#.whentheworldsleeps

[turkleader]

Sacrifice

“Why do you listen to them?” Tseng asked, casting his head to one side, grey eyes settling the fair face adjacent him with curiosity.

A curious, sharp gaze turned to meet his unflinchingly. It inflicted wounds unwarily, even when its caster meant no harm, Tseng realized with muted indifference. It did not affect him. In correspondence, the other’s deep voice met his query in leisure. “Why do you?”

Tseng smiled instinctively, for a bare moment, before closing his eyes and letting out a low “Hmph” in consideration, not dismissal. He turned his head back and let it recline against the lounge’s couch.

“I chose this path. You,” he pointed out, “were never taught you had a choice.”

His companion leaned forward, and with the sensation of motion Tseng’s eyes parted, studious gaze following the other’s shift. Wings of silver slid over muscular shoulders, flew forward to crest his face. He rested his arms on his thighs, and clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers as the Turk watched, quiet eyes following the thoughtful trail of green.

The Turk gazed on him in silence as the minutes passed. Eventually, his own gaze shuttered. He rose to his feet, and looked forward, stepping around the low coffee table and towards the door.

“What’s holding you here?” were the words he spoke as he slid the keycard and grasped the door handle, knowing the Soldier First would hear him. He turned his head back, and found the emerald eyes slow to rise and meet his own. But they held strong.

“They’re using you,” the Turk whispered. “Like they’re using me. Only I know it, and you… don’t.”

The Soldier’s eyes were listening, but silent.

“I’ve been hoping you wouldn’t let them,” Tseng continued.

“And that’s why you talk to me?”

“Is that so bad?” the Turk answered in query.

“Why don’t you leave, Tseng?” the silver haired Soldier asked again, rising to his feet, so that Tseng had to raise his glance to meet his eyes.

“Because they’re my responsibility,” Tseng answered, and intuitively, the Soldier knew he meant his Turks. The Wutaian man seemed to hesitate. Then, “I won’t leave them.”

The Soldier waited, could almost hear the other man’s heartbeat. It was calm.

“Perhaps it is you who should leave,” the taller male suggested lowly.

The Turk turned away. “There are others who will still die that way,” he said softly.

[noellemalinesoundmaps]

.. . Signals no.3 . By Noelle Maline

[noellemaline]

.. . Magnolia bees .

slow .

smooth .

steady .

#littlebees #fragments #layers #soundcollage #magnolia #soundart #whentheworldsleeps #ablackpool #noellemaline #cassetterocorderart #victorvictrola

[jbmprojectd]

When the world goes to sleep, we shall stay up with the stars. #stars #dreams #dreaming #together #wish #hope #writer #poet #underthestars #JBMarty #partnership #partner #relationshipgoals #relationships #oneday #whentheworldsleeps

[turkleader]

Drinks and Old Rumors

Part 1 of 7 Written for FFVII Halloween Week 2019.

Prompt: October 26th - Scary Stories [ghost stories, old legends, tales of the supernatural, creepypasta]

Summary: It's Halloween week and the Turks are shooting the shit at 7th Heaven when an old rumor about Tseng rises from its uneasy grave.

Description: This is the first piece in a multi-part story that follows Tseng (and those he encounters) over the course of seven days. I took inspiration mostly from the "old legends" and "tales of the supernatural" parts of this prompt, but tried to make it a more lighthearted experience to start the week off with. I hope you enjoy this little piece, and happy Samhain and Halloween to all who celebrate!

👻

A note before we begin: In case anyone is unfamiliar with the official names given to the Before Crisis Turks, I’ve included them here at the beginning of the story for reference. I hope this helps!

Rod (Male) - Alvis Crisis Gun (Female) - Emma (Elena’s older sister) Two Guns (Male) - Ruluf Shotgun (Female) - Freyra Martial Arts (Male) - Maur

Enjoy the story!

“I bet you Elena could take your ass three out of five times, at least, easy.”

