//This is dumb but I’m taking my first comp sci class and I just wrote my first, SUPER DUPER BASIC PROGRAM! -lols into the distance- So I thought I would share it with the dash. 

-

"Got news for you, everyone only prays when something goes wrong. The religious equivalent of a ‘get out of jail free card,’ I guess.” 

"I suppose. You're the only person who doesn't come to me when something is wrong. Even Ragnarok only speaks to me to send me out again."

-

"One day, you’re gonna explain why you just assume something’s the matter when I want to talk to you. Maybe I just wanted to tell you that your ass looks awesome in those pants.” 

"Perhaps it is a bad habit; the Trickster only has a small following, and they only pray when something goes wrong... in any case, thank you. I do put in effort."

"Hey, cupcake. Come here." 

"Something the matter?"

declassified: for theeternallycursed

for theeternallycursed

-

"I almost feel like I have to ask, but if you insist—” 

A brow inched higher as she accepted the pale blue ribbon, twining thick blonde hair into a hasty braid and fastening it off at the end. Much better. Even if it did leave her feeling far more frilly and feminine than usual. 

Seifer followed his gaze; nothing but birds.

"That would be amazing. I’m about two seconds away from leaping into one of the fountains.” 

Balthier grinned wickedly and shook his head. The acquisition of that particular trinket was an embarrassing story that did not merit telling--not in a public place, at least.

"Maybe another time, when we're alone," he purred, smiling at her with a Cheshire cat's grin. "It's a pretty color with your hair, Sei, if you don't mind me saying so."

In the street, the pigeons took flight as a dog ran through, barking. Balthier instinctively stiffened. He had never liked dogs on a good day--not since he had been a beast and they had mistaken him for one of their kind.

"As soon as we finish up here, we can go. Cool water would be quite the relief..." 

-

"Have we met?” she countered, a smirk on her lips. “I court trouble, remember?”

Settling back in her chair, she reached back, fingers bundling up her hair off of her neck, a pleased noise escaping as a rush of ice magic wafted across her neck. 

If there was one thing she missed about Balamb, it was air conditioning. 

"Speaking of— I actually came across this training place, or whatever. Showed a guy a few proper moves with a blade, and I think I accidentally got myself a job.” 

"Trouble? I thought you courted me!" He replied mockingly. When she lifted her hair, he chuckled and unraveled a ribbon from his wrist. "Care for a hair tie? Don't ask why I have them--obviously I've no need of them myself."

He leaned his chin into his palm lazily, watching pigeons peck about in the street.  

"Accidentally? Well, accidentally or not, I think that some measure of celebration is in order. Perhaps after this we should go to the shore... it might be cooler there."

-

"You’re doing that thing where you get all philosophical again, babe," she informed him, nudging his leg under the table with one sandaled foot. 

It was strange, she wouldn’t lie, knowing that everyone around her had abandoned the mortal coil, where she could still pass freely to and from. An outcast in this world as well as the old one. It figured. 

Seifer rolled the edge of the napkin at her place lightly between her fingers. 

"It’s… peaceful. Like I can actually just… be, y’know?"

Without stress or worry or the knowledge that her past would inevitably come back to kick her in the ass.  

"My apologies--is this not good lunch time conversation?" he smirked, lacing his hands under his chin. 

Was it a magic that worked upon the minds of all who inhabited the realm? No--Ragnarok would have informed them. The whole point of the afterlife was to leave ones cares behind for the rest of eternity. 

Yet, Balthier seemed to have only gained more. He ran a hand through his hair absently, wondering if stress was starting to give him white hair.

"Hm... yes. Peaceful. I would have thought it bored you out of your mind." Balthier laughed lightly.

-

Voluntary interaction with Gilgamesh was one thing. Actively hunting him down was another. 

"Dinner, dessert, two new knives, and I reserve the right to punch him in the face if he’s a jerk.” 

"Done," Balthier said instantly, handing her the keys to the back room, "But for the punching part--the substance he's made of is one of the most toxic things I've ever seen. There's a spray bottle in the cabinet--the threat of melting down might cool his temper. When I get back, I promise I'll make it up to you. Good luck."

-

She turned at the indicated path, and sighed in relief as the overhanging roofs offered some solace from the blazing sun. Even once she’d abandoned worn denim and faded tank tops for soft, light cotton dresses, draped and knotted in a million different ways, the kind favored by the women roaming around this particular town, the heat was still brutal.  

"Y’know, I actually really like it. It was kind of weird at first, just because I’m so used to Balamb, but…” She shrugged. He was right; the cafe was in sight, and Seifer reached for the door handle. “It feels like home, I guess. Is that weird to say? That’s weird, isn’t it?” 

The rush of cool air, born from ice magicite, elicited a sigh of relief from the pirate as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. It was like Dalmasca, all over again, and he was still wearing too many clothes for this. A waitress arrived to seat them quickly and take their orders, then vanished with speed.

"It's certainly unique--but I've never known anyone to say the afterlife feels like home... but then again, if it did not, then the dead would constantly wish to return to their old lives. Is it the people or the place itself?" The question came suddenly, a thought he mused upon. Why did the dead decide to stay, anyway?

kinesin (a motor protein) pulling a some kind of vesicle along some kind of cytoskeletal filament

via John Liebler at Art of the Cell

I am a biologist…but kinesin looks like some badass with an awesome afro strutting down the street.

-

She reconsidered her opinion of the knives and made a mental note to borrow one for ambling through the streets. Gilgamesh had the most irritating habit of showing up when she’d really have preferred to be left alone.

The streets were damn near empty with the stifling midday air, and she flipped her sunglasses down onto her face. 

"Good. Cause I can’t remember where you found that cafe yesterday, and I need at least a gallon of the stuff." 

Balthier laughed even as he wanted to melt into the street dirt. His eyes all but screamed from the brightness, and he rubbed them moodily. Dust coated his boots--he was going to have to get them cleaned later for sure. At least it wasn't chocobo refuse.

"It was down this street, I think," he nodded toward a side road. Ostentatiously, the place was unremarkable but for the fact that it had ice, and in such sweltering weather, it made the cafe popular.

"So... I don't believe I ever asked, but what do you think of living in Valhalla? You are one of the few people to enter our land who has not yet died." 

-

"I know, right? —Ooh, these are nice.”

One of the daggers was scooped up, and she tested the fit in her boot. Not quite sleek enough that she could draw it at a moment’s notice, but it was nice nonetheless. Seifer flipped it back onto the mattress, and stood to follow. 

Absently, her arm slipped in along his, fingers sliding down to catch his hand. 

"I’m not gonna lie, I love the hot weather, but ninety degrees in September is ridiculous." 

"You think so?" He glanced back at her. "Those are god-slaying knives pilfered out of the war-goddess's stock pile. That Gilgamesh is only a demigod, but his lineage is so pure that it puts the divinity of an artificial god as myself to shame... and as the saying goes, the bigger it is, the harder it falls, no?" 

Her hand sneaked into his, and he gave it a little squeeze in affirmation. The heat once he passed into the hallway was crushing, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. 

"I can agree with you there--you know, I said ice puts a damper on things, but I may be reconsidering my words."

and the devil takes hold || sorceress!au

she drifts, with the 

               snicker-snack of claws against bare grey stone, and

she cannot remember the last time that she wore shoes. battered, black ugly things they were, steel in the toes and laces shredding with every knot. 

she abandoned them somewhere near the shoreline, walking across the sea and trailing red silk like blood. sharks skimmed under her feet, nature’s beasts shying from their master,

                              and what a ferocious thing she has become. 

her wings beat slow and heavy, a wardrum heralding her arrival, and something older than firaga builds up in her bones and her blood, leaving fire and fury in her wake. 

let them kome, let them kome, let them try to kill her if they can. they didn’t succeed before, when she was mortal and made of bluster, bravado, dreams.

let them kome.

let them kome.  

                         she knows, she knows, that it is impossible to slay a witch. 

and the monster that once was seifer marie almasy parts her lips in a snarl, in a madwoman’s laugh. 

                                                           foolish girl. 

It had been while he was gone, that he received a message that Seifer had vanished and there were but red feathers left. The magic was stifling, a silk scarf around his nose and face and he had only known it once before in dreams.

The trail was easier to follow than blood splashed on the walls of a crime scene. The magic only got heavier and heavier until it felt like he was moving through molasses. There on the sea he saw her, boots discarded and clothing replaced with red silks, hair wild like one of the war-women from the old tales. Wings--like an angel of vengeance. 

Enough of this madness.

Enough of this foolishness. 

His shoulders shook with ill restrained emotion. Hurt, rage--that the sorceress had dare descend here? Now he arrived blazing with wrath and black flame, a god with eyes like the moon, surrounded in a cloak of night.

Madness in her laugh, madness in her eyes, madness in his mind that tore him out by the roots and left only a monster in its place. The sea lapped around his feet, and Ragnarok's assassin stood his ground and roared.

-

Her fingers skimmed over the cast-off plate lightly. Heavy-duty for a conversation. 

Admittedly, she was always kinda wary of dealing with Gilgamesh, too. One never knew when he’d get it in his head to just… shank someone. 

"Don’t get your hopes up. Iced tea. It’s fucking hot outside, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

Balthier pouted as best as he could, then laughed, patting himself down and removing an excess of four hidden daggers from his vest. He rarely kept more than two on his person, but one never knew when facing a walking arsenal. 

"Ice takes all the fun out of everything," he chuckled, moving to the door. "I didn't notice--but I'm sure I will once I put one foot past this threshold. I thought fall was supposed to be coming, but evidently I was mistaken."