[It really should be awkward. It ought to be, and under any other circumstances it definitely would be. Only, right now Rufus is thinking, adding this new information to his existing understanding of the resort's workings, sketching out a framework he can't quite make sense of yet, but instinctively knows system structures well enough to parse that it's there.]
...Why bother?
[Cause and effect. The resort assigns ranks, and doles out accolades or scorn accordingly. Game 52 already incentivizes engaging in sexual activity with a number of partners, seeking to fill out a deck. Why the additional bribe? What else, what other behavior, could they want to encourage?
He waves a hand at their surroundings, indicating the grandeur.]
They gave you all this on assignment. They choose your rank at registration. Why bother to pay you to have sex, when they already put everything at your fingertips, regardless.
[And actually...]
Why the carrot when there's already a stick? Those who don't engage have their suit darken until eventually they're driven to it. They have a system to incentivize sex. What benefit does it confer to pay, on top of it?
[Well. One billionaire's pocket change is a sector slum-dweller's windfall, isn't it?]
It's to motivate the low cards. The ones who need resources. So why them?
[ it's not a question to which tseng has all the answers, but he has mulled over it enough to have at least a few theories of his own. and, luckily, focusing on those theories is enough to distract him from his own feelings of awkwardness regarding the beach situation. ]
The simplest possible explanation is economics and psychology, in my opinion. By and large, people respond better to reinforcement than punishment. Providing guests with a monetary reward for active participation may prove to be a more effective incentive.
[ obviously they would need some form of punishment for those who do not participate, and they have that in the suit activation, but "gaining money" could motivate people better than "losing control" does. ]
There was a situation last month in which parts of the resort suddenly became derelict as if overnight, and we received a message from the house implying that the change in circumstances was due to a lack of something—the message was redacted. However, further evidence uncovered during the course of that situation suggested that we, the guests, act as a sort of fuel source for the resort.
Based on this information I theorize that there is some manner of energy generated by our sexual exploits which is harvested and used by the controlling body of the resort to power its operations. When this energy runs low, the aesthetics of the resort itself reflect the deficit.
[ he pokes his potato again, but tseng is on a reporting roll now, he's not going to take a break to eat a potato. ]
If I were the house, I would analyze the output quality of each guest and assign them a rank accordingly, with the highest output toward the top and the lower output at the bottom. Assuming that each guest has a calculated output volume that must be met on a weekly or monthly basis to sustain operation of the resort, I would set that as minimum to avoid suit activation, but would also further incentivize guests to exceed their minimum output requirements by rewarding them. Perhaps monetarily, or by raising their rank after a sustained period of high output. Ideally the threat of returning to their previous circumstances would be enough to keep their output high, but if it did become necessary to lower their rank, then the taste of better circumstances would become a motivating factor in itself.
[ and just like in midgar: if you can keep the proletariat distracted, believing that they too can become members of the bourgeoisie, you can distract them from the way the ruling class exploits them. tseng doesn't say that part out loud.
he nods once, toward the dossier still sitting at rufus' elbow, where details are recorded regarding reno, aerith, and zack's departures. ]
I would also conduct regular analysis of the output of all resort guests, and those who consistently underperform would be summarily dealt with, perhaps even by expulsion from the resort.
[ a pause. tseng inclines his head slightly, indicating that he's done with his report, then finally takes a bite of dinner. ]
[It's good, sound logic, even if contemplating it means following it through to the logical conclusion that the resort ranked Tseng higher of the two of them because they thought he would fuck more, or because the quality of his output was better. Not that he has any personal complaints as to the quality, he thinks, and stuffs a big chunk of potato into his mouth so that the abrupt heat on his tongue gives him an excuse not to dwell on that any longer.
It's reflecting on Tseng, though, that nags at him. Reinforcement and punishment. Does either one work, really, on his director of the Turks to begin with?]
You've kept track of your compensation?
[This is a considerably more awkward question when your ledger is synonymous with the number of people you've fucked, but.]
I assume you've been keeping records of the sum total of your. Activities.
