Radio audio, evening.

[firstsoldier]

[It's that guy again! He still sounds pleasant at least.]

I wish to make a suggestion that we find ways to make ourselves... visibly identifiable even when in monstrous forms, as members of the convoy and thus ideally not a marauding wild beast even if we are acting like one. Something beyond our often hidden sigils, that an unthinking creature is unlikely to imitate. What exactly, I am open to recommendations for. I suspect friend-or-foe ID chips might be beyond what this place is capable of.

[The rest sounds extremely reluctant.]

I don't have as much control of the ... thing ... I become as I would like, and though I am reasonably sure I can keep from doing serious intentional harm to allies, I can't guarantee my behavior might not match that of a feral creature and thus seem to be a viable target for hunting. Especially as it seems intent on establishing a ... pecking order, and aggressively.

... I suspect I'm not the only one who has such concerns. These changes are uncomfortably unpredictable.

Comments

[bufudine]

[There's a pause in return as Serph waits to see if some hidden memory will bubble up.]

No.

[firstsoldier]

[Best to start with an outline then. Not everyone was from a world that bothered with mass recreational entertainment. He takes a deep breath.]

A sport is a non-lethal and often heavily regulated physical competition between two teams or more of people, with the goal of entertainment for watchers. Teams must be identifiable at a distance for favorites to be cheered on by those same watchers, and often wear sleeveless colored tunics called 'sports jerseys'.

[Sports have their place but he can't ever be bothered with them.]

Everyone on a given team wears the same colors, but are differently numbered. If you see a white-shirted person with number 11 on them, they will have number 11 and be in a white shirt in every competition, so you can keep watching a favorite team member more than the rest. People get so caught up being enthusiastic for the team they like that riots and violence can and does break out when they lose. Or win, for that matter.

[bufudine]

[Serph listens in rapt attention. That... actually sounds quite interesting. Non-lethal physical competition? If there is non-violent alternative to combat that scratches the same itch, the same satisfaction, that fighting provides, sports sounds exactly like it.

...Though the tail end of Sephiroth's explanation dampens his enthusiasm for the idea just a little.

Honestly, the idea of sports jerseys sound a lot like Tribal colours. Things could have been much different if the Junkyard had been made for sport instead of combat...]

It's a sound idea. The numbers would be irrelevant but colour worn on the torso would be easily spotted.

The Junkyard made for sports instead would be FIFA with cannibalism.

[firstsoldier]

[Sports fans going absolutely bonkers whether their team wins or loses has caused some issues in the slums more than once. He didn't get it, but he also didn't follow sports closely.]

Indeed. So far, blue has been suggested, but possibly not a very specific shade of blue so it doesn't match another's ... 'signature color'. I do not know where I will find such a jersey capable of actually fitting on the .. other form I take, but matching color should be enough for most purposes.

the losing team gets eaten

[bufudine]

With our limited resources, consistent shades may be impossible.

[So... "good enough" may have to do.]

Can you describe your other form?

A new form of game day bbq

[firstsoldier]

Mmm. Close is good enough for many things, it should be for that too so long as everyone recognizes it.

[If blue was picked and everyone was in some shade from pastel to royal, it would still all at least BE blue. Unexpected monsters wearing blue clothing should at least give a pause.]

.. like one of the beasts in the convoy's list of threats called a 'levikron', but bigger, heavier and more reptilian in places. Predominantly dark in color. [A pause, then he adds after a with bitter humor,] Big teeth and claws.

[bufudine]

[Hm. It sounds like...]

It's a full transformation? That's unusual.

[There aren't many who have one, as far as he knows. Akechi already has changed quite drastically but he did mention having transformed into another beast once. The only others he can think of are Jack and John... and V, when they were still travelling with them. What was commonplace in the Junkyard is rather rare in Revan, one of the few things vastly different.]

Can you show it to me? I can help you with controlling it.

[firstsoldier]

Is it?

[A rhetorical question, he doesn't expect an answer to it. At least he more or less recognized one part of the creature he became, it'd somehow be worse otherwise.

Deliberately showing others though, when he went out of his way to hide what he could..

Sephiroth's reasonably sure it's not overly dangerous, he wasn't inclined yet to see anyone of the convoy as prey. But then more than Vincent would know just how tenuously reason controls instinct, and that sat terribly uncomfortably.]

... Very well. When?

[bufudine]

If you don't have other business to attend to, when the Convoy stops for the day. My vehicle is the bright orange pickup flanking it. I'll wait for you.

because easier, network -> action

[firstsoldier]

Simple enough to find. I will see you then.

[Which leads to the only change in his routine throughout the day, putting on something he doesn't mind getting destroyed just in case. Still black.

Finding a bright orange Hilux isn't very difficult at all, at least, and it's there he heads, showing currently few signs of the changes that plague others. They're subtle, but there are a few; different teeth, actual short claws, a scattering of scales like metallic glitter here and there. But nothing like Serph himself has had.]

[bufudine]

[Serph only looks marginally different; where there were once feathers over his torso, shimmering blue scales replace them. Carapace similar to his demon trail the lines of his arms.

As Sephiroth approaches, Serph nods in greeting. He can see those changes are mild, almost non-existant, but the same could be said for John, who appears to have almost none at all.

Appears.]

Let's move further from the Convoy. Then show me.

[Since Sephiroth has mentioned not having as much control as he'd like.]

[firstsoldier]

[He's beginning to recognize the difference between temporary changes and permanent ones; the theme of most mishaps recently seem to be fish themed, so the array of blue scales fits the pattern.

Part of him can't help but wonder what else there might be. Gills?]

As you wish.

[Acquiescence is easy enough, and the borders to the convoy's reach isn't going to be that far on foot, and his pace is quick, only making sure Serph is keeping up easily. The stride of someone nearly seven feet tall is a bit different than someone a foot shorter.]

I ... shouldn't attempt to kill you. [Is that reassuring? A 'shouldn't'?] Please avoid drawing blood if possible, no promises can be made then.

[bufudine]

[Serph can keep up fine, though his shorter stride means breaking out into an easy jog for him.

Fortunately, Serph doesn't need things like reassurance when it comes to monsters and demons. But he silently notes the warning about blood.]

I'm always armed. Go ahead.

I have no suitabel icons.

[firstsoldier]

[The sigh from the taller gray haired man is quiet, but has a sound of relief to it. Armed is better than nothing, and if even that failed, Serph has wings. Surely they can be used.

It isn't til he's on the other side of the barrier that he stops, though it's not likely going to HELP if anything goes wrong, Drifters seemed to get through it just fine. The idea of deliberately becoming a monster doesn't sit well at all, but it like so much else is shoved aside. Sephiroth changing forms doesn't look like the way it does for an avatar tuner, he's briefly engulfed in a roiling cloud of purplish black, and when it clears, the thing left standing there is in no way human.

But it does have some vague similarities to levikrons, which frequented the plains, from the violently purple and fuchsia crest, long ears, approximate body-plan and heavy sturdy forelimbs though considerably larger and shaggier.

The body language is the same too, as the chimera reorients sharply on Serph and draws itself upright with a rumbly hiss, claws flexed to show but not use their wicked points, much the same way the larger monsters in a flock might to pressure and intimidate its own kind.

Pauses.

And shakes itself once hard like a wet dog before very, very carefully settles into a crouch, handlike forelimbs and long saurian talons pinned beneath itself, making attack difficult but not impossible. Sephiroth can still think, it's just harder when he's so certain the best thing to do is immediately establish a proper hierarchy and enforce it. But that's wrong, isn't it?]

[bufudine]

[Serph isn't so foolish as to approach, but he does observe the transformation, unflinching as Sephiroth initially draws himself up to his full size before backing down.

