19: The Body Bites

"It does." -Drana

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"Vincent, I can't believe you-"

"I think that goes without saying."

"It's SEPHIROTH."

"It's for Drana, bear with me," Vincent entreated with a reluctant glance in Sephiroth's direction. As he stood between him and Tifa, a guarded tension began to swell. She stood with a hand pressed firmly between her breasts, as if something rested there that she felt the need to hide. Glancing back to Sephiroth, his feline eyes were notably devoid of any emotion as they regarded the woman. Vincent couldn't help but feel unnerved, himself. Their bond was so unnatural and unsavory and hastily and sloppily forged, he was surprised to see no one yet dead in the room at that very moment.

The stench proved yet another challenge: the spiked, oozing black wing jutting from Sephiroth's shoulder belched a stifling odor that seemed to want to coax his company to pass out on the floor. But they gave their best efforts to fight it, ignore it. Still, it was difficult; when the ooze fell on the carpet, it steamed on the fabric, blackened it, and caused it bubble, inciting other smells equally as putrid. The mortified Tifa tried to urge the unwelcome visitor elsewhere with dagger eyes but he never budged.

He watched her; he watched Vincent.

"Why... why is he like that anyways?" she whispered.

"'Technical difficulties.'"

"Eh?"

"His words," he nodded. "I didn't ask."

"So you're in cahoots with him now... to get Drana back."

"Regrettably," Vincent sighed. "I know it's a partnership made in hell but I had no other choice. I'm simply human now, although not without a few tweaks left over; I had to bargain for my life." Yet he admittedly found it exhilarating to know his life was really on the line for something as important as the Planet itself once again. Tifa's misunderstanding in his statement looked obvious enough on her face. How could he explain? But he knew she was smart; she'd figure it out on her own.

She exhaled and glared at Sephiroth once more. "So what does that mean? It, it means you're stuck with him?"

"More or less."

"On the contrary," Sephiroth voiced quite suddenly. "He need only show me the way and I'll get her back myself."

"Of course that's not happening," Vincent retorted.

"Because you want to help Lucrecia," Tifa added.

Sephiroth broke from his lonely stance, everything about him flaring with enormous intensity. The gunman instinctively reached for his holstered weapon, ready to subdue the other in whatever way possible. He waited for him to make a move but nothing happened. Instead:

"That... wench of a doctor? You, what are you hiding?"

To Sephiroth he uttered, "Lucrecia's inside Drana. I want to save her."

"So now I see your pathetic little angle," the other scoffed. "Trying to rescue a wretched lingering dreg."

"You know, Vincent, now that I think about it," Tifa interjected with a worrisome frown, "your motivation seems a little... out there. Are you really sure Drana has Lucrecia floating around inside her? And if so, what then? You save her and she thanks you... by turning into Lucrecia and going away with you and loving you forever and ever? That sounds a bit too romantic, even for you. And I don't think that's you. At all."

"You might be right," he said, his voice so laden with defeat that he could have collapsed into a pile of flesh at his own feet. But the idea wasn't as far-fetched as Tifa seemed to think. He realized Lucrecia brought that rare romantic nature out in him. For years it laid dormant beneath Chaos and distant memories but now, it saw a chance in recovering what had been lost, a poor, ridiculous chance. However, it was just enough hope, just enough faith. "... Lucrecia or not, I'm indebted to Drana. I have to do something."

"Hmm." Sephiroth smirked darkly, at the same time wincing under the burden clinging to his arm like a malignant tumor. His company huddled farther away from him, musing between each other their upcoming plans and the unwelcome addition to what they could hardly call a team.

"The faster we get to Drana, the easier it'll be to keep Sephiroth in check," Vincent whispered hastily. "There's no doubt he'll become more unreasonable the longer they're separated, so I think it's time we blow things out of proportion."

"I'm still waiting on a word from Reeve," Tifa told him, shrugging. "Who knows when he'll call back? So, I think we're gonna be hoping for lots of windfalls."

"Windfalls are all we have."

-

Tifa had departed to rest her weary and slightly burnt bones. Vincent, earlier refreshed by Sephiroth's rare healing touch, untiringly sat in one of the rear rooms away from the nosy workers who weren't busy actually getting some sleep at this wee hour of the morning. Sephiroth himself followed the raven-haired man like a shadow beast, overtly sizing him up from a corner of the same room he occupied. He wasn't about to let this man out of his sight, not even for a minute. He grinned invisibly, marking down each detail of weakness he could assemble from his inspection.

