The white coat was slung over his shoulder, and the first few buttons of his shirts were undone. He'd neaten up before returning to Niflheim, but the day was too close to think about appearances, even for Rufus ShinRa. Besides, he was a decent distance from the mansion and its inhabitants (including that... Turk, or whatever he was) and shouldn't run into anyone. That was part of why he was here, after all. Wandering, alone. Thinking. Getting lost enough to stop thinking.
These woods— they looked dead, but Rufus was a city boy, born and bred. He'd seen forests, of course, but didn't know or care enough about them to be certain there was anything wrong with this one. The trees were tall, a little like skyscrapers, but moved too much, and unlike the city, the whole place was dead quiet. It was unnerving enough to finally get his mind off of the day's absurdities.
Except that someone was watching him. When you face assassination attempt from time to time since the age of ten, you learn to feel when someone is watching. He wondered how long this person had been there. In one quick motion, he tugged the revolver from the holster across his chest and spun, leveling it at—
Grimmjow, his mind supplied, though he'd never actually spoken to the... creature. He couldn't help but be reminded of Dark Nation.
"Jeagerjacques, wasn't it?" He didn't lower the gun.