supersoldier | upcycle inbox.

[town square.]

[cloud had asked a simple question, with no implication of what he was going to do or any hint as to why he needed knowing where sephiroth was—but he's sure that sephiroth can tell, the boiling hatred, from miles away, and the imminent pull of a threat heading his way. no matter in what form or time or lapse of sentience the renown SOLDIER may be, for cloud he is a stain; a blot of inky darkness that mars and poisons everywhere he stands on.]

[the flower garden he stands next to looks foul beside him.]

Sephiroth.

[it's astonishing how the reality of seeing him here in the flesh despite knowing he would find him knocks him with surprise, but cloud wastes no time in raising right hand to the hilt of the sword at his back, sole of his boots gaining traction against the ground as he rushes forward, sword ready to swing, to be caught in the bright glint of masamune.]

[He doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name spoken with that level of simmering disdain before, as though it was bile on the other man’s tongue, even from those he’s met as an enemy on the battlefield, those from Wutai who blamed him for stealing away their rebellion under the cut of his blade. It’s strange in his ears, proof of an invisible offense lobbed in his direction. Yet even that isn’t enough to dislodge the feeling of something else, something other, hooking into the core of his attentions instead.

Cloud approaches, and Sephiroth can feel it; he doesn’t know how he hadn’t felt it before, like a shade (a piece, a fragment) returning to its owner, a section of his nerves alight and buzzing, the whole world needlepoint focused on this infantryman who looks as though he might try to kill him in the next breath. Cloud Strife, who appears not the same as he was. A handful of years hammered into his features, maybe, a different gait to his walk, a hardened frown lining his expression. A glow to his eyes, faint but visible even at this distance.

It is almost enough to jar even Sephiroth, the legendary SOLDIER 1st class who looks upon dragons like they were detritus, who could set a town aflame in a few quick castings of a fire materia — if he knew.

But there is a third thing that resonates in his mind even more than that, the familiar shape of a sword being pried from Cloud’s back, that giant thing that he’s known for years; wielded by two friends, one now lost to him. And perhaps it’s this third notion that has Sephiroth working on instinct as he always does, sets him into motion out of his own reproachful curiosity as he arcs Masamune upwards to catch the heft of the Buster Sword against the steel.

Swords cry out, the reverb is felt in his bones. But Sephiroth barely moves, pushing back and peering at him through the crossed blades with a expression that rivals the cold sharpness of his own weapon.]

Why do you have that sword?

[Is Zack here? All three of them, lifted from Gaia and supplanted into this chilling world? He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him.]

Edited 2020-09-10 12:34 (UTC)

[the collision of their swords is but a familiar feeling to cloud now: the weight of the man's power, the feather-light touch of polished steel against the rough end of the buster sword, the strength alone in one hand that holds the blade by its hilt. it's familiar in a way that feels it shouldn't be.]

[the glow of mako-eyes blink from sephiroth to the broadsword between them, and cloud's expression pinches in annoyance.]

Because it's mine.

[the collapse of fear and anger melt into a burst of force as cloud parries the masamune away, landing back on his feet a distance from sephiroth.]

[he heaves the buster sword towards his middle, both hands holding it tightly, as feet are set apart in a position that spells out the readiness for combat. at first glance, cloud can't discern anything different from sephiroth—but he's looking, wishing to find something. he himself knows that the man sounded wrong, and even admin put forth the idea that the massacre that has spurred cloud's hatred towards him in the first place never happened.]

[how can one tell?]

[angry at himself for doubting his next step, cloud rushes forward in a sprint and pushes himself into the air, sword atop his head to be swung down.]

Edited 2020-09-10 23:39 (UTC)

[He doesn’t recall Cloud having this kind of strength, the power to send that sword swinging in his direction with practiced, easy effort. It is the stance and bearing of a SOLDIER, but a SOLDIER he is not — not as he remembers him, but this is decidedly not as he remembers him, either.

Confusion sparks in Sephiroth’s mind, its sharp edges dulled by military-born control, that statuesque ease of which he bears the distance between them by resetting his stance. The answer he receives in the space between then and the follow-up attack is highly, utterly unsatisfactory, because it isn’t true.]

No.

[The Buster Sword comes down hard, as though in defiance, but Sephiroth merely sidesteps, allows its edge to whiff past him only inches departed from its target. The steel slams into the ground, shakes the earth, and Masamune lifts to hover precariously at Cloud’s throat if he gives into further hesitation.]

That’s Zack Fair's sword. He wouldn’t have given it to anyone.

[Too precious a memory, a symbol, passed down from a mentor lost. From here, he can take in the lines of Cloud’s profile, the anger marring his brow, cinching it tight. The entirety of the situation is surreal; that he would even think to raise his blade against him is like an action born of delirium.]

What’s happened to you?

[it's no surprise that sephiroth dodges the downward cleave of the buster sword; it is to be expected, what with the kind of reputation that he has as a SOLDIER, what with cloud's experience of fighting with him. it's frustrating how easy it is for him—to sidestep and handle such a long, impractical sword by all means. the way it sings, sharply, close to his throat.]

