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25 November 2011 @ 05:05 am
shared dreams (and nightmares...) ☼ it's all about the sexy lingerie.  
(This is...

Wrong way.
)


Cloud stops short of the next bend in the hazy, dimly lit hall, the sound of the soles of his bare feet on the slickly polished floor coming up just as abruptly in his wake. Everything here echoes a little, but he isn't bothered by the eerie effect so much as the fact that it'll give away his approach and totally eliminate whatever pretense of the element of surprise is still on his side. And that could seriously hurt his chances of getting in and out of here, again, undetected, if he doesn't start taking a little more care.

A pair of socks might have been a sensible acquisition, at that -- one he probably should've thought of before getting himself into this mess, in the first place. But he'd been a little too preoccupied with the rest of his meticulously thorough disguise to worry about something so seemingly inconsequential, at the time.

And now, of course, it's much too late to turn back.

Metaphorically, anyway. Retracing his steps to the last intersection of corridors he'd passed, Cloud pauses to peer around the corner. Visibility is low, with that thick fog of perfume hanging in the air between splashes of low lantern light, but there's only dead silence to greet him and the coast looks clear enough that he risks stepping out into the open.

(Now, which one...?)

He takes a right, and is met with what's beginning to pass for luck, in these dire times, as the length of the hall is the short jaunt he remembers, ending with a large door that's still slightly ajar. Brighter light pours through the cracks, and Cloud hesitates again, cautious, before slipping back out into the open, octagonal foyer. He counts up the doors; that's three he's been through, already, and still no sign...

Shaking his head, he turns to try the next exit, crossing quietly as possible over the bright gold and blue mural lain into the gridlined glass floor. Maybe this isn't the best possible method of searching the place

(It's... A lot bigger than I thought.)

but he doesn't exactly have a lot of options, and as possible as it is that he's running out of time -- well, he just doesn't want to think about that. Just focus on the objective, not the circumstances, isn't that the only way to get through this? He reaches for the door latch with this newfound resolve

only to stop short once more, pivoting back on his heel and swiping the massive Buster Sword off his back in one neat, fluid motion. Scanning the shadows lurking beyond the shifting, smoky miasma filling the room over the tip of the blade, his eyes narrow sharply as he searches out the source of that soft, shuffling sound, eventually catching on a solid silhouette amidst the murk. A little flicker of surprise breaks through the severity of the frown furrowing his brow, and he's quick to lower his weapon, down and to the side, with care.

"You're here--" That touch of incredulity is for all the trouble he's gone through just to have serendipity finish the job for him. So much for the rescue half of search and rescue.

But maybe now's a good time to address his current state of... Undress.

(Uh)

"...Had to ditch the disguise."

For a man in nothing but an ill-fitting bangle, an earring, and a charmingly ruffled, bright pink babydoll over a pair of matching bikini-cut briefs that barely manage to be modest, altogether, he's certainly managing that air of importance with aplomb. For just how long he'll be able to maintain the façade is... Another matter entirely.



[ ooc: This post is primarily for morethanwords, because she's an enabler. But if anyone else is interested in tagging in, feel free. Canonmates are the best (except Sephiroths, sorry :<), & characters approximately Cloud's age (21) or over only, please. The "usual no"s apply, with the addition of no non or dub con (fudging CR for this is cool). Admittedly, I'm a little picky about writing smut with just anybody, but the surest path to my heart is long, thoughtful, descriptive posts and a lot of good build-up. ...And patience with my slow tagging speed. That, too.

So fuzzy dream logic and crossdressing everywhere, that's the name of the game. Cloud's subconscious is taking a (Hotel-induced) crazy mixed-up trip down memory lane and he's dragged someone else's along for the ride. Since the scenery and tone of the dream can change on a whim, I fully expect this post to get weird all over it, and I leave it up to individual discretion how much influence other characters have over their surroundings. ]
 
 
 
Tifa Lockheart: seriousmorethanwords on November 25th, 2011 02:00 pm (UTC)
this dream is going to be entirely Cloud's fault. jsyk. Tifa's taking no responsiblity.
She's in the Honey Bee Inn.

