It's taken time, but he'd needed the time anyway. Time to... try to come to terms with what he now knew and had little reason to doubt. Zack was not the sort of person to lie, after all, at least not about something like that, which meant no matter how horrifying it was, it had to be the truth. He felt no different, even if there was the blood of an alien parasite in his veins. It was sickening to know, but nothing seemed to have changed just by knowing. But there was more yet to pursue, all the things Zack couldn't answer - probably Sephiroth was better off not asking about the woman who saw fit to hand him over as nothing more than a test subject. What if it left him where his future self had been, engulfed in rage and hatred?
Zack was kind even with full knowledge of who he was, what he would become. What he'd do. It wasn't something brought on just by seeing a pathetic example of a SOLDIER laid up in a civilian hospital, it had been there from the start. And it felt like betrayal to even think he might deliberately follow a similar path as he does in Zack's future and spit on that undeserved kindness.
Sephiroth was resolved to not inflict any more harm than absolutely necessary, no matter how he felt or what he was told. It meant he had to prepare better, make sure he was as fully healed as he could hope to get, and be more careful about his questions in his pursuit of the Turk who put him in the hospital to begin with.
.. Both by injury and by rescue. Pursuing a resolution that doesn't end in killing would.. make Zack happy, he hoped. It would for Glenn, he's certain. Natasha had suggested finding a peaceful means of ending the conflict too. They couldn't all be wrong.
Questions, time and observation has led him here, amongst the evergreens where his black and white coloration simply helped him blend in instead of betray him, feathers ruffled up against the cold, silent as the snow. A heavily insulated pack lay between his wings nestled alongside a sheathed sword, so well wrapped that he couldn't feel the icy cold of the treat inside it, insurance in case of lies. Sephiroth didn't much like the snow, but it was an ally, muffling what little sound there might have otherwise been when he leaves his perch, heavy wingbeats to drag himself skyward also eerily quiet - if there was one thing he could thank the Fox for, it was granting him an owl's feathers, and owl's silence. Although the goal was a peaceful resolution, that would mean catching a Turk unawares -- disarm him fast enough that he can't be shot down again and make sure no shapeshifting went on either. Most might think to just go straight up and over, Sephiroth does not. Vincent already knows to look up. But keeping track of moving things the same colors as the dark and snow crusted pines was another matter, and he is made for maneuverability through the branches.
The impact is sudden and of course from behind, but not from above; the only warning Vincent gets is the peripheral blur of vivid green eyespots when all else is washed into the dark grays, silvers and whites of Wintermute's desolation. All he'll need is a moment or two of distraction to drive the ex-Turk into the snow and use the razor's edge of a glittering violet and magenta blade to cut loose the ever-present gun and flick it aside and out of reach. He's smaller, he's possibly lighter, but with luck and surprise on his side, he'll be able to get the sword back up to Vincent's throat before the man can do much about him being there; SOLDIERs are unearthly fast, but Vincent's... no more human than he is, is he?
Too complacent. That's what Vincent will tell himself later when reviewing the moment. He knew Sephiroth would probably come looking for him. Others might on his behalf but the odds were... good that the teen would have been in the mix.
He is rarely caught unawares. The flash of green invokes an instinctual memory of a certain trick in Cruel Summer but too late. This time it hadn't been to cause him to flinch but a result of a hunter's silent wings in dusk. The wood in his hands is released before the collision and it's a tribute to his speed that he had his hand on the gun while both were still falling.
But Sephiroth's first goal was not to pin him, it was to divest him of the firearm. And thus gloved fingers brush but do not catch the grip before the entire holster is launched and ends partially buried in the snow. Vincent hits the ground and the momentum skids him even further away from that recourse.
Every fiber of his being is saying to fight back to defend himself. Even awareness that this is Sephiroth rather than some wandering monster isn't going to shake that core instinct. If one were to consider such matters, it would be especially relevant no matter how he has come to regard the teenager living in Folkmore. Such is the nature of a confrontation monsters, even if one didn't factor the history Vincent has borne witness to.
He'd not needed to remove the gauntlet to do something basic like chopping wood. That is what Vincent will bring up to try and catch the blade at his throat, seeking to cradle the dull edge against the more vulnerable palm and the metal claws around the sharp. A stopgap measure at best if he succeeds; they both know it well enough.
There would be only one real weapon still at his beck that has any bite against Sephiroth.
Being very good at killing and very good at catching a target nonlethally are very different things. He wasn't really trained in the latter. The principles should be the same, divest an enemy of their weapons and then immobilize them. This time he's not weak and exhausted, crippled from a dozen bullets and an agonizing impact with the ground, and he's paying sharp attention. He drops deliberately, intending to brace most of his weight on one knee right into Vincent's sternum, the leading edge of one wing's wrist-joint used as an impromptu fist to knock the gauntleted hand aside and very deliberately press the bitterly cold edge of the sword up against the unarmored skin of Vincent's throat in warning. It wouldn't take much. Even fighting over the blade could cause terrible harm, and he's counting on it.
Sephiroth is very aware death doesn't linger. Vincent ... may not.
"No transformations." His voice isn't loud. It doesn't have to be, this close. The sword seems to absorb Wintermute's ferocious chill, like an icicle but less likely to melt. "Not a feather or anything else."
It might be possible someone's mentioned it by this time. Maybe not. Either way, Vincent has no desire to experience death just because he's able to come back.
The teenager is giving an excellent example of why Vincent had taken precautions that day in Cruel Summer. His bid for the sword is deflected and nearly the same moment finds the tip of the blade slipping gracefully under his chin; reflexively his head tilts to give even the slightest of distance from the deadly edge. He can feel its ice, as if threatening to freeze him where Wintermute alone seemed incapable.
No transformations. The words freeze him in place. Not in fear, but in part because he had been on the verge of resorting to just that. And... realization. Even if it's for a bit longer, Sephiroth wants him alive. This isn't an attack. At least, not of the kind meant for the sake of retaliation alone.
"...Alright."
While that is not giving up by itself, the way the gunman then relaxes into the prone condition he finds himself under offers a sense of capitulation. Vincent has control of himself, he can keep the agitation in check.
But deescalation would make that a certainty. Now is not the time to remark that he could make no promises if this keeps up. Surrender is judged the better option. Though Vincent also has no doubt he'd find himself beheaded before the transformation was complete.
For a Familiar AND someone like Vincent, a transformation could be into an escapeworthy little bird, or something far more ferocious. Either would be unacceptable. He knows he could escape this time if he had to, the sheltering trees would offer too much cover for a mere pistol to deal with by the time Vincent was able to retrieve the gun, but letting it get to that point wouldn't happen without much more trouble than he's being given so far.
There is the unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes when the Turk relaxes as much as someone's capable of with a teenager kneeling on their chest, but he doesn't move right away.
