Cloud Strife (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
anonfantry) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
onepassingnight2012-04-24 02:01 am
anonfantry) wrote in onepassingnight2012-04-24 02:01 am
Entry tags:
oo2 ❄ I've got friends locked in boxes, that's no way to live
[ They were five-and-twenty artificial soldiers. One through twenty-four a perfect set, prized by their creator and the ruler they served, and he the last, the one built of spare and scrap left over from the rest.
Many a time, he had considered this an utterly unconscionable cruelty - that he should have been made, at all, of inferior metal and unfinished, as he was. With one whole leg missing, he would never be able to match his brethren in prowess or efficiency as a weapon, but somehow not even such a glaring deficiency had spared him this fate of inadequacy. So much as his inferiority had isolated and internally embittered him, though, over the years, it had also made him determined.
As all living things, even machines, were given to the will to survive, he had developed a fearsome dedication to proving himself useful to spite his innate failings. While the other soldiers marched off to fight, to pursue the grandest quests at the behest of their leader, he would stay behind - standing guard vigilantly at the gate of the great tower wherein their ruler resided, until the inevitable return of those (fewer and fewer than) twenty-four. It was from here that he would watch over what that he could, ever diligent, still close enough that should he be needed for any menial task, it would be no trouble at all to call on him, but neatly tucked out of the way, in the meantime, leaning on the long rifle at his side as a crutch only in the instances when his precarious balance failed him.
Ordinarily, that was. He would stand still and stalwart as a statue through rain and wind and drifting snow, unflinching (lest one look closely enough to discern the slightest shift), but on this perfectly pleasant Spring day, his post stood curiously vacant.
They wouldn't miss him, he'd thought, for one evening of absence. He would hurry back just as quick as he could, once he'd had done with his business in the city. (And on this point, he was very gravely serious with himself, for he'd heard the infrequent gossip among the passersby who oft visited his grand benefactor, always talk of putting him to better use by melting him down for spare parts. A fate anyone should wish to avoid.) But the draw of this particular sight had been impossible to resist.
Not three days had passed since the parade procession had marched past his well-worn divot in the stone of the tower courtyard, the traveling band of circus performers still every bit as bright and vividly colorful in his memory, now. On the whole, such a distraction would not usually have been enough drawn him away from his sworn duty - but among the rabble he had glimpsed one most elegant performer. A dancer, of some sort, he'd imagined, not so worldly as to know the proper term. A dancer who swept and spun so gracefully on tiptoe, one foot on the ground, it was almost like floating.
Since then, he'd become fixated on the brief memory, certain that if only he could learn to be so capable, as he was, then surely he'd be allowed to prove himself on the battlefield just like the others. And it was with this in mind that he set out on the city streets, moving as inconspicuously as a one-legged, mechanical soldier could. ]
[ ooc: All aboard the tl;dr express for a very special rendition of The Steadfast Tin Soldier (summary in case you're already tired of those deer), starring Mini Cloud as the eponymous soldier and... everybody else, as either the ballerina or the goblin or one of the other soldiers or literally anything else you can possibly imagine.
Of course, it's up to individual discretion whether or not this version ends up as horribly as the original. :3c ]
Many a time, he had considered this an utterly unconscionable cruelty - that he should have been made, at all, of inferior metal and unfinished, as he was. With one whole leg missing, he would never be able to match his brethren in prowess or efficiency as a weapon, but somehow not even such a glaring deficiency had spared him this fate of inadequacy. So much as his inferiority had isolated and internally embittered him, though, over the years, it had also made him determined.
As all living things, even machines, were given to the will to survive, he had developed a fearsome dedication to proving himself useful to spite his innate failings. While the other soldiers marched off to fight, to pursue the grandest quests at the behest of their leader, he would stay behind - standing guard vigilantly at the gate of the great tower wherein their ruler resided, until the inevitable return of those (fewer and fewer than) twenty-four. It was from here that he would watch over what that he could, ever diligent, still close enough that should he be needed for any menial task, it would be no trouble at all to call on him, but neatly tucked out of the way, in the meantime, leaning on the long rifle at his side as a crutch only in the instances when his precarious balance failed him.
Ordinarily, that was. He would stand still and stalwart as a statue through rain and wind and drifting snow, unflinching (lest one look closely enough to discern the slightest shift), but on this perfectly pleasant Spring day, his post stood curiously vacant.
They wouldn't miss him, he'd thought, for one evening of absence. He would hurry back just as quick as he could, once he'd had done with his business in the city. (And on this point, he was very gravely serious with himself, for he'd heard the infrequent gossip among the passersby who oft visited his grand benefactor, always talk of putting him to better use by melting him down for spare parts. A fate anyone should wish to avoid.) But the draw of this particular sight had been impossible to resist.
Not three days had passed since the parade procession had marched past his well-worn divot in the stone of the tower courtyard, the traveling band of circus performers still every bit as bright and vividly colorful in his memory, now. On the whole, such a distraction would not usually have been enough drawn him away from his sworn duty - but among the rabble he had glimpsed one most elegant performer. A dancer, of some sort, he'd imagined, not so worldly as to know the proper term. A dancer who swept and spun so gracefully on tiptoe, one foot on the ground, it was almost like floating.
Since then, he'd become fixated on the brief memory, certain that if only he could learn to be so capable, as he was, then surely he'd be allowed to prove himself on the battlefield just like the others. And it was with this in mind that he set out on the city streets, moving as inconspicuously as a one-legged, mechanical soldier could. ]
[ ooc: All aboard the tl;dr express for a very special rendition of The Steadfast Tin Soldier (summary in case you're already tired of those deer), starring Mini Cloud as the eponymous soldier and... everybody else, as either the ballerina or the goblin or one of the other soldiers or literally anything else you can possibly imagine.
Of course, it's up to individual discretion whether or not this version ends up as horribly as the original. :3c ]