[Sephiroth had called earlier. Kind of lucky, actually, that Cloud had been between transformations for the daylight hours and he'd been able to pick up. Honestly... with what he'd said- how he'd said it- that they needed to talk, immediately, Cloud had not... been in the mood.
Well, that was putting it lightly. He was a few days into his search. Out farther than he'd ever been before in the Wilde, following a trail that was growing more confusing, more difficult to explain with every mile. He'd wanted to tell him that whatever it was, it could wait. That right now wasn't a good time, that whatever it was, it'd keep until he got back. Until he could handle whatever it was.
But the words hadn't come out. Something in Sephiroth's voice had already suggested that it wasn't a matter for discussion, that he wanted a location, and that he wasn't being asked. Instead, he was being told to get ready for his arrival.
So he'd gone along with it. At some point of the previous day, they'd met. At numerous other points in the day, they'd been forced to fight for their lives. It wasn't as if a single shade was much of a threat. Not really. They were dangerous, sure. In an unpredictable way- their tendency to absorb their surroundings, be said surroundings flora, fauna or both- and gain strength from it wasn't exactly anything that could be underestimated, even to those like them, who were used to monsters of most description.
But more so, groups of them? That was a problem. A big one.
So it's now that they're beside a fire (much to Cloud's discomfort. Higher body temperature and all) if anything, because the fire, light, tended to keep the creatures away. And that was what they'd done. Cloud tended to stay awake at night. And in the darkness, he watched for shades. In the early hours until midday, he slept- leaving Sephiroth to watch. Afternoons until dusk are for travel.
This night, Their hands are ... alarmingly, to be frank, loosely clasped. Their backs against each other's as they both eat. Sephiroth ... of course, faces the fire, as he has to cook whatever food product they'd brought along. Cloud faces away, choosing to eat his, as was commonplace now, entirely raw.
Wasn't exactly... comfortable. Not really. But it was the only way to share magic between themselves. The reserves of said magic aren't exactly... high. Sharing it like this sustains it, extends it. Makes it last longer. Probably enough for a few days.
[It isn’t a matter of if he would locate Cloud, but when. His thoughts swirl too heavily with questions, with doubt; a ruminating mind — a trait he’s always possessed — leaves one endlessly restless and always seeking answers. His Bonded could give them to him; he owed it to him, after all he’s learned. And Sephiroth is his own brand of stubborn, not satisfied until he sates the fire in his mind.
Not that the Shades would make that easy.
They are simple enough to cut down — at least for Sephiroth, who often does so with an efficiency that might belie a telltale impatience. Their search for familiar faces take up the rest of the waning daylight’s hours, and it isn’t until one particularly still night, sitting by a warm fire that crackles against the darkness, that the subject is finally broached.
He ignores the sensation of their hands loosely clasped together, watching the meat turn color as it’s slowly cooked by the orange flame. There is a weight to the silence that follows, and a cognizant awareness of any stiffening of body language from Cloud when he says—]
[Yeah, there's definitely a weight. Cloud feels it, of course mostly through their bond- closing his eyes to gather his focus makes this weight- this restlessness- this quiet anger feel as if it's an actual force- actually pressing down on his shoulders. Impossible, of course. It's sedimentary feeling from their bond. Heightened empathy- nothing more. Just a taste of what Sephiroth actually felt.
Then, Sephiroth speaks. It's as if this invisible, implausible, half-reasoned away force actually gets a few inches on him. He deflates.
Just the name makes him do so. For a moment, he smells it. Crisp, cold mountain air. Cold enough to make his lungs ache.]
...
[His hand uncurls from Sephiroth's. And it moves, backs of his fingers dragging on the ground for a brief moment before it rests on his own knee.]
Like I said, you left the Shinra.
[Its not enough. He can feel it. So he exhales, placing the slab of roughly cut meat he was nursing down. Suddenly, he's not hungry.]
Look... A lot happened. A lot of it, I'm not sure you'll believe. And there's a lot you need to know first.
[Their Bond practicality crystallizes with an encroaching weight, or a pressurization, like a storm rising in the distance. This is telling in of itself, he thinks, that they’re about to tread upon a subject so carefully avoided that Sephiroth cannot imagine it’s nothing short of a pitfall.
But he needs to know. For the first time in what seems like a very long while, he turns to look over his shoulder, to glance at Cloud’s frame and the width of his shoulders tightening, then deflating. Perhaps those cat-like eyes of Sephiroth’s might possess enough sharpened intent to bore a hole in his back, though what churns in his own chest is not so unkind. Only restlessness, listlessness, a mind prone to rumination whirling itself in circles now that silence has had an opportunity to settle.
Uncertainties grow louder in the quiet of the night, after all. That’s how it’s always been.]
But you’ll tell me.
[The hard edges of a statement rather than a request. There is so much reason for him to be irritated at the omission of truth, but he finds he cannot truly feel that way — not until he knows what is so worth obscuring from him. It is hard to forget the look in Tifa’s eyes from that day, and they flit across his mind’s eye; grief and anger wound into one.]
And I’ll know why you hadn’t thought to mention it to me before.
[He really is like his father in that respect, Cloud thinks- neither man is capable of letting anything go. To both of them, there's no such thing as letting sleeping dogs lie- only a curiosity that's boundless, a desire to understand.
It was always Hojo's madness, even if the man didn't have the talent or the ability to make it anything less than dangerous. Parts of it were reflected in Sephiroth's madness- and in this moment, the link to that man he despised in shared traits is what makes him all the more human.
...With that considered, how could he ever think he was anything but? ]
Yeah, I'll tell you. [His voice is low. Deflated.]
I'll tell you why I never mentioned it before, too. Because your future's up to you. I'd only be going off some other you, from my memories. But that's not you. It's a possibility for you. Your future's yours, and it's not set in stone. You get that, right?
[He'd... had what was in store for him pretty much laid out on the table almost immediately after arrival. And honestly? ...It led to questions. An abundance of them, an uncertainty he's still not entirely sure he's okay with.
Regardless, he exhales. And he finds his arms wrapping around his legs, his chin touching his knees. He lowers his eyes.]
You did leave the Shinra at Nibelheim. What I didn't tell you was that you died. You... saw what the Shinra were doing in the Nibelheim reactor. What caused all of the monsters in the area. North Corel, Fort Condor, Gongaga... it's not the worst of what the Shinra did. The worst was that they were experimenting on humans.
But...
[He half-turns his head.]
You thought that you were made in the same way. You were told that your mother's name was Jenova, right? That's all you know. In all of the years you've been alive, you've asked, and that's all anyone's ever told you. Jenova... was being held in that reactor.
[And quickly-]
It's not your mother. You never realized the truth. Even when you died.
[There's more. So much more. But because they're bonded, he knows when to stop. When all of this information feels too much.]
[That is something that Sephiroth would rather die than admit to — that he shares even a modicum of anything similar to that man, especially something so unflattering, a propensity to obsess over the unknown to the degree that it flirts with mania. But Cloud’s assessment is correct, of course; he can likely feel it in their Bond, that want to know. The need to understand what’s been hidden and why. Shinra has couched so much in the softness of lies, and he’s grown tired of dealing with them, of simply accepting them for what they are. It wears at him, and has been for a while yet.
This, however, is more than what he expected. Sephiroth knew that the news was not going to be easy to bear — again, not after how that woman had reacted to him, a stark recollection of that day tossed his way like blame — but the revelation of experimentations in the rector itself would be enough weight to bear on its own. Yet the mention of his mother, the name Jenova, is its own burden that presses deep into his mind, felt once more through their Bond.]
What...?
[Sorry, Cloud, but that’s requires a bit of processing on his part, his thoughts wheeling with the plainly-spoken revelation that all he’s been led to believe has been a lie. That Jenova is an it (not human); that he died?
He shifts to properly look at him, demanding without speaking that he requires the same attention in turn.]
Why would Shinra tell that kind of lie, then? How could I have died?
[A reality hard to parse, even for one such as himself. Maybe especially because he knows himself, and the scope of his abilities, so well.]
[Avarice, probably. Or Hojo blowing his own trumpet. Or, perhaps even the fact that his mother- the woman that Vincent had described long ago, wasn't important after she'd gave birth to him. Could be any of those things. Could be all of them.
And... he doesn't like this. He really doesn't. There's the obvious. That even if his first suspicion of what would happen should he tell Sephiroth the truth- that Aefenglom would probably burn down wasn't all that true- (what could be said. That initial assumption was before he knew him.) he... really doesn't like this.
He can feel what Sephiroth feels through the bond. And while it's not exactly fear, it's similar. It pierces. It's... horrible. So he keeps his eyes low, taking a deep breath. ]
But I know that Professor Gast left. He defected some time ago. You were close, years ago, right? At that time, he found someone. A cetra, called Ifalna. Aerith's mother. He was supposed to be studying her with the company, and back then, he thought Jenova was a cetra. He was wrong.
It... [A pause.] It's some kind of alien virus. There's recordings up in Icicle, where he and Ifalna lived after he ran. She explained it came around 2000 years ago, on a meteor that hit the planet. It ...contaminated the cetra. Drove 'em mad, killed 'em all, near enough. That's what wiped them out as a whole. The last of them sealed it away. Thousands of years passed. Then the Shinra found it.
[Another pause. He moves himself, to view Sephiroth properly. ...Not out of fear. Even though.... yeah. Part of him worried about that. It's more concern. It's... well, strange to feel concern for Sephiroth of all people. He'd always seemed above it. Not undeserving of it. Just... above.
But this feeling is horrible. And Cloud knows it's only a fraction, an echo of what he must feel.]
...Look. When someone gets into SOLDIER, they get mako showered, right? ...Firsts get something extra. S'why they're so strong. They get Jenova cells transplanted into them. [ Via G cells, normally. But that... is something that can wait.] ...You're stronger than them. Much stronger. Because with you, you...
[....This is awful.]
... Your mother was implanted with Jenova's cells while she was pregnant. You're the result. The you I remember, from Nibelheim, believed what Gast did, before he learned the truth. That Jenova was a cetra, and that you were the last one. And that the planet was your birthright.
[He remembers Gast, even if the recollection is blurred along the edges by the passage of time, like a smeared painting or a photograph left out too long in the sun — one of the few men in the research and science division that he had grown to respect, his kindness uncharacteristic for a man of his standing and chosen career at Shinra.
To learn from Cloud that he suddenly fits into this overall narrative is just one more shock piled on top of the rest; to learn that Aerith is his daughter is yet another, one that hardly has time to settle along with everything else the man is telling him.
Because that everything else is heavy, so much, that Sephiroth’s mind shores itself up, doles out nigh disbelief, for lack of a better way to process it.
He’s told of a virus and its hungry, warping nature, ravaging an ancient civilization so long before their time. Of Shinra finding such a monster and stealing its cells away to give to the strongest of their armies, the SOLDIERs who fight their wars and end their conflicts for them. For a moment, it makes his skin crawl (even though this revelation should be nothing that surprises him, given what he knows of Angeal and Genesis), as though he is suddenly aware of an invasiveness come to light, years late.
If only that were the worst of it.
The world warps a little when Cloud speaks of his mother and the circumstances behind his birth. There is the pressing issue of how he even knows this, even with years of experience and assumed knowledge ahead of his own time, but that takes a backseat to the implications of this new revelation. A truth that makes their Bond twist for the malaise and confusion and discontent between them.
It is more than mere invasiveness, then. Whatever Shinra did to him, likely what Hojo did to him, is so twined in his body that there is no differentiation between where Sephiroth begins and the experimentation ends. A monster in his veins. Just like his friends had feared, on their own terms.
For a moment, he has no words, allowing only their Bond to smother them in its twisting uncertainty.]
You’re saying that I'm built from a monster's DNA.
[This is the crux that Cloud will have to unstick him from, else no other revelation will sink in; even the relayed information about misinterpreting his heritage takes a backseat to the core of his self being shaken.]
[The feeling twists and lurches, and he feels like he's going to be sick. The fire at his back feels too hot, His stomach roils and revolts, every muscle in his body feels like they're tensed up to the point of tearing. His knuckles are white- the soil they press into feeling like shards of glass. Every breath hurts.
It's not his feeling, he has to keep reminding himself. It's Sephiroth's. The uncertainty though- it hurts.]
You're like anyone else. ...I'm. not exactly a scientist. But it was explained to me. You're a mixture of your mother's DNA, and your father's. She altered hers. The parts of you that're her, are modified. But you're still human.
[He means it in more ways than the technicalities, in ways that would imply that he still carries something dreadfully inhuman in him, a difference that sets him apart by degrees he could have never accounted for. Certainly in ways that he never wanted. It is hard to soften that hard reality in his mind, lined with edges as it is — Cloud’s attempt is only a small balm against a vast chasm of insecurity that he’s kept hidden for a long time, an abyss with a depth hard to judge until it all falls to pieces. Until he snaps, like the other man had seen, couched in the fires of Nibelheim. (Or in the doomsday sky of Meteor, an even more significant revelation that he remains ignorant to.)
Still, Cloud’s movement to turn and set his eyes upon him is magnetizing, causing Sephiroth to lift his gaze, in turn, to fix those cat-eyes on him. They’re sharp but churning, like their Bond trying to squeeze the life out of both.
Even now, it is hard to enunciate how he feels, despite how obvious it must be between the two men. That closed-off space that Sephiroth resides in is ever a hard line for him to cross, even with news that could shatter the earth beneath his feet, and his attempt to do so is middling— faltering.]
But I’m still not like you. Not like anyone. How can you tell me what you’ve just said, and not say that I’m no different than the rest of Shinra’s projects? Another— experiment.
[An experiment. It's a word with a certain connotation to Cloud- a Not Very Good one for sure, and something which... is disarming. It wasn't this man that stood in his memories of Nibelheim as it burned. It wasn't this man that told him he was an experiment. A nameless one- that latched onto a young woman's memories of a younger, stupider boy, and believed himself as him.
