#ofhonoris

@ofhonoris:

The ringing snapped Angeal out of his thoughts as he just been reunited with a friend he thought long dead. The black haired male took the device and looked as he would answer but elected instead to turn off the ringer and set it down. It would be a call he would deal with later or not at all. Right now he stared at the silver haired male.

It seemed they both had memory problems but unlike the other; Angeal did remember much of Sephiroth and knew him as a close friend.  “I suppose a lot has happened.” he told as he set the phone down upon the table. “If it means anything. I’m happy to see you again. I have my own memory issues as most of my more recent ones are missing.”

There was no soft smile, no easy confidence; but there was a bare look of hope, and a much more subtle expression of uncertain victory.  Sephiroth had felt that he’d recognized the man, that there was no mistaking him... but the details were still missing.  “So I knew you.”  He started quietly, taking in the sight of the other man.

p l o t t e d - s t a r t e r

-

‘My friend, the fates are cruel.’ 

Indeed, they were. To have exchanged so much for belief, to have been granted the promised touch of divinity and of deliverance, Genesis Rhapsodos had thoroughly tasted of the agonies and war-torn ravages left behind in his own wake. Beyond ShinRa, beyond the loss, beyond the chaos, war and destruction he had bought down upon them all in righteous fury for such betrayals, he had been lost. But it was all nothing compared to what he had lost.

Thus, stolen and sealed away, silent and sleeping until the day that outlived the planet’s tribulations came, he stayed; not dead, but barely wanting of a life that had broken into shards. To sleep had been a gift in itself, but then - not so much when dreams became his newest intruder - his newest betrayal. ShinRa. Banora. Sephiroth. War. Hollander. Zack Fair. Angeal - ever and always Angeal. 

Awake, at least things were clearer than the tangled web of dreamscapes that had made home in his mind, but then... he was still lost. Without direction, even wielding the gifts granted by the Goddess, not yet a victor of the world, not yet a h e r o, but ever a rogue of the planet. A planet that now, cured of his degradation, were he to listen to the Lifestream of, Genesis could feel and hear of it. Barely - imperfectly blessed as he was - but it was getting clearer. 

Therefore, the shift in the endless ripples of it garnered his attention --as did the familiarity of one such soul that should (if there was any justice in life at all) have slipped away long ago to be one with peace. But no-- there was no peace, was there? Not truly. But for the first time in what felt like an age - Genesis’s heart stirred - as did the wing he unfurled at his back, stretching out low to beat once, sending him up, up and to-

“Banora--?”

Fitting, if not questionable. Perhaps not so much when upon arrival, the first place Genesis went - ravaged by fires or not - was the one place in all of the world that held the most significance. Whether by some blessing or mere coincidence, the dumb-apple tree beneath which they had first encountered one another as children had not been completely destroyed. It may have been a sad, ruined monument of what had once stood, but it was a memory nonetheless. One shadowed by the man that stood upon it’s blackened soil--

“?” Truth be told, Cloud never really had any kind of role model in his life. There were no father figures there to speak of, and while Zack was kind of a role model, the blond also kind of admired him for other reasons, too.

"...Is that so?" Cloud looked up to the older male. Confusion was fairly clear on his features, as he wasn't sure how to accept the advice.

@ofhonoris

       “Sounds like ‘angel’. I like it! My name is Prompto.” he nodded as he picked up the camera from the lace around his neck to display it.

@ofhonoris

“So I learned a trick to winning over a woman–” Zack said as he diced the last of the bell peppers.  He kept his fingers inside a fist while he worked with the knife.  The last thing he wanted to do was bleed all over their food.  

“If you cook something pretty, she’ll fall in love with you.”  On a baking sheet, Zack spread out the peppers and onions with cubes of chicken. Then he took the sweet brown sauce and evenly coated the whole mix, occasionally poking it with a wooden spoon as he went.  “Actually I think anyone falls for a person who can cook well enough.”

The sheet went into the oven for ten minutes.  While he waited, he spooned out some rice from a pot on the stove.  He drank a beer, they talked about small things, and he waited.  Zack nearly burned himself when he went to go remove the baking sheet again.  He quickly threw pineapple into the mix:  I know it’s weird but trust me!  Back into the oven it went.

Zack was the type of man to know the importance of spices and how indispensable cilantro happened to be in glum situations.  When he finished, he’d spooned the colorful mix onto some of the rice in a bowl.  He offered it to the other.

“Try it.  If you hate it, I’ll just make some more chicken plain.”