Start entry
Location: Jenova's ship
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, apart from sucky writing
The Captain went down with his ship.
If there was one single truism that could be said to be burnt across Rufus Shinra’s mind, it was that one. It was so bone-deep, so fundamental, that it never needed to cross his waking mind consciously. Without his Company, Rufus was nothing, and he would rather die than let it fall.
Thus he had stared fiery death down, never looking away as Weapon sent blasts stabbing across the sky towards him. Thus he had smiled into the face of Kadaj’s bolt, even as he toppled towards his demise. Thus, for a third time, he had charged death in the face, stepping over Strife’s fallen body to stare down that creature, that avatar and nemesis of Shinra. Sephiroth.
The shotgun’s blasts had echoed across the ruins of Shinra Tower - how apt a place, he had thought, privately; how apt that they should make an end where it had all begun - and they had been returned with chimes like a chorus of bells, as Sephiroth deflected the bullets with ease. And Rufus had stared into green eyes, and prepared to make an end.
And for the third time, he had apparently been snatched from the jaws of death.
The world was black when he opened his eyes, black and red and his head hurt. He hissed, feeling like boiling spikes of agony were worming their way up through his skull. Memory was a huge, unhelpful blackhole of nothing -- one eyeblink, and he remembered Gaia, the sky painted red by the imminent approach of the second Meteor, one eyeblink, and it was here. Wherever here was.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d died, after all, and this was hell. The endless darkness that swallowed him seemed to suggest it - he couldn’t even see his hand before his face. He groaned, briefly, checking out his surroundings by feel. Roving fingers found that he was lying on some kind of metal grid, the spaces large enough to send metal digging uncomfortably into his back and shoulders. Wonderful.
As other senses returned, slowly, he became aware of how it seemed difficult to breathe, how a weight seemed to drag on his throat. Maybe it was the black, pressing down, forcing breath from his lungs. Maybe he had developed asthma, bronchitis, or claustrophobia. Maybe-
--he sat up, and heard the jingle of metal before the chain snapped to its fullest extension just before he reached vertical. Cold edges bit into his throat before he was jerked unexpectedly backwards, head colliding into metal. He had no time for the strangled curse flitting across his mind, before consciousness drowned under the tide.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, apart from sucky writing
The Captain went down with his ship.
If there was one single truism that could be said to be burnt across Rufus Shinra’s mind, it was that one. It was so bone-deep, so fundamental, that it never needed to cross his waking mind consciously. Without his Company, Rufus was nothing, and he would rather die than let it fall.
Thus he had stared fiery death down, never looking away as Weapon sent blasts stabbing across the sky towards him. Thus he had smiled into the face of Kadaj’s bolt, even as he toppled towards his demise. Thus, for a third time, he had charged death in the face, stepping over Strife’s fallen body to stare down that creature, that avatar and nemesis of Shinra. Sephiroth.
The shotgun’s blasts had echoed across the ruins of Shinra Tower - how apt a place, he had thought, privately; how apt that they should make an end where it had all begun - and they had been returned with chimes like a chorus of bells, as Sephiroth deflected the bullets with ease. And Rufus had stared into green eyes, and prepared to make an end.
And for the third time, he had apparently been snatched from the jaws of death.
The world was black when he opened his eyes, black and red and his head hurt. He hissed, feeling like boiling spikes of agony were worming their way up through his skull. Memory was a huge, unhelpful blackhole of nothing -- one eyeblink, and he remembered Gaia, the sky painted red by the imminent approach of the second Meteor, one eyeblink, and it was here. Wherever here was.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d died, after all, and this was hell. The endless darkness that swallowed him seemed to suggest it - he couldn’t even see his hand before his face. He groaned, briefly, checking out his surroundings by feel. Roving fingers found that he was lying on some kind of metal grid, the spaces large enough to send metal digging uncomfortably into his back and shoulders. Wonderful.
As other senses returned, slowly, he became aware of how it seemed difficult to breathe, how a weight seemed to drag on his throat. Maybe it was the black, pressing down, forcing breath from his lungs. Maybe he had developed asthma, bronchitis, or claustrophobia. Maybe-
--he sat up, and heard the jingle of metal before the chain snapped to its fullest extension just before he reached vertical. Cold edges bit into his throat before he was jerked unexpectedly backwards, head colliding into metal. He had no time for the strangled curse flitting across his mind, before consciousness drowned under the tide.