I'm meeellllttinngg....
Glah, its hot, its dry, its almost 90 in the SHADE! Damn I love ice, I've been pretty much downstairs all day. Fortunately its cooling off so I'm aiming to get some Wutaiverse work done *crosses fingers for a monday posting*
Anyway, for those still conscious after a day of basting I give you the latest chunk of Wutaiverse.
Title: 1985 - 09 - Long Months
Author: Scrolls
Rating: PG-13?
Fandom/Pairing: FF7/None (eventual Aeris/Cloud/Sephiroth/Zack)
Disclaimer: SqaureEnix Owns, I'm just having some fun.
Notes: The end of the Tifa Arc
Summary: What if Momma Strife had taken Cloud and Aeris and gone to Wutai?
Constructive criticism will be hugged while flames will be used to line the bunny hutch.
Enjoy Ladies and Gentlemen.
1985 - 09 - Long Months
White on her arm, leg, wrapped around her head and chest. White that made her long to scratch and twitch and wiggle. White that tucked away the pain and fogged the world.
Her eyes closed. Her eyes opened. Sometimes someone was there, sometimes she was alone. Soup, heavy with broth was coaxed down her throat. Gentle hands changed the white-now stained berry red and darker-bringing back the pain and putting new on to banish it away. Soothing voices lulled her eyes shut when they stayed open too long.
Every time she opened her eyes the world shifted. Mostly it was the grannies sitting by her bed, knitting or sewing, sometimes one of the pregnant women, other Zangan sat beside her bed, reading a book or writing a letter.
Only once did she open her eyes to see her father, and he’s arguing with Zangan, voices echoing like a distant avalanche.
A few times later Zangan and a stranger stood by her bed. Again their voices crash around in her ears, and every time she thinks she understands, the meaning slips her grasp. When her eyes open next the stranger stands next to her bed, right arm outstretched. Yellow and green glowed from his hand but never mixed. She blinked and the left was over her now, it too glowed, green within green, the colors of magic and new leaves after a long winter. Green that grew like a mist, that sank down until it touched her, poured into her, made everything SCREEM.
She slept. A long slow dream that would only be remembered as the feeling that a hurt inside her had been eased, that she had let go of something, and that what had left had given to her in return.
Finally she woke. Everything seemed clearer, brighter, as if she had gone for months with heavy storm clouds overhead and now she was looking up to find a sky so clear and deep and blue it hurt. Zangan was waiting for her. And when he knew she was awake and saw him and knew him he fetched one of the grannies to take her to the bathroom. After he helped her drink some soup while he talked. About her mother, about her and the mountain, her recovery, her father, about how strong she was, and that if she wanted, he would help her become stronger.
When she tried to think back, her memories were a jumble of tidbits and sounds-redblackpainscreams-the feeling that she was being chased-wanttobefound-don’twanttobefound-IwanttobeFOUND. Fangs flying at her-redredred…
It made her so dizzy she had to sit down, and often her head would ache for days after. Eventually she stopped trying. In her own way Tifa accepted what had happened to her, her mother death, her father’s absence, her injuries, and the long slow recovery.
Feet shoulder-width apart, hands together like in prayer just below her breasts. Raise hands to the sky, step back with left foot, hands into fists and brought to rest palm up just under her ribs.
Many people whispered about how much attention Zangan gave her. Only those few who were brave enough concerned enough or just contrary enough asked him why. Each time he replied with the same phrase.
“Children are meant to dance, and no matter how much it hurts, we should help them to do so.”
High kick, middle kick, low kick, sweep kick, with her left foot, end with turning the sweep into a stance and repeat with her right foot.
Most didn’t get it, but a handful did and they whispered no more, just commented on how quickly she recovered, how healthy she seemed.
Right foot out in front, sweep behind and up as she leaned her upper body forward, continue the turn until her foot came to rest behind her left heel. Repeat two times then switch to the left.
As for Tifa…Tifa didn’t get it. She figured she would, someday. But for now she just concentrated on getting the third kick kata correct.
