( Nico might not be winning any awards for being a particularly sensitive kind of person, but she's nothing if not good at turning a problem into an opportunity. When she'd heard tell of the Underground having an algae problem she'd found her curiosity immediately piqued: she's spent the last few weeks elbow-deep in the various plant matter of Aefenglom, and as a scientist she really can't stop her mind from viewing the the algae as something well worth the research.
Unfortunately, the associated dangers don't feel like dangers until they actually become dangerous. Nico is knelt by her work close to one of the Underground's entrances; the red algae isn't close enough that she's at risk, but it's definitely noticeable among the swathes of dark green moss. She's collected some samples of the healthy moss as well as samples of moss that was beginning to look sick—possibly in the early stages of being attacked by the foreign body.
It's fascinating.
So fascinating, in fact, that she doesn't notice infected bat circling overhead until it swoops down to claw at her hair, which prompts her to drop the parchment she'd been holding and scrabble to her feet. )
Shit!
( She stumbles back, very sudden;y aware that she doesn't actually have a weapon of her own. There's her tool-belt, sure, but she isn't sure a pair of pliers is going to be much use here, and the bat shrieks with agitation as it makes to dive at her again. She grabs one of the heavy tomes she'd been reading and swings it back and forth, trying to drive it off, and cusses up a storm as she tries not to trip over any hidden roots. )
Not today, asshole! Nuh-huh, I don't have time for this.
( And you know, all the commotion is only attracting the attention of ... ah, the rest of the bats. )
You can all just ... ( And this is where she throws the book, because she's nothing if not Chaotic Extra? )Fuck off!
[ Activity in the tunnels seems to be on and off. Sometimes it's quiet; sometimes there are hordes that appear out of the ground. It makes investigating a bit difficult. That is what he's here for in the end, not to battle pest-like creatures. He can see the others have taken up arms well enough against them, which means Geralt has turned his attention to something that's invoked both his curiosity and concern, for personal reasons: the infection, spreading through even the plantlike organisms.
Something so pervasive from a singular source is worrying. That's the main reason he's even looking into this, given that he's not getting paid in anything other than goodwill. Some might say that's a worthwhile currency in its own right, but Geralt would say that goodwill has yet to buy him a meal.
He's turning a corner when the shrieking bats draws his gaze upwards. Sharp teeth, angry red eyes. But when he ducks, it's not because a rabid bat has attacked him. It's because there's a really fucking large book coming at his face. ]
Hey. [ It narrowly misses his head. He reaches behind him for a round metal bulb: it rolls into the pack of circling bats and—sits there? Wait. What the fuck—
In retrospect, Geralt knows better than to approach what's effectively a magical bomb (described so by Jaskier, who helpfully provided it after Geralt explained that his sword can only do so much in narrow tunnels) even if it seems like a dud, but there's a woman trying to beat back the bats and the last thing he needs is either of them getting bit. So prods it with the tip of his sword—and promptly gets a sizeable puff of smoke in his face.
He coughs. Ah, shit. It...could've been smoother. But the bats do screech and scurry away, escaping out a narrow opening in the rocks to fresher air. He waves away the smoke as it clears and makes a note to tell the bard-turned-witch the trigger mechanism is not, in reality, "handmade to perfection." (This is what he gets for avoiding Yennefer in hopes of not upsetting their uneasy truce.)
Geralt hands the woman the weaponized tome, dusty but intact. ] You okay?
Another voice cuts through the ruckus of her own voice and the chattering bats, and Nico quite suddenly realises that she might not be alone in her plight. That's good, right? Sure, there's the embarrassing reality of someone seeing her in the midst of a struggle, but this guys is tall, broad in the shoulder, and looks like he might know his way around that sword. Having some back-up has to be better than dealing with them on her own—which the guy seems intent on proving right away by rolling what looks to be some kind of grenade into the pack. )
Woo! Yeah, you show 'em who's—
( But Nico's cheer dies in her throat as the ball bounces to a halt and does a whole load of nothing. Seriously? The bats are still circling and shrieking as he inches in closer to poke it with the top of his sword—which causes the thing to sputter to life and eject a plume of smoke right into the guy's face. That the bats seem to find it suitably offensive is, in Nico's opinion, nothing short of blind luck, and she flings a few choice cusses after them as they disappear in a bluster of leathery wings.
Fortunately, she's distracted from her tirade by the man's approach. Nico hadn't really got a good look at him when they'd been dealing with the bats, but now that she can see him up close and personal? Damn, if he isn't a serious looking motherfucker. Silver hair, strange eyes, a head-to-toe "don't fuck with me" kind of vibe ... kind of like Sephiroth, kind of like Nero, kind of like most of the men in her life.
Figures. )
Yeah, yeah—I'm fine.
( She takes the book with a raised eyebrow, then brushes off some of the debris before setting it back down next to her research. When she straightens up again it's with a glimmer of mischief sitting behind her eyes: )
Y'know, between you an' that puffball over there, I can't decide which one of you to thank.
( But there's amusement pulling at the corners of her lips. Hey, the thing did manage to get results (even if they came at the man's expense), and she sets her hands on her hips before giving him a pointed once-over. )
Hard choice. Give it a day. [ His amusement is harder to spot, but it might be glimpsed beneath the deadpan. A brief moment passes where Geralt's giving her the same once over. His gaze catches on the unusual inking decorating her arms. Interesting. ]
Geralt. [ He bends to collect the glass ball that's rolled between her books. It's empty, with some dusty residue inside from the smoke. Might as well return it. For, ideally, an improved model. He peers through the hole where the bats fled, just to make sure they're not lurking for a second ambush. He has no damn idea how infections affect him here and now's not the time to experiment. ]
You're researching. [ The moss or the area in general? It looks that she's been set up here awhile, with her books and equipment. Between her tools and the fact that she seems not especially disturbed by rabid bats nearly chewing her face, she reminds him of the scholars he sometimes runs into out in their caves or dig sites: the ones that inadvertently disturb some tomb or troll in their eagerness to dust off old rocks. ] You've been here long?
( Honestly? Rabid bats chewing her face off is actually kind of tame in comparison to a regular day on the job, although unlike the scholars from Geralt's world? Her job is usually trying to fix other people's mistakes too. Still, she catches that very subtle humour under the flatness of the man's reply, and offers him a broad grin in return. )
I'll sleep on it, don't you worry.
( She winks, then drops to her knees next to her research to make sure she didn't accidentally step on anything in the chaos. )
Anyway, Geralt? I'm Nico. I got myself set up here this morning — I swear it was fine until those bat things decided to get involved.
( No damage to her samples, or so it would seem! Pleased, Nico sits back on her knees to look up at Geralt again. He doesn't much look like a scientist, but they do say not to judge books by their covers, and so: )
[ With the bats cleared out, Geralt leans his shoulder against the rocky tunnel wall. She's already caught his interest, half from what she might have learned and half because—
Mm. Just something about her. ]
Investigating. [ She's right to judge: he's not a scientist. But he is good at finding information from the people who do the research. Whatever's going on, he has a feeling the solution will end up needing someone like him to fix
Or at least linger nearby so nothing eats anyone while they do the fixing. ]
I thought I'd ask around, if anyone's guessed where it all might be coming from.
( Nico sits back on her knees with a knowing look: the red algae is becoming a serious problem, apparently, and she definitely isn't the only person who's trying to get a better understanding of what's going on. If he's interested too, maybe there's a chance he'll want to stick around for a while? Just in case those bats decide to make another cameo appearance.
Ugh. Nature. )
Oh yeah?
( She rakes a hand through her hair to pull the loose coil back from her face — but it promptly falls back to where it had settled before. )
You get anythin' interesting out of anyone so far?
( She gestures to her work. )
'Cause I'm still runnin' on theories here, like maybe it's parasitic, or maybe it's some kinda man-made mutation ...
( You know, that kind of thing. )
Say, if you help keep those bat things from makin' a meal of me, I could share my research with you?
[ Signs of said blizzard might still be vaguely clinging to him, hair damp from the weather. He's only just made it down here once the storm had calmed. At least his company in the cabin hadn't been terrible. And they managed to get the source of the blizzard sorted without anyone dying. He'll count it as a win.
Geralt considers both her theories and her offer for a second. He doesn't dwell long. It's an easy decision to make. ]
Deal. [ He sheathes his sword. He's been told there are bigger things than bats. With some luck, they'll avoid those. He tips his head towards a fork in the tunnels, leading in deeper. ] This way?
( Yup, a blizzard would do it. Nico carefully gathers up her samples so that she can tuck them away into her bag, then stacks the books so that she can lift them all together. On her way down, stashing them in with her phials and jars hadn't been a problem at all, but now that any damage might risk cross-contamination ... )
Hey, you mind holdin' some of these?
( She doesn't wait for an answer. Two of the thick books are thrust towards Geralt's chest so she can hold the third open in her hands. )
Thanks. Appreciate it.
( Have a lop-sided smile as they head towards the fork. A vague gesture is made towards the right-hand tunnel when they reach it, because what's the point in hemming and hawing when it's going to be equally dangerous either way? )
So investigating aside, what's your thing? You, uh ... got a kind of a "look", y'know?
[ His eyebrow lifts when he winds up with an armful of books. Geralt sighs in return to her winning smile, but tucks the tomes under one arm. He wants at least one hand free.
They make their way down the tunnel. His steps are lighter than what one might expect out of someone like him. The smell of the moss permeates the air. There's scratching in some places, echoing in the distance. Nothing nearby, though. Not yet. ]
A look. [ It's not really a question. He knows what she means. He's just still getting used to having to explain what that look indicates. Back home, no one asks. They know.
A Coven greenhouse, a glass structure of full panes and a pitched roof, is not where most would think to find Sephiroth. Especially not with his fingertips pressing gently into the soft soil of a row of flowers, raised waist-high on a wooden platform and housed in one long planter. The leaves and stems of the plants are vibrant, green, and swaying when the crook of his arm brushes past to feel the moisture soaked into the loam. Their blossoms are small and burgeoning, just dotted color tipped on swollen buds, but they will be bright and lively things once they spill open. And though the credit is not entirely his — he did not plant them evenly apart, or water and tend to them every day, but quite a few days consecutively now — this is still an achievement in its own right.
