In the penetrating silence of inky blue nights as the minutes turn late evening into early morning, the peaceful slumber of the world was faintly disrupted by the mild buzz of electricity. This was occasionally joined by the delicate scratching of pen on paper or, most rare of all, a minuscule sigh of exhaustion. The Director of the Turks had begun the evening straight backed and alert but over the long hours spent pouring over the papers had lost some of his usual pristine appearance to the point of leaning on arm on his desk as he tried to understand the untidy scrawl before him.
Reno had of course handed in his paperwork late, and in bulk. Tseng should have expected as much but for one of the few times in his long employment by ShinRa his hyper-active second in command had slipped through the logical barriers of The Directors mind. So now he found himself having to carefully pry apart the poorly used English of a mission report he had needed several months ago.
Tseng paused a moment, his pen hovering precisely above the dotted line on the paper as his eyes strayed to the clock. 00.24 a.m
Oh so gently, The Director laid his pen down on his desk, unlocked the small drawer on his left, pulled a clear glass towards him and poured the contents of whiskey bottle into it. He swirled the liquid idly 'round the glass for a moment before putting it to his lips. "Happy Birthday…" He whispered, and took a sip.
A very old story from way back when. Something of a study of Tsengs character.
I saved this from the wiping of my old account and decided that it was good enough to get a new place.
-R