Stay cool ladies and gentlemen. As for me I'm off to find more ice.
Later.
Anyway, for those still conscious after a day of basting I give you the latest chunk of Wutaiverse.
Title: 1985 - 09 - Long Months
Author: Scrolls
Rating: PG-13?
Fandom/Pairing: FF7/None (eventual Aeris/Cloud/Sephiroth/Zack)
Disclaimer: SqaureEnix Owns, I'm just having some fun.
Notes: The end of the Tifa Arc
Summary: What if Momma Strife had taken Cloud and Aeris and gone to Wutai?
Constructive criticism will be hugged while flames will be used to line the bunny hutch.
Enjoy Ladies and Gentlemen.
1985 - 09 - Long Months
White on her arm, leg, wrapped around her head and chest. White that made her long to scratch and twitch and wiggle. White that tucked away the pain and fogged the world.
Her eyes closed. Her eyes opened. Sometimes someone was there, sometimes she was alone. Soup, heavy with broth was coaxed down her throat. Gentle hands changed the white-now stained berry red and darker-bringing back the pain and putting new on to banish it away. Soothing voices lulled her eyes shut when they stayed open too long.
Every time she opened her eyes the world shifted. Mostly it was the grannies sitting by her bed, knitting or sewing, sometimes one of the pregnant women, other Zangan sat beside her bed, reading a book or writing a letter.
Only once did she open her eyes to see her father, and he’s arguing with Zangan, voices echoing like a distant avalanche.
A few times later Zangan and a stranger stood by her bed. Again their voices crash around in her ears, and every time she thinks she understands, the meaning slips her grasp. When her eyes open next the stranger stands next to her bed, right arm outstretched. Yellow and green glowed from his hand but never mixed. She blinked and the left was over her now, it too glowed, green within green, the colors of magic and new leaves after a long winter. Green that grew like a mist, that sank down until it touched her, poured into her, made everything SCREEM.
She slept. A long slow dream that would only be remembered as the feeling that a hurt inside her had been eased, that she had let go of something, and that what had left had given to her in return.
Finally she woke. Everything seemed clearer, brighter, as if she had gone for months with heavy storm clouds overhead and now she was looking up to find a sky so clear and deep and blue it hurt. Zangan was waiting for her. And when he knew she was awake and saw him and knew him he fetched one of the grannies to take her to the bathroom. After he helped her drink some soup while he talked. About her mother, about her and the mountain, her recovery, her father, about how strong she was, and that if she wanted, he would help her become stronger.
When she tried to think back, her memories were a jumble of tidbits and sounds-redblackpainscreams-the feeling that she was being chased-wanttobefound-don’twanttobefound-IwanttobeFOUND. Fangs flying at her-redredred…
It made her so dizzy she had to sit down, and often her head would ache for days after. Eventually she stopped trying. In her own way Tifa accepted what had happened to her, her mother death, her father’s absence, her injuries, and the long slow recovery.
Feet shoulder-width apart, hands together like in prayer just below her breasts. Raise hands to the sky, step back with left foot, hands into fists and brought to rest palm up just under her ribs.
Many people whispered about how much attention Zangan gave her. Only those few who were brave enough concerned enough or just contrary enough asked him why. Each time he replied with the same phrase.
“Children are meant to dance, and no matter how much it hurts, we should help them to do so.”
High kick, middle kick, low kick, sweep kick, with her left foot, end with turning the sweep into a stance and repeat with her right foot.
Most didn’t get it, but a handful did and they whispered no more, just commented on how quickly she recovered, how healthy she seemed.
Right foot out in front, sweep behind and up as she leaned her upper body forward, continue the turn until her foot came to rest behind her left heel. Repeat two times then switch to the left.
As for Tifa…Tifa didn’t get it. She figured she would, someday. But for now she just concentrated on getting the third kick kata correct.
Stay cool ladies and gentlemen. As for me I'm off to find more ice.
Later.