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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.

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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.

Countless enemies would have loved to be the ones to leave a mark on him, but it was picky bushes and one determined behemothlet instead of the best other countries had to offer.

Go figure. "If it is it can join the others."

Sephiroth's been shot before. Occasionally he even allowed them to be dug out, but often it just wasn't necessary. His own resilience and healing would work them out eventually, or they'd just stay there as a perpetual annoyance to any x-rays he had to endure.

He doesn't relax, that's difficult around almost anyone, but he does turn most of his attention to cleaning claw slashes and bite wounds instead of waiting for another attack that might never come. "It takes more than a bullet or two to be anything other than a mild inconvenience." Years after his guess at the date, Zack proves this by becoming a human colander. "..But you may want a higher caliber if I attack again."

"Before today, would have said the same." Just leave the bullet in. Doesn't matter. It'll work its way out. Add to the sideshow attraction that would come of x-raying Vincent Valentine.

The world's now become more than a mild inconvenience.

"...I'm not SOLDIER. But my body's not normal. I'm not recovering like I should. Doesn't look like you are either. The way we were brought here might be the cause of it. Or these changes we're undergoing."

He then huffs out another sigh that might have been amused. Of course he wasn't trying to kill the theropod and went with what he had. On the other hand?

"Noted."

...It's taken at least half seriously. Perhaps moreso.

Edited 2025-04-30 23:30 (UTC)

It was strange that he would be left his power and speed but not his durability. What could affect things so precisely as to select only part of his enhancements? ...And did he still actually have a bullet lodged in him? "..What do you mean by not normal?"

Surely he means the monster changes, but perhaps not, because the way they were summoned here implied previously having some kind of enhancements.

SOLDIER weren't, of course, the only enhanced people on the planet. It's possible Vincent was from some other branch, or even some other government. Deepground was a possibility, Wutai was unlikely but not impossible..

Well Vincent. You said as much. Not like you shouldn't have expected that question. He looks up.

"Just another in a long line of discarded experiments from Shinra scientists." The voice sounds tired and as distant as ever. Though in a way it's a clue where the indifference may have come from. His eyes slide in a glance at Sephiroth. Vincent blinks slowly, mouth hidden by the cloak.

"I stopped aging. And I couldn't die." Among other things. "Now though? Who knows."

He hadn't, until the pain kept refusing to go away. Even for non-fatal wounds, that was unusual. He supposes he should be happy that his body isn't tearing itself in half despite all that.

But what did that mean for his future?

He can't really judge someone else for not being utterly mundane. He's never been like other people himself, no matter how much he'd wished otherwise. The metallic cast to his hair and anomalous pupils saw to that even if he didn't have the rest going on.

But another one of Hojo's playthings, likely - that resonated a little different.

There had been countless other experiments alongside his own. Usually they were disposed of. But if Vincent truly couldn't die, stopped aging...

Sephiroth leans back, bloody cotton ball in hand, thoughtful. Immortality would be a very tempting prize for the entire board; Vincent might be a more valuable specimen than he was. "Discarded, when the fountain of youth was finally found ... or created?"

He couldn't imagine the self-centered bastard that ran the company would let THAT pass by unremarked upon. "It's a wonder. You are something I could see the board being willing to sacrifice thousands to replicate."

Another huff of air. Dark humor touches the beginning of Vincent's answer.

"I was deemed a failure. And there are side effects. The beast you saw is my other form. Not something this planet's saddled me with."

There is obviously a big blank spot he is leaving out of this narrative. But Vincent does fill something carefully in.

"I can't say for sure. But I don't think the executives were informed." Something grim, almost amused came over Vincent. "If the president knew, then they never found a way to replicate the procedure."

At least not safely. And there was a good deal that suggested that Vincent stayed buried for a long while.

If the President wasn't informed, and Hojo had no use for immortality, then such a project could certainly be thrown out. Why refine it when it isn't personally useful? Any ... 'side effects' surely would be refined over time.

Though Sephiroth himself had been a subject of many experiments, at least he was still human.

