I told you, it takes me forever to write things. :p
Godsent, Regrettably
By: SilverKnight
Chapter 3: Death to the Waiting Game
"Twenty-four hour service, my ass."
- Sephiroth
Sephiroth blinked. "What?" He mentally noted to try and speak more eloquently when thrown completely off-guard, though he consoled himself by saying that he had little experience in the field of being clueless and was allowed a few errors in handling the reaction. It didn't help much.
The look the codger was giving him intensified. "Eh...I hate to tell ya, lad, but, erm, you're the only one standing here."
He spared a fleeting glance at Aeris, conveying this thoughts quite clearly even though they made eye-contact for a split second. 'What in the hell is going on, and why are you not doing anything about it?' Quickly, his sharp analytical mind began forming likely explanations, none of which he liked in the slightest, while taking in a very slow, measured breath that the old man behind the counter would have taken as guarded worry. "I suppose she did not enter with me," he lied effortlessly. "I should go search for her."
The wrinkled tender nodded. "Aye, ya should, lad." The idiot fell for it. He wasn't certain whether to be impressed at his own lying abilities or amazed at the old man's stupidity. "D'ya want me to help an' search -"
"No!" he replied instantly, followed by a hasty, "That is, perhaps it would be best if you were to remain here in case she is to arrive while I'm looking, in case she is in need of medical attention."
Aeris smiled warmly. "I didn't know you cared."
"I don't," he snapped, immediately catching himself as the codger blinked. "Um, I don't believe she will require much aid, if any at all. She is a very..." 'Annoying, useless, idiotic -' "Resilient individual."
Warily, the graying man nodded. "Alright, lad. You look out for y'self, now!"
"Indeed," was his only reply as he strode to the door, and ever-so reluctantly left the safety of the warm cabin and stepped out into the unforgiving snowstorm that raged outside of it. No sooner had the door clicked shut (with a very stout, plated shoulder backing it) than he wheeled around to face the bemused Ancient next to him. "Answers. Now."
The corners of her lips turned into a worried frown. "I don't -"
"Don't say it!" he commanded in full-fledged General-mode, with the 'Disapproving Superior' add-on set to 'Shoot the Messenger'.
"But -"
"Don't!" he repeated, pointing a warning finger at her.
"I mean I -"
"Don't!"
She exhaled sharply. "Will you be quiet?"
Astounded, he momentarily fell silent, mouth hanging open in mid-refutation.
"Man is that annoying," she hissed under her breath. "I was going to say -"
"What did you just say to me?" he asked, still incredulous. No one, not even those who were masochistic enough to dare interrupt him, ever did so in such a blatant manner. 'She has spunk.'
Aeris snorted. "And you think I don't listen? Pay attention!"
The minute glow of his Mako-eyes brightened. '...I hate spunk.'
"I was going to say that I don't think I can contact the Planet from here," she continued with a tone that was simultaneously arctic and blazing. "So if you really want those answers so badly, I'm going to have to return to the Planet and figure out what's going on." She fixed him with a glower that would have melted steel. "Is that alright with you?"
Thrown off guard by her sudden and uncharacteristic hostility (he blamed the damnab - er, rotten snow), he blinked and queried with mild disdain, "Since when are you so combative? You always seemed the eternally quiet and sweet type."
The anger dissipated from her face, and she shamefully turned away, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she mumbled.
"That doesn't answer my question," he prodded expectantly.
She shrugged, fiddling with her hands. "Well, it's just...I mean..." She sighed. "I'm really sorry."
"That still doesn't answer my question," he retorted, annoyed.
Aeris looked at him, a small frown tugging her lips. "Fine. You're bossy, rude, and...well, a flat-out jerk. Why am I so combative? Why are you so combative?"
He took a breath to answer when he surmised that he had none on hand to give. Barring the string of horror stories that only a fool would call a childhood, his grueling training regiment to get into SOLDIER and rise through the ranks, and his near constant physical and emotional alienation from everything that even the most disreputable of humanity was allowed to have without difficulty - no, he couldn't think of a reason at all. Then his extremities demanded why he was even bothering with this argument. "My communication skills are irrelevant," he stated. "And anyways, I asked first."
