#ambrerp

[rikelusshinra]

A gas station at the edge of nowhere

The gas station looked like it had been forgotten on purpose left on the outskirts of Junon about eighty five miles from the city. A petrol station with Mako sourced directly from the sunlit city for a premium price of course. Inside was one flickering light a dying vending machine humming like it knew it wouldn’t last the night. No clerk and absolutely no signal.

The elder ShinRa saw Ambrosia Van Der Wald holding her phone up anyway, angling it toward the empty sky as if desperation alone might conjure a bar. Unfortunately or fortunately it depends on which way you look at it—nothing. Zilch--not even a wink from the ghost of reception.

“Careful,” a voice drawled behind her, smooth as spilled Mako. “You keep doing that, you might summon something. And I don’t think it’ll be customer service he’s out back—Looks like he’s been dead for a couple of days. Malboro got him.”

Rikelus ShinRa leaned against a black motorcycle like it had grown there, all sharp angles and lazy confidence. His arm was bandaged, sling half-abandoned like he didn’t believe in injuries, and one hand he held a paper bag that crinkled suspiciously.

He scoffed at her slightly before he announced “If I were stalking you, you wouldn’t have heard me. This is me being neighborly. Your friendly Neighborhood ShinRa that’s ruggedly handsome, mildly charming, occasionally helpful, and has questionable judgement. More importantly..” he lifted the bag slightly. “Hospitality is important in the middle of nowhere. Low standards, but still important.”

“I suppose I’m your best and worst option at this point—Funny how that describes us ShinRa’s accurately. I know you’ll say you don’t take drinks from strange men at abandoned gas stations and you shouldn’t; but I Just ripped the guts open of a big smelly monster and I’m a bit parched ya’know.”

“I know I’m unbelievable—well I’ve been called worse.” He glanced back towards the evening sun one last time his eyes briefly sharpening a flicker of something dangerous, something very real before it vanished again under that easy grin.

“Anyway,” he added, pushing off the bike slightly. “Given the circumstances…” He gestured broadly to the empty station. “…I’m gonna go ahead and assume everything here is on the house. You could call it *liberation day* if it makes you feel warm and fuzzy ya’know.”

“The way I see it you’ve got two options.” He held up a finger lazily “Option one: we stay here, drink like we’ve got poor survival instincts, and wait to see if that thing had friends.”

A second finger. “Option two: you get on the bike, hold on tight, and we leave this charming establishment and its questionable wildlife behind. Pesonally I like option number one. You always look like trouble wrapped in silk.” He dug into the bag and produced two bottles of something dark with glittering gold floating around in it. The label was a bomb breathing fire about to explore and large words that said *Junon fireball*. It was strong shit—the kind of shit where you drank it because the burn hit fast, spiced, sharp, and unapologetic.

[ofgeneticperfection]

Ghosts: Has your muse ever seen something they couldn’t explain?

There's not a lot that she can't' explain. Even when it comes to ghosts and creatures. They exist, just by other laws and other planes of existence. She doesn't understand everything but not to the point that she's just perplexed. If there is one thing she cannot explain, it lies within a person.

There is something within Rikelus that goes beyond Mako and Jenova cells. Something unnatural that has always called to her. The mysterious red aether, the darkness, the shadow that doesn't quite make sense. There is something foreign in him, like the world holds an unknown element of nature that she just can't quite figure out. She's spun it over in her mind again and again, analyzed samples and nothing quite makes sense no matter how hard she tries.

She cannot figure him out. What he is. What energy within calls to her so endlessly, so voraciously. So maddeningly tantalizing. And that is part of the reason she is drawn to him alone, of pure fascination.

@ambrerp

@rikelusshinra

[il-mostrc]

.The occasion was a planned brunch, featuring an elegantly arranged light meal that Hannibal Lecter had thoughtfully designed. The centerpiece was a fresh salad, crafted from the finest local ingredients sourced from the town market, that burst forth in a vibrant display of color and texture. He artfully placed this arrangement before her, followed by a crystal glass filled with a chilled white wine, its mild aromas wafting through the air, perfectly complementing the meal. As usual, he let his head linger by her shoulder, familiarizing himself with the chosen perfume for this day.

"you have become the voice in my head." @ambrerp said.

