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songs for the dusk: v (oc)

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Who: Sephiroth, OTA
What: Dealing with the nagging compulsion to 1. Hunt things 2. Eat something that doesn't disgust his more civilized morals. A whole-ass Chimera transformation complicates things.
When: Post Moon-Warp; 'now'?
Where: Still that miserable hot scorchy desert, oases, etc.
Warnings: May contain one or more of the following: Violence, bloodshed, gore, trauma, aggression, hierarchy scuffles, predator behavior, monster-connected trauma, and FF7 typical angst. Tiny kaiju battle in the parking lot.

Gone Hunting

The concern of an entire Convoy to feed is a good excuse to leave once it's parked for the night, and Sephiroth's made no secret of his excursions to find what he can that looks or smells edible, and hasn't yet bothered much with company. So far he's been as successful as anyone can hope to be, bringing back more strange creatures than plants that might be edible, but he hasn't touched any of them himself for meals.

Or much of anything else for that matter. While he does try now and again at mealtimes, nothing ordinary seems satisfactory, or sits like tasteless lead in his stomach. The creatures he kills for the convoy are as tempting now as they were with the Tower intact, though he doesn't eat them.

It hasn't affected him much so far by all appearances, as evening arrives and he prepares to head out again, exchanging his long black jacket for a more ordinary shirt and a sturdy pack to bring things back in. A small array of knives, no sign of the longsword he fights with, the key to his truck and a bottle of water are plenty to bring.. right? Except this time he's asked for another set of hands, intending to try to catch something more sizeable. Something that would struggle, and bleed, and be all the tastier for it--

Maybe you've volunteered. Maybe you got conscripted because you looked reasonably good at hunting or cleaning up the results of hunts. Either way.

"Ready to go?" He sounds and looks distracted.

Sometimes, you wake up as a monster.

More often than not, Sephiroth sleeps in the back of his truck. It's not comfortable by most people's standards, but it's his, and generally he's not bothered there so it's an ideal refuge to withdraw to when the convoy and its people are too much. The longer he delayed in dealing with his own changes, the more he ignored what struck him as unnatural instinct, the harder it grows to brush off, and it's ... easier, in solitude. That he doesn't turn up in the morning after a stop isn't too much to worry about, the vehicles all have autopilot and his truck's placidly followed anyway.

He also doesn't turn up during the scorching heat of the day, and as the convoy once more parks at sunset, only then does he stir from the covered back of the truck, irritated, restless and hungry.

There's a large, feather-covered dinosaur in camp, on the wrong side of the shield; monsters aren't supposed to be able to get in. A dinosaur or a wingless bipedal dragon, a not-quite seamless blend of bird, mammal and reptile, disturbingly silent on huge clawed feet for all that it's the size of a large horse. Black feathers, silver scales, patches of tawny fluff that might be fur,eyes that glow faintly green in the dark, and rounded ears half-hidden in a lionlike mane of thicker, longer feathers. For those who have sharp enough noses and familiarity, the scent is still the same, for all that appearance has radically changed - that's the long-haired SOLDIER. Maybe he shouldn't have waited so long, but it seems ... so, so difficult to focus on anything other than the gnawing itch to hunt and NOT bother to bring it back this time for everyone else.

And he's prowling the convoy and its parked cars instead of out in the parched landscape, sniffing like a beast between vehicles, poking into open windows, following any alluring scent of bloody red.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

After the moon warp ended, Vincent's physical changes disappeared. A quiet, understated relief to him, though he knew all was not well. Every day, as the Convoy closed up its shields and he went through the motions expected from him at their most minimal, the blazing sun overhead felt like it was sucking the energy out of him. People probably wouldn't notice without having known him a while and he was careful to stay out of critical gazes as a habit anyway.

But his reactions were duller. Took him longer to stir from his seat or leaning spot. Everything took more effort. Oh, he was covered enough that maybe if Vincent took to wearing a hat or a hood there would be relief. Just stepping into one of the trailers at a rest stop was often enough to ease that feeling. So it didn't take him long to connect sunlight itself to this new exhaustive effect. He'd not been overly fond of the brightness of day before. Now it was actually becoming a problem.

At night though? He became alive again. And he's about to welcome it, doing nothing more remarkable while waiting than stripping a bird he'd managed to shoot- blessedly with a smaller caliber weapon than an unfortunate rabbit several days earlier- when a glimpse of silver scales and black feathers catches his attention. That's... not good.

It's also heading right toward him. That's.... arguably not good for most folks days. Vincent chooses to view it as not looking a gift chocobo in the mouth.

