She is putting away the latest letter from Angeal, the news of the war going to end and how he'll recommend his favorite student for advancement, when there's the first distant scream.
Gillian's first thought is monsters - they're not close enough to Wutai to be targeted, and a town full of simple apple orchards wouldn't mean much anyway. The first aid kit is in a small shoulder bag that she always keeps near the door, because these things do happen in remote little farming communities in Banora. But before she has even stepped out the door, there's the smell of flesh burning, and she realizes that this is nothing like any monster attack she has lived through before.
Still, she steps through the door.
It was a long time ago that she last feared death. Just as long that she started to long for it, too.
At this time of day, most of the town is out in the fields, or working in the factory - hard at work, in other words. Just a guard or two that lazes around the square, until someone tries something stupid, or there's reason enough to raise the alarm. It was Carn, today, she thinks.
It's Carn's body there, already half-ash where it burns there on ground that is more dirt than tile.
In the ShinRa labs, one gains an iron stomach with what they may witness. A burnt corpse is not enough to disturb her, not on its own, not as a physical sight. But the person she sees standing over it? That familiar burn of red hair?
What that single pitch wing stretched out in the air means?
She feels sick, dizzy with the force of it, and there is, for one moment that feels like it has stretched out through the entirety of her life, a keen of despair. It is both eternal, and it is brief.
And then she settles into a numb calm.
Genesis is already turning to face her, no doubt having heard her footsteps a mile away, and yet his eyes widen, seeing her stand there. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to arrive so soon. Still, there can only really be one reason why he's here, can't there?
The bag lands neatly on the floor; there's no saving Carn, ShinRa bug she always suspected him to be, and there will be no saving her, either.
"Gillian," Genesis starts to say, but then she closes her eyes, folds her hands neatly in front of her dress. For over a neat twenty years, she had lived a more peaceful life than she had ever deserved. She had gotten away with the greatest crime of the decade, hurt children who had done nothing but be conceived, and then run away like the world's grandest coward so that she could live a quiet little life out in the countryside. Even if she had raised a child, raised two, with all the kindness and love she could give... How would that ever make up for all she had done?
This was always going to come back to her.
If it comes back in flame, then the pain is nothing less than what she has deserved. If it is blade, then perhaps it will be quick.
It comes back in neither of those things.
The fire is dying down, and what comes back to her ears instead is the catch of a breath that is so very loud in this empty little town square. "Miss Hewley," Genesis says, voice strangled tight until it almost sounds like a child again. A child, holding the hand of her own, there in the doorway of her home. "No - I only - No. Not you." Then, before she can open her eyes again, the sound of heavy wing beats goes through the air, and she ducks her head at the gust which whips up dust against her face.
The sight that greets her, when it all settles, is nothing but an empty square, a single charred corpse, and, gently floating through the air, pitch black feathers.
She stares. Even she does not know her own emotions until they bubble up through her throat, tear out a sob, and she is crying, then. She cries so hard that it feels as though she may fall apart then and there where she sinks down onto the dirt, face in her hands.
What was she doing? What was she daring to ask of him?
She nearly made a child kill her.
She has never once stopped being a monster.
Gillian cries less than she feels a true woman, a human with red blood, truly would, and the sky does not feel as though it has changed at all when she lowers her hands at long last. Some meters away, the corpse still lays there.
Aches shoot sharply up her legs when she pushes herself up to her feet. Perhaps it is adrenaline, perhaps it is something else, but she thinks she hears the sound of stomping boots off on the outskirts of town. Leaning down, she takes her bag in hand, and goes back home.
What else can she do for now but go back home?
The figures she sees out her windows there are dressed in ShinRa equipment, but she can tell from a glance that they are not them. None of them attempt to enter her house, although she can hear doors being forced open in her neighbors' homes. In the pit of her stomach, she has a suspicion of what is happening.
But all she does is move through her home, silently preparing for whatever guests may come. If Genesis is here, then she is certain that her boy is not far behind. Angeal could never leave him behind, and never did, always following after even though he were the one with longer legs. Can she bear to face him? With what he might know now, with what Genesis surely knows with the evidence of that single black wing?
Gillian doesn't feel as though she could. The very idea tightens around her throat, until her lungs might burst.
So she gathers things. She prepares some simple little fried potatos in a bowl, the thing her child always ate whenever he merely needed something to occupy his mouth. For Angeal, if he can even bear to look at her, set out on the kitchen counter.
When he'd first become old enough, she'd gotten a bottle from a top cabinet, poured him a cup of apple wine when he'd nearly been vibrating with excitement. They'd laughed together over the table, her and Angeal and Genesis. She'd poured it for him again, the night before he was to set out for SOLDIER, and they'd been quieter, then, up until he'd cupped his hands around hers and promised he'd be safe.
It'd never been his safety, exactly, that had made her fall apart in grief. She never explained that to him.
She gets that bottle from the top cabinet yet again, and something else, too. A small little box, something that could almost be a compact mirror in its shape, or something to hold playing cards. She'd kept Angeal away from it for years, even when he'd grown taller than her by meters, just by saying it was something for a woman.
And it is something for a woman. It is for her, and always has been, just in case. A single pill, a concoction she knows will dissolve and spread so very quickly. Easily. She knows, because she made it herself.
The wine, in its bottle. The pill, in its box. She puts them on the table, for herself.
It has been... too long, she thinks.
There is just one last thing she needs get. It's a shovel that's long not seen any use, the metal in its spade bent so bad in places that it might be hard pressed to go digging properly again. Angeal never did have any worry in him when it came to rushing out, chasing off a stray monster snapping its jaws around the orchards, but she worried, really, on him for it even if she always knew that he'd never be in real danger. It took long, so long, for her to save up for a proper weapon along with her deceased husband, at least something that could withstand Angeal's strength.
Until then, they'd got him a shovel with sturdy enough metal in it, and it survived a few whacks, at the very least.
It takes up two chairs besides her at the table, stretched across the length of both.
For Hollander.
Should he think he can still "talk sense" into her.
Gillian straightens her skirts out, seated where she is, and listens to the world outside her home. There is nothing, now. No crackling fire. No boots, stomping against dirt. There is only her own breathing, and, before her, wine and a pill.
Professor Gillian Hewley closes her eyes, and she waits for what may come, and she waits for the end.
The changes in the relationship between Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis is only subtle if one isn't paying attention. Doesn't know them like Lazard does.
Of course, it cannot be overstated just how close the three of them all are. Genesis and Angeal are especially obvious, but that sort of thing is only to be expected with the fact that they are childhood friends who have known each other for, as far as Lazard can tell, their entire lives. Ever since the first day they stepped into the ShinRa building, their shoulders were nearly touching. So who could be surprised, really, at the way that Angeal would rest his hand against Genesis's back, or how Genesis would lounge back against Angeal as though he were a living wall?
Who could really be surprised at the hickeys occasionally lining Angeal's neck, or the way that Genesis would lean into his hands smugly?
Sephiroth merged into the duo's dynamic in a way that seemed almost too natural to be real, on the more platonic surface of it all. It's easy to see why, of course. In the entirety of SOLDIER, perhaps ShinRa, perhaps the country, it doesn't feel as though anyone else can match a single one of them. Not even other First-class SOLDIERs. The three of them are the exception, and they're only satisfied when it comes to one another. And in that satisfaction, well.. They seem happy as well, in finding company that can keep up with them, and that's good. Lazard has known Sephiroth for... too long. He needs others to be with him, who he is happy to be with.
That's all fine, of course. Better than fine. Seeing Sephiroth actually smile a bit whenever Angeal bumps his fist against his shoulder, or Genesis leans in to suggest something with a wicked glint in his eye... It's nice.
Probably it's his fault for not realizing sooner that Genesis and Angeal would push things a little farther than just that. The signs had been there in hindsight, of course - the way Angeal would smile just a little softly at Sephiroth while leaning against him. The sparking hunger in Genesis's movements that were the same when he sparred with Angeal, now focused towards Sephiroth. How they both acted together in unison around Sephiroth, like a pair of pack animals circling around a new target, leaning against him easily.
The problem was that it was interspersed with a million other interactions, and that Lazard had a million other things on his plate. So when everything finally clicked, well... He supposes he was a tad late.
He hears about it distantly, first, because someone overheard Angeal and Genesis inviting Sephiroth over to one of their apartments for dinner, and then he sees it much later, because the pair are not subtle. Genesis starts leaning against Sephiroth in the same way he leans against Angeal, and Angeal starts resting his arm aground Sephiroth's shoulders. How they lean into him like he's another part of them. Sephiroth welcomes it gladly with the smile of a cat in a sunbeam.
Fuck.
"You called for us, Director?" Angeal asks one day in his office, Genesis right there at his side. It's a good day to get the pair of them in at once; that is how Lazard would prefer to do this. Otherwise, there's always a chance that they're out on separate missions, and while he could speak to them one at a time...
Best to deal with them both at once. Deal with the problem both at once, before one has the chance to tell the other what's going on and make this more of a mess than it already is.
Pushing his glasses up, Lazard straightens up at his desk. "Yes, I did, thank you. Genesis, would you please lock the door? I'd rather this a private conversation."
Both of his Firsts glance at each other, eyebrows raising - slightly, in Angeal's case, and more notably for Genesis. Still, politeness does get him somewhere in the end, and perhaps the two do like him a bit more than some of the others above their station as SOLDIER. Genesis does as he requests, clicking the lock into place so that there can be no interruptions, before he saunters back to where Angeal has stationed himself in front of Lazard's desk. "Now, what could all this secrecy be about, Director?" he drawls, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side prettily. Lazard sometimes wonder if anyone in Banora realized how terribly attractive Genesis is, and if that went to his head at all before he arrived in Midgar.
Angeal, at least, seems to be taking the occasion seriously as he frowns. Lazard can almost see his thoughts churning behind those pale blue eyes of his. "Is it a mission that important?" he asks, one hand resting on his hip, elbow brushing against Genesis's arm.
At least Lazard can put that bit of concern to rest. "No, it's not about a mission at all," he reassures them smoothly. "Rather, I merely wanted to speak to the two of you about some concerns I have."
Genesis flashes an amused little smirk up towards Angeal. "Is it finally the time when the heavens shall part, and others will at last point out that you dress yourself terribly as a representative of SOLDIER?" he teases.
Maybe others would bristle, with how easily Genesis seems to hold himself above others, and how incomprehensible he can make himself quite on purpose. But all Angeal does is smile a little bit, roll his eyes ever so slightly. "If it were that, I'd be in here alone," he explains patiently. "So you'll have to put up with my reused uniform for just a while longer."
It's at this point that Lazard has to clear his throat, making them focus again. They'll never stick on track if he lets them keep this up. "It actually has to do with Sephiroth," he says, and that gets their attention. Genesis's gaze practically sharpens to a razor's edge, not wavering from Lazard's person for a second. Angeal may not be so overbearing, not yet, but he shifts in place, leans forward just enough for Lazard to be all the more aware of how much taller he is than just about everyone else in the building. Him, especially. Lazard doesn't let that deter him, and just keeps eye contact. "I am aware that the three of you have grown closer with him lately."
Something is sparking in Genesis's stare, an ember ready to explode into a flame. Lazard expected that, honestly, but he also expected Angeal to be the one to keep a cool head... and also one to make excuses to keep people out of "their" business. "I didn't think it was anything particularly interesting," he says, shifting forward again just enough before easing back that minuscule amount to where he was. Genesis seems to simmer down. Slightly. "We just thought it was fine to invite him out of ShinRa buildings for a while. We're close enough to start meeting outside of them."
"And close enough to hold him by the hips?" Lazard challenges, and Angeal's eyes narrow a little. "Or take some of his hair in your hands?" His hands clasp together on the table, matching the stern frown on Lazard's own lips. "Please, boys. I can see well enough what you both have gotten into with him."
Along his hip, Angeal's fingers dig in, tense, and he takes in a breath as he no doubt tries to figure out how to approach this. His partner does not waste any such time, tilting his head back imperiously. "And really, why does that matter in the slightest?" he says. "Every single one of us gave our consent the night we approached him, and have since then. Certainly I have heard no complaints leave those lips of his. We even gave him the best show of our feelings that could be asked for, as romantic and intimate as he would deserve."
Almost against his will, Lazard wonders in the back of his head what it looked like. Genesis is so fond of dramatics, of theatre and poetry and grand stories in literature, but Angeal balances him. There would no doubt be romance, certainly, roses and dim lighting, but Angeal is quiet and steady comfort. Homecooked meals, and gentle close contact, Sephiroth looking upon it all from beneath those pale eyelashes of his, and -
And he needs to stop thinking about this.
"It matters because you are working for ShinRa," Lazard says instead, forcing himself to stay on track now as well instead of just the two men in front of him. "If you were employed anywhere else, then perhaps there would be no trouble whatsoever. However, the context is not that. You are all SOLDIER, and thus certain things are expected of you. Required of you. Did you not think of how much trouble this would cause others around you, including him?"
The fire threatens to ignite completely in Genesis's gaze, but Angeal stops him, a hand moving just a little to keep those arms folded up against his chest. Genesis looks away, fuming and no doubt concocting a million insulting words in his head. Angeal, at least, is a little more understanding, even if no less displeased. "We weren't trying to make trouble at all. All we did was approach him."
Out of the three of them, Angeal and Sephiroth are the easiest to work with when it comes to talking them down from ridiculous nonsense. With how Sephiroth can be so easily encouraged into things by Genesis, sometimes that leaves only Angeal. Lazard supposes he should work with him in turn, although he still sighs. "I understand that you no doubt did what you did with the absolute best of intentions," he explains, reining his tone in for something a little more understanding, quiet. "However, you both know as well as anyone that when you registered into SOLDIER, you were made to sign certain paperwork. That includes agreeing to the fraternization policy that is in place."
"With all due respect, Director, the entire portion about fraternization in the handbook always seemed to be more of a..." Angeal tilts his head to the side as well, hair brushing against his shoulders, and he raises an eyebrow. "..suggestion than anything else."
This particular topic seems to lighten up Genesis's mood, and he turns his head, smiling slyly up at Angeal. "Certainly nothing more than a little foot note," he purrs, his palm sliding along one of Angeal's shoulders, over until he can slide his fingers into dark hair. "Or else I imagine we would have gotten into a great deal more trouble for the sort of mischief we have..."
The way Lazard pinches the bridge of his nose blocks his view of Angeal's expression, but he can still hear that patient sigh. "Gen, not now," he murmurs.
He's managed to compose himself by the time his hand lowers again. "You are both a special case," he says, and he means that in more ways than he believes the pair of them understand. "In fact, you are a special case I had to make an argument for-" Ah, and that's hit. Angeal's brow furrows, no doubt trying to think on what could have happened, and Genesis's eyes are wide as he turns to look back at him. "I thought you were both so full of potential that it would be a waste to turn you away, especially when you were already romantically entangled with one another prior to joining ShinRa. I convinced them that the typical issues which arose with fraternization would not arise with the two of you."
Yes, this really might be the argument that gets through to the pair of them. Angeal glances down, now, his own arms folding in front of his chest while a frown rests upon his lips. He really is a good man, aware of what ways he might stand out or what troubles he causes - what he can get away with and what might actually affect people. He may very well tease, but Lazard is confident in the fact that he wouldn't step too far over the line.
Even Genesis seems to be recanting a bit with this additional knowledge. "It should never have been such a big enough matter in the first place," he says, narrowing his eyes down at the floor.
"Whether or not that is the case is not the matter at hand here," Lazard says, feeling more confident now that he knows which argument will hit the two of them best. "I am simply letting you be aware of the rules and risks that are at play here. Even the fanclubs which have arisen due to your influence are well aware of your closeness, and so we can be more assured that this will not affect either your work or how you appear to the public. However, getting Sephiroth involved is by far an entirely different matter. It is, if I may be blunt, not only incredibly unprofessional, but also you could end up causing a great deal of harm to him. You should both be aware that his socialization skills are rather low. The kind of passions that arise during romance are not something to be treated lightly. He needs to be handled with much gentler hands than I believe the pair of you have really put thought into. And of course, then there is the matter of his public image. While the two of you balance well off of one another, the fact of the matter is that a part of Sephiroth's popularity is because he is seen as more of a lone wolf type. As someone beautiful and talented, purely unobtainable..."
He could keep going. He has a whole speech planned, with the hopes that even a fraction of it will stick in either one of their heads and make them reconsider what they're doing. That's almost the best he can ask for.
And yet, right in the middle of it all, Genesis's head suddenly snaps up, and his eyes light up in that eerie blue. "Wait," he breathes, even as Angeal stirs besides him in a softer but no less serious interest. "I was being lead, a fool to water, into the idea that this was some shovel talk. Yet Director... This is hardly that. You are jealous, aren't you?"
Lazard's heart slams hard into the inside of his chest. The atmosphere of the room is suddenly shifting, pressing down on him as the pair look at him with a kind of interest in their eyes. "Jealous of who is the real question," Angeal says, voice gaining a soft and deep quality that rolls into Lazard's gut.
Whatever else his heart might be doing, Lazard keeps his composure. "My personal feelings on this matter are of no concern," he says coolly, "and I would thank you to not make assumptions. Now, as I was saying-"
He doesn't get to finish what he was saying. Instead, as is his wont, Genesis steps forward with a sweep of his arm. "There is no need to be hesitant," he declares, regaining that confident smoothness to his voice. "You had me lock the door, Director, so it is only the two of us that are here to hear any confession you may want to make." He turns from him, pacing some sort of unknown pattern in front of his desk. Genesis's hands are still gesturing, long and languid, to the point that Angeal has to start going to the side just so that he can avoid getting hit. "And you and I both know that the soundproofing in this little den of yours is nothing short of superb." He glances over his shoulder, the mako blue of his eyes seeming brighter than usual. "For... confidentiality reasons and nothing less, I'm sure." He whirls around again, still going at it. "And I must say-"
"You don't need to say anything else," Lazard informs him sharply, palms pressing down flat against his desk. "I think that is enough, Genesis, SOLDIER First Class. I thought it would be good to bring it up to both of you, but I see I was mistaken. If you are going to say such things, then-" He pushes himself up to his feet, hands still braced against the desk, and -
And there is a firm chest right there against his back, and large hands sliding over his to keep him pinned in place. Lazard's breath catches.
His own fault, really. He's seen how Genesis and Angeal fight together. The way that they're perfectly in sync in almost all ways, able to manuever around one another in mirror images, or perfect complements. It was like watching wolves in the wild, bodies racing fluidly against ground and through the air as they hunted down an elk. He's seen videos. Watched as one would snap and howl, draw their prey's attention while the other approached it from the other hand, silent and unnoticeable until its teeth were digging into its throat...
Angeal's breath is hot against the back of his ear, his neck. Lazard swallows, and tries to ignore a similar heat in the pit of his stomach.
Needless to say, Genesis looks as pleased as anything. His hands fall back down, losing all drama. "Oh, I hardly believe there is any need for the three of us to part so soon, Director Lazard," he says, savoring every word passing through his lips in a way that makes him want to lose all control. "There is still so much to this conversation that we could have."
Underneath the sharp click of Genesis's boots, there's a low rumble that rolls deep into him - Angeal's chest to his back. Lazard fights to keep his mouth from going dry, and doesn't find much success. "There is nothing more to talk about," he says, and at least his voice stays level even if nothing else feels like it is inside of him.
All Genesis does is smile, a cocky sway to his hips that Lazard does his absolute damned best to not watch too closely. "Now, isn't that incorrect, Director Lazard?" he drawls, and, finally, he is back at the desk as well. His own hands slide across the smooth surface, nudging against his own fingers. Covering what little that Angeal's own could not. He is so close this way as he leans down, tongue drawing itself slowly across his lips. "There is still a question that you have yet to answer, Director."
He has been in far worse situations than this. Lazard tries to remind himself of that, and not the soft pink of Genesis's tongue. Of Angeal's hips against his, a bulge notable against his pants that he can feel. It's exactly how he's imagined it, in more than a couple of fantasies. "What question?" he asks breathlessly as Genesis leans down, even as he knows it's a trap.
Against all his better judgment, unfortunately... He wants to be trapped.
Genesis is slow and languid in the way he moves closer, nose brushing against Lazard's. Lips brushing against his own mouth, a dangerous temptation where every breath he takes in is just an exhale of Genesis's own.
"Which of us are you jealous of... Director Lazard?"
Whenever they want to fool around with one another, they can't go to Genesis's house, because he hates his family, and they can't go to Angeal's family, on account of how he actually likes his family and Miss Hewley is home nine times out of ten. So they do it outside.
There's a pleasure to it, of course. The sweet smell of Banora White swept in with every gasp Angeal draws out of him. The warmth from the sun, sunken into their skin, the same skin that Genesis spreads his greedy palms all across. There is a sweetness to it all that settles deep into him somewhere, as they take each other hidden away in the trees.
Of course, there's also some problems, and Genesis is never quiet about them. "Why do trees have to shed so many leaves and sticks," Genesis complains, reaching back one day as Angeal carefully buttons his pants up again. "This is getting so annoying and ridiculous - and why did you have to do it against the grass, hm?" His fingers can't find anything else, but Genesis knows something is there, and he growls a bit.
Obligingly, Angeal moves around him, and his fingers start shifting through his hair patiently. Angeal's hands may be large, taller than Genesis by a mile and proportioned to match, but he's careful when it comes to little things like this. Careful like his mother. Genesis doesn't mind that very much; he likes Miss Hewley. She cuts his hair when it gets just a little too long for his liking, and lets him stay the night. "If we did it against a tree, there'd probably still be dirt and twigs," Angeal points out in that patient and exasperated tone of his. "Just pull your hair back, then there's no problem."
"I'm not going to wear a ridiculous ponytail like you," Genesis complains. One of these days, he's going to make Angeal keep his loose. He looks nicer, that way, even if he always looks good by Genesis's estimate. "Ugh, you're terrible. Just hurry and finish, so we can head back before anyone notices we're gone."
Angeal does, and they do, and that's that. Just another day in Banora amongst the smell of freshly harvested apples. Genesis isn't really expecting anything of it.
Except, after that day, Angeal starts meeting him up with a coat. He's already shot up like a damn shoot, stupid tall thing, and his shoulders have only gotten more broad, so new clothes are usually pretty easy to pick up even on a regular day with how Miss Hewley has to replace or mend or make them. But the coat is newer than even Genesis is familiar with. He teases Angeal about it, of course, because he didn't think that such a long coat would suit him even though they both know that Angeal will probably have grown well into it by the end of the month. All Angeal does is huff at him, but then that's that.
Even in the middle of nowhere, Banora being what it is, they have things to do. Odd jobs that Angeal does which Genesis tags along on, or new books from the city that he's managed to get from the traveling merchant that stops by in their town every other month. Angeal wears the coat every single day, no matter what, even as it gathers sweat along the back of his neck and he has to make a face whenever he sweeps his hair out of his face.
Genesis makes fun of him for all of that, too.
Makes fun of him up until the day that the two of them find a moment to themselves a couple weeks later. Up until Genesis has Angeal's face in his hands as he kisses him, savoring the fresh and sweet taste of stolen Banoran White apples on his lips. A heat is pooling between his legs, in his veins, and he's right in the middle of reaching up to tug loose Angeal's hair when the other boy stops him. "Hold on," he murmurs again, and his hands move away from where Genesis actually wants them on his hips.
He grumbles again, a brief growl, only to be interrupted by the roll of Angeal's shoulders as that stupid coat finally gets shed. He thinks it's just a simple matter of undressing, that he's succeeded at getting Angeal all hot and bothered... but then his boyfriend steps away, and spreads the coat down there in the grass, underneath the soft red light of sunset.
Genesis blinks. Then, he laughs. "What... on earth are you doing?"
"I thought you were the one who was always complaining about dirt and bugs in your hair," Angel retorts, raising an eyebrow even as his face goes a pale pink. "So there. No more dirt, bugs, or twigs. Don't tell me you still have complaints. "
It's just, he's still laughing. Except Genesis can't help it, not with the love fluttering in his chest. He has to get it out somehow - his laughter, his hands grasping at Angeal's as he pulls him down to that coat.
His kisses, along warm cheeks and that sulking mouth.
Love is the smell of Banoran White apple flowers blossoming throughout the year, but sometimes love is the smell of a silly coat that's heavy with the musk of his lover, the grass stains that sink into the fabric. Love is service, and thought, and it's Angeal.
the unfinished project of Gillian Kidnapping Kids For The Better
"Remember, Sephiroth," Lazard says, so soft and quiet that even he almost can't hear him, "if you have a chance, more than anything else, you should take it." Perhaps in any other scenario, they would be encouraging, or at least meant to be.
It's just that, right now, Director Lazard has his hands held placidly up, and a gun is pointed at his head.
Behind him, the woman takes a step back, her fingers digging deep into the fine suit of the director and encouraging him along with her. Sephiroth steps back with them - off to the side, matching their slow pace, and his gaze flicks back to her. He has Masamune with him. He is positive that he could erase the threat here in the blink of an eye. Nothing about her says soldier, after all, all capitals or not.
Or maybe that is not entirely true. Her hands are not soft, but they are not the rough callouses of a gunwoman. She isn't holding Director Lazard in the most optimal way to stop him from escaping, if perhaps he really tried. And yet as she looks down the hall, situated where she is in the precarious position at one of the highest floors in ShinRa's building, there is no fear there like a regular civilian would hold. There is only an endless sort of calm to her, like the way water pulls back right before a storm. It is intense, in a way that feels somehow familiar.
It wouldn't help her against Masamune's edge, of course, but it makes Sephiroth wonder even as he grips the sword tightly in his hands.
"Step away from the director," he says calmly, even though he has to raise his voice slightly as the hard stomping of boots and the clacking of equipment signals the arrival of more soldiers here to take care of the intruder that has somehow slipped right into the heart of the massive facility. There are probably Turks there as well, intermingled amongst the more common SOLDIERs, but he doesn't care about that. He cares about the only person who's only cared for him, with a muzzle pressed against his head. "This is your final warning."
This may be the last warning he gets for the Director, too. Sephiroth has no faith that, if they really wanted, ShinRa could find another replacement director, if they thought it would be easier, more beneficial, to capture this strange woman and find out how she was able to get in here so easily. And... And he won't let that happen. No matter what.
The woman - short black hair held back with bobby pins that catch the artificial lighting - doesn't look at him. Not exactly, not quite. There's a twitch, small muscles near her eyes, that hint she might very well want to. "You are the boy in the labs, aren't you?" she asks, and there is something in his ribcage that - jerks.
He's lived in the labs for as long as he can remember, patiently having to endure test after test after test, up until Lazard was introduced to it all. Until Lazard managed to convince and work with the scientists to let him out. It has meant being in a war, yes, but it has meant tasting air sweeping with it the distance scent of rain or feeling the rolling warmth of sunlight. It has also meant him not being allowed to talk about that kind of thing - trade secrets for ShinRa, or something similar. He's never questioned it. People have never known.
Except Lazard, and the scientists, and this strange woman with her hand steady on a gun and eyes that don't waver.
She has a backpack. Sephiroth wonders if there is paperwork in there, files and CDs and other things just full of information. Did she read anything, before she stumbled upon Lazard? Took him for a hostage, and ran into Sephiroth? She can't have been in ShinRa for that long. How does she know?
And why does she says, with a quiet trembling voice, "I apologize that I did not come to you sooner."
"Sephiroth," Lazard says, still quiet, so quiet and careful that his lips don't even seem to move, and that's enough of an anchor for him. Enough to pull him together a little bit, from the way something inside is shaking. "Don't hurt her. You should go with her - quickly."
The idea of leaving Shinra - of leaving the only place, the only thing, he actually knows is actually quietly terrifying. And yet, if Lazard told him to do it, Sephiroth would, in any other circumstances. It's just the idea of leaving without him that is far more horrifying. He feels cold. Like ice. "I am not leaving you behind," he says firmly, and his stance shifts slightly.
Down the hall, all the way in the back and far past what normal people could see, he knows there is a flash of black there that is nothing like what the average SOLDIER wears. A Turk. Someone with the shine of a gun on them. They might be able to shoot at the intruder from this distance, but it's far more likely that they'll either go through Lazard in order to do it, or, at the very least, hit him entirely by accident. If by some miracle they don't, Sephiroth still doesn't trust this woman's finger to spasm from the pain, pull the trigger...
For the first time in his life, Sephiroth takes a breath and prepares to disobey an order. He'll have to position Masamune just right, of course, make sure to act fast enough to move the gun's muzzle away from Lazard. If he executes it smoothly enough, he can use the momentum, force her to the ground with minimal injury, get Lazard free-
The building rumbles, and something massive rises up past the floor-to-ceiling windows near them, blocking the bright lights of Midgar.
Sephiroth can recognize scales, wings massive enough to hide the cloudy sky, and then that's it before something crashes through the windows. He jerks into action before he can think twice about it, Masamune flicking outwards defensively more to protect Lazard than any care for himself; why should he worry about himself?
Yet even as shards of glass go crashing and spinning by his feet, the figure bursting through the window doesn't spare him even a second glance. There's just a whirl of action, a figure with dark hair and wielding a long polearm tossing aside various SOLDIERs like they're nothing. A gunshot cracks through the air, and does nothing, is blocked by the blade on its long pole - Sephiroth can recognize it at a distance. Wutai-make, the heavy curving blade lending itself to powerful blows even with the flat and blunt sides used to smack opponents away.
In theory, every move is unpolished. In practicality, it's like watching something almost natural - an eagle snatching fish from water, a wolf surging past trees.
It's something deeper in Sephiroth's blood that sings at the sight of the figure, even as they kick up a struggling SOLDIER from the ground and smack them towards the Turk at the very end of the hallway with his weapon like a child playing ball.
But Sephiroth won't let himself be the kind of person captured by interesting moves. It's better this way, for him to work on his own, and he propels himself forward, Masamune pulling back even as the woman cries out from behind him - the most emotion that has left her since he first ran into her. "GEAL!"
Not many people can even react to him - but the young man with dark hair does, twisting around even before the sound of his name can begin its echo. He doesn't go for an outright block - smart, Masamune would carve straight through - but instead jerks to the side with his teeth grit, just enough so that he can raise his weapon up and slam it against Masamune's guard. The two of them slide close together like that, and -
Sephiroth's breath catches. The black hair, falling loose around the man's face, had gotten in the way of seeing him clearly... but this close, it's impossible to miss. The eyes staring back at him, past the crossing of metal against metal, are the kind of brilliant blue he's rarely seen so sharp save for his own reflection in the mirror.
They're the kind of eyes that only First-class SOLDIERs possess, set in the eyes of someone he realizes isn't much older than him by more than five years or so.
The young man in front of him jerks the naginata at him a bit, pushes, but not enough to actually mean anything. A gesture, he thinks. "Calm down," he says, brow set sternly. "We're not here to hurt you!" A pause as he glances past Sephiroth's shoulder. "Mom!"
A mother? The very concept seems so distant to Sephiroth... and a mother who breaks into one of the most heavily guarded buildings in Midgar, as well. He's never known a mother's attention, a relationship with such an entity, but, well... All the things he could see at a distance certainly don't resemble this.
Or maybe it does, with the way the man's eyes soften and shine so bright that Sephiroth could almost want for it.
"Angeal..." Sephiroth knows better than to take his eyes off of an enemy, but he doesn't quite need to. He can hear the calm of the woman's voice, the mother's voice, break apart. Ripples on a disturbed pond. "I apologize..."
"It's okay, Gen and I thought that something would happen," the man, Angeal say, soft and soothing. That same tone doesn't leave him, even as his gaze returns back to Sephiroth. Out of all the things that could happen, one of the last things that Sephiroth is expecting is for the man to suddenly take a step back and shove his naginata down to the floor. "Hey. We're not your enemies, alright?"
Sephiroth, even at his relatively young age, has fought a lot of people. Not a single one of his fights has ever gone like this. It's so surreal that he can only stare for a second. "Your mother is holding an important director of ShinRa's SOLDIER organization hostage," he says, and feels rather deadpan about it all.
Angeal just shrugs. "These things happen," he says, as though this is absolutely a very normal thing that does indeed happen every day.
Out of anyone, Sephiroth would be the first person to say that he doesn't quite understand many social things that so many other people seem to be more innately intune with. Yet he is also fairly certain that these things do not actually happen that often to any sort of regular degree.
No one else would take his absolute bewilderment as an agreement, or hesitance. Whoever this Angeal is, well, he is someone else entirely as he steps around Sephiroth and Masamune to make straight towards his mother and Director Lazard. Something in Sephiroth's mind short circuits at that. This is not how a battle should go. All he can do is follow the flow of it regardless, fascinated and, on some level, tempted by how very different it is from the life he has lead so far.
He feels like he's on the edge of some large body of water, and he'll see everything in its depths if he dives in. There are so many answers, just waiting for him.
There is no longer a gun pointed at Director Lazard's head, at least, when he turns to follow Angeal's movements. He still has his hands kept carefully up, pale blue eyes watching the scene play out in front of him, but he's not in immediate danger. The woman, Angeal's mother, she still has the gun in her hand, but not pointed at anyone. Instead, she waits in place, and leans into Angeal's palms as he presses them lightly to her arms. With a notable lack of many armed men charging in her direction, the steel from the woman is... tucked away, and she smiles up at her son. "Things ended up escalating just a tad," she says.
Sephiroth cannot help but wonder if casual understatements are something of a family trademark, here.
"Really?" Angeal comments, standing amongst shattered glass and past dozens of downed SOLDIERs and at least one Turk. "I don't think I noticed, Mom."
Hm. Definitely something of a family trademark.
But then Angeal's tone shifts, more quiet and serious, and Sephiroth's attention razor focuses on his voice. "He's going to make a turn around again. We need to go. Are you okay, do you think you can...?"
"I'll be fine," she promises him gently, letting go of the gun so that she can reach up, brush light fingers against his face where they rest a moment. "I think you made an impact. Speak with him, won't you?" As she lets go of his face, Angeal turns around obligingly, and the woman once again goes to grip one of Lazard's fine suit jackets. Her other hand still holds the gun at the ready, even as she goes over to the shattered windows to look out. The wind whips at her hair, tugs at it from where it's moored with the bobby pins. "So a turn around, then..."
Sephiroth keeps an eye on the two of them, even as Angeal approaches him. "This isn't really the best time for a summary on everything," he says patiently, while, behind him, the woman lets go of Lazard's jacket even as they peer out the empty window frame. "For a lot of reasons. The best I can say right now is that you and me are the same." The woman starts to take a good few steps back from the window, chest rising with a deep, calming inhale and exhale.
"The same?" Sephiroth echoes. He would be more skeptical, if he could. It's just... he can't.
It defies all logic. Everything he thought he knew, even about himself. It's just that, when he looks at Angeal straight into those bright blue eyes of his, something in him seems to settle in a way that it never has before. Almost... like finding somewhere he can rest.
Angeal nods and, behind him, his mother smacks one cheek a bit even as the cold wind bites at all of them. "It's a long story, but, short, there's a reason that you and I are as good as we are." It's not even said cockily. Just a matter of fact. Well, the evidence of his skill is all around them, Sephiroth supposes. "I know we've given you no reason to trust us... But I swear on my honor that, if you truly do not believe or trust in anything that we say at the end of this all, you're free to run right from us with the person that my mother had with her, and we won't stop you."
Something like that makes for an easy lie. Sephiroth wouldn't trust it any other time. So why it is different when he looks into that stern and honest face across from him? The way that hand presses against his chest, like the oaths he's read about?
Well... If nothing else, in the end, Sephiroth supposes he should be confident in himself, and Masamune. "We'll see what this honor of yours means," he answers back quietly, and a brief little smirk of confidence passes across Angeal's face.
Huh. He thinks he might like that?
Subtly, and rising, the building is starting to rattle again, and the shards of glass clitter and clatter across tile. "He's coming back!" Angeal's mother calls to them, before she rushes forward and shoves Lazard right off the building.
Sephiroth's mind doesn't even has a chance to conceptualize the sort of noise it should make in response to that, because the mother only takes a moment to steady herself right there on the edge before she leaps off too. While he's left there trying to fit the pieces of his thought back together, Angeal is already sweeping down low to grab his naginata. "Come on!" he calls back to Sephiroth, already grabbing the hand not holding Masamune as he guides him to the back wall before the windows. "You ever gone flying before?"
More than once, he has been in helicoptors, or planes, and other bits of technology made for travel. Sephiroth does not think that is the kind of flying he means.
Angeal grins at him again, cocky and relaxed. "Well, we're going to fix that." And he takes off running, Sephiroth right with him, until they both leap through the empty frames and out into the night sky.
Wind whips through him, his lungs and his hair, and yet Sephiroth feels almost in contradiction because he simultaneously feels as though he is suspended there. Before them, the bright lights of Midgar stretch out like a night sky he's only gotten to see on the occasional mission, a sea that they could dive right into. Even when that moment falls away, when the two of them begin to plummet down at gravity's demand... He still feels electrified.
Angeal doesn't let go of his hand. If anything, he makes sure to grip it all the tighter - the naginata clicking into a smaller version of itself, folding against his back so that he can reach out and tug Sephiroth closer. "HERE HE COMES!" he calls, voice rising above the tear of wind. Above the heavy sound of wingbeats, thumping down around them.
Finally snapping out of it, Sephiroth looks down just in time to witness the enormous shape of a dragon - a summon, has to be - turning sharply through the air. Even in the dark, he's still able to see Lazard's preferred suits - crisp sharp blue and professional navy - and there's the woman's clothes, too, the labcoat she surely had to steal. The two of them cling to the summon's back, Lazard no doubt for his dear life; his poor director never really has belonged on the field.
And there's another figure, too. A bright red beacon there right behind the dragon's crest, between those piercing straight horns, laughing as though this night belongs to him and him alone.
Hands, outstretched. Angeal reaches out with his own, takes one for himself as though it's the most natural thing in the world. And Sephiroth, as the world slows down, as he falls through the night and looks ahead to another pair of mako blue?
He reaches out, too.
A moment that feels like an eternity, and then it's gone, the two of them tugged onto the enormous summon's back as the red haired youth - literally Sephiroth's own age, he thinks - laughs all the louder. It's a bumpy landing, for sure, but the summon straightens, dives down towards the city lights, and he manages to secure himself. Angeal does the same right besides him, reaching out with one long and muscular arm to anchor down not only his mother, but Lazard, too. It's a weight off of Sephiroth's heart, honestly. A good thing, too, because he can't help but look up towards the boy there at the summon's head.
A redhead. Shorter than him, by a little. Their eyes meet, and the brilliant triumphant smile crosses that face as he spreads hands out wide. "And so a new actor enters the stage!" he sings above the darkness, his wind-mussed hair falling about his face. "We have been waiting forever for you!"
There is something to be said for that pleased smile. The way his eyes shine above it, and the burn of his hair. Sephiroth's heart does something strange again, and he is almost uncertain if he has eve seen anything more beautiful.
Angeal's voice rises next to him. "Genesis, stop being dramatic, and guide Bahamut so we don't crash into a street!"
Whenever humans come to his little shrine there tucked away in the warm sunlight on the mountain, they inevitably pray for him to grant their wishes.
Sometimes he indulges them, if he can feel enough passion aching in their soul, tearing through veins and pulsing against the inside of skin. If they make the proper offerings of his favorite things - apples from the trees which carve in and out of the earth on his mountain, or poetry which delights his senses enough to make him feel generous.
Some say there are problems with such things, of course. The Banora White which flourish most splendidly along his mountain blossom and bear their fruit sporadically, not caring the season or the weather. Finding the right tree in season on the entire mountain is almost more a matter of luck than it is anything else... Especially with the creatures which look so very comfortably along the greenery, their brilliant burning red coats a warning sign and herald.
And the poems he finds most beautiful? The poems that will feed him, tinder to a wildfire? Those are not easy things to craft, in the end, and people often find that the treacherous journey through uneven mountain paths to be easier than feeding his tastes.
He is not entirely sure if he is expecting either option of the man who comes trekking up his mountain one day, plainly dressed and dark hair just short enough that it could not stay in any sort of ponytail or bun. He has a severe face, both in a natural sort of aspect, and because he is staring towards the rest of the world with narrowed eyes. Careful and cautious, but all the more sure of his steps for it and holy shit his dick is huge. He can actually see the outline of it in his pants. He hadn't even been aware that humans came in that size.
In the time that it takes for him to get over this very fascinating little revelation about humans, the man makes it to his shrine in its comfortable hole in the mountain. It is a precious thing, built from fine wood and delicately carved stone, all curving together into something truly stunning. He had humans make it to him once upon a time, one of the rare few times that he accepted payment that wasn't sweet flesh or prettier words. Sometimes, there is a poetry to the way their clever little fingers can make symbols from stone. In the end, hadn't he liked the way that it had all tucked into the mountain, too, a contrast to those who foolishly thought that fire was only something that could flourish in the sun.
And yet it is in the pressure of earth, of caves where things burn eternal, that fire finds its place the most.
The man in front of his shrine, now, also seems to be right at home where he is, as the shade of the opening falls over him. One calloused hand presses along the curve of his neck, feeling the sweat that has gathered there. The other rests somewhat from his pants, the pocket that has been neatly sewn into it. They are worn pants, having clearly seen many modifications and repairs. This is not new, for him. There are many who come to his shrine, in much a similar state, to beg him for riches, to beg him for a better life, to beg him even occasionally for revenge so that they might take what they feel they are owed.
Sometimes that's true, sometimes that's not. Genesis helps them depending on what makes for the most passionate story, and if he finds their hearts burning brighter than stars.
There is no request for riches here. No letter filled with pretty words to cajole him for his help, no apple left on the plate there in his shrine's place. All the man does is shake his head after a moment, and turn away. "Well, don't I feel like more than half a fool," he says, intending to speak towards empty air and ending up speaking to Genesis, hidden there amongst the stone and wood and prayer. "At least I can break." And he sits there, back to the shrine, eyes out front to the spread of greenery that lies before him.
Quite a dangerous thing, to turn one's back on a shrine. On him. The candelight which burns eternally at his shrine, flickers, forms the burning red of his hair and the fur of his tail, as he slinks up to the man. There is an urge, faintly, to burn all the brighter than candlelight.
To burn until dark hair goes more pitch than moonless nights, and there exists no more clothing on those broad shoulders.
He debates it. He doesn't do it. Instead, as he's pondering exactly what he does want to do now that he's already gone to all this trouble, the man tilts his head slightly back and says, without turning it, "If you're going to kill me for the disrespect, then just do it, because I have nothing else to offer you, besides maybe a little bit of trouble for your efforts."
What a cocky thing. Genesis smiles, all sharp teeth and embers snapping behind them along his tongue and down into his lungs. "Now why must you go and entreat me with a good time?" he drawls, pressing close enough that he's sure the burning presence of him is there against the man's back. "Or perhaps the better question which must be brought forth into chill mountain air is who are you to make the perilous trek all the way to the heart of the mountain, and then ask for nothing while wanting?"
And there is something wanting inside this man. Genesis can hear such things. Hear the wailing desperation or the furious crash of desire whenever humans come visit him upon his mountain. Make their requests, give their payments.
Usually, such things are as clear as bells ringing across a wide open plain. The notes carry for miles, often reaching him when their owners are at the very base of the mountain without having yet to take a single step up into its wild grasses and crumbling dirt. With this man, it's still clear, but... different. Clarity in a cave, deep underground, soft and yet still echoing from where it rattles against walls, never letting you know where it truly comes from. What it really is.
He wants to dig into that chest, follow the sound, figure out the maze that he is being tempted with.
Genesis is distracted by the idea of burning a hole deep inside by the answer the man eventually gives him, after apparently some deep thought. "Call me Angeal. I was just going to ask for directions, but I changed my mind by the time I got here."
There is no one at his shrine but him. There is no one who could just give directions. Genesis blinks for a moment. "What," he says flatly, after a long moment of his own contemplation and realization that no amount of other words could really describe what he's feeling right now. It almost seems a bit deeper than mere bafflement.
"I mean, there weren't any apples blooming on the way up," Angeal continues sensibly. Too sensibly, actually? "And I tried to figure out how to make a poem on the way here, but it turns out that nothing sounded any good. So I'm taking a break, and then I'm gone." His arm adjusts, goes to rest on the knee he has there in front of him. Most people can't take his heat when he's this close to them, when he's letting it leak through like a wild fire snapping its teeth. "I knew that before I came up, granted."
This, at least, Genesis feels slightly more prepared to confront. "I believe it is within the ears of the audience that the decision of poetry and drivel is established," he says. "It is never within the poet's hands."
He gets what he's asking for almost immediately. "I went to bed with hiccups, couldn't stay asleep, always woke up," he says, still so completely serious in the intonation, the tone, everything, that Genesis almost doesn't realize he's being toyed with until he manages to shift his head in utter disbelief and catches the sight of a small smirk, teasing at the corner of Angeal's lips.
