[They are noticed by the nurses - or at least Zack is, a few wave back, but don't stop them yet. .. Yet. There's questions to be answered! They want answers eventually! Blood types! Allergies! Medical directives! ... Answers neither man actually have. The hospital has a sense of civilian over military; time has been spent making the decor less forbidding, the lighting kinder to the eyes, the seating here and there actually reasonably comfortable (if easy to wash). It smells clean and a bit antiseptic, the paint and floor tiles chosen for their soothing colors instead of efficiency.
None of it at least LOOKS like a lab. And by glancing in doorways to other rooms on the way, arriving in the room Sephiroth's been taken to makes it pretty clear that the endeavor to not make it look like a lab is ongoing and deliberate. There's more things in this one, mismatched decor, an array of scavenged pillows, some blankets both folded and not tossed about in a distinctly haphazard manner. A table lamp next to spoon and relic, a corkboard full of someone's pictures of their pets, even a television playing some muted cowboy movie. It doesn't remove the hum of machinery, the quiet beep of monitors and sensors, but it ... dulls the effect a little. The trash hasn't been emptied from the night before, full of blood soaked gauze, bandages and broken feathers, and the remnants of a black outfit that had to be cut loose. Morning light gleams through the drawn blinds, a beam of pale inching its way across the floor. His chart's stuck in a pocket at the end of the bed, detailing the lengths the surgical team had to go through to keep him alive. Death may not stick here, but it had a cost. Best avoided.
Sephiroth himself has only moved once since he'd been put in the bed and given an IV, most of the monitors relying on some form of magic instead of the usual network of cables and wires. The wings are still there, the mark of a so-called Legend, but he'd rolled enough to pin the damaged one beneath himself and out of easy obvious sight, the other's feathers ruffled enough to hide the first's bandages. Every other one he could is equally hidden, either by light blanket or the hospital clothes in some half-aware urge to hide any sign of weakness, anything that could be poked and prodded at. Anything he could be scolded for. He'd been cleaned pretty well, so it's almost effective.
On a quick glance, aside from being far too pale even for him, the teenager could just be tired. On a longer study though.. so thorough was the recent injury and blood loss that he wouldn't be able to put up a fight even if he wanted to. In a day he'd be up and moving, however poorly; SOLDIERs are made of stern stuff. In a couple days he could resume some level of normal activity without much problem. In another week, he might be able to efficiently hide that he'd been hurt at all. But not now. Vincent's lucky; by the slow but steady beep of the monitors, he's not awake. That's going to change at the first sound that doesn't match the background noise of the hospital.]
[ The nature of hospitals can't be helped. Vincent is no less one who has unpleasant memories about labs and lab smells. But he has a good front of indifference, moving with precision to the room assignment.
How does he know? Occupied rooms tend to have charts, markers and paperwork. It's just a matter of knowing what to look for and narrowing down the options. And when one in particular stands out from the more clinical sterility of the rooms on the ward, Vincent pauses in the hallway.
For a second his eyes scan the room, landing briefly on what can be seen of the bed's occupant; for Vincent isn't letting himself be framed by the door itself. Then there is a look over his shoulder toward Zack.
Vincent turns to place his back to the wall as if he were making room for the ex-SOLDIER to pass him by. Not necessary but it's a symbolic gesture. As is the way he somewhat dramatically raises his right arm, hand extended and finger pointed at Sephiroth's room. ]
...
[ With the movement of the front mantle, Zack might also catch sight of the pink ribbon tied around the gunman's bicep. Just a small out of place but inconsequential detail, nothing that should be worried about. ]
[He can endure it, he just doesn't have to like it; that's Zack's usual policy. Truthfully, he hasn't spent a lot of time in or around hospitals. He'd had good luck with missions, usually surviving with just scrapes, bruises, or injuries minor enough that materia or a troop medic could take care of it quick. The medical facilities of SOLDIER were decent enough, even if that's not where most of the budget went. They weren't built to need hospitals, after all. And the worst injuries he'd ever had were in Nibelheim, caused by the kid in the bed before him (in some distant future) and on a cliff outside Midgar (at which point no hospital could spare him).
He passes Vincent, taking note of the ribbon - feeling something decidedly weird about it, and shoving it swiftly to the back of his mind because not important now - and moves to the side of the bed. Kid looks... rough. Not the worst he's ever seen (or done), but for a SOLDIER it doesn't look great. It's a testament to Vincent's strength and aim, as even for a kid, Sephiroth wasn't built to go down easy. Zack'll remember that. (He'll hope he won't need to, but. He'll remember.)
