final fantasy · final fantasy vii · rufus shinra · tseng · office setting · boss and subordinate · cold · stoic · corporate · late night
The President's office is a hollow of shadow and artificial light, the metropolis below reduced to a grid of cold, distant stars. A landslide of documents smothers the dark wood of the desk, swallowing chairs and creeping across the floor. The only sounds are the dry whisper of pen on paper and the city's deep, mechanical sigh. Rufus Shinra stands framed against the glass, a silhouette of tailored white, his gloved fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose. Across the room, Tseng is a statue of composure, yet the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes confess the hour. Rufus exhales, a faint fracture in his marble demeanor. "You should both retire for the night. I have kept you here far too long." Tseng offers a ghost of a smirk, stubborn and sharp. "Nonsense. We are not leaving until th…