Welcome to Adventu, your final fantasy rp haven. adventu focuses on both canon and original characters from different worlds and timelines that have all been pulled to the world of zephon: a familiar final fantasy-styled land where all adventurers will fight, explore, and make new personal connections.
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year 5, quarter 3
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Post by Cloud Strife on Feb 28, 2020 22:37:17 GMT -6
At some point in his waking in this world Cloud knocked over the pyramid of his hierarchy of needs. Food, rest, shelter, and safety skittered off in every direction like shattered glass on tile and the only piece he had left in his hands was social. Like a mantra it ran on a loop in his head: I need to find them. It drowned out the drone of the city, the rumble in his stomach, the dull ache of exhaustion. And the other voice in Cloud's head, one of more practical concerns, persistently reminded him that he needed to eat and he needed a place to sleep and that he probably needed money, first, for both of those things, and that he didn't know that any of the people he so desperately sought would be in this city anyway.
Hell, he didn't know that any of them were in this world. He only knew that he couldn't entertain the possibility that they weren't.
Inside Sonora's walls skyscrapers loomed over the world below and Cloud couldn't shake the feeling of being looked down on by giants, steel and glass bulk pressing in on him with every step he took. In the shadows of the streets neon signs burned bright, buzzed one-note songs. He followed the flow of foot traffic with his head on a swivel and his eyes scanning for city guards, ducking into side-streets and back-alleys when he thought they might see him. He wasn't worried about the physical threat, but the authorities wouldn't help, and Cloud didn't need a new headache.
Everything about this place had the feeling of a distorted reflection. The guards weren't Shinra but they might as well have been off-brand. Sonora wasn't Midgar but it could have been its sister. Cloud couldn't get comfortable with any of it, with this half-understanding of a place he'd never been to before, but his instincts drove him as naturally as they would have in Midgar. Where do you go when you want to disappear? Where do you go when you want information? Where the authorities aren't. In the opposite direction of wealth, of comfort. Into the shadows.
When you went to Midgar...
What about it?
After Nibelheim, five years later, when you went to Midgar, what were you doing there?
Cloud frowned. He rounded a corner, exiting a trash-strewn alley into a trash-strewn street. Orange glow through a barred window, menacing in the low city murk. The buildings here shed their orderly facades and looked like pieces of a dozen different puzzles fitted together with glue and prayers. A failing pipe hissed steam. Smell of old piss, wet cardboard, unfiltered cigarettes and sour, rotting trash. The universal slum odor triggered sense-memory. His mind's eye conjured Sector Seven.
I thought I was going to be a mercenary.
You were. Barret paid you.
What does that have to do with anything?
You're going to need money here. You have a set of skills.
Past a huckster selling stolen watches. A barker trying to drive foot traffic into a questionable gentleman's club. Cloud felt eyes on him, on the six swords dangling from his back and the roadworn SOLDIER uniform, and though the city guards were a non-presence here the feeling of impending trouble, like static in the air, permeated the street. He kept walking with no destination, following an intuition he couldn't trust. A woman he didn't recognize came walking in the opposite direction and nothing about her caught his eye except a vibrant, fresh-cut flower in her hands. Like a bright light in the darkness, grown under a rare shaft of sun in a half-crumbled slum church... His eyes fixated on it. He turned his head to follow the sight as she walked past but kept moving until he walked into the solid mass of a human being.
Hand on his chest, shoving him backwards.
Cloud kept his footing and fixed his eyes on the picture of a slum tough and his buddies, tattoos and bad teeth, all grinning with the excuse for a fight. He saw brass knuckles, a bat, a pistol. He didn't worry about himself. The street was tight, pedestrians everywhere. Some stopped to watch. Others had seen this show too many times before.
"Sorry. Hey, I'm not looking for trouble," Cloud said evenly. His hands hung loose at his sides. Six sword grips within reach.
"Yeah, well, we are."
"That's a bad idea. How about we go our separate ways instead?"
"How about go to hell."
Cloud thought he'd been through the equivalent already, but saying as much wouldn't help the situation. The lead tough patted his brass knuckles, and the moment his body twitched in anticipation of moving was the moment Cloud reacted. Before the tough even realized what was happening he was tripping, his haymaker swinging wide, falling past Cloud and into a gaggle of gawking pedestrians.
"I said I'm not looking for trouble," Cloud repeated with an edge of frustration, but by the looks of Brass Knuckles' buddies, they still were and Cloud could still go to hell.
----- @kain uhhh this got real long and rambly, still getting the hang of the setting and character so lemme know if you need anything tweaked!
Sonora took some getting used to. The high rise buildings and the constant heavy foot traffic surprisingly didn't perturb Kain in the slightest. He was used to crowds, and the buildings reminded him of high mountain passes. A sense of claustrophobia never set in, so long as he could see the sky. No, what perturbed Kain the most about Sonora was the technology and culture. The first time he wore his armor into the city he'd gain weird looks, one stranger even offering him money for a 'good costume' while he tended to his lance.
Kain was far too surprised to protest.
But it highlighted something he noted early on. People dressed different to the civilians he was used to. He couldn't even see anything that would herald a guard. Hell, it was wholly different to all the other cities he visited earlier, an anomaly in Serenestra. Kain was forced to pay attention to it now that people were tossing him money fro simply sitting around doing maintenance, as if he was a jester in motley for their benefit and not a seasoned solider. It made an imperceptible emotion curl in Kain's mind, urging him to conform and end this.