Lies, of course. He knows that now. Words carefully chosen to hurt, to destroy- But what had told him that wore Sephiroth's skin. It used his mouth to form the very same word. With different emphasis, different meaning than this, yes, but... just that enough to elicit a long, silent sigh from the younger of the pair, a movement of his eyes away to signal conceding that point.
Cloud didn't know, so he couldn't argue it. He'd seen the fallout from Project G, most certainly. In both the Genesis copies as well as the fact he knew Zack took Angeal down, but he hadn't known enough about what was really going on to reference Angeal as another person of which had been altered the same way as Sephiroth had- in utereo. Much less make the comparison to bolster his point of that procedure not making any sort of difference with regard to humanity. That was something only Zack could do. And...
Obviously, he wasn't here. So he's silent for a few seconds, before he raises his eyes to him once more.]
You're different from their experiments. Believe me, I know. You're you. What they did to augment you was terrible. There's no getting around that. They weaponised you, lied to you, used you as a one-man army to settle their shit for them for all of your life.
[He keeps staring him right in the face.]
...My eyes. You never asked. I guess you just assumed I made SOLDIER eventually, right? Well, I didn't. Standards never got that low. [A faint pause.] I don't remember any of it. Don't care to, either. But listen to me- as one of their experiments, I can tell you. You're nothing like any of Hojo's mistakes. You were born in a fucked up way, sure. Raised about the same. But you're you, right? You're not Jenova, just like you're not the woman that carried you. ...Or your father.
[Hojo. Given, well, that shared mania. But possibly someone else, at least in his mind- given a sad story in a crypt once. A pending act of revenge. Little did he know.]
...Just like anyone else isn't defined by who brought them into the world. SOLDIERs get Jenova cells transplanted into them, right? You're different only because of how.
[Another pause. And, reluctantly:]
...Look. I can show you what a monster is.
But you need to know two things. First, is I'm not who you remember from Nibelheim. If different timelines exist at the same time- [...Fuck the science behind it. He's not a sciency type. What is, is. That's enough.] - then who you remember's a version of me, right. Someone who isn't me any more.
...Just like the you I remember from Nibelheim isn't you now. You've...
[A shake of the head. That could wait.]
...Second, is it's not pretty. You need to know that.
[Cloud spins a foreign argument to Sephiroth — comparison, like to like. The glow of his eyes had always been a curiosity, though he had begun to wonder at their origin, given their extended conversations about Shinra and what happened to the man afterwards. A SOLDIER’s eyes, yes, but not a SOLIDER’s loyalty any longer. They burn into his features much like Sephiroth’s own do, of course, permanent proof of the company’s mark left on them. Experiments.
It is hard for Sephiroth to view someone as the same as him, not always out of pride, but the distance wedged between himself and the world over the years. But Cloud’s words work to bring them to a similar level, coupled with reassurances that do not take away from the wrongness of his past, but validate the humanity that still resides at his core. He cannot latch onto them fully, or confidently — such bone-deep uncertainties are not so easily banished in a single conversation — but they are grounding enough for him to wonder at, later. And to focus on what the other man is saying now.
Mention again of his real mother. A father, too. He wonders at what else he knows about them. But his reply overrides all of that, uncaring for the talk of timelines and their alternate realities, not when he can take what he’s learned today and figure out where the pieces fit later.
Like steel—]
I don’t care. What you’ve told me doesn’t paint a flattering picture. None of it does.
[And yet he asked for this truth, in all its raw ugliness, even if it feels suffocating, or like claws digging into his heart.]
[It's not exactly enough to dispel everything. He feels it, in his gut- the way their shared bond transplants Sephiroth's feeling into him. He feels that his heart's in his throat, that everything seems only moments away from spiralling away from him- far, far out of control and with no semblance of any kind of hope of ever catching up with it.
But what he says makes it change, slightly. It feels like it's been pushed down- shoved down, actually- just a little bit. But, firmly, and in a flat manner, far from what Sephiroth's accustomed to:]
You should care. It's not flattering. But you need to care, because it's not you. Not yet. ...You've got a choice to make. I can only show you what happens when you don't know what I've told you, and when you don't pack up your shit, and leave Nibelheim.
[He turns his head away, finally, and ... yeah, he needs to breathe. He shoves his back against the others.]
The 'you' I'm going to show you didn't have that choice. Doesn't make him anything like who you are. You've got to understand that.
[Sephiroth’s lips press into a hard frown, Cloud’s words once again hammering home the point — that this will be unkind, whatever he sees. That he must remember that it is a future that hasn’t happened, that there are choices that can still be made to circumvent whatever ‘monster’ will be put on display for him.
Easier said than done. Something he will choose to accept or reject only after he has seen what exists in the other’s memory.
With eyes like steel, yet a heart twisting in his ribs—]
Like I said. Show me.
[—his hand reaches for Cloud’s without hesitation. Their Bond churns, overwhelming, heated, desperate.]
[Maybe this couldn't be done. Maybe after all of this, there would be nothing to show for it. Someone... actually getting in had only happened in the Lifestream. Someone normal anyway. The thing that took Sephiroth's form had managed it well enough on their world regardless.
But like he said, that wasn't this man. If he had that power even while he was alive, (doubtful. But who knew, really?) he wasn't aware of it. Maybe this'd all be for shit, and frustration was all that awaited them. But maybe... maybe some part of the Lifestream clung to him. Wasn't exactly something that just went away. Perhaps their bond would facilitate it somewhat. Who knew? Regardless, it was worth a shot.
He doesn't respond to the other's demand. Instead, all he does is close his eyes- his eyebrows furrowing faintly in concentration.]
...
[Seconds pass. ...Minutes(?) pass. And.
The second that Sephiroth would perhaps decide to speak, perhaps even to tell him to hurry it up, or even question the validity of method, he should find they're no longer in a clearing.
All around them is blank. Whereas someone else, some time ago, may have seen things- odd refractions of light in the distance indicating synapses firing, planets even, as indicator of thought- the area around them is distinctly filled with...
well, nothing. There's no real smells, either. There's three paths. Two are blocked off, again with... well, what seems like nothing. Incredulously, they're blocked. But with what seems undeterminable. Even describing what impedes vision, movement beyond the end of said paths is a difficult thing to do.
But one, to the north, shows what should be a familiar sight. The gates of Nibelheim.
Should Sephiroth cross the boundary, the shock of icy, mountain air should fill his lungs. The underside of his boots should be marred with dirt different to the lush soil of the woodland he'd previously been in. This kind is acrid. More sand than anything.
...And he should detect two things. One, something's following him. It's a humanoid shape, but it's entirely dark. And in front...
A child drops from the creaking watertower before him. He's ...scrawny. Eight years old, perhaps, but his size is more fitting for a 6 year old. His hair's long, pulled back into a clumsy ponytail, bright, and...
...well. Certainly in need of a good brush. His clothes are clean, but far too big for him. And his arms are littered with bruises and scrapes. A band-aid is actually placed on his cheekbone, and his face looks scraped up in other places, too. Fighting? Some of his bruises look like fingermarks. So fighting... probably.
Most apparent though, are the child's knees. Scarred. Deeply. Probably permanently. That injury seems far beyond any fight.
It shouldn't be difficult to determine who he is, even with (minor) injuries and said scarring. As he lands, he points his weapon- a sharp stick- at Sephiroth.]
Once, we wanted to meet you. Me most of all! I never wanted you here though. But he insisted.
[A gesture to the figure. It's standing now. Silent. Motionless.]
Don't mind him. He's just- Wait- you don't care about that, right? You just want to see what he promised you.
[Another point of said stick.]
He trusts you... But I don't. It's my job to look after him. So don't try anything. Okay?
[He thinks nothing will happen when minutes pass. Sephiroth is a patient man, usually, but the information doled out to him has set his mind hungry for a truth that is fed to him only in small increments. Heavy, hard, impossible to fathom at times — but not the whole of it, and not what will satisfy him and his innate need to know more than he should. And so he nearly opens his eyes and shatters the whole method to pieces, until—
Until he’s in a place surrounded by nothingness. Until the only available path takes him forward to the sight of familiar gates, the mountain air coiling cool in his lungs. How strangely surreal, this place— carved from memory? Pulled out from the depths of Cloud’s mind, his subconscious thought? It must be, he thinks, when the young boy — scraped and bruised at the knees — approaches him. When he twists his attention away from the dark figure elsewhere to pay attention to what must be Cloud as a child speaking, pointing that stick at him in a laughable manner of defense.
...
Sephiroth is still frowning, brow pulled tightly together when he replies.]
Who else is here with us?
[That figure; it might not be part of what he requested to see, but is not everything in this impossible space relevant?]
I don't answer to you. Telling you won't help him, so...
[A bright laugh escapes the child at that, reverberating throughout the town as if it's, impossibly, coming from multiple directions all at once- note for note perfectly aligning. He turns on his heels and starts to walk.]
So I'm only going to answer questions that're important. But you get this one! Only because you don't understand how this works yet.
...It's him. Cloud. You thought I was him, pulled from the past? Nope! I protect him. And you need to understand that. I was created to protect him. It's what I do- and what I'll always do. It's the most important thing in the world to me.
[A swish of his stick accompanies that- with a loud clack against the side of a house. He stops to give it a few more whacks. Clearly, whatever apparition this is, it's a little hooligan.
...He moves his gaze from where he'd hit the house, and then focuses on Sephiroth. And his face seems to sober, his tone turning solemn.]
Couldn't protect him from you, though. Not that time. But this is different. I switched off everything you can hurt him with. Just in case. So...
[His gaze shifts beyond Sephiroth's figure, to the darkened figure. It's motionless, but it's also moved. Just a meter behind the SOLDIER.]
So he's good. let's go.
[Instantly, everything around them changes. They're literally right outside the Nibelheim reactor. An infantryman stands just in front of the walkway leading up to the bastardisation of steel, cabling and iron- and the ground underneath them seems all the more unsteady. Giant, grasping tubes connect the reactor to the earth, cementing it's hold into the ravaged, pallid, sickly-looking ground.]
I skipped the dragon. We both know you're really cool, so it's kind of pointless to show it again, huh.
[A girl stands in front of the infantryman. She's barely a teenager. She looks exasperated. The child walks through them both.]
C'mon!
[He walks inside. Something... seems off. Almost immediately, actually. The identification numbers on the reactor's components seem jumbled, scrambled. A mixture of letters and numbers which... while Sephiroth certainly wouldn't know their correct order, would still perhaps seem... different to things he's probably passed enough times to know the right configuration.
Let alone other things.]
Soooooo. Um... This isn't his memory. Zack went in with you, right? Everything here is uh... kind of... borrowed. From what Zack told him about what happened. It's new for you though, right? This is the first time you visited the reactor.
[The smell is accurate at least. If it's ...pretty apparent outside, it's enough to make anyone's head spin inside. And it only increases the lower and lower they get. Eventually, they come to the bottom of a ladder, the end of a catwalk, and...
This sort of reactor configuration isn't as standard as what first appears. Where a converter should lie at the end of the mako containment bay, instead, there's another room. The child seems to hesitate, his boots scraping along the corrugated iron floor.]
You and Zack went through here. Through this door...
[The dark blue of his eyes seems to grow darker- almost black.]
...You asked for this. Remember that.
[The room, even with Sephiroth's (extensive) knowledge of reactors, should be entirely foreign. At the center is a long, steep staircase- surrounded by multiple rows upon rows of ...strange looking pods. To cool mako, perhaps? That should be right, if the blue indicators which pierce through the dim gloom of this room are anything to go by.
Mako cooling is innocuous enough. Most reactors did it. But here, in some unmapped, udocumented room which sure as hell shouldn't be any part of any blueprint of any revision Sephiroth would have been aware of? Perhaps Sephiroth would see it for what it was. Perhaps he would recognize it for what could only be- Unstandard. Unsanctioned. Hojo's handiwork.
Thick, membranous pipes litter all around the staircase. It's almost as if they're pulsing- humming with the mako they transport to and from said pods. At the back- at the very top of the stairs, is another door.
Inside, two tall men are talking. One has wild hair, and a ...gullotine of a sword at his back- his arms crossed, pensively, in front of him. The other one is dressed all in black. He's... standing at the top of the stairwell, attempting to open yet another door. One which appears to have no control panel. The man with dark hair speaks.
This is... Jenova, right? It won't open.
The man in black does not deign to answer. Instead, he walks down the stairs. His eyes examine the connectors of each row of pods as he passes. And, at the bottom row...
This is the reason for the malfunction. This part is broken. Zack, close the valve.
He walks away. And the dark-haired man rolls his shoulders, before settling in front of the pod. Upon returning to the man in black...
Why did it break?
There's no answer to be had. The dark haired man tilts his head, even raises a broad arm to toy with the finer spikes at the back of his head. Meanwhile, the man in black has found another pod. So, he looks inside. His eyes widen. But he steps down, bringing a gloved hand to his face. His eyes are both piercing, and distant.
Now I see, Hojo. ...But doing this will never put you on the same level as Professor Gast.
The dark-haired man tilts his head. He opens his mouth in a faint 'huh?' and the man in black's eyes snap back to him.
This is a system that condenses and freezes mako energy. That is, when it's working correctly. Now. What does mako become when it's further condensed?
A playful question. Or is it playful? Something in the man in black's tone certainly has a playful element- as if commenting on a little faux pas the other had made on the way over- but it's also clinical. Starkly so.
In complete asymmtery, the dark haired man looks at the ceiling.
Uh... ummm... Oh yeah!!
The dark-haired man snaps his fingers, and grins, clearly pleased that he knew the answer to this question. ....He really was like a puppy. One might even expect a tail to wag.
