Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy.

Thanks a thousand times for your reviews! (Hahah! You seem to like Solomon just as much as Paige does!)

Before you read this unusual, SUPAH-long (for me, anyway) chapter, please rest assured that I'm just an author (with a little bit imagination) and not some terrorist. Heh...

Elaborations and Presidents

Paige had rarely felt more restless.

Every day she received at least one call from her family. They (mostly her mum or dad) would ask how she was doing, try their best to comfort her, and sometimes end up trying to stifle their tears. They had already visited her once. Bell was the only one who still behaved as usual – she didn't understand what leukemia meant (or death, for that matter). Her brother Benjamin was the complete opposite. Instead of spending his time carelessly asking her for matches or other things he could use to make 'bombs', he sat awkwardly with her parents and glanced occasionally at her, looking broken in his own way – avoiding her eyes when she looked back, keeping from talking so his voice wouldn't break, and avoiding to go outside while they were at her house. And although she felt bad admitting it, she had felt better after they left.

Whenever she had nothing to do, she got angry with herself for wasting away her time.

Today was one such day – until she turned on the television. But even when she realized the seriousness of the situation, all she could do was gawk with shock and stare on like a fool.

Recently things had been abnormally calm. Shinra's fiends were disappearing, one by one, even without Sephiroth's help. Back in the small town in which he currently stayed in hiding, nothing at all seemed to happen. There was nothing for him to do – apart from go to work, apparently. Even that was not nearly as interesting as it had been in the beginning. By the looks of it, the students were getting used to him, and despite a long Christmas vacation (including all the Christmas food) they were working harder than ever. The only one who almost openly challenged him was Solomon. He had taken it upon himself to repeatedly tell Sephiroth to let Paige take it easy during the P.E. classes. So far, though, all Sephiroth had done was to order Paige to do only what she had the energy to do. She didn't listen – she only worked harder. Apart from his work, though, there was practically nothing with which he could occupy himself. To him, everything seemed more dreary by the day.

Sephiroth found that time had never passed more slowly.

That is, until he walked into the living room and saw Paige goggling at the television. He turned to the screen. Very soon he caught the gist of it – and it was no laughing matter, that was for certain. In fact, it seemed utterly (and suspiciously) impossible.

But it had happened all the same, it would seem.

Two news anchors were interrupting each other with a non-stop stream of exclamations about the US President. By the sound of it, he had been taken hostage. The captors were foolish enough to have arranged a live video, which they were broadcasting via an internet page right now. The video was being shown (and commented about) by the news broadcast channel Paige was watching. Its quality was so good one could easily see the faces of the evildoers. In the middle, the President stood on his knees on a snow-covered platform with a bag over his head, his hands tied behind his back. He was leaning a little at an angle. His shoulders were shaking with cold, or perhaps fear. No wonder. He was surrounded by his abductors, whose warm breath formed visible plumes of smoke, and who circled around him.

But something was off. According to the news anchors, the kidnappers had revealed their exact location. Surely somebody was going to rescue the suit-clad Head of State sometime soon.

"They're terrorists. They announced earlier that they were gonna kill him," said Paige, frowning at the screen.

"If that is so, why are they stalling?" he questioned, his eyes locking on a particularly interesting feature of one of the kidnappers – his eyes were not that of a human. Sephiroth was certain of it.

"They said they'll do it six o'clock," Paige replied, but Sephiroth was only half listening.

The kidnappers were not human. Their eyes were red. Surely somebody else must have noticed that this was something else than just colored contacts. These were not men, but fiends. Just as Sephiroth drew the conclusion that Shinra might somehow be involved, one of the terrorists walked forth through the snow and seized the camera.