[having landed on one knee, the weight of the broadsword keeps him grounded, the twist of hatred in his eyes as he turns his head to look at sephiroth.]

[sephiroth is all sorts of wrong, but not in the way that aerith might have meant before they crossed the threshold through the portal that the man himself opened. he doesn't sound like that man, and he speaks not in the way cloud remembers—with cryptic riddles that raise more questions than answers—but of a man held together by sanity and logic, some sense of justice and not the desire to burn, to destroy, to get cloud to relive past nightmares.]

[it's not that realization, seeing it in person, which causes him pain; another searing headache overwhelming him to the point where his taut shoulders and strong grip are lost, a hand to his head as he yells out in pain.]

[—zack fair's sword—the mismatched visions of someone's back, carrying the sword he wields—he wouldn't have given it to anyone—darkened skies and murky puddles on the cliffside—]

Stop!

[this is more like the sephiroth he remembers, causing unsolicited pain and turmoil. at the same time as the word erupts from him, cloud punches the air with the swell of magic in his hand, materia, a pathetic aero cast all he can manage in his current state, the unyielding SOLDIER posture lost as he barely manages to scramble up to his feet.]

Edited 2020-09-11 20:47 (UTC)

[It’s nothing short of hate, that look. Cloud’s eyes are mako-glowing and heated with the stuff, such distaste and disgust and rage found in his expression that Sephiroth cannot possibly know the awful shape of his offense. Nothing has happened to earn it — nothing has transpired between them except a short conversation and now a face-to-face meeting where their blades crossed with no preamble.

The Admin had mentioned memories gone missing. The mind stowing them away to protect itself from trauma. When Cloud suddenly crumples to the ground, Sephiroth has to retract Masamune else he truly cut his neck on the blade, too lost in the thrall of pain, and he thinks to himself, Something’s been done to him.

Magic swells in a pathetic burst, sending a blast of air careening everywhere except the intended target, like a firearm shot flung too wide. Sephiroth can tell Cloud’s focus is broken, shoddy, under the sudden grasp of pain — he tells him to stop but he’s done nothing but speak to him, question him and that sword. Again, his transgression seems frustratingly invisible.

And when Cloud hauls himself back up, Sephiroth reaches out with his free hand and grips the man’s magic-casting wrist tightly, firmly pulling him forward to dislodge his balance. No opportunity given for a follow-up attack — easy to do, for a man already looking as though he might stumble to the ground at a moment’s notice.]

Cloud Strife. [The bite of military command. A superior officer speaking to a subordinate.] Stand down. That’s an order.

[It’s an order. Firm, unrelenting. But concern intermingles in the intent—]

And just breathe for a moment.

[as frustrating as it is for sephiroth who cannot see what is the source of this animosity, it's equally frustrating for cloud who doesn't get the satisfaction of giving his animosity a clear target. his balance is not his own if the hand on his wrist is anything to go by—but it also offers relief; a real sense of support amidst the pain that threatens to take over. much like when he stumbled towards the elevator in hojo's lab, a pain so numbing he held no control over himself.]

[right now, the leather-gloved hand holding onto his wrist is too reminiscent of sephiroth speaking to him at the edge of creation—of defying fate and a world that is not yet defined.]

[unlike that moment, though, sephiroth speaks his name like an order, speaks to him like a military officer telling their subordinate off for their misconduct. fear seizes him for a moment, not because he's afraid of what sephiroth might do, but because those words—breathe for a moment—they confirm the truth that the admin had offered; that sephiroth was not yet stained by the blood of those he killed during his rampage in nibelheim. no fires, no betrayals, no piercing of his flesh with the masamune.]

[he lets out a weak whimper as he finally does breathe, ragged and heavy like he's run a marathon. a pained expression is painted on his face as he looks over at sephiroth—confused, bewildered, uncertain.]

You're all wrong. Why aren't you fighting back?

[his tormenter, a sympathetic man. cloud finds this the most excruciating fate in this island.]

Edited 2020-09-12 04:44 (UTC)

[He watches his expression, hears the way Cloud makes a weak and whimpering sound, as though Sephiroth’s constant touch has just drained the willpower out of him. That cements his concern; even on his face so often defined by stoicism, his brow line crinkles a little. His jaw sets, a muscle working along its sturdy curve.]

Why would I?

[He almost feels compelled to stay latched onto him — as though something is hardwired into his DNA to make it so, that invasive feeling of connectivity — but slowly, carefully, his fingers unfurl from around Cloud’s wrist. He does it the same way someone looks upon a fragile object about to fall to pieces without its anchor point; like the infantryman’s display of strength means nothing in the vulnerability of the look he’s seeing.]

I have no reason... or desire to harm you. I only want to understand what’s happening, and why. Can you tell me that much?

