Final Fantasy VII: Aeris Gainsborough x Sephiroth. 007: Days.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Sephiroth, Aeris, Yuffie, Lord Godo.
Prompt: 007 - Days
Word Count: 982
Summary: Sephiroth thinks about two days that completely changed his view.
Author's Notes: First entry to the comm, slight violence and honestly not much of the pairing in question. This one might be of more interest to those who follow my long AeriSeph fic.
Sephiroth could pinpoint the exact day when he started hating pink. Before that, it had just been another color to him. Not one he would ever wear, because it was feminine and the furthest thing from the military image he personified, but just a color, no better or worse than any of the other colors he never found himself wearing.
It was in April. A bright morning, cool and crisp and replete with all the sunshine and sweetness he didn’t give a damn about. The eighth of April when he found himself in Wutai again. The war was over and the land bloomed again. If Sephiroth noticed the soft petals around him, it was only to snort wryly at how well they grew when nourished by the blood of the fallen.
There were treaties to sign, agreements to be made and a nation to be browbeaten into further submission. Sephiroth himself mattered little to day’s proceedings and he knew it, but it was duty so he did not fuss. He would be the bared sword, the weapon that reminded the diplomats and bureaucrats where the power stood.
After everything he had done he would have supposed no one could forget, but on softly pretty days like this, when the air was a light perfume and each gentle breeze pressed blush-colored petals streaming over pale skin, he had to concede that perhaps memory was not as solid as he had assumed. Easy enough to look up from ground so recently sodden and red and see only the pale remnants of it, flushed rose, soft pink, a watered-down version of what had fed the trees that now bore those delicate petals like a mist overhead.
Sephiroth brushed the pink off his lapels and kept walking.
There were greetings and pleasantries and all the softness Sephiroth had come to associate with any part of life that did not center on hot blood and cold steel. There was hate and fear as well, most of it for him, but it was sheathed, as was his sword, neither party allowed to be the first to draw that day. Sephiroth let others do the talking and stared out at the flowery clouds of a color that he was just a few hours away from loathing with every fiber of his being.
The Lord’s daughter was present, a child barely more than ten. She was dressed for the day, in pink for the season and as befitting a girl-child. Sephiroth noticed her only because she was like him, there to witness and not do much else. She scowled at him for just a second and sheathed the look quickly before her father could see. Sephiroth sheathed a smug smile of his own beneath a mask of cold indifference.
The signing dragged on and the child fidgeted in her finery. Sephiroth frowned at her just as her father would have, had the man seen it, but both men had more important things to worry about than one uncomfortable child.
The talks dragged on, became quite heated. Tempers flared despite the soft calm of the morning and where only black ink had been meant to flow, blood threatened to as well. Sephiroth smiled in earnest at the promise of something other than a day of overwhelming softness.
Threats were made. Weapons were drawn. The dark demon grinned and stood at the fore to defend or attack as the case warranted and the world around him froze. Such skill he had, such fear he instilled, that none would dare move against him. Somber robes and suits barely dared to flutter in the same breeze that graced them with a swirl of fading pink petals.
The child fidgeted some more, then sprang.
The men from both sides of the table came to life and tried to pry her off. Sephiroth grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and just barely remembered in time to keep from snapping it. Wouldn’t do to kill the Lord’s spawn. This day was about ending wars, not starting them. Her father was doing what he could, yanking on her ankle. Sephiroth tried to kick her loose, but even in that pretty pink kimono, she had latched onto his waist like a barnacle on a hull and wouldn’t be pried free.
Something flashed in her hand and she lunged blindly. There was no skill in it but she was lucky and had the strength borne of a festering hatred. Sephiroth felt the sting and the suddenness of loss as red stained her little pink sleeve.
“Bloody hell,” was all he could say when he glanced at his hand and found a finger missing. The small blade had gone right through the joint. The Lord dragged his screaming brat away. She cried for her mother in a way that let all present know that there was no mother for her anymore, but Sephiroth could only retrieve his severed digit and compose himself quietly before anyone could notice. The appearance of weakness could be deadly in his line of work. The appearance of too much strength could be just as bad.
He covered the wound with his uninjured hand and waited patiently. Even as he reassured the Lord that no harm had been done, that he would seek no retribution against a child, he could feel the furious itch of regeneration.
That night, in the rooms set aside for his use, he sat watching his new finger’s rosy pink skin settle down to a more pleasing, paler shade. The brat had spirit, he conceded, but her antics had only succeeded in prolonging his miserable duty. So Sephiroth had the exact date he started loathing pink etched firmly into his mind.
He had no idea what day it was when he started liking it again, but he knew it must have been the same day he fell in love with Aeris.