Terrible. Wretched and arrogant. He is, perhaps, a little bit delighted. "I believe that some professional assistance may be required in such a case," he says, and smiles as well.
"As I said, I don't do poetry," Angeal says, matter of fact. "Besides, the trip up here wasn't that dangerous at all. It's why I may as well just do what I need to do, without having to be in anyone's debt for anything."
"A fair trade," Genesis corrects, having no interest in being seen as some sort of weak charlatan. He is a creature of his word, and he has no need for fakery.
Angeal shrugs. Rolls his head until his neck cracks, and a soft noise of satisfaction filters out from between his lips. "Still a debt of sorts, if I have no assurance besides my own two hands on what I'm giving and what I'm getting," he says, and the words roll finely out on his tongue. Acceptable, almost.
"We shall have to disagree, then." and he has a more important focus, anyway. "You made it up the mountain easily enough, then."
The mountain doesn't take well to visitors. Dirt goes slick with mud, goes too soft with too many small pieces until someone sinks their foot in. The trees twist all around together, a maze that ensnares prey so very easily when they inevitably trip and go the wrong way. Creatures lurk here, waiting to steal and to bite and to laugh at those who think it is a simple thing, to make it to his shrine.
"I suppose," Angeal says, pants clear of mud, shirt untorn, the sweat along the length of muscular arms simply born from the ever present heat of the sun as it filters past leaves and branches. It is around this time that he finally gets up, one hand flexing like that can bring it back to life. "I should get to it."
Sometimes, so few things are truly interesting, here. Genesis follows after him, tail flicking through the air. "May I not even have the knowledge of what it is that you sought directions to, o' wayward traveler?" he asks, teasing but genuine in equal measure. This high up into the mountain, and there is not much to seek. Nothing that cannot be found at lower elevations, lower hills and plants and animals.
Angeal makes his way out from the shade of Genesis's shrine, walks over the uneven and rocky terrain of his mountain as though it is second nature and he has never belonged anywhere else. He should never belong anywhere else, Genesis decides rather suddenly in the pit of his stomach. "A plant," he says, and Genesis almost thinks he might get difficult again. Might tell him nonsense. Instead, he continues, leaping over a log and somehow not landing wrong, not tripping. The mountain likes him. "Banora chamomile."
Banora chamomile is a delicate little yellow flower who only makes their home right there at the base of apple trees. They do not hide at all apple trees, instead choosing a partner in a way that seems more animalistic than what a plant should do. Then again, maybe it makes a fitting counterpart to Banora apple trees in that regard - things that already do as they like no matter the weather or place.
When Banora chamomile chooses the tree it's going to blossom beneath, crowded around its trunk, no other plant has a chance of growing at all. They all get choked out. All but the chamomile, and the tree. There are little fields like that: tunnels under the apple arches, spread out with chamomile.
Some say the plant is so powerful that it can bring back the dead. Genesis isn't sure about that little bit of human superstition, but there is no denying that something about it revitalizes the human body. It brings color back to pale cheeks, make ill stomachs able to take down food again. It really is a valuable and ingenious little thing, and the forest protects it like a spider over a frog.
Genesis protects it, and decides if any are allowed to take it from his mountain. But despite their many virtues, Banora chamomile doesn't seem to get as many people hunting up his mountain as they do it for him.
He takes a little bit of satisfaction in that.
"And why would you want something like that?" he asks, flicking his tail around them and forcing Angeal to sidestep it if he doesn't want to nearly trip over fur. He casts that stern look at him again, knowing he's toying with him.
"Don't think it would matter much to a spirit of the mountain who I haven't even given tribute to," he says, hauling himself up over some fallen trees like it's nothing. Some might trip, or find their clothing catch, or find themselves landing in dirt that's not as solid as they'd thought. But true to his words, Angeal doesn't seem to have any difficulty at all. "But I have a sneaking suspicion that you won't leave me alone until you get your answer, so you just have to know that I'm getting some of it for someone."
Genesis rolls his eyes behind Angeal's back. That much had been obvious. Anyone who desperately needs something like Banora chamomile is in no state to make the trip up the mountain themselves.
It looks like he's going to have to pry open the storybook for himself, in this case. "So is it a lover?" he drawls, flicking over quick as fire over a few bits of debris in his way. "A fair maiden who has fallen apart, woe to a terrible malady which has claimed her poor and fragile soul-"
"It's my ma," Angeal says, cutting him off with an accent slipping into his voice thicker than the oldest trees on the mountain. "There's people in town who've said that she's just fallen ill, but seems more like a curse to me. And before you ask-" Genesis closes his mouth. "I don't know who'd curse her. We're poor, and she's only helped out in that town when we haven't kept to ourselves. So here I am, looking for something that can cure curses with my own hands. It's my own hands I know best, and it's them that I can trust when there's liars in the town and the rest of the world never looking twice."
And now that's a little better, a little free and kicking, the echoes of a roaring flame there in that cavern of a person. Genesis closes his eyes, listens to the music of it.
A family member falling ill isn't an unusual tale, either. That it's a curse is all the more of an interesting twist... and, more than anything, the burn to Angeal's voice speaks to him better than any siren song. A fire that will start all its own, and need not the rest of the world to become a blaze. "As you say, this world truly abhors others such as you or I," he murmurs, leaning nearer to Angeal and watching him correct his path for it. "Do you think a single plant is enough to cure what ails her, then?"
"I have a recipe I'll follow, similar to what I've seen her make time and time again. So I'll do that." Angeal shrugs, pausing as he looks around him to get his bearings once again. Most people would be lost at this point. Worried. Frantic. He takes stock of where he is, and then keeps moving.
The mountain opens up for him sweetly, and it seems as though it doesn't take much time at all before they come across the sweet smell of chamomile and apples weaving its way through the air. Angeal hesitates, just a moment, no doubt surprised at how easily this has all happened for him, before he steps forward. There is a simple leather pack, strung over his shoulder, and he kneels down with it already open. "I should be worried when things are easy like this," he comments, like Genesis is any other person.
Probably, he should take offense to that. Genesis is very distinctly not like any other person, like nothing else in existence. He is a brilliant flame all his own. Yet somehow, when this simple man with his sharp frown and bright blue eyes says it, it seems more like something that should have always happened from the day his ember first burst into life.
"Is it truly such a tragedy for things to be easy? Most would be elated."
"Can't trust it when it's easy. When it's easy, people want to fool you. It means too good to be true. It means a deal with print so fine that you worms under your fingernails. When it matters, things aren't easy, and it matters a whole lot now."
Angeal cuts the chamomile neatly, taking not just flower but the stem and leaves, too. The roots are not disturbed, and whole fields are not butchered. Instead, they are tucked away tenderly into the bag, not shoved and crushed. Genesis likes the look of his hands as they do it, already faintly green and yellow, stained with pollen. "Are things not easy in your own home, then, when you and her are glad, in good health?"
Are things not easy when he is home?
"I think that's something else entirely," Angeal says, pushing himself up to his feet. Before them, the bushes of chamomile spread out serenely in the arches of the Banora White. No apples grow from its gnarled branches just yet, but it is in bloom, pale veins of pink in otherwise pale white petals. He reaches up, cuts through the stem of one with just his thumb nail. Genesis hadn't thought that it would be particularly long, and certainly not sharp. He hadn't thought that Angeal would turn to him, and tuck it into the fur all along his collar and shoulders where it rests along his clothes. "There. It's no apple, but I think it outta do well enough as a tribute to the spirit of the mountain."
It doesn't quite match the burning red of his fur, but Genesis doesn't refuse it. He just smiles, tilts his head with a small twitch of one long vulpine ear. "Things are easier than you think they are," he tells Angeal. "We'll see if the curse fades with your recipe."
No mountain creature dogs after Angeal's foot steps as he makes his way down. No roots catch his feet to send him tripping, and the weather stays sweetly warm.
Genesis hides in his shadow, burning in it bright as though he might steal it away.
Angeal moves faster than any other human man, and he goes all the faster when he's on flat land once more. Makes it down paths, through towns, all the way back to his simple little human home tucked away in the forgotten corners. It is simple, and it is humble, and he slots into it as neatly as he had back at the mountain as he begins to dry the flowers. Prepare them for a tea that shines a pretty gold.
Curses are easier things to bring into existence than some might think. They are born in fits of passion, born from walking into the wrong place at the wrong time, born from having someone simply hate you. And people hate so very easily, these days.
From the little lamp kept burning bright in Gillian Hewley's room, Genesis watches her wane under the weight of it. Watches as her own self loathing fills the room tight like smoke, goes down to suffocate already failing lungs. Curses can feed themselves so easily. Self hate devours itself. She is on the verge of drowning in it, and he can tell.
But Angeal enters, props her gently up against one broad shoulder and unwittingly helps her breach the surface of the curse. He helps guide the tea into her mouth when shaking fingers cannot hold it up on her own, and it helps wash away the smog of it all - partially from the inherent properties of the flower, raised beneath the evershifting and beautiful chaos of the Banora Whites and on soil blessed by the divine.
Partially it is because things made with dedicated and concentrated love are not things to be underestimated. They are still things to remember, even in the face of overwhelming sadness and pain.
By the time they turn in for sleep, her condition has improved in no small fashion. Almost enough that one might say she is fully recovered. Genesis can still hear the gentle and aching creeks that are inside of her, however, the places where the curse still lingers because it is not the type that lets go so easily when it has fed so well on itself. So in the quiet dark, Genesis leaves from the embers still burning there in the fireplace. He passes by Angeal's slumbering form, waiting there in the chair near to her bed, and he leans over.
A fox's kiss, pressed onto the stressed wrinkles of her forehead. To burn away the last of the contagion. To sign as a beacon every time that the curse threatens to gnaw its way through her heart again.
Loneliness is what feeds curses like that the most. The best way to fight them is to keep her with someone she can hold onto, all throughout the storm.
It is only a week later when Angeal makes his way up to the mountain again. He is still sure-footed, still a little bit severe, but something in his expression has relaxed, now, somewhat. Amused, maybe. At ease. He leaves not apple nor poetry there at Genesis's shrine, but instead another blossom from a Banora White, placed delicately on top of something wrapped up in foil. "Crawfish bread, since I know you're here," he says to the shrine, to Genesis, and doesn't seem surprised at the heat which burns along his back. "You were at my house, weren't you?"
Most people don't realize when he pays a visit, whether that's in salvation or destruction or idle curiosity. Genesis reaches around him, picks at the paper. "Now why would you say a thing like that?"
"I could smell it. Nothing in our house should burn like you do, like smoked apples." While Genesis wrinkles his nose at that comparison - he likes to think he's far more dangerous and biting than just apples - Angeal tugs open the paper to reveal bread that's all melted cheese and spices and crawfish. The heady smell of it makes Genesis's mouth water. "And my mother's been doing better. More than just the tea could do. I'm pretty sure I never gave you either poetry or apples that day, and a blossom doesn't count."
Genesis just laughs at him, because he's sure it annoys Angeal, and plucks the bread from its place. "You paid me in poetry well enough, even if you did not think it such," he tells him. "Poetry is not about just a little limerick. It is about the words, and the cadence, and a bit of fire." He takes a bite, hums in pure pleasure from the rich ttaste that spreads throughout his mouth. Humans and cooking was truly an ingenious decision on someone's part. "You let yourself be free, and I found that to be pleasing to my ears well enough." A swallow, and then a grin. "But if you believe yourself to be in debt, then, by all means, I shall gladly accommodate you."
"And what, exactly, would you want out of a debt like that? I told you that I'm poor."
Genesis thinks of the way he can hear Angeal's heart, hear his desires, hear him like a cave deep in the mountain full of mystery and stability and warmth. Thinks of how he makes his way so comfortably through the mountain, is like a mountain, and how Genesis burns so brightly. How strangely familiar he is, like apple trees and chamomile.
His claws curl lightly up against Angeal's chest, where his heart still beats. The world turning.
"Visit me every day. I think that should be payment enough."
"So, I'm thinking of retiring," Angeal says suddenly one night as they're all relaxing in the Honeybee Inn.
One of the bees who'd been bringing over the latest round of alcohol nearly trips on her own high heels. No one can say that Genesis fairs much better; he had been about to crawl demandingly right onto Sephiroth's lap but those words are enough to make one of his knees misjudge its landing and he nearly slips right off. It's only Sephiroth grabbing at his waist that keeps his chin from slamming into the cushioned seats. "What!?" he squawks, trying to scramble back upright into a respectable position. Or at least one better made for conversation.
Not that Sephiroth can't understand his surprise, honestly. Even he is straightening up, brow furrowing as he tries to think back to the last few months for anything that might have inspired Angeal to this course of action. "Is there something that's been unsatisfying for you?" he finally asks, when nothing comes to mind.
Angeal just shrugs, not seeming concerned in the slightest at the reactions he's caused around him. Why, if Sephiroth didn't know better, he would say that he might even be getting some pleasure out of them. "I wouldn't say that," he replies, waiting until the honeybee sets down their drinks and scurries off like she's about to have a heart attack before he goes to pick up a beer. "It's been going fine, after all. But I think that's all the more reason to step back right now. Take a break while it's all still good, and while I have the time to plan it out better instead of..." He moves the hand holding the beer can around in what Sephiroth has learned is a meaningless gesture. "I don't know. Dying."
"Like anyone would be able to kill you," Genesis snaps, finally righting himself. He doesn't get off of Sephiroth's lap, however, instead preferring to side sideways with one leg still sprawled possessively across Sephiroth's own. "Honestly, you are terribly dramatic."
"Somehow, I think you're the last person that I want to hear that from. Besides, I'm not saying I'm going to die. Just using it as an example of how most guys leave this line of work."
And Sephiroth supposes that out of everyone in Midgar who would know how that sort of thing happens, it would be Angeal and Genesis.
After all, in order to take control of Wall Market, that's what exactly what the two of them did to the last boss.
Sephiroth never met the man personally. According to the stories that he'd picked up about him, likely this is a blessing, for not a single one had been worth any good. There'd not even been a funeral. Of course, that last part may have been because he's fairly certain that Angeal and Genesis put him into an unmarked grave in a ditch somewhere, but that is just semantics, as Genesis would tease him.
All he knows is that he'd met Angeal and Genesis in the middle of their takeover, and that, while messy, it had apparently been a marked improvement. Sephiroth could never had said that from his own experience, not having any before the two of them... It'd just been a marked improvement for the rest of his life.
He can somewhat see the sense in Angeal's argument, with all that in mind, and Sephiroth tilts his head to the side slightly. "Best to settle things during a time of peace, instead of when things are tense or you have active enemies..." Genesis and Angeal obviously have enemies, with the territory they've established for themselves, but no one has been particularly active about it, as far as Sephiroth knows. A sort of truce, for the time being.
"Exactly." Angeal takes a sip of his beer, still reclined comfortably in his own seat. "Besides, it's not like I'd be gone, or if I'm even retiring tomorrow. This is a future thing."
Sephiroth nods along. "Indeed. You have always handled Wall Street with some finesse. I couldn't imagine you doing something so reckless as leaving behind all of this. You aren't Genesis."
"Excuse you."
"Exactly. I've spent all this time setting it up and keeping it safe. I'm not going to set it on fire. I'm not-"
"Honestly, I did not come this far in life and take over the Golden Saucer just to be slandered by a pair of wretched jabbering eels with high ambitions!" Sephiroth has no idea where the 'eel' part came from, and it apparently doesn't matter. Using Sephiroth as an anchor, Genesis leans over to grab Angeal's shirt to drag him over. Although perhaps it cannot be called a proper drag when Angeal is more than willing to follow the gesture, blue eyes shining in amusement. "Wretched, absolutely."
Angeal laughs, a low sound that soon soothes itself into a lower rumble of a sound that's hard to describe... and only comes about from moments like these, when Genesis drives his teeth into the soft of his throat. He adjusts himself, hands bracing against the back of the seat. "Apologies for being so wretched, then. But you don't get any returns."
"Mmm, as though I'd let anyone else take you..."
While the two of them are busy entertaining one another - a common occurrence whenever someone is around them for whatever reason - Sephiroth just ducks under Angeal's arm and around him so that he can reach out for his own drink. By all technicalities, he'd been here as Genesis's companion, and so Genesis had been the one who decided to treat him. That means a classy red wine that matches his hair. It's always red, with Genesis. "How long do you think it will take to properly prepare for retirement, then?" he asks after he's had a couple of sips.
"Probably - mm, probably not that long," Angeal says thoughtfully, while Genesis focuses on making marks on his neck that will be gone by the morning. "A couple of years, at most? I already got someone in mind, actually."
"What." Genesis pulls away from Angeal's neck so suddenly that he cracks the top of his head against Angeal's jaw. "This is certainly news to me."
Angeal rubs at his jaw. "Ow," he says, more obliging than anything else. Genesis has a hard head, and Sephiroth suspects that Angeal's own skull is just as hard to keep up with him. He's managed to know both of them long enough to know that it's a show when they both get stubborn in opposing directions. "And that's because I hadn't really been committed to the idea yet. I was just checking in on some things first, to make sure that I had the right idea. Shown him around a bit. It's not even made it past that much."
Probably why it's only now that Angeal has decided to bring up retiring at all. It's not the sort of thing he'd be inclined into doing if he didn't at least have some sort of lead. "It is somewhat sudden," Sephiroth says quietly.
Delicately easing Genesis's fingers from his shirt, Angeal settles down on the redhead's other side. "I don't think there's a way I could have brought it up and have it not feel sudden," he admits, with some guilt. "Especially when things are going this well. Better than well, in fact." He rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "Almost so good that it's enough to make me nervous."
"You always worry about such things," Genesis sighs, but he settles against Angeal's side almost as if he's melting. As if he wasn't ever supposed to have left him. His free hand tugs a little bit at Sephiroth's long hair in quiet demand.
Well, it's never as if he needed any influence to want to be near Angeal, only permission and guarantee that he's allowed. Having rules in this regard is almost soothing whenever the too wide world is far too much, and this is... a little bit more than he knows how to handle on his own. Sephiroth moves around the cushioned seats easily enough, settling on Angeal's other side. "Is there something in particular that's worrying you?" If there was, they'd take care of it with no small amount of ease... or, even if it were not easy, then Sephiroth has no doubts about how readily he and Genesis would take to the task.
A combination of professional and personal reasons, he supposes. For both of them. On paper, Angeal may simply be the 'boss', the one who tells Sephiroth where to go and who is client is, but their bond - between all three of them - went past simple 'professionalism' a long time ago.
Most of arguably Sephiroth's work consists of sex, which he does not have any particular grudge against. However, he's never hesitated in something somewhat more bloody, whenever it's been necessary.
"I'm telling you, it's nothing specific," Angeal insists. "Besides... It's not like I doubt I'm cut for this much." His fingers tap along cheap aluminum, and Sephiroth waits patiently for him to find the right words he wants to use. "Being the boss of so much, I mean. I'm fine with the people work, I don't mind that. But all the other things are starting to tire me out. And it's not like I can just make a simple change of career, here."
"That sounds as though what you want is a vacation," Sephiroth says thoughtfully.
"I told you we should have gone on a vacation to the beach months ago," Genesis says at the exact same time with a click of his tongue.
Angeal shakes his head, but Sephiroth knows that he can't exactly argue against them. "Listen, that's easier said than done. Besides, retirement is just a nice, long vacation." He shifts his head, just enough so that he can look over at Genesis and quirk up an eyebrow. "Besides, I thought you'd like the idea of me in retirement. Then I could just hang around you, or at our place. Personally, I like the idea of being your trophy husband."
The two of them have apparently known each other for a long time; Sephiroth has gathered that it's nearly their entire lives. This shows most blatantly in how easily Angeal can distract and convince Genesis of things, sometimes, because he certainly knows well enough what Genesis likes. The redhead pauses, gaze sharpening as he considers the mental image of Angeal always waiting for him at their home, work not distracting the two of them nearly as much. A pleased smile crosses his face, and he presses a palm along the curve of Angeal's jaw to pull in another kiss for himself. "Throw in only your apron, and I wouldn't mind that deal at all."
"Are you referring to the apron that says king of sausage?" Sephiroth asks, remembering the occasions he's been able to visit the Hewley-Rhapsodos (aka Rhapsodos-Hewley) residence, named depending on whoever'd won the latest poker match.
"Yes," Angeal says with absolutely zero hesitation.
"Absolutely not," Genesis replies, hand moving to the back of Angeal's head so that he can tug at his hair a bit. "I really am going to find that thing and burn it to ashes, until not even the memory is left. Where on earth did you ever get it?"
"We've gone over this, Gen. You bought it for me. When you were drunk. We never get drunk, how could I throw away a memory of such a rare and precious occasion?"
Genesis swears in Banoran, the language once eloquent and now twisted crassly on his tongue, and Angeal gets another few bite marks along his neck for good measure. This is not a particularly new occurrence, especially with how much Angeal seems to enjoy it. With how easily the two of them seem to heal up, probably there's a point to him constantly encouraging Genesis's teeth.
Of course, with reoccurrence comes experience, and Angeal is still perfectly in control of his faculties as he gives a side glance over to Sephiroth. "So how's the wine tonight?" he asks, as if he and Gen don't pay attention to little details like this.
It's fine, of course, and they both know it. Sephiroth finishes off his latest sip before putting the glass back onto its tray. "Genesis has good taste in his choices," he says, because he knows that it pleases Genesis to hear such things. Sure enough, where his hands are tugging impatiently at Angeal's shirt and his mouth is still stubbornly working a mark into his skin, a low purr starts to sink into tender flesh. But that's not really what's been gently inquired of him, and they both know it. Shifting onto one knee, Sephiroth settles his hand along Angeal's side. "Try for yourself."
Maybe it's because of the prior subject matter, but they somehow manage to keep each other from going more than just one round all together. That's nearly a record, honestly. With how demanding Genesis can get, he often demands a round from Angeal and him each when he has the good fortune of having them both together.
But they're both busy men, and Genesis is a bit far from his own portion of territory that the two have split together. It will take a bit of time, if nothing else, to get back, and clearly he's going to plan for quite a bit just for Angeal bringing up the idea of retirement. "You really do make things so busy for me," Genesis says with a click of his tongue, doing the belt around his hips once again so that he looks vaguely presentable. Or, at the least, so that he won't lose an expensive belt from carelessness. The aesthetic is everything, when it comes to Genesis.
Angeal's clothes have always been a bit more simple: simple no-nonsense pants that blood washes off of easily enough, a tank top that does a good enough job at hiding his piercings, and a open vest that shows off the simple chain necklace there from his neck. Sephiroth has seen him use it as impromptu knuckledusters, when it's been prudent.
That means as Genesis struggles with something with far too many belts, Angeal is free to help Sephiroth with his own mildly complicated outfit, black and skintight, meant to show off his body. This isn't the first time he's helped; Sephiroth can't help but wonder when the last time will be. "How's that?" he asks, once he's tugged some rather troublesome material down into place a little bit better.
It's not even the most uncomfortable position or outfit that Sephiroth's ever been in, but he knows that Angeal gets annoyed if people are uncomfortable and don't tell him. "It should do well enough until I can change," he says, after a slight moment of thought.
Considering that he was the one to choose these clothes at Genesis's encouragement - something properly chosen by himself for himself instead of just the same old wear governed by others for their own reasons - it almost feels a bit foolish to make any complaints on minor things. He suspects that Angeal has an idea of that sort of thinking, but he doesn't say anything about it. There's just a faint quirk of his eyebrow before he steps back. "If you say so. Gen, are you ready yet?"
Genesis pushes his hair back with the heel of his palm, making it look artfully messy instead of where their fingers had been gripping tightly to pull him around. "You cannot rush greatness," he drawls. "But yes, shall we?"
The three of them don't really have a chance to go very far. Or, rather, it's more that Angeal doesn't have a chance to go very far. Which is sort of amusing in its own right, of course, because the three of them had made a beeline ("Ha" had come out of Angeal's mouth before Genesis's fist had landed somewhere in his kidneys) straight for the employee backrooms. With Angeal and Genesis being the names that they are in the lower plates, it's just a less bothersome route. For Angeal especially, with how this is all his territory.
Normally it's less bothersome. Tonight, the second that they make it past all the janitorial equipment that is meant to bore people from venturing any further if they aren't supposed to be here... There is a small platoon of flashily dressed people swarming all around them.
Sephiroth recognizes just about all of them, of course: Honeybee dancers and hostesses still done up to the nines, a few bartenders out of uniform that are normally scattered about Wall Market, various other sex workers who can be found wherever it might be easiest to listen in on something or get a job for the night. He's talked with some of them, but not often. Being unapproachable is still something of a problem with him, it seems... Regardless, he's made sure to know at least most of their faces, even if knowing all their names would be a challenge for anyone.
Much easier to know, on account of all the yelling, is how worked up everyone is.
"What if we start getting ShinRa lackeys busting our balls!?"
"Can I have your job if you don't want it-"
"Dev, shut up you idiot-"
"Is Genesis going to be the new boss!? Please say it's not Genesis-"
Throughout the entire time that the small mob has descended on them, Sephiroth has been taking pains to carefully help move Genesis along the wall and out of the way, even if the redhead has been doing his best to peer over his shoulder for his own entertainment. However, his far-too keen hearing manages to pick up on that last line, and he immediately perks up past Sephiroth's arms. "Hey. How dare you-"
Sephiroth manages to catch Angeal's gaze, in all of this, from where the man looks like he might drown from the force of everyone crowding around him. All he needs is for Angeal to raise his eyebrows pointedly, and Sephiroth moves wordlessly along with what's been asked of him.
His hands aren't exactly soundproof material, but they do well enough for their purposes right now. They've just settled over Genesis's ears when Angeal reaches up, fingers in his mouth for a sharp whistle that cuts through all the clamor. Genesis still wrinkles his nose, of course, and that's better than the alternative. "Calm down," Angeal says with a sigh, as everyone falls quietly obediently enough. "First of all, yes, Genesis is taking over Wall Market. We talked about how first order of business is making you all wear red uniforms."
"Oh, fuck off," Genesis and someone else from within the throng say at the exact same time. Someone had already cackled at one of Angeal's terrible bald-faced lies, but that gets even more laughter.
There's a bit of a grin on Angeal's face before he adjusts his stance, one hand on his hip as he surveys the motley group in front of him. Sephiroth can see the gears turning in his head on just how he should handle this whole mess. No doubt he'd wanted to keep this at least a little more on the down low... But loose lips can cause all sorts of havoc. "Alright, so all I did was think out loud about retiring some time in the future," he decides at last. "I am not retiring right this second or even this year. Try not to spin that in the worst possible light. I'll make a proper announcement..." He rolls his neck a bit, considering that. "In a couple of days. Just so that you can all stop spreading rumors. That's all, so can I walk out of a building unaccosted?"
Having a clear plan of action seems to be enough of a toll to indeed let him pass through without anymore problems. Genesis teases him about it and laughs all the way to the train station, seeming to have exchanged a needle towards himself for some entertainment on watching Angeal be bothered by his own people.
That just leaves the two of them, in the end, as many nights often seem to pass in Wall Market. Sephiroth doesn't mind. He's come to find a kind of serenity in the eternal night that rests down here. Maybe he should miss the sight of the sky more. The fresh air not bogged down by smoke and oil and too many things to name. A daytime that ends, instead of being neverending neon that one only finds respite from in forgotten alleys and apartments with all the blinds shut.
Sephiroth still likes it. Better than what he had before, which felt more restrictive than miles of metal there up above his head. Here, even if he's still unapproachable, there are still people who say his name with a smile. The work he does is pleasurable in his own way, and he gets to make choices for things for himself.
The clothes he wears. The places he goes, down here in Wall Market. The food he'll decide to eat tonight for dinner, whether that's something from a restaurant or a recipe he tries to carefully follow from Angeal's handwriting.
Maybe they're still limited, in many ways, from what he does for a living now... But he's come to learn that might just be how it is to live as an individual restricted to one's own body. Considering that he once never felt as though he would have much freedom to do anything, even this much is on occasion overwhelming.
Of course, for what seems overwhelming and more than enough to him is often something that others disagree on. It always seems as though they're giving him more and more, even after all these years.
Angeal proves that much, as the two of them step up towards the plainly labeled 'HQ' of Wall Market which doubles as a place for Angeal to stay at on occasion when he doesn't want to make his own short trip home. "So, what do you think?" he asks him, as they pass by the guards keeping things in order around the place and up the steps. "About the idea of me retiring."
With how much he's been talking about it, Sephiroth has to admit that he didn't think Angeal would want to talk more about it, and he blinks. "Well, I can see where your reasoning came from," he answers as they shut the double doors behind them, heading straight for the master suite tucked away deep inside the manor. "You explained it all clearly enough. Running territory like this is no small feat, and I imagine the extent of it was not something you and Genesis could have truly known when you first came down here. Whether it is a vacation or retirement, I can understand why you would want to step away from it."
And that's just how it is, isn't it? There aren't any flaws in Angeal's logic. If he's having problems, then he's having problems with the role. Just like Sephiroth is allowed to choose things for himself, so is Angeal... and he has faith in Angeal making sure to leave behind as little a mess as possible.
Opening the door to his room, Angeal looks over his shoulder with one of those faint and far too serious frowns of his. "Not like that. I meant... Personally. Do you, Sephiroth RH, like or not like the idea of me retiring?"
Oh. Now that isn't a question Sephiroth expected to have to answer. Not today, or any time in the future, really. Angeal had wanted to do it, he'd given perfectly sensible reasons for why he wanted to do it, and so what else really needed to be said? Being actually asked about it makes him pause, even as he steps inside of Angeal's room.
Although with the way that he's organized things, it's become more of a very small studio apartment more than anything else. Very practical, very efficient: a large bed that can actually handle someone of Angeal's frame, a small countertop resting atop a fridge and freezer with cupboards above it stuffed full with more food than anything else, the large wardrobe in the corner that holds clean changes of clothes and a secret entrance out of the building in case of the worst. And there, resting in its place held off of the floor, Buster. The only place that offers any privacy is a small door leading into a small shower and toilet.
"Want dinner?" Angeal asks him over his shoulder as though he didn't ask the question he did, already crouching down in front of the fridge to judge what he has in there. With him, it's almost always something fresh, even with how difficult that can be down here sometimes. One of the few privileges that Angeal permits himself to be spoiled with, along with the millions of potted plants that flourish here.
For lack of much other furniture, Sephiroth sits down on the edge of the bed. "If you're making enough," he says simply, which means that Angeal will of course make something that's more than enough. That much is proven when Angeal opts to pull out a thick cooking pot from somewhere within his cooking supplies, and begins pulling out what looks like crawfish from his fridge. Sephiroth isn't entirely sure where he got them; crawfish don't really live around Midgar last he checked.
While Angeal gets to stirring in oil and flour together into the pot, Sephiroth is given a moment to just... reflect on his own emotions. On the idea of a future where Angeal has stepped back from Wall Market.
It's a strange mental image. He almost can't picture it, honestly. When he thinks of Wall Market, he thinks of Angeal, just like how he always thinks of Genesis when he thinks of the Golden Saucer. Certainly, he can think of different stages of Wall Market, falling in step with the different facets of Angeal he's seen over the years, too.
Wall Market, people looming in the corners with weapons at the ready. Angeal, blue eyes too bright with neon reflected and always tense.
Wall Market, construction on every other corner as people covered up blood or damage while new energy pulsed through the streets. Angeal, hair pulled back in a tiny little ponytail while he bowed his head to Genesis's and the two of them talked about ambition.
Wall Market, present, glittering, still hiding blood and dark deals in the shadows directly under its lights, but with a lot more vitality to it as people keep moving in and out. Angeal, settled, sturdy, an ever present tide that pulls the sands of his territory with him to shape it all patiently. The Angeal that's standing in front of him right now, stirring the roux of their dinner patiently as though none of that matters.
If Angeal stops being the boss of Wall Market... Would all of this still be the same?
The success, the safe conditions, even probably the safety of everyone who works for him... That would probably still remain mostly intact, Sephiroth suspects. If Angeal is going to choose someone himself, then that much would at least be the bare minimum requirement. He's not lacking in any faith in that area.
But what about this room? Sephiroth closes his eyes. Ever since he first got to know him, Angeal has always had the best nose out of anyone he's met, but Sephiroth's own isn't that bad either... and it's more than enough to take in the scent that Angeal has established in this one simple little room. The steaming smell of onions and other vegetables that he's added into the pot, how the basil and mint and every other herb in the room flourishes happily from all the hard work he's put into it, and even the subtle bitter tang of sword polish. Buster's regular maintenance was today.
What would a theoretical new boss do? Keep it as a little room to rest in? Change it into an office, or an armory? Would it still be the same even if they didn't change anything at all?
There's a small hum from Angeal, a snippet of some Banoran song that he never finishes. Sephiroth doesn't know if he's ever hummed every part of the song. It seems different every time, somehow, although Sephiroth knows that isn't logical. Every song has a start, and an end.
"He just can't remember songs," Genesis had teased, once, when they'd all been gathered in the Rhapsodos-Hewley apartment, away from here. "Art is truly wasted on him." And Angeal had threatened to remove all the spice from his dish.
The new boss probably doesn't even know any Banoran. It's a long ways away. A quiet little country town, filled with apples.
"I wouldn't like the change," he says while Angeal is in the middle of adding the crawfish, and actually hearing the words from his own throat actually surprises him even as he'd been actively thinking about it all this time. Even after all these years, admitting to selfishness feels... strange. Like sinking his hands into mud.
But Genesis and Angeal have never judged him for any bits of selfishness, encouraged it when they could. All Angeal does is stop his humming - it was nearing its end anyway - and set the lid onto the pot. "It's a lot," he concedes, before he turns away from his small portable stove and walks over to him. Where he sits, the mattress sinks notably. There's a comfort in that kind of weight. "You know, if you didn't want me to retire, then I wouldn't."
Sephiroth turns to stare at him, feeling even more out of his depth than before. It shouldn't matter what I want is almost out of his lips despite everything, but he manages to catch himself. Besides, that'd just get them sidetracked, and they don't need that right now. "Why would what I think be a factor?" he says, which is at least slightly different and enough for him to expand upon. He leans forward, elbow to knee, hand to jaw. "I am your employee, and this is by all means your business. If you want to retire... I think you should do so."
"It'd be a factor because it'd make you uncomfortable," Angeal answers simply, bracing his hands back behind him as he leans back. "Just because you work under me doesn't mean you aren't important to me," he points out. "You've been with me and Genesis since the beginning. I'm not so low that I don't appreciate that."
"You are still technically my boss."
"And you are most definitely a close friend who got me this far in the first place," Angeal points out. "Honestly, Gen and me both. Helping us raise money, keeping me safe when Gen couldn't be here because he had to deal with things over on his end... Just because you aren't calling the shots doesn't mean you're any less important, Seph. And we all know the only reason you still stay in the streets is because you hate being in the spotlight."
"Calling me out neatly tonight, I see."
"It's what you and Gen both need sometimes," Angeal says without batting an eye. What goes unsaid is that they, in exchange, return the favor. "Anyway, how about this: you can get the final say in who I'm going to show off to everyone in the business, in a couple of nights."
Now, isn't that quite a responsibility. "Is that truly all right?"
Angeal does one of those cool little raised eyebrow gestures of his. "If I retire and he takes my place, that means he's going to be your boss," he points out. "If you approve of him or not is just a show on if he's fit to run things in my place."
"And if I purposefully give him a poor score to keep you here?"
Far from being deterred, Angeal just gives a teasing and arrogant smirk. "By all means. If he doesn't get a challenge like that, he won't grow."
Of course. That's exactly like Angeal, isn't it? Sephiroth tilts his head down, long hair sliding down over his shoulder, and chuckles. "I suppose you have a point," he says in response. "If someone cannot do something like that, then they will not last even the slightest bit down here." Well, he supposes he'll be his own judge on just how much of a hard time he should give Angeal's successor. For now... He'll do his best to keep his plans and opinions open.
There's not much time to think heavily on it. Angeal suddenly straightens up with a quiet swear, and goes right back to his feet and then his miniature kitchen. "Almost forgot the rice - and I should probably make some sides, while I'm at it."
Not a lot of people would go to such efforts when it's just them, and the person working under them. But then... Angeal's always been different that way. Something about his own personal 'honor', whatever that seems to mean. Sephiroth knows he's not the only one who's spent a night here, when Angeal has opened up his door to any of his workers who were kicked out of their apartment or had to make a run from a bad situation. Knows he's not the only person who he's even cooked for, here in this little tiny room. There's a reason the workers down here in Wall Market wanted to hold onto him so tightly, at just the idea that he might be leaving.
But Angeal reaches down into one of the cupboards, pulls out a small container. "I have some pork pâté I made a little while ago," he says over his shoulder. "Still your favorite thing I make, right?"
Sephiroth likes all the food that Angeal makes for him, whether it's the quick food that often gets passed off in restaurants here in Midgar, or the quiet more homey things that some of the other workers have talked about when referencing their own pasts. He adores the flavorful meals that Angeal and Genesis both know, brought from their hometown.
But one night, early on in their relationship where Angeal would stock up on things and not go outside so easily, not yet, he'd bitten into one of the little meat pastries and had to tuck it into his cheek, puffing out the heat from surprise. He'd made a comment, back then. Something silly, something he's honestly long since forgotten because he hadn't thought that it would be important. Something about the flavor, the taste of herbs that he'd never had a chance to be familiar with before he ever met them.
Angeal had never forgotten. He'd always make them for him, or have some pre-made if he ever thought that Sephiroth would stop by. Certainly, he has no doubt that if he said he didn't want them anymore, then Angeal would stop making them. But he doesn't.
Sephiroth just says, "It is."
That's all Angeal needs before he turns back to his work, and Sephiroth gets up. He has a feeling that he's going to be staying the night here at HQ, and, if that's the case, then he'd much rather undress some of the more complicated aspects to his outfit. It's all well and good, black leather that weathers a great deal and doesn't stain easily, but it is not exactly the perfect sleepwear. The perfect sleepwear would be in Angeal's closet, where he has some plain t-shirts that are just slightly larger on Sephiroth's frame than would actually fit. It's fine; that's all he needs.
By the time he's gotten all the leather off and Angeal's shirt on, it would appear that most of the proper cooking has been accomplished already, with the room smelling of warm spices that makes even his stomach stir a bit. Despite that, when he presses up against Angeal's back, cheek to shoulder and some of his long silver hair brushing against bare skin, Angeal still says, "Hair up in the kitchen."
"The kitchen is a part of an open room." But this is just a silly bit of semantics they make fun of each other for, really, and Sephiroth still obliges in the end. It doesn't take that much for him to pull his hair back, a quick and loose bun that will do well enough. This much hair, it's the best he can do. "You know, I do have client who pay extra for something like that," Sephiroth points out. There is apparently something appealing about the sight of a lover in one's own clothing. Sephiroth would know from experience he's picked up in his line of work, and also because he knows that it pleases Angeal as well.
Normally, anyway. Angeal flashes him a teasing grin. "I'm cooking you dinner, I'm not paying you anything."
"That is rather cheap of you, Angeal," Sephiroth comments dryly, but he's smiling a bit, too. Angeal is always cheap when it comes to himself, and hungry for a good deal when it comes to a lot of other things in life too. The only things he's not cheap about are keeping his territory safe and healthy, and sending money back to his parents in Banora.
Sometimes Sephiroth knows how to coax more out of him... but most of the time, he doesn't. He likes Angeal too much, respects him too much, to abuse the trust that he's been given in turn.
And he wouldn't trade anything in the world for the way that Angeal bumps his shoulder against his, and hands him a plate to fill as he likes.
Not every person under Angeal can make it to the little meeting he hosts at the Honeybee Inn, on account of numbers and scheduling conflicts and everything else. Yet a great deal more people than even Sephiroth was expecting do show up, filling up the Honeybee Inn during some hours that are arguably for cleaning and are more often for messing around. Or, in this case, gossip about what Angeal is doing, and who he might be introducing to them all.
All Sephiroth can say to those that ask him is that he trusts Angeal, and that Angeal won't be retiring soon. Other than that, he must admit that he is in the dark as anyone else for just who Angeal has decided to choose to succeed him.
At least Angeal doesn't keep the group waiting in suspense for very long. There's a few minutes time given to any stragglers who might have caught a late train, or got delayed because of whatever else happens on this particular plate, which is anything and everything... But soon enough their boss steps up onto the stage in the main entertainment area where a lot of the shows are put on, because nowhere else in the entire building could fit what is probably the entirety of Midgar's sex network.
(This is probably an exaggeration. Sephiroth does not feel it is much of one. People go quickly to a boss that treats them well, and Angeal does not skimp on such things. There were a lot of people who slipped away to his employment once he was able. Anyone who chased after and thought they could pick a fight... lost.)
Unlike the last time he was swarmed by a group in the Honeybee Inn, Angeal doesn't have to whistle to bring order around him. Instead, just the presence of him is enough to quiet down all the chattering. Not a person is here who isn't interested in seeing what his plans for the future are, after all. This little fact does not escape Angeal. "I see that I've ended up fostering a workplace environment of nosiness," he comments dryly, which earns a couple of laughs from the workers. Where he's settled in a small booth to the side, Sephiroth smiles a bit as well. "Not that I guess I could have expected anything less from the group where someone's gossip kind of made me have to have this meeting way earlier than I would have liked.
"Most of you have an idea of what this is about. I would say that most of you have gotten caught up in gossip, so we'll clear that up first and foremost: No, I'm not retiring tonight. Or tomorrow. Not this week either, or this month. It's not in the cards for the entire year, either. Probably not a good few, unfortunately for me."
Some of the nervous energy in the room dissipates with just that simple reassurance. Sephiroth doesn't even need enhanced senses to tell that much. It's in the light way some of the hosts and hostesses smile at each other, relieved they won't have to worry about a boss that won't care if they make a complaint about a customer. He can hear it in the whistled out breaths of relief from other sex workers like himself, poledancers and strippers and the ones out on the streets who know they can call for help and have it answered. Someone somewhere in the throng claps their hand to the back of a friend - the bouncers of more than a few establishments in the place. Angeal knows how dirty work is. They rely on him like they wouldn't anyone else just here for the money.
Angeal lets a little bit of chatter happen for a second, understanding a release is needed, before he continues. "That isn't to say I don't want to retire at some point, because I do. And I intend to start working on that long before it actually happens. So you'll be seeing someone new around for a while trailing after me. It's not decided that he's going to replace me in the future. Consider it more of a... test trial."
That starts up the gossip all over again, which Angeal must have expected. Still, Sephiroth supposes this sort of thing couldn't be helped. Gossip would have started up one way or another if someone new just started hanging around Angeal for so long, so consistently. At least this way, Angeal can get out the truth to the most people at once. That's... something.
This time, Angeal does have to let loose a whistle again, the sharp sound bouncing up against the incredibly high ceilings. "How things run might change slightly, because it's not like I'm making a clone of myself," he says dryly, "but not the base things which are most important to all of you. Pay, protection - those are things I'll make sure stay in place even if I do leave. And if somehow they go wrong, you have my permission to throw the new guy into a ditch and drag me out of retirement again. Just try to give him a starting shot-"
A door in the back opens up. Most of the people in the inn don't look back at it. A couple do, because they're close enough. Sephiroth isn't close enough, by normal standards, but he still notes it regardless. It looks like a young man, black hair... Familiar, somehow? And yet Sephiroth is fairly certain that he's not seen him regularly at the Honeybee Inn, or out on the streets.
Before he has much more time to ponder this new arrival, or dismiss him - whichever would come first - the man perks up and energetically waves up at Angeal even as he shuts the door behind him. And it is at Angeal that he's waving to, not anyone else in the large group that's gathered tonight. Sephiroth knows that because Angeal actually shifts his head a bit, acknowledges this new arrival. "Speak of devils," he comments dryly. "Zack - you're late."
"Sorry, Angeal!" says this newcomer, Zack, although his body soon disappears in the group of people as he tries to make his way up to the stage. This would theoretically not be hard, since there is still plenty of room even with everyone here, but, well. Zack is the new guy of the hour. People are interested in him now that Angeal is actually acknowledging him, and Sephiroth thinks he can hear some laughter. "Whoa - hi, excuuuuse me, just - coming through, sorry about the feathers!" Angeal waits patiently up on the stage, before Zack finally manages to push through, and scrambles up to him eagerly. At least he's not lacking for energy, Sephiroth can say that much.
And some measure of optimism, too, showing in the way that he grins widely back at everyone even as he has to stand in front of so many. Someone, perhaps, automatically suited to the spotlight. Sephiroth can't quite relate.
Angeal just puts a hand along the back of Zack's neck, keeping him neatly in place. Smart idea; this one seems like the type that would leap right off of the stage and get into all sorts of nonsense before the rest of them have had a chance to even hear his name. But then, there's something familiar about the way that Angeal's hand settles, too... "For those paying attention, I probably don't have to explain much. For the rest of you, then this is Zack, and Zack is going to be hanging around to see how I do business down here in Wall Market. I'm trusting you all to take care of him while he's here with me. Got it?"
