Tseng hadn't agreed to this at all. Turks didn't do dates, much less go on ones as a prize to a random person that had won a contest.

Why he'd been chosen was logical enough, but it didn't mean he agreed with it. The Public Relationns team was full of idiots as far as he cared. He was too old for this sort of thing, and he wasn't exactly known for being personable.

He had been briefed on a few details about who he'd been gifted off to for an evening and the expectations they had for the encounter and given ample funds to make it happen. He was dressed casually enough in gray slacks and a pale blue shirt, he had a suitcoat in the car if needed along with a tie if things got formal.

All he was waiting for was the unfortunate soul he'd be saddled with for the next few hours and forced to make non work related conversation with.

Sometimes, even his luck didn't work the way he wished.

The world of this dream is different from those Tseng has previously been found in, though it's eerily similar to the frozen library. Pillars and archways of ice form meandering pathways across the vast frozen landscape, everything crafted of ice and snow aside from the clusters of lillies that grow impossibly from the at times transparent ground. Ribbons of light twist beneath the ground and in the air, forming rivers and flowing endlessly back and forth.

All paths, however, eventually will lead to what could be seen as some sort of receiving area or strange bedroom. Frozen constructs shed cool light in the area, illuminating carved seats draped in heavy fabrics to keep the chill off of skin. Whites, blues and pale greens dominate with the occasional glint of gold bringing the only visual warmth to the scene.

Despite the frigid scene there's a pervading deep sense of safety and home that seems to come from a rather scantily clad blue skinned woman who's mass of dark blue hair falls in braids and twists bedecked with gold and ribbons. Seated on one of the larger 'chairs', she seems more than content to let the dark haired man rest with his head in her lap as she gently runs her fingers through his hair in soothing affection a soft hum of a long lost song floating in the air.

The tialk on Tseng's forehead is blue, instead of it's usual black and he's dressed in a draping blue and silver cloth that leaves his arms and one shoulder completely bare. What can be seen of his skin is littered with scars, alluding to those that aren't visible. Despite being obviously more relaxed than anyone has likely ever seen him, he doesn't look younger. If anything the loss of the tension revealed how very tired he'd been, how thirty years of being a Turk wore at him.

Despite the somewhat obvious implications of the dream, there's no sense of sadness. Tseng has long been at peace with his own demise, and in some ways it's a bit of a relief to finally have it done with.

When approached, she gives whomever it is a look that speaks volumes. Violence of any sort will not be tolerated in her domain, and while she's incredibly tolerant and understands there may be a good deal of anger she will stop anyone from harming her charge. He is hers to protect, at least until he's good and ready to defend himself again.

She touches Tseng's shoulder, head bowing as she speaks to him briefly and shifting as he sits up to greet whomever it is with a tired though open smile.

[OOC: Holy tl:dr batman!

So, basically Tseng's dead now, timeline wise for the ff7 people who're in line with him this dream happens the night after the wails of thousands of dying souls is heard coming from the abandoned Midgar sometime just before Dirge begins after Deepground's attack on Junon where said thousands of people were taken from.

And yes, the woman is Shiva!]

On his way home from a foreign land, a young man with a retinue of three meets an old witch. The witch asks the young man to climb down into a hollow tree. Inside, she says, he'll find three rooms: one filled with copper, one with silver, and one with gold. Each room will be guarded by a dog. In the first room, the dog will have eyes the size of teacups. In the second, it will have eyes the size of mill wheels. The third dog will have eyes each the size of the Round Tower.

She gives him an apron and instructs him to pick up each dog and lay it on the apron and then help himself to as many coins as he wishes. In exchange, she merely wants a tinderbox, which her sister left last time she was down there.

The young man agrees, leaves his retinue to keep company with the witch and climbs down into the tree.

Inside he finds the three rooms with the three dogs with enormous eyes, exactly as the witch said, and he fills his pockets with coins. He leaves the tree and asks the witch what she wants with the tinderbox. She says it's none of his business. He says, "Tell me, or I'll have your head chopped off."

She says, "No." And he orders one of his retinue to chop her head off.

He takes the best room at the best inn in the nearest city -- a city which is home to a beautiful princess who lives in a copper palace and is never allowed to see anyone but the king because it has been foretold that she will marry a foreign man -- and he spends every coin he has on food and entertainment.

One night, he uses the witch's tinderbox to light a candle, and the dog with eyes as big as teacups appears and says, "What is my master's command?" He promptly asks for more money, and the dog fetches him a sack of coins. After some experimentation, he learns that if he strikes the tinderbox once, the dog with copper coins comes. If he strikes twice, the dog with silver comes. And if he strikes three times, the dog with gold coins comes.

One night, the young man decides he wants to see the princess who no one ever sees, so he summons the dog with eyes as big as teacups and commands him to bring him the princess. In seconds, he returns with the princess on his back, asleep.



ooc: This is the tale the above is from, feel free to be the princess or one of the trio traveling with the young man (Rufus).

