Author: Zhampy
Rating: T / PG-15
Genre: Humour/Romance
Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing in the FFVII Compilation. See if you can spot all the references I steal throughout this fic!
Summery: After his sudden and humiliating meeting with Sephiroth, Cloud procures some illegal (and terrible quailty) alcohol and gets smashed. At this point he's accosted by the three fanclubs and accidentialy joins the Silver Elite.
Contains: Main pairing is Cloud/Sephiroth with a Zack/Aerith side-dish and some other minor pairings. Some OOCness for humourous purposes, AR, couple of OCs, and occasional foul language.
a/n: Oh, hey! Getting this out took like a month, huh? I was waiting until I hit 20 reviews before starting writing the next chapter. But I ended up writing chapters seven and five instead because i'm dumb and they're my favourites. Welp. At least those are written now! And so is this one apparently.
Modus Operandi
Episode Four – Keepers of Red Elite
That had not gone all too well. Not well at all. In his opinion, it hadn't been a huge success. On the other hand, it had not gone well. For all intents and purposes that had not been a rip-roaring success. In the end, it had not ended on a positive note There where deaf and dumb choir recitals that had gone better than that.
It had been little more than a day and he was being thrown at Sephiroth already? He was pretty sure there needed to be a warm-up period first and foremost; perhaps meeting his supporting cast and some of the more original characters. Maybe taking a stroll around and describing the layout of the area he would be spending the next episodes of his life in. Should read up and explain how the world may have changed since he'd last been in this time period.
But no. It must have been imperative that he meet the General so soon. Sephiroth was just as he'd remembered him, minus the stabbity-stabbings, the crazy-eyes and the urge to pop Cloud's head off like a tube of processed instant cheese, smear his entrails on a cracker and throw it at a wall. His bangs may have been a bit shorter though, he supposed.
Oh, and of course, he was just as insanely alluring.
Curse his treacherous teenage body.
"You've ruined me for the last time!" Cloud punched himself in the gut.
"Whoa, there!" Aerith cautioned. "Let's not go crazy here."
"Ooof..."
"Yeah, man. You acted like a total doofus back there" Zack's supplied.
"Not helping," Aerith said.
Zack's nonchalant shrug was almost audible. "Cloud can't control his hormones," he said simply.
"I don't know what you're talki—"
"He's weak," Aerith quickly agreed.
"You're the ones who did this to m—"
"We must help."
"No! You've helped me enough!"
"I'll think of something."
"Guys, no!"
"Go take a cold shower or something, Cloud."
Cloud balled his fists in impudent rage. "This is wrong, all wrong! I don't like Sephiroth. That's dumb. He's dumb." He threw his arms out so he were in the shape of a starfish. A peeved starfish. "You're all dumb! And I don't need a shower!"
"Naw, you really do."
"You stink."
Whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue died as a young secretary stumbled by him in the narrow hall with her shirt pulled over her nose and green in the face. She'd been walking just fine before she'd come adjacent with him. Now she kind of looked like she'd walked in on Palmer masturbating.
"Nah, she doesn't quite look she's going to choke herself with her lapels when she gets back to the office."
"Also, thanks for that image."
Meekly Cloud raised an arm and sniffed himself.
"Eeesh!"
Yeah, definitely needed a shower.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
Note to self: always bring deodorant to the recreation room, Cloud reminded himself as he scrubbed away that bizarre smell of microwave hot-pocket and stale damp. He was in the communal shower but had taken one of the few more private stalls. Although this late in the evening the showers weren't busy anyway.
Annual pinball night had been a bust so he and his, er, acquaintances had gone their separate ways. Lieutenant Generals Angeal and Genesis had gone off together, and Major Zack had hurriedly arranged another meeting with his trainee that he would undoubtedly forget anyway. Lastly, General Sephiroth had gone off without a word to go howl at the moon or whatever it was he did on an evening.
And Cloud had scuttled off to hide in the showers. He held his face in his hands. Normally he stood with his head back drinking the water like an upturned turtle, but he just couldn't enjoy himself right now. Stupid, sexy Sephiroth catching him off guard like at. And talking to him—how dare he! Ugh, he shouldn't think about this again, there were better things to be doing, like washing his helmet, or putting his head in a door and repeatedly closing it.
"Yes, hurry up, Cloud. We have stuff to do," Zack's voice suddenly echoed in his head.
