expiationlogs | {Mini Event} Day of Devotion

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{Mini Event} Day of Devotion

DAY OF DEVOTION

This is an entirely opt-in very casual event that has nothing to do with overarching storyline and is just an additional introductory log, and a means for characters to meet. We hope you've all had a very happy Valentine's Day week however you've chosen to spend it!

SCARVES OF LOVE

The season of affection and love of all kinds falls upon Aldrip in the wake of their festivities for Those Who Were There. As part of the celebration, what's referred to as the 'Day of Devotion,' local merchants carry a variety of wares, but none so coveted as their multicoloured scarves available in a variety of prints, designs, and fabrics. Perhaps consider picking one up and giving it to someone who's important to you. No money? No problem! Whilst Aldrip doesn't exactly work on a layaway system or akin to, you'll find the mercantile business owners are quite open to trades and other means of bartering. Maybe they'll give out a scarf or two in agreement for running some errands...

Lucky recipients of these very fashionable scarves will find themselves suspiciously open to sharing positive, warm and fuzzy, or perhaps downright amorous feelings toward the person who gifted them the scarf to begin with, regardless of whether you've known them for years or even just a couple of weeks. But don't worry—the feelings are temporary! Once the Day of Devotion comes to a natural conclusion, your feelings will return to something like normalcy and you'll still wind up with a new fashion accessory. Of course, if you've always been amorous with that special someone, you likely won't notice any sort of change.

Take the opportunity to embrace the celebration, maybe embrace one another a little bit, too, and begin forming some potentially everlasting bonds with others.

BRING PROTECTION

Not everyone is choosing to celebrate the Day of Devotion in the same way. Due to the heightened popularity of the pretty scarves, some of Aldrip's jewellers have been bitten by the green bug of jealousy. In an attempt to compete with the sales of scarves, jewellers are advertising pendants, brooches, and other assorted charms that are meant to serve as warding and protective trinkets. What are they protecting one from? It's difficult to say and the merchants aren't inclined to give a straight answer. But whether you need protection from love, personal feelings, or perhaps something more physical, they've got you covered!

If you choose to give these amulets to others, recipients of them and their related will be compelled to share their true feelings with those around them in addition to the person who gave them the protective charms. This sounds like it could be a good thing, however, that means it covers the array of positive, negative, and every shade in between, without a filter in place. Consider these accessories a potential test of friendships, familial relationships, and more.

Like the scarves, this need and desire to be truthful with your feelings will be temporary, lasting until the Day of Devotion celebration is over. But at least you'll be protected. From something. Maybe. Probably. Or not!

FLOWERS FOR ALDRIP

By now, you may be well familiar with Aldrip's variety of fields that are filled with vegetables and fruits that grace the dinner tables of the town and local cuisine. During the Day of Devotion and weeks leading up to it, you'll find that they're clearing another field and preparing the soil. What for, you won't find out until the actual day of the celebration. Once it arrives, there's a collection of simple carts filled with flowering plants. Locals and newly-arrived alike are welcome to lend a hand in planting them along the neatly tilled rows.

You may find plants that resemble or are identical to plants from your home world. You may find plants that you've never seen in your life. They come in a variety of colours and are accompanied by a lightly pleasing scent that shouldn't be too overpowering, though may still disturb those with allergies.

All who help out with the planting, watering, and other tending, will be rewarded with a bouquet of flowers that can be passed onto others to show your appreciation and other forms of affection. You may even find yourself making a good and lasting impression on the locals by offering some assistance.

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[ There's another glance of his hand, fingers through dirt, before he directs his attention to the next bulb--the hole for it feels a little shallow, and though he's been given tools to work with, there's something a little reassuring about digging his hands in, mucking up his gloves with dirt instead. He's hollowing out the space further when he hears it: a voice, warm and soft, from somewhere above him, and though he's crouched, there's still an instinctive flinch of his shoulders, a jerk of his chin as though to place the sound.