He trusted once. He won't be so easy to trust again. Possibly ever. "When you tried to kill me over Cruel Summer, was it because Shinra ordered you to, or for personal reasons?" Even pinned to the ground, a Turk is dangerous, and Sephiroth doesn't dare even blink. He looks calm though, steady and measured, in spite of the twist of sick nausea the thought brings with it. "Consider Nibelheim and any other ravaged town or people to be part of the second."
He's going to ask again later, and see if the answers change.
It's fair. But it's also fair for Vincent to not want to be so vulnerable as to become something so easily crushed as an ordinary animal. Not here, not this particular threat. Would he use it if he could? Oh yes. Sephiroth is wise to caution against anything.
Shinra? Although the circumstances are grave and there's still a sword at his throat, Vincent's brow furrows. It's... hard to picture seriously considering that even Shinra was aware of Folkmore. But it's not so difficult to think that there might be standing orders should Sephiroth ever be judged as compromised; or more relevant that he came through after Sephiroth 'vanished'.
Who wants to think about what it means that some other self of them is running around Gaia while they're gone? The problem is... the other option doesn't actually apply either. Though as Sephiroth expresses examples of what falls under that category, Vincent's eyes close with recognition. It confirms he is aware of that terrible future. And that the gunman is now aware that someone has finally told the teenager his fate.
"I'm not under Shinra's orders concerning you." Vincent is careful with his words, not least of reasons because too much movement will earn him a cut. Then...
"You could say I had a personal reason to act. But it isn't as simple as a yes or no."
It would have been easier if Vincent simply had orders to remove a compromised asset. That was something Sephiroth understood and could easily brush off; Turks follow orders, no matter how unpleasant they were, and were paid well for their unshakable loyalty. Personal reasons.. were muddier.
Revenge was a broad category. Retribution existed in many forms and not all of them were fueled by hatred. The cold touch of the blade shifts, the faint dusk light moving across the keen edge as it's moved marginally further away. He's not used to weighing every action and decision he makes against human nature versus parasite, but he'll have to now. Impulse could be training, or it could be the foul taint in his being. Impulse said push harder for what he wants to know. Fear and pain could make people cooperative. His training said so, too.
Black-barred wings fold, and immediately ruffle up against the chill of the encroaching night as he stands in one languid motion; if Vincent moved too quickly it would be easy enough to stop that but ... maybe it won't be necessary.
"Did my mother send you?" Vincent knew her, after all. And he came to kill Sephiroth in spite of it. Or perhaps, because of it.
"No." The answer is immediate and almost forceful how quickly he speaks it. Vincent keeps himself still for a few moments longer.
"Mind if I get up?" It slips out a little more dry than he might have liked given the circumstances, but stress makes the mind fall back to habits. At a sign that he can within reason, Vincent slowly moves to a sitting position, a crouch and finally to stand; or wherever Sephiroth decides to cut his allowance.
"There's a fire going inside. If we're going to talk."
The ruffled wings have been heeded. And... it's getting dark. Darker means colder and the day was already unforgiving.
Still no real answers, then, though it isn't a relief to hear a negative. There were too many other possibilities. Although there's a short nod at the dry request to get out of the snow, the choice to stay close is deliberate, keeping Vincent well and easily within striking range. While this in turn meant he could be hit back, Sephiroth had no doubt who'd come out on top in any kind of a hand to hand struggle. He was armed, and it would take Vincent more than a heartbeat or two to change.
"'Come into my parlor', hm?" Was there any danger in Vincent's home?
OF COURSE THERE WAS. A Turk lived there. But maybe not immediate danger. Vincent had opportunity to kill him once before and didn't take it. Would he change his mind now, with the threat so close and so obviously willing to push his own advantages? "Your ID card is a lot more out of date than it looked, isn't it."
Yes, he really should practice his shapeshifting. Particularly this new style. Imagine if his response had been to turn into a mouse and just let Sephiroth fly over him?
"I bid you welcome to my home," Vincent responds.
Under ordinary circumstances, one would not simply bend down and start collecting the logs that had been dropped to the ground. Vincent moves to do just that. Wood is wood and out here that is a part of survival. Thankfully, it means he can step toward it without looking like he's making a move toward his gun.
"Hm. About thirty years?" The answer drifts over his shoulder. Vincent's answer sounds absent, as if he's not completely sure beyond a ballpark figure. Once he's gotten enough wood, he'll turn to move toward the porch of the cabin. Yes, it would be dangerous, arguably. Who knows what he has set up in there?
"Mind bringing my gun?" Please, at least spare the poor firearm the indignity of being buried in the snow.
He hasn't forgotten the pistol, but he's also inclined to leave it out there, where it can't be otherwise grabbed and put to use. As Vincent collects wood instead of normal weapons, the teen's posture stiffens a little, cautious for the sudden and clumsy use of cut wood as some kind of weapon. It wouldn't be effective, but it would be distracting, and how long would the Turk need to assume that behemoth-like form?
But the gun is retrieved. Not so much the holster, that's dropped to the ground, the pistol instead shoved inside his jacket. He has no holster of his own but a pocket will do, and Matt he supposed was right to be carrying a sword AND a gun, maybe he should emulate that for a while.
"Closer to Zack's time, then." It doesn't at all sound like a question, it simply confirms what he'd already known. "Are you friends with ... mmm." His name hadn't seemed important at the time, and he's forced to rummage through his memory for it. A name his older self would become obsessed with. "The other one. Cloud, I think?"
Under watch, Vincent appears to be doing nothing other than retrieving the spilled wood to be brought into the cabin with the proposed retreat indoors. And this is easier to see thanks to the lack of cloak. He doesn't even look in the direction of his weapon- though that would hardly mean anything if he knows exactly where it is- nor toward the axe at the chopping block.
Vincent really has given up the fight, at least so long as this was just a precaution. Talking. Talking is fine. He's not surprised at all that Sephiroth has come looking for answers any more than the possibility of disposing a threat had been on the table.
Something that had seemed less likely when they met to facilitate the return of the locket and photo.
Pausing to pick up his cloak as Sephiroth retrieves the gun, the answers comes readily enough; even if there is a stillness when the teen mentions Cloud by name. Of course there would be, but Vincent also notes how... indifferent the teen seems.
But that'd make some sense, wouldn't it. It's just odd against what he remembers witnessing. Hearing. 'We traveled together' was on the tip of Vincent's tongue. But he changes it at the last minute.
"Yes, we're friends. Zack died before I met Cloud."
The door to the cabin is open. The lamps are off; he wouldn't have left an open flame unattended. But the trail of smoke from the chimney gives promise to the waiting, relative warmth. Inside there will be signs that it's just as the dog spirits said. A chair, table, some oil lamps. Some very basic supplies. Some cabinetry and shelves that were probably part of the home when Vincent found it. But little yet by way of creature comforts. A book or two. An unopened bottle of wine.