[ it was a theory that tseng came up with before rufus was here, absolutely, and at the time he'd put it together, tseng hadn't bothered to follow it through to that particular conclusion. having said it aloud now, tseng's mind takes a similar path and arrives at that endpoint, and his brow very nearly furrows in a minute motion.
rufus, then, neatly forestalls any further musing on the subject by making tseng very nearly choke on his bite. he doesn't—in fact, he doesn't even cough—but he does immediately reach for his whiskey to down the rest of it along with the offending bite, which has a side benefit of buying him a moment to compose himself. ]
...Yes, sir.
[ a pause, and then tseng reaches to flip his notebook open to a set of pages in the back, marked by nothing but the feel of the edges. in it he's been making notes of his "activities," although out of respect for his partners' privacy the notes are extremely sparse: just the symbol of their suit, their rank, and a shorthand note to indicate something about time and place.
there are, in total, 33 encounters noted on that page; on the facing page is a balance sheet that tallies up the compensation provided by the house, as well as weekly totals of funds earned from other sources. ]
I also gamble. [ it likely won't surprise rufus to know that tseng has a good poker face. ] So I don't have to rely entirely on—one income stream.
[Some people, certainly, would've found such an assumption bizarre in the extreme. The fact that Rufus was entirely correct in his assumption, and that Tseng was able to produce exactly what he was asking for within moments, is either a testament to how well they know each other, or a sign that they're both tilted more than a little toward the unhinged side of abnormal.
But again, the awkwardness fades quickly as he finds himself engrossed in the numbers, oddly pleased to be presented with something so familiar as figures and records — just like the old days, when he'd grasped for every bit of information about his father's company that he could get his hands on, intent on learning through puzzle pieces what no one would ever deign to invite him to hear in boardrooms.
Having himself as a baseline makes it easy. One...item of activity. One infusion of funds. And as he stares at the numbers like he's waiting for them to put on a performance before his eyes, his potatoes linger forgotten at his side.
Just like old times, really.]
There doesn't seem to be any correlation between the payout and the rank of the partner.
[His eyes skim thoughtfully over the page, landing on a blank near the bottom of the page — all the rest of the information categorized, but no rank or suit notated. The significance of it hits him a moment later, and he ducks his head a little further down over the book so that the fall of his hair hides any redness that might begin to color his cheeks or his ears.]
Not the suit...
[The tip of his finger impacts lightly off the page, lips pressing just slightly more firmly together as he turns possibilities over and over in his head.]
...They paid you more for this one. The three of spades is listed...three times. But that's contrary to the purpose of the game. It makes sense to reward output, but not exclusivity.
[ there are a couple of places in the ledger where tseng has noted larger-than-usual payouts. the three of spades is one; the two of clubs is another. a third three-of-a-kind comes from a mixed-suit group of fives, and then an even larger payout on the fourth five collected. ]
Yes, sir. I believe it to be part of the reinforcement—rewards rather than punishment.
[ he pushes his own bowl aside lightly so he can identify a couple more of the larger payouts. by and large, it seems that having sex with someone once yields the lowest payout, while subsequent encounters with someone of that rank, regardless of suit, yield larger payouts. ]
These are poker hands. One pair, two pair, three of a kind, four of a kind.
[ and wouldn't it be funny, ha ha, if the house would reward them for fucking in patterns that added up to hands in a game of poker? but tseng hasn't put this to the test yet, largely because he hasn't had anyone to share the theory with just yet. ]
[It would certainly suit the motif. And as he regards the book again, now with this new framework in mind, possibilities start to form.
Possibilities, and one extremely bad idea.
He lingers over the book a minute more, aligning ideas in his head. Finishes with it, and sets it carefully aside, respectful of the pristine lines and careful bookkeeping. Remembers that his potatoes exist, and eats yet another delightfully aromatic forkful. Retrieves his whiskey and takes a drink that can't quite be qualified as a sip.
He keeps his expression carefully even, and his voice cultivated smooth.]
