Even if he had known, Tseng supposed, he probably wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway.
Helplessly, the leader of the Turks watched as his boss, the one and only Rufus ShinRa, flexed his now heavily tattooed hands to watch the way the ink'd bones moved.
"Sir," He sighed. "Why exactly would you do this?" He knew he wouldn't like the answer. Nothing could possibly be a good explanation for foolishly and permanently paint oneself with bones and rotten skin.
Rufus didn't look at him. Just plucked a pen from it's jay and twirled it around his fingers. Though he wasn't looking, in the window that held the left side of his face, it reflected back the black cracks purposefully placed around the smoky glass orb that stood for an eye.
How to explain how he felt? Even telling others about his mundane thoughts was almost a chore, but this? How to explain the ideals of emotions?
"Because I survived when anyone else would be dead." Rufus said into the thick silence.
"I have survived being raised a psychopath. Survived a bomb that was detonated practically beside me. A supposed,incurable disease from something not of our world. Where one even a step lesser than myself would be dead, I live. So, I must already be dead if I cannot be killed." Finally, the blond turned to his constant guardian and companion. His friend he could even be considered.
"Make up can hide these tattoos when I must look like a lesser man, but these are my reminder Tseng."
"…. As you wish, sir."