With fiery truth
WHO: Cid Kramer | guidesthegarden ; closed
LOCATION: Headmaster's Tower
WEEK: 55
TIME: Saturday evening
WHAT: Fear taking its toll on the Headmaster
RATING: PG/PG-13
When he had felt the first, telltale grip of adrenaline around his chest, Cid had stepped from the halls into his private tower, ascending the staircase and shutting the door behind him. He exhaled, aware of the perspiration that was beading at his hairline and threatening to trickle down his face, the shivers that were collecting at the base of his spine.
This could not go on. So much chaos in the school, it would be terrible to allow the staff, the students moreso, to see him in this state. No. “Come on, Cid old man,” he muttered to himself, claiming the seat behind his desk. “Pull yourself together.”
Dread was pooling in his veins. He remained in his seat, battling for control of himself, pinching the bridge of his nose while his glasses rested on the desk.
From there, the world peeled away like the skin of an apple, a slow and drawn out spiral, falling away from a knife. Cid massaged his temples, summoning up the mental shields that had been worn down by days of fearsome onslaught. Just keep going, Cid. That's the ticket. Keeps soldiering on and we can fix this up, right as rain.
His own voice was joined by a soft laugh, and the circular patterns of his fingers stilled. “Edea?” He looked up. Where his office was been, now there was an empty void. A nothing world. And in the middle was Edea, the dark hair that usually fell freely pulled back tightly and rising in ornate decorations, twisting around ornate filigree.
“No, Edea,” he offered, softly, slowly rising from his chair. This wasn't possible. This was exactly impossible, he was sure.
Cid froze as impossible long, dangerous fingers stretched out to greet him, frost spreading in delicate patterns from the palm of her hand. This was not Edea, not his Edea; it was Edea as Ultimecia's tool, her weapon. Within himself, Cid could feel his resolve crumbling. To face Edea in battle, he knew it was impossible; he could not kill the woman he'd sworn to love, to honour, to protect. He could not punish her own innocence for the crimes she was carrying out as a puppet.
She remained silent, and so did Cid, simply watching as the ice formed a crystal lance. Her eyes were impassive. “Edea, stop,” but she did not, and in a slow arch her hand moved back, and snapped forward to direct the crystal's path.
Collapsed in his chair, Cid's head fell back. Sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging to his body. His breath came heavily and his throat bobbed in a choked swallow. One hand rested over his abdomen, but the relief at the lack of pain there lost out to the agony in his other hand. Pierced through, it almost looked like. He shut his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to drive away the pain.
“Have more faith,” Cid reprimanded himself, drawing his wand from his pocket. He was hardly a knight if he could not protect his lady, after all. He set to healing the wound as quickly as he could (not very), a patch up job before he would bother the medical staff with it.
The students first. He and all the others must protect the students first.
LOCATION: Headmaster's Tower
WEEK: 55
TIME: Saturday evening
WHAT: Fear taking its toll on the Headmaster
RATING: PG/PG-13
When he had felt the first, telltale grip of adrenaline around his chest, Cid had stepped from the halls into his private tower, ascending the staircase and shutting the door behind him. He exhaled, aware of the perspiration that was beading at his hairline and threatening to trickle down his face, the shivers that were collecting at the base of his spine.
This could not go on. So much chaos in the school, it would be terrible to allow the staff, the students moreso, to see him in this state. No. “Come on, Cid old man,” he muttered to himself, claiming the seat behind his desk. “Pull yourself together.”
Dread was pooling in his veins. He remained in his seat, battling for control of himself, pinching the bridge of his nose while his glasses rested on the desk.
From there, the world peeled away like the skin of an apple, a slow and drawn out spiral, falling away from a knife. Cid massaged his temples, summoning up the mental shields that had been worn down by days of fearsome onslaught. Just keep going, Cid. That's the ticket. Keeps soldiering on and we can fix this up, right as rain.
His own voice was joined by a soft laugh, and the circular patterns of his fingers stilled. “Edea?” He looked up. Where his office was been, now there was an empty void. A nothing world. And in the middle was Edea, the dark hair that usually fell freely pulled back tightly and rising in ornate decorations, twisting around ornate filigree.
“No, Edea,” he offered, softly, slowly rising from his chair. This wasn't possible. This was exactly impossible, he was sure.
Cid froze as impossible long, dangerous fingers stretched out to greet him, frost spreading in delicate patterns from the palm of her hand. This was not Edea, not his Edea; it was Edea as Ultimecia's tool, her weapon. Within himself, Cid could feel his resolve crumbling. To face Edea in battle, he knew it was impossible; he could not kill the woman he'd sworn to love, to honour, to protect. He could not punish her own innocence for the crimes she was carrying out as a puppet.
She remained silent, and so did Cid, simply watching as the ice formed a crystal lance. Her eyes were impassive. “Edea, stop,” but she did not, and in a slow arch her hand moved back, and snapped forward to direct the crystal's path.
Collapsed in his chair, Cid's head fell back. Sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging to his body. His breath came heavily and his throat bobbed in a choked swallow. One hand rested over his abdomen, but the relief at the lack of pain there lost out to the agony in his other hand. Pierced through, it almost looked like. He shut his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to drive away the pain.
“Have more faith,” Cid reprimanded himself, drawing his wand from his pocket. He was hardly a knight if he could not protect his lady, after all. He set to healing the wound as quickly as he could (not very), a patch up job before he would bother the medical staff with it.
The students first. He and all the others must protect the students first.