[Part of him is still waiting for what might be an inevitable attack. This is by far the longest Cloud has dealt with him without resorting to violence or threats, in retrospect always deserved given the circumstances, and this shouldn't be much of an exception. The last time he'd assumed things were going well, he'd been so utterly wrong.

He's determined to let it happen if it does, the two swords on their rack against the wall left there deliberately, the cool green gleam of Cure likewise out of reach. Leaning slightly back against the countertop to what worked as a kitchen, he almost crosses his arms too nearly in the same move Cloud does, but catches it before he can and freezes, then just puts his hands in his pockets. Any effort to seem less threatening may be pointless.]

... You may call me whatever you wish..? I'd prefer not 'specimen S' though, and I don't have a surname to make use of.

[Even in the midst of the compulsion of truth, Sephiroth can't help but be baffled over it, for all that he's willing enough. He's been called plenty of things before, what's one more? He'd respond to anything, once he knew it was meant for him. But what was the point? Usually he could at least guess at a train of thought but what did this have to do with anything?]