...Yes, see to it as a matter of priority. And inform the workers.
[In the middle of a dirt clearing framed by black mountains and ominously grey skies, there is a circle of houses. Nestled within these houses is a rickety timber watertower, with a man in a suit standing beside it.
Some uniformed men speed away from where he stands, in unison. Their steps are as one.
The man exhales, his brow creasing as if in thought before he folds his arms in front of him, deciding to lean against the tower. A faint creak of the aged wood is echoed in the sky- the sound of thunder approaching. He looks upward to the skies before pushing himself from the structure, dirt crunching under his shoes as he walks.
His eyes- always solemn, seem especially so now. And as he approaches the veranda he speaks- to the man that he knows awaits what he has to say.]
The schedule has changed. The directors wish to commence the journey to the reactor immediately.
[Apparently, they're bored. But that does not need to be said.]
[Ever since they first arrived Veld felt on edge and unsettled. There was something wrong about the area even though Nibelheim was just the beginning of the village it would become later. It was a sense of foreboding he couldn't quite shake. The sooner they were done with this babysitting mission the better.
He doesn't like the delight on Hojo's face when he sees the progress of the reactor's construction and he's not going to ask why Research and Development is so involved in the design and construction, he doesn't really need to.
He watches Vincent approach, already dreading the inevitable update that he has. It's going to rain soon and it's doubtful they'll make it to the reactor before the downpour starts though the idea of watching Scarlet trying to walk through the mud in those heels might make it worth getting completely soaked.]
Let's round them up then. We're probably going to have to roll Palmer up the mountain if we want to try to avoid getting caught in the storm.
That and a turn- away from the inn, (It had been fully booked up, yet who they were corralling would not be there. Veld was the only executive that chose to sleep in the same building as the salaried soldiers, assistants and Turks.) toward the manor.]
Perhaps he won't be an issue. He has greater reason than most to push through.
[Palmer's star was beginning to rise. Shinra's first reactor, Vincent suspected, was being constructed here to power the beginnings of another project over the mountain. A small town formed of worker accommodation was forming around land earmarked for a launch platform- already named Shinra number 26.]
If you'd like to liven things up by making a bet, my money's on the madam director being more of a problem.
[Those heels, of course. As well as the fact that the journey would have to be made on foot.
Vincent stops just shy of the gate, his gaze flicking beyond it, into the courtyard where small groups of people stand. The president, of course- flanked on all sides by military and company photographers. A middle-aged man. Rotund, but strong. Dashing, as the newspapers said. Heidegger- stronger. ....Rotunder. Surrounded by military men. Gast, accompanied by lesser doctors- Hojo included.
And as for Palmer, Scarlet, and the possible bet... He turns to his partner.]
[Information is their job, even the seemingly mundane details as Scarlet's new heels which probably cost more than they made in a month.
It wasn't that that bothered him but he considers the executives, especially Hojo, like snakes in the grass just waiting for their opportunity to strike. But he knew the president would just be dismissive of the danger around him if he said anything, he had his grand vision and nothing would get in the way of that.
He laughs as he looks over at the executives gathering around the president, eagerly talking among themselves. That's not going to last halfway up the mountain but their sense of optimism is hilarious.]
Alright, you're on. If it's Scarlet's new heels I'll do the mission reports for a week. But if it's Palmer who inhaled bacon and sausage for breakfast and a full lunch with fried chicken and at least a liter of coffee who breaks first it's on you.
[A couple of infantry officers were approaching them, Veld knew they were being summoned to get a move on.]
Let's do this then. The sooner we're back to Midgar the better.
[To say that Weapons Development and Public Safety worked hand-in-glove would not be groundbreaking. More like a first day on the job observation- it was common knowledge that the military needed weapons. These weapons had to be tested by the military- so cooperation was crucial for the productivity of both departments. But something seemed to have changed between the department heads. They seemed... cozy. As cozy as two vipers could be, anyway. Given Heidegger's recent departmental budget increase, warranted by the ongoing issues in the Undercity spilling onto the upper plate, this project, and Number 26...
Perhaps the shoes were another sign of that coziness. The directors were paid well (of course!) but a purchase like that... Regardless. That was a little too close to office gossip to serve much of a purpose. And Veld was too sharp to have not noticed anyway.
So onto the bet's terms.]
So he'll have an abundance of energy. Good. ...But I don't mind doing the reports. I was thinking more lunch- back in Midgar.
[It wasn't as if they hadn't been fed here. The populace was nothing short of accommodating. But this was the sticks. And unlike Palmer, Vincent found that everything was a little too... hearty and substantial for his tastes. And the portion sizes were off-puttingly colossal.
And shh, Maybe there was an ulterior motive in wanting to spend a little more time with his partner. Maybe.
He lets the offer hang in the air before he approaches the approaching officers, as if it had not even happened. A small exchange happens between them- confirmation of the route, the most gentle ascent, and...
Gya ha haaaaa!]
...!
[Oh, fuck his life. Really. For at that moment, the doors of the manor swing open, and the madam director makes herself known. From what appeared to be a makeshift carrage- a heavy, padded chair held aloft by no less than four of Heidegger's finest. A single man stands at the front of it- his whole profession seemingly being reduced to nothing but a footrest. Those shoes, the heels of which, are angled to rest against the side of the man's neck.
The turk stares at the scene before him, almost in disbelief before he approaches. Some tittering, more Gya Ha Ha'ing later, one or two Kya Ha Ha's...
And the procession is off. Although there were no monsters (as of yet...) to worry about, the very real threat of wolves warranted the turks to take point, alongside a small company of infantry.
Even with his eyes and his ears peeled, Vincent could not help but make a few glances backward to Palmer, in particular. Eyeing the already sweating director like a race chocobo.
Time to put that fried chicken, bacon, sausage, and coffee to work, Palmer. Dig deep.]
[He gives Vincent a grin before they follow the officers to where the executives are gathering, the president eager to get going before it starts to get too late.
But as soon as he starts to approach the president there Scarlet comes in all her glory and even if he's not surprised, he still has to stop and stare at that ridiculous carriage. He doesn't need to turn around to see the annoyance on Heidegger's face at his soldiers being to carry her around but he knows better than to say anything as they start the ascent.
