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 ]
The most beautiful in all the land 83c
As he wandered into the fray, hobbling along on the support of his gun, he nearly forgot what it was he had come to see, as the warm-up acts out playing up the crowd drew him in, and the cajoling barkers at their stands of games and wares stole his attention intermittently. It was difficult to focus on any one thing, when the whole of his perception was so suddenly full of strange and new, but it was a problem that saw to solving itself, before long.
He wouldn't forget the look of that ethereal, pale stranger who had drifted through his line of sight once and then been lost - not if he lived until his joints rusted closed and his gears ground themselves down to useless wheels. And when he spotted the now familiar stranger stepping out into the crowd, himself, it was as if he might've fallen into disrepair, already.
Freezing on the spot was nearly ingrained as a form of self-defense, so long as he'd managed on that alone - but out of his station, it was a poor choice. Being a statue in the midst of a milling crowd only did more to highlight his presence, a uniformed soldier out of war and any hint of his element.
He might also have been staring, but it was difficult to discern with any certainty where he was looking, under the helmet he wore. ]
/pirouettes
He was different.
And so, at least in this moment, was the soldier standing stock-still in the midst of the crowd, not drifting out of his path as most others did. He was difficult to miss, because this wasn't his proper place. He was gray among colors, still amid movement. The dancer didn't assume that the soldier was staring at him, though he was facing in his general direction. He was also, the dancer saw, a soldier with one leg. How curious. The dancer wondered what it must be like to be a soldier, to protect people, instead of dancing endlessly in circles.
The dancer was a quiet man, but he wasn't shy in the least, and he didn't hesitate to approach.] Good evening.
/...silently rusts in appreciation
He could tell the dancer what it was like to face endless stone staircases day in and day out, to haul feed and dig plots and stand motionless for days on end as the world moved on without looking back, and to do it all on one foot. And perhaps somewhere in all of that, he could posit what it must be like to protect the lives of important people, to be courageous and proud outside of one's own mind - but it would be just that. A speculation based on nothing more than the stories of his able comrades.
As matters stood, though, such elaboration would have been with quite an endeavor; speaking at all seemed questionable among his limited set of skills, as his effort not to be noticed backfired spectacularly.
With some marked reluctance (or perhaps simply the mark of disrepair - the soldier was going a bit creaky around the joints), he looked up to the stranger he had envied so greatly for the past few days. Unlike his appearance, his voice was quiet and human, cautiously reserved. ]
Hello.
aww cloud
[That was what most people were here for, so why wouldn't he be? There was always the audience, faceless and usually nameless. They didn't matter much to him, a distant throng that faded into silence, even nothingness, when he was dancing.
For when he was actually dancing, he found it hard to care about anything else. He was doing what he was meant to do, what he excelled at. It was only when he was still that he stopped to think and wonder why he did what he did. And then, he wasn't sure of the answer.
Not unlike the soldier in his way, the dancer was quiet, one difference being that he didn't feel awkward about that fact, or the fact that small talk was not easy for him.]
You won't have long to wait.
no subject
[ He very nearly agreed, in spite of himself, almost decided on the spot to take the easy way out and fade back into the crowd.
But watching from afar wouldn't teach him anything; he had seen that poise and grace at a distance, already, and he was nowhere nearer to achieving such competence of movement, himself. Shaking his head carefully, the soldier shifted his weight off the weapon at his side and made his best attempt at standing tall as he amended that thought. ]
I came to see you. Because I wanted to meet you, I mean.
no subject
Did you? I see.
[People don't tend to focus on him as an individual, more interested in the performance itself, wanting to watch what he can do.]
And so you have. [He inclines his head. There may be wryness in his words, but he isn't mocking. He's curious.] A pleasure to meet you. But may I ask why?
no subject
He desperately doesn't want to walk away empty-handed, without even having attempted to ask. Cautiously, he lifts his gaze. ]
I want to learn. How to move like you do, so that I can fight alongside the others like me.
[ The calm in his own voice surprises even him, as inwardly he prepares to be laughed off the fairground entirely. ]
no subject
The soldier's words, however, he doesn't ignore. That's--interesting. Unexpected. He doesn't laugh. (Or even mockingly smile, since he's not often given to laughter.) He's quite serious.]
You believe that moving like I do would be useful in battle?
[It's a possibility he's never considered before. Dancing is not fighting. But it makes sense, now that he finally does think of it, and he can see why the soldier might want to learn, why he might need to. To compensate for his missing leg. But how to teach what Sephiroth has known all his life, as long as he can remember?]
I've never taught anyone before. I do not know if it can be taught.
[That wasn't a no. He's thinking.]
no subject
[ Bolstered a little by the lack of ridicule (or even that passing note of not-quite-disdain) in his reply, the soldier straightens a bit under that odd scrutiny. Even laughter wouldn't have coerced him into giving up his dream, but there's something more in that equitable answer.
He isn't a hopeless individual, made of metal inside and out or not, but he does have something of an unimaginative mindset. His expectations aren't grand, even if his aspirations strive to be.
Sephiroth's ambiguous answer almost confirms the worst, in fact. If there'd been any definite hint in it, one way or the other, Cloud might've backed off as quickly as he'd offered up his probably ridiculous notion. As it stands, though, he manages to hold his ground a moment more. ]
Does that mean... You wouldn't try?
no subject
[He hadn't thought of it before, of other uses his gifts might have, but now that he does, it makes sense to him. Many ways of life depend on movement, on strength, on agility, on endurance. Those things weren't limited to dance.
At the suggestion that there might be something he wouldn't try, that he would admit to failure before even beginning an attempt, Sephiroth was decided. Hadn't he just been wishing for something else to do, something entirely new? And here, by chance, he'd met a stranger who had asked him a question that changed things.
Maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe this one-legged soldier couldn't learn. Maybe it was a ridiculous idea. But he wouldn't begin with that attitude. He had always excelled at other things, so why not at this? He would make an earnest attempt.]
No. I will try, if you will try to learn.
no subject
It was, naturally, a very real fear of his that, even should the dancer accept his unusual proposition, there might still have been a steep price to name for the favor. But to try - if that's really all, there's no need to hesitate a moment in giving his answer. The hand that isn't fast on his support raises in a fist to his chest, testament to whatever passes for youthful eagerness in a tin toy soldier. ]
O-Of course! I will! I may not be the fastest learner, but I promise I'll do my best.