Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ May to December ❯ Hojo: Crime, Punishment, Coffee and Assorted Puddings ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Lady Aoi 
Hojo aquires a new secretary, receives a strange visit and discovers that he hates pudding almost as much as he hates Turks.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 09.19.2002 | Updated On: 09.19.2002 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.6K | Visits: 167 | Status: Completed
Hojo aquires a new secretary, receives a strange visit and discovers that he hates pudding almost as much as he hates Turks.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 09.19.2002 | Updated On: 09.19.2002 | Pages: 7 | Words: 6.6K | Visits: 167 | Status: Completed
May to December
A FF7 Fan Fic
Chapter 4: Hojo: Crime, Punishment, Coffee and Assorted Puddings
by
Lady Aoi
Summary: Hojo's lab gets trashed by everyone's favorite FF7 villain. Who will help him clean up the mess?
Rating: R for language, adult content, general Turkiness and Hojoness.
Pairings: Hojo/Elena, Hojo/Scarlet.
Disclaimer: The lovely Elena and the amazing Hojo are not my creations. They belong to Square Soft, as do the equally fantabulous Rude, Reno, Tseng, Heidegger, Scarlet, Sephiroth and any other characters who wander into this fic. Please don't sue me. I'd be really sad.
Spoilers: If you don't know why Sephiroth would be in a Hojo fic, you may want to finish the game before reading anything past this sentence.
Lady Aoi's Notes: Nothing, except a hearty thank you to everyone who has been following M2D so far. Your reviews and encouragement are appreciated.
~*~
"Simon, for god's sake! It's lunch time. Eat something!"
"I happen to be in the process of eating, Scarlet."
"Bah! Maybe a croissant and a cup of coffee count as breakfast for some people, but it's hardly lunch material."
"Is that so?" I smile and lean forward over my tray. "Well, Scarlet, you should probably inform the kitchen staff of this oversight, for it appears to have had quite a history."
"Is that so?" Scarlet's blue eyes twinkle mischievously as she bites into her apple. "Do tell, Simon. I would be fascinated to hear this history."
"Well, as shocking as it may seem, the kitchen has served croissants and coffee as part of its lunch menu for the last thirty-five years."
Scarlet's face twitches slightly. "You don't say. And would that have anything to do with your joining Shinra's staff at that particular time, dear Professor?"
"I assure you, it did not. Although I *was* the man responsible for getting croissants put on the dinner menu."
I always know I have gained the upper hand when I manage to get Scarlet to snort with laughter. And from her nose's tell tale twitching, I believe I am close.
But for now, she stubbornly shakes her head. "You need to eat, Simon," she mutters as she attacks her salad. "You're getting so skinny I'm afraid I'll lose you in the sheets next time."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. You managed to find me easily yesterday afternoon without calling a search party."
Yes, her nose is twitching dangerously now. "Most women want their lovers to weigh more than they do, you know."
I nod sagaciously. "Such a good thing I'm not most women, then." As I predicted, this last comment achieves a loud snort.
"Kyahahahahahaaa! Damn you, Simon Hojo. You know very well that isn't what I'm referring to!"
"Yes," I take another sip of my coffee. "And you know very well what happens to women who become their lovers' mothers." I take a bite of my croissant as she scowls at me.
"Fine. But don't blame me when you starve yourself to death."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that, my dear Undersecretary of Urban Development. Dead men tend not to blame anyone for anything." Just ask Vincent Valentine if you don't believe me.
Instead of asking Vincent, however, Scarlet scowls. "Simon, have you forgotten already?" It is more a threat than a question.
Forgotten? "No, you were born on August twelfth, and August twelfth won't come for another two hundred sixty-five days."
"I was referring to my promotion, my dear professor. If you will recall, our esteemed employer made me co-chair of Weapons Development last Tuesday."
Oh. "Of course. My apologies."
"Heh. Are you apologizing because you forgot or because I was only given the position to shame Heidegger?"
"The answer to that question depends, of course, on whether you are planning to stick your fork into that tomato or into my right eye."
"Don't give me ideas." But she smiles and puts the utensil down to gently caresses the back of my hand. "Maybe if you ate more than an anorexic fourteen year old, you would be able to remember more than the details of your latest project."
"Maybe. But now that you've mentioned work, Scarlet…"
She holds up a red-gloved hand. "No, don't tell me. You have to be getting back to yours instead of spending a relaxing lunch *hour* with me. Hour, of course, being the operative word, Simon."
"Maybe we can spend a full hour tomorrow," before I can rise, however, a commotion at the other end of the cafeteria catches my attention.
"Hey, numbnuts! Betcha twenty gil I make the basket."
"You will not."
"Twenty gil, fucknut! What's the matter? Scared of losing?"
"No, I'm scared you're going to be broke again by the end of the week and come crying to me for your booze, asshole."
"Bullshit! Twenty gil I make it, Rude."
"Hey, fine. A fool and his money…"
"Who ya calling a fool, dickface?"
Rude? That name sounds familiar. And apparently, Scarlet thinks so, too, if the annoyed look she is giving the voices behind me is any indication.
"Scarlet?" I turn and follow her gaze to a pair of very familiar black suited men, one bald, one with an unruly head of red hair… ah. It's the charming guards I saw passed out in front of Elena's hospital room yesterday! Although I cannot say their current behavior is any more endearing, as Red is currently trying to shove a protesting Baldy into the nearest wall.
"Disgusting," Scarlet mutters, causing me to turn to face her again.
"Disgusting?"
"Those idiots in the black suits," Scarlet shakes her head. "Although I have always admired Tseng, I am beginning to believe Shinra and Heidegger were wrong in making him a Turk at such a tender age. He may have deserved the honor, but it nevertheless created a disturbing precedent." Scarlet clenches her fist and her scowl only deepens. "Now every foul-mouthed reprobate teenager who kisses Heidegger's fat ass is instantly promoted to Turk second class. And of course, they have to come here to belch and curse their lunch hour away."
"Terrible." Although I'm not exactly sure what I should tell her. Surely she cannot believe that *any* Turk is truly calm, well behaved and sober at any given time… with, possibly, the exception of Tseng. Ah, yes, pretty boy Tseng… talented, intelligent, wonderful pretty, pretty Tseng…how much he reminds me of another Turk pretty boy; a pretty boy who couldn't keep his pretty nose in his own pretty business. A pretty little thing who liked other men's pretty things… and I don't just mean he wanted my wife. He wanted much more from me than that… Yes, pretty boy Tseng. I know your type. And I have my eye on you. You best stay away from the pretty cadet… or I will find a way…
"Heads up, Rude! Watch 'er fly!"
And then something wet and cold hits me in the back of the neck.
"Uh…oh!"
Instantly, I am jarred from my fantasies of strangling Tseng with his own hair by an heavy, oozing… something in my own. Puzzled, I look to Scarlet for help. But Scarlet is no longer home. Her sharp blue eyes are currently the size of bottle caps, and her mouth is opened in a surprised 'O'.
"Scarlet?" I touch my fingers to the back of my head. The sample I take away from this mess is cream colored, cold and the consistency of pudding. I raise my fingers to my nose with scientific curiosity. It smells like pudding. I flick my tongue over the sample. Vanilla. Hm.
I have just been hit in the back of the head with a cup of vanilla pudding. Said vanilla pudding was thrown by a seventeen-year-old Turk second class. Said Turk second class is now sputtering frightened obscenities somewhere behind me.
I am going to kill said Turks Second Class.
"Oh shit…" Red whimpers as I rise from my chair and turn to face him. And to his dubious credit, he truly *does* look frightened. "Uh… Rude," he says to Baldy. "I think uh now would be a good time to run."
"I think I agree." However, both Turks are unable to make it to the cafeteria door before I have raised my hand and cast Slow over them. As the boys' speed drops to at least five-eighths of their original velocity, Scarlet finds her speech again.
"Simon? Don't forget that they're young, inexperienced boys." I can hardly keep myself from licking my lips at the sight of her cruel smile. "Kill them slowly and tell me all about it in bed tonight."