Veld has several infantry men bring up the rear, leading the way with Vincent which makes it a bit easier to hide his amusement at hearing Palmer huffing and puffing along.
When he glances behind him he could see the sweat starting to show on that ugly mustard suit but somehow Palmer is still upright even though his steps are dragging.]
How .... [More huffing, gasping.] until we get there? It's so far!
[Veld shares a grin with Vincent, a silent I'm going to win this before he looks back at Palmer with a more professional expression.]
At this pace, most likely another hour to an hour and a half. If you look to the right you'll soon start to see the construction site.
[The sound of a mixture of dismay and despair is so satisfying as he turns back. Thankfully they seem to be lucky not to run into anything so far until finally there is a sad, pathetic voice behind them as Palmer finally admits defeat.]
[The sun was retreating over the edge of Midgar's cityscape- a dim light behind the aerial smog that permanently blanketed the upper plate. The dim outline of highrises, cranes, and the unmistakable silloutte of the sector's reactor are black monoliths against the starless night sky- and when Veld awoke, he might have noted a number of things.
One, that the bed he was within was not his own. It was something designed for single occupancy- wedged in a small space, surrounded by a number of things most would find disconcerting. Namely posters upon the walls advertising certain kinds of horror movies- from a vaguely behemoth-looking monster to a frankenstein to a masked zombie with a chainsaw dropping with blood and gore- shelving with a number of morbid decorations, from a skull-shaped ornament to a series of books that looked vaguely occultish to an ornate candlestick to a plush tonberry- it would appear that Veld's present location was vaguely unsettling. The only thing that was vaguely usual was a photo frame, holding a photograph of an older man with shoulder-length hair and blood-red eyes, a candle shaped like a ghost burning beside it.
Two, that an IV was embedded in his arm. Cleanly, of course. But somewhat haphazardly at the same time- a bag with some form of clear liquid within draped (for lack of a better location) upon the bedpost.
Three, that some TV was playing a black and white film on the other side of the room. The film is somewhat schlockish- depicting a series of women with white dresses and fangs waking up within coffins and hissing- before rising with cries of their hunger.
The fourth was likely Vincent. For a lack of space within the small apartment, he is sat upon the ledge of the window- his eyes, the same eyes as the man within the photograph, fixed upon the television. A half-eaten bowl of noodles is beside him, and his long legs are bare. A far too long back tee and shorts covers what counts however, and his hand and the cheap, wooden chopsticks within it is half-risen to his mouth, frozen in place given his intentful gaze upon the television set. The other hand is at his side. Veld's own pager is within it.
A series of shrieks come from the television set as the vampire brides feed upon the unfortunate humans trapped with them. Shrieks that make Vincent look around the room- his eyes widening only when he sees Veld.]
You're awake. It's been weeks.
[Vincent immediately moves off the windowsill, switching off the television set before he makes his way to the other man.]
[There was fire all around and the last thing he remembers is the sound of Felicia's scream as the building comes down on him and the world goes black, the sound echoing as he sinks into oblivion.
He would have thought that he had died but for the moments of intense pain that pulls him into consciousness, the world a blur around him before darkness consumes him once more. There are glimpses of light, voices, and heat surrounding him before the sweet relief of darkness finally truly consumes him.
If he's not dead, then he knows he's most likely being kept alive by Shinra's best and brightest of the dark depths of research and development. He's too much of a valuable resource to just be left alone, too much of a liability for the company and president.
But no matter how much he struggles against consciousness once more it keeps slipping away from him. He doesn't hear Hojo's triumphant laughter but it's not enough to be reassuring. If he's not going to be allowed to die, he has to fight to escape if he has to since there is no telling where he is or who is keeping him alive for what purpose.
Eventually, the darkness slowly retreats. The sound of shrieking in the movie gives him something to focus on as he slowly opens his eyes. He knows the sound of Vincent's voice, it pulls him more into the world as he can begin to see it more clearly.
The posters on the wall, and the bed he's in- it's clear that this isn't somewhere in the Shinra Building but raises further questions that he's trying to piece together through the fog in his mind.]
Weeks...
[They would be looking for him or his body. The president knew better than to assume Veld was dead without seeing his body for himself or if he was alive, Veld wouldn't be allowed out of their grasp.
Even though Vincent tells him not to move, Veld tries to anyway, weakly attempting to tear the IV out but fails since his hands are shaking. He has to get out, get away but the pain takes his breath away as soon as he tries to sit up.]
Where...how...
[He has to lay down again, focusing on Vincent as the world seems to move and lurch around every time he moves despite the overwhelming pain.]
[It's an exercise in futility, he knows. Telling a man that had been laid up for weeks not to. Not when all the parts of his body that still worked wanted nothing more than to shake themselves free of the bed that'd been a prison for the past few weeks. Let alone the psychological side of things. When the last thing Veld likely remembered was hell itself, the flames lapping at his broken body. A thousand cuts from the debris of the explosion. Smoke burning at his lungs. Of course his every instinct was to move.]
The details can wait. First, you need to drink something. Don't move- or I'll have to stitch you up again.
[He walks away- likely, given his present condition, past Veld's field of immediate view- to a remarkably shitty looking kitchenette in the same room. There's the creak of a tap. The rumbling of pipes- and water. a glass is filled and then brought over, Vincent's hand moving to the back of the other man's head to tilt it upward slightly. The cool glass would meet his cracked, charred lips, and it would be moved to them. Gently. As if not to choke him.]
You're on a lot of drugs currently. Antibiotics, anti inflammatories... Opioids, too. For the pain. I had to use the slums. One of Corneo's crew. So I've no idea what they were cut with.
[The glass is lowered. As are the covers- just to Veld's waist. Just to see if he did tear open any of his stitches. Fortunately, the bandages about his torso are clean. White. Showing no sign of blood. He then replaces them.]
So I owe you an apology for any side effects. As well as not patching you up well enough that you can move freely.
[Look. Son of a scientist and all, he knew a few things about field medicine. But his training was far from conventional.]
[This time Veld has to listen to Vincent about moving but the world seems to be almost floating, drifting in and out as he tries to focus on real things like the sound of Vincent talking.
Lots of drugs- that explains a lot like feeling he doesn't have any real anchor in reality and if he lets go, he has no idea where he's going to drift off to. Whatever Vincent got from the Don Veld is going to have to get that recipe later.
