finalflight | PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

burn me out, leave me on the otherside.

[In another timeline, diverged down an invisible path, the battle was long over.

The dragon’s corpse, still shining emerald green in the haze of the sun, would be pressed unmoving into the ground, its maw still gaping open, tongue lazily hanging over jagged teeth. Two clean cuts, deep into its chest, would ooze hot and coppery ribbons of blood, a color matching the hue plastered across the edge of Masamune. Zack would still have his knees ground into the dirt, hand grasping at a side as he tried to pull himself up; lucky that he’d come away with nothing more than cracked ribs, something healing magic would have to tend to soon. And in the vehicle behind them, still idling, the blond-haired infantryman — Cloud, quiet and sullen and nervous — would be watching, harried, but wise enough to keep his distance. And they would soon carry onwards to their mission to Nibelheim, undeterred.

But in this instance, this strange set of circumstances, the fight does not go so smoothly.

He doesn’t understand why, or how. This creature should be nothing, his blade should cut straight through its hide instead of only managing glancing blows that barely scrape closely-packed scales. A monster should not be this strong, no matter how permeating the Mako leak was in the surrounding area. It’s beyond unnatural, something that has him gritting his teeth beneath a twisted frown as Sephiroth rushes forward, blade flashing.

Zack’s already unconscious, a deep wound bleeding from the shoulder courtesy of the dragon’s claws, body strewn several feet away, now useless in this fight. The creature rises up on its haunches, spreading giant wings as it snarls down at the only moving target, and catches Masamune in its teeth. Sephiroth pushes; it pushes back. He hears footsteps rushing forward from behind him, staggering, panicked breaths drawing closer, and he turns his head just in time to see the infantryman closing the space between them, readying the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder. Sephiroth knows he may as well be heading straight for death.]

Stay back— [Comes the command, in a voice so used to giving them that it hides the jarring reality of the situation — that this is not good, this is unheard of, and judging what may happen from here anyone’s guess. But it’s too late, because there’s pressure clamping down on his blade, and then with a feral twist of the neck, the dragon has snapped his weapon in half with a reverberating ring.

It’s only slight, but his eyes widen. The other half of the blade topples to the ground, his gloved-grip around the hilt falters for just a second, but it’s all the time the dragon needs to lurch up with fire filling its maw.

It’s the last thing he sees, flame and writhing heat all around him, and then the world goes black.

— — — — — —

He has his face pressed into soggy sand. Hair a tangled mess, clothes damp and sticking, as the waves thinly slide over his form. And then he’s jolting awake with a start, fingers pressed into the shore, hefting himself up and immediately tensing, expecting to see fire and teeth as he cranes his neck—

And is met only with a clear blue sky, a bright shining sun, and the scent of the sea. Masamune’s two halves lay half-buried in a mound of sand, one laying flat, the other sticking straight up a short distance away. The hiss of an exhale, trying to bring himself to his feet, disoriented and maybe a little wobbly, head bowed down. (Also unheard of.)

Both confusion and frustration dance in his insides. What’s happening?]

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[Being a stranger to a completely new world means that context is important. Sephiroth tries to pull out as much as possible from Luka, though the results are, in his opinion, mediocre at best.]

“Mages and stuff”. [Luka sure does lack the military preciseness that Sephiroth is all too used to.] Things not from this world... you mean like me?

[Except he’s not a monster. ~~No one’s told him as much yet, at least, so thank Gaia for that.~~]

[ Luka is also neither a scholar nor a mage. He can’t explain things with the kind of detail the other might be looking for because he himself does not know it. ]

Look, I’m doing my best here, but it’s not like I’m an expert. You’ve seen all the magic I can do. I’m about as close to being able to summon voidsent as I am to turning into a cactuar. S’why I’m trying to get you back to Kugane, where someone can actually help you.

[ He would shrug, but the rather heavy leaden pot in his hand keeps him from doing so effectively. Instead, he just wrinkles his nose some, but his expression smooths into something considering. ]

You seem pretty far from a voidsent to me. You got all the sense of humor of a piece of plywood, but that doesn't make you a monster.

[Pushing aside the mental image of Luka turning into a cactuar toting around heavy pots filled with burning hearts, he continues.]

Maybe not. But sense of humor notwithstanding, the concept is the same. Brought from one world into this one; if the trend has been only monsters so far, the question is why am I an outlier to begin with.

[A question that neither of them can answer, something becoming clearer to Sephiroth the more they speak.]

Even so, it doesn’t need to be stated that I have to return home as soon as possible. Being stolen in the middle of a mission leaves the whole operation compromised.

[ He’d be less of a cactuar and more of a cat-tuar anyway. ]

Gonna need a mage to answer that one.

[ Stating the obvious by now, probably, but best to have all their bases covered. He really doesn’t want Sephiroth flinging more questions about magic, summoning, or the world between worlds at him. That stuff is way out of his league. ]

I bet. Let’s get these back to the kojin and get you on your way, yeah?

[blocks u]

Then pick up the pace.

[Pick up the pace, soldier, is the implication behind the tone unspoken. Sephiroth punctuates that with a quickening gait of long strides, as they clank along the path the way they came.

And later, once they reach their destination and have handed over their prizes, he has to question with arms crossed-]

...How long will it take?

[ Uh how dare you?

Luka seems to read Sephiroth's tone well enough. It's not as if he spent much time in the company of soldiers (or SOLDIERs as the case may be), but he knows a command when he hears one. ]

If you're expecting a salute, don't hold your breath.

[ But pick up the pace he does, and in no time at all they're back in the kojin's little village beneath the waves. With their prize handed back over to the blacksmith, it seems Sephiroth wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter. Masoto, still peering at the Anala hearts in their container, glances up. ]

I require three days, and no disturbances. Normally, it would take weeks, but you have already provided the steel, and this bounty will fuel my forge for moons to come.

[Sephiroth eyes the kojin, expression still as he considers where that leaves him. Three days is a short amount of time for the re-forging of broken steel, even if Shinra would have scrambled all its resources together to make certain that the SOLDIER had it back within the first twenty-four hours, but being without Masamune is like having lost a limb. That blade has been carried with him since the day he received it, years ago when it was still far too large to be wielded properly, and three days is still three days longer than he’s used to being without it.

He crosses his arms, replies with a-] I see.

[Because he knows, just as well, that there’s nothing to be done about it. The alternative would have been weeks, but they’ve circumvented that by conceding to a simple hunting task. Even so, a wave of restlessness rolls through him, just beneath his skin, and he exhales. He hates that feeling.]

I don’t have much of a choice but to accept that. [He turns cat-like eyes over to Luka nearby, trying to hold back his spark of impatience.] Three days. Where do we go from here?

[He needs to plan, as always. Needs to know what route to tack himself onto, and if Luka already has an idea, or if he’s going to be left wheeling in the wind.]

[ For his own part, Luka is quite curious as to the skill of this smith, if he can re-forge a monster of a katana in three days flat, but he know the kojin have been around for a very long time indeed, and they place great personal and spiritual significance into items of fine craftsmanship and beauty. To become a kojin craftsman must be the hardest test of them all. This old man must indeed be up to the task.

But he figures the Sephiroth would be impatient, and sees the question coming long before it’s lobbed his way. ]

Not like we can go far. Could probably cozy up with the locals for a bit, run a few more errands for food and board.

[ A beat, as crimson eyes sweep over the other man from head to foot. ]

A change of clothes is definitely on the list for you. Everyone’s liable to think you’re Garlean in that getup.

[At least Luka gets straight to the point, knowing what he wants to ask, which Sephiroth can appreciate.

The comment about his “get-up”, not so much. He straightens, arms falling back to his sides.]

If a SOLDIER’s uniform is unacceptable, then I’ll have to rely on you to pick out attire that is. [Which is a small amount of trust that he isn’t used to putting in anyone’s hands (outside of Shinra’s military, at any rate), but Sephiroth is willing to make an exception in this one extreme case.]

And I don’t think it needs to be said that I don’t have a way to offer you recompense just yet, either.

Just trust me. Kugane remains neutral territory, but most folks aren’t gonna like you much if you look like a Garlean.

[ War and subjugation leave scars that run deep, and with Doma reaching out her hand to begin relations with her neighbors as a free nation, there are bound to be people with a less than pleasant history with Garlemald in the city. Not that he doubts Sephiroth’s ability to handle himself, far from it, but it’s awfully hard to get home – no matter where that home might be – from the confines of a jail cell.

He inclines his head, looking past Sephiroth to the kojin smith behind him. ]

Thank you, Master Masoto. We’ll leave you to your work. [ Luka bows before taking his exit, palms flat against his thighs and head dipped low. Trusting that Sephiroth followed him out of the smithy, he turns to the other man. ]

Don’t worry about paying me back. I got no gil either, remember? We’re both dealing in favors, here.

[He had given Masamune, still broken in two, a final glance before turning on his heel and following the young man outside. A frown has begun to tug at his mouth again.]

And favors are hard to quantify, so we should come to a clear arrangement beforehand. [Sephiroth was never one for “winging it”, preferring a plan before diving headlong into the unknown. He’s already had too much of the latter for his tastes, thanks.]

How long are you willing to help me find a way back to Gaia? Or do you plan on leaving me in more capable hands the moment you find someone with more of an understanding of magic than you?

[ He knows this line of questioning isn’t meant to be a guilt trip – Sephiroth doesn’t seem the type. If he felt Luka was being unfair, he would surely say something and pull no punches about it – but Luka feels guilty all the same. He winces, ears flattening. ]

I… can’t. I can’t help you at all, Sephiroth, I’m sorry. Once we’ve bartered our passage, we’ll be heading in opposite directions. I have to get to Doma.

[ It bothers him how much this bothers him. His mission is paramount, and he’s wasted far too much time on this island as it is. He can’t afford to waste anymore, yet for as capable as Sephiroth is, this is still an alien world to him and leaving him to his own devices seems cruel. ]

I see.

[Comes the simple reply, his expression difficult to read. He’ll be left to his own devices then, an alien in a world that was not his own. A frightening, isolating existence to some — for what it’s worth, though, Sephiroth rarely experiences the first, and is far too used to the second for it to show on his face.]

…It’s fine. Do what you have to do.

[Self-sufficient. Adaptable. He’s a SOLDIER, it’s all he’s ever been defined by, and he’ll survive. In his head, he tells himself this twice more.

Silence fills the air for a few seconds. Then the man willfully banishes it away — Luka is right. He’s not the sort to guilt trip anyone.]

Anyway. You were going to help me find something else to wear in the meanwhile?

[ Sephiroth doesn’t need to make Luka feel guilty, when his own conscience does a stellar job of that on its own. The other man may not care – or simply doesn’t wish to show that he does care – but Luka does, and what an annoying thing that is in the middle of his quest for revenge.

It's just as well that Sephiroth breaks the silence, because Luka was a hair away from giving in and offering to take him back to the city. As it is the notion is left unsaid, and Luka kicks the knot of guilt twisting around in his gut under the proverbial rug, where it hides just as well as a full-grown chocobo might. ]

Right you are! I think I saw a merchant or two on our way over.

[ And there are indeed a couple. Kojin don’t really wear clothes, so there isn’t terribly much to choose from. Still, anything has got to be better than sea-soaked leather. ]

[Leather is fine, but the sea-soaked part? Not nearly as much, even (or perhaps especially) for a man like Sephiroth. No longer drenched, the moisture has now dissipated just enough to make himself feel soggy, and while there is much he can bear when necessity calls for it, he won’t turn away the opportunity to dress in something dry.

And so, wordlessly, they make their way over to a merchant who has set up shop with their wares visible from afar. It is… all very unlike what a SOLDIER would wear. What anyone one Gaia might wear, for that instance, though perhaps in Wutai seeing such manner of dress wouldn’t be so strange.

Even so, where to start? Once they’re closer and greeted by the merchant, Sephiroth’s eyes rove over the visible selection. A beat or two of silence, and then—]

I prefer something in black.

[Of course he does.]

Of course you do.

[ There’s not a speck of color on the man, apart from his rather striking eyes, so Luka isn’t terribly surprised by the preference.

The Miqo’te sidles up next to the other man, crimson eyes sweeping over all that there is available – it doesn’t take him long as there isn’t much – and there is one garment in particular that catches his attention. Not only because it’s black, a spot of night in the sea of color that is the merchant’s other wares, but it seems that it will fit his companion’s general… well, style, he supposes. ]

That one there. [ He motions, and the merchant retrieves it for them, holding it out for Sephiroth to see. ] Give this one a try, yeah? I bet it’ll suit you.

[His gaze first follows where is indicated, before he takes a few steps to inspect the clothing closer. The merchant prattles off how well-made the attire is, how it would certainly suit Sephiroth, but the military man is keen on making his own decision regarding that.

