LadyKF Writes

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So

risingoflights ​ did THIS THING where Hojo apparently wears Silver Elite (or other Sephiroth merch) type shirts under his lab stuff. And then had to ask, how would your muses react? Well, I have a lot of them I pretty much write everybody but here’s some fun highlights with my main rp ones, because I just had to answer that… ended up longer than planned, but ah well. Fun.

 

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Exhibitions were interesting. On the one hand, they were enjoyable to watch, on the other - if you were close to the SOLDIERs being paraded around for them - you were aware that they didn’t quite enjoy it so much. Given that Lazard’s job essentially boiled down to “SOLDIER management” and he was particularly close to his Firsts, he was torn between enjoying watching them move and being aware that Sephiroth was annoyed at having to slow himself down, Angeal hated ‘showboating’ and thought they were setting standards too high, and Genesis would be spoiling for a fight after because this was only enough to get them slightly warmed up. Two of the three top SOLDIERs annoyed and the most volatile wanting to start something was not his ideal situation.

But this wasn’t exactly his choice, so at least there was standing by to watch with the other department heads, and keeping an expression of polite interest while he watched what really was poetry in motion as the trio went through the motions of a mock spar to inspire the others before they would go through their own much more serious matches. That some people wanted to include monster fights was news, and later he was going to have so much paperwork for whoever didn’t understand that ice plus fire was water.

Given the pitch Scarlet hit when they were washed over, he didn’t have to look to know everyone had been hit. There was a brief look from Sephiroth, lips twitching in what he was certain was amusement. Angeal, bless the man, rounded some people up to get towels, which they brought over while a variety of jackets ended up getting peeled off. Scarlet was going back inside, the President was probably considering it, and Rufus wasn’t even in sight at this point.

“You could at least take the jacket off,” Sephiroth pointed out quietly, coming to his side. “And the glasses. Can you see like that?”

“Somewhat, not that there’s much to see right now.” Still, Lazard took them off, wiping his eyes and blinking a bit before working at his jacket. “That was sloppy.”

“It was. Maybe we’ll give them to Genesis for remedial training,” he suggested mildly, taking the glasses out of his pocket and wrapping them lightly in the unfortunately damp handkerchief that had flopped over in his pocket.

“Who are you trying to punish, them or me?” Genesis fluffed at the towel he was holding, heating it idly. “Here. Angeal’s being sociable and nice to the others.”

“He likes being helpful, and we appreciate it.” There was a gleam of silver as Veld was down to a dress shirt while he examined his jacket, but that wasn’t what kept Lazard’s gaze. No, in this one instance, that was Hojo, who was also down his jacket to a familiar black and white shirt.

Silver Elite.

“Good gods,” Genesis muttered, following his gaze, a fine brow arched incredulously. “Sephiroth…”

“No.” The other First neither knew, nor cared, what his friend was going to say. He tore his gaze from the rather confusing sight and frowned, a firm touch of fingertips making Lazard look at him. “No.”

Lazard made a sincere effort not to laugh, and managed that much, though he did smile a little. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” he muttered, unamused. “Not a word. Either of you.”

“I’d never,” Genesis all but purred, grinning. “That’s a fan you can keep.”

“Genesis,” Sephiroth’s tone alone was a warning that had Angeal coming back. Unfortunately, as he was the one who’d handed the professor his towel, he came back with a bit of a bemused smile. Thankfully, his level nature prevailed.

“Well, no one is naked and it’s just a lot of cold water. We can clean it up pretty quickly and continue, but I suggest we get a better barrier later,” Angeal said, looking at them all briefly before gravitating to Genesis in instinctive damage control. “It shouldn’t take long to find some things to be worn instead, it doesn’t look like it’s more than a layer or two deep on anyone.”

“I think we’re all fervently glad no one is naked, yes,” Genesis agreed. “Well, I am.”

“Given it’s all or none, that’s seconded firmly,” Lazard agreed. “We’ll get started back up shortly, I think everyone would just rather something dry to put on.“

“I’ll go see about some flashy clean up,” Genesis offered, heading back towards the ring with an idle wave.

“I’ll find reasonable clothing,” Angeal said. “Sephiroth, why don’t you just see about checking that barrier, I don’t think they need us here.”

Sephiroth glanced briefly towards the other executives, eyes lingering longer on a figure he was having an unusually hard time dismissing until they unfortunately met eyes. An arched brow from Hojo was enough to snap him out of it and he turned on his heel. Whatever he felt about it didn’t matter enough to dwell on it now. “I’ll do that.”

A little blurb I did on my original Lazard Deusericus rp blog (before it was forcibly and unwillingly rebooted). [Tumblr post]

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Lazard stared, wide eyed, at the neatly stabbed corpse, and tried to understand the strange feelings it provoked. At his side, Sephiroth calmly flicked the blood off Masamune and sent a coldly smug look at Veld as the Turks milled about, ‘handling’ the results of the president’s untimely demise. The rest of the board, standing well away from them, barely registered. “You killed him.”

“I did, yes.”

