[Each word appears one at a time, very slowly and gouged deep alongside their careful precision. It takes effort to make sure it's steady. Parts are scribbled out, surely they too disappear.]
Unlikely and doubtful are not good enough. I can't risk You know what will
It's best to prepare for the worst and see if things progress more optimally.
How can he promise this? Sephiroth doesn't know. But Jenova has ripped a hole into another dimension just to launch attacks before, and on whatever passes for a god in this or any realm, Sephiroth will not let Hojo have this version of himself back. With or without scales.
He will find a way to protect him, as he'd always wished he could be.
[Wasn't that a nice thought? As impossible as it was.]
Don't make promises you can't
[The sentence isn't actually finished before he sets the stone tablet down. He's learned about promises. It wouldn't be a problem for his older self, would it? He had backup of his two nearly-equally associates. He had ...
He would have to find alternatives. Hide it as long as he could. If anyone in Shinra realized he wasn't human anymore--]
But Sephiroth is setting his own tablet down and rising to his feet. He strides quietly out of the cottage he's sharing with the others, moving slowly towards the center of town - less because he expects to find his younger self anywhere near it, but because it will put him roughly equidistant to all possible locations within the town. From there...he may be able to get a sense. A direction.
Perhaps it's the intensity of focus he puts into it, or perhaps it's his younger self's distress. Perhaps on some level Jenova resonates particularly strongly within its most perfect vessel. Maybe it's even easier to sense himself through Jenova's reunification instincts than it would be to sense anyone else. It could be a combination of any or all of those factors. But when Sephiroth picks a direction...it's tentative at first, but as he moves his steps become rapidly more sure, his location clearer with every moment. What was at first a hint of a suspicion becomes a certainty the closer he gets. By the time he reaches the seemingly abandoned cottage, he already knows who's inside.
"It's me," he says, even as he pushes the door open. He also knows about his combat instincts, and what might happen if someone tried to barge into a building he was in unannounced while he was already on edge. Forewarning is an investment in both their futures.
It was a reasonable choice, though he wouldn't remain there. Not so far from the many useful things being offered them, not so close where anyone's likely to come across him by accident; a decent enough random cottage by which to spend a little bit cleaning up himself and his gear. The little row of scales had thrown off his plans entirely.
Things had snowballed a bit from there. He knew what would happen if he turned up in the city with scales, and who knew what else might follow in time. It's certain he would survive whatever was done to him to see what caused it, but he could survive a lot.
He wasn't afraid. He wasn't capable of fear, or so he'd been told, not after the amount of training he'd been through, so maybe it was something else that kept his thoughts in a tight spiral like a mouse running circles in the bottom of a bucket. Nobody's there to see him bury his head in his arms in a windowless part of the cottage, knees pulled up to his chest in some instinctive effort to suppress the quiver of what must simply be adrenaline; nobody's there to scold him for such childish behavior.
The sound of boots on gravel almost doesn't draw notice, but the sound of the door's handle turning does, and reaching for a weapon is pure autopilot, what-surely-isn't-fear focused with laser sharpness on a new and unexpected target- anything else is immediately aborted as soon as who it is becomes apparent, the sharp silver curve of the nameless katana in hand but after a long moment of blank silence it's set back down on the floor. "What are you doing here?"
Voice matches appearance, a little too tense, a little too pale; it'd be easy to read it simply as startled caution but it isn't. On the rustic square table sits his tablet, beside it a small array of scales so dark a green they might as well be black, little spots of mostly-dried blood on the wood. There too, jacket, harness, belt and turtleneck, undamaged but dusty.
"I came to find you," Sephiroth says, right before he realizes that this is fairly obvious and more of a specific answer should be given. He smells the blood; his senses are still slightly sharper than a normal person's, and it's a small room. But then, he didn't really need to smell it; there are the scales, fully visible on the tabletop, and he'd been certain of what his younger self had done before he'd ever even left his own house. It's how he would have reacted.
Well, at his younger self's age. Without any of the context of Angeal, in regards to self-harm.
All the scent does is heighten his worry, even if he is logically aware any injury here is incredibly minor at worst. He long ago learned that physical injuries alone aren't the only things worth being concerned about.
"I was worried about you," he says after a moment, taking a step closer. "I know you're upset. I wanted to..." He pauses, not quite sure how to explain this to his younger self. The idea of comfort, of care, are still so foreign to him at this age...never mind the idea of someone, especially someone perceived to be a superior, offering it. Outside of Lazard, no superior ever had.
"...help," he finishes, finally. Perhaps merely stating his intent is better than getting bogged down in the weeds of trying to even articulate how he wants to support his younger self, or explaining the concept of receiving this help and how it is deserved to someone who's almost never been granted such things.
A breath is drawn, let out. Being found like this was unexpected, he was acting in a way unbefitting any SOLDIER and needed to stop immediately. Hiding is one thing, getting caught is another, and it's a small distraction from the panicked circles of thought. Not much of one, it's hard to squash down and erase. "There's no ... reason to worry." He's fine, he's not even bleeding anymore.
Removing them hadn't worked, the pace at which he healed right now might be glacially slow compared to what he's used to, but the tiny thin crescents of re-emerging scales had been quick enough to notice and become a problem. It would make them impossible to hide under the scrutiny of examination lights. "It's minor." Maybe if he says so it'll make it so, and stop the subtle tremble that tightening his grip on his knees does not otherwise stop.
It doesn't work. Nor does the distraction of someone else's presence. If it had to be anyone, wasn't it best that it was himself? "What if .." It's minor and apparently he can't let go of it anyway; it's not just a him problem, it's a them problem, they BOTH -- "What if it doesn't stop with just ... scales?"
"I believe you may be taking the concept of lying to yourself to an extreme," Sephiroth says, with a slight arch of an eyebrow. "You've injured yourself, minor or not. You are in clear distress - perhaps you could pretend otherwise with other people, but surely you can't think I'm unable to tell. Neither of us have ever been stupid."
He moves forward, with a faint creak of leather, to kneel down in front of his younger self. After a moment's pause, he reaches out one hand to rest it over one of the boy's own. "I'm not here to judge you." He tries to make his voice soft. "I'm here to help you. You don't need to pretend to be fine when you aren't."
The question...gives him a moment's pause, but not much. "If it doesn't stop with just scales," he says, after that moment, "then we'll simply be dragons together. You won't be alone. And you will still be you."
There is a moment where it's clear that he intends to argue it, point out that compared to even casual training such a minor thing as a few removed scales weren't even worth wasting a bandaid on, but it stretches into hesitance before his head lowers, hair a thin gray curtain that doesn't hide as much as he'd prefer. It's a reproof but he's not sure in which direction. Faced with the calm composure of an older version of himself, the answer seems obvious.
Doesn't it?
