Warnings: Violence and an incredibly high level of pop references
Chapter 14 : My Patch
It was a dream he'd had before, a dream of happier times. He was flying, soaring through the Junon sky battling his two best friends, his fellow SOLDIERs First Class. A friendly fight high above Sister Ray, the large gun ShinRa had built over the harbour. It could've been a memory but he knew it wasn't. It felt real but again he knew it wasn't.
Angeal was dead. Indisputably, irrevocably.
And none of them had ever had matched sets of wings. Yet they were all soaring through the still summer air, wings beating, flying up and away from the former fishing village. They were smiling too which was another pointer that this was a dream. In the real incident, the one in his memories, he and Genesis had forgotten that this was just sparring. It had been a real battle. Who was faster? Who was stronger? Who was better? The beginning of the end.
This was a superior version of the day.
It couldn't last, of course. Even dreams eventually come back to earth. They landed in a confused pile, rolling over and around each other in a flurry of feathers and awkwardly placed elbows and knees. They sorted themselves out, laughing, standing up to shake the sand out of clothes and, in Sephiroth's case, hair. He was still finger-combing through the long strands when Genesis slanted his head as if listening to a distant sound. Without a word he walked across the sand away from them.
Sephiroth frowned and made to follow but Angeal put his arm out to stop him. The large, gentle warrior nodded his head in the opposite direction, telling the silver-haired fighter to look behind him. He turned and saw jungle, thick and green and shadowed.
"You should follow the path," Angeal said, "it's not far."
What path, Sephiroth wondered but even as he dreamed the thought a path opened up to him. A narrow gap in the lush undergrowth... more like a game trail than something that humans would use.
"Just remember who you're dealing with and you'll be okay." The General looked into kind, dark eyes and nodded his thanks. Genesis, so flamboyant and needy, had always overshadowed the more reliable Angeal. Even Sephiroth had been guilty of circling around Genesis as he were the sun, waiting for a kind word, a lingering touch. Angeal, who had been as much a friend as the flame-tempered SOLDIER, he'd taken for granted as the person who would always be there. Even though he hadn't been, and Sephiroth could hardly forgive the big man for that, this Angeal had been a true friend
Impulsively, he gave his dream-Angeal a hug, hoping against reason that the feeling would reach the real one in the Lifestream. He turned away before it became unbearably sappy and marched toward the path. He was almost out of the sand when he heard Angeal whisper, "You saved him. You're taking care of him. Thank you, Sephiroth."
The General twisted to look but there was nobody there. "You're welcome," he said anyway. Then he turned and walked into shadow.
The jungle was rich with sounds and smells. He could hear creatures small and large moving just beyond where he could see. The earth smelled moist and rich. Birds were singing in distant trees and there was a brook burbling happily just over there. It reminded him of the sound Cloud had made while he fed him and he remembered he was supposed to be going to his lover's little soul-house. Suddenly walking wasn't enough. He walked faster, then he ran, but running wasn't fast enough either so he started to leap then bound until the trees were passing in a blur. He had to swing around some low hanging branches which slowed him down a little, but the exhilaration of the action made up for the small delay.
The path widened as he travelled. Between one step and the next it changed from path to cart track finally becoming paved with large stone slabs. Surely he should have reached his destination by now, he thought as he bounded over a steep rise. The view waiting for him made him stop in his tracks.
There was a broad, clear valley in front of him with a single large structure in the middle. Even from here he could see that it was a castle out of a romantic movie complete with pointed turrets and pennants waving in the breeze... although Sephiroth could see no evidence of an actual wind. There was even a moat but it was filled with green mist rather than blue water.
This wasn't Cloud's little cottage.
Curious, and feeling oddly safe, as one did in even the most outrageous dream, Sephiroth approached the castle without caution. He could see that there were three bridges over the misty moat, all of them protected by barbicans. Two of the bridges had short lines of people awaiting entrance. The third, the one farthest away from the path, had no one waiting so the silver-haired warrior walked closer. A large, armoured figure stood guard, his heavy sword held at the ready, point down in front of him. His armour was black. His surcoat, Sephiroth believed it was called, was black as well with an odd red design on it. He looked like a knight out of a story. He suited the castle, or the castle suited him, and the General had a suspicion about whose castle this was.
