[Is he in need of Moogles? Sephiroth seems to consider that question with the same pause he gives any that are impossible to answer; no, he doesn’t need this creature, but it strikes something in him, like pulling a faraway cord connected to a memory lost.

Finally—]

No.

[With a concession that the Moogles will likely find favorable, Sephiroth bends down and sits Moghod down. Silver hair slips over his shoulders as he straightens again to look at Himeka.]

What good are they?

[Unintentional sick burn directed at said Moogles. But perhaps he better means what good will they do him? He cannot be sure.]

But I know their shape. I’ve seen it before as a mascot, though I don’t recognize anything else here.

[His eyes sweep their surroundings.] You created all of this?