[ Of course his features start out serious, even grim. I refuse to allow it. Vincent intends to be firm and, in a rare moment of steeling himself for an argument with the teenager; beyond tentative pushing, there's a tension in the red cloaked man's demeanor that suggests he intends to stick his ground. Sephiroth may not have time to look for help, that's true. But if there is any chance and... if he survives what he intends to do, it feels imperative to convince the boy that this is not a battle he has to fight alone.
Or at the end of the day, truly should. He wants to give the teen the best possible chance at living and thus there is no anger in his set expression.
Not even when Sephiroth retaliates. A greater man than Vincent Valentine would have flinched. So there's no surprise when the gunman does and his gaze shifts briefly to the side. Shame. And of course guilt. Rarely are the ramifications of his choice spelled out to him. While he must accept it is what he, few have the ability to make accusations against that decision and cause it to stab so deeply.
Sephiroth is one of them. And the adult features do nothing to soften that blow. How many times had he observed the grown man that the teen could become and felt the weight of this particular sin after all. Teenager or adult, the two are interchangeable when it comes to the former Turk's weakness.
At least with the teen there was still the image of hope.
It is in silence Vincent accepts the words flung at him. Though claws prick through even the sturdy leather glove covering his right hand, he doesn't flinch again and his gaze returns to the young man.
The words spoken are hurtful, yes. Sephiroth has every right to send them Vincent's way. But Vincent slowly becomes aware of the anguish. Not just the physical tells; where the claws flexed or the ears turned back or earlier as the adult-glamoured teen curled in on himself trying to hide shame and regrets and unhappiness and despair. It's like watching tears that don't physically show, but are instead a keening sound.
So very like a monster in anguish over its nature and pain but has not the capacity to cry.
The boy isn't just letting himself be guided by Vincent's failures. He's trying to protect himself from being hurt. Innocent blood. Guilt him into action. Vincent's eyes widen a touch with realization. Oh, he could go with what he'd originally planned before, plus speak about how he's no innocent, this would be a far more suitable punishment. But no. That would not be the right thing to do right now.
He is grateful he had earlier moved close enough to do this. It would make it harder to avoid? And... to think overlong about it and maybe hesitate. Moving the hand which had been gripped by the teen, Vincent brings his other arm up and leans over with the intent of just... drawing Sephiroth into an embrace.
Adult appearance, gender differences all glamoured be damned. Vincent's aversion to contact also be cursed. There is a teenager that needs this.
Vincent would like to mutter a curse about how awkward it honestly feels. He's no good at this, never been and there's a part of him that thinks it's going to taint his effort to offer solace. Rather than cursing or saying anything else about choices and help and fate and future, the former Turk simply says quietly. ]
I'm sorry.
[ And for the first time it would be hard to doubt the man is offering this comfort for anyone but Sephiroth's sake. Not his guilt or shame or sin, not for Lucrecia or anyone else. Just one lonely fourteen year old kid with no one solely on his side. ]
[Once the Trial faded and he was back to wings and legendary status, this might well and truly be overwhelming, but this is still manageable. It's upsetting but not so much where he couldn't maintain a veneer of calm, and prepare arguments and counter-arguments, bury the profound disturbance of what he'd done and what he was going to have to keep doing and pretend. Like he's been doing ever since he realized the consequences of showing emotion. The universe over, kids younger than him are expected to save worlds, change history, accomplish great things against all odds, but .. they usually have close allies, entire teams. They achieve greatness through the power of friendship and tenacity. A method he's incapable of using.
There is no chance of him simply being allowed to live. The normalcy he wanted was for other people, dreams at best; the only 'life' he'd ever have was one of violence and bloodshed. It would be easier when he finally truly accepted it. He can make his refusal sound more stern like this, like a mature decision and not a child's petulance, make it more clear that he had thought about it - had thought about it a lot - and come to the decision that empty platitudes and suggestions he get other people killed was simply not good enough.
He wasn't good enough either, as he was. It seemed.. well and truly hopeless. He couldn't even save Rosen. One teenage boy. How was he going to save the world? Or help other worlds? ... Or even himself.
