[ previous birthdays have always been easier to arrange, mostly because tseng has always had some level of access to rufus' living space. not so, here. he can't get in to rufus' room without rufus there to open the door, and asking him to do so would rather defeat the purpose of a birthday surprise, wouldn't it?
so instead, tseng settles for what he can manage. a cinnamon roll wrapped first in wax paper and then in tinfoil to keep it warm and moist; a thermos of coffee, although rufus is surely capable of making his own, but on your birthday it's nice if you don't have to. and in a small black box wrapped in dark grey ribbon, the actual gift: two golden coins, the same size and weight as gil would be, embossed with darkstar's likeness on one face so rufus knows which side is heads.
these all get put in a plain black gift bag and handed over to a staff member to be delivered to rufus at 10am sharp, along with a note from tseng, folded in half and tucked inside: this probably isn't how you wanted to spend it, but happy birthday, nonetheless.
[Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, it feels like. It'd be difficult not to, when for years upon years it's been treated as all but a national holiday — ironic, really, in how even something as personal as that was never really about him, but about what his father could leverage toward his own benefit. The summer of 1977 had been one victory after another for Shinra: the first anniversary of Midgar's completion, the birth of the next generation of the company, the day Reactor One was approved to come online for the very first time.
And those were just the ones that the general population was permitted to know about.
Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, but naturally most of his memories of the day itself are sour ones. Sour, that is, except for one tradition that never seems to fade — how even in confinement and disgrace, there would be at least a text and some understated kindness, inconspicuous and easily-overlooked by everyone except its intended recipient. Rufus would forget his own birthday before Tseng overlooks it; as in all things, Tseng is steadfast and predictable and consistent.
But even so, he's still just a little bit surprised when the knock at his door turns up, late enough in the morning that he gets to sleep in and luxuriate extravagantly in his bed, but early enough that he hasn't yet had time to wonder or doubt whether some sort of message will show up at all. That the bag and its contents come in nondescript black and shades of gray are classic Tseng: sleek and unassuming, and he's almost instantly curious about what could be inside as he takes the bag from the staffer and returns inside with an almost dragonish desire to covet the experience.
He finds the food first; not surprising, when the thermos is an obvious shape and the heat of the roll draws his notice. It's gooey and sticky and a little bit mashed from the trip up, and there's no one around to see or scorn Rufus as he pulls it apart with his fingers and shoves a piece into his mouth, licking the remains of the sugar away and sucking on them for good measure.
The box — what must be a gift — is small and light. Jewelry? Some sort of accessory? Cufflinks, maybe, or a watch chain. A keychain would suggest a sense of humor about the day out of Tseng that he has his doubts about, but still, not entirely unheard of.
He shoves another piece of roll into his mouth, wipes his hands, opens the box — and finds himself instantly at a loss, clutching the box in frozen fingers as he tries his damnedest not to drop it.
What gets him isn't, in and of itself, the coins — though the thought inherent in the gift absolutely gets him. It isn't that they're the perfect weight, the perfect size. It isn't that he can pluck one up and roll it effortlessly down the backs of his fingers and it feels just right, this tiny piece of familiarity that he'd been willing to sacrifice just like everything else, on the altar of his time spent here, and yet now all of a sudden he doesn't have to.
What gets him is —
It's the fact that someone had to make these. That Tseng had someone make these. That Tseng went out of his way to put Darkstar's image on these coins, for him, and made the likeness so exacting that he knew what it was from the moment he laid eyes on it. That she's not here, and he aches for how much he wishes she was, but now he has this. Now he has her, just this little bit of her, just like always.
Still idly toying with one of the coins, he opens his coffee and sips it, feeling the heat of the still-warm liquid go all the way down his throat and pool in the pit of his stomach, a physical echo of the warmth already buzzing over his nerves as he silently processes the reality of his gift.
Eventually, and perhaps not unexpectedly, he reaches for his watch.]
How should I spend it instead?
[No preamble, but he doesn't really need one. The confirmation of receipt is all inherent in the way he initiates the conversation as though they're already partway into it to begin with.]
