"Fair enough," Zechs would say to all of that - it's hard to disagree with logic that Zechs himself would use with another person, if they should be flustered after such an event. He fastened on the vest over his unbuttoned shirt, at least, hiding himself a little better from the world at large. It's less out of modesty, and more due to dignity, to look slightly better put together.

Though Zechs saw little physical resemblance between them - he could easily follow Sephiroth's reasoning. Understood where he was coming from. It was a somewhat reassuring kinship, even as he hoped (in vain) the other man had a far less bleak past to shape it.

Then, a coat is being placed in his lap. Zechs was about to object to being carried before Sephiroth just - stepped out of doors anyway, holding him like he weighed nothing. A pride that Zechs tried to deny exist flared, felt injured, wondering for the first time at who might see them. His ears were red.

Then, a giant black wing emerged - Zechs' eyebrows raised. How could he fly with only a single wing? And his injured pride was distracted by that impossibility, by the question posed. Zechs scoffed, a small snort and a twisted smirk.

"Hardly," Zechs told him, dry. "I am a pilot."

As Sephiroth's DTF materialized back into jewelry - the small, miniature mobile suit that Minigeese was hovered off the ground with tiny jets. Every part of Zechs, even this one, seemed to be stubbornly independent.