Feb. 21st, 2009

karanguni: (RUFUS looks)
Hi universe, am still alive and badly needing a) a break and b) the ability to either c) purchase the world or d) destroy it with my finger; on so few hours of sleep it's ridiculous, and body refuses to let me sleep even when I'm tired, so here, have incoherent Final Fantasy VII fic, written in a fit of experimentation (again). It's incoherent even to me, so yay!

Sort-of counterpoint to Tseng's insane-torture-braindeath in Flip, with strange echoes to Restorations, but neither is even consciously related. What am I talking about? Writing on 4 hours of sleep in the last 30 is a bad idea.

O Brother

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII, with Crisis Core bits
Rating: Soft R
Characters: Rufus, Lazard
Summary: The Stigma makes Rufus recall other sicknesses that are so well steeped in blood.

1414 words and Rufus being as crazy as how I feel. \o

Rufus has too little imagination to dream: all his hallucinations are efforts of recombination and resuscitation, classroom lessons and bedroom etiquette. )

 

A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax