Quirks

“I’m a monster, aren’t I?”

“Fuck Vin, you are not.” Cid steps closer, rag out to wipe the blood off fine joints before it cakes and makes them useless. “You’re just a guy with some weird quirks, is all.”

Vincent’s laugh is hollow and bitter in his ears.

“You know,” and Cid maneuvers the gold-plated limb in front of Vincent’s face for emphasis, “Rumor has it that you were more of a monster before you got the claws.”

“At least I could control that evil.”

Cid tries to keep the faint chuckle out of his reply. “‘Course you could, Vincent.”

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