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tampered2007-11-13 05:45 pm
arrogantpenance.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-11-13 05:45 pm
Log; complete
When; Minutes after the "when you were young" curse
Rating; Heavy PG-13 and light R for content
Characters; Reno![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dutyderelict, Rufus Shinraarrogantpenance
Summary; Rufus is livid and perhaps a little jealous when he finds out that Tseng has been hiding Aerith from him all along. Reno, of course, is a lot less than helpful. Too many lines are crossed, fire meets ice, and it's going to take a miracle to make this all right again.
Log;
Maybe taking the glossy, former President of the corporation that dominated an entire world to a bar wasn't one of Reno's brighter ideas. Maybe he could have picked a place of some quality, too, not where when Reno nudged his elbow onto the bartop to swing his fingers into a drink order, something stuck to his jacket and threatened to rip off a layer.
There was a residue of some ominous kind on almost every surface; on first noticing it Reno had happily conjectured, aloud, to his present company, that every spill of sludge and alcohol in the history of this bar in the City had gathered, unwiped, a testament to time and debauchery. That didn't begin to cover the bleak lighting, the quality of the glasses, the toothless man behind the counter. Mayhaps Reno could have picked a nicer place, a place actually on the map and not tucked into some dismal corner of the underground.
Could've, but that'd mean making concessions, and if he was going to have to take the President around on what he'd have liked to think of as his free hours, he'd make a few stands of his own. He was sure it was good for the guy, or maybe he just thought it was funny, like the shot of absinthe he'd calmly slid (as much as anything could slide on that counter) Rufus's way as Reno downed half a sloppier mug of cheap beer. Bottoms up.
It was at that moment when Rufus staunchly decided that he hated Reno. And despised that taste of his with a burning passion, because - if he had been a betting man - he would have bet that the table was actually alive and oozing, what with all the things that were spilt on the surface. Far too used to elegance and luxury even after the fall of ShinRa, Rufus was most unused to his current surroundings. It set his teeth on the edge, and his lips thinned just a little despite his outwardly neutral disposition.
The next time Reno found it prudent to decide the destination, Rufus thought bleakly, catching the glass of absinthe with two fingers gingerly, watching with sick fascination as the glass bottom scraped up something that had most likely been alive; he would hold the man's paycheck hostage, threaten to blow a hole through it, and say that despite what it looked like, it damn well was still an autocracy, democracy be damned.
Democracy was the very thing that led to this, after all.
Staring at the liquid that was sloshing in the shot glass, the blonde President said imperiously, holding it up to whatever dim light there was. "Is this rat poison?"
Given that his jacket had already been exposed to the harsher elements of this pub, Reno wasn't very concerned about setting his elbows onto the bartop as he framed the mug with his arms. This way, hands peaking below his chin, serving as a prop, he could slouch in comfort -- long, knobby spine forming a smooth, dramatic arc beneath the blue - this way, he could glance left from beneath wisps of shocking red and observe his boss.
It was a dangerous thing to do, really, as it proved very hard for Reno to keep a serious face -- to not simply dissolve into laughter and slip right off the bar stool. Rufus held up the glass and Reno only just resisted the snort.
"Yes," he replied, voice completely bland, serious. "It's part of my master plan to poison you."
Reno took another swig from his mug.
A pause, and Rufus contemplated his options. He could always return it to Reno, or ingest it - which would probably prove to be better on his currently irritable, cranky disposition - or drop it and see if it would implode upon impact, because frankly, it really did look like something resembling mako waste.
Looking back at Reno and that expression, he lifted the glass to his lips, barely pressing, and drained the entire thing in a practiced, fluid shot, the strength of the absinthe burning his throat and giving the system a good kick.
Just what he'd needed, something strong enough to forget, if only for a moment. Turning to the bartender, he said sharply, careful to keep his pristine white sleeve off the counter. "Three more."
Watching, though only with his eyes casual against the rounded edges of his sockets, observing the President's progress or regress out of the corners of his eyes. The comparison to mako waste should have but had not struck him, perhaps because of Reno's familiarity with the drink, but had it, he'd have had to had a long chuckle about the irony. He watched: Rufus knocked it back, dropped the glass, requested three more, and there wasn't a spec on him. What would it take to get it soiled by sunrise? It would've been impressive if it hadn't been Rufus, and instead, Reno grinned.
It was a brief, fleeting expression, teeth exposed in his thin face and then slid over again, before he jerked his head a hard right and let something pop in his neck in satisfying muscle and bone grind. He finished his mug, let his mouth have the back of his hand, and nodded to the tender.
"Throw me a few, too." He couldn't be outdrank by The President.
Glancing over at Reno, already knowing that the Turk would react like that - he'd known Reno long enough and well enough to know what he would do, sometimes - Rufus took the glasses that were set down in front of him, pleased to be occupying himself with the glasses instead of on a certain Wutaian and his own loathsome doubts. It was disgusting, really, that he would react this way, that he would let his own bodyguard cause such a thing, that bitter taste of jealousy that he was all too eager to wash down with the alcohol.
It was with that thought in mind that he drained the next one almost immediately, setting the glass down with a 'thunk' that was louder than usual, the jolt of the absinthe hitting him hard. He liked it, he liked the few moments of reprieve that it offered him, the way it cleaned off those thoughts and those doubts that were unbefitting of a President, of a man who held the whole world in an iron grip.
Right until the world fell away from under him and made him realize that these Turks were all that he could ever really depend on. All that he really had.
Shaking it off obstinately, he raises his third glass with elegant fingers that were only slightly trembling, only slightly. A smile, smooth and almost teasing, and he murmured. "Outdrinking me today, Reno?"
Reno made little effort to disguise the fact that his attention, when focused, was mostly on the President. Not fixation, no, and he couldn't even file a complaint regarding an inability to relax when forced to babysit his boss, not if the heavy angle of his slouch was any indication. His eyes did not wander, though they looked to wander - he allowed them to slide left, peer at the way the next radioactive cup disappeared beneath that imperturbable front.
Now, Reno did snort, lifting his first shot glass, almost a toast, his eyes caught on the quiver in Rufus's fingers. "I won't be behind for long, sir. It'll be a sinch."
Back went his head, exposing neck and ruffled collar as the fluid disappeared, but his eyes didn't move. The young President, Reno knew, had gathered quite a reputation even before he made it to top of the world. Popular opinion said he never bled or cried, did not emote so much as calculate, but Reno -- Reno flattered himself a little.
Maybe it was a development of the years after Meteor than anything before, but proximity and a decent set of eyes taught him that even at his most stolid, Rufus was never a closed book. Reno wasn't shit at reading people; it was more that, generally, he didn't give a shit to do it.
Rufus was never a closed book, and Reno figured he had him pegged. He could pick the dart and sling it for a bullseye.
This was the way it should be, good, old-fashioned competition. Rufus refused to lose in anything, even if it meant putting a hole in his liver even as he knocked back his third glass with growing ease, not even bothering to look at the color. It was strong, it was a distraction, and it was all that he needed.
Were his Turk's eyes on him? Rufus had little doubt that Reno already had a speculation as to what was wrong. Reno had been many things, but Rufus had never once made the mistake of assuming that he was incompetent.
Far from that. The Turks meant something. Unlike SOLDIER, these were the elite; he knew that Reno was perfectly capable of offing this whole establishment and making sure that it never reared its disgusting head again upon command, and that in itself spoke volumes. He didn't meet the other's eyes - he refused to hand that confirmation to him that easily; it was pride, it was all pride and Rufus was nothing without the pride and steel that laced his very being.
"Yeah?" He asked silkily, feeling as if his insides were going to burn, focusing on the mild pain, savouring it, eyeing the fourth glass sitting in front of him speculatively. "What if I can beat you today, hm?"
Reno eyed Rufus for a long moment, eyed more directly, his chin tilted more in his superior's direction. His stare did not blink, received no lidded interruption, nor did his eyebrows quirk to betray his thought process. In essence: Was he insane? The President went on in a clear, terrible bluff, as if he was the unimpeachable champion of imbibing the toxic stuff. But Reno had little doubt that both men were aware of certain facts of one another's habits, that one frequented bars and one did not.
The moment passed. Reno had little inclination to state the obvious, so he lifted one bony shoulder into a shrug, a crook grin cutting a razor's path across his face. "What if? I'll take those odds. Set the terms, boss."
Another shot disappeared without a flinch, as if Reno had inhaled and the stuff was air.
It was an obvious bluff, and from the looks of it, Rufus knew that Reno had come to the same realization. But even then, it didn't matter. Distractions, distractions. He was already feeling it, the buzz from the absinthe and the numbing of his senses; it was discreet, but it was there. The fourth glass, a polished order for another three, and Rufus was left trailing his fingers over the rim of the cloudy shot glass, distracted for a moment.
Just a bare moment, a thought spared for something else other than a drink, and blue eyes flicked back to Reno's face, registering the smile. The man's vivid red hair had definitely set him apart from the crowd, all right. Cleaning off his fingers on a napkin - the only clean thing in this establishment, he crumpled it up and tossed it aside, picking up the next glass when it was set down in front of him. "No terms. And when we're done, you're telling me why you decided to bring me to this damned hole."
Flapping a hand at the bartender, Reno registered his own order -- though, from the movements of the man and the gaping in his face that looked vaguely like a satisfied grin, the man had gotten the gist of the going, and the gist was, he'd be making a pretty penny off these two.
Reno wasn't shit at reading people, and Rufus was never a closed book, but Reno was no Rufus ShinRa expert. He could pick up a thing or two and, knocking holes through them, string together a piece of logic. Unaccustomed to the President at a bar, or drinking more than a touch of brandy or wine, he could not pick a moment for when the poised man began to bleed enough fume to proclaim that yeah, he was damned tipsy.
Taking down another glass; with a warmth in his stomach and a burning in his throat but fairly clear eyes, Reno outright laughed. "I'll tell you if I lose. But, when you lose, boss, I'll have a few questions of my own."
Let the game begin.
The game ended, perhaps, when Rufus finished the last glass, and just knew that if he took another drop, he would never make it out of the door without shredding every last bit of his dignity. It ended when he called for water, when he didn't care if his sleeve was marred with filth even as he leaned his elbow on the table and leaned his forehead a little against his fingers. Breathe once, twice, deep ones, settling the feeling of dizziness. His fingers trembled, and he mastered it, raking them through his hair, pushing them back from his eyes.