But something as simple as touch, as unfamiliar and strange as it still is, widens the cracks in rigid self control nearly in time to anxiety spiking right back into unfocused horror for what follows it. It's a problem that may well still haunt all three of the older SOLDIERs long past their youth, put to little more than a whisper. "I don't want to be a monster." It was worse by far than simply being a modified subject of the military's combat programs, altered but still human.
"You aren't a monster. And you won't become one." Sephiroth squeezes the hand beneath his, lightly. "If we turn into dragons...it's because these dragons have bonded with us. It has nothing to do with what we are. Who we are. It's something outside us. Correct?"
He peers up into that partially obscured face. "And something I have learned, in the years I've had that you've yet to experience...is that it takes far more than appearance or biology to make a monster. An animal isn't necessarily a monster, even if it isn't human. And a perfectly normal human...can be a monster. To be a monster is something specific, and it isn't just a question of whether or not you're human."
A pause. "And you are human. Whether or not you change in any way, you will still be human."
If he becomes a people-killing creature, something happy to devour the innocent alongside their livestock, claiming humanity still would be a farce. Would they even still have the intelligence to make such a claim anymore? Dragons were smart but not that smart.
It might be pointless to worry about at all, it might just stay a thin scattering of scales and nothing more, never become a predator's shape and a predators hungry instincts surrounded by a town full of tempting prey and not people. It's a far jump to make, going from one to the other as if it's a foregone conclusion, but Sephiroth wasn't treating it like it was an unlikely possibility, knew something maybe he didn't. Like half the town hall meeting that outlined exactly how far it could go.
His older self hadn't hesitated to call into question things that were unlikely before.
This isn't, then. All questions and possibility die before probability.
It's a foolish impulse, childish cowardice at best and he knows it when he shifts from where he sits to pull closer and tuck his considerably smaller frame along one side of his older self. Kids sought shelter with others, they couldn't protect themselves, they needed that kind of thing. He was not a child. He was not. But maybe he'd be allowed such a pathetic thing, even if only briefly.
In truth, Sephiroth doesn't know what's likely and what's not, here. Even Charlie, a supposed god of this world, has no idea. And as he'd said, he won't make promises to his younger self that he can't keep. If there's a chance they could become dragons, then he will do his best to reassure him that there are worse things.
And, of course, he's been a dragon before. Only temporarily, not in...whatever manner this transformation seems to be happening in, but it has certainly made him more relaxed about this possibility than he otherwise would be. Even if he can't confirm it will work the same way as it did previously, there are certainly worse things.
Things he's already lived through, in fact. He's had his selfhood hijacked before, after all, and whatever this dragon bond is...it doesn't feel like that at all. That, at least, is a significant comfort.
But he can't possibly explain all of this to his younger self, without either sounding deranged or revealing far too much about the boy's possibly unalterable future. What he can say and what he can't...he has so many needles to thread here.
But for once...when his younger self tucks himself against Sephiroth's side, Sephiroth feels as though perhaps he may have said the right thing. Or perhaps maybe the wrongest thing possible, if he's driven himself to the point of asking for comfort so blatantly, but...he can't have entirely ruined things if his younger self sees him as someone to seek comfort from, surely?
There's only the briefest of pauses - one of surprise - before Sephiroth slips an arm around the smaller boy. "It will be all right," he says, his voice as gentle as he knows how to make it. "Whatever happens, I will help you. That is what family...is meant to do."
He doesn't say it's what family does, because both of them know how much of a lie it is. Only some families do that. But this little fragment of family they've found, that they are doing their best to create...Sephiroth feels they can decide what kind of family they are for themselves. And he certainly has a clear vision of what he wants it to be, whether or not his younger self does.
If the future can't be changed, then knowing it could be a pointless sort of torture with so little that would be both good and unsullied by tragedy and death. The life of Shinra's prize weapon was not a kind one, from birth to death. The idea of becoming something else is already troubling enough, with how certain he is of how terribly that would go if anyone caught wind of it.
It's clear he very much expects a rebuke or to be pushed away by the tenseness contact brings. Such things were forbidden him for his entire life until Matt, Lucia and Glenn; none of them were shy about being willing to drag him into a hug or ruffle up his hair or offer a pat. Until them, touch was inevitably a precursor to pain, though he's certain he won't be struck, there's no telling if Sephiroth will firmly remind him that such vulnerabilities were not for the likes of them. It's a risk, but a calculated one.
If he'd liked it, even if it was strange and unfamiliar, maybe.. maybe even when he was grown, it would still be alright. After all, if you can't trust yourself, who could you trust?
When no such immediate rejection happens and instead there's something almost like an embrace, much of that tension bleeds out like a severed artery. It's ... different, than Glenn's easy warmth, some deeper sense of something he can't put words to, a bone-deep familiarity easily dismissed as Sephiroth actually being him so of course it would be different from Glenn, strangely soothing on a level beyond association or friendship. Is that what family was supposed to feel like? Is that what it is for everyone else? Would he have known what this was like before now, if their mother hadn't--
The thought is flinched away from before it can get anywhere, the turmoil of the rest drowning it out again for the time being. There's a slow exhale before he leans, utterly unsubtly. He was terribly weak to genuine kindness to begin with, with how rare it was. That it's himself made it strangely easier. Or perhaps that was the siren pull of shared blood, a comfort in his own kind - or some debilitating mix of all of them. Was this what feeling safe was supposed to be? "Don't.." Nothing will ever really be alright, but in the moment it seemed like maybe it could be. Even if he was a monster. "...don't let me eat anyone."
It's not what he wants to say. It's just the easiest.
Sephiroth all but encourages the leaning, his arm tightening around his younger self. The request...is unsurprising, and yet his heart still hurts with it. "I don't think it will come to that," he murmurs. "I have had...some experience with losing control of myself, and whatever is happening to us, I don't feel anything like that now. But if it does...I will do whatever it takes to ensure neither of us harms anyone else."
He's not sure what it would take, in that situation, but whatever changes are happening to them - they seem to be gradual. If he detects any hint that they might lose their reason, he's sure he'll figure out some kind of precautions to take for them.
A thoroughly alien thought, so much so that it draws a strained, quiet giggle. Someone taking care of him, as if he hadn't been expected to do that himself since he could walk. As if this wouldn't be harshly punished were any word of it ever to get back to the Professor and his parade of callous aides. He's supposed to do better, be better.
And Sephiroth, older or younger, should know better than to offer such refuge or take shelter in it. If they couldn't manage on their own, then they deserved the results of that failure. "..When?" Even if the question's not answered, it might come back later; the idea that this man, obviously what he was meant to achieve, had at some point lost control - it must have been worse circumstances than this.
But the foreign warmth of touch, basic human contact is still nice, in a strange sort of way that ached too and left his throat tight enough to be uncomfortable and blurred his vision. Nice enough where he'll take advantage until the other remembered themselves and issued the proper correction.
"As absurd as it may sound, it is actually normal for people to be cared for by their families. In ways nothing whatsoever like Hojo ever demonstrated. You're allowed to have such things as well." A pause. "In fact...you need such things. You've been forced to function without them for so long that you don't realize it, and you believe that simply being able to function is enough, but...you have never been operating under optimal conditions. You will never realize how much better things could be, how much better you would be than you are now, when given the proper support. Hojo believes anything - or anyone - he sees no value in therefore has no use. This is because Hojo is an incredibly inadequate scientist, unable to see past his own ego and biases. He cares for nothing, and so assumes nothing needs care. Once you accept that many of his conclusions and most of his advice are nonsense based on flawed premises and confirmation bias, you will find it much easier to perceive the world as it truly is."
At the question of when...Sephiroth stares off into space for a moment. "Many years after your time," he murmurs eventually. "Over a decade, I should think. I would prefer not to discuss it in any detail. If the future can be changed, then it may never be an issue you face. If it cannot be...then to be made to dread misfortune before it comes, while being unable to prevent it, seems cruel. So I have no desire to discuss negative things that may await you in the future, unless it is somehow possible to change them."
If nothing else, it's a distraction from the terror of the itchy line of scales across his collarbone, and what it meant. What it would portend for the future. Dragons were, to a creature, extremely hazardous monsters. There were no good, safe dragons.
But even dragons had 'families'. Their territory, their mates, their offspring. Everything said is heard, processed, and slowly unraveled bit by bit, from families to some unspoken, cruel future. It was true that he knew very little about how families were supposed to work, most of it educated guesses at best based on scant observation. "..Why would the Professor matter for-"
The question never finishes, marking that it doesn't really need an answer. That man wasn't just an unwelcome caretaker.
Countless tests, surgeries, exams and torments twist under the lens of re-examination, the memory of scratchy laughter indelibly mixed with the searing pain of a scalpel, memory alone enough to sit dread in the pit of his stomach and a cold wash of prickling sweat to break out across his skin. The dream of a mother that wanted him was one that died hard to the cold reality of yet another callous scientist, of course his father would be one too. If he'd allowed himself to consider it beforehand, it would have been obvious. She'd have needed a partner in the project.
This ... was all he would ever have of anything like family, wasn't it? Sooner or later Portal would reopen and it would be gone, not even a memory. The weak chuckle that rises is anything but mirthful. Being unable to prevent an unfortunate future was indeed cruel. "At least there's symmetry."
Similarly to his younger self, it takes Sephiroth a moment to work out why he's being asked the question that's posed. And then his younger self will feel him actively stiffen against him.
Of course. He'd been previously unsure when, exactly, he'd first worked out Hojo was his father, couldn't remember if he knew by this age or not. And then, in thinking about it, talking about it, he hadn't taken that into account, had forgotten -
"...I'm sorry," he says, after a very long moment. "I...cannot recall when I first worked it out for myself. I wasn't sure whether or not you already knew...and then I lost track of what you might and might not know. I...feel as though I've delivered nothing but terrible news to you."
True, he did tell his younger self about Genesis and Angeal...but he's not sure how much that means to him, when he can't actually go have that encounter the way it's meant to happen.
He bows his head. "I wished to bring comfort to you." Why does he feel like he's done anything but?
There were so few happy revelations that can be offered alongside it. Even Genesis and Angeal would require trusting again, risking the pain that had been a consequence of Rhadore's bitter fallout. It had hurt enough the first time, and no friendship was currently worth the pain of tearing it away. Even this, even this fragile comfort couldn't last, could it?
"I would rather know, than remain in ignorance." There's hesitation in the way a hand rises, to pull lightly at his older self's coat, a brief, light tug. He hadn't ever wanted to think about why Hojo was so obsessed, what it meant for him, anything of the sort - but maybe he should have long ago. How much of his problems were willful blindness on his part?
He can guess how he'd feel if he'd been the source of so much unpleasant information though. "There's.. much that perhaps had it been known sooner in our lives, it ... may not have been so troublesome later." And there's probably a lot more of it, wasn't there? "If you know, it can't be used against you." Could Lucrecia be used against them? Maybe in taunting him about who she was, doling out precious tiny details in return for obedience and cooperation.
He'd never asked much about who his father was. Maybe he'd always known on some level. "I don't know anything about what families are supposed to be like." And maybe that's a shameful admittance, for something everyone seemed to, but they hadn't really had a chance. Well. One of them did, eventually. But for so long it was nearly the only motivating drive he'd had only to find out she was nearly as bad as the Professor, and there was nothing else. Except here. He'd avoided it before, it was so uncomfortable to weigh and so uncertain what the right answer was supposed to be that simply not addressing it was easier. And none of this was meant to be - time travel? Running into himself, from years in the future?? Impossibilities. "Or what a brother is supposed to act like."
Edited (had an idea.) Date: 2024-10-13 01:03 pm (UTC)
Now that gets a mirthless laugh - all too similar to his younger self's own - out of Sephiroth. Oh, yes, knowing more sooner, finding out in better circumstances - how much would that have changed? His younger self cannot even imagine. "To say the least," he agrees, with a wry quirk of his lips.
"In a way, the things we don't know have always been used against us, haven't they? Our family, but also even just the experiments we've always been part of, the procedures Hojo subjected us to. The very processes by which we were turned into a SOLDIER, unique among SOLDIERs. Hojo often shared the immediate supposed purpose of each procedure, but never explained the grand design - and there was much he did before we were old enough to grasp it, as well. He denied us any of the control of knowing the full extent of just what had been done to us, or knowing what he intended to accomplish ultimately with it all." He shakes his head. "There are more ways to use knowledge - and ignorance - against someone beyond something as straightforward as blackmail, or open manipulation. Merely being kept in the dark is dangerous." He sighs. "Though, as you have no doubt learned after what I've told you...knowledge is hardly always a blessing, either.
"There is a line to walk between knowing enough to protect yourself, and knowing so much that it hurts you. I will always try to give you what knowledge I can, because you deserve to know and so that you may feel properly armed with information, but...at the same time, there are things I would deem painful for you to hear, with no positive outcome whatsoever. If I refuse you such information...please believe it is done with the discretion I am able to exercise knowing what I know, and how it will affect you, and that my best judgment is that such information would only be to your detriment."
He cautiously lifts his hand from where his arm is wrapped around his younger self to test...petting his hair. Something others have done to him, and that he's enjoyed, but he isn't sure how his younger self will take it. "I've certainly never experienced families or siblings firsthand myself, so I won't pretend I have deeper knowledge than you. But...I have had people I've cared for deeply, and who have cared for me deeply in return. And I know, at least anecdotally, that family is often supposed to be even closer than that. So...I will do the best I can, to the limits of my understanding. And my understanding is that families are meant to look out for each other. It may be said to be their primary function. That, I can and will do for you."
