Okay, I'd like to clarify something very quickly. This is not a parody of 'Sephiroth Resurrection Fics' (well, there are ARF's, why not SRF's, too?), otherwise I would place this in the "Parody" genre. Sure, I'll be poking fun at the more common elements seen in some fics, or at some general trends seen in FFVII fanfiction all around, but that's not the point of writing this. My main contention with parodies is that, if you're not careful, they can become just as derivitive and predictable as the thing you're parodying. The reason I'm writing this is just to take a somewhat common plot device/premise and attempt to put a funny spin on it. Hopefully, the meat of the fic itself will be memorable, or, dare I say it, original. So, yeah. Anyway.
Oh, and by the way, this whole 'let's not make more than one non-alaphabet character' thing is really pissing me off. A lot. Can't even make my 3rd person action movement thingies. kicks it Bastards.
Godsent, Regrettably
By: SilverKnight
Chapter 2: Misery and Co.
"...I would have to conclude that I'm going insane. Again."
- Sephiroth
It was a sick joke. It had to be. "What?"
Aeris' grin never faltered. "I said, I'm -"
"I heard what you said," Sephiroth snapped, irritated and confused. Warily, he took a step back, bringing his hands to his side as he appraised the woman before him. In every way it looked like that Cetra flower-girl, Aeris Gainsborough. Short, brunette with her hair mostly pulled back, pink dress, red jacket, wide green eyes that were devoid of any intelligence whatsoever - it definitely appeared to be her. However, he had learned early on about the age old adage about appearances. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
Her fine brows dipped, mildly confused. "What do you mean?"
Perchance for asking stupid questions. This apparition did its homework. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you have been revived as well? Do you think I was born yesterday?"
"Well, actually, if you want to be technical -"
Annoying habit of replying to statements that were rhetorical in nature. This creature was very convincing. "There are many theories as to why you're standing here in front of me at this moment," he began, more for 'her' benefit than his. He disliked detailing his train of thought to another, and certainly disliked doing so to a potential enemy, but if it could get her to shut up, he was willing to take the risk. "You could be a figment of my imagination; some kind of visual extension of my conscience that has been dormant for, well, the entirety of my life," he offered, "at which point, I would have to conclude that I'm going insane." He paused. "Again."
He brought a large hand to his chin as he continued. "You could also be the product of Jenova or some other malevolent creature or construct with the aim of manipulating me into trusting them to achieve their own aims." He glared at her. She smiled. He shook his head in disgust. "Or - and I do find this the most unlikely - you could actually be Aeris Gainsborough standing here, either in spirit or in the flesh, in order to do..." He trailed off, glancing at her patient face out of the corner of his eye as his hand flipped through the chilled air, attempting to think of her possible reason for being here. Much like his own, though, he drew a blank. "...Whatever it is that you normally do. Meddle in things, most likely. It seems to be a strong point of yours."
Her expression became thoughtful, and almost mildly hurt. "I never meddled in things," she pouted.
The uncanny ability to miss the point of any given conversation. His suspicions over her authenticity began to wane as he continued to glare at her. Oblivious, she continued, "In fact, it was usually other people who meddled with me."
Hojo. He kept his face blank, despite his sudden swelling urge to eviscerate someone with greasy black hair. (Incidentally, it was that lone comparison in conjunction with a stray thought in Hojo's direction that had gotten Tseng killed in the Temple of the Ancients. Pity, he always rather liked Tseng. Greasy black hair aside.) He sighed gruffly. "I'll make this simple. Who are you, and why are you here?"
The woman grinned blithely. "I'm Aeris Gainsborough," she answered, "the real one. The only one. I hope, anyway."
He consciously restrained himself from reaching for his weapon. "And your purpose in this frozen wasteland?"
She straightened, her chin lifting ever so slightly in hidden strength. Had Sephiroth not found it so utterly pathetic looking, he might have otherwise thought it an admirable attempt. "I'm here to guide you."
He immediately scoffed, shaking his head. "Guide me? In that case, it's a wonder I'm not dead already."