The water made him feel sick, almost bloated, but he drank it down anyway; he needed it. Two beats, three, and he finally spoke, setting the glass down. There was a quaver, a slur that was barely there when he began to speak, but he was a Shinra, and he took a fierce pride in the fact that vulnerability was never a part of his vocabulary. It was gone in the next instant. "Rent a hotel room."
Making bars a habit with Rude didn't mean Reno could slide through over five shots of absinthe and remain unaffected, or even a little tipsy. His elbows had become one, upper arm flattened against the bar top and supporting greater, ever-slouching weight. His vision bore a certain distortion, a hazy fog and swim, tilting, at every edge. Sharper colors, or duller colors -- in this place, he couldn't be sure which was what, but intoxication was no stranger to Reno, and he wasn't a stupid drunk.
Not yet -- Reno knew his limits, knew how to surpass Rufus without tipping over wasted, and also knew that even if his limits were short of the need, he'd have had to pretend, so to make sure he was of sound enough mind to keep the President secure.
He could've had more. Not for the game, but if it were Rude, they'd spend a few hours with beer and otherwise, bullshitting or silent or flipping cards; Reno'd almost always lose. He wasn't bad, but Rude was better.
Caught the quaver; filed it away with a smirk that lingered just long enough to show Rufus what was what and Reno was the winner. Rufus made his command and Reno allowed his eyebrows the hike up his forehead, toll free. The alcohol felt heavy on his tongue, but he made the needed adjustments to open his mouth, to make easy words. What was going to be a call on the man's judgment became something else as Reno's mind clicked the pieces into place, and he knew why the President wanted a hotel and not his own room, and Reno had half a mind to punch him in his damned prissy face.
But that may've been the alcohol talking. Another half-shrug of bone through navy, and Reno looked to the tender. "Water and we're paying."
After the water, after the money changed hands, Reno slid off his stool and didn't need to rip his sleeves free, didn't take long for the ground to be steady and not rocking under his feet, cast a glance over his shoulder with the bone projectile of chin championing the way. "Good for standing, sir?"
Rufus' footing was uncertain, wavering, and his head refused to heed him even as he slid off his seat, a touch less gracefully than Reno did, and took a little longer to adjust himself, his hand gripping the counter as if it was a lifeline of some kind. Rufus was a good drinker - he had to, for the sake of taking advantage of prime opportunities while other business partners were drunk; often, really, by his hand. A drink, a flourish of papers, and the deal was closed without Rufus having so much as a hangover the next morning.
However, this was different, the alcohol was already taking a toll on him - the water had alleviated it a little - and he shook his head hard to clear away the fuzziness that was creeping up on him. Most unbecoming, really, but at this point - to coin one of Reno's phrases - he didn't give a shit. His steps were shaky, and he fought not to stumble, already catching up to the redhead. Running an unsteady hand through his hair again and looking up, he took another deep breath - full of stale cigarettes and cheap beer - before stepping up beside Reno, decidedly a little less firm than he would have liked.
"I'm fine, Reno. Get me out of this place and I'd consider not heaping paperwork on you as soon as I can find some."
His glance took in these indiosyncrasies of Rufus's physical composure, the hand actually on the foul counter, his unsteadiness, the concentration that tried so hard to disguise all of it. Reno broke another eggshell grin and held out an arm he knew would be refused. "Y'can lean on me, if you like."
Always the paperwork; Reno ignored the threat and chuckled to himself, pulling back his arm before it could be refused, and walked from the bar. Tempting as it was to continue the scandal and find an equally gross hotel, in case Reno ended up getting any sleep, he'd rather not deal with suspicious sheets, thin walls, insects or worse. The area wasn't good for quality, so they ended up walking a few underground blocks, until the light's became less neon and dingy and a little kinder on irises accustomed to the dark.
Sauntering inside, Reno stepped up to the counter and ordered a room, assuming he'd continue to take care of the menial business of that kind rather than have Rufus have at it.
Bemused, Rufus was glad that at least this City got something right. An acceptable room, with two beds, nice and comfortable. He didn't have an issue with sharing a room with Reno - they'd been practically doing that in Healin while he recuperated. Sitting on the bed, grateful for the reprieve so that he didn't have to deal with the world spinning, he began to take off his shoes, fumbling a little with it before he managed to get them off.
Dizzy, tipsy, but Rufus managed to shake it off as best as he could, forcing himself to remain lucid. A drunk President was never a good thing. Looking back at Reno, blue eyes clouded over nonetheless, he finally spoke, slipping out of his coat and holding it out to Reno; it was a manner of habit, and Rufus saw no need to break it even then. Reno was his Turk, his own, and the only one who hadn't managed to turn against him so far, City curse or not. He acknowledged it, but took no pleasure in that knowledge. Sooner or later in this City, who knew what was going to happen?
"Ask your questions, if you want."
Accepting the jacket, Reno looked at it for a long, blank moment. Then, with a shrug, he turned to the closet, reasonably pleased to open the door and find a hanger.
Then, Reno wasted no time: he walked into the room and flopped down on to the bed untouched by Rufus. A single movement; at one moment he was standing beside the bed, his tall frame as ever slouched, at the next he was on his back, arms folded beneath his head and his ankles crossed. He hadn't bothered to remove his shoes, the heels of which kicked against the metal end frame. Cheek against his sleeve, he turned his face toward Rufus, then-- to the ceiling.
Shifting, Reno freed an arm to claw his fingers into a pocket, searching. "I'll make it real easy," he said, tempering how loose the alcohol made his tongue with little effort. Ideally, Rufus would have less success. "See, you and I both know out of the four of us, I'm the last one you'd ask for a little company. Elena's gone and Rude's never been, at least as long as I have. But, with all due respect, sir, you're both the same breed of uptight."
Victory! A cigarette wrenched from the depths of some lost box, and a matchbook. "Tseng's in your black book. Why?"
Why? That was a very good question. Rufus took his time to answer, considering all available options. He was not surprised by it; Reno was far more intelligent that he made himself out to be. Hearing the scrabbling noises from the other man, Rufus patted the covers on his bed, pleased to see that at least it was of superior quality. Unbuttoning his shirt, but not slipping it off, Rufus simply shrugged. What was he supposed to say, that he was upset?
Jealous? It did not befit his image, and Rufus was not eager to ruin it. Looking over at Reno for a brief moment, studying him in return, he remarked. "Don't undermine yourself." A beat, then. "There were complications."
There, that ought to do it.
Thinking about it again, the lack of trust returned to him despite his best efforts, Tseng's concealment of the Cetra, and those rumors that had never been truly gone, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being cheated somehow, and Rufus had never once tolerated being made a fool that way, no matter who it was.
The cigarette slid between his lips, the smell of sulfur struck the air as the matchpoint became flame, licking at the end of rolled paper and chemical, tar. Reno wasn't addicted, or, wasn't a chain-smoker. He inhaled and looked askance, at the sign beside the window, nailed in plastic into the wall. No, what Reno liked more than the nicotine was watching the "NO SMOKING" sign waver through the smoke.
"Complications?" Reno looked away from the sign, to the adjacent bed. He grimaced around the cigarette, a kind of exasperation. As if he'd be content to let it drop at that? Did the President think Reno thought so little of the Turks and their necessary connection? "I should've made you drink more."
Exhale, two streams of gray through his nose, offended olfactory cells. "If it's only that damned curse, Mr. President, you might be finding your way back alone."
Just the curse? No, it was not just the curse. Leaning back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling, he focused on tracing the tiny little patterns above it. At least it was not as ridiculously furnished as the Gold Saucer, and that was a small comfort.
A few breaths, and he ignored the scent of smoke that now lingered in the air, familiar and cloying. Closing his eyes for a moment, he wondered if he was going to get a terrible hangover tomorrow. At this point, he didn't give a damn, the current state of near-lucidity and suppressed drunkenness was a good place to be in.
Wryly, Rufus contemplated that if this had been him a few years back, it would never have come to this stage. He would merely throw himself into ShinRa's matters and dealt with things the only way he knew how; but this City had a way of taking it away, and even with his many 'meetings' with shop owners and negotiations; it was paltry, child's play, something that would only serve to while the time away before he could return. Idle times led to more thoughts, more thoughts led to explorations of feelings long buried, long forgotten.
A chuckle, one that was hardly meant, was Rufus' initial response to his Turk's quip. "If you had, I'm sure that I would be in no position to answer such questions." A glance, brief and fleeting even as he remarked. "It's more complicated than that curse. Why the interest, Reno?"
Looking again at the ceiling, Reno saw no patterns. Blank space. His eyes narrowed at the question, irritation that worked the muscles for his lids, irritation that pressed his molars together but not to grind, that left an indent of a canine in the paper of the cigarette. He echoed the question, flatline: "Why?"
Near-skeletal fingers took hold of the stick, freeing his mouth, and his narrowed eyes darted down to where ash built and paper wasted. "Do you seriously need to ask?"
Geeze. Reno sat up, another quick, fluid movement; at one moment flat back, at the other sitting up, legs over the side of the bed and feet flat on the ground, back curved and a hand scratching dirty nails over the back of his neck, the other cradling the cigarette. He looked at the sign; slid his gaze directly to the President.
"I can't have the President at odds with the fucking Leader of the Turks, sir."
At odds? That was definitely one way of putting it. It seemed like upon his entrance into this City, the tranquility that lay between them came few and far between. To be fair, it had forced them - no, him - to come to terms with some things, like his interest and his feelings for the stoic Wutaian man. Then again, the City apparently liked getting off on negative feelings, because just as quickly, he'd had to find out about Aerith at the most inconvenient time.
It set his teeth on edge, annoyed him like nothing else did, and he closed his eyes, isolating those feelings, shutting it off. He didn't need them; he didn't. Not in Midgar, not here either.
Now, if only he was provided with a more effective means to lie to himself, all would be well. The fall of ShinRa had forced him to see many things he had merely glossed over before, to face them and let them change him, no matter how mild it was. He still remained the calculative, manipulative President, but with more than two near death experiences, it made him more human. Just a little.
"Not now, Reno." Rufus' response was uncharacteristically terse; he was already tired of the questioning, tired of thinking about it, of knowing that Rufus fucking Shinra could have any damn person he wanted, but not have the one he needed, and what was the point in that, really? He was not predisposed to moping, and he was definitely not going to start now.
