A/N: It is ridiculously frustrating to try to write with Genesis when I've got assassins, templars, dark elves and angels bouncing around inside my head. This of course, causes Genesis to seek refuge with Seph and Chaos… -sigh- He even dragged Angeal with him! And then when Genesis returned . . . he left Angeal behind and I had to bribe Chaos into bringing him back.
Also, second Quote is just for shits and giggles. ;p
0-1-2-3-4-5
Not a Dream
Behind Blue Eyes
"Letter Lost"
0-1-2-3-4-5
"Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess."
~Loveless, Act I
"If you set my hair on fire, I'll kill you."
~Me
Angeal paused before his fist could strike the metal, then shook his head and with a flick, swiped his card through the lock without knocking. There was no need to wake Genesis if the dead-bolts weren't set. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open quietly, toeing off his boots and leaving them by the door on the rack set aside just for that purpose. He paused a moment to look over the footwear already there, in case Genesis had woken and left, but all were accounted for.
Shutting the door behind him, the blue-eyed First Class tilted his head slightly as he listened for any sound. Silence met his ears, and Angeal shoved down his immediate concern and moved to the bedroom. It was just as dimly lit as before, the crack of sunlight sifting through the curtains to illuminate the room. Genesis was lying on his side facing the door, much like when he had come in earlier. Unlike that morning, he was bare-chested, and the blankets were rumpled at his side.
Without thinking much of it, the younger Banoran stepped forward and pulled up the blanket to cover his old friend. He paused, fingers lingering over the brunette's shoulder and frowned in confusion. Leaning over Genesis for a better look, his eyes widened when he realized the bandage was gone. His fingers traced over bare unblemished skin . . . and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. It had finally healed.
"Thank the Goddess." He murmured and pulled the blanket up higher. A smile crept onto his lips at the peaceful expression on his old friend's face and he pulled away.
Turning to leave, he caught sight of a spot of white out of the corner of his eye and turned to face the bookcase only feet away. Unerringly, his eyes landed on a piece of paper propped against one of the many books. It was folded into a triangular shape, like one of those paper 'footballs' he saw many city recruits make when they were bored. There was something written on it . . . without thinking twice about it, he reached up and plucked it off the shelf. The letters shown starkly against the lily-white paper; a deep spilt-blood red that he recognized as ink from one of Genesis' favored pens.
For Genesis
Angeal turned the oddly folded paper in his hands, feeling the weight of something shifting inside with a metallic chink. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but the controlled chaos of the sloping letters almost impatiently scrawled across the page led him to believe it was a woman. There was a rough beauty to them, showing that the scribe cared for appearances but did not put extensive effort into them. A small smile snuck onto his face at the thought.
Yes, Genesis had dated before, but the relationships had never lasted very long at all. Most of the women who were persistent enough to come in contact with the red-clad Banoran . . . were either secretaries, members of his fanclub, or both. The simple fact that this stranger had written a note . . . spoke volumes of their character.
The presence of the object inside, a piece of jewelry, led him to one of two conclusions, either it was a gift to Genesis, or a returned gift. He had never known Genesis to give jewelry to others, so he felt the former was more likely than the latter.
Angeal chuckled and shook his head, returning the letter to the shelf, propping it back up so that his friend could catch sight of it. Throwing one last glance back at the dead-to-the-world brunette, he left the room and moved towards the kitchen. The healing combined with his sleeping in would guarantee he'd be hungry when he woke.
Angeal never saw the letter flutter in a non-existent wind, a wisp of blue-green light swirling around it until it slid off the back of the shelf. The crisp white envelope hit the carpet with a muted thud, the paper crinkling in one corner, crushed by the weight of the contents. The dust in the dark crevice whirled, and that same darkness revealed a soft blue-purple glow seeping through the pores of the envelope.
0-1-2-3-4-5
Turquoise light had Genesis looking around him in surprise as he slowly got to his feet. The Lifestream again? But . . . why? He heard a whisper of fabric and looked up. Minerva….
"Tell me, pawn of Calamity . . ." she narrowed her eyes warningly and he found himself wanting to take a step back, but he held his ground, his own eyes widening in surprise. Those eyes did not hold the disappointment of her older self, they held suspicion and anger."What does she seek to gain by placing you here?"
Calamity? So it was Jenova's work that sent him to this time? Or did she assume Sephiroth was doing her will? His eyes narrowed in indignation, "I am no one's pawn."
"Perhaps not knowingly," she acquiesced, tilting her head. "But your presence here in this time is her work all the same. You bear her cold stench on you, and she has seen into your mind. I can feel her touch on you." Stepping closer to him, the goddess reached out and traced a small shape on his forehead that only she could see with a single finger, then dropped her hand. Her voice was tinged with dark fury. "She has seen what drives you, your weaknesses, your vices, what you hold most dear. She will use that knowledge to bend you to her will. You are a pawn, Genesis Rhapsodos . . . and you do not belong here."
"I . . ." don't belong? The thought stung, he did not deserve this chance he had been given. He shook his head sharply, leveling a rebellious glare on the being he had held such devotion to for so long. "I didn't have a choice!"
