Final Fantasy VII: Dialogues (Hojo, Veld)
Naturally the first thing I write to ease myself back into this fic thing is not a) anything I'm currently interested in, b) anything I normally write, c) anything porny (of course not), d) anything plotty or e) even anything in my normal purview. Nope. You get Veld and Hojo talking to each other. For fun! Modelled off a thought from Thucydides! I DON'T EVEN KNOW, GUYS.
Dialogues
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: OGC
Rating: PG
Characters: Veld, Hojo
Warnings: Set before the original game, in some ambiguous soup of magical pre-game timelineness.
Summary: 'You've got your little pet-project-ethnic-minority-charity-case,' Hojo says, looking down at the slums. 'But the one I'm thinking of will, I wager, look much more dapper in white.'
916 words and a whole lot of Hojoism. He creeps me out.
'Do you know what the most interesting part of empire building is?' Hojo, dressed in a lab coat and armoured in sarcasm, might be Veld's greatest dislike in the world, if Veld were that sort of a man. Veld isn't. He turns his body, looks Hojo briefly in the eye, then turns away again. Hojo draws up beside him, and the two of them look down at the City of Midgar as it rises up to meet them. If either of them were listening for it they would be able to hear the wind beating against the glass of the Tower. 'It's not the girders,' Hojo elaborates, slipping his hands into his pockets. 'It's not the machines. It's not even the little sins,' he chuckles, watching a few suited men board the train that leads below-Plate. 'Do you know what it is?'
'Certainly not rhetorical questions,' Veld murmurs, eyes fixed on the cityscape.
'Such personality,' Hojo laughs. 'That's it, you know. The things we drag up out of the ground - all the big plans, all the big sins. Where they come from. It's very scientific.'
'I'm running,' Veld says simply, 'out of patience, Professor.'
'Already?' Hojo asks. 'I've only said two things.'
'You've described "empire" as science,' Veld says. 'That's a brand of lunacy I don't subscribe to.'
'Is it lunacy? Or just a very bad summary on your part - now see here, Director, I didn't just call it science. I called it sinful. Painted it with the brushstrokes of morality. Don't you find that interesting?'
'I think that was you trying to provoke me.' Veld doesn't shrug; Hojo's nothing to shrug off.
'Oh,' Hojo says, leaning backwards on his heels. 'Because of the nature of your job? You think I thought that you'd think,' Hojo pauses between his pronouns, smiling. 'That I'd get under your skin, insinuating that the Turks operate on the wrong side of... What shall we call it? "Good and evil?"'
'If you like your ones and zeroes that way,' Veld says placidly. 'Your rights and wrongs.'
'Well,' Hojo says, hugely satisfied. He gestures at the city. 'You've made it this far. What do you think?'
'I don't subscribe to it.' This time Veld does shrug, because if it's his move and Hojo insists on playing - then fine. He'll play. There's a gaming going on here, and they all know each other's cards; only thing they don't know is how the plays will come. Executive Shinra is a poker game being played in wonderland.
Hojo's quick, very quick. 'Do you know why you don't believe in it?' He pauses a beat, but when Veld opens his mouth his cuts in. 'Because, you see, good is only ever senseless, while evil needs to be clever. Evil needs to have purpose, otherwise it's just warmongering and thievery, and neither of those two things are very commendable and, Director, what would you say it is that you do as a Turk? Thieve? Warmonger?' Hojo spins a finger in the empty air between them, whimsical. 'No, no, you're more subtle than that. But you're the bone-fetchers and grave-diggers, the mutts. So purpose, you don't really have purpose... Mustn't that itch?'
Veld says, 'No.'
'You're not do-gooders,' Hojo chuckles. 'You cut power cords and hang men up by them. That would be...?'
'Practicality.'
'Oh yes, practicality. The word used by the ambiguously moral, or by those who don't quite have the panache to pull of really wonderful tyranny, but you're neither, hm? What are you, what are you --'
'I have my own ways,' Veld says, firmly. 'They're not scientific.' He turns to Hojo again. 'They're not even evil. They are practical, and that's not an euphemism. Professor.'
'What's that?' Hojo whispers, looking Veld in the eye. 'Playing with orphans? Hoarding up blackmail? Sweeping up the trash? And, if I may steal some thunder from your argument in response to the question I haven't-yet-asked about "who guards the guards?", sweeping up your own trash, yes, hmmm -- you won't let me experiment with your men but the moment they're not "your men" any more they're free game, aren't they? Oh, oh,' Hojo snaps his fingers, leaning into Veld's space. 'Hollander was so very pleased. And so was I, when you gave us the good Mr. Valentine, trussed up so neatly by your, what was it, practicality.'
Veld looks at Hojo.
'Now, now,' Hojo smiles. 'I don't want you thinking that I'm a city elitist but -- how do you take a man like yourself off of the chocobo farms of Kalm and make him so great.'
'That's not a question,' Veld says flatly. 'Rhetorical or otherwise.'
'No it's not,' Hojo agrees.
'I'm a better opponent than you deserve,' Veld tells him.
'If only you'd taken up chemistry instead of the social sciences,' Hojo murmurs, his irises dark behind the rims of his glasses. 'We could've had you in a coat instead of a suit.'
'Black,' Veld decides, 'suits me better.'
'Indeed,' Hojo mutters. 'Indeed, indeed.' He doesn't stop Veld when Veld turns to go, except to say, 'I was thinking of adopting.'
Veld, near the door, asks coolly, 'Whom?'
'You've got your little pet-project-ethnic-minority-charity-case,' Hojo says, looking down at the slums. 'But the one I'm thinking of will, I wager, look much more dapper in white.'