There's some actual verbal responses, some that aren't so verbal, but that hardly matters to Sephiroth right now. Instead, as he watches Angeal lightly shove Zack off back into the throng where he seems more than happy to talk to people, it occurs to him that he knows now why Zack had seemed so familiar.
This isn't the first time that he's seen Zack at Angeal's side. Granted, he's not seen him often, not like how Genesis and Angeal used to be absolutely inseparable, but... He had still noted, at a distance, the appearance of someone new at Angeal's side as he'd gone about to do some of his average business down on the plate. Walking off to check something with the younger man in tow, keeping him waiting in a chair somewhere at HQ before he came out for something... Only a small smattering of occasions like that. Nothing noteworthy at the time. Sephiroth had honestly thought that he was another sex worker at first that Angeal was dealing with for whatever reason.
He had also caught sight, once, of Zack against a wall, mouth desperately trying to devour or be devoured by Angeal's own, hands pawing at that muscular chest. He'd been whining for it, hungry.
Admittedly, that last part had done a lot on the impression that this was just another sex worker being taken into the fold. Angeal didn't normally lay a hand on his own workers in that matter, but, well. Sephiroth knew better than anyone that there could certainly be the occasional exception.
And Zack seems more than excited enough to be here as he stands amidst his new coworkers, those who potentially might be his if the future plays out right. It's like watching a tiny excited dog, standing amidst much larger ones... The braced stance, the alert way he stands, how he's practically vibrating with excitement as everyone takes a look at him and asks questions. Angeal says something about that being it for what he wanted to say, but it's only when he's made his way over to Sephiroth's table that he properly looks up at his boss. "So what do you think?" Angeal asks him casually, sliding into the booth along with him.
That is something of a question, considering that Sephiroth's experiences with Zack so far have been seeing Zack follow after Angeal, Zack being late for a meeting where Angeal introduced him, getting excited being around so many people, and the time he practically tried to grind himself to completion against Angeal while digging his fingers against his chest.
Still, it's all enough to at least give him something to work with, for now. Sephiroth leans back in his seat, observing the potential boss. "He has a lot of energy," he remarks after a moment, which he supposes is rather like stating that the sky is nonexistent this far down in the plates. "And he seems to be making a good impression on a lot of people already." At least, those immediately around him don't appear to be actively glaring at him, and more than a few are smiling and laughing at whatever it is that he's talking about. "However... What does he actually know about running a business like this?" Sephiroth frowns somewhat. "And how well does he know Seven? I've never seen him around Wall Market before."
Important questions, for whoever is going to take over Wall Market if Angeal truly does accomplish his dream of a simple retirement. Yet Angeal doesn't seem perturbed, just drapes his arms along the back of his seat. "He knows absolutely nothing," he says, upfront and honest. The words aren't exactly reassuring, but Angeal's honesty, funnily enough, is. "But neither did I, when I first arrived in Midgar. And neither did Gen, although he had a slight edge in knowing how to handle a business."
"So you're going to spend your time teaching him, then."
Angeal shrugs. "I was always going to have to have to spend a lot of time teaching anyone I decided on," he says matter of factly. "There's more to this place than just business. More to this place than just knowing it. I have a duty to the people here in Wall Market, and it'd tarnish my honor if I just tossed it aside without even the slightest attempt to keep it going after I was gone."
Sometimes, Genesis rolls his eyes at the idea that Angeal seems to have of honor - especially as a crime boss, of all things. Sephiroth likes it. It's something... distinctly Angeal. Some sort of ideal that seems to keep him better than anyone else out on the streets.
After all, a great many people really would just hand it off, and wash their hands of the whole affair.
"I suppose that is why you said that it would at least take a few years for you to retire," Sephiroth muses. If he's going to be teaching someone everything about Wall Market, from the location itself to the business to its people, their people, then a good few years is the very least that is required. Probably even better would be many years of it, but, well, Angeal had said he wanted to retire. Too many years would be too long. "Although I do wonder where you picked him up in particular."
"Well, it was a ShinRa thing-"
That sounds like an interesting start to a story already, but Angeal doesn't have time to properly go into it. Instead, Zack manages to make his way out from the throng of people - most of which have lessened now as jobs and homes had to be gone to - and heads straight for the two of them. "Angeal!" he exclaims, the name an elated sound on his lips, before he stumbles a bit at the sight of Sephiroth, too.
This isn't a reaction he is unused to, by any means. He is one of the most striking individuals in the employment here in Wall Market, and even people who've heard of him tend to be caught off guard by the actual sight of him. In the many years he's worked in the business of sex, Sephiroth has learned how to use that to his advantage.
A part of him ponders doing that right now. Angeal had said to test his potential successor... and seeing how well he'd respond to a pretty face is a good measure of judgment on just how reliable he can be. For the time being, instead of going all out, he teases him, just a bit.
It doesn't take much. Just a tilt of his head, making sure that his silver hair catches the lights just so. Draws attention to the curve of his neck, exposed for once thanks to the long neckline of his current black shirt. Looks over to him from underneath pale eyelashes, bright green all the brighter in the dim lighting of the Honeybee Inn.
Zack, having gotten his feet under him again, nearly trips on a step up towards their table.
A soft snort of amusement comes from the side, Angeal, but no doubt his face is a little more schooled into place. He's rather good at that; it absolutely infuriates Genesis at times. "Eyes up, Zack," he says dryly, and that seems to be enough to get Zack back in working order as he bounds up the rest of the short steps. "So, going to tell me why you were late? I distinctly recall telling you that this was going to be fairly important."
There is this to be said for Zack: he has a rather boyish, almost puppyish, kind of charm to him. It was no doubt apparent from the very start, when he first started to make his way through the crowd, but it's especially apparent now as Angeal rebukes him. His shoulders rise up a bit, sheepish as his hands spread out helplessly, and his wide blue eyes are quite expressive even from beneath crumpled brows. "C'mon, Angeal, don't be like that!" he protests, a hint of whine to his voice. Sephiroth tries to recall how similar it is to the one he made when he was kissing Angeal. "I couldn't help it! I got delayed!"
"Delayed doing what, exactly?"
Not only expressive eyes, but expressive hands, too, flailing all about as Zack gestures. "I was helping some people out! And, I know, I know that you told me that this was important, and I wasn't trying to ignore that on purpose. I just thought, hey, this will take just a second, right? Except then things might have kiiiiiiinda spiraled out of control, so..."
"Funny how things tend to spiral out of control with you," Angeal remarks dryly, before he shakes his head. No doubt he's shelving this for a later, when he can grill Zack a little more effectively in private. "Anyway... This is Sephiroth." He inclines his head in his direction, as though introductions ever really have to be made when it concerns him. Most people, if they have any idea of what they're doing when they come to this area of town or when they contact the market's many "offices", know well enough who he is. Introductions are really just a nicety at this point. "Don't forget him, since you'll be working with him at least a few times."
That could mean anything, really... but Sephiroth has some confidence in Angeal. Enough to imagine that, if he ever has to work 'alongside' Zack in any capacity, Angeal will talk with him about it first.
"I don't think I could ever forget him," Zack says immediately in response. It almost sounds like a line, honestly, and Sephiroth has heard more than his fair share of them since settling on Seven. But he looks in those wide starry eyes set in a fidgeting frame, and. Hm. This is 100% non-scripted and actually genuine, isn't it?
A rare occurrence, although not impossible. Sephiroth finds himself smiling slightly before he really thinks to stop himself.
This wouldn't really be a problem in any other situation, but Sephiroth can tell even without looking that Angeal is doing that little quirked up smile of his. The one that shows in his eyes more than anything. Honestly. He must have known that something like this was going to happen. Terrible. Sephiroth doesn't bother to wipe the smile from his lips regardless. "I'll look forward to working with you, Zack," is what he says in the end.
Zack lights up brighter than neon, but that flickers when Angeal pushes himself up to his feet. "Alright, introductions are done with," he announces simply. "Let's go."
"Go?" Zack's expression twists into quite the amusing countenance, torn between elation and disappointment. It's painfully clear that he'd rather been hoping that he could stick around a little while longer - whether in the flash of the Honeybee Inn, or perhaps for Sephiroth himself. He's not so arrogant as to make a guess on which. "Where are we going?"
"Most of the important people who need to know you, know you. We can go around and making some proper introductions, now. Get you an idea how the main areas of Wall Market work."
"Do I have to take notes?"
"You'd lose any notes you took," Angeal informs him plainly, and Sephiroth hides his smile behind his fingers, a bit. "Just try to pay attention for when I have you actually doing things."
The prospect of doing apparently anything seems to perk Zack up well enough. "Yessss," he cheers quietly, pumping his fist like this is some massive victory. Someone who learns best by doing, it seems. "Then let's get a move on! Where are we going next?"
"There's a few places around the immediate area you could probably stand to get a handle on... We'll try some of the big businesses first." Resting his hand on the back of the booth, Angeal inclines his head towards Sephiroth, now. "Thanks for showing up for today. I'll keep you updated on how things turn out." And with that, he takes his leave, lightly rapping his knuckles along Zack's shoulder to have him follow after. This doesn't, of course, stop Zack from peering over his shoulder and waggling his fingers excitedly at Sephiroth in good bye.
Really, it's as though Angeal has picked up an energetic little puppy. Actually.... Hadn't he heard Angeal commenting to one of the Honeybees recently about finding a cute new puppy, even though Genesis had clearly made no reference to any such things? Honestly now. Sephiroth waves back.
Of course, when Angeal talks about keeping him updated, it's also just as much keeping Genesis updated.
A crime boss and a casino owner - together they might just make for the richest pair in all of Midgar, even if individually they can't hold a candle to something like ShinRa. However, that means both of them have to do a great deal of things to keep it all running smoothly, and exactly as they want it. Especially with how so many people would be glad to leap upon any perceived weakness in either Wall Market or the Golden Saucer. Anything to take it for themselves, or make steps towards that goal.
In contrast, Sephiroth has considerably less on his plate. Due to his popularity and the prices Angeal makes sure don't dip for any of his people, it's not as though he's lacking for money, either. So, even though none of them really agreed to any of it out loud...
One way or the other, he always finds a way to the Golden Saucer, where Genesis is more than happy to spoil him.
Today, that means being near the chocobo racetrack, where the redhead is applying affection to a particularly brilliant blue stud. "What do you think?" he asks him, palms braced carefully along the edge of the massive bird's beak.
It was a good choice to dress a little more plainly today, even if there is still a lot of leather involved. But that's a tactical choice. Stray feathers don't stick quite as easily to his leather compared to any other material he could wear, and that's a benefit as he walks a little further into the stall. Tall boots were also a smart choice; Angeal was right to insist he get at least one sensible pair all those years ago. "A new acquisition?" he asks, taking in the rather patient temperament. No anxiety at the prospect of another and very new person into the stall, just a quiet observation of him - silver reflected in that large black eye. "The feathers seem to be a bit different than that which I'm used to. Were you talked out of buying another red?"
"Oh, hush," Genesis says, with a click of his tongue. "I would have you know that I have more sense than that and you very well know it. While a flock of brilliant crimson would certainly be a sight to behold, it does not fair well on the racetrack. There, they are most glorious when bedazzling the crowd in a mosaic of color, like stained glass in a forgotten church."
"Very poetic."
"Thank you, I am glad that someone can properly appreciate my talents."
That draws out a soft chuckle from Sephiroth. Well, it is good to see that Genesis is in a fine mood, today. Perhaps his new companion is helpful in that regard, for it has quite a calming sort of personality. At least, it just makes a soft little trill in its throat when Sephiroth runs his hand along its long neck, and ends in a little beep.
Yes, this close, and being able to touch the creature... It is quite different from the chocobo that Genesis normally buys for the track. There's something about that sensation which is far smoother than a chocobo feather normally is. A different breed entirely, perhaps?
"What kind of environment does this one grow in?" he asks, curious despite himself. "With how slick they are... A water-inclined breed?"
It would explain the slight difference in the feathers, and, now that he's closer, he thinks there may be something different to its feet, as well. Yet, still, it is undeniably a chocobo. Genesis chuckles a bit, fingers sinking through the feathers and guiding themselves along one folded wing. "Truly, nothing gets past you, does it, our eagle-eyed partner?" he teases. "But yes - this is a rather rare little breed that I heard about, so when I heard there was a chance to get it for myself, I knew that I would be daft to pass it up. I have thought about having some construction do to make a more water-themed route for the races, but... Well, that would perhaps end up far too pricey as an immediate venture."
"So this one will become a more minor side attraction," Sephiroth concludes with a small nod. "At least unless you can breed more of them. Well, for all that this one has moved quite a ways from its original home, it seems happy enough here." His hands fall away from the bird, just to give it a bit more space. "...His name is Zack, if you were interested. Last name Fair."
Immediately, Genesis's nose wrinkles, and he pulls his hand away. "What a poetic surname," he sighs. "And yet I cannot be particularly pleased about it. I haven't heard anything about him in Midgar. Where on earth is he from and how did Angeal find him?"
Fortunately, these are questions that Sephiroth had as well, and that Angeal had at least shown some courtesy by leaving a quick note at his place. Everything else, well, he'd picked up from gossip.
There are a lot of gossips, fortunately, at the Honeybee Inn. He doesn't think that they started there, or that Angeal picked them for that particular quality, but it is most certainly how the hive has turned out regardless. Sometimes, it works out well enough to all their advantages.
"The details are somewhat lost on me, or, at the very least, I can't yet tell you what fact or fiction is," Sephiroth begins, "but everyone seems to be on agreement that he managed to poach him from the SOLDIER recruitment process." He pauses, so that Genesis can get out his sharp bark of laughter. ShinRa is an important source of revenue for both the Market and the Saucer, of course, or at least its employees are... But, well, strong powers will always be at odds with strong powers. It's simple to say that there's no particular love lost between them. Sephiroth can take some bitter amusement from the whole thing as well.
When the cackling has subsided, Sephiroth continues. "You are correct in that he's not from Midgar - apparently he's from a small town called Gongaga."
"Gongaga?" Genesis wrinkles his nose. "That sounds positively backwater."
A moment passes. Genesis squints at him. Sephiroth politely says nothing, especially nothing on the fact that they both know that Genesis can't really say anything on anyone being from somewhere backwater. Banora may have its rise to acknowledgment with posters for the apples everywhere you turn even in Midgar, but it's still... very country, from what Sephiroth understands. While Angeal seems to think that it's amusing that some "country hick" like him can become a crime boss in a place like Midgar - the crime boss, really, depending on who you ask - Genesis seems as though he would much rather blunt force trauma everyone in existence so they remember what Banora is.
Another little difference between them.
"Regardless, that he was in the running for SOLDIER proves that his physical capabilities should be worth something," he says, eventually. Certainly nothing worse than what most thugs there in the Market, honestly.
All Genesis does is scoff, bending down to pluck a stray feather off from the ground inbetween his fingers. "Please, as though SOLDIER is anything special," he says dismissively. Not a lot of people would say something like that, but... From someone like Genesis, with more than enough reserves in him to set no small portion of Midgar alight. Angeal, from what Sephiroth can tell, never quite got a handle on materia in a similar way...
But Angeal can take that very same high level magic Genesis is capable of at point-blank range and get right back up again, looking no worse for the wear outside of burned clothing.
That's not even talking about Sephiroth himself. He'd prefer to keep it that way.
"There still has to be a reason that he caught Angeal's eye," he points out, earning a huff from Genesis's lips. "Still, energy and personality seem to be his strongest points... Not so much some other qualities that has helped Angeal settle Wall Market."
It is a very generous way of putting it. Genesis is not nearly so generous. "Oh, so he's an imbecile," he declares with a dramatic sigh. "And that is who Angeal wants to put in charge of the Market? After all the hard work he put into it?" He rakes his fingers through it, almost seemingly more annoyed at the changes happening in his partner's territory than anything that might occur in his own. Then again, the two of them have always seemed to operate this way: anything that's Angeal's is Genesis's, and vice versa. It's just that Genesis is the one most likely to meddle. "I normally understand everything going through that head of his, and yet I must admit that this is a mystery to me."
"You could always go down to see him yourself," Sephiroth suggests. Whether he means Angeal or his new protégé, well, that's up to Genesis.
The responding head shake is not entirely surprising. "No... At least, if I go to visit Angeal, it will be as I always do." His lips thin a bit, displeasure in very bit of the gesture. "He did say that eventually retiring was something he wished to do... And Wall Market is, in the end, his territory to deal with. Unless something truly egregious occurs, or it involves the Golden Saucer, then I suppose I do not have too much of a right to get involved."
Not too much of a right still means he has something of a right, of course. A neat little loophole for Genesis. Sephiroth doesn't call him out on this, either, only smiles. "Of course. Regardless, nothing of particular interest has happened yet... or else I would have a far more exciting tale to pass onto you."
"Oh, I imagine it is simply a matter of time before something fascinating happens," Genesis with a dismissive wave of his hand, brilliant blue feather fluttering with the motion. "It is Wall Market, after all. Well, enough of that." Reaching over, he deposits the feather right there behind Sephiroth's ear, and smiles a bit as though pleased with the picture that he's brought to life. "Shall I treat you to dinner, as compensation for having you come all this way?"
There's no actual need for him to 'pay' Sephiroth, of course. He came here because Genesis is someone dear to him, because he wants to make sure that him and Angeal are on the same page. Because it's nice, to be with the two of them.
It took... perhaps no small amount of time, and a bit of explaining from Angeal, that this is just another way that the two of them show affection to him. A way that they take care of him, and get to spend time with him. It seems kind of silly to make excuses for things that both parties clearly want - Angeal had conceded that much when Sephiroth had pointed it out to him - but sometimes the performance was a part of it.
Honestly, being close with Genesis has taught him a lot about the connection between performance and being human.
"If it won't get in the way of anything," he responds in turn, although he has to chuckle when the two of them exit the stables. "You know, the night that Angeal first told us about his idea of retiring... He also treated me to dinner."
Genesis shakes his head, but he doesn't seem particularly surprised. "All the money in the world, and he still insisted on having that little kitchen installed instead of simply hiring his own personal chef," he sighs. "What will I do with him? And he didn't even invite me." That last part, they both know, is the true issue at hand. Angeal has only really cooked for himself, family, and Genesis before he arrived in Midgar, and yet his cooking has a quality to it that Sephiroth finds hard to describe. Nice. Pleasant. Something he'd be happy eating every night, and he knows Genesis feels the same. "Well, it shall not be the fine dining of a crime boss's single suite in the back of a crime den, but you'll be treated to the finest of Golden Saucer cuisine."
While Sephiroth has other things to do in his life than stay by Angeal's side all the time, it's hard for even him to miss how much of a constant presence Zack soon becomes in the area. Certainly, he'd picked up on his existence once or twice before any announcement, but the difference from then and in the present is stark.
Not all of it is by Angeal's side, either. Oh, yes, he's there as well - tagging along behind Angeal as he goes through the territory, forced to sit down in the office with his head in his hands as terribly dull math is explained to him, running full sprint out the door while Angeal yells at his back to calm down not inside the building Zack. That much is just to be expected, in all honestly.
But more often than not, he can be found all throughout Wall Market, and even in a few areas beyond... although Sephiroth cannot say with any concrete certainty how much of his time is spent in or out of the area. As Sephiroth thought, Zack is a doer more than someone who learns from sitting about being told things, and Angeal had clearly spotted that as well. He has an eye, for things like that. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing useful for a crime boss, but...
So Sephiroth sees him running around doing apparent errands for the various and actually legal businesses down on the plate. Spots him doing bodyguard duty for a few of their people through parts of town both mundane and dangerous. Once, after he's finished meeting up with a client, he even spots Zack rushing around in the backstage of the Honeybee Inn looking absolutely out of his depth.
"If you're going to run a business right, then you need to know the ins and outs of it," he tells Sephiroth plainly one night , when they've both decided to take a break and have decided to visit the Golden Saucer just to see how the races are going. "I'm not expecting him to become an expert in any of those jobs, don't get me wrong."
"But he needs to get it in his head what he's actually running."
Angeal flashes him a short, small smile. "He needs to have an appreciation for where all his money and success is really coming from. Guy like me - I just keep the rails straight and smooth. Nothing more, nothing less." A rather humble view of himself for a crime boss, but that really is just so like Angeal. They don't have much time to keep going with that line of conversation before one of Genesis's people manages to track them down and lead them to a private viewing room where Genesis awaits.
At least it's almost pleasant, to see Zack running about everywhere and the impact he has on others. Even if their passes rarely cross directly, Sephiroth can still observe the effect he has on other people. That might not seem like a lot to some.
In Sephiroth's opinion, however... It's incredibly enlightening.
From that very first night, he had deduced that Zack was a sociable and amicable sort of individual with how he hadn't shyed away from being in the spotlight, and had leapt right into the waiting crowd of Angeal's people to get to know them for himself. With a chance to prove himself all the more, a long leash that lets him go throughout all of Wall Market... he seems to leave an even better impression on everyone, wherever he meets. You know, those who are not already disinclined to anyone who possesses a sufficiently cheerful or energetic personality.
"He tried to pretend he wasn't dying when I explained to him the ins and outs of acupuncture," Avi says, branding the newest set of needles with a grin from within the Inn's more specialized rooms. "Wasn't so great at it when I did a practical demonstration. It was funny."
"That big fight a couple nights ago? He got involved," Gale says with a sigh from within the Tonberry Tonic, one of the many bars that makes up business on the plate, and yet it's said with a faint smile. "Broke some glasses. Came back in just a couple of hours with new ones and all the apologies in the world."
"He broke the squats record," a couple of the folks from the gym.
"Why are you telling me about a squats record," Genesis asks him suspiciously with a squint, over his desk where he's looking over some proposals for new machines from a few businesses.
Sephiroth's smile is small and impossible to miss for someone like the redhead. "I thought it would be amusing," he says, and is rewarded by Genesis's eye roll. "Besides, at least it does show that there's some good physical training in there, so we can confirm at least some sort of training was present, even if not from SOLDIER."
"No wonder it sounds as though Angeal is running him absolutely ragged, then." Genesis sounds rather satisfied about that little fact, however. "Still, nothing interesting, really..."
Probably a lack of anything interesting is why Angeal has decided now is the best time to do something like this. Genesis just likes things when they're a bit more dramatic, a bit more explosive. No doubt that will come in due time; Wall Market rarely stays quiet for long. But they both know Angeal's reasonings, and Wall Market's ways. For now, Sephiroth leans against the desk, and his smile shifts in a way he's learned from both experience and the man seated right there in front of him. "There is always us," he points out.
Genesis's eyes light up in that eager predatory sort of way, and Sephiroth knows without seeing his own that they match in turn. "There is," he purrs, the sound just a little jagged there in the back of his throat.
When sufficiently distracted, Genesis burns bright and hard - a wildfire whose hunger never falters in the slightest, for want of everything the world has to offer him. Even in all the time he's been in this line of work, in all the time that he's been free and exploring even the wide world that Midgar composes of, Sephiroth doesn't think he's ever met anyone else quite as ravenous as Genesis.
It does appealing things, to one's sense of being needed and desired. It also keeps Sephiroth stuck in that office, and then Genesis's apartment, for hours on end. He suspects that the only people that can keep up with Genesis like this are him and Angeal.
Of course, being with Genesis also means indulging in rather lazy mornings - something that had been a foreign concept to him once upon a time and yet which he allows some indulgence in when it comes to Genesis. Most of the morning passes before Sephiroth is able to untangle himself from Genesis's arms - always seeking heat - and help his friend go off to work with as large a cup of espresso as is possible for a human being to down. He thinks none of it, honestly. It all seems rather mundane.
Only when he finally returns to Wall Market does he sense tension in the air.
Most can't get a feel for it. Not the average person, even those who live around the Market themselves. But Sephiroth can pick up on the way the guards near HQ glance at one another, the rare worker who hurries past with furrowed brows. It's enough to, on instinct, have him turn towards HQ and seek out Angeal.
As fortune would have it, the two of them run into one another right at the doors. "Ah, Sephiroth. Hey," he says, a dark sort of calm settled over him. Against his back, the buster sword patiently hangs there.
Buster doesn't come out, often. Sephiroth saw her once upon a time a good bit more, when Angeal and Genesis first started making things go their way in Midgar, because it was a necessity... and even then, Angeal always seemed loathe to draw the massive weapon. Best to utilize his fists, instead, or a chair, or a shovel. Anything within easy reach and that could hit hard. Buster, if she is anything, has always seemed to be more of a method of intimidation than anything else. Something to stop the fight before it could really start in earnest.
More sensible souls, not being spurred on by senseless bravado or rage, look at a man who can cart around a giant sword with little trouble and think twice on the choices that have brought them there.
But sometimes, she still finds a use. Sometimes, she still is pulled out when Angeal finds it truly important to use Buster and nothing else. It's just always hard to tell when that moment will be until it happens. So if he has Buster out...
Sephiroth doesn't go inside HQ. Doesn't go back home. Instead, he steps to the side, falling in step with Angeal through simple habit. Behind them, he can feel Zack sticking close almost more than he can hear his footsteps beneath all the bustle of the Market. "Who was it?" Sephiroth asks simply.
"Skuppa, from the gym," Angeal tells him matter of fact, not breaking his stride in the slightest. It's a calm voice, and arguably on as calm expression as can be found on a severe face as Angeal's. However, it doesn't go past Sephiroth that there's a churning sort of darkness in Angeal's eyes. The kind of quiet wrath that is just being held back until it can be set upon the appropriate target. It matches a certain quality in his voice, too, something dark and low that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Genesis refers to it as growling, although Sephiroth has never heard a definite growl leave Angeal's throat.
There are a lot of people in Wall Market, and more people who work for it beyond the little territory. Getting to know all of them is something that even Sephiroth struggles with, sometime. But he thinks he recalls the name, can match it to some sort of face. A little bit older, the kind of muscular type that some liked.
The kind that people never think would run into trouble, but that's exactly why they sometimes do.
But perhaps just as importantly as Angeal's own quiet fury... Sephiroth glances back past the two of them, taking in the way Zack's fists are clenched, trembling, how they match the rage that's sparking behind his own eyes. Like an ember about to land a little too close to a fireworks stand at a gas station.
Skuppa. Sephiroth had spoken to him briefly at the gym. He'd been laughing about the looks on everyone's faces when Zack had broken a record. Hadn't Angeal just sent him to the gym but a few days ago?
There's no need to ask if Angeal needs any back up. If he felt he did, then surely he would have gotten it already from any of the guards in his employ, or asked for him, or asked Genesis. Maybe once upon a time, Sephiroth wouldn't have thought to ask him. Even so, in the face of all those facts, Sephiroth still asks him, "Do you want anyone to come with you?"
Angeal forces out a steadied breath from between his teeth, finds some sort of center in himself. "I'll be fine," he says after a moment. "Thanks for the consideration. But I do have Zack with me."
Behind them, Sephiroth can hear Zack's steps stutter and stumble for a brief moment. Recognition of his own ability by the boss; what a pleasant thing. And Sephiroth supposes that Angeal does have a point. He chose Zack for a reason... and this, too, is going to be one of the things he will have to deal with as the boss of Wall Market.
"Then I'll be waiting for you when you return," Sephiroth answers simply, before he turns back to Zack. Apparently he's caught him at a slightly inopportune time; Angeal's protégé is still trying to school his expression back when he does so. "We'll be relying on you to keep him safe, then."
They've all paused, now, and Zack stands up ramrod straight. Sephiroth thinks he can see the slightest ghost of the SOLDIER he might've been in that, even if it is just the ghost of an eager young recruit. He thinks he can even see his hand jerk, almost prepared to go straight into a salute. "You got it!" he says, finding some brief measure of excitement and confidence in the situation despite itself. "Zack Fair, here to do the job right!"
Angeal scoffs a little bit under his breath, but Sephiroth thinks that his own ire has lessened a bit. Someone may still very well die tonight, depending on what's happened to Skuppa, but that's none of Sephiroth's concern. His priority is, and always will be, Angeal and Genesis, and Angeal is who is in front of him now.
"Then Zack Fair needs to keep up with me if he wants to do the job right," he says, continuing onwards, stride as long and quick as ever. "Don't lag, Zack."
"I'm not lagging! I'm not!"
Sephiroth declines any other jobs for the rest of the day, once they've disappeared from view - whether that's to use the train or any other questionable form of transportation that Angeal chooses. He's fortunate that he's had nothing else really planned for the day, honestly, although he would have cancelled any appointments even if he did without even a second thought. Instead, he lets himself into Angeal's more private rooms - the little suite, of course, but also his office, the makeshift infirmary that would make any field medic jealous, all sorts of little spaces that once used to be declarations of luxury and now have been transformed into something more in accordance with Angeal's practical nature even if he'd been to cheap to construct over the glintz and gaudiness of it all.
In a way, it's almost amusing. Angeal likes to hang coats on top of a gold-coated monster statue of some sort, "just to hide its ugly face, I do not understand rich people's tastes at all".
It only takes a few hours for Angeal to return in the end, and Sephiroth suspects that most of that was time spent traveling - whether by automated transport or simply hunting through the streets as he tracked down the person who made the ill-advised choice of hurting or taking one of their own. Zack and Skuppa are there with him... Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Zack and Angeal are with Skuppa, bracketing both sides of him like a pair of guard dogs.
Skuppa's smile is a bit sheepish as he settles down onto an infirmary bed that they stole from the back of a truck, once upon a time. Sephiroth can spot the bruises around his neck even before the other man lowers the coat from his shoulders. "Kinda embarrassing, to get caught like that," he says, while Angeal looks over the medical supplies that Sephiroth pulled out hours earlier. "And I thought it was just going to be normal play."
And that's how so many get them, isn't it? "You wouldn't be the first," Sephiroth tells him, because it's the truth. "I am simply glad the system worked."
The system where any of their people can protect themselves if they want to learn how from Angeal, and Genesis. The system where, even with that in place, everyone is meant to check in so that they can react immediately to the first sign of something amiss. Angeal had insisted upon something like it, ages ago, before he'd even really solidified his standing in the Market.
Of course, with the things they'd seen at the lowest tier in the hierarchy as they'd been fighting... That'd only made sense.
Angeal is the one who tends to him, in the end, because Angeal has a surprising amount of field medic knowledge for someone who grew up in the middle of nowhere, and Genesis is the one who is better at using healing materia. That leaves Sephiroth to step back a bit, and he looks towards Zack.
In contrast to the fire he'd clearly had coaxed along in him when he was first setting off with Angeal, he seems a bit quieter now. Contemplative, perhaps. He almost doesn't seem to notice Sephiroth's approach at first, and only jolts in realization when he takes the seat besides him. "Oh! Sephiroth! You - Uh -" He starts to flail his hands about, seeking to make some sort of understanding gesture, and not making a single bit of sense at all. "Hey!"
While he gets flustered, Sephiroth takes this time to look him over. Angeal, he had only needed to glance at to get a good idea of his state of being. Angeal rarely seems to take damage - or, if he does take damage, it rarely seems to last until the next morning unless the damage is truly serious... and that only seems to count if someone manages to actually stab him.
Magic aimed directly at his face? Blunt force trauma to the head? Sephiroth has seen him take on all of this and more, only to be up on his feet again moments later. In that respect, they seem rather similar. Sephiroth has found that he's rather durable as well.
But Zack? Wide eyed, energetic, prone to impulse and doing before thinking? Someone that Sephiroth has not spent years at the side of? Well... Sephiroth imagines that one can understand why he is a little more interested in checking things over with Zack.
And yet Zack seems to be in decent enough condition, at a cursory inspection. His already messy hair has only been made all the more wild, no doubt from running and fighting, and he's far filthier than he was when he first stepped out from HQ. Quite a tall order; sometimes it can be difficult to stay clean at all when one is doing all sorts of odd jobs throughout the Market's many streets. The inside buildings are often kept as clean as can be expected... but down here towards the bottom of Midgar, all the filth seems to filter down here.
The filth is the worst of it, on some level. Zack doesn't hold himself gingerly, isn't favoring one limb over the other. As far as physical injury goes... there is just a large bruise along his jaw, a mottled sort of yellow that will no doubt bruise into splendid purples and reds, with a cut there in a jagged little cross.
Sephiroth tilts his head towards it. "Injured in the line of duty?" he asks, just to help get Zack's mind focused on something again instead of scattered to the four winds. While Sephiroth may be used to that happening around him, it is somewhat an obstacle here right now when he is just trying to talk to the young man.
At least it's enough to snap Zack's mind out of it, as he had hoped. There are a couple of befuddled blinks, and then Zack laughs a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, this?" he says, hand lowering just so it can jerk up towards his face. Truly, he is a man of near infinite energy that has absolutely no idea where it wants to go. "That's nothing! You should see the other guys! I just got this when I was a little too up close and personal."
Really, he would like to see the other guys, but he doubts there's much more to them that he could really do. Not after Angeal has already dealt with them.
No need to say any of that. Sephiroth only nods, and gets up to his feet again. For a bruise like that... With a cut like that... "Did you have to go far?" is what he asks about instead, as he goes back to the first aid kits he's set up. While he hadn't expected it with Angeal on the case, he had still prepared for the worst. It's a simple matter, to get what he needs, return with a bit of cotton and a bottle to clean everything up.
Zack is making a face, and Sephiroth can't quite tell if it's in response to the question or the sight of the medical supplies. "Got us going all over the plates," Zack complains, fingers curling along the edge of his seat. "I think he was probably trying to make it hard for us to follow after him. But Angeal - jeez, he didn't hesitate in the slightest in where he was going."
"Well, it is Angeal," is all Sephiroth says. He doesn't think most people are aware of just how sharpened Angeal's senses are, or Genesis for that matter. Not him, either. The way that Genesis can hear a whisper across a crowded room, how Angeal can track down anyone if you give him enough time...
Angeal has always told him, in private of course, that none of them are infallible. Too much noise, a million different sounds clashing against each other, puts Genesis's teeth on edge. If someone were to just dump a bomb filled with different powders at the right intersection, Angeal would get mixed up on just where his right mark was. And Sephiroth? Well, he's more than aware of his own limitations. Sharp eyesight like his only has so many places to go, in the crowded and claustrophobic streets of Midgar.
But no one else needs to know that about them. All they need to do... is underestimate the bosses of Midgar's underworld.
Not even Angeal's little protégé, cute and eager and trusted as he might be. So Sephiroth simply follows up with, "Now hold still." While he's rarely ever needed it, Sephiroth has been in this business long enough to know that it stings, even if mostly from the experiences of other people.
Very predictably, Zack does not stay still, although he does a rather commendable job. His head stays still, which is really the most important thing here. It's just the rest of his body that wiggles impatiently in the face of careful fingers cleaning away dirt and germs from his cheek. "Ugh I never should have let him get that cloooose," he grumbles. "This is - it sucks."
"A learning experience," Sephiroth tells him, taking in the clear redness that lays beneath everything else. It'll look uglier when a day has passed. "Does it hurt that much?" Does he need to worry about loose teeth or a dislocated jaw? Not that it seems likely, with how much Zack is still talking, but...
Zack wrinkles his nose. "What a learning experience, but I guess that's just like him." They both know who he's referring to. "But no - it's fine. You know, I wasn't thinking that you'd be here waiting for us, when we first left!"
"And why is that?"
There go Zack's hands again. Sephiroth think he might come to like that aspect of Zack, the way his hands are so expressive. Genesis has a similar energy to him, in everything he does, although there's no doubt he'd make a face at being compared to someone like Zack. "Well, I thought you'd have other things to do. And I didn't know that you knew first aid? I mean, it's you, so you must be in high demand."
"Even I have my days off," Sephiroth tells him, putting down the cotton so that it can be discarded later. "And I had made sure I would have some time today... because of a job I took last night." It's always wise to have a recuperation period after meeting with Genesis. Just in case. "I would have cancelled even if I had."
Zack stares at him, hands going still. "Really?"
"Of course." And then, on a bit of rare whim, Sephiroth leans in and does something he used to see Angeal and Genesis do one another a million times before early on in their territory claim. He presses his lips, gently, to the wound there along Zack's face. "I was going to wait for you both no matter what."
When he pulls away, Zack's face is red all the way to his hairline. "Oh," is all he has to say.
A very cute reaction, really, although Sephiroth is left to wonder if perhaps Angeal is rubbing off on him in some terrible ways. Before he can press much more on this, or Zack can say anything else, Angeal's voice rises up from behind. "Alright, I think that's as good as we're gonna get. Everyone's staying here tonight."
Technically, Sephiroth knows that Angeal means the people most likely to be targeted by anyone left over by the most recent 'hunt' - in other words, the person who was originally targeted, and then the two men responsible for getting into a violent scrap to emerge victorious. He doesn't let that stop him from following right after Angeal, however, until they're all situated in the boss's little suite and both of them are working at the kitchenette together.
"You're a real heartbreaker, you know," Angeal says mildly, as they both start assembling some thick sandwiches that will go into the warm oven. Thick ham, salami, pastrami, olive slices, various cheeses... It's enough to clog someone's arteries. Angeal seems to love it for nights like this.
This isn't the first time Sephiroth has heard a comment like this. Usually it's from people with a bit more bitterness to their bite. "Is this about Zack?" he says back, well aware of the scene behind them: Zack and Skuppo, the former energetically telling some story or another. Something silly, an event from one of his shifts at a bar, Sephiroth thinks. "I'm not sure I want to hear that from you."
While he may be a crime boss, Angeal still has the decency to look at least a bit embarrassed. "I have a weakness for puppies, what can I say," is all he manages weakly.
"I suppose he is a rather cute puppy," Sephiroth agrees, lips teased into a smile. Certainly all the exuberance of one, the sheer energy, and maybe even a bit of sharp puppy fangs to get him where he needs to be. "And yet you can't bring him home to Genesis."
"That's because Genesis gets territorial," Angeal says, waiting for Sephiroth to top the sandwiches with a bun before he tugs the foil up over them so that they can deposited onto the tray. "And, even worse, I'm trying to train the puppy. Genesis has a bad habit of undoing all of that if I take my eyes off of him for five seconds."
"Are you referring to me as a puppy...?"
Angeal actually laughs, and Sephiroth can spot Zack and Skuppa glancing over in curiosity at the noise. "Oh, no, I knew from the day we laid eyes on you that were you a cat."
One of these days, he really is going to interrogate Angeal on just what qualifications he assigns animals to people... But then, Sephiroth has thought that for years, now, and it somehow always slips his mind. Either way, he waits until Angeal has finished closing up the oven before he speaks up again. "He does seem rather fond of you."
All Angeal does is shrug. "It's just because of how I'm the boss," he answers, settling with his back against one of his little counters, watching Zack get right back into his energetic conversation with Skuppa. "Admiration mixing into attraction. But you he's really fond of."
"It's just because of how I'm your most famous earner," Sephiroth shoots back casually. "Attraction mixing into admiration."
They stare at each other.
"I should never have let Genesis teach you how to be sassy," Angeal says, as though he is free of having anything to do with influencing Sephiroth down this particular path. "Anyway, I'll probably start sending him your way a little more. Your turn to use him as your errand boy, for whatever you'd like."
His turn, is it? Sephiroth thinks he can understand why that is. Why Angeal is choosing now, of all times, to do so, after he's already seen Zack running around. Helped patch him up, after a rough spot. He closes his eyes, considers it.
"I'll see what I can do, then."
The food is delicious, because of course it is when Angeal has had a hand in making it, and the bed is just barely large enough for all four of them to clamber onto it. Angeal especially is a problem, broadly built as he is, but they manage well enough. No doubt the bed will see far worse than him barely hanging onto the side, and Skuppa to the other, leaving Sephiroth and Zack to make up the middle. Snug, but... not that bad. A good thing, really, that he both likes the heat (although never as much as Genesis ever does), and that there is a decent air conditioner in HQ.
Sleep comes easily enough for him in such a situation, reminded of the times when it was him and Genesis and Angeal finding warmth with one another. At the same time, he awakes just as easily when that warmth is disturbed.
Angeal is gone. He'd noted that some while ago, in the hazy space between sleep and consciousness. That much is normal. And yet it had been Zack's movements that had dragged him all the way into awareness, clumsy movements against the mattress as he'd done his best to be delicate. Sephiroth stays still, waits until the weight is off of the bed completely and the soft pad of bare feet has stopped, before he slides open one eye.
Even if the room were completely dark, he'd still be able to see through it, clear as day. Something done to him in the labs, he thinks. But he doesn't even need it, with the small little lamp that is set there on the floor right by where Angeal sits with his legs crossed and various paper in his hands. Sephiroth isn't exactly in the best position to see all the fine details, of course. Nonetheless, he can take a decent guess at what they are: maps of various parts of Midgar from the city overall to the sewer system, notes written by the various workers on things they've noted from enemies or ShinRa, updates on repairs to various parts of the Market. Angeal runs Wall Market like he'd run his own house, keeping an eye on every little thing that might affect him and his own.
And there's Zack, rubbing at his face, shuffling over to him until he can flop down onto the floor besides Angeal. All the other man does is adjust, making it easier for Zack to lean against him with his cheek smooshed against his shoulder. Midgar never really sleeps, never really stops making noise... but tucked away in HQ, in Angeal's suite, it's easy enough to hear Zack's sleepy murmur. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Checking to see what gangs and groups were related to where we took down the idiot who touched one of our own."
"Mmgh. Way too many words. Explain 'em all to me? Like I'm an idiot."
"That's because you are an idiot." But he says it fondly, mouth to Zack's hair, ignoring the protests. "Alright, so there's a gang over here..."
Sephiroth closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.
TTRPG AU - i am not looking at any rulebook or monster manual or fuck and all as i write this
When he agreed to accept in a last-minute party addition of Cloud's friend, and also everyone's mutual friend, he hadn't quite thought that he'd look at their character sheets from the game they were abandoning and have to go, "So, when you said it was homebrew, I didn't think it was that homebrew."
There are details and races mentioned in these things that he's never even heard of, and Genesis - overachiever that he is - had gleefully dragged him through every niche spin off and suggestion in possibly every TTRPG forum or website there was. Which means that Sephiroth's father is even more of a weird recluse and freak than Angeal had known him to be, and he'd already known him to be absolutely a fucking freak and asshole.
"He had a very particular idea of how the campaign should be run," Sephiroth says plainly, and does not say much more than that. He doesn't have to. While Hojo apparently has particular ideas on how tabletop campaigns should be run, Sephiroth has a particular tone he has when talking about his father.
Well, while Hojo might like to think of himself as some really unique and brilliant individual, Angeal is pleased to say that this particular characteristic of him isn't that uncommon: the kind of GM that doesn't actually care about the group interest or dynamic, and would rather just have a captive audience to tell his idea of a story. The kind of dipshits who should just get into fanfiction and stop making it other people's problems.
At least it's no longer Sephiroth and Aerith's problem. Just Angeal's, as he sits here away from where the rest of the group is arguably "watching" what is allegedly the worst theatre production of Loveless filmed. What they're really doing is just listening to Genesis have Very Intense Opinions about why it's so bad. Zack has somehow gotten roped into a discussion. He doesn't look like he knows where he is even as passionate as he is. Angeal is pretty sure that Lazard and Cloud have just started talking about class planning, at this point.
That is of course why he had that particular movie chosen. Angeal had just wanted something that wasn't food to occupy the rest of the party's time, while he sits here with their new last minute additions to try and integrate them into the campaign he'd had planned.
That hadn't seemed too hard, in theory. In practicality, he squints at the papers in front of him. There's so much, but something is leaping out at him, here. "...Please tell me I'm wrong and I'm reading too much into this, because I'm getting some weird breeding kink vibes out of this."
Aerith takes no prisoners and gives no mercy, because she just cheerily says, "You're not wrong!" When Angeal is done groaning and peeking out from his fingers, he finds her leaning across the kitchen table. "We were in hell," she tells him, still chirpy but also painfully sincere. Then again, he isn't sure what other response one can really have to this kind of life experience.
Sephiroth is stalwartly staring somewhere over his shoulder. He might actually be dissociating his way through this part of the conversation. Which is... the only other response available, Angeal guesses.
There's no helping it. Angeal lets out a breath, putting the character sheets down. "Okay. I don't want to waste all the time that you two were forced into putting into these, so I'm thinking we'll not scrap them completely. But we are going to have to rework them pretty heavily, just so that they can mesh better with the rest of the party. This is a new campaign, and, unedited, these two are..." He squints at the sheets again. "...pretty over the top." Another single tap of his finger against the table. "But I think I can work these in otherwise."
Snapping out of his brief stint of dissociation, Sephiroth frowns slightly to him. "Is that all right, Angeal? I know you were working on this for some time..."
"So we won't get to tear up the character sheets?" Aerith asks, having completely separate priorities.
Right, one at a time. "I think it should work out fine," he tells Sephiroth, before turning to Aerith. "And you emailed me the PDFs on all of these, so I can just look back at those, if you really want to shred them." The words are barely out of his mouth before there's the sound of gardener fingers punching holes straight through.
