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FFVII Rarepair - Self Care
Sephiroth fights like a monster, and he knows it.
It's no one's fault but his own, he knows that. It's better if he does it this way. Monsters like him do best when fighting on their own. He learned that a long time ago.... when he was given a first squad to lead, still nothing more than a foolish child straight from the labs, and lost so many of them.
No. He won't do that again. It's better for him, and everyone, if he is a brutal monster upon the field - the kind of thing that draws the enemy's attention towards him and not the other SOLDIERs, the kind that demoralizes the enemy completely. And there are other benefits as well, to just ruthlessly swinging Masamune's long length without having to worry about accidentally taking out his own comrades.
Sephiroth tells himself that, alone on the battlefield.
Of course, a plan which is repeatedly put into motion cannot exist as a static thing. It is an object which must constantly be refined and changed, in order to fulfill its purpose. And so, at the end of every battle, Sephiroth does a quick check on the squads assigned around his area. It's not particularly hard; all he has to do is investigate the paperwork on who has reported to the medical tent. With his status being what it is, he's not usually refused this minor trifle.
Most of the time, despite his best efforts, there will always be a few who get injured to some degree or another. Some of it is something that he cannot stop no matter what, such as panicking during one's first time on the front lines. Other times, it is friendly fire. There are a variety of reasons, and Sephiroth has slowly come to learn all of them in his time as a part of SOLDIER.
So it says something that one day, he's still caught off guard.
Or, rather.... Instead of "one day", it's something which builds over a few days, during one campaign. He doesn't think anything of it the very first day that he glances at the list of injured Third and Second Classes SOLDIERs, and finds the squadron that was to back him up registering only one injury coming in by the name of Angeal Joseph Hewley.
The name is distantly familiar, of course, but it doesn't hit him right away. Rather, Sephiroth's attention is drawn to it more on the second day... finding the exact same list. Just that single name: Angeal Joseph Hewley.
For a moment, he wonders if perhaps he's picked up yesterday's list of patients by accident, or if the updated list simply hasn't been put out yet, or... something. But no, no. The date at the top is accurate. It is indeed the proper day, or at least it will remain that way for a few hours left. Not a single other person, just Third Class Hewley there alone. Sephiroth has to frown at it, puzzled to no end. Perhaps, is he the kind of person who gets injured easily...? Or perhaps he takes risks that the others don't?
A quick glance at the records shows a bit of a difference as well. Yesterday's report shows an injury against his back, and the more recent of the two details a rib injury alongside some minor magic attacks. Maybe he's reckless?
Once is just something that happens. Twice can be a coincidence. Sephiroth doesn't know many sayings that other people seem to, but this is a saying that he's at least heard from some of the other people on both the field and in the office. When it hits more than twice in a row... That's a sign of something.
And Sephiroth decides that he doesn't care for waiting to see if a third time happens just by seeing that name pop up on a list a third day in a row.
It actually takes less effort than one would think, to go and make it so that he's close enough to see just what happens to the squadron of Thirds that are backing him up. His eyesight has always been something that many of the scientists would praise, although one of them in.... particular always seemed to take it for granted. Even across an entire battlefield, it's easy enough for him to see in detail just what's happening with the squadron. The important thing is being in the right position, with nothing blocking his view.
A little bit difficult, admittedly, with some of the trees that cover the Wutai lands, and the plentiful forest life... but not impossible. More than soon enough, he can count at the small group of five that are making their way across the land while Sephiroth himself keeps the brunt of Wutai's forces occupied.
There should be six, he notes while he knocks away a particularly stubborn Wutai warrior. Out of the group, there should be at least one Second Class that is supposed to be guiding them all. Is he taking a more back seat approach? Sephiroth twists, sends up a barrier of ice to separate the rest of the Wutai forces from one another. He supposes that is technically one way to do it. These missions are ones meant to encourage some amount of independence.
He's not sure he can agree with that.... but Sephiroth holds back on those thoughts, in a way that isn't at all reflected in the way he turns his sword about his enemies with his bare hand held out. It isn't his squad. He knows nothing about leading others. He needs to remember that.
So. Six members of the squad - clearly the Second is playing a more supportive role, perhaps, in directing the group. Which one is Angeal Hewley? Even with his eyesight being what it is, Sephiroth realizes that he's not entirely sure how he's to tell when he doesn't think he and the other man have ever met before. At least, that is what he thinks until he sees a flash of dark hair, and deep blue eyes that stand out even from a distance.
Angeal Joseph Hewley. Right. That's right. He remembers him, faintly, just a little bit - a quiet and sturdy presence before burning and passionate red.
Sephiroth leaps up to avoid an attempt at a pincer attack, kicking a tamed monster out of his way at the same time. Well, that at least answers the mystery of why the name was familiar to him even when he first read the list of those who had visited the medical tent. It wasn't much of a mystery, not really anything important, but he's satisfied nonetheless as he drives Masamune through the neck of the creature beneath him.
Even more satisfying is the knowledge that he can now more accurately identify who it is that's getting into so much trouble, although Hewley makes that easy all on his own. Apparently in the absence of a Second leading the group, Angeal Hewley does so on his own as he takes charge ahead of all the rest. While his eyes may be sharp, his ears can't exactly match them, so he has no idea what the Third is calling back to the others. All he knows is that the rest of the squad seems to keep glancing back up to him, as though seeking reassurance, structure.
Hm. He has to admit, he wasn't expecting that in any way. For someone that's constantly getting injured, rather, wouldn't all the others be either protective of him, or showing some signs of bitterness....?
Most of Wutai's forces are concentrated on him. However, as always, that doesn't mean all of their forces are on him. As he burns a Firaga into a small squadron of gunsmen hoping to take him out at a distance, Sephiroth takes note of movement approaching the Third squadron from the northwest. A clash of various colors, most notably burning red and deep indigo and blaring yellow - Foulanders on the move, he sees. A small pack of them, more than the usual amount.
