Ancient Wisdom

“Mom…? I hope you can hear me…” Hear? Even in silence, the ethereal woman...

Sat, 30 Jun 2012 13:02:48 +0100

“Mom…? I hope you can hear me…”

Hear? Even in silence, the ethereal woman always heard the songs of her daughter’s heart. Whether she was sad or elated, joyful or despairing, a mother could always find herself in synchronisation with the tune of her child. The lifestream may have torn them apart, but the separation was only in a tangible sense. Energy and affection still bound them together, like tiny strands of crimson thread, knotted and bowed around each wrist. Ifalna had always wanted to be there for Aerith, to spend her eternity with the greatest accomplishment she’d ever made, but in order for her daughter to live, somewhere along the line, the world had demanded payment.

A life for a life.

It had been an easy decision, one that required no hesitation in fact. Such a price had allowed the young ancient to flourish, to grow from a mischievous child into an affectionate and admirable young woman. There wasn’t a day that went by, that Iffy wasn’t proud of her daughter. Who else could have made such beauty thrive in the midst of a wreckage? Who else could have blossomed in the face of adversity and brought joy into so many lives?

She wanted to hug her. To wrap those maternal arms around her chestnut haired child and hold her close until the end of time. One day, such a feat would be possible. When the Cetra returned to lifestream, they would be together once more, but for all of her desires to see it happen, she wouldn’t for one second wish short the life of someone so dear to her. Watching from the sanctuary of the Lifestream’s glow, delicate heartstrings found themselves plucked by Aerith’s plea, her voice catching on the wind as she used what little power Gaia allowed her, to make a flower bloom before her daughter.

She may not have been able to directly influence the world as she once had, but the signs were always there of a watchful angel, be it in the solitary blooming of a vibrant flower, or the aerial ballet of a fluttering butterfly. Through Gaia she was left to communicate, and through Gaia she was able to comfort. “Always.”

A time to run

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 16:53:00 +0000

In fluid strokes the pen scratched across the paper, each looped letter perfectly formed as it carried with it the weight of emotion. Once pristine ink found itself mottled with the touch of tears as the ancient adhered to her duty, her loyalty to her daughter forever emblazoned in just three short sentences, that would undoubtedly change everything. Rubbing quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand, Ifalna stared dismally at the words as she forced the paper inside an envelope, it’s recipient’s name an idle scribble written only in afterthought.

She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. For Aerith’s sake they needed to escape this place, to build a new life far from the scientific prison they were forever trapped in. In the beginning, it hadn’t been so bad. In the beginning, the tests and enquiries had been humane, the experiments both logical and feasible, yet now the science department was playing with fire. They were creeping closer to exploitation, barbaric suggestions now interlaced with the most brutal and degrading of tasks. Her daughter didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t a caged animal destined to be dissected, she was a girl, a beautiful bundle of youthful exuberance, and like any mother, Iffy had to protect that, no matter what the cost.

Pushing back her chair, the brunette now stood, her hair braided down her back as she propped the envelope up against the lamp, in clear view ready for the man that wasn’t worthy of a verbal goodbye. Exhaling deeply to steady her nerves, the Cetra smoothed a palm reassuringly across her own face as she pulled on her coat, the chill of the outside world unknown to the woman as she approached her sleeping child’s bed. If it had been feasible, she would have preferred to do this in daylight instead of interrupting the one moment of blissful tranquility her daughter had, but such luxuries weren’t meant for them. It was only under the blanket of night that they could make their escape, and only under the watchful gaze of the lady lune, that Ifalna would consider Aerith appropriately protected.

Whispering quiet words of comfort to the petite girl, slender arms wound themselves around her dormant form as she scooped her from the covers, a blanket safely shrouding her minimal weight as the maternal woman clutched protectively at her child. “It’s for the best.” She told her softly, lips pressing to the tangled mop of curls visible against her shoulder as she stepped out of the room and off into the night. For freedom she abandoned her feelings, and for her family, she risked her life. It was a worthwhile sacrifice, she’d concluded. One life in exchange for another. So long as her daughter was safe from the poking and prodding of experimental hell, Ifalna could abandon everything. Even the memories of her husband’s legacy…and the man she may involuntarily have come to love.

Shielded from watchful eyes by the shadowy embodiment of night, swift footsteps carried her from the compound and past the various security points she’d become so accustomed to researching in these past few months. Holding onto Aerith that little bit tighter, the ageless warrior paused at the mansion’s perimeter, her gaze shifting to the silhouette now stood at the window of her former room, her swiftly penned letter tumbled from a clenched fist to the floor that had once been stained with blood.

Simon, I’m sorry.

I love you.

But I love her more…

Any second now, the alarm would sound. Hell, any second now, this was going to turn into a fully fledged prison escape! Shedding a final tear, the brunette shook her head, turning away from the past and all it entailed, as she opted to run towards a new tomorrow. For life, for love, and for the sleeping child now in her arms.

Ifalna Faremis would run for her life.

A birthday wish

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 12:22:31 +0000

“The cake was on fire, I put it out.”

One sentence. That’s all it was. Nine simple words. It was a casual statement, a straight forward observation of what had just taken place, and yet it was the single defining memory of Aerith’s fourth birthday. Ifalna hadn’t been able to stop smiling since a silver haired angel had tumbled into her cherub’s path, two lives intertwined for one day a year, when the Professor could so easily be bought by stolen touches and intimate exchanges. The price was always high, she knew, but some things were worth the cost. Especially when it meant two children could enjoy their youth without the burden of obligation and scientific damnation.

“That was very thoughtful of you Sephiroth, but those flames are supposed to be there on birthdays. It’s only the candles we light.” Softly the woman thanked her guest for his kindness, while adhering to the same motherly tone she would’ve used for her own daughter. It wasn’t chiding, nor was it a dismissal of what he deemed to be appropriate, it was simply an explanation that the young boy deserved. “You see, that’s the special thing about birthdays. The candles are magic. You have to close your eyes and be very quiet, but when you blow them out, they grant your wish.”

“Oh.” Was it fair to be spinning an age old yarn about fairytales to the boy? She didn’t see what harm it could do. Aerith seemed to thrive on the possibility of magic lurking in the icing’s sugary depths, and the thought of offering Sephiroth some degree of hope seemed a kindness in itself. He needed to still be a child, she thought, or he deserved to be one if nothing else. Perhaps a little juvenile mischief was what he needed outside of his constant barrage of tests and trials. “Wiiiiishy-wiiiiishy-wishes!” Torn from her musings by her overly excited daughter, Ifalna chuckled at the pint-sized princess of petals as she bounced up and down in her chair in unrestrained anticipation.

She didn’t know which was more adorable, Aerith threatening to explode at the prospect of having her wish granted, or the bemused look Sephiroth seemed to be giving her as he edged slowly away from the girl in anticipation of said explosion. “Calm down sweetie.” The maternal Cetra prompted tentatively as her hands came to rest upon the chestnut haired girl’s shoulders, her head soon bowing slightly to kiss the top of a fluffy curly haired mop. “Now, you need to think very carefully about what you want to wish for, but you can’t tell anyone, alright? It needs to be a secret for the magic to work.”

Laying down the ground rules, the Ancient reached forwards to light the four happy candles situated atop a rainbow cake, her features perfectly content as she watched the flames flicker to life. Scooting a little closer to the younger girl, Sephiroth eyed the cake curiously as he pondered upon his own wish. Would it really work? Or was this just someone else trying to make a fool out of him? His father had always told him to trust no-one, and yet this woman was treating him as if he were her own flesh and blood. Were her words really speaking the truth? He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

Taking heed of the prompting from her mother, Aerith closed her eyes, her cheeks puffing out determinedly as she took a deep breath ready to blow. Three, two, one… Sephiroth beat her to it. Unwilling to miss out on the opportunity for a wish granting, the sneaky would-be SOLDIER stole the first go, his breath blowing out the candles in a single motion before the tiny tot had even stood a chance. I wish you were my mother. Biting back a smile as the little girl squealed in protest, Iffy held her steady as she pecked once again at her hair. “That was just a practice, now it’s your turn.” She whispered reassuringly, trying to allay any impending tears that may have been on the cards.

Truthfully, she was happy to let the platinum haired prince have his time to shine. He didn’t get to celebrate a birthday of his own, at least not to the same effect as this, and it was only fair that he be allowed to enjoy the mystique of birthday magic at least once. Watching intently as Aerith braced herself again, two dainty cheeks puffed out briefly before the little flower girl finally got to make her wish. I wish Sephy was my brother. Applauding as soon as all four flames were extinguished, Ifalna cut into the cake quickly, ample slices of Smartie covered perfection offered to both of her juvenile guests as she plucked each of the candles from it’s sugary home and made a very silent, but very sincere wish of her very own.

I wish I could keep you both…

This Ain't A Love Song.

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 19:14:55 +0000

Pale moonlight crept in through the curtains as the clock neared three, the iridescent beam of light casting shadows across the expanse of tangled sheets and illuminating perfectly defined features lost in sleep. Briefly, eyelashes fluttered as the undisturbed slumber was shattered, lips poised in a quiet mewl as a hand crept sideways instinctively, searching for the companion she’d come to bed with. Cautiously her digits transversed the sheets, probing for something tangible yet coming up short. She stopped then, emeralds opening to witness the empty hollow of a space once filled, her smile swiftly melting into somewhat of a frown.

He wasn’t sleeping again.

Rolling sideways, Ifalna stretched, her toes skimming the foot of the bed as she sighed. Just once she wished she could wake up and find him there beside her, perfectly content. Pushing back the covers, she slipped steadily out of bed, the floor cool beneath her feet as she pulled on a dressing gown, staving away the Winter air once more. She’d never liked this part of their ritual, but the small tug in her chest told her she needed to find him and coax the scientist back to sleep before dawn broke and heralded in a new day.

He was no good to anyone in a sleep-deprived haze of venom.

Fighting back a yawn, off the brunette trod, bouncing curls bobbing against her spine as her footfalls fell lightly and evenly in their venture down the deserted corridor. She half expected him to be in the lab again, hunched over a new slide or an old journal, forever probing at what he considered to be a breakthrough in his research. He wasn’t though, not tonight. On this clear cut, but frosty occasion, Hojo was in his study; if the melodic piano notes dancing through the air were anything to go by. She’d never heard him play and it did beg the question as to what precisely had drawn him from sleep at such an hour that music was the only language of expression he chose.

Not that Ifalna was in any way complaining. It was a nice enough sound to pursue and naturally, a more welcome one than the usual barrage of insults or tenacious barbs. It had her dancing, floating through the vacant space as the melody of Chopin’s Prelude Op.28 No.4 tugged at her heart strings, conjuring with it a contented sort of sadness. She almost didn’t want to intrude when she reached the doorway, her cheek pressing to the frame as she watched the source of her damnation play, his eyes closed behind his spectacles, every collision of his fingers infusing the notes with such conviction.

And then it stopped. The world froze as he felt her eyes on the back of his head, invading the sanctuary he’d so ardently sought. Iffy held her breath, creeping ever closer as she came to rest just at his side.”I never knew you played.” She told him tentatively, her hands smoothing over his shoulders in delicate strokes, trying to soothe away his insomnia and curb his turmoil. No one should ever have to sacrifice sleep for their troubles, not even Hojo. Not when there was so much good still left inside of him, waiting to break free.

“I never play for other people.” He replied honestly, pressing his back further into her touch with an unreserved sigh. Music was personal. It was one of many things the masses knew little about him. Nobody had ever deserved to see that side of him, not even Lucrecia. It was his secret, another facet to his personality that would forever remain private, save for the infernal woman so insistent on coddling him so. Anyone else, he would’ve had no qualms with disposing of, but the Cetra had always been his weakness and his obsession, he would’ve moved heaven and earth for them merely to keep hold of the one that welcomed him so freely.

