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year 5, quarter 3
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It wasn’t something that he could say that he was overly used to. Not from anyone but Genesis, that was, but his friend had given him more than enough experience on his own. To most, Sephiroth was intimidating either by his sword or his cold demeanor. Still, Cissnei kept herself cool and professional, lips twitching into a smirk.
”Don’t you make a fine civilian.”
”I'm not always on duty,” Sephiroth answered with his own faint smirk. ”I own other clothes.”
’You could have fooled me.’ His thoughts had taken on strange patterns lately. He’d spent so much time alone with Genesis that he’d taken to anticipating his taunts before he could say them. ’How many times have I tried to get you out of that tacky black leather? Now you've finally found a fashion sense?’
That was enough of that.
”Angeal was fond of this location.” He looked at the sign for the winery, taking a moment to appreciate how the carved stone complimented the surrounding shrubbery. ”It’s his taste, not mine,” he said. ”No one would think to find me here.”
Sephiroth was not spontaneous. If anyone had bothered to learn his habits, they could have easily tracked him from his apartment to the local coffeehouses to a nearby bookshop and then to the wild cliffsides where he liked to meditate. As a tactician, Sephiroth knew that this put him at a disadvantage in case of an ambush. He was precise. Predictable.
If he couldn’t change his strategy then why not borrow one from a friend?
They walked together, Cissnei, Sephiroth, and their contact. The man was stiff, distant, and showed all the signs of barely suppressed panic. Sephiroth wondered if Cissnei had brought the man of his will or if she’d strong-armed him into a favor.
Vincent Valentine. Ex-employee of Shinra. It was vague enough to tell him next to nothing. Cissnei played her cards close to her chest.
They found a table. Or rather, Cissnei found a table. The two men were content merely to trail behind her, stopping wherever she chose. Sephiroth scanned the nearest tree line for lookout points then shifted four inches to the left to take him out of sight of any potential snipers positioned on the winery’s southern roof.
Cissnei offered them drinks. Sephiroth paused. He didn’t know wine well enough to give her a proper answer.
”Something white,” he said. Whenever Angeal and Genesis forced a drink on him, he always tolerated the white ones best. ”Thank you.”
With Cissnei busy, that left the two men alone. All according to the Turk’s plan, no doubt. Sephiroth eyed the surrounding tables for any familiar or hostile faces before finally taking a seat.
A strange silence stretched between them. Vincent looked, as ever, like he didn’t want to be there.
Sephiroth unbuckled the holster of his sword, propping it against the table so that he wouldn’t block the path behind him. ”Did you ask to meet me?” Sephiroth asked simply. ”Or did she blackmail you into this?”
[attr=class,bulk] It was 2:05 in the afternoon, and Sephiroth stood with his back to an iron-wrought lamppost, arms crossed and watching the people mill slowly past. There was a peculiar, muddy smell to the air that came from the river swelling with recent rainwater. He watched a family sat by the edge on a woven blanket, fishing. They’d caught three since that morning, and had them strung to a stake in the water where the fish struggled, drifted, then finally gave in. A jogger went past, huffing quickly through a tense jaw. He heard the distant sound of multi-layered conversations as other families enjoyed the rare sunny day broken between the persistent rain showers.
It was 2:05 in the afternoon, and it was time for Sephiroth to go.
He pushed off the lamppost and started slowly down the cobblestone path. He was dressed in casual clothes while his usual coat and pauldrons were in for repairs. Perhaps it was better, he thought, to be dressed as a civilian when he had effectively become one. It was a difficult thought to process, and one that never failed to bitterly amuse him. He had never thought to leave the military. Shinra was a way of life, and the only one he had ever known. Yet here he was, largely unidentifiable as he strolled past the masses he’d long been kept separated from.
Was there really such a difference?
The winery was exactly twenty minutes east and five north. He’d scouted it that morning, checking for ambush points and traps. It had seemed unremarkable. It had also seemed quite unlike him with its flowering grounds and rustic water features crafted impeccably to look natural. It wasn’t somewhere that anyone would think to look for him, and with good reason. He’d only chosen it on Angeal’s suggestion. His friend had been subtly hinting at a visit for some time.
Sephiroth turned onto Songbird Lane. Five minutes to estimated time of arrival.
Cissnei had come to visit. Sephiroth hadn’t told her the location of his residence in Provo or that he had relocated at all, but her abrupt arrival hadn’t surprised him. She was a Turk, after all, and she had a proposition. Sephiroth had listened, eyebrows raised. She came with a primary source. He could choose the time and location. She’d asked to pass along a flirtatious tease to Angeal. Which was...interesting.
He should have identified the outing as another trap. He should have informed Genesis and Angeal and brought them along as support. Given his repertoire of enemies and his current wounded condition, he should have rejected her proposal, but he hadn’t. There was something about it that drew him in. Some curiosity that overrode his more rational instincts. A primary source for his past…
Turks were trained in the identification of pressure points on their targets. She had easily found his.
He arrived at the rendezvous point at exactly 2:30. He was dressed uncharacteristically in a black sweater with his hair neatly tied into a high ponytail. He wore a silver bracer over one sleeve inset with materia. His sword hung sheathed from a belt looped through his slacks. He may have been out of uniform, but he would not travel unarmed.
”Cissnei.” Sephiroth addressed her simply as he approached the pair at the intersection of the two country roads. She had the distinct look of a detective undercover. Her companion, Vincent Valentine, had a darker aura to him. He was armed with a triple-barreled pistol half-shrouded beneath a deep red cloak.
Sephiroth came to a stop, arms crossed. ”This is your contact?”
Even as he gathered magic for his spell, Sephiroth could tell that it was only posturing. The wall of earth behind him would shield the bystanders of some fallout which gave some weight to his stance, but his words contradicted his previous statements. ’Bold of him to assume he cared about civilian casualties?’ It might have been a gamble, but it was a calculated one, and one that he thought he could win. Assuming the man wasn’t stupid enough to think his wall would keep the people save.
Then again, he might have had his doubts.
There was a long moment between them, spent in tense silence. Sephiroth kept his stance attentive and his magic at the ready. A Fira level spell would do. That would be enough to obscure the space between them and give him cause for a second’s recoil. There were two apartment buildings behind him taller than three stories. He could clear the space in that time, and as the spread of his Fire materia reached the adjacent shops, the man would likely divert his attention. Assuming his posturing was false.
It was a gamble. A calculated one that he was willing to take.
Finally, the man lowered his hand. His magic fizzled away. It seemed he’d finally seen reason after all.
Sephiroth did not drop his guard. He had seen too many false surrenders. Unlike Angeal, he did not believe in selfless honor.
The man folded his arms behind his back, perhaps to appear vulnerable, and approached him at a confident pace. Sephiroth eyed him cautiously. There was no need to clear the distance between them to speak. It was a feint. He’d seen this before.
The man, Alexander Sorel, placed a hand to his chest and gave a slight bow. He had a lot to say. A distraction. Though he’d yet to make his move…
He offered Sephiroth work.
That was enough to crack Sephiroth’s cold expression. A little. Enough for a single raised eyebrow.
”Really.” Sephiroth lowered his hand and his readied materia, but he kept himself alert. They were close enough now that hand-to-hand would be far more effective than magic.
A job. At a location secured by a mercenary with after a bounty on his head. He wanted to laugh.
Alexander Sorel started towards him. Sephiroth tensed, ready to react. Then the man simply walked past with more words and more assumptions. Alexander Sorel, it seemed, had the feeling he couldn’t express appreciation for his friends.
And as quickly as he’d come, he was gone.
Sephiroth watched him leave, relaxing his stance only as the man disappeared from view. The street was wary now, but ultimately back to normal. There were eyes on him. Passing civilians gave him a wide berth. Despite the attention, he was, he thought, finally alone.
His lips twitched into a smirk, and he felt his laughter escape him in two short breaths. He touched his cheek and felt the slimy, sour residue of a mysteriously procured fish. Said fish lied gaping in the street, still giving a futile flop every now and then as it suffocated.
Even with all of his tactical experience, he still couldn’t process what exactly he’d just witnessed.
He’d left his shared apartment for space and an escape from Angeal’s constant worrying. He’d wanted nothing more than a quiet morning, some time with his thoughts beneath an open sky. If that was his mission then it had been an unquestionable failure. Still, the damages had been minimal. There had been no casualties. His wounds ached, but had not reopened.
