[ His vision blurred. He had stayed strong, mostly, though the week. Bloodlust was something any good SOLDIER had to learn to temper in the heat of battle. He had fought monsters before. He just hadn't banked on becoming one.
The voice had become more overpowering as the days wore on. Here, as the clock ran down, as Cloud ran on less and less sleep, as he more and more could not tell where he was— the old Aldrip? The new Aldrip? Nibelheim? Midgar? — it was overpowering. The urge to draw his sword and kill.
But not just any death would do. Something in his body yearned for a particular death. One he had put out of his mind all week. Intentionally got himself separated from the others all week. But that was a Cloud thinking with much more reason than instinct.
He shambled forward. He couldn't find her. No, she was good at hiding, when she needed to... but he didn't have to find her, did he? He could find someone else. Someone who he knew would have not strayed far from her.
Aerith could hide, if she wanted, but Tifa? Tifa was a relentless protector, and he could feel her presence better than he could feel Aerith's.
He stumbled forward, eventually finding his posture. It was so difficult to exert even this much control. To not shamble forward, at the beckoning of the man who seemed at the corners of his blurred, sleep-deprived vision.
He would be able to find Tifa. And when he found Tifa, he'd find Aerith.
And then... and then, this terrible false world would break, and he'd be able to go home. ]
[She feels her exhaustion in every movement, an anchor weighing her down after nearly a week of tirelessly patrolling the streets and protecting others from the Gnosia and their allies. Any sleep she's gotten has only been in increments of a couple of hours, usually during the period after she's used up her ability for the day and has to wait for it to return. Much like now.
Tifa turns her steps towards the safe house where she and a few others have been staying for the time being, the Inn feeling a little too obvious and easy to infiltrate. There's a pull in her urging her to turn away, to keep patrolling, but she does her best to push it down. She's already pushing herself terribly close to the edge. She would be no good to anyone if she let herself go over.
Ironically, that's when she feels it. A presence behind her that sends a prickling down the back of her neck, raising the hairs there. She's become accustomed to the sensation in the past couple of days. She knows what it means. The sound of footsteps approaching reach her as she spins around, dropping immediately into a ready stance, fists raised before her. And then she freezes, eyes wide.]
C-cloud?
[Her voice trembles over his name and her breath catches, almost like she wishes she could swallow it back down. No. No no no no. Not this. Not him.]
[ Nothing has gone right this week. Standing on the edge of the end feels like inching to the border of a cliff just to peer down the jagged corners, seeing nothing but darkness stretching forever. There is no way to pretend what any day will bring. The safe house, as such, is just about the only place where anything is guaranteed. If nothing else, she knows she can be there, soundly resting in peace or knowing she can stop anything bloody from happening. Too much has been spilled as is.
Anxiety rushes cold over her body, like being dunked into a river without warning. There's shuffling outside, just beyond the door. Resting one hand to the jamb, Aerith presses her ear against the dark wood door, listening. She can't open the door until she knows who it is. An issue arises immediately: She knows Tifa's voice, but she also knows that tone. Tifa. Something's caught her off guard— that something must be Cloud.
Without another thought, she pulls the door open, twisting the knob roughly. ]
Tifa!
[ The wind hits her in the face, hot with the scent of big city life. Summer heat never was her favorite kind of weather; a bead of sweat rolls from her hairline down Aerith's jaw, leaving a cold trail in its wake. ]
Cloud? Are you feeling alright?
[ Her staff rest on the inside of the safe house, which sits with its door still thrown open. Next to the frame, a metal weapon. Unarmed, she looks from Cloud to Tifa before making her choice: She takes Tifa's shoulder into her palm. ] Try to stay calm. He wouldn't hurt you.
[ Sureness coats her voice. This, Aerith knows. Cloud would never hurt Tifa. ]
[ Cloud's eyes, bloodshot, look from Tifa to Aerith, taking them both in. Maybe some part of him is screaming inside, trying to will his body to stop. You can see it in the paleness of his face, in the trembling of his hands. The week's gone on so long, it's almost impossible to hide what he is right now, even if he was in his right mind. And he fully isn't anymore. ]
There you both are. [ It's a weird, hollow sentiment, ringing with emotionlessness. ] I should have— looked for you earlier. It would have been easier to explain.
[ He takes a half-step forward, but part of him is stopped by Aerith's declaration, his eyes darting erratically between the two, torn, now that he has both in his sights. ]
Not that you would have believed me. [ Immediately, he's contradicting himself. ] It's all convenient. Far too convenient. With how much they mess with who we are, what we've seen. How hard could it be to convince me what I'm seeing is real?