The redhead scoffed, laughing. “Yo, I ain't about t'take a bet like that.”

“Come on!” the light-haired brunette goaded. Her thick ponytail almost fell into her drink as she leaned forward across the counter of the 7th Heaven bar, grinning past comrades new and old. “Why not?”

“Yeah,” Elena chimed in, a cunning smirk spreading across her face as she repositioned to face Reno. “Why not?”

“Rigged,” a dark-haired man with sharp bangs muttered.

The bald man beside him nodded.

“Oh, you're absolutely no fun, Ruluf!” the ponytailed woman pouted. “And neither are you, Rude!”

“I mean, it doesn't make sense for him to take an unfair bet, Freyra,” a large, well-built man with short brown hair spoke up.

“There it is,” Ruluf said, pointing at Maur.

“Since when does the Reno of the Turks turn down a challenge?!” Freyra exclaimed, jaw slack and brow raised in an attractive taunt.

“Oh, it's a challenge now?” Reno shot back. “An' who's footing the bill if I win?”

“If...” Rude emphasized quietly.

Ruluf sighed and laid his face down on the bar.

“Sounds like Reno's buying me my next drink if he knows what's good for him,” Elena said, her expression smug.

“And he shouldn't be the only one,” Freyra declared with a giggle, tossing back her drink.

“I'm beginnin' t'remember why I don't make bets with you, yo,” Reno said, flipping off Elena and Freyra as he turned away to flag down the bartender.

“Don't put your mouth where you're not ready to put your gil,” Freyra winked.

“Wait, you guys are serious?” the bartender interrupted, setting down another drink for the ladies. Her intense ruby eyes flickered between Freyra and Elena as she hurriedly lifted a hand in apology. “No offense meant, Elena, but I didn't know you had that kind of reputation in the Turks.”

Elena opened her mouth to respond but a new arrival cut her off.

“Are we discussing our win-loss records?”

A blonde woman with a stunning resemblance to Elena took a seat at the bar, giving Tifa a knowing smile as she motioned for her regular.

“Emma!” a scattered chorus rang out from the gathered Turks.

“Big sis!” Elena exclaimed with warmer surprise than she used to bear her elder sibling.

“Hey guys. Hey sis,” Emma greeted as Tifa playfully rolled her eyes and went to grab her drink. “So? What mischief are we getting up to tonight?”

“Trading drinks for bets,” Maur supplied with a wave, a shrug, and a smile.

“So is Ruluf winning or losing?” Emma asked with a slight smile, thanking Tifa for her drink and using the fresh glass to indicate the dual gunner with his face planted against the countertop.

“Losing,” Tifa put in with a half-amused, half-exasperated smile.

“How was I supposed to know the rookie had a black belt or whatever and was hand-raised by Tseng?!”

“Really?!” Tifa exclaimed, looking at Elena with a new respect.

“An' this is why our slumdog lost almost every bet he took,” Reno declared and stole Ruluf's drink, tossing back a swig.

“You really should know better than to underestimate a Turk,” Freyra chipped in as Rude nodded.

“Especially my sister,” Emma joined the discussion, shaking her head.

“You'd think he'd get the hint after betting against me five times.” Elena shot a withering glare at Ruluf.

“...wait,” Emma began.

“Yep!” Reno added brightly, finishing off Ruluf's drink. “He finally made the right choice the sixth time!”

Ruluf lifted his head, forehead and nose red from where they'd pressed against the counter. “Again, how was I supposed to know?!” he demanded, irritated.

“Tseng wasn't the only one looking out for her,” Rude said.

“She had our undivided attention after you all went dark.” Reno puffed out his chest, looking proud.

“Hey, I aced all my intro and advanced training, and all my exams but one, and that was without your help!” Elena reminded, flushing at the attention despite her best efforts.

“Yeah, well— I don't think anyone'll question yer commitment to seeing the mission through t'the end these days,” Reno said. His voice sounded strange, but every member of the Turks—retired and active—knew what he meant.

