oo1 ❄ I've seen this somewhere before

[anonfantry]

The scenery within this new (perhaps not quite) foreign subconscious is a confused jumble, as if its unsuspecting creator cannot quite decide just where to be — a snowy mountainside has burst up from beneath the streets of a staircase city set into the rise of sheer, seaside cliff. The pieces are whole, details sharp and clear on narrow, towering buildings all crammed close together and rocky outcroppings with their blankets of heavy snow (still falling, as it is, in weird pockets only over corresponding ground).

But these little scenes are shattered among each other, shifting constantly, uncertain as the blank, white sky above, which reflects a dull grey in the ocean below. Where these two endless, colorless stretches of space reach to meet on the horizon, they blend seamlessly, as if meeting the edge of this conflicting reality might be as easy as setting sail for the fragile inner boundary of the eggshell shape it almost appears to be locked within.

Bright and cold, the silence falls as heavy as the inclement weather, in each vacuum of space that covers the mountainside, doing its best to muffle the staccato beat of his boots on uneven pavement broken over icy faces of stone and the competing race of his heart, now trying its hardest to burst clear out of his chest. (And in a dream, who's to say it mightn't?) With his rifle hugged tight against his back by its strap, where it beats a solid rap against his shoulder blades, a sharp reprimand for every stumble, a lone soldier in drab blue is fighting a very literal uphill battle.

The uniform he wears obscures all of him but the lower half of the pale, strained expression writ across his face, solemn as he barrels up the insurmountable slope in leaps and bounds, shadows chasing behind as he rounds a street corner onto another craggy patch of open ground. Snow kicks up in misty clouds around his ankles as he stumbles, but doesn't stop, always only one step ahead of his pursuers.

They're monsters, or maybe only the distant memory of a child's imagining of such, solid enough as they crumble up out of the earth in his wake. But they fade to dust as phantoms while he manages still to evade the catch of claws and snapping jaws at the heels of his badly scuffed black boots, the shirttail tucked under his belts. Shameful as it is not to stand and fight, outpacing them is this dream's objective, instead, and he can't seem to stop his feet from moving on, hands scrabbling at each new hold to pull himself higher.

At least not on his own.

Comments

[waterfell]

She's higher than him, a little way distant up the mountain. Blue hair and the dark blue of her short-skirted uniform that doesn't seem to leave her as cold as it should, both form a contrast to the blank white of the snow.

It's a place made for her - the water, the cold, the snow, the ice. She is at her best here, and her senses are sharply alert to the intrusion, the blot on what would be a peaceful landscape to her - the monsters. She eyes them as though ready to take them on.

Then she realizes the one they're after, the one fleeing them, is Cloud. There's no more hesitation. Quicker than a human could move, she's right above him, a stern expression on her face as if she's faintly irritable, but her hand ready to grip his as she lowers herself to be nearer. The bracer on her wrist gleams in the light.

"Come up. You don't have time to waste."

[anonfantry]

His toes stutter through the minor avalanche of snow that follows him onto another steeply slanted block of asphalt, as the sound of a voice snaps him out of his desperate trance. That necessary haste is dulled by his lacking awareness; so far as he knows, this is the only reality there is, and going through the motions here all that he knows. It's a mindless fantasy, unwanted and dark.

But the shock is real, and clear even without the majority of his expression evident. He doesn't need to be told twice to take that hand. It's her or the monsters at his back, and even in that ill-fit for cold weather outfit, she looks capable enough to instill some instantaneous brand of confidence on his first impression. His hand is scraped and chilled down to the bones, but there's a thin, stringent thread of steel in his grip as he launches himself up toward the next step higher. Relinquishing his grip on the strap of his gun, he clutches for purchase on the edge at her feet, as the soles of his boots scrape fruitlessly after nonexistent footholds. There's not so much as a second's reprieve from the distorted figures on his tail, and he shouts wordlessly as he pulls his foot out of the path of another vicious bite.

