All That Never Was - Part 3/6(?) -- Final Fantasy VII Fic
Title: All That Never Was
Chapter: 3 / 6 (?)
Characters: Rufus, Lazard, Veld (this chapter), Heidegger (this chapter)
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama, Family
Summary: In the wake of Midgar’s destruction, Rufus remembers a brother who was never truly his.
Previous chapter
A/N: Originally this chapter and the upcoming one were one and the same. Alas, the boys refused to cooperate with me. I can’t help but wonder who’s writing the story-me or them?
Oh, for those not familiar with Before Crisis, Veld is Tseng’s predecessor as leader of the Turks.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core, Advent’s Children, Before Crisis or Dirge of Cerberus, nor do I make any profits due to them.
---
The smell of salt is thick in the air. The man can hear the smooth, rhythmic sound of the surf washing over sand.
The sharp metallic scents of the city are gone. The electronic buzz of lights and computers and cars are all gone. All of it is gone.
Gone gone gonegonegonegonegone.
Competition?
He should’ve known better.
---
The board room boasted a spectacular view. The massive window revealed a night sky inverted. The faint glimmering of the stars above seemed pathetically outmatched by their contemporaries below.
The true stars were the lights of Midgar. The harsh neon flicker from the commercial sector, the small glow of cars quickly zipping around like insects and the harsh glare of searchlights, all of this burnt hot and bright into the black of the night. A celestial dance in its on right as if someone had dragged the heavens down and chained them to the earth.
He could hear them now. The faint click of the room’s door opening and the soft padding of feet as the board entered.
Let them see him this way: standing tall and strong.
Let them see him with the city spanning out before him and into the horizon. All of its light shining a faint mako-green. All of it belonging to ShinRa.
Let them know it would all one day belong to Rufus.
He waited until he could hear the shuffling of them settling into their seats, before turning around, taking his place at the head of the table. One by one he looked at each of the room’s occupants, letting his gaze stay on each of them long enough for them to notice-Heidegger, Reeve, Veld and Lazard.
While Hojo’s absence was unremarkable-the man rarely could be ferreted from his lab for any reason short of a full-fledged emergency. Scarlet and Palmer’s was more conspicuous. They were over in RocketTown. ShinRa No. 26 was launching in a month's time and they were busy with preparations.
This was a fact that Rufus was thankful for. Few things tested his patience like Palmer. Being stuck in a room with that pitiful excuse for a man was like being stuck in a room with a Fat Chocobo doing a mating dance. Perhaps amusing for a time, but ultimately loud, annoying and heavily taxing on the dignity of those around him. Would it be too much to hope for the launch to fail causing the rocket to squash the pest?
Veld, the Director of ‘Administrative Research,’ sat at Rufus’ left. His beard was slightly ragged and his dark brown hair had the occasional tangle in it giving him a slightly rough countenance, completely unlike the man behind him.
The man of course was Tseng. As always, the younger Turk was immaculately groomed and dressed, standing silently at Veld’s shoulder. Not at Rufus’, where he should be, but Veld’s.
So close he stood to the ShinRa heir that he could almost deceive himself. But faced with the reality: there might as well be a wall seperating them.
Tseng’s disappearance from his life was supposedly a gift from his father when he had turned eighteen. A sign that showed he was now an adult, no longer needed protecting. While the protection part was true-the gun tucked into holster under his arm was proof of that-but like most ‘gifts’ in the life of Rufus ShinRa, it was given without so much as a consultation.
Tseng had been snatched up the moment he’d been stolen from Rufus. He’d had to watch him being sent back and forth like Veld’s personal servant. Either on assignment for him or attached to firmly to his side. Rufus couldn’t help but wonder if Tseng pissed without Veld’s say-so.
To have Tseng here, paraded under his nose, was aggravating to say the least.
That would have to change.
“What’s the boy doing here?” Heidegger grumbled.
“The ‘boy’-as you so juvenilely call him-is the vice president of the company,” Lazard said. “He outranks you. Or do you need to be reminded?”
Heidegger cast an angry look at Lazard, but the Director of SOLDIER of barely seemed to notice it. Instead he seemed more interested in his gloves, lightly tugging at the base of one so that it fit his hand more snugly.
“Thank you, Lazard,” said Rufus, “but I can handle myself.”
