finalflight | PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

burn me out, leave me on the otherside.

[In another timeline, diverged down an invisible path, the battle was long over.

The dragon’s corpse, still shining emerald green in the haze of the sun, would be pressed unmoving into the ground, its maw still gaping open, tongue lazily hanging over jagged teeth. Two clean cuts, deep into its chest, would ooze hot and coppery ribbons of blood, a color matching the hue plastered across the edge of Masamune. Zack would still have his knees ground into the dirt, hand grasping at a side as he tried to pull himself up; lucky that he’d come away with nothing more than cracked ribs, something healing magic would have to tend to soon. And in the vehicle behind them, still idling, the blond-haired infantryman — Cloud, quiet and sullen and nervous — would be watching, harried, but wise enough to keep his distance. And they would soon carry onwards to their mission to Nibelheim, undeterred.

But in this instance, this strange set of circumstances, the fight does not go so smoothly.

He doesn’t understand why, or how. This creature should be nothing, his blade should cut straight through its hide instead of only managing glancing blows that barely scrape closely-packed scales. A monster should not be this strong, no matter how permeating the Mako leak was in the surrounding area. It’s beyond unnatural, something that has him gritting his teeth beneath a twisted frown as Sephiroth rushes forward, blade flashing.

Zack’s already unconscious, a deep wound bleeding from the shoulder courtesy of the dragon’s claws, body strewn several feet away, now useless in this fight. The creature rises up on its haunches, spreading giant wings as it snarls down at the only moving target, and catches Masamune in its teeth. Sephiroth pushes; it pushes back. He hears footsteps rushing forward from behind him, staggering, panicked breaths drawing closer, and he turns his head just in time to see the infantryman closing the space between them, readying the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder. Sephiroth knows he may as well be heading straight for death.]

Stay back— [Comes the command, in a voice so used to giving them that it hides the jarring reality of the situation — that this is not good, this is unheard of, and judging what may happen from here anyone’s guess. But it’s too late, because there’s pressure clamping down on his blade, and then with a feral twist of the neck, the dragon has snapped his weapon in half with a reverberating ring.

It’s only slight, but his eyes widen. The other half of the blade topples to the ground, his gloved-grip around the hilt falters for just a second, but it’s all the time the dragon needs to lurch up with fire filling its maw.

It’s the last thing he sees, flame and writhing heat all around him, and then the world goes black.

— — — — — —

He has his face pressed into soggy sand. Hair a tangled mess, clothes damp and sticking, as the waves thinly slide over his form. And then he’s jolting awake with a start, fingers pressed into the shore, hefting himself up and immediately tensing, expecting to see fire and teeth as he cranes his neck—

And is met only with a clear blue sky, a bright shining sun, and the scent of the sea. Masamune’s two halves lay half-buried in a mound of sand, one laying flat, the other sticking straight up a short distance away. The hiss of an exhale, trying to bring himself to his feet, disoriented and maybe a little wobbly, head bowed down. (Also unheard of.)

Both confusion and frustration dance in his insides. What’s happening?]

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[ Okay, maybe this guy really did get thrown off the pier because Luka is pretty sure he’s gone off the deep end. ]

Uh.

[ That’s all he can think to say for a moment. The lack of recognition is certainly there in his expression, but so too is a whole lot of confusion. It was somewhat believable before when Sephiroth claimed to not know how he ended up on the beach – hey, head trauma happens – but to go on about another planet? ]

Nnno? This is Hydaelyn. You know, Hy-dae-lyn. [ Said slowly, as if the other man might need help with the word. ] Really, do you need to see a healer? I know a couple good ones back in the city.

[Hydaelyn. Like it's common knowledge, like he's supposed to know the name of some foreign planet he never realized existed until this moment. Hydaelyn.

The ground lurches beneath his feet for a fraction of a second, before his very willpower rights it proper. He looks at Luka with a stern, unyielding expression.]

I'm fine. I remember all too clearly everything that's happened to me up until this point. And the reality is that I don't come from a place called Hydaelyn. My planet is called Gaia, there are no people there who look like you, nor a location called the Isle of Bekko or the Ruby Sea.

