#omnilimit

Commander of Balamb Garden...ironically, it was the day to day rough jobs and busy missions that kept Commander Leonhart focused at at peace, and it was the slow days full of average problems and SeeD and SeeD candidates invading his space that seemed to push him to the edge. But he pushed on, as he must--because who else would do it? Who else would run the Garden, and guide those within, and aid the people out there looking to them to take care of threats and concerns and struggles?

No one.

The fight, that was easy. The fighting was always as natural as breathing.

But the rest....why was it so....difficult? So unbearable...? Why did it feel so wrong?

It was the quiet hours that left Squall Leonhart to dwell on these thoughts and wonderings, so when he got a message in about a moderate to dangerous mission, he didn’t hesitate to take it. Leaving Quistis in charge while he was gone, he simply brought Zell along. At most, they would be assessing what was wrong to be sure what was truly wrong and what sort of effort was needed to take care of it.

Taking bikes they had available in Balamb Garden, he and Zell made it to the location within the next few hours, and it was clear....the issue was more than he’d thought. He simply expected negotiations, perhaps recovery or a battle, given the vague concerns in the message. But what they were met with was a small city with a great, grand storm looming off in the distance, certainly emitting strange purple and green light.

His first, thrilling yet panicked thought was that the energy seemed like only something a Sorceress could summon. That would spell so much chaos for so many, so he would have to keep his eyes open, and hope it was something else. He started by working with the mayor and the authorities of the small city, advising an evacuation while he and Zell went to assess the energy looming closer and closer.

“Call Quistis--we’ll need a few SeeD this way, depending on what this storm turns out to really be. I need you to hold here.” Squall commanded of Zell, as he climbed on his bike and started revving it.

“W-wait, what? What’re you doin?!” Zell questioned, hurrying to his side.

“I need to get closer--you know this is out of the norm, and there’s too strong a possibility that this could be a new Sorceress, or worse....very few people or beings have power like this, and one of us has to get in closer to figure this out. I trust you to hold the line here, Zell.” he remarks, tone firm and sure, despite Zell looking worried and panicked, and certainly like he didn’t want to stay behind.

“But...I mean, you sure?” Zell asked, and Squall just nodded.

“I won’t be completely alone--Griever is with me...” he assured Zell, who knew mostly well but tended to forget that Squall was still linked with his last, final, and greatest Guardian Force. With that, he revved one last time, and took off. Straight into the storm, heart pounding, pulse racing.

There was fear, there was concern, there was dread, for he was no fool nor was he drunk on the thrills of chaos and battle that he craved it. But he had not felt more focused and sure of himself than he did, in this moment, racing forward to face trouble, to save innocents.

But as he drew nearer and nearer, getting closer towards it’s pull of air, he felt....heavy....sickly...dizzy. He tried to start slowing down, riding in the storms cycling direction as he feared a tornado was on its way, and he was looking, looking, looking for some sort of sign of an enemy or source or...something....but there was nothing...

Nothing...until he felt as if the very wind, or something other, gripped him and his vehicle, and suddenly he was being dragged to the middle of the storm, unable to drive away no matter how he tried, and the panic set in heavier. Certainly, he couldn’t meet his end from some....unusual storm...? Zell would hold the line, the others would help, they would take care of this... Squall himself could face this. He’d faced worse, right?

Suddenly, he felt dizzier, weary, and he grunted and groaned, gripping tight to the handles of his motorbike. The instinct to call forth Griever, in hopes he could help, perhaps even locate the enemy, but before he could manage to give the proper summon, despite feeling Griever struggling under the surface, he felt himself drifting, loosing control....loosing consciousness.

And as the dark consumed him....he saw wastelands...he saw himself, wandering, drifting....he saw....silver. Panic rising, the silver was marching ahead of him, with some flowing cloak or cape at the figures back....he could hear the storm, the tornado, and he new, the silver one was a part of it...somehow...

And then darkness.

Before finally, with a great loud caw over head, he woke with a start. Gasping, then coughing, then groaning, he sat up and looked around, noticing his bike a short distance away from where he’d landed in a heap. He could feel the bruises to come already present on his body from it’s landing. What he didn’t see, however....was the city. No towers, no homes, not even rubble or remains of any destruction. It didn’t even look as if the mountains that had been surrounding half the city were anywhere nearby anymore, either....it was just, vast wasteland for who knows how many miles.

“What....the hell?” he groaned, rubbing at his head as he looked further around at his surroundings. How far had that storm taken him...? He noted the road, dirt road, but no landmarks for miles, it seemed. He searched his pockets for his phone then....and came up with nothing. “Damn it...” he got up, and dragged himself over to his bike, checking it’s state and finding it rather beat up. Another sigh and shake of his head. Well, he was certainly rather screwed, and already second guessing his choices.

