#alternate muse

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Rufus requested by @sixvisxpacem || From this Open Request Post

Rufus endured the general aid offered by whichever one of his Turks Tseng had assigned to him that day, alongside their best Physical Therapist they could get these days finishing their exercises. He'd been on the uptick of regaining his strength, which was good, and so that meant he needed a few days of rest.

Delightful. He certainly couldn't overdo it--he'd already tried that, and been brazenly scolded by the Physical Therapist. When he completely dismissed the complaints, that's when the big gun of Tseng had been brought in.

So today was the first day, in a week, where he was left to rest with no planned visits. Unless he made a call, he would be left to his own capable devices. There wouldn't be a single soul even close enough to hear Rufus holler unless he opened a window or the front door. Solitude, which had become so rare, was finally given.

And in it, Rufus forced himself to weakened feet at the edge of his bed, only to topple over against the sighed. He huffed in pain and strain, and the tightly tensed form of his body gave way to the cruel, all consuming pain and ache marring his flesh and infection his body.

And Rufus Shinra howled into the fine fabric of his bed. He howled in pain and he howl in shame. He howled in rage and frustration. He groaned out his pain, the weariness, the edge of death constantly kissing at his temple and his throat. He gasped, dragging himself into the bed and laying like a mess of death and complexes, curled into a ball as he groaned and huffed and, faintly, just faintly, he sobbed.

Sometimes he thought it would help release the heaviness of the pain and the sickness in his body. Once, it seemed like these few times alone when he'd manage this little release, it had actually felt that way. But not anymore. Sometimes, it honestly felt as if it made it worse. Like feeling and release his despair just fed it. But he had ti unclench at some point, and this was his only chance. Without the concern of his softer employees or the strict expectations of Tseng. Without a hand to help him or eyes to pity him, and far beyond the physical presence of someone make him wonder how Shinra Senior would have mocked him in his current despair. He was able to just let go.

After he had yelled and sobbed himself into weariness, he sometimes found himself laughing.

After everything, will I cry myself to my death? he wondered. He laughed more, moving to lay flat on his back. He looked to the ceiling, eyes slowly drying, and he continued to bitter grin at the fine design marking the ceiling. How the old man would have a field day.

He lay there, body calming more and more, as much as it could with the urge to cough his guts out just at the corner of his mouth, and a weariness he always seemed haunted by clawing at his eyelids. And he decided. He would not die crying and screaming. He would die with gun in hand, of nothing else.

Every pain in his body was, likely, some form of karma. He didn't often believe in it, but he'd come to change his opinion a bit. And he'd heard enough of society beyond his hideaway speaking their judgment towards certain still living figures and former staff of the company that had fallen ill, deserving it. Perhaps that was right. Perhaps, on some level, Geostigma would be his end.

But he wouldn't stop fighting it. And he wouldn't cease his dance with karma and let up ensuring that what was left of his name, his company, his people survived in the form he must take now. They could not be killed so easily, their presence and power could not be so easily snuffed out. ShinRa Inc. had devastated the world and so they were being devastated in return, but he would not let up until they cemented their now existence in this world, and until he made his mark known, even if it was differently now.

He was still a Shinra, and he would still change this world, even if it was in silence, and even if the power he held was wielded differently.

After settling on such thoughts, on such intense determination, he found slumber finally easing over his body. That ache in his body, in his marred flesh, seemed to ease with the burning will in his chest.

And so, curled up like an awkward mess on half of his bed, Rufus Shinra fell into only semi-restless slumber. When he woke, he'd face the day just the same as before, and the next day, and the next. He would not plan like the days were at their end, ever. He would not admit defeat, until he drew his last breath.

Perhaps, not even then.

[trafalgar-bleedingheart-law]

@despairforme continued from here

At first the ghost didn’t register the words spoken. Nobody could see it, so nobody would be talking to it. Though the white light it had been following had stopped moving. Huh. Maybe the shape was talking to the cloud after all. There were no others close by that the voice could be talking to. 