"Let's show you what we're prepared for!" he said, his voice a raspy, deep snarl as he turned the camera and let it sweep the surrounding area. And sure enough – below the small platform on which they stood, a horde of fiends in the shape of both beasts and men were standing at the ready, stretching as far as the camera could see. Hundreds of them were jam-packed, standing restlessly around the platform, stepping down the snow with audible crunches. A dim fog hung above them – maybe created by their breath. As they watched, one rather large dog-like creature closed its jaw around a smaller fiend and started shaking its head furiously back and forth, ripping it apart and killing it. The attack was answered immediately by gunfire from each of the armed 'men' in there. The fiend was dead before its victim had fully vaporized in a cloud of pyreflies. It didn't faze Sephiroth – he had seen so much worse that he subconsciously waited for them to show him something more horrible.

"Before you can even get here..." started the fiendish voice, and this time, the picture changed. The platform was showed from several different angles, from different cameras placed on top of makeshift stands around the wintry area. They couldn't have chosen a more deserted place – from the looks of it, there weren't any roads there. Just a snowy hill, surrounded by dark forests. "...We'll have killed this guy." And the picture changed back to the first camera, which was put back on its stand before the President.

"Sephiroth!" said Paige suddenly – from right by his side. His head snapped to her, his eyes narrowing in surprise. She was staring at him openly, standing so close of her own volition that he was given a fresh reminder how pale she really was. Her light brown hair framed her face, slightly ruffled, and her forelocks hung in a sharp, horizontal line above her eyes. Her icy orbs pierced his with a determination that could easily equal that of those who had once worked under his command.

"... What?" he demanded, feeling rather like a superior in the presence of his subordinate. That only lasted for a second, however – it simply felt out of place.

"You have to save him!" she said, her hands curling into fists as she kept staring at him.

Whatever was this about? Sephiroth's eyes narrowed.

"Why should I?" he asked, colder than he had intended. At that she cringed away some. A short silence ensued.

"Yo. Ridin' tha storm." The parrot in the far corner of the room shifted on his T-stand. Paige glanced at the bird, then turned to Sephiroth again.

"I would do it myself, if I could fly. Or use magic."

Sephiroth arched an eyebrow.

"Without knowing the first thing about how to fight the opponents?" he questioned her.

"Yes. With enough speed, I might even be able to get him out of there before they kill me! Others could take it from there!" she declared.

"... And why, exactly, would you want to die for the President?"

Fame? Glory? Acknowledgement? A simple wish to do something worthwhile before her death?

"It's-... It's- It was one of my greatest wishes, that's why!" she blurted awkwardly. Her gaze flickered uneasily. "...Guess why I wanted to train karate!" she continued. A rosy blush was building in her cheeks, and she averted her eyes while frowning.

… How would he know such a thing? Was it not to protect herself against Solomon and others at her school?

"Because... I wanted to, well, my ambition or whatever you may call it, was to be able to protect," she said, her voice weakening significantly towards the end of the sentence. A full, healthy flush had made its way to her face now. "It's a bit embarrassing, but... to protect my siblings, or at least my little sister..." Her voice disappeared and she turned away a little, as if thoroughly regretting what she had said. Sephiroth, on the other hand, was amused. What did her sister have to do with the president? To tell the truth, though, she had a long way to go before she could protect anyone properly. She would need strength and persistence. Given enough time, though, she might reach her ambition.

But she hardly had time.

The thought of it made him restless. He didn't like it.

"I see," he said, thinking.

He hadn't though about just how little time she had left. A few months? Before that, she should do what she pleased. A faint, distant memory of the men he had seen killed in action appeared before his inner eye: how their fellow soldiers had done everything they could to make the last minutes of their friends as good as possible, which was hardly good at all. In the beginning Sephiroth, too, had tried. As the years went on, however, he had stopped. It might be harder for Paige to cope with impending death than a soldier, though – she was younger, and not a soldier, after all. Then... Should he help her by fulfilling this one request? Frowning, he though of the sauna he had recently built. Paige hadn't noticed it yet. It was behind her house, covered in deep snow. In a way he had already done something for her.

If he did her this favor also, she would owe him.