Edited 2020-09-12 11:39 (UTC)

[his wrist let go of, cloud steps back and stumbles on his feet before he braces for balance. the look he gives sephiroth is still a mixed between confused and anxious, disappointment just barely under the surface as it were. it's not fair rings out in his mind, but what point is there to it, if sephiroth won't use his weapon to fight him seriously? if sephiroth doesn't know of anything, and is unable to answer cloud's questions?]

[instead, it's cloud getting questions thrown his way. were it anyone else but cloud, they could probably give sephiroth a better explanation; as it were, cloud's recollections is bits and pieces (even if he doesn't realize this), and the fact that it's up to him to avoid the man from doing what he did...]

[how is he even supposed to accomplish that? the admin is overestimating cloud's capabilities here.]

[the blond attempts to stand straighter, the buster sword a shield between him and sephiroth—just in case he changes his mind and decides he will, after all, swing his sword at cloud.]

You're from a time before. That's what the Admin said. [he grits his teeth for a moment, but continues.] They admitted that not everyone who arrived here is from the same time, even if they are from the same world.

[You're from a time before. The words don’t feel like they stick, not at first, not until the context congeals in his mind and all the clues become strikingly obvious to him — Cloud’s change in demeanor, the physical changes, too. The older form of his frame, no longer donned in that of an infantryman’s attire, but something that looks too close to a SOLDIER’s tailored uniform.

Time has passed. But how much of it, so that he looks like he does now? That these emotions run white-hot in his direction, implying that this same timeframe had not been kind to him. That Sephiroth — or perhaps what Sephiroth stands for, the SOLDIER program and Shinra’s finest — was equally unkind.

The Buster Sword remains planted to the ground. It feels like a shield, a bulwark. Sephiroth defiantly steps forward, places a hand on its hilt, but doesn’t lift. The gesture is something nostalgic, and he cannot help but think of Angeal and how he wore it strapped to his back — never using it the proper way.]

You’re saying you’re from the future.

[Cat’s eyes lift to Cloud.]

One where this blade is yours. [Where he feels legitimized in attacking Sephiroth. He pauses, then tries-] You remember Nibelheim?

[He doesn't realize what a can of worms that is, how unintentionally cruel it is to bring up that little mountain town.]

Edited 2020-09-12 20:28 (UTC)

[sephiroth is not a danger to him right now. he understands this—he knows this, and yet with every foot step the silver-haired man takes towards him, it feels like an earthquake under his boots, tantamount to thunderclap. like a disaster waiting to happen, twisters of dust and smoke under the blazing gaze of a meteor's crash.]

[the extent of this fear is still clinging to his skin, and though the hand on the hilt is more of a nostalgic gesture than anything else, cloud finds himself flinching—]

[—pulling the sword back from the man's touch when he speaks.]

Tsk.

[the word nibelheim coming from him feels like being spit in the face, and cloud is guarded once again—and instead of answering the question with words, it's adrenaline what fuels him to kick the sword up to spray dirt at the so-called hero, enough momentum to in the action to swing a fist at him.]

[because it's mocking, isn't it? the way he asks, the way he says nibelheim, with contempt and amusement, baiting him.]

[Just like that, something has been struck again — metaphorically, of course, but struck all the same with his fishing. The sword’s hilt is slipping away from beneath his gloved hand, as though his touch might taint it somehow. Dirt kicks up in a spray in the aftermath, and Cloud replies not verbally, but with a lurch forward to send a fist flying straight at him.

His mind tears through the logical explanation, one at a time: is he sensitive about the sword? About the mention of Nibelheim? Or are his questions so offensive that he cannot hope to hold a proper conversation with him, and the question to that would be, why?

His body, meanwhile, moves on instinct. He reaches up to block and direct that punch aside, the feeling of hard knuckles slamming uselessly into his forearm instead. Striking Sephiroth is a bit like hitting a brick wall, or a mountain, and it has about the same effect: none at all.]

Would it make you feel better to strike me?

[The Sephiroth in the future would say that cloyingly like silk, a lilt to his words that highlight how ridiculous the implication is — no, Cloud would not feel better to strike him. Would he even feel better to kill him, when the damage had long been done to his hometown?

But there’s nothing like that in Sephiroth’s question, just a searching look, waiting for a legitimate answer. They have to reach a grounding point, or else he’ll not garner any answers from the man.]

Edited 2020-09-13 18:51 (UTC)

[it's horrifying, the realization that seeps into cloud's psyche as the words sink in and he's left without absolutely nothing to give, absolutely nothing to take. sephiroth would say those words, like an insult, egging him on to try—to see how futile every single action he takes seems to be towards whatever sephiroth is manipulating behind the scenes.]

[and as fist connects with forearm, curled tight and knuckles bone-white were there not gloves to hide them, the tension leaves immediately, cloud dropping his hand to the side with all intention to put up a fight gone.]

No.

[it's harder than it seems, his having to step back and bring his anger down to its cooling point. although it is no longer seen in how he moves, the tension is still very clear on his face—the taught muscles, the unhappy expression.]

