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expiationlogs2023-04-21 12:41 pm
electroburst) wrote in expiationlogs2023-04-21 12:41 pm
(OPEN MINGLE) Ain't no party like an Aldrip party
Who: The Chosen
Where: Aldrip inn
What: Open mingle log (with mod approval)!
Warnings: Nothing major anticipated, other than light (underaged) drinking and comic mischief, but PM me if any warn-worthy things happen and I can update this space.
Feel free to use this log as a completely open mingle for all characters new and old! There will be a few prompts below the cut, but you're free mess around with them or come up with your own ideas for toplevels, and tag around as you please.
Nestled in the heart of the quaint town of Aldrip, the inn, formally known as The Inn, has housed the Chosen of Expiation since their initial arrival. In spite of the occasional influx of new Chosen, they've dedicatedly provided rooms, food and drink, and basic amenities without buckling—even during the food shortages and other issues that have plagued the town. Of course, the Chosen have been no slouches themselves, repaying the hospitality with mercenary work, hunting and fishing, cooking, completing odd jobs, and much more to help bolster the economy. Even those, er, less magnanimous sorts have benefitted from this give-and-take, although there are those that prefer their living space to be a bit more solitary (or perhaps cave-ier) that might not have noticed as much.
In the days to follow, most won't be able to recount exactly how The Party started. The true story is that one particular new arrival, after having spent a day or two scouting the area out and, deciding it's chill enough, opted to do what he does best: be a public menace. What is known is that rounds of drinks start getting ordered and handed out, and soon platters of cheese, fresh bread, and other victuals make the rounds as well, appearing on tables that quickly begin filling with people. Somehow, someway, local musicians are pulled in to play and given a striking, energetic setlist to set the tone. The word gets out—party at the inn!
And boom: just like that, it's a party, and everyone's invited.
Early on, the offerings are relatively meager. The inn's food stores aren't completely bottomless after the shortages, to say the least, and there are a sight more Chosen (and local residents who also join in on the fun) than there is free food to toss at them. The drinks range from milk, water and juice to scuzzy, pisswater beer, which is a bit more plentiful. As the tavern portion of the inn fills with people, the music relatively ambient so that you can still hear the people at the table next to you talking, others bring their own food and drink, adding to the options on offer.
Others bring things like cards to play with, or dice and coins to gamble with, and set up spaces at tables toward the back. There's even an amateur fortune teller, heavy emphasis on amateur. Maybe you've got some party games of your own in mind, or you're a natural-born performer and want to hit the stage. Maybe you'd rather just grab a pint and lurk in the corner doing some people-watching. Or maybe you're just hungry and want to stuff a bunch of cheese in your pockets for later. Either way, there's something here for everyone.
As evening wears on, the peaceful inn party blossoms into a proper block bash. Even if you're not the partygoing sort, it'd be a little difficult to ignore the sheer ruckus going on downstairs while you attempt to read quietly in your room. The music, chatter and laughter carries on down the street, attracting even more people. By this point, it seems as if the food and drinks have multiplied, thanks mostly in part to others showing up with their own offerings, Chosen and local alike. It's getting rowdy in a few places—the music's louder and livelier, people are dancing and singing, and the gambling/party games' stakes seem to just keep climbing higher and higher. It's a good time all around. If you're not the quiet, loner type, anyway.
Thinking of sitting this one out? Think again: somebody starts going around to all the rooms and knocking on the doors, calling out to come join the fun. By the time you get to the door, though, whoever's up here disturbing the peace is gone, but maybe you can track them down by their voice at some point and wring their neck later.
In addition to the escalating merriment, all this imbibing also has the added benefit of loosening a few lips. Now's your chance to pick up the latest Aldrip gossip! You might even hear tell of a few pesky monsters that need slaying, so if you want to jump on that bounty before anyone else gets to it, you better act quickly. (But maybe don't run out into the woods in the middle of the night to fight monsters while inebriated... or do, nobody's stopping you.)
Late into the night, the festivities are still going, and they're... messy. Fortunately the drinks and provisions seem to have run to the bottom of the barrel, so those that've been partying hard for hours are getting cut off whether they like it or not. The band's getting tired, the tempo of the music fluctuating. Some people might like to go to bed sometime soon, so maybe now it's time for the voices of reason to tell those still dancing on top of the tables to get down. And why is there a chicken in here? ...And oh no, somebody tell those guys to take that swordfight outside!! Yeeaaahh, maybe it's about time to shut this production down.
