Rare was it in Folkmore that something so unusual wasn't in some way touched and likely to cause problems, so he only went out in it when he had to, keeping close tabs on what weather forecasts he could get to shove as much into his day as he could. The rest of the time spent silent and gloomy indoors, working on any number of smaller things. Getting what exercise he could. Attending schoolwork.
Preparing for the inevitable.
And more often than not keeping an eye on that rain. It's just suspicious. It's a constant undercurrent of wariness that only ever broke when the sky cleared, and left him picking his way delicately through town with the fastidiousness of a cat to avoid any puddles or ice. Today is no exception.
He doesn't leave a window open for a little black cat anymore. It's unnecessary. There's also no such thing as turning up unannounced anymore, intention connecting to the sense of approaching presence that drags him from his spot by the window to open the door nearly as Vincent speaks.
In another six months, he might not be as comfortable in the house he's chosen, it's not suited to people any taller than he is now, and definitely favored smaller. But he still hasn't accessorized much, there's not a need for .. things. Trinkets and detritus, save a small number of chosen things, and as the door is opened the rest of the way and he steps to one side, heat billows out.
Most people keep their homes much cooler. He prefers it somewhere around eighty. "Get out of the rain before it does something." It's not even raining much!!
There is Vincent, standing in the rain like he doesn't care if it does something.
It hasn't yet. But also, he knows that if it's really determined to do something, it'll get him no matter what. That's just the way of this place. There is, however a suggestion of fond humor that briefly replaces the sense of hesitance.
"Here, hold this." The box is offered. Why? So he can brush ice crystals out of his hair and off his cape before stepping inside. Wouldn't want to bring the rainbows in; and at least he has the grace not to be overly dramatic about it this time.
Even if he could probably swoosh everything dramatically and somehow not cause it to cascade over the youth and into the house. Vincent will step inside once he's sorted the issue.
"Cozy." Well, he's probably experienced Sephiroth penchant for warmth a time or two already but that's all he has to say about it. What he really means is what follows as he casts a once over of the teen's frame.
"...Did you get taller?"
It's probably only been days since he last visited or was at least within visual distance of Sephiroth. But this isn't entirely facetious. Eating habits aside, it does seem over these past few months that the young man has been growing like a weed.
The box is taken automatically, and he stands there, perplexed, as Vincent works on shedding a thin layer of ice. Happily not inside, where suspicious rainbows can work their grim duty without him figuring out exactly what it is they're after.
That puzzlement does not at all prevent him from quickly shutting the door, one last suspicious glance cast at the rain. He's learned about this place too, and sometimes prudence could avoid trouble.
But not always. "Not significantly in a few days, as far as I can tell." He's still doing a pretty decent bamboo impression, he still has over a foot to go and probably well over a hundred pounds til he can match his adult size, but he's getting there. By degrees what childish roundness he had was still fading away, making the resemblance to who he'd become sharper by the week.
The box is offered back. "I don't think the process actually stops until adulthood is reached though." Not that he has a lot of experience with how adolescence works.
Perhaps at one time, the slow transition to manhood and the painfully familiar features would have troubled Vincent. But in a way, there's something to be grateful about when it comes to the rainbows.
The reminder was already presented, processed and in its way accepted well before such emotions could leak through the bond. Well before Vincent chose to offer the bond.
Anyway, the former Turk's remark about Sephiroth's height was probably in partial jest. When the box is offered back, Vincent shakes his head.
"It's for you. Open it."
...Some of that hesitance is back now. His demeanor has sobered a bit outwardly and his words seem curt. But there is a sense he is bracing himself.
He hasn't yet brought up the other package he has with him. But one thing at a time.
Once the box is open- via lifting a lid at the top- it's revealed to contain a small cake. The scent suggests a touch of sweetness, but not the kind that is overwhelmingly rich; fresh berries garnish the top. Vincent bringing along food is no unusual matter. Not even the occasional sweet. But generally dessert is accompanied by a full meal and not just the treat alone.
No writing, but there are a few unlit candles. The gunman seems poised to wait for Sephiroth's reaction. Does he know? Or will it be confusing?
Vincent arriving bearing food is common enough, but this is a different presentation, and usually it doesn't come with those little flickers of hesitance. And whatever he's expecting as he sets the box down on a flat surface and opens it, a cake and only a cake isn't it.
