[ To anyone that has ever seen a picture of Hogwarts for read a decent description which probably wouldn't be too many people really, would recognize that the castle in this dream is undoubtedly the school for witchcraft and wizardry. It's a little different though as a forest of thorns have sprouted up all around it and make it quite inaccessible. ]

[ Nevertheless, the young Gryffindor who is having the dream can be seen fighting his way through the thorns wielding a mighty sword as he chops the thorns out of his way and tries to make a path to the castle. The sword, to anyone that maybe have read the books in their worlds will recognize that Harry is brandishing the sword of Gryffindor. ]

[ He's on a great and near impossible quest to rescue the princess at the top of the tower. In his dream That tower is the North Tower that the divination classes take place in. He doesn't seem to think much about these changes to his school as the fuzzy logic of dreams is enough to convince him all is as it should be. ]



(( ooc: So! You can either play the part of the 'Princess' Harry is set to rescue or you can be an ally he meets along the way or an enemy to stop him from reaching his goal. Otherwise, assume the princess he's rescuing is Cho Chang. ))

The city, Midgar was full of people. Soulless, faceless people that ate and breathed and worked and slept. People who didn't have a prayer when it came to protecting themselves from the evils of the world. The monsters that lurked in the darkness, in the streets at night and threatened their very lives as they lay sleeping. Then there were the creatures that inhabited the city, just as monstrous and inhuman but somehow more honest about wanting to destroy you and for what reason.

The Turks were the last bastions of defense against the evils that was AVALANCHE led by Fuhito. They were the only thing separating the world from teetering beyond the brink of despair and falling into destruction. Everything they cared about would disappear. Homes, lives, family. They were a family. Drastic measures had to be taken, consequences notwithstanding. They were underpowered, short handed. There was no way to win against these guys. Reno could not let any more fall to Fuhito and his bunch. He had lost too many people he was willing to call friend. This was where it ended.

This room.

Reno held the grip of his EMR tightly, knuckles turning white with the force, standing in front of an impressively carved oak desk. It was an audacious plan, one that could backfire or cause any number of unexpected things, but it was their one last hope. They needed help, more power, something, and Reno was going to sacrifice himself to get it- not that he had that much humanity left anyway. Not with most of his friends six feet under. He was a lone turk against the world.

The person behind the desk was sitting in an over-sized winged back chair, facing the large floor to ceiling window overlooking the city basking in the glow of mako. Nothing was going to get done like that, he had power to buy and a soul to sell. He walked forward and grabbed the chair to swing it around.

The scenery within this new (perhaps not quite) foreign subconscious is a confused jumble, as if its unsuspecting creator cannot quite decide just where to be — a snowy mountainside has burst up from beneath the streets of a staircase city set into the rise of sheer, seaside cliff. The pieces are whole, details sharp and clear on narrow, towering buildings all crammed close together and rocky outcroppings with their blankets of heavy snow (still falling, as it is, in weird pockets only over corresponding ground).

But these little scenes are shattered among each other, shifting constantly, uncertain as the blank, white sky above, which reflects a dull grey in the ocean below. Where these two endless, colorless stretches of space reach to meet on the horizon, they blend seamlessly, as if meeting the edge of this conflicting reality might be as easy as setting sail for the fragile inner boundary of the eggshell shape it almost appears to be locked within.

Bright and cold, the silence falls as heavy as the inclement weather, in each vacuum of space that covers the mountainside, doing its best to muffle the staccato beat of his boots on uneven pavement broken over icy faces of stone and the competing race of his heart, now trying its hardest to burst clear out of his chest. (And in a dream, who's to say it mightn't?) With his rifle hugged tight against his back by its strap, where it beats a solid rap against his shoulder blades, a sharp reprimand for every stumble, a lone soldier in drab blue is fighting a very literal uphill battle.