Since Sephiroth is still unconscious, Zack tugs over a chair and parks himself next to the bed, leaning back and crossing his arms. He can wait. As for Vincent...]
[He's not going to be out for long, by the way the steady blip on one of the many monitors jumps as soon as Zack speaks up. That's a sound that disrupted the ambience, was absolutely out of place, and although nothing's connected his voice to anything recognizable yet, nurses were likely constantly in and out tending to their duties. Most of those required an awake patient.
Vincent probably doesn't have long to make the choice Zack's given him. Linger long and it'll be made for him.]
[ Maybe. Maybe the low rumble of Vincent's voice, finally speaking for the first time since entering the hospital, could count as another part of the disruption. It can't be help.
And with that simple word Vincent's arm drops and he's silently- how on hospital tile with those boots- retreating down the corridor the way they came.
Maybe he does get briefly caught by a nurse on the way out, but by the time anyone could go chasing after him, he's going to have disappeared again. ]
[Zack makes a quiet "hmm" at the answer - not surprised, not disappointed exactly, but whatever, it's complicated and he's not in the mood to deal with whatever happens should the two meet again in this moment - and closes his eyes. It's fine, he's here to stay. If Sephiroth wakes up then and there, they can chat. If not, Zack's taking a nap until he stirs.]
[Not much would happen on Sephiroth's end at least, if only because that's not really possible right now, but with Turks you never know. When all the lights aren't thrown on and happy sounding chatter from some nurse telling him it's time to check some monitor or do another test or something, the fog is slower to clear. Long enough maybe for Zack to doze off a bit.
He's not really expecting company; the presence of the black haired SOLDIER isn't unwelcome but it's certainly ... really confusing. It takes sluggish thoughts a little bit to conclude that he probably hadn't managed to call for help or anything, but maybe someone checked his relic for contacts.
With all the slowness of a motivated worm, he moves just enough to reach one hand towards Zack with every intention of giving the lightest of pokes. This could after all be a dream, or a weird drug interaction hallucination.]
[Surprise, it is neither! The poke has Zack jerking alert, eyes snapping open, his legs splaying to balance himself so he doesn't fall right out of his chair.]
Whoa!
[His gaze shifts towards the source, shock slowly unraveling as he parses what he finds: Sephiroth.]
[Since presumably hallucinations can't be touched, Zack must actually be there. Dreams probably could be, but that seemed not likely the more sleep cleared away.
He'd have picked a more familiar location wouldn't he?]
...I think so.
[The hoarse rasp is to be expected, sounding great wasn't going to happen. Nor was sitting up, no matter how strong the impulse was to prove he's fine, even just to himself.]
Why are you here? [No that's not right, it's not what he was trying to ask, so he tries again, settling his arm back down. Zack is not an unwelcome sight, but it IS a mystery.] How did you know where I am?
[Zack gives him a returning poke- right to the forehead, since everything else is unknown-wound territory and he doesn't want to cause the poor kid more pain. Feel that? He's very real!
The question is sobering after a moment, though.]
The guy who did this to you broke into my room and woke me up to come and stay with you. It's been a weird night.
[Though there's a wince at being poked it doesn't seem to be a pain sort of reaction. No, he's grateful, really! It's nice to see someone he's reasonably sure isn't going to suddenly shoot him full of holes! .. Granted he also hadn't thought Vincent was going to and that didn't exactly turn out well.
Which might be why as Zack explains how he got there, his expression shifts a bit, terribly confused, attempting to work out exactly how any of that made sense. This effort fails, visibly. Maybe he hadn't shaken off sleep or fatigue enough yet.]
That's ... [COMPLETELY. NONSENSICAL. And Zack isn't likely to have any idea either, unless Turks operate very differently than what he thought. While it takes effort to both speak clearly and have a fully formed sentence, he's determined to do just that. It slows him down a bit.] ...I thought Turks were more professional than that.
Yeahhh, I don't think that guy's been a Turk for a long, long time. Not that that makes any of this better, but it explains one thing.
[That is, the lack of restraint. Though "professional" doesn't always come to mind when he thinks about the Turks he knows. Mostly Reno. He's a bit too off the cuff.
He doesn't really want to talk about Vincent, though. At least not yet.]
How you feeling? Have they been treating you well here?
His ID card was out of date by .. thirteen years. It looked recent though. I thought it was more like .. our time gap.
