abraxaslogs | deep inside your ocean, searching for the air to breathe;

[The second he had entered the space known as the Horizon, he'd felt himself slipping away. What had remained of him had tried to turn back. He'd found his body shifting, a blur of vision that suggested perhaps he had turned around- but the way out (if there even was a way out) had simply ceased to be.

By the time he'd even realized, it seemed like nothing. What did he want to turn back for, anyway? Was he afraid? Skeptical? ...Why should he be either?

So the hanged man walks.
He hardly notices, but the worn, sand-encrusted uniform he entered wearing has shifted and changed into something new. He's now wearing a set of calf-height boots, denim shorts long enough to cover his knees and a white shirt, with a distinctive symbol at the shoulder. Is the attire something indicating a nature that's still somewhat childish? Possibly.

As he walks and walks throughout the blank space, he eventually begins to realize he is not alone. He senses someone, somewhere, close- yet not. So...]

Don't come any closer.

[Defensive, aren't we?]

Edited 2022-01-15 18:27 (UTC)

( the first feeling, here, in this strange place: is a feeling of being very comfortably small.

she doesn't know where this notion comes from, just as she doesn't quite know where this place comes from, either. the memories of coming here, if there even are such memories, have disappeared, fluttered off into the sky like some well-meaning butterfly, and instead she is left with the peculiar feeling of knowing about some other world, far away, and yet not knowing what her place is in that world, or not knowing if she should try to return. there's no real need to, she thinks, because there's no sense of far or foreboding in her body--instead, there is the comforting blanket of peace, she thinks, or near enough to it. out around her, stretched out far enough that it looks like it can't be seen, is a lot of nothing, but even that isn't scary. some part of her thinks she can even change it, if she wants to.

so she crouches down, curious, eager to test the theory: the place where her fingers touch, a soft brush of them, paints a sudden burst of green grass across the ground, pooling out from beneath her bare feet; it looks alive, trembling as if caught in some sort of gentle breeze, and more than that, then, is possible? her hands map out in the air, delighted, and she doesn't know why the small splotch of a field around her fills with only yellow flowers, yearning upward towards a sky that isn't there, except that they make her happy--and in some distant part of her, make her chest ache for one short moment, there and gone again. crouched as she is, in a short, pale-pink dress, her knees pressed to her chest, the symbol that appears carefully sewn into the front of the garment is hidden; she's almost grateful for it, when she hears footsteps approach.

she doesn't know this person--doesn't know his aggression, doesn't know his eyes, when they stare at her, doesn't know anything except the sigil for the hanged man that catches her gaze first, staring at it with a soft, parted mouth. an outsider, she thinks, but doesn't think of it poorly: instead, it almost encourages her more, to smile up at him and push herself up onto her feet, standing amidst the small little garden she's created. )

You're the one that's been coming closer. ( she notes this cheekily, almost matter-of-fact; her hands link at her back, underneath the long length of her hair as it hangs loose, pinned up just slightly by a pink ribbon. ) Do you want to sit? Have some tea? I think I could do that.

( after all, it feels like anything is possible: anything, including tempting a stranger to come sit in the grass with her. )

[He doesn't get it- how this person appears so familiar and so not- how she possesses features that tug at his memory- vibrant green eyes, brown hair that borders on dark blonde, and such soft features- but he doesn't associate them with someone who he has such a clear mental picture of, even now.

It fits. Everything fits; but where he should see clearly- should associate each of these features with Aerith, instead he sees something different. A woman that (in ways he can't even begin to describe) reminds him of the moon- gentle, soft, and delicately beautiful.

He knows he shouldn't be around her.
He knows, somehow, that his presence lessens her.
But...]

I guess.

[What does it make him, that he can't help himself?]

...Just don't try anything.

Edited 2022-02-11 23:45 (UTC)

( there's a part of her that knows, inherently knows, that nothing is going to happen if she gets too close to him--there's a part of her that thinks that it's safe, bizarrely, to close the last few steps between them, to let her feet walk her forward through grass that seems to sprout up where she moves. with both hands, she reaches out to him, takes one of his arms and follows the length of it down to his wrist; this is familiar, she thinks, but doesn't know why.

is this considered trying something? maybe he'll bat her off, or maybe he'll turn around and walk away, a prospect that makes her heart sink, some strange, masked loneliness settling in the pit of it. so, to his wrist, she gives a gentle, leading tug--just once, encouraging, before she steps back from him, smooths her hands down the back of her dress and sinks down, pointed, to show him it's safe to sit in the grass. )

You don't know what kind you like, do you? ( there's a soft, bashful sort of laugh, her nose wrinkling. ) Neither do I. That's okay.