“I never meant to imply otherwise, Mr. Vice President.” Lazard bowed his head slightly. “I merely dislike childishness wherever I find it.”
Heidegger’s mouth opened and shut a few times before settling into a tight line, only marred by the sound of grinding teeth. For his own part, Rufus resisted the urge to do the same.
But no. Calmness was required or at least the facsimile of it. He was new to his position and first impressions were essential to get the respect he needed. To get riled up at such a small thing would cripple him in the eyes of the board; he’d be seen as another overly hormonal teenager. Besides, the barb may not have been directed at him.
Maybe.
“Perhaps we should get to the business at hand?” Reeve interjected. The engineer’s words were smooth and might have seemed natural if not for how quickly they were spoken.
“Certainly.” Rufus eyed the room and pushed some steel into his voice. “As you can see, my father is gone. I am in charge.”
Lazard’s face was entirely blank, Reeve sighed, Veld smirked, and Heidegger let out a low growl.
“Honestly, General Heidegger, you’d think I had just performed a coup d’état.” Perhaps it was wrong of Rufus to enjoy grandstanding so much, but everyone had their vices. “My father is alive and well. He is simply busy and on a business trip at that.” He smiled graciously at him. “Perhaps you forgot about his trip to Wutai that was scheduled for this week? I was so sure it was mentioned in our last meeting.- Either way there are some possible complications to the trip.”
Rufus nodded at Veld. “Please explain the situation to them.”
The head Turk didn’t miss a beat. “As you may be aware, the President has been doing some war propaganda in Wutai. One particular village there was undergoing a drought and he felt it was an ideal opportunity.”
Rufus couldn’t help but admire his father for the audacity of the plan. Southern Wutai frequently endured droughts at this time of year; it was the summer after all. It was more than likely that the villagers not only were used to dealing with droughts, but had the situation well in hand. Nonetheless, it was resource-effective way of gaining positive publicity with minimal effort.
He watched as a silent message seemed to pass between the two Turks. Tseng produced a thick sheathe of papers-apparently materializing them out thin air-and began to pass them out.
Lazard flipped through his, and then turned his gaze firmly onto Veld. “While I am sure that I will enjoy reading this, but would I be wrong to suspect time is of the essence?-and thus we should immediately move to the issue at hand?”
Veld seemed to agree.“It turns out that some Wutaian soldiers are in the area. I don’t need to tell you how that might complicate things should they get wind of the President’s presence.”
“Surely his security detail can handle it?” Reeve said, his brow furrowing.
“It’s believed they’re Pagoda-trained.” Veld let the severity of the statement sink in.
Ninjas trained at the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods were legendary. Some said they were able to move in and out of the tightest security without so much as leaving a hair behind. Others spoke of their prowess as world-class thieves. In the more wilder rumours, they were little more than phantoms-the mere touch of their shadows deadly.
These stories were almost certainly blown out of proportion; nonetheless, the threat was real enough. They had decimated ShinRa forces in the past. It was time for Rufus to take firm action. “I gather our platoons in the area are currently engaged, so we will have to send reinforcements from here-” he began.
But before he could continue, Heidegger burst into the conversation: “I’ll start marshalling the army immediately.” He viciously fiddled with a star medallion on his chest. “A few platoons… a couple tanks just to be sure. We’ll flatten the area.”
For all of the General’s lack of decorum, it was tempting.
“And destroy the President’s public relations work at the same time? He’d hardly be pleased,” Lazard commented, rolling his eyes before looking over at the Vice President, looking for assent.
“My father’s safety is paramount.” Father’s safety was necessary. He had barely gotten the vice presidency and even now the situation was utterly fragile. There had been a multitude of contenders for his spot. A single misstep would cause everything he worked for to crumble.
“Think for a moment, Rufus. Would he welcome the army trampling his work?”
“Better angry than dead,” he retorted but even as he said it, he had to admit Lazard was correct.
“…It doesn’t have to be a retrieval mission or a blatant attack,” he continued. “A smaller, more compact, more precise force could do it. The Turks would be ideal.” If done right, it would keep his father alive and keep Rufus on his ‘good’ side-provided such a thing existed.
