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Entry tags:

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

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.

It's an unfathomably odd experience to be holding a very fuzzy tiny behemoth in his jaws and have that fur give way to cloth, leather and metal. But it doesn't register as a threat or an attack, nothing seems suddenly aggressive, and after a long measuring moment, dangling the ex-Turk in his teeth, the chimera sets him down next to one of the abused cars, picking up the discarded half-plucked fowl with one free forelimb and settling on the ground MUCH too close for most people's comfort.

It's not an accident either that this places Vincent directly between him and the vehicle, and further escape means climbing over the car or climbing over Sephiroth. It satisfies three of the mixed sets of instincts, his point hopefully thoroughly made, and to emphasize it, enjoy his just desserts directly in front of the hunter who had caught it originally.

Which means pulling off the rest of the remaining feathers first before crunching away contentedly, the stinging damp of his injuries to be dealt with later. He COULD eat it in one bite but then it wouldn't be the proper display of station and privilege it's meant to be. It takes exactly three delicious chomps in, the endless grinding hunger for something fresher and bloodier than a nicely cooked pancake finally somewhat soothed that it occurs to him that he's working on a dead, raw, uncleaned, unprocessed animal. And pauses.

He's still breathing. And a half-lidded gaze suggests Vincent is awake. He remains still when he's put down, waiting for his mind to wake up and focus on the present. The priorities. Sephiroth, as a chimera, is all but pinning him against a vehicle. And it's clear this is an effort to keep him in his place.

Vincent... hurts. Pain is not something he's a stranger to, he does feel it, but the gunman is also used to it gradually... easing. Time ticks on.

...Bones crack and crunch. But at least they're not his. Ruby eyes open and look up at the chimera. There's a soft... noise that's almost a chuckle. However, it sounds chuffed and ends with a grunt of pain.

Ow.

"...Been decades since pain stuck around. Feels novel." ...It's honestly becoming a bit of a concern. But his tone is dry. "Can't say I like it. Mind if I get up?"

...If Vincent can.

One rounded feline ear swivels in Vincent's direction when he speaks, but his regard is mostly on the gruesome remains of his snack with growing dismay. He'd been ignoring the compulsion to hunt and then eat what he caught while it was still struggling very well until now, and while he's certain he stole this from the ex-Turk, it's still raw, whole animal.

He is not a beast. He will not eat like one. What remains is set down with the sudden swiftness of understated revulsion. Reptilian features just don't show disgust well at all. It makes niggling concerns like whether or not Vincent's sufficiently put in his place suddenly and completely irrelevant.

"...Apologies." Well, he can still speak, and his voice is immediately recognizable even fi it comes around strange teeth and from an alien throat. Sephiroth hauls himself to his feet; there's a pretty obvious change from earlier, though still smooth and graceful it's clear to tell he's automatically attempted the far more upright stance of a humanoid form and not the one a dinosaurlike body demanded.

"...Thanks."

Vincent had been watching. There's a lot to unpack here but one thing he'd always done, even if the situation hadn't seemed so dire; do whatever it takes to gather as much information as he could on his current circumstances.

1. Half eaten raw chicken. Makes sense.

2. 'Mildly Vandalized' vehicles. Yup, he remembers hearing the abuse of metal before...

3. Chimerical Sephiroth. Yes. He doesn't want it to make sense. But it does. Also speaking. Good.

4. Body's still in a lot of pain. Things seem to be getting worse. ...Not so good. Definitely mixed feelings.

There's a lot more to consider like who noticed, who's around. Vincent chooses to work on trying to get up. He... can. The leather and belts he wears kind of keeps things stable. Certainly keeps the blood from soaking the ground under him. Is that a broken rib or where the teeth had bitten into his flesh?

"Can you change back?" Given he's just shown himself as a shapeshifter, the almost mild curiosity suggests that he's more interested in exploring what's going on with Sephiroth's newest ability than himself.

Don't mind him, he's just trying to distract everyone and himself from the discomfort. Sephiroth might catch a grimace or two when Vincent bites back the pain. They are right next to each other even if he has 'stepped back'.

And that's with the chimera trying to not do excessive harm. Assessing his own injuries can wait til later, when he had more privacy or at least could figure out how to get rid of all the feathers and scales, but not all the blood smell in the air is Vincent's.

