onepassingnight | oo1 ❄ I've seen this somewhere before

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oo1 ❄ I've seen this somewhere before

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.

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Of course. Running is no use; it can't be kept up forever. They have the high ground now, far enough up that at least the not-wolves aren't snapping at their heels. The strange beasts have a different meaning to her, but one she's no less eager to escape if they can. As she considers their dilemma, she makes her decision.

Mercury crosses her hands in front of her. Snow and hail stream from her palms down towards the area infested with the earth-beasts; even rock can freeze, and the ground certainly can. The built-up ice grows over its targets, and glints coldly as the dim shapes become encased within.

It should be at least enough to buy them a moment of rest. Mercury takes a few deep breaths, but her gaze stays focused below. She doesn't take the luxury of glancing to Cloud, or speaking to him further yet.

They hardly seemed solid a moment ago, but somehow they freeze, still, and Cloud looks on in silent awe (silent except for the ragged hitch of his breath, as he fights to catch it). He's seen ice used in battle plenty of times, before - but never like this. It's more like Stop, or the kind of petrification he's heard some of the nastier monsters out there can cause, if you look them in the eye for long enough.

Shaking off that bleak association, he turns that wide-eyed gaze back up to his gaudily dressed savior, from where he's collapsed to the icy ground. The thick silence is somehow wrong, now, too sudden or too thorough, but he's not much good at counteracting that type of thing, to begin with. After a moment, he concedes to the only thing that seems even halfway appropriate.

"...Thanks."

She's about as good at being thanked as she is at doing this sort of kind-hearted thing, which is to say not at all. There's just a crisp nod. At least, this time, she has the benefit of understanding her motives. Perhaps the fact that one of them is her own self-preservation helps to counteract the others. Perhaps the fact he has Cloud's face is more of a reason than she'd admit.

As she leans against the rock face behind her, Mercury lets relief wash over her. After the strenuous climbing, and using her powers, she could use the brief rest.

That's when a sickening cracking sound heralds the start of the ice trap breaking. She gives a sharp breath, a puff of air almost visible in the chill, and hurries to look down again. It'll only be a few moments. She straightens again, serious.

"We have to keep moving." The cliff isn't any help; it's not climbable by hand, not after this point. She takes out a small cell phone device, and in a stunning display if inappropriate reactions to danger, she flips through the pictures stored on it.

Then she turns it on herself, presses a button- and suddenly appears in the exact outfit that had been stored, a mountain climber complete with gear. It doubles as a demonstration so that she won't have to waste time explaining and convincing him. Luckily, she tends to be prepared.

"You, too," she says brusquely. She holds it up again and points it at Cloud.

Edited 2012-03-26 03:34 (UTC)

It doesn't matter. A nod is more acknowledgement than he honestly expects, not exactly up to fishing for conversation at a time like this. Or ever, really, but that's entirely beside the point.

He's careful getting to his feet, holding his helmet loosely gripped in one hand as he plants his feet (boots suitable for hiking but not exactly the sort that's done on solid ice) and leans forward cautiously to peer down past the drop-off. He can't remember scaling so much confused mountain, nor the pieces of city interspersed, but that seems normal, too. In a panic, most people forget whatever part of their brain it is that records all the seemingly important stuff, at the time, right?

At any rate, that's definitely not important - but maybe his measure of such things is a little off, too, because it's only a mild look of surprise he casts in her direction as she pulls out what he recognizes immediately as an ordinary enough handset. The echoing sounds of ice beginning to shatter from down below present a far more pressing matter, at any rate, than whoever she might be contacting-

An assumption that's as instantly dispelled as she miraculously changes to something a little more cliff-scaling appropriate. When she aims the PHS (and that's definitely a better model than his) at him, the look on his face is pretty fairly unsure.

"What- I-" Too late. Matching outfits? And- "We're going to climb that?"

Matching outfits, and a little smirk that suggests she's entirely aware of it, and amused by it. The smirk fades quickly into the serious situation, however. Mercury glances upward along the cliff, and downward to where the not-wolves will be snapping again within seconds.

She makes her decision. "Go." Cloud needs to go further, higher. She can hold the path for him. "I'll take those guys down below."

With the equipment - rope, hooks, everything he could need that won't be too difficult to carry - he should be able to make further progress. If he has a better idea... well, they may not have time to put it in place.

"Or would you prefer sitting here to wait for them?" she challenges.