The vehicles and other tech had distracted him from that fact. Electricity he didn't suffer much shock from. It was similar to magelights, that's how his brain parsed it. Cars and trucks made him balk behind his face, the smell of city trash and exhaust a unique form of nauseating. Bright billboards and flashing lights spun his brain, crosswalks almost an issue if he never learned to follow the flow of people early on.
He finally entered the first store that looked like it sold clothing. And what a strange wonder it was. After sharing a mirrored look of confusion from the shopkeep ('I'm from Provo' being enough to ease the poor Sonoran), Kain was surprised and not surprised to note clothing was different here too. There were no tailor's tools at the front desk, so it seemed he just... bought the article in question as-is. Strange.
The fact that he knew what he put on was what he'd get itched at the back of his mind. It made the differences all the more apparent. Large hung too much on his body, medium felt far too small on some parts. He settled for large just so he didn't risk tears. And now he was down precious money he wanted to save for an inn.
He didn't replace his grieves and solerettes, he figured they won't be as noticeable as his helm and armor. And, Kain was being cheap. It was a small thank his pack was enchanted to be much more spacious on the inside. How else would he hold his armor? With the shopkeep throwing him a free hair tie to keep his locks back, Kain went back to wandering, now noticing far less looks. His lance was still on his back, but even with that, the looks were less, until the crowds thinned. People glances, maybe did a double take, but still kept quiet and passed him by without protest. Minded their own business.
The area here was far less clean as traffic picked back up. Gloom started to set in, only making Kain all the more wary, what sort of beasts lurked here, what sort of thief stalked busy streets?
Kain narrowly avoided being shoved aside as the thickening crowds surged back, making a clear window into a brewing fight. A man was sprawled on the ground, two more in the cleared circle, a blonde man included. A quick assessment and it seemed the fluffy blonde might be the outnumbered one here. Best to leave things to play out, Kain didn't need unsavory folk holding grudges on him.
... Was what he would do, if something in the back of his mind hadn't reminded him that Cecil would undoubtedly help. With gritted teeth and a gentle roll of his head, Kain stepped around the downed man, alerting the crowd to his lance as he removed it from his back.
(A 'what the fuck, dude!' cut the silence)
Light on his feet, lancepoint mere millimeters from ground, Kain would have struck a glorious pose in his armor. At the moment, in board shorts and a tank top, it was jarring at the very least.
"Move it, I didn't buy a ticket for an impromptu monkey show," Kain scowled, half in irritation at himself for jumping into this, half in having to deal with it in the first place. He flicked his lance at the other two, hoping a little bit of intimidation might save him from getting his nice new getup from damage.
Post by Cloud Strife on Apr 17, 2020 22:34:40 GMT -6
In the milliseconds between actions Cloud assessed the scene and the myriad ways this could play out. The tough guy with the pistol remained chief among Cloud's concerns if only because he did not trust the man would aim true and hit him and not a bystander. The others were nothing. He could handle them. His hands drifted towards the grips of the swords at his back, hovering over those of the two short folding blades. The street was a confusion of bodies and noise. The crowd of gawkers milling about presented an obstacle to the use of his fully assembled Fusion sword but he would make due.
Cloud didn't want to hurt anybody, but if these tough guys kept asking for it he just might have to oblige them.
In all this fractional figuring Cloud did not count on the entry of another combatant into the fray. When the man stepped through the crowd and into the impromptu ring of battle Cloud's hands reflexively closed around the swordgrips. He didn't draw. He shifted his stance and got a good look at the newcomer and the incongruity of him. He seemed made of a multitude of pieces that did not fit together. The weapon conjured a memory of Cid Highwind, oilstained gloves gripping a spear wedged halfway into the mouth of a dragon. But this man was too young and not profane enough to carry the mental connection. It took a moment to register that he had for some unknown purpose placed himself on Cloud's side.
Don't get too comfortable.
I'm not comfortable at all. Don't worry about that.
He stood angled, keeping enemy and tentative ally within the limits of his field of view. Muscles taut, every synapse tuned in the anticipation of a fight, Cloud may have seemed nervous if the look on his face wasn't an unflappable mask of cool.
"It's fine," Cloud said casually. "I'll wrap this up quick."
"The hell you will--"
He heard the scratching in the grit of the street behind him as though his brain deemed all other sound nonessential. Brass Knuckles scrambled to his feet and took a swing at Cloud's exposed back. A clash of metal on metal. Then he was in the dirt again cradling his hand and making pathetic mewling sounds and Cloud was standing with both swords drawn and pointed at the ground, his stance open and challenging. He hadn't even looked at the man who lay behind him.
The tough with the pistol raised up the weapon in one hand and pointed it in Cloud's direction. He bared his teeth in what Cloud supposed was his war face but made him look more like a scared dog backed into a corner. Cloud saw the fear in the man's eyes clear as day because he'd seen it so many times in his own reflection.
"What are you gonna do with that?" Cloud asked the man with the pistol. "Shoot me? Your hand's shaking. You won't hit shit. And this guy..." Cloud inclined his head in the direction of his temporary ally, "...Seems like you pissed him off. Can't say I like your odds."
The man with the baseball bat looked between his pistol-wielding compatriot, Cloud, the man with the lance, and the leader of his motley crew still down on the ground and crawling feebly towards the opposite edge of the clearing. He shook his head and disappeared into the crowd. Cloud thought he heard a resigned 'screw this' somewhere in the murmur of street noise.
The pistol wielder stood frozen in indecision and would not lower the weapon in his shaking hand.
