vatheon | (no subject)

Who: Gorthan and everyone!
Location: the Plaza.
Time: Today, during the day
Style: Prose or anything you like, really.
Status: As open as can be.

A deep, roaring voice echoed throughout the Plaza.

"ZOSTER! What is the meaning of this?!"

The newcomer - a tall duck with violet skin and a head of blond dreadlocks, clad in an elaborate turquoise robe embroidered in gold - held both of his hands at his sides, his long-nailed fingers - four on each hand - curling up as if he was itching to use them to choke somebody. Fury quickened his breath and wrinkled his features into a terrifying mask. He may have been a duck, but those within his beak were definitely teeth, and oh, how he he was gritting them. His hair and one of his best robes... were completely soaked! That simply had to be Zoster's doing. That incompetent scientist never knew how to do anything right. Truly Zartas, the Beacon, was right, when he warned that a great leader should never trust the scientist class.

"What is this?! And WHERE AM I?" he yelled one last time, before... well, before he started noticing the details about his new surroundings.

The architecture of the buildings, so similar to that of those cities he had conquered during those fateful few months not too long before. The physical traits of the passers-by, which he associated with an extremely rare (due to the planet's resistance), yet rather efficient kind of CoolFlame... And, lastly, when he finally looked up... that blue. That shade of deep blue that he could see overhead... he recognized it. It was... the very same thing that, in an instant, had convinced him to give up on the complete destruction of...

... Earth.

"I'm on Earth..." he muttered quietly to himself as he looked up, his lower beak dropping open and his blue, pupil-less eyes widening as they stared into similar blue.

... But he didn't recall any underwater cities, unless there was something his generals had neglected to tell him, which was entirely possible. "No, that cannot be." he muttered to himself again as he shook some of the water off his long hair.

Seeing somebody approach, he approached them at a solemn step, standing very straight, with his arms folded over his chest. "Excuse me. I demand to know what this place is."

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"Is that so..."

Once he was done drying, he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, looking up. "And yet we are underwater. Under blue water, which is very telling of the characteristics of this planet and its sun, which appear to match Earth's."

... Or maybe he was just being hopeful. What? He was basically Evron's Emperor. There is no way he would have lived anywhere else than Evron.

Squall didn't have any idea why the water being blue was so important. The water from where he was from was also blue, and he did not come from Earth. He wasn't sure why it was so important that this be Earth, either.

"Water isn't blue where you come from?" he asked.

He made an odd sound, half-sighing, half-growling. Having to explain such basic, obvious things was so annoying...

"Water is not necessarily blue - its color is determined by the quality of the sun and its light. And a planet's oceans do not necessarily consist of the substance we call water. But no matter."

He ran a hand through his dreadlocks as if to brush off an impending headache.

"Evron needs my guidance. I must return at once."

That wasn't exactly what Squall had meant. He knew water wasn't actually blue, but he'd let Gorthan impart that little science lesson. He had a feeling it would be easier than trying to argue with him. Much easier.

"If there was a known way to go back," he said, "There would be a lot less people here."

He, too, had people who needed him.

"So we are inside a prison, then." His four-fingered hands tightened into fists. "Like R'ur Kil, the Pit... The similarities had better end here. Whoever brought me to this place shall pay dearly!"

By the end of his last sentence, his speech was a loud, hissing roar.

Squall couldn't help but flinch a bit at the sheer volume of Gorthan's rage. He, too, had been angry when he was first brought to Vatheon, though not to this extent. While he'd grown used to the city by now, that didn't change the fact that he did want to leave. In a way, Gorthan's determination was kind of refreshing. Kind of.

"Lots of people feel that way here," he said. "I hear this place is run by scientists. It's not enough to just keep us here, we're lab rats to them."

"Scientists!" Gorthan's voice boomed again. "It is like the Pit, then!"

He had sent so many of those who had failed him into the Pit, the prison planet where Zoster's crew performed genetic experiments... And now, who had dared put him in a similar position in turn? The cruel irony of the situation was lost on him. His fingers writhed emptily in the air as if he wanted to tear nothingness into pieces.

"I will not tolerate such an affront! Who is in charge here?"

...good question. Who was in charge?

"Hell if I know," Squall replied. "These people keep themselves hidden and it doesn't seem like they're the most cohesive group. We don't even know much about them aside from the fact that they exist. Somewhere. I've only been here a couple months, some others have been here longer. Maybe they know more."

Being a relatively new arrival compared to the others that have been there for months, Squall was not the best person to ask about this. "What is this Pit you keep talking about anyway?"

"Those who command this place must be found." Gorthan said gravely, looking up defiantly at the ocean above them.

"The Pit... is a place much like the description you just gave me. But before I explain more - I am Gorthan, member of the Imperial Council of Evron and supreme head of the Evronian army. While you are...?"

A military leader? That was something Squall could relate to, even though he led mercenaries rather than an army.

"Squall Leonhart. I come from a place called Balamb Garden." A place that wasn't on Earth. Maybe he should explain a little more, since Garden was only a garden in a metaphorical sense. "...it's a military institution."

Yes, most descriptive.

"Institution. So you do not fight for your country."

Gorthan did have a rather strong, negative opinion of mercenaries. However, he had also required services from different mercenary contingents on several occasions. Even now, he was not about to turn this person into his enemy; he might need Squall's services in the future.

"Only when they ask us to. It's not a glamorous job, but it is what it is."

Squall didn't mind if Gorthan had a lesser opinion of mercenaries. He had no romantic notions about his job, but it was his home - it has been since his childhood - and it was all he knew. He was literally raised to be a mercenary.

"What's Evron like, if I may ask?"

It's clear that Gorthan is pleased with Squall's answer, as the shadow of a smile briefly appears on his beak. Mercenary though he may be, this individual seems honest. And honesty is a virtue that Gorthan can definitely appreciate.

"Evron is a planet of conquerors, its name known and feared throughout the galaxies. It is currently experiencing dark and troubled times, however - and I will be the one who will restore it to its former glory."

Conquerors, an empire. A society of warriors. And clearly, Gorthan valued pride. Just as his own honesty was appreciated, Squall appreciated that sense of pride. It was good to have pride in something, whether it was yourself or the people you swore allegiance to. The only danger was letting that pride swell too big and letting it go out of control.

"That's a lofty goal," he said. "But you sound like you can do it." And that was a genuine remark. No sarcasm at all. "But until you go back, what are you going to do here? Look for the people in charge of this place?"

The implications of what Squall just said would earn him a bit of a glare.

"I have no intention to remain here. The Empire needs me, and I fear I was transported here as a result of a conspiracy weaved by my subordinates."

A moment after he had uttered that sentence, he realized that, with those words, he had just exposed his biggest fear. The fear that all along, he had been trusting his generals way too much.

Betrayal, huh? Squall remembered when Seifer betrayed Balamb Garden, though now that he thought about it, it wasn't too surprising of a decision when he considered all the circumstances surrounding it. The glare was shrugged off, Squall wouldn't be much of a mercenary, much less a mercenary leader if he let such things intimidate him so easily.

He was about to suggest that Gorthan that he get settled in first before hunting for a way out, but he had a feeling that such a suggestion was best kept to himself.

"If you need help," he said, "You can contact me on this. You should have one somewhere on you." He lifts up the Starfish Communicator. "My name will be on the resident list."

Even after all this time, Squall can't get over how idiotic the SFC looks.