The look in his eyes could match the venom of a cobra, poised and ready to strike if the threat got out of hand. A snake would eat its own kin out of defense and territorial grounds, survival of the fittest. He didnāt find this man to be a threat by any means. The young blond knew where his position was; currently second in command of HIS company. The fact that this half-blood was in HIS building didnāt ease him from the heat he felt rising in his neck. Fingernails polished and clipped dug into his clenched palms, his position stiff as he observed from the corridor where Lazardās desk spread out. The blood in his veins boiled over the thought of his father picking a slum woman to conceive this man. There were similarities, even he saw them. The trademark blond hair with the blue eyes. The glasses he wore only heightened their appearance and if anyone bothered to look into the skeletons of the ShinRa Company it would be easy to put that concept together.
The familiar sounds of a certain gait made him quick to conceal himself in one of the empty briefing rooms. From peering out he watched the maroon suit pause at the otherās desk. Their interaction made the pit of his stomach lurch as it felt an icy grip on it. A deepening feeling of his fingernails embedding into his flesh again. Even his teeth mashed against molars at the sight that befell before him. They were laughing. He never laughed that way with his father. He never even SAW his father laugh the way he did with Lazard. It was booming, rumbling against the walls. It wasnāt superficial, it was real. How could that half-blood even enjoy his father? Why did his father treat him so much better? Was it because he didnāt hold the same expectations his āgolden childā would have to bear? Or did Lazard perform his duties so well his father saw approval in every order he issued?
That thick cigar intertwined between equally plump fingers. His other hand slapping down on the surface of the desk, boasting again another loud boorish laugh that could almost compete with Heideggerās. Perhaps it was better off that he didnāt hear his father laugh like this. He already hated it. Lazardās was no better. It was clear as a bell but Rufus couldnāt distinguish if he was actually laughing with his father or merely amusing him to gain favoritism. Rufus could do nothing for now, other than combine the pieces together to create some sort of plan to get this person who harbored the same blood as him out of the building, out of his life.
First, however, he would have to deal with his father. The two posed to be a nuisance but his main target the only person withholding his full power of the company. The old man finally left, but not after he patted his son on the back, congratulating him in one of the militaryās recent missions. Rufus bit his lip, fighting back the words that danced on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he turned away from the scene until the clipping of his fatherās highly polished shoes faded in the distance.
Turning he was caught off guard by the taller man blocking his path to the elevator. āThereās no need to hide when youāre around me. I know you know who I am. I only wish for us to be on civil grounds, at least for the sake of ShinRa. Wouldnāt you agree, Rufus?ā The venom in his eye intensified and with a huff he pushed the man aside by the use of his shoulder. A finger mashed the button to the elevator while the look of his kin painted in his mind.
āI donāt wish to acknowledge a bastard son of a slum whore.ā He spat, stepping into the elevator. Turning to face the other now he examined the flabbergasted expression that Lazard held on his face. It almost had a tint of sadness. The image burned in his head long after the door shut in front him, a curl of a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips at last.