Meaning, if the next person I fucked were a Jack, then I should be holding a pair.
[ it's clear that there's some idea beginning to take shape in the recesses of rufus' mind—tseng can read that expression clear as day. the sort of careful movements that rufus makes when he's thinking about suggesting something and isn't sure how it'll be received, which is an uncommon state for him and all the more noteworthy for it.
tseng uses the time that rufus is thinking to take another couple careful bites of food, this time mindful that anything rufus says might make his bite want to go down the wrong pipe.
when rufus speaks again, it's—ah. tseng can practically read the map of his vision, can see what it is he's suggesting even before he suggests it. but still, part of working with rufus means letting him lay his ideas out from beginning to end, and so tseng just sets his glass down again and sits up a little bit straighter. ]
[It's about the closest Rufus Shinra, man categorically known for getting ahead of himself, has ever come to suggesting that they not get ahead of themselves. But Tseng isn't wrong about the look on his face, or the ideas churning behind his eyes; in the course of a single conversation, he's gone from frustrated and chafing to finding a direction for his ambition, and that's always a dangerous thing to witness.
Well. Unless you're the type who's into that sort of thing, of course.]
But if it is poker hands. And if there is a way that ranks can be manipulated...
[He smiles, one of his subtle, enigmatic looks that's sharper in the eyes than about the corners of his mouth.]
Then a ten might not be quite the insult it seems on its face.
[ dangerous, yes, but also beautiful. there's something ruthlessly vivacious about rufus when he has a plan, making his expression electric and filling him with a familiar restless energy, the same energy that would drive him to swallow the world whole. tseng has borne witness to this side of rufus many times, but has rarely seen its genesis; he thinks, briefly, that it's a privilege to witness, much like it would be a privilege to witness the birth of a new star. ]
How do you mean?
[ tseng thinks he knows how rufus means. a ten of hearts, a jack of hearts, a queen of hearts, a king of hearts, an ace of hearts—a perfect royal flush. what better way to test the whims of the house?
it's both an excellent idea and a terrible one. excellent, in that it's straightforward and easy to test, with results that will become immediately apparent; terrible, in that the prospect of fucking rufus four more times fills tseng with an unbearable combination of longing and dread. ]
They hate you in the casino, don't they? Don't tell me you don't count cards.
[He's aware that Tseng has likely already spotted the heart of the plan, pun very much intended. But the thing about Rufus Shinra is that too often, moderation isn't nearly enough — that one good idea will spin into another, and another, more and more and more until he's had every cake in the world and eaten it all while he's at it.
Later, the ramifications and connotations will catch up. He'll be alone in his room and really think about it, what it asks and what it means and what trajectory he's mapping out for the both of them. Right now, it's all numbers and strategies, the unparalleled pleasure of seeing an obstacle that the two of them, lever and fulcrum, might together exploit.]
Several promotions is a heavy undertaking, but no one will think twice about your motives. Stopping at every rank along the way would seem a natural consequence of the endeavor.
[He motions idly at the dossier, its careful notes and meticulous suits. Poker hands.]
There are a lot of hands one can build out of five ranks of cards. Why settle for just the obvious one?
[ but he says it with enough of a smile at one corner of his mouth that rufus should know that what he means is, yes, all the time. tseng is a smart poker player and an even smarter card-counter—he plays normally and only wins what he needs, not nearly often enough to draw the attention of the house. even if a jack is under far less scrutiny at the tables than someone of a lower rank would be, tseng's pathological refusal to allow himself to be noteworthy is more than enough to keep him playing conservatively.
the plan rufus is laying out is far from conservative. not because he thinks the house is likely to notice—no, in fact, tseng is fairly sure that the house would be delighted they're engaging so fully with the game. in that regard, it's a safe play. but in other regards—such as tseng's ability to compartmentalize—the plan is absolute madness.
which is why tseng thinks it's likely to work. it's always rufus' most audacious plans, the ones with the highest associated risk, that have the biggest payoff. and if rufus is unconcerned about how often he and tseng will have to have sex to make his plan a reality, then far be it from tseng to raise any kind of concern. ]
Yes, sir. [ tseng nods, agreeing. ] It'll be a long game.