As the General neared he saw a figure approach the waiting knight. The person approaching was also armoured and carried a sword but in a modern Wutaian style. They spoke briefly, Sephiroth heard the phrase 'none shall pass' repeated several times, then they fought. The black knight, looking awkward and slow, still managed to beat the other man and Sephiroth was intrigued. The Wutaian should have won. He started to walk closer when his attention was snagged by a figure on the bridge one over from the knight. Long, greasy dark hair. Long, stained, lab coat.
Hojo was here?
Unbidden Masamune appeared in his hand. He stalked over the berm to the other bridge. The few people waiting behind the madman—he wouldn't dignify him with the title 'scientist', saw the pale warrior with the 2-metre blade and cleared the way. Distantly he heard an argument involving swallows and coconuts from the first bridge but he ignored it in favour of stalking his prey.
Hojo was completely oblivious to the silver death approaching from behind. He was caught up in shouting at the soldiers perched on the curtain wall, "Now look here, you blithering idiots!"
"I don't want to talk to you no more," one of the guards responded in a heavy, almost unrecognizable accent, "you empty-headed, animal food-trough whopper. I fart in your general direction! "
"You fool! Don't you know who I am?" the professor shouted, practically hopping up and down in his fury.
"You' mother was an 'amster and you' father smelt of elderberries," the guard responded, completely unimpressed. "Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time-a!"
They didn't get the chance.
Before anything else could leave Hojo's mouth, Sephiroth had swung Masamune and sliced him cleanly in half. He continued the spin, whipping his long blade one-handed to cut off the professor's head before the upper-torso had even fallen completely away from the lower half.
"Ooh verra nice!" "Bravo," the odd guards applauded genteelly, "Good speed,"
The General watched the pieces fall. They dissolved into mist before they hit the ground. The guards were mumbling something, but Sephiroth ignored them, at least until the portcullis opened. He looked up at the noisy machinery.
"You, my good sir-r-r, may come in," the large one offered.
Deciding not to sheath his weapon, the General nodded acceptance of the offer and walked under the iron gate into the long, dim entrance tunnel. It was longer than it had appeared and very soon he realized he wasn't walking on cobblestone anymore. In fact, ten steps in it looked like one of the corridors in the old ShinRa tower. One of the menial bureaucratic floors with cheap, linoleum flooring; dull paint, and dim, fluorescent lights spaced widely apart to save electricity. There was no danger here and Masamune disappeared back to wherever he'd called it from.
He walked down the long corridor, moving from light to shadow, light to shadow. His footsteps echoed in the empty hall. They shouldn't have—his boots were rubber-soled. There was music playing faintly, so faintly he could hardly hear it. It was actually closer to a holding pattern than a song.
How odd, he thought, but then he considered his suspicion about the owner of the house and decided it wasn't odd at all. This journey could take a while.
At the end of the hallway was a door. Beside the door was an extremely short, mostly bald man wearing black pants, black gloves, and a frock coat... in black of course. The man said nothing, just bowed slightly and opened the panelled door which revealed a sliding door which opened into a circular room with a curved desk and a chair that looked like a globe with a piece taken from it. A portly man with a long scarf and a large umbrella was sitting in the awkward chair.
The short man was obviously the butler as he bowed Sephiroth into the room before closing the door discreetly and leaving. The General made a quick assessment of the rest of the room. A table with covered food dishes stood in front of the portly man. To one side was an odd, wheeled contraption that looked vaguely familiar. There was another exit to the left.
"Welcome to The Village," the seated man said. Sephiroth raised his eyebrow. What village? He was in Zack's soul-house, soul-castle? He walked over to the food dishes and lifted up one of the covers. It held bacon. He raised a piece to his mouth and took a bite. Very nice bacon. Trust Zack to have good food in his mental construct.
"I am the new Number 2."
With that Sephiroth identified the scene. This was from that bizarre show that Fair had made him watch about a Turk who tried to resign but was kidnapped and taken to some isolated little place and interrogated repeatedly and ridiculously to find out why.
"You are Number 6."
"Actually," the General interrupted, "I am Number 1."
A beat. "You are Number 1?" the fat man echoed in disbelief.
In response, Sephiroth bared his left forearm and exposed the vile tattoo that he'd had from beyond memory. "I am Number 1," he repeated. He pointed to the second exit. "I assume that's the way out." He didn't wait for an answer but strode over to the portal.
Number Two grumbled, "This is most unusual."
"It's perfect then. Open the door," he ordered and, as usual, was obeyed. He left the new Number Two in his uncomfortable chair looking perplexed.