It isn't coming from the flowers, of course. With a glance, he cranes his head up to see Aerith there, looking particularly pleased with herself; she's likely happy to see him covered in dirt, tending to the flowers like he never would have back home. The best he got up to then had been picking bunches for the orphanage--embarrassed, now, he immediately draws his hands back to his thighs, shaking his head a little. ]

Don't think they're very shy. [ With a nod of his chin towards the row he's planted--somewhat clumsily--that moves inward towards the field. ] Pretty sure they all touched me plenty when I was planting them.

[ He gives a soft grunt, pushing himself onto his feet so that he can at least dust his hands off--it also gives him the excuse to look anywhere but at Aerith, for a moment, gathering his wits about him to look a little more nonplussed. When he does lift his gaze, it catches on the scarf around her shoulders: for someone who loves all the bright colors, reds and pinks and whites, it looks incredibly drab on her, something she likely didn't pick out for herself. ]

A gift? [ He gives a short nod of his chin to the scarf, curious, as he gently claps his hands together--another plume of dirt billows off the gloves. ] I saw some of those earlier.

As if shyness only comes in place of being touched.

[She looses a small laugh, thinking that to be shy is so much more than that. Like any other feeling, any other experience, it can manifest in different ways in different people. Once upon a time, she might have described herself as shy around certain people, though with a certain air of adventure that lingered beneath that sheltered demeanour. She isn't the same as she was back then and she can remember it with a startling clarity. As much as she could probably go on about the miraculous differences in people, Aerith refrains.

Instead, she watches his work, is careful not to disrupt him too much as she gets a better look at what he's planted already. He's no expert, but she wouldn't expect him to be. How many times has he seen her at her patch of flowers in the ray of sun that broke through the roof of the church?

Her attention turns when he points out the scarf and after a moment's hesitance, she finds herself wondering how to explain it. If she's too direct, she may make him uncomfortable, which can be amusing, but she likes to do that in modest doses. Teasing him is fun, but she knows there's a limit to what she can and should put him through. Lifting the scarf from her shoulders, she nears him.]

Oh, it's not for me. [Aerith explains gently, a smile, one that he's very familiar with, playing at her features.] I got it for you. I know it's probably not your thing, so I wanted to get something in colours I thought you might like.

[Of course, she also could have just come out and said that she likes him. That she appreciates him. That she's thankful for him. But somehow all of those seem like words that might be too heavy in weight.]

[ It explains the coloring, at least, though when Aerith bids that the scarf isn't for her, he finds his brows lifting in surprise: who else could it be for, then? From his cursory exploration of the strange network of people in this place, he's only come across a few that have met her, at least as far as he can tell; disappointingly, it doesn't seem like any of the others have made it through to this place. Though he's been keeping an eye out, he hasn't seen or heard of Tifa, Barret, or even Red--and that last one he figures he would have heard about right away.

It's only when Aerith reveals that it's a gift for him that he finds himself a little sheepish for getting up in arms about her finding someone else to give it to at all.

He knows he's been a little overbearing, but this place isn't like anywhere he's been so far, and nowhere they've been in their travels, either: and the last thing he wants to do is have Aerith get into trouble here, too. He doesn't know what anyone knows of the Ancients, or if they even know anything about the Lifestream, or mako: as far as he's seen, no one has made mention of it at all. If that's the case, then Aerith's importance--and safety--can be more easily guaranteed here, quiet and under wraps. ]

I... don't know how to wear it. [ With an embarrassed pinch of his nose, he lets Aerith get close--but one of his hands, still a little dusty, settles on his own hip, casting his weight between the heels of his boots. ] Are you sure you don't want to keep it? If it gets cold...

[ He realizes then that she might think he's refusing a gift--and clearing his throat, he gestures up with his free hand. ]

...I'll get you one, too. If it gets cold, I mean.

[His admittance is not a big surprise. In what world, in what circumstance, would he ever have need to wear a scarf? Sure, there's probably some dress designs that would or could come with a shawl, but when he dressed up in Wall Market, that kind of option just wasn't on the table. Although, if it had been, she's positive he would have rocked it.