With his fingers uselessly scrambling for something—anything—to cover himself with Cloud shrieked; "you follow me into the shower!? You watch me naked!?"
"Ain't nothin' I haven't seen before, bro," his dead friend whistled.
"I've also seen this equipment many times before," Aerith added helpfully.
"Aerith!?" Cloud's face burned hotter than a bonfire. "You follow me other places?"
"We're always with you," Aerith leered with that troublesome tone again.
"E-even when i'm on the toilet?"
"Every time."
"O-or when i'm in... bed?"
"Yeeessss."
"That's perverse!" he cried.
Cloud dashed from the empty showers, his humiliation washing off him with each leap he took toward the exit. Boy sure could move when he was escaping something.
"Cloud!" Zack's voice sounded distant now. "You forgot your towel!"
This exclamation was met with whistling and whooping and cameras flashing of those in the hall. There was a moment of silence before either one of the dead pair spoke up again.
"That was kind of mean," Aerith admitted.
Zack laughed. "Cloud's always so easy to mess with! Now we should get going or we'll miss dead-badminton with the Griffiths. They won't buy us smoothies if we're late."
"Oh, no!" Aerith gasped. "Dead-smoothies are my favourite!"
And with that, the voices disappeared into the lifestream leaving a distressed Cloud to deal with the aftermath of his little display.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
Grumble, grumble. Lousy, no-good, dead friends. Cloud sulked as he mindlessly wandered around the empty halls of his barracks later that evening. He didn't want to go back to his room to be accosted by his fellow cadets who thought they were being oh-so clever constantly texting him uncensored pictures of himself stark-naked.
Pfff. They were just jealous of his fabulous physique. They just wished they had scrawny arms and awkwardly large feet and a stupid, cracking voice, the stamina of an eighty-year-old invalid, and the charisma of a dead fish.
"Oh, eww," he groaned to himself. Thinking of his sixteen-year-old body in such a sexy manner. "Is that paedophilia? It is my body, but it's sixteen and i'm actually twenty-four...?"
He kind of felt like he should go take another shower now.
"Fuck it! Time to get shitfaced!"
The answer to all of life's problems.
That was one good thing about his new (old? Recycled?) body. It was much easier to get it trashed. Ah, but now where to find some alcohol. Naturally, it was banned in the barracks lest he and his fellow cadets get a little too excited. Being a higher up Zack probably had access to booze, but like hell he were going to go begging.
"Hey, naked guy," a voice whispered from somewhere. Cloud spun around but couldn't find anybody.
"I'm not naked!" he scoffed.
"I have something you may be interested in," the mystery voice continued regardless.
But Cloud wasn't in the mood. "Show yourself!"
There was a pause, followed by a sigh until the voice revealed itself. A young cadet scarcely older than himself stepped out from behind a potted plant too narrow to have hidden him. His uniform was too perfect and too new, and it had all sorts of unregulated dangly doo-dads hanging from it. He had dark black hair and shifty, narrowed eyes, and it appeared that he were attempting to grow a moustache out, if the scant spread of dark shadow above his upper lip was any clue.
I feel your pain, Cloud sympathised. I could never grow any body hair either.
"Got something that may interest you," the suspicious cadet repeated.
"Are you propositioning me?"
"...no."
"Hm. Yeah, okay. Got something that'll make me forget today?"
"I've got something that'll make you forget the rest of the week."
"If it's a blow to the head, I don't want it."
"What? No. Look, I'll text you the location. We could be busted if we say it out loud," the shifty cadet whispered.
Cloud nodded, then scowled when he opened the message to see that picture of himself naked again.
"Ahahahaha," the recruit laughed. "But no, really. I got some tonk back in my room."
Without waiting for a response the young cadet began leading Cloud back in another direction, presumably back to his own room. Cloud shrugged, meh. What more did he have to lose? He had already been put on a spit with his dignity slowly being sliced from him and tenderly roasted and served to his fellow recruits. They took a long walk across into the next quarter of the barracks (the East wing from the South wing) up to rooms exactly the same as his own, and when they approached the door, he noticed the name plaque. It was double accommodations but only a single plaque? Somehow he figured he was getting himself into something he shouldn't.
Briefly looking at the door Cloud caught the cadet's name: Walker.
