How can one hope to escape the fate of misery, when your very name is S T R I F E ?
Current M!A Status: None.
Cloud Strife roleplay blog Willing to roleplay with those outside of the Final Fantasy universe as well.
All types of writing, mostly novella.
Will roleplay Cloud from any given time frame/universe: Crisis Core, Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children, Kingdom Hearts, Dissidia, etc.
alitisomnia: A hand raised itself to ruffle golden locks of reminiscent feathers. "Hey there, Spike. Miss me?"
The appendage was successful in its descent, the target noticing the course of its destination before it was achieved, and was found to be comfortable with such. The gesture also carried with it a nostalgic hint as the blond man became bemused with reminiscent fragments of receiving this same treatment many times before. However, a specific recall caused lips to press into a firm line and the bioluminescent gaze to darken with skirmishes of the past. Particularly the scene where his elder had bid him farewell beneath the cover of a rocky terrain while he seized his fate in his own hands. Though, the detection of such changes to the solemn visage would be fleeting, the span of their existence only brief before the slate was wiped clean again. Instead, Cloud stuck to the usual routine aloofness, a gloved hand of his own raising to lightly grasp the other’s wrist as if he made to remove Zack’s hand. "Tell you what I miss, the peace and quiet that is gone with you here."
"I think…" The brunette chimed in response to the answer given by the elder Strife. "You need a vacation, Cloud; you simply work too much, and too far recently. It’s not been the same…" A soft exhale fleeted from between pallid tiers, closing cobalt oculars briefly to further his case that he had been depressed without Cloud’s company during his business.
A full defeat was the only conclusion possible the moment the forlorn display was issued from the other, guilt seeping its way into Cloud’s awareness to be the cause of such a thing. A hand dived into the windswept strands of the golden hair, the gesture made as the blond attempted to regain himself and appease the sullen Denzel. "…You’re right." Verbal submission to further his intentions. "Denzel, I’ll be sure to stick around. Don’t need to get bent out of shape."
"You really need to stick around, Cloud. It has been too long this time, it’s so unfair that I never get to see you at-all."
"S’not like I expected to get that busy…" A mumbled reply in the chaste efforts of supplying an excuse to the addled brunette. Though it was apparent that more must be offered in order to calm this one sided dispute. A heavy sigh raised the elder chest as he surrendered to the other’s whims to make peace. "Alright. I’ll stay close to home for a little while."
A twitch of the brow. A tightening of the lip. Inept and exceeding over him is not the ultimatum of the dead-end conversation, and the younger blonde is a lot more keen than he appears. The remembrance of a life once wrought that the elder mentioned brought a pang of regret (whips of the emotion, evermore) in those eyes. But as the minutes wore on, the pool of his sapphire eyes seemed to expand and deepen; first into lakes, then into seas, then into oceans — bottomless and unfathomable as time itself. He understood, but his naked pride didn’t want to admit it aloud.
“Lost? I was merely reminiscing. Remembering the times I came back like this…what always happened. Abandonment, haven’t you noticed? It follows me like an inky shadow — always wanting to pounce and drown me in its sinister, murky reality.” He’ll curl a leather-bound fist and drive it into the nearest wall as a ghost of unspoken aggravation wells itself in his tiny little body; churning, twisting, knifing with alkaline truth. Roxas gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from his distant companion (if he’d call him that anymore? It’s been too long…), and stared defiantly at the shadow of the ex-SOLDIER seeping in from the sunlit window behind them. Sunset was upon them.
The stoic figure merely observed as the self proclaimed “husk” unwillingly succumbs to the fatal metamorphosis that is conflicting emotions. Ever watching, how Roxas’ facade twisted under the stress that accumulated with the refusal to relent to the truth. The display of such slowly began to sink its feral claws into the icy exterior that surrounded Cloud, the barrier that kept him at bay, gradually tearing away at the shackles of his own restraints. Twas the youth’s violent upset that brought the elder to act, Cloud’s own leather-bound hand delving into the golden refuge beneath the other’s hood. With some effort he was able to cast off the garment’s shroud from Roxas’ head and freely muss the flaxen locks so much like his own. The method of this was rough enough to dispel further outcries from the target by redirecting the simmering anger with the distraction, yet gentle enough to translate a feeling of comfort that ebbed from the swordsman.
"Perhaps ‘missed’ was a better word for it. You are someone that was missed, do not question it. Abandoned? Then why is it that I’m here, right now. This is the reality you need to face. You’re not alone." The latter of the elder’s spoken was conjured slowly to grab the other’s attention yet definite in its execution. Bathed in the orange luminescence of a fading sun, the turquoise hues of Cloud’s burning sights only made more clear as he transfixed them upon Roxas’ own flighty line of sight. The appendage within the fair strands still not withdrawn, now falling to capture the boy’s jawline and coax him into looking once again.