It almost stupefied him. Reno waited and got that, three words, the rejection of the issue, and it left him staring, blank, his jaw slack -- ready for the cigarette but denied it by the tense pause of his hand.
Contrary to popular belief, Reno was a patient man, difficult to perturb, slow to outright anger -- these things were mostly true. A few things could set him, quick as a set of snapping fingers, into a rage. A few things could do it, and most of those few revolved around Reno's overblown ego, his pride, and staring across the small space at the President, Rufus ShinRa, fingers snapped.
"Not now, Reno?" Another echo, low and dangerous, and his teeth gritted now, clenched hard enough to hurt and numb. "You're the boss but you don't flick me aside," like a fly.
And looking at the man pissed him off, still lying there, not even looking at him, so Reno stood up, sucked the cigarette before dropping it and crossing the distance. Reno could've stood to have a greater respect for authority -- maybe it was the City, more likely it was anger that sent a hand to bunch the front of Rufus's open shirt and wrenched him to a seat, though the angle was awkward. ... Yeah, he'd be in for it.
"Sorry, sir, but I'm not letting you brush this aside, because I sure as hell don't plan to do this again-- tag along as some sort of Tseng stand-in because your head's too far up your own ass to see straight."
The sudden move had taken Rufus completely by surprise. He had never once been touched, nor manhandled by his Turks this way, and the fact that it was so completely shocking ensured the blonde's momentary compliance. This had been a side of Reno that Rufus had not seen before, the side that made it easier to believe that this was the man who had dropped an entire plate on a sector. Forced upright into a seat, he was not quick enough to resist it even as he looked back up at him, astonishment quickly melting into annoyance and anger. He had been taken aback, yes. Frightened, no.
Secure enough in his position, in the man's loyalty, Rufus stared up at him defiantly, his hand gripping Reno's wrist. The angle of it was strange, but Rufus was quick enough to make himself comfortable, his expression deliberately frigid and closed off, shutting the Turk out even now. "Do what again, Reno?" His voice was likewise low, dangerous.
Even now. Rufus, even drunk and wrenched around, even now, retained some degree of aplomb, that defiant poise that really, really made Reno want to hit him.
But at least the man was looking at him, and Reno's eyes flickered down to where Rufus's hand gripped his wrist, back to his eyes. The burst of rage that had thrust him into this position cooled, cooled into something no less volatile, but given a thin veneer of his own brand of indifference.
"Tch, I already told you," Reno said, coolly, but without releasing the President. Matter-of-fact: "I don't appreciate it. I won't stand in, I'm not Tseng and I'm not interested in pretending while you pussy-foot around the complications."
With a clearing, disdainful sound in the back of his throat, Reno let go. He turned, bent, picked up his cigarette: dead, with ash and a blackened spot on the carpet. What a bitch. Crumpling it into his fist, he tucked the remains back into the pocket from which he'd taken the whole thing. As he did, he spoke:
"I know you're not stupid enough for this to be about that curse."
Letting go the moment Reno did, Rufus had no choice but to mull over those words. If it had been anyone else, said person would already have a shotgun levelled at him, but this was his Turk, this was Reno, and all Rufus did was to lean back, fingers rubbing at his temple to stave off a headache that he just knew was coming.
So it was a matter of pride, after all. He didn't miss Reno's expression, nor the meaning that lay behind those words. Letting the silence hang between them for an extended period of time, Rufus watched the redhead's movements, observing, crafting the perfect response. One hand smoothing out the crumpled fabric of his shirt, the messiest that one would ever see him, he remarked.
"If all you had been was a stand in, I would have taken it out on you long ago." A flat, blunt answer even as he ignored the whole thing about pussy-footing. Rufus was no fool, he knew that he needed to leave before things were said, and frankly, he was in no mood to listen to explanations, or to watch them together. It was sickening enough just thinking about it.
Leaning up against the wall, he mused. "No, it's not. I believe I've already answered that question."
Reno didn't return to the bed, not bothering to sit or flop back, not when it was possible he'd want to do it again. Instead, as the silence stretched, Reno walked the room. He strolled up to the NO SMOKING sign, hands shoved into his pockets. He opened the closet door and briefly considered rifling through the President's pockets. He took a moment to lean back his head and stare at the fire alarm, apparently a shoddy piece of work that hadn't felt obliged to acknowledge the smoke.
He would not address the remark -- that he wasn't a stand-in. Reno did not address it, did not blink, did not look, but the words settled into the fabric of his jacket, deepened the shadows in the blue, eased into the slack muscles snug with his shoulder blades.
"Going to humor me, then, or...?" Not that he wanted to play psychiatrist, but If it wasn't about the curse, Reno was at a loss, and it was everything to do with the fact that it was damned hard for him to picture the President as sexual guy. In that way the image had worked: Rufus was never a closed book, but Reno didn't think too hard about what he never figured would concern him. That had changed, a little, after Elena brought up a certain City past, but, Reno mostly forced that out of mind.
His fingers found his neck again, dirty nails scraping on skin beneath the narrow strip of his rat-tail. It had something to do with betrayal, why else could the President be angry, but if it wasn't the curse ... the gears worked remarkably slow for the guy who gossiped often with Rude about this sort of thing.
"Did he hide the Cetra from you too, or are you pretending not to know?" The question had more of an edge to it than Rufus would have originally liked, but too bad. He was watching Reno, focusing on him. Had everyone known save for him? That would probably be quite humiliating, but Rufus bit it down, waiting for an answer, knowing that with that question, he'd given Reno the answer that he had wanted to know. No, it was not just the curse, it was not just that particular betrayal that stung.
How long would he take to figure it out? He didn't miss the way that Reno had not acknowledged his earlier comment, but he let it slide - he was not one who actively sought for approval, and as long as it was said and Reno knew it, it was no business of his whether the Turk believed in that or not. He had humored Reno so far; and now was his turn to grace it with a response.
He had to know how deep, how far it went.
"The Cetra?" Again, the echo. Reno remembered: sweltering heat, humidity, the jungle-forest of Gongaga as he stood in wait with Rude for Avalanche. Who do you like? His hand stayed on his neck, held it now, a kind of musing rub before it moved to brush stray red out of his eyes. Sweeping. He'd thought Rude liked Elena, but it was Tifa -- Elena liked Tseng, much to Reno's surprise, but Tseng liked that Ancient. Then, like a jumpstart, cables from one mind to another that gave the electric kick, his mind moved.
Reno didn't frequent Tseng's apartment, and he paid little attention to the Cetra when she did -- anything, aside from browsing a network post when it came around. There was a familiarity she'd expressed toward Tseng, friendly, which had struck him as odd, but then, Tseng and the Ancient had always been weird. Tseng was weird: a given. Now, he understood. Quick as a flash, he understood two key points: one, Tseng's wet dreams had finally hit fruition, two, the President didn't like it.
It was all he could do not to turn, jolted, gape, and Reno could even guess that it was jealousy, because why else? The Ancient didn't matter to ShinRa anymore. Who or what Tseng chose to fuck outside of the job shouldn't have mattered. But knowing that the President had a boner for the Leader of the Turks and was jealous about his girlfriend didn't equip Reno with the knowledge of how to handle that.
Reno flicked his hair, scratched his neck, and pressed his hands into his pockets. That was it, or he'd fall over from shock, or start laughing, or stare like an idiot.
Or do this: Reno deliberately strung out the wrong interpretation, not without a smirk that asked for it. "Sorry he's getting some and you're not, Boss."
Rufus snorted, once, at the ridiculousness of it all. He knew that Reno had most likely gotten the clue; whether this was deliberate or not was still left to be seen. Perhaps that misreading, that quip of Reno's had put everything in perspective, perhaps not - at this point, Rufus truly didn't care. Focusing on that particular quip, perhaps satisfied that Reno hadn't known of Aerith after all - that meant one less target for his annoyance - Rufus smirked, the curve of his lips reminiscent of a cat that had consumed the canary in its entirety. Eaten it with a song in its heart, no pun intended.
It didn't reach his eyes, cold blue, not revealing what he truly thought. Relaxing back against the wall languorously, the self-assured nature of his never fading one bit, he murmured. "Oh? I can have anyone I damn well want, did you forget? I can come back with a woman in less than three minutes, even in this place." A beat, and he continued, perhaps a little cruel, perhaps a little teasing. Rufus Shinra was a very attractive, charismatic man, and the problem was that he knew it completely. "I can sleep with her here, tonight, and you're going to have to find a new room."
How was that for getting some, Tseng?
Batting his hair from his eyes never really worked, and so it was through interruptions of red that Reno watched the other man, a broken image. That smirk arrived in pieces, that easing against the wall, like a film reel with too many cuts, jumping. Was it cruel? With the ghost of his own smirk on his face, Reno watched, listened to Rufus's self-congratulatory speech. No doubt it was true. And when it finished?
Reno laughed. A harsh, short sound, and his fingers combed at his hair again, lingered as he looked at the man, with a crooked grin that exposing a sliver of teeth. "No, you can't."
It wasn't sing song, but Reno smirked, equally cruel, equally teasing, as he rounded his bed and sat himself on the edge, leaning toward the other, his hands together in his lap. Because Reno hadn't missed the point, after all. "Go find your woman, I don't give a shit. But she won't be Tseng."
Pathetic.
It was pathetic how right Reno was, and how he cut through to the point so easily. There were no words to be said in retort, not for a few moments even as his own smirk eased. Who was he trying to fool, Reno? Or did he wish that Tseng was in this room, because then he would see, he wanted to see if such a thing would cut into him as well. Wasn't it the way it worked, the fact that payback was a bitch?
Tipping his face up towards the ceiling, Rufus idly played with the cloth of his pants, the movements slow and outwardly deliberate. But she won't be Tseng. Damn right it was, and he felt a bitter, almost sour taste in the back of his mouth, a frustration that would not be eased by smartass jokes and straightforward responses. He would do it, he damn well would, just to see, just to let Reno go back to Tseng and tell him just what he did, just what he heard, just how hard Rufus actually fucked her. She wouldn't be Tseng, he knew that she wouldn't be, but Rufus had never expected her to be a substitute. All she was was a tool, a pawn, a means to actually hurt the other man, to see what he would do.
