Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Real Transformation ❯ Love Potion #2 ( Chapter 2 )

The sun was cradled low into the horizon, threatening to be overturned by the weight of the world. Vincent's hangover had passed through the day, despite being unable to sleep so well, a creeping feeling that something different as about, the cameras easily hidden and unsuspected. For a short while, Sephiroth watched over Hojo's shoulder as Vincent tossed and turned in bed, restless, getting up more than once to pace the room. It was much too cold; a frigidity that often induced nightmarish dreams laced the air heavily, blanketing the land, soon to create a thin layer of frost once again. With daybreak's first pallid sighs sweeping across the industrial wreckage, the seemingly nocturnal man found a few shallow hours of sleep, Hojo having stayed up, being the insomniac that he was, scribbling all the while from time to time in a spiral bound notebook, muttering under his breath as he hawk-watched his specimen.

 

Despite having been caught up for the night merely observing, the scientist was already underway with perfecting and tweaking his concoction. Trial one hadn't faired so well; merely contributed with adverse inflictions, but every product had testing stages. As the night wore on, even though the night vision lens for the camera wasn't as detailed as preferred, Vincent's pacing and restlessness did seem to contribute to the factor that something had perhaps taken a step in the general direction towards the effects which were deemed positive. Over the course of an over-achieving day or so, Hojo had his second trial ready, Sephiroth called as his aide.

 

“I want you to meet up with Vincent, if you can outside his house, and administer this potion. Keep an eye on him. I'm going to send someone out to `dance' with him, so I suspect he should get hurt; at least that would give you reason enough.” He adjusted his glasses out of habit, the soldier nodding in understanding and taking the newest faint blue drug disguised in a potion bottle. He would have enjoyed beating Vincent unconscious, yet circumstances did not call for him to do so, it would seem, but he would have like more to administer the `potion' to Vincent's limp body.

 

Storing the item within the voluminous depths of his cloak, Sephiroth took leave of the underground lab, brushing past the door that once held Vincent at bay in a slumbering coffin, trekking up the unending spiral staircase that led to the master bedroom of the dusty and decrepit ShinRa mansion. Taking to the eastern side of the town he rapped on the doors of a homely looking cottage house, designs of flowers and vines carved into the woodwork like a frame, quaint little budding flowers merrily growing outside the window sills under cauliflower blue shutters. A rather robust woman answered the door, offering a slightly awkward smile upon seeing who the visitor was.

 

“And how might I help you told, General Sephiroth?” she asked, brushing wily grey strands that had loosened from her bun away, from her face. She almost shied from directing her voice as so and addressing the renowned man before her, much taller in stature than she. She averted her gaze out of a certain respect but help him with her attention all the same.

 

“I would like to borrow a chocobo missus. I'm in need to get to Midgar,” the solider replied calmly, voice cool and somewhat monotonous. The woman nodded.

 

“This way then.”

 

Shutting the bottom of the half door, she pardoned herself as she went around to the back of the house where the chocobo stables were set up, motioning for Sephiroth to come as well and pick which chocobo he would like to take passage with. As the woman rambled shortly about the status of her chocobos and which one suited what needs best they entered across from the pasture where they roamed and where the birds would be trained, entering into the stables attached to the back of the small house. A man was there brushing down one of the birds, creamy feathers glossy with shine. The chocobo warked happily.

 

“Well then, you're free to take a look at all of the chocobos housed. They're all fit for running, but if you're headed to ShinRa's city I suggest a black or golden chocobo. It will be higher priced to ride them and I will need you to sign for any chocobo you rent.” The old lady stood by waiting, another yellow chocobo nudging her shoulder. She cooed to the bird, rubbing its beak as it made pleased noises. It would be easiest and quickest to take a golden one. Walking down the long row of housed birds, some empty for they were out in the pastured field, Sephiroth made it to the end where two brightly gleaming birds stood proudly.

 

Approaching one of the gleaming golden birds Sephiroth looked it over. The man that had been brushing down one of the other chocobos approached.

 

“Careful son, that bird hasn't been broken in yet. Still fighting like a wild cat, but Peaches, this one here,” he stuck a thumb at the chocobo in the stable next to the one Sephiroth was watching, “is gentle as a horse she is.” The soldier, upon hearing this information wanted to test out the untamed chocobo which seemed to be regarding him haughtily with dark eyes. The man continued to explain, grey mustache wiggly, his bent and thin frame hobbling up to better look at the nearly towering bird.

 

“This male here, Tetris was sent over from the chocobo farm near Kalm, and we guessed since he was a baby he didn't get the breaking in and attention he needed. Stables were probably full. He's not for riding any time soon though, but Peaches would be glad to carry ya.” Sephiroth considered it a moment. He would have loved to teach the wild chocobo a lesson if he had the chance; if it really tried him, but there wasn't much he could do short of coercing the pleasant folks into letting him ride the chocobo. Besides, if it was that untamable with him, he might have to kill it and eat it, and that would be shameful. Nodding and returning the glare to Tetris, he turned to the old man, looking down at him.

