Play With Me

Again. He swore they were gone after Cloud dispatched Sephiroth the last time. But as he stood there, the largest of the three brothers posed a question that set him on edge. Even if he wasn’t going to show it yet. What was he here for? How had he come back and lastly, where are the other two?

“Do I need to?” He asked back, lowering his eyes to the weapon that wasn’t ready to be used. Yet. Remaining neutral, for the moment he allowed his hands to hang idle and unthreatening at his sides. If Loz was to change the game, he would still be ready. 

“Only if you want to play. Otherwise---I’d rather not take shots at each other. Besides; we’re not after Mother right now. Or ‘Big Brother’.” He makes a face at the nickname that he and the other Remnants had given to Cloud, remembering how clearly the ex-soldier had rejected any connection to them.

If there was a carnival, and it had a fair amount of rides, you can be sure that he would try every single one at least once. Things like the octopus, or the ‘pirate’ ship, that rock you back and forth, or slightly spin you while you go up and down in circles wouldn’t really be his thing, since they'd be too slow for him.

The Zipper; a tall tower that drops you unexpectedly, and quickly, would be interesting, but would only keep his attention for a short period of time. 

Now, the gravathon? 

Something that would flatten him and would require effort to actually sit up? That would amuse him, if only because he would succeed at doing so, and would watch other Humans hurt themselves trying to do the same thing.

A ride he would enjoy would be those spinning apples; though he might accidentally break it by spinning faster than its built to handle, since he’d want to find out if there was a level of motion that would actually make him sick.

If there was a ride he would REALLY enjoy, it would probably be the swings. Where you’re mostly at the mercy of gravity and a tiny piece of bungee cord, spinning around, up and down, at times, since it’d feel like ‘flying’.

If flying were a man-made contraption, anyways.

The games would only frustrate him if they required a gentle touch, so you’d probably find him doing a shooting game, winning giant teddies that he’d insist he was going to give to the unfortunate kids in the city. Most would doubt him, (and he does keep one, here and there), but that’s a sincere statement.

Oh Gaia, he can already feel the sneezes coming on. 

            he is just going to quietly people watch from the safety of a corner.

If you lost my muse in a crowd, what “offensive” thing could you yell that'd be GUARANTEED to track them down?

“MOTHER?”

Look. Loz may harbor resentment for Jenova and Sephiroth. He talks a big game with his brothers, saying that he’d be strong enough to resist them. But there’s still part of him that wants her approval, to be good enough.

He resents her, but he still loves her enough that a mention of her, or a poorly-made insult will make words tumble out before his mind catches up and rationalizes the situation with him. Why would this man yell such a thing?

“You playing games with me!?”

“I wouldn’t know~” Is it arrogance, or confidence in his own abilities?

He does take flight. Let it be a game, and he does not really want to engage in a fight, a play fight or otherwise.

“Cheater.”

Unable to reach the same altitude, he settles for ripping bits of the environment up from the ground, throwing them bodily after Sephiroth.

“You’re arrogant. That will do you no favors.”

One thing Sephiroth has that Loz does not: flight.

“Hmph. Wonder where I get that from?” Sephiroth may have flight, but- 

“Hn....Kadaj is missing.” Loz paces by the house they lived in, a frown on his face as he turns his head this way and that, trying to ‘sense’ the remnant.

Those who know him think he lives to fight - and that would be  true - to an extent.  But he never feels quite as alive as when he’s pushing speeds that no human could survive a crash with a stationary object with. One wrong turn, a hole in the road, an animal in his path at the wrong time, and that’d be it.

His bike would flip and he would undoubtedly skid for a good distance, likely ruining his clothing and feeling like overly-tenderized steak afterwards.

What a risk. What a thrill.

Loz grins wider, opening the throttle, so his Motorcycle would accelerate.

“One you won’t win.”

The ex-SOLDIER plays rough; just ask Genesis. His wing stretches wide, a flex.

“We’ll see about that.”

“You won’t succeed again.”

As if being suplexed into the floor would keep Sephiroth down. He rises, dusts himself off, and shakes off any lingering soreness with a roll of his shoulders. He may have left his prime years ago, but he is still very powerful.

“Is that a challenge?”

It’s been a while since he saw the Turk out and about. Between saving a kid, and the others demanding job, their chances to mingle and socialize were few and in-between; which suited Loz fine. He still had his doubts about whether or not he could trust Reno as far as he could throw him, and hadn’t had opportunity to really discuss things that had happened with his brothers.

Today, however, he catches sight of that familiar messy red hair in the crowd, headed down a side-street towards a local bar that didn’t care who came in so long as they paid for their drinks. It takes him a few minutes to locate him in the poorly-lit establishment, some rock song blaring through a shitty set of speakers as the Remnant slid onto an adjacent stool at the bar.

Green eyes take in the other mans worn expression. The Turk must have come off a long shift; maybe this was just a quick stop before he headed off to wherever he lived to get some proper shuteye for the night.

“Hey. Gimme one o’ what he’s having,” he says to the bartender, who goes off to get something together, as he spins on the stool, facing the crowd of smoking and badly-dancing drunkards, elbows propped on the counter top.