theleadingman | avalon: inbox

Isn't... it better that way.

[She folds her hands together, quieted by the thoughts that seem to linger over her head. The ones with the same weight that settle atop her shoulders and bind her to the present.]

You'll want to say it isn't, I'm sure. I'm confident that I know you. I... can't forget you if you're around me. I can't move forward. I can't move on. That isn't your fault. It's mine. If I were stronger, it wouldn't matter.

[At least this is what she says. Whether that's true or not... entirely debatable. Whether she sees him or not, Balthier is, undoubtedly, a part of her. A part she was never looking for. A part she never thought she wanted. A part she didn't realise may have been missing. That part is uniquely him.

For just a moment, as she eyes him, it reflects in the way she gazes at him. Not so much pain, but simply... adoration? Devotion? Books would do a far better job of describing it.

"Books are the best kind of neighbour."

...Aren't they, though.]

You have something of mine. Don't you know that I'm always with you, no matter where you go. Far or near.

[Her heart, she means. He has her heart.]

[His expression shifts as his gaze returns to meet hers. He's taken care to be as neutral as possible until now, with varying results, trending more towards firm or irate when he did allow anything to show through, but the expression he wears now is nothing short of crestfallen. They way she looks at him in turn makes something in the pit of his stomach twist sharply, and he feels as though his heart is about to drop out of him entirely, leaving him hollow.]

I wish you didn't feel so strongly that you had to forget.

[Because he knows he won't be. He can't just forget her. He doesn't want to. For all his talk of not wanting to live in the past, he has never been able to forget anyone who has touched his heart in some way. Aerith has done far more than that; she had taken hold of it completely.]

You— have something of mine, as well.

[For all she'd said he couldn't say to her, he's not sure she'll allow this any more willingly, but he cannot leave that unspoken.]

And even if you must forget, I won't.

[Instead of responding immediately, protesting, or otherwise outright rejecting him, she says nothing. Instead, she takes him in, gives what he says the appropriate time needed for it to linger between them. Do their feelings mirror one another? Perhaps they do. As she takes him in, Aerith realises she could eye him for quite some time without tiring of it.

What she might give for just another afternoon watching him sleep, wondering what kinds of things he dreams about. The thought alone makes her heart ache. Sweetly, perhaps.

After a moment's hesitance, she unfolds her hands and reaches toward him. Keeping a careful gaze on him, there's a distinct pause. She's thinking better of this, as if it's some kind of obstacle that only she can see. She pushes past it, whatever it may be, and with an exceeding amount of care, she presses touch right atop where his heart rests.]

You should take care to protect this.

[To covet it. To treasure it. She's not worthy of it, but she knows better than to say so.]

Even from me.

[He swears his heart stops for half a moment when her hand comes to rest atop his chest, and in the brief silence before it starts to beat again, he finds himself at a momentary loss for words. Her hesitation before her approach should be all he needs to convince himself not to act on impulse, not to do the very first thing that comes to mind, but he finds it difficult to stop himself— near impossible. He lays a hand over her own, his fingers curling against it instinctively, and it's unlike his efforts to reach out to her earlier— it's soft, affectionate, feather-light as though her hand might shatter beneath his touch if he isn't careful.]

I've always been good at that part.

[Protecting his heart. It was, perhaps, one of his most finely honed skills, and yet in this situation he feels absolutely hopeless, as though all of those years of practice meant nothing at all.

He knows he shouldn't, knows he's doing nothing to help her move on as she's so intent on doing, but he can't help but feel compelled to lean in and cup the side of her face for the first time in what feels like ages, swallowing hard before he presses his lips to hers, earnest and maybe just a bit too hard as something like desperation breaks through.

Please, don't.]

[It's a touch she should expect. Certainly somewhere inside of her she does expect it. Regardless, the moment his hand presses to hers in that ever intimate way, she begins to draw back. What stops her is when he reaches over to carefully take hold of her. What follows is nothing short of bittersweet.

Aerith often thinks of the kisses they've exchanged. Of everything they've exchanged, really. Those kinds of things are never far from her mind. There's something about this kiss. Insistent, but not the way it had been the day she'd intruded on his territory. Behind closed doors, Balthier is an entirely different kind of man. It takes one kiss to think of every little impression he's made on her.

For just some moments, she's caught up in it. But before she can fall too far, Aerith struggles to to catch breath he's too easily stolen, dipping her head.]

—I can't.

[Rather, she can. Only that she shouldn't.]

