[INCOMPLETE]
Who: Lucrecia, Yazoo.
When: nowish, after this.
Where: the church, lulz.
Rating: PGish, for now.
Warnings: ... Yazoo. AND THAT GUN OF HIS. Lucrecia and her inability to properly defend herself.
Summary: ): Yazoo's a bad man. Lucrecia's gullible. WOW, THIS HAS BAD IDEA WRITTEN ALL OVER IT.
Lucrecia hadn't ever really thought she had a terrible memory. Not really. Maybe it had always been a little bit disjointed here and there, but it wasn't ever horrible. It never prevented her from remembering important information, from remembering things she needed to know -- things that were essential to her every day life and the overall development of her, herself, as a person. But, well, that had changed since her arrival to Purgatorium, hadn't it? Of course, it wasn't her fault. Not in the slightest. She never asked to be taken from the city, in the first place, and she never asked to be returned, either. She never asked to have her memories taken from her, and she never asked to forget all the people who had apparently been very important to her at one point in time.
At the same time, though, she couldn't help but feel guilty about it. It bothered and upset her much more than it otherwise should have, and even though she knew it was pointless to try, she'd attempt to trigger her lost memories, regardless. On the third or fourth day she had been there, she had wandered aimlessly about the city streets, inspecting every corner of every building, inspecting every crevice in every brick wall, in a bleak hope that it'd make her remember something, that she'd recognize something. But it was futile, didn't help, and she only ended up disappointing herself further.
Memories were important. It didn't matter if they were good or bad, negative or positive; Lucrecia didn't want to miss out on any of them, didn't want to be ignorant or oblivious to any of them. How else was she to fix her mistakes? How else was she to separate her terrible ideas from her not so terrible ones?
And, really, how else was she supposed to know that Kadaj really wasn't Kadaj. That it was actually Yazoo, and that -- well, he had never much cared for her, had he? And if the Lucrecia that had been there before, that had dwelled within the city walls before, saw what she was doing, she might have stopped her, might have pointed her in the other direction, might have told her, no. No. He's not someone you really want to meet. Because Yazoo had always been a threat to her. Because Yazoo had always been dangerous. Because Yazoo wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. Because Yazoo just wasn't all that fond of her.
Before, back before she disappeared from the city, she never really blamed him, either. Who was she, after all, to come between Yazoo and Kadaj? It had never really been her place, and she had hurt Kadaj, too, had betrayed his trust once, and Yazoo. He only wanted to protect him, and she had known that, had realized that, had done her best to keep as far from him as possible. Not because she disliked him. No. Rather, she was actually a little fond of him. But she wasn't a fool, either, and she didn't much like dying, so she kept her distance. She kept out of his way. She didn't ignite that temper that she knew flared right beneath the surface, that she knew could crush her in a second, that she knew wouldn't stop to wound her in any way it possibly could.
It was too bad that this Lucrecia was fairly oblivious to all of that.
And she really didn't suspect that Yazoo was lying to her, either, when she set out into the cold, when she wove her way through the city streets to reach the steps of the church. Why would he lie, after all, about something like that? It didn't click, and it didn't make sense, and maybe it unnerved her a little bit that he looked so much like Sephiroth, but she was curious, as any person would be. She was curious, and she wanted to know who, exactly, he was, and what had happened, and why everything felt a little bit stranger than it should have, and why--
She just wanted to know why, really. And she wouldn't get her answers, of course, but she didn't know that.
Dark hair fell long and smooth over her shoulders, let down from its usual style, as she pushed her way up the steps, pausing at the door to let her fingers linger over the cool metal of the handle. One second to hesitate, to wonder silently at the sudden twist in her stomach that told her this is a bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea, to shrug away the tiny shiver that shuddered down her spine. One second to hesitate, and then she tugged the door open and slid inside, letting it shut behind her with a heavy thud.
She paused for another moment, to let bright eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, before she moved forward a step, feet shuffling along the concrete beneath her.
