A return gift to pyjamaTerra - thanks for all the art!

There is a loud clatter as the silver sword hits the ground. Aphotic turns in an instant.

"Hey boss, you alright?"

"... I'm fine," Rogan mutters, raising his head. In his eyes is a glint of light as he glares into space. "He's here."

"Who?" -as though to answer that question, a swirl of darkness bursts out of nowhere- "...oh, right. Never mind."

If there were to be a snappy comeback, it does not come. As the pair watch, the swirl seems to grow in mass, swiftly taking a relatively humanoid shape...before slipping away to reveal...

"Zeff..."

"Flypipe," the addressed persona drawls in reply. "I understand that you've been looking for me."

"Yeah." With that, Rogan picks up his sword again, holding it ready as he takes position. "Once I defeat you, the darkness will go away."

"So confident...but can you really do it?"

The dark blade - the Obsidian Key - is raised, pointing pass the silver sword's edge...pointing at Rogan's gloved right hand.

"You have a part in that darkness - all that comes from your own dark past..." -seeing Rogan flinch, Zeff's leer intensifies- "... Do you think you can erase all that happened between us?"

"Shut up, Zeff!"

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Ignoring the incensed youth's retort, he continues his taunt: "Face it - you turn your back on the present and live in the past. This glorious present you worked so hard for...perhaps you find it too...'bright'?"

"Don't," Rogan growls, "talk as if you know me."

"Yeah, yeah," a voice suddenly interrupts. "Feel free to ignore me while I stand here and look pretty."

"Stay out of this," Rogan replies at once. Aphotic raises his hands in a pacifying gesture, his expression one of casual disregard. The dark avatar, on the other hand, at last takes an interest.

"Ah. The cross-dresser," he identifies callously.

"Hello to you, too."

With a dismissive flair, the man returns his attention to Rogan in an instant. "You still keep so many worthless things about you?"

"And that's where you don't know him," Aphotic answers this time, his own smirk matching Zeff's sneer in defiance. "Us 'worthless things' are a lot more useful than you think."

"...really, now."

"Oh yeah: we're the ones that drag him out of his dark past, and into a lovely bright present by the scruff of his neck."

"...you know, I'm pretty sure I had a really stimulating conversation along these lines, once."

Squall hummed his acknowledgment before probing distractedly, "and who with?"

"Blatantly and bluntly: 'Hi there! My name's Cloud Strife, and I bang your ex-girlfriend'."

"Thanks for sharing."

"Anything for you, my not-all-that-secret affair."

At last did the brunet look up from the DVD box he held, and gave the other an odd look. "Mind explaining that one to me?"

"Your mentor's following grew bigger," the blond explained easily - all throughout, his eyes never left the small screen of the handheld game console balanced between his palms. "And considering how much he based off his RoganxAphotic works on us..."

"...we're gay now?"

"We're gay now," was the conclusion. "And on odd nights, we ride each other like Hardy-Daytonas on a bad stretch of road."

"...our positions?"

"Physically impossible between two men."

"How nice."

The DVD release of Gaia Puntasy: Chaos' Essence was returned to the shelf, and Squall moved on to look upon other productions under the same franchise. There were few others in the video store with them, and these few were strangers who did not know them - thus, conversation was liberal with subject, and said subject persisted a little longer.

"And does the lovely significant other know?"

Cloud smirked as he answered, his thumbs working dexterously over the buttons. "She's the reigning president of the movement."

"A girlfriend breaks your heart," Squall uttered sagely, "but a fan girlfriend breaks your brain."

"Too true... Found it yet?"

"Not yet." As the statement came to past, Squall picked up a copy of Those Left Behind, flipped it over to read the summary, and then deftly returned it to the shelf once more. "You'd think that they would actually have more copies of The Brave and the Free available, once the hype died down."

"That was two or three years ago."

"I know, innit? You'd think there would be a surplus by now..."

A tap of the button paused the game, and at last did Cloud look up. "You're a peon of the media industry: don't you follow the principle of 'out with the old, in with the new'?"

"Gaia Puntasy is ageless, I'll have you know that."

"Then why in the name of Minerva did Four Ansems elope with Organization XIII to produce their mutant babies, Deviant Hearts and Deviant Hearts II?"

"I thought you like Deviant Hearts," Squall rebutted, still scanning the shelves for the name he sought.

"Like it, schlike it - it's still the world's most welcomed fan art that you end up paying for."

