#invitedeath

Pulling both Sephiroth and Sif out from the MIstwood for whatever new event was going on was already an effort in itself, but it was definitely worth it to check everything out. While the odd-trio had since gone their separate ways - particularly since such an event would be going on for a week or so - after Zack had dragged them (to the best of his ability with Sif) to see the museum, night fell and he knew exactly what event he’d be dragging Sephiroth too. They were dating, he was pretty sure, although there was no way for him to...Know exactly where they were socially standing he was preeeetty sure about that, and he wasn’t really one to have anything clearcut anyway. Neither of them were.

So he straightened out the tie he had actually bothered to wear, and stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting, shifting around on the balls of his feet like an eager puppy. Car rented (since he couldn’t really ride a bike in a tuxedo) and sitting out front, he batted the railing with his hands, gaze fixed eagerly upstairs.

Although he knew he didn’t really have to call out, since Sephiroth could probably sense his busy mind just bouncing around downstairs, he still did so anyway. Because this brain radio wasn’t a two-way street, so he had no idea if it was acknowledged,

“You ready yet? I’m way too excited to stand around like this!” He probably should’ve gotten dressed later, but he had basically run home, showered, and jumped into his suit.

“I know you and I have...” he pauses, shifts one leg over the other and tilts his head, considering the next words carefully. The cool morning air on his cheeks bites him pleasantly, and though he does not enjoy seeing the sunrise as much as he might enjoy seeing the sunset, he has to admit this is nice enough.

“... we have reputations in our respective worlds,” is perhaps the most delicate way he can put it. Some might call them villains, and with Ardyn’s aptitude for the chaotic that might not be entirely incorrect. He smiles, motions forwards to the ice and the holes drilled into them. “I feel as though we still deserve a little chance to relax, don’t you?”

He takes one of the fishing rods and hands it to Sephiroth, eyes alight with mischief. There’s a fair few people here that are hoping to catch a nice, easy to cook fish, though Ardyn’s hope lay with the more nefarious.

            Besides, this entire place stinks, with or without the rain. It was only a matter of it being from sweat or the stench of death.

            Another undead, unceremoniously cleaved in half. The motions were automatic at this point, akin to some twisted meditation, with the number she has felled at this point. It was why the arrival of someone else was a welcome invigoration to her senses, a small reminder that she was not the only living being on this isle.

            Dragon red meets cat-eyed green, a gaze held in silent judgment. This was a soldier: she could tell from his stride and the stance he held himself in. It won’t be the first she would find a potential ally in the midst nor would it be the last - so what was about him that sets her on edge?

            “Here for sport, or for answers?” Lycelle tilted her head. While it was knowledge that drove her, she could not deny that she enjoyed the adrenaline that ran through her veins.

It’s sorrowful, painful, aching. It’s obvious what the cause is, from the strangeness in the sky to the pillar of purple light that had followed shortly after. It was pain, and it was haunting. 

Stay inside, said his instincts. Go inside, go away from this, be safe and be away and just look after yourself, don’t go fight against these impossibilities...

but it’s not something he can abide to.

He doesn’t want to fight. He knows he can’t, not with all of this hurt. Someone is hurting, and it’s not him- he wonders which impossibility is causing this sadness, and he doesn’t know. But he supposes that it doesn’t really matter... because in the end, someone is hurting, and he wants to help.

But what can he really do? Moving towards the pillar only makes it worse. It only makes things hurt more inside, and he knows in his heart that it won’t fix anything if he gets any closer. And he can’t solve what’s happening to the sky, not here. He gets the distinct feeling that it’s not his problem to solve, anyways... in this city, there were many who could fix things. He wasn’t alone anymore, not like before.

There would be someone who would know what to do to stop this hurt, he had faith. Because in this place... there was always someone who would be able to help. It wasn’t always him, but that was alright.

But still... he wanted to try.

He climbed to a high point of the city, sitting cross-legged as he pulled out the Ocarina of Time. The instrument was light, and pretty as ever... one would never suspect just what sort of thing the little instrument was. The power that it held.

As he raised the ocarina to his lips, he didn’t need to think to start playing the song. The song of healing was familiar, too familiar- sorrowful tones echoed far across the city, perhaps farther than they should’ve from such a tiny instrument, played only by a small boy.

It wasn’t much, it was never much, but it was a prayer.

Please, oh please, give rest. Give peace.

Please, I beg, ease the sorrow. Ease the heartache. If only a little.

Please... 

The ocarina held no strong magic, not now. After a few short minutes passed, whatever potential for true healing was gone. But he would not stop playing, not until he became too tired to continue on. Because even if it was only music, even if it was only a handful of sorrowful notes, it was all he could think to do to help.

Since coming to this city, Angeal has had to face a lot of truths. He’s become limited, both in his abilities and in his arsenal, which made him face how good a SOLDIER he was without that which he’d come to rely on. He misses his sword. He doesn’t miss his ability to share his genetic information with others.

He sometimes, late at night, wishes that this place hadn’t given him back his wings.

He’s decided that he’s not going to fight when he doesn’t have to. He’s a protector of the people, Shinra’s weapon, but with neither of those factors at play he finds himself seeking peace above all else. He wonders, too, if he deserves it.

( do monsters deserve peace, 

              do they deserve anything, by

                              nature of being monsters? )

One of the last things he’d ever told Zack was that even if his wings were likened to angel’s wings, he should know that angels all dream of being human. Angeal is one step closer to that here -- it’s a blessing, being weakened. It makes him feel more whole, rather than less.

With his musings he doesn’t know how he’s found himself in the mistwood. His feet just carried him there, it seems, though he can sense the ominous vibes emanating from all around him. He’s not afraid, which is what lets him keep walking.

Happy Holidays (And New Year?) @invitedeath! I was your secret santa for the @isolasecretsanta event!

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