route666rp | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Vincent, Sephiroth, Tifa
What: A long delayed discussion~
When: Very late July or early August, before zone change
Where: ..nnnnearby.
Warnings: Potentially: Canon typical violence, science, experimentation, monsters, monster changes, Hojo may get a mention and deserves his own warning, genocide

Flirting with disaster.

Vincent had said that he needed to speak to someone else in the Convoy before going into any of the details Sephiroth had asked for, and Sephiroth.. allowed it.

He'd waited twenty years, he could wait a little longer. But he'd spent more time studying the tiny picture in the locket, attempting to connect the name Lucrecia to it instead of Jenova. It's not easy, that wasn't the name he'd known all his life, but he was willing to accept that he'd been lied to. About ... so much.

This too could be a lie, and if it was..

Vincent's invitation to discuss it one early evening was not particularly close to the Convoy, in a spot where monsters had been keeping a den but over the course of the last month had been cleared out, the empty showroom floor of what had once been a car dealership, its luxury vehicles long gone. It was as secure a place as any could hope for, and unlikely to be eavesdropped upon.

And so it's there he waits, after flipping one of the desks upright again and using it as a convenient seat. Vincent said he'd be there soon enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Vincent had no intention of denying Sephiroth forever. It was true it wasn't the best place to discuss it at the time in the heart of the urban sprawl while they all suffered the warp's transformations. And it was also true he wanted to speak at least to Tifa.

Zack had not crossed his mind; not because of any lack of knowledge but... simply because at this stage, Vincent wasn't the sort to go out of his way to include someone because it would be the 'right thing' to do. Though... he'd have probably considered the possible back up.

For there had been a reminder when he and Sephiroth had parted ways, of the potential for the madness that seemed to grip the SOLDIER when he realized the truth. Of how utterly dangerous it would be to face the man alone. But Zack's reaction was still an unknown. Tifa.... Tifa was reliable, and a backup Vincent could count on and a direct friend.

And in Vincent's mind, deserved to have a place in hearing some of what led to the calamity that befell her town all those years ago. So he had quietly told her of his intention, asked her to come along to verify and say what she wanted to tell Sephiroth and just be there in case things go very wrong.

Vincent had explained basics of how this agreement to talk came about, though he'd not mentioned Lucrecia by name, he would have said there had been a locket, and a picture of a woman Vincent recognized as Sephiroth's biological mother. At the time, the stoic gunman had kept his emotions carefully even. He'd also not said in detail what he planned to tell Sephiroth; only that... "I intend to tell him what I know about the Jenova Project that birthed him. After that... it depends on how it goes."

There's no pressure for Tifa to actually tell her story in full. She can add it, if she wants as the questions go on. What Vincent will reveal of other matters learned on the course of his journey with Cloud? That is also left vague and uncertain.

But that all led to here. Vincent would have offered to drive them both or they could have arrived in their own vehicles. His own rather flashy hotrod is driven as sedately as possible for such a thing, pulled in and turned around in such a fashion as to make escape easy and quick in theory.

The Convoy is out of the urban sprawl and the transformations and effects of the warp have had time to fade. Vincent had, for now, lost the wings, the stone-like scales and the bulk. But slender, elegant claws had remained and refused to return to normal, human hands. Some sewing later and his gloves were now cropped to leave half of his fingers and these new weapons free. He adapted and he still wore the claw-tipped gauntlet on top of his left hand.

Wasn't the first time he'd woken up to find himself looking less than human. Won't be the last.

There's only a slight hesitation as he waits for Tifa to join him; acknowledging that they are here as a pair; partners, companions, allies... Not as individuals. Sephiroth is waiting inside and he will follow her lead on how to cross from outside the showroom to the inside, or indeed whether they should at all.

There were probably few advantage of staying outside, though. This is mainly just a courtesy for Tifa to make that final choice at the threshold for herself. Vincent has already made his.

If there's one thing Tifa can say for the old Shinra hauler... It's that the old pickup manages to hold up and tough out just about any situation. Truth be told, sometimes she thinks that the truck is tougher than she is; better at weathering everything they've found themselves in, compared to her.

"Well... I'm here now, like you asked." She's still trying to wear her hair long; hide the extra eyes at her temples, even if she can't hide the claws, now. Maybe she'll need sharper vision, depending on how this conversation goes... But one thing at a time. Starting with meeting everyone.

