[ aerith is a young girl barely on the cusp of preadolescence -- or so all of her charts seem to say anyway. really, honestly, she lost track of her birthdays a while ago. is she twelve now? thirteen, maybe? if she hits sixteen, will they finally let her go outside without any supervision? at eighteen, will they finally leave her alone? whatever the case may be, time is but a thing with no real meaning behind these metal walls. there's not much to look forward to except for getting something over with: the next medical appointment, the next long, needling interview, the next simulation that tests the magic that she hears like a harmonic thrum inside of her veins sometimes, that they try to measure with too much wiring on their too big machines. on the worst days, the electrodes leave indents that she can still feel along her skin for a full week after. sometimes she digs her fingertips into the marks like she can simply reach inside of them, claw out that secret energy just so she'd have something to throw into these researchers' faces, something with more impact and weight than a book when hojo comes around to sneer at her -
cabin fever, is what her latest medical report reads, what hojo probably scowls at over the gauze pad plastered to the bridge of his nose.
and so it goes. the intercom chimes to mark the date. red lights flashing from somewhere, an obvious warning and almost comical because of it. another day, another interview to answer on her screen. how are you feeling? satisfactory? review lesson 3 before noon tomorrow, there will be an exam, and it's the same kind of boring thing that she thinks will continue on until shinra tires of treating her like a human being. she doesn't know why they bother. they don't seem to stop reminding her any chance they get as it is, with ancient this, and ancient that. she tried correcting them once, when she was littler -- cetra, my mother says we're cetra, but she's since stopped when they care about the difference as much as she does, which is not very much at all.
but that is neither here nor there. time has some sort of meaning today, and maybe she fidgets nervously and can't sit still because of it. her fast heartbeat nearly betrays her when they check her vitals, her pulse and the pressure in her blood to "clear" her as if this is anything like what she's seen them make the others do, with knives and guns and big metal behemoths that sometimes breathe fire. routine diagnostics, a crackle of static, her core temperature is normal, they tell her, as she's surrounded by mechanical whirring and the faint, far-off echo of voices on all sides.
she's seen this training room before. the central computer system, the metal plates straining underfoot, and the way sephiroth looks like he fits in with all of it keenly, with his too dark colors and his deliberate sort of air, as finely tuned as any machine she's ever seen.
but on a chocobo, he looks -- ridiculous. and she's peering up at him with big eyes and a slightly tilted smile, but she doesn't laugh at him.
yet. ]
... Ooh! Well, that's nice.
[ he kind of looks more like a kid than a machine up there, which she remembers him being once, before they gave him a big sword to play with, whom she still finds herself missing most days. ]
Hello to you too, grumpy.
What, upset that I got invited to join the big boys' club?
no subject
cabin fever, is what her latest medical report reads, what hojo probably scowls at over the gauze pad plastered to the bridge of his nose.
and so it goes. the intercom chimes to mark the date. red lights flashing from somewhere, an obvious warning and almost comical because of it. another day, another interview to answer on her screen. how are you feeling? satisfactory? review lesson 3 before noon tomorrow, there will be an exam, and it's the same kind of boring thing that she thinks will continue on until shinra tires of treating her like a human being. she doesn't know why they bother. they don't seem to stop reminding her any chance they get as it is, with ancient this, and ancient that. she tried correcting them once, when she was littler -- cetra, my mother says we're cetra, but she's since stopped when they care about the difference as much as she does, which is not very much at all.
but that is neither here nor there. time has some sort of meaning today, and maybe she fidgets nervously and can't sit still because of it. her fast heartbeat nearly betrays her when they check her vitals, her pulse and the pressure in her blood to "clear" her as if this is anything like what she's seen them make the others do, with knives and guns and big metal behemoths that sometimes breathe fire. routine diagnostics, a crackle of static, her core temperature is normal, they tell her, as she's surrounded by mechanical whirring and the faint, far-off echo of voices on all sides.
she's seen this training room before. the central computer system, the metal plates straining underfoot, and the way sephiroth looks like he fits in with all of it keenly, with his too dark colors and his deliberate sort of air, as finely tuned as any machine she's ever seen.
but on a chocobo, he looks -- ridiculous. and she's peering up at him with big eyes and a slightly tilted smile, but she doesn't laugh at him.
yet. ]
... Ooh! Well, that's nice.
[ he kind of looks more like a kid than a machine up there, which she remembers him being once, before they gave him a big sword to play with, whom she still finds herself missing most days. ]
Hello to you too, grumpy.
What, upset that I got invited to join the big boys' club?