Sadly the ghost had no voice. It had no mouth, no vocal chords. At this time it could not respond to the voice. Maybe there was another way to interact with the voice though. The cloud stopped in front of the white shape. Wait ... shape? Before it had just been a light. Now though it did seem to have a human shape. A very tall human shape. Had it really taken such a small interaction to start giving the ghost its other senses back? Its eyes always seemed to be the first thing to return.

If the tall figure looked hard enough at they cloud, the tall figure would notice a pair of faint, golden eyes. And those eyes were blinking. The cloud floated closer, rising a little further off the ground so their eyes were level. It blinked again. Right now? It was all the ghost could do.

[olderspiicy]

long lost mother

[continued from here; alternate muse]

“I have been searching for you for...for forever! Where did you go?”

He’d swept her up in a hug before he even knew he’d needed one, and hoped with every inch of his being she wouldn’t push him away or seem uncomfortable. It hurt him every time his friends declined affection, and the last person he wanted to do the same thing was -- of all people -- his long lost mother.

“D-did someone try to kill you? Was there a prophecy that said I had to be alone...was...?”

He trailed off, feeling like a fool for babbling. It occurred to him too late the possibilities he’d listed most likely sounded ridiculous to her; not everyone lived their lives surrounded by the fantastical, and he knew next to nothing about her, save her identity -- the most important part -- so far.

[deception-and-disgrace]

Alt!

//I’ve got a voltron au for River so I really wanna rp this now

Wades-Through-Rivers looked down at Lance as he spoke, his external gills twitching lightly. The piebald axolotl looking argonian shifted slightly on his feet as he looked the other over, he looked like a nord? Or maybe an imperial? Whatever, focus on the mission. He spoke with a strange hissy sort of accent (See: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBIGrJGMc0k )  “Yes, I can get that information for you. It will come with a large price of course.”

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Tseng requested by @sixvisxpacem || From this Open Request Post

The President was in recovery, Healen Lodge was bustling with staff and clients more and than less each day. They were working to tend to the sick and weak, to understand what they were facing, but as it ever is, it was a give and take. It was expected. And Tseng managed it all.

There was delegation of tasks and then there were issues that he could only trust himself to handle. Investigations were left to Elena, when she wasn't running certain experiments with the Doctor. Care was traded off between Rude and Reno, through out Healen, but primarily to the President; save the mans' ego by only an inch by working his men amongst other victims, but Rufus had no choice but to simply sit through it.

Tseng himself dealt with Rufus nearly every day, but never for prolonged periods. The lead Turk was present to tend to medical needs and reports, to assure PT was being handled, and to go over progress and deals with the President as necessary, because lets be honest, they were two sides to the last company coin. ShinRa did not exist like it did before, but it was still living, and it was living with the head and the hand.

And the hand was preparing for travel, to meet with Reeve over a couple of subjects, and needed to prepare first. He had little to pack, and that was already taken care of. Reno was left in charge at Healen and local tasks in his absence, and he had just finished a quick but thorough shower. He'd worked up a bit of sweat during some PT of his own, involving stretching, testing the damaged muscles, and working on endurance practices. But he'd finished washing it away, and now stood before the mirror.

His eyes did not look upon his features. They rarely did, for long, unless preparing himself, assuring he was presentable. But his eyes did run over the absolute horror that was his body.

Some, if they saw such wounds, might remark that it was a wonder he was even alive. He knew better. In the world he lived it, it was no wonder, it was simply a necessity and a lucky chance (to have Cait turn up the moment he strength and mind were failing him in the temple was nothing short of stupid luck, he knew better). No, this was just the horror of living in the world ShinRa hard owned and marked and lost and now persisted through.

Ruined flesh that had healed far too desperately, in criss crossing X's of varying depth ran along otherwise toned, smooth skin. His gaze did not linger on his body for long, either. He preferred not to look at the scars too long, lest he just barely begin to remember the sensation.

The helicopter ride was perhaps the most restless. There was nothing for him to do, his PHS one of the best functioning models there were, and yet he couldn't trust when he'd finished an email or text, that it would send properly until they were in a more reliable location.

