Equilibrium:
Equilibrium:
Chanel Surfing
To my readers,
The following was written to "Burning Bright" by Shinedown. I was going to have the last chapter as two. After some thought I decided to merge them, cutting back and forth from past and present as needed. It also solved the "Title" problem... you wouldn't believe how hard it is to think up a decent title for each and every chapter. Kinda longish, but when you meld two into one you generally get one long segment rather than two medium sized bits. Don't worry, this isn't the end of the Shinra project I'm pulling off, just an end of this particular "storyline" that's been going on.
Kasan Soulblade
Rufus lounged on one side, hand extended, the remote control in his hand pointed like a gun at the screen. One button press later and the Mako metropolis newsperson went mute. The speaker behind her desk shuffled papers and looked importantly upon some point beyond the camera. He met that professionally detached zeal with a blank look. The camera panned out and he pushed up on one elbow to better see the persons on the screen.
The fat man, it seemed, had left the office for once and was putting on a speech for the masses. Keeping the volume on mute he watched for a few moments, then dropped his gaze to better see how the mako fueled images painted the wood floor with a glaze of flickering, translucent, color.
From some point behind him there came the scritch of pen on paper. The sound had been slowing ever since he killed the volume, clearly the writer was distracted by something. But distraction was easily toned out, and the pen picked up pace once more. Not bothering to look up from his work the man in the back of the room cleared his throat.
"Rufus, if you insist on watching television while you are here at least put something tasteful on."
"I can't, the Metrop's taken all the stations over for the Fat Man's explanatory speach."
"Wonderful, so channel six has been overridden."
He rolled slightly, so he could see the man behind the desk. A pale face looked beyond him, was locked on the silent figures on the screen. Expressionless despite holding host to a multitude of facets that could say much, the Turk looked bloodless despite his veins being home to the red streams of two whole heritages.
"I'll let you know when your antique show starts back up on, the TV guild says that the speach should only be on for another half hour or so, you'll at least get to see the latter half."
Silence, a raised brow, but with that one gesture gratitude was conveyed.
Rolling over to better watch the silent mouthings of the one man and woman dancing the same old boring political dance Rufus cracked a grin. He'd already read his father's planed speech. Some lack wit with a sharp tongue had written it, and if the heir hadn't lost his touch reading lips old man Shinra hadn't deviated from it yet. Granted, the TV screen with it's painful brightness made lip reading a little hard, but adversity on that scale couldn't kill. Rufus watched the President's lips move mutely, unwittingly parotting what he read with his own lips.
"Rufus, your control is slipping. If you must speak the words in your throat, but never let them touch your lips."
Wincing a bit at that reprimand Rufus clamped his lips together, willing them to stay still. He "read" in silence, no longer drawing amusement from his little past time. Finally, when the program went off to a commercial break Rufus let himself slump back on the wooden floor of Tseng's office. It just didn't seem worth it to hold up his own end right then.
"How are those forged death certificates coming?" He asked quietly
"Well," Tseng sighed, "unfortunately not all are artifice. The current president's actions have cost me a few of my people."
"Well if you're planning another vengeance run let me know a few days in advance." Rufus ordered. Then, when silence met his demand he corrected himself. "If that's feasible, or even an option."
"I thought you had enough of vengeance, certainly seeing the President humbled was en-"
"Was seeing the old man humbled enough for you Tseng?" Rufus asked, cutting his Turk off with both words and a little growl to his tone. "Was it enough? Is it going to bring back Alex, or Lis's team, or any of them? Are they going to come back because the fat man got slapped down?"
"No. But his death won't bring them back either." The Turk reminded the boy in a somber tone.
"I know that." Rufus snapped. "I'm not stupid. Angry yes, stupid no."