The experiments. That he would want to know more about, this project they were part of. He could piece things together, they were obviously made with a purpose, tuned to that purpose and trained for it - but were they really just .. prototype weaponry? What was the grand design behind it, from someone with as twisted a mind as Hojo's? "..It doesn't have to be a blessing to still.. be useful." It might hurt. It might hurt a lot. But then at least he knew.
Bitter had been the pill of trying to accept the truth of their mother. He still contended with it, would probably for a long time, but it had cut the legs out from underneath the dreams, the desire to find her. What could really be worse? "And.. what subjects are those that I'm not to know about." He might want to know, but there's still that effect of a lifetime of training, not to question too closely a superior officer when they drew a line. There is a tangible twitch when a hand is set against his hair, some mostly-squashed impulse to flinch away from what experience had long since hardwired into expecting a blow and not something gentler, but it stills in short order against rationality. Lucia had done that too, and it ... hadn't been bad. This wasn't either, and it melded with the strange undercurrent that suggested he might be safe enough to relax if he wanted to.
Safety was an illusion and he knew it, but the pull of deeply buried instinct was still there, reinforced by warm contact. Weakness, just like pulling close had been to begin with, just as allowing such a comforting touch was. Flaws that should not be tolerated.
But nobody was here to report back about it. So maybe it was okay, for a little while, to relax marginally into a touch that didn't come with pain right behind it. "..The people I've cared for left." The admission is quiet guilt; fresh for him, a decade old or more for the other. "I did my best to look out for them. I don't ..."
Eventually, it seems, he'll be willing to try to make another friend. A real one, not just words and false smiles and curiosity. "..I don't want you to leave too." But Portal will reopen eventually, and he knew he'd have to go through.
"I wonder where the boundary between useful and harmful lies," Sephiroth muses aloud. "Learning some of what you have learned...it nearly broke me. Though I suppose I learned in ways...far harsher than what I have tried to offer you, and with no support from others when I learned it. Both the situations and my reactions were certainly far worse. So perhaps it is more than just the information itself, but the manner in which it is received." He shakes his head. "Though at the same time...I wonder how much delivery can blunt that which is truly painful to know. There may be some information it is too cruel to share under any circumstances. If I wasn't aware, personally, of the cruelty of not knowing in regards to our mother, in knowing what you have ached to know for so long and then denying it to you...I might have deemed that as too much as well. But there seemed to be no outcome that wouldn't be unfairly painful for you, so I chose honesty. A rare currency, for us."
Of course, Sephiroth knows who his younger self is talking about. He doesn't need explanations. He remembers Rhadore, remembers the pain of losing Glenn and the others. The self-recriminations, the guilt. The constant analysis as he tried to determine what, if anything, he could have done differently, how he could have been better, surely there was some way to achieve an ideal outcome and he simply hadn't found it because he hadn't been good enough -
He does his best to push the thoughts away. "You did your best," he repeats, softly. "There was no more, no better, that you could have done." Maybe he can convince some version of himself of this. "You can't control how others think, or what they choose to do...but if you continue to show through your actions that they matter to you, that your values are aligned with theirs and that you took to heart what they taught you...then surely someday they will see that. And that will mean more than any misunderstandings."
He...doesn't want to do what he did with Genesis and Angeal, and simply tell his younger self what will happen with Glenn and the others in the future. The truth is hardly a comfort in this case, and to pretend such reunions are terribly hopeful would be to give his younger self far too cruel of a false promise. But...perhaps he can give him a more generalized hope. An aspiration.
That little admission at the end...can one's heart break and be full at the same time? It's an odd sensation, painful in his chest, but not entirely a bad pain. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "And neither are you, unless you wish to."
Edited (Forgot a bit) Date: 2024-10-15 09:33 am (UTC)
The boundary between useful and harmful, if experience suggested anything to him, had purely to do with where it was coming from. Certain people could make anything at all a vicious, painful revelation. The most innocuous thing made a weapon, daily routine forged into deliberate cruelty. In that much, absurdly, Hojo hadn't been as cruel as he could have been, claiming his mother had died in childbirth was somehow more merciful than telling him he'd been abandoned. Undoubtedly deliberate, designed as some other method to control him. "I don't really know what could be worse than what's already known. Maybe there would have been before .. any of this." The slow creeping itch along his collarbone as scales worked on very gradually replacing themselves was a testament to that, and the impulse to reach up and pull them off before they can really get going is strangled down to a brief scratching rub at the place. Maybe later on he'd remove them again but there was a certain futility in it. "But now? We're.. already becoming monsters." However 'monster' was defined.
Although his older self had already claimed that being a dragon didn't necessarily mean being a monster - it's apparently not something he really agrees with yet, though if he thought about it he'd probably not actually say so.
Things could in fact get much worse than he's guessing at. He doesn't grasp how much so, and who could, without bitter experience to go with it? The depths of depravity to which an alien virus would go was beyond what he could consider so casually. Only one of the two really understands that.
That Sephiroth's words inadvertently echo Hojo's simply tells him that for all his viciousness, perhaps not EVERYTHING the Professor had said was manipulation and lies, and that perhaps it was true. There would be no repairing what he'd done. It had seemed like the compassionate choice, the only choice - and in a way it had worked. They'd lived. They were alive to be disgusted and furious with him, and maybe they always would be angry about it. 'Surely' didn't bode well for a certain future. "...When Portal reopens, or whatever other thing brought us here, I'll have to." What he wanted was very rarely even remotely relevant to anything he had to do. "You will too." But he didn't want it to.
Staying here sounded like it would be much better. "If I don't, then what'll happen to you? To your friends?"
Fate is not so easily foiled. He has a role to play, doesn't he?
Hojo wasn't as cruel as he could have been, perhaps. But not because he cared to be kind. Only because he was a man purely fueled by scientific curiosity and ego, and cruelty that didn't serve either would have been considered pointless. As far as Sephiroth could tell, Hojo wasn't sadistic - merely arrogant and completely without ethics of any kind. He never engaged in cruelty for cruelty's sake, when cruelty that fueled his curiosity and ambitions was seen as so much more valuable a use of his time.
Considering how harmful so much of Hojo's work had been, Sephiroth wonders if it makes it better or worse that the harm was rarely even the point.
That said, Sephiroth has always personally assumed that Hojo's lying about Lucrecia was simply because he'd been so disinterested in her that he had no idea what had actually happened to her. She'd delivered to him his perfect specimen, and then she'd simply had no more use to him, so he'd promptly forgotten her. Which, of course, had always made him wonder at the existence of the locket - something Hojo had taken from Cloud's ex-Turk companion? Something Lucrecia had given Hojo, perhaps during her pregnancy while she tried to delude herself into believing she was in a real relationship and not merely being used? All Sephiroth is certain of is that Hojo never would seek out such a thing himself. Sentiment isn't something that ever had a place in Hojo's life.