“The Turks are-please take no offence, Veld-more of an information-gathering or covert operations group. While I’m sure they are more than capable of being in-city bodyguards. But defending against an out-right attack in unfamiliar territory? …I suspect that is more a job for SOLDIER,” Lazard said
If Veld was perturbed by this, he gave no sign. Instead he kept on smirking, seemingly enjoying the show without the slightest urge to comment.
But whereas Veld was watching both of them, the rest-Reeve, Heidegger and even Tseng-seemed to be focusing primarily on Lazard. It was as if someone had tied a string between Lazard and their eyes, drawing all the attention to him. Completely unacceptable.
It was then he noticed something. The first time really noticed it. Lazard was sitting directly to Rufus’ right.
The position of the heir apparent.
Oh, it was to be expected. He’d grown up with Lazard as his father’s favourite. The man Rufus was supposed to be. Self-made. Self-sufficient. A man who had climbed his way to the top. Never mind Rufus had never been given the option to go anywhere near the bottom.
It was a sharp but necessary reminder that he could be replaced. Easily at that.
At that moment, there was a strong temptation to throw all Lazard’s suggestions to the wind and go with Heidegger’s crude suggestion. It would feel good to simply destroy any potential threats to his father. To cut through all the politics and propaganda. To be free of it all.
“Sir?” came the tentative voice of Reeve.
But no.
“Pardon me, Director Tuesti,” he said. A few strands of his reddish-blonde hair had fallen out of place, lying across his field of vision. He grasped them carefully, feeling the smoothness under his fingers, before flipping the hair out of his face. “I was just taking a moment to think.”
To ignore Lazard’s advice now would just make him seem weaker. Petulant and foolish. Better to show the board he could not only take it, but improve upon it.
“You have good ideas… but I believe a mixed team would be better-both SOLDIERs and Turks. A small group is imperative. A large number would ruin any media work that has to be done, making it look like we’re strong-arming the area,” Rufus said. “The Turks will handle the reconnaissance, preferably neutralizing any threat to my father long before it arises. But should it be necessary, the SOLDIERs will be there to take care of any outright threats.” And because Rufus needed to seem a reasonable boss, he nodded and smiled at Lazard. “One of the First Class commanders should lead the mission. Sephiroth maybe?”
One day, there would be time for bluntness.
“I’d prefer not. Sephiroth, while certainly photogenic, would leave a negative impression on the Wutaians. He’d considered the hammer of ShinRa. He’d make our presence seem too aggressive. As for Genesis-”
Heidegger seemed delighted by this, bursting into the conversation. “Genesis? That would serve those noodle-nuts right. He’d boil the noodles right out of them! Gyahaha!”
That horse-laugh… There really were no words to describe it. The urge to cringe was monumental.
Reeve coughed. Tseng seemed to become even more quiet. Veld continued to smirk.
And Rufus found himself in an odd moment. He had turned to glower at the idiot, only to realise that Lazard was doing exactly the same thing. The other man caught his gaze, his expression unreadable.
They were really too much alike.
“As I was saying…” Lazard spared another glare in Heidegger’s direction. “…Genesis is equally unsuitable. Too temperamental to deal with such a delicate situation. I would recommend Angeal. He’s much better with people.” He paused and then, as if thinking of something, he said: “It’s a shame though.”
“How so?”
“It would be tempting to send them. I’d be spared them trashing the training rooms for a few weeks. Angeal’s the only one keeping them in check. With him gone, I’m afraid the problem will just get worse,” Lazard said, a small chuckle escaping his lips.
Rufus couldn’t help but join the other man in his amusement. Lazard’s statement was certainly no exaggeration. Genesis’ had a fondness for setting things on fire; meanwhile, Sephiroth had an unfortunate tendency of leaving leg-deep gouges in the training rooms’ floors. The destruction those two could leave in their wake was exorbitant. “I’ll forward you the extra funds for repairs.”
“Your generosity is appreciated.”
It was settled easily enough after that. At this point all that needed to be done was ironing out the details: supplies, support staff, transportation. For all of this, Rufus made himself out to be the ideal leader, listening carefully to suggestions and incorporating them smoothly.
Reeve had excused himself early, citing urgent work that needed to be done on the Sector Five reactor, and Heidegger left shortly afterwards to prepare the supplies needed for the mission.
