15.
"It's so good to have you here, Mr. Shinra. What are you president of, exactly?"
Rufus' mind flashed back over the past five minutes, trying to decipher how he had come to this impasse. One moment he'd been wheeling merrily toward the door and freedom, and the next he'd found himself cornered by Martha Stewart. "I run my own power company," he replied cautiously, unwilling to give away too much information this early in the scheme of things.
"How delightful!" Martha's eyes seemed to sparkle as though lit from within. "Folks refer to my modest holdings as an empire, but I have Empress Wu here," she reached down to ruffle the regal chow's fur while Ms. Wu snarfed down another cocktail weiner, "so I suppose that would make me a humble vizier – unless she's really just a puppet ruler, which would then make me something like an overlord, wouldn't it?"
Tseng's electronically distorted voice sounded in Rufus' ear. "Sir, she seems to be wearing about five nicotine patches…"
::Give her to me!::
"Did you say something?" Martha asked, looking around.
Empress Wu snarled and sped off like a tangerine comet.
::How about some punch?::
"You know, I have a wonderful idea," Martha enthused, aiming for the buffet. "How about some punch?"
"No!" Rufus squeaked, struggling to turn his chair through a roadblock of puzzled Turks. "I, er, don't like punch!"
"That's silly! Who doesn't love a nice refreshing cup of sparkling lime punch?"
Rufus revved the motor and headed her off with a screech of burning rubber. "I prefer tea," he blurted, desperate to redirect.
::Hypocrite.::
"Shut up!"
"What?"
"Nothing!" Rufus looked around frantically, searching for an avenue of escape. His gaze fell upon the punch bowl and lingered a heartbeat too long.
A slender, greasy-looking tentacle oozed through the thick fog that clung to the bowl like a bad premonition. An eye appeared at the end of the tentacle and winked at him.
"Holy Odin!" Rufus shouted, throwing the chair into reverse.
Even as Martha turned to look, the tentacle sank back into the bowl, leaving the green foam virtually undisturbed.
"Well," Martha said with a gracious smile, "though I am quite proud of my punch, I wouldn't dream of making a guest feel awkward. But why didn't you just tell me you were phobic?"
Rufus slumped down in the chair, badly in need of a cigarette – or a bottle of whiskey – or Reno, on his knees with his hands tied behind his back...
"Sir?"
"What!!" Rufus startled, nearly falling out of the wheelchair.
Tseng handed him a cell phone. "It's Tuesti, sir. The preparations are in place."
Preparations? Rufus struggled to clear his mind enough to remember all the plots he had in the works at the moment. He raised the phone and said, "Reeve. WRO ready to move to the next level?"
"Actually, I've just bought as much stock in Martha Stewart Enterprises as is legally allowed. We're ready for phase two, if you're still interested."
A smile crept across Rufus Shinra's face. "Thank you, Reeve. Good work."
To their hostess, Rufus purred, "Ms. Stewart, I have a business proposal you may find interesting…"