She sighed exasperatingly, attempting to pin him with a glare. It didn't work. "You could try the patience of a saint." She glanced away again. "And saint I'm not."
"I know." He smirked slightly, in spite of the various nerve-endings of his body that had gone on strike and were currently picketing outside the front door of his Cerebellum.
She looked up curiously. "Know what? That I'm no saint, or that you're a pain in th -" She cut herself off when his gaze darkened. "Um, very stubborn."
"How long will it take for you to confer with the Planet?" he asked instead.
"Huh?" she grunted softly, staring at him. Again, he was unable to ignore the Labrador/Aeris comparison. "Oh! I'm not sure. It doesn't take too long to move from one plane to another, but I don't know how long it will take before the Planet can answer me." She smiled understandingly, and Sephiroth, through sheer force of will, kept his eye from twitching spasmodically. "The Planet has more things to attend to than just me, after all."
"Hmph. Enjoy your stay in the waiting room," he quipped frigidly, a bored expression crossing his features.
Her brows knitted. "Waiting room?"
Somewhere, he realized he was looking forward to oblivion. Home sweet hell. "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to find out what the devil's happening?"
She frowned. "You're welcome." Her attention drew inward as she clasped her hands in front of her, in an oddly familiar way that made his fingers itch with the urge to wield his precious Masamune again. The Cetra's emerald eyes began to glow brightly, and he wasn't certain whether he actually saw or was just imagining the green light bouncing off the snow particles that passed around - and through - her. She sucked in a breath, her form winking out in the same fashion a hologram would.
After spending a moment silently celebrating that the witch was gone, even if it disheartened him to know it was only temporary, Sephiroth steadfastly ignored the protests of his limbs and focused on what to tell that codger behind the counter. He tapped a finger to his chin in thought, and as was often his way of working through dilemmas (though luckily no one ever caught on), he unconsciously posed his current predicament as if it were a problem on a written exam.
Question: If your only means of shelter was a small hotel run by an idiotic old man that had believed you to be out finding your companion that had apparently never been there, how would you answer his initial response of, "Found anythin', lad?"
A) The simple lie. "She never existed, and was simply a figment of my imagination." No.
B) The complex lie. "I couldn't find her, and she's probably dead by now, anyway, so I'd like to take a room before I suffer the same fate." No. Tempting, but no.
C) The Fear of God tactic. "Mind your damn business, you old coot, if you want to live to see tomorrow." Hm, it had potential...
D) The truth. "She was a ghost projected to aid me by the Planet." Good Lord, no.
E) Other. (Please Specify Below)
He sighed, the plume of steam being dragged away in the harsh winds. Stepping back inside, he gathered what part of his wits hadn't been frozen solid and looked at the tender, only to belatedly discern that he had spent the past five seconds gaping at the wall instead of his leathery, wrinkled face. The ex-General blinked, then scowled as deeply as his muscles would allow, disliking how sluggish his reaction time was becoming. He was trained to react instantaneously in any environment; perhaps all that time spent in Death's domain had changed him, somehow...
'Yes, death usually makes one weaker,' he snapped to himself. Another might have been disturbed to realize that they were arguing with themselves, but another also might not have razed a town to the ground or attempted to destroy the world. Conformity was for losers, anyway.
His ever-acute ears pricked up at the sound of a faint radio whine, followed by static. His head snapped in the direction of the white noise, eyes narrowing at the ajar lacquered oak door. He stole to the front desk, and seeing no easy bypass around the four foot tall pine counter that arched from wall to wall, he planted his hands on the bar-top and vaulted over it, landing in crouch that looked more feline than human. The slit pupils and aquamarine eyes that seemed to reflect light like a mirror when caught at a particular angle certainly didn't help in that regard. Silently, he made his way to the cracked door, leaning forward to hear the words more clearly.
"...Aye, a tall fellow in black..." Pause. "...Aye, he's an odd one. Scary fella, really. Not sure if I shoulda let him out there alone -"
The old man was calling for help. He resisted the urge to swear.
Option C it was.
