He wiped his hands on the tattered hem of the coat he wore, fighting the urge to scrub the decaying filth from tapered fingers. The skin reeked from the days in the sun since leaving the marshes. The shopkeeper raised his nose and eyed the traveler, whether in arrogance or from the smell the man knew not. "One hundred gil," he said as he sniffed.
The traveler ran emerald eyes over the skins draped along the walls, tattered messes for at least twice that price. "Two hundred, sir. It is worth more than that, but I doubt you would pay."
"Arrogant young bastard! I'm doing you a favor taking this mess from you. I stand at one hundred." His long nose inched higher into the air as the traveler turned back to him.
The traveler pressed his lips together in annoyance and shot a glare from beneath silver strands. "If I may remind you, the bounty stands at two. I ask for nothing more than my due." They locked eyes for a moment before the shopkeeper visibly paled and looked away.
He fumbled in the drawer before drawing out a slip of paper and held it out to the other. "Forgive me, sir. Two hundred gil, as advertized. Just sign on the line."
The man pushed some strands out of his vision and took the pen from his pocket. He had already begun signing the strip before he hesitated, I don't remember my name. His hand did, habitually scrawling in flowing blue letters "Sephiroth". The pit of his stomach fell as he stared unseeing at the name.
Intense cold permeated his flesh and encased him in a corpse-like sleep. The murmuring from below barely cast a shadow in his vivid dreams. A bare vibration shook the crystal surrounding his form, then the unintelligable whispers. And the need. He reached out with his dreaming mind for the strings spreading from the center and retrieved one. Unlike the others, this one wound faster and more willing to his call.
Again quiet murmurs drifted to his ears. Soon now, very soon. The soothing cadence calmed his impatient nerves, longing to once again touch the world. The string shortened.
"Sephiroth?" The voice, so sad, so hopeless. Again, almost an echo: "Sephiroth? I'm here." He sounded like a lost child. "And I've brought the Black Materia." The words seeped in self damnation touched his ears but not his frozen heart. Only the excitement of two words brought his mind out of the reverie. "Show yourself to me. Where are you?" A pause, his heart raced in anticipation, never mind the tortured voice beyond the glaring light. "Sephiroth… So we finally meet again." One final twitch of the string. The sacred Materia penetrated the crystal, barely within his grasp. His mind swept it up with relish and poured all his restless energy into the orb. The earth trembled then exploded, the warriors of the Planet, the Weapons, bursting free on a suicide attempt to save her.
"Dear god! What kind of a joke is this? Who do you think you are? Claiming to be the General, punk kid." The shopkeeper threw the money across the counter to the dazed man. He blinked and numbly scooped the coins into his pocket. As he walked away, he heard the panicked mumbling of the other denying the signature on the paper.
The man, "Sephiroth" he knew now, wandered the streets deep in thought and reasserting his existance in this time and not that hallucination. He sighed and walked into the nearest clothing shop. He eagerly grabbed blue denim and the first shirt, white, that his fingers grazed past. With barely a word, he tossed the gil onto the counter and stepped behind the curtain. He peeled the once-white coat from off his shoulders and threw it onto the bench. He hesitated, staring at the clean clothing and feeling immensely dirty from the road, thought about a room for the night, decided against it and threw the close fitting cotton over his head. His reflection caught his eye as he pulled the pants on. The common clothing sheathing his muscled form seemed out of place, jeans and a tee strangely casual. The silken silver locks fell in strands over his shoulders like a cloak. But none of these features stood out like his eyes. An emerald fire blazed from beneath pale brows. He mused silently how he could see through the light. His lashes were dyed chartreuse from the vivid glowing. He stepped out of the room, careful not to look anyone directly in the eye. He grabbed a pair of boots and some dark sunglasses as he left.
Sephiroth walked the streets, lost in his musings and ignorant of the stares the women gave him as he passed, of which there were many. He found himself watching the sun set over the ocean, envisioning a doomed ship setting sail for the far continent. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, sure he could smell death in the air. He turned from the disturbing images and made his way back inland. Even in the descending darkness, he left the barrier over his disturbingly bright eyes. People parted in his path as they walked home, away from the shadows and blades hidden therein, but he remained oblivious. A warm glow drifted through the street with diffused laughter and cheering following in its wake. The man who adopted the name "Sephiroth" walked toward the open door.
"Come on, Reno! Don't wuss out now!"
"Shut up, asshole. The night's still young. Gotta pace yourself, else you won't last the evening."
