A deadly little game of Marco-Polo

[puisne_turk]

Who: Elena | Sephiroth | Remnants (?)
When: Day 60 - afternoon
Location: Shinra Manor, Nibelheim
Rating: PG-13 / R (depending on the level of gore)
Summary: Elena finally makes it to Nibelheim and her first stop in her search is Shinra Manor.

Comments

(ooc: heres my attempt at following that)

[sephiroth_san]

One might have expected the finely tuned sing of Masamune as it sliced through the air after all that tension, but as the seconds ticked by nothing happened. There seemed to be a deal of disturbed dust however in the basement rooms and by the looks of the handful of old lamps which dimly illuminated the rooms it was fairly obvious someone had been here looking for something recently.

In one of the dormitory rooms Sephiroth was now satisfied that the newest stomach hole had stopped bleeding into the dull colored cloth but carefully removed the same just to double check. The bullet which had been lodged in his torso was dropped to the floor out of his opposite palm and hit the concrete floor as he cast his dimly gleaming eyes around the basic room.

Ding, ding. The bullet on the concrete seemed to echo more through the utter emptiness of these rooms.

With not much else than it's metal framed bed, nightstand and gym locker Sephiroth lowly grunted distaste before he made the effort to stand up. The room tilted forward violently which led him to believe he'd been 'resting' for a least a couple of days already. Pain like a new blow collided with his right kneecap as weight was balanced on it.

Thats right, I landed on that, that's why it hurts. He reminded himself silently. Not that he had any problem remembering the fight, with it's neverending volley of bullets and then the monster the red-caped one had turned into. Well he surely would have learnt a lesson too, but what about him? Mother would have healed him up if she had been here, why wasn't she here to help him? The harsh reality that he'd have to do this on his own stung deeper than any flesh wound could. As he stretched a little a painful crack in his shoulder reminded him of the bullets which had near destroyed that too. As if he couldn't tell that from the large cracks and holes in his silver armor; now placed on the end of the bed

Idly Sephiroth found himself tracing the deepest claw gash to his face which, though smaller and healing, was still tender and gaping. It was a similar story everytime he looked down at his chest, pecks etched in their own violent red marks in a cross which had torn him right down to bone initially. All he could smell in this room was his own blood and sweat, and so the warrior rose from his rest to seek out the most simple of commodities - water.

The door to the dormitory creaked itself open relatively smoothly and the careful walk down the corridor began. Sephiroth made sure to keep one hand rested smoothly on the nearest wall or bookshelf on his way just in case of mis-stepping which might cause further injury, he was painfully aware of the occasional limp which his leg was forced into. Once he was at the nearest basin and rinsing the bloodied cloth with the small trickle of water from the faucet; something else caught his attention. Like a smell that wasn't in context with these surroundings, a presence that wasn't here before. Sephiroth paused and looked slowly over his shoulder.

(ooc: insert a Laney here?)