reverielogs | ( OPEN ) system zero

» WHO? Morgana + anyone who wants to get hit in the face with a communicator
» WHEN? 5/18, you know, around then
» WHERE? deck 6 corridors, observation deck
» WHAT? Morgana wakes up, thinks her communicator is possessed and then yells at the moons (Old Witch Yells At Space)
» WARNINGS? None, but I'll edit accordingly and warn in subject lines if anything comes up!

a; outside level 6 quarters

[ all things considered, this is not where she expected her soul to end up.

the cold, grimy floor of the deck corridor is not so unfamiliar to her that morgana is perplexed. no, it feels like somewhere she was before, and this dim lighting certainly doesn't help. there are key factors missing, and she uses those to ground herself. Don't forget about those things. It is not the same, she tells herself.

far less familiar to the girl is the device that buzzes. it comes alive, and it's looping message is curious. morgana thinks it's just someone speaking directly to her, and upon discovering it is not a person...

...the source of the noise, whatever this curious device is, must go. metal doesn't speak. morgana wastes no time in disposing of it.

by throwing it into the corridor.

you know, with her skeleton hand. there's a redhead with long braids lobbing her communicator down the corridor with such a disdain for the thing, you might think she was doing it for the vine.

hope it doesn't hit you in the face? ]

b; observation deck

[ the other point of offense was that hideous jumpsuit. morgana doesn't have spare clothing, though, so she raids the room she claims as her's, and can be spotted in the observation deck. the sheets off her bed have been pulled free of the mattress and wrapped around her like a cloak, covering most of her body. this is much more appropriate, she thinks - now, if she had a belt and some way to sew sleeves into it...

...but that's not why she's glowering out into space. her expression is hard, steely; she doesn't look particularly approachable. morgana is standing there, arms at her sides, one flesh hand exposed and one skeleton hand peeking out beneath the sheet settled over her shoulders. ]

...And I'm to believe there were two moons all this time? What sort of madman dreams up a world with two moons? I have to say, it's unique, at least.

[ she's calling it stupid. going quiet, the girl stands as still as a statue. she seems unaware anyone is at all present in the room with her...? ]

What are your ears for if not to listen? Decoration? I must say, my dear, I was hoping you might have an opinion on the doubling of that particular celestial body.

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[ two moons, an angel, and a man with ears like a cat's. is there no end to this realm's strangeness? the girl regards him with a cold stare, though maybe she's just a touch too focused on his cat ears. how nice it would be, to live as a cat... ]

Eorzea... The word is so foreign to me, my tongue can hardly wrap itself around it. Nevertheless, I have no reason to not believe you. [ there's portable phones now, so. ] Am I misunderstanding, or did you just say one of the moons in your Eorzea was felled in some manner?

[The cold stare bothers him not; Ishgard was perfect training for enduring indifference and scorn, at least back when he was just a suspicious foreigner being housed by the Fortemps.

Rhea'li nods. Yes, she is indeed correct.]

Once Dalamud hung clear in the heavens.

[He doesn't know the specifics, but...]

I was but twenty one summers when the red moon blotted out the sun as it fell from the skies. Trapped within the moon was the dragon Bahamut, who shattered his prison and brought about the Calamity.

[He had been safe, but the same could not be said of all his friends.]

I could do naught but watch.

[ what a terrible story, she thinks. it has the hallmarks of ancient foreign tales, things she's heard in passing. morgana pretends she has no interest in things that aren't holy to her, but she's strangely fixated on his tale. her gaze moves from those ears (she is so strangely envious; why?) to his visage. ]

Where I come from, something like this would be a tale you tell children who have active imaginations. However... As I said. I have no reason to not believe you. I'm not mistaken, am I, in the assumption this "Calamity" you speak of was something akin to the apocalypse, the end of the world in your own way? If that is so... is this realm where souls go? A sort of "in between"...?

[ what a strange form for it to take, if so. ]

[A shake of his head. That would be the Lifestream, and though he has not travelled it himself, he knows one who has.]

My world yet lives, saved by the sacrifice of one.

[A death for the life of thousands. Yet none may learn the truth of it, the tragedy behind the man who saved them all.]

This seems to be a land far from mine. [A nod in her direction.] And yours, it appears.

Unfortunately so, my dear. [ in response to his observation - it is different. ] Though I imagine it is quite far for everyone here... We are all the same as the other, lost in time and space... literally.

My world has nothing in common with your's. I've never heard of such tales... [ mostly. probably. she's not supposed to have heard them, at least. it wouldn't be appropriate. ] Though the sacrifice of one so others may live is nothing new to me.

[My dear? That's been called many things, but that isn't one of them. His eyebrows rise slightly, though it may be difficult to tell when his fringe most of it.

His tail idly swishes behind him.]

'Tis a common tale across worlds, then.

[When will the sacrifices end? Though the Dragonsong War is over, there is more work to be done. There is always work to be done. His survival, built on the sacrifices of others. Will there come a day where he must pay it back in kind?

He tilts his head to the side.]

Mayhaps you can tell me a little of yours?

[ a somberness overcomes her, and the girl feels a need to gain clarification before proceeding. in many ways, it is an attempt to clear her own head. looking down the floor, she no longer meets his gaze. there is, perhaps, a shameful tone to her words. ]

Martyrs are as common as dust bunnies, my dear... Every man has a fantasy he wishes to see fulfilled: to be the hero. At the end of the day, there are enough people in the world to assure at least one person is willing to give one for the majority. Is it the tale or my world that you're curious about? My own is quite boring in comparison... And I didn't have much status in it, so I can't say there was much to my experience in it worth sharing.

[But what is a dust bunny...

Rhea'li's expression grows sombre as she speaks, however. He never intended to be a hero, but that is what he ended up becoming to so many. But even now, he doesn't feel like one.

He shakes his head.]

What makes a world boring, save the normalcy when viewed from your own eyes?

[A small smile creeps across his expression.]

Perhaps we can trade, one of your experiences for one of mine.

[ there's something very nostalgic about this experience, in his smile and the easy way it slips across his lips. it's as simple as sunlight falling on a rose, perhaps, and morgana thinks of a time where she might have met his gaze. today, she looks down to the impersonal metal of the observation deck's floor, and wonders how long it's been since she's felt capable of returning a stranger's smile. ]

...I'm sorry. I cannot think of an experience in my life worth sharing.

[ she isn't quite for long moment, however. people always ask questions, insist that, no, no, surely there's something. so morgana digs deep for a topic change, and dredges up one thing. ]

I heard stories of Midsummer celebrations. Did your calendar allow for such festivities?

[Rhea'li finds that quite hard to believe... but of course, her change in topic distracts him from that point. Rhea'li nods.]

Aye. We've a celebration called the Moonfire Faire. Days of food and fireworks, best enjoyed at the beach.

[Though he's been holed up in Ishgard these days...]

Are festivals your interest?

( OPEN ) system zero

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