( she tilts her head up at him, waiting for him to join her. )

Something...that isn't sweet, I think that suits you. What do you think suits me?

Hey-

[This! Is! Something!! That she is trying! Right now!

And whereas his actual self (...Actual self? Is this not his actual self, underneath identity, past, present, future, likes, dislikes, perception?) would know that it's not worth struggling, that this figure's actual self would do as she pleased and he'd be best just weathering it, would not struggle, he does.

...A little.
He doesn't put in half as much effort as he should. He doesn't say anything awful. Nor does he wrench his arm away, or create distance, or anything that could hurt her. ...He doesn't want to. And likewise, what she's doing...

Why does it feel so familiar?]

Huh?

[At both the point, as well as the question.
...Then he gets it. He sits. ...And he's silent- toying (perhaps childishly) with a few blades of grass.]

I don't know you. How'm I supposed to-

[He raises his head to look at her. And-]

...I think you're into spices. Or something that's fancy. Like- one of those kinds that tastes like shit- but has a flower in it.

[Why did he say that?!
...He shrugs, dropping his head and concentrating on... touching grass.]

I guess. Like I said, it's not like I know you.

( the description itself is funny enough, in a way, and she thinks that if anyone said it, she might chuckle a little--after all, there's some strange, distant feeling, maybe a memory, of seeing precisely the sort of tea that he's talking about, the ones that are beautiful in the cup but taste horrible once they're at a person's lips. but then, where has she seen such a thing before? distantly, again, there's a place in mind: a street, a vague street, with lots of windows, a shop that she's looked longingly into--but then, why couldn't she just enter it?

it's not like she knows this person, and yet there's just this urge: this strange, uncanny urge to laugh out loud at his description; more than just a chuckle, more than just a polite smile. it's just one of those things about him that she likes, but then, how can she like anything about this person when she doesn't know who he is?

pointedly, she reaches for one of his hands again, the one that's toying almost stubbornly with the blades of grass at his side; she's seated with her knees folded neatly to her side. )

The question is, do you eat the flower? Is it decorative? Who knows.

( gentle, she turns his hand, cradles it so that it sits palm up--there's a teacup in his hand now, pale and lacquered, sitting neatly atop a beautiful round saucer that had surely only appeared in the smallest little blink of her lashes. and yes, inside the cup is one of those fancy teas from that place she can't remember; it's a warm brown color, but the flower floating in the water is pale yellow. )

Dare you to try it.

[Three days in, and this still sucked. The days were as hot as hell, and the nights entirely freezing. But his little unit had been given orders- to pick up supplies, provisions, get the hell out of the capital and to some city- Fomalhaut, apparently, in the assend of nowhere and guard it. So they were going.

...And it was a long way. They'd made a little camp some ways out from Cadens, and their task had finally been elaborated on. They were to guard this other city- make sure no-one came in, and no-one came out. Why was a question that wasn't far from his mind. It was just a city, surely. Unless something was being kept there? He wanted to ask further, to press further. But he doesn't.

He's a grunt. Being at the bottom of the pile meant he wasn't paid to ask.
So. On one long, bitterly cold night, he's keeping watch. And in the distance- perhaps a mile, a mile and a half(?) westwards, he sees a single, small fire. Campfire, most likely. And this far out, it's likely someone looking to get into the city.

So.
One sigh later, and he's making his way across the dunes. And as he approaches, with sand in his boots and sullenness in his heart:]

Everything alright? M'from a unit nearby and I thought I'd check in and make sure you're good.

[He hates this. It's plain in his voice. But as he looks at the man close to the fire...]

...Not big on staying in the city, huh.

[Since he's not familiar, whatsoever, with Geralt's hunting proclivities, he's got to wonder. What's he even doing here?]

