#saishuu heiki

[gcldfanged]

@saishuu-heiki

The ground had been too hard with ice to bury the old man, so Jae had spent the better part of an entire day chopping down trees to fashion a pyre for him. Despite the steel coloring his once pitch black hair and beard, he'd looked as handsome as he had in the photos of his youth: a towering sequoia amongst a forest of lesser men, great iron muscles straining and thick veins splintering blade, bullet and lash-tortured skin. His anguish was their suffering, the austere Loyalists who bled for home and country. They were nothing more than primitives that the Modernists now laughed at, for not whoring themselves, for covering their superior human forms in hand me down skin and hides like simple animals.

If they were seen as little more than a sidestep away from basic savagery, then he would continue to stalk the wilds as one of them. Wrapped from head to toe in mink and thick wools, none of the glimmering liquid gemstone colors of industrialized silks, nor the pinstriped cotton-twills of Junon's boxy suits and jaunty fedoras. His shoes were traditional gutals, handcarved leather and insulating fur, stocky with their slightly upturned toes and soles that left barely a footprint in even powder-snow. Surrounded by drooling, panting mountainous 'shepherd dogs' only a handful's generations of careless breeding away from wolves- They were as one, of the same razor-edged instinct and unified mind focused solely on the hunt. On the kill. Wolves wished they killed with the ferocity that they did.

Wolves never attacked unless you'd wronged them, somehow- Then they would take you, if they could. Normally they would merely hunch in the snow with baleful eyes and curl their tails between their legs miserably, saliva glistening on their fangs from one too many days without fresh meat. They knew better.

The Han were a proud nation of survivors, from the barren terrain and the frigid temperatures stymieing new growth and life, to the hostile occupation by Wutai stomping their pride and faces into the frigid, muddy earth. They were the product of a culture and an ideology that, as far as everyone else was concerned, no longer existed. They'd been worse than just cast out- To sink so low as to accept foreign aid, to fall so far as to do terrible and cynical things. Men and women would sacrifice themselves for 'The Greater Good'. This, he knew. His grandfather's entire life had been committed to the belief that it had all been voluntary.

But that wasn't the problem. It wasn't the dying. It was living and dying for what their leaders had become. Unbeknownst to them, to the old man whose last words were a long rattling wheeze and a hand thrust out at his grandchild and a strangled "What was it all for...?", to everyone else who'd worked and toiled and sacrificed so much, their great country was nothing at all.

Fucking nothing. Somehow their most promising generation had turned heel to greedy capitalists and as the old ways deteriorated, it didn't take long to find the trails of blood and mako they'd left behind. They bowed before and kissed the polished leather of Shinra's dress shoes as their industrial engineers swarmed over the bloated carcass of Haneul like a plague of botflies. The natural flora and fauna withered and twisted into mako-poisoned mutations, jobs became scarce due to rampant automation, their sons and daughters prostituted as the company grew fat off their blood, sweat, and bitter tears.

As far as he was concerned, The Silver General may as well be the court jester prancing about for an oligarchy of human parasites tearing into their great nation's pride and simple dignity- It's humanity. He'd seen it and lived in it, the desperation and poverty. Distinguished intellectuals and artisans selling themselves on the street. The Loyalists labeled 'rebels' and 'criminals'.

It was almost a relief his grandfather had passed when he did, just to prevent him from the knowing- That they hadn't just fallen, but passed hitting rock bottom and carved it's way into the chthonian underbelly of modern man's gravest sins.

Chaebols had become a byword for crooks, because natives understood what the decadent West's idea of business was. It was only a quest for ownership. It wasn't fair trade. It wasn't about equality. It was zero-sum savagery. It was taking what you wanted and giving your victim the illusion of consent.

The profiteers 'enriched' themselves, bloated their accounts with foreign gil. There was rarely even the simple poetic bliss in one of them getting torn apart by a reactor bomb planted by AVALANCHE. They survived. The shitheads always survived. The assholes always did.

So what did that mean about him?

