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FFVII: Veld, Vincent Reeve, Rufus drabbles
Final Fantasy VII prompt responses from over on Tumblr.
Veld, Vincent. Fist fight. Gen. 494 words.
'This "fun night out on the town" has escalated very quickly from a casual discussion on Lucrecia to an enormous philosophical rejection of the Science department,' Veld informed Vincent about an hour and a half after they'd got to this shitty fucking bar. Veld was four very stiff drinks in; Vincent, more than that.
'I wouldn't call it a department,’ Vincent said, darkly. ‘It’s Hollander and Hojo’s fucking personal playground.’
'And perhaps Dr. Valentine's before that?' Veld asked, arch. He was sick to death of watching Vincent's blossoming obsession with Lucrecia; sick to death of this being his only welcome after excruciating SOLDIER recruitment missions.
They’d both been staring down into their drinks, but now Vincent turned to face Veld. He was clearly angry. ‘Are you going to punch me?’ Veld asked, calmly taking a drink from his glass. ‘Before you do, allow me to point out the utter hypocrisy of Turks alleging any sort of moral superiority over Science.’
'You should stop talking,' Vincent growled. His tie was loose; he was always a little sloppy when he drank, but he always drank in uniform. None of them didn't; being identified as a Turk was the best insurance against trouble. Unsolicited trouble, anyway.
'I'm only telling it as it is,' Veld said calmly. 'Because I've just come back from dragging - I'm sorry, recruiting - six boys barely above the age of majority in from Kalm, and first thing tomorrow they’re going to go with their freshly cropped hair and shiny new boots and report to SOLDIER. And I know you’ve done the same.’
'It's not the same,' Vincent said, gripping his glass. Veld instinctively shifted in his seat. The bartender had gone missing. 'Signing up is a voluntary act; and let me ask you this — what are country boys from Kalm and Mideel going to do otherwise? Shovel coal the rest of their lives?’
'Are you taking the company line here?' Veld asked pleasantly. ‘“Building better futures”? Because Science is what is building those futures — not Engineering, not Finance, and certainly not Administrative Research. If you think that the bright fucking future isn't being built on the back of some really questionable scientific processes, you're deluding yourself.'
He moved to the side when Vincent threw the glass at him. ‘You’re drunk,’ he told his friend as he shrugged out of his blazer.
'So are you,' Vincent nodded at the line of empty glasses in front of Veld.
Veld didn’t disagree. ‘Better than being sober.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Vincent took his tie off. ‘You know,’ the other man mused. ‘You’re taking brighter futures really seriously when you start setting fire to villages.’
Veld barked out a painful laugh. He reached over for Vincent’s unfinished drink, threw it back, smashed the glass on the floor and listened with some satisfaction to the sound of other patrons exiting. ‘Do you want to do this?’ he asked Vincent.
‘Gladly,’ Vincent snarled, and swung a punch.
Rufus, Reeve. Rufus and weddings. Gen. 1046 words.
Cloud was looking down at his watch. Reeve could feel the man's jitteriness; it was almost time for the ceremony to start, and they should really be closing doors. A few guests were lingering outside, admiring the gardens, but Marlene was effectively herding them inside. The gifts had been put away; the guestbook lay forlornly open at its last few pages. Cloud looked like he would rather be fighting a thousand monsters than do this any longer.
'You know,' Reeve muttered under his breath to Cloud. 'It's my wedding.'
'Yes,' Cloud answered, teeth gritted together. 'It's your wedding, which means you can do whatever you please. No one will care about how bad your speech is.'
'I could've asked Vincent to do it,' Reeve replied breezily, feeling a totally unwarranted sense of calm settle on his shoulders. He'd handled the rebuilding of entire cities; a wedding had so many fewer moving parts by comparison.
'No,' Cloud said, pained. 'Even I'm not cruel enough to make you resort to that.'
'Is he inside?' Reeve asked, putting on a smile as he saw another car draw up.
'He's probably hanging from the rafters,' Cloud sighed. Reeve kept his eye on the now-parked car. He had a decent memory for faces, and was wondering who he had missed in the count. Who came to weddings this late, anyway?
The back door of the car opened and the guest stepped out.
'Dear god.' Reeve vaguely noted that Cloud, too, had stopped fidgeting and was staring equally blatantly at the man making his approach.
