[He doesn’t have to wonder what that says about him. The impression that he gives off — it’s been somewhat of a defining feature of his for years, that belief that he is cold and distant and strictly practical. And perhaps, in a way, some of that is true. But not to the point where he’s little more than an automaton, having shed all remnants of understanding, or even sympathy.

Sephiroth’s gaze moves slowly from Steve, back to the injured traveler. Already, a soldier is telling him to remove his shirt so they may tend to the gash across the man’s middle.]

Maybe that would have made more sense. Reasonably. It would save us time and a few healing supplies in case of an emergency.

[But then that green-eyed look returns to his companion.]

But then we might have equally have sent a man to his death, and I am not prepared to risk even a stranger’s life because it’s inconvenient for us.