Vincent had been planning to enjoy that tonight. Maybe not so much now.
To some this might seem terribly spartan, but it seems ordinary enough to him when he finally does choose to follow with all the reluctance of someone not sure things are going to stay reasonably peaceful. With a gun up against his ribs, he supposed an unsheathed blade isn't as necessary, and somewhere between outside and the doorway the comforting warmth of wings disappear. They'd just be in the way inside anyway, more a hindrance to him than to Vincent.
It would be polite to shake off a dusting of snow outside. He doesn't, focus elsewhere. The niceties of polite behavior weren't as important as other things right now; the room the door opens to is surveyed automatically not just for things that can be used in a fight but escape routes and entry points.
"Zack's told me what he could bear of what's to come." And boy isn't that utterly neutrally said. He hasn't come to terms with any of it in any real sense, but he could at least feign it pretty well. "There's gaps. I know you can fill in some of them, and I'm not much willing to deal with deceptions anymore. To that end, I brought you dessert."
A bribe? Not at all; who brings icecream to Wintermute? But as the small pack is unshouldered and its well insulated contents fished out, that does certainly seem to be a pint of icecream. Cherry chocolate chip, hopefully Vincent's a fan.
When Vincent steps in, he hangs the cloak up on a hook. Come now, no one was expecting him to put it on right? Riiiight? But there's a reason and it has a lot more to do with minimizing actions that could be taken as hiding his intentions.
At least there's little to damage on the floor when it comes to snow. The chair is a very nice one, meant for cozy reading by the fire. But it's also the only one right now. Are either of the two really planning on sitting though? There probably won't be a lot of contention for the only proper seat in the house.
"Did he now."
Vincent can imagine what Zack said. Both honestly, with uncertainty and especially with bias. But in all that, there's a lot that Vincent wouldn't be able to tell Sephiroth and Zack is due his prejudice.
Once the wood is placed, a log or two are added to the potbelly stove that's keeping the cabin interior warm. A kettle of water is moved to the top. Tins of tea and coffee are produced. No cocoa. And a tin cup of course. ... Only one. Does he have another? No, but he is going to go for a glass for the wine. All these homely social niceties are paused again when Sephiroth proffers his 'gift'. It earns a huff of amusement.
"Huh. Truth in icecream?" He's been in Never Fade enough times during the festivities to know what that ice cream probably does by now. "Fine. Hand it over." If Sephiroth didn't produce a spoon he's going to have to deal with a little more drawer rummaging tension while Vincent procures one.
Vincent is not as at ease as he seems. Not about the visit, nor the fact that tough answers are sought, nor especially that he's about to be subject to whatever questions Sephiroth brings up being answered with the full and unvarnished truth.
He'd expected it though. Had time to brace for it and... honestly, kept in a protected container in the freezing weather out the cabin's back there might be another pint of ice cream waiting in preparation. But that's beside the point. At least he can look forward to it tasting excellent.
"If it's stupid but it works, is it still stupid?" At least the icecream IS tasty. He's had way too much of it the past few days, and learned really fast to enjoy his treats far from other people. There is however, no granted spoon. Vincent's going to have to find one of those himself.
He doesn't intend to have a share himself. Things were difficult enough as it is. The door isn't locked behind him, but he doesn't stray far from it; there's one seat, and he's content to lean, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not going to kill you." That's reassuring for an icebreaker, surely.
But Sephiroth doesn't say it as if there'd really be a fight, just a foregone conclusion, in spite of how it went the last time. "It would be a waste of time to have to hunt you down again when you came back."
It's not stupid at all. But Vincent was trying to take the edge off his own nervousness by resorting to dry humor.
"That would be more reassuring if you said it after having a bite yourself," he points out. A hip is set against the counter and Vincent opens the container. Once it's clear that in all seriousness, Sephiroth has no intention of having a share, he digs in. Though between bites, the spoon is used to gesture at the tins.
"Tea or coffee?"
There's just the right pause. Exactly the right amount.
"No poison."
Guaranteed backed by truth.
But humor fades. The spoon is stuck in the top of the ice cream and the wineglass is claimed as he pushes away from the counter. Though he pauses briefly when Sephiroth brings up the inference that death is simply not permanent, Vincent's expression is unreadable. Either he'd heard it by now or this was the first time hearing it, whatever his internal thoughts are aren't going to be offered unless directly asked. Well, maybe one brief matter.
"At the time, I thought you were talking nonsense." It's... probably not something he'd have said otherwise; even half a pint goes a long way. The glass is taken to be set beside the wine bottle. He'll be needing that later. Then he goes back to the ice cream, finding another part of the wall to lean back against.
"Since you know." The future in some form. "...Unless you turn into... that, I won't come after you again. I decided... that night." Before he found out about death in Folkmore. What would it matter if Vincent did come after Sephiroth though? ...Well think of it as whatever efforts it would take to contain him.
Once death was off the table.
A pint does not take long when the ice cream is excellent. And Vincent doesn't want to delay this any more than he has to. The spoon is set aside, the empty container lidded and lobbed with effortless accuracy to a trash bin. He crosses his arms and waits for Sephiroth to begin his interrogation.
"I've had far too much of it this week already." He isn't weight conscious with a furnace for a metabolism, so that's not it, but too much sugar made him twitchy and then made him tired. And being unable to filter what he says in favor of raw, painful truth would make it much harder to keep some level of composure about any of this, with his internal monologues out loud. It would make even casual things like the murmur of "I'm fine," at the offer of a drink impossible to say, because he is absolutely not even a little bit fine, but in contexts of drinks, he's not thirsty.
Not yet, anyway. Maybe that would change in time, depending on the amount of talking that happened.
The bitter twist to his smile at Vincent's reassurance that the Turk wouldn't likely be after him again doesn't last long, and isn't friendly. There's a point where Sephiroth watches the floor instead of Vincent, but with him still in peripheral. "It's hard to 'turn into' something I already am. I've always been a ... a monster, I already know that." And his mind still revolts at the idea, that he's a creation, that he was designed and his own mother--
It's a fight to keep his expression blank. "...There's just some point in the future where I stop pretending." Was he pretending right now, some veneer of civility over bloodlust and hatred beneath? He didn't know. He always had enjoyed fighting, and dealing with the threats Shinra pitted him against was soothingly comfortable. Maybe that was always his tainted nature bleeding through.
He just looked human, a pleasant wrapper on an unpleasant reality. There's a sharp hiccup of breath, and deliberately that train of thought is forced aside. Later.
"You knew my mother. I'd like elaboration." Maybe somewhere in it would be an answer to why.
