moonsheen

“…I don’t care what we dragged out of it yesterday, that lake is looking good right about now,” Zack hefted the next load onto the truck, pausing to lean in, one gloved hand on the highest book. He peered at the cover, wiping sweat away with his forearm. Nahara, Volume… “Almost done.”

There were three more stacks near where the General was sitting on the low stone wall.

“Hm?” Sephiroth turned a page. Bent forward, he attacked the text with something of an impressive loom, a pose he broke every so often to sweep his bangs out of his face. His hair was limp with sweat and grime from the road, a slate grey spilling across his shoulders, down his back, and over his profile. He occasionally shook himself like a pestered bird. “‘Done…?’”

“…nothing to worry about.” Turning, Zack added: “‘sides you buying a whole bookstore again.”

“Oh.” His commanding officer’s response was vague, at best. The man jerked his head, as though considering looking up—he turned another page, instead. “Don’t waste your time with those.”

“Gotcha, sir,” clucked Zack, taking the pile farthest from his boots with a quiet heave. “Won’t do anything of the like, sir.”

Sephiroth laughed. “You’re feeling formal today.” He tucked a clump of matted strands behind his ear. “I’ll do this though.”

A fly chose that moment to land on his nose. He managed to go a little cross-eyed as he frowned. This, it seemed was worth lifting his eyes. Not to be hurt by the little rejections, Zack leaned his head into the shade of the vehicle. Already wondering how he was going to get the next book stack—Masamune was leaned over it, its small guard hooked over the dusty edge of the wall, next to the equally dusty folds of Sephiroth’s coat. “After you give that one a once over, right?”

“‘Idleness is the holiday of fools,’” Sephiroth quoted, mildly, reaching back. He’d peeled his gloves off some time ago. He placed the book face down over his knee. He gathered his hair up. “And every man is born a fool.”

“Damn! And here I thought maybe I could be--”

Masamune was drawn faster than he could blink.

“—the special one,” Zack finished. “Goddamn.”

The sword clicked back into its resting place.

“It’s hot.” The General looked tired as the burst of severed hair fell around him like the string sprayed in parades. It was now comfortably chin length, save for the bit of bang he’d pushed behind his ear: this fell forward, now easily the only thing that reached his collar. He flipped his book back over. Some of the mess managed to catch in the binding. He nudged it free with an index finger.

“Hm,” he said, and promptly found where he’d left off.

“…do that often?”

“Monthly.” An old, labored sigh: “Ah, but it always grows back.”

“…reckon it does,” said Zack faintly, before he scuffed his boots into gear, and went back to readying the truck for their departure.