When Tifa steps out of the truck, she's keeping an old shirt lifted from one of the city stores, and keeping it carefully wrapped around her claws. Better not to draw any blood from her own palms with those, and she's worried that she'll eventually puncture her own palms, with how much her fingers and claws want to ball into a fist.

"...About as ready as I can be, too. We... Probably shouldn't keep him waiting, should we?"

She's trying not to treat this as some sort of death sentence for one of them. Even if Tifa is all tension as she turns towards the garage and show room floor, ready to walk in. She lets her boots crunch across some of the broken glass, both to ground herself and to announce their presence even further.

This isn't a particularly safe venture, given how it went the last time. Not for any of them.

He's content to wait, even though it's certain the SOLDIER's aware they're out there. The rumble of engines is hardly subtle after all, but he remains where he is, arms crossed over his chest, expression concealed by the shadow of his habitually long bangs and the not so great lighting of the showroom without electricity to power it. Though he's waited a lifetime for more information, any information about who she was, and about his own origins, at least now he had a chance to actually get those answers.

The delay in their approach is ... noteworthy. Maybe it was routine preparations, they were all becoming monsters, after all, and that came with impulses and needs that surely none of them regularly had to deal with before this planet made it a problem. He'd made it a point to actually finish a meal entirely and only of the raw meat kind the thing he was becoming demanded specifically to fend off things like an attack of sudden uncontrolled hunger.

Or the caution is just because it's him. Even now he still has a forboding presence that's almost a tangible thing, an unconscious sense of not quite right.

He knew he was seen as a monster by enemies long, long before finding himself here. Tifa might be one of those people, and he looks up slightly at the distant sound of her voice, a bit surprised. Maybe he shouldn't have been. The number of people here from approximately the same era were very slim, how many could there be for Vincent to ask?

The gold locket's back in its place around his neck, the only gleam of any color besides silver and black on his person.

Sephiroth only animates significantly at the crunch of glass; that had to be deliberate, so he straightens up slowly but remains more or less where he is. "I'd offer a seat but ... it's just desks for now, I'm afraid."

Careful, deliberate casualness against what he reads as tension in their movements. "Any local trouble?" Being attacked on the way here wouldn't be great, but he can't smell blood.

For the best. Blood gave him issues.

Edited 2025-08-06 10:47 (UTC)

No verbal answer to Tifa's response. Vincent just turns and continues forward to pass through the frames of what were once massive showroom windows. Glass crunches under his boots.

"Nothing worth mention." No blood scents. Vincent even cleaned thoroughly after his last meal; probably more for the sake of Tifa's acute senses than Sephiroth's. In response to the seat there is only a silent intention to remain standing. He pauses within the shadows of the showroom; even with the sun below the horizon, he still preferred darker haunts. He stopped close enough that his low words are in easy earshot even to a normal human; far enough away to imply polite distance.

Given the former Turk's normal manners, it's difficult to truly say whether it is Sephiroth's unnatural air that makes him cautious or simply normal wariness and distance. Maybe in this case, it's also just a touch more courtesy to his companion; not to suggest that she should push herself to get any closer than Vincent himself did.

He isn't good with verbal or physical comfort.

"Show Tifa the picture." It's.... not meant as a demand, really. The tone doesn't fit with a true order. While he had told the young woman that the image was that of Sephiroth's biological mother, Vincent can well imagine that seeing would be better believing.

...Instead of leaving at least one of them with the image of that thing trapped in a specimen jar and.... monstrous horrors left to impede them.

She's a little slow to approach the interior... In part because Tifa suddenly remembers the bottle of liquor she left in the passenger side of the truck. Unopened; decent brand and quality, from what she's been experimenting with in the Hubcap Bar. And, as a failsafe, made out glass that can shatter into an improvised weapon if need be.

She's pretty sure they're going to need this bottle, one way or another. So she keeps it in the crook of her arm, well away from the claws, the fabric wrapping her fingers, and any chance of breaking it...

...And she takes a very careful, slow approach towards Sephiroth, looking for that locket.

"I understand that we all... Need to talk about things."

And talking about things is supposed to be good, right? It doesn't ALWAYS have to lead to confronting people on rooftops, and wrecking whatever thing you had going with them. That's what she keeps telling herself. It doesn't seem to convince her pulse in the slightest.

"A-and it's okay. Too restless to sit down right now. So... What it is it I should see, for starters?"

