giftsofglory | Time of Transition

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place of politics

Time of Transition

He made no move to return Mello to his room when morning came. In fact, a good week later there was still no move being made to that extent, and on that morning, when Mello woke it was to the now usual configuration of Sephiroth being wound around him, pinning his hands. This time, however, the act was accompanied by the silver haired man actually being asleep still.

Not to say they hadn't been spending all their time together, but Mello hadn't had the chance to see him asleep until then, him holding out for the blond to sleep and then rising before he could.

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Mello tensed away immediately, trying to strike him again. "What I want is for you to show your smug face so I can shoot it," he hissed.

"I know you do." His voice was soft, and when Mello turned around he was dressed in loose, form hiding clothes, peering at him from under the line of his bangs and looking -young-. "So go ahead."

No. He wasn't falling for mind-games again.

Mello was unfazed by the suddenly young appearance, not buying a second of Sephiroth's innocent act. It was still the same fucker, no matter what face he put on.

Aiming between those large eyes, Mello pulled the trigger mercilessly.

And the form crumpled, even if there was no blood, even as arms slid around him, resting on his shoulder. "I should mention, Mello, that within one's mind there are all kinds of different facets the world never sees." It was a murmur directly in his ear. "Be glad that one isn't actually dead, just emotionally hurt, or you would have made things much worse for yourself."

Flinching, Mello tried to shove the touch away, turning his gun behind him again as he spun around.

"You're the one throwing them in front of me when you know all I want to do is kill you," Mello snarled, unregretful and unsympathetic. He had little regard for Sephiroth's humanity, even for his other 'facets.' They all made up the same man who held him against his will, tortured him, and threatened those he really did care for. He didn't care what Sephiroth had been-- and, if there had been a time when he might have, that time was gone.

Mello wasn't going to argue at this point that he was still completely sane.

"Actually, all that means is that -all- of me wants to come see what the big deal is about. There are a few facets of me, well, just like you have the soft and gentle in there, I have the utterly feral around here somewhere. I'd just -love- to see what would become of that, but, I won't. That would be foolish and I don't want to drive you into catatonia." He moved his hand, put it over the gun.

And Mello twisted the weapon immediately up, firing without hesitation again. He was sick of Sephiroth--of all of him--and frustrated to distraction with the fact that, even with the freedom he had to have whatever weapon he wanted here, he was still ultimately powerless.

This time the result was that suddenly, the blond seemed utterly alone, save creeping, quiet steps beyond the useless mirrors.

Frustrated and angry, Mello willed the mirrors to vanish, backing up slowly toward one of the walls as he cocked his gun and tried to keep a view on the entire room.

"You're a fucking coward, Sephiroth," he growled into the emptiness, ignoring the urge to turn his head each time he heard footsteps in a different direction.

"I thought you wanted to fight, not play hide-and-seek."

"I wanted you to learn." His voice was quiet, and he peered around a bend of the walls. "And you aren't yet."

Mello wasn't interesting in learning anything more than how to kill this fucker and escape. He fired again as soon as he saw Sephiroth.

This time, he quickly avoided the attack. "Are you -trying- to trap yourself in here?"

"Why would I be trapped if you die?" Mello scoffed, assuming that if Sephiroth died, the spell (or whatever it was) would be gone and the connection broken.

"Because your body is currently running on complete autopilot while you are with me, of course and you might sever your way back. That would be less than pleasant I imagine."

Mello paused, trying to gauge whether or not this was a bluff. But he didn't think Sephiroth was lying; there would be no point in it.

Finally, frustrated, he tilted the gun suddenly to aim at a kneecap instead of his head.

"And is shooting me what you really want to do? You've already seen it doesn't accomplish much."

"It's a start!" Mello practically screamed at him, shooting again. He didn't know what to do. He was desperate and frustrated and he just wanted Sephiroth gone from his life.

The shooting meant that he wasn't inclined to properly come out. "How many bullets does that have?"

"As many as I want it to." Mello's answer was confident. He'd grown accustomed to the fact he could create things here rather quickly, if it was to his advantage.

He smiled slightly. "Everything that's possible, and you chose a gun, why?"

The answer was simple enough, to him. "Because it's a weapon I know how to use well."

"And what would you do if I used my weaponry?"

"Depends on the 'weaponry,'" he pointed out dryly, pausing in his attacks for now.

"I use blades." He peered around the edge of the wall.

"Are you testing whether I'd be chivalrous and use a sword too?" Mello scoffed, not lowering his gun even if he wasn't actively shooting right now.

"What's the point in telling me this? What was the fucking point of bringing me here?"

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