☄ the wandering soul knows no rest

[nohometown]

[[Warning: for bloody dream imagery.]]

There are moments in dreams where you are not yourself, looking out from the eyes of another. You might be a stranger, or you might be someone you know.

In one of these moments, Sephiroth stands watching himself: he can't be mistaken for anyone else in his world, his silver hair and garb distinctive, unique. For a few seconds, his own mind is present and aware within another's body, but the seconds pass. Suddenly, he isn't Sephiroth. He's only watching him.

The trees surrounding them are green, in full summer leaf, the foliage lush. Rain is falling from the sky, but only a fine drizzle, the rainfall mixed with sunlight, and the raindrops on the leaves winking where the sun falls. It's Wutai, and they're on assignment here, but somehow, between the rush of urgency and the heat of battle, they find themselves within a quiet moment. No way of telling how long it will last. War is many things, but it is not predictable.

There are only a few infantrymen accompanying them. With two First Class SOLDIERs on this mission, there's no need for any more. Standing on the far side of camp, as far from both Sephiroth and the men as he can be without leaving outright, Genesis watches his friend. Sephiroth's hair stands out against the trees, starkly pale yet brightly silver, an attribute that would be a disadvantage for anyone else, but Sephiroth is untouchable. Bullets fly past him, afraid to touch him. His enemies feel dread at the sight of him, and his allies admire him, and so that hair is yet another symbol of his greatness. He's the Hero of this age.

Genesis should feel the same admiration that everyone else does, but he doesn't. Instead, he feels a tight knot of emotions, all too closely wound together for him to name. What is it? Why is he suddenly so angry? In his mind, he sees--feathers. They flutter across his vision, as dark as shadows at dusk.

The dream flickers. He feels a sharp ache, and he puts a hand to his chest. His glove comes away covered in blood. He holds it up to see it better, blood as vivid as a jewel. He's standing in the middle of an empty, white room, bleeding. There are lights somewhere, far above, like the lights in a hospital, or a laboratory. They hurt his eyes when he glances up. He's never been injured before, not like this. The blood flows and flows and never stops, pouring out of him and into the wider world. Eventually, there's an entire stream of it, coursing over stones and sand like running water, and he's standing on the bank of this sanguine stream, watching that blood that flows like water, so deep. Too deep for him to cross. Sephiroth is in view again, standing on the other side of the stream, the green trees of Wutai behind him. Genesis should be glad to see his friend, shouldn't he? But he isn't. He's angry again, angrier than before, and there's a bitter taste in his mouth, more bitter than blood.


[OOC: Sephiroth is seeing himself through the eyes of Genesis, a former friend, subconsciously trying to understand Genesis' thoughts and actions, so this is not necessarily an accurate version of that character, since it's filtered through Sephiroth's own perception, feelings, and memories. Responses will come from literarycriticism, unless Sephiroth breaks back through.]

Comments

[waterfell]

Mercury is somewhere among the infantrymen, instantly noticeable for her blue hair as Sephiroth is for his silver. Genesis, she has spoken to only once or twice, and never substantially. Sephiroth, she has known even as father.

It's not difficult to guess where her bias will lie. In her eyes, Genesis is only another face, and Sephiroth is still known as the great hero. Then she is no longer amid the group, but near the side of the bleeding man. Unhurried steps bring her closer.

"In that state," she observes, "Are you thinking of trying to reach him?" Everything in this dream, despite it seemingly belonging to Genesis, focuses on Sephiroth even now. She notices it.

Whether it comes from the old admiration, from jealousy of what Sephiroth can accomplish, or from the bitterness of betrayal, she knows all those, too. There was once someone she wanted to be with above all else, who betrayed everything. Despite herself, perhaps she understands Genesis, too.

[literarycriticism]

He turns toward her as he hears her voice, pressing his hand to his wounded shoulder again, as if it pains him. The blood flow from the wound has abated, though the blood stream is no less quick and lively. The blue hair is also strange, if not so immediately recognizable as the silver. He studies her, and there's something familiar there, but he doesn't analyze it too closely, too distracted by other matters for the moment. "My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honor remains," he says, inexplicably. Then he turns toward Sephiroth on the far side again.