'I'll just,' Cloud motioned past the doors of the church, beyond which about fifteen people had noticed the sudden silence emanating from the foyer and turned to look. 'Go in and… do something, yeah?'
'Please,' Reeve said faintly. Cloud hustled Marlene and the rest in past the doors of the church then shut them, perhaps a little harder than he'd needed to.
The final guest came to a stop in front of Reeve. Rufus spread his hands. 'Is it something that I'm wearing?'
If Reeve ignored the sardonic tone of Rufus’ voice, he might’ve imagined that the man was — not quite nervous, but out of his element. ’Perish the thought,’ Reeve muttered, regaining himself.
Rufus was, of course, not improperly attired; the man wouldn't know how to break the rules of social etiquette if he tried. It'd been drilled into his bones; Reeve had watched Rufus grow up wielding more kinds of silverware than Cloud had ever wielded types of weapons. Seeing him in formal whites, collars starched and vest searingly black — 'Are you wearing a black tie?' Reeve asked, a little numb with shock.
Rufus put a hand into his pocket, nudging the fall of his suit — tuxedo, Reeve thought a little hysterically — just out of line. Reeve'd never seen the President so self-conscious. 'I could take it off,' Rufus sighed, reaching up and jerking the tie loose. 'Yes, I know it should've been a bow-tie, but — Will you just say something, Tuesti?'
Reeve covered his mouth and laughed for half a second, then regained himself with utter manfulness and leaned against the (closed, thank god for Cloud) doors. 'I didn't think you were going to come.'
'I RSVPed like a good boy,' Rufus retorted. And he had - Reeve had opened the card himself, seen the neatly checked box. But ever since he'd begun serious work on the city after the Reunion fiasco, Rufus had rarely been seen to attend anything. His name was just a whispered question - Rufus Shinra, really reformed? No one really knew what to do with him: even if he hadn't reformed, it wasn't as though the majority of Neo-Midgar’s capital assets and aid didn't come from Shinra. You didn’t so much trust Rufus as swallow whatever he said and expect the worst.
'I saw your RSVP; I also ignored it, because your word is always gold,' Reeve nodded. He was enjoying this. He was thoroughly enjoying watching Rufus Shinra sweat, even he didn't let it show on the surface. 'Tell me you didn’t dispatch a Turk or two to hover around my wedding, Rufus?'
'What kind of person do you think that,' Rufus began, then stopped. Sighed, bunched the (ten thousand gil?) tie up, tossed it into a nearby bin. 'No,' he said, wrenching the top button of his shirt open and looking much more like himself thereafter, 'I didn't. Many felicitations. You look very dashing; the boutonniere is very tasteful. I couldn't bring your gift; I doubt it'd fit under a table or look good next to the three or four kitchen stand mixers I'm sure you've received.'
'What did you get me this time?' Reeve asked, trying very hard not to sound too smug. 'Another three mako reactors to rig up?'
'That was one time, in the winter, and if we hadn't got it finished two thousand people would have been without power,' Rufus said.
'Funny thing,' Reeve said, giving Rufus an agonisingly slow once over just to watch him not squirm. 'That was the week after I'd proposed, did you know that? I spent about a month and a half directly after sleeping about 2 hours a night. In the Tower.'
Rufus shrugged. ‘I always thought you’d marry your work.’ For a moment, Reeve took genuine pity on the younger man, who was married to his work; who wouldn’t know how to tell easy companionship apart from death-do-us-part frenetic loyalty if it strolled right into his part-tyrannical, part-martyred lifestyle.
'Come on,' Reeve beckoned, shrugging one shoulder towards the church. 'We should go in. You've always known how to make an entrance; Cloud will thank you for distracting everyone.'
'Best man?' Rufus asked, falling with what sounded like relieved gratefulness into the small talk.
'You know what a best man is?’ Reeve asked.
Rufus laughed.
Reeve put his hand on the door. Just before he pushed it open, he said, 'You're not as bad a man as you think you are, Rufus.'
'Aren't I?' Rufus asked, now sounding very amused. 'I am exactly who you think I am, Reeve. But it's your wedding day,' the President said; his voice was warm and so far removed from the cold chippiness of his adolescence that Reeve took pause for a moment. Rufus pushed Reeve’s hand away, brushed invisible lint from Reeve's shoulders, then gripped the handles of the door and said, 'Allow me.'
