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darjeeling) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2012-06-11 10:12 pm
darjeeling) wrote in bakerstreet2012-06-11 10:12 pm
Entry tags:
The Gift Giving Meme
{ how to play }
1. Post your characters, name and series in the subject, along with any preferences
2. RNG yourself a number between 1-15 and tag others.
3. Feel free to include pics/links or you can even write the notes that go with their gifts!
{ tie it up in a pretty little bow }
1. 'Tis The Season!
→ It's some holiday or another, and you don't want to be the one who breaks tradition by not giving a gift.
2. Happy Birthday!
→ Another year older! Is it their sweet sixteenth? The no-holds-barred-finally-legal 21? Or that stately eighty candles that might set the cake on fire...
3. Sweet Valentine
→ Not that you need a commercialized excuse to butter up your sweetheart, but if the heart-decorated chocolate truffle fits...
4. Anniversary
→ You didn't forget
5. Wedding Bells
→ It's the bride and groom's happiest day and you want to give them something to commemorate this momentous occasion!
6. Housewarming
→ Those new neighbors of yours are still getting settled. Why not give them something to welcome them to the neighborhood?
7. What Bribery?
→ It never hurts to get on someone's good side, right? Especially if they could make your life miserable if they don't like you...
8. Get Well Soon!
→ Someone's stuck in the hospital and you just know that a gift will put a smile back on their face.
9. Going Away
→ They have to leave and you can't go with them, but you'll wait until they return. Give them something to remind them of you while they're far away.
10. I Miss You!
Has it been a week? A year? However long they've been away, you want them to know you're still thinking of them.
11. I'm So Sorry
→ You've screwed up big time and apologies just don't feel good enough, but you'll give them a token of your sincerity.
12. You're Appreciated!
→ There's just no one else like that person! You know everything they've done for you and others and you to show your appreciation.
13. Glorious Victory!
→ Hail the conquering hero! It doesn't matter if they've run a marathon or usurped a kingdom, this calls for mighty spoils!
14. Secret Admirer~
→ You haven't quite worked up the courage to give them something in person, and hopefully they don't recognize your handwriting...
15. Wildcard
→ Anything else, go crazy with it.
7? RNG, what are you implying??
Fifty-eight hundred gil and a few stubbed emotional toes didn't make a bribe - though he felt for a second that perhaps the diamond studs on the knuckles' outer curves were pushing it, a little. Another wave of indecision broke under the implacable calm of his exterior as he ran a gloved thumb over the smooth curve of metal. It had a purple sheen to it that made him wonder if he shouldn't have asked about the alloy before boogieing on out of there, but he hadn't been in the mood to haggle.
Nor was he, yet, the stubborn insistence that he was right still simmering somewhere under the surface, even if most of the reason behind the argument had already flown the coop. (These days, though, if he had any idea why something got on his nerves, he was usually ten steps ahead of the game.) He wasn't ready to capitulate, but a peace offering - not a bribe - seemed somehow prudent. Little as he knew about leadership (even now), going into a new fight with one unresolved on the backburner simply felt wrong.
...Not that he had much in the way of a proper resolution planned, at this crucial juncture, as he crossed the first bridge back toward the plaza of the foreboding pagoda looming in the distance. So it was perhaps for the best that he looked up and spotted her coming the other way, just then-
If he'd actually had the chance to go through with leaving the set of diamond knuckles behind on her futon or on top of her pack without a word, it probably would have looked too much like a bribe, after all. ]
took me about five minutes straight to stop snorting laughter - perfect
For a fist fighter, Tifa was surprisingly bad at confrontations that weren't purely physical. She didn't like them, she didn't like the way they made her feel during or afterward and she wasn't very good at them. All the things she'd want to say always got backed up inside her, trapped behind that door she kept closed on her heart, and she could never make the right words come out. Between that and being raised in a small town where you just didn't, it was rare for her to actually commit to an argument. A few thrown out words at the very beginning, before she realized where things were going, was normal but the second she realized it was going into a prolonged territory, she tended to snap shut. Which meant that most of Tifa's arguments, on the very rare occasion she did get in to them, consisted of eyebrow motions, looks, arm positions and, if it was very bad, a huff and a bounce on her toes.
Cloud had earned three huffs and toe bounces the last time they'd talked.
Or - not talked. Or - kind of talked. In a disagreeing way. That hadn't gone anywhere. Looking back on it now, because Tifa always looked back at things like that and worried at them like a piece of loose thread, she wasn't even sure what had started everything downhill. Just - he'd been wrong and she'd been right and he'd been too stubborn to admit it. Her arms almost crossed again in response to the thought but she was walking and that just felt odd, so instead they stayed by her sides and there was just the creak of her leather gloves as her hands balled into brief fists to show it.
