Log 032 | Towards the end...

[neverbeamemory]

Characters: Sephiroth [Open]
Setting: Prompts below 1st-12th April
Format: Prose & Action prompts, can switch either way, if preferred.
Summary: Upon revival, Sephiroth quickly realizes that he has something other than his internal trauma to worry about. By the end of his first week back, the nightmares have started, but he still manages to convince himself finally to go for the altered collar fluid once more.
Warnings: Fallout from having his 'self' put through the barrier blender by Zo. Blood & surgical-based gore, borderline-insanity, and also Sephiroth is prone to violent outbursts (or he might outright ignore you) throughout.

#1:1st April - Dormitory 02-06 & Infirmary
All he could do, was lie there and remember.

First for the sleep paralysis and then for the total body numbness that plagued those who had already died numerous times during their tenancy within the Tower of Animus.

All successes, and their eventual failures played out in Sephiroth's mind as if stuck on repeat, digging into and turning within what was left of his sanity and then as if it wasn't enough he experienced the excruciating tearing, ripping and separation of that which made up his entire self as if in slow motion as Zo's barriers destroyed him. All of those fragments of memory which he kept so close to the centre of his ego, that made him who he had reconstructed himself to be, those lesser-important memories that he would sooner have forgotten, every single jarring experience that he'd been through since; torn to shreds as Zo harvested it all away like quickly pulling aged bandaids which removed too many layers of skin in the process. At the end, he had almost welcomed the oblivion that was sure to come; but it hadn't. The same old ceiling met his awakening eyes.

The recollection wasn't Sephiroth's only problem. As the numbness began to subside, an entirely more physical raw feeling came to light at his left forearm.

Once he turned his eyes to look, the sheet of his bed was already stained scarlet from the deep, bleeding rip in his Vessel which ran right up from wrist to elbow. The pain, Sephiroth could handle, though lacking much movement in his fingers made it difficult for him to rip up some of the bed sheet to use as a tourniquet before he might lose yet another Vessel through the blood loss alone; he wasn't healing on his own, this was an immediate concern. If only he could focus on what he was doing, rather than turning too much of his attention inwards, like a toxic drug drawn to what he had gone through. How far he had gone, and how far he had fallen.

The sparse drops of blood along the Hallways towards the Infirmary would give his presence there away later; half-propped, half-sat against the side of a guerney glaring at any worker unit that might dare to come close. Sephiroth was ambidextrous enough, but trying to stitch ones own weeping forearm back together with no surgical experience was no small feat on a good day. It wasn't a good day, he'd had shaking hands even before he had arrived in the Infirmary. His makeshift tourniquet kept slipping down a bicep that seemed to have a life of it's own with twitching, and he kept having to pull it up and tight again with his teeth. Bloody mess would be the operative word here.

#2: 7th - 12th April - Nightmares
Sephiroth had hardly spoken to anyone since he'd returned. There wasn't any need for explanations, yet some of the looks he might-be-but-probably-wasn't imagining surely demanded him for one. He ignored them. Too easily thoughts receded inside himself for hours, gripping at memories that he needed to cling to hardest to keep himself in any semblance of what he regarded as himself. Too easily they reverted to what had been his outcome. However he tried to swallow it like he had all of his bad experiences and eventually, by the start of the next week things seemed finally to be returning to normal. He felt the first sparks of pride over what he had managed to achieve.

But he was exhausted from not sleeping more than an hour at a time and sure enough the lethargy finally won out. He soon wished that it hadn't.

Every night his Dormitory would be disturbed almost without warning. Sephiroth would wake up from nightmares like he'd never imagined before. Always climaxing around the loss of himself; how Zo so easily ripped all that there was of him apart, how Ruana might eat those parts, how he had failed again and again. How his legacy was lost for good. He thought he only cried out in his dreams before being shocked awake but it wasn't so simple as all of that, and only got louder the longer it was before he woke up.

