Degan shoved sweat-slicked black hair out of his eyes, sat himself flat on the floor with one leg outstretched in front of him, then proceeded to twist his upper body all the way over to one side. He groaned with relief as a number of loud pops and snaps issued from his tension-stiffened spine, which in turn garnered no small few groans of disgust and shudders from the rest of his fellow trainees in Shin-Ra's well-stocked gymnasium.
"Yeesh, Degs, you should market that back of yours as the main attraction for a house of anatomical horrors," shivered Vasich nearby as he stretched his spindly legs out on a mat. "That's fricken disgusting."
"Yeah, man, that one echoed all the way out to there," said Jastyn, pointing at the far wall of the gym where the simulated mountain-climbing hand- and footholds sprouted in various directions. He ran a hand through his short-cropped red hair, trying to keep the growing fringe above his forehead out of his dark eyes. "Bah, I need another haircut," he muttered as rebellious bangs fell forward and obscured his vision once more.
"You always need a haircut, Jast," teased Erdat, poking Jastyn in the shoulder blade as he scrubbed his own dark hair away from his face. He rose on bulky legs and grabbed the athletic rings over his head with thick-fingered hands, heaving his heavy-set body up and over until he swung upside down from them idly. "That stupid mop of yours grows faster than the hair on Vassy's legs after he shaves 'em for the girls."
"I do not shave my legs!" protested Vasich, pale complexion turning beet red under his straw-blond hair. "How many times I gotta tell ya -- "
"And how many times we gotta say we don't believe ya," grinned Hoskin, straight white teeth flashing in sharp contrast to his dusky skin and curly black hair. He sat up from his own post-exercise stretches and wrapped still-thin arms around equally thin legs, squeezing knees to chest until hamstrings protested. "I seen you do it, man -- even used a pink razor 'n' all -- "
Vasich nearly turned purple with mortification as the other boys burst into howls of laughter, Erdat very nearly losing his grip on the rings and falling on his head. "That was only that one time, and it was because of those training pads that Mr. Heidegger insisted I put on that time -- " he insisted with rising shrillness.
"Yeah, he just didn't want to see your pretty legs get all banged up the way a real guy's should, since you got no more hair to hide the bruises under," chortled Cevin as he stood up on his mat, displaying crooked teeth beneath his own disobedient mouse-brown tangle of sweat-crisping hair. Bright green eyes twinkled in amusement. "Who would've thought Vassy'd turn out to be Heidegger's little girl? Might embarrass us in front of everyone -- "
"Embarrass this, chocobo-warker -- " Vasich leapt off his mat, dashed two long steps across the shiny floor and dive-tackled Cevin. Cevin let out a whoof of air as Vasich's tackle took him in the chest, sending both boys down upon the mat and engendering an impromptu wrestling match.
Hoots and hollers of encouragement and derision -- "C'mon, Pretty Legs! You kick like you're wearin' a skirt!", "Nice move, Cevin!", "Aw, sheesh, Vassy, keep your hands up!", "Hey, Cev! You shave your ass this morning?" -- filled the otherwise quiet gym as the two boys wrestled, grunting and shoving white-soled sneakers against mat and floor as each sought to overcome the other with throws and limb-locks.
Degan found himself in the position of referee for the sporadic bout; he jogged around the noisy circle of boys, peering over dark-clad shoulders and trying to see past red-shorted legs to the movements being used by his grappling teammates. As it was, he alone happened to be facing the main doors to the gym when both doors slammed loudly open, the sound reverberating off the walls and haphazardly-placed athletic equipment.
The match and cheering halted abruptly at the sudden interruption; as one, everyone looked toward the doors to see Sephiroth -- tall, supple, graceful Sephiroth -- stride into the gym upon long ankle-booted legs. The black bodysuit he was wearing, with the Shin-Ra logo emblazoned over the left breast, only served to make him look taller than the heightsticks indicated. Long silvery bangs framed his firm yet fine-boned face, the rest of his hair tied back in a shoulder-length ponytail with a white elastic band. He was the eldest of the trainees in the group, perhaps a year older than Degan and Erdat, but the burgeoning muscles upon his widening frame and perpetual look of grim determination made him seem several years older than he actually was.
Degan automatically raised his hand and voice in greeting. "Hey, Seph, we were just -- " The words died in his throat as the expression upon Sephiroth's face registered, as did the fact that Sephiroth didn't seem to be seeing anyone, hearing anything or slowing his brisk pace towards them. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, scrambling out of Sephiroth's way even as the others did with a multitude of squeaks raised from the scrabbling of shoes upon the glossy wooden floor, dislodging multi-colored exercise mats in their haste.
Sephiroth didn't appear to notice the small crowd of trainees scattering to either side before him as he walked stiffly over to the corner of the gym where the punching bags were. He stopped in front of the hardest bag -- it was rumored that it was filled with sand and smashed brick fragments -- and simply stood there, staring at it, his body shaking slightly all over, white-knuckled fists clenched at his sides.
