sephiroth, “tol alien boy”, SOLDIER first class. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
supersoldier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-09-26 10:09 am
supersoldier) wrote in middaeg2020-09-26 10:09 am
Entry tags:
[closed] come back down to my knees
Who: Zack and Sephiroth
When: During the dream event!
Where: dream!Aefenglom
What: Nightmares of the past and present.
Warnings: Will add as they come along.
[Aefenglom is a large city of tall structures and winding streets, an entity of its own design. Midgar, that place of steel and mako-hazy night skies, is much the same way, so perhaps it isn’t surprising that the former easily transforms into the latter, one step at a time.
That’s what happens, at any rate. The skyline warping its shapes and silhouettes, and suddenly a dream-wanderer from the planet of Gaia will find themselves wrapped in the darkness of that familiar place, perhaps overshadowed by the Plate itself — that massive girth of overbearing steel that blocks out the sky for those below it, the skeletal structure and foundation of the more fortunate and well-to-do for the rest who walk atop it.
At the heart of this city, the Shinra building sits like a tower on high. This, too, is not an unfamiliar sight to most, and its halls open up wide like a maw, drawing in those who are particularly intimate with its inner belly, its layout and the often goings-on within. Tonight, however, it is eerily and wrongly emptied of people; everything lit and functioning, but barren. The elevators are still active, their doors sliding open and closed as though to entice a wanderer to enter. (Or one might take the stairs, if they're feeling particularly masochistic.) It brings them to a floor devoted to research and science — the laboratories of this place, often laden with men and women in lab coats, or the smell of anti-septic, or the pulsing, beeping machines that exist to test, to poke and prod. Strange substances in glass tubes; stranger motivations in design and progress. A connecting VR training room, as though to test if this progress holds up under the weight of violent scrutiny.
This room, however, is the one place where there seems to be life: a young man with silver hair shorn short, maybe no older than ten years of age, leaping forward and cleaving an illusory monster across the front with a practice sword. It is as “real” as it would be in “real life” (for whatever that means in this dream), for the thing seems to die in an equally realistic manner, falling to the ground with a thunk, all the fire gone out of it like it were only a shell now.
The simulation ended, a timer appears, displaying how long it took to fell the thing — not long at all, by anyone’s estimation, but apparently not good enough, highlighted in red, and accentuated by how the young boy straightens and turns to look at the stranger who’s just wandered into the room.]
Who are you? You’re making me lose seconds off my time.
[He sounds bored, almost unimpressed. The cut of his green, cat-like eyes belie a searching curiosity, but little else, contrasted against the state of his plain clothing.]
When: During the dream event!
Where: dream!Aefenglom
What: Nightmares of the past and present.
Warnings: Will add as they come along.
[Aefenglom is a large city of tall structures and winding streets, an entity of its own design. Midgar, that place of steel and mako-hazy night skies, is much the same way, so perhaps it isn’t surprising that the former easily transforms into the latter, one step at a time.
That’s what happens, at any rate. The skyline warping its shapes and silhouettes, and suddenly a dream-wanderer from the planet of Gaia will find themselves wrapped in the darkness of that familiar place, perhaps overshadowed by the Plate itself — that massive girth of overbearing steel that blocks out the sky for those below it, the skeletal structure and foundation of the more fortunate and well-to-do for the rest who walk atop it.
At the heart of this city, the Shinra building sits like a tower on high. This, too, is not an unfamiliar sight to most, and its halls open up wide like a maw, drawing in those who are particularly intimate with its inner belly, its layout and the often goings-on within. Tonight, however, it is eerily and wrongly emptied of people; everything lit and functioning, but barren. The elevators are still active, their doors sliding open and closed as though to entice a wanderer to enter. (Or one might take the stairs, if they're feeling particularly masochistic.) It brings them to a floor devoted to research and science — the laboratories of this place, often laden with men and women in lab coats, or the smell of anti-septic, or the pulsing, beeping machines that exist to test, to poke and prod. Strange substances in glass tubes; stranger motivations in design and progress. A connecting VR training room, as though to test if this progress holds up under the weight of violent scrutiny.
This room, however, is the one place where there seems to be life: a young man with silver hair shorn short, maybe no older than ten years of age, leaping forward and cleaving an illusory monster across the front with a practice sword. It is as “real” as it would be in “real life” (for whatever that means in this dream), for the thing seems to die in an equally realistic manner, falling to the ground with a thunk, all the fire gone out of it like it were only a shell now.
The simulation ended, a timer appears, displaying how long it took to fell the thing — not long at all, by anyone’s estimation, but apparently not good enough, highlighted in red, and accentuated by how the young boy straightens and turns to look at the stranger who’s just wandered into the room.]
Who are you? You’re making me lose seconds off my time.
[He sounds bored, almost unimpressed. The cut of his green, cat-like eyes belie a searching curiosity, but little else, contrasted against the state of his plain clothing.]