So this isn't Shinra and the company doesn't know he's here. They would be searching for him but at least he knows Vincent isn't dumb enough to go to some location in the company records but that's a lot of questions to ask while it feels like a haze still lingers over his mind.
Pain radiates and makes his breath catch as he tries to sit up to drink the water which is a welcome relief even though he hates Vincent having to help him with such a simple task.
But his body can't seem to move with any coordination or without blinding pain so all he can do is weakly allow Vincent to help him drink water which is a welcome relief to his cracked lips and dry throat. When finished, he doesn't look down when Vincent pulls away the covers.
It's not that he doesn't want to see what is there but more he knows if he moves his head too much the water will come back up, painfully. It seems it's just best not to move for a bit until the world stops spinning.]
[That's a question that evokes a long silence. A silence which is heavy, stifling. One that seems to suck all of the air out of the room. A silence which lasts only a matter of seconds but feels like minutes- until a ridiculously hammy "I vant your blood!" comes from the TV, breaking it. Vincent moves from the bed to the thing- switching it off with a click. He returns slowly. His footsteps slow. Almost unwilling. ]
The details [And who relayed the order...] still aren't known. But three weeks ago, bombers were mobilized from Junon- along with two Gelnika containing ground troops. ...The target was Kalm. There was no evacuation call. Every structure within Kalm was bombed heavily. Infantry swept the ruins afterward, ensuring none survived. [None barring Veld, of course. He'd been taken to Midgar.] The townspeople...
[A brief pause. And a heavy exhale.]
...You know how these things go.
[A mass grave. Dug deep by industrial machinery. People and animals tossed within, all sign of past life concealed and cemented over.]
I wanted to ensure there was a grave for- [Veld's wife. His child.] -You know. But you were my priority. Veld...
[He raises his head, to look him in the face.]
Public Security says the order came from your identification number. Weapons Development says it's the work of a terrorist, working from within. The President sat through a few boardrooms regarding the matter before he left for Costa del Sol. Heidegger's been tasked with settling the matter before he returns.
[He doesn't go into the rest. Of news crews practically barricading the hospital Veld was being treated. Of grunts within the army standing at the doors of Veld's hospital room and refusing to leave. Of their department itself, and all access to it from the Shinra building, being locked. Of the hours and hours he'd personally been grilled.
[Even through the haze Veld remembers putting in the order clearly. Even though he had been tired at the time, he had been up all night in meetings with the president, Veld knew he hadn't made a mistake.
But only two other people had the authorization and ability to use his identification number for anything- Heidegger and the president. But that is too much to think about when Vincent keeps talking and the words start to sink in.
His wife, Felicia-]
I thought I heard her scream.
[That he also remembers all too clearly. He hadn't always been the best father to her, working long hours and often not even able to give her a call at night before her bedtime. It had caused was now an irreparable rift between him and his wife, but it was all worth it for those brief moments with his daughter.
But he does know exactly what happens when Shinra goes scorched earth and then covers the worst of it. There would be no survivors or witnesses in Kalm but in a few months the city would be rebuilt and filled with paid Shinra residents there to act like nothing had ever happened and they had lived their entire lives there without incident.]
Why am I here?
[Because he doesn't doubt that if the president had any say in it Veld would not be here. He wouldn't be allowed to die but would it would be Hojo standing over him instead of Vincent.] ...how am I here?
[Leeroy. Well. An image serves as Vincent's response. A typical image- one that would be on any upright Midgar citizen's ID. He adds nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Because Veld should be able to tell that there's a similarity there, and what it means.
Both men- Leeroy and the Don- have cleft chins. It's not a certainty that they're father and son. But it's far more likely than not. Especially considering other shared traits. Male pattern baldness. Piglike blue eyes. A shit-eating grin. Looked like one Mrs. Corneo was a keeper. ...Once. But ping. Have another message.]
Turks are best suited for this job. The military don't need to be involved.
[There's kids involved in this, after all. They might be shitheads like their father. They might even grow up to be shitheads like their probable grandfather. But the last thing he wanted- anyone wanted- were more troopers going rambo. This residence is located on the upper plate too. While a few gunhappy troopers can be ignored in the slums, on the upper plate, it would have to be covered up.
...And that's even more work for the both of them. ]
I'm going to give Heidegger a distraction and something to keep the troopers occupied.
[This is why he allows for a few anti-Shinra groups to run around - they have their purposes sometimes.
Corneo or not, it's not ideal to drag the kids into things as collateral, but they can't afford to let themselves get sentimental on the job. The Turks were there to do the things that no one else would have the stomach or lack of morals to.]
We'll probably have to break him of the idea that he's more clever than he is, which will take some time.
[Like suspected father, like son no doubt but everyone has their breaking point.]
Even he will be able to understand that we have his family within reach and understand what's in his, and their, best interest.
[Screw the kids, then. They, and the wife, are getting picked up too. It's... fine. He knows, of course he knows, that their job isn't clean. And he also knows that he's done far worse. (The worst he's done was solved easily enough. Some PTO, lots of booze, and elvira reruns.) So... fine. They're collatoral. He's not arguing.
Part of him wants to respond with something wry. About how he should have given Veld the news about the restaurant after the news about work. But he doesn't. While he can dismiss the murkier elements of the job, he'd never be one to joke about them.]
If he's stupider than we thought?
[If he runs to Corneo, for instance? The chances are slim. Any idiot knows that the don only operates thanks to supplying information to Shinra. But he suspects the answer. Kill them all. He just needs confirmation.]
[It was a risky decision to potentially antagonize Corneo too much, but Veld assumes that the Don is at least smart enough to know that he has no direct recourse against the company.]
But make sure we have a souvenir we can gift to Corneo if necessary.
[Remaining here only made the wound bigger, he knew. Yet even if he had a choice in the matter, he knew that he would stay. Arm's length from Lucre- no, Doctor Crescent had been easy, at least. Ever since her child had been taken away, she had been utterly inconsolable.
Hysterical, the good Doctor Hojo had called it. Nonsensical. Even mad. Even now, on a day like none other before it- when the results of Projects G and S had been brought to the manor, and both Hollander and Hojo prepared themselves to rub the results of their experimentations in the other's faces- Doctor Crescent herself had been absent.