He personally leans towards it having come from Vincent Valentine. Had it been a gift from Lucrecia, Hojo likely wouldn't have bothered to keep it. But a prize taken from someone who'd tried to interfere with his research, something to chortle over as a trophy...that tracks. And then, when he'd found a need to leverage Sephiroth's obedience and satisfy his questioning, he'd simply found another use for it.
He goes momentarily still when his younger self calls them monsters. In his head, the words echo again, that careful, barbed delivery.
You are a monster.
Genesis has apologized a thousand times, will likely apologize a thousand more, but he can't change what Sephiroth heard, or the damage it did. (Which is why he will never stop apologizing, even though Sephiroth has long acknowledged those words weren't spoken with Genesis in his right mind. They both know a stab wound doesn't bleed less just because it was unintentionally inflicted.) And Sephiroth has told himself (and Angeal) a thousand times, and will likely insist a thousand times more, that none of them are monsters...
But it takes so little to make the words ring hollow.
"No," he says, with a tongue that feels too thick for his mouth. "No matter what we look like...as long as we have our reason, and act with integrity, we will never be monsters. Sentient beings can only become monsters through their actions."
He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He can't afford to be lost in his own issues right now. "Neither of us have to do anything. And no one can force us. As for what happens if you don't return...let me worry about that. But I won't give you back to Hojo for the sake of my future. I wouldn't give anyone to Hojo for any reason."
There is no other option than monster. The dividing line between civilized and not was painfully clear. "...And if we don't keep our reason? Dragons are clever, but they're not .. intelligent." They are here, and come in far more breeds than he can currently think of, but that information eludes. Every planet is a little different, but it seems obvious they'll become the ones they are closest to, the ones on their OWN world.
The glimmer of green in those dark scales on the table suggested the Nibel mountain dragons. If he felt compelled to seek territory in lonely peaks, maybe .. instinct would simply take him away from inhabited areas. It's not safety, but it was better than nothing.
A stretch of quiet follows, the thought of not being given back, as if he were not obligated to go, a strange and foreign one. He wasn't good for much else besides what tasks Shinra put him to, that wasn't about to change because they were here. What they were trained for (..made for? What was the project they were part of?) wouldn't simply go away. "...Has anyone telling you not to worry about something .. ever actually worked."
It never did for him but maybe that changes over the passage of years. Somehow he doubted it though. In dreams, he could believe that everything would somehow and miraculously work out, that things would be better if he just endured a little longer, but none of this had that dreamlike disconnect from reality. Pain hurt, exactly as it should, hunger itched relentlessly, tiredness dragged precisely as it did when awake ... so this must be treated as the inevitable return to normalcy it was. With the exception of turning into a dragon.
A lone scale not placed with the others is rolled across the fingers of one hand, tiny and dark. Maybe he should be sent back, if he became one. That would be a terrible surprise to visit upon unsuspecting labs, not currently set up to handle dragon poison, but the idea of retaliation isn't one that he can contemplate for long without lifelong unease and anxiety bubbling back up. Even as a beast, he might well know exactly who his masters are, and refuse to strike.
Could his elder self? Was Sephiroth willing and able to turn on their employers?
"Will you show me yours?" The small scale rests on a fingertip, still speckled in dried blood.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-10-06 08:52 pm (UTC)Unlikely and doubtful are not good enough.
I can't riskYou know what willIt's best to prepare for the worst and see if things progress more optimally.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-06 11:33 pm (UTC)How can he promise this? Sephiroth doesn't know. But Jenova has ripped a hole into another dimension just to launch attacks before, and on whatever passes for a god in this or any realm, Sephiroth will not let Hojo have this version of himself back. With or without scales.
He will find a way to protect him, as he'd always wished he could be.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 12:16 am (UTC)Don't make promises you can't
[The sentence isn't actually finished before he sets the stone tablet down. He's learned about promises. It wouldn't be a problem for his older self, would it? He had backup of his two nearly-equally associates. He had ...
He would have to find alternatives. Hide it as long as he could. If anyone in Shinra realized he wasn't human anymore--]
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 01:12 am (UTC)But Sephiroth is setting his own tablet down and rising to his feet. He strides quietly out of the cottage he's sharing with the others, moving slowly towards the center of town - less because he expects to find his younger self anywhere near it, but because it will put him roughly equidistant to all possible locations within the town. From there...he may be able to get a sense. A direction.
Perhaps it's the intensity of focus he puts into it, or perhaps it's his younger self's distress. Perhaps on some level Jenova resonates particularly strongly within its most perfect vessel. Maybe it's even easier to sense himself through Jenova's reunification instincts than it would be to sense anyone else. It could be a combination of any or all of those factors. But when Sephiroth picks a direction...it's tentative at first, but as he moves his steps become rapidly more sure, his location clearer with every moment. What was at first a hint of a suspicion becomes a certainty the closer he gets. By the time he reaches the seemingly abandoned cottage, he already knows who's inside.
"It's me," he says, even as he pushes the door open. He also knows about his combat instincts, and what might happen if someone tried to barge into a building he was in unannounced while he was already on edge. Forewarning is an investment in both their futures.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 01:43 am (UTC)Things had snowballed a bit from there. He knew what would happen if he turned up in the city with scales, and who knew what else might follow in time. It's certain he would survive whatever was done to him to see what caused it, but he could survive a lot.
He wasn't afraid. He wasn't capable of fear, or so he'd been told, not after the amount of training he'd been through, so maybe it was something else that kept his thoughts in a tight spiral like a mouse running circles in the bottom of a bucket. Nobody's there to see him bury his head in his arms in a windowless part of the cottage, knees pulled up to his chest in some instinctive effort to suppress the quiver of what must simply be adrenaline; nobody's there to scold him for such childish behavior.
The sound of boots on gravel almost doesn't draw notice, but the sound of the door's handle turning does, and reaching for a weapon is pure autopilot, what-surely-isn't-fear focused with laser sharpness on a new and unexpected target- anything else is immediately aborted as soon as who it is becomes apparent, the sharp silver curve of the nameless katana in hand but after a long moment of blank silence it's set back down on the floor. "What are you doing here?"
Voice matches appearance, a little too tense, a little too pale; it'd be easy to read it simply as startled caution but it isn't. On the rustic square table sits his tablet, beside it a small array of scales so dark a green they might as well be black, little spots of mostly-dried blood on the wood. There too, jacket, harness, belt and turtleneck, undamaged but dusty.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 08:31 am (UTC)Well, at his younger self's age. Without any of the context of Angeal, in regards to self-harm.