"So have I," Vincent quietly murmurs. This seems to be a rhetoric with no bite to it. Only weary resignation.
The half-hearted grumble fades. Vincent is watching Sephiroth. Not with any wariness; there's a forthright honesty about the youth's manner that suggests when he said he wasn't going to kill him, it was the truth. Besides, the logic was sound. Did it remove the possibility that after he got what he wanted, there might be some spiteful payback? Well... no.
But it probably won't be death.
Eyes are on the boy because he sees what the boy is and is not. Cloud had hidden his Geostigma affliction but Vincent had known it was there. Sephiroth was trying to hide his mental state under logic and rational thought; following step by step procedures.
He was NOT okay. Far from okay.
"No you're not." Unfortunately, whether or not Vincent would have held back without the ice cream can really be questioned. But the sigh suggests he might have wanted to be more gentle about it. At least waited til later.
Vincent moves again. The mug, the tins, the cupboards. Water now heated is poured into the cup, a teabag is drawn out. Chamomile. Though... he supposes he should ask.
"Not allergic to anything?"
Do monsters get allergies? Of course they can but that's besides the point. Vincent is asking as if Sephiroth is human enough to warrant such consideration. And hopefully he is okay with chamomile because it's the only non-caffeinated, non-alcoholic option.
"I wouldn't know what happened then. I was... sleeping." What an odd way of putting it, but it has to be true. It comes with a hint of guilt bordering on shame. If he hadn't been sleeping so deeply, locked in his nightmares he could have awakened. He didn't. Maybe even chose not to.
"I can guess. It's not easy to learn you're a monster." A tang of remembered bitterness. Vincent had the luxury of knowing once he wasn't a monster, maybe. But it was no less a shock to the mind. And that had been enough to let Jenova get through.
But guesses and theories aren't what Sephiroth's here for today. His mother. The lack of the cloak's way of covering his expression allows Sephiroth to see Vincent's face. Gentle, sad. And fond; yes, whatever their relationship, Vincent had cared very much for the woman.
"In my twenties, I was assigned to safeguard the scientists working out of Nibelheim. Gast Faremis, Hojo, and... Lucrecia Crescent." Gast was likely divided between the two branches of the project of course. But it's undeniable he was there. And later...
"That is how I met your mother. And fell in love with her."
That leaves an important but unspoken question - how much icecream has Vincent eaten this week? The stuff is strangely addictive.
"Functional, then." Not fine, but operating under acceptable parameters. He could still fight, could still accomplish a mission if he had one, just any down time he had at all was going to be spent terribly distracted. It's for the best Shinra isn't around, somehow lab tests would inevitably crop up right at the wrong moment and he'd fail. How much less functional would he be, without the aid of one of his future victims? Zack didn't have to stay. "...Um. Certain forms of lilies." But those don't go into teas, lilies are toxic to begin with, nobody's about to eat them.
A weakness, but not one easily exploited. Ambushing Sephiroth with a boquet wouldn't do much good.
Easier to exploit would be the flinching unhappiness with his true nature, but prodding at that could end in a fireball. Jenova succeeded, but Jenova didn't care whether or not it ended in flames. "You'd know, wouldn't you," is the quiet murmur, but it's not exactly pointed, or meant to antagonize deliberately. Humans weren't shapeshifters. Humans didn't turn into deformed behemoths and back.
But the Turks didn't exactly hire monsters either.
All three of the names Vincent mentions are known, and two better than the third, by the way his head jerks up. Gast had been .. the closest thing he had to a caring guardian, for a while. Those memories were dim, but they remained still. It.. shouldn't be a surprise that Gast worked closely with the people who both made and destroyed his life, but it stung anyway. "Did she turn you into what you are now?"
Love was a weakness, after all. And someone who could use her own child as an experiment would surely be able to take advantage of someone who loved her.
Vincent will never admit to how much ice cream he had. Never. ...Probably will under the effects of ice cream come to think. But even before that he's had to talk about a lot of stuff he'd wish he hadn't had to.
"Hrmph." That sounds like doubt about being even on a level of 'functional'. Vincent crosses the room with the tea still steeping and holds out the cup to Sephiroth. "Drink."
It's warm, it's soothing. It's said to help with anxiety. There's no caffeine or sugar though some sweetner had been tempting if only to help with shock. Vincent never claimed to have the best bedside manner but his words sound firm.
He won't linger near Sephiroth long, giving the teen room of at least a sword's length. The fluidity of his movements seems to hitch again. It takes him a long time to answer, as if he's struggling to hold back the truth as long as it takes to find the right way of saying it. Not that he can resist forever.
"Hojo gave me this body. Lucrecia... did her part." The last escapes in an expulsion of breath. Only a few weeks sooner and Vincent may have had another means to end his statement. Vincent looks down at partially raised arms. Looking at himself.
"I wouldn't have survived if she hadn't used her earlier research to try and stabilize Hojo's 'failure'." Like the love reflected in his words and expression earlier, there is no denying the depth of disgust and hatred for the professor.
It's Thirteen's fault for making it all tasty. Maybe Sephiroth wouldn't have gotten sick as often as he did this week if it was LESS tasty. A diet of icecream and potato wedges has side effects even for a SOLDIER.
Chamomile tea didn't factor into it, on Never Fade. Didn't now either, he has no idea what he's being handed, and though there's a certain wariness at Vincent's approach, the cup is taken anyway and given a sniff. Tea is not a regular part of his diet either, and this type is entirely new; he waits until Vincent is out of reach again before trying it. It tastes.. bitter. Herbal.
There's no compulsion on him to blurt out the truth, no matter how painful it was, so Sephiroth remains quiet for a time, piecing this with other bits of information. How many people were part of that 'research'? One success meant countless failures, as he had incorporated into himself. Who knows how many children died so he could live. How many people suffered before Lucrecia found the right thing to use on Vincent? "Was Professor Gast part of the experiments used on you?"
It's inevitable he's going to circle back around to his mother, but groundwork had to be done first. Had there ever been anyone, anyone at all in his life who hadn't been using him?
Leaning against the wall and crossing his arms again, this time Vincent's pause is not an effort to fight, but one to recollect. His fingers noticeably tap against his bicep while considering.
"I don't think so," he finally says. "Gast was gone at the time I was shot by Hojo. And I wasn't a willing subject." There's a wry, bitter smile at the memory. "Explaining a missing Turk might have been easier for Hojo if he didn't also have to explain why he was in a specimen chamber."
It's not like Turks didn't die on assignment. Nibel Mountains were a dangerous place. Vincent isn't blind to the fact that someone must have done something to cover up the incident. But... it probably wasn't Gast who might have also been spending more time at Icicle Inn by that point. There were any number of plausible lies, up to and including claims that he'd tried to interfere with the project itself.