[But in the other direction. Earlier, and possibly under cover, but what sort of mission would require an outfit like that?
He hadn't thought about it as much as he probably should have. Trusting strangers, even ones that were potential allies, isn't something that should be done quickly it seems.
There's no quick response to the question, his gaze shifting away from Zack to scan the room again, measuring. This has in fact, been one of the most surreal experiences of his life but not for the typical reasons.]
...Tired. But it doesn't hurt as much as usual. [It didn't feel great to just lay there, feeling the pain of fresh surgery and a day's being hunted. But there's actually drugs in some of those IV bags, and while Hojo never bothered, they apparently did!] This is the strangest lab I have been in. They're kind but ... ask? About everything, when I'm awake enough.
[It's called 'consent'.]
And then the nurse that looks like a moth puts me back out when they're done.
[Thirteen years, huh. That makes sense, if he knew about Sephiroth's birth and his mom. Though if it was thirteen years too old when Sephiroth's at this age it means it's way out of date in Cloud's time. Damn. That is hella retired.
He sizes Sephiroth up, taking in his expression, what he can glean from the kid's condition, his general vibe. He does look tired, but not at death's door at least. Less pale than he'd been when Zack first arrived. It's a good sign.]
It's not a lab, it's a hospital. Believe it or not this is how med treatment is supposed to go.
[SOLDIERs really do get the short end of the stick. Doesn't surprise him that Sephiroth doesn't know what a hospital is like, though. He probably always had to go back to the lab... what a depressing thought.]
[Turks don't retire! It must be time shenanigans! ... There's information missing here, which he'll one day figure out. Thirty years cumulatively is a long time, and Vincent doesn't look THAT old.
He shifts a little under the older SOLDIER's scrutiny. He knows it's everywhere, signs of his own inability to fight off even one single Turk. Probably it was second-hand embarrassing for Zack.]
...It doesn't really encourage you to not fail next time though, does it.
[This is a normal thing, for normal people. Comfort and a television and painkillers and antibiotics. Normal things. It's almost insulting to his training and education to this point, but he knows it's not the medication that keeps him from being able to lever himself upright when he suddenly gives it a try, the dragging weakness entirely his own.]
I'll do better. It won't happen again.
[Sephiroth tries his best to sound reassuring, but it's hard to really look it while being cosseted by some hospital's efforts.]
[Honestly neither do SOLDIERs, it's pretty effed up. Either way, he seems to be less-Turk-like these days, especially since he was part of Cloud's group and they not only fought Shinra but killed Hojo and Sephiroth, so.
Zack considers that comment with furrowed brows, and shakes his head.]
Listen... what happened wasn't your fault. He shouldn't have done it. You're not the one who has to do better in this case.
[He knows what it's like, to feel like a failure even when the cause of the problem isn't anything you did. He gets it. But he wishes there'd been someone around back then, someone he could tell everything (without worrying about classified or bureaucratic bull) who could in turn tell him it wasn't his fault, or his failure.
[Zack didn't retire either! He just. ... Left. If history didn't go the way it did, would anyone in SOLDIER even get to live long enough to grow old and retire?
There were few old Turks too, but at least there were a couple.]
Maybe not the circumstances.
[He'll allow that, with a breathy sort of half-hearted laugh. He didn't choose to get shot down, after all. There's still a flaw in Sephiroth's thinking, a certainty that if a Turk came after him it was with a good reason, like being ordered to. That it was personal hasn't entered the equation.]
What I did is my fault though. I shouldn't ... have treated it like the only threat was scavenging monsters. I didn't think one of the monsters had a gun.
[Calling people monsters is generally taboo, but in his defense, Vincent was very literally a monster at several points. The erratic jumping markers on the monitors suggest he is nowhere near as calm and unaffected by this as he's trying to act.]
... I'm glad he brought you though.
[Zack didn't care if his performance hadn't been perfect. Zack wouldn't make him do it over and over again until he got it right.]
[Yeah, SOLDIERs don't really get to retire. But Turks don't get thousands and thousands of gil worth of chemicals poured into them, or a finite resource like Jenova cells... presumably.
Zack watches him as he answers, frowning tightly. It's not entirely unlike Sephiroth to be self-critical, but he's usually far more sure of himself overall. But he's still a kid, and a long way from the indomitable top dog of SOLDIER. Of course he's going to be reconsidering future strategies.
Damn you, Vincent, though. Now he'll be less inclined to trust others- and that can lead to isolation. How can he backpedal on this...?]
