#hcllion

‘You have 45 new emails.’

The glow of the screen illuminated his features as he rested the side of his face against his hand. The signal had been patchy all night, the clouds heavy with snow. Most of the time his connection faltered and when the bars were stable he noted another 10 emails adding to the ones he already missed. Gritting his teeth he glanced up from the device to the helicopters cockpit window. He couldn’t see anything but streaks of white-- the snow just kept falling.

The pilots weren’t his Turks; the only one with him was Rude whom was straight postured with those sunglasses still on despite the darkness in the cabin area. He was eyeing out one of the windows, his breathy sigh fogging up the window momentarily. There was tension and he could feel it. It sweltered in the air and caused his shoulders to tighten.

Send me a url and I’ll answer the following;;

Opinion on;

Character in general: Honestly, Yuffie was never my first option if someone asked me who my favorite was, but then again I never took the time to look into her backstory/ characterizations either.  I think was because a lot of people write Yuffie a little too childish and immature which is completely fine if that’s how you view her, but  this never swayed  my opinion of this small ninja. How they play them: Perfect! Like I said before I never thought much of this character , but the way you write her makes me absolutely adore her! Granted she’s a lil’ shit sometimes, but it’s the type you can’t help but love. You make her realistic and I always love reading any backstory or head canons that you write for her.  Your portrayal helped me see her in a new light as well as introduced me to a new favorite pairing. <3 The Mun: Well,  since I am clearly being bribed with candy here XD, , You seem like  a really nice and sweet person!  And as for your writing, it’s so unique and professional in my opinion! Your descriptions are beautiful and overall I just really love how you write. Also, let’s not forget you are a great at drawing too. I always love seeing your pictures on my dash.

Do I:

RP with them: NoWant to RP with them: Love to one day

What is my;

Oh man, I really have too many. 

I’ve always wanted to do AUs for the Wild West, Meiji Restoration, Edo period, Victorian era, and finally whatever era pirates were going on strong,

Mun Meme | @hcllion

RUUUUUUUU of course! As well as Erik.. but I already unearthed that to you. I don’t really remember any others too much that held much of an impact. I think at one point I did try to rp Frollo? My love for villains runs deep. The best part about Frollo was that he was HUMAN and was supposed to be righteous given his rank in society. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“These rides are getting tiresome.” The bored voice of Rufus filled the cabin area as he sat across from his father who was busy flirting with a cigar. It traveled to just under his nose, inhaling the scent of the heavily soaked tobacco. He took the cigar cutter and snipped the tip of it off, tossing it onto the floor.

The whole scene caused Rufus to roll his eyes. It was one thing to smoke that horrendous object near him but another to cast aside garbage on the floor as if they lived in a barn. Rufus was about cleanliness, he had always been that way, even as a child.

Before the war…

“Good afternoon, Godo. I get my time so off here but I’m sure you understand. I have a few things to go over with the preparation of attaining weapons from ShinRa Co. I’m sure you are prepared…” The tones of Winston trailed off and Rufus found himself shifting on the soles of his feet. In both of his hands was the handle of his leather briefcase; a gift from his father on the way over. It was a key point in the young child’s life for this was his first business trip overseas. While his father saw a conquest his son was anxious to be in an area of completely different culture. His mother had told him to be on good behavior and kissed his forehead before waving goodbye to him as he boarded the helicopter.

He was struggling with the weight of the briefcase, he eagerly placed most of his studies inside. Winston had said that during his time here he would have to focus on his textbooks, he would not have his son missing what the tutors would be busy teaching him. This was an extended learning experience and he should properly address it as such.

As the conversation between his father and Godo carried on, he was suddenly forgotten with the echoes of the palace halls. Finally out of the sight of his father he set down his briefcase and rubbed his hands from where the handle had cut into his palm. He dare not let the case fall to the ground during their exchange of words, he’d meet his punishment with the sounds of his father’s bellowing.

“That hurt..” he flexed his fingers so that they opened and closed, opened and closed. Then shifted his bangs back from the obstruction of his vision. This place was far more grand in scale than he thought would be. His father had made various trips here without him and finally when he was of age he was able to tag along. At first he protested, he never did like any expeditions with his father.

He didn’t like anything to do with him alone. When he was with his mother he felt at peace, but with his father… it was always a constant feeling of tightness in his shoulders. He didn’t quite understand it at such a young age. He stood on the hard polished floor with the internal struggle to venture off or stay put—he didn’t want his father’s backslash but a child’s curiosity was far more overpowering than a tongue lashing.

