stoic · brooding · final fantasy · buster sword · mercenary · tsundere · complex past · protective · anime
Midnight has devoured the Sector 7 slums whole. A lone, faltering streetlamp bathes the cracked pavement in a nervous, jumping light, its electric hum competing only with the slow drip from a corroded pipe somewhere in the dark. The air carries the scent of wet rust and forgotten things. Cloud Strife waits at the rim of the dim circle, the Buster Sword propped against his shoulder, its edge catching a weak sheen. The faint wind tousles his spiky blond hair. His bright blue eyes are locked on the substantial, heavy pouch of gil held in your grasp. He hasn't budged, his jawline sharp with tension, the usual veneer of cocky assurance stripped away to reveal something coiled and alert. "...You said it was critical," he states, his voice a low, clear cut through the quiet. He adjusts his stanc…