Argument is expected, not touch; he's ready for a fight, even if just a verbal one, not .. this. Certainly not while he looks like this, Familiar predator and in adult guise, strong and menacing and thoroughly too big for any such thing. In spite of their size difference it's not hard to pull him closer at all, and for a breath or two he's rigid with surprise, the dog only flicking one ear before comfortably maintaining its chosen spot on his lap. There isn't a word as he slowly leans, the tightness in his throat making it suddenly hard to get a whole breath and blurring his vision. In the dark of the tent, lit only by outside firelight, the curtain of silver hair hides all else but the tremor in his too-long frame and the quiet hitch of each inhale and exhale.]
[ It's a dark tent and maybe that helps. At least that's what someone can tell themselves later if they want. It really made no difference at the end of the moment.
Maybe he should have... just done this from the start, when Sephiroth came back. The thought strays through Vincent's own thoughts. Another regret. Not a sin at least. Not this time. He recognizes this is beyond comfort zone. His arms feel awkwardly placed to him; stiff and uncertain. The presence of the dogs aren't really helping the tangled mess of what do I do.
How long has it been since he hugged someone? Not since Lucrecia... He pushes that thought firmly down. This is not the time to let any comparisons take over and bring doubt. Because rather than pull back or struggle- he'd expected some resistance and had meant to hold on but it never came- Sephiroth leaned in.
Not sure if he was doing the right thing, Vincent tightened his arms a little. Then loosened. But only because he choose to press the palm of his right hand against Sephiroth's back. While he doesn't pat or rub, it stays like that. Possibly meant for the same reason one does those actions.
But his left hand withdraws for a moment. Gripping the edge of his cloak, bringing it up and casting it around Sephiroth's head and shoulders. As if outsiders might see through the canvas tent, only to find something else safeguarding against witnesses to the youth's weakness. ]
Go ahead.
[ The tears. The need to express what's been locked up in a cathartic way. ]
He wouldn't know. Only twice in his life has anyone offered such a gesture, and it came with Glenn's usual open bombastic warmth that was so utterly him that the idea of anyone else being like that was ... strange.
Or maybe touch is just so unfamiliar that even this scrap of awkward comfort is throwing a bone to a starving dog, as close to affection as he might ever get. There's no bright future awaiting him, of friends and family and joy to one day eclipse this, and part of him knows it. Maybe he could forgive himself the weakness, the sad, pathetic showing of Hojo's supposed best reduced to hiding under the cloak of a Turk as if it somehow hid the shame.
He doesn't break down into open sobbing, either through control or simple not knowing how to let go, but they'll soak through anyway with enough time when he turns just enough to bury his face against Vincent's shoulder.
It doesn't soothe his fears, the certainty of failure, the worries of simply repeating history and unleashing endless misery on others, but ... but for now, it's enough.]
[ No one will know. Vincent would like to promise that. But that's not something anyone could reasonably expect to remain hidden forever in a place like Folkmore. A place where the presiding deity will happily drop a fourteen year old child into a melting pot full of people who have 'seen the outcome of the future' in a way that is more like polishing rocks in a tumbler in hopes of making a couple pretty gems than it ever will be a smooth and gentle effort at opening the door of possibility.
But Folkmore rolls on. And who knows what will be revealed one day? It's also true that Turks are good at covering things up.
Sephiroth has long since learned Vincent is as warm as any living being. Ghostly, monster, vampire, dead may be things he could be accused of, but they all seem to fade away with familiar scents of person, leather, gun oil and fabric. Perhaps a touch of beast; the monster bit was at least a little true. And like all solid, living beings, he has a sturdy shoulder to cry on. No matter how long the teenager in the adult seeming needs to stay there, it will meet with no complaint. No impatience. And honestly no words. Vincent may not be one for them but it also doesn't seem they're needed. The dogs shift and adjust but settle quickly. The canvas blows in the winter wind and the fire crackles.
Vincent might wonder if wracking sobs would be better for Sephiroth in all that time. Is it something to worry about because it's lacking? No. No matter how cathartic it might be, it's enough that the young man is willing to do this much and is obviously releasing something with tears that have soaked through his clothes. Isn't that what's important? A baby step forward. Sometimes one must choose that over leaps of progress even when no one knows how much time any of them have. ]
[He's not going to move for a while. It's an awkward position, especially with the dogs, but surely it would be no great sin to just.. stay there for a while. Anyone willingly touching him is so rare that later it would seem a guilty indulgence at best, but in the moment it's a vast comfort, unheard of in his lifetime.
