Entries tagged with sephiroth [v1]

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A shadow of what once was

It's the middle of night, and it's dark. There's a chill in the air. Stars, moonlight, articifial lighting, all of it seems to be conspicuously absent.

So where is that patch of even deeper darkness coming from, like a shadow of a shadow? It slips through the air, sensed more by its motion than by sight, creeping closer...

(ooc: for pun theme, a member of shadow galactica as a literal shadow! also, trying out potential for a waking dream; feel free for characters to think they've woken up to find the shadow in their room/wherever they're sleeping - set any scene desired.)

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oo4 ❄ An ancient puzzle piece

[ On the outset, there's nothing really sinister about the little mountain town. Cast in the dull, grey-green daylight filtering down through a summer-thinned cap of fog, it may seem eerie - especially mountainside, where the winding trails begin and the shadow of that grand, abandoned manor looms (if asked, of course, the locals will tell you it's haunted; about this, the children are quite serious, and the adults only moderately less so). But it is a safe haven away from the badly mutated monsters that roam the countryside freely and before the equally bloodthirsty spires of the nigh impassable range beyond.

There is a cozy inn, a well-stocked general store, and a small population of drably-garbed villagers bustling about. The shouts of the town's few children racing to and fro echo through the crisp, clear air; nearer to the center of the town's miniature main common, the steady flow of water in the towering well adds to the calm, almost sleepy atmosphere that pervades this simple, scenic little wide spot in the road.

On the surface, there's nothing wrong at all. Unless, that is, you happen to spot the lone resident here who seems the least bit out of place.

He looks just like a native: a pale, blue-eyed child with blond hair that stands up adamantly in messily arranged spikes - even at the ends, where it's been pulled back into a short ponytail. His clothes are a little big for him - a boy of no more than seven or nine, give or take a year or two if he's small for his age (and he is) - including the scuffed up, clunky brown boots on his feet. There are grass stains and ground in dirt in dark patches on his shirt and shorts, both a little threadbare. And he is insubstantial to the point of transparency, a shadow in the shadow of the well with his half-corporeal hands clasped around something obscured just enough to be of no shape at all, hidden in his grip where it hovers just before his chest.

He seems anxious, as children attempting to keep obvious secrets out in the open often are, but not bothered by the fact that no one else here appears able to see him. Whenever a villager drifts close, they always abruptly change course, or stop, as if remembering some other forgotten errand, and promptly trace their steps back. Nobody glances in his direction except to look past him to some other point in the distance. (If asked, of course, he'll say it's normal, and with all due sincerity, too.)

With one last furtive glance cast over the house across the dusty little plaza from him, he rolls the object over in his hands and comes to some crucial decision. Setting out determinedly from the safe spot beneath the water tower, Cloud skirts past his own home, giving it a wide berth, and forges determinedly on toward the twisting path that leads out of town - and up into the Nibel mountains. ]

[ ooc: no theme, just horrible!! childhood dreams. B[ ~~i have no excuse.~~ responses will come from

justskinnedknees unless/until Cloud reverts to his usual self. ]

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It's one of those dreams everyone has...

She's already late for school. Homura runs at top speed - and of course she has a test today, which she never realized until this moment. She hasn't studied.

(It's still better than the dreams where she runs into battle, just a moment too late, just in time to see her best and only friend falling-

How many times has that happened? How many times has she relived it in nightmares?)

By the time she rushes into the school, breathless to the alarm of her classmates who are used to her calm punctuality, she wants nothing more than to sink into her seat. But then their confusion turns to laughter. Homura very, very slowly reaches up to her head...

... and runs her fingers along the headband with cat ears Madoka talked her into wearing as a costume when she spent the night. She pulls and tugs and yanks at it, but it won't come off no matter what she does. She frowns uncomfortably. Madoka, a pink-haired girl with pigtails sitting just nearby, gives her a sympathetic smile and will probably use the lunch period to tell her it's alright.

