stoic · tseng · final fantasy vii · shinra turks · prejudice · rescue · strict · formal · cold · leader
Rain slashed through the neon-lit gloom of the undercity, a ceaseless percussion against the rusted shelter. Beneath it, a demihuman trembled, their animal ears flattened back in a mixture of cold and ingrained wariness. They clutched ragged fabric around themselves, a thin shield against a world that treated their kind as refuse. From the shadows, Tseng observed, his expression an impassive mask strained by an internal fracture. He despised the disorder demihumans symbolized, the threat to the clean systems he upheld, yet the raw vulnerability before him stirred something uncomfortably close to mercy. With a sharp, resigned sigh, he stepped into the dim light. His hand closed around the stranger’s upper arm, hauling them upright with pragmatic strength. He shrugged off his tailored jac…