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Banora, Thursday? Probably?
Apr. 11th, 2019 07:37 pmWrong.
Everything seemed wrong, somehow. Heavy, like Zack had been awake for too long, or like he'd just come back in after an afternoon of throwing down with toads in the jungle back home, before his SOLDIER days, where he'd spend hours running around and then occasionally hopping around and his parents would scold him for worrying them but he was already halfway to curling up to nap for hours, and how were his parents doing these days anyway? He should check in with them sometime...
He shook his head to try to clear it from the fog, but shaking it just left him more dazed, made it harder to focus on the way the surroundings he was sitting amongst were all wrong, like someone had scraped away layer upon layer of the scrawlings of a madman to leave only broken stone and mako bubbling up from below.
He was sitting in caverns that hadn't seen any life besides him for a long, long while.
He frowned. Pulled out his PHS to see how long he had been down for the count, and then... frowned some more. His inbox was full of new messages, and idly he found himself scrolling through them, brow furrowing as he read an invite to coffee from Kunzel, an update from his Fan Club talking about... his favorite flavor of ice cream, apparently. And it wasn't wrong. They were super well-informed. But...
He frowned a little bit more.
There, a message from Cissnei inviting him to Rosalind's birthday party. There, a reminder of a bill that needed to be paid to keep the utilities running to his room in the ShinRa building. A whole chain of messages just shooting the shit with a trainee in the infantry who had wanted some extra pointers before he went off on a mission. An update from Tifa on her exploits in starting a small-scale chocobo ranch operation in...
... Nibelheim.
Zack felt nauseated, felt like he was peeking in on a life he had no business peeking in on, and by some strange quirk of fate, that life was his own. Experimentally, he pivoted at the waist, and was relieved, in a strange way, to feel the familiar pull of old scars over his torso as he did so.
So.
So... what was this?
This... was wrong.
[OOC: Apparently our approach to breaking canon is 'go big or go home!' For one, NFB for distance!]
Everything seemed wrong, somehow. Heavy, like Zack had been awake for too long, or like he'd just come back in after an afternoon of throwing down with toads in the jungle back home, before his SOLDIER days, where he'd spend hours running around and then occasionally hopping around and his parents would scold him for worrying them but he was already halfway to curling up to nap for hours, and how were his parents doing these days anyway? He should check in with them sometime...
He shook his head to try to clear it from the fog, but shaking it just left him more dazed, made it harder to focus on the way the surroundings he was sitting amongst were all wrong, like someone had scraped away layer upon layer of the scrawlings of a madman to leave only broken stone and mako bubbling up from below.
He was sitting in caverns that hadn't seen any life besides him for a long, long while.
He frowned. Pulled out his PHS to see how long he had been down for the count, and then... frowned some more. His inbox was full of new messages, and idly he found himself scrolling through them, brow furrowing as he read an invite to coffee from Kunzel, an update from his Fan Club talking about... his favorite flavor of ice cream, apparently. And it wasn't wrong. They were super well-informed. But...
He frowned a little bit more.
There, a message from Cissnei inviting him to Rosalind's birthday party. There, a reminder of a bill that needed to be paid to keep the utilities running to his room in the ShinRa building. A whole chain of messages just shooting the shit with a trainee in the infantry who had wanted some extra pointers before he went off on a mission. An update from Tifa on her exploits in starting a small-scale chocobo ranch operation in...
... Nibelheim.
Zack felt nauseated, felt like he was peeking in on a life he had no business peeking in on, and by some strange quirk of fate, that life was his own. Experimentally, he pivoted at the waist, and was relieved, in a strange way, to feel the familiar pull of old scars over his torso as he did so.
So.
So... what was this?
This... was wrong.
[OOC: Apparently our approach to breaking canon is 'go big or go home!' For one, NFB for distance!]