It was pretty obvious that wasn't the only sign though. She'd finally left the team's shared rooms because everyone was walking on eggshells around her. No, that wasn't entirely true. Aerith wasn't and Yuffie was but probably because she was trying to work her way back into everyone's good will. The men in the group however most certainly were.
Which was probably pretty smart of them, she had to admit with a little sigh, fingers relaxing. She hadn't snapped at anyone but she sure felt like it and she didn't like feeling this way. She didn't like feeling irritated and short tempered and upset inside. She'd like to blame it all on that spiky headed jerk who'd started it all too - even if she didn't remember how he'd started it - but...
she really couldn't. Thinking that he might still be angry with her made her angry in return... but it also made her feel utterly miserable inside. He'd been gone all morning. What if he was still upset with her when he got back? What if he stayed upset with her in that silent Cloud way of his? Tifa wasn't good at staying mad past that first burst and even if somehow it was Cloud that managed to keep her mad longer than she was used to... she was pretty sure the miserable feeling would win out over the anger before long. It didn't take much thought to have her boots turning in the direction of the cat house. A bunch of soft, attentive cats would help her feel better.
She should apologize. Except she was right, darn it, and even if she wasn't, he still shouldn't have started the fight with her in the first place. Tucking her hair back behind her ear in an old gesture, she looked up and saw - for half a second, her steps hesitated and she almost turned around. She really didn't want to fight. Except that would be running away and she never ran away. Instead, she stopped walking, watching Cloud come and maybe he'd walk right past and her arm tucked up behind her, fingers curling around her other elbow and her chin tucked a little in response to the thought. She still didn't turn and run from him though, pressing her lips together and waiting for him as he came, feeling more miserable than angry now.
If he tried to start the fight back up though, she'd pop him in the nose.}
only five minutes? that's terrible; i'll never beat my record at this rate
Because he isn't any better at this kind of combat, where it's words (however few) instead of swords or fists that he need raise in his own defense. No better at justifying the fit of petty self-righteousness that got him into this, in the first place.
In the end, he doesn't even make it the whole breadth of the stream rushing by below, instead aborting his mission indecisively and stopping with a jerky, unconvincing attempt at a tourist's empty interest. And who's that for? She isn't looking, anyway (or maybe not), with her eyes downcast as he assumes they must be in that defensive pose.
It's hard to steal glances like this, though, and when he lifts his hands to the railing, the knuckles still clenched in his fist hit the edge with a jarring bolt that doesn't help him gather his nerve. He doesn't have any trouble getting into shouting matches with the rest of them (although usually his participation both begins and ends at opening arguments, and is thereafter reduced to a position of crossed arms and one hell of a cold shoulder). But that's different with Tifa, which makes awkwardly resetting their standing to something resembling an even keel different, too.
Though "different" and "uncomfortable" might as well be interchangeable, most of the time.
He looks away from the nothing in the distance he's found to conveniently focus upon long enough to assess her response to the stand-off he's initiated. Maybe he'll get a chance to go through with the initial plan, yet. ]
does it help that it's probably about five minutes each time I reread it? Cumulative should count
There are only two reasons he would have stopped and both of them have to do with avoiding her. In her boots, her stomach twists sickly and her fingers tighten on her elbow, setting the skin white under the lucky concealing of her long sleeved gloves. A part of her decides he's a jerk and, sullen, states it's sick of caring.
The problem with that is that there's not really any part of her that really knows how to stop. One foot shifts, toe pulling back behind her, a left over teenage girl's awkward partial retreat of self-consciousness, and she pulls in a sniff through her nose that's not exactly damp but isn't exactly dry and huffy either. Maybe he wants her to leave.
Except she's forgotten how and it isn't just an issue that's started in this moment either. A thick swallow and she's just trying to decide what to do with herself, when he turns his head to look at her. Maybe he's waiting for her to leave - or maybe he's just only able to come halfway to meet her. The glance, even at this distance, gives her hope, just a little, that maybe it's the second. Her response is a hesitant few steps forward in his direction.
A few more follow it.
She doesn't know what she means to him, whether she's just a childhood memory kept close because it's all that's left of that time or a handy comrade in arms that's just the same as every other member of their team, consigned to the emotional graveyard of being 'one of the guys' or if she's something else that doesn't fit into any of those spots or anywhere else comfortably. She just knows that she belongs by his side, even if it's only her spot for this journey and this short time and that's where she doesn't stop moving until she is again, hands resting on the top rail of the bridge, chin tucked in case he really wanted her moving in the other direction instead, eyes fastened on the alluring tourist inducing water instead of on the man next to her.
What comes out isn't at all important but she can't handle the silence between them because her mind fills it up with awful things.]
