Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy.

Shorter chapter?!

Observations

Sephiroth was thoroughly annoyed.

It certainly improved his mood when Paige's father left – finally – but other things were soon in place to keep his annoyance growing. The problem was Paige. Although she obeyed his every whim and made an effort not to bother him – or let him bother her – the fact still remained that she was abnormally expressionless. The most limit-breaking change of her face so far was a slight widening of her eyes.

Even when observing her in the corner of an eye – feeling dark vexation at her constantly bored expression – every time she watched the news with him, she remained the same. No matter how horrible the news were, or how unique and entertaining the adverts attempted to be, she stared blankly at the television screen. It was like watching an abnormally old woman trying to make sense of modern satellite and television technology.

The only explanation was that she was deep in thought.

Dad, soon, I will have to sneak into your house and permanently destroy your telephone and your cellphone, Paige thought, paying no attention to the sounds, voices and colors on the TV screen.

And why would she have to destroy her father's means of communication? Because he was doing something suspicious. It didn't have anything to do with Sephiroth, she guessed, because this had been going on for a long time already. She had already been suspicious of him for a while. Every time she asked him for one particular thing, he excused himself and went to call somebody. And after that, the one particular thing she wanted suddenly became out of the question.

The one particular thing she wanted was to learn martial arts.

Her theory was that every time she mentioned this wish in front of her dad, he called all the martial arts instructors within the radius of thirty miles and told them not to accept her as their student if she called them. He was being overprotective. He was being a doting parent.

That old, paranoid man.

Her eye twitched and she slowly clenched her teeth, but otherwise her face remained as dull as usual.

How had she not seen this before? It was too suspicious that none of the martial arts teachers she called became reluctant when she told them who she was. What had her dad told them about her health that would make them act like that? Had he told them she was weak and frail and that her bones would dissolve if somebody hit her?

In any case, she was getting desperate. So it was about time for her to swallow all of her pride and ask a certain person for help.

"May... I..." If at all possible, her voice tasted like poison at what she was about to ask. Her face felt like stone.
May I call somebody I know to ask a favor? It was a simple request. If only she hadn't disliked the person she was planning to call.

But... Sephiroth was a general.
Didn't generals know martial arts, too?
Wouldn't he know how to teach others?

"What?" demanded the evil elf, who was no elf, but rather a scowling and illegally beautiful human.

All right. Time to change my question.
It was worth a try.

"Do you know how to teach martial arts?" she asked, sounding almost depressed.

"...Yes."

"Can-"
"I will never teach you," he interrupted, his words sounding utterly final.

...She had a hunch that even if she were to ask again and again – or beg, cry, even – he'd never change his mind.

"...Fine. Then... may..." she started, returning to the question she had originally planned to ask. Silver-hair stared intently – his turquoise-like eyes piercing hers with suspicion.
"May I call somebody... To. Ask. For. A... favor." Asking this was painful.

Hopefully, calling that guy would pay off. Or even better, maybe that guy wasn't even home, and somebody else answered.

"Who, and for what?"

Lovely. He was asking her to explain. To clarify. To go into detail.

"...A classmate whose father is a martial arts instructor." Neutral terms. Good.

And Sephiroth didn't seem to mind. Maybe because then he wouldn't have to worry about her asking him to be her martial arts teacher.

And so, fifteen minutes later, Paige was holding her cellphone to her ear while muttering complicated, creative curses directed at herself while desperately hoping her classmate wouldn't pick up. Her face still felt like stone.

Let his dad pick up the phone. Or his mum. Please.

"Plea-"

"Hello?" sounded the soft voice on the other side.

Oh, crap. It was her classmate. Not one of his parents or anyone else in their house. Paige's finger hesitated on the hang-up button. For a second, she considered faking her voice, but knew – of experience – that he would recognize her anyway. Maybe this was not such a good idea. Her blood was boiling.

She had better make this fast.

"Hello," she said in a dull voice, but the greeting did – unmistakably – sound more like hell-ow.

"...Paige?" was the breathless response.
"Uh, yes, sorry to call you so early, but I need to have a word with your father."

"Huh, really? About what? My dad won't be home for a while, maybe tomorrow. Is something wrong? ...Can I help?" he asked, every word filled with hopeful happiness.

Personally, she was scared half to death.

"...No. It has to do with your father's work."
"I can leave a message!" he offered.

The question now was if he would do anything within his power to help her, or if he would do everything he could to prevent her from learning martial arts because he was afraid she would get hurt.

