oldmansfiles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oldmansfiles) wrote2008-06-25 03:42 pm
oldmansfiles) wrote2008-06-25 03:42 pm
Given Name
Fandom: FF7:BC
Characters: Veld, Tseng, Hojo
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Summary: The difference between generations was a little more than cultural.
Notes: It's barely a story, more like a snippet that wouldn't leave my head. Hojo randomly appears because that's Hojo's job. Veld's father complex is a lot of fun, too.
Veld had known the exchange was a bad idea, but when a Shinra got it in his head he wanted something done, well, it was done.
"You speak Midgarian?"
"Yes."
"Good, because no one will answer you in Wutain."
Most of the Wutain kids these days were bilingual, and considering his last trip to Wutai held less scorn due to his appearance and more to his suit, he knew things were changing. The world was getting smaller, and the lights and machines of Midgar were reaching out into even the most remote of places. The Wutains were starting even to act more like Midgarians in how they dressed and carried themselves. He had to admit, the idea of homogenization left something cold in his stomach. At least there was a certain sense of isolation left in Cosmo. Too bad that was mostly due to them being hippies.
The kid for his part, was quiet, respectful, and altogether too timid. Then again, Veld wasn't much better at his age. Midgar had scared the shit out of him too the first time he'd seen it.
"What's your name."
"Tseng."
"Tseng what?"
The look the kid shot back let Veld know that timid was not Tseng's nature, merely politeness. He'd purposefully acted ignorant towards what was likely a sore subject; while the exchange was voluntary, he imagined that families only sent the sons and daughters they didn't want for one reason or another. This one probably had older brothers. Privileged bastards of older brothers at that.
"Ah, so you do have it."
His wife used to chide him about how he'd make a lesson of the strangest things. She probably would have liked Tally. It made it easier to be an enigma without her around.
"Enough left in you to be angry or offended. That's good."
Tally had always told him that it was when he was quiet that he was a creepy bastard. As long as he was yelling at her, fighting against her, throwing insults or telling her it wasn't fair, well, he was still human enough. The only problem with Tally's desire to keep all her kids human was the terrible mess that had been left when she'd gotten herself offed. Before Tseng, they were all generally functioning adults that worked under him, not kids. He would have to be careful. Too distant and there would be no loyalty, but too close and he'd have... well. Another him.
Veld knew himself well enough to know that was a bad thing.
"Come on now, let's go meet your new family. You can make up a new name then." He couldn't hide the irony of the word 'family' if he tried.
---
"Is Tseng a family name or a given name?"
There was a strange open door policy between his department and the science department. Not that Turks tended to walk into the lab voluntarily, of course. Veld just had an anthropology question that was better answered by their resident pseudo-exile.
"It's a given name. And if you intend on coming in here and pestering me with questions because I'm the token Wutain often, be useful and bring food."
Hojo was always to the point.
"I take it you've heard about the exchange program?"
Veld moved a discarded lab apron from a stool and sat down on it. While the specific lab counter tops were spotless unless they were being used, other places in the lab tended not to be so tidy. Currently it reminded him of a teenager's room, not the playground for brilliantly deranged minds.
"Integration is a pipe dream."
"At least the way they're going about it."
It was disturbing the things they agreed on. Almost as disturbing as the fact that these days he could almost relate to Hojo. He chalked it up to their generation. There couldn't be any real similarities between them.
"So which one did your department get, Veld?"
"The failed monk." To anyone that couldn't care less about cultures, the kid just had a weird tattoo and too long of hair. But Veld found himself more and more in his sociology books during the few stolen hours when he wasn't working. Tseng was originally supposed to spend years sweeping stone steps and carrying bags of rice for enlightened people. The movies he'd seen posters for always made a monk's life out to be exciting; the truth was, it was the dullest existence possible and only for the insanely patient.
"Dammit, I was hoping to nab that one."
Veld smirked. "You should have gone with us then. First come, first serve."
"You would have done something sneaky and still have beaten me to the punch."
"True. At least I would feel more smug about it."
Hojo looked up from whatever monstrosity he was tinkering with--Veld had learned early on that focusing on something else in the lab or Hojo's hair tie was better than whatever he was working on--and glanced at his hand. He had always suspected Hojo tolerated him because at least as far as his arm went, he was just another experiment. Just one that made dry quips on occasion.
"I should give your arm some maintenance soon. It's been a couple months."
And just like that, it was back to business. That was the shared thread of their generation; the workhorses, the distant figures, the ones that had sold their souls for security.
---
"Sir, you don't have to make a special case of me."
Tseng--still just 'Tseng'--had proven that he was the type of personality that would have made a good monk. It wasn't professional quite yet, the kid still reeked of personal in all that he did, but at least he wasn't rebellious. He was almost too eager to be in the company, too eager to get out into the field and prove something. Whatever that something was, it had to be dealt with.
"Of course I do. You're an exchange."
"But why?"
Tseng only ever asked useful questions, and it made Veld quite certain that Tally was probably laughing at him in whatever sort of afterlife she ended up in. He was a bit Alexandrian, but she had always been secular, so there was no telling where she was.
"When you're different, for whatever reason, you can't simply be good enough. You have to be better."
---
He couldn't help but smile a little when he noticed Tseng had given himself a first name of 'Makoto' as he read through his performance records.
Characters: Veld, Tseng, Hojo
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Summary: The difference between generations was a little more than cultural.
Notes: It's barely a story, more like a snippet that wouldn't leave my head. Hojo randomly appears because that's Hojo's job. Veld's father complex is a lot of fun, too.
Veld had known the exchange was a bad idea, but when a Shinra got it in his head he wanted something done, well, it was done.
"You speak Midgarian?"
"Yes."
"Good, because no one will answer you in Wutain."
Most of the Wutain kids these days were bilingual, and considering his last trip to Wutai held less scorn due to his appearance and more to his suit, he knew things were changing. The world was getting smaller, and the lights and machines of Midgar were reaching out into even the most remote of places. The Wutains were starting even to act more like Midgarians in how they dressed and carried themselves. He had to admit, the idea of homogenization left something cold in his stomach. At least there was a certain sense of isolation left in Cosmo. Too bad that was mostly due to them being hippies.
The kid for his part, was quiet, respectful, and altogether too timid. Then again, Veld wasn't much better at his age. Midgar had scared the shit out of him too the first time he'd seen it.
"What's your name."
"Tseng."
"Tseng what?"
The look the kid shot back let Veld know that timid was not Tseng's nature, merely politeness. He'd purposefully acted ignorant towards what was likely a sore subject; while the exchange was voluntary, he imagined that families only sent the sons and daughters they didn't want for one reason or another. This one probably had older brothers. Privileged bastards of older brothers at that.
"Ah, so you do have it."
His wife used to chide him about how he'd make a lesson of the strangest things. She probably would have liked Tally. It made it easier to be an enigma without her around.
"Enough left in you to be angry or offended. That's good."
Tally had always told him that it was when he was quiet that he was a creepy bastard. As long as he was yelling at her, fighting against her, throwing insults or telling her it wasn't fair, well, he was still human enough. The only problem with Tally's desire to keep all her kids human was the terrible mess that had been left when she'd gotten herself offed. Before Tseng, they were all generally functioning adults that worked under him, not kids. He would have to be careful. Too distant and there would be no loyalty, but too close and he'd have... well. Another him.
Veld knew himself well enough to know that was a bad thing.
"Come on now, let's go meet your new family. You can make up a new name then." He couldn't hide the irony of the word 'family' if he tried.
---
"Is Tseng a family name or a given name?"
There was a strange open door policy between his department and the science department. Not that Turks tended to walk into the lab voluntarily, of course. Veld just had an anthropology question that was better answered by their resident pseudo-exile.
"It's a given name. And if you intend on coming in here and pestering me with questions because I'm the token Wutain often, be useful and bring food."
Hojo was always to the point.
"I take it you've heard about the exchange program?"
Veld moved a discarded lab apron from a stool and sat down on it. While the specific lab counter tops were spotless unless they were being used, other places in the lab tended not to be so tidy. Currently it reminded him of a teenager's room, not the playground for brilliantly deranged minds.
"Integration is a pipe dream."
"At least the way they're going about it."
It was disturbing the things they agreed on. Almost as disturbing as the fact that these days he could almost relate to Hojo. He chalked it up to their generation. There couldn't be any real similarities between them.
"So which one did your department get, Veld?"
"The failed monk." To anyone that couldn't care less about cultures, the kid just had a weird tattoo and too long of hair. But Veld found himself more and more in his sociology books during the few stolen hours when he wasn't working. Tseng was originally supposed to spend years sweeping stone steps and carrying bags of rice for enlightened people. The movies he'd seen posters for always made a monk's life out to be exciting; the truth was, it was the dullest existence possible and only for the insanely patient.
"Dammit, I was hoping to nab that one."
Veld smirked. "You should have gone with us then. First come, first serve."
"You would have done something sneaky and still have beaten me to the punch."
"True. At least I would feel more smug about it."
Hojo looked up from whatever monstrosity he was tinkering with--Veld had learned early on that focusing on something else in the lab or Hojo's hair tie was better than whatever he was working on--and glanced at his hand. He had always suspected Hojo tolerated him because at least as far as his arm went, he was just another experiment. Just one that made dry quips on occasion.
"I should give your arm some maintenance soon. It's been a couple months."
And just like that, it was back to business. That was the shared thread of their generation; the workhorses, the distant figures, the ones that had sold their souls for security.
---
"Sir, you don't have to make a special case of me."
Tseng--still just 'Tseng'--had proven that he was the type of personality that would have made a good monk. It wasn't professional quite yet, the kid still reeked of personal in all that he did, but at least he wasn't rebellious. He was almost too eager to be in the company, too eager to get out into the field and prove something. Whatever that something was, it had to be dealt with.
"Of course I do. You're an exchange."
"But why?"
Tseng only ever asked useful questions, and it made Veld quite certain that Tally was probably laughing at him in whatever sort of afterlife she ended up in. He was a bit Alexandrian, but she had always been secular, so there was no telling where she was.
"When you're different, for whatever reason, you can't simply be good enough. You have to be better."
---
He couldn't help but smile a little when he noticed Tseng had given himself a first name of 'Makoto' as he read through his performance records.