His gaze is twinned black holes and merciless, spearing his gimlet eyed stare down the nose of a stolen rifle. It was anger and outrage and pain- A once great nation's desperate denial of the inevitable.

"Shinra isn't welcome here."

The words aren't ungainly on his lips, they never had been. Han was his language, but they'd learned Common in primary school, babbling syllables in other tongues.

Their enemy's and their ally's: He'd learned Wutainese when he attempted training to enlist in counter-intelligence. He'd felt the weight of hungry eyes more than once as Shinra's science department sniffed around, attempted to slobber all over him. It was disgraceful- Disgusting, the way they posed and preened and invited him to become more than 'just a farmer with a gun', not even Public Security, but a SOLDIER.

To Hell with them.

To Hell with anyone.

[ceaselxss]

👐

INTIMIDATION AND VIOLENT RP PROMPTS. 🤲🏻 or ‘firm’ // sender grabs receivers chin firmly

He goes still in an instant, not even risking the movement it would take to draw his gun. He doesn't flinch though - a near lifetime of engaging threats keeps his nerves strong. Amber eyes look up into green as he sets his jaw.

The proximity is unsettling, but the fact that he's still breathing bodes well. Sephiroth could kill him in a heartbeat - this was something else. Or perhaps he just wanted him to suffer.

"You have my attention. Speak."

[axgmented]

❛ do you see yourself a monster as I see myself? ❜

@saishuu-heiki

it had been a good night.

drinks had come back to back, the honeybees were putting on one hell of performance, and everyone was in high spirits. The nightlife was thriving down the alleys and buildings of wall market-- a night of celebration after a few successful missions; turks blowing off steam in a way of r & r. rem had even gotten a cute girls number, scribbled on the inside of a gum wrapper and tucked safely inside the pocket of her blazer. rem had thought about giving her a ring on her way home-- there was just something about a pretty blonde…

their merry band of misfits and delinquency parted ways, Rude keeping a very intoxicated reno up on wobbly legs as if he were a newborn fawn. He was grinning, mouth stretched in a smile and when he attempted a two-finger salute, Rude pressed his mouth into a tight line to keep himself from grinning at his partner's antics. Something told Rem he was probably going to have one hell of a headache in the morning. at their departure, rem had just finished off a cigarette and flicked the spent filter towards the side of her figure as she exhales the toxins into the air.

she shoves her hands into the pockets of her blazer, the fingers of her right hand sliding into the designated slots of her brass knuckles as her left fingers grazed the foil of the gum wrapper that the girl had shoved into her pocket. The thought makes her lip twitch in another smirk as she turns the corner, cutting down an alley in an attempt of a shortcut as she makes her way home. the turk had plans to hit the gym in the morning, to cross a few errands off of her list and maybe even visit the bar to check on the kids; if they had been good for a certain bar-tender, she might take them to the fair.

Her boots pause, the heel scuffing against the uneven asphalt before a sharp pain throbs behind her eyes and the suddeness of it all steals the breath from her lungs. the world stops, it has to, because nothing feels real. the wind no longer rustles trash along side the buildings, she can't hear the fading music from the clubs and no longer does she hear the chatter from the people indulging in what wall market has to offer. There's nothing-- just her shallow breathing and the pain behind her eyes.

Rem can feel her pupils flickering, reacting-- and she manages to lift her head just a fraction against the invisible force that presses against her whole being before her tongue dries out in her mouth. He stands before her, like a phantom come to life. Sweat breaks out across her brow, the colour draining from her face and the roots of her hair tingle with the feeling of fear. her body is unresponsive as her mind screams at her legs to move, to backtrack, to do literally anything but stand like a frozen fawn in the presence of a starving lion. her shuddering breaths sound far too loud in the eerie silence that surrounds them.