It becomes Materia!
The man in black seems hardly affected by such a display. His eyes are still wondering- still distant.
Right, normally. But Hojo put something else in there. ...Take a look.
He steps aside. The dark-haired man hoists himself up, to do so.
....And he falls down. His eyes are wide with shock- his face pale. The whites of his eyes are apparent, and he's gasping- as if he's just seen a ghost.
Wha-What is that?!
The man in black seems unaffected. If anything, his voice is glacial.
Normal members of SOLDIER are humans that have been showered with mako.
His voice lowers. He mumbles something small. Something nondescript. ...Something personal.
'You're different from the others, but still human.'
Then his voice returns to normal. But what are they? They've been exposed to a far higher degree of mako than you.
The dark haired man picks himself up. Is this some kind of monster?
The man in black nods. Exactly. And it's Hojo of Shinra that produced these monsters. Mutated living organisms produced by mako energy. That's what these monsters really are.
The dark haired man's brws are furrowed. His eyes follow the man in black, even as he turns away.
Normal members of SOLDIER? You mean you're different?
The man in black holds his head in his hands. Should Sephiroth have the urge to approach, the child would hold his stick before him.]
Don't. These aren't his memories. They're unstable. The whole thing could collapse if you mess with it, and you wanted to see, right?
[The child falls silent when the dark-haired man reaches out for the man in black.
H-hey, Sephiroth!
No... Was I?
Instantly, his sword is out. He slashes one pod apart instantly, a burst of acrid fluid tearing forth from the blow- hissing as it hits the floor. It's all the dark-haired man can do to jump clear.
Was I created this way, too?
Another pod is practically split in two at the next blow. Split in half lengthways- then diagonally- again and again.
Am I the same as all these monsters?
The dark haired man tries. He really does.
Sephiroth...
The man in black strikes the pod, over and over. Even when the platform is coated in hissing, burning mako, the creture inside is pulped, and all that there is to strike is shards of the metal it was forged from. Still, he strikes.
You saw it!! All of them... were humans...
The dark-haired man doesn't get it, still.
Human?! No way!
The man in black seperates himself from the very, very totalled pod.
Ever since I was small I've felt... ...That I was different from the others. Special, in some way.
His head lowers. He shakes it.
But... Not like this...
WARNING. WARNING. MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING. REPEAT. MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING. WARNI-
It's instantaneous. Something explodes. Fortunately for the both of them, it's a pod which is on the upper shingled row. It shakes and it vibrates- an odd sound comes from it- a scream? And then... the front of it is entirely ripped off. Mako comes out in jets from it- and the front is blown several meters from where it once stood.
Curled up, against the door, in a foetal position, is a creature. It has no lips. It's mottled blue and green scale, a series of hardened tumors, hands twisted into claws, mutated bone growing outward from the skin into sharpened tusks and horns. It's fearsome indeed, but it's no arm to anyone, this thing. It's entirely blind, grasping at nothing in the air, its every breath sounding like a fish out of water, drowning in oxygen. Perhaps the only indicator of what, or who it was is a set of human legs. The rest of it....
Is nightmarish.
It screams again- this time, a dim echo of the high-pitched shriek it gave while inside the pod- and...
...And it dies. Instantly.
The scenery changes. They're both standing at Nibeheim's town square again. And:]
You thought you were just like those things. You never learned the truth.
Edited 2020-06-27 16:47 (UTC)
☆ closed | nier 「 aeflix & not talk about your feelings 」
The TV is garbage. He's not really looking at it, not really listening to it, and honestly, he's got no idea if they're still on what appears to be a bunch of period rednecks yelling about another group of ...people... beating them out on bidding for some abandoned storage lot, or whether they're on some show about ..dating(?) and handing out roses and ...pretty much having some kind of harem of women which... all... happen to inexplicably be... marketing assistants. Or the one where a ...peppy set of identical twins try and peppily(?) convince some morons that the shithole they live in can't be flipped for double what they paid for it. Because. It's a shithole.
It's shit, pretty much. Everything they've watched has been shit. But it doesn't occur to him to complain.
He's barely watching it. instead, his gaze has drifted to what's underneath his head, a human torso- something that's usually cold, but time, and his temple resting against it, has made almost body temperature.
...He hasn't moved in hours. But he's not asleep, he's sure. He knows it- He's too accustomed by now to what his man does in his sleep, how his fingers, presently nestled at the back of his head, nails against his scalp always tighten- how he makes fists as he dreams- presumably fighting against his demons there, too.
He's not asleep. He'd be missing a good chunk of hair if he was, and his hand is heavy as it rests with its full weight at the back of his head, but the fingertips through his hair are light. So.
He turns his head, to look at him.]
...Probably time we ate something.
[That's not how to talk about your feelings, Cloud.]
[ he’s been observing — very vaguely, more like a specter than a person. the details phase past his mind as his eyes glaze over. there’s a laugh track here there, some man in cargo shorts yelling flippantly, too many roses, an overpriced wedding dress and a belligerent mother, something called New Jersey. hell if he knows. he’s braced against cloud, and their body temperatures intermingle to provide a sense of equilibrium as per usual.
of course, they are everything but. nier has hardly spoken in days, if at all. it’s hard, rexperiencing the loss of his family again. he’d thought it would get easier. that he was going through the motions, that death would save him from the pain — after all, he’d existed in numbness for 3 years. been nothing, not a single feeling shackled to him.
but the pain is fresher than ever. it’s accompanied by the what-ifs — the realization that things could have been different.
he tosses again, silently. a hand lingers against cloud’s breastbone. and then slowly, his chin tilts up, and he meets his gaze somewhat absent mindedly before sitting up and scooting back to give him room. ]
I’m not hungry. [ he isn’t. but the paleness of just skin is enough to signify that he needs blood regardless. ]
[It's a weight, the both of them are afflicted by. It's uncompromising, unyeilding- and honestly, it makes moving difficult. Makes basic self-care seem impossible, and... honestly, a lot of him wants to just sink back down. Nier... doesn't talk. He doesn't ask questions. He's preoccupied with his own weight- dwelling on his own thoughts, so much that he leaves Cloud to his own.
It's preferable, just moving back down. Just pressing his body against his in their mutual comfort. Not talking, not asking anything, returning to the same thoughts he's been meandering through for the past few days, setting aside, revisiting, reorganizing, and remulling them over.
But.
His hand rises to lightly trace his palm against Nier's cheek. He'd.. always had prominent cheekbones. But they're more so now- and the paleness of his skin doesn't seem right. Normally? It's... just like his cheekbones. Genetic. Probably part of what made him conventionally, quite good looking. Now, the paleness seems less pretty, and more sallow. His cheekbones are more prominent. Almost hollowing out his cheeks. ]
Yeah.
[His voice is low. He withdraws his hand.]
First things first.
[Getting up... He doesn't want to. But he does- with an exhale, moving to their kitchen. Reheating blood is... honestly, something he's used to by now. He still can't cook worth a shit, he's sure. But he's seen how Nier puts water into a pan, puts it on the stove, then puts the container of blood in the water and brings the lot just shy of boiling enough times to not fuck it up.
...Much, anyway.
Some time passes before he returns. When he does, it's with said blood, decanted into a soup bowl, the bowl itself having a straw haphazardly put into it. For himself, he's got a fleshy bone.
...Cold, because he's got no idea about heating that one to some imitation of body temperature. Not his preference. But he'd manage.]
Was getting myself something anyway.
[Spoken after said bowl's been handed over, and he's sat down again. This time, he keeps his distance- giving the bone a faint bite, then... putting it to the side. Not in the mood.]
...
[He reaches for him, this time easing him to lie on him. ...Which might be the reason for a straw with the soupbowl, rather than a spoon.]
[ cloud's touch only barely whisks right past him; it registers, vaguely, like a speck of dust floating against his cheek. he blinks, and his eyes flicker towards him before blinking shut.
the scent of copper stretches across the apartment. it's sharp and cutting, and nier's ears perk up, the instincts of a hunter jolting him awake. reflexively, he sniffs before cloud approaches the couch with a bowl. it's passed into nier's hands, and he looks up, features stagnant as takes pause. then there's a nod. ]
...Thank you. [ nier admits softly. "you didn't have to," would follow after had he not been so worn and torn. it goes unsaid, and he lets out a breath as cloud guides his head against his chest before gingerly sipping through the straw. ]
...Um. [ his voice is meek in a way it hasn't been in over 5 years. ] If you have somewhere to be, that's fine...
[Well. That wasn't entirely true. Or it was- Nier's hardly bad company, and the man has always had a way of making him want to be around him. This strange, unvocalised mutual grief wasn't an exception to that. But it also wasn't. He's ....upset. There was Tifa. Even if the worry about her trail just vanishing dissipated with the coven's later announcement that people had simply been returned home, rather than something awful happening to them was something, it still...
It still felt awful. In a uniquely selfish sense- something that, all considered, he really shouldn't have been upset about, because being upset was selfish. She was back there, she was home- she was safe. Right now she was probably telling the others, they were probably on their way to Cosmo Canyon, and Bugenhagen would know about this place, right? She was fine.
But... even if she was fine... It's selfish to feel this way. But being ashamed about it doesn't make it less of a feeling. He still misses her. Bitterly.
Zack, too. And that- that was different. His presence was something that'd been lost, forgotten. Or rather the feelings that came with Zack's presence- being entirely at ease- every single horrible thought at the back of his mind silenced- replaced with actually feeling ...happy, content, ...safe? only came with him. And it'd been such a long time since he'd experienced it, he'd... forgotten he ever felt that way. He'd been reminded with him turning up here.
And now, it's like... Like that part of him never existed, again.]
But uh... [Meekness to answer meekness.] If you need time to yourself, I can take off for a while. [Even if he's got no idea where he'd go. It's not like he wants to go do a few jobs.] If you want.
[ when he speaks, there is a faint rumble of his chest that lulls him with ease. with little to say, nier peers his head up at cloud. there’s an implicit “thank you” in his eyes and how they glisten for a passing second, but that’s before he brushes up against him again and scoots closer. ]
...No. Stay here.
[ as selfish as ever. this, however, was more demanding than the usual. after they’d left, he’d been fraught with a sickness. it was an obsession, a recounting of all that happened and all that could be. it was as though he’d been completely aimless again — and hit with the grief of loss, reexperiencing it like a wound that had been violently pried open.
it was stupid. every bit of it was stupid. ]
...If you need to go out, I’ll come with you. I can still work.
['Go out.' He should've said go out. The thought runs through his head to say it, just. You know. In case he himself sounded demanding, or needy- but it's combined with another one. Of doubling down. Of adding 'without you' to it, even if it barely-
...Dogbrain. It's probably his changes, the way he thinks now that formed the suggestion, and after consideration of that, clarifying via saying anything would sound... really weird. A good couple of seconds have passed. So silence suffices. He sinks down a little when Nier rerests his head against him, an arm trailing, absently, up his jerkin.
It's not exactly a gesture meant to elicit a reaction. He couldn't, right now. Even if he wanted to- it's just something which... well, it's affectionate. His knuckles trace every bump of his lower spine before his hand rests at the back of his ribs, and saying anything else seems unneeded.
[Several days later, they're... more or less in the same position. ...Literally. Days were spent sleeping, with the curtains drawn and the dim sounds of the TV in the background. Nights were spent awake, staring at some invisible space behind or within the TV set, past the figures displayed on it, past recordings of empty lots for auction, past... all of it.
They move, of course. ...Sometimes.
They switch position every so often. They've got a rotation of who goes and heats up some of a now very dwindling supply of food. Bathroom visits, of course, are required. As well as cleaning away what food (Cloud, mostly) has bypassed. But it's auto-pilot. Cloud, in particular, hadn't really paid attention to himself at all- ignoring the fact his shoulders, neck and shoulder blades were... furred through days of not exactly caring enough to go through the usual removals.
Tonight's like every other night. They're there, on the sofa, this time Nier's lying down on it and Cloud's lying on him- staring, vacantly, beyond the television set, until something seems to strike him.
He moves his head up, to look down at the other man.]
[ it'd been remiscent of the days spent during the very first week of those 5 years — of course this time, there hadn't been a wound to account for or justify the bedrest. it was his own misery, and little else beyond the company of another man. nier had grown accustomed to nonexistence and the stagnance that had come with it; that's why he melts into cloud, forfeiting his sentience for the coming days. he is nothing, he feels nothing—
except he does. there's a tangent source of warmth right next to him. when he shifts his back or chest against him, every fibre, every molecule of his becomes real again, reaffirmed by the faint shuffle of clothing or scratch of skin. cloud had been the only tether to reality he had in this moment.
when he speaks, it slices through the white noise, causing it disentagrate to dust. his ears pop, and his eyes settle onto cloud's face. ]
...
[ birthday. the frail, delicae voice of a girl, wishing him well. ]
Yeah.
[ the volume of his has been quieted by days of silence, alongside the subject matter. ]
[A shift, and an arm is brought up in order to glance his fingertips against Nier's face. It's just a few degrees above glacial, indication of their shared body temperature like this- but the point of which to collect some of his hair, from where it'd curled at his cheek and looked pretty close to his eye.
...It's getting pretty long now. Regardless, the offending piece is looped behind his ear, and his hand moves back, resting, along with his forearm, on his chest. And then his head rests on top of that.]
I got you something. It's not here though.
[Slight pause.]
...I get it, if you don't wanna move. It can wait. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Just, uh. If you want to, we can.
[ if it’s getting long, he doesn’t notice. all things considered, he should, especially when the strands graze against his shoulders, limp and jagged at their ends. but he doesn’t. a little insecurely, he rakes his fingers through one of his locks.
and then cloud says that. right. it’s met with a blink, at first — slow, the lack of a reaction born from confusion. and then with a gradual parting of the lips... ]
Um. Yeah.