“Well that…” Ifalna moved between him and the piano, tender digits cupping his face as she watched him thoughtfully. “…is just silly when you play so wonderfully.” Her head inclined forwards, heavy lashes fluttering as she flashed a radiant smile and drew her thumb in a lazy line from his cheekbone to his lips, strumming the flesh with a small exertion of pressure. “Come back to bed, it’s lonely.” She requested quietly, her lips almost forming a pout as she waited for him to acquiesce. They’d had this conversation before so many times, and never once had her insistence ever failed.

Bed. Now there was a foreign concept. He was too alert to sleep, too enthralled by the possibilities his mind conceited in every waking moment. He had science to entertain him, a piano to soothe him, and yet he had no heart to deny the brunette his company either. “Stay here then.” The Professor suggested idly, his hands wandering to either side of her slight hips, holding her gently enough to prove it was without it’s usual sarcasm. Rising from the piano stool, Hojo’s mouth ventured forwards, seeking out lips and a world of new promises, yet the Cetra denied him such luxuries.

Jerking her head back enough to avoid his intrepid mouth, once more her hand found his shoulder, a slight cant of her head granting her access to his scar strewn neck, butterfly kisses fluttering to life along the expanse of already well-known skin. Never kiss on the mouth. She’d heard in a movie once, that it meant a deeper connection with someone, a bond of two hearts all from a simple graze of a tongue. She rarely used it for that very reason, a world of simplicity seemed more preferable to a world of mixed morals and regret. She loved him though, she loved him despite his sins, even if she couldn’t commit to the same romantic platitudes he so sorely deserved on a regular basis.

“Is that a yes you’ll stay then?” Hojo mumbled, his fingers drifting through her robe belt loops, pushing aside the swaddling fabric until only mauve silk remained. One by one his fingers ghosted the curve of her side, hitching Ifalna up until she sat upon his piano, her toes tickling the keys in off-kilter notes, a chromatic mess of mystique and appeal. Peridot gaze met with Mako infused blue, an eyebrow creeping steadily higher as she tried to look stern. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. This was just….torture to the finest degree and he knew it.

“This doesn’t much look like sleeping…” She pointed out with a hint of amusement, mischief twinkling in those startled eyes as she leant forwards, stroking through pitch hued strands and nuzzling into his throat. Bed. That’s what he needed. Not this. At least not here. It can’t have been doing wonders for the poor ivories she kept assaulting with stray limbs. Yet Hojo was a man on a mission, questing for what exactly however, she didn’t quite know. Tugging lightly upon his hair as an exploring hand scrutinised every curvature of flesh from throat to thigh, the Cetra couldn’t help but laugh, light and melodic, yet muffled against his skin.

“Very observant Iffy…I’m surprised you even know the colour of the sky.” He openly mocked, a patronising air lingering behind every syllable as he nudged apart alabaster hued thighs and tugged his romantic combatant to his waist. That’s what this was after all, affectionate warfare in a battle for control, for dominance in whatever semblance of a relationship this was. The Ancient merely frowned, her legs winding around him as she brought her lips to his ear, teeth sinking into the lobe in an accosting tug.

“Be nice.” She told him in a slow reprimand, slender fingers unplucking each button of his shirt one by one, revealing more planes of scar smattered flesh, an entire storyboard of history etched into a single man’s existence. Some were old, others new. Bullet holes, stab wounds, cuts, burns, claw marks, bites…the signs of a tormented past demanding that she fix him, heal him, and perhaps even give him the world in a heartbeat and never take it away. Adjusting her position, Ifalna grazed her touch over a knotted lump of scar tissue, her mouth descending to bless every trace of historic pain in a heartfelt kiss thereafter.

The experience wasn’t wholly unpleasant, he decided, but it wasn’t necessarily comfortable either. How long had it been now, since someone had last looked upon him with any degree of affection? The touch was gentle, serene and without hidden meaning. It was sincere and that alone conflicted the man. She didn’t have to do this, and yet she chose to, simply to comfort him. The woman was insane. She had to be, but that lapse in sanity certainly worked in his favour. Coiling a strand of autumnal brown around his finger, Hojo pushed against her, bearing down over the woman until the soft tinkle of keys sounded again. “I’m always nice.” He purred in an outright lie.

In a heartbeat, fingers laced together, limbs intertwined as the scientist ventured forth in his own experiment. A kiss to a quivering breast, a nudge to a hip, a taste of seductive skin so awash with the scent of lilacs. It was a dizzying prospect, yet one that sent half of his circulating volume plummeting Southwards while the other lingered in his cheeks. How old was he? Far too old to be getting embarrassed by such trivial anatomical reactions, he chastised himself. Eyes closing momentarily, the dark haired man inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of flowers as his hand dipped beneath his lover’s back, guiding her hips upwards.

The clink of a belt saw another change in position, muted lips gasping into his shoulder, as one by one the sound of isolated notes punctured the silence with a rhythmic sense of disorganisation. Bodies rocked, sweat slicked silk, pulses racing and half-muttered, breathless endearments offset the unconventional soundtrack. Like a composer’s first concerto, the composition held meaning, every untimely cataclysm of sound serenading the act of unplanned intimacy, until finally the Ancient cast aside her original rule and permitted lips to mesh with lips in a sign of impassioned and contented defeat.

{ Crim, I can’t write smutty things. I tried, I really did, but I can’t do it! I giggled and blushed and just…yes. That’s why it ended up arty and casually dismisses the dirty deed. You know what the premise was though, and it was written with love…But I’m casually going to go and run away now, to steadily blush myself to death. Have some hearts. <3 <3 <3 }

Early presents.

Wed, 30 Nov 2011 13:59:00 +0000

“I know you’re peeking!” A childish accusation rolled from the Cetra’s tongue as she watched the scientist, her lips curving into a unique hybrid somewhere between a smile and a frown. How long had they been sat here now? She’d long since lost count, but the evening had been pleasant enough. The Starlight celebration was only a few hours away, a fact which brought with it more trouble and excited mischief from Ifalna, than was entirely good for Hojo’s health. It was a welcome change to her dismal solitude though, he supposed.

“That’s because I’d rather see when you intend to accost me with tinsel.” The ebony haired man drawled flatly in response, one eye closed as he held out his hand obediently. Gift exchanges were somewhat of a tradition, were they not? He hadn’t normally bothered, very few people were worth the time, effort and money it cost to share something menial for the sake of a day, but for the enigmatic and oh-so-manipulative Cetra, he had been willing to make the exception. Not that he believed in any of this Starlight eve nonsense. You either waited until the correct day, or you enjoyed a large handful of nothing.

“If I was going to tie you up, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?” Raising an eyebrow, neatly the brunette pressed a small package into his hands, the cellotape already peeling at one end as it refused to co-operate with the iridescent paper casually adorning it. “That’s from Aerith.” She smiled knowingly, stretching out across the rug and propping herself up with an elbow to watch the magic unfold. Her little angel had spent a good four hours making his gift with assistance from Mr.Tseng, and it was only right that it be treated with the utmost enthusiasm.

Peeling back the paper, the scientist sighed, his finger nudging his glasses back up his nose as the alleged ‘gift’ finally became clear. “It’s a comb.” Hojo blinked, as he jabbed a pen at the creation, his lip curling ever so slightly in horrified disgust. Why would Miss Aerith think this was a good idea? Unless of course it was one of Ifalna’s games. She always berated his appearance and deemed him scruffy; or at least his hair was. The rest of him never got much complaint.

“Mhm, we decided you needn’t be a scruffy scientist forever.” Iffy mused out loud as her fingers walked dramatically up his arm, loitering in the crook of his elbow before venturing higher. Over weary muscles they traveled, resting on his shoulder, before delicate motions saw her transversing the plane of flesh and working her way entirely inconspicuously to the elastic that restrained his hair.

“It’s pink.” He spat almost incredulously, holding up the comb while the Cetra amused herself with his hair. Tiny flecks of glitter tumbled from the grooming tool slowly, falling like an ethereal rain as he turned it over to almost choke at the word ‘smile’ emblazoned so affectionately in silver glitter and sequins. “It’s… sparkly.” Hojo merely gaped at it, replacing the item in the paper remnants as if it were contagious and needed to be incinerated immediately.

“She made it with love, so don’t look so pained, it won’t kill you.” Shifting to kneel behind him, one by one her fingers trailed through those coal hued strands, unpicking the knots and curling them around her finger. “I think it rather suits you.” She teased slyly, pecking at the nape of his neck with a surprising amount of stealth. Was it cruel that she enjoyed tormenting him so?

“Taste was never one of your strong points Ifalna.” Scathingly, he nudged the parcel aside as he made a mental note to palm it off on Sephiroth. The boy had more than a simple narcissistic complex, so surely any tool that gave him the ability to preen himself would go down swimmingly. Not that Hojo didn’t appreciate the sentiment of course, he may not have been impressed but he could accept that perhaps the disturbed little girl had thought she was doing something inherently nice for him.

“Open the next one along then, the square green one. That’s from me.” Ignoring his insulting observation, the Ancient ceased her ministrations, her arms wrapping snugly around his shoulders as she peered over his shoulder to watch round #2 of the Starlight eve gift giving session. At least this way, she wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow with people to bear witness and judge her. She could just sit with Simon, curl up with him and pretend for one minute they were normal, happy people, in a completely amicable relationship.

“Hnn.” The professor groaned, already imagining yet more accursed glitter tumbling into his lap. Why, if it hadn’t been for those arms and the feel of another heart drumming so steadily against his back, he wouldn’t have bothered. Yet, like any man, he was powerless when it came to the feminine wiles of an attractive woman. ~~Even if she was entirely irritating and occasionally bonkers~~ Cautiously unwrapping the crisp green paper, emerald eyes watched intently as he pulled out a small leather bound book, and flipped through it with a quizzical brow.

The insides were filled not with an orderly typeface, but with smooth cursive letters, delicate doodles illustrating points with uncanny precision. “What is this?” He asked with subdued intrigue, his thumb moving across a vaguely familiar symbol as he turned the page to a much more familiar sight indeed. Nestled amidst the pages was a photograph of the woman so intent on coddling him, the edges worn and the colour non-existent, but it was unmistakably a glimpse of the Ancient in her youth, a great many years ago now.

“It’s a diary. My diary, actually. The first one I ever wrote when I was trying to understand who and what I was. I thought it might help with your research, to save you picking through old territory.” Not to mention it might delay some of the experiments if answers could be found outside the remit of blood. Sinking her chin down onto the bony prominence of his shoulder, dusky lips affectionately kissed the patch of skin beneath his ear as she smiled somewhat proudly. Silence was a good thing wasn’t it? “Do you like it?”

She was trying to help him now? Oh how the tables had turned. Exhaling contentedly (and somewhat relievedly due to the lack of glitter) Hojo turned his head enough to carefully thank the Cetra with a dutiful kiss to her temple. ” I was holding out for you wearing a ribbon, nothing but a ribbon actually, but I suppose this will have to do.” Snarky as ever, the scientist moved to knock the remnants of his brandy glass down his throat, an arm impulsively manoeuvring around Ifalna to tug her into his lap and let her read out her own archaic musings. “Come now, let’s see what incriminating facts you’ve bestowed upon me this year…”

Liar, Liar.

Mon, 28 Nov 2011 18:10:58 +0000

“It’s fine Iffy, we’ll be back for dinner.”

She’d believe that when she saw it. In all of her years in this proverbial petting zoo, she’d never once seen anyone arrive on time. It had become somewhat of a running joke in recent years, that it was her cooking that scared people off and not their misfortune in being priorly engaged. She knew better than to accept a Turk’s word at face value, they were honourable certainly, and more trustworthy than most, but their punctuality? Not so much. Frowning, the Cetra stepped forwards, ghosting past the suited man to glance none too surreptitiously at the curvature of his backside.