The young Shinra curled on his side, as if warding off a blow. To that Tseng said nothing, but his pen stilled, his writing stopped. All he was doing now was filling in the dates of death and signing the final pages to mark each segment as official. Turks offered no condolences to the family members of the fallen, they never had nor would they over so long as he ran things. Sentimental drivel, final rites, even religious ritual... all were banned in every branch of the Turks. You had to be willing to raid the pockets and homes of the "honored" dead and do so unflinchingly. Remorse could get you killed, and sentimental thinking was the same as suicide in an assassin's guild.
And for all it's spit and polish, all it's genteel trappings, the Turks were part spy, part killer.
Morals had no place in the lives of either.
"I imagine a few blotched projects and a few leaks ignored... as well as our continued support of the neo-insurgence project will be damage and vengeance enough."
"I liked my name better," Rufus complained, "the Wallace Project has a pleasant ring to it. Neo-insurgence is too damning."
"So is your name. At least with mine," Tseng countered a thin note reproach ran in his tone, "it does not destroy the person in charge of the insurgence. And if asked about it openly I can at least spin a lie about the Turks working on an Anti-neo-insurgence project..."
"It's a mouthful, but its your tongue you're biting out to say it." Rufus conceded with a chuckle.
Warmed to good humor at the argument adverted -and done so subtly besides!- Tseng's lips curled into a smile that wasn't wholly made of ice.
"That," The Turk agreed, both submitting and asserting authority in one move, "it is."
Silence reigned, and satisfied by it's flavoring of contentment Tseng picked up his pen and was about to go back to his work when-
"You know, I think Wutia politics must have been funner than Continental. We're all flash and shows of power, I guess we're pretty savage compared to the word dance and double dealing games the Wutai play."
"I wouldn't know, I wasn't raised in Wutia proper." Tseng confessed with a shrug.
With a quiet snort of amusement Rufus turned so he was facing the screen again.
XXX
The gun spun upon it's side after a minimal span of skipping. Made of polished black steel, it did so with only the faintest of hisses. Handle to barrel, it turned in a one sided fall so that it pointed at the President grip first. One weapon discarded, Tseng pulled out the chair that was set before him. At his beckoning the woozy heir took the seat that was mutely offered. As Rufus folded into the chair with only a bare ghost of his old elegance hanging around him, Alex Shinra's eyes thinned into slits of hate.
"They back you now boy, but wait, they'll turn on you the second you're weak."
Setting one arm on the table, using it to brace himself so he didn't pitch forward, Rufus managed a scowl that conveyed all his hate. "Mr. President, don't damn your cause so soon, you're already in deep."
"How dare you!" Surging to his feet the President made as if to strode across the room and deliver a blow to his son. In response Tseng took a half step back- "You see, they don't support you, your their tool, a pawn, a weakling, you've never been worth anyth-"
A glint of light on steel, and Alex stepped back, a long length of sharpened steel pointed at his throat.
"I advise you, sir, to stand down." Tseng murmured in the most docile of tones. His black demon-slant eyes told another tale. They were empty of everything, save hate. "It would behoove you to refrain from laying hand on the President, sir."
"The President, that brat, you're mad, the whole lot of-"
"If he tries anything feel free to disembowel him, Tseng." Rufus informed his Turk in a cheery -if exhaustion laden- tone.
It was then, seeing hate from black and blue eyes, by the light of that naked length of steel that Alex Shinra saw the reality standing before him. Death, it is said, could have a sobering effect on those who encounter it. To those who it is promised to, with hate attached, it was more than a bucket of cold water to the face. Rather, realization is the cumulating of every withdraw and hangover of a lifetime delivered in one second.
"Now than, sir." Rufus said, his tone cooler than the ice his gaze was said to embody. "Please be seated, we've much to cover and little time to spare."
XXX
Reconstruction of the company would be offered, a purging of the Turks commenced. but this would be controlled, tightly overseen by the man who had been held captive by his rebellious subordinates. Tseng had become something of a tragic figure in all of this. Held at gun point, sacrificing everything to get a hold of the Vice President's son, the boy risking his father's legendary ire had delivered the bad news. Hence, why response had been so slow. Had the apology -or cover story- had one word of truth in it Rufus might have turned the volume on just to listen in. Since he knew it was pure lie he listlessly flipped through the stations and was confronted with his father's face at every turn.
