#scarcrossed

Strong, resilient, enchanting, lovely.

Flowing from form to form, he dances through a mantra. Each slice through the air with his sword is punctuated with overlapping patterns of inhale, exhale. Sweat drips down his brow and his arms feel heavy with the glare of an unforgiving sun.

The scales have long since fallen from his eyes. His encounter with Sora nearly a year ago made it painfully obvious to him that finding Sephiroth did not equate to defeating Sephiroth. His darkness is still greater than himself. Strength is Cloud's solution; to accumulate it through constant struggle and self-learning. Even if curiosities and false starts lead him elsewhere in his quest, the Coliseum has become something of a second home for him. No other world draws in so many fighters, all with their own quirks and specialties. A continuous feed of opponents through whom he could improve his own abilities.

Trumpets blare in the distance and colorful banners unfurl over the high, travertine walls of the coliseum. The morning reveille, calling fighters to the day's first set of matches. Cloud would be amongst them later, one of many competitors in this venue of spectacles.

For now, training time is over.

With sore fingers, Cloud clips his sword against his back. Shouldering past other grumbling warriors and their aches and pains, he doesn't bother talking to anyone else. He has to tuck his nose behind the cloak curled around his neck in order to breathe in without gagging as people begin pressing in against him for lack of space. Sweat and sun-stale bodies.

An adjoining hallway at one end of the arena leads to a small lobby and a series of private residences used by longtime fighters. In his single-minded journey to make it as quickly as possible to his room for a quick shower and rest, one person glimpsed out of the corner of his eye gives him pause.

A lone man, clad in leather, leaning against the wall by the archway that precedes a hallway of closed doors. Familiar faces of his past flicker through his mind's eye, buildings and people melting into shadows, and a world now lost to them all.

A knock at the bathroom door distracted Cloud from the spiral of frustration he was headed down; the more frustrated he got at not being able to undo his gauntlet, the shakier his hands seemed to get, which in turn made him even more frustrated that he couldn't undo his gauntlet.

It was a vicious cycle he seemed to be trapped in, and while the knock stirred up a little anxiety at being caught in such a sorry state, he was grateful for the distraction.

It was true, he didn't want Squall to see him like this. So much had happened since they'd met in Midgar, Cloud felt like a completely different person. A shadow of his former self. But why did it matter if Squall saw him like this? He'd already seen right through him at the flower fields. Apparently, the SeeD could read Cloud like a book.

So there seemed no point in hiding anything.

As the door opened, Cloud offered his left arm with a sigh of defeat, clenching his hand into a fist in an attempt to stop it shaking. He couldn't even make eye contact. 

mun related. @scarcrossed  / accepting !

I do. They toe the line between crack ships and rarepairs. 

Ignis/Nyx when I was chatting with my friend @kingsglaivewulfrics yearrrrsss back. Before we even realized it was a thing. 

Ignis/Luna or Iglu (igloo) is one too, lol. Started with some silly plotting with @nooseofthorns.

"Hey! Where's Squall's room?"

     The Balamb student Rinoa had practically accosted looked more around her than at her. "Um... Leonhart? He's..." the uppity intruder hardly listened besides getting the information she needed before she practically skipped off in the specified direction. 

     The Garden was new and interesting, but Squall was more so. She'd never seen someone who simultaneously really didn't want to be involved but for the life of him couldn't get out of the way of important events.  She found the door unlocked, the portal opened before her and she didn't bother with a knock or anything to announce her presence before proceeding.

      Squall was laid out in bed, though the concept that he was really relaxing was ruined by the fact that he was completely dressed down to his boots. His room was sparse, a few magazines and the box from his Revolver gunblade leaning against the wall. Rinoa got close to the bed, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning closer to the object of her attentions. Warm eyes looked for any sign that the SEED was awake, but there wasn't even a twitch of his brow to betray his awareness. 

replied to your photoset

Somebody's feeling (´∀｀)♡ fabulous

This was too much.

What had started off as a way to spit in Shinra's face had turned into far more than Cloud had bargained for. Now Sephiroth was loose and naturally it fell on Cloud to take care of that problem, a problem that threatened the whole world. Not to mention the fact that a close friend was dead and he himself had nearly been the one to blame for it. 

The weight on his shoulders was oppressive.

He was the backbone of the party, he knew that. He was the one everyone relied on to steer them in the right direction. 'Where to now, Cloud?' 'What should we do, Cloud?' It felt nice, to be relied on like that. Like he was needed. But it was also partially because of that fact, that he kept his emotions more to himself than before.

His friends were leaning on him to be their support pillar, not aware that the pillar was crumbling.

With the weight of the world on his shoulders, it was a small wonder Cloud's back hadn't broken yet.

So when the thought occurred to him -- as irresponsible as it was -- he latched onto it. He didn't act on it right away, but held onto it for a while. Dangled the hope it provided in front of his own face like a carrot.

After having to talk himself down from the second almost-panic attack in a week and a half, Cloud knew it was time.

He needed a mental health day week month?

Cloud needed a vacation.

Surely the end of the world would wait for him.

He needed time. To figure out how to cope with Aerith's death, to learn how to shoulder the burden he'd have to carry. To set himself in order. He needed peace and quiet, somewhere out of the way. But most of all, Cloud needed somewhere where people didn't rely on him nearly as much as his friends did.

In the end, they all agreed to set him loose into the world, most of them understanding it would be for the best. Tifa made him promise to keep his phone on him at all times, just in case. In case he needed them, or they needed him. He agreed very reluctantly.

That was how Cloud Strife found himself in Winhill.

It was a small, quiet town by the sea, well away from any big cities. As an added bonus, there was the possibility of part time work; monsters roamed outside of town and would need to be dealt with. It was quiet, out of the way and he'd be making extra gil on the side.

It was perfect.

If Cloud didn't have so many responsibilities, he might have considered settling down there. For the time being though, his rented room was enough.

On his first day in Winhill, Cloud found the sudden lack of a clear objective to be...unpleasant. Maybe it was shock -- going from so much to do, to almost nothing to do in such a short span of time. So, he spent part of the day wandering around the edge of town, picking off monsters.

After collecting his reward for the day, Cloud caught sight of something on the other side of the street.

No, not something. Someone.

Familiar chestnut hair, and a glimpse of blue-grey eyes. He was older than he'd been the last time Cloud had seen him, but that didn't mean he was unrecognizable.

Squall Leonhart.

At the same time that something leaped in Cloud's chest, something else sank in his stomach.

There was a strong part of him that wanted to walk over, but an even stronger part of him hadn't forgotten how their last encounter had ended. It was that part that prompted Cloud to pocket the gil and start walking in the opposite direction. With any luck, he'd be out of sight before he was spotted.