Veld tensed, the corners of his mouth fighting back a twitch of amusement as he tried to find sense in the apparently non-sensical action. The Ancients had always been strange, he’d come to learn, but perhaps the strangest of them all had been Ifalna Faremis. “I’m only taking Valentine to Nibelheim, Iff, you don’t need to commit my arse to memory just yet.” Across the room Vincent masked a sudden bark of laughter with a cough, his eyebrow cocking ever so slightly as he stared pointedly at his partner.

“Oh hush up you. I’m checking to see if your pants are on fire.” The brunette remarked with surprising seriousness, her hand neatly nudging at the Turk’s hip until he turned around and gave her a full 360 confirmation that he hadn’t spontaneously combusted just yet. Maybe fire proof trousers were a new uniform requirement, because she was almost positive that the man before her was lying through his pearly white teeth. He was only doing this, or only doing that. If anything it was the use of that four letter word that seemed to disconcert her more!

“It’ll be straight forward Miss Ifalna, don’t worry. I’ll bring his flaming derriere home in one piece.” Vincent was talking now, his words causing the Cetra’s gaze to drift slowly towards him and soften ever so slightly. Was that supposed to be comforting? She may not have been entirely keen to admit it, but she was surprisingly fond of her misfit family and wasn’t entirely thrilled with the idea of them getting shot, maimed or… dismembered before dinner. Rubbing the bridge of her nose frustratedly, the woman made no sound as Verudo ghosted past her, one of his aged eyes closing in an almost flirtatious wink.

“Maybe not entirely one piece, kid. I could still do with some proper TLC.” Vincent laughed again, this time making no attempt to contain his amusement as his hand rather brazenly smacked at the elder Turk’s rump to speed him on his way and out of the Ancient’s company.

“Mhm. I’m sure I’ll find a way to rough your arse up old man.”

Affection.

Sun, 27 Nov 2011 18:58:00 +0000

All was still in the house that Shinra built. Silence seeped from every wall, suffocating any traces of life with it’s unrelenting chokehold. It was often like this at night, the eerie calm punctuated only by the occasional sound of Turk footsteps or drunken scientists staggering back in after a night of celebration. Tonight it was Ifalna’s steps that broke the silence, the dull thud of silk slippers on polished laminate barely audible as she manoeuvred the corridors to find her way back to the laboratory.

Electrical lights still burned down here, tiny flickering lights illuminating her way as she entered the necessary keycode with her free hand and trod deeper into the depths of hell. The hour was already late, the clocks chiming long past midnight when she found him in his usual spot. A half empty glass of scotch was left near the table’s edge, his head bowed in careful thought as a meticulous hand scribbled out his intricate musings. Research came before everything, even sleep it seemed.

For a long while, she stood and waited, unwilling to break his concentration. She’d done it once, and swore that the repercussions were never to be repeated. She still had the scars, the emotional wounds never quite healing despite her physical remedy. That had been before their bargain hadn’t it though? Before they’d entered into a pact that made them almost equals. She could test the water before diving in, testing his limitations before he resolved to put her back in her place.

Clearing her throat, the pale skinned Cetra leant her head against the doorframe, her shoulder pressing into the wood as she smiled concernedly. “You missed dinner.” She observed from afar, her teeth chewing upon her lip in an entirely unforgiving action as she dared to step closer. “…so I made you some soup.” Her hand raised the bowl slightly and though no eyes every set upon the gift, the indifferent nod and gesture of his hand beckoned her closer.

Complying without protest, Ifalna ventured forth to set down the steaming bowl of her homemade sustenance, a spoon soon residing neatly beside it as she loitered behind his back, watching him work with curious yet troubled eyes. The longer he spent down here, the more reasons he found to continue the project, the more people he ended up hurting. It scared her like nothing else, a foreign concept finally embraced by the Ancient. Her people hadn’t known fear since Jenova, they’d had no reason to distrust Gaia’s wisdom, and yet here she was, uncertain and apprehensive because of one man.

Without warning her hands were on his shoulders, smoothing across tense muscles with well learned grace. “Even scientists need to sleep.” She told him in a motherly whisper, a subtle inclination of her head allowing her to kiss his hair as she leant forwards, her arms sliding lower, palms smoothing across his chest in a demanding embrace. “Come to bed soon, please? I’ll even wait up and tell you a bedtime story. One about the promised land and a valiant dark haired hero.” How confusing and complex a relationship this was, fear and affection going hand in hand as she battled with her own demons.

She could dwell in make believe couldn’t she? It helped to lessen her discomfort, to make the situation tolerable when inside it made her cry. She’d half expected the scoff of indignation, but the banter that followed, that was something new. “The only story I’m interested in results in a happy ending.” Perhaps a naive person would’ve taken that for what it was, a perfectly innocent statement, but the quirk of his eyebrow and the challenge in his eyes said otherwise. It made Ifalna pale, her head shaking with surprising speed as she clipped him round the back of the head in protest.

Bravery ignited, she held on a little tighter, lips cemented against the crook of his neck with something that sounded more akin to a snicker. “Our hero’s all for equality. Rather than impose on others he’s more fond of self service and writes his own endings.” Something shifted then, the balance of power strangely on equal terms as she smiled for the first time, properly and without courtesy the curve worked it’s way higher until it danced in the depths of her eyes. Beneath the pain and the uncertainty, between the role of victim and slave, there were moments like this. Moments of normality, of humour and of true affection. They didn’t last, they never could, but they were addictive and they made the turmoil worth it.

“I’m not sure I have much need for a story then, dear Iffy.” Snide yet surprisingly blase, Hojo stilled his pen to pick up the spoon, sampling in the warm delicacy he’d been doing his best to ignore. How long had it been since last he’d eaten? He couldn’t recall, nor did he want to. It was almost a second nature that he was relying on this woman now, self-preservation quietly set aside in order for the Cetra to coddle him. He was more than capable of dealing with his own nutritional needs, and yet still she persisted, forcing nourishment down his throat with gentle nags and intrusive touches.

Good Gaia, he hated her. He could wound her, harm her, beat and break her, and like a kicked puppy she’d always return, ready to forgive and make him happy. It made him resent his behaviour on occasion, her presence both healing and toxic at the same time. She clouded his judgement, dizzied his thoughts and distorted his plans, but for what? Love had burnt him once, he wasn’t willing to let it happen again despite knowing he was already falling so very, very hard.

“Just eat your soup then. You’ll turn into a crochety old man by morning otherwise.” Another gentle barb and she was grazing his ear, laughter resounding as she hand dipped lower still, toying with his navel as she patted that rounded paunch of a stomach with a knowing shake of her head. “Not that you’ll starve anytime soon…” With only a poke of her tongue and a swirl of skirts, she was moving safely out of hitting distance, her legs folding neatly over the other as she perched upon the desk beside him, serene emerald glistening with mischief as she propped her head up and smiled so innocently.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to help me burn it off…” Was that a bad pick-up line?

“With petrol and matches most likely.” Ifalna smirked.

“Oh Iffy…you do say the sweetest things.”

The Price of Freedom

Sat, 26 Nov 2011 20:08:00 +0000

It had all seemed so easy in the beginning. Whispering words of promises, offering scandalous touches, sharing the taste of compliance…It had seemed a far bargain. For the sake of her daughter’s life, she could assail herself. She could sell her emotions and sacrifice her skin in the pursuit of something greater than herself. Preserving a child’s innocence was a worthwhile sacrifice wasn’t it? So why did she now feel so dirty and disgusted with herself? The reality was weighing heavily on her shoulders, bleeding her tears dry and sucking optimism from every pore.

It was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Nails scraping along her forearm, Ifalna sat upon the stone patio, leaves cascading in a shower of red, amber and gold. Her skirt draped loosely across her legs, her sweater hanging precariously from one shoulder as she gazed down at the earth. Did Gaia approve, or has she too forsaken the Cetra? She didn’t want to sell herself, to utilise feminine wiles in the pursuit of closure. Even Hojo didn’t deserve to be seen as a pawn. This wasn’t fair to him was it? When obligation overshadowed love, didn’t that mean the end of the road? Weren’t her touches hollow, and her words meaningless in every evocative whisper?

Leaning forwards to rest her chin atop her knees, tumbling spirals draped across her bare shoulder as she sighed, forlornly praying to the magic of the land to see her through this and to allow her to achieve the end she required. Protection for her child, freedom from this place, a chance to live again. This was a necessary evil, but surely there had to be a better way. A liberating answer that wouldn’t hurt anyone, that would let them all simply exist in a state of transcending bliss.

Maybe she did love Mr.Hojo, but not more than she loved her child. If push came to shove, she’d always choose Aerith; such is the nature of a mother’s love, but to constantly be put in a position of…complex subservience was almost too much. Where once romance had blossomed, now there was only a convoluted sense of duty, her actions methodical as opposed to impulsive, her spirit waning to the point where it was no longer her own. Iffy swallowed at the notion, drowning herself in her thoughts as footsteps escaped her attention.

It was only when a scruffy haired Turk thunked down onto the concrete beside her that emotive emeralds finally flicked up. She smiled then; a real one, small and subdued, but a smile nonetheless.Without provocation, Veld Dragoon could always raise one. “You couldn’t pick somewhere warmer to think?” He teased quickly, his hands rubbing together to conserve some heat as a familiar head flopped onto his shoulder.

“I like the cold. It reminds me of home.” Not to mention it numbed things to a point where she could swallow her pride and learn to deal with them. “What’s the matter Veld, feeling your age? Have you got a chill in those rattling old bones of yours?” Two could play at this game. The banter alone was worth it, for a little glimmer of normality in a sea so intent on drowning her. His arm shifting to wrap around her waist had admittedly been rather nice too, a chance to just sit together in an embrace of friendship rather than as star crossed lovers.

“Less of the old, you. I’m not the one that’s ‘Ancient’ am I?” He jabbed at her ribs gently, relief washing over those weathered features at the protesting smile that ensued. He knew she was sad, he always knew. It was only ever in times of turmoil that she sought refuge in the cold. The day he’d caught her in the snow hadn’t been the first, nor would it be the last, but he was determined to be there, through whatever rough patch this was, in whatever capacity he was required.

For a long while silence followed, his thumb moving from time to time along the curve of his companion’s waist in an act of unspoken comfort. “What’s the matter, hmm?” He finally prompted in a tone unbefitting for a fearless Turk. It was soft, paternal perhaps, like a parent trying to coax details of a nightmare from a child. He knew already, or thought he did. The walls of Shinra always whispered, secrecy a foreign concept if you ran within the right circles.

“I sold my soul.” In the barest of whispers the Cetra made her confession, the red scratches along her arms sealing the bargain in blood as she leant further into Dragoon’s hold. “I signed on the dotted line and gave it away.” Ifalna shivered, her cheek pushing to his shoulder while tiny droplets of liquid misery trickled down his jacket. He was going to leave now wasn’t he? To reject and cast her aside because she’d aligned herself with the devil himself.

Veld frowned, reining in his ~~lover~~ friend with a strong arm, fingers stroking through those soft curls, as he hoiked the woman into his lap and held on tightly. “Iff…I don’t think it was ever really yours to give away.”

Bargaining.

Sat, 26 Nov 2011 00:32:00 +0000

“She’s just a child.”

Weighted words uttered their heartfelt plea in little more than a whisper, the gradient of her tone softening with every decisive syllable. Long gone was composure in that singular moment, emotion clouding words of logic and reason in the pursuit of something greater. She needed to protect Aerith, to shield her from whatever whims her paramour had before it was too late. She’d seen the files, she’d heard the whispers, and nowhere in her could she conceivably think of a way to justify putting her child through the trauma. She was a child, not an experiment, she deserved the same rights as any other living thing. Surely Hojo remembered that; he’d taken the hippocratic oath once hadn’t he?