Degan noted the firm set of Sephiroth's jaw; too firm, he thought. Look at him, too -- he's so stiff with tension that if a spring breeze were to blow through here he'd break in half. Whatever it is that's pissed him off, it's bad. Let's just hope he's not in the mood to kill anyone. He looked around him and met the wide, staring eyes of his friends. Each appeared to have been thinking the same thing, with no one daring to so much as breathe, let alone ask what was wrong. Each also appeared to be looking to Degan for support, with him being second-oldest in the group.
Degan quietly swallowed the growing lump in his throat and cautiously moved to within a few feet of Sephiroth's broad back, taking care not to let his sneakers scuff upon the floor. He eyed the elder, silver-haired boy with some trepidation as he approached. Gods, look at the bones growing on him -- he's going to be a fucking monster when he finishes filling out all the way. I just pray he's not in one of those violent-touchy moods like last week.
Last week, a boy had made the mistake of taunting Sephiroth when he had been in such a mood. Last week, that boy had died of a broken neck and severe internal hemorrhaging after being hurled against the far wall. Although Sephiroth had gotten a reprimand from Heidegger, it was clear that that one incident would separate him from the rest of the group from then on, and quite possibly for the rest of his life. The boy, Pendel, had been new to the group, only a week, but that, most argued, had been no excuse; Degan distinctly remembered the warning he'd given Pendel not to annoy Sephiroth after the tall, quiet trainee had returned from his daily 'special' exercises. Pendel had agreed, then promptly unleashed a torrent of smart-ass remarks in Sephiroth's direction when he'd re-entered the gym. Sephiroth, with his back turned to Pendel, had stood very, very still, the posture screaming of danger to everyone who'd been around him long enough. When Pendel finished with a comment that demanded some sort of answer, Sephiroth had slowly turned around, fixing the tow-haired, lanky boy with his ice-blue stiletto gaze. Pendel, belatedly realizing that Degan's warning had not been a joke, had gulped and opened his mouth as though to apologize. What followed had happened almost too quickly to see, but see it they had.
The blood had been cleaned up, the broken body taken away, the trainees forbidden to speak of the incident ever again -- but the memory had seared itself into the minds of each. Certainly no one would forget the way Sephiroth had grabbed his jeering critic by the neck and just beneath the short ribs, spun on one bare foot and launched the shrieking boy with brutal force against the wall; nor would they forget the hideous crunching noise he made upon impact with the painted concrete, the bloody smear he left upon the wall as gravity pulled him to the floor, or the misshapen and protruding lumps making an irregular mosaic of jagged shapes beneath his rapidly reddening, torn white shirt and sweat pants.
Later on, someone had thought to measure the distance over which Pendel had been thrown. The resulting measurement was just over 54 feet. It was a frightening reminder to all that Sephiroth was much, much stronger than he looked; but what had frightened Degan even more than that was the expression upon Sephiroth's face throughout the entire affair.
There had been no expression. None at all. No glint of fury in those pale blue eyes, no furious grinding of teeth that might have indicated he was trying to restrain himself, no downturned face to the floor to show he had regretted doing it. He had done it in cold blood, pure and simple, had known full well what he was doing the entire time and what the result would be.
Degan, looking at Sephiroth's rage-stiffened shoulders, shivered at the recollection of Pendel's blankly staring eyes and bloodied, gaping lips. He swallowed another lump of anxiety taking root in his throat, and, hoping his voice wouldn't crack, carefully asked the turned back, "Um...Seph? You okay?"
There was no answer, save for the measured in- and exhalations hissing out from between Sephiroth's teeth. He did not turn around, nor did he make any sign that he'd heard.
Degan looked over his shoulder to exchange slightly fearful, hesitant stares with the others, then back at silvery ponytail brushing against black jumpsuit. Maybe now wasn't the best time to ask questions. "Um -- you kinda look like you want to be alone -- uh, we're gonna go now, okay?" His voice quavered slightly on the last word. The bitter tang of barely controlled panic stung his nose and mouth.
Sephiroth still did not respond. One of the clenched fists spasmed briefly.
Slowly, trying not to make any noises, Degan backed away from immediate reach, then turned towards his friends and made shooing motions at the still-open doors. As one, the trainees got silently to their feet and, casting anxious glances at the unmoving black-clad figure, all but tiptoed out of the gym, with Degan bringing up the rear.
Just as Degan reached the doors, a muffled thump sounded behind him, followed by a faint hissing sound and the hollow clinking noises of numerous small but heavy objects landing on the floor. He twitched with the shock of high-strung nerves rudely jangled and whirled, heart leaping into his mouth, expecting -- something. His hands clutched with clammy fingers at the door handles, sweat greasing the cold metal. In the hallway beyond the gym, he heard a strangled squeak from someone else startled by the noise -- was that you, Vassy?
The bag Sephiroth was standing in front of now had a large hole in it, its contents spilling onto the floor; Sephiroth himself had not moved from where he was, much to Degan's relief, although his left arm was coated up to the elbow in pale dust. It was quite apparent that he'd punched the bag, despite that the bag itself, depending from a thick chain attached to a ceiling beam high overhead, was not even so much as quivering.
Degan backed quietly out of the gym and pulled the doors softly closed behind him, then turned and hurried after the others, glad to be away. Sonofabitch, he mused to himself in distracted wonder as he followed the sight of Jastyn's freckled legs pumping furiously down the corridor. That bag really is filled with sand and broken bricks.
