25: What Will Come
"If you do your best... to be who you want to be…"
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"Damnable Planet. Damn you..."
"Sephiroth…"
A waterlogged Sephiroth sat at the edge of the small dock, eyes practically boring whirlpools into the water. He ignored Vincent as the gunman cautiously stood some feet away. Sighing in a wave of defeat rivaling his own anger, he rotated from the now calm pool and flopped onto his stomach on the cold, concrete floor. The wing at the lofty man's shoulder seemed to go limp, as though relieved at this turn of events.
Water dribbled out of his pale bluish mouth in streams. This marked the second time Sephiroth had been 'killed' by a summoned spirit lying in wait for him. If not for his strength, the water would've torn him limb from limb, and unlike his other injuries, dismemberment took longer to heal, and sloppily at that. He coughed and panted if only to pressure the water from his body. The liquid in his lungs pulsed with annoyance, as though ten pound weights made of gel bobbed inside them.
Taking a deep breath and spitting out a bubble of water onto the floor, he whispered, "This isn't good, dead man. She was supposed to have been mine again by now…"
"This isn't good for anyone," Vincent said, dropping his chin low against his chest. "If she truly is what you think and want her to be, and they keep up what they're doing to her... then we might have another crisis on our hands. Of what proportions, I can't assume."
"I just need her back. The world can go to hell for all I care. With her, I can just rebuild it, perhaps the way it's meant to be." Sephiroth smirked, sitting back straight and wiping the acrid water from his chin. He got to his feet, feeling the heavy wetness mold his hair and pants to his skin. He groaned, surprised by the pinch of chagrin at his face. Surviving being drowned by a summon was nowhere near a triumph. Failing to catch the damned scientists counted as even less. "Mother, you drag me down…"
Vincent sighed, "I'm going to see if someone can get an I.D. on that craft while it's still in Junon's waters."
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"I've never hit a dead end like this before," Vincent said, morose. "We lose track of something, we're right back on top in no time. What makes this any different? Is our luck running out?"
"I think we used it all up in Meteorfall," Tifa answered.
"Hmm…"
"I wonder what Sephiroth's doing. I'm surprised he's left you alone after losing those Shinra scientists."
"He's out there."
Two ungodly weeks had passed since Noah and his group fled into the depths of the sea, leaving a darkly dissatisfied Sephiroth who vanished a day later; an equally unsociable Vincent; a flustered WRO dealing with random monster strains popping up on the main and eastern continents, wreaking havoc; and lastly, a befuddled Tifa who had no idea how to deal with the situation. Unhappy with the current standpoint of things, they both retired to Edge for a bit of recuperation.
Tifa reopened Seventh Heaven in the meantime, to keep herself busy while they awaited any news on Noah's whereabouts. The mercenaries and abandoned personnel Reeve had accosted were little to no help in the matter. They were either all belligerent as doorbulls or so detached and tightlipped about what they knew that they might as well have been lobotomized. This left everyone at little more than a loss but purpose remained. The uncertain, underlying gravity managed just enough to make them want to stay on their toes.
Vincent rapped his fingers on the glass of Corel bourbon he nursed at the counter. He stared into the amber-colored liquid and sighed deeply. He considered having a drink a guilty pleasure not indulged in since his days as a Turk. But he needed it. Stress was getting to him. He didn't want to wait anymore.
"I can't help but feel worried," Tifa said, butting in on his thoughts. "Like, and I know it doesn't sound like the most humane thing, but... the man needs a leash. Without that woman, he's... crazier. And I think that's only putting it lightly."
"If he's done anything, Reeve would've contacted us," he replied.
"Murder can go unreported, too, you know."
"Sephiroth boasts little to no discretion. So I doubt it."
"Let's just agree to disagree," the woman grumbled, snatching up a towel to wipe at some mugs. Then she quickly sat them down again. "I'm going to go check on the kids at Johnny's and then look for Barret. If you wanna come, now's the time. If you're staying in, lock the door behind me, won't you? Can't have the daytime drunks wandering in just yet."
"I'm staying."
"Well, then, don't get too lonely," Tifa said in a smile. "I'll be back after a while."
She wiggled her fingers goodbye at the man, then casually strolled out the front doors. Vincent got up behind her and spun the locks home, then returned to his stool at the counter.
The musty air of alcohol and sharp odor of citrus-scented disinfectant muddled up his smaller thoughts clustered around the large ones. He squinted up at the shadowy interior of the empty daytime bar and glowered. What was there to do? Edge was enjoying its albeit shabby prosperity, yet to be hit by the mysterious rash of monsters. Nothing to fight here, nothing to protect. For now, for just that moment, he'd sit and drink.
"I'm sorry," Vincent murmured softly to his drink. "We'll find you soon, we'll get you back."
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No one came for Alexander Quelin.
He understood that very well.
That was the consequence he reluctantly accepted in agreeing to slow down the opposition for the greater good. He made this sacrifice in being caught. So that Saristis could harness the power of the Planet and make a better world for humanity in its blood. And hopefully, in the process, he'd get cured of his Mako poisoned state.
It was all he ever wanted, ever since he was a kid.
He knew Mideel wasn't a very safe place to live in. It was peaceful but it wasn't safe. People knew that yet continued to live there, mindful of the fact that the entire town could fall into the Lifestream at any moment, but treasuring their lives away from war nonetheless. He understood that, too. But when he fell into an unexpected pit that opened in the back of town, that understanding, that reality, warped. No matter where he lived, nothing seemed peaceful anymore. It was only pain. And in his home, especially, the pain nearly drove him to death.
As Quelin sat in a holding cell at WRO headquarters, the past was all he could ponder. In Junon, the pain was thankfully at its least, with most of the Lifestream driven away to the very limits of the city. It was to here a decade and a half ago that he had been shipped away, for treatment and eventually for use. Thanks to Shinra doctors, he was almost no better off than he was now. He was still stuck in his bodily prison, but at least he could hear people talking again, though he could barely answer.
Sitting there, Quelin mulled over Saristis' promise. It wasn't really a promise, but he had nothing else to hope for, nothing else to cling to. He was declared a lost cause. He'd been left alone to die whatever death would take him. Until Saristis' intervention. Under the guidance of the red-haired scholar, he felt he had a chance. But, in being caught now…
"Momma…"