❛ do you see yourself a monster as I see myself? ❜

his voice releases the pressure around her throat, like an invisible hand recoiling and allowing her to breathe. The pain in her head is constant now, speeding up with the tempo of her heart. still, her figure does not move-- it does not obey her panicked thoughts of "run, flee, get away". chest heaves as she greedily sucks down air only to have it leave in a fearful exhale; hearing his voice confirms that the nightmare stands before her.

he has no idea, how much of a monster she is. how every night she wrestles with the desire to give into the haunting shrieks and ghostly demands of a woman who claims to be mother-- how the cosmos cries for her body to burst into starlight and bring forth the ruination of the planet. how desperately does she wish to paint the inside of the presidents office red, to tear his throat open and watch the very life drain from his eyes. Rem staggers, footsteps sounding just as deafening as her laboured breathing-- a hand shoots out, palms scraping across the surface of the rough brick in an attempt to keep herself outright. When he steps forward, her knees buckle and she grits her teeth together, ivories clenched as a wounded noise leaves through them.

"…am no monst'r.. y-ya weren't eith'r… at least.. no'back then…"

[nyaa]

[高橋しん＋しんプレ]

[xenosagaepisodeone]

[gcldfanged]

"One of my people, not that you need to about know that."

The Turk gave a casual shrug- Did he look like a therapist?

"It's like food, sorta: People got different tastes. Some of 'em like collecting frilly underthings like they're the pervo version of baseball cards, for others that's about the closest to a woman's crotch they'll ever get. There's a demand, so we supply."

❛ Who is this girl you speak of? Why would anyone buy used underwear? Was there some sort of shortage which escaped my ears. It would not take much effort to sew something if the matter was so dire. ❜

[therosecrest]

[doyouknowthisanime]

Do You Know This Anime?

[stingslikeabee]

You know you are the best.

how's my portrayal? . accepting

I like to think I'm only as good as the friends I have here so this means that YOU ARE ALSO THE BEST. And I mean it! There is so much I would have been able to do by myself and being able to explore all these fun dynamics and themes with your sons has been incredible. I am grateful that no matter how slow or how hard life hits us, I know I got your awesome writing and ideas bouncing around to pick it up and build even more amazing stuff.

You are the MVP and I am just lucky to have followed the right promos at the right time for all this a+ content. 8) Between an accidental platonic husband and the best murder child, you have delivered everything (and then some!).

[sunfallsprophet]

They inwardly cursed themself. 'Might get unlucky today and see something interesting,' they said. They should've known better than to coax the universe or whatever it was that apparently took notes of every damn thought they had; it was like dumping a bucket full of bait into shark infested waters while on a surfboard. But the extraordinary tends to happen to the extraordinary, so instead of getting jumped by a meek little hammerhead, the megalodon of freak events decided to come say hello.

One hand clutched the side of their head. They wondered how long it would take until the authorities showed—

...Up.

Up above, set against a semi-arched mountain peak too colossal to be of Earth, was an eclipse—or at least, what they assumed to be an eclipse. Its corona was an incandescent blue super-heated to the point of being almost white, but deepened at the outer rim to that of summer's pearlescent night. The core, of course, was pitch. Staring at the celestial body did not hurt their eyes as Earth's eclipse would despite it being many times its size, but the emptiness at its core unnerved them. Perhaps if they stared for too long, something would crawl out from recesses of nothingness. Yet despite the haunt of not-quite-blue, the eye-catching size, and the deeply disturbing hole punched into a strange sky, Djahima could have easily lived with all of the eclipse's eccentricities...had it been much, much farther away. Instead, it was situated in front of an impressive mountain range, meaning that it was not floating aimlessly in space like it ought to be. And that, to them, was terrifying.

But it would have to wait. All this time marveling at the thing in the sky and sulking about their situation, and they never even looked right in front of them. A man by the looks of it, but perhaps no ordinary one. Whatever uniform he wore had been reduced to a pitiful state, though by the looks of the material it was and the physical state of his body, it seemed like he was some sort of official. And if it weren't for the obvious state of disarray he was in, his subtly angular and borderline elvish facial features might've made him appear more princely...but uncanny. Yet with how the reddened whites of his eyes contrasted against the venomous green in his glare, he simply looked like escaped madman. Especially with his jeering question.

