A/N: No, your eyes do not deceive you. Behold, I present to you…an actual update.
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The sun had scarcely pushed its way above the azure horizon when the encampment burst into activity. The reports of myriad firearms and the squeals and clashes of dueling steel echoed as purposefully irate drill sergeants bellowed and swore troopers and SOLDIERs alike into fervent practice. Those troopers and SOLDIERs, some furious and irritated, some boisterous, and some that were just really into their training, shouted and hollered to match to match their taskmasters.
And though very few paid any mind to the proud and majestic pagodas now towering in deceptively easy reach, this very same time tomorrow would find very few focusing in anything else.
The camp, the very one Shinra's new general had been stationed at just over a year ago, was now nestled near Wutai's eastern coast within mere miles of the sprawling capital city. The strategic -- and for now, precarious -- location had been won through a series of skillfully aggressive campaigns that would have had the strictly 'by-the-book' tacticians in Midgar setting fire to their martial playbooks in vehement protest. And several solo, dangerously absurd strikes this general had waged against small Shinobi settlements had nearly made a couple active officers do the same.
But now that they'd made such a swift and decisive advance and were now preparing for what everyone hoped would be the last strike they'd need to make…those attacks didn't seem quite so ludicrous anymore.
Within the settlement, SOLDIERs and troopers wielded their Company-issue weapons with a vocal intensity that would only be outdone when the march on the capital actually occurred. Outside the settlement, however, on the fine, pale sand of the broad eastern beach, one weapon -- chosen and not given -- wove a soft silver melody, its wielder's intensity silent and reserved…and far more dangerous than anything the rest could muster.
The Masamune returned from a lunging, one-handed thrust, humming its last note as Sephiroth easily caught its handle with his free hand and pulled it to a sudden rest a hairsbreadth shy of butting against a pauldron. He held the stance a perfect, breathless moment, a thin smile of satisfaction touching his lips.
As the sword's music stilled, he realized with a mild twinge of irritation that he was being applauded.
And he knew who the offender was without even looking.
With a swift, fluid arc, he snapped the great sword into the sheath at his hip. "I came out here to escape the audience, Reyburn," he said, annoyance clipping his tone.
The First Lieutenant strolled out from the fringe of the beach to join his superior. "Ah ha," he chuckled, gradually ceasing his applause. "That's why you weren't at the training yard. Here I thought there was something wrong with it."
"I'm fine with the yard," he snapped, "and had the observing not escalated to near-fanatic ogling, I may have even been fine with that, too."
Reyburn had a hard time restraining his response so as not to insult the mercurial General. "I see." He flashed an ear-devouring grin. "Some of the onlookers weren't there to watch your swordsmanship, eh?"
The corner of the swordsman's mouth rose in a slight curl of disdain.
"Must be something, if your rank doesn't even put 'em off from doing that."
"Indeed," he sighed. He faced the brunette and crossed his arms, suddenly eager to change the subject. "I take it you weren't just out for a casual stroll."
"Hell no," Reyburn laughed, "not here and definitely not now." He jerked his head toward the camp. "Colonel Hawkin from 147th just had some information dropped with Cressmore that he needs your okay on ASAP. I guess he had to make some rearrangements to his SOLDIER Second Class squad, and he's gotta have your authorization on it."
Still annoyed at having his training interrupted, Sephiroth heaved an overly dramatic sigh as he walked past the other officer. "I think it's a bit late for squad rearrangements," he huffed, making an uncharacteristically poor attempt to mask his irritation with skepticism.
"So do I." Reyburn turned but didn't follow him. "But from what I saw of the paperwork, it looks like over half of the 147th got slaughtered in a freak ambush last night."
Already some distance away, Sephiroth halted.
"He had to shift manpower."
Sephiroth stared down at the white sand sparkling and sifting over the sturdy, glossy black of his boots. "Ah." He glanced over his shoulder at the First Lieutenant. "I guess it can't be helped, then."
Reyburn silently started after him as he resumed walking, easily matching the General's strides but keeping a pace or two behind him. "I hate to state the obvious," he said, resuming his usual jovial tone, "but the Shinobi are pissed as all hell. They've held out against us for this many years, and now within one year we've moved this close to their gates and are set to overtake them…I think the damn fools are really gonna give us a run for our money now."
"As far as I'm concerned," Sephiroth smirked, his vexation swiftly giving way to the camp's contagious anticipation, an anticipation he didn't even try to deny himself, "it's about time."
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"Is that all, then?"
