He just nods. There's a long quiet. "Office work is horrible for me, you know. But physical labour would kill me now. There's no winning at all." For once, he's acknowledging that he's trapped.
— movement of this thing. The creature is lean and lithe. Amos knows he wouldn't have the means to free himself of the engagement. "He passed away some...six or so years ago, I think. It's the nostalgia, that's all." It's a lie. He knows it's a lie; he helped spread it. It's old and comfortable.
The more Amos fixates on the young man's features, the less the resemblance can be denied. It's the eyes. Those eyes are undeniable. That damned p u l l i n g feeling that makes him feel ill, there's the prickling fear it'll come back. "He was," he answers, continuing to watch the every —
"Worse than your sort. Farming and textile manufacture," he shakes his head, solemn. "Still I have to wonder whether it'd have done my body better. Given, you know," he lowers his voice, and just taps at the outer corner of one of his eyes.
Oops! New Sephesis fic. I'm nearly finished with two others as well. I'm having a productive (and self indulgent) time. #sephesis#sephgen#genseph#fanfictionarchiveofourown.org/works/581316...
— the sound doesn't come out. "You look like someone I worked with…around ninety-six. It's a coincidence." Ninety-six. Sephiroth would have been around twenty then, give or take. Younger. Hair shorter. Softer on the face. More like this uncanny thing before him.
— have known the uptight and exploitative PR Head who only called with either foul news, or to meet with him and Lazard about parading the Hero™™™ around like a show dog for good press. "You don't know me," he gives a non-answer——his mouth makes the words but —
Amos doesn't respond for a long, uncomfortable moment. That question takes him too long to process, too long to parse out from the static in his head. It's not right. This isn't right. But he can't look away. He can't. Sephiroth would have known him, but not like this. He'd —