Because Sephiroth remembers that day in the outdoor garden not far from here, his knees pressed into a row of dead and uprooted plants, and Aerith looking as though he had just murdered a swath of innocents. She had even found it in herself to chide him for his careless treatment of what had once been growing, only to be severed, root from soil, in his best efforts to do the opposite. It had been a severe failure; one grounded in mundanity and ultimately purposeless, but a failure all the same, and it had seeded in him the resolution to do better someday.
Aerith was gone now. It is one more thought to add to his complex tangle of them, scraping at his mind like bramble so often that he wonders if those edges will ever dull against the bone. But perhaps that is why he finds himself in the greenhouse — because he is stubborn, yes, but also because he thinks of that day, and all the days after it, and wonders if she’s returned to the Planet, to her own garden, with her own fingers slipping into the earth.
His hair is loosely tied back, revealing the slender slope of his neck and the pointed tips of a harpy’s ears. Dark feathers interrupt the mercury near his scalp, but it’s negligible. He’s grown used to them by now. He shows no sign of wilting beneath the thick summer heat, exacerbated by the glass-housed environment surrounding him.
Sephiroth's been here for a while yet, straightening to move over to the next growing flower, when the entrance door swings open. He can tell when the dry heat from outside temporarily parts the cloying humidity inside, sharp as a knife, before dissipating altogether. A familiar woman enters, and Sephiroth spares her a glance that lingers for half-moment, before sliding away again.]
I didn’t take you for a gardener.
[Words with all the lilt wrung out of them. The usual.]
( Nico may be new to the idea of magic, but she'd remind anyone who thought to talk down to her that unfamiliarity doesn't make her stupid. She's gathered as much research as she can on the subject of what the lunar cycle does to those becoming monstrous, and when the literature had revealed that witches are susceptible to it as well? Oh boy. That thread had needed following through to the end, if only to help her maintain the illusion of having everything under control. Nero's stubbornness has been difficult—something her own attitude hasn't exactly helped, if she's honest with herself—but Nico has always been of the opinion that knowledge is the real key to getting things done. The greater the depth of her understanding, the easier it'll be to control ... right?
As such, when the New Moon rolls around Nico is ready to explore the surge in her powers. In truth she's been somewhat excited about testing a few spells she's been learning in her free time: what better point in the month to see how they work than when her magic is at its strongest? She's still learning, still trying to find a way to channel that power without a Bond, and while she's been having middling success with the most basic of challenges she feels it's time for something more.
It is, of course, an unmitigated disaster.
What she hadn't been prepared for is how unsettled the New Moon would make her feel. It's like she can feel the magic simmering beneath her skin—like it's ready to burst from her at any given moment—where it flushes her with unnatural heat and leaves her distracted from the simplest of tasks. She drops things, snaps at Nero, accidentally sets fire to the table more than once—at which point she decides the only thing for it is to get out of the cottage and try to force her energy back into some semblance of order.
Directionless, she wanders the sun-scorched streets for an aimless (yet hurried) thirty minutes or so, only conceding to the fact that she's gone and for herself lost when she finds herself faced with a row of misty-looking greenhouses. She doesn't recognise this part of the city at all. It's quiet here, and seems to have been given over to the cultivation of various kinds of plant life—
But then she spots a moving shadow behind the hazy glass, and decides that she may as well ask what's going on here before getting directions back into the city proper. Upon entering, the moist heat trapped under the glass threatens to overwhelm her entirely, but before she can turn around and leave she spots a glint of silver that she'd now recognise anywhere.
I didn’t take you for a gardener.
Well, shit. If it isn't the Angel of the Night. )
I guess that makes two of us.
( There's a beat as she folds her arms across her chest. )
[Sephiroth tests the moisture soaked into the potted soil with two fingers, and the sensation is cool and unlike the thick and brackish air that fills his lungs with each inhale. A moment passes before he chooses to reply, straightening and finally glancing at Nico properly.
They have only met once — and in passing, at best, after a failed attempt at a rigged carnival game — but she seems different, Sephiroth thinks. She stands with her form rigid and her arms crossed, but his Monster’s instincts can feel the buzz of magic coiling in waves beneath her skin. He has felt it in others, on days where it overflowed stronger than all else, dismantling their focus beneath the heavy veil of magic. A result of the New Moons, undoubtedly. He has learned to diligently keep track of when the phases of the moon are prevalent, for how affecting they are to both him and others he knows.
But he doesn’t really know her, does he? And despite that second-hand prickling he can feel at his skin as a result of her own presence, he has no reason to be concerned. She’s asking him a simple question, and he gives an unaffected answer.]
No. But I have helped them grow.
[To the verge of blossoming. He wonders what they’ll look like when their faces are bright, open, and seeking more sunlight.]
I don’t have a green thumb. [Comes the belated clarification.] That talent belongs to a woman from my Planet who’s no longer here. But she taught me a little on how to care for them.
...the Coven provides a few classes on gardening if you’re interested.
[Because why else would she be here? The heat often deters those who would otherwise aimlessly wander in.]
( Nico takes that stretch of silence to approach him between the rows of flowers, plucking at the material of her crop-top as she does so to keep the air moving against her chest. The humidity in the greenhouse feels positively sweltering—she'd figured it might be a little oppressive, although not like this—but she's the type of person who'd try to walk off a pair of broken ankles, never mind a little excess heat. Sephiroth has drawn his hair back away from his face and so Nico decides to go ahead and do the same, digging into the pocket of her shorts of a hair-tie so she can pull her increasingly damp hair up into a bun.
The elastic is caught between her teeth when Sephiroth suggests a gardening class, which earns him an amused little chuckles as she gathers her hair into one hand. )
Me?
( It's a little muffled, but Nico plucks the elastic from her mouth a moment later to secure the messy bun. She blows the flyaway strands away form her face with an upwards puff before continuing: )
Nah, plants ain't my thing. Now, you leave me alone in a room full of spare parts, chances are I could "bring somethin' to life", y'know?
( ... No, Nico. That was bad. She )
U-Uh ... I'm an engineer, is what I'm tryin' to say. Weapons, tech, that's what I do best. Not plants.
( She rubs at the back of her neck, then offers a strained little smile as means of apology for her rambling explanation. She doesn't usually trip over herself when she's explaining her passion—heck, when she's explaining her life's work—but that damn restlessness beneath her skin is making it difficult for her to express what she means. )
Sorry your girlfriend left, though.
( Taught him how to "care for flowers", huh? Sure. )
I guess it's kinda nice you're tryin' to keep 'em alive. Hey— ( And now for a sudden change of track: ) Are you hot?
[An engineer. Sephiroth wouldn’t have pinned her for one if asked, but he has been in this city, spoken to too many Mirrorbound, to be surprised by their worlds-away occupations any longer. He has about as much experience with engineering as he does gardening, though; there was a department back at Shinra devoted to machines of war, of creating the most expensive and most effective ways to put down an opposing force through amalgamations of steel, ammunition, and programming, but he never had a hand in their creation. He was about as weapon-like as the rest of them, and deployed with the same intent.
But he can appreciate what it entails — a fiercely keen mind and a deft hand. The laser-focus and nigh-obsession to create, as he’s seen in passing from those in the company.
Sephiroth rubs together his forefinger and thumb, rolling off wayward pieces of soil caught on the pads of his fingertips. The new information about her interests are tucked away, and he only offers to bother a correction.]
It wasn’t like that.
[A girlfriend????? That could not be farther from the truth, because he can only think of Aerith and know that she had been wary of him initially. Her demeanor never truly lightened until closer to the end, when the truth had been revealed and he had looked at the shape of that ivory-white materia cupped in her hands. After that, she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the memory of her once-presence.]
She was closer to the others.
[Others from Gaia, seems to be his meaning, but that thread is cut off, too, with the sudden conversational switch.]
It’s supposed to be warm. [You wouldn’t know it by looking at him.] It’s a greenhouse. [Duh.] ...But it’s been worse with the outside heat. Do you need to step out?
( Nico replies defensively, and perhaps a little too quickly to be truly believable. The truth is she's beginning to feel like she might need to sit down—like she's verging on dizziness, which is unusual for her—but in true Nico fashion she squashes those feelings down in the hopes of saving face. Growing up as a woman engineer? Yeah, she's had to learn all sorts of different tricks to make sure she survives in the trade, and that occasionally involves putting on a mean face in front of men who might think less of her.
Unfortunately, years of habit means she'll sometimes up that guard when it'd actually do her some good to listen. She pushes her glasses up into her hair for a moment so she can press the heels of her hands into her eyes, her nose scrunched and her posture a little tense before she realises she really needs to relax.
It's just a little heat. It's just a greenhouse. He's just the guy who made a fuss about ice cream after winning her a goofy stuffed octopus.
Moving closer to the flowers, Nico drops into a crouch to nudge a fingertip against one of the swollen buds. They look like they're just about ready to burst into a riot of colour; Sephiroth may not have planted them but he seems to have been doing a reasonable job tending them, and she mops her free hand over the damp back of her neck as she looks over at him again. )
You said you don't have a green thumb, but you ain't half bad at this.
( The warmth in her arteries feels almost electric now, crackling around her body to the point where she feels like she might vibrate out of her skin. She blinks once, shakes her head a little as if trying to clear her thoughts, but it isn't until she rises that the magic churning around inside her finally makes a bid for freedom.
It happens quickly. Magical fire begins to drip from her palms and fall across the flowers in dollops rippling amber, and she quickly snatches them away from the petals with a look of horror that Sephiroth just might catch before the surge. It's only one pulse of magic but it's strong enough to do some serious damage. The flowers catch fire instantly, singeing and sputtering as the water plumping their petals evaporates, and the majority of begin to wither as the burning magic pushes itself to their roots )
Fuck! Oh fuck, shit, get some water—!
( Nico grabs for the nearest watering can and upends it over the smoking flowers, her colour high and a gleam of panic in her eyes. )
[The air outside would be easier to breathe, less choked in the lungs -- that much is mere fact, and he asked in order to offer some modicum of comfort for Nico. But where she is defensive, Sephiroth's mannerisms are distant and his tonality wrung dry, easy to read as uncaring. Maybe the fault of what happens next lies with them both.
The compliment doesn't have much time to settle -- he wouldn't know what to truly do with it, anyway, other than to let it bolster a superfluous feeling of self-satisfaction -- when she's crouching down to brush her fingertips against the bulbous tips of still-sleeping blossoms. They sway gently under the brief ministrations, and for a moment it's like the quiet before a storm or some equally far-flung tragedy: peaceably content, just two individuals swathed in overgrown nature.
Until she rises, and it literally all goes up in flames.
It happens too quickly to process it in an apprising way, watching the green become eaten alive by the flames, twisting plump plant tissue into a fragile burnt brown. The flash-fire heat triggers instinct, and even Sephiroth is stepping back as the contained immolation works on the plants from top to bottom, hungry and eager. (There's irony in watching something he's put effort into being voided by heat. The thought ambles treacherously close to the surface of his awareness, but is blessedly pushed aside in favor of more pressing matters.)]
Stop, that isn't enough! [-he says, the harsh edge of militant command baked into his words. She's wasting effort with that water can, barely sloshing about with enough liquid to put out even one of these flowers. She'll only cause a billow of obfuscating smoke, and he knows that a flame is better quelled by suffocation rather than a haphazard spray, and so Sephiroth stoops down to procure a heavy, overlarge bag of sand, no doubt reserved for some future project of the Coven's. One end is already open and spilling into the planter as he turns it over, crowding the space with sand that mounds over the base of the flames, moving along its length until it's fully, though messily, covered.
It's a very harried moment, all things considered. But eventually the fire will not be able to thrive without oxygen to fuel it, and all that remains will be the dying embers still clinging to dried leaves and stems, twisted, hunched over, and so very thoroughly murdered.]
( The aftermath is heavy with shocked silence. Nico is briefly trapped in a spiral of her own thoughts: what's wrong with her, why couldn't she even put out a fire correctly, why did she come here—and how the fuck do you properly apologise for destroying someone's gardening project? Flowers planted by someone else who's left the city (fuck, there might have been real sentimental value there) that, no matter what she does, can't be properly replaced. She looks at the smouldering stems for a long moment before daring to lift her gaze to Sephiroth: )
I-I'm so sorry—
( Ah, but there's the stutter she usually manages to keep under control. Inherited from her father, it usually only comes out when she's especially excited, embarrassed, or upset, and right now "embarrassed and upset" neatly encompasses the bulk of what she's feeling. The rest of the sentence lodges in her throat for as she takes a jerky step towards him, her hands flexing and curling before balling to fists by her side. )
I didn't— it was an a-accident, I swear!
( Damn, they're fucked. They're completely, utterly fucked. Having only just moved towards him she now takes a few fumbling steps back, her cheeks already beer-red from the shame of her fuck-up as well as the slip-up with her stutter. )
I'll go. I'll just—it'll be better if I go. Right?
[The plants are unsalvageable at this point, the tone of their vibrant greens now replaced with ruddy browns. The fire of a witch is potent — he knows that from first-hand experiences — and it isn’t surprising that there’s nothing left to save. What had been growing could be turned into mulch to feed future projects, but that’s about the extent its usefulness, and it’s a demoralizing reality.
But Sephiroth is not one given to keen emotion; the cinch of his brow is all that seems to display his displeasure, and perhaps an downward tick of his mouth, but he is still silent stillness in the face of her shame, of her words staccato'd with what he assumes is an anxious stutter.
Maybe that's just worse.]
Don’t apologize. Just learn to control yourself and your magic better. What would you have done if this was a person?
[Does this make him a hypocrite extraordinaire? Well. His point still stands. The feeling of a commanding officer speaking to a subordinate hasn’t completely drained away.]
Nico feels immediately small and foolish. Sephiroth is right: she should have stayed at home where she wouldn't have been able to harm anyone else, not least because she already knew that her magic was acting strangely. She could have hurt a child — heck, rom her perspective she could have even hurt Sephiroth — which momentarily alleviates the guilt she feels for destroying his flowers instead. )
You're r-right, I'm—
( But he told her not to apologise, didn't he? Nico closes her mouth abruptly, then presses her lips into a thin line as she meets those strange green eyes. )
I'm goin'.
( She turns tail and leaves without another word. )
•••
( Fortunately for Nico, when the New Moons finally move into the first part of their cycle her magic settles back down again. Thoughts of Sephiroth and his space in the Coven's greenhouse are rarely far from her mind: she tries to throw herself into her studies, spends more time bothering Nero just for fun, but the guilt of what happened sits in her stomach like a cold, heavy stone. So what if he hadn't seemed that bothered? So what if he'd gone all ... military on her?
She did something wrong, and she needs to right it again.
The first batch of muffins? Not great. They're slightly over-baked but that doesn't stop Nero from stealing one, and he gets an earful of expletives before being sent out to re-buy the ingredients for another batch. The second half-dozen are a lot better: golden brown, fluffy, only a little bit messy, but they make up for their imperfections by filling the house with the warm scent of cinnamon.
Next, she counts up the last of her savings and heads to the shopping district. It's easy enough to find somewhere that sells seeds, bulbs and flowers for planting: she buys him reds, yellows, whites, even a couple of fancy looking purple bulbs, along with a basket large enough to carry them with the muffins.
The following morning Nico heads back to the greenhouses. She assumes that if she lurks for long enough then Sephiroth will probably show up, and is (thankfully) proven right after a couple of hours sat against a tree with a book. His silhouette is immediately recognisable: the dark sweep of his wings, the sparkling hair, even his gait is somehow unique to him, and Nico watches him enter before pulling herself to her feet and following him inside. )
... Sephiroth?
( Nico is holding the basket between both hands, and hikes it up a little higher just to show him she's there for a reason. )
Sorry for just showin' up out of the blue again, but. I brought you somethin'. ( A lop-sided smile pulls at the corners of her lips, self-deprecating but genuine. ) Promise I'm not gonna explode anythin' this time.
( She moves closer, then flips the the cloth over the muffins to reveal the plump little treats. He'd seemed pretty disgusted by the idea of ice-cream, and so: )
Uh — they're banana, oat and cinnamon, made with brown flour and just a little honey. They're real good for you, I figured they could do for breakfasts or somethin'?
( A beat. )
And more things for you to plant, so you can keep tryin' to turn that thumb of yours a little green.
[The greenhouse interior shows no sign of the conflagration that had consumed the ill-fated planter just the week before. The clean-up had been swift, the remnants of sand and dirt and burnt plant-parts now entirely missing, replaced with fresh soil and an empty row for something new to grow. This small tract of potted space simply awaits someone to tend to it, and Sephiroth finds himself returning every few days to see what needs to be done, and if someone from the Coven had sewn in fresh seeds. As of yet, no such progress.
Today, he’s here to do the same, and when he opens the door to the greenhouse, that telltale humidity sweeps forward and sticks against his exposed skin, clings to his clothes. Bright, green things shudder gently in wayward greeting, but more prominently, a familiar presence — coupled with a familiar voice — has followed him in.
He turns to face Nico, eyebrows lifting in faint surprise. Sephiroth looks much the same as the last time — hair pulled back, alien eyes bright and searching, hands ungloved for the sake of infusing a more delicate touch into his fingers, until he’s far more used to dealing with flora. He notes that she looks quite different, less like a bundle of nervous energy, no fire sparking at her fingertips, a more solid countenance and confidence already a handful of sentences in.
And bearing a basket full of muffins, too, plump and soft and smelling of sweet cinnamon that permeates even the loam-scented climate around them.]
Is this your version of an apology?
[He hadn’t been angry; startled (in that unremarkable degree that only Sephiroth can be startled), and put-off by how quickly his work had vanished in a matter of seconds. Disapproving, yes, of her inability to control herself, but he was never frustrated with her. He had seen too often how the moons affected both Monster and Witch. Sephiroth, with willpower so fierce it might as well be tempered steel, has felt that same steel bend under the Sisters, and some might even argue in far less flattering ways than simply torching a row of growing plants.
Though perhaps it is hard to tell, given his demeanor reveals so little, and his reply could be taken as less-than-affable. But he steps forward and gently grasps at the basket’s handle, head canted downwards to see what’s within. Muffins and— packets of seeds and fresh bulbs, as she implied. The little illustrations scrawled on the front of the former reveal flowers of many colors, bright and waiting to be utilized.
He’s silent, and maybe a little struck by the unexpectedness of it, that someone would go to the trouble to make muffins and purchase replacement seeds for their mistake. It’s a gesture that makes logical sense, but logic can never quite dull the oddity of unfamiliarity. No one has really ever gone to this length with him before, and such actions continue to pile up in this world so far away from Gaia.]
I wasn’t angry. You’ve gone to too much trouble for my sake.
[That, too, is strange, and he lifts his eyes to look at her again, and something smooths over the militant edges of tone.]
…But it’s appreciated, regardless. They smell pleasant enough.
( Nico watches him react, and can't help but find his response to the basket a little odd. It certainly seems to reflect the way he's behaved around her up to this point: measured, reserved, perhaps a little reluctant around the edges, but there's an undercurrent of surprise to his words that leaves her feeling somewhat strange. Why doesn't he seem he used to this? Do people not focus amends for their mistakes where he's from, or is it just a "him" thing? )
Even if you weren't angry, I messed up somethin' of yours. It's only right that I make it up to you — or at the very least replace it, y'know?
( Raking a hand through the thick wave of her hair, Nico decides to try for a little levity in the hopes of keeping the tone light. Sephiroth is an odd one — strange and intense, even in his dismissiveness — but that doesn't make him any less deserving of kindness, and although she's relatively inconsistent in the way that she shows it? It's important for her to do all the same. Nero, he gets her company, his Devil Breakers and the open invitation of a shoulder to cry on. Kyrie gets help with the kids, odd jobs around the house, and an electrician whenever she needs it.
Sephiroth gets breakfast muffins and some plants. )
And you shut up with "they smell decent enough", there's foster-kids back home who think I'm a cake-makin' genius.
( But she's smiling broadly, her expression warming with satisfaction as it sinks in that he hasn't flat-out rejected her apology. Calling it unnecessary is fair enough, but Nico is observant enough to detect that slight softening of his edges when he looks back up at her. It should be strange to see, coming from features that lend themselves to the look of a predator, and for a moment she wonders if that is somehow tied in to his surprise at the gifts.
A conversation for a different time, perhaps. )
Anyway, it ain't no trouble. Bakin' stuff ... it's just edible chemistry, y'know?
( Nico tosses him a wink. )
Stuff gets a lot easier if I can make it seem like a science.
[Sephiroth makes a faint sound from the back of his throat, like a scoff that wasn't quite given clearance to leave his lips. It sounds amused in a way that only he can manage -- a sort of knowing humor squeezed dry of life. A cake-making genius, was it?]
Is that right?
[He turns, then, to cross over to a table adorned with tiny, individually potted flowers. There's room enough for the basket to rest there, and he places it down for now, though a hand dips in just low enough to procure two of the bulbs. He speaks in the interim.]
...Scientifically-minded. Putting things together, taking them apart, wondering what makes something tick. I've been around your type before, and I know that you're all endlessly stubborn.
[There are less flattering adjectives that he could apply to scientists, some old faces far more deserving than others, but he spares her that undeserved comparison. Without preamble, he turns on his heel and tosses a single bulb in her direction. It spins in a gentle arc -- catch, Nico!]
And that stubbornness is bolstered by curiosity and the desire to learn. You can consider this moment an exercise in plant biology, then.
[In other words: she's already here, so why waste the opportunity? Stay and plant a bulb or two.]
( Honestly? Sephiroth's offer is more than she was expecting, not least because she'd assumed he might just try to shoo her on out just to make extra sure to avoid any further accidents. That he'd follow up his not entirely flattering assessment of scientists by tossing her a bulb is ... surprising, to say the least, and Nico's eyebrows bump up her forehead as her smile grows wide. )
Really?
( "An exercise in plant biology", yeah? She's beginning to realise that this might just be the kind of person Sephiroth is: in the same way she likes to turn things into science, perhaps he just finds things easier if he approaches life as a series of exercises. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing she's heard, especially if her hunch that he's military turns out to be right. Nico moves around to where he's standing and crouches to poke at a planter, dipping a finger into the damp, warm soil before rubbing a little against the pad of her thumb.
Nicoletta Goldstein, learning how to plant things. Who'd have ever thought. )
I've been around your type too, y'know. Practical, like things done a certain way, no time for messin' around or bein' a dumbass ...
( A quiet chuckle follows, and she shakes her head. )
They all turned out to be army guys.
( Brown eyes lift to look back up at him, one eyebrow raised in question. )
[Sephiroth has already half-turned to assess the state of the long planter stretched out before them. An artistic mindset might equate it to a canvas untouched, but he can only see it as an empty space, waiting for a line of bulbs to be slotted into their proper spots, much like infantrymen lined up to wait at attention. Her assessment, then, is both correct and starkly intuitive.
It earns her a look as he crouches down in a gathering of dark clothes, black feathers, and hair that sweeps the floor next to his boots.]
Yes.
[The answer is complicated, as all things from home have become. But in its most simplistic form, her assumption is right on the money.]
I’ve spent much of my life in the military. Ever since I was a child.
[He reaches out to push aside a small mound of soil with two fingers. It leaves an indent in the planter, just deep enough to slot in the little flower bulb.]
Practicality isn’t an expectation, it’s a requirement.
( That's the thing about Nico: she's about as subtle as a hurricane, but that doesn't mean she isn't both observant and sensitive when she needs to be. Sephiroth wouldn't be the first to find himself on the receiving end of a such an educated guess. )
Since you were a kid, huh?
( She winces a little. It's hard to figure out what to say to that: Nico doesn't have too much experience with the military proper, but she does know that children never become soldiers because they have healthy and happy home lives. Would asking about his mom and dad be insensitive? Probably, because what kind of parents would enrol their son into the military while he was a child? And if that wasn't the case, what happened to him that ended up putting him on the path of a soldier? )
How old are you now, anyway? ( She watches him dip his fingers into the soil to make a neat little hole, presumably for the bulb. ) You don't look much older than me, but ... all that grey hair's thrown me off.
( Which isn't strictly true; Nero's hair colour is pretty similar, but then he's got demon blood flowing through his veins making him look like a Grade-A badass. A hint amusement touches the corners of her lips: )
And speakin' of, I dunno how "practical" it is to have hair that touches the floor, Angelface.
( Said as she reaches over to press the bulb into the dark, warm space he's created. )
[Since he was a kid. His childhood was defined by the same array of environments, of people, of expectations — the laboratories, the scientists and researchers and their assistants. And the military, the commanders and officers and the battlefield lit with furor and blood. A part of Sephiroth realizes that no one else quite has had the same experiences, that their younger years were defined more by simpler domestic qualities, and not the bright pinprick of needles or the same battle scenario fought ad nauseam until he had beaten his own time a hundred times over. But this mundanity strikes him as foreign; abnormal to his normal. He thinks little of it — even now, disillusioned by Shinra, he does not give them enough credit for stealing as much from him as they had.
Not yet, anyway.
But that isn't what she asks, and it's easy enough to reply with his age despite the comment about his "grey" hair.]
I'm twenty-two.
[Doing the math from his file is easy enough, and simpler still to keep track of. Nico slots the bulb into the cool tract of earth, and Sephiroth begins to work the same shape into the soil for his own bulb.]
My hair is practical in its own way. [He explains mildly, as though his own vanity has nothing to do with it.] Most would call it a disadvantage, a detriment in a fight. It could get in the way, or an enemy might come close enough to grab it, then force me open to an attack.
[As though to illustrate, he sweeps one of his long bangs over his shoulder, having fallen into his face as he dips his head low.]
With me, that's an impossibility. There's no need to keep it short; thus, it's an intimidation tactic. Shinra's marketing would agree.
( Twenty-two. A year younger than she is and already so serious; a child solder who's never once smiled in her presence, and who she's only really encountered doing things on his own. And what's that he just said about ... "Shinra?" That their marketing department support keeping his hair long as an intimidation tactic? Nico wants to scoff — that isn't a proper reason to decide to do anything.
Nico shakes her head, then pulls in a deep breath that she releases in a low whistle. )
... I guess you must be pretty good then.
( His hair gleams as he pulls the bang over his shoulder and Nico can't help but wonder when he last cut it — or when it last did become a problem in the middle of battle. Probably a long, long time ago, judging but the length of it now. For some reason this revelation makes Nico feel a little sad. )
My business partner Nero, he's good too. We don't work for the military or anything though — our job's huntin' demons. Freelance. He does the fightin', I make the weapons.
( Keen to practice, Nico presses her own fingers into the soil a few inches down from Sephiroth to make another bulb-sized space. May as well get a few more planted up while they're at it, right? )
[“Pretty good” is an understatement, and Sephiroth would once have thought it strange to hear. But now, there is a quiet solace in knowing that most don’t look at him bearing expectation and barely-reined-in awe, and instead can form their impressions based on interaction, rather than secondhand tales of inhuman heroism or, yes, Shinra’s marketing.
So “pretty good” works well enough for now, and the only correction he provides is that of the company itself.]
Shinra isn’t a person. It’s a power company.
[Does it seem strange that a power company would employ some mode of military power? It is, but to someone hailing from Gaia, and who grew up under that company’s wing, the idea is still embedded in his bones as normal — despite his respect for the mega-corporation long discarded.]
I worked for them for years. I don’t consider myself to be in their employ any longer.
[To say the least. To get any deeper is to tread into ugly, unflattering territory, and Sephiroth is choosy about who is allowed trespass.]
Nico appears to be making room for more bulbs than he’s fetched from the basket, so Sephiroth makes a move to stand and gather a handful more, as many as he can carry — he returns and lays them out before them in the soil, ready to be planted one by one.]
...Your business partner, is he in this city with you?
[Demon hunting has little context for him; he imagines only large and twisted monsters (irony, given this place), mindless and in need of slaying.]
( That definitely trips her up a little. A power company? Nico had assumed that "Shinra" was some kind of government official heading up their department of defence — but then he'd never specified what kind of military force he worked for, did he? The fact that it was a private one is deeply uncomfortable (and equally uncomfortably explains the "child" element of it), and Nico shifts as that discomfort settles deeper into her stomach.
Can she even ask about that? Sephiroth changes the subject smoothly after putting a little distance between him and them; he doesn't work for them now, so ... maybe she should just leave it at that. Nico is nosey, but she isn't stupid. Perhaps better to let that lie for the time being. )
Yeah, he is. The guy who owns the company, too, but he's been in a coma since he got here.
( Nico holds up a hand. )
Which ain't too weird for him, before you say anythin'. We got him set up all comfy back at the cottage.
( With the bulbs laid out, Nico begins slotting them into the holes she's created. )
It's kinda hard to get work demon hunting when there's no demons around though. I guess it's just as well there's always people needin' help with stuff, huh?
[A coma? A matter for concern, normally, but apparently this equates to “normal” for this man. Curious, but not so much to ask after it; he has heard stranger from the Mirrorbound, and more unbelievable, than that.
Sephiroth moves a step or two aside, so that they might utilize the whole stretch of the planter, dipping his fingers into the shallow soil once more to create a few more spots. He spares Nico the occasional glance, seen through the sheer of silver bangs that rebelliously slide over his shoulders.]
...It’s a city full of people, and people always need something. There’s work every month, if you don’t mind tasks that are likely… more simplistic than you’d prefer.
[Ask him about the time he looked for a lost cat, only to hunt down the wrong cat. Actually, don’t.]
Still. There may not be demons to kill — whatever that entails — but there are the beasts infected by the Cwyld. Have you seen one?