How much good will a broken bottle do against something like Sephiroth remains to be seen, but it's better than being empty handed perhaps. She's still very much apprehensive about being in his presence, that much is obvious, so he remains where he is, and reasonably still and quiet, taking his time in reaching up to unclasp the gold chain around his neck. "Your companion implied you know something of the matter."

It's still so fragile, an ordinary enough locket. To be guarded carefully lest he lose it a third time. Tifa has more eyes now than before, some part of his thoughts note as she reluctantly draws closer. When it's carefully opened with a clawtip and held out, the little image isn't the misshapen monstrosity Tifa's seen before, but an ordinary, if beautiful human woman. The resemblance to Sephiroth is immediate and strong. That she's wearing a labcoat, and is obviously in a lab, suggests she too is one of Shinra's scientists.

"This, I suppose. Have you ever seen this woman?"

If Vincent had a smile for the tacit agreement to bring alcohol, he'd done it back at the Convoy and moved on. Regardless, he approved.

Implied? Yes. But in truth, Vincent doesn't expect Tifa to know. Had his self in that other time even mentioned her name? Had he when they first met. He mused that in a polite pause. Why?

Because he is curious if there might be some subtle change from what he knows and remembers. But after enough of a pause for Tifa to fill in her knowledge, the former Turk will supply the name. His gaze is ever on the portrait; almost hungry for a glimpse.

There may have been another motive, deep down.

"Lucrecia." The name may have been a repeat. It might have simply been filling in the blank for Tifa, since he's spoken the name to Sephiroth before. Vincent still says it with a tone that borders on reverence. "A scientist who worked on the Jenova Project. In Nibelheim."

Outwardly his stance hasn't changed, nor has what's seen of his features. Just the quality of his voice. And his eyes. The way they're set. Knowing that Hojo was more deserving of the nightmarish slumber as punishment had done little yet to fix his feelings about her. Or solve mysteries that yet remain veiled by the future he has yet to experience.

"Lucrecia?" She tests the name out, clearly with the air of someone who has never heard the name before. But those other names, it's pretty clear she tenses up from that. It takes a moment to remind herself that nothing is catching on fire, before Tifa can relax again. She looks over the picture again, searching for something to say.

"She... Seems lovely."

'For Shinra' goes unsaid. Maybe Barret or Cloud would broach the topic. But the situation feels precarious enough without bringing it up. Besides. She still has something else she needs to confess, without mixing too many snarled feelings into the mix, all at once.

"I... Nibelheim is where I grew up. Saw Shinra going in and out of the mansion to oversee the Mako reactor often enough. But... Obviously the mansion was off-limits for people without an appointment, most of the time. And I... Wasn't all that interested in going in there, myself. Had other things to worry about."

That's plenty to say for the moment. And despite the tension, she remains gentle with the locket. There's something significant going on with this item, even if she can't fully grasp it yet. So she's careful not to scratch or scuff at it, even as she reaches out to carefully touch the locket, and peer at the portrait inside.

"Can I ask why she's important to you?" She turns the question to Sephiroth. Her voice is still a little guarded... But there's also some clear curiosity, despite herself.

"The home of the first reactor. I've never been but I've heard it has breathtaking views." Nibelheim would be on his visit list, if he ever returned to his proper time. Who knows, maybe there'd be something to find there even now.

There is a low undercurrent of unease whenever anyone else handled that simple piece of jewelry. Sephiroth had lost the locket for years, and it'd be so easy to lose it again. There was no saying if it disappeared that he'd ever relocate it, and once more the only connection he had to his mother slipping away.

"She's my mother."

That thing in the specimen tube, tentacles and pale skin and too many eyes, with silver hair so much like his-- except the picture is definitely not Jenova. She's human. She looks like she'd be capable of warmth, unlike the thing in the reactor, or in Shinra's tower. "I was told her name is Jenova, but.." His gaze flicks briefly to Vincent. "Now I am told otherwise."

Names are important, when all there is is a name and a picture. It left questions, like who Jenova was, if Lucrecia wasn't her, and what project was connected to it.

It was more sensible now, why Tifa would need consultation first. She'd lived in Nibelheim, although he couldn't guess how old she was and where she sat on these varying timelines to know if she might have ever seen anything, heard anything, it was closer to a lead than he's ever had. "Perhaps it is foolish at my age to still be searching, but I have no other family." That's ... not quite true, but he will not be acknowledging the rest.

Vincent slowly tears his eyes off the locket. He has to watch the other two, he knows this. For emotions, body language... His eyes are there to meet Sephiroth's as the man speaks of her and the two names that are claimed correct for one person.