"Of course, my dear," I shake my head as a panicking Red falls to his knees amid a flurry of 'oh shits' and like profanities. I must hand it to him. His feeble curse words have made the already ominous silence that descended upon this space after the pudding's landing even more effective.
"Now, why on earth are you in such a hurry, gentlemen?" Both boys stop moving entirely to give me a classic 'caught in the headlights' look as I stride towards them.
"Uh… ohh, you know us, sir! No particular reason! Ain't that right, Rude?" Baldy nods his assent then shoots Red a glare that anyone save a complete blithering idiot would recognize as a clarion call to shut the hell up.
Sadly, it seems intelligence is not Red's strong suit, for he continues to ramble. "Um… auhm… hey, Professor, listen… I'm real sorry about that! You see, I was aiming for the trash to your left and…"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "The only things you were aiming for were a cheep laugh from your buddy and the opportunity to disgrace yourself and your uniform." Sometimes it doesn't hurt one to take a page from Heidegger's blank notebook, especially when dealing with his suited clowns. And sure enough, I have torn out the appropriate page. I can actually see the sweat beading on Red's brow. "Now then. Who is the person responsible for letting you out of your cages, hmmm?"
"I am responsible for them, Professor Hojo," Ahh, yes. That firm, humorless and oh-so-passive voice can only belong to one ingratiating sycophant.
"Tseng," A large glob of pudding chooses this particular moment to slide beneath my collar and down my back. I think I may never look at the stuff again.
Pretty Boy regards Baldy and Red sternly before acknowledging me with a nod. "Professor, if you would be so good as to inform me of the situation-"
"I would be most happy to inform you, Tseng, as you were too busy doing anything *but* your job when your trainees went on a rampage." Tseng just stands there looking soooo very concerned and dedicated. I would enjoy injecting his veins with acid. "They proceeded to use language more suited for a bar than the work place. And then they hit me with a pudding."
"A pudding, sir?"
"Yes, a pudding, Tseng. Perhaps you've heard of them."
"Yes, sir. I know what a pudding is."
"Then perhaps you have failed to see the pudding currently dripping from my hair?"
"No, sir," Tseng replies implacably. "I see the pudding in your hair."
"And what are you going to do about the pudding in my hair, Turk?" I do not shout, I do not challenge, and yet my gaze is enough to inform Pretty that I mean business.
But for his part, Pretty remains unfazed. He blinks, reaches into his breast pocket and removes a small white handkerchief.
"Is this sufficient, sir?" I simply stare as he shakes the wrinkles from it and hands it over as if it were a holy relic. I do not reward this behavior by taking, or even acknowledging it with more than a scowl. From behind me, the half-paralyzed trainees begin to snicker and guffaw uncontrollably. And is it a trick of the mako lamps, or is Pretty himself trying to suppress a subtle sneer?
They will *all* pay for this…
"Tseng," I give Pretty boy an almost deadly smile and take just the smallest step forward. "Call me crazy…"
"Crazy," I hear one of the Twerps giggle softly.
"But I fail to see the humor of the situation as clearly and poignantly as you and your friends apparently do."
"I did not say the situation was humorous, sir," Pretty pauses and looks me over. "I merely suggested that you take the handkerchief." And he offers it to me again as he daubs at his lower lip with a long index finger. "And if I may say so, sir, you also have a little…right here, sir."
I will not dignify him by licking the large bread crumb away. I will *not*.
"Ah," I continue as if he had never made the previous imbecilic observation. "Then perhaps you will find similar humor in the written report of this situation I am going to place on General Heidegger's desk before the end of my lunch break, hmmm?"
"Do as you wish, sir."
Even at my age, it would be surprisingly easy to just step forward right now and kick him square in the -
"Simon," I turn around as an arm wraps gently through my own. Scarlet stands behind me, concern shimmering in her deep blue eyes. "Simon, didn't you say you had to return to work now?"
I simply stare at the woman. Two minutes ago, she offered me sexual favors in return for homicide. I now feel inclined to ask her to declare her true allegiance before god and country.
"Simon," she leans forward and smoothes some hair away from my ear. "Don't kill all three of them, Simon. I actually have some respect for Tseng." Oh yes, my dear, I'm certain you do. That is a common flaw among women… and some men, it would seem, if alcohol was not Reeve's primary motive for praising Pretty's eyes so loudly and frequently at the last company party.
"And besides," Scarlet chuckles as she lightly and quickly nips at my ear. "He's flying me down to investigate Gongaga's reactor today… it seems my idiot co-chair hasn't done a damn thing about those reports of an imminent breech we've been receiving lately. And I really do need Tseng's help…"
My god, the things she'll do for sex! The things I will do for sex... and if I humiliate Scarlet's boy toy of the hour, I will probably end up spending the night in my office, with my nose pressed to my computer's 'y' key again. Why bother, indeed? "Very well."
I pull away from Scarlet's touch and do not turn to give Pretty even the most causal of glances on my way to the cafeteria door. But do not think I am going to let you off the hook so easily, Pretty. "I will speak to you later about this matter, Turk."
"Of course, sir," Don't worry, Scarlet. I will make certain not to hurt his pretty face… too much.
But I cannot promise as much for the Twerps second class who immediately begin sniggering when they believe I am out of ear shot. I am reminded of two spoilt children sneering after being saved from due punishment by a doting mother hen. As soon as their doting mother leaves with Scarlet this afternoon, however, I will certainly see to it that they will never sneer or giggle in my presence again. If I am in a particularly generous mood, I will accomplish this without removing their tongues.
But the moment the security door opens to the sixty eighth floor proper, I am forced to forget about the three little Twerps entirely.
I am forced, in fact, to forget about everything short of preserving my own life.
From the looks of things, the entire floor has just been ravaged by at least one natural disaster. Files, papers, broken glass, entire sheets of aluminum and pink insulation… a sea of devastation; a sea littered with the odd white-coated human island. Hm. Odd that I don't see any blood. Mindful of my weak back even in this crisis, I kneel beside the nearest lab assistant, slide two fingers against her jugular and press lightly. A strong and hearty young pulse pushes back, assuring me that she is alive… but asleep. The other three technicians in this hallway have also been knocked out by Sleepel… and an unusually strong Sleepel, too. But who would have done this? Did one of my precious specimens break loose during my absence?
And just as I silently vow never to take a lunch break again, I sense something… something is moving at the far end of this hallway…
… Something is in my office.
… And I know this something… rather this someone. And this someone has been officially missing for the last five years.
This someone has also just noticed my presence and has just seated himself on my desk to… sense my presence in return?
I am beginning to wonder if working at Shinra, Inc. without carrying at least five materia at any given time could count as occupational suicide. Nevertheless, this individual is waiting for me in my office… and I suppose I should speak to him.
He is my son, after all. And currently he is sitting on my desk with his masamune sword spread over his lap. To my horror, I also see that he has also consumed the entire pot of coffee I brewed before lunch.
I will have to teach him a lesson.
"Sephiroth," my voice is stern as I step over the twisted metal remnants of my door. "If you really are this desperate to speak with me in the future, might I recommend using the telephone before bashing my front door down?"
My son's mako-green eyes flicker at the sight of me. A low, sardonic laugh escapes his lips as he swings off my desk. "What's the matter, Hojo? Bothered by a little mess in your life?" A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "Besides, we both know you wouldn't answer even if I called. You never answer the phone."
"Be that as it may, a little mess I can handle. The destruction of my entire lab, on the other hand, tends to make me rather upset."
Sephiroth's eyes glisten dangerously. "Good."
Apparently, play time is over. "Sephiroth," I fully enter the room and cross my arms over my chest. "If you honestly think I find this sort of willful destruction amusing, then I would advise you to pull your head out of your ass and think again." Sephiroth shrugs. "Now, regardless of whatever punitive grudge you are holding against me at the moment -"
"The word 'grudge' doesn't even begin to cover it, Hojo."
"-Whatever punitive grudge you are holding against me at the moment," I continue, ignoring this little interruption. "You would not have broken past Shinra security forces in order to vandalize my office for a cheep laugh." Ignoring Sephiroth's tight grip on the hilt of his sword, I advance towards him slowly, my arms held at akimbo. "Now, Sephiroth, what is your real motive, hmm?" Surely the boy wouldn't risk being recaptured by Shinra just to piss his old man off.
