oh, the humanity

His reaction was intense – but not entirely unexpected now Melissa was pushing his buttons. After all, for someone who had spent so long looking for her and her only… It would be only natural that he wished to place himself at her disposal, wasn’t it? Or at least that was how it sounded, and the dramatic way he phrased it all and then took her hand at the end struck a chord within her.

This sort of dedication – of worship. This was something that she could work with, certainly. And a woman in a position like hers would be a fool to turn down any sort of help, as deranged as Lautrec could seem. But despite the erratic behavior (probably induced by some sort of vice, if she had to guess), his haste to commit and to offer himself was delectable.

Lautrec could be instrumental in her cold war against Corneo – someone to set it on fire, potentially. The Turks were reliable assets, of course, and so was her security team. But would any of them risk their lives for hers? She doubted so – and hold no grudges either. But this? A loyal knight who would face any sort of monster for his queen?

Melissa felt warm – delightfully so. The thoughts were swimming in her head, her eyes focused on the man who looked (and sounded) so desperate for her attention and reward. “Would you swear your oath to me, Lautrec?” she queried, her fingers slowly turning into his hands – her thumbs caressed his skin softly, her body leaning slightly forward – it was intentional, almost a trap – and yet, Lautrec seemed to be willing to walk blindly into anything she proposed.

“Utter and complete loyalty to your queen?” she rephrased his request, moving from her stool to stand up then – her glass had been long forgotten by then, her focus solely on this stranger who seemed so determined to fight her battles for her – and she wasn’t about to decline such assistance. No – she would test it.

And she would shower him in rewards if he did as he promised.

“If that is the case, I gladly accept your service, my dear Lautrec,” she said while gently removing her fingers from his, but only to mimic the traditional dubbing of a knight in ancient times – but using just her arm and hand in the place of the blade that she clearly lacked at the moment. “And this is only the first of your many rewards, I hope.”

He takes her fingers in his own as if he’s clutching diamonds - his touch is delicate, entirely in awe of her own as eyes search her for the truth. 

Is this really happening? Had his goddess really been found so soon? No more dark pursuit down withered old alley ways or clueless adventures on the plate side in search for her. No - here she sat. Eyes needy and lips so easy to lust after. Lautrec would fall into his goddess’ embrace with ease were she to welcome it, he would hold her close and never let her go. 

For now - he does not. 

“I am entirely yours.” 

There’s nothing else he would rather be. No reward as great as her embrace. Hades, even if she weren’t to touch him but merely hold him with her eyes would he still remained entirely fulfilled. For her - for his goddess - he would happily die. 

“And should there be anything you need...” his thoughts shift silently to the gangs of the streets. Gangs that dare to impede upon his goddess’ territory. “Anything at all-” 

and like a knight, he’s looking back at her now, eyes dark and guarded by strands of greying hair. 

“I will do as you wish.”

Veiled apprehension lined Aerith’s face as she nodded along politely, although not without acknowledgment that this was exactly the type of sale her mother had always warned her about. Despite common assumptions to the contrary, she wasn’t completely naive, she just tended to prefer the belief that not everyone was as outwardly crooked as their actions may lead her to believe. Maybe this fine gentleman (ha!) was actually just trying to embellish the truth a little to make a much needed sale. Gaia knows, it could be rough down there, especially at this time of year. Besides, it’s not like the brunette wasn’t guilty of doing it herself on occasion.  ( Although admittedly she might charge a single Gil extra, as opposed to the 500 that Patches had been hankering after. ) “I think you’re in the wrong business if you’re a fan of legitimacy, sir. Wallmarket’s not exactly known for it’s high calibre integrity.” Was that a subtle dig? Maybe. But it was also painfully true. 

It was also still 50 Gil more than she could really afford, but she’d dug her own grave by suggesting it, and so she would stand by it all the same. Maybe it’s her good deed for the day! A charitable endeavour that came from a wholesome and well-meaning place, even if she had seen less slime on the slugs that frequented her garden. Resisting the urge to grimace as she parted with her hard earned cash, her hand accepted the tattered paper meekly - but it was the flower that gave her rise to pause. The petals were torn and the vibrancy was dull, but she’d know that bloom anywhere. One of her very own fallen floral friends in fact, trampled under an unsuspecting boot and now returned to it’s cultivator in a full circle irony that was almost poetic. “I think maybe your soul’s seen better days. Where did you even get this?”

