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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[ Luka is becoming quite familiar with the Isle of Bekko. It’s a good place to keep an eye on the bloody Confederacy and their comings and goings – the Miqo’te does not have enough coin on him to pay the pirates’ self-proclaimed “tithe” just to get across the swiving sea, so he’s resorted to camping out on the beastmen’s island while he thinks up a plan.

The kojin haven’t noticed him, or else they’re content to live and let live as long as Luka doesn’t bother them. Whatever it is, he’s grateful.

Two days into his little stakeout, the tide brings with it the form of a person, their dark garb spotted in the sand of the island’s main cove from Luka’s usual spot on a ridge. That’s closer to the kojin’s home than he likes to go, but he can’t well leave the poor bastard out there, can he? It takes him a bit to get down to the beach, but by the time he’s made the descent, the figure on the sand hasn’t moved. Cat-quiet (ha), he creeps closer, close enough to get a better look. Hyur, he’d guess, and the glint of steel in the sand certainly doesn’t escape his notice, which only serves to pique his curiosity.

He’s almost upon the stranger when he sits bolt-upright with a jerk, startling Luka so badly that he skitters backwards a few stumbling steps that see him falling arse-first onto the sand. No fault of the stranger’s – he seems disoriented, and Luka imagines he would be as well. ]

Oi, you alright?

[The startled voice makes him lift head to visually register the stranger now fallen into the sand. Sephiroth probably looks like a wild thing, bangs of silver hair strewn across his face, cat-like pupils focusing sharp on the young man before him. Sand stuck in a layer across the front of black leather, which the salt of the sea has not and will not treat well.

It’s a rare sight, seeing him like this — disjointed, confused, disoriented. But the change of environment is drastic, especially when one was about to be doused in the angry flame of a dragon, that even his SOLDIER training cannot spare him of the indignity of being somewhat out of sorts.]

You—

[But it doesn’t last long. He closes his mouth before it can gape, presses down that confusion and forcefully changes it into the determination of a military man tossed into circumstances unknown, eager to clarify what’s happened. A hand dips down to grab at Masamune’s hilt, lifting it up out of the sand. If there’s a half-pause upon the remembrance of it being snapped in half, the blade jagged at its end, he doesn’t allow it to linger.

He’s closing the gap between them with his long gait, dripping; not that they’re terribly far from each other to start. In his demanding, he's noticed the other's ears, but hasn't really registered it quite yet.]

What's happened? What is this place? Where’s the rest of the convoy?

[DON'T YOU HAVE THE ANSWERS TO THESE BURNING QUESTIONS]

[ The good thing about Miqo’te is they’re quick on their feet, hunters with keen reflexes that surpass that of (most) Hyur, so when the stranger gets at last to his feet, Luka isn’t far behind him. Good thing too because it seems the man, who is doing a remarkable impression of a drowned rat, focuses his attention on Luka in a way that he really would rather he not. ]

Whoa, whoa there!

[ There’s half a second where he considers going for his own blade, the katana at his hip that sits at odds with the rest of his garb, but ultimately, he opts to backpedal instead. Now that he’s over his initial surprise, he keeps his footing in the sand. ]

One thing at a time, yeah? I just found you in the sand, that’s all!

[He's noted the katana hanging at the other's hip, his trained instinct to assess all manner of threat in every waking second of an unexpected situation. Yet despite how wretched he might look, does not feel threatened; instead, it takes self-control to tamp down the urge to be intimidating beyond his usual measure, in order to wring out answers from this stranger.

Because Sephiroth, even in moments like these, especially in moments like these, is observant. The confusion across the stranger's face seems genuine, nearly as harried as how he had felt waking up with his face in the sand. It's enough to dull the fire in his chest, to lessen the fierce command-like intonation of his voice.

By a little, at least.

Most importantly is the fact that Sephiroth keeps hold of his broken blade but does not use it. He stands with his boots planted to the shore and his eyes trained on the man.]

I'll ask you again. Where am I?

[And given the tiny amount of patience he's allowing himself, it makes room for him to finally notice those... ears? The flick of a tail? Who was this young man? Dressed in some manner of costume? It does little to ease his confusion.]

[ If it’s a costume, it’s very realistic, because those ears and that tail move. A twitch of the tail to flick sand from the fur, a swivel of the ears as they rise from their folded back position now that it seems like the silver-haired man isn’t going to gut him where he stands – for now, at least. ]

This is the Isle of Bekko, in the Ruby Sea.

[ Crimson-colored eyes take a moment to sweep over the stranger from his boots to the top of his head. He sure is dressed oddly. Black leather is certainly not the preferred mode of dress for the natives of Kugane. An ijin, a foreigner, if Luka had his guess. That does very little to explain those eyes, but for the moment Luka is left to assume that this man has a little Seeker in him and leave it at that. ]

The hells happened? Did you get thrown of the pier in Kugane?