A thick silence settled upon the group.

Concerned stares glanced their way. Hushed voices began to brew between the patrons. They didn't need to hear the conversations to know what was being said— 'Hellhounds of Shinra. Death dealers. Murderers.'

Some people had begun to forgive them.

...but it was all too soon to forget.

“Alright Em,” Freyra spoke up at last, pushing past the heaviness that had pulled them each into their own familiar hell. “Who's the one Turk you wouldn't want to go up against?”

Emma didn't hesitate.

“Tseng,” she said.

“Aw, c'mon Em!” Reno groaned.

“What!” she said, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the sudden influx of bar patrons coming in after the dinner hour. “Would any of you want to fight him?”

“It's no fun choosing the immortal,” Ruluf said, nodding his thanks to Barret's daughter as she brought him a refill on his drink while Tifa was busy with the new crowd.

“Immortal?” Marlene asked, brown eyes sparkling with curiosity as she paused in the middle of taking away the Turks' empty glasses.

“Don't tease Marlene like that,” Elena chastised.

“It's not that much of a stretch,” Reno said, shrugging. “He should've been dead how many times?”

“For all we knew... he was dead—dead more times than any person has the right to come back from,” Ruluf stated, ire lost from his voice.

“Maybe it's true then,” Freyra confided, eyes shining.

“Oh boy,” Elena sighed.

“Not this again, Frey,” Maur protested gently.

The hunter folded her arms and leaned across the bar counter, a mischievous curve to her lips as she beckoned Marlene into her confidence.

“There's an old, old rumor that Tseng made a deal with Death—a deal Death couldn't refuse,” Freyra whispered ominously.

“Yeah, the same one Veld did,” Reno scoffed.

“I heard it happened before he joined Shinra,” Emma remarked. “That he swore an oath to one of Wutai's deities so he could cross the ocean to get to Midgar.”

“And that's why he can't die?” Marlene inquired, brows furrowed as she puzzled over each suggestion, empty glasses forgotten.

“It's all just rumors and supposition,” Maur assured the young girl, but even he sounded doubtful.

“Isn't he able to pull that shit off 'cause of the Full Cure materia Veld gave him back when he was a rookie?” Ruluf questioned.

“Nah, there were times he didn't get the chance to use it and still survived,” Reno dismissed.

“The Temple,” Rude clarified, tone solemn.

“Shit,” Ruluf cursed under his breath. “Forgot about that.”

Elena bit her lip and suddenly grew very interested in her drink.

“It's not all that unusual for the Turks to have those experiences though,” Emma noted, trying to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic. “Remember when Alvis fell into a coma only to wake up three years later?”

“Yeah, and Freyra almost put him back into it when she nearly hugged him to death,” Reno taunted.

“You're just mad 'cause I got to mess with him before you did,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue at him.

“I think it was the one-two punch of Cissnei and then you right afterwards that really got him,” Emma observed, trying to suppress a smile.

“What about Vincent?” Marlene suggested, catching the group's attention. “He used to be a Turk. My dad told me when they found him he had been asleep for decades. And Cloud says because of the experiments that were done to him that he might never grow old or die.”

“Shit,” Ruluf laughed, more out of surprise than humor.

Rude cracked a small smile. “Someone's got us all figured out.”

Marlene wasn't deterred.

“Did they do experiments on Tseng, too?” she asked. “Is that why you guys keep coming up with stories to cover up the truth?”

“S'far as I know, he's a hundred percent real human being, untampered,” Reno said.

“Tseng was out for a while too after what happened in the Temple,” Elena said, finally finding her voice again.

“That wouldn't explain everything that he'd miraculously survived before then,” Maur said.

“A'ight, Rude,” Reno interrupted, turning to his partner. “This might be a long shot, but d'ya think it might be his other materia that's gotten him through all that shit?”

“What materia?” Maur asked, confused but curious.

“Ohhh we're getting into those goodies now?!” Freyra exclaimed. “I thought that was just talk!”