The dinosaur will find, in the growing darkness, the sight of crimson red fluttering in the wind as Vincent hurdles over a few vehicles. Not too close, but still a moving, alluring target; and one that carries with it the smell of flesh blood and meat.

Bird blood, but still a resource.

There's still enough reasoning going on that he's not inclined to follow the sound of voices and attack the people and monsters of the convoy automatically, it's just reason edged with far more predatory interest than usual. Killing someone that's part of his ~~pack~~ traveling group wasn't acceptable, but bullying them off of their own kills absolutely was. Then he could remain in the area and keep watch over his convoy.

The smell of blood and fresh meat is a strong lure, and as he follows the tantalizing scent, he draws himself up into a more menacing posture, feathers fluffed for greater size, long fangs bared and foreclaws in clear display -- and there his target goes, and with him the food smell.

Sephiroth has never in his life had to juggle prey drive of this particular sort, the predatory impulse to run down fleeing prey simply never a strong enough concern until right now.

No sooner does Vincent bolt, hurtling over vehicles, than the vaguely saurian chimera lunges after him, straight up and over the same vehicles in a scrabble of claws and shriek of splitting metal and closing fast; none of his alarming speed has been hampered at all, but a far larger, bulkier frame was going to get in the way, he's not used to it at all. It's the only thing that slows him down.

Vincent probably won't apologize for what Sephiroth's doing to peoples' vehicles with those claws. And body weight.

Right now he's focusing. Keeping ahead of the predator (but not too far ahead), keeping him interested. Trying to shake off the lessening 'slag' of the day's lethargy and probably mentally cursing at the sun for not sinking faster. Cid used to have a few choice words for times like this.

...Probably shouldn't be thinking about old times right now. The red cloak, the glint of sun on gauntlet, someone in the pack scrambling away from a 'pack mate' it knows can take his food if he gets caught. Yup, Vincent is choosing to keep the dead bird in his grip.

The parked ~~obstacle course~~ will soon be coming to an end, particularly as Vincent is luring Sephiroth away from the main camp. And he's more than aware that the breathtaking speed of his pursuer will catch up to him on a straightaway.

He doesn't know if the convoy's dome shield will be of any use here.

The smell of prey- or the majority of it- goes in one direction, toward the open space between the cars that was suicidal folly to step out into as the half-plucked bird is sent hurtling through the air with a hail mary throw that might have made American Footballers proud.

The flapping of the cloak, at the same time, suddenly seems to utterly cease; becoming a thin, red line close to the body as the former Turk draws the material around himself to decrease the fluttering distraction while simultaneously diving between the relatively closely spaced bumpers of some of the last vehicles in the line. He'll be able to land and roll to get to his feet on the other side; in theory.

Technically there's even still specks of blood smell on him from the earlier work of prepping the bird. It's in its own way a gamble. Is Sephiroth invested in the food... or the 'friend' at this point?

Food that runs is FAR more interesting, almost to the point of irresistability. Which causes a conundrum as obvious food goes one way and fleeing thing goes in another, but it's not one that lasts long. The chimera's shoulders and wrists are articulate enough to snatch the half-plucked bird from the air in a twisting leap that's more feline than reptilian, the nearby vehicles in serious risk of just being squashed under several hundred tons of airborne predator.

And then he stops, prize in hand. Almost literally hands, for all that they're sporting talons and are covered in scales. As Vincent rolls to his feet on the other side of the pair of vehicles, nowhere near far enough to actually be safe, he's watched with utter silence and stillness. There's something sharply calculating in that unblinking stare.

Well... #@&$!

Rolling to his feet, spun around but not quite further than a crouch- all the better to spring back into action from- Vincent regards the creature. The cloak only slightly tremors as it settles in place and a small breeze stirs the edges.

Vincent hasn't drawn his gun yet. Make no mistake. This doesn't mean he will not fire on the monster. Right now, he's assessing intent. Looking for weakness. ... the
'reptilian' beast seems best by several oddities, not least which is an unmistakable conformation of forelimbs similar to a levrikon. Feathers, lion-like tufted ears and the piercing eyes.

When the chimera manages to both catch the bird and retain his focus on the moving target with little visible effort, he isn't liking his odds. Delaying as long as possible until the sun goes down fully and he can feel more himself again wasn't... going to be an option here, was it?

"Not going to give up, are you?" Vincent mutters. He doesn't expect an answer that makes sense. His right hand, with something like a resigned sigh, begins to subtly shift to the holstered gun.