Even then, despite those selfish, childish desires to inflict pain, to watch and see how much Tseng had cared, he couldn't. Reno was right, he couldn't, and it grated on his nerves like nothing else.
"Only because I'm not in the mood for it tonight, that's all."
"Right," Reno returned, the word clipped and leaving no room for skepticism, and that said it all.
And that was that, now he knew, and after a spark of irritation that this, some petty, weird sexual jealousy fueled the President's complications, Reno felt bored by it. This threatened to fuck with the Turks? Bored, annoyed, amused, the answer was pretty simple. Reno flopped back, again, returning to the same position as before: ankles crossed, arms beneath his head, gaze for the ceiling.
The answer was pretty simple. Reno told it in bland tone: "He'd drop her if you asked."
He wouldn't conjecture as to Tseng's feelings for the President, but Reno knew his loyalty, and he doubted Tseng would put the Ancient above the job; he never had before. He suggested it, then, because it was almost the same position, he lifted his unattended hand and began to pick the dirt from the nail. His thumbnail tipped beneath his index nail, flicked.
"But then," still bland, "Bet that wouldn't work. No, it's gotta be him who picks you over her, and not just because it's his job, and blah-blah-blah."
"Hn." Rufus responded noncommittally, finding it strange that Reno, of all people, was pretty much pschoanalyzing the situation. Strange, and needless to say, highly uncomfortable. The blonde was not used to having his affairs speculated on and analyzed, and he knew that much when it came to this particular snit. He would not make Tseng drop her; it was a foolish move that would merely make Tseng resent him in the end, and the other alternative seemed a little more pleasing and unpleasant at the same time.
For once, Rufus did not know what the outcome would be, and he preferred not to think about it, because really, mere speculating would just be a waste of time. A mild shrug, and with no intention to let the Turk know that he'd registered that speculation, Rufus simply said, quite unruffled. "Now, if you don't have any more questions to ask, I'm going to bed. Send my coat to the drycleaner's tomorrow."
"No." Not a question, but a rejection: Reno wasn't finished.
The only reason he didn't sit up and properly face the President? He'd only just lied down, and sloth was finding its familiar nooks and crannies in his bones. Casually, but not as bland, it was casual with something underneath it, the blade beneath the handshake. He began with what seemed a summary: "So you like Tseng and he likes the Ancient and it pisses you off."
But Reno wasn't finished. He wouldn't sit down for this -- figured he probably shouldn't even lie down for it, and so, grudgingly, to emphasize words with actions, sat up. Again, jabbed a needless finger in Rufus's direction. He would not, would not, would not sit down for Rufus holding some immature grudge against Tseng and encouraging disunity when there were too few of them as was.
"You said I'm no stand-in, but I know the only reason you wanted my company tonight is because you wouldn't have Tseng's. And I told you: I won't do it again, sir. Get over it."
No? Rufus' expression darkened. Unused to having his orders rejected, especially by one who was so close to him. He didn't need Reno to keep rubbing it in, to psychoanalyze it when Rufus knew perfectly well how pointless this was. It was childish, but Rufus had never taken kindly to admonishings of any kind. He got what he wanted, when he wanted, and exactly how he wanted it, and this was no exception.
Getting off his bed, his irritation and patience with Reno's obnoxiousness reaching breaking point, he responded coldly, staring down at him. Rufus was not just a person the Turks looked after and guarded with their lives. He was their superior, their boss, and Rufus was not going to stand for this further.
"Hold your tongue, Reno. My earlier instructions were not a request. They were an order." His voice was not raised - Rufus never raised his voice when he was truly angry. His voice was icy, biting, and he saw no need to cut a break from it, even though it was Reno, one of the few who had truly been with him through thick and thin. "If I needed someone to psychoanalyze me, I'll pay a psychiatrist for it."
Reno had been toeing the line, taking running leaps over the line all night. First with the bar, then continuously here, not pulling a single punch, but it wasn't about psychoanalysis. He should have been afraid, or at least made cautious, by how frigid was Rufus's look, the chill of his rage that Reno didn't need to use book-terms to read.
"Sorry, sir," Reno said, not looking up, looking down, at his right knee, a speck of something caught on the blue. He said it ina cheerful way, or the mockery of cheer. "I'm gonna have to disobey." Should have been afraid, but it it was flaunt the line or let Rufus put the Turks at risk, Reno didn't need to think twice. Rufus ShinRa was his superior. Just this once, Reno batted that small, enormous fact aside. He shook off the frostbite.
He stood up, and continued looking down, now at the President, his hands deep in his pockets, that false, casual cheer ongoing. "I'm not psychoanalyzing you, sir, I don't care enough about your sex life. I care about the Turks, and in this City that's me and that's Tseng, and it isn't our Boss turning his back on half of the equation because he's jealous--" that cheer became hard, not cold, too flared with an anger only just contained, and Reno would be rude, "--jealous that half won't suck off his boner. Sir."
Reno flashed a grin, stretched one into his cheeks, that was so entirely devoid of anything happy, or polite, it was more the bestial baring of teeth, an animal signal.
Disgust barely suited what Rufus was feeling right now, the base, entirely inappropriate way of putting things made him almost recoil. Where did Reno get off on saying such things, making it look so disgustingly simple and filthy. Sex, did he really think it was just that primal? And there was the anger, anger at the Turk's reckless assumption, at the conclusion that Rufus Shinra was someone who was merely looking for nothing more than a whore. He'd had enough of those kinds, he'd spent his life rejecting those - they were unworthy, not befitting of someone like him, and this...
Where his temperament had once been icy anger, it was now glacial, burning. It was uncalled for, and that last spiel, the tangent that Reno had gone off on had only served to increase Rufus' loathing for it. Rufus didn't even bother with a smile, or a snarl - it was not worth it. Reno hadn't been around as long as Tseng had, he was not the one who knew what transpired between them hardly less than a month ago.
Was it just sex? Definitely not, and it angered him so completely that Reno would assume something as pointless, as detestable as this. Rufus was many things, but he was not that juvenile. "Don't you dare try to drag me to your level, Reno. When you only understand half the picture, you will do well to keep your mouth shut."
What Reno had failed to translate was that his words were a translation, a summary, and the offensive bit wasn't the important part. That Rufus's rage was becoming more than a little dangerous, that Reno knew, could look at the terrible thing in Rufus's eyes and know he had gone too far too many lines before, that this was so didn't matter because Rufus still wasn't grasping the important part. It was not out of being cowed that Reno remained silent after the daggers in the President's words had rent him, it was not obedience.
Reno took the moment to wonder if it was, in fact, impossible to make Rufus understand what was so simple to him, an error, a miscommunication, the translation between the President and the Turk a failure. He took the moment and the moment dropped, and fingers snapped, and Reno lost his head. It tilted back, his teeth were a glimmer in the slit of his mouth as he inhaled, bared.
"My level?" Reno asked, and it wasn't a shout; his eyes flashed. He leaned in, his exhale not two inches from the President's face. The longer he spoke, the angrier he became. "Don't give me orders when you're too busy pretending you're too good for half of what you want to understand half the picture, Rufus. I'm looking out for the Turks, you're looking out for yourself. Fine -- that's our job, that's what we want you to do, but not at the cost of the Turks. My level?"
And his tone change, his to-the-point, this is the problem, this is the answer, the Turks, in simple. Something born of the fury that clenched his fists and ground his teeth, indignant, lashing out against his level and that disgust. "So you don't want it? President's too good for it? You don't want Tseng to do this?"
Not like ever-reverent Tseng would do it, because Reno was not Tseng. Reno took two fistfuls of Rufus's shirt and didn't give either of them a moment to think it over. One sharp yank and Rufus's mouth was crushed against his, hard, there wasn't a grace or kindness to it, and Reno didn't mean for it to be good -- wanted the way their teeth banged together, the way it hurt, wanted it to be too brief before he released, flinging open his hands and wrenching back his body, and spat:
"Of course not."
Stumbling back when Reno yanked away, the surprise of it had caught Rufus off guard. It was rough, harsh, and too fast for him to properly register what Reno just did. Too fleeting, too fast - it was the message behind it, the taunt and the insult rubbed in too hard. The kiss didn't matter, there was no meaning behind it, none save for what had just been levelled at him.
Reno was not Tseng, Reno would never be Tseng. The guards guarded themselves, this was a principle that he had grasped long ago, but this knowledge did nothing to abate the fury that came in after the initial shock wore off. He did not wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, he would offer Reno no such satisfaction even as he knew that there was probably a small cut behind the lip thanks to it. Then again, that was highly unimportant. He had never once been faced with such a situation before. It was volatile, with all the potential to spiral even more out of control. He could not risk this, even through his anger, he would not risk losing this Turk, and that knowledge infuriated him all the more.
A breath, and he reined in his rage, tampering it to a mere seething tone as he finally spoke, buttoning up his shirt, his face a mask of frosty indifference. "If you follow me out now, I will kill you." A threat, a promise, a demand, one reminiscent of an angry, wounded tiger that needed time but was too proud to admit to it. A few strides took him out the door, and one swift action slammed it shut, letting it resound, ignoring the fact that his coat was still left in its hanger.
As if he would. Reno had looked at the President after the act with fierce indifference, critical eyes and swallowed fury, his level, the violence of his brief assault hadn't abated that. Your level. A part of him thought, wild and raging and unappeased, that it was good for Rufus to leave, because Reno might have met the threat, and Tseng would kill Reno if Reno killed the President. So Reno watched his back, watched his retreat after the swift button-job, the iced over declaration.
The door slammed and Reno spat. The globule of saliva fell near to the mark of the cigarette's end in the carpet, and Reno leveled a kick at the bedside table that nearly broke his foot; dented the wood, and he didn't care a whit if the management cared. He kicked it again, focusing on the pain that throbbed in his foot, your level. Sucking breath in, expelling it hard, Reno made a short try for calm -- he leaned suddenly over the bed, his full upper-body weight in his fists that dug into the mattress, eyes gazing down at the floral pattern.
If he wasn't over it by tomorrow, he'd at least pretend: that he knew. "Fucker," Reno told the empty hotel room, matter-of-factly rimmed in rage. His level.
Rating; Heavy PG-13 and light R for content
Characters; Reno
dutyderelict, Rufus Shinraarrogantpenance Summary; Rufus is livid and perhaps a little jealous when he finds out that Tseng has been hiding Aerith from him all along. Reno, of course, is a lot less than helpful. Too many lines are crossed, fire meets ice, and it's going to take a miracle to make this all right again.
Log;
Maybe taking the glossy, former President of the corporation that dominated an entire world to a bar wasn't one of Reno's brighter ideas. Maybe he could have picked a place of some quality, too, not where when Reno nudged his elbow onto the bartop to swing his fingers into a drink order, something stuck to his jacket and threatened to rip off a layer.
There was a residue of some ominous kind on almost every surface; on first noticing it Reno had happily conjectured, aloud, to his present company, that every spill of sludge and alcohol in the history of this bar in the City had gathered, unwiped, a testament to time and debauchery. That didn't begin to cover the bleak lighting, the quality of the glasses, the toothless man behind the counter. Mayhaps Reno could have picked a nicer place, a place actually on the map and not tucked into some dismal corner of the underground.
Could've, but that'd mean making concessions, and if he was going to have to take the President around on what he'd have liked to think of as his free hours, he'd make a few stands of his own. He was sure it was good for the guy, or maybe he just thought it was funny, like the shot of absinthe he'd calmly slid (as much as anything could slide on that counter) Rufus's way as Reno downed half a sloppier mug of cheap beer. Bottoms up.
It was at that moment when Rufus staunchly decided that he hated Reno. And despised that taste of his with a burning passion, because - if he had been a betting man - he would have bet that the table was actually alive and oozing, what with all the things that were spilt on the surface. Far too used to elegance and luxury even after the fall of ShinRa, Rufus was most unused to his current surroundings. It set his teeth on the edge, and his lips thinned just a little despite his outwardly neutral disposition.
The next time Reno found it prudent to decide the destination, Rufus thought bleakly, catching the glass of absinthe with two fingers gingerly, watching with sick fascination as the glass bottom scraped up something that had most likely been alive; he would hold the man's paycheck hostage, threaten to blow a hole through it, and say that despite what it looked like, it damn well was still an autocracy, democracy be damned.
Democracy was the very thing that led to this, after all.
Staring at the liquid that was sloshing in the shot glass, the blonde President said imperiously, holding it up to whatever dim light there was. "Is this rat poison?"
Given that his jacket had already been exposed to the harsher elements of this pub, Reno wasn't very concerned about setting his elbows onto the bartop as he framed the mug with his arms. This way, hands peaking below his chin, serving as a prop, he could slouch in comfort -- long, knobby spine forming a smooth, dramatic arc beneath the blue - this way, he could glance left from beneath wisps of shocking red and observe his boss.
It was a dangerous thing to do, really, as it proved very hard for Reno to keep a serious face -- to not simply dissolve into laughter and slip right off the bar stool. Rufus held up the glass and Reno only just resisted the snort.
"Yes," he replied, voice completely bland, serious. "It's part of my master plan to poison you."
Reno took another swig from his mug.
A pause, and Rufus contemplated his options. He could always return it to Reno, or ingest it - which would probably prove to be better on his currently irritable, cranky disposition - or drop it and see if it would implode upon impact, because frankly, it really did look like something resembling mako waste.
Looking back at Reno and that expression, he lifted the glass to his lips, barely pressing, and drained the entire thing in a practiced, fluid shot, the strength of the absinthe burning his throat and giving the system a good kick.
Just what he'd needed, something strong enough to forget, if only for a moment. Turning to the bartender, he said sharply, careful to keep his pristine white sleeve off the counter. "Three more."
Watching, though only with his eyes casual against the rounded edges of his sockets, observing the President's progress or regress out of the corners of his eyes. The comparison to mako waste should have but had not struck him, perhaps because of Reno's familiarity with the drink, but had it, he'd have had to had a long chuckle about the irony. He watched: Rufus knocked it back, dropped the glass, requested three more, and there wasn't a spec on him. What would it take to get it soiled by sunrise? It would've been impressive if it hadn't been Rufus, and instead, Reno grinned.
It was a brief, fleeting expression, teeth exposed in his thin face and then slid over again, before he jerked his head a hard right and let something pop in his neck in satisfying muscle and bone grind. He finished his mug, let his mouth have the back of his hand, and nodded to the tender.
"Throw me a few, too." He couldn't be outdrank by The President.
Glancing over at Reno, already knowing that the Turk would react like that - he'd known Reno long enough and well enough to know what he would do, sometimes - Rufus took the glasses that were set down in front of him, pleased to be occupying himself with the glasses instead of on a certain Wutaian and his own loathsome doubts. It was disgusting, really, that he would react this way, that he would let his own bodyguard cause such a thing, that bitter taste of jealousy that he was all too eager to wash down with the alcohol.
It was with that thought in mind that he drained the next one almost immediately, setting the glass down with a 'thunk' that was louder than usual, the jolt of the absinthe hitting him hard. He liked it, he liked the few moments of reprieve that it offered him, the way it cleaned off those thoughts and those doubts that were unbefitting of a President, of a man who held the whole world in an iron grip.
Right until the world fell away from under him and made him realize that these Turks were all that he could ever really depend on. All that he really had.
Shaking it off obstinately, he raises his third glass with elegant fingers that were only slightly trembling, only slightly. A smile, smooth and almost teasing, and he murmured. "Outdrinking me today, Reno?"
Reno made little effort to disguise the fact that his attention, when focused, was mostly on the President. Not fixation, no, and he couldn't even file a complaint regarding an inability to relax when forced to babysit his boss, not if the heavy angle of his slouch was any indication. His eyes did not wander, though they looked to wander - he allowed them to slide left, peer at the way the next radioactive cup disappeared beneath that imperturbable front.
Now, Reno did snort, lifting his first shot glass, almost a toast, his eyes caught on the quiver in Rufus's fingers. "I won't be behind for long, sir. It'll be a sinch."
Back went his head, exposing neck and ruffled collar as the fluid disappeared, but his eyes didn't move. The young President, Reno knew, had gathered quite a reputation even before he made it to top of the world. Popular opinion said he never bled or cried, did not emote so much as calculate, but Reno -- Reno flattered himself a little.
Maybe it was a development of the years after Meteor than anything before, but proximity and a decent set of eyes taught him that even at his most stolid, Rufus was never a closed book. Reno wasn't shit at reading people; it was more that, generally, he didn't give a shit to do it.
Rufus was never a closed book, and Reno figured he had him pegged. He could pick the dart and sling it for a bullseye.
This was the way it should be, good, old-fashioned competition. Rufus refused to lose in anything, even if it meant putting a hole in his liver even as he knocked back his third glass with growing ease, not even bothering to look at the color. It was strong, it was a distraction, and it was all that he needed.
Were his Turk's eyes on him? Rufus had little doubt that Reno already had a speculation as to what was wrong. Reno had been many things, but Rufus had never once made the mistake of assuming that he was incompetent.
Far from that. The Turks meant something. Unlike SOLDIER, these were the elite; he knew that Reno was perfectly capable of offing this whole establishment and making sure that it never reared its disgusting head again upon command, and that in itself spoke volumes. He didn't meet the other's eyes - he refused to hand that confirmation to him that easily; it was pride, it was all pride and Rufus was nothing without the pride and steel that laced his very being.
"Yeah?" He asked silkily, feeling as if his insides were going to burn, focusing on the mild pain, savouring it, eyeing the fourth glass sitting in front of him speculatively. "What if I can beat you today, hm?"
Reno eyed Rufus for a long moment, eyed more directly, his chin tilted more in his superior's direction. His stare did not blink, received no lidded interruption, nor did his eyebrows quirk to betray his thought process. In essence: Was he insane? The President went on in a clear, terrible bluff, as if he was the unimpeachable champion of imbibing the toxic stuff. But Reno had little doubt that both men were aware of certain facts of one another's habits, that one frequented bars and one did not.
The moment passed. Reno had little inclination to state the obvious, so he lifted one bony shoulder into a shrug, a crook grin cutting a razor's path across his face. "What if? I'll take those odds. Set the terms, boss."
Another shot disappeared without a flinch, as if Reno had inhaled and the stuff was air.
It was an obvious bluff, and from the looks of it, Rufus knew that Reno had come to the same realization. But even then, it didn't matter. Distractions, distractions. He was already feeling it, the buzz from the absinthe and the numbing of his senses; it was discreet, but it was there. The fourth glass, a polished order for another three, and Rufus was left trailing his fingers over the rim of the cloudy shot glass, distracted for a moment.
Just a bare moment, a thought spared for something else other than a drink, and blue eyes flicked back to Reno's face, registering the smile. The man's vivid red hair had definitely set him apart from the crowd, all right. Cleaning off his fingers on a napkin - the only clean thing in this establishment, he crumpled it up and tossed it aside, picking up the next glass when it was set down in front of him. "No terms. And when we're done, you're telling me why you decided to bring me to this damned hole."
Flapping a hand at the bartender, Reno registered his own order -- though, from the movements of the man and the gaping in his face that looked vaguely like a satisfied grin, the man had gotten the gist of the going, and the gist was, he'd be making a pretty penny off these two.
Reno wasn't shit at reading people, and Rufus was never a closed book, but Reno was no Rufus ShinRa expert. He could pick up a thing or two and, knocking holes through them, string together a piece of logic. Unaccustomed to the President at a bar, or drinking more than a touch of brandy or wine, he could not pick a moment for when the poised man began to bleed enough fume to proclaim that yeah, he was damned tipsy.
Taking down another glass; with a warmth in his stomach and a burning in his throat but fairly clear eyes, Reno outright laughed. "I'll tell you if I lose. But, when you lose, boss, I'll have a few questions of my own."
Let the game begin.
The game ended, perhaps, when Rufus finished the last glass, and just knew that if he took another drop, he would never make it out of the door without shredding every last bit of his dignity. It ended when he called for water, when he didn't care if his sleeve was marred with filth even as he leaned his elbow on the table and leaned his forehead a little against his fingers. Breathe once, twice, deep ones, settling the feeling of dizziness. His fingers trembled, and he mastered it, raking them through his hair, pushing them back from his eyes.
The water made him feel sick, almost bloated, but he drank it down anyway; he needed it. Two beats, three, and he finally spoke, setting the glass down. There was a quaver, a slur that was barely there when he began to speak, but he was a Shinra, and he took a fierce pride in the fact that vulnerability was never a part of his vocabulary. It was gone in the next instant. "Rent a hotel room."
Making bars a habit with Rude didn't mean Reno could slide through over five shots of absinthe and remain unaffected, or even a little tipsy. His elbows had become one, upper arm flattened against the bar top and supporting greater, ever-slouching weight. His vision bore a certain distortion, a hazy fog and swim, tilting, at every edge. Sharper colors, or duller colors -- in this place, he couldn't be sure which was what, but intoxication was no stranger to Reno, and he wasn't a stupid drunk.
Not yet -- Reno knew his limits, knew how to surpass Rufus without tipping over wasted, and also knew that even if his limits were short of the need, he'd have had to pretend, so to make sure he was of sound enough mind to keep the President secure.
He could've had more. Not for the game, but if it were Rude, they'd spend a few hours with beer and otherwise, bullshitting or silent or flipping cards; Reno'd almost always lose. He wasn't bad, but Rude was better.
Caught the quaver; filed it away with a smirk that lingered just long enough to show Rufus what was what and Reno was the winner. Rufus made his command and Reno allowed his eyebrows the hike up his forehead, toll free. The alcohol felt heavy on his tongue, but he made the needed adjustments to open his mouth, to make easy words. What was going to be a call on the man's judgment became something else as Reno's mind clicked the pieces into place, and he knew why the President wanted a hotel and not his own room, and Reno had half a mind to punch him in his damned prissy face.
But that may've been the alcohol talking. Another half-shrug of bone through navy, and Reno looked to the tender. "Water and we're paying."
After the water, after the money changed hands, Reno slid off his stool and didn't need to rip his sleeves free, didn't take long for the ground to be steady and not rocking under his feet, cast a glance over his shoulder with the bone projectile of chin championing the way. "Good for standing, sir?"
Rufus' footing was uncertain, wavering, and his head refused to heed him even as he slid off his seat, a touch less gracefully than Reno did, and took a little longer to adjust himself, his hand gripping the counter as if it was a lifeline of some kind. Rufus was a good drinker - he had to, for the sake of taking advantage of prime opportunities while other business partners were drunk; often, really, by his hand. A drink, a flourish of papers, and the deal was closed without Rufus having so much as a hangover the next morning.
However, this was different, the alcohol was already taking a toll on him - the water had alleviated it a little - and he shook his head hard to clear away the fuzziness that was creeping up on him. Most unbecoming, really, but at this point - to coin one of Reno's phrases - he didn't give a shit. His steps were shaky, and he fought not to stumble, already catching up to the redhead. Running an unsteady hand through his hair again and looking up, he took another deep breath - full of stale cigarettes and cheap beer - before stepping up beside Reno, decidedly a little less firm than he would have liked.
"I'm fine, Reno. Get me out of this place and I'd consider not heaping paperwork on you as soon as I can find some."
His glance took in these indiosyncrasies of Rufus's physical composure, the hand actually on the foul counter, his unsteadiness, the concentration that tried so hard to disguise all of it. Reno broke another eggshell grin and held out an arm he knew would be refused. "Y'can lean on me, if you like."
Always the paperwork; Reno ignored the threat and chuckled to himself, pulling back his arm before it could be refused, and walked from the bar. Tempting as it was to continue the scandal and find an equally gross hotel, in case Reno ended up getting any sleep, he'd rather not deal with suspicious sheets, thin walls, insects or worse. The area wasn't good for quality, so they ended up walking a few underground blocks, until the light's became less neon and dingy and a little kinder on irises accustomed to the dark.
Sauntering inside, Reno stepped up to the counter and ordered a room, assuming he'd continue to take care of the menial business of that kind rather than have Rufus have at it.
Bemused, Rufus was glad that at least this City got something right. An acceptable room, with two beds, nice and comfortable. He didn't have an issue with sharing a room with Reno - they'd been practically doing that in Healin while he recuperated. Sitting on the bed, grateful for the reprieve so that he didn't have to deal with the world spinning, he began to take off his shoes, fumbling a little with it before he managed to get them off.
Dizzy, tipsy, but Rufus managed to shake it off as best as he could, forcing himself to remain lucid. A drunk President was never a good thing. Looking back at Reno, blue eyes clouded over nonetheless, he finally spoke, slipping out of his coat and holding it out to Reno; it was a manner of habit, and Rufus saw no need to break it even then. Reno was his Turk, his own, and the only one who hadn't managed to turn against him so far, City curse or not. He acknowledged it, but took no pleasure in that knowledge. Sooner or later in this City, who knew what was going to happen?
"Ask your questions, if you want."
Accepting the jacket, Reno looked at it for a long, blank moment. Then, with a shrug, he turned to the closet, reasonably pleased to open the door and find a hanger.
Then, Reno wasted no time: he walked into the room and flopped down on to the bed untouched by Rufus. A single movement; at one moment he was standing beside the bed, his tall frame as ever slouched, at the next he was on his back, arms folded beneath his head and his ankles crossed. He hadn't bothered to remove his shoes, the heels of which kicked against the metal end frame. Cheek against his sleeve, he turned his face toward Rufus, then-- to the ceiling.
Shifting, Reno freed an arm to claw his fingers into a pocket, searching. "I'll make it real easy," he said, tempering how loose the alcohol made his tongue with little effort. Ideally, Rufus would have less success. "See, you and I both know out of the four of us, I'm the last one you'd ask for a little company. Elena's gone and Rude's never been, at least as long as I have. But, with all due respect, sir, you're both the same breed of uptight."
Victory! A cigarette wrenched from the depths of some lost box, and a matchbook. "Tseng's in your black book. Why?"
Why? That was a very good question. Rufus took his time to answer, considering all available options. He was not surprised by it; Reno was far more intelligent that he made himself out to be. Hearing the scrabbling noises from the other man, Rufus patted the covers on his bed, pleased to see that at least it was of superior quality. Unbuttoning his shirt, but not slipping it off, Rufus simply shrugged. What was he supposed to say, that he was upset?
Jealous? It did not befit his image, and Rufus was not eager to ruin it. Looking over at Reno for a brief moment, studying him in return, he remarked. "Don't undermine yourself." A beat, then. "There were complications."
There, that ought to do it.
Thinking about it again, the lack of trust returned to him despite his best efforts, Tseng's concealment of the Cetra, and those rumors that had never been truly gone, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being cheated somehow, and Rufus had never once tolerated being made a fool that way, no matter who it was.
The cigarette slid between his lips, the smell of sulfur struck the air as the matchpoint became flame, licking at the end of rolled paper and chemical, tar. Reno wasn't addicted, or, wasn't a chain-smoker. He inhaled and looked askance, at the sign beside the window, nailed in plastic into the wall. No, what Reno liked more than the nicotine was watching the "NO SMOKING" sign waver through the smoke.
"Complications?" Reno looked away from the sign, to the adjacent bed. He grimaced around the cigarette, a kind of exasperation. As if he'd be content to let it drop at that? Did the President think Reno thought so little of the Turks and their necessary connection? "I should've made you drink more."
Exhale, two streams of gray through his nose, offended olfactory cells. "If it's only that damned curse, Mr. President, you might be finding your way back alone."
Just the curse? No, it was not just the curse. Leaning back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling, he focused on tracing the tiny little patterns above it. At least it was not as ridiculously furnished as the Gold Saucer, and that was a small comfort.
A few breaths, and he ignored the scent of smoke that now lingered in the air, familiar and cloying. Closing his eyes for a moment, he wondered if he was going to get a terrible hangover tomorrow. At this point, he didn't give a damn, the current state of near-lucidity and suppressed drunkenness was a good place to be in.
Wryly, Rufus contemplated that if this had been him a few years back, it would never have come to this stage. He would merely throw himself into ShinRa's matters and dealt with things the only way he knew how; but this City had a way of taking it away, and even with his many 'meetings' with shop owners and negotiations; it was paltry, child's play, something that would only serve to while the time away before he could return. Idle times led to more thoughts, more thoughts led to explorations of feelings long buried, long forgotten.
A chuckle, one that was hardly meant, was Rufus' initial response to his Turk's quip. "If you had, I'm sure that I would be in no position to answer such questions." A glance, brief and fleeting even as he remarked. "It's more complicated than that curse. Why the interest, Reno?"
Looking again at the ceiling, Reno saw no patterns. Blank space. His eyes narrowed at the question, irritation that worked the muscles for his lids, irritation that pressed his molars together but not to grind, that left an indent of a canine in the paper of the cigarette. He echoed the question, flatline: "Why?"
Near-skeletal fingers took hold of the stick, freeing his mouth, and his narrowed eyes darted down to where ash built and paper wasted. "Do you seriously need to ask?"
Geeze. Reno sat up, another quick, fluid movement; at one moment flat back, at the other sitting up, legs over the side of the bed and feet flat on the ground, back curved and a hand scratching dirty nails over the back of his neck, the other cradling the cigarette. He looked at the sign; slid his gaze directly to the President.
"I can't have the President at odds with the fucking Leader of the Turks, sir."
At odds? That was definitely one way of putting it. It seemed like upon his entrance into this City, the tranquility that lay between them came few and far between. To be fair, it had forced them - no, him - to come to terms with some things, like his interest and his feelings for the stoic Wutaian man. Then again, the City apparently liked getting off on negative feelings, because just as quickly, he'd had to find out about Aerith at the most inconvenient time.
It set his teeth on edge, annoyed him like nothing else did, and he closed his eyes, isolating those feelings, shutting it off. He didn't need them; he didn't. Not in Midgar, not here either.
Now, if only he was provided with a more effective means to lie to himself, all would be well. The fall of ShinRa had forced him to see many things he had merely glossed over before, to face them and let them change him, no matter how mild it was. He still remained the calculative, manipulative President, but with more than two near death experiences, it made him more human. Just a little.
"Not now, Reno." Rufus' response was uncharacteristically terse; he was already tired of the questioning, tired of thinking about it, of knowing that Rufus fucking Shinra could have any damn person he wanted, but not have the one he needed, and what was the point in that, really? He was not predisposed to moping, and he was definitely not going to start now.
It almost stupefied him. Reno waited and got that, three words, the rejection of the issue, and it left him staring, blank, his jaw slack -- ready for the cigarette but denied it by the tense pause of his hand.
Contrary to popular belief, Reno was a patient man, difficult to perturb, slow to outright anger -- these things were mostly true. A few things could set him, quick as a set of snapping fingers, into a rage. A few things could do it, and most of those few revolved around Reno's overblown ego, his pride, and staring across the small space at the President, Rufus ShinRa, fingers snapped.