[ not that rufus has ever wanted for patience, not when it matters. ]
[His word choice is subtle but conspicuous: because there was a time when Tseng and his Turks weren't a part of Rufus's schemes, but they are now, and to be his now is as good as to be with him always. His plans are their plans, and this one is no exception.]
And it'll keep eyes on me, while you shepherd the benefits.
[He pauses, seeming to resurface from the depths of his preoccupation, and fixes Tseng with a slow, thoughtful look. Back home, this is a question he would never need to ask, but with things ever so slightly unbalanced between them —]
[ it's not completely strange, that rufus would ask for tseng's input on a plan. they've been doing this for years, going back and forth on the finer details and the finicky dependencies of any idea that rufus starts to formulate.
but there's something different about it, this time. something that feels less like an employer asking his subordinate's input on a work task, and more like—like...
not a friend, certainly, but something that might be twice removed from it. one person asking another. it sets tseng on the back foot, makes him pause briefly before he can gather himself enough to answer the question. ]
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no subject
...Why bother?
[Cause and effect. The resort assigns ranks, and doles out accolades or scorn accordingly. Game 52 already incentivizes engaging in sexual activity with a number of partners, seeking to fill out a deck. Why the additional bribe? What else, what other behavior, could they want to encourage?
He waves a hand at their surroundings, indicating the grandeur.]
They gave you all this on assignment. They choose your rank at registration. Why bother to pay you to have sex, when they already put everything at your fingertips, regardless.
[And actually...]
Why the carrot when there's already a stick? Those who don't engage have their suit darken until eventually they're driven to it. They have a system to incentivize sex. What benefit does it confer to pay, on top of it?
[Well. One billionaire's pocket change is a sector slum-dweller's windfall, isn't it?]
It's to motivate the low cards. The ones who need resources. So why them?
no subject
The simplest possible explanation is economics and psychology, in my opinion. By and large, people respond better to reinforcement than punishment. Providing guests with a monetary reward for active participation may prove to be a more effective incentive.
[ obviously they would need some form of punishment for those who do not participate, and they have that in the suit activation, but "gaining money" could motivate people better than "losing control" does. ]
There was a situation last month in which parts of the resort suddenly became derelict as if overnight, and we received a message from the house implying that the change in circumstances was due to a lack of something—the message was redacted. However, further evidence uncovered during the course of that situation suggested that we, the guests, act as a sort of fuel source for the resort.
Based on this information I theorize that there is some manner of energy generated by our sexual exploits which is harvested and used by the controlling body of the resort to power its operations. When this energy runs low, the aesthetics of the resort itself reflect the deficit.
[ he pokes his potato again, but tseng is on a reporting roll now, he's not going to take a break to eat a potato. ]
If I were the house, I would analyze the output quality of each guest and assign them a rank accordingly, with the highest output toward the top and the lower output at the bottom. Assuming that each guest has a calculated output volume that must be met on a weekly or monthly basis to sustain operation of the resort, I would set that as minimum to avoid suit activation, but would also further incentivize guests to exceed their minimum output requirements by rewarding them. Perhaps monetarily, or by raising their rank after a sustained period of high output. Ideally the threat of returning to their previous circumstances would be enough to keep their output high, but if it did become necessary to lower their rank, then the taste of better circumstances would become a motivating factor in itself.
[ and just like in midgar: if you can keep the proletariat distracted, believing that they too can become members of the bourgeoisie, you can distract them from the way the ruling class exploits them. tseng doesn't say that part out loud.
he nods once, toward the dossier still sitting at rufus' elbow, where details are recorded regarding reno, aerith, and zack's departures. ]
I would also conduct regular analysis of the output of all resort guests, and those who consistently underperform would be summarily dealt with, perhaps even by expulsion from the resort.