"Again?" she asked sweetly.
He flipped the makeshift bone knife in his hand and brought it to the fore threateningly, his glower as sharp as the Masamune's tip. "I suggest you watch your tongue, little Cetra," he hissed, "if you wish to keep it."
Her eyes bounced from his face, to the knife, and back to his face before her smile widened. "I don't think that's going to do you much good," she replied matter-of-factly, "seeing as how I'm currently between lives."
His expression darkened. "What are you talking about?"
She snorted mirthfully, a half-smile on her thin rose lips. "What do you think I'm talking about? I'm dead; gone, pushing up daisies." She motioned to herself. "What you see in front of you is just my essence - a projection created and maintained by the Planet. I'm not physically here."
Cautious, he lowered his weapon and strolled forward. He stopped a foot away from where she appeared to stand, well within arm's reach and towering over her petite form, and moved to grasp her shoulder roughly.
It passed through.
Frowning, he pulled his arm in a downward arc, his fingers harmlessly gliding through where her body should have been. Her half-smile brightened a shade in amusement as his frown deepened, swiping his hand back and forth several times as if he were clearing the air, his silver brows knitted. Finally, he straightened his hand, and jabbed them into where her torso should have been, absentmindedly wiggling his fingers at nothing. He always considered that area of the lower torso beneath the pectorals but above the upper abdomen to be his favorite spot on the human body to attack, he was never quite sure why. Perhaps it was due to some sort of neurosis; given his track record, he wouldn't have been surprised if it were.
She looked down at his hand, seeming to find it both amusing and disturbing to find it submerged up to his wrist in her non-existent chest cavity. "Are you satisfied?"
Reluctantly, he withdrew, his arm falling to his side in near defeat. He couldn't kill her again. He couldn't even forcibly keep her mouth shut. He ignored the dull sense of foreboding the revelation brought. "Regrettably," he grumbled, shifting his stance and crossing his arms. "You've still yet to tell me why you've returned to this Godforsaken pit. 'Guiding me' isn't a sufficient answer."
"Sure, it is," she replied. "Because you refused the Planet's offer to hear it directly, now I'm here in its stead to make sure you get the message loud and clear."
He crossed his arms, irked. "So, you can hear the Planet?" She nodded. "Then, please be obliged to ask it why in the blue hell I'm even here. I never agreed to this nonsense!"
Aeris wound her arms behind her back, swaying back and forth innocently. "Oh, yes you diiid." She straightened, the joy draining from her face in what he assumed was her attempt to mimic him. He summarily came to the conclusion that she was horrible at it. "'I wish to repent for my evil deeds, and am at your command. What do you wish of me, O great Planet?'"
He ground his teeth together in pent-up fury. "The Planet is not a fan of sarcasm, I see."
Her grin returned, as bright and obnoxious as ever. "Well, it's your fault for being sarcastic with it in the first place, what with the Planet deciding your fate and all."
He dismissed her reasoning with a caustic snort. "You mean to tell me in all your years, you have never once spoken to it in a sardonic manner?"
"Of course I have," she answered. Impossibly, her grin got even wider. "But then, I didn't try to commit genocide before I did it."
He grunted, turning his head away. He was getting lectured by Annoying Flower Girl with an IQ of 12. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He was certain he could have bested her tenuous use of logic, but didn't feel bothered to try. There were more important things at hand. At least, he was assuming so. "So, Cetra -"
"Aeris -"
"- What is it that I am supposed to do?" he finished tersely, what little patience he had left wearing thin. When she didn't answer, he faced forward to see her small, rounded face squinched in indecision. "...You do know what we're supposed to do, don't you?"
She stared up at him with a sheepish expression and gave him a weak half-smile.
In the recesses of his mind, several of his brain-cells committed suicide. "You can NOT be serious!" he exploded. "What kind of a guide are you?"