Djahima rose to their full height, appearing as tall or maybe even taller than the man before them, and just as strong in body. Their honey-blonde locs fell over their shoulders, obscuring their chest from view.

"Flattered as I am, I'm afraid that this," they gestured to their bizarre surroundings with a one-armed flourish, "is outside my jurisdiction."

Clouds swirled upon the surface of their masala chai. And in the sky, a similar vision.

They didn't know the true nature of the storm that had spontaneously come into existence some two months ago in Iraq. Unremarkable, at first. It came from humble beginnings. Few bothered to stop their daily routines because of it. The muted drumming of thunder and momentary quivers of light within a nimbus cloud were its only signs of activity. Nothing worthy of note.

But for a moment—a split second, really—the sky above an area not far from Baghdad flashed an incredible green. Green storm clouds were a rare natural phenomenon; it was just a trick of the light and a sign of a powerful storm yet to come. But the lightning strike it gave birth to was far too large and lasted far too long to occur Earth. While it was far enough away from civilization that it caused no real harm, the mere presence of it was enough to instill terror in those who simply watched the video. Meteorologists and their peers in scientific academia brushed it off as a one-of-a-kind coincidence. Djahima may have also felt inclined as to ignore it, had it occurred anywhere else. But it had happened right over the "Gate of the Gods".

Babylon.

The storm clouds continued to coalesce. They took one last sip of their chai and left a few dinars beneath the finjan. A scant few moments after they placed the cup back down, the telltale groaning baritone of thunder sounded in the distance. A warning for what is to come.

Trading flesh for air, they left Baghdad as a wind squall. As such, it did not take long for them to reach the ancient civilization, long abandoned. But as they encroached on what was considered to be the physical manifestation of man's folly, positive lightning nearly tore them from their immaterial form. It was only by the grace of Djahima's unique biology (if one could call it that) that they didn't get boiled alive from the inside out to the point of spontaneous combustion. But it didn't spare them from a headache to end all headaches quite fast enough.

Rolling over onto their stomach, they began pushing themself off the ground. Of course, as they were trying to reorient themself, they paid little heed to whatever was just before them.

@saishuu-heiki

[unforestalledreturn-a]

Only Teeth

a starter for @saishuu-heiki

It had begun innocently enough. It was a  young child’s dream to find that place again in the world, to find that warmth that was lost. Beloved jewel to unspoken disgrace, overnight, without warning or explanation, Genesis was left yearning for something he could neither describe nor tangibly hold. It was the scorn of the Banoran townspeople’s eyes, the pensive looks, the whispers. Once, they were filled with adoration, with smiles and laughter. But now, after so many years, such things were rose-tinted echoes that the freshly recruited SOLDIER hardly recognized. 

One would think admission to the most coveted ranks in ShinRa’s imposing army would have been cause for celebration. But even at the entrance ceremony, Genesis stuck out like a sore thumb. Amongst the rows of fresh recruits, he was quite a bit older. He was far more freckle-faced, far less muscular, and if these were all overlooked, the bright red sash on his arm that no one else in the crowd bore truly did separate him from the rest. And it was not in a good way. Genesis had only been accepted via a niche, scarcely used program that specialized in magic and materia usage as a primary vector. At first, he thought there would be plenty of others like him, that he would rise through the ranks and prove every naysayer wrong, and turn every scornful eye to respect. 

Genesis was wrong. And as the weeks turned into months, he became intimately acquainted with just how wrong he was. SOLDIER was predicated on the strength enhancing properties of mako and those that could withstand it. And it turned out that even those who passed the initial tests often dropped out to infantry as their tolerance failed. They dropped like flies. They puked during physical exams, were overtaken by fever, by memory loss, by a whole host of ailments that disqualified them from becoming the best of the best. 

And, as it was in nature, when the environment was brutal, only the strongest would survive. 