...

She's - in the Honey Bee Inn?

How did she - ?

Sneaking in. She's trying to get information by sneaking in...

somewhere?

Okay. It's somewhere important though. She's sneaking in to somewhere important and so she's at the Honey Bee to help with that. Tugging down at the hem of her shirt because it seems to be riding up she starts down the hall looking for -

something. Important. She'll know it when she finds it...

- looking for what she came here for. Every room in the hallway is empty though, gaudy doors that open into:

a music room complete with piano.

the backroom of a bar.

a chocobo stall.

the back of a canvas enclosed truck with rain coming down on its roof.

None of them have what she's looking for so she shuts each one and continues down the hall, softly padding along on bare feet, listening for any sound to tell her where to go next. All she hears is the echo of her own footsteps and somewhere far away someone's left a ceiling fan on, the sound of its muted clanking as it spins whispering down the hallway to her. Last door reveals walls of glass with fish swimming past and she pauses for a minute as a shark goes by.

Still not what she wants.

The door gets shut and she's at the end of the hallway and the exit back out into the main section of the Inn. Peering around the cracked open door, she has to squint, trying to both see through the perfumed smoke or the smoky perfume or whatever it is that's clouding the air and figure out what she should do next. She's got to find - whatever it is she's looking for so that she can do - whatever it is she needs to do. She's already stepped back out into the foyer, glass cold under her feet before she spots the form on the opposite side and realizes she's not alone anymore. It's a relief more than alarming. She's in disguise after all, so it's not as if she has to worry about anyone recognizing her. With another little pull to the hem of her top, she starts forward. Maybe they'll know where what she's looking for is and it will only take running a small errand or two for them to get her headed back in the right direction.

It's not until she's much closer and they turn around that she recognizes:

"Cloud!"

It's a quiet exclamation because this place seems to call for quiet voices at the moment but there's no mistaking the relief or surprise in her voice. Oh, thank goodness. Maybe he'll help her make sense of this...

...this...

...

what is he wearing?

Coming to a stop in front of him, she misses the explanation as her eyes move over the entire length of him, from his bare feet up his bare legs (nice) to his - oh my! - and then - huh.

Okay.

All right.

Sure.

"Aren't you - cold?" Because it's the only thing her mind can seem to kick in and she steps in closer to him, reaching out absently to slip the strap of his top back up onto his shoulder, fingers ghosting over his bare skin when she does that.

That's... a lot of bare skin...

"I was worried about you." She's in disguise so she's not worried about getting caught herself. No one would recognize her in this get-up. When she steps closer to him still, as if being close will somehow - protect him? hide him?

...keep him warm?

- the little stuffed teddy bear ears sewn into the brim of the hat almost seem to tip forward in concern too.
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: you cannot control my destinywhysocirrus on November 25th, 2011 08:29 pm (UTC)
oh, marshmallow bear, we're going straight to hell (and Tifa is totes responsible, face facts)
"Huh?" Cold? No, he hasn't even thought of that, far more concerned with mobility outside of that bulky dress. If he'd been caught like that he'd be worried (were Tifa an enemy party, anyway), because then he'd have had to play along... And his patience is wearing a little thin for putting on a convincingly demure act, right about now. (Not that he isn't capable!)

"Nah. SOLDIER makes 'em tough, remember?" So matter-of-fact, he nods curtly as he slips his sword back into its idle position resting between his shoulder blades (just how it's staying there with no harness in sight there'll be time to question once back in the realm of dry and mortifying reality). And if something about that statement doesn't quite ring true to his ears, he shrugs it off without deigning to interrogate the sentiment -- that much is meant well enough, at least.

And it seems somehow... Setting appropriate. To talk like that. Far be it for him to go against instinct. Between the just this side of uncomfortably warm air and the surprisingly not freezing floor, catching a chill is the last on his present list of priorities, anyway.

(Worried about me?)

