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Black umbrellas, pouring rain. Funerary hymns. The cemetery slabs, slick with water, remind Tseng of unset concrete. He finds his mind drifting to his bathroom tiles, but he's interrupted by Reeve's voice.
"I'm sorry about your father..." Reeve puts his hand on the shoulder of the young vice-President-- wait, he's President now.
That is why we're here...
Reeve clears his throat, then continues, in a gentle tone, "It must be difficult for you."
"Not particularly." Rufus Shinra's face is blank. He stands a couple of feet from Tseng, in a dark coat and scarf. His hair is very bright under his black umbrella; he looks as though he's drained the colour from everyone else at the funeral. Even Scarlet is dressed in black, though admittedly with a brown-red handbag, earrings and red-soled shoes. She poses several meters away, lips pursed, just in case there's a photo opportunity. Her hat's impressive. The other Directors must be there somewhere, but they've melted into the sea of black and grey. Rufus flips his hair off his face. His eyes are startlingly blue. "Bit of a hassle, but... I'm President. Good ring to it."
Tseng is amused at Reeve's expression. Anyone else could've predicted Rufus' reaction, but Reeve's Reeve. Tseng looks at the box that's being lowered into the earth. It's a strange Midgar custom; in Wutai, they burn the bodies and put them in vases: something ornamental, to be kept in the house. You don't separate a family from their dead, ever. Some people devote whole rooms to them, spending thousands on urns. He's always thought that's a bit much-- but it at least feels warmer than here, where the ashes are put under the ground, in a distant cemetery plot. Families visit. He's heard that it gets even stranger as you go further out-- they don't burn the bodies at all in Kalm, apparently; they put them under the ground as they are. Sleepy old Kalm, a town built on the dead; it's funny. Tseng supposes it's better for the soil, but he can't help thinking it's unhygienic. That's probably why they get so many plagues. And then there's Nibelheim, where they don't process the bodies at all. They just carry them up into the mountains, and leave them for the wolves to eat.
And that's how you get an infestation of wolves...
They say the Nibelheim mountains are made from bone. Tseng had used to wonder if Sephiroth's bones were up there somewhere. It had been a sad thought. If nothing else, Sephiroth had been handsome.
The box sinks. Men shovel dirt onto it. Tseng pictures the ashes of the ex-President inside. He looks at Rufus' proud, pale face. He wonders if he should call his own father.
Would I be sad if he died?
Tseng can't decide. He'd prefer not to find out, so he supposes that means he would. He tries to imagine it. Oh, but they'd phone him up-- crying, probably. The expectations... yes, they'd want him to help pick urns, incense, whatever, just so they could scream that he'd got it wrong. If there were a way of disgracing one's ancestors by selecting the wrong shade of wood for a box, Tseng would manage it. And they'd put him down to organise the bloody catering, but make sure not to tell him until the morning of the funeral. He'd have to attend the funeral, of course-- dear god, his mother would actually wail, wouldn't she? She'd tear her hair out. Collapse, probably. He winces at the thought. And his aunts--
"We've got flags going up in Junon," says Rufus, interrupting Tseng's reverie. "Red things, say 'Rufus' on 'em. Or, they're supposed to. Had to do 2 print runs. I put Scarlet in charge of the first lot. Half that batch came back saying 'Scarlet'. Suppose I should've expected it."
"You're having a coronation?" says Tseng.
Rufus nods. "I want a parade. There are rumours about Shinra; don't want Godo taking advantage." He sighs. "Almost wish the public story was that I killed my old man-- makes us look less incompetent-- but it can't be helped. Suppose there are rumours, anyway."
"Sephiroth's implausibility may help you, Sir," notes Tseng.
"Exactly. Anyway, a parade shows we've still got it together. Calms the people. Got enough to worry about without riots."
Tseng tunes out. He looks back at the casket, almost completely covered with dirt. He feels uneasy. Partly, it's the idea of the cremated remains, in the dark and the cold-- he knows this is stupid, but he grew up with his relatives on the shelves in friendly pots, which the children would dare each other to prise open while fearing they might wake a ghost.
Ghosts...
And that's the other thing. Aeris has fled, and he can't stop thinking about some of the things she told him. He's fairly sure she was lying, trying to scare him, but...
"Mako's the souls of the dead. I don't care when you die, I just hope you die in Midgar. When your ghost gets trapped in one of those reactors, you'll see."
The last earth is poured over the coffin. Tseng wonders where the President ended up.