Patient understanding flooded her features again, and he instantly knew he didn't want to hear it. "I know, I know, the Planet can be vague -"
"Vague?" he snapped. "No, not at all. 'Vague' is what you get when you ask a corner vendor in Midgar for directions. This is incompetence!" He glowered at the ground beneath his feet, not caring how idiotic he probably looked in doing so. "It's no wonder you're constantly being assaulted! Some grand intelligence you are!"
"If you'd let me finish," Aeris began tartly, her authoritative tone catching his attention for her sheer audacity, if nothing else. He could count the number of people on one hand that ever talked to him in that fashion and didn't die by his hand at some later date. Of course, she was already dead by his hand, so he wasn't sure which category to put her in. "Thank you. I was going to say that the Planet is being vague about what it wants you to do because it doesn't know specifically how you're needed, just yet. It only knows that a problem exists, and that you could do a lot of good by helping the Planet solve it."
"If the Planet doesn't know why it needs my help yet, it could have simply waited until it did and then sent me," he corrected sharply.
She pondered his words momentarily. "Maybe it figured that you could be sent to scout the problem from afar and intervene when the time is right."
His expression, disparaging as it was, darkened even further. "If that's the case, why didn't the Planet just send you? You're dead; what do you have to worry about?"
Aeris shrugged.
"This is ridiculous," he hissed, his eyes aflame. He was used to dealing with bumbling idiots. He had worked under Shinra for years, he had to live with incompetence on a daily basis. In some cold, unused part of his psyche, he felt a sort of pity for them. But this... This went far beyond his recommended tolerance of buffoonery. He closed his eyes, valiantly attempting to calm himself.
"So, what do you think we should do?"
His eyes snapped open. He wanted to kill her. Badly. It wasn't as if she wouldn't go back to her little plane of existence anyway. Just one cut, one snap of a vertebrae - he'd die (yet again) a happy man; or something closer to happy. At this point, he'd even settle for simply maiming her or causing her severe discomfort. Something. Anything.
She blinked, slightly unnerved. "What? I was just asking. You're the great tactician."
"And you're the guide," he said flatly.
She smiled self-consciously. "Oh, right."
Somehow, he held back the scoff of disgust. Some guide. He'd get better directions from a monkey. He shook his head, suddenly weary. "Very well, then," he muttered under his breath. "I have nothing better to do, anyway."
Aeris' face brightened as she clasped her hands in front of her gleefully. "So, you'll help?"
Annoyed, he turned away from her and picked up the shaggy blue pelt that had dropped to the cavern floor. 'Yes, rub it in my face, why don't you? Harpy.' "Was that ever in doubt?"
"Yes," she replied.
He very nearly rolled his eyes, stifling a sigh as he draped the fur over his shoulders again. "I'm nowhere near at full strength yet; I'll rest for the night, and we'll make our way out of this damnable cave tomorrow," he decided, settling against a large rock by the crackling fire.
"Everything's damnable to you, isn't it?" she chirped, a grin in her voice.
A migraine began to twist around the curves of his skull. The Planet would pay dearly for this. Even he wasn't deserving of this...torture. "I assume you have no need of rest. Make yourself useful and search for my armor and weapon while I do."
Aeris frowned indignantly. "I'm your guide, not your slave."
He shot her a glare. "My...mission," he spat, "will be made easier with them, and as you know, the faster I succeed, the faster you can return to your little section of hell and talk yourself into a coma."
"I'm not that talkative," she grumbled.
He twitched. If he didn't already have gray hair... "You're here to assist me, are you not? So, assist," he snapped, jabbing a hand from the warmth of his makeshift blanket and into the chilled night air. Hopefully, this time around she would take the hint that this was better for all parties involved. He could rest, and she could be somewhere he wasn't. It was perfect.
She hesitated, her hands against her hips. Eventually, she sighed in defeat and trudged past him. "You could have at least said please..."
Sephiroth shook his head, muttering, "Why would I ever ask for such an unwanted annoyance?"
She stopped, whirling around to glower angrily at him. Her attitude almost reminded him of a Malboro, except she was pink and completely non-threatening. He might have been impressed, had the derisive chuckle not instinctively bubbled from his throat. "If that's the way you're going to act, you can find your own lousy armor!"
