[One floor up is a relatively short elevator ride, but it's still long enough for the staff to subject him to surreptitious, scrutinizing looks. That much is hardly unheard-of; people's eyes are always drawn to him, no matter where he goes, and all too often the attention isn't positive —
But as he arrives at the floor that accommodates the junior penthouses, the reality of the phenomenon really starts to sink in: that they're looking at him as though he doesn't belong here, because none of this opulence belongs to him. It makes his skin itch beneath the unfamiliar sleeves of his borrowed clothes (as close an approximation as he could get to the usual, a dark linen shirt and white trousers, albeit with no coat or tie), reminiscent of boardrooms he was barred from setting foot in, meetings where he had no voice.
It's an asset, he reminds himself as he breezes past a bellhop's lingering gaze and moves in search of Tseng's quarters. What does it matter whose name it's in, as long as it's theirs. What does it matter in the end.
He finds the door. Waits. Realizes a second too late that no one is going to open it for him, and bites back the flash of annoyance at his slip before he knocks.]
Room service.
[The humor is as dry as Midgar soil, but it's there nevertheless.]
no subject
But as he arrives at the floor that accommodates the junior penthouses, the reality of the phenomenon really starts to sink in: that they're looking at him as though he doesn't belong here, because none of this opulence belongs to him. It makes his skin itch beneath the unfamiliar sleeves of his borrowed clothes (as close an approximation as he could get to the usual, a dark linen shirt and white trousers, albeit with no coat or tie), reminiscent of boardrooms he was barred from setting foot in, meetings where he had no voice.
It's an asset, he reminds himself as he breezes past a bellhop's lingering gaze and moves in search of Tseng's quarters. What does it matter whose name it's in, as long as it's theirs. What does it matter in the end.
He finds the door. Waits. Realizes a second too late that no one is going to open it for him, and bites back the flash of annoyance at his slip before he knocks.]
Room service.
[The humor is as dry as Midgar soil, but it's there nevertheless.]