Work Text:
"I'll let you remain the expert on that."
"Let, huh? You mean you think you could do better?" Zack grinned. "Never mind, I know you think you can. But can you prove it?"
Sephiroth refrained from raising an eyebrow; he was trying to break that habit. His remark had not been condescending, was intended as its opposite, and Zack knew that. His friend must be up to something. Very well. "Given the means, of course."
Zack's smile widened at the accepted challenge. "Okay then. You and me. Tuesday, 0600 to 2000 hours. Same brand disposable cameras, since you're an amateur. 54 exposures. Stay inside Midgar. Deal?"
Sephiroth bristled at being called an amateur in anything. "And who will judge?"
"Elena? She owes me a favor."
"That's fine. Good luck, Zack." The "you're going to need it" went unsaid. This wasn't supposed to be serious, was it?
"Thanks Seph. Oh and, don't forget to take the lens cap off and advance the film."
This was serious.
Tuesday was tomorrow. It was already late afternoon. Zack was right. Sephiroth knew absolutely nothing about photography... other than being the subject.
The dimmed lights in the library shone on empty chairs, carts at rest, desks unattended. There was no line for the catalog and nobody to ignore. It wouldn't be the first time he'd stayed all night, perfectly at home here in this hushed atmosphere of lonely secrets.
He began to read.
"There is no big secret to taking unique, interesting, and even exciting photographs. This can be accomplished by finding unusual angles for the shots, making your own lens filters, paying attention to lighting conditions, and other tricks."(1)
Surely it was more complicated than that, even with the limited equipment he'd have access to. Zack had tried to explain to him how to see light before, but Sephiroth doubted he'd ever see things the way Zack did.
“A good description of photography necessitates that one treat it as an essence unto itself; not as an event either of the World or of philosophy, or as a syncretic sub-product of modern science and technology; that one recognize the existence, not just of a photographic art, but of an authentic photographic thought; the existence, beyond the components of technology and image production, of a certain specific relation to the real, one which knows itself as such.”
― François Laruelle, The Concept of Non-Photography
Heh. That was definitely philosophy. As the majority of the material inevitably turned out to be.
“Life is like a camera. Just focus on what’s important and capture the good times, develop from the negatives and if things don’t work out, just take another shot.”
— Unknown
Might as well have been Zack who said that.
The next volume boasted dozens of full-page examples by professionals. They were meant to be encouraging, but Sephiroth had learned enough by now to realize that the picture of the Nibel dragon in the rain at night was a masterpiece of significant skill. This was going to be harder than he thought.
Zack got a good night's sleep. This should be an easy win.
Probably no one would notice, but Sephiroth had decided to blend in just a little for today's mission. He'd buttoned his casual black shirt all the way up.
Zack was dressed like a tourist from Costa del Sol, with sunglasses dangling on a cord around his neck. That was not as surprising as once it would have been.
They met at the photo shop, a bright, cheerful, clean place with a faint non-threatening chemical smell. The sales clerk was a morning person, and she recognized Zack immediately. While the two of them talked treacherously of the nearby restaurant and its delicious cinnamon toast, Sephiroth browsed the shelves. Identical disposable cameras with 54 exposures.... These would do. The second-cheapest brand. 200 gil each. He checked the packaging and expiration dates before paying and then graciously let Zack choose his first.
The contest began as soon as they left the store. Sephiroth didn't take a picture of his toast or the chocobo design drawn in cream in the coffee. But he may have considered it.
Zack strolled along the asphalt floors of the artificial ravines dividing the skyscrapers of the Upper Plate, craning his neck with a pretense of wonder because it was more fun that way.
His first notable shot was of a sophisticated woman in ridiculous heels walking a fluffy black dog over the crosswalk, with a bold combination of car colors in the background.
A street musician playing guitar on the corner for an appreciative audience agreed to have his portrait taken for a tip.
Summer sunlight accentuated a cafe window. Inside, people were talking at the tables, you could make up what they were saying. An incredible assortment of baked goods was on display at the counter, intriguingly blurred but glare-free from this angle....
Farther on, a fence of wrought iron scrolling bounded apartment stairs. Dark metal, pale concrete, a dash of red... excellent composition even if the pot of geraniums was fake. Wait, were they real? Zack suppressed his urge to trespass.
The shadows here were just right. Focus...
"Yo, Zack! Got one of me yet?" Reno jumped in front of the camera.
Caught between scowling and laughing at the face Reno was still making, Zack said, "Cut it out dude, this is a serious mission."
Everything about Reno's manner changed. "Sorry man, my bad." The Turk met his gaze for confirmation and then straightened professionally, glanced at his watch, and sauntered away with a neutral smile.
Zack narrowly avoided the splash and the shark's open jaws. Ha! Some of that street art that did tricks with perspective was really beautiful.
He wondered how Seph was doing.
53 left. Would Zack see right through his lie that he'd meant to do that?
