(no subject)

[o-threesome-o.livejournal.com]

When; Tonight
Rating; PG-13 to R
Characters; Dizzy o_threesome_o and Sephiroth demonicnova
Summary; Dizzy seeks understanding and revenge for Bridget's death.
Log;

The waves were crashing against the shore, a rhythmic ululation of torture, as Dizzy walked through the briny sheets currently sliding through the crevices of her wriggling toes, her pearl colored teeth wearing a thin line into the flesh of her bottom lip.

How much longer would she have to wait?

Crimson oculars were shielded by heavy lids as she stretched the appendages sprouting like feathered vegetation from her back, juxtaposed colored wings lightly catching the wind blowing past her svelte form, her skin prickling from the lingering remains of the cool night air. The chill did little to stifle the fire spreading through her limbs, adrenaline pumping mechanically through her veins as the minutes etched themselves into the steadily widening divot between her feet, nimble fingers beating indignantly against her slim torso.

“That bastard better show…”

The half-gear was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the emergence of her forever conjoined companion, Necro’s skeletal visage grinning maniacally from under his tattered hood, face merely inches away from Dizzy’s widened, scarlet pools.

“Yeah,” she nearly whispered, the smallest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. It was comforting…to see him there, an unspoken recognition sealing the pact that had always bound the three together. They were one; she would never be alone, and with their strength, she could do anything…

Comments

[demonicnova.livejournal.com]

Tendrils of black sprouting forth from the sands below, Sephiroth materialised not more than a moment late from their agreed time and meeting point. Almost on reaction, the black wing that had helped when channeling the darkness flickered and vanished from behind him, and he gracefully set a boot-covered leg, against the sand, followed by the other in a seeming imitation of a royal's descent from a stairwell.

He may have been called a show off, and perhaps they would have been right, but this display was hardly intentional. His long hair brushed behind him in an easy sweep, the blade of Masamune strapped diligently to where it was, Sephiroth made his entrance, arms, leather-bound and folded, unaffected by environment or setting.

At least this place was nicer than he'd first expected, anyway.

Mako-green eyes calmly observed his opponent up ahead, and knowing not to be decieved by looks, he didn't give into the first urge of turning around and walking away.

Without saying anything, he merely gave the other a nod in greeting. Such fools here; but he supposed there could be exceptions to the rule..