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Final Fantasy VII: To Pay Dearly
First in the Triple Bill: three fics from three fandoms dealing with the topic-of-the-day. \o\ Today's exposition courtesy of Friedrich Nietzsche:
"One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive."
Not my usual fare, I'll be the first to admit, but there's distinct fun in poking pain and torture at Tseng in a way that involves so few guns. 8D
Title: To Pay Dearly
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (post-CC, pre-AC)
Characters: Tseng, Hojo
Rating: PG
Warnings: Creepy scientist man? Spoilers for BC.
Summary: Good specimens are always the most difficult to acquire.
1062 words and mmmm, Shinra politics all over again.
'You must dislike me very much,' the doctor said, when the hissing of the doors announced Tseng's presence. Turning, the doctor pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. 'Or is the word "mislike"?'
'The word "mislike",' Tseng said from the doorway, 'is not in any dictionary, professor.'
It made the doctor smile. 'Of course it isn't,' the doctor nodded, gesturing Tseng inside. 'No more than your response is any answer to my question.' He tapped some details into his handheld console, watching details bloom over the screen. Tseng watched the light reflect itself off of the doctor's lenses. 'How have you been?' Hojo asked.
'Adequate,' Tseng replied, and unzipped his jacket.
'I miss the way you used to put sir at the end of every one of your sentences.' Hojo came around. 'You did it very well.'
'Propriety was never out of place,' Tseng shrugged, and used the past tense. His jacket was folded in half, and then left in a neat drape over the side of the examination table. He felt Hojo watch his hands as he undid his shoulder holster.
The doctor made a noise at the back of his throat. Tsk, chsk. 'You came armed.'
Tseng favoured him with a bland look, eyes darting to the fall of Hojo's lab coat, the stethoscope about Hojo's neck, the lineage of Mako treatments at the back of the room.
Hojo smiled. 'It's in your job description, of course.'
'As it were,' Tseng nodded. He took off his tie, and made sure that Hojo could hear it; undressing could be noiseless, but could was only one side of a potentiality. The tie slithered on top of his jacket, unkempt and so obvious in the sterile acetic whiteness of the room. His shirt followed, less pointedly.
The metal press of the stethoscope against his heart made Tseng want to reach for his gun. Hojo moved it to his back, leaning over the Turk's shoulder and as he asked, 'Have you thought about what I said?'
'Yes,' Tseng said, absolutely without biting his words. Hojo let him wait. He made Hojo wait. The stethoscope was removed, the measurement of his blood pressure began. It made Tseng want to bare his teeth and smile, if only to provoke the man.
Cardinal rule, he remembered from old training days: do not cage animals. They respond very badly.
'What did you think?' Hojo smiled, his lips tight and smug, just to provoke Tseng.
Tseng kept his eyes on the electronic count of his heart rate. 'Your team has always been good at scientific developments.'
The beep informed everyone in the room that Tseng was free from superficial cardiac-related problems. 'You're too kind,' Hojo murmured, as he removed the device. Tseng flexed his forearm, and wondered if either of them would ever stop watching the other. 'You're still playing coy, Director.'
The deferential tore itself from Hojo's lips with the exact amount of derision that Tseng once imagined it always would. How many years of ridicule had it been, since he first assumed secondment under Veld? Hojo was still admirably able to make himself sound like he was saying boy.
You're still playing coy, boy.
'I have no idea why you want us to participate in your scientific endgame,' Tseng professed, at the same moment that Hojo reached across with a syringe. 'Blood sampling?'
'Maybe there's something wrong with your cholesterol,' Hojo suggested, smiling. The slap of the tourniquet against Tseng's arm was rubbery and cold; the needle was colder as it slid into his veins. 'You'll understand if I find this more convenient than asking you to bleed all over me the way you do for every other enterprise.'
'I try to be neat,' Tseng said.
Hojo pulled back on the syringe. 'I try to be efficient.' Blood always seemed redder than what you'd imagine, even if you're used to seeing it too often, as in games of doctors and soldiers. Hojo taped the puncture down for Tseng and stored the sample. 'I digress, Director,' he murmured, tap tap tapping onto his console. 'We were talking of your department's potential participation in Shinra's new scientific programme.'
'Are we done with the check-up?' Tseng asked, sliding off the table.
'With the check-up,' Hojo agreed, casually.
Tseng pulled on his shirt. 'Administrative Research is not interested,' he said, and then he put on his tie.
'Mako technology has progressed to the point where you must feel incredibly outmatched in the field,' Hojo said, conversationally. Tapping, tapping, tapping.