"She disappeared. Before you were born, Tifa." The latter statement seems to be an interjected explanation though for a moment as ruby eyes turn to look at the young woman, there was a flicker of disappointment. Privately, he'd hoped for even a crumb of knowledge about things that might have happened. Even if... to another time and place.

Seems that wasn't to be the case.

"When I woke from my slumber, no one knew her. Too much time passed. Or her name had been buried by lies and... misleading information." This time, his gaze falls on Sephiroth.

"I wouldn't put that past Shinra-"

Apparently, even Tifa has limits when it comes to being polite with the people who wrecked her life. Though she has the decency to wince, and draw her hand away from the locket.

"...Sorry. I- I guess we've established we all come from different times, then? Something about this place pulls people from different places. Maybe even different timelines..."

...Now there's a sobering thought. Maybe this version of Sephiroth never has that moment where he breaks, and shatters her hometown for good measure. If Aerith were here, Tifa would likely be pestering her about this possibility.

But she isn't. So Tifa is left to flounder with the idea, and what Sephiroth said.

"It... Hurts to lose family." And it also takes everything she has to keep her voice from hitching. But somehow, she pulls it off. "Not surprising you'd want to hang onto whatever's left. Or search for it.

But I... Always thought your mother's name was Jenova. And I always thought she was-

Well. Different from the picture. But I'm figuring out, no one has a full account of what happened. Except maybe him."

She nods to Vincent at that. Still more than ready to let him take the lead with this.

"You don't have to apologize. Even people who love the company, as few and far between as they are, do not always have nice things to say about it." Whatever his job was, whatever he was raised for, Sephiroth felt no great need to protect their name from things like ... reality. Shinra did terrible things. Often he was complicit in those things.

But hope wasn't sufficient to draw information where there isn't any, and slowly he closes the locket again. Even now, it's foolish to put too much in coincidence and delusion, and expecting anyone to actually know anything helpful besides a name had been the pinnacle of that foolishness. She was gone before this woman was even born.

"I don't know if .. 'hurt' is the right word. I never knew her, no-one chose to claim me as their child, I have no family to lose. Can you feel pain for something you've never had?" But he'd wanted to. And that.. was impossible, wasn't it? For all that his tone is carefully, neutrally stoic there's something less than happy in every other move he makes, a slow and reluctant surrender. "I was told her name was Jenova. That she died when I was born; the 'Jenova Project' was never mentioned. If she wasn't Jenova, who was?" Why the lie? What was the point?

"You were born from her," comes a quiet voice. The man is all but buried in the high collar of his cloak, eyes cast down and gleaming in the shadows. "Even if... for a fleeting moment, she had you and you... her. Before you were taken away."

And thus, even if Sephiroth doesn't remember, or Vincent doesn't know whether the baby was literally snatched away the moment the umbilical cord was cut never to be seen again, there was an imprint of loss. Maybe that's why the man before him feels the desire to know.

They've reached this point. For Vincent, while it is not without risks- terrible ones- it's... easier to speak calmly about the bleak details of the Jenova Project's concept than it is about Lucrecia. He looks up again.

"Some years before you were born, a discovery was made. An ancient being in stasis, excavated from the rock. Gast Faremis concluded from studies that this was a member of the lost Cetra race. He named it Jenova."

Vincent's tones are back to their normal levels of indifference and near-apathy. He is far from either; eyes cast between Tifa and Sephiroth and watching carefully for signs of how it's being absorbed; and when it might be best to pause a moment and let what's been said sink in.

"Even then, the Shinra Company was searching for the Promised Land. So efforts were made to see if the Cetra race could be brought back to life through this find." There was even something before Sephiroth but... that isn't part of this story. "Nibelheim's reactor was approved for use. Researchers lived at the mansion and conducted their experiments. As a member of the Turks, I was sent as a bodyguard."

"But... Eventually the strain of those experiments started to catch up on the Reactor, right?" Tifa finds herself trying to keep up with Vincent, and pick up where he left off. "Because it was getting pushed beyond its functions? At least, that's what I was told. I never was Shinra, even when I was acting as a guide-

Sorry. Getting ahead of myself." She's trying not to pace, but it's a hard challenge. Things are starting to move and crash together; not quite lining up with what she'd been told, but also making a little more sense. The best compromise is to roll her foot back and forth, letting the heel of her boot clink and crunch against some of the broken glass.