Edited 2012-03-27 04:26 (UTC)

Climbing isn't something he's afraid of, in itself - but nothing on Mt. Nibel ever compared to this. The face of the rock is sheer, and it's all too easy to imagine stepping wrong or moving too quick, a foothold or handhold crumbling under his weight-

And then it's curtains, folks, so sorry to waste your time.

It occurs to him, then, though, that he'd probably have been breakfast, lunch, and dinner for those vicious things snapping in slow motion out of their casing of ice, already, if it wasn't for her. And wasting the second chance (no matter how ridiculously dressed he's gotta be for it) would be pretty rude, even by his standards. Still - so would taking off without a second thought, wouldn't it?

"Are you sure you can handle them on your own?" He doesn't know how many, not really, without exactly having had a chance to stop and look back, but it hardly matters. "I can fight, too."

Ah, Cloud. It's so much simpler than that. It's not about his ability to fight at all, or courage or bravery or anything else.

It's sheer, practical sense.

"Your purpose here wasn't to fight," Mercury says simply. "It was to reach higher still." She, meanwhile, foreign to this world and this dream, has no purpose within it, and so has the luxury to keep the way open for him.

"So do it. If this is for nothing, I won't forgive you."

Those words don't make sense, though - or shouldn't, anyway, in his isolated universe, too close to compelling him to look at his dream from the rational side of his mind, dormant somewhere in sleep. But he already shares the sentiment, doesn't want to waste her favor, and that's enough to make up his mind.

Another uncertain shuffle of his feet, and Cloud turns up toward the rock wall behind them, neck craned back all the way just to see the top. Just the looking makes him a little dizzy, but heights aren't part of his fear, and he steadies himself with some concentrated effort. The next startlingly loud crack of shattering ice is as good as go, and he nods, doing a fair job not looking half as shaken as he feels.

"All right. I'm going."

It should occur to him, now, that he hasn't actually half the knowledge necessary to properly utilize the gear he's carrying, raised in a mountain town or not - but in his mind, it hardly matters. This is something he needs to do, and that's enough to get him moving, if the sounds the first of the creatures below makes snapping clean through the ice in its jaws aren't enough, alone, to spur him on.

Mercury's rational mind never sleeps, though it can be more clouded by emotion than she'd ever admit at times. She nods in return. They have business here. She can check his condition and bind any wounds once they finish.

As he starts to climb, Cloud may realize he does know how to use the equipment, not through the means of the dream, but through the magic of the disguise itself. Right now, in those clothes, he is a mountain climber.

In hers, Mercury still grips her weapon. She slashes the sword against the air, as though only testing it, but the results speak for themselves: the creatures starting to snap at them again are thrown back by the blast of energy it releases, three at once.

More form almost immediately. She strikes again; if the beasts start to make progress, she'll be overwhelmed by sheer numbers at this rate. She can't allow that.

The going gets easier the less he tries to think about it (and that isn't much, to begin with, as he always works better on instinct, anyway). But even from a fair distance overhead, he can still hear the sounds of those monsters breaking free. He can't help picturing so clearly the (albeit much stronger and more capable) person he's left behind, fighting from that narrow foothold in the last of the mountainside.

Tying off his harness is surprisingly easy, too, though it takes a bit more effort not to think of the particularly reckless move he's planning to make, next. Planting his feet on the cliff's side, he swings back to face the chaos below, looking on through the sight of his rifle again before he's even realized it's back in his hands.

The first volley of gunfire only clips one of the monsters - but his aim improves considerably with the second. "Come on! I'll hold them off!" After she's knocked the rest of them back, at least. Aiming any closer to her would be dangerous enough on its own, but especially so from his precariously vertical position.

The gunfire startles her until she realizes its source, head snapping back to glance up at Cloud before she makes her new judgment: She can get away and head up, if he's in a position to cover her progress now.

He's also pretty capable with that gun.

Mercury makes slow headway, climbing carefully on this cliffside too narrow for error. Her arms bear the brunt of her weight, and she feels the tender soreness but keeps herself going by sheer will: If she stops, she'll be lost to those not-wolves.

Just a little longer now. Finally, she makes it to the same height as Cloud. There, she lets her body sag with its fatigue.

In truth, it's only his distinct advantage that lends Cloud the illusion of real skill. With (more than) ample high ground in addition to the carelessly close pack formation of the enemy, his dodgy aim and slow reaction time are more than made up for. Of course, the rather tight spot they're in doesn't hurt to sharpen his lacking skill, either.