There's too many enemies on him; there's no time for Sephiroth to spare anything towards that large group, guided by - yes, there, someone in the back with a polearm of some sort, a whistle in their mouth. The one herding the monsters straight towards the group of Thirds.
Still, even if they all are Thirds who are seeing their very first time on the real battlefield, they still are SOLDIER... and this works out for Sephiroth as well, doesn't it?
For a moment, Sephiroth doesn't get a good look at just what is happening over at the Third's end. One of the warriors on Wutai's side is apparently quite skilled at using materia and, even if he could withstand just about anything he suspects, Sephiroth knows better than to treat enemies carelessly. He takes a second to put all of his focus on his opponent, slicing through what stands in his way and blowing apart his opposition.
Not that there's too much to worry about, apparently. When he manages to spare a moment once again to look over to the Thirds, the group is still doing more than well enough - acceptable, at the very least, with a couple of them managing to be good, or even exemplary. They manage to maintain a tight unit with one another... and there is indeed Hewley at the head of it all, still yelling orders over his shoulder. Is this truly the same man who apparently keeps getting injured two days in a row...?
Sephiroth rams Masamune's hilt back into the skull of a monster trying to sneak up on him while he's still preoccupied with a few more warriors wielding materia. No, he thinks he can see what's happening. There, situated a little more to the side, is another Third. It's not the light of the sun which makes them seem so pale. He can recognize those nervous jitters anywhere, that wide eyed look so distinct even from miles and miles away.
He's seen this happen, with new recruits. Just because the mako sinks into the body, makes it stronger, faster, doesn't mean that it can solve the weaknesses of the mind. Doesn't mean that it can prepare someone for war. For monsters.
A burst of fire - a simple Fire spell. Nothing at his level, or even some of the Wutai soldiers and what they can do. It licks a little too close to the Third's compatriots, earning what seems like more yelling. Hewley seems to be keeping his cool - are those more orders? It doesn't seem to matter. Not eventually. Not with how a Foulander manages to leap across the back of one of its compatriots, lunging for what it sees as clearly the weakest link.
Even a Third can probably handle a tackle from a Foulander. It will not be pleasant, but no doubt he could survive... Probably. Certainly, he'd lost long enough for one of the other Thirds to get the beast off of him, and perhaps a quick Heal depending on the capabilities of the others. This is not necessarily the end.
The thought doesn't even have more than a second to form in Sephiroth's head before Third Class SOLDIER Angeal Hewley suddenly jerks his hand up and slams his own forearm into that vicious sharp maw.
Blood spills. Bright, bright crimson, something that catches the sunlight in a morbid shine no matter the distance. Sephiroth can see it, and how it falls through the air, falls towards the ground while those sharp teeth dig in tight to Hewley's arm. Blood that doesn't even have a chance to hit the ground - before Hewley slams his arm forward, and beats the massive beast right down against the ground in front of himself.
It was his sword arm that was caught, and the ShinRa basic weapon in his hand falls to the earth. This doesn't bring even the slightest pause in Hewley's step, and Sephiroth watches, transfixed even as he slices straight through a Garuda, the way that Hewley slams his boot straight into the Foulander's head. He's yelling back to the rest of his squad, reaching back with his other hand. Reaching towards - ah.
He reaches back towards the massive blade attached to his back. A blade that Sephiroth could not even recognize as a weapon from this distance, thick as it is.
The entire squadron of Thirds hits the ground.
Third Class SOLDIER Angeal Hewley swings his sword.
"I have never seen a sword entirely like that," Sephiroth tells him, when the young SOLDIER takes a step out of the medical tent. The squadron fulfilled its purpose perfectly; it's how they all can stand here back at base camp so comfortably like this.
Angeal Hewley pauses for a moment, his hand still lifted up with the tent flap resting upon its back. Yet the momentary surprise seems to shift away quickly enough. He steps forward, letting the tent close behind him, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "My pa had it commissioned particular for me," he says, a sort of accent riding thick at the end of his words. Where is it from? Sephiroth has never heard that kind of accent before in Midgar. "But it's not as though we could get anything fancy, so it is what it is."
It is what it is indeed. Sephiroth supposes that a lack of money may explain its design. Sometimes, one either has to trade in practicality or flashiness, and favor its opposite.
That's fine. Sephiroth has always favored practicality. "It is a fine sword," he says, and some of the wariness from Angeal Hewley's face melts away to something more resembling pride. "I saw some of what your squad did during the operation today. It seemed to serve you well, although it leaves me wondering why you did not have it out to begin with."
"This sword cost my pa more loans than he has paychecks," Hewley says, and a grimace flashes across his face. The reminder has him shifting, one foot to the next. "I won't just go swinging it around recklessly. And anyway..." The displeasure eases away, returning more to a wry sort of smile. "This isn't the sort of weapon that really plays nice with other people in such a tight formation. I think someone like you can understand that sort of predicament." He inclines his head ever so slightly to where Masamune rests on Sephiroth's person.
He's not wrong. Masamune may have Hewley's sword beaten in shear length, but that does not make it a small sword by any means. Sephiroth understands perfectly what he means. However, that only brings to mind one other question. "Then why not adjust your squad's formation so that you can more efficiently combat the enemy?"
That is the best thing to do, after all. Sephiroth knows his place in ShinRa, and he knows exactly what it is that is expected of him. Just being in SOLDIER.... that is a freedom he was never guaranteed down in the labs, before Lazard finally broke through all the back and forth that was going on between Hojo and Heidegger to just drag him into the program. And he knows that, this way, by efficiently fighting the enemy... By drawing all eyes on him...
Hewley raises an eyebrow at him. "If I did that, wouldn't they just get hurt too?" he asks, as though it's something plain as day.
Like he can't imagine any other course of action.
