#peacefuleyes

[onepartbrave]

@peacefuleyes​ -- a short starter~

“I’ll cut straight to the point, Laguna—you’ve got a shit-tonne of monsters on Esthar’s doorstep and I have a handful of experienced SeeD raring to go. The extermination process will be as painless and humane as possible, but the efficiency SeeD have will guarantee it’ll be quick also.”

[youngrevolutionary]

❛ do they still call me that ? it’s so strange. ❜ (@peacefuleyes)

@peacefuleyes

   “Yep. Said it so often, I was hearin’ it in my goddamn sleep, it was so annoying. Heard one of the guards talking about how they imprint on you. Like some kind of animal. What kind of step in evolution is that if you wind up a mongrel?”

[hyperionswrath--archived]

@peacefuleyes

Nonverbal Memes | status: open

 He stood at one of the doors in the hall of the hotel, repurposed to refugee housing after the fall of Insomnia, gazing up at the tarnished numbers hung cockeyed. He glanced at the address scrawled on the piece of paper in his hand, drawing a deep breath into his chest before exhaling it with a soft huff and nodding. He’d come to the city looking for stories — civilian stories, military stories, stories of survivors, stories of fallen, anything he could get his hands on. One of the local relief effort coordinators directed him to the address in hand, a Glaive by the name of Seifer Almasy who had served during the fall; a Glaive born a Niff who carried the same blonde hair and strong, angular features condemned by many — particularly those who had lost homes and family members in the skirmish.

 He lifted his hand, rapping his knuckles on the door before shifting his weight over one leg and tucking his notepad under his arm to check the watch on his wrist. Half-passed 3:30pm and it was getting dark already he noted as he glanced back over his shoulder out over the rails to the horizon.

He had not been back in his abode for long, the latest mission having been a complete failure. Well, if one could speak of missions anymore nowadays, that was.

Teamed up with Hunters, former Crownsguard members, and himself as a former Glaive, Seifer Almasy had ventured into one of the nearby mines, their objective to retrieve whatever materials they could. Needless to say, the place was crawling with monsters - both resident and daemonic, making it next to impossible to venture inside far enough to collect more than a few scraps of metal, old tattered pieces of cloth, and the occasional healing item lost in the dark by adventurers or miners - these days it was hard to tell what applied.

Rumor had it some survivors had holed up inside, but neither of them believed that to be true, given the fact that even seasoned fighters as themselves would not dare enter the dark corridors if they could avoid it. Be that as it were, much sooner than they would have liked a retreat was agreed upon, luckily none of them too worse for wear.

Now, Seifer was in the middle of peeling himself out of his worn Kingsglaive Uniform, the same by now more patched up and weathered as ever - yet still the best armor he could find around Lestallum. When the knock on his door sounded, the tall blond frowned, pausing from loosening the leather straps that held his gloves in place to look up. There was no visitor expected today, and he had grown weary of other people.

Never a team player to begin with, he only grudgingly had accepted that with the World succumbing to darkness, he'd be out of luck to venture outside on his own. Setting his shoulders, he now slowly made for the door of his room - a bed, a table, a small cooking place, and a bathroom being all the luxury one could hope for - and stopped with his hand on the door handle. Huffing a breath through his nose, he then flicked the locks on the side of the door and opened up.

If anything, the years after the Dark had set in had made the man even broader than before, his entire body trained for the sole purpose of survival. Having been on his feet for longer than anticipated, stubble on his cheeks and chin had not yet been shaved off again, and blond strands fell into his face, not as neatly slicked back as it used to be. Piercing green eyes fell upon the man on the other side of the door now, his expression carefully blank. "Yeah?"

[restorationleader]

“Been a while since I’ve been back to this place,” he admitted with just a touch of guilt, rubbing at the back of his neck as they strolled at a leisurely pace along the cobblestone streets of Winhill, the sleepy air about the place demanding the casual amble. (from @peacefuleyes)

laguna leads ahead of him, squall trailing behind as though he doesn’t want to be seen with him … although it’s not entirely certain if he feels that way or not. as they approach the chocobo crossing, squall slows down to listen to him talk as there’s not much else to listen to outside of laguna’s voice although short-lived. he figured he would talk more, but the faint memory that had belonged to the former military man floods the back of his mind. the thought of winhill knowing that raine had been here while he was gone – died here while he was gone. that’s … about all he knows. the personal feelings aren’t there and neither is his immediate concern.

          (  … it’s not like you had to take me … Kiros or Ward would’ve been just fine. I’m too busy to be walking around Winhill with you.  )

squall had decided to go of his own volition – more  that he isn’t sure what he was thinking when he proposed the idea … and even more, is it because they’re related? or is it that he didn’t want to go alone but his immediate company was too busy to tail along with him. “ … about nineteen years. “ he says it solemnly, and quietly. it’s enough for laguna to pick up on it as he crosses the chocobo crossing since they’re far out enough from the cobblestone to start kicking dirt around.  @peacefuleyes

[ihadmineonyou]

“Hmm… oh what? Sorry, it’s nothing. Don’t worry.” (@peacefuleyes)

@peacefuleyes

Worry wasn’t exactly the right word for it - puzzled and slightly concerned, perhaps, that Laguna had given her the floor to speak about one of her passions, only to zone out midway through. On any other night, Julia would have found it hard to keep a coherent thought going without having him chime in, but the distant look in his eyes and the lack of commentary from the other side of the booth gave her pause, tipping her off that something was different this time.

“You’re not usually this distracted when you visit,” she mused, twisting the stem of the wine glass between her fingers and propping her chin up with her other hand. “Something on your mind?”

[lilyofwinhill]

“Lead the way.” (@peacefuleyes)

@peacefuleyes

“Stick close so you don’t get lost,” Raine replied, the corner of her mouth twitching up in amusement as she spun on her heel to lead him down a narrow, cobbled path away from the center of Winhill’s town square and out towards the gently rolling fields, swaying in the breeze and bathed in moonlight.

She hadn’t asked for Laguna’s company, but appreciated it all the same; while she’d walked this route more than once by her lonesome, it was normally well before sunset, and there was no telling how brave the local fauna would become with darkness enhancing the shadows that lined the dirt footpath they were treading.

With Winhill at their backs, there was nothing but green as far as the eye could see, and Raine took a deep breath to relish the peaceful scene - while they were still alone and undisturbed.

“This walk will be at its best in a few weeks. Blooms of every color dotting the fields, from hillside to horizon.” She said, casting a glance in Laguna’s direction to make sure he was still with her, even as her gate slowed. “That’s part of why I love it here.”