The man walked inside, removed the sunglasses in the dim interior, then nonchalantly stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a place near the wall to watch the fire-haired man's antics. The arrangement of liquor bottles was staggering, empty glasses stacked in haphazard pyramids. "Gentlemen, start your engines!" the man called to his fellows.
"Damn, Reno, your engine has been running and gone for some time now!"
He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Yeah, but I can still out drink ya, rookie." He drained the beverage and completed another level of the second pyramid. Reno raised his eyes from the wobbling structure for a moment and met the piercing glance from the man standing at the wall. The blood rushed out of his face and pooled somewhere in his feet. He dropped the glass hovering above the precarious stack. Over a dozen shotglasses tumbled to the floor, silencing the bar as well as a gunshot.
"You ok, man? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
He found his voice somewhere. "I have." All eyes followed the assassin's gaze to the man now alert. His hand reached instinctively for the nightstick strapped to his hip. "Dammit! How many lives do you have? You're like a fuckin' cat!"
The silver-haired man gripped his own weapon, judging and balancing tactics as though this were building to a war rather than a mere bar brawl. "Who are you to be so familiar? I do not know you, nor do I care to."
Reno sneered. "Just like you, arrogant prick. It's that same damn arrogance that nearly killed us all a year ago, General fucking Sephiroth." He spat and ignored the apprehensive mood permeating the air. "Never did remember the Turks, never brought your nose far enough down to notice us findin' you your Soldiers and keeping the fuckin' Company alive."
Sephiroth clenched his teeth in annoyance. The words held no meaning to him. His eyes narrowed and the knife was comfortable in his grip.
"Fuckin' bastard! Too good to converse with us mortals?" The alcohol glazed his eyes and mind, giving him the motivation to provoke the specter. He brought out the stick and tapped the Materia. Blue energy licked the shaft and gave his eyes a mad light. "Let's remind him that he never did become a god. And you thought that the Strife kid was the failure?" He laughed, feeding the drunks the means to release pent up energy. "He brought you down from your fucking perch."
The man unsheathed the knife as the mob overwhelmed him. A haze descended around his mind as he fell into the familiar motions of melee combat. His palm drove one man's head back before he kicked three others' feet out from under them. The grey metal of his blade wove in and out of the throng, coming away red every time. He grabbed a chair from one and swung it around into the back of another's head. The ground soon became slick with their blood and they backed away. Sephiroth alone stood unscathed in the center of the room. Infuriated, Reno lept to his feet, swinging the crackling baton easily in his hand.
"Asshole! Bring it!" He brought his weapon around and stared his opponent unflinchingly in the eye.
"This is unnecessary." The other wiped the bloodied blade off with a discarded napkin from a nearby table. "I do not know of this Company you speak of."
"Yeah? Maybe dieing fucked up your memory."
Emerald eyes focused on aqua. "What do you know about it?"
"Enough to know that you almost killed us all. And that's enough." His patience broke like so many shards of glass beneath his booted feet. The drunken rage fueled his steps as he lept at the silver shrouded form. Sephiroth blocked the stick with his knife and threw the Turk into a table. The cheap beer flew through the air and landed in slick puddles on the wood floor. Reno lept to his feet and swung at the other, just wanting to make contact, just once. The ex-general dodged the lightning swift thrusts and grabbed him around his arm. The red-haired man cursed loudly and slammed his elbow into Sephiroth's stomach. "Not so tough, are you, mister hotshot Soldier?" he said, slipping loose from the man's grip.
"But you are not at your peak either." He landed a fist into the Turk's face. "I do not know, but I would expect that you would be better if you were sober." He spun and kicked is feet out from under him. "Now forgive me my past transgressions for just a moment." He pressed his knife to Reno's throat. "When I sort out these memories and pathetic clues I keep getting, then we can resume this. But until then, I would just like to figure some things out. What is this 'Company' you spoke of?"
Dark red brows descended over aqua eyes as Reno glared daggers at his captor. "Go to Midgar and get a fucking clue. ShinRa headquarters, or did you forget that, too? Damn! Even with a halfassed memory, you're still able to beat the shit out of me." When Sephiroth released the other, the Turk murmured, "Bastard, now I have to go find another bar and forget this." He picked up his jacket, noticably tattered, and slung it over his shoulder. The man took a deep breath and seemed to collapse in upon himself. He stared at nothing for a moment, attitude melted away to reveal someone down on his luck and incredibly tired, then he plastered the devil may care mask back on and walked out of the bar.