So when he finally arrived at W.R.O. headquarters, he was standing and awaiting the choppers landing before it had completely began to settle over the landing strip, and he stepped out as soon as he was clear. Silken, black strands of hair whipped around his face but he strolled on, unaffected, and was led inside to the Commissioners office without delay.

"Ah, Tseng, you made it." Reeve Tuesti greeted easily, as he usually seemed to. There was just a specific familiarity, between the former Director and Lead Turk, as they had been on a different level of focus and temperament than the rest of the Directors and the changing presidents. "How's Rufus?"

Tseng just faintly smirked, still amused about how almost pettily eager Reeve could tend to be to refer to the President like he was any other, average man. His lips settled into a simple line again, though. "Restless and petulant on his good days, which today was. So, well enough."

Reeve chuckled and nodded. "I see. Well, we can only hope continued efforts my introduce a solution to alleviate his worst days. On that subject, shall we get to business? Resources, both in materials, professionals, and labs; shall we define them in greater detail and hammer out the agreement? I'd much prefer to start doing what we can to settle on whatever cure or treatment we can manage and begin mass producing it, as soon as possible."

"As would we. I've brought along our most recent reports, as well as requests from my men as well as the Doctors. I'm open to extended discussions on what can be managed and what can't." Tseng remarked, pull forth a folder full of papers and sliding it across the table of Reeve's desk, taking a seat.

Reeve took the papers and immediately began looking over them. "As ever, I appreciate how thorough you are in covering so many avenues of consideration."

"You know I prefer to be prepared." he responded, his version of playfulness in tone oh so very subtle, and cool, almost cold. But Reeve know it well, after all these years. Reeve also knew when to spot the Turk guarding his features.

It usually involved a 1% higher than neutral shift in his features, something that any stranger would see as a pleasant face, welcoming enough to be threatening but cut off enough to not invite interaction. Reeve wasn't used to seeing it these days, however, unless something came up that Tseng couldn't be honest about. And nothing they said seemed to imply it could hold any secrets.

Reeve had no further answer to the fleeting curiosity, however, and so let it be. He certainly didn't see the fist clenched on the other side of the desk, hidden out of view, and clenched tighter the more a tremble began to set in.

Tseng did not allow it to last, though. No he focused on the discussion at hand, committing his mind to the discussion, and therefor parts of his body into the moment, pushing the cause for the tremble back under the surface.

Subtle blackmail was sent to the right figures when Tseng got concerning enough word of opposition to their current form of ShinRa. Rufus was the only one ever really aware, but even he didn't see every report, hear of every threat. Rude was set on task often to intimidate those who thought they could target the President, or any of their assets, for ransom. Reno was kept on task with aid in Edge, as was appropriate. Elena was committed to the projects Tseng trusted her with.

The Hand assured everything was under control, so his hand absolutely must cease it's tremble. And so, by sheer will, it did.

It was after seeing the silver-haired specter in Junon that the tremor returned. And he fought it every second. It did not consume him, and so perhaps that should be the end of it. He kept it under control, and kept a level head and a sharp form when faced with every new and threatening turn.

But the tremble was grating, it was unwelcome, it should not be.

Even as he navigated that ridiculous bastard ShinRa and his friend, even as he face more and more complications and the increasing threat of this new figure that certain had to be tied to the fallen calamity, he kept steady control. But the tremble was under every damned surface, and it infuriated him. It sickened him.

It was like looking at those scars in the mirror, and falling into their depths and suddenly...

Suddenly, he was under that blade again, carved, pierced torn apart and bleeding out, alone in that temple and simply asking for one last thing; for the Ancient--for Aerith to survive. Logically, he shouldn't have. It was luck. Luck that he survived being torn apart by a monster. Luck that he endured onward, and stupid, cruel luck that one blessed by the planet was the one to die.

The tremble was there, under the surface, and he had to find a way to release it. Because he would face those eyes again, be followed by a silver haired figure once more, but he would leave nothing to luck. He would not fall the Sephiroth again, and he certainly would not fall to the echoes of his monstrosity.