"And if that's the way you want to act, you might as well shuffle off back to your precious little Promised Land and watch while your friends are whittled away by an enemy powerful enough to warrant my immediate presence," he shot back, an arrogant leer twisting his expression. She remained silent, a little pink ball of seething rage. "Or would you rather just look for my armor?"
Her dainty fists shook with repressed anger, and with a huff, she turned on her heel and marched out of the dingy alcove. His grin widened, the dim fire catching the contours and casting a wicked shadow across his pale face. 'That felt good.' Shifting to try and find a more comfortable spot, Sephiroth's eyelids drooped and finally closed, the slightest of smirks still upon his lips.
Well, Sephiroth concluded, his initial thoughts had been correct. This was a sick joke, which he was, unfortunately, the butt of.
He adjusted the strap that ran across his torso, finding the groove the clasp had worn into it. While he had gathered his strength - he refused to say he was 'sleeping' - Aeris, Queen Shrew of the North, had successfully located his custom tailored leather coat and tempered steel shoulder armor, citing that they apparently were being used as some Behemoth's snot-rag. However, when he stood and expected her to lead the way, she stood firm and still, her bony arms tucked beneath her bosom in defiance. "I said I'd find them; I never said I'd tell you where they were."
A lengthy argument had ensued, which Sephiroth - though he would rather cut out his own tongue before admitting - found rather invigorating, in a rather psychologically unhinged way. He couldn't fault himself if he were unstable; having died and being resurrected twice would take their toll upon anyone's psyche, and his was about as damaged as it could get. Had he pondered further, he might have realized that he was proud of that, but he had been too engrossed with giving the shrew what for.
He had won the argument by a large margin, and he soon reclaimed his beloved leather trenchcoat and armor from the snarling monster's clutches. From that point, it took him nearly an hour to clean the rancid slobber from the articles of clothing, and nearly a full fifteen minutes to attach and clasp all the necessary belts, buckles, and ties in their proper place, the pink-clad harpy watching with an amused expression that was distinctly non-saintly. So much for her pure white martyr image.
"You fuss with your clothing more than a super-model," Aeris declared cheekily, a smirk tugging at her lips.
He sniffed disdainfully, but didn't bother to reply, choosing instead to direct all his ill-begotten annoyance into a scowl aimed at the cavern floor. 'I despise you.'
"Are you done waxing hatred at your feet, yet?" she jibed.
"Why are you in such a particular rush to leave?" he griped, throwing a vexed glance her way.
"Well, like you said," she began, "the sooner I help you accomplish your mission, the sooner I can leave."
He chuckled contemptuously. "And I suppose the fact that we could very well be running into your little blond boy toy at any given moment isn't another factor in your zeal?" She balked, her pale, rounded face gaping with open shock and resentment. He flashed her a grin that was nothing short of venomous and started off without her. Sephiroth, 2; Bothersome Cetra Girl, 0.
The trip through the Northern Crater was blissfully silent. In actuality, sounds of all kind were echoing through the large crevasses of the snowy cavern, from the subtle dripping of water to the roar and whinny of various creatures that inhabited the open sore of the planet. However, Sephiroth was pleased by the conspicuous lack of sound from his dearly departed companion, and cared not a bit for whatever else was wriggling in the darkness. They wouldn't dare attempt to talk his ear off in an aggravating, high-pitched, nasal whine. (A portion of him consented that her voice was, in fact, nowhere near nasal, but he was more concerned with smearing her image as thoroughly as possible, and what use was the truth in the hallowed art of mud-slinging?)
His heavy boot dropped onto the top ridge lining the Northern Crater, paying no mind to the powerful winds that would have instantly frozen nearly anyone else. The Cetra pulled herself to the precipice, scampering to her feet with all the lithe balancing abilities of a professional drunk. Briefly, he wondered how and why it was that she seemed able to interact with some objects around her and yet still be allowed the undeniably useful ability of phasing through others. Damn the Planet's inconsistency - couldn't it do anything right?
