Godsent, Regrettably

[SilverKnight]

Godsent, Regrettably

By SilverKnight



"Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking." --Henry Louis Mencken

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is property of Square-Enix. I write this for my own enjoyment, and intend no infrigement or profit.

Summary: Some people just can't catch a break in life. For Sephiroth, the poster boy for Murphy's Law and the universe's personal chew-toy, it seems that breaks come as rarely as haircuts, as he's chosen by the Planet to redeem himself for his past transgressions--whether he actually *wants* to or not. Rejoice.

Am I wrong for wanting to put a humorous spin on this whole thing? I mean, honestly now. I've seen plenty of "Sephiroth returns from the dead to save the world and redeem himself" fics thus far, and a fair share of them are serviceable, and some are actually quite good. However, I've always felt that poor old Seph could use a little humor in his life, and let's face, after dying twice (well, debatably, anyway), you'd think he would begin to notice how hopelessly screwed he is. Besides, he's got to be smart enough to recognize the irony in his situation.

Also, I'd like to clarify something very quickly. This is not a parody of 'Sephiroth Resurrection Fics' (well, there are ARF's, why not SRF's, too?). Sure, I'll be poking fun at the more common elements seen in some fics, or at some general trends seen in FFVII fanfiction all around, but that's not the point of writing this. My main contention with parodies is that, if you're not careful, they can become just as derivitive and predictable as the thing you're parodying. The reason I'm writing this is just to take a somewhat common plot device/premise and attempt to put a funny spin on it. Hopefully, the meat of the fic itself will be memorable, or, dare I say it, original. So, yeah. Anyway.

Well, anyway, this was inspired by the fic Why Waist Length? (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2266911/1/) written by Silver Pard, and has got to be one of the most utterly *hysterical* stories I've ever read. I highly recommend you reading it. 'Tis funny. :D Anywho, on with the show.

Edit: Whoops. This baby's PG-13. Yay for swearing! >dances<

[SilverKnight]

Prologue: The Rebirth Canal

"You need to update your language skills."
--Sephiroth

Sephiroth was bored.

The area he found himself in was an abyss of darkness in its purest form, which he was floating helplessly in the center of. The inky blanket did not merely surround him, it engulfed him. When he had first arrived, he had attempted to bring his hand to his face, only to find he could not discern so much as a meager outline as he wiggled his fingers back and forth. (He later understood that black garb was, in retrospect, not the most expressive of colors to search for in the dark.) Blankly, he had contemplated if he even *had* a body. There was nothing for his senses to draw upon; he couldn't feel his fingers brushing against the smooth inside of the glove, he couldn't hear the rustling of the cloth or muted squeak of the worn leather, he certainly wasn't about to attempt smelling or tasting anything in this nightmarish hellhole, and sight was quite clearly out of the question.

He soon learned, with a sardonic tilt of his lips, that the sensory deprivation did not apply to his memories. Images and sounds flickered with perfection around him, reliving his life, over and over again, unable to push them away or block them out as he had mastered so long ago. The fire of Nibelheim curling and twisting around his body, the metallic scent of copper and salt choking the air over the battlefields of Wutai, the 'sessions' that left him shrieking for mercy or death on the cold metal slabs of the Shinra laboratory, and more. So many more. It was maddening.

For the first fifty times, at least, which brought him back to his original thought. Boredom.

He had long since discarded the psychotic notion of that creature Jenova possibly holding any maternal rights over him. Reminiscing over his many meetings with his 'mother', he now mulled over why he never questioned how a hulking mass of slick, puffy tissue and leathery tentacles could have sired him; though, he shuddered at the possible answer she might have given him, had the incongruity ever come to light. A talk over the birds and the bees with her was *not* a conversational avenue he wished to take. Since releasing himself from the Crisis' hold, his urge to destroy the world and become a God quickly faded into a silly half-thought that was no longer worth his full attention, barring the occasion of being forced to relive the memories of his unhealthy and destructive behavior while held by it. All things concerned, it wasn't a bad deal.

He sighed, to his limited knowledge. Then again, there was the issue of spending an eternity doing absolutely nothing. Anything was better than this.

A dot of dull green glowed in the far distance. He blinked. What might have either been seconds or a century passed, the pulsing green light growing in intensity, highlighting ribbons of jade that trailed everywhere around him. He turned his head downward, silently overjoyed that he could feel his powerful tendons and muscles working, and grinned. He still had a body! He knew it! It was covered in globs of luminescent green goo, but he was willing to overlook that for the four limbs and torso that it held firmly in place. Thank god for small favors.

The ball of light ambled towards him, bobbing in the sea of emerald green that surrounded them both. He was inwardly delighted to feel his hair stretched behind him, weakly dancing to the same rhythm. Small favors. He gazed up at the light, wondering half-heartedly why he wasn't blind yet, but focused more on what the light was and why it bothered giving him a respite from the ever-lasting boredom that was to be his afterlife.

'You are Sephiroth,' a soft and motherly voice began, its voice originating from what felt like everywhere, 'the child of the Crisis.'

His immediate wonder and curiosity sapped away into annoyance. Figures that spoke in the ye olde tongues of yore, along with those who had a perchance for melodrama never ceased to prick at his ire. And this ball of light, spectacular and awe-inspiring as it may have been, was doing both. "You have me at a disadvantage," he replied, surprised that his voice was somehow carried through the jade sea around him. He found it mildly disconcerting. "I have no idea who you are."

'Oh, but you do, dear child,' it spoke soothingly. He frowned. It also had a flair for the mysterious. Great. 'I am the Planet, the essence that gives the world life.'

A surge of anger rose from within him. The damnable Planet stood--well, floated--before him, eh? His eyes narrowed dangerously, his thin lips twisting into a snarl. "*You*," he spat.

The light dimmed briefly. 'Your malice is misplaced, my prodigal son,' it said softly. 'I never intended you ill harm.'

"Of course not," he seethed. "You simply sent your little Cetra errand girl and her cadre of psychotic friends to do me that 'ill harm' you never intended."

'That was...unfortunate, yes,' the Planet acquiesced. 'However, I nor Aeris had ever intended to do battle with you--merely, to restrain you from dealing me a death blow. The others were not aware of my intents, and were unable to hear me.' It brightened, and from his perspective, the light took on a weak shade of red. 'You sealed your own fate when you murdered my last messenger.'

He chuckled darkly. "You claim ignorance, is that it?" He stopped abruptly, his expression impatient. "What do you want from me?"

'I heard your pleas of penitence and forgiveness,' the light told him calmly.

He furrowed his brow. Pleas of penitence? Who was this silly little Planet being trying to fool? "I don't recall ever pleading for *anything*; not for forgiveness, and most certainly not forgiveness from *you*."

'You need not speak for me to know that you cry out for it,' it answered sagely.

He snorted. "You're kidding me." He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Asking for forgiveness, and more amazingly, doing it without ever being consciously aware of it. Of course. That made perfect sense. Right. "And, merely for the sake of asking, when did I begin to plea for your forgiveness, hm?"

'You have been asking for respite for some time now, young child,' the Planet crooned. 'It was apparent you have become regretful of your deeds and wish to repay them.'

"So, I'm left to assume that 'boredom' isn't a part of your vocabulary, then," Sephiroth remarked out of the side of his mouth, wishing that he could tap his fingers upon something to better exude his growing aggravation with the swirling ball of light in front of him. Damnable Planet. Damnable afterlife. He tugged at his arm, and was not surprised when it didn't budge. Damnable green goo. "Very well, I'll play this little game of yours. I wish to repent for my evil deeds, and am at your command. What do you wish of me, O great Planet?"

Despite its apparent lack of understanding when it came to mind-numbing boredom, it seemed the Planet was very capable of spotting scathing, mocking sarcasm when met with it. 'Do not seek to trifle with me, child of Jenova,' it boomed, its glare turning bright red. 'You have slept in your prison for long enough; you are now of use to me.'

His gaze hardened, a small, mirthless bark of laughter rumbling in his chest. "So, *that* is what this is about. You want to use me as your personal gofer."

'Gofer?' it questioned, annoyed.

He sighed, snapping, "You need to update your language skills." He grit his teeth. "Gofer; errand boy, *puppet*--and, incidentally, after having lived as one for Shinra, and another as Jenova, I will not submit to becoming one again." He smiled, antagonizing the light. "I think I'll just rot."

'You have committed grievous deeds, prodigal son,' the Planet commanded sternly. 'You *will* repay them in full, under my guidance and care.'

"Hmph. *Make* me," he challenged, wishing for nothing more than the ability to cross his arms defiantly over his chest. Floating spread eagle in an abyss of green-tinted nothingness wasn't cutting it. "Even if I *were* to assist you, I refuse to become yet another toy soldier for someone to parade around. I do it my way."

The light chuckled warmly. 'Very well then, my dear Sephiroth. You will leave at once.'

His head leaned forward, cocking to the side minutely in disbelief. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

'I suggest you close your eyes and hold your breath,' it continued unabated.

His unnatural jade green eyes widened a fraction. "What? Wait, that was not an--"

The light brightened, swirling and engulfing him in its radiance. He felt the numb restraints disintegrate, and he moved his stiff limbs into something resembling a defensive stance, his wide green eyes awaiting whatever laid beyond the wall of white.

Suddenly, before he could register what had occurred, the light vanished, and his eyes were assaulted with a thick, watery substance that burned unimaginably. He began to take in a sharp breath, before realizing the very same liquid filled his nose and lungs, searing at the tissue. Fumbling and wild, he thrust his arms and legs out, pushing through the rubbery water with as much speed as he could manage. His right palm connected with a rough wall that sent tendrils of pain up the bone and sinew of his arm, and his fingers curled around the grip as he pulled himself upward.

His slime-covered hands broke the surface first, clawing for the icy floor as his arms, shoulders, and finally head followed. He threw himself onto the rock with a grotesque hack, hunched over and expelling the vile fluid from his lungs as he shook from the biting cold and the unexpected shock to his system. Raising a quaking hand and gulping for air, he ran a mako-saturated hand down his equally coated face, blinking out the syrupy gunk from his inflamed and reddened eyes.

He twisted his head over his shoulder in slow, jerky motions and glared at the lake of day-glow green lifestream that bubbled behind him. As if to mock him, one bubble burst amiably. He glowered, a particularly thick drop of the egg-like goop dropping from his chin and hitting the ground with a wet plop. "--Agreement," he growled roughly.

To be continued...

[Kylewayne]

Wheeeee! I so love how you portray the Final Fantasy characters right down to their personalities. The way you make Sephiroth talk is so him. I love his sarcasm. i'm enjoying your story. So you BETTER KEEP POSTING MORE! :sweat:

*walks away quietly*...>_>

[SilverKnight]

>hugs KW< Thankee! :D

Chapter 1: Dead Man Walking

'He was better off back in the swirling black pit of nothingness the Planet created specially for him; at least there, he didn't have to deal with stupidity run amok.'
--Narration

Sephiroth wandered the lower caverns of the Northern Crater, pondering his current situation. Many of those thoughts revolved around getting some kind of vengeance on the vicious ball of essence that heaped this upon him, his new life be damned. Initially, when he came to the realization that the Lifestream goo was hardening against his skin, he had gotten the idea that he should just sit there in the depths of the cave and let himself be slowly turned into an almost-human popsicle. However, he shortly noted that the frozen green gunk began to melt, due to his body involuntarily adapting to the harsh conditions, he soon decided it would be quicker for him to die of boredom (which, in the Northern Crater, seemed rather likely, anyway) than by any lack of heat.