"It better be." Cressmore slipped the signed authorization papers back into the envelope they'd arrived in. "That was certainly an unavoidable exception, but we really don't have time to make any more. With the Shinobi being as aggressive as they've been lately with their raids, that hostility will likely be tenfold in organized combat, and we can't afford to reorganize our formations."
"It's a damn shame that first bunch of assassins way back wasn't enough of a warning." Reyburn leaned back on his stool, clasping his hands behind his head.
"It was," Sephiroth reminded him. "They've just shifted their focus to simpler targets. I can't be everywhere."
"Titan's ass in a sling, wouldn't that be nice?" The brunette grinned with the madness of a naughty little boy who'd just conjured up a magnificently wicked prank.
Sephiroth managed a thin, obliging smile at the oddly-put compliment. He rose, replacing the gloves that he'd removed to sign the paperwork.
Cressmore followed him up, the workings of a frown pulling at his boyish features. It wasn't hard to tell there was something on his mind besides the impromptu squad reassignment. "Going back out to train, Sir?"
"I'd planned on." He glanced at the officer with guarded skepticism arching his silver brows. "I thought you said that was all?"
"Well, yes, it is…"
"Oh hell, Cressmore, he's not gonna stay sharp with that blade if he sits on his ass listening to you all day!"
Sephiroth donned the other wristguard, saying nothing in agreement or otherwise. What Reyburn said was true…to some extent, at least, but he honestly didn't think not training as often as he did would cause his skill to deteriorate. No, he trained because he liked the feel…the melody…of the Masamune.
And he trained so he wouldn't sit around and think himself into a fury.
He remembered that…from little on, in between those awful treatments, anytime he was coherent enough and wasn't occupied with something, he would think. Just think. About bad things, why people hated him, how horrible his life was, ways to escape that life -- and how those ways would all fail…hate, hate, hate…revenge…
…Hate them all!
"Sir?"
He looked up at Cressmore to find that the frown had finally conquered his expression.
"Are you sure you'd rather not take a break or something? You…look like you've got a lot on your mind, Sir."
Sephiroth snatched up the Masamune. "Nothing staying here would help," he retorted, leaving the tent before he got trapped there any longer.
"Damn." Reyburn leaned back even more, into a tremendous, sprawling stretch. "One thing's for sure, Cressmore, you still haven't lost your knack at pissing him off."
The blonde stared motionless after the General for a moment, mentally reassuring himself of a decision he'd wrestled with several days ago, before absentmindedly tapping the envelope that lay on the crate. "See to it someone gets these off to Hawkin," he said, already halfway outside. "He's gotta know the reassignment's legit."
Reyburn sat there a moment, visibly bewildered at Cressmore's sudden haste and departure. He picked up the envelope, examined it like it was something foreign, and threw his hands up in defeat. "Sure, why not? About all I haven't done with the damn things is sign 'em."
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"Sir!"
Sephiroth's unconsciously brisk strides didn't slow or falter when he heard the Major calling after him; inwardly, he cringed.
"Sir!" Cressmore broke into a flat run to catch up to his superior, for they were nearly to the beach and he wanted to catch him before he got involved in his practice again.
The General abruptly stopped, turning on his heel to face him. "Did you forget something?" He was beyond caring if he was being rude; Cressmore had this horrible, uncanny habit of reading into his brief, musing silences, and to say it was nerve-grating would have been like saying Ifrit's fire was hot. Recalling how angry his childhood thinking spells had gotten him had, coincidentally, soured the mood he was in now as well.
Cressmore stopped as well. "No, Sir, not really." He took a deep, solidifying breath. "And I'm not trying to be a bother, or get on your nerves any more than I already have, but…I'd like to give you something."
Sephiroth crossed his arms.
The officer produced a single, tired green orb from his breast pocket and proffered it in an open palm. "A gift, Sir…if you'll take it."
(You've got to be kidding.)
"I hardly think this is an ideal time to be giving your materia away, Major, not to mention I…"
"…Really don't need it, I know," he conceded. "With swordsmanship like yours, it's nothing you really need to rely on. I've seen you use spells, so I know you use it, but…this…this materia's never been used. And I'm sure you'll think I'm telling you a story, but I don't even know what kind it is."
Sephiroth had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes in disbelief. "It isn't Company-issue then, I take it?" He hoped he at least sounded interested, because he just knew his expression indicated otherwise.
"No." The blonde flashed a small smile. "It's a good luck charm. My older sister gave it to me when I joined the military. She'd never tell me where she'd gotten it, even though I asked several times…she just said it was useless and would just be something from home for me to hang onto wherever I got stationed."