Edited 2022-01-15 20:18 (UTC)

[ Other than his singular conversation with Marlo about when he'd been taken—a conversation he isn't sure what to think of still—Geralt stays out of her and the army's way, and they stay out of his. Not like anyone should give a shit about what he's hunting out here. He's a few days' ride outside Cadens; there's a basilisk nest he's getting paid to clear out of the route. Simple. He's healed, but he isn't keen on pushing it so soon.

Whatever the temperature, Geralt appears unbothered by it. His sleeves are rolled up on a loose shirt, and he's picking at a bone—remnants of dinner—when footsteps approach. They crunch on the sand, a noise he picks out at a distance. No reaction comes from him, not even when Cloud steps into view. His horse shuffles nearby, black mane ruffling in the breeze.

A unit. That's new. Last he heard, the man couldn't wait to get away from the military. Geralt peels another strip of meat from the bone and does not look up when he finally answers. Blood stains the bed of nails he hasn't bothered to scrub fully clean. ]

Surprised they convinced you to work for them. [ Coin is coin, he supposes. If Cloud is expecting an explanation of why he's out here or what he's doing, none comes. ]

It's money. Better money than I can make myself.

[It's shit money, actually. But it's still better. He's a grunt- one of 15 grunts, overseen by a commanding sergeant that reports to another sergeant that reports to a minor officer which...

It's insulting to him. The fact that they knew about him by summoning him, and he's expected to shut up and march to who knows where, to watch over a city that sure as hell didn't seem important and- No. He doesn't know that the fact they knew about him was the reason he hadn't been put onto anything he viewed as more deserving of his time. Little did he know that they knew everything about him, when he, himself, did not.

He lingers at the edge of the little encampment, not venturing within, but taking stock of more or less everything in it. The fire, for one. The horse (that's new.) for another. A well-built little shelter curiously formed of debris picked up from around the desert rather than an actual tent- and tellingly, he keeps his distance. Geralt may be able to see the distance for what it is. An outsider's trait. Cloud would not enter the boundary the little fire lights up as the campsite, despite the package- some form of (disgusting) magically freeze-dried food mixture in his hand.]

...I thought you were someone that might need help. Part of the job's lookin' out for people out here.

[And honestly? There had been a few so far. Merchants knocked miles off their course by duststorms or predatory animals, eager for food, water, directions. And as a unit, they'd done more for a few unlucky travellers than what Shinra's army would have done.

...Anyway.]

-You're fine, obviously. I should go.

[He seems to hesitate though. Familiarity, maybe? Or the fact Geralt didn't irritate him even a fraction as much as his unit, still gossiping about a town that's got to be holding some kind of weapon?]

[ His eyes finally lift to look at Cloud. He drops the bone in the fire and rests his elbows on his knees. It's not his business where people make their living. But he doesn't trust Marlo; by extension, he doesn't trust the city, either. She'd asked him almost nothing when he'd come to speak to her. Not who let him out, not what he saw in Thorne, not the faces of those who took him. Not the magic they used to break into his mind. He isn't certain what her angle is, but it's unsettling.

Geralt makes no move to invite Cloud any closer. The noise makes is one of acknowledgement and skepticism all at once. ] Is that what they tell you?

[ On a superficial level, it likely holds true. The army was there during Eifstide. Did their job. But one of the Summoned, among their ranks?

They didn't go through all this effort to use the Summoned as the same fodder they could use their own for. Or let them glimpse the military in any depth. No wonder Cloud's been left to wander the quiet desert, doing fuck all except check in on a stray traveller. ]

Yep.

[(In his mind) he wasn't going into employment blindly. Joining an army- anyone's army after Shinra was something he'd initially refuted the idea of, but the reality was he needed funds. If he wanted to get Aerith out of Solvunn, himself out of Cadens, and the both of them somewhere- anywhere- where they could look for the others that were known to them, adequate means to do so was the very least of what he needed.

...And he'd tried other options.
The underground fighting rings dotted about Cadens had been a shitshow. The money terrible- both in terms of actual pay after the organizer's cut and ... said pay actually materializing at all. The competition as well- too weak by comparison to (allegedly) a SOLDIER, all but ensuring his fights come with the liklihood of getting sabotaged. If not by his opponent, then by those who profited off the bets associated.

Although the idea of serving- again- for anyone was repugnant to him, it was easy.

But Geralt hardly needs justification for his actions, or the confirmation that despite Cloud believing he's not blind, that he was. And Cloud hardly wants to give either. So he simply confirms the matter of his unit's instruction with that one syllable, his gaze moving away.