"You are not a regular patient, Ambrosia," Lecter stated, his voice smooth yet slightly teasing as he seated himself opposite her. The seating was deliberately chosen to create a sense of equality, allowing him an unfiltered line of vision into her expressions and emotions. With a quirked brow, he paused contemplatively, the fork hovering between his plate and his mouth, allowing the moment to linger. "And does this voice serve to assist you or impede you?"

Ambrosia had always been a recurring figure in his life, their paths having crisscrossed through the years, drawing them back into each other’s orbit once again. Her life was a complicated one. A life that Hannibal would love to dissect if she ever found her way into his office chair. He did respect her enough not to allow it to come to that, however. Raising his glass, he inhaled the fragrant bouquet of the wine, appreciating its subtleties before savoring a sip.

"Is this endeavor born from a desire to distance yourself further from your father?" he inquired, his tone both curious and perceptive. He could sense the nuanced struggle within her, a longing to navigate her own path without the burdensome expectations of family weighing her down.

[ivory-paragon]

Rufus may not have been a fan of sweets -- but he did enjoy the aroma they gave off. There was a reason for that; he knew it perfectly clear, no need to be on a couch to dissect some of his quirks about himself. Though he may not have invested much in sweet pastries, the vision of her baking and enjoying her masterpieces was enough pleasure for him to bask in.

She was learning, albeit slowly, to take on different spices to add to dishes. It was a give-and-take procedure; he'd give her his time teaching her and take the rewards then after.

The wine was opened and poured into two glasses, and he wondered if this pairing would be acceptable to the palate, having never tried this particular pie before.

When the dish was presented to him, complete with a whole different scent that filled the kitchen, he wasn't sure what to expect. "Ah... Thank you, my dear." He knew she'd detect the apprehension in his voice as the fork was picked up. The key ingredient was lamb; he should have known.

"Well, I always do like a dinner and a story." The prongs of the utensil poked into the flakey crust.

@ambrerp

[sanguinepeccatorum]

@ambrerp   ||  Liked for a STARTER

“Should you be out alone?” Running into the female he had met only days earlier entirely out of surprise was a situation the ex-Turk had not fathomed possible. His own pacing had been directed toward a personal mission but it was immediately swept aside, his sanguine eyes sharply glancing around in an attempt to spot any security the woman may have with her but no person in the vicinity gave him the impression they were watching. Concerning, in the least, given the female’s position alongside Rufus.  “There was a robbery in the south of the city and an arson attack in the east- It is not the safest time to be out-” Doing whatever she was doing; his concern was evident despite the lower half of his face being hidden by the thick fabric of his coat.  

[il-mostrc]

“you will never change my mind.”

A soft classical piece trills in the background of the kitchen, Goldberg Variations BWV 988 - Aria Da Capo. It pairs in tandem with the clean sliding slices of the knife as it prepares the meal of choice.

"The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind."

The knife stalls and his eyes lift from the laboratory of his kitchen setup. Draped with an apron around him and rolled sleeves, he steadies his focus on the woman (@ambrerp) perched on the edge of one of his 'entertaining and showcasing' chairs occupying his kitchen quarters.

"Do you enjoy reptiles, Ambrosia?"

The meal plan for the night was LANGUE D'AGNEAU EN PAPILLOTES, with the usual flair of decorations that accompany it already set on the table. The spread highlights two eyes of a peacock's feathers garnished by leafy caesar salad ingredients. Settled as a nest would, quail eggs are placed within each wrapped green. It represented life, or the very sense of conception, much like her acceptance into his home for the evening.

The meat is placed aside as he grabs another elegant piece—this one now silenced from its chatty behavior.

[il-mostrc]

Hannibal's existence was neatly partitioned into two realms: the structured hours of his practice, where he donned the mantle of a devoted psychiatrist, and the nebulous hours beyond, his personal sanctuary of off-duty solitude. Yet, the boundaries of these worlds often became indistinct, especially with a list of patients that included a direct crisis hotline ringing incessantly to his personal phone. This facet of his life rendered his device an extension of himself; it could never truly be silenced. Astonishingly, even some of his most intimate patients possessed his home number, crossing the sacred boundary between doctor and individual.

Though late-night calls were typically reserved for close friends, their frequency was sporadic, reinforcing the implied fact that the good Doctor's time was a coveted privilege, not easily relinquished.