Hm. He is sensing a lot of eager rage inside that petite little body.
Good thing he already had his laptop open, and Angeal taps his way over to hers, first. "Alright, so let's just start erasing all the weird breeding bullshit first..." Fucking hell. Actually saying it out loud again has him squeezing his eyes shut. "I am so glad, Sephiroth, that Gen committed arson to your house so that you could move into your own apartment."
Apparently, he'd said that loud enough, because Genesis suddenly whirls away from whatever heated argument he was having with Zack. "And I would do it again!" he announces with a flourish, looking maybe just a little manic as he props one foot up against the couch armrest. "To find liberation through the flames is nothing less than what you deserved, Sephiroth, and I am more than glad to show you that path."
Dragging his hand away from his face, Angeal glances over to purposefully make eye contact with Lazard. Lazard fortunately seems to understand what he means, at least if they ever want to get this first session up off the ground. He finally speaks up on the whole matter. "Genesis, what were you talking about with how they butchered the meaning of the Prisoner's arc...?"
That's more than enough to draw Genesis's attention back, incensed once more into his thesis. Angeal will make sure to buy a proper coffee for Lazard later as thanks.
For now, the important things: he leans across, turning his laptop around so that he can point and talk at the same time. "So, to start with, along with lowering the levels, let's talk about any changes you want to make to the skills on your sheet..."
Fortunately, Sephiroth and Aerith are both pretty easy to work with in their own ways. It doesn't take as long as it could otherwise for them to rework the character sheets for both of their characters. The Loveless movie is only mostly done by the time they all finish up, and the takeout they'd all ordered finally arrives. It takes up most of the kitchen counters, tons of Wutai food for seven starving college students; Zack had insisted he not cook tonight while also taking on the heavy role of GMing.
GMing also being the reason why nothing is on the counter save for anyone's character sheets, a map for Angeal to draw on when needed, and his laptop with everything he'll need for tonight.
After reminding Zack to eat neatly so that nothing stains on his table ("And it's your own problem if you spill on your character sheet"), Angeal settles down at the head of the table. He's lucky his mother made sure he picked out a big one; tables where you can have an entire feast at were always important for their family even if being so poor didn't mean much on their idea of 'feasts'. Not most of the time, anyway.
"Right, so I caught Aerith and Sephiroth up on most things," he informs the table, "but just to recap, we have Zack playing paladin, Cloud with fighter, Lazard picked up thief, Genesis already has grand plans for bard-multiclassing-into-sorcerer... And for the rest of you, we have Aerith coming in with a druid and Sephiroth is covering warlock. We're going to introduce your characters one by one in scene as we go along, so, Zack, try to be patient for once in your life."
Over on his side, Zack has been trying to get a peek over at Sephiroth's face down character sheet for a good five minutes now with his face stuffed with noodles, to no avail. He jerks his head up when addressed, and gives a pathetic puppy dog eyes look. "Hey, why aren't you calling out Genesis for being impatient too?"
"That's because Genesis is one of the characters being introduced first, or else I know that he'd never let me go to sleep in this damn apartment." The redhead in question just preens, looking quite self satisfied about the whole thing.
He really shouldn't be. There's nothing to be proud of there.
But with everyone caught up to speed, Angeal gets on with setting the scene for them: a massive city, built on the bones of that which it has supplanted, thriving still and with the expansive underground barred off from most people save for those already living in the 'underground' in their own way. Thieves, the poor, sex workers, investigators and adventurers who take on the more unsavory jobs... The kind of thing 'banned' in only the most technical of ways that never lives up to reality.
"That's where Sieversii and Melanion find themselves," he says, directing this to Genesis and Lazard. "Both of you were actually reached out to by a mutual acquaintance of yours, with the moniker 'Twelve'. Melanion, you just know him as a fellow thief. It's nothing too indepth between the two of you, but you have gone on a couple of jobs together that have required two pairs of hands, and he's slid you a couple of leads here and there. Far as you know, he's as decent as a thief can be, and he seems to have his own qualifications on what places or people are good enough to rob. Some people might call him picky." Angeal's voice goes dry. "One of those people being right besides you."
Genesis flutters his eyelashes at him, like a prick who shares the apartment with him. Angeal makes a note to buy another forlorn plant from the grocery store, next time he goes.
"Where are we meeting?" Lazard asks, managing to stay focused on the game for once. "Is it somewhere that I would be familiar with before, through past meetings?"
"It's a little familiar, yeah. There are a ton of old and empty buildings down under the main city, but Twelve usually has a few that he prefers. Of course he changes them up, so that he's not caught out, but you're familiar with them. Actually..." Angeal taps his finger against the table. "Lazard, Melanion might notice that this is actually a little out of character for Twelve. You met up with him not that long ago for another job, when he first asked you to meet him at this place at this time, and it's the same place."
Lazard nods along. "I see... So he's reusing a space he wouldn't normally."
"Yup." Angeal lets Lazard chew on that for a moment, and turns his attention to Genesis. "Meanwhile, you know Twelve because-"
"Intimate working relationships," Genesis purrs, which Angeal knows he does purely to antagonize him. "And, of course, Sieversii has occasionally hired Twelve to get some books on magic for him, as he's been pursuing that art."
Sometimes, Angeal almost wonders why he's the one GMing instead of Genesis, with how prone Genesis is to interrupting him. Almost. He knows it's because it'd end up a more dramatic play than anything else, and Genesis has his own ideas on storytelling. "Glad to see you've got that covered already," he says simply. "Anyway, Sieversii, you actually got a note tucked away in a particularly rare volume you've been searching for, telling you to come here at the same time as Melanion. It was basically begging you to do a favor for him, because he knew no one else who could do what you could."
"Do the two of you know each other already?" Aerith asks, interrupting it all as she sits forward, chin in both of her hands. Right, she wasn't there for the backstory building sessions.
If they let him, Genesis could probably go on forever about that... So it's fortunate that Lazard is the one who answers first. "It's really the same connection that Sieversii has with Twelve," Lazard explains, adjusting his glasses. "Occasional partners, when our purposes have both suited one another. Melanion has stolen things for him at times, and in turn, Sieversii has provided distractions, or places to hide. It's rather amiable, all things considered."
"And both of you can imagine that's why Twelve asked for the two of you, because neither of you can spot anyone else on the way to Twelve's meeting places, and there's no one that you can see in the building besides Twelve's-" They ask for a perception check in almost complete unison. Angeal supposes he should be pleased?
But it's really too early in the campaign when they haven't even gotten the main party all together yet. There's no one else in the building, but Angeal indulges them in a roll (both successes) and lets Lazard note the escape exits.
Only then can the two meet each other in the building with the NPC, and Angeal shifts his voice, just slightly, as he gets into character. "Twelve is relieved when he sees the two of you, and there are barely any time for pleasantries before he gets right into it. For a thief, he's a pretty broad shouldered guy, but he generally keeps his cool. Neither of you have ever seen him in the state that he's in right now. He says -
* I'm glad that both of you accepted my invitation to meet me here. I won't waste your or my time - I need to hire the two of you for something. A friend of mine is down in the deepest parts of this place that are actual crypt, and he hasn't come back. I need you two to go down there, and get him back.*"
Angeal pauses, before he inclines his head towards - "And Zack, that's when I assume your paladin crashes the door down."
"Hey!" Genesis squawks, all outrage, while Zack punches his fist up into the air with a whoop and Aerith just cackles in delight, clapping her hands together.
At least a couple people are having a grand time. Angeal tries not to smirk too much at ruining Genesis's start to some grand adventure. "Right, my bad. I was rude. I shouldn't assume. But Zack, Cloud - the scene on your end. Febail, as a paladin, you were actually approached by someone wanting your assistance in apprehending a dangerous criminal. They made claims that the thief Twelve is a dangerous robber on the run, and he finally targeted them, robbing them of a precious family heirloom. They told you that they don't expect to get it back, but they wanted assistance in getting the criminal caught and surrendered to them."
All the exposition is mainly for Aerith and Sephiroth's sake, honestly... Although he hardly needs to get going before Zack is also interrupting him, grinning as he smacks his hand against Cloud's back. "And my good buddy Allan Tide used to be a merc, but he wants to know about becoming a paladin himself! So I got his help for this!"
"Right." Angeal shrugs, and spreads his fingers out in gesture towards Zack. "And now here you are, in the depth of the under, having found exactly the guy you're looking for. So." He quirks up an eyebrow, and smiles just a bit. "Kicking down that door?"
Zack grins right back at him, much wider. "You bet."
The whole thing is ruining things for Genesis, moaning and clearly having wanted an epic romantic fantasy, so of course that's when Cloud leans forward with only the slightest of smirks. "Allan is right behind him, uh, weapon already drawn."
Around that time, Genesis points an accusing finger at the two of them while Sephiroth watches in abject fascination, and Angeal glances at his laptop as his GM-specific messenger pings. Lazard, asking about having his character start to stealthily make his way to one of the exits that he'd made sure to ask about before. Angeal just gives him a simple command: Roll for stealth.
While Lazard starts discretely fiddling with his dice, Angeal speaks aloud, too. "In response to a paladin and a mercenary kicking their way into the building, Twelve just groans about how he doesn't have time for this. He explicitly calls out paladins as always arriving at the worst time..." Another ping on his laptop. "Right, Zack, roll for perception."
The roll's a dud. Angeal keeps carrying on. "Anyway, Zack, the wanted criminal you've been after just tosses his hands to the side and demands to know what nonsense you're after him for now."
Zack squints at him. "What was the perception roll for?"
"Don't worry about it. Are you going to actually respond to the criminal or not?"
Being told not to worry about it does not seem to make Zack stop squinting any less, but, nonetheless, he clears his throat. "I tell him - you are wanted for the crime of theft! Your reign of terror has come to an end, and I will not allow you to target innocents ever again!" A pause. "How's that?"
"He doesn't seem impressed."
Not content to have the spotlight off of him for an extended period of time, Genesis finally leaps in. "I certainly am not impressed. Sieversii crosses his arms from where he's standing, and says-" An appraising look at Angeal. "If you were any sort of infamous criminal, then I feel I would certainly have heard of songs of you, or anything else, my Twelve. Since when were you allowed to have a name more known than mine?"
Cloud leans forward. "Actually, good question - who are you guys?" He raises an eyebrow. "I thought we were only apprehending one criminal, not three."
"Two," Angeal corrects casually, and grins lazily at the trio of stares. "While you may have noticed a third presence when you initially kicked down the door, Zack, there's only the bard there now with Twelve."
Hiding his quiet laughter behind one hand, Lazard can't escape the stares being turned to him. "The perception roll was for me, Zack. Melanion is outside a window while everyone else speaks. He wants to see how things turn out, but... He didn't want to be caught in any crossfire."
"You really are a terrible bastard," Genesis says to him, but with some measure of fondness, before he turns back to Cloud and gets back his in-character voice. "As for you, to not realize the greatest artist in the world-"
That's around the time Angeal cuts in - or, rather, "Twelve cuts in before you can get too deeply into that, Sieversii." Because Angeal knows if he doesn't, they're going to be here for hours, and they have places to be in this session. "He raises a hand, a silent implore for you silence, before he looks over at Febail and Allan. He says *They're the adventurers I hired for something. A rescue mission. And if I can be so bold, paladin, I may actually ask you and your friend to do the same.*"
"Can I, uh-" Zack skims over his character sheet again, trying to remember the rules of the game they're playing. "Can I tell if he's lying from that? The part about who Genesis and Lazard are."
Angeal lets him go for that. Zack completely flubs it.
"Yeah, he's totally telling the truth," Angeal says without batting an eye. "These are absolutely just random men he hired, one being a person who knows about getting into dangerous places, and the other a historian and artist who knows a lot about the tales of these places." While Zack just sinks his face into his hands at his terrible dice roll luck so far, Angeal turns his attention back to the rest of the group. More specifically, he turns his attention to Cloud. "The thief looks at Allan, and says, *I don't have any faith in a single other person doing things out of the goodness of their heart, so I'll give you an exchange. I'll go with you, take on my fate, if you can help me. I won't put up a fight at all.*"
Zack looks up then, big blue eyes wide. "He means that much to you? This person you're trying to rescue?"
"*More than anything* is what Twelve promises." Angeal shrugs again. "He adds that he doesn't expect you to believe him, but he'll stick true to his promise if you can go down there with those he's already hired."
Next to Zack, Cloud fiddles with his dice. "So then you'll have no arguments in coming with us, right?" he asks. "I mean, it's not like we're going to trust a criminal to keep his word. This way, we can keep an eye on you."
"Ooooh, that's smart, Cloud!"
Angeal shrugs, hands to the side. "He agrees, before he turns back to Sieversii. *Sorry about springing this on you. I hope that the payment I supplied before is still sufficient.*"
"What you do outside of our agreement is none of my concern whatsoever," Genesis promises, in-character, before he leans towards him and stage-whispers, "Also, we're using them as meatshields, right? Good plan, good plan."
"Hey!"
Lazard coughs into his fist. "Now that things seem to have settled down within the building, I pull myself back through the window-"
There's a sudden yell from Zack that has all of them jump, and the guy suddenly pushes himself to his feet, pointing at Lazard, and - "How long has that guy been sitting out there?!" He exclaims.
Goddammit. He's too good at timing shit like that. They all fall apart laughing, even Sephiroth smiling a bit down at his character sheet.
Angeal lets the partially assembled group go through a bit of quick shopping arguments, taking this time to lean over to Aerith and Sephiroth. "So, yeah, that's how the dynamics are looking so far for our group," he tells them. "Think you've got a handle on how it's all looking out to be so far?" This way, they have an idea of what they're leaping into. If they even want to leap into it. Sure, anything would be objectively better than whatever the fuck Hojo was doing, but that doesn't mean it fits them.
Fortunately, Sephiroth is already nodding even as Aerith clasps her hands together. "Oh no, this already looks like so much fun! I can't wait to jump in!"
And it really doesn't take long for Aerith to jump in, because Angeal makes sure to kick things off right as the group descends into the deeper parts of the dungeon labyrinth. "So, ahead of you through the tunnels, you can all hear the sounds of combat, and something cracking sharply through the air. A large open doorway is there in front of you, and you can see a scene of combat right ahead of you. There's a woman ahead of you, fighting what's pretty clearly a ghoul - Febail, you can recognize it right off the bat, both from experience and from the tails more experienced paladins have told you. For the rest of you... Well. It's big, it's full of open wounds, and it has blood around its mouth." Angeal quirks up an eyebrow. "You can put together the pieces. While it does have a couple of zombie dogs helping it go at the woman, she does seem to be holding them off with a whip of vines. However, she's pretty outnumbered, too. If you leave her alone, there's no telling how long she'll be able to survive..."
He doesn't even need to say anything. Zack and Cloud have their characters charge in almost immediately, and it's Lazard who has to hastily remind them that rolling initiative exists.
Honestly, it's a pretty good first bit of combat for them all, sans Sephiroth of course. The rolls are pretty good, with no one eating shit terribly, and there's even a few couple of great moments where everyone gets to shine - Lazard managing an excellent backstab, Aerith uses Shape Water to make an icicle dagger from her canteen when a zombie dog gets too close, things like that.
And the best thing is, they all almost immediately get into character again, once the ghoul has been brought down, with Aerith taking the initiative as she gushes about how she'd just been so helpless and in danger, so wasn't it nice that she was so lucky to have a group of adventurers save her in time?
The incredulous look on Cloud's face is great. "You were using vine whips on zombies!" he protests.
"Wow, Alan, that's no way to treat a damsel in distress," Zack says, but can't even manage a straight face as he says it.
"Sieversii flicks the rotten blood off of his rapier and turns his attention to the mysterious woman," Genesis drawls. "Oh, I most certainly did not see her stabbing a creature of the undead straight through its skull. I almost did not learn of your name, good lady. I am Sieversii, bard of renown."
Cloud interrupts with, "I never heard of you before."
"That's because you have no artistic taste, Allan Tide-"
Deciding that Genesis isn't the only one allowed to be dramatic in the room at any given time, Aerith stands up to give a fanciful little bow. "My name is of no real importance to the wide world," she says cheekily, "But you can know me as Eris!"
Immediately, Zack turns his head to look at Angeal. "Hey, Angeal, you'd tell me if our girlfriend rolled for the god of chaos, right?"
Honestly, he's kind of impressed that Zack knows that bit of niche lore. "Yeah, sure," he says, practicedly noncommital as he goes through his laptop's files for the next bit of adventure.
"Angeal, I'm being serious!"
And Angeal is seriously not going to give him any spoilers on that front. Instead, he focuses on how the group is coming along, and the answer to that inquiry is easily enough. Aerith wastes no time in integrating herself into the group - into giving a reason for integrating into the group, looking into lost secrets in one of the oldest places around and also knowing some vague healing that the rest of the group doesn't. Add along a little friendly teasing about her needing a bodyguard or four, and...
Well, it writes itself. Angeal doesn't even need to have his NPC do anything of particular note for it to happen.
The rest of the trek through this level of dungeon goes well enough, although Angeal has to admit it's a bit tricky. He'd wanted the first session to be... really good. Something that didn't leave any of them feeling left out, something that'd have a strong impression past any further bad ones. It'd taken a lot of thing on how to make that happen, because, well, it's their first session as a party. There's really only so much he can do here, especially considering that everyone will do things he might not consider, or the dice might not be in someone's favor.
But he manages. Somehow, against all odds, he manages.
Really, he's thankful to Cloud for suggesting that the NPC come along with them. That means he has one more tool in his arsenal to help move things along, like when he has Twelve find a secret passage way for Genesis's character to investigate. "For most of you, the design of the room seems almost incomprehensible. On your own, you might assume it to be some sort of ritual room, for lack of any better idea. But Sieversii, with that successful History check, you can recognize this easily as a performance hall of some sort..."
True love would probably entail letting Genesis have that entire rest of the session dedicated to worldbuilding and making up an imaginary thesis when he already has his current thesis to work on. Whatever Angeal's form of love is, it will have to settle for an ancient metal flute of some sort, and letting Genesis's character have some very worn out pages of an ancient song that he delicately packs away as though they were more precious than gold or jewels.
Zack honestly seems to shine best when it comes to the combat scenes, in a funny contrast to his flubbing of anything else like perception rolls. Then again, an underground area filled with undead is practically made for a paladin to shine in - literally, at times. He seems elated with that enough, and finding any actual material items is just something of a fun bonus.
So Angeal saves those parts for Cloud's character, and details the aftermath of a battle against a few more zombies. "As I said when your group first went into this room, it looks as though this group of zombies had found an armory to settle in. Now that the battle is over, you can all tell that the room is actually surprisingly untouched for the most part. You've see skeletons and the like use weapons, but clearly they weren't from here. That are various armors and weapons put up on display, and not a single seems to be empty." An inclination of his head towards Cloud. "You notice one in particular, actually. A short sword, but out of a seemingly completely different material than the one you've been using for most of your time as a merc, and that you've used throughout this whole place."
Anything a GM points out is suspicious, apparently, because the whole group makes sure to run through every check they can before Cloud feels comfortable in taking the sword for his own, replacing his own rather sad one. An exchange, even. "From the corner of your eye, you notice Twelve also picking up a sword," he mentions nonchalantly.
Cloud squints at him. Cloud squints at literally everything he says, sometimes. Listen, it's not his fault that Zack fell for the trap that got them all in trouble that one time. "I thought he used a crossbow?"
"Is that something you say out loud?"
"Oh. Uh, yeah, sure."
"Twelve just shrugs, and finds a scabbard for the great sword he's just hefted up. *With the things that are happening with this whole thing so far, I just thought it would be good to have a Plan B. And not all of us can turn our canteen water into weaponry.*"
Funnily enough, while he's as different as can be from Zack in many ways, it's also equally easy to placate Lazard with things his character can do almost more than he can find. It's a spooky crypt with all sorts of nasties inside; it's pretty easy to include lots of traps and locked things for Melanion to solve. But, of course, he's still a thief, and Lazard is a pretty sensible guy at the end of the day. As much as he might tease the rest of the group, Angeal does reward a little bit of nosiness, a little bit of curiosity. Lazard seems quite happy, to note down his various riches on his character sheet.
And Aerith...? Well, him and Aerith both know that Eris will get her time to shine.
Angeal tries to keep it all going pretty short and quick, however. All of them had dedicated this first session to a whole night, since things had lined up neatly that way, but a session like this takes longer than one might think... and Angeal, for one, would like to not sleep past noon tomorrow. His plants have a schedule, and he's not going to break that for anyone.
So, eventually, after giving everyone as much as he could give them... Angeal finally says, "As you make your way down this latest set of stairs, you realize this one is different from all the rest. There are murals all the way down the spiraling staircase, and the air feels... wrong, in a way that you all find hard to explain. Like trying to wade through fog in a hot summer, even though the air is as clear as anything can be down in a crypt." He glances over the group, eyes meeting Sephiroth's gaze last. "We're still going down in the order you described to me last, right - Febail, Sieversii, Melanion, Twelve, Eris, and Allan."
The suspicion one little innocent question gets is great, honestly. Angeal might almost not mind being GM just for reactions like that alone.
But yeah. That's the formation when they enter the grand room, waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. "Here, that wrongness in the air is thickest, and strange lights glow out from various panes of blue glass all around near the top of the massive walls. There's no other exit, as far as you can see... Just the entrance you all go through, and a strange enormous pillar right there in the center of the room.
"And there, right near that pillar on his knees, is a humanoid figure.
"Zack, Genesis, Twelve actually pushes past your characters here, and he calls out a name - *Malum!* But... Actually, why don't you all do a perception check for me?"
Continuing his streak of not perceiving fuck or all - sometimes the dice really do make character decisions for the players, huh - Zack gets a 6, and that infects Lazard with the same roll. Cloud and Aerith are a little more passable, but the results are still rather middling. It's Genesis who scores the highest out of all of them, pulling out a natural 19, so it's him that Angeal primarily speaks to once he stops looking that smug.
Angeal helps him out there a little bit. "I wouldn't look that smug, if I were you," he comments lightly. "Because there's a problem here, Sieversii, and it's that you recognize almost instantly the place that you're in, all that knowledge about history and art coming through for you once again. Now that the murals here are in bright lights, crawling up the wall of that enormous central pillar... Now that you can recognize the rot peeking out from beneath the stone tiles right under your feet, rot that Eris and Allan also spot... You realize what this room is. You realize who this room is for, and how it connects to the uneasy aura around the man named Malum there on his knees in front of the pillar.
"Sieversii, you realize that you and everyone there with you is in a sacrificial chamber dedicated to the Goddess of Plagues."
It's a nice dramatic moment. So of course Cloud hisses at Zack, "This is about gods, how did you mess up that roll!?"
"Hey man, it's not my god! Why would I know anything!?"
Aerith laughs again at this, with Genesis joining in with a bit of snickering - even he can't resist Zack's charm in the end - but it's all broken through with the sound of a single die clattering against the table. And it's not from Angeal. Instead, for the first time in the entire night... Sephiroth has rolled a die, and he surveys the result even as he slowly flips over his character sheet at long last. A small, slow little smile. "A 19," he informs him, looking across the table at Angeal.
Angeal smiles right back. "You heard the man," he says. "As all of you stand there, Twelve right at the forefront, Malum jerks up to his feet in movements wholly unnatural, and turns to face all of you. In his eyes, you can see a red glow so dull that it almost leaves his sockets looking empty... Trademark courtesy of the Plague Goddess.
"The very man you all came down here to rescue... is possessed by the very will of you. Better roll initiative... and quick."
"Truly, it is nothing less than a tragedy of what occurred to your home," Genesis drawls, with a kind of manic and malicious brightness to his eyes and his smirk that does not match the words, but does match the follow up. "If only the rest had caught alight, and then it would have been far more fitting."
It is a bit of a pity that Angeal is not the one standing here instead, because Angeal has a way of handling Genesis that Sephiroth does not. Granted, that "way" occasionally means hauling Genesis over his shoulder, but it would be something. Then again, Sephiroth knows why Angeal cannot be the one to stand here today, because Sephiroth has to be the one to distract one half of his DNA.
Granted, that does not mean he has any better idea of why Genesis has decided he needs to be right here, shittalking Hojo directly to his face, but it is the situation they are in, and Sephiroth is not entirely sure he is in the correct mental state to dissuade him. Is this what dissociating is like? He is not entirely sure.
What he is more certain of is how familiar the look is on Hojo's face as he finally draws his attention away from Sephiroth It is a look that Sephiroth has seen more than once, on this man's face - the look of someone who has found something that would be otherwise inconsequential to him if not for the revolting fact that it were near him, and interrupting in his much more important life. Sephiroth has seen it directed to many people before, when simple and cold apathy has not been the poison of choice instead... and yet, peculiarly enough, he feels he has seen it towards Genesis and Angeal the most. Even when he first met them, mentioned their names to Hojo.
Genesis, he could understand. Genesis is demonstrating a clear reasoning for why Hojo would make that face at him right now, as he leers back in the face of contempt. Yet Angeal was always a bit more of a mystery to Sephiroth. Calm, to the point, and quiet. Sephiroth would never have expected Hojo to like anyone, but he would have thought Angeal, at least, would have been passable. Ignorable.
"How brazen, for a criminal to return to the scene of the crime which he has committed," Hojo says, in that drawl which has grated against Sephiroth's ears for most of his life. "Or perhaps you desire for some leniency if you grovel for it well enough?"
Hojo has always thought himself the most important and intelligent man in the room. A man filled with hubris. This is a problem when faced against someone like Genesis, who also carries his own fair share of arrogance. It would be fascinating, if it were not related to people with close ties to him. "What an interesting declaration to make, Mr. Hojo!"
"Professor."
"I have never seen your doctorate in my life," Genesis baldly lies with all the confidence of an emperor striding about in the nude. Sephiroth is fairly certain that Genesis saw Hojo's doctorates when he snuck inside the house to set it on fire. "So let us not jump the gun in proper labels, or get distracted by the main topic at hand. I come here to offer my good and dearest friend Sephiroth move out while the house is under repairs! Do you have any proof, or -" And he leans forward, using all the height he can muster. " - are you simply falling prey to an emotional outburst from the trauma of losing your house to flames, good sir?"
Sephiroth takes a moment to admire the way Genesis's voice curls at that single authoritative word on his tongue. It becomes less an admission to another's authority, and more an insult. He, in contrast, can never sound anything less than quietly obedient when he says it.
Being accused of letting his emotions get the better of him is like being accused of corpse desecration, in Hojo's eyes, except it actually matters to him. Those same eyes narrow, dislike only intensifying into something more venomous.
Maybe this is why Genesis came with him. Sephiroth has a feeling that if it were him on his own he would not be able to drag out this conversation for nearly so long, or even hold up against it. He would have brought up the idea of staying in a dorm, it would have been shot down, and he would not have known how to fight against it. Would not have known how to stand his ground and refuse whatever isolated hotel Hojo would have chosen for himself.
But Genesis isn't like that.
On the small side street that goes between their house and the next, arguably for trash pick up, there is the sound of a truck coming to a stop long before it reaches the main street.
Genesis sneers and argues and burns, getting right into an argument with Hojo right there on the front lawn of Hojo's house about how he can't just force his college-age son to stay with him forever, and how it's idiotic to force him to stay in a charred husk of a building (it is not that bad)...
Off to the side of the house, far behind Hojo's back, Zack Fair scrambles up the side of the fence and nearly lands on his face. Following after is Gillian Hewley, Angeal's mother, who is delicately placed up there on the fence where she balances precariously in order to best help guide a large ladder that is soon followed up. Zack helps get it to the ground once more, even if it means his jaw nearly gets smacked into. Only then does Angeal himself haul up over the fence like it's nothing, landing so that he can help his mother down from the fence. She is a mature woman, after all. It's only polite.
"For a mind such as his, it is best he reside in a place with no interferences from lower sorts," Hojo sneers at Genesis, while Angeal and Zack carry the ladder over to the side of the house.
Genesis disbelieving laugh is sharp, the kind of sound that the whole neighborhood likely hears. "Oh, but interference from you is perfectly fine," Genesis sneers. "If he were as brilliant as you say, then why would you be so worried about him being corrupted? Or does it have nothing to do with Sephiroth's intelligence, and everything about your inability to control him if he doesn't return every night?" Gillian goes up the lady first, testing the window to Sephiroth's room - untouched by the fire, of course, it only damaged things on the lower floor - before she slips right in.
Hojo snaps out something about a father's rights. Sephiroth shifts his hands subtly behind his back, and focuses his mind away from the argument Genesis is having with the man to watch instead as Angeal follows his mother up the ladder, while Zack watches Genesis's voice rise.
There is not actually a lot in Sephiroth's room. It was always thought that the basic would do well enough for him: a bed, a place to store clothes, a desk where he could accomplish the studies that were approved for him. He can't imagine that there is very much in there for them to get, besides perhaps his clothing, ideally stuffed into a nondescript bag. Anything else, like toiletries, those can be replaced easily enough.
So he is not entirely sure what to make of it when he sees his mattress shoved awkwardly through the window and down to Zack's waiting wide open arms.
Or when parts of his bed frame start getting passed along down the ladder from Angeal to Mrs. Hewley to Zack.
Or when parts of his bed frame start getting passed along down the ladder from Angeal to Mrs. Hewley to Zack. Disassembled. Hojo is threatening to call the cops on Genesis at this point, and Genesis is daring him to do it "For then we can have a neat little tea party in your parlor, Mr. Hojo, and won't it be interesting to see what they might pick up on?"
It says something to the Hewley family's ability to rob a room blind, or Genesis' ability to talk at length, that both parties are in perfect sink. Sephiroth watches the same thing happen before with the ladder being guided up over the fence after everything else, and then Zack and Mrs. Hewley and Angeal... Before, a few minutes later from around the corner, the Hewleys trot up like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Gen, we could hear you yelling from down the street," Angeal informs him, while Zack guides the truck around the corner.... its bed absolutely loaded with, very obviously, all of Sephiroth's things. While Mrs. Hewley places a hand against Sephiroth's back, Angeal looks to Hojo. "Anyway, it's a little too late to argue about it all. He signed the paperwork last night, and there'll be a fee if he doesn't settle in the room after a certain period of time."
Genesis makes a production out of lying. Angeal makes it the most natural thing in the world, even as it is complete nonsense, on both any paperwork being signed, and any fees.
There's that look on Hojo's face again, but it's replaced by one of dawning realization as the Hewley family truck comes to a stop right there in front of the sidewalk... before flashing over to where Mrs. Hewley is still trying to guide Sephiroth along. "Gillian, you-" he starts.
Mrs. Hewley starts, not expecting to be addressed, and stares right back at him with a blank look of shock. "I have never met you in my life," she blurts out, and then Genesis throws down a smokebomb.
It is.... understandably a bit of a rush after that, with both Hewleys practically hauling him along to the sound of Angeal's "Go go go!" and Genesis's cackling. Both of them haul him into the cramped and precarious back of the truck, whereupon Zack joins them almost immediately like an over eager puppy that's misjudged a step. That leaves, presumably, Mrs. Hewley in the driver's seat, and Sephiroth thinks she's hitting the gas even before the door has properly closed.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence. Or, rather, there's the sound of the engine rumbling beneath them, and wind rushing past them, taking most of Sephiroth's long hair with it to the point that Angeal has to smack it away from his face, and the sound of plastic bags rustling... But silence, relatively speaking.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence. Or, rather, there's the sound of the engine rumbling beneath them, and wind rushing past them, taking most of Sephiroth's long hair with it to the point that Angeal has to smack it away from his face, and the sound of plastic bags rustling... But silence, relatively speaking.
And then Zack is laughing triumphantly with his hand smacking along Sephiroth's arm, and Genesis is teasingly berating Angeal for taking so long and how it was only his gift as an orator that kept the gig up.
And Mrs. Hewley, from the driver's seat, politely asks, "Aren't you all hungry from moving out? We should stop at a diner. That seems like it would be nice."
Sephiroth closes his eyes, leans back against something that he thinks might have his whole computer system in it. "Yes," he says, and finds himself smiling. "It seems like it would."
"Why on earth did I let you convince me into moving to Midgar," Angeal groans, somewhere towards the end of their first week in SOLDIER training.
Rhetorical question. Both of them know exactly why Angeal applied for SOLDIER in the first place, and why the two of them are laying there, sprawled in their tiny little suite apartment where the ceilings are just a smidge too small for both of their heights. Genesis says it out loud any way, for a couple of reasons, and both of them are ultimately for his own self satisfaction. "Because where I go, you go," he says, his voice muffled from where he's forced his underneath the couch cushions. "It is as simple as that."
And Genesis likes saying that. Likes it enough that it almost makes him feel better, as though words alone are enough to soothe the headache cracking through his skull. Where one of them goes, the other goes as well. A simple fact of the world.
Gumbo is the best food in the world. He has two eyes. Angeal takes his severe expression from his mother, and they smile the same, too.
Where either of them go, the other goes too.
Which isn't to say that Genesis doesn't understand where Angeal is coming from, of course. He doesn't regret coming to Midgar, doesn't regret pursuing his dreams of being something grander than a simple small town apple heir, of experiencing more of the world than past the leaves of Banora White. He doesn't regret the way his breath had caught when he'd looked out the window, and seen the glittering lights of the city, resplendent, a constellation brought down to earth.
It's just, for everything he had made sure to learn about city life, about Midgar, before he had set out... Sometimes, things can only be experienced to understand the true weight of them.
And Midgar is noisy. Noisy beyond belief, noisy enough to put Genesis's teeth on edge. It's nothing at all like the quiet of Banora, he must admit. Back there, well, he could sit on the window sill of his room, or on the Hewley family roof, and hear just about everything going on in the town. Often a little bit beyond it, too. The twist and whine of apples being pulled from their anchors in the orchards, the muffled conversation of some house down the street, Missus Hewley's knife assuredly going through vegetables for that nights dinner... He'd always had good ears. It was something he was proud of, used more than once to get one up on the other kids, or even Angeal, on occasion.
Midgar puts all of that pride right out of his mind, and it had the second their incoming train had gotten close enough. With the grind of its track and the rumble of its engine fading away, he'd had to deal with... everything.
Fifty million conversations, all happening at once. The clatter of wheels against metal, clacking, jostling. Some sort of food stall, something popping, snapping. It'd been dizzying, just trying to get through all of it to the apartment that Missus Hewley had helped them find, helped them get even with such a far distance between them and Midgar. Frankly, Genesis must admit that if Angeal hadn't been there to grab his hand and pull him through thick crowds, he might not have made it at all.
That's right... Angeal. And Genesis finally pulls the cushion away, even if only so that he can peer warily out from it to see his oldest friend and only lover. The noises outside their little apartment, a cheap little thing that's all they can afford for right now even with what he's taken of his family's money, filter back towards his ears. Car horns, and the television from their neighbors' apartments...
But it is not as overwhelming as it was a moment ago, and, past everything else, Genesis can hear Angeal almost before his eyes actually perceive him.
He can always hear Angeal.
The steady rhythm of his breath - nose first, mouth after - and the ever present beat of his heart that's so intune with his very own... Yes, that is always there, no matter where he is in the world, and Genesis lets that soothe him even as he squints through the darkness to take in Angeal's figure. Both of them are often so wired by the sensations of the day that turning on the lights is sometimes forgotten, until ten minutes in and one of them curses slamming their knee into a corner or table. Yet with Midgar's lights making it almost eternally day, filtering in through the window, he can still see the shadow of the man, seated there, reading by citylight. A mug of something steaming is there at his side; Genesis can't recall when he made it.
When he sits up, he finds that there is also a mug of coffee for him there at the small couchside table, and Genesis takes it in hand almost immediately. It won't do anything for how overwhelmingly loud Midgar is, but focusing on the wretched taste of it helps a little. Besides, maybe the caffeine will do something for his headache.
"These grounds are absolutely wretched," he grumbles, getting up from the couch so that he can sink down onto the floor as well and squint at what Angeal is reading. "We need to get better, Angeal."
Angeal's scoff is light, delicate, almost not a sound at all. A sound that's distinctly him, that he's made almost for as long as Genesis has known him, he thinks. "When you can get artisanal bean money, you can get better," he points out, which is true, but must he actually say it? Terrible. Horrible. "How's your head?"
"Better." His ears don't quite feel like they're ringing and, while they are pathetically thin, their apartment walls are still barriers of some sort. "And yours?"
His partner takes in a deep breath. Just like always. Through the nose, out the mouth. "I'll manage," he says, which is a bit of a cop out, but Genesis doesn't say anything about it for the time being. There's a reason that his coffee doesn't look as though it's been touched at all, simply sitting there, the steam of it carrying that warm bitter scent. "Want to get the lights?"
Angeal could have no doubt gotten the lights when he was making the coffee, but since he did make the coffee, Genesis supposes that he may grant him this one little gift. A light pulse of pain goes off in his skull when he flips the switch, but nothing too bad. Nothing like going through drills for Thirds over at ShinRa, grinding his teeth together at the yelling that seemed almost designed to be as shrill as possible. Trying to forget that, or what he would do to the next idiot who clumsily dropped their sword, he turns back to Angeal. Now that he can see a bit better... He recognizes that little notebook. "Didn't your mom give you that?"
It takes a little bit of willpower, to say 'your mom', not 'ma'. Because she's not his mother, of course. He knows that. And, more importantly, it sounds just a little less... backwater, to say it like that. And Missus Hewley doesn't deserve mother.
This isn't the first time that he's made sure to correct his speech like this, but Angeal still quirks up an eyebrow at him before looking back down at the little black notebook. Well. Relatively little, Genesis supposes. It's still thick enough to put some dictionaries to shame. He can't even begin to imagine how long it took her to fill it up, and he knows for a fact that it is filled to bursting. Poor Missus Hewley. She really is getting on in years, so that couldn't have been easy for her hands. He'll have to send here some sort of ointment, from here in Midgar. Assuming Angeal doesn't beat him to the punch.
"Just a little something she wrote to help us adjust to city life," Angeal says, as Genesis settles down there on the floor besides him. They really do need more chairs... as though Angeal would ever use them, but regardless. "How to work in the company, how to get around rules, stuff like that."
A low hum rolls through Genesis. He thinks he can recall her saying something about working for a company, once upon a time in her youth. Truly rulebreaking must be in the Hewley family genes, if this is the kind of homeleaving present she gives to them. But - "I must say, that looks rather more like gardening advice, Angeal."
"I said I wanted to keep gardening in Midgar," Angeal shoots back, before making a face. "But you know what they all say."
They say nothing grows in Midgar. They say things choke and die from the smog in the air, that there's no room for soil just concrete and metal and tar. They say as long as you have mako powering everything, it should be fine. They say the lights are better than flowers, that the city is prosperous enough to import, that it's a better paradise than what mere plants could offer, so why bother, really?
Genesis likes the stark difference. Likes the idea of burning himself to ashes, and then making himself anew again, in someplace entirely different, being something entirely different.
It's just, in the back of his mind, there will always be the picture-perfect image of Angeal in the sharp curve of an apple tree, covered in dirt, the twist and pop as he tugs a dumbapple from its place to toss down into his waiting hands. He can't forget it. He'd never want to forget it.
He squints down into the notes, reading everything for himself. Some of it is sensible knowledge, like the vegetable plot that the Hewleys tried to help prosper in the back of their home on what little spare dirt they could spare. But other things... Other things are far more complex than he would have thought they'd be, although he supposes that only makes sense. There is no little plot of dirt behind their apartment building; only sidewalk and trash. Just one problem, really. "Where on earth are you going to get some of these supplies?"
Angeal does this thing he does sometimes, with his tongue - his lips part ever so slightly, and his tongue grinds against the front of his teeth. So slight a sound, even Genesis can almost not hear it sometimes. "I guess I'll just have to borrow some things," he says matter of factly.
When Angeal Hewley says borrow, what he really means is steal. Bit by bit, a smirk begins to form along Genesis's lips. "Now is that an honorable thing to do," he teases, even as he's already looking forward to the show, because anything would be better than just suffering in silence. And, really, if he didn't give Angeal at least a little bit of bullshit, would they really be in love? "And just how will you borrow anything?"
The flat stare he gets is hilarious, and Genesis doesn't really regret the words that earned it. "First of all, it's perfectly honorable stealing from a massive corporation when all I'm getting are some things for a little gardening," he counters, flicking his finger up and almost smacking Genesis in the nose with it. "Secondly, ma said that you can almost always find people in a department who hate each other's guts. S'just a matter off finding out exactly who those people are." Which is around the time that Angeal raises an eyebrow at him.
Angeal has often said that, even without his keen sense of hearing, Genesis would always know all the gossip about Banora anyway, because he's hungry for drama and seeing other people mess up. Genesis resents that idea, he really does... Except he can't help but smile sly, here. "I've heard word that the Professors Hojo and Hollander hate one another's guts."
"Probably can't make them hate each other any worse, then."
"I would take that as a challenge, personally."
In the interest of not getting them kicked out of SOLDIER before they've even made it past Third basic training, Genesis is not allowed to take that challenge, alas. Instead, he does what he does best, what they do best as a team, which is that he raises a bit of hell the next time that he and Angeal have to be separated for training groups. It is, quite frankly, a rather simple and easy matter.
Genesis would like to say that it is because he is a natural showman, and able to draw the eye of anyone and everyone with relative ease.
Later, Angeal points out that it is because he's already been throwing so many fits and starting so many fires since they've first joined SOLDIER that it's a miracle they haven't been court martialed or worse, and now it's probably just second nature for him.
(Both of them know that this is just how they work best. Brilliant fire and steady earth. Magic and strength. Halves of the same amazing star. Of course they succeed.)
Either way, a little distraction, a little bit of excuses when Angeal leaves and then when he comes back, and Genesis only really gets to see the haul long into the night, after they've finished their allegedly rigorous drills. Allegedly, because Genesis has never found any of the Third drills particularly difficult at all, and he knows Angeal feels much the same. Allegedly, just like how Angeal allegedly calls his pile of tubing and tanks and who knows what else "a haul".
Genesis sighs. "How far we've fall, stealing paltry equipment like this."
"I don't know, I think I've graduated from stealing apples," Angeal deadpans, reading through his mother's not-so-little notebook some more. "Anyway, come here and help me set some of this up. You're better at the little details like this than me. Remember when you hotwired that tractor?"
"Don't you dare bring up that tractor." It doesn't sound incredible, out here in the thriving and bustling city of Midgar. It sounds... hick. "And why on earth are you getting me involved in your dirty gardening, now?"
The answer, of course, is that if one of them has a terrible idea, the other is obligated to see it through too. Angeal cites Midgar specifically as one of the things Genesis has made him do. Genesis counters with the time that Angeal went off to find the biggest tree and almost broke his leg. It's when they start getting involved in things done when they were six that Genesis starts berating him for bringing up such old memories, and, at that point, he's already got a pair of gardening gloves on.
Of course Angeal Hewley, of all people, would take a look at a city like Midgar and decided he needed two pairs of gardening gloves.
And perhaps there is something soothing about pulling together the different tanks, connecting tubes and watering systems. You're good at the little details, Angeal had said, and perhaps it is because there is a kind of serenity to be found in the focus which comes with those little details. Even as the world grinds and grates on his nerves, he can find a focus like nothing else in those very same little details.
Searching out subtle hints and rhythm in poetry whose authors are long dead. Seeing the way different materia reacts to one another in pulls and pushes.
Finding the exact way to wire up the water pumps for the watering and draining system that they're hotwiring together in Angeal's apartment.
Before he knows it, a week has gone by, and they've managed to pull together a variety of tanks, tubes, and wires into something that could very well spite Midgar's Midgar-ness. Before he knows it, the noise has become just a little bit less grating, and there's only the sound of Angeal's fingers gently parting dirt to impart little seeds into their new home. "Of course you had those stored away in our fridge," Genesis sighs, as though he hasn't seen them nestled into various places throughout the kitchen. "What on earth do you even plan on growing here, then?"
"Magic beans," Angeal deadpans, and only laughs a little bit at him when he tells him off.
Together, the two of them hit Second-class before Angeal's plants start to sprout - a record, everyone whispers, and which Genesis takes no small amount of pleasure in. Sure, it can't beat Sephiroth's record, he's sure, but everyone knows that was out of the ordinary. The start of the Wutai conflict, and all that. They'll catch up in no time at all. Hit First in no time at all.
Probably a good thing the two of them get promoted so quickly, because Second-class means a Second's salary, and an increased salary means better apartments, plural.
And it's better to move so many plants at a young stage.
"This was a mistake," Genesis gripes, months later, when everything has started to flourish in a spread of green - the prickling scent of mint along shelves, lavender growing impossibly all underneath the window. "How on earth did I allow you to convince me into concocting this ridiculous set up? Truly, you are the grandest con artist of this generation."
Angeal doesn't even have the decency to answer him properly. He only hums, a low sound that rolls just underneath the sizzle and crackle of the pan he's tending to in front of him.
