[incomplete]
Who: Genesis, Angeal & Logan
When: Tonight some time
Where: ShinRa HQ's confinement... cell... thingie
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA, Loganmouth
Summary: Interrogation tiem? D:
Opening his eyes again, the third attempt to wake up and actually sit up within the last four hours, Logan heeded a moment to allow for the swirling, splotchy expanse of darkened ceiling to arrange itself in a familiar form. Flat, you know, and not bulging around everywhere, apparently animated and teetering by its own impossible volition. Very annoying. It was obvious by his vision, dulled senses, and the fact that his muscles felt like syrupy globs wrapped around dead iron limbs that he’d been sedated-- a sensation utterly foreign to him, all things considered.
It took a lot to anchor him to such depths of physical ability. They must be pretty pissed.
The last thing he remembered ((at the moment, though he was positive more would filter in as awareness found purchase)) was hacking away at Cissnei, a woman he completely did not want to run into amidst the siege on ShinRa HQ, and eventually abandoning her blood-framed, Julienned body at the realization the two were not alone. Tseng and River had been there, an--
River.
The girl he honestly didn’t know much about before that night, catching her name from the male Turk before being met with a much unexpected flurry of kicks and decidedly unpleasant knocks to the head. She was fast; faster than he gave her credit for on first glance, and with the distraction of catching news of Jean’s death during a haste drop on the terminals, the fight couldn’t have gone more to his disadvantage. All he’d wanted to do at the time was get away, find her, find Yachiru. Abort his end of the mission. Get out. Get out. Go home. His route to all that blocked, he’d twisted into a blind rage following the introductory array of physical exchanges with the girl, making mistake after mistake and falling to ... blank.
It was shortly(?) after this impromptu conflict that an unfamiliar voice filtered in -- Cloud, though Logan still wasn’t aware of identity -- and a scattering of words cast vivid against an otherwise muddy cognizance.
Sedate.
Confine.
Hold.
Report.
And so, here he was now, lying back-flat on a floor so bloody cold, he could feel it straight through the moderate thickness of his leather uniform. Voices from outside came and went, and, heaving his upper-body up with dizzied lethargy, managed to settle back in a sitting position against the wall nearest to him, shaking his head at a brisk clip and attempting to unscramble himself.
And oh no-- he wasn’t happy.
When: Tonight some time
Where: ShinRa HQ's confinement... cell... thingie
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA, Loganmouth
Summary: Interrogation tiem? D:
Opening his eyes again, the third attempt to wake up and actually sit up within the last four hours, Logan heeded a moment to allow for the swirling, splotchy expanse of darkened ceiling to arrange itself in a familiar form. Flat, you know, and not bulging around everywhere, apparently animated and teetering by its own impossible volition. Very annoying. It was obvious by his vision, dulled senses, and the fact that his muscles felt like syrupy globs wrapped around dead iron limbs that he’d been sedated-- a sensation utterly foreign to him, all things considered.
It took a lot to anchor him to such depths of physical ability. They must be pretty pissed.
The last thing he remembered ((at the moment, though he was positive more would filter in as awareness found purchase)) was hacking away at Cissnei, a woman he completely did not want to run into amidst the siege on ShinRa HQ, and eventually abandoning her blood-framed, Julienned body at the realization the two were not alone. Tseng and River had been there, an--
River.
The girl he honestly didn’t know much about before that night, catching her name from the male Turk before being met with a much unexpected flurry of kicks and decidedly unpleasant knocks to the head. She was fast; faster than he gave her credit for on first glance, and with the distraction of catching news of Jean’s death during a haste drop on the terminals, the fight couldn’t have gone more to his disadvantage. All he’d wanted to do at the time was get away, find her, find Yachiru. Abort his end of the mission. Get out. Get out. Go home. His route to all that blocked, he’d twisted into a blind rage following the introductory array of physical exchanges with the girl, making mistake after mistake and falling to ... blank.
It was shortly(?) after this impromptu conflict that an unfamiliar voice filtered in -- Cloud, though Logan still wasn’t aware of identity -- and a scattering of words cast vivid against an otherwise muddy cognizance.
Sedate.
Confine.
Hold.
Report.
And so, here he was now, lying back-flat on a floor so bloody cold, he could feel it straight through the moderate thickness of his leather uniform. Voices from outside came and went, and, heaving his upper-body up with dizzied lethargy, managed to settle back in a sitting position against the wall nearest to him, shaking his head at a brisk clip and attempting to unscramble himself.
And oh no-- he wasn’t happy.