The Usual Suspects: Final Fantasy VII was created by Square, and brought happiness to PS owners everywhere. Kaga, like Trav and Rebeka, is my own creation and brings happiness to...uh...me.
"...thereby making x squared equivalent to - bah!"
Scarlet growled softly as the thin line of ink flowing of the paper in front of her faltered, and ran dry. Irritably, she gave the pen a shake, then tossed it aside to clatter off the wall and roll to the foot of the bed.
With a sigh, the girl slumped down in her chair. For the love of all that was greenish and glowing, what was the point? She could have squared x in her sleep, and connected wires while she was doing it, without ever worrying about showing her work in anything other than fire and blood. During her time in the slums, she'd forgotten just how tedious the rituals of formalized education were.
"I need...I need...something." Helplessly, she raked a hand though the tousled mass of curls framing her face. "I..." Sapphire eyes cast about for a brief moment, and she lunged forward, tipping the chair onto two legs in her effort to reach the crumpled pack of cigarettes abandoned on the far side of the desk. Slender fingers closed around it at last, and she settled back with a thump that was sure to irk the downstairs neighbours.
Damnation. One left. Scarlet dropped the empty cellophane in favour of her lighter once she'd shaken the last cigarette free, a flick of her thumb coaxing forth a bright glimmer of flame to pass from one to the other. She'd be going out to later get more, she knew already; but for the moment, it was enough to inhale deeply of the tightly-packed drug, and rest her head on the back of the chair.
"Mm..." The sigh she breathed then was far more contented, and she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the calm brought by the indulgence. She'd fallen prey to more than one unsavoury habit at the college; the second the one that urged her to her feet and into the kitchen.
Cigarette tucked securely between the first fingers of her left hand, the crimson-clad woman crouched before the liquor cabinet beneath the bar, considering. As she reached for the half-empty bottle of imported rum stashed in the back, the hollow chime of the door echoed through the apartment, and she growled again.
"I ought not to even answer that," she mumbled, barely audible even to herself as she pushed herself once more upright.
"Don't bother," came the reply. "I let myself in."
Scarlet jumped, whirling around to glower at the intruder - even though she knew, without a doubt, who would be standing there even as she moved. She'd only heard the voice once before, but the rich timbre was one she wouldn't likely forget.
"My. You look to be doing fairly well for yourself," he noted, tipping his head to the side to examine her. Dark eyes, dark hair; the former with one or two tiny lines that she knew hadn't been there before.
"And you look as if you're worrying yourself to death," she retorted, tapping her nails on the counter.
"You're going to get there before me if you keep that up." The corners of his mouth quirked into a thin, bitter smirk as he eyed the growing pile of ashes, and he stepped toward her, one arm sliding smoothly around her shoulders. Instantly, she jerked away, the action as futile as it had been the night she'd met him. "Unless you're trying to quit," he added, a brow lofting. "I've heard that makes some people bitchy."
"You're making me bitchy," Scarlet snapped, settling uneasily into the embrace.
"...and here I thought you'd be happy to see me. I'm wounded."
"You are not." Her own lips twitched with faint amusement, and she glanced at him out of the corner of one glittering eye. "If you wanted to be, however, that can be arranged. Why the hell are you here? And how did you get in in the first place?"
"Same old Scarlet." The man laughed, shaking his head. "Why do you always seem so hell-bent on castrating me when I come to give you presents?"
"Because I don't trust you as far as I can drag you," she informed him. "Presents?"
"Mm." A noncommittal reply if she'd ever heard one. "Get your coat. If you go out like that..." Again, the appraising eye ran over her, pausing briefly at the dip between her breasts. "...then again, I think I'd enjoy that."
"Pervert," she snapped.
"...you know you love it." Winking, he took his arm from her shoulders and nodded to the door.
"What if I don't?"
"Then I won't shoot you." With that, he stepped away. "Of course, you won't be shooting anything else, either, but you haven't been anyway. I'm sure it's no great loss."
Scarlet's eyes narrowed, and she moved after him, gritting her teeth. Why did he always have to go for the one thing that would pique her damnable curiosity?
Because he knows it will make you follow him.
* * *
"So. Where are you taking me this time?" she asked acidly once the doors of the lift had closed.
"Mm." Again, he declined to reply with words, instead setting his arm once more around her. "You'll like it, I'm sure. You did last time, didn't you?"
For a few minutes, the girl remained silent, finally admitting grudgingly, "Yes."
"Well, there you go, then." He grinned, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze.
"You at least have a name? Give me something..."
"I am giving you something." Already, she could sense his irritation, creeping into his voice as his fingers tightened on the upper portion of her arm. After a moment, his grip lessened, and he offered merely, "Kaga."
Kaga. First name, last name; Scarlet had no idea. She nodded, falling silent as the ding of the lift signalled the end of their descent.
