It would have been enough to deal with the behemoth cub, they're not immune to venom.Someone with metal greaves however, didn't really have much to fear from long serpent's fangs unless they got down. He hadn't meant the trap to be anything to inconvenience another human. Another presumable human. But that's awfully quiet for a human to be walking, with such gear on. Normal people's eyes don't shine in the dark like his do, but he had mako and countless 'treatments' to thank for it, for his quiet, for his speed.
He remains where he is; caution is certainly warranted with how long it's taken to drive him to bay, and the fact that he probably could still move if he absolutely had to in spite of injuries that would kill even most SOLDIERs. Sephiroth was not, even at his young age, most SOLDIERs. But it's hard to think, through the dizziness and disorientation, and so he takes his time. Fighting back effectively, or even ineffectively, wasn't going to work at this point. Not for hours at best.
Wanted this to be quick.
Eyes slit back open, a ring of mako fire around wide pupils, gaze steady, measuring. It takes time to work one thought into another, but he had all night now. "You could have just asked." For all that it's a dry rasp, he sounds .. indignant. Maybe he misunderstands what Vincent's telling him? ... No. He wanted to test dying out anyway. But in more controlled circumstances, where everything might not get devoured by random monsters and put them beyond his reach forever. And ideally, a method much less uncomfortable than this. Turks don't really shoot people down just to see what might happen, Vincent's ... apparent bloodyminded intention would fit with orders, as would this apparent calm, it didn't register as a vendetta. So why, really?
Maybe it would be more clear when he could think without his mind being wrapped in cotton.
When he moves, it's with the uncoordination of someone who can't really feel what they're doing, like a puppetmaster pulling at strings instead of smooth motion, but there's no effort to rise, or even uncoil beyond what is absolutely necessary to roll a gleaming materia from his pocket and let it bounce harmlessly against the canyon floor. Picking it up wouldn't work for a few hours yet. And then, with trembling effort, withdraw a gold chain and pendant, dark with blood, half-open. This one is more worth the effort, more important, far more important than anything else. The motion disturbs the viper which had been using him as a heat rock and though it hisses and coils, its strike bounces off the locket harmlessly.
"Then." Miscalculation. Did the Turks want to know exactly how tough a SOLDIER was? Surely not, this was too reckless. "Hold onto these. Finish what you started." He's going to want them back, when speaking wasn't an effort of forcing sound past dry throat, out wounded lungs. Should it be taken he's content to let his arm drop back down, nerveless, closing his eyes again to the faint yellow light of the mushrooms when his vision blurs suspiciously. Left alone, by nightfall tomorrow he'd possibly be able to seek Agrona Academy. If left alone. He doesn't think he'll have that opportunity, and it's strange and twistingly uncomfortable how intense the regret is, that he hadn't been able to properly document any of it. "I miscalculated too."
"Didn't know skinchangers were real." How could he have planned for that?
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-05-02 09:13 pm (UTC)He remains where he is; caution is certainly warranted with how long it's taken to drive him to bay, and the fact that he probably could still move if he absolutely had to in spite of injuries that would kill even most SOLDIERs. Sephiroth was not, even at his young age, most SOLDIERs. But it's hard to think, through the dizziness and disorientation, and so he takes his time. Fighting back effectively, or even ineffectively, wasn't going to work at this point. Not for hours at best.
Wanted this to be quick.
Eyes slit back open, a ring of mako fire around wide pupils, gaze steady, measuring. It takes time to work one thought into another, but he had all night now. "You could have just asked." For all that it's a dry rasp, he sounds .. indignant. Maybe he misunderstands what Vincent's telling him? ... No. He wanted to test dying out anyway. But in more controlled circumstances, where everything might not get devoured by random monsters and put them beyond his reach forever. And ideally, a method much less uncomfortable than this. Turks don't really shoot people down just to see what might happen, Vincent's ... apparent bloodyminded intention would fit with orders, as would this apparent calm, it didn't register as a vendetta. So why, really?
Maybe it would be more clear when he could think without his mind being wrapped in cotton.
When he moves, it's with the uncoordination of someone who can't really feel what they're doing, like a puppetmaster pulling at strings instead of smooth motion, but there's no effort to rise, or even uncoil beyond what is absolutely necessary to roll a gleaming materia from his pocket and let it bounce harmlessly against the canyon floor. Picking it up wouldn't work for a few hours yet. And then, with trembling effort, withdraw a gold chain and pendant, dark with blood, half-open. This one is more worth the effort, more important, far more important than anything else. The motion disturbs the viper which had been using him as a heat rock and though it hisses and coils, its strike bounces off the locket harmlessly.
"Then." Miscalculation. Did the Turks want to know exactly how tough a SOLDIER was? Surely not, this was too reckless. "Hold onto these. Finish what you started." He's going to want them back, when speaking wasn't an effort of forcing sound past dry throat, out wounded lungs. Should it be taken he's content to let his arm drop back down, nerveless, closing his eyes again to the faint yellow light of the mushrooms when his vision blurs suspiciously. Left alone, by nightfall tomorrow he'd possibly be able to seek Agrona Academy. If left alone. He doesn't think he'll have that opportunity, and it's strange and twistingly uncomfortable how intense the regret is, that he hadn't been able to properly document any of it. "I miscalculated too."
"Didn't know skinchangers were real." How could he have planned for that?