[ Harry's locked in a room where there are no definite doors and the walls are solid white aside from the very obvious writing all over the walls. He's holding a strange looking quill and blood is pouring from his hand as he's clearly written 'I must not tell lies' all over the room- walls, ceiling, and floor are covered in blood-red lettering. ]

[ He drops the quill and looks around again, in a far corner there's a tombstone and a freshly dug grave. Harry moves over to it to see who's grave it is, a sinking feeling in his stomach tells him he knows exactly who's it is. ]

Here lies Cedric Diggory. Died in a tragic accident

[ Harry stares numbly at the Tombstone as Anger starts to build, his fingers twitching to grab his wand. ]

'Has it sunk in yet?'

[ A sickening voice like poisoned honey sounds from all around the room. And before he's even aware of what he's doing Harry has his wand-]

Reducto!

[ The tombstone blasts into pieces. ]




(( No theme this time. Just depressing stuff that's on Harry's mind >: ))

Once upon a time, for all good stories start with once upon a time, there was a great forest.  It stretched on for days, for countries, for unclaimed fairy tale after unclaimed fairy tale in fact.  This was the Great Wood, the Olde Wood, the Place Where All Things Start.  This was the forest of all the old tales and it will ever be, until men are legends that dogs tell each other around the fires at night.  Everything lives in the depths of these woods and nothing at all.  Be careful what you whisper when you go into the dark for even the trees are listening and stories have a way of happening here whether you want them to or not.

Deep in the darkness, in one of the less traveled spots, there lives a wolf.  The Wolf, if you will.  For he is the Big Bad, the Howler at the Door, the Winter Wolf, the Devourer, the Nightmare That Creeps In Windows, the Child's Warning and, occasionally, the Huffer and Puffer, though he's taken to outsourcing the last one after one particularly embarrassing incident involving a hay allergy.  He's the wise talking beast or the prehistoric feral fear.  He is, in short, whatever your story needs him to be.

Don't expect him to be particularly pleased or even helpful about it though.  He's been doing this job for a while now and he's getting sick of getting yanked out of rolling in dead animals just so that he can trot his fuzzy butt over to make menacing, half-assed attempts at your basket of treats and God help you if he has to dress in old lady drag One More Time!


OOC: so.  Here's Cloud to provide all your Big Bad Wolf TM needs.  Or frankly, the forest isn't above dragging him in to take over any animal need.  There appears to be a shortage of fairy animals going around at the moment, something about better paying jobs in Hollywood.  Does your story need a talking bear?  Suddenly you've got a snarky wolf as your guide.  Your brothers got the mill and all you got was a cat?  Well, it's a wolf now and it's not happy about having to wear boots or do all your work for you, you dolt.  Need that straw spun into gold by morning?  Looks like you're duck out of luck.  Wolves can't spin, though he does a very impressive cats cradle if you give him enough yarn and tie the knots for him.  Point being, if your fairy tale has an animal of any sort in it, you've now got a very grumpy wolf who can't say 'not interested' the way he'd really rather.  And, of course, he's still here for all your big bad wolfish metaphorical needs as well.

❧Once upon a time, there lived a fine and wealthy gentleman. He owned a great house which stood in the center of his extensive lands. Gardens, woods, and lakes, he owned them all. He traveled the world in his own gilded airship, and he was a renowned patron of the arts. Yet in person, his manner was cold and strange, and he had feathers in his hair, which was not the fashion of the day and was deemed decidedly odd. Some whispered that he could even fly like a bird and had the powers of a witch, and so the townspeople were afraid of him. It was well known that witches had no hearts, and to know them was perilous. None of the local girls would consent to marry him; they all stayed far away from him.

However, he was set upon marrying one in particular: the daughter of his neighbor, who he considered the fairest of all in those parts. He paid her court with many great gifts and fine words, and he had her to stay in his house, along with a chaperone. They played games and went riding. He had the finest musicians visit to play for her. He showed her the halls of his home and all its treasures, and above all, he spoke to her sweetly. If he were a witch, he was a very well-spoken one.

At last, she consented to marry him. The two were wed, and their wedding was no small affair. There were glittering lanterns and fresh flowers of every kind, and a feast was laid out upon the tables, and people came from miles around to dine on the splendid meats and sweets, to drink deeply, and to wish Featherhair and his new wife well--though some, in their hearts, were uneasy, for the man's eyes glittered like his lanterns, and there was no warmth in them.

The couple had not been married for more than a month when Featherhair had some business in another kingdom that called him away from home. Before he boarded his airship and departed, like any good husband, he came to speak to his wife and tell her of his going.

"My dear," he said with a smile, "I will be gone for several days. While I am away, you will be the mistress of this house, but first, I have some few instructions that you must follow."


[[OOC: Based on the fairy tale Bluebeard, though it may turn out quite differently. Prose and actionspam replies equally loved.

Whether your character is male or female, feel free to have them play the role of Kuja's "bride"; and replace female pronouns with masculine ones--or not. Or, if you choose, play another role in the story: one of Kuja's servants, someone worried about the bride's safety--or wreck the fairy tale entirely!]]

