“Is there a word for, I feel like I’ve been hit by a train? Like, one that sounds less whiny? Because whatever that word is, honestly, mood.”
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“Is there a word for, I feel like I’ve been hit by a train? Like, one that sounds less whiny? Because whatever that word is, honestly, mood.”
@angelocannons and any other Rinoa/Squall/Seifer who hasn’t seen this already--
Anyone else notice there’s an oddly cut off dialogue box in this scene? I always tried to see if it said anything when it flashed up and vanished on the PS1 version, but I assumed it was just a mistake that had been left in. This guy’s used Deling to mod the cut dialogue back in, they’re talking about Seifer. All in the past my ass, RInoa, hOW DARE YOU--
“Old men covered in blood. It never touched them but they’re drowning in it.” (Prompt for any muse.)
The blood rains down from the sky; she tips her head back, feels it warm on her skin, copper fire in her mouth, and just like that, it’s gone, stopped. Time skips, scratches backwards.
She is standing in the middle of an interrogation room at Garden, and has no idea how she got there. Rinoa blinks, comes back to herself. Her body is unmarked, her clothes unstained. The copper lingers in her mouth, a phantom taste. When she swallows, gagging at the prospect of what might slide down her throat, the taste is gone and there’s only the memory of something horrible.
Old men covered in blood--
“Rin?” Squall’s voice, quiet, firm; she’s heard that tone before, when he needs answers about the cryptic things that sometimes spring fully-formed from her tongue like a nightmare. “Tell me what you saw.”
“I did... didn’t I?” But she hadn’t, not really. Not if he’s asking her like that, like she’s a suspect. A prisoner, in this tiny gray box of a space, the metal table dinged and scratched from who knows what, if janitorial couldn’t clean it up. “Let me out of here,” Rinoa adds in the next breath, pushing past him, opening the door to more artificially cold, canned air, the AC on the fritz more often than not as of late. Garden may look slick and expensive, but crashing it around like they’d done had taken a toll.
Squall follows her like a ghost, a shadow. She’ll never be free of him.
“They were there. Just... all there. Dead. Blood on the floor and the walls, blood everywhere-- like something slaughtered them all. For no reason.” A board room in Galbadia, she remembers it now, startlingly clear.
Remembers it like she cast the spell herself, can feel the magic lingering residual in her fingertips, but she doesn’t remember doing it. Fear dawns on her face, horror in her eyes, in the lump now wedging itself down her throat. Rinoa stares at him, and time seems to freeze, to stop entirely.
“What if... what if it was me?”
“💋” for four times my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they actually did.
four times connor thought about kissing nancy, and the one time he actually did.
Meta - Rinoa - Magic
What they don’t tell you about the succession is that you are not the sorceress so much as you are host to a living, breathing parasite, and sometimes, you have no choice in what the magic does, or where it takes you.
She finds herself more often than not on the thin crescent of rocky beach that lines Balamb’s western edge with no memory of getting there, only that there is static burning up through her veins, sparking at her fingertips, and the moon hangs overhead, a bright mocking thing.
The walk back to Balamb Garden is long, and her feet are bare. She leaves bloody footprints more often than not, stepping on rocks and dirt and shrapnel remnants, the path through the woods unpaved and unforgiving, the cobbled streets hard to navigate in the dark.
Garden knows. Garden watches.
Garden has no answers for her, every time she asks, begs, screams to have it taken from her and put into someone else, someone who can control it. Her magic overwhelms her, and she’s afraid, afraid, that one day she’s going to look in the mirror and see a sorceress staring back at her, rather than the reflection of an eighteen year old girl from Timber.
Will she be ready, when that happens? Or will Squall have to cleave her in two?
Rinoa doesn’t know, and she is afraid.
“I did not get one kiss on my birthday, and that upsets me.”
⊗ [UR TURN... unless u get too many. u can toss me aside. i can take it. B |]
You tossed me aside, buttcape--
Seifer has never been one for romance in the modern sense. It was a little uncomfortable for him to realise he had... *whispers* feelings, but it was easy to ignore that discomfort, because they always had the work for Timber’s resistance running alongside. With a bigger goal in mind, it felt less important for him to work out the small stuff if it wasn’t necessary, and he was just fine with making it up as they went. Until Rinoa seemed to lose interest in him and Squall became her new go-to SeeD contact... Understandable, since Squall was of a higher rank, with better connections, and was overall better for her cause; but Seifer refused to think about her entirely after that - it was as if nothing had happened between them. It was pretty stupid to get emotionally invested in the first place. As a result, he has no idea how she felt about him, or how she feels now.
In post-game, his relationship with her is complicated on several levels. Most obviously is the fact he tried to kill her and her friends; then of course he tried to junction her to Adel; but even besides that, he feels a little embarrassed when they meet. She knew him when he was still a kid, in his eyes. He’s changed a lot, and grown up more in the time between the war and now than he has in his entire life. He looks at her and feels like a silly little boy pretending to be something bigger than he is. This is part of the reason he doesn’t know how she feels (as I said above) - he assumes she feels the same way, that she’s changed since then, and whatever she did say on the subject is now void.
He believed that she was capable of winning Timber its resistance where others had failed, despite how young she was; because her approach to it was much the same as his approach to everything. Throw everything we’ve got at it, even if “everything we’ve got” is a half baked plan we came up with half an hour ago on the floor. Doing something is always better than doing nothing.