Only a quirked brow can counter her comments; Patches never being one to argue with a young lady. Perhaps Wallmarket really did make for a good place of sale? It beat Corel any day - that place was an absolutely misery to be about. Gaia, gods have mercy on his soul, he’d never go back to that crapsack! 

He smiles when he sees her eyeing the flower, a smile that would let her know that he’s happy so long as she is. A smile that’s as generous as his selling technique, a smile that he’s worn in all cities in all countries. A smile that really means nothing. 

“That one?” He’s pointing to the petals between her fingers, the raggedy old thing he’d scraped from the ground. “Well-” 

a lie never did anyone any bad? Did it?

〚 ❣ 〛 “Not from what I’ve seen,” she says with an exasperated sigh, but she doesn’t slow down enough to give the beast room to catch up. Claire’s new companion is lumbering along with his wound, but he’s tall, makes decent pace even with it, and she’s pretty sure they can get to that little room tucked beneath the stairs if they can just keep going. Keep on course. One step ahead.

He nudges her to take the lead, and she does, hurrying several steps ahead before turning to let him catch up, aiming her shotgun at the creature’s head and firing again. Again. Again. Nothing seems to slow him down, though, and the shotgun blasts to the face are about as effective as a hackey sack to the face.

“Shit,” she mutters, loading two more shells and taking aim again. Down the stairs of the main hall where Marvin had once resided with a bullet wound in his side, now dead on the ground from where Claire had to shoot him. A few other shambling undead make their way towards the pair, and while Claire picks off one or two, she leaves those to the new guy, focuses her firepower on the monster stalking them.

“Across the hall, through that gate,” she says with a quick gesture. “It leads to a series of hallways, but if we can get down them, there’s a room under the stairs we can hide in for a bit, get you patched up.” Their pace is slower than she’d like, but steady enough to be reassuring that they’ll get there. When they reach the hallways she mentions, the lights are low, so she clicks on her flashlight and continues her onslaught, waiting for the creature to take a knee again so they can try to go faster.

He’s grateful that one of them knows the way. Grateful that she’s got her feet grounded and her head down - Claire knows the hallways enough to give them a goal at least. Somewhere that’ll lead them away from the goddamn terminator that stalks their every move. 

Creighton bucks his axe with both hands, a stumble that becomes a rush of his weapon to one of the ghoul’s skulls. The beast is quickly felled when the blade pierces its brain - a great weapon to stop such monsters but terrible when it comes to yanking the thing back out. He would quickly turn his attention back to Claire, who, luckily for him is a few bullets further into the side of that creature’s skull. Too bad for the both of them it has yet to stop him. 

“Alright-” he’s quick to take another zombie out, a quick slash across its throat before the thing is stumbling back with its head hanging from its shoulders. “I - I think I can run-” he states. The strain comes almost immediately when he picks up the pace, axe dragged by his side as they enter a winding hallways of dimmed light and scattered debris. 

“Which room?” His voice is low, heavy breaths desperate to keep him afloat as speed picks up from the beast that follows. 

@sneakysouls​ cont from [x]

Aerith blinked. It was the only viable reaction to what was tantamount to highway robbery. Did that line even work? Were people really so easily misled into parting with their hard earned Gil for something as flimsy as a piece of inked strewn paper? Even if she had 500 Gil to her name, you could rest assured it wouldn’t be going in his pocket. She could feed herself and Elmyra for over a week with that! The thought alone was enough to knot her stomach, colour fading ever so slightly from rosy cheeks at the realisation 500 of her floral companions would have to be plucked from their dirt strewn homes to meet such an unreasonable price.

“For 500, I’d be expecting a cut of your soul, sir.” Or maybe just a kidney. The rest of the world might not have been so frugal as the brunette, but her appreciation of value was sound enough. Maybe this was why she avoided Wallmarket, the trade here was too questionable, too unregulated and devoid of any kind of personal ethics. (Well, that and the fact the last time she was there, there seemed to be a very strong and highly misguided presumption that flowers weren’t the only thing she was peddling.) Crinkling her nose at the memory, disapproval lingered as she stared Patches down, yet idle curiosity forced her to remain.

“Does that hustle ever actually work?” Hand settling upon the slope of her hip, Aerith shifted her weight from foot to foot as she glanced over the seemingly endless pile of other useless merchandise. (She wouldn’t call it trash, she didn’t have the heart for it.) “I mean, I’d give you 50 for the effort, but — read your mark.  If I had 500 Gil going spare, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be lingering down here.”

