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towerofanimus2014-04-08 10:54 pm
neverbeamemory) wrote in towerofanimus2014-04-08 10:54 pm
Entry tags:
Log 032 | Towards the end...
Characters: Sephiroth [Open]
Setting: Prompts below 1st-12th April
Format: Prose & Action prompts, can switch either way, if preferred.
Summary: Upon revival, Sephiroth quickly realizes that he has something other than his internal trauma to worry about. By the end of his first week back, the nightmares have started, but he still manages to convince himself finally to go for the altered collar fluid once more.
Warnings: Fallout from having his 'self' put through the barrier blender by Zo. Blood & surgical-based gore, borderline-insanity, and also Sephiroth is prone to violent outbursts (or he might outright ignore you) throughout.
#1:1st April - Dormitory 02-06 & Infirmary
All he could do, was lie there and remember.
First for the sleep paralysis and then for the total body numbness that plagued those who had already died numerous times during their tenancy within the Tower of Animus.
All successes, and their eventual failures played out in Sephiroth's mind as if stuck on repeat, digging into and turning within what was left of his sanity and then as if it wasn't enough he experienced the excruciating tearing, ripping and separation of that which made up his entire self as if in slow motion as Zo's barriers destroyed him. All of those fragments of memory which he kept so close to the centre of his ego, that made him who he had reconstructed himself to be, those lesser-important memories that he would sooner have forgotten, every single jarring experience that he'd been through since; torn to shreds as Zo harvested it all away like quickly pulling aged bandaids which removed too many layers of skin in the process. At the end, he had almost welcomed the oblivion that was sure to come; but it hadn't. The same old ceiling met his awakening eyes.
The recollection wasn't Sephiroth's only problem. As the numbness began to subside, an entirely more physical raw feeling came to light at his left forearm.
Once he turned his eyes to look, the sheet of his bed was already stained scarlet from the deep, bleeding rip in his Vessel which ran right up from wrist to elbow. The pain, Sephiroth could handle, though lacking much movement in his fingers made it difficult for him to rip up some of the bed sheet to use as a tourniquet before he might lose yet another Vessel through the blood loss alone; he wasn't healing on his own, this was an immediate concern. If only he could focus on what he was doing, rather than turning too much of his attention inwards, like a toxic drug drawn to what he had gone through. How far he had gone, and how far he had fallen.
The sparse drops of blood along the Hallways towards the Infirmary would give his presence there away later; half-propped, half-sat against the side of a guerney glaring at any worker unit that might dare to come close. Sephiroth was ambidextrous enough, but trying to stitch ones own weeping forearm back together with no surgical experience was no small feat on a good day. It wasn't a good day, he'd had shaking hands even before he had arrived in the Infirmary. His makeshift tourniquet kept slipping down a bicep that seemed to have a life of it's own with twitching, and he kept having to pull it up and tight again with his teeth. Bloody mess would be the operative word here.
#2: 7th - 12th April - Nightmares
Sephiroth had hardly spoken to anyone since he'd returned. There wasn't any need for explanations, yet some of the looks he might-be-but-probably-wasn't imagining surely demanded him for one. He ignored them. Too easily thoughts receded inside himself for hours, gripping at memories that he needed to cling to hardest to keep himself in any semblance of what he regarded as himself. Too easily they reverted to what had been his outcome. However he tried to swallow it like he had all of his bad experiences and eventually, by the start of the next week things seemed finally to be returning to normal. He felt the first sparks of pride over what he had managed to achieve.
But he was exhausted from not sleeping more than an hour at a time and sure enough the lethargy finally won out. He soon wished that it hadn't.