[After weeks apart, that single kiss brings memories flooding back— thoughts that were never buried too deeply to begin with, scenes that he's revisited time and time again, now drawn back to the surface by something other than his inclination to torment himself with what he can no longer have. Even as she pulls away, he chases; she dips her head and he moves his hand to gently rest at the back of her neck, his hold on her hand over his chest tightening slightly.]

You can.

[Of course, he knows why she insists otherwise— she thinks that she shouldn't, that they should stay far away from one another, and she may even be right, even if he can't bring himself to agree with it. He dips his own head to try and reach her, his grasp dropping just a hair to curl around her wrist and draw her close once again.

For a moment, she'd been lost in that kiss right along with him. None of this is for a lack of wanting on either side.

He dares to steal another, insistent as the kiss before, his pirate heart unwilling to give up treasure so easily. Pirates take, take, take, and don't walk away from something they know to be truly valuable.]

I won't say anything else you don't want to hear.

[Kissing isn't against any of the rules she'd loosely set out beforehand, technically speaking, though he knows that in this moment, he's playing a very dangerous game.]

[If it wasn't him how different would this be? She'd slap him, most likely. Right in that handsome face of his. There are many variables that prevent that from happening. One being that she never wants to have a reason to raise a hand against him. Another being that he is... well. He's him. The heart complicates all matters, perhaps none so more than these types.

What if she took just some moments... for them both?

No. That's a terrible idea. Because she'll want more. More than she can rightfully expect of him. The only thing it'll do is make her berate herself for it later. She's already doing that in the present, isn't she? They've gotten here because of her. What's a little more inward kicking.

He draws her closer to him almost effortlessly. He presses upon her another kiss, threatening her heart to racing. She doesn't linger nearly as long the second time around, though his words settle between her ears, competing with the deafening thump of her pulse.]

This isn't a good idea. [She does manage to say.] I... I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I don't want to mislead you. [If she gives in at all, he may think he's changed her mind. She can't let him think that. It's all a terrible idea in retrospect.]

[She's right. On this one thing, they can agree— it isn't a good idea, because they'll both want more, won't be content to let this be enough, and yet how much worse would that be than where they already are? Where he already is, alone and wanting and unable to even begin to think of closure, unable and unwilling to move forward out of sheer stubbornness and what has perhaps become a vain hope that somehow, this can be resolved.

He lets her pull away this time, loathe as he is to do so, and his hand drops away from the nape of her neck, coming to rest lightly against her hip even as distance appears between them.]

No— I know you won't change your mind.

[Because she's just as stubborn as he is. There's an impossibly heavy feeling that's settled over his chest, knowing that a few insistent kisses aren't going to be enough to sway her. At this point, he's certain nothing will.]

It's not misleading if I accept that, is it?

[He seems clear, not fully touched by whatever nonsense feelings may draw one into. Whatever cute little false hopes they might be finding. Even so, his touch remains. That subtle little press of palm over the curve of her hip. He's softened her already with kisses and touch alone.

But what he says next...

For several long moments as she attempts—and fails—to gather herself, Aerith stares him. She pries with emerald gaze, as if she's trying to decipher what exactly he's saying.]

I don't know what you're asking of me.

[Because she's certain he's asking something. There's implication in his touch, in the sound way he imprinted memory upon her lips. Her own slackens and loosens and for just a breath or two, Aerith feels light of head, perhaps a tandem of the her circumstance, the turning of thoughts coerced by Sephiroth, the state of her being, the concept of humanity and what that means, mercy and compassion, and every step with Balthier that's brought her to where she is now.]

I'm not entirely sure of that, myself.

[It's not often that he admits to not knowing something, least of all his own mind, but even as they speak, he finds his heart and mind to be at war with one another. One more kiss hardly seems enough to ask, but anything beyond that—

It's dangerous, is it not? Will it only make things more difficult, if the current situation gets out of hand? It wouldn't be the first time they had gotten carried away, and yet if it were to escalate, he doesn't think he would regret it in the end. He wouldn't go so far as to call it closure— because nothing that has or could take place here tonight could ever even come close, not when he knows himself as he does, but there's a bittersweet note to this exchange even as they are now.

It's a goodbye, if anything, though he hates to think of it that way. She won't change her mind, and he can't make her. Wouldn't force her, even if he could. She would only resent him for that.

He sighs, and rather than try to kiss her again, he simply leans in to let his forehead rest against hers.]