...Not by choice. She had been moved to the bowels of the manor. To wail and to scream and to cry- to lament being so close to this child- the only one on the Planet that she loved, yet so far. Vincent himself had no say in the matter. He was security. Nothing more...
...There was nothing he could do.
Except for one thing. A thing most would call terrible. That some would call evil- something that would end this torment. Even end himself, were this child faster than him, able to kill him before he could even pull the trigger.
Didn't matter even if he wasn't. Even if he was faster than this boy, the rest of the security within the manor would be alerted, and he would meet his end that way.
An end was an end.
He holds the door for the child as he walks after him through the hallways of the ground level of the manor- and he cannot help but get the measure of him. He's a strange thing, so alien, with his head of greyed hair and his catlike, glowing eyes- but so human in his resemblance to her.
He was his mother's son, all right. And the similarities he held to Vincent himself... A long, thin nose. A pointed chin. The shape of his eyes. None of these things were hers. Yet they were not Hojo's, either.
Forgive me, Lucrecia.
He can't help but ask, even mentally, as he holds the last door for the boy. The main door, one that led outside, to the yard, where the nightmare would end.]
[It wasn't often Sephiroth came into contact with people. Well, people who weren't Professor Hojo or any of his lab assistants. This means he's especially awkward around new people in that he's not quite sure how to act. Despite that and his age, he's still rather polite all things considered.
He follows the man without so much as a question. He's learned pretty quickly they don't like it when he asks questions, or at least not the ones he leans towards. Namely his origin, his mother. These things go without much word, just frowns and subject changes.
He did manage to get something out of Hojo once. A name.
Jenova.
But not much else. Just that she died. Hojo didn't shy away explaining to him what death is, not even at an early age. But they also put him into training rooms already to fight monsters. Fake deaths.
And then they brought him here, which in a way was a welcome change. Some place new, and he is curious. Unfortunately he's not allowed to wander. Otherwise he would. But he is being under the watchful eye of another ... though this one isn't like the scientists. And so Sephiroth watches him closely, cat-like eyes following every movement -- not out of suspicion, but curiosity.
After stepping outside --]
My name is Sephiroth -
[A pause.]
But you probably already knew that, sorry. I just thought I should introduce myself.
[Everyone knows who he is. Unfortunately. Professor Hojo would parade him around everywhere if he could. Sephiroth doesn't like it, but he puts up with it. He's just a kid and he really has no other place.
But right, other than introductions, what's the other polite thing to do?]
[It spoke volumes about Sephiroth- the fact that he viewed a long plane ride and this stifling, grey, depressing place as welcome. Because the Nibel region was anything but welcoming. Today was a day like no other. The skies are grey. Heavy with tension- the indication of brewing thunder apparent in both the gloom that dominated the sky, as well as faint rumbles, spread far apart.
The mountains themselves reach toward this greyness, twisted and contorted as if in agony.
Not that the turk's mind is on any of that. Instead, it is spinning in a far different direction. The handgun in his holster was a Winchester long barrel. Not his usual Shinra issue piece. Better for close range. Preloaded with a clip of 9mm bullets. Guaranteed to put a human target in the ground, velocity and power near perfect for lethality- capable of producing a wide wound channel even if death was not immediate. Enough power to tear apart vital organs beyond any hope of recovery.
Loud, though. Incredibly loud. Loud enough for those still within the manor to hear. Loud enough to make his original plan of doing this, then going into the mansion and taking a few shots at Hojo before he was brought down damn near impossible. Completely impossible, given the fact that whether it was needed or not, it would be prudent to fire multiple shots into this child.
This child.
His head's spinning, all right- and the thought of Sephiroth's age moves it off-kilter, spinning in a direction he does not especially like. And he is lost in his thoughts as he gazes toward the mountains.]
Hm?
[The boy's voice is a bit of a surprise to him. His question even more so. Like Sephiroth had not expected to be watched by anyone but scientists, Vincent was not expecting to be spoken to. Security. Nothing more. Here, on this job- his role hardly warranted being addressed for anything other than orders.
He turns, both of his hands empty.]
...Vincent Valentine. Turk.
[As his eyes move downward to meet the youth's gaze, again, it strikes him just how much like his mother the boy's countenance was.]
I've been told you're to remain out of the laboratory while the presentations are ongoing. And...
[Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for him. Stop.]
I thought you might want to take some fresh air while you have the opportunity. It's hard to come by in Midgar.
[Sephiroth seems satisfied with Vincent's answer and takes a few steps away to look around. It's very nice here, and so different from Midgar. He feels a little out of place no longer surrounded by the walls of the Shinra building. Even looking outside there didn't give the view this place does.
After a moment he turns back around to Vincent.]
Thank you. I like it here.
[Well, maybe not at this particular building, but the area in general is nice. He wouldn't mind that. In a way that's what he fantasizes about, being away from everything with his mother. It's the life he wants but could never have.]
They'll probably be in there awhile. Professor Hojo likes to argue.
[Argue until his points are known and recognized by everyone. Sephiroth does not particularly like him and probably never will. There's just something about him. So if they can stay out here for awhile, it'll be for the best.]
He probably won't like me telling you that. Or telling you that an easy way to get him angry is to say Materia is magic. He dislikes that word a lot.
[Sorry Vincent, Sephiroth usually doesn't have a people to talk to that aren't scientists. He's new and interesting and took him outside, which is good enough for Sephiroth at the moment.]
[At that, the urge to shake his head in incredulousness is strong- but he does not. Sephiroth was the first person he'd heard that actually voiced a positive opinion on this place- the ramshackle little village, or the foreboding mountains. He was tempted to answer. To say something along the lines of his approval not being necessary. That the region wasn't especially important to him, and there was no need to praise it because he was here.
...But he was a Turk. He was the perceptive sort. And the fact that the boy had stated approval of this was a signal to him- illustrating a life that was likely spent in sterile laboratories, loud drill halls, and artificial combat sims. Pity rises again. And he has to dig deep to push it back.]
Yes. I'm familiar with Professor Hojo's ...approaches to the sciences. And given Professor Gast's resignation...
["Resignation" was a word for it.]
...The Company's views have shifted to the same thing. Even if this does take a while-
[And it will. Because this whole affair is typical of Hojo. To cart half of the science department and three children with two respective families in tow, to the middle of nowhere for a dickmeasuring contest.