[ it's only when his watch buzzes with the message from rufus that tseng realizes he was waiting for something like this, a confirmation that rufus had received the gift. he'd never needed a confirmation in years previous, again because of his access to rufus' living space and his ability to ascertain that the gifts would be left in places rufus would certainly find them—but now, relying on a staff member to get the bag where it's meant to go, he finds himself relieved by the message that clearly indicates the gift was received.
the relief immediately turns to... something, not quite anxiety, but perhaps some strange kind of anticipation once tseng has read and understood the question. how should rufus spend his birthday? one answer, which tseng can't bring himself to say; another answer, which calls back to something tseng said during that fateful morning in his suite's master bath, although tseng can't know for sure whether rufus will interpret it how it's meant. ]
[It's funny, how rapidly his birthday gifts find use, as he sends his message and awaits Tseng's reply. Funny how without even thinking about it he's picked one up and started rolling it down the backs of his fingers, flipping it off the last knuckle, catching it in his palm to start over again.]
But if I really wanted to get more favours out of you I'd tell you that I ran out of material and needed more Β°Λβ§β(β°βΏβ°)ββ§ΛΒ° Since that isn't the case, have you considered that I maybe just want to get smoothies with you just because?
[ It's been some nebulous time after their little romp as monsters and while Hilda can say for certain that she hasn't been avoiding him (Why would she? Nothing about their run in had bothered her at all. Why would it?), she isn't sure that the same can be said about him.
Which is why she sends a very silly and probably stupid text. ]
So...are we ever going to talk about the daddy thing?
[He's not upset, honestly; upset isn't really the word for it. Conflicted might be a better one. Tumultuous. But he understands lying for the sake of the bit, and why she might've done it in the moment. Even knowing — even having seen his doppelganger, even knowing that. What mattered was keeping her safe and it'd worked.
It's just. He's really not sure how he feels about it.
But luckily, he's been working on precisely that already, since coming to the resort. Since starting to open up to himself about his preferences, and about not forcing things he doesn't like, and about settling into embracing things he maybe does like. So he's a lot less prickly than he could've been, otherwise. Just conflicted. Just thoughtful.]
[ Try that again with a little less defensiveness now, Hilda. ]
...I'm sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind and I have no idea why. In any other circumstance I would have asked. And it just goes to show that not all of my impromptu plans work out the way I'd hope.
[ Truthfully she doesn't know how she feels about it either. It had started out as a survival mechanism with a joke at its core, but it's difficult for her to deny that she had enjoyed it in some form. But whether that had to do with calling Rufus that, the knowledge that they may have had vampires watching them, or that it was Rufus himself is still something she has to parse out. ]
[He leaves her on read a little while, not out of any real intention to make her squirm but mostly just because he's trying to think through what he actually thinks about all that. Coming from just about anyone else, he might not have believed the assertion that it wasn't in some way targeted, but — if she'd done it on purpose, she would've expected a bad reaction, wouldn't she have? Knowing what she knows. That doesn't line up with the way she'd actually done it, urgent for a rescue she couldn't have been sure would actually come.]
I'm only surprised. Given what you've seen prior.
[She is, after all, one of the few — one of the only — people aware of that glimpse of his childhood. Of how loaded a concept it is, and why he might be struggling.
But she says she's sorry, and if there's one thing he's learned about Hilda by now, it's that she wouldn't say it twice without meaning it at least once.]
I'm more curious why you ran to me. Was I just the first one you saw?
Christ. No, sorry, I've been working on Feiyu and one of its tentacles got a little too enthusiastic with the face of my watch. My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Shinra.
Hello, Rufus! This is Mercedes, we spoke on the network earlier this month about making some personalized items for Darkstar. I just finished a sample—I apologize for the wait, the recent athletic events around the resort took up some of my time.
[ attached is a picture of the neckerchief in a deep violet pattern. there are round carabiner clips sewn in at the ends to attach to darkstar's chain collar, and along the bottom is a neatly embroidered shinra in red thread. ]
If it's to your liking, I'd be pleased to give it to you at your convenience, but do let me know if there's anything you'd like me to change or add!
I admit I hadn't thought of that yet, this has always been more of a hobby for me so I've never considered taking payment. But if you're open to it, we can meet for tea and call it even?