Wisely, she keeps that to herself.

Instead—]

You don't have to wear it if you don't want. You could just carry it around. Kind... of like a good luck charm?

[He makes his own luck, she's sure. He won't believe in ideas like that and she wouldn't expect him to. It's just easier to put it that way without having to come out and say she's thinking about him. On her end, it's more deeply sentimental. In Hojo's laboratory, she'd wondered if she would see him again. She'd wanted to, desperately. Now she has. It means a lot to her.

That he's even entertaining the notion of accepting it is a bit surprising. She wouldn't have been too terribly fazed if he had rejected it. A part of her, she's sure, has been bracing herself for that potential. Yet, he airs concern for her, as he has since his arrival. She can't help but feel a little guilty. She wants to be useful, but she probably makes him nervous each time she leaves their shared inn room.

Aerith is careful not to crowd too much in his personal space as she offers it over to him with a reverent hold.]

I didn't get it for you so you'd get me something in return. I just wanted to get something that made me think of you. So that you knew I was thinking of you. That's all. If I get cold, I have my jacket.

[Although that little bolero probably does not protect much from the cold.]

I know you didn't just...

[ There's an exasperated breath, as though he can't quite find the words--Aerith holds the scarf out to him like it's something precious, and he feels like he's messed something up again, like he's implied things he didn't even mean. It's always been hard for him to talk to girls, almost like he's never really understood the right things to say; it's part of why he'd admired that--person, he knew, back--in Shinra--

His eyes squint for a moment, but not wanting to worry her, he forces himself to take a step forward. One hand moves, careful, to take the end of the scarf; it drags itself gently out of her hands, and he twists his wrist to wrap it up around his gloved hand as though to not let it touch the ground. ]

I just wanted you to know that I'll...do the same. I'll help you stay warm. If it's necessary. Or if you want something, I'll...

[ With the scarf in hand, it feels--strange, somehow, like his chest feels lighter; there's the urge to take another step towards Aerith, which he does, but reasons that it must just be to stand close enough to her to protect against any harm.

Like there's any harm here, in this field. ]

...Anyway. If I'm going to carry it around. We should tie it on me somewhere. [ Embarrassed, he wets his lips--and his free hand reaches out to touch Aerith's arm, which is absolutely ridiculous to think about, but he can't stop himself from doing it. ] Think you can help me?

[She doesn't push or prod or pry. There are many endearing things about him. Many people would likely consider him awkward or strange, but Cloud is just... Cloud. She wouldn't want him in any other way. His words come and she interprets them as thoughtful. With intention. Rarely is he the kind to have conversation simply for the sake of having conversation. If he speaks, it's because he has something important to say. Makes he want to cling onto the words he does choose to share with her.

She smiles. Always looking out for her. "I'll help you stay warm. If it's necessary. Or if you want something, I'll..." There's often qualifiers as well. As if he's careful to always keep a distance, despite whatever closeness they may actually have. For someone like Aerith who so often wears her heart on her sleeve, she finds him fascinating.

There is, without doubt, a draw between them.

When he reaches over to gently touch her arm, it's not quite unlike him, but it's more than he would normally share. She can't help but think it's the nature of their predicament. They've come to this strange world that neither of them really understand. Things are complicated at best. It is natural that he should be concerned for her. Especially considering that she doesn't always act as if she's too concerned about herself.

Her smile grows into a grin. She bares her teeth. Even turns just the most subtle shade of pink.]

I can definitely help.

[Looking him over, she reaches over, resting the touch of her hand atop the glove he's twisted it about with care. She could probably tie it about some of the garb details. He might want it to go somewhere that is a little less noticeable, though. Lifting her gaze to his, she pauses.]

Where do you think you'd like it? Maybe your wrist? Should put it somewhere that it's easy for you to remove.