i) Dormitory Hallways
[He's decided not to return back to his Dormitory tonight. Despite the lethargy, the creeping exhaustion, even the lacking desire to hunt monsters so that he might on-the-off-chance sleep better, some habits die hard. Sephiroth patrols the Dormitory Hallways without even Masamune, or rather it's hollow-Glamour replica, manifested. His Fire Materia flickers where it is equipped to his right forearm with only a glimmer of his reset power. The caution that he usually holds around himself is seemingly non-existent; but it's not the arrogance in his strength against the monsters this time.]

ii) Infirmary - Fl 2
[No one hangs around the Infirmary at night time, this makes it a perfect time for Sephiroth to be able to draw the patience together to get the dressing around his left forearm removed, the literal rip through skin and tendons cleaned again and re-wrapped up. For a few hours on an evening Sephiroth will painstakingly do just that, except he doesn't accept any of the help from any worker nearby - determined to struggle on his own until it's done.]

iii) Graveyard - Fl 48
[Ganondorf Dragmire.

Sephiroth sits on the grass, with his back against the back of an adjacent headstone, facing the one representing one whom many would have called his leader. It hadn't been farther from the truth, but it's not that it matters now. He can't decide whether it's a good thing or not that the troll king hasn't been around for both his greatest triumph, and his greatest failure to date. His thoughts draw into the headstone as he stares unblinkingly forwards, running all of the plots they had enacted through his head; it certainly beat anything else he could think about in the silent dark. Maybe, just maybe there might be something he missed, some detail that he might be able now to focus on.]

iv) Lounge - Fl 81
[Closer to the first light of the morning, Sephiroth dozes in and out of consciousness with his legs curled into his chest in one of the larger armchairs. For the most part, when he his conscious enough he's glaring out of the fictitious window at the stars. When not, he forces himself out of slumber every time his head drops down; he doesn't want to sleep. Sleep will bring those memories back and it's also more dangerous on this floor than most due to the monsters.

Surely that threat will keep his consciousness from slipping- ]

#3: 9th April - Fl 5
It had been intended as a 'touch base' to a location that he had always frequented during his stay in the Tower. A place where he could sit and feel out the vast dead space that was Gaia and know it at it's basest; how utterly destroyed it was. To remind him what he had lost, and so keep him focused on the future.

Not so much this afternoon.

In a rage, Sephiroth had already overturned a few of the tables from within the other viewing stations and brought them all around his own monitor before setting it ablaze with a flash from his Materia. He stood around six feet away and glared into the monitor which refused to burn; it couldn't burn with his power only being over Glamour again but it didn't matter. The flames died down, he ignited them again, never letting his gaze leave that desolate wasteland forever portrayed there on the screen. He imagined it might be a tribute to the Nibelheim Incident, where he had first learned of the truth of his existence, and he let it hurt him all over again. It was a different pain, but a more comfortable one to the pain which his mind kept remembering. The fire burned against his eyes, made them water, but still he stood there observing.

#4: 12th April - Violet Collar check, Infirmary Fl 2
By the end of the week, there was at last one thing that Sephiroth was most certain about; He still needed to try.

Even if he doubted there was the time for him to transition back into real powers again, much less try to re-infect the Tower like he had, at the very least when the timer ran out he wouldn't be bound by at least a small part of the shackles that held him here. Perhaps his core alone would remember what to do when the power failed for good, he couldn't just give up on that chance. Zo wouldn't be there to rip him apart again, if the Tower failed. Call it the last chance that he was clinging to, that his nightmares still screamed at him was folly - Sephiroth could not allow himself to give up on himself.

And so he waited, in the waiting area of the Clinic, early after the collar check had been announced. Fully intent to indicate with his slip of paper, to the worker unit who would be on duty, that he was to have the altered collar fluid once more. He would be saying goodbye to even his Glamoured abilities again, for a while and perhaps for the last time, but at least the rip behind the dressing to his arm was finally starting to scar over.

Comments

Graveyard

[lorule]

[ Hilda had not spend much time in the graveyard floor; it was a most depressing place. She understood that those whose name found themselves on these graves were not dead, but merely gone from the tower. Yet, to see all these tombstones for numerous Links' and 'Zelda' was no less distasteful.