“I’ll never understand what my father sees in that man,” Rufus muttered. He understood the reasons for the rest of the board: Veld was a Turk in every sense of the word, Scarlet ruled the Weapons Division with an iron fist, and Reeve essentially ran Midgar. Even Palmer, who far eclipsed Heidegger with his aggravating tendencies, was a genius in astrophysics and engineering. “Heidegger is utterly mediocre.”
“Have you considered that may be the point?” Lazard said, raising an eyebrow at him. “The General’s a decent resource manager, but the fact he requires overseeing for more important operations has its advantages.”
“Perhaps.” He mulled over the notion for a minute. The head of the army carried immense power. If Heidegger knew how to use his powers properly, he could potentially take over. Something the man was incapable of doing. Even if he wanted to, he would never garner the support. Anyone in their right mind would see Heidegger for the failure he was. “You may be right."
He’d tried for years to pierce the veil surrounding Father’s mind. It was galling to realise that Lazard could do it with barely a thought. People only follow winners, Rufus. So why was Lazard giving him all this free advice? Was it merely an attempt to show him up in front of the board? It would be so much easier to let him fail.
“Thank you,” Rufus said. What was Lazard after? “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“That’s part of the job,” Lazard replied.
A minute later, only Rufus and the Turks remained in the room.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to send Tseng to go on the mission. He’s just a kid but he knows the people and the lingo,” Veld said. He was still relaxing in his seat. That damned grin still present on his face and Tseng still glued to his shoulder.
“You can send him… But a ‘kid?’ Tseng hardly qualifies as a child anymore,” Rufus scoffed. Truthfully, he’d prefer for Tseng to stay in Midgar where he could keep an eye on him, but there was no real way to say it without revealing weakness.
“Well, kids have to grow up sometime.”
Finally Veld’s face relaxed, the smile vanishing under sagging folds of flesh and deeply-set wrinkles. “You know you and Lazard make a good team. You challenge each other.”
“I suppose we do.” Veld was right, Lazard was useful. So he would use him. He’d take his advice for now.
Rufus watched as the old Turk reached up and patted a rather startled Tseng on the back. Interesting how Veld had stolen Tseng the moment Rufus had lost him. As if he’d been prepared for it. Expecting it.
There would be time to figure out the Lazard’s motivations later.
If it got him what he needed, Rufus would drag down the heavens.
To be continued...
Chapter: 3 / 6 (?)
Characters: Rufus, Lazard, Veld (this chapter), Heidegger (this chapter)
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama, Family
Summary: In the wake of Midgar’s destruction, Rufus remembers a brother who was never truly his.
Previous chapter
A/N: Originally this chapter and the upcoming one were one and the same. Alas, the boys refused to cooperate with me. I can’t help but wonder who’s writing the story-me or them?
Oh, for those not familiar with Before Crisis, Veld is Tseng’s predecessor as leader of the Turks.
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core, Advent’s Children, Before Crisis or Dirge of Cerberus, nor do I make any profits due to them.
---
The smell of salt is thick in the air. The man can hear the smooth, rhythmic sound of the surf washing over sand.
The sharp metallic scents of the city are gone. The electronic buzz of lights and computers and cars are all gone. All of it is gone.
Gone gone gonegonegonegonegone.
Competition?
He should’ve known better.
---
The board room boasted a spectacular view. The massive window revealed a night sky inverted. The faint glimmering of the stars above seemed pathetically outmatched by their contemporaries below.
The true stars were the lights of Midgar. The harsh neon flicker from the commercial sector, the small glow of cars quickly zipping around like insects and the harsh glare of searchlights, all of this burnt hot and bright into the black of the night. A celestial dance in its on right as if someone had dragged the heavens down and chained them to the earth.
He could hear them now. The faint click of the room’s door opening and the soft padding of feet as the board entered.
Let them see him this way: standing tall and strong.
Let them see him with the city spanning out before him and into the horizon. All of its light shining a faint mako-green. All of it belonging to ShinRa.
Let them know it would all one day belong to Rufus.
He waited until he could hear the shuffling of them settling into their seats, before turning around, taking his place at the head of the table. One by one he looked at each of the room’s occupants, letting his gaze stay on each of them long enough for them to notice-Heidegger, Reeve, Veld and Lazard.
While Hojo’s absence was unremarkable-the man rarely could be ferreted from his lab for any reason short of a full-fledged emergency. Scarlet and Palmer’s was more conspicuous. They were over in RocketTown. ShinRa No. 26 was launching in a month's time and they were busy with preparations.