All the scent does is heighten his worry, even if he is logically aware any injury here is incredibly minor at worst. He long ago learned that physical injuries alone aren't the only things worth being concerned about.
"I was worried about you," he says after a moment, taking a step closer. "I know you're upset. I wanted to..." He pauses, not quite sure how to explain this to his younger self. The idea of comfort, of care, are still so foreign to him at this age...never mind the idea of someone, especially someone perceived to be a superior, offering it. Outside of Lazard, no superior ever had.
"...help," he finishes, finally. Perhaps merely stating his intent is better than getting bogged down in the weeds of trying to even articulate how he wants to support his younger self, or explaining the concept of receiving this help and how it is deserved to someone who's almost never been granted such things.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 10:01 am (UTC)Removing them hadn't worked, the pace at which he healed right now might be glacially slow compared to what he's used to, but the tiny thin crescents of re-emerging scales had been quick enough to notice and become a problem. It would make them impossible to hide under the scrutiny of examination lights. "It's minor." Maybe if he says so it'll make it so, and stop the subtle tremble that tightening his grip on his knees does not otherwise stop.
It doesn't work. Nor does the distraction of someone else's presence. If it had to be anyone, wasn't it best that it was himself? "What if .." It's minor and apparently he can't let go of it anyway; it's not just a him problem, it's a them problem, they BOTH -- "What if it doesn't stop with just ... scales?"
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 10:29 am (UTC)He moves forward, with a faint creak of leather, to kneel down in front of his younger self. After a moment's pause, he reaches out one hand to rest it over one of the boy's own. "I'm not here to judge you." He tries to make his voice soft. "I'm here to help you. You don't need to pretend to be fine when you aren't."
The question...gives him a moment's pause, but not much. "If it doesn't stop with just scales," he says, after that moment, "then we'll simply be dragons together. You won't be alone. And you will still be you."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 12:58 pm (UTC)Doesn't it?
But something as simple as touch, as unfamiliar and strange as it still is, widens the cracks in rigid self control nearly in time to anxiety spiking right back into unfocused horror for what follows it. It's a problem that may well still haunt all three of the older SOLDIERs long past their youth, put to little more than a whisper. "I don't want to be a monster." It was worse by far than simply being a modified subject of the military's combat programs, altered but still human.
He knows what dragons do. What they are.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 01:07 pm (UTC)He peers up into that partially obscured face. "And something I have learned, in the years I've had that you've yet to experience...is that it takes far more than appearance or biology to make a monster. An animal isn't necessarily a monster, even if it isn't human. And a perfectly normal human...can be a monster. To be a monster is something specific, and it isn't just a question of whether or not you're human."
A pause. "And you are human. Whether or not you change in any way, you will still be human."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 01:35 pm (UTC)It might be pointless to worry about at all, it might just stay a thin scattering of scales and nothing more, never become a predator's shape and a predators hungry instincts surrounded by a town full of tempting prey and not people. It's a far jump to make, going from one to the other as if it's a foregone conclusion, but Sephiroth wasn't treating it like it was an unlikely possibility, knew something maybe he didn't. Like half the town hall meeting that outlined exactly how far it could go.
His older self hadn't hesitated to call into question things that were unlikely before.
This isn't, then. All questions and possibility die before probability.
It's a foolish impulse, childish cowardice at best and he knows it when he shifts from where he sits to pull closer and tuck his considerably smaller frame along one side of his older self. Kids sought shelter with others, they couldn't protect themselves, they needed that kind of thing. He was not a child. He was not. But maybe he'd be allowed such a pathetic thing, even if only briefly.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-07 10:46 pm (UTC)And, of course, he's been a dragon before. Only temporarily, not in...whatever manner this transformation seems to be happening in, but it has certainly made him more relaxed about this possibility than he otherwise would be. Even if he can't confirm it will work the same way as it did previously, there are certainly worse things.
Things he's already lived through, in fact. He's had his selfhood hijacked before, after all, and whatever this dragon bond is...it doesn't feel like that at all. That, at least, is a significant comfort.
But he can't possibly explain all of this to his younger self, without either sounding deranged or revealing far too much about the boy's possibly unalterable future. What he can say and what he can't...he has so many needles to thread here.
But for once...when his younger self tucks himself against Sephiroth's side, Sephiroth feels as though perhaps he may have said the right thing. Or perhaps maybe the wrongest thing possible, if he's driven himself to the point of asking for comfort so blatantly, but...he can't have entirely ruined things if his younger self sees him as someone to seek comfort from, surely?
There's only the briefest of pauses - one of surprise - before Sephiroth slips an arm around the smaller boy. "It will be all right," he says, his voice as gentle as he knows how to make it. "Whatever happens, I will help you. That is what family...is meant to do."
He doesn't say it's what family does, because both of them know how much of a lie it is. Only some families do that. But this little fragment of family they've found, that they are doing their best to create...Sephiroth feels they can decide what kind of family they are for themselves. And he certainly has a clear vision of what he wants it to be, whether or not his younger self does.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-08 12:48 am (UTC)It's clear he very much expects a rebuke or to be pushed away by the tenseness contact brings. Such things were forbidden him for his entire life until Matt, Lucia and Glenn; none of them were shy about being willing to drag him into a hug or ruffle up his hair or offer a pat. Until them, touch was inevitably a precursor to pain, though he's certain he won't be struck, there's no telling if Sephiroth will firmly remind him that such vulnerabilities were not for the likes of them. It's a risk, but a calculated one.
If he'd liked it, even if it was strange and unfamiliar, maybe.. maybe even when he was grown, it would still be alright. After all, if you can't trust yourself, who could you trust?
When no such immediate rejection happens and instead there's something almost like an embrace, much of that tension bleeds out like a severed artery. It's ... different, than Glenn's easy warmth, some deeper sense of something he can't put words to, a bone-deep familiarity easily dismissed as Sephiroth actually being him so of course it would be different from Glenn, strangely soothing on a level beyond association or friendship. Is that what family was supposed to feel like? Is that what it is for everyone else? Would he have known what this was like before now, if their mother hadn't--
The thought is flinched away from before it can get anywhere, the turmoil of the rest drowning it out again for the time being. There's a slow exhale before he leans, utterly unsubtly. He was terribly weak to genuine kindness to begin with, with how rare it was. That it's himself made it strangely easier. Or perhaps that was the siren pull of shared blood, a comfort in his own kind - or some debilitating mix of all of them. Was this what feeling safe was supposed to be? "Don't.." Nothing will ever really be alright, but in the moment it seemed like maybe it could be. Even if he was a monster. "...don't let me eat anyone."
It's not what he wants to say. It's just the easiest.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-09 07:40 am (UTC)He's not sure what it would take, in that situation, but whatever changes are happening to them - they seem to be gradual. If he detects any hint that they might lose their reason, he's sure he'll figure out some kind of precautions to take for them.
