From the author of
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Pi
Gimmel
"I'll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours. I said that." ('Talking World War 3 Blues', off the album 'The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.' Bob Dylan)
Sephiroth turned, and looked around the office. He had everything packed that he was going to bring with him to Mideel. Then, he looked at Masamune.
Should he take that with him?
Katrina asked if it was done.
It was.
He didn't want anyone to steal it...
But he would have no use for such a weapon there.
No one else can handle it.
He contracted it especially, exactly, for himself.
May as well take it.
He walked over, locked the long black case, and added it to his small amount of luggage.
There was a small, weak knock at the door.
Sephiroth sighed, slipped on his long black cloak, and answered it.
"Sir. Ready to leave, sir?"
"Yes, yes, at ease, Art. I'm ready."
"You look a might tiered, sir." Art, Third class SOLDIER, said slowly.
"Your perceptive. You will go far."
Art was a young man that Sephiroth saw much potential in. He was intelligent- in both street and book smarts- slightly distains authority, (in fact, his file is thick with reprimands and pink slips)
Quickly, Art licked his lips and pushed up his silver-wire-rimmed glasses.
"Why are you going to Mideel, Seph?" That was another thing. Art tended to be informal to his elders. Sephiroth actually felt more comfortable like that.
Art didn't look at him like an idol, or a rock star.
"Girlfriend. Katrina. Need to get away. Press. Just. Sometimes... doesn't stop."
"Ah. Mind if I get your stuff?"
"No. Go ahead. Say, Art?"
"Yeah, Seph?" Art turned as he picked up the long black case.
"Uh, just, careful with that case... will ya?"
"Sure." Art replied as he hoisted Sephiroth's bag onto his thin shoulder.
They walked down the office hall in silence for a while.
"Are you... staying?" Sephiroth asked as they walked outside onto the helicopter landing pad.
"In Mideel?"
"Yeah..."
"I don't know, maybe. Why?"
"I would've granted you permission to be posted there for a week if you wanted. Under my authority, of course."
"I don't know. I got no reason to be there, you know, Seph."
"You want a week off is what I'm asking."
Art paused, and looked uncomfortable, then, let his grin split his face.
"What's the catch? You commin' onto me, Sephy?" Art laughed lightly.
Sephiroth's expression remained like a gravestone.
Art's smile quickly faded.
"Sure. Fine. What the hell. Sure. Sign me up, I'll go. What do I have to loose?"
"Good."
The chopper started, and the wind started to pick up. Sephiroth's hair danced like loose spider web threads splitting the rapidly moving shadows on the concrete landing pad.
The wind was being sliced as they entered in the small chopper.
When they flew with the pulsating noise, Art shuttered, and questioned what was going on in Sephiroth's mind.
He was so difference since the incident at Midgar.
It always seemed that he was preoccupied. He was distant, and never had as much fun as he used to.
Maybe it was understandable.
I mean, with all the media attention he has been getting with every move.
Even walking to the helicopter, there was photographers here and there.
Art sighed, pushed up his glasses, and ran his fingers through his short, black, spiked, hair.
He took out his notebook, and began righting a piece of non-fiction. He often wrote prose about events in his life; riding in a helicopter going across the ocean with the legendary Sephiroth was definitely something to write about.
He also wrote political poetry that he read aloud to other soldiers.
He was full of antics, and would get applause.
Rebel rouser.
Muck raker.
Art sighed. Sephiroth was staring out the side of the chopper.
"Hey." Art said as he closed the notebook. His voice was barely audible over the helicopter noise.
"Hey! Seph!"
Sephiroth turned.
His eyes were narrow, and very, very green. Art paused.
"You ok, there, Seph, uh, I mean, general?"
He didn't reply, only stared at Art.
"Uh..."
His stare was cold and penetrating.
"Uh. Nice view, ain't it?"
Another long, uncomfortable, intimidating, pause.
Then, Sephiroth nodded, and folded his arms across his chest.
Art thought he smiled, but there was no humor in those lips.
He wished that he didn't agree to go.
"Yes. Those mountains? Look." Sephiroth said pointing down.
Art looked down. He suddenly had a feeling that Sephiroth was right behind him, and was going to push him out of the helicopter, and plunge down, down, down to a rocky, snowy death. Like he was going to be nothing but a red splotch against the wide Earth and be a forgotten nothing.
But when Art glanced over at Sephiroth after having looked down, Sephiroth was looking out the side of the chopper, strapped in with a seatbelt, and silent.
Art sighed once more, crossed his legs, and decided to think nothing more of it.
He leaned back into the leather, cold seats, and kept his mind blank the rest of the way.
They landed a little less then a mile away from the small town. Art helped Sephiroth with his bags; he carried them into town for him.
When they reached town, Sephiroth gave him more than enough money for the week for food, clothes, and a room to rent.
Art thanked him.
"I'll be with Katrina if you need me. Her home is that little wooden house near the behind the hospital a bit of ways back. I'll see you in a week, if not sooner, Art."
Art blinked, looked around, saw a black haired girl in a blue dress near the item store, and smiled.
