Sephiroth Takes a Bath


Summary: An account of an ill-fated bubble bath, starring everyone's favourite super-villain, his favourite rubber ducky, and about 50 000 fan girls.


Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and they don't like me, folks! Especially Sephiroth... Anyway, the Almighty Square of Everlasting Softness owns everyone from Final Fantasy 7. The song, 'The Streak' is owned by Ray Stevens...I think.


And now, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon with the show!


It all started ordinarily enough, which makes sense, when one reflects that stories are never told about events that are not out of the ordinary. If things did not have a certain ordinariness as a jumping-off point, there would be no way to discern the strange and bizarre events that stories tend to degenerate into from the humdrum of everyday life. And of course, this would make the world a very depressing one.

But I digress, as is my wont. On this ordinary evening late in summer, Mighty Sephiroth, as he is becoming increasingly known, decided to take a Bath. This is about where the ordinariness ends, as this bath that he decided to take was a Bubble Bath.

Now, it is a well-known fact that many women enjoy a nice, relaxing, aromatic Bubble Bath from time to time. It can be soothing, and altogether therapeutic. As such, it is a shame that a man cannot enjoy a nice bubble bath when he wants to without being labelled as less of a man, or simply Incredibly Weird, for it. But, of course, it is not I who makes the rules, and so I can simply inform you that the bubbles in the bathtub of the Mighty Sephiroth signalled the end of all ordinariness on this particular evening.

It would, of course, get worse from there.

Once Sephiroth was settled in his large, vaguely rutabaga-shaped bathtub, a row of candles set along the ledge providing a soft, mellow glow, breathing in the fresh, vibrant scent of the Citrus-Blend Bubble-Bath, it occurred to him that something was missing. He glanced about the bathroom, and then he saw it.

Upon the counter, some five feet away, sat his Rubber Ducky. Alone and neglected.

Sephiroth's heart was immediately wrung with pity for the poor duck. How frightened it must be! All alone, in a nearly dark bathroom...

With a shake of his head, the young man rose from the warm, soapy water and splashed across the bathroom, leaving little foot-shaped Puddles of Water as he went, retrieved his Ducky from the counter, and splashed his way back into the tub.

   "Ah, my ducky," he sighed, cuddling the Little Squeaky Toy that he had some time ago stolen from the unfortunate canine, Red XIII. But, of course, who is going to press the issue with Sephiroth?

He set the Ducky in the water and watched delightedly as it floated across the surface of the tub, then came to a stop as it bumped lightly against the porcelain wall of the tub.

   "Because I love my duck," he sang softly, unheeding of copyright laws. After all, when one is Mighty Sephiroth, as Mighty Sephiroth was, one need not worry oneself about the Technicalities of Copyright Laws anymore than one need worry over the moral correctness of stealing a squeaky toy from a puppy-wuppy, as Red XIII would undoubtedly resent being called.

   "You're always there to make me smile," he continued, smiling softly at his little yellow...inanimate friend for effect. "I love my duck, you're my very favourite toy..."

At this point, he forgot the rest of the words, and began to hum absently as he sailed the ducky around the tub. Then, as the ducky came to a stop against a thick skein of silvery hair dipping into the soapy water of the tub, he stopped abruptly, a spark of anger already leaping into his eyes.

   " hair..."

He lifted it gently from the water and stared at the ends in horror for a moment.

   "It's WET!"

Something snapped in the young former general's mind as he leapt from the tub.

   "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHING!" said Masamune as it was withdrawn from its scabbard beneath the very, very, very long bathmat covering the center of the tiled floor.

With an enraged howl, Sephiroth bore down upon the unsuspecting bathtub.

Unsuspecting and inanimate as it was, the bathtub was able to do very little, aside from watching its doom approaching at a dizzying rate. Of course, it didn't watch, for reasons that have already been covered.

Masamune sliced easily through the bathtub, which would have been enough of a problem for the severely unbalanced Sephiroth, had it ended there.

Of course, though, it didn't.

As the floor was directly beneath the bathtub, and as Sephiroth really didn't seem to know when it was time to quit cleaving in twain, Masamune sliced easily through the floor as well as through the tub.

The result was immediate and disastrous.

The tile of the bathroom floor gave way with a sickening 'crack,' and Sephiroth felt a most unpleasant sensation of falling.

   "Hmm...I should really learn to curb this temper of mine," he reflected silently on his way to the floor below. Aloud, though, all he said was "YAAAAAAAH!!!"

Presently, he found himself lying amidst the wreck and ruin of what had presumably been a coffee table, the condition of which could be only harmed by a tall, very well-muscled man, as well as a great deal of ceiling/floor (depending on one's perspective) landing on it.

