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neopoints[ AVALANCHE's first mission had been to deal with the Sorceresses. It hadn't been an easy task, but it had been a necessary one to gain the allegiance of the GARDENs in their war against ShinRa. Their journey had been long, and bloody, and filled with loss and misery - but at its end, they had stood victorious. The world had seemed so bright and brimming with possibilities, and for that one shining moment, all of them had hope.
It had lasted about six months. Construction on EDGE was well underway before they realized they had a problem on their hands.
Geostigma started to claw its way across the planet. At first the handful of survivors from Midgar began displaying symptoms, spreading slowly out from there. An epidemic that magic can't cure, that slowly choked the life from the host.
It hits him while he's visiting the Garden. He has a stack of casefiles - all children from Edge, in need of homes and (probably pallative) care while they hunt for a cure. Midgar's government is in shambles and there's nothing in place to take them, so the best thing to do is move them to somewhere that can. Not all are sick - but even if they were, there's really no telling until they begin to bleed.
Most of the people who have it don't display symptoms until it's far too late, and Cloud is unfortunately no different. He's seated in the chair across from Squall's desk, waiting for the commander to be pulled from whatever meeting he's attending to sit down and discuss somethimg more important. His fingers impatiently tap against the mahogany wood underneath him, tap, tap, tap, tap - until they're locking abruptly. Pain flares through his senses and Cloud pitches forward, coughing and gagging. Black blood splatters across the fresh white paperwork, obscuring the hopeful faces of new recruits. ]
It had lasted about six months. Construction on EDGE was well underway before they realized they had a problem on their hands.
Geostigma started to claw its way across the planet. At first the handful of survivors from Midgar began displaying symptoms, spreading slowly out from there. An epidemic that magic can't cure, that slowly choked the life from the host.
It hits him while he's visiting the Garden. He has a stack of casefiles - all children from Edge, in need of homes and (probably pallative) care while they hunt for a cure. Midgar's government is in shambles and there's nothing in place to take them, so the best thing to do is move them to somewhere that can. Not all are sick - but even if they were, there's really no telling until they begin to bleed.
Most of the people who have it don't display symptoms until it's far too late, and Cloud is unfortunately no different. He's seated in the chair across from Squall's desk, waiting for the commander to be pulled from whatever meeting he's attending to sit down and discuss somethimg more important. His fingers impatiently tap against the mahogany wood underneath him, tap, tap, tap, tap - until they're locking abruptly. Pain flares through his senses and Cloud pitches forward, coughing and gagging. Black blood splatters across the fresh white paperwork, obscuring the hopeful faces of new recruits. ]
no subject
Date: 2019-12-09 07:14 am (UTC)They were heroes, for all of the fifteen minutes that it actually counted. After that was the much less glamorous task of rebuilding calm from the lingering chaos. Happily ever after only existed in storybooks, after all, a neat little bow wrapped on fairy stories to make children believe there's something good in the world.
Cynical. Rinoa would have pouted at him for that, rolled her eyes and huffed out a lecture that a little optimism wouldn't kill him. But it was hard not to feel worn down when instead of facing off against monsters and magical beings, it was a battle for funds, for borders, for the ability to care for all those who still suffered the effects of their planet's crises.
And then the Geostigma hit.
Far away from Midgar, Balamb had yet to see the worst of it. But that meant refugees from Edge, orphan children with nowhere else to go, and a Garden with twice the amount of recruits it had scarcely a year before. The funds from grateful survivors trickled in slowly for their saviors, but that was the key word, wasn't it? Slowly.
The red tape spares no one.
It had been through one of these negotiations for these funds that Selphie bounced in with news of Cloud's arrival, and Squall was only too willing to leave the rest of the meeting in Quistis's capable hands.
Rinoa catches him midway through his trek back to his office, flitting like a bluebird as she settled neatly into her unofficial roll as Headmistress. It had taken several minutes of enduring her not-entirely-unwelcome embrace before he was freed from that conversation, taking the elevator up to his office and only catching Cloud's hunched back as he pushes through the doors.]
Wasn't expecting you back so soon. [Though it wasn't an unwelcome visit. He had had a silent camaraderie with Cloud as they cut a path to peace, one that Rinoa was always happy to encourage, excited to see Squall bonding with anyone. It was, in fact, the mention of Cloud's visit that detached her from his arm in the first place, gasping in delight as she instead shoved him roughly towards the elevator, calling out not to keep his friend waiting before she sprinted off to her next destination.
He would have said more, maybe. Or maybe not. Regardless, the possibility is cut short with Cloud's ragged breathing, pulling his attention to a different topic altogether.
His SeeD's discipline doesn't let him rush to Cloud's side in alarm, but he walks hurriedly, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a grim line. One that grows even grimmer when he sees the blotches of unnaturally dark blood across the fine mahogany of his desk.]
... What happened? [He knows what happened. He knows what this means. But his mind feels sluggish at the sight of that oozing, black liquid, refusing to make the full connection.]
no subject
Date: 2019-12-12 03:22 am (UTC)and it still wasn't enough to escape its wrath.
It wasn't fair.
Cloud keeps a hand pressed over his mouth, like that will cover the evidence. Breathing raggedly through his nose, eyes clenched shut as he soldiers through the wave of pain. His body feels like it's on fire, mind jittering and body trembling as something misfires and misfires bad. ]
I'm fine. [ His voice comes out thick and wrong. The fabric of his gloves is stained with blood when they come away, the corners of his mouth still wet with it. ]
It's fine.
[ It's not. He forces himself upright, grabbing for a box of tissues to try to blot the blood off the desk. Like it's fine. A nosebleed, something small and inconsequential. ]
More orphans from Edge. We don't have the space for them, but they've expressed interest in the SeeD program.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-14 04:12 am (UTC)No one's a mind reader. Show your feelings. Let people know you care.
But it still doesn't come easy.
He leans over Cloud, mouth set in a stern line, his gloved hands pulling the stained papers toward him. The bottom ones may be readable. Maybe.
It's easier that way, if he focuses on the things he can take care of first, rather than the black blood dripping off his desk, down the corner of Cloud's mouth.]
I'll let Quistis know. [...] Might need some copies.
[....................]
You should go see Dr. Kadowaki.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 07:51 pm (UTC)he swipes at the stain stubbornly. opening his mouth to refute it - to come up with an excuse to hide it, because he can't be sick. if he's sick then so much falls apart and it can't.
instead, his eyes drop down. he glances at the blood across the back of his hand. ]
I think we both know that won't do any good.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-26 05:31 am (UTC)The little things. Easy to focus on them.
His hand reaches out and hovers awkwardly in the air, as if he wasn't sure whether to put it on Cloud's shoulder in an attempt at comfort or just let it drop down to his side again.
He settles for a compromise, setting it on a clean area of the desk, closer to where Cloud sits.
It's fine. He can just say he's reading the papers over his shoulder. Nothing more, nothing less.]
Rest up there before you head out, at least. [His voice comes out surprisingly steady, his mind gaining lucidity that sent his nerves running both hot and cold. It's a dimly familiar sensation, similar to how he felt after the battle with Edea, when Rinoa laid comatose and Squall was helpless to do anything but watch.]
It'll help her know what to expect.