Sephiroth merely smiles at me. It is a dangerous smile. "Can't a man visit his mother in prison?"
"Your mother?" Ohh. Of course. He means *Her*…"And now that you've seen Jenova, may I kindly ask you to leave?"
"You may ask all you like, Hojo… but I may not listen."
"And if you don't stop waving that sword around like a party favor, Sephiroth, I'm going to turn you over my knee and spank you." Sephiroth's eyes glow dangerously, but he lowers his masamune. Indignantly, I straighten my tie. "Now, please stop trying to one up me and explain *why* you felt the burning desire to destroy my entire department in the process of visiting your… mother."
Sephiroth licks his lips. "Because I enjoy making you suffer."
That was… truly disturbing. Even for a man like me. "Sephiroth, you have not made me suffer. You have just made me want to cut off your allowance and send you to bed without supper."
"Stop mocking me!"
"If I truly wanted to mock you, boy, I would have added 'grounded you for life' to that list."
Sephiroth is an intelligent boy, and as such he must know when he has been outwitted. But my silver-haired child has never been much of a good looser, I'm afraid. "This isn't the end of it, Hojo," he spits as he shoulders his masamune and storms toward the exit.
"Oh, but I think it is. Now why don't you go back into hiding like a good little boy, hmm?" God knows, that would certainly make my life easier.
Sephiroth spins at the door and points wildly at me. "Be careful, old man," he hisses. "I know you're up to something… I can sense it. I always know what you're thinking, whether you're aware of it or not."
Actually, I am. Our shared Jenova cells probably account for our slightly empathic bonding… that and the mere fact that Sephiroth is obsessed with me. Quite unhealthy, really. Even so, this last threat *is* rather a cause for alarm. "What do you mean, Sephiroth?"
His smile is dangerously cold. "I know you're planning on conducting another human experiment, for one thing. And not with a clone this time."
…Oh, Hell. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Sephiroth shakes his head. Sadly, a telepathic link never lies, no matter how weak it is. How can it? "True, I don't know the specifics, but it's only a matter of time, Hojo. And I'll be damned you'll use Mother in another of your sick experiments, you quack."
"Then I suppose you'll have to be damned," I adjust my glasses again. "And Sephiroth? I resent being called a quack."
"You're not even half the scientist Gast was." And with that he turns and leaves my office.
"Is that so?" I shout at his retreating form. How interesting. We've talked for the last ten minutes, and he still hasn't insulted my manhood -
"Or half the man. In more ways than one, I might add." And then he vanishes. Like smoke.
…Ah yes. He never fails to disappoint. I must hand it to the boy, he does, indeed, have his father's tongue.
And from the looks of it, his father's sense of humor. "SEPHIROTH!!!"
My last bucket of coffee grounds is gone. How typical.
I will not lose my temper… I will not lose my temper…
I will just sigh, wonder why I became a father, and call for the appropriate materia to wake my employees so we can begin cleaning this floor… and concoct a decent explanation for them and for Shinra while I'm at it.
And tonight, when this is all over, I am going to invite Scarlet over to my apartment and prove the little bastard wrong.
~*~
Sadly, it seems that Sephiroth has done more damage to my laboratory than even I had suspected. Damage that takes the combined efforts of myself, my staff, and a good number of Shinra's maintenance team a year to put right. And even then, the work remains incomplete. Sephiroth also saw fit to damage many of my files and databases beyond my patience or… ability to repair. I may be a brilliant man, but even I cannot understand what kind of virus he put into three of my data bases. And I lack the patience and the mere stamina to sort through the hard copies of files my son felt the need to tear apart and entirely mix up.
I do, however, have the sudden urge to re-think fathering another child… but thankfully, said urge is passing. After all, my project has now been officially delayed for a year, thanks to my son's meddling. And it seems the career of my specimen has been similarly placed on the back burner. When I next check Elena Marshall's file, I discover that my sweet cadet is no longer a cadet. She is now a secretary, and currently wasting away working for that idiot Matthew Palmer.
Hmm. Interesting. According to this personnel report, Ms. Marshall makes a surprisingly good secretary! I say surprising only because her profile made her out to sound like the model soldier last year. Now, however… types 99 wpm, made improvements on all office software, fixes things around the office better and faster than maintenance can…
And coffee… she knows how to operate a coffee machine! Ahhhhh… lovely, smart, and knows her decaff from her cappuccinos… I may just fall in love.
Well, that settles it. I must get a secretary. And I must get one today, before my charming son pays me another visit.
~*~
"A secretary?" Palmer asks, looking up from his plate.
I smile indulgently at the man and nod. "Yes, Matthew. A secretary. Please, have some more doughnuts."
Palmer watches my hand with a mixture of suspicion and interest as I gently push the plate closer. And after a moment, interest wins. "Hey, thanks!" He snatches two glazed doughnuts and grins at me.
I manage a small smile back. "Please, if you want anything else, don't hesitate to ask! Lunch is on me today." Agh. And next time you are buying, my friend. We've already amassed quite the bill. The things I will do for science… and a pretty woman.
"So what about this secretary?" Palmer asks through a mouthful of chocolate doughnut. I try to respond politely… even though being polite to this… thing is giving me a headache.
"That's just the thing, Matthew. I'm not exactly sure what to look for in one." Because I have never felt the urgent need to pay another person to gossip on the telephone and meddle in my work eight hours a day, but that's beside the point.
Palmer hrmms slightly, spewing crumbs onto the table. "Well, I always look for people that know what they're doing... people that don't get in the way, you know?"
Yes, Matthew. I know all too well that you're descriptive powers barely rival those of most below average four-year-olds, but must you drive the point home so? "I think I understand…" Idiot. I sigh and give him my most troubled face. "But nowadays, the problem is really finding good secretaries, isn't it?" Palmer nods furiously. "…Although, from what I've been hearing lately, you've been rather fortunate in that area, haven't you?"
"Fortunate? Hey, are you gonna eat that éclair?"
No, Palmer. Because it's already on your plate. "Please, Matthew, feel free." Yes, please do.
Palmer just shakes his head. "It's amazing that you're still with us, Simon. You barely eat enough to keep a bird alive!"
I simply give him an indulgent smile. While you, my dear sir, eat more than enough in one day to keep Heidegger's entire army alive. "Oh, I manage somehow."
"Anyway," Palmer continues as he pours himself another glass of milk. "You wanted to ask me what's my secret in finding good secretaries for the Space Department, right?"
I can't help but giggle. Really, it's so easy to get what one wants from this man! "You could say that, yes."
"Well, the secret is…" Matthew looks left, looks right, looks behind him, then turns back to me and beckons me closer until I can almost taste the éclair on his breath. "…It's all about reviewing their personnel files and then picking the ones you like! Hey hey!" He looks expectantly at me then. Although expecting what I cannot safely say.
Instead I merely nod. "Ah, I see. I must be on the right track, then, because that's precisely what I did this afternoon!"
"Can I have the rest of your croissant, Simon?"
"Please," a croissant is a small price to pay for a specimen after all. "As I was saying, I went through a few files today, and I believe I may have found the right secretary for me." Aaaand now it's time to see if you're really as stupid as you act, my friend. "She's one of the mid-level secretaries on your floor, in fact."
"Huh?" Instantly Palmer is possessive. "What are you looking at my people for, Simon?"
I hold up my hand to pacify him. "Please, Matthew, let me explain. I merely wanted to gauge the caliber of secretarial talent in the Space Department… as your department has quite the reputation for its excellent secretaries."
"Oh." I believe I lost him at "caliber". "Okay…"
"And I was just about to log off when I discovered a profile for a Ms. Elena Marshall."
"Who?"
"A Ms. Elena Marshall. She is a secretary in your department, Matthew." Although given that she's a blonde secretary in your department, your ignorance is understandable. You don't much care for blondes, do you? Strike that. You don't much care for anything you can't eat or shoot into space.
"Oh. Well, what about this Ms. Marshall?"
"From the looks of her profile, I believe she and I would get along rather well."
