Their Allotments of Reality (FF7: DoC [PG])
Title: Their Allotments of Reality
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus
Rating: PG
Characters: Rosso, Nero
Summary: Shutter rails, the plastic bent and broken, hang limply from the second picture window, light weakly filtering in through the gaps.
The diner is dark; faint lines from the street lights outside pour in, staining the floor. The large picture window is broken and the sound of rain filters in, white noise in the silence of Edge. Opening the door--the bells attached to the inner handle jingle, call for service that will never come--she steps around the broken table pieces and glass shards, unwilling to make more sound than her breath, her heartbeat and her brutal heels on the black-and-white checkered floor.
To her left is an overturned table. Silverware and napkins embellish the floor. A still hand reaches out limply from behind the trailing table cloth. Shutter rails, the plastic bent and broken, hang limply from the second picture window, light weakly filtering in through the gaps. A child's cap is trapped beneath an overturned coat rack.
This is his doing.
To her right little is any better, everything touched, everything quietly ruined. She walks further into the diner, shadow preceding her in a long, dark stripe. She finds him in a booth, awkwardly perched, shoes on the vinyl seat, face staring out over his raised knees. One mechanical claw daintily holds a fork in a twisted imitation of humanity as the other holds the mouth strap away from his face. Slowly, chastely, he samples the tiny square of sandwich on the fork. The booth seat behind him bears slashes from the tips of his 'wings'; it must have taken some time to come to a comfortable seating arrangement.
"Hn...hungry?" Rosso asks and in truth it fascinates her to watch Nero eat, perched like a bird and just as awkward. He takes no heed of her, claw picking a slice of tomato from the layers of the sandwich to be discarded. "Did you get it?" He asks once he's satisfied with his work.
He knows she doesn't have it, didn't get it. She would have given it to him already if she had. She'd glow, she'd hold out her bloody hands and laugh till she cried and fell to the floor gasping for breath. No she does not have it. The Proto-Materia. "No, but he is around," she says vaguely. Laughter spills from her lips. She punched him through a wall. It was amusing. Until he transformed into Chaos. Then it was thrilling.
"Three days," Nero whispers in his shadowy voice. Three days. That's all the time Weiss has promised to give them for their fun. And then the world will end. She doesn’t mind. He doesn't mind.
Hail Weiss.