So, he had set out through the dank, monster-infested caverns, searching for ways he could possibly end his life, just to spite that damnable Planet and her sadistic little whims. Over a period of several hours, he raised and then dismissed:

- Throwing himself off of a cliff,
- Impaling himself on a stalagmite,
- Cutting himself until he bled to death,
- Allowing himself to be eaten by one of the many creatures inhabiting the caves,
- Decapitating himself using a piece of sharpened rock,
- Causing himself to be crushed in a cave-in,
- Leaping back into the Lifestream pool and drowning himself.

He surmised that nearly half of the suicide methods only held an outside chance of actually killing him, if they had one at all. The others, while quite capable of allowing him to shuffle off this mortal coil, seemed entirely too passe and unworthy of the attention necessary to fully realize them. Perhaps it was due to some measure of undue pride, but his previous death(s) due to that spiky-haired failed clone, Cloud Strife, held absolutely none of the memorable qualities he had wanted them to have. The Great General Sephiroth, tripping and falling to his watery grave, his subsequent demise being met by getting run through by an overlong sword and tossed--*again*--into the Lifestream. Bah. Some blazes of glory *those* had been.

No, he decided finally, a pensive expression on his perfectly sculpted face. If he was going to get himself killed, he was going to do it when it meant a damn. As a monster or savior, it didn't matter.

He stopped, his mind whirling around that one thought. What *was* he here for, anyway? That wretch of a voice told him he was of use, doubtlessly here to combat something of terrible nature, but the idiotic thing decided to eject him into the Lifestream without telling him his supposed purpose. He suppressed a groan. He *adored* being shipped to areas without being given a shred of a clue as to what he was there for. He was better off back in the swirling black pit of nothingness the Planet created specially for him; at least there, he didn't have to deal with stupidity run amok.

He heard a malicious growl echo around him. He wheeled around, his fists primed and eyes narrowed. Out of the darkness, a barbaric shadow emerged, its glinting fangs stained pink from blood. Sephiroth frowned slightly, appraising the situation. Here he was, half naked, no armor, no weapon, half frozen, with the beginnings of a tension headache creeping around his temples, and having nowhere near the energy he usually expended on a daily basis while waiting in these miserable caves; while on the other end stood the ill-defined monster that would have very easily been the doom of many a trained men.

He smirked, cracking his knuckles. He liked those odds.

---

Sephiroth sat in front of a crackling fire, the light dancing off of his lean, pale figure, now covered in a large furry pelt that was draped over his shoulders. He poked a bone into the small blaze, repositioning some of the extraneous fur, fats, and small branches to burn better while he offhandedly twirled a sharpened monster's claw in his other hand. He glanced over to the unmoving carcass that rested a few yards away, and harrumphed. Weakling.

His gaze turned to the curved piece of bone he held in his hand, ripped from the monster's forepaw and fashioned using the ample rocks that surrounded him, and sighed. He had been woefully unsuccessful in his search for his masterpiece of a weapon, the Masamune. He longed for its comforting steely presence at his waist. Walking around without it made him feel as though he were missing a limb; a very long, sharp, and metallic limb that could slice through steel as easily as a knife could through butter. He knew, he tested that metaphor often enough. Ah, the memories.

He shook his head and brought his attention to the matter at hand; his purpose on this wretched planet once again. He supposed it would have been just as easy to relapse into his previous behavior--carve a vast swath of death and destruction to every area he came upon--but the prospect of bringing countries' whole to their knees all along the countryside with wanton, depraved abandon seemed to lose its flavor in the time his mortality had been indisposed. After all, he'd already done it, why bother doing it again? There was also the matter of the public's reaction to his sudden resurfacing. Doubtlessly, should he ever show his face in some sort of public setting--for *whatever* reason--Strife and his little band of friends would come charging to the rescue to 'save the world' from him once again. He wanted to avoid that event, if possible; at least, in a place that wasn't of his choosing.

He gazed into the fire. Strife and his allies--what did they call themselves, again? AVALANCHE?--would prove a great hindrance if he were forced to fend them off at every turn. If he *had* been brought back to this rotten little mudball for the sake of saving the Planet's proverbial hide, then perhaps...

Sephiroth shook his head suddenly. No. That would never work. Regardless, he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to find his purpose first, and then worry about how to go about achieving it.

His eyes wandered to the cold, slate gray ground beneath him, and--petty and childish as it may have been--he jabbed his foot out, kicking it roughly with his heel. "Damnable Planet," he grunted. "You bring me back to life without telling me what it is I'm here to do!"

"It was *your* idea to do this without the Planet's help, remember?"

He shot to his feet, the pelt fluttering to the ground with a rush of wind as he brandished his sharpened claw defensively, scanning the darkness. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

A woman's faint chuckle bounced off the frozen rocks, sounding innocent and wise simultaneously. He frowned slightly. Not to mention creepy. "I won't repeat myself," he commanded darkly. "Show yourself before I come looking."

"There's no need to get impatient, Sephiroth," the female voice replied, gently chiding. "I'm right behind you."

His teeth bared, he wheeled around, flipping the claw in his grip and beginning a downward arc to the foolish little--

Despite himself, he froze before he finished the maneuver, his guarded expression barely suppressing his utter shock.

The brunette smiled warmly. "Surprised to see me?" she prodded, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

He blinked. This couldn't have been right. It *had* to be some kind of hallucination--

"Cat got your tongue, I guess?" she asked lightly. "Okay, I'll start the introductions, then." She nodded her head in a slight bow. "Hi, I'm Aeris Gainsborough. Nice to meet you."

To be continued...

[SilverKnight]

Oh crud, yeah, have to add the next chapter! Hah! :sweat:

Chapter 2: Misery and Co.

"...I would have to conclude that I'm going insane. Again."
--Sephiroth

It was a sick joke. It had to be. "What?"

Aeris' grin never faltered. "I said, I'm--"

"I heard what you said," Sephiroth snapped, irritated and confused. Warily, he took a step back, bringing his hands to his side as he appraised the woman before him. In every way it looked like that Cetra flower-girl, Aeris Gainsborough. Short, brunette with her hair mostly pulled back, pink dress, red jacket, wide green eyes that were devoid of any intelligence whatsoever--it definitely appeared to be her. However, he had learned early on about the age old adage about appearances. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Her fine brows dipped, mildly confused. "What do you mean?"

Perchance for asking stupid questions. This apparition did its homework. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that *you* have been revived as well? Do you think I was born yesterday?"

"Well, actually, if you want to be technical--"

Annoying habit of replying to statements that were rhetorical in nature. This creature was very convincing. "There are many theories as to why you're standing here in front of me at this moment," he began, more for 'her' benefit than his. He disliked detailing his train of thought to another, and certainly disliked doing so to a potential enemy, but if it could get her to shut up, he was willing to take the risk. "You could be a figment of my imagination; some kind of visual extension of my conscience that has been dormant for, well, the entirety of my life," he offered, "at which point, I would have to conclude that I'm going insane." He paused. "Again."

He brought a large hand to his chin as he continued. "You could also be the product of Jenova or some other malevolent creature or construct with the aim of manipulating me into trusting them to achieve their own aims." He glared at her. She smiled. He shook his head in disgust. "*Or*--and I do find this the most unlikely--you could actually be Aeris Gainsborough standing here, either in spirit or in the flesh, in order to do..." He trailed off, glancing at her patient face out of the corner of his eye as his hand flipped through the chilled air, attempting to think of her possible reason for being here. Much like his own, though, he drew a blank. "...*Whatever* it is that you normally do. Meddle in things, most likely. It seems to be a strong point of yours."

Her expression became thoughtful, and almost mildly hurt. "I never meddled in things," she pouted.

The uncanny ability to miss the point of any given conversation. His suspicions over her authenticity began to wane as he continued to glare at her. Oblivious, she continued, "In fact, it was usually *other* people who meddled with *me*."

Hojo. He kept his face blank, despite his sudden swelling urge to eviscerate someone with greasy black hair. (Incidentally, it was that lone comparison in conjunction with a stray thought in Hojo's direction that had gotten Tseng killed in the Temple of the Ancients. Pity, he always rather liked Tseng. Greasy black hair aside.) He sighed gruffly. "I'll make this simple. Who are you, and why are you here?"

The woman grinned blithely. "I'm Aeris Gainsborough," she answered, "the *real* one. The *only* one. I hope, anyway."

He consciously restrained himself from reaching for his weapon. "And your purpose in this frozen wasteland?"

She straightened, her chin lifting ever so slightly in hidden strength. Had Sephiroth not found it so utterly pathetic looking, he might have otherwise thought it an admirable attempt. "I'm here to guide you."

He immediately scoffed, shaking his head. "*Guide* me? In that case, it's a wonder I'm not dead already."

"Again?" she asked sweetly.

He flipped the makeshift bone knife in his hand and brought it to the fore threateningly, his glower as sharp as the Masamune's tip. "I suggest you watch your tongue, little Cetra," he hissed, "if you wish to keep it."

Her eyes bounced from his face, to the knife, and back to his face before her smile widened. "I don't think *that's* going to do you much good," she replied matter-of-factly, "seeing as how I'm currently between lives."

His expression darkened. "What are you talking about?"

She snorted mirthfully, a half-smile on her thin rose lips. "What do you *think* I'm talking about? I'm *dead*; gone, pushing up daisies." She motioned to herself. "What you see in front of you is just my essence--a projection created and maintained by the Planet. I'm not physically here."

Cautious, he lowered his weapon and strolled forward. He stopped a foot away from where she appeared to stand, well within arm's reach and towering over her petite form, and moved to grasp her shoulder roughly.

It passed through.

Frowning, he pulled his arm in a downward arc, his fingers harmlessly gliding through where her body should have been. Her half-smile brightened a shade in amusement as his frown deepened, swiping his hand back and forth several times as if he were clearing the air, his silver brows knitted. Finally, he straightened his hand, and jabbed them into where her torso should have been, absentmindedly wiggling his fingers at nothing. He always considered that area of the lower torso beneath the pectorals but above the upper abdomen to be his favorite spot on the human body to attack, he was never quite sure why. Perhaps it was due to some sort of neurosis; given his track record, he wouldn't have been surprised if it were.

She looked down at his hand, seeming to find it both amusing and disturbing to find it submerged up to his wrist in her non-existent chest cavity. "Are you satisfied?"

Reluctantly, he withdrew, his arm falling to his side in near defeat. He couldn't kill her again. He couldn't even forcibly keep her mouth shut. He ignored the dull sense of foreboding the revelation brought. "Regrettably," he grumbled, shifting his stance and crossing his arms. "You've still yet to tell me why you've returned to this Godforsaken pit. 'Guiding me' isn't a sufficient answer."

