Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7 > What You Carry With You // What You Leave Behind
.Kiss of Death/028
Drifting, drifting, drifting...
Nowhere.
He awoke with a start, eyes bleary and heart racing in a darkness that could only be described as a precursor to the dawn. He had been dreaming again, that was all his mind could fathom from the fuzzy confines of sleep deprivation. Dreaming of that inky darkness, that all too familiar void. It felt like the finality of death. It felt all too familiar.
But Rufus Shinra wasn't dead. The pain... Oh, the pain was enough to ensure the clarity of that notion. A swift reminder of both existence and mortality in one fell swoop. It wasn't so much that the pain was back as it had never really left. It was safe to say that no matter how good a day he'd have, it probably never would leave. Rufus had accepted this two years earlier, accepted the pain as he accepted the partial blindness and later the Geostigma. Accepted, but not given in to it.
If anything, those around him had always known that Rufus Shinra was stubborn, more apt to do things his own way, no matter the difficulty. Perhaps it was his need for control. Perhaps it was his inherent arrogance, a character trait that most everyone knew his name to be synonymous. Whatever the reason, it was clear that Rufus hated to rely on others. Even on the verge of death with a pillar of sheet metal and concrete pinning him to the ground, Rufus Shinra hated to be weak. Hated to feel needy.
Maybe this was part of the reason he actually survived.
Rolling onto his stomach, Rufus stared at oak bedposts and lay tangled in a web of sheets and blankets. He felt trapped by the pain, insect-like, gritting his teeth and waiting for it to subside. Perhaps this was his punishment for everything. Did the universe even work like that? Was it a series of karma points? He cursed softly under his breath, staring forward more intently as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Karma points. The idea made him chuckle. If that was the way the universe operated then there was something intrinsically wrong with its tallying system. His father had gotten off far too easy, a swift sword to his inflated gut and death.
The elder Shinra still seemed to visit him, though. Dared to visit him in the dark of night or in the bleakest of moments, his voice biting and condescending at the same time as he stood, mocking and pristine in a pressed suit. He would sneer from his pedestal, as if to say, "My name is J. Rufus Shinra Jr. This is my company.
And this is my good for nothing son."
Groaning, Rufus rolled onto his back again and then into a sitting position, immediately wishing he hadn't. Just putting pressure on his left leg seemed to send jolts of pain up the tortured limb to its source. Yes, this was definitely a reminder of what had happened to him two years earlier. The blast had been but the beginning of his nightmare. White hot and scorching, it seemed like the end. But provided one found the proper shelter, ducked at just the right moment, it wasn't impossible to survive, even as shrapnel and glass pelted his backside. It was the falling pieces of his legacy that had nearly killed Rufus Shinra, crushing his body underneath the weight of scrap metal and decrepit dreams. He had hoped to be left standing. Years later, he was lucky to be able to stand at all.
Not that he would speak a word of this to anyone. Nor would he ask for help unless absolutely necessary. And, pulling himself to his feet with a hiss, Rufus knew it wasn't necessary. At least not today. The sun was rising. He would be expected downstairs for paperwork and breakfast shortly and he knew if he didn't come downstairs by a decent hour, someone would be coming up to check on him. Like an invalid or a child. No... He gripped the bedposts, teeth bared with the determination of a hungry nibel wolf. Just one step, then another -- making his way to the bathroom and hating the reflection that stared back in the full sized mirror. Not that any of this was new to the President.
This was his life.
These were his mornings.
But he could have been dead, of course. And when death is the only other option, the former is suddenly cast in a different light.
Staring in the mirror, Rufus looked thinner without his layers of white and black. Likewise, his hair was longer, bedraggled. What had been singed off in the blast had grown back a more ashen color, a gray blond mixing in with the strawberry. He looked less boyish and perhaps a bit more haunted than he had before his near death experience. As if, somewhere in there, he now held some great knowledge. Or perhaps Rufus had finally come to that stunning realization that one day he would die. One day he would return to the planet.
Pain. Mortality. The ever present kiss of death.
His leg still throbbed.
When the Turks had scoured the rubble of Shinra tower they had found Rufus broken and battered, much of his right side torn and smashed. Shattered, pale like a china doll smeared in blood with a laundry list of ailments. The head injuries alone could have killed him. Taking him to Healin,' a secret Shinra medical base, there had been doubts as to how long the president would be alive. When he refused to die after the surgeries, after his heart had stopped and the cold press of electricity had been the one thing to bring him back, there had been doubts as to whether he would wake up. Meeting expectations, the stakes would change again. Would Rufus Shinra ever stand again? Would he ever walk? A broken hip, fractures all along his leg and torn ligaments in his knee. The idea of walking, let alone walking without a cane was beyond doubtful to the doctors. But Rufus Shinra would have none of that.
Part of him so loved to prove people wrong.