Something about his confusion must show on his expression, although Sephiroth had thought it to be serviceably blank, because Hewley shakes his head. "There's no honor in just abandoning all of my teammates to their own devices. I mean-" He shakes his head, lip curling just a little bit. "Only a couple of them even have any experience in fighting against a monster that goes higher than their waist. The others are just kids who thought that mako would solve all of their problems, so why would they even need to learn how to fight properly? I thought it would have been far better for us to go through a few more simulations so that we would be better prepared for the battlefield... But that absolute embarrassment Tideman seems to think that the best teacher is out there in the field. Can you believe that tripe?"
There's so much to absorb here, Sephiroth actually has to take a second for himself and unable to do much more than stare. "...I am far from an expert on the proper training that goes into the squads for Thirds," he admits after a moment. It was never something that he really had to concern himself over; ShinRa pushed him straight up into the highest ranks without any need for such things as training in a squad. It was never expected that he would train anyone underneath him, either.
"I'm no expert either," Hewley admits, utterly at ease in his confidence despite his low ranking. Sephiroth can't say... it doesn't suit him. And not just because he witnessed the ease with which Hewley swung his sword, either. Apparently mako does quite well with his body. "But I like to think that I understand people halfway well enough, and the others aren't adjusting to this well enough for us to be on the lines."
"Then I will refer to you in regards to knowledge about your squadron." Wait, he thinks he's getting offtrack here. Sephiroth refocuses to the matter at hand. "Although in regards to that squadron... I have noticed that you have been regularly injured during this campaign."
Well, he says that... but it's clear to Sephiroth that there's not a trace of those bitemarks on Hewley's forearm where the Foulander bit down on him. Even for Cure materia and SOLDIER constitution combined together, he has to admit that it's a surprisingly quick heal time. "It isn't anything that I can't handle," Hewley tells him plainly - no boasting or anything of the sort, just a quiet matter of factness. Perhaps that can still be considered a sort of pride on its own. "I make sure to not just recklessly be a pincushion for pain, if that was your concern, but it'd be against all the honor in me if I did nothing and let my squadmates take a hit they don't need to when it's all our SO's fault that the situation is what it is."
A lot of Thirds and Seconds complain about the higher ups, from what Sephiroth has observed. They mutter about it over questionable cantine food, and grumble in locker rooms. Sephiroth has heard snatches of it plenty of times, but those sort of things always seem to end whenever he steps into view. Perhaps because he, too, is thought of as "higher up".
"Should you really be talking about your superior officer like that in front of me?"
Hewley blinks. "Are you going to do anything about it?"
"....No."
"Then I don't see a reason for me to hold back at all. Besides, I made my objections plenty clear before the start of this operation, so this isn't some grand secret of mine."
They've gotten some bold recruits this year, it seems. And that's right, that is where Sephiroth found such familiarity in his name. Hewley was right there next to Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos too, not that long ago, when the passionate redhead forcefully introduced himself and then demanded a spar. Getting a refusal certainly sparked up that temper of his... and Sephiroth supposes Hewley is to thank for cutting it off before it could get too bad."At any rate, I would like to discuss the issues about your constant injuries," Sephiroth says, deciding to just change the subject back to the main priority.
Was that too abrupt a change? Hewley seems caught off guard somehow, but Sephiroth can't think of a better way to return to that. At least he comes back from that bit of surprise quickly enough. "Well, we can talk about it if you want. However, I'll be honest with you and say that it will come a little bit hypocritical when you're the one saying it."
Now it is Sephiroth's turn to blink blankly. "What do you mean?"
"You were out there on the front lines all on your own, without even a single partner out there to keep track of your back. If I'm being reckless watching over my team, then you're being equally so. Don't you think?"
No one has ever called him reckless before. There's never been a person who has insinuated that he needs a partner, either, although ShinRa tried a little bit before quickly giving up on the idea. Sephiroth has absolutely no idea what to say in this kind of situation, besides to numbly shake his head. "I do better as a solo operative," he says, repeating words that were always given out to anyone who asked, and which he eventually started to echo. It was better that way, wasn't it?
Hewley doesn't seem to agree, with the way he frowns. What does he know that Sephiroth doesn't? "Is that what you were told? I bet that's the reason that you don't hang out in the mess hall with the rest of us." The actual truth is that he doesn't know how to interact with all those other SOLDIERs, and they don't seem to know how to interact with him. "Alright - come on, dinner is soon."
What.
It only occurs to Sephiroth to actually speak up when Hewley has practically dragged him straight to the cloth flaps of the giant tent that serves as the mess hall. "I already have a meal prepared for me ahead of time by the Science Department," he manages to get out, just before Hewley's fingers can part the cloth.
Anyone else would find that a sufficient answer, wouldn't they? At least, it's ended the conversation quite neatly whenever he has brought it up. And yet Hewley doesn't seem wholly convinced as his head tilts to the side. "I didn't know the Science Department cooked or had an interest in cooking," he comments. "Although now I'm curious about what exactly you eat, since you don't sit down with the rest of us."
For better or worse, they don't actually have to go anywhere for that. Sephiroth couldn't have foreseen that a simple talk with a Third would take so long or... go in such turns. He had picked up his nutritional supplements shortly before heading to the medical tent, and so all he needs to do is pull it out from his pocket.
It is the same simple box that he is given very single day, whether he is abroad on a mission or situated right back in Midgar. Plain, unassuming, no need for bells and whistles. The meal inside of it is very much the same, meant to give him the exact right nutrients that his body will need and without clogging up his system with anything unnecessary. Or at least, so he was told.
Hewley takes one look inside it and immediately turns to step inside the mess hall.
What else is Sephiroth supposed to do? That is his only dinner for the day. Of course he has to chase after Hewley, although he's not quick enough to actually stop him from dumping the meal into a trash can. "Take a seat," Hewley says over his shoulder, completely ignoring the way that every other trooper in the mess is staring at the scene. "I'm going to make you real food."
No one, in his entire life let alone since he became First Class, has ever done this to Sephiroth.