This is where he should leave, he knows.
But.]

Why're you here? [And quickly:] I'm not asking 'cause it's my job. ...You look like you're going a ways.

[A brief tilt of his head toward the horse.]

Mm. [ That's all Cloud gets in return, too: noncommittal, obviously doubtful nonetheless. Cloud can make his own decisions. But he doesn't like it, the first of them to have willingly entered the ranks. What that might lead to in the future.

Not that he can predict it, either, what may come. He's made an effort not to let it weigh on his mind.

He releases a sigh. ] I'm working. [ He indicates the sack hanging off of Roach with the bone in his hand, which so happens to have a single basilisk the size of a small hound stuffed in it. The tip of one of their claws has pierced through the bag. He's taken care of the lot of them and has hauled one back to sell the scales. ] Cleared a nest for a spice merchant. Said they kept interrupting his route.

[ Who the hell knows why some basilisks want to sink their teeth into spices, but he hadn't asked. Something tells him they weren't only transporting what they claim, and he'd found evidence of butchered meat on the same trail—illegal or exotic, perhaps. Not his business, though, if they're smuggling. ]

...So you're a merc.

[That made sense. And honestly? A lot about Geralt- his demeanour, his proclivity to be alone, to travel, even the vague smell of open wounds on him at the library last they met, it made sense. And he finds a comfort in it. A small one, anyway. Mercenaries could be bastards, same as anyone else, so it's not exactly enough to set him off edge- but it helps in a single respect.

But it makes him less of an unknown.
And even if his assumption is mostly wrong, it helps. A little.

His eyes move toward the bag. He can't make out what exactly's in there. But the size, the claw poking out- he can guess it was a monster. And. Perhaps his allusions about Geralt's occupation allow him to make a brief joke. He moves his eyes back to the other- and keeps his face straight. And, sounding entirely serious:]

I've seen bigger.

A hunter. [ He is not a mercenary. Sellswords will join any conflict if paid well enough; they know how to swing a sword at other men and that's all they know. Geralt does not fight for anyone or on anyone's behalf. He has a particular learned craft which he uses to track and kill specific things.

Hunter runs closer to what he does. It's what he's chosen to use in this world when he searches for a contract—a term that makes clear he is not for hire to kill other people. Only monsters. Given it's what Dean also uses, it functions well enough as an understanding.

There is a faint glint in his eyes. He tosses what's left of dinner into the fire and leans back. His tone is just as flat, the edges of it casual. ]

I wasn't paid for bigger.

Same thing, ain't it?

[He can't help but show his ignorance. Because honestly? In his experience, at least, a mercenary tended to be tasked with all kinds of things. Fetchquests especially. And despite Geralt's easy correction to his assumption, his lack of explanation means it is certainly a question.

But. He says he's not, so-]

Hunter, then.

[And... yeah.
A small snort of faint amusement comes from him at Geralt's second statement, and really? The more impressionable part of him might be just that. Impressed.

He might also be noting that response to use for the future- If he managed to get back to his world, and someone tried to stiff him on payment. Impressed as he is, the sound is brief. Followed up, immediately, by his head lowering, and his gaze moving away from the little camp. And...]

Look, I gotta go.

[Awkwardly, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and tosses the bag of processed food his way.]

...Take it. Tastes like shit- but I guess it might come in useful for when hunting's bad.

[An even more awkward silence, and...]

Take care, alright?

After the last time he'd asked Goro what the Hell he was doing going far from well, Cloud had decided to be a little more careful. Part of being careful was avoiding Goro's (increasingly popular) rallys. When he had been stationed nearby, he'd merely watch and not got involved.

But afterward?
In his free time, and when nothing seemed to be going on, he'd been tracking him. Put simply, he was no Turk. Doing it had been slow, arduous, and annoying- but fortunately, there was enough talk of the giant of a man with four arms in the city for him to have a trail to follow- and there only seemed to be one of them.

Small mercies.
Not like it felt anything like mercy.

It's some nondescript afternoon in some nondescript alley where he finally decides it's time. Goro's on his own- likely using this utterly forgettable little road in order to go somewhere else, before he's intercepted. Not violently. But intercepted. Instead, the blonde walks right up in his path. And as he looks up at him, his voice is low.