[ a beat. ]
You didn’t have to do that. [ a sheepish nod of the head. ] Thank you, Cloud...
[The thanks is... kind of embarrassing. It's met with his eyes drifting to the side, a swallow, and... a little while before they return to his face. With his fingertips catching in the folds of Nier's jerkin. That's... pretty usual, isn't it? It's not doing something that causes him the embarrassment. It's what he did being recognized.
That part of him's intact, at least.]
Yeah, it's outside. At that place you showed me a while back. With the flowers you planted there. That place.
[If the merchant remembered, that is. He'd arranged the drop off. Paid through the nose for it too. He better've.]
So. You want to go? Like I said, nothing bad's going to happen if you want to give it a few days. But we can, if you're up to it.
[ as capable as he is of boosting morale, nier is seldom a man of words. now, even moreso — so he deigns to leave the thoughts whirling about in his head. quiets them, just for a moment, to lean in and press a kiss to cloud’s cheek.
nothing more is needed for him to rise to his feet, steadily, like a tree erecting from a sprout. while peering at cloud from behind his shoulder. ]
[The full moon, compared to everything else, wasn't so much of a killer this month. Small mercies, he guessed. Or, maybe it was exactly as horrible as it'd always been and he didn't want to process it. Who knew.
What he did know, was that the wolf, at the end of a long night of who knew what, had developed some sort of penchant for barging its way into the apartment complex, into a certain bedroom, and jumping up on the bed, curling next to said bed's owner. It... wasn't exactly the cleanest way to do it. Changing back was something just as disgusting as changing. Something that took a hell of a lot longer, too. He'd probably ruined more than a few sets of bedding with the blood, for a start.
But Nier had never complained. He knew, by now, that Cloud would be next to useless for the day and night after. Exhausted, after that. On the third day, he'd stir. If only to burn the wolfskin that'd taken its sweet time peeling off of him, and then...
...Then he'd get up. He'd do things. Repierce his ear, for a start. Speak. Talk. Go on jobs, maybe even accompany Nier on a few first if he'd had a particuarly bad time with the transformation.
That was usual, anyway. But this time...
It's the third day, but he's not stirring. Instead, he's bundled up in seemingly all of the bedding Nier owns, on the side of the bed, lying on his side, trying to appear as if he's asleep, even if his breathing, for a start, is a dead giveaway he's not.
With his body temperature, far away from him, bundled up like that, he must be cooking himself from the inside out. Any statement would be met with silence. Any attempt to reclaim some of the ruined bedsheets? A sharp movement of his body, away.
yeah, nier had never minded — none of cloud’s mannerisms or routines had come to bother him. not the shedding or bloodletting, not the way he would disrupt his sleep cycles, rousing him from slumber by roiling in their bed. he’s gone through more bedding than he can keep track of, but it’s a labor of love, really.
he also happens to have the patience of a saint despite being the antichrist.
there’s a pronounced lack of heat, though, and it leaves him more uncomfortable than he’d care to admit. nier holds himself, shifting about uncomfortably...until he crooks his head up to stare at cloud for a few minutes. intently at that.
alright, he’s had enough.
wordlessly, nier rolls on over, until cloud is pressed to the very edge of the bed...and yanks him closer, until his arms are wound around him and that bundle of bedding. and if cloud fights it, as he inevitably will, nier will simply opt to settle right on top of him. ]
[Cloud inevitably fights. As well as he can anyway, considering he's currently cocooned. Which. Isn't that well at all. An arm- slick with blood, vaguely shiny in the odd way that new skin ...well, was- emerges from the bundle, elbow pitching itself at the other man.
...Yeah, that didn't work. Difficult to get the right kind of momentum. Angle's funny too, so his elbow simply clacks against something, Nier's shoulder, or bicep maybe, and he finds himself yanked onto his back and promptly laid upon and...
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, that's uncomfortable.
Nier's bigger than him. Heavier too, but it's not exactly that which is the source of his discomfort. It's more the fact that he's lying on something uncomfortable at the base of his spine. The discomfort causes his eyebrows to crease, but he doesn't say anything. It'd give it away, and ...
God, this is too embarrassing.]
Nothing!
[Too much of a reaction? Shit. He looks to the side, trying to will the colour away from his face.]
Just tryin' to sleep.
[...Something's moving under the covers. beating on them, feebly, underneath them both. Shit. It's... wagging at the sight of him. He moves his head to the side, closing his eyes.]
Leave me alone.
[...Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Why won't it stop.]
[ the discomfort does not go unnoticed. it’s a cause for concern, mostly, and nier’s eyes settle on cloud’s face, observing even the most subtle reactions.
well, most of them aren’t subtle at all. nier sits upright, and his feet are flat against the bed as he straddles him. there is...something faintly thumping underneath them. he can feel a swish, a repetitive movement and pressure that’s creating friction between them and the sheets. ]
What is that?
[ you know. that.
suddenly, nier leans in extremely close — until their faces are centimeters apart, and his lips brush up against cloud’s skin. his arms loop around his shoulders as his thighs clench around him...
before he abruptly turns them both over, reversing their positions in an attempt to expose him. ]
[The question doesn't get a response. Instead, it's answered only by a tightening of his eyebrows accompanied by a small exhale. Even if he can't see it, he can feel the weight of his gaze. So he swallows, shifting slightly as Nier's lips brush against him. Only as his arms move...]
Don't!
[Well. Okay. All the strength he's got over Nier, form and all, doesn't really do him a bit of good. Strength is one thing. Gravity is another. He's flipped over, unceremoniously at that, and.
... Yeah.
The coverings unravel. He's bare, of course. Exposed, without even his wolfskin serving to cover him up since that'd come off his skin some time ago. His position, being forced up and ... out like this would normally be embarrassing enough, but instead, he's...
... Yeah.
It's out. And it's quite long, actually. His tail is around 22 inches long. Long enough to probably end at his knees when standing. And it's also thick, a mixture of harsher, thinner, bristly long fur and softer, shorter, thicker fur. Two coats.
It's also sandy blonde in colour, not quite as bright as the hair on his head, but the bristlier fur even darker than the majority of it, and concentrated at the end.
It's a tail, all right. And it's startled- moving between his legs, and quickly at that.]
......
[He looks away. Again. Words're kind of failing him.]
[ well, the pieces come together, clicking in place. they go topsy turvy, and then suddenly cloud is in full view, bare and...
different. the long, stream of fur that’s whizzing back and forth, beating against nier’s leg whenever it comes down is...yeah, it’s a tail. nier blinks — and then inquisitively, he reaches out for cloud’s newfound furry appendage, gently gripping it by the end.
nier gives it an affectionate stroke, fingers running through the thickness of the fur and taking the time to rub at where it thins out. and then in his grip, he brings it to his lips, placing a kiss right against it. he’s got a mouth full of hair now, but he’s smiling regardless. ]
You’re too cute, Cloud...
[ it’s a bit teasing, but there’s no denying the warmth in his voice. ]
[It's not a grab. So it's not painful. The hold is gentle, and actually taking it was more an act of opening his hand and waiting for the stupid thing that seemed to move of its own accord to simply flop down into his palm and closing his fingers around it than actually reaching over and taking it- but the sensation of his hand on it, let alone the rubbing both makes him feel cold, and hot all at once.
It's a different heat than simple temperature. He has to take a sharp breath at the rub, specifically as he feels his lower stomach tighten. He's... god, he's hard already, pressing against Nier's stomach already, and the sight of Nier moving his lips against it, even as the fur probably tickles his face, as the stupid thing tries to wag all the harder, what he says- his acceptance, it's...
A lot.
A small, involuntary, sound leaves his throat. Honestly, despite the sight, despite the aforementioned acceptance (honestly. That. Maybe did the most for him), he'd still probably have elbowed him for his other comment if something else wasn't amiss.
It's at his front. And something inside him knows it takes priority over any small outburst. Something else feels weird...]
...!!
[His. ... His cock.
He gets off him. Quickly. The fur on his tail now, is more or less standing on end. And he tries to turn his back to him as he ...holds himself. Not out of any misguided desire to cover himself, or to see to himself, just... to see.
It's not bigger. Or smaller. Or longer. Or shorter. But there's... a lot different.
The head, for a start. It's tapered to the point of almost being triangular. Longer, shaped differently. Not like he knew how or why, (what could be said. Education, where he was from, was... pretty rudimentary and certainly didn't cover this kind of thing) or even the similarities to other creatures it now bears, but to him, as well-acquainted with his own cock as any man is, it's... different. Very much so. Colourwise, it's identical to how he'd last seen it, so some canine traits hadn't actually taken effect- but...
But.
It feels like there's something inside it- just at the base of his cock, maybe a few inches along it. It's... bulbous, sensitive, hard- (Little did he know, it'd get worse) and squeezing it makes his breath hitch, makes the room spin, just for a moment.
His voice is shaky when he speaks. Like he's seen a ghost.]
Something's wrong. ..Something else.
[Was this from going out into the wilde for so long?]
[Some days after a certain note had been left in a certain place, it's the dead of night. There's a knock at Aerith's bedroom door. It's... hesitant. Unsure. It's as if the person behind it seemed pensive, unsure.
...Because really, what was he doing? It's the middle of the night, Aerith's a girl- and honestly, said owner of said knock is honestly far too Concerned about the prospect of entering said girl's bedroom at the dead of night.
...It's not like he can retreat. It's done now, so there's a pause, telling, of some uncertainty, before he speaks. His tone, behind the door is unsure.]
[It's late enough that she should be asleep — she was always an early riser — but she's half-awake even before the familiar and unconscious pull of their Bond rouses her fully.
The message, when she'd gotten it, had upset her. She would've found a way to keep up, she had thought in immediate, kneejerk anger. But even she is not stubborn enough to hold onto this. At least he'd left a note at all. And so the anger had faded, and though she had known that his search was a futile one, she had hoped he might be able to find them.
But she knew. As surely as she'd known when Zack had joined the Planet again, all those years ago, and all she's left feeling now is a strange, weightless sort of empty. Hollow.
It's stupid to hold onto things, but she's got something in her hands when she hears the knock — a shirt much too big for her and likely too big for Cloud too, and at the sound she searches her room for somewhere to hide it before stuffing it under her pillow. It's dumb, he'll likely know, by scent if nothing else... but she doesn't want him to know how sad she is. It wouldn't do any good.]
I'm up!
[Sounding rushed, she opens the door and peers at him through a crack in it.
For a little while she is quiet, studying him. She reads what she knows on his face and sighs some, then opens the door altogether.]
[Perhaps it's a sign of immaturity, the fact that being in the same room with a woman, at night, seems to put him out so. But he's always been like that. In all of the inns they'd stayed in, as the group's defacto leader he saw to rooming arrangements and Yuffie, Tifa and Aerith, while she was with them- were always together. And honestly- even on odd occasions where he didn't have a choice- like when him and Tifa had shared the same jail cell, he'd always taken the floor.
As far away as he could.
It's stupid. This case is extra stupid. It's just a room, nothing more- one that used to belong to him of all people, and the hesitance is stupid. Just like airing what they desperately needed to talk about in a hallway, between a crack in said door.
But, until Aerith grabs him and shoves him in, he'll linger there, in that doorway. ]
They're gone. Both Tifa and Zack... as well as the other people from our planet.
[It's disarming. The fact that they're gone. But he couldn't exactly give a shit about a handful of turks and Rufus Shinra. He's only focused on two people.]
Tracked both Tifa and Zack out into the Wilde, further than where the outpost is. But a couple days into it, both of their tracks just vanished. No sign of any struggle either. Or anything that might've suggested a shade got 'em.
[He looks away at that, folding his arms at his torso, digging his nails into his bicep. And he inhales. And...]
The coven's made an announcement about it. They're saying everyone went home. That their connection here wasn't 'stable', whatever the hell that means.
[It's like him, to be uncomfortable at the notion of entering her room at night, even with an invitation, and she knows this, so she tries not to push just yet. Nevermind that the barrier of the door adds to the sense of isolation his news gives her: even knowing that it was likely to happen doesn't cushion the blow of it any. If anything, it feels almost worse. Cruel, to send them both, only to take them away.
She listens to this, and for a time is quiet. Hiding her emotions with the addition of their Bond is always a struggle, but she has had years of practice at this, and so what comes through is only muted resignation, barely there before being whisked away.]
... Yeah. I heard the announcement.
[She opens her mouth to say something, can't really think of anything. Strange. She usually has some kind of answer.
I'm fine. They're safe, right? That's... all that's important.
[Absolute bullshit. But his own feelings- voicing them- it's too selfish to go into. There's a telling pause before he offers something else, something small, something only really half-meant. If anything, because he doesn't need their bond to already know the answer.]
...What about you?
[A shift of his feet. He should probably-]
Look, uh... There's something you need to know. Sephiroth found me out there. Turns out he ran into 'em too. Tifa... [Of her and Zack, Her telling him is what made the most sense.] ...I told him everything. Couldn't not.
[The comment makes her wince some, thinking of Zack and what that meant, and there's the barest shake of her head.]
Don't worry about it.
[Which was not much of an answer, she knows, but it's not something she wants to think about either — her own feelings.
News of Sephiroth makes her quieter still, though she is not surprised by the news, only troubled. She does reach for his wrist though, through the gap in the door, gently tugs him forward.]
[Honestly, the pull... wouldn't have got Aerith very far. He's like a wall- and the tug she'd give on his arm wouldn't even throw him off balance. He's firm- rigid, and stiff as she does so, his only movement a creasing of his eyebrows. But he doesn't pull his arm back.
Instead, he only exhales a small sigh as he moves himself into the room, tapping the door shut with his foot. Then he takes his arm back, finding the farthest wall and shoving his back against it, his head moved to the side- gaze firmly on the floor.
