Smoothly, she slid into the pristine office, frowning at her target.

"And still you work. I beg and plead on hands and..." she trailed, trying to catch his attention. The green eyes remained focused on the papers on the desk while she walked behind, unbuttoning her starched blue suit jacket.

"...knees..." she cooed into his ear. He did not even address her. She dropped the act and tried a less subtle one, pulling her gun on him, aiming at the strikingly straight and untangled hair spilling past his shoulders.
"Stop reading, or I shoot." He did not look, though she knew he could sense the weapon at his back. A long sigh later, the gun was holstered and the deep blue blazer lay strewn across the black leather chaise, in which she never once saw him sit.
"You don't know what you're missing out there, in the world. In our world, that is, not yours," she explained, still behind him, untucking her black shirt and beginning to unbutton it. She paced around the desk, a hungry feline stalking her prey.
"The music, the lights, the dark, the drinks...It's really something else. And tonight, of all nights..."
He scribbled a signature at the bottom of one of the many documents decorating his desk, never stopping to glance up at the figure now leaning on two bare arms at the front of it.
"He is your superior," she reminded in a low voice. "To miss the Vice President's birthday would simply be...callous. He looks up to you so..." she taunted.
"He will not miss me," he replied to the papers.
She rolled her eyes, and resigned herself to the only act that ever resulted in a change of heart for this man. Determination led her to the side of the desk, where she straightened her black tank undershirt before lying back slowly, stretching her body out on top of his desk, his papers, his hands. Her arms came up over her head as she lay on display, her long legs crossed casually on the desk, showing off her new black patent shoes. Papers hidden, he was forced to meet her loaded gaze. Her eyebrow arched, then her back.
"Why would such a strong woman resort to such demeaning behavior?" he asked, tilting his head, but undeniably looking her over.
A throaty laugh accompanied a devilish grin. "Because it works...Even on you, General."
He shook his head, but stood, slowly sliding his hands out from under her back.
At this, she jumped up and off of the desk, grabbing her shirt and jacket from the chaise.
As they left the office, he pulled on his long black coat. "Have you considered that this response is born of pity?"
She turned off the lights and led him through the wide door with a confident smile. "I never said it wasn't. You're driving. And I need to stop by my apartment to change."

"I am not a taxi."

"You won't be sorry. I'll really give you something to pity."

An hour later later, a sleek black car pulled up outside of Calypso, easily the most exclusive club in Midgar. A young valet opened the passenger door and two long legs stepped out on black stilettos. She stood, and straightened her dress: a black strapless number with red detailing and a skirt that ended mid-thigh.
"No one will recognize you," said her date, stepping around the car to meet her.
"Maybe. But I'm always just one of the guys at work. Tonight...I'm not. I'm a single woman with her own money and great legs. Tonight, I plan to use them both."

The Shinra crowd was easy to find: the entire upper level of the club had been reserved for this party. She could see Tseng talking to Scarlet, Palmer eating from a full plate, and Reno speaking into the ear of Rufus Shinra, all from the lower level. The balcony was dimly lit, like the rest of the club. The pair weaved through a growing crowd on the dance floor to the metal staircase.
"You go first. I'll go get a drink," she said, acknowledging what they both knew: they could not arrive together.
Nodding his response, he began ascending the stairs to the VIP balcony. Upon his stepping into the party, the chorus of surprised greetings made her laugh from the bottom of the stairs.
Ten minutes later, a bright red drink in hand, she reached the top of the stairs. Immediately, she could tell that sobriety had made a collective exit. People were laughing loudly, calling across the room to one another, dancing to the drowning music from downstairs. The sight of the looseness made her grin. As she walked through the lounge, she felt several pairs of eyes follow her.
Her target was easy to find, surrounded by her co-workers. Upon seeing her approach, Reno, Rude, and Tseng stepped away from Rufus. She closed the gap between herself and the now staring Vice President.
"Happy birthday, Rufus," she said coolly.
"Thank you. You look...nice," he said, failing to hide his gaze as it traveled up and down her figure.
"So? What was it this year?" she asked, referring to the extravagant gift he received each year from his distanced, disinterested father.
"'You've been a tremendous asset to the company. Happy Birthday,'" he quoted from a black card his father had sent to his office earlier in the day.
This yearly reminder of his father's inattention was familiar to her from her days as his personal bodyguard, a position now held by Reno, who seemed to not yet know of the heartbreaking tradition.
"And? Let me guess. A car? No, that was last year. A servant? No, you have them," she joked, referring to the three Turks leaning against the balcony railing. "I give up."
"A gun."
She closed her eyes and groaned. "Ooh...such symbolism," she sighed, again referring to one of their private understandings. "Well," she said, opening her eyes and meeting his with more warmth this time, "you are an admired man. Try to enjoy the night. It is, of course, all for you. What are you drinking, here?"
Glowing green eyes watched from the corner of the lounge as she spoke to Rufus.
Several moments of light conversation passed before she finally stepped away and let the other Turks wander back in. She exchanged her now-empty glass for two full champagne flutes from a passing waiter's tray. Holding the sparkling glasses by their thin stems, she crossed the room toward the dark corner in which her driver stood, watching the rest of the party.

"Is this all you hoped it would be?" he asked, taking one of the flutes from her fingers.

"This is nothing. This is the warm-up. This is when you make your rounds, do your obligated schmoozing before the faint-of-hearts leave and the atmosphere shifts and you can't see more than a few feet in front of you, and the music is too loud to hear someone calling your name from across the room, and you feel completely isolated, despite being surrounded by people. It gets under your skin and eats away at your inhibitions until you become a wickedly pure version of yourself."
A moment of silence passed between them as he processed her description.
Eventually, he asked into her ear, "Who, exactly, stays for that?"
"The first rule of the experience is that it is considered universally anonymous. That's the beauty of the thing. But, if you must know, it's usually the VP and his trio, Reno, Rude, and Tseng. Scarlet has stayed. Reeve stayed once. If any SOLDIERs show, they usually stick around. Actually, I have to talk to Tseng for a minute. And probably Scarlet. When the fog rolls in, I'll find you. Take your coat off, stay a while," she said into his ear before inhaling the trademark muted scent of his aftershave mingled with leather.
She was not gone long before several executives said their happy-birthdays and goodbyes to the vice president. The music faded out into silence, and the many conversations occurring around the club dwindled into an anticipatory quiet. Reno, who was directly in her line of sight, gave a wicked smile and arched his eyebrow. She smiled and nodded back just before the entire club went black.
Cheers and celebratory howls filled the pitch black building. An artificial cool fog spread throughout the building. After a full minute of darkness, laser lights, strobes, and multi-colored hanging lamps sparked on accompanied by drastically louder music. This was the world she had promised.