The uniform he wears obscures all of him but the lower half of the pale, strained expression writ across his face, solemn as he barrels up the insurmountable slope in leaps and bounds, shadows chasing behind as he rounds a street corner onto another craggy patch of open ground. Snow kicks up in misty clouds around his ankles as he stumbles, but doesn't stop, always only one step ahead of his pursuers.

They're monsters, or maybe only the distant memory of a child's imagining of such, solid enough as they crumble up out of the earth in his wake. But they fade to dust as phantoms while he manages still to evade the catch of claws and snapping jaws at the heels of his badly scuffed black boots, the shirttail tucked under his belts. Shameful as it is not to stand and fight, outpacing them is this dream's objective, instead, and he can't seem to stop his feet from moving on, hands scrabbling at each new hold to pull himself higher.

At least not on his own.

Misty rain surrounded the remnant as he made his way down the streets. Fog rose eerily from the pavement, hiding his own boots from feline eyes. Streetlamps provided halos of golden light, illuminating signs and storefronts, and yet at the same time creating shadowy exiles.

“I'll find you soon, Mother,” Kadaj whispered under his breath, a smile worming its way onto cold lips.

The only problem was finding someone to interrogate. If it wasn't for the remnant’s desire to question just about anyone at this point, he would have liked it here--this place appeared deserted. Not as much as the Promised Land with Mother, of course. But this city lacked the very thing he hated most, and that's the way he preferred it.

Mumbling came from a dark enclave between two dumpsters. An awful stench, some kind of cheap alcohol mixed with urine and other bodily fluids the remnant couldn’t clearly identify, hung heavily in the air.

Kadaj reached blindly into the corner and wrapped a fist around a soggy coat. He yanked out a homeless man who stumbled and fell to the concrete.

“P-please!” The man held up his hands defensively, trying to get back up. Kadaj kicked him back down and clicked his tongue in disgust.

“I’m just hungry. So hungry,” the old man began to sob, finally making it to his feet. A filthy hand encrusted in dirt supported the pathetic slob against the brick wall.

A homeless man was better than nothing.

“Where's Mother?” Kadaj demanded. The young remnant unsheathed his double bladed katana, and made sure his new prisoner could see the sharp blades.

The bum squinted and exposed remarkably stained teeth. “I don’t know. Please, mister, I’m so hungry. So cold.”

[ Cid would probably curse a blue streak if he saw what Aerith's subconscious is calling an "airship". Oh, she admires the sleek steel of the Highwind too, but she wanted... a nicer one. Something a little more personal, a little more cute.

It turns out whimsical, a wooden boat held aloft by dozens and dozens--no, hundreds--of rainbow-colored balloons massed together, propellers steadily chugging it along over the sea. There's a wheel to control the direction, and yet:

There's no pilot.

There is a young woman in pink sitting on the railing of the ship, her legs swung out to the outside, feet dangling over a blue sash that decorates the boat. She doesn't seem to mind the height. Her balance isn't too bad. She has her face pointed in the direction of the vessel's course, her eyes focused as she considers the distance. ]

Is that where you're taking me? This one time?...

[ Her birthday. Even though she's no longer alive to celebrate it--but she can have a nice dream for it, right? ]

((ooc: Oh. Why I shouldn't make posts late at night: I forget to explain!

Your character can be the one taking Aerith somewhere. But they could also just be a passenger, in which case she's talking to the wind. ...She does that.))

A wild Golden Saucer appears!

This is the amusement park to end all amusement parks. Loud, bright and a tad obnoxious, people mill around between the games. The laughter echoes through the crowd, the cheering at the chocobo races can be heard from the entrance.

It's a little suffocating - like it's trying a bit too hard to be jolly, festive and fun. The lights hurt the eyes, the faces seem a little menacing at first glance. There is an undercurrent of something dark underneath the layer of bright lights and loud cheering. One would see it if they took a closer look.