"Sure, it is," she replied. "Because you refused the Planet's offer to hear it directly, now I'm here in its stead to make sure you get the message loud and clear."

He crossed his arms, irked. "So, you can hear the Planet?" She nodded. "Then, please be obliged to ask it why in the blue hell I'm even *here*. I never agreed to this nonsense!"

Aeris wound her arms behind her back, swaying back and forth innocently. "Oh, yes you *diiid*." She straightened, the joy draining from her face in what he assumed was her attempt to mimic him. He summarily came to the conclusion that she was horrible at it. "'I wish to repent for my evil deeds, and am at your command. What do you wish of me, O great Planet?'"

He ground his teeth together in pent-up fury. "The Planet is not a fan of sarcasm, I see."

Her grin returned, as bright and obnoxious as ever. "Well, it's your fault for being sarcastic with it in the first place, what with the Planet deciding your fate and all."

He dismissed her reasoning with a caustic snort. "You mean to tell me in all your years, you have never once spoken to it in a sardonic manner?"

"Of course I have," she answered. Impossibly, her grin got even wider. "But then, I didn't try to commit genocide before I did it."

He grunted, turning his head away. He was getting lectured by Annoying Flower Girl with an IQ of 12. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He was certain he could have bested her tenuous use of logic, but didn't feel bothered to try. There were more important things at hand. At least, he was assuming so. "So, Cetra--"

"Aeris--"

"--What is it that I am supposed to do?" he finished tersely, what little patience he had left wearing thin. When she didn't answer, he faced forward to see her small, rounded face squinched in indecision. "...You *do* know what we're supposed to do, don't you?"

She stared up at him with a sheepish expression and gave him a weak half-smile.

In the recesses of his mind, several of his brain-cells committed suicide. "You can *NOT* be serious!" he exploded. "What kind of a guide are you?!"

Patient understanding flooded her features again, and he instantly knew he didn't want to hear it. "I know, I know, the Planet can be vague--"

"Vague?" he snapped. "No, not at all. 'Vague' is what you get when you ask a corner vendor in Midgar for directions. *This* is *incompetence*!" He glowered at the ground beneath his feet, not caring how idiotic he probably looked in doing so. "It's no wonder you're constantly being assaulted! Some grand intelligence *you* are!"

"*If* you'd let me finish," Aeris began tartly, her authoritative tone catching his attention for her sheer audacity, if nothing else. He could count the number of people on one hand that ever talked to him in that fashion and didn't die by his hand at some later date. Of course, she was already dead by his hand, so he wasn't sure which category to put her in. "Thank you. I was going to say that the Planet is being vague about what it wants you to do because it doesn't know specifically how you're needed, just yet. It only knows that a problem exists, and that you could do a lot of good by helping the Planet solve it."

"If the Planet doesn't know why it needs my help yet, it could have simply waited until it did and *then* sent me," he corrected sharply.

She pondered his words momentarily. "Maybe it figured that you could be sent to scout the problem from afar and intervene when the time is right."

His expression, disparaging as it was, darkened even further. "If that's the case, why didn't the Planet just send *you*? You're dead; what do you have to worry about?"

Aeris shrugged.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed, his eyes aflame. He was used to dealing with bumbling idiots. He had worked under Shinra for years, he had to live with incompetence on a daily basis. In some cold, unused part of his psyche, he felt a sort of pity for them. But *this*... This went far beyond his recommended tolerance of buffoonery. He closed his eyes, valiantly attempting to calm himself.

"So, what do you think we should do?"

His eyes snapped open. He wanted to kill her. Badly. It wasn't as if she wouldn't go back to her little plane of existence anyway. Just one cut, one snap of a vertebrae--he'd die (yet again) a happy man; or something closer to happy. At this point, he'd even settle for simply maiming her or causing her severe discomfort. Something. Anything.

She blinked, slightly unnerved. "What? I was just asking. You're the great tactician."

"And you're the guide," he said flatly.

She smiled self-consciously. "Oh, right."

Somehow, he held back the scoff of disgust. Some guide. He'd get better directions from a monkey. He shook his head, suddenly weary. "Very well, then," he muttered under his breath. "I have nothing better to do, anyway."

Aeris' face brightened as she clasped her hands in front of her gleefully. "So, you'll help?"

Annoyed, he turned away from her and picked up the shaggy blue pelt that had dropped to the cavern floor. 'Yes, rub it in my face, why don't you? Harpy.' "Was that ever in doubt?"

"Yes," she replied.

He very nearly rolled his eyes, stifling a sigh as he draped the fur over his shoulders again. "I'm nowhere near at full strength yet; I'll rest for the night, and we'll make our way out of this damnable cave tomorrow," he decided, settling against a large rock by the crackling fire.

"Everything's damnable to you, isn't it?" she chirped, a grin in her voice.

A migraine began to twist around the curves of his skull. The Planet would pay dearly for this. Even *he* wasn't deserving of this...torture. "I assume you have no need of rest. Make yourself useful and search for my armor and weapon while I do."

Aeris frowned indignantly. "I'm your guide, not your slave."

He shot her a glare. "My...*mission*," he spat, "will be made easier with them, and as you know, the faster I succeed, the faster you can return to your little section of hell and talk yourself into a coma."

"I'm not *that* talkative," she grumbled.

He twitched. If he didn't already have gray hair... "You're here to assist me, are you not? So, *assist*," he snapped, jabbing a hand from the warmth of his makeshift blanket and into the chilled night air. Hopefully, this time around she would take the hint that this was better for all parties involved. He could rest, and she could be somewhere he wasn't. It was perfect.

She hesitated, her hands against her hips. Eventually, she sighed in defeat and trudged past him. "You could have at least said *please*..."

Sephiroth shook his head, muttering, "Why would I ever ask for such an unwanted annoyance?"

She stopped, whirling around to glower angrily at him. Her attitude almost reminded him of a Malboro, except she was pink and completely non-threatening. He might have been impressed, had the derisive chuckle not instinctively bubbled from his throat. "If *that's* the way you're going to act, you can find your own lousy armor!"

"And if that's the way *you* want to act, you might as well shuffle off back to your precious little Promised Land and watch while your friends are whittled away by an enemy powerful enough to warrant my immediate presence," he shot back, an arrogant leer twisting his expression. She remained silent, a little pink ball of seething rage. "Or would you rather just look for my armor?"

Her dainty fists shook with repressed anger, and with a huff, she turned on her heel and marched out of the dingy alcove. His grin widened, the dim fire catching the contours and casting a wicked shadow across his pale face. 'That felt good.' Shifting to try and find a more comfortable spot, Sephiroth's eyelids drooped and finally closed, the slightest of smirks still upon his lips.

---

Well, Sephiroth concluded, his initial thoughts had been correct. This *was* a sick joke, which he was, unfortunately, the butt of.

He adjusted the strap that ran across his torso, finding the groove the clasp had worn into it. While he had gathered his strength--he refused to say he was 'sleeping'--Aeris, Queen Shrew of the North, had successfully located his custom tailored leather coat and tempered steel shoulder armor, citing that they apparently were being used as some Behemoth's snot-rag. However, when he stood and expected her to lead the way, she stood firm and still, her bony arms tucked beneath her bosom in defiance. "I said I'd find them; I never said I'd tell you where they were."

A lengthy argument had ensued, which Sephiroth--though he would rather cut out his own tongue before admitting--found rather invigorating, in a rather psychologically unhinged way. He couldn't fault himself if he were unstable; having died and being resurrected twice would take their toll upon anyone's psyche, and his was about as damaged as it could get. Had he pondered further, he might have realized that he was proud of that, but he had been too engrossed with giving the shrew what for.

He had won the argument by a large margin, and he soon reclaimed his beloved leather trenchcoat and armor from the snarling monster's clutches. From that point, it took him nearly an hour to clean the rancid slobber from the articles of clothing, and nearly a full fifteen minutes to attach and clasp all the necessary belts, buckles, and ties in their proper place, the pink-clad harpy watching with an amused expression that was distinctly non-saintly. So much for her pure white martyr image.

"You fuss with your clothing more than a super-model," Aeris declared cheekily, a smirk tugging at her lips.

He sniffed disdainfully, but didn't bother to reply, choosing instead to direct all his ill-begotten annoyance into a scowl aimed at the cavern floor. 'I despise you.'

"Are you done waxing hatred at your feet, yet?" she jibed.

"Why are you in such a particular rush to leave?" he griped, throwing a vexed glance her way.

"Well, like you said," she began, "the sooner I help you accomplish your mission, the sooner I can leave."

He chuckled contemptuously. "And I suppose the fact that we could very well be running into your little blond boy toy at any given moment isn't another factor in your zeal?" She balked, her pale, rounded face gaping with open shock and resentment. He flashed her a grin that was nothing short of venomous and started off without her. Sephiroth, 2; Bothersome Cetra Girl, 0.

The trip through the Northern Crater was blissfully silent. In actuality, sounds of all kind were echoing through the large crevasses of the snowy cavern, from the subtle dripping of water to the roar and whinny of various creatures that inhabited the open sore of the planet. However, Sephiroth was pleased by the conspicuous lack of sound from his dearly departed companion, and cared not a bit for whatever else was wriggling in the darkness. They wouldn't dare attempt to talk his ear off in an aggravating, high-pitched, nasal whine. (A portion of him consented that her voice was, in fact, nowhere near nasal, but he was more concerned with smearing her image as thoroughly as possible, and what use was the truth in the hallowed art of mud-slinging?)

His heavy boot dropped onto the top ridge lining the Northern Crater, paying no mind to the powerful winds that would have instantly frozen nearly anyone else. The Cetra pulled herself to the precipice, scampering to her feet with all the lithe balancing abilities of a professional drunk. Briefly, he wondered how and why it was that she seemed able to interact with some objects around her and yet still be allowed the undeniably useful ability of phasing through others. Damn the Planet's inconsistency--couldn't it do anything right?

He sighed. "Do you have any information of use?"

Aeris pointed south, her long chestnut braid flailing in the harsh winds. Damn inconsistent Planet. "Icicle is that way."

His gaze remained forward, though his expression went flat with annoyance. "Do you have any information of use that I don't already know?" he clarified curtly. "Perhaps some information donated by the Planet. It would be most helpful."

She shook her head. "I haven't been able to contact the Planet since I got here." He was almost tempted to laugh. She was a medium to the essence of the Planet itself, and she was getting a cosmic busy signal. Just his luck. "The crater itself might be blocking it, somehow."

Distractedly, he glanced at her. "Then why are you still standing here?" She cocked her head to the side in confusion. He tried to ignore the initial comparison he made with a Labrador. "You're a projection of the Planet, correct? If your connection to the Planet is somehow blocked, then it stands to reason that you as well would be having difficulties remaining as you are, and yet you appear perfectly sound. So, I ask again, why?"

She blinked. "Um..."