He knows cake when he sees it, knew to not eat the whole thing at once or pay for it shortly later; treats aren't exactly rare but one on its own was highly unusual and ... are those tiny candles?
It's confusing. He's encountered cake, but birthday cake is another thing entirely. "..Thank you." He's not one to turn down something edible, even if he wouldn't eat it right away because who knew when his metabolism would remind him he should devour everything in sight RIGHT NOW. And any gift was something to be grateful for, even if the presentation is odd. "But what are the candles for?"
Mystery of candles aside, it smelled like berries and light sweetness, not likely to leave him in misery if he had more than a little, fresh by the lack of stale echo. His ability to tell Lore-made from self-made was a struggle. Maybe it's in return for the pie he'd made a little over a week ago? A present for a present!
Vincent did expect the confusion. Who would have thought to give the youth something like a birthday celebration? He crosses his arms and studies Sephiroth for a moment while he gathers his response.
"Today is the third of January," Vincent begins slowly. Because it is a beginning, but what does stating the obvious date have to do with anything? And there's that nervous habit of his; leaning into the high collar of his cloak to hide much of his expression.
It doesn't do much to hide the faint sense of nervousness through the bond of course.
Birthday celebrations existed, but in the periphery and never for him. Even at Shinra, it was something he'd catch the edges of, good wishes and enthusiasm shared between techs, but his own?
How old he even was was a mystery. A specific date, meaningless to him. Birthday celebrations were for other people. Normal people. Humans.
So it takes a minute to process, besides the slight nod of agreement on the date; keeping track was important when schooling was involved. The flickers of nervousness aren't expected, had no context, and made him spare a deepeningly suspicious glance at the windows again. Maybe cake and nervousness weren't connected.
The addition follows, and earns a quiet "Oh."
It takes a minute longer to process.
Obviously, Sephiroth had always had a birth date. It just hadn't been relevant. The cake is stared at as if it had the mysteries of the cosmos buried somewhere in its berry coating, expression blank, but under it is a current of surprise and bafflement and flickers of a strange mix of pain and giddiness. It doesn't show.
It doesn't show and Vincent doesn't display any outward change to indicate he knows otherwise. He doesn't ask if it's 'all right' or if Sephiroth 'likes it'. This isn't that sort of moment.
Of course there isn't anything to hide, really. Not anymore. There is some compassion. Sympathy and understanding. But there is nothing calculated or feigned about the gesture he's made. He waits and, when the youth finally asks, Vincent needs only a moment to remember how to phrase it.
The new era would not likely make any contextual sense to Sephiroth.
"...Nineteen seventy-eight was the year you were born in." The passage of time in Folkmore doesn't relate to when Sephiroth will return. So Vincent will leave it to the young man to keep track of the math.
There will be a long pause for this to be considered as well. But then with a silent gesture, Vincent presents the wrapped package. It's of a moderate size, somewhat thin.
What would be a birthday without a cake and a gift?
This doesn't take much math. Thirteen dropped him where he'd been taken from last time, she likely would again. It had been September. Now, at least here, it was January. Fourteen, then.
Fifteen.
It's ... strange, in an unexpectedly bittersweet way to have a concrete date. Of course Vincent would know it, he'd probably been there - albeit shoved in some tube or strapped to a table, whatever the whims his sire had at the time would dictate. Or his mother's. He hadn't thought to ask, and now in retrospect, he probably should have. Birthdays were important to normal people.
"Another year and I'll be old enough to be recruited for SOLDIER," he murmurs, some flicker of grim humor rising. He'd always been, but then he could be legal
He really was short for his age, if he's supposed to wind up over six and a half feet tall.
Some other feeling works its way up by degrees. He's been celebrated before - or at least his 'accomplishments' had been, and he knew how to stand for a camera and look the way he's told to look, but this .. was different. Something as personal as simply being because he was born, and not because of what he was supposed to do, like ... everyone else.
Everyone else had parties, he knew that too, but it is with sudden vicious certainty that he knows he would NOT want a party. Too much noise, too many people. His crowd tolerance was maybe three people total.
As it is this is a little overwhelming, unsure what to feel or what to do. Most shocks were of the ugly sort, terrible revelations, and this ... was not. Not at all. Slowly, the second box is taken. "... I didn't get anything for your birthday." Whenever that was. He didn't know.
