sephiroth, “tol alien boy”, SOLDIER first class. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
supersoldier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
finalflight2019-06-26 03:23 pm
supersoldier) wrote in finalflight2019-06-26 03:23 pm
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?]
no subject
That’s so… weird.
[ But before he can elaborate on that scintillating thought, he makes one last grab for his traveling pack, snatching it by a strap and dragging it over. A little rummaging around in a side pocket reveals he did have some twine after all. Though he’s sure Sephiroth would prefer a black silken ribbon or something ridiculous, it will have to do. He sits back up, trying off the end of the braid. ]
The one in Thanalan is owned by Godbert Manderville. To hear tell of it, the man’s the richest son of a bitch in all Eorzea, maybe in all Hydaelyn. No arena, though. That’s the Bloodsands in Ul’dah proper.
no subject
He watches Luka as he fiddles with the end of the braid. It’s so long that he can easily see it from here.]
And why do you think that this is something both of our worlds share, despite differing owners that I assume have no awareness of the other’s existence?
[Not that Sephiroth really expects Luka to know either. He crosses his arms.]
That’s strange. But maybe there is a connection between the two planets; my arrival here is proof of that.
no subject
I dunno. Mayhap people with more money than sense just have really similar taste.
[ Perhaps “The Gold Saucer” is a really popular name for casinos in the whole wide spectrum of worlds out there (which may or may not exist, but the existence of one might well mean the existence of others). Whatever it is, this whole thing is way out of Luka’s wheelhouse. ]
You think? I guess we’ll find out for sure if we can hunt down this mage the kojin were talking about.
[ The kojin had used the word “witch” actually, some crazy old bat who lived by herself in the wilds between Yanxia and the sprawling plains of the Azim Steppe. If that didn’t paint a picture about what to expect, Luka doesn’t know what would. ]
no subject
He realizes, belatedly, that this is the first anyone’s ever put it in a braid. The few instances in which it was tied back on his younger years had been nothing but a tight and simple ponytail. It’s strange to see the silver pleats; stranger still to know that another’s hand weaved it, by the man who sits just beside him now.]
We will see. Here’s to hoping it isn’t a dead end. [A beat, and he considers something — a joke.] There’s only so much of you that I can bear.
no subject
And then Sephiroth goes and startles a laugh right out of him. Wasn’t he just saying that Sephiroth had a sense of humor in there somewhere? There it is again. ]
Speak for yourself, Mister Stick-in-the-mud. Mayhap I’ll lead us around in circles for a bit just to see how sick of me you really get.
no subject
[That ‘hm’ is accented with Sephiroth tossing his braid over his shoulder, and if it happens to smack Luka on the way back, surely it was unintended.]
Mayhap you would regret it as soon as you did. I’d leave out of frustration, and you wouldn’t have anyone to keep you company.
[Not to mention he thinks Luka might feel a tad bit guilty about it, regardless of his brash personality.]
Or hair to braid.
no subject
Enjoy being lost in the middle of nowhere, then. Unless you conveniently know the way to the Azim Steppe all on your own?
no subject
[The reflexes on this one... He’ll get him with his hair next time.]
Wander around enough, and eventually I’d arrive at my destination.
[Maybe out of pure stubbornness alone. But despite his even delivery, it’s still a farce; even Sephiroth himself would look like a fool trying to navigate this world on his own.]
no subject
Or you’d end up right back in turtle town where you started.
[ Never mind that they’ve come a long way since parting with the kojin, and Sephiroth would have to be extraordinarily bad with directions to end up there. Still, Yanxia is a big place, and the Steppe is even bigger. Luka has a map in his pack and a lot of determination, or else they’d already be lost. ]
So I guess you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.