Sephiroth launched from his position, crossed the cramped, disorganized back office in two strides, and slammed the flat of his palm against the plump little man's chest; sending him back into his wooden chair with a heavy thump as his cheap headset went flying. Without pause, one hand jammed down the 'Mute' button while the other brandished his trophy claw-turned-dagger and pressed it to the graying man's throat. "What do you think you're doing?"
The tender, shocked, winded, and terrified beyond all reason, simply stammered and wheezed; cataract eyes glassy and wide.
"Listen carefully, old man," he began, his voice a vicious growl deep in his throat. It paid to have a baritone. "I do not plan on making my appearance known in this frozen-over little squat on the Planet, nor do I intend to do so anywhere else. Know that I have no inclination to harm you." Honestly put, he didn't feel the need to waste the effort on killing him; washing excess blood and ichor from his clothes and hair was always such a hassle. Rancid Behemoth snot was nothing by comparison. "However, if you jeopardize my anonymity in any way whatsoever -" He leaned in, letting his silver locks fall into his ardent blue-green eyes ever so slightly - or they would have, had the melting snow not plastered his bangs against his face - as the bone dug fractionally deeper into the man's fleshy neck. "- I will be forced to reconsider that."
The codger found his voice, shaky as it was. "I-I was just -"
Faintly, he heard a voice waft from the discarded headset. The coot's eyes frantically flickered over to them and back. Sephiroth repeated the movement himself, sans the mind-numbing fear, and carefully reached for the apparatus behind him while he kept eye-contact with his new-found hostage. After fumbling for half a second, his fingers curled around the thin aluminum band, and he brought one of the itchy, black-padded phones to his ear, listening intently.
"...Merv? Merv, are ya there? ...Where should we gather the search party for the girl?"
A silver eyebrow arched. "Search party?"
Fervently, Merv nodded. "A-aye, a search party! F-for your lady friend out there!" He gulped. "Ya left before I could ask if ya wanted anyone else to come with ya or not, so I decided t' call for some others to help ya look, anyway."
A good Samaritan. In this day and age. Just his luck.
Question: Now what, stupid?
A) The simple lie. "...I was looking for the bathroom?" He would have rather eat dirt than use such a lame excuse like that.
B) The complex lie. "I'm being hunted by the authorities of, well, everywhere, and I believed you to be contacting whatever local police force you have in this area." No, then he might have tried contacting them at a later date. Even though he could just kill him. Bah. He marked it as a 'maybe'.
C) The Fear of God tactic. "Mention a word of this to anyone, and you'll be spelunking a Malboro's stomach before the day is out." Obviously that wouldn't earn him brownie points, or most likely get him anywhere productive, but he still kept the option open.
D) The truth. "I'm an ex-meglomaniac that you're miraculously not aware of, and if anyone knows that I'm back again, my hide will eventually wind up adorning a monument somewhere." ...No, needless to say.
E) Other. (Please Specify Below)
"Search party," he repeated flatly.
Merv nodded.
He was unused to the concept of being wrong; he disliked it. A lot. Swallowing his pride was not his forte, nor in his best interest (or the best interests of anyone else unfortunate enough to be within a ten mile radius of him, either), but for the sake of keeping the peace, he forced down the swell of revulsion and slowly pulled his weapon away. "...I see. In that case, I...apologize. I - we - have not incurred many welcome stays once word got around of our arrival." Blankly, he noted he was winging Option E with the skill of a habitual liar. He pretended not to hear the chiding voice that told him he was one, or the notion that he had finally gone completely insane, if he was hearing voices that didn't belong to a parasitic mind-controlling alien; which - amazingly - seemed more normal than the idea of paying heed to one of those 'conscience' things.
Merv rubbed his throat, warily staring up at him. "Aye, I can see why, lad. Ya might wanna work on your interpersonal relation skills a bit. If ya ask me."
"Which I don't recall ever doing," he replied sharply, the unspoken threat quite clear.
The coot swallowed uneasily. "Er, uh, aye."
"And you can call off your search party," he continued, his voice once again a smooth monotone. "No sooner had I walked out the door than she called me via PHS and informed me that she was going on ahead to Bone Village and that we would meet there." He could have winced at how flawed that lie was. Any fool could have seen right through it. Even the fool right in front of him.