Sephiroth really does look remarkably similar to the creatures on the plains. Easy enough to be mistaken for one, especially if he were to lose his human faculties. He's the first one to look so similar to the local monsters, though given that some of the monsters looked the same as demons, he ought to have known it was only a matter of time.]

Can you speak while like this?

[Or is he only able to communicate via charades... whatever that is. Non-verbal forms of communication.]

[firstsoldier]

[Nothing of Serph's bearing suggests challenge, and there's nothing immediately near that needs defending; slowly he works on strangling down all the impulses and instincts that made this unpleasant at best.

It's hard. Especially as there's the smell of other distant monsters on the night wind, painfully reminding him that the meals he bothered with were simply insufficient now.]

... Yes. Not easily.

[It's rough and slurred, but recognizable. Conflict between syrinx and larynx, different ways of making sounds. And the teeth on display when he grimaces probably doesn't help, those are distinctly feline teeth in a strangely flexible reptilian muzzle. Trying to speak like a human just isn't going to work right.]

I still have my mind. For now.

[Just not human thoughts or habits. Sephiroth rarely looked at anyone directly, but like this, Serph's watched with an unblinking, assessing stare.]

[bufudine]

[Serph matches the watchful gaze with his own calm one.]

But blood makes it difficult to keep control?

[He knows all too well how blood whets his demon's alreadly insatiable appetite. How the scent of it has Varuna rattling in the cage of his body, the vision of teeth sinking into warm flesh crystal clear in his mind's eye. As hunger grows, so too does the strength to resist it wane.

Carefully, he watches Sephiroth's reaction to his following question.]

Does the thought of eating other monsters sound good?

[firstsoldier]

It does. A shameful thing. We are not beasts.

[The war between foreign instinct and the reason and control required since he was a small child is endless, merely easier when in a more human shape. It never really went away but like this, even the idea of a meal is an incredible temptation.

More of one than he can actually resist; Sephiroth might refuse to follow changed biology that demanded a carnivore's diet, but like this, concerns such as morality and not being a monster were distinctly harder to care about. Nothing's changed, and yet the idea isn't a revolting one. He should. The evening is early yet.]

It's best to ... not think about it.

[But the mostly black creature is already getting back to its feet with languid, easy grace, turning from the convoy with a low, interested rumble. Blugu were plentiful but annoyingly spiky, but there were always other things near the water's edges. He'll just have to find it.]

[bufudine]

[Strange.

With Sephiroth's poise and cool, collected mannerisms, Serph did not expect that Sephiroth would reject the idea of eating monsters so strongly. If one must devour, it is only a function of the body's needs to survive. If one does not feed the body, then both mind and body deteriorates.

Perhaps his next words may sound familiar; when Serph had left the realm of dreams and returned to the land of the waking, he could still recall snatches of his conversation with Sephiroth in both Nirvanas.]

When a monstrous body requires a monstrous diet, what separates us from the monsters is how we choose to inflict the price of our ongoing survival.

[He keeps his gaze on Sephiroth, even as he begins to turn away.]

There is no shame in choosing to survive.

[firstsoldier]

[Hypocrisy is one of his strong suits. While he felt strongly that others should be judged by their actions and not by their species, willing to extend that mercy without hesitation once he was sure they weren't about to go berserk, for himself.. there was no such leniency. It preyed upon fears he'd thought he'd overcome years ago.

He couldn't pretend anymore, not when he had fangs and claws to go with the eyes that had always been strange. And he was so hungry, stubbornly sticking to a diet he could no longer make use of. The idea of eating things that were once people was revolting. And also terribly alluring. The rest of him knew what he had to eat; it needed to be meat, and it was best fresh.]

Isn't there?

[He knows his own words. That's a grace he can extend to Serph, so obviously still a man for all that he's changed. Rational, clearheaded, reasonable. He wasn't, anymore. Expressions are difficult on a creature with few facial muscles to speak of, but it seems to be an unwelcome topic.

