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Who: Zack Fair (i_love_squats) and Sephiroth (saner_sephiroth)
When: Backdated to shortly after this.
Where: Seph’s starter apartment.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Zack comes by for a visit. Not with Welcome To The Neighborhood cookies, though.
Warnings: Grrrr-ness.
There wasn’t much Zack could say; his thoughts were a tangled mess of what ifs and so who should I believe nows. While every previous time that he had seen Sephiroth wasn’t so much of a fantastically frustrating gray area, things had been happening lately, things that had altered the comfort level that Zack had easily coasted by at for some time now. Aerith coming and going, Cloud returning and forgetting the last year they had spent together, Angeal dying, and Kunsel…well…
Let’s just say there was another someone on the increasingly long list of who he would die to protect.
Which brought him back to Nibelheim, doomed and tattered. Zack remembered the flames all too well, the heat of them, the death like mist rolling across the ground in Sephiroth’s wake. How much of this was an act? A helicopter ride. A helicopter ride was the last thing he remembered, and how was Zack supposed to believe that knowing that happened? Knowing…who he was, who he would become.
This is the bastard that kills Aerith, came the bitter reminder. Cloud told you…
Refusing to tell Kunsel where he was going (some things were better left unsaid), the sword was snatched and found its customary home on his back as he stepped out the door. The starter apartments, overlooking a store, huh? It wouldn’t be difficult to find (little was around here anymore), but he had to pick the best way to enter. Go in, sword-a-swinging? Go in peaceful, giving the benefit of the doubt? Go in, tense and ready to explode at the second something looked out of place?
Go in cautious? After all, whether Zack wanted to admit it or not, Sephiroth could be telling the truth.
“Should’ve asked him to meet me in Dismas,” he muttered to himself, earning a few questionable and disgusted looks from the natives around him. “At least it would’ve been an even playing field.”
It only took a handful of minutes, but with the trains running through his head, it felt like days before he was pounding on that unfamiliar door.
When: Backdated to shortly after this.
Where: Seph’s starter apartment.
Format: Paragraph.
What: Zack comes by for a visit. Not with Welcome To The Neighborhood cookies, though.
Warnings: Grrrr-ness.
There wasn’t much Zack could say; his thoughts were a tangled mess of what ifs and so who should I believe nows. While every previous time that he had seen Sephiroth wasn’t so much of a fantastically frustrating gray area, things had been happening lately, things that had altered the comfort level that Zack had easily coasted by at for some time now. Aerith coming and going, Cloud returning and forgetting the last year they had spent together, Angeal dying, and Kunsel…well…
Let’s just say there was another someone on the increasingly long list of who he would die to protect.
Which brought him back to Nibelheim, doomed and tattered. Zack remembered the flames all too well, the heat of them, the death like mist rolling across the ground in Sephiroth’s wake. How much of this was an act? A helicopter ride. A helicopter ride was the last thing he remembered, and how was Zack supposed to believe that knowing that happened? Knowing…who he was, who he would become.
This is the bastard that kills Aerith, came the bitter reminder. Cloud told you…
Refusing to tell Kunsel where he was going (some things were better left unsaid), the sword was snatched and found its customary home on his back as he stepped out the door. The starter apartments, overlooking a store, huh? It wouldn’t be difficult to find (little was around here anymore), but he had to pick the best way to enter. Go in, sword-a-swinging? Go in peaceful, giving the benefit of the doubt? Go in, tense and ready to explode at the second something looked out of place?
Go in cautious? After all, whether Zack wanted to admit it or not, Sephiroth could be telling the truth.
“Should’ve asked him to meet me in Dismas,” he muttered to himself, earning a few questionable and disgusted looks from the natives around him. “At least it would’ve been an even playing field.”
It only took a handful of minutes, but with the trains running through his head, it felt like days before he was pounding on that unfamiliar door.