"Hrmph." It's half humor. There's no need to speak further about Sephiroth's eligibility for SOLDIER. The... legal age. Not the one that might apply if there was a promising enough recruit. Or worse. As for height issues?
....Eat more regularly, young man. But at least enjoy the cake.
No parties. Vincent had been well aware not to bring others without talking to Sephiroth first. Or letting him choose to pick up the relic and call someone over to share the dessert with. But presents were fine. And candles.
Sephiroth hadn't known Vincent's birthday because he'd not spoken about it. He was not the type to do so and they'd been dealing with the issues of Amrita and its aftermath besides. Still, there's a sense that the former Turk had half expected this response. Reciprocation isn't necessary but assurance might be.
"Mm. It's the new year." Sephiroth's birthday squeaks into the concept of this fresh slate. The past doesn't count. "...October Thirteenth. Get me something then."
Provided they're still here. But that's not worth stressing about. What's important is that Vincent isn't rejecting the notion of a birthday gift in the future as 'necessary'.
He doesn't eat when he's not hungry, the downside is enough stress makes him not hungry and he is very regularly stressed out. It can't be helped. Even the cake might take some time to get through depending on the swings of emotion.
October wasn't that long ago. He should have asked, just because HE didn't have anything to celebrate didn't mean others wouldn't, and maybe it was expected. "..I'll remember it."
Maybe Cloud had gotten Vincent something. They were friends, weren't they?
Meanwhile, a second box. This one is more careful to open, the smell of varnish and paint sharp when he bothers to focus on it, and when the painting within is revealed, it's studied in silence, turmoil bubbling up once more.
The woman sitting amongst the flowers is immediately recognizable, he'd been looking at her photograph for years. The locket still kept carefully put away where it would be safe was only a duplicate, the original lost in Rhadore's collapse, but it's still ... the same person. He didn't know even now how he felt about his mother, his human mother. She never fought for him, never looked for him.
But years of dreams and wishes were hard to quash, even knowing she would never actually come for him. Even knowing, they still hadn't really faded. Sometimes they were nightmares too.
Part of him still held onto the hope that maybe one day they'd be reunited. And he could ask her why she left. What the real reason was.
Why he was left in Hojo's care instead. Everyone had left him behind eventually, except for the Professor. Gast had prioritized his own family and left him behind. A parade of aides and technicians. His mother. Hojo had wanted him, took pride in him. So too did his alien mother.
But not the one he'd wanted.
Separating out individual emotions is a trial. There's resentment, bitter sorrow, but also an undercurrent of a lifetime's focus, obsession really, and the yearning that never really went away. If Vincent tried to take it back certainly there'd be a strong negative reaction to such an action, but like so much else.. it's bittersweet. She hadn't wanted him enough to fight for him. But he'd always wanted her.
As silence stretches into minutes, he turns abruptly to step further into the small dwelling, hunting for somewhere to put it, still silent. At least it's obvious what he's doing, and it's not that he's looking for somewhere to HIDE it.
Cloud probably did, if he hadn't lost track of time. Vincent's birthday probably would have leaked out among the party members at some point back on Gaia whether or not he'd brought it up. The trick was whether he was around or to be found for the date in question.
Well the last few years were pretty busy one way or another back home on Gaia.
The second package is opened. Both had been gifts in their own way. This however... Vincent is clearly the less certain over. Ruby eyes fall on the likeness of Sephiroth's mother and stir with it a mix of emotions; love being ever laced within it. Even now, with closure and better understanding and the message she'd left for him, that had not truly faded.
But Sephiroth had never had a chance. Because of the decisions of adults, because of sickness that even her love for her baby couldn't overcome. Because Vincent had wallowed in the sense of needing to be punished rather than turning his focus on saving that baby of his beloved.
To the youth, the mental and physical limits of a human body or mind wouldn't matter in the face of a simple question. Why didn't they come for me?
Vincent Valentine didn't know how the gift would have been received. He'd suggested Lucrecia be painted without the scientist's professional trappings. No badge, no coat. But he was also wise in making sure it still was the woman and not the goddess-like visage self imprisoned in crystalline mako.
He wouldn't have been surprised if Sephiroth had lashed out or rejected the gift or put up a restrained and polite gratitude before turning it around and obviously intending to hide it away. The emotions that flooded the bond were certainly the least of what Vincent had expected.
