FFVII [ficlet] Obligatory Post-Mortem Notes
Post-Mortem Obligatory Notes
PG-13
Mostly genfic, possible Seph/Cloud
Post-games, how Sephiroth and Cloud survive in a future world that doesn't remember either of them.
558 words
Death is a low chemical trick played on everybody except sequoia trees.
--JJ Furnas
***
A dead hero’s only remaining obligation is to stay dead. That Sephiroth is apparently incapable of doing so is a constant source of bitter amusement, in an existence where so few constants remain.
The Lifestream flows on through the Planet, recirculating and recycling the dead and living. Thanks to the hefty protection of Jenova, the Other, Sephiroth is able to retain most of his memories and anger as the ages slide past and he and everything he ever knew is steadily changed and forgotten.
He does rise, occasionally, to destroy and shatter and maim, to leave his footprints in blood on a world that doesn’t remember Shinra or SOLDIER, and welcomes him as fearfully as when he was thirteen and first deployed to Wutai. He is usually defeated, and sent back to the half-depths, to sit on death’s doorstep until-
--until he receives new orders. Until he receives a new target.
Would Hojo be pleased to know that his creation never swerved from its function? Or would Hojo see it as inadequacy? The inability to evolve, to grow, now that Sephiroth is too old to learn and-he tells himself-too tired to try.
If nothing else, he approves of the Planet’s new face, this barren land of rock and ice so primordial and glacial that the ice is green. There’s very few cities now, all grouped near the equator, and they all fear him. Cloud lingers in one of them for the moment, since Cloud is as incapable of settling down as Sephiroth is at staying dead.
“Hey,” Cloud mumbles to his sword, the wide blade hardly scratched despite its age. “You’re early.”
Cloud doesn’t change either, for the most part; still slow, soft-spoken, and sixteen, though he’s only a little younger than Sephiroth and almost older than anything else, except Valentine.
“Um,” Cloud squints at the rising sun, a darker red than Sephiroth remembers, but that just may be pollution. Or possibly a lack of. “Thanks. For last time.”
The words sound they’d been dragged out of Cloud’s throat via his nostrils. Sephiroth remains eternally unimpressed.
“It wasn’t for you.”
He’d saved Cloud’s life, Cloud’s body, from human scientists only a little less mad than before. Sephiroth then spent the following week razing the country to ashes, until his hair and leathers reeked of burned meat and burning mako and he fell from grace due to over-extending himself, rather than waging war against the rest of the world.
“Yeah, well,” Cloud rubs the back of his head, a shadow of someone else, “Whatever.” He still refuses to look Sephiroth in the eyes until they’re actively trying to kill each other.
Sephiroth will not to say more, because if Cloud is too stupid to understand then Sephiroth gains nothing by educating a fool. He will not speak to Valentine. The sun will go dark before Sephiroth will forget that betrayal.
He doesn’t forgive.
He raises his sword to his cheek, as if attacking Wutai, Genesis, or Zack. There’s only Cloud now, though, shifting into his stance, leather gloves tightening on his own sword hilt.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Cloud mumbles for the one-millionth time. “Things change.”
Sephiroth allows himself a brief, microscopic smile. “No. They don’t.”
Then he charges and Cloud swings and for a few minutes or hours he is alive.
***
A/N: This may have been a crossover with Dissidia. Since I’m not using any other FF characters though, I don’t think it quite counts.
PG-13
Mostly genfic, possible Seph/Cloud
Post-games, how Sephiroth and Cloud survive in a future world that doesn't remember either of them.
558 words
Death is a low chemical trick played on everybody except sequoia trees.
--JJ Furnas
***
A dead hero’s only remaining obligation is to stay dead. That Sephiroth is apparently incapable of doing so is a constant source of bitter amusement, in an existence where so few constants remain.
The Lifestream flows on through the Planet, recirculating and recycling the dead and living. Thanks to the hefty protection of Jenova, the Other, Sephiroth is able to retain most of his memories and anger as the ages slide past and he and everything he ever knew is steadily changed and forgotten.
He does rise, occasionally, to destroy and shatter and maim, to leave his footprints in blood on a world that doesn’t remember Shinra or SOLDIER, and welcomes him as fearfully as when he was thirteen and first deployed to Wutai. He is usually defeated, and sent back to the half-depths, to sit on death’s doorstep until-
--until he receives new orders. Until he receives a new target.
Would Hojo be pleased to know that his creation never swerved from its function? Or would Hojo see it as inadequacy? The inability to evolve, to grow, now that Sephiroth is too old to learn and-he tells himself-too tired to try.
If nothing else, he approves of the Planet’s new face, this barren land of rock and ice so primordial and glacial that the ice is green. There’s very few cities now, all grouped near the equator, and they all fear him. Cloud lingers in one of them for the moment, since Cloud is as incapable of settling down as Sephiroth is at staying dead.
“Hey,” Cloud mumbles to his sword, the wide blade hardly scratched despite its age. “You’re early.”
Cloud doesn’t change either, for the most part; still slow, soft-spoken, and sixteen, though he’s only a little younger than Sephiroth and almost older than anything else, except Valentine.
“Um,” Cloud squints at the rising sun, a darker red than Sephiroth remembers, but that just may be pollution. Or possibly a lack of. “Thanks. For last time.”
The words sound they’d been dragged out of Cloud’s throat via his nostrils. Sephiroth remains eternally unimpressed.
“It wasn’t for you.”
He’d saved Cloud’s life, Cloud’s body, from human scientists only a little less mad than before. Sephiroth then spent the following week razing the country to ashes, until his hair and leathers reeked of burned meat and burning mako and he fell from grace due to over-extending himself, rather than waging war against the rest of the world.
“Yeah, well,” Cloud rubs the back of his head, a shadow of someone else, “Whatever.” He still refuses to look Sephiroth in the eyes until they’re actively trying to kill each other.
Sephiroth will not to say more, because if Cloud is too stupid to understand then Sephiroth gains nothing by educating a fool. He will not speak to Valentine. The sun will go dark before Sephiroth will forget that betrayal.
He doesn’t forgive.
He raises his sword to his cheek, as if attacking Wutai, Genesis, or Zack. There’s only Cloud now, though, shifting into his stance, leather gloves tightening on his own sword hilt.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Cloud mumbles for the one-millionth time. “Things change.”
Sephiroth allows himself a brief, microscopic smile. “No. They don’t.”
Then he charges and Cloud swings and for a few minutes or hours he is alive.
***
A/N: This may have been a crossover with Dissidia. Since I’m not using any other FF characters though, I don’t think it quite counts.