[ she hadn't actually been sure if this place was real, though a part of her had only just barely doubted its existence, even if it's the kind of place she never would have slipped into back at home. an anonymous sex club β if anyone really knew that tifa lockhart, good girl of the community, was stepping into, she's sure it'd have been the talk of the slums for all that they loved the gossip. but that home is beneath rubble these days, half the people trying to find shelter in wall market or sector five and the other half simply gone. and here she is, alive, caught up in a whole other world with her mind too hazy to think about what's really important. how could she focus on the real mission to protect the planet when her body feels on fire as it does?
the disguise is a little silly, with her hair wrapped up in a bun and tucked beneath a stylish hat, sunglasses to hide the familiarity of her crimson eyes. it might still be a little too obvious and maybe even strange considering that there's plenty of people here that may not even know who she is, but this choice she's making β it's something that only the impulses of her skin have drawn her towards, a desperation that her own stubbornness has refused to tell her own friends about out of the embarrassment of that clawing need inside.
the inside feels rather simple in its lobby, just a polite receptionist who doesn't even ask her name and simply guides her to the dressing room. it's hard to tell how much the disguise will actually hide who she is, since the white bunny mask still shows plenty of her face, long black hair falling over her bare shoulders. the black unitard is especially revealing, breasts large enough to nearly spill out the top, with those straps really putting in the work to hold up her cleavage. when she walks, the fishnet stockings stroke against her legs, somehow making her even more anxious, heat pooling between her thighs, as the want encourages her towards the back rooms.
it doesn't take look from there for the men to rally around her, sly cocky smiles unhidden even with their masks, those boasting expressions that say she should join them in one of the private rooms before they even extend the invitation. these men, all strangers, tight shorts and leather pants giving a full display of their hardened cocks underneath, the sultry echo of their voices playing it cool in just how badly they want to fuck her β
her back's against the wall before she even has a chance to respond, knowing this is exactly where her usual politeness isn't ideal to voice rejection as at least three or four men trying to talk over one another on who can have her. no, this is a natural fight or flight situation, her mind trying to urge her to simply leave when she doesn't actually want to be there, fists curling like she might land a punch on the first one of these men that might dare to lay a hand on her, but her body β she needs it, needs it, the lust so heavy beneath her skin that she practically freezes in place for the first time since she could remember. ]
i am so sorry for the lag, i've been working like 12 hour days this week
[When Rufus comes out to Cloaca and Dagger, he wears black. It's one of the benefits of being so heavily associated with a signature color; people grow to associate the clothes with the man, which makes it all the easier to escape his own identity by simply choosing something different. The sleek canine-inspired mask he tends to prefer for situations like this can't hide the intense blue of his eyes, nor can it completely conceal the telltale wisps of his ice-blond hair. But there are many blond men in the world, and many with blue eyes, and Rufus Shinra wears white, not black.
And Rufus Shinra would never be caught dead in a place like this, but here he is.
Speaking of being caught, he quickly becomes aware of the pretty dark-haired thing who gets cornered by the gaggle of clubgoers; it's something he's learned to watch for since beginning to frequent the seedier side of the Peacock, less out of altruism and more because it's a very convenient way of making new "friends". Most people who find themselves in a rough situation appreciate a timely rescue, and there's plenty he can get out of a person when they're feeling appreciative.]
There you are.
[He says, making his way over with confident strides and bypassing the crowd of strangers as though they aren't even there to begin with, keeping his eyes solely on the girl. Such lovely long dark hair — eerily familiar, though maybe he's just biased with fond memories of Tseng.
Regardless. Unlike the other men and their grasping fingers, he offers his own hand palm-up.]
You should've told me you wanted me to hunt you down, little rabbit, and I would've found you much sooner. Now come on; our champagne is waiting.
no worries at all! i'm more than happy to backtag through it
[ this isn't like her at all, but then, tifa hasn't yet understood how to find a better balance of these emotions, the waves of alternating sensations heating through her body when she doesn't anticipate it, overwhelmed by the heat of it all that even the fabric of that unitard feels like it's pressing too tightly into her skin, nipples already visibly well taut against it, even when it's impossible to really distinguish arousal against panic.
but what she does know is that she doesn't want to be here, not with these invasive men, which is why she feels the heels already beginning to attempt to shuffle to the side to find an opening of escape β when the other man, all in black, suddenly appears.