In return there is a line of surprise when the boy turns and begins moving around the house to look for a place. If the cake was placed down, Vincent will retrieve it so it can be delivered to the kitchen- lid placed down again for the time being - but then falls into line to pace after the SOLDIER.
"I brought nails if you need them." There's probably a hammer around here somewhere, right? Tools.
He doesn't share that love he can feel echoed through their link; there's no mistaking how Vincent feels, but it's ... more complicated for him.
Maybe it would have been easier to bear if she'd fought for him and been driven off. But she hadn't. One token protest does not count as a fight. And then where was she, for years? But dreams die hard, and somehow he hadn't actually let go of this one.
Somehow he still held onto the delusional wish for a mother.
The cake can be left behind for now, he'll return to it sooner or later. His chosen home isn't very big, but it's not something he wants seen from windows or the doorway in case it tempts anyone.
Something he can still see, though. Even if others weren't allowed to.
"Sometimes I dream about her. Even though.." It's just dreams. "Sometimes, a field like this. Different flowers, different trees. More like Rhadore's, maybe."
His reference point for trees and flowers both, the scents and sights and textures of a drowned archipelago. He doesn't say anything about nails, unwilling to put a hole in the picture. That's what the nails would be for, wouldn't it? "..Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like, if she tried harder to take me."
Love is a curious thing. And even if they shared the emotion, it wouldn't have been the same. Romantic, familial. Either way it's not surprising there is a lack. Sephiroth never had a chance to meet the woman in question. Was never given a chance to find out how he would feel.
Of course the portrait is framed and it has hooks meant to depend from nails drive into wall. Vincent doesn't elaborate because he doesn't know he's been misunderstood; the feelings through the bond aren't that precise. He drifts after the youth and listens. There's maybe a tilt of his head that acknowledges the dreams.
It's curious and there could be a connection, but it's unclear. And he's not one to give false hope. Besides, wouldn't it be incidental?
"Maybe everything. Maybe nothing at all you would have been aware of." If Lucrecia had tried and failed it would have been buried. She might have wound up dead or under further experiments. The company would have covered it up.
That is reality. Yet it's not where the former Turk finishes.
"But ...I do too," Vincent then adds quietly. "I wonder what would have happened if I had fought harder for Lucrecia. Hadn't chosen to let her live the life that made her happy."
She hadn't been, probably. And it wasn't all his fault by any means; but it doesn't change the wondering. Always the questions and never the answers.
"They're questions that never get answered. Hrmph. The only thing that time does is add new ones."
...What would have happened if he'd fought for Sephiroth? ...Well, he'd wondered that before, but it was more pronounced these days.
What to do about the hooks might seem obvious for some, but they're obviously just meant to be a support, aren't they? It takes time to find a place he likes. Out of sight of casual passers-by but not out of his own, leaned carefully on a small shelf normally meant to perhaps hold spices for cooking. It may not be something he ever gets to come to terms with in this life. Or afterward, if the Lifestream was unwilling to take him.
"Maybe nothing then. But it would have been less unpleasant in the retelling." She fought back, and she died for him is different than she ran and hid. It would only have changed things here, the stories told long after she was gone, but it would at least be an inspiration.
If she could fight and die for her causes, so could he. But cowardice is his legacy, from both parents, and he would not behave as they did.
For a long minute the picture is stared at, bitterness twisting in a slow coil with overtones of gratitude - no matter the subject, he'd never gotten a gift before, and the novelty is sharp. If it's accurate, then like his locket - and they were so very similar, it's obvious it's the same woman - it proved who he took after in looks more, not only at the age he was now, but when he was grown. "Did it really make her happy?"
"Maybe," Vincent allows. "I'm sure if she had, I would have followed her, if I had the chance."
He knows that much about himself. But that depends on a whole other series of events that didn't happen. Knowing where Lucrecia went, when she might have left him behind as to not cause more pain.
Vincent lets out a sigh. The what ifs. He tries not to think too much about them, but he'd be lying to himself to say he never had. And there was no hiding from Sephiroth. As this conversation continued, the old feelings were surfacing. The love and grief; the latter swells so much that, had their bond been even stronger than it becomes, it might have taken one's breath away.
Even if the gunslinger's features don't seem to do much more than grow sad, a little tighter. And... the guilt.
"...No. Not even before she made the choice to subject her child to the experiments." Her research, the obsession, Lucrecia's own grief and guilt that had probably been amplified by the presence of her mentor's son.
