dagung | TDM: January

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* tdm

TDM: January

Test Drive: January

All threads can be considered game canon,

the prompts and test drive itself will be

• Reserves Open Today! If you're interested in securing a spot, put one in! We accept applications without reserves too, of course. Reserves will expire three days before the end of the application period, on the 28th.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 31st, with the intro log going up on February 1st. The application page can be found here. As a reminder, this will be our last uncapped application round!
• If you have any questions about the game or the world, please refer to the FAQ page; if you still have questions, feel free to ask them! For questions specific to the test drive, please ask them on the appropriate thread.
• For the purposes of the test drive, your character will have access to all magics taught by the Coven if they're a Witch, and as much of their shifted form as you'd like if they're a Monster. Feel free to play around and experiment with each!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!

You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face -

and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that.

The Prehistoric Wilde

Thick summer heat hangs heavy over the uninfected landscape like a damp blanket, smothering. The jungle around you is thick and wet, full of the sounds of chittering animals and the high-pitched drone of insects. The flora and fauna are like nothing you've ever seen before, large and alien in colors and shapes, though they bear no signs of the Cwyld. Flowers the size of a man's head and brightly colored in rainbow hues curl their tendrils invitingly, and giant mosquitoes buzz through the air seeking a meal. You can barely see the glow of the twin moons through the thick canopy above. There are no signs of civilization - at least, not the civilization most will be used to; only the distant sound of the river, compelling you to follow its winding path. But will you go forward, or will you go back?

Rumble in the Jungle
Making headway through the jungle at night is a chore. The foliage grows thick and the humid heat is oppressive for even those who enjoy the warmth. There are no clear paths here, no easy way through. The canopy of the ancient trees far, far over your head is just as dense, but the faintest moonlight filters through the holes left by the huge leaves in stippling patterns across the musty forest floor. 'Large' seems to be the theme - lining whatever path you pick your way through, there are pitcher plants massive enough to swallow a grown man, with small animals and giant insects being digested down inside the sticky liquid that fills them. The flowers are as big as a man's head, and come in a rainbow of colors, their venomous tendrils curling toward signs of life. The trunks of some of the trees are as thick as houses, and shade the ground beneath them with leaves like umbrellas. The hand-sized mosquitoes thrive in the sticky heat and if not killed first, can make off with a full pint of blood from an unsuspecting person.

At some point in your journey, the ground begins to rumble beneath your feet. The farther you go, the longer you walk, the more signs of life become visible: thick, winding trails of crushed foliage, huge, animalistic footprints in the mud. Luckily, to this world, you are small and insignificant, and may escape the notice of the local Monsters - the massive, prehistoric ancestors of today's Monsters.

They seem like giants, colossal Titanoboa Nagas with hollow fangs like swords, towering Fauns with the lower halves of mammoths, sabertooth Turnskins, pterodactyl Harpies with leathery wings. Even the parts of them that resemble humans (and they have far fewer human-like parts than their modern counterparts) are larger than any actual human being. They operate primarily on instinct, made even stronger by the full moons above, and perceive the strange new creatures as threats - or food.

Sticking to the river seems safest - at least until you run into megalodon Merrow, singing an alien, but alluring, song to draw in prey, or the apex predator of this prehistoric world - Dragons, bigger and scalier than the ones Mirrorbound may know, stopped to drink at the river. All other Monsters flee from the huge reptiles, lest they become food themselves. Luckily you can defend yourself with your new abilities, or your neat changes - you're small, but not totally helpless.

Interesting to note... while all other Monster types are represented, there are no Fae or Chimeras in the Wilde here, and the Vampires are more like huge bat-monsters that traverse the jungle on all fours than humanoid bloodsuckers.

The Natives
Going backward, away from the distant sounds of the sea and against the current of the river, leads you through dense jungle. How long have you traversed the landscape? Hours? Days? Time passes funny in dreams. Eventually the trees thin out, grow taller and less leafy, and the air becomes drier. Instead of loamy soil beneath your feet, you start to feel rocky, harder earth, and spot outcroppings of stone. The sun begins to rise, which makes it easier to spot people on the horizon, a little settlement coming to life in the morning, nestled where the river forks into two.

They're much hardier than the familiar people of Aefenglom, sunburned and dressed in natural, rough fabrics. Their homes, if one can call them that, are shoddy little structures made of sticks and leaves and mud, pressed up against the sturdiness of the stone formations. And, when they spot strangers approaching their village, they scramble for their weapons - crude clubs, stone axes, even just large rocks snatched up off the ground.