When the door closed behind him there was nothing: no light, no sound, no sense of space, just a hollow vacancy. When he stepped forward it was like stepping on air, not floor. He reached with his senses but there was nothing until a jangling noise floated through the room, a four-note sequence that came from everywhere and nowhere.
A floating door appeared in front of him, turning on a starry background and a voice was heard: "You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension; a dimension of sound," a window breaks to the right of where he is, "a dimension of sight..." An eyeball floats up from the floor and past. Almost close enough to touch if Sephiroth had been so inclined. "...a dimension of mind." This time it's a twirling formula, and a floating human body coming in from behind him. "You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance; of things and ideas," a ticking clock. "You've just crossed over into... The Twilight Zone."
This series the General remembered. He'd actually enjoyed this one.
A door finally manifested and Sephiroth stepped through into an odd shaped room. He knew it was wrong even though it appeared to the same height at the far end. He saw a strange female crouched in half on the far side of the room trying to open a door that was only knee-high. Optical illusion, the General decided, assisted by thick black and white lines painted over every surface. The door at the small end of the room wouldn't be the true exit, unless Zack expected one to be attacked by a Touch-Me Frog.
'Where would the exit be,' he wondered, 'in a room of illusion?' "Ah," he said out loud and turned around to open the door he'd just come in from. Sure enough it was a new space.
This one had rotating, coloured lights and sparkly things making prisms on the walls. Loud music pounded into the room and was nearly deafening. One wall was lined with mirrors, curved and wavy that distorted the reflected image of anything passing by. Two people were moving between them, laughing at themselves. Sephiroth snorted and moved past almost blind under the scarcity of lights. His path took him onto a moving surface and he stopped to assess the obstacle. The floor was made of broad planks that tilted and swayed asynchronously. Combined with loudly painted lines and the flashing lights it was highly disorienting. The General watched a couple stumble and fall... and dissolve into mist.
He understood the warning. Failure was not an option in Zack's house. He smiled. He wasn't going to fail.
He would treat it as a footwork exercise, similar to ones he'd experienced as a child. Easier, in fact, than the ones Hojo had made him work through. Although, he thought as he lightly stepped over them, these would do to improve the balance of regular soldiers. He would have to remember to mention it to Genesis. Perhaps it could be added to training.
The next space was essentially the same except that it was made up of rotating tubes. The paint seemed to rotate to a distant fixed point. It could be disorienting and mildly hypnotic if one looked at it too long. Or one could just ignore the visual input and use one's other senses to traverse the distance, the General decided. He closed his eyes, gave his hearing a chance to pick up the gears and cogs that were used to rotate the large barrels, and then stepped out as if he were walking on a sidewalk in Midgar. He adjusted his step to account for the rotation and decide to mention this to Genesis as well.
He turned the corner and a rotating red light illuminated the exit. An alarm light. As if Sephiroth needed the warning.
The next room was brighter than the last ones had been, but that wasn't saying much. It was a cave, with a shallow cistern of water. Another knight, this time in shiny mail, was seated on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Three doors, all exactly the same, lined the back wall of the cave. Sephiroth didn't recognize this scene. Perhaps this wasn't a movie Zack had forced him to sit through?
"Which one is it?" someone asked.
Another anonymous person seeking entrance to Zack's soul, the General wondered, or just a creation of Zack's imagination? He could be instruction, warning and horror contained in one artificial being.
"You must choose," the old Knight responds, "but choose wisely for as the True Door will bring you life—a False Door will take it from you."
That sounded familiar... as did the result when the man chose a door at random. He convulsed briefly. When he turned to face the Knight there were wrinkles and age spots on his skin. He lurched forward a step, but his skin was already turning dry and leathery, his hair was grey and his fingernails were long and hard. Another step and the skin was flaking off then falling off in great chunks. His eyeballs dried out and hair fell off and then, in the next moment, he was dust and blowing away.
"He chose...poorly," the Knight commented.
Sephiroth stepped forward. "I will choose." Since there didn't seem to be a choice... a nice irony.
"Very well," the Knight agreed and the back of the cave blurred. Now the General could see details on the doors that hadn't been there before. They weren't alike: One was the door for Zack's apartment in the old ShinRa complex; the room number, his name, and his rank emblazoned in brass on the fancy wood veneer. The middle one was the etched-glass door to the VR training complex on the SOLDIER's floor. The one on the left was the door to Sephiroth's inner office, a plain door with only a regular, removable name-plate on it.
