe,” he chuckled, completely embarassed, “Sorry about that.”

Vincent didn't respond, but firmly removed the dictionary from Eric's hand.

“In the future, Mr. Constantine,” Vincent said, his voice trembling slightly. Eric could tell, he was doing his best to maintain his quiet, unemotional tone despite his annoyance, “I would suggest that your weapon of choice would do more damage to your opponent then irritation. Otherwise, you will find yourself in a very difficult situation, such as you are now.”

“That bad, huh?” Eric asked sheepishly. “Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you with a dictionary. Still, you gotta admit that it was rather funny having the book thrown at you,” Eric commented, trying to make the best out of the obviously bad situation. Vincent wasn't laughing.

“I also suggest that you do not try to cover your mistakes with comic relief. It usually causes nothing more then trouble for you. I knew of a person who made it a habit to do such a thing, and she constantly found herself in danger of being injured by her own friends for it. Therefore, I ask that you please avoid her fate and not try to be funny around me.”

Vincent's eyes returned to their normal state, completely unemotional, completely unreadable. Eric sighed, relieved that Vincent hadn't thrown him out for the incident.

“At least I didn't leave the room,” Eric offerred.

“Perhaps you are capable of listening,” Vincent said to himself, “Your second entrance into this place had given me little hope for such a thing.”

“I listen very well,” Eric defended, “At least when I willing to.”

“A seemingly rampant sympton for those your age,” Vincent commented quietly. “If you choose to, the kitchen is located below here. I have prepared a meal for you. You may take it back to your room if you wish.”

“Well, can't I eat with you?”

“I have already eaten,” Vincent answered, turning back to the hall.

“Aw, come on,” Eric pleaded, “I have to eat by myself a lot. Can't I enjoy company just this once? I promise to not hit you with anything.”

Vincent said nothing, but just looked at his uninvited guest. Eric placed his hand behind his back and tightened his hands into fists, bracing himself for the answer. Instead, Vincent answered simply, “Your meal is downstairs. I suggest you hurry down and eat before it grows cold.” Eric sighed heavily, dropping his head low and walking slowly out the door, hoping that the sad performance may have an effect on the man. But Vincent didn't react, and didn't follow, so Eric piicked up the pace and walked down the stairs. Glancingg around the darkening foyer, he saw a light on behind a closed door to his left. Walking quickly over to it, he peeked inside.

Within was a simple kitchen, large but plain, with what seemed to be only the bare necessities for making food. Eric stepped inside and saw sitting on one of the counters a bowl with steam rising from it. A slice of white bread lay beside it, and upon further examination of the bowl, Eric found that it was a stew. A few chunks of meat, some carrots and a potatoe floated around in a brown broth, with a strong smell radiating from it. Grabbing up the spoon in the bowl, Eric tasted it. It was slightly bitter, probably from the large amount of different spices he smelled, but it was better then his own cooking, so he didn't really mind. Grabbing up the piece of bread and sitting at an island counter on the otherside of the kitchen, he dabbed the bread in the broth and ate his dinner glumly. The entire situation seemed depressing all of sudden. Perhaps it was Vincent's attitude, or the house or both, but for some reason, Eric felt oppressed at the moment.

“How does it taste?” Vincent asked from the doorway. Eric jumped, almost spilling the hot meal on his lap.

“Don't do that!” Eric replied, trying to catch his breath, “What are you tryin' to do? Kill me?”

“If it get's you out of here any faster…” Vincent answered. Eric looked at him horrified.

“Please tell me that was a joke.”

“If you wish for it to be,” was the answer, as the man came and leaned on the edge of the counter.

“You should stop speaking so cryptically,” Eric added, taking a bite of bread, “It's rude.”

“So is talking while eating,” Vincent answered.

Eric swallowed. “Sorry.”

“Before making statements about my behavior, try to make sure you are not partaking in rude behavior yourself. One might question your upbringing for doing such a thing.”