"Hello?" The first recognition of it being not of the patient kind was the use of his name. There was no title attached; it was the intimate nature of someone seeing through such things.

“Ambrosia,” he remarked, somewhat taken aback. “My kitchen extends its hospitality to anyone wishing to partake—be it merely a glass of wine or two.” Yet, beneath the surface of her visit, he discerned a deeper significance. She was not one to present herself in such a vulnerable manner at this late hour; it was evident that something weighed heavily on her mind.

"It is not too late," he assured her (@ambrerp) with a smile attached to those words. "I'll be here waiting at the door for you."

In the low light, every little sound was amplified, every shadow seemed to conceal a threat. Ambrosia straightened, standing tall, her senses on high alert. Like a doe startled by a hunter, she froze, scanning the room with her eyes. By instinct, she pulled her silk robe tighter around her, as if it were a flimsy shield of fabric. It was only after several long seconds that she realized the sounds she had mistaken for an intruder’s footsteps, a trespasser in her own home, were merely the echoes of her racing heartbeat. With a shaky sigh, she closed her eyes, but as soon as her eyelids shut, the scene replayed itself. The flashing lights bathed the street in alternating red and blue, mingling with the frantic chatter of the growing crowd in her usually quiet neighborhood. A safe neighborhood, or so she had thought, known for its tight security. Some might call it a gilded cage. To others, it was a havre de paix. For her, there was no doubt, it had always been the latter. She had cherished the sense of safety in this unfamiliar place. She still didn’t feel at home on this new place, and instead of seeing it as a cage, she had viewed the security gates and barriers of the place as a shield. A protective barrier. But tonight, that illusion had been shattered.

She replayed the scene in her mind : the paramedics rushing at first, then abruptly halting, their faces somber, shoulders sagging. An accident, she had thought. Or a heart attack. Vintage wines, cigars, and  boasting at the golf club…Many of the men whom roamed these streets seemed like ideal candidates for such ailments. She had quickened her pace, not to join the onlookers but to reach the safety of her home as fast as possible. Then, she had seen it. One of the medics swiftly threw a sheet over the body, but not before she had caught a glimpse. She pinched the bridge of her nose in a futile attempt to regain her composure. She had tried to drown her thoughts (the body lying there, drained of blood. the white sheet blossoming with macabre crimson flowers) with a scalding bath, until her skin was flushed by the heat, but water couldn’t cleanse what lingered within. Voices floated through the air, the neighbors, most of them, had gathered after the tragedy, watching the news together. At first, they were reserved, but soon, fueld by drinks, they began searching for glimpses of themselves on the screen. As for her, she barely responded to the messages from acquaintances checking in on her, short replies only, there was no interest in feeding their morbid curiosity. She splashed her face with rosewater, staring at her reflection in the mirror, and realized there was only one person she truly wanted to see. Only one. After a brief hesitation, she picked up her phone. When the line connected, she summoned all her strength to keep her voice steady and calm, despite the knot tightening in her throat. “Hannibal…” she paused, choosing her words. It was already late, she knew it. “I still have that bottle of Cheval Blanc waiting in the cellar, if it’s not too late for you.”

[ofgeneticperfection]

“Do you want company?”

It was weighing on her, the downward spiral ShinRa had become lately. Not just ShinRa. She had watched Jenova slolwly drive the Professor into a stranger madness. The labs were a disaster of moral conflicts, the experiments were out of contol and no matter how many screaming matches she had with him she knew that nothing would stop this discord.

Isrieal was sitting in the skyview lobby, in a booth near the back where the mako danced outside the winds beside her. Her hair touseled, her face buried in her hands as she draws in a deep breath to calm herself. She draws her fingers down her face as she lets out an audible sigh and gazes out the window beside her. Eyes wide and dancing with that pale green glow reflecting from the night sky.

How much longer could she put up with this? She didn't even know. There were no traces of harm upon her fast healing skin, but there was a pink tinge of blood in the white strands near her face. She was transfixed by that glow out there as she bites upon the tips of her nails resting against her lower lip.

"Do you want company?"

She freezes when she hears those words, catching the reflection of her sister beside her in the glass panes. It takes her a long moment to respond but she turns to look in her direction with a few nods of her head. "Yeah, sure.." She curls up in her seat while looking down.

@ambrerp