"A lot of what I was told came from Cloud, and... He-"

It's not right to say he was lying. Or that he was wrong. He seemed so convinced about everything, even while Tifa found herself questioning it.

"He's had gaps here and there. What happened to him would tear holes in anyone's memory, though!" And there she goes, doing her best to defend a childhood friend who isn't even here.

"The... The point is, he was dispatched to take care of the Reactor." So he said at least. Even if she'd never seen him, Tifa's trying to cling on to that. "Along with a SOLDIER named Zack, and..."

She trails off, and looks right at Sephiroth.

"That's when I saw you for the first time. I overheard you say that your mother was Jenova... But I'm starting to feel that's not true."

Edited 2025-08-19 03:22 (UTC)

Sephiroth's smile is brief and not really an expression of happiness. "I'm not one to weep overmuch over things I have never had. Whether for spare seconds we were together or not, the absence remains. I don't remember her warmth, I don't know if I've ever heard her voice. I was not even granted her surname." And so much more. For all that he'd always wanted to know, it isn't something to truly get upset about. Not yet. Women do die in childbirth, it was a dangerous thing even with the best of care, and he... may have been abnormal from the start. Who knows if it was a factor in her death.

But he'd still wanted to know. Still wanted to know right now, the childish desperate desire to have some kind of connection to someone else simply tempered by reason and age. And those tiny scraps of information are weighed against what follows. A Turk aligned well enough with Vincent's behavior, and aside from a brief glance, he says nothing about it - but it's certain he'll remember it.

That Gast was able to locate and excavate and positively identify the remains of a Cetra isn't surprising. The name choice however..

The man doesn't really move. He's still listening, a flicker of puzzlement rising about whoever Cloud was and his memory gaps, and Zack. That part shifts his attention briefly, gaze rising to study the direction they'd come from. He knew Zack, Angeal's apprentice, and now a SOLDIER of some skill. One who's reaction to him had been immediate aggression.

"Apparently, her name was Lucrecia Crescent. Hojo always told me her name had been Jenova, and that she died in childbirth. While this seems to remain true, she was a Shinra scientist, not this Ancient in stasis." A corpse can't give birth, after all.

Shinra's scientists and their experiments, however, can do a great many things they shouldn't. And if they were attempting to revive the Cetra.. "I've met Zack, here. He's older than he should be by perhaps.. four or five years. The reactor and its 'strain' aside.."

Vincent truly wonders how Sephiroth had obtained the picture. He surmises that Hojo wouldn't have given Sephiroth his mother's surname simply because that would imply shared credit. Was it Gast's doing, maybe? He had his sentimentality. Or was it just a convenient image to apply to 'Jenova' to keep the boy docile?

...Well, not much point in thinking too much on it. Hojo's dead and gone. And he doesn't want to waste words speaking even if he showed up here. The gunman's attention returns to the room and the others that have come together.

"Hrmph. Maybe." He glances at Tifa. "Not back then. But." Then out to the bleak scenery outside of the showroom, eyes growing distant in thought. "It was the first reactor. And a lot happened since then."

More experiments. Cloud. Zack. Or just plain lack of safety and redundancy that was in newer reactors as technology progressed.

"'Jenova' was just a name. Gast's dead wife I think." He'd heard something in passing. "As for being Sephiroth's mother..." he glances at Tifa briefly. "...That's part of a theory. They did a lot of research on the entity. Eventually, Lucrecia agreed to experiments that would merge the cells with the child growing within her in hopes of reviving the Ancient race."

It may be surprising that this time, he keeps an even tone; it is a hurt that must still lance through him deeply. But... that's in part because this touches very close to an important truth and the thoughts that rise as ruby eyes settle unerringly on Shinra's war hero.

"You need to listen to the end. The answers you're seeking. I don't know the specific details," he was told a story, but all he can do is make some well-aimed guesses of how it happened from Sephiroth's point of view. "But it resulted in you choosing a path that would lead to calamity."

Once more, a fleeting glimpse toward Tifa. "...She was there. I... wasn't." Just a trace of guilty regret may linger in the air. He pushes past quickly, brusquely. "You sure you want to hear it still?"

Vincent isn't entirely sure what he answer he wants to hear from Sephiroth.

For her part, she's ready to blurt everything out at this point; let this wound bleed out as much as it needs to. And get ready in case there's more bloodshed to go around. The fact they've gone this far without anything getting set on fire is already an achievement...

