Disclaimer: Final Fantasy is owned by Square Enix, and you know the rest.
A/N: Another drabbles piece without a home. Some are more serious, but they're mostly funny.
In addition, I would also like to invite those of you with artistic abilities to feel free to make art inspired by this work. I have no drawing skills outside of stick people. My art medium is the written word and I'm sticking to it. If you're willing, you can send it to me and I'll post it up. And of course, review if you want.
Tseng waited outside for Cass. From the amount of yelling going on inside, he felt he had reason to be concerned. On this day, he was grateful he was not the Turk in charge of the President. In his opinion, Cass did not need the tongue lashing. After all, her "rough treatment" of Rufus had honestly saved the brat's life. And Rufus had asked not to be cured. In addition, Rufus was paying them out of his allowance. Technically they had to do as Rufus said, not as the President said.
"Am I understood?!" the President's voice roared. Please don't swear at him, Tseng thought hopelessly. Cass always gave as good as she got, even from their true employer.
"Absolutely sir," Cass said. Tseng blinked. What? Nothing derogatory, except the tone. The door opened up and Cass stepped out as cooly as she went on. She caught him staring.
"What?" she asked.
"...Nothing," Tseng said quickly. She shrugged, not prying in the least. She knew him well enough to know how effective it was. Goddammit. "What was that?" Tseng asked.
"A big fat walrus throwing a tantrum," Cass said. They were far enough down the hall that safety was ensured.
"I know for a fact you wanted to crack his skull," Tseng said.
"Yes, but I didn't," Cass said, "Aren't you proud of me?"
"Why didn't you?" Tseng reiterated.
"As hard as you find it to believe, I can be good when I have to be," Cass said, "but now that you're here, I can start bitching. Can you believe that asshat? He's not even my boss and he has the fucking gall to tell me how to do my job!"
"Why don't you wear the right shoes?" Cass looked down at the eight-year-old who alternated between pissing her off and earning her pity.
"What's wrong with my shoes?" she asked. He eyed them with mild distaste. Tseng held back all commentary. This could be good.
"Well, they don't match," Rufus started.
"Astute observation," Cass said.
"And they're dirty," Rufus added.
"Quite," she said.
"And old," he finished.
"Very," she agreed. Rufus gave her the most exasperated look an eight-year-old can muster, which Tseng thought wasn't too bad actually. She looked blankly back at him.
"So..." Cass prompted. Rufus rolled his eyes.
"Why do you wear old dirty shoes that don't match," Rufus asked.
"Because I can," Cass said, "and they're comfy." Rufus and Tseng looked at her.
"Seriously?" Tseng asked. He'd thought there was a better reason than that for Veld to agree to it.
"Well yeah," Cass said, "I've worn sneakers since I was twelve. I'm not going to change just because I need to match a uniform. It's not a safety concern so I don't see what the problem is."
"Is that what you told Veld?" Tseng asked.
"Yeah," Cass said.
"And he agreed?" Tseng asked.
"No," she replied, "but who's gonna stop me?" Tseng thought it over. She had a point.
The Turk shooting range was a sacred place. No one else was allowed there. No one. Just the Turks and their guns. Cass was there often after babysitting. The ammunition flowed freely and it closed at 2300 hours. Tseng tagged along when he wasn't busy. He never shot with her. He always watched.
Over time other Turks joined the audience. It was an impressive show.
Veld saw it once, when the Turk floor was mysteriously vacated. He needed this mission done now. Where was everyone? He saw them all watching a lone figure firing at the silhouettes they all practiced on. It was dead silent, outside of the gunshots. He approached silently.
"What-" someone started.
"Shh," Tseng said, "she's almost done." Sure enough after a couple more shots, Cass lowered her rifle and took out her earplugs. She sighed contentedly as she brought her sheet forward.
"What is the meaning of this?" Veld asked calmly. They all looked sheepish.
"I made a bet with her," the new redhead said.
"And you lost," Cass said, "you owe me fifty gil."
"What!" he exclaimed, "that's impossible."
"Oh really," she said. She held up the sheet. Veld almost burst out laughing.
"A smiley face, complete with mustache," Cass said, "pay up."
Tseng was with Cass when it happened. It was his presence that no doubt stopped the massacre. Tseng had no idea what Hojo was doing on this floor, but it should not have happened.
Hojo and Cass caught sight of each other.
If Cass had hackles, they would have been raised. The glare she sent in his direction was by far the most terrifying thing Tseng had ever seen before. This was beyond if looks could kill. This was if looks could disembowel and set aflame.
They froze in the hallway, each daring the other to make the first move. Cass's fingers were twitching. It took Tseng a moment to realize she was firing an imaginary gun. Hojo wasn't moving from his spot, but his face was becoming smug.
Tseng placed a hand on Cass's wrists, just to stop her should she lunge. She snapped out of it. She moved towards a door and Tseng followed. Hojo's expression faltered when Cass muttered "pussy" just loud enough for him to hear.
Tseng grit his teeth as his mouse started moving of its own will. It closed out of his report, saving it rather politely this time, and opened a new document. He was tempted to just shut down his computer, but knew it wouldn't fix a damn thing.
I would like to play a game appeared magically on his screen. It paused for a few moments. Tseng took this to mean he was back in control for the moment.
I don't he typed. A long pause. Tseng typed further. Why can't you just stick with paper airplanes?
Paper airplanes are not nearly as fun, the computer said, I've nearly perfected the design. Tseng wanted to toss the damn thing out the window.
This is a large security hazard, the mystery typer continued, If I can hack into your computer, then so can someone else.
Like who? Tseng demanded. There was no reply. What did you do to my computer and please stop it, Tseng typed furiously.
Remote Desktop, came the reply, It was easy to install. Tseng thought of what would make a fitting revenge. He grinned as he typed this time.
I'm going to reveal where you hide your stash. On cue, Tseng heard a chair slide across the floor as someone jerked to their feet.
"Tseng, no!" Cass said, "I'm sorry. I won't do it any more."
"Too late," Tseng said.
"It took me months to find that place," Cass said, "where am I supposed to hide my chocolate now? Sephiroth got those for me special!"
"Not my problem is it?" Tseng said. Cass frowned at him.
"I'm going to put a virus on your computer," she said darkly.