As she passed by the floor, she spotted the characteristic silver hair of the man she had met of her first day, even though he was facing away from her. She approached him and cast a brief glance at the grave Sephiroth was sitting against-- Ganondorf Dragmire. Dragmire was new to her, but not the name Ganondorf. The Demon King from the ancient Hylian legends, the one whose resurrection she had commanded in the hope to steal his Triforce. Except it hadn't gone as well as she had expected.

A most despicable being. What was the silver-haired man doing here, sitting against this grave? Obviously it meant Ganon had once been in the tower, had they known each other? Had they been allied? Maybe she had misjudged him. ]

How lonely you must be.

[ Her voice was even as she spoke these words, as only warning of her presence. ]

[neverbeamemory]

[He makes no indication that he even realized that Hilda approached him. Eyes were too busy picking out flaws in the engraved letters that formed the name of his one-time ally. Part of him wanted to kick it hard enough to topple it over, part of him knew that was his rage talking as it's beginning to build while he thinks of all the past work they did together.

There are a handful of other graves here that would merit such treatment, before this one.

Hilda is glimpsed at out of the corner of his eyes only for a fleeting second before he looks away. Sephiroth doesn't want to reply, at least not to start with so there is a prolonged silence. Eventually he speaks, lowly and somewhat mumbled.]

No more lonely than anyone else.

[lorule]

[ After his reply, Hilda walked past Sephiroth. No more lonely than anyone else? She didn't think so. That and she noticed a chance in the man's demeanor. He was the same, but something was missing. Something was gone. As if someone had extinguished a light within him since last time they had met.

He wasn't the only one, of course. This tower was gifted for breaking people. But Hilda herself had never seen that before. ]

Is that so? I can think of only few who would find company next to the Demon King's grave. [One actually, and this one is now dead.] Was he a friend of yours?

[neverbeamemory]

[Sephiroth has only ever been this close to breaking point once before in this entire stay in the Tower. The Glamour drop served as a way for him to be able to bury all of that trauma - his body isn't real, so why should he take it so much to heart.

However this time, the trauma had been to his soul, the only real part of him left.

Demon King. That gets more of his attention, he's never heard Ganon with that title before. Sephiroth blinks a couple more times at the name on the grave before slightly turning his head up towards where Hilda is.]

Friend is- too friendly.

[lorule]

[ Hilda kept walking around Sephiroth, but finally stopped before him. Normally she wouldn't bother that much about talking to someone who obviously didn't want to talk, but he was her only means to glean some more of what she needed to know at present. She couldn't ask Zelda, this was much too risky. ]

Ally then? [This was maybe too much-- This man looked somewhat too calm and serene to be amongst the Demon King's allies. Yet again, she knew of Ganon only the legends and what little she had seen when Yuga had summoned him. His mind had been gone, an empty husk housing only his power and an insatiable hatred for the world.] Or maybe a mere servant?

Floor 5

[stitchedupbodyguard]

[The terminal floor wasn't one Veronica wanted to return to so soon. It was the place where she'd met her newest end at Sephiroth's hands. Honestly, it was the last place she wanted to be.

But, she felt herself drawn there. Likely, it was because of her newest regain; a picture of her and her family. If there was anything that could probably make up for having been killed in such a way, this was probably it.

The moment she'd entered the floor she knew he was there. The too familiar silver hair and the long coat easily drew her attention. And if that wasn't enough, the pyre created around one of the terminals was just another attention getter. What could he possibly be doing now? Did he hate the tower itself now?

Standing from the doorway, Veronica chose to watch this strange behavior.]

[neverbeamemory]

[For those that know anything of Sephiroth; his hatred has always been about hatred at the Tower from very early on. Forgive him for projecting it onto everyone around him, or not; indeed no one has ever been allowed to know him that well. He certainly will not be asking for anyone's forgiveness in this regard. It's all the same to him. Residents, Admins. All part of the same system.

He can't handle the immense connection to his dead world that he feels, alongside his too-raw-still feeling of utter failure. Just failure after failure, after failure. Each time the fire burns down the Materia at his right side gleams bright green and another small fireball is shot at it.