“Well, well, well… I guess 17 times the charm, Rhapsodos.” A brutish SOLDIER 3rd’s voice cut across the training room where Genesis had been planking on a mat. Even if his strength requirements were not the same to maintain his good standing, he had bare minimums. Cloudy eyes glared forward as Genesis pretended to not hear. 

Then, a boot was placed square on his back, pressure mounting. 

“I even heard they were so tired of you trying that they made up a whole new program. Isn’t that rich?” The 3rd chuckled as his little posse echoed his sentiments, surrounding their prey like a jackal. 

Genesis’ breath labored, arms shaking beneath the weight, arms screaming. But he grit his teeth to hold his silence. He reminded himself of his own promise-- to turn every eye, make each disbeliever swallow their tongue. The example of stoicism and refinement that one lauded Sephiroth excluded was secretly every SOLDIER’s dream, even if they never had the chance to meet the prodigy face to face. Most were lucky to even be deployed with that one man army. With grace and skill like that, one had no use to respond to snapping dogs. 

Only… 

The more Genesis sweat, the more his muscles ached and stomach knotted, the more he was faced with a bitter reality; he was not Sephiroth. And his arms buckled, body flattened beneath the oppressive pressure. This was met with laughter, the 3rd’s sharp heel digging into his shoulder blades. “Awww. City life’s hard for a little country boy. You know, I heard there are still openings in infantry for a toilet scrubber. That is of course if your dainty little self can withstand such hard labor.” 

Genesis did not have the luxury of grace or decorum. He did not have the reputation. He had only his teeth, his bones, his wrath, his indignation. 

From outside the training hall, those passing were only mildly aware of the drama within. Some lingered at the doorway, curious, but knowing better than to get caught up on a SOLDIER’s ego trip and continued on. Others idly gossiped at the common room nearby or just got some much needed coffee in their sleep-deprived bodies. It was a more or less unremarkable scene, until the entire floor of the building shook with an explosion. Those in the hallway were immediately enveloped in the plume of a fireball, and the common room was filled with hoarse choking and blindly fumbling through the smoke. The thick metal walls encasing the training room began to crack and in some places even melted-- that was until the fire alarms began to blare, water steaming down in an attempt to put out the blaze.

[gcldfanged]

032 , post-nibelheim era

032. — Force my muse’s arm behind their back.

Blood had seeped into the carpet, gumming up the fabric with thick viscera so dark it almost appeared black. President Shinra lay face first across his mahogany executive desk, as though he'd simply passed out in a drunken stupor. The zanbato embedded between his paunchy shoulder blades gleamed in the diffused glare of various spotlights surrounding headquarters, giving the legendary weapon an almost haunting glow.

It was a familiar, almost... comforting scene. If only the ostentatious interior design had been that of tacky crushed velvet and strobe lighting, the heavy reverberation of several bass stereos and the Masamune reduced to the size and make of a folding knife- Verdot's silhouette looming titanesque over him like one of Yama's celestial dogs swallowing the sun between his ivory fangs.

"Have you decided what you want to do?" I want to... be you. "You want to end up like me? You want me to turn you into a killer? You've already taken your first life, you don't need me-" I don't want to just be a killer, I want to be you. If you train me I'll do whatever you say, whenever and however many times you order me to. I won't complain, I won't quit, I won't hesitate. I'll take on more missions than anyone else so I can be you: perfect, the strongest, the best killer there is-

Did something die inside him that night or was something new birthed, he wondered- Gripping onto the elder man's fingers like an anchor, hands that only knew how to take away life- Not to protect, save, nor create.

"Yeah, he's been here. No sign of the target aside from the sword," he reported back into the mouthpiece of his PHS, slowly approaching the automated double doors leading to the helipad. It was strange, there was blood, sure.

No footprints, however.

Tseng and Rude were probably busy escorting Rufus through the building, it was his job to ensure that the coast was clear. He wasn't sure what to expect. Jae-hyo had figured once the fugitive acquired what he wanted, that he'd simply leave. Killing the President just read like an unexpected, but necessary detour from his original reason for being there.

"I'll keep an eye out, contact me when you're ready to go."