[cloud moves back, takes the sword and heaves it upwards to clip it to his back.]

There's no point.

[—how horrifying it is, to know that the man he seeks is right here, and yet he is not the right man to let his rage out on. there really is no point if sephiroth is like this. is it better? worse? he needs to think about it—and he doesn't hide the fact that he's going to, actually, turn around and walk away.]

Edited 2020-09-14 03:19 (UTC)

[He watches Cloud deflate, watches the fire drain from him as though it were doused by a storm. Sephiroth drops his hand, but finds himself categorically denying the man’s retort — there’s no point, he says, as though that is supposed to mean anything to him. As though it grants him any answers as to why he’s acting this way, what hailing from the supposed future is supposed to entail, why he keeps that sword with him now instead of the man he knows it belongs to.

And how he looks as though he’ll turn away; that’s something Sephiroth will not abide by. He steps forward, threatening to raise the tension to another boiling point, but uncaring for the consequences of it should he avoid being brushed off.]

And yet you’re more than compelled to do it, anyway.

[With hardly any provocation at that. In a tone of voice that implies this conversation is far from over—]

What is the last thing you recall from our Planet?

[Don’t think he’s forgotten.]

You mentioned an edge of creation. What does that mean?

[cloud stops, already his back to sephiroth; his boots scrape the loose pebbles and dirt on the ground as he turns back around, glancing at sephiroth with nothing short of contempt in his eyes. there may be no point in fighting him like this—unknowing of the future, careful and meticulous, like the SOLDIER cloud had known him as before nibelheim. the frustration and hatred is pushed down, kept at bay by something else, the default persona that takes the lead does what it may to keep him cool and collected.]

[this is why cloud strife is so strikingly different from the cadet sephiroth remembers. their memories of each other from a different vantage point. sephiroth, a fellow SOLDIER cloud worked with in his eyes; cloud, an inexperienced and young man who got sick on the ride back to his hometown.]

You're the one who could answer that question best.

[about the edge of creation, what it is, and how they found themselves there in the first place. the bright reds he can still see, a perturbing sense of unease as he stood there, alone after sephiroth's parting words.]

[as a mechanism of self-defense, he ignores the haunting question of why he carries the buster sword, and the fact that it belongs to someone else, the name white noise in his head. it's also self-defense how he doesn't dig into the fact that nibelheim was five years ago, that the year is 0007, and that he doesn't remember how he made it from nibelheim to midgar, or what happened between 0002 and 0007.]

[instead, he offers something sephiroth didn't even come close to asking about. all to push the conversation further away from points he is not mentally prepared to tackle.]

You may be from a time when we worked together, but I'm not. Don't expect me to simply forgive you. Either you fight me or you don't — I don't have anything to say to you otherwise.

[Non-answers again. Hardly his fault, if Cloud does not know what an edge of creation is even supposed to imply (it sounds like something borderline metaphysical, some great title for an even greater, nebulous space) but that does not help him in his understanding. He can feel the scratch of frustration against his nerves, something easily kept at bay, but its existence is testament to how upended Sephiroth remains — in a world that isn’t his own, faced with a man who represents time gone askew.]

I’ve done nothing wrong.

[Sephiroth is not the manipulative, baleful presence that Cloud remembers him as, but there is a facet of who he’ll become nestled deep inside. The question is fishing; the question is, this time, purposefully made to incite a reaction that may provide him more information.]

Tell me my crime if you want to keep your distance. You seem adamant that I'm guilty of something. Otherwise, you're still just the motion sick cadet on the way to Nibelheim to me, and nothing more.

Edited 2020-09-20 14:42 (UTC)

[there is so much vitriol inside him at the words that he's done nothing wrong. in what world— in what time is it acceptable to consider sephiroth an innocent man? he has done everything wrong; he has taken and plundered from cloud, left him a man so mentally scarred he can't even come to terms to the possibility that his hatred has no reason.]

You've—

[obstinately, but his words are drowned out by sephiroth's own, the man's frustration clear in how he speaks with authority, with the strength of a superior officer.]

[and that much scrambles cloud's mind—motion sick cadet—who was that? why does it seem so familiar? words pull up from a far off memory that doesn't seem his own, why don't you look out the window? it might help, the same tone as the words so sharply digging into him now, but with a touch of concern. —and nothing more—and that chasm, of some kind of identity lost, of being thrown into irrelevance by someone who seemed only to be able to focus on him, the push and the pull of jenova cells that he isn't aware of making it so imperative that he be an important part of the silver-haired man's attention—]

[all of these thoughts take place at the same time as cloud's form falls to the shock of another migraine, his shoulders hunched over as he tries reconciling thoughts with his current situation, flashes of images that cause an abrupt swell of emotion even if he can't register what anything taking place is.]

[the only way he knows how to counter any of this is to let go of his head, and grab at the buster sword with both hands and off his back, a stray swing of the blade towards sephiroth, if just to push him back. keep your distance, he wants to say, upset and untethered from why this all is happening, why it feels like every word the man says gives him grievance and pain.]