Veld, Vincent. Fist fight. Gen. 494 words.
'This "fun night out on the town" has escalated very quickly from a casual discussion on Lucrecia to an enormous philosophical rejection of the Science department,' Veld informed Vincent about an hour and a half after they'd got to this shitty fucking bar. Veld was four very stiff drinks in; Vincent, more than that.
'I wouldn't call it a department,’ Vincent said, darkly. ‘It’s Hollander and Hojo’s fucking personal playground.’
'And perhaps Dr. Valentine's before that?' Veld asked, arch. He was sick to death of watching Vincent's blossoming obsession with Lucrecia; sick to death of this being his only welcome after excruciating SOLDIER recruitment missions.
They’d both been staring down into their drinks, but now Vincent turned to face Veld. He was clearly angry. ‘Are you going to punch me?’ Veld asked, calmly taking a drink from his glass. ‘Before you do, allow me to point out the utter hypocrisy of Turks alleging any sort of moral superiority over Science.’
'You should stop talking,' Vincent growled. His tie was loose; he was always a little sloppy when he drank, but he always drank in uniform. None of them didn't; being identified as a Turk was the best insurance against trouble. Unsolicited trouble, anyway.
'I'm only telling it as it is,' Veld said calmly. 'Because I've just come back from dragging - I'm sorry, recruiting - six boys barely above the age of majority in from Kalm, and first thing tomorrow they’re going to go with their freshly cropped hair and shiny new boots and report to SOLDIER. And I know you’ve done the same.’
'It's not the same,' Vincent said, gripping his glass. Veld instinctively shifted in his seat. The bartender had gone missing. 'Signing up is a voluntary act; and let me ask you this — what are country boys from Kalm and Mideel going to do otherwise? Shovel coal the rest of their lives?’
'Are you taking the company line here?' Veld asked pleasantly. ‘“Building better futures”? Because Science is what is building those futures — not Engineering, not Finance, and certainly not Administrative Research. If you think that the bright fucking future isn't being built on the back of some really questionable scientific processes, you're deluding yourself.'
He moved to the side when Vincent threw the glass at him. ‘You’re drunk,’ he told his friend as he shrugged out of his blazer.
'So are you,' Vincent nodded at the line of empty glasses in front of Veld.
Veld didn’t disagree. ‘Better than being sober.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Vincent took his tie off. ‘You know,’ the other man mused. ‘You’re taking brighter futures really seriously when you start setting fire to villages.’
Veld barked out a painful laugh. He reached over for Vincent’s unfinished drink, threw it back, smashed the glass on the floor and listened with some satisfaction to the sound of other patrons exiting. ‘Do you want to do this?’ he asked Vincent.
‘Gladly,’ Vincent snarled, and swung a punch.
Rufus, Reeve. Rufus and weddings. Gen. 1046 words.
Cloud was looking down at his watch. Reeve could feel the man's jitteriness; it was almost time for the ceremony to start, and they should really be closing doors. A few guests were lingering outside, admiring the gardens, but Marlene was effectively herding them inside. The gifts had been put away; the guestbook lay forlornly open at its last few pages. Cloud looked like he would rather be fighting a thousand monsters than do this any longer.
'You know,' Reeve muttered under his breath to Cloud. 'It's my wedding.'
'Yes,' Cloud answered, teeth gritted together. 'It's your wedding, which means you can do whatever you please. No one will care about how bad your speech is.'
'I could've asked Vincent to do it,' Reeve replied breezily, feeling a totally unwarranted sense of calm settle on his shoulders. He'd handled the rebuilding of entire cities; a wedding had so many fewer moving parts by comparison.
'No,' Cloud said, pained. 'Even I'm not cruel enough to make you resort to that.'
'Is he inside?' Reeve asked, putting on a smile as he saw another car draw up.
'He's probably hanging from the rafters,' Cloud sighed. Reeve kept his eye on the now-parked car. He had a decent memory for faces, and was wondering who he had missed in the count. Who came to weddings this late, anyway?
The back door of the car opened and the guest stepped out.
'Dear god.' Reeve vaguely noted that Cloud, too, had stopped fidgeting and was staring equally blatantly at the man making his approach.