[ Even just that faint touch of her hand on top of his glove seems to embarrass him, in some way--or maybe it's something else, some other shiver of heat that he can't explain, building up in his stomach. There's something strange about it all that he can't quite place: it's not as though he doesn't recognize these emotions, but they're too fresh, too readily available, not buried in under disbelief and worry. Even the way that his hand lingers on Aerith's arm before dropping away isn't right. If she'd done this anywhere else, he likely would have abruptly pulled himself away, protective and wryly embarrassed.

So what's different, now? Is it something in the air? The flowers? The soil? He can't quite place it. He hadn't felt like this before, but then again, Aerith hadn't been close to him then. With a sigh, his lips press together, shaking his head faintly as he steps closer to her again. He tells himself it's because she'll need to be near to help him, though he doesn't quite believe his own reasoning. ]

Wrist...would be fine. Might get dirty that way.

[ With another breath, his tongue wets down against his lip--and flickering up, his gaze runs over Aerith's face before dropping back down again. ]

How about my arm? [ He lifts the one with scarf in hand, bending it at the elbow slightly to flex the curve of muscle along his bicep to indicate. ] Should be pretty safe up there, if you can tie it for me.

[ There's a half-smile, just at the corner of his lips, almost sheepish. ]

But if I look stupid and you don't tell me, I'm gonna be pretty mad.

[She could, probably help him and keep a healthy arm's distance between them. She knows how Cloud is. He's the kind of guy who acts a little weird with a high five. Whatever's going on with him now... Again. Maybe it's just circumstance. Strange world. Strange people. Strange things going on. She's worried him since their arrival. She's trying not to worry him overmuch and Aerith suspects that she just isn't doing a very good job of that.

She'd thought about the wrist, but also considered it'd get in his way. Cloud uses his hands for just about everything. He gets to the heart of the matter, however, easily enough. It could get dirty. He's exactly right. She's so focused intently on the where, that she only catches glances of the odd antics Cloud seems to be experiencing in this very heartwarming moment.

Whoever would have thought giving him a gift would make him react like this? She makes a note to hold onto the protective charm she thought to pick up as well at Balthier's recommendation. Too many gifts at one time might be a little over the top. Besides, she can always give it to him later. Or keep it in their inn room. Will it protect the room? No one said it wouldn't...]

Arm is very doable.

[She considers asking him if he's certain, but if that's the area he recommends, then that's probably exactly where it should go. He bends his arm indicatively for her, offering it over, and with a certain pleased little smile drawn across her features, she carefully loops the scarf, meticulously folded about his arm just enough that she can tie it off. As if testing it for herself, she makes she can comfortably fit two fingers beneath.]

You've never looked stupid. [Aerith replies somewhat nonchalantly.] Actually, you look pretty cool. [Her smile breaks into a grin and she offers the scarf about his arm a gentle, testing tug.] How's that? Not too tight?

[ It’s not the first time that she’s ever touched him—-they’ve been through so many situations and terrible moments that, in some ways, it feels like he’s touched her too much, put his hands on her in too many ways. He’s caught her from falling, yanked her out of harm’s way, pulled her up from her feet in exhaustion, let her use his arm as a ghost shield, even tried (and failed) at learning how to high five, and: somehow, despite all of that casual, friendly touching, it’s this moment here that forces a lump into his throat, his stomach twisting with the threat of strange, unreal butterflies.

His arm stays stiff, poised, bent at a good angle for her to access it, and even that slight brush of her fingertips seems to fuel thoughts that he didn’t even really want to recognize having, ever, nevermind somehow having them now. The meticulous way she folds the scarf and touches him is, truthfully, agony—-he tempers his breath, one boot tapping faintly against the ground until she finally ties the thing and secures it around his arm. Carefully, she slips two fingers in to test the tightness of the hold; he lets out a long, slow breath. ]

…Looks good to me. [ It’s said nearly breathlessly, clearing his throat as he drops his arm down to his side, glancing from the scarf to his own boots and, finally, to Aerith’s shoes. ] Are you…

I mean. Do you want me to walk you back to the room? I think I can do a couple more and finish up, here. You want to help me out before we head back?

