[There are times in which Sephiroth looks as though he’s carved from stone, able to remain so still even as he inherits the stance of a predator about to strike. There’s little more than the wind tousling the tips of long hair.
But in that layered silence, Cloud’s words appear to have their effect, and despite how fervently Sephiroth was determined to not have his training interrupted, he smooths out of his rigid angles and lowers his blade. Turns to look at Cloud with mildness in his eyes.]
Am I?
[He wonders what this is — an accidence of wrong? His pride should swallow it whole, celebrate it; but he can only remember the feeling of his knuckles colliding into Cloud’s nose, and it dies on the vine.]
Maybe. And maybe you would be, too. But I don’t give up so easily, and I assume you feel the same.
no subject
But in that layered silence, Cloud’s words appear to have their effect, and despite how fervently Sephiroth was determined to not have his training interrupted, he smooths out of his rigid angles and lowers his blade. Turns to look at Cloud with mildness in his eyes.]
Am I?
[He wonders what this is — an accidence of wrong? His pride should swallow it whole, celebrate it; but he can only remember the feeling of his knuckles colliding into Cloud’s nose, and it dies on the vine.]
Maybe. And maybe you would be, too. But I don’t give up so easily, and I assume you feel the same.