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So Sephiroth had two brothers. They were all f*cked up. One disappeared, one died, and Sephiroth was left alone to wallow in his f*cked upness.
Wallow he did, until Jenova decided to tell him to do bad stuff. Which he does. Zack and Cloud try to stop him, and they toss good old Sephy down the tube. Then get thrown in a tube, and injected with Jenova cells to replace Sephy and his brothers. Zack escapes, dies. Cloud lives. Cloud thinks he's Zack, because he's a little loopy.

Cloud, Aerith and Co. try to stop Sephy, who can come back via various parts of Jenova because Jenova is basically Satan from another planet. Aerith is killed by a piece of Jenova's arm, basically so she can't cast Holy, which will negate Meteor and Jenova's plans. So then Cloud and Co. battle Sephy, and Aerith still manages to save the day with her magic Cetra-ness.

Basically Jenova is like an undead spider who just needs to be burned, repeatedly and endlessly. That's what I got from Advent Children anyway.

Get a guinea pig. Or a hamster. A ferret. A bunny. A hedgehog. A song bird. A fish tank. A fish bowl. A lizard. A gecko.

Ana was surprised when he left without much argument. Surprised and grateful. Working quickly, she reached back and rolled up her shirt, pulling her arms through so it rested around her neck. Taking the sponge, she bit her lip as she proceeded to work on cleaning her wounds, or the ones she could remember receiving. There was the skin that had been sliced opened by the whip, and the gash that had been caused from a rock. A neat line on her lower back from a knife. She was lucky to have not gotten anything worse when she escaped.

Letting the sponge drop back into the bucket, she quickly pulled her shirt back over her underthings and scarred skin, shutting her eyes for a moment and grounding herself. I am safe. I am well. I will heal. Everything is okay. At least she hoped so. She had to consider that perhaps this man, this "Neoph" wasn't as bad as he seemed. But there were others, and he knew them. She looked down at the blood stained water, gently massaging her fingers around the skin of the Heartless attack as the wound burned.

"I'm done." She called out, trying to make her voice loud enough to be heard over the sound of the rain, which she just noticed had started to pound against the roof. "And thank you." She murmured more quietly, half hoping he wouldn't hear. Because while she had her pride, she knew when she was beaten.


Kala stared as the Strange Man left. Her heart pounded and her mind roared that she should not let him go, but that's exactly what she did. She was going soft in this place. The Local Man was talking about a meeting, and Heartless, and people disappearing. She found she could give a shit less. Her fight, her fight, had just left. Walked away like a cat with the cream.

Hand trembling, she tightened and loosened her grip on the handle of her sword as she tried to pull the tattered fragments of her mind together. It wasn't so bad, if she got to fight, to inflict pain. If she didn't, the madness would degrade her state further. And she couldn't have that. Not because she gave any semblance of caring about any of these people, but because she herself didn't want to lose control. It would mean giving in, and she was not someone who cared to go out the coward's way.

Kala gently let the sword rest against the wall, balling her hand into a fist, unaware of any observers. With the need for violence still humming through her blood, she punched the wall, creating a crack in the mortar as her flesh sang with pain. The bloodlust quieted a little, and she repeated the action, dwelling in the pain instead of ignoring it. Twice more, and the need for death was sated. For now.

Shaking out her fingers and viewing the damage to the wall with disinterest, she picked up her sword, confident that her mind was back in one piece. For now.

That's what happens when you live in Hell.

OOC: Anyone who knows me knows patience is not one of my strongest suits. Not even in the top five.

Kara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, beyond restless. She had suggested, thirty minutes ago to be exact, that she and Heralt leave the merchant behind. Just take the gold that was owed them, bid him farewell, and leave. "We're a day's journey away! It's close enough!" She had come dangerously close to whining in her desperation to have this slow task over with once and for all.

Heralt had flicked her nose and turned away, heading inside the tavern. Most likely to eye up the women. Kara thought, huffing and crossing her arms across her chest. She had no desire to have the same attentions that he offered the wenches thrust onto her, but it was certainly exasperating. Especially when they had been here for half an hour, and would likely end up staying the night. It was ridiculous, but she should have expected it. For some reason, the closer they drew towards the end of their contract, the less eager the merchant seemed.