'I'll just,' Cloud motioned past the doors of the church, beyond which about fifteen people had noticed the sudden silence emanating from the foyer and turned to look. 'Go in and… do something, yeah?'
'Please,' Reeve said faintly. Cloud hustled Marlene and the rest in past the doors of the church then shut them, perhaps a little harder than he'd needed to.
The final guest came to a stop in front of Reeve. Rufus spread his hands. 'Is it something that I'm wearing?'
If Reeve ignored the sardonic tone of Rufus’ voice, he might’ve imagined that the man was — not quite nervous, but out of his element. ’Perish the thought,’ Reeve muttered, regaining himself.
Rufus was, of course, not improperly attired; the man wouldn't know how to break the rules of social etiquette if he tried. It'd been drilled into his bones; Reeve had watched Rufus grow up wielding more kinds of silverware than Cloud had ever wielded types of weapons. Seeing him in formal whites, collars starched and vest searingly black — 'Are you wearing a black tie?' Reeve asked, a little numb with shock.
Rufus put a hand into his pocket, nudging the fall of his suit — tuxedo, Reeve thought a little hysterically — just out of line. Reeve'd never seen the President so self-conscious. 'I could take it off,' Rufus sighed, reaching up and jerking the tie loose. 'Yes, I know it should've been a bow-tie, but — Will you just say something, Tuesti?'
Reeve covered his mouth and laughed for half a second, then regained himself with utter manfulness and leaned against the (closed, thank god for Cloud) doors. 'I didn't think you were going to come.'
'I RSVPed like a good boy,' Rufus retorted. And he had - Reeve had opened the card himself, seen the neatly checked box. But ever since he'd begun serious work on the city after the Reunion fiasco, Rufus had rarely been seen to attend anything. His name was just a whispered question - Rufus Shinra, really reformed? No one really knew what to do with him: even if he hadn't reformed, it wasn't as though the majority of Neo-Midgar’s capital assets and aid didn't come from Shinra. You didn’t so much trust Rufus as swallow whatever he said and expect the worst.
'I saw your RSVP; I also ignored it, because your word is always gold,' Reeve nodded. He was enjoying this. He was thoroughly enjoying watching Rufus Shinra sweat, even he didn't let it show on the surface. 'Tell me you didn’t dispatch a Turk or two to hover around my wedding, Rufus?'
'What kind of person do you think that,' Rufus began, then stopped. Sighed, bunched the (ten thousand gil?) tie up, tossed it into a nearby bin. 'No,' he said, wrenching the top button of his shirt open and looking much more like himself thereafter, 'I didn't. Many felicitations. You look very dashing; the boutonniere is very tasteful. I couldn't bring your gift; I doubt it'd fit under a table or look good next to the three or four kitchen stand mixers I'm sure you've received.'
'What did you get me this time?' Reeve asked, trying very hard not to sound too smug. 'Another three mako reactors to rig up?'
'That was one time, in the winter, and if we hadn't got it finished two thousand people would have been without power,' Rufus said.
'Funny thing,' Reeve said, giving Rufus an agonisingly slow once over just to watch him not squirm. 'That was the week after I'd proposed, did you know that? I spent about a month and a half directly after sleeping about 2 hours a night. In the Tower.'
Rufus shrugged. ‘I always thought you’d marry your work.’ For a moment, Reeve took genuine pity on the younger man, who was married to his work; who wouldn’t know how to tell easy companionship apart from death-do-us-part frenetic loyalty if it strolled right into his part-tyrannical, part-martyred lifestyle.
'Come on,' Reeve beckoned, shrugging one shoulder towards the church. 'We should go in. You've always known how to make an entrance; Cloud will thank you for distracting everyone.'
'Best man?' Rufus asked, falling with what sounded like relieved gratefulness into the small talk.
'You know what a best man is?’ Reeve asked.
Rufus laughed.
Reeve put his hand on the door. Just before he pushed it open, he said, 'You're not as bad a man as you think you are, Rufus.'
'Aren't I?' Rufus asked, now sounding very amused. 'I am exactly who you think I am, Reeve. But it's your wedding day,' the President said; his voice was warm and so far removed from the cold chippiness of his adolescence that Reeve took pause for a moment. Rufus pushed Reeve’s hand away, brushed invisible lint from Reeve's shoulders, then gripped the handles of the door and said, 'Allow me.'
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