As he entered the room it was immediately obvious there was some shady business going on. And that it was very popular. Walker ushered him in and quickly shut the door. The smell of smoke and liquor got straight up his nose causing his eyes to water. Walker did indeed have double accommodations to himself and had fitted it out with upturned cardboard boxes serving as tables and chairs that were all occupied. Cloud figured they were easy to clear away during inspections. Walker nodded to a boy guarding the bathroom door and disappeared inside momentarily. It was... heaven.
Upon his return Walker presented a blank bottle to him. "For all your inebriation pleasure."
Cloud unscrewed the top and took a whiff. "This smells like piss in a bottle," he gagged.
"It's called 'Tonic'," Walker explained.
"Did you just take a piss in a bottle?"
"No..."
"... well, alright then," Cloud relented. Suspiciously and against his better judgement he upturned the bottle and took an almighty swig. "Graghhh, you put fire in a bottle!"
"Fire is not a brown liquid."
"Ghaaghh! … that's good stuff." He took another huge gulp. "Home brewed. In a bath."
"You're quite the connoisseur," Walker smirked.
"Just like mother used to make."
"Hey, Naked Guy, come join us!" Another cadet waved him over to the table he and some others were playing poker at.
Cloud sighed. He was never going to live that incident down. Thankfully he'd forget about it soon.
"My name is Cloud," he said as he approached.
"Naked Cloud is it then," the boy chuckled as he took a puff of whatever it was he were smoking.
"Cloud for short," Cloud insisted.
"We'll see."
Cloud watched the game play for a while, comfortable in the knowledge that his wallet was safely in his back pocket and that his arse was firmly planted to his seat. He didn't particularly feel like being essentially mugged in a poker game. Then the sudden thought struck him and with another swig he turned to Walker, who was lurking behind his chair holding a replacement bottle
"What do you want in return?" he asked suspiciously, even as he were beginning to feel tipsy so soon. People with such a questionable moustache weren't this generous.
"Nothing," Walker shrugged. He placed the bottle on the table. "Since I'm such a nice guy I just want you to enjoy yourself," he told the blonde, and then he and his twin began mingling with the other—cough—patrons.
Cloud nodded resolutely to himself, the alcoholic mix nicely burning a pleasant flame in his belly. "I'm gonna write a letter to Sefiross—to—to apologise for being so lame." He clumsily reached for a pen and grabbed a loose playing card from somewhere and set to work.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
"I'm up, i'm up!"
Cloud stumbled to his feet only partially sober now. He looked around trying to gain his bearings. Direction was an intricately confusing concept, but it looked like he where outside at least. And he was remaining vertical under his own power so it couldn't be all that bad. Urp!
He turned around and vomited.
Ahh, better. God, that stuff had been revolting.
"Oh, damnit, these are my only boots!" he looked down at his now spoilt footwear.
Okay, so. Last time he were conscious he where at the barracks with that Walker fellow. That had been—what?—early evening? Nine, ten o'clock. Now it was pitch black out at the height of summer and the area smelt musty. Oh, yeah, well he had just puked. Shuffling away from his waking place he left the alley and stumbled into the streets. He were definitely above a plate somewhere. It was a busy place considering it must have been very late.
Of course, just turning around and looking at the giant mako reactor that towered over the entire plate would have been an intelligent thing to do, so Cloud didn't do that. Who cared what plate he was on—oh, plate five according to this flier—all he cared about was how the hell he got there! It was way past curfew! Oh, Gaia, Zack, please don't have to take me into your office and humiliate yourself again.
Well, this was the last time he drank anything from an unlabelled bottle acquired from a guy with the saddest damn moustache in the corps. And then all the people in the street abruptly started running around him in circles. He tried to follow them be couldn't lurch his head fast enough and the familiar ground happily greeted him with the comforting crunch of his skull. He let out a puff of frustration and rearranged himself for a quick nap in the middle of the street.
Then someone was yanking on his feet. He grumpily kicked his foot out at the person but they wouldn't give up. Then someone was pulling on the back of his shirt and he groaned trying to swat them away, and then someone was touching up his butt.
"Oh, no you don't!" Cloud bolted upright sending the three people jumping. "Stay away from my wallet, you vultures!"
The vultures hopped away just out of his reach. They somehow managed to stay shadowed despite being in clear view of numerous street lamps.
"Hey, I.." he stopped short when he noticed the first person. "Hey, that's my boot! Give it back!"
But the one with his boot flew away quickly (actually awkwardly jumped on a trash can then up a ladder to the building roof). Cloud picked up a bottle and lobbed that sonuvabitch at the vulture scoring a direct hit to the forehead. The man squawked and dropped the boot.
"Get outta heres, ya vultures!" Cloud yelled at them as he waved his retrieved footwear around.
"Skree, skree!" the three men dissipated into the shadows of an alleyway. "Skreeee!"
Confusedly and disgustingly Cloud put his soiled boot back on.
"DON'T WORRY ABOUT THEM," a voice said from behind him. Cloud whipped around a few times, spinning and spinning and spinning and...
"WHOA, THERE, FRIEND," the voice said again as hands held him steady.
Cloud's head eventually stopped lolling around and he could focus on the two strangers.
The voice('s arms) holding him was a young man with rather large and impressive forearms. Cloud could feels his bones creaking under what was apparently a friendly gesture. He had the glowing eyes of a SOLDIER and released him just before his arms could shatter in a friendly-horrific manner. The second person was a kindly young woman clutching a book to her chest with impressive possessiveness. Cloud couldn't help but admire her tenaciousness in protecting a book and wish he too had that enthusiasm about protecting his boots.
"If you want my boots, you'll have to fight for them," he slurred. "I mean... fight me, not each other. You could both a boot have each."
"WE DON'T WANT YOUR BOOTS, FRIEND," the big man smiled warmly.
The woman said something but her voice was little more than a whisper on the winds.
"Huh?" Cloud bumbled.
"... to join... happy... group..."
"Huh?"
"SHE SAID 'WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN THE STUDY GROUP'?" the man remarked.
The woman said something else to her companion with a distressed look on her face and the man looked embarrassed. "OH, RIGHT, sorry. Indoor voice. Um, would you like to join the Study Group or Keepers of Honour?"
"The what-what and what-what-what?"
The young man pounded his solid chest firmly and proudly. "The Keepers of Honour! I AM GARIK, President of the club! All our members are dedicated to Lieutenant General Angeal Hewley and his path of the least bloodshed! There is no SOLDIER more honourable than Lieutenant Angeal!"
Cloud simply rubbed his aching ears.
"... study group... Genesis... Annie."
"THIS IS ANNIE," Garik said. "SHE IS PRESIDENT OF THE STUDY GROUP. PLEASE CONSIDER JOINING."
Cloud leaned in as far as he could trust his feet (fortunately they were rather large and so he had quite impeccable balance [unfortunately not while drunk]), already anticipating he would be unable to hear the small woman speak.
"... we are the Lieutenant General Genesis Rhapsodos fanclub... dedicated to... the study of the Loveless franchise..."
"WE HAVE NOTICED YOU—" Annie elbowed Garik, "—spending time with both the Lieutenant Generals and wondered if you were interested in learning more."
Cloud's vocabulary—limited though it may be—had deserted him and he found no words to reply with.
"Alright, fine, whatever," he eventually said. "Sign me up, who cares."
"YOU MAY ONLY JOIN ONE," Garik said.
Cloud growled. "Just... ugh. Keepers of Honey."
Annie looked sad.
"Er... the Sturdy Group."
Now Garik looked sad.
"You know what?" Cloud held up his hands in defeat. "Fuck you both!"
And with that he spun on his heel, performed a full 360 degree turn and stormed by the pair of idiots. He noticed those dirty boot thieves were watching him closely from the opposite building. Now out in the full moonlight their questionable apparel was plain to see: cheap imitation, black and red leather, and copious amounts of belts and zippers. They tittered and hopped about eachother as their eyes followed him.
"Skreee..."
Keeping his own eye on them Cloud barely got a few feet further down the street before he was stopped again.
"May I speak with you?" a cultured voice vied for his waning attention.
Cloud slowly inclined his head. "Do you have to? I'm... really drunk right now."
"Yes," the voice replied and Cloud turned a little too quickly to face the newcomer.
There where actually three of them; three smartly dressed women. The woman speaking to him was dark skinned with blonde hair and wore an expensive-looking grey and white pinstripe suit. Flanking her were two equally cultured women; one Wutanese and the other caucasian. And all three carried clipboards.
Cloud groaned in realisation. "No, I don't wanna join Jenova's Witnesses," he started.
The forewoman looked momentarily disgusted at this. "Please. We are Silver Elite. We would never associate ourselves with them. We are the true Sephiroth fans, not those swine who run around in black cloaks shouting about the world burning. You are Cloud Strife?"
"Uhh, yeah...?" Cloud was becoming unsteady again.
"My name is Anastasia," the speaking woman introduced herself. "This is Tomoko and Cassandra."
Cloud teetered forward a little.
"We at Silver Elite are elated to inform you that you have been granted permission to join our very select group."
Cloud teetered forward a little further.
"This is a very exclusive offer we are handing out to you; I hope you understand that not just anybody can join."
Cloud fell that final bit forward into warmth and nestled in for a quick nap.
Anastasia sucked in a patient breath. "Please remove yourself from my bosom."
"Oh, sorry!" Cloud snapped back and propped himself up with hands on his hips, cool as a cucumber.
Anastasia exchanged a look with her guards (or whatever the silent pair were meant to be) and continued. "Silver Elite is the most prestigious group and has been in existence for over two decades. Our membership is closed to all but those with the utmost respect and admiration for the Great Sephiroth."
"... so you're a fanclub?"
"Um. Yes," Anastasia grudgingly admitted.
"And... what?" Cloud stuttered. "You're saying the Silver Elite has been a thing for over twenty years? And Sephiroth is, er, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-three," the woman corrected tersely.
"Right... so what you're telling me is that this fanclub has been in existence since the General was three years old. That's what you're saying right now. This very instant. To me. A total stranger. That you just picked up off the street."
Anastasia at least had the good grace to look mildly uncomfortable. "Our founder, Chairwoman H—"
"You have been idolising a child. And you don't see anything creepy with that?"
"Technically I hadn't joined back then, so—"
"You were sharing private information about a toddler. Perhaps when he took his first steps, or what his first words were, or who was the first babysitter he shanked?"
"Ah, that was Henry," the woman supplied.
"Did you have pictures of him on your wall? Did you cover your pencil case? Did you trade pictures of a child in these back alleys? How did you finance these gatherings of yours? Were you profiting from the exploitation of a minor? Did you enjoy it? Make you feel like a big man? A big, strong man. A big, strong man with rock hard pecs and a firm arse and legs that go on for..." Cloud just stopped and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "What were we talking about?"
"I am beginning to think you are more drunk than you admit you are," Anastasia said as Cloud re-railed his train of thought.
"You make me sick!" he said.
"Look, do you want to join or not?" Anastasia huffed.
A pause.
"... yeah, okay." Cloud shrugged. "I mean, guy's an adult now, right?"
"Indeed."
Cloud fumbled with the pen he had been handed and scrawled his signature the best he could. "So, I'm a Jenova's Witness now? Whaddo I have to do?"
Anastasia slapped her forehead in a very undignified manner. "No! Have you not listened to anything i've said? You're Silver Elite now."
"'cause I don't think I can afford a good suit..." Cloud continued.
"You don't have to do anything!" The Cassandra woman nudged her leader and passed over a letter. "Oh, I do beg pardon. When you next see the Great Sephiroth please pass this letter along. We would be very grateful."
Then Anastasia and her companions began giggling in a most suspicious way. Cloud narrowed his eyes and snatched the envelope. If he had his way he wouldn't be seeing Sephiroth again. Ever. So of course he was going to be seeing the man at some point in the very near future. Perhaps right now!
He spun around.
Nothing.
Hmm. Imaginary Sephiroth: 2. Cloud: nil.
"Ugh, whatever," Cloud muttered as the trio of women began to take their leave.
"Oh and," Anastasia flipped her short blonde hair over a shoulder, "beware of Red Leather. They're a pack of vultures."
"Mmmm." Cloud eyed the shadowy figures that had been perched on the rooftops through this entire débâcle. Just watching him. Following his every move, eagerly awaiting to pick at the scraps.
"Skree..."
Even his alcohol addled brain decided it best to not stick around in the open and that he should probably get back to the training facility lest Zack have to lecture him again and Thompson punch his head clean off his shoulders for being drunk on duty. Again. Though technically that first time hadn't been his fault, but what could he say. His dead friends made him do it?
But first he had something very important to take care of, and so he stumbled off in search of some relief.
These was a person of indeterminable gender wearing a black cloak and hunched over in the doorway to the all-night pharmacist. Cloud stopped before the person and stared. And stared. And stared some more. Eventually his presence was detected and the person who was possibly even more drunk than he addressed him.
"Spare some change, guy?"
No reply. Cloud stared harder.
"Just a couple gil," the drunk continued.
Staring.
"Anything'll help."
Stare.
"Guy?"
Cloud was up to here with this bullshit. Right up to here. And now he decided it would be more fun to be an angry drunk rather than a bemused drunk. So he stomped on the guy.
"Ahhh! Me nads!" the cloaked figure curled in on himself.
Cloud paid the poor wretch no further attention as he then entered the shop.
The genitally wounded man shouted and bawled after him. "May Jenova's wrath be upon you! When our planet is at its end may you receive no mercy from our Silver God! May your body be crushed into a thousand tiny pancakes and served to lactose intolerant orphans! A pox on thee! How dare you stomp on my balls!"
Red Leather swarmed upon the vulnerable Jenova's Witness.
Meanwhile, Cloud located a shopkeeper and thoroughly harassed her.
"Pepto-bismol. Now," Cloud stared at the woman.
The shopkeeper looked a mite nervous. "Sir?"
"Advil." Just stared.
"Uh... that way?" She pointed to an aisle and Cloud left without another word.
Cloud just smashed his hands into the rows of boxes knocking most to the floor and grabbed whatever. Then took them to the till and placed them on the conveyor belt. He watched the box ever-so-slowly move towards the bored looking clerk. The guy was in his fifties, chewing gum and looked like tonight would be the night when he would finally top himself. Cloud stared at him.
The clerk was waiting to be paid and despite the awkward staring, droned, "sir, we're closing soon."
A blatant lie, if only to stop the staring.
Cloud reached into his wallet but something seemed different. "Oh, that fucker! Walker robbed me!"
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
Sephiroth disappeared off the security camera footage, but the security guard didn't notice because ShinRa was terrible and the man was badly trained, and because it was almost 3am in the morning, and because ShinRa wages paid diddly-squat forcing already over-worked employees to take extra shifts. And because it was a blind spot Sephiroth exclusively knew about.
At least he thought he were the only one who knew about it until a scrawny blonde cadet squeezed through the narrow crack in the guard wall opposite where he was currently knelt down in the dirt. Silently he rose to his feet, dropping the object he had been holding and watched the kid curiously.
"Gah!" the boy shrieked as he bumped into the last person he wanted to see—or expected to.
"Cadet," Sephiroth said in that non-too stern voice that he knew had the younger ones quaking in their little booties. "It is way passed curfew, what are you doing out?"
"What're you doing out?" he cadet wobbled on his feet.
Sephiroth was quite taken aback when the boy countered him like that. Then again, the cadet was clearly drunk, and if his experiences with Genesis meant anything it was that drunk people did some weird stuff. He looked down at his dropped gardening implements, "ah, good question. One that I will not be answering."
The boy wobbled.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, just looking at the kid. So this drunk blonde was the one Zack had nominated for SOLDIER training. So far he had not put forward a good impression. And standing in Sephiroth's patch was not helping his case any.
"Oh!"
He looked up as the boy shouted. The boy (Claude Strike, was it?) looked dazed and off-colour. Oh, you had better not vomit, he silently warned, being much better at communicating with his eyes than his words.
But instead of ruining Sephiroth's morning by presenting the General with all his past meals from yesterday, Strike handed him something. Sephiroth took it automatically, just wanting the boy to go away, and wondering why he hadn't just clouted the cadet upside the head similar to how Angeal did to him when he unknowingly committed some social faux pas.
Probably because the kid was friends with Zack, and Zack was a good friend who was friends with Angeal, who was a best friend and Planet, he was tired of this friendship business already.
"Just get out of here," he snapped and the kid practically stumbled over himself running away.
Without paying it the slightest attention, Sephiroth stuffed the given item in his pocket and settled back down in his secret-now-not-so-secret dirt patch. Where the heck had he dropped his clippers now? He looked over his shoulder to see the Strike kid disappear behind the chain link fence.
Weirdo.
-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-
a/n: I'm beginning to think I should have titled this fic 'Dead Prefix' considering just how many activities there are in the lifestream. Truly badminton is the king of sports. Drop off a review on your way out or no dead-smoothies for you!