His head drooped tiredly, wondering why he even bothered wasting his breath. "Nevermind." He nodded at the horizon brusquely and began to trudge through the snow field. "We'll head to Icicle, and figure out what to do from there. That is, unless the Planet feels the sudden need to keep me abreast like it should have done in the first place."

"It *was* your idea to do this on your own," Aeris reminded him again, easily keeping up as she walked atop the snow drifts without sinking. Damned inconsistencies.

"It was *not* my idea to fumble around like an idiot and waste precious time because it was stupid enough to take my words to the most extreme literal," he shot back. Damned *Planet*.

"You're resourceful," she reassured, her feather-light voice somehow carrying through the winds with more ease than his own powerful tenor. His awareness of that only served to bristle him further. "I'm sure you've managed with less."

He was unable to stop the bark of mocking laughter from escaping his wind-chapped lips, though admittedly, he put virtually no effort into restraining himself. "It heartens me to know that if you give me nothing else useful, you have given me your vote of confidence. Now I can sleep at night."

"I thought you said you didn't sleep," she said, caught between confusion and suspicion.

Sephiroth shook his head. She was as oblivious to sarcasm as the Planet was. Wretched fools, the both of them.

Her face lit up suddenly. "Hey, I just thought of something."

"Congratulations," he snarked.

She made a face at him, her nose wrinkling up in what Strife would have assuredly thought was an adorable looking sneer. He thought it just made her look like a rabid squirrel. "What do we do when we get there? People are bound to see us."

"Let them," he returned simply, steadfastly marching through the field of crystalline ice. Anonymity had never been his forte, even if he *were* capable of hiding the knee-length silver hair, glowing green eyes, immaculate build, and the sharp, aristocratic facial features. If anyone was idiotic enough to come within twenty feet of him, woe to them and half-hearted condolences to their next-of-kin. No, stealth had never been high on his list of priorities.

"But--"

"Even if they recognize us, it's unlikely that they would try contacting anyone for outside assistance while we were still there," he explained brusquely, effortlessly slipping into his oft-missed General routine, his tone commanding and casually impatient.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, though?" the Cetra questioned, hustling next to him with her hands clasped in front of her. "I mean, you tried to destroy the world and all, wouldn't broadcasting your return complicate matters a bit?"

He bit back the sigh. "One; I'm not 'broadcasting my return', and two; as I've already said, even if anyone in Icicle let the outside world know that I am, in fact, alive again--and that's an outside chance at best; Icicle is isolated, and the townsfolk would sooner face impending doom than risk losing their all-important privacy--it would take weeks for word to travel far enough to hamper us, and longer still for people to care enough in order to believe it."

"You have a really cynical outlook on life, don't you?" she quipped.

"*Life* is cynical," he retorted. "Or haven't you already noticed that?" She blinked, taken aback. Sephiroth, 3; Cetra Witch, still zero.

"What if someone there tries to stop you?" she queried, her voice wavering with a sudden worry that was easy to spot even through the howling winds.

He remarked, "Only a fool would try to stand in my way." He cast a pointed, meaningful glare in the Cetra's direction.

For once, the notion wasn't lost upon her. A delicate eyebrow arched. "I guess so," she replied slowly, with a calculating edge to it that he found mildly disconcerting, "though I don't think I need to remind you who actually *won* that fight in the end, hm?"

Sephiroth's piercing blue-green eyes narrowed dangerously. Damn her! He inwardly railed against the fact that she had a point, but more so was enraged that she ruined his chances at a shut-out. Begrudgingly, he scraped a single tally under the 'Bothersome Pink Shrew' column, grumbling all the while. He glimpsed at her out of the corner of his eye, and caught the hints of a smug grin on her pale cherubic face.

He scowled. Life was indeed cynical, and, much to his chagrin, had the devious, morally bankrupt sense of humor to match. He glared at the ground again. 'I *really* despise you.'

"You're waxing hatred at your feet again."

"Shrew."

---

Icicle was bustling, or about as much as a pathetic ice-covered hamlet *could* bustle in the middle of February. In a blizzard. One that just so happened to start raining down icy doom upon Sephiroth--conveniently passing through the sickeningly joyous 'guide' that traveled alongside him, damn it all--the second he got within sight range of said pathetic ice-covered hamlet. Oh, how he loved life. The meddlesome, vindictive *****.

"Well, we're here!" Aeris exclaimed happily, staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

He wearily glared back through his own half-lidded ones, snowflakes piling onto his long silver lashes in the most pestering fashion; nevermind the snow that caked his hair, armor, clothing, and bare skin with enough speed that even his highly adaptable body couldn't keep up, lest he char-broil his own brain in the process. 'No, dear guide, that's quite alright--just continue to stand there and smile happily while your charge freezes to death in front of you. Imbecile.'

She blinked. "What? Aren't you glad we're here?"

A puff of steam escaped his nostrils, not unlike the way a dragon would react to an outsider's unwanted presence before devouring them whole--if they were lucky, and he stomped to the Inn that was, thankfully, only several yards from where they stood. (Or, more accurately, where *she* stood, and he hardened into a Sephiroth-shaped ice statue, complete with rigid, commanding pose. Destructive weapons sold separately.) "After arranging a room and waiting for the storm to pass, we will head out to gather the necessary items," he divulged as he tromped, ignoring the way the words came out slightly slurred due to his numb face, nor particularly caring if the pink witch followed or not. Dead people didn't have to worry about frostbite.

She nodded wordlessly, if a bit nervously. He would have sneered at her tendency towards the overemotional, but found that the effort it took to speak a single sentence was draining enough. He settled for glowering with disapproval. He unwound his arms from around his torso with more difficultly than he would have liked, reaching out and yanking the front door open to slip inside.

Delicious warmth assaulted his bone-chilled body, his pale and tightly drawn face prickling from the sudden heat that it desperately needed. In reality, it hurt like hell, but he didn't care. Warmth was warmth. Shaking out some the snow from his ridiculously long locks, he strode to the astounded man behind the counter, squaring his shoulders to hide his haggard appearance. He reluctantly motioned to the untouched waif of a girl next to him. "We would like a room," he said authoritatively, his fiery gaze letting the owner know in no uncertain terms that he should keep his mind out of the proverbial gutter and on the task at hand.

In response, a confused countenance crossed his hardy, graying features. "...Eh, 'scuse me, lad?"

"We. Would like. A room," the ex-General repeated, his tone volcanic.

He quailed at the dangerous timbre of his voice, but none the less replied, "Erm, *who* would?"

A low growl bubbled up from his parched throat. "Who do you *think*? Me and the girl."

The alarm grew in his sunken brown eyes, but it wasn't the kind of 'obey me or die' fear Sephiroth had been going for--it was the more recognizable, 'Who let this lunatic out in public?' fear, and for all his pride and ego, he couldn't say that he missed the look. "Wh-what d-do you..." he spluttered.

Impatience and fatigue won out, and he slammed his fist on the lacquered pine counter. "Out with it, old man!"

The gray-haired coot jumped and sucked in a breath. "*What* girl?"

To be continued...

[SilverKnight]

Chapter 3: Death to the Waiting Game

"Twenty-four hour service, my ass."
--Sephiroth

Sephiroth blinked. "What?" He mentally noted to try and speak more eloquently when thrown completely off-guard, though he consoled himself by saying that he had little experience in the field of being clueless and was allowed a few errors in handling the reaction. It didn't help much.

The look the codger was giving him intensified. "Eh...I hate to tell ya, lad, but, erm, you're the only one standing here."

He spared a fleeting glance at Aeris, conveying this thoughts quite clearly even though they made eye-contact for a split second. 'What in the hell is going on, and why are *you* not doing anything about it?' Quickly, his sharp analytical mind began forming likely explanations, none of which he liked in the slightest, while taking in a very slow, measured breath that the old man behind the counter would have taken as guarded worry. "I suppose she did not enter with me," he lied effortlessly. "I should go search for her."

The wrinkled tender nodded. "Aye, ya should, lad." The idiot fell for it. He wasn't certain whether to be impressed at his own lying abilities or amazed at the old man's stupidity. "D'ya want me to help an' search--"

"No!" he replied instantly, followed by a hasty, "That is, perhaps it would be best if you were to remain here in case she is to arrive while I'm looking, in case she is in need of medical attention."

Aeris smiled warmly. "I didn't know you cared."

"I *don't*," he snapped, immediately catching himself as the codger blinked. "Um, I don't believe she will require much aid, if any at all. She is a very..." 'Annoying, useless, idiotic--' "*Resilient* individual."

Warily, the graying man nodded. "Alright, lad. You look out for y'self, now!"

"Indeed," was his only reply as he strode to the door, and ever-so reluctantly left the safety of the warm cabin and stepped out into the unforgiving snowstorm that raged outside of it. No sooner had the door clicked shut (with a very stout, plated shoulder backing it) than he wheeled around to face the bemused Ancient next to him. "Answers. *Now*."

The corners of her lips turned into a worried frown. "I don't--"

"Don't say it!" he commanded in full-fledged General-mode, with the 'Disapproving Superior' add-on set to 'Shoot the Messenger'.

"But--"

"Don't!" he repeated, pointing a warning finger at her.

"I mean I--"

"*Don't*!"

She exhaled sharply. "Will you *be quiet*?!"

Astounded, he momentarily fell silent, mouth hanging open in mid-refutation.

"*Man* is that annoying," she hissed under her breath. "I was going to say--"

"*What* did you just say to me?" he asked, still incredulous. *No one*, not even those who were masochistic enough to dare interrupt him, ever did so in such a blatant manner. 'She has spunk.'

Aeris snorted. "And you think *I* don't listen? Pay attention!"

The minute glow of his Mako-eyes brightened. '...I *hate* spunk.'

"I was *going* to say that I don't think I can contact the Planet from here," she continued with a tone that was simultaneously arctic and blazing. "So if you really want those answers so badly, I'm going to have to return to the Planet and figure out what's going on." She fixed him with a glower that would have melted steel. "Is that alright with *you*?"

Thrown off guard by her sudden and uncharacteristic hostility (he blamed the damnab--er, rotten snow), he blinked and queried with mild disdain, "Since when are *you* so combative? You always seemed the eternally quiet and sweet type."

The anger dissipated from her face, and she shamefully turned away, clearing her throat. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"That doesn't answer my question," he prodded expectantly.

She shrugged, fiddling with her hands. "Well, it's just...I mean..." She sighed. "I'm really sorry."

"That *still* doesn't answer my question," he retorted, annoyed.

Aeris looked at him, a small frown tugging her lips. "Fine. You're bossy, rude, and...well, a flat-out jerk. Why am *I* so combative? Why are *you* so combative?"

He took a breath to answer when he surmised that he had none on hand to give. Barring the string of horror stories that only a fool would call a childhood, his grueling training regiment to get into SOLDIER and rise through the ranks, and his near constant physical and emotional alienation from everything that even the most disreputable of humanity was allowed to have without difficulty--no, he couldn't think of a reason at all. Then his extremities demanded why he was even bothering with this argument. "My communication skills are irrelevant," he stated. "And anyways, I asked first."

