[It is easy for him to lead, though he does not wield charisma in the same way others might make a whole crowd sway from atop a podium. Instead, it's Sephiroth's intensity that does the work, trailing behind him as though a thing alive, a seriousness carved from personality and habit alike, becoming far more prominent when the situation dictates it. Military manner, military step — natural as breathing, falling into an old pattern, forging ahead through the underbrush, sparing only a small glance behind him to make sure Zack is doing as requested.
Eyes catch across that wound, coloring at the edges. The crystallizing concern in his chest gains a faceted angle or two.]
…Tending to your injuries isn't 'extra work.' You might not be SOLDIER any longer, [and therefore not his subordinate, by all manner of technicality] but you're still—
[His friend. Isn’t he?]
—not free of all association from me. [Eyes flick forward again.] Pick up the pace.
[ Sephiroth's words seem to echo in Zack's head. He's not a SOLDIER any longer. That's true, and it's a decision that was more or less made for him when he was picked up off the reactor floor and carried away to be turned into a human experiment. He's a mercenary now, right? Or that had been the plan, anyway. He won't have much time to see that goal to its fruition, but he may as well try.
After his wound is dealt with, anyway.
He's not a SOLDIER anymore, but SOLDIER honor? That's its own thing, something that had belonged to Angeal, and Zack won't turn his back on that. He holds his head up high, moving to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Sephiroth.
Was Sephiroth going to say something else, before he cut off? Zack can't help but wonder. As they walk, he finds himself sending Sephiroth glances. To have him here as his old self is still a strange experience, but Zack realizes he doesn't hate it.
It's just hard to forget what Aerith told him. Nor does he want to, necessarily. ]
Don't worry, I didn't think I could give you the slip that easily. [ He can't quite muster up a smile. ] So, what's your impression of this place? You've been here for a few months, right?
[ He needs to take his mind off of the gashes in his arm and the worrisome color they're turning somehow. ]
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Eyes catch across that wound, coloring at the edges. The crystallizing concern in his chest gains a faceted angle or two.]
…Tending to your injuries isn't 'extra work.' You might not be SOLDIER any longer, [and therefore not his subordinate, by all manner of technicality] but you're still—
[His friend. Isn’t he?]
—not free of all association from me. [Eyes flick forward again.] Pick up the pace.
no subject
After his wound is dealt with, anyway.
He's not a SOLDIER anymore, but SOLDIER honor? That's its own thing, something that had belonged to Angeal, and Zack won't turn his back on that. He holds his head up high, moving to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Sephiroth.
Was Sephiroth going to say something else, before he cut off? Zack can't help but wonder. As they walk, he finds himself sending Sephiroth glances. To have him here as his old self is still a strange experience, but Zack realizes he doesn't hate it.
It's just hard to forget what Aerith told him. Nor does he want to, necessarily. ]
Don't worry, I didn't think I could give you the slip that easily. [ He can't quite muster up a smile. ] So, what's your impression of this place? You've been here for a few months, right?
[ He needs to take his mind off of the gashes in his arm and the worrisome color they're turning somehow. ]