Post by Beaver Dude on May 24, 2009 23:05:17 GMT -5
Author’s notes: Rated T for themes. Template used as convenient pagebreak below. There’s a complete tense shift so I figured it was necessary. I consider the last two paragraphs as completely optional- they wouldn’t be in a real role-play what with the god-modding and all.
Cardboard Boxes[/u]
Before Traverse Town-
(before Maleficient and Xenahort. before Hollow Bastion. before Sora and his Key. before the Heartless. and before working Gummi ships.)
-when Radiant Garden had been perfect, like a checklist completed in triplicate, there had still been flaws. There would always be flaws as far as Shera was concerned. Flaws that nostalgia had glossed over, flattened, killed because they were small and insignificant and grey.
Shera didn’t mind, mostly. People forgot the slums, forgot the shelters, forgot the lack of food (walk down the right street, open the right door and there was always a lack of food) and the drizzly weather; they forgot the addicts, the small islands of refuse, the lack of space; they forgot everything that wasn’t beautiful, pretty and radiant until you asked them, point blank about that cute kid that everyone knew died in that alleyway just over yonder, trying to feed her Mako addiction.
And then they would look at you, as if you had betrayed them as if you had pissed on something sacred, profaned something that defied and defined reality. But Shera was grey, had lived grey, had seen grey and had used it to navigate through the darkness: some things had to be said and she didn’t mind, mostly.
…right. Before Traverse Town.
----------------------
Username: Dei Ex Machinis
Current canons: None
Canon you're auditioning for: Shera
Media canon is from: FF7
Is the current canon taken?: Apparently not.
Audition post (400 words):
-----------------------
Shera was only minutes away from the Captain’s place, when two lines of her life that had been meant to stay parallel, intersected. In retrospect, it was probably inevitable: the knowledge didn’t make things any easier, but at least there was reason and chance at work and not just Murphy who Shera – as a rule – refused to invoke. It felt too much like giving up.
“Shera, Shera darling~”
Shera turned, tried her best to put on her friendly, chipper, I-can-help face. She wasn't certain how successful she was. “Cindy!”
Cindy from the women’s shelter. Cindy who was far too beautiful and far too poor. Cindy who had four mouths to feed and no settlement money, no permanent job, and no ‘prospects’. Cindy who Shera felt could be so much more but shouldn’t have been able to find Shera in this part of town.
(Cindy seemed to realize this and her face coloured pink with embarrassment and she rubbed the heels of her dirty, oversized sneakers together.
Shera felt indescribably gaudy in her green, largely stain-free dress.)
“Shera, darling… are you…” Cindy was losing her nerve, eyes sweeping for ‘no loitering’ signs. Or maybe just the coppers. Not that Shera would let them arrest her just for existing. “Umm…busy?”
Decent human beings could only give only one type of answer to that quiet desperation. Shera had never believed herself to be conventionally ‘decent’ but was giving it her best shot. “Actually, I was on my way to work-”
Cindy’s green eyes fell.
“-but the Capt- Cid’s a great guy. I can spare-” fifteen minutes- “an hour or two.”
There was something refreshing about how Cindy didn’t say something quaint and fake like: “I wouldn’t want to impose,” or “it shouldn’t take too long…” but only smiled tightly and told her: “Dale’s sick.”
-----------------------
Dale had been taking Mako. Shera rubbed her eyes, trying to think. Her glasses got it in the way of the action but she didn’t mind. Much.
“How long has he been doing that?”
‘That’ was staring straight ahead and looking into nothing with glowing blue eyes. It was what they were calling Mako-addicts these days: ‘blue-brains.’ Something bubbled dangerously at the surface of what others might call their ‘Id’ but what Shera largely considered to be useless sentimentality. There would be other boyfriends in this sorry state.
“When I woke up he-”
Shera rubbed her eyes again. “There’s a place, near Seventh Heaven. A flowershop. Ask for Aerith.”
“Can’t you-?” There was a pause. “Thanks anyways. For everything.”
Shera nodded, heading for the door.
“…Shera?”
The volunteer made an inquisitive noise in her throat as she shrugged on her coat.
“If… if there’s anything wrong.”
she knows
“Just tell me. I… I’m not smart like you but I can listen. At least.”
she knows
There was a wooden nod from the engineer who softly closed the door behind her before breaking out into a run.
-----------------------
Shera didn’t offer any excuses when Cid asked, pointedly, why she hadn’t come to work. She only nodded and accepted the fact that she was lucky he didn’t fire her what with the economy in its stupid, beepin’ state and accepted the fact that her pay had was to be docked for the week.
