From Whence The Changing? [Active, Open]
Characters: Sephiroth, Open
Content: As things change around him, Sephiroth tries to figure out the meaning of it all.
Setting: Cafe Ersesat
Time: Noonish, about a week into the decay of Paixao's structure
Warnings: Deep thinking? Mild swearing? I'unno.
Paixao, the domed city, had seen better days.
There had been a steady decline in the condition of the city's buildings ever since the attack of the giant monster, Sin; buildings were missing, even the natives seemed to be noticing. And there was moss. Fake as anything else, but still moss. It was as if the place were aging at an advanced pace.
Sephiroth had been nursing what few wounds he had received in the battle, trying to rest as much as he could; his mana was -still- scraping the bottom of the barrel. This had given him plenty of time to observe; the Organization had more or less vanished from the public eye, and people were starting to disappear again.
And it felt almost like the city was shrinking. Distance wasn't what it had been.
Change was heavy in the air, and it was making him uneasy. What the hell was going on? When exactly had the rules changed? How was he, or anyone else, supposed to combat the encroachment of time itself?
There was also a growing feeling of unease in the air, as if something else was coming, but damned if he could figure out what.
He sat at a table in one of the few intact cafes he had managed to find, sipping tea, poring over notes and diagrams, sketches and suppositions. There had to be a link. But what?
Content: As things change around him, Sephiroth tries to figure out the meaning of it all.
Setting: Cafe Ersesat
Time: Noonish, about a week into the decay of Paixao's structure
Warnings: Deep thinking? Mild swearing? I'unno.
Paixao, the domed city, had seen better days.
There had been a steady decline in the condition of the city's buildings ever since the attack of the giant monster, Sin; buildings were missing, even the natives seemed to be noticing. And there was moss. Fake as anything else, but still moss. It was as if the place were aging at an advanced pace.
Sephiroth had been nursing what few wounds he had received in the battle, trying to rest as much as he could; his mana was -still- scraping the bottom of the barrel. This had given him plenty of time to observe; the Organization had more or less vanished from the public eye, and people were starting to disappear again.
And it felt almost like the city was shrinking. Distance wasn't what it had been.
Change was heavy in the air, and it was making him uneasy. What the hell was going on? When exactly had the rules changed? How was he, or anyone else, supposed to combat the encroachment of time itself?
There was also a growing feeling of unease in the air, as if something else was coming, but damned if he could figure out what.
He sat at a table in one of the few intact cafes he had managed to find, sipping tea, poring over notes and diagrams, sketches and suppositions. There had to be a link. But what?