[He sounds sure of this, because. Well, he is.]

I might not have an explanation for you, but I'm not lying and I'm not so disoriented that I can't tell my own... home from this one.

[ Luka is drawing all sorts of strange conclusions about the man before him during the course of the conversation. The things he says are very strange, outlandish even, and they would sound insane coming from anyone else’s mouth, but there’s such steel in that gaze, such certainly in his tone that Luka can’t help but believe him, if only a little bit.

The sharp lines of concern and confusion in his own expression smooth out somewhat, and he has his mouth half open to… well, to say something, though whether it would have eased the tone remains undiscovered, because with sharp ears he catches the sound of footsteps from the cave opening in the cliff wall behind them. A pair of kojin emerge, armed, though their blades remain sheathed for the moment.

What is the meaning of this? demands the largest of the two. Luka isn’t sure if this is a patrol that just happened upon them, or guards deliberately sent to deal with them. Best to not start anything until he’s certain. ]

[He's fair at reading people, able to get a sense of what might be brewing under any temporary facade. And Sephiroth is quickly (and worryingly) beginning to believe that the other's sense of confusion is genuine. He senses no misdirection under the searching gaze, his own sharpened one returning the favor. He awaits an explanation, anything that might help him make sense of how he's here, when they're duly interrupted.

His gaze turns to look at the... thing that speaks to them, eyes widening by small degrees. Sephiroth is often well-put together, and possesses a face that is simply well-sculpted and easy to look at -- but right now? He's an unflattering creature, strands of silver matted at strange angles across face (the curse of long bangs), and he steps forward towards the patrol.

Masamune, broken but still very sharp, shines in the light.]

You tell me.

[The tone of a commander is easy for him, stern and demanding. It's an easy role to fall into when he literally has nothing else to anchor himself to in this moment.

(They look like monsters, the sort that would appear in excess due to a Mako leak, and the kind he might've slain with his blade. Yet they speak, so they're not the same, even if such associations are not so easily swept aside.)]

[ He will eat his metaphorical hat if the kojin don’t know that he’s been camping out on this island for a few days now, but the commotion probably drew them out to see what’s actually going on. It’s probably foolish, the way he slots himself between Sephiroth and the beastmen, his back to the former with his hands held up and well-away from the katana at his own hip. ]

Easy now. This fellow just washed up on your beach and he’s a bit disoriented.

[ It’s awfully hard to read a kojin’s face, but Luka detects some skepticism in the way the two kojin exchange glances, but ultimately Sephiroth does rather look like he just washed up on shore. The broken blade in his hand is probably more telling than it is threatening at this point.

Over his shoulder to Sephiroth, Luka murmurs, ]

Those are the kojin, they live here. If you want a chance at some food, clothes, and mayhap a chance at fixing that sword, play nice, yeah?

[Unused to his commanding presence being upended and interrupted by anyone, when Luka slides in front of him — so short in comparison to him, it’s almost laughable — Sephiroth is mildly distracted by the obstruction. A gloved hand, still sopping wet, wipes across his forehead to displace annoying silver strands.]

...Fine.

[He thinks of making a dry remark centering around the word ‘mayhap’, but Sephiroth is good at keeping his sarcasm tamped down when it matters. He peers over Luka (not that it’s hard to do), with nigh unnaturally green eyes at the kojin.]

Then I suppose I’m at your disposal — and your mercy — for now.

[ Luka is used to being towered over, so the fact that his attempts to block or shield (or both) Sephiroth only marginally works is just sort of how it is. He only cares that it works, and if he’s surprised that it does, he doesn’t say as much.

With only the barest not in acknowledgement for the other man’s words, Luka turns his attention back to the kojin still lingering in the cave opening and flashes them his best smile. ]

What do you say, friends? Help a poor, shipwrecked soul get back on his feet? We’ll work for it, of course. Whatever you need.

[ Because for all that Luka needs to get across the Ruby bloody Sea, he can’t just pass this guy off to the kojin and leave him. That won’t end well for anyone. The kojin look at each other again, seeming to consider. The leader lifts a clawed, three fingered hand to where Luka can only assume its ear is, to confer with his fellows via linkpearl. At this distance, even Luka’s ears can’t pick up what’s being said but it looks as if it’s not a call for backup after all.