Merv tilted his head to the side warily. "Kind of a long way t' go for a little lady like that. Especially in a storm like this."
"Like I said, she's resilient," Sephiroth countered, an edge to his voice that brooked no argument. When all else failed, scare them into submission. "I assure you, she'll be quite alright."
Merv gulped again. Message received loud and clear. 'Good simpleton.' "...Aye, alright then, lad. Would ye like a room, then?"
Brusquely, he nodded, biting down the instinct to shiver uncontrollably as a chunk of gushy, melting snow slipped from the crown of his head and into the collar of his coat, while concurrently ignoring the little voice that said he should have killed the man for that single stupid question alone. The gene pool would do much better without his strain. He could only hope this man had no children. "Yes," he huffed, teeth clenched. "I would."
Two days, six hours, thirty-seven minutes -
And why was he counting?
Sephiroth growled quietly as he arose from his bed, the rustic (and quite possibly rusted, as well) box-spring squeaking quietly in response. He needed something to do. The past two long and miserable days had been spent with an aching slowness while he waited for the blizzard to subside, and he was nearing the end of his proverbial rope, patience-wise.
When he had arrived in this room, he had kept himself busy by trying to find out everything he could about the world around him, and learned that the world hadn't really changed at all. Only two or so years had passed since his untimely demise, Shinra was still in power - though how it remained in power, now that Midgar was a glorified scrapyard and all of the company's senior staff was apparently dead, was beyond his understanding - and corrupt, and the general populace was just as ignorant and blind as they'd always been. Then, after wondering why he should waste his energy saving these cretins, he began attempting to formulate possible strategies, though it was nigh impossible with so little intel to go on.
Eventually that, too, wore thin, and he was reduced to looking for things to keep him busy. However, with his luck in tow, the snowstorm of the century refused to relent, and even if he did venture outside to a nearby store of some kind, they probably wouldn't have been open, anyway. Even the perennially open restaurant at the end of town closed shop until the storm passed. He snorted in annoyance, flopping back down onto the tiny bed at the corner of the room, resting his head upon his interlaced hands and closing his eyes. "Twenty-four hour service, my ass."
Strangely enough, he remained silent as if expecting a reply. Two tick's of a clock later, and he came to the realization that he was. He almost slapped himself, an ugly scowl on his face. His slightly paranoid nature told him the Planet was conspiring against him to purposely make this as difficult as possible for him, and while paranoia classically had less-than-desired results (such as the time he believed that he was a Cetra and that humanity was out to kill him and the Planet, leading to their very-near demise, ahem), he wouldn't put it past the Planet to pull something as stupid as a snowstorm on him while time was, he guessed, of the essence. And if time wasn't of the essence, and he was brought back here early to suffer that wench's mouth and disgustingly cheerful nature, so help him, someone was going to die.
Speaking of which, what the hell was taking the Cetra?
Not that he longed for her company, of course. Really, it was best that she was dragging her non-corporeal feet in obtaining the information so vital to whatever was going on. Had he been stuck in a room for two days with her there and completely unavailable for killing, storm or no storm, this town would have been reduced to one large pile of smoldering debris, a la Nibelheim. Strife would have appreciated the irony of that, he was sure. Strife. He wondered where that spiky-haired nuisance was. "Hopefully dead," he replied to himself, unaware that he had answered his own question.
With a sigh, Sephiroth forced his muscles to relax, crossing his leather-clad legs; right over left. There was nothing he could do but wait at this point. With no information, no foreseeable goal, and most importantly, nowhere else to go, he silently resigned himself to lying in bed and lazing away the hours. In other circumstances, he might have found it a refreshing change of pace, possibly even a taste of that blessed normalcy he'd never managed to grasp, as it always seemed to run away screaming whenever it got within sight range of him. He couldn't blame it; everyone else did the same, and rightfully so. Had he gotten his talons into it, he would have most likely jostled it to death while demanding it to get Hojo and those idiots at Shinra off his back.
He paused, then brought a hand from under his head and ran it wearily down his face, his long fingers stopping to massage the bridge of his nose. Now he was speaking of an abstract concept as if it were a person. Was there some kind of medication for this?