The translation magic works on them, thankfully. Their speech is halted and simple, but they get their point across. Tell them who you are, or they'll beat your brains in. Monsters might get their brains beat in anyway if they aren't careful, even though they're much smaller than the Monsters these humans are used to. And Witches? May the gods help you if you use magic in front of these terrified, unevolved people, lest they mistake you for a Fae (the word is whispered with fear and revulsion in their voices) and swarm you with simple iron tools. If you're an actual Fae, an obvious Fae? They'll whisk their children into their huts protectively and then run you right out of the village. Violently.

The truly observant, or those who can see through illusions, among you may notice something strange, though. Some Fae actually seem to live among them, heavily cloaked in natural illusions, with the primitive humans none the wiser. There are just a few, but all of them look young, twelve or thirteen at the oldest, and they are all scared of their secret coming to light. Fae who get caught tend to be burned at the stake around here.

The Invaders
Perhaps you chose to go forward, with the current and toward the distant sound of ocean waves, where the river pours into the sea. More long-time residents of Aefenglom may notice that the shoreline is familiarly-shaped, but wider, bigger, not yet worn down by thousands of years of erosion. There is no bustling Harbor, only the waves crashing on the rocks, small islands dotting the water near the shore. There is no Bright Wall - there is no city, even, only an expanse of beach transitioning gently into an idyllic grove dotted with gauzy, pointed tents, and a beautiful, gilded ship half sunk into the sandy earth.

It seems safer than the jungle, at first - until you notice all the Fae. They're more insectoid than the ones many are familiar with, with big, glittering eyes and either bright, jewel-toned wings like dragonflies or butterflies, or delicate, leafy wings in greens and browns. They're also taller than modern, lesser Fae, though not by much, and they're thin and angular, standing on spindly limbs that barely seem able to hold them.

Characters receive a warmer welcome here, by the band of true Fae that have made their camp in the grove, though the alien-looking beings have a tendency to treat them like toys, children, or both, cooing over their sizes and their magic.
"Look at the little Monsters! Aren't they cute!"
"We should make some of our own! And oh, the little humans have magic! Delightful!"
It's hard to have a conversation with one - they're condescending at best, and at worst, flit off to another entertainment out of boredom while you're mid-sentence.

And entertainments abound in their camp. They're served and tended to like emperors by collared humans - adults and young adults do the heavy labor, including pulling grand little chariots for transportation, though there are some highly-supervised human children running about fetching drinks and fanning their Fae masters with palm leaves.

Farther out, a large, deep pit has been dug out of the earth, ringed by a waist-high barrier of logs, a few Fae gathering at the barrier and leaning over, talking in conversational, happy voices. Down below, Chimera gladiators fight for their amusement, while the Fae keep up running commentary, discussing each warrior's chances, new breeding prospects, interesting crossbreeds their fellows have come up with ("She's trying an Arachne and a Turnskin together, how delightful!"). Trying to disrupt the proceedings will only result in the Fae turning their magic on you - illusions and curses, nasty little tricks. Sit down, silly little ones! The fight is just getting good! Or maybe... Maybe they'll toss you into the pit to see what your chances are in battle.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There’s never anything promising about an unbidden shriek piercing the air. It turns careful caution into blatant alarm, the sound practically ricocheting through the copse to draw the attention of everything nearby.

The low, buzzing hum of oversized insects is assailing enough on the senses. The humidity and heat is vaguely distracting, but bearable. But this is worthy of his actual attention, indicative of potential danger nearby — or so he’ll assume, not knowing that Aerith is reacting to massive mosquito and little more.

And then the rumbling starts.

Beneath his feet, vibrations shudder across the earth, heralding a true threat. Sephiroth’s gloved grip tightens around Masamune, eyes narrowing towards the nearby rustling of leaves as a figure slips through the heavy foliage nearby. A woman, harried-looking. Likely the source of that scream earlier, but the shaking terra firma is a more pressing concern.

Green eyes raise upwards, beyond the giant leaves encasing them in every direction. Sephiroth barely has time to form a question, because breaking through the alien-like flora is the head of a giant, growling chimera, its bestial features twisted into a hungry anger.

Instinct kicks in, snapping into every muscle fiber, and he digs his heels into the ground, readying himself. To Aerith, whether she listens or not, he only spares one word—]

Run.