[waterfell]

She needs to get the monsters to fall back. She also needs to help Cloud up. It's hard to do from these angles, but she isn't letting go. She is not the strongest; she can offer that stability but most of the strength to climb is going to have to be his.

Does he have it?

No, that's not a proper question. It's Cloud. He'll find the strength.

She presses herself against the wall, giving his foot as much space as possible in the firmer hold of where she'd been standing. Right about then is when Mercury notices the younger features, the boy who hasn't filled out into the man yet. Her surprise runs through her like a quick current of water, but there'll be time to ask later.

That's it! The tiny ledge slowly expands, grows larger. It might seem like a miracle of shaping the stone itself, until it becomes noticeable that the all the new area is a thick sheet of ice - a foothold, but not the most reliable one. A secondary plan.

[isomorphology]

"Hurry!" Her voice cuts through the thicket of phantoms and noises.

A hand outstretches from a woman in generic modern clothing. A brown leather jacket with black leggings. A black shirt, black boots. Her hair cropped with sideways bangs and blue eyes that pierce out. She's looking at the man who is running worriedly, a frown on her face, suddenly filled with an urgency that she can't quite explain.

"Come on!" Quorra shouts again.

[anonfantry]

His head snaps up, and the shift in focus sends him tumbling to the ground, startling as it is. It's only luck he was leaving a patch of concrete behind, as a drift of snow built up against nothing catches his fall — and then it's all white, a shocking, blinding explosion that renders him defenseless even behind the shield of his helmet's visor.

The world shifts violently with his fall, then, and as he scrambles back up onto hands and knees, the terror remains, but the creatures have gone. The snow is gone, replaced by one solid, paved street, and the city looms empty and chill as he looks up to find a stranger still standing there, offering him her hand. Pride dictates that he oughtn't take it, even in his fumbling, harried state of mind, but he's tired — exhausted, if the puffs of frosty white, ragged breath from the snowy mountainside that only lingers in the periphery of his vision, now, could be any indication — and he reaches up with only a brief hesitation. Only one nervous glance back over his shoulder.

"It's not safe. I think— Those things are coming back."

[isomorphology]

Quorra's other hand stretches out around her, trying to keep her footing and balance as the world shifts again. Dreaming is still new to her - something she doesn't understand. She's never seen it change so much; so rapidly. Quorra simply knows that whatever is happening, it isn't good. And they need to move.

"Then we should go!" She says. "We'll keep running."

[nohometown]

He pauses to get his bearings as he shifts from his own quiet dream into another which contains a series of shifts in itself: a changing, uncertain world. The terrain is unusual, yet adapting to these new surroundings only takes a moment. He's used to thinking on his feet, and on the surface of the pale, cold landscape, the lone figure stands out to him almost at once, the movement and obvious haste drawing his attention. He recognizes the uniform and sees the creatures in pursuit.

Of course, he won't leave any of his men behind, no matter their rank.

He moves, then, quickly, bounding past Cloud and attacking the creatures directly, putting himself between them and the other man as he sweeps through the enemy with the long, bright sword suddenly in his hand.

[anonfantry]

He blends right in, colorless as the messy scenery - that dull light the only constant between these two scattered realities attempting sloppily to converge - but even in his (fitful sleep) hopeless race, he's hardly preoccupied enough with survival to miss Sephiroth.

It isn't the first time that he's dreamt of meeting his hero, but it's a nightmare to be trapped watching things unfold this way: fleeing, pathetic and cowardly, from the beasts hounding him, the flash of that impossible blade the last thing he sees before the whole mixed up world rolls end over end.

He's tripped - over his own boots or the confusing ground, it makes little difference - thrown uphill against gravity as a boneless heap in Shinra blue. His helmet and his gun (the latter still clutched in his desperate grip by the strap, at least) lie in the loose trail below where he falls to a stop, a smoothly paved segment of street beneath him again. The dusting of snow on his shoulders and in his hair fades as he lifts his head, staring through a pocket of storm and his own tangled bangs at Sephiroth's back - staring through him, as the monsters shatter like stone and melt back to nothing. For good, this time, it seems, with the frantic cycle broken.

