A/N: As I will probably mention in the site summary, this is a character study based on art terms, because, well…. Art appreciation doesn't inspire me to draw as well as actual art classes did. And the terminology just clicked in my head with this idea. (Just sorta a plot bunny I need to move outta me way before I pick back up on Silence, then finally everything else.)
Terms used, and definitions:
(R)Value- Light or Darkness of a color
(T)Chiaroscuro- Illusion of depth
(Z)Vibrance- brightness (Not so much light, as extreme noticeability. like neon colors or hot pink)
(A)Etching- usually for printmaking (scratching the design faintly into a surface)
(C)Abstract- simplified and/or changed (usually in a way that makes it nearly unrecognisable and
looks more complex than it is from what I've noticed)
(S)Iconography- symbolism more or less.
disclaimer: If I owned shit, I wouldn't be a poor college student with no driver's license writing nerdy fanfiction for kicks and stress relief.
-PAGE_BREAK-
-A question of Value-
Rufus would never describe himself as a good person. He had too much blood on his hands to consider himself such. But he wasn't terrible or cruel either. At least, not anymore. Still, he knew he had been on the edge of the abyss for long enough, and it was time for him to atone for it- but it felt like everything he did went awry. He'd known the minute he'd seen the signs of that man's return that Cloud was the only hope there was. He'd known with certainty. What he hadn't counted on was the result. He wasn't naive like some of the blonde's friends could be, he'd been too chaotically hung in the balance between good and evil to be. Naivety would've been his downfall. He didn't know why they thought it'd be any different. He hadn't started running away immediately after their first journey afterall. And after the stigma incident, he'd kept it up for a while. He'd lasted for about a week after Vincent had dealt with the events of Deep Ground, though he'd been even moodier than usual, and oddly jumpy all the time. After that week, there had been episodes, and when he'd tried to pull his usual avoidance, they hadn't let him. One thing had lead to another, and before he knew it, he'd had to turn part of the old Shin-ra building into an Asylum built to hold what was currently the strongest human alive. Though, for how much longer he'd be able to consider Cloud human- Rufus hadn't the faintest idea. It was good he cared enough about helping bring the blonde back to sanity, but…. did that count when he was to blame for a lot of what brought it on?
-PB-
-The very meaning of Chiaroscuro-
"I'm sorry, but you can't see him." Rufus had told her. "I'm afraid he's really lost it this time, and we aren't sure that the cell can contain him. It's best you leave- with him like this, the rest of Avalanche will likely look to you as the leader, so try to at least put on airs and pretend to be strong for them." Pretend to be strong? Have I ever stopped pretending? Tifa thought. She'd never been as strong as the the others. At times, she was certain even Cloud was stronger (mentally and emotionally) than she was. She'd gotten over thinking he would be her knight in shining armor. Eradicated her naivety in clinging onto that ideal of having a hero. She'd seen the cracks in his armor finally, and she'd honestly begun to hate herself of all people. Of course Cloud wouldn't be comfortable with her in that way when she'd acted as she had. The others thought she'd been a deep well of strength and spirit, but she'd been so unbelievably shallow for years. Childhood friends, she had said, when she knew that she'd never noticed him when they were kids. Not until the well, where she'd naively decided to wait on his fame. She'd never stopped the rest of the village from thinking it was his fault she'd nearly died falling from that bridge. And even recently she'd been so childish "Am I really going to lose too a memory?" So insensitive. It wasn't like she'd ever resented Aerith. That bright smile, those kind forest pools that were her eyes… the woman was so impossible to hate. She missed her too. And while she knew it was equally childish of Cloud to blame himself and hang on that way… She'd been so shallow to say that. To handle things the way she did. Whatever strength, whatever depth she had was as much of an illusion as Sephiroth's sanity had been, and she knew it. She just hoped it wasn't too late to fix things.
