[would it hurt sephiroth to just acknowledge that cloud's anger—hatred—fear—stems from somewhere real? as far as the blond is concerned, all this pushing conversation away from what he considers to be the only valid reality (regardless of timeline shifts) only reinforces cloud's mistaken belief that sephiroth is playing the long game; of making cloud lower his guard, to fulfill this yearning of wanting cloud to lend him a hand and defy fate together.]
[could sephiroth go to such lengths?]
[(of course he could.)]
You killed my mother.
[is there anything more pitiful than having his voice crack at that statement? at having to repeat it for sephiroth to hear—to acknowledge?]
You burnt — my hometown.
[his shoulders are squared, and it's really the vague recalling of their truce that keeps cloud's hands at his sides, away from the hilt of the buster sword.]
Don't call me idiotic when we both know you're the one trying to mess with my head!
[Accusations again, ones that withhold nothing -- ones that knife through him as revelations that once accosted him in South Sister, unearthed anew in this place, slipping like fire out of Cloud's mouth. This isn't the time or the place; his patience is already run as taut as a wire about to snap; and he feels it, that rarity, that flare of agitation prowling like a predator between his ribs.
What will this achieve now? Or ever? What does Cloud want from him, because nothing will ever be enough. He is wrong if he owns up to something he has never done, he is even more egregious if he lays claim to innocence. Cloud wants too much, something Sephiroth cannot give without an understanding of the future that evades him, and it's tiresome.
He's only willing to humor so much, and that line is almost crossed. Lowly, eyes like ice-]
Now is not the time. Walk away. This is your only warning.
[walk away, a command that would otherwise be followed, the steel of the general's voice and the cold in his eyes would so demand it. but, instead, it abruptly makes cloud take a step forward—defiant.]
When—?
[it suddenly feels hard to breathe; his chest constricted, filled not with air but with the usual burning of hatred that soaks in like blackened smoke. his footsteps heavier than usual, his express dark with intensity, his brows downturned.]
[A few days from now, or even tomorrow, Sephiroth’s mind will slide back to this moment and wished he had done differently. Kept himself reined in for only a second or two longer, enough time to ease in a harsh breath and choose to be the one to walk away. But Cloud has already pressed too many buttons, too many times — here and in South Sister. Always the same conversation, always Sephiroth with his baleful attempts at staunching that accusation and anger while trying to tamp down his own frustrations. Again and again.
Now, in the moment, that tenuous line of patience has frayed and snapped. He is tired of uttering the same thing, met only with the same result, and in the heat of belligerent rationale, it makes sense to take a different approach. To make his point quite clear, the result of a warning gone unheeded.
There’s no real warning, only the squeeze of thick leather as a gloved hand curls into a fist and swings straight at Cloud’s jawline, a knuckle careening across the cheekbone and into the cartridge of a nose. The movement is both mechanical and fluid — an insult in its own right, that it seems almost like a thoughtless, easy action from Sephiroth. Cold, even in passion.]
[were there to be any reminder of the strength that sephiroth possesses, it should be this moment alone. just because the man has remained still in inaction did not mean that he was incapable of causing damage if enough buttons were pushed. cloud stumbles back, hearing more so than feeling the crack of his nose, and it's thus unsurprising when blood flows down his nostrils—]
[a flare of hitched breath, followed by opening his mouth to be able to breathe out the gasp of surprise that he's unable to expel through his nose, and his skin paints red; on his lips, down to his chin. droplets stark against the floor, smeared blood as cloud tries to catch it on his gloved hand, as if in disbelief.]
[it takes those few, quick seconds for cloud's reigning anger to dissipate, like a brewing storm that disappears immediately with a particularly strong gust of wind.]
[a part of him wants to retaliate, and it shows in the anger that drifts into his blue eyes, staring back up to meet sephiroth's own pair of gleaming jade, but something else comes forth, too—recognition, understanding.]
Fuck you.
[is what he spares past his lips, muffled only by the hand that covers his bruised nose (his bruised pride), and it is with that and nothing else that cloud walks away; stiff and reluctant, pride hurt, but at least with a clearer head, even if blood had to be drawn for him to reach that point.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
supersoldier) wrote2021-01-21 03:30 pm
no subject
[could sephiroth go to such lengths?]
[(of course he could.)]
You killed my mother.
[is there anything more pitiful than having his voice crack at that statement? at having to repeat it for sephiroth to hear—to acknowledge?]
You burnt — my hometown.
[his shoulders are squared, and it's really the vague recalling of their truce that keeps cloud's hands at his sides, away from the hilt of the buster sword.]
Don't call me idiotic when we both know you're the one trying to mess with my head!
no subject
What will this achieve now? Or ever? What does Cloud want from him, because nothing will ever be enough. He is wrong if he owns up to something he has never done, he is even more egregious if he lays claim to innocence. Cloud wants too much, something Sephiroth cannot give without an understanding of the future that evades him, and it's tiresome.
He's only willing to humor so much, and that line is almost crossed. Lowly, eyes like ice-]
Now is not the time. Walk away. This is your only warning.
no subject
When—?
[it suddenly feels hard to breathe; his chest constricted, filled not with air but with the usual burning of hatred that soaks in like blackened smoke. his footsteps heavier than usual, his express dark with intensity, his brows downturned.]
Or what? You'll burn me too?
[so much for warnings..]
Wheeze
Now, in the moment, that tenuous line of patience has frayed and snapped. He is tired of uttering the same thing, met only with the same result, and in the heat of belligerent rationale, it makes sense to take a different approach. To make his point quite clear, the result of a warning gone unheeded.
There’s no real warning, only the squeeze of thick leather as a gloved hand curls into a fist and swings straight at Cloud’s jawline, a knuckle careening across the cheekbone and into the cartridge of a nose. The movement is both mechanical and fluid — an insult in its own right, that it seems almost like a thoughtless, easy action from Sephiroth. Cold, even in passion.]
we did it
[a flare of hitched breath, followed by opening his mouth to be able to breathe out the gasp of surprise that he's unable to expel through his nose, and his skin paints red; on his lips, down to his chin. droplets stark against the floor, smeared blood as cloud tries to catch it on his gloved hand, as if in disbelief.]
[it takes those few, quick seconds for cloud's reigning anger to dissipate, like a brewing storm that disappears immediately with a particularly strong gust of wind.]
[a part of him wants to retaliate, and it shows in the anger that drifts into his blue eyes, staring back up to meet sephiroth's own pair of gleaming jade, but something else comes forth, too—recognition, understanding.]
Fuck you.
[is what he spares past his lips, muffled only by the hand that covers his bruised nose (his bruised pride), and it is with that and nothing else that cloud walks away; stiff and reluctant, pride hurt, but at least with a clearer head, even if blood had to be drawn for him to reach that point.]