This was a fact that Rufus was thankful for. Few things tested his patience like Palmer. Being stuck in a room with that pitiful excuse for a man was like being stuck in a room with a Fat Chocobo doing a mating dance. Perhaps amusing for a time, but ultimately loud, annoying and heavily taxing on the dignity of those around him. Would it be too much to hope for the launch to fail causing the rocket to squash the pest?
Veld, the Director of ‘Administrative Research,’ sat at Rufus’ left. His beard was slightly ragged and his dark brown hair had the occasional tangle in it giving him a slightly rough countenance, completely unlike the man behind him.
The man of course was Tseng. As always, the younger Turk was immaculately groomed and dressed, standing silently at Veld’s shoulder. Not at Rufus’, where he should be, but Veld’s.
So close he stood to the ShinRa heir that he could almost deceive himself. But faced with the reality: there might as well be a wall seperating them.
Tseng’s disappearance from his life was supposedly a gift from his father when he had turned eighteen. A sign that showed he was now an adult, no longer needed protecting. While the protection part was true-the gun tucked into holster under his arm was proof of that-but like most ‘gifts’ in the life of Rufus ShinRa, it was given without so much as a consultation.
Tseng had been snatched up the moment he’d been stolen from Rufus. He’d had to watch him being sent back and forth like Veld’s personal servant. Either on assignment for him or attached to firmly to his side. Rufus couldn’t help but wonder if Tseng pissed without Veld’s say-so.
To have Tseng here, paraded under his nose, was aggravating to say the least.
That would have to change.
“What’s the boy doing here?” Heidegger grumbled.
“The ‘boy’-as you so juvenilely call him-is the vice president of the company,” Lazard said. “He outranks you. Or do you need to be reminded?”
Heidegger cast an angry look at Lazard, but the Director of SOLDIER of barely seemed to notice it. Instead he seemed more interested in his gloves, lightly tugging at the base of one so that it fit his hand more snugly.
“Thank you, Lazard,” said Rufus, “but I can handle myself.”
“I never meant to imply otherwise, Mr. Vice President.” Lazard bowed his head slightly. “I merely dislike childishness wherever I find it.”
Heidegger’s mouth opened and shut a few times before settling into a tight line, only marred by the sound of grinding teeth. For his own part, Rufus resisted the urge to do the same.
But no. Calmness was required or at least the facsimile of it. He was new to his position and first impressions were essential to get the respect he needed. To get riled up at such a small thing would cripple him in the eyes of the board; he’d be seen as another overly hormonal teenager. Besides, the barb may not have been directed at him.
Maybe.
“Perhaps we should get to the business at hand?” Reeve interjected. The engineer’s words were smooth and might have seemed natural if not for how quickly they were spoken.
“Certainly.” Rufus eyed the room and pushed some steel into his voice. “As you can see, my father is gone. I am in charge.”
Lazard’s face was entirely blank, Reeve sighed, Veld smirked, and Heidegger let out a low growl.
“Honestly, General Heidegger, you’d think I had just performed a coup d’état.” Perhaps it was wrong of Rufus to enjoy grandstanding so much, but everyone had their vices. “My father is alive and well. He is simply busy and on a business trip at that.” He smiled graciously at him. “Perhaps you forgot about his trip to Wutai that was scheduled for this week? I was so sure it was mentioned in our last meeting.- Either way there are some possible complications to the trip.”
Rufus nodded at Veld. “Please explain the situation to them.”
The head Turk didn’t miss a beat. “As you may be aware, the President has been doing some war propaganda in Wutai. One particular village there was undergoing a drought and he felt it was an ideal opportunity.”
Rufus couldn’t help but admire his father for the audacity of the plan. Southern Wutai frequently endured droughts at this time of year; it was the summer after all. It was more than likely that the villagers not only were used to dealing with droughts, but had the situation well in hand. Nonetheless, it was resource-effective way of gaining positive publicity with minimal effort.
He watched as a silent message seemed to pass between the two Turks. Tseng produced a thick sheathe of papers-apparently materializing them out thin air-and began to pass them out.
Lazard flipped through his, and then turned his gaze firmly onto Veld. “While I am sure that I will enjoy reading this, but would I be wrong to suspect time is of the essence?-and thus we should immediately move to the issue at hand?”