I'm glad, too. You shouldn't have to be dealing with this solo. I've got your back, okay? So you can rest and heal up without worry. For right now, though, will you tell me how exactly it went down? Vincent wasn't all that chatty.
[He'd scolded his own team about splitting off and going alone into dangerous locations, and then he'd done the same thing! It's a well deserved comeuppance as far as Sephiroth is concerned, but also one he'll be far more cautious about letting repeat itself.
Whether or not it meant he'd take backup next time, if there was a next time, or simply make sure he's the one doing the hunting remained to be seen. He's not sure it's something he should ask of anyone. Zack's already been dragged along through too much, even he could see that.]
I can tell you what happened, but I can't tell you why for certain.
[Sephiroth doesn't KNOW why. He has a lot of guesses. But they're just guesses.
In spite of claiming he would, it takes him a minute to actually bother to do so.]
When he arrived during the science fair, I approached him because he had a pistol with a materia slot as a reward, and I thought I could bargain it away from him if he didn't know what it was. He did, and he had identification on him. Vincent Valentine, General Affairs Department. Out of date, but still pretty new looking. Since he's ... possibly from the past I wanted to ask him about some people. My mother among them.
[But not JUST her. It takes him time to work through it, voice still uncomfortably hoarse, the dry feeling never quite going away. The memory of the blistering heat of the desert lingered too.]
He wanted somewhere more private so others wouldn't overhear. The school was crowded, it made sense. He chose the mountain in Cruel Summer, daybreak. I ... make a very visible target in the air these days.
[The undamaged wing shifts slightly, almost a shrug, beneath the shrouding blanket.]
When I was within range, he shot me out of the sky, about halfway up the mountain. [It was a long, long fall. He doesn't remember the impact, or how long he was on the ground for.] ...I didn't think it'd be him, just some idiot hunter, sniping at potential monsters without being sure of the target. I was wrong. I spent til sunset being hounded from more secure locations by what I thought was just scavengers and a behemoth cub.
[Twelve hours, bloody and broken, being chased from dark hiding spot to dark hiding spot, through the vicious desert heat. No food, no water, no time to rest. But there was always a waiting monster. That though, the last bit is what's important, and in a gathering moment of bitter spite, someone else's secret becomes rather less secret.]
He's a shapechanger. Not like Familiars. I didn't know Turks had agents like that. That other form.. it's not a natural behemoth.
[Zack listens, of course - it's long, god help his attention span - but it's the last comment that has him caught off guard, truly.]
Wait, not a familiar thing? I don't think Turks can do that, either. They're not, uh. Experiments. Maybe it's something that happened after he left?
[Turks are just... Turks. Incredibly skilled, dripping in resource accessibility, utterly professional. But still just normal humans with normal weapons. What set them apart was their training, not physical enhancements. Or weird powers.]
He said he stopped when he saw your locket. Did he say anything about her?
Unless he lied, which .. is possible, he still considers himself a Turk. I don't think he left.
[Or at least, he didn't leave the Turks, and the science department was up to some unsactioned things. Which ... knowing Hojo as well as he did, he could easily believe. Except Turks looked after their own, and surely they wouldn't have just ... let one go missing. They had to know.
The train of thought is pushed away. It's easier to consider things in the nice neat categories he'd been taught. Anything else can wait til later, when he had time to mull the implications better.
But Vincent could also be lying. Or telling the absolute truth, and he's back to where he started - don't trust people he can't absolutely verify. On whether or not Vincent said anything, he has to think about it.]
.... No. I don't think he did. By then I was... [Actively dying. It wasn't as bad as he expected it to be, except that he was certain it was frightening in spite of the reassurances (or demands) that he couldn't feel fear anymore and it had been thoroughly trained out.] ..Not really clearheaded. He was angry, I think. Before that, calm. Apologetic it took that long to catch up. Just another job.
[Zack exhales an annoyed noise, leaning back in his chair. This is one heck of a mess, still. Now what? He genuinely doesn't care whether Vincent is or isn't a Turk (but seriously they don't dress like that), what kind of job he thinks he's taken on, whether this change of heart is long term or not. He doesn't know the man. They're not friends, he doesn't have to care. Let Cloud handle that one.
Sephiroth, though...]
Feels unfair to ask this of you when you're the one who got attacked, but... think we can manage some kind of truce between you two? It'd be best if no one tries to kill anybody else.
[They definitely don't dress like that. Ever. And yet this one does.