...But he can't help but notice the room now. It... looks odd, the way it'd been previously decorated, but having her things in it.]
...I want to move. Us to move. The three of us need somewhere with more space.
[It's an idle statement. The thought behind it wasn't all that new. If anything, it'd come when Tifa and Zack had arrived. There was no way all of them could fit in the apartment. And being apart from either of them had seemed unthinkable. It'd, of course, been waylaid when they'd vanished. But...
...Still probably needed to be done. With, or without them. But more importantly:]
...He was horrified. Sephiroth, I mean. About all of it.
[She's not expecting him to move at all — he scarcely gives her any leeway when she tugs, his posture like stone. Then he moves in, silently, huddles himself against a wall like the room itself troubles him.
She hasn't changed too much, in the time since she's had it. Some of her things are scattered about — a spray of flowers in a pretty vase, a jacket hung on a chair, books on magic neatly stacked beside her ridiculous harlequin romance fiction. But otherwise it has the aura of a place unlived in, like she hasn't settled. Like she expects to leave at any moment.
She settles on the edge of the bed, her smile at his offer brief, thinks of Zack again, tries not to twist her hands in her lap.
Instead of bringing that up right away, however...]
I'm not surprised. He seems like a reasonable man. Here, at least. Ah, we — months ago, in the Wilde, we had a temporary Bond. I saw some of his childhood, and he saw some of mine.
[She plays with the edge of a throw blanket on her bed.] It helped me to understand, a little.
[This is a complicated topic. She rubs the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes.]
[What up tiny tailor, You're in for another visit! Except this time, Cloud doesn't exactly have any materials with him. Uh-oh. Was hunting bad, this time? Was there nothing out there? Or had this turnskin turned over a new leaf and gone vegetarian?
Who knew.
Something's obvious, though. Mainly the fact that said turnskin appears to have... a limp. He's certainly walking strangely, that's for sure. If Tataru's observant, she should notice an odd lump at the base of his spine. That, as well as a look of discomfort on his face.
Regardless:]
...Hi.
[Does he look embarrassed?]
Uh, you... make clothes, right? That's... what you do, yeah?
[He hoped so. It wasn't like he listened all that attentively to what his deliveries had been for in the past, but even then- he hoped it was tailoring. Anything else, with that many animal skins would be....
[Well, well! Look who it is! Cloud gets a smile out of her as he grabs her attention. Said smile though seems to dim once she realizes the discomfort on his face is beyond simply being awkward - something's wrong. Those are brows furrowed in mild pain.]
I do, yes. [He gets a little nod out of her.] What can I do for you Cloud? Are you...all right?
[He's not. He's so not. And pretending otherwise isn't exactly in service of anything. So. There's a slight exhale.]
Look, uh- This is probably gonna be a pain in the ass for you. [...And a pain above it for him.] So you can say no, if you want. But I spent time out in the wilde. Full moon happened... and I changed. Or... uh, some of me did.
[This is mortifying.]
You talked about your world when I did a delivery once. Eorzea, right? Found someone else from it. And the guy had a tail. I'm guessing pants made for guys like that is pretty common there.
[It's... not really like him to explain, overly. Or give a story, actually. But it's embarrassment that forces it.]
...Long story short, I've got one now. Was wondering if you could make me something to get by. [Without limping.] ...Or better, something that can hide it better than regular ones.
[And. Quickly-]
I've got money. So it's not like you'd be doing this for no payoff. If. You know, you've got time.
[Quietly she listens as Cloud begins to make his case for her to help him and she listens eagerly, if not sympathetically to his plight. He isn't the first Monster she's made clothes for and certainly won't be the last. Will it be a pain? No more so than it is to make clothing for anyone who isn't Lalafellian shaped. There's a soft giggle that she lets out, waving her hand as if to dismiss his worries.]
It really won't be any trouble at all, Cloud. Whatever you need, I can sew it!
[She's more than confident enough in her ability as a seamstress to pull off whatever he might need.]
I've certainly got time for you. It'll do you no good to be uncomfortable the way you are.
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☆ closed | sephiroth
Well, that was putting it lightly. He was a few days into his search. Out farther than he'd ever been before in the Wilde, following a trail that was growing more confusing, more difficult to explain with every mile. He'd wanted to tell him that whatever it was, it could wait. That right now wasn't a good time, that whatever it was, it'd keep until he got back. Until he could handle whatever it was.
But the words hadn't come out. Something in Sephiroth's voice had already suggested that it wasn't a matter for discussion, that he wanted a location, and that he wasn't being asked. Instead, he was being told to get ready for his arrival.
So he'd gone along with it.
At some point of the previous day, they'd met. At numerous other points in the day, they'd been forced to fight for their lives. It wasn't as if a single shade was much of a threat. Not really. They were dangerous, sure. In an unpredictable way- their tendency to absorb their surroundings, be said surroundings flora, fauna or both- and gain strength from it wasn't exactly anything that could be underestimated, even to those like them, who were used to monsters of most description.
But more so, groups of them?
That was a problem. A big one.
So it's now that they're beside a fire (much to Cloud's discomfort. Higher body temperature and all) if anything, because the fire, light, tended to keep the creatures away. And that was what they'd done. Cloud tended to stay awake at night. And in the darkness, he watched for shades. In the early hours until midday, he slept- leaving Sephiroth to watch. Afternoons until dusk are for travel.
This night, Their hands are ... alarmingly, to be frank, loosely clasped. Their backs against each other's as they both eat. Sephiroth ... of course, faces the fire, as he has to cook whatever food product they'd brought along. Cloud faces away, choosing to eat his, as was commonplace now, entirely raw.
Wasn't exactly... comfortable. Not really.
But it was the only way to share magic between themselves. The reserves of said magic aren't exactly... high. Sharing it like this sustains it, extends it. Makes it last longer. Probably enough for a few days.
Finally, Cloud speaks.]
What did you want to talk about?
no subject
Not that the Shades would make that easy.
They are simple enough to cut down — at least for Sephiroth, who often does so with an efficiency that might belie a telltale impatience. Their search for familiar faces take up the rest of the waning daylight’s hours, and it isn’t until one particularly still night, sitting by a warm fire that crackles against the darkness, that the subject is finally broached.
He ignores the sensation of their hands loosely clasped together, watching the meat turn color as it’s slowly cooked by the orange flame. There is a weight to the silence that follows, and a cognizant awareness of any stiffening of body language from Cloud when he says—]
Nibelheim.
[His cat-like eyes remain fixed on the fire.]
And what actually transpired there.
no subject
Then, Sephiroth speaks. It's as if this invisible, implausible, half-reasoned away force actually gets a few inches on him. He deflates.
Just the name makes him do so. For a moment, he smells it. Crisp, cold mountain air. Cold enough to make his lungs ache.]
...
[His hand uncurls from Sephiroth's. And it moves, backs of his fingers dragging on the ground for a brief moment before it rests on his own knee.]
Like I said, you left the Shinra.
[Its not enough. He can feel it. So he exhales, placing the slab of roughly cut meat he was nursing down. Suddenly, he's not hungry.]
Look... A lot happened. A lot of it, I'm not sure you'll believe. And there's a lot you need to know first.
no subject
But he needs to know. For the first time in what seems like a very long while, he turns to look over his shoulder, to glance at Cloud’s frame and the width of his shoulders tightening, then deflating. Perhaps those cat-like eyes of Sephiroth’s might possess enough sharpened intent to bore a hole in his back, though what churns in his own chest is not so unkind. Only restlessness, listlessness, a mind prone to rumination whirling itself in circles now that silence has had an opportunity to settle.
Uncertainties grow louder in the quiet of the night, after all. That’s how it’s always been.]
But you’ll tell me.
[The hard edges of a statement rather than a request. There is so much reason for him to be irritated at the omission of truth, but he finds he cannot truly feel that way — not until he knows what is so worth obscuring from him. It is hard to forget the look in Tifa’s eyes from that day, and they flit across his mind’s eye; grief and anger wound into one.]
And I’ll know why you hadn’t thought to mention it to me before.
no subject
It was always Hojo's madness, even if the man didn't have the talent or the ability to make it anything less than dangerous. Parts of it were reflected in Sephiroth's madness- and in this moment, the link to that man he despised in shared traits is what makes him all the more human.
...With that considered, how could he ever think he was anything but? ]
Yeah, I'll tell you. [His voice is low. Deflated.]
I'll tell you why I never mentioned it before, too. Because your future's up to you. I'd only be going off some other you, from my memories. But that's not you. It's a possibility for you. Your future's yours, and it's not set in stone. You get that, right?
[He'd... had what was in store for him pretty much laid out on the table almost immediately after arrival. And honestly? ...It led to questions. An abundance of them, an uncertainty he's still not entirely sure he's okay with.
Regardless, he exhales. And he finds his arms wrapping around his legs, his chin touching his knees. He lowers his eyes.]
You did leave the Shinra at Nibelheim. What I didn't tell you was that you died. You... saw what the Shinra were doing in the Nibelheim reactor. What caused all of the monsters in the area. North Corel, Fort Condor, Gongaga... it's not the worst of what the Shinra did. The worst was that they were experimenting on humans.
But...
[He half-turns his head.]
You thought that you were made in the same way. You were told that your mother's name was Jenova, right? That's all you know. In all of the years you've been alive, you've asked, and that's all anyone's ever told you. Jenova... was being held in that reactor.
[And quickly-]
It's not your mother. You never realized the truth. Even when you died.
[There's more. So much more. But because they're bonded, he knows when to stop. When all of this information feels too much.]
no subject
This, however, is more than what he expected. Sephiroth knew that the news was not going to be easy to bear — again, not after how that woman had reacted to him, a stark recollection of that day tossed his way like blame — but the revelation of experimentations in the rector itself would be enough weight to bear on its own. Yet the mention of his mother, the name Jenova, is its own burden that presses deep into his mind, felt once more through their Bond.]
What...?
[Sorry, Cloud, but that’s requires a bit of processing on his part, his thoughts wheeling with the plainly-spoken revelation that all he’s been led to believe has been a lie. That Jenova is an it (not human); that he died?
He shifts to properly look at him, demanding without speaking that he requires the same attention in turn.]
Why would Shinra tell that kind of lie, then? How could I have died?
[A reality hard to parse, even for one such as himself. Maybe especially because he knows himself, and the scope of his abilities, so well.]
no subject
[Avarice, probably. Or Hojo blowing his own trumpet. Or, perhaps even the fact that his mother- the woman that Vincent had described long ago, wasn't important after she'd gave birth to him. Could be any of those things. Could be all of them.
And... he doesn't like this. He really doesn't. There's the obvious. That even if his first suspicion of what would happen should he tell Sephiroth the truth- that Aefenglom would probably burn down wasn't all that true- (what could be said. That initial assumption was before he knew him.) he... really doesn't like this.
He can feel what Sephiroth feels through the bond. And while it's not exactly fear, it's similar. It pierces. It's... horrible. So he keeps his eyes low, taking a deep breath. ]
But I know that Professor Gast left. He defected some time ago. You were close, years ago, right? At that time, he found someone. A cetra, called Ifalna. Aerith's mother. He was supposed to be studying her with the company, and back then, he thought Jenova was a cetra. He was wrong.
It... [A pause.] It's some kind of alien virus. There's recordings up in Icicle, where he and Ifalna lived after he ran. She explained it came around 2000 years ago, on a meteor that hit the planet. It ...contaminated the cetra. Drove 'em mad, killed 'em all, near enough. That's what wiped them out as a whole. The last of them sealed it away. Thousands of years passed. Then the Shinra found it.
[Another pause. He moves himself, to view Sephiroth properly.
...Not out of fear. Even though.... yeah. Part of him worried about that. It's more concern. It's... well, strange to feel concern for Sephiroth of all people. He'd always seemed above it. Not undeserving of it. Just... above.
But this feeling is horrible. And Cloud knows it's only a fraction, an echo of what he must feel.]
...Look. When someone gets into SOLDIER, they get mako showered, right? ...Firsts get something extra. S'why they're so strong. They get Jenova cells transplanted into them. [ Via G cells, normally. But that... is something that can wait.] ...You're stronger than them. Much stronger. Because with you, you...
[....This is awful.]
... Your mother was implanted with Jenova's cells while she was pregnant. You're the result. The you I remember, from Nibelheim, believed what Gast did, before he learned the truth. That Jenova was a cetra, and that you were the last one. And that the planet was your birthright.
no subject
To learn from Cloud that he suddenly fits into this overall narrative is just one more shock piled on top of the rest; to learn that Aerith is his daughter is yet another, one that hardly has time to settle along with everything else the man is telling him.
Because that everything else is heavy, so much, that Sephiroth’s mind shores itself up, doles out nigh disbelief, for lack of a better way to process it.
He’s told of a virus and its hungry, warping nature, ravaging an ancient civilization so long before their time. Of Shinra finding such a monster and stealing its cells away to give to the strongest of their armies, the SOLDIERs who fight their wars and end their conflicts for them. For a moment, it makes his skin crawl (even though this revelation should be nothing that surprises him, given what he knows of Angeal and Genesis), as though he is suddenly aware of an invasiveness come to light, years late.
If only that were the worst of it.
The world warps a little when Cloud speaks of his mother and the circumstances behind his birth. There is the pressing issue of how he even knows this, even with years of experience and assumed knowledge ahead of his own time, but that takes a backseat to the implications of this new revelation. A truth that makes their Bond twist for the malaise and confusion and discontent between them.
It is more than mere invasiveness, then. Whatever Shinra did to him, likely what Hojo did to him, is so twined in his body that there is no differentiation between where Sephiroth begins and the experimentation ends. A monster in his veins. Just like his friends had feared, on their own terms.
For a moment, he has no words, allowing only their Bond to smother them in its twisting uncertainty.]
You’re saying that I'm built from a monster's DNA.