He better be able to pay us. She closed her eyes and let her head thunk against the wood of the beam. The awning that it supported shuddered, and she opened her eyes to glare up at it before shutting them again, satisfied that the unstable structure wouldn't collapse. Or else we'll take it out of his hide. And while Kara didn't have a desire to hurt other people, her need to be paid overruled everything. Besides, they had given up half a year for this. She would be damned if she was expected to do it pro bono.

Laughter filtered out from the open windows, heavy and loud. She grimaced as Heralt continued to chuckle, his obscene suggestions following soon after. He was one of the most reliable fighters in their band, one of the best swordsman she had ever encountered, and a great strategist to boot. But a gentleman, he was not.

At least someone is enjoying themselves. She grumbled to herself before heaving another sigh and staring down the road longingly. She had asked the Stranger to protect them from death, but she had no doubt that even if he was so inclined to do so, his benevolence wouldn't last long. She only hoped that it wouldn't turn into rage. She would rather face a hundred Behemoths then a single enraged god.

That's like asking which direction Superman should fly around the earth to go back in time.

If it had been possible, Kala would have set the young man on fire with her eyes. Unfortunately, the scientists hadn't deemed that to be an appropriate upgrade. So she would have to contend herself with the old fashioned way. Because while the comments about sex weren't particularly annoying, for some reason this young man struck her the wrong way. And she could choose to handle annoyances in a mature, calm manner, but her blood was already singing for violence, and because f*ck it. She needed to break something.

Pulling her sword from it's sheath, she flipped it easily to point at the Young Man, keeping the Local Man in the corner of her eye, in case he decided to help his comrade. "My name is Kala." She offered him before readjusting her grip in the hilt of the sword. He might as well know the name of the woman who was about to turn the world upside down. Or maybe just the town. She wasn't fully committed.

"And you." She focused her dark gaze on the Young Man. Hm. What could she say that would get through to him? Clearly, he wasn't very educated. And she was fairly certain that she hadn't received testicle implants. But then again, who really knew what the sick bast*ard had done? She wasn't going to worry about it now.

She swung towards him, slow enough that he could easily escape, but close enough to draw blood should he choose to stand there like a deer. Or a rabbit. And oh, she dearly hoped he did.

But he's only a boy.

Because I need a constant reminder that

Spoiler

the stupid fairy died.

I'll spare myself the agony

His house was surprisingly nice. Better then Ana's family's had been, anyway. And much better then the bandit's camp. As he lit the candles, she examined the room, taking in the architecture, the furnishings, and the lack of possible things to kill or maim with. That last one was definitely important. Aside from the candles, he would have to use his own weapon to harm her, and she was confident enough that she could fend him off with her scythe. Unless everyone else in the town was in on it too. Then she might have just walked into another stupid trap. You're such a genius. She groaned inwardly before pulling a chair out from the table that the matches rested on, and sitting. Her legs welcomed the relief, but her mind was on hyper alert. It was amazing how much water could rejuvenate the body.

Ana accepted the sponge with muttered thanks, setting her scythe to rest against the table, and within easy reach. Gently wringing out the sponge, she placed it against the claw marks on her arm, wincing as the wound stung. Could these wounds get infected? She shuddered at the thought of her veins slowly being blackened by the poison that made up the Heartless, and scrubbed a little rougher, determined to get all of it out.

As she dipped the sponge back in the bucket, staining the water a slight pink color, he spoke. "What exactly happened to you?"
She slapped the sponge back onto her arm, this time biting her lip as the injury throbbed, and water was flung across her clothing and the table top.

"Nothing. What happened to you?" She muttered, unable or unwilling to talk about her past. It was too recent, too hard, and it would leave her in a vulnerable state. None of which sounded appealing at the moment. Or ever.

"Look, I appreciate all the....help." Ana hesitated for a moment before settling on the word. "But frankly, what happened to me will only become your business if the bandits aren't all dead." She sighed, staring down at the sponge before dropping it back into the bucket.

"Turn around. Or better yet, leave the room." She had a days old wound from an irate bandit with a knife on her back, and while she would like to take the opportunity to clean it, she would be damned if she did so in front of ogling eyes. Especially given the story her covered skin would tell.

Kara hefted her battle ax onto its customary place on her shoulder. The wood had become slippery with the sweat from her hand, causing the weapon to slide further down her grip until the iron blade was poking her in the shoulder. If she was pushed or tripped, it could easily impale her, and that would be the end.