her own gaze is instantly one of confusion, even behind the coverage of the mask, staring at his held out hand with the quickly raised question of whether he might somehow have her confused for someone else, or β no, is he ... helping her?
there's no recognition of him, nothing except the voice that sounds a bit ... no, it couldn't be anyone she knows. not in this place. and in the light of her panic, there's no room for much thought and she quickly reaches out to grasp his hand, stepping swiftly in his direction to take hold of his other arm. ]
I was waiting so long, I was worried something happened to you. [ she has no confidence in her acting abilities, but she can get away with this much at least, she thinks. but no reason to linger. ] We should go. I'm really thirsty for that champagne.
[ and she practically begins to tug him on her own, at least enough to get out of the space of those men, not wanting to look back on the chance that they might somehow see through it and try to keep her there. ]
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text; un: cerberus (Backdated a bit to July 21st)
I'll pay you for your time.
This is Wriothesley.
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Though I assume it's not just my time you want.
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Payment can be whatever you wish within reason.
.
I prefer not to discuss matters on devices that are easily tracking our everything.
[Regardless if it actually matters or not given how the house obviously knows what they're up to most of the time.]
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Unless you'd rather rendezvous at one of the resort's...amenities, like before.
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( 8/13, morning )
so instead, tseng settles for what he can manage. a cinnamon roll wrapped first in wax paper and then in tinfoil to keep it warm and moist; a thermos of coffee, although rufus is surely capable of making his own, but on your birthday it's nice if you don't have to. and in a small black box wrapped in dark grey ribbon, the actual gift: two golden coins, the same size and weight as gil would be, embossed with darkstar's likeness on one face so rufus knows which side is heads.
these all get put in a plain black gift bag and handed over to a staff member to be delivered to rufus at 10am sharp, along with a note from tseng, folded in half and tucked inside: this probably isn't how you wanted to spend it, but happy birthday, nonetheless.
no "sir," this once. ]
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And those were just the ones that the general population was permitted to know about.
Everyone knows his birthday in Midgar, but naturally most of his memories of the day itself are sour ones. Sour, that is, except for one tradition that never seems to fade — how even in confinement and disgrace, there would be at least a text and some understated kindness, inconspicuous and easily-overlooked by everyone except its intended recipient. Rufus would forget his own birthday before Tseng overlooks it; as in all things, Tseng is steadfast and predictable and consistent.
But even so, he's still just a little bit surprised when the knock at his door turns up, late enough in the morning that he gets to sleep in and luxuriate extravagantly in his bed, but early enough that he hasn't yet had time to wonder or doubt whether some sort of message will show up at all. That the bag and its contents come in nondescript black and shades of gray are classic Tseng: sleek and unassuming, and he's almost instantly curious about what could be inside as he takes the bag from the staffer and returns inside with an almost dragonish desire to covet the experience.
He finds the food first; not surprising, when the thermos is an obvious shape and the heat of the roll draws his notice. It's gooey and sticky and a little bit mashed from the trip up, and there's no one around to see or scorn Rufus as he pulls it apart with his fingers and shoves a piece into his mouth, licking the remains of the sugar away and sucking on them for good measure.
The box — what must be a gift — is small and light. Jewelry? Some sort of accessory? Cufflinks, maybe, or a watch chain. A keychain would suggest a sense of humor about the day out of Tseng that he has his doubts about, but still, not entirely unheard of.
He shoves another piece of roll into his mouth, wipes his hands, opens the box — and finds himself instantly at a loss, clutching the box in frozen fingers as he tries his damnedest not to drop it.
What gets him isn't, in and of itself, the coins — though the thought inherent in the gift absolutely gets him. It isn't that they're the perfect weight, the perfect size. It isn't that he can pluck one up and roll it effortlessly down the backs of his fingers and it feels just right, this tiny piece of familiarity that he'd been willing to sacrifice just like everything else, on the altar of his time spent here, and yet now all of a sudden he doesn't have to.
What gets him is —
It's the fact that someone had to make these. That Tseng had someone make these. That Tseng went out of his way to put Darkstar's image on these coins, for him, and made the likeness so exacting that he knew what it was from the moment he laid eyes on it. That she's not here, and he aches for how much he wishes she was, but now he has this. Now he has her, just this little bit of her, just like always.
