Presto Moderato in Six-Eighth Time

Summary: Rufus is the last remaining legacy of a family of world-famous musicians; unfortunately for him, and the deceased Shinras, he's certainly no Beethoven…AU. RenoxRufus

Ramblings: I just realized that I seriously dislike some of my writing styles. /

Notes: A music fic. Fun fun.

"Yes, sir." His clammy calloused fingers glided across the smooth keys of the grand piano. His faded, light hair fell across his empty, equally faded eyes as he concentrated his hardest.

"Crescendo to fp for 3 counts."

"Yes, sir." The piano was & forever would be his life now; he was to be its dog, with nothing left to hide behind.

"A-sharp, Shinra, A-sharp!" Tseng's patience was gradually wearing thin.

"But sir…"

"Yes, Shinra?"

"How am I too play, if I cannot see the keys?"

Prelude: Swan Lake

"He's not fuckin' Beethoven, Tseng." Tseng's 'partner in crime' as the other so loosely referred to himself as, spat out an angry retort at Tseng's unspoken statement & questions. "He's a scared kid trying to act tough, but really…the thought of never seeing anything again scares the shit outta him." He leaves an unspoken 'wouldn't it, you?' in the smoke clearing from his half-burnt cigarette, the ashes barely staining his slobbish suit. Tseng sighed at his partner's crude language & obvious frustration with their protégé.

"That may be true, but he has inherited the Shinra family name-it should at least amount to something."

"It doesn't have to, Tseng. He's just a kid-a blind kid at that. If you expect too much of him, he'll crack like a junkie in Midgar." Shaking off the ashes collected, he stubbed out the flickering flame, and gave a wry smile at the completely idiotic irony of it all.

"That sounds just like some I know."

"Hey, hey, I gave it up years ago." Their lifeless mirth was short-lived, however, and it quickly returned to a dismal & rather stifling tension. Growling, Reno attempted to break the silence and ground out, "Aah…fine. You want me to talk to the kid?"

Tseng's solid coal eyes narrowed in an almost comical fashion, and Reno swore he 'perked' his hears in a dog-like fashion. "There may be…no need for that."

Light, soft, melodious sounds & rhythms drifted from the room beside them; so magnificent were they, Reno swore if he squinted hard enough, and just the right angle, he would be able to see the music floating above him-like in those cartoons.

"Maybe he just has a fear of falling." He may not be the most intelligent, but Reno could make the most cryptic remarks out of all of the Turks. His skills at cello, viola, piano, singing, even dancing, were unmatched by any. That was mainly why they bothered to keep him around at all. "Falling from his already-low perch-to someone, or something as considered a pathetic blind beggar, rambling about past legacies & such."

"You make no sense at all, Reno."

And as the redhead lit his cigarette, light glowing brightly on his creamy face, he gave a soft "I know I am, Tseng," & chuckled darkly.