In the Shinra mansion there was a chair that before Vincent Valentine had decided to renovate the run down place, had sat in an inconspicuous sunroom toward the east wing. It was solid red oak with plush red cushions and gold leafing on the back and arm rests. Yuffie said it gave her the creeps and had promptly thrown it into the garbage heap, much to Vincent's protest. It had been one of the only few furnishing that had survived the years of neglect that befell the rest of the house. Vincent didn't see any point in destroying something that was in almost prefect condition because it gave the little ninja 'the heepy jeepies'.
But Vincent had learned there was no changing Yuffie's mind when she was set on something. Plus when he had tried to bring the chair back in, the White Rose of Wutai stole it right from under his nose, drenched in gasoline, and burned it to a crisp, ending that argument right then and there.
Sitting in the corner of the sunroom, turned up on its side, was the now deceased chair's identical twin. Unlike its brother who had been pristine and preserved, the other chair had fallen into a state of decay. Termites had eaten through all but one leg and the red cushions were torn and ripped, white cotton stuffing sticking out everywhere. Tifa had said it looked like someone had 'taken an axe to it.' Or in Cid's opinion, 'taken an axe at who every was in it.'
Yuffie made sure to burn that one too.
What none of the AVALANCHE member did know though, was that both of the chairs really belonged to a set of three—two chairs and one circular red oak table. The table had long since been lost to the world, either stolen or destroyed, no one knew. Another thing AVALANCHE didn't know was that years before Sephiroth lost his mind with numbing truth of his birth, years before he burned Nibelheim to ground, years before the Shinra mansion become nothing more then a monster infested echo of its former glory, the set of three sat together in the sunroom of the east wing.
And during those long nights that bled into crisp clear dawns, two men sat in those chairs around the table, sipping crystal glasses of high quality red wine or imported Wutai sake, talking. They would talk for hours—pictures, and notes, and files of various kinds spread out on the space between them.
They'd talk of power and greed. They'd talk of the world like it was something to bend under their fingers. And with no one to hear them but the night air and the ears hidden behind the walls, the Shinra mansion locked away their conversions like well kept secrets hidden in every corner and stone.
But secrets are funny sometimes. They never stay secret forever. It may take days or years, but sooner or later they'd resurface with a vengeance.
And resurface they did, because fate decided to knock its twisted hand on everyone's door and dig up memoirs that were best left buried.
And because the two men's names were Professor Hojo and Sōsuke Aizen.
Due to the fact that my brain just loves to cross over anything it can get it's hands on, maybe it wasn't my best idea to read FFVII fanfiction and then watch my weekly Bleach, since this is what brain decide to come up with the next morning.
If your looking for this to be updated everyday then I suggest moving along because:
a.) This thing has no plot to tell of. It's just something I did because I was bored.
b.) I have two other orginal projects sitting on the table that have first priority.
c.) I really doubt that anyone is really going to read this.
Plus dear god has changed since I last wrote a real Fanfic. It's been at least two years since i've logged in and boy was I confused about all the new bells and whistles. If I do continue this it's going to take me a while to figure out everything again.
Till next time (if there is a next time) peace out.
Shendadlien