[CLOSED]
Characters: Aerith and Zack, Tseng and Vincent
Where: A garden behind the Casualty Communals
Rating: PG-13 for sure now.
Time: August 9th, Monday night
Description: Aerith and Zack have a date. Tseng's escorting Zack, and Vincent's just there to talk to Tseng.
It was thirty-something degrees. He had never pretended, never tried to like the weather here. Now he had even less of a reason to like it: He couldn't wear his cape. It was known fact among his acquaintances that he was attached to that red, ragged thing. It wasn't a fashion statement.
Vincent leant against a lamppost, with the cool metal touching the back of his head and providing some amount of relief from the heat.
Then why was he so attached to it? He honestly had no idea. Sentimental, he was not.
The pointed tips of his gauntlet tapped against his arm as he waited, gaze wandering from one place to another.
In any case, this place was not as bad he made it out to be. For one, he could hear himself think. It had been too many years It had been far too long since he could last think without five clamouring voices giving their opinions that he didn’t want to here. Second, he was more or less free to move about wherever he wanted. This place was looking up.
Not that he still hadn’t quite forgiven the people for yanking him in an untimely fashion. Leaving a battle unfinished was a disgrace. He believed that that only time you left a battle was either 1) you were the only standing, 2) you and your colleagues were left, or 3) you were dead.
Well, they do say old habits die hard.
Crimson eyes flickered briefly.
He was all but a Turk in name. The way he moved, the way he fought, the way he spoke, and the way he thought-it was all from that training.
What was it that Rufus had said while he was here-?
“I know how that training shapes people.”
“The Turks are what they always have been. I doubt you would have taken the time to rescue Tseng and Elena if they were not.”
As much as he hated to admit it, especially with those words coming from Rufus, that was true. Once you became part of the Turks, you were inherently part of them. He would not go so far as to say he was going to die as a Turk, but much of what he still did reflected the things embedded into his routine of doing this.
He shook himself a little, snorting and dipping his head. All right, perhaps not having his demons around wasn’t the best thing; it left him too much room to think.
Footsteps in the distance brought him out of his reverie, and he straightened up, eyes roving toward the direction of the sound. A slight frown appeared on his face he took note of more than one set of footsteps.
Tseng…and someone else?
He watched as they approached, waiting for the right time to speak.
[I hope this isn’t late. My bloody browser failed on me just as I tried to post and I had to retype the entire thing...and ended up changing things -.- Thanks, Firefox, I love you too.]
Where: A garden behind the Casualty Communals
Rating: PG-13 for sure now.
Time: August 9th, Monday night
Description: Aerith and Zack have a date. Tseng's escorting Zack, and Vincent's just there to talk to Tseng.
It was thirty-something degrees. He had never pretended, never tried to like the weather here. Now he had even less of a reason to like it: He couldn't wear his cape. It was known fact among his acquaintances that he was attached to that red, ragged thing. It wasn't a fashion statement.
Vincent leant against a lamppost, with the cool metal touching the back of his head and providing some amount of relief from the heat.
Then why was he so attached to it? He honestly had no idea. Sentimental, he was not.
The pointed tips of his gauntlet tapped against his arm as he waited, gaze wandering from one place to another.
In any case, this place was not as bad he made it out to be. For one, he could hear himself think. It had been too many years It had been far too long since he could last think without five clamouring voices giving their opinions that he didn’t want to here. Second, he was more or less free to move about wherever he wanted. This place was looking up.
Not that he still hadn’t quite forgiven the people for yanking him in an untimely fashion. Leaving a battle unfinished was a disgrace. He believed that that only time you left a battle was either 1) you were the only standing, 2) you and your colleagues were left, or 3) you were dead.
Well, they do say old habits die hard.
Crimson eyes flickered briefly.
He was all but a Turk in name. The way he moved, the way he fought, the way he spoke, and the way he thought-it was all from that training.
What was it that Rufus had said while he was here-?
“I know how that training shapes people.”
“The Turks are what they always have been. I doubt you would have taken the time to rescue Tseng and Elena if they were not.”
As much as he hated to admit it, especially with those words coming from Rufus, that was true. Once you became part of the Turks, you were inherently part of them. He would not go so far as to say he was going to die as a Turk, but much of what he still did reflected the things embedded into his routine of doing this.
He shook himself a little, snorting and dipping his head. All right, perhaps not having his demons around wasn’t the best thing; it left him too much room to think.
Footsteps in the distance brought him out of his reverie, and he straightened up, eyes roving toward the direction of the sound. A slight frown appeared on his face he took note of more than one set of footsteps.
Tseng…and someone else?
He watched as they approached, waiting for the right time to speak.
[I hope this isn’t late. My bloody browser failed on me just as I tried to post and I had to retype the entire thing...and ended up changing things -.- Thanks, Firefox, I love you too.]