#stopmeteor

'  are  ya  ready  t'learn  how  to  fly  the  tiny  bronco?  '  he  thinks  that  someone  should  learn  besides  him  &.  who  he  thinks  should  take  over  is  slim.  cloud?  no  way.  tifa?  possibly!  red  xii?  he  doesn't  have  thumbs.  the  brat?  hell  no.  aerith?  she'll  do  just  fine.  '  yer  the  only  one  i  trust  with  my  baby  &.  it's  trust  i  don't  give  lightly.  '

“ look at this. this is beautiful! ”

cobalt gaze drops away at the brunette's words, his gaze falling to whatever caught @stopmeteor's attention. though aerith was a complex soul that often hid her worries behind a kind smile meant to invigorate others, some times, she was struck by the simplest of things. the apple of her eye this time was a stray cat sleeping in their garden, her kittens playing unbothered while haley stood watch. dick takes in the sight for a moment, a gentle smile blooming on his lips as he silently pulls his phone out to snap a few photos.

❝ this is beautiful, ❞ he agrees easily, though soon his gaze shifts to her; at the darling and soft twinkle in viridian hues, how the breeze blew through braided locks. ❝ but i can think of something even more beautiful. ❞

A  lost  girl  in  a  world  led  by  strangers,  now  trusted,  finds  herself  stuck  to  the  seat  of  this  lobby's  sofa,  the  windows  of  the  inn  they've  decided  to  inhabit  for  the  evening  growing  darker.  Dawn  passes  steadily,  and  anxiety  glues  her  to  this  half-comfortable  cushion,  unaccompanied  for  some  time,  lost  to  her  own  thoughts  and  musings…  That  is,  before  she  is  interrupted  by  that  same  welcoming  voice  that  always  seems  to  put  her  mind  at  ease.  Hesitantly,  she  glances  up,  smiling  just  enough  to  keep  up  appearances.  ❛   Oh,  Aerith..!   ❜   A  simultaneous  breath  of  relief  and  acknowledgement.

❛   Good  evening,  I  –  …  Sorry.  I  should  have  gone  to  the  room  earlier.   ❜

She  doubts  that  the  flower  girl  would  harbor  anger  over  the  fact,  but  she  can't  help  but  fear  that  there  are  untold  repercussions  to  her  actions.  That  her  social  ‘normalcy’  has  failed  her  once  again.  Or  that  she  has  done  something  entirely  wrong,  without  a  chance  to  be  aware  of  it.

Hands  wring  together,  and  she  looks  up  with  innocence,  masked  in  a  blameless  guilt.