The silence is back, but all he can seem to summon the will to do, anymore, is gape.

[nohometown]

In spite of his recent doubts, those worries that have begun to plague him ever since Genesis' departure, and which have but grown through the loss of Angeal and the events of Modeoheim, Sephiroth is all confidence now. This is where he excels: in battle, and monsters are opponents that he can face without doubt, simple dangers without ambiguity attached.

These monsters, whatever they are, offer him little challenge, falling to pieces as his sword slashes through them.

The enemy dispatched, Sephiroth turns toward the infantryman and is surprised to see that he knows his face: in the waking world as well as in dreams. This Cloud is more in keeping with the one who was at Modeoheim. There are few things that can be known that aren't known to him about that recent mission.

He doesn't think less of him for fleeing an enemy he deemed stronger. Retreating is at times wiser than attack, depending on oneself and the enemy's strength. He wouldn't expect a lone infantryman to stand up against an onslaught of monsters, if he could elude them. Sephiroth moves toward Cloud smoothly, then leans down, reaching out a hand to help him rise.

pretend I have the appropriate icons

[findmyownreason]

The form comes out of the shadows and nightmares, long and lean and fanged and clawed itself. It catches him easily, muscled body not even pumping hard. It doesn't snap at his heels though or catch at his calves with snarling teeth. Instead it charges up along side him - and then keeps pace at his side there. Eyes that glow blue are slitted against the speed of their movements and pointed, furred ears are tucked back flat against a streamline skull. The wolf makes the leaps in tandem with the blond infantryman, never ahead, never behind, never touching or crowding too close. But it runs on the side where the road would drop off, guard against falling into oblivion and the mist smokes from its nostrils with each exhale. If it notices the man at its side, there's not indication.

OF COURSE.

[anonfantry]

He barely notes it, at first, the breakaway from the rest of the pack. He can't see the others bounding forward behind him, after all, doesn't have to to know they're there - not to mention there's a profound blindspot on his side, where the edge of his clunky helmet blocks his vision. Besides, it's just about all he can do to keep running. Climbing. Never quite escaping.

The earth is breaking apart underfoot, though, no more than just hastily crowded together fragments to begin with, and soon not even that enduring desperation will be enough. A frost of snow clouds over his strictly limited view of the world, but he bridges the first gap easily enough, as the patch of misplaced mountainside breaks free of whatever tenuous force anchored it to broken-lined asphalt. The same white as in the sky looms beneath, in the cracks that are forming, and the creatures haven't let up, and each staggering landing lends them just a little more gain on the floundering infantryman.

A sharp snag very nearly sends him twisting to a knee, as one of them finally snatches close enough to shred a bite of plain blue shirttail to scrap, and in the haste of the necessary overcompensation to keep his feet, he finally catches sight of the hulking beast keeping pace. More a feeling than an articulate thought (Why hasn't it killed me) - the bolt of horror that strikes through him is such a bad start that he falters again, skating over snow and cement only to drop clear over the edge of another of those breaks in reality. The phantom things chasing after him follow suit, bursting into a harmless rain of stone and dust as they leave the ground a last time.

A weak cough echoes up from where the Shinra guard dangles precariously, suspended over bright nothingness by the fervent grip of a hand clutching the edge of the fall.

[findmyownreason]

Claws skid to a stop, firm anchors against the drop off and if there are beasts interested in chasing the wolf, none of them show. The wind whistles at cracks, ruffling gray fur. The only monsters left are the ones that are so much swirling, fading dust below. The click of sharp nails on stone comes after a moment and there's no hurry in the huge head that shifts into view to peer down at the infantryman below. SOLDIER blue eyes watch without blinking. It's a long moment. The head lunges forward suddenly and how it reaches down that far doesn't make sense but it's all jaws and teeth - seeking purchase on the leather of army issue suspenders.