Sephiroth asked himself; was this test personalized or was it the same for everyone? If it was the same for everyone, then how would most people choose? By Zack's outward personality, he decided, bright, gaudy, active. Yet, the Commander had spent many contented hours in Sephiroth's officer, juggling paperweights, chatting and quietly reading.
He placed his hand on the familiar plate and opened his old door.
He waited a moment to see if anything would happen. Nothing did. He turned to the old Knight.
"You have chosen... wisely."
"Then I bid you good day, Sir." Sephiroth said politely. Something about the old man made him feel respectful.
The Knight raised his hand in an odd salute, forefinger and thumb together over his eye. "Be seeing you." Sephiroth frowned. The Knight's farewell seemed out of place—far too casual for the situation.
He didn't dwell on it as the next room was filled with more stuff; odd stuff that didn't seem to belong in anyone's soul let alone Zackary Fair's. There were shadows in the corners that the General automatically assessed for threats but the room was essentially filled with children's toys; a rocking horse, a ball cage, a chalkboard and monkey bars. The exit was across the room. If the life-size, laughing clown wasn't enough of an indication, 'This Way' was written in huge neon letters above the door and fat arrows pointed to it from the sides. There was a group of four young women giggling at the clown. They looked proud and triumphant, as if they'd reached the end of their journey.
Sephiroth decided that look meant they probably hadn't seen the weapon the clown held in one hand. It was a fairly large knife with a black blade and a serrated edge, commonly used by Wutai soldiers during night missions to quietly eliminate sentries and other such obstacles.
He stood and watched as the women bounced through the black curtain into the next area and, because of the knife, he wasn't shocked when their departure was followed, quite closely, by ear-splitting screams.
Zack had developed a dark side while he'd been in Hojo's care. It was hardly surprising. What did surprise him was the First's choice of nightmare material. Right inside the door, hung so she loomed over everyone who entered, was Jenova as she had been at the reactor. Masamune was in the silver warrior's hand and moving before he even registered that this wasn't her, it couldn't be her. This creature was somehow more than the Jenova they'd seen at Nibelheim but, at the same time, less.
The metal band on her forehead, the wires and tubing running to and from her body, were the same, but she was silent—no insane voice screaming at them. Her face was slightly distorted; her teeth a little longer and more pointed, her eyes were larger and more malevolent in colour. The claws on her hands were more pronounced. She was skeletal, skin on a rack of bones but her veins were clearly visible as was the black blood being pumped through her body. Zack had made her ugly; more a horror movie villain than a once living creature.
The realization didn't stop him from cutting her to pieces and then blasting her with a Firaga. It was almost as satisfying as chopping Hojo to pieces had been.
It was only after, as he watched her body parts explode and fizzle, that he remembered where he was. Sephiroth hoped that burning her up in Zack's soul-house wouldn't damage the First. Maybe, if this was his friend's soul, just maybe it would help Zack's healing to have her gone from this place. He would find out when he finally met up with his friend. Which he wouldn't do if he stayed here and stared at Jenova's burning body.
There were heavy black curtains just beyond where Jenova had hung. Sephiroth walked through them into a House of Horrors, complete with Hojo's creepy laugh. A children's rhyme was running underneath his cackle. Sephiroth stopped for a moment to make it out. It was from another one of those movies Zack had made him watch. He couldn't remember the name of this one either. He'd chosen to forget it not feeling the need to remember imagined horrors when he had so many real ones stored in his memories.
The rhyme became clearer as the General walked past the displays. Creatures, not Hojo's experiments but something like them, wandered the halls , nudging up against the few spectators creeping through the halls, waiting for one of them to break and run. That's when they'd pounce, ripping off a limb before the person faded into mist. Sephiroth ignored them, his eyes trapped by what he saw. Zack's horrors.
One, two – Freddy's coming for you.
A young female on a steel table, electrodes inserted all over her. Her naked body was arched to such an extreme that only her neck and heels touched the surface of the table. Sephiroth could almost hear the hum of electricity as it ran through her body aided by a recent mako injection. It was a toxic mix, electricity and mako. Her blood was just beginning to boil if the green glow from her veins was any indication. Monitors in the background measured the amount of her pain in impersonal, coloured bars. Zack floated aware and helpless in a tube along one wall.
Three, four – better lock your door.
Cloud and Zack were clamped onto tables facing away from each other. IVs ran from a bottle of Jenova's tainted fluids to shunts that forced the black poison into their veins. Their muscles were rigid, their faces contorted in agony. Blood ran from eyes and ears and other openings; from where the needle was inserted in their arms. In the corner, a lab technician stood with a clipboard, noting down the numbers flashing on a computer screen, ignoring their screams.