You missed breakfast.
nah, cumulative's cheating! I need to come by this honestly
His chances of getting off easy, here, are dwindling fast - but he manages not to let any more of his unease show through his minorly successful attempt at cool, careful neutrality. ]
...I wasn't hungry.
[ And though he might've been, a moment ago - regretting the stupid, stubborn impetus that drove him to skip eating so early, in the first place - he isn't now, either. He isn't used to feeling queasy, but somehow the sensation strikes him as unpleasantly familiar, just the same.
Like so very many other things that remind him of nothing in particular, though, he sets this meaningless association aside for no further contemplation and through a small force of effort turns back to the task at hand.
Or, more importantly, hiding the weapon in his hand. The knuckles are too small to possibly be for his own use - not that he has any intention of trying to horn in on her area of expertise, one to avoid hand-to-hand when he can - but the same thing that makes them so obviously not for him makes them easy to conceal, for the moment. As long as she doesn't ask him to move away from the railing.
Angling another sidelong glance in her direction, he stands a little straighter as he risks exposing his tentative offering long enough to lift one hand and drag it back through his hair. ]
Were you worried?
no subject
Which is silly. It was just breakfast.
Her own fingers pick absently at the paint of the railing, too newly painted to give her satisfying chips, and she fixates on the water below, mentally trying to thrash herself into finding whatever magic key of words it is that can make things better between them. Cloud comes up with something before she can and the 'Cloud' of it, so obviously put on for others benefit, jerks something in her chest a little loose and has her lips smiling at their edges, still miserable and yet unable to not touch the humor of his once well used arrogant persona. She can't help but respond to it because, now, she realizes that he's doing it for her sake. Her eyes slip to the side to look at him in response and before she can weight it out and decide if it's too soon - }
I don't want a light breeze knocking you over.
no subject
(Of course, most of his assumptions could be completely wrong, and making it up as he goes along hasn't always proven to be the most accurate or best plan of action. But he's already come this far, so what's a little further?)
Shaking his head, Cloud shrugs wordlessly. There's really no other type of response to dignify an absurd statement like that with, and since ignoring her outright is completely out of the question, now (if it ever was in), he rolls with it.
The wind in the trees below Da Chao is a cool rush, this time of year, with the leaves ready to turn. Soon they'll all be as brightly red-orange as the fire inside the caves, up there, like warning flags to redirect unwary travelers. (It would've been nice to have some warning.) When the breeze brushes past, he turns to look out over the water running by below them again, waiting until it's died to glance in her direction. ]
...Looks like I'm still here.
no subject
There's a blink as his words sink slowly down through her. Then a silent exhale. The edges of her lips move and it's weak and unsure but creeps out anyway in the smallest upturn. Whether he meant it or not, she's going to take his words at more than just face value.}
Yeah. {it comes out soft but she doesn't duck her chin to hide it.} I guess you are. {on the railing, her fingers finally stop picking} Looks like I am too.
no subject
It doesn't mean he wants to speak, but having to makes all the difference. And that's beyond stilted attempts at their ordinarily casual banter, or noncommittal quips to no end in particular.
The empty quiet after her answer is mercifully brief, just so. If nothing else in his life, Cloud has always been one to soldier on, and this is no exception - even if it is, in being particularly complicated. He clears his throat as loudly as he dares, shuffling his feet and turning over his own hand, at last. ]
In that case.
[ A solemn nod, and he sets the finely cut Diamond Knuckles on the wooden arch of rail beneath their hands. He doesn't quite remove his own hand, in the process, a little unwilling to let something as expensive sit unguarded on the edge over the river; she can pitch them to the bottom of the ocean, afterward, if she wants - but not until they're officially hers. ]
had this written up earlier but my computer decided it didn't like DW and I got distracted...
It's another long moment then, because it doesn't register what he's set down on the lacquer red between them at first... and then her eyes flash back up to his face, wider than before. It's not the first time he's bought her something. He buys everyone weapons all the time, silently making sure his ragtag team has the best available, scuffed shoes, torn clothes - and shining new weapons that gleam their deadliness. There have also been... impulse buys, she thinks, that he's made for before, like the star-bellied stuffed moggle doll she keeps hidden in her pack and quietly cherishes just as much as her mother's earrings hanging from her ears, sleeping curled up around its reassurance on nights when she thinks no one will notice. Her eyes slip back down to the knuckles on the railing with their exotic colored metal and the autumn sunlight catches in the facets of the diamonds on their edge. It's beautiful.