{--hcllion--}

{ ⚜ } – @49scribes

With a click and momentary lapse of static, a transmission came to life, a distorted baritone hurriedly requesting confirmation of something clearly vital over the line. The abrupt cut in the connection signaling the end of the inquiry, however, wasn’t met with the same urgency on the other end. No verbal response accompanied the quiet echo of footsteps over linoleum, and even a second prompting didn’t accomplish anything by way of provoking a reply, not until a cold thumb gently uplifted a droopy eyelid to compel the redhead on the hospital bed to groan and roll away from the contact, away from the glaring lights of the operating room, a reaction Kisaragi had been waiting for since about six hours prior.      

Full lips found the metallic edge of her radio transmitter, stretching into a feral grin.

❝I owe you a twenty. Over.❞

Admittedly, Yuffie bet as much on the boy she dragged out of Deepground’s catacombs, the same boy currently shying away from his surroundings, not making the night, but only because he was blue when she found him. Naturally, Reeve, ever the humanitarian and optimist, begged to differ with her assessment of the odds, and he steadfastly maintained that the green-eyed wonder would persevere. It turned out, the commissioner was right, but in this case, Kisaragi wasn’t loathe to concede defeat.

Even so, though clearly still breathing, the redhead wasn’t out of the woods just yet. The sluggish lilt to his movements coupled with the confusion of the attending surgeons over what exactly was causing his not quite coma didn’t exactly spell out a happy ending. On the other hand, the no gaping wounds thing and the slowly returning lucidity affair didn’t exactly equate to certain doom either, so it was probably a bit too early to go picking coffin colors.

Those would hopefully stay out of the near future, but as for right now, well, the ninja was quickly growing concerned over her ward’s reaction to the lamps overhead. He may have winced away from the harsh lighting initially, but the longer he was exposed to the fluorescence, the more violent his dislike for it seemed to become. The young man’s one visible eye, the other safely hidden under an impenetrable layer of cotton and gauze, remained so convulsively tight shut, Yuffie had to wonder in just how much pain the stranger was.

Fortunately, tracking the source of his discomfort was easy business, and the brunette was quickly led by her deductions to the light switch, which she flipped with little thought, plunging the room into inky darkness. Impulsive to the maximum, Kisaragi didn’t stop to consider how little she’d initially be able to see once the lamps shut off, but the thought weaseled its way into the girl’s consciousness once her eyes were rendered useless. It occurred to her then that the redhead would likely be better able to follow her movements than she his, at least for a time, at least while she adjusted, but the fact didn’t make the prospect of letting him continue suffering in the light any more appealing.

Yuffie left the far wall of the room, taking a few searching steps in the direction of her ward’s bed, calmed, somehow, by his shallow, panting breaths, much less alarming as compared to the jerky inhalations he was taking while the room was illuminated.

❝How we feelin’, Red? Better?❞

{--49scribes--}

                                     🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Waking is not usually an unpleasant affair for Lavi. If anything, the worst part of waking is normally deciding he hasn’t had enough and going back to sleep, which is barely worth even noticing really, except for the fact he rarely sleeps enough, at least on missions.

Then again, he seldom ever wakes up to glaring bright lights in his face, which definitely makes the act of sleeping both a bit more difficult and definitely unpleasant, squinting his eye shut as soon as its opened.

It hardly helps. The lights are just too damn bright, and he can still see them past his eyelids, and he squints his eyes shut so tight a small ache starts to form behind his temples, and he turns and tries to bury his face into something light-blocking in rebellion of the invasive glare.

Its an astounding relief to have those damn lights turn off. Apparently someone caught the hint, and he can only be grateful for that, breathing that he hadn’t quite realized had hitched starting to even out again.

He hears movement nearby, of shuffling and the light bump of feeling around things in the dark. He finally allowed an eye to flutter open, though there was little point to it with nothing to see by, barely able to tell if his eyes were truly open or closed.

One thing he did know, as he was addressed by a voice that he did not recognize at all, was that something was wrong.

Exactly how so, he couldn’t quite pin down. Not like a threat, per se. More just that his senses were… convoluted? Different? Off?

Things didn’t sound exactly like they were supposed to, the smell in the air had a certain sharpness to it that was foreign to him, and he had no idea what that taste was in his mouth but he didn’t like it, running his tongue against his teeth, which also gave off a strange sensation that wasn’t quite right.

