Spiky blonde hair and bright blue eyes?
Well, zie can’t deny it–the kid would be a shoe-in for Nibelheim’s most infamous siblings. And vice versa apparently.
Hir grasp of the Wutaian language is shaky to passable; on top of that, what the people speak here isn’t quite the same. More like a distant relative. Or descendant.
The kid is staring at hir with wide hopeful eyes, somehow more painfully earnest than hir brother during his most naive moments. He hasn’t looked away from hir since he and his team entered the room.
It’s fair, since zie keeps hir own gaze darting around, only briefly landing on him before moving on.
The old man next to hir plays at being feeble and soft, but zie knows better. Zie would be defeated quite soundly if it came to it. And that’s not including the two hidden guards, or the silver-haired man slouching against the wall.
Zie tries not to shudder in apprehension. It’s the same color as General Sephiroth’s hair, though far more unruly. He might be a clone. Zie can’t tell, due to the mask and strange slanted headband. It wouldn’t be a surprise, considering the Strife look alike.
Perhaps this is all a hallucination, or a fever dream. Aren’t dreams supposed to take faces and images from real life?
The stoic black haired boy might as well be a young Vincent in blue instead of red.
But that wouldn’t make any sense. Because as far as zie remembers, zie’s dead. Dead dead dead dead dead.
And not ever coming back.
That’s what happens when you get stabbed through the heart by a sword taller than you.
But zie did die in the Forgotten Capital of the Ancients. In place of the Last Ancient. Surely…
The old man says something to the kid, which somehow makes his stare even more intense. The lone visible eye of the masked clone widens slightly.
So something… significant, but not dangerous. The pink-haired girl, at least, hasn’t given hir more than a passing glance. A mildly shocked look, before fading away into polite disinterest.
The old man then says something to hir. Which zie doesn’t understand why, considering they’ve already hit up against a serious language barrier.
But he writes down something, and while the oral language is an effort in futility, the written language at least is comprehensible.
He passes the pen over to hir, a prompt for hir to answer.
There is no reason to lie. So zie doesn’t.
Namikaze, zie learned long ago, is written with the kanji for waves and wind. But a more poetic interpretation of the name is strife. It’s easy enough to remember, and convenient, as it encompasses hir full born name.
Namikaze, zie later learns, is the name of a dead hero.
A hero with spiky blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
A/N: Yet another terrible crossover with and OC. This time, my genderfluid twin sibling of Cloud Strife, aka Windy Strife aka Winter the Turk aka many other things, wakes up in the world of Naruto after hir death (which… spoilers?… I was going to have hir die trying to protect Aerith from Sephiroth).
I don’t really have a cohesive outline/plot for this. It was a random idea I had when I was at work and then I had to wait until I got home to type it out so it’s a bit haphazard than I would normally do.
Don’t think I’m going to continue this, anyway, since the whole language barrier thing would get really annoying and unwieldy pretty early in.