In a complete daze, Sephiroth sinks down at one of the long tables and just watches.
As with many daily duties, there is supposed to be a rotation on who handles things like cooking in the mess hall. Most of the time, or at least what Sephiroth has been able to gleam from observation, this is whoever was left behind to watch the rear, or those who did not have an active duty in comparison to those on the front line. It's important to keep to such schedules, or else things fall into chaos. He had thought that to be common sense.
Common sense seems to mean something entirely different here. Hewley is able to step behind the cooking counters like he's always belonged there, and those on cooking duty greet him with excitement, smiles. He makes a few requests here and there, asks a question, makes an order, and it's all gone along with perfectly fine.
Is this what it looks like to belong? To genuinely command respect not from the length of a sword, or the height of one's rank, but... whatever it is that Angeal Hewley is doing?
Sephiroth wishes he could ask him what his secret is. How he could do it, too.
Despite the fact that he was interrupting the meal counter, Hewley seems to make something fairly quickly - perhaps he too is aware that his prolonged presence might make a bit of a problem. In no time at all, he's returning to where Sephiroth sits still on his own. Two platters are in his hand; it's easy to see one of them has a little bit off something extra on it.
"Here," Hewley tells him, putting down the platter with the extra on it right before Sephiroth. It looks like the menu today is some sort of stew, some fresh bread, and... a sandwich of some sort, with some brightly colored sauce layered over the meat laying inside. "I'll make you better next time I'm on duty."
This is nothing like what he's supposed to eat from the nutritional meals that the Science Department insists he eats, even if he is no longer technically in their purview. All of it actually looks... colorful. Almost like what everyone else is eating, sans the sandwich. Was that what Hewley insisted on making very quickly? If Hojo hears back in ShinRa about this...
Sephiroth takes a large spoonful of the stew and shoves it into his mouth.
There must be some sort of ridiculous look on his face, that spoon still in his mouth, because Hewley chuckles. "Good, right? I can't exactly boast about the outcome... but I did help come up with the recipe the last couple of times I was on mess duty myself, and I made sure to pass it around. It's not like we're going to eat like kings here, but we can at least eat food better than what they serve to rats, right?"
"Was the food here in the mess hall that bad before?"
"Well... I suppose compared to what you were eating before, it would have been fine. But I thought it could use a little sprucing up." Hewley starts to work on his own meal, looking pretty satisfied with things. "You'll have to let me know what you think about the sandwich. I can't lay any claim on the bread exactly, but that's my own sauce I made personally and I took care of the fillings."
When he says it like that, Sephiroth's curiosity can't help but be piqued. Yet even as he picks it up, he can't help but remember how the rest of the mess hall looks. How they're all staring at him and Hewley, as they sit there together. "...How can you act like this?"
"Act like what? You'll have to be more specific."
"How can you act as though I am a normal person? I am sure that, even at the distance that your squad was from me, you were able to witness my combat skills adequately enough. Everyone else who has ever asked me for a spar has never brought it up again, and they've always taken care to avoid me like everyone else, when they've witnessed me on the battlefield with their own eyes." He lets them make that distance. It's better that way. Isn't it?
Hewley sets his own spoon down on his bowl. "What do you mean act as though you're a normal person? You are. You're the same age as me. Why should I treat you like anyone else?"
Something in his chest starts to twist. "But I'm First Class."
All Hewley does is chuckle, and he reaches over, one finger tapping lightly along the very tip of his nose. "If I got spooked away from something like class, I wouldn't have a single friend left," he says, his grin glowing in the dim lighting of the mess hall. "Besides, don't you remember what I told you back then to get Genesis off your tail?"
Right... He did say something, didn't he? While his friend was burning up, furious that a request to spar was denied for reasons that Sephiroth couldn't grasp. All he'd done was say that he didn't spar anyone below First Class and Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos had gotten heated about it. Hewley had patiently held him back, and he had said...
"You had me concede that once the two of you made it to Second, I would permit a spar." Of course, he'd assumed that, by then, the two of them would have fallen in line with all the others who had come before them, and quietly never mention the idea again.
Hewley's smile indicates no such thing. "Well, we'll be there in the blink of an eye. So just eat up, and - "
"ANGEAL!" The voice almost doesn't have time to reach Sephiroth's ear canal and be processed by his brain before a blur of red is crashing straight into Hewley. Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos has his arm wrapped around Hewley's thick neck in the blink of an eye, for all the good that it seems to do. "I cannot believe you went and had a little dinner date with Sephiroth without me!"
"It isn't my fault that the Chief Medical Officer needed you to help him out with more of the Cure materia, take that up with him." Hewley jerks his shoulder up, ramming it into Rhapsodos's ribs to try and make him settle down. It doesn't seem to work. "Anyway, hurry up and get dinner, and maybe I'll let you join this date of ours."
"And shall you make me an extra little serving as well?"
"You can wait like the rest of the squadron until I get on mess duty."
Rhapsodos opts to not wait like the rest of the squadron. Instead, while he concedes into letting go of Hewley's neck, he just sits down next to him and starts stealing bites of the other's meal. For all that Hewley rolls his eyes, he doesn't actually stop Rhapsodos. They're close - perhaps they knew each other before joining SOLDIER.
Something close like that... The nearest relationship Sephiroth has that's similar would be what he and Lazard has, and even then, he has to wonder. Before he can open his mouth to say he'll leave, however, Hewley looks over to him. "I do want you to stay, for the record," he says so plainly that there can't be any doubt. "C'mon, you have to let me know how my cooking tastes, at the very least."
What's going on in his chest? What is that feeling when he takes a bite of the sandwich, a feeling that flutters strangely when Hewley smiles so intently at him? It's good, the sandwich, sweet and delicious... and all the moreso from that feeling, even in spite of the physical sensation.
"....Is this heartburn?"
"Wh-"
Rhapsodos nearly chokes on his latest mouthful laughing.