Veld seemed to agree.“It turns out that some Wutaian soldiers are in the area. I don’t need to tell you how that might complicate things should they get wind of the President’s presence.”
“Surely his security detail can handle it?” Reeve said, his brow furrowing.
“It’s believed they’re Pagoda-trained.” Veld let the severity of the statement sink in.
Ninjas trained at the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods were legendary. Some said they were able to move in and out of the tightest security without so much as leaving a hair behind. Others spoke of their prowess as world-class thieves. In the more wilder rumours, they were little more than phantoms-the mere touch of their shadows deadly.
These stories were almost certainly blown out of proportion; nonetheless, the threat was real enough. They had decimated ShinRa forces in the past. It was time for Rufus to take firm action. “I gather our platoons in the area are currently engaged, so we will have to send reinforcements from here-” he began.
But before he could continue, Heidegger burst into the conversation: “I’ll start marshalling the army immediately.” He viciously fiddled with a star medallion on his chest. “A few platoons… a couple tanks just to be sure. We’ll flatten the area.”
For all of the General’s lack of decorum, it was tempting.
“And destroy the President’s public relations work at the same time? He’d hardly be pleased,” Lazard commented, rolling his eyes before looking over at the Vice President, looking for assent.
“My father’s safety is paramount.” Father’s safety was necessary. He had barely gotten the vice presidency and even now the situation was utterly fragile. There had been a multitude of contenders for his spot. A single misstep would cause everything he worked for to crumble.
“Think for a moment, Rufus. Would he welcome the army trampling his work?”
“Better angry than dead,” he retorted but even as he said it, he had to admit Lazard was correct.
“…It doesn’t have to be a retrieval mission or a blatant attack,” he continued. “A smaller, more compact, more precise force could do it. The Turks would be ideal.” If done right, it would keep his father alive and keep Rufus on his ‘good’ side-provided such a thing existed.
“The Turks are-please take no offence, Veld-more of an information-gathering or covert operations group. While I’m sure they are more than capable of being in-city bodyguards. But defending against an out-right attack in unfamiliar territory? …I suspect that is more a job for SOLDIER,” Lazard said
If Veld was perturbed by this, he gave no sign. Instead he kept on smirking, seemingly enjoying the show without the slightest urge to comment.
But whereas Veld was watching both of them, the rest-Reeve, Heidegger and even Tseng-seemed to be focusing primarily on Lazard. It was as if someone had tied a string between Lazard and their eyes, drawing all the attention to him. Completely unacceptable.
It was then he noticed something. The first time really noticed it. Lazard was sitting directly to Rufus’ right.
The position of the heir apparent.
Oh, it was to be expected. He’d grown up with Lazard as his father’s favourite. The man Rufus was supposed to be. Self-made. Self-sufficient. A man who had climbed his way to the top. Never mind Rufus had never been given the option to go anywhere near the bottom.
It was a sharp but necessary reminder that he could be replaced. Easily at that.
At that moment, there was a strong temptation to throw all Lazard’s suggestions to the wind and go with Heidegger’s crude suggestion. It would feel good to simply destroy any potential threats to his father. To cut through all the politics and propaganda. To be free of it all.
“Sir?” came the tentative voice of Reeve.
But no.
“Pardon me, Director Tuesti,” he said. A few strands of his reddish-blonde hair had fallen out of place, lying across his field of vision. He grasped them carefully, feeling the smoothness under his fingers, before flipping the hair out of his face. “I was just taking a moment to think.”
To ignore Lazard’s advice now would just make him seem weaker. Petulant and foolish. Better to show the board he could not only take it, but improve upon it.
“You have good ideas… but I believe a mixed team would be better-both SOLDIERs and Turks. A small group is imperative. A large number would ruin any media work that has to be done, making it look like we’re strong-arming the area,” Rufus said. “The Turks will handle the reconnaissance, preferably neutralizing any threat to my father long before it arises. But should it be necessary, the SOLDIERs will be there to take care of any outright threats.” And because Rufus needed to seem a reasonable boss, he nodded and smiled at Lazard. “One of the First Class commanders should lead the mission. Sephiroth maybe?”
One day, there would be time for bluntness.