[This is the crux that Cloud will have to unstick him from, else no other revelation will sink in; even the relayed information about misinterpreting his heritage takes a backseat to the core of his self being shaken.]
no subject
[The feeling twists and lurches, and he feels like he's going to be sick. The fire at his back feels too hot, His stomach roils and revolts, every muscle in his body feels like they're tensed up to the point of tearing. His knuckles are white- the soil they press into feeling like shards of glass. Every breath hurts.
It's not his feeling, he has to keep reminding himself. It's Sephiroth's. The uncertainty though- it hurts.]
You're like anyone else. ...I'm. not exactly a scientist. But it was explained to me. You're a mixture of your mother's DNA, and your father's. She altered hers. The parts of you that're her, are modified. But you're still human.
[He has to force himself to turn now, properly.]
Listen to me. You're not a monster.
[Yet.]
no subject
Still, Cloud’s movement to turn and set his eyes upon him is magnetizing, causing Sephiroth to lift his gaze, in turn, to fix those cat-eyes on him. They’re sharp but churning, like their Bond trying to squeeze the life out of both.
Even now, it is hard to enunciate how he feels, despite how obvious it must be between the two men. That closed-off space that Sephiroth resides in is ever a hard line for him to cross, even with news that could shatter the earth beneath his feet, and his attempt to do so is middling— faltering.]
But I’m still not like you. Not like anyone. How can you tell me what you’ve just said, and not say that I’m no different than the rest of Shinra’s projects? Another— experiment.
no subject
Lies, of course. He knows that now. Words carefully chosen to hurt, to destroy- But what had told him that wore Sephiroth's skin. It used his mouth to form the very same word. With different emphasis, different meaning than this, yes, but... just that enough to elicit a long, silent sigh from the younger of the pair, a movement of his eyes away to signal conceding that point.
Cloud didn't know, so he couldn't argue it. He'd seen the fallout from Project G, most certainly. In both the Genesis copies as well as the fact he knew Zack took Angeal down, but he hadn't known enough about what was really going on to reference Angeal as another person of which had been altered the same way as Sephiroth had- in utereo. Much less make the comparison to bolster his point of that procedure not making any sort of difference with regard to humanity. That was something only Zack could do. And...
Obviously, he wasn't here. So he's silent for a few seconds, before he raises his eyes to him once more.]
You're different from their experiments. Believe me, I know. You're you. What they did to augment you was terrible. There's no getting around that. They weaponised you, lied to you, used you as a one-man army to settle their shit for them for all of your life.
[He keeps staring him right in the face.]
...My eyes. You never asked. I guess you just assumed I made SOLDIER eventually, right? Well, I didn't. Standards never got that low. [A faint pause.] I don't remember any of it. Don't care to, either. But listen to me- as one of their experiments, I can tell you. You're nothing like any of Hojo's mistakes. You were born in a fucked up way, sure. Raised about the same. But you're you, right? You're not Jenova, just like you're not the woman that carried you. ...Or your father.
[Hojo. Given, well, that shared mania. But possibly someone else, at least in his mind- given a sad story in a crypt once. A pending act of revenge.
Little did he know.]...Just like anyone else isn't defined by who brought them into the world. SOLDIERs get Jenova cells transplanted into them, right? You're different only because of how.
[Another pause. And, reluctantly:]
...Look. I can show you what a monster is.
But you need to know two things. First, is I'm not who you remember from Nibelheim. If different timelines exist at the same time- [...Fuck the science behind it. He's not a sciency type. What is, is. That's enough.] - then who you remember's a version of me, right. Someone who isn't me any more.
...Just like the you I remember from Nibelheim isn't you now. You've...
[A shake of the head. That could wait.]
...Second, is it's not pretty. You need to know that.
no subject
It is hard for Sephiroth to view someone as the same as him, not always out of pride, but the distance wedged between himself and the world over the years. But Cloud’s words work to bring them to a similar level, coupled with reassurances that do not take away from the wrongness of his past, but validate the humanity that still resides at his core. He cannot latch onto them fully, or confidently — such bone-deep uncertainties are not so easily banished in a single conversation — but they are grounding enough for him to wonder at, later. And to focus on what the other man is saying now.
Mention again of his real mother. A father, too. He wonders at what else he knows about them. But his reply overrides all of that, uncaring for the talk of timelines and their alternate realities, not when he can take what he’s learned today and figure out where the pieces fit later.
Like steel—]
I don’t care. What you’ve told me doesn’t paint a flattering picture. None of it does.
[And yet he asked for this truth, in all its raw ugliness, even if it feels suffocating, or like claws digging into his heart.]
Show me, if you think you can. I want to know.
no subject
But what he says makes it change, slightly. It feels like it's been pushed down- shoved down, actually- just a little bit. But, firmly, and in a flat manner, far from what Sephiroth's accustomed to:]
You should care. It's not flattering. But you need to care, because it's not you. Not yet. ...You've got a choice to make. I can only show you what happens when you don't know what I've told you, and when you don't pack up your shit, and leave Nibelheim.
[He turns his head away, finally, and ... yeah, he needs to breathe. He shoves his back against the others.]
The 'you' I'm going to show you didn't have that choice. Doesn't make him anything like who you are. You've got to understand that.
[His hand moves toward his.]
Last chance to back out.
no subject
Easier said than done. Something he will choose to accept or reject only after he has seen what exists in the other’s memory.
With eyes like steel, yet a heart twisting in his ribs—]
Like I said. Show me.
[—his hand reaches for Cloud’s without hesitation. Their Bond churns, overwhelming, heated, desperate.]
no subject
But like he said, that wasn't this man. If he had that power even while he was alive, (doubtful. But who knew, really?) he wasn't aware of it. Maybe this'd all be for shit, and frustration was all that awaited them. But maybe... maybe some part of the Lifestream clung to him. Wasn't exactly something that just went away. Perhaps their bond would facilitate it somewhat. Who knew? Regardless, it was worth a shot.
He doesn't respond to the other's demand.
Instead, all he does is close his eyes- his eyebrows furrowing faintly in concentration.]
...
[Seconds pass. ...Minutes(?) pass.
And.
The second that Sephiroth would perhaps decide to speak, perhaps even to tell him to hurry it up, or even question the validity of method, he should find they're no longer in a clearing.
All around them is blank. Whereas someone else, some time ago, may have seen things- odd refractions of light in the distance indicating synapses firing, planets even, as indicator of thought- the area around them is distinctly filled with...
well, nothing. There's no real smells, either. There's three paths. Two are blocked off, again with... well, what seems like nothing. Incredulously, they're blocked. But with what seems undeterminable. Even describing what impedes vision, movement beyond the end of said paths is a difficult thing to do.
But one, to the north, shows what should be a familiar sight. The gates of Nibelheim.
Should Sephiroth cross the boundary, the shock of icy, mountain air should fill his lungs. The underside of his boots should be marred with dirt different to the lush soil of the woodland he'd previously been in. This kind is acrid. More sand than anything.
...And he should detect two things.
One, something's following him. It's a humanoid shape, but it's entirely dark. And in front...
A child drops from the creaking watertower before him. He's ...scrawny. Eight years old, perhaps, but his size is more fitting for a 6 year old. His hair's long, pulled back into a clumsy ponytail, bright, and...
...well.
Certainly in need of a good brush. His clothes are clean, but far too big for him. And his arms are littered with bruises and scrapes. A band-aid is actually placed on his cheekbone, and his face looks scraped up in other places, too. Fighting?
Some of his bruises look like fingermarks. So fighting... probably.
Most apparent though, are the child's knees.
Scarred. Deeply. Probably permanently. That injury seems far beyond any fight.
It shouldn't be difficult to determine who he is, even with (minor) injuries and said scarring. As he lands, he points his weapon- a sharp stick- at Sephiroth.]
Once, we wanted to meet you. Me most of all! I never wanted you here though.
But he insisted.
[A gesture to the figure. It's standing now. Silent. Motionless.]
Don't mind him. He's just-
Wait-
you don't care about that, right?
You just want to see what he promised you.
[Another point of said stick.]
He trusts you... But I don't.
It's my job to look after him. So don't try anything. Okay?
no subject
Until he’s in a place surrounded by nothingness. Until the only available path takes him forward to the sight of familiar gates, the mountain air coiling cool in his lungs. How strangely surreal, this place— carved from memory? Pulled out from the depths of Cloud’s mind, his subconscious thought? It must be, he thinks, when the young boy — scraped and bruised at the knees — approaches him. When he twists his attention away from the dark figure elsewhere to pay attention to what must be Cloud as a child speaking, pointing that stick at him in a laughable manner of defense.
...
Sephiroth is still frowning, brow pulled tightly together when he replies.]
Who else is here with us?
[That figure; it might not be part of what he requested to see, but is not everything in this impossible space relevant?]
no subject
[A bright laugh escapes the child at that, reverberating throughout the town as if it's, impossibly, coming from multiple directions all at once- note for note perfectly aligning. He turns on his heels and starts to walk.]
So I'm only going to answer questions that're important. But you get this one! Only because you don't understand how this works yet.
...It's him. Cloud. You thought I was him, pulled from the past? Nope! I protect him. And you need to understand that. I was created to protect him. It's what I do- and what I'll always do. It's the most important thing in the world to me.
[A swish of his stick accompanies that- with a loud clack against the side of a house. He stops to give it a few more whacks. Clearly, whatever apparition this is, it's a little hooligan.
...He moves his gaze from where he'd hit the house, and then focuses on Sephiroth. And his face seems to sober, his tone turning solemn.]
Couldn't protect him from you, though. Not that time. But this is different. I switched off everything you can hurt him with. Just in case. So...
[His gaze shifts beyond Sephiroth's figure, to the darkened figure. It's motionless, but it's also moved. Just a meter behind the SOLDIER.]
So he's good. let's go.
[Instantly, everything around them changes. They're literally right outside the Nibelheim reactor. An infantryman stands just in front of the walkway leading up to the bastardisation of steel, cabling and iron- and the ground underneath them seems all the more unsteady. Giant, grasping tubes connect the reactor to the earth, cementing it's hold into the ravaged, pallid, sickly-looking ground.]
I skipped the dragon. We both know you're really cool, so it's kind of pointless to show it again, huh.
[A girl stands in front of the infantryman. She's barely a teenager. She looks exasperated. The child walks through them both.]
C'mon!
[He walks inside. Something... seems off. Almost immediately, actually. The identification numbers on the reactor's components seem jumbled, scrambled. A mixture of letters and numbers which... while Sephiroth certainly wouldn't know their correct order, would still perhaps seem... different to things he's probably passed enough times to know the right configuration.
Let alone other things.]
Soooooo. Um...
This isn't his memory. Zack went in with you, right? Everything here is uh... kind of... borrowed. From what Zack told him about what happened. It's new for you though, right? This is the first time you visited the reactor.
[The smell is accurate at least. If it's ...pretty apparent outside, it's enough to make anyone's head spin inside. And it only increases the lower and lower they get. Eventually, they come to the bottom of a ladder, the end of a catwalk, and...
This sort of reactor configuration isn't as standard as what first appears. Where a converter should lie at the end of the mako containment bay, instead, there's another room. The child seems to hesitate, his boots scraping along the corrugated iron floor.]
You and Zack went through here. Through this door...
[The dark blue of his eyes seems to grow darker- almost black.]
...You asked for this. Remember that.
[The room, even with Sephiroth's (extensive) knowledge of reactors, should be entirely foreign. At the center is a long, steep staircase- surrounded by multiple rows upon rows of ...strange looking pods. To cool mako, perhaps? That should be right, if the blue indicators which pierce through the dim gloom of this room are anything to go by.
Mako cooling is innocuous enough. Most reactors did it. But here, in some unmapped, udocumented room which sure as hell shouldn't be any part of any blueprint of any revision Sephiroth would have been aware of? Perhaps Sephiroth would see it for what it was. Perhaps he would recognize it for what could only be- Unstandard. Unsanctioned. Hojo's handiwork.
Thick, membranous pipes litter all around the staircase. It's almost as if they're pulsing- humming with the mako they transport to and from said pods. At the back- at the very top of the stairs, is another door.
Inside, two tall men are talking. One has wild hair, and a ...gullotine of a sword at his back- his arms crossed, pensively, in front of him. The other one is dressed all in black. He's... standing at the top of the stairwell, attempting to open yet another door. One which appears to have no control panel. The man with dark hair speaks.
This is... Jenova, right? It won't open.
The man in black does not deign to answer. Instead, he walks down the stairs. His eyes examine the connectors of each row of pods as he passes. And, at the bottom row...
This is the reason for the malfunction. This part is broken. Zack, close the valve.
He walks away. And the dark-haired man rolls his shoulders, before settling in front of the pod. Upon returning to the man in black...
Why did it break?
There's no answer to be had. The dark haired man tilts his head, even raises a broad arm to toy with the finer spikes at the back of his head. Meanwhile, the man in black has found another pod. So, he looks inside. His eyes widen. But he steps down, bringing a gloved hand to his face. His eyes are both piercing, and distant.
Now I see, Hojo.
...But doing this will never put you on the same level as Professor Gast.
The dark-haired man tilts his head. He opens his mouth in a faint 'huh?' and the man in black's eyes snap back to him.
This is a system that condenses and freezes mako energy. That is, when it's working correctly. Now. What does mako become when it's further condensed?
A playful question. Or is it playful? Something in the man in black's tone certainly has a playful element- as if commenting on a little faux pas the other had made on the way over- but it's also clinical. Starkly so.
In complete asymmtery, the dark haired man looks at the ceiling.
Uh... ummm...
Oh yeah!!
The dark-haired man snaps his fingers, and grins, clearly pleased that he knew the answer to this question.
....He really was like a puppy. One might even expect a tail to wag.
It becomes Materia!
