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Mission Briefings
Mission briefings have been sent out to the following soldiers:
Alyssa Zaidelle
Cloud Strife
Leila Rosario
Sephiroth
Please make contact with your mission partner and make preparations for deployment. We wish you good luck and safe travels on your respective missions! (If you did not receive your briefing, inform HQ!)
taejiin's army: about // masterlist // wishlist // the story so far
R for Reflection_Special Message: Cecil Harvey
He cradled the plush toy near his chest and managed a faint, faint smile.
Fittingly, the sun had set and now, comforting darkness enveloped the room, with the only thing permeating the cloak of shadows being his glowing, emerald eyes. Pupils dilated reflexively, though there was nothing he wanted to see. The images were in his mind, and only in his mind.
A random accident concerning an éclair led Sephiroth to meet the albino man in the town near the headquarters. Sephiroth could still see it, the fascinating expressions that Cecil had when he was trying to be not afraid of Sephiroth’s intimidating presence and properly apologise for his mistake, though it was not entirely his fault for making Sephiroth drop the pastry. It reminded him of the chocobo he had bred back in SOLDIER, and had henceforth mentally equated Cecil to an albino chocobo.
His hand tightened around the plush toy, but he forced it to relax once more.
Sephiroth had agreed to accompany Cecil for lunch after those tense, awkward apologies, seeing as both of them had not had their midday meal. Cecil had chosen an exotic-looking restaurant, and he had gone along with his suggestion, displaying the spot of affection he had for the younger man unwittingly before they left for the restaurant.
The restaurant was foreign to the both of them, and upon setting foot into the restaurant, they realised that they had no idea what they were supposed to expect. They accepted the suggestions given by waitress, and promptly understood the meaning of ‘biting off more than you can chew’. It was not as much as about the size of the portion, it was about the food itself; the only thing that seemed edible to Sephiroth was the flatbread and the rice served. The stew that accompanied the staple foods was too spicy for his liking; chillies and spices swam amongst vegetables and some meat in the curry, and he could barely stop himself from wincing whilst he ate, before he decided to just fish the ingredients out from the curry and leave the gravy alone. However, Cecil was a good companion, after he got over feeling guilty for suggesting this restaurant. He told Sephiroth that, no, he was not a scholar, but instead, a field medic and a sentinel, then shared stories and information about his hometown, Lunaria, and about the people that he had left behind. Sephiroth, in return, gave reluctant bits about his past with SOLDIER and ShinRa, opting not to tell Cecil anything related to his less-than-comfortable childhood, though Cecil was certainly intrigued by the absence of Sephiroth’s last name.
Sephiroth had insisted on paying for the meal, against Cecil’s protests, because it was rare to have someone who could understand him, and despite of what they know, remain friends with him. Cecil got his small revenge afterwards; he had seen Sephiroth looking intently at a plush chocobo, and had slipped off, while Sephiroth was paying for the meal, to buy one for him.
It was all very good fun, but he should have known that it would not last. Nothing ever did.
After that, Cecil was gone.
It was as if he disappeared off from the face of Gran Pulse, and no matter how much Sephiroth tried, Cecil just was no longer around. No goodbyes, no explanations. All he had left was the plush toy, faithfully sitting atop his bedside table every day. That was the damning object that led him to hold on to hope, that maybe, Cecil would remember the plush toy and come back, one day. Maybe, just maybe, he would remember Sephiroth and come back, alive and whole in one piece, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. He would make sure to smile more, so that he would not be so intimidating anymore. He knew, he knows, it was his fault that Cecil went away. It was always, always, his fault.
As long as there was that one percent of hope, of some chance, Sephiroth would wait, because he had to apologise for whatever that he did, or did not do. He had to.
And thus he did, against his nature. There is no use in fighting for a lost cause. That was what he would have said, before.
Of course, he knew about Project Stasis from his still-existing comrades afterwards and understood that the Cecil he knew would not be coming back. Still, he waited, because Cecil was not dead, Cecil was not somewhere out of reach, Cecil was alive somewhere and even if he had forgotten when he woke, Sephiroth would make him remember.
But would he remember? More importantly, could Sephiroth even bear to see Cecil again? Could he be as cruel as to unload all his emotional baggage onto…someone whom he did not know any more?
And yet…yes, he could. Yes, he would. He would, would he not?
And then again, who was Cecil anymore? Would he still be seeing the same kind and gentle chocobo who wore jewellery? Not likely.
The announcements today morning told him of the awakening of two volunteers from the Project, and one of them was Cecil.
Somehow, he was relieved that his wait was over. However, this also signified that he could no longer hold on to his memories of the Cecil he knew. He did not know Cecil. Not anymore. Not from this point onwards.
He smiled, because it was better than letting himself fully understand the consequences of Cecil’s awakening. Because it was better than crying. Because, why would he use a negative, forlorn expression to remember his interactions with Cecil? They were good memories, and they deserved a smile; Cecil Harvey deserved a smile from him, even if he was saying goodbye to all of them.