If there's the scent of blood somewhere under the dog and fur smell of Familiar, surely it can be disregarded for a while. Cure handled many things, and it wouldn't kill him to do nothing about any of it. But there is a point where, as time ticks on, where the subtle lean of his weight grows heavier gradually until he's no longer actually supporting himself at all; not a problem when someone's small, but the glamour is all encompassing and it may be difficult to keep him upright without losing a limb to pins and needles. He's been hiding pain and exhaustion very well until now, but it had to eventually catch up.]
[ Outside that squad Sephiroth had mentioned, was Vincent really the only one? Or more specifically the only one barring Zack maybe from their world? There's probably many here in Folkmore. But that is another type of good thing.
While it is obvious Sephiroth is still awake, still in silent tears, Vincent is surprised he doesn't resist after a time. In a way it makes it easier, gives the gunman a longer period of time to simply sit there and feel less awkward. He notes the way the dogs remain close by, the scents of fur that isn't laced with mechanical bodies. Sometimes it can be difficult to tell those sled dogs aren't flesh and blood.
And there is the scent of blood. Vincent is not unaware of it and may be spending some of the time musing how to deal with that topic; a matter which becomes much easier.
Exhaustion or pain or fear, lack of proper meals, with some of that pent up flood released it was only natural for Sephiroth- even Sephiroth- to sink into something that might have bordered on unconsciousness rather than sleep. Time indeed ticks on and once Vincent is certain that moving the teen's adult-glamoured form will not stir him awake again, he begins the process of extricating himself from underneath.
It is straightforward enough; though hampered by the twist of dog bodies and the sheer size of the body he's not almost buried under; how many inches did Vincent lose again? Maybe not too many but with how many Sephiroth gained... There's some grumbles and soft commands to the dogs to get them to reluctantly get up and shuffle out of the tent.
Sometimes another hopeful comes in but eventually there's enough room for Vincent to win free and set about a few brisk tasks, punctuated by what would probably be a humorous montage of the dark haired man chasing dogs out and having them come back in, curious about what's happening and eager to provide warmth.
The materia will be found and used first and foremost. Among the supplies he brought in were items to protect against the harsh permafrost ground; bed padding, a sleeping bag, blankets. ....Though honestly he is not going to go as far as to wrestle Sephiroth into a sleeping back; the dogs will provide enough insulation and the bag itself another layer of protection from the ground.
The fire outside will be built up and Sephiroth will be given the privacy of the tent- inasmuch as the dogs allow- to rest. Vincent will remain on watch through that evening and on into however long he needs to sleep. But there will always be a hint he's nearby; a glimpse of golden colored boot or the flutter of red cloak against white snow through the flap kept open to permit the warmth of the fire to seep inside.
The dogs themselves rotate, at least two at a time keeping watch with Vincent himself for the terrors of a winter night. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-08-11 01:48 am (UTC)Or at the end of the day, truly should. He wants to give the teen the best possible chance at living and thus there is no anger in his set expression.
Not even when Sephiroth retaliates. A greater man than Vincent Valentine would have flinched. So there's no surprise when the gunman does and his gaze shifts briefly to the side. Shame. And of course guilt. Rarely are the ramifications of his choice spelled out to him. While he must accept it is what he, few have the ability to make accusations against that decision and cause it to stab so deeply.
Sephiroth is one of them. And the adult features do nothing to soften that blow. How many times had he observed the grown man that the teen could become and felt the weight of this particular sin after all. Teenager or adult, the two are interchangeable when it comes to the former Turk's weakness.
At least with the teen there was still the image of hope.
It is in silence Vincent accepts the words flung at him. Though claws prick through even the sturdy leather glove covering his right hand, he doesn't flinch again and his gaze returns to the young man.
The words spoken are hurtful, yes. Sephiroth has every right to send them Vincent's way. But Vincent slowly becomes aware of the anguish. Not just the physical tells; where the claws flexed or the ears turned back or earlier as the adult-glamoured teen curled in on himself trying to hide shame and regrets and unhappiness and despair. It's like watching tears that don't physically show, but are instead a keening sound.
