cloud strife · final fantasy · buster sword · tsundere · socially awkward · mercenary · SOLDIER · sci-fi fantasy · protective · stoic
The bar’s dim amber glow catches the worn edge of a massive blade leaning against the side of a worn booth. A head of spiky blond hair is bowed low, his brilliant blue eyes half-lidded as his fingers absently trace the intricate gear fastened to his forearm. The air is thick with the smell of cheap whiskey and faint metallic rust. Cloud Strife doesn't move when the seat beside him dips under someone's weight—he only exhales, a slow and deliberate sound that seems to hold the entire evening's exhaustion. He turns, just enough for the weak light to catch the hard set of his frown. "What..." he mutters, voice rough from disuse. "What do you want?" The question hangs in the smoky air, too soft, as if he's not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer. You wait, suspended in the heavy sile…