Paperwork[open~]

[Tseng]

Tseng gave Vincent Valentine an odd look, failing momentarily to maintain the perfectly business-like expression that he wore at almost all times. He could not help but wonder whether the ex-Turk was referring to Kadaj and his gang, who had, after all, already been killed once… or to himself.

In spite of his Wutaian upbringing, and the extreme, though not always obvious, complexity of his nature, the leader of the Turks was not a man in-tune with the metaphorical or the profound. He was highly logical, realistic and level-headed. That was why he was a Turk, and not one of the Wu Shen* of the Temple of Leviathan.

He considered for a moment. Sephiroth had already died twice, if Kadaj’s transformation would count as the “real” Sephiroth. And all of those who had been revived recently, by whatever means, from Miss Gainsborough to Zack Fair to the One-Winged Angel, and his Remnants… surely they could die again? If not, then the world was doomed. The very idea of a truly immortal Sephiroth was terrifying.

And if Vincent had been referring to himself…? He couldn’t be certain either way.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Tseng said finally. “But, I can say this much; I do not believe in immortality. Even gods can be killed.”


*Wu Shen = Five Gods. Known as the “Five Mighty Gods” in the (god-awful) English translation of FFVII.

[Vincent]

It seemed that answer was the right one, since it did not recieve only dead silence. Which meant that the time spent waiting for it had not been wasted. But that in itself showed that perhaps one being an Ex-Turk & one a Turk brought some type of patience to the man who often left before anyone knew he had gone. Not that he even tried to. . .it was just the style of Vincent Valentine.

"For the planet's sake, hope that you're right."

He replied while not looking at Tseng before leaping out the window into what was probably broad daylight. In fact, he seemed quite unconcerned about being spotted by Shinra security forces for his exit from the building. But why? Had that question been reffering to himself. . . that meant enough damage from those employees of the cmpany WOULD kill him. Did he not even care at all? Either way, the man soon vanished into what became a mass of flowing red cloth that some may have come to call the crimson spectre. After all, it did represent the ghouls of old scary stories quite well.

Soon, he had vanished entirely from sight.