"My thoughts are clear enough. I have no reason to hide them. I wish to reach the other side. It's farther than it looks." This statement, too, has its flavor of bitterness. He sees himself as no less of a Hero than Sephiroth is, no matter what occurs, but now there's this great distance between the two of them.

[waterfell]

Sometimes heroes fall. And sometimes people who were never heroes fall in trying to bridge the fault.

"And if you reached him?" the blue-haired girl continues, her voice coolly detached though her eyes keep straying to the wound as though it bothers her in a way she hasn't quite defined. "What would you do?"

As before, the simple words can mean so many different things.

[literarycriticism]

The wound, no matter how much or how little blood it sheds, will not close.

He considers the distance again. At times, it appears to waver. It's hard to tell if it's growing closer or farther away, or if it's remaining the same, and the apparent change is an illusory one. In the way of dreams, his perception of the distance doesn't make any real sense.

"I've done so much already," says Genesis. "We're not friends anymore. We would have to fight." He laughs, but it's not pleased laughter, more cold than that.

[waterfell]

Mercury pauses, and glances sideways, as if this is a consideration. He wishes to reach the other side, and if he reaches the other side, he will battle Sephiroth. He wishes to battle Sephiroth.

"In that case," Mercury says, "I won't allow you to cross." She does not attack despite her words, but she takes a defensive stance, a clear message that her claim is serious.

Sephiroth, she has known as father.

"Even if I would," she points out, "Do you think you can hit him in that condition?" The blood. No matter how much or how little, it means he isn't in top form. And friend or foe, anyone who knows him would have to confess Sephiroth is not an opponent to take lightly.

[literarycriticism]

"You won't allow it?" He laughs again. "I've made no move to go."

He glances down at the wound. Suddenly, it seems to open wider, though no greater amount of blood comes from it. He contemplates the change, knowing it for what it is: degradation.

"Oh, I have many ways to strike." But he still doesn't stir from where he stands. "I don't deceive myself that I can face him directly, like this. He is a superlative monster." Genesis' lips twist as he glances toward Sephiroth again. There's more than a physical distance separating them. In Sephiroth's mind, it is the distance between life and death. But is he right about that?

"You're loyal to him, are you?" Genesis asks. "So was I, once. But there's nothing to be loyal to."

[waterfell]

Loyalty is the most difficult of questions, but the fruitless irritation isn't directed at Genesis as the blue-haired girl stands down, and glances at something else briefly before returning her attention to the man in front of her. Nothing to be loyal to?

"I'll decide that for myself," she informs him. She's changed loyalties before; but she'll claim to her death that it was her own choice. That's the important part.

But it's Genesis, and his perceptions, that have meaning here, and so she asks the other important question. "Why do you say so?"

[literarycriticism]

Genesis laughs, softly. He seems more amused than concerned now, in spite of his blood loss. Maybe it's her loyalty that amuses him, the loyalty he'd shared once. "He is a tool of the government, a perfectly crafted machine. He assisted the state in orchestrating the deaths of his only friends. What kind of man would do such a thing?"

He turns from her toward Sephiroth himself, watching him thoughtfully. For his part, Sephiroth seems unaware of their presence. "A cold man, to say the least. A man who lacks feeling. He should realize by now what--and who--it is he's serving."

[waterfell]

Someone like her would do such a thing. Mercury had fought her friends bitterly, in every sense of the word. She had taken the life of the one she'd thought was her most important of all. She had reveled in darkness and cruelty.

A cold woman, to say the least. A woman who lacks feeling. She should realize by now what-and who- it is she's serving.

"A strong man," she observes. She's always admired power, if admire is the right word. She's always wanted it for herself. "So who do you say he's serving?"

[literarycriticism]

"Oh, he's strong. A very strong man. That's sure enough."

Genesis would do things that were cruel, he had done them, but he had done them out of feeling. To him, this is a superior motivation.

"He serves Shinra. A company. The company that did this to me." He indicates his wound, briefly, but it's as though it doesn't concern him now. "They don't deserve anyone's loyalty. There's no meaning in his actions, no depth."

[waterfell]

A shrug of a slim shoulder does not precisely disagree, but Mercury has her own view. There's something even more important than what Sephiroth has done, more important than whether he should have done it, more important - in some ways - than what happened as a result.

"It's his decision," she says firmly, "who he chooses to be loyal to."