The earsplitting chatter of automatic fire dies down to a few quick shots, here and there, taken more carefully, as she draws nearer the spot where he's dug into the rock face. Those things at the base of the cliff are making a game effort to follow them up, but even their most malformed claws are unsuited to mountain climbing. The best they seem capable of is throwing themselves at the wall of stone, scraping up a few feet before dissolving back into the earth.

He's shouldered his gun again by the time she reaches his height, and it strikes him immediately just how exhausted she seems. He should be just as worn out, himself, after running and climbing for so long, but his unremarkable endurance seems to be favoring him, by some weird stroke of luck. Pulling himself back parallel to the cliff, he leaves off cautiously watching the stalled pack down below to pass a concerned glance over his far less intimidating company.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." The answer comes too quick, too pat, from the girl used to fending for herself and too prideful to admit hurt, but a look confirms that she doesn't seem to be injured beyond a few inevitable cuts and scrapes and a small wound that will heal on its own, once treated once they're away. She looks Cloud over in turn.

"Where are you going? There's no use in just running blindly; we need to focus on our end goal." She plays a long game, with the very end in mind, always.

He doesn't mind a terse response; Cloud isn't the type to second guess a person's honesty, anyway, or at least not when he can't clearly refute it. If that's only ordinary exhaustion weighting her down, then it's nothing to worry about, so long as she can hold on while she recovers. It's only a shame there's no place to rest properly, here on the cliff face.

His own condition isn't much worse, by all appearances, except for his somewhat bloodied hands, a few scrapes of his own, and more than enough dirt from all the climbing. But her question gives him pause.

"Up there, I guess," he says, only a passing certainty in his voice - but as he turns to look up, up, above them, there's a new twist in their path. A tunnel has opened in the sheer face of the rock, some distance farther overhead, train tracks hanging out over the bottom lip like a broken curl of ladder that's yet to be lowered.

"Yeah."

Was that there a few moments ago...? No, surely it must have been. She only didn't see it because she was focused on the climb, and on the beasts below, and perhaps because of the angle of vision trying to look up there. (And she can totally convince herself the position of the sun was bothering her eyes, too, if she tries hard enough.)

"Up there," Mercury repeats Cloud's words, and matter-of-factly heads over towards the tracks.

"These look sturdy enough for now, but don't let your guard down." Unless you can fly.

He can't, unfortunately, even in his dreams seem to pull off feats extraordinary - so flight is probably out of the question, and he will be careful as he pulls himself up the rest of the way to the foot of that familiar tunnel. Solid ground is a relief, again, and Cloud doesn't pretend anything otherwise as he kicks himself back from yet another edge.

It doesn't take long for curiosity to come crawling back, though, and he grabs the bend in those solid train tracks as he leans back over, just far enough, to take a look down below.

The white of the empty sky is almost like mist, this high up, and it obscures the view to something blurry but still distinct enough; the rattling, snarling attacks below have ceased, for the moment, the base of the climb now as eerily silent as the rest of the dream. He doesn't ask her again, if she's managing all right (he learns quickly enough), but he does glance over again, a little too obviously. He's not too keen on looking back over his shoulder, yet, anyway - that way is darkness, like the dark that will swallow him whole again, before this dream ends.

"...My name's Cloud," he offers, instead, as he returns quietly to watching the ground.

Luckily, the tracks hold, not just for Cloud but for Mercury also, who climbs painstakingly after him. There are times to be very glad for good physical conditioning, and for both of them this seems to be one. As she reaches the top, she relaxes enough to smile, actually smile, still self-satisfied but with the pride of accomplishment rather than arrogance.

She turns to Cloud, and seems about to answer him, but just as her mouth opens, somehow no sound comes out, a silence just as eerie as the hush in the air.

And then she's vanishing as something draws her back to light and waking, her form indistinct and then gone.

"What? H-Hey, what's going-"

(...on?)

Before he can manage to finish that thought aloud, there's no trace of her left; he's in his uniform, again, even, and in a matter of seconds it's almost as if she were only a dream, herself.

Except he isn't being shredded by those ugly things that'd been after him, before. He's safe (or safe enough), and when he turns toward the darkness in the tunnel to Modeoheim, he's sure he wouldn't have made it this far without that hand up. With that certainty in mind, he doesn't waste any time pushing himself to his feet again and moving on.

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oo1 ❄ I've seen this somewhere before

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don't worry, it won't gender-switch ;) this time. >D

somehow I'm barely reassured... |3c

rofl poor cloud

suffering. always suffering

life is suffering, princess.

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