EXTERIOR
It’s nighttime, and the building before you is impossibly tall, made of dark steel dotted with exterior lights, illuminating the green glowing haze lingering in the air. Military vehicles pass along the street, unearthing themselves from an underground parking garage nearby, though their drivers appear faceless through the glass. The main entrance does not eschew visitors — the interior lights shine brightest through expansive glass doors, which will open for any who wander in.
LOBBY
Corporate clean and modern, the lobby is shining, straight-edged, and ambient lit. It is a space that was clearly designed to comfortably host many people, though it is currently (and always) empty. Even the front desk is bulwarked by shining walls of security lights, with no one seated to greet newcomers. A massive set of stairs, one on each side, will lead a visitor upward. It is the epitome of subliminal space, and obviously meant to be traveled through, not loitered in.
CAFETERIA
A half-formed cafe adjoining the lobby. You can sit, if you like, but there’s not much else to do. No food and drink being served, no ambient music to fill the space. Very little effort has been put into the creation of this area beyond functional construction, though the spotlit foliage is a nice addition.
STAIRWELLOne way or another, there’s a stairwell that loops up, and up, and up— for as far as the eye can see. The floors are numbered, and maybe those numbers climb higher; maybe they jump round, maybe they repeat themselves. Footsteps clang on metal, and resonate with each step. Surely, at some point, there’ll be an exit — and sometimes there is, a door appearing on one story or another, providing freedom. Sometimes, you just have to keep climbing.
You could go back down the other way, but even that feels like a feat of its own, depending on how far you’ve already journeyed.
VR TRAINING ROOMA training room with wide flooring and nondescript walls, made for sparring. There isn’t much here until, with a flicker of light, the scene erupts in a distinctly different palette of color. Atop the long length of an impossibly large
cannon, or the square of a foreign city in a foreign
nation, couched by trees. Sometimes it’s not a scene at all; sometimes, a
monster greets you, instead.
PERSONAL QUARTERSLocked to all who find it, for the time being.
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supersoldier) wrote2022-02-11 11:01 am
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[why would i lie about it? is what the question, quite generously, implies. she does not turn back to look at him, for she does not play by the rules that a hurt look can get her places. cold is the value of her posture, her words harsh.
in any case, she takes no real insult from whatever assumption she could take from his question.
only after she reaches the next floor and continues further up does she continue to explain.]
There are always wars, small and little. Every side wants to be stronger than the other. Soldiers are made a symbol of hope, an armor of iron flies in the skies, and gods come to our world to fight for us. Fools allow themselves to be experimented on for a chance to save their home.
Heroes come in many shapes and forms where I come from, Sephiroth.
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[He is sometimes cold, and sometimes does not bother to parse his words, but he would not call her a liar on account of her stories sounding fantastical. He only lacks giving clarification, and so he makes an attempt at doing so now whilst walking up the steps. Considering, quietly, the manner of heroes that she's described.]
I'm called a hero, too. For my participation in a war that turned the tide against those who'd rebel against Shinra. But I was only doing what I was trained for.
[And war is ugly, unkind. He's watched life drain from bodies that were bright with anger only moments prior. Very rarely does anyone laud warfare's inherent violence as heroic, and yet he carries the title all the same.]
I'm asking what you did to earn the honor.
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if she has any questions about either his tone or the newer revelation of 'shinra', she does not voice them.
instead, continuing upwards and with a sigh, she clarifies for his sake.]
I have powers unlike the other people in my world, and I was willing enough to fight for the higher good. Redeem myself from past mistakes. It was hardly an honor.
[she reaches the landing for the second floor. boy, this is going to be a long trip upwards. she glances at him from over her shoulder just briefly, before putting her hand on the railing to help herself.
and on their journey up continues.]
But, mostly, I think I just got the title because of the good people around me.
[war he said. she knows war, as one of the helpless civilians tossed and turned by the tide of the forces that wage it.]
Did you kill many?
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More so because she credits the title to those around her — not her own actions to make right what she believed was wrong.
He follows quietly, not surprised by her question, but uncertain how to reply. How does one qualify “many” in a war? Has his blade ended more lives than Shinra’s machines, its sprawling army? Does the blood spilled by a man on the frontlines—a “hero”—count for more than the rest? Less?
Does it matter?]
Yes. I have.
[He was trained for it.]
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perhaps she is too close to the circumstances of an unfair battlefield, as a child and growing up. too close to it to ever see sympathetically without further exposition from the man's end.
instead, she keeps walking up, silent, not even a sniff to show acknowledgement to his answer. the echo of the metal stairs under her shoes bounce about the large, open area, on the walls, where up and down is no longer discernible.]
What is at the top, anyway?
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And so, a few more steps up, and—]
The roof.
[Obviously. A pause.]
Many have unflattering things to say about the city of Midgar. But even I will admit that the view is nice from above.
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[she repeats, a quiet mutter, walking to the end of the landing on the 7th floor (—what a slow trek—), peering over the railing and hearing the lasting comment about an exceptional view should the top be reached.
well, wanda has never been given anything in her life. maybe, just this once, she can cheat a little.
with the same red magic that pulsed from her fingers now encasing her hands, she lifts from the stairs and hovers on the edge, taking an insurmountable less amount of time to get to the 12th floor.]
Do you mind if I do it this way? [sephiroth likes his stairs. sephiroth can go up the stairs. she just hovers a few levels over him, but does not force herself to go any further than the twelfth floor.] I hope you have imagined this view you speak of into your domain.
no subject
I don't mind. But are you getting impatient?
[He wonders. The 12th floor is still long departed from the top, innumerable stairs between here and the roof. She will make better time hovering to the top, but he will undoubtedly lag behind.
Or will he?]
If you're in a rush to see the sights, I can run.
[Up x amount of floors??? He says it as though it would be nothing, and it's hard to tell from his even tone if it's a joke or otherwise.]
no subject
[his offer though, it sounds a tad... ridiculous...? wanda peers down at him from between the metal steps, and soars in easy circles towards the next floor, following the stair's set path.
pietro would have reached the top in a blink of an eye. tommy, too. she can't help her smile.]
Are you suggesting a race?
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He replies as he walks, though perhaps his steps grow a little faster.]
You want to reach the top faster, don’t you?
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wanda floats away from the path of the stairs, floating instead on the side, where there are less obstacles and a more direct, straight path.]
I'll see you at the top.
[thankfully, she's not competitive enough to have her ego bruised regardless of whether she wins or loses, but off she goes, amping the speed with her magic.]
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Sephiroth, who finds the core of his entertainment from long sparring sessions among SOLDIERs, or challenges thrown his way to test his skills, needs very little more motivation. It is rare for a stranger to see this side of him, but Wanda has not been overbearing, or sending wheedling expectations his way. He can humor her by expediting their trip to the roof.
That, and grasping at conversation for dozens of floors sounds like its own kind of tiresome.
And so he runs. His long limbs only lend to his speed, able to take several stairs in a single gait with increasing momentum. He knows these stairs well, knows how many exist on each flight, when to take a turn and at what angle. His hair whips behind him; occasionally, he leaps a whole stretch of stairs at a time.
How does he compare to someone who only needs to fly, unobstructed? They’ll find out as they near the top.]
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(she also has a horrifying thought dredging up past memories of an unseen enemy, ready to strike at any moment, a force of nature that she and pietro could do nothing against.)
truth be told, wanda has it easier on this straightforward flight up, but she still accelerates with her magic and is caught off-guard by how quick the ceiling arrives.
there's a loud THUMP from somewhere above, cursing in a likely-unfamiliar language. should sephiroth arrive, he'll find wanda just about landing on her feet, hands covering the top of her head.]
no subject
Well. The comedically-timed (sorry, Wanda) thump on the skull. Sephiroth arrives on the same landing just as she’s clutching the top of her head. The echoing noise still resonates throughout the stairwell, and though he looks immaculately unruffled for running up several flights of stairs in a short amount of time, there is a switch to his brow. The way his eyes try to hold back amusement at the absurdity of it.
(It reminds him of what a SOLDIER would do during downtime. Feats of strength, dexterity, or speed to fight back waves of boredom and idleness, sometimes manifesting—and ending—in unexpected ways.)]
Your magic doesn’t have brakes?
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[an answer with a question, grumbling, audibly annoyed at what his question implies. it is relatively dark for a ceiling, the lights mostly on the walls and per floor on the stairs. she can see the creases of his eyes showing relative amusement, so different from his quiet and stoic standing.
with a light comb of her hands through her hair, she placates the pain for a bit and tries bearing through it, that ringing in her ears and the throbbing ache that will inevitably come.
she points to the side.]
This door?
no subject
This way.
[He passes over the threshold, expecting her to follow. So, yes, this door.
His domain circumvents passing through any offices he cares little for; this high up is technically the President’s realm, or the VP if he were not on an extended “business trip” in Junon. But the door merely opens up to the rooftop proper, a flat clearance with room for a helipad. Crossing further, and the sight of Midgar, lit up at night, greets them.
A cool breeze passes by. This high up, and the ozone scent of mako cannot reach them, no matter how it clouds the sky in a strange green — almost beautiful if seen (and only seen) from a distance.]
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the sight of midgar, a city unknown to her, reminds her so much of the bigger cities she never had a chance of living in and had once imagined, in daydreams, the possibility. there's an odd, but beautiful, green like a haze over the stark blacks and geometric profile of buildings.
so many bright lights.
she pulls the shawl closer to herself as she peers over the ledge.]
It's worth the trip up.
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But Midgar’s view at night rarely disappoints, even from those who would deride the city and its corporative heart. He steps closer to the rooftop’s edge, the vista yawning out before him. The breeze plays at the tips of his hair.]
It can be beautiful.
[A sight worthy of reflection. Likely why he’s made it a part of his domain.]
Do your cities look similar?
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no, not quite.
this city is quite unlike her own, in ways that she can't imagine. at least the ones she has seen. but the question also feels like permission to show him, should she ever ask. and so—wanda lifts one of her hands and allows a flurry of red to fall over the image of midgar, over all this unnatural green, to allow for static-like walls to build in scarlet, climbing as high rises: new york city, as she remembers it, with its thousands of lights.]
Many say this one is one of the most exciting. [tall buildings, lights, no sleep.] But they can be different.
[another twist of her hand and the buildings shift, replaced now with quieter glasgow. she pulls her hand down, letting the green glow of mako to overwhelm the red of her magic, sephiroth's domain taking hold again in its original form.]
I am probably the worst person to ask. [with a light shrug she turns to him.] I never got to travel the world much.
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His eyes linger, tracing over each line of every building as though he could commit it to memory. He had not considered how varied the landscape of other worlds could be. Even in Abraxas, the scope of the universe had expanded to two planets instead of one. Wanda's display reminds him that it's bigger than that; a grounded reminder that he is surprisingly small in the grand scheme of it.]
I only travel where Shinra assigns me. If you've visited two cities, that's one more than me.
[In a way. He is familiar with the heart of Midgar, which he counts. He has visited Junon, which he does not.]
no subject
[to be 'assigned', told where to go, disallowed from going anywhere else because of reasons that pervade sephiroth's whole existence—a soldier, a man that looks after the assets of the company he works for. she cannot help but wonder why work for them at all?
but not everything is so black and white; she remains looking at him, a narrowing of her eyes as if she could read his mind.]
I traveled because my country was destroyed, but I was only allowed to go to specific places. [perhaps, she thinks, we are not so dissimilar. she turns her head away when she speaks again.] All I really wanted was a house in a quiet town, but I suppose those of this world have different plans for us.