MewsChangeling: there's another
secret vice for the Old Man... mini marshmallows
The smell of dust was everywhere in the confined space. Without a tenant to
complain or to clean, the fluffy coating on the cardboard box lids, ten years
worth of neglected detritus, had gotten everywhere. Sephiroth sat down on the
standard issue blue blankets, seeing ghostly gray handprints along the bed
where others had wiped their guilty fingers. He would soon be doing the same.
The boxes were too tempting to allow to rest in peace. Practicality barely over
ruled nostalgia, sending him back to the containers he had already explored,
gently lifting free the folded clothing to sort it into stacks next to him.
Pants, shirts, socks, his fingers hesitated over the soft warm texture of a
particularly ratty gray sweatshirt. There were paint stains at the sleeves, loden green, the smell of the
freshly retouched jeep came back with sudden clarity.
He swore softly to himself and set the article aside. As comfortable as he
remembered the garment being, there was a certain level of professionalism he
was hoping to maintain. Beneath a bulky fleece was what he was looking for,
several monochromatic t-shirts in shades of black and gray. 'Formal summer
wear' his friend had once dubbed them, pulling one on as he headed across the
city for a rare family outing. The usually laidback SOLDIER had taken unusual
pains to fit in with his uncle's family, a gesture of respect paid to a man
more dear to him that his own father had been.
Sephiroth held one of the shirts up against his chest, reminding himself that
the item would fit. Knit shirts had always been a safe thing to borrow, what
was loose on his friend had always fit him well enough. It was the pants that
were damnably impossible. Showing off six inches of calf was ridiculous.
// Somewhere in this mess... are some of /my/ clothes... That's if whoever
was packing didn't notice the odd inclusion of a pair of pants with an
inside-leg of over 40inches sticking out as unusual among the more sanely
proportioned items. //
Zack had tried on his pants once as a joke and had shuffled around with the
slack over his feet like a little kid, laughing the whole time. He pushed the
thought away, resolved to stop thinking about the past in favor of dealing with
the present. It made no sense to go borrowing trouble. He rolled his find into
a tidy bundle and left it on the bed before exploring some of the other
containers for anything useful. Now that he had something to wear after his
shower, there were less pressing items that he wouldn't mind borrowing, a book
for instance. Conversation was sparse for former psychopaths, he found. Sephiroth
didn't blame them. If he were them, he wouldn't want to talk to him either.
Digging through a new box revealed it to be a weird combination of things
tossed together at random. He recognized several pots and pans, and wondered
how a trio of mystery novels had gotten wedged into the corner. There was also
a very old jar of coffee, years stale, and, to his amazement, an equally
fossilized bag of plain white mini-marshmallows. He yanked the stiff bag free
of it's prison and turned it over in his hands.
"... they're stale."
"... they're stale." Sephiroth banged the
bag of sugary little rocks against the counter to demonstrate, and glared when
his friend only snorted in amusement at his plight.
"And who's fault is that?" The dark man
looked up from his newspaper with a droll smile.
"/I/ sealed the bag last week... so it had to be you."
"Don't think so. I haven't touched them." The southerner countered
mildly. "I hate marshmallows."
The general rolled his eyes in disbelief. His second's love of all things
unhealthy was legend. The only exception he was aware of was the way that Zack
took his coffee. Watching the SOLDIER gulp it down straight from the pot every
morning was still a painful experience. Black coffee, no matter how expensive,
always tasted rather like something that should have been used to strip paint.
His dark haired friend saw his skepticism and shrugged, "No really, I do.
Don't even like Peeps. The texture of marshmallows weirds me out."
"So why do you put them in cocoa?"
"That's different, they melt." Tilting his head as
if to consider his contradiction, he grinned suddenly. "The stale
ones melt just as well anyway, so it's not like I care."
"Bastard. What am I supposed to eat now?"
"There are some jelly beans in the tin on the counter... if it's something
sweet you're craving..."
"Hmmm." It was uncanny how easily Zack was
able to read his mind some days.
Turning the bag over again, Sephiroth prodded the completely hardened mass of
fluffed sugar. Ten years stale, and probably stale before they had ever been
packed away... he wondered why anyone had bothered. Knowing the average mental
potential of the Shinra drudges, he supposed that
whoever had 'packed' Zack's apartment had simply packed /everything/ perishable
or not. If he was truly unlucky, one of the remaining boxes would have the
unfortunate contents of the SOLDIER's fridge. He
shook his head. Not even Hojo's drudges were /that/ incompetent. Besides, the
box would have started to smell after a few months. Looking around at the other
containers, most of them open, he sighed softly, surprised at how easily the
old memories could catch him. Luck allowed him a distraction in the form of a
hesitant tap at the door. A moment later it was pushed open revealing a
familiar shock of blond hair.
"... You might as well come in." He murmured, irritated somehow by
the shorter man's hesitance. He couldn't entirely blame him, it was bad enough
being surrounded by mementos of Zack without having to face the memories in
company. Some things were better dealt with alone. It would be humiliating to
be caught crying over a bag of stale confectionary, after all.
Pushing his way into the room, Cloud gave him a strange look, Mako-blue eyes sweeping from him, to his bundle of
clothing, to the bag in his hands in wordless curiosity. "... You might as
well take all his clothes... not like the others need it." The low comment
was devoid of any particular emotion.
Sephiroth shrugged. "... most of it won't fit.
You'd probably have better luck with the shoes than I would."
"I'd look like I was dressing in my dad's clothes." The younger man half-smiled, not cheerful, but, better than
nothing.
"... perhaps more of an older brother..." He mused softly, never
entirely sure what the blond would take offense at, "Zack was a little too
trendy to have much in the way of 'parental' accessories."
"Point." Cloud sighed and leaned back
against the wall. "... what's that?"
The pale haired man looked down, realizing he was still holding on to the damn
bag. "Oh... just... mini-marshmallows about ten years past their
prime."
"Marshmallows? Ehhh. Hate'em." The Avalanche
leader made a childish face, "The texture weirds
me out."
Sephiroth couldn't help but stare, haunted by the echo of the words he had
remembered just moments before. It was alarming in the extreme, how easily
Cloud was able to emulate someone long dead and gone. Even more frightening was
the realization that it probably wasn't coincidence.
Blue eyes blinked at him, showing nothing more than confusion. "... what? Jeez... You look like someone just shot your dog. What
gives?"
// God damn it, get it through your head old man... the boy is Not Zack... it's
just... echoes... that's all... He doesn't mean anything by it… //
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Forcing numb fingers to let
go, he dropped the unwanted memory back into the box and stood up. "Nothing. Just... you reminded me of something."
Picking up his shirts, he nodded at the still staring young man and made his
silent escape.