finalflight | OPEN POST; [ SEPHIROTH / FFVII ]

[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.]

Edited 2019-12-15 15:24 (UTC)

[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.

[ 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...

[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.

Edited 2020-05-30 16:04 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[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.]

Edited 2020-06-21 05:01 (UTC)

[...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.]

Hey!

Important question for you.

but your life is just one big mess.

got no more shelter, no more sun.

and never know I'm there

@velvetshot

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welcome back to hell, we're still here

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