Sephiroth took a long breath, cleared his thoughts, and started in the opposite direction.
[attr=class,bulk] The man was a bounty hunter -- or so he claimed. Sephiroth had difficulty believing it as he walked away, the man still talking from behind him. Mercenaries had no formal military training. They were not instructed in tactics or proper battle strategy, and yet Sephiroth thought that even mercenaries would have had better sense than this. What they lacked in discipline, they often made up for in experience.
An experienced combatant would have never disregarded his advice.
Sephiroth had meant it as a warning. It was only the thinnest veiled of threats. Yet even before Sephiroth had pushed past him, the man countered with what he thought must have been a contradiction. He’d judged Sephiroth’s character both confidently and foolishly. Sephiroth was not heartless. He had silently agreed to avoid collateral damage.
This man was an idiot -- a danger to himself and others.
There was movement behind him. Steps forward. Cracked knuckles. Sephiroth kept light on his feet. He was ready to react in a second’s notice. He waited for the sound of a swung fist, a pulled gun, or the hum of magic.
Instead, he heard the man wretch.
Sephiroth frowned and glanced over his shoulder in time to catch a silver flash of something shooting towards him. His body shifted on instinct, turning in a single, precise movement that saw that something fly past the tip of his nose with a strange, sour smell.
Time seemed to slow as it passed him midair. He met glazed, unblinking eyes. Its mouth gaped open and closed. It was a fish. He hardly had time to register the thought before it gave a sudden lurch midair and slapped him with the broadside of its fin.
It was wet.
It was warm.
A fish.
Had he just thrown…?
The earth lurched beneath him. Sephiroth recovered quickly, his eyes darting to attention as the ground rose into a sharp wall on one side and then the other. A trap. He thrust himself into the air just as another column jutted upwards where he’d been standing. He was off balance. Off guard. He raised his bracer defensively as a violet stream of magic settled over him.
He felt his eyes unfocus. It was a sleep spell.
Sephiroth landed lightly on his feet several yards away. His head spun with the force of the spell, but he willed himself upright. His concentration was impenetrable.
He had trained for this.
Seconds had passed since the start of the attack. There were four civilians on the street, slowly turning to witness the fight they hadn’t realized had broken out around them. There was a shop to either side, both single-story. Beyond that, a few stalls and an empty stable for chocobos. The four exposed bystanders were positioned behind the man, only half in range. The shops could be evacuated.
Sephiroth’s eyes went cold. ”Stand down.” He kept his bracer in front of him, inset with three materia. Restore, Fire, All. He gathered its power. The materia burned red.
Sephiroth had expected as such though he’d put the odds at maybe sixty percent. There were many types for talk who wouldn’t know how to push the issue if they weren’t attacked. Sephiroth was civil. He was unarmed. He had clearly disengaged. That left his pursuer in an awkward situation. Sephiroth would not come quietly. Nor would he rise to any bait. That left the onus of action on the other party.
A party who seemed far too invested in conversation.
”You’re wanted in Sonora. That’s a fact.” The man kept behind him, shadowing at his heels. ”You can’t keep running. You can’t just wipe out everyone who comes after you. At some point, you have to face what’s going on.”
Sephiroth kept walking. Why was this man acting like he knew him?
The stranger quick-stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Sephiroth slowed to a stop and watched him coolly. ’His final decision?’ Compared to what? Sephiroth had no intention of surrendering to a Sonoran prison.
The man was cocky in his button down shirt and suspenders. He wasn’t visibly armed, though it sounded as though he intended to punch Sephiroth into submission. He was condescending again, acting as though Sephiroth was powerless without his sword. He knew nothing of him. He knew less than nothing.
If he had truly heard Sephiroth’s ’legend’ then he would never have underestimated him.
”Tactically, do you think that’s the best choice of action?” Sephiroth kept their eyes locked, unblinking. Around them, the grounds were advantageous. The buildings were steep and easily accessed should he will himself weightless. The streets were narrow and populated. ”You have a target who has reportedly acted with no regard to casualties or collateral damage when provoked. You locate that target in the middle of a crowded civilian area. Order is your imperative.”