The kojin drops his hand, only to motion at the unlikely pair on the beach. Come with us, and he turns to head back into the cave, waiting for Luka and friend to follow. ]

For a second there I thought that wasn’t gonna work. Come on, then. Sea-drenched leather has got to be uncomfortable.

[He watches all parties carefully, his body language still, but still in the same way a taut thread is wound with tension. Though both this stranger and these "kojin" may claim to help him now, Sephiroth is not quick to offer his trust when he's at such a clear disadvantage. The hilt of his broken blade is clutched firmly in his hands, and will certainly remain there for as long as needed.

He just gives Luka an immeasurable look. It's unimpressed and not entirely grateful, but he'll concede.]

'We'll work for it'.

[He lets that settle, then turns on his heel to go retrieve the other end of Masamune. With his back to the Miqo'te, Sephiroth affords himself a frown as he lifts the broken half out of the sand. Even split, it's inordinately long for a supposed katana.]

What kind of work are you volunteering me for, in the apparent name of good will?

[ In response to that oh-so-flat tone, the Miqo’te’s eyebrows hike up a touch and he pivots easily on one booted foot in the sand to face the man ].

You can’t get something for nothing, and I don’t know about you, but I’m flat broke. I figure you must carry that blade around for a reason – [ this, as Sephiroth fishes the other half of the sword out of the sand, and Luka trails off a second, eyes darting between the two pieces of blade. Is that seriously supposed to be all one sword? ] – so running a few errands for the beastmen should be easy enough. Probably nothing more than shooing off monsters or whatever.

[ With that, Luka turns back again, hands flung behind the back of his head and fingers laced together as he marches his way towards the waiting kojin. ]

But if you’re intent on being dead weight, just try not to hold me back.

[The two pieces of his sword gleam in the sun, both of them slick with seawater and mottled with sand. He turns to face him, as unamused as before. If he’s affected by being labeled ‘dead weight’, it doesn’t show on his features, kept stoic if not continually unimpressed.]

So you plan on using me to earn yourself a bit of gil.

[Gil… do they still use gil in this place? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. He gestures at Luka with a raise of a half-blade.]

I hope you realize that isn’t a permanent solution. My priority is learning what’s happened to me, and to return home. And you can tell your friends that, if you need to.

[The kojin, he means.]

Wrong-o friend-o.

[ Since apparently they’re still having a conversation, Luka turns again, marching backwards in the sand as he addresses Sephiroth. ]

First of all, they're not my friends. They just live here.

Second of all, I’m trying to get you a leg to stand on, unless you want to go around and glare at the island in the hopes of answers. Your best bet is probably to get back to Kugane, and the kojin can ferry you there - after enough favors, of course. And there’s the matter of food and shelter in the meantime.

Me, I’m trying to get the other way, but there’s a fleet of bloody pirates in my way, so I won’t pretend I don’t get nothing out of this, either.

[He begins to move forward, boots kicking up sand from the shore as Luka carries on the conversation by walking backwards.]

And what exactly is in Kugane that would benefit me so much?

[Just another name that means nothing to him.]

And you, too, especially since your aim is the “other way”?

It’s a big city. Lots of folk come through there, including mages of every stripe. If you don’t know what happened to you, one of them might.

[ Luka doesn’t know much about magic, apart from what little bit of aether he can manipulate and imbue into his sword work. Other worlds and the people from them are far beyond his ken. ]

I’m… [ a pause, and the Miqo’te’s expression clouds over, something dark and hard compared to his usual easy manner. It’s there and gone again quickly. ] I’m looking for someone. As far as I know, they were headed for Yanxia last. That’s why I gotta get across.

[Despite himself, Sephiroth raises a brow at the shadow that darkens the man's face. He knows that look. He's seen it before in the eyes of infantryman all the way up to commanding officers, or the poor souls of an insurrection who lost their lives against Shinra, their blood staining the grounds of Wutai and the territory surrounding it. It's heat and determination and anger -- and then it's gone.