Hum. Sizzle. Crack. The rustle of leaves, as the breeze of the air conditioner filters through them. Outside, Midgar's nightlife continues to roar and honk and chatter away, but the lavender at the window soaks it all in rather than let it pass unrestricted. No longer does the city overwhelm him in a wave.
Genesis leans back into Angeal's couch, and closes his eyes. It is because they have a better apartment, with better walls, of course. It is because it has been many months since he first moved into Midgar, and he has merely adjusted. These are all the words he tells himself, as he sits in a place that is not wholly one person's.
"What did the mirror whisper to you?" Sephiroth asks, and Angeal thinks of the mirror.
Thinks of the way it was gilded, too expensive and glimmering despite the gloom it hid in, and yet all the angles were straight. No deviance, no curves. Sharp plain lines. Like sunlight, the way it shined, sunlight inbetween the leaves of a Banora White, cutting through shadow. He'd been in shadow too, at least so the mirror showed, and yet his reflection had spoken, had gestured with too many hands.
Whispered Banoran at him, clear as if it were someone right at his ear.
Don't you want to see Ma again?
Ma, with her warm smile, and her steady hands, and a weight on her shoulders.
You died the first out of everyone. You abandoned everyone else. But you're alive again. Who else could be alive? What about Pa, too? It'd be like you never left Banora.
Pa, who'd grinned wide, who'd given him a sword, who'd said he'd go out and be the first Hewley to really help people, to hold onto a sense of honor. Why had he ever left him behind? What sword would have been worth that?
It could be home again.
It could be home again, and he could introduce everyone to his parents, could wake up to help his mother in the kitchen first thing in the morning, could stitch his father's hand up. He could have Seph at their table. Zack could talk with his mother properly. Him and Genesis could squeeze into the same bed he'd had since he was a kid, and...
It could be home again. And he wants it so bad that he could bite through his tongue for it, fill his mouth with blood.
He doesn't, and it doesn't.
"It tells you things too good to be true," he says instead, hand twitching as it thinks of how he'd grabbed the first thing he could wrap it around.
criclawe haven location: short distance from hammerhead, not too far from road view: nothing to write home about, great night sky view as all havens in area have, longwythe peak view resources: leiden potato, birdbeast egg, mineral deposit points of interest: three valleys hide away enemies: so many dogs
merriothe haven location: just up the road from criclawe, right on the road, in the three valleys view: some light pollution, good look at all three valleys, longwythe peak view resources: leiden sweet potatoes, birdbeast eggs, leiden peppers points of interest: equal access to all three valleys, nearby parking space, buildings to take shelter in (this will not save you from dogs), commonly used dirt roads enemies: **dogs**
brackham haven location: literally outside insomnia, closet to the dungeon view: you are like right next to an imperial base resources: aegir root points of interest: crestholm reservoir fishing spot, crestholm channel dungeons enemies: you and the imperial troops are making eye contact as you pitch your tent
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suicidal ideation cw
Gillian's first thought is monsters - they're not close enough to Wutai to be targeted, and a town full of simple apple orchards wouldn't mean much anyway. The first aid kit is in a small shoulder bag that she always keeps near the door, because these things do happen in remote little farming communities in Banora. But before she has even stepped out the door, there's the smell of flesh burning, and she realizes that this is nothing like any monster attack she has lived through before.
Still, she steps through the door.
It was a long time ago that she last feared death. Just as long that she started to long for it, too.
At this time of day, most of the town is out in the fields, or working in the factory - hard at work, in other words. Just a guard or two that lazes around the square, until someone tries something stupid, or there's reason enough to raise the alarm. It was Carn, today, she thinks.
It's Carn's body there, already half-ash where it burns there on ground that is more dirt than tile.
In the ShinRa labs, one gains an iron stomach with what they may witness. A burnt corpse is not enough to disturb her, not on its own, not as a physical sight. But the person she sees standing over it? That familiar burn of red hair?
What that single pitch wing stretched out in the air means?
She feels sick, dizzy with the force of it, and there is, for one moment that feels like it has stretched out through the entirety of her life, a keen of despair. It is both eternal, and it is brief.
And then she settles into a numb calm.
Genesis is already turning to face her, no doubt having heard her footsteps a mile away, and yet his eyes widen, seeing her stand there. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to arrive so soon. Still, there can only really be one reason why he's here, can't there?
The bag lands neatly on the floor; there's no saving Carn, ShinRa bug she always suspected him to be, and there will be no saving her, either.
"Gillian," Genesis starts to say, but then she closes her eyes, folds her hands neatly in front of her dress. For over a neat twenty years, she had lived a more peaceful life than she had ever deserved. She had gotten away with the greatest crime of the decade, hurt children who had done nothing but be conceived, and then run away like the world's grandest coward so that she could live a quiet little life out in the countryside. Even if she had raised a child, raised two, with all the kindness and love she could give... How would that ever make up for all she had done?
This was always going to come back to her.
If it comes back in flame, then the pain is nothing less than what she has deserved. If it is blade, then perhaps it will be quick.
It comes back in neither of those things.
The fire is dying down, and what comes back to her ears instead is the catch of a breath that is so very loud in this empty little town square. "Miss Hewley," Genesis says, voice strangled tight until it almost sounds like a child again. A child, holding the hand of her own, there in the doorway of her home. "No - I only - No. Not you." Then, before she can open her eyes again, the sound of heavy wing beats goes through the air, and she ducks her head at the gust which whips up dust against her face.
The sight that greets her, when it all settles, is nothing but an empty square, a single charred corpse, and, gently floating through the air, pitch black feathers.
She stares. Even she does not know her own emotions until they bubble up through her throat, tear out a sob, and she is crying, then. She cries so hard that it feels as though she may fall apart then and there where she sinks down onto the dirt, face in her hands.
What was she doing? What was she daring to ask of him?
She nearly made a child kill her.
She has never once stopped being a monster.
Gillian cries less than she feels a true woman, a human with red blood, truly would, and the sky does not feel as though it has changed at all when she lowers her hands at long last. Some meters away, the corpse still lays there.
Aches shoot sharply up her legs when she pushes herself up to her feet. Perhaps it is adrenaline, perhaps it is something else, but she thinks she hears the sound of stomping boots off on the outskirts of town. Leaning down, she takes her bag in hand, and goes back home.
What else can she do for now but go back home?
The figures she sees out her windows there are dressed in ShinRa equipment, but she can tell from a glance that they are not them. None of them attempt to enter her house, although she can hear doors being forced open in her neighbors' homes. In the pit of her stomach, she has a suspicion of what is happening.
But all she does is move through her home, silently preparing for whatever guests may come. If Genesis is here, then she is certain that her boy is not far behind. Angeal could never leave him behind, and never did, always following after even though he were the one with longer legs. Can she bear to face him? With what he might know now, with what Genesis surely knows with the evidence of that single black wing?
Gillian doesn't feel as though she could. The very idea tightens around her throat, until her lungs might burst.
So she gathers things. She prepares some simple little fried potatos in a bowl, the thing her child always ate whenever he merely needed something to occupy his mouth. For Angeal, if he can even bear to look at her, set out on the kitchen counter.
When he'd first become old enough, she'd gotten a bottle from a top cabinet, poured him a cup of apple wine when he'd nearly been vibrating with excitement. They'd laughed together over the table, her and Angeal and Genesis. She'd poured it for him again, the night before he was to set out for SOLDIER, and they'd been quieter, then, up until he'd cupped his hands around hers and promised he'd be safe.
It'd never been his safety, exactly, that had made her fall apart in grief. She never explained that to him.
She gets that bottle from the top cabinet yet again, and something else, too. A small little box, something that could almost be a compact mirror in its shape, or something to hold playing cards. She'd kept Angeal away from it for years, even when he'd grown taller than her by meters, just by saying it was something for a woman.
And it is something for a woman. It is for her, and always has been, just in case. A single pill, a concoction she knows will dissolve and spread so very quickly. Easily. She knows, because she made it herself.
The wine, in its bottle. The pill, in its box. She puts them on the table, for herself.
It has been... too long, she thinks.
There is just one last thing she needs get. It's a shovel that's long not seen any use, the metal in its spade bent so bad in places that it might be hard pressed to go digging properly again. Angeal never did have any worry in him when it came to rushing out, chasing off a stray monster snapping its jaws around the orchards, but she worried, really, on him for it even if she always knew that he'd never be in real danger. It took long, so long, for her to save up for a proper weapon along with her deceased husband, at least something that could withstand Angeal's strength.
Until then, they'd got him a shovel with sturdy enough metal in it, and it survived a few whacks, at the very least.
It takes up two chairs besides her at the table, stretched across the length of both.
For Hollander.
Should he think he can still "talk sense" into her.
Gillian straightens her skirts out, seated where she is, and listens to the world outside her home. There is nothing, now. No crackling fire. No boots, stomping against dirt. There is only her own breathing, and, before her, wine and a pill.
Professor Gillian Hewley closes her eyes, and she waits for what may come, and she waits for the end.
And in a twist of moodwhip - rip in fuck lazard
1/2
Of course, it cannot be overstated just how close the three of them all are. Genesis and Angeal are especially obvious, but that sort of thing is only to be expected with the fact that they are childhood friends who have known each other for, as far as Lazard can tell, their entire lives. Ever since the first day they stepped into the ShinRa building, their shoulders were nearly touching. So who could be surprised, really, at the way that Angeal would rest his hand against Genesis's back, or how Genesis would lounge back against Angeal as though he were a living wall?
Who could really be surprised at the hickeys occasionally lining Angeal's neck, or the way that Genesis would lean into his hands smugly?
Sephiroth merged into the duo's dynamic in a way that seemed almost too natural to be real, on the more platonic surface of it all. It's easy to see why, of course. In the entirety of SOLDIER, perhaps ShinRa, perhaps the country, it doesn't feel as though anyone else can match a single one of them. Not even other First-class SOLDIERs. The three of them are the exception, and they're only satisfied when it comes to one another. And in that satisfaction, well.. They seem happy as well, in finding company that can keep up with them, and that's good. Lazard has known Sephiroth for... too long. He needs others to be with him, who he is happy to be with.
That's all fine, of course. Better than fine. Seeing Sephiroth actually smile a bit whenever Angeal bumps his fist against his shoulder, or Genesis leans in to suggest something with a wicked glint in his eye... It's nice.
Probably it's his fault for not realizing sooner that Genesis and Angeal would push things a little farther than just that. The signs had been there in hindsight, of course - the way Angeal would smile just a little softly at Sephiroth while leaning against him. The sparking hunger in Genesis's movements that were the same when he sparred with Angeal, now focused towards Sephiroth. How they both acted together in unison around Sephiroth, like a pair of pack animals circling around a new target, leaning against him easily.
The problem was that it was interspersed with a million other interactions, and that Lazard had a million other things on his plate. So when everything finally clicked, well... He supposes he was a tad late.
He hears about it distantly, first, because someone overheard Angeal and Genesis inviting Sephiroth over to one of their apartments for dinner, and then he sees it much later, because the pair are not subtle. Genesis starts leaning against Sephiroth in the same way he leans against Angeal, and Angeal starts resting his arm aground Sephiroth's shoulders. How they lean into him like he's another part of them. Sephiroth welcomes it gladly with the smile of a cat in a sunbeam.
Fuck.
"You called for us, Director?" Angeal asks one day in his office, Genesis right there at his side. It's a good day to get the pair of them in at once; that is how Lazard would prefer to do this. Otherwise, there's always a chance that they're out on separate missions, and while he could speak to them one at a time...
Best to deal with them both at once. Deal with the problem both at once, before one has the chance to tell the other what's going on and make this more of a mess than it already is.
Pushing his glasses up, Lazard straightens up at his desk. "Yes, I did, thank you. Genesis, would you please lock the door? I'd rather this a private conversation."
Both of his Firsts glance at each other, eyebrows raising - slightly, in Angeal's case, and more notably for Genesis. Still, politeness does get him somewhere in the end, and perhaps the two do like him a bit more than some of the others above their station as SOLDIER. Genesis does as he requests, clicking the lock into place so that there can be no interruptions, before he saunters back to where Angeal has stationed himself in front of Lazard's desk. "Now, what could all this secrecy be about, Director?" he drawls, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side prettily. Lazard sometimes wonder if anyone in Banora realized how terribly attractive Genesis is, and if that went to his head at all before he arrived in Midgar.
Angeal, at least, seems to be taking the occasion seriously as he frowns. Lazard can almost see his thoughts churning behind those pale blue eyes of his. "Is it a mission that important?" he asks, one hand resting on his hip, elbow brushing against Genesis's arm.
At least Lazard can put that bit of concern to rest. "No, it's not about a mission at all," he reassures them smoothly. "Rather, I merely wanted to speak to the two of you about some concerns I have."
Genesis flashes an amused little smirk up towards Angeal. "Is it finally the time when the heavens shall part, and others will at last point out that you dress yourself terribly as a representative of SOLDIER?" he teases.
Maybe others would bristle, with how easily Genesis seems to hold himself above others, and how incomprehensible he can make himself quite on purpose. But all Angeal does is smile a little bit, roll his eyes ever so slightly. "If it were that, I'd be in here alone," he explains patiently. "So you'll have to put up with my reused uniform for just a while longer."
It's at this point that Lazard has to clear his throat, making them focus again. They'll never stick on track if he lets them keep this up. "It actually has to do with Sephiroth," he says, and that gets their attention. Genesis's gaze practically sharpens to a razor's edge, not wavering from Lazard's person for a second. Angeal may not be so overbearing, not yet, but he shifts in place, leans forward just enough for Lazard to be all the more aware of how much taller he is than just about everyone else in the building. Him, especially. Lazard doesn't let that deter him, and just keeps eye contact. "I am aware that the three of you have grown closer with him lately."
Something is sparking in Genesis's stare, an ember ready to explode into a flame. Lazard expected that, honestly, but he also expected Angeal to be the one to keep a cool head... and also one to make excuses to keep people out of "their" business. "I didn't think it was anything particularly interesting," he says, shifting forward again just enough before easing back that minuscule amount to where he was. Genesis seems to simmer down. Slightly. "We just thought it was fine to invite him out of ShinRa buildings for a while. We're close enough to start meeting outside of them."
"And close enough to hold him by the hips?" Lazard challenges, and Angeal's eyes narrow a little. "Or take some of his hair in your hands?" His hands clasp together on the table, matching the stern frown on Lazard's own lips. "Please, boys. I can see well enough what you both have gotten into with him."
Along his hip, Angeal's fingers dig in, tense, and he takes in a breath as he no doubt tries to figure out how to approach this. His partner does not waste any such time, tilting his head back imperiously. "And really, why does that matter in the slightest?" he says. "Every single one of us gave our consent the night we approached him, and have since then. Certainly I have heard no complaints leave those lips of his. We even gave him the best show of our feelings that could be asked for, as romantic and intimate as he would deserve."
Almost against his will, Lazard wonders in the back of his head what it looked like. Genesis is so fond of dramatics, of theatre and poetry and grand stories in literature, but Angeal balances him. There would no doubt be romance, certainly, roses and dim lighting, but Angeal is quiet and steady comfort. Homecooked meals, and gentle close contact, Sephiroth looking upon it all from beneath those pale eyelashes of his, and -
And he needs to stop thinking about this.
"It matters because you are working for ShinRa," Lazard says instead, forcing himself to stay on track now as well instead of just the two men in front of him. "If you were employed anywhere else, then perhaps there would be no trouble whatsoever. However, the context is not that. You are all SOLDIER, and thus certain things are expected of you. Required of you. Did you not think of how much trouble this would cause others around you, including him?"
2/2
Out of the three of them, Angeal and Sephiroth are the easiest to work with when it comes to talking them down from ridiculous nonsense. With how Sephiroth can be so easily encouraged into things by Genesis, sometimes that leaves only Angeal. Lazard supposes he should work with him in turn, although he still sighs. "I understand that you no doubt did what you did with the absolute best of intentions," he explains, reining his tone in for something a little more understanding, quiet. "However, you both know as well as anyone that when you registered into SOLDIER, you were made to sign certain paperwork. That includes agreeing to the fraternization policy that is in place."
"With all due respect, Director, the entire portion about fraternization in the handbook always seemed to be more of a..." Angeal tilts his head to the side as well, hair brushing against his shoulders, and he raises an eyebrow. "..suggestion than anything else."
This particular topic seems to lighten up Genesis's mood, and he turns his head, smiling slyly up at Angeal. "Certainly nothing more than a little foot note," he purrs, his palm sliding along one of Angeal's shoulders, over until he can slide his fingers into dark hair. "Or else I imagine we would have gotten into a great deal more trouble for the sort of mischief we have..."
The way Lazard pinches the bridge of his nose blocks his view of Angeal's expression, but he can still hear that patient sigh. "Gen, not now," he murmurs.
He's managed to compose himself by the time his hand lowers again. "You are both a special case," he says, and he means that in more ways than he believes the pair of them understand. "In fact, you are a special case I had to make an argument for-" Ah, and that's hit. Angeal's brow furrows, no doubt trying to think on what could have happened, and Genesis's eyes are wide as he turns to look back at him. "I thought you were both so full of potential that it would be a waste to turn you away, especially when you were already romantically entangled with one another prior to joining ShinRa. I convinced them that the typical issues which arose with fraternization would not arise with the two of you."
Yes, this really might be the argument that gets through to the pair of them. Angeal glances down, now, his own arms folding in front of his chest while a frown rests upon his lips. He really is a good man, aware of what ways he might stand out or what troubles he causes - what he can get away with and what might actually affect people. He may very well tease, but Lazard is confident in the fact that he wouldn't step too far over the line.
Even Genesis seems to be recanting a bit with this additional knowledge. "It should never have been such a big enough matter in the first place," he says, narrowing his eyes down at the floor.
"Whether or not that is the case is not the matter at hand here," Lazard says, feeling more confident now that he knows which argument will hit the two of them best. "I am simply letting you be aware of the rules and risks that are at play here. Even the fanclubs which have arisen due to your influence are well aware of your closeness, and so we can be more assured that this will not affect either your work or how you appear to the public. However, getting Sephiroth involved is by far an entirely different matter. It is, if I may be blunt, not only incredibly unprofessional, but also you could end up causing a great deal of harm to him. You should both be aware that his socialization skills are rather low. The kind of passions that arise during romance are not something to be treated lightly. He needs to be handled with much gentler hands than I believe the pair of you have really put thought into. And of course, then there is the matter of his public image. While the two of you balance well off of one another, the fact of the matter is that a part of Sephiroth's popularity is because he is seen as more of a lone wolf type. As someone beautiful and talented, purely unobtainable..."
He could keep going. He has a whole speech planned, with the hopes that even a fraction of it will stick in either one of their heads and make them reconsider what they're doing. That's almost the best he can ask for.
And yet, right in the middle of it all, Genesis's head suddenly snaps up, and his eyes light up in that eerie blue. "Wait," he breathes, even as Angeal stirs besides him in a softer but no less serious interest. "I was being lead, a fool to water, into the idea that this was some shovel talk. Yet Director... This is hardly that. You are jealous, aren't you?"
Lazard's heart slams hard into the inside of his chest. The atmosphere of the room is suddenly shifting, pressing down on him as the pair look at him with a kind of interest in their eyes. "Jealous of who is the real question," Angeal says, voice gaining a soft and deep quality that rolls into Lazard's gut.
Whatever else his heart might be doing, Lazard keeps his composure. "My personal feelings on this matter are of no concern," he says coolly, "and I would thank you to not make assumptions. Now, as I was saying-"
He doesn't get to finish what he was saying. Instead, as is his wont, Genesis steps forward with a sweep of his arm. "There is no need to be hesitant," he declares, regaining that confident smoothness to his voice. "You had me lock the door, Director, so it is only the two of us that are here to hear any confession you may want to make." He turns from him, pacing some sort of unknown pattern in front of his desk. Genesis's hands are still gesturing, long and languid, to the point that Angeal has to start going to the side just so that he can avoid getting hit. "And you and I both know that the soundproofing in this little den of yours is nothing short of superb." He glances over his shoulder, the mako blue of his eyes seeming brighter than usual. "For... confidentiality reasons and nothing less, I'm sure." He whirls around again, still going at it. "And I must say-"
"You don't need to say anything else," Lazard informs him sharply, palms pressing down flat against his desk. "I think that is enough, Genesis, SOLDIER First Class. I thought it would be good to bring it up to both of you, but I see I was mistaken. If you are going to say such things, then-" He pushes himself up to his feet, hands still braced against the desk, and -
And there is a firm chest right there against his back, and large hands sliding over his to keep him pinned in place. Lazard's breath catches.
His own fault, really. He's seen how Genesis and Angeal fight together. The way that they're perfectly in sync in almost all ways, able to manuever around one another in mirror images, or perfect complements. It was like watching wolves in the wild, bodies racing fluidly against ground and through the air as they hunted down an elk. He's seen videos. Watched as one would snap and howl, draw their prey's attention while the other approached it from the other hand, silent and unnoticeable until its teeth were digging into its throat...
Angeal's breath is hot against the back of his ear, his neck. Lazard swallows, and tries to ignore a similar heat in the pit of his stomach.
Needless to say, Genesis looks as pleased as anything. His hands fall back down, losing all drama. "Oh, I hardly believe there is any need for the three of us to part so soon, Director Lazard," he says, savoring every word passing through his lips in a way that makes him want to lose all control. "There is still so much to this conversation that we could have."
Underneath the sharp click of Genesis's boots, there's a low rumble that rolls deep into him - Angeal's chest to his back. Lazard fights to keep his mouth from going dry, and doesn't find much success. "There is nothing more to talk about," he says, and at least his voice stays level even if nothing else feels like it is inside of him.
All Genesis does is smile, a cocky sway to his hips that Lazard does his absolute damned best to not watch too closely. "Now, isn't that incorrect, Director Lazard?" he drawls, and, finally, he is back at the desk as well. His own hands slide across the smooth surface, nudging against his own fingers. Covering what little that Angeal's own could not. He is so close this way as he leans down, tongue drawing itself slowly across his lips. "There is still a question that you have yet to answer, Director."
He has been in far worse situations than this. Lazard tries to remind himself of that, and not the soft pink of Genesis's tongue. Of Angeal's hips against his, a bulge notable against his pants that he can feel. It's exactly how he's imagined it, in more than a couple of fantasies. "What question?" he asks breathlessly as Genesis leans down, even as he knows it's a trap.
Against all his better judgment, unfortunately... He wants to be trapped.
Genesis is slow and languid in the way he moves closer, nose brushing against Lazard's. Lips brushing against his own mouth, a dangerous temptation where every breath he takes in is just an exhale of Genesis's own.
"Which of us are you jealous of... Director Lazard?"
short and sweet
There's a pleasure to it, of course. The sweet smell of Banora White swept in with every gasp Angeal draws out of him. The warmth from the sun, sunken into their skin, the same skin that Genesis spreads his greedy palms all across. There is a sweetness to it all that settles deep into him somewhere, as they take each other hidden away in the trees.
Of course, there's also some problems, and Genesis is never quiet about them. "Why do trees have to shed so many leaves and sticks," Genesis complains, reaching back one day as Angeal carefully buttons his pants up again. "This is getting so annoying and ridiculous - and why did you have to do it against the grass, hm?" His fingers can't find anything else, but Genesis knows something is there, and he growls a bit.
Obligingly, Angeal moves around him, and his fingers start shifting through his hair patiently. Angeal's hands may be large, taller than Genesis by a mile and proportioned to match, but he's careful when it comes to little things like this. Careful like his mother. Genesis doesn't mind that very much; he likes Miss Hewley. She cuts his hair when it gets just a little too long for his liking, and lets him stay the night. "If we did it against a tree, there'd probably still be dirt and twigs," Angeal points out in that patient and exasperated tone of his. "Just pull your hair back, then there's no problem."
"I'm not going to wear a ridiculous ponytail like you," Genesis complains. One of these days, he's going to make Angeal keep his loose. He looks nicer, that way, even if he always looks good by Genesis's estimate. "Ugh, you're terrible. Just hurry and finish, so we can head back before anyone notices we're gone."
Angeal does, and they do, and that's that. Just another day in Banora amongst the smell of freshly harvested apples. Genesis isn't really expecting anything of it.
Except, after that day, Angeal starts meeting him up with a coat. He's already shot up like a damn shoot, stupid tall thing, and his shoulders have only gotten more broad, so new clothes are usually pretty easy to pick up even on a regular day with how Miss Hewley has to replace or mend or make them. But the coat is newer than even Genesis is familiar with. He teases Angeal about it, of course, because he didn't think that such a long coat would suit him even though they both know that Angeal will probably have grown well into it by the end of the month. All Angeal does is huff at him, but then that's that.
Even in the middle of nowhere, Banora being what it is, they have things to do. Odd jobs that Angeal does which Genesis tags along on, or new books from the city that he's managed to get from the traveling merchant that stops by in their town every other month. Angeal wears the coat every single day, no matter what, even as it gathers sweat along the back of his neck and he has to make a face whenever he sweeps his hair out of his face.
Genesis makes fun of him for all of that, too.
Makes fun of him up until the day that the two of them find a moment to themselves a couple weeks later. Up until Genesis has Angeal's face in his hands as he kisses him, savoring the fresh and sweet taste of stolen Banoran White apples on his lips. A heat is pooling between his legs, in his veins, and he's right in the middle of reaching up to tug loose Angeal's hair when the other boy stops him. "Hold on," he murmurs again, and his hands move away from where Genesis actually wants them on his hips.
He grumbles again, a brief growl, only to be interrupted by the roll of Angeal's shoulders as that stupid coat finally gets shed. He thinks it's just a simple matter of undressing, that he's succeeded at getting Angeal all hot and bothered... but then his boyfriend steps away, and spreads the coat down there in the grass, underneath the soft red light of sunset.
Genesis blinks. Then, he laughs. "What... on earth are you doing?"
"I thought you were the one who was always complaining about dirt and bugs in your hair," Angel retorts, raising an eyebrow even as his face goes a pale pink. "So there. No more dirt, bugs, or twigs. Don't tell me you still have complaints. "
It's just, he's still laughing. Except Genesis can't help it, not with the love fluttering in his chest. He has to get it out somehow - his laughter, his hands grasping at Angeal's as he pulls him down to that coat.
His kisses, along warm cheeks and that sulking mouth.
Love is the smell of Banoran White apple flowers blossoming throughout the year, but sometimes love is the smell of a silly coat that's heavy with the musk of his lover, the grass stains that sink into the fabric. Love is service, and thought, and it's Angeal.
the unfinished project of Gillian Kidnapping Kids For The Better
1/2
It's just that, right now, Director Lazard has his hands held placidly up, and a gun is pointed at his head.
Behind him, the woman takes a step back, her fingers digging deep into the fine suit of the director and encouraging him along with her. Sephiroth steps back with them - off to the side, matching their slow pace, and his gaze flicks back to her. He has Masamune with him. He is positive that he could erase the threat here in the blink of an eye. Nothing about her says soldier, after all, all capitals or not.
Or maybe that is not entirely true. Her hands are not soft, but they are not the rough callouses of a gunwoman. She isn't holding Director Lazard in the most optimal way to stop him from escaping, if perhaps he really tried. And yet as she looks down the hall, situated where she is in the precarious position at one of the highest floors in ShinRa's building, there is no fear there like a regular civilian would hold. There is only an endless sort of calm to her, like the way water pulls back right before a storm. It is intense, in a way that feels somehow familiar.
It wouldn't help her against Masamune's edge, of course, but it makes Sephiroth wonder even as he grips the sword tightly in his hands.
"Step away from the director," he says calmly, even though he has to raise his voice slightly as the hard stomping of boots and the clacking of equipment signals the arrival of more soldiers here to take care of the intruder that has somehow slipped right into the heart of the massive facility. There are probably Turks there as well, intermingled amongst the more common SOLDIERs, but he doesn't care about that. He cares about the only person who's only cared for him, with a muzzle pressed against his head. "This is your final warning."
This may be the last warning he gets for the Director, too. Sephiroth has no faith that, if they really wanted, ShinRa could find another replacement director, if they thought it would be easier, more beneficial, to capture this strange woman and find out how she was able to get in here so easily. And... And he won't let that happen. No matter what.
The woman - short black hair held back with bobby pins that catch the artificial lighting - doesn't look at him. Not exactly, not quite. There's a twitch, small muscles near her eyes, that hint she might very well want to. "You are the boy in the labs, aren't you?" she asks, and there is something in his ribcage that - jerks.
He's lived in the labs for as long as he can remember, patiently having to endure test after test after test, up until Lazard was introduced to it all. Until Lazard managed to convince and work with the scientists to let him out. It has meant being in a war, yes, but it has meant tasting air sweeping with it the distance scent of rain or feeling the rolling warmth of sunlight. It has also meant him not being allowed to talk about that kind of thing - trade secrets for ShinRa, or something similar. He's never questioned it. People have never known.
Except Lazard, and the scientists, and this strange woman with her hand steady on a gun and eyes that don't waver.
She has a backpack. Sephiroth wonders if there is paperwork in there, files and CDs and other things just full of information. Did she read anything, before she stumbled upon Lazard? Took him for a hostage, and ran into Sephiroth? She can't have been in ShinRa for that long. How does she know?
And why does she says, with a quiet trembling voice, "I apologize that I did not come to you sooner."
"Sephiroth," Lazard says, still quiet, so quiet and careful that his lips don't even seem to move, and that's enough of an anchor for him. Enough to pull him together a little bit, from the way something inside is shaking. "Don't hurt her. You should go with her - quickly."
The idea of leaving Shinra - of leaving the only place, the only thing, he actually knows is actually quietly terrifying. And yet, if Lazard told him to do it, Sephiroth would, in any other circumstances. It's just the idea of leaving without him that is far more horrifying. He feels cold. Like ice. "I am not leaving you behind," he says firmly, and his stance shifts slightly.
Down the hall, all the way in the back and far past what normal people could see, he knows there is a flash of black there that is nothing like what the average SOLDIER wears. A Turk. Someone with the shine of a gun on them. They might be able to shoot at the intruder from this distance, but it's far more likely that they'll either go through Lazard in order to do it, or, at the very least, hit him entirely by accident. If by some miracle they don't, Sephiroth still doesn't trust this woman's finger to spasm from the pain, pull the trigger...
For the first time in his life, Sephiroth takes a breath and prepares to disobey an order. He'll have to position Masamune just right, of course, make sure to act fast enough to move the gun's muzzle away from Lazard. If he executes it smoothly enough, he can use the momentum, force her to the ground with minimal injury, get Lazard free-
The building rumbles, and something massive rises up past the floor-to-ceiling windows near them, blocking the bright lights of Midgar.
2/2
Yet even as shards of glass go crashing and spinning by his feet, the figure bursting through the window doesn't spare him even a second glance. There's just a whirl of action, a figure with dark hair and wielding a long polearm tossing aside various SOLDIERs like they're nothing. A gunshot cracks through the air, and does nothing, is blocked by the blade on its long pole - Sephiroth can recognize it at a distance. Wutai-make, the heavy curving blade lending itself to powerful blows even with the flat and blunt sides used to smack opponents away.
In theory, every move is unpolished. In practicality, it's like watching something almost natural - an eagle snatching fish from water, a wolf surging past trees.
It's something deeper in Sephiroth's blood that sings at the sight of the figure, even as they kick up a struggling SOLDIER from the ground and smack them towards the Turk at the very end of the hallway with his weapon like a child playing ball.
But Sephiroth won't let himself be the kind of person captured by interesting moves. It's better this way, for him to work on his own, and he propels himself forward, Masamune pulling back even as the woman cries out from behind him - the most emotion that has left her since he first ran into her. "GEAL!"
Not many people can even react to him - but the young man with dark hair does, twisting around even before the sound of his name can begin its echo. He doesn't go for an outright block - smart, Masamune would carve straight through - but instead jerks to the side with his teeth grit, just enough so that he can raise his weapon up and slam it against Masamune's guard. The two of them slide close together like that, and -
Sephiroth's breath catches. The black hair, falling loose around the man's face, had gotten in the way of seeing him clearly... but this close, it's impossible to miss. The eyes staring back at him, past the crossing of metal against metal, are the kind of brilliant blue he's rarely seen so sharp save for his own reflection in the mirror.
They're the kind of eyes that only First-class SOLDIERs possess, set in the eyes of someone he realizes isn't much older than him by more than five years or so.
The young man in front of him jerks the naginata at him a bit, pushes, but not enough to actually mean anything. A gesture, he thinks. "Calm down," he says, brow set sternly. "We're not here to hurt you!" A pause as he glances past Sephiroth's shoulder. "Mom!"
A mother? The very concept seems so distant to Sephiroth... and a mother who breaks into one of the most heavily guarded buildings in Midgar, as well. He's never known a mother's attention, a relationship with such an entity, but, well... All the things he could see at a distance certainly don't resemble this.
Or maybe it does, with the way the man's eyes soften and shine so bright that Sephiroth could almost want for it.
"Angeal..." Sephiroth knows better than to take his eyes off of an enemy, but he doesn't quite need to. He can hear the calm of the woman's voice, the mother's voice, break apart. Ripples on a disturbed pond. "I apologize..."
"It's okay, Gen and I thought that something would happen," the man, Angeal say, soft and soothing. That same tone doesn't leave him, even as his gaze returns back to Sephiroth. Out of all the things that could happen, one of the last things that Sephiroth is expecting is for the man to suddenly take a step back and shove his naginata down to the floor. "Hey. We're not your enemies, alright?"
Sephiroth, even at his relatively young age, has fought a lot of people. Not a single one of his fights has ever gone like this. It's so surreal that he can only stare for a second. "Your mother is holding an important director of ShinRa's SOLDIER organization hostage," he says, and feels rather deadpan about it all.
Angeal just shrugs. "These things happen," he says, as though this is absolutely a very normal thing that does indeed happen every day.
Out of anyone, Sephiroth would be the first person to say that he doesn't quite understand many social things that so many other people seem to be more innately intune with. Yet he is also fairly certain that these things do not actually happen that often to any sort of regular degree.
No one else would take his absolute bewilderment as an agreement, or hesitance. Whoever this Angeal is, well, he is someone else entirely as he steps around Sephiroth and Masamune to make straight towards his mother and Director Lazard. Something in Sephiroth's mind short circuits at that. This is not how a battle should go. All he can do is follow the flow of it regardless, fascinated and, on some level, tempted by how very different it is from the life he has lead so far.
He feels like he's on the edge of some large body of water, and he'll see everything in its depths if he dives in. There are so many answers, just waiting for him.
There is no longer a gun pointed at Director Lazard's head, at least, when he turns to follow Angeal's movements. He still has his hands kept carefully up, pale blue eyes watching the scene play out in front of him, but he's not in immediate danger. The woman, Angeal's mother, she still has the gun in her hand, but not pointed at anyone. Instead, she waits in place, and leans into Angeal's palms as he presses them lightly to her arms. With a notable lack of many armed men charging in her direction, the steel from the woman is... tucked away, and she smiles up at her son. "Things ended up escalating just a tad," she says.
Sephiroth cannot help but wonder if casual understatements are something of a family trademark, here.
"Really?" Angeal comments, standing amongst shattered glass and past dozens of downed SOLDIERs and at least one Turk. "I don't think I noticed, Mom."
Hm. Definitely something of a family trademark.
But then Angeal's tone shifts, more quiet and serious, and Sephiroth's attention razor focuses on his voice. "He's going to make a turn around again. We need to go. Are you okay, do you think you can...?"
"I'll be fine," she promises him gently, letting go of the gun so that she can reach up, brush light fingers against his face where they rest a moment. "I think you made an impact. Speak with him, won't you?" As she lets go of his face, Angeal turns around obligingly, and the woman once again goes to grip one of Lazard's fine suit jackets. Her other hand still holds the gun at the ready, even as she goes over to the shattered windows to look out. The wind whips at her hair, tugs at it from where it's moored with the bobby pins. "So a turn around, then..."
Sephiroth keeps an eye on the two of them, even as Angeal approaches him. "This isn't really the best time for a summary on everything," he says patiently, while, behind him, the woman lets go of Lazard's jacket even as they peer out the empty window frame. "For a lot of reasons. The best I can say right now is that you and me are the same." The woman starts to take a good few steps back from the window, chest rising with a deep, calming inhale and exhale.
"The same?" Sephiroth echoes. He would be more skeptical, if he could. It's just... he can't.
It defies all logic. Everything he thought he knew, even about himself. It's just that, when he looks at Angeal straight into those bright blue eyes of his, something in him seems to settle in a way that it never has before. Almost... like finding somewhere he can rest.
Angeal nods and, behind him, his mother smacks one cheek a bit even as the cold wind bites at all of them. "It's a long story, but, short, there's a reason that you and I are as good as we are." It's not even said cockily. Just a matter of fact. Well, the evidence of his skill is all around them, Sephiroth supposes. "I know we've given you no reason to trust us... But I swear on my honor that, if you truly do not believe or trust in anything that we say at the end of this all, you're free to run right from us with the person that my mother had with her, and we won't stop you."
Something like that makes for an easy lie. Sephiroth wouldn't trust it any other time. So why it is different when he looks into that stern and honest face across from him? The way that hand presses against his chest, like the oaths he's read about?
Well... If nothing else, in the end, Sephiroth supposes he should be confident in himself, and Masamune. "We'll see what this honor of yours means," he answers back quietly, and a brief little smirk of confidence passes across Angeal's face.
Huh. He thinks he might like that?
Subtly, and rising, the building is starting to rattle again, and the shards of glass clitter and clatter across tile. "He's coming back!" Angeal's mother calls to them, before she rushes forward and shoves Lazard right off the building.
Sephiroth's mind doesn't even has a chance to conceptualize the sort of noise it should make in response to that, because the mother only takes a moment to steady herself right there on the edge before she leaps off too. While he's left there trying to fit the pieces of his thought back together, Angeal is already sweeping down low to grab his naginata. "Come on!" he calls back to Sephiroth, already grabbing the hand not holding Masamune as he guides him to the back wall before the windows. "You ever gone flying before?"
More than once, he has been in helicoptors, or planes, and other bits of technology made for travel. Sephiroth does not think that is the kind of flying he means.
Angeal grins at him again, cocky and relaxed. "Well, we're going to fix that." And he takes off running, Sephiroth right with him, until they both leap through the empty frames and out into the night sky.
Wind whips through him, his lungs and his hair, and yet Sephiroth feels almost in contradiction because he simultaneously feels as though he is suspended there. Before them, the bright lights of Midgar stretch out like a night sky he's only gotten to see on the occasional mission, a sea that they could dive right into. Even when that moment falls away, when the two of them begin to plummet down at gravity's demand... He still feels electrified.
Angeal doesn't let go of his hand. If anything, he makes sure to grip it all the tighter - the naginata clicking into a smaller version of itself, folding against his back so that he can reach out and tug Sephiroth closer. "HERE HE COMES!" he calls, voice rising above the tear of wind. Above the heavy sound of wingbeats, thumping down around them.
Finally snapping out of it, Sephiroth looks down just in time to witness the enormous shape of a dragon - a summon, has to be - turning sharply through the air. Even in the dark, he's still able to see Lazard's preferred suits - crisp sharp blue and professional navy - and there's the woman's clothes, too, the labcoat she surely had to steal. The two of them cling to the summon's back, Lazard no doubt for his dear life; his poor director never really has belonged on the field.
And there's another figure, too. A bright red beacon there right behind the dragon's crest, between those piercing straight horns, laughing as though this night belongs to him and him alone.
Hands, outstretched. Angeal reaches out with his own, takes one for himself as though it's the most natural thing in the world. And Sephiroth, as the world slows down, as he falls through the night and looks ahead to another pair of mako blue?
He reaches out, too.
A moment that feels like an eternity, and then it's gone, the two of them tugged onto the enormous summon's back as the red haired youth - literally Sephiroth's own age, he thinks - laughs all the louder. It's a bumpy landing, for sure, but the summon straightens, dives down towards the city lights, and he manages to secure himself. Angeal does the same right besides him, reaching out with one long and muscular arm to anchor down not only his mother, but Lazard, too. It's a weight off of Sephiroth's heart, honestly. A good thing, too, because he can't help but look up towards the boy there at the summon's head.
A redhead. Shorter than him, by a little. Their eyes meet, and the brilliant triumphant smile crosses that face as he spreads hands out wide. "And so a new actor enters the stage!" he sings above the darkness, his wind-mussed hair falling about his face. "We have been waiting forever for you!"
There is something to be said for that pleased smile. The way his eyes shine above it, and the burn of his hair. Sephiroth's heart does something strange again, and he is almost uncertain if he has eve seen anything more beautiful.
Angeal's voice rises next to him. "Genesis, stop being dramatic, and guide Bahamut so we don't crash into a street!"
AU things
1/2
Sometimes he indulges them, if he can feel enough passion aching in their soul, tearing through veins and pulsing against the inside of skin. If they make the proper offerings of his favorite things - apples from the trees which carve in and out of the earth on his mountain, or poetry which delights his senses enough to make him feel generous.
Some say there are problems with such things, of course. The Banora White which flourish most splendidly along his mountain blossom and bear their fruit sporadically, not caring the season or the weather. Finding the right tree in season on the entire mountain is almost more a matter of luck than it is anything else... Especially with the creatures which look so very comfortably along the greenery, their brilliant burning red coats a warning sign and herald.
And the poems he finds most beautiful? The poems that will feed him, tinder to a wildfire? Those are not easy things to craft, in the end, and people often find that the treacherous journey through uneven mountain paths to be easier than feeding his tastes.
He is not entirely sure if he is expecting either option of the man who comes trekking up his mountain one day, plainly dressed and dark hair just short enough that it could not stay in any sort of ponytail or bun. He has a severe face, both in a natural sort of aspect, and because he is staring towards the rest of the world with narrowed eyes. Careful and cautious, but all the more sure of his steps for it and holy shit his dick is huge. He can actually see the outline of it in his pants. He hadn't even been aware that humans came in that size.
In the time that it takes for him to get over this very fascinating little revelation about humans, the man makes it to his shrine in its comfortable hole in the mountain. It is a precious thing, built from fine wood and delicately carved stone, all curving together into something truly stunning. He had humans make it to him once upon a time, one of the rare few times that he accepted payment that wasn't sweet flesh or prettier words. Sometimes, there is a poetry to the way their clever little fingers can make symbols from stone. In the end, hadn't he liked the way that it had all tucked into the mountain, too, a contrast to those who foolishly thought that fire was only something that could flourish in the sun.
And yet it is in the pressure of earth, of caves where things burn eternal, that fire finds its place the most.
The man in front of his shrine, now, also seems to be right at home where he is, as the shade of the opening falls over him. One calloused hand presses along the curve of his neck, feeling the sweat that has gathered there. The other rests somewhat from his pants, the pocket that has been neatly sewn into it. They are worn pants, having clearly seen many modifications and repairs. This is not new, for him. There are many who come to his shrine, in much a similar state, to beg him for riches, to beg him for a better life, to beg him even occasionally for revenge so that they might take what they feel they are owed.
Sometimes that's true, sometimes that's not. Genesis helps them depending on what makes for the most passionate story, and if he finds their hearts burning brighter than stars.
There is no request for riches here. No letter filled with pretty words to cajole him for his help, no apple left on the plate there in his shrine's place. All the man does is shake his head after a moment, and turn away. "Well, don't I feel like more than half a fool," he says, intending to speak towards empty air and ending up speaking to Genesis, hidden there amongst the stone and wood and prayer. "At least I can break." And he sits there, back to the shrine, eyes out front to the spread of greenery that lies before him.
Quite a dangerous thing, to turn one's back on a shrine. On him. The candelight which burns eternally at his shrine, flickers, forms the burning red of his hair and the fur of his tail, as he slinks up to the man. There is an urge, faintly, to burn all the brighter than candlelight.
To burn until dark hair goes more pitch than moonless nights, and there exists no more clothing on those broad shoulders.
He debates it. He doesn't do it. Instead, as he's pondering exactly what he does want to do now that he's already gone to all this trouble, the man tilts his head slightly back and says, without turning it, "If you're going to kill me for the disrespect, then just do it, because I have nothing else to offer you, besides maybe a little bit of trouble for your efforts."
What a cocky thing. Genesis smiles, all sharp teeth and embers snapping behind them along his tongue and down into his lungs. "Now why must you go and entreat me with a good time?" he drawls, pressing close enough that he's sure the burning presence of him is there against the man's back. "Or perhaps the better question which must be brought forth into chill mountain air is who are you to make the perilous trek all the way to the heart of the mountain, and then ask for nothing while wanting?"
And there is something wanting inside this man. Genesis can hear such things. Hear the wailing desperation or the furious crash of desire whenever humans come visit him upon his mountain. Make their requests, give their payments.