Vincent is not in fact, food. He knows this. Eating things that can talk was revolting above and beyond the idea of raw meat (though that last one seemed quite fine at the moment), so even if the ex-Turk were to suddenly drop over stone dead, he wouldn't be on the menu.

But this doesn't change the fact that Vincent is not doing what he's pretty sure the man should be doing after giving up his prey, namely submitting.

Part of him knows what that should look like. The hawk knew, the lion knew. The levikron and lizard knew only a rival, and if there's one thing the jumbled tangle of instincts knew in unison is that if someone didn't submit or back off, they absolutely were a challenger.

He can't help but agree, when the hand twitches towards the holster. Someone needed to learn their place. The prey is gently set on the roof of the nearest vehicle, and a heartbeat later he lunges across its hood with a loud offended snarl in a shower of pebbles and dust.

Being sluggish doesn't mean Vincent is completely incapable of battle. It takes more effort, it's going to tire him faster, but he can muster the energy and effort to nimbly time his leap to the side and draw his weapon.

The gun cracks off two shots in whatever space of time he has in this fleeting moment. It's a formidable weapon of their world and powerful on its own. Yet this would be nothing more than an opening volley; a sting of pain to suggest it can cause harm, should either hit their target.

...Joints, probably. Places that could impair movement in the powerful legs. Those are what Vincent seeks in mid-air.

He'll strive to land somewhat away from the tail of course, but won't be fully out of range.

Food seemed to no longer be an issue. The offended snarl implied that Vincent hit a nerve with the instincts of this chimerical amalgamation.

He'd thought it would be likely to happen. But better a battle in dominance than one where everyone here is seen as prey; starting with Vincent himself.

The first bullet strikes, creasing a bright red line through dark feathers and pale scales but the second fails to hit its target; things that big shouldn't be capable of moving that fast, or changing direction as nimbly as he does. It's a shameful embarrassment that he'd gotten hit at all, Sephiroth had been fast enough to dodge gunfire for well over a decade at this point, and knowing that is salt in the wound that stings as much as the hole in his hide does.

It doesn't stop him from crashing to the ground directly where Vincent had been, a strange rattling sound following the impact as he spins and rears back to aim a sharp-clawed swat at the ex-Turk with intention to slap him right into the vehicles they'd just cleared.

It's not meant to be any kind of a deathblow, these kinds of things weren't about killing a rival.

One hit, but it's not enough. Vincent knew it wasn't going to be enough even if both had.

Known enough that he had calculated his landing trajectory to pair with the expectation that he would need to dodge the tail.

If it had been the tail, he would have. Too late to dodge but not enough to rase his left arm to block the claws- a shriek of hard nail against metal follows- and prevent them from ripping into his flesh.

The disparity in strength and weight, the fact that Vincent had chance to brace, all factor into why he's sent flying back into the side of one vehicle. Maybe denting something, perhaps cracking glass. But the gunslinger had to have absolutely felt that while simultaneously rebounding forward a bit.

But in that moment where he had been close, raising armor-clad arm to shield himself from some of the danger, Vincent had been close enough to catch more than a passing glimpse of the chimera's eyes. It was getting dark enough now to accentuate the glow. A familiar one, nesting in greeny iris and slit pupil.

"Sephiroth." The name was so silently uttered it may as well been just mouthed. And then there's no spare breath at all for it as Vincent goes flying back.

On their own planet, he has no rivals. No one who could hope to challenge him and win on their own - but here? It's different on another planet, and from what he'd seen there were more than a few who could be dangerous rivals, or even outright win.

Vincent is not one of those he's pegged as a standing risk. That might change, once he finds out what the man used to do as a career. But a mere normal person?

Just someone who needed to learn their place, a notion that just a couple of weeks ago would have been both uncomfortable and absurd.

Now, though.. now it was anything but, and in spite of it he is not a mindless, ravenous beast. He's magnanimous enough to give chances, to see if now that he'd made his position clear the man would submit as he should, the pursuit of where Vincent had been knocked slow, measured and very much a deliberate re-display of teeth and claws and deep threatening growl.

Every single step is calculated hostile confidence, even with the bleeding bullet wound.

There is a lot Vincent's body can take. He is not without protections common to their world but fundamentally the experiments he suffered had made it all but impossible for him to die. At least that used to be the case.

There's no reason not to think the same thing continues here other than the slim possibility that some of those abilties he seems to be 'missing' or appear locked away somehow would include this particular resilience. In any case, he could still suffer pain to a certain extent. Get winded or be poisoned, particularly by magic. There was this new weakness under sunlight though that was rapidly disappearing. So much was in shadow now that it wasn't even a problem.

He had heard the rattle. He'd caught himself before falling completely forward, a knee slammed hard into the ground. Vincent was breathing heavily. Getting so winded was... a surprise, for a moment.

Vincent looked up. The ruby eyes hold no sign of submission; if anything, there was a deadly, potent presence just below the surface. The common sense thing here would be to submit. And so he tried to hold it back. In the face of teeth and claws and that slow, methodical approach, A human mind and a beast's surfacing instincts were having a war.

Later, Vincent will not be able to tell if he had lost the battle or just given into the urge.

Power surged. Call it mana or spiritual energy or a power that was ascended to as one broke their limits. That energy was part of the transformation and if Vincent felt pain, it was buried in the roar of a beast as something purple and red surged up and launched itself at the approaching chimera.

It had claws and teeth and horns; larger than Vincent but not quite the mass Sephiroth's transformation has bestowed on him.

That wouldn't matter right now. Claws and teeth are wielded as the beast Vincent has become seeks to lash out at the offending monster before him. How dare. How dare you ask him to submit so readily?

That this is something other than what seems to be happening to all of them eludes. Behemoths, after all, don't have a mostly upright stance or handlike forepaws, suggesting Vincent's simply in possession of another form the way Serph, himself and many others were.

It's not surprise that faces the Galian Beast, but sheer indignation. None of that overwhelming confidence has waned, and the chimera meets the lunge without hesitation, intending on allowing that initial impact to turn it to a grapple and force the smaller creature backwards with superior strength and weight, twisting his head down to attempt to clamp his own fanged jaws around the not-Behemoth's muzzle and head, not a crushing bite but a controlling one.

Drive him back, drive him down.

Only feathers and scales get in the way of Galian's claws and teeth, the former thick and baffling to a good secure bite but not true armor, and beneath it he lacks any further real defenses, no osteoderms, no plates of heavy scale, and he bleeds readily enough - it tastes bitter, chemical. His size is his greatest defense, it's going to be difficult to get a good grip for a bite to the massive blood vessels of the neck, but everything else tears easily enough from determined assaults.

It's just the sort of thing that happens, here. Monsters, right? Neither are out of place.

~~Just alarmingly on the wrong side of the shield and sort of maybe have some people to apologize to later. Maybe.~~ Right now something important needs to be established.

Bitter and chemical? Well the beast has probably tasted that sort of blood before, in their fight against Shinra and its hint in their SOLDIER unit. Maybe. Possible. Thing is, there's a new dissatisfaction with the taste that will be remembered later in the subconscious.

The initial collision was rewarded with contact and the smell of blood. Good, good. The purple beast tries to find purchase against the ground, to push up and maybe onto the large chimera's back.

It goes nowhere and claws, powerful back legs are digging into the soil under Vincent's transformed feet to try and brace against the force that's driving him down. Sephiroth is too fast for his own good even against the heightened, dextrous galian beast, and is quickly forcing Vincent down

....The way the massive jaws are positioned around the beast's head is cause for ringing danger and it turns its efforts from the frontal attack of raking claws to trying to worm back and free again.

...There is after all, a certain cunning to the beast. And while Vincent may not be conscious, he is ultimately there. It can understand that an aggressive, blind frontal 'attack' is not going to lead anywhere but death. Thus, he seeks to break free and find a way out of those dangerous jaws and the domineering force of weight and strength that will overcome.

There's something of a terrible kind of patience in how the chimera's dealing with the changed ex-Turk, the wounds ripped in his hide simply ignored as if they're not felt at all, his efforts wholly not on maiming the smaller monster but keeping him from going anywhere Sephiroth doesn't want him to go.

Like escaping. The earlier outrage is still there, a simmering irritation to go with the stinging pain of claw and bitemarks the longer Vincent struggles. It's possible to tear free of the grip he has on the other monster's head, but his teeth are sharp and doing so may inadvertently cause more than superficial damage while he works on getting a better hold with forelimbs too and keep up the relentless pressure to give in.

It doesn't matter how much Galian's claws hurt, seeming completely unphased is part of it too; mind games work on people, it can work sometimes on monsters.

Vincent's window to escape is closing. If he gets a grip with both hands as well as jaws, getting away with limbs intact might be a very difficult thing indeed.