Even if part of him knew he was proving himself to none other than the sneering ghost of his father, he wouldn't back down. Rufus was not weak. Nor was he incompetent. And any... shortcomings were his own business. He would not be the source of pity, the talk of old ladies around tea, "Oh, did you hear about that poor Rufus Shinra?"
The thought disgusted him as he turned the shower's levers, stepped out of his boxers and into the scalding water without flinching. Water pressure pounding against the back of his head, there was no way that he would hear the ringing of his bedroom phone. Nor would he hear the sound of a voice - an angry scowling voice leaving a less than pleased message on his machine. All Rufus was aware of was the water, burning away the soreness of tense and painfully locked up muscles.
Stepping out of the shower mere moments later, refreshed and less worse for wear than he had been minutes earlier, Rufus toweled himself off briskly, wrapped himself in a plush bathrobe and once again considered the blurred out mess of steam in front of him, the mirror now covered in liquid air. Wiping his reflection with a half smirk, Rufus stared at dripping hair and cerulean eyes.
His pupils were slightly uneven but his gaze was still unwavering.
Turning on his heel, he made his way back to into the bedroom, limping slightly now in the direction of his closet until he noticed the blinking light of a neglected answering machine. It was probably Reeve or Tseng. Responsibility. And while Rufus didn't like to shy away from his duties as president, he halfway considered pretending that he never noticed the flashing 'new message' logo, made a step away.
Then growled and turned back to press the play button, wishing he could have truly ignored it.
And heard a voice that he had all but forgotten that morning.
"I don't know what sick game you're playing but I'm not buying into it. You wanted me to get angry? Well bravo. I am beyond angry. Next time you will feel my wrath, Shinra.
Don't make me turn against my better judgments."
Then a sigh of frustration.
"Oh, whatever. I know you're there. You're probably laughing right now. You're not even worth my time, you sick bastard."
And the sound of her phone hanging up.
Rufus sat on his bed and stared at the answering machine in slight amusement. He had been hoping for a more explosive reaction, had half expected her to come storming toward Junon, battle gloves worn, poised and ready for attack. This kind of response was far too... dull. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing at all. Now he had to resort to plan B. He didn't even have a plan B. Yet.
But he had to give her credit on one slight point. The corners of his lips curling in a mocking smile as he stood back up, stretched and gave the answering machine one final glance.
"Tifa, Tifa, Tifa... however did you get this number?"
She was a smart one, that Tifa Lockheart. But Rufus Shinra was smarter.
Or at least that's what he liked to think.
Drifting, drifting, drifting...
Nowhere.
He awoke with a start, eyes bleary and heart racing in a darkness that could only be described as a precursor to the dawn. He had been dreaming again, that was all his mind could fathom from the fuzzy confines of sleep deprivation. Dreaming of that inky darkness, that all too familiar void. It felt like the finality of death. It felt all too familiar.
But Rufus Shinra wasn't dead. The pain... Oh, the pain was enough to ensure the clarity of that notion. A swift reminder of both existence and mortality in one fell swoop. It wasn't so much that the pain was back as it had never really left. It was safe to say that no matter how good a day he'd have, it probably never would leave. Rufus had accepted this two years earlier, accepted the pain as he accepted the partial blindness and later the Geostigma. Accepted, but not given in to it.
If anything, those around him had always known that Rufus Shinra was stubborn, more apt to do things his own way, no matter the difficulty. Perhaps it was his need for control. Perhaps it was his inherent arrogance, a character trait that most everyone knew his name to be synonymous. Whatever the reason, it was clear that Rufus hated to rely on others. Even on the verge of death with a pillar of sheet metal and concrete pinning him to the ground, Rufus Shinra hated to be weak. Hated to feel needy.
Maybe this was part of the reason he actually survived.
Rolling onto his stomach, Rufus stared at oak bedposts and lay tangled in a web of sheets and blankets. He felt trapped by the pain, insect-like, gritting his teeth and waiting for it to subside. Perhaps this was his punishment for everything. Did the universe even work like that? Was it a series of karma points? He cursed softly under his breath, staring forward more intently as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Karma points. The idea made him chuckle. If that was the way the universe operated then there was something intrinsically wrong with its tallying system. His father had gotten off far too easy, a swift sword to his inflated gut and death.
The elder Shinra still seemed to visit him, though. Dared to visit him in the dark of night or in the bleakest of moments, his voice biting and condescending at the same time as he stood, mocking and pristine in a pressed suit. He would sneer from his pedestal, as if to say, "My name is J. Rufus Shinra Jr. This is my company.
And this is my good for nothing son."