"... There was always something. I blinded myself to it. I was... infatuated." A little disgust colors his voice. At himself. He looks directly at Sephiroth, bringing his voice- if not his emotions- back under control.
"That hidden copy of her neural data let me know this. She hadn't wanted any of this to happen the way it did. But... she couldn't bear it or the cruelty. That isn't fair to you. My own choices weren't fair to you. But it can't be undone."
His gaze lowers. He looks tired, but is that any surprise with the emotional turmoil?
"...I don't know if it would be a good or bad thing to meet her." And he knows it's unlikely to be pleasant to see Lucrecia. Even as she is during the youth's time. "But I hope one day you get that opportunity to choose whether to do so." Ruby eyes lift again to look at the framed portrait. "That picture is all I can offer that I haven't already."
His memories of Lucrecia Crescent. He's already shared the location of the cave. Unless he somehow finds a way to return to Sephiroth's timeline, what else can he offer on the matter?
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timeasmymeasure
ohgod it's that guy again!!
Date: 2025-01-01 11:22 pm (UTC)Rare was it in Folkmore that something so unusual wasn't in some way touched and likely to cause problems, so he only went out in it when he had to, keeping close tabs on what weather forecasts he could get to shove as much into his day as he could. The rest of the time spent silent and gloomy indoors, working on any number of smaller things. Getting what exercise he could. Attending schoolwork.
Preparing for the inevitable.
And more often than not keeping an eye on that rain. It's just suspicious. It's a constant undercurrent of wariness that only ever broke when the sky cleared, and left him picking his way delicately through town with the fastidiousness of a cat to avoid any puddles or ice. Today is no exception.
He doesn't leave a window open for a little black cat anymore. It's unnecessary. There's also no such thing as turning up unannounced anymore, intention connecting to the sense of approaching presence that drags him from his spot by the window to open the door nearly as Vincent speaks.
In another six months, he might not be as comfortable in the house he's chosen, it's not suited to people any taller than he is now, and definitely favored smaller. But he still hasn't accessorized much, there's not a need for .. things. Trinkets and detritus, save a small number of chosen things, and as the door is opened the rest of the way and he steps to one side, heat billows out.
Most people keep their homes much cooler. He prefers it somewhere around eighty. "Get out of the rain before it does something." It's not even raining much!!
no subject
Date: 2025-01-01 11:36 pm (UTC)It hasn't yet. But also, he knows that if it's really determined to do something, it'll get him no matter what. That's just the way of this place. There is, however a suggestion of fond humor that briefly replaces the sense of hesitance.
"Here, hold this." The box is offered. Why? So he can brush ice crystals out of his hair and off his cape before stepping inside. Wouldn't want to bring the rainbows in; and at least he has the grace not to be overly dramatic about it this time.
Even if he could probably swoosh everything dramatically and somehow not cause it to cascade over the youth and into the house. Vincent will step inside once he's sorted the issue.
"Cozy." Well, he's probably experienced Sephiroth penchant for warmth a time or two already but that's all he has to say about it. What he really means is what follows as he casts a once over of the teen's frame.
"...Did you get taller?"
It's probably only been days since he last visited or was at least within visual distance of Sephiroth. But this isn't entirely facetious. Eating habits aside, it does seem over these past few months that the young man has been growing like a weed.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-01 11:43 pm (UTC)That puzzlement does not at all prevent him from quickly shutting the door, one last suspicious glance cast at the rain. He's learned about this place too, and sometimes prudence could avoid trouble.
But not always. "Not significantly in a few days, as far as I can tell." He's still doing a pretty decent bamboo impression, he still has over a foot to go and probably well over a hundred pounds til he can match his adult size, but he's getting there. By degrees what childish roundness he had was still fading away, making the resemblance to who he'd become sharper by the week.
The box is offered back. "I don't think the process actually stops until adulthood is reached though." Not that he has a lot of experience with how adolescence works.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 12:08 am (UTC)The reminder was already presented, processed and in its way accepted well before such emotions could leak through the bond. Well before Vincent chose to offer the bond.
Anyway, the former Turk's remark about Sephiroth's height was probably in partial jest. When the box is offered back, Vincent shakes his head.
"It's for you. Open it."
...Some of that hesitance is back now. His demeanor has sobered a bit outwardly and his words seem curt. But there is a sense he is bracing himself.
He hasn't yet brought up the other package he has with him. But one thing at a time.