Zack spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground and glowered up at the man standing over him.

It had been a week since he'd been captured by Wutaian forces.  He had assumed he was a dead man, but instead, they'd kept him alive for interrogation.  And it had been a very unfortunate week as a result. But he had been trained to withstand torture, and nothing these people could do to him would break him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he scowled.

The man spat in anger and turned away, speaking something in harsh sounding Wutaian.  Zack couldn't understand him; he only had a rudimentary understanding of the language.  He wished he had spent more time learning the language, but that didn't help him now.

The market was bustling as the feline sat, people-watching while he rested. Even short trips were yet tiring for him and combined with the added need to be light on his feet when he often found himself nearly brushing shoulders with people on his blind side. It was exhausting and a seat in the sun was just what the doctor ordered. Or would have been if he’d seen a doctor of late.

As it was, he just sat, watching people go by while he caught his breath and tried not to feel as useless as he was right then.

A deep sigh whooshed from him as he closed his eyes to bask for just a moment, feeling the sun’s warmth bathe and comfort him. Sitting down soothed some of his aches and for a time he just existed, ears twitching as he listened then, to the calling of the stall owners, the chatter of those coming and going around him.

Send me a URL [ACCEPTING]

Kunsel's skin rejects standard tattoo pigments. He was never in a position to receive a tattoo from Science... at least insofar as he knows.

He is not certain if this is a matter of an allergy exacerbated by the mako infusions for SOLDIER, or if it's a reflection of SOLDIER's augmented healing capability expelling foreign substances. He was too young at the time of his promotion from the infantry to even consider that sort of investment in art, much less in changing aspects about himself.

It was an unpleasant surprise the one time he tried. It was just a small memorial piece, and the ink started boiling out of his flesh before it was even finished.

Still, he took a different approach to body modification for the sake of personal expression. The studs in his earlobes were there since he was small, something his parents had done for him in all likelihood. They were torn out in a hazing incident in his teens. Years later he had them re-pierced.

The question surprised him a little bit and fuzzy ears lowered a little as he suddenly doubted whether he'd perhaps made a mistake. That wasn't gratitude after all.

Shrinking back a little to give the blond some space once more, the scavenger shrugged, tail giving a nervous little lash behind him.

“It was the right thing to do,” he replied. “I couldn’t just leave you to fight them on your own and we got the chocobo back, right?”

He held out the lead towards the blond even as the chocobo on the end of it continued trying to groom his hair.

Kiss my muse to shut them up

"I wasn't always a member of Avalanche. In fact, I used to be a teacher. Every day I'd wake up and look forward to those bright young eyes, faces brimming with excitement to hear more about the history of our planet," he chuckles getting a fond and faraway look in his eye.

"I loved my job. But I couldn't help thinking... Could I be doing more, y'know? I try to safeguard a brighter future for these kids, but what good is that if I've got my nose stuck in books all day? So, I joined up with Barret and the others."

Biggs absentmindedly fiddles with the loose part of his bandana, recalling the day when Jessie decided that they all needed to have matching accessories. She had claimed it was so they knew who were 'friendlies', but it had been a childish vanity thing, he knew. It felt exciting, different... Like they were really sticking their boot up Shinra's ass.

"After that first run at the reactor, when we saw the state of Sector Eight, I started to have doubts if this was really what I wanted. I tried to tell myself anything to assuage the guilt, that sacrifices needed to be made and that anyone working for Shinra is complicit, but we both know that's not true. I know those kids, some of their parents are secretaries or factory employees and they live as Grounders along with the rest of us."

The elder man sighs, shoulders drooping as he massages the dull, throbbing pain at his temples. He was overthinking it again, like a dog chasing after his own tail- Just spinning uselessly in circles without knowing it.

"The more fresh faces I see going to the Leaf House, I can't help thinking that I might have contributed somehow. What if one of the Pub Sec grunts had family in the slums, or the bomb-"

Dark eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when Cloud makes an annoyed noise and yanks him forward by the ratty collar of his shirt, pressing his lips to Biggs' slightly parted ones. It's lightning quick, blink and you'll miss it, Strife staring up at him for a second before the blonde looks incredibly self conscious and averts his eyes.

"Wow," he breathes, blinking as a warm smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"I have anxiety about a ton of things, you know. If you think I need a little more reassurance, then by all means..." he teases, reaching out to gently push a few strands of light golden hair away from Cloud's eyes.