The agent folds up his phone and slips it back into his trouser pocket, before reaching for his sidearm. Yoon taps the barrel of his pistol against the side of his knee idly, hearing nothing save for the gentle strings of Brahms' Piano Quartet in G Minor.

A steely grip doesn't crush around his wrist so much as it pulls just so, twisting his ligaments and joints painfully. He's quickly and suddenly leveraged against the wall, pinioned like a half-trussed chicken, even his trigger finger seems to be locked in place due to the unnatural angle.

From the corner of his eye he can vaguely make out the trademark black greatcoat, little else. Sephiroth was considerably taller and had the additional advantage of being only the single greatest SOLDIER in the history of the entire program, so... Well, it was hard to feel sore about the whole being disarmed and reduced to the offensive capabilities of a turtle rolled onto the back of it's shell thing.

"Ah, I was wondering where you'd gone running off to," he managed to quip, quite the feat considering most of the side of his face was being smushed into the bulletproof glass that made up the floor to ceiling windows of the President's suite.

[ceaselxss]

Serpentine eyes scanned the Turk down and up with gaze coming to calm conclusion upon his face. " Will you join me in the training room, or are you occupied with more important matters? "

He hesitates, just for a single moment, almost imperceptible. Then he inclines his head.

"Are you looking for me to say that you are more important than anything else I could be doing, or do you truly not know?" He steps forward, clasping his hands behind his back. "You know as well as I do that I have little ability to fight against you, I hope you appreciate that I am walking into danger willingly at your behest."

[ofgeneticperfection]

Starter for @saishuu-heiki:

It was rare for Isrieal to stray far from ShinRa tower. There was a point in time where she wasn't allowed to leave it or rather the labs. Giving a bird wings, however, didn't mean that it would remember how to fly. For her to be found in the slums meant she was either scouting out a new test subject for Hojo that no one would miss or keeping track of old ones that were let back out.

Once or twice Hojo had tried to recreate Sephiroth since his disappearance, but disappointed with the results both men were discarded back into the wastes that they were dredged up from. Every now and then Isrieal made sure that they were not causing a disturbance to the populace and brought with her injections that would ease their discomfort. Although that was not part of her orders.

Dressed in a black cloak herself, she slipped between the shadows of the slums hiding her unique appearance. Although she held similar traits to the fallen Soldier she was not part of the Sephiroth project. Hojo had found her once half drowned from Mako in an old reactor and used her to re-create a living form of Jenova for himself.

Even though it had nearly been her demise that green, glowing substance never ceased to capture her. She loved to watch the glow in the sky from the tower and she was ever curious about the lifestream. Quietly, she steps through the tunnels of the slums in search of one of the failures that she knew to roam this area.

Something felt off here tonight, an electrical tingling that danced beneath her skin only when others with Jenova's cells were near, but the feeling of this was far stronger than the clones usually gave off. When she turns the corner of the tunnel she pauses in her tracks, eyes alight with the light from the green swirls flowing forth from the ground. Lifestream that had temporarily found its way through the cracks to surface and here she was to encounter it before it had faded once more.

She's transfixed in the moment, eyes wide with excitement and intrigue and not paying attention to what could be in the tunnels behind her.

[nyaa]

[gcldfanged]

Jae-Hyo emitted a sharp "Ya!" which really had no direct translation in the Common tongue-It was an informal Han word akin to someone rudely snapping their fingers to get a lower being's attention- The way a VIP diner might yell at a waiter.

The lengthy coil of the thick, braided synthetic fiber was curled around his left fist, not the white-knuckled grip of someone about to royally lose their shit, simply confident and familiar with the weight and movement of the material.

"If you can't keep a muzzle on Princess Bitchlette over there, then why don't you take a walk," he drawled in an almost lazy fashion, gesturing vaguely in Genesis' direction like he wasn't even worth acknowledging.

He placed his hands on his hips and sighed loudly, rolling his neck from side to side to crack his joints and limber up the astriction to his muscles.