It's almost delicately, the way he steps away a little further as Vincent works on standing, curling malformed hands against his chest. He should help, but would that do more harm than good?

Not all of the blood taste in his mouth is bird, and the threaded impulse to make sure Vincent stays down is once more firmly squashed. "I haven't tried." For all that the apology was genuine, this is utterly devoid of any kind of inflection one way or another to mark an emotion one way or another about it, but it is deeply disturbing. He's going to pretend otherwise. "..You should seek medical attention."

Finally he's standing, even so much so that he's not leaning against the vehicle.

"Mhn." His opinion on his own needs may have just been summarized. It had a tone of agreement. Then a glimmer of ruby eyes is caught glancing at Sephiroth. Hooded, but not intended to provoke further challenge.

"So should you."

Blood on his hands, in his teeth, still chemical and... something. But it's not his own. Certainly not the chicken.

"May as well go together. Don't leave the bird."

It's not criticism but good sense; they've already done enough damage as predators after that stupid thing. Best not to leave another tempting morsel. And Vincent will not be doing anything that looks like he's claiming it.

Edited 2025-04-30 19:53 (UTC)

"I have not heard of a vet being in the convoy," is the crisp response. The black feathers hide wounds remarkably well, red doesn't show up well against them, but where it reaches golden fur or silver scales, it's vivid splotches of red. "I'll be fine." For a given meaning of 'fine', he is literally a monstrous amalgamation of creatures right now, and actually fine is .. not a thing that he's going to be experiencing for a while.

But if he could get in and out of warzones stoic, or get in and out of research and development without baring any weakness for them to pry apart, he'll manage here too.

His head tilts to regard the bird on the ground with one eye, then turn to try to get it in view with both before reaching to pick it up. If nothing else he still had manual dexterity, and a dirty half-eaten carcass on the ground is hardly the worst thing he's handled, but .. "I don't think it's fit for human consumption at this point. I'll dispose of what's left."

The addition is soft; something will have to be done with it, and part of him very much wants to finish what he started. The rest is revolted.

"You're in luck. I know a little bit about beast anatomy."

He traveled with Red XIII, now better called Nanaki in his time. He'd probably read some books about monster biology or his own changes trying to... what? Well he certainly wasn't going to be able to reverse it. Anyway. He does understand a bit about beasts.

Vincent finally glances briefly toward the bird. Well. Generously we'll call it bird.

"...Try not to think too hard on it when you do."

It's a clear suggestion. Eat up. Vincent has noticed that Sephiroth is speaking now, not communicating with the language of beasts and monsters. There is... a trace of empathy in his tone. May be missed.

He turns as if he's about to walk away as he generally does; abrupt and without the typical parting words. Then the gunman pauses mid-effort, following it with a sigh before looking up at Sephiroth again.

"...I find, focusing on my memories as a person helps. To get back after a change."

The undignified remnants of a bird.

Some of what Vincent says is a little odd, but ... maybe it's just that he's been here longer than Sephiroth assumed, and that other shape, the one not too far from a small, unusually humanoid behemoth, was one he's been wrestling with for possibly some months now.

Nothing's said in response, though maybe the silence in of itself is telling; it's not rejection or hostility.

The hostility is over for now, even if there was still lingering interest in maintaining his assumed 'station', shame prevents it from going anywhere.

His retreat is dignified enough, his stride still confident for all that his shape is wrong, back in the direction of his Shinra truck before anyone else can run into him and he can attack them too, either over the disgusting(delicious) piece of remaining meat and viscera or territoriality or whatever else might occur to him. During the moon warp, when anyone went mad, that was different. This?

It's different.

Things have been said. Vincent turns then and heads off; though it's clear he's not going to the first set of trailers in the Convoy where the medical trailer is. ...Well it's not as if there's much there that he wouldn't have to use on his own anyway. Asking someone else for assistance is too much.

He'd tucked away some bandages and gauze for his personal use and tucked them somewhere he could access them in private. Thus, he wends his way through parked vehicles and into the now-dark of night, until even the crimson cloak is lost in shadows.

...But he will track down Sephiroth later. And that comes by way of a metal plate of his gauntlet 'knocking' on the metal of the truck's bed. Walking less slowly, the smell of some sort of antiseptic and bandages suggesting he had seen to wounds. Both know the other is there by this point. Naturally the knock is courtesy.

By the time Vincent goes looking for the chimeric SOLDIER, it's been long enough that there's full dark for the most part, save the sulfur yellow glow of a single bare bulb strung up on a scavenged wire and socket dangling underneath the cloth covering of the bed of the transport truck.

Sephiroth could, and sometimes did, sleep in the beds the convoy provided. But more often than not he preferred his privacy, and for all that he could see better than most in the dark, other things required at least a little light. But with the back zipped shut, it's impossible to tell from that dim glow if the being within is a man or a theropod.

But he has in the intervening time, figured out how to regain a more human shape. More human, not exactly so, but it's better than it was, and as metal raps against metal from within is a brief rustle of cloth instead of whisper of feathers, and the zip down the back undone in a purr of shifting metal. "Yes?"

Wounds linger, shrunk to fit his current size. Galian left its mark, and they would in time heal. Eventually.

Would the theropod shape have fit? That's a question to wonder. Imagine if a tiny tail tip had been sticking out... Anyway.

"Brought a first aid set."

Well, as much as he's been able to salvage and deem safe in this world. But they'll work with what they have.

"...Had questions."

The tailtip definitely sticks out, unless he curls up. There's barely enough room, it had been a not pleasant squeeze when he'd woken changed. Sephiroth considers Vincent for a long moment.

"..I see."

First aid kits make sense, he'd washed as best he could but if he could bleed so easily infection might be a genuine risk. There's still signs of the creature he'd been not long ago, a smattering of pale scales, tiny dark pinfeathers, a dusting of fur. Not much. Not as much as so many others have.

But he pauses, turning away after a moment, disquiet once more. The cloth is left open; if Vincent wants to enter he can. Not much has changed about the interior save a lone pillow that did well enough for anything like comfort. "I ... owe you an apology. I'll answer what I can."

And so he does. The ease of entry seems the same as it was before. Despite the lingering pain of injuries, this isn't a jump that is difficult for him; he practically floats up to the tail step and beyond the canvas opening. It's automatic that he looks around but soon focuses on Sephiroth.

Not any of his business how the young man chooses to spend his time. How he arranges his den. Vincent will reach behind him to make sure the flaps fall close but he won't zip them back up.

He then takes one step forward and offers the package. 'Kit' doesn't come in a nice box with a red or green cross on it. Just a clean container with what's needed.

"Anything you can't reach, let me know." He'll help is the unspoken offer. But he has a hunch Sephiroth prefers to do it on his own. Certainly not by some stranger's hand.

"Hm. I put myself in the way. And it seems I managed to do some harm back. We're even."

But does that mean he's going to leave without the answers he's been offered? Oh no.

"Looks like you managed to get most of the way back." He's not sure if those traits are supposed to stick around given the circumstances. But... "...Good. How did it happen? Do you remember everything?"

"How is it you keep catching me wounded?"

It's not a real question. The previous scratches were just that, the marks of thorns and barbs. This also wasn't any great threat to his life. It wasn't as if he was putting some great vulnerability on display.

The kit is taken anyway. There's still crates and boxes to sit on should Vincent choose to, Sephiroth settles on one for himself and goes digging for simple antiseptic. "I remember."

Embarrassing. That he'd do something so base as follow instinct instead of rationality. "I awoke from a brief nap that way, but returning was.." A cotton ball is gestured with; it's in hand, he doesn't put it down. Though it's subtle, something in his body language suggests he found the entire thing rather humiliating, whether or not he won. "Your advice worked well enough, I think."

That actually earns an almost smile.

"Would have been weird if I hadn't this time." It's not like the pricky bushes sniped Sephiroth from... the... bushes. There should be most of what's needed to clean the wounds and cover them. Fortunately the galian beast isn't venomous or poisonous.

Ahem. Vincent debates his position for a moment before sighing and taking a seat. There's an easing of tension to suggest it was probably welcome. A soft release of breath indicates he's more at ease.

"Good, I..." There's a brow furrowed momentarily as Vincent recollects. "One of my bullets hit their mark. Still in you?" That will be a problem. No tweezers much less a hemostat.

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