Cid cussed for most of the entire day.
It was only later, when Shera left, that she realized how loud the man could be.
“You shouldn’t let him say that to you.”
Cardboard Boxes[/u]
Before Traverse Town-
(before Maleficient and Xenahort. before Hollow Bastion. before Sora and his Key. before the Heartless. and before working Gummi ships.)
-when Radiant Garden had been perfect, like a checklist completed in triplicate, there had still been flaws. There would always be flaws as far as Shera was concerned. Flaws that nostalgia had glossed over, flattened, killed because they were small and insignificant and grey.
Shera didn’t mind, mostly. People forgot the slums, forgot the shelters, forgot the lack of food (walk down the right street, open the right door and there was always a lack of food) and the drizzly weather; they forgot the addicts, the small islands of refuse, the lack of space; they forgot everything that wasn’t beautiful, pretty and radiant until you asked them, point blank about that cute kid that everyone knew died in that alleyway just over yonder, trying to feed her Mako addiction.
And then they would look at you, as if you had betrayed them as if you had pissed on something sacred, profaned something that defied and defined reality. But Shera was grey, had lived grey, had seen grey and had used it to navigate through the darkness: some things had to be said and she didn’t mind, mostly.
…right. Before Traverse Town.
----------------------
Username: Dei Ex Machinis
Current canons: None
Canon you're auditioning for: Shera
Media canon is from: FF7
Is the current canon taken?: Apparently not.
Audition post (400 words):
-----------------------
Shera was only minutes away from the Captain’s place, when two lines of her life that had been meant to stay parallel, intersected. In retrospect, it was probably inevitable: the knowledge didn’t make things any easier, but at least there was reason and chance at work and not just Murphy who Shera – as a rule – refused to invoke. It felt too much like giving up.
“Shera, Shera darling~”
Shera turned, tried her best to put on her friendly, chipper, I-can-help face. She wasn't certain how successful she was. “Cindy!”
Cindy from the women’s shelter. Cindy who was far too beautiful and far too poor. Cindy who had four mouths to feed and no settlement money, no permanent job, and no ‘prospects’. Cindy who Shera felt could be so much more but shouldn’t have been able to find Shera in this part of town.
(Cindy seemed to realize this and her face coloured pink with embarrassment and she rubbed the heels of her dirty, oversized sneakers together.
Shera felt indescribably gaudy in her green, largely stain-free dress.)
“Shera, darling… are you…” Cindy was losing her nerve, eyes sweeping for ‘no loitering’ signs. Or maybe just the coppers. Not that Shera would let them arrest her just for existing. “Umm…busy?”
Decent human beings could only give only one type of answer to that quiet desperation. Shera had never believed herself to be conventionally ‘decent’ but was giving it her best shot. “Actually, I was on my way to work-”
Cindy’s green eyes fell.
“-but the Capt- Cid’s a great guy. I can spare-” fifteen minutes- “an hour or two.”
There was something refreshing about how Cindy didn’t say something quaint and fake like: “I wouldn’t want to impose,” or “it shouldn’t take too long…” but only smiled tightly and told her: “Dale’s sick.”
-----------------------
Dale had been taking Mako. Shera rubbed her eyes, trying to think. Her glasses got it in the way of the action but she didn’t mind. Much.
“How long has he been doing that?”
‘That’ was staring straight ahead and looking into nothing with glowing blue eyes. It was what they were calling Mako-addicts these days: ‘blue-brains.’ Something bubbled dangerously at the surface of what others might call their ‘Id’ but what Shera largely considered to be useless sentimentality. There would be other boyfriends in this sorry state.
“When I woke up he-”
Shera rubbed her eyes again. “There’s a place, near Seventh Heaven. A flowershop. Ask for Aerith.”
“Can’t you-?” There was a pause. “Thanks anyways. For everything.”
Shera nodded, heading for the door.
“…Shera?”
The volunteer made an inquisitive noise in her throat as she shrugged on her coat.
“If… if there’s anything wrong.”
she knows
“Just tell me. I… I’m not smart like you but I can listen. At least.”
she knows
There was a wooden nod from the engineer who softly closed the door behind her before breaking out into a run.
-----------------------
Shera didn’t offer any excuses when Cid asked, pointedly, why she hadn’t come to work. She only nodded and accepted the fact that she was lucky he didn’t fire her what with the economy in its stupid, beepin’ state and accepted the fact that her pay had was to be docked for the week.
Cid cussed for most of the entire day.
It was only later, when Shera left, that she realized how loud the man could be.
“You shouldn’t let him say that to you.”
I did post in shades of grey if anyone even remembers that lmao