"You were?" And for the second it hangs in the air, the question sounds like something someone else would say, too, before Cloud cautiously amends, "...Sorry," a hand going to the back of his head in a sudden fit of self-consciousness (brought on for all the wrong reasons). Tifa's unusual costume barely registers any further than the skimpy fact of his own except to strike him with the oddest sense of nostalgia (especially those ears), and he's so determined to be business-as-always.

And now that he's found her, there's really only one thing on his mind. "Hey, you... Don't remember which way is out, do you?"
Tifa Lockheart: sidewaysmorethanwords on November 25th, 2011 10:03 pm (UTC)
and looking absolutely fab as we're doing it too. (no way! obviously the kinks are Clouds)
Her eyebrows go up a fraction at his questioning her worry and then her face slips into a smile at his apology for it. She will always worry about Cloud, even if it's for something as simple and small as him catching a chill in that...

that...

he really does have a very nice stomach...

Yes. That. Her hand lifts to smooth fingers over his cheek, palm rubbing against it for just a moment, skin to skin, it's okay. I know. and then she lets it fall at her side, turning a little to look around. She has a vague sense of coming in here, because she must have, but it stays as vague as the far walls through the cloying smoke. Her hand slips down to find his. Is Cloud what she'd come here looking for? She doesn't... think so... A head shake sends her dark hair swaying against her and the little teddy bear tail sew into the back of her short shorts.

"I don't." Which is weird. If she came in, she should remember the way out, shouldn't she? The realization makes her frown and her fingertips shift briefly against Cloud's hand before stilling. Priorities prevail.

"I need to find a - " something, something, something... "wig. I came in here for a wig. But I can't find the dressing room. I can't get into the final room if I don't look right."
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: that flows within my veinswhysocirrus on November 26th, 2011 06:36 am (UTC)
nothing worth doing that's not worth doing in style (he pleads the fifth; it's Tifa's bad influence)
The look he hides when she turns her gaze on the rest of the room is only a fraction as flustered as he feels, with the long lingering brush of her fingertips stuck to his skin in two places, now. Casually as he can, he runs a hand over his shoulder under the guise of hitching that loose pink strap a little higher. The gesture backfires in a clumsy fumble, and he only manages to twist the damn thing up a little, leaving it farther out of place. Frustrating...

So distracted, he gives a minute start as she slides her hand into his, where he's hastily dropped it back to his side. Right. They're in the middle of a pretty important conversation, aren't they?

"Wig?" His short-lived disappointment (as lost as he is, it's to be expected) is quickly moved to a seat at the back of his emotional auditorium (very well insulated) in favor of new curiosity. Even though he's absolutely positive that the whole point of this absurd affair has been to safely retrieve Tifa from the depths of a dangerous establishment, it occurs to him now that he hasn't bothered to ask why she came to take such a risk, in the first place.

(The final room, huh?)

It sounds serious.

"This way," he says,

(I think.)

though it isn't with quite as much confidence as he tries to exhibit in the firm stride that sets him striking out across the empty, eerie entryway of this oddly phantasmal Honeybee Inn. He's been struck by the inexplicable certainty that the dressing room is definitely one among this cluster of doors, however, and not bothering to pull his hand out of hers (better if Tifa sticks close by), he tries the first they come to.

With a muted click it opens, unlocked, onto a dark and equally gloomy parlor. The front wall is all mirrors, lined with a low counter and individual seats, each of which looks a little too amply padded to actually be comfortable. Brushes and powders and an expansive array of eye shadows and lipsticks (many in colors that would be patently unflattering on anybody) lie scattered across the makeup counter, most slightly exaggerated caricatures of their real world counterparts. (Hey, he's only worn makeup once. Who can expect total accuracy?)

As he steps inside, Cloud's reflection (a little too dark and a little too tall) tracks a step or two behind him in the flat, liquid world on the other side of the glass.

