Quiet (FF7:DoC [PG])
Title: Quiet
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus
Rating: PG
Characters: Rosso, WRO Personnel
Summary: Silent. Almost. Just her soft breath, in, and out. In. Out.
It is quiet.
No, no, please! No!
Silent. Almost. Just her soft breath, in, and out. In. Out.
Oh God! Oh God, oh god. This isn’t-! Oh Godohgodohgodoh…
The warehouse fans beat reverently. A monotonous sound of whirling motion, blades cutting lazily through the air. A hushed sound.
Don’t! Stop! You can’t-! Don’t do it!
Just two sounds weaving in and out of each other mark the pulse of time within the building’s walls. Nothing more than oxygen being shoved one way or another. A metal rattle every two point eighty-five seconds from one fan screwed in a little too loosely.
Who are you?! What are you?!
Her heart beats to the silence, another sound, smothered by her soft breath and the rush of fans. Nothing speaks in the warehouse. Not footsteps, not fidgets, not sighs. Silence. Almost.
They’re-! They’re-! Monster! Monster!
In all the quiet she sits and her seat is the most silent of everything within the warehouse. Quieter than the wooden boxes, than the dust, than the very floor and walls. Her throne of dead WRO personnel is quieter than the weak moonlight filtering in from an unseen window. The turning fans try to accommodate this.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus
Rating: PG
Characters: Rosso, WRO Personnel
Summary: Silent. Almost. Just her soft breath, in, and out. In. Out.
It is quiet.
No, no, please! No!
Silent. Almost. Just her soft breath, in, and out. In. Out.
Oh God! Oh God, oh god. This isn’t-! Oh Godohgodohgodoh…
The warehouse fans beat reverently. A monotonous sound of whirling motion, blades cutting lazily through the air. A hushed sound.
Don’t! Stop! You can’t-! Don’t do it!
Just two sounds weaving in and out of each other mark the pulse of time within the building’s walls. Nothing more than oxygen being shoved one way or another. A metal rattle every two point eighty-five seconds from one fan screwed in a little too loosely.
Who are you?! What are you?!
Her heart beats to the silence, another sound, smothered by her soft breath and the rush of fans. Nothing speaks in the warehouse. Not footsteps, not fidgets, not sighs. Silence. Almost.
They’re-! They’re-! Monster! Monster!
In all the quiet she sits and her seat is the most silent of everything within the warehouse. Quieter than the wooden boxes, than the dust, than the very floor and walls. Her throne of dead WRO personnel is quieter than the weak moonlight filtering in from an unseen window. The turning fans try to accommodate this.