Once the box is open- via lifting a lid at the top- it's revealed to contain a small cake. The scent suggests a touch of sweetness, but not the kind that is overwhelmingly rich; fresh berries garnish the top. Vincent bringing along food is no unusual matter. Not even the occasional sweet. But generally dessert is accompanied by a full meal and not just the treat alone.
No writing, but there are a few unlit candles. The gunman seems poised to wait for Sephiroth's reaction. Does he know? Or will it be confusing?
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 12:26 am (UTC)He knows cake when he sees it, knew to not eat the whole thing at once or pay for it shortly later; treats aren't exactly rare but one on its own was highly unusual and ... are those tiny candles?
It's confusing. He's encountered cake, but birthday cake is another thing entirely. "..Thank you." He's not one to turn down something edible, even if he wouldn't eat it right away because who knew when his metabolism would remind him he should devour everything in sight RIGHT NOW. And any gift was something to be grateful for, even if the presentation is odd. "But what are the candles for?"
Mystery of candles aside, it smelled like berries and light sweetness, not likely to leave him in misery if he had more than a little, fresh by the lack of stale echo. His ability to tell Lore-made from self-made was a struggle. Maybe it's in return for the pie he'd made a little over a week ago? A present for a present!
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 12:47 am (UTC)"Today is the third of January," Vincent begins slowly. Because it is a beginning, but what does stating the obvious date have to do with anything? And there's that nervous habit of his; leaning into the high collar of his cloak to hide much of his expression.
It doesn't do much to hide the faint sense of nervousness through the bond of course.
"...Candles are customary for birthday cake."
...This isn't about the pie.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 01:28 am (UTC)How old he even was was a mystery. A specific date, meaningless to him. Birthday celebrations were for other people. Normal people. Humans.
So it takes a minute to process, besides the slight nod of agreement on the date; keeping track was important when schooling was involved. The flickers of nervousness aren't expected, had no context, and made him spare a deepeningly suspicious glance at the windows again. Maybe cake and nervousness weren't connected.
The addition follows, and earns a quiet "Oh."
It takes a minute longer to process.
Obviously, Sephiroth had always had a birth date. It just hadn't been relevant. The cake is stared at as if it had the mysteries of the cosmos buried somewhere in its berry coating, expression blank, but under it is a current of surprise and bafflement and flickers of a strange mix of pain and giddiness. It doesn't show.
It rarely does. "...How .. old am I, really?"
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 01:58 am (UTC)Of course there isn't anything to hide, really. Not anymore. There is some compassion. Sympathy and understanding. But there is nothing calculated or feigned about the gesture he's made. He waits and, when the youth finally asks, Vincent needs only a moment to remember how to phrase it.
The new era would not likely make any contextual sense to Sephiroth.
"...Nineteen seventy-eight was the year you were born in." The passage of time in Folkmore doesn't relate to when Sephiroth will return. So Vincent will leave it to the young man to keep track of the math.
There will be a long pause for this to be considered as well. But then with a silent gesture, Vincent presents the wrapped package. It's of a moderate size, somewhat thin.
What would be a birthday without a cake and a gift?
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 02:50 am (UTC)Fifteen.
It's ... strange, in an unexpectedly bittersweet way to have a concrete date. Of course Vincent would know it, he'd probably been there - albeit shoved in some tube or strapped to a table, whatever the whims his sire had at the time would dictate. Or his mother's. He hadn't thought to ask, and now in retrospect, he probably should have. Birthdays were important to normal people.
"Another year and I'll be old enough to be recruited for SOLDIER," he murmurs, some flicker of grim humor rising. He'd always been, but then he could be legal
He really was short for his age, if he's supposed to wind up over six and a half feet tall.
Some other feeling works its way up by degrees. He's been celebrated before - or at least his 'accomplishments' had been, and he knew how to stand for a camera and look the way he's told to look, but this .. was different. Something as personal as simply being because he was born, and not because of what he was supposed to do, like ... everyone else.
Everyone else had parties, he knew that too, but it is with sudden vicious certainty that he knows he would NOT want a party. Too much noise, too many people. His crowd tolerance was maybe three people total.
As it is this is a little overwhelming, unsure what to feel or what to do. Most shocks were of the ugly sort, terrible revelations, and this ... was not. Not at all. Slowly, the second box is taken. "... I didn't get anything for your birthday." Whenever that was. He didn't know.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 03:19 am (UTC)....Eat more regularly, young man. But at least enjoy the cake.
