“Crisping!” he echoes back. “If you can believe it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cid replies as Clive continues to stare at him. Can he blame him? He definitely died in his arms and all. But it’s way too weird to keep on like this.

“You’re making me feel like I’ve sprouted another head here, Clive. Relax, would you?” He flaps his hand at the other man as he finds a pack of cigarettes. They tasted a little worse than cigars, a bit more like ash, plus they burned faster- but at least they didn’t taste like fucking fruit.

He lights a cigarette and takes a long inhale.

“Not half bad, is it?” Cid asks with a smirk. “May as well be in Sanbreque in the Emperor’s own patisserie, hmm?”