Sephiroth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firstsoldier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
route666rp2025-04-28 04:00 pm
firstsoldier) wrote in route666rp2025-04-28 04:00 pm
Entry tags:
[open] omnomnom
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.
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.
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.
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.
no subject
Vincent hears his own thoughts echo in Sephiroth's observation. His right hand closes, glove leather subtly creaking with the tension. He expels his breath slowly, forcing calm to return. Then he straightens; casting off from his makeshift support as if reluctant to let the stiffness of his injuries settle in.
"...It's a hard thing to accept." Statement. "Do you think you can?"
The question is asked; but it... isn't an interrogation. Vincent's tone holds an air of neutrality; if it were possible to believe, perhaps even no judgement. Well, he's as much admitted that he's had a long while to try and find the answer to that question himself. Vincent probably would be the last to blame someone who couldn't deal.
no subject
Maybe in time something would be found to reverse the process, but he didn't think he'd forget the taste of raw meat. Or the way the smell of blood made his stomach twist uncomfortably with hunger.
Or the way his dreams blurred with feral savagery, the joy of a hunt, a glee for killing he simply lacked his entire life. "It's a shared affliction. We'll all get through it, or we won't. What we can and can't accept is irrelevant."
no subject
He draws the flap back but before he passes through it, pauses. There's a tilt of his head as if he almost looks over his shoulder.
"Having others going through the same thing. I suppose that changes things."
Then like a ghost, he vanishes through the opening. The flaps fall closed again but he seems to be departing.
Doesn't even zip up the canvas on the way out.