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“It’s called an Elf on the Shelf,” Genesis said around the candy cane he was currently mauling. “My mother used to put one up when I was little.”
Sephiroth stared at the red-clad figurine on the table in the lounge pit. It was propped up in a seated position on one of the artfully wrapped empty boxes piled at intervals to look like gift stacks. Someone had added a ring of mako aqua to its sickeningly bright blue irises to make them look like a SOLDIER’s, he could tell because the paint texture was different.
“What is it for?” He asked.
“It’s supposed to be one of Santa’s elves,” Angeal said. “You know about Santa, right?”
“Of course. He’s a fictitious rendition of a historical figure parents use to psychologically control the children they can’t be bothered to discipline.”
Genesis inhaled sharply, followed by a wet coughing as he choked on his own spit. Once again, Sephiroth became acutely aware that his understanding of the world was very different from everyone else’s.
“Let me guess,” Genesis coughed. “You get coal in your stocking every year.”
“I don’t have a stocking.” That was something Sephiroth did have uncontroversial knowledge of, at least. Those were the large, commercially manufactured bags made in the shape of socks that were often hung on a wall or fireplace mantel. “I don’t celebrate Yule.”
“You don’t celebrate Midsummer, you don’t celebrate Equinox, you don’t celebrate Yule,” Genesis recounted, giving that frown Sephiroth was coming to learn meant he disapproved. “What do you celebrate?”
Genesis hadn’t even been Sephiroth’s problem for a whole year yet, but Sephiroth’s patience was wearing thin. He had a tendency to speak like his own experiences were the norm, and anyone who differed was just doing life wrong. He was constantly swinging back and forth between behaving like a starstruck hero worshipper and lecturing Sephiroth about how Things Were Properly Done.
“Nothing.” Sephiroth ducked Angeal’s hand and picked up the elf doll to insect it. “I don’t have holidays.”
The doll was ugly. Its wired limbs were made for changing its position, but he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to. And, inexplicably, Sephiroth found the expression painted on its face extremely irritating.
“So, what’s the point of an Elf on the Shelf?” He asked as Angeal swiped it to return it to its place.
“You set it up in December and tell your kids it’s watching them to report back to Santa whether they’re being good or bad,” Angeal said. “While the kids are asleep, parents move them around so it looks like they’re alive. I was always on my best behavior when the Elf came out, I was so sure it was going to go tattle to Santa about anything bad I did.”
Sephiroth couldn’t help the scowl that crept onto his face. They were sixteen, and even the youngest new SOLDIER recruits were at least fourteen. The idea that a poorly-stuffed elf doll might tattle on them to Santa was ludicrous at best, but the very concept rubbed him the wrong way.
Somebody’s always watching wasn’t a message he felt like being slapped in the face with every time he stepped onto this floor, even if the ominous reality of it wasn’t intended.
Somebody was always watching Sephiroth. His ID tracked every step he made through the building, the tracking watch he was forced to wear recorded every breath and heartbeat, his face was recorded by every surveillance camera he walked past and catalogued in his record. If his pulse spiked outside of his scheduled training too many times, he was lectured about how too much unstructured roughhousing and playing around could ruin live-battle muscle memory. People he’d never met knew how much water he drank, how many calories he consumed, and how many times he rolled over in his sleep.
He didn’t appreciate his attention being jerked back to that hard-ignored fact, no matter how festively.
Angeal shouted for him to stop when he reached for the Elf again, but Sephiroth was faster. The thing’s head twisted off with ridiculous ease, as did its limbs, and the weak felt of its torso gave easily under his fingers. In less than a minute the Elf was reduced to a pile of stuffing, fabric, and wires, all of which Sephiroth carried to the corner and dumped into the trash can with no fanfare.
Angeal and Genesis were staring at him when he turned back to them, the latter with the candy cane hanging out of his mouth in a way that would be comical if Sephiroth cared enough about him to find him humorous.
“This is a war training floor, not a preschool,” Sephiroth stated. “And we’re elite soldiers, not children. Santa, fake gifts, and hanging stockings have no place here.”
“Touch my stocking and I’ll throw you down the elevator shaft,” Genesis warned. “Your family probably didn’t send you anything because of your attitude, don’t take it out on the rest of us.”
“Hey,” Angeal said sharply, pinning Genesis with one of his obnoxious, ‘I’m more mature than you’ looks. “Not necessary.”
“Yes, it is, stop defending him when he acts like a dick.” Genesis refused to be cowed, leaning past Angeal to point threateningly at Sephiroth with the tip of his now-sharpened candy cane. “We’re all tired of catering to what the great Sephiroth wants. If you want to be miserable, go do it alone in your quarters and stop sucking the life out of everything for the rest of us!”
Sephiroth bristled at the insinuation he was somehow ruining things for everyone. He was doing them a favor by advocating for an end to this nonsense, trying to push them toward the harsh realities of the world. Santa Claus, the Equinox Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, birthdays…all grandiose traditions created to cover the cold, boring reality of the world in a false tapestry of hope and happy endings. They primed people to believe in the inevitable triumph of good, and led to dumb shit like stealing helicopters and needlessly risking lives for unwanted rescues in the middle of war zones.
The world was bleak. It was cold and cruel. Statistically, one-third of the other teenagers they saw here on this floor every day would be dead within two years, lifeless corpses on a battlefield. No mythical embodiment of goodness and light was going to appear to save them in the end, and no amount of perceived whimsy in the world was going to improve their survival chances.
He was not trying to “suck the life” out of anything, he was advocating for a stronger relationship with reality that would hopefully extend those lives.