No parties. Vincent had been well aware not to bring others without talking to Sephiroth first. Or letting him choose to pick up the relic and call someone over to share the dessert with. But presents were fine. And candles.
Sephiroth hadn't known Vincent's birthday because he'd not spoken about it. He was not the type to do so and they'd been dealing with the issues of Amrita and its aftermath besides. Still, there's a sense that the former Turk had half expected this response. Reciprocation isn't necessary but assurance might be.
"Mm. It's the new year." Sephiroth's birthday squeaks into the concept of this fresh slate. The past doesn't count. "...October Thirteenth. Get me something then."
Provided they're still here. But that's not worth stressing about. What's important is that Vincent isn't rejecting the notion of a birthday gift in the future as 'necessary'.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-02 04:05 pm (UTC)October wasn't that long ago. He should have asked, just because HE didn't have anything to celebrate didn't mean others wouldn't, and maybe it was expected. "..I'll remember it."
Maybe Cloud had gotten Vincent something. They were friends, weren't they?
Meanwhile, a second box. This one is more careful to open, the smell of varnish and paint sharp when he bothers to focus on it, and when the painting within is revealed, it's studied in silence, turmoil bubbling up once more.
The woman sitting amongst the flowers is immediately recognizable, he'd been looking at her photograph for years. The locket still kept carefully put away where it would be safe was only a duplicate, the original lost in Rhadore's collapse, but it's still ... the same person. He didn't know even now how he felt about his mother, his human mother. She never fought for him, never looked for him.
But years of dreams and wishes were hard to quash, even knowing she would never actually come for him. Even knowing, they still hadn't really faded. Sometimes they were nightmares too.
Part of him still held onto the hope that maybe one day they'd be reunited. And he could ask her why she left. What the real reason was.
Why he was left in Hojo's care instead. Everyone had left him behind eventually, except for the Professor. Gast had prioritized his own family and left him behind. A parade of aides and technicians. His mother. Hojo had wanted him, took pride in him. So too did his alien mother.
But not the one he'd wanted.
Separating out individual emotions is a trial. There's resentment, bitter sorrow, but also an undercurrent of a lifetime's focus, obsession really, and the yearning that never really went away. If Vincent tried to take it back certainly there'd be a strong negative reaction to such an action, but like so much else.. it's bittersweet. She hadn't wanted him enough to fight for him. But he'd always wanted her.
As silence stretches into minutes, he turns abruptly to step further into the small dwelling, hunting for somewhere to put it, still silent. At least it's obvious what he's doing, and it's not that he's looking for somewhere to HIDE it.
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Date: 2025-01-02 07:51 pm (UTC)Well the last few years were pretty busy one way or another back home on Gaia.
The second package is opened. Both had been gifts in their own way. This however... Vincent is clearly the less certain over. Ruby eyes fall on the likeness of Sephiroth's mother and stir with it a mix of emotions; love being ever laced within it. Even now, with closure and better understanding and the message she'd left for him, that had not truly faded.
But Sephiroth had never had a chance. Because of the decisions of adults, because of sickness that even her love for her baby couldn't overcome. Because Vincent had wallowed in the sense of needing to be punished rather than turning his focus on saving that baby of his beloved.
To the youth, the mental and physical limits of a human body or mind wouldn't matter in the face of a simple question. Why didn't they come for me?
Vincent Valentine didn't know how the gift would have been received. He'd suggested Lucrecia be painted without the scientist's professional trappings. No badge, no coat. But he was also wise in making sure it still was the woman and not the goddess-like visage self imprisoned in crystalline mako.
He wouldn't have been surprised if Sephiroth had lashed out or rejected the gift or put up a restrained and polite gratitude before turning it around and obviously intending to hide it away. The emotions that flooded the bond were certainly the least of what Vincent had expected.
In return there is a line of surprise when the boy turns and begins moving around the house to look for a place. If the cake was placed down, Vincent will retrieve it so it can be delivered to the kitchen- lid placed down again for the time being - but then falls into line to pace after the SOLDIER.
"I brought nails if you need them." There's probably a hammer around here somewhere, right? Tools.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-04 12:17 am (UTC)Maybe it would have been easier to bear if she'd fought for him and been driven off. But she hadn't. One token protest does not count as a fight. And then where was she, for years? But dreams die hard, and somehow he hadn't actually let go of this one.