Off-handedly, he opened his eyes and stared for a split-second at the flower girl's cherubic face hovering above his own.
Then, in a distinctly graceless and un-Sephiroth-like manner, he yelped and shoved himself away with as much force as he could muster, which unfortunately, was more than enough to grant the crown of his head an audience with the wall some ten inches from the edge of the bed. From that point, he tumbled to the floor arms first, coming to rest with his body from the knees up crumpled awkwardly in the small crevice, which was enough to stand and maneuver in but hardly enough for a grown man's body to lay.
And, much to his dismay, he soon learned that he was stuck. Damn it all.
"Are you alright?" Aeris asked, not even attempting to hide the laughter in her voice, he noted with a sneer.
"Don't do that," he snapped, suppressing the urge to cough as he inhaled musky, dirt-filled air that was kicked up from his fall. He reached for the bed's edge, but the tangled mess that was his upper body twisted too much to allow the leverage needed. Damn this bed; why was it so high off the ground? Absently, he looked at the mountain of fluffy gray dust-bunnies that caked the ground beneath the box-spring and wrinkled his nose distastefully. The tender really needed to take a broom under there.
She circled around the bed and stood a few feet away, gaping down at him as if she were about to burst into tears. 'Tears of laughter, no doubt. Damn her.' "Do what?"
His sneer deepening, he made another grab for the top of the bed. It failed. "What do you think? Staring at me like that!"
She blinked, her coral lip twitching of its own volition. "I was just looking at you, that's all."
He decided to switch tactics, and shifted with a slight grunt, his right hand fisting into the deep green top sheet. "Any particular reason you couldn't have looked at me from a farther distance?" He pulled himself forward, sliding only six inches before the sheet gave weigh and sent him crashing to the hardwood floor again as the thin blanket gently fell upon him in waves. "Dammit!" This was humiliating beyond all belief. Though, for the first time, he began to see an upside to the whole 'she couldn't be seen or heard by anyone except him' thing. There was no need for extraneous force or use of blackmail to keep her quiet.
To other people, at least. No way would he ever be that lucky.
Through the shoddy stitchwork of the sheet, he saw the Cetra bite her lip in an attempt to stop a giggle. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
He ripped the green blanket from his head and clawed himself from his momentary prison, all while timing his words to his forceful, jerky movements. "Startled, not frightened. There's a big difference."
Her hand went up to her lips, a mock-innocent look on her rounded features. "If you say so."
He snarled audibly, bounding to his feet, mouth open in a biting retort when the sound of a fist pounded upon the solid oak door. "Everythin' alright, lad?"
His glowing blue-green eyes shot to the door angrily, as if staring at it could make the fool go away so he could speak his mind without interruption. "I'm fine," he answered indignantly.
"What happened?" Merv continued.
"Is it vitally important that you need to know?" he retorted.
"Y'could be hurt, d'ya need me to call a doctor?" the coot responded.
Anger was swiftly replaced by a deep, seething contempt for Merv and all of his brethren. How could anyone be that stupid? "If I were injured, would I be talking to you right now?"
"Y'could be delirious," he offered.
"Oh, for God's sake -" Sephiroth stormed to the door in three incredibly long strides and yanked it open, witnessing Merv's arthritic fist primed to knock again. "Do I look delirious to you? Do I sound delirious? Do I appear in any way out of sorts whatsoever?"
Merv shrank back. "W-well, y-yer eye's twitchin' -"
"And that bodes a great deal of ill for you, I can assure you," he growled, fists curled at his sides. "Allow me my rest; I am perfectly fine." 'Take the hint, you senile old codger.'
He nodded shakily. "My a-apologies for disturbin' ya, lad. Sleep well!" With no preamble, the graying man all but ran shrieking for the stairwell.
He found himself smiling slightly, though to most people it would be described more as a slightly more friendly and/or feral grimace. He was never one for niceties. 'They always do run screaming.'
Pushing the door closed, he turned to face the pink nightmare that was his appointed guide, finding her sitting on the edge of the bed with uncharacteristic meekness. Frowning, he filed the odd behavior away for later, and huffed, "Well?"