"Hey, asshole. Why're you goin' after Solvunn?"

...Yeah, he's no Turk. That's hardly a wonderful opener.

Goro almost walks into Cloud before the young man speaks, causing the Shokan to stop suddenly and look down at whoever would be so foolish as to—ah, that explains it then. When he sees Cloud, Goro's eyes narrow.

"I am not in the mood for more of your barking, pup." He replies dismissively. "Go find a market stall to stand watch over and leave me be."

And with that Goro attempts to continue on his way, shoving past Cloud as he does so, using his Suze, strength, and arms to push the SOLDIER out of his way.

Walking into. More like stepping atop of was more the way it would have went- Goro's size relative to the SOLDIER is, of course, just as disparate as ever. And absence, it seemed in Cloud's eyes, only seemed to make the Shokan more gigantic.

"Like I give a-"

Yeah, he's shoved. And yeah, it's enough to make him stumble. Fortunately, he can catch himself and slow his momentum before he collides with one of the filthy walls of the alleyway, and he's quick to turn on his heels and walk, at a pace brisker than he'd like, Goro's stride length compared to his and all, after him.

"What's the matter? You're happy to go off when you're surrounded by people."

It's... hardly anything of the sort. But hell, if he can't provoke him, this is going to end fast.

"I have taken your measure and found you wanting, boy." Goro replies, not breaking stride. "You are not worth my time." He had been useful when he interrupted that early gathering, but on the why, since then and their "fight" before, had not given Goro a glowing impression of Cloud, or his usefulness.

"Whatever you hope to accomplish here will end in failure. Have our previous encounters not taught you that yet?"

[Part of him didn't know what the hell he was doing, going to this place.

Sam was just a guy, right? Some random guy that, other than seeming to be into the idea of sticking his nose into complete strangers' business, was just there. Normal. Not capable of doing anything. But he'd mentioned connections. That, and the barkeep at their first meeting seemed to be willing to do what he said. That had to mean something, right?

So.
It's for that reason he enters the inn. He states to some disinterested reception person that he's here to see someone, and he's directed to the right room. And it's for that reason he knocks on the door.

... Please. He thinks, as he looks down the hallway. Don't let this be for shit.]

[ it's almost funny, how used to this sam is. he never realized how, by handing out his name and the inn he was staying in, it would become what it has. and yet here they are, where even the part timer down at the reception area - someone who sam hasn't even gotten a hi out of yet - knew where he lived and where to send the various people who would stop by.

sam feels a little bad - being the cause for so many non-customers coming through her doors. but magpie constantly tells him it's fine, and that he needs to stop worrying, so eventually sam lays off. accepts that his and magpie's relationship is forever going to be that passive aggressive helping behind the scenes and moves on.

but it does mean he's not surprised, anymore, when a knock comes at the door he's not expecting. means that he's already putting up whatever he's doing quickly as he makes his way to the door because whoever it is who's come by will have come by with a reason. it's never what he expects, either, so he's stopped assuming all together. good thing, too, considering his newest guest. ]

Oh. Hey. [ sam says with more than just a little surprise as he's got the door opened. it only takes a moment before his look of surprise turns to a smile, opening the door the rest of the way. ] Come by for that free dinner, finally?

[Cloud can understand the door opening partially. Or at least, he thinks he does. To him, it's something that calls to mind making house calls in Midgar's slums- a part-opened door usually came with a foot tucked snugly behind it from the occupant, preventing the thing being pushed the rest of the way. Most people within Midgar's slums were smart enough to have something extra behind the door, too. A machete, sometimes even a shotgun.

As soon as the door opens partially, he expects all of the above.
He does not expect the smile. Nor the fact that the door just opened fully.]

Uh.

[He's that surprised, what he intended to say temporarily leaves him. His eyes move to the side, immediately, and he almost looks bashful. Just for a moment.

Then he exhales.]

No. I don't want dinner. [And perhaps hastily...] Thanks. Look, it's...

[Another exhale.]

...You give a damn about this place, right? I came to tell you something.