'I will be sure to let you know if I wish to embark upon SOLDIER conditioning,' Tseng deadpanned, shifting a Windsor knot about the edge of his throat. 'Sir.'
Hojo lifted Tseng's blazer, dusted it, and held it open. 'It'd be a shame not to have you,' he said, eyes darker Tseng could glean from behind his glasses. The Turk obliged, and stepped up and threaded his arms through. Hojo's fingers were prehensile on his shoulders. 'You could make yourself so much more,' Hojo murmured, 'so much more than what Veld did, and what Veld was.'
Tseng, trapped, breathed in, and out, closed his eyes momentarily and thought of sharp, strong violence.
'You must be devastated by his betrayal,' Hojo said, slipping the first button of Tseng's jacket.
He betrayed no one. 'Yes.'
'Difficult to step into such tumultuous shoes,' Hojo said, slipping the second button.
'No.'
'Tragic. The company must doubt your loyalties, now.' Slipped the third, final button. 'Perhaps you should demonstrate to them that you aren't resentful of being part of Shinra's greater whole. Of being participant. It never hurts, Director.'
Hojo's smile was sickening to listen to. Tseng stepped away, and headed for the door with even steps. 'I'm sure the Turks will manage, professor.' He paused at the doorway. 'Will there be anything else?'
Tseng watched Hojo slide the red, red vial of his blood into a padded case next to a green, green sample of Mako.
Damn all politics.
The professor looked up, and chuckled. 'Nothing you can give me that you haven't already. Come back in a week.' The case disappeared into Hojo's lab coat.
'I've a feeling you'll be very interested, Director, in your results.'
Tseng waited for the door to hiss shut behind him before he allowed himself to think, I'm not looking for immortality in exchange for your psychosis.
"One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive."
Not my usual fare, I'll be the first to admit, but there's distinct fun in poking pain and torture at Tseng in a way that involves so few guns. 8D
Title: To Pay Dearly
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (post-CC, pre-AC)
Characters: Tseng, Hojo
Rating: PG
Warnings: Creepy scientist man? Spoilers for BC.
Summary: Good specimens are always the most difficult to acquire.
1062 words and mmmm, Shinra politics all over again.
'You must dislike me very much,' the doctor said, when the hissing of the doors announced Tseng's presence. Turning, the doctor pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. 'Or is the word "mislike"?'
'The word "mislike",' Tseng said from the doorway, 'is not in any dictionary, professor.'
It made the doctor smile. 'Of course it isn't,' the doctor nodded, gesturing Tseng inside. 'No more than your response is any answer to my question.' He tapped some details into his handheld console, watching details bloom over the screen. Tseng watched the light reflect itself off of the doctor's lenses. 'How have you been?' Hojo asked.
'Adequate,' Tseng replied, and unzipped his jacket.
'I miss the way you used to put sir at the end of every one of your sentences.' Hojo came around. 'You did it very well.'
'Propriety was never out of place,' Tseng shrugged, and used the past tense. His jacket was folded in half, and then left in a neat drape over the side of the examination table. He felt Hojo watch his hands as he undid his shoulder holster.
The doctor made a noise at the back of his throat. Tsk, chsk. 'You came armed.'
Tseng favoured him with a bland look, eyes darting to the fall of Hojo's lab coat, the stethoscope about Hojo's neck, the lineage of Mako treatments at the back of the room.
Hojo smiled. 'It's in your job description, of course.'
'As it were,' Tseng nodded. He took off his tie, and made sure that Hojo could hear it; undressing could be noiseless, but could was only one side of a potentiality. The tie slithered on top of his jacket, unkempt and so obvious in the sterile acetic whiteness of the room. His shirt followed, less pointedly.
The metal press of the stethoscope against his heart made Tseng want to reach for his gun. Hojo moved it to his back, leaning over the Turk's shoulder and as he asked, 'Have you thought about what I said?'
'Yes,' Tseng said, absolutely without biting his words. Hojo let him wait. He made Hojo wait. The stethoscope was removed, the measurement of his blood pressure began. It made Tseng want to bare his teeth and smile, if only to provoke the man.
Cardinal rule, he remembered from old training days: do not cage animals. They respond very badly.
'What did you think?' Hojo smiled, his lips tight and smug, just to provoke Tseng.
Tseng kept his eyes on the electronic count of his heart rate. 'Your team has always been good at scientific developments.'
The beep informed everyone in the room that Tseng was free from superficial cardiac-related problems. 'You're too kind,' Hojo murmured, as he removed the device. Tseng flexed his forearm, and wondered if either of them would ever stop watching the other. 'You're still playing coy, Director.'
