#warofthebeasts

❝ Didn't expect to see you here. Never pegged you for the quiet life type. It's a little weird if I'm honest. I'm used to that intimidating war persona. ❞

"As if I ever could... You're a monster."

Cloud stared him down, trying to stamp down the rising bout of anxiety that always came about whenever he encountered the terror from his dreams. In fact, it was difficult to even look at him for too long, and he wasn't sure if this was fear or defiance. He always wondered if he was hallucinating, asleep, or the real Sephiroth was standing here before him. Tight was the grip on his sword's hilt, and the massive bulk of blade was pointed downward, temporarily too tired to lift it; gathering his strength for the inevitable attack.

"What the hell do you even want?!"

It had been foolish of Hojo, in truth. The worst part for the professor was that it was not just one specific instance, but a multitude of poor decisions that had culminated in his demise at the hands of the very one he had presumed was too broken to retaliate for the previous terror and agonized suffering that had been inflicted upon him.

Unfortunately, the stubborn reignition of his will was too late to save Lucrecia from the burden of her guilt, but... it was not too late for her son...

He is unused to dealing with children. VIncent supposes the closest that he knows to it might have been a young rookie in his probationary period working with him and his partner. But he suspects, even at fourteen—as he was then—the over-serious young Tseng was not exactly typical for a child.

[ Who could be after what had happened? After what brought him to Shinra, a desperate agreement made to save his own life? And at what cost... ]

Even so, there is something about the silver-haired boy that is not entirely unfamiliar... but familiarity does little to inform inexperience with such matters as acting as caretaker, except perhaps in being better able to recognize and navigate moods.

Most days.

Today is, apparently, not one of those days, however, because he cannot seem to determine what had caused so blunt of a statement. [ An order? ]

"If you wish someone to do something for you, Sephiroth, it is usually customary to include a please in your request—as well as perhaps a brief explanation as to the reason for it—that the other person might be more inclined to oblige you."

They're alive. They are alive and Seph would laugh except they're bleeding, as well.

But they are alive.

For now, a little voice in the back of his head whispers, before it launches into a complaint about the sand in his boots that takes him back to another time and another place, a time and place he would rather not think about.

"I've lost my job," he observes needlessly; Gren knows that.

"...But I'm glad to see you again." Alive. The last he'd seen of the older man had been on Titan before they'd lost track of one another in the chaos of war. The last place that he'd imagined finding him again would be prison.

@mistersaxophone

Comrade. That word meant something to him once. If he is honest with himself, it still does.

Perhaps that's why his chest had felt so hollowed out ever since he had learned the truth.

He had been betrayed by someone he had admired and purposefully forsaken to suffer a cruel fate.

How much they had endured, shoulder to shoulder in that hellscape, the stubborn and unyielding living among dunes of those who had not been so fortunate. Saved from a scorpion's sting only to feel the venom of a snake who had feigned being a man and—if not a friend—at the very least, a comrade.

The word had meant something. The music box had meant something. Saving his life had meant something.

Apparently, only to him, and the realization of that fact—and all that had followed as a result—had utterly destroyed him, in more ways than one.

Why then... Why had his weary heart soared in his chest at the sight of that officer? The one he recognized as the young soldier he had taken under his own wing in turn.

Seph Crescent.

The name was an unusual one. There was something almost musical about it. Or perhaps it simply seemed the name that belonged to a composition played in some smoky, low-light bar where the drinks are almost as expensive as the fashion.

Regardless, even through the haze of his drug addled mind—how convenient a test subject he had been, imprisoned here and so completely out of his mind with insomnia and anger and pain that it was justified, a mercy really—and even through that, he had recognized him in an instant and the name had quickly followed.

Had he been part of it? that bitter voice in the back of his mind had questioned.

Some part of his mind had still suspected, doubted, accused... even as the other man [ ha! ] had set his plan into motion.

Because Crescent seemed to have recognized him as well.

And maybe, just maybe, Gren is starting to believe that comrade means something to him, too.

"You... You really... did rescue me..." he says in stunned disbelief, even before he realizes that he has spoken them, even as his chest and throat feel tight, constrained.

Sephiroth.