She glanced up, her expression perking up again. "What?"
He couldn't believe she was his only source of reliable information. "What have you heard? Why did that old codger pretend you didn't exist?"
"Oh, right," she muttered, nodding once. "Well, he didn't see me because, to him, I wasn't there."
"I gathered that much," he shot back, crossing his arms. "Get to the point."
"The point," she replied, frowning, "is that since I'm basically an extension of the Planet and since no one else has Cetra blood, you're the only one who can register my being here."
"You're saying I'm the only one who can see and hear you?" he demanded, brows furrowed. His pale face twisted in agitation, hissing, "That is the dumbest -" He turned his glare to the far wall aimlessly. "The Planet's lucky it has no natural predators!"
Suddenly, the annoyance on his sharp features dissolved into a stoic equivalent to curiosity as his piercing blue-green eyes darted back to hers. "Wait. No one else has Cetra blood? As in, I do?"
She nodded amiably. "At least, enough to see and hear me."
His arms dropped to his sides as he tilted his head to the side, gathering his words carefully. "You mean to tell me that I'm part Ancient; that I was right all along in that respect?"
The Cetra assented, her movements becoming guarded. "In that sole respect, yes."
He gazed at her through slit-eyes, harshly appraising her body language for any sign of insincerity. When he found none, he paused momentarily as he digested what he had been told. Then he gave off a short bark of laughter, throwing his hands up in the air resignedly and shaking his head. "Why not?" He sucked in a breath, sighing. "So, have you learned anything else aside from our apparent common bond?" 'Ugh, we have a common bond he realized, biting back the groan of utter disgust. As if what he read in the hidden basement of the Shinra Mansion wasn't disturbing enough, now he had to have similarities with the pink witch in front of him - well, that extended beyond their general choice of hairstyling their bangs, and that had been loathsome enough a parallel.
A small smile flickered on her lips like a weak flame atop a partially melted candle. "Which do you want first? Good news or bad news?"
"There's good news?" he quipped as he leaned his broad shoulders on the door, crossing his legs in a look of non-chalance. "Very well, let's hear it."
"The good news is, the Planet has given us a lead," Aeris stated, the same wisp of a knowing smile on her face.
He turned his head to stare at her more fully, his interest piqued. "That is good news," he responded, keeping his voice a monotone and skirting wary disbelief. "And the bad news?"
Aeris stood, her smile widening. He was going to dread the answer she was going to supply, he just knew it. Unaware, he held his breath. "But, the lead isn't going to be someone you like."
Acool cloud of foreboding settled over him. "What are you talking about?"
Her grin grew further. He didn't like how it showed off her canines. ...Why was he paying attention to her canines? "You're going to have to follow a lead to save the Planet, but the lead isn't going to be someone you'll willingly want to follow."
He scowled. Why, oh why, did the Planet choose her as his guide? "Enough double-talk, woman. Just tell me what it is I have to do."
Her large emerald eyes danced with mirth. The shrew was enjoying this. Once again, he resisted the urge to render Icicle to a smoking crater in the ground. She curled her arms behind her back in that annoyingly cute - 'Cute?' - fashion. "Who is the one person in the world you'd hate to take orders from?"
"Hojo," he supplied automatically.
"One who's not dead," she clarified.
He started to reply, then snapped his mouth shut as he mentally ticked off his latest hit-list.
Shinra - dead.
Hojo - dead! (Little hastily scrawled picture of stick-figure Sephiroth doing a jig with a big grin.)
Scarlet - dead.
Heidegger - dead. (Little smiley face.)
Palmer - very dead. Thank God.
Shinra Jr. - probably dead. At least maimed, if he believed the rumors.. (Little stab marks littering his name.)
Strife -
Strife -
His eyes darkened. "No." She continued to smile. "No!"
The Cetra nodded, still grinning that 'I know something you don't knooow' grin, somehow knowing that she would be cackling right now, if she had it in her. Miserable little shrew. "Yes. If you want to save the Planet -"
"And I don't," he groused under his breath.
"- You're going to have to find, and eventually follow, Cloud Strife."
To be continued...