Veld activates the door.
'I'm thinking of giving him a little present,' Hojo calls out after Veld's footsteps. 'In fact, I'm thinking of giving him a pet.'
Dialogues
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII: OGC
Rating: PG
Characters: Veld, Hojo
Warnings: Set before the original game, in some ambiguous soup of magical pre-game timelineness.
Summary: 'You've got your little pet-project-ethnic-minority-charity-case,' Hojo says, looking down at the slums. 'But the one I'm thinking of will, I wager, look much more dapper in white.'
916 words and a whole lot of Hojoism. He creeps me out.
'Do you know what the most interesting part of empire building is?' Hojo, dressed in a lab coat and armoured in sarcasm, might be Veld's greatest dislike in the world, if Veld were that sort of a man. Veld isn't. He turns his body, looks Hojo briefly in the eye, then turns away again. Hojo draws up beside him, and the two of them look down at the City of Midgar as it rises up to meet them. If either of them were listening for it they would be able to hear the wind beating against the glass of the Tower. 'It's not the girders,' Hojo elaborates, slipping his hands into his pockets. 'It's not the machines. It's not even the little sins,' he chuckles, watching a few suited men board the train that leads below-Plate. 'Do you know what it is?'
'Certainly not rhetorical questions,' Veld murmurs, eyes fixed on the cityscape.
'Such personality,' Hojo laughs. 'That's it, you know. The things we drag up out of the ground - all the big plans, all the big sins. Where they come from. It's very scientific.'
'I'm running,' Veld says simply, 'out of patience, Professor.'
'Already?' Hojo asks. 'I've only said two things.'
'You've described "empire" as science,' Veld says. 'That's a brand of lunacy I don't subscribe to.'
'Is it lunacy? Or just a very bad summary on your part - now see here, Director, I didn't just call it science. I called it sinful. Painted it with the brushstrokes of morality. Don't you find that interesting?'
'I think that was you trying to provoke me.' Veld doesn't shrug; Hojo's nothing to shrug off.
'Oh,' Hojo says, leaning backwards on his heels. 'Because of the nature of your job? You think I thought that you'd think,' Hojo pauses between his pronouns, smiling. 'That I'd get under your skin, insinuating that the Turks operate on the wrong side of... What shall we call it? "Good and evil?"'
'If you like your ones and zeroes that way,' Veld says placidly. 'Your rights and wrongs.'
'Well,' Hojo says, hugely satisfied. He gestures at the city. 'You've made it this far. What do you think?'
'I don't subscribe to it.' This time Veld does shrug, because if it's his move and Hojo insists on playing - then fine. He'll play. There's a gaming going on here, and they all know each other's cards; only thing they don't know is how the plays will come. Executive Shinra is a poker game being played in wonderland.
Hojo's quick, very quick. 'Do you know why you don't believe in it?' He pauses a beat, but when Veld opens his mouth his cuts in. 'Because, you see, good is only ever senseless, while evil needs to be clever. Evil needs to have purpose, otherwise it's just warmongering and thievery, and neither of those two things are very commendable and, Director, what would you say it is that you do as a Turk? Thieve? Warmonger?' Hojo spins a finger in the empty air between them, whimsical. 'No, no, you're more subtle than that. But you're the bone-fetchers and grave-diggers, the mutts. So purpose, you don't really have purpose... Mustn't that itch?'
Veld says, 'No.'
'You're not do-gooders,' Hojo chuckles. 'You cut power cords and hang men up by them. That would be...?'
'Practicality.'
'Oh yes, practicality. The word used by the ambiguously moral, or by those who don't quite have the panache to pull of really wonderful tyranny, but you're neither, hm? What are you, what are you --'
'I have my own ways,' Veld says, firmly. 'They're not scientific.' He turns to Hojo again. 'They're not even evil. They are practical, and that's not an euphemism. Professor.'
'What's that?' Hojo whispers, looking Veld in the eye. 'Playing with orphans? Hoarding up blackmail? Sweeping up the trash? And, if I may steal some thunder from your argument in response to the question I haven't-yet-asked about "who guards the guards?", sweeping up your own trash, yes, hmmm -- you won't let me experiment with your men but the moment they're not "your men" any more they're free game, aren't they? Oh, oh,' Hojo snaps his fingers, leaning into Veld's space. 'Hollander was so very pleased. And so was I, when you gave us the good Mr. Valentine, trussed up so neatly by your, what was it, practicality.'
Veld looks at Hojo.
'Now, now,' Hojo smiles. 'I don't want you thinking that I'm a city elitist but -- how do you take a man like yourself off of the chocobo farms of Kalm and make him so great.'
'That's not a question,' Veld says flatly. 'Rhetorical or otherwise.'
'No it's not,' Hojo agrees.
'I'm a better opponent than you deserve,' Veld tells him.
'If only you'd taken up chemistry instead of the social sciences,' Hojo murmurs, his irises dark behind the rims of his glasses. 'We could've had you in a coat instead of a suit.'
'Black,' Veld decides, 'suits me better.'
'Indeed,' Hojo mutters. 'Indeed, indeed.' He doesn't stop Veld when Veld turns to go, except to say, 'I was thinking of adopting.'
Veld, near the door, asks coolly, 'Whom?'
'You've got your little pet-project-ethnic-minority-charity-case,' Hojo says, looking down at the slums. 'But the one I'm thinking of will, I wager, look much more dapper in white.'
Veld activates the door.
'I'm thinking of giving him a little present,' Hojo calls out after Veld's footsteps. 'In fact, I'm thinking of giving him a pet.'