...But. She's also not going to rush in with confronting Sephiroth. She made that mistake once before; she's not going to make it twice. Not without being sure Vincent is ready for whatever happens. And since he's asking Sephiroth if he wants to hear this.. She's going to wait.

"I'll tell you, if that's what you want." Control. Keep control on her voice. Don't yell, don't sound too hurt, or too angry. Even if she's pretty sure a little bit of each emotion is seeping in through the edges. "It... Won't be a good story, though."

There's a reason why she tensed up the first time they met. Sephiroth himself likely remembers that.

Still, there's one thing that sticks in her mind: "choosing a path."

Since there haven't been any strange dark Whispers showing up and guiding actions and outcomes, Tifa isn't all that sure if this means they could change things. Opt for a different path. But... This place doesn't play by any rules she's familiar with.

Maybe anything is possible.

"...It's your choice."

"I am aware." For all that he's forced himself to remain relaxed, he isn't. But it seems calm enough, and so focused is he on this that the clamor of different monster instincts is quieter, a distant concern. "I have.. always heard of Zack as being a sunny, eager and friendly young man. When we arrived there was nothing but hatred and anger, and he acted as if he expected me to try to kill him. What must one do, to earn that enmity?" His gaze turns to the floor, the bits of dust and debris and forgotten papers, broken glass of a forgotten time. "I expect enemies. But not from other SOLDIERs, or from those under Shinra's protection."

It won't be a good story.

It wasn't a good story now. He knew he had been experimented on, he could see it in his unnatural eyes, his unusual size, his strength and his durability. He always knew he was special. Attempting to recreate the lost Ancients, however.. if that was the goal, why was he nothing more than Shinra's most prized weapon?

He'd never been put to the task of finding any Promised Land. It was only stories, after all.

There's more questions than answers. But more answers than he'd had before. "The convoy keeps running into things that force secrets to be revealed whether it's wanted or not," the silver SOLDIER says finally, but he doesn't look up. "It would be better to know by choice than by force." Before that decision was taken away by some whim of this place, through dreams or some other means.

"But first I wish to know if my mother was a willing participant in ... what I have been made to be." A hybrid? A failed one, if the purpose was to revive a dead species and find the Promised Land. "Was she as the rest of the scientists there are?"

Unethical. Cruel in her curiosity. Enough to abandon an infant to the tender mercies of the labs.

Edited 2025-08-26 23:11 (UTC)

Vincent watches Tifa as she speaks. He turns to look at Sephiroth for the same. It's here though, with the question posed at the end, that the gunman's face contorts suddenly to an expression of fierce denial. It's matched by the shift in his tone.

"No! Lucrecia was not like him."

Hojo. Though Vincent probably well recognizes that Hojo was not the only cruel one. Even Gast ignored certain ethics in his pursuit of science. Even Lucrecia may have, to him... The dark haired man sweeps his arm in a dismissive gesture. He avoids the painful uncertainties of his own experiences. If she had, he'd deserved it. While the former Turk then manages to compose himself somewhat, there's still a firmness to his tone that suggests he's not settled so well as he usually does.

"She was dedicated to her research. She could become lost in her studies. But she was not cruel." Vincent then flinches slightly, as he's forced to come around to face the question; was she willing...

Yes. And Vincent was to blame for that, wasn't he?

"She volunteered." His gaze, which had seemed to lose focus and drift, comes back to Sephiroth with sharp clarity. "But not to make you what you are. She thought it would bring back a lost heritage. She thought..."

Vincent's expression is struggling to maintain any sense of composure. The grief is real. The pain... He forces himself to keep looking at the silver haired man, though he seems to want to look away, unable to face his own guilt.

"More than anything, she loved you. Unconditionally."

Not because he was the possible resurrection of a lost species. Not because of some grand achievement in science and Shinra's might.

"She wanted to raise you but... she was denied that."

Vincent... finally looks away. It seems he will need a moment, if either of them wish to give it to him, before he continues with that terrible truth that yet lingers.

"...So this could have been avoided?" Tifa finds herself asking. Staring at the locket, not sure if she should glare or not. But now that she's going into the 'could haves' it's hard not to feel some anger well up.

"If you'd known from the start then... Maybe you wouldn't have killed everyone."

There it is; more blood from old wounds, and she doesn't have time to staunch those words before they spill out. No taking them back, either. She lets her fingers clutch at her arms, letting the armor and guards take a few scratches from the claws.

"Where I come from... You believe that Jenova is your mother. That it makes you superior to everyone, and that you have the right to take back everything. And so-

You burn my home until nothing is left. No one is left, except for a few. Nibelheim vanishes in a night, because it's-"

That's when she hits her limit. After so many years, Tifa was certain she was done crying about it. But she has to duck her head, scrub at her eyes, and feel a few extra tears prick at her skin; that's the downside to having those extra eyes at her temples, try as she might to keep them shut.

Sephiroth remains studying the floor instead of either of them, the thoughts crossing his mind showing nowhere on his expression or bearing.

What, precisely, set off what Tifa speaks of remains a mystery, the destruction of Nibelheim a strange deviation from anything that was sensible, but the root cause was still the same, wasn't it? He was the son of science and torture, a hybrid creature that while born of a human woman, had something very inhuman in his veins, in his genes. The blood of the Ancients was not humanity.

He'd been so concerned about becoming a monster since arriving here, when he was never human to begin with.

Carefully the locket is closed and re-secured, tucked out of sight. What could one woman do against Shinra? Maybe she hadn't died in childbirth but certainly they wouldn't have let her live much longer.

"Is there anything else?" The question is quiet, the curtain of silver hair hiding most of his expression. Nothing shows. No emotion, no shift of tone or volume ... nothing.

The anger bleeds out of him as though he'd been hit with a vital, emotional wound. Such was the resulting strike of Tifa's initial outburst.

"I couldn't stop her." Quiet words pass his lips in agonized acceptance. "And I couldn't save her. Those are my sins."

Vincent's tone suggests he's engraved this certainty so deeply in his soul that it would be virtually impossible to excise them. And Sephiroth's descent to madness is just one more sin. Knowing that Hojo had a far larger part in all, deserved the punishment he'd taken onto himself... It hardly absolves Vincent.

The former Turk's head jerks up and his attention focuses on Tifa. The anger and suffering in her tone, the threat of tears. Ruby eyes shift from her to Sephiroth and then back. He starts to lift his right hand. Maybe meaning to touch the woman's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, maybe... But at the last minute he pulls it back and drops both of his arms to his side.

Yet Vincent does shift a pace or two closer to the grief-stricken woman. Proximity, not physical contact which might... not be welcome. Maybe. He tells himself that. And that maybe it's better to be closer to Tifa in case she lashes out.

But then his attention returns to Sephiroth. Anything else?

"...The truth about Jenova. The creature they discovered was not a member of the Cetra race." Vincent's tone is a touch bleak, though steady. "A life form that descended to our planet two thousand years ago. The 'calamity from the skies'. One that nearly destroyed human and Cetra civilization before it was sealed away."

"...I don't know what else you have planned, where I come from. Just that when you decide to show up again, there's always a body count that follows." A part of her would like nothing more than to shout "isn't that enough?" and "what else do you want?"

But... As those words try to crowd her throat she feels something else building up; a rumble that so desperately wants to be a growl. Another chance to become a little less human.

The exact thing they're trying to avoid now.

That's when she notices that Vincent has drawn a little closer, and... She can't quite help herself. She knows he isn't fond of contact of closeness, but at the moment Tifa sorely needs it, to keep from choking on any grief or rage.

"...You vanish after that. For seven years. And then turn up ready to kill Shinra, and anyone else who gets in your way."

...The scar tissue over her heart is starting to protest, too, giving an ache. The sigil burning against her skin doesn't help, either. But it all forces Tifa to keep her voice quiet.

"...I guess you could also say I was one of the lucky ones. You cut me open, but it didn't quite take." Might as well have one thing she can have confidence in, and voice. And it does the job of keeping her from snapping like an animal.

"If it is truly 'couldn't' and not 'wouldn't', then it is no sin. Impossibility is not personal accountability, it is impossibility. You might as well say your sin is not being able to breathe water." Of course it isn't enough to know this one incident. Not when some backwater nowhere hamlet wasn't likely to be his only victim, his only target. It has the feel of incidental attack, and thus a red herring, no matter how personal it was to Tifa. Burning down one helpless town and disappearing into the sunset for years made no sense.

Jenova isn't a Cetra. She's an alien. An alien and a monster. His fingers twitch as does his expression like some sudden sharp pain barely muted, claws briefly unsheathed, but control is reasserted swiftly.

