The Mysterious Purchase


When I awake in the morning, he's gone, along with his luggage. I know it was to be expected. Only I don't know why he trusted me enough to let me sleep and leave me here, and like he's done before, he's left strange little things around that suggest he doesn't only think about himself.

Though I can't help but wonder if he thinks more about someone else than he does about me even though I tell myself it shouldn't matter.

It's a selfish thought anyway, and I'm quickly reminded of it when I catch myself unconsciously holding the chain around my neck and telling myself that I'm just as guilty for not letting go, and that I have no right to be bothered by it while I stare at the breakfast he's made. Then I let out an empty sigh and find myself feeling uncertain when I take note that the breakfast he made us both was inspired by my ancestors again.

He's subtle, I think to myself as I sit in the wooden chair and participate in a ritual no longer needed. But he's obvious too.

Then when I'm finished, I follow in the same ritual of hiding all the traces that I exist, more for him than for me.

After that, I catch myself standing next to his sofa and staring at a photo of Tseng and his Turks. It's a professional photo, featured in a modestly conservative frame, an inch of black surrounding it with a thin gold band accentuating the outer edge—nothing fancy, and from the looks of things, it was taken sometime before the trouble started with the new Avalanche revolutionists.

And I find myself picking it up and studying it. Each one of them is typical in what you'd expect to see, holding the air of something none of them probably are. Though the other man in the photo is no one I've ever seen before and I can only imagine that he's probably just as complicated as the rest of them. Then I suddenly give my head a shake when I catch myself running a gloved finger over Tseng's image, shorter hair in a high ponytail and a lighter air than what he seems to carry now, though still somewhat hypnotic to look at even then.

What am I doing? I think.

Months ago I despised them all. I even blamed them for more than what they were probably responsible for. And now, I'm trying to see something deeper, almost like I believe they're something more than subhuman and I try to tell myself that they're not. Maybe it helps to renew that blame when I set my focus on Reno to remind me that there's nothing of worth in them.

But then again, it might just be the unspoken threat that he is to me talking.

Wild hair, a little shorter then, open shirt, careless attitude. He's the typical bad boy, born and raised in the slums, most-likely. Then I suddenly think as I cover his image with my thumb that Sephiroth shared some of the similarities.

I didn't know him well enough to know how he behaved but from his appearance, there were things about him that strayed from the Shinra image as well. Bared chest, long hair—too long—and I suddenly snort when it dawns on me that Tseng never bats an eyelash at anyone neatly adorned, not even Rufus who's somewhat in between and apparently shares a piece of history with him somewhere.

It's no wonder he claims he has bad luck, I think—ironically—before I quietly contemplate that no matter how much he tries to hide himself behind that stoic façade of his, he still can't hide from who he really is. Though I quickly put the picture down as quietly as I can and crouch defensively the moment I hear the muffled and insane melody of Rufus' voice somewhere near the side of Tseng's home.

He's talking on his PHS and moving with a quick stride toward his office, and I'm caught off guard for a moment when I note that he almost sounds flirtatious, making me wonder if he's talking to Tseng again. Then I tell myself that this is my chance to find out where he's gone, and I decide to take the risk by following him as obscurely as I can.

"I certainly hope you were unscathed," I hear Rufus say, alarming me a little in regard to Tseng possibly getting into trouble as he nods and closes the door to his office. Then he walks over to his laptop and turns it on. "I'm going to put you on the speakerphone. Hang on for a moment."

Then he connects his cell to the speaker on his wooden desk and takes a moment to stretch upwards before letting his hands fall to his sides and shaking them out a little, and then he hits a button to complete the connection.

"There," he says, letting the person on the other end know that it's okay to talk again, "Now, tell me that I'm not going to have to bring you back on short notice."

Although he says it, he almost looks like he'd prefer the opposite as a slightly hungry look washes over Rufus' eyes and his lips curl mischievously when he slyly comments, "However, I can think of plenty for you to do around here."

"Uh… Yeah. Actually, I was thinkin sendin me out where ya sent Tseng, ya know, ta make sure him an Elena don't fall into another trap might be a bit preferable than rushin back ta finish diggin out yer bog, Sir."