“I’d prefer not. Sephiroth, while certainly photogenic, would leave a negative impression on the Wutaians. He’d considered the hammer of ShinRa. He’d make our presence seem too aggressive. As for Genesis-”
Heidegger seemed delighted by this, bursting into the conversation. “Genesis? That would serve those noodle-nuts right. He’d boil the noodles right out of them! Gyahaha!”
That horse-laugh… There really were no words to describe it. The urge to cringe was monumental.
Reeve coughed. Tseng seemed to become even more quiet. Veld continued to smirk.
And Rufus found himself in an odd moment. He had turned to glower at the idiot, only to realise that Lazard was doing exactly the same thing. The other man caught his gaze, his expression unreadable.
They were really too much alike.
“As I was saying…” Lazard spared another glare in Heidegger’s direction. “…Genesis is equally unsuitable. Too temperamental to deal with such a delicate situation. I would recommend Angeal. He’s much better with people.” He paused and then, as if thinking of something, he said: “It’s a shame though.”
“How so?”
“It would be tempting to send them. I’d be spared them trashing the training rooms for a few weeks. Angeal’s the only one keeping them in check. With him gone, I’m afraid the problem will just get worse,” Lazard said, a small chuckle escaping his lips.
Rufus couldn’t help but join the other man in his amusement. Lazard’s statement was certainly no exaggeration. Genesis’ had a fondness for setting things on fire; meanwhile, Sephiroth had an unfortunate tendency of leaving leg-deep gouges in the training rooms’ floors. The destruction those two could leave in their wake was exorbitant. “I’ll forward you the extra funds for repairs.”
“Your generosity is appreciated.”
It was settled easily enough after that. At this point all that needed to be done was ironing out the details: supplies, support staff, transportation. For all of this, Rufus made himself out to be the ideal leader, listening carefully to suggestions and incorporating them smoothly.
Reeve had excused himself early, citing urgent work that needed to be done on the Sector Five reactor, and Heidegger left shortly afterwards to prepare the supplies needed for the mission.
“I’ll never understand what my father sees in that man,” Rufus muttered. He understood the reasons for the rest of the board: Veld was a Turk in every sense of the word, Scarlet ruled the Weapons Division with an iron fist, and Reeve essentially ran Midgar. Even Palmer, who far eclipsed Heidegger with his aggravating tendencies, was a genius in astrophysics and engineering. “Heidegger is utterly mediocre.”
“Have you considered that may be the point?” Lazard said, raising an eyebrow at him. “The General’s a decent resource manager, but the fact he requires overseeing for more important operations has its advantages.”
“Perhaps.” He mulled over the notion for a minute. The head of the army carried immense power. If Heidegger knew how to use his powers properly, he could potentially take over. Something the man was incapable of doing. Even if he wanted to, he would never garner the support. Anyone in their right mind would see Heidegger for the failure he was. “You may be right."
He’d tried for years to pierce the veil surrounding Father’s mind. It was galling to realise that Lazard could do it with barely a thought. People only follow winners, Rufus. So why was Lazard giving him all this free advice? Was it merely an attempt to show him up in front of the board? It would be so much easier to let him fail.
“Thank you,” Rufus said. What was Lazard after? “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“That’s part of the job,” Lazard replied.
A minute later, only Rufus and the Turks remained in the room.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to send Tseng to go on the mission. He’s just a kid but he knows the people and the lingo,” Veld said. He was still relaxing in his seat. That damned grin still present on his face and Tseng still glued to his shoulder.
“You can send him… But a ‘kid?’ Tseng hardly qualifies as a child anymore,” Rufus scoffed. Truthfully, he’d prefer for Tseng to stay in Midgar where he could keep an eye on him, but there was no real way to say it without revealing weakness.
“Well, kids have to grow up sometime.”
Finally Veld’s face relaxed, the smile vanishing under sagging folds of flesh and deeply-set wrinkles. “You know you and Lazard make a good team. You challenge each other.”
“I suppose we do.” Veld was right, Lazard was useful. So he would use him. He’d take his advice for now.
Rufus watched as the old Turk reached up and patted a rather startled Tseng on the back. Interesting how Veld had stolen Tseng the moment Rufus had lost him. As if he’d been prepared for it. Expecting it.
There would be time to figure out the Lazard’s motivations later.
If it got him what he needed, Rufus would drag down the heavens.
To be continued...