“Yeah, I guess your right,” Eric replied. At least he's down here, Eric thought to himself, even if he is insulting me. “Thanks for thhe stew by the way,” he added, “But you may want to avoid using a lot of spices next time.”

“Pardon my inexpirience,” Vincent replied, “But then, I suppose you would wish for me to dine upon what you make and then point out your culinary mistakes?”

Eric smiled slightly, once again embarrassed, “No, I guess not. I mean, there would be a ton of things you could point out about my cooking.”

“I can imagine,” Vincent nodded.

Eric opened his mouth to respond, but decided that it would be best to not say anything, at the risk of being subtly insulted again.

“So, if I may ask,” Eric asked after swallowing some stew, “Why do you live here all by yourself?”

“You may not ask,” Vincent said quickly, but then stopped and added quietly, “I see no reason to not live alone.”

“Well, it may help your temprament. I mean, if I lived in this creepy place all by myself, I know I'd end up gettting depressed.”

Vincent sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance. “You know that old saying, `home is where the heart is'?” Eric nodded.

“That is not necessarily true. In fact, it is very wrong. The place where one has a home, be it a dark manor or a cave, is not what determines an attitude; those that believe such a thing are sorely mistaken. Life is what makes a heart, what gives and determines one's outlook and attitude. My life has made me the way I am, not this house. If the `home' has any effect on those within it, it magnifies the actions and events of those who inhabit it.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Eric said, wiping a bit of broth off the corner of his mouth.

“Very few do,” Vincent answered.

Eric looked down at the empty bowl in front of him. If what Vincent said was true, what did that mean for him?

“Well, what about me?” Eric asked, looking up again, “I don't have a home. I just kinda drift.”

“Perhaps your home is the road then, a symbol of what has occurred in your life to bring you to this point.”

“I guess that's true,” Eric said, leaning his head on his hands. Without thinking about it, he started to chew on his nails. It was something he had done since he was little, and it had become a habit for whenever he was thinking hard.

“I couldn't help but notice,” Vincent commented, breaking the silence, “That you carried yourself with expirience in battle.”

“Did you just compliment me?” Eric asked, his voice carrying a sarcasticly amazed tone.

“No,” Vincent replied simply. Eric decided to ignore that.

“Well, yeah, I mean, you can't travel as much as I do without fighting a couple times.”

“Really?” Vincent asked, his voice sounding unconvinced.

“Yep,” Eric answered confidently, “In fact, I'm a pretty good fighter, and an even better spellcaster. You should see me fight when it's not all cramped. I'm untouchable!”

Vincent snickered, though it carried no cheer. “How much would you wager on that claim?”

“I'd stake my whole collection of materia,” Eric answered with a huge grin.

“Should you be so willing to lose something so precious?” Vincent asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.

“Why, I wouldn't lose, so it's not a problem.”

“Very well then,” Vincent nodded, “I shall take you up on that offer.”

“What?” Eric asked, his confidence suddenly deflating.

“I do not usually repeat myself,” Vincent answered, “But I shall in this case. I would like to take you up on that wager.”

“You can't be serious?”

“I am,” Vincent answered, still maintaining an unattached voice, “If I win, you will hand over all of your materia.”

“What if I win?” Eric asked, suddenly caught in the moment, feeling the excitement of laying things on the line.

“I shall permit you to remain within this house as long as you wish.”

“Your on then!” Eric cheered, “But don't mope when you lose!”

“Do not worry,” Vincent said, “In fact, I shall be celebrating your immediate removal from this house. Now, I suggest that you get some rest. I would hate for the contest to be unfair because you did not find enough sleep.”

“But it's only five,” Eric answered, looking a small clock on the wall.

“That clock has stopped,” Vincent answered, “And if you wish to avoid a forceable removal from this house, I suggest you find your way into your room immediately.”

Eric understood the threat, so he quickly rose, rinsed out the bowl he had eaten from and rushed up the stairs. As he closed his door behind him, and was certain Vincent wasn't listening, he fell face forward on the bed.

“What have I just gotten myself into?” he grumbled into the pillow.

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