...But it's hardly his concern.]
-your transport back to Midgar has been prearranged. A chopper will arrive briefly, to take you to the airstrip, where you will be flown back to Midgar.
[He pauses then, something moving through his head before he starts to move toward the side of the building, past some dead trees.]
There were two boys here yesterday, for the same reason as you. While the... science... was being discussed, [And while Hollander screamed himself hoarse at an unimpressed Hojo,] they spent that time playing here.
[He had no idea what the both of them found so interesting about this little corner of the garden. But the evidence of their presence was still here in the form of footprints in the dirt- indicating running. Chasing. And perhaps even an impromptu playfight, given the fact the footprints trail off into what appears to be clear signs of scraped heels, slides, and general chaos.
Vincent strides around the area, soon spotting something in the bushes.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
† veld
→ nibelheim
[In the middle of a dirt clearing framed by black mountains and ominously grey skies, there is a circle of houses. Nestled within these houses is a rickety timber watertower, with a man in a suit standing beside it.
Some uniformed men speed away from where he stands, in unison. Their steps are as one.
The man exhales, his brow creasing as if in thought before he folds his arms in front of him, deciding to lean against the tower. A faint creak of the aged wood is echoed in the sky- the sound of thunder approaching. He looks upward to the skies before pushing himself from the structure, dirt crunching under his shoes as he walks.
His eyes- always solemn, seem especially so now. And as he approaches the veranda he speaks- to the man that he knows awaits what he has to say.]
The schedule has changed. The directors wish to commence the journey to the reactor immediately.
[Apparently, they're bored. But that does not need to be said.]
no subject
He doesn't like the delight on Hojo's face when he sees the progress of the reactor's construction and he's not going to ask why Research and Development is so involved in the design and construction, he doesn't really need to.
He watches Vincent approach, already dreading the inevitable update that he has. It's going to rain soon and it's doubtful they'll make it to the reactor before the downpour starts though the idea of watching Scarlet trying to walk through the mud in those heels might make it worth getting completely soaked.]
Let's round them up then. We're probably going to have to roll Palmer up the mountain if we want to try to avoid getting caught in the storm.
no subject
That and a turn- away from the inn, (It had been fully booked up, yet who they were corralling would not be there. Veld was the only executive that chose to sleep in the same building as the salaried soldiers, assistants and Turks.) toward the manor.]
Perhaps he won't be an issue. He has greater reason than most to push through.
[Palmer's star was beginning to rise. Shinra's first reactor, Vincent suspected, was being constructed here to power the beginnings of another project over the mountain. A small town formed of worker accommodation was forming around land earmarked for a launch platform- already named Shinra number 26.]
If you'd like to liven things up by making a bet, my money's on the madam director being more of a problem.
[Those heels, of course. As well as the fact that the journey would have to be made on foot.
Vincent stops just shy of the gate, his gaze flicking beyond it, into the courtyard where small groups of people stand. The president, of course- flanked on all sides by military and company photographers. A middle-aged man. Rotund, but strong. Dashing, as the newspapers said. Heidegger- stronger. ....Rotunder. Surrounded by military men. Gast, accompanied by lesser doctors- Hojo included.
And as for Palmer, Scarlet, and the possible bet...
He turns to his partner.]
Well?
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[Information is their job, even the seemingly mundane details as Scarlet's new heels which probably cost more than they made in a month.
It wasn't that that bothered him but he considers the executives, especially Hojo, like snakes in the grass just waiting for their opportunity to strike. But he knew the president would just be dismissive of the danger around him if he said anything, he had his grand vision and nothing would get in the way of that.
He laughs as he looks over at the executives gathering around the president, eagerly talking among themselves. That's not going to last halfway up the mountain but their sense of optimism is hilarious.]
Alright, you're on. If it's Scarlet's new heels I'll do the mission reports for a week. But if it's Palmer who inhaled bacon and sausage for breakfast and a full lunch with fried chicken and at least a liter of coffee who breaks first it's on you.
[A couple of infantry officers were approaching them, Veld knew they were being summoned to get a move on.]
Let's do this then. The sooner we're back to Midgar the better.
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[To say that Weapons Development and Public Safety worked hand-in-glove would not be groundbreaking. More like a first day on the job observation- it was common knowledge that the military needed weapons. These weapons had to be tested by the military- so cooperation was crucial for the productivity of both departments. But something seemed to have changed between the department heads. They seemed... cozy. As cozy as two vipers could be, anyway. Given Heidegger's recent departmental budget increase, warranted by the ongoing issues in the Undercity spilling onto the upper plate, this project, and Number 26...
Perhaps the shoes were another sign of that coziness. The directors were paid well (of course!) but a purchase like that... Regardless. That was a little too close to office gossip to serve much of a purpose. And Veld was too sharp to have not noticed anyway.
So onto the bet's terms.]
So he'll have an abundance of energy. Good.
...But I don't mind doing the reports. I was thinking more lunch- back in Midgar.
[It wasn't as if they hadn't been fed here. The populace was nothing short of accommodating. But this was the sticks. And unlike Palmer, Vincent found that everything was a little too... hearty and substantial for his tastes. And the portion sizes were off-puttingly colossal.
And shh, Maybe there was an ulterior motive in wanting to spend a little more time with his partner. Maybe.
He lets the offer hang in the air before he approaches the approaching officers, as if it had not even happened. A small exchange happens between them- confirmation of the route, the most gentle ascent, and...
Gya ha haaaaa!]
...!
[Oh, fuck his life. Really. For at that moment, the doors of the manor swing open, and the madam director makes herself known. From what appeared to be a makeshift carrage- a heavy, padded chair held aloft by no less than four of Heidegger's finest. A single man stands at the front of it- his whole profession seemingly being reduced to nothing but a footrest. Those shoes, the heels of which, are angled to rest against the side of the man's neck.
The turk stares at the scene before him, almost in disbelief before he approaches. Some tittering, more Gya Ha Ha'ing later, one or two Kya Ha Ha's...
And the procession is off. Although there were no monsters (as of yet...) to worry about, the very real threat of wolves warranted the turks to take point, alongside a small company of infantry.