So very like a monster in anguish over its nature and pain but has not the capacity to cry.
The boy isn't just letting himself be guided by Vincent's failures. He's trying to protect himself from being hurt. Innocent blood. Guilt him into action. Vincent's eyes widen a touch with realization. Oh, he could go with what he'd originally planned before, plus speak about how he's no innocent, this would be a far more suitable punishment. But no. That would not be the right thing to do right now.
He is grateful he had earlier moved close enough to do this. It would make it harder to avoid? And... to think overlong about it and maybe hesitate. Moving the hand which had been gripped by the teen, Vincent brings his other arm up and leans over with the intent of just... drawing Sephiroth into an embrace.
Adult appearance, gender differences all glamoured be damned. Vincent's aversion to contact also be cursed. There is a teenager that needs this.
Vincent would like to mutter a curse about how awkward it honestly feels. He's no good at this, never been and there's a part of him that thinks it's going to taint his effort to offer solace. Rather than cursing or saying anything else about choices and help and fate and future, the former Turk simply says quietly. ]
I'm sorry.
[ And for the first time it would be hard to doubt the man is offering this comfort for anyone but Sephiroth's sake. Not his guilt or shame or sin, not for Lucrecia or anyone else. Just one lonely fourteen year old kid with no one solely on his side. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-12 09:38 pm (UTC)There is no chance of him simply being allowed to live. The normalcy he wanted was for other people, dreams at best; the only 'life' he'd ever have was one of violence and bloodshed. It would be easier when he finally truly accepted it. He can make his refusal sound more stern like this, like a mature decision and not a child's petulance, make it more clear that he had thought about it - had thought about it a lot - and come to the decision that empty platitudes and suggestions he get other people killed was simply not good enough.
He wasn't good enough either, as he was. It seemed.. well and truly hopeless. He couldn't even save Rosen. One teenage boy. How was he going to save the world? Or help other worlds? ... Or even himself.
Argument is expected, not touch; he's ready for a fight, even if just a verbal one, not .. this. Certainly not while he looks like this, Familiar predator and in adult guise, strong and menacing and thoroughly too big for any such thing. In spite of their size difference it's not hard to pull him closer at all, and for a breath or two he's rigid with surprise, the dog only flicking one ear before comfortably maintaining its chosen spot on his lap. There isn't a word as he slowly leans, the tightness in his throat making it suddenly hard to get a whole breath and blurring his vision. In the dark of the tent, lit only by outside firelight, the curtain of silver hair hides all else but the tremor in his too-long frame and the quiet hitch of each inhale and exhale.]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-13 10:07 am (UTC)Maybe he should have... just done this from the start, when Sephiroth came back. The thought strays through Vincent's own thoughts. Another regret. Not a sin at least. Not this time. He recognizes this is beyond comfort zone. His arms feel awkwardly placed to him; stiff and uncertain. The presence of the dogs aren't really helping the tangled mess of what do I do.
How long has it been since he hugged someone? Not since Lucrecia... He pushes that thought firmly down. This is not the time to let any comparisons take over and bring doubt. Because rather than pull back or struggle- he'd expected some resistance and had meant to hold on but it never came- Sephiroth leaned in.
Not sure if he was doing the right thing, Vincent tightened his arms a little. Then loosened. But only because he choose to press the palm of his right hand against Sephiroth's back. While he doesn't pat or rub, it stays like that. Possibly meant for the same reason one does those actions.
But his left hand withdraws for a moment. Gripping the edge of his cloak, bringing it up and casting it around Sephiroth's head and shoulders. As if outsiders might see through the canvas tent, only to find something else safeguarding against witnesses to the youth's weakness. ]
Go ahead.
[ The tears. The need to express what's been locked up in a cathartic way. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-16 11:58 pm (UTC)He wouldn't know. Only twice in his life has anyone offered such a gesture, and it came with Glenn's usual open bombastic warmth that was so utterly him that the idea of anyone else being like that was ... strange.
Or maybe touch is just so unfamiliar that even this scrap of awkward comfort is throwing a bone to a starving dog, as close to affection as he might ever get. There's no bright future awaiting him, of friends and family and joy to one day eclipse this, and part of him knows it. Maybe he could forgive himself the weakness, the sad, pathetic showing of Hojo's supposed best reduced to hiding under the cloak of a Turk as if it somehow hid the shame.