The blonde scoffed, shaking her head, "You had a choice. You let her take the other you, the one who belonged. She took him away from this world, far from my reach and left you in his place. You do not belong here, you are as much a trespasser as the Calamity herself. This is my planet and I do not welcome you!"
"Then what do you plan to do?" Genesis snapped, throwing out his arm. "Do you plan to destroy me for the actions of someone else? I have done nothing to you. To punish me for the actions of another would make you no better than Jenova."
The beautiful face twisted in disgusted rage, "How dare you!"
He glared back at her, but despite his rage, he was able to clearly see as her own anger faded into resignation. The Goddess was not merely composed of love, life and compassion, she was also a being of rage, death and apathy. In a way, she was as human as he.
"I may not like it, but you are right. I should not punish one for the actions of another." Her pale eyes gazed on him contemplatively. "I warn you now, Genesis Rhapsodos, if my son falls because I let you live, I will have vengeance, not only on you, but on all you know."
The light rose up about the brunette before he could respond, blinding and tossing him in a way that evoked memories of the last time he had met her . . . such a short time ago.
The scent of roses invaded his nostrils and he sighed, shifting slightly as he strained his ears to listen. There was no trace of Angeal, though he could smell the vestiges of herbs in the air. His friend had returned and gone already then. How long had he been asleep? Stretching out his neck and shoulders he rose, a content groan escaping his lips at the almost forgotten ache of healthy uninjured muscle flexing after hours of stillness. It was sheer bliss to move with that warm ache rather than the constant cold pain of his rotting flesh.
A glance about told him it was well into the night, the clock telling him it was in fact early the next morning. Goddess, he had slept for nigh on twenty hours, why had Angeal not woken him?
A thought struck him and he practically dove to the floor, scrambling for his red duster and delving a hand into an inner pocket while carefully avoiding the blood. His fingers came away curled around the cover of not one, but two books, both were white, embossed in the same fashion, the title Loveless inscribed across the covers. However, he knew the difference between the two intimately even before he flipped open one and let the other fall to the floor.
Rather than the machine–printed lines of the beloved prophetical play, dates and hand-written letters glared back at him in dark ink that had not yet had the time to fade. He flipped through the pages, searching, and froze as he found the correct date.
εуλ 2000, July 22
Neither Potions nor Materia are working, while the wound may be small, it has me concerned. It was merely a ShinRa Longsword! Angeal would never place an enchantment on the blade of any sort, so I cannot blame the broken edge for this anomaly. To my despair, Angeal found me as I bound the wound and I have agreed to see Hollander tomorrow to have it examined. Perhaps the man knows something, why it does not heal. Likely it will heal on it's own, but this is worrying, will all my injuries react so now? Is battle-healing now useless to me?
That was it. Genesis stared down at the page and slowly let it fall shut. Yesterday he was supposed to meet with Hollander, though he had only agreed to staunch his brother's concern. He was sincerely surprised that he had not been torn awake and bodily escorted to the labs for examination when he didn't wake again after a few hours. He started as he realized his right hand had snaked up to touch the pale expanse of flesh where the wound had rested.
He chuckled.
His shoulder was bare and he had lain atop the sheets on his opposite side. The fact that the bedroom door was once again ajar and the coverlet drawn over his body told of how the younger man had come in and no doubt seen the lack of a wound.
Feeling an ache in his stomach, he chuckled again. Hunger-pains. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel only that. As the degradation worsened, he'd often forgotten to eat simply because he couldn't separate the two types of pain. Before he knew it, the brunette found himself removing a covered pot from within his refrigerator and setting it on the stove to reheat.
He was starving.
Rather than stare at the contents of the pot as the heat slowly seeped into the opaque liquid, he retreated to the bathroom for a shower. He was tempted to take a bath instead but decided that could wait until after he wasn't hungry enough to eat his coat, blood and all. Besides, he didn't want the soup to burn, he had missed Angeal's cooking dearly.
He pulled on a clean uniform, then added his pauldrons to complete the full basic First Class uniform with a lingering glance at his bed. There was no point in trying to mend the coat further, he would simply commission a new one, it was not as if he had not done so before. The modification of the Cure spell to heal once-living leather had been useful in the past few years as a renegade, but the number of scar-like lines left behind without adding those from his latest battle with Zack would be guaranteed notice by others. The kind of notice he wanted to avoid.
It felt odd to be wearing the uniform without his coat after so long, but it was a welcome oddity. He'd only started wearing his coat ten years ago . . . three now. Now that would take some getting used to. Forgoing a spoon, he took a bowl from the cupboard and poured the soup directly from the pot. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar scent. This was real, even without Minerva's 'visit' to his dream, the scent of Angeal's Get-Well-Soon Vegetable Soup proved it.
Raising the bowl to his lips, the SOLDIER sighed as the hot fluid hit his tongue. Yes, this was real.
Now what was he supposed to do about it?