Usually, such things are as clear as bells ringing across a wide open plain. The notes carry for miles, often reaching him when their owners are at the very base of the mountain without having yet to take a single step up into its wild grasses and crumbling dirt. With this man, it's still clear, but... different. Clarity in a cave, deep underground, soft and yet still echoing from where it rattles against walls, never letting you know where it truly comes from. What it really is.
He wants to dig into that chest, follow the sound, figure out the maze that he is being tempted with.
Genesis is distracted by the idea of burning a hole deep inside by the answer the man eventually gives him, after apparently some deep thought. "Call me Angeal. I was just going to ask for directions, but I changed my mind by the time I got here."
There is no one at his shrine but him. There is no one who could just give directions. Genesis blinks for a moment. "What," he says flatly, after a long moment of his own contemplation and realization that no amount of other words could really describe what he's feeling right now. It almost seems a bit deeper than mere bafflement.
"I mean, there weren't any apples blooming on the way up," Angeal continues sensibly. Too sensibly, actually? "And I tried to figure out how to make a poem on the way here, but it turns out that nothing sounded any good. So I'm taking a break, and then I'm gone." His arm adjusts, goes to rest on the knee he has there in front of him. Most people can't take his heat when he's this close to them, when he's letting it leak through like a wild fire snapping its teeth. "I knew that before I came up, granted."
This, at least, Genesis feels slightly more prepared to confront. "I believe it is within the ears of the audience that the decision of poetry and drivel is established," he says. "It is never within the poet's hands."
He gets what he's asking for almost immediately. "I went to bed with hiccups, couldn't stay asleep, always woke up," he says, still so completely serious in the intonation, the tone, everything, that Genesis almost doesn't realize he's being toyed with until he manages to shift his head in utter disbelief and catches the sight of a small smirk, teasing at the corner of Angeal's lips.
Terrible. Wretched and arrogant. He is, perhaps, a little bit delighted. "I believe that some professional assistance may be required in such a case," he says, and smiles as well.
"As I said, I don't do poetry," Angeal says, matter of fact. "Besides, the trip up here wasn't that dangerous at all. It's why I may as well just do what I need to do, without having to be in anyone's debt for anything."
"A fair trade," Genesis corrects, having no interest in being seen as some sort of weak charlatan. He is a creature of his word, and he has no need for fakery.
Angeal shrugs. Rolls his head until his neck cracks, and a soft noise of satisfaction filters out from between his lips. "Still a debt of sorts, if I have no assurance besides my own two hands on what I'm giving and what I'm getting," he says, and the words roll finely out on his tongue. Acceptable, almost.
"We shall have to disagree, then." and he has a more important focus, anyway. "You made it up the mountain easily enough, then."
The mountain doesn't take well to visitors. Dirt goes slick with mud, goes too soft with too many small pieces until someone sinks their foot in. The trees twist all around together, a maze that ensnares prey so very easily when they inevitably trip and go the wrong way. Creatures lurk here, waiting to steal and to bite and to laugh at those who think it is a simple thing, to make it to his shrine.
"I suppose," Angeal says, pants clear of mud, shirt untorn, the sweat along the length of muscular arms simply born from the ever present heat of the sun as it filters past leaves and branches. It is around this time that he finally gets up, one hand flexing like that can bring it back to life. "I should get to it."
Sometimes, so few things are truly interesting, here. Genesis follows after him, tail flicking through the air. "May I not even have the knowledge of what it is that you sought directions to, o' wayward traveler?" he asks, teasing but genuine in equal measure. This high up into the mountain, and there is not much to seek. Nothing that cannot be found at lower elevations, lower hills and plants and animals.
Angeal makes his way out from the shade of Genesis's shrine, walks over the uneven and rocky terrain of his mountain as though it is second nature and he has never belonged anywhere else. He should never belong anywhere else, Genesis decides rather suddenly in the pit of his stomach. "A plant," he says, and Genesis almost thinks he might get difficult again. Might tell him nonsense. Instead, he continues, leaping over a log and somehow not landing wrong, not tripping. The mountain likes him. "Banora chamomile."
2/2
When Banora chamomile chooses the tree it's going to blossom beneath, crowded around its trunk, no other plant has a chance of growing at all. They all get choked out. All but the chamomile, and the tree. There are little fields like that: tunnels under the apple arches, spread out with chamomile.
Some say the plant is so powerful that it can bring back the dead. Genesis isn't sure about that little bit of human superstition, but there is no denying that something about it revitalizes the human body. It brings color back to pale cheeks, make ill stomachs able to take down food again. It really is a valuable and ingenious little thing, and the forest protects it like a spider over a frog.
Genesis protects it, and decides if any are allowed to take it from his mountain. But despite their many virtues, Banora chamomile doesn't seem to get as many people hunting up his mountain as they do it for him.
He takes a little bit of satisfaction in that.
"And why would you want something like that?" he asks, flicking his tail around them and forcing Angeal to sidestep it if he doesn't want to nearly trip over fur. He casts that stern look at him again, knowing he's toying with him.
"Don't think it would matter much to a spirit of the mountain who I haven't even given tribute to," he says, hauling himself up over some fallen trees like it's nothing. Some might trip, or find their clothing catch, or find themselves landing in dirt that's not as solid as they'd thought. But true to his words, Angeal doesn't seem to have any difficulty at all. "But I have a sneaking suspicion that you won't leave me alone until you get your answer, so you just have to know that I'm getting some of it for someone."
Genesis rolls his eyes behind Angeal's back. That much had been obvious. Anyone who desperately needs something like Banora chamomile is in no state to make the trip up the mountain themselves.
It looks like he's going to have to pry open the storybook for himself, in this case. "So is it a lover?" he drawls, flicking over quick as fire over a few bits of debris in his way. "A fair maiden who has fallen apart, woe to a terrible malady which has claimed her poor and fragile soul-"
"It's my ma," Angeal says, cutting him off with an accent slipping into his voice thicker than the oldest trees on the mountain. "There's people in town who've said that she's just fallen ill, but seems more like a curse to me. And before you ask-" Genesis closes his mouth. "I don't know who'd curse her. We're poor, and she's only helped out in that town when we haven't kept to ourselves. So here I am, looking for something that can cure curses with my own hands. It's my own hands I know best, and it's them that I can trust when there's liars in the town and the rest of the world never looking twice."
And now that's a little better, a little free and kicking, the echoes of a roaring flame there in that cavern of a person. Genesis closes his eyes, listens to the music of it.
A family member falling ill isn't an unusual tale, either. That it's a curse is all the more of an interesting twist... and, more than anything, the burn to Angeal's voice speaks to him better than any siren song. A fire that will start all its own, and need not the rest of the world to become a blaze. "As you say, this world truly abhors others such as you or I," he murmurs, leaning nearer to Angeal and watching him correct his path for it. "Do you think a single plant is enough to cure what ails her, then?"
"I have a recipe I'll follow, similar to what I've seen her make time and time again. So I'll do that." Angeal shrugs, pausing as he looks around him to get his bearings once again. Most people would be lost at this point. Worried. Frantic. He takes stock of where he is, and then keeps moving.
The mountain opens up for him sweetly, and it seems as though it doesn't take much time at all before they come across the sweet smell of chamomile and apples weaving its way through the air. Angeal hesitates, just a moment, no doubt surprised at how easily this has all happened for him, before he steps forward. There is a simple leather pack, strung over his shoulder, and he kneels down with it already open. "I should be worried when things are easy like this," he comments, like Genesis is any other person.
Probably, he should take offense to that. Genesis is very distinctly not like any other person, like nothing else in existence. He is a brilliant flame all his own. Yet somehow, when this simple man with his sharp frown and bright blue eyes says it, it seems more like something that should have always happened from the day his ember first burst into life.
"Is it truly such a tragedy for things to be easy? Most would be elated."
"Can't trust it when it's easy. When it's easy, people want to fool you. It means too good to be true. It means a deal with print so fine that you worms under your fingernails. When it matters, things aren't easy, and it matters a whole lot now."
Angeal cuts the chamomile neatly, taking not just flower but the stem and leaves, too. The roots are not disturbed, and whole fields are not butchered. Instead, they are tucked away tenderly into the bag, not shoved and crushed. Genesis likes the look of his hands as they do it, already faintly green and yellow, stained with pollen. "Are things not easy in your own home, then, when you and her are glad, in good health?"
Are things not easy when he is home?
"I think that's something else entirely," Angeal says, pushing himself up to his feet. Before them, the bushes of chamomile spread out serenely in the arches of the Banora White. No apples grow from its gnarled branches just yet, but it is in bloom, pale veins of pink in otherwise pale white petals. He reaches up, cuts through the stem of one with just his thumb nail. Genesis hadn't thought that it would be particularly long, and certainly not sharp. He hadn't thought that Angeal would turn to him, and tuck it into the fur all along his collar and shoulders where it rests along his clothes. "There. It's no apple, but I think it outta do well enough as a tribute to the spirit of the mountain."
It doesn't quite match the burning red of his fur, but Genesis doesn't refuse it. He just smiles, tilts his head with a small twitch of one long vulpine ear. "Things are easier than you think they are," he tells Angeal. "We'll see if the curse fades with your recipe."
No mountain creature dogs after Angeal's foot steps as he makes his way down. No roots catch his feet to send him tripping, and the weather stays sweetly warm.
Genesis hides in his shadow, burning in it bright as though he might steal it away.
Angeal moves faster than any other human man, and he goes all the faster when he's on flat land once more. Makes it down paths, through towns, all the way back to his simple little human home tucked away in the forgotten corners. It is simple, and it is humble, and he slots into it as neatly as he had back at the mountain as he begins to dry the flowers. Prepare them for a tea that shines a pretty gold.
Curses are easier things to bring into existence than some might think. They are born in fits of passion, born from walking into the wrong place at the wrong time, born from having someone simply hate you. And people hate so very easily, these days.
From the little lamp kept burning bright in Gillian Hewley's room, Genesis watches her wane under the weight of it. Watches as her own self loathing fills the room tight like smoke, goes down to suffocate already failing lungs. Curses can feed themselves so easily. Self hate devours itself. She is on the verge of drowning in it, and he can tell.
But Angeal enters, props her gently up against one broad shoulder and unwittingly helps her breach the surface of the curse. He helps guide the tea into her mouth when shaking fingers cannot hold it up on her own, and it helps wash away the smog of it all - partially from the inherent properties of the flower, raised beneath the evershifting and beautiful chaos of the Banora Whites and on soil blessed by the divine.
Partially it is because things made with dedicated and concentrated love are not things to be underestimated. They are still things to remember, even in the face of overwhelming sadness and pain.
By the time they turn in for sleep, her condition has improved in no small fashion. Almost enough that one might say she is fully recovered. Genesis can still hear the gentle and aching creeks that are inside of her, however, the places where the curse still lingers because it is not the type that lets go so easily when it has fed so well on itself. So in the quiet dark, Genesis leaves from the embers still burning there in the fireplace. He passes by Angeal's slumbering form, waiting there in the chair near to her bed, and he leans over.
A fox's kiss, pressed onto the stressed wrinkles of her forehead. To burn away the last of the contagion. To sign as a beacon every time that the curse threatens to gnaw its way through her heart again.
Loneliness is what feeds curses like that the most. The best way to fight them is to keep her with someone she can hold onto, all throughout the storm.
It is only a week later when Angeal makes his way up to the mountain again. He is still sure-footed, still a little bit severe, but something in his expression has relaxed, now, somewhat. Amused, maybe. At ease. He leaves not apple nor poetry there at Genesis's shrine, but instead another blossom from a Banora White, placed delicately on top of something wrapped up in foil. "Crawfish bread, since I know you're here," he says to the shrine, to Genesis, and doesn't seem surprised at the heat which burns along his back. "You were at my house, weren't you?"
Most people don't realize when he pays a visit, whether that's in salvation or destruction or idle curiosity. Genesis reaches around him, picks at the paper. "Now why would you say a thing like that?"
"I could smell it. Nothing in our house should burn like you do, like smoked apples." While Genesis wrinkles his nose at that comparison - he likes to think he's far more dangerous and biting than just apples - Angeal tugs open the paper to reveal bread that's all melted cheese and spices and crawfish. The heady smell of it makes Genesis's mouth water. "And my mother's been doing better. More than just the tea could do. I'm pretty sure I never gave you either poetry or apples that day, and a blossom doesn't count."
Genesis just laughs at him, because he's sure it annoys Angeal, and plucks the bread from its place. "You paid me in poetry well enough, even if you did not think it such," he tells him. "Poetry is not about just a little limerick. It is about the words, and the cadence, and a bit of fire." He takes a bite, hums in pure pleasure from the rich ttaste that spreads throughout his mouth. Humans and cooking was truly an ingenious decision on someone's part. "You let yourself be free, and I found that to be pleasing to my ears well enough." A swallow, and then a grin. "But if you believe yourself to be in debt, then, by all means, I shall gladly accommodate you."
"And what, exactly, would you want out of a debt like that? I told you that I'm poor."
Genesis thinks of the way he can hear Angeal's heart, hear his desires, hear him like a cave deep in the mountain full of mystery and stability and warmth. Thinks of how he makes his way so comfortably through the mountain, is like a mountain, and how Genesis burns so brightly. How strangely familiar he is, like apple trees and chamomile.
His claws curl lightly up against Angeal's chest, where his heart still beats. The world turning.
"Visit me every day. I think that should be payment enough."
wolves in the market
no subject
One of the bees who'd been bringing over the latest round of alcohol nearly trips on her own high heels. No one can say that Genesis fairs much better; he had been about to crawl demandingly right onto Sephiroth's lap but those words are enough to make one of his knees misjudge its landing and he nearly slips right off. It's only Sephiroth grabbing at his waist that keeps his chin from slamming into the cushioned seats. "What!?" he squawks, trying to scramble back upright into a respectable position. Or at least one better made for conversation.
Not that Sephiroth can't understand his surprise, honestly. Even he is straightening up, brow furrowing as he tries to think back to the last few months for anything that might have inspired Angeal to this course of action. "Is there something that's been unsatisfying for you?" he finally asks, when nothing comes to mind.
Angeal just shrugs, not seeming concerned in the slightest at the reactions he's caused around him. Why, if Sephiroth didn't know better, he would say that he might even be getting some pleasure out of them. "I wouldn't say that," he replies, waiting until the honeybee sets down their drinks and scurries off like she's about to have a heart attack before he goes to pick up a beer. "It's been going fine, after all. But I think that's all the more reason to step back right now. Take a break while it's all still good, and while I have the time to plan it out better instead of..." He moves the hand holding the beer can around in what Sephiroth has learned is a meaningless gesture. "I don't know. Dying."
"Like anyone would be able to kill you," Genesis snaps, finally righting himself. He doesn't get off of Sephiroth's lap, however, instead preferring to side sideways with one leg still sprawled possessively across Sephiroth's own. "Honestly, you are terribly dramatic."
"Somehow, I think you're the last person that I want to hear that from. Besides, I'm not saying I'm going to die. Just using it as an example of how most guys leave this line of work."
And Sephiroth supposes that out of everyone in Midgar who would know how that sort of thing happens, it would be Angeal and Genesis.
After all, in order to take control of Wall Market, that's what exactly what the two of them did to the last boss.
Sephiroth never met the man personally. According to the stories that he'd picked up about him, likely this is a blessing, for not a single one had been worth any good. There'd not even been a funeral. Of course, that last part may have been because he's fairly certain that Angeal and Genesis put him into an unmarked grave in a ditch somewhere, but that is just semantics, as Genesis would tease him.
All he knows is that he'd met Angeal and Genesis in the middle of their takeover, and that, while messy, it had apparently been a marked improvement. Sephiroth could never had said that from his own experience, not having any before the two of them... It'd just been a marked improvement for the rest of his life.
He can somewhat see the sense in Angeal's argument, with all that in mind, and Sephiroth tilts his head to the side slightly. "Best to settle things during a time of peace, instead of when things are tense or you have active enemies..." Genesis and Angeal obviously have enemies, with the territory they've established for themselves, but no one has been particularly active about it, as far as Sephiroth knows. A sort of truce, for the time being.
"Exactly." Angeal takes a sip of his beer, still reclined comfortably in his own seat. "Besides, it's not like I'd be gone, or if I'm even retiring tomorrow. This is a future thing."
Sephiroth nods along. "Indeed. You have always handled Wall Street with some finesse. I couldn't imagine you doing something so reckless as leaving behind all of this. You aren't Genesis."
"Excuse you."
"Exactly. I've spent all this time setting it up and keeping it safe. I'm not going to set it on fire. I'm not-"
"Honestly, I did not come this far in life and take over the Golden Saucer just to be slandered by a pair of wretched jabbering eels with high ambitions!" Sephiroth has no idea where the 'eel' part came from, and it apparently doesn't matter. Using Sephiroth as an anchor, Genesis leans over to grab Angeal's shirt to drag him over. Although perhaps it cannot be called a proper drag when Angeal is more than willing to follow the gesture, blue eyes shining in amusement. "Wretched, absolutely."
Angeal laughs, a low sound that soon soothes itself into a lower rumble of a sound that's hard to describe... and only comes about from moments like these, when Genesis drives his teeth into the soft of his throat. He adjusts himself, hands bracing against the back of the seat. "Apologies for being so wretched, then. But you don't get any returns."
"Mmm, as though I'd let anyone else take you..."
While the two of them are busy entertaining one another - a common occurrence whenever someone is around them for whatever reason - Sephiroth just ducks under Angeal's arm and around him so that he can reach out for his own drink. By all technicalities, he'd been here as Genesis's companion, and so Genesis had been the one who decided to treat him. That means a classy red wine that matches his hair. It's always red, with Genesis. "How long do you think it will take to properly prepare for retirement, then?" he asks after he's had a couple of sips.
"Probably - mm, probably not that long," Angeal says thoughtfully, while Genesis focuses on making marks on his neck that will be gone by the morning. "A couple of years, at most? I already got someone in mind, actually."
"What." Genesis pulls away from Angeal's neck so suddenly that he cracks the top of his head against Angeal's jaw. "This is certainly news to me."
Angeal rubs at his jaw. "Ow," he says, more obliging than anything else. Genesis has a hard head, and Sephiroth suspects that Angeal's own skull is just as hard to keep up with him. He's managed to know both of them long enough to know that it's a show when they both get stubborn in opposing directions. "And that's because I hadn't really been committed to the idea yet. I was just checking in on some things first, to make sure that I had the right idea. Shown him around a bit. It's not even made it past that much."
Probably why it's only now that Angeal has decided to bring up retiring at all. It's not the sort of thing he'd be inclined into doing if he didn't at least have some sort of lead. "It is somewhat sudden," Sephiroth says quietly.
Delicately easing Genesis's fingers from his shirt, Angeal settles down on the redhead's other side. "I don't think there's a way I could have brought it up and have it not feel sudden," he admits, with some guilt. "Especially when things are going this well. Better than well, in fact." He rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "Almost so good that it's enough to make me nervous."
"You always worry about such things," Genesis sighs, but he settles against Angeal's side almost as if he's melting. As if he wasn't ever supposed to have left him. His free hand tugs a little bit at Sephiroth's long hair in quiet demand.
Well, it's never as if he needed any influence to want to be near Angeal, only permission and guarantee that he's allowed. Having rules in this regard is almost soothing whenever the too wide world is far too much, and this is... a little bit more than he knows how to handle on his own. Sephiroth moves around the cushioned seats easily enough, settling on Angeal's other side. "Is there something in particular that's worrying you?" If there was, they'd take care of it with no small amount of ease... or, even if it were not easy, then Sephiroth has no doubts about how readily he and Genesis would take to the task.
A combination of professional and personal reasons, he supposes. For both of them. On paper, Angeal may simply be the 'boss', the one who tells Sephiroth where to go and who is client is, but their bond - between all three of them - went past simple 'professionalism' a long time ago.
Most of arguably Sephiroth's work consists of sex, which he does not have any particular grudge against. However, he's never hesitated in something somewhat more bloody, whenever it's been necessary.
"I'm telling you, it's nothing specific," Angeal insists. "Besides... It's not like I doubt I'm cut for this much." His fingers tap along cheap aluminum, and Sephiroth waits patiently for him to find the right words he wants to use. "Being the boss of so much, I mean. I'm fine with the people work, I don't mind that. But all the other things are starting to tire me out. And it's not like I can just make a simple change of career, here."
"That sounds as though what you want is a vacation," Sephiroth says thoughtfully.
"I told you we should have gone on a vacation to the beach months ago," Genesis says at the exact same time with a click of his tongue.
Angeal shakes his head, but Sephiroth knows that he can't exactly argue against them. "Listen, that's easier said than done. Besides, retirement is just a nice, long vacation." He shifts his head, just enough so that he can look over at Genesis and quirk up an eyebrow. "Besides, I thought you'd like the idea of me in retirement. Then I could just hang around you, or at our place. Personally, I like the idea of being your trophy husband."
no subject
"Are you referring to the apron that says king of sausage?" Sephiroth asks, remembering the occasions he's been able to visit the Hewley-Rhapsodos (aka Rhapsodos-Hewley) residence, named depending on whoever'd won the latest poker match.
"Yes," Angeal says with absolutely zero hesitation.
"Absolutely not," Genesis replies, hand moving to the back of Angeal's head so that he can tug at his hair a bit. "I really am going to find that thing and burn it to ashes, until not even the memory is left. Where on earth did you ever get it?"
"We've gone over this, Gen. You bought it for me. When you were drunk. We never get drunk, how could I throw away a memory of such a rare and precious occasion?"
Genesis swears in Banoran, the language once eloquent and now twisted crassly on his tongue, and Angeal gets another few bite marks along his neck for good measure. This is not a particularly new occurrence, especially with how much Angeal seems to enjoy it. With how easily the two of them seem to heal up, probably there's a point to him constantly encouraging Genesis's teeth.
Of course, with reoccurrence comes experience, and Angeal is still perfectly in control of his faculties as he gives a side glance over to Sephiroth. "So how's the wine tonight?" he asks, as if he and Gen don't pay attention to little details like this.
It's fine, of course, and they both know it. Sephiroth finishes off his latest sip before putting the glass back onto its tray. "Genesis has good taste in his choices," he says, because he knows that it pleases Genesis to hear such things. Sure enough, where his hands are tugging impatiently at Angeal's shirt and his mouth is still stubbornly working a mark into his skin, a low purr starts to sink into tender flesh. But that's not really what's been gently inquired of him, and they both know it. Shifting onto one knee, Sephiroth settles his hand along Angeal's side. "Try for yourself."
Maybe it's because of the prior subject matter, but they somehow manage to keep each other from going more than just one round all together. That's nearly a record, honestly. With how demanding Genesis can get, he often demands a round from Angeal and him each when he has the good fortune of having them both together.
But they're both busy men, and Genesis is a bit far from his own portion of territory that the two have split together. It will take a bit of time, if nothing else, to get back, and clearly he's going to plan for quite a bit just for Angeal bringing up the idea of retirement. "You really do make things so busy for me," Genesis says with a click of his tongue, doing the belt around his hips once again so that he looks vaguely presentable. Or, at the least, so that he won't lose an expensive belt from carelessness. The aesthetic is everything, when it comes to Genesis.
Angeal's clothes have always been a bit more simple: simple no-nonsense pants that blood washes off of easily enough, a tank top that does a good enough job at hiding his piercings, and a open vest that shows off the simple chain necklace there from his neck. Sephiroth has seen him use it as impromptu knuckledusters, when it's been prudent.
That means as Genesis struggles with something with far too many belts, Angeal is free to help Sephiroth with his own mildly complicated outfit, black and skintight, meant to show off his body. This isn't the first time he's helped; Sephiroth can't help but wonder when the last time will be. "How's that?" he asks, once he's tugged some rather troublesome material down into place a little bit better.
It's not even the most uncomfortable position or outfit that Sephiroth's ever been in, but he knows that Angeal gets annoyed if people are uncomfortable and don't tell him. "It should do well enough until I can change," he says, after a slight moment of thought.
Considering that he was the one to choose these clothes at Genesis's encouragement - something properly chosen by himself for himself instead of just the same old wear governed by others for their own reasons - it almost feels a bit foolish to make any complaints on minor things. He suspects that Angeal has an idea of that sort of thinking, but he doesn't say anything about it. There's just a faint quirk of his eyebrow before he steps back. "If you say so. Gen, are you ready yet?"
Genesis pushes his hair back with the heel of his palm, making it look artfully messy instead of where their fingers had been gripping tightly to pull him around. "You cannot rush greatness," he drawls. "But yes, shall we?"
The three of them don't really have a chance to go very far. Or, rather, it's more that Angeal doesn't have a chance to go very far. Which is sort of amusing in its own right, of course, because the three of them had made a beeline ("Ha" had come out of Angeal's mouth before Genesis's fist had landed somewhere in his kidneys) straight for the employee backrooms. With Angeal and Genesis being the names that they are in the lower plates, it's just a less bothersome route. For Angeal especially, with how this is all his territory.
Normally it's less bothersome. Tonight, the second that they make it past all the janitorial equipment that is meant to bore people from venturing any further if they aren't supposed to be here... There is a small platoon of flashily dressed people swarming all around them.
Sephiroth recognizes just about all of them, of course: Honeybee dancers and hostesses still done up to the nines, a few bartenders out of uniform that are normally scattered about Wall Market, various other sex workers who can be found wherever it might be easiest to listen in on something or get a job for the night. He's talked with some of them, but not often. Being unapproachable is still something of a problem with him, it seems... Regardless, he's made sure to know at least most of their faces, even if knowing all their names would be a challenge for anyone.
Much easier to know, on account of all the yelling, is how worked up everyone is.
"What if we start getting ShinRa lackeys busting our balls!?"
"Can I have your job if you don't want it-"
"Dev, shut up you idiot-"
"Is Genesis going to be the new boss!? Please say it's not Genesis-"
Throughout the entire time that the small mob has descended on them, Sephiroth has been taking pains to carefully help move Genesis along the wall and out of the way, even if the redhead has been doing his best to peer over his shoulder for his own entertainment. However, his far-too keen hearing manages to pick up on that last line, and he immediately perks up past Sephiroth's arms. "Hey. How dare you-"
Sephiroth manages to catch Angeal's gaze, in all of this, from where the man looks like he might drown from the force of everyone crowding around him. All he needs is for Angeal to raise his eyebrows pointedly, and Sephiroth moves wordlessly along with what's been asked of him.
His hands aren't exactly soundproof material, but they do well enough for their purposes right now. They've just settled over Genesis's ears when Angeal reaches up, fingers in his mouth for a sharp whistle that cuts through all the clamor. Genesis still wrinkles his nose, of course, and that's better than the alternative. "Calm down," Angeal says with a sigh, as everyone falls quietly obediently enough. "First of all, yes, Genesis is taking over Wall Market. We talked about how first order of business is making you all wear red uniforms."
"Oh, fuck off," Genesis and someone else from within the throng say at the exact same time. Someone had already cackled at one of Angeal's terrible bald-faced lies, but that gets even more laughter.
There's a bit of a grin on Angeal's face before he adjusts his stance, one hand on his hip as he surveys the motley group in front of him. Sephiroth can see the gears turning in his head on just how he should handle this whole mess. No doubt he'd wanted to keep this at least a little more on the down low... But loose lips can cause all sorts of havoc. "Alright, so all I did was think out loud about retiring some time in the future," he decides at last. "I am not retiring right this second or even this year. Try not to spin that in the worst possible light. I'll make a proper announcement..." He rolls his neck a bit, considering that. "In a couple of days. Just so that you can all stop spreading rumors. That's all, so can I walk out of a building unaccosted?"
Having a clear plan of action seems to be enough of a toll to indeed let him pass through without anymore problems. Genesis teases him about it and laughs all the way to the train station, seeming to have exchanged a needle towards himself for some entertainment on watching Angeal be bothered by his own people.
That just leaves the two of them, in the end, as many nights often seem to pass in Wall Market. Sephiroth doesn't mind. He's come to find a kind of serenity in the eternal night that rests down here. Maybe he should miss the sight of the sky more. The fresh air not bogged down by smoke and oil and too many things to name. A daytime that ends, instead of being neverending neon that one only finds respite from in forgotten alleys and apartments with all the blinds shut.
Sephiroth still likes it. Better than what he had before, which felt more restrictive than miles of metal there up above his head. Here, even if he's still unapproachable, there are still people who say his name with a smile. The work he does is pleasurable in his own way, and he gets to make choices for things for himself.
The clothes he wears. The places he goes, down here in Wall Market. The food he'll decide to eat tonight for dinner, whether that's something from a restaurant or a recipe he tries to carefully follow from Angeal's handwriting.
Maybe they're still limited, in many ways, from what he does for a living now... But he's come to learn that might just be how it is to live as an individual restricted to one's own body. Considering that he once never felt as though he would have much freedom to do anything, even this much is on occasion overwhelming.
Of course, for what seems overwhelming and more than enough to him is often something that others disagree on. It always seems as though they're giving him more and more, even after all these years.
Angeal proves that much, as the two of them step up towards the plainly labeled 'HQ' of Wall Market which doubles as a place for Angeal to stay at on occasion when he doesn't want to make his own short trip home. "So, what do you think?" he asks him, as they pass by the guards keeping things in order around the place and up the steps. "About the idea of me retiring."
With how much he's been talking about it, Sephiroth has to admit that he didn't think Angeal would want to talk more about it, and he blinks. "Well, I can see where your reasoning came from," he answers as they shut the double doors behind them, heading straight for the master suite tucked away deep inside the manor. "You explained it all clearly enough. Running territory like this is no small feat, and I imagine the extent of it was not something you and Genesis could have truly known when you first came down here. Whether it is a vacation or retirement, I can understand why you would want to step away from it."
And that's just how it is, isn't it? There aren't any flaws in Angeal's logic. If he's having problems, then he's having problems with the role. Just like Sephiroth is allowed to choose things for himself, so is Angeal... and he has faith in Angeal making sure to leave behind as little a mess as possible.
Opening the door to his room, Angeal looks over his shoulder with one of those faint and far too serious frowns of his. "Not like that. I meant... Personally. Do you, Sephiroth RH, like or not like the idea of me retiring?"
no subject
Although with the way that he's organized things, it's become more of a very small studio apartment more than anything else. Very practical, very efficient: a large bed that can actually handle someone of Angeal's frame, a small countertop resting atop a fridge and freezer with cupboards above it stuffed full with more food than anything else, the large wardrobe in the corner that holds clean changes of clothes and a secret entrance out of the building in case of the worst. And there, resting in its place held off of the floor, Buster. The only place that offers any privacy is a small door leading into a small shower and toilet.
"Want dinner?" Angeal asks him over his shoulder as though he didn't ask the question he did, already crouching down in front of the fridge to judge what he has in there. With him, it's almost always something fresh, even with how difficult that can be down here sometimes. One of the few privileges that Angeal permits himself to be spoiled with, along with the millions of potted plants that flourish here.
For lack of much other furniture, Sephiroth sits down on the edge of the bed. "If you're making enough," he says simply, which means that Angeal will of course make something that's more than enough. That much is proven when Angeal opts to pull out a thick cooking pot from somewhere within his cooking supplies, and begins pulling out what looks like crawfish from his fridge. Sephiroth isn't entirely sure where he got them; crawfish don't really live around Midgar last he checked.
While Angeal gets to stirring in oil and flour together into the pot, Sephiroth is given a moment to just... reflect on his own emotions. On the idea of a future where Angeal has stepped back from Wall Market.
It's a strange mental image. He almost can't picture it, honestly. When he thinks of Wall Market, he thinks of Angeal, just like how he always thinks of Genesis when he thinks of the Golden Saucer. Certainly, he can think of different stages of Wall Market, falling in step with the different facets of Angeal he's seen over the years, too.
Wall Market, people looming in the corners with weapons at the ready. Angeal, blue eyes too bright with neon reflected and always tense.
Wall Market, construction on every other corner as people covered up blood or damage while new energy pulsed through the streets. Angeal, hair pulled back in a tiny little ponytail while he bowed his head to Genesis's and the two of them talked about ambition.
Wall Market, present, glittering, still hiding blood and dark deals in the shadows directly under its lights, but with a lot more vitality to it as people keep moving in and out. Angeal, settled, sturdy, an ever present tide that pulls the sands of his territory with him to shape it all patiently. The Angeal that's standing in front of him right now, stirring the roux of their dinner patiently as though none of that matters.
If Angeal stops being the boss of Wall Market... Would all of this still be the same?
The success, the safe conditions, even probably the safety of everyone who works for him... That would probably still remain mostly intact, Sephiroth suspects. If Angeal is going to choose someone himself, then that much would at least be the bare minimum requirement. He's not lacking in any faith in that area.
But what about this room? Sephiroth closes his eyes. Ever since he first got to know him, Angeal has always had the best nose out of anyone he's met, but Sephiroth's own isn't that bad either... and it's more than enough to take in the scent that Angeal has established in this one simple little room. The steaming smell of onions and other vegetables that he's added into the pot, how the basil and mint and every other herb in the room flourishes happily from all the hard work he's put into it, and even the subtle bitter tang of sword polish. Buster's regular maintenance was today.
What would a theoretical new boss do? Keep it as a little room to rest in? Change it into an office, or an armory? Would it still be the same even if they didn't change anything at all?
There's a small hum from Angeal, a snippet of some Banoran song that he never finishes. Sephiroth doesn't know if he's ever hummed every part of the song. It seems different every time, somehow, although Sephiroth knows that isn't logical. Every song has a start, and an end.
"He just can't remember songs," Genesis had teased, once, when they'd all been gathered in the Rhapsodos-Hewley apartment, away from here. "Art is truly wasted on him." And Angeal had threatened to remove all the spice from his dish.
The new boss probably doesn't even know any Banoran. It's a long ways away. A quiet little country town, filled with apples.
"I wouldn't like the change," he says while Angeal is in the middle of adding the crawfish, and actually hearing the words from his own throat actually surprises him even as he'd been actively thinking about it all this time. Even after all these years, admitting to selfishness feels... strange. Like sinking his hands into mud.
But Genesis and Angeal have never judged him for any bits of selfishness, encouraged it when they could. All Angeal does is stop his humming - it was nearing its end anyway - and set the lid onto the pot. "It's a lot," he concedes, before he turns away from his small portable stove and walks over to him. Where he sits, the mattress sinks notably. There's a comfort in that kind of weight. "You know, if you didn't want me to retire, then I wouldn't."
Sephiroth turns to stare at him, feeling even more out of his depth than before. It shouldn't matter what I want is almost out of his lips despite everything, but he manages to catch himself. Besides, that'd just get them sidetracked, and they don't need that right now. "Why would what I think be a factor?" he says, which is at least slightly different and enough for him to expand upon. He leans forward, elbow to knee, hand to jaw. "I am your employee, and this is by all means your business. If you want to retire... I think you should do so."
"It'd be a factor because it'd make you uncomfortable," Angeal answers simply, bracing his hands back behind him as he leans back. "Just because you work under me doesn't mean you aren't important to me," he points out. "You've been with me and Genesis since the beginning. I'm not so low that I don't appreciate that."
"You are still technically my boss."
"And you are most definitely a close friend who got me this far in the first place," Angeal points out. "Honestly, Gen and me both. Helping us raise money, keeping me safe when Gen couldn't be here because he had to deal with things over on his end... Just because you aren't calling the shots doesn't mean you're any less important, Seph. And we all know the only reason you still stay in the streets is because you hate being in the spotlight."
"Calling me out neatly tonight, I see."
"It's what you and Gen both need sometimes," Angeal says without batting an eye. What goes unsaid is that they, in exchange, return the favor. "Anyway, how about this: you can get the final say in who I'm going to show off to everyone in the business, in a couple of nights."
Now, isn't that quite a responsibility. "Is that truly all right?"
Angeal does one of those cool little raised eyebrow gestures of his. "If I retire and he takes my place, that means he's going to be your boss," he points out. "If you approve of him or not is just a show on if he's fit to run things in my place."
"And if I purposefully give him a poor score to keep you here?"
Far from being deterred, Angeal just gives a teasing and arrogant smirk. "By all means. If he doesn't get a challenge like that, he won't grow."
no subject
There's not much time to think heavily on it. Angeal suddenly straightens up with a quiet swear, and goes right back to his feet and then his miniature kitchen. "Almost forgot the rice - and I should probably make some sides, while I'm at it."
Not a lot of people would go to such efforts when it's just them, and the person working under them. But then... Angeal's always been different that way. Something about his own personal 'honor', whatever that seems to mean. Sephiroth knows he's not the only one who's spent a night here, when Angeal has opened up his door to any of his workers who were kicked out of their apartment or had to make a run from a bad situation. Knows he's not the only person who he's even cooked for, here in this little tiny room. There's a reason the workers down here in Wall Market wanted to hold onto him so tightly, at just the idea that he might be leaving.
But Angeal reaches down into one of the cupboards, pulls out a small container. "I have some pork pâté I made a little while ago," he says over his shoulder. "Still your favorite thing I make, right?"
Sephiroth likes all the food that Angeal makes for him, whether it's the quick food that often gets passed off in restaurants here in Midgar, or the quiet more homey things that some of the other workers have talked about when referencing their own pasts. He adores the flavorful meals that Angeal and Genesis both know, brought from their hometown.
But one night, early on in their relationship where Angeal would stock up on things and not go outside so easily, not yet, he'd bitten into one of the little meat pastries and had to tuck it into his cheek, puffing out the heat from surprise. He'd made a comment, back then. Something silly, something he's honestly long since forgotten because he hadn't thought that it would be important. Something about the flavor, the taste of herbs that he'd never had a chance to be familiar with before he ever met them.
Angeal had never forgotten. He'd always make them for him, or have some pre-made if he ever thought that Sephiroth would stop by. Certainly, he has no doubt that if he said he didn't want them anymore, then Angeal would stop making them. But he doesn't.
Sephiroth just says, "It is."
That's all Angeal needs before he turns back to his work, and Sephiroth gets up. He has a feeling that he's going to be staying the night here at HQ, and, if that's the case, then he'd much rather undress some of the more complicated aspects to his outfit. It's all well and good, black leather that weathers a great deal and doesn't stain easily, but it is not exactly the perfect sleepwear. The perfect sleepwear would be in Angeal's closet, where he has some plain t-shirts that are just slightly larger on Sephiroth's frame than would actually fit. It's fine; that's all he needs.
By the time he's gotten all the leather off and Angeal's shirt on, it would appear that most of the proper cooking has been accomplished already, with the room smelling of warm spices that makes even his stomach stir a bit. Despite that, when he presses up against Angeal's back, cheek to shoulder and some of his long silver hair brushing against bare skin, Angeal still says, "Hair up in the kitchen."
"The kitchen is a part of an open room." But this is just a silly bit of semantics they make fun of each other for, really, and Sephiroth still obliges in the end. It doesn't take that much for him to pull his hair back, a quick and loose bun that will do well enough. This much hair, it's the best he can do. "You know, I do have client who pay extra for something like that," Sephiroth points out. There is apparently something appealing about the sight of a lover in one's own clothing. Sephiroth would know from experience he's picked up in his line of work, and also because he knows that it pleases Angeal as well.
Normally, anyway. Angeal flashes him a teasing grin. "I'm cooking you dinner, I'm not paying you anything."
"That is rather cheap of you, Angeal," Sephiroth comments dryly, but he's smiling a bit, too. Angeal is always cheap when it comes to himself, and hungry for a good deal when it comes to a lot of other things in life too. The only things he's not cheap about are keeping his territory safe and healthy, and sending money back to his parents in Banora.
Sometimes Sephiroth knows how to coax more out of him... but most of the time, he doesn't. He likes Angeal too much, respects him too much, to abuse the trust that he's been given in turn.
And he wouldn't trade anything in the world for the way that Angeal bumps his shoulder against his, and hands him a plate to fill as he likes.
Not every person under Angeal can make it to the little meeting he hosts at the Honeybee Inn, on account of numbers and scheduling conflicts and everything else. Yet a great deal more people than even Sephiroth was expecting do show up, filling up the Honeybee Inn during some hours that are arguably for cleaning and are more often for messing around. Or, in this case, gossip about what Angeal is doing, and who he might be introducing to them all.
All Sephiroth can say to those that ask him is that he trusts Angeal, and that Angeal won't be retiring soon. Other than that, he must admit that he is in the dark as anyone else for just who Angeal has decided to choose to succeed him.
At least Angeal doesn't keep the group waiting in suspense for very long. There's a few minutes time given to any stragglers who might have caught a late train, or got delayed because of whatever else happens on this particular plate, which is anything and everything... But soon enough their boss steps up onto the stage in the main entertainment area where a lot of the shows are put on, because nowhere else in the entire building could fit what is probably the entirety of Midgar's sex network.
(This is probably an exaggeration. Sephiroth does not feel it is much of one. People go quickly to a boss that treats them well, and Angeal does not skimp on such things. There were a lot of people who slipped away to his employment once he was able. Anyone who chased after and thought they could pick a fight... lost.)
Unlike the last time he was swarmed by a group in the Honeybee Inn, Angeal doesn't have to whistle to bring order around him. Instead, just the presence of him is enough to quiet down all the chattering. Not a person is here who isn't interested in seeing what his plans for the future are, after all. This little fact does not escape Angeal. "I see that I've ended up fostering a workplace environment of nosiness," he comments dryly, which earns a couple of laughs from the workers. Where he's settled in a small booth to the side, Sephiroth smiles a bit as well. "Not that I guess I could have expected anything less from the group where someone's gossip kind of made me have to have this meeting way earlier than I would have liked.
"Most of you have an idea of what this is about. I would say that most of you have gotten caught up in gossip, so we'll clear that up first and foremost: No, I'm not retiring tonight. Or tomorrow. Not this week either, or this month. It's not in the cards for the entire year, either. Probably not a good few, unfortunately for me."
Some of the nervous energy in the room dissipates with just that simple reassurance. Sephiroth doesn't even need enhanced senses to tell that much. It's in the light way some of the hosts and hostesses smile at each other, relieved they won't have to worry about a boss that won't care if they make a complaint about a customer. He can hear it in the whistled out breaths of relief from other sex workers like himself, poledancers and strippers and the ones out on the streets who know they can call for help and have it answered. Someone somewhere in the throng claps their hand to the back of a friend - the bouncers of more than a few establishments in the place. Angeal knows how dirty work is. They rely on him like they wouldn't anyone else just here for the money.
Angeal lets a little bit of chatter happen for a second, understanding a release is needed, before he continues. "That isn't to say I don't want to retire at some point, because I do. And I intend to start working on that long before it actually happens. So you'll be seeing someone new around for a while trailing after me. It's not decided that he's going to replace me in the future. Consider it more of a... test trial."
That starts up the gossip all over again, which Angeal must have expected. Still, Sephiroth supposes this sort of thing couldn't be helped. Gossip would have started up one way or another if someone new just started hanging around Angeal for so long, so consistently. At least this way, Angeal can get out the truth to the most people at once. That's... something.
This time, Angeal does have to let loose a whistle again, the sharp sound bouncing up against the incredibly high ceilings. "How things run might change slightly, because it's not like I'm making a clone of myself," he says dryly, "but not the base things which are most important to all of you. Pay, protection - those are things I'll make sure stay in place even if I do leave. And if somehow they go wrong, you have my permission to throw the new guy into a ditch and drag me out of retirement again. Just try to give him a starting shot-"
A door in the back opens up. Most of the people in the inn don't look back at it. A couple do, because they're close enough. Sephiroth isn't close enough, by normal standards, but he still notes it regardless. It looks like a young man, black hair... Familiar, somehow? And yet Sephiroth is fairly certain that he's not seen him regularly at the Honeybee Inn, or out on the streets.
Before he has much more time to ponder this new arrival, or dismiss him - whichever would come first - the man perks up and energetically waves up at Angeal even as he shuts the door behind him. And it is at Angeal that he's waving to, not anyone else in the large group that's gathered tonight. Sephiroth knows that because Angeal actually shifts his head a bit, acknowledges this new arrival. "Speak of devils," he comments dryly. "Zack - you're late."
"Sorry, Angeal!" says this newcomer, Zack, although his body soon disappears in the group of people as he tries to make his way up to the stage. This would theoretically not be hard, since there is still plenty of room even with everyone here, but, well. Zack is the new guy of the hour. People are interested in him now that Angeal is actually acknowledging him, and Sephiroth thinks he can hear some laughter. "Whoa - hi, excuuuuse me, just - coming through, sorry about the feathers!" Angeal waits patiently up on the stage, before Zack finally manages to push through, and scrambles up to him eagerly. At least he's not lacking for energy, Sephiroth can say that much.
And some measure of optimism, too, showing in the way that he grins widely back at everyone even as he has to stand in front of so many. Someone, perhaps, automatically suited to the spotlight. Sephiroth can't quite relate.
Angeal just puts a hand along the back of Zack's neck, keeping him neatly in place. Smart idea; this one seems like the type that would leap right off of the stage and get into all sorts of nonsense before the rest of them have had a chance to even hear his name. But then, there's something familiar about the way that Angeal's hand settles, too... "For those paying attention, I probably don't have to explain much. For the rest of you, then this is Zack, and Zack is going to be hanging around to see how I do business down here in Wall Market. I'm trusting you all to take care of him while he's here with me. Got it?"
