Disclaimer: Unequivocally not mine.
A/N: First time writing Genesis and he turned out bloody creepy. The weirdest part is that I wrote this while watching Russell Howard on YouTube, who's the least creepy man on the planet.
Perfection
© Scribbler, July 2008.
Genesis likes pretty things. He likes sumptuous things. He likes expensive things. Probably it's a throwback to his upbringing, but he has an eye for the finer things in life that Angeal called his 'second biggest quirk' – the first, obviously, being his inexplicable attachment to LOVELESS. His quarters don't look like they belong to a SOLDIER First Class at all. With their silk drapes, vibrant colours and smooth lines of antiques at which his friend just arches an eyebrow, Genesis's rooms are more reminiscent of a below-Plate boudoir.
"It's like you're trying to impress someone," Angeal says more than once, ironically, because he's the only one who's ever allowed in and he's distinctly unimpressed by each new acquisition. He once called a priceless vase a glorified spittoon, and though Genesis is half-convinced he was joking, he still banned him from visiting for a week.
Genesis jealously guards his things. They're his, and he can spend entire evenings alone in the silence of what is his, reminding himself of what he's worth and the talents Shinra will never appreciate. To Shinra he's a warrior, but not the best one. No, they refuse to acknowledge there's anything more to him than fighting and striving and failing just enough to be the perfect foil for their favourite son. He's a tool and he knows it, and his primary usefulness being to highlight Sephiroth's perfection. But he is also explicitly aware of his own value beyond Gil signs and war reports of how many enemies he's killed for them.
Genesis can spot beauty from a mile away, and whatever pretty things he spots he can make his in ways Sephiroth can't because he only knows how to destroy. Sephiroth only knows how to be Sephiroth, while Genesis is a warrior, a poet, a connoisseur, a self-starter and a prophet. His perfection exists on a different plane than Sephiroth's, and is different again compared to austere Angeal's perfect devotion to duty, honour and truth.
Genesis knows his own truth.
He likes pretty things, and he likes to make them his.
"Watching the troopers again?" Angeal claps him on the shoulder. "You're always out here. Scouting for talent for the SOLDIER programme?"
Genesis watches the smallest young man pull off his helmet and shake sweat from his blond spikes. "Yes," he murmurs. "Scouting for talent."
Fin.