She sighed exasperatingly, attempting to pin him with a glare. It didn't work. "You could try the patience of a saint." She glanced away again. "And saint I'm not."

"I know." He smirked slightly, in spite of the various nerve-endings of his body that had gone on strike and were currently picketing outside the front door of his Cerebellum.

She looked up curiously. "Know what? That I'm no saint, or that you're a pain in th--" She cut herself off when his gaze darkened. "Um, very stubborn."

"How long will it take for you to confer with the Planet?" he asked instead.

"Huh?" she grunted softly, staring at him. Again, he was unable to ignore the Labrador/Aeris comparison. "Oh! I'm not sure. It doesn't take too long to move from one plane to another, but I don't know how long it will take before the Planet can answer me." She smiled understandingly, and Sephiroth, through sheer force of will, kept his eye from twitching spasmodically. "The Planet has more things to attend to than just me, after all."

"Hmph. Enjoy your stay in the waiting room," he quipped frigidly, a bored expression crossing his features.

Her brows knitted. "Waiting room?"

Somewhere, he realized he was looking forward to oblivion. Home sweet hell. "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to find out what the devil's happening?"

She frowned. "You're welcome." Her attention drew inward as she clasped her hands in front of her, in an oddly familiar way that made his fingers itch with the urge to wield his precious Masamune again. The Cetra's emerald eyes began to glow brightly, and he wasn't certain whether he actually saw or was just imagining the green light bouncing off the snow particles that passed around--and through--her. She sucked in a breath, her form winking out in the same fashion a hologram would.

After spending a moment silently celebrating that the witch was gone, even if it disheartened him to know it was only temporary, Sephiroth steadfastly ignored the protests of his limbs and focused on what to tell that codger behind the counter. He tapped a finger to his chin in thought, and as was often his way of working through dilemmas (though luckily no one ever caught on), he unconsciously posed his current predicament as if it were a problem on a written exam.

Question: If your only means of shelter was a small hotel run by an idiotic old man that had believed you to be out finding your companion that had apparently never been there, how would you answer his initial response of, "Found anythin', lad?"

A) The simple lie. "She never existed, and was simply a figment of my imagination." No.
B) The complex lie. "I couldn't find her, and she's probably dead by now, anyway, so I'd like to take a room before I suffer the same fate." No. Tempting, but no.
C) The Fear of God tactic. "Mind your damn business, you old coot, if you want to live to see tomorrow." Hm, it had potential...
D) The truth. "She was a ghost projected to aid me by the Planet." Good Lord, no.
E) Other. (Please Specify Below)

He sighed, the plume of steam being dragged away in the harsh winds. Stepping back inside, he gathered what part of his wits hadn't been frozen solid and looked at the tender, only to belatedly discern that he had spent the past five seconds gaping at the wall instead of his leathery, wrinkled face. The ex-General blinked, then scowled as deeply as his muscles would allow, disliking how sluggish his reaction time was becoming. He was trained to react instantaneously in any environment; perhaps all that time spent in Death's domain had changed him, somehow...

'Yes, death usually makes one weaker,' he snapped to himself. Another might have been disturbed to realize that they were arguing with themselves, but another also might not have razed a town to the ground or attempted to destroy the world. Conformity was for losers, anyway.

His ever-acute ears pricked up at the sound of a faint radio whine, followed by static. His head snapped in the direction of the white noise, eyes narrowing at the ajar lacquered oak door. He stole to the front desk, and seeing no easy bypass around the four foot tall pine counter that arched from wall to wall, he planted his hands on the bar-top and vaulted over it, landing in crouch that looked more feline than human. The slit pupils and aquamarine eyes that seemed to reflect light like a mirror when caught at a particular angle certainly didn't help in that regard. Silently, he made his way to the cracked door, leaning forward to hear the words more clearly.

"...Aye, a tall fellow in black..." Pause. "...Aye, he's an odd one. Scary fella, really. Not sure if I shoulda let him out there alone--"

The old man was calling for help. He resisted the urge to swear.

Option C it was.

Sephiroth launched from his position, crossed the cramped, disorganized back office in two strides, and slammed the flat of his palm against the plump little man's chest; sending him back into his wooden chair with a heavy thump as his cheap headset went flying. Without pause, one hand jammed down the 'Mute' button while the other brandished his trophy claw-turned-dagger and pressed it to the graying man's throat. "What do you think you're doing?"

The tender, shocked, winded, and terrified beyond all reason, simply stammered and wheezed; cataract eyes glassy and wide.

"Listen carefully, old man," he began, his voice a vicious growl deep in his throat. It paid to have a baritone. "I do not plan on making my appearance known in this frozen-over little squat on the Planet, nor do I intend to do so anywhere else. Know that I have no inclination to harm you." Honestly put, he didn't feel the need to waste the effort on killing him; washing excess blood and ichor from his clothes and hair was always such a hassle. Rancid Behemoth snot was nothing by comparison. "*However*, if you jeopardize my anonymity in any way whatsoever--" He leaned in, letting his silver locks fall into his ardent blue-green eyes ever so slightly--or they would have, had the melting snow not plastered his bangs against his face--as the bone dug fractionally deeper into the man's fleshy neck. "--I will be forced to reconsider that."

The codger found his voice, shaky as it was. "I-I was just--"

Faintly, he heard a voice waft from the discarded headset. The coot's eyes frantically flickered over to them and back. Sephiroth repeated the movement himself, sans the mind-numbing fear, and carefully reached for the apparatus behind him while he kept eye-contact with his new-found hostage. After fumbling for half a second, his fingers curled around the thin aluminum band, and he brought one of the itchy, black-padded phones to his ear, listening intently.

"...Merv? Merv, are ya there? ...Where should we gather the search party for the girl?"

A silver eyebrow arched. "Search party?"

Fervently, Merv nodded. "A-aye, a search party! F-for your lady friend out there!" He gulped. "Ya left before I could ask if ya wanted anyone else to come with ya or not, so I decided t' call for some others to help ya look, anyway."

A good Samaritan. In this day and age. Just his luck.

Question: Now what, stupid?

A) The simple lie. "...I was looking for the bathroom?" He would have rather eat dirt than use such a lame excuse like that.
B) The complex lie. "I'm being hunted by the authorities of, well, everywhere, and I believed you to be contacting whatever local police force you have in this area." No, then he might have tried contacting them at a later date. Even though he could just kill him. Bah. He marked it as a 'maybe'.
C) The Fear of God tactic. "Mention a word of this to anyone, and you'll be spelunking a Malboro's stomach before the day is out." Obviously that wouldn't earn him brownie points, or most likely get him anywhere productive, but he still kept the option open.
D) The truth. "I'm an ex-meglomaniac that you're miraculously not aware of, and if anyone knows that I'm back again, my hide will eventually wind up adorning a monument somewhere." ...No, needless to say.
E) Other. (Please Specify Below)

"Search party," he repeated flatly.

Merv nodded.

He was unused to the concept of being wrong; he disliked it. A lot. Swallowing his pride was not his forte, nor in his best interest (or the best interests of anyone else unfortunate enough to be within a ten mile radius of him, either), but for the sake of keeping the peace, he forced down the swell of revulsion and slowly pulled his weapon away. "...I see. In that case, I...*apologize*. I--we--have not incurred many welcome stays once word got around of our arrival." Blankly, he noted he was winging Option E with the skill of a habitual liar. He pretended not to hear the chiding voice that told him he *was* one, or the notion that he had finally gone completely insane, if he was hearing voices that didn't belong to a parasitic mind-controlling alien; which--amazingly--seemed more normal than the idea of paying heed to one of those 'conscience' things.

Merv rubbed his throat, warily staring up at him. "Aye, I can see why, lad. Ya might wanna work on your interpersonal relation skills a bit. If ya ask me."

"Which I don't recall ever doing," he replied sharply, the unspoken threat quite clear.

The coot swallowed uneasily. "Er, uh, aye."

"And you can call off your search party," he continued, his voice once again a smooth monotone. "No sooner had I walked out the door than she called me via PHS and informed me that she was going on ahead to Bone Village and that we would meet there." He could have winced at how flawed that lie was. Any fool could have seen right through it. Even the fool right in front of him.

Merv tilted his head to the side warily. "Kind of a long way t' go for a little lady like that. Especially in a storm like this."

"Like I said, she's resilient," Sephiroth countered, an edge to his voice that brooked no argument. When all else failed, scare them into submission. "I assure you, she'll be quite alright."

Merv gulped again. Message received loud and clear. 'Good simpleton.' "...Aye, alright then, lad. Would ye like a room, then?"

Brusquely, he nodded, biting down the instinct to shiver uncontrollably as a chunk of gushy, melting snow slipped from the crown of his head and into the collar of his coat, while concurrently ignoring the little voice that said he should have killed the man for that single stupid question alone. The gene pool would do much better without his strain. He could only hope this man had no children. "Yes," he huffed, teeth clenched. "I would."

---

Two days, six hours, thirty-seven minutes--

And why was he counting?

Sephiroth growled quietly as he arose from his bed, the rustic (and quite possibly rust*ed*, as well) box-spring squeaking quietly in response. He needed something to do. The past two long and miserable days had been spent with an aching slowness while he waited for the blizzard to subside, and he was nearing the end of his proverbial rope, patience-wise.

When he had arrived in this room, he had kept himself busy by trying to find out everything he could about the world around him, and learned that the world hadn't really changed at all. Only two or so years had passed since his untimely demise, Shinra was still in power--though *how* it remained in power, now that Midgar was a glorified scrapyard, was beyond his understanding--and corrupt, and the general populace was just as ignorant and blind as they'd always been. Then, after wondering why he should waste his energy saving these cretins, he began attempting to formulate possible strategies, though it was nigh impossible with so little intel to go on.

Eventually that, too, wore thin, and he was reduced to looking for things to keep him busy. However, with his luck in tow, the snowstorm of the century refused to relent, and even if he *did* venture outside to a nearby store of some kind, they probably wouldn't have been open, anyway. Even the perennially open restaurant at the end of town closed shop until the storm passed. He snorted in annoyance, flopping back down onto the tiny bed at the corner of the room, resting his head upon his interlaced hands and closing his eyes. "Twenty-four hour service, my ass."

Strangely enough, he remained silent as if expecting a reply. Two tick's of a clock later, and he came to the realization that he *was*. He almost slapped himself, an ugly scowl on his face. His slightly paranoid nature told him the Planet was conspiring against him to purposely make this as difficult as possible for him, and while paranoia classically had less-than-desired results (such as the time he believed that he was a Cetra and that humanity was out to kill him and the Planet, leading to their very-near demise, ahem), he wouldn't put it past the Planet to pull something as stupid as a snowstorm on him while time was, he guessed, of the essence. And if time *wasn't* of the essence, and he was brought back here early to suffer that wench's mouth and disgustingly cheerful nature, so help him, someone was going to *die*.

Speaking of which, what the *hell* was taking the Cetra?