Still idly toying with one of the coins, he opens his coffee and sips it, feeling the heat of the still-warm liquid go all the way down his throat and pool in the pit of his stomach, a physical echo of the warmth already buzzing over his nerves as he silently processes the reality of his gift.
Eventually, and perhaps not unexpectedly, he reaches for his watch.]
How should I spend it instead?
[No preamble, but he doesn't really need one. The confirmation of receipt is all inherent in the way he initiates the conversation as though they're already partway into it to begin with.]
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the relief immediately turns to... something, not quite anxiety, but perhaps some strange kind of anticipation once tseng has read and understood the question. how should rufus spend his birthday? one answer, which tseng can't bring himself to say; another answer, which calls back to something tseng said during that fateful morning in his suite's master bath, although tseng can't know for sure whether rufus will interpret it how it's meant. ]
Any way you want.
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And if I know what I want, you'll give it to me?
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un: idlemaiden | text
[ His treat, naturally. ]
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[He is under no illusions that this is actually going to stop her but for the sake of form he's obligated to be a pillar of salt about it anyway.]
Second: is it really finished, or is this just another excuse to get favors out of me? :)
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What! I'd never.
But if I really wanted to get more favours out of you I'd tell you that I ran out of material and needed more Β°Λβ§β(β°βΏβ°)ββ§ΛΒ° Since that isn't the case, have you considered that I maybe just want to get smoothies with you just because?
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[While it may be a criminal offense to look this good, don't compare him to any other kind!!]
...I hadn't, actually. Most people don't contact me unless it's with an agenda.
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un: idlemaiden | text
Which is why she sends a very silly and probably stupid text. ]
So...are we ever going to talk about the daddy thing?
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[He's not upset, honestly; upset isn't really the word for it. Conflicted might be a better one. Tumultuous. But he understands lying for the sake of the bit, and why she might've done it in the moment. Even knowing — even having seen his doppelganger, even knowing that. What mattered was keeping her safe and it'd worked.
It's just. He's really not sure how he feels about it.
But luckily, he's been working on precisely that already, since coming to the resort. Since starting to open up to himself about his preferences, and about not forcing things he doesn't like, and about settling into embracing things he maybe does like. So he's a lot less prickly than he could've been, otherwise. Just conflicted. Just thoughtful.]
It seemed to do the trick at the time.
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[ Try that again with a little less defensiveness now, Hilda. ]
...I'm sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind and I have no idea why. In any other circumstance I would have asked. And it just goes to show that not all of my impromptu plans work out the way I'd hope.
[ Truthfully she doesn't know how she feels about it either. It had started out as a survival mechanism with a joke at its core, but it's difficult for her to deny that she had enjoyed it in some form. But whether that had to do with calling Rufus that, the knowledge that they may have had vampires watching them, or that it was Rufus himself is still something she has to parse out. ]
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I'm only surprised. Given what you've seen prior.
[She is, after all, one of the few — one of the only — people aware of that glimpse of his childhood. Of how loaded a concept it is, and why he might be struggling.
But she says she's sorry, and if there's one thing he's learned about Hilda by now, it's that she wouldn't say it twice without meaning it at least once.]
I'm more curious why you ran to me. Was I just the first one you saw?
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i'm so sorry for how late this is π feel free to drop!!
un: witness / text
[ A message from the great beyond. Or the octopus. ]
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You're more incoherent than usual today, Mr. Mori.
Not all tied up, I hope.
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un: martritz / text
This is Mercedes, we spoke on the network earlier this month about making some personalized items for Darkstar.
I just finished a sample—I apologize for the wait, the recent athletic events around the resort took up some of my time.
[ attached is a picture of the neckerchief in a deep violet pattern. there are round carabiner clips sewn in at the ends to attach to darkstar's chain collar, and along the bottom is a neatly embroidered shinra in red thread. ]
If it's to your liking, I'd be pleased to give it to you at your convenience, but do let me know if there's anything you'd like me to change or add!
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This is exquisite. You seem to have captured perfectly what I'm in the market for.