"You and she would get along rather well?" Palmer really is beginning to sound more like a parrot every day. I wonder if I should tell him Heidegger is considering dressing up as a pirate for the company Halloween party. Gyo ho ho and a bottle of rum… and he could even feed Palmer doughnuts.
"Simon?"
Ohh, yes. Back to gulling the village idiot. "Ah. As I was saying, I believe Ms. Marshall is would be the perfect secretary for me. According to her profile, she can type twenty words per minute."
Palmer looks confused. "Twenty?"
"Oh, I admit that's a tiny bit slow, but I'm sure she'll come up to speed eventually!" I take another sip of my coffee. "And look at it this way, Matthew. My office has no fax machine, no photo copier, no laser printer and no telephone system!" I pause, sagaciously, to think, my index finger resting on my lips. "To be honest, we don't even have much of a mainframe," I say after an appropriately long and dramatic pause. "So, really, there isn't much she can break this time around, as it were."
Palmer is actually looking a little sick now. "Th-this time around?"
"Oh, I do know you've had some problems with her in the past, especially that bag of 50,000 gil in donations for the space program went missing, but you can hardly blame *that* on the poor girl! Even if she was the only person with the key to the safe…"
For once in his life time, I believe Matthew Palmer has lost his appetite. He stares at me as if I've just lost my mind and then opens his mouth. But only a strangled little squeak comes out of it for the next three minutes. And when, at last, he recovers his voice, he says only two words to me before hopping to his feet.
"Take her." And then he snatches the box of doughnuts and storms out of the room.
"Thank you, Matthew! I'm sure she and I will get along very well!" I call after him. He merely grunts in reply.
And yes. I do intend upon taking her.
~*~
It's only a matter of some simple paperwork. Of course, Palmer won't handle the dismissal of such a 'terrible' secretary himself. He leaves that up to another secretary, who is easily persuaded to simply write 'transfer requested' on Elena's file. This way, the dear girl's career will not be affected adversely, nor will she know of my meddling in her sudden job change. All that remains now is to sufficiently clean the office in front of mine out and wait for her arrival. And while waiting for her, I believe I will go back to the cafeteria and get another croissant. Hopefully the broken key pad will accept my swipe card upon my return.
On my way back up the stairs to the sixty-eighth floor, I realize someone has already beaten me to an embarrassing situation involving the broken floor door. The faint whimpering underneath the flashing lights and wailing sirens also informs me that this someone is probably my embarrassed new secretary.
Upon rounding the staircase to the sixty-eighth floor's landing, my foot promptly connects with something that lets out a loud squeak. Squeak? I look down to notice a small, plush chocobo pinned beneath my foot. Curious. It seems the entire landing is littered with such things. Teddy bears, pictures, packets of bubble gum, a broken coffee mug or three and, here and there, a few mundane office supplies.
And in the middle of this mess kneels my lovely new secretary, bottom up, tailored grey skirt hiked up well around her slender thighs and currently wiggling and whimpering as she reaches towards a pile of pens.
…
…
…
I really should turn off the alarm now. The roboguards will be here in minutes.
…
…
Indeed, I do not wish to explain this situation to them.
…
…
It is a most complex and awkward situation, after all.
…
…
Well, alright. Once more. But only for science's sake. After all, I didn't get a very good look at Ms. Marshall upon our first meeting. Thus, I need to check now to note any physical blemishes or imbalances that would possibly complicate the experi-
Oh, hell.
…
…
…
…
…
I reach over and enter my alarm override code into the key pad and remove my glasses to let the lasers perform the requisite retina scan. The computer confirms that I am, indeed, Simon Hojo and instantly the alarms and lights cease.
Silence reigns for a few moments as Elena continues to kneel, her hand half-touching a stack of papers.
At last, I speak. "Do you need some help with that, Ms. Marshall?"
"Uhm.." With the lighting back to normal, I can now see that the poor girl's ears are quite red. Ahh… a body blusher. And then she sinks her head to the floor to peer at me from between her legs. Although I am certain she cannot see me at this angle, I give her a friendly smile and a small wave. Strange. Elena then returns my wave. Perhaps she can see me… if so she must be incredibly flexible…
…
…
…
That settles it. As soon as we've cleaned this mess up, I'm calling Scarlet.
"Oh... hello, Professor Hojo." I nod and smile back at the girl. "Uh.... long time no see."
"Indeed." I seem to have made quite the impression on her.
"Uh... sorry about the... my key card..."
"Oh, it's quite alright. It's been doing that all morning." And all yesterday, the day before, and… "We've called maintenance three times now, but they haven't sent anyone to see to it." I sigh and adjust my glasses. "I suppose no one will until I go down and yell at them, either."
From her… rather awkward but certainly becoming position on the floor, Elena laughs heartily. "Hahahah. You yelling at someone?! I can't imagine that."
I can safely say, however, that the rest of this corporation can. "Sometimes one has to yell to see results, Ms. Marshall."
"Yeah, I guess so."
We say nothing for a moment. I try desperately not to admire the view.
Perhaps if I said something. "Ms. Marshall, have you hurt yourself? Do you need some assistance in getting off the floor?" Ah, perfect idea.
"Huh? Oh no, that's okay. I'm fine." Elena promptly demonstrates this by catching her shoe in her skirt's hem and performing a rather inelegant belly-flop which scatters a few pencils and hard candies to the entry way's furthest corners. "I'm okay!!" She brings her hand around to wave at me again. Despite myself, I have to smile. Sexy, intelligent, beautiful *and* entertaining… such a precious specimen you are, Ms. Marshall. But enough is enough.
As the girl tries to stand, I slip my hands beneath her arms and raise her back onto her feet.
"Professor H-Hojo?!" I make a mental note not to touch the girl unless absolutely necessary for the time being. She seems very… sensitive to personal contact.
"Thanks," She gives me an embarrassed little smile and then stoops to pick up the rest of her items. I should be a gentleman and help her, no? Slowly, I bend down to grab the nearest pen and… abruptly receive a loud and painful complaint from my lower back. Ah, yes. Even Don Quixote needs be reminded of his mortality at times. Such a pity Elena had to see my wince.
"I am so sorry," she apologizes as we pack the final items into her box. "I guess it just slipped when I was..."
"It's quite alright," I glance over at the key pad. Its lights are still flashing wildly. Of course. She caved into temptation and hit the damn thing. "But in the future, Ms. Marshall, please don't hit the key pad even if the spirit so moves."
"Oh... Uh, I didn't break it I hope?" She looks truly chagrined, like a cat coming reluctantly in from the rain with a dead mouse in its jaws.
I cannot help but laugh. "No more so than it already is, I'm sure." After all, I hit the damn thing twice this morning. "If you need to leave this floor at any time during your shift today, please borrow another worker's key card. I have a feeling this problem won't be fixed until tomorrow," or twenty years from now "no matter how loudly I yell."
"Uh, alright," Elena shoulders her box as I swipe my key card. Thankfully, the temperamental pad accepts my identification and the door unlocks without further incident.
"Uhm..." Elena stammers as we step over the threshold. "So, I guess we're working on the same floor, huh?" My god, she really is quite charming… but so nervous. Palmer certainly couldn't have worked her into such self-doubt, could he have? Or is it something more…
"Yes. In fact, we happen to be heading in the same direction. If you're ready, I would be happy to show you to our office."
"Oh thanks, Professor," a genuine smile from her at last! "Cause I'm sure I'd just get lost anyw--" Elena's lips snap closed like the buds of a flower in a tempest. They quiver slightly with trepidation as her brow slowly creeps upwards. "Uh... did you just say 'our' office?"
Yes, my dear.
"Like... you meant offices, right?"
No, my dear.
"Wait... we're in the same office?"
Cozy, isn't it?
"Isn't there like a typing pool up here or something?"
If there was, I assure you I would have fed most of them to my beloved H0512 by now. He is a growing boy, after all…
"Did your letter not inform you?" Of course it did not. No one would willingly accept a job as my personal secretary if given prior warning!
"Inform me?" She looks truly confused. I really should stop teasing her.
"Ms. Marshall, surely you know the situation. After hearing about the excellent work you did for the space program, I put in a request to have you transferred here as my personal secretary."