So much for the cool Homura.

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sephiroth [v1]

1st Move

The setting is rather a peaceful one, a gentle summer afternoon. It's neither too hot, nor windy, there's a cloud or two in the sky, but all in all it seems like a perfect day to be outdoors. Excellent picnic weather actually and that was part of the reason the young man was currently sitting on the bank of a wide river.

Roy was dressed simply in a white t-shirt and a pair of brown pants, his shoes currently rested beside him with his socks stuffed into them. He seemed to be waiting on someone to join him as he silently watched the water flow by.

{ooc: Since I decided to start with something light-hearted for once. The man's pre-Ishval here in the dream (which makes him around 18-20) and the setting is of a possible picnic with his best friend, but feel free to replace the expected friend and either brackets or prose are welcome, I'll match either}

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☄ the wandering soul knows no rest

[[Warning: for bloody dream imagery.]]

There are moments in dreams where you are not yourself, looking out from the eyes of another. You might be a stranger, or you might be someone you know.

In one of these moments, Sephiroth stands watching himself: he can't be mistaken for anyone else in his world, his silver hair and garb distinctive, unique. For a few seconds, his own mind is present and aware within another's body, but the seconds pass. Suddenly, he isn't Sephiroth. He's only watching him.

The trees surrounding them are green, in full summer leaf, the foliage lush. Rain is falling from the sky, but only a fine drizzle, the rainfall mixed with sunlight, and the raindrops on the leaves winking where the sun falls. It's Wutai, and they're on assignment here, but somehow, between the rush of urgency and the heat of battle, they find themselves within a quiet moment. No way of telling how long it will last. War is many things, but it is not predictable.

There are only a few infantrymen accompanying them. With two First Class SOLDIERs on this mission, there's no need for any more. Standing on the far side of camp, as far from both Sephiroth and the men as he can be without leaving outright, Genesis watches his friend. Sephiroth's hair stands out against the trees, starkly pale yet brightly silver, an attribute that would be a disadvantage for anyone else, but Sephiroth is untouchable. Bullets fly past him, afraid to touch him. His enemies feel dread at the sight of him, and his allies admire him, and so that hair is yet another symbol of his greatness. He's the Hero of this age.

Genesis should feel the same admiration that everyone else does, but he doesn't. Instead, he feels a tight knot of emotions, all too closely wound together for him to name. What is it? Why is he suddenly so angry? In his mind, he sees--feathers. They flutter across his vision, as dark as shadows at dusk.

The dream flickers. He feels a sharp ache, and he puts a hand to his chest. His glove comes away covered in blood. He holds it up to see it better, blood as vivid as a jewel. He's standing in the middle of an empty, white room, bleeding. There are lights somewhere, far above, like the lights in a hospital, or a laboratory. They hurt his eyes when he glances up. He's never been injured before, not like this. The blood flows and flows and never stops, pouring out of him and into the wider world. Eventually, there's an entire stream of it, coursing over stones and sand like running water, and he's standing on the bank of this sanguine stream, watching that blood that flows like water, so deep. Too deep for him to cross. Sephiroth is in view again, standing on the other side of the stream, the green trees of Wutai behind him. Genesis should be glad to see his friend, shouldn't he? But he isn't. He's angry again, angrier than before, and there's a bitter taste in his mouth, more bitter than blood.

[OOC: Sephiroth is seeing himself through the eyes of Genesis, a former friend, subconsciously trying to understand Genesis' thoughts and actions, so this is not necessarily an accurate version of that character, since it's filtered through Sephiroth's own perception, feelings, and memories. Responses will come from

literarycriticism, unless Sephiroth breaks back through.]

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Today just isn't her day

She thought she left this all behind.

It's the type of sunny day just made for a sports meet. There are races, hurdles, jumps, throwing events, everything imaginable and everyone is qualified. The crowds cheering them on are equalled by the crowd participating. The track is smooth and the fields are perfectly trimmed, with the smell of fresh grass.

