Before this dream started there was a bright flash of white light, followed by a seemingly endless flower field appears, extending way beyond to what the eyes can see and at the moment Rinoa is not quite sure if it's accurate or not, there's even the distant sound of the ocean and it's enough for her to recognize this place as what it is.

The flower field behind Edea's orphanage, a gentle drift of wind sweeps by causing the sea of flowers to sway in rhythm with it, some petals even fluttering in the wind, the wind even move through the bright white feathers of her wings, ones that she hadn't even realized yet and even if she had she won't pay any attention to them at the moment

Rinoa moved further in the flower field, kneeling down her fingers touches one of the flowers, before a deep weary sigh escaped her lips and the wings slowly start to disappear, some lingering feathers being swept away with the wind. "Did we win or…?" Had they failed?

( ooc )

It's a sky of storm clouds, dark and threatening, piled against each other, the air thick with the scent of ozone - but it's a silent sky.  The clouds don't move, there's no storm wind, no rumble of thunder or flares of lightning.  Instead the sky is static, heavy.  Indifferent.  Strange streaks of a living, glowing green trace across the sky in slim arches, frozen in place, paths or trailing ends of forgotten energy.  Underfoot, barren, ancient, rocky ground falls away on every side.

It's an island of rock floating in an endless sky, flat on its surface, bottom a jagged mess, as if it was ripped out of somewhere better by its roots and left to drift through a sea of storm clouds.  Far in the distance there are other uprooted clots of earth, just as barren, just as forgotten.  This island in the middle of nowhere however isn't empty.  There are ruins here, fallen pillars.  And there are bodies.  So many dead bodies.  Soldiers, scientists, civilians, scattered around the ruins, each one dead, each one bearing the traces of a violent death even if they blur at their edges and become indistinct if looked at too closely. 

There is one body that's still alive though, deep in the heart of the ruin, sitting on weathered steps that lead to nowhere.  There's a giant sword driven into the stone near his right side and a thick leather wing spreads out from his left shoulder.  He's not dressed in his usual garb, instead a ragged, lethal mix of clothes from memory, not always his, and he doesn't look up from where he has he mouth and chin pressed into the hands of flesh and clawed steel woven in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.  The stairs are clear of bodies beyond his. 

Except for two. 

On his right, near the bloody sword is the body of a dark haired man in SOLDIER uniform, spiky hair clotted in his own blood, blue green eyes closed for good.  On the left, almost under the stretch of the wing is a brunette woman, dressed in pink, flowers scattered dying and forgotten around her.

Blue eyes the color of the lightning that doesn't move through the empty clouds lift at intrusion but other than that Cloud doesn't rise or move at all.  He's here with his dead. 

What do you want?

ooc. so, another Cloud's-messed-up post.  Because we have got to get through these so we can move on to the naked in high school dreams  that just killed the atmosphere I was trying to set didn't it?  Anyway, I am shamelessly swiping the Dissidia setting and his alternate Kingdom Hearts outfit from that too.  He's not Kingdom Hearts Cloud, though feel free to think he is if that applies.  And yes, that's Zack and Aerith quite dead on the stairs with him (though that doesn't mean if you're Zack or Aerith you can't still come for the sheer mind screw of it all).  Be prepared for the emo - or conversely, some violence.  He's just come to the realization that he's going to have to abandon his family in his waking world and he's not in a chatty mood.

It's a meadow, surprisingly bright and green and the heat of an early spring sun is just beginning to warm the air.  The grass is tall and green and there are almost more flowers than blades of grass in the area, riots of bright color and pure white hanging in delicate bells or open bursts of petals.  Listening there's the faint drone of bees somewhere nearby, busy with their pollen and even fainter the hint of a stream somewhere, quick with the melt of snow from the mountains that take up the not that distant horizon.  Weathered, stunted trees form a wood of sorts nearby, full of cool shade and the old smells of moss and bracken and last years fallen leaves.  And Cloud -


Cloud is hard to find.


Until you notice the ears above the grass.  Or perhaps a stray breeze blows by and you catch the ripple of gray fur between the swaying blades.  He's lying on his stomach, chin resting across his arms and he's...


Well, he's a wolf.  Grey and furry and lean muscle with eyes the color of the waters off Costa del Sol.  And at the moment, he's watching the whispy clouds overhead, one ear twitching absently at a nearby bird that's trying to decide if he's invading it's nest space or not.

Ignore this!!