( "More simplistic than she'd prefer" is right, although she can't complain too much. Nico has been sensible about the odd jobs she's taken to tide herself and Nero over so far: anything that's been able to teach her a new skill, or get her used to the flora and fauna of the place? Sold. Right now her main goal is to soak up as much information as possible so she can make herself feel useful again. )
I heard about them, sure, but I've never seen one.
( She shifts from her crouch to her knees, sitting back on her ankles to get a little more comfortable. )
You reckon there's cunes to be made in goin' out on a hunt?
( Nero has been bringing in his share of the household funds by doing a bit of exterminating here and there, but going straight for the infected beasts could be a reasonable suggestion. If someone's willing to pay them for it, why not? )
Oftentimes, not a hunt specifically. But the need for someone to protect the researchers, or members of the Coven, who want to set foot in dangerous territory to learn more about the Cwyld. Essentially the role of a bodyguard.
[He shifts a little, too, for the sake of a more comfortable position. It seems as though they are both committed to spending an ample time in the greenhouse for now.]
Your friend might not have any trouble with them. But I would suggest you keep to the city if you're not trained to fight.
[A pause, spoken so plainly that one might miss it for the joke it is-]
Are you sure you don’t want to begin a career in botany?
( Bodyguarding? That could definitely be a lucrative source of income, and in her opinion there's no-one better suited to the job. While she'd probably not admit it to his face, his skill in monster hunting rivals her own in weapon smithing; between them, she doesn't see why they couldn't bring Devil May Cry to Aefenglom. A bit of advertising, a few impressive kills under their belts—
But then Sephiroth pops on his clown nose, and Nico just stares at him for a moment before feeling a smirk curve her lips. )
I dunno, you sure you don't wanna hang up your boots an' become a comedian?
( She flicks a little soil at him — you know, since they're both adults here. )
Your faith in me is real nice an' all, but flash-frying those flowers just the once was way more than enough for me.
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trulygifted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-07-20 08:13 pm
FOR GYNVAEL.
no subject
( Nico might not be winning any awards for being a particularly sensitive kind of person, but she's nothing if not good at turning a problem into an opportunity. When she'd heard tell of the Underground having an algae problem she'd found her curiosity immediately piqued: she's spent the last few weeks elbow-deep in the various plant matter of Aefenglom, and as a scientist she really can't stop her mind from viewing the the algae as something well worth the research.
Unfortunately, the associated dangers don't feel like dangers until they actually become dangerous. Nico is knelt by her work close to one of the Underground's entrances; the red algae isn't close enough that she's at risk, but it's definitely noticeable among the swathes of dark green moss. She's collected some samples of the healthy moss as well as samples of moss that was beginning to look sick—possibly in the early stages of being attacked by the foreign body.
It's fascinating.
So fascinating, in fact, that she doesn't notice infected bat circling overhead until it swoops down to claw at her hair, which prompts her to drop the parchment she'd been holding and scrabble to her feet. )
Shit!
( She stumbles back, very sudden;y aware that she doesn't actually have a weapon of her own. There's her tool-belt, sure, but she isn't sure a pair of pliers is going to be much use here, and the bat shrieks with agitation as it makes to dive at her again. She grabs one of the heavy tomes she'd been reading and swings it back and forth, trying to drive it off, and cusses up a storm as she tries not to trip over any hidden roots. )
Not today, asshole! Nuh-huh, I don't have time for this.
( And you know, all the commotion is only attracting the attention of ... ah, the rest of the bats. )
You can all just ... ( And this is where she throws the book, because she's nothing if not Chaotic Extra? ) Fuck off!
no subject
Something so pervasive from a singular source is worrying. That's the main reason he's even looking into this, given that he's not getting paid in anything other than goodwill. Some might say that's a worthwhile currency in its own right, but Geralt would say that goodwill has yet to buy him a meal.
He's turning a corner when the shrieking bats draws his gaze upwards. Sharp teeth, angry red eyes. But when he ducks, it's not because a rabid bat has attacked him. It's because there's a really fucking large book coming at his face. ]
Hey. [ It narrowly misses his head. He reaches behind him for a round metal bulb: it rolls into the pack of circling bats and—sits there? Wait. What the fuck—
In retrospect, Geralt knows better than to approach what's effectively a magical bomb (described so by Jaskier, who helpfully provided it after Geralt explained that his sword can only do so much in narrow tunnels) even if it seems like a dud, but there's a woman trying to beat back the bats and the last thing he needs is either of them getting bit. So prods it with the tip of his sword—and promptly gets a sizeable puff of smoke in his face.
He coughs. Ah, shit. It...could've been smoother. But the bats do screech and scurry away, escaping out a narrow opening in the rocks to fresher air. He waves away the smoke as it clears and makes a note to tell the bard-turned-witch the trigger mechanism is not, in reality, "handmade to perfection." (This is what he gets for avoiding Yennefer in hopes of not upsetting their uneasy truce.)
Geralt hands the woman the weaponized tome, dusty but intact. ] You okay?
no subject
( Hey.
Another voice cuts through the ruckus of her own voice and the chattering bats, and Nico quite suddenly realises that she might not be alone in her plight. That's good, right? Sure, there's the embarrassing reality of someone seeing her in the midst of a struggle, but this guys is tall, broad in the shoulder, and looks like he might know his way around that sword. Having some back-up has to be better than dealing with them on her own—which the guy seems intent on proving right away by rolling what looks to be some kind of grenade into the pack. )
Woo! Yeah, you show 'em who's—
( But Nico's cheer dies in her throat as the ball bounces to a halt and does a whole load of nothing. Seriously? The bats are still circling and shrieking as he inches in closer to poke it with the top of his sword—which causes the thing to sputter to life and eject a plume of smoke right into the guy's face. That the bats seem to find it suitably offensive is, in Nico's opinion, nothing short of blind luck, and she flings a few choice cusses after them as they disappear in a bluster of leathery wings.
Fortunately, she's distracted from her tirade by the man's approach. Nico hadn't really got a good look at him when they'd been dealing with the bats, but now that she can see him up close and personal? Damn, if he isn't a serious looking motherfucker. Silver hair, strange eyes, a head-to-toe "don't fuck with me" kind of vibe ... kind of like Sephiroth, kind of like Nero, kind of like most of the men in her life.
Figures. )
Yeah, yeah—I'm fine.
( She takes the book with a raised eyebrow, then brushes off some of the debris before setting it back down next to her research. When she straightens up again it's with a glimmer of mischief sitting behind her eyes: )
Y'know, between you an' that puffball over there, I can't decide which one of you to thank.
( But there's amusement pulling at the corners of her lips. Hey, the thing did manage to get results (even if they came at the man's expense), and she sets her hands on her hips before giving him a pointed once-over. )
You got a name?
no subject
Geralt. [ He bends to collect the glass ball that's rolled between her books. It's empty, with some dusty residue inside from the smoke. Might as well return it. For, ideally, an improved model. He peers through the hole where the bats fled, just to make sure they're not lurking for a second ambush. He has no damn idea how infections affect him here and now's not the time to experiment. ]
You're researching. [ The moss or the area in general? It looks that she's been set up here awhile, with her books and equipment. Between her tools and the fact that she seems not especially disturbed by rabid bats nearly chewing her face, she reminds him of the scholars he sometimes runs into out in their caves or dig sites: the ones that inadvertently disturb some tomb or troll in their eagerness to dust off old rocks. ] You've been here long?
no subject
( Honestly? Rabid bats chewing her face off is actually kind of tame in comparison to a regular day on the job, although unlike the scholars from Geralt's world? Her job is usually trying to fix other people's mistakes too. Still, she catches that very subtle humour under the flatness of the man's reply, and offers him a broad grin in return. )
I'll sleep on it, don't you worry.
( She winks, then drops to her knees next to her research to make sure she didn't accidentally step on anything in the chaos. )
Anyway, Geralt? I'm Nico. I got myself set up here this morning — I swear it was fine until those bat things decided to get involved.
( No damage to her samples, or so it would seem! Pleased, Nico sits back on her knees to look up at Geralt again. He doesn't much look like a scientist, but they do say not to judge books by their covers, and so: )
Is that why you're down here too? Research?
no subject
Mm. Just something about her. ]
Investigating. [ She's right to judge: he's not a scientist. But he is good at finding information from the people who do the research. Whatever's going on, he has a feeling the solution will end up needing someone like him to fix
Or at least linger nearby so nothing eats anyone while they do the fixing. ]
I thought I'd ask around, if anyone's guessed where it all might be coming from.
no subject
( Nico sits back on her knees with a knowing look: the red algae is becoming a serious problem, apparently, and she definitely isn't the only person who's trying to get a better understanding of what's going on. If he's interested too, maybe there's a chance he'll want to stick around for a while? Just in case those bats decide to make another cameo appearance.
Ugh. Nature. )
Oh yeah?
( She rakes a hand through her hair to pull the loose coil back from her face — but it promptly falls back to where it had settled before. )
You get anythin' interesting out of anyone so far?
( She gestures to her work. )
'Cause I'm still runnin' on theories here, like maybe it's parasitic, or maybe it's some kinda man-made mutation ...
( You know, that kind of thing. )
Say, if you help keep those bat things from makin' a meal of me, I could share my research with you?
no subject
[ Signs of said blizzard might still be vaguely clinging to him, hair damp from the weather. He's only just made it down here once the storm had calmed. At least his company in the cabin hadn't been terrible. And they managed to get the source of the blizzard sorted without anyone dying. He'll count it as a win.
Geralt considers both her theories and her offer for a second. He doesn't dwell long. It's an easy decision to make. ]
Deal. [ He sheathes his sword. He's been told there are bigger things than bats. With some luck, they'll avoid those. He tips his head towards a fork in the tunnels, leading in deeper. ] This way?
no subject
( Yup, a blizzard would do it. Nico carefully gathers up her samples so that she can tuck them away into her bag, then stacks the books so that she can lift them all together. On her way down, stashing them in with her phials and jars hadn't been a problem at all, but now that any damage might risk cross-contamination ... )
Hey, you mind holdin' some of these?
( She doesn't wait for an answer. Two of the thick books are thrust towards Geralt's chest so she can hold the third open in her hands. )
Thanks. Appreciate it.
( Have a lop-sided smile as they head towards the fork. A vague gesture is made towards the right-hand tunnel when they reach it, because what's the point in hemming and hawing when it's going to be equally dangerous either way? )
So investigating aside, what's your thing? You, uh ... got a kind of a "look", y'know?
no subject
They make their way down the tunnel. His steps are lighter than what one might expect out of someone like him. The smell of the moss permeates the air. There's scratching in some places, echoing in the distance. Nothing nearby, though. Not yet. ]
A look. [ It's not really a question. He knows what she means. He's just still getting used to having to explain what that look indicates. Back home, no one asks. They know.
He keeps it simple. ] I hunt things. For a price.
FOR SUPERSOLDIER.
no subject
A Coven greenhouse, a glass structure of full panes and a pitched roof, is not where most would think to find Sephiroth. Especially not with his fingertips pressing gently into the soft soil of a row of flowers, raised waist-high on a wooden platform and housed in one long planter. The leaves and stems of the plants are vibrant, green, and swaying when the crook of his arm brushes past to feel the moisture soaked into the loam. Their blossoms are small and burgeoning, just dotted color tipped on swollen buds, but they will be bright and lively things once they spill open. And though the credit is not entirely his — he did not plant them evenly apart, or water and tend to them every day, but quite a few days consecutively now — this is still an achievement in its own right.
Because Sephiroth remembers that day in the outdoor garden not far from here, his knees pressed into a row of dead and uprooted plants, and Aerith looking as though he had just murdered a swath of innocents. She had even found it in herself to chide him for his careless treatment of what had once been growing, only to be severed, root from soil, in his best efforts to do the opposite. It had been a severe failure; one grounded in mundanity and ultimately purposeless, but a failure all the same, and it had seeded in him the resolution to do better someday.
Aerith was gone now. It is one more thought to add to his complex tangle of them, scraping at his mind like bramble so often that he wonders if those edges will ever dull against the bone. But perhaps that is why he finds himself in the greenhouse — because he is stubborn, yes, but also because he thinks of that day, and all the days after it, and wonders if she’s returned to the Planet, to her own garden, with her own fingers slipping into the earth.
His hair is loosely tied back, revealing the slender slope of his neck and the pointed tips of a harpy’s ears. Dark feathers interrupt the mercury near his scalp, but it’s negligible. He’s grown used to them by now. He shows no sign of wilting beneath the thick summer heat, exacerbated by the glass-housed environment surrounding him.
Sephiroth's been here for a while yet, straightening to move over to the next growing flower, when the entrance door swings open. He can tell when the dry heat from outside temporarily parts the cloying humidity inside, sharp as a knife, before dissipating altogether. A familiar woman enters, and Sephiroth spares her a glance that lingers for half-moment, before sliding away again.]
I didn’t take you for a gardener.
[Words with all the lilt wrung out of them. The usual.]
no subject
( Nico may be new to the idea of magic, but she'd remind anyone who thought to talk down to her that unfamiliarity doesn't make her stupid. She's gathered as much research as she can on the subject of what the lunar cycle does to those becoming monstrous, and when the literature had revealed that witches are susceptible to it as well? Oh boy. That thread had needed following through to the end, if only to help her maintain the illusion of having everything under control. Nero's stubbornness has been difficult—something her own attitude hasn't exactly helped, if she's honest with herself—but Nico has always been of the opinion that knowledge is the real key to getting things done. The greater the depth of her understanding, the easier it'll be to control ... right?
As such, when the New Moon rolls around Nico is ready to explore the surge in her powers. In truth she's been somewhat excited about testing a few spells she's been learning in her free time: what better point in the month to see how they work than when her magic is at its strongest? She's still learning, still trying to find a way to channel that power without a Bond, and while she's been having middling success with the most basic of challenges she feels it's time for something more.
It is, of course, an unmitigated disaster.
What she hadn't been prepared for is how unsettled the New Moon would make her feel. It's like she can feel the magic simmering beneath her skin—like it's ready to burst from her at any given moment—where it flushes her with unnatural heat and leaves her distracted from the simplest of tasks. She drops things, snaps at Nero, accidentally sets fire to the table more than once—at which point she decides the only thing for it is to get out of the cottage and try to force her energy back into some semblance of order.
Directionless, she wanders the sun-scorched streets for an aimless (yet hurried) thirty minutes or so, only conceding to the fact that she's gone and for herself lost when she finds herself faced with a row of misty-looking greenhouses. She doesn't recognise this part of the city at all. It's quiet here, and seems to have been given over to the cultivation of various kinds of plant life—
But then she spots a moving shadow behind the hazy glass, and decides that she may as well ask what's going on here before getting directions back into the city proper. Upon entering, the moist heat trapped under the glass threatens to overwhelm her entirely, but before she can turn around and leave she spots a glint of silver that she'd now recognise anywhere.
I didn’t take you for a gardener.
Well, shit. If it isn't the Angel of the Night. )
I guess that makes two of us.
( There's a beat as she folds her arms across her chest. )
... You plant all these yourself?
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They have only met once — and in passing, at best, after a failed attempt at a rigged carnival game — but she seems different, Sephiroth thinks. She stands with her form rigid and her arms crossed, but his Monster’s instincts can feel the buzz of magic coiling in waves beneath her skin. He has felt it in others, on days where it overflowed stronger than all else, dismantling their focus beneath the heavy veil of magic. A result of the New Moons, undoubtedly. He has learned to diligently keep track of when the phases of the moon are prevalent, for how affecting they are to both him and others he knows.
But he doesn’t really know her, does he? And despite that second-hand prickling he can feel at his skin as a result of her own presence, he has no reason to be concerned. She’s asking him a simple question, and he gives an unaffected answer.]
No. But I have helped them grow.
[To the verge of blossoming. He wonders what they’ll look like when their faces are bright, open, and seeking more sunlight.]
I don’t have a green thumb. [Comes the belated clarification.] That talent belongs to a woman from my Planet who’s no longer here. But she taught me a little on how to care for them.
...the Coven provides a few classes on gardening if you’re interested.
[Because why else would she be here? The heat often deters those who would otherwise aimlessly wander in.]
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( Nico takes that stretch of silence to approach him between the rows of flowers, plucking at the material of her crop-top as she does so to keep the air moving against her chest. The humidity in the greenhouse feels positively sweltering—she'd figured it might be a little oppressive, although not like this—but she's the type of person who'd try to walk off a pair of broken ankles, never mind a little excess heat. Sephiroth has drawn his hair back away from his face and so Nico decides to go ahead and do the same, digging into the pocket of her shorts of a hair-tie so she can pull her increasingly damp hair up into a bun.
The elastic is caught between her teeth when Sephiroth suggests a gardening class, which earns him an amused little chuckles as she gathers her hair into one hand. )
Me?
( It's a little muffled, but Nico plucks the elastic from her mouth a moment later to secure the messy bun. She blows the flyaway strands away form her face with an upwards puff before continuing: )
Nah, plants ain't my thing. Now, you leave me alone in a room full of spare parts, chances are I could "bring somethin' to life", y'know?
( ... No, Nico. That was bad. She )
U-Uh ... I'm an engineer, is what I'm tryin' to say. Weapons, tech, that's what I do best. Not plants.
( She rubs at the back of her neck, then offers a strained little smile as means of apology for her rambling explanation. She doesn't usually trip over herself when she's explaining her passion—heck, when she's explaining her life's work—but that damn restlessness beneath her skin is making it difficult for her to express what she means. )
Sorry your girlfriend left, though.
( Taught him how to "care for flowers", huh? Sure. )
I guess it's kinda nice you're tryin' to keep 'em alive. Hey— ( And now for a sudden change of track: ) Are you hot?
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But he can appreciate what it entails — a fiercely keen mind and a deft hand. The laser-focus and nigh-obsession to create, as he’s seen in passing from those in the company.
Sephiroth rubs together his forefinger and thumb, rolling off wayward pieces of soil caught on the pads of his fingertips. The new information about her interests are tucked away, and he only offers to bother a correction.]
It wasn’t like that.
[A girlfriend????? That could not be farther from the truth, because he can only think of Aerith and know that she had been wary of him initially. Her demeanor never truly lightened until closer to the end, when the truth had been revealed and he had looked at the shape of that ivory-white materia cupped in her hands. After that, she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the memory of her once-presence.]
She was closer to the others.
[Others from Gaia, seems to be his meaning, but that thread is cut off, too, with the sudden conversational switch.]
It’s supposed to be warm. [You wouldn’t know it by looking at him.] It’s a greenhouse. [Duh.] ...But it’s been worse with the outside heat. Do you need to step out?
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No, I was just askin'.
( Nico replies defensively, and perhaps a little too quickly to be truly believable. The truth is she's beginning to feel like she might need to sit down—like she's verging on dizziness, which is unusual for her—but in true Nico fashion she squashes those feelings down in the hopes of saving face. Growing up as a woman engineer? Yeah, she's had to learn all sorts of different tricks to make sure she survives in the trade, and that occasionally involves putting on a mean face in front of men who might think less of her.
Unfortunately, years of habit means she'll sometimes up that guard when it'd actually do her some good to listen. She pushes her glasses up into her hair for a moment so she can press the heels of her hands into her eyes, her nose scrunched and her posture a little tense before she realises she really needs to relax.
It's just a little heat. It's just a greenhouse. He's just the guy who made a fuss about ice cream after winning her a goofy stuffed octopus.
Moving closer to the flowers, Nico drops into a crouch to nudge a fingertip against one of the swollen buds. They look like they're just about ready to burst into a riot of colour; Sephiroth may not have planted them but he seems to have been doing a reasonable job tending them, and she mops her free hand over the damp back of her neck as she looks over at him again. )
You said you don't have a green thumb, but you ain't half bad at this.
( The warmth in her arteries feels almost electric now, crackling around her body to the point where she feels like she might vibrate out of her skin. She blinks once, shakes her head a little as if trying to clear her thoughts, but it isn't until she rises that the magic churning around inside her finally makes a bid for freedom.
It happens quickly. Magical fire begins to drip from her palms and fall across the flowers in dollops rippling amber, and she quickly snatches them away from the petals with a look of horror that Sephiroth just might catch before the surge. It's only one pulse of magic but it's strong enough to do some serious damage. The flowers catch fire instantly, singeing and sputtering as the water plumping their petals evaporates, and the majority of begin to wither as the burning magic pushes itself to their roots )
Fuck! Oh fuck, shit, get some water—!
( Nico grabs for the nearest watering can and upends it over the smoking flowers, her colour high and a gleam of panic in her eyes. )
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The compliment doesn't have much time to settle -- he wouldn't know what to truly do with it, anyway, other than to let it bolster a superfluous feeling of self-satisfaction -- when she's crouching down to brush her fingertips against the bulbous tips of still-sleeping blossoms. They sway gently under the brief ministrations, and for a moment it's like the quiet before a storm or some equally far-flung tragedy: peaceably content, just two individuals swathed in overgrown nature.
Until she rises, and it literally all goes up in flames.
It happens too quickly to process it in an apprising way, watching the green become eaten alive by the flames, twisting plump plant tissue into a fragile burnt brown. The flash-fire heat triggers instinct, and even Sephiroth is stepping back as the contained immolation works on the plants from top to bottom, hungry and eager. (There's irony in watching something he's put effort into being voided by heat. The thought ambles treacherously close to the surface of his awareness, but is blessedly pushed aside in favor of more pressing matters.)]
Stop, that isn't enough! [-he says, the harsh edge of militant command baked into his words. She's wasting effort with that water can, barely sloshing about with enough liquid to put out even one of these flowers. She'll only cause a billow of obfuscating smoke, and he knows that a flame is better quelled by suffocation rather than a haphazard spray, and so Sephiroth stoops down to procure a heavy, overlarge bag of sand, no doubt reserved for some future project of the Coven's. One end is already open and spilling into the planter as he turns it over, crowding the space with sand that mounds over the base of the flames, moving along its length until it's fully, though messily, covered.
It's a very harried moment, all things considered. But eventually the fire will not be able to thrive without oxygen to fuel it, and all that remains will be the dying embers still clinging to dried leaves and stems, twisted, hunched over, and so very thoroughly murdered.]
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( The aftermath is heavy with shocked silence. Nico is briefly trapped in a spiral of her own thoughts: what's wrong with her, why couldn't she even put out a fire correctly, why did she come here—and how the fuck do you properly apologise for destroying someone's gardening project? Flowers planted by someone else who's left the city (fuck, there might have been real sentimental value there) that, no matter what she does, can't be properly replaced. She looks at the smouldering stems for a long moment before daring to lift her gaze to Sephiroth: )
I-I'm so sorry—
( Ah, but there's the stutter she usually manages to keep under control. Inherited from her father, it usually only comes out when she's especially excited, embarrassed, or upset, and right now "embarrassed and upset" neatly encompasses the bulk of what she's feeling. The rest of the sentence lodges in her throat for as she takes a jerky step towards him, her hands flexing and curling before balling to fists by her side. )
I didn't— it was an a-accident, I swear!
( Damn, they're fucked. They're completely, utterly fucked. Having only just moved towards him she now takes a few fumbling steps back, her cheeks already beer-red from the shame of her fuck-up as well as the slip-up with her stutter. )
I'll go. I'll just—it'll be better if I go. Right?
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But Sephiroth is not one given to keen emotion; the cinch of his brow is all that seems to display his displeasure, and perhaps an downward tick of his mouth, but he is still silent stillness in the face of her shame, of her words staccato'd with what he assumes is an anxious stutter.
Maybe that's just worse.]
Don’t apologize. Just learn to control yourself and your magic better. What would you have done if this was a person?
[Does this make him a hypocrite extraordinaire? Well. His point still stands. The feeling of a commanding officer speaking to a subordinate hasn’t completely drained away.]
I won’t make you stay.
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( What would you have done if this was a person?
Nico feels immediately small and foolish. Sephiroth is right: she should have stayed at home where she wouldn't have been able to harm anyone else, not least because she already knew that her magic was acting strangely. She could have hurt a child — heck, rom her perspective she could have even hurt Sephiroth — which momentarily alleviates the guilt she feels for destroying his flowers instead. )
You're r-right, I'm—
( But he told her not to apologise, didn't he? Nico closes her mouth abruptly, then presses her lips into a thin line as she meets those strange green eyes. )
I'm goin'.
( She turns tail and leaves without another word. )
( Fortunately for Nico, when the New Moons finally move into the first part of their cycle her magic settles back down again. Thoughts of Sephiroth and his space in the Coven's greenhouse are rarely far from her mind: she tries to throw herself into her studies, spends more time bothering Nero just for fun, but the guilt of what happened sits in her stomach like a cold, heavy stone. So what if he hadn't seemed that bothered? So what if he'd gone all ... military on her?
She did something wrong, and she needs to right it again.
The first batch of muffins? Not great. They're slightly over-baked but that doesn't stop Nero from stealing one, and he gets an earful of expletives before being sent out to re-buy the ingredients for another batch. The second half-dozen are a lot better: golden brown, fluffy, only a little bit messy, but they make up for their imperfections by filling the house with the warm scent of cinnamon.
Next, she counts up the last of her savings and heads to the shopping district. It's easy enough to find somewhere that sells seeds, bulbs and flowers for planting: she buys him reds, yellows, whites, even a couple of fancy looking purple bulbs, along with a basket large enough to carry them with the muffins.
The following morning Nico heads back to the greenhouses. She assumes that if she lurks for long enough then Sephiroth will probably show up, and is (thankfully) proven right after a couple of hours sat against a tree with a book. His silhouette is immediately recognisable: the dark sweep of his wings, the sparkling hair, even his gait is somehow unique to him, and Nico watches him enter before pulling herself to her feet and following him inside. )
... Sephiroth?
( Nico is holding the basket between both hands, and hikes it up a little higher just to show him she's there for a reason. )
Sorry for just showin' up out of the blue again, but. I brought you somethin'. ( A lop-sided smile pulls at the corners of her lips, self-deprecating but genuine. ) Promise I'm not gonna explode anythin' this time.
( She moves closer, then flips the the cloth over the muffins to reveal the plump little treats. He'd seemed pretty disgusted by the idea of ice-cream, and so: )
Uh — they're banana, oat and cinnamon, made with brown flour and just a little honey. They're real good for you, I figured they could do for breakfasts or somethin'?
( A beat. )
And more things for you to plant, so you can keep tryin' to turn that thumb of yours a little green.
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Today, he’s here to do the same, and when he opens the door to the greenhouse, that telltale humidity sweeps forward and sticks against his exposed skin, clings to his clothes. Bright, green things shudder gently in wayward greeting, but more prominently, a familiar presence — coupled with a familiar voice — has followed him in.
He turns to face Nico, eyebrows lifting in faint surprise. Sephiroth looks much the same as the last time — hair pulled back, alien eyes bright and searching, hands ungloved for the sake of infusing a more delicate touch into his fingers, until he’s far more used to dealing with flora. He notes that she looks quite different, less like a bundle of nervous energy, no fire sparking at her fingertips, a more solid countenance and confidence already a handful of sentences in.
And bearing a basket full of muffins, too, plump and soft and smelling of sweet cinnamon that permeates even the loam-scented climate around them.]
Is this your version of an apology?
[He hadn’t been angry; startled (in that unremarkable degree that only Sephiroth can be startled), and put-off by how quickly his work had vanished in a matter of seconds. Disapproving, yes, of her inability to control herself, but he was never frustrated with her. He had seen too often how the moons affected both Monster and Witch. Sephiroth, with willpower so fierce it might as well be tempered steel, has felt that same steel bend under the Sisters, and some might even argue in far less flattering ways than simply torching a row of growing plants.
Though perhaps it is hard to tell, given his demeanor reveals so little, and his reply could be taken as less-than-affable. But he steps forward and gently grasps at the basket’s handle, head canted downwards to see what’s within. Muffins and— packets of seeds and fresh bulbs, as she implied. The little illustrations scrawled on the front of the former reveal flowers of many colors, bright and waiting to be utilized.
He’s silent, and maybe a little struck by the unexpectedness of it, that someone would go to the trouble to make muffins and purchase replacement seeds for their mistake. It’s a gesture that makes logical sense, but logic can never quite dull the oddity of unfamiliarity. No one has really ever gone to this length with him before, and such actions continue to pile up in this world so far away from Gaia.]
I wasn’t angry. You’ve gone to too much trouble for my sake.
[That, too, is strange, and he lifts his eyes to look at her again, and something smooths over the militant edges of tone.]
…But it’s appreciated, regardless. They smell pleasant enough.
[The muffins, of course.]
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( Nico watches him react, and can't help but find his response to the basket a little odd. It certainly seems to reflect the way he's behaved around her up to this point: measured, reserved, perhaps a little reluctant around the edges, but there's an undercurrent of surprise to his words that leaves her feeling somewhat strange. Why doesn't he seem he used to this? Do people not focus amends for their mistakes where he's from, or is it just a "him" thing? )
Even if you weren't angry, I messed up somethin' of yours. It's only right that I make it up to you — or at the very least replace it, y'know?
( Raking a hand through the thick wave of her hair, Nico decides to try for a little levity in the hopes of keeping the tone light. Sephiroth is an odd one — strange and intense, even in his dismissiveness — but that doesn't make him any less deserving of kindness, and although she's relatively inconsistent in the way that she shows it? It's important for her to do all the same. Nero, he gets her company, his Devil Breakers and the open invitation of a shoulder to cry on. Kyrie gets help with the kids, odd jobs around the house, and an electrician whenever she needs it.
Sephiroth gets breakfast muffins and some plants. )
And you shut up with "they smell decent enough", there's foster-kids back home who think I'm a cake-makin' genius.
( But she's smiling broadly, her expression warming with satisfaction as it sinks in that he hasn't flat-out rejected her apology. Calling it unnecessary is fair enough, but Nico is observant enough to detect that slight softening of his edges when he looks back up at her. It should be strange to see, coming from features that lend themselves to the look of a predator, and for a moment she wonders if that is somehow tied in to his surprise at the gifts.
A conversation for a different time, perhaps. )
Anyway, it ain't no trouble. Bakin' stuff ... it's just edible chemistry, y'know?
( Nico tosses him a wink. )
Stuff gets a lot easier if I can make it seem like a science.
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Is that right?
[He turns, then, to cross over to a table adorned with tiny, individually potted flowers. There's room enough for the basket to rest there, and he places it down for now, though a hand dips in just low enough to procure two of the bulbs. He speaks in the interim.]
...Scientifically-minded. Putting things together, taking them apart, wondering what makes something tick. I've been around your type before, and I know that you're all endlessly stubborn.
[There are less flattering adjectives that he could apply to scientists, some old faces far more deserving than others, but he spares her that undeserved comparison. Without preamble, he turns on his heel and tosses a single bulb in her direction. It spins in a gentle arc -- catch, Nico!]
And that stubbornness is bolstered by curiosity and the desire to learn. You can consider this moment an exercise in plant biology, then.
[In other words: she's already here, so why waste the opportunity? Stay and plant a bulb or two.]
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( Honestly? Sephiroth's offer is more than she was expecting, not least because she'd assumed he might just try to shoo her on out just to make extra sure to avoid any further accidents. That he'd follow up his not entirely flattering assessment of scientists by tossing her a bulb is ... surprising, to say the least, and Nico's eyebrows bump up her forehead as her smile grows wide. )
Really?
( "An exercise in plant biology", yeah? She's beginning to realise that this might just be the kind of person Sephiroth is: in the same way she likes to turn things into science, perhaps he just finds things easier if he approaches life as a series of exercises. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing she's heard, especially if her hunch that he's military turns out to be right. Nico moves around to where he's standing and crouches to poke at a planter, dipping a finger into the damp, warm soil before rubbing a little against the pad of her thumb.
Nicoletta Goldstein, learning how to plant things. Who'd have ever thought. )
I've been around your type too, y'know. Practical, like things done a certain way, no time for messin' around or bein' a dumbass ...
( A quiet chuckle follows, and she shakes her head. )
They all turned out to be army guys.
( Brown eyes lift to look back up at him, one eyebrow raised in question. )
That your thing too?
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It earns her a look as he crouches down in a gathering of dark clothes, black feathers, and hair that sweeps the floor next to his boots.]
Yes.
[The answer is complicated, as all things from home have become. But in its most simplistic form, her assumption is right on the money.]
I’ve spent much of my life in the military. Ever since I was a child.
[He reaches out to push aside a small mound of soil with two fingers. It leaves an indent in the planter, just deep enough to slot in the little flower bulb.]
Practicality isn’t an expectation, it’s a requirement.
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( That's the thing about Nico: she's about as subtle as a hurricane, but that doesn't mean she isn't both observant and sensitive when she needs to be. Sephiroth wouldn't be the first to find himself on the receiving end of a such an educated guess. )
Since you were a kid, huh?
( She winces a little. It's hard to figure out what to say to that: Nico doesn't have too much experience with the military proper, but she does know that children never become soldiers because they have healthy and happy home lives. Would asking about his mom and dad be insensitive? Probably, because what kind of parents would enrol their son into the military while he was a child? And if that wasn't the case, what happened to him that ended up putting him on the path of a soldier? )
How old are you now, anyway? ( She watches him dip his fingers into the soil to make a neat little hole, presumably for the bulb. ) You don't look much older than me, but ... all that grey hair's thrown me off.
( Which isn't strictly true; Nero's hair colour is pretty similar, but then he's got demon blood flowing through his veins making him look like a Grade-A badass. A hint amusement touches the corners of her lips: )
And speakin' of, I dunno how "practical" it is to have hair that touches the floor, Angelface.
( Said as she reaches over to press the bulb into the dark, warm space he's created. )
no subject
Not yet, anyway.
But that isn't what she asks, and it's easy enough to reply with his age despite the comment about his "grey" hair.]
I'm twenty-two.
[Doing the math from his file is easy enough, and simpler still to keep track of. Nico slots the bulb into the cool tract of earth, and Sephiroth begins to work the same shape into the soil for his own bulb.]
My hair is practical in its own way. [He explains mildly, as though his own vanity has nothing to do with it.] Most would call it a disadvantage, a detriment in a fight. It could get in the way, or an enemy might come close enough to grab it, then force me open to an attack.
[As though to illustrate, he sweeps one of his long bangs over his shoulder, having fallen into his face as he dips his head low.]
With me, that's an impossibility. There's no need to keep it short; thus, it's an intimidation tactic. Shinra's marketing would agree.
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( Twenty-two. A year younger than she is and already so serious; a child solder who's never once smiled in her presence, and who she's only really encountered doing things on his own. And what's that he just said about ... "Shinra?" That their marketing department support keeping his hair long as an intimidation tactic? Nico wants to scoff — that isn't a proper reason to decide to do anything.
Nico shakes her head, then pulls in a deep breath that she releases in a low whistle. )
... I guess you must be pretty good then.
( His hair gleams as he pulls the bang over his shoulder and Nico can't help but wonder when he last cut it — or when it last did become a problem in the middle of battle. Probably a long, long time ago, judging but the length of it now. For some reason this revelation makes Nico feel a little sad. )
My business partner Nero, he's good too. We don't work for the military or anything though — our job's huntin' demons. Freelance. He does the fightin', I make the weapons.
( Keen to practice, Nico presses her own fingers into the soil a few inches down from Sephiroth to make another bulb-sized space. May as well get a few more planted up while they're at it, right? )
You work for this Shinra person?
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So “pretty good” works well enough for now, and the only correction he provides is that of the company itself.]
Shinra isn’t a person. It’s a power company.
[Does it seem strange that a power company would employ some mode of military power? It is, but to someone hailing from Gaia, and who grew up under that company’s wing, the idea is still embedded in his bones as normal — despite his respect for the mega-corporation long discarded.]
I worked for them for years. I don’t consider myself to be in their employ any longer.
[To say the least. To get any deeper is to tread into ugly, unflattering territory, and Sephiroth is choosy about who is allowed trespass.]
Nico appears to be making room for more bulbs than he’s fetched from the basket, so Sephiroth makes a move to stand and gather a handful more, as many as he can carry — he returns and lays them out before them in the soil, ready to be planted one by one.]
...Your business partner, is he in this city with you?
[Demon hunting has little context for him; he imagines only large and twisted monsters (irony, given this place), mindless and in need of slaying.]
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( That definitely trips her up a little. A power company? Nico had assumed that "Shinra" was some kind of government official heading up their department of defence — but then he'd never specified what kind of military force he worked for, did he? The fact that it was a private one is deeply uncomfortable (and equally uncomfortably explains the "child" element of it), and Nico shifts as that discomfort settles deeper into her stomach.
Can she even ask about that? Sephiroth changes the subject smoothly after putting a little distance between him and them; he doesn't work for them now, so ... maybe she should just leave it at that. Nico is nosey, but she isn't stupid. Perhaps better to let that lie for the time being. )
Yeah, he is. The guy who owns the company, too, but he's been in a coma since he got here.
( Nico holds up a hand. )
Which ain't too weird for him, before you say anythin'. We got him set up all comfy back at the cottage.
( With the bulbs laid out, Nico begins slotting them into the holes she's created. )
It's kinda hard to get work demon hunting when there's no demons around though. I guess it's just as well there's always people needin' help with stuff, huh?
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Sephiroth moves a step or two aside, so that they might utilize the whole stretch of the planter, dipping his fingers into the shallow soil once more to create a few more spots. He spares Nico the occasional glance, seen through the sheer of silver bangs that rebelliously slide over his shoulders.]
...It’s a city full of people, and people always need something. There’s work every month, if you don’t mind tasks that are likely… more simplistic than you’d prefer.
[Ask him about the time he looked for a lost cat, only to hunt down the wrong cat. Actually, don’t.]
Still. There may not be demons to kill — whatever that entails — but there are the beasts infected by the Cwyld. Have you seen one?
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( "More simplistic than she'd prefer" is right, although she can't complain too much. Nico has been sensible about the odd jobs she's taken to tide herself and Nero over so far: anything that's been able to teach her a new skill, or get her used to the flora and fauna of the place? Sold. Right now her main goal is to soak up as much information as possible so she can make herself feel useful again. )
I heard about them, sure, but I've never seen one.
( She shifts from her crouch to her knees, sitting back on her ankles to get a little more comfortable. )
You reckon there's cunes to be made in goin' out on a hunt?
( Nero has been bringing in his share of the household funds by doing a bit of exterminating here and there, but going straight for the infected beasts could be a reasonable suggestion. If someone's willing to pay them for it, why not? )
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[He shifts a little, too, for the sake of a more comfortable position. It seems as though they are both committed to spending an ample time in the greenhouse for now.]
Your friend might not have any trouble with them. But I would suggest you keep to the city if you're not trained to fight.
[A pause, spoken so plainly that one might miss it for the joke it is-]
Are you sure you don’t want to begin a career in botany?
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( Bodyguarding? That could definitely be a lucrative source of income, and in her opinion there's no-one better suited to the job. While she'd probably not admit it to his face, his skill in monster hunting rivals her own in weapon smithing; between them, she doesn't see why they couldn't bring Devil May Cry to Aefenglom. A bit of advertising, a few impressive kills under their belts—
But then Sephiroth pops on his clown nose, and Nico just stares at him for a moment before feeling a smirk curve her lips. )
I dunno, you sure you don't wanna hang up your boots an' become a comedian?
( She flicks a little soil at him — you know, since they're both adults here. )
Your faith in me is real nice an' all, but flash-frying those flowers just the once was way more than enough for me.
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Fair enough. We'll make certain that doesn't happen again. I would hate for these bulbs to go to waste.
[And so they will; at this moment, at least, making certain there will be something in this planter to sprout, to look forward to, in the future.]
...Let's plant the rest.