(no subject)
Muse spurred on by events over at parameter_rpg. Wouldn't let me go, and with Reeve being a bit of "dreamer" plus having some intriguing talents (psychic phenomena anybody?) it came out as a nightmare...
Character/s: Reeve, Shelke, Weiss, Nero, Genesis, Tseng, Yuffie, Veld, Turks, SHM, Lazard, Rufus, Scarlet, Vincent, Lucrecia, Hojo
Pairing/s?: Not explicit. Suggested / One-sided Tseeve, Suggested / No-sided Tseng x Yuffie, Suggested Tseng x Rufus
Warnings: Makes no sense but to me? XD
Prompt: None, just the RP
The vision is panning out, skimming over and widening further across black and white. Tiles? Is this a chess board? A figure stands central, perspective bending the scene far out into the distance. She is svelte and petite. A child with an adult bearing stood in a sea awash of black and white.
Black and White?
“Shelke?” I hear my voice assume. It’s quiet against the expanse. I can’t see my own feet so my disembodied hands reach forwards instead.
They do not reach far enough.
They do not reach soon enough.
…Time slows.
Shift. The squares fracture outwards, weaving a dance around each other, flickering a wild strobe before me. She stands in an expanse of nothingness. Not black. Not white. Just empty.
Until the dance freezes; inverting with frenzied movement, a motion of relentless pointed velocity. Assaulting her; slicing straight through her in an onslaught of angles. She is in the thralls of their embrace, small body lurching and thrashing harshly.
Everything is collapsing in on itself… Black and white soliciting each other and sucking all into a void. There is pure silence. From the vacuum red glyphs form and explode into a ball of fire. Soon she is burning, skin scorching, blistering and peeling away as flames lick covetously around her. And still the silence reigns as she screams.
I fall over myself in a desperate attempt to move a non-corporeal existence, coming once more into being with my knees slamming hard upon the reformed pattern of monochrome panels. Shelke is nowhere to be seen.
Struggling to my feet my line of sight is drawn to the far edge. Two figures are standing side by side. I come to recognise further features beyond the traditional dress of the Wutaianese that they are clad in. Tseng and Yuffie are stood before me in the position of King and Queen.
But, wait. This makes no sense. This would not happen.
It is Tseng that speaks, Yuffie remaining silent for once, filling me with a sense of unease at her unnatural stillness "So, does your little whore look like -her-…” he gestures mockingly at my intel and espionage officer “…or do -“they”- in fact remind you of..." His lips are still moving; I hear no words though I guess at what he is saying. The corners of his mouth curl into a cruelly beautiful smile, dark eyes flashing in taut laughter.
Tseng. Please. I can explain.
No I cannot...
What’s going on here?
…Yuffie? It’s Reeve. -Why won’t you speak to me?
She remains static, the loveliness of these later years captured in frozen emotion and her eyes fixed upon me in sadness. Doll-like. Truly a White Rose when clothed in the kimono of...
No. This is clearly absurd.
A voice, I do not recognise, murmurs; cracked and old. “The Princess is to blossom...” as the cord of the Betrothal costume twines itself around her; twisting a chrysalis and eventually swallowing her whole.
“Yuffie!” I am shouting now but the only sound I hear is Tseng’s reserved laughter. He turns with a look of passing relief. The laughter stops and he is telling me soundlessly to follow. Helplessly drawn I do as he has asked, for the silence teases with promise.
Sure-footed and smooth he moves before me as step by step we climb a spiral staircase, passing familiar faces in suits as we go. The floor beneath our feet turns from metal to dust and stone. Suddenly everything behind me gives way, gaping into a hole, bathed thoroughly with a familiar threatening glow. I stumble forward away from the crater in shock, the pulse of blood pumping through me. Falling into black cloth I lift my head to meet the other’s eyes, his face cold yet fierce gazing past me into the circular abyss below.
Moments pass as something unreadable flurries behind the outward calm.
Tseng…
He grabs my tie and drags me forwards, at a pace swift and urgent, until I am tripping over my own feet once more. We pass another suit, this one less, yet somehow even more familiar at the same time, standing protectively in front of a younger female. Oh, great… don’t you laugh at me, Veld… this isn’t what it looks like… but he isn’t laughing; instead his face is serious and etched with the rigours of age.
