[INCOMPLETE]
Who: Lucrecia, Kadaj.
When: sometime tonight.
Where: the church.
Rating: PG, atm.
Warnings: Shit, idk. PROBABLE ANGST. A LOT OF TENSION.
Summary: After Lu goes kind of crazy (LOL THANKS A LOT, ZACK), she runs off to find Kadaj. Like she's done 435435 times before. Except he never wanted to stab her through the face back then. ): Ah, good times.
She was angry.
No.
No, that wasn't right. Angry wasn't right. Livid fit her description better. Livid fit her description perfectly. And for as much of a logical woman as she liked to think of herself as, and for as much time as she spent focusing every bit of her energy into what she had become, what she had bettered herself into being, it had all melted away over the course of the last day. Before everything, before the situation with Zack, she had been antsy, of course. Anxious, and nervous, and she spent the majority of her time within the labs, pacing and glancing at the clock, and running her fingers through her hair, and pressing the heel of her palm against her temple.
When was the last she slept? She couldn't remember. Not really. Unless the five minute intervals she spent staring blankly at the walls, at the ceilings, counted for something. She had never taken the time to notice before how white everything was in the labs. How white and horrible and terrible, and how hard it been to get her blood out of the concrete of the floor, out of the drywall, off the glass of Jenova's cage. It had been too much work, and it had put cramps in her hands, in the muscles in her wrists, but she couldn't be reminded. Certainly not. She couldn't let others be reminded, either. It was only a disadvantage. Only a stifling of their precious, delicate processes.
But, beyond the anger, and beyond the sharp ache in her chest that she felt every time she inhaled or exhaled, there was the exhaustion. The exhaustion that kept her from sleeping, that kept her from falling into unconsciousness, because she wasn't sure how long she'd stay out for. Was positive it might have amounted to something close to weeks -- months, even, and there was still so much work that needed to be done. So much she needed to do, and there were cures that needed to be found, and there were people that needed to be stopped. And there were moments of clarity where she thought that the personal issues in her life shouldn't have mattered to her so much, that she shouldn't have cared, and that it was for the best.
It wasn't, though. It wasn't, because those relationships, and those faulty boundaries, they were all the things that kept her from realizing that, oh, oh. The past wasn't really gone. It was still there, lurking over her shoulder, and without those little crutches, without those people that kept her whole, she was just like--
Just like Vincent, she thought, and what an ironic comparison that was.
And it was quite unfortunate, for her, that she depended so much on those people, that she needed them with every breath of air inside her. She didn't care about the aching, or the pins and needles that resided in her lungs. They didn't matter when she could avoid those sorts of revelations that only proceeded to crack at her shell harder, quicker, faster. How many hammers could she brush away, really? She didn't enjoy being made out as one of her own experiments. Didn't enjoy being the wall that needed to be tested for its durability, and she should have been the one who was doing it. Should have been the one who did all of it, and yet...
Yet there was something that had always been a little bit off. And now everything didn't fit into the puzzle the way it should have, because she had never felt more alienated in her entire life. Isolated, and put away, like she was conscious within her mako prison, and it was her fault. Her fault for being naive, and for not realizing, and for not stopping to think that for one second, one moment out of millions, that she wasn't doing the right thing. It had felt right when she was doing it, of course. Certainly. There was no doubt about it, but. But it was times like those when she forgot that she wasn't in her fifties. Where she felt as if she were twenty-three again. Twenty-three, and young, and no time had passed, and she still didn't know better.
She was angry when she left ShinRa headquarters, without a jacket and without any gloves. She was still angry when she rounded the corner that led past the clock tower. Still angry when she climbed the steps to the church. Still angry when she wrapped bare, chilled fingers about the handle to the door, when she used every ounce of strength within her to tug it open, to slip inside. She was still angry when bright eyes scoured the building, flitting over rows of pews, and then--
Kadaj.
Her breath caught in her throat, and instantly, anger flooded. Because, oh, she forgot how beautiful he was in the pale slivers of light that peaked through the bits of open ceiling stretched far above their heads. She forgot the fluid lines of his form, and the way they melded together, and the way he looked perfect always, no matter what he was doing, and no matter what he was saying, and no matter how awkward the situation may have been, otherwise. She forgot about that little tug she got in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw him, and she forgot how sometimes she never knew the right words to say that would make him understand exactly how much she loved him.
She forgot that he was just as dangerous, too. And it terrified her that she didn't care. That the only thing she was really frightened of was losing him to someone else, was letting him slip away from the tight grasp she always had on him, and that. That was something she wasn't sure she'd be able to live with.
One foot slid forward hesitantly, and her fingers drifted along the wood of the pew that was planted next to her.