[It is not the pressing concern of the monster overhead that makes her stop dead in her tracks, but the sight of the man, like a strange, dark shadow, far more alien than the overgrown plantlife and the bizarre monster that growls at them from above. Aerith freezes. Goes stock-still really, her eyes wide, the color draining from her face.

How? How could he be here? Again?

And why was he telling her to run?

Were she in the Lifestream proper, she might be able to hide in it, coalesce into shimmering light and slip in and out of the current's of the Planet's life force until she could dodge him, as she had in the time he'd sent Geostigma to ravage those left behind on Gaia. But here she is out in the open — here there is the beast that looms above them, looking angry, looking hungry, and she finds that, for once, she has no idea what to do. She is torn between following the command and being baffled that it was given in the first place.]

What are you doing h—

[She starts, and then the chimera releases a shriek so loud that she claps her hands over her ears, stumbling back from it without thinking. She notably, does not run.]

[Orders are usually followed when he gives them, and with not a moment of hesitation in-between. But this woman, she just stands there, frozen into place by what he recognizes as fear. He’s seen it time and time again in those less trained and less acclimated to danger, the mind’s treachery turning the body useless.

And though Sephiroth’s focus is needlepoint honed-in on the monster, in his periphery, just for a moment, he thinks that she is frozen in the wake of his appearance if her words mean anything at all, more than the chimera that’s dogged her trail for the sake of an easy meal. That makes no sense to him — he’s not the one baring long fangs in a horrendous roar — but right now it’s irrelevant. The monster is a more prevalent concern.

If she won’t move, then she’s in the way. This thought that has him reaching out with his free hand, grasping her by the forearm, and tugging Aerith behind him as he steps forward; no longer an obstacle or, in a worst-case scenario, collateral damage. The roar itself barely fazes him, only drawing out a deeper frown — and when a scaly paw, claws extended, comes swiping through the leaves, Sephiroth raises Masamune at an angle to meet it.

The blade’s edge cuts clean through the fleshy underside of the paw, even as claws scrape against the steel. This is enough to discourage the creature, rearing back in another shriek, while its tail, the tip a giant snakehead, appears hissing and strikes angrily at the space uncomfortably close to where they both stand.]

[His touch makes her wake up, all of a sudden, shift from frozen shock to dread, and it's instinct for her to try to jerk away before she realizes that he's pushing her behind him. He's...

He's protecting her. But why would Sephiroth, of all the people in the world, protect her? In all that she has heard, seen herself, been a victim of — he was living malevolence, a blight on the Planet, a cancerous growth that hid in the shadows of Lifestream in order to poison the earth from the inside.

This is unprecedented, and as she watches him move, fight, she cannot appreciate the artistry of it, the quick efficiency of his blade as it slices through the chimera's flesh as if it were paper-thin. She can only think of how unnatural it is, how no one person should be allowed to be so powerful.

The snake tail rears up, alive and spitting venom, and without even thinking on it, Aerith raises her arm in an arc, brings it down in one quick, decisive motion.

Lightning streaks through the sky and strikes the creature head on, and the tail rears back with an agonized shriek, the smell of burnt flesh pungent now.]

If—

[She should leave him to his own devices, she thinks, sudden and cold, but instead she says something else entirely.]

If you keep it away, I can whittle it down!

[She’s still not running.

Even as lightning arcs through the humid atmosphere, scenting the air of burnt ozone and flesh, all he can think to himself is that she’s either very brave or very stubborn. Strange, given the shriek cascading through the foliage just moments ago — if that was her, fear isn’t something she lets foster in her spirit for very long. Almost admirable, if he had time to appreciate it.

Instead, he moves forward, giving the monster no room to breathe. It’s a simple tactic, tried and true, easy to put the pressure on when his strength often overrides any opponent. A strategy that works even on this creature, attacked a second time across the maw with Masamune.

If she won’t run, then he’ll trust she will make herself useful. She doesn’t even need to whittle it down, but her magic(?) will be a distraction, which is just as effective.]

Then do it. [—he says, in-between the pained howls of their target. A single opening, and he can end this quickly.]

[There is a clinical sort of ruthlessness in his movement that unsettles her. She has seen combat, been in the midst of it, but this is... it's so calculated. No wasted movement, no wasted time.

The command — because that was all it could be called — makes her bristle in a way she never really bristles. It makes her angry in a way she has never been angry before, and her hands clench tight into fists at her sides before she forces herself to relax, to allow her expression to ease into neutrality. It's hard — she can't help but feel sorry for the monster, of all things, even though it was just as likely to cause her harm as he was.