"Whatever happens, I will take care of you."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-09 12:35 pm (UTC)And Sephiroth, older or younger, should know better than to offer such refuge or take shelter in it. If they couldn't manage on their own, then they deserved the results of that failure. "..When?" Even if the question's not answered, it might come back later; the idea that this man, obviously what he was meant to achieve, had at some point lost control - it must have been worse circumstances than this.
But the foreign warmth of touch, basic human contact is still nice, in a strange sort of way that ached too and left his throat tight enough to be uncomfortable and blurred his vision. Nice enough where he'll take advantage until the other remembered themselves and issued the proper correction.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-10 12:17 am (UTC)At the question of when...Sephiroth stares off into space for a moment. "Many years after your time," he murmurs eventually. "Over a decade, I should think. I would prefer not to discuss it in any detail. If the future can be changed, then it may never be an issue you face. If it cannot be...then to be made to dread misfortune before it comes, while being unable to prevent it, seems cruel. So I have no desire to discuss negative things that may await you in the future, unless it is somehow possible to change them."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-10 12:53 am (UTC)But even dragons had 'families'. Their territory, their mates, their offspring. Everything said is heard, processed, and slowly unraveled bit by bit, from families to some unspoken, cruel future. It was true that he knew very little about how families were supposed to work, most of it educated guesses at best based on scant observation. "..Why would the Professor matter for-"
The question never finishes, marking that it doesn't really need an answer. That man wasn't just an unwelcome caretaker.
Countless tests, surgeries, exams and torments twist under the lens of re-examination, the memory of scratchy laughter indelibly mixed with the searing pain of a scalpel, memory alone enough to sit dread in the pit of his stomach and a cold wash of prickling sweat to break out across his skin. The dream of a mother that wanted him was one that died hard to the cold reality of yet another callous scientist, of course his father would be one too. If he'd allowed himself to consider it beforehand, it would have been obvious. She'd have needed a partner in the project.
This ... was all he would ever have of anything like family, wasn't it? Sooner or later Portal would reopen and it would be gone, not even a memory. The weak chuckle that rises is anything but mirthful. Being unable to prevent an unfortunate future was indeed cruel. "At least there's symmetry."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-12 08:54 am (UTC)Of course. He'd been previously unsure when, exactly, he'd first worked out Hojo was his father, couldn't remember if he knew by this age or not. And then, in thinking about it, talking about it, he hadn't taken that into account, had forgotten -
"...I'm sorry," he says, after a very long moment. "I...cannot recall when I first worked it out for myself. I wasn't sure whether or not you already knew...and then I lost track of what you might and might not know. I...feel as though I've delivered nothing but terrible news to you."
True, he did tell his younger self about Genesis and Angeal...but he's not sure how much that means to him, when he can't actually go have that encounter the way it's meant to happen.
He bows his head. "I wished to bring comfort to you." Why does he feel like he's done anything but?
no subject
Date: 2024-10-12 12:29 pm (UTC)"I would rather know, than remain in ignorance." There's hesitation in the way a hand rises, to pull lightly at his older self's coat, a brief, light tug. He hadn't ever wanted to think about why Hojo was so obsessed, what it meant for him, anything of the sort - but maybe he should have long ago. How much of his problems were willful blindness on his part?
He can guess how he'd feel if he'd been the source of so much unpleasant information though. "There's.. much that perhaps had it been known sooner in our lives, it ... may not have been so troublesome later." And there's probably a lot more of it, wasn't there? "If you know, it can't be used against you." Could Lucrecia be used against them? Maybe in taunting him about who she was, doling out precious tiny details in return for obedience and cooperation.
He'd never asked much about who his father was. Maybe he'd always known on some level. "I don't know anything about what families are supposed to be like." And maybe that's a shameful admittance, for something everyone seemed to, but they hadn't really had a chance. Well. One of them did, eventually. But for so long it was nearly the only motivating drive he'd had only to find out she was nearly as bad as the Professor, and there was nothing else. Except here. He'd avoided it before, it was so uncomfortable to weigh and so uncertain what the right answer was supposed to be that simply not addressing it was easier. And none of this was meant to be - time travel? Running into himself, from years in the future?? Impossibilities. "Or what a brother is supposed to act like."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-13 11:39 pm (UTC)"In a way, the things we don't know have always been used against us, haven't they? Our family, but also even just the experiments we've always been part of, the procedures Hojo subjected us to. The very processes by which we were turned into a SOLDIER, unique among SOLDIERs. Hojo often shared the immediate supposed purpose of each procedure, but never explained the grand design - and there was much he did before we were old enough to grasp it, as well. He denied us any of the control of knowing the full extent of just what had been done to us, or knowing what he intended to accomplish ultimately with it all." He shakes his head. "There are more ways to use knowledge - and ignorance - against someone beyond something as straightforward as blackmail, or open manipulation. Merely being kept in the dark is dangerous." He sighs. "Though, as you have no doubt learned after what I've told you...knowledge is hardly always a blessing, either.
"There is a line to walk between knowing enough to protect yourself, and knowing so much that it hurts you. I will always try to give you what knowledge I can, because you deserve to know and so that you may feel properly armed with information, but...at the same time, there are things I would deem painful for you to hear, with no positive outcome whatsoever. If I refuse you such information...please believe it is done with the discretion I am able to exercise knowing what I know, and how it will affect you, and that my best judgment is that such information would only be to your detriment."
He cautiously lifts his hand from where his arm is wrapped around his younger self to test...petting his hair. Something others have done to him, and that he's enjoyed, but he isn't sure how his younger self will take it. "I've certainly never experienced families or siblings firsthand myself, so I won't pretend I have deeper knowledge than you. But...I have had people I've cared for deeply, and who have cared for me deeply in return. And I know, at least anecdotally, that family is often supposed to be even closer than that. So...I will do the best I can, to the limits of my understanding. And my understanding is that families are meant to look out for each other. It may be said to be their primary function. That, I can and will do for you."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-14 01:08 am (UTC)Bitter had been the pill of trying to accept the truth of their mother. He still contended with it, would probably for a long time, but it had cut the legs out from underneath the dreams, the desire to find her. What could really be worse? "And.. what subjects are those that I'm not to know about." He might want to know, but there's still that effect of a lifetime of training, not to question too closely a superior officer when they drew a line. There is a tangible twitch when a hand is set against his hair, some mostly-squashed impulse to flinch away from what experience had long since hardwired into expecting a blow and not something gentler, but it stills in short order against rationality. Lucia had done that too, and it ... hadn't been bad. This wasn't either, and it melded with the strange undercurrent that suggested he might be safe enough to relax if he wanted to.
Safety was an illusion and he knew it, but the pull of deeply buried instinct was still there, reinforced by warm contact. Weakness, just like pulling close had been to begin with, just as allowing such a comforting touch was. Flaws that should not be tolerated.