He sighed. "Do you have any information of use?"
Aeris pointed south, her long chestnut braid flailing in the harsh winds. Damn inconsistent Planet. "Icicle is that way."
His gaze remained forward, though his expression went flat with annoyance. "Do you have any information of use that I don't already know?" he clarified curtly. "Perhaps some information donated by the Planet. It would be most helpful."
She shook her head. "I haven't been able to contact the Planet since I got here." He was almost tempted to laugh. She was a medium to the essence of the Planet itself, and she was getting a cosmic busy signal. Just his luck. "The crater itself might be blocking it, somehow."
Distractedly, he glanced at her. "Then why are you still standing here?" She cocked her head to the side in confusion. He tried to ignore the initial comparison he made with a Labrador. "You're a projection of the Planet, correct? If your connection to the Planet is somehow blocked, then it stands to reason that you as well would be having difficulties remaining as you are, and yet you appear perfectly sound. So, I ask again, why?"
She blinked. "Um..."
His head drooped tiredly, wondering why he even bothered wasting his breath. "Nevermind." He nodded at the horizon brusquely and began to trudge through the snow field. "We'll head to Icicle, and figure out what to do from there. That is, unless the Planet feels the sudden need to keep me abreast like it should have done in the first place."
"It was your idea to do this on your own," Aeris reminded him again, easily keeping up as she walked atop the snow drifts without sinking. Damned inconsistencies.
"It was not my idea to fumble around like an idiot and waste precious time because it was stupid enough to take my words to the most extreme literal," he shot back. Damned Planet.
"You're resourceful," she reassured, her feather-light voice somehow carrying through the winds with more ease than his own powerful tenor. His awareness of that only served to bristle him further. "I'm sure you've managed with less."
He was unable to stop the bark of mocking laughter from escaping his wind-chapped lips, though admittedly, he put virtually no effort into restraining himself. "It heartens me to know that if you give me nothing else useful, you have given me your vote of confidence. Now I can sleep at night."
"I thought you said you didn't sleep," she said, caught between confusion and suspicion.
Sephiroth shook his head. She was as oblivious to sarcasm as the Planet was. Wretched fools, the both of them.
Her face lit up suddenly. "Hey, I just thought of something."
"Congratulations," he snarked.
She made a face at him, her nose wrinkling up in what Strife would have assuredly thought was an adorable looking sneer. He thought it just made her look like a rabid squirrel. "What do we do when we get there? People are bound to see us."
"Let them," he returned simply, steadfastly marching through the field of crystalline ice. Anonymity had never been his forte, even if he were capable of hiding the knee-length silver hair, glowing green eyes, immaculate build, and the sharp, aristocratic facial features. If anyone was idiotic enough to come within twenty feet of him, woe to them and half-hearted condolences to their next-of-kin. No, stealth had never been high on his list of priorities.
"But -"
"Even if they recognize us, it's unlikely that they would try contacting anyone for outside assistance while we were still there," he explained brusquely, effortlessly slipping into his oft-missed General routine, his tone commanding and casually impatient.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, though?" the Cetra questioned, hustling next to him with her hands clasped in front of her. "I mean, you tried to destroy the world and all, wouldn't broadcasting your return complicate matters a bit?"
He bit back the sigh. "One; I'm not 'broadcasting my return', and two; as I've already said, even if anyone in Icicle let the outside world know that I am, in fact, alive again - and that's an outside chance at best; Icicle is isolated, and the townsfolk would sooner face impending doom than risk losing their all-important privacy - it would take weeks for word to travel far enough to hamper us, and longer still for people to care enough in order to believe it."
"You have a really cynical outlook on life, don't you?" she quipped.
"Life is cynical," he retorted. "Or haven't you already noticed that?" She blinked, taken aback. Sephiroth, 3; Cetra Witch, still zero.
"What if someone there tries to stop you?" she queried, her voice wavering with a sudden worry that was easy to spot even through the howling winds.
