(no subject)
Who: Elfé & Sephiroth
When: Early morning, shortly after Sephiroth goes out.
Location: Sephiroth's Shack Midgar Ruins
Rating: PG-13 (for 'violence', though for these two it might as well be 'play'.)
Summary: Elfé goes scavanging in empty houses for supplies, and picks the wrong one.
Three days.
Everything that she had crammed into her rucksack, strapped to and towed from the back of her bike, had been unsparingly wolfed down in just three days. Elfé didn't claim to be a light eater herself, but she had been fairly sure the rations she'd brought would've lasted at least one week.
She was obviously wrong.
Elfé had slipped out quietly that morning, not wishing to disturb Shera's rest as she left in search of breakfast. Freya was running low on fuel, and its owner short on gil, so by process of elimination she deduced it was most economical to look nearby for canned goods. (Many of the desolate houses were a surprisingly good source of such preserved foods.)
Her rucksack was half-full (or perhaps half-empty, not that it really mattered to the girl) by the time she unknowingly stumbled across Sephiroth's unattended abode. There wasn't much to look at, other than the filthiest mattress she'd ever laid eyes on, a few scraps of leftovers nearby, a leather garb carelessly strewn across what remained of the floor.
The ex-AVALANCHE went into a crouch to inspect the food--not that Elfé was going to take it, but if it wasn't spoiled, it meant somebody was still residing there, and that it would be best for her to take her leave. Indeed, there was no mold to be detected, and so she stood up to make her exit.
Too late.
Her ears--as fine-tuned as they had been years ago--picked up on approaching movement, and she was immediately facing in its direction, katana unsheathed and stance defensive.
When: Early morning, shortly after Sephiroth goes out.
Location: Sephiroth's Shack Midgar Ruins
Rating: PG-13 (for 'violence', though for these two it might as well be 'play'.)
Summary: Elfé goes scavanging in empty houses for supplies, and picks the wrong one.
Three days.
Everything that she had crammed into her rucksack, strapped to and towed from the back of her bike, had been unsparingly wolfed down in just three days. Elfé didn't claim to be a light eater herself, but she had been fairly sure the rations she'd brought would've lasted at least one week.
She was obviously wrong.
Elfé had slipped out quietly that morning, not wishing to disturb Shera's rest as she left in search of breakfast. Freya was running low on fuel, and its owner short on gil, so by process of elimination she deduced it was most economical to look nearby for canned goods. (Many of the desolate houses were a surprisingly good source of such preserved foods.)
Her rucksack was half-full (or perhaps half-empty, not that it really mattered to the girl) by the time she unknowingly stumbled across Sephiroth's unattended abode. There wasn't much to look at, other than the filthiest mattress she'd ever laid eyes on, a few scraps of leftovers nearby, a leather garb carelessly strewn across what remained of the floor.
The ex-AVALANCHE went into a crouch to inspect the food--not that Elfé was going to take it, but if it wasn't spoiled, it meant somebody was still residing there, and that it would be best for her to take her leave. Indeed, there was no mold to be detected, and so she stood up to make her exit.
Too late.
Her ears--as fine-tuned as they had been years ago--picked up on approaching movement, and she was immediately facing in its direction, katana unsheathed and stance defensive.