[None of those are names he knows, foreign-sounding to his ears. For a moment he wonders if this stranger might be trying to fool him in some roundabout, complex way that he can’t unravel, but there’s an earnestness to the answers that Sephiroth can't overlook.

It isn’t much more comforting. (Also those tail and ears are becoming minutely more distracting as the moments pass, but he keeps his focus as steady as he can.)]

No, we were en route to Nibelheim, less than a mile out from our destination. Nowhere close to any isle.

[His words are clipped, but at least he doesn’t look like a man about to gut someone.]

Who are you? You’re not with Shinra. [So very obviously not with Shinra. The issue of ears have now become something he cannot ignore.] What are you?

[ Meanwhile, Luka is left to wonder if this guy smacked his head or something similar? He’s heard stories of people being knocked out and loaded up into crates to be sold to slave traders, but the man before him sure doesn’t look like someone slavers would even try to pick on.

He sure is talking gibberish though. ]

What happened to one thing at a time?

[ There’s a lot there he doesn’t recognize. Shinra, Nibelheim. Whoever or whatever those are, he hasn’t a clue, and then there’s that last question. The emphasis on “what” has Luka scowling, an expression that shows the barest flash of fangs. There was a day where he would have decked someone for even asking, but he’s learned by now to tamp down the urge to swing his fists first and ask questions… probably never. ]

You never see a Miqo’te before? What, did you wash up from that rock you been living under?

[He's hit a nerve, apparently, and the hint of fangs proves it. It also doesn't add to his understanding of exactly what this man is supposed to be.

The frown is prevalent on Sephiroth's features. He's used to asking concise questions and receiving succinct answers, whereas now he's only getting deflected questions in return. Coupled with another word he can't hope to know, "Miqo'te".]

I've never heard of the word "Miqo'te".

[Is that what he's supposed to be? A man with feline features? The logical part of his mind, ever the calm and carefully considering half, dictates that this must be some trick. An illusion via some unknown magic. Maybe he's still unconscious and he's in the midst of some fever dream.

But Sephiroth is quick to will words out of his own mouth, pointedly making them more of an explanation than this stranger is giving him.] The last thing I remember was fighting a dragon, and then I was here. If you can explain how that's possible, I want to hear it. [His jawline tightens, and a second realization hits him.] Do you know who I am?

[ Frankly, that’s not too far-fetched of a notion. There are plenty of native Hingans who have never heard of Miqo’te, and even with Luka’s fairly long stay in Kugane, some of the older folk still treated him as an oddity.

It’s just the way this guy demanded to know what he is, like he’s some thing that might hold some answers for him – answers that Luka is learning he does not have. That grimace shifts quickly to a confused frown, because he can’t explain how that’s possible. Sounds like magic, maybe, unless this fellow took a blow to the head and imagined the whole thing while he was adrift on the waves. He doesn’t seem to be terribly addled, though, apart from not knowing where he is or how he got there. ]

I’ve got no idea. I only saw you wash up on the beach, so if you're looking for how you got into the water, I can't help you there. As far as I know, there's no dragons around these parts, either.

[ A beat, punctuated by the flick of an ear and a second looking-over of the man before him. No, he’s not familiar at all. If he’d been around Kugane recently, Luka likes to think he’d remember someone as… ostentatious as this. ]

No clue who you are, neither. You got a name, or-?

[The pieces aren’t falling into place. There’s no reason why he should have washed up on shore when the last he remembers is trying to fend off an impossibly strong dragon. There’s no reason why he should be flung across to some place he’s never heard of, speaking to a man claiming to be a “Miqo’te”, with the waves lapping at his heels. It doesn’t make sense.

Unless he was transported, or magicked away while he had been unconscious. But even then, a random stranger would still recognize his name, if not his face.

Anger had made way for focused determination, and now even that begins to recede, chilling his nerves, making uncertainty fill the void.]

My name is Sephiroth. [A careful search of Luka’s features for any sign of recognition.] Of Shinra, headquartered within the city of Midgar.

[It’s extra information that shouldn’t be required. And yet he gives it anyway, casting the net wider to pull in any sign of the other man knowing what he’s… talking about.]

Edited 2019-07-12 19:06 (UTC)

[ This guy – Sephiroth, apparently – might as well be speaking another language for all that Luka understands the significance of any of those words. Which is to say that not a one of them mean a thing to him, and his rather blank stare is an indication of that. ]

Uh-huh. You sure you didn’t hit your head?

[ Luka would be the first to admit that he may not be the most well-educated person around, but those names, unfamiliar as they are, are said with the clear expectation that Luka is supposed to know them. ]

[He receives a blank look, which is not at all comforting. Sephiroth's cat-eyed stare is sharp in return.]

The planet Gaia.

[Please tell him you've heard of it. This is starting to become overwhelmingly A Lot, even for a man like Sephiroth, so usually restrained and used to tamping impulse down.]

You've heard of that, haven't you? [Dryly, hiding the way he's hoping for an affirmative.]

[ 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.

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PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

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