Though if he knows he's being watched, he doesn't care. This is a man who has been watched, consistently on-and-off for several months already. He might have reacted more if he'd seen it was Veronica but- his whole bearing, while violent, feels hollower than before.

Soon though, he'll run out of wood to burn. It's already starting to blacken around the base as he pauses to wipe the back of his hand across fire-spotted vision. So that he can dismiss the water and better able to see that World of his in the monitor.]

[stitchedupbodyguard]

[It's easy to feel the hatred in the gesture. She too was angry about her world being truly dead, the picture that appeared in her chest only making it worse. At the very least, she couldn't blame him for wanting to go home. She could blame him for just about everything else he did though.

But, like it or not, she wasn't going to bother him now. Trying to be quiet, she made her way back to the stairs.]

[neverbeamemory]

[It just so happens that Sephiroth turns towards the stairwell, looking for the next available burnable object, as Veronica is heading back towards them.

With a grunt he stops, facing her back. Waiting for her to acknowledge him. Go on, just turn around so that he can make good on another revenge. Though really, Sephiroth is much too tired to be provoking anyone, much less someone as skilled as Veronica, into a confrontation again. He hardly has the upper hand this time.]

Why don't you stay and watch? [His voice his low and almost hoarse actually, another telling sign of his state of being.] That's all anyone does.

[stitchedupbodyguard]

[The moment the first words leave Sephiroth's mouth, Veronica froze, already one step up the stairs but stopped by the simple words of an enemy. Revenge was not something necessarily at the front of Veronica's mind at the moment. sure, she would plan out an eventual attack on the swordsman for his attempt to leave the tower which caused much more trouble than anything she'd seen before.

Silently berating herself for hesitaing, the girl turned slowly around to face the swordsman, hands stiffly at her sides. She wasnt going to attack. Not yet.]

There's not much to watch. Only some burning wood and an angry swordsman.

[Her own voice was stern, calm. She was fine, everything was fine. Even if it wasnt.]

1st April, Infirmary

[notsogrimreaper]

I'd say you deserve it, but I'm not as cruel as you.

[Ryoji's voice cuts through the darkness, leaning slightly against the doorframe. He's surprised that he got this far without Sephiroth saying anything, but he supposes he's more preoccupied with his injury. Ryoji's expression is neutral, blue eyes cold and mouth set in a firm line. He's not about to celebrate Sephiroth getting what was coming to him, but he's not about to sympathize, either.]

What kind of trouble did you get into this time?

1st April, Infirmary

[neverbeamemory]

[Excuse you, Ryoji. At this point Sephiroth has the thread looped around the unmoving thumb of his left hand, the needle point rested in his palm while between his right hand and his teeth Sephiroth is pulling the already-heavily bloodied fabric that he's using as a tourniquet around the top of his arm tight again. The blood flow out of his split left forearm is already starting to well up dangerously again, swallowing the stitches he's as yet managed to get done somewhat neatly.

It doesn't help that his right hand keeps fumbling the grip. A muffled protest of what could be a grumble is heard as he finally yanks his head away firmly enough; just as Ryoji's voice is heard across from by the doorway.]

Leave me alone, Ryoji.

[It's a growl, as could be expected. His gaze flicks to the tourniquet to make sure it stays, then to Ryoji once more. Not wanting to even attempt to pick up the needle again with the boy watching him.]

[notsogrimreaper]

[Ryoji isn’t afraid, despite the growling voice, the angry scowl, and the rivers of blood on Sephiroth’s arm and along the floor. He seems completely relaxed, maybe morbidly curious. He feels a brief swell of satisfaction, knowing that Sephiroth is in a position that makes him less powerful, and realizing that in this moment, they both know who is the stronger man. Ryoji realizes how cruel that makes him and shoves the feeling away.]

What if I don’t want to leave you alone? You are seriously hurt. Someone should keep an eye on you so you don’t have a tantrum and lose more blood… though I wouldn’t care either way whether you lived or died right now.

[He shifts his position against the wall, but doesn’t move away, nor avert his gaze from the man in front of him.]

