thestormishere: (across the way)
October 2nd, House 41, tl;dr )

Later October 2nd, voice, filtered to Noel )

October 4th, Voice
[ It's been since before her disappearance and then almost immediate return that Lightning's made any sort of widely public, intentional post, but today apparently she's got something heavy enough on her mind to warrant attempting to soothe her curiosity.

It doesn't bother her so much though, and even those who have only seen or met her in passing should be able to tell that there's something subtly different about her- in a way that surpasses the fact that she's apparently sustained a haircut, and those wings fanned out slightly behind her are different colors than before, once-red wing turned white, once-white turned to silver and gold. She regards the journal thoughtfully a moment before speaking, her voice deliberately even. ]


If I remember correctly, the viewpoints over what happens to us after death... are as varied here as the worlds we're pulled in from. Reward and punishment, returning to where our spirits belonged in the first place... simply fading into oblivion....

[ She pauses, and a clock fixed to the wall behind her - an antique-looking, wooden piece of work - fills the air with steady ticks and tocks as she takes in a breath or two, looking up and over past the 'camera.' ]

When we die here, we return but a week later... although missing a piece of who we were before. [ Another breath. Tick, tock. ] What do you suppose happens, in the meantime?

Do you believe it is different than 'home?'

[ Sure, she knows this sort of thing's been brought up before, but... if it's ever been in these exact words, she definitely isn't going to waste her time digging through years of others' entries looking for it. ]
thestormishere: (writing on the wall)
[ You'd think that a woman who goes by 'Lightning' would have an affinity for thunderstorms. However, in truth... considering she grew up in the all but completely climate-controlled environment of Cocoon, her experiences with storms in general have actually been relatively rare, and... well, while she doesn't fear them by any means, she's certainly found they tend to bring more trouble than anything else- and not just because of the bothersome amphibious monsters that like to frolic in their wake.

This afternoon's no different. More importantly, water - and cold, the rumble of thunder overhead and wind gusting over her, mussing her hair - isn't something she was expecting to wake up to. In fact, she... really wasn't expecting to wake up at all. She hadn't been asleep.

In an instant she's rolled into a crouch, backing up against the nearest wall, and the soggy journal laying nearby captures the image of a woman who looks just about as good as you'd expect out of someone who just found themselves face-down in the midst of a rainy village, wearing nothing more than that ever-familiar white dress of a New Feather. Who needs dignity? ]


What...? What?

[ Oh, she seems unhappy. Especially since- even though she clearly wasn't armed a moment beforehand, when she then extends her arm... this happens, with what appears to be a sword materializing in her hand with a flurry of white feathers.

Feathers that slowly vanish with a soft light as they land on the ground, although she stays still, obviously confused yet trying not to show it.

She might be a face that's been around in town for quite a while, but it's likely that only those closest to her or close to her friends in turn will have even heard anything about how she's been missing for just over half a day now.

... Until now, at least. ]
thestormishere: (not a question of can or can't)
[ Evening of the 8th )

It's not until well into Thursday afternoon that Lightning makes a reappearance to the 'public.' That said, it would be hard to pinpoint anything's wrong at all for those who don't know her fairly well, save for a sort of distant demeanor- evident in her averted gaze and too-smooth voice.

She's sitting on a beach in her transmitted video, but it's not Luceti's beach, given it's clearly night where she is, in contrast to the real sun still shining away cheerfully outside. ]


I'm looking for people wanting to spar-- maybe help me test something. Weapons, hand-to-hand, anything. Send me a message. Or just come to the battle dome.

[ "-- I don't care." There's a short pause, while she briefly taps her fingers on her knee, tries to think of anything else worth mentioning.... ]

Magic is a bonus too, if you've got it.

[ And then there's an abrupt end to the 'feed' once again. Anyone who doesn't catch her message or decides to just go ahead and wander over to the battle dome will find her fiddling with the simulation controls, armed with an unusual, bulky weapon - looking somewhat like some sort of gun - hanging holstered behind her hips.

... No, there's really no words for how much pain she's in right now, but perhaps distraction may help. In any case, no matter how much she sometimes seems set on it, she knows quite well by now that cutting herself off has a very low chance of making her feel any better. If nothing else, this is at least worth a try. ]
thestormishere: (before you break)
[ Lightning surprises herself with how upsetting it is to come back from the draft and see the village torn to pieces like this, not repairing itself like usual. The general destruction is bad enough, but when she gets to house #41... well, chalk up one more emotionally affected by the flood damage to the town's vegetation- the storm has not been kind to the yard-- to Aerith's flowers, which are all but washed away now. When she first sees it, it actually takes a few minutes before she's able to move past it, touching the leafless, lifeless remains of a something-or-another that she's forgotten the name of, her expression unreadable...

- And after she's assessed the damage to the building itself, worked the last couple of days just to make it livable again and helped out with the worst of the destruction throughout the village, the yard of her house right off the town's center is where she is again, walking along the perimeter of the destroyed fence there.

It's not until she's yanked and pulled at a section to try and right it again that she notices something else: beneath it is a rosebush, but despite it too missing its flowers and a good deal of leaves, half-turned over out of its placed in the ground... it's obviously still growing. Still alive. The fallen barrier must have protected it, somehow.

Without a word, she simply shoves the wrecked fence out of the way... and starts trying to upright the abused shrubbery instead.

- A little while later, she wanders back into town, a lot muddier than she usually is. She means to go somewhere else, but funnily enough, she ends up getting distracted by visiting Good Spirits instead, then the smithy, which is all but flattened to the ground. Not a very good place to be if you didn't feel like sustaining some sort of injury due to the high number of unlucky weapons that had been there.

Considering there's nothing to do there too, she's just about to move on when she suddenly pauses, her brow furrowing as she looks at the wreckage; call it yet another case of inexplicable l'Cie intuition, but something stops her. She takes another look.

... There, in the mud and half-hidden by a hunk of twisted metal, is something she's pretty sure she recognizes. With a sudden, obvious sense of urgency, she starts pulling things aside, trying to get closer. ]

January 2013

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