Disclaimer: Been here, done this, have the lawsuit to prove it. Esse, well, she's still broke, and she's already offered up her soul on the alter of the temple inside the little girls' room at the headquarters/secret lair of Square Enix.
Warnings: Extreme violence, or comic mischief. Take your pick.
Notes: Idiotic short transitional piece. I'm so gonna regret this. Translations provided at the end, courtesy of the Uematsu PR department, Gold Saucer office, and the Ormus Preservation Society, last known whereabouts -- somewhere on Miltia.
Ad Nauseam
fortune favors those with weapons
"Ne me mori facias!"
A few artistic swipes with Masamune, then Cloud was in front of him, morphing the babbling singer.
He was Sephiroth, and he was a greatly renowned collector of things both rare and bizarre, but even he didn't know what he was going to do with yet another 1/35 Choir Boy. He supposed he could add it to his 1/35 Soldier collection -- he was still missing two out of the twelve, and really, what were his chances of completing the set while trapped within the confines of the Northern Crater? Of course, he could always order his puppet to bring him the figurines, mint in box, but with his luck, he'd probably wind up with yet another Jim: Soldier 3rd Class, and not the rare, beyond-desirable Zack: Soldier 1st Class. Yet he was great, and mostly all-knowing, and being such, he knew that it never hurt to try.
"Cloud! Bring me…" He trailed to an uncertain stop, as mako-enhanced eyes glared in his general direction. And he knew that making silly demands while in the midst of massacring his choir showed a certain lack of focus on his part, but -- being almost all-knowing -- he knew that if he didn't mention it now, he might not remember later. And he really, really wanted the full set; Scarlet would turn green with envy.
"Yes?" Cloud had stopped mid-Omnislash, and was leaning casually against his Nail Bat, flicking bits of unlamented baritone from his pants. "Something you were wanting? A hot mug of cocoa? A plate of Tupon-shaped sugar cookies fresh from the oven? 'Cause, I'm a little busy with the latest task you've set me, but just as soon as I'm done slaying your choir, I'll get right to it."
He really shouldn't've had to put up with lippy clones, but he supposed there was a reason Cloud was a failed clone, and not a black-cloaked, Reunion-muttering, hunched over, Jenova-skewered clone slowly freezing on the outside rim of the Crater. And in a few minutes, as soon as Cloud lowered his rudely displayed finger, he'd remember why he liked his puppet just the way he was.
"Ne me mori facias!"
Yet another singer was down, and pleading, and Yuffie stood over him with her pout firmly fixed into place.
"What kind of enemy skill is that? Beg For Life. Puh-lease." She bounced her Superball off the weeping tenor's forehead. "C'mon, cast something ultra-powerful at me. With lots of particle effects. Those are way cool." The Superball ricocheted, and struck Nanaki in the shoulder, causing the big, red dog/cat to yelp. "Oops. Sorry Red."
"I expect this kind of behavior from Cloud." Nanaki flopped down, and began gnawing on the Superball. "And before you ask," he twitched his tail, accidentally setting fire to a fleeing alto's robe, "I don't fetch."
Sephiroth was great -- and just in case anyone might have forgotten -- he was also mostly all-knowing, but that wasn't enough to stop him from intoning dolefully, "Obviously, neither does Cloud. Hojo must not have believed in obedience training."
Vincent blinked, and pursed his lips, then blinked again. "You have a point." He aimed his cute, zoink-ing Silver Rifle at Yuffie's opponent, who was now displaying the somewhat useless enemy skill of Piddling in One's Pants. "He was a scientist. He was far more concerned that his lab specimens displayed a marked preference for chocolate pudding over tapioca."
Cloud, peeved, revenge-minded, and busily trying to pull out a tuft of Sephiroth's hair, gave a sharp laugh. "That's what he was going on about? You mean he never realized…?" He started giggling, and gave the silvery lock he was clenching a softer tug. "…Never realized it was Jenova that had the chocolate addiction?"
Sephiroth was great, but he wasn't particularly known for having patience with underlings, and if he didn't do something soon, his puppet was going to pluck him bald. "You're a lousy minion. I'm telling Mother on you! That is, as soon as she rubber band's herself back together." Really, he'd been giving his puppet far too much leeway; from now on, Cloud could darn his own socks. Well, unless Cloud went away on a mission to retrieve the coveted Zack action figure; then, Sephiroth would be more than happy to knit him new slippers.
An all-knowing, semi-divine villain had to keep himself busy, after all. And it had been ages since he'd last invited the knitting club over. Maybe he'd have Cloud bake those sugar cookies; the sweet old dead Cetra grannies just adored Cloud's cookies. And they needed some enticement to make the long journey from the hereafter and eternal rest to his own rather windy and cold cavern of ill repute.
The tenor huddled by Yuffie's and Vincent's footsies, perceiving an ever-so-slight decrease in hostilities, yammered, "Miserere, O Dominae, miserere nobis!"
Before Yuffie could retrieve her slobbery Superball, Vincent had changed into Chaos. He didn't bother with any of his creepy special attacks; instead, he bounced in righteous fury on the tenor's prone body, screaming obscenities, obscure trig equations, predictions for the next day's chocobo races, and the repeated claim, "I'm a man! A man!"
Sephiroth wasn't inclined to disagree, although he did allow himself a few moments of idle speculation while batting at Cloud's hands with various tentacles, because while he was almost all-knowing, not even he knew what all Hojo might have done to his test subjects. The overly methodical pervert had, according to the Shinra secretarial pool, a penchant for performing rather peculiar experiments upon the bishounen he had captured.
The surviving members of the choir shrieked at the emergence of Chaos.
"Ne me mori facias!"
Cid whacked away with his mop, splattering murky water against the hazy nothingness.
"Ne me mori facias!"
Tifa slapped the diva across the face with her Work Glove, while Cait Sith bopped the now whimpering singer over the head with his Trumpet Shell.
"Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat."
Barret, who'd been milliseconds away from blowing the man into itty-bitty itty-bits, lowered his arm, and scratched his head in befuddled puzzlement. "What was that?"
"That," Cloud said, walking forward with a fistful of long, prematurely grey hair, "was a warning that Seph's been a naughty megalomaniac."
"Tattler." Sephiroth was great, and a master manipulator -- of his cherished puppet, if very little else -- but the jig was up, and his fun was over with for now, if not forever. And not even he could guess at what would come next, because he was almost all-knowing, but not quite. "I guess you'll be wanting this back…"
"Hey! That's my Manipulate materia!" Tifa snatched it out of his outstretched hand, and pushed it back into the free slot of her precious watch. "No wonder Cloud hasn't been in the mood lately." She glanced slyly at the various shocked teammates surrounding her. "What? You didn't think the night outside the Highwind was his idea, did you?"
Sephiroth was great, and he was gorgeous even if he was missing a patch of hair from the back of his head, and he was going to get revenge against the brazen barmaid for besmirching his precious if sometimes precocious puppet. But at the moment, there were more urgent things to worry about.
"So, now what?" He swept his wing wide, encompassing the scattered, gory remains of his choir.
Cid snubbed out his cigarette, lit another, equally bent one from the cheery flame at the tip of Nanaki's tail, and took a long, considering drag. "Guess it's a good thing I carry around a mop."
---
Translations for the OST impaired:
Ne me mori facias:
Do not let me die
-- One Winged Angel -- FFVII -- duh
Miserere
O Dominae, miserere nobis:
Have mercy
O Lady, have mercy on us
-- Ormus -- Xenosaga -- hah!
Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat:
Those whom a god wishes to destroy he first drives mad
-- Just a nice Latin cliché -- bwahaha!