[done nothing wrong? then why are his words like cuts of blade into his skin, an otherwise paralyzing effect on his psyche?]

[He watches the consequences unfold, and this time, he can see them as just that: consequences. Consequences of his verbiage, his presence, or both? Consequences of something that he cannot quite put his finger on, but Cloud’s nebulous explanations are telling — they are proof of missing information, but whether it’s being denied to him purposefully or otherwise is still up for debate.

There’s a part of him — a curious, searching part that is always seeking answers — that wants to pry further. Wants to test each and every word and see what makes Cloud crumble to the ground, clutching at his head. It’s easy enough to avoid such a blatantly clumsy swing, Sephiroth only needing to take a step back to avoid the steel flung wide. There’s no danger in pressing the point, and maybe he would do so if he were a crueler man. If that part of him had well and truly spilled forth, no longer bulwarked by a shield of sanity to keep it at bay.

But that isn’t the case. As much as he wants to know, all he sees in Cloud’s frame now is suffering. And the superior officer, as cold and as distant as his reputation rightly makes him out to be, always has a tendency to look after those beneath him. He will not break this other man who seems to hate him so, even if it would be so easy — just a well-placed word on a cracked pressure point.

But instead—]

Something’s been done to you. Hasn’t it?

[Does he realize it himself, he wonders?]

What is it?

[the sharp point of the buster sword lands with a heavy thud on the ground, hitting some of the cobblestones near the flowers as cloud leans against it for support. the pain subsides briefly, words directed at him not scheming to inflict upon him more doubt over the reality he has chosen to believe in.]

[but the question does remain. has something been done to him? he remembers the underground, the flashes of himself in glass-prisons, just another body in a list of many.]

[then there is also hojo, who spoke so abruptly as if realizing something, upon seeing him—]

I... [cloud doesn't know, and although the headache has somewhat alleviated, he presses the warm palm of his gloved hand into his forehead, against a pinched brow, keeping his head down; he's exhausted in a way that isn't necessarily physical, like the energy is being sapped out of him.] Hojo, he—

[he had said something, hadn't he? when they had gone to rescue aerith. why can't he remember? it wasn't that long ago.]

[If there is one name that is likely to incite a reaction in Sephiroth, like a stone thrown into the waters of his still expression, that name is clear: Hojo.

It’s like a storm sweeping his reticence away, the way his brows pinch, the way he frowns so deeply it seems to mar his face, something like awful recognition flashing in green eyes. Memories, too, come paired with old associations when he thinks of that man; his smile and laughter were grating, and his disposition insufferable, and to even think that his influence might have expanded towards Cloud like a stain is something that agitates him.

It would be something that Hojo would do, after all. Mess with this man’s mind; watch the consequences and record them in whatever empirical little data charts he keeps amongst a ream of data charts, servers overflowing with them. Yes, Hojo would do this, and he would find delight in it until he didn’t, until the next project came along and he was bored of the old one, and left his experiments broken, dead, or dying in his wake.]

Hojo. [Two syllables could not be spoken more like a curse.] That scientist is a madman. What did he say to you?

[What did he do? Sephiroth only assumes that must be the case; he doesn't even think to guess that Cloud only means to reference that Hojo told him something.]

[it does something, a little, that sephiroth speaks of the name like it's a curse. there is something everyone in the SOLDIER program (and any hopeful) could agree on in several different extents: hojo is a madman. it took no genius to see as much.]

Everyone knows that.

[flat, dry—like this throat is parched. the question, though, cloud hates to hear it; hates how it scrambles his mind into overdrive, in needing to find out answers not just for sephiroth's sake but for his own, too.]

[it's unfortunate that he cannot remember.]

...like anyone listens when he rambles on? [because cloud will not admit that he can't remember.] Stop changing the subject.

[He's missing the point, a point that cannot afford to be missed. Cloud might believe Hojo to be a mad scientist, and correctly, but he does not know him like Sephiroth does. Did not have to spend years under the feverous purview of an amoral man who sought to further his own ego rather than give any credence to what should be done.]

You should listen. Especially if it had related to you.

[Easy to sweep aside Hojo's ramblings as nothing but, but Sephiroth knows that there is always intent hidden in them; that's the dangerous part.]

I'm not changing the subject. Don't you see that I'm trying to understand what's happened?

You are!

[cloud raises his voice, so unlike the usual more subdued attitude he takes towards sephiroth. something in his face mars further into anger, into irrefutable contempt.]

[raising his voice also makes him feel like he's more right in his own understanding of the situation.]

The edge of creation! You should know about it!

[there is no way he is going to just outright buy the shitty lies sephiroth is selling him right now; who is to say all this isn't a ploy to fuck with him? sephiroth did want them to work together, after all.]

If there's nothing you can say about it, then there's no point — in talking to you.

[How is he supposed to know? He made his confusion clear just moments ago, his inability understand the future. Cloud is being contradictory, he thinks, in that he won’t tell him anything, yet expects him to know about events that haven’t come to pass?