Ultimately outside of his own department which was already pragmatic about such behaviors within the company and Lucrecia, there were few who would have seen him as more than a useful but ultimately replaceable asset.
How the hell did such a scrawny, pathetic man get the jump on a Turk enough to put a bullet in him? Little of the tea is actually being drunk, but it keeps his hands occupied if nothing else. It'll go all over the floor in an instant if he chose violence, but for now he did no such thing. No need.
"What do you know of the theories and experiments that went into my creation? Was it Gast's design, Hojo's? Mother's?"
What does he know. At the time, probably more than some scientists gave him credit for as just another background part of security. But the question gives rise to a somewhat pained huff of humor and Vincent closes his eyes a moment.
"Gast was the one to originally study the creature that became known as Jenova. You may have been told this already. It was believed at the time to have been of an ancient race known as the Cetra. So much so the professor named it after his late wife."
That... probably wouldn't have happened if the truth was realized. Probably. Scientists can be... eccentric. Vincent seems to have a reasonable amount of respect for Gast where it was utterly lacking in Hojo's case.
"I know there were at least two branches of the Jenova Project. Project S, the one that took place in Nibelheim, had contributions in equal parts from Hojo and Lucrecia, working off of Gast's findings. Though Hojo played a larger role as your birth approached and was likely the main contributer after."
There is a short pause.
"The details I know, both from before and what I found out after I came to, aren't necessarily complete. But they aren't pleasant either."
Of course Vincent is sure the youth knows that. How could anything be pleasant when people were working to create a monster? Even the earlier concept of a living 'Cetra' was still going to be as a result of a parade of horrors, trials and errors and successes alike.
"Your mother..." He is about to say something; something that will be the truth but also wasn't yet asked for. Does Sephiroth want to stop him or will he let Vincent say it?
"I'm not here for pleasant," is the immediate snapped response, for a moment the steely composure fracturing into frustration and anger. "It's not like it's going to be worse than what I already know." More importantly, how is Vincent fighting off the truth spell's compulsion to simply blurt things out instead of what seems like careful censorship to him? Was there some sort of counter food item he hadn't known about?
No, he's come too far to start second guessing things now. He's here for confirmation, and to fill in gaps Zack hadn't known. He takes a steadying breath and shakes it off. "I'm sorry, that's uncalled for. Please stop trying to filter things. I already know the worst of it. This is just.. filling in the details."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-05-28 10:07 pm (UTC)Zack was kind even with full knowledge of who he was, what he would become. What he'd do. It wasn't something brought on just by seeing a pathetic example of a SOLDIER laid up in a civilian hospital, it had been there from the start. And it felt like betrayal to even think he might deliberately follow a similar path as he does in Zack's future and spit on that undeserved kindness.
Sephiroth was resolved to not inflict any more harm than absolutely necessary, no matter how he felt or what he was told. It meant he had to prepare better, make sure he was as fully healed as he could hope to get, and be more careful about his questions in his pursuit of the Turk who put him in the hospital to begin with.
.. Both by injury and by rescue. Pursuing a resolution that doesn't end in killing would.. make Zack happy, he hoped. It would for Glenn, he's certain. Natasha had suggested finding a peaceful means of ending the conflict too. They couldn't all be wrong.
Questions, time and observation has led him here, amongst the evergreens where his black and white coloration simply helped him blend in instead of betray him, feathers ruffled up against the cold, silent as the snow. A heavily insulated pack lay between his wings nestled alongside a sheathed sword, so well wrapped that he couldn't feel the icy cold of the treat inside it, insurance in case of lies. Sephiroth didn't much like the snow, but it was an ally, muffling what little sound there might have otherwise been when he leaves his perch, heavy wingbeats to drag himself skyward also eerily quiet - if there was one thing he could thank the Fox for, it was granting him an owl's feathers, and owl's silence. Although the goal was a peaceful resolution, that would mean catching a Turk unawares -- disarm him fast enough that he can't be shot down again and make sure no shapeshifting went on either. Most might think to just go straight up and over, Sephiroth does not. Vincent already knows to look up. But keeping track of moving things the same colors as the dark and snow crusted pines was another matter, and he is made for maneuverability through the branches.
The impact is sudden and of course from behind, but not from above; the only warning Vincent gets is the peripheral blur of vivid green eyespots when all else is washed into the dark grays, silvers and whites of Wintermute's desolation. All he'll need is a moment or two of distraction to drive the ex-Turk into the snow and use the razor's edge of a glittering violet and magenta blade to cut loose the ever-present gun and flick it aside and out of reach. He's smaller, he's possibly lighter, but with luck and surprise on his side, he'll be able to get the sword back up to Vincent's throat before the man can do much about him being there; SOLDIERs are unearthly fast, but Vincent's... no more human than he is, is he?
no subject
Date: 2024-05-28 10:37 pm (UTC)He is rarely caught unawares. The flash of green invokes an instinctual memory of a certain trick in Cruel Summer but too late. This time it hadn't been to cause him to flinch but a result of a hunter's silent wings in dusk. The wood in his hands is released before the collision and it's a tribute to his speed that he had his hand on the gun while both were still falling.
But Sephiroth's first goal was not to pin him, it was to divest him of the firearm. And thus gloved fingers brush but do not catch the grip before the entire holster is launched and ends partially buried in the snow. Vincent hits the ground and the momentum skids him even further away from that recourse.
Every fiber of his being is saying to fight back to defend himself. Even awareness that this is Sephiroth rather than some wandering monster isn't going to shake that core instinct. If one were to consider such matters, it would be especially relevant no matter how he has come to regard the teenager living in Folkmore. Such is the nature of a confrontation monsters, even if one didn't factor the history Vincent has borne witness to.
He'd not needed to remove the gauntlet to do something basic like chopping wood. That is what Vincent will bring up to try and catch the blade at his throat, seeking to cradle the dull edge against the more vulnerable palm and the metal claws around the sharp. A stopgap measure at best if he succeeds; they both know it well enough.
There would be only one real weapon still at his beck that has any bite against Sephiroth.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-28 11:00 pm (UTC)Sephiroth is very aware death doesn't linger. Vincent ... may not.
"No transformations." His voice isn't loud. It doesn't have to be, this close. The sword seems to absorb Wintermute's ferocious chill, like an icicle but less likely to melt. "Not a feather or anything else."
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Date: 2024-05-28 11:45 pm (UTC)The teenager is giving an excellent example of why Vincent had taken precautions that day in Cruel Summer. His bid for the sword is deflected and nearly the same moment finds the tip of the blade slipping gracefully under his chin; reflexively his head tilts to give even the slightest of distance from the deadly edge. He can feel its ice, as if threatening to freeze him where Wintermute alone seemed incapable.