"If you're going out on the field tomorrow, I think you need the luck a lot more than I do."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Sir," Cressmore replied, a thin smile creasing his lips.
The General shifted his weight to one foot and uncrossed his arms, draping one hand over the Masamune's hilt.
"I know what you mean, Sir," the officer continued, knowing the mercurial General wasn't much for small talk, "and you're absolutely right, I do. For as seldom as I actually wield a blade instead of a pen, I need any divine help or luck I can get. But you're a lot more important to this battle than I am, and…" He swallowed hard, nerves getting the better of him and momentarily stealing his words. "…Hell, I don't know how else to say it, Sir…it would just mean a lot to me if you'd take it." Golden brows furrowed. "And…forgive me, Sir, but I think it would mean a lot to you, too."
Sephiroth visibly bristled at that. His irritation instantly billowed into anger. "Major Cressmore, what in the hell makes you think you're in any kind of position to make an assumption like that?"
"I…can't say, Sir. Not because I don't know, but because if I do, I know you won't take it."
"I never said I'd take it at all, Major. Why would that make any difference?"
"I can't say that, either, Sir."
"As long-winded as you are at all the tactical meetings, now you're at a loss for words?" He knew that question cut deep when Cressmore's face flushed and his eyes flashed downward.
The Major slowly closed his fingers around the materia and lowered his arm.
"Are you done, then?" Sephiroth snapped.
With a sudden muster of will, Cressmore looked him square in the eye. "No, Sir, I'm not." He held the materia out again. "And I know you'll take this because if you'd really planned on not, you would have refused it and dealt with me already for even asking like I did." The resolve in his voice was firm and more than a little surprising. His cerulean eyes shone electric. "I'm giving this to you because, like it or not, Sir, I know you don't have anyone back home who'd care enough to do anything like this for you."
In the back of his mind, Sephiroth could have sworn he heard faint female shrieking, but he paid it no mind. He was so far beyond livid he doubted there was a word to even describe it.
The blonde watched Sephiroth's viridescent eyes go cold…murderously cold. It was almost the look he'd seen when he'd asked him about Bailey, when…the General…hadn't been himself, and nearly killed him. Vacant.
But whatever had come over him before had…wholly done so. He hadn't even appeared human. Now…though that same thing had come over him, he could see that Sephiroth was still there, still tempering it. His fury was showing, too.
Which, oddly enough, was why this time, it wasn't as alarming.
"Sir, I apologize if I'm upsetting you, but I'm not taking no for an answer on this one. I made up my mind on this several days ago, and I won't change my decision."
"Not even if I order you to?" Sephiroth replied, his voice gone as cold as his eyes.
"Not even if you order me to. Whether you reciprocate it or not, I consider you a friend, and that's how I'm giving this -- this materia that my sister gave me, that I've held onto for years -- to you. As a friend."
Friend? You don't…
"I don't need a friend, Major."
(That's not…)
"Then take it in whatever spirit you like, Sir, but I'm not keeping this materia." In a spur of courage, the Major closed the small gap between them, caught up Sephiroth's hand, and pressed the tiny emerald globe into his palm. "I'm sorry, Sir."
He certainly will be when you…
(I…will…)
Despite his furor and resistance, despite her tenacity…for reasons he couldn't discern…he let his fingers curl around the materia.
You damn fool of a child! You're going to let him think…
(Go to hell!)
Though the General's anger hadn't diffused in the least, that measure of inhumanity in his Mako orbs faded, leaving behind only the luster of his personal ire.
And he'd accepted the materia.
Cressmore allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. "Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that."
(Damn him anyway. It's almost like…what Hojo did…)
That drove his fury back into sheer, unadulterated resentment. Resentment not unlike what had driven him to make simultaneous first attempts at suicide and murder.
Sephiroth deftly snapped the materia into one of the vacant slots on the Masamune's hilt. "Is that all, Major?"
The Major nodded and stepped back, offering a full and formal salute. "Of course, Sir."
"Good," he muttered, already resuming his walk. Now he had a third excuse to practice; besides weaving the great katana's familiar silver melody and not letting himself get mired in thought, he now had to work off rekindled hostility toward that conniving, weasel-eyed waste of air back in Midgar.
(Damn you, too.)
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A/N: …And there's the long-awaited, terribly unexciting update. ;The next chapter (or two) should be much quicker in coming than this one, since it's well on its way to completion.
Many thanks to whoever had the patience to wait for this update.