[neverbeamemory]

[Don't have a tantrum. Really there couldn't be anything further from Sephiroth's immediate attention. Worrying as it is the amount of blood he's already lost coming down here, at least he's been smart enough to cut off the worst of the flow beforehand. He's focused on trying to stitch his arm up rather than noticing mannerisms in the young boy; a task easier said than done with hands that don't seem to want to stop shaking.]

Then don't care. Go away. It's not your concern anyway.

[He snaps, quickly across the room at Ryoji before turning his attention back towards the needle rested in the palm of his hand. He raises his right hand once more to take it between a thumb and forefinger, only to lift it away and then shudder again. He hisses audibly as the needle plummets for the floor but is caught dangling off the end of the thread, the tension in his new stitches very nearly dotting his vision with the pulling-sting.

If left alone, Sephiroth has to half-lean his frame to one side, so that he can reach near to where the needle is and hoist it back into his grip - while keeping his ripped left arm up at a near right angle so his bicep can keep the pressure needed for the tourniquet. It's quite the balancing act.]

[notsogrimreaper]

[Ryoji, being mainly healthy, has the presence of mind to notice Sephiroth’s mannerisms. He can see that he’s shaking visibly, and his annoyance with Ryoji is only causing him to mess up his first aid job even further. Ryoji almost feels a little bit guilty, but he forces that away. Sephiroth wouldn’t feel anything towards him if their positions were reversed. He’d probably be around to finish the job.]

Not my concern? Not my concern that you’re finally getting the taste of karma you deserve after what you did to me, my friends, and to so many others in the Tower? I think your logic is a little flawed.

[But that doesn’t mean Ryoji doesn’t want to leave. He shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he should walk away. He should see this out, but… waiting around like this, watching Sephiroth suffer… he’s worse than him, isn’t he?

Very slowly, Ryoji takes a few steps forward, bends down to the floor next to the table Sephiroth is sitting on, and picks up the needle. He hands it over to Sephiroth, face still blank and neutral. He hates himself for doing this, but… he’s not a bad person. Not anymore. He has the opportunity to do a good deed, and he’ll do it. Even if he’s doing it for a man that’s killed him so many times before.]

April 10th | Infirmary

[provenworth]

She's come for what she always comes for. Medical wraps, medication and, if she can find it, sleeping pills. Anything to stop the dull. thudding ache from injuries obtained from her last death. Contracture scars that stretch across her collar bones, left hip and lay in random spots along her right leg. All sensitive and fresh that needed wrapping to stop her suit from irritating it further.

So far she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the man who had caused her this new pain, though unfortunately circumstances and fate brought her good streak to an end. Elena doesn't address him, nor does she look in his direction as she enters, searching the appropriate shelves and cabinets for what she was looking for. The school girl uniform is gone, replaced with her hand-made suit, giving her pockets to stuff the acquired wrapping into.

But, eventually, curiosity pulls her attention towards him momentarily. To the injury he was busy working on. Still silent, she turns to watch him, arms folded, leaning against a nearby counter.

[neverbeamemory]

Under the lighting of the Infirmary the throbbing extent of the stitched up forearm that he's done himself is all the more obvious. Of course he has his forearm twisted outwards away from him under it as well so that he can dab carefully at the area with an antiseptic wipe. At least it seemed he'd managed to keep the infection away.

At her distance as well Sephiroth's lightly shaking right hand isn't all that noticeable while he works, sat on one of the recovery beds with a pile of medical dressings still in packets to his one side. Silver hair, heavy with it's unusual unwashed state, falls down away from either side of his face.

As if he felt eyes on him, Sephiroth flicks his gaze up- and upon seeing who it is, narrowed darkly circled eyes.

"Yes?"

[provenworth]

There is no irony lost to her, now that she takes a moment to reflect on how the tables had been turned. While the injuries were different, the fact that neither of them trusted the drones to be of any assistance and chose to, instead, try and manage their injuries on their own.

Somewhat. She had been given the rare luxury of actually being treated once she'd aligned the break. Granted, she had been in a state of unconsciousness and could not fight the offered help from the very unlikely source. Again, another uncomfortable similarity.

