AN: Not my characters. But i wish they were.
He sat back in the chair, one hand gripping each of the armrests. His presence filled the room, and he occupied the chair as though it were a throne. Today should, at the very least, prove interesting. He stared out of the window at his world.
For years, no one had been close to his equal, and today he would meet the person who came closest. It excited him, knowing soon he would meet someone who he couldn't make obey him. Someone who wouldn't do whatever it took to please him. He was unsure what to expect – most likely a middle aged, fat, greying, balding man. He shifted in the throne uncomfortably. It wasn't who this person was that fascinated and excited him. It was their status.
He glanced at the clock. The man was almost late. Before they had even met the stranger was making a show of power. A smirk lingered across his lips. He made his way to his desk as the light on his private lift lit up. He normally used the lift for the paid men he sometimes 'entertained'. Having his new work partner enter through that door sent a clear message to himself about where the power lay.
He poured himself a drink as he watched the numbers on the lift slowly raised. That was one of the high points of having a penthouse suit: the anticipation. The lift door opened slowly, permitting the president his first glance of his new employees.
Two men were in the list, dark shape before they stepped into the light. First, a dark man in sunglasses, strength visible under his immaculate uniform. Clearly a grunt. Then ... an angel of death. Beautiful. Strong. Deadly. A waterfall of ebony across his shoulders. Taller than the seated man.
Rufus, who a moment earlier had wanted equality with this man, now wondered what it would be like to have power over him. In a show of politeness and respect, the brown eyed man placed his revolver, still in its holster, down onto the table by the lift. The grunt didn't appear to have any weapons. By the looks of it, he could do enough damage with his hands.
He stayed by the door as his leader stepped forward and sat down in one fluid motion, following a signal from Rufus. He lent across the desk to speak, and Rufus' breath caught in his throat.
"Mr Shinra?" His voice was a deep baritone, with a slight hint of a Wutai accent Rufus paused for a second before replying, momentarily transfixed by the mark left on Tseng's forehead from torture many years ago.
He nodded and the business talks began, the newcomer winning many concessions that Rufus would never normally give. An hour later, he had the top assassins in the world working for him. More importantly, it looked like he would get to spend a lot more time with this Tseng.