[ the surprise is what sam catches onto first, the small uh like cloud doesn't quite know what to do with it. sam could probably make a joke of this, if it would help. but that's when cloud's eyes dart off to the side, out of the way, and sam suddenly doesn't think poking jokes at this is the way to go. ]

Okay... [ he's moments away from asking what he did come for, if not the offer for food, when cloud is already moving on ahead. sam's demeanor changes, subtly, away from the easy welcome to something a bit more serious.

you give a damn about this place, right?

he wasn't sure where this was going to go, but the smile has pretty much fallen to something more serious, and suddenly much more on guard. more authoritative, too, in a way. without having to say it, everything about him has answered the question. yes. and then he's stepping back away from the door, gesturing cloud through. ]

We can talk inside. Come on.

...

[He accepts the invitation without a second thought, though it's notable, perhaps, that his arms move around himself almost as if he's trying to protect himself from something. What, exactly? ...He doesn't know. There's nothing about this environment or even Sam himself that makes him on edge or on guard. He knows what he has to do, how important it is that he says something to someone more capable than him of doing something to stop it.

But distrust follows him, wherever he goes. It's difficult. Not for reasons- any reason here- that makes sense. Something not making sense doesn't mean it's not difficult regardless.

As he enters, he waits for the door to close. And he lingers by it- as if he expects- somehow- that he's not to go any further.

And briskly, he gets on with it.]

There's a guy. Not human- looks like a lizard more than a person. Four arms, scaled skin. And he's an asshole.

[An asshole is the least of it. But.]

...He's doing something. Getting the locals worked up into wanting war on Solvunn. [He looks to Sam's face- then immediately away.] At first, it was a couple of other assholes. Then more started coming, and the crowd coming out to hear him're getting bigger and bigger. The government's not listening yet, but...

[His eyes raise to him. And then he shakes his head.]

S'all. Thought you'd wanna know.

[ cloud might accept the invitation, but sam notices the way in which he doesn't. not really. it's not that it's obvious that cloud still isn't actually allowing himself to relax once he's in the room, but it's more that he almost refuses to consider the possibility. like he has to protect himself from everything, anything, at any given moment.

sam could comment on it, if he felt like it would do any good. but for whatever reason he assumes it's not something to get into, and just lets cloud step inside. closes the door behind him. moves the rest of the way into the room - whether or not cloud follows.

he does come to a fairly abrupt stop when cloud starts speaking, though, turning back to look at him. curious, yes, but more worried. ] Goro. [ and then, realizing how that might not mean much at all - ] The lizard guy. Goro, right?

[There were reasons behind it, yes. Reasons which mostly fit with Sam's small analysis- as yes, he's on the money there- but it's not just that. A lot of it? His background. He just wasn't comfortable in different surroundings without having a good view of an exit point- and the remainder...

It's best described with a woman. Her hands are on her hips, a stern look on her face. She's puffed up, trying to be intimidating (and in a sense, yeah. She is.) But she can't hide the look in her eyes. Fear.

You boys made a trade- a normal life for power. You can't have it both ways.

... He knows he doesn't belong. Never had. Never would. Especially not now.

But it's best not gotten into. Sam chooses not to anyway, and as he moves across this room, Cloud's eyes fix themselves on the door. And-]

Yeah. Lizard. Centipede- I don't know. whatever the hell he looks like. That's him.

[Some silence follows.]

Look, I ain't a snitch. ...But what he's planning- the whole "Solvunn must pay, the dead demand it" thing? It's gonna wind up bad. He's got most of the idiots from the town with him, including people that should know better.

[He then turns his gaze to him, finally abandoning his staredown of the door.
...And then, perhaps more hopeful, more childish, and certainly more naive than he'd like:]

You know people, right? You got some influence. I don't.

[ there usually is more, and thankfully sam's used to that. to only getting bits and pieces. to reading a room and taking a risk in his assessments. cloud is paranoid, but more than that, he's haunted. by something he's done, by the life he had back home, by probably more than that, too. sam can feel his curiosity starting to build and he tempers it down, not wanting to jump too far and scare this kid back into just. not talking or coming to him at all.

sam crosses his arms over his chest, his own frown deepening for a moment. any mention of goro these days has sam on high alert, and the way this kid had looked to him, the way he looks at him now - it's apparently becoming known. ]

You're not being a snitch. [ sam says easily, shaking his head. how far is goro's speech getting to? how many people in the city is it reaching? including people that should know better. sam's stomach tightens a little at that, like he's more worried about that than anything.

and then the kid turns and looks at him - and sam catches the flicker of hope. the flicker of...something younger, too. a small amount of that tension leaves him, if only because he gets why he's here, now. gets why he's come to him. so sam - with all the confidence and authority he has - nods. ]

Yeah- I've got some connections. Can talk to some people. [ yes, I can do something about this. but what? ] These people who should know better- they locals? Or more Summoned?