Not that he longed for her company, of course. Really, it was best that she was dragging her non-corporeal feet in obtaining the information so vital to whatever was going on. Had he been stuck in a room for two days with her there and completely unavailable for killing, storm or no storm, this town would have been reduced to one large pile of smoldering debris, a la Nibelheim. Strife would have appreciated the irony of that, he was sure. Strife. He wondered where that spiky-haired nuisance was. "Hopefully dead," he replied to himself, unaware that he had answered his own question.

With a sigh, Sephiroth forced his muscles to relax, crossing his leather-clad legs; right over left. There was nothing he could do but wait at this point. With no information, no foreseeable goal, and most importantly, nowhere else to go, he silently resigned himself to lying in bed and lazing away the hours. In other circumstances, he might have found it a refreshing change of pace, possibly even a taste of that blessed normalcy he'd never managed to grasp, as it always seemed to run away screaming whenever it got within sight range of him. He couldn't blame it; everyone else did the same, and rightfully so. Had he gotten his talons into it, he would have most likely jostled it to death while demanding it to get Hojo and those idiots at Shinra off his back.

He paused, then brought a hand from under his head and ran it wearily down his face, his long fingers stopping to massage the bridge of his nose. Now he was speaking of an abstract concept as if it were a person. Was there some kind of medication for this?

Off-handedly, he opened his eyes and stared for a split-second at the flower girl's cherubic face hovering above his own.

Then, in a distinctly graceless and un-Sephiroth-like manner, he yelped and shoved himself away with as much force as he could muster, which unfortunately, was more than enough to grant the crown of his head an audience with the wall some ten inches from the edge of the bed. From that point, he tumbled to the floor arms first, coming to rest with his body from the knees up crumpled awkwardly in the small crevice, which was enough to stand and maneuver in but hardly enough for a grown man's body to lay.

And, much to his dismay, he soon learned that he was stuck. Damn it all.

"Are you alright?" Aeris asked, not even attempting to hide the laughter in her voice, he noted with a sneer.

"Don't *do* that," he snapped, suppressing the urge to cough as he inhaled musky, dirt-filled air that was kicked up from his fall. He reached for the bed's edge, but the tangled mess that was his upper body twisted too much to allow the leverage needed. Damn this bed; why was it so high off the ground? Absently, he looked at the mountain of fluffy gray dust-bunnies that caked the ground beneath the box-spring and wrinkled his nose distastefully. The tender really needed to take a broom under there.

She circled around the bed and stood a few feet away, gaping down at him as if she were about to burst into tears. 'Tears of laughter, no doubt. Damn her.' "Do what?"

His sneer deepening, he made another grab for the top of the bed. It failed. "What do you *think*? Staring at me like that!"

She blinked, her coral lip twitching of its own volition. "I was just looking at you, that's all."

He decided to switch tactics, and shifted with a slight grunt, his right hand fisting into the deep green top sheet. "Any particular reason you couldn't have looked at me from a farther distance?" He pulled himself forward, sliding only six inches before the sheet gave weigh and sent him crashing to the hardwood floor again as the thin blanket gently fell upon him in waves. "Dammit!" This was humiliating beyond all belief. Though, for the first time, he began to see an upside to the whole 'she couldn't be seen or heard by anyone except him' thing. There was no need for extraneous force or use of blackmail to keep her quiet.

To other people, at least. No way would he ever be that lucky.

Through the shoddy stitchwork of the sheet, he saw the Cetra bite her lip in an attempt to stop a giggle. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

He ripped the green blanket from his head and clawed himself from his momentary prison, all while timing his words to his forceful, jerky movements. "*Startled*, not *frightened*. There's a big difference."

Her hand went up to her lips, a mock-innocent look on her rounded features. "If you say so."

He snarled audibly, bounding to his feet, mouth open in a biting retort when the sound of a fist pounded upon the solid oak door. "Everythin' alright, lad?"

His glowing blue-green eyes shot to the door angrily, as if staring at it could make the fool go away so he could speak his mind without interruption. "I'm fine," he answered indignantly.

"What happened?" Merv continued.

"Is it vitally important that you need to know?" he retorted.

"Y'could be hurt, d'ya need me to call a doctor?" the coot responded.

Anger was swiftly replaced by a deep, seething contempt for Merv and all of his brethren. How could *anyone* be that stupid? "If I were injured, would I be talking to you right now?"

"Y'could be delirious," he offered.

"Oh, for God's sake--" Sephiroth stormed to the door in three incredibly long strides and yanked it open, witnessing Merv's arthritic fist primed to knock again. "Do I *look* delirious to you? Do I *sound* delirious? Do I appear in any way out of sorts whatsoever?"

Merv shrank back. "W-well, y-yer eye's twitchin'--"

"And that bodes a great deal of ill for you, I can assure you," he growled, fists curled at his sides. "Allow me my rest; I am perfectly fine." 'Take the hint, you senile old codger.'

He nodded shakily. "My a-apologies for disturbin' ya, lad. Sleep well!" With no preamble, the graying man all but ran shrieking for the stairwell.

He found himself smiling slightly, though to most people it would be described more as a slightly more friendly and/or feral grimace. He was never one for niceties. 'They always *do* run screaming.'

Pushing the door closed, he turned to face the pink nightmare that was his appointed guide, finding her sitting on the edge of the bed with uncharacteristic meekness. Frowning, he filed the odd behavior away for later, and huffed, "Well?"

She glanced up, her expression perking up again. "What?"

He couldn't believe she was his only source of reliable information. "What have you heard? Why did that old codger pretend you didn't exist?"

"Oh, right," she muttered, nodding once. "Well, he didn't see me because, to him, I wasn't there."

"I gathered that much," he shot back, crossing his arms. "Get to the point."

"The point," she replied, frowning, "is that since I'm basically an extension of the Planet and since no one else has Cetra blood, you're the only one who can register my being here."

"You're saying I'm the only one who can see and hear you?" he demanded, brows furrowed. His pale face twisted in agitation, hissing, "That is the *dumbest*--" He turned his glare to the far wall aimlessly. "The Planet's *lucky* it has no natural predators!"

Suddenly, the annoyance on his sharp features dissolved into a stoic equivalent to curiosity as his piercing blue-green eyes darted back to hers. "Wait. No one *else* has Cetra blood? As in, I *do*?"

She nodded amiably. "At least, enough to see and hear me."

His arms dropped to his sides as he tilted his head to the side, gathering his words carefully. "You mean to tell me that I'm part Ancient; that I was right all along in that respect?"

The Cetra assented, her movements becoming guarded. "In that sole respect, yes."

He gazed at her through slit-eyes, harshly appraising her body language for any sign of insincerity. When he found none, he paused momentarily as he digested what he had been told. Then he gave off a short bark of laughter, throwing his hands up in the air resignedly and shaking his head. "Why not?" He sucked in a breath, sighing. "So, have you learned anything else aside from our apparent common bond?" 'Ugh, we have a *common bond*,' he realized, biting back the groan of utter disgust. As if what he read in the hidden basement of the Shinra Mansion wasn't disturbing enough, now he had to have *similarities* with the pink witch in front of him--well, that extended beyond their general choice of hairstyling their bangs, and that had been loathsome enough a parallel.

A small smile flickered on her lips like a weak flame atop a partially melted candle. "Which do you want first? Good news or bad news?"

"There's good news?" he quipped as he leaned his broad shoulders on the door, crossing his legs in a look of non-chalance. "Very well, let's hear it."

"The good news is, the Planet has given us a lead," Aeris stated, the same wisp of a knowing smile on her face.

He turned his head to stare at her more fully, his interest piqued. "That *is* good news," he responded, keeping his voice a monotone and skirting wary disbelief. "And the *bad* news?"

Aeris stood, her smile widening. He was going to dread the answer she was going to supply, he just knew it. Unaware, he held his breath. "*But*, the lead isn't going to be someone you like."

A cool cloud of foreboding settled over him. "What are you talking about?"

Her grin grew further. He didn't like how it showed off her canines. ...Why was he paying attention to her canines? "You're going to have to follow a lead to save the Planet, but the lead isn't going to be someone you'll willingly want to follow."

He scowled. Why, oh why, did the Planet choose *her* as his guide? "Enough double-talk, woman. Just tell me what it is I have to do."

Her large emerald eyes danced with mirth. The shrew was *enjoying* this. Once again, he resisted the urge to render Icicle to a smoking crater in the ground. She curled her arms behind her back in that annoyingly cute--'Cute??'--fashion. "Who is the one person in the world you'd hate to take orders from?"

"Hojo," he supplied automatically.

"One who's not dead," she clarified.

He started to reply, then snapped his mouth shut as he mentally ticked off his latest hit-list.

Shinra - dead.
Hojo - dead!! (Little hastily scrawled picture of stick-figure Sephiroth doing a jig with a big grin.)
Scarlet - dead.
Heidegger - dead. (Little smiley face.)
Palmer - dead.
Shinra Jr. - probably dead. At least maimed. (Little stab marks littering his name.)
Strife -

*Strife*--

His eyes darkened. "No." She continued to smile. "No!"

The Cetra nodded, still grinning that 'I know something you don't knooow' grin, somehow knowing that she would be cackling right now, if she had it in her. Miserable little shrew. "Yes. If you want to save the Planet--"

"And I *don't*," he groused under his breath.

"--You're going to have to find, and eventually follow, Cloud Strife."

To be continued...

[SilverKnight]

Chapter 4: Stupid is as Stupid Plans

"Hi, I'm back the dead, can you help me?"
--Sephiroth

Sephiroth was royally pissed. Words simply couldn't suffice.

While floating in the nothingness of what he once assumed was Hell, he believed that anything was better than the boredom eating away at what lucidity death had brought him. Well, once the wench dropped the bomb--with *far* too much glee, he mused--he effectively scratched that notion. He immediately transcended the ever-present, if somewhat muted, annoyance and bitterness of his situation, and his mood escalated into a boiling rage and contempt for everyone and everything that wasn't him.

The Planet was just flat-out playing dirty, now.

In all of his thirty-some odd years of life (give or take the times in which his body was rotting at the bottom of a dank cave somewhere), he could not remember a time in which he felt so utterly helpless, worthless, and chock full of resentment that he wanted to take it out on the entire world. (Somehow, the whole Meteor fiasco was strangely absent from his train of thought.) No, it wasn't enough that he was forced back against his will to serve the Planet. It wasn't enough that he was forced to deal with the perpetual nagging of the pink nightmare; which, in his haggard mind, was nothing short of diabolical in its cruelty. It wasn't even enough that he was forced to rely upon her to gain the information needed for his quest.

No.

*Now* he had to rely on *Strife*.

Of all the people in the world, he had no other choice than to find and willingly submit to the authority of a man whose hairstyle of choice bore an uncanny resemblance to an unkempt, malnourished chocobo's. And he had to go about submitting in a way that would: 1) Not get him killed again, and 2) Regain enough trust in order to be accepted in the manner necessary to accomplish his goal. And to top it all off, he had to do this while having their dear friend whom he had murdered just to spite them skulking over his shoulder, giving him orders without them knowing about it, because even if he *did* tell them the truth, they would decree him insane and kill him on the spot.