Or maybe not. Let the good times roll until the sun comes up! That's up to you.
Where: Aldrip inn
What: Open mingle log (with mod approval)!
Warnings: Nothing major anticipated, other than light (underaged) drinking and comic mischief, but PM me if any warn-worthy things happen and I can update this space.
Feel free to use this log as a completely open mingle for all characters new and old! There will be a few prompts below the cut, but you're free mess around with them or come up with your own ideas for toplevels, and tag around as you please.
Nestled in the heart of the quaint town of Aldrip, the inn, formally known as The Inn, has housed the Chosen of Expiation since their initial arrival. In spite of the occasional influx of new Chosen, they've dedicatedly provided rooms, food and drink, and basic amenities without buckling—even during the food shortages and other issues that have plagued the town. Of course, the Chosen have been no slouches themselves, repaying the hospitality with mercenary work, hunting and fishing, cooking, completing odd jobs, and much more to help bolster the economy. Even those, er, less magnanimous sorts have benefitted from this give-and-take, although there are those that prefer their living space to be a bit more solitary (or perhaps cave-ier) that might not have noticed as much.
In the days to follow, most won't be able to recount exactly how The Party started. The true story is that one particular new arrival, after having spent a day or two scouting the area out and, deciding it's chill enough, opted to do what he does best: be a public menace. What is known is that rounds of drinks start getting ordered and handed out, and soon platters of cheese, fresh bread, and other victuals make the rounds as well, appearing on tables that quickly begin filling with people. Somehow, someway, local musicians are pulled in to play and given a striking, energetic setlist to set the tone. The word gets out—party at the inn!
And boom: just like that, it's a party, and everyone's invited.
Early on, the offerings are relatively meager. The inn's food stores aren't completely bottomless after the shortages, to say the least, and there are a sight more Chosen (and local residents who also join in on the fun) than there is free food to toss at them. The drinks range from milk, water and juice to scuzzy, pisswater beer, which is a bit more plentiful. As the tavern portion of the inn fills with people, the music relatively ambient so that you can still hear the people at the table next to you talking, others bring their own food and drink, adding to the options on offer.
Others bring things like cards to play with, or dice and coins to gamble with, and set up spaces at tables toward the back. There's even an amateur fortune teller, heavy emphasis on amateur. Maybe you've got some party games of your own in mind, or you're a natural-born performer and want to hit the stage. Maybe you'd rather just grab a pint and lurk in the corner doing some people-watching. Or maybe you're just hungry and want to stuff a bunch of cheese in your pockets for later. Either way, there's something here for everyone.
As evening wears on, the peaceful inn party blossoms into a proper block bash. Even if you're not the partygoing sort, it'd be a little difficult to ignore the sheer ruckus going on downstairs while you attempt to read quietly in your room. The music, chatter and laughter carries on down the street, attracting even more people. By this point, it seems as if the food and drinks have multiplied, thanks mostly in part to others showing up with their own offerings, Chosen and local alike. It's getting rowdy in a few places—the music's louder and livelier, people are dancing and singing, and the gambling/party games' stakes seem to just keep climbing higher and higher. It's a good time all around. If you're not the quiet, loner type, anyway.
Thinking of sitting this one out? Think again: somebody starts going around to all the rooms and knocking on the doors, calling out to come join the fun. By the time you get to the door, though, whoever's up here disturbing the peace is gone, but maybe you can track them down by their voice at some point and wring their neck later.
In addition to the escalating merriment, all this imbibing also has the added benefit of loosening a few lips. Now's your chance to pick up the latest Aldrip gossip! You might even hear tell of a few pesky monsters that need slaying, so if you want to jump on that bounty before anyone else gets to it, you better act quickly. (But maybe don't run out into the woods in the middle of the night to fight monsters while inebriated... or do, nobody's stopping you.)
Late into the night, the festivities are still going, and they're... messy. Fortunately the drinks and provisions seem to have run to the bottom of the barrel, so those that've been partying hard for hours are getting cut off whether they like it or not. The band's getting tired, the tempo of the music fluctuating. Some people might like to go to bed sometime soon, so maybe now it's time for the voices of reason to tell those still dancing on top of the tables to get down. And why is there a chicken in here? ...And oh no, somebody tell those guys to take that swordfight outside!! Yeeaaahh, maybe it's about time to shut this production down.
Or maybe not. Let the good times roll until the sun comes up! That's up to you.