The city, Midgar was full of people. Soulless, faceless people that ate and breathed and worked and slept. People who didn't have a prayer when it came to protecting themselves from the evils of the world. The monsters that lurked in the darkness, in the streets at night and threatened their very lives as they lay sleeping. Then there were the creatures that inhabited the city, just as monstrous and inhuman but somehow more honest about wanting to destroy you and for what reason.

The Turks were the last bastions of defense against the evils that was AVALANCHE led by Fuhito. They were the only thing separating the world from teetering beyond the brink of despair and falling into destruction. Everything they cared about would disappear. Homes, lives, family. They were a family. Drastic measures had to be taken, consequences notwithstanding. They were underpowered, short handed. There was no way to win against these guys. Reno could not let any more fall to Fuhito and his bunch. He had lost too many people he was willing to call friend. This was where it ended.

This room.

Reno held the grip of his EMR tightly, knuckles turning white with the force, standing in front of an impressively carved oak desk. It was an audacious plan, one that could backfire or cause any number of unexpected things, but it was their one last hope. They needed help, more power, something, and Reno was going to sacrifice himself to get it- not that he had that much humanity left anyway. Not with most of his friends six feet under. He was a lone turk against the world.

The person behind the desk was sitting in an over-sized winged back chair, facing the large floor to ceiling window overlooking the city basking in the glow of mako. Nothing was going to get done like that, he had power to buy and a soul to sell. He walked forward and grabbed the chair to swing it around.

Usually Reno tends to joke around and not take dreams seriously. Even if there is something to these weird dreams, they're still just dreams, right? So why not goof off? That's what dreams are meant for.

Tonight, she's different. Her expression is colder. Her green eyes have a cool blankness in them. Her bearing's professional (well, for Reno; it's not like she buttoned up her shirt or smoothed down her hair). She's calm and collected, and she is smiling, as usual, but she isn't laughing. The sky behind her is gray with smog, airships flying in the distance, fitted out for peacekeeping with laser cannons. Weapons of peace--it makes a kind of sense. If you have enough weapons, no one will dare to fight you. That's peace, isn't it?

Midgar is still standing, but everything in the city now seems darker than it once was, even Reno's smile. Resources are scarcer, and the wasteland surrounding the city is growing, along with the people's discontent. That means order is more important than ever, and who are the government's best enforcers? The Turks.

It's no wonder Reno's serious: she's on duty. When you work for Shinra, that means there's a lot to be done, and Turks always get the job done. She has her orders, and they're not to take prisoners (well, maybe one or two, for questioning purposes). There's been another uprising, and the President wants it quashed. The sooner, the better. He's not like his father. They won't be taking out a chunk of the city. They'll be killing whoever needs killing, that's all, going right for the leaders. It's for the public good, right? These terrorists disturb the peace, kill innocent civilians. That's the Shinra party line, and she's sticking to it. The ones who'll be killed outright are the lucky ones, for political prisoners don't fare well in Shinra's detention centers.

She doesn't care about that. They'll get what's coming to them. Reno has her electro-mag rod in hand. She has a gun, too, but she prefers the solid physical feeling of metal striking heads, the sizzle and tang of electricity. The fighting has moved the streets now. The enemy's scattered, but they're a small group, and it won't be too hard to round them up and eliminate them. She moves through the shadows, quiet, quick, and driven. There are more of them this way, she knows, trying to escape. She can hear their voices, their footsteps, closer with each moment.

It won't be long now.

[[ooc: In this dream, based on wishing that certain unpleasant events never happened, Sephiroth never returned and Shinra, Inc, the corporate government, didn't fall. The Planet is more dystopian than ever, and Rufus Shinra runs a totalitarian dictatorship.

Feel free to fight with the terrorists, aka rebels, to side with the Turks, to get in the way, or to do something else entirely.]]

Tseng's breath was ragged as he stared in to the house. It had been a home, but the door ripped from it's hinges and destroyed furniture wrecked that.

He'd tried so hard to keep the two halves of his life from colliding.

On one hand he was Turk, a killer, a man not opposed to using any means necessary to get the job done. Interns avoided using the elevators alone with him.

On the other, he was a father and a husband. He'd stepped on legos in the dark and smiled at crudely drawn crayon artworks. He'd worn macaroni necklaces.

His professional life had no business invading his private life and ripping it to shreds.

He pulled up a board in the porch and withdrew a crowbar and a heavy looking revolver before pushing inside the house. He had to make sure his family was still alive, and if not... well... whoever it was who'd done this would find themselves on the receiving end of a pissed off Turk Director's wrath.

[OOC: SO. YES. Tseng's wish? Lovely home family, kids, spouse, etc. TOO BAD HE IS A TURK AND THAT IS AN EXPLOITABLE WEAKNESS. He'd never told his family what it was he did for work and someone decided to go after them instead of him directly.]