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."

[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.

[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.

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.

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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.