Homura should be completely in her element here, but instead she looks horribly out of place. Her glasses are broken (she'd fallen earlier), there are cuts and scrapes along her knee, and the prim braids she's suddenly wearing her hair in have started to unravel. Worse, she barely runs a few steps without obvious pain.

She tries anyway, a valiant effort competing in one of the later races. When she falls to her knees, exhausted already, a few classmates give less than sympathetic looks, and make comments about her weak body and medicine she takes all the time. Homura just concentrates on breathing.

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oo3 ❄ stuck on repeat

[ 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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☄ Dream Impossible Dreams

He knows, when he's awake, that it's impossible. He'll never have children. For a variety of reasons. He's devoted to his work. He has no time. Physiologically, due to his altered genes and the radiation treatments, he is unable to father children. Even if he could, with medical assistance, would he want to? Wouldn't any children he fathered belong to ShinRa as well?

What would become of such children? Would they grow wings and fly away? The idea isn't as far-fetched as it should be, considering what had happened to his friends. Why would he want children in a world like this?

But he's dreaming now. In dreams, he can have another life. He's dressed in plain clothes, black pants and a white dress shirt, standing in a a room, in a house. An ordinary house. It's not in Midgar, but somewhere else, far away. He can look through the window and see trees. The curtains are wide open, and sunlight pours in through them, and he knows, somehow, that this is "home". His home. With the certainty of a dreamer, who can believe impossible things, he knows that his family lives here. His children. There are pictures of them on the wall. Their possessions can be seen here and there, and some of the books on the shelves are theirs--not his own dry volumes about science and military history. He stands there for a while, not doing anything in particular, quiet and distantly content as he takes in this place, this existence, becomes accustomed to it.

He doesn't stir until hears a sound behind him. There someone here with him. He turns and smiles at them, a casual, fond smile for someone he sees almost every day of his life. "Hello." He asks a simple question. "How was your day?"

[[OOC: Anyone is welcome to be one of Sephiroth's "kids". (Relatives or spouses of any gender to talk about family are also welcome, if you prefer.) Feel free to age characters down, if you like, but grown up kids are also fine. Prose or action spam both welcome; I'll match you.]]

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Report I

[As the dream begins, there is a simple stretch of land shown. It looks like a stretch of land one might find in the western part of her world. There's no city or town within sight of it, though there are some mountains off in the distance, their peaks cloaked in the white of snow and ice.

At first, all one sees is the healthy grasses and wildflowers gently swaying in the small breezes which blow through this apparent valley. There's no person within immediate sight, but if one observes some of those flowers and grasses, they would note that some of the petals of the flowers have an unnatural reddish hue and the the same can be said for some of the blades of grass, their green turned into a wet rusty color as if someone bleeding and injured had passed through them.

If one were to follow that grim trail, they'd eventually the woman responsible for it seated in a area where the grasses have been cut down close to the grown. Unlike within her previous dream, she's only within part of her usual attire, the coat being the most obvious thing missing. The next most obvious thing is the blood which graces the front of her chest from the shoulder down. Beneath the mess is the wound responsible for it and even though it has already healed in waking... it has had such impact and importance to her, she's kept it from vanishing so simply here.

It doesn't seem to bother her much however, and thus her mind is currently elsewhere forming plans for the time to come ahead.]

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☄ let down your hair

You find yourself standing beneath a dark, clouded sky, with a great tower rising before you. A forbidding sight, so at first it's easy to overlook one aspect of the scene that seems somehow out of place.

Yet if one is observant, one may notice that there's a long, unbound skein of silver hanging down one side of the building, from an open window that's quite high up (the 67th Floor, to be precise). In that high chamber, Sephiroth sits waiting, thoughtful and even a little wistful. He isn't supposed to let his hair down without being ordered to do so, but he tires of his seclusion here, and of following orders.