"Kadaj."
When: sometime tonight.
Where: the church.
Rating: PG, atm.
Warnings: Shit, idk. PROBABLE ANGST. A LOT OF TENSION.
Summary: After Lu goes kind of crazy (LOL THANKS A LOT, ZACK), she runs off to find Kadaj. Like she's done 435435 times before. Except he never wanted to stab her through the face back then. ): Ah, good times.
She was angry.
No.
No, that wasn't right. Angry wasn't right. Livid fit her description better. Livid fit her description perfectly. And for as much of a logical woman as she liked to think of herself as, and for as much time as she spent focusing every bit of her energy into what she had become, what she had bettered herself into being, it had all melted away over the course of the last day. Before everything, before the situation with Zack, she had been antsy, of course. Anxious, and nervous, and she spent the majority of her time within the labs, pacing and glancing at the clock, and running her fingers through her hair, and pressing the heel of her palm against her temple.
When was the last she slept? She couldn't remember. Not really. Unless the five minute intervals she spent staring blankly at the walls, at the ceilings, counted for something. She had never taken the time to notice before how white everything was in the labs. How white and horrible and terrible, and how hard it been to get her blood out of the concrete of the floor, out of the drywall, off the glass of Jenova's cage. It had been too much work, and it had put cramps in her hands, in the muscles in her wrists, but she couldn't be reminded. Certainly not. She couldn't let others be reminded, either. It was only a disadvantage. Only a stifling of their precious, delicate processes.
But, beyond the anger, and beyond the sharp ache in her chest that she felt every time she inhaled or exhaled, there was the exhaustion. The exhaustion that kept her from sleeping, that kept her from falling into unconsciousness, because she wasn't sure how long she'd stay out for. Was positive it might have amounted to something close to weeks -- months, even, and there was still so much work that needed to be done. So much she needed to do, and there were cures that needed to be found, and there were people that needed to be stopped. And there were moments of clarity where she thought that the personal issues in her life shouldn't have mattered to her so much, that she shouldn't have cared, and that it was for the best.
It wasn't, though. It wasn't, because those relationships, and those faulty boundaries, they were all the things that kept her from realizing that, oh, oh. The past wasn't really gone. It was still there, lurking over her shoulder, and without those little crutches, without those people that kept her whole, she was just like--
Just like Vincent, she thought, and what an ironic comparison that was.
And it was quite unfortunate, for her, that she depended so much on those people, that she needed them with every breath of air inside her. She didn't care about the aching, or the pins and needles that resided in her lungs. They didn't matter when she could avoid those sorts of revelations that only proceeded to crack at her shell harder, quicker, faster. How many hammers could she brush away, really? She didn't enjoy being made out as one of her own experiments. Didn't enjoy being the wall that needed to be tested for its durability, and she should have been the one who was doing it. Should have been the one who did all of it, and yet...
Yet there was something that had always been a little bit off. And now everything didn't fit into the puzzle the way it should have, because she had never felt more alienated in her entire life. Isolated, and put away, like she was conscious within her mako prison, and it was her fault. Her fault for being naive, and for not realizing, and for not stopping to think that for one second, one moment out of millions, that she wasn't doing the right thing. It had felt right when she was doing it, of course. Certainly. There was no doubt about it, but. But it was times like those when she forgot that she wasn't in her fifties. Where she felt as if she were twenty-three again. Twenty-three, and young, and no time had passed, and she still didn't know better.
She was angry when she left ShinRa headquarters, without a jacket and without any gloves. She was still angry when she rounded the corner that led past the clock tower. Still angry when she climbed the steps to the church. Still angry when she wrapped bare, chilled fingers about the handle to the door, when she used every ounce of strength within her to tug it open, to slip inside. She was still angry when bright eyes scoured the building, flitting over rows of pews, and then--
Kadaj.
Her breath caught in her throat, and instantly, anger flooded. Because, oh, she forgot how beautiful he was in the pale slivers of light that peaked through the bits of open ceiling stretched far above their heads. She forgot the fluid lines of his form, and the way they melded together, and the way he looked perfect always, no matter what he was doing, and no matter what he was saying, and no matter how awkward the situation may have been, otherwise. She forgot about that little tug she got in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw him, and she forgot how sometimes she never knew the right words to say that would make him understand exactly how much she loved him.
She forgot that he was just as dangerous, too. And it terrified her that she didn't care. That the only thing she was really frightened of was losing him to someone else, was letting him slip away from the tight grasp she always had on him, and that. That was something she wasn't sure she'd be able to live with.
One foot slid forward hesitantly, and her fingers drifted along the wood of the pew that was planted next to her.
"Kadaj."