The chimera reels some at the slash, then lowers itself, head dipping, to then rush forward like a battering ram, the trees and branches overhead seeming to buckle from the force of the approach. Aerith casts again — another lightning bolt comes crashing down. This one hits the beast square between the eyes, which slows the charge but does not stop it.]

[Tossing out commands is second nature to a military man. How smoothly a battle plays out is determinant upon how concisely they’re relayed. No wasted breath, no time for pleasantries. Then do it, he had said, and though his words might make anyone bristle, Aerith follows through. That’s the important part, the magic flying into the face of the chimera fast enough to disorient it mid-charge.

Lightning singes the air once more. The trees encasing them bend in protest against the chimera’s angry careening, straight towards Sephiroth. But its temporary falter buys him just enough time to raise Masamune almost perfectly horizontal, allowing the monster’s skull to pierce a portion of it right between the eyes. Its clumsy charge has done the majority of the work for him.

Needless to say, it goes limp soon after. Sephiroth has to move back a few steps to account for the continued momentum of the corpse, but after that, it’s easy enough to carefully remove his blade in a motion that’s slow, careful.

(He’s not certain if that violent of a display is the best first impression to make on a stranger. He’s also not certain how much it matters, but he wonders all the same.)]

...You should have run.

[—he says, flicking the blood off his blade in a quick-fire motion of the wrist. But then he looks at her, questioningly.]

Are you all right?

[The flinch along her shoulders as she watches him dispatch of the monster is sudden, and unexpected, even for her. While not impervious to fear, she had rarely been afraid, even in life. And being submerged in Lifestream had given her some measure of omnipotence, a reach she had not had before — she could be closed off, could be blocked, perhaps harmed, but she had transcended mortality, always could glean her next step to take without being worried on what she might fall into.

This is... unprecedented. She stares at him, her expression pale, and drawn, and very serious.

That he would be even absently concerned about her well-being is so absolutely baffling that it's laughable, but...

She takes in his expression. His face, the subtle differences there. She searches his expression for anything, some sign of madness, the same creeping insanity that she had witnessed in her brief brushes with him in the Lifestream, and...

She doesn't see it. Impassivity. Calm. But nothing more than that.]

I'm fine.

[She says at last, so quickly that it comes out more curt than she intended. She seems to realizes this, and her gaze drops some.]

It didn't hurt me. I'm only a little shaken, that's all.

[What a strange dream.]

[The tension in her frame is not a foreign sight to him. It is body language that’s only six degrees of separation from fear, because he has seen some level of it many times before, usually in the eyes of those he fought (cut down) when the Wutai War had been at its peak. Before Shinra stamped out those fires of rebellion to slow-dying embers. But this woman, whoever she is, she is no enemy in battle, and her look — pale, serious — possesses an inscrutability in its pallor. He cannot quite place it; he has no choice but to blame the dead chimera at his feet, and the way it was slain, to her apparent anxiety.

She breaks her gaze from him. Sephiroth is left in a position where most people might seek to reassure, but that was never his strong suit, forging even the most threadbare string of empathy or connection with someone who hadn’t gained familiarity. It leaves a silence between them most would label awkward, were it not for his stoic expression that certainly doesn’t reveal it.]

Understandable, given its size.

[Give affirmation, then move on. That’s easy enough, at least.

Sephiroth moves closer to her, continuing to walk until he brushes past altogether, towards the bent trees with snapped branches, proof of where the chimera’s rage had torn past in those moments of frenzy. From here, he can look out along the stretch of land, reposition himself, reorient to the direction he had been walking before she ran into him. The winding river is the most obvious landmark. Downstream. That was where he was headed.

Almost idly—] Were you the one making all that noise earlier?

[The desire to shrink back as he approaches her is so strong that she has to clench her hand into a fist at her side to remind herself to be focused. She waits for something, for anything to happen, but then he brushes past her, and she releases a quiet, relieved breath of air.

It is either focus on him or focus on the dead chimera, massive, its eyes blank and unseeing, in a pool of its own cooling blood, and so she focuses on whatever he's looking off toward instead.]

I was startled. By ah, one of the monsters... [She's not going to say it was a mosquito.

Her brow furrows, and she says, all of a sudden:] You're... Sephiroth. Aren't you? You have to be.