Five, six – grab your crucifix.
They were suspended naked from chains in the ceiling; their toes barely touched the ground. Red stripes showed where they'd had slices removed from their bodies, made more horrible by the fact that the pair had obviously been carefully and meticulously cleaned up after the injuries had been inflicted. The blond hung limp and exhausted. The only mess on his body was the blood than ran down from his damaged wrists. A lab technician stood behind the SOLDIER measuring the depth of one of his wounds. Another was writing down the information.
Seven, eight – gonna stay up late.
The same room, but this time Cloud was on the floor surrounded by four guards. Held down by them, already bleeding, but still fighting. One guard was undoing his pants revealing his erection. They'd chained one of Zack's feet to the wall furthest from his friend, so he hung diagonally and helpless, unable to do anything but scream and twist.
Nine, ten – never sleep AGAIN!
There was Cloud lying on the steel table. Tubes and straps holding him in place as his skin was carefully peeled back. The restraints were hardly needed. Cloud's eyes were open and vacant. He was no longer there.
Sephiroth didn't want to see anymore.
The House of Horrors wound around and back upon itself but the General ignored the display cases. The creatures circled but, as much as he would've welcomed an attack by one, he didn't break. He kept his eyes forward and he marched determinedly. He flung aside curtain after curtain, nearly tearing them down, until he went through one last set. Instead of another row of glass cases showing the tortures his friends had endured, it was a bright, circular room with a dirt floor and boarded-over windows.
Standing before him was Angeal, wings visible. Sephiroth knew where this was: this was Modeoheim, where Zack had been forced to kill his mentor. Angeal. Their friend, their enemy.
The General stared at his former comrade, former lover. He analyzed the image even as his anger, already high from the House of Horrors, spiked at this one last atrocity. This Hewley was taller than he remembered, a full head higher than Sephiroth, broader, stronger, and his wings were larger, more majestic. Sephiroth realized this was Zack's memory of Angeal. The First had made his mentor literally 'larger than life'.
Angeal spoke to him, probably triggered by his entrance into the room, "Do you remember what I said about our enemy being all that creates suffering?" The voice was nearly the same; perhaps a little deeper, a littler kinder.
Sephiroth didn't respond. He didn't have to. After all, this was Zack's nightmare and it would replay endlessly.
"I created my own suffering," the large SOLDIER paused before continuing, perhaps to allow for Zack's part of the conversation. "Let me show you." The creatures from the halls swarmed into the room, past the silver-haired warrior and merged into Angeal creating a thing. He—it was large with too many arms and too many legs, and a trident instead of Angeal's beloved Buster.
"Fight me," he... it ordered.
Sephiroth looked at it, the creature... what Angeal let himself become. When it raised its weapon to taunt the General into battle Sephiroth batted it away but didn't draw Masamune. Should he fight this creature and end Angeal's suffering as Zack had done?
"Kill me!" it shouted.
And Sephiroth decided. "No. You chose this path. Yet, instead of dealing with the consequences, you made Zack kill you. I'm not as nice as he is," the silver-haired warrior turned to leave. "As far as I'm concerned you can go rot." Angeal moved to the attack but Sephiroth wasn't there. Something that large couldn't move without giving itself away.
Now he had Masamune out. The urge to cut up the beast was strong. Angeal charged, graceful and quick even with four legs. Sephiroth dodged. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword but he forced himself to back up, step by step. "I won't kill you." Another charge, another dodge. "It was your decision to become the monster you feared. Live with it."
"I'm counting on you," the creature, Angeal pleaded. He moved forward beyond a faint white line in the sand. Then he, it stopped as a rushing roar filled the room. The Angeal creature looked up, "No. No," it panted. He backed up. His face no longer determined but instead filled with fear.
Sephiroth turned to see what it was looking at but all he saw was a wobbly, white globe floating towards them. It did seem to be what Angeal was afraid of though, for the monster kept backing away from it. The silver-haired SOLDIER didn't understand why. It was just a ball, half the size of the thing Angeal had become, but then Angeal ran out of room and the ball engulfed him, swallowed him down almost, and floated away.
Sephiroth blinked. That was... weird.
A light went on in a dim corner of the room illuminating both a door and the short butler from earlier in Zack's house. The butler bowed, opened the door and, with a raised hand, invited the General to go through the door. His eyebrows raised in grim amusement, he shrugged internally and did as requested. The butler bowed once more and walked away.