It's no one's fault but his own, he knows that. It's better if he does it this way. Monsters like him do best when fighting on their own. He learned that a long time ago.... when he was given a first squad to lead, still nothing more than a foolish child straight from the labs, and lost so many of them.
No. He won't do that again. It's better for him, and everyone, if he is a brutal monster upon the field - the kind of thing that draws the enemy's attention towards him and not the other SOLDIERs, the kind that demoralizes the enemy completely. And there are other benefits as well, to just ruthlessly swinging Masamune's long length without having to worry about accidentally taking out his own comrades.
Sephiroth tells himself that, alone on the battlefield.
Of course, a plan which is repeatedly put into motion cannot exist as a static thing. It is an object which must constantly be refined and changed, in order to fulfill its purpose. And so, at the end of every battle, Sephiroth does a quick check on the squads assigned around his area. It's not particularly hard; all he has to do is investigate the paperwork on who has reported to the medical tent. With his status being what it is, he's not usually refused this minor trifle.
Most of the time, despite his best efforts, there will always be a few who get injured to some degree or another. Some of it is something that he cannot stop no matter what, such as panicking during one's first time on the front lines. Other times, it is friendly fire. There are a variety of reasons, and Sephiroth has slowly come to learn all of them in his time as a part of SOLDIER.
So it says something that one day, he's still caught off guard.
Or, rather.... Instead of "one day", it's something which builds over a few days, during one campaign. He doesn't think anything of it the very first day that he glances at the list of injured Third and Second Classes SOLDIERs, and finds the squadron that was to back him up registering only one injury coming in by the name of Angeal Joseph Hewley.
The name is distantly familiar, of course, but it doesn't hit him right away. Rather, Sephiroth's attention is drawn to it more on the second day... finding the exact same list. Just that single name: Angeal Joseph Hewley.
For a moment, he wonders if perhaps he's picked up yesterday's list of patients by accident, or if the updated list simply hasn't been put out yet, or... something. But no, no. The date at the top is accurate. It is indeed the proper day, or at least it will remain that way for a few hours left. Not a single other person, just Third Class Hewley there alone. Sephiroth has to frown at it, puzzled to no end. Perhaps, is he the kind of person who gets injured easily...? Or perhaps he takes risks that the others don't?
A quick glance at the records shows a bit of a difference as well. Yesterday's report shows an injury against his back, and the more recent of the two details a rib injury alongside some minor magic attacks. Maybe he's reckless?
Once is just something that happens. Twice can be a coincidence. Sephiroth doesn't know many sayings that other people seem to, but this is a saying that he's at least heard from some of the other people on both the field and in the office. When it hits more than twice in a row... That's a sign of something.
And Sephiroth decides that he doesn't care for waiting to see if a third time happens just by seeing that name pop up on a list a third day in a row.
It actually takes less effort than one would think, to go and make it so that he's close enough to see just what happens to the squadron of Thirds that are backing him up. His eyesight has always been something that many of the scientists would praise, although one of them in.... particular always seemed to take it for granted. Even across an entire battlefield, it's easy enough for him to see in detail just what's happening with the squadron. The important thing is being in the right position, with nothing blocking his view.
A little bit difficult, admittedly, with some of the trees that cover the Wutai lands, and the plentiful forest life... but not impossible. More than soon enough, he can count at the small group of five that are making their way across the land while Sephiroth himself keeps the brunt of Wutai's forces occupied.
There should be six, he notes while he knocks away a particularly stubborn Wutai warrior. Out of the group, there should be at least one Second Class that is supposed to be guiding them all. Is he taking a more back seat approach? Sephiroth twists, sends up a barrier of ice to separate the rest of the Wutai forces from one another. He supposes that is technically one way to do it. These missions are ones meant to encourage some amount of independence.
He's not sure he can agree with that.... but Sephiroth holds back on those thoughts, in a way that isn't at all reflected in the way he turns his sword about his enemies with his bare hand held out. It isn't his squad. He knows nothing about leading others. He needs to remember that.
So. Six members of the squad - clearly the Second is playing a more supportive role, perhaps, in directing the group. Which one is Angeal Hewley? Even with his eyesight being what it is, Sephiroth realizes that he's not entirely sure how he's to tell when he doesn't think he and the other man have ever met before. At least, that is what he thinks until he sees a flash of dark hair, and deep blue eyes that stand out even from a distance.
Angeal Joseph Hewley. Right. That's right. He remembers him, faintly, just a little bit - a quiet and sturdy presence before burning and passionate red.
Sephiroth leaps up to avoid an attempt at a pincer attack, kicking a tamed monster out of his way at the same time. Well, that at least answers the mystery of why the name was familiar to him even when he first read the list of those who had visited the medical tent. It wasn't much of a mystery, not really anything important, but he's satisfied nonetheless as he drives Masamune through the neck of the creature beneath him.
Even more satisfying is the knowledge that he can now more accurately identify who it is that's getting into so much trouble, although Hewley makes that easy all on his own. Apparently in the absence of a Second leading the group, Angeal Hewley does so on his own as he takes charge ahead of all the rest. While his eyes may be sharp, his ears can't exactly match them, so he has no idea what the Third is calling back to the others. All he knows is that the rest of the squad seems to keep glancing back up to him, as though seeking reassurance, structure.
Hm. He has to admit, he wasn't expecting that in any way. For someone that's constantly getting injured, rather, wouldn't all the others be either protective of him, or showing some signs of bitterness....?
Most of Wutai's forces are concentrated on him. However, as always, that doesn't mean all of their forces are on him. As he burns a Firaga into a small squadron of gunsmen hoping to take him out at a distance, Sephiroth takes note of movement approaching the Third squadron from the northwest. A clash of various colors, most notably burning red and deep indigo and blaring yellow - Foulanders on the move, he sees. A small pack of them, more than the usual amount.
