oo3 ❄ stuck on repeat

[anonfantry]

[ Well, it's not exactly a novel dream - the perfectly formed scenery fits the desert island cliché to a T, though it's quite a bit more expansive than a rock with two palm trees sticking out of the middle. Above the rolling dunes that sweep down to the surf, a lush green forest rises to cover most of the visible, the tangle of trees thick enough to seem impenetrable (and half of them completely out of place, in a tropical climate). The only thing this leafy, viney (pine tree dotted) brush doesn't ensconce is the narrow mountain range rising from the center of the island. From those towering masses of land, slate grey and tipped with thin spires and a halo of fog (or perhaps smoke), volcanic activity seems the least of all potential dangers.

But all of that's merely an exciting backdrop to the true mundanity of this phantasm. Shored up at the very top of a wave of fine, yellow sand, sits a desk - plain and spare and rusting at the hinges, in no way special at all. And at it, nearly topped over in height by the towering stacks of (random, unsorted, some completely unlabeled) textbooks, sits Cloud.

Hunched intently over something - pages of notes, upon closer inspection - he pays no mind to the intermittent call of seabirds on the breeze, nor the way that lazy warm puff of air tugs at the messy spikes of his hair. He's scribbling furiously. Then considering. Then turning over the pencil in his hand and erasing with equal ferocity. Rinse, repeat, and more than once on the same line, with increasing frustration.

It's only when one of the precariously balanced texts atop his leaning tower spills over and slides down the sandy slope of the dune on the other side of the desk that he stops with a start, dropping his pencil and his notes at once. Skating around the edge of his desk, through the shifting ground, he all but dives after the book, snatching it back up and sinking to a stop in a small avalanche of sand. With an inaudible sigh of relief, Cloud digs his socked feet in (boots tucked safely into the hollow beneath his desk) and starts to haul himself back up the to the crest of the dune, and the loose pile of notes in desperate need of endless correction. ]

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[anonfantry]

[ The sun is still beating down relentlessly overhead, but the sound of that voice sends a very real chill tracking down his spine. It would be just his luck, on a day like this, to have the very epitome of everything he aspires to be very suddenly looming over his shoulder - even if he isn't, really, just kind of standing there, but there's no shaking that instant, overpowering sense of his presence.

(A feeling Cloud is almost just barely coming to recognize, the more this happens, on some level - but which never seems to lessen in unintentional intensity.)

Freezing on the spot, he's only saved the further embarrassment of gouging a chunk out of the page under his hand by the fact that he's erasing, rather than writing, at the moment. ...Though maybe it would be better if he had destroyed the evidence of his complete ineptitude and-

Oh. Sephiroth is still talking? ]

U-Uh- No, sir. I can finish on my own. [ And the insistence is nearly vehement, even as he turns to face his superior (and is visibly shocked by his lax state of dress), because he won't let Sephiroth think he can't handle so much as his own study workload.

It doesn't occur to him until afterward that he might have just squandered the greatest potential opportunity to improve the universe would ever see fit to drop right into his lap, but there's no taking it back, now. He tries his best to look resolute. (And to shield the bulk of his notes from view, by squaring his shoulders and standing a little taller.) ]

[nohometown]

Your desk--is there some reason it's here?

[He can't not ask, it's so absurd.

The placement of the desk might be odd, but otherwise, there's a familiarity to the scene. Studying and reading are pursuits he devotes himself. Both when he needs to and when he wants to. He's been accused of being a workaholic before, and working too much isn't a fault he's likely to call out (or notice) in others.

Cloud's anxiety and startlement, on the other hand, are completely unfamiliar to him.

If anything, he's more relaxed than usual for the moment, looking on calmly.]

What are you studying, if I might ask?

[anonfantry]

My desk?

[ The question strikes him as oddly as the location seems to have Sephiroth, and Cloud shakes his head. ] It's always been here.

[ Or for so long as he can recall, anyway. It isn't really his desk, but one shared by a number of cadets, and he wouldn't dream of moving it - even if the sun is a little too bright, here, and the sand is going to be sticking to his uniform forever.

These, however, are very minor concerns in the face of finding the courage to confess his ambitions to his idol. There's no way the words won't sound probably pathetic, coming from him - but his lack of control suddenly extends to his mouth, too, and he blurts out the right answer, this time. ]

I'm studying for SOLDIER, sir.

[ ...It's almost worse than being wrong all the time. ]

[nohometown]

Has it? [He's not sure why that would be. He glances back over his shoulder at the sea. It's an unusual location for a desk of any kind, personal or shared, but he's going to take Cloud's word for it, for some reason.] I see.

Ah. Good. [Well, Sephiroth thinks that studying for SOLDIER is a good idea. How could that be pathetic? It strikes him as a worthy way to spend time, and as a man who's been known to lock himself in the Research Room, he can relate.] That does you credit.

If you have any questions, I think you'll find I know a few things about being in SOLDIER. [This is one of his dry attempts at making a joke. Most people tend to laugh at them, perhaps more out of fear than amusement--that is, when they can figure out he's joking.]

[anonfantry]

[ He nods, prompt, even if that's a strictly rhetorical question. He'd never lie to the General, no matter how pointless and simple the subject matter.

Cloud can't imagine not being called on his bluff immediately, were he to try, anyway. ]

Th-Thank you, sir! [ Was that... A compliment?

If he sounds disbelieving, it's because he is; the tiniest commendation validating his tireless efforts comes unexpected, still, from far lesser superior officers. (It's not that he doesn't try often enough, but he succeeds so rarely that it's become something even he can't anticipate.) Had that been outright praise, he might've been shocked right out of his dream, entirely.

Fortunately, Sephiroth's joke brings him back down to earth fast enough. To Cloud (and his own admittedly lacking sense of humor), it sounds more like an admonishment, though, whether honestly in jest or not. Of course he shouldn't be talking about SOLDIER to Sephiroth. He ducks his head uncertainly, eyeing the mess of notes cluttering up his desk in the periphery of his vision. ]

Sir. I wouldn't want to waste any of your time. [ But there's something painfully hopeful he can't keep out of his voice, just the same. ]

[nohometown]

You're welcome. [It might not have been the highest praise, but anything worth having is worth studying for. At least, that's what he's always believed.]

Quite all right. I'm not on duty now. I'm on leave.

[I'm on leave. The words sounded strange in his mouth, almost surprising him as he said them. When was the last time he'd been on leave? He couldn't even remember.]

So I may do as I like. [That, too, wasn't the kind of thing he ordinarily said, usually set upon doing his duty, completing his work. So much work. ShinRa kept giving him more and more. He was currently shouldering twice the workload he used to.

Except for now. Now he was on vacation.] I'd be pleased to help.