mystiri_1 (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mystiri_1) wrote,@ 2009-08-23 14:48:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fanfic, ffvii, genfic, rufus |
[FIC] Own - FFVII, Rufus, G
Title: Own
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Character: Rufus
Rating: G
Warnings: none:
Word Count: 395
Summary: The joy of being Rufus.
The newscasts always refer to him by his full name: Rufus ShinRa, President of Neo-ShinRa Incorporated. To most of his employees, he's Mr President. Those few that dare call him anything else (well, other than the various vulgar epithets he's sure his competitors and enemies use behind his back, but those just amuse him) simply call him Rufus, a lèse majesté he's willing to allow. There are times when he's been tempted to drop the 'ShinRa' surname completely, the way his Turks drop theirs, and just be Rufus.
It serves its purpose, though, reminding people of just who it is they're dealing with. Rufus grew up in the snake-pit that was the old ShinRa Electric Power Company, the son of a man who shouldn't been allowed to breed. He may have turned over a new leaf in some respects, but he is still a businessman first and foremost, and a good one; ruthlessness comes naturally to him. Neo-ShinRa is his, born of the money he had stashed away long before he ever rose to his first presidency, and it will eclipse the old ShinRa until all that matters is that it bears his name, and his father is nothing but a footnote in the history books.
Perhaps that is better than dropping the ShinRa name: taking it and making it his, reducing the self-important man who ruled so much of the world and Rufus's early life with a heavy hand to insignificance.
He smiles as he reads the morning's headlines. His influence shows in each of them, although in some cases only he knows it's there. It's more challenging this way. Sometimes his opponents are his business competitors, sometimes only himself, but Rufus rarely loses.
Finally he folds the paper and takes a sip of his tea. It's a little lukewarm now, a Wutaian blend that Tseng addicted him to. The company that produces it is one that he doesn't own any part in, and that's the way he likes it. They didn't need any outside investment, thanks to an anonymous donation they received that allowed them to restore those parts of the plantation that were destroyed during the Wutai war.
“I'll erase every mark you made on this world, old man,” he murmurs as he leans back in his chair. “And there's not a soul on this planet who'll mourn your passing.”
It serves its purpose, though, reminding people of just who it is they're dealing with. Rufus grew up in the snake-pit that was the old ShinRa Electric Power Company, the son of a man who shouldn't been allowed to breed. He may have turned over a new leaf in some respects, but he is still a businessman first and foremost, and a good one; ruthlessness comes naturally to him. Neo-ShinRa is his, born of the money he had stashed away long before he ever rose to his first presidency, and it will eclipse the old ShinRa until all that matters is that it bears his name, and his father is nothing but a footnote in the history books.
Perhaps that is better than dropping the ShinRa name: taking it and making it his, reducing the self-important man who ruled so much of the world and Rufus's early life with a heavy hand to insignificance.
He smiles as he reads the morning's headlines. His influence shows in each of them, although in some cases only he knows it's there. It's more challenging this way. Sometimes his opponents are his business competitors, sometimes only himself, but Rufus rarely loses.
Finally he folds the paper and takes a sip of his tea. It's a little lukewarm now, a Wutaian blend that Tseng addicted him to. The company that produces it is one that he doesn't own any part in, and that's the way he likes it. They didn't need any outside investment, thanks to an anonymous donation they received that allowed them to restore those parts of the plantation that were destroyed during the Wutai war.
“I'll erase every mark you made on this world, old man,” he murmurs as he leans back in his chair. “And there's not a soul on this planet who'll mourn your passing.”