"Dunno if we'll find what you're looking for in here... But since it doesn't seem like anybody's around, why don't you tell me what this's all about."
Tifa Lockheart: searchingmorethanwords on November 26th, 2011 07:51 am (UTC)
amen. To both sentiments
Do clowns use this dressing room? Tifa has to wonder it as Cloud leads her in, looking at the gaudy make-up on the dressing room tables. There's no way anyone would put that shade of fuschia on their lips, much less from a tube that large. It's a good thing Cloud's still got her hand in his because she stops paying attention to where they're walking to gawk at the impossible riot of colors happening on those simple wooden countertops. Who knows what horrors lurk in the drawers underneath them and she's suddenly worried about what kinds of wigs she'll find in a room like this. She actually stumbles into Cloud, still walking when he's not, the train wreck on the countertops too fascinating for her to look away from.

The feel of his skin warmed silk against her bare stomach and arms sends a little jolting shiver down through her and snaps her mind back to the present with sharp focus.

"What?" A wide eyed blink as she looks blankly at him, mind quickly pushing aside innapropriate and struggling to drag sensible back to the forefront. It's harder than it looks. "oh. Right."

...what it's about... what it's about... whatit'sabout.

In the darkened mirrors on the wall, there's no matching reflection of her. Just Cloud caught in the tarnished, shadowed glass and the darker shapes of furniture and dressers faded in the background behind him. The shadows at the edges of the rooms seems to slip just a little closer.

"I'm not the right person." Her voice doesn't reflect in the mirror either of course, only giving solid proof of her in the unreflected world she's still standing in. She's not sure how she knows it, just that she does and that it's the truth. "The door to the final room only recognizes one person and so I have to look enough like them to get in."

There's a little tug on his hand as she turns away from the mirrors to face the looming closet doors. Some of the slates on them are missing, leaving gaping holes like eyes and no hint of what's inside. She's not sure what's in the final room or why she has to get there but she's sure it's important. Too important to walk away from.

"Maybe they keep the wigs in the closet?"
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: (because we don't deserve these badges)whysocirrus on November 29th, 2011 09:35 am (UTC)
"Careful," he says, to cover up any perceived falter as she stumbles into his back, dangerously close to the edge of the blade lain across it. While his unencumbered shadow self leans back against the counter on the other side of the glass, wearing a casual Cloud doesn't reflect in the least, he just barely quells the impulse to hastily straighten out his uniform. A reasonable precaution, given that he's not wearing his uniform -- or much of anything, for that matter, really. Another, darker shade of red blooms across the flat, determinedly grave set of his features as he pretends to survey the strangely garish dressing room.

The stark, sincere quality of her reply startles him out of his serious façade, and he answers, in kind, "If that's where you need to be, I'll go with you."

just before she's signalling him around to the closet doors. Thoughts of an escaped he'd meticulously planned struggle to resurface in the sudden shift his motives seem to've taken, but in the end all run away like water. He gently pulls his hand out of hers, padding heavily across the plush carpeting beneath his bare feet, oblivious to any ominous overtones as he slides open the last shoddy barrier shielding them from the deeper dark within the walk-in closet.

The bodies of comically oversize bees lie in a clutter all across the floor, hung from the railing (just bits and pieces and accessories belonging to the cutesy costumes of the Inn's mascots). But the closet's the size of another whole room -- perhaps even larger than the parlor behind them -- so he steps inside to search around a little. The dark's a bit comforting, actually, when he looks the way he does...

"Who's this... Person you need to look like, anyway?"

(Gotta know what I'm looking for.)
Tifa Lockheart: speculativemorethanwords on December 1st, 2011 09:51 pm (UTC)
She follows him with steps that are a bit lighter across the carpeting to the closet, pausing in the doorway as he steps further inside. The bee bodies are a bit disturbing but more in the fact that they make her wonder both how uncomfortable they must be to wear while walking around much less doing...

...

anything else.

Her eyes snap guiltily back up as Cloud catches her attention again. She's not sure if he's allowed to go with her into the final room but a part of her, deep inside, can't imagine him anywhere but with her at the end of all of this. It doesn't seem... complete without Cloud.

He might have a hard time fighting in that outfit though...

He really does have very nice, long legs...

