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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[ It doesn’t even occur to Luka that the word friend has passed his lips, it just sort of slipped out like it was the most natural thing in the world. If he did realize it, however, he likely wouldn’t take it back. They are friends, for all their differences, for the rather unorthodox start to their relationship.

Sephiroth doesn’t refute him, so the statement gets to simply stay there, out in the open on the riverbed.

Any forthcoming argument seems to go out of the other man with that sigh, and Luka smiles to himself, pleased that they seem to be making some sort of headway. He sets back to work, carefully braiding Sephiroth’s impossibly long hair. ]

I dunno. Everyone’s different. Is there something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance to?

[Unmentioned, settled, embedded as truth. Choosing not to contest the notion of friends, perhaps it’s official, one way or another. Rarely does he pick them up, but it seems like one has fallen into his lap in this world — or vice versa.

(It's nice, he thinks. For however long it might last, until Gaia is within reach again.)

Sephiroth’s tone, ever cool and professional, does lose a small part of its rigid edge. The gentle tugging at his hair, tamed into a braid as Luka continues his work, is oddly meditative.]

…Yes. But you might laugh at it.

[ Luka doesn’t expect a yes, but Sephiroth has a way of surprising him now and again. Perhaps he does need to alter his opinion a little, to consider that, despite what little he knows of Sephiroth’s life, he still has desires beyond the little box he was so carefully molded to fit in. ]

Come on! I won’t laugh, I promise.

[ He’s actually quite curious to know what a man like Sephiroth might wish for. ]

[He exhales. This one is very audible because he knows that it’s a simple, ridiculous thing.]

...Do you have black chocobos in this world? In Midgar, it’s difficult to take care of larger animals outside of a controlled environment. Only the rich can afford it, and even then, the normal ones are rare. I’ve only seen a black one once in my lifetime, away from the city.

[A beat.]

They’re more solitary, harder to find. Harder to train. But they’re faster and stronger than their brethren. [It kind of reminds him of… well, himself.] I’ve always wanted to feed one.

[ To his credit, Luka doesn't laugh. Not even so much as a chuckle, but it's just as well that Sephiroth has his eyes fixed on the fire because Luka is smiling. It's a slow sort of grin that lifts the corners of his mouth by degrees as he realizes he's just been given a glimpse into something deeply personal - something sort of sweet in its simplicity.

He would love to make that dream a reality. Such a simple thing, but that doesn't make it unworthy in his eyes in the least.

There is a bit of a problem, though. ]

... Chocobos can come in all sorts of colors here. My family lived near enough to Bentbranch, the farm where they breed 'em for racing, that I've seen just about every color there is, even black. Thing is, I don't think our chocobos are quite the same as yours. The color of the feathers has nothing to do with how strong a bird is.

I'd love to take you to see one, but it wouldn't be the same, and I think that probably matters.

[ A beat, as he carefully continues the braid. He'll need something to tie it off soon, but he's probably got a bit of twine in his traveling pack. ]

I hope you get your chance one day, though.

[The mention of chocobo races, the birds with varying shades of plumage, reminds Sephiroth of what he’s heard about the Gold Saucer — it seems some facets of life, no matter the planet, remain the same.

He makes a small noise of amusement, so faint that it’s nearly lost in the crackling flame.]

I see. That’s fine, it’s fallacy to assume that even chocobos are the same here.

[It’s not much of a loss, either way. It’s truly a silly, pointless endeavor, born of a silly, pointless thought.]

Maybe a specimen will end up at headquarters. [Dry as the desert. But he moves on.] Did you ever watch a race?

It’s a good dream, though. I like it.

[ Though his tone is lighthearted, he’s earnest about it. He kind of likes this little glimpse he’s gotten into the whims of Sephiroth’s heart, and once again he’s left to reassess his opinion of the man – for the better, to be sure. ]

A chocobo race? Not a real one. I’d watch the breeders showing off their birds to prospective buyers from time to time, but the Gold Saucer proper ain’t for people like me. I don’t have enough gil to even get in the door.

[He’d argue that “dream” is too weighted of a descriptor to apply to a passing whim like that; it isn’t as if he has lingering plans to become a chocobo rancher. But he holds his tongue, letting the conversation move forward beyond non existent hobbies and things he would like to try.]

...You have a Gold Saucer here, too?

[That’s just perilously confusing. His brows knit in quiet revelation.]

Where people go to be entertained, and to waste money in order to do so?

[The Gold Saucer represents everything that would grate against Sephiroth’s personality — he has seen pictures of it. He cannot imagine staying there for a prolonged period of time, much less willingly.]

[ Luka’s in the middle of trying to lean over to get at his bags without leaving his seat, and the end of Sephiroth’s braid, unattended. The words “you have a Gold Saucer here, too?” nearly make him fall right over with surprise, and he probably only has his feline-like heritage to thank for the fact that he doesn’t. ]

The hells do you mean “too”?

[ He’d heard the Mandervilles, the Gold Saucer’s proprietors, were filthy, stinking rich but opening a casino on another world seems like a bit much?? ]

Yeah, that’s right. People gamble and play games and bet on races and stuff.

[He spares Luka another glance over the shoulder, glimpsing him almost falling over in surprise.]

That sounds like mine.

[Well. “His” in the sense that Gaia is his home, and possesses that particular tourist attraction, too.]

Racing, gambling, games. An arena that hosts fighting tournaments. There’s one on Gaia. Owned by a business man named Dio, from what I’ve heard.

[ He looks back at Sephiroth, which probably looks quite comical with how he’s half-sprawled in the midst of reaching for his bag. ]

That’s so… weird.

[ But before he can elaborate on that scintillating thought, he makes one last grab for his traveling pack, snatching it by a strap and dragging it over. A little rummaging around in a side pocket reveals he did have some twine after all. Though he’s sure Sephiroth would prefer a black silken ribbon or something ridiculous, it will have to do. He sits back up, trying off the end of the braid. ]

The one in Thanalan is owned by Godbert Manderville. To hear tell of it, the man’s the richest son of a bitch in all Eorzea, maybe in all Hydaelyn. No arena, though. That’s the Bloodsands in Ul’dah proper.

[He won’t complain about the rather thin piece of twine that’ll keep his hair together. Mind you, black would have worked just as well, but the striking part of his hair has always been its color — unusual even on Gaia.

He watches Luka as he fiddles with the end of the braid. It’s so long that he can easily see it from here.]

And why do you think that this is something both of our worlds share, despite differing owners that I assume have no awareness of the other’s existence?

[Not that Sephiroth really expects Luka to know either. He crosses his arms.]

That’s strange. But maybe there is a connection between the two planets; my arrival here is proof of that.

[ Once Luka is certain the twine isn’t going to go flying off at the slightest provocation, he scoots himself around on the tree stump to properly sit next to his friend. ]

I dunno. Mayhap people with more money than sense just have really similar taste.

[ Perhaps “The Gold Saucer” is a really popular name for casinos in the whole wide spectrum of worlds out there (which may or may not exist, but the existence of one might well mean the existence of others). Whatever it is, this whole thing is way out of Luka’s wheelhouse. ]

You think? I guess we’ll find out for sure if we can hunt down this mage the kojin were talking about.

[ The kojin had used the word “witch” actually, some crazy old bat who lived by herself in the wilds between Yanxia and the sprawling plains of the Azim Steppe. If that didn’t paint a picture about what to expect, Luka doesn’t know what would. ]

[His new braid has a different weight than he’s used to, more neatly-packed and running down the length of his spine. Sephiroth moves his hand back to slide it across a shoulder and in front of him, inspecting its new form. A fine enough job, and definitely better than what he could do himself.

He realizes, belatedly, that this is the first anyone’s ever put it in a braid. The few instances in which it was tied back on his younger years had been nothing but a tight and simple ponytail. It’s strange to see the silver pleats; stranger still to know that another’s hand weaved it, by the man who sits just beside him now.]

We will see. Here’s to hoping it isn’t a dead end. [A beat, and he considers something — a joke.] There’s only so much of you that I can bear.

[ As he watched Sephiroth inspect his handiwork, Luka takes a moment to think that he did a pretty fine job with that braid, personally speaking. None of his sisters had hair half as long as Sephiroth’s mane, though that may have changed in the couple years he’s been away from home, so he feels good about the job he’s done.

And then Sephiroth goes and startles a laugh right out of him. Wasn’t he just saying that Sephiroth had a sense of humor in there somewhere? There it is again. ]

Speak for yourself, Mister Stick-in-the-mud. Mayhap I’ll lead us around in circles for a bit just to see how sick of me you really get.

Hm.

[That ‘hm’ is accented with Sephiroth tossing his braid over his shoulder, and if it happens to smack Luka on the way back, surely it was unintended.]

Mayhap you would regret it as soon as you did. I’d leave out of frustration, and you wouldn’t have anyone to keep you company.

[Not to mention he thinks Luka might feel a tad bit guilty about it, regardless of his brash personality.]

Or hair to braid.

Edited 2019-12-21 01:20 (UTC)

[ It probably would smack him in the face were he anyone else, were he not someone who relies on speed to make up for what he lacks in physical prowess. Luka leans to one side, though the braid does still brush his ear as it passes. He flicks it a few times, trying to look annoyed and utterly failing. ]

Enjoy being lost in the middle of nowhere, then. Unless you conveniently know the way to the Azim Steppe all on your own?

Hmph.

[The reflexes on this one... He’ll get him with his hair next time.]

Wander around enough, and eventually I’d arrive at my destination.

[Maybe out of pure stubbornness alone. But despite his even delivery, it’s still a farce; even Sephiroth himself would look like a fool trying to navigate this world on his own.]

[ Oh, he probably will, and it will probably be a moment when the two of them are dashing around on the battlefield. ]

Or you’d end up right back in turtle town where you started.

[ Never mind that they’ve come a long way since parting with the kojin, and Sephiroth would have to be extraordinarily bad with directions to end up there. Still, Yanxia is a big place, and the Steppe is even bigger. Luka has a map in his pack and a lot of determination, or else they’d already be lost. ]

So I guess you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.

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