In the meantime, the SOLDIER in the driver's seat avoids what potholes and things in the way that he knows the truck can't handle, and just plows over everything else. The roads are hardly great, there's debris and damage everywhere, and while originally any troop transport truck is meant to be durable, there's been some sacrifices made to grant it the speed and rather remarkable turn radius for something so large and clumsy.

Besides, straight lines are for losers, and the path the truck takes is as meandering as a fleeing rabbit's as soon as the ice and feathers impact the cab and tear through the cloth back here and there in an effort to minimize further damage. Vincent seems to be holding on just fine, it's probably alright.

When there's a tap on the glass though, Sephiroth's forced to actually leave his seat, engaging the cruise control - as shoddy as it is - just long enough to reach across the cab and manually roll the window down, knee braced against the steering wheel to prevent sudden careering into a ditch. Think they're upset enough? "You have their attention."

Another spray of ice, cold and feathers sends the truck swerving hard to plow right through a battered, low scrubby bush, right off anythign like a road and skidding down the side of a grassy slope. It's fine, they're fine, Sephiroth still has reasonable control of where they're going and how fast. "What do you plan to do with them now?"