"I'm sure I could find something else for you to do," Rufus toys, cocking his brow as he adjusts his coat before sitting down and picking up his pen to fiddle with it as he speaks, silver, solid, and almost too fitting to his taste that it comes across as ironic. "Besides, Tseng and Elena are only checking up on Marino. The man's becoming a little too wealthy for my taste."

"Heh. Ya think e's gonna wind up outshinin ya, Sir?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Rufus answers with conviction.

Then he straightens up and smirks like he knows he can rely on Tseng, if he hasn't already made alternative plans. "Besides, that obese sack of flatulence isn't exactly a priority of mine right now."

"Course not, Sir. Ya jus wanna make sure he ain't gonna be successful."

"Of course," Rufus darkly purrs before leaning forward and stroking his fingers over a picture on his desk as if he's petting it, "now tell me what you've found out so far… Reno."

"Hm. Well. Besides the fact that I feel like I'm runnin 'round in circles. It ain't jus Turks."

"I see."

"Yeah. Koerin's gone an gotten 'imself some ex-soldiers ta add ta whatever his agenda is."

"Ah. I don't like the sound of that," Rufus admits and sits back, taking the picture with him and still petting it with tracing fingers.

"Yeah. Well, ain't nothin I can do 'bout that, ya know?"

"Yes. I know. So tell me, what are we dealing with?"

"Ex-Soldiers, a few scattered members from Avalanche, an of course, some ex-Turks that ya pissed off when ya decided ta run the company a little too differently from yer father."

"I don't see what the problem was," Rufus states as if he really is wondering what he did to piss off even his own men.

"Uh. Pay cuts an threats of death don't exactly make people happy, Sir," Reno answers before there's a long moment of silence while Rufus knits his brows and stares blankly at the empty wall to the right of his desk like he's not listening, "an underminin em like ya did, don't exactly fix nothin either."

"I'm afraid I don't see your point."

"'Course not, Sir."

"Well if it was that bad, I'm sure you would have been the first one to go."

"Heh. Yeah. Well, guess my loyalties are a little diff'rent."

"They certainly are," Rufus mutters, stroking the picture in his hand again before putting it back so I can finally see what his strange obsession is that seems to soothe him, and it's Dark Nation.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Rufus answers before telling Reno he wants him to work harder at getting more answers and that he doesn't want Reno involving himself with Tseng's task because they're practically on a vacation.

"Vacation?"

"Yes. They're meeting the man in Costa Del Sol," he tells him as I step back, satisfied with knowing where he is now, and I stop out of curiosity when Reno points something curious out.

"Ya know, ya never used ta send 'im out as much as ya do now."

"I'm aware of that."

"So, why now? How come yer always sendin him out on chocobo runs like ya wanna keep 'im busy but outta harm's way? Ya know, if I did'n know any better—"

"That's enough, Reno," Rufus says, cutting Reno off and narrowing his eyes like he's agitated all of the sudden, playful bantering washed away.

"Ya don't want 'im knowin anythin, do ya?"

"I never said that," Rufus answers, taking a deep breath and relaxing a little. "I believe I'm just as curious as everyone else."

"So how come ya never let him get too far in his private endeavours then?"

"You know how unhealthy he gets when he's obsessed. He doesn't eat… He doesn't sleep…"

"Yeah, yeah, an he turns inta the ultimate bitch ta be 'round. I know. So yer sayin yer keepin 'im busy ta keep 'im pleasant?" Reno mumbles, sarcasm dripping from his tone with no fear of a repercussion, "Healthy."

"Don't start."

"Ya ever gonna tell 'im ya know what e's been up ta?"

"He doesn't want me knowing."

"Fuck, Rufus," Reno mutters as if he's no longer talking to his boss. It's like he's talking to a friend or family member instead, "Ya know as well as I do that e's fuckin scared'a somethin."

"He's scared of not knowing."

"No. There's somethin else," Reno adds as I take another step back, thinking I should go now, despite how desperately I want to stay and find out what they know. But I've gotten my answers and I know where he is now, and I regretfully step back again, disturbing a nest of angry wasps, "Somethin's been botherin 'im fer a lot longer, an ya know it."

I must be cursed, I think, as I bat the angry creatures away, upsetting them more and trying not to make a sound. And as if there's a thin veil and I'm in a different world than everyone else, Rufus sighs like he knows there's something more, and Reno points out that he thinks Tseng is hiding something as well. Or more curiously, someone.

"Seriously?" Rufus asks before he smirks to himself and mentally wanders off for a quick instant, long enough to quietly mutter to himself, "That would explain the toad."

At this point, there's a few things I'm concerned about. But the wasps are my biggest priority as I stumble and try to remain concealed. Unfortunately, I'm left with only one option as a way to find relief from the stinging assault that I can't even relieve by screaming.

And I'm slightly thankful that the lagoon is close enough to get to, to immerse myself in, and slightly unthankful because it's a lagoon.

Tseng isn't the only one who suffers from bad luck, I remind myself. Although mine might be a little more different, and even if he believed me when I told him I was awkward, I doubt he would realize exactly how awkward I meant, and I wonder what he'd think of me if he saw me now.

Typically unimpressed, I think, as Rufus tells Reno he thinks he heard something and decides to let him go. Then he gets up and carefully opens his door to take a cautious look around.

He sees nothing though, save for a few ripples on the surface of a lagoon that tells him nothing. It's windy, and I'm thankful that I don't need to breathe as I sink farther down and he approaches closer.

Like a hawk, he scans the grounds with narrowed and suspicious eyes, like ice and ever careful. His hand pushes his outer coat aside, holding it against the wind and ensuring that his gun is readily available.

With his other hand, he brushes his bang from his eyes. The effort is futile. The wind only pushes it back and he steps carefully back, never looking below the surface of the filthy sewer water's edge that he stands by before he nods with another quickening scan over the grounds and decides that there's nothing to be concerned about.

Then he stops, tilts his head, and knits his brows together as he looks down at the dried out shrubs standing nearby. He stares for a moment, narrowing his eyes before he cocks his brow and kneels down to pick something up.

He takes another cautious look around, holding a piece of vibrantly tattered red cloth and curiously toys with it, accentuating the monochrome appearance he has in contrast. Then he turns and stares at Tseng's home and lowers his head like a hunting animal, and he smirks with a quick snort.

I must have caught the edge of my cloak, as worn and old as the ends are, and a piece must have easily torn off. And as if that's not enough to set Tseng off if or when he finds out, Rufus has to go a step further by pulling his PHS back out and turning so his back is to the wind.

"Ah. Reno, My most beloved—"

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Dear Turk… What was it that you said you found in Tseng's house again?"


It felt like it took forever for Rufus to leave before I was able to make my way to Junon to catch the next ship. All the while, he constantly toyed with the scrap of torn fabric before putting it in his pocket and telling Reno that he wanted him to find out where it came from.

"You're good at finding things," Rufus told him. "Impeccable."

Great, I thought.

That's just what I need to close Tseng back up after nearly getting him to open up and relax around me. Of course there's no guarantee they'd ever know it was me. I'm sure a lot of people wear old and tattered red garments. But I know I'm kidding myself as I stay in the shadows of the ship taking me across the ocean.

However, I don't know what it is that makes it worse for Tseng.

It might be the fact that I'm nothing more than an unstable experiment, unpredictable and just as capable as destroying the world as Sephiroth, someone who fought alongside Avalanche, an ex-Turk, or the fact that I was in love with his deceased lover's mother and was there before it all started.

It's best if I don't think about it too much as I focus on the waves sparkling from the pale afterglow of a passing tropical storm. The wake casts a golden hue about everything it touches, making it seem warm and comforting while the stirring waters dance beneath it.

Hypnotic, they seem, encouraging me to travel to places I don't want to go to right now. But like always, she's all I can think about when I try not to think.

Though her voice and image have grown distant lately, and I hang on more for the sake of not letting go as opposed to really hanging on. No matter which way I turn, I feel like I'm turning on one or the other. The weight pulls me down as I wonder which one I should choose…

A memory that will be never be anything more than a memory, or something alive that could be even more alive.

No answers though.

There's never any answers, and I lose myself in the hypnotic dance of sparkling lights that suddenly turn to snow.


It's a vast field of snow that I'm looking at, realizing it's familiar in an unwelcome way. Flurries dance wildly in the uncaring winds and under the colourless skies, and I hold my hand out to watch the flakes melt as they land, wondering where they came from. It's beautiful, though foreboding in a misgiving way. And an anxiousness builds inside over what it could possibly mean.

Then I turn around to see myself crouched down, facing away from myself and covered in a thin blanket of the glittering snow, and I'm holding onto something. At first, I only stare with a subtle curiosity, unable to turn away and filled with an alarming dread the moment I think I realize what it is that I'm holding.

There's outstretched legs, hardly noticeable at first because they're nearly buried, and the slacks are too familiar to bring me any comfort. Standard Turk pants, they look like, and I almost dread wanting to see anything more. But it's instinct that drives me, and I find myself rushing to aid whatever phantom might really be lurking before I'm stunned by an invisible barrier like the last time, and I'm still unable to break passed it.

I feel like choking when I see the pale and lifeless hand that falls from wherever it was while the other me moves its arm to stroke what he's holding, closing Tseng's eyes, I think, and I wonder why I keep seeing this.

"Sir?" I hear a foreign voice ask from behind me, concerned and wary. "Sir... W-we're docked now."

"What?" I mutter, still somewhere in between the visions of dreams and barely aware of what I'm really doing or where I really am.

"Costa Del Sol, Sir... W-we've been de-boarding for over half an hour now..."

"Half an hour," I mutter, suddenly able to shake the image away and wondering where time went before I snap out of the concerning trance and snap around to face the man, making him nervously step back.

"Sorry," is all I say while keeping my head down and I walk passed him without an explanation while my boots carry the sound of the weight that I'm feeling.


When I set foot in the town of Costa Del Sol, it takes me a while to locate Tseng from the shadows that I stick to. But when I finally find him, I find myself almost smirking at the irony of the role he's playing. I don't though, despite that I almost do. He's wearing a loud shirt with a tropical print, white slacks, sunglasses, and a straw hat that's similar to what Elena's wearing.

And I can only guess that they decided to go along with playing the unhappy couple since they've been doing nothing but bicker and disagree over everything since I found his trail. From the food to the temperature, and even the room which I haven't seen yet, either one or both of them has a problem with nearly everything, making them both appear like ignorant tourists full of the snob.

They even continue their petty play when they find the man they're looking for and shake his hand. It turns out that the man has managed to gain his status through real estate. Apparently since the fall of Shinra, there hasn't been any regulations to stop anyone from taking advantage of opportunities once deemed illegal, allowing him to deal with the shady undertaking of abusing his rights to sell land that doesn't belong to him at prices far higher than what they're worth.

Slime is the first thought that comes to mind, and something about the subtleties of Tseng's personality have shifted in a way that concerns me. No one picks up on it though, and he carries himself with the same calm and nonchalant attitude that he always carries.

But he stays behind when Elena leaves, catching her attention and she knits her brows at him.

"S-Norman?" she asks, almost blowing their cover by nearly calling him Sir, and he just looks through her, a slight disdain in his eyes before he waves her away and tells her to go and do what she does best—shopping.

Whether it's part of the act or not, I'm not sure. And whether she's as angered as she looks by the comment is something else I'm not sure of.

"Pfph… Women," the man mutters, rolling his eyes after she leaves to add emphasis to the sexist comment while Tseng smirks back at him and wryly says, "Tell me about it."

Then he presses his finger onto what looks like a map or a schematic lying on top of the man's desk and asks, "How much for this one?"

"Something to surprise the little spitfire with?"

"No. Something for myself," he answers while pulling out a chequebook and a cheap looking pen he must have bought from one of the novelty shops. I almost smile again when I take a closer look and realize that it's one of those pens where the woman's shirt falls off when it's tilted, and I wonder how he's able to hide his distaste over it, knowing it's not something he'd normally feel drawn to.

"Ha. A little mistress on the side to impress?"

"Perhaps," Tseng detachedly mutters, seeming disinterested in the question and the answer and he clicks on the pen, readying it for writing with.

"That's beach front property," the man answers, looking at him suspiciously before he takes a deep breath and adds, "It's going to cost you a pretty coin."

"Cost is no concern to me," Tseng answers, losing his façade and turning serious, making me wonder if it's what he was supposed to do or if something more is going on than I'm aware of.

"Well," the man hesitates as he looks the half-Wutian up and down, focusing on the cheap clothes and hat with a look of scepticism, "I'm afraid I can't accept a cheque from you, Norm."