[The river winds down, down, in a gently sloping curve that loses itself occasionally in the overgrowth. It’s the direction that makes the most sense to him; a promised landmark the entire way, directional functionality to a small degree. All of which is needed in a situation he cannot quite make sense of, much less understand how he arrived at all. Something about this place was odd and oneiric, a reality slightly askew. A lucid dream.

(Frustrating, in not knowing.)

But Aerith's recognition causes Sephiroth to discard that line of thinking and turn his look in her direction again. Mosquitoes hum as ambient noise.]

I am.

[Recogition happens so frequently (though in less unusual circumstances) that its novelty disappeared years ago. But given the circumstances, curiosity piques over its usual threshold.]

Are you from Midgar?

[Or, maybe, in this case— Gaia, even. But no point in casting the net so wide just yet.]

[That he did not recognize her was unusual, cause for suspicion, were it anyone else — but the Sephiroth she knew was too arrogant to lure her into a trap. No, it would be more satisfying to gloat, she's sure.

And there is something calmer about him, something she would attribute to the nature of this dream, but she did not dream any longer. She was a traveler, no longer a part of the land of the living — there was no need to dream when you could integrate yourself seamlessly into the dreams of others.]

I was.

[She answers, after a pause.] A long time ago. I don't know why a dream would conjure you up, but I suppose that's the nature of dreams, isn't it?

[She was, which implied Midgar was her home no longer. But it’s a confirmation nonetheless, and despite himself, it's a comfort knowing he’s not the only one in this strange place.

But his words, as ever, reveal nothing.]

You make it sound like I was formed out of nothing. [“Conjured up”. He’d prefer to root himself in far more stable verbiage. Yet as always, his reputation precedes him; maybe makes him seem like a person more suited to a dream than reality. Is that her meaning?] I’m just as real as you.

[He pushes his gaze forward again, and takes a step or two down the direction of the river, offering—]

Are you coming along?

[Because it is an offer, never mind how unapproachable his everything seems to be. They can walk and talk.]

[To the comment on his realness, she says nothing. Only smooths out her skirts, allowing her gaze to drop some, and takes a step or two forward.

The offer surprises her, and she supposes it should fill her with unease — which it does — but there is something else too, she's beginning to recognize. He had not attacked her; he did not speak of his mother in the lofty tones of a madman. His eyes are cold, and distant, they have the telltale unearthly mako glow, but they are clear.]

I'm coming along.

[The curiosity wins over, as it often did with her, and she keeps a few paces behind, her hands laced behind her back.

For a little while, she is uncharacteristically quiet, though she supposes he wouldn't know that. Then she ventures, carefully:] Were you in Midgar, before you ended up here?

[When she agrees to follow, he doesn’t so much as nod before he’s off and leading the way. The soil close to the river’s edge is uneven and soggy, and potentially lurking with something unknown in the deeper waters, besides — Sephiroth keeps close, but not too close. Cognizant of his surroundings, all the movement, the buzz of insects and the direction of the occasional cloying breeze. The woman’s footsteps behind him, a pace kept even with his own.

She’s quiet, but so is Sephiroth. Silence doesn’t bother him. He often prefers it, and he won’t go wringing out small talk from a stranger if they don’t go seeking it themselves.

But then she does, yet it’s easy enough to answer.]

No. Far from it. I was in Nibelheim.

[On a mission, but the details were need-to-know, like any business of SOLDIER. Still, he seems to realize that drawing faint parallels between them might be illuminating as to why or how they’ve arrived here, and he offers a question of his own.]

And where were you? If not in Midgar.

[Nibelheim. Aerith almost freezes... so that had to be it. This was what she'd thought — not a matter of how, but when. If he was talking to her like this, acting like this, then it had to have been in the time before everything. Before the documents, before the reactor, before the fire that had swallowed Cloud and Tifa's homes.

Aerith never scrambles for anything, least of all an answer — there was no question left that she didn't have an answer for, she'd thought. But in this moment she feels at a loss. This she had an answer for, of course, but it was not one that he'd accept, she felt. And so now the matter became one of figuring out what to say, and how much she wanted to reveal.]

I moved.

[She answers, which was not a lie.] There's a little town now, on the outskirts of Midgar. I think it might be after your time. It's been a while since anyone's seen you.

[Her answer is… troublesome to him. In ways that would bother anyone otherwise oblivious to what might happen, what will happen, the future a vast stretch of the unknown for Sephiroth as opposed to something long carved into stone for Aerith. I think it might be after your time. It's been a while since anyone's seen you. After all, what is he supposed to make of that?