The thought of a truce appears to be completely out of left field, by the way his expression blanks, confused. Again there's no response right away, as this processes sluggishly. He wasn't as yet terribly inclined towards revenge, and if it had been just a job, then retaliating against Vincent wouldn't do any good.
He'd have to go after whoever gave him the job.]
What.. why would..
[There is another brief, aborted effort to sit up, but he gives up on it quickly. MUCH too soon to be moving around too much, and his sigh is very put upon. This is what he gets.]
What would be the point? He won't stay down anyway. In fact why did he bother coming after me, when I'd just--
[It's pretty obvious when his train of thought crashes to a sudden stop and derails entirely.]
....Does he know people don't die?
Edited (Accidentally a meme.) 2024-05-20 20:22 (UTC)
Honestly? I'm not sure he does. Could be he's new enough that no one's given him that memo. We don't actually get a lot of deaths happening in this world.
[The last time it felt like his life was truly in danger - and the last time a trial had a legitimate body count - was months ago. Been a lot of psych drama since then. He died during the fae attacks and he can't even say the new stuff is better.]
I'll let him know, if nobody beats me to it. Pretty sure he won't be attacking you again either way, unless you do something to set him off. ...I don't actually know how easy that would be, sorry. Guy's still a stranger to me.
I received four warnings in my first two weeks here that death doesn't stay dead, and I haven't even tried to kill anything besides monsters. Surely someone would have told him.
[Maybe it was some kind of instinct that tipped people off as to where the danger might come from. But someone was going to have to tell Vincent, or it might happen again, and everyone would be wasting their time.
Maybe he'd do it himself, when moving too much didn't have such an obnoxiously high cost. After all..]
The next time I'll be able to handle it, so I'll tell him myself. I need to find him anyway, easy or not to set him off; he has my things, and ... I think he knows my mother. Or knew, at least.
[Everything else is terribly morose, but that is a little bright spot. A tiny bit of hope. He might finally get some real, substantial information!]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
in which very little happens except scenery
None of it at least LOOKS like a lab. And by glancing in doorways to other rooms on the way, arriving in the room Sephiroth's been taken to makes it pretty clear that the endeavor to not make it look like a lab is ongoing and deliberate. There's more things in this one, mismatched decor, an array of scavenged pillows, some blankets both folded and not tossed about in a distinctly haphazard manner. A table lamp next to spoon and relic, a corkboard full of someone's pictures of their pets, even a television playing some muted cowboy movie. It doesn't remove the hum of machinery, the quiet beep of monitors and sensors, but it ... dulls the effect a little. The trash hasn't been emptied from the night before, full of blood soaked gauze, bandages and broken feathers, and the remnants of a black outfit that had to be cut loose. Morning light gleams through the drawn blinds, a beam of pale inching its way across the floor. His chart's stuck in a pocket at the end of the bed, detailing the lengths the surgical team had to go through to keep him alive. Death may not stick here, but it had a cost. Best avoided.
Sephiroth himself has only moved once since he'd been put in the bed and given an IV, most of the monitors relying on some form of magic instead of the usual network of cables and wires. The wings are still there, the mark of a so-called Legend, but he'd rolled enough to pin the damaged one beneath himself and out of easy obvious sight, the other's feathers ruffled enough to hide the first's bandages. Every other one he could is equally hidden, either by light blanket or the hospital clothes in some half-aware urge to hide any sign of weakness, anything that could be poked and prodded at. Anything he could be scolded for. He'd been cleaned pretty well, so it's almost effective.
On a quick glance, aside from being far too pale even for him, the teenager could just be tired. On a longer study though.. so thorough was the recent injury and blood loss that he wouldn't be able to put up a fight even if he wanted to. In a day he'd be up and moving, however poorly; SOLDIERs are made of stern stuff. In a couple days he could resume some level of normal activity without much problem. In another week, he might be able to efficiently hide that he'd been hurt at all. But not now. Vincent's lucky; by the slow but steady beep of the monitors, he's not awake. That's going to change at the first sound that doesn't match the background noise of the hospital.]
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How does he know? Occupied rooms tend to have charts, markers and paperwork. It's just a matter of knowing what to look for and narrowing down the options. And when one in particular stands out from the more clinical sterility of the rooms on the ward, Vincent pauses in the hallway.
For a second his eyes scan the room, landing briefly on what can be seen of the bed's occupant; for Vincent isn't letting himself be framed by the door itself. Then there is a look over his shoulder toward Zack.
