コスモメモリー

nanaki | redxiii of final fantasy vii by fair | she/they | 18+

highly inconsistent activity.

Vincent allows the quiet to stretch between them as he often does. Given his inclinations, given his recent work with the WRO, Vincent has found these are more seasonal meetings than anything else of late.

They are both long-lived. Barring unforeseen circumstances it is possible that they will persist even when the World Regenesis Organization is no longer necessary.

They are keepers of its memory. Of their friends’ memories, moving forward into a yet-unwritten future.

But there is, occasionally, room for mischief.

“It isn’t up my sleeve.”

Again without inflection, even if there is a glint of teasing humor in eyes slanted outward toward the horizon, an echo of aloof disinterest. He folds his arms across his chest, and the movement of his shoulders lisps the crimson fabric of his cloak back somewhat, revealing a drop-pocket belted to his thigh.

Nose height. More or less.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not recently,” Nanaki answers, an ear flicking briefly in the direction of Vincent’s voice. He is still looking off in the distance in search of dignity. There are traces of green snaking their way through the bones of the fallen city before them; the earliest beginnings of reclamation and regrowth. Leeched and wounded, their world nevertheless has a remarkable capacity for recovery.

Abruptly misplacing his patience for the charade, Nanaki suddenly rises to his feet. Dart-quick (realistically, not fast enough, but he knows Vincent will let him anyway), he shoves his snout up against the flap by the man’s thigh. He pulls back his lips to snatch out a fragrant strip of dried meat between his teeth. Salt and spices.

Valiantly, Nanaki tries to chew his food instead of just gobbling it down. His attempt to mimic humans’ table manners doesn’t always work out so well. In retrospect, Bugenhagen could have better prepared him for the weird looks from his companions the first few times around...

“Very funny.”

They say puns are a sign of higher intelligence. Red has his doubts.

It might appear that the gig is up, especially with them both watching with bated breath as a uniformed security officer walks right up to them. Humans could choose to be willfully ignorant to even the most strange phenomena; a theory he puts to the test now while meeting the officer’s inquisitive stare with cool indifference.

The seconds tick by in tense silence, the collar of the uniform is starting to feel itchy, and his tail is starting to feel cramped from where he presses it close behind his back.

“...Woah! You must be sweating under that uniform. Remember to stay hydrated and drink plenty of water!”

The man claps him heavily on the back and the panic shows on Red’s face for a split second when he nearly loses his balance. He feels equal parts relieved and appalled. “..Th-thanks...I will.”

“Good!”

“Nothing up my sleeve, sir.”

Flatly delivered, utterly deadpan, it is not a lie. Whatever it is does not exist up his sleeve. It smells fresh, though - salt, spice. Something edible.

Vincent knows that the other can scent it, sure as he can, vastly different from the settling, sprawling remnants of the city beyond their vantage.

He keeps a straight face regardless. Not a twitch.

A single golden eye narrows up at Vincent, then drops down to the ambiguous section of his arm where the so-called ‘nothing’ exists. Reflexive, quick, his tongue darts out to sweep away the fresh coating of wind-blown dust over his nose. Better than licking his chops, but some instincts cannot be helped.

With all the hyper-focus of a a very interested and very peckish cat, Red still has his good eye focused on that same point on Vincent’s arm as he stalks up to the cloaked man. Against the musty canvas of a wasteland, the smell is absolutely tantalizing...Yet not entirely irresistible, if his pride has any say in the matter. He stops short a couple feet away to drop down on his haunches and look off into the horizon with an air of disinterest.

"Only if you want to be deathly scared." The main contributing factor to his 'stealthiness' is less so effort on his part and more so the fact that some humans limit the observance to their surroundings to their immediate eye-level. There has been too many occasion where his paws have almost been crushed underfoot.

His nose wrinkles as he steps past Cid and looks back at him. He can smell nicotine and cigarette ash clinging to the man's clothing like a second skin.

fair: 27, she/they.

rules:

don't care about length. i may or may not match yours.

i don't have very many limitations, but let's not get gratuitous. that said, if you have something in mind we can always talk about it.

i am more than happy to interact with non-mutuals.

i won’t follow back if i’m unfamiliar with your character and/or fandom, have a hard time navigating your blog or reading your posts, or if i see frequent posts unrelated to rping.

i start, stop, and drop threads on a dime. if you have a thread you want to keep going that i’ve stopped responding to, please tell me. if our thread(s) aren’t working out and you still want to write with me, we can always start something new.

i'll drop off the face of the earth every so often. please don't harass me. if i feel comfortable doing so, i may share my discord.

other blogs:

sephiroth.

cloud.

zack.