It halts him, and he turns to look at her properly this time.]

What do you mean by that?

[The obvious question in his eyes otherwise mars his stolid gaze. He cannot help think of what he told Zack — that Nibelheim might very well be his last mission with SOLDIER if he had his druthers about it — but such a thought remains unspoken, belonging only to him. It wouldn't matter, anyway. That decision wasn't made, not yet.]

That it's 'after my time'. I haven't gone anywhere. [Yet. And— What's this about the outskirts of Midgar?] What town?

[The path is uneven, and so Aerith focuses on it, lifting her skirts slightly, weaving along and moving in a way that still manages to look dainty, even on the unsteady surface. He turns to her and she meets his gaze steadily, unsmiling.]

If you're the same Sephiroth, then...

The mission in Nibelheim was seven years ago.

[Her gaze flickers down. This is a conversation she was never expecting to have, and the question in his gaze, the humanity present there — it troubles her in a way she cannot admit even in the safety of her own thoughts.] There's a town on the outskirts of Midgar now, called Edge.

[Here, she frowns, her gaze quietly assessing, and finally she can no longer hold her tongue.] You don't know any of this? You don't remember?

[It seemed woefully unfair to her, that he could wreak such havoc, cause so much loss, and then arrive here with a clean slate, but she would not be surprised. This was a dream, or something like it, and if she could exist here whole and unharmed, then so could he.]

[Seven years ago.]

How would I remember that? I told you. I was in Nibelheim.

[His voice has gone curt, clipped. But his mind’s already working to find the contradictions when there are none — treacherously, it informs him of why she would know Nibelheim to be a mission at all. The news would eventually make the rounds if he had disappeared without so much notice. The great Sephiroth, the infallible war hero, last deployed to Nibelheim, the final mission he would choose to undertake.

He doesn’t give her a chance to reply. Sephiroth’s preemptively already labeled whatever she could say as filler, and chooses to move straight to the point at hand.]

You’re telling me that you’re seven years into the future. [Not his future, but the future. His present is very much the real one to him, not this version that this woman is referring to, where he’s already gone and Midgar now has a small town grafted onto its side, appropriately named Edge. He can’t imagine what the company’s stance on that could possibly be.] How is that possible?

[His tone makes her bristle, makes a sharp, snapping anger rise up in her, one she is unfamiliar with and doesn't care for. Because you don't deserve to forget, is the response that sticks to the back of her throat and stays there. Her eyes flash though, the restraint present in the sudden tightness of her shoulders.]

I don't know. [He should no longer exist, not in this way, this form. He had peeled away and discarded parts of himself into the Lifestream: memories, impressions, emotions. And then he had sent out fragments of himself onto the Planet, birthed from dark water, and all too imbalanced to be anything but doomed.] But this is a dream, like I said. Stranger things have happened. And if it weren't for this dream, we wouldn't be meeting like this in the first place. I don't think it's hard to believe that time might move strangely here.

[There’s an undercurrent of something in her eyes. Steel, maybe. He can’t be certain.]

If this is all a dream, it could disappear at a moment’s notice.

[Meaning, just how tangible should he consider any of this? How much stock should she put in her? What if she was nothing more than a figment of his own mind, spouting nonsense, representative of the uncertainty of a future gone astray from Shinra? He can only imagine that would inspire notions of a seven year stretch of disappearance, or a town that’s cropped up next to Midgar.]

If we awaken, I’ll know if what you're saying is true, sooner or later.

[He’s on the cusp of a potential change. It’s only a matter of making that decision.

Sephiroth doesn’t know what else to say. What there is to say. He lingers for a moment, watching her, before turning to move down the river again.]

...What else has changed?

It could, [she agrees, solemnly.] There's no real way of knowing.

[She knows she's real, and tangible in a way she hasn't been in a very long while, but he was entirely different. An anomaly, simply because this version of him no longer existed. He'd tossed it away; she'd witnessed that herself.

But as he'd said, it was a dream.] And I suppose I'll figure out if you're real or not too.

[His question gives her pause. She frowns, troubled, and decides on an answer.] ...Many things. Shinra's lost its hold on the Planet. People are trying to rebuild.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TDM: January

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we’re gonna pretend I didn’t forget chimeras are just for a different prompt, it’s fine surely

it's fine i totally forgot too lmao

excellent...then pretend i said nothing

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