Vincent turns to place his back to the wall as if he were making room for the ex-SOLDIER to pass him by. Not necessary but it's a symbolic gesture. As is the way he somewhat dramatically raises his right arm, hand extended and finger pointed at Sephiroth's room. ]
...
[ With the movement of the front mantle, Zack might also catch sight of the pink ribbon tied around the gunman's bicep. Just a small out of place but inconsequential detail, nothing that should be worried about. ]
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He passes Vincent, taking note of the ribbon - feeling something decidedly weird about it, and shoving it swiftly to the back of his mind because not important now - and moves to the side of the bed. Kid looks... rough. Not the worst he's ever seen (or done), but for a SOLDIER it doesn't look great. It's a testament to Vincent's strength and aim, as even for a kid, Sephiroth wasn't built to go down easy. Zack'll remember that. (He'll hope he won't need to, but. He'll remember.)
Since Sephiroth is still unconscious, Zack tugs over a chair and parks himself next to the bed, leaning back and crossing his arms. He can wait. As for Vincent...]
Staying or going?
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Vincent probably doesn't have long to make the choice Zack's given him. Linger long and it'll be made for him.]
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[ Maybe. Maybe the low rumble of Vincent's voice, finally speaking for the first time since entering the hospital, could count as another part of the disruption. It can't be help.
And with that simple word Vincent's arm drops and he's silently- how on hospital tile with those boots- retreating down the corridor the way they came.
Maybe he does get briefly caught by a nurse on the way out, but by the time anyone could go chasing after him, he's going to have disappeared again. ]
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He's not really expecting company; the presence of the black haired SOLDIER isn't unwelcome but it's certainly ... really confusing. It takes sluggish thoughts a little bit to conclude that he probably hadn't managed to call for help or anything, but maybe someone checked his relic for contacts.
With all the slowness of a motivated worm, he moves just enough to reach one hand towards Zack with every intention of giving the lightest of pokes. This could after all be a dream, or a weird drug interaction hallucination.]
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Whoa!
[His gaze shifts towards the source, shock slowly unraveling as he parses what he finds: Sephiroth.]
Hey, you're up!
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He'd have picked a more familiar location wouldn't he?]
...I think so.
[The hoarse rasp is to be expected, sounding great wasn't going to happen. Nor was sitting up, no matter how strong the impulse was to prove he's fine, even just to himself.]
Why are you here? [No that's not right, it's not what he was trying to ask, so he tries again, settling his arm back down. Zack is not an unwelcome sight, but it IS a mystery.] How did you know where I am?
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[Zack gives him a returning poke- right to the forehead, since everything else is unknown-wound territory and he doesn't want to cause the poor kid more pain. Feel that? He's very real!
The question is sobering after a moment, though.]
The guy who did this to you broke into my room and woke me up to come and stay with you. It's been a weird night.
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[Though there's a wince at being poked it doesn't seem to be a pain sort of reaction. No, he's grateful, really! It's nice to see someone he's reasonably sure isn't going to suddenly shoot him full of holes! .. Granted he also hadn't thought Vincent was going to and that didn't exactly turn out well.
Which might be why as Zack explains how he got there, his expression shifts a bit, terribly confused, attempting to work out exactly how any of that made sense. This effort fails, visibly. Maybe he hadn't shaken off sleep or fatigue enough yet.]
That's ... [COMPLETELY. NONSENSICAL. And Zack isn't likely to have any idea either, unless Turks operate very differently than what he thought. While it takes effort to both speak clearly and have a fully formed sentence, he's determined to do just that. It slows him down a bit.] ...I thought Turks were more professional than that.
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Yeahhh, I don't think that guy's been a Turk for a long, long time. Not that that makes any of this better, but it explains one thing.
[That is, the lack of restraint. Though "professional" doesn't always come to mind when he thinks about the Turks he knows. Mostly Reno. He's a bit too off the cuff.
He doesn't really want to talk about Vincent, though. At least not yet.]
How you feeling? Have they been treating you well here?
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[But in the other direction. Earlier, and possibly under cover, but what sort of mission would require an outfit like that?
He hadn't thought about it as much as he probably should have. Trusting strangers, even ones that were potential allies, isn't something that should be done quickly it seems.
There's no quick response to the question, his gaze shifting away from Zack to scan the room again, measuring. This has in fact, been one of the most surreal experiences of his life but not for the typical reasons.]
