[OOC: Started up a new log because the other thread disappeared off my f-list]The need for air was getting overwhelming.Rufus staggered away from Scarlet's very drunken attempts to get one arm around his shoulders and another down his pants, banged his leg painfully against the table, split punch down his jacket, and figured that a strategic retreat was called for. Perhaps he would even return to his room for reinforcements. No one, however drunk, messed with one large panther, black, fully equiped with enough jaw strength to crush bone. And tentacles. Two tentacles.Abandoning the now empty glass, he staggered towards the doors of the ballroom, wondering why the world seemed to insist on listing slightly to the right. Surely it wasn't because the room had been built on a slope. He'd have been... notified if it was. He'd have to take the Head of Building Administration to task very seriously about allowed sinkage to this extent. No wait.He paused just outside the doors, shaking his head violently as his senses caught up rather belatedly with him. How many glasses of punch had he drunk? It had been one. Then another when he'd talked to Reeve's secretary. And another when Heidegger had started telling his... jokes. And... oh gods.He groaned as he dimly recalled several more in between that one and the one he had split. Well, maybe he simply wouldn't be back. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would miss him----the world listed again, and sharply, and he stumbled, lost his balance and staggered into the wall. Except that there was a Turk in the way.[Tags: doublegunshot]
"That he did," Rufus said, willing himself not to fall flat on his face or zone out. His brain had a distressing tendency to do that when sentence length exceeded 10 words. Water. He had to remember to get water. A lot of it. "He also had a certain innovative way of filling out the paperwork. And I believe he used the back of a takeout menu."Good grief. He was babbling."Either way, I hope he filed it properly in the end. Or..." sharp glance at Sephiroth here, "Is there a particular reason you're here?" That took you long enough, his brain shouted at him. The General himself turns up on your doorstep, claiming blackmail, and you end up gossiping about his second in command? What do you think he's here for? To talk about Chocobos?He could feel the beginnings of a headache blossoming in his left temple. Early hangover, yay.He dug his fingers into the back of the couch to prevent himself from swaying visibly. "To be perfectly honest, I've been having a problem" -- he hoped his tone had kept quite level there, rather than giving way to the sarcasm he knew was lurking behind it -- "with my security detail. The last ones got killed, unfortunately, and the Turks are presently too busy to spare their number on extended business trips. I apologize. I should have approached you directly instead of going through the Captain."Except you would likely have thrown me out of your office as soon as listened to me, wouldn't you? Or asked me to ask Heidegger, which largely amounts to the same thing. The great General doesn't play politics, they say, doesn't get involved, especially when the lives in question are as insignificant as one dispensible heir still in his minority.