@cloudvii - ❛ hunger . give my muse something to eat / drink .
Sephiroth makes a disapproving noise by clicking his tongue against the backs of his teeth.
“Nearly got yourself killed for these transfusions and now you're going to end up almost killing yourself because of them." He doesn't know why he deigns to bother with a lecture at all, especially given the fact that so little clearly gets through Cloud Strife's thick skull to begin with.
In a way, he can appreciate the rationale. Finding yourself completely indentured (or should the word be indebted? Is there a difference in Cloud's case?) to Rufus Shinra must tap into the demand for a particular brand of self-representation. One that doesn’t allow the Turks to poke a million holes in your armor and one that bares its teeth in defiance at the suggestion of weakness. Whatever Cloud imagines to be weakness, at any rate.
“Drink,” Sephiroth sighs impatiently as he shoves the mouth of a bottle of water towards Cloud’s face. “You’ll need to consistently keep your body fueled while it acclimates to the amount of mako in your system. How are you adjusting to changes to your metabolism?”
He has not placed great import on revealing his whereabouts in the late hours of the night ever since he had abandoned the Company. Only their promise keeps him here, tethered to the city. Atonement, of a sort, even if he does not imagine the odds would be in his favor if Cloud’s loyalties were ever called into question if Shinra, whether junior or senior, were to discover that Cloud was in semi-frequent contact with Sephiroth of all people.
Fortunately, he has found means to fashion several safehouses along the peaks of the Slum’s oddly tilted tenement towers and within the winding mazes of its many alleyways. Multiple redundancies kept away in the back pocket, in case anyone ever came sniffing too close in places they shouldn’t.
This particular refuge is the one closest to Seventh Heaven, and consequently, the least sensitive of locations to reveal to Cloud while he was busy having an out-of-body experience. Leaning over, Sephiroth dims the lightbulb hanging at the center of the small lean-to, then snaps his fingers between Cloud’s eyes from where he’s propped up against the rusty iron wall. “Drink,” he repeats, this time more forcefully.