It did hurt. It hurt to admit that he had failed, that he had to bid farewell. It hurt to acknowledge the fact that his albino chocobo was gone forever and he would not be coming back anymore. He still did not understand why Cecil left, and it confused him and left him bitter. But not today. Today, he was going to be gracious and unselfish and finally, let Cecil go.
If there was a God somewhere, he thought as his eyes bored a hole into the windows, if there was a being more powerful than I am somewhere out there, he let out a shuddering breath, I…I want to go back to the days when I could still see him. I don’t want to forget anything.
From this point on, he did not know Cecil. Not anymore.
Chequered Colloquy | Sephiroth & Queen
It had been a slow day.
Sephiroth reclined back in the armchair and lazily, turned a page of the book that he was reading. He had finished his mission with Leonhart a few days ago and it was his realisation, again, that he was still yet unfamiliar about the different terrains on Gran Pulse. Thus, he had come here, the HQ’s library, after dinner for research. It was information that could be vital in his next mission, yet the intense focus that he would have normally placed on such a matter of importance eluded him, for reasons still yet unknown, or rather, not analysed and understood, but he had no inclination to resolve those issues yet.
So far the day had gone by smoothly and normally, but the pace was uneasily slow; he was used to his superiors in SOLDIER linking missions after missions, barely giving him time to rest and reflect. There was only sufficient time to analyse the problems encountered, and think up solutions for the problems so that those problems would not surface again next time. However, this period of time after the mission to the Sulyya Springs was too long; his reflections had almost gone from technicality to something far deeper, almost.
There is no space for regret. What was done is done.
He turned yet another page of the book using the tips of his thumb and index finger, feeling the texture and creases of the parchment. He would re-read this book tomorrow morning; whatever knowledge he dug from his book tonight would definitely be forgotten clean by the time the sun rose and his dreams, nightmares, faded.
Sephiroth owns a violin given to him by a besotted female wealthy business associate who partly funded SOLDIER for their expenses. They met at a dinner party and by chance, she happened to learn of the fact that Sephiroth plays the violin well. Hoping to hear him play, she ordered the best violin to be made and gave the instrument to him, or rather, simply sent it to his room, thus forcing him to accept the gift. However, Sephiroth then flatly refused to attend all dinner parties when the female was on the guest list, hence the business associate's wish was never fulfilled.
Sephiroth prefers the piano over the violin, but is equally proficient in both. He kept, and brought along the said violin, because it has always been a good and convenient way for him to drive away the loneliness whenever he has insomnia or nightmares. A violin is easier to bring than a piano, after all. He has not allowed anyone to hear him play after he left SOLDIER and began his journey in solitude, because he understands full well how revealing music can be. It could be considered as a great honour if he is willing to play for someone voluntarily. However, if there was a protocol, that required him to perform, or if you asked nicely, he would obey and perform.
clarification on url tags:
(( Regarding the URL tags for members with hyphens in their URL (as a result of unavailable URLs), we'll be using the (#sephirothtaejin) and (#noctistaejin) tags. The reason for this is that Tumblr's tag system doesn't support hyphens (you cannot search for tags containing hyphens on the Dashboard (Tumblr translates the hyphen as a space), and similarly on a character's blog "tagged/sephiroth-taejin" searches for posts tagged with (#sephiroth taejin) and not (#sephiroth-taejin), for example), which defeats the purpose of our usage of URL tags.
So, in short, members can track and use either sephiroth taejin/noctis taejin or sephirothtaejin/noctistaejin, but we'll be using the latter. Some of you have already been aware of this, but we thought to mention it just in case anyone was unsure which tags we were using and why.))
D for Discipline
“Wrong.”
That one word was enough. His fingers were roughly grabbed by the tutor’s meaty hands, then crashed down upon the table. Again. The boy struggled to hold back tears of pain and kept utterly still, because he knew he was being recorded. He would always be recorded all the time. If he resisted in any way, they would know, and they would punish him later.
“Pick up the pen and write! What are you waiting for?” The tutor bellowed in his ear, making it ring. His ears were recently enhanced to have better hearing, and the pain of hearing a loud noise was undoubtedly doubled and amplified. Steadying the tremors in his right hand, he tried to grasp the pen, but it fell out of his grasps. He tried again. The pen clattered out of his hand and upon the table. His fingers; he could not move them at all, no matter how he tried.
“Do I have to tell you? Use the other hand! Quickly! Don’t waste my time!”
The boy obediently used his left hand to complete the new equation, correcting the error in the previous one. The words and numbers produced were a little shaky, yet startlingly similar to the ones written using the right hand.
The tutor pulled out the piece of paper right after the last number was written, and scrutinised it, his eyes narrowing into little slits. “Finally correct.”
The boy suppressed a small sigh of relief, and stared stoically at the tutor.