"So, how's it feel to be a hero, Tseng?" Rufus had asked upon finishing his read through the President's speech.
"A hero, me?" The Turk had been shrugging off his outermost coat. Underneath had been a navy blue vest, the coat of the same color that had been draped over the vest was sprawled over the back of his chair. The contrasts to the blue on blue were the white of his oxford shirt and the black line his tie made down his chest. He had turned to better see the heir, and his lips had quirked in amusement at Rufus' odd pronouncement. "Whatever for?"
Rufus had provided the script, the speech, and Tseng had gone over it. A lesser man might have expressed amusement at the multitude of lies, Tseng had only read through it, dissected it with his gaze, than had handed it back.
"Distasteful, he lies through his teeth and that will only be fuel for the fires."
"Fire can be useful." Rufus had noted.
"Yes, I suppose, just don't get caught playing amongst the flames." The half Wutai had cautioned.
"No Wutia proverb?" The heir had teased.
The murderer's eyes had softened at that sally. The Turk hadn't allowed his lips to curl though. Still there was a glint in the eyes told Rufus that had they both not been on the clock those lips might have been graced with a smile. "Some other time, Rufus-sama, when I'm not so busy."
Neither had gone through the dance of ignorance, to ask why Rufus was here rather than at his father's side or even in his own office. They both knew why, and silently acknowledged it. So Rufus had taken his place on the floor of Tseng's office and the Turk had taken the seat behind his desk to catch up with the various tasks that were involved with the running of the shadowy side of the Shinra Company.
"You never answered me." Rufus noted into the silence. He'd closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look at the image of his father.
The pen slowed once more, as the person who guided it was distracted by that odd pronouncement.
"About what, Rufus?" Tseng queered.
"About what it feels like to be a hero. You never answered that."
"Ahh, that." There came a click followed by another click that had something of a clack to it. The pens' tip had been sheathed, the writing tool had been set aside. "Well, I am most certainly not that, a hero. I am a Turk, there is a world of difference."
"Not to the public there isn't."
"If being a hero means being tailed by the paparazzi as are you and the current president are than I'd have as little to do with the righteous as humanly possible." Tseng said. There came a sigh of steel being pushed across wood. The Turk found his feet soundlessly. "I am going to get some coffee from the lounge, did you want some?"
"No thanks."
Rufus could feel the heat of light of the mako driven television, he could see flickers of color from the screen under his mostly closed lids. Turning from that poor man's version of illumination Rufus sighed.
"Have you had anything to eat since the SOLDIER raid of your apartment?" Tseng asked.
"I haven't been hungry." Rufus admitted. "Just tired."
"Then, I believe I'll pick you up something to eat and some tea as well."
"Not some herbal "for better physical and spiritual health" Wutia junk tea." Rufus groaned, cracking an eye open to better half glare at his bodyguard.
The glare that met his own, one filled with protective authority and a "damned if I don't do what I want to" attitude made Rufus wince, just a little.
"Your protection on all levels is my responsibility." Tseng said coldly. "You are not to argue with me about my methods."
Dropping his gaze Rufus sighed. "Yessir."
XXX
It was a long and hard meeting, and it took all of his untried courage to face down a man who wanted nothing more than to break his throat in thick unforgiving hands. And through it all he had to hold to composure, to icy detachment, to fail in control and show fear was the same as to admit he'd lost.
And losing this fight wasn't an option.
With one ally guarding his back and one ally at his feet he leaned forward, daring the roaring dual-horns grasp and hate all for the pose that would best express his superiority.
Never mind all the times in his life those hands had struck him. Never mind the threats that had been uttered and the threats that had been carried out. He was -for the moment- to forget that the death of his mother was due to the bastard.