He had vowed in the beginning that there would be no photos of lens caps. Fortunately, like most disposable cameras, this model didn't have one. However, Sephiroth did have fingers. And, thankfully, a lot of self control.
He'd read that you take pictures of things you want to remember. If he never saw Midgar again, what would those be? The view from the top of the Shinra Building was dull. Midgar had no nature to showcase; there were the monsters, of course, but he didn't think he'd ever forget what those looked like. Even he should not photograph museum exhibits. Zack would label that uncreative, anyway. He could brave the always-crowded train station to get petty revenge on the paparazzi, see how they liked it. No, momentarily tempting as it was, they weren't worth his time.
Sephiroth's abstract musings led him below-plate. Why did he want to remember this? Shouldn't he prefer the cleanliness of the wealthier areas above? But no... this was more important somehow. The rotting foundation of Shinra, built on corruption. They took care of documenting the pretty parts themselves. If, in his brilliance, by some miracle, his photos refuted the books' assertions that your first 10000 shots are your worst, Reeve could use them to improve conditions. And if Shinra wanted to punish the negative publicity, well, let them try! That meeting would be entertaining.
A team of chocobos pulled a carriage, bright yellow in a maze of gray. The ruts traced by the wheels in the mud trapped their tracks between, as if the birds were building their own racecourse or sidewalk... a path to another somewhere.
Eventually, he found a subject better than the shadows cast by the rubble. The skyline under the plate was a forgotten, secret thing, a relic of the settlements that became sectors. Though forced to accept the metal sky, some residents had apparently continued to preserve intricate roof detailing against absent weather. Above-plate there was only one Main Street, but here.... An ancient town square, its cobbled mosaics obscured by too-modern dirt. A bell tower not quite crumbling. Larger structures, inns and trading posts, not completely repurposed. Piles of cardboard boxes teetering over fences of the kind that used to border fields. Sephiroth wondered if there was some sort of Old Midgar historical society. He decided he'd record the remnants of variety, regardless.
Architecture stood still for the camera, but the light was bad. He was careful to remember that the lens couldn't see as well as he could.
The golden hour came and went and Zack said "good evening" to people. Time to wrap this up and meet Seph back at the photo shop.
Full of confidence, he arrived with a perfectly reasonable five minutes to spare. Sephiroth was there before him, already speaking with the man at the desk.
"Double prints, please. I want to keep them."
"They'll be done in 45 minutes, sir. Do you want them on a disk, too?"
"Yep," Zack interrupted the exchange.
"Oh, hello Zack." Sephiroth glanced pointedly with a half-smile at the clock high on the wall. "You managed not to get disqualified, I see."
Ouch. "Yep. Unfortunately for you, huh?" They were in public. "Sir."
"Not in the least."
Whoa. Was that a bluff, or did Seph really still think he could win? Could he? Nah. Seph was watching him too closely, assessing the effects of the intimidation.
Zack called it. "Nice try."
Sephiroth nodded. Now the smile touched his eyes. "I look forward to the results."
Waiting for photos to be developed was boring, but they survived.
"No no no, Seph, don't look at them yet! We'll all three of us look together."
"If you insist."
Zack dialed Elena's number.
He and Zack followed Elena down the hallway to the Turk lounge.
"Such short notice Zack! You're lucky I wasn't on a mission." She sounded irritated, but Sephiroth sensed her hidden relief that the favor requested was so small.
"Thanks for helping out," Zack said.
"Uh huh. No problem."
The other Turks who'd been in the room goofing off suddenly had somewhere else to be.
"Sit wherever you want." Elena set her laptop on the table. "So, I'm supposed to rate each photo 1-10 without knowing who took them, and then the artist is revealed and scores totaled?"
"Yes."
Sephiroth hadn't asked what the criteria for judging would be. He should have taken Elena's tastes into account. Oh well. Even if he lost it was all practice. He leaned back on the couch. Beside him, Zack was infuriatingly relaxed.
"Who took this one?"
She rotated the screen to show a picture of a fountain, gil sparkling through the water, some coins new and shiny, some worn by long use.
"It's classified," Zack reminded her.
"Oh, right." Elena blushed at her mistake.
The tense silence shattered when she burst out laughing. It could be called a giggle fit, but Turks did not have those. "This is a good one of Reno!"
Zack snorted. Sephiroth kicked his boot.
"Hey, what's this one? Sector 7 train station?"
Two plainly distraught young lovers kissed, comforting each other under the misty haloed light of a streetlamp. The style of their clothes had gone out of fashion at the beginning of the war.
Sephiroth leaned forward. "People there? That one was empty."
Zack's mouth was stuck open in a big 'O'.
No one said anything for a while.
"Okay, I think that's all of them."
It was time for the results. The moment of truth.
Zack won by a landslide. Elena congratulated him. Sephiroth frowned.
"But Seph, some of these are really nice. A good first effort."
"Hmm."
"It was fun though, right?"
Actually.... "It was. We'll have a rematch on the 29th in Junon."
"Sweet."