[lottato_prima]

He waits. And he wonders.

Something's there at the top of the climb, also obscured in black, wispy coils, with two bright blue optics shining through. It might be controlling the attacking creatures, unfazed by the other's desperate trek, or it may be his only salvation, waiting for the group to come close enough, then dissipating it all in a moment.

For now, however, the indiscriminate head tilts slightly to the left, observing the new arrival with a searing sense of familiarity, then extending what could have passed as a hand in the other's direction. There's a hollow smile, streaked with blood that runs down the entity's arm and through his fingers, creating deep red blotches in the snow that bloom into the most elegant lilacs.

But it's okay, Cloud.

It'll be okay.

ןooʞ ıuʇo ʇɥǝ ןıbɥʇ ʇoo ןoub, ɐup ʎon'ןן bo qןıup.

[anonfantry]

They're there one second and gone the next - that's all he knows, for certain, and the relief in that instant is so overwhelming that he thinks he might shatter into mist and crumbled permafrost the same way, as his feet slow and stagger to a stop beneath him. And that might have been a relief, too, to spend the rest of this momentary existence as nothing, dust. But the feeling is fleeting, swirling away with the deepening snowfall over the loosely strung together patches of mountain ground, a path carved into the cliff and winding upward aimlessly, past the daunting figure barring his way.

He takes his first step backward, and the wind in those gaps of storm becomes a gale, protesting retreat. The sound dies down as despairing builds under the hollow sheer exertion has left beneath his frantically beating heart. It has a SOLDIER's eyes, unmistakable, but he's suddenly sure he's come to face it down, just the same. His hands shake more than he'd like as he reaches back for his rifle.

(This is wrong. Something's wrong.)

[lottato_prima]

He doesn't give chase, nor does he back away.

The black, smoldering mass of a man or something else holds its ground beyond the struggling boy. And there's something in his stance that truly, genuinely, offers a sense of condolence. He felt sorry for the other, facing such terrible elements, being in this tight situation with little an escape palpable. The motion for the rifle is not un-noticed, hand dropping at his side and a small, pitiful sound rolling into the gusting wind. He doesn't want to hurt his friend, but it's clear the boy still perceives him as a threat.

The black mist fades, so the form of the man and not creature is more distinct.

Though words still don't come. His eyes flicker to the weapon, then to the young Infantryman's face, as if searching for answers to unspoken questions. Within the Lifestream, he seemed to have the ability to talk to others from different times, dimensions and eras. There was no limit to what he could do, and yet a limit on what he was.

Cloud was still young here. Still learning. He probably hadn't even met the SOLDIER yet, at this point. So his hands extend, to make himself vulnerable. He had no weapons, and no intention of ending the other's troubled life.

But whether Cloud would attack... well. That was up to him.

[histrionic]

Kuja wanders through dreams with little care. The sights are of some interest to him, so varied and sometimes strange, but at times they pall, for they are all he sees now, only dreams and no more. No waking hours, but only shadows and visions. He floats through the sky of this new dream, almost colorless himself, traveling.

All things here seem to blend together, and it's the monsters Kuja sees first. He is a monster, in his way, though he has abandoned his cruelty and rapacity. Still, his past deeds have not been erased.

It's only once he approaches the nightmare creatures that he sees the one fleeing before them. He neither helps nor hinders Cloud at first, but draws close, flies near. If it is a dream, why should he fear for either of them? "Where is it you're going, child, and what are you fleeing from?" He doesn't know how old Cloud is, but he feels aged himself, older than the living.

[anonfantry]

The jump saves him, as he leaps a patch of snowy ground ungracefully, landing with a wobble on the curb of a street connected to a flat stretch of sidewalk. He isn't expecting to see some unfamiliar face come swooping into view, but the icy shock the sudden presence at his side inspires can't give him falter as his feet have already left the ground, landing straightforward enough that he can't completely botch it even in his startlement.