"... Hello~?"
When: nowish, after this.
Where: the church, lulz.
Rating: PGish, for now.
Warnings: ... Yazoo. AND THAT GUN OF HIS. Lucrecia and her inability to properly defend herself.
Summary: ): Yazoo's a bad man. Lucrecia's gullible. WOW, THIS HAS BAD IDEA WRITTEN ALL OVER IT.
Lucrecia hadn't ever really thought she had a terrible memory. Not really. Maybe it had always been a little bit disjointed here and there, but it wasn't ever horrible. It never prevented her from remembering important information, from remembering things she needed to know -- things that were essential to her every day life and the overall development of her, herself, as a person. But, well, that had changed since her arrival to Purgatorium, hadn't it? Of course, it wasn't her fault. Not in the slightest. She never asked to be taken from the city, in the first place, and she never asked to be returned, either. She never asked to have her memories taken from her, and she never asked to forget all the people who had apparently been very important to her at one point in time.
At the same time, though, she couldn't help but feel guilty about it. It bothered and upset her much more than it otherwise should have, and even though she knew it was pointless to try, she'd attempt to trigger her lost memories, regardless. On the third or fourth day she had been there, she had wandered aimlessly about the city streets, inspecting every corner of every building, inspecting every crevice in every brick wall, in a bleak hope that it'd make her remember something, that she'd recognize something. But it was futile, didn't help, and she only ended up disappointing herself further.
Memories were important. It didn't matter if they were good or bad, negative or positive; Lucrecia didn't want to miss out on any of them, didn't want to be ignorant or oblivious to any of them. How else was she to fix her mistakes? How else was she to separate her terrible ideas from her not so terrible ones?
And, really, how else was she supposed to know that Kadaj really wasn't Kadaj. That it was actually Yazoo, and that -- well, he had never much cared for her, had he? And if the Lucrecia that had been there before, that had dwelled within the city walls before, saw what she was doing, she might have stopped her, might have pointed her in the other direction, might have told her, no. No. He's not someone you really want to meet. Because Yazoo had always been a threat to her. Because Yazoo had always been dangerous. Because Yazoo wouldn't hesitate to hurt her. Because Yazoo just wasn't all that fond of her.
Before, back before she disappeared from the city, she never really blamed him, either. Who was she, after all, to come between Yazoo and Kadaj? It had never really been her place, and she had hurt Kadaj, too, had betrayed his trust once, and Yazoo. He only wanted to protect him, and she had known that, had realized that, had done her best to keep as far from him as possible. Not because she disliked him. No. Rather, she was actually a little fond of him. But she wasn't a fool, either, and she didn't much like dying, so she kept her distance. She kept out of his way. She didn't ignite that temper that she knew flared right beneath the surface, that she knew could crush her in a second, that she knew wouldn't stop to wound her in any way it possibly could.
It was too bad that this Lucrecia was fairly oblivious to all of that.
And she really didn't suspect that Yazoo was lying to her, either, when she set out into the cold, when she wove her way through the city streets to reach the steps of the church. Why would he lie, after all, about something like that? It didn't click, and it didn't make sense, and maybe it unnerved her a little bit that he looked so much like Sephiroth, but she was curious, as any person would be. She was curious, and she wanted to know who, exactly, he was, and what had happened, and why everything felt a little bit stranger than it should have, and why--
She just wanted to know why, really. And she wouldn't get her answers, of course, but she didn't know that.
Dark hair fell long and smooth over her shoulders, let down from its usual style, as she pushed her way up the steps, pausing at the door to let her fingers linger over the cool metal of the handle. One second to hesitate, to wonder silently at the sudden twist in her stomach that told her this is a bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea, to shrug away the tiny shiver that shuddered down her spine. One second to hesitate, and then she tugged the door open and slid inside, letting it shut behind her with a heavy thud.
She paused for another moment, to let bright eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, before she moved forward a step, feet shuffling along the concrete beneath her.
"... Hello~?"