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: 2024-08-16 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. ]