 

“All right then, how much?” He crossed his arms as the man smiled warmly, starting to unlatch the stable door to swing open on oiled hinges, coaxing the bird out to be saddled.

 

“Where are you heading?”

 

“To Midgar.” The man was silent as moment as his wife approached with a pleased smile as well.

 

“Peaches has good tolerance, she does. She'll be happy for you to lead her wherever you'd like.” The woman helped pull down a saddle and bridle for the bird.

“Well we have flat prices on our chocobos, and since you'd like a golden, the price is 10,000 gil unless you'd like to barter.” Sephiroth would have blanched at the price had he not made almost as much as President ShinRa did. 10,000 gil? That was enough for a ticket at the Golden Saucer.

 

“That's fine.” Fishing in an inner pocket he withdrew several bills, not having a ten-thousand paper gil on him. Once Peaches had been comfortably saddled, a blanket sewed to the inside of the saddle to make comfort for the chocobo, Sephiroth paid, chocobo greens being packed in satchels to the side.

 

“Feed her these dear and she'll be fine. Once for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you need more, we're afraid you'll need to buy some at a town or let her graze.” The lady felt comfortable enough now to use a term fondly. She spoke to Sephiroth about the general needs of the chocobo and when he released it, how it would return to their stables. Her husband politely went over the paper for the rental of their chocobo and the soldier signed. As soon as he mounted, the bird gave a settling coo, and when he gave it a small kick to run, it complied, warking cheerfully as it set out, wings held slightly from its side. Sephiroth was on his way.

 

 

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At his leisure, he crossed the fields, the few inhabitants watching from veiled windows wary eyes ogling. He had Masamune at his side, almost begging the weak creatures around Midgar and Kalm to rush from the mountains and long grass to attack him. He had released the chocobo near the stables, the people there kindly taking it off his hands to let it rest before its journey back. Soon reaching the plates, he found his way through the slums, heading for Vincent's apartment and contacting Hojo via a PHS along the way. A couple men were employed to meet up with the solider and contact him soon. Once they had, their mission would go into effect, finding Vincent and stirring up trouble.

 

A good hour or so two men in casual outfits, one with dark, spiked hair, and several earrings, the other a rather short, balding man with sharp eyes approached Sephiroth. At first he was going to tell them to buzz off and mind their own business lest he call back his chocobo to sic on them, but he quickly realized they were the men hired to beat up Vincent—or at least attempt to. Earring man spat in the dust.

“Any sign of him general?” Sephiroth shook his head. He had been positioned to the side of a building, behind half a fence where an AC unit once stood midst the dead grass, his ground giving him a good look of Vincent's apartment.

 

“No word from Hojo at the lab either.” His eyes narrowed. Baldy had his burly arms crossed, watching down the way they had come. It wasn't long before the sun was starting to dip low, bringing on the chill of an early winter. Along with the evening came Vincent, stalking from his house, a nocturnal entity.

 

“Keep an eye on him fellas; he's apt to disappear,” Sephiroth noted with a nod as his prey stuck to the shadows. But the two hired men were soon behind and trailing Vincent a ways. The swordsman was forced to keep up, the stalkers giving time to arouse suspicion before pouncing. Sephiroth was lagging heavily behind, not wanting to be caught notice of as a spectator. Chances were, if Vincent saw him, he would take it as a set up and the whole plot would be in danger of being given away, if not terminated completely.

 

Despite Vincent's vain attempts to escape, he was cornered by the two men who started talking animatedly, even at the distance with the shadows being thrown about. Expressions fell serious, Vincent's glowing eyes becoming guarded, threatening. As soon as earring man stepped in for a feigned punch, Vincent was forced to duck, not having much room to back up into a run down building, baldy anticipating the movement to swipe Vincent's feet from under him. He pinned Vincent under his weight before the darkling threw him off, kicking him over his head, back on the ground. Earring man, wanting to do more damage than receive opted to slow Vincent with a sharp kick to the ribs. Despite being winded, the vampire had performed a frontward roll, bringing himself to his feet in a defensive position. Baldy had gathered himself, snarling as he rushed Vincent who easily avoided him. Sephiroth couldn't help but think that Vincent probably wished he had equipped his claw. Earring man pulled forth what looked like a rather stiff riding crop, tacks embedded on the flat of it, to serve as something like a nail bat. With agile movements, though not nearly as fluid as Vincent, he spun around the pale man, swatting at him as baldy crowded the ebony haired man, grabbing at flailing arms. Vincent managed to avoid most of it, using baldy like a shield to force earring man from swiping at him.

