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by Veld/ヴェルド (verudo)
at December 31st, 2005 (02:19 pm)
Feelings on this:: cold
Hearing:: Nightwish - The Kinslayer


The generic-holiday parties.

Veld hated them, especially when President Shinra decided to actually, um, show up like he was, you know, supposed to, which made an already-irritating event a headache of kicked-in-the-head-by-a-chocobo proportions. Thankfully, he hadn't, not for several years. Veld wouldn't mind playing hooky himself truth be told, but he didn't have a choice. Had to keep Reno from spiking the punch, Tseng from drinking anything that was stronger then he thought and imitating a fictional animal from slum-children's stories in looks, with an unavoidable bright red nose, Certain Turks from sneaking off into broom closets and aside, Scarlet's impromptu drunken pole-dances were kind of priceless, in a way. And they'd banned Chocobos that were not cooked and garnished from the premises this year. Now that, that had been set-in-stone proof the Turks were indefinitely superior to SOLDIER. But not something he wanted a repeat performance of.

... Who'd hung the mistletoe?


Veld decided he didn't care, swishing the disturbingly girly drink with an umbrella melting in his hand about not really wanting to drink it and eying Tseng. Yep. Nose already reddening, like always. Fluttery eye-lids, despite trying to look rapt and at attention. At least he fell asleep when he was drunk.

... oh, gods of Wutai, not Heidegger.

... and was that Rufus? Wasn't he... underage?


Posted by: __heidegger (__heidegger)
Posted at: December 31st, 2005 11:24 pm (UTC)

Arghfirstpostever. and still iconless. don't be hatin'.


Heidegger loved corporate parties. Which was to say he hated them, but in that special way that made certain allowances. Of course, those PANSY BOYS over there were degenerating like a soleil insurrectionist, pink and yellow and falling all over themselves with their own MATCHLESS BUFFOONERY (of COURSE buffoonery was a word), but those godawful WHORES of women they employed were finally starting to look tasty. Yes. Very tasty. Not that he'd ever DESCEND to touching one of their filthy unnatural jezzebel bodies, but no one was going to remember tonight anyway. Delicious, Kalm-brewery's-finest freedom.

Heidegger paused at the start of another quiet guffaw when he spotted one of the PANSIES lurking like a death watch by the adjacent wall. VELD. That pacifist no-good do-gooder faggot mama's boy of a Turk with his little nancy of a body servant all but hanging off his arm. DISGUSTING, what some people get away with, don't you think so, dear Miss An-ge-la? GWAHAHAHAHA.

No. No the laugh just wasn't doing anything for Heidegger at this distance. Maybe he ought to get closer and do it right in that peace-queer's face. That would REALLY show that bastard.

Posted by: Veld/ヴェルド (verudo)
Posted at: January 1st, 2006 12:27 am (UTC)
DO IIIITTT! ... ...seriously. Please.




Do you know how many times over this WINS? WINS I SAY. WIIIIIIIN. Best Thing Ever of the year, I think, and considering it's the 31th, that's saying a lot.

*dying. just. dying.*

... Ewww, I'm all out of practice again. >.<; Ahem. Icon. ASAP, what what.))

Posted by: Rufus Shinra (crisis_control)
Posted at: January 1st, 2006 08:02 am (UTC)

Corporate parties were usually a time to stand around, a drink in hand that never quite diminished, pretending to be as sloshed as everyone else and catching up on the office gossip.


This time, the corporate party seemed to be one big huge attempt at damage control. Namely, trying to dispel the rumors that involved a. Zack b. Blonds, c. Harems and d. Himself.

"Good grief," Rufus said, flashing a sunny smile at Reeve's secretary and wondering if he could arrange an accident just for her. "Surely you don't believe that?"

The subsequent giggle gave him the urge to stab that obnoxious gossiping wench with the tiny hors d'oeuvres skewer (if he got her right through the eye, it'd probably hit the brain, except that the splatter might be undesirable...)

He took a long sip from the glass instead. They had to be making these glasses smaller. He was running out of drink.

"I was consulting the General's aide," he said to her tittered comment about him and Zack seen in something less than a 10 foot radius of each other.

And therefore that implies that we're engaged and going to be married next year?!

"Discussing security measures, you understand." He paused for dramatic effect, then deployed Fear Inspiring Voice #51, complete with the little glitter in his eyes as light reflected off the edge of his glass. "Specifically, matters pertaining to certain breaches of security, doubtless caused by certain loose-tongued individuals who greatly exaggerate circumstances and draw unwarranted conclusions when they shouldn't."

He twitched his hand slightly, as his unbuttoned suit jacket fell open to allow an apparently unintentional glimpse of the sawn-off shotgun holstered at his side.

And he shot the woman a bright smile as she turned pale. "Don't you find it terribly inconvenient that we have all these--" a brief, dismissive wave, "--silly rumors flying around? I find that they impede departmental efficiency, when we have to take time to allay them. And it's such a terribly suspicious time, with assassins everywhere and security at an all time high..."

He left her choking on her drink as he floated off to deal with the rest of the rumor mongers. Stupid idiots, all of them. Logic never seemed to work on the pathetic excuses that populated the dregs of the executive. Fear, fortunately, did.

He crunched the hors d'oeuvres skewer in one vicious bite.

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 2nd, 2006 09:28 pm (UTC)

[Forgive lack of official IC icon, figure this might be easier to keep character posts separate]

The party had barely begun and already SOLDIER 2nd class Zell Dincht, boyscout extraordinaire, was feeling horribly out of his depth. The booze was so expensive he felt guilty drinking it, the food better suited to being looked at than actually taking the edge off hunger, the background music annoying, the tribal tattoo sprawled across the side of his face drawing a lot of blank stares that he squirmed uncomfortably under, and the collar of this stupid suit was way too tight no matter how much he pulled at it. He was, miraculously, finding himself wishing that he’d been allowed to wear his dress uniform like Zack, or better yet that he hadn’t had to come at all.

Now it wasn’t really that Zell minded parties per se, especially if they were parties with lots of booze and hot dogs and amateur stripping contests which the General’s XO always seemed to win, if he wasn’t already too drunk to stand. But Zell was a small town country boy, more comfortable wrangling chocobos or fighting under Leonhart’s command in the field, and he was not at all used to a sprawling metropolis like Midgar (though he had a complete working knowledge of all the best slum bars, thanks to the company he kept in his regiment), much less the inner workings of corporate ShinRa. Black tie affairs such as this were completely alien to him. These people were names in the newspapers and faces on the broadband, famous and powerful people who all but ran the city (or did actually run the city) and he certainly didn’t have the temperament to stand nonchalantly next to them at the punch table and make small talk. Some desperate babblings about the weather, yes, which had already sent a few people edging away while he wished himself anywhere but here. He was under orders, specific orders that had been delivered in a very uncharacteristic serious tone from Zack almost the minute Zell and his partner had arrived in town, to be discrete. Keep an eye on Rufus Shinra at all times but don’t look like you’re keeping an eye on him. Do not call undue attention to yourself or your partner or me or the General and do not, under any circumstances, piss anyone off. Don’t sleep with everything that looks your way, Kinneas. Do not let your mouth run away with you, Dincht. In fact, Peregrin Took, it might be better if you did not speak at all.

Zell was a soldier, not a diplomat and certainly not secret service. He could take down monsters with his bare hands and crack concrete with a single blow. He was good at following orders and more or less reliable in keeping his commanders happy (or so he thought, though this in fact applied almost exclusively to Squall). But this schmoozing with royalty crap was not part of his job description.

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 2nd, 2006 09:29 pm (UTC)
I break word buffers. Again.