Closer looks are not on the agenda for Yuffie, however. She's too busy scouting the place. For easy marks, you see. She's played the games, and knows most are rigged. She's watched the races, but without the prospect of watching a certain friend get bucked off a bird it just isn't as fun. She is avoiding the haunted hotel, because that is just creepy, and now she's pickpocketing.

So amongst the outward cheer and underlying layer of trouble, Yuffie flounces through the crowd.

[ooc:Go ahead and stop her, lecture her, or even join her! Maybe distract her if you want. It would be easy.]

It's a colorful scene. The young ladies wear furisode, the young men wear suits or, for the more traditional, hakama. They mill about, many of the girls exclaiming over each other's hair and robes. Couples have quiet conversations off to the side, sometimes teased by their friends. All of them look their finest, and there's a sense of excitement in the air.

Though a public official, the man chosen to head the coming-of-age-ceremony looks young himself, barely an adult, with blond hair and youthful features. Once the ceremony begins in earnest, his speech is all about growth and renewal: in the environment, in the job market, in the future. A few listen intently, a few look bored, or just eager for the promise of what comes next.

As soon as the ceremony is over, the bright chatter begins again, with high spirits among the new adults as they talk about their plans to go drinking tonight, and when they plan to get their driver's license. A group of girls cluster around Ami, gushing over her looks and chirping for her attention, just as she's always wanted. She responds to them with a careless ease she's never possessed naturally, and though they melt away like the sham they are when someone else approaches, her smile is real.

(ooc: anything goes! feel free to threadjack to hang out with others as well, and feel free to move away from the main part of the dream to do something else to celebrate, or include other rite-of-passage type ideas!)

Yuffie was one angry Wutaian princess.

Her father, the irritatingly old and senile Great Leader of her people, came into her room that morning to make an announcement. To tell her that she would be meeting her future fiancée that evening, and that she should spend the day making herself presentable.

Godo was lucky Yuffie had been in such shock - she only gaped at him as he warbled on about the guy, practically singing his praises (mostly to the guy's wallet), and telling her that she needed to be obedient. Or else.

She loved her father, truly she did. They were so much alike it was any wonder they butted heads most of the time, but she loved him fiercely. In that particular moment, when she could only stare at him as if he'd grown an additional head, she imagined setting him on fire. It was a fitting punishment in her mind.

It was ten minutes later she came out of her stupor, and he'd already left. Godo had locked the door behind him, of course, and set up two guards outside of her doorway.

This, naturally, wouldn't keep her from her goal. Which was hauling her ass out of town.

In no time, she had some clothes stuffed in a bag and had scampered down to the kitchen to grab some food for the road. She'd used the passages that were scattered through the house, mainly through the attic, which was something she hadn't done since she was a child.

As she tried to think of the best tactic to get out - leave through the door and kick in everyone's face? Or slip out the window and silently disappear in broad daylight? - there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Her voice is none too pleased, and she was itching to get on the road already.

[OOC: Feel free to lecture her about staying, or helping her escape. Can be done as a family member, or a friend coming by. I'll go along with anything! :)]

Tseng smiled thinly as he watched the surprisingly large group gathered in one of Shin-Ra's ballrooms, he'd never realized quite how many people considered him family whether they were actually related or not. There was a smattering of brothers and sisters along with their kids, people he couldn't remember seeing but were somehow actually related to him and had come to congratulate him. Turks were there, of course, new ones who were just beginning to learn how to tie their ties and old ones who'd retired before his time.

He'd given a speech; speaking of loyalty and camaraderie, that they'd only need to call and he'd put his tie back on and be out the door for them. Once a Turk, always a Turk and he'd never abandon them or the tiny group of relatives he'd recently been informed of still having.

He knew he should talk to them, approach them and say something but he didn't know a thing about any of them these days. Family had been the company for nearly twenty years now, and while blood was thicker than water he'd shed an awful lot of it alongside the Turks.

It was awkward.

[OOC: Tseng's dreaming of his retirement party, and there's newly discovered family in attendance.]