Even with his eyes and his ears peeled, Vincent could not help but make a few glances backward to Palmer, in particular. Eyeing the already sweating director like a race chocobo.
Time to put that fried chicken, bacon, sausage, and coffee to work, Palmer. Dig deep.]
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[He gives Vincent a grin before they follow the officers to where the executives are gathering, the president eager to get going before it starts to get too late.
But as soon as he starts to approach the president there Scarlet comes in all her glory and even if he's not surprised, he still has to stop and stare at that ridiculous carriage. He doesn't need to turn around to see the annoyance on Heidegger's face at his soldiers being to carry her around but he knows better than to say anything as they start the ascent.
Veld has several infantry men bring up the rear, leading the way with Vincent which makes it a bit easier to hide his amusement at hearing Palmer huffing and puffing along.
When he glances behind him he could see the sweat starting to show on that ugly mustard suit but somehow Palmer is still upright even though his steps are dragging.]
How .... [More huffing, gasping.] until we get there? It's so far!
[Veld shares a grin with Vincent, a silent I'm going to win this before he looks back at Palmer with a more professional expression.]
At this pace, most likely another hour to an hour and a half. If you look to the right you'll soon start to see the construction site.
[The sound of a mixture of dismay and despair is so satisfying as he turns back. Thankfully they seem to be lucky not to run into anything so far until finally there is a sad, pathetic voice behind them as Palmer finally admits defeat.]
Please, rest! Cannot...another step.
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→ h/c
One, that the bed he was within was not his own. It was something designed for single occupancy- wedged in a small space, surrounded by a number of things most would find disconcerting. Namely posters upon the walls advertising certain kinds of horror movies- from a vaguely behemoth-looking monster to a frankenstein to a masked zombie with a chainsaw dropping with blood and gore- shelving with a number of morbid decorations, from a skull-shaped ornament to a series of books that looked vaguely occultish to an ornate candlestick to a plush tonberry- it would appear that Veld's present location was vaguely unsettling. The only thing that was vaguely usual was a photo frame, holding a photograph of an older man with shoulder-length hair and blood-red eyes, a candle shaped like a ghost burning beside it.
Two, that an IV was embedded in his arm. Cleanly, of course. But somewhat haphazardly at the same time- a bag with some form of clear liquid within draped (for lack of a better location) upon the bedpost.
Three, that some TV was playing a black and white film on the other side of the room. The film is somewhat schlockish- depicting a series of women with white dresses and fangs waking up within coffins and hissing- before rising with cries of their hunger.
The fourth was likely Vincent. For a lack of space within the small apartment, he is sat upon the ledge of the window- his eyes, the same eyes as the man within the photograph, fixed upon the television. A half-eaten bowl of noodles is beside him, and his long legs are bare. A far too long back tee and shorts covers what counts however, and his hand and the cheap, wooden chopsticks within it is half-risen to his mouth, frozen in place given his intentful gaze upon the television set. The other hand is at his side. Veld's own pager is within it.
A series of shrieks come from the television set as the vampire brides feed upon the unfortunate humans trapped with them. Shrieks that make Vincent look around the room- his eyes widening only when he sees Veld.]
You're awake. It's been weeks.
[Vincent immediately moves off the windowsill, switching off the television set before he makes his way to the other man.]
Don't move. It'll hurt too much.
Re: → h/c
He would have thought that he had died but for the moments of intense pain that pulls him into consciousness, the world a blur around him before darkness consumes him once more. There are glimpses of light, voices, and heat surrounding him before the sweet relief of darkness finally truly consumes him.
If he's not dead, then he knows he's most likely being kept alive by Shinra's best and brightest of the dark depths of research and development. He's too much of a valuable resource to just be left alone, too much of a liability for the company and president.
But no matter how much he struggles against consciousness once more it keeps slipping away from him. He doesn't hear Hojo's triumphant laughter but it's not enough to be reassuring. If he's not going to be allowed to die, he has to fight to escape if he has to since there is no telling where he is or who is keeping him alive for what purpose.
Eventually, the darkness slowly retreats. The sound of shrieking in the movie gives him something to focus on as he slowly opens his eyes. He knows the sound of Vincent's voice, it pulls him more into the world as he can begin to see it more clearly.
The posters on the wall, and the bed he's in- it's clear that this isn't somewhere in the Shinra Building but raises further questions that he's trying to piece together through the fog in his mind.]
Weeks...
[They would be looking for him or his body. The president knew better than to assume Veld was dead without seeing his body for himself or if he was alive, Veld wouldn't be allowed out of their grasp.
Even though Vincent tells him not to move, Veld tries to anyway, weakly attempting to tear the IV out but fails since his hands are shaking. He has to get out, get away but the pain takes his breath away as soon as he tries to sit up.]
Where...how...
[He has to lay down again, focusing on Vincent as the world seems to move and lurch around every time he moves despite the overwhelming pain.]
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[It's an exercise in futility, he knows. Telling a man that had been laid up for weeks not to. Not when all the parts of his body that still worked wanted nothing more than to shake themselves free of the bed that'd been a prison for the past few weeks. Let alone the psychological side of things. When the last thing Veld likely remembered was hell itself, the flames lapping at his broken body. A thousand cuts from the debris of the explosion. Smoke burning at his lungs. Of course his every instinct was to move.]
The details can wait. First, you need to drink something. Don't move- or I'll have to stitch you up again.
[He walks away- likely, given his present condition, past Veld's field of immediate view- to a remarkably shitty looking kitchenette in the same room. There's the creak of a tap. The rumbling of pipes- and water. a glass is filled and then brought over, Vincent's hand moving to the back of the other man's head to tilt it upward slightly. The cool glass would meet his cracked, charred lips, and it would be moved to them. Gently. As if not to choke him.]
You're on a lot of drugs currently. Antibiotics, anti inflammatories... Opioids, too. For the pain. I had to use the slums. One of Corneo's crew. So I've no idea what they were cut with.
[The glass is lowered. As are the covers- just to Veld's waist. Just to see if he did tear open any of his stitches. Fortunately, the bandages about his torso are clean. White. Showing no sign of blood. He then replaces them.]
So I owe you an apology for any side effects. As well as not patching you up well enough that you can move freely.
[Look. Son of a scientist and all, he knew a few things about field medicine. But his training was far from conventional.]
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Lots of drugs- that explains a lot like feeling he doesn't have any real anchor in reality and if he lets go, he has no idea where he's going to drift off to. Whatever Vincent got from the Don Veld is going to have to get that recipe later.
So this isn't Shinra and the company doesn't know he's here. They would be searching for him but at least he knows Vincent isn't dumb enough to go to some location in the company records but that's a lot of questions to ask while it feels like a haze still lingers over his mind.
Pain radiates and makes his breath catch as he tries to sit up to drink the water which is a welcome relief even though he hates Vincent having to help him with such a simple task.
But his body can't seem to move with any coordination or without blinding pain so all he can do is weakly allow Vincent to help him drink water which is a welcome relief to his cracked lips and dry throat. When finished, he doesn't look down when Vincent pulls away the covers.
It's not that he doesn't want to see what is there but more he knows if he moves his head too much the water will come back up, painfully. It seems it's just best not to move for a bit until the world stops spinning.]
What happened?
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The details [And who relayed the order...] still aren't known. But three weeks ago, bombers were mobilized from Junon- along with two Gelnika containing ground troops. ...The target was Kalm. There was no evacuation call. Every structure within Kalm was bombed heavily. Infantry swept the ruins afterward, ensuring none survived. [None barring Veld, of course. He'd been taken to Midgar.] The townspeople...
[A brief pause. And a heavy exhale.]
...You know how these things go.
[A mass grave. Dug deep by industrial machinery. People and animals tossed within, all sign of past life concealed and cemented over.]
I wanted to ensure there was a grave for- [Veld's wife. His child.] -You know. But you were my priority. Veld...
[He raises his head, to look him in the face.]
Public Security says the order came from your identification number. Weapons Development says it's the work of a terrorist, working from within. The President sat through a few boardrooms regarding the matter before he left for Costa del Sol. Heidegger's been tasked with settling the matter before he returns.
[He doesn't go into the rest. Of news crews practically barricading the hospital Veld was being treated. Of grunts within the army standing at the doors of Veld's hospital room and refusing to leave. Of their department itself, and all access to it from the Shinra building, being locked. Of the hours and hours he'd personally been grilled.
All the mattered was a simple fact:]
You're an island.
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[Even through the haze Veld remembers putting in the order clearly. Even though he had been tired at the time, he had been up all night in meetings with the president, Veld knew he hadn't made a mistake.
But only two other people had the authorization and ability to use his identification number for anything- Heidegger and the president. But that is too much to think about when Vincent keeps talking and the words start to sink in.
His wife, Felicia-]
I thought I heard her scream.
[That he also remembers all too clearly. He hadn't always been the best father to her, working long hours and often not even able to give her a call at night before her bedtime. It had caused was now an irreparable rift between him and his wife, but it was all worth it for those brief moments with his daughter.
But he does know exactly what happens when Shinra goes scorched earth and then covers the worst of it. There would be no survivors or witnesses in Kalm but in a few months the city would be rebuilt and filled with paid Shinra residents there to act like nothing had ever happened and they had lived their entire lives there without incident.]
Why am I here?
[Because he doesn't doubt that if the president had any say in it Veld would not be here. He wouldn't be allowed to die but would it would be Hojo standing over him instead of Vincent.] ...how am I here?
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→ sunday txts
[Leeroy. Well. An image serves as Vincent's response. A typical image- one that would be on any upright Midgar citizen's ID. He adds nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Because Veld should be able to tell that there's a similarity there, and what it means.
Both men- Leeroy and the Don- have cleft chins.
It's not a certainty that they're father and son. But it's far more likely than not. Especially considering other shared traits. Male pattern baldness. Piglike blue eyes. A shit-eating grin. Looked like one Mrs. Corneo was a keeper. ...Once. But ping. Have another message.]
Turks are best suited for this job. The military don't need to be involved.
[There's kids involved in this, after all. They might be shitheads like their father. They might even grow up to be shitheads like their probable grandfather. But the last thing he wanted- anyone wanted- were more troopers going rambo. This residence is located on the upper plate too. While a few gunhappy troopers can be ignored in the slums, on the upper plate, it would have to be covered up.
...And that's even more work for the both of them. ]
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[This is why he allows for a few anti-Shinra groups to run around - they have their purposes sometimes.
Corneo or not, it's not ideal to drag the kids into things as collateral, but they can't afford to let themselves get sentimental on the job. The Turks were there to do the things that no one else would have the stomach or lack of morals to.]
We'll probably have to break him of the idea that he's more clever than he is, which will take some time.
[Like suspected father, like son no doubt but everyone has their breaking point.]
Even he will be able to understand that we have his family within reach and understand what's in his, and their, best interest.
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[Screw the kids, then. They, and the wife, are getting picked up too. It's... fine. He knows, of course he knows, that their job isn't clean. And he also knows that he's done far worse. (The worst he's done was solved easily enough. Some PTO, lots of booze, and elvira reruns.) So... fine. They're collatoral. He's not arguing.
Part of him wants to respond with something wry. About how he should have given Veld the news about the restaurant after the news about work. But he doesn't. While he can dismiss the murkier elements of the job, he'd never be one to joke about them.]
If he's stupider than we thought?
[If he runs to Corneo, for instance? The chances are slim. Any idiot knows that the don only operates thanks to supplying information to Shinra. But he suspects the answer. Kill them all. He just needs confirmation.]
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[It was a risky decision to potentially antagonize Corneo too much, but Veld assumes that the Don is at least smart enough to know that he has no direct recourse against the company.]
But make sure we have a souvenir we can gift to Corneo if necessary.
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[He can think of a few souvenirs as well. Leeroy's going to have a bad time.]
Will you be coming to this one, or shall I meet you at the company building?
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I'm coming- with any luck he'll make some bad life choices when we grab him and make things interesting.
[Tough luck for Leeroy, Veld is in a mood with this tragic news he's going to need time to recovery from.]
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† sephiroth
→ a child in nibelheim
[Remaining here only made the wound bigger, he knew. Yet even if he had a choice in the matter, he knew that he would stay. Arm's length from Lucre- no, Doctor Crescent had been easy, at least. Ever since her child had been taken away, she had been utterly inconsolable.