"Hm? Oh. I - " it pulls her up short mentally and her eyes come down in response as she trails after him into the closet, past racks of clothes and costumes that are alarming close to what her and Cloud seem to be wearing. Suddenly unsure, about everything that's going on here, her hand slips up to cup at her elbow in an insecure gesture, face still reflecting confusion. "I don't know... I'm just... wrong. Somehow." Her little bear ears seem to flatten the smallest bit against the sailor hat. "Maybe that's part of the trick to getting into the room. Figuring out what's wrong."

Another pause and her brows sink even lower.

"Why do they have all those pogo sticks in the corner?"
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: I'm a land minewhysocirrus on December 5th, 2011 11:26 am (UTC)
Of course there aren't any clothes in his size just conveniently lying around, in here -- Cloud takes a second or two to be properly offended by that troublesome reality as he strolls a little deeper into the closet that's quickly elongating into one very long, dark hallway. Just not thinking about how oddly nice sheer, silky fabric feels sliding against his skin with every minute movement has done him well enough, thus far...

He stops abruptly, examining something that can't be any more covering than a few considerable lengths of dental floss where it's draped airily over a hanger. The look on his face is still skeptical as he glances back over a bare shoulder toward Tifa (keeping his eyes pointedly on her face, only wavering an instant). Her story's as full of holes as his own, but none of this manages to strike him as odd or unusual in any way; but then, he'd probably take her at her word in the real world, just as well. This'll make things a bit more difficult in their search (what kind of wig might make her look right somehow?), but far be it for him to be deterred by the deliberately vague and seemingly impossible.

"...Dunno." Pogo sticks? He arches a brow, but his gaze slides most disinterestedly over the foreign objects lying amassed in the corner (the hall does have corners, somehow, almost still a closet). "But we'd better keep moving."

With a hand, he gestures for her to follow as he sets out down the long aisle between sparsely cluttered racks of what can only be questionably referred to as clothing. He has no earthly way of knowing it, but he's certain they'll find another exit at the other end of the closet. And, either way, he isn't too keen on heading back the way they've come-- Not if he'll have to revisit his strange, mismatched shadow and those pincushion seats.
Tifa Lockheart: searchingmorethanwords on December 9th, 2011 06:36 am (UTC)
She follows because he seems to know where he's going - and because she's not about to let him wander off dressed like that. Giant symbolic sword or not, she's pretty sure he's not exactly safe traipsing around in clothes like that. Certainly not here and possibly not anywhere else for that matter. Walking behind him certainly provides her with a... distinct view, despite the sword and once she realizes she's looking, her cheeks go bright red and she decides to focus on the back of his head which is much safer that frilly pink.

She does take a minute to mourn the fact he always wears such loose and baggy pants though. It seems like such a shame.

"Cloud," she'll go for a distraction and wonder why it didn't occur to her earlier. "What are you doing here?"
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: how does anybody get anything done?whysocirrus on December 10th, 2011 09:57 am (UTC)
That he isn't just as dangerous in silk and frills as his slightly more dignified SOLDIER uniform would be a very unpleasant mistake to presume, for just about anybody else-- Though it may soften him at the edges a bit, upon first glance, the sheer lingerie does more to emphasize the sturdiness in his deceptively slight build than it could ever do to mask it. His skin is pale, but it's pockmarked with scars, new and old alike, and there's no room for frail or weak where constantly fighting for his life has carved away at him so.

Even the look he casts back over his shoulder is stern, though the words that follow are not -- a simple, succinct statement of fact, "I came for you."

As if it's nothing, and she probably should have known, already, Cloud rolls his shoulders in the shadow of a shrug as he turns back to face their exit from this eerie safe haven. Just as he'd thought, there's another door here, one that is not locked, either, (because it doesn't lead anywhere he remembers leaving locked) but instead resembles the slatted closet doors through which they entered. Bright sunlight streams through the cracks, and when he throws it open, a warm, humid breath of air pushes in with swirls of sand in its wake at his bare toes.

The empty stretch of beach, littered with beach chairs and their large umbrellas, edges fluttering gently in the breeze, is very familiar, but Cloud frowns out onto the perfect, sunny day with obvious distaste.

