Dissidia fanfic
Chapter three: Edge of Twilight
There were shapes in the light. Hints of buildings lost in the dwindling rush of colors. Behind them both, the slowly morphing collage of colors darkened.
Such was the nature of twilight.
"Light's growing scarce."
It was the first words his companion had spoken. They'd met on a road that wasn't, nodded, and without consent or conversation both picked the same road. It was a beaten path of dirt filled with a hundred jags courtesy of rebellious grass, pebbles and the like. In the growing shadows though, nature seemed, different, distorted into a state of synthetic. The lines of darkening shade and failing illumination washed out the earth and criss-crossed it in black until the whole of the path seemed grey and those lines resembled the edges of cobles.
Déjà vu was just not the word.
Checking a shiver, the blonde swordsman pulled the edges of his black coat together. Wolf headed talisman catching the chancy light and glinting red about the fangs.
"I didn't notice." The brunet, his odd sword gun hybrid winking in the fading light. "Never would have if you'd never said so."
Sarcasm just seemed a mutual language between the two.
Cloud cracked a wry smile, grunted, and thus they continued in comfortable quiet.
Despite the light's failure to really illuminate the path before them, they pressed on. Seeking without words between them both to confirm the obvious, they both were looking for a place of color. Sought more than this sketchy illumination that was the present.
For this light was fickly, a thing of edges, and was more than content to try to lose then.
Trying was the key word; both were legends in their own worlds, both legends and legendary for certain traits. Stubborn was one of those traits, obstinate was perhaps its degree. Or perhaps the degree of their stubbornness just made all language fail to gauge it.
Lips pressing into a small smile, one that was missed as he'd turned away. He turned away when his smiles were at their best, something that had irritated… someone. Someone who he couldn't remember, the gun blade wielder chuckled.
"They called me the lion of the savannah. The lone hunter."
Sensing a roundabout stab about his hair, the black clad blonde ruffled his riled locks.
"That your name?"
"Nope."
Conversation quota for the two used up for that time, they pressed on, treading miles in a twilight, with shadows looming and swelling about them, bringing images of buildings to mind. There was a familiarity to it all, the tread, the twilight that seemed unending, and the buildings that were not.
"So." Brunette turned to blond, lion charm at the hilt of his weapon clinking with each motion. "You got a name?"
The laconic, "never met someone who doesn't," just said it all.
Smile turned into laugh, a short barkish sound that recalled lighter days, or at least alluded to them.
For they weren't allowed memories, not either of them, not yet.
"I remember… or I think I do… some kid, a little punk." The brunette tossed the words out there, not caring if they meant a thing. "Said that the one time he heard me laugh, worlds would end."
"Really?" Somehow, the blonde with his wolfish knick knacks wasn't surprised. "Well, world's not ending, but look there."
And, since it wasn't doing much of anything, he unslung the massive piece of iron over his shoulder and used its edge to point at the golden flicker to the side. Before them, the road they treaded had split, and to complete the cliché where the light lingered… the path looked distinctly untaken.
Or was it untreaded?
Regardless of what literature they were butchering it was an accurate assessment. The road was rough, and ragged, the illusion of cobbles was broke as the grass ran rampant and pebbles were exchanged for sizable rocks and the "trail" surely rambled.
"Guess that's our cue." Sheathing his blade, the blonde didn't smile, his expression was placid like usual. "Should we mosey on over?"
A shrug was the lion of the savannah's response, that and an amused. "I don't mosey, but I'll go first."
"First's all yours, I don't want it." The blonde chuckled, lingering at the branching path he snapped up a bit of summer golden grass that served both as walls from the span they traveled before and stretched onward to frame the path they were leaving behind.
Souvenir gathered he slipped it into his pocket. Coats were useful that way.