The deferential tore itself from Hojo's lips with the exact amount of derision that Tseng once imagined it always would. How many years of ridicule had it been, since he first assumed secondment under Veld? Hojo was still admirably able to make himself sound like he was saying boy.
You're still playing coy, boy.
'I have no idea why you want us to participate in your scientific endgame,' Tseng professed, at the same moment that Hojo reached across with a syringe. 'Blood sampling?'
'Maybe there's something wrong with your cholesterol,' Hojo suggested, smiling. The slap of the tourniquet against Tseng's arm was rubbery and cold; the needle was colder as it slid into his veins. 'You'll understand if I find this more convenient than asking you to bleed all over me the way you do for every other enterprise.'
'I try to be neat,' Tseng said.
Hojo pulled back on the syringe. 'I try to be efficient.' Blood always seemed redder than what you'd imagine, even if you're used to seeing it too often, as in games of doctors and soldiers. Hojo taped the puncture down for Tseng and stored the sample. 'I digress, Director,' he murmured, tap tap tapping onto his console. 'We were talking of your department's potential participation in Shinra's new scientific programme.'
'Are we done with the check-up?' Tseng asked, sliding off the table.
'With the check-up,' Hojo agreed, casually.
Tseng pulled on his shirt. 'Administrative Research is not interested,' he said, and then he put on his tie.
'Mako technology has progressed to the point where you must feel incredibly outmatched in the field,' Hojo said, conversationally. Tapping, tapping, tapping.
'I will be sure to let you know if I wish to embark upon SOLDIER conditioning,' Tseng deadpanned, shifting a Windsor knot about the edge of his throat. 'Sir.'
Hojo lifted Tseng's blazer, dusted it, and held it open. 'It'd be a shame not to have you,' he said, eyes darker Tseng could glean from behind his glasses. The Turk obliged, and stepped up and threaded his arms through. Hojo's fingers were prehensile on his shoulders. 'You could make yourself so much more,' Hojo murmured, 'so much more than what Veld did, and what Veld was.'
Tseng, trapped, breathed in, and out, closed his eyes momentarily and thought of sharp, strong violence.
'You must be devastated by his betrayal,' Hojo said, slipping the first button of Tseng's jacket.
He betrayed no one. 'Yes.'
'Difficult to step into such tumultuous shoes,' Hojo said, slipping the second button.
'No.'
'Tragic. The company must doubt your loyalties, now.' Slipped the third, final button. 'Perhaps you should demonstrate to them that you aren't resentful of being part of Shinra's greater whole. Of being participant. It never hurts, Director.'
Hojo's smile was sickening to listen to. Tseng stepped away, and headed for the door with even steps. 'I'm sure the Turks will manage, professor.' He paused at the doorway. 'Will there be anything else?'
Tseng watched Hojo slide the red, red vial of his blood into a padded case next to a green, green sample of Mako.
Damn all politics.
The professor looked up, and chuckled. 'Nothing you can give me that you haven't already. Come back in a week.' The case disappeared into Hojo's lab coat.
'I've a feeling you'll be very interested, Director, in your results.'
Tseng waited for the door to hiss shut behind him before he allowed himself to think, I'm not looking for immortality in exchange for your psychosis.
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Veld has tumultuous shoes? :DDD
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I think this Hojo is batshit. This piece was just... "whee I want Tseng to snap and snarl and Hojo to snap and snarl back PLOT UNNECESSARY" \o\
The Baccano! one is going to be fun. Mostly because I just bought a new keyboard. *purr*
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stalkingreading your fics for awhile now and they are always amazing. I rec them on my journal when I can! ::smiles:: You have a wonderful ease and smoothness with your writing, and amazing characterization. ::pokes:: No more doubting yourself!no subject
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I was reading this and remembering the other fic you wrote, with young!Tseng getting offered the enhancers from Hojo, and Veld promptly chewing his ass out because Turks don't need that shit. And I kept thinking that obviously Veld's lesson stuck, because Tseng was polite (enough), but still very, very firm in his refusal.
This is awesome.
Also? It's your fault I'm likely going to be cosplaying Tseng next Otakon, if my friend will do Rufus. I blame you and your characterization of him entirely.
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Also? I FULLY APPROVE of Tseng and Rufus cosplaying, and STOMP MY FEET AND DEMAND PICTURES for when it happens. 8D
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I'll be going through your FFVII ficlist, somewhat asystematically as you can see. :D
I love all the small details in this the most. They contribute wonderfully to atmosphere and do such a good job of showing emotion rather than telling. And there is that amazing subtle undertone to the polite conversation that is infinite win. Poor Tseng; Hojo's such a bastard, neh? ^^