It was a hard task that he'd been set to, hard to contemplate duty when absolute power had (by purest chance!) fallen into his hands. All he wanted to do was order the Turk's to rip the bastard's intestinal track with his sword. Failing that, a decapitation or two would do nicely. Temptation was there, he could taste it on his lips like he had tasted many fine wines, and for a second he savored the fantasy of the fat man dead. Twisted form lying in a pool of it's own innards, red everywhere... Then, with a rueful smile, he shook his head.
"Sir," Rufus addressed his father as he would a foreign business associate who'd put his foot in it. "the wrongs you've done against the Turks of the Shinra Company are very long and varied indeed. I can hardly see what you have in your possession that could compensate for the deaths of dozens and the destruction the Turk's headquarters and reputation."
"What I've done!" Alex Shinra roared. "Compared to what they've done-"
"There actions were merely a mirror to your own. And you've been warned, and that alone should say something." When stupefied eyes met his own Rufus allowed his lips to curl ever so slightly. "Had they wanted to deal you cold-blooded retribution only, why would they bother? You were warned, and considering the nature of the organization that you founded and have supported for years... perhaps some residual company loyalty still exists."
Mouth opening and closing on nothing, no words came from the man, no sounds. The president looked at his son the same way he'd look upon a stranger who had pulled a fully loaded, materia enhanced, magnum on him.
"If it does, I'd suggest exploiting it." Lifting a hand Rufus studied his nails, as if they were of great importance and the pale President anything but. "But then I'm a neutral party on this. I don't support the Turk's wholeheartedly, nor do I fear them, but selfishly speaking I'd like the company to stay in one piece so I don't spend half a life-time fixing up what you've screwed up." Tapping one thin finger against his lower lip Rufus frowned, as if a distasteful thought had come to him. "Provided that you haven't screwed things up beyond the point of fixing. If that's the case than you, Mr. Tseng, have my express permission to bring the tower down. We could always make something less grandiose, and Reeve has been nattering on about needing good steel for re-fortifying the third Mako reactor. It would be a shame if a third of our revenue when out the window due to a structural problem left untended because of laziness."
With a purr Dark Nation set his head on his master's lap, and with a warm smile Rufus dropped his gaze from the President's wide eyes and scrittched the feline behind the ears. For a time the only sounds in the meeting room were the feline's purr and soft whisper of fingers running over fur.
From the back of the room Tseng spoke, it was the first words he'd said upon escorting the heir to his seat.
"It is currently nine fifteen; I'll be leaving the company at ten o' clock sharp
While it wasn't quite subtle it brought the point home. Rufus smirked as the fat man snarled.
"You heard him, time's money, and you're wasting both sir, so why don't we get to the manner of cases. Mr. Tseng, did you bring me a copy of the TEP paperwork?"
"Unfortunately no, Mr. Shinra."
"Oh well, we'll work around that." Rufus said brightly. "I'm confident you read the paperwork and are willing to give me briefing as well as a summation of your losses that came into place since that policy was set in motion? Once you've done that I'm sure we can make some sort of compromise."
XXX
He'd been escorted to a chair in the break room. All around him were people dressed in stark blue suits with black ties slung around their necks. Even the sole woman at the table was so attired, wearing pants instead of a skirt. Greetings were exchanged, friendly warm salutations, and as they were being tendered Tseng departed. He returned a few moments later, a bowl of ramen and rice was set before his charge. Two cups of tea was set and simmering a hands length away from where both Turk and Executive sat.
"No shadows?" Rufus asked, drawing on Turk slang to describe the few Turks who were loyal to Heidegger.
"Naw." Kicking his feet up on the edge of the table the red haired Turk with bright green eyes smirked. "Found the reception too chilly for 'em."
"Reno, put you're feet down." Growled a bald, brown, Turk. "You're scuffing up the-"
"Rude, shove it." Reno snapped. "I'm on my effing break, in the effing Turk break room, if I wanted too I could play bullet roulette with an automatic and no one would care 'cept the custodian."
The scents of coffee hung in the air, coffee, tea, and a whisper of whisky. Scenting the last Tseng's eyes pressed into slits of distaste. He all but skewered his underlings with the power of his gaze alone. Mutely demanding confessions and promising punishments all in the same squinting of eyes he combed the room with his eyes.
Blooded Turks went pale, found distant non-existent scenery to study, and Rude went an interesting shade darker than was his norm. Seeing that look, and how it differed from all the others, Tseng stood, zeroed in on his underling.
Checking a smile at Reno's conspiratorial wink, Rufus just applied himself to the food set in front of him and kept his head down.
There was going to be fireworks, brimstone, and hell, all in one go, and it was all going to come down on one man's head. Glad that it wasn't his head (this time) the heir simply slurped soup and kept an eye on the show.
XXX
As the talk wore on there was an obvious lack of attention on the fat man's part. His gaze kept darting to the gun on the table, then, with a hundred signs to serve as warning the fat man's thick hands stretched forward in a desperate grab. Alex Shirna trained Tseng's gun on his son, and all talk stopped. The heartfelt snarl of hate clawed out of the elder Shinra's throat, that snarl was met by the black mass at Rufus' feet. Seeing that hate, seeing it openly with no one to appease and nothing to lose Rufus met hate with hate. He flipped his father the double bird and let out a laugh when the fool pulled the trigger.
The click of trigger meeting nothing told the whole story. The empty gun spoke volumes of alliance and trust, and of betrayal.
Letting his own lips curl in a smile Tseng set his hand on the heir's shoulder.
"As you suspected, Mr. President, your current stand-in is most defiantly lacking of vision and comprehension."
"Yes, Mr. Tseng, that he does. But he serves my purpose, for the time being." Setting his hand on the angry panther-hound's head Rufus made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. "Down 'Nation, sit."
'Nation sat; the click of still drawn claws rasping the cement told all present how reluctantly that order was obeyed.
"Sir?" Rufus lifted one hand then gently lowered it. The motions he used now were the same he used when publicly ordering his pet to sit and heel. "You should be seated."
The insult was apparent, blatant, and Alex Shinra quivered in indignation.
"I am not running this company at your convenience!" The current president howled.
"Actually, yes, you do. But I imagine the word "legacy" means nothing to you, so I suppose I should spend some time trying to each you the basic definitions of reality. Listen closely; I don't repeat myself to simpletons." Letting his hand fall from Nation's head the vice president leaned back in his chair, his eyes half closed, his breathing slow and steady, as he thought. "We live, we die, the most powerful and the most weak. That's the universal law. Fear is the most powerful emotion, and it binds everything in this pathetic planet together. And the only thing that keeps the weak in line is fear, but you have to be careful in application. Too much and they run away and die, too little and they trust in you to be weak. So you cut a balance between being a tyrant and being a saint, because unpredictability has the longest record of keeping people in line.
But, you know what? No matter how well you play your games it's all a matter of keeping track of time. Work, life, love, everything's finite and subjective, empires crumble –even the one that bares our last name-, and even after you die I still have my mortality to face down. So don't waste time with vengeance. I'll die eventually, probably from some young "upstart" with a gun and a want for my blood. I accept that, I've accepted that for years. It's survival of the fittest, and you, fat man, aren't good enough anymore."
"When this is over you're a dead man." Alex promised his son with a snarl.
Throwing the useless gun to the floor perhaps the president expected to entice a jolt of shock –or better yet fear- from his son. Rufus didn't flinch, he only looked to his sire and blinked. The gesture was slow, extracted, and loaded with meaning. But somewhere along the line Alex Shirna had discarded the book of translation, he'd severed the ties of their blood with paranoia born hate and they hung limp and useless. Silken red lines were a shriveled mess of dull brown, of dried blood…
"Actually, I'm not. I can hardly imagine the Turk's flocking to your banner, and you need them you fool, even if everyone says you don't. The company would collapse in a fortnight. Furthermore, if you don't take them back they'll deliberately destroy the company from the outside in. I, for one, would like to inherit something. But if you don't want to have a place to work or call home feel free to adjourn this little meeting here and now." Looking past his father, to the world beyond the room, Rufus' tone became abstract. "If I can't have the world I'll settle for seeing as much of it as I can."
