Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@callmeteor
☞ CARRD ☞ PINTEREST ☞ PLAYLIST ☞ SIDEBLOG
CALLMETEOR ⸻ an independent , mutual - exclusive , multi - verse , semi - active roleplay blog for 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐄 from square enix's 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙮 𝙑𝙄𝙄 ( '97 - inspired + remake(s) inclusive ) .
STATUS: [ic] : pausing new interactions ♡ [ooc] : busy + quiet + tired
okay ummmmmmmmmmmmm i'm gonna be gone for ALMOST the rest of july <3 i will try to get to some things today if i can find the time!! but i'm goin to visit my friend internationally and wanna be present and also keep up with my health enough o(--( BUT I WILL MISS U GUYSSS
" i'll kill you. " / hi :)
cacophonous vainglory spasms the psyche into awareness; a rapturous panoply of things untethered and unseen, malice which slithers up her vertebrae like ripe infection and seizes her body with the precision of a sabre.
there exists a quiet death somewhere between the point of infinity's beginning and its end, gutting selfhood of its reason in sequential accuracy, mote by mote. reality is an exposition of colors unseen and voices yet heard, a maelstrom whirling the lesser spirit into frenzied delirium. she feels it like heat lapping against her body, as endless as the abyss from whence she emerged, transcending the sick-sweet call of long-death. a velarium of artificial giants stand sentinel to each downstroke of a stygian wing, its span so profound that it blots out what little light breaches the steely heavens. in spite of the distance between the bristled pawn, the scintillation of a mako-green leer unravels the keener eye, and unravels it again. the masamune is a fang beneath the low-light, a coiling serpent in the tall grass awaiting its mark: there are memories yet of warm flesh capitulating to the force of whetted metal, a sanguinary effort of life revealing itself to whom it belongs. she is owed.
“ do you feel it—that impenetrable anguish? ” she queries, her voice an illusory hammock on which to rest upon, guiding the blind towards a salvation not for her sake, but for the planet within which they exist. the sardonic bite is hardly perceptible; far too earnest a smile twists at the corners of his lips, a breaching mania so profound that it reaches slit pupils, as acute as an incision deep within the veiny yolk of her eyes. “ only through trials will you become what you must, sharpened into the blade. within that juncture, i'll be awaiting you. ”
@callmeteor.
Instability – the greeting of winds that disrupt one another's flow, fighting from within; a source that battles against only itself, spiraling into the descent dropped from the grips of control. His breaths go ragged, fingers, nails, through the texture of sweat-soaked leather, digging into his palms. ❛ Sephiroth… ! ❜ His voice is loaded with ignition, detonating when it dares touch those flames of his past. Flames born of animosity, shared, now sunk into the deepest parts of him, flowing through the blood in his veins, the electricity that controls his mind. Everything, when he sees them, fades to madness.
❛ Stop… running away…! ❜ As if she's the one who's been running. As if she's the one who burns her energy on a falsified cross made up of everything cruel, everything “bad," sinful, that's ever happened. Every wrong path of his life gets placed on her altar of crucifixion.
His words ring through his thoughts, cacophonous … trials… sharpened blade…? None of it makes any sense. Nothing ever makes any sense.
Familiar aches toy at his temples, pressure exploding in an instant, no build-up, no expectation, just pain surging from one side of his head to another, and it takes everything in him not to collapse in the moment. Weakness. He can't be weak. He won't. Nothing, however, stops his hands from gripping at his head, pulling the hair in his fingers, desperate for a different kind of pain; he'd take any other pain than this.
❛ What trials…?! I'm not… I won't be something you can use to destroy everything ! ❜
Something in him sinks deeper into the abyss that warps his thoughts, twisting them into things unfathomable, frightening, lies believed as truths. He gives in to that vitriol. The bloodlust that leads him in Sephiroth's shadow, ever a step behind.
❛ I'm gonna… I will… ❜ Voice is strained with violence, a nature that grew with him, born in his childhood, molded as the years passed him by. ❛ I'm gonna kill you, Sephiroth. You can't run forever. ❜
if im not here today, assume im in hell
more several day migraines u guys... in the trenches...
ELENA STARES BACK. She narrows her eyes. Waiting. WAITING for him to say something. ANYTHING. Or even DO something ? What was this guys deal ? Was she supposed to just wait around for something to happen ? Her brows furrow in annoyance. For a bit she waits in the silence. Only when it becomes unbearable does she wave her hand infront of him.
' Hey -- you gonna SAY something ?? You know , I wasn't SERIOUS when I said you should camp out here. So why don't you GET LOST ? '
His brows raise, his eyes squint. He stares at her and crosses his arms indignantly … He's not here to take orders from anyone, though he's certain he's not here for some kind of sleepover either. There hasn't been a single hint toward what he's here for, and there are two parts of him that deny any provision of the information. One, because no one needs to know, least of all Elena of the Turks. Two, because it brings him vague joy to keep secrets that make others confused. He'd like to think he could remain mysterious, despite every air of mystery being zapped from him constantly, at any given moment.