He's known this man for mere minutes, and already Sephiroth can guess that very little will stop him from crossing some foreign sea.

But he says nothing on it.]

...I see. And you're hoping to utilize the natives here in order to bypass pirate activity? Get in their good graces, run enough "errands" and see where that takes you?

[He really hates the way his bangs are sticking to the side of his face. But with a piece of sword in both hands, there's not much to be done about it right now.]

That's opportunistic of you. [~~this mmo life~~]

Been on this swiving island for days now, and I can’t come up with a better plan. Might as well see where the kojin take me.

[ A half-shrug, the gesture noncommittal in a way that seems like he’s trying to compensate for the earlier moment of dark intensity. He’s heard things about the kojin, rumors that they can bestow a blessing on a man to allow him to breathe underwater. If Luka has to swim his way to Yanxia, he will, and he’s not above some menial errand-running to get there.

Luka turns again, walking forward they cross the threshold of the cave, the pair of kojin leading them down, down, down a winding path carved into the rock, until at last they are brought into the beastmen’s settlement. It is not in the cave as one might expect, but rather on the seafloor at the back of the island, a great bubble of luminous blue light keeping the ocean at bay. Despite himself, Luka lets out a low whistle, impressed. ]

[Sephiroth doesn't have more to say to that. In the end, he isn't much different — though at a complete disadvantage with nothing to his name, no reputation to bolster his influence, the plan to ingratiate oneself to the kojin seems to be a shared one. There really isn’t much room for recourse, and while his pride may take a hit, his practicality overrides it, and he makes the rest of the trek without comment.

Until they come upon the end of the winding trail, endlessly down into a cave, the sight becoming more surreal as if pulled from a dream. While Luka lets out a low whistle, Sephiroth’s eyes widen ever so slightly, unsure what manner of technology — or magic? — he’s looking at.]

This is…

[He mutters it at first, almost saying something along the lines of “impossible”, when he remembers what a certain Professor would tell him — that no such thing is impossible, it’s all a matter of ingenuity and how many sacrifices men are willing to make to grasp at unimaginable achievements.

Idly, he wonders what the scientists at Shinra would have to say about this. If they could easily explain it away, or if they’d be in awe of the application of… what, exactly?]

This is magic? You said “mages” existed in this world?

[ Luka turns to regard his reluctant companion in his venture, noting that he, too, seems to be awed – or awed enough, considering that Sephiroth’s default state of being seems to be “glare”. A curious eyebrow arches at the question regarding magic and the people who practice it, but it seems that for now, Luka has opted to take the other man at his word.

It’s weird to think of a world where magic might not be common, but Luka is used to the stuff, and the kojin’s home still amazes him. ]

I assume so. I’m no good at the stuff, myself, but I’ve known a fair few mages in my day.

Never seen anything like this, though.

[He shakes his head, unsure what to make of... everything, his eyes still tracking across the new location.]

Unlike any magic I've ever seen, either. We don't have materia that can keep a whole town functioning underwater like this.

[Gaia employs magic in a different way; anyone could use materia with a fair bit of training and practice, and no one ever utilizes the title of "mage". Sephiroth looks sidelong at Luka, considering.]

So where do we start? [He holds up a broken piece of Masamune, his priorities rather clear.] Depending on what work is expected of us, this will need to be fixed.

Edited 2019-07-18 20:42 (UTC)

Materia? Don’t think that has anything to do with this.

[ Next to gil, that’s the only word to cross Sephiroth’s lips that actually means something to Luka, but even he can tell by the context that it’s not quite the same as what he’s thinking of. They probably won’t be in one another’s company long enough to really compare notes, but Luka really is wondering just what kind of place this guy comes from.

But all that aside, he eyes the two halves of Sephiroth’s blade – he can understand the importance of one’s sword, outside of the practical necessity of needing it to kill monsters or whatever else they’ll be asked to do – but… ]

Sorry, that’s seriously all one sword?

[It does seem like there's some misalignment of two worlds where materia is concerned. He could launch into an explanation, but Sephiroth is rarely the sort to launch into anything unless it's a battle, so instead he tends to the question at hand with a skeptical underpinning in return.]