So human, it hurts, he surmised in secret.

With the overgrown bat dispatched to the unknown, Sephiroth saw that this man posed no more danger to him than any average monster, but with a gun. Alone, he'd be easy to murder. Even with his female companion, or if their entire team of heroes had gathered once more to fight him, an edge was had: An advantage and privilege he'd been granted over the course of nearly two years. It was more than a trump card, it was the clincher for overcoming all obstacles that came or would come his way. The people around him as mere parts of mankind were their foremost weaknesses that he saw working in his favor.

Sephiroth fought back a chuckle while watching Vincent all the more intently.

The gunman sat on a stool next to the wall, staring back in an uneasy fashion. Lofty feline eyes fluttered over the black and red form, still deliberating on a pleasant way to get rid of him once everything was over and done with. Sephiroth remained aloof in his corner, but a smile crept upon his lips, to which he was sure Vincent regarded with real fear.

He spied the other man's lips part only a bit.

"What are you doing?" he asked finally.

Only that smile answered, wordless but devious.

"Sephiroth, you can stand there and look evil all you want, you can't scare me," he declared, his body tense all over and lamentably belying what he'd just said.

"Lying isn't healthy, dead man."

"I'd never give you the satisfaction," rebutted Vincent, juggling two cell phones in his hand. He checked both but to the dismay on his face, not a call had gotten though. He then slouched uncomfortably on his stool, packing them away in his holster.

Sephiroth quietly drifted up next to the man, staring down at the top of his head. In the short moments that Vincent hadn't yet noted his presence, his closer scrutiny continued. But no coherent thought seemed to materialize, rather bits and pieces, instead. The only prominent bit and piece he managed to fully retrieve had been the name Lucrecia. He inexplicably bristled, raising a silent hand upon Vincent, not yet knowing how this action would turn out. Then the gunman turned his face up to Sephiroth's, his red-brown eyes solemn and perhaps cross.

"Drana's right," he muttered. "You're learning. But you're slow, too slow. Prodigious at one thing and a failure at another. At the rate that Shinra interferes as well, I could judge correctly that you're but a lost cause. It's a shame that she still cares, still hopes when she doesn't realize that…"

Sephiroth snatched his hand back, his human eyes briefly sparking through his dark exterior. The gunman flinched for a second, also seeming to sense this tiny change in the other, which made him rise from his stool and step back entirely. Sephiroth bristled even more, this time redirecting it against Vincent's words. It had been a while since anyone managed to push his buttons the way this man did. Acting as if he knew things, assuming such that hit a little close to home, spiting his pride.

"No one decides if my cause is lost or not but me," he hissed as usual.

"Did you decide to come back to life on your own?"

"I will not be a memory, I will not be the past, I am-"

"Will alone can't cut it, Sephiroth," Vincent interrupted. "There's power, too. You should know that. No, there's always an outside force, and guess what? Drana's it. She made you and she could probably take you away, too."

Sephiroth thrust his hand slick with ooze at Vincent's neck, snapping him between his fingers like a fairly helpless insect. His face was creased with immeasurable pain, wondering in severity why this man would ever want to slander him and his very being. Other than his birth, he held steadfast the reins of his life. He controlled everything, so why not mastermind his own comeback? Why not this and why not that?

Sephiroth began to reel inside his skull. Dizziness struck him fast, shaking Vincent from his fingers and dropping them both on their hands and knees. Through grit teeth, he babbled, "What's going on? How can I... lose it so quickly? Drana, yes, I need Drana. She will fix me and I'll... show you all."

"Se, Sephiroth, you make, you make her sound like some gods-forsaken drug," Vincent struggled to say from alongside him.

"She is more, she is Lifestream," he corrected with a broken smile. "She would kill lowly humans like you... but me... I…"

"You realize... you sound like an addict? Or an idiot, whichever is more appropriate to the situation... " Sephiroth glowered at Vincent as the man labored not to laugh in his face. A murderous hand reached out again for the gunman but bit back the urge.

"A pity you humans would never understand."

"And you do? You're human. Or you were."

"Same old song and dance…" He grunted and hoisted himself to his feet. "I need her back. Then the sooner I can get rid of you. Well, get to work, dead man."

"You really should stop calling me that."