"Well, boy?" Shinra leaned back in his chair as he watched his son step into his office.
"Sir?" Rufus cocked his head to the side, but kept his eyes carefully glued to the floor.
"How did things go with Hojo? You didn't make a nuisance of yourself again, I trust?" Shinra's tone made it clear what he expected that answer to be.
"Good, sir. No, sir." Rufus said nothing more as he stood resentfully across from his father.
"Hmm. I'll get a complete report from Hojo in the morning," Shinra said, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Be sure you're not late for lessons in the morning. That will be all."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Rufus turned smartly on his heel and walked out of the office. Out in the hallway, however, he lost his veneer of calm and gave free, if quiet, vent to his emotions.
"Why don't you just say it, Father," he hissed to the walls. "Just say that you don't love me. That you hate me. That the only reason you don't have me killed is because it would make your polls go down. Why, Father?" he cried in muted anguish. "What did I do?" Tears of pure frustration poured down his cheeks, creating dark spots in his white jacket. "Why are you constantly second-guessing me, checking me behind my back? Why can't you just accept for one minute that what I say might be the truth? Why?"
"Ain't no point in askin' why, kid. I'm 'bout twice your age, and I'm still askin'. Betcha yer father's wonderin' the same thing, but fer different reasons."
"Who-?" Rufus spun around, nearly crashing into the man leaning against the wall behind him.
"Don't really matter much, who I am," the man said, lighting a cigarette. "Want one?" he asked, holding the carton out. Rufus shook his head.
"I'm not allowed to smoke."
"Huh. Shoulda guessed." The man tucked the box back in his jacket pocket. "Looks like we just keep runnin' into each other, don't it?"
"Yes, sir," Rufus replied, trying to think where he had seen this man before. He looked familiar, but he just couldn't place it.
"Only the first time ya were in this hall, ya were a bleedin' wreck, if I recall."
That was it. Rufus ducked his head in shame as the memories came rushing back.
Reno watched the boy with mild interest. Here was a child who hadn't learned the advantage of hiding his emotions. And yet, it gave him an almost endearing quality, like that of an innocent who hadn't yet learned life's most basic teachings. He snorted with bitter mirth. That would be changed all too soon.
"You're, lessee, ah," Reno's brow furrowed as he searched for the name. "Rufus, right?"
"Yessir." Rufus looked up at him, wiping away the tracks his tears had left. "Who are you?"
"That don't matter," Reno said idly.
"But, that doesn't seem fair, if you know who I am," Rufus protested.
"Life ain't fair, kid. 'S'one of the first things ya gotta learn." Reno narrowed his eyes as he remembered another life, only months ago, when he had learned that same lesson. "Ya try livin' all fair and I'm tellin' ya, yer gonna get crushed. Life don't wait fer no one to figger out what's fair. It just keeps movin', and if yer in it's way, it'll move right on over ya."
"Yessir."
"None of this 'sir' crap, all right?" Reno snapped. "If ye gotta call me something, call me Reno. There's some people who'd tell ya to call me otherwise, but ya ain't supposed to know words like that. Got it?"
"Yessi- yes, Reno."
"Good. Now, yer what, nine? ten?"
"Nine."
"Well, what d'ya know. Yer only, lessee, eight years younger than I am." Reno raised an eyebrow. Was he ever young like that? Innocent? No. The streets had stolen that from him. He had been forced into an age older than his tender years early on. There hadn't been anything but pain in his childhood. Not that it mattered anymore. None of it mattered now.
"You're only seventeen, sir?" Rufus asked hesitantly.
"Yep. Don't seem it, I know. 'S'cuz I was raised by the streets, and she don't show no mercy fer anyone who don't grow up fast." He flicked his cigarette, watching the ashes fall gently down onto the light gray carpet. "You got any friends, kid?"
Rufus shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor.
"Huh. Well, neither did I. Growing up in the slums, ya didn't have friends. Ya had yer fellow gang members, and ya had yer rivals. Anyone else, well, they didn't matter, cuz they weren't out ta kill ya." Suddenly, Reno realized what he had been saying. He brought himself sharply back to the present, throwing out a quick glance at the President's son. "See ya 'round, kid." Without waiting to hear Rufus' protests, or explain his abrupt exit, Reno turned and walked down the corridor, out of sight. Rufus stood for a moment longer, then shrugged and returned to his room.
Throwing himself over the bed, he reached underneath and fished around until he found what he was looking for. Carefully, he drew out a large package wrapped in brown paper. He had paid one of his father's SOLDIERs to get it for him when he went into Wall Market, some strange eyed, spiky haired guy.
Pausing only to check that his door was locked, Rufus set to unwrapping the package with care. The lock would not keep his father out, but it would let the servants and SOLDIERs know he was not to be bothered.
Inside the paper was a large canvas stretched over a wooden frame and a set of oil paints. Another parcel contained several fine brushes of assorted thickness. Making sure to remove his jacket first, Rufus opened the paint containers and set them out on his desk. He set the blank canvas out, staring at it thoughtfully, then set to work. His blue eyes narrowed with concentration as he strove to recall details. White shirt- so. Navy jacket, unbuttoned- so. Left hand- so, right hand- thus, with the cigarette hanging- so.
Now for the harder part. Green eyes, filled with light. Thin face, attractive, narrow features, skin- so. He took a deep breath, then took the red paint in hand and mixed it with just the slightest amount of black. He thought back to the way a lock of unruly red hair fell into his eyes, the careless ponytail that held it back. The shades that perched cockily on his head.
Finaly, after hours of work and refinement, Rufus sat back in his chair to view the end result. Standing there on the canvas, from the waist up, Reno was caught with a cigarette half way to his lips. His green eyes, open and looking at nothing, showed only the barest hint of the pain Rufus had seen there. His left hand rested lightly on the strange rod he had seen him carrying, presumably his personal weapon. On his left side, there was a slight bulge in his jacket; Rufus wasn't sure, but he thought it safe to assume it was a gun.
He stared at the picture a moment longer, then set it on his desk. With deliberate care, he washed off the brushes, closed the paints and rewrapped the entire parcel in it's brown paper before sliding it back under his bed. His father knew nothing about his painting, but Rufus held no doubts as to what he would do if he found out that his son was "wasting his time" with such things. Shinra's appreciation for the arts amounted to nil; he considered it them a waste of time and money, two of his most valued assets. Unfortunately, Rufus had shown great promise early on and as he grew, so did his desire to better his skills. So as a result, he had to turn to bribing SOLDIERs and servants to sneak materials to him, and every moment he spent with his brushes and paper was one he spent looking anxiously over his shoulder.
He sighed, putting his jacket back on. In ten minutes, it would be time for supper, another hour seated across hate personified. He checked to make sure there were no paint stains on his white clothes to give away his secret, then opened the door into the hall.
White was a terribly impractical color, he reflected as he walked down the hall towards the dining room. But he refused to wear red, as was to his father's tastes. He found that he detested the color, and so opted for white; he knew his choice irked his father to no end. As a result, his own tiny mark of defiance, he wore nothing but, save black belt and shoes.
You kept me in a cage, father, he thought bitterly as he walked. The walls you put up were made of brick and stone. You changed me, father, turned me into something I shouldn't be. And so I chip away at the walls you built around me, I take advantage of every chink, every crack between the stones. One day, father, I promise you, I will find a way out. I promise you.