Eyes locked onto his, fountains of emerald brimmed with moisture, the gathering fluid building until it seeped from her eyes, tainting smooth flesh with a stream of sadness. “Please…” She tried harder to plead her case, to appeal to whatever good he had left to let her daughter go. Where was the man that made her smile? The insufferable but affectionate scientist that found ways to fit amourous adventures in around his research and cantankerous brooding? She still believed he was in there somewhere, she had to, or else what hope was left that her child would live beyond the age of five? She needed him to comply, to understand, to accept her request, but what leverage was she supposed to offer? What could possibly weigh up against Aerith’s life.

Her hand ghosted along his face, stealing a touch as his face remained passive. Not once did he show any sign of humanity. All she saw was cold sterility, analytical thinking outweighing love. “Her blood isn’t pure…” Ifalna tried to plead to the scientist rather than the man, yet the words seemed dirty in her mouth. Her sweet baby girl was the purest thing imaginable, Cetra wisdom and human kindness interwoven to make the personification of innocence. She was perfect in her mother’s eyes, a ray of sunshine amidst the clouds, a flower amidst the weeds. She deserved to be a child. She deserved to live her life without the fear of pain or rejection, without isolation and cruelty seeping into her days like some kind of infectious plague.

“Use me. Test me. Poke me, dissect me if you have to, but please not Aerith. Please don’t touch my baby.” The tears still flowed, and despite no words, a foreign thumb was smoothing across her lip, toying with the flushed flesh as it grazed higher, smoothing back those accursed tears with something that may have been contemplation. “Let me stay with you…” She added her life to the bargain, her hand pressing over his to keep him rooted there, stilling his touch as her eyes screamed for closure. “…let me love you.” Her heart was taking over now, self-preservation mingling with something new entirely, an emotion now surfacing she’d long been trying to hide.

Affection. Adoration. Supplication.

How much of it was manipulation and how much was truth? Did she love him? Or did she love the fact that her feeling could twist within him until the situation worked in her favour? Her kiss was hardly a contract, but it still gave a message. In every precise touch of her lips, she offered him everything, yet in every parting breath she took it away. How far would he go in the pursuit of this dance? How far would she go, to see her daughter free from the threat of vivisection and eternal isolation? Iffy had been telling herself for months that the feelings she harboured were purely selfish. They stemmed from logic not from romance, but try as she might to forget them, they blossomed and bloomed, taking root and growing stronger by the day.

She loved a murderer. She loved the man that made her a widow, but sweet Gaia she hated the things he did. The things he promised to do. Lingering threats spilled from his mouth as fluidly and frequently as his seductive purrs, damning and saving her in a constant cycle of contradiction. It put Hojo in an awkward position. Did he listen to his head or his heart? Both had been known to steer him wrong in the past, so was his obsession with the Ancient’s really worth the risk? Concise steps brought him forwards, his hand dropping from that silken cheek to grip the workbench, boxing the Cetra in with rigid arms. Steeled blues bore into her own for a moment, burning the sight into his retinas as he inclined his head in the barest of nods.

“For now.” He complied with a minimum of protest, but only temporarily. An infant was perhaps too young for the tests he had in mind, but that didn’t mean in a few years he would rule out the possibility entirely. Lips pilled taut into a vague hint of a sneer, his hand moved again, drifting down the curve of an elegant spine as he brought his mouth to hover beside her ear with strange sense of satisfaction. “You’re mine.”

{Yes Crim, I’m casually commandeering part of your headcanon! <3 Also, evil Maharaja much? “She is mine!” }

Cravings

Fri, 25 Nov 2011 01:01:29 +0000

“Bananas and peanut butter?” The jovial professor felt his lips twitch, his moustache crumpling most affectionately as a hearty chuckle left his mouth. Of all of the things Ifalna had been craving in these past few months, this was certainly one of the more tame offerings. Seated in a lazy recline upon their humble couch, the soft pads of his fingers moved fluidly through her hair as she lay against him, her eyes gazing up from his lap with a twinkle that mirrored his own.

“You heard me.” She teased quietly, her hand moving in a soothing gesture across the swell of her belly as tiny feet danced to life inside of her. “Our little bump needs all of that energy to finish off the Nutcracker suite.” She mused knowingly, weariness forgotten as she smoothly tugged Gast’s hand to feel the same kicks that filled her with pride. She kept his hand there for a moment, rooted to the jersey stretched across her navel as placid emerald sought confirmation for his view on their active offspring-to-be.

“And there was me hoping for another scientist in the family.” Mockingly he shook his head, a faux look of sorrow drifting across his features before the smile returned as welcoming and warm as ever. “So long as it’s healthy, that’s the main thing” He added with a little more seriousness as his fingers reached upwards to loosen his tie and unpluck the first few buttons. It was strange to think that this little miracle could be growing in every second he’d been working. It was now strangely refreshing to sit down and relax with his blossoming family, drinking in their warmth and treasuring these little moments of blissful solitude.

Oh, how he knew they wouldn’t last. Soon the cabin would be full of midnight cries and the scent of baby powder, his once pristine home laden with toys and baby-proofed foam edges. Perhaps to a rational man it would have been perceived as somewhat of a set-back, but the Gast, these were the moments that made it special. He could watch his child grow, nurtured and adored like the flowers Ifalna could conjure from nothing but barren earth. The Cetra had always held a special place in his heart, but this woman with him now was in a league of her own entirely. His gift from the gods made flesh.

“Are you sure you don’t want something a little more traditional to nibble upon?” The moustached man whispered into her ear, toying with the spirals of chocolate brushing his cheek. “Toast perhaps. Or some soup?” He tried to offer in vain to make life easier for himself. He had no qualms with Iffy’s eating patterns, just so long as she remembered that cravings alone could not sustain both a tiny life and her own. Turning her head, slowly an eyebrow irked ever skywards, her mouth moving closer to tug upon her husband’s lip with her teeth. “I’ll stick with the bananas and peanut butter. It seems more befitting to your health than cannibalism.”

Lips curving, a soft kiss redeemed the patch of assaulted flesh before she settled down once more, cuddled against her one true love as her future child kicked wildly in her womb. She didn’t really need anything else. She had all the love and affection she craved right here.

The Morning After.

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 17:57:17 +0000

“Anata, rise and shine. It’s morning. You need to get your lazy backside up for a board meeting.” Tentative yet authoritative, the tender call cut through the air, radiant emerald transfixed upon the spectacle before her as she bit back a smile. It was almost endearing in a way. Sprawled face down across his bed was the pinnacle of scruffiness, bare skin exposed to the elements, as a trail of wild ebony spanned down his shoulders. It was a far cry from the scientist’s usual decorum, but the vulnerability involved was almost bordering on poetic.

Who’d have thought a few glasses of chardonnay could do this to a man? Granted it wasn’t all he’d been drinking, but the hungover scientist didn’t half rouse a certain element of amusement in the Cetra. It proved he was human, even underneath all of those layers of tightly wound indifference. Watching from afar only did so much though, and before long the brunette was at his side, her leg tucking neatly beneath her as she perched on the mattress edge. “Really now, you can’t stay in bed forever.” She reminded again, porcelain hued fingers reaching forth to trace the contours of his back, her touch soothing and demanding at the same time.

“If you get in here, I can.” Gruff tones jibed in response as Hojo’s groan muffled into the pillow, invading fingers doing very little to entice him from his heavenly abode. Board meetings were full of idiots and he had neither the patience nor capacity to indulge such flights of moronic fancy. No. Sleeping seemed like a far better prospect. Somewhere warm, dark and invariably quiet, perhaps even with a soft and pliant body resting beside him to fetch coffee as and when he saw fit! Now -that- was the life he wanted. Or at the very least, the day.

“Tempting though that offer is, I think I’d miss my garden too much.” And Aerith, naturally. Somehow she doubted the professor would consider this much of a sanctuary once the adventurous toddler started jumping on his bed. Not that he wasn’t skilled in his own acrobatics, of course, she just didn’t want to mix two volatile subjects anytime soon. Lips curving at her own train of thought, the Cetra blushed, a healthy rose tinting her cheeks as she shuffled forwards, her hand moving in methodical circles along his shoulders. “You’ll regret it if you don’t go.”

If he was busy with the board, she’d be free to spend time elsewhere. She wouldn’t be pumped full of the same chemicals that were making her weaker by the day, her blood wouldn’t be sampled and for a few short hours she could be a person. An ordinary human being again, capable of simply living life in a ridiculously refreshing display of monotony. Ever the voice of reason, gradually her movement slowed, her hand ceasing it’s offer of comfort as she made to move, her weight no longer making the bed sink ever so slightly. Light footfalls led her to the foot of the bed as she knelt down beside his head, stroking at his hair with a frustrated expression.

“Hnnn.” He replied in response, the incoherent groan cementing his viewpoint quite thoroughly despite his hand currently groping blindly for the set of fingers that seemed to divert attention from his throbbing headache. He didn’t want to get out bed, and he’d be damned if he was letting his own personal nursemaid escape too! It hadn’t escaped Ifalna’s attention either. Drumming her fingers against his wrist, neatly she pressed two aspirin tablets into his palm before waving a glass of water almost enticingly.

“You’ll be needing this.” She told him with a quiet smile, the ghost of her kiss grazing his forehead when finally the man opted to move with sloppy movements. Breathing a sigh of relief as he finally complied, the Ancient rose once again, ready to fuss with his clothes and organise the jumbled mess he liked to live in. She never quite made it that far though. Barely three steps later an arm was around her waist, ensnaring her and limiting her elaborate escape as one firm tug pulled her back to his side.

“I’ll be needing more than that.” Was that supposed to be innuendo? She almost laughed as his body rose behind her, a precarious balance on his weary knees allowing him the luxury to brush aside those chestnut curls and grace her neck with the silkiest of breaths. “Iffy…” He practically purred, well practiced fingers tracing the subtle curve of her ribcage. “…dearest, sweetest, Iffy…” His mouth found her pulse point, chapped lips tormenting the scrap of flesh as he revealed his ulterior motive with a sense of devious payback.

“…be a dear and make me a coffee. Black. No sugar.”

Bang Bang, he shot me down.

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 17:22:34 +0000

Where once joy had been, now there was only numbness. Fear tore through every cell in her body as she watched from the doorway, restrained from leaping forth into the line of fire. Time had ceased moving, the moment frozen as she watched in horror, unable to do anything. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even breathe in that single moment. Her whole life crumbled in that instant, the world shattering into a thousand tiny pieces as from nowhere she managed to scream. High pitched and pained, the noise sliced through the air, her body doubling forwards as a gun smoked, shot after shot fired into her lover’s chest.

Blood blossomed forth in pulsating torrents, vomit rising in Ifalna’s throat as she broke free from the men separating her from the one person she cared for most of all. The one man that owned her heart despite never having asked for it. Scarlet pooled all around as she pressed her hands to each entry wound, mumbling her prayers through tormented tears, willing the shining lump of emerald rock to heal him, to save him, to protect the centre of her entire world, but even all of the materia in the world couldn’t stave off mortality.

“Please….please stay with me.” She whispered against his skin, crimson coated hands leaving the impression of her fingers against his cheeks as she tasted his lips for the final time, pleading for a miracle, wishing for that same fairytale ending she’d always read about. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were happy, they were a family, they were finally living for the first time in their lives and a monster had to take it from her. “I love you Gast. I’ve always loved you and I always will, don’t leave me now. Not when we’re only just beginning. I can’t do this alone.”

