Crisis Core: Prodigal (Lazard, Reeve)
Title: Prodigal
Rating: PG
Characters: Lazard, Reeve
Summary: The calmer side of Shinra's corporate belly (the ones who don't kill anyone, or at least not first hand) have a chat in the middle of SOLDIER's beaten up training room - about genial things, like bloodthirsty inter-departmental undercutting, and temperamental subordinates, but definitely not about family.
Warnings: Speculation about Lazard's heritage (not overtly mentioned in game canon, but so strongly hinted at that I couldn't resist). Lots of invention regarding Shinra, but we're all used to that by now...
1209 words. Lazard must have thrown some kind of a fit after Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal did that number on the training simulator. As for Reeve - don't ask me, ask him.
Lazard wasn't sure if equipment was meant to spit sparks at him, so he called someone in to do up the damage analysis. The 49th level of Shinra - SOLDIER territory - was conspicuously free of any and all their 1st Class men that day.
The door to the training room slid open. 'Wait, they broke it again?' There was the sound of metal being loosened, alongside a few muffled words that could have been you need to control the animals who run this place.
Lazard didn't bother to move from his corner of the training room; he was quite comfortable where he was, and - considering how often this happened - quite used to the routine. He shrugged. 'There's only so much pain the physics engine can take before it decides that destroying the Junon canon and defying gravity is more than it wants to handle, I suppose.' There was laughter in his voice.
'Why am I here, again?' his guest asked as a screwdriver was poked at the open generator panel, though "open" was more an euphemism for "ripped asunder" than anything else. 'I'm an urban planner, not SOLDIER's convenient fix-me-up.'
'I'm asking you this as a favour,' Lazard replied, walking over and cleaning his half-frame glasses. Reeve came into focus when he slid them back on; the older man looked vaguely annoyed. Lazard tried very hard not to smile.
'Then I'll ask you this,' Reeve grunted, peering at a number of burnt out connections. 'Tell your men that swinging metre-and-a-half long swords in a six by six room isn't going to cut anything except more holes in your departmental budget.'
'Try telling that to Sephiroth,' Lazard said mildly.
'Are you afraid that he'll sulk?' Reeve sighed, and made a note to hire more practical engineers, and to fire the bloody theoreticists who'd designed the simulator to begin with. 'I'll call in a few men to patch this wreck up.'
'I'm obliged that you're handling this,' Lazard said, wryly. 'I have enough problems with Maintenance as is that stirring up of any hard feelings may not be the wisest of ideas at this point.'
'Are they tired of having to hail and clean up after Shinra's new rising star?' Reeve asked, cutting the power to put out some fizzing transistors. He looked up. 'Well, you should be satisfied with yourself. You come on the ship young, and before you know it - Director at your age. Everybody probably already either wants to sleep with you, or kill you.'
'For a decent man, you're very, very cynical, Reeve,' Lazard muttered.
Their friendship was an odd one; originally forged across the expanse of Shinra's infamous board room meetings, they'd recognised kindred spirits and moved along from there. Reeve - older and, some would say, wiser - played exasperated mentor to Lazard's more flamboyant and ambitious attempts at forging a united SOLDIER utopia. ("You're crazy," Reeve used to tell him over lunch as he read through Lazard's many and various messages to his men. "You talk to them like they're your children.")
'I'm a director too, Lazard, in case you've forgotten,' the black haired man said, pausing in his inspection to turn and look at the blond. 'Cynicism comes naturally.'
'Did they teach you all of that in Circuitry 101? Two decades ago, perhaps?' Lazard chuckled, watching Reeve wrench knobs and twiddle dials. He was rewarded with a growl.
'Upstart. Even the worst of electric engineering doesn't compare to the act of crawling up Shinra's underside.' Reeve stood, packing up his tools and dusting off his knees. A suitwearer who could bear to get dirty - one of many reasons why Lazard liked Midgar's mastermind. 'Trust me,' Reeve said. 'Physics is distinctly safer and more predictable than corporate bureaucracy.'
'Except when the Science division isn't trying to bend and break it,' Lazard pointed out.
'Let's not go there, boy - I've got enough of a headache as it is without having to think about what they cook up in their labs.' The look on Reeve's face was grim, far from friendly.
'They have a lot of potential,' Lazard said, softly. 'Even if many of them are less than... balanced.'
'Plenty of potential,' Reeve snorted. 'I decline to comment.' Adroitly avoiding the conversation, he flipped open his PHS and made a quick call, technical jargon flying well over Lazard's head as contemplation of the mysteries of Hojo and Hollander were neatly abandoned. 'Well,' Reeve said, shutting his phone a moment later. 'I'm done here.' He patted the walls of the training room. 'Try to have them keep this in one piece until I get back from the real Junon.'
'Junon again?' Lazard raised his eyebrows. Reeve was doing almost as much work there as he was for the completion of the various city sectors.
'Apparently one sprawling metropolis isn't enough for the President,' Reeve said, delicately. 'So Urban Development has to come up with another one for him, maybe because he doesn't want to share an empire with that son of his.'
'Rufus?' Lazard asked, voice gone quiet, dangerous. Reeve shot him a hard look. He hadn't seen Lazard angry before, yet there didn't seem to be another other word apt for the moment.
Suddenly a lot of things seemed to fit together all at once: Lazard's all-embracing attitude towards his SOLDIER corps, his constant drive for excellence, the relentless drive for promotion, and - more than anything - the blond hair and blue eyes and natural gift of charisma and power. Lazard seemed far from benign when cast in the shadow of Shinra's bloodline. 'That boy?' Lazard continued, still in that terrible, gentle way. 'He must be barely fourteen.'
Reeve, almost against his own will, felt the urge to take a step away. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' he said, slowly - as one would to an injured animal, carefully, carefully. There had always been rumours, of course, of old man Shinra's bastards - only that no one had ever been able to verify the myth that illigitimate heirs were brought into the fold and then made to... disappear.
Lazard blinked at Reeve, and then - as though snapping out of a dream - his face smoothed out, like the calm of the water's surface hiding turbulence below. 'No, not really.' He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle, and then said, 'How about we go out for dinner tonight? A farewell before you're whisked off to quasi-military hell. Unless you have someone waiting for you...?'
'I'm a bachelor,' Reeve said quietly, still not taking his eyes off Lazard. It probably wasn't worth poking his nose into business that'd only get him into trouble, even if he was concerned for his friend. Concern was admirable - interference was stupid. 'Having a family just doesn't seem like a good idea, working in this place. I barely get out of the office these days.' Just keep talking, draw the tension out, bleed the poison away.
'Yes,' Lazard agreed, as his hackles went down and defences came up; as they walked out of the 49th and made reservations for a quiet, out of the way place in Sector Five; as they strolled away from Shinra. 'Family ties really only bring one grief.'
Rating: PG
Characters: Lazard, Reeve
Summary: The calmer side of Shinra's corporate belly (the ones who don't kill anyone, or at least not first hand) have a chat in the middle of SOLDIER's beaten up training room - about genial things, like bloodthirsty inter-departmental undercutting, and temperamental subordinates, but definitely not about family.
Warnings: Speculation about Lazard's heritage (not overtly mentioned in game canon, but so strongly hinted at that I couldn't resist). Lots of invention regarding Shinra, but we're all used to that by now...
1209 words. Lazard must have thrown some kind of a fit after Sephiroth, Genesis and Angeal did that number on the training simulator. As for Reeve - don't ask me, ask him.
Lazard wasn't sure if equipment was meant to spit sparks at him, so he called someone in to do up the damage analysis. The 49th level of Shinra - SOLDIER territory - was conspicuously free of any and all their 1st Class men that day.
The door to the training room slid open. 'Wait, they broke it again?' There was the sound of metal being loosened, alongside a few muffled words that could have been you need to control the animals who run this place.
Lazard didn't bother to move from his corner of the training room; he was quite comfortable where he was, and - considering how often this happened - quite used to the routine. He shrugged. 'There's only so much pain the physics engine can take before it decides that destroying the Junon canon and defying gravity is more than it wants to handle, I suppose.' There was laughter in his voice.
'Why am I here, again?' his guest asked as a screwdriver was poked at the open generator panel, though "open" was more an euphemism for "ripped asunder" than anything else. 'I'm an urban planner, not SOLDIER's convenient fix-me-up.'
'I'm asking you this as a favour,' Lazard replied, walking over and cleaning his half-frame glasses. Reeve came into focus when he slid them back on; the older man looked vaguely annoyed. Lazard tried very hard not to smile.
'Then I'll ask you this,' Reeve grunted, peering at a number of burnt out connections. 'Tell your men that swinging metre-and-a-half long swords in a six by six room isn't going to cut anything except more holes in your departmental budget.'
'Try telling that to Sephiroth,' Lazard said mildly.
'Are you afraid that he'll sulk?' Reeve sighed, and made a note to hire more practical engineers, and to fire the bloody theoreticists who'd designed the simulator to begin with. 'I'll call in a few men to patch this wreck up.'
'I'm obliged that you're handling this,' Lazard said, wryly. 'I have enough problems with Maintenance as is that stirring up of any hard feelings may not be the wisest of ideas at this point.'
'Are they tired of having to hail and clean up after Shinra's new rising star?' Reeve asked, cutting the power to put out some fizzing transistors. He looked up. 'Well, you should be satisfied with yourself. You come on the ship young, and before you know it - Director at your age. Everybody probably already either wants to sleep with you, or kill you.'
'For a decent man, you're very, very cynical, Reeve,' Lazard muttered.
Their friendship was an odd one; originally forged across the expanse of Shinra's infamous board room meetings, they'd recognised kindred spirits and moved along from there. Reeve - older and, some would say, wiser - played exasperated mentor to Lazard's more flamboyant and ambitious attempts at forging a united SOLDIER utopia. ("You're crazy," Reeve used to tell him over lunch as he read through Lazard's many and various messages to his men. "You talk to them like they're your children.")
'I'm a director too, Lazard, in case you've forgotten,' the black haired man said, pausing in his inspection to turn and look at the blond. 'Cynicism comes naturally.'
'Did they teach you all of that in Circuitry 101? Two decades ago, perhaps?' Lazard chuckled, watching Reeve wrench knobs and twiddle dials. He was rewarded with a growl.
'Upstart. Even the worst of electric engineering doesn't compare to the act of crawling up Shinra's underside.' Reeve stood, packing up his tools and dusting off his knees. A suitwearer who could bear to get dirty - one of many reasons why Lazard liked Midgar's mastermind. 'Trust me,' Reeve said. 'Physics is distinctly safer and more predictable than corporate bureaucracy.'
'Except when the Science division isn't trying to bend and break it,' Lazard pointed out.
'Let's not go there, boy - I've got enough of a headache as it is without having to think about what they cook up in their labs.' The look on Reeve's face was grim, far from friendly.
'They have a lot of potential,' Lazard said, softly. 'Even if many of them are less than... balanced.'
'Plenty of potential,' Reeve snorted. 'I decline to comment.' Adroitly avoiding the conversation, he flipped open his PHS and made a quick call, technical jargon flying well over Lazard's head as contemplation of the mysteries of Hojo and Hollander were neatly abandoned. 'Well,' Reeve said, shutting his phone a moment later. 'I'm done here.' He patted the walls of the training room. 'Try to have them keep this in one piece until I get back from the real Junon.'
'Junon again?' Lazard raised his eyebrows. Reeve was doing almost as much work there as he was for the completion of the various city sectors.
'Apparently one sprawling metropolis isn't enough for the President,' Reeve said, delicately. 'So Urban Development has to come up with another one for him, maybe because he doesn't want to share an empire with that son of his.'
'Rufus?' Lazard asked, voice gone quiet, dangerous. Reeve shot him a hard look. He hadn't seen Lazard angry before, yet there didn't seem to be another other word apt for the moment.
Suddenly a lot of things seemed to fit together all at once: Lazard's all-embracing attitude towards his SOLDIER corps, his constant drive for excellence, the relentless drive for promotion, and - more than anything - the blond hair and blue eyes and natural gift of charisma and power. Lazard seemed far from benign when cast in the shadow of Shinra's bloodline. 'That boy?' Lazard continued, still in that terrible, gentle way. 'He must be barely fourteen.'
Reeve, almost against his own will, felt the urge to take a step away. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' he said, slowly - as one would to an injured animal, carefully, carefully. There had always been rumours, of course, of old man Shinra's bastards - only that no one had ever been able to verify the myth that illigitimate heirs were brought into the fold and then made to... disappear.
Lazard blinked at Reeve, and then - as though snapping out of a dream - his face smoothed out, like the calm of the water's surface hiding turbulence below. 'No, not really.' He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle, and then said, 'How about we go out for dinner tonight? A farewell before you're whisked off to quasi-military hell. Unless you have someone waiting for you...?'
'I'm a bachelor,' Reeve said quietly, still not taking his eyes off Lazard. It probably wasn't worth poking his nose into business that'd only get him into trouble, even if he was concerned for his friend. Concern was admirable - interference was stupid. 'Having a family just doesn't seem like a good idea, working in this place. I barely get out of the office these days.' Just keep talking, draw the tension out, bleed the poison away.
'Yes,' Lazard agreed, as his hackles went down and defences came up; as they walked out of the 49th and made reservations for a quiet, out of the way place in Sector Five; as they strolled away from Shinra. 'Family ties really only bring one grief.'