#friskriga

|| Hi !! Hi!! Old Friends Dee here! So I know I had been gone cause of the reason of there’s a lot of muses that I want to rp and I still want to rp nora but I can’t keep this solo rp blog active so I will be archiving her here and putting her in my multi-muse account!

unscripted.

ah, so it was going to be one of those mornings. ren groaned, barely coherent in their dorm cot as magenta hue cracked open just enough to register nora’s presence.   ‘   you want pancakes, you don’t need them.   ’   forgive sarcastic drawl laced with tire. normally ren was up already by this time   (   not of their own volition, mind you   )   but this morning they’d actually managed a few hours of decent rest. if they forwent breakfast, then they could have traded it for more time. she’d seen ren cook them enough to make them herself   ?   hadn’t she   ?   oh, but then ren thought about how disastrous an idea it was to leave nora in the kitchen alone. another pitiful whine noise left them as they tugged the bedsheets over their head.   ‘   give me five more minutes.   ’

@friskriga

   Yet another successful, at least by standards of Materia, mission. Cloud watches with a deceitfully empty gaze as the manikin hits the ground and slowly becomes energy that’ll quench this land, attempt to bring back the glory that sleeps within its soil. He rests the fusion sword in its harness, strapped around his mid-section on his back. No matter how many he strikes down, no matter how much life he sees this place regain, it doesn’t sit right with him. To feed a cause that only promises him and those he champions conflict, to feed it over and over again. He wonders if he’s the only one who thinks this way. ‘Probably,’ he answers his own question, why should he act like he doesn’t know the answer to that one—always the odd one out, let it be by choice or natural selection. Some things don’t change. “How depressing.” He mumbles to himself, so little to say yet with mind alone he could sure chat up a storm. He can’t promise it’ll light up a room though. And it’s that over-thought and sense of false comfort that makes him oblivious to the presence of one of their newest allies to this cause. He becomes an incomplete piece of art within reality’s canvas when a feather sways downward right before his nose—it immediately becomes the center of his attention and before allowing it to hit the ground Cloud holds his hand out to allow it to fall right on the center of his palm.