There was no point in trying to explain that to Genesis. Genesis was here to be a hero, not a soldier, his biggest concerns were his reputation and his leisure. He wouldn’t see the true cost of what he sought until he finally stood on a real battlefield, bathed in blood and choking on the acrid stench of human death. Maybe not even then, given how dense he could be.
“Very well.” Sephiroth flicked the candy can out of his face. “Continue wasting your time on pointless pastimes, then. But don’t wonder why you can’t reach my level. I’ll be in the training room, behaving like a SOLDIER instead of a child.”
Genesis squawked some kind of response, but Sephiroth had already tuned him out as he strolled down the hall. He passed the stretch of wall lined with decorative stockings on his way, something the others had all gotten together and decided to do. Many of them were sent to the SOLDIERs by their families, a piece of home for them to have during the holidays when they couldn’t be together. Several, including the very fancy red one belonging to Genesis, had arrived filled with presents to be opened the morning of Yule. Even Angeal’s had a few small shapes squeezed into it, probably more gifts than he’d gotten in years now that his mother no longer had to support him and even received money from her son.
There was a noticeable empty spot between Genesis’ and Angeal’s, left with the expectation that Sephiroth would participate and hang a stocking of his own. He hadn’t bothered to address it, assuming the fact that it remained empty spoke for itself. Clearly it didn’t, if Genesis was making assumptions of his own.
The training room was empty when he walked in, with nobody reserving its next two slots. Sephiroth took them both and started a session, letting himself into the quiet VR room and sliding a visor over his eyes. There were no options for him to choose from; the training computers were locked into the highest levels whenever his credentials activated them, and the sessions rotated through the top five instances the AI felt he needed the most improvement on.
It didn't matter. The VR room was fun and games compared to the private training sessions he had up in the Drum, nothing in here could physically hurt him. The worst that could happen in here was a lower score than average.
But his score was still viewable by other SOLDIERs, and he had to stay on top. His only real value lay in being a weapon, he needed to be a good one. So, by the time the first session wound to a close, Sephiroth was straining and sticky with sweat. He could handle Wutaian ninjas, but an endless stream of them, constantly switching their styles, was one hell of a workout. He was relieved when the view of the forests near Fort Tamblin dissolved away into computer blue, raining down through the floor to leave him once again standing in the VR room.
Annoyingly, he wasn't alone. Sephiroth was acutely aware he often drew gawkers when he trained, but today there were at least ten Second and Third Classes staring at him like a zoo exhibit. The red leather coat that was too similar to his own thigh-length black one to be coincidence stood out in the sea of blue and purple uniforms.
As if looking in his direction was an active invitation, Genesis marched over to the doors and let himself in. The audience watched him do so in awe, as if daring to approach Sephiroth was some kind of privilege held only by other First Classes.
“Shouldn't you be busy writing your letter to Santa?” Sephiroth asked.
The glass was soundproof and bulletproof, for the protection of any research personnel who might be watching during active combat training. Genesis plastered a smile on his face, so their watchers would believe he was welcome and not intruding.
“Shouldn't you be at the playground telling preschoolers they're going to die someday and happiness is pointless?” Genesis returned. “Seriously, why are you so damn mean all the time? I just came to apologize. Granted, Angeal made me.”
Mean. Sephiroth didn't return the smile for the watching younger SOLDIERs.
“I'm not mean, I'm practical.”
“Right, practical,” Genesis snorted. “You act like getting even the tiniest bit of enjoyment out of holiday traditions renders a person mentally unsound.”
Genesis put an arm around Sephiroth's shoulders and turned him toward the window, indicating the growing crowd.
“Be honest with me. Do you genuinely think all those grown teenagers out there believe in Santa? Or that any of them really think a stuffed elf is tattling on them?”
Sephiroth pursed his lips. Of course he didn’t really think Genesis or Angeal believed in those things, they were intelligent, capable people who had mostly proven otherwise. But the rest of them…if they didn’t believe it, what was the point of going through the motions? It made no sense.
Genesis was waiting for a “no,” but when Sephiroth only shrugged, his eyebrows rose up practically to his hairline.
“Seriously, have you been living under a rock your whole life?”
“No,” Sephiroth said irritably. “I lived in the Research and Development Department.”
Genesis went silent for the span of a few heartbeats, waiting for him to say something else. Since Sephiroth didn’t know what, he said nothing. The fake smile fell away, twisting into an expression he’d never seen on Genesis’ face and couldn’t read. The other First walked over to the wall and hit the privacy command, darkening the glass into an opaque white and cutting off the view of onlookers.
“Wait, are you serious?” Genesis asked. “You grew up in R&D?”
Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, flicking across Genesis’ features in search of the telltale signs he was being mocked. Derision was one of the few expressions he was well-versed in, but instead he found something different: knitted brows, mouth downturned in a frown, tilted head. Traits consistent with concern.
He liked that even less. Too close to pity.
“Does Angeal know that?” Genesis asked. Again, not what Sephiroth was expecting. He was beginning to feel off balance.
“No. Why would he?”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“He didn’t ask.”
The concern twisted slightly into visible confusion. That was more familiar territory, Genesis spent a good portion of his time in Sephiroth’s presence confused.
“You’re not supposed to wait for friends to ask you about your life,” Genesis said. “You’re just supposed to talk about it. Share stuff. Let them get to know you.”
For just a moment, the frown Sephiroth usually reserved for this borderline nuisance’s presence faltered, replaced by a brief huff of bemusement.
“There are a lot of things I don’t know,” Sephiroth admitted, “but even I’m aware that sharing my background without prompting is guaranteed to make any conversation very uncomfortable, very quickly. It’s more polite to stay quiet.”