"Norman."

"No hard feelings. It's just that when we're talking a deal this big, I'm afraid I can't go on faith alone."

"Understood," Tseng answers. Then he bows his head and puts the chequebook and pen away, "Will gil be acceptable?"

"I highly doubt you have that kind of money," the man outright points out before heartily chuckling at him. Then he shakes his head and wipes at the corner of his eyes to suggest he's gotten a good laugh out of the offer.

"Try me," Tseng calmly says before he places the hard-cased bag he carried in with him onto the man's desk and exposes a pile of gil, "I believe there's more than enough here. And if you're kind to me, I may even let you have it all."

"Kind…" the man mutters in a sudden trance as he stares at the currency in front of him. Then he suspiciously looks Tseng up and down again with endless thoughts running behind his criminal eyes before the corner of his mouth turns up and he gets up from his seat, "I take it your wife is kept in the dark about whatever it is that you do on the side, Mr… uh… Mr…"

"Wielding."

"That's not your real name, Is it?"

"I don't see where the relevance in that question is."

"And the lady?"

"The lady is as the lady appears."

"Ha. I see," the man says, chuckling like he's impressed by the fact that he thinks he's in the company of a familiar crook, "May I ask what it is about this property that impresses you so much?"

"It's beach; open to the ocean," Tseng answers, "accessible and private, and away from suspicious eyes."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with another Wutian uprising, would it?" the man hesitantly asks, looking Tseng up and down again.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Tseng tells him before running his fingers over the case and staring at the man through his ratty straw hat. "Do we have a deal?"

"I'll send someone to clean the place immediately for you," the man responds, pulling the case toward him and reaching into a drawer for a key.

"That won't be necessary."

"I'd rather have it done. The place is a mess," the man confesses. "It just came into our possession and I haven't had a chance to clean it out… In fact, I hadn't expected to make such a quick deal on it yet… There's a lot of work that still needs to be done."

"No worries," Tseng answers, leaning forward and snatching the key from the man's hand, "I'd rather have my own men clean it out."

"Please, it's the least I can do."

For a moment Tseng falls silent.

Then he bows his head and closes his eyes as if he's irritated and doesn't want to show it before he leans over the man's desk and lowly confides, almost threateningly, "I know what's in that house," he tells him, "and I personally want to be the one to go through it all."

Despite what I'm thinking, I'm highly suspecting that this isn't part of Rufus' orders, and I'm beginning to wonder what kind of secrets he keeps from his own Turks, even Shinra.

Though I could be wrong. But no time is wasted when the man mischievously smiles without showing what his thoughts are and drops the key into Tseng's awaiting hand.

"Very well," he slowly mutters, "it's all yours."

"Thank you," Tseng courteously says. Then he pushes the Gil closer to the man to state that he can have all of it, "Your cooperation is much appreciated."

"Shall we celebrate with a drink?"

"I don't drink," Tseng tells him before he walks over to the man's collection of liquor, stares at it and licks his lips like he'd like nothing more than a drink. Though it's barely noticeable, "However, I did become quiet the connoisseur of sinful combinations at one time. Perhaps you'd like to try something I came up with myself. Very quenching, and very delectable."

"What is it?"

"I called it the General's demise," he tells him before he smirks and turns his head slightly as if he's taking in the irony of something. Then he returns to the cabinet and starts to pull various bottles out while explaining, "Mostly because one glass is so deceptively delicious, that you'll have to have another."

"That good, huh?" the man asks with his brows screwed in a mixture of interest and mistrust.

"Yes. But I should warn you," Tseng says, smoothly and almost seductively while he brings the drink to the man and watches him greedily gulp it back, barely tasting it, "No matter how much you might want more, one glass is more than enough."

"Why's that?"

"Because before you know it," Tseng answers as he continues to watch the man while he puts the near-empty drink down, "it will turn on you."

Then he smiles at the man while the man looks back at him and lets out a burst of laughter.

"Good?"

"You'll have to tell me how you made it."

"I'm afraid not," Tseng tells him as he puts the key into his pocket and starts to walk away. "More than one drink can turn dangerously addictive."

Then he walks out, leaving the same air of mystery that he always leaves while the man mutters out, "Wutians," as if he expects no less or more from them and shakes his head before snickering.