Somehow he still held onto the delusional wish for a mother.
The cake can be left behind for now, he'll return to it sooner or later. His chosen home isn't very big, but it's not something he wants seen from windows or the doorway in case it tempts anyone.
Something he can still see, though. Even if others weren't allowed to.
"Sometimes I dream about her. Even though.." It's just dreams. "Sometimes, a field like this. Different flowers, different trees. More like Rhadore's, maybe."
His reference point for trees and flowers both, the scents and sights and textures of a drowned archipelago. He doesn't say anything about nails, unwilling to put a hole in the picture. That's what the nails would be for, wouldn't it? "..Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like, if she tried harder to take me."
no subject
Date: 2025-01-04 01:14 am (UTC)Of course the portrait is framed and it has hooks meant to depend from nails drive into wall. Vincent doesn't elaborate because he doesn't know he's been misunderstood; the feelings through the bond aren't that precise. He drifts after the youth and listens. There's maybe a tilt of his head that acknowledges the dreams.
It's curious and there could be a connection, but it's unclear. And he's not one to give false hope. Besides, wouldn't it be incidental?
"Maybe everything. Maybe nothing at all you would have been aware of." If Lucrecia had tried and failed it would have been buried. She might have wound up dead or under further experiments. The company would have covered it up.
That is reality. Yet it's not where the former Turk finishes.
"But ...I do too," Vincent then adds quietly. "I wonder what would have happened if I had fought harder for Lucrecia. Hadn't chosen to let her live the life that made her happy."
She hadn't been, probably. And it wasn't all his fault by any means; but it doesn't change the wondering. Always the questions and never the answers.
"They're questions that never get answered. Hrmph. The only thing that time does is add new ones."
...What would have happened if he'd fought for Sephiroth? ...Well, he'd wondered that before, but it was more pronounced these days.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-08 02:37 pm (UTC)"Maybe nothing then. But it would have been less unpleasant in the retelling." She fought back, and she died for him is different than she ran and hid. It would only have changed things here, the stories told long after she was gone, but it would at least be an inspiration.
If she could fight and die for her causes, so could he. But cowardice is his legacy, from both parents, and he would not behave as they did.
For a long minute the picture is stared at, bitterness twisting in a slow coil with overtones of gratitude - no matter the subject, he'd never gotten a gift before, and the novelty is sharp. If it's accurate, then like his locket - and they were so very similar, it's obvious it's the same woman - it proved who he took after in looks more, not only at the age he was now, but when he was grown. "Did it really make her happy?"
The life she chose.
This. All of this.
no subject
Date: 2025-01-09 01:21 am (UTC)He knows that much about himself. But that depends on a whole other series of events that didn't happen. Knowing where Lucrecia went, when she might have left him behind as to not cause more pain.
Vincent lets out a sigh. The what ifs. He tries not to think too much about them, but he'd be lying to himself to say he never had. And there was no hiding from Sephiroth. As this conversation continued, the old feelings were surfacing. The love and grief; the latter swells so much that, had their bond been even stronger than it becomes, it might have taken one's breath away.
Even if the gunslinger's features don't seem to do much more than grow sad, a little tighter. And... the guilt.
"...No. Not even before she made the choice to subject her child to the experiments." Her research, the obsession, Lucrecia's own grief and guilt that had probably been amplified by the presence of her mentor's son.
"... There was always something. I blinded myself to it. I was... infatuated." A little disgust colors his voice. At himself. He looks directly at Sephiroth, bringing his voice- if not his emotions- back under control.
"That hidden copy of her neural data let me know this. She hadn't wanted any of this to happen the way it did. But... she couldn't bear it or the cruelty. That isn't fair to you. My own choices weren't fair to you. But it can't be undone."
His gaze lowers. He looks tired, but is that any surprise with the emotional turmoil?
"...I don't know if it would be a good or bad thing to meet her." And he knows it's unlikely to be pleasant to see Lucrecia. Even as she is during the youth's time. "But I hope one day you get that opportunity to choose whether to do so." Ruby eyes lift again to look at the framed portrait. "That picture is all I can offer that I haven't already."
His memories of Lucrecia Crescent. He's already shared the location of the cave. Unless he somehow finds a way to return to Sephiroth's timeline, what else can he offer on the matter?