[Sephiroth’s body language eases, if only fractionally. This man—not a face he recognizes—moves closer in a vaguely non-threatening way, and his shoulders relax incrementally. Though he still yet remains planted to the spot, unwilling to budge via request should it come. Self-important, indeed.]
A visitor. [He says it plainly, the hardened edges of his tone receding slightly, though still indelicate enough to betray his curiosity.]
Is this supposed to be a representation of your home?
[Maybe this is hypocritical since his own domain has a vast array of stairs that seemingly go on forever, trapping potential wayward wanderers in it as though to dissuade their presences there. But Sephiroth lacks that kind of self-awareness, and that he’s spent so much time wandering, getting nowhere, is an affront more egregious when he has to suffer through it.]
no subject
A visitor. [He says it plainly, the hardened edges of his tone receding slightly, though still indelicate enough to betray his curiosity.]
Is this supposed to be a representation of your home?
[Maybe this is hypocritical since his own domain has a vast array of stairs that seemingly go on forever, trapping potential wayward wanderers in it as though to dissuade their presences there. But Sephiroth lacks that kind of self-awareness, and that he’s spent so much time wandering, getting nowhere, is an affront more egregious when he has to suffer through it.]
Endless alleys that lead to nowhere?