Every night his Dormitory would be disturbed almost without warning. Sephiroth would wake up from nightmares like he'd never imagined before. Always climaxing around the loss of himself; how Zo so easily ripped all that there was of him apart, how Ruana might eat those parts, how he had failed again and again. How his legacy was lost for good. He thought he only cried out in his dreams before being shocked awake but it wasn't so simple as all of that, and only got louder the longer it was before he woke up.
i) Dormitory Hallways
[He's decided not to return back to his Dormitory tonight. Despite the lethargy, the creeping exhaustion, even the lacking desire to hunt monsters so that he might on-the-off-chance sleep better, some habits die hard. Sephiroth patrols the Dormitory Hallways without even Masamune, or rather it's hollow-Glamour replica, manifested. His Fire Materia flickers where it is equipped to his right forearm with only a glimmer of his reset power. The caution that he usually holds around himself is seemingly non-existent; but it's not the arrogance in his strength against the monsters this time.]
ii) Infirmary - Fl 2
[No one hangs around the Infirmary at night time, this makes it a perfect time for Sephiroth to be able to draw the patience together to get the dressing around his left forearm removed, the literal rip through skin and tendons cleaned again and re-wrapped up. For a few hours on an evening Sephiroth will painstakingly do just that, except he doesn't accept any of the help from any worker nearby - determined to struggle on his own until it's done.]
iii) Graveyard - Fl 48
[Ganondorf Dragmire.
Sephiroth sits on the grass, with his back against the back of an adjacent headstone, facing the one representing one whom many would have called his leader. It hadn't been farther from the truth, but it's not that it matters now. He can't decide whether it's a good thing or not that the troll king hasn't been around for both his greatest triumph, and his greatest failure to date. His thoughts draw into the headstone as he stares unblinkingly forwards, running all of the plots they had enacted through his head; it certainly beat anything else he could think about in the silent dark. Maybe, just maybe there might be something he missed, some detail that he might be able now to focus on.]
iv) Lounge - Fl 81
[Closer to the first light of the morning, Sephiroth dozes in and out of consciousness with his legs curled into his chest in one of the larger armchairs. For the most part, when he his conscious enough he's glaring out of the fictitious window at the stars. When not, he forces himself out of slumber every time his head drops down; he doesn't want to sleep. Sleep will bring those memories back and it's also more dangerous on this floor than most due to the monsters.
Surely that threat will keep his consciousness from slipping- ]
#3: 9th April - Fl 5
It had been intended as a 'touch base' to a location that he had always frequented during his stay in the Tower. A place where he could sit and feel out the vast dead space that was Gaia and know it at it's basest; how utterly destroyed it was. To remind him what he had lost, and so keep him focused on the future.
Not so much this afternoon.
In a rage, Sephiroth had already overturned a few of the tables from within the other viewing stations and brought them all around his own monitor before setting it ablaze with a flash from his Materia. He stood around six feet away and glared into the monitor which refused to burn; it couldn't burn with his power only being over Glamour again but it didn't matter. The flames died down, he ignited them again, never letting his gaze leave that desolate wasteland forever portrayed there on the screen. He imagined it might be a tribute to the Nibelheim Incident, where he had first learned of the truth of his existence, and he let it hurt him all over again. It was a different pain, but a more comfortable one to the pain which his mind kept remembering. The fire burned against his eyes, made them water, but still he stood there observing.
#4: 12th April - Violet Collar check, Infirmary Fl 2
By the end of the week, there was at last one thing that Sephiroth was most certain about; He still needed to try.
Even if he doubted there was the time for him to transition back into real powers again, much less try to re-infect the Tower like he had, at the very least when the timer ran out he wouldn't be bound by at least a small part of the shackles that held him here. Perhaps his core alone would remember what to do when the power failed for good, he couldn't just give up on that chance. Zo wouldn't be there to rip him apart again, if the Tower failed. Call it the last chance that he was clinging to, that his nightmares still screamed at him was folly - Sephiroth could not allow himself to give up on himself.
And so he waited, in the waiting area of the Clinic, early after the collar check had been announced. Fully intent to indicate with his slip of paper, to the worker unit who would be on duty, that he was to have the altered collar fluid once more. He would be saying goodbye to even his Glamoured abilities again, for a while and perhaps for the last time, but at least the rip behind the dressing to his arm was finally starting to scar over.