 

As soon as Vincent had put baldy between him and earring man, he was off running with light steps, the back of his shirt torn in several places. Sephiroth felt bad for him, at the same time feeling pity for the other two men who seemed to have taken almost as bad a beaten with all his blocks. But the thought of a beaten and somewhat bloody Vincent was highly arousing. With long strides the swordsmen passed them both, who were glaring, panting, and on the verge of laughing after pursuing Vincent about a dozen yards. Offering a smirk as earring man grinned at the silver haired general chased after Vincent, having lost sight of him, but knowing he'd find him somewhere. He wouldn't return to his apartment to clean up, that was certain. He probably wouldn't attempt to clean up in a bathroom either. Following his nightly patterns, he was off to a bar to try and get lost once again. Nonetheless, Sephiroth contacted Hojo, asking him to inform him once Vincent returned home. The sun was gone and it was barely seven by the time a bar was found that Vincent seemed to frequent. Searching within, the darkling wasn't to be seen. Ordering a drink Sephiroth asked about him, but the bartender could tell him nothing. Not wanting to wait forever, he intended to head to another bar before making rounds until Vincent was found. Luckily, he only had to go down the back ally a block away from the bar to find a dark form huddled atop a sagging roof, hugging himself, breath coming in puffs.

 

Grinning, the swordsman stalked up to him as he closed his eyes, giving Sephiroth the opportunity to tug Vincent's foot without him noticing. He jerked suddenly, looking down into a feral grinning face. He seemed slightly shocked to have seen the general again, and so recently.

 

“Vincent.” It was a greeting, which he didn't return, only started at the brilliantly glowing moon, suspended in space among the millions of stars which couldn't be seen.

 

“You seem moody. What's wrong?” the younger man asked soothingly, head tilted to one side to peer into a pallid face. When nothing was sad, Sephiroth located a rusted side ladder climbing up the house. Glad that the half eaten metal supported him, the silver haired man carefully stepped across the roof, keeping in mind that he was quite a bit heavier than the effeminate, seemingly weightless, Vincent. Sidling alongside him, the vampire scooting away and looking into the distance, Sephiroth slipped a glove off, sneaking his cool hand up a crouched back which stiffened under his touch.

 

“What do you want Sephiroth?” Vehemence laced his voice like poison, ruby eyes narrowly glaring. As wandering fingers smoothed up a slender back, the younger man thought he felt the ex Turk shiver faintly, subconsciously arching and shying away from the touch, especially when it brushed over a superficial wound. A curious hand stilled there and a slender, silver quirked in question.

 

“What's this?”

 

Pale fingers brushed back over the wound, dried blood crumbling away and Vincent wiggled, swatting at his touch.

 

“Stop.” It was nearly a snarl as he rounded on him, edging back, and avoiding falling from the low set roof.

 

“Are you hurt?” Sephiroth inquired, having the audacity to lean towards the older man, arm reaching out as if offering a helping hand.

 

“What happened?” Vincent only glared, looking away.

 

“Leave me be.” Narrowing his eyes, he sat back, withdrawing the potion.

 

“Here I have a potion. It'll make you better.”

 

“I'm fine.”

 

“Nonsense.” Sephiroth stubbornly and insistently waggled the potion in front of the brunette, which he promptly ignored, biting back the urge to swat the annoying hand away.

 

“Oh come now Vincent, don't make me give it to you.”

 

“………” There was a long silence before Sephiroth's arm dropped. Fitting his glove back on he sighed, unscrewing the top. Tossing back his head he emptied the potion before throwing the empty container aside, roughly grabbing Vincent by one shoulder, his other hand pulling his head back by his hair. As Vincent gasped slightly, he felt Sephiroth's mouth over his, forcing entry. Tilting his head farther back he transferred the potion into a plush mouth, some escaping messily down a pale chin, the hand that had been clutching Vincent's chin now lying along a slender neck, his thumb brashly stroking Vincent's throat, making him swallow. Sputtering and finally collecting himself after the shock he jumped back as Sephiroth pulled away, eyes deviously aglow.

 

Wiping his mouth and chin on a thin sleeve, brows creased and glossy strands blowing in the breeze, barely held back with a white headband, Vincent stepped back, hesitating before turning and fleeing. Sephiroth laughed to himself as Vincent melted into the shadows and fled. He slid down the rooftop before it collapsed. The slightly bitter taste left his mouth tingling, but the taste of Vincent's mouth is what lingered there longest. Looking around although he knew he was along, he sat on the porch steps, pulling a small handheld device that showed Vincent's apartment. He'd watch from wherever he pleased, just to see how Vincent would react to the newest version of the potion.

 

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Vincent didn't stop running until he had nearly and subconsciously made it back to his apartment. He wasn't drawn there. He didn't feel some sort of comfort or security in his small living quarters, but it was the only place he knew where to go. Entering the less-than-appealing home, he groped beneath the sink for a stash of vodka. Pouring a glass over ice he commenced to finish off a third or the rather largely proportioned bottle, just a little more than tipsiness. Once collapsing on his mattress with rosy cheeks he blearily pulled his headband off. It was only a moment before a creeping sensation came over him, like a prickling of heat. It was uncomfortable, and it was making him restless again. Vision slightly dizzied he tossed and turned until he was panting, sweating. Stripping he felt better with flushed skin against the cool night. Despite the prickly feeling, he was able to calm down. It would be another long night. He grew frustrated, at one point taking it out on his pillow, beating it until cotton nearly flew everywhere.

 

He growled, stalking about the house before finally heading out again, shirtless but rather comfortable with the temperature. He brought a revolver with him, and his claw. He needed to kill something.