No transformations. The words freeze him in place. Not in fear, but in part because he had been on the verge of resorting to just that. And... realization. Even if it's for a bit longer, Sephiroth wants him alive. This isn't an attack. At least, not of the kind meant for the sake of retaliation alone.
"...Alright."
While that is not giving up by itself, the way the gunman then relaxes into the prone condition he finds himself under offers a sense of capitulation. Vincent has control of himself, he can keep the agitation in check.
But deescalation would make that a certainty. Now is not the time to remark that he could make no promises if this keeps up. Surrender is judged the better option. Though Vincent also has no doubt he'd find himself beheaded before the transformation was complete.
And he's reasonably sure he can't survive that.
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Date: 2024-05-29 12:05 am (UTC)There is the unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes when the Turk relaxes as much as someone's capable of with a teenager kneeling on their chest, but he doesn't move right away.
He trusted once. He won't be so easy to trust again. Possibly ever. "When you tried to kill me over Cruel Summer, was it because Shinra ordered you to, or for personal reasons?" Even pinned to the ground, a Turk is dangerous, and Sephiroth doesn't dare even blink. He looks calm though, steady and measured, in spite of the twist of sick nausea the thought brings with it. "Consider Nibelheim and any other ravaged town or people to be part of the second."
He's going to ask again later, and see if the answers change.
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Date: 2024-05-29 12:45 am (UTC)Shinra? Although the circumstances are grave and there's still a sword at his throat, Vincent's brow furrows. It's... hard to picture seriously considering that even Shinra was aware of Folkmore. But it's not so difficult to think that there might be standing orders should Sephiroth ever be judged as compromised; or more relevant that he came through after Sephiroth 'vanished'.
Who wants to think about what it means that some other self of them is running around Gaia while they're gone? The problem is... the other option doesn't actually apply either. Though as Sephiroth expresses examples of what falls under that category, Vincent's eyes close with recognition. It confirms he is aware of that terrible future. And that the gunman is now aware that someone has finally told the teenager his fate.
"I'm not under Shinra's orders concerning you." Vincent is careful with his words, not least of reasons because too much movement will earn him a cut. Then...
"You could say I had a personal reason to act. But it isn't as simple as a yes or no."
Not for Vincent.
"Not for revenge."
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Date: 2024-05-29 01:02 am (UTC)Revenge was a broad category. Retribution existed in many forms and not all of them were fueled by hatred. The cold touch of the blade shifts, the faint dusk light moving across the keen edge as it's moved marginally further away. He's not used to weighing every action and decision he makes against human nature versus parasite, but he'll have to now. Impulse could be training, or it could be the foul taint in his being. Impulse said push harder for what he wants to know. Fear and pain could make people cooperative. His training said so, too.
Black-barred wings fold, and immediately ruffle up against the chill of the encroaching night as he stands in one languid motion; if Vincent moved too quickly it would be easy enough to stop that but ... maybe it won't be necessary.
"Did my mother send you?" Vincent knew her, after all. And he came to kill Sephiroth in spite of it. Or perhaps, because of it.
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Date: 2024-05-29 01:29 am (UTC)"Mind if I get up?" It slips out a little more dry than he might have liked given the circumstances, but stress makes the mind fall back to habits. At a sign that he can within reason, Vincent slowly moves to a sitting position, a crouch and finally to stand; or wherever Sephiroth decides to cut his allowance.
"There's a fire going inside. If we're going to talk."
The ruffled wings have been heeded. And... it's getting dark. Darker means colder and the day was already unforgiving.
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Date: 2024-05-29 01:36 am (UTC)"'Come into my parlor', hm?" Was there any danger in Vincent's home?
OF COURSE THERE WAS. A Turk lived there. But maybe not immediate danger. Vincent had opportunity to kill him once before and didn't take it. Would he change his mind now, with the threat so close and so obviously willing to push his own advantages? "Your ID card is a lot more out of date than it looked, isn't it."
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Date: 2024-05-29 02:03 am (UTC)"I bid you welcome to my home," Vincent responds.
Under ordinary circumstances, one would not simply bend down and start collecting the logs that had been dropped to the ground. Vincent moves to do just that. Wood is wood and out here that is a part of survival. Thankfully, it means he can step toward it without looking like he's making a move toward his gun.
"Hm. About thirty years?" The answer drifts over his shoulder. Vincent's answer sounds absent, as if he's not completely sure beyond a ballpark figure. Once he's gotten enough wood, he'll turn to move toward the porch of the cabin. Yes, it would be dangerous, arguably. Who knows what he has set up in there?
"Mind bringing my gun?" Please, at least spare the poor firearm the indignity of being buried in the snow.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 12:32 pm (UTC)But the gun is retrieved. Not so much the holster, that's dropped to the ground, the pistol instead shoved inside his jacket. He has no holster of his own but a pocket will do, and Matt he supposed was right to be carrying a sword AND a gun, maybe he should emulate that for a while.
"Closer to Zack's time, then." It doesn't at all sound like a question, it simply confirms what he'd already known. "Are you friends with ... mmm." His name hadn't seemed important at the time, and he's forced to rummage through his memory for it. A name his older self would become obsessed with. "The other one. Cloud, I think?"
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Date: 2024-05-29 04:34 pm (UTC)Vincent really has given up the fight, at least so long as this was just a precaution. Talking. Talking is fine. He's not surprised at all that Sephiroth has come looking for answers any more than the possibility of disposing a threat had been on the table.
Something that had seemed less likely when they met to facilitate the return of the locket and photo.
Pausing to pick up his cloak as Sephiroth retrieves the gun, the answers comes readily enough; even if there is a stillness when the teen mentions Cloud by name. Of course there would be, but Vincent also notes how... indifferent the teen seems.
But that'd make some sense, wouldn't it. It's just odd against what he remembers witnessing. Hearing. 'We traveled together' was on the tip of Vincent's tongue. But he changes it at the last minute.
"Yes, we're friends. Zack died before I met Cloud."
The door to the cabin is open. The lamps are off; he wouldn't have left an open flame unattended. But the trail of smoke from the chimney gives promise to the waiting, relative warmth. Inside there will be signs that it's just as the dog spirits said. A chair, table, some oil lamps. Some very basic supplies. Some cabinetry and shelves that were probably part of the home when Vincent found it. But little yet by way of creature comforts. A book or two. An unopened bottle of wine.
Vincent had been planning to enjoy that tonight. Maybe not so much now.
"Coming?"
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Date: 2024-05-29 04:51 pm (UTC)It would be polite to shake off a dusting of snow outside. He doesn't, focus elsewhere. The niceties of polite behavior weren't as important as other things right now; the room the door opens to is surveyed automatically not just for things that can be used in a fight but escape routes and entry points.
"Zack's told me what he could bear of what's to come." And boy isn't that utterly neutrally said. He hasn't come to terms with any of it in any real sense, but he could at least feign it pretty well. "There's gaps. I know you can fill in some of them, and I'm not much willing to deal with deceptions anymore. To that end, I brought you dessert."
A bribe? Not at all; who brings icecream to Wintermute? But as the small pack is unshouldered and its well insulated contents fished out, that does certainly seem to be a pint of icecream. Cherry chocolate chip, hopefully Vincent's a fan.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 05:28 pm (UTC)At least there's little to damage on the floor when it comes to snow. The chair is a very nice one, meant for cozy reading by the fire. But it's also the only one right now. Are either of the two really planning on sitting though? There probably won't be a lot of contention for the only proper seat in the house.
"Did he now."
Vincent can imagine what Zack said. Both honestly, with uncertainty and especially with bias. But in all that, there's a lot that Vincent wouldn't be able to tell Sephiroth and Zack is due his prejudice.
Once the wood is placed, a log or two are added to the potbelly stove that's keeping the cabin interior warm. A kettle of water is moved to the top. Tins of tea and coffee are produced. No cocoa. And a tin cup of course. ... Only one. Does he have another? No, but he is going to go for a glass for the wine. All these homely social niceties are paused again when Sephiroth proffers his 'gift'. It earns a huff of amusement.
"Huh. Truth in icecream?" He's been in Never Fade enough times during the festivities to know what that ice cream probably does by now. "Fine. Hand it over." If Sephiroth didn't produce a spoon he's going to have to deal with a little more drawer rummaging tension while Vincent procures one.
Vincent is not as at ease as he seems. Not about the visit, nor the fact that tough answers are sought, nor especially that he's about to be subject to whatever questions Sephiroth brings up being answered with the full and unvarnished truth.
He'd expected it though. Had time to brace for it and... honestly, kept in a protected container in the freezing weather out the cabin's back there might be another pint of ice cream waiting in preparation. But that's beside the point. At least he can look forward to it tasting excellent.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 05:40 pm (UTC)He doesn't intend to have a share himself. Things were difficult enough as it is. The door isn't locked behind him, but he doesn't stray far from it; there's one seat, and he's content to lean, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not going to kill you." That's reassuring for an icebreaker, surely.
But Sephiroth doesn't say it as if there'd really be a fight, just a foregone conclusion, in spite of how it went the last time. "It would be a waste of time to have to hunt you down again when you came back."
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 06:18 pm (UTC)"That would be more reassuring if you said it after having a bite yourself," he points out. A hip is set against the counter and Vincent opens the container. Once it's clear that in all seriousness, Sephiroth has no intention of having a share, he digs in. Though between bites, the spoon is used to gesture at the tins.
"Tea or coffee?"
There's just the right pause. Exactly the right amount.
"No poison."
Guaranteed backed by truth.
But humor fades. The spoon is stuck in the top of the ice cream and the wineglass is claimed as he pushes away from the counter. Though he pauses briefly when Sephiroth brings up the inference that death is simply not permanent, Vincent's expression is unreadable. Either he'd heard it by now or this was the first time hearing it, whatever his internal thoughts are aren't going to be offered unless directly asked. Well, maybe one brief matter.
"At the time, I thought you were talking nonsense." It's... probably not something he'd have said otherwise; even half a pint goes a long way. The glass is taken to be set beside the wine bottle. He'll be needing that later. Then he goes back to the ice cream, finding another part of the wall to lean back against.
"Since you know." The future in some form. "...Unless you turn into... that, I won't come after you again. I decided... that night." Before he found out about death in Folkmore. What would it matter if Vincent did come after Sephiroth though? ...Well think of it as whatever efforts it would take to contain him.
Once death was off the table.
A pint does not take long when the ice cream is excellent. And Vincent doesn't want to delay this any more than he has to. The spoon is set aside, the empty container lidded and lobbed with effortless accuracy to a trash bin. He crosses his arms and waits for Sephiroth to begin his interrogation.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 06:43 pm (UTC)Not yet, anyway. Maybe that would change in time, depending on the amount of talking that happened.
The bitter twist to his smile at Vincent's reassurance that the Turk wouldn't likely be after him again doesn't last long, and isn't friendly. There's a point where Sephiroth watches the floor instead of Vincent, but with him still in peripheral. "It's hard to 'turn into' something I already am. I've always been a ... a monster, I already know that." And his mind still revolts at the idea, that he's a creation, that he was designed and his own mother--
It's a fight to keep his expression blank. "...There's just some point in the future where I stop pretending." Was he pretending right now, some veneer of civility over bloodlust and hatred beneath? He didn't know. He always had enjoyed fighting, and dealing with the threats Shinra pitted him against was soothingly comfortable. Maybe that was always his tainted nature bleeding through.
He just looked human, a pleasant wrapper on an unpleasant reality. There's a sharp hiccup of breath, and deliberately that train of thought is forced aside. Later.
"You knew my mother. I'd like elaboration." Maybe somewhere in it would be an answer to why.
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Date: 2024-05-29 07:48 pm (UTC)The half-hearted grumble fades. Vincent is watching Sephiroth. Not with any wariness; there's a forthright honesty about the youth's manner that suggests when he said he wasn't going to kill him, it was the truth. Besides, the logic was sound. Did it remove the possibility that after he got what he wanted, there might be some spiteful payback? Well... no.
But it probably won't be death.
Eyes are on the boy because he sees what the boy is and is not. Cloud had hidden his Geostigma affliction but Vincent had known it was there. Sephiroth was trying to hide his mental state under logic and rational thought; following step by step procedures.
He was NOT okay. Far from okay.
"No you're not." Unfortunately, whether or not Vincent would have held back without the ice cream can really be questioned. But the sigh suggests he might have wanted to be more gentle about it. At least waited til later.
Vincent moves again. The mug, the tins, the cupboards. Water now heated is poured into the cup, a teabag is drawn out. Chamomile. Though... he supposes he should ask.
"Not allergic to anything?"
Do monsters get allergies? Of course they can but that's besides the point. Vincent is asking as if Sephiroth is human enough to warrant such consideration. And hopefully he is okay with chamomile because it's the only non-caffeinated, non-alcoholic option.
"I wouldn't know what happened then. I was... sleeping." What an odd way of putting it, but it has to be true. It comes with a hint of guilt bordering on shame. If he hadn't been sleeping so deeply, locked in his nightmares he could have awakened. He didn't. Maybe even chose not to.
"I can guess. It's not easy to learn you're a monster." A tang of remembered bitterness. Vincent had the luxury of knowing once he wasn't a monster, maybe. But it was no less a shock to the mind. And that had been enough to let Jenova get through.