Genesis expression shifted again, once again putting Sephiroth on uneven footing. Instead of discomfort or awkwardness, he looked almost…fascinated.
“Okay. Why did you grow up in R&D?” Genesis asked.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell Angeal because he didn’t ask. I’m asking. Am I allowed to ask? Or is it top secret or something?”
Sephiroth was at a loss. No matter how hard he tried, he could not understand this very weird boy. It was like Genesis only had three modes when interacting with him: angry, fawning, or intrigued. After almost a year, he still didn’t know what triggered each. But he did ask, and the information wasn’t some big secret. And, Sephiroth supposed, if anybody was entitled to know who they were fighting beside, it was the other two Firsts.
“My father ran off before I was born,” he said. “My mother died right after, but she worked for Shinra. She was on highly classified projects that required her to cut all outside contact, so there was nobody else on record to take me. I became a ward of Shinra, Professor Hojo was my primary custodian until I turned fourteen and he had to start sharing ownership with the SOLDIER department.”
“Ownership?” Genesis made a face. “That’s a weird way of putting it.”
“A guardian has the legal right to permit experimental treatments on a minor if they believe it’s to the benefit of their health,” Sephiroth stated. “I began mako treatments when I was four. I was the prototype for the active SOLDIER program, and any medical or enhancement treatments you all go through are tested on me first for your safety. Shinra basically owns all SOLDIERs for life, right? It’s in the contract you signed. My contract was just signed for me by Hojo when I was a toddler.”
Genesis was staring at him, mouth slightly agape, which was par for the course when it came to conversations about his personal life. Even with a year and a half between him and the near-complete solitude of his upbringing, Sephiroth was no closer to understanding how much shared information was too much.
“That’s wild,” Genesis said finally. “You started mako treatments when you were four? Is that why your eyes are like that? And your hair?”
“Maybe.” Sephiroth cocked his head to the side, studying his fellow First. “They’ve been like this for as long as I can remember, at least.”
Genesis didn’t appear to be put off or disturbed, if anything he looked like a man eagerly putting together a puzzle. He fished into the pocket of his coat and withdrew another candy cane, which he carried an almost disturbing surplus of over the last month. This one was rainbow colored, which he paid no attention to as he peeled off the plastic and absently chewed on the end.
“I see why family’s a touchy subject for you,” Genesis supposed. “I mean, I guessed it was complicated. I’m adopted and I hate my parents, you kind of get a feel for when somebody else is messy when you come from that.”
Now that was certainly news to Sephiroth. The Rhapsodos family was very prestigious in Banora, Angeal had said. It was hard to miss the packages and letters that constantly arrived with the scarlet music note of the Rhapsodos seal, that did not imply a family rift.
“Have your parents been notified you hate them?” Sephiroth asked. “The feeling doesn’t appear to be mutual.”
“Oh, no, they love me,” Genesis replied. “You know, since I engineered the preservation process that lets them make money year-round off an unpredictable crop, I’m halfway to a dual-major degree in theology and literature already, and I’m a Soldier First Class at my age. But if I was normal they’d probably have thrown me out with the trash before I turned ten. I don’t think I’ve been allowed to sit still since the day I learned to walk.”
He sounded almost…relieved, to say it out loud, and for once, Sephiroth felt like he genuinely understood what somebody else was saying. Genesis wasn’t bragging when he listed his accomplishments this way, he was simply stating a fact. And underneath that statement, Sephiroth heard a very familiar resentment.
Genesis was a lot of things Sephiroth envied, to be honest. He spoke his mind (loudly), publicly changed his mind without shame when it suited him (often), and had a social grace that put him at ease with anybody and everybody. He was physically attractive, effortlessly fashionable, and carried himself with more confidence than any one person had any right to possess. Sephiroth theorized he might literally die if he wasn’t the center of attention when he wanted to be, but everyone had a weakness.
But the implication of his admission was clear; like Sephiroth, his guardians had purchased his achievements to feed their own aspirations, and Genesis was left paying the bill.
“It’s fine, though,” Genesis supposed. “Someday they’ll be dead and everything I earned for them will be mine. Sooner than later, goddess willing. Have you ever considered murdering Hojo? He seems like a creep, and I’m pretty sure he’s not sword-proof. That might solve a lot of your problems.”
Sephiroth was thrown completely off-kilter by Genesis’ casual suggestion. Genesis took his silence for a lack of understanding, and mimed stabbing motions.
“‘cause you have a sword,” he clarified. “And you’re pretty much the strongest SOLDIER in existence. And he’s just a squishy target.”
“No, I understood you just fine,” Sephiroth assured him. “How did we get on the topic of contemplating homicide?”
“Oh! Right, Angeal sent me to apologize,” Genesis remembered, as if the two subjects were somehow similar. “I’m not doing that, but I’ll tell him I did. You’ll back me up, right? Great.”
He pulled a peppermint stick from his other pocket and put it into Sephiroth’s hand.
“Lighten up, okay? I get that Hojo probably raised you to think fun is terminal, but the best way to get back at authority figures is to enjoy things they really don’t want us to enjoy. At least make a stocking, you might like it.”
Genesis breezed out of the training room with the same air of oblivious contentment he came in with, deactivating the privacy function on the glass as he went. As it faded back to transparent, the console area was empty of watchers.
Well, that was at least a small Yule present.
Sephiroth pocketed the candy cane and activated the next session, but his mind drifted elsewhere even as his sword cut down a parade of fiends on muscle memory alone.
* * * * *
The envelope was waiting in Sephiroth’s mail bin when he returned to his quarters from the shared showers, the same envelope every SOLDIER received every Friday. He barely looked at it as he let himself into the tidy single room, mostly empty save for a bed and a desk but still more of a home than the room in R&D.
Any army or SOLDIER member above a certain rank could rent one of the fairly nice apartments available in Shinra’s military housing blocs, if they chose. Genesis and Angeal split the rent on a two-bedroom place up there, along with a few Second Classes, but Sephiroth lived in provided quarters. He got his own room with a closet—not that he had much to put in there—and had a big window that let in sunshine during the spring and summer and let him watch the rain or snow in fall and winter. He was allowed to decorate it, which was nice, though he hadn’t really gotten around to doing that.
Money was, after all, a very big factor.
Sephiroth started to throw the pay stub into the small basket on the desk, where a pile of similar unopened envelopes sat until he took them to one of the office shredders. This time, though, he sat on the windowsill where he could get a nice view of the snow falling on Midgar today, and tore it open to look at its contents.
On paper, Sephiroth was very well-paid. As Shinra’s first and highest-ranking SOLDIER, known across the world, of course he was compensated handsomely for his services as soon as he came of age and transferred to the SOLDIER Department. After all, if he wasn’t, Director Lazard would begin asking uncomfortable questions.
Sephiroth looked wistfully at the amount the stub claimed he’d earned this pay period. Mid-four figures in just one week, his salary was higher than anyone else at Shinra except for the President, Vice President, and Directors. This was the number that was on his yearly tax returns, and the number that was released to the public to help lure new potential SOLDIERs in.
Then the creative accounting began.
There was the charge for his housing, the charge for the two meals he received each day in the mess hall, the charge for his estimated water and electricity use. There were charges for the treatments he didn’t want, the tests he constantly underwent, the medical supervision he was always under. He was charged for heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer, charged for the services of the personal PR team he was assigned and didn’t want, charged for the costs of promoting his image. Anything they could think of, they tacked on.
At the bottom, as expected, he received an even 100 gil. No matter what he was charged for each pay period, he ultimately received only that every week.
Of course, that 100 gil went fast. Now that he was “on his own,” he had to buy his own toiletries, his own clothes, his own bedding. If he could afford a computer, he’d have to purchase his own internet service. If he didn’t want to use his Shinra-issued PHS, he would have to purchase his own phone and phone service. By the time his next pay stub came, he would probably have fifteen gil or less from this one to add to his meager savings. Most of the time it was only ten.
Looking at the pay stub, Sephiroth felt like an idiot. He remembered how utterly overjoyed he’d been the first few times he’d received that 100 gil. It was the first time he’d ever gotten his own money for anything, he was so sure he was finally being rewarded for his obedience and achievement. But it was all just for Shinra’s books. Like his inflated reputation, it was just another lie in the carefully built façade of the successful, enviable hero.
He'd felt like such a fool when he found out none of the other SOLDIERs paid for these things, that their paychecks were much smaller but they got to keep the whole thing.
Sephiroth threw the paystub in with the others and opened the desk drawer, pulling out his PHS to check his bank accounts. Over the last eighteen months, he’d managed to save 780 gil. He was saving for a new leather coat, a good quality one that would last him and not take damage easily. But quality meant cost, and the best option he’d found was a little over 2,000 gil.
He needed it, though. Now that he was no longer a minor and responsible for his own expenses, Shinra would only cover the cost of standard-issue First Class SOLDIER uniforms. That was why Angeal didn’t bother with any kind of signature look even though Sephiroth and Genesis preferred them. The last non-standard clothing Shinra had paid for was the leather jacket he currently wore, but he was growing and it was getting tight. He might be able to get away with it for a few more years, if he was careful, but it wasn’t going to be comfortable.
He'd have to make some spending cuts. He could start skipping lunch since he had to pay for that himself in the cafeteria, seven meals per week was his highest expense by far8. He’d be hungry for a while, but he’d get used to it. It wouldn’t affect his performance, R&D would just put him on a nutritional IV if his calorie intake got too low. He’d be able to get his new coat in about four or five months, then could go back to the luxury of self-chosen meals.
Maybe he’d even buy one a size or two too big, with room to grow so he wouldn’t have to save up for another one in a few years.
Sephiroth put the PHS away and pocketed his keycard, glancing at the digital alarm clock beside his bed as he left his quarters. Normally he’d still be in training right now, but it was Yule Eve and Lazard had kindly ended the SOLDIER Department’s day at noon, with the whole of Yule Day off. A handful of them were on call in case they were needed, of course, Sephiroth among them, but a rare several hours of free time stretched ahead of him.
Despite lamenting the state of his finances only a minute ago, thoughts of the downstairs coffee shop’s delicious white hot chocolate danced through his head. Midgar was expected to get at least three inches of snow on the plate, and several hours reading thrillers in the library with a few hot drinks was about as close to heaven as he could imagine getting. He just had to make a stop on the 49th floor to pick up the new combat materia that was ready for him, and then he was free for two days.
It was on the way back to the elevator from the materia room that his plans for the evening faltered. It had been three days since his admittedly odd talk with Genesis in the VR room, and the space between his and Angeal’s stocking still remained empty. Neither of his friends—Friends? Plural? Was that the role Genesis was attempting to wriggle his way into?—had mentioned Yule since the untimely demise of Lazard’s precious Elf, but he hadn’t forgotten that afternoon.
He did want to participate. He wanted to enjoy things without waiting tensely for the other shoe to drop. He just didn’t know how, not since he’d dared to open up to Glenn, Matt and Lucia only to be thrown away at the first convenient moment.