Scaled, inhuman hands are studied with one eye, head tilted birdlike as long talons are flexed slowly.]

I am what I have been raised to destroy. I must look like one. I refuse to act like one.

[bufudine]

[Raised to destroy monsters? In a way, that would mean Sephiroth is becoming the enemy, in his mind.]

Denying sustenance will make you weak with hunger. You cannot control the monster when starving.

[People are free to do as they wish, but he is concerned about the damage Sephiroth could cause if he continues to refuse to devour. There have been other Drifters who didn't know their monster's diet and attacked others. He doesn't want an incident where there are lasting consequences.

Sephiroth had mentioned that his ability to maintain control may be hindered in the presence of blood. Serph raises his hand, the Water Crown glowing.]

Do I need to demonstrate?

[In a place like this, avoiding blood will be impossible. Best to make his point clear while he is available than someone else getting blindsided by a starving monster.]

[firstsoldier]

[Even if much else is a confusion of disparate instincts pulling in different directions, all of him knows a challenge when he hears it. It starts up an odd rattling noise, a muffled buzzing somewhere beneath dark fur and feathers as the chimera turns slowly on one taloned foot to face Serph again. Many people might recognize the warning of a rattlesnake, but people from the Junkyard?]

I'm as strong as I need to be.

[There are different kinds of strength than brute power, which he's always had more than his fill of. Sheer force of will has kept him from indulging in the desperate ravenous hunger of a monster that knows it's starving and doesn't want to die with a full stomach of food it simply can't process anymore.

Blood made it so much harder. His own, his target's, it didn't matter. He'd kept the shameful fraying of his own control carefully under wraps, and he didn't much want to test it now.

But backing down also wasn't an option, not when so blatantly confronted. It's a struggle alone not to adopt a more threatening and dominant stance, also the actions of a beast, but he can't quite suppress the agitated rattling sound.]

You may test the assumption of my weakness at your leisure.

[bufudine]

[While he doesn't recognise the sound of a rattlesnake's warning, what Serph does recognise is a reflex, an instinct, of the monster that Sephiroth doesn't have full control over.

It isn't usually Serph who goads others with barbed words, but with the possibility of his comrades' lives being put in danger by Sephiroth's denial of himself, Serph will open Sephiroth's eyes to what must be done whether he wants it or not.]

It is weakness to deny reality.

[The brand on Serph's face glows, lines spreading across his body as he speaks.]

Do you truly believe you can maintain control by avoiding blood in this land?

[Even without blood, it is evident to him that control is fraying.]

[firstsoldier]

[Once changed, changing back isn't easy, but he's working on it. Language is difficult through a throat and mouth not designed for it, and things like blood and violence were easier to handle when not wearing a full coat of feathers and fur. Those spreading icy blue lines, like so many activating circuits, were an implied threat, as were Serph's words.

There is a difference between knowing there's a potential problem and going out of his way to encounter it.]

.... Think what you wish.

[The war between monstrous impulse and human rationality is a losing battle, forced down to a constant low rattle and newly accompanied growl. And with every moment Serph doesn't back down, it gets worse.

When the dark creature moves a step forward, it isn't as yet predatory. There's more obnoxious instincts to deal with beyond hunger, and trying to force Serph back through size and presence towards the convoy seems like a rational decision and not the unsubtle display of bestial dominance it is. It's time this ended before someone did something he'd regret later.]

[bufudine]

[Varuna comes to the forefront, Serph's transformation completing with a bestial snarl. But the difference is that Serph allows Varuna's feral nature to come forth, a loose leash on his demon that he can tighten at any moment.

Though he is taller when cloaked in Varuna's flesh, Sephiroth is still larger. But Serph isn't afraid; he's dealt with plenty of larger demons. Instead he stands his ground in the face of intimidation, a rumbling growl and a seemingly impatient stomping of clawed feet goading the other Drifter into giving into monstrous impulse.

Come get him, Sephiroth.]