The man in black seems hardly affected by such a display. His eyes are still wondering- still distant.
Right, normally. But Hojo put something else in there.
...Take a look.
He steps aside.
The dark-haired man hoists himself up, to do so.
....And he falls down. His eyes are wide with shock- his face pale. The whites of his eyes are apparent, and he's gasping- as if he's just seen a ghost.
Wha-What is that?!
The man in black seems unaffected. If anything, his voice is glacial.
Normal members of SOLDIER are humans that have been showered with mako.
His voice lowers. He mumbles something small. Something nondescript. ...Something personal.
'You're different from the others, but still human.'
Then his voice returns to normal. But what are they? They've been exposed to a far higher degree of mako than you.
The dark haired man picks himself up. Is this some kind of monster?
The man in black nods. Exactly. And it's Hojo of Shinra that produced these monsters. Mutated living organisms produced by mako energy. That's what these monsters really are.
The dark haired man's brws are furrowed. His eyes follow the man in black, even as he turns away.
Normal members of SOLDIER? You mean you're different?
The man in black holds his head in his hands.
Should Sephiroth have the urge to approach, the child would hold his stick before him.]
Don't. These aren't his memories. They're unstable. The whole thing could collapse if you mess with it, and you wanted to see, right?
[The child falls silent when the dark-haired man reaches out for the man in black.
H-hey, Sephiroth!
No...
Was I?
Instantly, his sword is out. He slashes one pod apart instantly, a burst of acrid fluid tearing forth from the blow- hissing as it hits the floor. It's all the dark-haired man can do to jump clear.
Was I created this way, too?
Another pod is practically split in two at the next blow. Split in half lengthways- then diagonally- again and again.
Am I the same as all these monsters?
The dark haired man tries. He really does.
Sephiroth...
The man in black strikes the pod, over and over. Even when the platform is coated in hissing, burning mako, the creture inside is pulped, and all that there is to strike is shards of the metal it was forged from. Still, he strikes.
You saw it!! All of them... were humans...
The dark-haired man doesn't get it, still.
Human?! No way!
The man in black seperates himself from the very, very totalled pod.
Ever since I was small I've felt...
...That I was different from the others. Special, in some way.
His head lowers. He shakes it.
But...
Not like this...
WARNING. WARNING.
MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING.
REPEAT.
MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING.
WARNI-
It's instantaneous. Something explodes. Fortunately for the both of them, it's a pod which is on the upper shingled row. It shakes and it vibrates- an odd sound comes from it- a scream? And then... the front of it is entirely ripped off. Mako comes out in jets from it- and the front is blown several meters from where it once stood.
Curled up, against the door, in a foetal position, is a creature. It has no lips. It's mottled blue and green scale, a series of hardened tumors, hands twisted into claws, mutated bone growing outward from the skin into sharpened tusks and horns. It's fearsome indeed, but it's no arm to anyone, this thing. It's entirely blind, grasping at nothing in the air, its every breath sounding like a fish out of water, drowning in oxygen. Perhaps the only indicator of what, or who it was is a set of human legs. The rest of it....
Is nightmarish.
It screams again- this time, a dim echo of the high-pitched shriek it gave while inside the pod- and...
...And it dies. Instantly.
The scenery changes. They're both standing at Nibeheim's town square again.
And:]
You thought you were just like those things. You never learned the truth.
☆ closed | nier 「 aeflix & not talk about your feelings 」
The TV is garbage. He's not really looking at it, not really listening to it, and honestly, he's got no idea if they're still on what appears to be a bunch of period rednecks yelling about another group of ...people... beating them out on bidding for some abandoned storage lot, or whether they're on some show about ..dating(?) and handing out roses and ...pretty much having some kind of harem of women which... all... happen to inexplicably be... marketing assistants. Or the one where a ...peppy set of identical twins try and peppily(?) convince some morons that the shithole they live in can't be flipped for double what they paid for it. Because. It's a shithole.
It's shit, pretty much.
Everything they've watched has been shit.
But it doesn't occur to him to complain.
He's barely watching it. instead, his gaze has drifted to what's underneath his head, a human torso- something that's usually cold, but time, and his temple resting against it, has made almost body temperature.
...He hasn't moved in hours.
But he's not asleep, he's sure. He knows it- He's too accustomed by now to what his man does in his sleep, how his fingers, presently nestled at the back of his head, nails against his scalp always tighten- how he makes fists as he dreams- presumably fighting against his demons there, too.
He's not asleep. He'd be missing a good chunk of hair if he was, and his hand is heavy as it rests with its full weight at the back of his head, but the fingertips through his hair are light. So.
He turns his head, to look at him.]
...Probably time we ate something.
[That's not how to talk about your feelings, Cloud.]
Should check on Aerith, too.
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of course, they are everything but. nier has hardly spoken in days, if at all. it’s hard, rexperiencing the loss of his family again. he’d thought it would get easier. that he was going through the motions, that death would save him from the pain — after all, he’d existed in numbness for 3 years. been nothing, not a single feeling shackled to him.
but the pain is fresher than ever. it’s accompanied by the what-ifs — the realization that things could have been different.
he tosses again, silently. a hand lingers against cloud’s breastbone. and then slowly, his chin tilts up, and he meets his gaze somewhat absent mindedly before sitting up and scooting back to give him room. ]
I’m not hungry. [ he isn’t. but the paleness of just skin is enough to signify that he needs blood regardless. ]
But we should see her. Yoire right.
no subject
It's preferable, just moving back down. Just pressing his body against his in their mutual comfort. Not talking, not asking anything, returning to the same thoughts he's been meandering through for the past few days, setting aside, revisiting, reorganizing, and remulling them over.
But.
His hand rises to lightly trace his palm against Nier's cheek. He'd.. always had prominent cheekbones. But they're more so now- and the paleness of his skin doesn't seem right. Normally? It's... just like his cheekbones. Genetic. Probably part of what made him conventionally, quite good looking. Now, the paleness seems less pretty, and more sallow. His cheekbones are more prominent. Almost hollowing out his cheeks. ]
Yeah.
[His voice is low. He withdraws his hand.]
First things first.
[Getting up...
He doesn't want to. But he does- with an exhale, moving to their kitchen. Reheating blood is... honestly, something he's used to by now. He still can't cook worth a shit, he's sure. But he's seen how Nier puts water into a pan, puts it on the stove, then puts the container of blood in the water and brings the lot just shy of boiling enough times to not fuck it up.
...Much, anyway.
Some time passes before he returns. When he does, it's with said blood, decanted into a soup bowl, the bowl itself having a straw haphazardly put into it. For himself, he's got a fleshy bone.
...Cold, because he's got no idea about heating that one to some imitation of body temperature. Not his preference. But he'd manage.]
Was getting myself something anyway.
[Spoken after said bowl's been handed over, and he's sat down again. This time, he keeps his distance- giving the bone a faint bite, then... putting it to the side. Not in the mood.]
...
[He reaches for him, this time easing him to lie on him.
...Which might be the reason for a straw with the soupbowl, rather than a spoon.]
no subject
the scent of copper stretches across the apartment. it's sharp and cutting, and nier's ears perk up, the instincts of a hunter jolting him awake. reflexively, he sniffs before cloud approaches the couch with a bowl. it's passed into nier's hands, and he looks up, features stagnant as takes pause. then there's a nod. ]
...Thank you. [ nier admits softly. "you didn't have to," would follow after had he not been so worn and torn. it goes unsaid, and he lets out a breath as cloud guides his head against his chest before gingerly sipping through the straw. ]
...Um. [ his voice is meek in a way it hasn't been in over 5 years. ] If you have somewhere to be, that's fine...
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[Well. That wasn't entirely true. Or it was- Nier's hardly bad company, and the man has always had a way of making him want to be around him. This strange, unvocalised mutual grief wasn't an exception to that. But it also wasn't. He's ....upset. There was Tifa. Even if the worry about her trail just vanishing dissipated with the coven's later announcement that people had simply been returned home, rather than something awful happening to them was something, it still...
It still felt awful. In a uniquely selfish sense- something that, all considered, he really shouldn't have been upset about, because being upset was selfish. She was back there, she was home- she was safe. Right now she was probably telling the others, they were probably on their way to Cosmo Canyon, and Bugenhagen would know about this place, right? She was fine.
But... even if she was fine...
It's selfish to feel this way. But being ashamed about it doesn't make it less of a feeling.
He still misses her. Bitterly.
Zack, too. And that- that was different. His presence was something that'd been lost, forgotten. Or rather the feelings that came with Zack's presence- being entirely at ease- every single horrible thought at the back of his mind silenced- replaced with actually feeling ...happy, content, ...safe? only came with him. And it'd been such a long time since he'd experienced it, he'd... forgotten he ever felt that way. He'd been reminded with him turning up here.
And now, it's like...
Like that part of him never existed, again.]
But uh... [Meekness to answer meekness.] If you need time to yourself, I can take off for a while. [Even if he's got no idea where he'd go. It's not like he wants to go do a few jobs.] If you want.
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...No. Stay here.
[ as selfish as ever. this, however, was more demanding than the usual. after they’d left, he’d been fraught with a sickness. it was an obsession, a recounting of all that happened and all that could be. it was as though he’d been completely aimless again — and hit with the grief of loss, reexperiencing it like a wound that had been violently pried open.
it was stupid. every bit of it was stupid. ]
...If you need to go out, I’ll come with you. I can still work.
[ the straw squelches as he sips through it. ]
So um. Don’t worry about me.
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['Go out.' He should've said go out. The thought runs through his head to say it, just. You know. In case he himself sounded demanding, or needy- but it's combined with another one. Of doubling down. Of adding 'without you' to it, even if it barely-
...Dogbrain. It's probably his changes, the way he thinks now that formed the suggestion, and after consideration of that, clarifying via saying anything would sound... really weird. A good couple of seconds have passed. So silence suffices. He sinks down a little when Nier rerests his head against him, an arm trailing, absently, up his jerkin.
It's not exactly a gesture meant to elicit a reaction. He couldn't, right now. Even if he wanted to- it's just something which... well, it's affectionate. His knuckles trace every bump of his lower spine before his hand rests at the back of his ribs, and saying anything else seems unneeded.
So he closes his eyes.]
Stay with me. Then I won't worry.
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They move, of course.
...Sometimes.
They switch position every so often. They've got a rotation of who goes and heats up some of a now very dwindling supply of food. Bathroom visits, of course, are required. As well as cleaning away what food (Cloud, mostly) has bypassed. But it's auto-pilot. Cloud, in particular, hadn't really paid attention to himself at all- ignoring the fact his shoulders, neck and shoulder blades were... furred through days of not exactly caring enough to go through the usual removals.
Tonight's like every other night. They're there, on the sofa, this time Nier's lying down on it and Cloud's lying on him- staring, vacantly, beyond the television set, until something seems to strike him.
He moves his head up, to look down at the other man.]
Hey, uh...
[His voice cracks through disuse.]
It's your birthday tonight. Isn't it.
no subject
except he does. there's a tangent source of warmth right next to him. when he shifts his back or chest against him, every fibre, every molecule of his becomes real again, reaffirmed by the faint shuffle of clothing or scratch of skin. cloud had been the only tether to reality he had in this moment.
when he speaks, it slices through the white noise, causing it disentagrate to dust. his ears pop, and his eyes settle onto cloud's face. ]
...
[ birthday. the frail, delicae voice of a girl, wishing him well. ]
Yeah.
[ the volume of his has been quieted by days of silence, alongside the subject matter. ]
Why? [ a simple question. ]
no subject
[A shift, and an arm is brought up in order to glance his fingertips against Nier's face. It's just a few degrees above glacial, indication of their shared body temperature like this- but the point of which to collect some of his hair, from where it'd curled at his cheek and looked pretty close to his eye.
...It's getting pretty long now.
Regardless, the offending piece is looped behind his ear, and his hand moves back, resting, along with his forearm, on his chest. And then his head rests on top of that.]
I got you something. It's not here though.
[Slight pause.]
...I get it, if you don't wanna move. It can wait. Nothing's gonna happen to it. Just, uh. If you want to, we can.
no subject
and then cloud says that. right. it’s met with a blink, at first — slow, the lack of a reaction born from confusion. and then with a gradual parting of the lips... ]
Um. Yeah.
[ a beat. ]
You didn’t have to do that. [ a sheepish nod of the head. ] Thank you, Cloud...
[ ... ]
...it’s—It’s outside?
no subject
[The thanks is... kind of embarrassing. It's met with his eyes drifting to the side, a swallow, and... a little while before they return to his face. With his fingertips catching in the folds of Nier's jerkin. That's... pretty usual, isn't it? It's not doing something that causes him the embarrassment. It's what he did being recognized.
That part of him's intact, at least.]
Yeah, it's outside. At that place you showed me a while back. With the flowers you planted there. That place.
[If the merchant remembered, that is. He'd arranged the drop off. Paid through the nose for it too. He better've.]
So. You want to go? Like I said, nothing bad's going to happen if you want to give it a few days. But we can, if you're up to it.
no subject
nothing more is needed for him to rise to his feet, steadily, like a tree erecting from a sprout. while peering at cloud from behind his shoulder. ]
When you’re ready.
[ there’s a ghost of a smile there, maybe. ]
☆ closed | nier 「 suddenly, a tail. 」
What he did know, was that the wolf, at the end of a long night of who knew what, had developed some sort of penchant for barging its way into the apartment complex, into a certain bedroom, and jumping up on the bed, curling next to said bed's owner. It... wasn't exactly the cleanest way to do it. Changing back was something just as disgusting as changing. Something that took a hell of a lot longer, too. He'd probably ruined more than a few sets of bedding with the blood, for a start.
But Nier had never complained.