Pushing off her spot across the room, Elena moves forward. Her pace is neither too slow nor rushed, indifferent to any suffering he may be experiencing from the wound. Stopping outside of arms reach, she takes a moment to take in his current state with an admonishing frown.

"You look a mess."

She can't recall a time where he looked so unkempt, which exaggerates her frown even moreso. Was it a visual sign of his current state of being or was it that he was in a state between washings? She didn't care to give it more thought than that - this was his own doing. His punishment for his failure. And she hadn't fully decided if she was furious at him for the pain and agony he had caused her and others - what he did to Zo - or for the fact that for such big talk, it had amounted to nothing.

Eyes then land on the injured forearm and she makes an audible 'tsk' sound. "Your stitch-work is atrocious. You should have had somebody with two free hands do it."

[neverbeamemory]

As Sephiroth registered that Elena was headed in his direction, he paused completely. He rested the cooling antiseptic wipe against that particular part of his crudely stitched together forearm while he threat-assessed the Turk. Granted, he wasn't as sharp in doing this as was the last time they had encountered; in fact his presence had even less of an edge to it at all - a fact that could be blamed on tiredness if he needed to pin it down to something.

Not that he should care.

Lethargic he was, ready to admit to anyone that it had anything to do with Zo's 'handling him'; Sephiroth was having a tough enough time accepting the fact himself. Though this was why he was down in the Infirmary at that hour and not sleeping. After a long pause, he tried to piece together a quip back at Elena, blunt and hollow as it was.

"Right back at you."

Then he looked away, at the floor pointedly before grimacing down at it, at himself. Was that really what he had been reduced to now? Returning jibes at another resident of the Tower like a 3 year old? He shook his head sternly and picked up the wiping of his injury once more.

Eyes didn't even flick back up to the blonde as Sephiroth continued to clean the raw stitches. She might as well not even be there for all the concentration he was having to deliver at the job, and the spasm-like shaking intervals his right hand gave off was something he set his jaw against; Elena would have to be blind to miss it at her distance now. Once more, berating words issued and Sephiroth even hissed at not only the words themselves - but his muscle beneath the torn skin shivered just then. Slowly, carefully, Sephiroth tested the flexibility of his hand; his fingers managed to claw up but that was the extent of the movement he had.

"My stitch work will do. It's healing, at least."

At least, human-slowly. Just another knock into the coffin in which the pieces of Sephiroth's ego were still trying to fit themselves back together again.

[provenworth]

Half-way across the room, arms unfold and hands move to rest on her hips, steps slowing until she comes to a full stop. She's within the unseen barrier she'd made around him, designating the furthermost length needed to be outside of his longest finger's reach. There was little threat from him in this condition, the wear and tear of his body and mind easily visible.

"Oh...your words. How they strike me so."

A movement of the arms in dramatic fashion, pressing against the center of her chest, would have only been unnecessary added flair and therefore was left out of her response. A tone of total indifference to his comment, if not also an unspoken message that - for now - she meant no harm. If anything, she was more there to observe, and scrutinize, the level of care he took to himself. It wasn't just the poor stitching that made her move a step closer, it was the shaking of his hand, the dark circle under his eyes. Lips pursed, corners pulling into a frown.

"Healing, but you can't even make a proper fist..."

Elena gives a sound, a frustrated huff of breath, somewhat indignant to the poor care he was treating himself with. Hands move from her hips forward without hesitance, one moving to the wrist and the other beneath his arm. Her touch is gentle, but firm, giving the slightest of pulls for his arm to move towards her.

"Don't fight me on this, Sephiroth. Let me have a look."

There was still a bit of debt owed, despite his anon, though not so anon, commentary. Furthermore, she also understood the importance of proper medical care, of minimizing scaring. Especially for one who had gone through life with a ability to prevent them. Which was, again, something she ought not care too greatly about. The man was a blight on her world and he had been a blight here. But then, there was that annoying feeling that, despite everything, he had to be looked watched after. And who better than somebody who knew him better than the rest?

"...I can redo this so it'll heal more cleanly and minimize scarring, if you still even scar at all."

2, iv, on the 10th

[no_longer_a_king]

"....are you all right?"

