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Fandom: FF7:DoC (pre-OGC, though)
Characters/Pairings: Vincent and Grimoire Valentine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Grimoire Valentine has decided to sit his foolish son down for a Talk.
Notes: I have no idea if this makes timeline sense, but I had a funny idea and I was partly dared and I'm like that kid in A Christmas Story that ended up with his tongue frozen to the pole. Basically. And yes, this story is implying THAT talk.
"I think it's time we had a talk, son."
Grimoire Valentine was an imposing man, but not particularly pretty, especially compared to his metrosexual looking son. But he had brains, so he had always carried with him a certain power that the younger hadn't quite lived up to. Especially now that the fool boy had thrown away his education by being stupid and getting hired on with the thugs of the company.
"What about?" He was slouched in the chair across from Grimoire's desk, that offensive blue suit of his mocking almost as much as his posture was.
"I didn't find it necessary to talk about this when you were still following the right course, but now that things have changed I had better set the facts straight."
Vincent shifted a little, making sure he was comfortable, ready for whatever sort of lecture he was going to get.
"Now, the people you are working with now, I've heard things. You may need to do certain things for this job."
He paused, unsure of how to proceed, which was strange for him. Grimoire was nearly always sure of himself. He wished Vincent's mother hadn't have gone off the deep end like she did, this conversation would be better served by her.
"Well, you see, the human race has to survive some way. Genetic material is passed on through certain interactions."
Grimoire had spent the majority of his scientific career flitting in and out of academia, so once he got started, he was on a roll. He had charts, he had graphs, literary sources. It was kind of interesting getting into the psychological ramifications of the matter, possible side effects, and an ever so slight nod to ethics.
When he was done, he realized that Vincent was snoring.
He frowned, and banged a paperweight on his desk. "Get up!"
His son jolted, reached for his gun and promptly put it back in his holster once his eyes had focused. Well, the heathens in that department had taught him one trick at least.
"Did you even hear a word I said?"
Vincent shrugged. "No idea what you were talking about."
Grimoire sighed. Well, he had tried. "Nevermind then, go do whatever it is you do."
He all too happily shot up from his seat, making his way out the door. Boys at his age were all legs and elbows anyway. Grimoire put away his visual aids and set about straightening the errant papers on his desk when he heard them, his son and that cranky older boy that they'd apparently put in charge of him.
"So what'd the old man want?"
"I think he was trying to give me The Talk."
"...He does know you're twenty, right?"
"What are you implying, Veld?"
"I mean, television alone..."
But they went out of his earshot before he could hear the rest. Maybe that fool son of his wasn't as clueless as he thought.
Characters/Pairings: Vincent and Grimoire Valentine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Grimoire Valentine has decided to sit his foolish son down for a Talk.
Notes: I have no idea if this makes timeline sense, but I had a funny idea and I was partly dared and I'm like that kid in A Christmas Story that ended up with his tongue frozen to the pole. Basically. And yes, this story is implying THAT talk.
"I think it's time we had a talk, son."
Grimoire Valentine was an imposing man, but not particularly pretty, especially compared to his metrosexual looking son. But he had brains, so he had always carried with him a certain power that the younger hadn't quite lived up to. Especially now that the fool boy had thrown away his education by being stupid and getting hired on with the thugs of the company.
"What about?" He was slouched in the chair across from Grimoire's desk, that offensive blue suit of his mocking almost as much as his posture was.
"I didn't find it necessary to talk about this when you were still following the right course, but now that things have changed I had better set the facts straight."
Vincent shifted a little, making sure he was comfortable, ready for whatever sort of lecture he was going to get.
"Now, the people you are working with now, I've heard things. You may need to do certain things for this job."
He paused, unsure of how to proceed, which was strange for him. Grimoire was nearly always sure of himself. He wished Vincent's mother hadn't have gone off the deep end like she did, this conversation would be better served by her.
"Well, you see, the human race has to survive some way. Genetic material is passed on through certain interactions."
Grimoire had spent the majority of his scientific career flitting in and out of academia, so once he got started, he was on a roll. He had charts, he had graphs, literary sources. It was kind of interesting getting into the psychological ramifications of the matter, possible side effects, and an ever so slight nod to ethics.
When he was done, he realized that Vincent was snoring.
He frowned, and banged a paperweight on his desk. "Get up!"
His son jolted, reached for his gun and promptly put it back in his holster once his eyes had focused. Well, the heathens in that department had taught him one trick at least.
"Did you even hear a word I said?"
Vincent shrugged. "No idea what you were talking about."
Grimoire sighed. Well, he had tried. "Nevermind then, go do whatever it is you do."
He all too happily shot up from his seat, making his way out the door. Boys at his age were all legs and elbows anyway. Grimoire put away his visual aids and set about straightening the errant papers on his desk when he heard them, his son and that cranky older boy that they'd apparently put in charge of him.
"So what'd the old man want?"
"I think he was trying to give me The Talk."
"...He does know you're twenty, right?"
"What are you implying, Veld?"
"I mean, television alone..."
But they went out of his earshot before he could hear the rest. Maybe that fool son of his wasn't as clueless as he thought.