He doesn't have time to talk, though, and the bewildered expression he casts briefly in his newest assailant's direction says as much, half shock and half reproach, even half-hidden under his helmet - isn't it obvious?

As if to emphasize his silent, frantic point, the beasts on his trail send up a burst of freshly fallen snow, flurries chasing around them as they launch up out of the ground, and Cloud staggers ever onward at his fervent, struggling pace. He'll run until the soles of his feet begin to bleed and his hands are too torn and frozen to climb an inch farther, in this dream. Then the wolves will have him. Then, maybe, he'll wake up.

That's all there is to it.

[histrionic]

Kuja studies the creatures, but his study doesn't tell him what they are or why they're chasing this human. He supposes it doesn't matter, does it? The reasons why. Monsters often have a will to destroy. He knows that well. The proper thing to do is to assist.

Even if this is only a dream. Even if it doesn't matter in the least.

There was no need for haste on his part, yet he acts now. He reaches out a hand, and as he raises himself above the earth with his magic, he tries to do the same for Cloud, pulling him up with unseen force, even as that same power works to push back the beasts in pursuit of him. A small magic, and simple enough for a once-great mage.

"So bright and cold, the snow lies still and white
Unmarked by blood or track beneath our flight."

[tasercopter]

Reno squints, looking down the mountain, for some reason not putting on her goggles, even though she's wearing them atop her head. She blinks. Huh, is that one of those old-style Shinra infantry uniforms?

It sure has been a while since she's seen one of those. It's funny to think that the sight of the WRO peacekeeping force is now far more ordinary to her, while this getup looks nothing so much as odd and outdated. What a stupid helmet. She's glad she was never the kind of idiot who'd have joined the infantry.

She's standing on a ledge looking over the chase, and, not really committed to any course of action yet, she picks up a small rock and throws it at the little trooper. "Hey. Over here."

[anonfantry]

The rock that glances off the side of his helmet does so with a sharp, striking rattle that diverts his attention immediately - though not, at first, to anywhere near the right place. Sound's a little muffled, too, by the rush of the wind and of his own adrenaline, and it's easy in the wind and so much harried motion to place the source of that call.

He's only just caught a glimpse of something bright red up above his present position, when he's tripped up by the grip one of those monsters finally catches on his leg. Too slow. In his confusion, he must've let his pace drop just enough to let them overtake him. He hits the ground with a shout, twisting back to throw a wildly flung fist at the beast that dragged him down.

The mysterious disembodied voice will have to wait. Suddenly, there are some slightly more important matters to attend to.

[tasercopter]

Reno almost has to laugh, in spite of the guy's obvious plight, because that is hilarious. All right, she does laugh a little, but likely not as much as she would have once.

Well, she's not just going to let him die like that, as amusing as this is. He reminds her of the old days, and she might not be nostalgic (which would be stupid, in her opinion), but she's curious.

So she sighs (that guy is hopeless), shakes her head and throws a few pyramids down at the monsters. Her own special technique. They glow in a satisfying way when they encase the monsters. That done, she leaps down herself and starts bashing heads with her rod. Hey, maybe it'll be fun. She's not scared of those things. Her rod makes contact with a pleasant sound.

"Don't worry, kid, the Turks are here." Or one Turk. What's the difference?

[yuffiekisaragi]

Yuffie breaks free from the shadows behind him, launching herself with a force like she's never been able to pull off in her waking life. She lands, and stumbles a bit before pushing herself forward, her eyes locked on the infantryman's back.

It's been a long time since she's had a look at that familiar outfit, echoes of a time when she was young and Wutai was in the midst of its war ringing in her ears as she tries to catch up to him.

In the back of her mind, she's not too worried about being caught by whatever gives chase. It's more irritating than anything for her, an enemy with no true face, and she wants nothing more than to whip around and scream at it until it fights her.