There's some actual verbal responses, some that aren't so verbal, but that hardly matters to Sephiroth right now. Instead, as he watches Angeal lightly shove Zack off back into the throng where he seems more than happy to talk to people, it occurs to him that he knows now why Zack had seemed so familiar.
This isn't the first time that he's seen Zack at Angeal's side. Granted, he's not seen him often, not like how Genesis and Angeal used to be absolutely inseparable, but... He had still noted, at a distance, the appearance of someone new at Angeal's side as he'd gone about to do some of his average business down on the plate. Walking off to check something with the younger man in tow, keeping him waiting in a chair somewhere at HQ before he came out for something... Only a small smattering of occasions like that. Nothing noteworthy at the time. Sephiroth had honestly thought that he was another sex worker at first that Angeal was dealing with for whatever reason.
He had also caught sight, once, of Zack against a wall, mouth desperately trying to devour or be devoured by Angeal's own, hands pawing at that muscular chest. He'd been whining for it, hungry.
Admittedly, that last part had done a lot on the impression that this was just another sex worker being taken into the fold. Angeal didn't normally lay a hand on his own workers in that matter, but, well. Sephiroth knew better than anyone that there could certainly be the occasional exception.
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That is something of a question, considering that Sephiroth's experiences with Zack so far have been seeing Zack follow after Angeal, Zack being late for a meeting where Angeal introduced him, getting excited being around so many people, and the time he practically tried to grind himself to completion against Angeal while digging his fingers against his chest.
Still, it's all enough to at least give him something to work with, for now. Sephiroth leans back in his seat, observing the potential boss. "He has a lot of energy," he remarks after a moment, which he supposes is rather like stating that the sky is nonexistent this far down in the plates. "And he seems to be making a good impression on a lot of people already." At least, those immediately around him don't appear to be actively glaring at him, and more than a few are smiling and laughing at whatever it is that he's talking about. "However... What does he actually know about running a business like this?" Sephiroth frowns somewhat. "And how well does he know Seven? I've never seen him around Wall Market before."
Important questions, for whoever is going to take over Wall Market if Angeal truly does accomplish his dream of a simple retirement. Yet Angeal doesn't seem perturbed, just drapes his arms along the back of his seat. "He knows absolutely nothing," he says, upfront and honest. The words aren't exactly reassuring, but Angeal's honesty, funnily enough, is. "But neither did I, when I first arrived in Midgar. And neither did Gen, although he had a slight edge in knowing how to handle a business."
"So you're going to spend your time teaching him, then."
Angeal shrugs. "I was always going to have to have to spend a lot of time teaching anyone I decided on," he says matter of factly. "There's more to this place than just business. More to this place than just knowing it. I have a duty to the people here in Wall Market, and it'd tarnish my honor if I just tossed it aside without even the slightest attempt to keep it going after I was gone."
Sometimes, Genesis rolls his eyes at the idea that Angeal seems to have of honor - especially as a crime boss, of all things. Sephiroth likes it. It's something... distinctly Angeal. Some sort of ideal that seems to keep him better than anyone else out on the streets.
After all, a great many people really would just hand it off, and wash their hands of the whole affair.
"I suppose that is why you said that it would at least take a few years for you to retire," Sephiroth muses. If he's going to be teaching someone everything about Wall Market, from the location itself to the business to its people, their people, then a good few years is the very least that is required. Probably even better would be many years of it, but, well, Angeal had said he wanted to retire. Too many years would be too long. "Although I do wonder where you picked him up in particular."
"Well, it was a ShinRa thing-"
That sounds like an interesting start to a story already, but Angeal doesn't have time to properly go into it. Instead, Zack manages to make his way out from the throng of people - most of which have lessened now as jobs and homes had to be gone to - and heads straight for the two of them. "Angeal!" he exclaims, the name an elated sound on his lips, before he stumbles a bit at the sight of Sephiroth, too.
This isn't a reaction he is unused to, by any means. He is one of the most striking individuals in the employment here in Wall Market, and even people who've heard of him tend to be caught off guard by the actual sight of him. In the many years he's worked in the business of sex, Sephiroth has learned how to use that to his advantage.
A part of him ponders doing that right now. Angeal had said to test his potential successor... and seeing how well he'd respond to a pretty face is a good measure of judgment on just how reliable he can be. For the time being, instead of going all out, he teases him, just a bit.
It doesn't take much. Just a tilt of his head, making sure that his silver hair catches the lights just so. Draws attention to the curve of his neck, exposed for once thanks to the long neckline of his current black shirt. Looks over to him from underneath pale eyelashes, bright green all the brighter in the dim lighting of the Honeybee Inn.
Zack, having gotten his feet under him again, nearly trips on a step up towards their table.
A soft snort of amusement comes from the side, Angeal, but no doubt his face is a little more schooled into place. He's rather good at that; it absolutely infuriates Genesis at times. "Eyes up, Zack," he says dryly, and that seems to be enough to get Zack back in working order as he bounds up the rest of the short steps. "So, going to tell me why you were late? I distinctly recall telling you that this was going to be fairly important."
There is this to be said for Zack: he has a rather boyish, almost puppyish, kind of charm to him. It was no doubt apparent from the very start, when he first started to make his way through the crowd, but it's especially apparent now as Angeal rebukes him. His shoulders rise up a bit, sheepish as his hands spread out helplessly, and his wide blue eyes are quite expressive even from beneath crumpled brows. "C'mon, Angeal, don't be like that!" he protests, a hint of whine to his voice. Sephiroth tries to recall how similar it is to the one he made when he was kissing Angeal. "I couldn't help it! I got delayed!"
"Delayed doing what, exactly?"
Not only expressive eyes, but expressive hands, too, flailing all about as Zack gestures. "I was helping some people out! And, I know, I know that you told me that this was important, and I wasn't trying to ignore that on purpose. I just thought, hey, this will take just a second, right? Except then things might have kiiiiiiinda spiraled out of control, so..."
"Funny how things tend to spiral out of control with you," Angeal remarks dryly, before he shakes his head. No doubt he's shelving this for a later, when he can grill Zack a little more effectively in private. "Anyway... This is Sephiroth." He inclines his head in his direction, as though introductions ever really have to be made when it concerns him. Most people, if they have any idea of what they're doing when they come to this area of town or when they contact the market's many "offices", know well enough who he is. Introductions are really just a nicety at this point. "Don't forget him, since you'll be working with him at least a few times."
That could mean anything, really... but Sephiroth has some confidence in Angeal. Enough to imagine that, if he ever has to work 'alongside' Zack in any capacity, Angeal will talk with him about it first.
"I don't think I could ever forget him," Zack says immediately in response. It almost sounds like a line, honestly, and Sephiroth has heard more than his fair share of them since settling on Seven. But he looks in those wide starry eyes set in a fidgeting frame, and. Hm. This is 100% non-scripted and actually genuine, isn't it?
A rare occurrence, although not impossible. Sephiroth finds himself smiling slightly before he really thinks to stop himself.
This wouldn't really be a problem in any other situation, but Sephiroth can tell even without looking that Angeal is doing that little quirked up smile of his. The one that shows in his eyes more than anything. Honestly. He must have known that something like this was going to happen. Terrible. Sephiroth doesn't bother to wipe the smile from his lips regardless. "I'll look forward to working with you, Zack," is what he says in the end.
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"Go?" Zack's expression twists into quite the amusing countenance, torn between elation and disappointment. It's painfully clear that he'd rather been hoping that he could stick around a little while longer - whether in the flash of the Honeybee Inn, or perhaps for Sephiroth himself. He's not so arrogant as to make a guess on which. "Where are we going?"
"Most of the important people who need to know you, know you. We can go around and making some proper introductions, now. Get you an idea how the main areas of Wall Market work."
"Do I have to take notes?"
"You'd lose any notes you took," Angeal informs him plainly, and Sephiroth hides his smile behind his fingers, a bit. "Just try to pay attention for when I have you actually doing things."
The prospect of doing apparently anything seems to perk Zack up well enough. "Yessss," he cheers quietly, pumping his fist like this is some massive victory. Someone who learns best by doing, it seems. "Then let's get a move on! Where are we going next?"
"There's a few places around the immediate area you could probably stand to get a handle on... We'll try some of the big businesses first." Resting his hand on the back of the booth, Angeal inclines his head towards Sephiroth, now. "Thanks for showing up for today. I'll keep you updated on how things turn out." And with that, he takes his leave, lightly rapping his knuckles along Zack's shoulder to have him follow after. This doesn't, of course, stop Zack from peering over his shoulder and waggling his fingers excitedly at Sephiroth in good bye.
Really, it's as though Angeal has picked up an energetic little puppy. Actually.... Hadn't he heard Angeal commenting to one of the Honeybees recently about finding a cute new puppy, even though Genesis had clearly made no reference to any such things? Honestly now. Sephiroth waves back.
Of course, when Angeal talks about keeping him updated, it's also just as much keeping Genesis updated.
A crime boss and a casino owner - together they might just make for the richest pair in all of Midgar, even if individually they can't hold a candle to something like ShinRa. However, that means both of them have to do a great deal of things to keep it all running smoothly, and exactly as they want it. Especially with how so many people would be glad to leap upon any perceived weakness in either Wall Market or the Golden Saucer. Anything to take it for themselves, or make steps towards that goal.
In contrast, Sephiroth has considerably less on his plate. Due to his popularity and the prices Angeal makes sure don't dip for any of his people, it's not as though he's lacking for money, either. So, even though none of them really agreed to any of it out loud...
One way or the other, he always finds a way to the Golden Saucer, where Genesis is more than happy to spoil him.
Today, that means being near the chocobo racetrack, where the redhead is applying affection to a particularly brilliant blue stud. "What do you think?" he asks him, palms braced carefully along the edge of the massive bird's beak.
It was a good choice to dress a little more plainly today, even if there is still a lot of leather involved. But that's a tactical choice. Stray feathers don't stick quite as easily to his leather compared to any other material he could wear, and that's a benefit as he walks a little further into the stall. Tall boots were also a smart choice; Angeal was right to insist he get at least one sensible pair all those years ago. "A new acquisition?" he asks, taking in the rather patient temperament. No anxiety at the prospect of another and very new person into the stall, just a quiet observation of him - silver reflected in that large black eye. "The feathers seem to be a bit different than that which I'm used to. Were you talked out of buying another red?"
"Oh, hush," Genesis says, with a click of his tongue. "I would have you know that I have more sense than that and you very well know it. While a flock of brilliant crimson would certainly be a sight to behold, it does not fair well on the racetrack. There, they are most glorious when bedazzling the crowd in a mosaic of color, like stained glass in a forgotten church."
"Very poetic."
"Thank you, I am glad that someone can properly appreciate my talents."
That draws out a soft chuckle from Sephiroth. Well, it is good to see that Genesis is in a fine mood, today. Perhaps his new companion is helpful in that regard, for it has quite a calming sort of personality. At least, it just makes a soft little trill in its throat when Sephiroth runs his hand along its long neck, and ends in a little beep.
Yes, this close, and being able to touch the creature... It is quite different from the chocobo that Genesis normally buys for the track. There's something about that sensation which is far smoother than a chocobo feather normally is. A different breed entirely, perhaps?
"What kind of environment does this one grow in?" he asks, curious despite himself. "With how slick they are... A water-inclined breed?"
It would explain the slight difference in the feathers, and, now that he's closer, he thinks there may be something different to its feet, as well. Yet, still, it is undeniably a chocobo. Genesis chuckles a bit, fingers sinking through the feathers and guiding themselves along one folded wing. "Truly, nothing gets past you, does it, our eagle-eyed partner?" he teases. "But yes - this is a rather rare little breed that I heard about, so when I heard there was a chance to get it for myself, I knew that I would be daft to pass it up. I have thought about having some construction do to make a more water-themed route for the races, but... Well, that would perhaps end up far too pricey as an immediate venture."
"So this one will become a more minor side attraction," Sephiroth concludes with a small nod. "At least unless you can breed more of them. Well, for all that this one has moved quite a ways from its original home, it seems happy enough here." His hands fall away from the bird, just to give it a bit more space. "...His name is Zack, if you were interested. Last name Fair."
Immediately, Genesis's nose wrinkles, and he pulls his hand away. "What a poetic surname," he sighs. "And yet I cannot be particularly pleased about it. I haven't heard anything about him in Midgar. Where on earth is he from and how did Angeal find him?"
Fortunately, these are questions that Sephiroth had as well, and that Angeal had at least shown some courtesy by leaving a quick note at his place. Everything else, well, he'd picked up from gossip.
There are a lot of gossips, fortunately, at the Honeybee Inn. He doesn't think that they started there, or that Angeal picked them for that particular quality, but it is most certainly how the hive has turned out regardless. Sometimes, it works out well enough to all their advantages.
"The details are somewhat lost on me, or, at the very least, I can't yet tell you what fact or fiction is," Sephiroth begins, "but everyone seems to be on agreement that he managed to poach him from the SOLDIER recruitment process." He pauses, so that Genesis can get out his sharp bark of laughter. ShinRa is an important source of revenue for both the Market and the Saucer, of course, or at least its employees are... But, well, strong powers will always be at odds with strong powers. It's simple to say that there's no particular love lost between them. Sephiroth can take some bitter amusement from the whole thing as well.
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"Gongaga?" Genesis wrinkles his nose. "That sounds positively backwater."
A moment passes. Genesis squints at him. Sephiroth politely says nothing, especially nothing on the fact that they both know that Genesis can't really say anything on anyone being from somewhere backwater. Banora may have its rise to acknowledgment with posters for the apples everywhere you turn even in Midgar, but it's still... very country, from what Sephiroth understands. While Angeal seems to think that it's amusing that some "country hick" like him can become a crime boss in a place like Midgar - the crime boss, really, depending on who you ask - Genesis seems as though he would much rather blunt force trauma everyone in existence so they remember what Banora is.
Another little difference between them.
"Regardless, that he was in the running for SOLDIER proves that his physical capabilities should be worth something," he says, eventually. Certainly nothing worse than what most thugs there in the Market, honestly.
All Genesis does is scoff, bending down to pluck a stray feather off from the ground inbetween his fingers. "Please, as though SOLDIER is anything special," he says dismissively. Not a lot of people would say something like that, but... From someone like Genesis, with more than enough reserves in him to set no small portion of Midgar alight. Angeal, from what Sephiroth can tell, never quite got a handle on materia in a similar way...
But Angeal can take that very same high level magic Genesis is capable of at point-blank range and get right back up again, looking no worse for the wear outside of burned clothing.
That's not even talking about Sephiroth himself. He'd prefer to keep it that way.
"There still has to be a reason that he caught Angeal's eye," he points out, earning a huff from Genesis's lips. "Still, energy and personality seem to be his strongest points... Not so much some other qualities that has helped Angeal settle Wall Market."
It is a very generous way of putting it. Genesis is not nearly so generous. "Oh, so he's an imbecile," he declares with a dramatic sigh. "And that is who Angeal wants to put in charge of the Market? After all the hard work he put into it?" He rakes his fingers through it, almost seemingly more annoyed at the changes happening in his partner's territory than anything that might occur in his own. Then again, the two of them have always seemed to operate this way: anything that's Angeal's is Genesis's, and vice versa. It's just that Genesis is the one most likely to meddle. "I normally understand everything going through that head of his, and yet I must admit that this is a mystery to me."
"You could always go down to see him yourself," Sephiroth suggests. Whether he means Angeal or his new protégé, well, that's up to Genesis.
The responding head shake is not entirely surprising. "No... At least, if I go to visit Angeal, it will be as I always do." His lips thin a bit, displeasure in very bit of the gesture. "He did say that eventually retiring was something he wished to do... And Wall Market is, in the end, his territory to deal with. Unless something truly egregious occurs, or it involves the Golden Saucer, then I suppose I do not have too much of a right to get involved."
Not too much of a right still means he has something of a right, of course. A neat little loophole for Genesis. Sephiroth doesn't call him out on this, either, only smiles. "Of course. Regardless, nothing of particular interest has happened yet... or else I would have a far more exciting tale to pass onto you."
"Oh, I imagine it is simply a matter of time before something fascinating happens," Genesis with a dismissive wave of his hand, brilliant blue feather fluttering with the motion. "It is Wall Market, after all. Well, enough of that." Reaching over, he deposits the feather right there behind Sephiroth's ear, and smiles a bit as though pleased with the picture that he's brought to life. "Shall I treat you to dinner, as compensation for having you come all this way?"
There's no actual need for him to 'pay' Sephiroth, of course. He came here because Genesis is someone dear to him, because he wants to make sure that him and Angeal are on the same page. Because it's nice, to be with the two of them.
It took... perhaps no small amount of time, and a bit of explaining from Angeal, that this is just another way that the two of them show affection to him. A way that they take care of him, and get to spend time with him. It seems kind of silly to make excuses for things that both parties clearly want - Angeal had conceded that much when Sephiroth had pointed it out to him - but sometimes the performance was a part of it.
Honestly, being close with Genesis has taught him a lot about the connection between performance and being human.
"If it won't get in the way of anything," he responds in turn, although he has to chuckle when the two of them exit the stables. "You know, the night that Angeal first told us about his idea of retiring... He also treated me to dinner."
Genesis shakes his head, but he doesn't seem particularly surprised. "All the money in the world, and he still insisted on having that little kitchen installed instead of simply hiring his own personal chef," he sighs. "What will I do with him? And he didn't even invite me." That last part, they both know, is the true issue at hand. Angeal has only really cooked for himself, family, and Genesis before he arrived in Midgar, and yet his cooking has a quality to it that Sephiroth finds hard to describe. Nice. Pleasant. Something he'd be happy eating every night, and he knows Genesis feels the same. "Well, it shall not be the fine dining of a crime boss's single suite in the back of a crime den, but you'll be treated to the finest of Golden Saucer cuisine."
While Sephiroth has other things to do in his life than stay by Angeal's side all the time, it's hard for even him to miss how much of a constant presence Zack soon becomes in the area. Certainly, he'd picked up on his existence once or twice before any announcement, but the difference from then and in the present is stark.
Not all of it is by Angeal's side, either. Oh, yes, he's there as well - tagging along behind Angeal as he goes through the territory, forced to sit down in the office with his head in his hands as terribly dull math is explained to him, running full sprint out the door while Angeal yells at his back to calm down not inside the building Zack. That much is just to be expected, in all honestly.
But more often than not, he can be found all throughout Wall Market, and even in a few areas beyond... although Sephiroth cannot say with any concrete certainty how much of his time is spent in or out of the area. As Sephiroth thought, Zack is a doer more than someone who learns from sitting about being told things, and Angeal had clearly spotted that as well. He has an eye, for things like that. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing useful for a crime boss, but...
So Sephiroth sees him running around doing apparent errands for the various and actually legal businesses down on the plate. Spots him doing bodyguard duty for a few of their people through parts of town both mundane and dangerous. Once, after he's finished meeting up with a client, he even spots Zack rushing around in the backstage of the Honeybee Inn looking absolutely out of his depth.
"If you're going to run a business right, then you need to know the ins and outs of it," he tells Sephiroth plainly one night , when they've both decided to take a break and have decided to visit the Golden Saucer just to see how the races are going. "I'm not expecting him to become an expert in any of those jobs, don't get me wrong."
"But he needs to get it in his head what he's actually running."
Angeal flashes him a short, small smile. "He needs to have an appreciation for where all his money and success is really coming from. Guy like me - I just keep the rails straight and smooth. Nothing more, nothing less." A rather humble view of himself for a crime boss, but that really is just so like Angeal. They don't have much time to keep going with that line of conversation before one of Genesis's people manages to track them down and lead them to a private viewing room where Genesis awaits.
At least it's almost pleasant, to see Zack running about everywhere and the impact he has on others. Even if their passes rarely cross directly, Sephiroth can still observe the effect he has on other people. That might not seem like a lot to some.
In Sephiroth's opinion, however... It's incredibly enlightening.
From that very first night, he had deduced that Zack was a sociable and amicable sort of individual with how he hadn't shyed away from being in the spotlight, and had leapt right into the waiting crowd of Angeal's people to get to know them for himself. With a chance to prove himself all the more, a long leash that lets him go throughout all of Wall Market... he seems to leave an even better impression on everyone, wherever he meets. You know, those who are not already disinclined to anyone who possesses a sufficiently cheerful or energetic personality.
"He tried to pretend he wasn't dying when I explained to him the ins and outs of acupuncture," Avi says, branding the newest set of needles with a grin from within the Inn's more specialized rooms. "Wasn't so great at it when I did a practical demonstration. It was funny."
"That big fight a couple nights ago? He got involved," Gale says with a sigh from within the Tonberry Tonic, one of the many bars that makes up business on the plate, and yet it's said with a faint smile. "Broke some glasses. Came back in just a couple of hours with new ones and all the apologies in the world."
"He broke the squats record," a couple of the folks from the gym.
"Why are you telling me about a squats record," Genesis asks him suspiciously with a squint, over his desk where he's looking over some proposals for new machines from a few businesses.
Sephiroth's smile is small and impossible to miss for someone like the redhead. "I thought it would be amusing," he says, and is rewarded by Genesis's eye roll. "Besides, at least it does show that there's some good physical training in there, so we can confirm at least some sort of training was present, even if not from SOLDIER."
"No wonder it sounds as though Angeal is running him absolutely ragged, then." Genesis sounds rather satisfied about that little fact, however. "Still, nothing interesting, really..."
Probably a lack of anything interesting is why Angeal has decided now is the best time to do something like this. Genesis just likes things when they're a bit more dramatic, a bit more explosive. No doubt that will come in due time; Wall Market rarely stays quiet for long. But they both know Angeal's reasonings, and Wall Market's ways. For now, Sephiroth leans against the desk, and his smile shifts in a way he's learned from both experience and the man seated right there in front of him. "There is always us," he points out.
Genesis's eyes light up in that eager predatory sort of way, and Sephiroth knows without seeing his own that they match in turn. "There is," he purrs, the sound just a little jagged there in the back of his throat.
When sufficiently distracted, Genesis burns bright and hard - a wildfire whose hunger never falters in the slightest, for want of everything the world has to offer him. Even in all the time he's been in this line of work, in all the time that he's been free and exploring even the wide world that Midgar composes of, Sephiroth doesn't think he's ever met anyone else quite as ravenous as Genesis.
It does appealing things, to one's sense of being needed and desired. It also keeps Sephiroth stuck in that office, and then Genesis's apartment, for hours on end. He suspects that the only people that can keep up with Genesis like this are him and Angeal.
Of course, being with Genesis also means indulging in rather lazy mornings - something that had been a foreign concept to him once upon a time and yet which he allows some indulgence in when it comes to Genesis. Most of the morning passes before Sephiroth is able to untangle himself from Genesis's arms - always seeking heat - and help his friend go off to work with as large a cup of espresso as is possible for a human being to down. He thinks none of it, honestly. It all seems rather mundane.
Only when he finally returns to Wall Market does he sense tension in the air.
Most can't get a feel for it. Not the average person, even those who live around the Market themselves. But Sephiroth can pick up on the way the guards near HQ glance at one another, the rare worker who hurries past with furrowed brows. It's enough to, on instinct, have him turn towards HQ and seek out Angeal.
As fortune would have it, the two of them run into one another right at the doors. "Ah, Sephiroth. Hey," he says, a dark sort of calm settled over him. Against his back, the buster sword patiently hangs there.
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More sensible souls, not being spurred on by senseless bravado or rage, look at a man who can cart around a giant sword with little trouble and think twice on the choices that have brought them there.
But sometimes, she still finds a use. Sometimes, she still is pulled out when Angeal finds it truly important to use Buster and nothing else. It's just always hard to tell when that moment will be until it happens. So if he has Buster out...
Sephiroth doesn't go inside HQ. Doesn't go back home. Instead, he steps to the side, falling in step with Angeal through simple habit. Behind them, he can feel Zack sticking close almost more than he can hear his footsteps beneath all the bustle of the Market. "Who was it?" Sephiroth asks simply.
"Skuppa, from the gym," Angeal tells him matter of fact, not breaking his stride in the slightest. It's a calm voice, and arguably on as calm expression as can be found on a severe face as Angeal's. However, it doesn't go past Sephiroth that there's a churning sort of darkness in Angeal's eyes. The kind of quiet wrath that is just being held back until it can be set upon the appropriate target. It matches a certain quality in his voice, too, something dark and low that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Genesis refers to it as growling, although Sephiroth has never heard a definite growl leave Angeal's throat.
There are a lot of people in Wall Market, and more people who work for it beyond the little territory. Getting to know all of them is something that even Sephiroth struggles with, sometime. But he thinks he recalls the name, can match it to some sort of face. A little bit older, the kind of muscular type that some liked.
The kind that people never think would run into trouble, but that's exactly why they sometimes do.
But perhaps just as importantly as Angeal's own quiet fury... Sephiroth glances back past the two of them, taking in the way Zack's fists are clenched, trembling, how they match the rage that's sparking behind his own eyes. Like an ember about to land a little too close to a fireworks stand at a gas station.
Skuppa. Sephiroth had spoken to him briefly at the gym. He'd been laughing about the looks on everyone's faces when Zack had broken a record. Hadn't Angeal just sent him to the gym but a few days ago?
There's no need to ask if Angeal needs any back up. If he felt he did, then surely he would have gotten it already from any of the guards in his employ, or asked for him, or asked Genesis. Maybe once upon a time, Sephiroth wouldn't have thought to ask him. Even so, in the face of all those facts, Sephiroth still asks him, "Do you want anyone to come with you?"
Angeal forces out a steadied breath from between his teeth, finds some sort of center in himself. "I'll be fine," he says after a moment. "Thanks for the consideration. But I do have Zack with me."
Behind them, Sephiroth can hear Zack's steps stutter and stumble for a brief moment. Recognition of his own ability by the boss; what a pleasant thing. And Sephiroth supposes that Angeal does have a point. He chose Zack for a reason... and this, too, is going to be one of the things he will have to deal with as the boss of Wall Market.
"Then I'll be waiting for you when you return," Sephiroth answers simply, before he turns back to Zack. Apparently he's caught him at a slightly inopportune time; Angeal's protégé is still trying to school his expression back when he does so. "We'll be relying on you to keep him safe, then."
They've all paused, now, and Zack stands up ramrod straight. Sephiroth thinks he can see the slightest ghost of the SOLDIER he might've been in that, even if it is just the ghost of an eager young recruit. He thinks he can even see his hand jerk, almost prepared to go straight into a salute. "You got it!" he says, finding some brief measure of excitement and confidence in the situation despite itself. "Zack Fair, here to do the job right!"
Angeal scoffs a little bit under his breath, but Sephiroth thinks that his own ire has lessened a bit. Someone may still very well die tonight, depending on what's happened to Skuppa, but that's none of Sephiroth's concern. His priority is, and always will be, Angeal and Genesis, and Angeal is who is in front of him now.
"Then Zack Fair needs to keep up with me if he wants to do the job right," he says, continuing onwards, stride as long and quick as ever. "Don't lag, Zack."
"I'm not lagging! I'm not!"
Sephiroth declines any other jobs for the rest of the day, once they've disappeared from view - whether that's to use the train or any other questionable form of transportation that Angeal chooses. He's fortunate that he's had nothing else really planned for the day, honestly, although he would have cancelled any appointments even if he did without even a second thought. Instead, he lets himself into Angeal's more private rooms - the little suite, of course, but also his office, the makeshift infirmary that would make any field medic jealous, all sorts of little spaces that once used to be declarations of luxury and now have been transformed into something more in accordance with Angeal's practical nature even if he'd been to cheap to construct over the glintz and gaudiness of it all.
In a way, it's almost amusing. Angeal likes to hang coats on top of a gold-coated monster statue of some sort, "just to hide its ugly face, I do not understand rich people's tastes at all".
It only takes a few hours for Angeal to return in the end, and Sephiroth suspects that most of that was time spent traveling - whether by automated transport or simply hunting through the streets as he tracked down the person who made the ill-advised choice of hurting or taking one of their own. Zack and Skuppa are there with him... Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Zack and Angeal are with Skuppa, bracketing both sides of him like a pair of guard dogs.
Skuppa's smile is a bit sheepish as he settles down onto an infirmary bed that they stole from the back of a truck, once upon a time. Sephiroth can spot the bruises around his neck even before the other man lowers the coat from his shoulders. "Kinda embarrassing, to get caught like that," he says, while Angeal looks over the medical supplies that Sephiroth pulled out hours earlier. "And I thought it was just going to be normal play."
And that's how so many get them, isn't it? "You wouldn't be the first," Sephiroth tells him, because it's the truth. "I am simply glad the system worked."
The system where any of their people can protect themselves if they want to learn how from Angeal, and Genesis. The system where, even with that in place, everyone is meant to check in so that they can react immediately to the first sign of something amiss. Angeal had insisted upon something like it, ages ago, before he'd even really solidified his standing in the Market.
Of course, with the things they'd seen at the lowest tier in the hierarchy as they'd been fighting... That'd only made sense.
Angeal is the one who tends to him, in the end, because Angeal has a surprising amount of field medic knowledge for someone who grew up in the middle of nowhere, and Genesis is the one who is better at using healing materia. That leaves Sephiroth to step back a bit, and he looks towards Zack.
In contrast to the fire he'd clearly had coaxed along in him when he was first setting off with Angeal, he seems a bit quieter now. Contemplative, perhaps. He almost doesn't seem to notice Sephiroth's approach at first, and only jolts in realization when he takes the seat besides him. "Oh! Sephiroth! You - Uh -" He starts to flail his hands about, seeking to make some sort of understanding gesture, and not making a single bit of sense at all. "Hey!"
While he gets flustered, Sephiroth takes this time to look him over. Angeal, he had only needed to glance at to get a good idea of his state of being. Angeal rarely seems to take damage - or, if he does take damage, it rarely seems to last until the next morning unless the damage is truly serious... and that only seems to count if someone manages to actually stab him.
Magic aimed directly at his face? Blunt force trauma to the head? Sephiroth has seen him take on all of this and more, only to be up on his feet again moments later. In that respect, they seem rather similar. Sephiroth has found that he's rather durable as well.
But Zack? Wide eyed, energetic, prone to impulse and doing before thinking? Someone that Sephiroth has not spent years at the side of? Well... Sephiroth imagines that one can understand why he is a little more interested in checking things over with Zack.
And yet Zack seems to be in decent enough condition, at a cursory inspection. His already messy hair has only been made all the more wild, no doubt from running and fighting, and he's far filthier than he was when he first stepped out from HQ. Quite a tall order; sometimes it can be difficult to stay clean at all when one is doing all sorts of odd jobs throughout the Market's many streets. The inside buildings are often kept as clean as can be expected... but down here towards the bottom of Midgar, all the filth seems to filter down here.
The filth is the worst of it, on some level. Zack doesn't hold himself gingerly, isn't favoring one limb over the other. As far as physical injury goes... there is just a large bruise along his jaw, a mottled sort of yellow that will no doubt bruise into splendid purples and reds, with a cut there in a jagged little cross.
Sephiroth tilts his head towards it. "Injured in the line of duty?" he asks, just to help get Zack's mind focused on something again instead of scattered to the four winds. While Sephiroth may be used to that happening around him, it is somewhat an obstacle here right now when he is just trying to talk to the young man.
At least it's enough to snap Zack's mind out of it, as he had hoped. There are a couple of befuddled blinks, and then Zack laughs a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, this?" he says, hand lowering just so it can jerk up towards his face. Truly, he is a man of near infinite energy that has absolutely no idea where it wants to go. "That's nothing! You should see the other guys! I just got this when I was a little too up close and personal."
Really, he would like to see the other guys, but he doubts there's much more to them that he could really do. Not after Angeal has already dealt with them.
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Zack is making a face, and Sephiroth can't quite tell if it's in response to the question or the sight of the medical supplies. "Got us going all over the plates," Zack complains, fingers curling along the edge of his seat. "I think he was probably trying to make it hard for us to follow after him. But Angeal - jeez, he didn't hesitate in the slightest in where he was going."
"Well, it is Angeal," is all Sephiroth says. He doesn't think most people are aware of just how sharpened Angeal's senses are, or Genesis for that matter. Not him, either. The way that Genesis can hear a whisper across a crowded room, how Angeal can track down anyone if you give him enough time...
Angeal has always told him, in private of course, that none of them are infallible. Too much noise, a million different sounds clashing against each other, puts Genesis's teeth on edge. If someone were to just dump a bomb filled with different powders at the right intersection, Angeal would get mixed up on just where his right mark was. And Sephiroth? Well, he's more than aware of his own limitations. Sharp eyesight like his only has so many places to go, in the crowded and claustrophobic streets of Midgar.
But no one else needs to know that about them. All they need to do... is underestimate the bosses of Midgar's underworld.
Not even Angeal's little protégé, cute and eager and trusted as he might be. So Sephiroth simply follows up with, "Now hold still." While he's rarely ever needed it, Sephiroth has been in this business long enough to know that it stings, even if mostly from the experiences of other people.
Very predictably, Zack does not stay still, although he does a rather commendable job. His head stays still, which is really the most important thing here. It's just the rest of his body that wiggles impatiently in the face of careful fingers cleaning away dirt and germs from his cheek. "Ugh I never should have let him get that cloooose," he grumbles. "This is - it sucks."
"A learning experience," Sephiroth tells him, taking in the clear redness that lays beneath everything else. It'll look uglier when a day has passed. "Does it hurt that much?" Does he need to worry about loose teeth or a dislocated jaw? Not that it seems likely, with how much Zack is still talking, but...
Zack wrinkles his nose. "What a learning experience, but I guess that's just like him." They both know who he's referring to. "But no - it's fine. You know, I wasn't thinking that you'd be here waiting for us, when we first left!"
"And why is that?"
There go Zack's hands again. Sephiroth think he might come to like that aspect of Zack, the way his hands are so expressive. Genesis has a similar energy to him, in everything he does, although there's no doubt he'd make a face at being compared to someone like Zack. "Well, I thought you'd have other things to do. And I didn't know that you knew first aid? I mean, it's you, so you must be in high demand."
"Even I have my days off," Sephiroth tells him, putting down the cotton so that it can be discarded later. "And I had made sure I would have some time today... because of a job I took last night." It's always wise to have a recuperation period after meeting with Genesis. Just in case. "I would have cancelled even if I had."
Zack stares at him, hands going still. "Really?"
"Of course." And then, on a bit of rare whim, Sephiroth leans in and does something he used to see Angeal and Genesis do one another a million times before early on in their territory claim. He presses his lips, gently, to the wound there along Zack's face. "I was going to wait for you both no matter what."
When he pulls away, Zack's face is red all the way to his hairline. "Oh," is all he has to say.
A very cute reaction, really, although Sephiroth is left to wonder if perhaps Angeal is rubbing off on him in some terrible ways. Before he can press much more on this, or Zack can say anything else, Angeal's voice rises up from behind. "Alright, I think that's as good as we're gonna get. Everyone's staying here tonight."
Technically, Sephiroth knows that Angeal means the people most likely to be targeted by anyone left over by the most recent 'hunt' - in other words, the person who was originally targeted, and then the two men responsible for getting into a violent scrap to emerge victorious. He doesn't let that stop him from following right after Angeal, however, until they're all situated in the boss's little suite and both of them are working at the kitchenette together.
"You're a real heartbreaker, you know," Angeal says mildly, as they both start assembling some thick sandwiches that will go into the warm oven. Thick ham, salami, pastrami, olive slices, various cheeses... It's enough to clog someone's arteries. Angeal seems to love it for nights like this.
This isn't the first time Sephiroth has heard a comment like this. Usually it's from people with a bit more bitterness to their bite. "Is this about Zack?" he says back, well aware of the scene behind them: Zack and Skuppo, the former energetically telling some story or another. Something silly, an event from one of his shifts at a bar, Sephiroth thinks. "I'm not sure I want to hear that from you."
While he may be a crime boss, Angeal still has the decency to look at least a bit embarrassed. "I have a weakness for puppies, what can I say," is all he manages weakly.
"I suppose he is a rather cute puppy," Sephiroth agrees, lips teased into a smile. Certainly all the exuberance of one, the sheer energy, and maybe even a bit of sharp puppy fangs to get him where he needs to be. "And yet you can't bring him home to Genesis."
"That's because Genesis gets territorial," Angeal says, waiting for Sephiroth to top the sandwiches with a bun before he tugs the foil up over them so that they can deposited onto the tray. "And, even worse, I'm trying to train the puppy. Genesis has a bad habit of undoing all of that if I take my eyes off of him for five seconds."
"Are you referring to me as a puppy...?"
Angeal actually laughs, and Sephiroth can spot Zack and Skuppa glancing over in curiosity at the noise. "Oh, no, I knew from the day we laid eyes on you that were you a cat."
One of these days, he really is going to interrogate Angeal on just what qualifications he assigns animals to people... But then, Sephiroth has thought that for years, now, and it somehow always slips his mind. Either way, he waits until Angeal has finished closing up the oven before he speaks up again. "He does seem rather fond of you."
All Angeal does is shrug. "It's just because of how I'm the boss," he answers, settling with his back against one of his little counters, watching Zack get right back into his energetic conversation with Skuppa. "Admiration mixing into attraction. But you he's really fond of."
"It's just because of how I'm your most famous earner," Sephiroth shoots back casually. "Attraction mixing into admiration."
They stare at each other.
"I should never have let Genesis teach you how to be sassy," Angeal says, as though he is free of having anything to do with influencing Sephiroth down this particular path. "Anyway, I'll probably start sending him your way a little more. Your turn to use him as your errand boy, for whatever you'd like."
His turn, is it? Sephiroth thinks he can understand why that is. Why Angeal is choosing now, of all times, to do so, after he's already seen Zack running around. Helped patch him up, after a rough spot. He closes his eyes, considers it.
"I'll see what I can do, then."
The food is delicious, because of course it is when Angeal has had a hand in making it, and the bed is just barely large enough for all four of them to clamber onto it. Angeal especially is a problem, broadly built as he is, but they manage well enough. No doubt the bed will see far worse than him barely hanging onto the side, and Skuppa to the other, leaving Sephiroth and Zack to make up the middle. Snug, but... not that bad. A good thing, really, that he both likes the heat (although never as much as Genesis ever does), and that there is a decent air conditioner in HQ.
Sleep comes easily enough for him in such a situation, reminded of the times when it was him and Genesis and Angeal finding warmth with one another. At the same time, he awakes just as easily when that warmth is disturbed.
Angeal is gone. He'd noted that some while ago, in the hazy space between sleep and consciousness. That much is normal. And yet it had been Zack's movements that had dragged him all the way into awareness, clumsy movements against the mattress as he'd done his best to be delicate. Sephiroth stays still, waits until the weight is off of the bed completely and the soft pad of bare feet has stopped, before he slides open one eye.
Even if the room were completely dark, he'd still be able to see through it, clear as day. Something done to him in the labs, he thinks. But he doesn't even need it, with the small little lamp that is set there on the floor right by where Angeal sits with his legs crossed and various paper in his hands. Sephiroth isn't exactly in the best position to see all the fine details, of course. Nonetheless, he can take a decent guess at what they are: maps of various parts of Midgar from the city overall to the sewer system, notes written by the various workers on things they've noted from enemies or ShinRa, updates on repairs to various parts of the Market. Angeal runs Wall Market like he'd run his own house, keeping an eye on every little thing that might affect him and his own.
And there's Zack, rubbing at his face, shuffling over to him until he can flop down onto the floor besides Angeal. All the other man does is adjust, making it easier for Zack to lean against him with his cheek smooshed against his shoulder. Midgar never really sleeps, never really stops making noise... but tucked away in HQ, in Angeal's suite, it's easy enough to hear Zack's sleepy murmur. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Checking to see what gangs and groups were related to where we took down the idiot who touched one of our own."
"Mmgh. Way too many words. Explain 'em all to me? Like I'm an idiot."
"That's because you are an idiot." But he says it fondly, mouth to Zack's hair, ignoring the protests. "Alright, so there's a gang over here..."
Sephiroth closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.
TTRPG AU - i am not looking at any rulebook or monster manual or fuck and all as i write this
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There are details and races mentioned in these things that he's never even heard of, and Genesis - overachiever that he is - had gleefully dragged him through every niche spin off and suggestion in possibly every TTRPG forum or website there was. Which means that Sephiroth's father is even more of a weird recluse and freak than Angeal had known him to be, and he'd already known him to be absolutely a fucking freak and asshole.
"He had a very particular idea of how the campaign should be run," Sephiroth says plainly, and does not say much more than that. He doesn't have to. While Hojo apparently has particular ideas on how tabletop campaigns should be run, Sephiroth has a particular tone he has when talking about his father.
Well, while Hojo might like to think of himself as some really unique and brilliant individual, Angeal is pleased to say that this particular characteristic of him isn't that uncommon: the kind of GM that doesn't actually care about the group interest or dynamic, and would rather just have a captive audience to tell his idea of a story. The kind of dipshits who should just get into fanfiction and stop making it other people's problems.
At least it's no longer Sephiroth and Aerith's problem. Just Angeal's, as he sits here away from where the rest of the group is arguably "watching" what is allegedly the worst theatre production of Loveless filmed. What they're really doing is just listening to Genesis have Very Intense Opinions about why it's so bad. Zack has somehow gotten roped into a discussion. He doesn't look like he knows where he is even as passionate as he is. Angeal is pretty sure that Lazard and Cloud have just started talking about class planning, at this point.
That is of course why he had that particular movie chosen. Angeal had just wanted something that wasn't food to occupy the rest of the party's time, while he sits here with their new last minute additions to try and integrate them into the campaign he'd had planned.
That hadn't seemed too hard, in theory. In practicality, he squints at the papers in front of him. There's so much, but something is leaping out at him, here. "...Please tell me I'm wrong and I'm reading too much into this, because I'm getting some weird breeding kink vibes out of this."
Aerith takes no prisoners and gives no mercy, because she just cheerily says, "You're not wrong!" When Angeal is done groaning and peeking out from his fingers, he finds her leaning across the kitchen table. "We were in hell," she tells him, still chirpy but also painfully sincere. Then again, he isn't sure what other response one can really have to this kind of life experience.
Sephiroth is stalwartly staring somewhere over his shoulder. He might actually be dissociating his way through this part of the conversation. Which is... the only other response available, Angeal guesses.
There's no helping it. Angeal lets out a breath, putting the character sheets down. "Okay. I don't want to waste all the time that you two were forced into putting into these, so I'm thinking we'll not scrap them completely. But we are going to have to rework them pretty heavily, just so that they can mesh better with the rest of the party. This is a new campaign, and, unedited, these two are..." He squints at the sheets again. "...pretty over the top." Another single tap of his finger against the table. "But I think I can work these in otherwise."
Snapping out of his brief stint of dissociation, Sephiroth frowns slightly to him. "Is that all right, Angeal? I know you were working on this for some time..."
"So we won't get to tear up the character sheets?" Aerith asks, having completely separate priorities.
Right, one at a time. "I think it should work out fine," he tells Sephiroth, before turning to Aerith. "And you emailed me the PDFs on all of these, so I can just look back at those, if you really want to shred them." The words are barely out of his mouth before there's the sound of gardener fingers punching holes straight through.
Hm. He is sensing a lot of eager rage inside that petite little body.
Good thing he already had his laptop open, and Angeal taps his way over to hers, first. "Alright, so let's just start erasing all the weird breeding bullshit first..." Fucking hell. Actually saying it out loud again has him squeezing his eyes shut. "I am so glad, Sephiroth, that Gen committed arson to your house so that you could move into your own apartment."
Apparently, he'd said that loud enough, because Genesis suddenly whirls away from whatever heated argument he was having with Zack. "And I would do it again!" he announces with a flourish, looking maybe just a little manic as he props one foot up against the couch armrest. "To find liberation through the flames is nothing less than what you deserved, Sephiroth, and I am more than glad to show you that path."
Dragging his hand away from his face, Angeal glances over to purposefully make eye contact with Lazard. Lazard fortunately seems to understand what he means, at least if they ever want to get this first session up off the ground. He finally speaks up on the whole matter. "Genesis, what were you talking about with how they butchered the meaning of the Prisoner's arc...?"
That's more than enough to draw Genesis's attention back, incensed once more into his thesis. Angeal will make sure to buy a proper coffee for Lazard later as thanks.
For now, the important things: he leans across, turning his laptop around so that he can point and talk at the same time. "So, to start with, along with lowering the levels, let's talk about any changes you want to make to the skills on your sheet..."
Fortunately, Sephiroth and Aerith are both pretty easy to work with in their own ways. It doesn't take as long as it could otherwise for them to rework the character sheets for both of their characters. The Loveless movie is only mostly done by the time they all finish up, and the takeout they'd all ordered finally arrives. It takes up most of the kitchen counters, tons of Wutai food for seven starving college students; Zack had insisted he not cook tonight while also taking on the heavy role of GMing.
