19 Apr 2009

sliceitwithwind: (*sigh*)
He's back East, and it still jars him to think of it that way: Back East. Civilization. The strip held at a higher level of living than the rest of the continent through the efforts of the Organization, and especially the Adapt Larxene's control over electricity.

He's up above the city now, looking down at New York. His mind, even after all these years, overlays the real with the memory and he flexes hands that haven't been out of armour since the Moogles came up with it.

It's growing. They're finding more people. Helping as many as they can. The cities are building, the plan is working - slowly, but it's working. He resents the time spent in civilization, he has things to do. They have things to do.

They're here, however, because Al - always his touchstone - demanded that they take a break long enough to bring the children back and recharge before going back into the wilds. He knows it makes the rest of them feel better.

It makes him feel as ill as standing on solid ground does. It's wasted time to him, time that could be spent out finding more adepts, teaching more people, killing the chaos-twisted, policing the world.

But he can't go out alone, he's too much of a risk for floating off into the storms on his own.

And so he imagines how the city was, and he watches, and he waits for the others to relax.

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sliceitwithwind

September 2012

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