Elena simply blinks in reply. And then a sound like that made by a dying chocobo escapes her lips.
"Ueeerk?"
"Ueeerk?" How charming. "I don't understand. You were not informed?"
"Uh..." And for the second time that day, office supplies cover the floor.
(End Part 4)
A FF7 Fan Fic
Chapter 4: Hojo: Crime, Punishment, Coffee and Assorted Puddings
by
Lady Aoi
Summary: Hojo's lab gets trashed by everyone's favorite FF7 villain. Who will help him clean up the mess?
Rating: R for language, adult content, general Turkiness and Hojoness.
Pairings: Hojo/Elena, Hojo/Scarlet.
Disclaimer: The lovely Elena and the amazing Hojo are not my creations. They belong to Square Soft, as do the equally fantabulous Rude, Reno, Tseng, Heidegger, Scarlet, Sephiroth and any other characters who wander into this fic. Please don't sue me. I'd be really sad.
Spoilers: If you don't know why Sephiroth would be in a Hojo fic, you may want to finish the game before reading anything past this sentence.
Lady Aoi's Notes: Nothing, except a hearty thank you to everyone who has been following M2D so far. Your reviews and encouragement are appreciated.
~*~
"Simon, for god's sake! It's lunch time. Eat something!"
"I happen to be in the process of eating, Scarlet."
"Bah! Maybe a croissant and a cup of coffee count as breakfast for some people, but it's hardly lunch material."
"Is that so?" I smile and lean forward over my tray. "Well, Scarlet, you should probably inform the kitchen staff of this oversight, for it appears to have had quite a history."
"Is that so?" Scarlet's blue eyes twinkle mischievously as she bites into her apple. "Do tell, Simon. I would be fascinated to hear this history."
"Well, as shocking as it may seem, the kitchen has served croissants and coffee as part of its lunch menu for the last thirty-five years."
Scarlet's face twitches slightly. "You don't say. And would that have anything to do with your joining Shinra's staff at that particular time, dear Professor?"
"I assure you, it did not. Although I *was* the man responsible for getting croissants put on the dinner menu."
I always know I have gained the upper hand when I manage to get Scarlet to snort with laughter. And from her nose's tell tale twitching, I believe I am close.
But for now, she stubbornly shakes her head. "You need to eat, Simon," she mutters as she attacks her salad. "You're getting so skinny I'm afraid I'll lose you in the sheets next time."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. You managed to find me easily yesterday afternoon without calling a search party."
Yes, her nose is twitching dangerously now. "Most women want their lovers to weigh more than they do, you know."
I nod sagaciously. "Such a good thing I'm not most women, then." As I predicted, this last comment achieves a loud snort.
"Kyahahahahahaaa! Damn you, Simon Hojo. You know very well that isn't what I'm referring to!"
"Yes," I take another sip of my coffee. "And you know very well what happens to women who become their lovers' mothers." I take a bite of my croissant as she scowls at me.
"Fine. But don't blame me when you starve yourself to death."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that, my dear Undersecretary of Urban Development. Dead men tend not to blame anyone for anything." Just ask Vincent Valentine if you don't believe me.
Instead of asking Vincent, however, Scarlet scowls. "Simon, have you forgotten already?" It is more a threat than a question.
Forgotten? "No, you were born on August twelfth, and August twelfth won't come for another two hundred sixty-five days."
"I was referring to my promotion, my dear professor. If you will recall, our esteemed employer made me co-chair of Weapons Development last Tuesday."
Oh. "Of course. My apologies."
"Heh. Are you apologizing because you forgot or because I was only given the position to shame Heidegger?"
"The answer to that question depends, of course, on whether you are planning to stick your fork into that tomato or into my right eye."
"Don't give me ideas." But she smiles and puts the utensil down to gently caresses the back of my hand. "Maybe if you ate more than an anorexic fourteen year old, you would be able to remember more than the details of your latest project."
"Maybe. But now that you've mentioned work, Scarlet…"
She holds up a red-gloved hand. "No, don't tell me. You have to be getting back to yours instead of spending a relaxing lunch *hour* with me. Hour, of course, being the operative word, Simon."
"Maybe we can spend a full hour tomorrow," before I can rise, however, a commotion at the other end of the cafeteria catches my attention.
"Hey, numbnuts! Betcha twenty gil I make the basket."
"You will not."
"Twenty gil, fucknut! What's the matter? Scared of losing?"
"No, I'm scared you're going to be broke again by the end of the week and come crying to me for your booze, asshole."
"Bullshit! Twenty gil I make it, Rude."
"Hey, fine. A fool and his money…"
"Who ya calling a fool, dickface?"
Rude? That name sounds familiar. And apparently, Scarlet thinks so, too, if the annoyed look she is giving the voices behind me is any indication.
"Scarlet?" I turn and follow her gaze to a pair of very familiar black suited men, one bald, one with an unruly head of red hair… ah. It's the charming guards I saw passed out in front of Elena's hospital room yesterday! Although I cannot say their current behavior is any more endearing, as Red is currently trying to shove a protesting Baldy into the nearest wall.
"Disgusting," Scarlet mutters, causing me to turn to face her again.
"Disgusting?"
"Those idiots in the black suits," Scarlet shakes her head. "Although I have always admired Tseng, I am beginning to believe Shinra and Heidegger were wrong in making him a Turk at such a tender age. He may have deserved the honor, but it nevertheless created a disturbing precedent." Scarlet clenches her fist and her scowl only deepens. "Now every foul-mouthed reprobate teenager who kisses Heidegger's fat ass is instantly promoted to Turk second class. And of course, they have to come here to belch and curse their lunch hour away."
"Terrible." Although I'm not exactly sure what I should tell her. Surely she cannot believe that *any* Turk is truly calm, well behaved and sober at any given time… with, possibly, the exception of Tseng. Ah, yes, pretty boy Tseng… talented, intelligent, wonderful pretty, pretty Tseng…how much he reminds me of another Turk pretty boy; a pretty boy who couldn't keep his pretty nose in his own pretty business. A pretty little thing who liked other men's pretty things… and I don't just mean he wanted my wife. He wanted much more from me than that… Yes, pretty boy Tseng. I know your type. And I have my eye on you. You best stay away from the pretty cadet… or I will find a way…
"Heads up, Rude! Watch 'er fly!"
And then something wet and cold hits me in the back of the neck.
"Uh…oh!"
Instantly, I am jarred from my fantasies of strangling Tseng with his own hair by an heavy, oozing… something in my own. Puzzled, I look to Scarlet for help. But Scarlet is no longer home. Her sharp blue eyes are currently the size of bottle caps, and her mouth is opened in a surprised 'O'.
"Scarlet?" I touch my fingers to the back of my head. The sample I take away from this mess is cream colored, cold and the consistency of pudding. I raise my fingers to my nose with scientific curiosity. It smells like pudding. I flick my tongue over the sample. Vanilla. Hm.
I have just been hit in the back of the head with a cup of vanilla pudding. Said vanilla pudding was thrown by a seventeen-year-old Turk second class. Said Turk second class is now sputtering frightened obscenities somewhere behind me.
I am going to kill said Turks Second Class.
"Oh shit…" Red whimpers as I rise from my chair and turn to face him. And to his dubious credit, he truly *does* look frightened. "Uh… Rude," he says to Baldy. "I think uh now would be a good time to run."
"I think I agree." However, both Turks are unable to make it to the cafeteria door before I have raised my hand and cast Slow over them. As the boys' speed drops to at least five-eighths of their original velocity, Scarlet finds her speech again.
"Simon? Don't forget that they're young, inexperienced boys." I can hardly keep myself from licking my lips at the sight of her cruel smile. "Kill them slowly and tell me all about it in bed tonight."
"Of course, my dear," I shake my head as a panicking Red falls to his knees amid a flurry of 'oh shits' and like profanities. I must hand it to him. His feeble curse words have made the already ominous silence that descended upon this space after the pudding's landing even more effective.
"Now, why on earth are you in such a hurry, gentlemen?" Both boys stop moving entirely to give me a classic 'caught in the headlights' look as I stride towards them.
