(no subject)
I HOPE MY BRAIN LEAVES ME ALONE NOW.
Rufus ShinRa doesn't believe in destiny. Fate is a tool that the human mind uses, carves out chunks of logic and poses faux statues of worthlessness. He's familiar with how it works, the fawning over what should have been, and the idea of being Chosen. It's a useful tool, when talking to the weak minded, useful to use against those who believe in a power outside of the human will -- but Rufus knows better. He has seen how to forge men, how to break them, how to mold them to his own will. The way of the world is a cruel one, and he knows all of the corners to hide behind and doesn't care much for words of compassion. He would not consider himself cruel, but effective and if people perceive him as cold then they are far from being wrong, even if somewhat inaccurate.
He also doesn't believe in dreams, but has found it harder to hold this principle unshakable when in the night he is visited by a memory. It's a memory dipped in sunshine (which is ridiculous in and of itself, as Midgar has not seen sun in so long) and the smell of flowers; he knows it well, white lilies carry a certain perfume. This smell is more like wild roses, hard to pinpoint but irrevocably cheerful and refined without being cultivated.
"Don't dead girls have better things to do?" he questions without rancor, without accusation and with just a hint of boredom.
She laughs, and he's become familiar with the way her lips bounce up before she lets out a joyful sound. She is too cheerful, standing pale pink against the grey steel of his walls. She leans against the bedroom wall, traces her fingertips on the metal, shuts her eyes.
"This is important."
"Is it? I was under the impression that you were doing nothing more than wasting my ti-"
And he doesn't get to finish because she pushes off of the wall, takes two steps towards him, raises a finger to his lips, "There is no time after death."
"I was about to say 'my time', which would imply that I was aware of your chronological quirk," he dislikes being interrupted.
"But you're dreaming, Rufus ShinRa." She had stopped calling him President ShinRa a month ago when she had first faded through the walls of his mind to stand before him. She had said, hello, this is important. And she never said anything more than that, just smiled, tilted her head to the side and brought a small piece of sunshine into his night. It was disorderly, and she always made sure to leave some reminder so in the morning he could dismiss it as a random firing of synapses or overwork.
"I don't dream."
"Everyone dreams, even the man who doesn't cry or bleed. I think you'd have to, or how did all of this end up coming about?" her gesture at the walls is so free, as if she is asking him his opinion on poppies against dahlias.
"Will. Power. Money. I'm sure you're acquainted with the terms."
She is about to say something, but instead stops short, as if listening to a far away speech. Her lips bounce, and he expects laughter. Instead she reaches up, fingers lightly touching his hair. Her face is so solemn, and he can't escape the scent of wild roses. It's irritating because he wants to sneeze, but is not the kind of man to sneeze.
"Yes. I am. Will you do something for me, Rufus ShinRa?" her voice is low, and she drapes both of her arms around his shoulders. He thinks that he would prefer to think of this as a dream because if not he will have to admit something about the Planet, the afterlife, the Lifestream.
"No, I won't."
"Tell Tseng thank you for me," and she presses her lips to his, gently. He feels her smile and flattens his own expression in return. She steps back, the bounce from her lips transferred into a cheerful step.
"If you could deliver the kiss too," smile.
Rufus ShinRa doesn't believe in destiny. Fate is a tool that the human mind uses, carves out chunks of logic and poses faux statues of worthlessness. He's familiar with how it works, the fawning over what should have been, and the idea of being Chosen. It's a useful tool, when talking to the weak minded, useful to use against those who believe in a power outside of the human will -- but Rufus knows better. He has seen how to forge men, how to break them, how to mold them to his own will. The way of the world is a cruel one, and he knows all of the corners to hide behind and doesn't care much for words of compassion. He would not consider himself cruel, but effective and if people perceive him as cold then they are far from being wrong, even if somewhat inaccurate.
He also doesn't believe in dreams, but has found it harder to hold this principle unshakable when in the night he is visited by a memory. It's a memory dipped in sunshine (which is ridiculous in and of itself, as Midgar has not seen sun in so long) and the smell of flowers; he knows it well, white lilies carry a certain perfume. This smell is more like wild roses, hard to pinpoint but irrevocably cheerful and refined without being cultivated.
"Don't dead girls have better things to do?" he questions without rancor, without accusation and with just a hint of boredom.
She laughs, and he's become familiar with the way her lips bounce up before she lets out a joyful sound. She is too cheerful, standing pale pink against the grey steel of his walls. She leans against the bedroom wall, traces her fingertips on the metal, shuts her eyes.
"This is important."
"Is it? I was under the impression that you were doing nothing more than wasting my ti-"
And he doesn't get to finish because she pushes off of the wall, takes two steps towards him, raises a finger to his lips, "There is no time after death."
"I was about to say 'my time', which would imply that I was aware of your chronological quirk," he dislikes being interrupted.
"But you're dreaming, Rufus ShinRa." She had stopped calling him President ShinRa a month ago when she had first faded through the walls of his mind to stand before him. She had said, hello, this is important. And she never said anything more than that, just smiled, tilted her head to the side and brought a small piece of sunshine into his night. It was disorderly, and she always made sure to leave some reminder so in the morning he could dismiss it as a random firing of synapses or overwork.
"I don't dream."
"Everyone dreams, even the man who doesn't cry or bleed. I think you'd have to, or how did all of this end up coming about?" her gesture at the walls is so free, as if she is asking him his opinion on poppies against dahlias.
"Will. Power. Money. I'm sure you're acquainted with the terms."
She is about to say something, but instead stops short, as if listening to a far away speech. Her lips bounce, and he expects laughter. Instead she reaches up, fingers lightly touching his hair. Her face is so solemn, and he can't escape the scent of wild roses. It's irritating because he wants to sneeze, but is not the kind of man to sneeze.
"Yes. I am. Will you do something for me, Rufus ShinRa?" her voice is low, and she drapes both of her arms around his shoulders. He thinks that he would prefer to think of this as a dream because if not he will have to admit something about the Planet, the afterlife, the Lifestream.
"No, I won't."
"Tell Tseng thank you for me," and she presses her lips to his, gently. He feels her smile and flattens his own expression in return. She steps back, the bounce from her lips transferred into a cheerful step.
"If you could deliver the kiss too," smile.