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Pi
Gimmel
"I'll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours. I said that." ('Talking World War 3 Blues', off the album 'The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.' Bob Dylan)
Sephiroth turned, and looked around the office. He had everything packed that he was going to bring with him to Mideel. Then, he looked at Masamune.
Should he take that with him?
Katrina asked if it was done.
It was.
He didn't want anyone to steal it...
But he would have no use for such a weapon there.
No one else can handle it.
He contracted it especially, exactly, for himself.
May as well take it.
He walked over, locked the long black case, and added it to his small amount of luggage.
There was a small, weak knock at the door.
Sephiroth sighed, slipped on his long black cloak, and answered it.
"Sir. Ready to leave, sir?"
"Yes, yes, at ease, Art. I'm ready."
"You look a might tiered, sir." Art, Third class SOLDIER, said slowly.
"Your perceptive. You will go far."
Art was a young man that Sephiroth saw much potential in. He was intelligent- in both street and book smarts- slightly distains authority, (in fact, his file is thick with reprimands and pink slips)
Quickly, Art licked his lips and pushed up his silver-wire-rimmed glasses.
"Why are you going to Mideel, Seph?" That was another thing. Art tended to be informal to his elders. Sephiroth actually felt more comfortable like that.
Art didn't look at him like an idol, or a rock star.
"Girlfriend. Katrina. Need to get away. Press. Just. Sometimes... doesn't stop."
"Ah. Mind if I get your stuff?"
"No. Go ahead. Say, Art?"
"Yeah, Seph?" Art turned as he picked up the long black case.
"Uh, just, careful with that case... will ya?"
"Sure." Art replied as he hoisted Sephiroth's bag onto his thin shoulder.
They walked down the office hall in silence for a while.
"Are you... staying?" Sephiroth asked as they walked outside onto the helicopter landing pad.
"In Mideel?"
"Yeah..."
"I don't know, maybe. Why?"
"I would've granted you permission to be posted there for a week if you wanted. Under my authority, of course."
"I don't know. I got no reason to be there, you know, Seph."
"You want a week off is what I'm asking."
Art paused, and looked uncomfortable, then, let his grin split his face.
"What's the catch? You commin' onto me, Sephy?" Art laughed lightly.
Sephiroth's expression remained like a gravestone.
Art's smile quickly faded.
"Sure. Fine. What the hell. Sure. Sign me up, I'll go. What do I have to loose?"
"Good."
The chopper started, and the wind started to pick up. Sephiroth's hair danced like loose spider web threads splitting the rapidly moving shadows on the concrete landing pad.
The wind was being sliced as they entered in the small chopper.
When they flew with the pulsating noise, Art shuttered, and questioned what was going on in Sephiroth's mind.
He was so difference since the incident at Midgar.
It always seemed that he was preoccupied. He was distant, and never had as much fun as he used to.
Maybe it was understandable.
I mean, with all the media attention he has been getting with every move.
Even walking to the helicopter, there was photographers here and there.
Art sighed, pushed up his glasses, and ran his fingers through his short, black, spiked, hair.
He took out his notebook, and began righting a piece of non-fiction. He often wrote prose about events in his life; riding in a helicopter going across the ocean with the legendary Sephiroth was definitely something to write about.
He also wrote political poetry that he read aloud to other soldiers.
He was full of antics, and would get applause.
Rebel rouser.
Muck raker.
Art sighed. Sephiroth was staring out the side of the chopper.
"Hey." Art said as he closed the notebook. His voice was barely audible over the helicopter noise.
"Hey! Seph!"
Sephiroth turned.
His eyes were narrow, and very, very green. Art paused.
"You ok, there, Seph, uh, I mean, general?"
He didn't reply, only stared at Art.
"Uh..."
His stare was cold and penetrating.
"Uh. Nice view, ain't it?"
Another long, uncomfortable, intimidating, pause.
Then, Sephiroth nodded, and folded his arms across his chest.
Art thought he smiled, but there was no humor in those lips.
He wished that he didn't agree to go.
"Yes. Those mountains? Look." Sephiroth said pointing down.
Art looked down. He suddenly had a feeling that Sephiroth was right behind him, and was going to push him out of the helicopter, and plunge down, down, down to a rocky, snowy death. Like he was going to be nothing but a red splotch against the wide Earth and be a forgotten nothing.
But when Art glanced over at Sephiroth after having looked down, Sephiroth was looking out the side of the chopper, strapped in with a seatbelt, and silent.
Art sighed once more, crossed his legs, and decided to think nothing more of it.
He leaned back into the leather, cold seats, and kept his mind blank the rest of the way.
They landed a little less then a mile away from the small town. Art helped Sephiroth with his bags; he carried them into town for him.
When they reached town, Sephiroth gave him more than enough money for the week for food, clothes, and a room to rent.
Art thanked him.
"I'll be with Katrina if you need me. Her home is that little wooden house near the behind the hospital a bit of ways back. I'll see you in a week, if not sooner, Art."
Art blinked, looked around, saw a black haired girl in a blue dress near the item store, and smiled.