What an end. She thought scornfully, her attention barely on the road ahead. They'd have a fit back home if they knew. Her mind momentarily stalled on the memories of her mercenary band back in Dorne. They had been sad, as sad as a handful of rough men with the emotional range of a teaspoon could be. She hoped they were all still alive and in mostly one piece.

"This heat!" The merchant was walking ahead of her, fanning his face with his hand. He was a squat, pale skinned fellow, dressed in clothing that would cost her an entire year's pay. She questioned his choice of garment, considering the weather, but she also questioned his choice of guards. She and one other man were the only ones helping this fellow get to the strangely named village. It was a rather long journey to take, with only two guards and no horses. By her count, it had been six months at least.

It didn't help that he slept in late, never rising before noon, and stopping well before dusk. His physique didn't make matters better. But, she had chosen to take the job. Most of her mates had laughed at the request, brushing it aside. Only she and the man next to her had taken it seriously, considering the amount of gold offered versus the time and travel.

And they had taken it. She glanced at Heralt beside her before turning her gaze straight ahead. He was older by a few years, and as such had traveled through Ivalice more then she. He was comfortable with the crowds of people, the buildings made of stone, and the strange landscape that surrounded them. Kara? She was homesick, for the first time in her life. It was a strange feeling, to miss a place she had detested so. But she missed the strange rock formations, the wastelands that remained empty of people, and the silence that was brought by the wind.

So unlike the Westerlands. The only upside was that Heralt promised to take her to the sea. By the time this journey ended, they would only be a day or two's journey away. Even though she had lived in Dorne her entire life, she had yet to see the ocean. A shameful thing to admit as one of the Dahaka. But she had extenuating circumstances, and besides, Heralt had promised!

He, unlike her, was not one of the Dahaka. He had refused to elaborate on his past, other then that it gave him the skills he needed to perform well in the mercenary line of work. And because she too, liked her privacy, she didn't push the subject. Something crackled in the bushes to her left and she froze, pulling her ax in front of her body as her eyes glowed with the power of Ifrit. A rabbit crept from the bushes, wiggling its nose before darting back into the trees.

"Jumpy." Heralt commented, and the merchant laughed, though his hand seemed to be shaking as he wiped his shiny forehead.
"Whatever." Kara slung her ax back to lean against her shoulder, the glow in her eyes dying. Heralt gently nudged her shoulder before continuing on, this time taking a place next to the merchant. Kara fell back behind, her gaze swiveling from the left to the right in order to be aware of every movement, any sign of potential danger. It wasn't easy, when every little breeze shook the leaves, and rodents of every kind were scrounging around in the brush.

Please, keep death far away and out of sight. At least until we get to the ocean. She prayed to the Stranger, hoping he would accept it. It was a small time restriction, after all.

Kala didn't see the point of living in such a boring town. Honestly, she was surprised she had lasted here for this long without decimating the population. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, but fate was fickle that way.

She had sensed the second man, and the Heartless, before they had appeared, but they were no threat. Although the man seemed to have some interesting information on the Local Man in front of her. She kept her dark eyes on him until he was finished speaking, flinching almost imperceptibly as the Local Man drew his knife and flung it at the second man.

Apparently one of those sentences struck a nerve. But then the Heartless, up until then an assumed captive, took the knife for the man. Something in her hurt for a moment as she stared a the spot where the Heartless had fallen before disappearing. Either suicidal, or it cared. Can a Heartless care? For some reason, the thought bothered her. That something so insignificant bothered her was strange enough. That she had spoken moments before was even worse. Clearly there was some disease in the air that was making her soft.

"Stalking is the sincerest form of flattery." She responded in a smooth voice, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword.
"You should choose your friends more cautiously." She continued, taking a step back. For what reason? Because she wanted to remind them that she was no wall flower.
"Because I don't wear what you call "underwear."
And because this could turn into something fun.

Ana stumbled along, determined to keep her feet underneath her, on the ground. Where they belong. She stared pointedly at her toes, hoping her thoughts got across. Was she slow? Absolutely. Was it maddening? Oh yes. But it was under her own power, and quite honestly, the freedom to be able to walk as quickly as she pleased was a balm to her irritation at being so slow.

She didn't speak as she walked. She honestly couldn't remember how conversation was supposed to work, and since a "Yes sir, no sir" response didn't seem appropriate for this situation, she was content with keeping her mouth shut. Words had done little good to her thus far in life, anyway.