No idea.

[His answer comes with a shrug.]

It started out with some local idiots. You know the type. Drunks, thugs, assholes that just want to yell about something. But then, it got bigger. When the zombie thing happened, other people started to listen- and that includes some of the other guards.

[A faint pause.] ...Look, I'm with the military. But I'm not anything to 'em. So I get orders to stand around in Cadens a lot. And the crowds're getting bigger. I've started to see some people at these things a couple times. There's the locals, sure. But a couple of 'em don't look local. Tried following him [Goro.] around to learn who he's meeting, and where. Didn't work.

[A flick of his eyes away. What can be said? He's no Turk.]

Maybe you'll get better luck.

[ sam listens, his expression serious but with intent. his frown, which had really been more of a thin press of his lips before now, deepens. he listens and nods and when the kid mentions guards, he stills a bit. ]

It makes sense. [ he says, after a moment. ] The people here, from what I've heard, have always been a bit wary of magic. It's an easy thing to light up, especially with everything that's happening...

[ there is...a lot more going on with cloud than sam can see from here, and with every anxious glance and tense moment, he feels it more. but he also knows that the last time they spoke, it went south much quicker. so he doesn't think pushing is going to get him anywhere with him.

still, after another second, sam exhales. ]

Can I ask you something?

Edited (EDITS BECAUSE SAM DID GET CLOUDS NAME LAST TIME WHOOPS) 2022-03-03 20:21 (UTC)

Right.

[Exactly as he thought, that time when the dead rose. He'd heard some people from Solvunn took responsibility for it. And in his mind, that, to the people here, was enough to have them lend more attention to Goro's public shit-stirring.

It's around that time, he recalls, the numbers started to grow. It wasn't just malcontents and fringe idiots hearing him out, yelling their assent. ...It was regular people too.

He's staring off, distantly- the glow of his eyes still harsh, still chemical, still stark and entirely out of place in surroundings like this room, but the expression in them- or what little could be seen of it behind that glow- is unfocused. Almost troubled.

But his eyes snap back to Sam when he speaks again- the expression in them turning harsh oncemore.]

What?

[Short, simple, to the point.]

[ sam watches cloud for a moment, as if he can somehow pull more out of him from the look alone. he can see the tell-tale signs of what he assumes is ptsd, or something akin to it. something traumatizing that keeps him distant, short, uncertain. he can also see a kind of motivation there too that sam recognizes more because he's seen it in himself. knows what it feels like.

he says right and sam feels like he can already see it play out - goro, saying something to spur on more of the locals. the locals, reacting in kind. cloud, trying to step in, to do his job.

sam frowns, waits for cloud's eyes to come back to him, and lifts his brows. not quite pleadingly, but it's also not an order, either. ]

If I asked you to try and stay out of it, would you? [ he sighs, and before cloud can interject, or even answer, he's talking again. ] Goro is trying to start a war. That's his whole thing. Right now, the easiest path is to get the factions that have already hated each other back into the throws of it. There's already bad blood, so it'd be easier for him to start there, But he's not going to stop - and if he's igniting hatred of magic, they're going to come for us next.

[ now sam waits for cloud to say something, giving him a chance to argue or begrudgingly accept. either way, sam will shrug. ]

Or come to me - a lot of these people do know me. I might be able to help there too. Would you do that?

deep inside your ocean, searching for the air to breathe;

Aerith Gainsborough 🠒 The Horizon

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sorry this took forever! v busy end of last month / start of this ;; forgive...

no worries at all!!

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Geralt of Rivia 🠒 Desert

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Goro 🠒 Cadens

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Sam 🠒 Cadens

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I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE... tdm/apping killed me, im here now tho if you're good to cont!

THAT IS TOTALLY OKAY happy to continue!

THANK U... you're so kind ;; <3

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im sorry this took so long! truth be told, i lost it.

THATS OKAY we can probably wrap in the next thread or so?