It was late; enough so that even the doorman had gone home for the night. She hadn't realized how fast the hours had flown while she'd been calculating. As the pair exited into the deserted street, the girl shivered, and her companion tightened his arm again, drawing her closer.
"Won't be long," Kaga murmured.
"Until what?" Scarlet cocked her head to the side and peered at him curiously, though she doubted that he'd answer.
"Waiting." He nodded in indication of the glow at the end of the street; a glow that swiftly brightened into the headlights of a sleek, over-long car. As it halted, he reached forward to grasp the doorhandle with his free hand, and nudged her forward. "Get in."
For once, she didn't hesitate, scrambling quickly into the warmth of the limousine's interior. The dark-eyed man slid in after her and slammed the door, indicating the driver to proceed with a flick of his fingertips.
Scarlet curled into the lush upholstery covering the seat, anticipating the replacement of Kaga's arm an instant before he lifted it. The windows were tinted heavily, preventing anyone without from seeing who rode inside, and, thusly, her from seeing out. With nothing better to do, she nestled against the man, listening to the hum of the engine.
* * *
Sapphire eyes drank in the exterior of Shin-Ra, Inc. as the pair approached the glass doors set in the center of the front wall, and Scarlet craned her head back slightly in order to get a better view. She'd seen the building before, of course; but from the far end of Midgar plate. Never from a close vantage point such as the one she had now. Almost immediately, her gaze flitted to Kaga, but his attention was elsewhere - namely, on the guards stationed at either side of the door. their attention, in turn, was on the thin, laminated card in his hand; similar to the keycards used at the apartments. Whatever it was, it had a similar effect as well; the nearer man stepping aside as soon as he'd gotten a good look at it.
Plush, again. She'd been expecting that. Where her apartment was decked out in soft reds and creams, Shin-Ra Inc. was adorned with the more muted hues of brown and black, and, occasionally, a blue or a grey; offset by the small brass studs in the furniture and the potted plants against the walls. Above the door at the far end of the foyer was a portrait of a man she could only presume to be the head of the corporation; overweight, smoking a cigar, and looking, from the garish colours splattered across the canvas, as if he belonged in the gallery of sad clowns on black velvet rather than running a business.
"This way." The quiet insertion of Kaga's voice into her reverie gave her a start, and she nodded, hurrying after him. It occurred to her that it was a good thing she'd never been claustrophobic, if she was going to be working in a sixty-plus story structure; but then, living below the plate didn't allow for fear of cramped spaces. It was all cramped spaces, some of them smaller than the lift she followed him into now.
Twenty-three...twenty-four...
"Oh, Scarlet?"
Again, she jumped, twisting to face the man.
"Yeah?"
"Don't scream." With that cryptic instruction and a sharp jolt, the doors opened, and he stepped into the hallway.
* * *
The heavy, brass-handled doors, she had assumed to open on some sort of conference room, and she had been correct. The overwhelming theme here was "mahogany," it seemed; the lengthy table in the center of the room was lined on either side by chairs that had, apparently, been upholstered to match its sheen, and sinking into carpet of the same lush hue. Only half the seats were filled; the one at the far end of the table occupied by the heavyset man that she had seen on the portrait.
The edges of her mouth curled slightly as she straightened and cast a languid glance around the rest of the room. It's time to impress someone, Scarlet. Yes, Scarlet.
Kaga nodded, and she approached the end of the table nearer the doors, one brow quirking in defiant curiosity. Never let anyone scent your fear, never let them know you hurt. "Well, gentlemen?" After flipping a golden tress from her face, she rested her hand on her hip, and looked forward expectantly. "Can I help you with something?"
Be charming...
"This was designed by you, was it not?" At her right, a dark-suited man extended a folded scrap of paper. Ah, Trav... Scarlet reached for it, fingers already poised to flick it open. Would you have been the one handing me this, if things hadn't turned out as they have?
She recognized it instantly, as crude as the coffee-splotched sketch was. The top of the gun, its underbelly, and no less than three different angles of its profile - it could have been yesterday, or a decade, but she would have known it anywhere; coffee, milk, mud, or blood.
"I did, yes." Nodding, she turned to face her inquisitor.
"How long did it take you to create the original prototype?" Again, he stretched his hand toward her.
"Four years." Unable to discern any other reason for his doing so, she placed the diagram back into his palm and clasped her own hands behind her back, waiting for him to continue.
The accompanying question came not from her associate, however, but the man at the opposite end of the table.
"How long will it take you to put it back together?"
"I don't know," she began, though she knew, even before she turned to counter the inquiry, what the answer would be. Before the sickening clink of loose metal in the box being placed on the table reached her ears. Before the admonishment followed.
"Well, then, you'd best get to work."