"Not now, Reno?" Another echo, low and dangerous, and his teeth gritted now, clenched hard enough to hurt and numb. "You're the boss but you don't flick me aside," like a fly.
And looking at the man pissed him off, still lying there, not even looking at him, so Reno stood up, sucked the cigarette before dropping it and crossing the distance. Reno could've stood to have a greater respect for authority -- maybe it was the City, more likely it was anger that sent a hand to bunch the front of Rufus's open shirt and wrenched him to a seat, though the angle was awkward. ... Yeah, he'd be in for it.
"Sorry, sir, but I'm not letting you brush this aside, because I sure as hell don't plan to do this again-- tag along as some sort of Tseng stand-in because your head's too far up your own ass to see straight."
The sudden move had taken Rufus completely by surprise. He had never once been touched, nor manhandled by his Turks this way, and the fact that it was so completely shocking ensured the blonde's momentary compliance. This had been a side of Reno that Rufus had not seen before, the side that made it easier to believe that this was the man who had dropped an entire plate on a sector. Forced upright into a seat, he was not quick enough to resist it even as he looked back up at him, astonishment quickly melting into annoyance and anger. He had been taken aback, yes. Frightened, no.
Secure enough in his position, in the man's loyalty, Rufus stared up at him defiantly, his hand gripping Reno's wrist. The angle of it was strange, but Rufus was quick enough to make himself comfortable, his expression deliberately frigid and closed off, shutting the Turk out even now. "Do what again, Reno?" His voice was likewise low, dangerous.
Even now. Rufus, even drunk and wrenched around, even now, retained some degree of aplomb, that defiant poise that really, really made Reno want to hit him.
But at least the man was looking at him, and Reno's eyes flickered down to where Rufus's hand gripped his wrist, back to his eyes. The burst of rage that had thrust him into this position cooled, cooled into something no less volatile, but given a thin veneer of his own brand of indifference.
"Tch, I already told you," Reno said, coolly, but without releasing the President. Matter-of-fact: "I don't appreciate it. I won't stand in, I'm not Tseng and I'm not interested in pretending while you pussy-foot around the complications."
With a clearing, disdainful sound in the back of his throat, Reno let go. He turned, bent, picked up his cigarette: dead, with ash and a blackened spot on the carpet. What a bitch. Crumpling it into his fist, he tucked the remains back into the pocket from which he'd taken the whole thing. As he did, he spoke:
"I know you're not stupid enough for this to be about that curse."
Letting go the moment Reno did, Rufus had no choice but to mull over those words. If it had been anyone else, said person would already have a shotgun levelled at him, but this was his Turk, this was Reno, and all Rufus did was to lean back, fingers rubbing at his temple to stave off a headache that he just knew was coming.
So it was a matter of pride, after all. He didn't miss Reno's expression, nor the meaning that lay behind those words. Letting the silence hang between them for an extended period of time, Rufus watched the redhead's movements, observing, crafting the perfect response. One hand smoothing out the crumpled fabric of his shirt, the messiest that one would ever see him, he remarked.
"If all you had been was a stand in, I would have taken it out on you long ago." A flat, blunt answer even as he ignored the whole thing about pussy-footing. Rufus was no fool, he knew that he needed to leave before things were said, and frankly, he was in no mood to listen to explanations, or to watch them together. It was sickening enough just thinking about it.
Leaning up against the wall, he mused. "No, it's not. I believe I've already answered that question."
Reno didn't return to the bed, not bothering to sit or flop back, not when it was possible he'd want to do it again. Instead, as the silence stretched, Reno walked the room. He strolled up to the NO SMOKING sign, hands shoved into his pockets. He opened the closet door and briefly considered rifling through the President's pockets. He took a moment to lean back his head and stare at the fire alarm, apparently a shoddy piece of work that hadn't felt obliged to acknowledge the smoke.
He would not address the remark -- that he wasn't a stand-in. Reno did not address it, did not blink, did not look, but the words settled into the fabric of his jacket, deepened the shadows in the blue, eased into the slack muscles snug with his shoulder blades.
"Going to humor me, then, or...?" Not that he wanted to play psychiatrist, but If it wasn't about the curse, Reno was at a loss, and it was everything to do with the fact that it was damned hard for him to picture the President as sexual guy. In that way the image had worked: Rufus was never a closed book, but Reno didn't think too hard about what he never figured would concern him. That had changed, a little, after Elena brought up a certain City past, but, Reno mostly forced that out of mind.
His fingers found his neck again, dirty nails scraping on skin beneath the narrow strip of his rat-tail. It had something to do with betrayal, why else could the President be angry, but if it wasn't the curse ... the gears worked remarkably slow for the guy who gossiped often with Rude about this sort of thing.
"Did he hide the Cetra from you too, or are you pretending not to know?" The question had more of an edge to it than Rufus would have originally liked, but too bad. He was watching Reno, focusing on him. Had everyone known save for him? That would probably be quite humiliating, but Rufus bit it down, waiting for an answer, knowing that with that question, he'd given Reno the answer that he had wanted to know. No, it was not just the curse, it was not just that particular betrayal that stung.
How long would he take to figure it out? He didn't miss the way that Reno had not acknowledged his earlier comment, but he let it slide - he was not one who actively sought for approval, and as long as it was said and Reno knew it, it was no business of his whether the Turk believed in that or not. He had humored Reno so far; and now was his turn to grace it with a response.
He had to know how deep, how far it went.
"The Cetra?" Again, the echo. Reno remembered: sweltering heat, humidity, the jungle-forest of Gongaga as he stood in wait with Rude for Avalanche. Who do you like? His hand stayed on his neck, held it now, a kind of musing rub before it moved to brush stray red out of his eyes. Sweeping. He'd thought Rude liked Elena, but it was Tifa -- Elena liked Tseng, much to Reno's surprise, but Tseng liked that Ancient. Then, like a jumpstart, cables from one mind to another that gave the electric kick, his mind moved.
Reno didn't frequent Tseng's apartment, and he paid little attention to the Cetra when she did -- anything, aside from browsing a network post when it came around. There was a familiarity she'd expressed toward Tseng, friendly, which had struck him as odd, but then, Tseng and the Ancient had always been weird. Tseng was weird: a given. Now, he understood. Quick as a flash, he understood two key points: one, Tseng's wet dreams had finally hit fruition, two, the President didn't like it.
It was all he could do not to turn, jolted, gape, and Reno could even guess that it was jealousy, because why else? The Ancient didn't matter to ShinRa anymore. Who or what Tseng chose to fuck outside of the job shouldn't have mattered. But knowing that the President had a boner for the Leader of the Turks and was jealous about his girlfriend didn't equip Reno with the knowledge of how to handle that.
Reno flicked his hair, scratched his neck, and pressed his hands into his pockets. That was it, or he'd fall over from shock, or start laughing, or stare like an idiot.
Or do this: Reno deliberately strung out the wrong interpretation, not without a smirk that asked for it. "Sorry he's getting some and you're not, Boss."
Rufus snorted, once, at the ridiculousness of it all. He knew that Reno had most likely gotten the clue; whether this was deliberate or not was still left to be seen. Perhaps that misreading, that quip of Reno's had put everything in perspective, perhaps not - at this point, Rufus truly didn't care. Focusing on that particular quip, perhaps satisfied that Reno hadn't known of Aerith after all - that meant one less target for his annoyance - Rufus smirked, the curve of his lips reminiscent of a cat that had consumed the canary in its entirety. Eaten it with a song in its heart, no pun intended.
It didn't reach his eyes, cold blue, not revealing what he truly thought. Relaxing back against the wall languorously, the self-assured nature of his never fading one bit, he murmured. "Oh? I can have anyone I damn well want, did you forget? I can come back with a woman in less than three minutes, even in this place." A beat, and he continued, perhaps a little cruel, perhaps a little teasing. Rufus Shinra was a very attractive, charismatic man, and the problem was that he knew it completely. "I can sleep with her here, tonight, and you're going to have to find a new room."
How was that for getting some, Tseng?
Batting his hair from his eyes never really worked, and so it was through interruptions of red that Reno watched the other man, a broken image. That smirk arrived in pieces, that easing against the wall, like a film reel with too many cuts, jumping. Was it cruel? With the ghost of his own smirk on his face, Reno watched, listened to Rufus's self-congratulatory speech. No doubt it was true. And when it finished?
Reno laughed. A harsh, short sound, and his fingers combed at his hair again, lingered as he looked at the man, with a crooked grin that exposing a sliver of teeth. "No, you can't."
It wasn't sing song, but Reno smirked, equally cruel, equally teasing, as he rounded his bed and sat himself on the edge, leaning toward the other, his hands together in his lap. Because Reno hadn't missed the point, after all. "Go find your woman, I don't give a shit. But she won't be Tseng."
Pathetic.
It was pathetic how right Reno was, and how he cut through to the point so easily. There were no words to be said in retort, not for a few moments even as his own smirk eased. Who was he trying to fool, Reno? Or did he wish that Tseng was in this room, because then he would see, he wanted to see if such a thing would cut into him as well. Wasn't it the way it worked, the fact that payback was a bitch?
Tipping his face up towards the ceiling, Rufus idly played with the cloth of his pants, the movements slow and outwardly deliberate. But she won't be Tseng. Damn right it was, and he felt a bitter, almost sour taste in the back of his mouth, a frustration that would not be eased by smartass jokes and straightforward responses. He would do it, he damn well would, just to see, just to let Reno go back to Tseng and tell him just what he did, just what he heard, just how hard Rufus actually fucked her. She wouldn't be Tseng, he knew that she wouldn't be, but Rufus had never expected her to be a substitute. All she was was a tool, a pawn, a means to actually hurt the other man, to see what he would do.
Even then, despite those selfish, childish desires to inflict pain, to watch and see how much Tseng had cared, he couldn't. Reno was right, he couldn't, and it grated on his nerves like nothing else.
"Only because I'm not in the mood for it tonight, that's all."
"Right," Reno returned, the word clipped and leaving no room for skepticism, and that said it all.
