Time doesn't like to stay consistent, so stfu. >:\
Characters: Replica/Luke unforescoreable, White Moon/Aizen iniquiticity.
Date/Time: Dec 22, late afternoon?
Location: Fourth Floor to Elevator.
Rating: G, most likely. ...>_>!
Summary: Replica was eaten by the Fourth Floor for about three weeks, though he's pretty sure he's only been gone half an hour, and when he finally gets the elevator to open, it apparently wasn't vacant. Or in other words, Matcha is off hiatus lol?
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It was good and well that whatever place he was in was at least temperature-controlled, but the fact of the matter was that he was always late for work. He had chronic oversleeping disorder or something. Finding himself so thoroughly locked in a room he didn't even know existed was more than just annoying.
Replica had been ready to just resolutely stick it out when the elevator malfunctioned and refused to take him back up to the Third Floor, had been prepared to just stay inside until it decided to work again and take him where he had meant to go. But the world didn't seem to agree with that sentiment--when the doors of the elevator opened, he found himself staring at someplace so decidedly familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time that he just had to go check it out.
The walls were tall; the windows covered the entire wall opposite the elevator door. The room was inorganic as they came--everything hinted at a technology so ridiculously advanced that he'd never be able to comprehend--but in the center of it all was a garden of white flowers, blooming despite the lack of sun.
Naturally, when he stepped out of the elevator car it snapped shut behind him, and when he turned to look at it, it was no longer an elevator at all. Just some sliding door. Locked, of course.
"No choice but to go forward, huh," he spoke to no one, but hearing his own voice spoken aloud provided some comfort.
When he stepped forward, the sound of his boots on the steel floor echoed through the remarkably empty hall. The view of city lights, of some strange swirling air through the window caught his attention--it was the same noxious air from his dream. When he reached the garden itself, he couldn't help but notice the long strands of red hair scattered throughout.
It was all so familiar. It was all so alien. It was all so frustrating. He wanted to remember what the significance of it all was--he knew it was important, he knew that much. But how? Why? And most importantly of all, why the heck was this happening to him anyway? He knelt down, let a few strands of that hair--was is his? or was it that of the one he acknowledged as the 'Original'?--run through his fingers, and turned his attention to the flowers.
Their name was on the tip of his tongue: he knew what they were called. They only bloomed at night. They grew around... around... some kind of slot or something.
His concentration was broken by the sound of the elevator pinging, of doors that had previously disappeared sliding open, of a chance to get back to where there were people who hopefully could explain what the heck had just happened. Before heading back, he carefully plucked one of the white flowers off its stalk and stood up. One last glance at the flower field, the city outside the window, and he turned to sprint toward the elevator, hoping to get in before its doors shut him in again.
Date/Time: Dec 22, late afternoon?
Location: Fourth Floor to Elevator.
Rating: G, most likely. ...>_>!
Summary: Replica was eaten by the Fourth Floor for about three weeks, though he's pretty sure he's only been gone half an hour, and when he finally gets the elevator to open, it apparently wasn't vacant. Or in other words, Matcha is off hiatus lol?
------
It was good and well that whatever place he was in was at least temperature-controlled, but the fact of the matter was that he was always late for work. He had chronic oversleeping disorder or something. Finding himself so thoroughly locked in a room he didn't even know existed was more than just annoying.
Replica had been ready to just resolutely stick it out when the elevator malfunctioned and refused to take him back up to the Third Floor, had been prepared to just stay inside until it decided to work again and take him where he had meant to go. But the world didn't seem to agree with that sentiment--when the doors of the elevator opened, he found himself staring at someplace so decidedly familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time that he just had to go check it out.
The walls were tall; the windows covered the entire wall opposite the elevator door. The room was inorganic as they came--everything hinted at a technology so ridiculously advanced that he'd never be able to comprehend--but in the center of it all was a garden of white flowers, blooming despite the lack of sun.
Naturally, when he stepped out of the elevator car it snapped shut behind him, and when he turned to look at it, it was no longer an elevator at all. Just some sliding door. Locked, of course.
"No choice but to go forward, huh," he spoke to no one, but hearing his own voice spoken aloud provided some comfort.
When he stepped forward, the sound of his boots on the steel floor echoed through the remarkably empty hall. The view of city lights, of some strange swirling air through the window caught his attention--it was the same noxious air from his dream. When he reached the garden itself, he couldn't help but notice the long strands of red hair scattered throughout.
It was all so familiar. It was all so alien. It was all so frustrating. He wanted to remember what the significance of it all was--he knew it was important, he knew that much. But how? Why? And most importantly of all, why the heck was this happening to him anyway? He knelt down, let a few strands of that hair--was is his? or was it that of the one he acknowledged as the 'Original'?--run through his fingers, and turned his attention to the flowers.
Their name was on the tip of his tongue: he knew what they were called. They only bloomed at night. They grew around... around... some kind of slot or something.
His concentration was broken by the sound of the elevator pinging, of doors that had previously disappeared sliding open, of a chance to get back to where there were people who hopefully could explain what the heck had just happened. Before heading back, he carefully plucked one of the white flowers off its stalk and stood up. One last glance at the flower field, the city outside the window, and he turned to sprint toward the elevator, hoping to get in before its doors shut him in again.