There's too many enemies on him; there's no time for Sephiroth to spare anything towards that large group, guided by - yes, there, someone in the back with a polearm of some sort, a whistle in their mouth. The one herding the monsters straight towards the group of Thirds.
Still, even if they all are Thirds who are seeing their very first time on the real battlefield, they still are SOLDIER... and this works out for Sephiroth as well, doesn't it?
For a moment, Sephiroth doesn't get a good look at just what is happening over at the Third's end. One of the warriors on Wutai's side is apparently quite skilled at using materia and, even if he could withstand just about anything he suspects, Sephiroth knows better than to treat enemies carelessly. He takes a second to put all of his focus on his opponent, slicing through what stands in his way and blowing apart his opposition.
Not that there's too much to worry about, apparently. When he manages to spare a moment once again to look over to the Thirds, the group is still doing more than well enough - acceptable, at the very least, with a couple of them managing to be good, or even exemplary. They manage to maintain a tight unit with one another... and there is indeed Hewley at the head of it all, still yelling orders over his shoulder. Is this truly the same man who apparently keeps getting injured two days in a row...?
Sephiroth rams Masamune's hilt back into the skull of a monster trying to sneak up on him while he's still preoccupied with a few more warriors wielding materia. No, he thinks he can see what's happening. There, situated a little more to the side, is another Third. It's not the light of the sun which makes them seem so pale. He can recognize those nervous jitters anywhere, that wide eyed look so distinct even from miles and miles away.
He's seen this happen, with new recruits. Just because the mako sinks into the body, makes it stronger, faster, doesn't mean that it can solve the weaknesses of the mind. Doesn't mean that it can prepare someone for war. For monsters.
A burst of fire - a simple Fire spell. Nothing at his level, or even some of the Wutai soldiers and what they can do. It licks a little too close to the Third's compatriots, earning what seems like more yelling. Hewley seems to be keeping his cool - are those more orders? It doesn't seem to matter. Not eventually. Not with how a Foulander manages to leap across the back of one of its compatriots, lunging for what it sees as clearly the weakest link.
Even a Third can probably handle a tackle from a Foulander. It will not be pleasant, but no doubt he could survive... Probably. Certainly, he'd lost long enough for one of the other Thirds to get the beast off of him, and perhaps a quick Heal depending on the capabilities of the others. This is not necessarily the end.
The thought doesn't even have more than a second to form in Sephiroth's head before Third Class SOLDIER Angeal Hewley suddenly jerks his hand up and slams his own forearm into that vicious sharp maw.
Blood spills. Bright, bright crimson, something that catches the sunlight in a morbid shine no matter the distance. Sephiroth can see it, and how it falls through the air, falls towards the ground while those sharp teeth dig in tight to Hewley's arm. Blood that doesn't even have a chance to hit the ground - before Hewley slams his arm forward, and beats the massive beast right down against the ground in front of himself.
It was his sword arm that was caught, and the ShinRa basic weapon in his hand falls to the earth. This doesn't bring even the slightest pause in Hewley's step, and Sephiroth watches, transfixed even as he slices straight through a Garuda, the way that Hewley slams his boot straight into the Foulander's head. He's yelling back to the rest of his squad, reaching back with his other hand. Reaching towards - ah.
He reaches back towards the massive blade attached to his back. A blade that Sephiroth could not even recognize as a weapon from this distance, thick as it is.
The entire squadron of Thirds hits the ground.
Third Class SOLDIER Angeal Hewley swings his sword.
"I have never seen a sword entirely like that," Sephiroth tells him, when the young SOLDIER takes a step out of the medical tent. The squadron fulfilled its purpose perfectly; it's how they all can stand here back at base camp so comfortably like this.
Angeal Hewley pauses for a moment, his hand still lifted up with the tent flap resting upon its back. Yet the momentary surprise seems to shift away quickly enough. He steps forward, letting the tent close behind him, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "My pa had it commissioned particular for me," he says, a sort of accent riding thick at the end of his words. Where is it from? Sephiroth has never heard that kind of accent before in Midgar. "But it's not as though we could get anything fancy, so it is what it is."
It is what it is indeed. Sephiroth supposes that a lack of money may explain its design. Sometimes, one either has to trade in practicality or flashiness, and favor its opposite.
That's fine. Sephiroth has always favored practicality. "It is a fine sword," he says, and some of the wariness from Angeal Hewley's face melts away to something more resembling pride. "I saw some of what your squad did during the operation today. It seemed to serve you well, although it leaves me wondering why you did not have it out to begin with."
"This sword cost my pa more loans than he has paychecks," Hewley says, and a grimace flashes across his face. The reminder has him shifting, one foot to the next. "I won't just go swinging it around recklessly. And anyway..." The displeasure eases away, returning more to a wry sort of smile. "This isn't the sort of weapon that really plays nice with other people in such a tight formation. I think someone like you can understand that sort of predicament." He inclines his head ever so slightly to where Masamune rests on Sephiroth's person.
He's not wrong. Masamune may have Hewley's sword beaten in shear length, but that does not make it a small sword by any means. Sephiroth understands perfectly what he means. However, that only brings to mind one other question. "Then why not adjust your squad's formation so that you can more efficiently combat the enemy?"
That is the best thing to do, after all. Sephiroth knows his place in ShinRa, and he knows exactly what it is that is expected of him. Just being in SOLDIER.... that is a freedom he was never guaranteed down in the labs, before Lazard finally broke through all the back and forth that was going on between Hojo and Heidegger to just drag him into the program. And he knows that, this way, by efficiently fighting the enemy... By drawing all eyes on him...
Hewley raises an eyebrow at him. "If I did that, wouldn't they just get hurt too?" he asks, as though it's something plain as day.
Like he can't imagine any other course of action.