Sephiroth watched him for another long, cold moment then closed his eyes with a short ’hmph,’ and moved to walk around him. Whatever came next was entirely on the other man’s shoulders.
[attr=class,bulk] The man didn’t sound hostile, exactly. Even as Sephiroth refused to speak, he seemed more annoyed than angered. Patronizing. Disappointed. He sounded like a chiding father figure, or was he trying to bait him? ’The man doesn’t live up to the legend.’
Sephiroth smirked.
”I’m not interested in your approval,” he said. His coffee was cooling. A shame. He’d wanted a peaceful morning with his thoughts. He’d wanted time away where he could rest without falling into a predictable despair. Something his reputation wouldn’t allow.
The man knew him from simple gossip? How many others were turned against him without cause?
The stranger spun a tale rich in detail. He’d broken. After failing to cope with stress? He let him speak, going on about strange magic and planetary destruction and some kind of materia he’d never heard of. Someone had killed him, but apparently, death had no finality.
And that was the second story he’d heard of his own death. He had to admit. Genesis’ tale had been far more convincing.
”I died in Nibelheim,” he said simply. ”In the reactor. At the hands of a single soldier.” At least, that was what Genesis had heard. It sounded like a Shinra cover-up to him. Sephiroth didn’t believe in coming back from the dead.
Until Angeal.
The man tried to intimidate him. In that passive, disappointed way of his. He was ’upfront.’ He gave him ’credit.’ He had more than enough to say about Sephiroth’s most recent battle, and he was more than happy inserting his own judgments between the lines.
He sounded like a police officer trying to establish himself as sympathetic in an interrogation. It was an effective tactic. So long as the target had his back against a wall.
He wanted to know what happened in Sonora.
First and foremost.
Sephiroth waited a long moment before a slow, quiet laughter escaped him. He lowered his head, placing his hand over one eye as he laughed, shoulders shaking.
Did he really think that Sephiroth had to answer to him?
His laughter died and he lowered his hand as he stood, placing two-thirds empty cup on the table. ”You can keep the coffee,” he said.
Sephiroth saw it in the slight hesitation, in the way he tilted himself backwards, in widening of his eyes. Then it was gone, but not quickly enough. Instinctive reactions were rarely so suppressed. Sephiroth simply sipped his coffee, however. If the man wished to pretend then he wouldn’t get in his way.
What did he know him from? As Shinra? That seemed unlikely. He hadn’t recognized his reference to the plates of Midgar. The ones out for revenge all knew him on sight -- he was hardly a subtle figure when Shinra insisted on using him for propaganda. So that left...what?
The stranger mulled over his thoughts for a moment then hummed to himself and went back to his coffee. It wasn’t revenge then. That was too passionate. It blocked rational thought and was, by its nature, painful. Revenge drove men to rabid animals. To monsters.
This man, in contrast, remained calm and cautious. It was a dangerous calm. The kind before a snake chose to strike. He chose his words carefully.
”You know,” he said slowly, ”You’re not nearly as bad as everyone says you are. A bit cold, maybe, but much more pleasant.”
Hearsay then. That was easier to deal with in the moment. More troubling in its implications.
”Blow up the planet?” Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know what else there was to say to that so he simply closed his eyes, smirking to himself. ”Hmph.”
Interesting.
”Don’t go searching for answers,” he said. He lowered his cup and looked to the sky. It was going to rain soon. ”They don’t involve you.”
Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, his lips flickering into a smirk. Was there something particularly special about his outfit? It wasn’t his first choice. He often felt out of place outside of his uniform and combat gear, but he had no idea that his tastes were so…
Pretentious? He thought of Genesis. His friend would have been furious that Sephiroth had been compared to a writer if he himself wasn’t. Sephiroth had seen Genesis in civilian’s clothes often enough to take a guess. He always looked like he was ready for an upscale night at the theater or a dance club.
”I was an exception,” Sephiroth said simply. Shinra’s military program was fairly strict when it came to matters of uniform. Less so on matters of hair style. Sephiroth had taken full range of choice outside the bounds of even those basic rules because no one would dare to have told him otherwise. Not once he’d made first-class anyway.