The Silver General wasn't exactly sure what to expect but it certainly wasn't what he encountered.
A wide, verdant strip filled with flowers surrounded a small church. Sephiroth recognized some of the flowers as those he'd last seen growing in Ms. Gainsborough's garden in Junon. A gentle breeze blew the subtle scent of the flowers over him, through him, somehow cleaning out all the anger and pain that had built up. A brick path led the way safely through the plant life to the church's high doors. It was the one Zack had described for him... many times, where the SOLDIER had often met Ms. Gainsborough when he was off duty.
To say that Sephiroth was surprised at his SiC's choice of abode was an understatement. He'd known that Zack was serious about his flower girl but this showed a level of commitment that was astounding in his bouncy friend. He would have to seriously rethink continuing their sexual relationship if this was how Zack felt about his Aerith.
That re-assessment would have to wait. He still hadn't found Zack yet and until he did, he couldn't go to Cloud's little cottage and start fixing it, and him. He walked up the path and pushed open the door.
Once again, Zack defied his General's expectations for it wasn't the oft described ruins that greeted him. Aside from the beautiful stained glass windows, there was no way of even knowing that this had once been a church. For one thing, it was likely twice as large on the inside than what it should have been given its external dimensions. Although, considering the spaces he had just come through, being thrown off by this was a little ridiculous, Sephiroth decided.
Half the nave had been turned into a living room complete with leather sectional sofas, a bar and a fireplace. People were gathered in small groups, chatting softly about this or that. Sephiroth recognized some of the people, Tseng was there, but he didn't bother to greet the Turk. He scanned the crowd and listened for Zack's distinctive voice. He wasn't in this room.
The other half of the nave had been sectioned off into smaller rooms, still much larger than was possible.
He opened the first door he came to. Inside he was reminded of the room with the funny mirrors. It was loud and lit inadequately by rotating coloured lights. People were dancing. He saw the Turk, Reno deep in the crowd rubbing up against some woman like she was a popsicle in a heat wave. Some other female was behind the Turk, rubbing him the same way. Kunsel was there as well in a group of people all dancing together. Sephiroth closed that door and moved on.
The next room he looked into was again rather dark. Most of its light came from the pictures flashing across the large-screen TV. He recognized Rude, Reno's partner, who was playing a chocobo racing game against a small, slum rat of a boy and Lazard, the former head of SOLDIER. Lazard looked like himself but not quite. He was oddly pale and somehow distorted. Sephiroth briefly wondered how he'd gotten here, before his searching gaze snagged on the form standing in the corner in shadow. Angeal as he had been before... everything. The SOLDIER stood in his characteristic pose: arms crossed over his wide chest, face pulled down into a frown. He looked wrong though, for his back was bare. His huge Buster sword, his pride and his inspiration, wasn't there. As if sensing the gaze upon him, the dark-eyed SOLDIER started to look up, to turn toward the open door.
Sephiroth backed up a step and closed that door too.
The next door, near what would have been the altar, led into the kitchen. It was the brightest room in the place. Clean and organized in a way Zack's kitchen had never been in real life. It was here he finally spotted his dark-haired friend. He was talking to a small woman, a Turk Sephiroth knew only as Shuriken. He knew that she had been one of Zack's regular flirts and, judging by the way the SOLDIER was leaning close to her, that hadn't changed any.
Neither had the food. Piled high on every available surface, expensive hors d'oeuvres and cheap pizza were placed next to each other. He also spotted a pot of the Master-Sergeant's meatballs bubbling on the stove. Sephiroth smirked; Zack had always lived on take-out.
"Zack," he called and the black-haired First raised his eyes from the small Turk. His smile broadened and the little hand resting on his left pauldron lifted and waved in delight. The hand, actually two slim fingers and a long thumb, was attached to a thin, leathery membrane which stretched out from the SOLDIER's back to form a wing. Sephiroth stopped at the sight of it.
Zack looked over his shoulder and flinched. "Oh shit," the First muttered. The wing drew back. The little hand... no, hands for there was another matching one on the right, curled into fists and hid behind the SOLDIER's broad back. He pulled himself together and moved toward the General with a measure of his old confident strut. "H-hey, Seph," he stammered, ruining the image.
For once in his life, Sephiroth, The Silver General, ShinRa's Hero, The Demon of Wutai, knew his mouth had dropped open in shock.
He blurted out the obvious, "You have wings."