It might have been more bearable if his partner had actually stuck around like he was supposed to instead of running off to sweet talk every pretty face in the room. Zell scowled at the opposite wall where Irvine’s lanky figure was leaning casually, looking as usual flawless and suave and mostly like a walking invitation with that smile, which was the point. The sharpshooter was currently engaged in chatting up someone’s very well proportioned intern, which seemed to consist of a lot of giggling and blushing on her part and a lot of leers on Irvine’s. Easily adaptable bastard. Irvine of course had no issues settling in so long as there were young pretty things around to seduce. Corporate elite or glitter painted girls from the clubs, it made no difference to him. He was also shooting occasional significant Looks at their commander every once in a while, just to make it clear how irritated he was that Zack’s standing orders were to Not Seduce, Flirt With, Or Otherwise Proposition The Underage Heir no matter how shiny and blond he was, or how much of a huge flarging hypocrite that statement made Zack. There was a reason that Zack, not Irvine, had been nicknamed ‘cowboy’ within their regiment, and it didn’t have anything to do with the man’s expertise with chocobos. Or not that much, anyway. In any case, Irvine had taken it as a personal affront that one of his heroes should lay such an imposition on him for their very first assignment back in civilization, and seemed determined to have his revenge by racking up conquests of every single other person present.

Zell was waiting morosely for someone to get slapped or punched. He didn’t think Heidegger would appreciate the velvet purr of Irvine’s best seduction voice as much as the sharpshooter seemed to think everyone did.

He kept half an ear trained on Rufus’ conversations when he was close enough to hear, privately smirking at the remark about Zack’s harem of blonds which was entirely true but let his eyes wander freely. He wondered if striking up a conversation with some of the younger Turks would count as drawing undue attention. They out of all the people here were probably the only ones he had anything in common with, except generalizations like ‘hey, we all seem to be breathing oxygen here’ and ‘gosh, wouldn’t you know, I’m wearing pants too.’

Posted by: Elfe (erufue)
Posted at: January 2nd, 2006 10:29 pm (UTC)
And some useless subplottin'...

((... hane for the win.))

Outside the Shin-ra building and around back, an odd trio

Now this was stupid, thought Elfe, but Elfe wasn't going to bother arguing with him; when he got an idea he'd stick to it if he thought it was a good one, and with him, it was always a good one. And maybe it would work, his ideas always worked. And Elfe wasn't the sort to argue needlessly period. All the same, after jumping and subsequently drugging two hapless and entirely unfortunate truck drivers, donning their disgusting uniforms, and proceeding to schlep a large volume of boxes--it was a top sekrit (Fuhito was a brilliant man, but he couldn't spell worth used chocobo chow) plan, after all, thus it had to be known of out only by the leaders-- around, the AVALANCHE leader was starting to feel one a month, or once every few months if AVALANCHE were doing badly, though thankfully without undeniable urges for finest Wutainese chocolates. Otherwise there would be bitches choked, though she wouldn't quite put it that way. ...There would be blood, at any rate.

Shears hefted the last boxes into the truck.

"Should be all," he grunted, "Could you check please, miss Elfe?"

Elfe massaged her sore shoulder, but smiled, weakly. "Yes."

And indeed every thing was in order. The boxes that formerly had read 'coffee' now still read 'coffee' though in a different type, the real difference being that they now contained that much-despised by anyone thinking straight useless abomination called 'decaf'.

... this had really better work. Fuhito has so enthusiastically described the plan to cripple the Turks--Elfe had her doubts, but then, it would probably be good for amusement, if nothing else, for honorable Rufus Shinra.

Posted by: John (elvaron)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 01:18 am (UTC)
Re: And some useless subplottin'...

You did it! *loves!* :D

Posted by: Elfe (erufue)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 05:13 am (UTC)
Re: And some useless subplottin'...

*facedesk* And totally effed it up. Note to self: Proofread. Moron. >.<;

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 2nd, 2006 10:43 pm (UTC)

While certain of his subordinates were 1.) looking miserable and out of place but doing his job and 2.) looking comfortable and pleased with himself while thoroughly ignoring his job, Zack was vaguely irritated at circumstances that this year were preventing him from doing hisjob at parties like these. Ie, getting as drunk as possible on champagne so he could leave as soon as possible. Holiday affairs were things to be celebrated with friends and family, not employers, and Zack knew without a doubt that if, like every year, he didn’t make some effort to drag Cloud and Seph out of their self-imposed exiles, they would both sit around in their rooms and watch the snow/do nothing and not have any fun and go to bed early like the complete LOSERS they were. This of course didn’t currently apply to Seph, as he was out in the field and beyond Zack’s nagging looking after of Seph’s own interests, but he knew, just knew that somewhere Cloud was doing what he did best, which was staying off by himself while the rest of the world was celebrating. Zack had made a vow that he wasn’t going to stand for it, that while he still had breath and will (and gil to his name) he would see Cloud dragged to some kind of party at the change of the year where there would be, heaven forbid, good music and quality booze and dancing and scantily clad women and oh noes, fun.

He wondered occasionally if his General and Cloud both ascribed to some strange religion he didn’t know about that had a prohibition against fun. The two of them certainly went out of their way to avoid it unless Zack so very kindly and graciously stepped in to drag their boring asses out into the world for a good time. Ingrates. They had these Looks they would give him, the oh god this is one of Zack’s less-than-brilliant ideas again Looks, accusatory looks like the aftermath of whatever scheme he had in mind would not be worth the participation in said scheme, which was totally and completely untrue. What were a few hangovers and arrests for violating public decency and scandals involving chocobos and demerits and deceptively authentic transvestites as long as everyone had fun during the moment? Definite ingrates.

Unfortunately this year, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his personal mission regarding Cloud’s dismal social calendar, since he’d oh so cleverly shot himself in the foot by promising to stick around and babysit a princeling. If he thought he dared leave Dincht at the mercy of the socialites (because Zell was at least making some pretense at being a proper bodyguard of the Heir, while Irvine was so far proving irritatingly useless and a disturbingly serious competitor in the game of Who Can Get The Most Secretarial Numbers In One Night), he would have nipped off for an hour or two to check in on Cloud. Rufus would hardly need the extra security here, with the entirety of Shinra’s Turks division mere meters away.

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 2nd, 2006 10:48 pm (UTC)

Lack of foresight, Seph would have said, if Seph could have been brought to comment on something like Zack’s righteous disappointment in being unable to keep his vow. He made a face at his champagne glass and took another drink. Somehow, the alcohol wasn’t making Palmer any prettier. Not that he’d been hoping or anything, but in the nature of an experiment…he didn’t really have anything else to do. Aristocrats and bureaucrats and really any kind of ‘crats, even democrats (not that any of those could be said to exist within Shinra), weren’t exactly his type of people. He’d entertained enough secretaries and interns already to the point that they were all starting to blur into a single blond/redheaded/brunette tittering sequined monster, or rather that they were all starting to resemble Scarlet. He could have gone over and reprimanded Irvine for his carelessness, but he would rather wait until there were fewer people around to scream over the inevitable bloodshed. The Turks were out, too. Tseng was giving him a cold shoulder of Blizzagan proportions for his earlier indiscretions with Rufus (which were, of course, keeping the scandal mill busily churning) and Heidegger seemed to be lurking awfully close by. The wrong move by him, even a simple look or a comment, could end one of the Turk rookies’ careers, if Heidegger thought SOLDIER was trying to get a spy in with the President’s Investigative Department. Therefore, it was secretaries or start talking to the wall. The wall might have been more interesting conversationalist.

Someone handed him a drink that was not champagne, or spiked fruit punch (he’d have to congratulate Reno, though he hadn’t seen the Turk actually do anything, but a wink and a ‘congrats’ would be sure to bring Veld’s wrath down on the Number One Suspect) or, in fact, a drink found anywhere but in the best Wutai bars below the plate. He blinked, opened his mouth to say something, met the drink offerer’s gaze and started to grin stupidly instead.

“And to what do I owe this unexpected honor?” he inquired, already scanning the crowd with malicious glee.

“The President’s very determined insistence,” Auron replied mildly, sipping his sake. “Stop gawking, you look like a schoolgirl.”