"...Not dressed for the beach," he mutters, pulling the door shut again and extinguishing the spill of harsh, natural light with it. It only occurs to him when he looks to Tifa again that she sort of is garbed appropriately for a little trip to the coast... But now he's getting off point, entirely, and maybe she should tug her top down just a bit, because it seems to be doing the same.

"Let's try that, again..."
Tifa Lockheart: speculativemorethanwords on December 11th, 2011 06:27 am (UTC)
It doesn't matter that he's exponentially stronger than her or that of the two of them, he's the one that's the physically imposing one. It doesn't matter that he acts like a brick wall or that she's seen him take hits that would cripple her and keep going.

She's always going to feel protective of him.

She's used to feeling protective about people she cares for regardless of size or sex, Barret being a prime example. What she's not used to though is the feeling of wanting to be protected by someone. Cloud makes her feel that way. Cloud's the only one that makes her feel that way. She tries to fight it because she's supposed to be his partner, to have his back or be at his side and she never wants to be relegated to the back for her own safety. When he so matter of factly states that he came for her though... it ruins her whole 'I can do this on my own' by reminding her that she doesn't want to do it on her own. That, not only is it nice to know someone's there to catch her when she starts to fall, but that she's starting to actually rely on it. Count on it. Look for it.

No amount of sheer silk or pink frills is going to change that.

Though it is going to make her wonder how it probably feels against his skin.

Which is not what she's supposed to be thinking.

Costa del Sol beyond the door makes her smile when she sees it but Cloud tugs the door shut again and she remembers that they're here on a mission and enjoying the beach isn't part of that. So she steps up to join Cloud, watching over his shoulder when he opens the door again, little bear ears almost pricked forward in curiosity.

If he wasn't dressed appropriately for the first room, he just might be considered dressed appropriately for the next. Tifa takes one look at the cheerful stuffed animals and the collars hanging from the ceiling and doesn't hesitate to catch Cloud's hand on the handle of the door and pull it shut again.

Absolutely no words come to mind.

She does step just a little closer into his back though, careful of the sword, and curl the bare fingers of one hand in the loose fabric at his waist.

The next time the door opens she actually exhales a little bit in relief and her chin brushes his shoulder. The room's still strange but... at least she can find words for it.

"That doesn't looks so bad..."
Cloud Strife ☼ Ex-SOLDIER: only time will tellwhysocirrus on December 15th, 2011 10:46 am (UTC)
"Uh--"

Well, now. There's something you don't see every day. The first room's a little too (a lot too) pink for his tastes (just like his lingerie), but there's no denying it's a curious sight, distasteful or not. Those collars don't even register as scandalous to Cloud as he leans in for a closer look (he's seen weirder and nastier in places even less pleasant than this)...

But Tifa's too quick for him, and he jerks back as abruptly as she shuts the door in his face. The feeling of something brushing against the bare skin just above his hip earns a mild start, but when he casts a sidelong glance back to where Tifa's still hovering at his shoulder he realizes-- And shakes his head as if it might dispel the briefly human feeling of insecurity that touch instills.

Calm as he seems, Cloud hasn't forgotten that they're still lost, still standing exposed in some seedy place filled with unknown danger, mission unfulfilled, with only darkness at their backs and this one door to lead them out. Retracing their steps isn't an option, anymore, as the world of subconscious awareness, here, narrows down to only one shallow pool of dim light, the threshold at their fingertips.

A breath of warm, green air rolls out to greet them, this time, the shifting yellow-white light shining down past leaf-shaped shadows cast by the thick canopy overhead and spilling over his bare feet. From here, he can see that it's really dark up there, somewhere, as if the night sky has been supplemented by some sort of artificial sun caught in the branches of the trees. And there are walls, too, strange, lined concrete that's so pitted they might as well be looking in on a ruin, except he can't see where they end, rising up...

Every bit of the atmosphere screams alive, though, and it's reassuring in some inconsequential way, cool grass crushing easily underfoot as he steps cautiously inside. A fine mist settles over him, heavy in the air, clinging to the silky film of fabric that's now clinging to him and that Tifa's still clinging onto.