"Uh… ohh, you know us, sir! No particular reason! Ain't that right, Rude?" Baldy nods his assent then shoots Red a glare that anyone save a complete blithering idiot would recognize as a clarion call to shut the hell up.
Sadly, it seems intelligence is not Red's strong suit, for he continues to ramble. "Um… auhm… hey, Professor, listen… I'm real sorry about that! You see, I was aiming for the trash to your left and…"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "The only things you were aiming for were a cheep laugh from your buddy and the opportunity to disgrace yourself and your uniform." Sometimes it doesn't hurt one to take a page from Heidegger's blank notebook, especially when dealing with his suited clowns. And sure enough, I have torn out the appropriate page. I can actually see the sweat beading on Red's brow. "Now then. Who is the person responsible for letting you out of your cages, hmmm?"
"I am responsible for them, Professor Hojo," Ahh, yes. That firm, humorless and oh-so-passive voice can only belong to one ingratiating sycophant.
"Tseng," A large glob of pudding chooses this particular moment to slide beneath my collar and down my back. I think I may never look at the stuff again.
Pretty Boy regards Baldy and Red sternly before acknowledging me with a nod. "Professor, if you would be so good as to inform me of the situation-"
"I would be most happy to inform you, Tseng, as you were too busy doing anything *but* your job when your trainees went on a rampage." Tseng just stands there looking soooo very concerned and dedicated. I would enjoy injecting his veins with acid. "They proceeded to use language more suited for a bar than the work place. And then they hit me with a pudding."
"A pudding, sir?"
"Yes, a pudding, Tseng. Perhaps you've heard of them."
"Yes, sir. I know what a pudding is."
"Then perhaps you have failed to see the pudding currently dripping from my hair?"
"No, sir," Tseng replies implacably. "I see the pudding in your hair."
"And what are you going to do about the pudding in my hair, Turk?" I do not shout, I do not challenge, and yet my gaze is enough to inform Pretty that I mean business.
But for his part, Pretty remains unfazed. He blinks, reaches into his breast pocket and removes a small white handkerchief.
"Is this sufficient, sir?" I simply stare as he shakes the wrinkles from it and hands it over as if it were a holy relic. I do not reward this behavior by taking, or even acknowledging it with more than a scowl. From behind me, the half-paralyzed trainees begin to snicker and guffaw uncontrollably. And is it a trick of the mako lamps, or is Pretty himself trying to suppress a subtle sneer?
They will *all* pay for this…
"Tseng," I give Pretty boy an almost deadly smile and take just the smallest step forward. "Call me crazy…"
"Crazy," I hear one of the Twerps giggle softly.
"But I fail to see the humor of the situation as clearly and poignantly as you and your friends apparently do."
"I did not say the situation was humorous, sir," Pretty pauses and looks me over. "I merely suggested that you take the handkerchief." And he offers it to me again as he daubs at his lower lip with a long index finger. "And if I may say so, sir, you also have a little…right here, sir."
I will not dignify him by licking the large bread crumb away. I will *not*.
"Ah," I continue as if he had never made the previous imbecilic observation. "Then perhaps you will find similar humor in the written report of this situation I am going to place on General Heidegger's desk before the end of my lunch break, hmmm?"
"Do as you wish, sir."
Even at my age, it would be surprisingly easy to just step forward right now and kick him square in the -
"Simon," I turn around as an arm wraps gently through my own. Scarlet stands behind me, concern shimmering in her deep blue eyes. "Simon, didn't you say you had to return to work now?"
I simply stare at the woman. Two minutes ago, she offered me sexual favors in return for homicide. I now feel inclined to ask her to declare her true allegiance before god and country.
"Simon," she leans forward and smoothes some hair away from my ear. "Don't kill all three of them, Simon. I actually have some respect for Tseng." Oh yes, my dear, I'm certain you do. That is a common flaw among women… and some men, it would seem, if alcohol was not Reeve's primary motive for praising Pretty's eyes so loudly and frequently at the last company party.
"And besides," Scarlet chuckles as she lightly and quickly nips at my ear. "He's flying me down to investigate Gongaga's reactor today… it seems my idiot co-chair hasn't done a damn thing about those reports of an imminent breech we've been receiving lately. And I really do need Tseng's help…"
My god, the things she'll do for sex! The things I will do for sex... and if I humiliate Scarlet's boy toy of the hour, I will probably end up spending the night in my office, with my nose pressed to my computer's 'y' key again. Why bother, indeed? "Very well."
I pull away from Scarlet's touch and do not turn to give Pretty even the most causal of glances on my way to the cafeteria door. But do not think I am going to let you off the hook so easily, Pretty. "I will speak to you later about this matter, Turk."
"Of course, sir," Don't worry, Scarlet. I will make certain not to hurt his pretty face… too much.
But I cannot promise as much for the Twerps second class who immediately begin sniggering when they believe I am out of ear shot. I am reminded of two spoilt children sneering after being saved from due punishment by a doting mother hen. As soon as their doting mother leaves with Scarlet this afternoon, however, I will certainly see to it that they will never sneer or giggle in my presence again. If I am in a particularly generous mood, I will accomplish this without removing their tongues.
But the moment the security door opens to the sixty eighth floor proper, I am forced to forget about the three little Twerps entirely.
I am forced, in fact, to forget about everything short of preserving my own life.
From the looks of things, the entire floor has just been ravaged by at least one natural disaster. Files, papers, broken glass, entire sheets of aluminum and pink insulation… a sea of devastation; a sea littered with the odd white-coated human island. Hm. Odd that I don't see any blood. Mindful of my weak back even in this crisis, I kneel beside the nearest lab assistant, slide two fingers against her jugular and press lightly. A strong and hearty young pulse pushes back, assuring me that she is alive… but asleep. The other three technicians in this hallway have also been knocked out by Sleepel… and an unusually strong Sleepel, too. But who would have done this? Did one of my precious specimens break loose during my absence?
And just as I silently vow never to take a lunch break again, I sense something… something is moving at the far end of this hallway…
… Something is in my office.
… And I know this something… rather this someone. And this someone has been officially missing for the last five years.
This someone has also just noticed my presence and has just seated himself on my desk to… sense my presence in return?
I am beginning to wonder if working at Shinra, Inc. without carrying at least five materia at any given time could count as occupational suicide. Nevertheless, this individual is waiting for me in my office… and I suppose I should speak to him.
He is my son, after all. And currently he is sitting on my desk with his masamune sword spread over his lap. To my horror, I also see that he has also consumed the entire pot of coffee I brewed before lunch.
I will have to teach him a lesson.
"Sephiroth," my voice is stern as I step over the twisted metal remnants of my door. "If you really are this desperate to speak with me in the future, might I recommend using the telephone before bashing my front door down?"
My son's mako-green eyes flicker at the sight of me. A low, sardonic laugh escapes his lips as he swings off my desk. "What's the matter, Hojo? Bothered by a little mess in your life?" A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "Besides, we both know you wouldn't answer even if I called. You never answer the phone."
"Be that as it may, a little mess I can handle. The destruction of my entire lab, on the other hand, tends to make me rather upset."
Sephiroth's eyes glisten dangerously. "Good."
Apparently, play time is over. "Sephiroth," I fully enter the room and cross my arms over my chest. "If you honestly think I find this sort of willful destruction amusing, then I would advise you to pull your head out of your ass and think again." Sephiroth shrugs. "Now, regardless of whatever punitive grudge you are holding against me at the moment -"
"The word 'grudge' doesn't even begin to cover it, Hojo."
"-Whatever punitive grudge you are holding against me at the moment," I continue, ignoring this little interruption. "You would not have broken past Shinra security forces in order to vandalize my office for a cheep laugh." Ignoring Sephiroth's tight grip on the hilt of his sword, I advance towards him slowly, my arms held at akimbo. "Now, Sephiroth, what is your real motive, hmm?" Surely the boy wouldn't risk being recaptured by Shinra just to piss his old man off.
Sephiroth merely smiles at me. It is a dangerous smile. "Can't a man visit his mother in prison?"
"Your mother?" Ohh. Of course. He means *Her*…"And now that you've seen Jenova, may I kindly ask you to leave?"