She doesn't, though. If she were alone, that's exactly what she would have done by now, but catching sight of someone else, even if they might be part of the dream itself, is enough to catch her focus.

At sixteen, Yuffie was selfish, bratty, and a bit of an egomaniac. At nineteen, she's still selfish, bratty and more of an egomaniac. One thing that's changed, though, is that she isn't going to leave someone behind. It used to be so easy, to just take what she wanted and skip off to leave others to deal with the fallout. Making connections with people has changed that, and now her focus has shifted from irritation to her fellow runner.

She really just can't help herself, though, and she takes her weapon in hand when she spies a particularly nasty looking beast. Yuffie lets her shuriken fly, and the blades cut through the enemy. As the weapon returns, it comes pretty close to the trooper in front of her, but she isn't worried. Her accuracy is flawless (if she does say so herself), and she catches it neatly once it returns, all while keeping up the pace.

Determined to catch up to him as quick as she can, she pushes herself a little more and sprints up to him. Once she's able to match his pace and run beside him, she tries to get a look at his face. Of course, there's little to see since the helmet dominates his head, and she rolls her eyes.

"You know, I always thought those outfits were stupid," she declares, a bit breathlessly. Someone's a little biased here with her opinions, but she tends to speak before thinking anyway. Besides, it's no big secret - and the outfits Wutai's soldiers wore were way more awesome.

[anonfantry]

The wolves-but-not-quite-wolves have little interest in Yuffie at all, it seems, though it's difficult to tell, with the lot of them all chasing in the same direction. The pack hardly takes notice as she tears through them, but Cloud's a bit more situationally aware.

When he feels something whiz past him, he can't help but take a look around - and nearly drops out of the race entirely at the sight that greets him. Is that- A girl? The weapon she's carrying merits a double-take all its own, some giant bladed thing that's a wonder she doesn't cut herself with just keeping pace with him (and he'll try not to complain about Shinra weaponry being impractical, in the future).

If the present were only a little less hectic, he might have chosen something just the tiniest fraction more eloquent than

"What!?" to answer her with.

Really, because now's the time to criticize his employers' sense of style? Whether or not he agrees, it's hard to think anyone should care what he's wearing, once he's been torn to pieces.

[gardeningaia]

When his hand just narrowly misses a hold in its frantic grasping, another hand shoots down from above, fingers grasping his wrist and tugging him up (as much as they can!) toward a ledge as metal bangles rattle against the solid slope. The soft pink dress looks wildly incongruous against the unforgiving rock and the danger of the dream, and unlike Cloud its wearer is completely exposed, letting him see all of the woman's tense but focused energy as she tries to help him up.

"There we go. Up up up! Let's take the high ground." Aerith's smile is firm, refusing to waver despite the scary circumstances. She's definitely been in worse, even if it was usually with friends, and she couldn't just leave this poor kid on his own.

What to do about those monsters, though? She's an expert in running, and yet part of running expertise is knowing full well you can't run forever. She's got... one possible idea for what they can do when they have to stop, but it means for now they've got to keep going, the faster the better.

[anonfantry]

His foot slips backward down the slope, and he has all of an instant in which to lament his poor judgement, but it's more than he needs. He's going to fall - drop right into that black, shadowy mass of gnashing teeth and rending claws. His eyes clamp shut and he grits his teeth, bracing for the inevitable in the last half of that split second, before-

Something catches his wrist, and he's heaved upwards into - pink?

(Huh?)

The color is soft and alien and far too bright in a way the drab, white and grey environment isn't, and as he pushes himself up over the rest of the way, it's the only sense he can make until his mind registers there's someone behind the fluttering shape of that dress. And then she's shouting something in his ear, smiling in spite of it, and turns his hand in her grasp to grab her hand without a thought, as the long, broken upward spiral of paved street and blustery mountainside opens up before them. If running is still the plan, they've got plenty of track left to cover, with those indistinct monsters still snapping at their heels.

"Come on!"