Yes. This is Masamune, the sword I’ve used for years.

[It looks like a katana. Especially the hilt that Sephiroth is still grasping onto with his other hand. It’s just a very, very long one.]

It’s never given me issue, not until it met the teeth of that dragon. [Or whatever infallible creature it was. He frowns at the memory.] I don’t want to use anything else, so the faster someone can mend it, the better.

[ There’s another glance, another once-over that Luka makes no effort to be subtle about, as he takes in the man – still sea-drenched – and the two halves of his blade. ]

You know, most people would ask if you were compensating for something. But I’m not most people so I won’t ask.

[ He’ll just make his own assumptions. :)

The pair of kojin that guided them inside have stopped a short distance away, conferring with their fellows. Apparently, Luka and his new friend are not the first hapless adventurers to have wandered through their door looking for succor, since their presence does little to upset the bustle of the place. Luka turns to the two beastmen and offers, ]

Oi. You blokes got a smith around here willing to do a little work in exchange for a favor?

[ The kojin once again turn to each other, one of them ultimately motioning them to the other side of the settlement, where there are small structures carved out of blueish ocean rock peppered around. Masoto is the one you want. ]

Thank you kindly. [ And to Sephiroth, ] Shall we?

[Like he hasn’t, at some point in his life, heard that before. Make all the assumptions you like, Luka, but Sephiroth will quip back in his usual unaffected manner—]

Good, because then I’d have to tell you what I say to everyone else — don’t be envious simply because you lack the skill the wield it.

[But you know, since he’s not like most people, he won’t have to really apply it to him. :)

But he makes no more commentary as he’s led about, and finally just nods as Luka’s question while they stride over to the area indicated.

Speaking of names, however, as they make their way there—]

What am I supposed to call you? You never said.

I can wield a katana just fine, and I’ll do it with a blade that isn’t five malms long, thanks.

[ Luka, that’s not even close. There are far more jokes to be made regarding their current subject manor, but Luka feels like he should probably count that one quip he’s gotten back as a victory and leave it at that. Nice to know there’s a small sense of humor somewhere under all that sea salt and glaring. ]

Who me? [ Who else? It does take him a moment to realize that his own name never made it into the mess of names that were being slung around on the beach. ] Name’s Lukhet’a, but most people call me Luka.

[ As they get closer to the little outcropping of structures, the flames of a forge seem to be alight in one of them, and with the tell-tale sound of a hammer on steel, it’s a pretty safe bet that they’ve found this Masoto fellow. It’s Sephiroth that needs the work done, so Luka motions him towards the door. ]

Lukhet’a, then.

[“Luka” sounds a bit like a nickname, and they’re not familiar enough for that, he decides.

At any rate, the humor piqued, it now slides back under the surface, leaving Sephiroth with his usual stolid demeanor. Drawn to the firelight and clanking of hammer on steel, the SOLDIER moves towards the door and closes the distance between himself and the one who must be Masoto.

Silent for a moment, he’s simply a representation of a tall silver-haired man in drenched leather... and then he speaks up.]

...Are you able to fix a broken sword?

[Yes, hi, straight to the point. This is a bit strange, all things considered.]

[ Oof, when was the last time someone willfully called him by his full name? Probably his old man, some two years ago or more, now that he stops to think about it. Everyone else always called him Luka.

Luka lingers in the doorway to watch the exchange between Sephiroth and the kojin. For all that the beastmen look alike, this particular kojin wears the scars of age and battle rather prominently, carved into flesh and shell alike. Though he now caries a blacksmith’s tools in his belt, it wouldn’t be surprising to imagine a blade in their place instead.

Even when addressed, Masoto gives a final few swings with his hammer, reshaping the heated bar of steel laid across his anvil, and deposits it back into the forge with a pair of tongs before he deigns to reply. ]

Ah, there was word of a pair of adventurers had come a-calling. [ Clawed hands come to rest at his hips as he surveys Sephiroth, eyes ultimately landing on the broken blade in his hands. He extends a hand. ] Let me see.

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