Frustrating on its own, or maybe he’s just borrowing Cloud’s flaring anger, rolling off of him in waves so tangible that the flowers nearby might wilt.]

Fine.

[They’re getting nowhere. Emotions keep jutting up like shale in his path, making it impossible to navigate. Maybe Could needs time. Maybe whatever wound he’s carrying is too fresh, and Sephiroth’s sudden appearance is like a knife picking at an unhealed scab.]

Then there’s nothing else to say for now. Leave, Strife.

[And if he doesn't, well, Sephiroth will make the choice for him. He turns, treading over flowers as he cuts a path across the square.]

We'll have this conversation again at a later time. When you're more reasonable.

[if only sephiroth knew the force of nature he would become in later years; like his own pull of gravity, as if the course of time and the flow of the world didn't touch him unless he wished it. cloud is expecting the hammer to drop—for laughter followed by a sultry voice that mocks him, retrieving bits and pieces of his spoken past to get a rise out of him.]

[he's waiting for it, so certain it will come—]

[except it doesn't.]

[sephiroth's words are wrought as en even-toned command, placid and unperturbed, in no way mocking nor facetious. and then he starts walking away, and cloud's body refuses to move, feet rooted to the ground it seems, a deep intake of breath making him shake uncontrollably only when sephiroth leaves entirely, as if the time between the man turning and no longer in his line of sight happened in the blink of an eye, cloud's emotions and physicality of the real world in disarray, a shuddering, sobbing gasp when air doesn't seem to offer reprieve enough.]

[it is uncanny, then, how the words bounce off him like they don't reach him all the way; how he clips the sword to his back and stands straight, his expression betraying no emotion, making his way opposite from whence sephiroth departed.]

Edited 2020-10-13 12:29 (UTC)

[ Cloud’s warning has made contacting Sephiroth far more daunting a task than it should be. Lux manages, though, mindful not to mention the fact she’s been told to watch him carefully. ]

Hello! I’m Luxanna Crownguard. You’ve likely already been told, but I’m your assigned patrol partner.

I’d like to discuss a few things with you before we get to work. Is there someplace we can meet?

[The timing of this isn’t wholly unexpected, given his less than pleasant exchange with Cloud not too long ago. Undoubtedly there’s more motive to this than mere introduction, though Sephiroth does not say as much for now. Only—]

I’m glad you’ve contacted me. I’m eager to get started.

[Also yes, hi.]

I’m amiable to meeting in person. The town center has a few quiet places where we can sit and speak.

Great!

There’s a nice little flower garden outside Fruit’s Basket. Meet me there in an hour. I’ll be the one with the plate armor and the bright smile!

[ The hour’s not for Sephiroth. It’s for Lux, who wants to be there well before the agreed-upon time to prepare. What she’s preparing for, she doesn’t know yet. Cloud said he couldn’t go into detail, so for all she knows, she could be wasting her time. But the way he asked her to contact him if she ‘noticed some change’ makes her think he’s expecting something to go wrong, and she’s not about to take chances in a place like this.

Lux keeps herself occupied while she waits by taking stock of the area. The town center is a very public spot. It’s why she let Sephiroth pick the place; if he plans on trying anything, she wants to know there’ll be at least one other set of eyes there to catch him in the act. There’re plenty of streets that meet here, too—which means plenty of escape routes.

And, if she’s not careful, plenty of ways for Sephiroth to catch her off-guard. ]

[A nice little flower garden. Someone with plate armor and a bright smile.]

Noted. I'll be there in thirty minutes.

[Thirty minutes later, and he is as punctual as Shinra's military raised him to be. He arrives with an inordinately large katana-shaped sword gripped by the hilt in his left hand, facing skyward so that it's aligned parallel with the curve of his spine. It gleams in the gloom of the day.

Sephiroth is easily spotted by the dark garb of his SOLDIER's uniform and the cascade of long, silver hair sweeping behind him with each step. It's simple enough to locate who he's looking for, as she's the only one near the garden: touting plate armor and a smile.

His approach is quiet, almost pushing the boundaries of not offering a greeting at all until he approaches just close enough to be heard without raising his voice.]

Lux, correct?

[ Good morning, Sephiroth!! It's a lovely October morning and there's a visitor at your door. When (and if) he chooses to answer to the siren call of a mysterious banging(?) against it, he'll be pleased to meet with a 5'5"……

Boy in a fox costume. We pretend the earlier iteration of this doesn't exist and no one saw anything. At any rate, the sound comes from him using his foot to tap against the door, arms otherwise predisposed. The reason for that? There's a matching assortment of costumes, bundled up into a huge mess that towers well over his head. Fun for the whole pack! Or. Something. ]

Edited (my conscience made this less cursed but at the same time i'm not sure if it is) 2020-10-05 07:55 (UTC)

[It is difficult to know what to expect in this place. Difficult to know what or who might come knocking at the door at any given moment, especially after the myriad of strange instances that have already played out in his short time here.

