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paixaorpg2007-10-23 05:08 am
estaunsinterius.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2007-10-23 05:08 am
The beginning...
Character(s): Sephiroth, Resistance members
Content: The plot thickens!
Setting: An abandoned warehouse
Time: Midnight
Warnings: Plotting, cursing likely, fighting possible. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
The scene: A smallish empty warehouse, no larger than a hangar for a two-seat aircraft. Several small, empty crates, loose boards, and other such detritus have been arranged into passable, if slightly uncomfortable, seating. At the center of the room stands a small table with a projector, of the sort one might see in a classroom. There is a small bucket with many different colored markers sitting nearby, along with what looks to be a barstool.
Standing by that projector, waiting, Sephiroth watched the entrance. The windows had long since been covered, presumably by the gypsies, and there was a large screen at the open end of the room.
Gone was the easygoing man who had so easily handed over his sword at the fairground gate. There was nothing easy in the rigid military stance, the hard-set, glowing, glacial eyes, or that scowl. This was the precursor, if he was right, to war.
And a general is never easygoing in front of the troops.
A signal had been sent out to those he had spoken to, and those who were deemed trustworthy enough to know of this meeting. He was expecting quite an unique group, one which would necessarily be sworn to the highest secrecy.
There would, inevitably, be loose lips. He knew and expected this.
The question was, would his countermeasures be enough? There were four distinct seating areas, and... well, to say more would give away the game.
Sephiroth stood, and waited. The appointed hour drew near.
Content: The plot thickens!
Setting: An abandoned warehouse
Time: Midnight
Warnings: Plotting, cursing likely, fighting possible. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
The scene: A smallish empty warehouse, no larger than a hangar for a two-seat aircraft. Several small, empty crates, loose boards, and other such detritus have been arranged into passable, if slightly uncomfortable, seating. At the center of the room stands a small table with a projector, of the sort one might see in a classroom. There is a small bucket with many different colored markers sitting nearby, along with what looks to be a barstool.
Standing by that projector, waiting, Sephiroth watched the entrance. The windows had long since been covered, presumably by the gypsies, and there was a large screen at the open end of the room.
Gone was the easygoing man who had so easily handed over his sword at the fairground gate. There was nothing easy in the rigid military stance, the hard-set, glowing, glacial eyes, or that scowl. This was the precursor, if he was right, to war.
And a general is never easygoing in front of the troops.
A signal had been sent out to those he had spoken to, and those who were deemed trustworthy enough to know of this meeting. He was expecting quite an unique group, one which would necessarily be sworn to the highest secrecy.
There would, inevitably, be loose lips. He knew and expected this.
The question was, would his countermeasures be enough? There were four distinct seating areas, and... well, to say more would give away the game.
Sephiroth stood, and waited. The appointed hour drew near.
no subject
It was a good thing Sephiroth and Death had finished their discussion, apparently, because everyone started arriving not two minutes after they had finished. First was Karst, with her scythe and her overall near lack of clothing. Suppressing an insane urge to either taunt the Proxian or flirt with her - he wasn't sure which - he shook his head. "Nothing definite yet, I fear. An idea, but little more."
Next in was the insanely tall feathered goddess, Picchu. Hers was a simple greeting, and returned in kind with a slight bow. "Good evening, Picchu."
Next in was another man with silver hair. Sephiroth was forced to do a double take at this, perhaps out of expecting someone else - Kadaj, for example - to be under that hair. But no, he did not know this man. Setzer received a nod from Sephiroth as well, as the next pair made their way in.
The first he recognized as Auron, the one-eyed man with the absurdly large sword - not that his own Masamune wasn't, but these were completely different beasts. Following him was a man whose robes marked him as a mage of some sort, though Sephiroth could not place any of the symbology. Both of these gentlemen again warranted nods of recognition.
The warehouse was starting to fill up now, and there were still more to come. Next to enter was a pasty blond youth in a frumpy dress and apron combination that was only odd on closer inspection - the skull and symbols were a nice touch, as were the blade strapped to her arm and the rest of her accoutrements. Definitely one to watch out for, as she had the somewhat glazed look of some of ShinRa's finest.
Next in was... a nun. Odd, that. Increasingly so as he noticed that her habit was not quite normal. Nor was the dress under it. And the pair of handgun-filled holsters on her hips was decidedly not part of any religious order he had ever heard of, barring the Order of St. Ignatius the Defender. (Ask me about it later, it's a cross-canon joke.) This worthy received yet another nod of recognition from Sephiroth.
Her traveling companion, a shorter male with hair so black it was almost blue, a red cloak/coat and headband (it's difficult to tell from the pic and you don't have a description in your profile, might want to fix that), and what appeared at this range to be an otherwise black ensemble, barely even compared, though Sephiroth had a feeling there was much more to him than met the eye.
Well, there were certainly enough of them here. Nine individuals, not counting himself, who had some overwhelming reason to dislike the Organization. And there were more to come.