[ a pause. tseng inclines his head slightly, indicating that he's done with his report, then finally takes a bite of dinner. ]
no subject
It's reflecting on Tseng, though, that nags at him. Reinforcement and punishment. Does either one work, really, on his director of the Turks to begin with?]
You've kept track of your compensation?
[This is a considerably more awkward question when your ledger is synonymous with the number of people you've fucked, but.]
I assume you've been keeping records of the sum total of your. Activities.
[Shiva's tits.]
...Assuming you've got them handy.
no subject
rufus, then, neatly forestalls any further musing on the subject by making tseng very nearly choke on his bite. he doesn't—in fact, he doesn't even cough—but he does immediately reach for his whiskey to down the rest of it along with the offending bite, which has a side benefit of buying him a moment to compose himself. ]
...Yes, sir.
[ a pause, and then tseng reaches to flip his notebook open to a set of pages in the back, marked by nothing but the feel of the edges. in it he's been making notes of his "activities," although out of respect for his partners' privacy the notes are extremely sparse: just the symbol of their suit, their rank, and a shorthand note to indicate something about time and place.
there are, in total, 33 encounters noted on that page; on the facing page is a balance sheet that tallies up the compensation provided by the house, as well as weekly totals of funds earned from other sources. ]
I also gamble. [ it likely won't surprise rufus to know that tseng has a good poker face. ] So I don't have to rely entirely on—one income stream.
no subject
But again, the awkwardness fades quickly as he finds himself engrossed in the numbers, oddly pleased to be presented with something so familiar as figures and records — just like the old days, when he'd grasped for every bit of information about his father's company that he could get his hands on, intent on learning through puzzle pieces what no one would ever deign to invite him to hear in boardrooms.
Having himself as a baseline makes it easy. One...item of activity. One infusion of funds. And as he stares at the numbers like he's waiting for them to put on a performance before his eyes, his potatoes linger forgotten at his side.
Just like old times, really.]
There doesn't seem to be any correlation between the payout and the rank of the partner.
[His eyes skim thoughtfully over the page, landing on a blank near the bottom of the page — all the rest of the information categorized, but no rank or suit notated. The significance of it hits him a moment later, and he ducks his head a little further down over the book so that the fall of his hair hides any redness that might begin to color his cheeks or his ears.]
Not the suit...
[The tip of his finger impacts lightly off the page, lips pressing just slightly more firmly together as he turns possibilities over and over in his head.]
...They paid you more for this one. The three of spades is listed...three times. But that's contrary to the purpose of the game. It makes sense to reward output, but not exclusivity.
no subject
Yes, sir. I believe it to be part of the reinforcement—rewards rather than punishment.
[ he pushes his own bowl aside lightly so he can identify a couple more of the larger payouts. by and large, it seems that having sex with someone once yields the lowest payout, while subsequent encounters with someone of that rank, regardless of suit, yield larger payouts. ]
These are poker hands. One pair, two pair, three of a kind, four of a kind.
[ and wouldn't it be funny, ha ha, if the house would reward them for fucking in patterns that added up to hands in a game of poker? but tseng hasn't put this to the test yet, largely because he hasn't had anyone to share the theory with just yet. ]
no subject
[It would certainly suit the motif. And as he regards the book again, now with this new framework in mind, possibilities start to form.
Possibilities, and one extremely bad idea.
He lingers over the book a minute more, aligning ideas in his head. Finishes with it, and sets it carefully aside, respectful of the pristine lines and careful bookkeeping. Remembers that his potatoes exist, and eats yet another delightfully aromatic forkful. Retrieves his whiskey and takes a drink that can't quite be qualified as a sip.
He keeps his expression carefully even, and his voice cultivated smooth.]