He doesn't break down into open sobbing, either through control or simple not knowing how to let go, but they'll soak through anyway with enough time when he turns just enough to bury his face against Vincent's shoulder.
It doesn't soothe his fears, the certainty of failure, the worries of simply repeating history and unleashing endless misery on others, but ... but for now, it's enough.]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-17 01:26 pm (UTC)But Folkmore rolls on. And who knows what will be revealed one day? It's also true that Turks are good at covering things up.
Sephiroth has long since learned Vincent is as warm as any living being. Ghostly, monster, vampire, dead may be things he could be accused of, but they all seem to fade away with familiar scents of person, leather, gun oil and fabric. Perhaps a touch of beast; the monster bit was at least a little true. And like all solid, living beings, he has a sturdy shoulder to cry on. No matter how long the teenager in the adult seeming needs to stay there, it will meet with no complaint. No impatience. And honestly no words. Vincent may not be one for them but it also doesn't seem they're needed. The dogs shift and adjust but settle quickly. The canvas blows in the winter wind and the fire crackles.
Vincent might wonder if wracking sobs would be better for Sephiroth in all that time. Is it something to worry about because it's lacking? No. No matter how cathartic it might be, it's enough that the young man is willing to do this much and is obviously releasing something with tears that have soaked through his clothes. Isn't that what's important? A baby step forward. Sometimes one must choose that over leaps of progress even when no one knows how much time any of them have. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-22 01:51 pm (UTC)If there's the scent of blood somewhere under the dog and fur smell of Familiar, surely it can be disregarded for a while. Cure handled many things, and it wouldn't kill him to do nothing about any of it. But there is a point where, as time ticks on, where the subtle lean of his weight grows heavier gradually until he's no longer actually supporting himself at all; not a problem when someone's small, but the glamour is all encompassing and it may be difficult to keep him upright without losing a limb to pins and needles. He's been hiding pain and exhaustion very well until now, but it had to eventually catch up.]
no subject
Date: 2024-08-22 11:28 pm (UTC)While it is obvious Sephiroth is still awake, still in silent tears, Vincent is surprised he doesn't resist after a time. In a way it makes it easier, gives the gunman a longer period of time to simply sit there and feel less awkward. He notes the way the dogs remain close by, the scents of fur that isn't laced with mechanical bodies. Sometimes it can be difficult to tell those sled dogs aren't flesh and blood.
And there is the scent of blood. Vincent is not unaware of it and may be spending some of the time musing how to deal with that topic; a matter which becomes much easier.
Exhaustion or pain or fear, lack of proper meals, with some of that pent up flood released it was only natural for Sephiroth- even Sephiroth- to sink into something that might have bordered on unconsciousness rather than sleep. Time indeed ticks on and once Vincent is certain that moving the teen's adult-glamoured form will not stir him awake again, he begins the process of extricating himself from underneath.
It is straightforward enough; though hampered by the twist of dog bodies and the sheer size of the body he's not almost buried under; how many inches did Vincent lose again? Maybe not too many but with how many Sephiroth gained... There's some grumbles and soft commands to the dogs to get them to reluctantly get up and shuffle out of the tent.
Sometimes another hopeful comes in but eventually there's enough room for Vincent to win free and set about a few brisk tasks, punctuated by what would probably be a humorous montage of the dark haired man chasing dogs out and having them come back in, curious about what's happening and eager to provide warmth.
The materia will be found and used first and foremost. Among the supplies he brought in were items to protect against the harsh permafrost ground; bed padding, a sleeping bag, blankets. ....Though honestly he is not going to go as far as to wrestle Sephiroth into a sleeping back; the dogs will provide enough insulation and the bag itself another layer of protection from the ground.
The fire outside will be built up and Sephiroth will be given the privacy of the tent- inasmuch as the dogs allow- to rest. Vincent will remain on watch through that evening and on into however long he needs to sleep. But there will always be a hint he's nearby; a glimpse of golden colored boot or the flutter of red cloak against white snow through the flap kept open to permit the warmth of the fire to seep inside.
The dogs themselves rotate, at least two at a time keeping watch with Vincent himself for the terrors of a winter night. ]