"Fine... I... I would very much like to present a request which involves me as a student and your father as a teacher." How awkward and stiff that sounded. It was on purpose, she told herself.

He said nothing.

...That made her panic.

"Listen, this means more to me than I can ever hope to explain. I'll pay in advance if that helps, and even if I get sick or if there's school tests or exams the day after training, I'll never skip training."

Still no response. Perhaps her fast, monotonous monologue had frightened him. She continued:

"If mum forcefully drags me to attend one of her aunts' weddings on the other side of the world, I'll be back before training – I won't be late. If dad forbids me from coming at all, I'll go to court against him, because I'm old enough to do so. I promise to behave and show respect in front of your dad. To the very best of my ability."

"...Wow." He didn't sound like he was mocking her. On the contrary; he sounded like he was in awe. It gave her the chills.

"And for future reference, I am not begging you," she added.

"Really?" This time he didn't sound convinced.

"Yes, really. I am begging your father. If he still refuses to take me as his student, I want you to warn him that I'll be waiting for him in front of his house every morning. Every time he leaves, I'll touch my forehead to the ground in a bow and beg him, without shame, to take me as his student. Until he gives in." There was something a little more serious than usual in her voice. Just in case her face decided to betray how she felt, she faced away from Sephiroth. He was undoubtedly listening in.

"...Okay. Trust me, Paige! I'll make it happen – without a doubt." She almost gagged at his words. The way he said them made it sound like she was leaving her life in his hands just so he could dye it pink, dust it with heart-shaped glitter and soak it with love-potion perfume. Like he was super-honored to have such a task bestowed upon him by her.

"Thanks, Solomon. Bye."

Before she could hear ecstatic remarks about how she'd spoken his name willingly, and before he could say something disturbingly friendly and nice, she hung up.
For she was terrified by his honest kindness.

Sephiroth was actually amused – if only slightly.

Paige left her cellphone on the kitchen counter as if it were covered in nuclear waste, then turned and walked back to the two-seat sofa. Sephiroth, sitting in the three-seat sofa, observed as she sat down. If at all possible, she looked even more sickly and worn-out than he had ever seen her before. She looked more dead than alive.

Whoever Solomon – her classmate – was, Paige obviously wanted distance between them.

"You wish to learn martial arts," he stated. Her icy eyes didn't move to him.
"Yes," she replied, her voice dull.

"You have anaemia," he added. She frowned very weakly and looked straight at him, this time.
"Yes."

"Your anaemia makes you weak."
"...You're implying that I won't be able to cope with the hard training?" Her face was still a stiff mask. Her cold eyes were another matter.

Sephiroth chose not to reply – silence spoke for him.

"I carried you all the way from that dreaded, stony river," she said, claiming to possess at least a shred of strength in having done so.
"True. But did you not stop several times on the way down?"

...If possible, her face hardened.

"That was because I was tired from running all the way up there." He could see her resolve wavering as she looked away from him. "But... It's been a while since I had a real workout. I think... I think I'll have to do something about that."

And so she slowly rose and left the room.

He had never thought that what she was currently doing could be so disturbingly entertaining. He couldn't help it - when Paige had left the room, he'd followed her outside to see just what she was planning to do.

In the overgrown garden, she had unearthed an ancient lawn mower.

With it, she was currently massacring all the grass, weed, flowers, bushes, small trees and everything else of the like, as long as she could get the choking, loud lawn mover close enough to it. The monstrous thing made more noise than a trailer, and must be abnormally heavy, for it was made of metal - which by the way was extraordinarily rusty. To add to it all, the garden was not flat and even, but slanting upwards. The ground was covered in scattered, moss-covered stones and old tree roots that went in the wrong direction.

And still, Paige pushed the lawn mower forward with such ferocious intensity that it seemed a wonder she didn't trim the trees, house and outhouse while she was at it.

But her face remained a stony mask.

He couldn't help but wonder how she could keep that expression intact even through such a fierce effort. Surprisingly, despite flying twigs and stray stones and dust, she remained unharmed. Shouldn't she at least appear slightly tired? She was covered in dry mud and green patches from grass, and because of the sun - and her endeavors - she was sweating. Even so, her face remained in that mask of stone she so insistently maintained. Why was that? Surely something psychological had to be the explanation. To create distance, perhaps?

Then again, perhaps her personality is simply like that, he mused, watching her slaughter the things in her garden that were unwanted.

R.R.

Mfu-fu-fu (since I dunno what else to say).