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."
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."