Sephiroth glanced around the room, watching the patrons turn away from his icy green glare, before he replaced the dark glasses and followed the Turk out of the building toward Midgar.
The traveler ran emerald eyes over the skins draped along the walls, tattered messes for at least twice that price. "Two hundred, sir. It is worth more than that, but I doubt you would pay."
"Arrogant young bastard! I'm doing you a favor taking this mess from you. I stand at one hundred." His long nose inched higher into the air as the traveler turned back to him.
The traveler pressed his lips together in annoyance and shot a glare from beneath silver strands. "If I may remind you, the bounty stands at two. I ask for nothing more than my due." They locked eyes for a moment before the shopkeeper visibly paled and looked away.
He fumbled in the drawer before drawing out a slip of paper and held it out to the other. "Forgive me, sir. Two hundred gil, as advertized. Just sign on the line."
The man pushed some strands out of his vision and took the pen from his pocket. He had already begun signing the strip before he hesitated, I don't remember my name. His hand did, habitually scrawling in flowing blue letters "Sephiroth". The pit of his stomach fell as he stared unseeing at the name.
Intense cold permeated his flesh and encased him in a corpse-like sleep. The murmuring from below barely cast a shadow in his vivid dreams. A bare vibration shook the crystal surrounding his form, then the unintelligable whispers. And the need. He reached out with his dreaming mind for the strings spreading from the center and retrieved one. Unlike the others, this one wound faster and more willing to his call.
Again quiet murmurs drifted to his ears. Soon now, very soon. The soothing cadence calmed his impatient nerves, longing to once again touch the world. The string shortened.
"Sephiroth?" The voice, so sad, so hopeless. Again, almost an echo: "Sephiroth? I'm here." He sounded like a lost child. "And I've brought the Black Materia." The words seeped in self damnation touched his ears but not his frozen heart. Only the excitement of two words brought his mind out of the reverie. "Show yourself to me. Where are you?" A pause, his heart raced in anticipation, never mind the tortured voice beyond the glaring light. "Sephiroth… So we finally meet again." One final twitch of the string. The sacred Materia penetrated the crystal, barely within his grasp. His mind swept it up with relish and poured all his restless energy into the orb. The earth trembled then exploded, the warriors of the Planet, the Weapons, bursting free on a suicide attempt to save her.
"Dear god! What kind of a joke is this? Who do you think you are? Claiming to be the General, punk kid." The shopkeeper threw the money across the counter to the dazed man. He blinked and numbly scooped the coins into his pocket. As he walked away, he heard the panicked mumbling of the other denying the signature on the paper.
The man, "Sephiroth" he knew now, wandered the streets deep in thought and reasserting his existance in this time and not that hallucination. He sighed and walked into the nearest clothing shop. He eagerly grabbed blue denim and the first shirt, white, that his fingers grazed past. With barely a word, he tossed the gil onto the counter and stepped behind the curtain. He peeled the once-white coat from off his shoulders and threw it onto the bench. He hesitated, staring at the clean clothing and feeling immensely dirty from the road, thought about a room for the night, decided against it and threw the close fitting cotton over his head. His reflection caught his eye as he pulled the pants on. The common clothing sheathing his muscled form seemed out of place, jeans and a tee strangely casual. The silken silver locks fell in strands over his shoulders like a cloak. But none of these features stood out like his eyes. An emerald fire blazed from beneath pale brows. He mused silently how he could see through the light. His lashes were dyed chartreuse from the vivid glowing. He stepped out of the room, careful not to look anyone directly in the eye. He grabbed a pair of boots and some dark sunglasses as he left.
Sephiroth walked the streets, lost in his musings and ignorant of the stares the women gave him as he passed, of which there were many. He found himself watching the sun set over the ocean, envisioning a doomed ship setting sail for the far continent. He sniffed and rubbed his nose, sure he could smell death in the air. He turned from the disturbing images and made his way back inland. Even in the descending darkness, he left the barrier over his disturbingly bright eyes. People parted in his path as they walked home, away from the shadows and blades hidden therein, but he remained oblivious. A warm glow drifted through the street with diffused laughter and cheering following in its wake. The man who adopted the name "Sephiroth" walked toward the open door.
"Come on, Reno! Don't wuss out now!"
"Shut up, asshole. The night's still young. Gotta pace yourself, else you won't last the evening."
The man walked inside, removed the sunglasses in the dim interior, then nonchalantly stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a place near the wall to watch the fire-haired man's antics. The arrangement of liquor bottles was staggering, empty glasses stacked in haphazard pyramids. "Gentlemen, start your engines!" the man called to his fellows.
