The office was once too small for the team of Turks it once had. Now there were only a few to fill the empty seats of the office, his office. Tseng moved across the marble floor, and his slick black shoes echoed with each solemn step. Memories of the withdrawn Turks flood his mind as he passed through the room. The last time he saw them was in the fury of Sephiroth's final crime against Gaia. Meteorfall brought them together for the common purpose of evacuating Midgar. Afterward, they slipped away, back to the shadows with Veld to look after them. While Tseng appreciated the cohesion of the team and the necessity of their departure, he also felt ostracized from them. Veld's Turks, almost all of them derailed with the man who gave them purpose, a home, an identity. Pieces remain now of a once full family, and Tseng has the task to replace them. Elena was the newest member of their family, and he struggled with the job of instilling the ideas Veld left with Rude, Reno, and himself. He recalled Elena's sister as he moved to sit at his desk and previous times he compared his tutelage to Elena with Veld's to Gun. Had Tseng done his best? Had he given Elena the fair amount of resources, instruction, principle, and ethics Veld had given Gun - and himself? The track of his thoughts brought him to the recent conversation he had with Elena. Two years.. She had told him two years had passed since Meatorfall.
Greater Midgar.. Tseng places his hands on the cool surface of his desk. The office wasn't the original one, but it was a mirror copy, still too large for who he had to home and still too small for the family he once had. "That's right.. this is new.." I am new.. He softly reminded himself, corrected himself, as he reflected on his memories in light of what he saw today. The city was Greater Midgar, a replica of his former life. He rejects the inquiry that passed through his mind: My family, were they real? Of course, they were real.
His account of events could not have come from a feverish dream. Yet, Meteorfall was only days ago for him. Tseng considered perhaps his memories were only as real as he was, which did not instill confidence.
The Turk MO has always been about doing the not-so-easy things. Slit throats, disappeared politicians, crime scenes wiped without a traceβTseng has seen it all before. Once upon a time, Veld had told Tseng, tone straddling the line between cautionary and apologetic, "It never gets easy." Tseng had simply nodded along, ever agreeable and obedient, instead of saying what it was that came to mind.
When does it get difficult?
There was a reason why he made it look effortless: because it was. He had a lot of anger back in those early days, which made it easier to lash out, to forget that targets had names and faces and familiesβuntil it was time to take the latter hostage, that is. And when all that pent up aggression petered out, well, that was when the honey-voiced high of brotherhood hit, painting everyone outside of a black suit with a big red sign that read Other, a situation joyfully exacerbated by all the power-playing factions within SEPC. It's been a perfect storm of indifference all along.
But now... Maybe not so much. His most recent mission is weighing heavily on him. He feels bent beneath the weight of his pack as he keys himself into the basement levels, like the weight of the whole planet is mixed in with his extra socks and drawers. He keeps thinking of Rude, faithful and devout and doing his absolute best with the absolute best of intentions, and how his heart would break if he knew what it was that he was truly facilitating, and it's... Enough that he thinks it'll do him so good to square up with a glass of that bourbon tucked away in the back of his desk before he settles down to do reports. At least, that's the plan until the door whooshes open and Tseng comes face to face with himself.
"Ah," Tseng says, carefully unloading his luggage on to the sofa, eyes trained on his double. Strange that he feels underdressed to meet himself, his hair still wound up in a bun, still clad in the same dusty hiking apparel he'd fallen asleep in on the plane. "I've been expecting you."
He respectfully fixes his posture once he has been liberated of his burden.
"I'd offer you a drink, but I am sure you know where to find one."
Perhaps Tseng should have reflected more carefully on his first response to seeing the other man walk into his office. At first, it was as if he were looking at Reno, Rude, Elena, and even Veld would have likely extracted the same acknowledgment. Tseng's dark eyes met the familiar ones of his own, and instead of acknowledging the phenomenon of how it came to be he was sitting staring at himself walking into the room, Tseng sat as if this were expected. Much like the other Tseng had stated. I've been expecting you." However, because Tseng neglects to ride out the calm acquiescence of his double walking in on him, he flips the panic switch. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat. The mention of the stowed away liquid heat had Tseng's fingers on his left-hand twitch as if memory moved them to grasp for the bottle. The color drained from his face. "What have they done.." Genesis came to mind, the copies, the imperfection of his blood spreading across Gaia, forming creatures, monsters, and remnants of what he once was and perhaps all he dreamed of being. Then Lazard's face flashed through his mind before Angeal's disintegrating one did. However, Tseng was sure he would know if he took on the face of another, just as Lazard had chosen to do. He would know he was not Tseng, wouldn't he?
"What am I?" He barely murmurs, but he doesn't speak just of himself, but also the familiar self across the room: what are we?
"Extremely busy, I should hope." With a respectful nod, Tseng slips his PHS out of his pocket. A few taps later and the screens before and beyond his double light up with a scrolling feed of information. No doubt, his double has questions. Tseng knows because he had those very same questions and summarily sought out the answers, all of which are cast upon the screens now for this Tseng's perusal.
The most data he has is on Sephiroth, and most of his theories are based upon this research. His double will see that Tseng has posited they are, indeed, all the same people, not 'clones' imprinted with a genetic veneer. But the peculiar thing is that there are discrepancies: between timelines, beyond years of origin, subtle alterations that appear here and there.
"I've done what I can, but this has proved to be a very tumultuous time for the company. I trust you've made the necessary moves in my absence." He clasps his hands behind his back. "If there is anything that I can elaborate on, by all means."
Tseng watched as his other-self maneuvered through the room with a familiar gait, and how he spoke with an edge of assumption. He nearly felt as if he didn't belong in this seat; perhaps he didn't, and the dubious feeling etched a shadow across his face. In my absence? As if this man knew of him and his work endeavors. Necessary moves..? There was a solemn prickle to the back of his neck as he thought about disappointing the other; a conundrum in whether this means he's ultimately disappointing himself.
Tseng finally stood from the chair and exhaled with his ascent. He looked from his other-self, with a tight jaw, scanned over the provided information. His mouth felt dry, and his chest was tight. Despite his effort in comprehending the words he scrutinized, his mind kept returning to the fact that he was feet away from himself.
"You trust in me as if you know me.." He finally worked out, and his eyes returned to his other-self. He could barely concentrate outside this moment. However, despite his question, he felt the same affinity toward the other Tseng. He straightened, turned to face the double, then brought his hands up to his lapels to fix with leather-gloved fingertips. "I came from Kalm, before that .. It was Meteorfall. From which point in my life were you not absent in?"
"The night before my appearance here was the induction of President Rufus Shinra," Tseng explains. He knows of Meteorfall, of course; what little intelligence has not been handed to him, he has been able to discern through various covert means. People talk, and they do so love to do that talking in wide open spaces, perfect for payrolled ears to overhear.
He does not, however, believe that his future will align with this version of it that the others know. There are certain flags he's trained himself to look for, discrepancies between the memories he knows and the ones relayed to him by his associates.
"I am quite possibly the only one who truly knows you." A smirk begins like a rolling ember spreading flames. "If you would humor me for just a moment," Tseng says, approaching his double. Is it strange to stand before himself and make demands? After everything he has seen in this place, it is more of a comfort than cause for any great existential panic. "Might I see your hands? A strange request, I know."
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Greater Midgar.. Tseng places his hands on the cool surface of his desk. The office wasn't the original one, but it was a mirror copy, still too large for who he had to home and still too small for the family he once had. "That's right.. this is new.." I am new.. He softly reminded himself, corrected himself, as he reflected on his memories in light of what he saw today. The city was Greater Midgar, a replica of his former life. He rejects the inquiry that passed through his mind: My family, were they real? Of course, they were real.
His account of events could not have come from a feverish dream. Yet, Meteorfall was only days ago for him. Tseng considered perhaps his memories were only as real as he was, which did not instill confidence.
im so sorry this is long I got so excited
When does it get difficult?
There was a reason why he made it look effortless: because it was. He had a lot of anger back in those early days, which made it easier to lash out, to forget that targets had names and faces and familiesβuntil it was time to take the latter hostage, that is. And when all that pent up aggression petered out, well, that was when the honey-voiced high of brotherhood hit, painting everyone outside of a black suit with a big red sign that read Other, a situation joyfully exacerbated by all the power-playing factions within SEPC. It's been a perfect storm of indifference all along.
But now... Maybe not so much. His most recent mission is weighing heavily on him. He feels bent beneath the weight of his pack as he keys himself into the basement levels, like the weight of the whole planet is mixed in with his extra socks and drawers. He keeps thinking of Rude, faithful and devout and doing his absolute best with the absolute best of intentions, and how his heart would break if he knew what it was that he was truly facilitating, and it's... Enough that he thinks it'll do him so good to square up with a glass of that bourbon tucked away in the back of his desk before he settles down to do reports. At least, that's the plan until the door whooshes open and Tseng comes face to face with himself.
"Ah," Tseng says, carefully unloading his luggage on to the sofa, eyes trained on his double. Strange that he feels underdressed to meet himself, his hair still wound up in a bun, still clad in the same dusty hiking apparel he'd fallen asleep in on the plane. "I've been expecting you."
He respectfully fixes his posture once he has been liberated of his burden.
"I'd offer you a drink, but I am sure you know where to find one."
This was a gift, thank you!! c:
"What am I?" He barely murmurs, but he doesn't speak just of himself, but also the familiar self across the room: what are we?
you are a gift
The most data he has is on Sephiroth, and most of his theories are based upon this research. His double will see that Tseng has posited they are, indeed, all the same people, not 'clones' imprinted with a genetic veneer. But the peculiar thing is that there are discrepancies: between timelines, beyond years of origin, subtle alterations that appear here and there.
"I've done what I can, but this has proved to be a very tumultuous time for the company. I trust you've made the necessary moves in my absence." He clasps his hands behind his back. "If there is anything that I can elaborate on, by all means."
;3; u r
Tseng finally stood from the chair and exhaled with his ascent. He looked from his other-self, with a tight jaw, scanned over the provided information. His mouth felt dry, and his chest was tight. Despite his effort in comprehending the words he scrutinized, his mind kept returning to the fact that he was feet away from himself.
"You trust in me as if you know me.." He finally worked out, and his eyes returned to his other-self. He could barely concentrate outside this moment. However, despite his question, he felt the same affinity toward the other Tseng. He straightened, turned to face the double, then brought his hands up to his lapels to fix with leather-gloved fingertips. "I came from Kalm, before that .. It was Meteorfall. From which point in my life were you not absent in?"
no subject
He does not, however, believe that his future will align with this version of it that the others know. There are certain flags he's trained himself to look for, discrepancies between the memories he knows and the ones relayed to him by his associates.
"I am quite possibly the only one who truly knows you." A smirk begins like a rolling ember spreading flames. "If you would humor me for just a moment," Tseng says, approaching his double. Is it strange to stand before himself and make demands? After everything he has seen in this place, it is more of a comfort than cause for any great existential panic. "Might I see your hands? A strange request, I know."