"You may ask all you like, Hojo… but I may not listen."
"And if you don't stop waving that sword around like a party favor, Sephiroth, I'm going to turn you over my knee and spank you." Sephiroth's eyes glow dangerously, but he lowers his masamune. Indignantly, I straighten my tie. "Now, please stop trying to one up me and explain *why* you felt the burning desire to destroy my entire department in the process of visiting your… mother."
Sephiroth licks his lips. "Because I enjoy making you suffer."
That was… truly disturbing. Even for a man like me. "Sephiroth, you have not made me suffer. You have just made me want to cut off your allowance and send you to bed without supper."
"Stop mocking me!"
"If I truly wanted to mock you, boy, I would have added 'grounded you for life' to that list."
Sephiroth is an intelligent boy, and as such he must know when he has been outwitted. But my silver-haired child has never been much of a good looser, I'm afraid. "This isn't the end of it, Hojo," he spits as he shoulders his masamune and storms toward the exit.
"Oh, but I think it is. Now why don't you go back into hiding like a good little boy, hmm?" God knows, that would certainly make my life easier.
Sephiroth spins at the door and points wildly at me. "Be careful, old man," he hisses. "I know you're up to something… I can sense it. I always know what you're thinking, whether you're aware of it or not."
Actually, I am. Our shared Jenova cells probably account for our slightly empathic bonding… that and the mere fact that Sephiroth is obsessed with me. Quite unhealthy, really. Even so, this last threat *is* rather a cause for alarm. "What do you mean, Sephiroth?"
His smile is dangerously cold. "I know you're planning on conducting another human experiment, for one thing. And not with a clone this time."
…Oh, Hell. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Sephiroth shakes his head. Sadly, a telepathic link never lies, no matter how weak it is. How can it? "True, I don't know the specifics, but it's only a matter of time, Hojo. And I'll be damned you'll use Mother in another of your sick experiments, you quack."
"Then I suppose you'll have to be damned," I adjust my glasses again. "And Sephiroth? I resent being called a quack."
"You're not even half the scientist Gast was." And with that he turns and leaves my office.
"Is that so?" I shout at his retreating form. How interesting. We've talked for the last ten minutes, and he still hasn't insulted my manhood -
"Or half the man. In more ways than one, I might add." And then he vanishes. Like smoke.
…Ah yes. He never fails to disappoint. I must hand it to the boy, he does, indeed, have his father's tongue.
And from the looks of it, his father's sense of humor. "SEPHIROTH!!!"
My last bucket of coffee grounds is gone. How typical.
I will not lose my temper… I will not lose my temper…
I will just sigh, wonder why I became a father, and call for the appropriate materia to wake my employees so we can begin cleaning this floor… and concoct a decent explanation for them and for Shinra while I'm at it.
And tonight, when this is all over, I am going to invite Scarlet over to my apartment and prove the little bastard wrong.
~*~
Sadly, it seems that Sephiroth has done more damage to my laboratory than even I had suspected. Damage that takes the combined efforts of myself, my staff, and a good number of Shinra's maintenance team a year to put right. And even then, the work remains incomplete. Sephiroth also saw fit to damage many of my files and databases beyond my patience or… ability to repair. I may be a brilliant man, but even I cannot understand what kind of virus he put into three of my data bases. And I lack the patience and the mere stamina to sort through the hard copies of files my son felt the need to tear apart and entirely mix up.
I do, however, have the sudden urge to re-think fathering another child… but thankfully, said urge is passing. After all, my project has now been officially delayed for a year, thanks to my son's meddling. And it seems the career of my specimen has been similarly placed on the back burner. When I next check Elena Marshall's file, I discover that my sweet cadet is no longer a cadet. She is now a secretary, and currently wasting away working for that idiot Matthew Palmer.
Hmm. Interesting. According to this personnel report, Ms. Marshall makes a surprisingly good secretary! I say surprising only because her profile made her out to sound like the model soldier last year. Now, however… types 99 wpm, made improvements on all office software, fixes things around the office better and faster than maintenance can…
And coffee… she knows how to operate a coffee machine! Ahhhhh… lovely, smart, and knows her decaff from her cappuccinos… I may just fall in love.
Well, that settles it. I must get a secretary. And I must get one today, before my charming son pays me another visit.
~*~
"A secretary?" Palmer asks, looking up from his plate.
I smile indulgently at the man and nod. "Yes, Matthew. A secretary. Please, have some more doughnuts."
Palmer watches my hand with a mixture of suspicion and interest as I gently push the plate closer. And after a moment, interest wins. "Hey, thanks!" He snatches two glazed doughnuts and grins at me.
I manage a small smile back. "Please, if you want anything else, don't hesitate to ask! Lunch is on me today." Agh. And next time you are buying, my friend. We've already amassed quite the bill. The things I will do for science… and a pretty woman.
"So what about this secretary?" Palmer asks through a mouthful of chocolate doughnut. I try to respond politely… even though being polite to this… thing is giving me a headache.
"That's just the thing, Matthew. I'm not exactly sure what to look for in one." Because I have never felt the urgent need to pay another person to gossip on the telephone and meddle in my work eight hours a day, but that's beside the point.
Palmer hrmms slightly, spewing crumbs onto the table. "Well, I always look for people that know what they're doing... people that don't get in the way, you know?"
Yes, Matthew. I know all too well that you're descriptive powers barely rival those of most below average four-year-olds, but must you drive the point home so? "I think I understand…" Idiot. I sigh and give him my most troubled face. "But nowadays, the problem is really finding good secretaries, isn't it?" Palmer nods furiously. "…Although, from what I've been hearing lately, you've been rather fortunate in that area, haven't you?"
"Fortunate? Hey, are you gonna eat that éclair?"
No, Palmer. Because it's already on your plate. "Please, Matthew, feel free." Yes, please do.
Palmer just shakes his head. "It's amazing that you're still with us, Simon. You barely eat enough to keep a bird alive!"
I simply give him an indulgent smile. While you, my dear sir, eat more than enough in one day to keep Heidegger's entire army alive. "Oh, I manage somehow."
"Anyway," Palmer continues as he pours himself another glass of milk. "You wanted to ask me what's my secret in finding good secretaries for the Space Department, right?"
I can't help but giggle. Really, it's so easy to get what one wants from this man! "You could say that, yes."
"Well, the secret is…" Matthew looks left, looks right, looks behind him, then turns back to me and beckons me closer until I can almost taste the éclair on his breath. "…It's all about reviewing their personnel files and then picking the ones you like! Hey hey!" He looks expectantly at me then. Although expecting what I cannot safely say.
Instead I merely nod. "Ah, I see. I must be on the right track, then, because that's precisely what I did this afternoon!"
"Can I have the rest of your croissant, Simon?"
"Please," a croissant is a small price to pay for a specimen after all. "As I was saying, I went through a few files today, and I believe I may have found the right secretary for me." Aaaand now it's time to see if you're really as stupid as you act, my friend. "She's one of the mid-level secretaries on your floor, in fact."
"Huh?" Instantly Palmer is possessive. "What are you looking at my people for, Simon?"
I hold up my hand to pacify him. "Please, Matthew, let me explain. I merely wanted to gauge the caliber of secretarial talent in the Space Department… as your department has quite the reputation for its excellent secretaries."
"Oh." I believe I lost him at "caliber". "Okay…"
"And I was just about to log off when I discovered a profile for a Ms. Elena Marshall."
"Who?"
"A Ms. Elena Marshall. She is a secretary in your department, Matthew." Although given that she's a blonde secretary in your department, your ignorance is understandable. You don't much care for blondes, do you? Strike that. You don't much care for anything you can't eat or shoot into space.
"Oh. Well, what about this Ms. Marshall?"
"From the looks of her profile, I believe she and I would get along rather well."
"You and she would get along rather well?" Palmer really is beginning to sound more like a parrot every day. I wonder if I should tell him Heidegger is considering dressing up as a pirate for the company Halloween party. Gyo ho ho and a bottle of rum… and he could even feed Palmer doughnuts.
"Simon?"