He remarked, "Only a fool would try to stand in my way." He cast a pointed, meaningful glare in the Cetra's direction.
For once, the notion wasn't lost upon her. A delicate eyebrow arched. "I guess so," she replied slowly, with a calculating edge to it that he found mildly disconcerting, "though I don't think I need to remind you who actually won that fight in the end, hm?"
Sephiroth's piercing blue-green eyes narrowed dangerously. Damn her! He inwardly railed against the fact that she had a point, but more so was enraged that she ruined his chances at a shut-out. Begrudgingly, he scraped a single tally under the 'Bothersome Pink Shrew' column, grumbling all the while. He glimpsed at her out of the corner of his eye, and caught the hints of a smug grin on her pale cherubic face.
He scowled. Life was indeed cynical, and, much to his chagrin, had the devious, morally bankrupt sense of humor to match. He glared at the ground again. 'I really despise you.'
"You're waxing hatred at your feet again."
"Shrew."
Icicle was bustling, or about as much as a pathetic ice-covered hamlet could bustle in the middle of February. In a blizzard. One that just so happened to start raining down icy doom upon Sephiroth the second he got within sight range of said pathetic ice-covered hamlet. Oh, how he loved life. The meddlesome, vindictive bitch.
"Well, we're here!" Aeris exclaimed happily, staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.
He wearily glared back through his own half-lidded ones, snowflakes piling onto his long silver lashes in the most pestering fashion; nevermind the snow that caked his hair, armor, clothing, and bare skin with enough speed that even his highly adaptable body couldn't keep up, lest he char-broil his own brain in the process. 'No, dear guide, that's quite alright - just continue to stand there and smile happily while your charge freezes to death in front of you. Imbecile.'
She blinked. "What? Aren't you glad we're here?"
A puff of steam escaped his nostrils, not unlike the way a dragon would react to an outsider's unwanted presence before devouring them whole - if they were lucky, and he stomped to the Inn that was, thankfully, only several yards from where they stood. (Or, more accurately, where she stood, and he hardened into a Sephiroth-shaped ice statue, complete with rigid, commanding pose. Destructive weapons sold separately.) "After arranging a room and waiting for the storm to pass, we will head out to gather the necessary items," he divulged as he tromped, ignoring the way the words came out slightly slurred due to his numb face, nor particularly caring if the pink witch followed or not. Dead people didn't have to worry about frostbite.
She nodded wordlessly, if a bit nervously. He would have sneered at her tendency towards the overemotional, but found that the effort it took to speak a single sentence was draining enough. He settled for glowering with disapproval. He unwound his arms from around his torso with more difficultly than he would have liked, reaching out and yanking the front door open to slip inside.
Delicious warmth assaulted his bone-chilled body, his pale and tightly drawn face prickling from the sudden heat that it desperately needed. In reality, it hurt like hell, but he didn't care. Warmth was warmth. Shaking out some the snow from his ridiculously long locks, he strode to the astounded man behind the counter, squaring his shoulders to hide his haggard appearance. He reluctantly motioned to the untouched waif of a girl next to him. "We would like a room," he said authoritatively, his fiery gaze letting the owner know in no uncertain terms that he should keep his mind out of the proverbial gutter and on the task at hand.
In response, a confused countenance crossed his hardy, graying features. "...Eh, 'scuse me, lad?"
"We. Would like. A room," the ex-General repeated, his tone volcanic.
He quailed at the dangerous timbre of his voice, but none the less replied, "Erm, who would?"
A low growl bubbled up from his parched throat. "Who do you think? Me and the girl."
The alarm grew in his sunken brown eyes, but it wasn't the kind of 'obey me or die' fear Sephiroth had been going for - it was the more recognizable, 'Who let this lunatic out in public?' fear, and for all his pride and ego, he couldn't say that he missed the look. "Wh-what d-do you..." he spluttered.
Impatience and fatigue won out, and he slammed his fist on the lacquered pine counter. "Out with it, old man!"
The gray-haired coot jumped and sucked in a breath. "What girl?"
To be continued...