-PB-
-The Vibrance of a ghost's smile-
He always kept it up. That cheeky persona, his cheesy grin. He was disheartened too, even if Aerith never noticed (as perceptive as she was though… he doubted she hadn't) that they couldn't reach his little spikehead anymore. And now was a time when he really needed them. He was strong, sure, but his paranoia was too strong. They'd thought it would be fine, but then, neither of them had counted on a handful of words affecting the blonde that much. Of course, Zack wasn't convinced that Cloud's hero worship for that man had dispersed at all. He'd seen it at its worst, and he knew it to be present even after meeting the man behind the legacy. He'd just kept up the brightness of his own smile, even when he noticed those piercing green eyes drinking in every bit of the admiration in his little buddy's sapphires with such a dark hunger. Even in moments when he'd prematurely seen the monster behind the man, he'd smiled through it, and know, even dead with the monster now being the man, with the world hanging in the balance and the last hope left reflecting the man that was the monster more than ever. He Smiled brightly at Aerith, cracking every joke he knew to prevent himself from cracking. Even in death, his cheeriness hadn't changed. He was just sad that he couldn't share it with Cloud anymore. Not with the literal green eyed monster horsing him away like that.
-PB-
-Etching patterns for the future-
She'd experimented a lot lately with her ability to affect the world of the living. Everyone was falling apart, so she did what she could to help. Especially with Tifa. She'd taken it the hardest. Of course, only her and Zack knew that Cloud's paranoia was correct and that Rufus, for all his good intents, was only making it worse. The isolation drove that paranoia to the brink, and the blonde's nearly non-existent sanity beyond it. Her only hope was to leave behind all the faint impressions she could leave. She knew Tifa had noticed her presence when she hugged her, knew the younger woman could hear her comforts. She knew Vincent had noticed, as had Nanaki. Both had nodded solemnly in understanding at her forlorn face. The others couldn't tell she was there. They noticed something she knew. She knew Cloud noticed, but, in his isolation, and with that man's effect slowly erasing her influence with the blonde, she hadn't been able to comfort him as much. But, she kept trying. Kept leaving faint echoes everywhere to avert the worst outcomes of the inevitable. The man was most definitely returning.
-PB-
-Abstract thoughts, scattering patterns of iconography-
He hadn't let it bother him at first, those words. He sometimes couldn't recall exactly what the man said- Was it "Never a memory" or was it "I'm so much more1" He couldn't remember. It wasn't so much those words though, as it was the whispers. They'd started again shortly after Vincent had started his own quest. At first, it was small things: "Cloud… your destination is the opposite way. You took the wrong turn." "I'm entirely certain that a burrito is not meant to be in a microwave for 5 minutes." "you made a wrong turn again Cloud." "That's not healthy… whatever that slop is." Eventually, it evolved. He didn't notice the change until the tsviets had attacked edge, he himself having to fight Rosso. "So, she is to Genesis as you are to me… I hope you realize you aren't allowed to lose to her. It would be highly embarrassing." "Your swing is off. I can't blame you though, when you haven't had a decent opponent in a year." "Let me take care of this one, we can build your strength back later, you have to survive first, don't you?" It was in that fight when he'd realized just how the man had managed to maintain his hold after death this time through. He'd known the strange sensation of foreign thoughts mingling with and guiding his own, had known the feeling of the man's mind caressing his and controlling it. This was different. He was the backseat in his own body, there were attacks thrown that he knew weren't his own. They were his and they were almost more familiar to Cloud than his own moves were. the style was cleaner, yet more brutal, the strikes so much more efficient. He could feel that familiar presence, but it hadn't really left since their last standoff. It was so clear now, what was going on. He was literally hosting his worst enemy, the one who so many years ago he would've done anything for and whom now, he feared as much as he should despise. It grew worse, but he hid it well. The man had possessed his body the same way a few days later as he'd gotten out of the shower, but it was only partial this time. He couldn't feel the left side of his body, and the eye on that side… He'd seen it aqua with slightly larger slit pupils than the man's….But this eye wasn't one of his. It was actually Sephiroth's eye, to the fluctuation of the pale greens. He'd flinched as that side of his mouth had curled into the man's signature smirk, his left hand (that he still couldn't feel) caressing his right cheek so tenderly. Almost, but not quite, lovingly that hand trailed down his chin, jaw and neck, and lower, across his chest to that all too familiar scar in his shoulder. He could see his right eye, the