The doors and lower windows of the tower cannot be entered, sealed by some force, and guarded. There appears to be no viable way to enter, other than that strange, pale, silver fall of hair.

So, do you climb it?

[[OOC: The tale of Sephpunzel. Relevant image. If you'd like to be already in the story or play some character other than the rope-climber, be my guest!

You can also request child Sephiroth (

pinnaculum) instead of adult Sephiroth, but I'll default to adult if not specified otherwise.]]

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Prelude

[The dream starts innocently enough, a simple stretch of land. It looks like a stretch of land one might find in the western part of the world, or even within Wutai. There's no city or town within sight of it, though there are some mountains off in the distance, their peaks cloaked in the white of snow and ice.

There's a lone figure moving through the area, the healthy grasses and wildflowers brushing lightly against the black leather boots and coat she's wearing. The wind lightly toying with her long silver-white hair. It seems a relaxed and innocent dream, until one notices small tale-tales within the woman's body language. She's seeking something important, but as of yet hasn't found it. Then a rather large black bird appears within the sky and she purposely moves to follow it carefully, watching and waiting until it lands before she moves closer to it, one gloved hand reaching out in such a way it suggests a familiarity with the bird.

What comes as an apparent unexpected shock to her is when the bird turns and attempts to peck at the hand she's extended. She manages to get it out of the way before the blow lands, but the fact that the bird has attempted to hurt her seems to have startled her somewhat. Before she can recover to try reaching for it once again, the black bird spreads its wings and takes off to the skies, leaving her sight within short order.]

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❀ diamond in the rough, a flower blossoming in the slums

Perhaps getting thrown down here was part of the plan. The great quest. The attempt to woo sweet Agrabah princess, or just fetch what that weird rug merchant asked you to get.

More likely this particular stop wasn't on the itinerary. Boy is that Saucer of Wonders picky! The moment you--or a faithful but not always reliable animal companion--got distracted by something shiny, it was down the hatch to a natural desert prison, surrounded on all sides by quicksand. There's evidence that people have been here...and evidence they died here. You're not about to find anyone alive and kicking in the rundown shacks anytime soon.

Look long enough, though, and you'll find a dusty watering can lying on its side. The weathered metal has certainly seen better days, but maybe it could be cleaned up with a little polish?

Or maybe you're more interested in the "water" part of "watering can". This is a desert, after all.

Pick it up?

[ No? But thou must! Not much is going to happen until that can's picked up, and Aerith might get a bit impatient if your character ignores her. Oh yes, indeed, she's in there as the Genie.

In a little spin on the theme, I'm using the Disney take rather than the classic version itself. Also, if you want to find the watering can in a completely different place to better fit your own character's quest, that's fine! (And I do mean completely different, never underestimate the power of cosmic ...powers.) The Gold Saucer/Corel Prison just happened to suit the Cave of Wonders sequence nicely. ]

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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 ]

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Glass Mountain

There once was a king whom possessed a beautiful and talented daughter of whom he was very proud and more than a little possessive of, but as things go, he knew he had at least make a show of trying to marry her off. So he found a large mountain made entirely of glass and installed his daughter at the top of it within a golden castle. Outside the castle, upon the summit of the mountain was planted a tree which produced golden apples. To gain admittance into the castle, one had to pick one of the apples from the tree.

The task sounded deceptively simple when the king spoke of it, saying whomever managed to gain the summit and then gain admittance to the castle would gain not only his daughter but his kingdom once he passed away. Thus a great many attempted to scale the mountain and unfortunately they soon found out the task was no where near as easy or simple as it seemed. The continued painful (and sometimes fatal) failures pleased the king and he sat content on his throne. One day the king's adviser came to him and told him of a knight whom had made it easily over half way up the mountain before turning away to go back down. He advised that if the king truly desired to keep his daughter for himself that there should be put a guardian to watch over the summit of the mountain and the tree.

The king agreed and tasked the man to produced him such a guardian, thus the adviser produced a massive winged beast akin to an eagle and set it to keep watch over the tree and the mountain's summit. When the golden knight arrived again, he made it so close, so close to the mountain's top, but before he could take it and thus make it to the tree, the beast was upon him, causing his horse to rear and the two, man and horse fell all the way down the mountain to perish at its base along with all those whom had tried before.

And so the princess remained trapped within the golden castle still.

[ooc: Decided to intro the lady in with a theme post, Seph's the princess, the king is the President and the adviser is Hojo. Feel free to join in as one of the staff serving the princess, or even the king, or as one of those seeking to win/free the princess from the mountain. The story, twisted to serve my ends is right here ]

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The Bird of Truth

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom named ShinRa. It was an ailing land, for the king had been unwise and had used the resources of his land without a thought for the future. Much of the countryside was growing bare, and the people were weary and sad, though the king's soldiers assured that they didn't stop working.

The king had no heir, and he could have no children, so he asked the wizards of the land to make a perfect child for him, a child who could carry on his legacy and save his land. Whichever wizard made the most perfect child would become the court wizard, a position which carried with it much power and esteem.

The wizards created children of crystal, children of gold, and children of sunlight and moonlight, beautiful children and wise children, but the king wasn't pleased with these and had them sent away. Maybe they became great heroes, but this story does not speak of them. It was the wizard Hojo who decided to make a child of dark magic, the kind that most wizards know to stay well away from, for it can create horrible things: the magic of nightmares. The child's name was Sephiroth. His hair was of silver and his eyes shone like emeralds, and he could kill a man just by touching him, if he chose. For all that, he looked more or less like an ordinary child, and the king was pleased. Here was an heir who could fight his wars and restore his kingdom to its former glory.

The child was innocent, obedient, and perfect (but is anyone ever really perfect?) and to preserve him as he was, the king kept him in the castle, surrounded by tutors and servants. He learned many things, but the king ordered the tutors to teach Sephiroth only the things he wanted him to know.

But one day, a black bird and a white bird came to sit on Sephiroth's window, and they sang to him. Sephiroth liked the singing, so he opened his window for the first time (it was sealed shut, but he was very strong), and the birds hopped in. Sephiroth gave them some crumbs from his dinner, and the birds were pleased with this, and they became his first friends.

The birds told him all they knew about the world, many things that Sephiroth had never heard of before, and he became eager to learn more. He wanted to know about everything, especially about himself and where he had come from. "We don't know everything," said the black bird. "But you can ask the Bird of Truth," said the white bird, helpfully. "Though nobody knows where it is," the black bird concluded dourly.

Sephiroth concluded that the best way to learn everything would be to find this Bird of Truth and ask it some questions. He escaped from the castle by leaping down from the window that he had opened and landing lightly on the ground. One problem with the king creating a perfect child was that he was perfectly able to escape.

After he had run away from home, Sephiroth traveled through all the lands and had many adventures, and whenever he met someone new, he asked them politely, "Excuse me, do you know where I can find the Bird of Truth?"

[[OOC: Based on this story, but obviously changed a great deal and fused with Sephiroth's story. Any kind of character who wants Sephiroth to encounter them on his quest (in any capacity) is welcome.

Prose or actionspam replies both loved! Replies will come from

pinnaculum, my Tinyroth account.]]

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First Memory

[Cosmos is seated on her throne in Order's Sanctuary, though her thoughts are far from the Conflict. Within her arms is a young monster-child with six arms and spikes coming from his head. Anyone from the cycle or wars would note that this "child" looks like a young, miniature version of Chaos and that Cosmos is nearly playing a maternal role for him. If anyone approaches her, the child will vanish into thin air and her attention will once more turn to keeping the world whole.

The Sanctuary itself is at peace, a bastion of of calm, with clear waters underfoot and soft clouds filling the air, from which sunlight streams through in beams. Streaks of green light arc across the area, shimmering with divine power.]