Tseng offered no comment to that. The man offered a nod and perhaps the look he cast the heir was one of respect.
"Due to the Vice President's unwavering loyalty to the Turks, it would not be unfeasible for us to offer a long term contract with him and him alone. If anything untoward were to happen to him though…" The Turk looked down at the President, his eyes alight with the passion of dealing death. As genuine and heartfelt as only a killer could display. "Rufus' death would be little more than a catalyst. We would begin this cycle again at such a prompt. Without cessation."
The last went beyond mere threat, it was a promise.
XXX
It was pathetic, juvenile yes, but pathetic besides. At least the adolescent could claim they were "trying" and the lackluster preformence or end product could be laid claim to inexperience. But this was pathetic, and so much so that it bordered on parady. Setting the report aside, looking at his father from the corner of his eye, the hier had to check a smile at the hypocracy of it all.
"Turks broke into my room, torched the place, killed my secretary's subsitute, destroyed my lap top, and left letters in spray paint saying they did it?"
"Yes, yes, horrible isn't it?"
Horribly executed, he almost said, but didn't. Paternal duties done for the moment Alex waved a hand, mutely dismissing his child as if he would shoe off a fly.
In all of Rufus' recolection that was the most civil conversation that had passed between them in the last five years. Running a hand throug his hair, Rufus turned abruptly to study the darkening grey sky. Dancing on the dagger fine edge of outrage and amusement, his control could slip, so Rufus turned away. Clenching and unclenching his hands, the younger Shinra stared at the slate hued sky with unblinking, burning, eyes.
"You're expected on in ten minutes, boy, go up and answer thier questions."
Answer the questions you're too damned lazy to answer yourself!
"Power has it's price, if you're going to be a vice president of this company boy, you'd best start earning that pay."
As if I hadn't been "earning" it already, I'm not at your damned beck and call, you bastard!
"- and don't deviate from the script..."
At that prompt Rufus let out a harsh laugh. It was colder than the chilliest night in the eternally winter bound"Icicle Area", he turned from the window, let his father see some of his scorn in his expression.
"I wouldn't dream of... deviating... from your lies, father."
Pretending not to be phased by the tone -perhaps truly untouched by the open hate that was shown- Alex Shinra leaned back into the embrace of his throne. The mamoth chair that marked his place as president was a throne made of black leather and gold highlights. The desk set before the chair was a dark hue, stained to an artificial brown-black. Intimidation was it's goal, size and darkness were supposed to be factors that inspired fear, but the doughy man wedged between those symbols was a joke. Tilting his head to the side, Rufus really looked at his father and decided that the man looked like an overdressed marshmellow about to be smashed between two boulders.
"Get out of here, get to work."
The fat man waved a hand, not even bothering to look his son in the eye. Rufus nodded, then turned on his heel, his hands shaking despite the fact he held them clenched into fists. He took the elevator, though the stairway would have been a thousand times faster, and the second those steel doors hissed closed behind him he paced the confines of is self confinement like a raging panther-hound. When the doors finally hissed open at his destination Rufus was somewhat taken aback to find two Turks standing at attention on either side of the door. He'd half expected two SOLDIERS considering his father's preferences.
These weren't "dress" Turks either. Armed to the teeth, knife hilts poked out from thier pockets, a pulsing rythem of many colors licked at thier wrists, like a mako battery watch gone mad. They were clad in the comforting shades of navy blue, and in thier steady hands rested materia laden shotguns. Without prompting the taller one turned to him, the black shades obscuring his eyes.