one that was still his, switch to the other pair of eyes he had. That slightly darker, slightly bluer green (than those poison eyes that were ingrained in his memory) hue, pupil's longer, sharper than normal, but not quite the same as that man's, that monster's eyes. He shuddered, in fear and need. He knew his eyes, what it meant when that jade color replaced sapphire. He knew what part what side of himself those eyes belonged to. He knew who that side itself belonged to. His shoulder throbbed under that touch, so familiar and how could the man ever think he'd forget pain so terrible, so agonizing as that? He simply couldn't. The hand trailed back to his lips, his own hand that wasn't his at the moment. His own thumb parted his lips so gently, so carefully, brushing itself along the bottom. That poison colored eye in the mirror showed him everything that those eyes always showed him. Possessiveness, Smugness, Cruelty… he lost control of his other hand as well, that one brushing lower, much lower than necessary, and a need sparked. He looked back to that eye, the lust so far back he had to dig to find it, and he knew it was there. "Mine." The voice began. The hands that were no longer his continued, the left now brushing his tongue, the right already pumping along his groin and he began to shake for an entirely different reason. Tears found their way out of the eye that was still his even as his hips bucked into his own hand. He vaguely noticed a feeling like so many kisses trailing down his neck, and along his mind if that even could begin to describe the feeling in his head. It was as if the man had wrapped around his thoughts like a blanket, tenderly as he'd caressed Cloud with the blonde's own hand, the man now mentally kissed away any struggles, caressing thoughts he wanted, but only in regards to his current actions. It was only a few minutes later, when Cloud felt close to release, that the hand relented, squeezing, not allowing it. That was when his sanity had finally cracked. "Beg." That voice had commanded sternly, and grudgingly, to his own embarrassment, he had. And when the man continued, and he finally spurt all over the floor and passed out, the last thing he'd heard was that infernal voice whispering once more. "Good boy." It had cooed. It wasn't much longer until he'd tried to run, he had to kill himself before the man broke him, or the entire world was done. Instead, he'd ended up branded as a lunatic and thrown in a cell with Rufus keeping an eye on him (as the other blonde had put it.) When he'd tried to explain, Rufus had looked at him in concern and deemed him unstable. He'd over heard the shrink refer to him as a 51-50, and so his cell was padded, and he couldn't talk to anyone except that stupid voice that he hatedloved more than he ever should, more and more each day as his isolation in the padded cell dragged on. And suddenly, he just broke. Snapped. He stared dully ahead, barely nodding at that voice, curling in on himself and suddenly his isolation was over. He was still kept in the cell, but the nurses were allowed to talk to him. But the damage had already been done. They were nothing. At least, the voice told him so. One nurse was a little more eccentric than the others, and when Rufus and the Shrink were gone one day had tried some unorthodox methods. She'd undone the precautionary cuffs on his hands, after stripping him, but before she could even touch him, it happened again. His own hands snapped up and strangled her until she flopped to his feet, dead. His own body moving around, breaking the cell doors open with brute force that he'd never had. Rufus had arrived just in time to see the corpse and to see the not quite Cloud fuming at him with eyes that certainly weren't Cloud. Clearly the other blonde knew what happened from the look in his eyes.
"I was wrong?" The white-clad blonde asked in shock. Cloud felt his lips move, but not with his own words.
"The fact that you doubted Cloud was bad enough, wasn't it, Rufus?" The figure using his body sauntered forward. "He's always been smarter than any of you." The blonde could feel those hands trail gently along his face. "He's always been better. None of you deserve him, none of you ever have." The hand that should be his brushed along his chin, and Rufus stepped back in fear.
"What gives you the right to decide that?" Rufus counters, angry and afraid. The hand pauses.
"Do you even need to ask why something of mine is above you and your pathetic kind?" The voice controlling his lips continues. The hand that had been caressing him balls into a fist. "Why my beloved, why my favorite" Cloud could feel his heart skip a beat at those words, but no longer really cared. "Is better?" The fist flew out and that familiar sword in all its terrible glory appeared with in it. A chuckle filled the air as the tip of the blade reached Rufus' neck, sliding down and summoning a slight trickle of dark crimson. With a flash, more crimson followed, as the former president's decapitated head fell to the floor with a sickening thud. In a flash of light, the sword dispersed, the hand once again trailing his own jaw. "Mine." the voice breathes, the echo filling the empty (aside from the corpses) room "only mine forever."