"Damn, Reno, your engine has been running and gone for some time now!"
He raised his glass in a mock toast. "Yeah, but I can still out drink ya, rookie." He drained the beverage and completed another level of the second pyramid. Reno raised his eyes from the wobbling structure for a moment and met the piercing glance from the man standing at the wall. The blood rushed out of his face and pooled somewhere in his feet. He dropped the glass hovering above the precarious stack. Over a dozen shotglasses tumbled to the floor, silencing the bar as well as a gunshot.
"You ok, man? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
He found his voice somewhere. "I have." All eyes followed the assassin's gaze to the man now alert. His hand reached instinctively for the nightstick strapped to his hip. "Dammit! How many lives do you have? You're like a fuckin' cat!"
The silver-haired man gripped his own weapon, judging and balancing tactics as though this were building to a war rather than a mere bar brawl. "Who are you to be so familiar? I do not know you, nor do I care to."
Reno sneered. "Just like you, arrogant prick. It's that same damn arrogance that nearly killed us all a year ago, General fucking Sephiroth." He spat and ignored the apprehensive mood permeating the air. "Never did remember the Turks, never brought your nose far enough down to notice us findin' you your Soldiers and keeping the fuckin' Company alive."
Sephiroth clenched his teeth in annoyance. The words held no meaning to him. His eyes narrowed and the knife was comfortable in his grip.
"Fuckin' bastard! Too good to converse with us mortals?" The alcohol glazed his eyes and mind, giving him the motivation to provoke the specter. He brought out the stick and tapped the Materia. Blue energy licked the shaft and gave his eyes a mad light. "Let's remind him that he never did become a god. And you thought that the Strife kid was the failure?" He laughed, feeding the drunks the means to release pent up energy. "He brought you down from your fucking perch."
The man unsheathed the knife as the mob overwhelmed him. A haze descended around his mind as he fell into the familiar motions of melee combat. His palm drove one man's head back before he kicked three others' feet out from under them. The grey metal of his blade wove in and out of the throng, coming away red every time. He grabbed a chair from one and swung it around into the back of another's head. The ground soon became slick with their blood and they backed away. Sephiroth alone stood unscathed in the center of the room. Infuriated, Reno lept to his feet, swinging the crackling baton easily in his hand.
"Asshole! Bring it!" He brought his weapon around and stared his opponent unflinchingly in the eye.
"This is unnecessary." The other wiped the bloodied blade off with a discarded napkin from a nearby table. "I do not know of this Company you speak of."
"Yeah? Maybe dieing fucked up your memory."
Emerald eyes focused on aqua. "What do you know about it?"
"Enough to know that you almost killed us all. And that's enough." His patience broke like so many shards of glass beneath his booted feet. The drunken rage fueled his steps as he lept at the silver shrouded form. Sephiroth blocked the stick with his knife and threw the Turk into a table. The cheap beer flew through the air and landed in slick puddles on the wood floor. Reno lept to his feet and swung at the other, just wanting to make contact, just once. The ex-general dodged the lightning swift thrusts and grabbed him around his arm. The red-haired man cursed loudly and slammed his elbow into Sephiroth's stomach. "Not so tough, are you, mister hotshot Soldier?" he said, slipping loose from the man's grip.
"But you are not at your peak either." He landed a fist into the Turk's face. "I do not know, but I would expect that you would be better if you were sober." He spun and kicked is feet out from under him. "Now forgive me my past transgressions for just a moment." He pressed his knife to Reno's throat. "When I sort out these memories and pathetic clues I keep getting, then we can resume this. But until then, I would just like to figure some things out. What is this 'Company' you spoke of?"
Dark red brows descended over aqua eyes as Reno glared daggers at his captor. "Go to Midgar and get a fucking clue. ShinRa headquarters, or did you forget that, too? Damn! Even with a halfassed memory, you're still able to beat the shit out of me." When Sephiroth released the other, the Turk murmured, "Bastard, now I have to go find another bar and forget this." He picked up his jacket, noticably tattered, and slung it over his shoulder. The man took a deep breath and seemed to collapse in upon himself. He stared at nothing for a moment, attitude melted away to reveal someone down on his luck and incredibly tired, then he plastered the devil may care mask back on and walked out of the bar.
Sephiroth glanced around the room, watching the patrons turn away from his icy green glare, before he replaced the dark glasses and followed the Turk out of the building toward Midgar.