Technically, Angeal and Genesis couldn’t ditch him that way. Shinra owned them as much as it owned him, especially as First Classes. They weren’t going to wake up one day and decide they wanted to change careers and move back to Banora, they were here for the long haul.
They were a much safer bet, if he wanted to make it. But it wouldn’t be easy to do.
Sephiroth sighed heavily as he stepped into the elevator, bypassing the library floor and heading up to R&D. It was the middle of the work day, thankfully, which meant Hojo would be in his regular labs on the clock instead of doing his own thing in the Drum. Sephiroth hated going up there. Even if he was mostly indifferent to the really fucking weird abominations of nature he was often pitted against for training, creatures that were too dangerous to move down to the labs for that purpose, the noises of the Drum got to him. Screams and moans, pain and fear. Some of them were too human not to be, but he’d learned a long time ago not to ask questions.
Today, Hojo was in his stupid little playground. It was his favorite place to be, outside of the Drum, a collection of storage tubes and pods that held pointless “experiments.” Sephiroth wasn’t a scientist, but even he could see that Hojo’s research genuinely had no practical use for anything. He was just a nutjob whose idea of masturbation was genetically crossing things that didn’t need to be crossed.
He was standing in front of the biggest one, a tube that held something that looked like a mix between an elephant, a sloth, and a stomach ulcer. It was easily three times as tall as them both, and nothing could actually justify its existence.
“I want to go out,” Sephiroth declared when he reached him, not bothering to wait for a greeting. Hojo wouldn’t acknowledge him until he spoke, anyway.
“Out where?” Hojo didn’t look up from the tablet he was reading from.
“Sector 8.”
“Why?”
“Because Sector 8 is outside. And I’m inside, and I want to be outside,” Sephiroth huffed. “I want to go buy something, why else would I want to go to a shopping district?”
Hojo rolled his head to give Sephiroth a sideways look, pushing his dark glasses up on his nose.
“You are immune to many things,” Hojo noted, “but apparently not to being an annoying teenager.”
“I could remove myself from your presence and stop being annoying,” Sephiroth offered. “Right out the front door, and off to Sector 8.”
“Don’t you have training?”
“Lazard gave us the afternoon off.”
“Then maybe I should give you something to do,” Hojo supposed.
Sephiroth matched the exasperated look he’d been given a few seconds ago, an eerie mirror of his guardian. He’d picked up a lot of Hojo’s mannerisms in his life, and though he tried to suppress them, sometimes they just came out. Like now, as he inadvertently acted and spoke with the same irritated motions and inflection Hojo often used on his subordinates.
“I will fall on this floor, become dead weight, and force your department to make another worker’s compensation payout when one of your assistants inevitably suffers a human bite and requires an expensive array of shots.”
Hojo only scoffed. He didn’t give a damn who Sephiroth bit (again), risks to life and limb were what R&D staff were paid for.
“Fine,” Sephiroth relented. “Lazard gave us off tomorrow. If you let me go out today, I’ll spend the day stabbing your…whatever unholy things you’ve managed to concoct since I was here last.”
Hojo considered that for a moment before going back to his clipboard.
“Very well. Be here at ten tomorrow, and don’t dare leave Sector 8.”
Sephiroth opened his mouth. Without looking, Hojo raised a warning finger.
“Except to return here to Sector 0,” he predicted his charge’s sarcastic response. “Honestly, talking to you is becoming like negotiating a contract with a fae these days.”
Sephiroth stuck out his tongue, which Hojo didn’t see, and turned to leave. A win was a win, he supposed.
“And wear a coat,” Hojo warned.
“I am wearing a coat.”
“You’re wearing a leather jacket,” Hojo corrected. “You have an actual coat in your cold weather deployment gear, wear that.”
“I don’t want to wear the coat,” Sephiroth complained. “It’s puffy and it looks stupid.”
“Then look stupid,” Hojo replied. “Or stay in the building.”
Sephiroth fumed, but didn’t argue. Negotiating with Hojo walked a fine line, and he knew when he was approaching the edge of his guardian’s patience today. He was the only person except President Shinra who could speak to the Director freely and with any semblance of attitude, but there were limits.
“Don’t forget gloves,” Hojo called as Sephiroth stormed out of the lab. “And perhaps, dare I say it, a hat.”
He could leave without the coat, but Hojo would know. Just like he’d know if Sephiroth dared to leave the Sector 8 plate to go anywhere other than back here. The leash was tight and he didn’t want to tighten it further, so he sulked to the storage room where his different deployment gear was kept and fished out the stupid, puffy, white coat. It wasn’t even any longer than the leather one, it was just thick and dumb-looking. Still, he pulled it on and grabbed a pair of gloves, making sure to stomp grumpily all the way downstairs and across the lobby on his way out into the snow.
The world was strangely quiet under the growing blanket of white, oddly clean and fresh. The dirt and grime that marred this industrial city was dusted over in a lie, a pretense of purity that Midgar would never achieve. It crunched pleasantly under Sephiroth’s boots as he walked, and stung his face when the cold wind blew.
Okay, so maybe the coat was a good idea. Even a broken clock was right twice a day.
Sector 8 was bustling in a way he’d never seen before, not that he came here often. Sunday was the only day SOLDIERs had off, and Sector 0 was generally the only area Sephiroth was free to roam since transferring Departments. That limited window meant he’d only asked permission to go to other sectors a handful of times, and never near a holiday. People were rushing around, everything was decorated, and Yule music played over the crowd through speakers.
Sephiroth was out of his depth. He was vaguely familiar with the stores here, but none of them really made sense for what he was looking for. He wandered aimlessly for a bit, until the display in the front window of a gift shop caught his eye. It was filled with Yule tree ornaments, wrapping paper…and stockings.
A bell jingled overhead as he let himself in, pleased to find the crowd thinner in here and the music quieter. He kicked the snow off his boots at the mat by the doorway and wandered deeper into the shop, trying to take everything in at once.
The walls were lined with racks filled with what were advertised as handmade cards, a rich rainbow of color sparkling with rhinestones and glitter. Jar candles, inexpensive jewelry, and small home goods gifts, and shining ornaments were strung from the ceiling. The air smelled like the Nibelheim Pine-scented candle on the counter.
A quick perusal found what was left of the Yule items condensed onto a table in the back. He wasn’t surprised the pickings were slim when he was this late to the game, but he poked through what was available anyway with his fingers crossed. There wasn’t much left in the way of stockings, just some young children’s ones with cartoon characters and one embroidered with “Dad” at the top. And a single plain one, tucked underneath the pile.
It was a soft, butter yellow with a white faux fur top, not exactly what most people would picture when they thought of Yule. But Sephiroth liked it; the color was warm and welcoming, and reminded him of the ribbon in his mother’s hair from the photo he’d lost in Rhadore.
It was heavily discounted at only five gil, down from the original twenty. Sephiroth finally understood what Angeal was always yapping about when he talked about finding a good deal as he made his way to the counter, where a young woman who looked about twenty was checking in some stock. She looked up and gave him a smile as he shyly pushed the stocking across the counter toward the register.
“Is this all for you today, hun?” She asked as she rang him up. Sephiroth felt a pleasant little flutter at the term.
“Do you know how people put their name on these?” He wondered. All the stockings hanging up on the 49th floor had names on them. The woman pointed to a small display at the end of the counter.
“Glitter glue,” she replied.
“Glitter glue…?”
She looked up from ringing him up, and he felt a rush of embarrassment. This seemed like something people were supposed to know about, and while he could parse out that glitter glue was probably glue with glitter in it, that was where his understanding ended.
But she didn’t make fun of him, thankfully. Instead she pulled the little cardboard display over and grabbed what looked like some pen-shaped tubes from it.
“Gold or silver?” She asked. “Personally, I think gold would look nice with this yellow.”
“Oh. Gold then, please.”
“Do you have any idea how to use this?”
Sephiroth picked up one of the tubes and examined it. It didn’t look that hard…aim and squeeze, then let it dry. Right?
“Here, they can be tricky,” the clerk came to his rescue, snipping the tag off the stocking and smoothing it out on the counter. She took a gold tube and shook it violently, then unsealed the top and bent over the stocking.
“Oh,” Sephiroth looked around, shrinking down a little as he realized a few people had noticed him. Maybe a hat would have been a good idea. “Um, the name, it’s—”
“I know who you are, kiddo,” she said pleasantly, saving him from calling everybody else’s attention.
He clammed up, watching with interest as she squeezed the sparkling glue out in clean, smooth strokes, writing his name in a pretty script that was perfectly centered on the white. She paused occasionally to gently swipe away a stray glob of glitter, and in the end he was glad she was the one who did it. No, glitter glue wasn’t hard to use at all, but it clearly took at least a little bit of experience and he would have ruined the stocking.
She rang him up, handing him his receipt and carefully moving the stocking to a shelf behind the counter.
“It dries fast, but it should still sit for a bit,” she advised. “Finish your shopping and come back in about an hour, it should be set and ready to go.”
He took her advice and headed back out into the snow, glad to escape the small shop where everyone was starting to notice who he was. He didn’t actually have any shopping to do, but he wandered through the streets taking everything in. It was cold, wet, and loud, but it was a far cry from the quiet solitude of Shinra tower, and he was glad not to return just yet.
A young man dressed in an outfit suspiciously similar to the one adorning the dearly departed Elf had a stand outside a nearby bookshop, selling to-go cups of hot cider and rich hot cocoa with cream. They were expensive, meant for tourists and shoppers willing to be easily parted with their money this time of year, but the sweet smell of chocolate was a siren song he couldn’t ignore on the chilly afternoon.
Sephiroth ducked into the book store once he had his steaming cup, to pull off his gloves so he could handle it better out of the cold. He sipped it as he slowly walked along the shelves, marveling at the endless displays of decorative hardbacks and shiny paperbacks.
He didn’t buy new books, didn’t even know they came this fancy. Sephiroth got his reading material from the Shinra archive library, or the Sector 0 Free Library across the street from the building. Those were all standard versions with protective plastic covers and pages worn from constant use. The stamped dust jackets and delicately painted edges were a whole new world.
An expensive, frivolous one. As nice as it would be to see a few of these on his bare shelf, the bells and whistles were pointless. He could read the stories just fine in the free versions without them.
Sephiroth didn’t believe in luck or destiny, such things were merely coincidence, but he happened to be walking toward the front of the store just as a clerk stopped his cart at a table labeled “Stocking Stuffers.” He set out a smaller sign that said “New Release!”, and began stacking shiny new copies of a small book with an intricate design.
It was Loveless, that odd epic poem Genesis was so obsessed with, the one he studied and published papers on in his Literature study. It was thicker than regular copies but smaller in height and width, just the right size to disappear into one of those stupid red pockets that were always toting around candy or snacks. It was a very nice copy as well; creamy pages with pearlescent white edges, and a white leather cover with wine red foil. It had bronze embellishments and a clasp to hold it closed, which was probably why the price tag was a slap in the face.
75 gil for a book? Did the damn thing read itself out loud?
“This is a new release?” Sephiroth asked the clerk, looking it over. It had some color illustrations inside, and looked like it included scholarly articles. That probably contributed to the price.
“Today,” the clerk confirmed. “It would’ve been out this morning, but we were swamped.”
There was an excellent chance, then, that Genesis did not have this version. It was possible he’d preordered it, but as far as Sephiroth could tell he preferred the actual act of shopping in stores.
He did not see the point of it, but Genesis would probably like it. And he was trying to make at least a few acquaintances, if not friends, right? He was horrible at being social and even worse at being a friend, but maybe a nice gift could bridge at least some of those failings. Maybe this would help show that he wasn’t mean…at least not on purpose.
The cashier who checked him out was too busy to worry about who he was, and the rushed, soulless experience was a pleasant change from the usual staring. His hot chocolate was finished by the time he stepped outside and his stocking was probably nearly dry, but now he had a problem. He couldn’t give Genesis a gift and not Angeal, especially not when Angeal would technically qualify as Sephiroth’s best friend.
But Angeal was very efficient with his space and didn’t like a lot of clutter, having too many things around that didn’t have a distinct use left him feeling like he was surrounded by wasted money. Sephiroth didn’t want to give him something that would only cause him distress, and there wasn’t really anything he genuinely needed that he didn’t already buy himself.
Hell, Angeal had a much higher net worth than Sephiroth did. Having grown up poor, he made sure to fulfill his own needs when they arose, even if he did it cheaply. The only real option when it came to Angeal was something edible, a treat he could enjoy and then be done with, no unnecessary new possession left to lie around.
The candy store, then. Sephiroth was sure he’d seen one around here somewhere, and he knew Angeal liked candy. Half of what Genesis carried in his pockets like a deranged squirrel seemed geared toward feeding Angeal’s sweet tooth, and treats were an expense his friend could never justify buying for himself. There was one particular item he’d only seen Angeal with once before, when Mrs. Rhapsodos sent a care package for Genesis’ sixteenth birthday. The small box had been made of metal, and the ten gold-leaf-sprinkled pieces of candy inside were wrapped in a shiny foil. The inside of the tin had been lined in a soft black fabric, and the whole thing was sealed with the chocolatier’s wax seal.
Sephiroth knew the candy would be expensive, both from its packaging and the fact that it was a special treat even for Genesis. He was already bracing himself when he found the shop, and the next red flag was that the brand was on display in a case behind a counter. He took a deep breath before he stepped forward to squint at the label with pricing.
It didn’t help. For a few seconds he was possessed by whatever demon of frugality often drove Angeal to collect frighteningly large stacks of coupons. Eighty-three gil for ten pieces of candy? What in Gaia’s name could be so luxurious about a hunk of sugar that made them worth eight gil apiece?
If it was for anyone else, Sephiroth would have turned on his heel and marched right out of the store. But this was Angeal, and he wanted to give him something really nice. Angeal was still his friend even a year after the hell Sephiroth put him through in Robio, and he was patient in a way most other people weren’t. He was the sole reason Genesis hadn’t been pitched off the tower roof the first day he’d arrived, and the only one who gave Sephiroth endless new chances every time he messed up.
And…he’d probably immediately send such a fancy treat to his mother. Sephiroth couldn’t really fault him for that, if his mother was alive he might do the same thing. He simply could not justify spending the money on two full tins though, but they had a smaller tin of four. At least Angeal could enjoy a few pieces once he shipped the larger one back to Banora.
And if he was getting something for Genesis and Angeal, it would probably be nice of him to get something small for the other SOLDIERs stockings. There weren’t many of them, only about fifteen, and it didn’t have to be anything fancy. The case at the front of the shop had little pre-made candy bags for three gil apiece, not exactly luxury but it was something.
The new leather coat could wait, Sephiroth supposed. If push came to shove, it wouldn’t kill him to wear the standard First Class SOLDIER uniform for a while if he had to.
It still hurt to hand over his card and realize almost six months of savings were now gone. Maybe he could switch to cheaper soap, and did he really need a haircut every month? Long hair would be in fashion at some point. Or maybe he could make it a fashion, lots of people tried to copy him for some reason.
He knew, as he took his bag and headed back out into the snow, that he was just feeling sorry for himself in the midst of the usual winter blues. Everything that was truly necessary was provided to him by Shinra. Nobody in the mess hall cared if he took an extra serving in the morning to save for lunch, or at dinner to snack on at night. He didn’t need a new coat, Angeal proved the provided uniforms worked just fine. He didn’t need a phone since he had a PHS, or a computer since he didn’t use one, or fancy books when the library already had everything. He was just jealous of everyone else.
Jealous, and afraid to stand up for himself. If he really pushed, maybe talked to Lazard for backup, he could demand to be more fairly compensated. Shinra would never pay him enough cash to ever risk him becoming independent, but he could negotiate for a small apartment up in the military housing and an expense account to buy things. He could trade a promise of loyalty for comforts, he just had to grow the balls to open his mouth.
Someday.
His stocking was dry and ready to go when he got back to the gift shop, where he picked up some cheap wrapping paper before he left. All in all he’d only been out for a few hours, but he was still glad to make the trek back to Sector 0 and back into the warmth of Shinra tower, where a second shower for the day was warranted. A nice, hot one to drive away the chill, and warm him up before he settled in to try and figure out how the hell wrapping gifts worked.
* * * * *
The 49th floor was empty at 6am, finally. Sephiroth had come up here a few times the night before, only to find other SOLDIERs still hanging out late or messing around in the VR room since they had the next day off. He eventually had to go to sleep so fatigue didn’t get him killed up in the Drum later, but it seemed he was the first one awake.