Setting: Prompts below 1st-12th April
Format: Prose & Action prompts, can switch either way, if preferred.
Summary: Upon revival, Sephiroth quickly realizes that he has something other than his internal trauma to worry about. By the end of his first week back, the nightmares have started, but he still manages to convince himself finally to go for the altered collar fluid once more.
Warnings: Fallout from having his 'self' put through the barrier blender by Zo. Blood & surgical-based gore, borderline-insanity, and also Sephiroth is prone to violent outbursts (or he might outright ignore you) throughout.
#1:1st April - Dormitory 02-06 & Infirmary
All he could do, was lie there and remember.
First for the sleep paralysis and then for the total body numbness that plagued those who had already died numerous times during their tenancy within the Tower of Animus.
All successes, and their eventual failures played out in Sephiroth's mind as if stuck on repeat, digging into and turning within what was left of his sanity and then as if it wasn't enough he experienced the excruciating tearing, ripping and separation of that which made up his entire self as if in slow motion as Zo's barriers destroyed him. All of those fragments of memory which he kept so close to the centre of his ego, that made him who he had reconstructed himself to be, those lesser-important memories that he would sooner have forgotten, every single jarring experience that he'd been through since; torn to shreds as Zo harvested it all away like quickly pulling aged bandaids which removed too many layers of skin in the process. At the end, he had almost welcomed the oblivion that was sure to come; but it hadn't. The same old ceiling met his awakening eyes.
The recollection wasn't Sephiroth's only problem. As the numbness began to subside, an entirely more physical raw feeling came to light at his left forearm.
Once he turned his eyes to look, the sheet of his bed was already stained scarlet from the deep, bleeding rip in his Vessel which ran right up from wrist to elbow. The pain, Sephiroth could handle, though lacking much movement in his fingers made it difficult for him to rip up some of the bed sheet to use as a tourniquet before he might lose yet another Vessel through the blood loss alone; he wasn't healing on his own, this was an immediate concern. If only he could focus on what he was doing, rather than turning too much of his attention inwards, like a toxic drug drawn to what he had gone through. How far he had gone, and how far he had fallen.
The sparse drops of blood along the Hallways towards the Infirmary would give his presence there away later; half-propped, half-sat against the side of a guerney glaring at any worker unit that might dare to come close. Sephiroth was ambidextrous enough, but trying to stitch ones own weeping forearm back together with no surgical experience was no small feat on a good day. It wasn't a good day, he'd had shaking hands even before he had arrived in the Infirmary. His makeshift tourniquet kept slipping down a bicep that seemed to have a life of it's own with twitching, and he kept having to pull it up and tight again with his teeth. Bloody mess would be the operative word here.
#2: 7th - 12th April - Nightmares
Sephiroth had hardly spoken to anyone since he'd returned. There wasn't any need for explanations, yet some of the looks he might-be-but-probably-wasn't imagining surely demanded him for one. He ignored them. Too easily thoughts receded inside himself for hours, gripping at memories that he needed to cling to hardest to keep himself in any semblance of what he regarded as himself. Too easily they reverted to what had been his outcome. However he tried to swallow it like he had all of his bad experiences and eventually, by the start of the next week things seemed finally to be returning to normal. He felt the first sparks of pride over what he had managed to achieve.
But he was exhausted from not sleeping more than an hour at a time and sure enough the lethargy finally won out. He soon wished that it hadn't.