Nothing you aren't willing to give. Only that there are as few regrets as we can manage when we part ways.

[It isn't misleading him, if he knows that's what has to happen.]

[What is and isn't she willing to give? What does she have left to give? Aerith has given every part of herself to him. Perhaps not every piece of information he ought to have. Every piece of information that likely doesn't matter. The only thing she hasn't been able to offer him is stability. She couldn't have offered that if she tried.

For just a moment, she toys with possibilities. What if she simply never went back to Midgar? What if she went with him to Ivalice? Such things likely aren't possible. If they were, wouldn't it be irresponsible of her? Isn't it her place to protect those she cares for back home? What if... she could bring him with her? She's not selfish enough to do that. He has his own life to attend to, his own dreams and desires. She can't ask him to give up any of that.

His forehead rests to hers, her eyes shut, and for moments that seem longer than they are, all she thinks about is him. How much she's missed him. His witty jokes. His expression when she antagonises him. The genuine smiles that take him on occasion and the charming little half curve he usually wears.

"...as few regrets as we can manage when we part ways."

When they part ways. She can think it. Has. But having it said aloud, knowing she hasn't been able to say it herself, is like driving a dagger into her heart. Her bottom lip trembles, she splinters down, breaks and fractures, silent tears in modesty falling over cheeks. If one can ever assume that Aerith has ever fully been one piece, a contestable idea.

I don't want you to go.

Even if she can't say it, she thinks it. She feels it. She wraps herself in that thought, imagining for a shaken breath or two a circumstance difference for them both.

If she speaks, she'll ruin it. All she can do is grasp the moment for what it is before it should wither like a flower in winter.]

[He has no way of knowing, precisely, what's going through her mind. It could be any one of a thousand things; his own has been racing with thoughts and potential solutions for this predicament of theirs for weeks, and he has come up empty every time— because that's the thing about the future, isn't it? With very few exceptions, none can know what it holds, and even the best laid plans are often thwarted. There were no solutions that seemed plausible, nothing that could change with any kind of surety what she knew to be certain. The more he learns of what she knows, where she's from, the more determined he is to defy it these things; a predetermined fate goes against everything he stands for, and yet Aerith lives her every day staring hers down.

He sees the tremble of her lip before the rest sets in— the subtle shake of her shoulders as she finally breaks apart at the seams and tears begin to fall. He's never seen her this way, and he's certain that she never wanted him to— she has always been concerned with how he perceives her, even in their most private moments.

His hand lifts from her hips and he puts both arms around her without hesitation, gathering her to his chest and lifting his head so that he can rest his chin against her own, one hand coming to rest at the back of it in the hopes of offering some kind of comfort, reassurance. Is there any comfort that can be enough, for all she's feeling? Vain though he may be, he knows this isn't just about him. It's everything— all of it too much to bear, and all of it making the bond between them that much more complicated.]

I'm here as long as you want me to be.

[She hasn't said anything, and he doesn't expect her to— but it's the only reassurance he can offer her. He'll not leave her on her own like this, and he'll stay right where he is as long as she'll allow.]

[It's likely a vain hope that he doesn't witness her in those moments. If he has any judgement, she can't tell. He certainly doesn't say so. Instead, he chooses to simply act as whatever support she may need, likely not knowing what's within his realm of possibility to give. There aren't easy answers for situations like theirs and Balthier is so much in the dark that it wouldn't be possible for him to give any without making an error somewhere. Even Aerith's judgement can't be considered completely sound.

As she plays back the recent weeks, the various conversations, what limited information she's gained of her own predicament, slowly and gradually, she draws her touch up along his back. When was the last time she cried? When she was younger, if she's remembering that correctly. A lonely childhood where she had very few to depend on. Her life has been fraught with disappointment and misfortune. She's learned not to cry about it all, but perhaps years of not doing so have led to this moment.

So she waits and lingers, turbulent, but trying to calm proverbially churning waters. For just a moment, one hand lifts to dust aside some of what's fallen. The rest, she suspects she's inadvertently buried against him. She doesn't feel great about that. He's taking it all in stride, but he shouldn't have to shoulder this. Yet she knows that for him, it's not a case of feeling that it's obligation, but simply a desire. It's as simple as that.]

I'm sorry.

[Aerith finally manages to say as her arms tighten about him for just some breaths. Honestly, nothing beats a good hug. She's needed quite a lot of them lately and hasn't bothered to say as much. Where it leaves her, she can't say.]