"Please," he heard her say, her voice soft and quiet. Her face was different – vivid and pleading and determined and even slightly angry all at the same time. Strong. Insistent.

"I'll do anything," she added.

"...Anything?" he repeated, unable to keep a trace of mock out of his tone. She needed to be more careful with her words. That said, though, whatever could she do for him?

"Anything," she confirmed.

"I will take your word for it, then." After he had spoken, they stood still for just a moment, then he turned and left the room.

Paige watched in confused wonder and thankfulness as Sephiroth left the room. Soon he returned, carrying something vaguely familiar... A black- and white-patterned bed sheet. After some long seconds she recognized it as the one that she had seen the 'flying man' carry in London. Sephiroth caught her look and gave a low chuckle. He had something else also: a simple, black hood. It wouldn't hide his face that well, nor his hair, that was for sure, but it couldn't hurt to try. By the looks of it, he wasn't planning to dress up just because he was going to save the president. But still, Shinra... Wouldn't Shinra know for sure it was Sephiroth, if he showed himself like that? Her eyes travelled from his hood to the patterned bed sheet.

"What's the bed sheet for?" she asked.

"...It's for the President."

Paige's eyes bulged. She might as well drop the mask pretence now, since she'd been so expressive all day. Despite herself she could already imagine it – the President sitting in the bed sheet, with his head peeking out and his face saying "This is slightly unusual. This is slightly unusual indeed."

And then, after pulling his black hood over his head and seizing his great sword, Sephiroth left.

It was simply pathetically easy to find their 'hideout', if it could even be called one.

They had pretty much revealed their location to everyone already, since they were so far from population (and so high up in the mountains) that nobody would get there in time anyway, even with helicopters. Also, they were in Canada, not the US, so there was a slight chance preparations had to be made before sending in jets with men in parachutes or blackbird planes or some such. Still, what use would an airplane do? The 'terrorists' were nothing else than fiends – monsters sent by Shinra. Perhaps the Shinra President had made the Turks abduct the US President. The mere thought made Sephiroth scoff – they could not have made it more obvious that this was all a trap, a bait they had gotten their hands on only to lure out Sephiroth. Why did they think he cared for the well-being of the President? He had come here for only two reasons. One, to kill some fiends; two, because Paige would now owe him something which he had not yet decided to claim from her. What did she have, that he could want?

That aside, the number of monsters below him was ridiculous. From above they looked like a black mass. Insects. Would one of these creatures be able to put a gun to good use if somebody were to come here in time? It was an open area, with only a large, flat platform in the middle. On it – apart from snow – were a few man-like fiends and the President. Below the platform fiends of all shapes, sizes and strengths surrounded the single human. On his way here, Sephiroth had seen helicopters all over the place: military choppers, television teams, and ambulance helicopters. None of them dared come too close, for fear that the President would be killed. He had seen humans on the roads closest to this area, too. Almost half of them had been busy talking in their cellphones. Had they nothing better to do? No ideas, even? None of them had seen him – he was far above them all, with his sword in one hand and the patterned bed sheet roughly folded and tucked in the other. He knew what to do, though. Somewhat. As long as the President survived, that was all right for Paige, was it not?

Smirking as adrenaline surged through him, Sephiroth dove at the speed of sound.

He landed in some snow covering the sloping hill overlooking the horde of fiends, and continued by sliding down through the snow and raising his Masamune out to his left. Hearing the snow shuffling and crunching, fiends quickly turned, one by one, to see who was approaching. For now all they could see was the darkness and the shadows outside the dimly lit platform. Sephiroth, as soon as he reached the edge of their makeshift camp, came to a stop.

With as much force he could muster in one blow he swung his sword in a horizontal line.