He knew, by now, that Cloud would be next to useless for the day and night after. Exhausted, after that. On the third day, he'd stir. If only to burn the wolfskin that'd taken its sweet time peeling off of him, and then...
...Then he'd get up. He'd do things. Repierce his ear, for a start. Speak. Talk. Go on jobs, maybe even accompany Nier on a few first if he'd had a particuarly bad time with the transformation.
That was usual, anyway.
But this time...
It's the third day, but he's not stirring. Instead, he's bundled up in seemingly all of the bedding Nier owns, on the side of the bed, lying on his side, trying to appear as if he's asleep, even if his breathing, for a start, is a dead giveaway he's not.
With his body temperature, far away from him, bundled up like that, he must be cooking himself from the inside out. Any statement would be met with silence. Any attempt to reclaim some of the ruined bedsheets? A sharp movement of his body, away.
What do?]
no subject
yeah, nier had never minded — none of cloud’s mannerisms or routines had come to bother him. not the shedding or bloodletting, not the way he would disrupt his sleep cycles, rousing him from slumber by roiling in their bed. he’s gone through more bedding than he can keep track of, but it’s a labor of love, really.
he also happens to have the patience of a saint despite being the antichrist.
there’s a pronounced lack of heat, though, and it leaves him more uncomfortable than he’d care to admit. nier holds himself, shifting about uncomfortably...until he crooks his head up to stare at cloud for a few minutes. intently at that.
alright, he’s had enough.
wordlessly, nier rolls on over, until cloud is pressed to the very edge of the bed...and yanks him closer, until his arms are wound around him and that bundle of bedding. and if cloud fights it, as he inevitably will, nier will simply opt to settle right on top of him. ]
What’s going on?
no subject
...Yeah, that didn't work. Difficult to get the right kind of momentum. Angle's funny too, so his elbow simply clacks against something, Nier's shoulder, or bicep maybe, and he finds himself yanked onto his back and promptly laid upon and...
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, that's uncomfortable.
Nier's bigger than him. Heavier too, but it's not exactly that which is the source of his discomfort. It's more the fact that he's lying on something uncomfortable at the base of his spine. The discomfort causes his eyebrows to crease, but he doesn't say anything. It'd give it away, and ...
God, this is too embarrassing.]
Nothing!
[Too much of a reaction? Shit. He looks to the side, trying to will the colour away from his face.]
Just tryin' to sleep.
[...Something's moving under the covers. beating on them, feebly, underneath them both. Shit. It's... wagging at the sight of him. He moves his head to the side, closing his eyes.]
Leave me alone.
[...Thump. Thump. Thumpthumpthump.
Why won't it stop.]
no subject
well, most of them aren’t subtle at all. nier sits upright, and his feet are flat against the bed as he straddles him. there is...something faintly thumping underneath them. he can feel a swish, a repetitive movement and pressure that’s creating friction between them and the sheets. ]
What is that?
[ you know. that.
suddenly, nier leans in extremely close — until their faces are centimeters apart, and his lips brush up against cloud’s skin. his arms loop around his shoulders as his thighs clench around him...
before he abruptly turns them both over, reversing their positions in an attempt to expose him. ]
no subject
Don't!
[Well. Okay. All the strength he's got over Nier, form and all, doesn't really do him a bit of good. Strength is one thing. Gravity is another. He's flipped over, unceremoniously at that, and.
...
Yeah.
The coverings unravel. He's bare, of course. Exposed, without even his wolfskin serving to cover him up since that'd come off his skin some time ago. His position, being forced up and ... out like this would normally be embarrassing enough, but instead, he's...
...
Yeah.
It's out.
And it's quite long, actually. His tail is around 22 inches long. Long enough to probably end at his knees when standing. And it's also thick, a mixture of harsher, thinner, bristly long fur and softer, shorter, thicker fur. Two coats.
It's also sandy blonde in colour, not quite as bright as the hair on his head, but the bristlier fur even darker than the majority of it, and concentrated at the end.
It's a tail, all right.
And it's startled- moving between his legs, and quickly at that.]
......
[He looks away. Again.
Words're kind of failing him.]
no subject
different. the long, stream of fur that’s whizzing back and forth, beating against nier’s leg whenever it comes down is...yeah, it’s a tail. nier blinks — and then inquisitively, he reaches out for cloud’s newfound furry appendage, gently gripping it by the end.
nier gives it an affectionate stroke, fingers running through the thickness of the fur and taking the time to rub at where it thins out. and then in his grip, he brings it to his lips, placing a kiss right against it. he’s got a mouth full of hair now, but he’s smiling regardless. ]
You’re too cute, Cloud...
[ it’s a bit teasing, but there’s no denying the warmth in his voice. ]
I like it.
nsfw warning probably from now ig ♥
[It's not a grab. So it's not painful. The hold is gentle, and actually taking it was more an act of opening his hand and waiting for the stupid thing that seemed to move of its own accord to simply flop down into his palm and closing his fingers around it than actually reaching over and taking it- but the sensation of his hand on it, let alone the rubbing both makes him feel cold, and hot all at once.
It's a different heat than simple temperature. He has to take a sharp breath at the rub, specifically as he feels his lower stomach tighten. He's... god, he's hard already, pressing against Nier's stomach already, and the sight of Nier moving his lips against it, even as the fur probably tickles his face, as the stupid thing tries to wag all the harder, what he says- his acceptance, it's...
A lot.
A small, involuntary, sound leaves his throat. Honestly, despite the sight, despite the aforementioned acceptance (honestly. That. Maybe did the most for him), he'd still probably have elbowed him for his other comment if something else wasn't amiss.
It's at his front. And something inside him knows it takes priority over any small outburst. Something else feels weird...]
...!!
[His.
...
His cock.
He gets off him. Quickly. The fur on his tail now, is more or less standing on end. And he tries to turn his back to him as he ...holds himself. Not out of any misguided desire to cover himself, or to see to himself, just... to see.
It's not bigger. Or smaller. Or longer. Or shorter. But there's... a lot different.
The head, for a start. It's tapered to the point of almost being triangular. Longer, shaped differently. Not like he knew how or why, (what could be said. Education, where he was from, was... pretty rudimentary and certainly didn't cover this kind of thing) or even the similarities to other creatures it now bears, but to him, as well-acquainted with his own cock as any man is, it's... different. Very much so. Colourwise, it's identical to how he'd last seen it, so some canine traits hadn't actually taken effect- but...
But.
It feels like there's something inside it- just at the base of his cock, maybe a few inches along it. It's... bulbous, sensitive, hard- (Little did he know, it'd get worse) and squeezing it makes his breath hitch, makes the room spin, just for a moment.
His voice is shaky when he speaks. Like he's seen a ghost.]
Something's wrong.
..Something else.
[Was this from going out into the wilde for so long?]
☆ closed | aerith
...Because really, what was he doing?
It's the middle of the night, Aerith's a girl- and honestly, said owner of said knock is honestly far too Concerned about the prospect of entering said girl's bedroom at the dead of night.
...It's not like he can retreat. It's done now, so there's a pause, telling, of some uncertainty, before he speaks. His tone, behind the door is unsure.]
...You still up?
no subject
The message, when she'd gotten it, had upset her. She would've found a way to keep up, she had thought in immediate, kneejerk anger. But even she is not stubborn enough to hold onto this. At least he'd left a note at all. And so the anger had faded, and though she had known that his search was a futile one, she had hoped he might be able to find them.
But she knew. As surely as she'd known when Zack had joined the Planet again, all those years ago, and all she's left feeling now is a strange, weightless sort of empty. Hollow.
It's stupid to hold onto things, but she's got something in her hands when she hears the knock — a shirt much too big for her and likely too big for Cloud too, and at the sound she searches her room for somewhere to hide it before stuffing it under her pillow. It's dumb, he'll likely know, by scent if nothing else... but she doesn't want him to know how sad she is. It wouldn't do any good.]
I'm up!
[Sounding rushed, she opens the door and peers at him through a crack in it.
For a little while she is quiet, studying him. She reads what she knows on his face and sighs some, then opens the door altogether.]
You can come in.
no subject
[Perhaps it's a sign of immaturity, the fact that being in the same room with a woman, at night, seems to put him out so. But he's always been like that. In all of the inns they'd stayed in, as the group's defacto leader he saw to rooming arrangements and Yuffie, Tifa and Aerith, while she was with them- were always together. And honestly- even on odd occasions where he didn't have a choice- like when him and Tifa had shared the same jail cell, he'd always taken the floor.
As far away as he could.
It's stupid. This case is extra stupid. It's just a room, nothing more- one that used to belong to him of all people, and the hesitance is stupid. Just like airing what they desperately needed to talk about in a hallway, between a crack in said door.
But, until Aerith grabs him and shoves him in, he'll linger there, in that doorway. ]
They're gone. Both Tifa and Zack... as well as the other people from our planet.
[It's disarming. The fact that they're gone. But he couldn't exactly give a shit about a handful of turks and Rufus Shinra. He's only focused on two people.]
Tracked both Tifa and Zack out into the Wilde, further than where the outpost is. But a couple days into it, both of their tracks just vanished. No sign of any struggle either. Or anything that might've suggested a shade got 'em.
[He looks away at that, folding his arms at his torso, digging his nails into his bicep. And he inhales. And...]
The coven's made an announcement about it. They're saying everyone went home. That their connection here wasn't 'stable', whatever the hell that means.
[And...
There's something else.]
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She listens to this, and for a time is quiet. Hiding her emotions with the addition of their Bond is always a struggle, but she has had years of practice at this, and so what comes through is only muted resignation, barely there before being whisked away.]
... Yeah. I heard the announcement.
[She opens her mouth to say something, can't really think of anything. Strange. She usually has some kind of answer.
A pause. She mulls over it, then:]
Are you going to be okay? I know it must be hard.
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[Absolute bullshit. But his own feelings- voicing them- it's too selfish to go into. There's a telling pause before he offers something else, something small, something only really half-meant. If anything, because he doesn't need their bond to already know the answer.]
...What about you?
[A shift of his feet. He should probably-]
Look, uh... There's something you need to know. Sephiroth found me out there. Turns out he ran into 'em too. Tifa... [Of her and Zack, Her telling him is what made the most sense.] ...I told him everything. Couldn't not.
[A pause.]
So there's that.
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Don't worry about it.
[Which was not much of an answer, she knows, but it's not something she wants to think about either — her own feelings.
News of Sephiroth makes her quieter still, though she is not surprised by the news, only troubled. She does reach for his wrist though, through the gap in the door, gently tugs him forward.]
Come on — I feel ridiculous, talking like this.
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Instead, he only exhales a small sigh as he moves himself into the room, tapping the door shut with his foot. Then he takes his arm back, finding the farthest wall and shoving his back against it, his head moved to the side- gaze firmly on the floor.
...But he can't help but notice the room now. It... looks odd, the way it'd been previously decorated, but having her things in it.]
...I want to move. Us to move. The three of us need somewhere with more space.
[It's an idle statement. The thought behind it wasn't all that new. If anything, it'd come when Tifa and Zack had arrived. There was no way all of them could fit in the apartment. And being apart from either of them had seemed unthinkable. It'd, of course, been waylaid when they'd vanished. But...
...Still probably needed to be done. With, or without them.
But more importantly:]
...He was horrified. Sephiroth, I mean. About all of it.
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She hasn't changed too much, in the time since she's had it. Some of her things are scattered about — a spray of flowers in a pretty vase, a jacket hung on a chair, books on magic neatly stacked beside her ridiculous harlequin romance fiction. But otherwise it has the aura of a place unlived in, like she hasn't settled. Like she expects to leave at any moment.
She settles on the edge of the bed, her smile at his offer brief, thinks of Zack again, tries not to twist her hands in her lap.
Instead of bringing that up right away, however...]
I'm not surprised. He seems like a reasonable man. Here, at least. Ah, we — months ago, in the Wilde, we had a temporary Bond. I saw some of his childhood, and he saw some of mine.
[She plays with the edge of a throw blanket on her bed.] It helped me to understand, a little.
[This is a complicated topic. She rubs the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes.]
... Did he seem okay? Other than the obvious.
☆ closed | tataru
Who knew.
Something's obvious, though. Mainly the fact that said turnskin appears to have... a limp. He's certainly walking strangely, that's for sure. If Tataru's observant, she should notice an odd lump at the base of his spine. That, as well as a look of discomfort on his face.
Regardless:]
...Hi.
[Does he look embarrassed?]
Uh, you... make clothes, right? That's... what you do, yeah?
[He hoped so. It wasn't like he listened all that attentively to what his deliveries had been for in the past, but even then- he hoped it was tailoring. Anything else, with that many animal skins would be....
...yeah.]
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I do, yes. [He gets a little nod out of her.] What can I do for you Cloud? Are you...all right?
[That hump might have something to do with it.]
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[He's not. He's so not. And pretending otherwise isn't exactly in service of anything. So. There's a slight exhale.]
Look, uh- This is probably gonna be a pain in the ass for you. [...And a pain above it for him.] So you can say no, if you want. But I spent time out in the wilde. Full moon happened... and I changed. Or... uh, some of me did.
[This is mortifying.]
You talked about your world when I did a delivery once. Eorzea, right? Found someone else from it. And the guy had a tail. I'm guessing pants made for guys like that is pretty common there.
[It's... not really like him to explain, overly. Or give a story, actually. But it's embarrassment that forces it.]
...Long story short, I've got one now. Was wondering if you could make me something to get by. [Without limping.] ...Or better, something that can hide it better than regular ones.
[And. Quickly-]
I've got money. So it's not like you'd be doing this for no payoff. If. You know, you've got time.
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It really won't be any trouble at all, Cloud. Whatever you need, I can sew it!
[She's more than confident enough in her ability as a seamstress to pull off whatever he might need.]
I've certainly got time for you. It'll do you no good to be uncomfortable the way you are.