Yet when Sephiroth swings the door open wide, greeted only by... that sight (a man dressed in a fox costume, another one such costume folded in his arms), it is so surreally strange, so impossibly ridiculous, that all he can do is stare stolidly for a good handful of seconds.]

...

[And then--]

I'm not interested in whatever it is you have to say.

[Preemptive shut-down.]

[ In the handful of times Naruto has likely stopped by, he's never encountered any of Cloud's housemates, nor does he know the guy's decided to make a habit of couch surfing, that asshole. So when a voice responds, despite it being an octave lower than what he's familiar with, Naruto's answer comes instinctually. ]

Hey! Don't knock 'em until you try 'em. They're actually really, really cozy!

[ How convincing! As always, his brain lags behind; when it does manage to catch up though, the accusation is in full force. ]

… You aren't Cloud. [ the company he keeps, gents ]

[Sephiroth's already mentally discarding the retort; Naruto might as well be speaking silence for how he doesn't care to be convinced one way or another. In fact, maybe it's something of a miracle that he doesn't just shut the door on him right now, ready to write him off as some kid with a prerogative he wants nothing to do with.

But the accusation of not being Cloud is one that actually makes his stoic expression twitch, brows pinching ever so slightly, loosening his grip on the door handle that was seconds away from pushing it closed.]

No. I'm not.

[Obviously.]

...Are you saying that is for him?

[ It's a shame he can't see what's going on over in Sephiroth-land what with the veritable pile in his arms. Thrumming with excitable energy, it seems Naruto is as ready to take off as the other is to slam the door on him, until he speaks of Cloud with familiarity.

That incredulity! It's perfect. ]

Not Cloud, but you catch on quick! I like that. [ Not that it takes a genius… he's in a good mood! He thrusts the full fuzzy package into the stranger's chest. Not bothering to check whether he even has a proper hold of it, he takes a step back with a salute. ]

Tell him someone left something for him! You don't have to say from who. [ In fact, it's better if he doesn't say who. Naruto can imagine his expression as is and ah, now that he can make out the stranger's face? Yeah. Cloud would probably look like that. Figures they'd keep each other company. ] Can't stick around 'cause I got other stuff I need to do, thanks in advance!

[ —when did he get so far away? ]

I owe ya one!

[Blink, and you miss it. Blink, and he's gone, or at least farther away-- With a fuzzy gift piled into Sephiroth's unwilling arms, who holds onto the garment without letting it slip simply out of instinct.

Even if he were inclined to reply, it's almost a moot point. The stranger's gone off at a distance already, and what's there to say? This is an oddity, but if it belongs to Cloud, then it's not his burden to carry -- and so Sephiroth wordlessly turns around, returns inside the house after closing the door behind him. He'll be setting this aside for his intrepid roommate.

NICE TO MEET YOU, BUDDY]

I spoke to Admin about our situation.

They will provide you with the complete documentation of your past, and technically, your future, for you to read at your leisure. Given that I cannot recall every detail, I thought perhaps this might be the better, more concise offer, and would give you the time to process.

However, they will only provide you with this after you, to use their words, 'teach the younger generation survival skills'. Do this, and they will both provide you with the information as well as reassure certain protections, should the information trouble you or render you unstable in any way.

Have I retained your loyalty, then?

[He’s delivered then, though not without a string or two attached. Sephiroth will accept, even though there is a part of him who balks at the idea of being volunteered for— What? Survival training? Basic SOLDIER regimen?

It’s too mundane to truly decline, not worth knotting to his pride at the detriment of not receiving answers.]

Easy as that? The Admin supplies the documents without question or recourse?

I cashed in my favor, for throwing the welcome party. So yes, easy as that.

[ And then gained it back, but Sephiroth doesn't have to know that. ]

I suppose you should contact them yourself, when you feel you've completed your side of the bargain.

Good luck.

And whose idea was it, the part about training others?

Theirs. I had nothing to do with it.

[..ugh...admin......he will definitely have a word with them soon]

Very well.

To answer your question, for now, yes. My loyalty remains to SOLDIER, and as a result, to Shinra.

Alright.

If that's all, you'll hear from me again soon.

[In regards to whatever may be written in the files themselves, of course. What manner of secrets might finally start to unfold and drag themselves back into the light.]

[cloud escapes the interaction with the stranger, the man calling himself 'zack fair', with turmoil brewing on his mind. the words echo inside his head and he can't seem to rid himself of them; he feels something akin to guilt wrapping around his heart, uncomfortably, and he's decidedly not in the mood to go see aerith for she always manages to see through him—decipher that something's wrong.]

[but that's the problem: cloud doesn't know what is wrong. he doesn't understand why he's reacting this way to a meeting that should be so inconsequential. and so, before he knows it, he's dragging himself through the snow and back to the cottage he's supposed to call his own. he leaves the shovel outside, beside the door, and stomps inside, tracking snow with him as he heads for the living room where the fireplace is—hopefully lit and warm, only to snap to attention as he sees sephiroth just off to the side, in the kitchen.]