A catch of breath and we have reached the top. Looking behind me, the gleam of metal has returned as has the calm in the other man. Filigree twists up the steps; a golden staircase leading to two men with golden hair, both with shimmered rings hovering above their heads.
Tseng ignores the older man and moves behind Rufus who, just like Yuffie was, is bedecked in stunning white. Smirking at me, at Lazard, smirking almost as if at life itself, the ShinRa President reaches out and takes a cup of rice wine from his Turk director. They both drink their fill and I find myself unable to look back into his eyes, for fear of betraying my own.
Instead two hands, the unmistakeable white cuff of Rufus and the large-cuffed blue pinstripe of Lazard, meet in my field of vision and clasp together, both palms seeking to face the other down. Glancing back upwards I see their halos fall into reverse, as the rings slip down sleeves to encircle slender wrists.
Yet looking back down I find it is my own arms that have been shackled and with a startled panic I feel something choke at my throat. No!! The thought dies as the tug gets stronger and the floor gives way from my feet. I scramble at the rope around my neck but with my hands bound I cannot prevent myself from falling. I swing from an sign emblazened with the initials: W.R.O.
Laughter, a shrill “Kya ha ha” ridicules me hanging there, choking to breathe, chest heaving and pained. I close my eyes against the sound, underlined with bass echoes of is that ‘Gya ha ha’? Heaving a wheeze of protest I call out into a name. That of Vincent Valentine.
I can’t hear a damn thing. Shiva-
……….“Vincent!!!”
Such a pitiable cry finds it’s answer in an enigmatic “But she’s arrived” and my mind starts to rant in a panic “What-… who has?! Gods of Gaia…” and I really don't want to die. Selfish, Reeve... so fucking selfish. If only they knew. My heart wants to burst from my chest and I feel myself slipping into cold blackness.
Then I hear it. A worse laughter than even that damn broad. A cackle of a madman cascading down my every nerve. A hand unhooks my noose, my vision full of the glint off round glasses and the lines of sharp aquiline features. He pulls at the rope like I'm a puppet on a string.
"Hoo come on now Mr. Tuesti! Don't go dying on me now. I have plans for you!"
I awake in the darkness and know one thing for certain.
I am truly alone in this horror.
Character/s: Reeve, Shelke, Weiss, Nero, Genesis, Tseng, Yuffie, Veld, Turks, SHM, Lazard, Rufus, Scarlet, Vincent, Lucrecia, Hojo
Pairing/s?: Not explicit. Suggested / One-sided Tseeve, Suggested / No-sided Tseng x Yuffie, Suggested Tseng x Rufus
Warnings: Makes no sense but to me? XD
Prompt: None, just the RP
The vision is panning out, skimming over and widening further across black and white. Tiles? Is this a chess board? A figure stands central, perspective bending the scene far out into the distance. She is svelte and petite. A child with an adult bearing stood in a sea awash of black and white.
Black and White?
“Shelke?” I hear my voice assume. It’s quiet against the expanse. I can’t see my own feet so my disembodied hands reach forwards instead.
They do not reach far enough.
They do not reach soon enough.
…Time slows.
Shift. The squares fracture outwards, weaving a dance around each other, flickering a wild strobe before me. She stands in an expanse of nothingness. Not black. Not white. Just empty.
Until the dance freezes; inverting with frenzied movement, a motion of relentless pointed velocity. Assaulting her; slicing straight through her in an onslaught of angles. She is in the thralls of their embrace, small body lurching and thrashing harshly.
Everything is collapsing in on itself… Black and white soliciting each other and sucking all into a void. There is pure silence. From the vacuum red glyphs form and explode into a ball of fire. Soon she is burning, skin scorching, blistering and peeling away as flames lick covetously around her. And still the silence reigns as she screams.
I fall over myself in a desperate attempt to move a non-corporeal existence, coming once more into being with my knees slamming hard upon the reformed pattern of monochrome panels. Shelke is nowhere to be seen.
Struggling to my feet my line of sight is drawn to the far edge. Two figures are standing side by side. I come to recognise further features beyond the traditional dress of the Wutaianese that they are clad in. Tseng and Yuffie are stood before me in the position of King and Queen.
But, wait. This makes no sense. This would not happen.