“A cut of my soul it is then-” he jokes, laugh light on the lips before he backs away into his stall. Did it ever work? He got lucky with the odd idiot tourist. Usually pretty girls like herself fell for it, the ones that were real dressed up, the ones he’d later see on the Don’s arm. Well, you’d have to a bloody idiot to go out with that walking pile of dough. 

“Ahhh, I get lucky from time t’time but for the most part I like to make a good, honest living-” 

as honest as robbing the clothes off of a dead man’s back but shhh, he’d not talk about that! 

“and for 50gil, I think that’s as fair as anything!” He’s folding the map up for her now. Fifty gil it is whether she likes it or no! “And for you, I’m going to throw in a freebie! Now - I know what you’re thinking ‘Patches, I couldn’t accept somethin’ for free! Not from a poor vendor such as yourself!’ Don’t worry about me, beautiful - this one’s on the house. Consider it a piece of my soul-” 

and with that he’s handing her the folded map and a withered flower. He’d scooped it up from the floor earlier, alongside the map.

The other’s question prompts a small laugh. “I’m already dying.” If Genesis didn’t find the answer he sought, this still certainly wouldn’t be what ended his search. Though of course the bastard was taking from his purchased goods. He couldn’t particularly argue the matter though, as neither really were the ‘rightful owner’ no matter how money exchanged.

Genesis waited for the tarnished prick of his second dose as Lautrec removed the needle from himself. Iron and Mako he could smell so strongly it joined the flavor of the slums on his tongue. And then their lips met in a mutual search. A judgement lapse allowing the dealer to invade his person by another means. After lingering several moments too long for sobriety, the renegade pulled away from the deserters lips with a chuckle. His vision faded a moment once more as he was ministered to once more. “What is the gift from her that you seek?”

Their drug-addled minds are mutual, indulgence that dances in sync to the slow beat of their hearts. Lautrec watches Genesis curiously, his own navy-blue eyes searching for his goddess. He still has yet to find her. 

Disappointment pulls his gaze away, focus instead drawn to the flashing lights above - the flicker of Wall Market street signs and the plate above that. In his black-embroiled golden suit, Lautrec looks as if he’d belong up there but in truth, he’s no more than any other street rat. Just another straggler pumped full of mako and searching for reason. Which SOLDIER wasn’t that way?

Sometimes - when he’s stoned - it hits him. 

@mythologae​ Asked : "Why don't *you* go down first?" And with an arched eyebrow, aimed squarely at Patches. - madamdirectcr

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Always Accepting~

“Oh-hohoho-” 

he’s responding with a smile and a chuckle, belly held as he considers the prospect of going face first into the depths of the slums.

And to think, he’d seen this pretty broad and thought ‘hey, with a dress like that and jewellery like this, she’d be an easy kick for a few bucks.’ 

Of course, she had to be smart. She was a Shinra broad, wasn’t she? He can tell by the way she holds herself - Patches has a sixth sense for these things. So long as she aint a Turk, he isn’t bothered. 

“Well, I mean - I’m in no need of the delights that sit lonesome down in that there cavern-” when there’s nothing else to do, talk, talk their bloody ear off! “A lady like you though...I mean - I heard that there’s materia down there! Jus’thought you might be interested that’s all!” 

Bat your eyelids and position your head in just the right spot for the sun to catch it and boom! She’ll be charmed before you know it!

@stingslikeabee​ Asked : ‘ why are you bleeding? ’ (guess the muse :3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Always Accepting~

He stumbles into the Inn clutching at his side, suit stained with thick crimson; a dew that leaves droplets in his wake. Fingers strain atop the wound, teeth are clenched, if pain had any form - it’s the gaping hole in his side, a wound caused by stab after stab. Some junkie fuck of the Don’s gang that had decided to go feral for a fix. 

Lautrec had been callous, short-sighted. Truth be told, he’d been high. 

Lautrec falls in a slump beside his queen, blood falling from parted lips as he begs for forgiveness. He wont die - for her he’d never die, but he is bleeding heavily and not only does he ruin the décor of his surroundings but he also stains her pretty dress. 

“Goddess-” 

red splutters from his lips 

“my a-a-apologies-” 

it’s hard not to choke on the taste of metal that swirls up his throat and around his mouth