Every tremble was met with training. Every restless thought was met with planning. Every nightmare was met with meditation. If he was to live, he would ensure he lived. If he was to die, then he would die. But he would not be left to whims again. The hand would hold tight to control, and face what lay ahead.

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Genesis requested by anon || From this Open Request Post

When he arrived at ShinRa, side by side with Angeal, Genesis had already honed levels of skill and intellect. He had chosen his path, his future--he had witnessed that inspiring figure in the papers and the adds, and he could see something beyond the admirable might of the great SOLDIER Sephiroth. He needed to reach him, just to see it up close, and have a chance...well, a chance for a lot of things.

Genesis had to deal with a month of Angeal trying to talk him out of it. Then a month of Angeal trying to keep pace with him in training, and then finally the last month of preparation. No longer did he have to bear Angeal's questions of why he'd leave behind what he had, to become a soldier. Nor did he have to wander through a grand estate in Banora full of life within nature yet lacking within his own walls. He was molding his own future, and his own path, and if his friend would join him, then where could they go wrong?

But honing himself never ended, and he would never let it. Not when Angeal and him arrived, nor when they were separated into different sections for different training and mission focus. The last year or so of training with a rapier left him a bit spoiled, but he adapted to the company blades well enough. Perhaps, with time, he could request something more suited to his skills.

Often, however, as he was assigned more and more unique missions, he noted the stares and caught more and more of the commentary.

'Prodigy', 'well off child', 'blessed', and many other assumptions. One of the most humorous for him to cross was that ShinRa themselves hunted him down to recruit him. Ha! As if he had not made the choice himself? They could assume as they liked. Genesis would never stop molding himself and improving himself.

They could assume he was specially chosen, and they would never know the passion he applied to his commitment to be here, to earn and keep his place. They could assume the funds of held were from well off parents that perhaps were missing their singular heir to carry on the money, and never know who and what Genesis was within Banora and the mark he'd already left there. They could call him blessed, and never look deep enough to see that every honed fencing movement, every advancement with his mana, every strategic feet he expanded on was beyond simple chance and circumstances but was instead his sole effort. They could stay blind, until he made them see.

Education continued, studies within the realms of battle, of combat, of magic and mana, of the planet and the lifestream, of fables and stories with more purpose and impact than just fantastical drama. He honed his skills higher and higher, his magic could not be matched, and soon enough...a great goal was reached.

Beyond all expectations but at the core of all wishes, he had found himself at Sephiroth's side...as a friend.

So many chances lay before his feet, and yet the eyes around him were still blind, and the companies corruption slithered like a conniving snake. He aspired to climb their ladders, not realizing the venom seeping into his eyes to blind him as well. All he perceived was that he was worlds apart from the one he intended to stand beside, the one he had built himself to reach, and he could not settle for being out of reach. He did not see clearly until that wound carved across his shoulder and the decay began. And even then, only when the grip of death had come and gone, would it all become clear.

But Sephiroth was gone, and Angeal was gone, and Zack was gone, and here was still here.

Genesis Rhapsodos was still here, and everything he had made had burned away only to be reborn; no longer a SOLDIER looking for praise, no longer an admirer forever chasing his subject, no longer the unloved heir to the Rhapsodos family, no longer the mana gifted 1st. He was Genesis, the chosen Champion. And everything he had aspired to and given so much of his life to, began to believe he wasted that life striving for...had through pain and loss come to truly be worth it all.

He would be the hero, even if that hero must walk alone.

And none would see him. But they didn't need to. None every really needed to. Only Genesis, only he needed to see himself. He'd had what he wanted, for a time, even if he'd missed it. Angeal, and Sephiroth had seen him as well...when they were at their best.

Some summer nights after he finally awoke from his self imposed slumber for recovery and reconnection, when he would wander through the Wastes or even through Junon and its surrounding wilds, he would remember their prime fondly. If only he had taken advantage of it then. Now they were gone, lost to themselves and lost to time, and he would remain.