((ooc: Permissions post is here if you want to drop in on it first.))

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Hansel and Lethel

The twists and turns of the forest are long, secretive, and closed. But in this one small clearing, there is a house made entirely of sweets. Gingerbread forms the walls, adorned with enormous pieces of candy. The pillars and lampposts outside are peppermint, while the bushes grow marshmallows and slices of pie and cake. Even the paving stones of the pathway are rock candy. A river of pure dark chocolate flows lazily alongside the house, hot enough to be molten.

It's clearly a haven for children. In fact, a girl with pink hair and wearing a soft dress sits comfortably amid the wafer candy grass and nibbles at a handful. She looks up and smiles at the newcomer. Something about the smile is a bit too cold for her greeting, but with so much candy nearby, there's plenty to distract from the expression.

"Come over and try some," she invites. "You can eat enough to have a full stomach." This is a rare and precious thing, in a poor kingdom like this one. "Don't worry, I live here with my sister."

(ooc: story can be looked up here. Lethe is working for the witch to lure travelers in return for herself and Mnemosyne not being eaten.)

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First Flight

The labyrinth is endless.

Twists and turns fill its hallways. The walls are made of metal and bent in strange places, as if someone had taken a hammer to them, in an effort to shape them into something different.

There are engine bits and pieces everywhere. Little piles make homes in corners while the bigger parts lean precariously against whatever is near. The ceiling is low, and the lighting is dim. There's a faint smell of oil in the air, not unpleasant but it gets stronger as one travels toward the middle of this strange place.

There Cid Highwind will be found, hunkered over the world's messiest worktable. Bits of scrap metal are scattered across the scratched wood, no discernible organization or order to be found.

He rummages through everything, throwing things to the side without looking up. He pauses a second to take the cigarette that had been dangling from his mouth, jamming it into the already overflowing ashtray before continuing on his mission.

Not that he knows what he's looking for, just that he's looking for something. Once he finds it, he'll know. Until then, he's digging through the pile of scrap in front of him, wondering if he should get an assistant.

Not Shera though. Damned woman insists he needs breaks, but who can think about taking a break when he has all this shit to do?

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001

Conan didn't know how, but somehow he had arrived in a village that could only be described as quaint and European. He privately wondered if this was part of one of his mother's elaborate pranks.

But regardless of how he had arrived here and where he was, there was still a crime to solve. It had been tricky gathering the evidence, but nothing beyond his skills. Now there was only the deduction show to finish. He turns and points at one of the suspects.

"The murderer is you! You betrayed and killed your brother here in order to take his place as heir to the kingdom! But you made a mistake! You failed to realize that there was a witness to your crime!"

He ignores the shocked whispers of the onlookers around them.

"Yes! The golden goose saw everything!"

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Spell 003 | Harry Potter | Sleeping Beauty

[ To anyone that has ever seen a picture of Hogwarts for read a decent description which probably wouldn't be too many people really, would recognize that the castle in this dream is undoubtedly the school for witchcraft and wizardry. It's a little different though as a forest of thorns have sprouted up all around it and make it quite inaccessible. ]

[ Nevertheless, the young Gryffindor who is having the dream can be seen fighting his way through the thorns wielding a mighty sword as he chops the thorns out of his way and tries to make a path to the castle. The sword, to anyone that maybe have read the books in their worlds will recognize that Harry is brandishing the sword of Gryffindor. ]

[ He's on a great and near impossible quest to rescue the princess at the top of the tower. In his dream That tower is the North Tower that the divination classes take place in. He doesn't seem to think much about these changes to his school as the fuzzy logic of dreams is enough to convince him all is as it should be. ]

(( ooc: So! You can either play the part of the 'Princess' Harry is set to rescue or you can be an ally he meets along the way or an enemy to stop him from reaching his goal. Otherwise, assume the princess he's rescuing is Cho Chang. ))