“Translate this into simple speech all over again,” The tutor handed him his previous work; a handwritten manuscript of all the poems in LOVELESS, “using your left hand. If there is a single grammar error; a letter out of line, like the mess that this equation is,” he threw the piece of paper that contained the slanted equation earlier at the boy, “you will write it again. Again and again until you can write in straight lines.” He eyed the boy. “Do you understand?” He demanded.
He nodded, catching himself before he glanced at his right hand.
“Do you understand me?” He demanded again, his voice rising with intensity and irritation.
“Yes sir.” The boy replied, his young voice monotonous.
Another memory.
A slap resounded in the room, leaving his cheek a burning red. Scratches appeared, and blood; even redder, dripped. “Tell me again, what should your plan be? Where should you allocate your troops? Why?”
He remained silent, then very slowly, pointed to the north, southwest, and east entrances into the fortress. “Why?” The lady asked calmly.
He opted for silence, as his finger remained on the ‘X’ that marked the east entrance.
“Answer me!” She screamed, but the shrill voice did not make him flinch anymore; he had been slapped for doing just that earlier. His ear rang, but he ignored it.
“Your troops will depend on your decisions; you think this is a mere game where you randomly throw darts?” She clutched the collar of his shirt, and brought the boy closer to her face. The boy then saw, with clarity, the ugly scar that stretched from the edge of her left eye down to her chin. “You are just like him,” she hissed, disgust apparent, “useless.” She spat the last word out as she threw the boy towards the ground.
The boy fell, of course, but was promptly grabbed by his collar to stand up straight again. The lady grabbed his right hand and forced it to point at the north entrance. “Why here? Why?” She screamed for his answer.
A crack of bone as she pressed the finger; not hers, against the board. The boy opened his mouth, not to yell in pain, but answer, just as she wanted, in short, detailed gasps as he tried futilely, to drive the pain away.
Footsteps. In the hallway, walking, walking.
He could not suppress a shudder; the temperature of the room seemed to have gone down drastically. Shuddered, and trembled.
As the footsteps appeared, he made out the tapping of boots. So, it was him.
The tapping stopped.
The door opened.
His eyes opened, slowly, slowly.
Cat-like green eyes glowed in the darkness of the room, blinked once, twice.
It was a dream, it was a dream, it was a dream…it was a memory.
When the time came for him to be able to protect himself, tutors were no longer needed. He had already learnt all he needed to know. In place of the tutors were trainers and coaches, but after defeating them all, only one remained. His sensei, the one who gave him his weapon.
And after that, the sensei left. He could still remember the blood that flowed out through the space between the door of his sensei’s room and the floor. It was the day he first felt loss, and the day that he relinquished emotions, until a certain redhead and a certain black-haired man stretched out their hands for friendship…
Those cat-like eyes never closed once, until the sun rose over the horizon.
Taejin Mission 039: Shady Business | Sephiroth and Squall
It had been some time since he had been assigned a mission. Whether that was by some strange twist of fate or somebody's actual machinations, Squall didn't know, nor was he interested. He had never planned to run from his responsibilities from the start, and all he cared about was that it actually felt good to be moving again.
It didn't matter that this mission reminded him of a silveret. He would deal with it, one way or another. He certainly wasn't going to abandon his responsibility. He would see this mission through. Fingers drummed along his upper arm as he listened to the briefing with arms folded, managing to keep his thoughts from drifting.
Blue eyes turned towards his partner for this mission, sizing him up. There was something uncomfortable about him. And yet, something strangely familiar in that discomfort. A cold mask. Impenetrable almost. At least, that was how it felt.
And then there was his weapon, so long it seemed almost unwieldy. A weapon that looked impractical at first sight, and yet was carried with the seasoned confidence of someone who had carried it to battle repeatedly. It seemed like something that only those of a certain stature could hope to carry comfortably, and even then, Squall had his doubts that he would ever willingly carry a weapon of such considerable length. It just didn't allow for the flexibility in his style, and a part of him was...interested. Would it be wielded well, and what was this man's fighting style?
Despite those thoughts, it didn't actually matter to Squall how capable or incapable his assigned partner was. He would just do this mission, practically alone if he had to. That was all there was to it.
When he was young, the scientists and trainers would, sometimes, bring him to the beach to train and fight the creatures that lurked under the sea. It was good for publicity, and it boosted his fame among the people as a child prodigy.
What the people never knew was that this child prodigy secretly enjoyed these rare trips to the sea, because if there were still some time before the return ride, the instructors in charge would allow him to do whatever as he pleased. He was certainly not going to go around giving out autographs; he never liked the attention.
No, what he would do, was to keep out of sight in an obscure cave, and build sandcastles. Before he left, he would always make sure that there would be at least a miniature-but-fully-functional castle, complete with outer walls and a canal around it for a moat.
Since then, he had mantained this interest, and could be seen making watchtowers subconsciously whenever he was alone, bored, and just happened to be near a pile of sand.
