[tierneytisdale-deactivated20110]

Anonymous hour. Nothing will be unanswered, ignored or deleted.

[pariahshield]

a-lions-reprieve:

There it was; that look. That icy cold gaze, that could freeze a person right in their tracks. All too familiar of a chill came from her; it was soothing, as he already had been frosted over. She was an ice storm; a frozen blizzard. A storm all of her own, yet he felt no qualms, as he was a storm all on his own. An actual squall, lifted right off the sea, and swiftly moving inland. Perhaps she felt it too; perhaps she felt as at ease by the storm he brought her, as he did by her coldness, although it would seem quite the opposite, with his desperation to see that sorcerer— that Kefka, she had told him about.

Warm furr from his jacked would tickle his skin, as his head turned from her. Her answer is the absolute opposite of the one he wished to hear. With fingers that were once spread flat across the table, soon recoil inward toward his palm, forming a fist.

(…Dammit… I knew she wouldn’t tell me anything useful…)

He inwardly reprimands himself, as the bottom row of teeth grit against the top row. Weeks have passed since they last spoke, and she has barely changed a bit in that time. She speaks in a tone that demands respect, and exhorts authority, yet she wastes her time exercising it on this lion. Why was it that nothing this woman said, or did, made sense? Logic and rational thought is Squall’s strong suit, and it is a trait he has been commemorated for, in the SeeD academy. 

(Can’t you see I just want to get home?)

His storm-borne eyes meets hers once more. A glare is settled behind the narrowing of his eyes. His body straightening posture, as hands finally leave the space they claimed on the table. “I’m not ignorant,’ he seethes beneath the calmness of his voice. ‘You followed me here for a reason,’ his hands find their way back into his pockets, as he now moves past her.

(….If there’s a will, there’s a way… I’ve faced foes more fearsome than some.. second rate sorcerer.)

A quick glance over his shoulder meets her once again. “Why.” 

Storms present a danger unlike any other, hell and high water, lightning and fire and fear but terror does not situate itself in her dictionary, has no place in her blood and ice can withstand any squall, of this is she certain. Blank features pull a snarl, a dragon’s curl of lips and barreling smoke that pours aggravation passed her lips — he stands before her as a oncoming tempest but frigid nature itself unfurls like cells in the thrum of her blood.

No, he may be a storm but she is a blizzard, hell frozen over; persistence is the very foundation of which her rank was claimed, a spread of sand beneath her feet that felled a countryside and further, crashed castles underneath the burden of guilt and the haze of fire. 

"Mm. Deaf as well?" Lips purse, part and press out a hum of irritation; a sneer laces through the ice of her eyes, sharp and deadly, the point of a blade manifested and she runs right through him, tears his adamancy to shreds. "I believe I’ve told you several times prior everything you’ve just asked. Does it bear repeating? Perhaps repetition would finally drill the urgency of this situation into your skull."

Rustic edges of the mug at her front are twisted within the calloused grasp of war-tired fingers, a show of bubbling provocation otherwise dulled beneath the surface of a blank expression, presented idly with no spark of anger, no flicker of anything but a judgmental stare.

Everything she does is sound with logic, threaded with reasoning — his question elicits the bat of heavy lashes thick with soot. “To stop you. Again. I tire of repetition, I only ask you to listen. You assume Kefka is a mage the likes of something you’ve seen prior but I assure you he’s much more, and much worse. You know very little of what you’ll encounter if you insist on persisting with this inane idea of yours.”

Blood bears the weight of a thousand cries in unison, a voice tethering fishhooks in the edges of her fingertips and this would be another stain, an addition she prefers to avoid.

Please.

[lionsreprieve]

Judgement can be felt; it is cast upon him with that icy gaze. A actual tundra sits before him, as Squall soon shall realize this is not a woman, but a living blizzard. A storm that turns his path before him into ice, and threatens to freeze him dead in his tracks. Her very expression is frozen over, which brings a reminiscence to the frozen planes of his home. Ice does not crack under his mere weight; it melts away when poured upon by the harsh rains of a squall, only to be refrozen again.

This facade she wears is much like that of his own; she is frozen over, and he is the eye of the storm. It is under a calm surface that danger lurks, and that is apparent to him now. His stormy gaze is taken off of her, with the signaling of the bartender. The selection here is small, but it would seem even in the distant past, alcohol was still just that. A thought that he finds the smallest amount of solace in.

The ugly, ruined world that Ultimecia hurled him into is very different than his own, yet so similar.

"Jack on the rocks."

The calm of this storm reclaims his facial features, as the drink is poured, then slid across the counter before him. The slightest of nods is given to the bartender, as gloved extremities reach into the pockets of his coat. An equivalent exchange of gil is given up, as the same gloved fingertips now coil around the glass. Lifting it, he then moves back to the seat to which she has perched herself.