Indeed, if there was a Hell anywhere in the universe, Sephiroth had unwittingly stumbled into it and was now hopelessly stuck in the mire. And he had decided that Hell's lead demon, the Grand Poobah of his torment, currently went by the alias 'Aeris Gainsborough'. The way her lips pulled back into that cat-eat-mouse grin--which would have looked positively evil if it were on another's face; say, for instance, his--and the way her eyes danced with mirth at his reaction; oh no, meager words could never fully highlight the scope of his fury and hatred of all things remotely sentient in the universe.

"Deal's off."

But he was determined to try, anyway.

She gaped at him, perplexed. "What?"

He, in turn, scowled deeply. Or, perhaps, more deeply than he had been previously. "Do you have difficulty understanding the spoken language? *Deal's off*. I will not partake in this exercise of idiocy any longer!"

Her fine chestnut brows furrowed, that insidiously gleeful smile still clinging to the corners of her mouth. "Why's that?"

"Why, you ask?" he replied with a fanged grin of his own. "How in the *hell* can the Planet possibly think Strife has the leadership skills and mental capacity necessary to pull off something of this nature?"

Her smile slowly vanished as she tilted her head to the side in what Sephiroth had now dubbed 'the Labrador Maneuver' in his mind. "Cloud had enough leadership skills to guide AVALANCHE to *you*, and had more than enough to rally them to defeat you."

His slit eyes narrowed further, the Mako glow intensifying. "He guided AVALANCHE to me because I led him around by the nose the entire time," he retorted darkly. "And as far as 'rallying the troops' to kill me? Doubtful, and inaccurate besides. Had 'Mother Dearest' not panicked and forced her will upon me, I assure you, the outcome would have been *much* different."

"Sure, blame it on her," Aeris mumbled cheekily.

His fingers twitched for something to squeeze without mercy. The hilt of Masamune or the shrew's pretty little neck would have done nicely. "You have followed Strife around yourself, Cetra, you know of his 'leadership skills' first hand, which is thus; stumble along blindly, hitting every trap and pitfall along the way. That's--"

Suddenly, he stopped, his mind turning over the idea of Strife's usefulness to his mission. Absently, his hand went to his chin as he weighed the pros and cons. He outright refused to follow the younger man's lead, however he couldn't deny that his former-puppet's uncanny ability to find trouble was unsurpassed. Strife was a terrible leader, but he was an excellent blood-hound, and letting him do all the dirty-work saved Sephiroth the trouble of finding his quarry via his own tracking skills and instead allowed him to focus entirely on how to properly and expediently kill them. He hated to admit it, but it had possibilities.

He ignored Aeris watching with blatant fascination as he analyzed his current situation, determining the course of action he needed to take. Hunting down Strife and the other members of AVALANCHE was a non-issue, but he could hardly knock of Strife's door and say, "Hi, I'm back from the dead, can you help me?" Furthermore, he wasn't about to spend any more time alone with his failed clone than was absolutely necessary, and speaking to him individually--and asking him for his *help*, of all the humiliating things--was simply not going to happen; not in this life or any other.

Approached alone, they would never agree to help (quite possibly because he would never ask), so making the attempt was a waste of time and effort. Perhaps, though, if it were possible to round them together and force them to see that some sort of truce was in order, they would be willing to listen. Either that, or face certain death by his hand. Indeed, it had many possibilities.

"Hmm," he hummed to himself, tapping a finger against his pursed lips. "After careful consideration of the situation at hand, I have come to the conclusion that Strife's interference in these events may yet prove fruitful, and that in the best interest of my mission, I should make an attempt to see that a temporary alliance with me would be in *his* best interest."

"You're not going to try and kill him, are you?" she asked, her large emerald eyes slightly glazed over. He half-heartedly wondered if she understood half the word he used, distrusting of Shinra's educational system. Ignorance bred ignorance and all that rot.

Sephiroth waved a hand dismissively, his aquamarine orbs focusing on the corner as he found it infinitely more interesting than the Cetra. "Dead men don't prove very useful," he answered dully, "and I doubt any of his little friends would agree to my request should they find their fearless leader spiked atop my Masamune." The word slipped from his mouth before he remembered that he no longer had his beloved katana in his possession, and for half a second, a stricken expression crossed his perfect aristocratic features. The thought that Strife might have taken it as a trophy flickered through his mind, and a muscle in his cheek ticked of its own volition. If Strife laid one stubby finger on Masamune, so help him, he was going to shove his fist so far down that idiot's throat--

Abruptly, he shook his head. He would worry about petty vengeance later. "We're wasting time here," he declared, straightening his black leather gloves out of habit as he strode for the door. "We'd best get going."

Aeris blinked. "But what about the storm?"

He gripped the bronze handle and turned, striding out of his room with unnatural grace. "I'm certain the lovely owner of this resting establishment would be more than happy to lend me some of his belongings."

She scampered along next to him, that same doe-eyed look on her oval face. He was growing to hate that expression. "You're not going to kill *him*, are you?"

'Keep nagging me about it, and I just might,' he snapped mentally, stomping down the ruby-carpeted steps. Blood and gore might have been hell to clean from his clothing, but he was tempted to throw vanity to the wind and crush the little man, anyway, just to piss the pink harpy off. It would serve her right. "What concern of it is yours?"

"You shouldn't kill him, it's wrong!" she exclaimed, her expression twisted with worry and indignation. He was beginning to hate *that* expression, too.

"And what if he were to alert someone of our presence and ruin my plan?" he retorted, deciding not to highlight his earlier intimidation of the man as it would effectively derail his own argument. Simultaneously, he noted that he was arguing against his own spoken words from two days ago, and garnered the necessary refutation for when she would surely fling his words back at him.

And yet, instead of taking the obvious, logical argument, she shot back, "You don't even have a plan!"

He nearly sighed. Why was he surprised? "Oh ye of little faith," he quipped for a reason beyond him, a faux smirk tugging his lips as he glanced over his shoulder to her. How he loathed her so. "I've done far more difficult missions than this; it can not and will not be that difficult to gather your friends in a manner of my choosing. I succeeded once, and I will do so again."

She glared warily. "I'm going to quote you on that."

He harrumphed, remarking, "Yes, you do that." He straightened his gloves again, flexing his hands inside them and enjoying the squeak of the leather as they moved. Small favors. "Now be quiet and come on; I have a few needed items to procure."

---

"I could have sworn you said something about finishing tougher missions than this," Aeris said with a half-cocked smirk.

Sephiroth ground his teeth together and shot a glare that promised a slow death over his shoulder. Damnable harpy and her lack of a corporeal form that he could properly kill. "I fail to see how distracting me from forming a viable plan by reminding me that I've yet to think of one is going to help in any way."

"I said I was going to quote you on it, remember?" she replied. "And I remember you agreed to that arrangement."

"If you're going to quote me, at least get it right," he barked, turning to face the crinkled paper laying on his lap, covered in elegant if scrawled handwriting. His chiseled lips curling in annoyance, he ripped the paper from the yellow note-pad he had 'borrowed' from the hapless tender Merv, wadded it into a ball, and chucked it into a nearby gray plastic waste-bin. Seven hours. He had been sitting here in this rickety wicker chair in some dank little hovel of an inn outside of Bone Village for seven hours, using all of his formidable knowledge at tactics, subterfuge, and espionage to concoct a brilliant plan that would lure all of his technically-former enemies together in a manner that would allow him complete control of the situation. However, all he had managed to accomplish in these seven hours was giving himself a headache, a stiff back, and a rather impressive pyramid of discarded wads of yellow paper sitting in the corner of his cramped little hotel room.

Much to his chagrin, the ex-general was beginning to realize that scheming a deliciously underhanded and subtle plot was a lot harder than Jenova made it out to be. Of course, he brooded, she had two-thousand plus years to come up with one, while he had...well, he knew it was significantly less than two millennia. Damn it. He glanced over his shoulder again to the tickled apparition and his frown deepened a fraction. "If you have nothing to offer me, would you mind not perching over my shoulder like that? It's bothersome."

She shrugged impishly, bending over slightly to get a better view of the notepad in his grasp. "What? I just want to help."

He snorted. "Help? From you?" Chuckling, he appeared to ponder her request for a moment; lips pursed minutely and blue-green eyes focused aimlessly upward. Then, he turned in his seat to gaze up at her. "You want to help, hm? Very well, you can help."

Aeris' face brightened with pleasant surprise. "Really?"

He nodded quickly. "Really. First thing you can do..." He lifted his hand and pointed to the far corner of the room, all traces of humor vanishing from his expression. "Stand over there."

She huffed angrily as he returned to his notepad, stamping her foot and slapping her hands to her hips. "Why do you have to be such a jerk about it? I can contribute!"

Scowling, he slammed the yellowed pad onto the rickety wooden desk, swiveling in the unforgiving seat with his powerful hands clamped around the armrests. "Fine, what do you have in mind?"

The ardent ferocity in her ashen, lightly freckled face dwindled into bemusement, her brows tucked down in thought. "Well...what do *you* have in mind?"

He sneered. "You have absolutely nothing worthwhile to say, do you?"

"I'm just wondering, that's all!" she snapped in return. "If I know what you're having trouble with, maybe I can help come up with something."

His back tensed, clenching his teeth. "I'm not 'having trouble', like some remedial student," he censured tartly, the words leaving his lips in a quiet hiss. "It's simply proving more difficult than I'd initially anticipated to strike the proper balance between catching their interest and their suspicion. Send a message that's too mundane, and they won't come; send one that's bound to catch their eye, and they'll be too ready for a fight to bother listening. And if they suspect that I have absolutely anything to do with it at all, no matter how remote the chance, they'll arrive with guns blazing." He glowered at her through his silver locks. "So, any suggestions?"

She remained silent, staring aimlessly as she thought. Absent-mindedly, she reached up and began twirling a lock of hair around her finger, tugging on it now and again. The movement, slight as it was, made his insides coil in knots with contempt. Everything about her was saccharine sweet that oozed innocence and purity, from her ghastly pink and red attire to her pretty braid to her wide green eyes. The more time he spent around her, the more disgusted of her he became. Stupid harpy! She had been brutally murdered and she *still* had the nerve to think the best of things.

A moment passed in silence, save his own murderous thoughts toward Aeris, before he recognized that he had actually been expecting an answer of some kind, even if just to ridicule it. He shook his head, returning to the front and pulling the notepad into his lap again, determined to ignore the diminutive Cetra and her even smaller IQ. "Forget I asked. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work, so stop pestering me."

She moved in place, shifting her weight to one leg judging by the squeak of the floorboard, he unconsciously noted, and said, "Why don't you just, I don't know, invite them somewhere?"

He couldn't help but slowly pivot to stare at her, eyes squinted in a mix of incomprehension and incredulity. "Why don't I *what*?"

She wilted a little under his scrutiny, her petite form shrinking in on herself, and shrugged. "I mean, leave some sort of anonymous note or message that tells them to meet some place."

He continued to gape, the gears in his head turning. "I have to commend you," he stated. "That is, without a doubt, the stupidest idea I have ever heard in my entire life, and I know you've met Palmer."

