childrenofbahamutlogs | 01 - Bake a Pretty Cake (ota)

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01 - Bake a Pretty Cake (ota)

WHO: Angeal and whoever wants to bother a man throughout a week
WHAT: Roosters and bread oh my
WHERE: Town
WHEN: The vague existence of October
WARNINGS: none planned

SUMMARY: As a practical man with goals, Angeal has a lot of things he wants to do to make sure his household is doing okay. This means things like re-establishing his bakery, and carrying a rooster. The rooster is important. Don't worry about it.

A - Agriculture

While the autumn air makes things somewhat cool, that doesn't seem to be a matter that's bothering Angeal as he pushes a wheelbarrow along the more residential streets, filled with dirt. He does take a break occasionally as he goes about his business constantly, sometimes carrying little bags on top of the dirt. "You would think dragons could have better timing, rather than right at fall," he says during such a break to anyon who joins him. There's the faint glimmer of gold up along his hairline, horns that are just starting to appear. He doesn't seem happy about it.

B - Bakery Remade

For those making their way through Town today, they may come across one of the empty not-residential buildings with its doors wide open. There are a variety of encounters to be had with this simple fact...

For example, early morning may find anyone passing directly in front of the doors having a face full of dust. Angeal's voice comes from inside. "Ah, shit, sorry. You alright? I was just cleaning this place out. Need something to get the dust out of your mouth?

By noon, a pleasant smell is wafting out of the newly cleaned out bakery. Anyone is welcome to step right inside, as the doors have been left open for the time being. It's not a big fancy place or anything, but there are a couple of tables for anyone who'd like to sit, and a good amount of space behind the counter. Angeal is hard at work kneading more dough as bread bakes in an oven, fairly content with how things are going for the time being.

When evening finally rolls around, Angeal can be found relaxing right outside the bakery with a decently sized piece of wood in his hands that he is making a commendable go of carving words into. "I should have asked for a smithy," he says casually to anyone who slows down enough to linger. "I don't know anything about woodcarving."

C - Cock

Angeal has a rooster tucked underneath his arms at the market.

None of the locals are batting their eyes about this.

Other people at the market, however, may have different reactions. They may especially have different reactions when the roster (otherwise being a pissy little football hisses at them.

"Sorry about that," Angeal says casually. "He's not happy about the situation."

D - Do Whatever

[The wildcard catch all option, for interacting with Angeal however you want]

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It's not the quip he was expecting, which- It's rare that anything really catches Ardyn off-guard these days. The man gives a small snort of amusement at the comment. That place really did re-wire a lot of brains, didn't it? Not like he's one to speak any on that particular topic. "Well, now I'm just terribly curious what you do think I'm into if not that."

As for the question, well... It's complicated. That's too vague of an answer to truly give even as true as it is. "I suppose because I'm not used to being around," he admits, a surprising touch of genuine truth. "I traveled a lot when younger, you see, and never stayed too long to any one place. Then, when I did... It wasn't mine to have a say in how it looked." The Empire had a strict aesthetic it adhered to which was: gray, drab, and depressing with the occasional flare of imperialism to remind people of their places.

"And who knows how long this little stint will last? We could all get whisked through the summoning-circle back home tomorrow for all we know."

...Alright.

Alright, so, they're going to need to rewind to that statement a bit.

Although as Ivan comes over for the next step, Angeal decides not to immediately spring it on him. Instead, he introduces him to the simple ingredients that they'll use to mix together, and shows him how it's done. It's while they're in the middle of that that he finally goes back around. "So, you were made to forget things, before?"

"Great. Thanks a bunch." At least he's gotten pretty used to these things... and the rooster probably won't ruin anyone's shoes. At least, for right now. He seems a little bit more interested in making his way closer to one of the stalls...

Angeal leaves him be. Instead, he just speaks into the stone. "Hey, Gen. Was talking about you at the market, and this guy just said something I thought you'd want to hear."

And with that, he offers the stone to Popp.

"Oh? Is that so?" Comes that suspiciously coy drawl from within the stone. This is either Angeal being a troll, or Angeal wanting to listen to him rant if he had to guess. But as always, he humors his husband regardless. "Go on then."

That tone of voice is more like what Popp expects from a dude who likes other dudes. It's definitely a voice that stands out.

"What I said is that you sound like a real hero, with the sword and magic and all. He really talks you up, you know?"

It is a little embarrassing to gush over someone you haven't actually seen in action but Popp is willing to toss dignity aside for far lower stakes than true love. Can you call it being a wingman if they're already married...?

It's wingman to a continuing happy marriage... or just helping a pair of dorks. Either way, Angeal's grin is sure more than bright enough to make up for how Genesis can't be seen.

"Hear that, Gen? My hero."

"I don't think you want me to talk about what you're into," Angeal says dryly. He knows just a little bit too much about Ardyn's fetishes - for any decent person, but also probably for an Ardyn who hasn't gone through the Amani experience and, like. Maybe started dating almost like a normal person. Almost. Vaguely in that vicinity.

Angeal will sabotage any relationship between Rosie and him before it can begin for sure.

But for now... He listens sincerely to the question, taking it in for the truth it may actually be. It doesn't quite have the drama that comes with all the fake bullshit. Still...

"Nothing is permanent," Angeal agrees. "But that doesn't mean your actions, what mark you leave on places and people, isn't important. Maybe we will all disappear through a weird summoning circle tomorrow... But you also have to contend with the fact that you might not. In which case... Wouldn't it be nice to actually have a say in how things looked? In planting a flower just because you want even just the hope of seeing the flower tomorrow?"

"Well, I've got most of the front dusted up already," Angeal muses. "Want to finish up here, and I'll take care of our storage space?"

Maybe one day they'll have some expansion that will take a little more to get it cleaned up. For now, however, in reflecting the small size of town even with its small population boost, it's a small space of its own.

"Then we can get some fresh water, and see just what goods we can make. No point in wasting time, right?"

"I arrived here with thirty-six hours of memories," asset-slash-Ivan says with a little shrug as he stirs ingredients together with a tireless metal arm. He sounds very matter-of-fact about it, because: "And the certainty that only having thirty-six hours of memories is normal."

"Less the mysterious shit, and more I think anyone with a braincell can see how you tick once they've had a conversation with you." And after seeing the way that Cloud had kept looking back to the chickens, knowing the buster sword he still kept on his person...

Angeal feels confident in this much, certainly.

Still, for that little comment, an amused huff leaves him. "I don't think you know how much of a pain in the ass I can be," he says dryly. "All I've done is talk to you. Get on my training, and you'll see how it really feels."

Great, now Angeal is calling him predictable. Being that easy to read by a serial meddler spells bad news for the merc- there is a strong nonzero chance Angeal is not about to stop doing things like this. For whoever's sake it might be. The last person Cloud thinks of is perhaps the most likely- himself. For his sake.

Cloud Strife has no idea what he's gotten in to, having caught the eye of one SOLDIER First Class, Angeal Hewley. Perhaps it was always inevitable, given the blade on his back, and important people he's forgotten.

"And pulled a bunch of strings to make things happen. That's a lot more than just talking to me." His scowl deepens. "Your training? That some kinda challenge?" Cloud has vague memories of the whispers of how intense Angeal always was on the SOLDIERs under his tutelage. But at this point, it is a matter of pride. He can take it. Maybe even prove himself. He's a goddamn First, after all. "I can take it."

"I mean, I just talked to two people," Angeal points out plainly. "That's not really pulling a bunch of strings." Frankly speaking, it is basic matchmaker level of nonsense that any romcom would fall back on. This isn't really a romcom, to be fair, but still. It's not exactly complicated.

If he really wanted to something like "pull strings", well. He has even better sources and shenanigans than that.

Maybe they can get to talking about it. Later. You know, when Cloud isn't scowling at him and demanding a challenge. "It's a fact," he says, tilting his head to the side. "But if you need something to get out all your energy, sure. I can drag you along and show you exactly why everyone under me always made First. But I'm locking up this place before we do anything... and you better get some decent sticks for practice, unless you want to try me at hand-to-hand."

Alright.

So.

"I do feel that you should know that something like that isn't normal," Angeal says, doing his best to keep his voice level and casual. Something that won't come off as judgment, hopefully. "So it might be a little tricky for you to keep going with more memories on your belt. Has it been a bother so far?"

Edited 2024-12-08 21:46 (UTC)

The dust that had landed full-on in his face, yes. But Themis refrains from mentioning, and only nods to Angeal. "I shall handle the rest here. Between the two of us it should not take too much time."

There was not a large amount of space, after all. Which is just as well. Great things tended to start small, after all.

Waving Angeal off to the storage area, Themis surveys exactly what else remains to be done. Humming a tune to himself - a simple, happy little thing - he gets to work. Nothing was particularly demanding, complex, or straining even with his diminished state. It's still an adjustment, to be made weaker in this way, but he handles it with grace. The efficiency he uses eats up the time in a very productive manner.

Eventually he runs out of obvious thing to do, and goes looking for Angeal in the storage area.

Not that it's particularly far.

"The front portion is completed. Do you need any help?"

"Now you've just got me intrigued," he admits, "but I won't pry." There must be some reason Angeal isn't telling him, which is fine. Ardyn knows he existed in that other reality, apparently, but figures there's also a reason for his seeming lapse in memory. It's probably for the best. Besides, he does like getting to hear anecdotes about 'his' time there.

The counterpoint Angeal raises is a fair one. If he really wanted to depress, Ardyn would say he also knows leaving his mark on the word was futile. Not just because Bahamut said so, but because he's lived through doing everything he could only to be purposefully expunged from people's minds for centuries. He couldn't make a difference or be remembered as a good man; now, his only legacy would instead be the monster he was twisted into. That's all he'll ever be to most anymore in terms of any lasting impressions.

So, he doesn't have that hope of seeing tomorrow. He doesn't want it. The sooner he ends and people forget him again, the better. He knows this.

He knows.

"Flowers wilt," he says, instead, "and people pass on. Forget. Eventually, our changes won't mean anything so why change anything at all?" Good ol' nihilism.

"Whatever. You know what you did, Hewley."

Nah. Hand-to-hand was never Cloud's strong suit- always swordplay, with the barehanded stuff as a backup. He was made especially aware of how lacking in that department he was when Tifa showed back up in his life, not even SOLDIER, but pushing the very boundaries of human strength. Sticks it is. Cloud turns on his heel and stalks towards the wooded border of Town, waving an arm. "I'll come back with some sticks, then."

What the hell did Angeal mean by his energy anyway? He's just annoyed. Anyone would be, right?

True to his word, Cloud returns maybe ten minutes later, with a stick in each hand. Both are a decent width, and as close to the length of a ShinRa-issue training sword as the blond could manage to find. He tosses one Angeal's way whenever he emerges from the entryway of the bakery.

"Just take us wherever you want to eat those words, then."

Cloud will dutifully follow the man wherever that leads. Quietly.

"Maybe not for you." The asset is not, after all, a person. It might not be normal for a person, but for a weapon, who knows what "normal" actually is. Still, he is tentatively admitting, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that he is not particularly keen for the memory circumstances to go back to "normal".

Even though: "It can be a little. Troublesome. Keeping it all straight. Feels like my head is very full."

It's not normal for anyone, and shouldn't be... but Angeal keeps that to his chest. Slow and steady wins the race.

And, more importantly, helps cases like this.

He's had plenty of time to learn from his experience with Sephiroth when he was younger, after all. He's ready for this.

So instead, he focuses on the current problems Ivan is struggling with, and he nods. "Yeah, I figured. I know ink and paper are a bit in short supply, but do you think it would help to write out how your day goes? Like a journal for yourself."

Well. He can say that when it comes to being a little pain in the ass, at least Cloud is certainly reliable. Angeal lets him go off with a little wave, content to keep working about in the bakery. Or at least do a quick little clean up and be ready for him when he does come back. Themis can watch over Mithrun and get him back home well enough.

As for him? He casually takes his stick in hand and makes a leisurely way out to the outskirts of the city, more towards the grazing areas where ranch animals like to go. This late in the day, however, most of them have learned to wander back to their barns and stables.

There's enough space here, he thinks, turning back to Cloud.

"So, what are the lose conditions, then? Have any in mind?"

He seriously considers it, from multiple angles. "I probably know how to write," he decides. "Though I don't remember ever doing it. And having it all down in one place would be. More organized."

And, he thinks to himself, if anything ever did go back to "normal" he would have it down so he could see what happened to him before. Provided normal didn't come with handlers who would take papers away from him.

Ah. Cloud likes this area. It's quiet and nice and there's livestock around. He's made his way out here more than once to just exist, in the presence of other living things. The blond's always had a serious soft spot for animals of all kinds, having grown up around so many. They made good company back then. His eyes are on any stragglers making their way home, even as his feet continue to carry him after Angeal. A cow and her calf seem to be the last to scurry towards the barn nearest them.

Angeal draws to a stop just as the calf's tail disappears into the open barn doors.

Cloud squares up his shoulders, though he keeps himself from looking too tense. He's only antsy. Raring for an outlet. He holds the stick in front of him as he would a sword, and brings one leg back to brace behind him.

"First one to take three hits on the body loses. That work?"

He's ready, like a coiled spring.

"Three hits. Alright. Works well enough for me."

And with that said... All Angeal does is position himself just a little bit to the side, stick held patiently in his hand.

"Then give me your best shot."

And he waits.

The wingman aspect is incredibly important to bring to the marriage table. Hopefully that becomes apparent by the fact Genesis very nearly purrs when he's called a hero, not once but twice even.

"Well, well, it's certainly refreshing to know there are delightfully well-informed people here that can properly recognize that. Thank you. Now don't let Angeal convince you of anything less, either."

"But the flowers still bloomed at some point," Angeal says, matter of fact. "And I'm always glad to see them."

So it means something to him.

What else can a flower ask for? Besides bees, anyway.

Coming up to the orchard, Angeal hauls the wheelbarrow over to the side of the large house him and Genesis have commandeered for themselves and dusts off his hands. "Anyway, the people who say that sort of thing to you usually just benefit off you being miserable and stressed. Learned that one from experience. Most know in their chest it isn't true - or else why would you keep roaming around being a pain in the ass?"

"Then we can figure out a way to go about this." Angeal grins. "I've actually heard a little bit about someone who is willing to trade some feathers and such for a bit of help, and I think that's a good start for a quill.... or at least something to fill a pillow with later.

"Once we're done here, interested in looking into that? No better time to start a project than right now, and all that."

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01 - Bake a Pretty Cake (ota)

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