“Nah, it's real,” Reno confirmed. “At least, the materia is. I dunno if what they say about it and Tseng's true though.”

“What materia?” Maur repeated. “This is the first I've heard of it.”

“Tseng wields an Enemy Skill materia,” Rude said.

“Mastered,” Reno revealed.

“Holy...!” Maur uttered.

“Yep, there it is!” Freyra exclaimed.

“What the shit?” Ruluf scoffed. “First of all, how is that possible? Don't some of the enemy abilities you need to learn to master that materia kill the person upon casting?”

“Yep,” Reno said.

“Then it's not possible,” Ruluf decided.

“...unless he's ~immortal~,” Freyra sang from her end of the bar, grinning.

“Actually, there is an enemy skill that can be gained through use of the Manipulate materia that prevents Death magic from having any effect on the user,” Maur informed. “Perhaps this is how he's been able to master the materia and escape from so many fatal situations?”

“Maur!” Freyra shouted. “You are seriously the worst! Stop ruining my fun with your facts!”

“A mastered Enemy Skill would go a long way in helping someone to stay alive,” Emma considered.

“Maybe the bastard's just lucky,” Ruluf declared and took a long swig from his glass.

“Is this someone I should know about?” a new voice suddenly broke through the group's discussion.

Turning, they found the devil himself had arrived, amusement warming his grey gaze as he joined them. But before anyone could respond, Marlene planted a hand on the counter and stared the Turk down.

“Are you an immortal?” she asked him matter-of-factly.

Tseng raised a brow as his Turks looked between him and his interrogator.

“Not that I'm aware of,” he answered, approaching the bar.

“So you didn't make any blood oaths to any demons or gods?” Marlene pressed.

The warmth in his eyes flickered. The beginnings of a smile edged across the corner of his lips, but there was no joy in it.

“No, though sometimes it feels that way,” he confessed.

Marlene nodded, considering his answers. She lifted a finger.

“One more question,” she said.

The gathered Turks held their breaths, waiting.

“Do you guys wanna join our Halloween movie marathon night tomorrow?”

The disappointment was explosive.

Tseng laughed as his coworkers fell into grumbled and mirthful exclamations.

Marlene threw them a look, and then continued as though nothing had interrupted her. “We're hosting one all day tomorrow here in 7th Heaven, and I think you guys should come. It'll be fun!”

Tseng inclined his head in gratitude, a true smile crossing his features.

“I have a few things to handle for work tomorrow, but I will try to be there,” he said.

“I'm sure you'll make it,” Marlene said and promptly headed into the kitchen.

Tseng looked after her before turning away, shaking his head softly.

“Yo, bossman! You're late so you're buying the next round!” Reno shouted.

“Whoohoo! Drinks on Tseng!” Freyra cheered.

“To the immortal, lying bastard!” Ruluf joined in.

“Cheers!” the Turks toasted him.

[End]

[turkleader]

The threat of death meant so little to either of them at this point. They had danced on the precipice of another choice for years, edging nearer and nearer, and never taking the plunge. But what was more fatal to the heart than the thought of “What could be?” They had not been given the chance to even entertain the thought. Chains leashed them, muzzles choked back their right to choose. To live, they had to leap. And the fall had been every dream. But they had to land. He only hoped they would not break when they did.

myself, from a work in progress

[noellemalinesoundmaps]

.. . Sounds through the walls and pipes .

Telephone transmitters .. #fragments and #layers #soundcollage #soundart #noellemaline #cassetterecorderart #ablackpool #whentheworldsleeps #soundexperiment #shortwaveradio #numbers

[noellemalinesoundmaps]

.. . Magnolia bees .

slow .

smooth .

steady .