It's also not an impulse buy and - while he might have bought them for her as a weapon anyway later... she knows that's not why he has them with him now. Hesitant, she reaches down, pausing, and just one finger touches the metal his hand has warmed as if checking to make sure its real. It's not an acceptance of the offering though. It's not a rejection either. Her hand withdraws and curls against her chest over her heart that hurts again and she doesn't even know it that's a good or bad thing this time. Her boots shuffle her just a little closer to him. Testing, she looks up for those blue eyes.}
That's expensive.
no subject
[ With another casual shrug of his shoulder, he cocks his other hand back on his hip and and returns to his patient survey of their scenic surroundings.
The knuckles were inexpensive relatively speaking, anyway. He's sure they've spent more collectively on Down and Hypers and Hi-Potions, too - and weapons, of course, which have been replaced more than once, by now, on each of them. It's no more than he would have paid for equally expert work on a sword for himself, or armor split between the lot of them. He certainly didn't come to the perfectly logical conclusion of making this purchase without covering all his bases, insofar as practical rationalization matters.
Another breeze rustles the trees, littering a sparse scatter of loose leaves, but the pretty affectation of the tourist town is wasted on him (probably on all of them). ]
If you don't want it, you can sell them back.
[ Still, he doesn't move his hand but to push the weapon (not the bribe) a fraction closer to her, otherwise unflinchingly solemn. ]
no subject
He bought the knuckles for her.
Maybe it's silly to notice, and she's sure it is because she's not even going to pretend otherwise but - he bought her diamonds.
Her head dips down and it's just coincidental that it tucks her just that little bit closer to him and the not-quite circle between his offered arm and the rest of his body. Her fingers shift again, leave her heart to rest light, barely there, against the top of his hand on the celebratory red and autumn sun catching glint of crystal true stones. In some world, maybe, this is a bribe, offered to shunt her feminine anger aside with a pretty bauble. To her though, it's an apology, an offering, a need, and it's given instead of words because words aren't comfortable between them, would only be broken attempts at what they're better at without them anyway. Her hair hides her face and it sways, a brush against his bare arm, when she shakes her head.]
I wouldn't sell it back.
[because it's a gift from you... and maybe he hears that too in what she doesn't say or maybe he doesn't but when she lifts her face to him, there's a small, soft smile on her lips and in her eyes, one that's only beginning to slip out from time to time, only for him, shy in its offering. It wipes the shadows and the smoke out of her eyes when it appears, whispers a heart back to him, his or hers. It's only a second before it changes to something light, brighter, but it leaves its softness behind in her eyes. Fingers leaving his, she lifts them for him, the beginning hint of comfort moving back into her face. Her glove isn't equipped, the tiger fang back with her pack in the room she shares with the other girls.]
Put it on me?
no subject
His free hand grips the railing (where he doesn't remember leaving it) when he lifts a shoulder, lets it drop, a muscle highlit briefly in his jaw as he clenches it. The same gesture goes for so much, is inexplicably his fallback, a habit (bad or good) that he must've picked up in the military - though he can't remember why or where or what significance gives it such weight.
Unimportant.
He nods slowly, the feeling of being underwater rather than above, as she pulls back her hand. The touch lingers after, like the ghost of her hair brushing over the edge of bandaging bound up along his forearm does, too, and he doesn't realize some of the pretty red of the day has sunk into his skin, breaking through the stoic seal that keeps all of his other as tight-lipped as that repetitive shrug. ]
All right.
[ It's a small request, inconsequential, really. A girl thing, maybe, yet another he is doomed never to understand. So he does it without thinking - though he's careful enough not to be careless in fitting the fine-edged weapon over her outstretched hand.
A tiny, meaningless concession that's more apology than six thousand gil probably would've bought either of them. ]
no subject
Her fingers curl, close into the familiar fist and the knuckles slot into place just right for it. Cloud's figuring out her hand size. The metal feels warm and solid against her glove. A quiet promise that it's all right. They're all right. If she's reading more into it than there is, she's all right with that too - because she feels stronger inside, balanced and stable again. Herself that she's only just learning to feel.]
It's beautiful.
[and deadly. She can appreciate one without not appreciating the other. In her chest, her heart lifts and she pulls in a breath that fills her lungs entirely instead of the short shallow ones of previous and she's smiling, real and unstinting when she raises her face to him again. Happy. He's made her happy and it's impulse and a quieter truth that has her pushing up suddenly on her toes to slip a quick kiss to his cheek. For just a second that now dangerous hand is at rest, open palmed against his chest for balance and it scatters its autumn sunlight back over both of them in dapples. She's gone in the next second, back across the bridge, a new bounce in her step that wasn't there before and sets her hair swishing as she moves. There's something washed clean and young in her face as she turns it to look at him over her shoulder, cheeks seeped with their own pink, smile happy and whispering of that secret one that's his only promises promises. It's okay, they're okay, and it's her apology as well as, all but bouncing back toward the buildings, she calls back to him:]
Don't miss lunch.