... Had been, still human. Now? "I've not seen or heard any .. similar transformations or immortality," he says reluctantly. "Though I avoid the scientists as I am able to these days." Since he was old enough to realize he could simply say no, that they had no control over him no matter what they wanted.. "Nor is it part of anything SOLDIER deals with."

Not yet. Deepground would see to that.

In the future, Vincent would have learned that Deepground certainly seemed to be trying to replicate... certain facets of what went into him. But that would have been three years from now and he's... here.

"Mn." He acknowledges the statement with a nod. Both the information and Sephiroth's own preference to avoid Shinra's scientists. "That's... good." Can either of them say there truly was nothing? Of course not. But between the two time periods they must surely come from, nothing had been made public.

For a few moments, Vincent falls silent. For a while it's simply because he doesn't speak. But as the quiet stretches, he'll be caught watching Sephiroth.

"...How bad is it? The injuries." He tilts his head. "I don't see any burns."

He half expected them to be present. Even if he had some glimpses, he couldn't expect himself to remember all he did. Only blood had a tendency to remain in the air, on his hands and in his mouth.

'Good' is a relative term when it comes to Hojo. There could be much going on that he simply didn't know about and didn't want to know about.

In the meantime, there's wounds to be cleaned, with all the autopilot familiarity of one who's done it countless times. Other people didn't see to his injuries, he did - other people didn't see him injured if he could help it. Nothing needed stitching, and would over time heal just fine, but anything like debris or bacteria needed to be dealt with. He might be incredibly resistant to problems normally, but who knew what a strange world would bear? His immune system knew nothing of other planets' diseases and germs.

"..Burns?" The echo is puzzled for a moment, then he shakes his head. "You weren't close enough to do much with powder burns, and if you had been, I imagine scales and feathers would have absorbed it." That's.. what Vincent means, right? "These are no hindrance. It will be stiff for a day or two, but not much else."

It's not bravado, he'll simply ignore them. Pain had long since stopped mattering, Hojo had seen to that. "I'm fairly sure I struck bone at least once on you, perhaps you should be concerned of your own injuries?" In anyone else it might be scorn, but there's something closer to consideration, however badly put, from the man.

Vincent hesitates for just a moment; part because it's simply habit not to speak of a trump card so openly but also... he doesn't really speak of his monstrous nature. Not to near strangers. Arguably an enemy.

"My... other form," he finally states. "...has an affinity for fire." Vincent's gaze seems to grow distant in thought before he continues. "During the storm of bird monsters when I first arrived, I saw no signs of it either."

A close range fight for dominance with Sephiroth may make sense, but the advantage of range and having no signs of fire attacks in the aftermath is now making him wonder if it was just the circumstance.

He snaps out of the thoughts as Sephiroth brings attention to the matter of his own injuries. And... frowns.

"I... took care of the worst." One of the precious 'potions' he'd taken away from their journey through the desert's thorny brambles are gone, now. But he couldn't afford the deeper injuries and even then some pain and wounds remain. "Bound the rest."

He doesn't mind having it pointed out. "...Shouldn't have needed to though." It might not have healed instantly, but it all should have.... righted itself. Not felt so... well, painful.

"Based on casual observation, we didn't come through the summoning entirely intact. Each of us seems to be missing some things." Such as perhaps, fire affinity of tiny behemoths. Or his own durability. He was as strong as he expects to be, as quick ... but much more easily exhausted, and injury actually caused problems, whether or not he was well used to ignoring them.

What else was missing? Did he really have to worry about infections or illness now after all?

What should and should not be was no longer relevant. "..Good." Taken care of was better than being left open. Weakness would get them killed. "For all that it's not ideal, focusing on what.. should not be necessary seems a waste."

It in no way prevented him from worrying about it, himself. Or the changes going on. The fact that his teeth never changed back, or that he'd felt the need to start a fight of all things over something so utterly unnecessary as who had the right to push around who.

Things he'd never felt necessary before.

"What.. was I?" The follow up question is quiet. What sort of thing was he becoming?

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