“I can’t, I have to remind him of a certain adamant and smug statement he made about regrettably not being able to attend any holiday galas this year.” The son of a bitch.

“He’s not entirely pleased with you,” Auron warned. “Scandal has it--”

“Don’t care,” Zack interrupted cheerfully. “Gotta be off, sonuvabitch superior officers to ridicule. Find me later and we’ll get drunk.” Then he was off with a companionable slap on the shoulder. Shaking his head, the older soldier took the vacated place on the wall and settled in to watch the fireworks.

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 04:42 am (UTC)
cont'd yet again, very belatedly

Two minutes later, when the great General Sephiroth swept through the doors in a flurry of snowpale hair and flaring coat and glacial green eyes (and an expression that contained all the enthusiasm for his current whereabouts as a cat invited to a waterpark), the first thing he saw was his absentee XO’s shit eating grin.

“Thought you weren’t going to make it, sir,” Zack drawled in his laziest and most irritating hick accent, smirking at the You’ll Pay For This, Soldier look in his superior’s eyes. He wasted no time in thrusting a wine glass into one black gloved hand and taking Seph’s other arm so the man couldn’t escape, and unmercifully steered the General towards the most brainless and chatterboxy and sparkly eyed of the girls he’d had the misfortune to speak to earlier. “Priscilla here was just gushing about your brave exploits on the battlefront, now that you’ve arrived I couldn’t possibly deny her the opportunity to hear the tales told in person…..”

The girl took her cue beautifully, latched onto Sephiroth’s other arm and rushed headlong into a squeaking torrent of unabashed flirting. Sephiroth’s glare over her bouncing curls promised murder with the possible addition of cruel and unusual torture beforehand. Zack sipped his champagne and beamed back, content.

Posted by: Elfe (erufue)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 05:17 am (UTC)
Re: cont'd

((*DED* You know, I don't seem to remember actually telling you you could use FF characters from the other games... but Velly will let it slide. Because she is amused.))

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 05:28 am (UTC)
Re: cont'd

I did I did! Right here! http://www.livejournal.com/community/crimsonaria_ooc/6304.html

And I said I needed NPC names. They're NPCs! Just for standing around and filling in space!

Posted by: 01_one_man_army (01_one_man_army)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 05:31 am (UTC)
Re: cont'd

e.e And also, you had a multitude of time to call me on it from the Office Post, which had much name dropping and referring to other FF characters not found in 7. http://www.livejournal.com/community/crimson_aria/1884.html#cutid1


Is it alright?

Posted by: no (turk_elena)
Posted at: January 3rd, 2006 08:54 pm (UTC)
VeldxTseng - Hot and bothered

oops... But, dude, yes. It's totally all right. ;3 Only you could probably pull it off, though. :P

Posted by: turkish_crimson (turkish_crimson)
Posted at: January 4th, 2006 04:49 am (UTC)

Well, this was certainly a lovely little shindig. The SOLDIERs were all off in their own little corners, Ruffie seemed content that there were no live chocobos present, the boss was staring at...the other boss (shit, he had way too many bosses), Scarlet was already tipsy, and Reno could hear Heidegger's annoying-as-fuck laugh all the way across the goddamned room.

Yeah, lovely. There was nowhere else he'd rather be. Except any other frickin' place but here. The bar down the street, preferably. He never felt comfortable getting smashed anywhere within Shin-Ra headquarters. All those damn security cameras made great blackmail material, and the words "blackmail" and "Shin-Ra" went together like "Reno" and "booze". Plus, it was never a great idea to get drunk with the big boss around. Chances of you throwing up on him were always, and hell if Reno was going to let himself do that.

But shit, he'd only been here for ten friggin' minutes and he was already bored. Where the hell were the other Turks? Aside from Tseng and Veld, of course, because those two weren't exactly good company anywhere, much less at a party.

Reno pushed himself off the table he was leaning against and headed to the bar where the booze was too expensive--but free, at least.