Something about his confusion must show on his expression, although Sephiroth had thought it to be serviceably blank, because Hewley shakes his head. "There's no honor in just abandoning all of my teammates to their own devices. I mean-" He shakes his head, lip curling just a little bit. "Only a couple of them even have any experience in fighting against a monster that goes higher than their waist. The others are just kids who thought that mako would solve all of their problems, so why would they even need to learn how to fight properly? I thought it would have been far better for us to go through a few more simulations so that we would be better prepared for the battlefield... But that absolute embarrassment Tideman seems to think that the best teacher is out there in the field. Can you believe that tripe?"
There's so much to absorb here, Sephiroth actually has to take a second for himself and unable to do much more than stare. "...I am far from an expert on the proper training that goes into the squads for Thirds," he admits after a moment. It was never something that he really had to concern himself over; ShinRa pushed him straight up into the highest ranks without any need for such things as training in a squad. It was never expected that he would train anyone underneath him, either.
"I'm no expert either," Hewley admits, utterly at ease in his confidence despite his low ranking. Sephiroth can't say... it doesn't suit him. And not just because he witnessed the ease with which Hewley swung his sword, either. Apparently mako does quite well with his body. "But I like to think that I understand people halfway well enough, and the others aren't adjusting to this well enough for us to be on the lines."
"Then I will refer to you in regards to knowledge about your squadron." Wait, he thinks he's getting offtrack here. Sephiroth refocuses to the matter at hand. "Although in regards to that squadron... I have noticed that you have been regularly injured during this campaign."
Well, he says that... but it's clear to Sephiroth that there's not a trace of those bitemarks on Hewley's forearm where the Foulander bit down on him. Even for Cure materia and SOLDIER constitution combined together, he has to admit that it's a surprisingly quick heal time. "It isn't anything that I can't handle," Hewley tells him plainly - no boasting or anything of the sort, just a quiet matter of factness. Perhaps that can still be considered a sort of pride on its own. "I make sure to not just recklessly be a pincushion for pain, if that was your concern, but it'd be against all the honor in me if I did nothing and let my squadmates take a hit they don't need to when it's all our SO's fault that the situation is what it is."
A lot of Thirds and Seconds complain about the higher ups, from what Sephiroth has observed. They mutter about it over questionable cantine food, and grumble in locker rooms. Sephiroth has heard snatches of it plenty of times, but those sort of things always seem to end whenever he steps into view. Perhaps because he, too, is thought of as "higher up".
"Should you really be talking about your superior officer like that in front of me?"
Hewley blinks. "Are you going to do anything about it?"
"....No."
"Then I don't see a reason for me to hold back at all. Besides, I made my objections plenty clear before the start of this operation, so this isn't some grand secret of mine."
They've gotten some bold recruits this year, it seems. And that's right, that is where Sephiroth found such familiarity in his name. Hewley was right there next to Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos too, not that long ago, when the passionate redhead forcefully introduced himself and then demanded a spar. Getting a refusal certainly sparked up that temper of his... and Sephiroth supposes Hewley is to thank for cutting it off before it could get too bad."At any rate, I would like to discuss the issues about your constant injuries," Sephiroth says, deciding to just change the subject back to the main priority.
Was that too abrupt a change? Hewley seems caught off guard somehow, but Sephiroth can't think of a better way to return to that. At least he comes back from that bit of surprise quickly enough. "Well, we can talk about it if you want. However, I'll be honest with you and say that it will come a little bit hypocritical when you're the one saying it."
Now it is Sephiroth's turn to blink blankly. "What do you mean?"
"You were out there on the front lines all on your own, without even a single partner out there to keep track of your back. If I'm being reckless watching over my team, then you're being equally so. Don't you think?"
No one has ever called him reckless before. There's never been a person who has insinuated that he needs a partner, either, although ShinRa tried a little bit before quickly giving up on the idea. Sephiroth has absolutely no idea what to say in this kind of situation, besides to numbly shake his head. "I do better as a solo operative," he says, repeating words that were always given out to anyone who asked, and which he eventually started to echo. It was better that way, wasn't it?
Hewley doesn't seem to agree, with the way he frowns. What does he know that Sephiroth doesn't? "Is that what you were told? I bet that's the reason that you don't hang out in the mess hall with the rest of us." The actual truth is that he doesn't know how to interact with all those other SOLDIERs, and they don't seem to know how to interact with him. "Alright - come on, dinner is soon."
What.
It only occurs to Sephiroth to actually speak up when Hewley has practically dragged him straight to the cloth flaps of the giant tent that serves as the mess hall. "I already have a meal prepared for me ahead of time by the Science Department," he manages to get out, just before Hewley's fingers can part the cloth.
Anyone else would find that a sufficient answer, wouldn't they? At least, it's ended the conversation quite neatly whenever he has brought it up. And yet Hewley doesn't seem wholly convinced as his head tilts to the side. "I didn't know the Science Department cooked or had an interest in cooking," he comments. "Although now I'm curious about what exactly you eat, since you don't sit down with the rest of us."
For better or worse, they don't actually have to go anywhere for that. Sephiroth couldn't have foreseen that a simple talk with a Third would take so long or... go in such turns. He had picked up his nutritional supplements shortly before heading to the medical tent, and so all he needs to do is pull it out from his pocket.
It is the same simple box that he is given very single day, whether he is abroad on a mission or situated right back in Midgar. Plain, unassuming, no need for bells and whistles. The meal inside of it is very much the same, meant to give him the exact right nutrients that his body will need and without clogging up his system with anything unnecessary. Or at least, so he was told.
Hewley takes one look inside it and immediately turns to step inside the mess hall.
What else is Sephiroth supposed to do? That is his only dinner for the day. Of course he has to chase after Hewley, although he's not quick enough to actually stop him from dumping the meal into a trash can. "Take a seat," Hewley says over his shoulder, completely ignoring the way that every other trooper in the mess is staring at the scene. "I'm going to make you real food."
No one, in his entire life let alone since he became First Class, has ever done this to Sephiroth.
In a complete daze, Sephiroth sinks down at one of the long tables and just watches.
As with many daily duties, there is supposed to be a rotation on who handles things like cooking in the mess hall. Most of the time, or at least what Sephiroth has been able to gleam from observation, this is whoever was left behind to watch the rear, or those who did not have an active duty in comparison to those on the front line. It's important to keep to such schedules, or else things fall into chaos. He had thought that to be common sense.
Common sense seems to mean something entirely different here. Hewley is able to step behind the cooking counters like he's always belonged there, and those on cooking duty greet him with excitement, smiles. He makes a few requests here and there, asks a question, makes an order, and it's all gone along with perfectly fine.
Is this what it looks like to belong? To genuinely command respect not from the length of a sword, or the height of one's rank, but... whatever it is that Angeal Hewley is doing?
Sephiroth wishes he could ask him what his secret is. How he could do it, too.
Despite the fact that he was interrupting the meal counter, Hewley seems to make something fairly quickly - perhaps he too is aware that his prolonged presence might make a bit of a problem. In no time at all, he's returning to where Sephiroth sits still on his own. Two platters are in his hand; it's easy to see one of them has a little bit off something extra on it.
"Here," Hewley tells him, putting down the platter with the extra on it right before Sephiroth. It looks like the menu today is some sort of stew, some fresh bread, and... a sandwich of some sort, with some brightly colored sauce layered over the meat laying inside. "I'll make you better next time I'm on duty."
This is nothing like what he's supposed to eat from the nutritional meals that the Science Department insists he eats, even if he is no longer technically in their purview. All of it actually looks... colorful. Almost like what everyone else is eating, sans the sandwich. Was that what Hewley insisted on making very quickly? If Hojo hears back in ShinRa about this...
Sephiroth takes a large spoonful of the stew and shoves it into his mouth.
There must be some sort of ridiculous look on his face, that spoon still in his mouth, because Hewley chuckles. "Good, right? I can't exactly boast about the outcome... but I did help come up with the recipe the last couple of times I was on mess duty myself, and I made sure to pass it around. It's not like we're going to eat like kings here, but we can at least eat food better than what they serve to rats, right?"
"Was the food here in the mess hall that bad before?"
"Well... I suppose compared to what you were eating before, it would have been fine. But I thought it could use a little sprucing up." Hewley starts to work on his own meal, looking pretty satisfied with things. "You'll have to let me know what you think about the sandwich. I can't lay any claim on the bread exactly, but that's my own sauce I made personally and I took care of the fillings."
When he says it like that, Sephiroth's curiosity can't help but be piqued. Yet even as he picks it up, he can't help but remember how the rest of the mess hall looks. How they're all staring at him and Hewley, as they sit there together. "...How can you act like this?"
"Act like what? You'll have to be more specific."
"How can you act as though I am a normal person? I am sure that, even at the distance that your squad was from me, you were able to witness my combat skills adequately enough. Everyone else who has ever asked me for a spar has never brought it up again, and they've always taken care to avoid me like everyone else, when they've witnessed me on the battlefield with their own eyes." He lets them make that distance. It's better that way. Isn't it?
Hewley sets his own spoon down on his bowl. "What do you mean act as though you're a normal person? You are. You're the same age as me. Why should I treat you like anyone else?"
Something in his chest starts to twist. "But I'm First Class."
All Hewley does is chuckle, and he reaches over, one finger tapping lightly along the very tip of his nose. "If I got spooked away from something like class, I wouldn't have a single friend left," he says, his grin glowing in the dim lighting of the mess hall. "Besides, don't you remember what I told you back then to get Genesis off your tail?"
Right... He did say something, didn't he? While his friend was burning up, furious that a request to spar was denied for reasons that Sephiroth couldn't grasp. All he'd done was say that he didn't spar anyone below First Class and Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos had gotten heated about it. Hewley had patiently held him back, and he had said...
"You had me concede that once the two of you made it to Second, I would permit a spar." Of course, he'd assumed that, by then, the two of them would have fallen in line with all the others who had come before them, and quietly never mention the idea again.
Hewley's smile indicates no such thing. "Well, we'll be there in the blink of an eye. So just eat up, and - "
"ANGEAL!" The voice almost doesn't have time to reach Sephiroth's ear canal and be processed by his brain before a blur of red is crashing straight into Hewley. Third Class SOLDIER Genesis Rhapsodos has his arm wrapped around Hewley's thick neck in the blink of an eye, for all the good that it seems to do. "I cannot believe you went and had a little dinner date with Sephiroth without me!"
"It isn't my fault that the Chief Medical Officer needed you to help him out with more of the Cure materia, take that up with him." Hewley jerks his shoulder up, ramming it into Rhapsodos's ribs to try and make him settle down. It doesn't seem to work. "Anyway, hurry up and get dinner, and maybe I'll let you join this date of ours."
"And shall you make me an extra little serving as well?"
"You can wait like the rest of the squadron until I get on mess duty."
Rhapsodos opts to not wait like the rest of the squadron. Instead, while he concedes into letting go of Hewley's neck, he just sits down next to him and starts stealing bites of the other's meal. For all that Hewley rolls his eyes, he doesn't actually stop Rhapsodos. They're close - perhaps they knew each other before joining SOLDIER.
Something close like that... The nearest relationship Sephiroth has that's similar would be what he and Lazard has, and even then, he has to wonder. Before he can open his mouth to say he'll leave, however, Hewley looks over to him. "I do want you to stay, for the record," he says so plainly that there can't be any doubt. "C'mon, you have to let me know how my cooking tastes, at the very least."
What's going on in his chest? What is that feeling when he takes a bite of the sandwich, a feeling that flutters strangely when Hewley smiles so intently at him? It's good, the sandwich, sweet and delicious... and all the moreso from that feeling, even in spite of the physical sensation.
"....Is this heartburn?"
"Wh-"
Rhapsodos nearly chokes on his latest mouthful laughing.