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Choice A - Fisherman's Horizon
[For someone who isn't exactly used to setting foot in a town and having people actually stroll by - sometimes waving or offering a smile, other times a crotchety old glare and a mutter about "kids these days" - this place is rather unsettling for a kid who'd almost, bitter as it was, gotten accustomed to pretty much ( Read more... )
[For someone who isn't exactly used to setting foot in a town and having people actually stroll by - sometimes waving or offering a smile, other times a crotchety old glare and a mutter about "kids these days" - this place is rather unsettling for a kid who'd almost, bitter as it was, gotten accustomed to pretty much ( Read more... )
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Not to mention the whole issue with her name being written on the schedule like that - a name he wouldn't have even known hours ago if it weren't for that ill-natured illusion that called her out before his arrival here. If she'd kept that aspect of herself so carefully guarded, why would she leave it lying in plain sight?
Or is this all a coincidence?
Drawing in a deep breath, Hope takes a few steps toward her. The way she seems practically covered head to foot seems strange and bewildering as well, and he doesn't even think to conceal his own concentrated expression as he approaches.]
Um... [He stops a few feet from where she's adjusting the window blinds, chewing his lip a little as he peers up into her face.] ...Lightning...?
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She's--
[ All that, but what she really wasn't expecting was to see Hope Estheim talking to her, from only a short distance away. She stares at him blankly, as if he was a chocobo that suddenly chose to reveal it could talk. After all, the boy had done a pretty good job avoiding her so far, and her him, after that first encounter a few months beforehand. A good explanation for why she didn't recognize his voice at first, but something that makes this quite baffling when it's taken into consideration.
Her eyes narrow to go with the frown that quickly spreads across her face, gaze falling downward from his face to study the boy in entirety. ]
Why are you here?
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Hope glances down at himself, then takes another couple of steps forward. She's probably talking like that because he's in his uniform, and therefore mistaken for one of the other students in this place. His plan to blend in until he figured this situation all out apparently worked a little too well. A little chuckle escapes him, a bit of a smile forming on his face.]
Don't worry, it's just me. Hope.
I... I didn't want anyone else to figure me out, so I put on the uniform they gave me.
[He continues to approach her as he speaks, the relief flooding him beginning to colour his expression as well.]
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Alarm bubbles up in her at his approach, fueled by suspicion and stress. She's not a l'Cie any more, and she has no idea whether or not he's been affected by the affliction of old powers being stripped and new ones taking their place too. However, she stands her ground, every bit prepared to defend herself if necessary. His response doesn't answer her question at all, and so she simply repeats it. ]
Estheim, why are you here?
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It doesn't add up, something's not right; Lightning has never referred to him like that before. And if he's somehow completely mistaken, that this is just some sort of coincidence that a woman with her real given name would resemble who he's looking for... he never mentioned his full name in the brief exchange they just had.
Either way, something's wrong here, and it causes his insides to seize up-cold dread at the strangely familiar unfamiliar settling over him and coalescing right in the pit of his stomach.]
Wh-
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... He'd called her 'Lightning,' hadn't he?
Her eyes drift from him, to the open doorway, to her desk where the majority of her files are laying, forgoing answering his confusion as she quickly thinks to herself. ]
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When he finally does his voice is low and wavering - though the demanding, accusatory tone within his words is easy enough to detect.]
... What's going on here? Who are you?
[When she doesn't reply right away, the youth's hands curl into fists at his sides, volume kicking up a notch. He might not initially intend to snap, but he's already unsettled by everything else he's heard, witnessed and experienced today.]
Answer me!
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Instead she just gives him a Look, her eyebrows raising slightly. And then she steps aside and neatly around him, her voice taking on a much smoother quality as she walks towards her desk. She also keeps her eyes on him though, in a way that probably does very little to ease his nervousness. ]
Ah... sorry. I'm Instructor Farron. Did you just get here...?
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No. There's that one word - his surname. The way she called him that, like he was just... another random soldier or something, and not a close friend-family-it's gotten under his skin. He can't make any sense of it. Every logical turn his mind's taken ends up at that same dead end.
What is going on?]
Lightning, come on. [His voice is earnest now - though there's a slightly bitter laugh at the end. Yes, there's a lingering shred of a prayer that maybe this is just some weird joke. A really, really dry, completely stupid joke. Because he's coming up short everywhere else.] Yes, I just got here. It... it's you, right? You knew who I was... it has to be.
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But she's not Lightning-- or at least the one they know, who didn't gain the alias by attempting to kill the very teen who's watching her so closely now. As an instructor to a new cadet, typically she'd have the obligation to try and explain things, but... no, she's really not feeling it in this case. Rather than let him in on anything, she just sorts through the papers on her desk with a tight little frown instead, quiet for a few moments more until she finds what she's looking for: a list of current cadets... although one that was also printed a few days previous. ]
What's the last thing you remember?
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... Barthandelus. [It's uttered with no small measure of contempt, practically hissed through tightly-grit teeth.] And his... he pretended to be... [Hope trails off there, biting at his lip for a moment. Maybe she'd pick up on that implication there, and he wouldn't have to say it.]
We just left Oerba... remember? To protect Cocoon and stop Dysley once and for all. [Hope's face dulls into a small frown of his own: half-determined with the emotions that statement pulled back up again, and half-still-skeptical.]
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As for the rest of it... Oerba would have been a nonsense word to her, if she hadn't seen it attached to the names of the Pulsians here. However, that's really not what is important in her mind right now. Her eyes flash, and suddenly her voice is a touch lower and more dangerous-sounding- at the mention of "stopping Dysley." ]
Pretended to be what?
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Yet something about the name seems to set something off in her. He can't really fathom what that is, either, but it's enough to make him want to bolt. Hope's eyes unconsciously dart toward the exit, though he remains still in his tracks.]
Your sister Serah... and he said your name, which is how I knew that was you on the list. I... I couldn't figure out why it was listed like that, though.
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If it's true, then obviously it must have been a trick-- a trick to defeat the Pulse l'Cie somehow, though she can't comprehend why the fal'Cie would appear to them 'in-person' at all. However, this isn't even the first she's heard of it, after talking to Raines when they'd met- apparently when he'd still been trying to figure her out in comparison to her ill-fated double...
And it's listed like that because that's her name, of course. She practically bares her teeth, the more he talks, anger racing through her as if it's actually in her blood. She swallows, thickly, and whether it's actually noticeable or not, what little shadow is cast by her clothing quavers far too much for how still she's standing ( ... )
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[Hope shouldn't have reacted, and he knows this. He should have left; should have walked out when instinct told him. Perhaps it was that part of him that constantly needed to prove to himself that he was no longer someone weak. His lifespan's been drastically shortened since everything happened, and the days that preceded his arrival were spent doing nothing but running toward the very things that threatened his survival-all while learning the proper times to fall back, too. If he wanted to live ( ... )
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