Before him, heads were split from their torsos and torsos from legs, and for a second it looked rather like a massacre – with blood spurting everywhere – until the fiends vanished in clouds of pyreflies. The slash of his sword had carried much longer than that – even the platform gave a worrying creek and fell down slightly at one side, with a noisy jerk of metal. Amid the dying monsters, the rough stands on which the video cameras stood had been sliced apart too, and they had fallen into the snow. No doubt people all over the world were screaming with frustration when they couldn't follow this live from several angles. At least one camera was left – the one at the platform itself.

Sephiroth was on the platform before any of the fiends there could raise their weapons. Consciously facing away from the camera, Sephiroth stepped before the President and swung his Masamune towards the man. He could only imagine (with some satisfaction) how many gasps could be heard across the globe as he did – but his aim was not to behead the man. The brown bag on the President's head fell to his shoulder and continued to the snow at his knees. Horror-stricken, the man's eyes focused and he stared straight at Sephiroth. Still, he remained silent, his eyes flickering about as he frowned deeply – to the camera, to the place where he had no doubt heard the fiends die moments before, to his sides to check if there was anyone left except Sephiroth.

Something red caught Sephiroth's eye.

One of the remaining fiends had a materia – a burning red one, at that.

"A summon?" he asked, his mocking voice carrying easily through the silence.

Before long, the chilly, blue snow around them gained a red, warm hue as the summoned creature appeared, quickly descending from above. It seemed to be one of the Bahamuts. As it stepped upon the platform, the platform gave and cracked below its feet, then fell. Not far, but it gave Sephiroth enough time to throw the bed sheet at the President while bringing forth a materia of his own.

With a twist of his hand and a surge of energy he let the spell work: A dark sphere of black sparks and what would certainly feel like gravity-changing barriers grew right in front of the dragon-like summon and exploded at its feet. The beast reeled back as the scorching magic and the freezing wind blew in its face – and his own, too – and it growled in anger and pain as the Ultima spell took effect. Sephiroth repeated the spell. This time the summon fell back, but soon it snapped its head towards them with a deep, rumbling snarl. Then it opened its jaw and revealed the flare which was building in between all his dark, long fangs. Sephiroth knew he could withstand it, but the President? Death by magic flare was not something that could be easily explained to the media.

Displeased for a moment at what he was going to do, Sephiroth stepped in front of the US President, who was already standing upright with the bed sheet wrapped around his shoulders, the end trailing in the snow. The flashing flare erupted from the throat of the great summoned creature and streamed towards them. Sephiroth launched another Ultima spell at the same time, to counter and protect, but together the two magic attacks seared his skin for a moment, then everything went silent again. Sephiroth scowled at the glowing eyes of the beast.

Shinra meant to beat him with this? He half expected Turks and Soldiers to appear any second. Perhaps the summoned beast was a diversion.

Rushing forward at the beast, Sephiroth held his Masamune down, and let it cut upwards into the beast's guts, and onwards, through ribs and lungs and throat and horned jaw and, finally, head. Its head snapped up and blood spluttered in scarlet rivulets up in the air for a moment. Then the giant dragon went still, its jaw slowly dropping open. Then, with a thunderous crash, it fell to one side and momentarily blinded them as thousands upon thousands of pyreflies swarmed and scurried away into thin air. The silence that followed was broken as Sephiroth turned to the President in the crunchy snow. The important man was frowning, speechless at what he had witnessed firsthand.

Then, in the distance, he heard engines. Shouting men were coming closer and headlights crossed the top of the hills.

Paige was watching with her heart in her throat and awe filtering through her entire body.

Before her eyes, and before the eyes of everybody else watching the live news broadcast, Sephiroth had slain a monster the size of a dinosaur. A dragon, with horns up its back and around its head and down its jaws, with bony wings and scales thick as armor. Tiny, beady, glowing eyes had locked on Sephiroth and the President and then drowned them in a flare of colored flames. For a moment she had thought they were dead, or at the very least mortally wounded, but Sephiroth had done something, some magic, that had shielded them against most of it. Magic that was much, much stronger than the little magic tricks he had shown her before. And then, with an uppercut-like flick of his sword, he'd sliced the dragon in two, like a celebrity might casually wave away persistent interviewers. It was positively terrifying.