Hysterical, the good Doctor Hojo had called it. Nonsensical. Even mad. Even now, on a day like none other before it- when the results of Projects G and S had been brought to the manor, and both Hollander and Hojo prepared themselves to rub the results of their experimentations in the other's faces- Doctor Crescent herself had been absent.
...Not by choice.
She had been moved to the bowels of the manor. To wail and to scream and to cry- to lament being so close to this child- the only one on the Planet that she loved, yet so far. Vincent himself had no say in the matter. He was security. Nothing more...
...There was nothing he could do.
Except for one thing.
A thing most would call terrible. That some would call evil- something that would end this torment. Even end himself, were this child faster than him, able to kill him before he could even pull the trigger.
Didn't matter even if he wasn't. Even if he was faster than this boy, the rest of the security within the manor would be alerted, and he would meet his end that way.
An end was an end.
He holds the door for the child as he walks after him through the hallways of the ground level of the manor- and he cannot help but get the measure of him. He's a strange thing, so alien, with his head of greyed hair and his catlike, glowing eyes- but so human in his resemblance to her.
He was his mother's son, all right. And the similarities he held to Vincent himself... A long, thin nose. A pointed chin. The shape of his eyes. None of these things were hers. Yet they were not Hojo's, either.
Forgive me, Lucrecia.
He can't help but ask, even mentally, as he holds the last door for the boy. The main door, one that led outside, to the yard, where the nightmare would end.]
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He follows the man without so much as a question. He's learned pretty quickly they don't like it when he asks questions, or at least not the ones he leans towards. Namely his origin, his mother. These things go without much word, just frowns and subject changes.
He did manage to get something out of Hojo once. A name.
Jenova.
But not much else. Just that she died. Hojo didn't shy away explaining to him what death is, not even at an early age. But they also put him into training rooms already to fight monsters. Fake deaths.
And then they brought him here, which in a way was a welcome change. Some place new, and he is curious. Unfortunately he's not allowed to wander. Otherwise he would. But he is being under the watchful eye of another ... though this one isn't like the scientists. And so Sephiroth watches him closely, cat-like eyes following every movement -- not out of suspicion, but curiosity.
After stepping outside --]
My name is Sephiroth -
[A pause.]
But you probably already knew that, sorry. I just thought I should introduce myself.
[Everyone knows who he is. Unfortunately. Professor Hojo would parade him around everywhere if he could. Sephiroth doesn't like it, but he puts up with it. He's just a kid and he really has no other place.
But right, other than introductions, what's the other polite thing to do?]
What's your name?
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The mountains themselves reach toward this greyness, twisted and contorted as if in agony.
Not that the turk's mind is on any of that. Instead, it is spinning in a far different direction. The handgun in his holster was a Winchester long barrel. Not his usual Shinra issue piece. Better for close range. Preloaded with a clip of 9mm bullets. Guaranteed to put a human target in the ground, velocity and power near perfect for lethality- capable of producing a wide wound channel even if death was not immediate. Enough power to tear apart vital organs beyond any hope of recovery.
Loud, though. Incredibly loud. Loud enough for those still within the manor to hear. Loud enough to make his original plan of doing this, then going into the mansion and taking a few shots at Hojo before he was brought down damn near impossible. Completely impossible, given the fact that whether it was needed or not, it would be prudent to fire multiple shots into this child.
This child.
His head's spinning, all right- and the thought of Sephiroth's age moves it off-kilter, spinning in a direction he does not especially like. And he is lost in his thoughts as he gazes toward the mountains.]
Hm?
[The boy's voice is a bit of a surprise to him. His question even more so. Like Sephiroth had not expected to be watched by anyone but scientists, Vincent was not expecting to be spoken to. Security. Nothing more. Here, on this job- his role hardly warranted being addressed for anything other than orders.
He turns, both of his hands empty.]
...Vincent Valentine. Turk.
[As his eyes move downward to meet the youth's gaze, again, it strikes him just how much like his mother the boy's countenance was.]
I've been told you're to remain out of the laboratory while the presentations are ongoing. And...
[Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for him. Stop.]
I thought you might want to take some fresh air while you have the opportunity. It's hard to come by in Midgar.
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After a moment he turns back around to Vincent.]
Thank you. I like it here.
[Well, maybe not at this particular building, but the area in general is nice. He wouldn't mind that. In a way that's what he fantasizes about, being away from everything with his mother. It's the life he wants but could never have.]
They'll probably be in there awhile. Professor Hojo likes to argue.
[Argue until his points are known and recognized by everyone. Sephiroth does not particularly like him and probably never will. There's just something about him. So if they can stay out here for awhile, it'll be for the best.]
He probably won't like me telling you that. Or telling you that an easy way to get him angry is to say Materia is magic. He dislikes that word a lot.
[Sorry Vincent, Sephiroth usually doesn't have a people to talk to that aren't scientists. He's new and interesting and took him outside, which is good enough for Sephiroth at the moment.]
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...But he was a Turk. He was the perceptive sort. And the fact that the boy had stated approval of this was a signal to him- illustrating a life that was likely spent in sterile laboratories, loud drill halls, and artificial combat sims. Pity rises again. And he has to dig deep to push it back.]
Yes. I'm familiar with Professor Hojo's ...approaches to the sciences. And given Professor Gast's resignation...
["Resignation" was a word for it.]
...The Company's views have shifted to the same thing. Even if this does take a while-
[And it will. Because this whole affair is typical of Hojo. To cart half of the science department and three children with two respective families in tow, to the middle of nowhere for a dickmeasuring contest.
...But it's hardly his concern.]
-your transport back to Midgar has been prearranged. A chopper will arrive briefly, to take you to the airstrip, where you will be flown back to Midgar.
[He pauses then, something moving through his head before he starts to move toward the side of the building, past some dead trees.]
There were two boys here yesterday, for the same reason as you. While the... science... was being discussed, [And while Hollander screamed himself hoarse at an unimpressed Hojo,] they spent that time playing here.
[He had no idea what the both of them found so interesting about this little corner of the garden. But the evidence of their presence was still here in the form of footprints in the dirt- indicating running. Chasing. And perhaps even an impromptu playfight, given the fact the footprints trail off into what appears to be clear signs of scraped heels, slides, and general chaos.
Vincent strides around the area, soon spotting something in the bushes.]
Wait.