Gathering the tatters of his dignity about him rather well given the situation, Sephiroth climbed to his feet and, cupping his hands over a certain portion that really was best kept hidden from the world at large, swept his gaze about the room with the same regal bearing that he would have maintained had he been clothed in the finery of his Immensely Cool Long Black Coat instead of bubbles.

The room was a cozy, prettily decorated one, suggesting that it was owned by one of the twenty or so young women that occupied it, all of whom were staring, transfixed, at the incredibly good-looking naked, and still slightly dampish man who had dropped in so unexpectedly.

   "U-um..." one girl spoke up hesitantly. "Wh-what's your name?"

   "Me? I am Sephiroth," he replied, quite bewildered that this was the first question that the young lady had chosen to ask.

The moment he answered, he knew he had made a mistake. An unmistakable gleam flashed into the girl's eye, and he realized that this was a specimen of the group known as the Fan-Girl.

As his gaze swept the room once again, he grew increasingly nervous as a similar gleam flashed into the eye of every girl present. It did not occur to him exactly how bad the situation was, however, until his gaze lit on a banner stretched overhead.


Without another word, Mighty Sephiroth turned and fled.


"Enjoying the wine, Tifa?" Cloud asked, gazing at the dark-haired woman across the small table from him with a smile that could not have been removed from his face with a table full of surgical tools. Gods, she looked lovely by candlelight... For, you see, by this time, Cloud had contrived to turn himself into an exceedingly bad poet. Or perhaps Rhianwen had managed to turn him into one. Either way, Cloud suddenly found himself spouting exceedingly bad poetry. Luckily enough, this often happened to be only within his head, as to voice these things would have surely subjected him to the eternal ridicule of Barret, and even Tifa who, although a woman by all means, was not particularly fond of Exceedingly Bad Poetry.

It was at this point that the narrator decided to shut the hell up, so that Tifa's response could be heard.

   "Of course," she replied, sipping at the dark red liquid for effect. Well, there was no real reason to tell him that she'd never liked the stuff especially... "This evening was a wonderful idea."

   "Hey, we couldn't just let an occasion like this go by without celebrating, could we?"

   "Cloud, there aren't really a lot of people out there who celebrate Guy Fawkes Day. Especially in completely the wrong month..."

   "Exactly! That's probably why we have the restaurant almost to ourselves."

   "Most likely." She sipped again at the wine, reflecting that perhaps it wasn't altogether bad – it did add to the ambience, after all.

Cloud glanced up at Tifa, who was gazing absently into the flame of the candle flickering in the center of their table, a tranquil expression on her face, looking so absolutely beautiful that the young man's mouth went dry, and he had to look away.

   "PLOT DEVICE!" a nearby diner shouted.

   "Shut up!" Rhianwen shouted back from the corner where she stood, clothed in the typical garb of a waiter, a napkin draped over her arm, watching the action unfold.

Ahem. At any rate, when Cloud felt the need to look away, the 'away' he chose just happened to be out the window in front of which their table was situated, into the street lit by the soft glow of the streetlamps.

As luck would have it, he had just taken a sip from his own wine glass, when his eyes lit upon a most bizarre spectacle, a spectacle that made the wine erupt from his mouth in a spray that set the candle flickering and dancing even more madly, and caused Tifa to exclaim in concern both for him, and for her white blouse. After all, red wine was just like blood – it NEVER came out! What could possibly have made Cloud react so?

Tifa glanced out into the street...

...and involuntarily spit out her own mouthful of wine at the sight of Sephiroth tearing madly down the street, naked as the proverbial jay-bird, long silver hair streaming out behind him like a banner of surrender (one that is silver rather than white, of course...), his decency preserved only by his own hands cupped over the parts most necessarily hidden from society at large.

   "Oh, yes, they call him The Streak!" that same nearby diner sang.

   "Lookit that, lookit that," another diner added.

   "He likes to turn the other cheek," the first diner continued.

   "Lookit that, lookit that..."

Both these diners hastened to fall silent as Cloud and Tifa shot them simultaneous withering glares.

   "Sorry," they chorused together before taking their place in front of the window along with the other thirty patrons of the restaurant, who were eagerly watching this spectacle.

   "Tifa," Cloud began, blinking, "did I really just see what I think I just saw?"

   "I-I'm not sure," Tifa replied helplessly.

Then, moments after Sephiroth disappeared around the corner, the ground began to shake ever so slightly, then a little more, and a little more, until tables were tipping over and paintings were dropping from the walls.

Seconds later, a veritable mob of young women, all drooling heavily, stampeded down the street, disappearing around the same corner that Sephiroth had taken.

Tifa sighed.