[ That was what it came down to, didn't it? He was starting to understand. This place wasn't real. It couldn't be. Real places couldn't change this much at the drop of a hat. Real people couldn't behave so casually in the face of being trapped here. The paradox of how so many people got here who came from different places, and yet none knew who their captor was, or how to leave? It was simple to answer, now that he thought about it.
Nothing here was real. Not Aldrip, not its citizens, and not any of its other prisoners. The way his vision saw the distortion of the buildings in his vision — rapidly changing between the Aldrip of before, the Aldrip of now, Midgar, and Nibelheim. That was the explanation. It was why those memories felt so different, and yet similar to the false memories they'd planted in him. ]
How long? How long have I been Hojo's captive, huh!? How long has this charade been running, just to keep me from realizing nothing in front of me is the real thing!?
[ His trembling hand reaches out to his Buster Sword, but he doesn't draw it. ]
Tifa shouldn't be alive, and you, you— [ His eyes dart to Aerith. ]I'm not the one who you should be keeping from waking up, that was always—
[ ...Always who? His brain short-circuits at the terminus of the rant, but his eyes remain fixed on them, his scowl deep. He was sure he knew where that sentence was leading before he got there, but now he can't finish it. ]
...It doesn't matter. I need proof.
Prove to me you're real. That this isn't Hojo having hooked me up to some— some nightmare!
[ He can't help but talk himself in circles, as paranoid and deprived of reason as he is. And yet perhaps it's because his reason has fallen away that he feels like he's so close to breaking through... something.]
[It's Aerith's voice that breaks Tifa's wide gaze away from Cloud and she has to choke back the urge to scream, to push her away, as her hand comes to rest on Tifa's shoulder. Her words slowly filter through to Tifa despite the pounding of her heart seeking to deafen all other noises. The sureness in her voice stings. 'He wouldn't hurt you.' She had thought that too. Before. Maybe even a part of her still believes it. Cloud would never hurt her. Hurt them. But how can she know this is still Cloud? Even without Sephiroth, there's the Gnosia. She can tell he's been infected. She can feel it. Any other time she would be able to do something about it. She could heal him. But not now. Not for another 24 hours.
Her hand trembles as she reaches for Aerith's wrist, seeking to pull the other woman behind her.]
Aerith, he's not...himself. He's one of them.
[And then he's speaking again, and none of it makes sense at first. Until it does. Suddenly, Tifa feels like she's being thrown back in time, standing across from Cloud on a balcony in Kalm, where he'd all but openly accused her of being an imposter. His suspicions had struck her like a blow, but even worse had been the way he had stared while she revealed her scar. The blankness of his face. The fact that she had quickly realized it hadn't been enough to prove herself. And now he's again asking for proof.
There's a burning in her eyes that she tries to suppress. Now isn't the time to let her emotions over take her. She needs to protect Aerith. They need to get away, find somewhere else to rest now that their safehouse has been discovered. She can help Cloud later, after she's recovered her ability. They just need to find an opening to escape.]
We don't need to prove anything, Cloud. Not that I think you would believe us even if we did.
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expiationlogs2024-07-15 08:13 am
AERITH & TIFA
The voice had become more overpowering as the days wore on. Here, as the clock ran down, as Cloud ran on less and less sleep, as he more and more could not tell where he was— the old Aldrip? The new Aldrip? Nibelheim? Midgar? — it was overpowering. The urge to draw his sword and kill.
But not just any death would do. Something in his body yearned for a particular death. One he had put out of his mind all week. Intentionally got himself separated from the others all week. But that was a Cloud thinking with much more reason than instinct.
He shambled forward. He couldn't find her. No, she was good at hiding, when she needed to... but he didn't have to find her, did he? He could find someone else. Someone who he knew would have not strayed far from her.
Aerith could hide, if she wanted, but Tifa? Tifa was a relentless protector, and he could feel her presence better than he could feel Aerith's.
He stumbled forward, eventually finding his posture. It was so difficult to exert even this much control. To not shamble forward, at the beckoning of the man who seemed at the corners of his blurred, sleep-deprived vision.
He would be able to find Tifa. And when he found Tifa, he'd find Aerith.
And then... and then, this terrible false world would break, and he'd be able to go home. ]
no subject
Tifa turns her steps towards the safe house where she and a few others have been staying for the time being, the Inn feeling a little too obvious and easy to infiltrate. There's a pull in her urging her to turn away, to keep patrolling, but she does her best to push it down. She's already pushing herself terribly close to the edge. She would be no good to anyone if she let herself go over.
Ironically, that's when she feels it. A presence behind her that sends a prickling down the back of her neck, raising the hairs there. She's become accustomed to the sensation in the past couple of days. She knows what it means. The sound of footsteps approaching reach her as she spins around, dropping immediately into a ready stance, fists raised before her. And then she freezes, eyes wide.]
C-cloud?
[Her voice trembles over his name and her breath catches, almost like she wishes she could swallow it back down. No. No no no no. Not this. Not him.]
no subject
Anxiety rushes cold over her body, like being dunked into a river without warning. There's shuffling outside, just beyond the door. Resting one hand to the jamb, Aerith presses her ear against the dark wood door, listening. She can't open the door until she knows who it is. An issue arises immediately: She knows Tifa's voice, but she also knows that tone. Tifa. Something's caught her off guard— that something must be Cloud.
Without another thought, she pulls the door open, twisting the knob roughly. ]
Tifa!
[ The wind hits her in the face, hot with the scent of big city life. Summer heat never was her favorite kind of weather; a bead of sweat rolls from her hairline down Aerith's jaw, leaving a cold trail in its wake. ]
Cloud? Are you feeling alright?
[ Her staff rest on the inside of the safe house, which sits with its door still thrown open. Next to the frame, a metal weapon. Unarmed, she looks from Cloud to Tifa before making her choice: She takes Tifa's shoulder into her palm. ] Try to stay calm. He wouldn't hurt you.
[ Sureness coats her voice. This, Aerith knows. Cloud would never hurt Tifa. ]
no subject
There you both are. [ It's a weird, hollow sentiment, ringing with emotionlessness. ] I should have— looked for you earlier. It would have been easier to explain.
[ He takes a half-step forward, but part of him is stopped by Aerith's declaration, his eyes darting erratically between the two, torn, now that he has both in his sights. ]
Not that you would have believed me. [ Immediately, he's contradicting himself. ] It's all convenient. Far too convenient. With how much they mess with who we are, what we've seen. How hard could it be to convince me what I'm seeing is real?
[ That was what it came down to, didn't it? He was starting to understand. This place wasn't real. It couldn't be. Real places couldn't change this much at the drop of a hat. Real people couldn't behave so casually in the face of being trapped here. The paradox of how so many people got here who came from different places, and yet none knew who their captor was, or how to leave? It was simple to answer, now that he thought about it.
Nothing here was real. Not Aldrip, not its citizens, and not any of its other prisoners. The way his vision saw the distortion of the buildings in his vision — rapidly changing between the Aldrip of before, the Aldrip of now, Midgar, and Nibelheim. That was the explanation. It was why those memories felt so different, and yet similar to the false memories they'd planted in him. ]
How long? How long have I been Hojo's captive, huh!? How long has this charade been running, just to keep me from realizing nothing in front of me is the real thing!?
[ His trembling hand reaches out to his Buster Sword, but he doesn't draw it. ]
Tifa shouldn't be alive, and you, you— [ His eyes dart to Aerith. ] I'm not the one who you should be keeping from waking up, that was always—
[ ...Always who? His brain short-circuits at the terminus of the rant, but his eyes remain fixed on them, his scowl deep. He was sure he knew where that sentence was leading before he got there, but now he can't finish it. ]
...It doesn't matter. I need proof.
Prove to me you're real. That this isn't Hojo having hooked me up to some— some nightmare!
[ He can't help but talk himself in circles, as paranoid and deprived of reason as he is. And yet perhaps it's because his reason has fallen away that he feels like he's so close to breaking through... something. ]
no subject
Her hand trembles as she reaches for Aerith's wrist, seeking to pull the other woman behind her.]
Aerith, he's not...himself. He's one of them.
[And then he's speaking again, and none of it makes sense at first. Until it does. Suddenly, Tifa feels like she's being thrown back in time, standing across from Cloud on a balcony in Kalm, where he'd all but openly accused her of being an imposter. His suspicions had struck her like a blow, but even worse had been the way he had stared while she revealed her scar. The blankness of his face. The fact that she had quickly realized it hadn't been enough to prove herself. And now he's again asking for proof.
There's a burning in her eyes that she tries to suppress. Now isn't the time to let her emotions over take her. She needs to protect Aerith. They need to get away, find somewhere else to rest now that their safehouse has been discovered. She can help Cloud later, after she's recovered her ability. They just need to find an opening to escape.]
We don't need to prove anything, Cloud. Not that I think you would believe us even if we did.