He would grieve it, at times. And then he'd lay his Banora Whites in remembrance, and he would continue on. Death and madness had gripped every single one of them, and though it had claimed the other two, he refused to let that sorrowful fate take away from the truth of what they were.

They were all heroes, once. In their own way, for their own reasons.

Genesis Rhapsodos saw the world for what it was, now, in all it's bad, but with all it's good. And with all he had in him, he would serve the planet as it's defender once and for all.

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Zack requested by @sixvisxpacem || From this Open Request Post

"Man, we've got some killer views, Cloud!"

Zack leaned against the bike with the attached care that had been their steed for the past couple of months. Gas was running low, and he'd made it up to this cliff to get his bearings, clearing his head head once more as he seemed to need to do more often lately, and to refresh where he was to pinpoint the best place to refuel.

And what lay ahead was a mix of green and dusty dirt of wilds fading into wastes. It was like natural flowing in and out of itself. It felt so damn appropriate, he could almost laugh bitterly. Instead, he drank in the beauty. The raven-haired, scarred AWOL SOLDIER turned his mako blue gaze to the blond in the attached cart, still grinning. He sighed, shaking his head and march over. He knelt by Cloud Strife and gave him a clap on the shoulder.

"Seriously, man--think if we had some decent cameras, we'd make some amazing photographers. Imagine the killing we'd make, all the locations and natural beauty we'd capture on our little roadtrip? We'll be rich!"

Zack just watched as Cloud Strife continued to hang his head like an infant just barely managing the strength to hold it up. The only response he received was a slow blink of eyelids and a softer breath. The grin on Zack's lips attempted to drift, faintly, but he kept it on as firmly as he could. He gave a playfully exasperated scoff. "Too cool for that, huh? Fine then, we'll figure something else out."

They would. He was sure of it. They'd find their way back home. They'd find their way, after. After he reached Aerith...he couldn't stay in Midgar, but he knew he had to return, a last time, just to...figure things out. And after? Well, the whole world lay ahead...! He was ready to give his all to his future, he wouldn't let that uncertainty seep in, if he could help it!

And so days, and weeks continued the same. Fuel was becoming harder and harder to keep collecting, especially because more and more towns became less and less generous. Zack managed to get a container to keep refilling with fuel to have with himself in case they were stuck in the middle of nowhere. But he needed funds. Odd jobs were all he could manage, and even those were becoming more and more scarce.

But he was so close, so close to Midgar, he knew it! He had to make it! He was sure of it!

So sure, that the morning he dragged Cloud out of the first Inn he'd been able to pay for a room in, in months, he didn't expect to find his bike....gone. Nowhere to be found, in fact. He tried to follow tracks, but from what he could assess, the vehicle was picked apart, pieces scattered to greedy thieves, and only the side cart survived, useless on it's own.

He stood there before Cloud, where he'd left him. The usual grin he put on when speak to Cloud was put on once more as he squatted before the blond. "Well, it's no roadtrip without a few road bumps, huh buddy...? Really sorry about this, but you'll probably have to start walking with me again. But I'll make sure we get a good meal first! Something filling, a good energy boost. Yeah?" he nodded towards Cloud, who had no reaction. "One of these days, you're gonna have to tell me your favorite meal--I mean, I can't know what you won't if you don't speak up, man." he chuckled, ruffling the others hair.

Cloud's head bobbed briefly before settling again.

Zack stared, the grin frozen on his lips until he stood. It faded quicker this time, though.

Every bump of the road, ever week that ticked by, that grin faded faster and faster, but he never stopped wearing it when it felt most necessary. Like armor, or materia to boost ones abilities, his enduring spirit was the fire to keep them burning forward. Zack Fair wasn't going to let this shit crush his spirit! No way!

Never! But...maybe...maybe, just for a moment or two, his spirit could just...fall apart.

It was after he was run out of an extremely small town-stop that that spirit began to really tremble--the people in the store he was trying to barter food from were no fans of ShinRa, yet they wouldn't listen to a word of his truth, that he was AWOL, that he was on the run from them, and that he just needed help for himself and his sick friend. They ran him out, near literally, to the point of almost threatening to 'test his claims' and call ShinRa on them if they didn't leave.