Quietly, he pinned his stocking in the empty space between Angeal’s and Genesis’, and shoved the messily-wrapped gifts into theirs. He felt ridiculous trying to tiptoe down the line, slipping a treat bag into each stocking like he might be executed if he was caught, but he really did not want to draw the attention of anyone who might be in the materia or briefing room. He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering at all, since he didn’t want anybody to know he was participating. It was all just such an odd mess to be navigating, and none of his constant academic studies growing up had prepared him for social niceties.
But of course Sephiroth’s precautions were useless, he reached the end of the row and turned around to find Director Lazard watching him with faint amusement.
“What?” Sephiroth snapped defensively. “Is there a problem?”
Lazard shook his head, unmoved by Sephiroth’s prickly demeanor this morning.
“Not at all. I’m actually relieved,” he said, stepping forward to begin dropping envelopes into the stockings from the stack in his hand. “You’re always so distant, it’s nice to see you doing normal teenager things sometimes.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” It came out as more of a plea than Sephiroth intended. “I don’t want to listen to people stuttering unnecessary thank-yous.”
“My lips are sealed,” Lazard promised. “Here. If you make your escape now, I may even forget I ever saw you.”
He offered Sephiroth a red envelope with his name scrawled on it. Hesitantly, Sephiroth took it, and hurried back to the elevator with a mumbled thanks.
He made it back to his quarters without being seen, tossing the envelope on his desk and flopping back down into bed. He didn’t need to be at the Drum until ten and breakfast was available until then, his Yule gift to himself would be a few extra hours of sleep.
They went quickly. Before he knew it somebody was knocking on his door, forcing him to drag himself back out of bed and crankily yank it open.
“What?” He croaked at Angeal, who looked annoyingly awake and alert.
“Good morning and Happy Yule to you, too,” Angeal grinned, leaning lazily against the door frame. “Sorry, I thought you’d be up already. I’m investigating the appearance of something very unlikely in my stocking that Genesis swears he had nothing to do with.”
“A severed human foot?” Sephiroth guessed. “That’s usually what you find in socks.”
“Not quite. But definitely something only two people know I like, and one of them says it wasn’t him.”
“Maybe it was Santa,” Sephiroth yawned. “I hear he has a soft spot for little kids and fools.”
“Well that would be quite the coincidence,” Angeal supposed, holding up the formerly empty yellow stocking that clearly had some small boxes in it. “He apparently has a soft spot for overgrown brats, too.”
Sephiroth blinked owlishly at the filled stocking, but didn’t take it. After a moment, Angeal rolled his eyes and shoved it into his hands.
“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “I really appreciate it, and Genesis is over the moon. Thank you, for trying with him, too. I know he can be a bit much, but he really looks up to you.”
“One more flaw he has,” Sephiroth mumbled, embarrassed. “I’ll break him of it eventually.”
“Good luck,” Angeal laughed. “I’ll let you go back to sleep. Happy Yule.”
“Happy Yule,” Sephiroth said softly as the door closed.
He stood by it, staring down at the stocking in his hands, not really sure what to do with it at first. After a moment, he dropped it on the desk and went about getting dressed for the day. When he was outfitted for combat and ready to go, he checked the time and found he had about half an hour before he needed to go grab breakfast.
Sitting at the desk, he finally dumped out the contents of the stocking: a variety of snacks and candy and two prettily wrapped boxes, each with a card addressed to him on the front.
Sephiroth spotted the red envelope Lazard gave him and opened that first. It was a fancy Yule card, handmade like the kind he’d seen sold at the giftshop. There was no message inside, just a simple “Happy Yule, - Dir. Deusericus,” but it had a gift card for the coffee shop. That was nice of Lazard, since he didn’t really have to give his SOLDIERs anything.
The card on the first box was from Angeal, with a handwritten message in his heartfelt but to-the-point style. Sephiroth tore off the wrapping paper and opened the white box to find a curious collection of what looked like metal charms. Feathers, four of them, black ones with a decorative gem and silver metal wing framing each. It was a curious gift and he didn’t know what to do with them; maybe they were part of some Yule tradition he didn’t know anything about.
The card on the second box was from Genesis. It had several quotes Sephiroth didn’t recognize but guessed were from that epic, written in an annoyingly elegant hand surrounded by doodled decorations and stickers. He didn’t know what any of that meant, but it seemed Genesis’ heart was in it.
Sephiroth opened Genesis’ gift, frowning down into the box for a full minute while he tried to figure out what it was. A round, decorative plate of thick metal, with a wing design in the center. The metal bars on each side made it look similar to an analog watch face without a strap, and there were four connections on the bottom for…
Charms. The feathers. Angeal’s feathers were part of the gift. Well, that was one question answered, and Sephiroth pulled he heavy disk out to see how they were supposed to attach. Underneath the disk he found a thick leather strap, single on one end and split into two on the other, with buckles that presumably attached.
“Oh. Oh.”
It was a belt. A really nice belt, heavy duty and not likely to scratch or chip in battle. It had three materia slots and some fancy buckles, and when he pulled it on, it fit perfectly with some room to grow. And it looked really good.
He’d never gotten a present before, and even if he had, nobody in R&D would ever have chosen anything this perfectly tailored to his tastes.
Sephiroth looked at himself in the mirror, at the fancy new belt and the worn, slightly too-small leather jacket it now adorned. The gift looked so out of place, one more thing that fit the man he should be but couldn’t manage to become.
He would talk to Lazard before the new year, have him go over Hojo’s head and arrange a meeting with President Shinra. He’d request a budget to live up with his friends, to make his place in this tower comfortable and stop going without.
Sephiroth would never leave the cage Shinra held him in, he was all too aware of that. But he was going to force them to gild it, and he refused to continue living in it alone.