The behemoth-like beast almost does win free. Though no more time conscious than Vincent, the beast's 'existence' was tied inexorably with the former Turk. There was a war between beast and human mind, but it was for mental dominance rather than instinct. There'd never been a part of him trying to say 'maybe we should find a nest of sun baked rocks to curl into for the night' while the other said 'it's night, time to hunt'. He was what he was. He was smaller, there were horns on that head to jerk and twist and block any biting jaw as they sought the right angle to hold.

What he had, essentially, is experience being a monster. this kind of monster. One that doesn't get bothered by wounds that would never kill him anyway... what are those teeth, tracking deeper as he pulls and twists? Vincent finds himself nearly free and almost there... When one of the short limbs snatches an extended arm, a part of his mane.

Angrily the beast's tail whiplashes up toward the side of Sephiroth's face- once, twice- but it is too far back to do more than stinging, surprise force. All he needs to do is hold on and put more weight in.

There's that strange rattling noise again alongside a gutteral growl, like an angry maraca, as Vincent fails to do the sensible thing and give up the fight he never should have started to begin with. Nothing stops the broad tail from whipping up and cracking across the side of the chimera's head and muzzle; if he's ever destined for the extra limbs some chimeras enjoy, Sephiroth doesn't have them yet and all his other ones are occupied with trying to subdue a surprisingly slippery target.

A target not getting the hint, which means escalation is required; he lets go only a moment to shake his head as if to clear it, digging in claws to maintain handhold through the momentary distraction.

The next attempt at a holding bite is behind the sharp, goring horns; the back of the head, the back of the neck through bristling mane, however he can catch to prevent those weapons from being put to use.

He means to end this, before the damage he could once simply shrug off began accumulating beyond what he could hide. It's no effort to scruff the Galian Beast, none of the creatures that make up this strange form have any such instinct, but a good hold means a good way to finally work on an unrecoverable pin.

This is a beast that is not used to backing down, not accustomed to battling anything that would not be killed. There were no other beasts in its hierarchy save one, and that was ally and...friend? Something there was never time to linger and establish rank with in any case.

The squirming, muscular beast continues to worm up until that point where the saurian-like jaws finally manage to clamp down into the thick main and get a grip on his neck. Even if this was a scruff, there's not a lot of loose flesh to scruff and that would have had to happen by the main. This...

This elicits a protesting rumble and a cut off roar. Something that seems crossed between outrage and surprise. The beast is still lacking its usual affinity with fire, so it has no other recourse than physical. And though it still seems to wiggle, the struggles are beginning to lessen.

Exhaustion? No. An internal realization that he lost and he's not happy about it.

The tail lashes with irritation, but it's no longer trying to whack the side of Sephiroth's face.

The ongoing problem of Always A Bigger Fish meant Galian might be outstripped by his current opponent, but that Sephiroth too is inevitably going to cross paths with someone who can put him in his place. Maybe it'll even be Vincent, eventually.

But right now, Sephiroth has the advantage of sheer size and power, and as the beast's struggles lessen (though not weaken), he doesn't let go. Not yet. Letting go would likely mean a resumption of hostilities, and if he returned to his (stolen) treat still waiting on the hood of a car where it was left, his impression of this other-possible-chimera is that Vincent would attack again as soon as his back was turned.

For humans this probably would be mortifying. The beast version of Vincent is a bit human. But his instincts... yes. He might not like it, but he will submit. He lost and this chimera thing is stronger than he.

....And ultimately, this had not been a battle between enemies or about territory or food.

Slowly, he relaxes. The tip of the tail swishing, a few more rumbles and then... silence.

Vincent... doesn't need to be knocked unsconsious to regain control. Sometimes it's random how long this lasts. At other times it's a matter of energy to sustain the transformation... perhaps. In many ways, it's how his mind slowly awakens beyond its fragmented and piecemeal awareness of events during his transformation. The more it does, the urge is strong to assert his humanity.

That in itself starts an irreversible return to his human form. Even if he were aware fully of his plight, it wouldn't change anything. Sephiroth will find the energy that first surrounded Vincent is now dispersing, melting away the purple behemoth-like beast and returning to the shape and clothing and flesh of humanity.

...There's hardly any difference in the taste of smell in many ways.

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i need a dino icon.

okay but what if you just snagged wallpaper silver rathtalos from EC as standin

I ganked a random yuty one for now.

What a delightful stand-in lad.

REASONABLY accurate, minus some things. Jurassic Park prefers shrinkwrap.

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Gone Hunting

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Wow, I had this sitting in notepad the whole time and never. actually. sent it