...That's definitely not what he asked Sephiroth and definitely not the sort of conversation he was hoping to run them through, but fine. If Sephiroth is going to be stubborn about this - of course he's going to be stubborn about this - then he'll take whatever he can get.
Finishing a clean up of Sephiroth's back, he presses down just one more time with the cloth in an effort to reassure before removing it, and then sets it on the rim of the bowl. Waste of cloth if he just sets it down into the dirt again.
"The simulation we were all in would regularly throw curveballs at us," he starts to say, inspecting the knife he's chosen for one last look-over. Just in case. He probably doesn't need the others, but... Just in case. The constant mantra in his head, a terrified rhythm of words. "Every other month or so, it could be something else that was an absolute mess. Some of it was just things we were doing on our own, of course, or the result of bad actors. One of the last things that happened, as a matter of fact, was that one person murdered another. We had to organize a whole investigation into it, made all the more difficult by the fact that the guy responsible not only could teleport, but had a pair of fuckbuddies - one his second in command, the other just a useful idiot - who tried to give him alibis."
Okay. Okay. He can do this. He knows the basic idea of what he needs to do. So, carefully as he can, gentle, he starts to test the pressure of the blade. They're in uncharted territory, here. While they're not at full ability as either SOLDIER or dragons, that just means a whole lot of in-betweens they could be at. Going too hard right off the bat would be a disaster, so he'd rather be more careful.
He keeps talking. Tries to keep his voice loud enough that maybe it can ease away the feeling of the blade against skin, no matter how numbed.
"But a lot of other times, it was those outside the simulation - some of them responsible for its maintenance, some not - just fucking around. Sometimes by accident, but other times on purpose even if they didn't say as much." Gotta encourage the fucking to save the world or.... whatever. Angeal still doesn't get it. He still half suspects a lot of it was bullshit.
"One of those times... It was one of them that had a thing for truth. Pure, unfiltered, exposed truth. And she thought all of us trying to hold back, to not show all of ourselves to everyone else for no damn reason... She didn't really see the point in it."
Ah. There. That's it. That's the pressure he needs, blood slowly and so slowly oozing out along metal. It doesn't come rushing out as fast as he expected and he doesn't think it's because of the cold.
He keeps talking. He keeps slowly cutting through.
"She changed people's forms to reflect the darkest parts of themselves. What we considered the worst aspects of ourselves, made physical in some way. It affected everyone differently. Genesis became more birdlike to an immense degree. Mithrun was actually similar in a way, gaining feathery legs and talons, his arms replaced with wings."
Is he getting to a long enough cut? Should he go in a little deeper, to help more? What if he risks accidentally snagging the wings with the blade? Angeal doesn't want to cause undue suffering but he doesn't want to make things worse from his own worry either. Regardless, he makes sure not to be in the way for a smack from a bloody wing.
"I didn't escape that either. And-" His voice grows just a little rougher, just a little more jagged around the vowels. "I hated it. When my brain wasn't otherwise compromised from a distraction, I hated it.
"All I could do was tell myself that it would pass. And I had to make that be enough."
no subject
Finishing a clean up of Sephiroth's back, he presses down just one more time with the cloth in an effort to reassure before removing it, and then sets it on the rim of the bowl. Waste of cloth if he just sets it down into the dirt again.
"The simulation we were all in would regularly throw curveballs at us," he starts to say, inspecting the knife he's chosen for one last look-over. Just in case. He probably doesn't need the others, but... Just in case. The constant mantra in his head, a terrified rhythm of words. "Every other month or so, it could be something else that was an absolute mess. Some of it was just things we were doing on our own, of course, or the result of bad actors. One of the last things that happened, as a matter of fact, was that one person murdered another. We had to organize a whole investigation into it, made all the more difficult by the fact that the guy responsible not only could teleport, but had a pair of fuckbuddies - one his second in command, the other just a useful idiot - who tried to give him alibis."
Okay. Okay. He can do this. He knows the basic idea of what he needs to do. So, carefully as he can, gentle, he starts to test the pressure of the blade. They're in uncharted territory, here. While they're not at full ability as either SOLDIER or dragons, that just means a whole lot of in-betweens they could be at. Going too hard right off the bat would be a disaster, so he'd rather be more careful.
He keeps talking. Tries to keep his voice loud enough that maybe it can ease away the feeling of the blade against skin, no matter how numbed.
"But a lot of other times, it was those outside the simulation - some of them responsible for its maintenance, some not - just fucking around. Sometimes by accident, but other times on purpose even if they didn't say as much." Gotta encourage the fucking to save the world or.... whatever. Angeal still doesn't get it. He still half suspects a lot of it was bullshit.
"One of those times... It was one of them that had a thing for truth. Pure, unfiltered, exposed truth. And she thought all of us trying to hold back, to not show all of ourselves to everyone else for no damn reason... She didn't really see the point in it."
Ah. There. That's it. That's the pressure he needs, blood slowly and so slowly oozing out along metal. It doesn't come rushing out as fast as he expected and he doesn't think it's because of the cold.
He keeps talking. He keeps slowly cutting through.
"She changed people's forms to reflect the darkest parts of themselves. What we considered the worst aspects of ourselves, made physical in some way. It affected everyone differently. Genesis became more birdlike to an immense degree. Mithrun was actually similar in a way, gaining feathery legs and talons, his arms replaced with wings."
Is he getting to a long enough cut? Should he go in a little deeper, to help more? What if he risks accidentally snagging the wings with the blade? Angeal doesn't want to cause undue suffering but he doesn't want to make things worse from his own worry either. Regardless, he makes sure not to be in the way for a smack from a bloody wing.
"I didn't escape that either. And-" His voice grows just a little rougher, just a little more jagged around the vowels. "I hated it. When my brain wasn't otherwise compromised from a distraction, I hated it.
"All I could do was tell myself that it would pass. And I had to make that be enough."