There is, of course, still the question of your compensation.
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I admit I hadn't thought of that yet, this has always been more of a hobby for me so I've never considered taking payment. But if you're open to it, we can meet for tea and call it even?
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no worries and welcome back!!
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π€ cloaca and dagger hell, if this works for you!!
the disguise is a little silly, with her hair wrapped up in a bun and tucked beneath a stylish hat, sunglasses to hide the familiarity of her crimson eyes. it might still be a little too obvious and maybe even strange considering that there's plenty of people here that may not even know who she is, but this choice she's making β it's something that only the impulses of her skin have drawn her towards, a desperation that her own stubbornness has refused to tell her own friends about out of the embarrassment of that clawing need inside.
the inside feels rather simple in its lobby, just a polite receptionist who doesn't even ask her name and simply guides her to the dressing room. it's hard to tell how much the disguise will actually hide who she is, since the white bunny mask still shows plenty of her face, long black hair falling over her bare shoulders. the black unitard is especially revealing, breasts large enough to nearly spill out the top, with those straps really putting in the work to hold up her cleavage. when she walks, the fishnet stockings stroke against her legs, somehow making her even more anxious, heat pooling between her thighs, as the want encourages her towards the back rooms.
it doesn't take look from there for the men to rally around her, sly cocky smiles unhidden even with their masks, those boasting expressions that say she should join them in one of the private rooms before they even extend the invitation. these men, all strangers, tight shorts and leather pants giving a full display of their hardened cocks underneath, the sultry echo of their voices playing it cool in just how badly they want to fuck her β
her back's against the wall before she even has a chance to respond, knowing this is exactly where her usual politeness isn't ideal to voice rejection as at least three or four men trying to talk over one another on who can have her. no, this is a natural fight or flight situation, her mind trying to urge her to simply leave when she doesn't actually want to be there, fists curling like she might land a punch on the first one of these men that might dare to lay a hand on her, but her body β she needs it, needs it, the lust so heavy beneath her skin that she practically freezes in place for the first time since she could remember. ]
i am so sorry for the lag, i've been working like 12 hour days this week
And Rufus Shinra would never be caught dead in a place like this, but here he is.
Speaking of being caught, he quickly becomes aware of the pretty dark-haired thing who gets cornered by the gaggle of clubgoers; it's something he's learned to watch for since beginning to frequent the seedier side of the Peacock, less out of altruism and more because it's a very convenient way of making new "friends". Most people who find themselves in a rough situation appreciate a timely rescue, and there's plenty he can get out of a person when they're feeling appreciative.]
There you are.
[He says, making his way over with confident strides and bypassing the crowd of strangers as though they aren't even there to begin with, keeping his eyes solely on the girl. Such lovely long dark hair — eerily familiar, though maybe he's just biased with fond memories of Tseng.
Regardless. Unlike the other men and their grasping fingers, he offers his own hand palm-up.]
You should've told me you wanted me to hunt you down, little rabbit, and I would've found you much sooner. Now come on; our champagne is waiting.
no worries at all! i'm more than happy to backtag through it
but what she does know is that she doesn't want to be here, not with these invasive men, which is why she feels the heels already beginning to attempt to shuffle to the side to find an opening of escape β when the other man, all in black, suddenly appears.
her own gaze is instantly one of confusion, even behind the coverage of the mask, staring at his held out hand with the quickly raised question of whether he might somehow have her confused for someone else, or β no, is he ... helping her?
there's no recognition of him, nothing except the voice that sounds a bit ... no, it couldn't be anyone she knows. not in this place. and in the light of her panic, there's no room for much thought and she quickly reaches out to grasp his hand, stepping swiftly in his direction to take hold of his other arm. ]
I was waiting so long, I was worried something happened to you. [ she has no confidence in her acting abilities, but she can get away with this much at least, she thinks. but no reason to linger. ] We should go. I'm really thirsty for that champagne.
[ and she practically begins to tug him on her own, at least enough to get out of the space of those men, not wanting to look back on the chance that they might somehow see through it and try to keep her there. ]
<3
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ok but the spiderman pointing after this is going to be so fucking funny
it's gonna be so beautifully disastrous, i can't wait
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forgive me for how ridiculously late this is ;;