The voice came from a woman who had been gone for a month, one who had saved his life previously and now had no idea what to feel about the man before her.

Arturia had heard of what he'd done and at the same time, seeing him looking so tired, managed to feel some compassion for him. How and why, she didn't know, but the only time she had ever encountered the man personally had been to share notes and in passing in the halls. Everything she knew of his deeds came through others and while she trusted them, she felt that underneath it all, there was nothing wrong with being civil with him. Not with time running out.

Yet still, she kept a respectable distance from him. He might look exhausted, but he was a warrior and she had no idea how he would react to a simple question.

[neverbeamemory]

Mostly hidden in the depths of the larger of one of the armchairs behind bent-up booted knees Sephiroth again blinked back the dots of sleep from his vision that was tempting him to submit. His bandaged arm folded underneath his good one and rested across his midsection, atop his loose grey vest. He hadn't worn his leather jacket or armor out again that night, a risk that he had taken yet apparently had managed to avoid the usual fare of monsters stalking around all night. Perhaps there was something about him now, that they would keep away from. Maybe they could tell, now, that once he started killing there was little left that would convince him to stop.

The voice he heard was blurred around the edges of his perception, flashed a stolen memory to the foreground of the space behind his eyes and sounded entirely like perhaps he had half-dreamed it.

'Hey, are you doing OK?' No, that was the wrong space and time, that world was dead.

"Hm.." He answered it, clinging onto the disgruntled noise from himself as it hauled his consciousness in the direction of the bearer of the question. Sephiroth tipped his head to one side against the inside back of the chair and peered, heavy-lidded, around his legs which he moved both to the side more so that he could easier see her. The violet of his collar was the most colorful thing about him, all pale greys and greasy silver almost as if the shade itself were draining the hue out of his usually moreso-vibrant green eyes.

Arturia. He blinked slowly, as if dismissing the image of her from the dream he still half suspected he was caught in. When that didn't work he closed and scrunched his eyes a fraction tighter to then try again; then resolved that it if was the Tower trying to play more tricks with him there wasn't much he could do about it. His mouth curled into what would have been a scowl if he'd have had any of the energy or will to form one convincingly, it was more of a tired grimace which didn't hold on his face for long before dropping away.

"...what a loaded question. You know that nothing is 'all right'."

If the entire way he was sunk into the armchair didn't give away his demeanor well enough, the roughened tone he spoke with would do it.

[no_longer_a_king]

"True, but it seems an appropriate thing to ask when one does not know what to say."

She approached him then, unafraid and unconcerned given his lethargy and how dressed down he was. He was not a threat and what she knew of the man he would not go around like this without a reason to. What warrior would unless they were truly exhausted down to their soul? Even she, when the Tower had broken her down to her worst and she'd temporarily wiped her own memory, had taken precaution upon precaution against being caught off guard.

"Are you trying to rest or stay awake?"

[neverbeamemory]

He grunted at that and thick black eyelashes were almost crunched totally together watching Arturia approach him. He thought for just a moment that he should at least drop his legs down off the edge of the armchair, to be polite, but that notion was about as fleeting as his failing consciousness. The legs almost fell to the side more for that moment that he might have given up and fallen asleep.

As such, Sephiroth only heard the last part of Arturia's question.

"Stay awake? Hm." He stopped his head from falling down once more and blinked a couple of more times in the direction of the other warrior. As that was what she was, after all, and it wasn't ever more obvious to him now than in this moment when he was so unequipped.

[no_longer_a_king]

And yet she had no aim to harm him in any way. Not like this when he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open, barely able to focus on anything. It wouldn't be honorable and as much as Arturia believes herself to have given up her honor back on that day when she took Shirou's head, there were some things so ingrained into her psyche she could not fight it. Things like not taking out an enemy when they were unable to fight back.

"....I can guard you if you wish to rest," she offered, because it wouldn't be right to leave him here if he needed to rest. She might've been able to drag him around when she saved him down in the labyrinth, but to the elevator and to his rooms was another matter entirely. For one, she didn't have the adrenaline or her full strength just yet. For another, she didn't think he'd take kindly to being dragged when it wasn't a life or death situation.