And extremely awesome.

Just as the first helicopters appeared over the hill and Sephiroth was about to take his leave, he saw something rather disturbing. In between ambulance helicopters, news broadcasters' helicopters and military choppers, he spotted a few Shinra logos. They probably pretended to be reporters or photographers, or some such. With a sneer, Sephiroth turned on his heel and adjusted his hood, then strode over to the President and tore the corners of the large, patterned bed sheet from his hands.

Then he took off, and the President fell over and into the bed sheet, with a surprised exclamation. Then they were in the air, Sephiroth holding his Masamune in one hand and the President in a bed sheet hanging from his other hand.

Before long, Sephiroth whizzed through the air past the helicopters, some which which quickly turned and took chase.

"No!" Paige yelled, annoyed and angry. No cameras were following Sephiroth anymore, even though they were trying.

Sephiroth had taken the President with him. Getting abducted twice a day was enough of a feat, but by a flying man? That was something she'd like to see, to watch closely. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to will the cameras to find Sephiroth in the dark skies they were filming. Surely carrying the President would slow him down enough for the helicopters to keep up? Even so, something told Paige she might have to wait a while before Sephiroth appeared on TV again. Perhaps all night.

"Keep walkin' and ya can't get far, whereva' ya are," John Smoth rapped.

Any other person might be screaming and shouting with fear and surprise and even anger, but the US President was remarkably calm and still. In shock, perhaps. Sephiroth had glanced down at him a few times to check if the man was even conscious. He was, but a look of profound confusion – which sometimes changed into deep concentration – was on his face. Perhaps he was thinking of how to explain this in a credible way. Sephiroth stepped in the air to increase their speed.

Then something raced past them with the sound of thunder.

His eyes darted forward – all he saw was a black spot far ahead. A military airplane, perhaps?

"That's-" started the President, but then Sephiroth took a sharp turn south and increased his speed as much as the President (and the bed sheet) could handle. His Masamune twitched in his left hand, at the ready.

Since Sephiroth was not at home, Paige had allowed herself to be rather immaturely attached to the television screen. She was on her knees before the small thing, so close that the light from it stung her eyes. The suspense had tired her so much that she had already fallen asleep many times, but she'd woken up before she hit the floor, luckily. But from what the news reporters said, Sephiroth was being watched. How, she had no idea. Maybe satellites? In any case, she was on the verge of drooling with anxiety.

What if Sephiroth had kidnapped the President for some purpose only he knew of?

What if Sephiroth hurt the President?

No, what if Sephiroth brought the President back to her house?!

"Hnn," she muttered, as if in pain. "No..."

"Your favorite record has gotta go," squawked John Smoth hoarsely, for a change. Until now, he'd been muttering something along the lines of "I'm hot 'cause I'm fly, you ain't 'cause you not." She guessed it had something to do with the fact that John Smoth had watched Sephiroth fly on the TV.

For hours he flew, and for hours yet he watched and listened as airplanes and fiends and whatnot flew past him. Although it was dark, he had a fair guess they had other means with which to keep him under surveillance. They knew his position. To be quite honest, though, he was getting rather impatient, and bored. If it weren't for all the baggage, he could have moved several times faster. By now the President had attempted to speak up a few times. Sephiroth felt a certain degree of satisfaction every time he chose not to answer.

But now they were getting close to the destination of his choice.

The White House.

He could think of no better place to drop off the President. It would be very much like an open challenge – Shinra would no doubt be troubled, and certain people within Shinra would be even more annoyed.

The first thing Paige noticed when she woke up, was that something was stuck to her cheek. When she moved she realized it was the living room floor, and started up. Pain travelled up and down her neck, and she was cold from sleeping with no blanket, but her focus was elsewhere. Her eyes tried to focus on the screen.

An incredulous sentence passed across the screen: Flying London man kidnaps the President – Is heading towards the White House.

"What?!" hissed Paige, two fists punching the floor. John Smoth woke up at that, and quietly rustled his feathers.

Sephiroth was back on the screen, and – thank goodness – it didn't seem like he'd been planning to bring the President back home to her place. Why would he, anyway? The White House was obviously more suited for this kind of purpose. Helicopters and soldiers were already all over. Perhaps they'd predicted Sephiroth would come there, if he'd been moving in a straight line for a long time. In any case, Sephiroth – face still obscured by his large hood – was about to land.

He was levitating in mid-air above the roof of the south face of the White House.

Not a single one of the news anchors or reporters spoke a word. Paige was holding her breath with them. The suspense was understandable, in this kind of situation.

Sephiroth stepped down on the roof and let go of the bed sheet, which was right by his side. Already dosens of soldiers appeared in various places on the roof, but Sephiroth paid no heed. Oh, how she wanted to know what he was thinking, or perhaps saying, or what the President would do, or anything else that would serve as a mild enlightenment. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting John Smoth to break the silence, but the parrot had turned his back on all the suspense and was eating his bird food. When she turned back to the screen, all the soldiers on the roof were aiming guns at Sephiroth. Paige went cold.

Sephiroth watched the President get to his feet and shrug his shoulders a little. Despite the circumstances, he managed to look just like usual – if anything, he simply looked tired. In the corner of an eye he also saw black-clothed men surround them, each holding a gun of their own. Below them, in front of the garden, were hundreds of cameras and even more reporters, all utterly still. In the garden itself, other armed men were stationed. Above, helicopters loomed and circled around them. Among them Sephiroth couldn't see anyone from Shinra. No wonder – now they could watch him live from any television in the world, no doubt. The thought made this all seem almost worthwhile. But what now? The US President looked like he wanted to say something. Before that, however, he stepped away rather uneasily, to remove his feet from the bed sheet. Sephiroth turned to him fully, and as he did the silence strengthened tenfold. All the soldiers on the roof, and others yet on the frosty lawn below, held their fingers on the trigger.

Some might think Sephiroth was a good man who had just saved the President, others no doubt thought he had other intentions, and that the President was in danger. While some wanted him dead, a few others may look upon him as a being belonging in a lab, or some such.

"Let the President walk over here!" said a loud voice, with more authority than Sephiroth liked. The man who had spoken stood by the flag pole on the middle of the roof. He had no weapons of his own.

"Wait," said the President, who then turned and faced Sephiroth completely. The man was somewhat shorter than him, Sephiroth noted absently. Yet he holds more political power than any other person in the world holds. If one counts only the people who have gained power by legal means, that is.

"...Thank you," said the President, trying out his grounds. Sephiroth raised his head, scowling darkly from within his hood. He hadn't done this for the President, after all. One half fearful eye flickered from his face to his Masamune, which didn't seem to help a lot. "Thank you for rescuing me," he repeated.

Another silence ensued, during which the man dared to hold Sephiroth's glowing eyes.

"...Is there anything you wish for in return...?" suggested the President. In return for having saved him, or in return for letting him go now? The President wasn't sure about that himself, apparently.

"No." There was nothing he could give Sephiroth that would be of help.

The unarmed man by the flag pole raised his voice.
"We have more than two hundred soldiers pointing their guns at you! Let the President come here quietly," he demanded.

Sephiroth frowned.

"Calm yourselves!" said the President all of a sudden. "This is the man I was rescued by, and I will not turn him away before I can somehow pay him back. Tell me," he said, turning to Sephiroth once more, "you are the man who appeared in London, and who disappeared in thin air afterwards? Am I correct?"

Then a shrill bram sounded as a gun went off – from the lawn below. Even before the bullet got halfway, Sephiroth had turned around and confirmed his immediate suspicion: the man who had fired was no doubt working for Shinra. Sephiroth recognized his weapon.

The second thing that occurred to him was that the bullet was heading for the President, and not for himself.

Unsurprisingly the President's eyes were all that had moved yet – he didn't even know who the bullet was heading for. Sephiroth lunged forward and swung his sword, easily flicking the bullet away before it could do harm. The bullet ricocheted off his blade and spun into the air. The Shinra employee – red-eyed and with a fiendish air about him, aimed again and started shooting madly. Sephiroth scowled at the attempt and hit the bullets one by one with his sword. Already, he could see people goggling at him. Growing annoyed, he raised his sword and brought it down. The slash – airborne now – carried down towards the man-like fiend and sliced him in half. Before long the creature vanished in a cloud of the ever-so-familiar pyreflies of dying energy. All that was left behind was a deep gash on the frost-covered lawn.

With goggling eyes and some flashing cameras, people kept staring. This time the quietness did not last, however. Behind Sephiroth (and the President, for that matter), he could hear people and weapons shifting as they prepared to open fire.

"Please, let us come to an agreement!" interrupted the President, his voice raised. "Just calm down," he continued as he slowly turned to face Sephiroth. He didn't look fazed – not judging by his face, at least. His hands were halfway up in front of him, either to protect him or simply to underline his point. That said, he seemed to want to step away. Only will, and perhaps pride, kept him. "You rescued me. There must be something I can do to prove my gratefulness?"

There it was, in his face and his voice, and even in the way the man was standing – a speck, a small trace of the President's familiar charisma. One of the reasons people looked up to him so. Sephiroth glanced at all the armed men in the background.

"I did not rescue you of my own volition," declared Sephiroth.

I was talked into it.

His voice was loud enough for a number of others to hear. The President blinked, but otherwise he seemed like a person who might just have been told about a trivial detail about the weather, or any other matter that was completely and utterly without importance.

"I see... Then might I ask who it is I owe my life to?"

… And steal away the remains of her days by leading media and various broadcasting stations her way?

"No," sounded his reply. A pause ensued, during which the man seemed to be thinking hard. It didn't show on his face, though.
"Then, what can I do for you?" he asked, blinking in the cold wind.

… Come to think of it, there might be something after all.

"Simply remember this," said Sephiroth, lowering his volume so no eavesdroppers would hear, "Shinra." The President's brow furrowed.

"Shinra?" he repeated, his voice low, too.

Sephiroth took a step back and turned away some. "You would do well to avoid contact with them, seeing as they are at fault for the fiends that have been roaming the earth recently."

Finally more than a short flicker of emotion ran across the President's diplomatic face – his eyes widened in surprise.

Paige watched the tiny television screen at a distance now, since her eyes were already watery from watching for so long. She was still on the floor, though, ready to move closer to her tiny television if something interesting happened, a turn of events. Silently, she stared at Sephiroth talking with the President. The conversation was short, and nothing they said was picked up by the cameras or microphones – at least not those that belonged to broadcasting stations. The President might mention what they had talked about in a press conference later, though. Perhaps. As in maybe, or maybe not.

Then Sephiroth stepped back and turned away some, added something to what he'd just said, and jumped off the roof and into the air. Within a second he was out of the screen, and when the cameras turned to zoom him in, he was just a black spot in the distance. She was too tired to fuss at the lack of a proper picture.

Before she could do anything else, though, the doorbell sounded.

That made her eyes widen.

Who could it be?

My family? ...Would they buy it if she pretended not to be home? Or would they tear the door off its hinges in fear that she was really sick or unable to move?

The doorbell started ringing again – twice, three times. Then she heard the door open fast, and someone hurried inside.

"Paige? Are you here?"

Hnng. No... No way...

Her eyes bulged as Solomon burst inside.

R.R.

(Supah-Solomon? Lol, who's dat.) I didn't say anything.