But guesses and theories aren't what Sephiroth's here for today. His mother. The lack of the cloak's way of covering his expression allows Sephiroth to see Vincent's face. Gentle, sad. And fond; yes, whatever their relationship, Vincent had cared very much for the woman.
"In my twenties, I was assigned to safeguard the scientists working out of Nibelheim. Gast Faremis, Hojo, and... Lucrecia Crescent." Gast was likely divided between the two branches of the project of course. But it's undeniable he was there. And later...
"That is how I met your mother. And fell in love with her."
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 08:18 pm (UTC)"Functional, then." Not fine, but operating under acceptable parameters. He could still fight, could still accomplish a mission if he had one, just any down time he had at all was going to be spent terribly distracted. It's for the best Shinra isn't around, somehow lab tests would inevitably crop up right at the wrong moment and he'd fail. How much less functional would he be, without the aid of one of his future victims? Zack didn't have to stay. "...Um. Certain forms of lilies." But those don't go into teas, lilies are toxic to begin with, nobody's about to eat them.
A weakness, but not one easily exploited. Ambushing Sephiroth with a boquet wouldn't do much good.
Easier to exploit would be the flinching unhappiness with his true nature, but prodding at that could end in a fireball. Jenova succeeded, but Jenova didn't care whether or not it ended in flames. "You'd know, wouldn't you," is the quiet murmur, but it's not exactly pointed, or meant to antagonize deliberately. Humans weren't shapeshifters. Humans didn't turn into deformed behemoths and back.
But the Turks didn't exactly hire monsters either.
All three of the names Vincent mentions are known, and two better than the third, by the way his head jerks up. Gast had been .. the closest thing he had to a caring guardian, for a while. Those memories were dim, but they remained still. It.. shouldn't be a surprise that Gast worked closely with the people who both made and destroyed his life, but it stung anyway. "Did she turn you into what you are now?"
Love was a weakness, after all. And someone who could use her own child as an experiment would surely be able to take advantage of someone who loved her.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 08:40 pm (UTC)"Hrmph." That sounds like doubt about being even on a level of 'functional'. Vincent crosses the room with the tea still steeping and holds out the cup to Sephiroth. "Drink."
It's warm, it's soothing. It's said to help with anxiety. There's no caffeine or sugar though some sweetner had been tempting if only to help with shock. Vincent never claimed to have the best bedside manner but his words sound firm.
He won't linger near Sephiroth long, giving the teen room of at least a sword's length. The fluidity of his movements seems to hitch again. It takes him a long time to answer, as if he's struggling to hold back the truth as long as it takes to find the right way of saying it. Not that he can resist forever.
"Hojo gave me this body. Lucrecia... did her part." The last escapes in an expulsion of breath. Only a few weeks sooner and Vincent may have had another means to end his statement. Vincent looks down at partially raised arms. Looking at himself.
"I wouldn't have survived if she hadn't used her earlier research to try and stabilize Hojo's 'failure'." Like the love reflected in his words and expression earlier, there is no denying the depth of disgust and hatred for the professor.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 09:02 pm (UTC)Chamomile tea didn't factor into it, on Never Fade. Didn't now either, he has no idea what he's being handed, and though there's a certain wariness at Vincent's approach, the cup is taken anyway and given a sniff. Tea is not a regular part of his diet either, and this type is entirely new; he waits until Vincent is out of reach again before trying it. It tastes.. bitter. Herbal.
There's no compulsion on him to blurt out the truth, no matter how painful it was, so Sephiroth remains quiet for a time, piecing this with other bits of information. How many people were part of that 'research'? One success meant countless failures, as he had incorporated into himself. Who knows how many children died so he could live. How many people suffered before Lucrecia found the right thing to use on Vincent? "Was Professor Gast part of the experiments used on you?"
It's inevitable he's going to circle back around to his mother, but groundwork had to be done first. Had there ever been anyone, anyone at all in his life who hadn't been using him?
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Date: 2024-05-29 09:25 pm (UTC)"I don't think so," he finally says. "Gast was gone at the time I was shot by Hojo. And I wasn't a willing subject." There's a wry, bitter smile at the memory. "Explaining a missing Turk might have been easier for Hojo if he didn't also have to explain why he was in a specimen chamber."
It's not like Turks didn't die on assignment. Nibel Mountains were a dangerous place. Vincent isn't blind to the fact that someone must have done something to cover up the incident. But... it probably wasn't Gast who might have also been spending more time at Icicle Inn by that point. There were any number of plausible lies, up to and including claims that he'd tried to interfere with the project itself.
Ultimately outside of his own department which was already pragmatic about such behaviors within the company and Lucrecia, there were few who would have seen him as more than a useful but ultimately replaceable asset.
no subject
Date: 2024-05-29 09:33 pm (UTC)"What do you know of the theories and experiments that went into my creation? Was it Gast's design, Hojo's? Mother's?"
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Date: 2024-05-29 09:53 pm (UTC)What does he know. At the time, probably more than some scientists gave him credit for as just another background part of security. But the question gives rise to a somewhat pained huff of humor and Vincent closes his eyes a moment.
"Gast was the one to originally study the creature that became known as Jenova. You may have been told this already. It was believed at the time to have been of an ancient race known as the Cetra. So much so the professor named it after his late wife."
That... probably wouldn't have happened if the truth was realized. Probably. Scientists can be... eccentric. Vincent seems to have a reasonable amount of respect for Gast where it was utterly lacking in Hojo's case.
"I know there were at least two branches of the Jenova Project. Project S, the one that took place in Nibelheim, had contributions in equal parts from Hojo and Lucrecia, working off of Gast's findings. Though Hojo played a larger role as your birth approached and was likely the main contributer after."
There is a short pause.
"The details I know, both from before and what I found out after I came to, aren't necessarily complete. But they aren't pleasant either."
Of course Vincent is sure the youth knows that. How could anything be pleasant when people were working to create a monster? Even the earlier concept of a living 'Cetra' was still going to be as a result of a parade of horrors, trials and errors and successes alike.
"Your mother..." He is about to say something; something that will be the truth but also wasn't yet asked for. Does Sephiroth want to stop him or will he let Vincent say it?
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Date: 2024-05-29 10:10 pm (UTC)No, he's come too far to start second guessing things now. He's here for confirmation, and to fill in gaps Zack hadn't known. He takes a steadying breath and shakes it off. "I'm sorry, that's uncalled for. Please stop trying to filter things. I already know the worst of it. This is just.. filling in the details."
Insert hand gestures, fade to black exposition moment here...
From:The sad requirements of 'canon hasn't answered that yet'.
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From:I swear they better keep the crisis core canon straight that he didn't wake up and wreck this!
From:If it changes anything well oops, we'll retroactively say it happened. c.c
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From:We are going to pretend Vincent did light on these oil lamps coming in because I forgot.
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