Ohh, yes. Back to gulling the village idiot. "Ah. As I was saying, I believe Ms. Marshall is would be the perfect secretary for me. According to her profile, she can type twenty words per minute."
Palmer looks confused. "Twenty?"
"Oh, I admit that's a tiny bit slow, but I'm sure she'll come up to speed eventually!" I take another sip of my coffee. "And look at it this way, Matthew. My office has no fax machine, no photo copier, no laser printer and no telephone system!" I pause, sagaciously, to think, my index finger resting on my lips. "To be honest, we don't even have much of a mainframe," I say after an appropriately long and dramatic pause. "So, really, there isn't much she can break this time around, as it were."
Palmer is actually looking a little sick now. "Th-this time around?"
"Oh, I do know you've had some problems with her in the past, especially that bag of 50,000 gil in donations for the space program went missing, but you can hardly blame *that* on the poor girl! Even if she was the only person with the key to the safe…"
For once in his life time, I believe Matthew Palmer has lost his appetite. He stares at me as if I've just lost my mind and then opens his mouth. But only a strangled little squeak comes out of it for the next three minutes. And when, at last, he recovers his voice, he says only two words to me before hopping to his feet.
"Take her." And then he snatches the box of doughnuts and storms out of the room.
"Thank you, Matthew! I'm sure she and I will get along very well!" I call after him. He merely grunts in reply.
And yes. I do intend upon taking her.
~*~
It's only a matter of some simple paperwork. Of course, Palmer won't handle the dismissal of such a 'terrible' secretary himself. He leaves that up to another secretary, who is easily persuaded to simply write 'transfer requested' on Elena's file. This way, the dear girl's career will not be affected adversely, nor will she know of my meddling in her sudden job change. All that remains now is to sufficiently clean the office in front of mine out and wait for her arrival. And while waiting for her, I believe I will go back to the cafeteria and get another croissant. Hopefully the broken key pad will accept my swipe card upon my return.
On my way back up the stairs to the sixty-eighth floor, I realize someone has already beaten me to an embarrassing situation involving the broken floor door. The faint whimpering underneath the flashing lights and wailing sirens also informs me that this someone is probably my embarrassed new secretary.
Upon rounding the staircase to the sixty-eighth floor's landing, my foot promptly connects with something that lets out a loud squeak. Squeak? I look down to notice a small, plush chocobo pinned beneath my foot. Curious. It seems the entire landing is littered with such things. Teddy bears, pictures, packets of bubble gum, a broken coffee mug or three and, here and there, a few mundane office supplies.
And in the middle of this mess kneels my lovely new secretary, bottom up, tailored grey skirt hiked up well around her slender thighs and currently wiggling and whimpering as she reaches towards a pile of pens.
…
…
…
I really should turn off the alarm now. The roboguards will be here in minutes.
…
…
Indeed, I do not wish to explain this situation to them.
…
…
It is a most complex and awkward situation, after all.
…
…
Well, alright. Once more. But only for science's sake. After all, I didn't get a very good look at Ms. Marshall upon our first meeting. Thus, I need to check now to note any physical blemishes or imbalances that would possibly complicate the experi-
Oh, hell.
…
…
…
…
…
I reach over and enter my alarm override code into the key pad and remove my glasses to let the lasers perform the requisite retina scan. The computer confirms that I am, indeed, Simon Hojo and instantly the alarms and lights cease.
Silence reigns for a few moments as Elena continues to kneel, her hand half-touching a stack of papers.
At last, I speak. "Do you need some help with that, Ms. Marshall?"
"Uhm.." With the lighting back to normal, I can now see that the poor girl's ears are quite red. Ahh… a body blusher. And then she sinks her head to the floor to peer at me from between her legs. Although I am certain she cannot see me at this angle, I give her a friendly smile and a small wave. Strange. Elena then returns my wave. Perhaps she can see me… if so she must be incredibly flexible…
…
…
…
That settles it. As soon as we've cleaned this mess up, I'm calling Scarlet.
"Oh... hello, Professor Hojo." I nod and smile back at the girl. "Uh.... long time no see."
"Indeed." I seem to have made quite the impression on her.
"Uh... sorry about the... my key card..."
"Oh, it's quite alright. It's been doing that all morning." And all yesterday, the day before, and… "We've called maintenance three times now, but they haven't sent anyone to see to it." I sigh and adjust my glasses. "I suppose no one will until I go down and yell at them, either."
From her… rather awkward but certainly becoming position on the floor, Elena laughs heartily. "Hahahah. You yelling at someone?! I can't imagine that."
I can safely say, however, that the rest of this corporation can. "Sometimes one has to yell to see results, Ms. Marshall."
"Yeah, I guess so."
We say nothing for a moment. I try desperately not to admire the view.
Perhaps if I said something. "Ms. Marshall, have you hurt yourself? Do you need some assistance in getting off the floor?" Ah, perfect idea.
"Huh? Oh no, that's okay. I'm fine." Elena promptly demonstrates this by catching her shoe in her skirt's hem and performing a rather inelegant belly-flop which scatters a few pencils and hard candies to the entry way's furthest corners. "I'm okay!!" She brings her hand around to wave at me again. Despite myself, I have to smile. Sexy, intelligent, beautiful *and* entertaining… such a precious specimen you are, Ms. Marshall. But enough is enough.
As the girl tries to stand, I slip my hands beneath her arms and raise her back onto her feet.
"Professor H-Hojo?!" I make a mental note not to touch the girl unless absolutely necessary for the time being. She seems very… sensitive to personal contact.
"Thanks," She gives me an embarrassed little smile and then stoops to pick up the rest of her items. I should be a gentleman and help her, no? Slowly, I bend down to grab the nearest pen and… abruptly receive a loud and painful complaint from my lower back. Ah, yes. Even Don Quixote needs be reminded of his mortality at times. Such a pity Elena had to see my wince.
"I am so sorry," she apologizes as we pack the final items into her box. "I guess it just slipped when I was..."
"It's quite alright," I glance over at the key pad. Its lights are still flashing wildly. Of course. She caved into temptation and hit the damn thing. "But in the future, Ms. Marshall, please don't hit the key pad even if the spirit so moves."
"Oh... Uh, I didn't break it I hope?" She looks truly chagrined, like a cat coming reluctantly in from the rain with a dead mouse in its jaws.
I cannot help but laugh. "No more so than it already is, I'm sure." After all, I hit the damn thing twice this morning. "If you need to leave this floor at any time during your shift today, please borrow another worker's key card. I have a feeling this problem won't be fixed until tomorrow," or twenty years from now "no matter how loudly I yell."
"Uh, alright," Elena shoulders her box as I swipe my key card. Thankfully, the temperamental pad accepts my identification and the door unlocks without further incident.
"Uhm..." Elena stammers as we step over the threshold. "So, I guess we're working on the same floor, huh?" My god, she really is quite charming… but so nervous. Palmer certainly couldn't have worked her into such self-doubt, could he have? Or is it something more…
"Yes. In fact, we happen to be heading in the same direction. If you're ready, I would be happy to show you to our office."
"Oh thanks, Professor," a genuine smile from her at last! "Cause I'm sure I'd just get lost anyw--" Elena's lips snap closed like the buds of a flower in a tempest. They quiver slightly with trepidation as her brow slowly creeps upwards. "Uh... did you just say 'our' office?"
Yes, my dear.
"Like... you meant offices, right?"
No, my dear.
"Wait... we're in the same office?"
Cozy, isn't it?
"Isn't there like a typing pool up here or something?"
If there was, I assure you I would have fed most of them to my beloved H0512 by now. He is a growing boy, after all…
"Did your letter not inform you?" Of course it did not. No one would willingly accept a job as my personal secretary if given prior warning!
"Inform me?" She looks truly confused. I really should stop teasing her.
"Ms. Marshall, surely you know the situation. After hearing about the excellent work you did for the space program, I put in a request to have you transferred here as my personal secretary."
Elena simply blinks in reply. And then a sound like that made by a dying chocobo escapes her lips.
"Ueeerk?"
"Ueeerk?" How charming. "I don't understand. You were not informed?"
"Uh..." And for the second time that day, office supplies cover the floor.
(End Part 4)