He was so calm, a perfect grounding compared to the storm of emotion threatening to drown his lover, who just looked at him with the same wide eyes. “You killed him.”

“And this is why I didn’t let you do it.” Catslit green eyes glanced his way, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “It was overdue, of course, and you would have for us, in a fit of protective rage no doubt. But it would tear you apart, well before the Turks would. You cared too much.”

“I hated him,” he whispered, knowing it was true. But then, why did it hurt?

“I know,” Sephiroth said softly, stepping forward to get a chair and lightly pushing him into it; he couldn’t protest, somewhere between numbed and an unexplainable pain. “And you hated him enough to kill him, but he was your father.”

“Sire,” he corrected automatically. “He was no father to me.”

“Enough to hate him.” He shrugged, glancing back at the body. “Enough for me to know that this task could not be yours.”

“I hated him,” he repeated numbly, assuring himself it was true, but finding no solace in his conviction. “Hate him.”

“A dangerous poison, hate,” Sephiroth mused quietly. “Sometimes, it does help to act on it. But not always. And this would not have quenched yours.”

“I should be grateful.” The glasses came off with no care for the faint glow even the contacts allowed for as he rubbed his forehead.

“Didn’t you tell me it was alright to hurt?” The words were gentle, for his ears only, though their closeness was more obvious than either of them had ever allowed before in public. “Let yourself feel. It’s normal, is it not?”

“I… yes.” He sighed heavily, feeling unreasonably tired. “You killed him for me.”

“I did, though I know you would never have asked it.” He shrugged, silver bangs swaying as he tilted his head. “What would they dare do to me, after all, even if it was not the better choice for your well being in subtler ways?”

Lazard laughed, the sound a bit strangled. “I suppose I owe you a kill, then?”

Green eyes glanced his way, puzzled. “Pardon?”

“Your father,” he explained, the sudden amusement in green eyes making him arch a brow. “What?”

“If the time comes, I assure you I’d manage myself,” he said, still looking so very amused.

Lazard didn’t understand it. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”

Sephiroth sighed, smiling faintly and shaking his head. “It would be no burden to me, Lazard; I never cared enough to hate him.”

Understanding began to dawn, though he tried to reject it instinctively, to deny it even to himself. “Never…”

“Hate is emotion - a very powerful emotion,” he said. “He inspires no such thing. I assure you, should it be necessary, the only difficulty I will have is the sheer amount of paperwork it will generate.”

The blond shook his head slightly. Paperwork. He was worried about paperwork? “You’re lucky.”

“Mm.” He shrugged again, a faint smile still curving his lips. “Something like that.”

PROMPT: Write five unconnected scenes (300 words maximum each) involving only two characters. After reading all five, the reader should have a firm understanding of the two characters and their relationship.

I chose Sephiroth and Lazard, from FF7: Crisis Core. Obviously, not canon compliant, and at 3+ years old no longer entirely compliant with my headcanon timelines, but I do like it. It's not exactly in chronological order, but it still reads ok. [Tumblr post]

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Scene 1: Lazard’s POV [211 words]

Heiddeger gave me a headache on the best days, but with casualty reports constantly coming in sleep was coming less and less, and I think I was about ready to just haul off and hit him to see if he was really that dense. The way he talked, like the men were just… expendable…. He didn’t even have the excuse that there was an overwhelming number of them - SOLDIER was a small, elite force. Not that anyone was expendable, but gods damn the man, sometimes he made me so angry.

Sitting at my side with quiet dignity, Sephiroth had just touched my wrist. Just a touch, but I was wound so tightly that I snapped my gaze to him.

A tiny smile danced on the edges of the general’s lips, understanding in his eyes. His voice was so soft, barely a breath, that it was almost more a matter of reading lips to be sure what he’d said.

’We know.’

It was just a moment, unnoticed by the others in those few seconds, but… slowly, I felt myself relax. There was no real point in fighting with Heiddeger - experience had proven that time and again. SOLDIER knew how I felt about them, and that was really what mattered.
 

Scene 2: Sephiroth’s POV [241 words]

Lazard was going to be the death of himself. It wouldn’t be an executive order, it wouldn’t be an assassination, it wouldn’t be from an ill-advised training exercise with the men - he was going to work himself to death.

It was easy to tell when he was exhausted, particularly once the glasses came off. His eyes were too bright, mako eating through increasingly lower reserves, and there was a dark bruising beneath them that spoke of many sleepless nights. He had trouble sleeping to begin with, but he’d get stuck in his own head and run himself in circles - more than once I’d returned from a mission in the dead of night and found him awake, sometimes not even fully changed as he plowed through paperwork.

It didn’t help that he’d gone and caught something - I couldn’t tell what, he was doing a good job hiding it, but there was a husky note to his voice that would normally have been quite enticing if I didn’t know it was from pain. The usual handkerchief was conspicuously absent halfway through the day, an occasional breathless sneeze escaping despite his efforts as his body rebelled.

The look on his face when I came in and took his coffee, replacing it with honeyed tea, was priceless. Somewhere between offended, embarrassed, and touched, but really, if the man wouldn’t take care of himself, then I suppose I had to do it myself.

 

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