   "Yes, Cloud, you did see what you think you saw."

   "But...but...that...GAH!" Cloud sputtered, waving his arms frantically.

   "Cloud, sit down. Let's just...not let this spoil our night, okay?" the dark-haired woman pleaded.


   "Alright," Cloud agreed with a small smile a moment later. After all, there was still wine to be enjoyed, and there was still a Vision of Loveliness seated opposite him.


   "Hey, Reno, thanks for the ice-cream," Elena said, slurping busily at a double scoop of Raspberry Ripple in a waffle cone as the two walked slowly through the park.

   "No problem," Reno assured her, slurping at his own Super-Duper-Ultra-Mega-Chocolate Chocolate Chip. "After all, I figured I'd buy ice cream, and you could buy beer."

Elena blinked.

   "I'd laugh, but I have this horrible feeling that you're serious..."

No response from Reno was forthcoming at these words.

   "Uh...Reno?" she prompted, poking his side gently. "Reno!"

The young man, who had gone dead white, shook himself from his trance, and grabbed her upper arm, turning her in the direction of the spectacle.

   "Laney! Take a look at that! Tell me if I'm really seeing what I think I'm seeing!"

Elena looked accordingly. She chewed the corner of her lip thoughtfully. Then she turned back to Reno.

   "Well, off the top of my head, I'd say it's Sephiroth running naked through the park, pursued by something like...fifty, sixty insane girls."

Reno nodded.

   "Okay, so I am seeing what I think I'm seeing. C'mon; let's go get more ice cream."



   "I cannot believe that you see HIM as the greatest hero of all of the characters," Vincent sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "What nobility have his actions ever possessed?"

Yuffie crossed her arms and sat back against the squishy padded bench of the coffeehouse.

   "Well, what nobility have the supposed 'real hero's' actions ever possessed?" she countered.

   "I think in this case, heroism is measured more on wit, ruthlessness, and skill than good intent. The concept of the Homeric hero, in some way or another. And you must admit that your choice for the greatest hero fails in all of these, too."

   "I don't care what you say," Yuffie proclaimed airily, looking away – and coincidentally, out the window. "Daffy Duck was JUST as much of a hero as Bugs ever – Vincent, look at that. Is that really..."

   "Sephiroth running naked down the street, pursued by screaming girls?" Vincent finished for her, peering in the direction she indicated. "I believe it is."

   "He ain't crude," a nearby caffeine addict sang, shaking slightly. "He ain't lewd..."

   "He's just in the mood to run in the nude!" the three girls behind the cash register chorused together.

   "Think there's a story behind this?" Yuffie asked with a giggle.

Vincent nodded.

   "There must be. I don't believe that Sephiroth is given to exhibitionism."

   "Yeah, probably not," she agreed absently, then frowned. "But...what skill and wit did Bugs ever show?"

   "Every episode, he managed to sail merrily through his day, bringing death and destruction to everyone else without sustaining any injury himself. If that is not a measure of skill and wit, I don't know what is."

   "You want skill? You try doing the Daffy Duck voice, and then tell me Daffy has no skill!"

Much to the relief of Yuffie and everyone else in the coffee shop, Vincent politely declined, and let the subject drop, lest any more such odd requests should arise.


   "YEAH! CRUSH THE LIVING $#%&)#% OUTTA THAT PANSY LI'L HONDA!" Cid Highwind bellowed at the television.

Barret and Rude, from their own positions lounging on Cid's couch, stomped and clapped and hooted their own encouragement of the fabled King Krunch, fabled Lord of All Monster Trucks, as it, quite literally, flattened the competition.

   "I must confess, I feel sympathy for the driver of the 'pansy little Honda,'" Red XIII sighed, trying as best he could to eat a single nacho from the glass bowl on the floor.

His dismay is best only imagined when, upon observing this, Rude broke into a huge grin, and grabbed for another bowl.

   "Hey, guys, let's eat nachos like Red!"

   "Awright!" Barret whooped, also reaching for a free nacho bowl.

   "Hahaha! Great idea, guys. Just don't break those, 'r Shera'll be pissed. They were a wedding gift from...uh..."

   "Me," Red XIII put in flatly. "Look, guys, I'm eating my nachos this way for obvious reasons. You two..." He shook his head at the sight of Rude and Barret with their heads buried in large bowls of the cheesy snacks, mowing through said cheesy snacks at a dizzying rate amid a shower of crumbs. "You two look like idiots."

   "We're MEN!" Cid bellowed. "We're feral! We're primal! We're #$*()&@#^$#^in' WILD ANIMALS!"

With that, he ran to the window, threw it open, leaned out, and began to howl up at the moon. He was joined quickly by Rude and Barret, but oddly enough, not by Red XIII, who once again sighed in despair.

   "Er..." he began slowly. "Wouldn't one think that it should be me who is howling at the moon?"

No response, save more howls.

   "Oh, dear," Shera sighed as she made her way slowly into the den, arms laden with more chips, to behold the forgotten couch, snacks, beer, and monster-truck marathon on the TV, and the three men leaning out the window and howling. "I knew I made that steak a little too rare..."

   "Hey, babe!" Cid called, leaving the window long enough to yank her to him and kiss her soundly. This elicited whoops and cheers from Barret and Rude as they both left the window to plunk back down onto the couch.

   "Er...hello, Cid," Shera smiled, blushing slightly at the knowing grins of two men and a puppy-wuppy, as Red XIII would still likely resent being called. "Are you gentlemen enjoying your little car show?"

   "Car show!" Rude scoffed. "That's what Elena calls it! Women!"

   "Not jes' women, Rude," Barret reminded him. "S'what Vincent calls 'em, too."

   "Yeah, but Yuffie and her almost obsessive support of the Cow-Crusher makes up for that," the bald man chuckled, recalling the ninja and her utter certainty that no other monster-truck could take down the Cow-Crusher. "She's teaching him."

   "Those two've got one $#)#&@)&@$#ed up relationship..." Cid commented, shaking his head before his attention was drawn back to the television like a moth to a flame. "Right on! That damn Volkswagen's goin' DOWN! YEAH! Kill it, Buick Bash-Brothers! KILL IT!"

   "Damn straight!" Barret agreed.

It was at this point that the monster-truck marathon vanished as the screen went black.

   "Hey!" Rude exclaimed.

   "Aw! Aw! Awwwww! The hell?!" Cid and Barret chorused.

All three men were utterly unheeding of Red XIII's sigh of relief.

   "Damn TV's broken!" Cid noted mournfully, giving the box one or two hearty thumps.

Presently, however, the television came back on, this time displaying a news desk and a young anchorman with a rather ridiculously solemn expression, particularly given the caption suspended next to his head of a silver-haired young man, completely naked, an expression of horror on his face, sprinting down the street.

   " that Sephiroth?" Red XIII spoke up, breaking the sudden silence.

   "We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this breaking news story," the anchorman informed the public at large.

Shera raised an eyebrow.

   "A naked man? Goodness! Breaking news certainly isn't what it used to be!"

   "Dammit, Shera, that's Sephiroth!" Cid exclaimed.

   "The hell's the bastard doin' alive?" Barret demanded of no one in particular.

   "And naked?" Rude added, reflecting mournfully that the sight was permanently burned into his retinas. Normally, the sunglasses took care of these things...

   "...last spotted near the park," the anchorman was meanwhile saying, "pursued by somewhere in the neighbourhood of seventy screaming young women. We have managed to detain one of the young women of the mob. She had this to say..."

The screen divided in half, one half showing the anchorman, and the other half showing a girl of around fifteen, with long, pale blonde hair and a pink tee-shirt with the words, "2 Sweet." It is doubtful if Sephiroth considered her to be so at this moment.

   "What happened?" the girl repeated, leading everyone watching to believe that someone offscreen had just asked her...wait for it...what happened. "Well, we were hanging out over at Mitsy's house, and all of a sudden, a hole opened up in the ceiling, and Sephiroth fell right through! When we tried to...get his autograph-" The girl's eyes shifted about guiltily as she said this. "-he started running! Sephy-poo, we don't want to hurt you! We love you! We don't bite...unless you want us to..." she trailed off, grinning wickedly.

   "Uh...thank-you, Kelly," the anchorman said hesitantly, looking considerably frightened.

   "Damn," Barret commented from Cid's sofa, shaking his head. And again. "Damn."


   "Alright, ya pantsless bum!" the prison guard barked. "Move it along!"

   "I'm moving, I'm moving," Sephiroth grumbled as he was shoved headlong into a cell.

   "And you'll stay in there until someone stops by to pay your indecent exposure bail," the guard tossed after him with a glare. "I'll be back in a bit with some damn clothes for you."

Landing hard against the cold cement of the floor, the silver-haired ultimate evil shook his head. Well. Certainly, being thrown in prison was not the answer that he would have chosen to his problems, but he had to admit, anything beat dealing with those fan-girls.

It was at about this point that Sephiroth glanced up to behold four very large men grinning widely at him, their eyes glinting in a very familiar way.

   "Oh, Gods, no!" he whispered, eyes growing wide with horror. "Fan-boys!"


The End


Author's Notes: Okay, I am SO sorry for this! Man, I don't know WHAT was going on in my head, but...this is the result, whatever it was.