"I hear you," the problem was, that she wasn't hearing him. Or perhaps, she didn't want to hear him. In the future this world is to become, he is apart of the task force that specializes in taking down possible threats to humanity. Sorceresses are the primary objective, although they are not the only menacing threat that lurks in the dark.

(..I'm a SeeD. I can handle anything that's thrown my way.)

He lifts his drink to his lips, as the burning of whiskey washes over his throat, only to warm his stomach. It's rougher than what he's used to, but there is no change made to his expression. The cup makes a delicate clinking sound as it is placed onto the table once more. Thoughts of his early days in the academy cannot help but cross his mind. Although, they are hard to recall now; perhaps the guardian force cannot withstand the flow of time in this world, as it zaps more and more of his precious memories from his mind.

(It's my duty to take sorceresses.. and like the like out.. no matter what the cost is..)

(Don't interfere.. this is something I must do alone.)

A sigh passes with the rising and falling of shoulders. She insists that he is nothing to be taken lightly, yet Squall knows this already. Sorceresses are fearsome plagues to the human race; bringing about destruction and chaos no matter where they go. It is clear by the shape this world is currently in, that this primitive sorcerer is nothing to be reckoned with. An eerie feeling falls about him; it is as if Hyne himself is watching his every move.

Hair stands on end upon his arms, neck and legs, with the uneasiness in his stomach. A hand lifts to be placed against his forehead, as skin takes a sickly, pale tone. Feelings of uncertainty and loneliness wash over him, as if these feelings plan to tether, render, and break him in half.

(...What's happening to me?)

[besaidian]

"…Never forget them."

In celebration of reaching 400+ followers, I made a follow forever. I couldn’t have made it this far without you guys, and I’m so, so grateful for all the friends I’ve made while writing for Yuna. All of you mean the world to me, and I don’t think I have the words for how much I love all of you. Some of you have been there since the very beginning, some of you haven’t. Either way, I appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you to everyone who I’ve become friends with, who stuck around during my hiatus, who supported me when I needed it. Most importantly, thank you to everyone who decided to follow me. (And, for some reason, actually like my ramblings as a fictional character.)

Without further ado, a list of people who I admire. (And who I will follow probably forever.)

a-lions-reprieve

atracaelos

apricatex

bellatricis

braskide

dawn-walker

disputationix

freneticblonde

falsamilitis

itavasum

lyokowarriorulrich

seymourguado

springhealer

minusgrace

[lionsreprieve]

-- I'll be doing replies later today.

[handsomebox]

[lionsreprieve]

celessquall \ o /

        ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ᴍᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛʟᴇss

                        ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪɢʜᴛ-ʀᴇғʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴢᴇ

                                        ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ

[bruisedwayned]

Give me a ship and I'll reply with a six word story about them.

[lionsreprieve]

(...I will persevere.)

[lionsreprieve]

(..You again.)

It’s been weeks since the lion had last laid eyes on that long haired blonde. An ex general, she claimed to be, with a name he couldn’t help but remember, as she made it her duty to tell him he had been going the wrong way. That taking on this.. sorcerer would be the end of him.

Wandering the barren world had only proven to be naught but a headache to the lion. Unpredictable changes in climate occurred inconsistently; freezing cold climates one moment, then scorching hot the next. Harsh winds made travel nearly impossible, especially when coupled with frigid snow, and hail that would beat against his body, as if to wear him down.

Squall was trapped in a world to which was foreign to him, and there didn’t seem to be much hope in returning back to Balamb. Not yet.

Days had passed whilst he wandered the scorched country side, before finally coming upon Jidoor. The only province that seemingly didn’t seem to have been too effected by the insufferable wrath of the sorcerer, whom reigned on high. Just as soon as Squall had finally made it into the inn, there she was. Her face was the only to which was familiar to him, and it was refreshing to look upon.

(..Why is she always around every turn I take?!)

(Is she following me!?)

(….She had to know how to get out of here..)

Without skipping a beat, he walks to the table of which she sat. His hands slamming down in front of her. “Tell me how to defeat that Sorcerer.” He demands, though he is well aware in the back of his mind  that she will be less that cooperative.

[pariahshield]

Beneath the spreading shell of armor rests a ribcage peeling with sorrow and

                     old habits die hard,                        once a soldier, always a soldier;

behind her eyes is a war of horror and hell and fire that burns for centuries. Etched in the dips of her bones are skills that survived the military, survived the aftermath, survived betrayal and heresy and the sundering of it all. Porcelain skin stretches across the expanse of a battered soul and serves as a map, a guide, leads her through a world once familiar, now shattered — tracking him down is all too easy.

You cannot escape death and she was once the very idea personified, a human turned monster by a sham of loyalty, some piteous shade spread tight across her eyes that left her vision nothing but stars and fire, ice and the promise of recognition, of doing the right thing.

Morals can’t be written in but they can be easily erased; of this, she is certain.

Confidence pins her spine pin-straight, an unfaltering bolt of lightning that nary falters at the shudder of his hand against the table separating them; a shift of her gaze is offered instead, ice and lethargy awash in the shine of azure forever alight with flames of another time. “No.” Simplicity manifests as her answer, a breath of repudiation presented as a simple melody, a requiem for his ideas. 

“If I knew how to defeat him, don’t you think I would have attempted as much already?” Fingers rough with calloused skin twine at her front, fold and lock in her lap, forever formal despite the snarl hidden beneath an apathetic facade that unfurls against the snow of her skin. “You seem ignorant to the language I speak if you’re incapable of understanding the terms I’ve used to describe him, and perhaps blind, as well, given the evidence of his power that surrounds you. I refuse to allow you to march to your death.”

Confidence and stubbornness go hand in hand, a horrible mixture that serves as a tempest in her voice, strong and unwavering, a force that will devour him whole — she was feared for good reason as a general, though it’s a side rarely shown.

In this case, however, she feels it entirely necessary.

[lionsreprieve]

There it was; that look. That icy cold gaze, that could freeze a person right in their tracks. All too familiar of a chill came from her; it was soothing, as he already had been frosted over. She was an ice storm; a frozen blizzard. A storm all of her own, yet he felt no qualms, as he was a storm all on his own. An actual squall, lifted right off the sea, and swiftly moving inland. Perhaps she felt it too; perhaps she felt as at ease by the storm he brought her, as he did by her coldness, although it would seem quite the opposite, with his desperation to see that sorcerer— that Kefka, she had told him about.

Warm furr from his jacked would tickle his skin, as his head turned from her. Her answer is the absolute opposite of the one he wished to hear. With fingers that were once spread flat across the table, soon recoil inward toward his palm, forming a fist.

(...Dammit... I knew she wouldn't tell me anything useful...)

He inwardly reprimands himself, as the bottom row of teeth grit against the top row. Weeks have passed since they last spoke, and she has barely changed a bit in that time. She speaks in a tone that demands respect, and exhorts authority, yet she wastes her time exercising it on this lion. Why was it that nothing this woman said, or did, made sense? Logic and rational thought is Squall's strong suit, and it is a trait he has been commemorated for, in the SeeD academy. 

(Can't you see I just want to get home?)

His storm-borne eyes meets hers once more. A glare is settled behind the narrowing of his eyes. His body straightening posture, as hands finally leave the space they claimed on the table. "I'm not ignorant,' he seethes beneath the calmness of his voice. 'You followed me here for a reason,' his hands find their way back into his pockets, as he now moves past her.

(....If there's a will, there's a way... I've faced foes more fearsome than some.. second rate sorcerer.)

A quick glance over his shoulder meets her once again. "Why." 

[lionsreprieve]

(..You again.)

It's been weeks since the lion had last laid eyes on that long haired blonde. An ex general, she claimed to be, with a name he couldn't help but remember, as she made it her duty to tell him he had been going the wrong way. That taking on this.. sorcerer would be the end of him.

Wandering the barren world had only proven to be naught but a headache to the lion. Unpredictable changes in climate occurred inconsistently; freezing cold climates one moment, then scorching hot the next. Harsh winds made travel nearly impossible, especially when coupled with frigid snow, and hail that would beat against his body, as if to wear him down.

Squall was trapped in a world to which was foreign to him, and there didn't seem to be much hope in returning back to Balamb. Not yet.

Days had passed whilst he wandered the scorched country side, before finally coming upon Jidoor. The only province that seemingly didn't seem to have been too effected by the insufferable wrath of the sorcerer, whom reigned on high. Just as soon as Squall had finally made it into the inn, there she was. Her face was the only to which was familiar to him, and it was refreshing to look upon.

(..Why is she always around every turn I take?!)

(Is she following me!?)

(....She had to know how to get out of here..)

Without skipping a beat, he walks to the table of which she sat. His hands slamming down in front of her. "Tell me how to defeat that Sorcerer." He demands, though he is well aware in the back of his mind  that she will be less that cooperative.

[fuckyeahfinalfantasyviii-deacti]

[morrisphoto]

[dialltone]

[lionsreprieve]

(Looks like there's a lot of activity tonight..)

[squall-the-lionheart]

"I’ll be here… I’ll be ‘waiting’ here… I’ll be waiting for you, so… If you come here… You’ll find me… I promise…"

[lionsreprieve]

(When you actually look at it.. there is no good. There is no bad. Just different opinions, and different beliefs..)

[freakyserieslover]