"Sir, Tseng sent us, we're your escorts for the press conference." The tone was bland, without inflection, as if the speaker were an automation and not a man. Some Turks were like that on the job, Rude certianly was, it helped them keep their sanity during thier darker work.
"I salute your superior for his fore-sight." Rufus hazarded. "Would you please tell the SOLDIERS on duty that they are dismissed."
"Sir," The senior Turk noted in that no-tone voice, "there were no SOLDIERS."
To that innocent seeming announcement Rufus' face flushed crimson. His hands shook with rage. That bastard, first ordering his rooms destroyed than sending him into a mob (and it would be a mob, in all senses of the word) without anyone to guard his back! Taking a deep breath, willing the rage down, Rufus shoved his shaking hands into his coat pockets.
He smiled then, a brittle hate filled smile, and to that the Turks looked at him and shifted a half step.
Honor your script, you jack-ass? Damned if I will after you try to throw me to the damned wolves without a guard! I'll honor your god-damned script all right!
"Well then gentlemen, shall we be off?" Rufus asked. His eyes were alight with the heady passion that was hate.
Two silent salutes met his pronouncement, and Rufus turned on his heel, storming towards the glass enterance of the Shinra building. Plans to make his father seem the stupid ass he really was were forming on his mind even as the opening words of salutation and formal greetings were forming on his lips.
"Just go down there and show the company and the world that it has a vice-president and everything is back to normal." Alex Shirna had ordered.
"I'll show them that they have a vice president!" Rufus hissed to himself as that final space was passed and the glass doors were slugish in thier opening. His tone was shaking as badly as his hands at the moment. "And you damned well better be watching!"
XXX
Alone, in his office, the president stood and after a moment's thought he walked to the glass window. He looked down, and seeing that the small speck in white was approuching a sea of black bearing flashes he grunted. Satisfied that his orders were being followed Alex Shinra threw himself into his chair and picked up the remote. He toyed with the idea of pressing the TV's "on" button, to watching what the current Vice President said. But after a moment of consideration he decided against it. He'd done enough work for one day, and the boy was nothing without the Turks manipulating him. Licking his lips, the president considered his now free schedule, with no board meetings or press confrences to oversee he didn't have a thing to do. There was nothing to keep him here... Nothing except, perhaps...
Reaching over he pressed down on the red button imbedded on his desk.
"Mrs. Yuka," He purred, seeing in his mind the sleek thing that was seving as his secretary at the moment. "if you could report to my office for a few moments?"
XXX
"Well boy, your upper plate brat didn't do half bad after all."
The room was dark, the lights were dead. Seated in Tseng's chair and savoring every moment off of his aching feet Veld nursed a half drained glass of wine in one knobbly hand. The de-seated Turk in question said nothing to his superior's praise. His slit thing eyes were half closed, his palid face bathed in the colors offered up by the television's screen. The Turk was an image of perfect disinterest, abstract eyes, limp hands, for all intents and purposes no one was home. Veld, knowing better, let out a cold chuckle. One "limp hand" was petting, the swaying motion was that of fingers caressing dark black fur in near pitch darkness.
At last, as if drawn out under pain of torture, the wrods came. Squeezed out one by one, thick with accent, and shined with pride. "No, he did not. He did not fail, nor does he fail now."
"It's not over, not yet, and they heard my voice." Veld noted. With an absent and pain inspiring roll of his wrist he set the red wine to shivering in it's crystaline confines. "Old man Shinra heard it, and he knew it for what it was."
"And what will he try a dead man for?" Tseng countered. "For killing a woman he now betrays at every chance he gets, for the woman whom he openly scorned even before her body had cooled? He has little to fear of you, or from you, so let him know and wonder and lose sleep over your reappearence."
"He might try to bring you down again my boy, he might strike out again but be more thurough about it."
With a shrug Tseng set the glass to his lips and drained it all in one pass.
"Let him try." The Wutia growled with quiet hate. "As he always has, the result is ever predictable."