Hi there folks! This is my second project formed out of boredom, one too many cups of tea, and a writing Muse who finally found the will and inspiration to update after two-three years of silence. Enjoy the humorous side of life with Tseng and his Turks as they 'professionally' tackle every mission under the sun and then some. If you have a suggestion for a mission you would like to see, feel free to suggest it. ;) Thanks for reading.
Once again, I do not own anything but the pansies on Reeve's desk, and even that is sketchy. :) Enjoy and remember to read and review when you get the chance.
Mission One - Operation Obtain the List
In exactly nine minutes and 18 seconds, the world was going to end.
Tseng stirred the sugar in his cup of coffee and glanced over the agenda for the day. Another day, another meeting with Palmer, Scarlet, and Heidegger. He shuddered at the thought of sitting in the odd smelling board room, fifth chair to the left, and having it out with those three over something as stupid as who has the cooler uniform or how his name was spelled. It was Tseng, with a "T" not an "S," as Palmer had claimed and insisted, despite the fact that his name was emblazed upon the little folded piece of cardboard bearing his name right in front of him at that very moment.
The tiny silver spoon clinked against the coffee mug's rim. It was a miracle anything got done at all at those pointless meetings. He sighed. Palmer was slated to speak about the status of the space program and Mr. Highwind's progress in training.
The last time such a topic was attempted, at exactly four thirty yesterday afternoon, it had ended with him drawing his weapon and shooting the lard-crusted tea cup with the dancing chocobos on it right out of the incompetent man's greasy hands, landing most of the liquid, if it could have been called that, on Scarlet's silk dress. And now his subordinates were going to pay the hellish price for his mistake.
He checked his watch. Ten minutes until the board meeting was to begin. Plenty of time to attempt to finish the sudoku puzzle hidden beneath the latest mission briefing. All he needed to place was two nines, an eight, and a one and he would be king of the cubicle, until the next puzzle arrived in his inbox and Reeve began the cycle again. The pen tip touched to fill on one of the numbers he was certain of.
A gust of wind blazed through the doorway, red hair askew and jacket unbuttoned. A tattered piece of crumpled paper with what looked like nacho cheese fingerprints coating the edges fell across the sudoku puzzle.
Tseng scowled and rubbed the red dot upon his forehead to quell a brewing headache. "You are supposed to be on assignment with Cissnei and Rude."
The red haired Turk sat in the plush chair and propped his muddy boots up upon the varnished mahogany surface, crossing his hands behind his head in a casual manner. Tseng raised an eyebrow. He had not sent Reno anywhere near where any mud might be found.
"Meh. We finished early."
"You were supposed to interrogate that AVALANCHE operative we captured. I just gave you that assignment less than fifteen minutes ago."
"Piece of cake," he smirked. "We just showed him the office Christmas party footage of Heidegger and Palmer reenacting the Nutbuster in their skin tight tutus and he spilled everything. Poor sap's gonna need some therapy, but he'll eventually crawl out from behind the file cabinets."
Tseng could only stare in horror, the fountain pen quivering in his hand. "When I said interrogate, I did not mean torture. Just how much therapy are we talking about?"
"Best case scenario, he stops rocking back and forth chanting about serving the great god of the cupcakes and gives Rude his sunglasses back."
"Helping Cissnei move a filing cabinet."
"Why are you even in my office then?"
"You're the one who said we have to file a report for everything we do now."
"This isn't a mission report," he held the piece of paper up with the tip of the fountain pen in disgust. "It's a menu from Don's Cheeky Fries and Thighs."
The red head smirked. "I thought you might like something to order from for lunch with the Lord of the Lard this afternoon after the meeting."
Tseng paled and rifled through his drawer for the little black book that commanded his day. Surely he had not forgotten to check what was scheduled for lunchtime. There it was, in his own writing, 12:30 - Lunch with Palmer.
Reno sniggered at the motion. Tseng. Oh great and emotionless Tseng of the Turks. Reduced to a cowering shell of a man by one simple phrase. How he wished he had a camera at this very moment.
"Damn it." He began to ponder his options, watching the hands on his watch creep closer to the board meeting. He could call in dead. No, too suspicious and too messy to pull off in less than six minutes. Or claim that a family member had an emergency.
No, Turks didn't have families to manipulate into being scapegoats. He mentally swore and stared at the sudoku puzzle and the menu, only to realize that he had misplaced one of the numbers and needed to start from scratch once again. Unless he wished to sit across from Palmer at the local fast food joint and suffer through watching the man pour lard into his beverage, he would need something spectacular. It was a pity Hojo was out of town for the weekend for a 'study' involving women, the beach, and sun tan lotion.
If he couldn't call in dead, maimed, or terminally ill with the Gongagan plague, he would have to settle for the next best thing - a mission so intense that it would threaten Shinra's very core should the Turks not be dispatched immediately to deal with it. He tapped his fingers against the desk. But what to use this time? They had already been on runs to the local grocery store for every item under the Wutainese sun at least four times, and one could only suffer through clothes shopping with Rufus for about an hour without drawing their weapons on the president's boy or trying to drown themselves in the mall fountain.
Where was AVALANCHE when he needed them. He grumbled under his breath at his last option and picked up the phone.
"Who ya callin' boss?"
"That information is privileged."
Reno winked. "Booking a room at the Honeybee Inn?"
"Don't you have a filing cabinet to move?"
Reno leaned back on the chair and peered through the doorway. A horrific crash, followed by the cursing and swearing of a male and female, filled the corridor as a phone rang somewhere in the corner office. "Nope, I think they got it covered."
Tseng sighed and waited for someone to answer.
"Hello?" The man on the other line seemed a bit frantic about something.
"Reeve. I have a favor to ask."
"What do you need, Tseng?"
The leader of the Turks pointed to the doorway. "Out, Reno."
"Aw, but can't I listen to the juicy details?"
"Hold on a second, Reeve." A second crash deafened the corridor and a piece of paper fluttered by the door. Just what in the hell were they doing over there? Trying to strangle a loose chocobo?
Reno's eyes widened in shock and Tseng realized his mistake. Before he could prevent it, Reno was running from the office with that impish twinkle in his eyes.
The frustrated growls of two very irritated Turks could be heard in the background, along with Reeve's awkward shout of protest as a small Cait Sith plushie flew by the door.
"Tseng! Your subordinates-" Static infringed upon the line.
"Say their safety words."
"What safety words?"
The crackle of Reno's EMR could be heard even from his desk. Tseng reached for his coffee and thought better of it. Reeve had brought up a good point. Just what were his three subordinates safety words again?
"Please, Tseng!"It sounded as though Reeve was hiding under his desk, the sound of a shuriken whisking by the crackle of electricity. "Get them out of my office. I'll do anything you want!"
Anything? Tseng allowed a rare smirk. "I believe you were given a list of urgent missions or me and my group last night?"
"Yes, yes. I put it in your 'In' box under the stick figure drawing of Rufus in a bikini! Just get them the hell out of here before-"
The sound of a scuffle and the upturning of a desk.
"Reeve? Are you still alive?"
"For the love of Holy, Tseng! They got the pansies!"
Tseng smacked a palm against his forehead and sighed. "I'm going to be late for my meeting, Reeve."
"I'll go to your damn meeting for you! Just get these three the hell out of my office!"
Tseng stepped over to the open door, PHS in hand. From what he could see, Reno was standing over something that looked suspiciously like a bunch of colorful flowers, EMR ready to attack.
"The three of you," he shouted. "My office. Now."
"What about the guy living behind the file cabinets?" Reeve inquired in timid surrender.
"Just make sure to feed the poor lad and put a saucer of water down for him every couple of hours until you gain his trust enough to release him back into the wild."
He fished through the endless pile of paperwork in his 'In' box until he found what he was looking for. Hanging up the phone and listening to the protesting quarreling of his subordinates, he broke the wax seal and looked at the first mission.
Tseng could already sense the presence of his first gray hair.
On the next episode of One Hundred Tiny Mission:
"Just call me, the mailman." - Reno
Until we meet again,