Starving, body aching, spirit and mind tired, Zack pushed on, carrying Cloud as far as quickly as he could until he could find a proper space to camp and figure things out. And as he dragged Cloud along, the blonds weak feet barely stumbling to keep up with Zack's stronger steps, the raven haired male could only laugh bitterly.

"Ya know, never thought I'd be run out of anywhere. Can you imagine it, Cloud? Me!" he muttered, trying to laugh it off, and stupidly weighting and wishing (not for the first time) to earn some sort of reaction that wasn't a normal body function from Cloud. Just a short chuckle, a twitch of the lips.

But nothing. Zack shouldn't put that on him. Zack could laugh enough for the both of them!

He could laugh for the both of them. He could talk for the both of them. He could walk for the both of them. He could fight for them both, he could beg for the both, he could work for them both, he could do it all...for the both of them.

He could. He...he would.

Zack's foot hit a rock, and in his scattered thoughts, he was too distract. He tumbled a second, almost falling himself, but catching himself, but the disturbed momentum was enough to cause Cloud to tumble, and Zack didn't tug him back in enough time to prevent the blond from dropping to the dirt. Cloud wouldn't be injured, he'd barely be hurt, and yet the sight had Zack feeling like the blond had just been stabbed. He tugged him to sit straight, brushing dirt and pebbles from his face and hair over and over, even after it was gone.

"Well damn, suddenly I'm the one that can't walk, huh...? S-sorry, Cloud..." he muttered, trying to keep his tone level and light as usual, but...it sounded...wrong. He heard a tremble, and he hated it. It's as if his voice was outside of him, beyond his control. He cleared his throat, plastering the smile against as he assured Cloud was sitting comfortably. But the grin felt heavier, and harder to control, too, and a panic was building in Zack's chest. "You're alright. Why didn't you warn me about the rock, huh?" he forced a laugh.

Why did it sound strangled?

Why were his eyes burning...?

He forced out another laugh, trying to make it sound right, sound light, sound like Zack Fair, but it just sounded strangled again. He sat back from where he knelt before Cloud, sitting firmly on his behind, arms resting on his knees. The grin was still on his lips, but it felt...confused...wrong, off kilter. He couldn't even see it, and he knew it felt wrong.

He hand a hand through his hair, and forced another laugh. "Damn...maybe I'm sleep deprived, huh? Don't remember when I last slept, actually. You probably don't, either." he muttered to Cloud, and the continued silence as response made everything suddenly feel heavier and that much worse.

Fuck, everything hurt. His body. His head. His heart. It felt as if all this riding and walking, all this travel towards his destination, it had put distance between him and thoughts and feelings but all at once, they seemed to catch up with him, right here and right now. He took a shaky, shuddery breath in and out. Eyes burning with tears, he looked at the blurring figure of the blond before him, wobbly smile on his lips.

"It'll be fine though... I...I promise, Cloud. I'm not stopping...k? We'll just take a break...and pull it back together, and then keep moving. We've got this...you and me! Right?" he muttered, wiping away half the tears from one side of his face. "...Right, Cloud...?"

The blonds head bobbed. But it wasn't a nod. It wasn't a response. It wasn't anything.

"Come on....Cloud..." Zack muttered under his breath, as he began rocking faintly in place where he sat. "Just one word....one response, bud...? Just...just one word, maybe two? You could even tell me to shut up, j-just...give me something...!" he found himself yelling at the blond.

His chest was brimming, writhing with sensations. His heart beat felt irratic, his head hurt, everything was too much, too much, but he had to hold it together. Had to keep it together. He couldn't leave Cloud, in any way. He couldn't fall apart, not like the others!!!

It was brimming, pushing and pulling like a growing breath, and any many it would....

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"" Zack flopped back in his back and cried out into the sky. The first yell seemed to release so much rage, fear, hurt, and every taste of heavy weight on his shoulders. It was all of it, but it was a great deal. And as he stared up at the clear skies, he took deep breaths in and out, in and out....and he let out another scream, both fists hitting the ground on either side of him. The end of the scream seemed to trembled and he sniffed...and grinned.