Salted rain trickled down her cheeks and onto his own, his hand grazing away the fleck of moisture before life slipped from his grasp, silence and stillness overwhelming the gentle man as he took his final breath. “No….NO!” Ifalna cried, the barest of whispers given as she closed his eyes and trembled. The light of her life, the father of her child, the keeper of her heart. He was gone forever, extinguished like a troublesome ember before it had time to be kindled into a blaze. The Cetra felt sick. The world moved in a surreal blur, her grief unfathomable as hands began to pull her from the corpse, blood staining her dress as she put up no fight. “…no….” She whispered again, hurting in every way imaginable.

He kept out of sight for the most part, waiting for his prize to be removed before he dared to enter the building. He hadn’t wanted it to be this way. His mentor was nothing but a good man, a kind hearted, intelligent soul, but he was weak. It was weakness and not a thirst for knowledge that had enthralled him with the Ancient, human desire clouding his judgement. Hojo vowed never to repeat the same mistake, it was an obsession fuelled only by curiosity that had led him down this path. If only Faremis had complied, perhaps he would have kept his life. Struck with a strange pang of remorse at the sight of his deceased teacher, midnight hues quickly averted themselves as he explored the blood splattered domain.

Videotapes of conversations, home movies, file upon file of research… it was a treasure trove of wisdom, and yet…victory seemed strangely hollow. What was this feeling he felt now? So troublesome in it’s entirety? Frowning, his hands moved with precise speed, removing what precious intelligence he could before anyone else came to examine and contaminate his scene. Books, cameras, roll upon roll of undeveloped film. Photo albums, notes, precious memories all found their way into a singular crate as he bid his employees continue, his own feet guiding him up the narrow staircase to better explore.

Clothes, he suspected, the caged Cetra would require, a simple reminder of what happened to those that didn’t comply. Clearing out her wardrobe, briefly his nose lingered beside the cloth, inhaling a scent that conjured an emotion not entirely unlike lust. Hadn’t Lucrecia once worn the very same perfume? Hojo paled, dropping the garment as if it had been ablaze. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. What if the Ancient misled him? What if his obsession drove him to flights of fancy or tainted his resolve? Was it even worth the risk?

It was lost in his thoughts that he finally heard it, a muffled cry coming from the back of the room. Interest piqued, the scientist approached slowly, gun in hand as he nudged aside the sheets to find redemption. A baby. So Faremis had indulged in a little more than mere research then, he mused bitterly. Tucking the firearm back into his jacket, deftly he picked up the precious cargo, holding the shrieking infant with a sinister smile as he trudged back out of the house towards the waiting car, fully intent on exploring this child’s capabilities like the true experiment she was.

Festive Frustrations.

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:28:00 +0000

It was barely even December and already the decorations were everywhere. How exactly it became necessary to celebrate the great Starlight celebration, a good three weeks before the actual event itself, Ifalna would never quite understand, but the change in scenery was certainly welcome. No longer were the walls of Shinra daubed in eternal sterility, their monochromatic colour scheme now illuminated with flecks of red,green and gold. It looked like her garden, colourful adornments twinkling as they fluttered, foil streaming overhead, reflecting the warmth from the halogen bulbs and sending entire cascades of light twirling about the place.

Tall fir trees stood in each room, decked out with the finest of trinkets and spectacular treasures. Why, even in the entrance foyer, her own daughter’s spectacular pasta-shaped offering hung beside that of Mr.Rufus’ in homage to the occasion. There was just something about this time of year that made people happier. Maybe it was the dwindling temperature that did it, the sudden plummeting mercury lending more time to cuddling indoors with loved ones than it did exploring the world in grand and elaborate adventures.

For most of the staff, it merely meant getting drunk more often. Precisely how that fit into the grand scheme of things for celebrating, she’d never entirely know, but if it kept a smile on people’s faces, and a lust for life in their hearts, who was she to argue? The world could do with more beaming grins and cheerful faces, for too long had the black suited operatives hidden behind masks of obligation and indifference. It was nice to see them enjoying themselves, even if only for an isolated night out of many.

She often excused herself before anything got out of hand of course, although admittedly the stories the morning after had become somewhat of a legend in recent years. Table top dancing, terrible karaoke, spontaneous stripping…it all just added more fuel to the well orchestrated games of truth or dare. She preferred quiet solitude to the bravado and dubious activities alcohol tended to evoke, it was just so much simpler and clean cut when you could remember the night before. She wouldn’t have said no to a little extra courage now and then though.

With the faint trace of merlot coarsing through her veins, the pink cheeked woman was on her way back to her rooms, the echoing sounds of laughter reverberating in the background as her skirt swished about the place. Smiling thoughtfully at everyone she passed, merry greetings were offered in a time-old tradition until she came face to face, quite literally with ~~the Grinch~~ Professor Hojo himself. Slowly her softened features moulded themselves into a frown as she surveyed him, a knowing shake of the head offered as she passed her judgement. “It’s the season of smiles, silly. You shouldn’t look so gloomy.”

Anyone else would’ve been offended by the scoff of indignation that followed, but the mild sneer of distaste was almost endearing to the Ancient. If he felt something negative, then at least that meant he could feel at all. There was still hope for him yet! More than willing to take matters into her own hands to rectify his look of abject bitterness, Iffy’s hand clutched instinctively at his own as she pulled him unceremoniously down the corridor, his barrage of mumbled protests politely tuned out as she neared the source of his salvation.

At the far end of the building’s confines, there lay a grand and elaborate tree. Dazzling fairylights chased one and other in a spectral display of rainbow elegance, crackers and tin-men seated beside glitter coated snowflakes and baubles filled with the most extravagant of candy. It was the heart of Starlight, she liked to think. The birthplace of magic. She was hoping it would rub off on the cantankerous scientist, even if only for the briefest flicker of a smile to grace otherwise stoic features. She’d never seen him smile. Not properly. There had only ever been malice and mockery in his eyes, never true joy the way it was meant to be experienced.

“It’s a tree Ifalna. They’re everywhere.” Hojo replied somewhat harshly, his arms folding into a stance of indifference as he watched the woman fuss with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. It wasn’t the tree she’d come here for though, but the box of decorations that lay unused at it’s feet. Had he known, perhaps he would’ve been better prepared for the events that followed, but as it happened, ignorance truly was bliss for the brief interlude before realisation dawned upon him.

“You’re a tree.” The woman replied somewhat lamely, her nose crinkling defiantly as she draped a length of silver tinsel around his neck, winding it around his torso and accentuating it with a mixture of beaded bells and crystalline baubles. When exactly the fearsome professor had turned into her plaything she wasn’t certain, but the look on his face was positively priceless. Why, she could just see the vein in his temple threatening to burst forth and strangle her! But that wasn’t the aim though, she wanted him to let go, to be free, to see the magic of the holiday for what it was, instead of a reminder about being eternally damned and alone.

“If I’m a tree…” With calculated steps he was pushing against her, backing the infernal creature into the wall with a lukewarm expression. So close was their proximity that it made him uncomfortable, the steady tickle of her breath on his skin doing very little to maintain the expression of disdain he was trying so ardently to uphold. “…then allow me to leave.” Any closer now and he’d be tasting that skin, silky alabaster melting into a deep mauve as he glared almost unwillingly at the bane of his existence.

“But I’m not done yet!” The Cetra protested as her hand wound stealthily around his back, weaving tinsel and ribbons into his tousled ponytail with a sense of stealthy precision so covert and well mastered, it bordered on ethereal. Was this woman possessed? Why wouldn’t she cease and desist already? Hojo’s frown deepened, his hand closing around that dainty wrist to push it into the wall and away from his prized locks. He didn’t need any more irritating reminders of what this season meant, let alone a barrage of glittering colours.

“No my dear, I think you’ll find, you are.” Words flowed with surprisingly civility as he held the offending hand in place, his heart hammering unfathombly in his chest as those damnable eyes bore into his soul. Were Cetra’s like ravens these days? Could they steal whatever spirit remained in a fleshy shell with only a single look? It certainly felt that way. He was drowning in a sea of evergreen, wave upon wave of affection washing through his body like an accursed plague. Love was a disease, a bout of pestilence meant only to be eradicated, but curiosity was the cure. One had to expose itself to the pathogen, to learn to fend it off, did it not?

Tearing his eyes away in an attempt to preserve his dwindling sanity, fluidly mako infused blue glanced everywhere. The floor, the door, the tree, anywhere but at the siren so intent on throwing him overboard. Self-preservation was key. He needed the upper hand, a chance to reassert his dominance in whatever liaison this was. He wasn’t a doll, nor a toy to be cast aside, he was a force to be reckoned with. Eyes drifting skywards in exasperation, finally cerulean orbs clocked his salvation. Not three feet above them, hung a small sprig of mistletoe, white berries juxtaposed to rich and festive greens.

Was this a sign then? Or Gaia’s sick sense of humour? He couldn’t quite decide as impulsively he shifted forwards, lips colliding with lips as his eyebrow irked towards the heavens. This was merely payment for turning him into a walking mockery. For daring to taint his icy visage with a vision of mirth and make-believe. Somewhere amidst it all, his hand slackened, fingers lacing with fingers in a less intrusive hold, as a free hand once again resumed it’s quest to thread festivity into his hair, unwilling to admit defeat despite his apparent winning.

Not that he minded continuing to maintain his clear superiority of course. It was all part and parcel of being a scientist. Experimenting through the medium of trial and error, exploring the intricate nature of Cetra’s and their unique take on human emotions.

As for the fact he enjoyed it? Well, that was simply a happy co-incidence.

Unexpected.

Wed, 23 Nov 2011 04:23:03 +0000

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock sounded repetitively as Ifalna paced, her thumb caught between her lips as she chewed on the nail nervously. The passage of time had never really meant that much to the Ancient until now, every second seemingly spanning an age as she waited with baited breath. The entire course of her future was hanging in the balance, decades worth of experience culminating in a single moment that would forever change her purpose and her calling in life. It meant everything, a weight suddenly so turbulent and overpowering resting upon those slender shoulders.

She daren’t even look. Trembling with a mixture of unease and excitement, the Cetra stayed close to the door, unwilling to take the necessary steps to see what colour the litmus paper had turned. What if Gast wasn’t ready to be a father? What if he wanted to focus on his research instead? Was she even ready to be a mother? What if all of her wisdom wasn’t enough to raise a beautiful baby? What if the mixture of human and Cetra blood complicated matters? What if, what if, what if?

There were so many questions and so many answers, so many unspoken words needing to be addressed. It made her head spin, her stomach lurching with something she couldn’t quite discern. Was this joy or was it regret? Truly the woman didn’t know. Raking her fingers back through a cascade of chocolate spirals, apprehensive steps led her towards the sink, cautious emeralds trying to look anywhere other than at the piece of paper now sealing her fate. Yet try as she might to avoid looking, or cling to whatever shred of blissful obliviousness she had, there was the truth, bold and bright, like a rose amidst a field of snow.

Positive.

Ifalna blinked, her hand rising to her mouth as a hysterical noise crept out, laughter and tears mixing in that one singular sound. Somewhere inside her now, a new life was growing, like a seed it was waiting to blossom, to spring forth into a strong and vibrant child that could grow into a might oak. Like Gaia, she now had another life to care for besides her own. It was a responsibility she wasn’t sure she was ready for, but somewhere at the back of her mind, her conscience was telling her to rejoice, to relax, to revel in the moment and lose herself in the swirl of euphoria it needed to bring with it.

Taking a few slow clarifying breaths, the Cetra glanced down at her shaking hands as she tidied away her mess and hurried from the bathroom with cautious steps. Without any conscious thought her hand drifted to her stomach, a soothing circle rubbed across the taut flesh as she approached the study to reveal her news. Did either of them have any comprehension of what this meant? Of what the future would hold for them now in their little mismatched family? She hadn’t expected things to work out this way. She’d been part of his research hadn’t she? A friendly ear and companion to help in the course of his studies.

She hadn’t expected to fall in love. She hadn’t even expected to stay as long as she had done, but maybe this was why. Maybe Gaia had planned this all along, a tiny miracle given for a purpose beyond that which they understood. Loitering uneasily in the doorway, the woman draped in rich blue cloth leant her head against the frame, her fingers cemented protectively over her stomach as she cleared her throat. It was less than a second before almond shaped eyes met with her own, an unspoken question voiced to which she could only nod in response.

“I’m pregnant.” She didn’t know how else to word it, or explain the heart beating alongside her own, but the smile she received in response was enough to reassure her that everything would be fine. She laughed then, emotions swirling as she darted across the room, her arms around the scientist’s neck as she clambered into his lap, crying tears of unfathomable relief as he kissed her temple and grazed her protective hand with his own.

Their whole world had just changed for the better.

Song of 1000 Dances.

Tue, 22 Nov 2011 02:08:39 +0000

In a carnival of colour, the Cetra swirled, her skirt swishing to and fro as it cascaded around her in a spiral of silk. Laughter poured from those mauve tinted lips as she rose to her tiptoes, twirling through the room in an ecstatic display. Somewhere nearby, the tiny Miss Aerith was playing a tambourine, it’s deft jingle adorably out of time while she watched her mother’s movements as if she were a petal plucked and floating on the breeze. She’d never seen anyone move quite so fluidly, or as quickly.

Precisely why the mood had arisen now, Ifalna herself didn’t know, but there was something about the tune that called to her, whispering it’s promises in a seductive purr until she had no choice but to submit. How long had it been since she’d danced now? Since she’d felt the music speak to her soul and set her free? Too long; she though wryly as an arm raised above her head, her wrist flicking into a tiny flourish as she wove and dived, swinging her hips and humming along as every step brought her closer to a happy sense of oblivion.

There was something liberating about the action, and something distinctly awe inspiring arising from the look of unparalleled awe on her daughter’s face. Why, as soon as she mastered the art of walking without toppling over, perhaps she could learn these steps too! The maternal woman smiled fondly at the prospect, her heart warming and lifting skywards as she commandeered the tambourine, incorporating it into her display for the briefest of moments before it found it’s way safely on the table away from tiny hands.

Bending low, skilled digits closed around her daughter’s body, scooping her tiny frame up until she rested against her shoulder, and once again her footsteps quickened. Leaps and bounds melted into fluid twirls, the rise and fall of her elated child conjuring delicate gasps and squeals of awe. It was a sound any mother would crave, an addictive song of love and contentment, transcending every cell in her body as she drank in the moment, truly revelling in it.

It was only when Aerith stilled and squealed no more, that Ifalna set her back down in her playpen and rounded on the room’s only other inhabitant. Despite her all encompassing display of athletic prowess, she hadn’t lost her peripheral vision, so silent though the Turk had remained, his presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. He didn’t even need to be there with them, and yet the young man stayed, captivated by his own silence with just the barest hint of a smile.

Tseng would always be welcome in this little section of space she called a home. She just wished he didn’t have to wear black. The colour seemed to suck some of the life out of the room, a dark smear on an otherwise perfect surface. The dear Wutian deserved more vibrance in his life, something to illuminate his dubious profession and show him what the world could be like outside of this place. She had a great fondness for the man that guarded her daughter, almost akin to the affection Aerith herself felt, so it was purely out of familial affection now that she tugged so gracefully at his hand.

“Dance with me.” She requested with a smile so intense it could’ve easily rivalled the sun, her fingers curling around his as she tried to pull him into her world of joy and make believe. Tseng of course, merely blinked, his eyes closing in a serene but polite gesture of decline as he chuckled knowingly to himself more than anything.

“I have two left feet, Ms.Ifalna. I wouldn’t dare risk treading on your toes. ” Amicably he pulled his hand away, clasping it within his lap as he tilted his head from side to side, silvery eyes twinkling slightly as he offered his sage wisdom to the kindhearted woman. “You’d do better asking Veld, Ma’am. He’s somewhat more highly regarded as the snake-hips of Midgar.” Curtailing the urge to grin from ear to ear, Tseng idly cast his gaze back towards his usually pint-sized companion, a small wink offered as he resumed his highly professional and not-at-all-mocking thoughts of his superior.

“Well in that case then, dear Mr.Tseng, I do believe I’ll need to make sure I get him drunk enough to either confirm or deny such a title!” The Cetra giggled, a light and airy tone mingling with the background of music as she settled somewhere beside the Turk’s feet, watching her elated offspring shuffle around with wobbly steps. She supposed it could wait another day though, the moment seemed almost too perfect to even abandon this room.

She had all the time in the world left to dance.

Cry.

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 22:55:27 +0000

Ice crunched with every step. The frozen terrain hostile despite her connection to it. The jagged shards of frosted rock dug into the bare flesh of her feet, snow melting, as it burned through her skin. Every step was agony, the torture necessary to cleanse her soul. To lift her burden, to plea for a forgiveness nobody but herself had the right to give. Guilt was choking her in the night air, every breath a suffocating reminder of what had transpired, her mutinous heart beating so rapidly it made her head swim.

She loved him.

She loved him and it was tearing her up inside. It wasn’t meant to be this way. She was supposed to be with Gast, raising their child like a perfect family, watching her grow, guiding her towards adulthood with a firm but loving hand. She wasn’t supposed to be alone, a widowed shadow of her former self, tethered like a wild animal in captivity, destined to leave her daughter in the hands of another. She was supposed to hate him. To despise the murderer that had shot down the man she loved, and yet it was he, for whom her heart now beat.

She couldn’t quite explain it in it’s entirety. Was this Stockholm syndrome? The fabled connection to an oppressor through a survival mechanism? Or was it more than that? Was it two souls connected by something else entirely? Ifalna didn’t know. She didn’t much want to know either. She just wanted to forget, to be granted forgiveness, to honour the memory of her lover now rolling over in his own shallow grave.

Shivering in the thin layer of a cotton night dress, the Cetra tilted her head to the heavens, tears freezing to her cheeks as her legs buckled, her bleeding feet refusing to move as she crumpled to her knees. Her fingers dug into the snow, squeezing it in a silent prayer, coughing, crying, pleading with her heart to obey her head and abandon her foolish feelings. She needed to think about Aerith, to keep her safe, to make sure that no harm befell her by staying in this place, and yet at the same time she never wanted to leave.

It was conflicting, so contradictory in fact that she feared for her own sanity. It didn’t make sense, but then again, love never did. Intent on freezing out her demons, the bloodied woman shivered again, pained sobs melting into a confused silence as her breath dwindled to little more than a hazy white mist. Perhaps she deserved to be encased in ice, at least that way she wouldn’t be at liberty to feel.

“Mama, mama!” A concerned plea had her head raising, turning to the source of the voice she knew how well. If she stayed out here in this, her daughter would die. It made her grateful for the set of warm hands holding her back, the black suited minder dutifully stopping the small child from blistering her feet on the unfriendly terrain in a place she’d once called paradise. How strange it was, to think that underneath this blanket of hostile white, there had once been radiant colours, bursting with life in ways almost too beautiful to imagine.

Ifalna vaguely remembered her daughter’s screams of protests as Mr.Tseng had taken her away, far from the spectacle of her mother’s pain. She’d thank him properly for it one day, she noted. He hadn’t intervened despite wanting to, but he had at least informed someone that could.

The snow had resumed it’s downwards spiral by the time he came. Steps concise and rapid as wordlessly an ebony jacket ensnared her shoulders, calloused hands rubbing the tops of her arms as he dropped to the ground in front of her, questioning gaze never once judging as he pulled a face. “Bit nippy for star gazing isn’t it?” The elder Turk mused, his hand drifting higher to brush back those frozen tears with his thumb. Veld Dragoon had never been entirely good with this type of situation, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t without an unspoken conviction.

“It hurts…” She told him amidst her weary cries, her voice cracking as every breath left her trembling, hypothermia setting in amidst her torment. How could she heal the planet if she couldn’t hear over her own damnation? How could she expect to be a good mother if she loved a man that had killed her only child’s father? It made her a bad person didn’t it? She didn’t know anything anymore. Fingers curling into a fist, futilely she smacked at the Turk’s chest before her palm came to rest there, her body weight pressing forwards. “…I don’t understand.”

She may not have done, but he did. Taking a deep breath, his hand stilled her own, rough digits clasping the frozen flesh as he scooped her up, blood lingering in the snow even as he held her close, stroking through chocolate strands until the moment allowed him to take her back towards the warmth of the building. “I know, Iffy, I know. ” He whispered assuringly, staggering through the snow with his precious cargo, knowing full well that the woman he loved was shedding tears for another man entirely. All he could do was be there, watching, waiting, and protecting to the best of his ability.

Oh yes, love hurt.

“You know…instead of watching you could help us.”...

Sun, 20 Nov 2011 16:04:00 +0000

“You know…instead of watching you could help us.” Soft yet firm, the demanding voice of the brown haired Cetra cut over the sound of boiling water, her hand poised entirely un-intimidatingly on her hip as she watched the Turk. How he managed it, she’d never know, but in his own home, never once had Ifalna seen him cook. It had always been Vincent or her behind the stove, slaving away to make some kind of masterpiece for them all to share. He didn’t even do the dishes, which was in itself, an affront to the unwritten culinary code amongst friends.

“You seem to be managing perfectly well on your own. Too many cooks and all that.” Knowingly the eldest of the three smirked, genuinely contented with his backseat cooking. From this careful vantage point he could watch his family work together for their grand and elaborate Sunday roast, and all without ever having to lift a finger. It was bliss, in perhaps the most uncharismatic way. Even Ifalna’s menacing ladle wave did little to spoil the unparalleled sense of devotion he had towards his companions.

“It’s safer not to let him get involved if you value your kitchen and unsinged nasal hairs.” Vincent remarked knowingly. Already he had visions of burning appliances and a scorched leg of lamb. Really, Veld had a better command of explosives and all things flammable than any of them, yet somehow he’d still managed to cremate the last thing he’d cooked. Iffy swore he’d done it on purpose to avoid ever being asked again, and even Valentine was inclined to agree. He’d always been more of a supervisor anyway, so the watchful eye was welcomed, even if only by the ebony haired Turk.

“I’m not above beating you with this ladle you know.” Iffy threatened with a poke of her tongue, a stifled snicker from Vincent not really doing much for her facade of sternness. Nor so, did the pair of concerned eyes suddenly gazing up at her from behind the counter. A quiet tug from Miss Felicia to her father’s leg had her lib wobbling, and that expression alone melted any shred of conviction the Cetra had.

“Oh no sweetie, no! I’m not going to beat your father. ~~That’s Vincent’s job~~. It’s okay.” Setting down the improvised weapon, the kind hearted woman shrugged off her apron to make it towards the small girl, her knees crunching as she bent down to her height and offered a reassuring smile instead. “How about we go and play with some bubbles instead, so your daddy and Vincent can finish in here, hmm?” She suggested hopefully, a small sigh of relief parting her lips as she scooped up the future Elfe, and held her lovingly on one hip.

“Vincent, you’re in charge. Make him do something to help at least.” Iffy pleaded with a frown as she disappeared from sight, taking her tiny charge with her away from the joys of fire and sharp cooking implements.

“Did you hear that Velly, you have to do something to help me?” Valentine grinned.

“I thought you knew how this deal worked, kid. I just work up your appetite and sit here looking pretty.” The old Turk chuckled, his eye closing in a carefully constructed wink as he glanced appraisingly at his young partner.

Ah to be a family again.

Between the Lines.

Sun, 20 Nov 2011 13:57:43 +0000

It was dark when she finally moved, graceful steps leading her through the never-ending labyrinth of corridors within Shinra’s enigmatic walls. She’d never had a problem finding the library before, yet under cover of darkness when nothing but dim lights that screamed hospital sterility flickered overhead, the usual journey had been fraught with complications. Who would have thought returning a book could be quite so complicated? She loved to read though, to lose herself in world upon world of possibilities, drinking in hopes and futures for a life she might never again see. Aerith seemed to like them too, or at least the bombardment of fairytales she was told every night before bed.

Long ago, the people of the world had thought the Ancients were little more than a myth too, yet there she was to prove them all wrong. What harm would it do for her dear, sweet child to believe in unicorns and magic, when there was every chance that they had perhaps once existed, beyond the realm of human eyes? If it kept her calm and it kept her happy, Ifalna could see no fault. Skeptically checking room numbers on her regrettable journey to the birthplace of books, soft heels clicked as she continued on, finally turning the corner to the place she so ardently sought.

With her borrowed book held closely to her chest, deftly she slipped inside, her back pressing to the door as she breathed her relief. Nocturnal walks were somewhat frowned upon by the security staff. They seemed so convinced that she would make a bid for freedom that they haunted her steps whenever a glimpse of of her presence was hinted at. It was like having a shadow, a set of eyes constantly looking over your shoulder, inescapable and unrelenting. It was torturous, lapping at every shred of freedom the woman possessed. Perhaps that was why she liked the books, the world of fiction was so different from her own, to lose herself there seemed almost wondrous by comparison.

Even in here she was more free than she was outside in her caged garden. Smiling sadly as she drank in the sight of heaving bookcases, with little hesitation she made a break for the correct shelf to return the elaborately illustrated tome in hand, only to be caught completely off guard by a voice issuing from the candlelit shadows. She’d never taken the time to check for other people, libraries weren’t the most sociable of places, or at least this one wasn’t. Startled the book tumbled from her hands, her body whirling around to seek out the face that had uttered the immortal observation.

“I thought you were supposed to sneak out of places, not into them.” Calm and collected, the scientist drawled as he watched her, his glasses sliding patronisingly down his nose as he inclined his head to glance over them, burning the vision of the shocked Cetra into his retinas forever more. It was a rarity to surprise the woman, at least to the point where the colour drained from that perfectly sculpted face and transformed her from flesh to a work of art. Not that he enjoyed watching her suffer per se, but the science behind it was fascinating.

“I…” For once in her life at a loss for words, Ifalna shifted closer to the candlelight, her lip caught between her teeth as she chewed it with a mixture of cautious contemplation. Perhaps she should have left. To have taken Aerith and run, to escape and start again, to build a new life. The seed of an idea was always there, but never had it taken root. It didn’t seem worth the risk. She didn’t want to watch her daughter gunned down like Gast had been, she didn’t want to be forced to bathe in someone else’s blood, least of all someone she cared about so deeply. “What are you doing here?” She asked finally, bending swiftly to retrieve her book, the pages slightly crumpled as she hugged it once more.

He’d never thought of the brunette as anything other than a perfectly observant woman, but really now, was she so blind as to see the blatantly obvious. Pointedly staring at her, darkened eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement as he raised his book slightly, a subtle sort of smugness present in the word that followed. “Reading.” He was allowed to do things outside of his work wasn’t he? To steal away pieces of time and educate himself on matters of interest as opposed to importance. Anyone would think he was to be permanently tethered to his laboratory from the look those contemplative greens were giving him.

Reading. In a library. It was hardly a grand stretch of the imagination was it? “Oh.” She muttered somewhat lamely, her hand pressing to her temple as she blushed, laughing nervously at her own disregard for noticing what was right under her nose. Her interest was sufficiently piqued though, a cautious step guiding her closer to the Professor, curiosity gracing her face where fear had once resided. “What are you reading?” She asked him softly, her head tilting to try to catch a glimpse of the elusive title.

“A book.” Facetious as ever, Hojo merely irked an eyebrow as he turned the page, his eyes drifting between the questioning woman and the tome in hand. Would it annoy her, he wondered? It was like a role reversal, their usual reverie turned on it’s head in a fair and amicable display of torment. Ifalna however, wasn’t nearly as impressed. Huffing indignantly, she came closer still, slipping off her shoes to take up a seat beside him, the cushions of the couch giving way slightly beneath her weight.

“What’s it about?” She tried again, her head resting against his shoulder as she tried to view the pages, to revel in whatever world it was, he was exploring. It seemed strange to think that he could be anything other than analytical, but she liked the humanity a hobby gave him, she liked the hope it offered to her and the heart he seemed to own.

“A nosy woman that asked too many questions.” He jibed without thinking, his eyebrow creeping steadily skywards at the sudden display of intimacy. Had he turned into a pillow in the last hour and not realised it? Was he losing his aura of fear? With anyone else, perhaps he might have cared to correct such things, but the Ancient had always been different. She could make him bend and buckle in ways no other woman ever had, a curious addiction that always seemed to sate his craving yet immediately left him wanting more. She was his drug, his vice, his poison. And what sweet poison it was.

“Now you’re just being difficult.” She reprimanded him with a pout, her breath tickling the outer shell of his ear as she pushed her own book into his lap instead. Aerith’s fabled collection of fairytales seemed to have infinitely more appeal than a mysterious book he wouldn’t clue her in on. Refusing to admit defeat she made a play to sneak away his literary prize, her fingers almost grazing the spine before he stole it from her grasp and tucked it away out of sight.

“My dear Ifalna, if the cat didn’t fare so well with curiosity, what makes you think you stand a better chance?” Hojo asked with a smirk, his arm instinctively creeping around her waist before he ended up with a dead arm. It was purely for practicality of course, it wasn’t an emotional response. That would have been unheard of. Glancing down to the children’s book adorning his lap, quietly his finger jabbed at it as if it were a snake before he flicked through the pages, scoffing and pulling faces at each of the ludicrous tales. How did this benefit anyone? These stories served only to pollute the minds of those too weak to seek out fact. “I think you’re a little past bedtime stories.”

“You’re never too old for a tale of knights and chivalry. Honour never dies, nor do good morals.” She told him calmly, her finger twirling through the ends of his hair as she gazed fondly down at the book. It may have been fiction, but it gave her daughter a strong basis for ethics, it told her to seek hope wherever she could find it, to believe in love, life and friendship. To live with the belief that there was good in all things. Granted, it may not have protected her, but it was a start.

“Ah yes, a blonde haired, white garb wearing knight. You do realise this is teaching people to idolise young Mr.Rufus?” The medic sneered, turning the pages until he came to someone more to his liking, or at least someone he could depose less. Tapping his finger a good few dozen pages later against the illustrated epitome of perfection, finally he opted to play along. “Now this chap, I’ll let you have him. Long dark hair, highly scientific, self-sufficient…what happens to him hmm?”

Ifalna bit back a smile, amused greatly by the uncanny resemblance to the man beside her. “He’s the villain. He gets eaten by a dragon.” She told him with thinly veiled amusement, her fingers soothingly moving across his brow in case he took offence to such an answer. She supposed it was quite cruel really, to call someone evil simply because she didn’t understand their motives, and in truth, the medic was hardly a villain, but the allegory was uncanny.

“I assure you, if anything is to be eating me, it won’t be a dragon.” He couldn’t help himself, really he couldn’t. She brought out the best and worst in him, stirring up emotions and ideas that had long been left buried after countless betrayals. Ignoring the ensuing smack to his arm, he set aside that book too with a chuckle, a gleam of malevolent mischief in his eye as he dared to stroke those chocolate hued locks, inhaling the strong scent of lilac that accosted his nose.

Innuendo aside, she could quite comfortably have stayed there all night. Curled up and looking at books was something normal people did, listening to another person’s heart, sharing their company, it was like having a friend again. Perhaps in a few years, when Aerith was older, she’d be able to do this with her instead. Closing her eyes in her calm recline, Iffy hummed absent-mindedly, keen to preserve the sanctity of the moment before she returned to her sleeping child.

Taking the opportunity to resume his earlier reading while the Cetra was pleasantly occupied, contented eyes scanned each page, tiny scraps of paper marking out each necessary place as he did his best to work in seclusion. It didn’t work though, and before long those entrancing emeralds were sneaking peeks at the text, processing words and struggling to visualise the photographs adorning each paragraph. “Simon…what are you really reading?” She was sitting up then, leaning far across him to try and discover the pressing fact for herself.

“Nothing of importance.” He replied evasively, holding the book firmly out of her reach. It was frustrating to say the least. That infernally inquisitive woman! Why couldn’t she be easy to placate like all of the others? Hissing out softly as she launched forwards and scrambled atop him, her arms tried to ensnare the book like a child in search of candy. The change in position, while not entirely unpleasant, didn’t help matters of course. The sway of weight had him leaning, gravity working it’s magic in that fabled moment before they both toppled to the ground with an uncompromising thud.

Strewn across the professor, Ifalna made no motion to move as she checked he was still alive, her chest resting against his as finally her hands closed around the book that had caused this madness. Turning it over in preparation of the answer, her heart softened as soon as she clocked the title, a brief fluttering of scraps fluttering to the ground as she skimmed through the volume.

Flowers.

He was reading and marking out details about flowers. The very same ones she’d aways told him she loved. The ones that she needed in order to make her garden perfect. It was for her. The knowledge alone made her heart flutter, warming her cheeks as she pushed back a curtain of hair to gaze at the man presently sandwiched between her and the floor. “You could get off me you know…” He told her abrasively, his body shifting to get back up only to frown as a soft hand pushed him back down.

“I could…but then I couldn’t do this.” She whispered, bending low to capture those contemptuous lips in a grateful kiss. In truth, she could do a lot of things, but making sure the dear professor didn’t need to experience the chiropractic benefits of a library floor for much longer, wasn’t necessarily one of them. She was happy here, endeared and awe-inspired by a man she had every reason to hate.

Surely that alone, meant that this short-lived moment was worth preserving.

Unconventional.

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 01:04:00 +0000

Love.

It was all anyone needed. A little glimmer of hope in a dark and dreary day, a reason to paint on a smile when you woke up shrouded in sadness. It was the lifeblood of the world, a precious gift to be treasured and given freely, without question and without obligation. Sometimes it took the form of friendship, others a more amorous role, yet still the significance was the same. It meant you a had a place in somebody’s heart, no matter how small, unconditionally and eternally. To Ifalna it had always been as necessary as water, kindness the currency for her compassion as she cared for every person and creature she came into contact with, yet with others, it wasn’t quite so simple.

Some people weren’t ready to give second chances having already been burned. They let the wounds of failed affection fester, poisoning themselves with something so toxic and unforgiving it was almost impossible to cure. It was what she saw every time she looked at Hojo, the weight of solitude on his shoulders, borne from the scars of doomed romance. It made her heart ache for him, all of his wrongs forgiven in an instant, because he was dooming himself to a torturous end. Perhaps if he still had love surrounding him, his heart would have softened to spare Gast’s life, perhaps he would have been an attentive and loving father to the silver haired child she worried for almost daily, and perhaps he would’ve been happy, instead of an eternal picture of abrasive indifference.

He needed to smile. He needed to embrace the gift of affection and revel in it before he drowned. She couldn’t bear to see him; or anyone for that matter, so determined to bury themselves in work. She worried about him, far more than someone in her situation could logically do and yet it never once dissuaded her from her intended actions. Casting a cautionary glance towards the clock, red cloth swished fluidly as she made the journey to his recluse, his sanctuary within the Shinra walls a place she was becoming more than abundantly acquainted with as time went on. She wanted to be more than a simple experiment. She wanted to be his friend. To fix him, to heal him, to let him live like a less sociopathic sadist.

He was a beautiful soul; if only he’d let himself be.

Approaching the room with only a small measure of hesitance, softly her knuckled rapped against the wood, flowers in hand as she waited for the aforementioned response, fully prepared for the typical barrage of grumbling that almost always ensued. It was a necessary evil, she told herself. He couldn’t help it. Etching a smile across her finely crafted features, the Cetra beamed when the door finally opened, the scruffy looking gentleman clearly in need of far more than a friendly face. Sleep for one; and a damn good comb.

“What happened to you?!” She asked without any restraint, a concerned frown creeping in at her eyes. Without warning she was ushering the cantankerous man back into his quarters, her hands firmly cemented on his shoulders as she guided him with a motherly sense of compassion back towards a chair.

“You, happened.” The professor replied frustratedly as his body complied to the invasion, weary limbs thrust down into a battered armchair as the woman fussed over him. Given the right circumstances, he might have been far more eager for the ethereal angel’s presence in his own private thoughtspace, yet now, it was more infuriating than anything else. All night he’d been working on his research, collating data and drafting a report for the board of directors that very morning, and yet here was distraction, breezing into his life and sucking the free will right out of him. He’d only ever been able to refuse that woman once and that had hardly been an easy decision.

Picking up a file at her questioning gaze, unkempt papers poked out of the end as he waved it beneath her nose, tired eyes aching from the brightness she seemed to exude. “These are the story of your life; your kind. Years worth of research needing to be condensed into a single chapter.” Disdain hung in his words and once again he felt regret, an emotion rarely experienced in his life. How could he despise something so unequivocally perfect? Even now as he regarded her with nothing but lukewarm contempt, she hovered like a moth to his flame, devoted to her quest entirely. She would soothe him, placate him perhaps, and in turn she hoped he’d crack.

“I’m sorry my people were so intrinsic to your spiral of procrastination induced disrepair.” Ifalna mocked him openly and without fear, her fingers already working loose the tie that secured his hair to smooth through ebony strands and tame the unpresentable mess. “But if it’s any consolation, I’m sure I can salvage it. Shower. Coffee. Sleep.” But he knew this already. He was well versed in the art of human behaviour, and the simple triad of solutions would surely be of second nature to someone so learned. “The board can wait.” Weren’t even tyrants entitled to sick days once in a while? He was running himself ragged and while the lack of needles was certainly a bonus in the Cetra’s day, she had no desire to watch the scientist burn out.

“Two of those sounded suspiciously like a proposition, dear Iffy.” And what he wouldn’t give if it had been true. Lips hinting at a smirk, quietly Hojo plucked the glasses from his eyes to rub at them soothingly,a frustrated sigh escaping wizened lips as the woman in question reprimandingly batted at his ear. Once upon a time, it had been Lucrecia’s task to promise such luxuries he remembered bitterly, his stomach knotting even as he chuckled decisively at the vision currently mothering him. Any second now, she was going to come to her senses and leave he told himself, damning the kind soul for her own ability to acknowledge that some people weren’t meant to be saved.

“I’m proposing you start taking better care of yourself, lest you turn into the much feared Hobo-Hojo I know you’ll regress into if you don’t at least shave. So shoo. Now. ” Nudging at the man before her, Ifalna tried her best to look stern as he relented, unenthused steps soon seeing him vanish into what she could only presume was his bathroom. With any luck it would be tidier than the rest of his cluttered paper-strewn abode. Taking the opportunity to neaten the place up, her flowers lay unforgotten on the windowsill as she straightened his papers, collected each in turn with some degree of an order. Used cups found their way into the sink before she remade his bed, her role as glorified housekeeper forever cemented as her final duty was to make the promised beverage.

It hadn’t been what she’d arrived for, but if it helped him, who was she to say that it was wrong? Setting the steaming mug beside the fruits of his insomnia fuelled labour, idly she fussed with her flowers in his absence, humming away serenely as she did her duty. It was only at the sound of footsteps that the woman whirled, her jaw dropping ever so slightly as blood surged North to her cheeks. Shirtless and dripping hadn’t entirely been what she’d anticipated. Politely averting her gaze as the soggy haired Professor sashayed about his room, the Cetra stole only a sneaky sideways glance out of curiosity as he reswaddled himself in a shirt, crisp cotton moulding over freshly cleansed skin in a way that she’d never entirely took notice of before.

“And now you just look exactly the same, but smell a little sweeter.” She teased again, bridging the gap as she offered him his coffee, deft digits fastening each button with well practiced ease. “I’m beginning to think scruffiness is in your blood.” Another remark was met with silence, mako infused gaze too entranced by the confusing spectre assisting him so intimately. Was he really so incapable of being presentable? Experience told him no, but there was something magical about the possibility of it. If he said yes, would that mean his prized obsession would assist him every day? Would she become as much a part of his life as the research that catalogued hers?

The prospect alone could improve his mood tenfold for the day.

“And coddling is clearly in yours.” Finally the elder man spoke between a gulp of his steaming life fuel, the liquid burning his throat as it trickled down in a painful yet not entirely unpleasant manner. It wasn’t an accusation as such, but it had rolled from his tongue like one, the notion of needing assistance doing nothing for his sense of pride. Why, even the tie she wove so fluidly around his neck was starting to feel like a noose. All it needed was one swift pull and this woman would be the death of him; though he feared it may be the case regardless of what garb he wore for the occasion.

And would that even be a bad thing?

Sloshing another mouthful of coffee down his gullet, absently he examined the nearest file, skimming through critical details as a new and surprisingly more learned set of hands neatened him up. The pull of his tie, the straightening of his collar,…even the intrusive hand that tucked his shirt tails in didn’t distract him from that piece of paper and the meeting that would secure funding for his new pet project. Seemingly composed, watchful gaze glanced sideways at his self-appointed maid, Ifalna having now progressed to taming his unkempt and sufficiently damp tresses.

“You do realise I’m not a doll, don’t you?” Hojo drawled, batting away her fingers as they smoothed his locks into a neater ponytail, light illuminating the pitch black shade until it resembled an oil slick.

“I’ve noticed. Dolls would be more compliant.” Ceasing her ministration, Ifalna stepped back, holding out his jacket obediently despite the small sprig of lavender she’d tucked beneath his leper for safe keeping. It would bring him luck, she’d decided, or if nothing else, it should stop him from having some kind of apoplectic episode in the immediate future. Gazing at the man speculatively for a moment, on flighty steps, the brunette moved forwards her thumbs smoothing across his forehead in an instinctive gesture. “Don’t frown. You’re going to end up crinkly.” She told him unhelpfully, her lips pressing to his temple in her friendly sign of good faith before she shoved him unceremoniously towards the door. “Go. Meeting, then bed.”

The Professor blinked, biting back a retort as his fingers grazed the path unfamiliar lips had traced. Why? Why had she just done that? How could that possibly reassure him, when now all he could do was think about what it meant and what he’d have to do for a repeat performance? Honestly, the woman was insane. Huffing to himself as he huddled into his labcoat, an amused jibe directed itself at the source of his damnable confusion. “Is that a promise?”

The ensuing glare alone was worth it. Filled with a sense of overwhelming satisfaction, off he trod, the Cetra leaning against his doorframe as she cast an incredulous stare into his back. This was their dance. The constant to and fro a testament to the emotion Ifalna so often liked to call love. Paradoxical and non-sensical, it weaselled it’s way into his iron heart, thumping with something new, something foreign and deliciously despicable.

Oh how he had a passion for making that dear woman squirm.

Mistaken Identity

Wed, 16 Nov 2011 13:41:00 +0000

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba wheeeeeee!” The infant Miss Aerith babbled incomprehensibly as Ifalna moved, the tiny tot positioned on one hip as she made her way silently to the laboratory. Without the gift of cohesive speech, the young girl had typically communicated merely with points and smiles, but her developing language skills now revolved around making as much noise as possible as she came to terms with the many sounds she could make with her untrained lips. Running her thumb over her lower lip, the child flicked it with a giggle, babbling away like something possessed, even despite the change in scenery.

It was a rarity that her daughter was brought to such a place, but a necessary development exam was in order. She was still underweight despite seeming to thrive, and a mother’s prerogative would always be to protect her child. Finally reaching the designated location, the Cetra wandered into the sterile air, instinctively cuddling her oblivious child a little tighter in case the surroundings somehow stole away her innocence. She didn’t need to know what went on down here, or how much it troubled the elder woman at times, she simply needed to be given a clean bill of health so that she could return to Mr.Tseng’s capable hands. He was one of the very few Turks she seemed to trust within these walls.

“Professor?” She called softly, wrapping her knuckles against the door in a greeting to signal her presence. Even after all these months, she’d yet to call him by his first name, the formality necessary if she wanted to maintain any kind of objective distance. She’d said it out loud in the dark once, after she’d been sure Aerith was sleeping, the word rolling from her tongue like silk, yet laced with an unseen poison. She wanted to say it. To call him friend. To knock down the wall of cool indifference that stood between them, and yet for her child’s sake, she daren’t. She needed to honour Gast’s memory, and cavorting with the man that killed him hardly seemed just.

“Here.” From the silence came the gruff reply, two fingers raised in a greeting to signal his location as he busied himself with a machine that looked strangely torturous. Glancing over it with an expression of barely concealed horror, Ifalna stroked at her child’s hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she shuffled on the spot without a word, until the physician amongst them had finished. Peering speculatively over his work at the two unfathomable creatures fuelling his obsession, calloused hands wiped themselves off on his labcoat as an involuntary curve found it’s way into his lips.

He didn’t like children particularly, but for the sake of this one, it was hard not to find a connection. She was the spitting image of her mother, identical eyes and hair barely a shade apart. Was this a Cetra trait, or merely the result of good breeding? He had yet to pick apart their DNA, but perfection seemed almost certain. Swallowing with a sudden dryness in his throat, slow footsteps guided him before Ifalna, a steady hand daring to venture forth and greet her offspring with as gentle a hello as he could manage. The action alone, shocked the woman, but for some unfathomable reason, it entranced Aerith.

Curling her hand around Hojo’s index finger, the chestnut haired child shook it happily, waving her own hand as she looked briefly to her mother, before confused emerald locked permanently on the dark haired man. “Da-da-da-da-da!” She proclaimed loudly, associating the vision of dark hair with the only entitity he vaguely resembled. Almost instantly, Ifalna broke her touch, cradling the child as she rubbed her back, ignoring the tiny arms that reached forth optimistically towards the stranger she seemed to think was a friend. “No sweetie, that’s not your daddy.” A maternal whisper clarified the matter, but perhaps not as much as she would’ve liked, as it certainly didn’t deter the girl from her enthusiastic mantra.

“That’s Mr.Hojo. He’s a doctor, Aerith. Doc-tor. Like your Daddy was, but different.” It was hard trying to reason with an infant, almost impossible perhaps, but she was obligated to try, even if it was only for her peace of mind. She wasn’t ready for the complication of it, she couldn’t cope with that thinly veiled line of ‘what if’ nagging at the back of her mind. On one hand she liked the man and his company, yet morally she felt compelled to hate him. What kind of mother would allow her child to fall into such an equation? She needed her to stay far away from the risk of complications and hurt. She didn’t want to damage her precious treasure with such a dichotomy of ethics.

“It’s just babble Iffy. It doesn’t mean anything.” Hojo stated flatly, his voice lingering over her pet name as he retrieved the child from her to begin the examination and allay her fears. Cold and clinical he remained for the rest of the encounter, save for the involuntary smiles he found himself giving the child that wanted to call him father; the child that for all intents and purposes, looked at him with an innocence unparalleled in all of his years as a physician. It moved him; stirring emotions he’d long since thought dead. It was why he hated children he decided, with their bright eyes and damning smiles, offering him salvation on his one way trip to hell. They knew nothing of the world or it’s evils.

Yet despite his hatred, even as she clutched at his fingers trying to gum them off, still he couldn’t help but feel bound to her, in much the same way he was bound to her mother. Forever connected by that fabled question; a lingering possibility of which dreams could be born: What if?