”We remembered each other,” Sephiroth said. He remembered them, yes, and he supposed that was something. He remembered what felt like his entire life until he didn’t. It was a strange, shrouded space in front of him like gazing into a future offering nothing but pain and grief. The longer he tried to grasp it, the more he knew that he would regret what he found.
It seemed the stranger was from his own other place which was unusual, but not unheard of. Sephiroth wondered as to the statistics of such a thing. What were they compared to the average population? He doubted there was any kind of census.
The man finished his cup and started on another. ”You know, I never did ask; what’s your name?” He was making himself comfortable. And familiar. Sephiroth let out a short, almost-laugh through his nose and leaned back, grasping his cup in both hands.
[attr=class,bulk] If the stranger was offended by his assumptions, he didn’t show it. He only corrected that he wasn’t “into guys.” He thanked him for “letting him down easy.”
Sephiroth paused, considering his coffee. He’d miscalculated them. He resolved never to listen to Genesis’ intuition again. At least not the one that spoke in his head.
But then that left the question. Why was this man speaking to him?
The stranger set his pot of coffee on the table and offered it to him which seemed strange. It seemed like something that a man “into guys” would do which left him more confused. It wasn’t that Sephiroth minded the conversation particularly. He simply couldn’t fathom its motivation, and he did not like to have the lesser hand in any matter of strategy. Was this a matter of strategy?
Maybe this was why he didn’t have many friends.
”You’ve been poisoned,” Sephiroth said simply. It was an aversion he’d seen before. ”If an assassin infiltrated the coffee shop, they could have poisoned the pot. There’s no reason to assume they would have only mixed it into your glass.”
Tactics. That was something he was more comfortable discussing. He knew assassination attempts. He was on stable ground.
It was a fleeting victory.
What did he do for a living?
Sephiroth took a long time to answer. It was a simple question, he knew, but it seemed...wrong. He had always known his place. He was a SOLDIER. He was a general. Now he was…
”Ex-military.” He smirked to himself as though he’d said some kind of bitter joke. ”I’ve been occupied searching for my friends. We were recently reunited.”
Angeal. Genesis. It was strange to think that he’d find them simply by going back to their apartment. Sephiroth had never lived with anyone before outside of military engagements. It was...crowded.
And loud.
He glanced at the stranger, that same bitter smirk touching at his lips. ”Were you close?”
[attr=class,bulk] The stranger had no interest in leaving.
Sephiroth had some blame in that, he supposed, for encouraging it. He’d chosen to respond. Sephiroth watched a woman edge her way through the cafe doors with her arms full of bags and one hand carrying a pot of hot coffee. She was a harried looking woman whose age was catching up to her, and as she shot him a kind of awkward smile, he looked away again. He had no interest in conversation.
For all that was worth.
The stranger in suspenders spoke of his experiences in Sonora. He would “have to pick some up the next time he was there.’ Sephiroth hummed, sipping his coffee. Once he’d finished it, he would stand and leave and find some other quiet way to pass the time. But that time wasn’t now, and for now, he had no choice but to listen.
The stranger asked what he was up to.
”Nothing.”
It had been a question. That was all. Most men didn’t overly consider things like “hair care.” Sephiroth wondered vaguely what ‘line of work’ that might be.
His hair was thick. It had a ‘nice sheen.’ Sephiroth raised his eyebrows.
Something felt strange about this. Something that lingered just out of sight. Something that reminded him of Genesis.
”Matrix Biolage Number 5.” Sephiroth’s eyes drifted towards the dull and graying sky. ”From the Sector 4 cosmetics line.” The company was Shinra owned, naturally. As most were. They were famous for their use of bioengineering in their anti-aging products. Their haircare series was expensive, but could be billed to Shinra’s SOLDIER department at Sephiroth’s request.
There was something strange about this. Something that reminded him of Genesis. What would Genesis have said?
A man had approached him. He had taken a seat at Sephiroth’s table. He had unsolicited compliments about his hair. It was ‘thick’ and had a ‘nice sheen.’
Sephiroth did not trust Genesis’ judgment in most things, but he had far more experience in casual encounters, and he generally excelled in social settings. What would Genesis have said?
Hm.
Sephiroth glanced at the man. ”I’m not interested,” he said. ”In any personal engagements.”