❛ Didn't think you were. ❜ Paired with a shrug. ❛ Got shit to take care of. ❜
she feels almost out of place in a place like the gold saucer — much the way she imagines her company does. in all likelihood, it is probably this fact that brings the pair together: each member of their motley crew going their own ways; the two of them hanging back, uncertain. sera doesn't quite remember who suggested they couple up, only that it led them to the brilliant, flashing screens that lit up wonder square.
" there's so many options ... i'm not sure where to start. " gaze flitting from the virtual basketball hoops and flickering battle simulations to settle upon cloud, a small smile tugging at her lips, wondering if he'll choose to play along. " what about you, cloud? has anything caught your eye? "
𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 ‚ @callmeteor & cloud .
Ever the bright and overwhelming place the Gold Saucer is. The lights are usually enough to spur on a mild headache, but for the moment, at Serafina's side, he fares decently well. Not to say he's stuck with her for the evening, by any means, but he thinks if he were the last to be left alone, he'd keep to the room, get some extra rest… and fail to mention to anyone that he'd feel – a bit pathetically – left out, lonely. Each version of his night that played out in his head just hours prior had pros and cons, but for whatever reason, this one seemed much more preferable.
❛ Uhh.. dunno. Maybe. ❜ He offers an uncertain shrug of his shoulders, followed by a gesture toward the nearby map. ❛ Why don't we check it out? Narrow our options. ❜ It's always easier to make decisions when he can visualize a potential next step.
PROMPTS FROM BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ( Still Accepting! )
@callmeteor asked: "i was trying to be hospitable." / guy who is not hospitable.
There was no stopping the sigh that escaped the confines of the Warrior's chest, the knight taking a moment to close his eyes and collect his thoughts.
He had just finished apologizing on behalf of his comrade after a customer who had hired Cloud was quite displeased at the blonde swordsman's lack of manners, it had gotten to the point where Cloud had ended up calling Light asking for support -- the knight had initially thought it was something to do with the crystals and the like but he was sorely mistaken. When he had arrived, Cloud told him to pretend that he was his 'agent' , as the client wanted to talk to a supposed 'higher up'.
While Cloud's client ironically didn't have the best manners either, the Warrior nonetheless managed to calm them down and had even procured Cloud's promised payment, which the client was originally going to withhold.
Holding the envelope of Cloud's earnings, now the Warrior would be the one to withhold it -- pulling his hand away just some when the swordsman reached for it.
"Cloud, you must understand that we are guest to this plane --" he doesn't mean to lecture, far from it, for he knows his comrades are grown people and are more than capable of minding themselves most of the time.
However, as their leader, he cannot offer them leeway, even for something as trivial as a upset client.
"We must remain diligent and set to be exemplary and courteous to the denizens of this world, even if they do not offer us that same courtesy." while he won't blame any of them for defending themselves, unfortunately, the cultural norms of this world are different from any of theirs, from food and music, all the way to manners -- they must respect it all the same.
He finally hands the envelope to Cloud--
"Do not let this happen again."
The situation was handled poorly, as it often is when dealing with unruly clients. Cloud hasn't the best social etiquette, decorum, or table manners; it's all made up of societal expectations that have no relevance to humanity or personal belonging. But maybe that's part of why he never experienced the feeling of true belonging… Not for a long time, that is; a feeling that sticks with him, despite his forged bonds, ever echoing from the past that lingers in the back of his mind. He misses them… Those, like family. He'll not say such things aloud.
Then, as he reaches for his payment, it's held away from him, like a child to be taught a lesson. He crosses his arms and scoffs, agitated by the treatment as his eyes cast themselves from him.
❛ I know. ❜ Defensive, as usual – a common trait of his when faced with correction for something he doesn't deem incorrect. ❛ He was being an asshole. ❜ Like it excuses anything.
❛ Don't see why it matters. ❜ He thought he'd been doing a decent job at handling the situation, but it seems his opinions were far from the truth of the situation.
Having his payment bestowed upon him, suddenly less anxious, he takes it and stuffs it in his pocket with all due haste, and sighs with agitation.
❛ I won't. ❜ That may or may not be true.
AS MUCH AS I AM LOATHE TO, i fear i must go through and clear out some older threads... </3 i've just been so overwhelmed and exhausted with life lately but i miss being here like i was... so i think i'll clear some old threads and do an inbox sweep (except for unprompted asks, i'd like to get around to those!)
buster sword as a curse instead of legacy *shrug*
FUCK YEAHHHHH
sends a yellow scrub daddy via strife deliveries
❛ The hell is this thing..? ❜ Muttered quietly, beneath his breath. ❛ 'n why does it feel like that? ❜
" cloud — " she's only just composed herself, dusting herself off from this latest skirmish ( soldier footmen; she's not unfamiliar with their sort, having rubbed shoulders with them in wall market ) when the bark of cloud's words cuts through the aftermath's silence. exertion is plain on her face when she turns to face cloud: pallid skin; a line of brilliant crimson across her cheek where a bullet had narrowly grazed the skin. a close call, to be sure. the smudge of blood upon her fingertips as she presses them to the wound, curative magic flowing, is a reminder of as much.
