-Grace-
I don't own FF7, blah blah blah legal stuff, blah blah blah.
Neither of them knew. Not Vincent, not Hojo, not anybody. //And nobody ever will.//
The mirror in Hojo's quarters was cracked, Lucrecia noticed with disgust, and one could tell that the previous owner had repainted the border - the white paint marred the mirror's surface in many places, and the uneven finish stood out even in the dim light. She had been annoyed to find that while Hojo kept his laboratories well-lit, his bedroom offered only an antique lamp with no shade, and a lightbulb that flickered every now and again.
No grace at all, she thought, running a comb through her light brown curls. She turned on her stool to survey the crowded room, and not without an arrogant smirk. Hojo was a man of high status, but he lived like.. //slum filth,// she concluded with a haughty sniff, turning back to the mirror. In the weeks before she had begun spending her time in his quarters, she had often wondered if his parents had lived in the slums: he had no manners, often used inappropriate language and had a slovenly appearance; but he obviously had had the money to attend Midgar University. Good schools were expensive, but there was only one college on the Planet, and the amount it had cost her to attend even one semester was more than many of Nibelheim's residents would make in their entire lives.
Despite all that, he wasn't as intelligent as he was made out to be; therefore money alone must have gotten him into the University - perhaps with a touch of reputation. In fact, Lucrecia, although she was only a training scientist and was not allowed so much as a glimpse at a few of Hojo's projects, had been astonished to find that she was a great deal more learned than he. //I can't understand why he's so highly respected,// she thought, setting her glasses as the base of the mirror. //Certainly not for his charm.// She could distinctly remember three times - no more, no less - that he had even attempted charm, and each time he had failed. The roses were wilting, the chocolates were cheap, the wine was already half-drunk.
//By him.// Lucrecia hung her lab coat up its wooden hook, crooked on the water-stained wall, and nearly tripped on an empty whiskey bottle. Alchoholism was one thing that the petite scientist hated above all else, but she had not told him - she needed him.
"Because you love him?" That was what Vincent Valentine had said when she'd told him about Hojo. With a resolute sigh, she'd slumped her shoulders and nodded, but it wasn't true. Hojo was her puppet, just as she was his.
~~~
End! TBC, quite possibly. Depends on the reviews, I guess. I'm not terribly proud of it :|.
I don't own FF7, blah blah blah legal stuff, blah blah blah.
Neither of them knew. Not Vincent, not Hojo, not anybody. //And nobody ever will.//
The mirror in Hojo's quarters was cracked, Lucrecia noticed with disgust, and one could tell that the previous owner had repainted the border - the white paint marred the mirror's surface in many places, and the uneven finish stood out even in the dim light. She had been annoyed to find that while Hojo kept his laboratories well-lit, his bedroom offered only an antique lamp with no shade, and a lightbulb that flickered every now and again.
No grace at all, she thought, running a comb through her light brown curls. She turned on her stool to survey the crowded room, and not without an arrogant smirk. Hojo was a man of high status, but he lived like.. //slum filth,// she concluded with a haughty sniff, turning back to the mirror. In the weeks before she had begun spending her time in his quarters, she had often wondered if his parents had lived in the slums: he had no manners, often used inappropriate language and had a slovenly appearance; but he obviously had had the money to attend Midgar University. Good schools were expensive, but there was only one college on the Planet, and the amount it had cost her to attend even one semester was more than many of Nibelheim's residents would make in their entire lives.
Despite all that, he wasn't as intelligent as he was made out to be; therefore money alone must have gotten him into the University - perhaps with a touch of reputation. In fact, Lucrecia, although she was only a training scientist and was not allowed so much as a glimpse at a few of Hojo's projects, had been astonished to find that she was a great deal more learned than he. //I can't understand why he's so highly respected,// she thought, setting her glasses as the base of the mirror. //Certainly not for his charm.// She could distinctly remember three times - no more, no less - that he had even attempted charm, and each time he had failed. The roses were wilting, the chocolates were cheap, the wine was already half-drunk.
//By him.// Lucrecia hung her lab coat up its wooden hook, crooked on the water-stained wall, and nearly tripped on an empty whiskey bottle. Alchoholism was one thing that the petite scientist hated above all else, but she had not told him - she needed him.
"Because you love him?" That was what Vincent Valentine had said when she'd told him about Hojo. With a resolute sigh, she'd slumped her shoulders and nodded, but it wasn't true. Hojo was her puppet, just as she was his.
~~~
End! TBC, quite possibly. Depends on the reviews, I guess. I'm not terribly proud of it :|.