[ Standing close to her seems to make his heart beat a little faster than he wants it to—-but absurdly, he’s also rooted in place. One gloved hand reaches up to rub at his forehead, trying to chase the thoughts out, but all it does is get a little bit of dust on his pale skin. ]

Might grow better if you talk to them while I’m planting them, or something.

[Did she take too long? Maybe. Cloud's not always been the most patient of people. Many people in Midgar aren't, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. There's always a place to go. Things to do. Something to take care of. For Aerith, before getting caught up in the whirlwind that was Cloud and Avalanche, she might have been a little too complacent. She certainly hadn't put 'stopping Shinra's monopoly and evil business practises' on her list of things to do.

There are so many more important things at hand, honestly, though that too, is important. Maybe her concern has always been that they can't protect a planet that they don't have.]

I'm not in a hurry to go back.

[Of course she isn't. She's in a field of what will eventually be so many flowers. This is heaven for her.]

But I can definitely help you. Let's do it together, okay?

[Her smile is sweet and sure as it ever seems to be. He's trying so hard. Trying can be good, but... he doesn't need to try to the point where he's uncomfortable. He reaches up to rub at his forehead and it's such a subtle mark, but the dust left behind atop skin makes her laugh. She lifts a hand which is, at present, pretty impeccably clean, and with her thumb, she gently scrubs that dust away.]

Hey, you're doing great. These things are better with company. Let's get to it.

[ Her touch makes his brows furrow, but it's strange to not have that sudden jolting urge to push her away: instead, it's some harrowing, embarrassing curl of heat in his stomach at even the faintest rub of her thumb across his skin; he's actually enjoying it, for some absurd reason, when normally he tries to do everything he can to keep distance between them. Whatever's happening to him, he figures it has to wear off with time--whatever is in the air, whatever he's touched, whatever he might have breathed in or swallowed or gotten on himself, it'll disappear with time. For now, he just has to try to endure it--which means he takes in a soft, slow breath, and reaches up for her wrist.

Carefully, he holds it with gloved fingers, turning it slightly until he can see her palm and the pad of that offending thumb, now smeared with the dirt from his forehead. Without hesitating, he pulls her arm, gently, using the hold on her wrist to forcibly wipe her hand off against the front of his chest. There's something a little playful about it: there's even a little twitch at the corner of his mouth in amusement. ]

Filthy. [ --is what he says by way of explanation, as he lets her hand go and turns, instead, back to the patch of dirt where more flowers should be planted. ] You want to grab the bulbs? There's more over there.

[ He nods his chin back behind them, where there are more supplies piled up: for his part, he moves to crouch down in the dirt again, already content to dig his hands through the soil just for something to do that isn't fixating on how Aerith is making him feel.

At least this way, she can tell him if he's doing it wrong. Always a plus. ]

[His hold encircles her slender wrist and at first, Aerith simply freezes. It's not like him at all. This is the same guy who's been awkward about being able to high-five her, and yet he can just touch her like this? She doesn't understand it at all. She suspects even if she asked, he might not have an answer. Or he might not want to, and that's fine, as well. Sometimes it's better not to draw attention to it.

Cloud is, after all, easily embarrassed.

He turns her wrist and her hand. She lets him exam her and then when he puts in the effort to wipe her off, she can't help loosing a laugh. So that's what it was all about. It's a little funny when she's pretty sure they're both about to get much more dirty considering planting the flowers. Maybe he just wants to do the dirty portion and have her... what? Guidance?]

I'll get them!

[Aerith doesn't even hesitate. She follows with her gaze the direction in which he turns and it doesn't take her long to retrieve the bulbs he's referencing. Afterwards, returning back to his side, she's careful as she drops down to her knees, pulling the bulbs closer to them.

No. They're definitely about to get dirty. There's just something nice about putting in the effort.]

Am I just here for moral support, then? Sounds like you want the hands-on experience!

[ There's a faint, exasperated breath as she sinks down into the dirt next to him--so far he's been careful not to get his uniform too ragged, and in turn, has kept an eye on Aerith and her dress, but he has a feeling they're going to have to send their clothes out for laundering when they get back to the inn. It isn't too much of a problem, except he hasn't exactly gotten them too many other clothes to change into; he immediately decides not to follow that train of thought.

Besides, what did he expect? Of course she would want to get down on her hands and knees and help him. She's been keeping too clean lately for her usual rambunctious self.

With a faint smile, he shakes his head a little. ] I'm just doing my part.

[ Still, he digs his hands into the hole a little deeper, holding back the soil as he gives a soft nod of his chin inward, indicating that Aerith should nestle a bulb down into the spot that he's made for it. ]

Figured I should learn, anyway. You want to do the rest? Am I that bad?

[ He's teasing, a little: but he does wait patiently for her to plant the bulb before he does anything else. He doesn't want to force her to sit there and not do anything; for either of them, he thinks that would be difficult. ]

[At least Cloud has the good sense not to scold her, likely knowing that even if he did, Aerith does as Aerith pleases. Some of the time. Most of the time. Almost all of the time, honestly. Perhaps it is easiest to simply say that Aerith is a bit of a handful and has been on shockingly good behaviour since her arrival.]

I'm gonna make you do it all.

[She's teasing when she says it, grinning ear-to-ear. Waiting patiently until he's made space for the bulb in question. As she sets it down, she holds it, indicating that he ought to do the 'heavy lifting' and fill it all in. It might be a joint effort, but she thinks he might appreciate it more if he gets the chance to play more of a role in it.]

You're not bad at it. [She offers him an encouraging look, scooting in a little closer to gently bump her shoulder into his.] So keep going. I think they're warming up to you.

[The flowers, she means.]

[ There's a breath of exasperation--he's waiting, but Aerith offers that bulb up like he should take it, and with a shake of his head, he makes a show of holding up the dirt with one palm so that he can reach to take the bulb with his other hand. Their fingers touch, a brush of dirty nails to dirty leather; embarrassed, he pulls the bulb quickly, nestling it down firmly into the hole he's made before he starts to cover it up. His hands work careful, long strides over the shape of it; in some ways, it feels like tucking someone into bed.

The nudge to his shoulder is another touch that's unnecessary, and whatever it is that's come over him with her presence, today, it feels almost electric--he bows his chin, nodding faintly to acknowledge that he's listening to her, though really he just wants to hide his face from view. Whatever he's feeling is ridiculous: it's surely just the effect of something here. It'll go away by the time they're done.

He lets out a long, slow breath, lifting his chin to finally narrow his gaze at her, and then look back down to the dirt. He moves on to the next space. ]

Are they? Not really sure how to read them. [ Is he talking about the flowers? ] Tell me what I should be looking out for. To me, if they're so quiet, it means they're probably afraid of me.

[If he was really displeased about it, she would have relented. But maybe there's a part of her that enjoys getting under his skin a bit. Less a 'maybe' and more an outright certainty. He still puts up with it. He still puts up with her. So perhaps in one way or another, he doesn't dislike it as much as it seems he does. Maybe Cloud is a little dramatic from time to time.

And why shouldn't he be? Why shouldn't any of them be? Times are hard.

She's careful in the way she dips her chin and settles just a part of her chin against his shoulder. Not nearly enough to really disrupt him. (At least not physically. Mentally, emotionally—these are certainly up for debate.) Perhaps it is just enough to remind him that she is, in fact, at his side. Or maybe she needs it more than he does. She'd believe that. For all of her strength and resilience, she is far from perfect.]

Hm... I don't know that I'd say I can hear them. [Aerith begins slowly, wondering how she can describe it. To say they talk to her is not necessarily accurate. Sometimes it sure can seem that way.] It's almost more like a feeling? Here—

[Lifting a hand, Aerith reaches over with her other hand and she gently draws a fingertip over a petal and then a leaf indicatively, showing the way even a slight press of weight causes them to spring back.]