Her expression crumpled into a disappointed pout. "It's not *that* bad." Her jade eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite recognize, nodding her head in the direction of the pile of crushed yellow paper sitting in the corner. "And it can't be any worse than your ideas over there."

'Was that a shot?' He grit his teeth. "Even if they *were* stupid enough to fall for something like that, it still runs into the same problems I've been having all night. If these 'notes' weren't out-of-the-ordinary, they'd disregard it. Too suspect, and they'd come prepared for a fight." He looked away, closing his eyes and waving his hand dismissively. "Besides, there's little I could say on these 'notes' that wouldn't give me away, regardless."

She deliberated for a moment. He wondered if he cared. ...Nope, he didn't. "Not if they're written by me."

The gears quickened their pace. "What are you talking about?"

The Cetra seemed to grow more confident when he didn't immediately shoot her down again. "Write a note that looks like it's written by me and leave it where they'll see it. Make them think that I'm back, and they'll come."

"How can you be certain of that?" he questioned warily.

She inhaled, schooling her features. "They're my friends. They watched me die. Just like you, if there's a chance that I'm alive, they'll come looking."

An eyebrow rose. 'A little ego-centric, don't you think, fair Cetra?' "They'd never fall for it." Was he actually considering her plan? "Even Strife isn't that dumb."

Her rose-colored lips curled down. "Cloud's not dumb." He harrumphed, begging to differ. "And they'll never see a tactic like that coming from you."

He scowled, retorting, "That's because it's stupid."

She grinned. Always with the obnoxiously bright grin. He loathed her. "Which is exactly why they wouldn't expect it."

He wasn't sure whether to be enraged that her plan held merit when so many of his fell apart within minutes, or disturbed that her last sentence made a shred of sense. He just barely resisted the urge to give himself a good punch to the face. With a growl, he begrudgingly tossed the flimsy pad of paper onto the desktop and crossed his arms, keeping his voice painfully even. Damn her. "Go on."

---

Sephiroth could not *believe* he was going along with this. It was doomed for failure.

'Meteor was destined for success, and look how *that* one turned out,' the voice he resigned to calling 'his conscience' riposted smugly. He told it to shut up.

After initially agreeing to the hair-brained scheme of hers, it took hours of arguing to settle on their location. He could have simply just picked a place and moved forward with the plan, but he knew that if he left her out of the process, she could continually annoy him about it, or worse yet, wind up doing something incredibly stupid even by her standards. So, they debated:

- City of the Ancients. Aeris, "I died there. Bad idea."
- Sector Five Church. Sephiroth, "I destroyed Midgar. Even worse idea."
- Temple of the Ancients. Sephiroth, "It's pretty difficult to hide in a gigantic crater in the ground. And not one word about my previous base. Not. One. Word."
- Costa Del Sol. Aeris, "Hey, I would *too* go there! It's sunny and has a wonderful atmosphere. Why couldn't you have killed me on the beach or something? At least then I could've gotten a tan."
- Northern Crater. Aeris and Sephiroth, "No."

Eventually, they settled on the enchanted forest that surrounded the ruined Cetra capital, given that it was fairly neutral, secluded, and most importantly, had plenty of places for him to hide, if necessary. Satisfied of their meeting area, they forged ahead to the meat of the plan; the note. He spent the next four days hunting for a sample of her writing once he concluded she couldn't hold a pen. Luck, for once, was with him as they set foot at the entrance to the Ancient City, where he noticed a carefully arranged knapsack that held Aeris' scant few worldly possessions. While she concerned herself with tearing up sentimentally, Sephiroth thoughtlessly rifled through her belongings and tugged out a small journal against her wishes. Another argument ensued, that ended with him completely disregarding her and reading the contents with a smirk, only to have him drop it in revulsion at the amount of personal details he had never wished to envision. That was a nervous breakdown waiting to happen.

Recovering as quickly as he was able, Sephiroth spent the next day and a half thereafter using every page on his yellowed notepad teaching himself how to successfully forge the delicate handwriting that covered the pages. Then he tore a page from her precious journal (with no small amount of grief from the shrew for it) and began to dictate the words she spoke. He managed to finish without losing his lunch, but was unable to fight the need to wash his hands thoroughly once the deed had been done. Having to write that type of schmaltzy nonsense became yet another reason to add on the 'Why I Should Be Able to Kill the Cetra' list he had been forming over the past few days. It just wasn't fair.

Then came their guinea pig. Valentine was obviously out, as he was assuredly sleeping away eternity in a rotting coffin, Strife had apparently been searching for a way to bring Aeris back to life (Sephiroth was highly amused by *that* tidbit of information), the ninja brat was undoubtedly stealing people blind the world over, the dog had no hands to properly use a phone with, and Wallace, Highwind, and Reeve weren't exactly the chatty types. So, that left Lockheart to spread the word. He believed her the perfect choice, regardless of her availability; she was certainly mouthy enough to get the job done.

Then he waited.

And waited.

And nearly died laughing as Strife seemed to have an apoplexy over the phone when Lockheart called him.

And then waited some more.

Currently, Sephiroth was perched in one of the glowing white trees that comprised the Sleeping Forest--*still* waiting, of course--as silent and motionless as a statue. Which said absolutely nothing about his spectral companion, or his patience. Aeris sat beside him, her arms wrapped around the trunk in a death-grip (as if falling would kill her, anyway, the dimwit) but still managing to wring her hands and swing her legs anxiously as she stared at the ground ten stories below. It was driving him nuts.

Frowning, he imperceptibly angled his head in her direction, grunting, "Will you stop fidgeting? It's distracting."

"What am I distracting?" she asked, nodding to the uninhabited forest around her. "There's nobody here except for us."

He felt a headache coming on. Leave it to her to make him defend a plan he thought wasn't going to work in the first place. Irony loved to sucker-punch him, it seemed. "They'll be here soon enough," he answered brusquely. "You were there when they got word of that note; they reacted how just how you had anticipated."

Aeris smiled warmly. "They're my friends, of course I would know how they'd react."

"And the fact that we watched for a week before making our move was just an excuse to bond, I presume?" he sniped.

She gave him that mutated squirrel expression again. "It was your idea to spy on them."

"It was *your* idea to send them a note in the first place," he retorted.

"One which *you* agreed to," she answered.

He bit his tongue and forced himself to relax. It would do no good to go about shooting his mouth off and coming off like some air-headed twit, i.e. the shrew. He couldn't allow her to get under his skin and start making mistakes; he'd already blown his lead, he certainly wasn't about to start trailing the wench in the war of wills. Heaven forbid if she ended up winning; the universe as he knew it might implode. Not to mention his brain.

He began to form an answer when the distinct sound of an argument drifted in the wind. "It's about time they got here," he grumbled irritably. He hated being held up. Turning to Aeris, he grunted, "Stay quiet and let me handle this."

She shot him a wry look, fine eyebrow arched in clear amusement. "They can't hear me, you know."

Leave it to her to completely misread the implication of his statement. 'Idiot.' "But I *can*, and if you break my concentration by yammering some worthless nonsense in my ear, then--"

He immediately went still, words dead in his throat, as he stared forward and caught a glimpse of a petite young woman crouched atop a branch fifteen feet in front of him. 'The ninja brat. Great.' In her right hand she clutched her precious shuriken possessively, a carefree, lopsided grin dangling from her thin lips as she scanned the area below her. It was miraculous that she hadn't noticed him yet; a black figure amidst the pulsating forest of white around them both, and even as he scrutinized her tiny form, she still seemed blissfully unaware of his presence as she eagerly spotted AVALANCHE approaching below. Thus far, he had been very lucky.

So, naturally, it was all bound to go horribly wrong somehow.

It also appeared that, in addition to being leader of Hell, the little flower girl known as Aeris Gainsborough went under another assumed alias: 'Harbinger of Doom'. He found it suited her quite nicely, really. She did make him want to commit suicide just to get away from her; he could only imagine her effect on other people.

Aeris squeaked affectionately and wiggled in place. "Yuffie!"

Irritated, he sighed in disgust. The movement, slight as it was, caused the glow to glance off of his brightly polished steel pauldrons. Unfortunately for him, the youthful ninja managed to catch the small flash out of the corner of her eye just as she was about to turn away.

Their eyes met; gray against aquamarine. She froze. He concluded he would have to rethink wearing shiny metal armor during reconnaissance missions.

Aeris glanced between the two of them, and decided to state the obvious. "I think she sees you."

He snapped his head to the side to glower at her. The spell broken, Yuffie blinked and leapt to her feet, her right arm cocked back to throw her lumbering Conformer. Spitting an obscenity, he launched from his branch the same moment she vaulted upward, letting her weapon fly. It whizzed past his head in a blur of gold and red, sailing down into the underbrush as he landed on the branch she stood on seconds before, glaring above.

She landed lithely above him, already yelling. "What the hell are you--"

He lunged for her, successfully taking hold ankle as she tried to backflip away. Still screeching, he yanked her to him, pinning her in a vice-grip--or attempting to, anyway--and clamping a hand over her mouth. "Quiet, you little brat," he hissed in her ear, struggling to maintain his balance as she thrashed in his grip. "I'm not here to hurt y--"

He stopped speaking when she bit down on his fingers. Hard. Growling, he twisted and shoved her roughly against the trunk, enjoying the little squeak of pain it elicited from her. Miserable little tomboy and her freakishly powerful jaws. "Listen, you--"

He realized a second too late how stupid of a decision that was, when she pressed her sneakers against the luminescent trunk and kicked out as hard as she could. He was thrown back, teetering precariously on the ball of one foot before they both fell over the edge.

His shoulders and back connected painfully with at least five branches before his free arm wrapped around an unsteady branch, suddenly ending their descent, much to the chagrin of his now dislocated shoulder. Damnable gravity. Yuffie still continued to fight, yelping as she flailed against him. "*Stop*," he snarled hotly, teeth bared.

She grunted, feebly trying to cover her own paralyzing fear with righteous anger. "Hey, *you* were the one that came back from the dead and attacked me, jerkwad, so *you* stop!" She wriggled and kicked him in the shin.

Vaguely, he heard confusion from below, and gathered that AVALANCHE now knew of his presence. His foul expression darkened considerably as she continued to buck wildly in his grasp. He was tempted to forget the plan altogether, knock her unconscious and deal with the ramifications later. "Will you *stop* movi--"

Crack.

Immediately, both Sephiroth and Yuffie halted and gaped at the branch which kept them aloft.

By the base, still humming with the force of the throw, jutted Yuffie's Conformer; buried almost completely through the branch and reflecting the dim glow of the trees as if the weapon had some holy aura.

Sephiroth would have laughed if he hadn't been so utterly exasperated. 'You have *got* to be kidding me.'

"Well I'll be damned," the ninja muttered.

His eyes travelled to hers dully as he felt the limb slowly give weigh under their combined weight. "I hope you know this is all your fault."

With a final deafening groan, the branch snapped.

To be continued...

[Kylewayne]

Wheeee! More more! I so love it when you make the characters talk! I love how you have depicted their characters =D

Loving the story so far , keep it up!