[They both have reasons to inundate their hours with odd jobs and tasks to keep time marching forward. Sephiroth, especially, feels the weight of lassitude pressing into him. Having so many from Gaia appear, only to have them slip away as though they were nothing, has jarred him in ways that he’d not readily admit to. Even those he did not care to see — the (Vice) President himself, his loyal guard dogs — were a sight that reminded him of his Planet, and all that had been left behind.
That, recently coupled with an overbearing truth that singes every measure of thought crossing his mind as of late, Sephiroth finds that he hates when his hands are idle. They must be busy, they must be doing; whether it is leaving endless score marks against the poor training dummies behind the Barracks, or accepting mundane jobs at random, it didn’t matter. Anything was better than that dread sensation of allowing his mind to move in endless circles, even if that anything is picking berries in high demand, neglectful of the effect each clutch of leaves impresses on his mind.
It’ll pass, as everything always does. His body viciously defends itself from foreign influence by default, but even that will take time. Time enough to allow him to find Aerith, of all people, next to a particularly vibrant cluster of berries literally ripe for the picking. Time enough for him to cast his shadow over her, to cant his head and look upon her with eyes that are a little more searching than normal, their sharpness dulled by something oddly imprecise in their intensity. His silhouette, too, is different than what she’ll last remember — if only for the two large wings pressed obediently against his back, masses of dark feathers.]
I’ve come to pass the time.
[Certainly not a lie. Though if he’s already knee-deep in berry picking, there’s no proof of it. Has he left his basket at the previous bushel, distracted by a familiar face as he made his way over? It’s hard to say, but it’s possible. (He did.)]
You don’t want the company? Even if I have questions for you?
no subject
That, recently coupled with an overbearing truth that singes every measure of thought crossing his mind as of late, Sephiroth finds that he hates when his hands are idle. They must be busy, they must be doing; whether it is leaving endless score marks against the poor training dummies behind the Barracks, or accepting mundane jobs at random, it didn’t matter. Anything was better than that dread sensation of allowing his mind to move in endless circles, even if that anything is picking berries in high demand, neglectful of the effect each clutch of leaves impresses on his mind.
It’ll pass, as everything always does. His body viciously defends itself from foreign influence by default, but even that will take time. Time enough to allow him to find Aerith, of all people, next to a particularly vibrant cluster of berries literally ripe for the picking. Time enough for him to cast his shadow over her, to cant his head and look upon her with eyes that are a little more searching than normal, their sharpness dulled by something oddly imprecise in their intensity. His silhouette, too, is different than what she’ll last remember — if only for the two large wings pressed obediently against his back, masses of dark feathers.]
I’ve come to pass the time.
[Certainly not a lie. Though if he’s already knee-deep in berry picking, there’s no proof of it. Has he left his basket at the previous bushel, distracted by a familiar face as he made his way over? It’s hard to say, but it’s possible. (He did.)]
You don’t want the company? Even if I have questions for you?