And he felt weak. Deep fatigue in his limbs and mind that made it hard to move, but oddly lacking any signs of physical pain he would normally expect… like maybe if he’d lost a lot of blood. It certainly felt cold enough.

Habit of course has him fingering for his hammer at his thigh, finding nothing – literally nothing besides a thin sheet and bare flesh – and going still with a sense of dread. While he went most of his life without Innocence, he’s grown rather fond and dependent on his weapon, and feels wrong without it. More than that, he feels vulnerable, and not just for the fact of being naked, though that raises some questions of its own.

This better not be another fucked up dreamscape thing.

Had he been fighting Road? Or one of the other Noah? Was it an Akuma? No one at the Order called him “Red”, and it didn’t sound like a nurse, and the odd way in which he awoke set off little alarms in his head to be wary.

Even opening his jaw felt strange, and difficult, and the words came out as a hoarse rasp that he didn’t think even sounded like himself, catching himself off-guard.

❝  Whhoo’s t'ere? Wh're ’m I?  ❞

{--hcllion--}

The redhead’s raspy attempts at communication made it quickly apparent that the crash course on bedside manner that Kisaragi never quite finished was going to become a little too relevant for her liking. Near unable to show more delicacy than strictly necessary for the sake of decorum, the ninja sure as hell didn’t make for the best first face that Experiment D1LV7 would see upon waking. This was precisely why she pushed to wash her hands of the entire ordeal the moment she delivered her ward to Headquarters, but Reeve’s absence made it difficult for a department head, a title Yuffie wasn’t even aware she held until her identification card was printed all of two days ago, to sneak off à la English exit style.  

It crossed the brunette’s mind briefly to call for a doctor or nurse, surely more adequately trained to handle the situation without traumatizing the poor boy further, but the noise out in the hall kept her from following through.

Deepground’s base, or what remained of it under the rubble of the old Midgar, was a more expansive location than anyone anticipated. Along with the sensory deprivation tank in which Kisaragi discovered the redhead, prisoners were retrieved from the deeper reaches of the catacombs. Most of them were well on their way into their graves, but hope is an incessant thing, and if the medical staff hoped to save even a few of those unlucky bastards, then she would have to field this green-eyed curve ball on her own best she could.

❝You’re in the Hospital Wing of the WRO.❞

That seemed safe enough to say, right? Hardly anyone didn’t know about the World Regenesis Organization, though that was mostly due to the funds it threw at any and every charity that rose up in the wake of the Meteor Crisis. On the other hand, depending on how long ago the redhead was misappropriated for Deepground’s purposes, there was a good chance he wasn’t ever aware that the Meteor Crisis had happened.    

Stiffly clearing her throat, Yuffie dropped that line of thought, resuming her unsteady progress towards the young man’s bed.

❝And as for me, the name’s Kisaragi. Kisaragi, Yuffie. In case y’didn’t know, I’m the greatest ninja ever.❞

The boast left her lips easily enough, a simple way to lighten a heavy conversation, but the bang that followed it wasn’t quite as calculated. The brunette’s two-sizes-too-large boots caught on the edge of her ward’s bed in the dark, sending the girl careening forward into the uncomfortable seat by the headboard, elbows and forearms hitting the wooden chair hard enough to pulse.

That’s right. Eat your heart out.

Sluggishly, the young woman pulled herself up into a position somewhat recognizable as sitting, large hazel eyes unseeingly turning towards her companion’s silhouette. As much as she would have liked to say that the whole show was nothing short of a masterfully comedic performance, that definitely wasn’t the case. Then again, if her bruised elbows achieved the effect of reducing her next question’s gravity, Kisaragi wasn’t going to complain. Much.

❝D’you remember your name?❞

There wasn’t an ounce of emotion, good or bad, accompanying the inquiry. The few files that the brunette managed to retrieve with her ward did suggest a specific name, but experience dictated that not everything written in official logs could be trusted. Either way, something told Yuffie that this matter wasn’t going to wrap itself up as neatly as Reeve had hoped.

Gaze dipping until it met one green hue, the young woman leaned forward in hopes of discerning a reaction from within the pool of shadows wandering the redhead’s features, face set in an expression unusually serious behind a mess of heavy bangs and raven strands that fell against pale cheeks.

{--49scribes--}

                                   🐰 [[[♠] ⅩℒⅠⅩ [♥]]] 🐰

Its undeniable that his mind is quietly panicking, desperately hunting for clues as to Where, When, How, and most importantly Why. Finding answers fast is made a bit harder due to how sluggish he feels, body and mind not responding how he thinks it should, but he’s trying not to let any of that be too apparent.