If I'm being honest, I'd say that I wanted you to stay forever. The thing is, you have your own things to get to. It would be hard, but I could walk away from you, knowing that you finally have someone here who can continue to be here for you. That way, when we are parted—not because I want us to be, but because anything else just isn't possible that I can see—she can help you keep moving forward.

[A pause as she draws in a breath, thinking very carefully, perhaps too carefully, about how to word things.]

I know I keep making decisions on your behalf, even knowing that whether I want them to or not, the things going on in my life impact you. I thought I was trying to protect you, knowing and admitting that I was trying to protect myself. It wasn't all for one or two reasons. I just wanted to be with you, but facing that means putting us both through turmoil we don't need and don't deserve. Weighing days or moments of happiness against a lifetime of what will also likely be regret and guilt, I don't know how I should feel about that. I don't want to feel guilty after you leave tonight.

[If he leaves tonight.]

I don't want to feel guilty tomorrow when I want to see your face or hear your voice, or hold hands with you and have stupid debates about things that don't even matter. So what am I supposed to do. How can I know. I don't feel like I know anything.

[The apology is unnecessary, in his opinion. For all his frustration, he has never thought to demand one from her— only the chance to understand, and the opportunity to be heard. She's giving him that now, and he thinks it's as much for her as it is for him, perhaps even more. She's kept these things inside for so long, unwilling to burden others with her thoughts, the truths she must live with every day, that while it hardly solves anything to speak them aloud, it has to allow some kind of relief. As someone who is also inclined to keep his deepest and most troubling thoughts to himself, play such things close to the chest except in very specific company, he knows there is some sort of catharsis to be found in finally speaking it aloud, even if it changes nothing. It lifts some of the weight, allowing someone else to help shoulder the burden— though that's far easier said than done. His troubles have always been his own. In that vein, he can understand why Aerith has felt that her burdens were hers alone.

When she tightens her return embrace, he does the same, a subtle but firm offer of reassurance that he's sure means very little in the greater scheme of things— but he'll stay just as he is for as long as she needs, an anchor if she'll allow him to be.]

I can't tell you what to do. I haven't the right— but I never want you to feel guilt where I'm concerned. Not for a moment, though I know it's in your nature.

[Because she's uncommonly kind. Because she puts the feelings of others before her own for so many different reasons. It's admirable— but in this, in finding some way to move forward, in whatever direction she may choose, he thinks it only serves to make things that much more difficult.]

I don't care for regrets, certainly not for things I have done. The ones that linger are more often for those I haven't, opportunities I've allowed to slip past. Regardless of what happens, I will not regret a single moment spent with you.

[He's been more honest this day than he's allowed himself in quite some time; he feels it bordering on uncharacteristically saccharine, but it is vital, he thinks, that he make himself perfectly clear. This is not the time for his usual flippancy, adoration hidden behind teasing quips, or offering her an invitation to read between the lines for his true meaning.

If there was ever a time to be blunt, it is now.]

You take moments of happiness where you find them, even if they can't last forever. Nothing does. That's not what makes them worth having.

[She simply listens, nestled against him in whatever makeshift comfort he's seen fit to gracefully extend in her direction. The things he says are things she agrees with. They are things she has told herself in moments that it has felt difficult to press on. She suspects that it is mildly different because whilst she aches at the thought of leaving Tifa and the others behind as well, it's all a part of why she's been quiet about it. She doesn't doubt for a moment it's because she and Balthier aren't just friends. The something more adds a weight that she, frankly, isn't used to.

She wouldn't know any better, considering Zack passed on before anything particularly serious could ever occur between them. But Aerith can hazard a guess that had he been around longer, she might have reacted somewhat similarly. Or she would have done as she had attempted with Balthier to begin with, and expressed that apprehension of any such misadventuring.

It doesn't stop anything he says from being objectively right, though. She should just take every moment she can with him and hold onto it. So why is it so hard to do something that sounds so easy in retrospect?]

You've said that before.

[She remembers. "That's not what makes them worth having." It wasn't word for word, but the message was clearly the same.]

I guess it feels different to me, even if I agree with you. Even if I... normally follow that. It's different with you. It's different when it's you. Would it be so different if we were only friends? Maybe not by much, but how I feel about it is different.

[Aerith looses a sigh, taking just a moment to bury her face into the front of his shoulder before she settles her cheek against it instead.]