...Tired. But it doesn't hurt as much as usual. [It didn't feel great to just lay there, feeling the pain of fresh surgery and a day's being hunted. But there's actually drugs in some of those IV bags, and while Hojo never bothered, they apparently did!] This is the strangest lab I have been in. They're kind but ... ask? About everything, when I'm awake enough.
[It's called 'consent'.]
And then the nurse that looks like a moth puts me back out when they're done.
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He sizes Sephiroth up, taking in his expression, what he can glean from the kid's condition, his general vibe. He does look tired, but not at death's door at least. Less pale than he'd been when Zack first arrived. It's a good sign.]
It's not a lab, it's a hospital. Believe it or not this is how med treatment is supposed to go.
[SOLDIERs really do get the short end of the stick. Doesn't surprise him that Sephiroth doesn't know what a hospital is like, though. He probably always had to go back to the lab... what a depressing thought.]
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He shifts a little under the older SOLDIER's scrutiny. He knows it's everywhere, signs of his own inability to fight off even one single Turk. Probably it was second-hand embarrassing for Zack.]
...It doesn't really encourage you to not fail next time though, does it.
[This is a normal thing, for normal people. Comfort and a television and painkillers and antibiotics. Normal things. It's almost insulting to his training and education to this point, but he knows it's not the medication that keeps him from being able to lever himself upright when he suddenly gives it a try, the dragging weakness entirely his own.]
I'll do better. It won't happen again.
[Sephiroth tries his best to sound reassuring, but it's hard to really look it while being cosseted by some hospital's efforts.]
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Zack considers that comment with furrowed brows, and shakes his head.]
Listen... what happened wasn't your fault. He shouldn't have done it. You're not the one who has to do better in this case.
[He knows what it's like, to feel like a failure even when the cause of the problem isn't anything you did. He gets it. But he wishes there'd been someone around back then, someone he could tell everything (without worrying about classified or bureaucratic bull) who could in turn tell him it wasn't his fault, or his failure.
Shinra needs better mentors. Shinra needs better everything.]
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There were few old Turks too, but at least there were a couple.]
Maybe not the circumstances.
[He'll allow that, with a breathy sort of half-hearted laugh. He didn't choose to get shot down, after all. There's still a flaw in Sephiroth's thinking, a certainty that if a Turk came after him it was with a good reason, like being ordered to. That it was personal hasn't entered the equation.]
What I did is my fault though. I shouldn't ... have treated it like the only threat was scavenging monsters. I didn't think one of the monsters had a gun.
[Calling people monsters is generally taboo, but in his defense, Vincent was very literally a monster at several points. The erratic jumping markers on the monitors suggest he is nowhere near as calm and unaffected by this as he's trying to act.]
... I'm glad he brought you though.
[Zack didn't care if his performance hadn't been perfect. Zack wouldn't make him do it over and over again until he got it right.]
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Zack watches him as he answers, frowning tightly. It's not entirely unlike Sephiroth to be self-critical, but he's usually far more sure of himself overall. But he's still a kid, and a long way from the indomitable top dog of SOLDIER. Of course he's going to be reconsidering future strategies.
Damn you, Vincent, though. Now he'll be less inclined to trust others- and that can lead to isolation. How can he backpedal on this...?]
I'm glad, too. You shouldn't have to be dealing with this solo. I've got your back, okay? So you can rest and heal up without worry. For right now, though, will you tell me how exactly it went down? Vincent wasn't all that chatty.
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[He'd scolded his own team about splitting off and going alone into dangerous locations, and then he'd done the same thing! It's a well deserved comeuppance as far as Sephiroth is concerned, but also one he'll be far more cautious about letting repeat itself.
Whether or not it meant he'd take backup next time, if there was a next time, or simply make sure he's the one doing the hunting remained to be seen. He's not sure it's something he should ask of anyone. Zack's already been dragged along through too much, even he could see that.]
I can tell you what happened, but I can't tell you why for certain.
[Sephiroth doesn't KNOW why. He has a lot of guesses. But they're just guesses.
In spite of claiming he would, it takes him a minute to actually bother to do so.]
When he arrived during the science fair, I approached him because he had a pistol with a materia slot as a reward, and I thought I could bargain it away from him if he didn't know what it was. He did, and he had identification on him. Vincent Valentine, General Affairs Department. Out of date, but still pretty new looking. Since he's ... possibly from the past I wanted to ask him about some people. My mother among them.
[But not JUST her. It takes him time to work through it, voice still uncomfortably hoarse, the dry feeling never quite going away. The memory of the blistering heat of the desert lingered too.]