"... Hard to argue with that."

With a happy hum, Cloud went back to his game, leaving Squall to resume his own hunting.

"We've got him now!"

And just like that, the fighter and ranger are off once again, easily clearing the obstacles that have been set in their paths. As they pursue their target through the portal, it snaps close behind them.

"Guys!"

"Don't worry."

Howling turns, and spots Terra - the agent has her handset out, speedily dialing a number.

"The Obsidian Lock needs an optimal amount of dark energy to be fully released. There's only one place that will grant it that."

The other two girls understand at once where that is. As Terra hits the last button, a loud ruckus echoes; in a moment, her airship touches down in the clearing but a short distance from them.

"Miser's lackeys were...careless, but thanks to the specs Aphotic stole from their database, the shields are now more than ready to handle entry into Rapture's Median," she adds. The handset is clicked shut, and she puts it away. "Let's go after them."

"... Terra." The agent pauses at the priestess' call, allowing her to continue. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Before, I wouldn't bother as much," Terra admits. "But that was until that guy decided to come here. He has my agents - I intend to get them back."

"But what if they-"

"I'll worry about that when I find them, but until then... The DSO never leave their own." With that, the agent approaches her ship; the door comes down to grant their entrance.

"It's time to settle this..."

"Nice to know I won't be left stranded with just a minor healing against a powerhouse for the third time running..."

"And you didn't look up strategies because...?"

"The only one that isn't illegible was written by a cricket in a top hat." The disgruntled comment was met with a humorous laugh.

"Do you dislike Jiminy C. that much?"

"Nothing against him - just the writing he probably BSed halfway through."

"If you say so."

Cloud chose that moment to look away from his handheld. As he looked across the street - giving his eyes some reprieve from prolonged squinting at the small screen - said eyes widened into a saucer-like semblance, and his jaw fell open at once. It took a costly moment before he thought to pause his game and continue gawking in peace.

"...dude."

"What's up?"

"Did I pull a Rip Van Winkle and return to the real world on the evening before Halloween?" At the question, Squall looked away from the shelves, and his brows danced in recognition of the spectacle they beheld.

"Cosplayers."

"A whole pack of them."

True to the blond spectator's emphasis, the moving crowd before them stuck out amidst the usual passers-by like a sore thumb. It took Cloud a moment longer to wear out the shock, and allow intrigue to set in...then that duration accelerated considerably as the same group decided to have a little entertainment right there and then.

"Hey, check that out." At his lead, Squall soon spotted the same thing, and his own facade cracked in a suppressed grin.

"... I see Rogan."

"... With a lance." The commentary paused to the loud commotion of "fighting" characters, before resuming:

"And there goes Aphotic's underpants," as he concluded, Cloud smirked openly at the unceremonious display presented before him. "Nice work with the dress, though."

"The traditional interpretation of in-game 'realism movement' that is repeated air-humping makes me chuckle so..."

"...think if I offered them a twenty, they would-?"

"They're fan girls, Cloud," Squall broke in with the air of a veteran. "Just offer to take their picture, and they'll gladly perform a series of Rootic yaoi that would convert waves of future generations to the proverbial Dark Side."

"What I would give for a camera right about now...wait a minute - fan girls?"

Squall nodded, pointing back at where "Rogan" was returning the borrowed lance, and the cross-dressing "Aphotic" was chatting with someone else. "Fan girls. Both of them."

"Holy Matron of Gaia...!"

"Don't act so surprised," Squall countered the further comment. "Of all the cosplayers that I've seen, most of them are female."

"...the world has legally taken all the fictional characters we hold dear and butchered their appearance, their wardrobe, their personalities, their sexualities, and their gender," Cloud concluded. "Well played, fandom. Well mother-effin' played."

"Welcome to my world, Cloud."

"Comforting...just be sure to shoot me out of mercy if any of these delightful ladies take to the streets dressed as the two of us."

The comment caused Squall to quirk a brow, as he at last found a surviving copy of the CGI animated movie he wanted. "I doubt we're that famous."

"Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe with you and me and a whole lot of people...we will be, Leon. We will be."

Awaiting the counter staff to scan his purchase, Squall contemplated on the statement for a moment, cast his eyes skyward and sighed deeply.

"... 'Leon Leonhart', huh? With a name like that, I'll never leave the house again."

Ah, Leon of so little faith...if only you knew...