" you know, i can hold my own in a fight. " the faintest upwards curl of her lips as she responds. she's not making light of his concern — far from it. as her hand falls away from her face, the wound mostly sutured by the grace of her materia, she makes as much clear: her tone soothing, reassuring. "— i'm alright. really. this was the worst of it, so ... you don't have to fret. or frown like that. " okay, maybe she couldn't help that last bit. cloud made it too easy.
❛ I know. ❜ Snappier than he'd like, because he knows her capabilities are not his concern. Naturally abrasive, he takes a brief moment to check himself, drawing his shoulders back into something closer to relaxed, but not quite there. The dip in his lips remains unchanging, and his arms are folded over his chest like he's invulnerable, but it's just a protection from an inner weakness he can't seem to place.
❛ Anyway, ‘m not fretting. ❜ He pauses a moment, eyes set on her crimson-stained cheek, and sighs. ❛ Just can't be letting you get hurt on my watch. ❜
A guilty conscience he bears, wears, and has since he can remember. He's certain it will remain unchanging.
❛ Let's just get somewhere safe. Still dangerous here. ❜
what i keep on monitor display 2 while i do virtual therapy
Aerith wants to comfort Cloud as much as she can, but it's not always easy. When he bottles himself up like this, she never really knows how to react. She doesn't want to leave his side, though. He's her friend, and she plans to remain here for her friends, even in the hardest times. But this strange connection he has with Sephiroth... it's so hard to explain. Aerith herself wishes she knows more about it herself. She wishes her abilities as a Cetra could be useful for this, but they're not. She knows nothing about them, it's just her instinct making her use them from time to time. She didn't have time to learn about them. She's still discovering them most of the time.
She frowns for a moment before sadness crosses her features. She wishes she could understand Cloud, too. That's what she has been trying to do with this conversation. But it's hard, it's always hard. Sometimes he seems fully present, and at other moments, it's like he's far, far away.
A part of her wishes to reach for his hand or to pat his shoulder, but he seems so closed off right now, she decides to not touch him and respect his boundaries. "We're stuck here, but it doesn't mean it'll always be the case." She offers him an encouraging smile before she lets a soft chuckle escape her mouth. "Sephiroth won't be out there forever. We'll stop him. He won't always have this... effect on you. I'm sure."
Aerith always seems to bring out some level of vulnerability in him, earnesty where he thinks he most lacks. Despite his stiff composure, he begins to relax, his eyes widening just-so as he looks to her; a sense of compassion clear through mako-burdened eyes. He sighs with a shake of his head, pieces of his hair drifting over his face. Hands peel back as he places them behind him, opening up again, trying to relax. He's not here right now, and despite his sleeplessness, he shouldn't let it get to him the way it does. Cloud Strife lives this life, no one else… No one else.
❛ Yeah, you're right. ❜ He concedes gently. ❛ Sorry. Always get in my head over that kinda stuff. ❜
His eyes close for a moment as he faces the sky. There's a certain hatred that burns in him, fueling the fire for survival; an inferno that drives him, but does not consume. Not yet… Not right now.
❛ We're gonna kill him. ❜ The words come out a little more intense than he'd intended.
❛ i like to make use of what i know. ❜
' well , maybe you should know more. ' tone denotes a sense of arrogance , confidence in abilities that could potentially be passed on to another.
in his youth , he too sought to make use of a singular handgun. warriors of the first class did not particularly promote the use of any guns among the lesser - ranked soldiers , it was brute strength and swords. dante , however , saw fit to make use of other techniques , much to the director's dismay. they would eventually concede , since he was one of few strongest in his batch that could wield multiple different weapons. he rose in ranks with aforementioned talents. and as time passed within SOLDIER , some others have learned the efficiency of using two guns. one in each hand , maximize damage.
such is the reason that he stands there before another , ebony and ivory reloaded , pointed at the training module's projections. both arms extended to manage recoil , crossed atop one another , then he shoots both guns at once. the sound near deafening. ' see , like that. ' he says with a smirk , ' i'll teach you. '
‘Maybe you should know more.’ The sentiment rings like an echo in his ears… He should know more; he's always thought so, and he always will. If he is no better than the version of him from the past, in Nibelheim, then he's no good at all. The criticism, however, is welcome, but it does not make it sting any less, as a reminder of the lack of grip he still holds over his secret concerns and insecurities. He's got to pull himself together. If he ever wants to make SOLDIER, who better to learn from than SOLDIERs, themselves?
He takes deep breaths quietly – calm / he attempts to collect what he's lost: a piece of himself – that boy from Nibelheim who did not care what others thought of him. … At least, that's how he acted. His true feelings would be disregarded this moment.
❛ Okay. ❜ The word comes off his tongue, resolute and eager. ❛ I wanna learn. ❜
ok i slept im back in business kind of
