Souvenir Shopping [Traverse Town, open]

[signalcrossed]

'odd,' he thought simply. Aloud he said, "Lets see just what you have found, my dear Stream, err...River."She turned back to him for a small moment, her uncertain expression making her seem far younger than her teenage years. River stepped to the door and pushed it forward, away from his hand, then stepped into the musty scent and dim light of the

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[madkefka]

Kefka was slightly taken aback that the girl would just go by him, and he followed with a disgruntled expression on his face. The inside was far too musty, and Kefka was pretty sure that any item that was in this pawnshop for too long was sure to grow mold on it.

'why exactly do all pawn shops look alike?' he pondered as he looked around the room. His eyes and senses found the object of his desire just as the girl pointed out with her words the existance of the sword

[signalcrossed]

As panic gripped the man his mind broke open, pouring memories into ether as he fought for the strength to cry for help.

He thought of a sport in summertime, somthing she had never played. As a child, green grass and blue sky, chasing a red ball, skin slick with sweat and laughter. His first job on this world, cleaning the pawnshop for the elderly owner. He'd been so proud. River smiled. Above her, the man gasped and struggled for the words to beg for mercy, but she could not hear him over the beauty of his memories. A dog, scraggly small animal that he'd smuggled aboard the refugee ship when he was twelve. Marie, tanned and slender in a white dress, now wandering the shops in search of food for dinner. She was pregnant. They hadn't told anyone yet.

River's eyes were focused on something far away, and her body remained still as the room grew orange and wet with fire.

[madkefka]

Kefka, of course, had no access in such a simple manner to these memories. Guilt was, of course, an alien concept to Kefka now, and so he felt none; only the dark, burning triumph within that the snuffing of an insignificant life gave to the coiled vileness within him

[signalcrossed]

The man's shrieking had produced no reaction in River: after all, screams were just sounds, vibrations of atoms. But when his screaming stopped, when the memories stopped, everything stopped.

The room was no longer the pawnshop. It was no longer any room. It was the empty space that had hit like a tsunami when the screaming stopped, wiping out existence and pulling the refuse into an endless sea. River felt nothing, saw nothing, and understood nothing except that something was being torn away.

She did not see Kefka's movements. She'd pulled into a corner, her body folded into itself as sharply as a newly-written letter. Her head tucked between her knees, arms over her head, eyes wide but seeing nothing.

Seconds after the man had fallen to silent ash, the screaming resumed. This time, it had a different source.

[madkefka]

Certain he had at least gotten some modricom of her attention - if it could be called that - Kefka sent a small sliver of power accross the divide between them, a tendril of energy that carried not words, but emotions.

entreating.
calm.
amusument.
impatience.

After several moments, Kefka finally allowed the strain of the silence to dissapate, and all manner of sounds returned to the room: clocks ticking, floor boards creaking, wood sckritching.

"Are you quite finished with your panic attack, my dear?" Kefka asked in an amused tone with that same hint of impatience.

[signalcrossed]

In the psychic darkness left by death, the man's emotions were a beacon. For moments, the room held only them. She was still submerged but the light was growing stronger, and in time her body regained feeling. Skin cold, the man's hands warm against her head. When the sound returned, the surface broke.

Her eyes opened, meeting his with an expression that echoed the nothingness she'd nearly drowned in. The smell of smoke didn't bother her; River had had no personal feelings for the man, and the sutures across her neurological heart had excised her idea of ethics. "I thought it would be like drowning," she said, her eyes not leaving his, "but it's actually like becoming the sea."

[madkefka]

Those eyes were...sad, almost. In a haunting way that spoke epics of horrors. Kefka could only give a wry grin at her words.

"Once again, River, your meaning is as clear as a clogged drain."

He stood, looking around the room. Soul Eater still hung in the air, waiting, and Kefka's hand was beginning to ache a bit. The bleeding had slowed, but he supposed he should do something about it. He walked over to the counter and leaned over it, finally spotting a cleaning rag, which he grabbed and ripped, tying the shreds around his left hand and knotting them.

"As for drowning, i can't say it would be all that fun. And i'm almost positive the sea gets rather bored. Best to stay as you are, no?" he continued, the utter seriousness of his tone reflecting his continual amusement.

After several moments, Keka reclaimed Soul Eater, gazing at it intently, thoughts moving like quicksilver over one another. "Sometimes," he muttered crossly, "i belive this boy was born to torment me. Now...where are you my Lord?"

[signalcrossed]

"Better to stay," she repeated, slowly collecting her feet beneath her and walking to the man. "But the sea..."

Her words drifted away as she stared at the sword held by the man. River's fingers reached out to touch the smooth surface and the object memory unfolded, revealing more than the overwhelming sense of darkness that surrounded the weapon. Pride, shame. Violence and penitence. The emotions of the sword's owner coated it like blood. "Riku," she whispered, and pulled her hand away.