It is Tseng that speaks, Yuffie remaining silent for once, filling me with a sense of unease at her unnatural stillness "So, does your little whore look like -her-…” he gestures mockingly at my intel and espionage officer “…or do -“they”- in fact remind you of..." His lips are still moving; I hear no words though I guess at what he is saying. The corners of his mouth curl into a cruelly beautiful smile, dark eyes flashing in taut laughter.
Tseng. Please. I can explain.
No I cannot...
What’s going on here?
…Yuffie? It’s Reeve. -Why won’t you speak to me?
She remains static, the loveliness of these later years captured in frozen emotion and her eyes fixed upon me in sadness. Doll-like. Truly a White Rose when clothed in the kimono of...
No. This is clearly absurd.
A voice, I do not recognise, murmurs; cracked and old. “The Princess is to blossom...” as the cord of the Betrothal costume twines itself around her; twisting a chrysalis and eventually swallowing her whole.
“Yuffie!” I am shouting now but the only sound I hear is Tseng’s reserved laughter. He turns with a look of passing relief. The laughter stops and he is telling me soundlessly to follow. Helplessly drawn I do as he has asked, for the silence teases with promise.
Sure-footed and smooth he moves before me as step by step we climb a spiral staircase, passing familiar faces in suits as we go. The floor beneath our feet turns from metal to dust and stone. Suddenly everything behind me gives way, gaping into a hole, bathed thoroughly with a familiar threatening glow. I stumble forward away from the crater in shock, the pulse of blood pumping through me. Falling into black cloth I lift my head to meet the other’s eyes, his face cold yet fierce gazing past me into the circular abyss below.
Moments pass as something unreadable flurries behind the outward calm.
Tseng…
He grabs my tie and drags me forwards, at a pace swift and urgent, until I am tripping over my own feet once more. We pass another suit, this one less, yet somehow even more familiar at the same time, standing protectively in front of a younger female. Oh, great… don’t you laugh at me, Veld… this isn’t what it looks like… but he isn’t laughing; instead his face is serious and etched with the rigours of age.
A catch of breath and we have reached the top. Looking behind me, the gleam of metal has returned as has the calm in the other man. Filigree twists up the steps; a golden staircase leading to two men with golden hair, both with shimmered rings hovering above their heads.
Tseng ignores the older man and moves behind Rufus who, just like Yuffie was, is bedecked in stunning white. Smirking at me, at Lazard, smirking almost as if at life itself, the ShinRa President reaches out and takes a cup of rice wine from his Turk director. They both drink their fill and I find myself unable to look back into his eyes, for fear of betraying my own.
Instead two hands, the unmistakeable white cuff of Rufus and the large-cuffed blue pinstripe of Lazard, meet in my field of vision and clasp together, both palms seeking to face the other down. Glancing back upwards I see their halos fall into reverse, as the rings slip down sleeves to encircle slender wrists.
Yet looking back down I find it is my own arms that have been shackled and with a startled panic I feel something choke at my throat. No!! The thought dies as the tug gets stronger and the floor gives way from my feet. I scramble at the rope around my neck but with my hands bound I cannot prevent myself from falling. I swing from an sign emblazened with the initials: W.R.O.
Laughter, a shrill “Kya ha ha” ridicules me hanging there, choking to breathe, chest heaving and pained. I close my eyes against the sound, underlined with bass echoes of is that ‘Gya ha ha’? Heaving a wheeze of protest I call out into a name. That of Vincent Valentine.
I can’t hear a damn thing. Shiva-
……….“Vincent!!!”
Such a pitiable cry finds it’s answer in an enigmatic “But she’s arrived” and my mind starts to rant in a panic “What-… who has?! Gods of Gaia…” and I really don't want to die. Selfish, Reeve... so fucking selfish. If only they knew. My heart wants to burst from my chest and I feel myself slipping into cold blackness.
Then I hear it. A worse laughter than even that damn broad. A cackle of a madman cascading down my every nerve. A hand unhooks my noose, my vision full of the glint off round glasses and the lines of sharp aquiline features. He pulls at the rope like I'm a puppet on a string.
"Hoo come on now Mr. Tuesti! Don't go dying on me now. I have plans for you!"
I awake in the darkness and know one thing for certain.
I am truly alone in this horror.