[ An argument could be made, maybe: the one who killed you could be something to throw back in Sephiroth's face, and maybe if he were the person he had been, years ago, he would have done just that. He would have been full of the rage of anger and the pain of losing everything, would have been happy to jump into some kind of verbal lashing, to trade blows for each ego as easily as they would have traded blows with their swords. But now, here, like this? He's just tired--he's tired of the pain, and more than that, in some respects, he's tired of the struggle of living, tired of finding even more problems to the world than he had originally thought there could be. Sephiroth returning is just one small blip, after all: everything is already in ruins.
Despite the way that he speaks, Sephiroth gets on the bike anyway: there is some level of disgust in seeing him like that, some part of him that hates the idea of climbing on the bike in front of him, but he does it anyway. The goggles are set around his eyes with hands that can't really feel for the weight of them--he's too attuned to Sephiroth at his back, too worried of what could happen, and yet there is some part of him that lacks the fear that used to cower in his thoughts at the prospect; Sephiroth may be able to run his sword right through him, like this, but he doubts he will.
In some strange, messed up way, they both need each other right now--Sephiroth needs him to find out what's wrong with him, and he needs to do the same in order to perhaps find some measure of peace, or at best, to lay Sephiroth to rest once and for all.
The drive isn't difficult; they aren't going too far from the church, after all, given the state of the slums, ruined and crumbling and hardly even a place to be living, anymore. He takes what little backroads that he can--he keeps his speed low, reassures himself that Sephiroth is still on the bike behind him, and it's only once they pull up at some dark, half-collapsed building that he gets hit with a pang of nostalgia; the plate fall had ruined almost everything, but a few things still remained, here and there, for scavenging. The original Seventh Heaven is long lost, though they had been able to rescue some of the important knickknacks from inside; and here, the apartment building where he and Tifa had stayed, is only just barely standing, but good enough.
He kills the engine on the bike, puts down the kickstand and gingerly climbs off it. ]
One of these rooms is still functional. [ As in, it has a bed at least--or what is left of a bed, though he doesn't imagine Sephiroth rests or even sleeps. ] You can stay here. No one comes around here anymore.
[ With a frown, he takes off his goggles, tosses them back onto the bike. ]
no subject
Despite the way that he speaks, Sephiroth gets on the bike anyway: there is some level of disgust in seeing him like that, some part of him that hates the idea of climbing on the bike in front of him, but he does it anyway. The goggles are set around his eyes with hands that can't really feel for the weight of them--he's too attuned to Sephiroth at his back, too worried of what could happen, and yet there is some part of him that lacks the fear that used to cower in his thoughts at the prospect; Sephiroth may be able to run his sword right through him, like this, but he doubts he will.
In some strange, messed up way, they both need each other right now--Sephiroth needs him to find out what's wrong with him, and he needs to do the same in order to perhaps find some measure of peace, or at best, to lay Sephiroth to rest once and for all.
The drive isn't difficult; they aren't going too far from the church, after all, given the state of the slums, ruined and crumbling and hardly even a place to be living, anymore. He takes what little backroads that he can--he keeps his speed low, reassures himself that Sephiroth is still on the bike behind him, and it's only once they pull up at some dark, half-collapsed building that he gets hit with a pang of nostalgia; the plate fall had ruined almost everything, but a few things still remained, here and there, for scavenging. The original Seventh Heaven is long lost, though they had been able to rescue some of the important knickknacks from inside; and here, the apartment building where he and Tifa had stayed, is only just barely standing, but good enough.
He kills the engine on the bike, puts down the kickstand and gingerly climbs off it. ]
One of these rooms is still functional. [ As in, it has a bed at least--or what is left of a bed, though he doesn't imagine Sephiroth rests or even sleeps. ] You can stay here. No one comes around here anymore.
[ With a frown, he takes off his goggles, tosses them back onto the bike. ]
Good enough?