Kala blinked. It had been when the Hat man reacted to the Local man's command. His voice had gone from benign to threatening in an instant. While the sound of it didn't exactly frighten her, it did make her more aware of the dangerous aura Hat Man emitted as he spoke. When he took the time to point out the peak in the distance, she felt her muscles tighten at his closeness, at the sense of wrongness.

At least it still felt wrong. She felt herself on the line between what had once felt right, and what still felt wrong. And oh how easy it would be to tip one way or the other. As the Hat man disappeared, she found herself turning to the Local man. Clearly, he was not going to pursue the Hat man. Was it wise? Maybe. But is he going to watch me instead? That would not be wise.

"If that place is such to your liking, perhaps you should be the one putting in a word for me." She replied, pulling her cowl up a little higher on her nose. It did little to muffle her voice, but that was not the part of her she was concerned about.

"I did not agree to become anyone's puppet in their plans." She paused, realizing she had just spoken more words in the last minute then she had in the entire month put together. She shut her mouth, and watched the Local Man, curious to see what he would do next. Hopefully it involved a fight. Her blood was still tingling with the whispered promise, and she would not be able to rest until she made good on her promise.

Axe works really well for that sort of thing.

How exactly does one commint?

I'm going to start this off by saying that I'm not a licensed therapist or psychologist.

Schizophrenia is one of the harder mental illnesses to cope with. It can be extremely dangerous, and I want to stress that if you or any of your family ever feel any danger, call the police and ask for a CPI officer to accompany them. They are very well trained in handling individuals who are having a mental break, and it's been my experience that they can usually resolve situations peacefully. Even if they don't have a CPI officer in your area, just tell the police your father has schizophrenia.

I would advise a restraining order. They cost very little, relative to a divorce, and if your father violates the terms, a court psychologist could officially diagnose him and get him the help he needs. It would also give you a measure of extra protection, should he violate the order. The police will recognize the history and be able to act effectively from there.

You could also keep all copies of the car keys on your person. It wouldn't completely prevent him, but it would make it more difficult. It also depends on who's name is on the title. If it's your mother's, and he takes it, she could report him for theft of property. It would be better if it was in yours or your brother's name. It's pretty easy to switch the title to the car, and that's another option, though it pretty much hinges on you calling the police if he takes it and sells it.

Since he is an adult, and seems to be able to take care of himself to some standard, I don't believe there is any way to force him to see a psychologist without getting the police involved. Again, if you believe at any time he is a danger to himself or to people around him, call the police and tell them what's going on. Many states and countries support the right for someone to have a court psychologist see and diagnose them, and it could be the only way to get him the help he needs. If he truly doesn't want to help himself, and keep up with his medication, he might have to be committed to a residential center. I'm not sure if your current location will charge the costs to the family, but because of Obama care in the United States, most residential and social programs involving mental illness are now paid for by the government. You could check to see what the local laws are in your area, which is also an easy google search.

I hope some of this gives you an idea, and I wish you good luck.

Kala raised an eyebrow. Here was a new man, a new stranger. Friend or foe? She glanced over his figure, sizing him up without turning her attention from the first man. Confident. He must be a local. She noticed as he navigated the street with ease to stand by them. A fighter. She noted the sword at his side. Doubtless, he had other weapons hidden somewhere on his person. But is he any good? The thought made her grin, her expression hidden beneath the cowl. Perhaps I've found my entertainment. That was, if the hat man didn't suffice.

"Take the bloody thing off, you look like a twat." At first, she thought the comment had been directed her way. But no, it was towards the strange man. This local was focusing most of his attention on the strange man, leaving her free to move as she wished. So what did she wish?

Fight, fight. Her blood was singing the phrase, filling her mind with promises of delight and pleasure if she should take the sword against someone, anyone. Just do it.
She struggled to control the blood lust. It was not yet time. There would be time, later, but not now.
But perhaps it would be time soon. The local had just insulted the strange man, after all. A bold move, telling her that her observation of his confidence was not altogether off. But she never was. This man thirsts for confrontation. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, almost unconsciously. There was nothing better then someone who loved to stir up trouble. Because trouble led to blood shed. And blood shed was her reason for living.

Although....if a fight broke out between Hat man and Local man, whom would she side with? Her smile died a little as she considered the unforeseen possibility. Whichever one is the strongest will be the one I fight. She decided, eyes flicking from one man to the next. Or....I could fight both of them.....

Such hard decisions this life presented before her.

What a sweet person you are. But why seven?