"If you didn't die when I struck you then I didn't wish for you to die. I wonder why that would be." He's had years of working under pressure, under fire. It serves him well enough now, there's no visible sign of any disturbance at all, only a souring of scent. Rage, pain, clawing disgust and horror are all neatly and utterly obfuscated every way he knows how to.

That's why he was kept around when he failed to find them the Promised Land. With the genes of a monster and unnatural power at his command, turning him into a weapon was the reasonable choice, before instinct could run rampant and do as it pleased.

Logical. Letting a monster run free, after all, was asking for trouble.

Sephiroth pushes himself off the desk in one easy motion. "Thank you for informing me. I understand how difficult it must have been for both of you, and I apologize for any distress I have inadvertently caused here because of it." He cannot, will not apologize for actions he hasn't yet taken.

For all appearances that ends it rather neatly for him; the Silver Soldier is leaving.

That he tried but couldn't means there is no sin. It is a statement so roundly logical when devoid of all circumstances and emotions that surrounded the fault. Vincent's gaze is easily caught despite the shadows. The red was vibrant in their own odd way while the intensity of turbulent emotion only intensified their gleam.

He'd taken a long time to learn that he could and should keep moving forward. Even words of one of the primary victims of his failure are not going to easily change the entrenched belief. Not so simply.

Though Vincent's heart does twist. His eyes shift and look aside. Doubt... He'd not spoken to seek out forgiveness. But this is the first time anyone with the power to do so has given something so close to it directly. And there's not really any time to reflect on it.

So the former Turk shoves it aside, just like he always does. There is ample reasons to do so. A young woman's pain. A young man's agony.

While Vincent isn't a broad man, he's tall and a presence that, for all his haunted, gloomy nature, happens to be one of an ally, if not yet a friend. He'd moved closer as a concession and if Tifa gives into the temptation she suffered, he would remain steadfast and not deny her it. His right hand lifts lightly; not quite reaching out to her but neither does it lack as a sign of offer.

"Tifa...." Is it that he's unusually perceptive or that now they're all monsters, the instincts that came with what Hojo turned him into can perceive the rise of the internal strife which causes aches and burning? Who can say for sure...

He's come to know a little of Sephiroth too. Vincent has seen how closed off the man can be in the moments of weakness. Conceal and hide, never show because such things are vulnerabilities that can and will be exploited.

There is probably some span of time since he spoke Tifa's name and made his offer of nascent comfort, whatever the result of that is. But Vincent looks up with a sharp jerk of his head to offer what might appear as a cool and insightful regard of the silver-haired man who seems to be calmly departing.

"...Wait." But... why? Even Vincent doesn't immediately have words as to what made him speak up and try to stop Sephiroth. Surely he has no right to prevent the man from leaving after such revelations. Reason? Maybe if one were to look at it from the angle of what happened before when Sephiroth learned of his origins, for all those shocks were still based on faulty memories and... perhaps the influence of an insidious... will? Legacy?

"... You're still the same person who came here today. Knowing what we remembered... hasn't changed that." And Vincent, as far as he's concerned, knew they'd have to have this conversation eventually, given how this world seemed as capable of dredging up shades of the past and future as easily as it summoned Drifters.

"And... in my eyes you aren't that being I encountered when I woke from my long slumber and joined the others on their journey. That feeling... hasn't changed either."

Now that Sephiroth knows the truth of the memories Vincent and Tifa have, he still remains as if an individual that merely shared the same name and a similar appearance. To the former Turk's eyes, the difference is implied to be night and day.

“….”

Taking a page from Cloud’s book, Tifa doesn’t say anything right away. It’s a little hard to find more words, with all the emotion flying around. And with the other two managing varying degrees of stoicism, the last thing she wants is to break this mood by flying off the handle.

She’d LIKE to say that went better than expected. Doesn’t change that it’s still painful all around. Pain taken, and then returned. Maybe the best that can be said is no one is bleeding from any of this.

“I don’t really know what’s going to happen from here.” She finally admits. “…Maybe that’s not the worst thing, either.”

All the same, her hand drifts a little closer to Vincent. Maybe she won’t grab onto him; she’s not entirely sure he’d appreciate that. But that cape is just within hand’s reach, and it works as an anchor. And as a sensation to occupy her mind, different from that odd stinging sensation on the back of her tongue and in her nose.

She has a slight guess on what it could be: she’d just never imagine Sephiroth of all people to be capable of feeling that level of pain.

At the very least she can dip her head and nod at Vincent’s words. Though she’s not about to stop anyone from leaving.

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