[ He still looks kind of demented, but that's okay. By the time he's gotten two more tankards and brought them back maybe he'll have rearranged his face into something a little less out of his gourd. Rising from his backwards chair, Reno takes the remnants of the cigarette he just put out and immediately relights it as he goes. Then he drags on that thing until it's barely more than a straight ash cylinder and tosses the butt into some drink sitting on some table, sorry not sorry if anyone was drinking that.
Two minutes isn't enough time to come up with an explanation for any of this, either in his own head or for this Third Class Pain in the Ass that apparently got sent backwards in time to torment him. It is enough time, though, to grab a couple beers and bring them back. When he returns, this time he spins the chair around to face the table before he sits, one mug sat down for each of them.
Tempting as it is to just plow into his on the spot, he lets it sit for a moment. Drapes one arm over the table. Considers another smoke. Resists. Meets Roche's gaze evenly. ]
The plate fell more than two years ago. There isn't any Midgar anymore; Meteor fell on it and the whole fucking thing got destroyed. There's no SOLDIERs, either. No Thirds, Seconds, definitely no Firsts. No PubSec. No MPs, no mobile squad. No Heidegger. There's barely even a Shinra Inc., just a fucked-up Planet and a few lucky assholes trying to put it back together. You had to either be a deserter or an oversight, but nah—you're just from the past, that's all.
[ "That's all." Now he picks up his tankard. Has himself a nice sip. ]
no subject
[ He still looks kind of demented, but that's okay. By the time he's gotten two more tankards and brought them back maybe he'll have rearranged his face into something a little less out of his gourd. Rising from his backwards chair, Reno takes the remnants of the cigarette he just put out and immediately relights it as he goes. Then he drags on that thing until it's barely more than a straight ash cylinder and tosses the butt into some drink sitting on some table, sorry not sorry if anyone was drinking that.
Two minutes isn't enough time to come up with an explanation for any of this, either in his own head or for this Third Class Pain in the Ass that apparently got sent backwards in time to torment him. It is enough time, though, to grab a couple beers and bring them back. When he returns, this time he spins the chair around to face the table before he sits, one mug sat down for each of them.
Tempting as it is to just plow into his on the spot, he lets it sit for a moment. Drapes one arm over the table. Considers another smoke. Resists. Meets Roche's gaze evenly. ]
The plate fell more than two years ago. There isn't any Midgar anymore; Meteor fell on it and the whole fucking thing got destroyed. There's no SOLDIERs, either. No Thirds, Seconds, definitely no Firsts. No PubSec. No MPs, no mobile squad. No Heidegger. There's barely even a Shinra Inc., just a fucked-up Planet and a few lucky assholes trying to put it back together. You had to either be a deserter or an oversight, but nah—you're just from the past, that's all.
[ "That's all." Now he picks up his tankard. Has himself a nice sip. ]
Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?