He wanted somewhere more private so others wouldn't overhear. The school was crowded, it made sense. He chose the mountain in Cruel Summer, daybreak. I ... make a very visible target in the air these days.
[The undamaged wing shifts slightly, almost a shrug, beneath the shrouding blanket.]
When I was within range, he shot me out of the sky, about halfway up the mountain. [It was a long, long fall. He doesn't remember the impact, or how long he was on the ground for.] ...I didn't think it'd be him, just some idiot hunter, sniping at potential monsters without being sure of the target. I was wrong. I spent til sunset being hounded from more secure locations by what I thought was just scavengers and a behemoth cub.
[Twelve hours, bloody and broken, being chased from dark hiding spot to dark hiding spot, through the vicious desert heat. No food, no water, no time to rest. But there was always a waiting monster. That though, the last bit is what's important, and in a gathering moment of bitter spite, someone else's secret becomes rather less secret.]
He's a shapechanger. Not like Familiars. I didn't know Turks had agents like that. That other form.. it's not a natural behemoth.
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Wait, not a familiar thing? I don't think Turks can do that, either. They're not, uh. Experiments. Maybe it's something that happened after he left?
[Turks are just... Turks. Incredibly skilled, dripping in resource accessibility, utterly professional. But still just normal humans with normal weapons. What set them apart was their training, not physical enhancements. Or weird powers.]
He said he stopped when he saw your locket. Did he say anything about her?
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[Or at least, he didn't leave the Turks, and the science department was up to some unsactioned things. Which ... knowing Hojo as well as he did, he could easily believe. Except Turks looked after their own, and surely they wouldn't have just ... let one go missing. They had to know.
The train of thought is pushed away. It's easier to consider things in the nice neat categories he'd been taught. Anything else can wait til later, when he had time to mull the implications better.
But Vincent could also be lying. Or telling the absolute truth, and he's back to where he started - don't trust people he can't absolutely verify. On whether or not Vincent said anything, he has to think about it.]
.... No. I don't think he did. By then I was... [Actively dying. It wasn't as bad as he expected it to be, except that he was certain it was frightening in spite of the reassurances (or demands) that he couldn't feel fear anymore and it had been thoroughly trained out.] ..Not really clearheaded. He was angry, I think. Before that, calm. Apologetic it took that long to catch up. Just another job.
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[Zack exhales an annoyed noise, leaning back in his chair. This is one heck of a mess, still. Now what? He genuinely doesn't care whether Vincent is or isn't a Turk (but seriously they don't dress like that), what kind of job he thinks he's taken on, whether this change of heart is long term or not. He doesn't know the man. They're not friends, he doesn't have to care. Let Cloud handle that one.
Sephiroth, though...]
Feels unfair to ask this of you when you're the one who got attacked, but... think we can manage some kind of truce between you two? It'd be best if no one tries to kill anybody else.
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The thought of a truce appears to be completely out of left field, by the way his expression blanks, confused. Again there's no response right away, as this processes sluggishly. He wasn't as yet terribly inclined towards revenge, and if it had been just a job, then retaliating against Vincent wouldn't do any good.
He'd have to go after whoever gave him the job.]
What.. why would..
[There is another brief, aborted effort to sit up, but he gives up on it quickly. MUCH too soon to be moving around too much, and his sigh is very put upon. This is what he gets.]
What would be the point? He won't stay down anyway. In fact why did he bother coming after me, when I'd just--
[It's pretty obvious when his train of thought crashes to a sudden stop and derails entirely.]
....Does he know people don't die?
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[The last time it felt like his life was truly in danger - and the last time a trial had a legitimate body count - was months ago. Been a lot of psych drama since then. He died during the fae attacks and he can't even say the new stuff is better.]
I'll let him know, if nobody beats me to it. Pretty sure he won't be attacking you again either way, unless you do something to set him off. ...I don't actually know how easy that would be, sorry. Guy's still a stranger to me.
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[Maybe it was some kind of instinct that tipped people off as to where the danger might come from. But someone was going to have to tell Vincent, or it might happen again, and everyone would be wasting their time.
Maybe he'd do it himself, when moving too much didn't have such an obnoxiously high cost. After all..]
The next time I'll be able to handle it, so I'll tell him myself. I need to find him anyway, easy or not to set him off; he has my things, and ... I think he knows my mother. Or knew, at least.
[Everything else is terribly morose, but that is a little bright spot. A tiny bit of hope. He might finally get some real, substantial information!]
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