And that was that, now he knew, and after a spark of irritation that this, some petty, weird sexual jealousy fueled the President's complications, Reno felt bored by it. This threatened to fuck with the Turks? Bored, annoyed, amused, the answer was pretty simple. Reno flopped back, again, returning to the same position as before: ankles crossed, arms beneath his head, gaze for the ceiling.
The answer was pretty simple. Reno told it in bland tone: "He'd drop her if you asked."
He wouldn't conjecture as to Tseng's feelings for the President, but Reno knew his loyalty, and he doubted Tseng would put the Ancient above the job; he never had before. He suggested it, then, because it was almost the same position, he lifted his unattended hand and began to pick the dirt from the nail. His thumbnail tipped beneath his index nail, flicked.
"But then," still bland, "Bet that wouldn't work. No, it's gotta be him who picks you over her, and not just because it's his job, and blah-blah-blah."
"Hn." Rufus responded noncommittally, finding it strange that Reno, of all people, was pretty much pschoanalyzing the situation. Strange, and needless to say, highly uncomfortable. The blonde was not used to having his affairs speculated on and analyzed, and he knew that much when it came to this particular snit. He would not make Tseng drop her; it was a foolish move that would merely make Tseng resent him in the end, and the other alternative seemed a little more pleasing and unpleasant at the same time.
For once, Rufus did not know what the outcome would be, and he preferred not to think about it, because really, mere speculating would just be a waste of time. A mild shrug, and with no intention to let the Turk know that he'd registered that speculation, Rufus simply said, quite unruffled. "Now, if you don't have any more questions to ask, I'm going to bed. Send my coat to the drycleaner's tomorrow."
"No." Not a question, but a rejection: Reno wasn't finished.
The only reason he didn't sit up and properly face the President? He'd only just lied down, and sloth was finding its familiar nooks and crannies in his bones. Casually, but not as bland, it was casual with something underneath it, the blade beneath the handshake. He began with what seemed a summary: "So you like Tseng and he likes the Ancient and it pisses you off."
But Reno wasn't finished. He wouldn't sit down for this -- figured he probably shouldn't even lie down for it, and so, grudgingly, to emphasize words with actions, sat up. Again, jabbed a needless finger in Rufus's direction. He would not, would not, would not sit down for Rufus holding some immature grudge against Tseng and encouraging disunity when there were too few of them as was.
"You said I'm no stand-in, but I know the only reason you wanted my company tonight is because you wouldn't have Tseng's. And I told you: I won't do it again, sir. Get over it."
No? Rufus' expression darkened. Unused to having his orders rejected, especially by one who was so close to him. He didn't need Reno to keep rubbing it in, to psychoanalyze it when Rufus knew perfectly well how pointless this was. It was childish, but Rufus had never taken kindly to admonishings of any kind. He got what he wanted, when he wanted, and exactly how he wanted it, and this was no exception.
Getting off his bed, his irritation and patience with Reno's obnoxiousness reaching breaking point, he responded coldly, staring down at him. Rufus was not just a person the Turks looked after and guarded with their lives. He was their superior, their boss, and Rufus was not going to stand for this further.
"Hold your tongue, Reno. My earlier instructions were not a request. They were an order." His voice was not raised - Rufus never raised his voice when he was truly angry. His voice was icy, biting, and he saw no need to cut a break from it, even though it was Reno, one of the few who had truly been with him through thick and thin. "If I needed someone to psychoanalyze me, I'll pay a psychiatrist for it."
Reno had been toeing the line, taking running leaps over the line all night. First with the bar, then continuously here, not pulling a single punch, but it wasn't about psychoanalysis. He should have been afraid, or at least made cautious, by how frigid was Rufus's look, the chill of his rage that Reno didn't need to use book-terms to read.
"Sorry, sir," Reno said, not looking up, looking down, at his right knee, a speck of something caught on the blue. He said it ina cheerful way, or the mockery of cheer. "I'm gonna have to disobey." Should have been afraid, but it it was flaunt the line or let Rufus put the Turks at risk, Reno didn't need to think twice. Rufus ShinRa was his superior. Just this once, Reno batted that small, enormous fact aside. He shook off the frostbite.
He stood up, and continued looking down, now at the President, his hands deep in his pockets, that false, casual cheer ongoing. "I'm not psychoanalyzing you, sir, I don't care enough about your sex life. I care about the Turks, and in this City that's me and that's Tseng, and it isn't our Boss turning his back on half of the equation because he's jealous--" that cheer became hard, not cold, too flared with an anger only just contained, and Reno would be rude, "--jealous that half won't suck off his boner. Sir."
Reno flashed a grin, stretched one into his cheeks, that was so entirely devoid of anything happy, or polite, it was more the bestial baring of teeth, an animal signal.
Disgust barely suited what Rufus was feeling right now, the base, entirely inappropriate way of putting things made him almost recoil. Where did Reno get off on saying such things, making it look so disgustingly simple and filthy. Sex, did he really think it was just that primal? And there was the anger, anger at the Turk's reckless assumption, at the conclusion that Rufus Shinra was someone who was merely looking for nothing more than a whore. He'd had enough of those kinds, he'd spent his life rejecting those - they were unworthy, not befitting of someone like him, and this...
Where his temperament had once been icy anger, it was now glacial, burning. It was uncalled for, and that last spiel, the tangent that Reno had gone off on had only served to increase Rufus' loathing for it. Rufus didn't even bother with a smile, or a snarl - it was not worth it. Reno hadn't been around as long as Tseng had, he was not the one who knew what transpired between them hardly less than a month ago.
Was it just sex? Definitely not, and it angered him so completely that Reno would assume something as pointless, as detestable as this. Rufus was many things, but he was not that juvenile. "Don't you dare try to drag me to your level, Reno. When you only understand half the picture, you will do well to keep your mouth shut."
What Reno had failed to translate was that his words were a translation, a summary, and the offensive bit wasn't the important part. That Rufus's rage was becoming more than a little dangerous, that Reno knew, could look at the terrible thing in Rufus's eyes and know he had gone too far too many lines before, that this was so didn't matter because Rufus still wasn't grasping the important part. It was not out of being cowed that Reno remained silent after the daggers in the President's words had rent him, it was not obedience.
Reno took the moment to wonder if it was, in fact, impossible to make Rufus understand what was so simple to him, an error, a miscommunication, the translation between the President and the Turk a failure. He took the moment and the moment dropped, and fingers snapped, and Reno lost his head. It tilted back, his teeth were a glimmer in the slit of his mouth as he inhaled, bared.
"My level?" Reno asked, and it wasn't a shout; his eyes flashed. He leaned in, his exhale not two inches from the President's face. The longer he spoke, the angrier he became. "Don't give me orders when you're too busy pretending you're too good for half of what you want to understand half the picture, Rufus. I'm looking out for the Turks, you're looking out for yourself. Fine -- that's our job, that's what we want you to do, but not at the cost of the Turks. My level?"
And his tone change, his to-the-point, this is the problem, this is the answer, the Turks, in simple. Something born of the fury that clenched his fists and ground his teeth, indignant, lashing out against his level and that disgust. "So you don't want it? President's too good for it? You don't want Tseng to do this?"
Not like ever-reverent Tseng would do it, because Reno was not Tseng. Reno took two fistfuls of Rufus's shirt and didn't give either of them a moment to think it over. One sharp yank and Rufus's mouth was crushed against his, hard, there wasn't a grace or kindness to it, and Reno didn't mean for it to be good -- wanted the way their teeth banged together, the way it hurt, wanted it to be too brief before he released, flinging open his hands and wrenching back his body, and spat:
"Of course not."
Stumbling back when Reno yanked away, the surprise of it had caught Rufus off guard. It was rough, harsh, and too fast for him to properly register what Reno just did. Too fleeting, too fast - it was the message behind it, the taunt and the insult rubbed in too hard. The kiss didn't matter, there was no meaning behind it, none save for what had just been levelled at him.
Reno was not Tseng, Reno would never be Tseng. The guards guarded themselves, this was a principle that he had grasped long ago, but this knowledge did nothing to abate the fury that came in after the initial shock wore off. He did not wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, he would offer Reno no such satisfaction even as he knew that there was probably a small cut behind the lip thanks to it. Then again, that was highly unimportant. He had never once been faced with such a situation before. It was volatile, with all the potential to spiral even more out of control. He could not risk this, even through his anger, he would not risk losing this Turk, and that knowledge infuriated him all the more.
A breath, and he reined in his rage, tampering it to a mere seething tone as he finally spoke, buttoning up his shirt, his face a mask of frosty indifference. "If you follow me out now, I will kill you." A threat, a promise, a demand, one reminiscent of an angry, wounded tiger that needed time but was too proud to admit to it. A few strides took him out the door, and one swift action slammed it shut, letting it resound, ignoring the fact that his coat was still left in its hanger.
As if he would. Reno had looked at the President after the act with fierce indifference, critical eyes and swallowed fury, his level, the violence of his brief assault hadn't abated that. Your level. A part of him thought, wild and raging and unappeased, that it was good for Rufus to leave, because Reno might have met the threat, and Tseng would kill Reno if Reno killed the President. So Reno watched his back, watched his retreat after the swift button-job, the iced over declaration.
The door slammed and Reno spat. The globule of saliva fell near to the mark of the cigarette's end in the carpet, and Reno leveled a kick at the bedside table that nearly broke his foot; dented the wood, and he didn't care a whit if the management cared. He kicked it again, focusing on the pain that throbbed in his foot, your level. Sucking breath in, expelling it hard, Reno made a short try for calm -- he leaned suddenly over the bed, his full upper-body weight in his fists that dug into the mattress, eyes gazing down at the floral pattern.
If he wasn't over it by tomorrow, he'd at least pretend: that he knew. "Fucker," Reno told the empty hotel room, matter-of-factly rimmed in rage. His level.
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Shahni wants Jeane for a date ♥
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Jeane says she doesn't do dates, but she may be inclined to give Shahni a hug~
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Shahni, in the mean time, would like to say SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE AND pounce into Jeane's lovely valley of the gods~ ♥
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Jeane is more than glad to give Shahni a nice hug in her almost naked chest. >3
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♥
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Hard loving get.
Vincent in the mean time will go and look to Reno. ._. Daddy means well.
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He needs a spanking. ._.
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Remember, children, Rufus + 6 shots of absinthe + Reno = A VERY BAD COMBINATION. ;____;
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Reno + alcohol + ANYONE = a bad combination. :P
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.....Trufax.
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