—you can see how full of life they are. It's almost like the plant's... happy. Get it? And when they wilt, that's sort of how we are when we're not feeling our best.

[ It's similar, in a way, to a conversation they had once before: so he believes it, though he won't say it out loud. Knowing what he knows now, there's something about the Planet, back home, that Aerith is connected to; could she become connected to this one, too? Is there something that he can do to encourage it, if she wants it, or sever it, if it would put her into danger? His lips press together, a breath through his nose, but he doesn't say anything; no matter what she says, he feels stupid about it, in a way, like his inability to connect with people extends to plants and animals, as well.

After all, all those cats ran away from him in the slums. Has to mean something.

His gaze shifts, though his body is resolutely stiff--it's less out of embarrassment and more that he finds, peculiarly, that he doesn't want to move away from her, doesn't want her to feel like he wants to sever the contact. Rather, it's a point of warmth that blossoms from his bare arm past the thick material of his shirt and boils around in his chest; he watches her touch the plant and decides he doesn't want to risk ruining the feeling by doing the same. ]

Sure. But you're making it sound so simple. [ There is a small sliver of humor in his voice, as his palm lays flat against the mound of the flower he just planted. ] Like those are the only two feelings. Happy, or sad.

Do they feel afraid? Or longing? It's... [ A soft breath. ] ...hard to tell, sometimes.

Oh, I know there’s all kinds of feelings.

[Aerith chortles softly as she watches him with a certain kind of fondness. He’s still trying his all. She could tease him if it wasn’t so cute to watch. He’d hate to hear it put like that.

Settling down to lean onto an elbow and cradle her chin in the palm of her hand, she gives his question the thought she feels it deserves. They aren’t questions people normally ask back home. The kids at the orphanage have asked questions like that, but it’s a little different.

She feels happy that Cloud’s willing to ask such things.]

I think so, yes. Again, if they’re as alive as us, why wouldn’t they feel the same things? It’s hard to know how to communicate with them, if we even can. But I think they appreciate the effort. I’m sure they can feel loss and sadness, confusion, and uncertainty. Probably everything that we can.

...Seems unfair.

[ There's a faint tilt of his head--and he realizes, embarrassed, that he's letting his thoughts wander, letting his feelings spill into words that he shouldn't be sharing. Aerith isn't really going to tease him about it later, he figures, but even so: it's uncomfortable, in a way, but something in him keeps propelling him forward to continue. ]

Things that are so pretty shouldn't have to endure so much, you know. They make people happy. They should...be protected from loss, and uncertainty. As much as they can be.

[ Is he still talking about the flowers, even now? Frowning, slightly, he pats his hand to the dirt again, and clears his throat. ]

...Anyway. Grab me another bulb. I think we have room to plant one more here. Shouldn't be too crowded.

[His words wash over her, a simple wave of proverbial ocean and feeling all at once. It’s a beautiful collection of words. In many ways she agrees with him. Ideally, it would be nice if most people, most things didn’t have to endure unfairly. A part of her thinks, however, that perhaps those words are as applicable to her as they would be to flowers.

…Cloud is not the sort to say such things lightly or without thought. If anything, it is when he says his heaviest words that he is his most serious. Looking over to him, she watches him in a muted silence, holding onto what he says. Taking it to heart. She wonders if he knows what she’s seen. What she’s up against. If perhaps, he knows more than she thinks he does.

All of this time, she’s wanted to protect him. To guard him from things he doesn’t know. Things she doesn’t think he knows. Yet…]

Oh…! Right. Oops.

[Her gaze turns back onto the small package of plants she’s brought with them. Aerith plucks up one gently and then reaches past him to gently rest it in the little place he must be indicating.]

Here. I’ll hold it this time. I think you’re right. They’re close enough to be good friends without it being too much.

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{Mini Event} Day of Devotion

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