Groaning, Rufus rolled onto his back again and then into a sitting position, immediately wishing he hadn't. Just putting pressure on his left leg seemed to send jolts of pain up the tortured limb to its source. Yes, this was definitely a reminder of what had happened to him two years earlier. The blast had been but the beginning of his nightmare. White hot and scorching, it seemed like the end. But provided one found the proper shelter, ducked at just the right moment, it wasn't impossible to survive, even as shrapnel and glass pelted his backside. It was the falling pieces of his legacy that had nearly killed Rufus Shinra, crushing his body underneath the weight of scrap metal and decrepit dreams. He had hoped to be left standing. Years later, he was lucky to be able to stand at all.
Not that he would speak a word of this to anyone. Nor would he ask for help unless absolutely necessary. And, pulling himself to his feet with a hiss, Rufus knew it wasn't necessary. At least not today. The sun was rising. He would be expected downstairs for paperwork and breakfast shortly and he knew if he didn't come downstairs by a decent hour, someone would be coming up to check on him. Like an invalid or a child. No... He gripped the bedposts, teeth bared with the determination of a hungry nibel wolf. Just one step, then another -- making his way to the bathroom and hating the reflection that stared back in the full sized mirror. Not that any of this was new to the President.
This was his life.
These were his mornings.
But he could have been dead, of course. And when death is the only other option, the former is suddenly cast in a different light.
Staring in the mirror, Rufus looked thinner without his layers of white and black. Likewise, his hair was longer, bedraggled. What had been singed off in the blast had grown back a more ashen color, a gray blond mixing in with the strawberry. He looked less boyish and perhaps a bit more haunted than he had before his near death experience. As if, somewhere in there, he now held some great knowledge. Or perhaps Rufus had finally come to that stunning realization that one day he would die. One day he would return to the planet.
Pain. Mortality. The ever present kiss of death.
His leg still throbbed.
When the Turks had scoured the rubble of Shinra tower they had found Rufus broken and battered, much of his right side torn and smashed. Shattered, pale like a china doll smeared in blood with a laundry list of ailments. The head injuries alone could have killed him. Taking him to Healin,' a secret Shinra medical base, there had been doubts as to how long the president would be alive. When he refused to die after the surgeries, after his heart had stopped and the cold press of electricity had been the one thing to bring him back, there had been doubts as to whether he would wake up. Meeting expectations, the stakes would change again. Would Rufus Shinra ever stand again? Would he ever walk? A broken hip, fractures all along his leg and torn ligaments in his knee. The idea of walking, let alone walking without a cane was beyond doubtful to the doctors. But Rufus Shinra would have none of that.
Part of him so loved to prove people wrong.
Even if part of him knew he was proving himself to none other than the sneering ghost of his father, he wouldn't back down. Rufus was not weak. Nor was he incompetent. And any... shortcomings were his own business. He would not be the source of pity, the talk of old ladies around tea, "Oh, did you hear about that poor Rufus Shinra?"
The thought disgusted him as he turned the shower's levers, stepped out of his boxers and into the scalding water without flinching. Water pressure pounding against the back of his head, there was no way that he would hear the ringing of his bedroom phone. Nor would he hear the sound of a voice - an angry scowling voice leaving a less than pleased message on his machine. All Rufus was aware of was the water, burning away the soreness of tense and painfully locked up muscles.
Stepping out of the shower mere moments later, refreshed and less worse for wear than he had been minutes earlier, Rufus toweled himself off briskly, wrapped himself in a plush bathrobe and once again considered the blurred out mess of steam in front of him, the mirror now covered in liquid air. Wiping his reflection with a half smirk, Rufus stared at dripping hair and cerulean eyes.
His pupils were slightly uneven but his gaze was still unwavering.
Turning on his heel, he made his way back to into the bedroom, limping slightly now in the direction of his closet until he noticed the blinking light of a neglected answering machine. It was probably Reeve or Tseng. Responsibility. And while Rufus didn't like to shy away from his duties as president, he halfway considered pretending that he never noticed the flashing 'new message' logo, made a step away.
Then growled and turned back to press the play button, wishing he could have truly ignored it.
And heard a voice that he had all but forgotten that morning.
"I don't know what sick game you're playing but I'm not buying into it. You wanted me to get angry? Well bravo. I am beyond angry. Next time you will feel my wrath, Shinra.
Don't make me turn against my better judgments."
Then a sigh of frustration.
"Oh, whatever. I know you're there. You're probably laughing right now. You're not even worth my time, you sick bastard."
And the sound of her phone hanging up.
Rufus sat on his bed and stared at the answering machine in slight amusement. He had been hoping for a more explosive reaction, had half expected her to come storming toward Junon, battle gloves worn, poised and ready for attack. This kind of response was far too... dull. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing at all. Now he had to resort to plan B. He didn't even have a plan B. Yet.
But he had to give her credit on one slight point. The corners of his lips curling in a mocking smile as he stood back up, stretched and gave the answering machine one final glance.
"Tifa, Tifa, Tifa... however did you get this number?"
She was a smart one, that Tifa Lockheart. But Rufus Shinra was smarter.
Or at least that's what he liked to think.
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