A grace of a presence that stirred the stagnant air in the halls of HQ, that chilled the blood with a rapid burst of adrenaline and excitement~

Simply allowing such a moniker to pass by parted lips was enough to justify a physical reaction in anyone who happened to be standing near enough to hear it. For one who may not know, few though there may be, to hear it spoken aloud might come across as more of a curse or a murmured spell that drew in the eyes of all and held them under. It would be a confusing endeavor for everyone outside of their ranks.

But for him? And for all those within ShinRa, he was the Golden Son, the epitome of skill and prowess to be ADMIRED. Really. What warrior out there DIDN'T want to mimic the might of Sephiroth? The unfortunate part was, it would come across as just that, a sad mimicry, without any hope of reaching that same plateau.

He'd seen him kick the ass of ANGEAL. And while that stunned and delighted him in swift succession [because what sort of friend would he be not to laugh when he busted his ass in a training session], it ignited within Zack a WANT, a NEED to be better.

So....

How to crack the code of the mighty Sephiroth?

He'd tried to breach the topic with Angeal, who merely turned a flat look in his direction and shook his head.

Whatever.

Seriously, Sephiroth traversed the halls of HQ like he was part of the invisible strands of the gentle breeze rustling through, as natural as one could be in an industrial structure like that. How did one interrupt enough to light that flare and find what lay within?

Did Sephiroth do casual?

Wasn't like he could drop in and be like:

Yoooooooo, did you TASTE that fucking ribeye in the cafeteria today? Maaaan, otherworldly shit right there!

And expect there to be a common ground shared between them.

ShinRa kept Sephiroth....

.... for special occasions, that was the sense he got. There wasn't much out there that required his expertise. And those things that did? Well, sad for anyone on the receiving end.

He thought about it. Turned out he didn't have to think for long. Zack was assigned to a mission. Color him surprised when he got his ass handed to him and returned to HQ a little more worse for the wear. He cursed down the hallway, favoring one leg over the other, limping- cursing- ranting:

They're holding me back!

when----

BAM!

He hit a body, not looking where he was going.

Sephiroth.

His eyes widened and he stuttered for a moment, fighting to regain his composure.

Professor Hojo had told him to sit and stay, and so Sephiroth is seated perched on a chair next to a potted plant in the hallway outside of the office, perfectly still as if he's afraid to move a muscle. He stares straight ahead, hands in his lap, eerily silent in the way no child should be.

He doesn't know what's being said in the other room. It isn't his place to know, even though he could listen in if he wanted to.

The Professor would be annoyed if he did.

His gaze shifts when he hears footsteps.

@fivedecisivefactors

He knows the identity of the one sitting outside of the office. Certainly, the Professor had been just shy of giddy over his science project and quite vocal on the fact that it had surpassed every expectation. It is no difficult matter to discern.

What does give Tseng pause is how young that science project happens to be. He had not heard the particulars. [ Like most sensible people, after all, he tries to remain as far from the science department as possible. ]

He had expected someone older.

This is a child.

[ ... He supposes that it really shouldn't surprise him. ]

"I assume that you are here with Professor Hojo," Tseng begins, addressing the boy.

"If I am not mistaken, I believe he had a meeting with Veld today about a protection detail?"

A beat.

@warofthebeasts asked: ❝ you tried. that’s what matters. ❞

Eyes   the   hue   of   forget-me-nots   lowered   toward   to the   ground,   veiled   beneath   shadowed   lashes   as   teeth   sank   into   her     bottom   lip. “…I   wasn’t   enough”   she   mumbled.   “I   tried…   and   I   failed.   The   Organization…   t-they   don’t   tolerate   failure.”

she   could   already   feel   the   scorch   of   Saix’s   golden   glare.

“...I…   I   don’t   know   what   to   do   now…”   Nobodies   weren’t   supposed   to   feel,   and   yet   ....she   felt   something.   anxiety   twisting  within

The   thought   of   returning   ‘home’   ....   if   it   could   even   be   called   that,   made   her   chest   ache,    And   worse   still,   she   had   just   blurted   out   the   word   'Organization'  to   a   stranger.   .....could   she   mess   up   anymore   than   she   already   had?