Sephiroth eyed Vincent carefully. "I see..." He mused softly, turning around with a creak of leather to survey their surroundings. The person he'd met with Hojo before.. The cold, icy man who had refused to give his name when prompted. He was surely a member of this "Organisation". Nodding to himself as he came out of his reverie, Sephiroth turned back to Vincent. He didn't feel that it was his duty to mention to the dark-clad man that his clothes were in tatters, hanging around him like a wraith's shroud and drawing frightful looks from those around them. It wasn't his place to clothe others. But the way in which his eyes took in Vincent's disheveled state spoke of the vague distate - and was that amusement? - that he felt as a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.