#unknown verse/timeline

[calamitysshatteredson]

There wasn't a time when he didn't feel affinity for magic. At least, not that he could recall.

It was such and odd thing to hear others speak on the subject. How difficult it was to master, how strange materia felt to them. It was a part of Sephiroth's life. A part of his--

Being. Maybe. It felt that way. One person warned of the dangers, one waxed ludicrously poetic about power and care too be taken in such things.

One, specific, person, was only concerned with making more. More refined, more powerful. And he was the perfect test subject, of course. It was never out of his control, never too much, but sometimes...

There was temptation, sometimes. To let control slip. What would his evaluation look like then?

[goldendivinewrath]

Sand can become glass with enough heat.

One of many little interesting facts he's picked up. Along with the fact that it depends. The sand has to be made of certain specific things first, and he didn't know what this sand is made of. Elements have probably been identified... maybe. A lot was damaged after The Fall, but he knows there were a lot of restored scientific instruments.

For better or worse. No, no, you stop that. Me stop that. Or-- I stop that..? Do I need correct grammar while I'm talking to myself?

Anyway. Anyway.

So. This sand. The sand that is suddenly a little patch of glass. This can definitely become glass. Successful experiment.

There are some side problems. And no one to report back to, but it... it probably doesn't matter.

[stonecoldmeme]

(Marionmavrick, Marion's ffxv verse) “shhh, it’s alright.”

@marionmaverick Hurt/Comfort starters | accepting but forever slow

"Oh, uh-- Right." That was embarrassing. Not in a major way, really. Wandering off alone around Hammerhead kind of always resulted in some strong feelings. Good and bad, and really it'd been a mix that had gotten his vision to swim with tears...

He knew, of course. Knew who it was even before the voice, not having to look over. Some kind of-- Well, he could make jokes about different kinds of senses, and it wasn't something he could completely explain to himself, but it didn't matter really. It was okay, they were okay.

Prompto wiped his eyes with the back of a bare hand. "I-- Yeah. I know, really." Smile and cheer more weak than forced. Fake it 'til you make it or whatever. "Just... thinking. You know, old enemy of mine." A joke. A bad joke, but kind of the truth too. "Didn't... didn't mean to worry you."

[royalbratprince]

It was all about new traditions, wasn't it?

Maybe not all about them, but after everything that had happened, after essentially changing fate and a "world reborn", it only seemed right to put new spins on things at least. Nothing major, just a little reminder. Something a little bit personal.

Thus, the tradition of Yuletide Frogs began. As as joke, as was often the case, involving placing little frog figurines and plushes, wearing hats or scarves or mittens, in various places. Hiding them wasn't necessary, but it could be fun. Like completely and totally covering surfaces in little seasonally-appropriate frogs bringing joy.

Exactly when it got slightly out of hand became a traditional debate as well. Not so much when the official royal frog pond was established, but it was somewhere between the annual Frog Fashion Fest (it was insisted that Noctis judge the creative outfits, but Ignis was not so secretly a little more involved) and the Frog Paradem where the floats became more and more elaborate and an entire orchestrated theme song played over the whole affair.

Out of hand or not, Noctis liked the traditional frog cakes just fine.

[tmvoldemort]

"you should have killed me earlier, so i wouldn't live to see this."

Hermione clicked her tongue, "That was the plan Harry Potter."

Slowly she rose in to the air much like a stingless marionette. Her red eyes remain fixed upon Harry. Her robe and skirt billowing out before her. All the while her voice was higher, sicker and colder.

"All in good time. For I have had time enough for this. Time enough to savior what was due to me."

@originalwizkid

[goldendivinewrath]

It'd been quiet for well over a day. The sky was just turning dark and the cold would seep in again, and it was time to get himself cut down and on his way. Shame he was hanging upside down with his arms tied at his sides, but that made one of the jagged bits of his slightly wrecked prosthetic arm useful. Enough wiggling and the rope would saw itself apart.

That was... going to take quite some wiggling, though. Sighing, Vash started in on a dry-throated, off-key lyric: "O bury me not on the lone prairie..."

Yeah, okay, screw wiggling; he started pumping his legs and throwing his shoulders into the motion to swing back and forth, feeling a little of the tension give. Unfortunately it also kind of restricted his breathing, so the next line was a wheeze. "Where the wild coyote will howl o'er me..."

Definitely no coyotes out there. Probably. He supposed he'd have encountered them many times over by then if so. With a little comical twang! he could breathe a bit easier, but the rope still hadn't cut sufficiently to get him released. "Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free..."

Wait, wait, almost there, he could feel the fibers starting to part more dramatically with his organic hand, starting to tug his arms away from his sides as he swung back and forth. The song took on renewed strength: "O bury me not on the lone prairie--"

And ended with an abrupt drop and a th-whap! right into the sand below. Definitely not a prairie, but he doubted he'd have gotten as cushioned of a fall then. Small mercies..?

[goldendivinewrath]

Trying to convince everyone that Santa Claus was a real "Earth thing" had gone from being incredibly frustrating to a hobby over the years. Particularly with present company included.

It wasn't as if no evidence existed. Initially some people did remember mentions of the name, but it had already been a declining tradition before Vash had discovered the ship archives on the subject. There were occasional mentions in books, a bit of art scattered about, those those in themselves were rare enough.

He did understand. The concept of snow was odd enough, but reindeer felt downright ridiculous. Pulling a sleigh was strange, but to bring up the whole flying thing, full of presents, having been worked on by elves (that was a whole different discussion) at the behest of some jolly fat man of differing origins--

Vash always slipping up and laughing from the reactions of others didn't help to sell that it was a real story and not just from his imagination. The red coat didn't help him either, and often there was no evidence within reach. Trying to draw what he remembered of a reindeer was--

Well, he'd been called a lot of things. An outright liar wasn't the worst, but the absolute vehemence and offense from one particular bad priest was possibly one of the better reactions he'd gotten.

So, of course, he had to keep spouting every tiny detail he remembered as earnestly as he could.

[stonecoldmeme]

Ignis did the cooking and the baking, Prompto did the... uh, morale boosting and the helping. Not that Iggy needed boosted morale, really. Or help, probably, but an extra pair of hands was always appreciated, right?

Okay, after he'd actually learned some things. Ignis was pretty patient about it, teaching him how to properly use a kitchen knife, and the difference between stirring and folding and whipping. They were very, very not the same. He set timers, too, and did tasting feedback. He really enjoyed the tasting feedback.

Cleaning up sucked, because cleaning up always sucked, but he figured Ignis needed help with that too, so he always stuck around for that part. And maybe he wasn't responsible for the food, but it was still really great to see Noct smile and hear Gladio's compliments and Ignis' quiet heartfelt thanks.

And then eat, of course. Always nice to just... eat with everyone else. Couldn't do a lot of affording presents on the road, but he couldn't beat the company.

[calamitysshatteredson]

He'd done reading about it. The many winter holidays, the traditions. He observed some of the ones which were still in practice in the Shinra building, and very occasionally in other locations. Light and renewal were large parts of most, gifts commonly given. The type of gift depended upon the tradition and the individual, it seemed.

He'd participated, back then. A few times. Small gifts. Little things he knew would be appreciated. A specific type of cover and binding for a book often read which made it unique, a plant which was often quite difficult to get hold of but was supposed to flourish in controlled indoor environments, and a-- Scarf.

The scarf felt a little ridiculous, but he had heard complaints about cold environments, and scarves were traditional.

He received food and silly plushes and a stunned look that he would even consider gifting someone he'd barely met anything at all, but perhaps a friend of a friend was still a something, and--

Slippers. The next day. He received very silly slippers.

He may have been caught wearing them on several occasions.

[royalbratprince]

@painedprince [From here.]

"Vitamins, Princess."

"They come in pill form! I don't need vegetables!"

[calamitysshatteredson]

"Do spiders drown?" [ a random question from @lovetobetheunderdog because yes. ]

No one could tug his entire consciousness to a complete halt quite like Zack. Ask him for strategy and he was able to come up with a cursory plan after a few seconds of silence, but this...

"Spiders... breathe?" That wasn't supposed to be a question. He didn't mean that to be a question. And yet Zack made him question everything in fits and starts. "Therefore, one could stand to reason that the lack of air would cause drowning." Simple logic.

...Right..?

"I'd rather not conduct any definitive experiments, if it's all the same to you."

[royalbratprince]

"Still haven't gotten a satisfying explanation for why kings are required to eat vegetables."

[goldendivinewrath]

There's a difference between dreams and nightmares. There's supposed to be, he thinks. He remembers, vaguely.

There's a difference between nightmares and reality, though not all the time. He thinks. He keeps to himself.

Blood is slick, and blood is sticky. At different stages, it has different properties. None of them are helpful. The gun slips out of his hand, and the bullets stick. Or, the bullets slip out of his hand and the gun sticks. That's more useful, probably. Turn the gun, strike. Nonlethal.

It should be, it should be. There's more blood, but he doesn't know whose. That's strange, isn't it? That he bleeds red? That his blood doesn't smell distinctly different from any other blood unless he's really paying attention?

Oh, right, he should pay attention. Blood. Red. Sticky. Slick. Pungent metal-warm. Slightly, slightly, floral. Ah.

It's him. He's bleeding. That's alright, then.

--No, no it's not. He's needed--! Isn't he? Wasn't there something he had to do? Isn't there still? There's a promise he made, but it's more than one now and--

Shit at promises. He is, he always was.

Why do you choose them over me? Every time, over me! He doesn't! He chooses everyone! Everyone's a choice!

What about you? What about me?

What about me?

The barrel of a gun. Slick with blood. In his hands.

What about me?

When he opens his eyes, he expects to see it. A gun barrel. Blood. Not there.

He reaches into his pocket for trinkets. A carved figure. A lone earring. A smooth stone. One, two, there.

What about me?

[goldendivinewrath]

@wisdomscion [From here because brain continued to insist.]

"Oh! You-- I--" Vash fans out his hands in an effort to stop her from possibly injuring herself trying to clean up the mess he's made, but it's already too late and-- He's not going to go as far as to pull her out of the way unless she's in immediate danger. She appears quite capable, anyway, but even so...

Slowly, he crouches down across from her and starts to pick up glass with his prosthetic fingers. That makes it easier to gather them in his other hand, partial leather glove much more suited for the task of holding them, but he doesn't try to stop her outright. "No, no, just a little bruising, I'm fine." The smile is too bright and too wide and too easy to be so, but it's not outright fakery. Not a lie either, he... thinks.

He works meticulously to get at what looks like the most jagged pieces, small as they are, letting silence settle for a stretch. "Still, I'm sorry." Quiet and cautious, very honest. "Didn't mean to break anything in the first place." It doesn't bother him, he tells himself. Repeatedly.

Finally, he breaks. "I don't suppose I could finish cleaning this up as part of the apology..?" Paying for repairs is, uh. Well. He'll think of something.

[calamitysshatteredson]

Celebratory dinner with family. A feast centered around gratitude. Presented that way, it sounded positive. Reasonable, in its own way.

What Sephiroth had picked up from a vast number of overheard half-conversations was that in actuality it tended to be in some way poorly planned, rushed to execution, and occasionally not everyone present would be celebrating. Family dynamics were difficult to understand enough without additional stresses, it appeared, not to mention the food itself required a great deal of time and effort to prepare, and there were personal tastes and food allergies to worry over which were apparently not always considered.

Still, it seemed a holiday feast looked upon fondly by most. A select few were nearly always in the Shinra complex while such festivities were apparently taking place, regardless, several of them actively working. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if it was appropriate or even if the effort was be appreciated, but--

Pizza was an easy thing. Generally universally tolerated. He went through enough channels to hide his identity, and tipped very well for the delivery. It seemed that no box was left unattended for long, and anything declared "extra" found someone to lay claim.

It wasn't all altruism, of course. A feast of plenty required participation, even if alone in his quarters.

[goldendivinewrath]

It's a particular feeling, specific and unquestionable: being seen through crosshairs.

There's being noticed when he'd rather have remained unperceived, and there's being stared at, but that's not quite the same feeling. Even being glared down with disgust and hatred isn't as intense as the sincere and sudden knowledge that he is being aimed at. Intentional end point for something uncomfortable at best, devastatingly violent at worst.

Worse still beyond that exists, of course, but human weapons aren't capable of triggering that particular response. He doesn't think, at the very least.

He elects not to think about it. A surprising bit easier than trying not to think about who might be aiming, what might be unleashed and whether he has any chance at dodging without harm to anyone else.

Heightened awareness takes over. By sight and sound and something he hasn't properly identified yet; he just knows there are people nearby. He can feel them. He needs to move.

He can't run yet, running attracts attention. He can shuffle, stumble and half-dance away when he very purposely elbows someone and apologizes profusely. Distraction, diversion, creating a reason for him to spin away from the people and retreat.

He feels it, still. Crosshairs. Focus. At least it's still on him. He can use that feeling to find the location of the potential shooter. Eye contact even from a distance never tends to be in his favor, but he has a better idea of vantage points while he's moving.

Evening's going to set in soon. Larger crowds of people are going to gather. For now they're distracted, for now they have no idea. He's subtle about glancing up, glancing around corners before he takes a sharp turn into a narrow alley--

Aha. No gunshot, good, but the feeling is muted slightly. Confirmation of location.

It's a straight shot to get himself out of the situation, more or less. Running right into the desert with enough cover to get a decent head start before anyone would think to go running after. He can just avoid it altogether, but--

That leaves someone with a gun on top of a building. He's safe, and probably the only one of interest here, but what about others? People who just want to drink or get food or walk after a hard day of work? What if their lives are much more than rudely interrupted?

Vash rolls his own eyes at his own damn self, muttering something he's most certainly heard a time or two from a different voice. Can he scale the wall and leap over fast enough to take the gun, steal the bullets and then run?

He's pretty confident. But there's only one way to find out.