Meaning, if the next person I fucked were a Jack, then I should be holding a pair.
no subject
tseng uses the time that rufus is thinking to take another couple careful bites of food, this time mindful that anything rufus says might make his bite want to go down the wrong pipe.
when rufus speaks again, it's—ah. tseng can practically read the map of his vision, can see what it is he's suggesting even before he suggests it. but still, part of working with rufus means letting him lay his ideas out from beginning to end, and so tseng just sets his glass down again and sits up a little bit straighter. ]
I believe so, yes.
no subject
[It's about the closest Rufus Shinra, man categorically known for getting ahead of himself, has ever come to suggesting that they not get ahead of themselves. But Tseng isn't wrong about the look on his face, or the ideas churning behind his eyes; in the course of a single conversation, he's gone from frustrated and chafing to finding a direction for his ambition, and that's always a dangerous thing to witness.
Well. Unless you're the type who's into that sort of thing, of course.]
But if it is poker hands. And if there is a way that ranks can be manipulated...
[He smiles, one of his subtle, enigmatic looks that's sharper in the eyes than about the corners of his mouth.]
Then a ten might not be quite the insult it seems on its face.
no subject
How do you mean?
[ tseng thinks he knows how rufus means. a ten of hearts, a jack of hearts, a queen of hearts, a king of hearts, an ace of hearts—a perfect royal flush. what better way to test the whims of the house?
it's both an excellent idea and a terrible one. excellent, in that it's straightforward and easy to test, with results that will become immediately apparent; terrible, in that the prospect of fucking rufus four more times fills tseng with an unbearable combination of longing and dread. ]
no subject
[He's aware that Tseng has likely already spotted the heart of the plan, pun very much intended. But the thing about Rufus Shinra is that too often, moderation isn't nearly enough — that one good idea will spin into another, and another, more and more and more until he's had every cake in the world and eaten it all while he's at it.
Later, the ramifications and connotations will catch up. He'll be alone in his room and really think about it, what it asks and what it means and what trajectory he's mapping out for the both of them. Right now, it's all numbers and strategies, the unparalleled pleasure of seeing an obstacle that the two of them, lever and fulcrum, might together exploit.]
Several promotions is a heavy undertaking, but no one will think twice about your motives. Stopping at every rank along the way would seem a natural consequence of the endeavor.
[He motions idly at the dossier, its careful notes and meticulous suits. Poker hands.]
There are a lot of hands one can build out of five ranks of cards. Why settle for just the obvious one?
no subject
[ but he says it with enough of a smile at one corner of his mouth that rufus should know that what he means is, yes, all the time. tseng is a smart poker player and an even smarter card-counter—he plays normally and only wins what he needs, not nearly often enough to draw the attention of the house. even if a jack is under far less scrutiny at the tables than someone of a lower rank would be, tseng's pathological refusal to allow himself to be noteworthy is more than enough to keep him playing conservatively.
the plan rufus is laying out is far from conservative. not because he thinks the house is likely to notice—no, in fact, tseng is fairly sure that the house would be delighted they're engaging so fully with the game. in that regard, it's a safe play. but in other regards—such as tseng's ability to compartmentalize—the plan is absolute madness.
which is why tseng thinks it's likely to work. it's always rufus' most audacious plans, the ones with the highest associated risk, that have the biggest payoff. and if rufus is unconcerned about how often he and tseng will have to have sex to make his plan a reality, then far be it from tseng to raise any kind of concern. ]
Yes, sir. [ tseng nods, agreeing. ] It'll be a long game.
[ not that rufus has ever wanted for patience, not when it matters. ]
no subject
[His word choice is subtle but conspicuous: because there was a time when Tseng and his Turks weren't a part of Rufus's schemes, but they are now, and to be his now is as good as to be with him always. His plans are their plans, and this one is no exception.]
And it'll keep eyes on me, while you shepherd the benefits.
[He pauses, seeming to resurface from the depths of his preoccupation, and fixes Tseng with a slow, thoughtful look. Back home, this is a question he would never need to ask, but with things ever so slightly unbalanced between them —]
Objections?
no subject
but there's something different about it, this time. something that feels less like an employer asking his subordinate's input on a work task, and more like—like...
not a friend, certainly, but something that might be twice removed from it. one person asking another. it sets tseng on the back foot, makes him pause briefly before he can gather himself enough to answer the question. ]
None, sir.