Genuinely. He took a deep breath, sat up, looked to the sky, and belted out once more, the cry turning into wild laughter at the end, but...his chest felt lighter after he did so. It felt...better. Everything still hurt, everything was still too much, but...he seemed to pull back some part of himself as the laughter bubbled out of his chest.

"I mean it, Cloud, when I say we'll make it. You'll see. It's gonna take a bit more time...maybe a few more bumps, but...we've got this. Alright?" he scooted forward to the blond again, and clapped him in the shoulder, gripping there.

"It's you and me, man."

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Cloud requested by @sixvisxpacem || From this Open Request Post

Cloud was just tired.

"It's fine, Cloud. We can talk about it later." Tifa remarked with what he had come to learn years ago was a well-practiced strain, to keep her emotions level and balanced and put away.

And all at once, every time he'd come to recognize he'd been unfair to her flooded back to his mind, as well as times when he wasn't sure who was more in the right in an argument or discussion, her or him...and even times when he was so sure he was right. He was right, and she just couldn't understand, he couldn't make her, he didn't want to because why should he make anyone understand where his head and hurt was with how screwed up it had all become?

But right now, he couldn't pinpoint which situation it was. Should he just let it go? That's what Tifa wanted.

But...what did he want? What did he feel?

He'd been so sure of the answers to these questions moments ago, but things had gotten just heated and conflicting enough, and he was determined, pressing his point, and Tifa was beginning to bite back too...biting back like she would when he was on the road in the beginning of his deliveries...when their expectations for each other and themselves were so heavy and harmful. And it got under his skin.

Perhaps his frustration was brimming to high. Perhaps this WAS on him.

But as he took a breath, and turned his gaze down, trying to school his features into something neutral because he knew better than to fake anything yet knew he couldn't be honest with any expression of feeling right now, he wondered...wondered... He tried to tame his emotions enough to look at the situation beyond himself.

And yet, it felt like...she was in the wrong. She wasn't listening like he knew she could, and now she was shutting it down. She wasn't giving him a choice, unless he wanted to push.

He glanced to Tifa, caught her tense gaze and felt his own clashing, and they both lowered their gaze. He tried to level his feelings further, taking careful breaths, busying himself with his drink, anything to take away from anything energy or feeling that could be seeping out through his body language or his features.

He glanced at her one more time, saw the tired knit of her brow as she was cleaning the dishes. Watching her work, he considered how heavy her shoulders must be. He never completely forgot, yet sometimes it...slipped his mind to a degree. This bar, the kids, her presence in the city, keeping up with him whether she needed to or not, it had to be too much too often.

So what was the point in Cloud's issue right now? Was this really worth it?

He took a breath, the breath out coming out in a sigh. His thoughts were swimming around his head, rushing and pressing and scratching at his senses. He...hated these moments... He hated these feelings. He couldn't...truth himself.

He hadn't been able to trust himself since he was fifteen years old, and even then, what fifteen year old can trust themselves that deeply?

His feelings were heavy, but were they valid? Or was he simply putting weight on them out of some....ridiculous stubbornness...?

Cloud was so tired. He was tired of these petty issues. He was tired of the feeling of being alone. He was tired of the feeling of being overwhelmed with presence. He was tired of not being heard, not being understood, beyond all manner of assumptions bred from the past.

Cloud was tired of himself. And of course, despite his long-winded attempts in the past, that was something he knew he could never escape. He was Cloud Strife, and he'd just have to deal with it.

He gripped the glass, almost too tight, then finally downed the rest of the alcoholic liquid that did nothing for him, and offering up the glass. He didn't look to Tifa when he spoke, just simply muttered, "Sorry for the trouble."

He heard her start to speak something, but he was already out the front door, into the clear air and his feet carrying him to Fenrir. It seemed the only solution for him these days, with the aching of his arm, and the writhing darkness in his chest and his mind that kept waking and slumbering; he would drive, and hope if he drove far enough, fast enough, the wind would carry it right out of him.