[He's making his way back into the suite proper, examining the bubbles in the champagne mostly for something to do with himself, when a brief sense of...something nags at him. For a second, it's difficult to place; when he finally clocks it as apprehension of a sort, it's more than enough to make his brow furrow. It's a sense of...wanting to stay in the suite, almost, or of not wanting to open the exterior door — which makes no sense, because there are no answers to be found inside the suite, and only by looking elsewhere is he even likely to get anywhere with unraveling all of this.
(In a way, inexplicably, it's a little like how he'd felt when the swarm of hooded specters had surrounded his building — a nagging sense of look here, notice this, it's important.)
Why would it be important to stay where it's safe, he wonders absently, and then immediately thinks, what in the world made him think of this setting as safe to begin with?
It's fine, he tells himself, or possibly he tells the...feeling?...and tamps down on the nebulous uncertainty like it's his aim to crush it beneath his heel. He's Rufus Shinra. He's dealt with far worse than anything that could possibly be lurking beyond the bounds of their present known.]
We're on a first-name basis now? You must be warming up to me.
[And frankly this situation would go down easier with a little alcohol in him, all things considered, so he uses the pause that follows to knock down about half his glass. Champagne isn't really meant to be tossed back like that, but it's not like there's anything harder around — or maybe there is. Maybe he should check. It might be worth seeing what's in all the gift boxes, anyway.]
...I wouldn't do anything else. I've barely begun to do anything to begin with.
[Laughable to think he'd ever give up on the company he'd taken over when he's hardly even held it for a day yet.]
Your name is...Aerith, isn't it? And your mother's was Ifalna. If I recall the reports.
not if i have anything to say about it
(In a way, inexplicably, it's a little like how he'd felt when the swarm of hooded specters had surrounded his building — a nagging sense of look here, notice this, it's important.)
Why would it be important to stay where it's safe, he wonders absently, and then immediately thinks, what in the world made him think of this setting as safe to begin with?
It's fine, he tells himself, or possibly he tells the...feeling?...and tamps down on the nebulous uncertainty like it's his aim to crush it beneath his heel. He's Rufus Shinra. He's dealt with far worse than anything that could possibly be lurking beyond the bounds of their present known.]
We're on a first-name basis now? You must be warming up to me.
[And frankly this situation would go down easier with a little alcohol in him, all things considered, so he uses the pause that follows to knock down about half his glass. Champagne isn't really meant to be tossed back like that, but it's not like there's anything harder around — or maybe there is. Maybe he should check. It might be worth seeing what's in all the gift boxes, anyway.]
...I wouldn't do anything else. I've barely begun to do anything to begin with.
[Laughable to think he'd ever give up on the company he'd taken over when he's hardly even held it for a day yet.]
Your name is...Aerith, isn't it? And your mother's was Ifalna. If I recall the reports.