From what Minerva had said, he could safely say that the blood he'd collected contained Jenova Cells, active ones, not the dead cells he and Angeal had been treated with. Unless she was lying…? He paused mid-sip and stared down at the soup. No. She hadn't lied to him. What reason would she have? He shook his head and topped off the bowl with the last from the pot.
Ten minutes later, he found himself out in the halls, the weight of his false-cover journal in his hands. Every door he passed, every corner he turned around . . . he could see the damage in his mind's eye. He paused before one particular stretch of wall and remembered how he'd been able to see the night sky so clearly through the hole his own blade had cut through plaster and steel and insulation.
Echoes of the future. . .
He glanced down at the book in his hands, he'd thought of leaving it in the apartment hidden away, but it was even more dangerous than his blood-drenched coat. Were anyone to find it and read the passages of the days and months and years to come . . . he shook his head, it wouldn't do to dwell on that.
Shiing! Thunpt. Shhthh.
Clang! Shrick! Shii-shik.
What on Gaea . . .? Seeing a door to his right, he opened it a few more inches and looked inside. The mats and racks about the large room told him he'd come across one of the PT rooms. To one side, two figures were moving, each with a silvery blade in hand . . . Mythril Sabers. He couldn't make out much detail in the dim light, but could tell that neither was that tall, and they both lacked the bulk of most SOLDIERs and Army. He doubted that either one had reached their 18th birthday. The shorter of the two was light-haired, seeming as silver as that of the General in the pale light. As he watched, the light-haired one attacked the taller, but his opponent stood firm, parrying each strike with minimal movement.
"Bra! Bra!" the defender cried out in delight, and he was startled to realize it was a young woman. Her fair-haired opponent backed away, lowering his blade as he caught his breath. The girl only gave him a moment before raising her own blades to fall into a familiar starting stance, "Igen!"
Iclandic? Genesis' eyes widened in surprise. The accent and foreign words were unmistakable, she was from the Northern Continent. Possibly even the coastal city of Vimur itself, judging by how smooth her accent was compared to strong twang of the more isolated towns.
Her opponent brandished his practice blade and attacked one again, but the brunette was surprised to find that while he recognized some of the single strokes, he did not recognize the sequence itself. It wasn't any of those taught amongst the SOLDIERs . . . nor did it quite have the fluidity of long practice.
They must be Recruits then, up hours before morning PT to practice together . . . a grin formed on his face. Now didn't that bring back memories? He thought back to his own early morning practices with Angeal, sneaking out of their respective barracks and trying not to wake their supervisors. How many times had he frozen in fear as he watched the taciturn man in charge of his squad shift in his sleep as he snuck past him?
Grinning at the memory, he crossed his arms and settled against the door frame to watch. If these two were any good at all . . . they'd make it far in SOLDIER with this kind of drive for success. After all . . . he and Angeal had made it to First Class hadn't they?
0-1-2-3-4-5
Omake: Strength of Epsilon (AKA The Scene That Almost Was)
The Crimson Commander paused mid-step as he heard someone speaking and instinctively ducked back into the shadows as he noted the small group of people only a few meters away. They hadn't seemed to notice him and he frowned slightly, only for his brows to rise as he realized his aimless steps had brought him to the Non-SOLDIER barracks.
"Go back to bed, Youngsen, this is between us and him."
"Yeah, way to make me back off." The drawling female voice made him smirk. "You could at least try to pronounce my name, Adlersflügel, it's no harder than your own to pronounce."
"Why you . . ."
An outright chuckle cut off his threat and Genesis' smirk widened, he liked this girl. She had spunk. "Bluster all you want, you dragged my bunkmate out of bed and expected me not to get involved? Pucko."
While he didn't recognize the word, the boy obviously took it offensively and lunged forward. Spinning anticlockwise, she hooked her right arm around his elbow and the slammed her left into his belly, bending into the movement she gave a tug and threw him over her shoulder onto the floor. The taller of the two remaining figures lunged at her from behind with a shout, in response she spun on her feet and kicked out, her bare foot colliding with his sternum and causing him to let loose a sharp gasp as he fell back.
As the boy sat there groaning, she straightened and crossed her arms. Glancing back at her first victim with a snort as she noted he was still sprawled on his back. "A Hook-Point Throw and a Snap-Dragon? Seriously? You two have less bite than I thought. . . . I learned those when I was seven."
"We'll report you!"
"And say what? That you got beaten by a girl in less than five seconds?" she drawled, chuckled again. "You're not nearly secure enough in your masculinity to say that."
0-1-2-3-4-5
Iclandic(Swedish) Translations (Please feel encouraged to fix any mistakes I made!) (THANK YOU! stepbystep!)
Bra! - Good
Igen - Again!
Pucko - slang word for 'idiot', also the name of a classic swedish drink made from milk, sugar and chocolate.
A/N: A note to all, I am searching for a Beta Reader, and also, I am constructing 'Soundtracks' for each of my stories, (the lists are on my profile) and will take all song suggestions into consideration. So . . . now you've had a glimpse of the first OC for BBE, here's hoping you all don't hate her.