Every night his Dormitory would be disturbed almost without warning. Sephiroth would wake up from nightmares like he'd never imagined before. Always climaxing around the loss of himself; how Zo so easily ripped all that there was of him apart, how Ruana might eat those parts, how he had failed again and again. How his legacy was lost for good. He thought he only cried out in his dreams before being shocked awake but it wasn't so simple as all of that, and only got louder the longer it was before he woke up.
i) Dormitory Hallways
[He's decided not to return back to his Dormitory tonight. Despite the lethargy, the creeping exhaustion, even the lacking desire to hunt monsters so that he might on-the-off-chance sleep better, some habits die hard. Sephiroth patrols the Dormitory Hallways without even Masamune, or rather it's hollow-Glamour replica, manifested. His Fire Materia flickers where it is equipped to his right forearm with only a glimmer of his reset power. The caution that he usually holds around himself is seemingly non-existent; but it's not the arrogance in his strength against the monsters this time.]
ii) Infirmary - Fl 2
[No one hangs around the Infirmary at night time, this makes it a perfect time for Sephiroth to be able to draw the patience together to get the dressing around his left forearm removed, the literal rip through skin and tendons cleaned again and re-wrapped up. For a few hours on an evening Sephiroth will painstakingly do just that, except he doesn't accept any of the help from any worker nearby - determined to struggle on his own until it's done.]
iii) Graveyard - Fl 48
[Ganondorf Dragmire.
Sephiroth sits on the grass, with his back against the back of an adjacent headstone, facing the one representing one whom many would have called his leader. It hadn't been farther from the truth, but it's not that it matters now. He can't decide whether it's a good thing or not that the troll king hasn't been around for both his greatest triumph, and his greatest failure to date. His thoughts draw into the headstone as he stares unblinkingly forwards, running all of the plots they had enacted through his head; it certainly beat anything else he could think about in the silent dark. Maybe, just maybe there might be something he missed, some detail that he might be able now to focus on.]
iv) Lounge - Fl 81
[Closer to the first light of the morning, Sephiroth dozes in and out of consciousness with his legs curled into his chest in one of the larger armchairs. For the most part, when he his conscious enough he's glaring out of the fictitious window at the stars. When not, he forces himself out of slumber every time his head drops down; he doesn't want to sleep. Sleep will bring those memories back and it's also more dangerous on this floor than most due to the monsters.
Surely that threat will keep his consciousness from slipping- ]
#3: 9th April - Fl 5
It had been intended as a 'touch base' to a location that he had always frequented during his stay in the Tower. A place where he could sit and feel out the vast dead space that was Gaia and know it at it's basest; how utterly destroyed it was. To remind him what he had lost, and so keep him focused on the future.
Not so much this afternoon.
In a rage, Sephiroth had already overturned a few of the tables from within the other viewing stations and brought them all around his own monitor before setting it ablaze with a flash from his Materia. He stood around six feet away and glared into the monitor which refused to burn; it couldn't burn with his power only being over Glamour again but it didn't matter. The flames died down, he ignited them again, never letting his gaze leave that desolate wasteland forever portrayed there on the screen. He imagined it might be a tribute to the Nibelheim Incident, where he had first learned of the truth of his existence, and he let it hurt him all over again. It was a different pain, but a more comfortable one to the pain which his mind kept remembering. The fire burned against his eyes, made them water, but still he stood there observing.
#4: 12th April - Violet Collar check, Infirmary Fl 2
By the end of the week, there was at last one thing that Sephiroth was most certain about; He still needed to try.
Even if he doubted there was the time for him to transition back into real powers again, much less try to re-infect the Tower like he had, at the very least when the timer ran out he wouldn't be bound by at least a small part of the shackles that held him here. Perhaps his core alone would remember what to do when the power failed for good, he couldn't just give up on that chance. Zo wouldn't be there to rip him apart again, if the Tower failed. Call it the last chance that he was clinging to, that his nightmares still screamed at him was folly - Sephiroth could not allow himself to give up on himself.
And so he waited, in the waiting area of the Clinic, early after the collar check had been announced. Fully intent to indicate with his slip of paper, to the worker unit who would be on duty, that he was to have the altered collar fluid once more. He would be saying goodbye to even his Glamoured abilities again, for a while and perhaps for the last time, but at least the rip behind the dressing to his arm was finally starting to scar over.