The air in the seedy bar was filled with the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume. The tall blonde man in the white suit looked outrageously out of place among the gloomy men and shady ladies. He was aware of the eyes following him as he strode confidently across the dimly lit room, but he ignored them, preferring to focus his attention on the shape hunched at a table in one of the dark corners. It was huddled around a tankard of beer, and surrounded by empty bottles.
The man in white sat down in the small chair across from the figure, and addressed it as if he were conducting a job interview.
Which he was, in a way.
"Zen Fellows, I presume?"
The figure lifted its head, revealing nothing of its face.
"Who wansa know?" It slurred.
"My name is Rufus Shinra."
"Oh, yeah. I hearda you." The darkness clad figure wobbled slightly on its stool. "Wadda ya want from me?"
Rufus steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
"I have heard of your considerable skill, Miss Fellows, and I must say, I am disappointed at your choice in places of alcoholic refreshment."
The shape stood up and slammed a hand down on the table. Though the hand was delicate and the fingers well manicured and slender, and the owner of the hand was obviously not sober, the movement still managed to shake the table considerably.
"You sayin' I got bad taste in bars?"
"Um… no?"
"Good." The person sat down again, relaxing. "I thought you were just another heckler gonna say I was a washout."
"Ah…no. Though that is actually the reason I have chosen to contact you." Rufus shifted in his seat, unaccustomed to the grime.
"As you may know, I have a small group of elite bodyguards that I like to call the Turks. I have been interested in you for sometime, but I never had a chance to see you about the matter before."
He stared at her for a moment, before saying, "I would like to recruit you to become one of my Turks."
The girl was silent.
"Miss Fellows?"
"No."
Rufus was surprised, but not really. He had anticipated that she would reject his offer.
He had ways of dealing with scenarios like this.
Sighing melodramatically, he snapped his fingers. "If you want it that way."
Two men in black suits melted out of the shadows behind him. One had long, black hair and a small black blemish in the center of his forehead, and the other was tall and dark with a small, well-trimmed beard and mustache, his eyes concealed behind black sunglasses.
Zen Fellows stood up warily. "Who're you?"
The two men didn't respond, and the one with the sunglasses picked her up with one arm and tossed her over his huge shoulder. She was too drunk to really fight back, and her pounding fists were about as effective as throwing marshmallows at a wall.
The three men walked out of the sleazy bar, with the young women in tow.
Hopefully, she would pass out by the time they got to the car, and then she wouldn't squirm so much, and they could get to where they were going in silence. That was the objective of the mission. To recruit Zen Fellows in a way as silent and surreptitiously as possible.
The mission had been a success.