Its not entirely unfamiliar, but its not a place he likes to be. He’s had missteps, and injuries, and knock-outs where he woke up somewhere he didn’t know, in the company of people whose intents weren’t immediately clear. The battlefield is a dangerous place. Things like getting thrown by an explosion and waking up with a concussion among the wrong side weren’t entirely unheard of. He had just been lucky that he’d woken up amongst soldiers who didn’t fancy murdering a wounded child.

His mind immediately skips to wondering about injury. Nothing especially hurts, like a broken limb or a gash, but fingers subtly trace for something he might be missing, considering the possibility of pain killers or some other numbing agent, but there’s not much to find. He still doesn’t discount the possibility of a head injury or something beneath the surface.

He doesn’t find much need to ask for an explanation of Where, at least. “Medical Wing” at least reinforces the idea of having been injured or knocked out at some point, somehow. Less helpful is “WRO”, the acronym that he figures it to be doing nothing in terms of summoning even a spark of recognition.

Far be it from the first time he ended up amongst a group he didn’t know, if he had to take a shot in the dark, probably some kind of militia group. There were enough cultures and wars going on in the world that every so often he did stumble upon people and causes he never knew existed, much as he likes to boast Bookmen specialize in knowing all of the secret happenings and history of the world.

All of it he listens with a mostly-clear head, letting the girl do most of the talking and sifting through the information, not trusting his shaky throat to speak until he has something important to add. What finally puts his guard up more fully is when the girl gives the name Kisaragi.

It doesn’t mean anything, personally, but its a name that sounds definitely Japanese, and if there’s one thing he knows of Japan without doubt, its that the Earl has a very, very strong presence, considering most of its population is overrun by Akuma.

That leads his mind to jump immediately into two most likely possibilities by simple process of elimination: either he’s in the hands of Akuma who don’t think he’ll know or be reasonably wary of, or he’s, quite possibly, among what little of the human population exists. That he isn’t yet dead makes a human presence more likely, but–

It hits him like a flash, that mission in the East with Bookman and Chaoji, fighting that Noah with the weird tongue full of eyes. Outside, he’d come out just fine, but inside, infected with that thing’s parasites, he’d felt like he was dying. His mind quickly tries to scramble to put the pieces together, to patchwork hazy recollections of being amongst the Noah and trusting Bookman to find some solution to their problem, as the old man always does.

It leads into another question that doesn’t help matters, that being Where IS Bookman?, and it doesn’t help his state of mind already trying to make sense of his current predicament.

Calm down, he bids himself. Breathe. Don’t panic, just breathe and think.

This could always be Road’s doing, but… there was something important that suggests otherwise. What was it? Think.

Road’s dream broke, and she vanished. Then Sheryl–

Right. Sheryl. The bastard that threw him against the wall and nearly did him in. Apparently that failed, but what came after that? Beyond that, its a haze, and trying to force his thoughts through like normal feels like running into a wall and forces him to leave it for now.

So the next matter of business is who he’s amongst. Akuma? Noah? Human?

If its human, and they aren’t with the Order, maybe, possibly, they could be what remains of Japan’s population. Most other places, humans go about their daily lives blissfully unaware of Akuma, until recently, but Japan is a hive of them. Surely the people would know, and maybe even try to form their own means of combating the Akuma that exist there. So maybe that’s what the WRO is, though what it stands for, he’s still not sure. If that be the case, there’s the possibility they might think he is an Akuma as well, which would make things tense for them.

The one hitch in this train of logic is that he’s not having to interpret or speak Japanese… which repeatedly keeps trying to trip him and derail any semblance of conclusion that at first glance appears like it might make sense.

Lost in spiraling thoughts, he barely notices the trip and bang of her falling, and only barely catches the question for a name, which leads into another process of thinking what he should say. He assumes, anyway, that this current Name must still be “Lavi”, but he hasn’t left the possibilities of present company being the enemy, and wonders if its a test. Maybe he isn’t meant to remember. Maybe they did something to him.

He considers saying “Lavi”, but he could always simplify it down to “Junior Bookman”. Maybe its best he use neither until he gets a clearer picture, just to be safe. He’d really rather not be thrown into another wall.

It would be great to have his weapon back too, but to ask for it would be to possibly give away that he remembers more than he’s letting on, at least at first. He can always feign it coming back to him later if he needs to.

Dismally, he shook his head much as he could manage, trying to find words to add. Maybe he can try testing them himself and see where that gets him.