"I dunno what you guys have against our department, but it's gettin' really fucking tiresome, y'know? You're actually super lucky Juget's not here right now because she wouldn't hesitate to turn Red into the world's saltiest twink pretzel. You, on the other hand..."

Jae pauses, staring up into those feline eyes without wavering, as though searching for something hidden in Sephiroth's stoic expression. Disappointment loomed like a gray cloud around the periphery of his vision.

Guess SOLDIERs really were all the same.

"I thought maybe you were a guy actually worth respecting, but then you had to go and rag on my coworkers. And if you're saying that they're not up to snuff, then you're sayin' that Verdot made a mistake by placing his trust in them. I don't care about your rank, I can't let an insult to our Boss slide like it's nothing."

Yoon had heard it all- The sniggering about his choice of weapon, his stature, the piercings. Nothing he heard that afternoon in the Training Hall was particularly original in terms of 'joke' material, that he could handle. It was the blatant disrespect of everything that his mentor had created for them that had his nerves set alight, made the blood seem to rush to his ears and through the branching pathways of each vein.

An almost pitying smirk twisted at his lips as he continued to stand his ground. This was no longer about winning or losing- It was about defending their leader.

"You may think you're the fuckin' shogun around here, but you just proved that you're nowhere even close to being on his level. Such a shame..."

Laughter did not fall from mouth , instead it floated light and crystalline. Beautiful if not for the masculinity it carried as well , and it was that edge which precisely caused the sound of mirth to travel across the training room. Half the walls were padded for combat while the other half and ceiling made for the perfect vessel for the bouncing of sound waves. He did not imagine that laughter was often heard there though , in turn , he did not imagine it was a complete impossibility either. Grunts of pain and bruised egos were the most dominant , but he knew friends and comrades would spar and indulge in the friendlier side of battle-readiness. Sephiroth did not intend to mock , but the stiffening body language and side-long glances informed him that his presence sat heavy like molten gold.

Within the walls of ShinRa , all should have expected to be watched by both not a single soul and by the most important pillars of the company. While the prodigal SOLDIER was modest with his laughter and his gaze , Genesis Rhapsodos was ruthless ; he made a show of things as though the men and women trained for the entertainment of the patricians. He knew better than to silence his friend . . rather attempt to silence him. It wasn't just amusement purposes or to kill time , Sephiroth was naturally invested in watching the progress of 3rd Class SOLDIERs and Turks — his allies ; people who could help or hinder him. " What do you think of them, Sephiroth? Oh, that one is far too skinny. " Melodious tone of the auburn haired SOLDIER tickled his ear , and Sephiroth's viper eyes followed his outstretched finger.

❛ They're Turks. What do you expect? All of them resemble sticks except for that particularly muscular one. ❜

SOLDIERs and rookies came and went and while the Turks were of the opposite , faces and names still blurred within his mind. It spoke more about his lack of interest as opposed to the deficiency of mind. Where Sephiroth's laughter could be soothing and captivating , Genesis' resembled more of a screech. If that did not distract , nothing else would. " Don't they train them with guns? Have guns and fists become too trite? " Sephiroth's lips curled with a less than harmless expression and beside the comfort of his loud comrade , deep voice carried louder than he had anticipated.

❛ So that is how they recruit the newest Turks , is it? Sexual proclivities. ❜

[ Crude and amusing indeed. ] The nameless Turk @gcldfanged was quick as a sewer rat , and unlike leagues of men and women before him , demonstrated no fear marching forth. Whip simply looked absurd , yet it was the spitfire expression tightening expression which wiped amusement from Sephiroth's face. Every person's breath appeared to pause except for that of the Turk and Sephiroth's. Audible silence . . or audible nervousness. Did people expect him to snap the boy's neck for challenging him? Serpentine eyes moved from the extended whip to the man's face. The countless foes he had faced , and none of them had threatened him with a whip. It was original at the very least. Lips peeled back to reveal teeth , yet amusement did not touch his eyes.

❛ If you whip that thing in my direction , I will have no choice but to take it from you. ❜