[not really sure what to put here...]
Characters: Cloud Strife, Zack Fair and Squall Leonheart
Content: Cloud arrives in Paixao, only... younger???
Setting: Vanaheim Gate.
Time: Afternoon
Warnings: N/A
Cloud slowly eased himself into a sitting position, rubbing his aching tailbone. That hurt… He wasn’t sure what had set off his sergeant in the first place, but their impromptu patrolling duty had turned into a disastrous event as soon as they were attacked by monsters in the outskirts of Midgar.
He didn’t recall much; just that he was leading the monsters away from his platoon so they could regroup and attack - just because he was small and fast and then there was a… there was another monster that slammed into his back and now he was…
“Where am I?” He wondered, glancing about the strange place he’d suddenly found himself in. This was neither the outskirts nor even Midgar, in the off-chance that he’d fainted and had to be carried back to HQ. It was quite the opposite, really. The floor he stood on was not the gravelly surface he’d expected to land on but rather on beautiful marble tiles. He looked up and stared at the strange domed ceiling he first mistook as the natural sky until he realized it was merely an artful painting.
In fact, a lot of the things here were fake. Cloud frowned, crouching down to touch a potted plant, the petals hard and cold against his fingers. They weren’t even the usual synthetic fake plants. They were made of glass.
Disturbed already, he looked around, spotting a short line of people by a gate of ... fruitful trees made of inorganic material. He stood, dusting off his knees and jogged over, relieved that he wasn’t alone.
“Excuse me,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard. “I’d like to ask where we…” he trailed off as many sets of blue eyes bore into his own, all in an eerie, similar shade. “…are.” He swallowed, unnerved by how every one of them looked so pale, all with pale blond hair - even paler than his own features. Their clothes were also different, and he didn’t know how any of them could even breathe in them.
Then the whispers started up and he cringed away, hearing their words with uncanny hearing trained by years and years of similar regard. It was the same in Nibelheim, the same in ShinRa and it was the same here.
Wherever ‘here’ was.
The last thing he’d heard from the suddenly hushed group was the word “traveler” and then he was grabbed and pushed to the front of the line, staring up a man so eerily like the others and gave his name upon being questioned. Not too long after, he was inside the gates with an armful of pamphlets and an electric journal he knew he couldn’t buy with his meager salary.
And he was so, so confused.
Content: Cloud arrives in Paixao, only... younger???
Setting: Vanaheim Gate.
Time: Afternoon
Warnings: N/A
Cloud slowly eased himself into a sitting position, rubbing his aching tailbone. That hurt… He wasn’t sure what had set off his sergeant in the first place, but their impromptu patrolling duty had turned into a disastrous event as soon as they were attacked by monsters in the outskirts of Midgar.
He didn’t recall much; just that he was leading the monsters away from his platoon so they could regroup and attack - just because he was small and fast and then there was a… there was another monster that slammed into his back and now he was…
“Where am I?” He wondered, glancing about the strange place he’d suddenly found himself in. This was neither the outskirts nor even Midgar, in the off-chance that he’d fainted and had to be carried back to HQ. It was quite the opposite, really. The floor he stood on was not the gravelly surface he’d expected to land on but rather on beautiful marble tiles. He looked up and stared at the strange domed ceiling he first mistook as the natural sky until he realized it was merely an artful painting.
In fact, a lot of the things here were fake. Cloud frowned, crouching down to touch a potted plant, the petals hard and cold against his fingers. They weren’t even the usual synthetic fake plants. They were made of glass.
Disturbed already, he looked around, spotting a short line of people by a gate of ... fruitful trees made of inorganic material. He stood, dusting off his knees and jogged over, relieved that he wasn’t alone.
“Excuse me,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard. “I’d like to ask where we…” he trailed off as many sets of blue eyes bore into his own, all in an eerie, similar shade. “…are.” He swallowed, unnerved by how every one of them looked so pale, all with pale blond hair - even paler than his own features. Their clothes were also different, and he didn’t know how any of them could even breathe in them.
Then the whispers started up and he cringed away, hearing their words with uncanny hearing trained by years and years of similar regard. It was the same in Nibelheim, the same in ShinRa and it was the same here.
Wherever ‘here’ was.
The last thing he’d heard from the suddenly hushed group was the word “traveler” and then he was grabbed and pushed to the front of the line, staring up a man so eerily like the others and gave his name upon being questioned. Not too long after, he was inside the gates with an armful of pamphlets and an electric journal he knew he couldn’t buy with his meager salary.
And he was so, so confused.