Might as well get smashed. Screw the security cameras, he could always shoot anyone who tried to blackmail him later. 'Sides, there wasn't a hell of a lot else to do at a corporate drunkfest, and maybe he'd run into someone there interesting enough to keep his attention for the night.

Doubtful, but he'd try his luck.

Posted by: Rude (rude_er)
Posted at: January 6th, 2006 03:43 am (UTC)

The hallways of the Shin-Ra building were empty, filled only with the quiet hum of surveillance equipment. Rude could just make out muffled chatter coming from the corridor to his north. He turned and headed towards the party.

Parties (especially company parties) were not his idea of fun. It seemed like the company had been turned on its head. First new recruits, the awkward meeting with the new recruits and Veld, now a party. Even if it was the holiday season it was weird.

Time check.

Two hours max. That way his attendance at the party would be noticed, he could pretend to schmooze the higher-ups, and then be out before the Veld was too drunk to ignore Scarlet's strip dances. Trying to shake that thought out of his head he glanced back at his watch. Hmmm. He might already be too late for that. Footsteps echoed loudly as he picked up the pace. Two hours max.

A lingering odor of stale smoke and a musky sweetness caught his attention. The hallway past the door to the party was dark. Blinking red dots from the security cameras were all that was visible. He wondered.

He called into the darkness, "Reno, you there?"

Posted by: turkish_crimson (turkish_crimson)
Posted at: January 13th, 2006 12:29 am (UTC)

"...great little party? Don't you think?" The woman batted in her eyelashes in what Reno suspected was supposed to be a flirtatious manner, but only made her look as though she had dust in her eyes or something.

Reno downed half of his whiskey in response. Any hopes that she'd take the hint, however, were quickly dashed as she shifted even closer to him.

"Hey, why don't I let you order me a drink, hmm?" she purred.

"Let all you want, babe, but I ain't gonna do it."

She blinked and pulled back. "You don't have to be rude, you know."

"Don't have to be nice, either." Reno slid off the bar stool and leaned a little toward her, the corner of his lips turning up into a small grin. "Maybe you should go hit on Heidegger instead, huh? They say couples who look alike last longer."

Not bothering to wait for a reaction, he smirked and scooped his glass off the counter, making his way through the throng of people toward the exit. Screw the so-called party. He'd shown his face, drank more than a little, and even interacted with a couple of people. It was about time he got the hell out of here.

Moving past a couple blatantly groping and making out by the doorway, Reno stepped out into the hall, where--

"Rude?" Reno turned quickly to the left in surprise. He hadn't expected to see the Turk there. Actually, he hadn't expected to see Rude around here at all--the man wasn't exactly your partying type.

"You plannin' on hiding out there all night or something? 'Cause it's a good plan, y'know." He took a swallow of his drink and waved the glass in the general direction of the party. "Better'n whatever the hell's happening in there."

Posted by: Rafe (doublegunshot)
Posted at: January 16th, 2006 01:07 am (UTC)

Sighing, Rafe raises his glass at the bar for another refill. Office parties. How he'd been warned of these. Well, at least the booze was strong and cheap and flowed quite freely at the flash of his Turk ID. Though the other guests...well, they were an interesting breed. There was the head of his department from before. A blond woman dressed all in scarlet. But who was that obnoxious, hairy man in the corner laughing like a horse? The one with a slew of medals on bright olive green that made him sparkle brighter than a Christmas tree? He couldn't possibly be the head of the military around here...could he? Rafe shudders. Looked more like one of the Don's seedier patrons.

Well, it seemed he was the only one of the new Turk recruits who had bothered to show up. Perhaps a testament to his poor judgment, considering the way the evening was going. If he stayed around long enough, this party would no doubt quickly degenerate into a repeat of so many of Corneo's "business" meetings. Except with glitzier patrons. And a much larger helping of scandal. Setting down his glass with a clink, Rafe rises from his seat, eyes fixing on the exit. Unless something of incredible importance came up in the next five minutes, he was going to seek companionship in the quiet of the shooting range.

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