The crates are not sealed by anything particularly troublesome, nails for the wooden ones and nothing at all for the steel except decaying bungee cords. He's content to possibly investigate later, in case now would simply be a distraction lurking surviving monsters might take to strike again from the sky.

Listening is the best he can do. None of them had owl's feathers, their wingbeats had been a loud thunder in the air. But so far it's only the storm, and the whistle of wind through the holes in the canvas.

The shaking draws his attention, but Sephiroth doesn't know Vincent well enough to tell, beneath those shrouding layers of cloth, if it's laughter or something else. Not epilepsy, that's obvious quickly. "Similarly."

Thunder had been on the horizon. "There was.. just enough time to find this truck before the tornado formed." A familiar make and model, in a sea of foreign vehicles he didn't even begin to recognize. "I don't recognize the spell; I was on the western continent, this is not."

Nowhere in Wutai had this much wide open grassy hills, nor the diner better suited for Midgar's aesthetics.