GMing also being the reason why nothing is on the counter save for anyone's character sheets, a map for Angeal to draw on when needed, and his laptop with everything he'll need for tonight.
After reminding Zack to eat neatly so that nothing stains on his table ("And it's your own problem if you spill on your character sheet"), Angeal settles down at the head of the table. He's lucky his mother made sure he picked out a big one; tables where you can have an entire feast at were always important for their family even if being so poor didn't mean much on their idea of 'feasts'. Not most of the time, anyway.
"Right, so I caught Aerith and Sephiroth up on most things," he informs the table, "but just to recap, we have Zack playing paladin, Cloud with fighter, Lazard picked up thief, Genesis already has grand plans for bard-multiclassing-into-sorcerer... And for the rest of you, we have Aerith coming in with a druid and Sephiroth is covering warlock. We're going to introduce your characters one by one in scene as we go along, so, Zack, try to be patient for once in your life."
Over on his side, Zack has been trying to get a peek over at Sephiroth's face down character sheet for a good five minutes now with his face stuffed with noodles, to no avail. He jerks his head up when addressed, and gives a pathetic puppy dog eyes look. "Hey, why aren't you calling out Genesis for being impatient too?"
"That's because Genesis is one of the characters being introduced first, or else I know that he'd never let me go to sleep in this damn apartment." The redhead in question just preens, looking quite self satisfied about the whole thing.
He really shouldn't be. There's nothing to be proud of there.
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"That's where Sieversii and Melanion find themselves," he says, directing this to Genesis and Lazard. "Both of you were actually reached out to by a mutual acquaintance of yours, with the moniker 'Twelve'. Melanion, you just know him as a fellow thief. It's nothing too indepth between the two of you, but you have gone on a couple of jobs together that have required two pairs of hands, and he's slid you a couple of leads here and there. Far as you know, he's as decent as a thief can be, and he seems to have his own qualifications on what places or people are good enough to rob. Some people might call him picky." Angeal's voice goes dry. "One of those people being right besides you."
Genesis flutters his eyelashes at him, like a prick who shares the apartment with him. Angeal makes a note to buy another forlorn plant from the grocery store, next time he goes.
"Where are we meeting?" Lazard asks, managing to stay focused on the game for once. "Is it somewhere that I would be familiar with before, through past meetings?"
"It's a little familiar, yeah. There are a ton of old and empty buildings down under the main city, but Twelve usually has a few that he prefers. Of course he changes them up, so that he's not caught out, but you're familiar with them. Actually..." Angeal taps his finger against the table. "Lazard, Melanion might notice that this is actually a little out of character for Twelve. You met up with him not that long ago for another job, when he first asked you to meet him at this place at this time, and it's the same place."
Lazard nods along. "I see... So he's reusing a space he wouldn't normally."
"Yup." Angeal lets Lazard chew on that for a moment, and turns his attention to Genesis. "Meanwhile, you know Twelve because-"
"Intimate working relationships," Genesis purrs, which Angeal knows he does purely to antagonize him. "And, of course, Sieversii has occasionally hired Twelve to get some books on magic for him, as he's been pursuing that art."
Sometimes, Angeal almost wonders why he's the one GMing instead of Genesis, with how prone Genesis is to interrupting him. Almost. He knows it's because it'd end up a more dramatic play than anything else, and Genesis has his own ideas on storytelling. "Glad to see you've got that covered already," he says simply. "Anyway, Sieversii, you actually got a note tucked away in a particularly rare volume you've been searching for, telling you to come here at the same time as Melanion. It was basically begging you to do a favor for him, because he knew no one else who could do what you could."
"Do the two of you know each other already?" Aerith asks, interrupting it all as she sits forward, chin in both of her hands. Right, she wasn't there for the backstory building sessions.
If they let him, Genesis could probably go on forever about that... So it's fortunate that Lazard is the one who answers first. "It's really the same connection that Sieversii has with Twelve," Lazard explains, adjusting his glasses. "Occasional partners, when our purposes have both suited one another. Melanion has stolen things for him at times, and in turn, Sieversii has provided distractions, or places to hide. It's rather amiable, all things considered."
"And both of you can imagine that's why Twelve asked for the two of you, because neither of you can spot anyone else on the way to Twelve's meeting places, and there's no one that you can see in the building besides Twelve's-" They ask for a perception check in almost complete unison. Angeal supposes he should be pleased?
But it's really too early in the campaign when they haven't even gotten the main party all together yet. There's no one else in the building, but Angeal indulges them in a roll (both successes) and lets Lazard note the escape exits.
Only then can the two meet each other in the building with the NPC, and Angeal shifts his voice, just slightly, as he gets into character. "Twelve is relieved when he sees the two of you, and there are barely any time for pleasantries before he gets right into it. For a thief, he's a pretty broad shouldered guy, but he generally keeps his cool. Neither of you have ever seen him in the state that he's in right now. He says -
* I'm glad that both of you accepted my invitation to meet me here. I won't waste your or my time - I need to hire the two of you for something. A friend of mine is down in the deepest parts of this place that are actual crypt, and he hasn't come back. I need you two to go down there, and get him back.*"
Angeal pauses, before he inclines his head towards - "And Zack, that's when I assume your paladin crashes the door down."
"Hey!" Genesis squawks, all outrage, while Zack punches his fist up into the air with a whoop and Aerith just cackles in delight, clapping her hands together.
At least a couple people are having a grand time. Angeal tries not to smirk too much at ruining Genesis's start to some grand adventure. "Right, my bad. I was rude. I shouldn't assume. But Zack, Cloud - the scene on your end. Febail, as a paladin, you were actually approached by someone wanting your assistance in apprehending a dangerous criminal. They made claims that the thief Twelve is a dangerous robber on the run, and he finally targeted them, robbing them of a precious family heirloom. They told you that they don't expect to get it back, but they wanted assistance in getting the criminal caught and surrendered to them."
All the exposition is mainly for Aerith and Sephiroth's sake, honestly... Although he hardly needs to get going before Zack is also interrupting him, grinning as he smacks his hand against Cloud's back. "And my good buddy Allan Tide used to be a merc, but he wants to know about becoming a paladin himself! So I got his help for this!"
"Right." Angeal shrugs, and spreads his fingers out in gesture towards Zack. "And now here you are, in the depth of the under, having found exactly the guy you're looking for. So." He quirks up an eyebrow, and smiles just a bit. "Kicking down that door?"
Zack grins right back at him, much wider. "You bet."
The whole thing is ruining things for Genesis, moaning and clearly having wanted an epic romantic fantasy, so of course that's when Cloud leans forward with only the slightest of smirks. "Allan is right behind him, uh, weapon already drawn."
Around that time, Genesis points an accusing finger at the two of them while Sephiroth watches in abject fascination, and Angeal glances at his laptop as his GM-specific messenger pings. Lazard, asking about having his character start to stealthily make his way to one of the exits that he'd made sure to ask about before. Angeal just gives him a simple command: Roll for stealth.
While Lazard starts discretely fiddling with his dice, Angeal speaks aloud, too. "In response to a paladin and a mercenary kicking their way into the building, Twelve just groans about how he doesn't have time for this. He explicitly calls out paladins as always arriving at the worst time..." Another ping on his laptop. "Right, Zack, roll for perception."
The roll's a dud. Angeal keeps carrying on. "Anyway, Zack, the wanted criminal you've been after just tosses his hands to the side and demands to know what nonsense you're after him for now."
Zack squints at him. "What was the perception roll for?"
"Don't worry about it. Are you going to actually respond to the criminal or not?"
Being told not to worry about it does not seem to make Zack stop squinting any less, but, nonetheless, he clears his throat. "I tell him - you are wanted for the crime of theft! Your reign of terror has come to an end, and I will not allow you to target innocents ever again!" A pause. "How's that?"
"He doesn't seem impressed."
Not content to have the spotlight off of him for an extended period of time, Genesis finally leaps in. "I certainly am not impressed. Sieversii crosses his arms from where he's standing, and says-" An appraising look at Angeal. "If you were any sort of infamous criminal, then I feel I would certainly have heard of songs of you, or anything else, my Twelve. Since when were you allowed to have a name more known than mine?"
Cloud leans forward. "Actually, good question - who are you guys?" He raises an eyebrow. "I thought we were only apprehending one criminal, not three."
"Two," Angeal corrects casually, and grins lazily at the trio of stares. "While you may have noticed a third presence when you initially kicked down the door, Zack, there's only the bard there now with Twelve."
Hiding his quiet laughter behind one hand, Lazard can't escape the stares being turned to him. "The perception roll was for me, Zack. Melanion is outside a window while everyone else speaks. He wants to see how things turn out, but... He didn't want to be caught in any crossfire."
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That's around the time Angeal cuts in - or, rather, "Twelve cuts in before you can get too deeply into that, Sieversii." Because Angeal knows if he doesn't, they're going to be here for hours, and they have places to be in this session. "He raises a hand, a silent implore for you silence, before he looks over at Febail and Allan. He says *They're the adventurers I hired for something. A rescue mission. And if I can be so bold, paladin, I may actually ask you and your friend to do the same.*"
"Can I, uh-" Zack skims over his character sheet again, trying to remember the rules of the game they're playing. "Can I tell if he's lying from that? The part about who Genesis and Lazard are."
Angeal lets him go for that. Zack completely flubs it.
"Yeah, he's totally telling the truth," Angeal says without batting an eye. "These are absolutely just random men he hired, one being a person who knows about getting into dangerous places, and the other a historian and artist who knows a lot about the tales of these places." While Zack just sinks his face into his hands at his terrible dice roll luck so far, Angeal turns his attention back to the rest of the group. More specifically, he turns his attention to Cloud. "The thief looks at Allan, and says, *I don't have any faith in a single other person doing things out of the goodness of their heart, so I'll give you an exchange. I'll go with you, take on my fate, if you can help me. I won't put up a fight at all.*"
Zack looks up then, big blue eyes wide. "He means that much to you? This person you're trying to rescue?"
"*More than anything* is what Twelve promises." Angeal shrugs again. "He adds that he doesn't expect you to believe him, but he'll stick true to his promise if you can go down there with those he's already hired."
Next to Zack, Cloud fiddles with his dice. "So then you'll have no arguments in coming with us, right?" he asks. "I mean, it's not like we're going to trust a criminal to keep his word. This way, we can keep an eye on you."
"Ooooh, that's smart, Cloud!"
Angeal shrugs, hands to the side. "He agrees, before he turns back to Sieversii. *Sorry about springing this on you. I hope that the payment I supplied before is still sufficient.*"
"What you do outside of our agreement is none of my concern whatsoever," Genesis promises, in-character, before he leans towards him and stage-whispers, "Also, we're using them as meatshields, right? Good plan, good plan."
"Hey!"
Lazard coughs into his fist. "Now that things seem to have settled down within the building, I pull myself back through the window-"
There's a sudden yell from Zack that has all of them jump, and the guy suddenly pushes himself to his feet, pointing at Lazard, and - "How long has that guy been sitting out there?!" He exclaims.
Goddammit. He's too good at timing shit like that. They all fall apart laughing, even Sephiroth smiling a bit down at his character sheet.
Angeal lets the partially assembled group go through a bit of quick shopping arguments, taking this time to lean over to Aerith and Sephiroth. "So, yeah, that's how the dynamics are looking so far for our group," he tells them. "Think you've got a handle on how it's all looking out to be so far?" This way, they have an idea of what they're leaping into. If they even want to leap into it. Sure, anything would be objectively better than whatever the fuck Hojo was doing, but that doesn't mean it fits them.
Fortunately, Sephiroth is already nodding even as Aerith clasps her hands together. "Oh no, this already looks like so much fun! I can't wait to jump in!"
And it really doesn't take long for Aerith to jump in, because Angeal makes sure to kick things off right as the group descends into the deeper parts of the dungeon labyrinth. "So, ahead of you through the tunnels, you can all hear the sounds of combat, and something cracking sharply through the air. A large open doorway is there in front of you, and you can see a scene of combat right ahead of you. There's a woman ahead of you, fighting what's pretty clearly a ghoul - Febail, you can recognize it right off the bat, both from experience and from the tails more experienced paladins have told you. For the rest of you... Well. It's big, it's full of open wounds, and it has blood around its mouth." Angeal quirks up an eyebrow. "You can put together the pieces. While it does have a couple of zombie dogs helping it go at the woman, she does seem to be holding them off with a whip of vines. However, she's pretty outnumbered, too. If you leave her alone, there's no telling how long she'll be able to survive..."
He doesn't even need to say anything. Zack and Cloud have their characters charge in almost immediately, and it's Lazard who has to hastily remind them that rolling initiative exists.
Honestly, it's a pretty good first bit of combat for them all, sans Sephiroth of course. The rolls are pretty good, with no one eating shit terribly, and there's even a few couple of great moments where everyone gets to shine - Lazard managing an excellent backstab, Aerith uses Shape Water to make an icicle dagger from her canteen when a zombie dog gets too close, things like that.
And the best thing is, they all almost immediately get into character again, once the ghoul has been brought down, with Aerith taking the initiative as she gushes about how she'd just been so helpless and in danger, so wasn't it nice that she was so lucky to have a group of adventurers save her in time?
The incredulous look on Cloud's face is great. "You were using vine whips on zombies!" he protests.
"Wow, Alan, that's no way to treat a damsel in distress," Zack says, but can't even manage a straight face as he says it.
"Sieversii flicks the rotten blood off of his rapier and turns his attention to the mysterious woman," Genesis drawls. "Oh, I most certainly did not see her stabbing a creature of the undead straight through its skull. I almost did not learn of your name, good lady. I am Sieversii, bard of renown."
Cloud interrupts with, "I never heard of you before."
"That's because you have no artistic taste, Allan Tide-"
Deciding that Genesis isn't the only one allowed to be dramatic in the room at any given time, Aerith stands up to give a fanciful little bow. "My name is of no real importance to the wide world," she says cheekily, "But you can know me as Eris!"
Immediately, Zack turns his head to look at Angeal. "Hey, Angeal, you'd tell me if our girlfriend rolled for the god of chaos, right?"
Honestly, he's kind of impressed that Zack knows that bit of niche lore. "Yeah, sure," he says, practicedly noncommital as he goes through his laptop's files for the next bit of adventure.
"Angeal, I'm being serious!"
And Angeal is seriously not going to give him any spoilers on that front. Instead, he focuses on how the group is coming along, and the answer to that inquiry is easily enough. Aerith wastes no time in integrating herself into the group - into giving a reason for integrating into the group, looking into lost secrets in one of the oldest places around and also knowing some vague healing that the rest of the group doesn't. Add along a little friendly teasing about her needing a bodyguard or four, and...
Well, it writes itself. Angeal doesn't even need to have his NPC do anything of particular note for it to happen.
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But he manages. Somehow, against all odds, he manages.
Really, he's thankful to Cloud for suggesting that the NPC come along with them. That means he has one more tool in his arsenal to help move things along, like when he has Twelve find a secret passage way for Genesis's character to investigate. "For most of you, the design of the room seems almost incomprehensible. On your own, you might assume it to be some sort of ritual room, for lack of any better idea. But Sieversii, with that successful History check, you can recognize this easily as a performance hall of some sort..."
True love would probably entail letting Genesis have that entire rest of the session dedicated to worldbuilding and making up an imaginary thesis when he already has his current thesis to work on. Whatever Angeal's form of love is, it will have to settle for an ancient metal flute of some sort, and letting Genesis's character have some very worn out pages of an ancient song that he delicately packs away as though they were more precious than gold or jewels.
Zack honestly seems to shine best when it comes to the combat scenes, in a funny contrast to his flubbing of anything else like perception rolls. Then again, an underground area filled with undead is practically made for a paladin to shine in - literally, at times. He seems elated with that enough, and finding any actual material items is just something of a fun bonus.
So Angeal saves those parts for Cloud's character, and details the aftermath of a battle against a few more zombies. "As I said when your group first went into this room, it looks as though this group of zombies had found an armory to settle in. Now that the battle is over, you can all tell that the room is actually surprisingly untouched for the most part. You've see skeletons and the like use weapons, but clearly they weren't from here. That are various armors and weapons put up on display, and not a single seems to be empty." An inclination of his head towards Cloud. "You notice one in particular, actually. A short sword, but out of a seemingly completely different material than the one you've been using for most of your time as a merc, and that you've used throughout this whole place."
Anything a GM points out is suspicious, apparently, because the whole group makes sure to run through every check they can before Cloud feels comfortable in taking the sword for his own, replacing his own rather sad one. An exchange, even. "From the corner of your eye, you notice Twelve also picking up a sword," he mentions nonchalantly.
Cloud squints at him. Cloud squints at literally everything he says, sometimes. Listen, it's not his fault that Zack fell for the trap that got them all in trouble that one time. "I thought he used a crossbow?"
"Is that something you say out loud?"
"Oh. Uh, yeah, sure."
"Twelve just shrugs, and finds a scabbard for the great sword he's just hefted up. *With the things that are happening with this whole thing so far, I just thought it would be good to have a Plan B. And not all of us can turn our canteen water into weaponry.*"
Funnily enough, while he's as different as can be from Zack in many ways, it's also equally easy to placate Lazard with things his character can do almost more than he can find. It's a spooky crypt with all sorts of nasties inside; it's pretty easy to include lots of traps and locked things for Melanion to solve. But, of course, he's still a thief, and Lazard is a pretty sensible guy at the end of the day. As much as he might tease the rest of the group, Angeal does reward a little bit of nosiness, a little bit of curiosity. Lazard seems quite happy, to note down his various riches on his character sheet.
And Aerith...? Well, him and Aerith both know that Eris will get her time to shine.
Angeal tries to keep it all going pretty short and quick, however. All of them had dedicated this first session to a whole night, since things had lined up neatly that way, but a session like this takes longer than one might think... and Angeal, for one, would like to not sleep past noon tomorrow. His plants have a schedule, and he's not going to break that for anyone.
So, eventually, after giving everyone as much as he could give them... Angeal finally says, "As you make your way down this latest set of stairs, you realize this one is different from all the rest. There are murals all the way down the spiraling staircase, and the air feels... wrong, in a way that you all find hard to explain. Like trying to wade through fog in a hot summer, even though the air is as clear as anything can be down in a crypt." He glances over the group, eyes meeting Sephiroth's gaze last. "We're still going down in the order you described to me last, right - Febail, Sieversii, Melanion, Twelve, Eris, and Allan."
The suspicion one little innocent question gets is great, honestly. Angeal might almost not mind being GM just for reactions like that alone.
But yeah. That's the formation when they enter the grand room, waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. "Here, that wrongness in the air is thickest, and strange lights glow out from various panes of blue glass all around near the top of the massive walls. There's no other exit, as far as you can see... Just the entrance you all go through, and a strange enormous pillar right there in the center of the room.
"And there, right near that pillar on his knees, is a humanoid figure.
"Zack, Genesis, Twelve actually pushes past your characters here, and he calls out a name - *Malum!* But... Actually, why don't you all do a perception check for me?"
Continuing his streak of not perceiving fuck or all - sometimes the dice really do make character decisions for the players, huh - Zack gets a 6, and that infects Lazard with the same roll. Cloud and Aerith are a little more passable, but the results are still rather middling. It's Genesis who scores the highest out of all of them, pulling out a natural 19, so it's him that Angeal primarily speaks to once he stops looking that smug.
Angeal helps him out there a little bit. "I wouldn't look that smug, if I were you," he comments lightly. "Because there's a problem here, Sieversii, and it's that you recognize almost instantly the place that you're in, all that knowledge about history and art coming through for you once again. Now that the murals here are in bright lights, crawling up the wall of that enormous central pillar... Now that you can recognize the rot peeking out from beneath the stone tiles right under your feet, rot that Eris and Allan also spot... You realize what this room is. You realize who this room is for, and how it connects to the uneasy aura around the man named Malum there on his knees in front of the pillar.
"Sieversii, you realize that you and everyone there with you is in a sacrificial chamber dedicated to the Goddess of Plagues."
It's a nice dramatic moment. So of course Cloud hisses at Zack, "This is about gods, how did you mess up that roll!?"
"Hey man, it's not my god! Why would I know anything!?"
Aerith laughs again at this, with Genesis joining in with a bit of snickering - even he can't resist Zack's charm in the end - but it's all broken through with the sound of a single die clattering against the table. And it's not from Angeal. Instead, for the first time in the entire night... Sephiroth has rolled a die, and he surveys the result even as he slowly flips over his character sheet at long last. A small, slow little smile. "A 19," he informs him, looking across the table at Angeal.
Angeal smiles right back. "You heard the man," he says. "As all of you stand there, Twelve right at the forefront, Malum jerks up to his feet in movements wholly unnatural, and turns to face all of you. In his eyes, you can see a red glow so dull that it almost leaves his sockets looking empty... Trademark courtesy of the Plague Goddess.
"The very man you all came down here to rescue... is possessed by the very will of you. Better roll initiative... and quick."
TTRPg.... AU....???????????????????????????????
It is a bit of a pity that Angeal is not the one standing here instead, because Angeal has a way of handling Genesis that Sephiroth does not. Granted, that "way" occasionally means hauling Genesis over his shoulder, but it would be something. Then again, Sephiroth knows why Angeal cannot be the one to stand here today, because Sephiroth has to be the one to distract one half of his DNA.
Granted, that does not mean he has any better idea of why Genesis has decided he needs to be right here, shittalking Hojo directly to his face, but it is the situation they are in, and Sephiroth is not entirely sure he is in the correct mental state to dissuade him. Is this what dissociating is like? He is not entirely sure.
What he is more certain of is how familiar the look is on Hojo's face as he finally draws his attention away from Sephiroth It is a look that Sephiroth has seen more than once, on this man's face - the look of someone who has found something that would be otherwise inconsequential to him if not for the revolting fact that it were near him, and interrupting in his much more important life. Sephiroth has seen it directed to many people before, when simple and cold apathy has not been the poison of choice instead... and yet, peculiarly enough, he feels he has seen it towards Genesis and Angeal the most. Even when he first met them, mentioned their names to Hojo.
Genesis, he could understand. Genesis is demonstrating a clear reasoning for why Hojo would make that face at him right now, as he leers back in the face of contempt. Yet Angeal was always a bit more of a mystery to Sephiroth. Calm, to the point, and quiet. Sephiroth would never have expected Hojo to like anyone, but he would have thought Angeal, at least, would have been passable. Ignorable.
"How brazen, for a criminal to return to the scene of the crime which he has committed," Hojo says, in that drawl which has grated against Sephiroth's ears for most of his life. "Or perhaps you desire for some leniency if you grovel for it well enough?"
Hojo has always thought himself the most important and intelligent man in the room. A man filled with hubris. This is a problem when faced against someone like Genesis, who also carries his own fair share of arrogance. It would be fascinating, if it were not related to people with close ties to him. "What an interesting declaration to make, Mr. Hojo!"
"Professor."
"I have never seen your doctorate in my life," Genesis baldly lies with all the confidence of an emperor striding about in the nude. Sephiroth is fairly certain that Genesis saw Hojo's doctorates when he snuck inside the house to set it on fire. "So let us not jump the gun in proper labels, or get distracted by the main topic at hand. I come here to offer my good and dearest friend Sephiroth move out while the house is under repairs! Do you have any proof, or -" And he leans forward, using all the height he can muster. " - are you simply falling prey to an emotional outburst from the trauma of losing your house to flames, good sir?"
Sephiroth takes a moment to admire the way Genesis's voice curls at that single authoritative word on his tongue. It becomes less an admission to another's authority, and more an insult. He, in contrast, can never sound anything less than quietly obedient when he says it.
Being accused of letting his emotions get the better of him is like being accused of corpse desecration, in Hojo's eyes, except it actually matters to him. Those same eyes narrow, dislike only intensifying into something more venomous.
Maybe this is why Genesis came with him. Sephiroth has a feeling that if it were him on his own he would not be able to drag out this conversation for nearly so long, or even hold up against it. He would have brought up the idea of staying in a dorm, it would have been shot down, and he would not have known how to fight against it. Would not have known how to stand his ground and refuse whatever isolated hotel Hojo would have chosen for himself.
But Genesis isn't like that.
On the small side street that goes between their house and the next, arguably for trash pick up, there is the sound of a truck coming to a stop long before it reaches the main street.
Genesis sneers and argues and burns, getting right into an argument with Hojo right there on the front lawn of Hojo's house about how he can't just force his college-age son to stay with him forever, and how it's idiotic to force him to stay in a charred husk of a building (it is not that bad)...
Off to the side of the house, far behind Hojo's back, Zack Fair scrambles up the side of the fence and nearly lands on his face. Following after is Gillian Hewley, Angeal's mother, who is delicately placed up there on the fence where she balances precariously in order to best help guide a large ladder that is soon followed up. Zack helps get it to the ground once more, even if it means his jaw nearly gets smacked into. Only then does Angeal himself haul up over the fence like it's nothing, landing so that he can help his mother down from the fence. She is a mature woman, after all. It's only polite.
"For a mind such as his, it is best he reside in a place with no interferences from lower sorts," Hojo sneers at Genesis, while Angeal and Zack carry the ladder over to the side of the house.
Genesis disbelieving laugh is sharp, the kind of sound that the whole neighborhood likely hears. "Oh, but interference from you is perfectly fine," Genesis sneers. "If he were as brilliant as you say, then why would you be so worried about him being corrupted? Or does it have nothing to do with Sephiroth's intelligence, and everything about your inability to control him if he doesn't return every night?" Gillian goes up the lady first, testing the window to Sephiroth's room - untouched by the fire, of course, it only damaged things on the lower floor - before she slips right in.
Hojo snaps out something about a father's rights. Sephiroth shifts his hands subtly behind his back, and focuses his mind away from the argument Genesis is having with the man to watch instead as Angeal follows his mother up the ladder, while Zack watches Genesis's voice rise.
There is not actually a lot in Sephiroth's room. It was always thought that the basic would do well enough for him: a bed, a place to store clothes, a desk where he could accomplish the studies that were approved for him. He can't imagine that there is very much in there for them to get, besides perhaps his clothing, ideally stuffed into a nondescript bag. Anything else, like toiletries, those can be replaced easily enough.
So he is not entirely sure what to make of it when he sees his mattress shoved awkwardly through the window and down to Zack's waiting wide open arms.
Or when parts of his bed frame start getting passed along down the ladder from Angeal to Mrs. Hewley to Zack.
Or when parts of his bed frame start getting passed along down the ladder from Angeal to Mrs. Hewley to Zack. Disassembled. Hojo is threatening to call the cops on Genesis at this point, and Genesis is daring him to do it "For then we can have a neat little tea party in your parlor, Mr. Hojo, and won't it be interesting to see what they might pick up on?"
It says something to the Hewley family's ability to rob a room blind, or Genesis' ability to talk at length, that both parties are in perfect sink. Sephiroth watches the same thing happen before with the ladder being guided up over the fence after everything else, and then Zack and Mrs. Hewley and Angeal... Before, a few minutes later from around the corner, the Hewleys trot up like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Gen, we could hear you yelling from down the street," Angeal informs him, while Zack guides the truck around the corner.... its bed absolutely loaded with, very obviously, all of Sephiroth's things. While Mrs. Hewley places a hand against Sephiroth's back, Angeal looks to Hojo. "Anyway, it's a little too late to argue about it all. He signed the paperwork last night, and there'll be a fee if he doesn't settle in the room after a certain period of time."
Genesis makes a production out of lying. Angeal makes it the most natural thing in the world, even as it is complete nonsense, on both any paperwork being signed, and any fees.
There's that look on Hojo's face again, but it's replaced by one of dawning realization as the Hewley family truck comes to a stop right there in front of the sidewalk... before flashing over to where Mrs. Hewley is still trying to guide Sephiroth along. "Gillian, you-" he starts.
Mrs. Hewley starts, not expecting to be addressed, and stares right back at him with a blank look of shock. "I have never met you in my life," she blurts out, and then Genesis throws down a smokebomb.
It is.... understandably a bit of a rush after that, with both Hewleys practically hauling him along to the sound of Angeal's "Go go go!" and Genesis's cackling. Both of them haul him into the cramped and precarious back of the truck, whereupon Zack joins them almost immediately like an over eager puppy that's misjudged a step. That leaves, presumably, Mrs. Hewley in the driver's seat, and Sephiroth thinks she's hitting the gas even before the door has properly closed.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence. Or, rather, there's the sound of the engine rumbling beneath them, and wind rushing past them, taking most of Sephiroth's long hair with it to the point that Angeal has to smack it away from his face, and the sound of plastic bags rustling... But silence, relatively speaking.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence. Or, rather, there's the sound of the engine rumbling beneath them, and wind rushing past them, taking most of Sephiroth's long hair with it to the point that Angeal has to smack it away from his face, and the sound of plastic bags rustling... But silence, relatively speaking.
And then Zack is laughing triumphantly with his hand smacking along Sephiroth's arm, and Genesis is teasingly berating Angeal for taking so long and how it was only his gift as an orator that kept the gig up.
And Mrs. Hewley, from the driver's seat, politely asks, "Aren't you all hungry from moving out? We should stop at a diner. That seems like it would be nice."
Sephiroth closes his eyes, leans back against something that he thinks might have his whole computer system in it. "Yes," he says, and finds himself smiling. "It seems like it would."
Thirteen Dogs
The OG
2. Isibeal / Izzy
3. Teige
4. Neil
5. Cahir
6. Neve
Art Attempt
7. Ruza
8. Bevin
9. Nicholas
10. Ruairi
11. Meallan
12. Eeamon
13. Noel
Commission - Midgar Move
Rhetorical question. Both of them know exactly why Angeal applied for SOLDIER in the first place, and why the two of them are laying there, sprawled in their tiny little suite apartment where the ceilings are just a smidge too small for both of their heights. Genesis says it out loud any way, for a couple of reasons, and both of them are ultimately for his own self satisfaction. "Because where I go, you go," he says, his voice muffled from where he's forced his underneath the couch cushions. "It is as simple as that."
And Genesis likes saying that. Likes it enough that it almost makes him feel better, as though words alone are enough to soothe the headache cracking through his skull. Where one of them goes, the other goes as well. A simple fact of the world.
Gumbo is the best food in the world. He has two eyes. Angeal takes his severe expression from his mother, and they smile the same, too.
Where either of them go, the other goes too.
Which isn't to say that Genesis doesn't understand where Angeal is coming from, of course. He doesn't regret coming to Midgar, doesn't regret pursuing his dreams of being something grander than a simple small town apple heir, of experiencing more of the world than past the leaves of Banora White. He doesn't regret the way his breath had caught when he'd looked out the window, and seen the glittering lights of the city, resplendent, a constellation brought down to earth.
It's just, for everything he had made sure to learn about city life, about Midgar, before he had set out... Sometimes, things can only be experienced to understand the true weight of them.
And Midgar is noisy. Noisy beyond belief, noisy enough to put Genesis's teeth on edge. It's nothing at all like the quiet of Banora, he must admit. Back there, well, he could sit on the window sill of his room, or on the Hewley family roof, and hear just about everything going on in the town. Often a little bit beyond it, too. The twist and whine of apples being pulled from their anchors in the orchards, the muffled conversation of some house down the street, Missus Hewley's knife assuredly going through vegetables for that nights dinner... He'd always had good ears. It was something he was proud of, used more than once to get one up on the other kids, or even Angeal, on occasion.
Midgar puts all of that pride right out of his mind, and it had the second their incoming train had gotten close enough. With the grind of its track and the rumble of its engine fading away, he'd had to deal with... everything.
Fifty million conversations, all happening at once. The clatter of wheels against metal, clacking, jostling. Some sort of food stall, something popping, snapping. It'd been dizzying, just trying to get through all of it to the apartment that Missus Hewley had helped them find, helped them get even with such a far distance between them and Midgar. Frankly, Genesis must admit that if Angeal hadn't been there to grab his hand and pull him through thick crowds, he might not have made it at all.
That's right... Angeal. And Genesis finally pulls the cushion away, even if only so that he can peer warily out from it to see his oldest friend and only lover. The noises outside their little apartment, a cheap little thing that's all they can afford for right now even with what he's taken of his family's money, filter back towards his ears. Car horns, and the television from their neighbors' apartments...
But it is not as overwhelming as it was a moment ago, and, past everything else, Genesis can hear Angeal almost before his eyes actually perceive him.
He can always hear Angeal.
The steady rhythm of his breath - nose first, mouth after - and the ever present beat of his heart that's so intune with his very own... Yes, that is always there, no matter where he is in the world, and Genesis lets that soothe him even as he squints through the darkness to take in Angeal's figure. Both of them are often so wired by the sensations of the day that turning on the lights is sometimes forgotten, until ten minutes in and one of them curses slamming their knee into a corner or table. Yet with Midgar's lights making it almost eternally day, filtering in through the window, he can still see the shadow of the man, seated there, reading by citylight. A mug of something steaming is there at his side; Genesis can't recall when he made it.
When he sits up, he finds that there is also a mug of coffee for him there at the small couchside table, and Genesis takes it in hand almost immediately. It won't do anything for how overwhelmingly loud Midgar is, but focusing on the wretched taste of it helps a little. Besides, maybe the caffeine will do something for his headache.
"These grounds are absolutely wretched," he grumbles, getting up from the couch so that he can sink down onto the floor as well and squint at what Angeal is reading. "We need to get better, Angeal."
Angeal's scoff is light, delicate, almost not a sound at all. A sound that's distinctly him, that he's made almost for as long as Genesis has known him, he thinks. "When you can get artisanal bean money, you can get better," he points out, which is true, but must he actually say it? Terrible. Horrible. "How's your head?"
"Better." His ears don't quite feel like they're ringing and, while they are pathetically thin, their apartment walls are still barriers of some sort. "And yours?"
His partner takes in a deep breath. Just like always. Through the nose, out the mouth. "I'll manage," he says, which is a bit of a cop out, but Genesis doesn't say anything about it for the time being. There's a reason that his coffee doesn't look as though it's been touched at all, simply sitting there, the steam of it carrying that warm bitter scent. "Want to get the lights?"
Angeal could have no doubt gotten the lights when he was making the coffee, but since he did make the coffee, Genesis supposes that he may grant him this one little gift. A light pulse of pain goes off in his skull when he flips the switch, but nothing too bad. Nothing like going through drills for Thirds over at ShinRa, grinding his teeth together at the yelling that seemed almost designed to be as shrill as possible. Trying to forget that, or what he would do to the next idiot who clumsily dropped their sword, he turns back to Angeal. Now that he can see a bit better... He recognizes that little notebook. "Didn't your mom give you that?"
It takes a little bit of willpower, to say 'your mom', not 'ma'. Because she's not his mother, of course. He knows that. And, more importantly, it sounds just a little less... backwater, to say it like that. And Missus Hewley doesn't deserve mother.
This isn't the first time that he's made sure to correct his speech like this, but Angeal still quirks up an eyebrow at him before looking back down at the little black notebook. Well. Relatively little, Genesis supposes. It's still thick enough to put some dictionaries to shame. He can't even begin to imagine how long it took her to fill it up, and he knows for a fact that it is filled to bursting. Poor Missus Hewley. She really is getting on in years, so that couldn't have been easy for her hands. He'll have to send here some sort of ointment, from here in Midgar. Assuming Angeal doesn't beat him to the punch.
"Just a little something she wrote to help us adjust to city life," Angeal says, as Genesis settles down there on the floor besides him. They really do need more chairs... as though Angeal would ever use them, but regardless. "How to work in the company, how to get around rules, stuff like that."
A low hum rolls through Genesis. He thinks he can recall her saying something about working for a company, once upon a time in her youth. Truly rulebreaking must be in the Hewley family genes, if this is the kind of homeleaving present she gives to them. But - "I must say, that looks rather more like gardening advice, Angeal."
"I said I wanted to keep gardening in Midgar," Angeal shoots back, before making a face. "But you know what they all say."
They say nothing grows in Midgar. They say things choke and die from the smog in the air, that there's no room for soil just concrete and metal and tar. They say as long as you have mako powering everything, it should be fine. They say the lights are better than flowers, that the city is prosperous enough to import, that it's a better paradise than what mere plants could offer, so why bother, really?
Genesis likes the stark difference. Likes the idea of burning himself to ashes, and then making himself anew again, in someplace entirely different, being something entirely different.
It's just, in the back of his mind, there will always be the picture-perfect image of Angeal in the sharp curve of an apple tree, covered in dirt, the twist and pop as he tugs a dumbapple from its place to toss down into his waiting hands. He can't forget it. He'd never want to forget it.
He squints down into the notes, reading everything for himself. Some of it is sensible knowledge, like the vegetable plot that the Hewleys tried to help prosper in the back of their home on what little spare dirt they could spare. But other things... Other things are far more complex than he would have thought they'd be, although he supposes that only makes sense. There is no little plot of dirt behind their apartment building; only sidewalk and trash. Just one problem, really. "Where on earth are you going to get some of these supplies?"
Angeal does this thing he does sometimes, with his tongue - his lips part ever so slightly, and his tongue grinds against the front of his teeth. So slight a sound, even Genesis can almost not hear it sometimes. "I guess I'll just have to borrow some things," he says matter of factly.
When Angeal Hewley says borrow, what he really means is steal. Bit by bit, a smirk begins to form along Genesis's lips. "Now is that an honorable thing to do," he teases, even as he's already looking forward to the show, because anything would be better than just suffering in silence. And, really, if he didn't give Angeal at least a little bit of bullshit, would they really be in love? "And just how will you borrow anything?"
The flat stare he gets is hilarious, and Genesis doesn't really regret the words that earned it. "First of all, it's perfectly honorable stealing from a massive corporation when all I'm getting are some things for a little gardening," he counters, flicking his finger up and almost smacking Genesis in the nose with it. "Secondly, ma said that you can almost always find people in a department who hate each other's guts. S'just a matter off finding out exactly who those people are." Which is around the time that Angeal raises an eyebrow at him.
Angeal has often said that, even without his keen sense of hearing, Genesis would always know all the gossip about Banora anyway, because he's hungry for drama and seeing other people mess up. Genesis resents that idea, he really does... Except he can't help but smile sly, here. "I've heard word that the Professors Hojo and Hollander hate one another's guts."
"Probably can't make them hate each other any worse, then."
"I would take that as a challenge, personally."
In the interest of not getting them kicked out of SOLDIER before they've even made it past Third basic training, Genesis is not allowed to take that challenge, alas. Instead, he does what he does best, what they do best as a team, which is that he raises a bit of hell the next time that he and Angeal have to be separated for training groups. It is, quite frankly, a rather simple and easy matter.
Genesis would like to say that it is because he is a natural showman, and able to draw the eye of anyone and everyone with relative ease.
Later, Angeal points out that it is because he's already been throwing so many fits and starting so many fires since they've first joined SOLDIER that it's a miracle they haven't been court martialed or worse, and now it's probably just second nature for him.
(Both of them know that this is just how they work best. Brilliant fire and steady earth. Magic and strength. Halves of the same amazing star. Of course they succeed.)
Either way, a little distraction, a little bit of excuses when Angeal leaves and then when he comes back, and Genesis only really gets to see the haul long into the night, after they've finished their allegedly rigorous drills. Allegedly, because Genesis has never found any of the Third drills particularly difficult at all, and he knows Angeal feels much the same. Allegedly, just like how Angeal allegedly calls his pile of tubing and tanks and who knows what else "a haul".
Genesis sighs. "How far we've fall, stealing paltry equipment like this."
"I don't know, I think I've graduated from stealing apples," Angeal deadpans, reading through his mother's not-so-little notebook some more. "Anyway, come here and help me set some of this up. You're better at the little details like this than me. Remember when you hotwired that tractor?"
"Don't you dare bring up that tractor." It doesn't sound incredible, out here in the thriving and bustling city of Midgar. It sounds... hick. "And why on earth are you getting me involved in your dirty gardening, now?"
The answer, of course, is that if one of them has a terrible idea, the other is obligated to see it through too. Angeal cites Midgar specifically as one of the things Genesis has made him do. Genesis counters with the time that Angeal went off to find the biggest tree and almost broke his leg. It's when they start getting involved in things done when they were six that Genesis starts berating him for bringing up such old memories, and, at that point, he's already got a pair of gardening gloves on.
Of course Angeal Hewley, of all people, would take a look at a city like Midgar and decided he needed two pairs of gardening gloves.
And perhaps there is something soothing about pulling together the different tanks, connecting tubes and watering systems. You're good at the little details, Angeal had said, and perhaps it is because there is a kind of serenity to be found in the focus which comes with those little details. Even as the world grinds and grates on his nerves, he can find a focus like nothing else in those very same little details.
Searching out subtle hints and rhythm in poetry whose authors are long dead. Seeing the way different materia reacts to one another in pulls and pushes.
Finding the exact way to wire up the water pumps for the watering and draining system that they're hotwiring together in Angeal's apartment.
Before he knows it, a week has gone by, and they've managed to pull together a variety of tanks, tubes, and wires into something that could very well spite Midgar's Midgar-ness. Before he knows it, the noise has become just a little bit less grating, and there's only the sound of Angeal's fingers gently parting dirt to impart little seeds into their new home. "Of course you had those stored away in our fridge," Genesis sighs, as though he hasn't seen them nestled into various places throughout the kitchen. "What on earth do you even plan on growing here, then?"
"Magic beans," Angeal deadpans, and only laughs a little bit at him when he tells him off.
no subject
Probably a good thing the two of them get promoted so quickly, because Second-class means a Second's salary, and an increased salary means better apartments, plural.
And it's better to move so many plants at a young stage.
"This was a mistake," Genesis gripes, months later, when everything has started to flourish in a spread of green - the prickling scent of mint along shelves, lavender growing impossibly all underneath the window. "How on earth did I allow you to convince me into concocting this ridiculous set up? Truly, you are the grandest con artist of this generation."
Angeal doesn't even have the decency to answer him properly. He only hums, a low sound that rolls just underneath the sizzle and crackle of the pan he's tending to in front of him.
Hum. Sizzle. Crack. The rustle of leaves, as the breeze of the air conditioner filters through them. Outside, Midgar's nightlife continues to roar and honk and chatter away, but the lavender at the window soaks it all in rather than let it pass unrestricted. No longer does the city overwhelm him in a wave.
Genesis leans back into Angeal's couch, and closes his eyes. It is because they have a better apartment, with better walls, of course. It is because it has been many months since he first moved into Midgar, and he has merely adjusted. These are all the words he tells himself, as he sits in a place that is not wholly one person's.
Nearby, he can hear Angeal's heart beat.
Mirror
Thinks of the way it was gilded, too expensive and glimmering despite the gloom it hid in, and yet all the angles were straight. No deviance, no curves. Sharp plain lines. Like sunlight, the way it shined, sunlight inbetween the leaves of a Banora White, cutting through shadow. He'd been in shadow too, at least so the mirror showed, and yet his reflection had spoken, had gestured with too many hands.
Whispered Banoran at him, clear as if it were someone right at his ear.
Don't you want to see Ma again?
Ma, with her warm smile, and her steady hands, and a weight on her shoulders.
You died the first out of everyone. You abandoned everyone else. But you're alive again. Who else could be alive? What about Pa, too? It'd be like you never left Banora.
Pa, who'd grinned wide, who'd given him a sword, who'd said he'd go out and be the first Hewley to really help people, to hold onto a sense of honor. Why had he ever left him behind? What sword would have been worth that?
It could be home again.
It could be home again, and he could introduce everyone to his parents, could wake up to help his mother in the kitchen first thing in the morning, could stitch his father's hand up. He could have Seph at their table. Zack could talk with his mother properly. Him and Genesis could squeeze into the same bed he'd had since he was a kid, and...
It could be home again. And he wants it so bad that he could bite through his tongue for it, fill his mouth with blood.
He doesn't, and it doesn't.
"It tells you things too good to be true," he says instead, hand twitching as it thinks of how he'd grabbed the first thing he could wrap it around.
How that couldn't be home.
haven notes
no subject
location: short distance from hammerhead, not too far from road
view: nothing to write home about, great night sky view as all havens in area have, longwythe peak view
resources: leiden potato, birdbeast egg, mineral deposit
points of interest: three valleys hide away
enemies: so many dogs
no subject
location: just up the road from criclawe, right on the road, in the three valleys
view: some light pollution, good look at all three valleys, longwythe peak view
resources: leiden sweet potatoes, birdbeast eggs, leiden peppers
points of interest: equal access to all three valleys, nearby parking space, buildings to take shelter in (this will not save you from dogs), commonly used dirt roads
enemies: **dogs**
no subject
location: literally outside insomnia, closet to the dungeon
view: you are like right next to an imperial base
resources: aegir root
points of interest: crestholm reservoir fishing spot, crestholm channel dungeons
enemies: you and the imperial troops are making eye contact as you pitch your tent