#littlebees #fragments #layers #soundcollage #magnolia #soundart #whentheworldsleeps #ablackpool #noellemaline #cassetterocorderart #victorvictrola

[noellemalinesoundmaps]

.. . Sounds from the walls of an old apartment .. #fragments and #layers #soundcollage #soundart #noellemaline #cassetterecorderart #ablackpool #whentheworldsleeps

[noellemaline]

.. . Sounds from the walls of an old apartment .. #fragments and #layers #soundcollage #soundart #noellemaline #cassetterecorderart #ablackpool #whentheworldsleeps

[noellemaline]

.. . Sounds heard through old pipes and paper walls .. #ablackpool #whentheworldsleeps #noellemaline #cassetterecorderart #fragments and #layers

[turkleader]

Without Rest

"It's mornings like these... that always evoke tender feelings of nostalgia," came the soft voice, hushed in an already waking world, and for once, not without signs of faint husk within the low, normally flawless tones. The gaze too, of the man, was half-lidded, and without the normal flare of life that whispered or boldly stated its presence amidst visions of silver. Rather, today, they were the softest fog of gray, drifting more than stoic and still. They almost smoked, rather, clouded like overcast skies lingering, though rain was already unladen.

No tears but those that stole away from ducts surfaced however, and had he been asked, a low chuckle would have been his response. To cry? No, he was not disappointed, nor sad. The telltale was instilled in the gentle smile that was removed not from his lips, more apparent and fluent than many times before, where it shifted and fled into hiding, merely because of his playful humor. This morning, the man who stood away from his desk, leaning against the edge of the window with a hand in his pocket, the other curling against the rim of the flowerpot he held there, was merely... tired.

"It doesn't cling to me as drastically as it once did," he continued, his gaze warmly descending upon the happy bloom near his curled fingertips. "Once, it would flow over me so wholly, I could not think, nor act properly for the stones that were washed upon me by the river I thought for an ocean. It would have laid me to rest there, drowned in tears, in 'what if' and in fear, in my own indecisiveness." He lifted his gaze, the affection bespoken by his lips as his gaze met the risen sun amidst parting, frayed clouds. "Now it comes and touches my heart with the softest caress, and like the breeze, would it come from that same ocean, I can barely feel it here."

Softly, almost as though to gain comfort rather than a full relinquishment into repose, he tilted his head to the side, his long hair flowing against the edge of the window to follow the lean of his resting. "Those nights, when I would stay long past when the world was deserted, when the building was empty even of scientists and others who held or chose evening shifts, they are the ones I think of, that used to evoke such nostalgia. To sit, and have a single computer screen feel as your entire world, to strain eyes, neck, back and hands in little useless tasks, small pursuits done willingly, when sleep perpetually beckoned... and again now, after so many years of abstaining from it, I find memories difficult to hold back when they're all I can stir.

"After all," he murmured lowly, letting his eyes trace the streets far below, where vehicles drove and people walked in their swift, purposed steps--knowing where they had to go, letting nothing but the guidelines of city life still them even momentarily. It was a beautiful sight to him. Of life... of continuation. When a city's streets were empty, that was when the world seemed wrong, and lonesome. "I slept a grand total of two, perhaps even fewer, hours, for the pursuit of ditties, last night. Yes, I did so," he addressed the flower, turning a fuller, warmer smile upon the blushing being. "And you saw, perhaps, though you must have dozed off with the waning of the sun in the dimness of but my electronic lights. You saw me make the choice, one time again, to exchange the preciousness of sleep for the stiff and unequivocal cheerlessness of a screen." He chuckled warmly to himself, amused, and also, delighted.

Again he lifted his head, and his gaze followed, settling upon the world outside, being bathed more with each passing hour in the radiance of sunlight. "Let me tell you... it reminded me that sleep, and the comfort of the pillow and coverings of your own bed, are undeniably the better choice." He hummed softly under his breath, gathering in the rush of sunlight that bathed his figure, and behind him, the entire office. "Well then, let us see--ah, little one?--just how productive I will be today." With a smooth push away from the wall, his fingers delicately brushed the rim of the flowerpot, and the man who had been the Leader of the Turks in heart longer than ever in title, moved with ease to his desk, leaving peace in his wake.