"Is this it...?"

Something about this place certainly feels final, almost -- pleasant, resigned, a feeling that could be darker if he bothered to chase it down further to its end. "Let's go."
Tifa Lockheart: sidewaysmorethanwords on December 20th, 2011 10:32 pm (UTC)
When he steps through the opening into the new room she follows, feeling better the second her bare feet touch the grass. She lets go of Cloud too because she tries not to cling (even when she would really like to) and she's pretty sure she's not going to suddenly lose him in a forest this sparse. She's not sure if this is the final room or not - she's not even sure if they're still in a room - but it certainly feels like the right next step forward and she trails behind him.

It's a nice space. The ruined walls don't remind her of the Temple and she's glad about that. They're too man-made, too obviously manufactured, and as she follows Cloud through the slender trees, there's white furniture scattered at random in the thick grass. Tifa sees a enviably sized bathtub sunk in a small rise to the side and her little bear ears prick forward before she firmly stifles down her slum grown reaction of wistfulness at the thought of it full of hot water and bubbles. There's a soft looking couch to the left beyond the tub and what looks like half a dining room table and chairs in pristine white half hidden deeper through the trees to the right. It's as if the area can't decide if it's a house or a forest but somehow it manages to be both and neither at the same time.

A short time and a bedroom set later though, the slim tree trunks thin out and a single silver tree that looks more metal than wood rises out of the ground ahead of them, trunk sleek and slick without a single handhold or whorl in it and Tifa reaches out to catch a trail of Cloud's pink top with her fingers.

"Cloud - "

Because far too high up to reach silver metal branches dangle down and from each of those metal hooks hands a hat or a wig. And those wigs and hats are familiar because there's Jessie's pony tail hair and red head ribbon hanging from one branch, Nanaki's spiky mane from another, Elena's blond bob... every hair style they've seen in their travels, familiar friends and enemies are all there, caught in wig form on the silver tree. Something in Tifa balks at that and her feet plant, chin ducking the smallest bit. She's supposed to leave herself behind here - turn into someone else - and she doesn't want to be someone else.

Except it's the only way she'll be accepted.

"Lift me up?"
Roi: [human] hey youpuresilverpaws on November 25th, 2011 06:56 pm (UTC)
I hope he's okay. >w< He has info in his journal. :> He's... almost 21? ^^;;
Rescue...? Right, well, it isn't hard to search and lurk in rooms that have only his scent. Rooms that have yet to be searched by another.

He has to keep moving. Staying still would be very, very bad. Unspeakably bad. The monster would awaken soon and try to reclaim what it thought was its own.

The monster saw fit to dress him in a long, white dress, and under it a pair of matching panties.

For now, the beast rests. While it rests, he has to keep moving.

Door after door. He needs somewhere large to hide. Somewhere he won't be found by the monster.

In the end, he tries to find a box. Yes. The box would hide him. It would protect him. The box is everything. A box. Any box would do. He yanks open door after door, trying to find a box. In the end, his search comes up fruitless.

Among the shadows, Roi is easy enough to spot. Pale skin, the white dress (without a fake bosom,) silvery-white, bobbed hair, and a set of matching cat ears (there's a tail, but it's caught under the dress.)

Somehow, what Cloud wears makes sense. He doesn't really think to question it. He doesn't much care for pink, but it's cute on his rescuer.

Slowly approaching, he listens, hears him out, before replying. Although in reality, he'd never met this Cloud before, he has met another, and so this one feels familiar to him.

"It's fine." He smiles at him, warmly, serenely. "I'm happy that you found me while the monster still sleeps. We should leave before it wakes." He worries for his rescuer - the beast is frightening to him.

"If it wakes, we're both in trouble." Please, take him away from here? Far away. He wonders how Cloud can consider fighting without armor to protect him. If anything, Cloud's state of dress would prompt a more fierce battle.

It loved to prey on those that looked weak and defenseless. Someone wearing almost nothing at all fits the bill, too.