But nobody was here to report back about it. So maybe it was okay, for a little while, to relax marginally into a touch that didn't come with pain right behind it. "..The people I've cared for left." The admission is quiet guilt; fresh for him, a decade old or more for the other. "I did my best to look out for them. I don't ..."
Eventually, it seems, he'll be willing to try to make another friend. A real one, not just words and false smiles and curiosity. "..I don't want you to leave too." But Portal will reopen eventually, and he knew he'd have to go through.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-15 09:30 am (UTC)Of course, Sephiroth knows who his younger self is talking about. He doesn't need explanations. He remembers Rhadore, remembers the pain of losing Glenn and the others. The self-recriminations, the guilt. The constant analysis as he tried to determine what, if anything, he could have done differently, how he could have been better, surely there was some way to achieve an ideal outcome and he simply hadn't found it because he hadn't been good enough -
He does his best to push the thoughts away. "You did your best," he repeats, softly. "There was no more, no better, that you could have done." Maybe he can convince some version of himself of this. "You can't control how others think, or what they choose to do...but if you continue to show through your actions that they matter to you, that your values are aligned with theirs and that you took to heart what they taught you...then surely someday they will see that. And that will mean more than any misunderstandings."
He...doesn't want to do what he did with Genesis and Angeal, and simply tell his younger self what will happen with Glenn and the others in the future. The truth is hardly a comfort in this case, and to pretend such reunions are terribly hopeful would be to give his younger self far too cruel of a false promise. But...perhaps he can give him a more generalized hope. An aspiration.
That little admission at the end...can one's heart break and be full at the same time? It's an odd sensation, painful in his chest, but not entirely a bad pain. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. "And neither are you, unless you wish to."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-15 07:52 pm (UTC)Although his older self had already claimed that being a dragon didn't necessarily mean being a monster - it's apparently not something he really agrees with yet, though if he thought about it he'd probably not actually say so.
Things could in fact get much worse than he's guessing at. He doesn't grasp how much so, and who could, without bitter experience to go with it? The depths of depravity to which an alien virus would go was beyond what he could consider so casually. Only one of the two really understands that.
That Sephiroth's words inadvertently echo Hojo's simply tells him that for all his viciousness, perhaps not EVERYTHING the Professor had said was manipulation and lies, and that perhaps it was true. There would be no repairing what he'd done. It had seemed like the compassionate choice, the only choice - and in a way it had worked. They'd lived. They were alive to be disgusted and furious with him, and maybe they always would be angry about it. 'Surely' didn't bode well for a certain future. "...When Portal reopens, or whatever other thing brought us here, I'll have to." What he wanted was very rarely even remotely relevant to anything he had to do. "You will too." But he didn't want it to.
Staying here sounded like it would be much better. "If I don't, then what'll happen to you? To your friends?"
Fate is not so easily foiled. He has a role to play, doesn't he?
no subject
Date: 2024-10-17 07:50 am (UTC)Considering how harmful so much of Hojo's work had been, Sephiroth wonders if it makes it better or worse that the harm was rarely even the point.
That said, Sephiroth has always personally assumed that Hojo's lying about Lucrecia was simply because he'd been so disinterested in her that he had no idea what had actually happened to her. She'd delivered to him his perfect specimen, and then she'd simply had no more use to him, so he'd promptly forgotten her. Which, of course, had always made him wonder at the existence of the locket - something Hojo had taken from Cloud's ex-Turk companion? Something Lucrecia had given Hojo, perhaps during her pregnancy while she tried to delude herself into believing she was in a real relationship and not merely being used? All Sephiroth is certain of is that Hojo never would seek out such a thing himself. Sentiment isn't something that ever had a place in Hojo's life.
He personally leans towards it having come from Vincent Valentine. Had it been a gift from Lucrecia, Hojo likely wouldn't have bothered to keep it. But a prize taken from someone who'd tried to interfere with his research, something to chortle over as a trophy...that tracks. And then, when he'd found a need to leverage Sephiroth's obedience and satisfy his questioning, he'd simply found another use for it.
He goes momentarily still when his younger self calls them monsters. In his head, the words echo again, that careful, barbed delivery.
You are a monster.
Genesis has apologized a thousand times, will likely apologize a thousand more, but he can't change what Sephiroth heard, or the damage it did. (Which is why he will never stop apologizing, even though Sephiroth has long acknowledged those words weren't spoken with Genesis in his right mind. They both know a stab wound doesn't bleed less just because it was unintentionally inflicted.) And Sephiroth has told himself (and Angeal) a thousand times, and will likely insist a thousand times more, that none of them are monsters...
But it takes so little to make the words ring hollow.
"No," he says, with a tongue that feels too thick for his mouth. "No matter what we look like...as long as we have our reason, and act with integrity, we will never be monsters. Sentient beings can only become monsters through their actions."
He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He can't afford to be lost in his own issues right now. "Neither of us have to do anything. And no one can force us. As for what happens if you don't return...let me worry about that. But I won't give you back to Hojo for the sake of my future. I wouldn't give anyone to Hojo for any reason."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-19 06:18 pm (UTC)The glimmer of green in those dark scales on the table suggested the Nibel mountain dragons. If he felt compelled to seek territory in lonely peaks, maybe .. instinct would simply take him away from inhabited areas. It's not safety, but it was better than nothing.
A stretch of quiet follows, the thought of not being given back, as if he were not obligated to go, a strange and foreign one. He wasn't good for much else besides what tasks Shinra put him to, that wasn't about to change because they were here. What they were trained for (..made for? What was the project they were part of?) wouldn't simply go away. "...Has anyone telling you not to worry about something .. ever actually worked."
It never did for him but maybe that changes over the passage of years. Somehow he doubted it though. In dreams, he could believe that everything would somehow and miraculously work out, that things would be better if he just endured a little longer, but none of this had that dreamlike disconnect from reality. Pain hurt, exactly as it should, hunger itched relentlessly, tiredness dragged precisely as it did when awake ... so this must be treated as the inevitable return to normalcy it was. With the exception of turning into a dragon.
A lone scale not placed with the others is rolled across the fingers of one hand, tiny and dark. Maybe he should be sent back, if he became one. That would be a terrible surprise to visit upon unsuspecting labs, not currently set up to handle dragon poison, but the idea of retaliation isn't one that he can contemplate for long without lifelong unease and anxiety bubbling back up. Even as a beast, he might well know exactly who his masters are, and refuse to strike.
Could his elder self? Was Sephiroth willing and able to turn on their employers?
"Will you show me yours?" The small scale rests on a fingertip, still speckled in dried blood.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:this is tougher cuz a week after arrival instead of more time to adjust.
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:There's a whole franchise about that actually Sephlet
From:that's training! gotta tame them first!!
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: