Interlude V - [The Fifth Dream]

[rhapsody-onfire.livejournal.com]

[Everything hurt.

Genesis couldn't believe that even here, in her dreams, her body hurt. She remembered, fully, what had happened before she lost consciousness and fell into her dreams. For how long, she didn't know. She also didn't know if she would ever wake up this time.

In the waking world, she had decided to do more than work on the orchard and looked into fighting monsters for money. Mercenary work asked little questions, after all. And with the right outfit, no one would know who she was. But after the first few successful (and pricey) hunts, the experienced mercenaries had been getting suspicious of her skills.

Today proved them right. They teamed up for an exceptionally hard monster (though Genesis had known she could fight it off on her own) and intentionally sabotaged the job and she'd been injured severely. Before she could cast her magic to cure herself, they'd torn off her sunglasses and her hat, revealing her red hair and Mako blue eyes. Red hair was a bit of a rarity on Gaia. And her eyes gave away just who she was. Her injuries didn't stem from just the monster now and she had used up all of her magic to cast as many Protects as possible.

Last thing she remembered was lying in the snow near Icicle Inn. Were anyone to find her and help her, it would probably be a miracle. For now, she sat in the middle of Midgar, on LOVELESS Avenue. She sat, curled up in a bloodied and broken ball at the corner, being overlooked by everyone. Just like she had wanted in the waking world.

Now, she just wanted a potion or two.]

[[OOC: So yeah, Genesis got caught and beaten up. Unoriginal and all that, I know. But I needed to post something ;; I hope it's taggable regardless, though!]

Comments

[waterfell.livejournal.com]

[It's none of her business. In fact, as it is, she already isn't as early as she'd like to be for her meeting. Like everyone else, she could just keep walking.

That's the problem. Everyone is walking by, as if this person on the ground doesn't even mean anything at all. As if the people can't even see her. As if they're taking her existence so much for granted that they've shut her out completely.

It doesn't sit right with Mercury. She makes her way over to Genesis, and stands tall over the curled-up woman on the ground for a long moment before doing anything. Then, she takes out a small phial of water.]

This has certain healing properties. And, it can dull that pain. [Her voice is even, her face carefully dispassionate. This is just something she's decided to do.]

have a reverted Cloud?

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

There's a strange feeling of nostalgia for the ex-SOLDIER as he walks down the street. Overhead the sky is black, tinted with green and everywhere the air's a little thick and has a distinct tang bite to it that he recognizes as mako residue. It doesn't bother him though. He's ex-SOLDIER and they make those too tough to be bothered by a slightly off smell. In fact, not much bothers this particular mercenary and he likes it that way. He's not in his line of work for emotional reasons. That would imply caring.

that would imply being able to be hurt

No. He's here because Midgar is where the money is - and where the ugly is - and he's able to find work when a place is that way.

that and... he's looking... and he doesn't know what for...

What he doesn't care about is the bedraggled figure curled up in the corner. He can smell the blood on them and his eyes, glowing in the dimness, focus and then move on. Not his problem.

Except... something about the red jacket tugs at him and before he knows it, he's standing there, looking emotionlessly down at the figure and debating whether to toe them with his boot or not.

"Hey." His voice is low and flat - and vaguely annoyed. He's not sure where the next words come from. "You need help?"

[existwithoutme.livejournal.com]

[Kuja finds this city distasteful, the architecture too ugly and utilitarian for his tastes, stark and unadorned. What adornments there are are in poor taste. Not to mention the clothing of the people. Designs and tailoring devoid of imagination. No, nothing holds his interest here.

Not until he catches sight of the bleeding woman on the corner. In the past, such a sight wouldn't have moved him. In fact, it likely would have inspired his scorn. But now--he feels compassion, a warm and slightly troublesome emotion. So he pauses, looking down at her. He's clearly out of place in this modern setting, baroque and aesthetic as he is. He stands out sharply, but he doesn't seem to mind. He approaches and smiles down at her.]

Ah, look at you, my dear. What a state you're in. So cold and lonely, your hair ragged and your clothing torn. [He reaches out a hand, though it doesn't seem to be with the intention of helping to pull her to her feet. He's standing slightly too far away for that.] Will you allow me to help you?