Figures. [muttered to himself, eyes casting away to the side as he steps closer to the fire and removes his coat to place it on a chair. his gloveless hands reach for the opening of the fireplace, fingers splayed out, to warm them.]

[the next time he speaks, it's louder—meant for sephiroth to hear, cloud's gaze curious despite his better attempts to seem uninterested. everything about sephiroth always enraptures his attention despite his efforts.] There are new people on the island again.

[tenuous, casual conversation with sephiroth was never a thing. cloud's hesitation in approaching this is clear. there is no phantom pain from when the masamune stabbed him through the chest, that fateful day in nibelheim, but underneath the long-sleeved sweater that he's wearing to tackle the cold, bandages wrap around his arm, in the most recent encounter his flesh had with the sword—the cut deep, despite how minimal it was, due to masamune's sharpness. it reminds cloud of that moment, in the reactor, having nothing to lose.]

[mako-infused blue land on sephiroth, finally.]

A "friend" of yours, too.

Edited 2020-12-08 16:28 (UTC)

[He can feel Cloud approaching before he's even near; this is simply the reality of the situation as of late, perhaps to the detriment of them both. To remain acutely aware of each other's presence isn't always a boon, nor is it always a detriment, but at times, it's a consciousness that they could both probably do without.

Case in point: it's a distraction from his focus in the kitchen, working on bringing a pot of pasta to boil. Though Sephiroth's cooking adventures have been less adventures and more... experiments, they are at least practical to maintain for the sake of living. Cloud's scare quotes are so easily heard in his tone when he arrives that he cannot help but feel a tinge of already-exasperation, threatening to kill his focus. That said, he doesn't even look up from the stove.]

Zack Fair. [He mutters it plainly, having no patience for skirting the subject. But there's a part of him that's tempted to glance aside, to see if Cloud is assailed by the headaches that are so strongly associated with his old friend's name.]

Do you still doubt his existence, now that he's here?

[Quiet on the outside, but within his mind churns. If they had spoken, wouldn't one have recognized the other? Just exactly what's transpired?

He's sure Cloud's about to tell him.]

[sephiroth might be disappointed to find that no such thing plagues him at this moment in time, the 'materia' given to him through rufus' generosity doing wonders in keeping those dastardly headaches away. his stare is intense, though, and he seems to prefer to orbit closer to the man—actually removing himself from the warmth of the fireplace and taking steps closer towards the kitchen, only a few feet apart.]

It would be convenient to fit your story, wouldn't it?

This 'Zack Fair' showing up. [a scoff. and although cloud glances down at the pot of boiling water, pasta simmering within, his expression all but withers in disinterest.] You can play whatever games you want, if that's what you want. You don't have to drag other people into this delusion.

[—hilarious, coming from him. cloud, however, sounds sure of himself; certain and unwavering in his conviction regarding this matter.]

[Even Sephiroth is surprised by the accusation, the kind of gall behind it. He knows that Cloud doesn’t think highly of him—he made that quite clear on their first day here, and then some—but does the man really think he is so petty that he would take time out of his day to recruit a newcomer to play the part of Zack Fair?

It should incite irritation in him, an almost-anger bursting out of that exasperation. The blame is ridiculous, the gall is absurd. But he recalls the broken state of Cloud’s mind, how he had been so fervent to reject the notion of his old friend’s very existence, and Sephiroth finds his calm again. He inhales, stirs the boiling pot once or twice more, and finally turns his head to look at the other man.

He is, at least, unimpressed.]

Do you really think I care that much to deceive you that I would go to those lengths?

[Cloud, really.]

Before we have this conversation, though… I’m surprised. Have you noticed something different about yourself?

[He’s referring to the headaches; or rather, the lack of them.]

[in cloud's mind, he anticipated a different response. something along the lines of snark, sarcasm, a loathing confession that cloud was indeed worthy of all these mind games and more—that it's what binds them together, keeps them undeniably connected in the way that nibelheim had cemented for them.]

[to not receive that catches him off guard, and he frowns, uncertain; embarrassed, even, at the notion that he was almost hoping for a crack to the façade, for something closer to the normal he expects.]

[jaw tightens and lips thin into a line.] ...

[it's hard to follow up the conversation when it's not how he expected it to go. so cloud hesitates, retracts almost, despite the question that is meant to encourage his thoughts to stray elsewhere. the silence may already be sephiroth's answer to the former: yes, cloud does think he would go so far as to fuck with his mind, to care enough to do so. the silence only pronounces how shocked he is that it's not the case.]

What are you talking about?

[crossing his arms, looking like a petulant child.]

upcycle inbox.

—day one of no chill

F

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

un: lux

no subject

no subject

no subject

action; 10/04; i take no responsibility for this

seph is full of regret

i feel him on a spiritual level

no subject

no subject

no subject

text; un: akimbo

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

post-fateful tdm

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject