OPEN POST; [ SEPHIROTH / FFVII ]

[supersoldier]

those chosen by the planet.

(( despite the ominous choice of music i default to a pre-nibelheim canon point, but can play post-nibelheim upon request! ))

Comments

but your life is just one big mess.

[supersoldier]

[There was a reason why he delegated the last mission to Zack Fair, why he had looked at the briefing for Banora and deferred it, instead, to the other, the one eager to prove, eager to perform his duty, even at the danger of meeting an old and treasured mentor. Perhaps that reason was shaped like cowardice, or selfishness — maybe it was wrong to shuck off responsibility due to emotional rationale, something he has never allowed to define him before. But what was done was done, and at the time, Sephiroth had neatly avoided facing either of his old friends in conflict. Masamune was not raised against them; someone else’s hands could be dirtied by the task.

(Maybe that decision still settles unevenly in his gut, like glass shards sticking to his insides. But he does not regret it. He knew it was the right choice.)

He knows it now more poignantly than ever. Here, facing Angeal (white feathers sprouting from his back, defining himself as a monster, what did he mean?), the war machine in him stutters and sticks, glitches against the notion of cutting him down. His veins sing to fulfill what is expected of him, but emotion becomes nettles against his nerves, slowing him just enough to birth a concept altogether foreign to the legendary SOLDIER — hesitation.

It won’t be enough to bring him down. Both he and Angeal know that. But the other man had always been wise, observant, clever in ways almost enviable, and so the ground beneath Sephiroth’s very feet is assailed instead. There’s not much he can do to fight gravity, not with metal world around him groaning and collapsing, and a second later and he’s falling, falling, back slamming against Sector 5 reactor’s foundations on the way down, silver hair trailing up and whipping all around him, and in the next moment all he can see in his mind’s eye is Zack’s distraught features after he returned from Banora, and Sephiroth thinks to himself that maybe this is deserved.

A second collision sounds like wood splintering, or glass shattering, but he’s met with darkness immediately after.

When consciousness later grasps at him with clumsy, searching hands, he’s stopped falling — something scents sweet in the air, floral and foreign — and he thinks, maybe, that he hears a voice through the haze.]

but from a mess flowers can still grow.

[terracanta]

[ The slums are a noisy place, full of industrial din and nefarious affairs done under neon lights and deep shadows. They're often wet, muddy, and impoverished; and sometimes monsters break in from outside, policing forces stationed in higher density in the booming metropolis above. It's truly a wonder anyone can live decently below the plates, staved off from cleaner technology, with relative safety.

Yet, one girl has made a sanctuary out of the dystopia. By the ancient magic unknowingly seeping from her hands, she grows miracles from the otherwise barren ground of an abandoned church. Old beams and weary pews, grey in colour as though life has left them centuries ago, but the structure itself has withstood time. Maybe, subconsciously, that's why this girl is drawn to the vast quiet of it, for she, too, has survived time and hardship.

If it was anyone else, perhaps the church would seem less serene, filled with the terror and decay afflicting the Planet outside Midgar—but a young half-Cetra doesn't focus on such things just yet. She remains occupied, idealizing the most normal life possible, while tending to the yellow lilies and various other wild flowers spawning wherever the wood had broken apart, and somehow enough light radiated through the glass windows to cultivate the richness, until…

Crash, crack, bang! —Thud.

Aerith isn't the type to shriek, but she does jump, spinning and watching a black form break through the ceiling and fall into the floorboards of the church with a painful crunch. (From just the wood, hopefully.) Dust scatters the sunlight, clouding her view, so she moves closer, footsteps quiet as a cat's. She doesn't often get visitors, much less in this manner. A few minutes of observation passes until she gathers the courage to mirror her curiosity to call out, voice touched with timbre of playfulness and innocence. ]

Hello? Hellooo? Are you all right? …Hello?

[supersoldier]

[…Hello? he hears it again, light and playful. The timbre sits strangely in his ears, unused to being addressed in such a way, an admittedly awkward thought to invade his mind while he’s sprawled gracelessly on the ground, bent stems and flattened petals beneath the silver elite’s weight. But the voice hooks into his conscious mind, drags him up and over the surface of wakefulness, and Sephiroth opens his eyes.

He sees sunlight. A roof with a hole in it. And in his hazy periphery — cat-like eyes already straining to refocus, readjust — a woman whose braid dangles over her shoulder as she gazes down upon him.

For all the surreality of this situation, or perhaps because of it, years of ingrained training kicks in, doubles up and rises to the surface. He could always recover quickly from all that ails him, both rare injury and strange circumstances alike, and this is no different. Every muscle in his body tenses, unleashes like a coiled spring, and memory of conflict (sword raised against a friend, a traitor) bolsters his action; Sephiroth sits up, silver hair untangling from the plants beneath him. His left hand grasps in the soil as if reaching for something that is always there, but Masamune is gone, fallen and landed out of sight.

Not that he needs it. Reason settles in a half-second after instinct, and as he gazes up at her, some of his edged look draining away. Caution and unwanted confusion take its place.]

Who are you?

[Who are you, he asks, like he’s the one who didn’t fall from the sky, a bird with its wings clipped.]

[terracanta]

[ Aerith watches his movements, gauges what tells they offer on his identity, his background. He doesn't look ordinary at all… her heart races a little, but she remains calm in spite of it. New things and people are both scary and exciting, after all. Surely his descent seems to have caught him very off guard. His question almost makes her laugh, but the amusement settles on sitting on her lips, adding to her fairy-like appearance, especially with the particles in the air dancing around her thin frame.

Since her name is not her big secret, she answers diffusively: ] I'm Aerith. You… [ She turns slightly and points upwards at the gaping hole. ] …fell through there. It really surprised me. [ A beat. Then, just to be sure: ] Are you all right?

got no more shelter, no more sun.

[supersoldier]

[He can’t find him.

Vergil was supposed to meet him beyond the boundaries of Shinra HQ, adhering to their clockwork agreement like so many times before. He’s worked with the other man for a few weeks now, and while that’s not enough to develop true trust — especially for an individual like Sephiroth, who opens up only with time, and trusts completely in small increments — the other man had seemed reliable. No nonsense, straight to the point. All characteristics that Sephiroth could appreciate, that made him easier to work with than most of Midgar’s populace who always expected just a little more from him in turn.

Shinra included.

But he wasn’t there two days ago. Same spot yesterday, same time, and he’s just as missing. Today, he chooses not to stand around and wait, instead taking to Midgar’s murky streets, eyes scanning for anyone familiar.

He isn’t the usual visitor to the slums, or anywhere in the close vicinity. In this sector, he can feel every person’s eyes on his back, and it funnels him deeper into military professionalism, stone-cold and unapproachable. It works — there are only whispers of his passing, but none are bold enough to walk up to him, not even the children. Not when he looks like there’s something he’s seeking, suffering no interruptions.

For a long while there’s nothing, just a struggling populace and night threatening to overtake Midgar. But finally, down an alleyway, he sees a familiar stature, a familiar shock of white hair, and his gait turns, hastens, and he calls out with each syllable shearing outbound through the air—]

Where have you been? If our arrangement is suddenly disagreeable to you, I expect communication on that front.

[slapntickle]

[here was dante, minding his own business in kicking down a couple of trash cans and just overall being a menace, the surly owner of the devil may cry shop. scaring kids off is easy when you make a big show of it, but they seem to keep coming back to try and prank him or get inside the shop and play with toys that are definitely not for kids.]

[he's in the middle of grabbing one of the children by the ankle and pulling them up from the dumpster—the child, laughing like this is the best thing to ever happen to him, squirms and wriggles, but dante's hold is stalwart.]

Listen here, you little demon—

[and yet his words are cut off as a man of defined poise and too-long hair comes bearing questions at him. he's in some kind of uniform, so dante just glares at the kid, hissing hurriedly you got the cops involved, i'm going to gut you and make minced meat pie out of you. but the kid quickly denies any kind of knowledge about this — and is desperately trying to remove himself from dante's hold.]

[dante does relent, setting the kid back on his feet—it's just playing around, after all!—and the kid scampers off the opposite way to meet his friends. orphans have it rough in midgar.]

Hey, hey, mister polished!

[casual as can be, dante approaches with nonchalance and a smartass vibe.]

I've been here, in my shop, minding my own business. I ain't got anything to talk to your kind, so if this is one of those schemes to get me thrown into jail, I won't go quietly. I got a clean-ass record to upkeep.

[supersoldier]

[It only takes a moment, but Sephiroth knows nigh immediately that this is not the right man.

If the act of dangling a kid out from a dumpster did not inform him of this revelation, everything else about the other stranger would. He has the look of Vergil (the right features, at least, even if the hair and manner of dress was all wrong), but there’s a swagger to this one where the other had been straight-backed and no-nonsense. His words are heated, cocksure, aggravating if Sephiroth were the sort to easily be aggravated.

As it stands, the silver-haired SOLDIER remains still as Dante approaches him. The faint glow of green eyes flicker dimly in the dark, casting an eerie mako haze across a few planes of his face.]

I’m not here to detain you. Unless you give me a reason.

[The warning is purposeful. Sephiroth does not suffer fools when they come sauntering his way; he hasn’t the time for it tonight.]

You look just like him.

and never know I'm there

[inveilsible]

[ It had been a Witch's Labyrinth she had joined the others in. She was sure of it-- any Magical Girl could sense a Witch and know it for what it was. And the space had been distorted, just like a Labyrinth. Except the others had been with her, and when Sana stumbles out into an entirely unfamiliar area... she's alone. Out of sheer habit, she banishes her transformation completely, leaving her a simple pigtailed girl in a burgundy uniform, but... it still also leaves her alone and with no clear explanation as to what just happened.

... There are... people around, she notices, but no one who takes notice of her, due to the nature of her wish. So clearly there's no one who's been wielding magic? ]

O-oh... but that means there's no one I can ask, either...

[supersoldier]

[He knows the layout of Shinra Electric Power Company as thoroughly as a man knows his home. He knows it so intimately that he walks these same halls in his dreams, knows each door and where it leads from broom closet to board room, can tell which floor he’s on via the conversations that buzz across them, or which distinct pitch of quiet hum emanates from the installed lighting overhead. And while he has spent years in this place — all the years that he knows — there are still sections of headquarters that he avoids if possible. The Science Department is at the top of that list, a place only business will bring Sephiroth striding into, and he will make a point to leave as soon as that same business is done.

Today, it was nothing more than a report given to a cadre of white-frocked researchers, all of whom had gone hushed in his presence and nodded quietly as they took the files from him. He could feel their stares on his back as he left, but Sephiroth was too used to that, never enough to slow him down.

He passes by old laboratories on the way out, currently unused. Cold glass enclosures and sterile workspaces, neatly organized, and illuminated only by minimalistic ambient lights. There should be not a soul in these particular ones, more outdated than their counterparts (newer labs, higher tech and backed by much more money), but he can feel the materia on his person hum the same way it often does before it activates; this stops his step, causing him to glance about in mild disarray, ignorant as to how or why such a thing is happening.

Sephiroth’s eyes alight on a figure through the glass wall. A young girl, a face that he certainly does not recognize — and certainly looks out of place where she stands. His brow furrows, turning to face her, his voice muffled though his side of the glass.]

You’re not supposed to be in there.

[He hopes not, anyhow. Who exactly is she supposed to be?]

[inveilsible]

Eh--!

[ Sana jerks, pigtails flying in alarm as she quickly turns her head from side to side, and just as swiftly locates the speaker. Which does nothing to reassure her when he looks so massive and foreboding, his voice stern in her ears.

Another disapproving adult, and one who can see her, and she automatically ducks under a counter, hands defensively rising over her head. ]

I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be!

@velvetshot

[supersoldier]

[A tactic that only works in the sense that it casts his curiosity in a different direction.]

Then change that. Tell me about him, and what makes him so alluring that you must break him into pieces.

Pfft, I live for these tags okay

[velvetshot]

Why are you so interested? Surely you've felt something similar before.

:eyes: good

[supersoldier]

[Of course he has. He shares a very similar sentiment towards Cloud; he would love to see him in writhe beautiful agony as he shattered, or as his body quivered beneath his steel.]

And why are you so hesitant to share? Afraid that I'll do it for you?

[higherfurtherfaster]

[ In hindsight, sending her defiant message back with Yon-Rogg might have been a mistake. Carol had pretty much declared war on the Kree Empire, and of course they were not just going to sit on Hala and wait for her to show up. Starforce had already squads after her. She'd had to leave the Skrulls sooner than she would have liked when she realized she was likely to lead the Kree right to them. Hopefully she'd gotten them far enough away before she had to leave, and they would find their new home world without her.

That left her at loose ends. She had no idea how to make good on her promise to take down the Supreme Intelligence. She needed information and allies, and had no idea how to find either. Going back to Earth wasn't really an option. Hopefully the Kree would leave her home planet alone if she wasn't there.

So far she'd been able to stay ahead of her pursuers. She still had her Kree star charts, so she had been moving from one random planet to another, sticking to the ones without an active Kree presence. As long as she kept her head down, she was usually able to fly beneath the Kree radar. Eventually she might stumble upon a world that could stand up to the Kree.

This latest planet didn't even have a name in the charts, just a number: F-97. It had an industrial level of technology, and biped inhabitants that were close enough to human for her to disappear in the crowd. Carol had landed quietly outside any populated area, then set off for the nearest town to have a look around.

Her spacesuit has been changed to muted colors, and she pulls her bomber jacket on over it to try to blend in. There would be a bar somewhere. There was always a bar. ]

IT'S MY FAVORITE LADY i hope she steps on him

[supersoldier]

[F-97 might be its star-charted name, just a blip on the intergalactic map of a wider, impossibly vast universe, but like all Planets with a civilization crawling across its face, the natives call it something far less clinical — Gaia.

Gaia has its cities, its towns. One, in particular, pretends to be its agonized heart, a pulsing organism of steel that digs into its core and siphons out the tendrils of energy their homeworld provides. Its nighttime skies are tinted a hazy green when the view is not obstructed by monstrous metal plates hanging overhead, perpetually seen by the less fortunate. The people there go about their metropolitan lives in various degrees of health and happiness, backed by the energy, protection, and security that the Shinra company provides. There, many are eager to live in ignorance, while the rest kick and scream and claw at a corrupted system in hopes of dismantling it through any means possible. There is so much to see in Midgar, so much to do; she could easily lose herself in the crowd, and none should give her a second glance, should she know how to circumvent the myriad technology developed for the sole purpose of tracking a citizen’s ID.

It would be simple to blend in. As simple as breathing, for one as experienced as her.

If she had not landed near Nibelheim instead.

It is no grand and looming city, but just a quaint little town nestled under the shadow of Mt. Nibel. The people here, too, owe a portion of their continued existence to Shinra — a Mako reactor that grants them working energy rests against the jagged landscape of that same mountain — but their lives are quieter, less affected by the goings-on in Midgar. There isn’t too much to see, beyond the basic amenities granted the wayward traveler, but there is probably a bar somewhere. There’s always a bar.

But it’s doubtful she’ll find one today.

As she nears the outskirts of the town, the scent of smoke might fill her nostrils. She may see the light of a warm ember emanating from the silhouetted forms of old buildings, pleasantly curious at first, until she nears close enough to realize it’s instead an immolation slowly engulfing the entire town — licking, horrible flames that smooth over each groaning building, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of the villagers who occasionally cry out in a hopeless, desperate kind of fear.

She has the opportunity of turning back and not getting involved in whatever mess she’s stumbled upon, but either way... Welcome to Gaia, Carol.]

This should be interesting!

[higherfurtherfaster]

What the hell?

[ What has she walked into? That's what Carol is thinking as she instinctively starts running into the town, following the sounds of screams. She's not too worried about the fire. The energy blast from Mar-Vell's engine had made her almost invulnerable. Almost is the key word though.

The first building she comes to has flames coming from the upper windows, and a pile of flaming debris blocking the door. A photon blast from her fist knocks the debris out of the way. The door is locked, so Carol pulls it off its hinges and tosses it aside. ]

Anyone here?

[ It's hard to see through the smoke, but a small group of people appear from the haze. They're staring at her in shock. Carol moves out of the way so they can see the open door. ]

Everyone out!

[ They're quick to follow her order and rush past her. She grabs the last one, an older man, for a moment. ]

Anyone else in here?

[ He shakes his head, so she follows them out and starts looking around, listening for more screams. ]

welcome back to hell, we're still here

[supersoldier]

[The Northern Crater. Not a location very close to the sprawling, dark-steeled hub of Midgar. Nor is the arrangement of tonight ample time to make preparations, despite not knowing what to make preparations for, other than a meeting with a man who speaks of family as though to weave a riddle from it. It is frustrating how inconvenient it is, putting so much effort towards no guarantee of answers to questions he doesn’t even know the shape of, not really.

But he is Sephiroth, Shinra’s finest, the legendary SOLDIER and the man who won their war for them. There’s influence in a well-achieved celebrity status, in the authority he wields above the heads of the rank and file or the company’s army as a whole. Should he make a request, as rare as they are, it will come to fruition. This, he knows, and it is through this that he’ll make the short-notice trip possible. And so—]

Make yourself easy to find.

[And that seems to be all for now.

Until that night, against the vast, hazy backdrop of the Northern Crater; those jagged grey cliffs piercing the sky, cloistering the massive pockmark punched into Gaia’s crust. The landmark itself is huge and void-like, like a dead, open mouth left agape through the ages, making all those standing nearby feel infinitesimally small.

Except for Sephiroth, whose stature always seems unfazed by any and all around him, his appearance a bleary silhouette in the faded light — all but for those faintly glowing mako eyes, the trail of quicksilver hair, and the shine of Masamune’s long, curving steel as he approaches.]

Gets comfortable like I never left, because I didn't 8')

[velvetshot]

( That he still feels Sephiroth's approach before he sees him is, by Yazoo's estimation, a reasonably good sign. Bitter air draws in heavy and close with a weight that crackles through every cell of his being; it calls to him, demanding obedience and reverence in equal measures now that he's in the presence of his maker. Does Sephiroth feel it, too? Would he be able to recognise it for what it is, even if he could? Yazoo's lips pull into a distressed pout as he briefly considers the fact that Sephiroth may still reject him yet—that he might not be ready to accept the truth of what he was wrought into being to do.

I won't escape.

A chill begins to worm its way down the length of the Remnant's spine. It was a mistake to do this without the support of his brothers, and it was a mistake not to quietly encourage Kadaj take the helm as he always does. Yazoo is no negotiator, nor does he hold within his memory enough information to belabour his points, but the idea of their brother remaining in Shinra's grasp for even a moment longer made it impossible for him to wait. Now all that remains it to see whether it's a mistake that will cost him his life.

He made himself easy to find, as requested. Yazoo turns to watch the final few feet of Sephiroth's approach; he looks different, seems somehow a little younger around the eyes, but Masamune gleams knowingly in his hand as the light slides over its gentle curve. His expression remains carefully impassive as he pins his brother with that feline gaze, that matching mako-green clashing between their bodies to singe the air around them. )

... Brother.

( Said slowly, carefully. The Velvet Nightmare hangs by Yazoo's side, his left hand ready. )

Do you know why I asked you to come here?

now you're truly stuck with me forever

[supersoldier]

[He is different, in ways beyond the un-passage of time not yet leaving subtle touches across his features — the sharper curve of his cheekbones, or the edge-like quality to his eyes that Yazoo would know so well. This is a Sephiroth who is still filled with something more, a measure of humanity that has not been cast off of him like a shell. He is crowded with thought, emotion, experiences, none of it filed down to dangerous needlepoint that will (once?) throw the Planet into disarray. There is lucidity, reason, and even compassion in him; just as there are equal measures of uncertainty, insecurity, and listlessness, buried too deep for most to see.

Like this, Sephiroth is greater in completeness than what Yazoo would recall. But perhaps that is more disturbing than comforting to someone who knows nothing else, like seeing a masterwork marred by unsteady brushstrokes, making the immaculate less perfect.

He tilts his chin up, looking at him with a slanted brow and searching eyes. This close, he is struck by a sensation he cannot pin down, grown stronger via proximity. Something magnetizing and alien when he looks at this man who shares too many of his own features, as though he could pick up the invisible slack between them, tug at it, and draw them both closer together.

Too new to be anything but disconcerting. Too natural to be anything but baffling. He is at a disadvantage, he feels, and he dislikes it wholly.]

Don’t call me that.

[Brother. The first hint of rejection, but only because he has not personally allowed any facet of truth or great revelation to come bearing down on him just yet. As always, Sephiroth doles out control on his own terms. He is more than aware of the firearm that hangs at the other’s side, a part of him already plotting out his actions should this all go pear-shaped.]

But no. I assume you intend to explain.

[asimetrica]

[...the results seemed too good to be true, and while a scientist, a researcher of her caliber would celebrate these results as something good—a hypothesis come to fruition—another part of her wonders what this means further along. perhaps it was a mistake, to bind herself so closely and personally with their test subject, but there is no denying that the test subject is her son, and that much was, is, and will never be a mistake.]

[it's late in the night anyway, and while usually these sterile halls would be roamed by hojo, she is blessedly alone as she leaves her office, papers in hand on a clipboard. a positive result means more tests, more procedures, more scrutiny. sephiroth may not speak of such things, but she can tell he detests them, and the little freedom he gets to go about as shinra's most prized soldier in the war is respite from clinical ministrations and needle-deep observations. he had had a transfusion, recently, and she is not going to subject him to it, not this soon.]

[with a frown on her face, she paves the way past the quiet halls and past security, and towards his dormitory. he should be back from his mission since some hours ago, and if he's not there, then perhaps the training room, but this late at night? even sephiroth would relent to a moment of his own—which is why she knocks on said dormitory door (for although she has a keycard to it, she would never, not now that he isn't a boy).]

Sephiroth. [she calls softly, peeling her eyes away from the results. too good to be true. there is something amiss here.] It's me, darling.

[her sleep schedule an unsurprising mess; the hour is not really of consequence to scientific research.]

[supersoldier]

[The hour is late, but Sephiroth’s sleep schedule is later. His body has long adjusted to the hours of both endless experimentation and military training — two worlds of different methodologies, but the similarly strict timetables. Thankfully, his body performs well above the normal standard; a 3 hour night’s worth of sleep is the expected for a man groomed to be the perfect SOLDIER, the perfect specimen.

He’s only just returned from a mission, but already he’s changed into more casual clothing, early preparation for when sleep does visit him. He doesn’t expect anyone to come knocking at his door at this hour—rarely does he expect anyone to come knocking at his door at all—but a voice calls his name softly through the frame soon followed by a rapping of knuckles.

Mother.

There’s no halt or hesitation to his step. The book he was reading is set aside on the seat’s armrest, and he stands and strides over to his door, swinging it open wide to meet Lucrecia. His features soften slightly, but they always do around her.]

It’s late, Mother. [The pot calling the kettle black, but at least he’s a highly trained and easily adaptable pot.] This is a bad habit of yours.

[asimetrica]

Is it?

[she questions the hour, not really minding being called out for her so-called bad habit. days inspired by coffee and energy drinks will catch up to her as the years go by, but at this point in her life she is used to sleeping whenever the fancy strikes her.]

[allowing herself inside past her towering son (and when did he grow so tall? she always wonders, remembering when he barely reached her shoulders, every time), she moves into his dormitory. it's his permanent residence, so it looks almost normal, with a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a living area separate from where his bed is.]

—sorry to bother you, [she motions towards the clipboard before her] but this couldn't wait.

[a glance around the place, everything is kept quite minimal, quite muted. a soft sigh follows, some amount of guilt at this life that he leads—because she allowed for it.]

[lucrecia allows herself to smile as she spots the book he was reading, and she walks on over, reaching for it, careful to not lose the page he is on.]

'Incredible Ecosystems Found In Nature.' [she recognizes this book, then smiles up at sephiroth.] Mail did reach you despite being on your mission.

[the book she had gotten for him, for his birthday, which unfortunately he had spent away in the frontlines doing his job as SOLDIER. he did receive it, after all.]

[exsoldier]

Hey!

Important question for you.

[supersoldier]

[Most people that text Sephiroth are left on read for x amount of time before receiving a reply. Zack, at least, gets a more expedient one.]

What is it?

[exsoldier]

[ Sephiroth may soon grow to regret that, because Zack's definition of "important" is... well... ]

Have you ever been to the Honeybee Inn?