You always make me want to say 'yes' to everything. I always want to give in. Not because you're coercing it or forcing it. Because when I look at you and when I'm near you, I know that's what I want. That's why I didn't want to let you see me. Because I knew that if I did, my resolve would weaken. Much the way that it is right this very moment.

[Her reminder that he's said similarly causes him to let out a soft noise that approaches laughter, though not quite— there's no mirth to it, though there is certainly fondness, and perhaps a touch some something else.]

That does sound like me. No doubt I said it as much for my own benefit as for yours.

[Because even with the sky pirate way of life being what it is, even with his insistence on living in the moment, he hasn't always been good to his own word. It's so much harder to do so than even he'd imagined; before he had come here, it had been the past that was always in pursuit. The future was what he ran to.

Now, the future is no safe haven.

His fingers drift downwards, curling gently against the nape of her neck, thumb lightly brushing along its curve as he tips his chin downwards and presses a single chaste kiss against the top of her head, his hold remaining steadfast.]

Sound reasoning, even if I didn't care for the result. You thought it was the best way to let yourself move forward on your own.

[She had thought it was the right thing, and how could he blame her for that? Even at the best of times, the right thing wasn't always easy to discern.]

I don't know that anyone has ever felt that way about me before, but—

[He pauses, his words half-murmured against her hair. Even now, it's difficult for him to say something so real in any succinct sort of way, but she needs to hear it. He owes her that much.]

I feel the same— and I would do anything to keep you from regretting saying yes, if I could.

[It's... so strange, how a mere touch can provoke her arms to prickle with goosebumps. For those moments, she feels very aware. Of every rise and fall of his chest. Of every thump of his heart. Of every breath he draws in and frees. The subtle rumble of his voice as he speaks.

She shuts her eyes as she simply listens.

It's hard to think that he's never had that kind of affection given to him before. But given all he's told her, it seems Balthier isn't normally the sort to create anything lasting with anyone. It is very likely that his position in all of this is not so different from hers. He may never have expected to be so drawn to her. He may have never really wanted to. Somehow when it is least anticipated, it hits so much harder.

That he feels the same, reflects her feelings back at her, seems befuddling. She hasn't done or been anything to deserve that. Feelings hardly ever work on logic, however. Maybe it happened without either of them realising it. She finally lifts her head as carefully as she can manage.]

...I think I got my lip gloss on your vest. Sorry.

[She actually means her tears, but she's going to absolutely act like she didn't cry at all. It's not necessarily an evasion tactic. Not intentionally so, for once, anyway. Simply that she understands he holds some vanity.]

[Of all the things she might have responded with, for good or ill, he expects that least of all. It suits, he supposes, given that he had never expected her, and yet here she is, a frequent fixture of his thoughts throughout his waking hours, and again when he sleeps, following him as though he were once again a bounty hunter's quarry— except for the fact that she's been so insistent on putting space between them.

He meets her gaze as she looks upwards at him, and stares for just a moment before letting out a brief, incredulous little laugh.

Lip gloss. Of course. Politely, he makes no move to correct her, but he does subtly lift a hand to wipe a tear from under one of her eyes with the pad of his thumb all the same. Beyond that, he'll bring no attention to it.]

It will wash, I'm sure.

[He's had clothing threatened by far worse.]

I invited myself into your home, so we can say that makes us even.

[Her gaze drops when he carefully draws his touch along the under of her eye. Her flush deepens just a touch. At least he has the decency to let her hold onto some of her dignity. Whatever's left of it, anyway.]

If you're staying, I can put it in the wash for you.

[It's a rather off-handed remark for her to make, but it wouldn't be the first time that she's done his laundry for him.]

And technically I let you in. You could have come and I could have turned you away. I wouldn't have. I'm guessing you knew that, though. But... you are a man who seems to like gambling. Maybe you thought the risk was worth it.

[The more she considers it, that was probably exactly it. Pirate, after all.]

You'll do no such thing.

[At least not tonight. Eager as she is to give of herself to others without so much as a second thought, he'll hear none of it tonight. With all she's said and shared, it is, perhaps, more important than even before that he encourage to put herself first in some regard. It would be a small victory, if he keeps his vest out of the wash, but it would be something.

He doesn't miss what comes before that offer, however— "if you're staying." He had already insisted on doing so, but he doesn't think it's only wishful thinking that has him hear her opinion on it softening.

He gives her one of those small, lopsided smiles of his; it's wearier than usual, worn-down, but a glimpse, perhaps, of the Balthier she'd met all those months before.]

I can't say I knew for certain— but I hoped. Given the circumstances, the risk was most certainly worth it.

[Pirates know a little something about risk versus reward. Being able to see her at all had absolutely been worth the risk.

His gaze softens considerably, along with his voice. Teasing aside, he knows that voicing her thoughts aloud may have offered some reprieve, but it is no solution in and of itself.]

Are you alright?

—Oh.

[For just a moment, she feels a sliver of disappointment, but it doesn't take her long to figure out why he's turning her down. He knows she'll keep herself busy however she can. Even if it's with something like his laundry.

Instead, she nods along, listening to his input. The risk was worth it, he says. Maybe the outcome wouldn't have mattered too much. For him, the win may have simply been that she opened her door at all. It seems that he had plans of coming here all the same, no matter what might have happened.

At his question, she hesitates. Aerith doesn't know how to answer that. She isn't sure she feels better about the situation.]

Uhm. I'm... as I ever am. Still here. Still standing. I don't know that I'd say I'm 'alright.' I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind.

[Normally she would simply do so with or without his input. That she asks at all indicates that it must be important. Just because they aren't arguing or squabbling doesn't mean Aerith's thoughts aren't still turning with the other pieces that have been weighing her down.]

[It's not entirely like her to ask permission for much of anything, which speaks to the weight of whatever it is she would like to ask. He raises a brow briefly in question, his fingers still loosely curled against her neck.]

Of course. Ask me anything you like.

[His free hand comes to rest gently against her shoulder, the embrace between them still largely unbroken— he'll let her decide when and if she chooses to step away. There's so little he feels he can offer her in all of this, and if he were feeling particularly honest, that comfort, however small, isn't for her alone.]

[Aerith leaves her touch gently resting against his chest, though it's not particularly intrusive. She's thinking less about the tension lingering between them and more about where her priorities surely must be. Not all things can be as pleasant as Balthier, after all.

She wonders, for several moments, how to put it and ultimately decides that the point they're at, there's no sense in trying to be clever about it. No longer a need for roundabout questioning, considering the matter at hand.]

How long were you paying attention to Sephiroth's conversation with me?

[She's aware Sephiroth said things that... may warrant some curiosity and she's not exactly pleased he did. It doesn't mean much in a place like Camelot, but it still comes with a potential for a lot of explanations that Aerith may not be able to fully provide.

...She has her questions for Sephiroth too, when she thinks about it.]

That is, based on his exchange with you, he's not ashamed about saying whatever he cares to publicly. At least, seemed like he would have been more than happy to tell you all about it.

['It' being that thing they don't actually give voice to.]

[His expression shifts to one of disapproval— yes, Sephiroth certainly did seem as though he were prepared to be quite free with all sorts of information. Knowing just how much importance Aerith placed on her privacy, it had only served to provoke him. She had made it clear early on in their friendship that not everything needed to be said aloud, and being much of the same mind, Balthier had been quick to agree. A certain degree of respect for privacy had become the standard between them almost immediately— the present was more interesting than the past, anyway.]

I'll admit, for awhile, I was a bit caught up in my own conversation with him— if it could be called such.

[The man was a dreadful conversationalist by every measure.]

I did glance back. I was— curious to know what else he might say to you.

[That is, if the man was going to continue stepping decidedly out of bounds. He frowns, though only slightly.]

What little I heard didn't make much sense to me without context. I also quickly decided that it wasn't my business. If it was something you wanted me to know, you would tell me yourself, and I found myself preoccupied with trying to ensure he didn't say anything more than he already had.

[As she takes in his response, she's quiet. Attentive. Relieved a little. Kind of. She can't say for certain. She knows Sephiroth said some strange things. And given some of the stuff that she's said, she's not free of judgement entirely.

She finds herself relaxing just in slight before she manages to find her voice once more.]

Oh, good. Makes two of us. Some of what he said made sense. But there's some other stuff that... I don't really know about.

[Aerith shakes her head.]

This might sound a little strange, but stay with me. To my understanding, not everyone from the same world might come from the same time. For instance, according to Sephiroth, I'm already... You know. But it hasn't happened for me yet. He doesn't know that's the case, I guess, so he keeps inadvertently giving me information that... I'm probably not supposed to have.

[Tilting her head, she eyes him easily.]

There's a possibility some of this information could help Midgar and the Planet. It might even be able to help me with my situation. I know you won't like this, but I would like to get more information out of him. Gradually. If I can.

[Easier said than done. Sephiroth is no fool.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject