Rufus rarely dreamed - but when he did, they were, like most dreams, an odd mashup of thoughts and memories of absolute nonsense.
Right now, he dreamt of that Gaia-awful fanclub of all things. All of the Turks were members - even the Old Man! All wearing cream-coloured ribbons that shone gold on their wrist.
Even Dark Nation had one on her tentacle tied in a big fancy bow, and she was small again, a bitey, yapping little thing at his feet.
It seemed like they were all merely entertained by his embarrassment at the start - until everyone was staring at him in eerie silence. More people appeared, an uncountable amount to the point where Rufus couldn’t see their faces.
“They all want a piece of you.”
Rufus looked down, and Dark Nation sat there, tentacle wagging.
“Is there enough of you to go around?”
Why the hell did his guard hound sound like his mot -
Rufus hadn’t time to answer when hands were suddenly tearing into him, tearing him apart -
Conscious broke through as Rufus then felt a hand brush his hair back, something… someone crooning his name.
The drug-induced dream quickly forgotten, Rufus jerked violently back from whatever was touching him - only to be hurriedly hushed.
“Shh shh shhh - easy, my dear, dear Vice-President, nothing to be afraid of, I promise.”
Vision still blurry - and it didn’t help that the room’s lights were dimmed, Rufus couldn’t make out Pedro, but it most certainly sounded like him.
“Oh my, to have you here in my home, in the flesh…”
Rufus cursed inwardly, before looking in the direction he thought Pedro was, “Where’sss…. Ossissss….”
He couldn’t see Pedro’s face, but Rufus knew the man had stilled at the question. It was an immediate opportunity to get him talking, to stall for time, to wait for the drugs to wear off.
Rufus’ first lesson from Veld, all those many years ago: Make them start talking, and keep them talking.
“I thhought he was your… your friend.”
It was hard to get words out, but it was enough to make Pedro already uncomfortable.
“He’s… he’s fine! He’ll be fine,” Pedro blurted out, “The, the drugs weren’t that strong - but but what’s important right now is that you’re my honoured guest! The others at the club always went on and on about hoping to meet you someday….”
Rufus had to bite down a surprised noise when Pedro was almost right in his face, and there was an obsessive, wide-eyed glee in his gaze
“But I wanted to.” he said softly, and lifted some strands of Rufus’ hair, “I wanted to meet you so badly.”
Rufus’ lip curled a little, unable to help but lean away, “You could’ve jusst asked for an’autograph…”
Pedro let a laugh, thankfully moving away for a moment, “Oh, such a kidder - I knew you’d have a sense of humour!”
Rufus rolleed his eyes a little, “M’here all night…”
Pedro could only grin, “Oh, I hope so…”
Ossis, please, please be all right…
Into the wolf’s jaws the black sheep prowls. Avoiding teeth and creaky floorboards on its way. With a set purpose that's feed with betrayal and blood lust. Oh, Pedro will regret his transgression.
It's easy enough to locate the basement, and thanks to Nunchaku's background check of the building, he knows right away that something is at miss. The basement is far too small from what was shown on the blueprints. Nunchaku spends a full four minutes searching for any clues or hidden passages. Nothing. Just a regular poor-man's storage space with the smell of moisture damage.
Growing up with money, Nunchaku knew that rich folks loooves secret spaces with hidden entrances. As a child he took great pleasure in discovering hidden doors whenever he was invited to someone's property. The bigger the estate the more likely it is for the existence of these hidden spaces.
His search leads him to Pedro's bedroom. Nothing appears out of normal at first glance, just what one might expect how a bedroom of a middle age hairdresser, an eccentric man from downtown to look like. Nunchaku takes no enjoyment navigating through Pedro's privacy. They weren't friends. That's why he remains unaffected when stepping into the walk-in-closet, through rows of colorful garments that conceals the man's secret obsession. An unhealthy number of pictures, magazines, and trinkets are all gathered alongside one wall. All of them picturing Rufus Shinra. White Gold fan club.
Finding what he was searching for, Nunchaku leaves the closet door wide open and his blazer on the floor before descending into the dark… with a dangerous sneer on his lips.
Distracted by the talking and the insane fact that he had Vice President Rufus Shinra here, alone, with him! Despite it, Pedro jerked his head up in alarm by the noise of a floorboard over them squeaking ever so lightly. Holding his breath for a few tense seconds of listening before visibly relaxing and turning his full attention back on his honored guest when there's no more followed up sounds. After all, old wood do creak.
"Now, where were we, Mr. Vice president?" Pedro clears his throat in apology. Sinking back into his false sense of security. One of Pedro's hands finds its way back onto Rufus' shoulder…
Leaning closer to the drugged and tied up man, Pedro studies Rufus with an intense look of admiration. The grin is also back, but doesn't stay on for long—
Somewhere from the dark and unlit corners of the basement, echoes ominous sounds from a sharp scissor.
Losing most of the color from his face, Pedro turns instinctively towards the entrance door, clutching the shoulder of Rufus as if his life depended on it. But seeing no one there...
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