A quiet moment of assessing follows.]

Fine. Let me try it on. If it fits, then we’ll buy it.

[Not a time to be fussy, he knows. But Luka has curiously picked out something that truly does suit his style, which… perhaps is not all that difficult, given that his uniform is rather straightforward in revealing his clothing preferences. Something lengthy, something black, with more contours than rigid lines. Still-]

Though it'll be unusual to have my arms exposed.

[He’s earned himself a traveling companion in this last month, something he never thought he’d have to entertain in his lifetime. Sephiroth is used to missions, to partnering up with fellow SOLDIERs, to do what is required of him only to detach himself from their company the moment he’s met with success. But this is different — his time with Luka is an unknown that has no definable end, not until they can find out just how to send him back to Gaia, traveling these foreign lands in search of a mage who might can put them on the right path.

It’s odd, being around someone this long, this constantly. Sephiroth is a solitary animal — he was born and raised that way, placed on a pedestal by the company, and expected to stand there alone and adulated. Not since his training in his younger years has he spent so much casual time around another, and even in those days he would retire to his solitary chambers back at headquarters, to fall asleep to the faint hum of fluorescent lights and encased by impersonal, steel walls.

It’s tiring — Luka is tiring, if not to his body, then to his mind, the latter more suited to introversion than brash behavior, or loud declarations, or the fount of energy that rolls off of him in waves. Yet he finds that it is endurable, and then later he finds it is manageable, and now— Well, perhaps now he finds that it is preferable. (Genesis, Angeal, Zack; company he preferred, would have called friends, the few who pierced the veil past arms-length isolation, and drew closer than most. It isn’t dissimilar.)

Today’s day of traveling has come to its end. Setting up camp was easy enough, the fire blazing before them, casting an orange-glow across the planes of his features. The green of his eyes, also faintly alight in the shadow, fade as he trails his gaze downwards, reaching back to gather up his hair and slide it over his shoulders and in front of him.]

How far is the next town?

[Pinching the fingertips of his gloves and pulling them off, the reason why he asks is soon apparent. With bare hands, he runs them through silver strands so long that they pool at his hip where he sits. Catching against tangles, he frowns at the tugging sensation against his scalp.

How far is the next town? he’s asked, so he can know when he can get his appearance sorted without being assailed by constant outdoor travel.]

Edited 2019-12-14 08:09 (UTC)

[ A quest for vengeance is a lonely thing, and Luka is learning – or perhaps he always knew and simply chose to forget – that he isn’t built for solitude. Keepers of the Moon like himself may not be half as social as their Seeker cousins but Luka can scarce remember a time when he was well and truly on his own. Even after the death of his mother, when Luka felt alone, he never truly was. His sisters were always there, trying to comfort him despite the grief that turned him inside-out and left him wild and mean.

And then he met Sensei, the older man stepping into Luka’s life to fill a void that had so desperately needed filling. There was scarcely a time when Luka was far from his side, always learning, always growing, always basking in the warm glow of the other’s kindness. Sensei’s death still scraped him raw, but he found determination in that grief. A drive. A quest. And, for the first time, true loneliness, until an unlikely traveling companion quite literally washed up on the beach.

He and Sephiroth are as different as night and day, the other man’s quiet intensity sitting at odds with Luka’s bright, devil-may-care sort of attitude. Somehow, they make it work. Somehow, teasing jabs become a mark of fondness, of a slowly burgeoning friendship, and more often than not, Luka is glad for Sephiroth’s presence, no-nonsense and taciturn as he may be.

The hills of Yanxia are vast. On one side of the wall carved into the cliff-face, farmers and simple folk learning to scrape their lives back together after the end of the Garlean occupation, on the other a sprawling river, its shores scarred with the marks of battle. Beasts and beastmen and the ruins of old magitek call this place home now. And for tonight, so does Luka and his traveling companion. ]

Hm. Still a couple days off, according to that farmer.

[ Luka’s eyes, previously fixed on the stars, flick over to his friend. (And what a funny thing, to consider the other man a friend.) His gaze follows the silvery waterfall that is Sephiroth’s hair, watches as his fingers catch on tangles, and he breathes out an amused sound. ]

You really ought to just tie it back so it stops getting like that, y’know?

I’ve never had to tie it back before. At least not since I was much younger.

[He admits that much with his gaze still fastened to the ground near his boots, with that distant look of someone focused on a task — his fingers catch in another tangle, and Sephiroth frowns, working slender fingers through it.]

Shinra doesn’t send a convoy of SOLDIERs parading throughout the wilderness days on end. There’s always a temporary base to return to, or a transport vehicle waiting for pick-up.

[Finally, he lifts his eyes to fix on Luka across the way, head still at a tilt, tone gone dry — but humor dances along its edges.]

It isn’t my fault this world is backwater.

[He’s being purposefully ironic, too. This place has a beauty that Midgar cannot hope to match; that city is a dark array of steel, nights turned green from the generators working non-stop to siphon energy from the planet. It writhes with poverty, the poor whose homes act as literal foundations for the rich living above.

No, though being surrounded by nature is constantly odd, the life of the city embedded in his bones, he thinks he’s come to appreciate it a small bit.]

Edited 2019-12-16 19:02 (UTC)

[ In response to the dry remark, Luka lets out a snort, the sound going for derisive but missing the mark thanks to the grin on Luka’s face. Sephiroth’s sense of humor could give the deserts of Thanalan a run for their money, but he’s learned to take what little he can get. ]

Yeah? And it’s not my fault you can’t even comb your own hair outside a fancy military base or whatever.

[ From what little he’s heard about Sephiroth’s world, it sounds wholly different from his own, save for Garlemald, probably. Not that Luka has ever been to the Imperial capital (and nor does he plan on it) but bits of Garlemald can be found everywhere – especially in Doma.

He watches Sephiroth work a moment longer, wincing a bit in sympathy as his fingers catch another tangle. ]

You want a hand with that? It wouldn’t get to be such a mess if you kept it in a braid I bet.

Hm.

[A twitch of a grin, faint and lost in the shadows that jitter in time with the campfire. He brings his attention back to his fingers and hair, the prospect of straightening it out completely looking more and more like a pipe dream.]

No one’s ever called me spoiled before.

[Fancy military bases, indeed.

Still, his instinct is to deny Luka’s offered help. He’s never had anyone do so much as touch his hair (except when he was a child, but it was shorter then, too), no one bold enough to really consider doing such a thing to a man made to seem perfectly untouchable. But those expectations, the ones that dictate his own actions more than he likes, are dampened here. Non-existent. He cannot use that as an excuse, blaming only his tendency to keep to his own personal space if he denies the other man.

But— well. With one more tug against his scalp, he thinks that maybe he can offer his traveling companion some leeway. He did see him akin to a drowned rat just a month ago, after all.]

Are you offering to braid all of this hair for me?

Don’t that make me feel special.

[ Luka may not be very book smart, but he knows people, and he can tell that Sephiroth is used to being treated a certain way. There are folk all over Kugane like that, the rich and the strong who throw their status around like a physical weight. Luka usually finds them insufferable, but there’s a difference with Sephiroth, he thinks. It’s less brazen arrogance and more just… what he’s used to.

So, he half-expects his offer to be denied, but apparently the state of his hair is enough to allow some bit of leniency. ]

Sure. I mean, you got a tonze of it, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

[Sephiroth’s quiet, pretending to give it one final moment of consideration, before he lets an exhale loose from his lips and removes his hand from his hair. He straightens to move that silver wave behind him again, so that it falls loosely down his back.]

Fine. You can try.

[He’ll even scoot over, just a tad, so that Luka has a place to sit beside him if he wishes to reach over and braid it from there. Beside him, Masamune lays at an angle, its hilt propped up against the overlarge tree stump he’s decided to use as a seat, and the rest of its steel running along the length of the ground.]

Though you never struck me as the type who knows how to braid hair well.

[In other words, please don’t make it worse.]

[ If Luka were one to keep a diary, this moment would be going in there for sure. "Today Sephiroth let me braid his hair and he wasn't all weird and distant about it."

But he's never been one for writing - hells, he's barely one for reading - so he just marks the occasion in his memory and slides over to sit on the stump alongside the other man. ]

Excuse you, I have six sisters. I'm a swiving professional.

[ So saying, he slides his fingers into those silver locks, working through any lingering tangles. His littlest sister would cry terribly if he so much as tugged, so there's an odd sort of gentleness to the way he works. ]

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PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

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