1
He'd spotted the uniform from a mile away, then went through the motions of "is that— nah, couldn't be— unless? Nah, no way— but wait—" for awhile, staring the guy down over the rim of his cup of pisswater. Had to look away for awhile, it was fucking with his head. But then he found him again, his eye landing on the familiar blue, still at the same spot at the same table, puzzling over... some kinda tech, he has no idea. (lmao)
All this mystery could be easily resolved if he'd just go over and strike up a conversation. Could just ask him outright—you SOLDIER? But Reno just keeps gaslighting himself out of it. Don't be stupid, man, all the SOLDIERs are dead. There's no Firsts, Seconds or Thirds, and (if we're all so lucky) there never will be again. Instead, he positions himself closer, within lurking range, to get a better look.
Maybe it's the drinks and a little bit of carelessness that has him pass just close enough to be noticed, or maybe it's those SOLDIER supersenses, but there's no getting away with it now. And no mistaking it, either. The second those blues land on him, glowing like a couple of goddamn streetlamps, he's got his answer. ]
Suppose you could.
[ Fuck. He's lighting a smoke for this one. Been trying to conserve them, but he needs one now. ]
Whadya wanna know?
no subject
But he still recognizes this one because of the hair. Out of all of them he was the one who stood out the most, yet... he can't recall a name right off the top of his head. Even so, a Turk was a source of information he'd be an absolute fool to turn down. If anyone knew shit about this place it'd be one of them, even after such a short time.
Hell, maybe Roche blacked out and the top brass sent him on a job with one and he'd somehow forgotten about it until now. But first things first— The recognition that flickers across his face vanishes after all of two seconds with another smile and a quirk of the brow. ]
I don't suppose you've seen a motorbike sitting around this... charming little town, have you? I'd say a few shades brighter than your hair? Very hard to miss.
[ And yet it's??? eluding him??? The lion, the witch, the audacity of this bitch. ]
no subject
Now it's all gone. Shinra, the SOLDIERs, Midgar, basically everything. Not the Turks, though. They survived like rats, just like they always do. Seeing one in the flesh now is... yeah. It's kind of creepy. It's weird. Where the hell did he come from? How is he even a thing? Reno's brow furrows as he lights his cigarette and takes a long, much-needed drag on it. Sighs the smoke back out. ]
Don't I wish. No damn cars, bikes, or anything with wings around here. This charming little town's a backwater hick spot in the middle of nowhere.
[ Aldrip? Gongaga.
Another drag. Fuck it. He's gonna have to address it now, no point beating around the bush. His body turns a little to face Roche properly, searching the depths of his memory for the facial expression he used to wear when he was menacing the peons back in the good ol' days. He... kinda isn't feeling it. ]
You lose your deserter ride or somethin'? Only way a Third oughta be showing up anywhere now. You look pretty put together, though.
[ Should be degraded to fuck, right? Hell if he knows. Those R&D reports turn his fucking stomach. ]
no subject
Deserter ride... It prompts him to cock his head to one side, lips pursed into a thin line. Deserter? That's something he hasn't heard since... Gaia, how many years ago now? Maybe eight? That entire mass desertion fiasco was all over the news for awhile despite Shinra's efforts to cover the bulk of it up, though the war ending a few months later definitely helped with it to an extent. Still didn't bring the SOLDIERs who deserted back to their families, but... PR was content and that was all that mattered to them. Roche? Well.
He shrugs a shoulder and plasters on a lazy smile. ]
I'm sure they wish I had been among those who deserted, but unfortunately I wasn't in at that particular period of time.
[ Sure, he'd been with Shinra since... Hell, his twenties at the very least but SOLDIER? Nah, they didn't catch his eye until after everyone had jumped ship. The only reason he probably got in to begin with was because they were desperate to keep up appearances. ]
They just tend to keep me contained to Midgar's myriad roads which I'm very happy with.
[ Then that smile shifts into a grin and Roche damn near snorts. Put together, huh? ]
However, I'll take that compliment for what it is. If I had known I'd be getting kidnapped and meeting someone like yourself I might've gone home to change into a cleaner uniform. First impressions matter, no?
no subject
[ Reno scoffs, almost laughs, just on the far side of incredulous enough to manage not to. I mean, sure, technically Midgar still kind of exists, if ruins and a hollow shell of a burned-out wreck of a city counts as Midgar anymore. It's kind of a shame for, y'know, obvious reasons, but Edge springing up to take root in Midgar's bones isn't so bad most of the time. He can't help but feel a strange, profound sort of love for the place, seeing as he and his people helped build it and maintain it on the reg with their own hands.
At any rate, most of what Third Class over here says doesn't add up in a way that Reno can't quite parse out just yet. "At that time"? "Among those"? There's just something off, like they're both talking about two different things. Then again, there's also the part where none of this makes sense, because unless their oversight was thoroughly fuckin' lacking (improbable, but definitely not at all impossible), there shouldn't be any SOLDIERs. Especially not one who claims he isn't a deserter and has something to say about Midgar during this day and age.
The probing stare, the frown—it bottoms out into a flat smirk, and Reno clicks his tongue. ]
Tch, don't get ahead of yourself. Even if you hadn't trashed your uniform to shit—seriously, what the fuck?—a Third is barely worth my time. Today's your lucky day, though.
[ Pulling on his cigarette, he sighs out another mouthful of smoke and then takes it from his lips, holding it aside as he reaches for one of the chairs at the table Roche's sitting at. Rather than pull himself up to it, though, he spins the chair around and sits in it backwards, legs sprawled on either side of the seat. ]
You've got my attention, and you're not even in trouble. C'mon now, seriously. Where've you been hiding out? There any more like you?
no subject
Hiding out? Is that what they think I'm doing?
[ Ab-fucking-surd. Snorting, he fishes his company issued ID out, drops it on the table, and slides it across the surface. It's all there — name, rank, ID number, signature, the works. And just to be a little shit he pulls out his old one too, back when he was simply with PubSec's mobile units. ]
You'll forgive me if I'm reluctant to believe a word of this, by the way. They don't send a Turk to... speak with one of us without a good reason. And you know the answer to your second question — I don't know the exact numbers as I don't particularly care, but there's at least several dozen Thirds and Seconds combined to my knowledge. Even less in First, albeit none as prolific as the old guard who... Well, you know.
[ Roche never knew the whole story behind it, only that the Big Four were presumed dead. Sure, he knows Kunsel was friends with one of them but again, he never bothered to ask about the guy. Heard he wasn't half bad though, so there was always that. Perhaps in another life they could've been friends.
Shaking his head he leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, nose wrinkling as he mutters to himself; ]
Hiding. Of all the things...
no subject
Is this a fucking forgery? They don't have ID numbers like this. Not Thirds. Nope. Wrong serial order. Maybe he's just remembering wrong, though. It's been awhile since he's seen—no, fuck that, he's that old yet. No chance he's wrong. It's the ID that's wrong. But it can't be a forgery, because you don't get eyes like Third Class—Roche, apparently—has any other way but one, and there's no chance any of that was going on under the Turks' noses, either.
Reno sticks the cigarette back in his mouth. Hands the ID back, trying not to let his utter fucking consternation look too obvious. The exchange is that he looks kind of menacing instead, eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a line. When he fixes Roche with his stare, it makes the "I don't believe I'm not in trouble" response that much more reasonable. ]
Nobody "sent" me, I got dropped on my head in the field same as you. That said, you're not making any fucking sense, so if you think you're gonna give me the runaround, think again. I'm not talking about how many SOLDIERs there were, I'm talking about how many there are.
[ Maybe he doesn't know. They might not all be running together like pack animals, after all. Or maybe there just... aren't any others. If this guy's mobile, he could've high-tailed it anywhere on the damn Planet. That's no reason to let off the pressure, but it would explain—something. Maybe.
Okay. Change tactics. ]
Whatever. Forget it. If you weren't hiding, what were you doing?
no subject
Heidegger had a few of us on patrol between Sectors Four and Five which was rather regrettable seeing as it caused me to miss a very dear friend of mine as he left the city. I only saw the security footage after we were called back to HQ.
[ Which he's still a little irritated about because not only did he miss that little ragtag group but now he's going to have to find a way to get clearance to actually leave the city after that entire clusterfuck which given that he's only a Third... it's going to be incredibly tricky. Finally he moves to return his IDs to their rightful place, brows furrowing as he thinks about it for a time. How is he going to convince them that he's the best one to track them down all while making sure that they keep their noses out of his business?
Another night, perhaps. ]
I've got the orders on my phone if you still don't — for whatever reason — believe me. What reason would I have to lie, hm? Everything I've told you thus far is the truth and I'm willing to stake my ride on it.
[ Come @ him. ]
no subject
[ Reno is seconds from pinching his nosebridge. Heidegger?? Not a name he ever wanted to hear again. If he's got anything to be grateful to Cloud and his people for (and let's be honest, that list is starting to get longer and longer these days), kicking his and Scarlett's shit in is definitely in the top five. Hearing all of this now, it's becoming perfectly clear that what he's hearing can only mean one thing, but how's a guy supposed to simply say ohhh, okay, I get it. You're from the past and then just—shrug that off?
Salvation comes in the next suggestion. The aggravated, "looking at Roche like he has four heads" stare immediately fills with relief, furrowed brows raising, the cigarette twisting from one side of his mouth to the other before he takes it out and smudges what's left it out against the tabletop. ]
Yeah. Lemme see the orders.
[ This is perfect. You can't argue with a phone. (I mean, you can, but shut up.) There'll be names, dates, timestamps. A digital signature to prove he's... what, out of his mind? Whatever, it'll clear things up. If Reno's learned anything in life by now, it's not to take anyone at their word unless you can confirm it with facts.
And of course he doesn't suspect the thing sitting on the table is a phone, because it's 2004 and the first fucking iPhone didn't even come out for another three years. ]
no subject
Things were interesting after Sector 7's plate went down. ]
Here. Now, are you going to tell me why you think I'm hiding? Or why I would desert?
[ A beat, and for a split second Roche damn near looks serious. ]
I'm not a fool, Red. SOLDIERs don't just get to go AWOL without any consequences, and only ones with nothing to lose would do such a thing.
no subject
First, Reno looks thoroughly fucking confused when Roche picks up that thing off the table, evidently his "phone," and then hands it to him. If not for watching him handle it right in front of him, he'd have absolutely no idea what to do with it. This is not a fucking cell phone. This is... something with a touchscreen. Okay. Got it. He can—fuck. Jesus Christ, he's not that old and out of touch yet, he can handle some unfamiliar technology, it just takes him a second to conceptualize the notion of dragging his finger down the screen to scroll up and down. What the fuck is this thing almost comes out of his mouth, but doesn't.
What does is the next thing: ]
Reno.
[ Not Red. Also there's your introduction. They're both master classes in irreverence.
The third thing to happen is that these "answers" are a nightmare to look at. The dates are more than two fucking years ago. It doesn't take more than a few seconds of scanning the messages and timestamps to figure out exactly what these are referring to. This was the fucking plate job. What a fun trip down memory lane! Now it all makes sense. (It makes no sense.) Reno stares and stares and doesn't bother to look up or answer for, oh, a minute, maybe two.
The last thing that happens is that he just starts fucking laughing. Like just kind of helpless, vaguely delirious laughter. It starts off as a haha no fucking way chuckle and then just kind of turns into Reno cracking up a little bit, a snort escaping him right as he hands that "phone" back. In spite of all that, there's nothing especially happy about his expression here; this is the laughter of someone who's excited to officially announce that they're at the end of their fucking rope.
And his answer? His answer for all these lofty accusations? ]
I need another beer. You want one?
no subject
'Ma, you swipe it like this, see? Don't tap it so hard.' ]
My mistake - Reno.
[ The name rolls across his tongue into a low rumble as Roche considers the implications of it all. In his experiences most of the Turks kept their names to themselves or used fake ones. Was that one of them too, he wonders? Whatever it is, he files it away in the Important Shit section of his memory. He's still going to call him Red of course and whatever other name he can come up with, but he'll indulge the guy for a little bit.
Reno, though. Damn if that doesn't feel like a dangerous tool to have in his hands. ]
I certainly won't stop you if you want given it's your gil but if your goal is to get me drunk off of this swill you may as well have them bring a keg or two over. An unfortunate side-effect, I'm sure you understand.
[ Oh, to go back to the days when he could get absolutely wasted on skunky pisswater. And no looming threat of an early grave, but y'know. ]
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?
no subject
Whoa, whoa— Pump the brakes for a second, Red. I—
[ Roche snorts again and he wipes at the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand. Underneath the toothy grin is something close to disbelief, because what else do you even do when faced with that entire list? ]
Everyone knows Palmer's little space program is more or less roadkill at this point but I find it a little hard to believe that they'd miss an entire meteor hurting towards the planet. Especially one capable of destroying Midgar of all places— Come on, seriously?
[ That's a good one, he'll give him that. ]
They teachin' Turks how to be comedians now?
no subject
In the end, he sets his mug down with a grin of his own. Not like he's been caught telling a joke, but like Roche is a part of it, distinctly mocking. ]
What can I say? I'm a funny guy.
[ No doubt it's the truth, though. For him, just not for Roche. Listen, all he wants to know right now is why, out of everyone and everything to send backwards in time and drop in his lap, why'd it have to be a goddamn SOLDIER? Look at this blue-eyed freak. Which asshole Turk is responsible for this one? They always did know how to pick 'em. Tall, impeccable bone structure, probably completely fucking deranged.
Shaking his head, Reno taps his temple. ]
Must've hit my head. No way all the SOLDIERs would be gone in just a couple years, right? That'd never happen.
no subject
[ Only Roche. He's the one SOLDIER either ballsy enough or stupid enough to sass with a Turk and how he managed to survive this long is a mystery even to him. Then again if Shinra wants a job done right they're usually picking the right tools for the job, no matter how unconventional they were. Results were results, and if he sat down to truly think about it and look at things from a bigger picture he's probably the best damn thing to ever happen to the company.
(Why take real responsibility for any damages when it can all be blamed on Avalanche and whatnot, right?) ]
Barring any giant rocks crashing into the planet I can at least say that they're not the sort to throw their expensive toys out without a good reason. I may be a Third but I my ears do work and I personally haven't heard any whispers about my fellows deserting or going AWOL, nor have I heard anything from the wolves in R&D about decommissioning us for spare parts. Least I certainly hope not, given I've still got plenty of unfinished business to take care of first.
[ He pauses to take a slow sip of piss-beer for a moment, then something else dawns on him and Roche has to catch himself lest he snort it out through his nose. That shit stinks bad enough breathing it in, he doesn't want to imagine what it'd feel like coming out the same way. ]
Maybe those people were onto something about the planet. I saw a few of their charming little posters when I was last down in Sector 7 looking for someone - "Don't let them bleed the planet dry," I believe they said? Perhaps the planet has a life of its own and decided to put an end to it itself. Tried taking out HQ and everything associated with it, including us SOLDIER.
[ That's something Roche knows is bullshit at least and it shows in the slow way a single brow curves up towards his hairline. As if saying tell me the reason. If that silly "from the past" claim has any merit then Reno oughta know the truth, no? Roche isn't important enough to toy around with compared to, say, a First. He's just a Third, after all. ]
no subject
[ Is that a telling-off, a threat, or a promise?
Yes.
Actually, it was more the last one, if anything. He hasn't missed SOLDIERs, their bright eyes or their stupid fucking antics (that's a lie, but go off), but he's not about to be choosy when it comes to who he accepts compliments from, or whatever the outcome of those compliments happen to be. He takes the time to flick his bangs out of his eyes before he goes back to nursing his drink. Letting Roche go on in blissful fucking ignorance. If Reno were anyone else, he might actually feel guilty. Sympathy, pity, something like that. This guy has no idea. He still thinks Shinra's plans for him matter, calling himself a toy, but he's so much less than that, and he has no idea. It's sad. Pretty sad.
But Reno is Reno, and if there's any uncomfortable twist in the pit of his stomach, he completely ignores it. What good would telling him do, other than to stir up a bunch of fucking melodrama? Not like it'll save him. Can't do anything about it, and soon enough—welp. That's the way the degradation crumbles, ain't it.
Instead, he lets out a snort of his own. Vom. Planet babble. ]
Ah, fuck, not this shit again. I'm the last one that's gonna wax philosophic with you about whether the Planet feels or whether Mako's good or bad. Who cares?
[ And yet. He sets his mug down. ]
But okay, yeah. Let's say the Planet does have a will of its own, and maybe it got sick and fucking tired of our meddling. Then it might, I dunno... unleash a bunch of giant fuckin' monsters from the bottom of the ocean to start destroying shit, wiping out humanity and all that. Putting us back in our place. That would be pretty wild, wouldn't it? I mean, it wouldn't be enough to have those freedom-fighters gumming up the works, but the Planet itself? Be pretty hard to argue with that. SOLDIER wouldn't be able to do shit against big fuckin' weapons that shoot lasers outta their mouths, so yeah, they'd get wasted. Everything would. It'd be the end of Shinra!
[ hahaha... rip ]
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It's like watching a car accident.
Towards the end of it his attention drifts from the redhead down to the tankard of shitty beer, a grimace pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He slowly pushes it away from himself, and places his hand smack dab in the middle of the table with the palm facing up. ]
Alright, I... think that might be enough for you, Red.
[ Your keys, hand 'em over. ]
I'll admit you had me in the first half, but sea monsters that fire beams of light from their mouths like in the movies? Come on. Surely if there were great beasts such as that someone would've noticed them by now.
[ Just like the meteor, right? ...Right? ]
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You're so right. How the hell could Shinra not know about it? And they'd obviously make it common knowledge once they did find out, y'know, so guys like you could prepare yourselves for a fight. I mean, they're always thinking ahead, those execs. And they've got everyone's best interests at heart. That's the Shinra creed: putting people first.
[ He's not handing Roche shit—not his keys or anything else. What he does do is reach out and grasp his hand as if providing serious moral support as he leans forward in his chair. Even though he's an uncooked spaghetti noodle compared to Roche, that's a grip that says listen here, idiot in spite of how he just keeps fucking with him. ]
But wait, it gets better. What if the Planet got so pissed off—so completely fucked up—that it just started making people sick? Especially kids and old people. So not only did giant monsters blow up Midgar, then a meteor fell on it, but now there's a plague wiping out anyone who was stupid enough to live through all that. That'd really make you sit back and think a little bit, wouldn't it. About some stuff and things. Like maybe we all fucked up, and we've had this comin' for a long time.
[ It's funny how he can say these things now, but they're also thoughts he wouldn't really want to voice out loud to people he's close to. Truth is stranger than fiction. Reno takes his hand back, reaching for his drink. ]
But anyway, why would you need to worry about any of that? You're just a SOLDIER. You have your orders.
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Maybe that was why he barely bats an eye when he suddenly finds Reno's hand securely in his. Maybe that was why when he feels a pull as the other man leans forward, Roche starts to pull back to bring him right along. It's not a game, he realizes. There's something more going on that he can't quite pin down yet, but whatever it is?
It's fucking fascinating.
Like a predator his eyes follow Reno's for a moment, then they drop to their hands when he feels that firm grip relaxing and pulling away. He could just brush it off as the ramblings of a half-drunk Turk but again, it all comes back to that feeling he'd started to get when the guy was halfway across the table. Something more to it.
He'll bite. ]
That I may, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily good at following them to the exact letter. I think...
[ Roche reaches out to cover the top of Reno's mug and gently presses down on it. Back to the table with you. ]
If — and that's a very big "if" — this little tale isn't the product of a man with too much free time on his hands... I think I want to hear more of it. I rather enjoy my life as it is, you see? Skies clear of any otherworldly objects, roads free of monsters birthed from the very planet, a distinct lack of plagues... If I'm going to go out I'd rather it be on my terms, not because our charming friend in green snapped his fingers and told me to drive head-first into the wall.
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And, y'know, have an open enough mind not to just gaslight yourself into thinking you've gone fucking crazy when you're looking at an ID with unfamiliar serial numbers and dates that swerve dangerously close to times in your life that you never wanted to have to relive in the flesh. Life's funny like that, he guesses. Who knows.
Either way, Reno lowers his mug as Roche covers it (not without a warning glance, but without the obvious heat of real danger), meeting his eyes with a quirk of his lips. It's too soon to call this a breakthrough, but he'll take what he can get. Better than being assumed crazy, anyway. ]
I used to say that same thing back when there was still an SEPC. Thought I was flexible before, but it turns out I still had a lot more bendin' I was capable of. So did a bunch of people. Most of 'em, though? Couldn't hack it. They just broke when the sky—and reality—came crashing down.
[ Finally, he sets the tankard all the way down. There's a pointedness to it, that muted thunk. ]
So? You flexible? 'Cause if you're stuck on your life how it is, I'm here to tell you right now...
[ Listen, he likes his drama when it's cool and flashy, so he leans forward to make his ominous point: ]
There ain't a whole lot left of it to enjoy, Sunshine.
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It's just a matter of finding out how long he can stick his hand in the fire this time. ]
You'd be surprised at how flexible I can be, Red.
[ Part of him almost hesitates. It sits there on the tip of his tongue for a few moments while Roche thinks it over, his fingers drumming against the rim of the tankard in a nonsensical pattern. Finally he makes up his mind and leans back, hand going with him to settle around the rim of his own mug. ]
But my answer is gonna depend on yours, I believe. Do I have to worry about finding lead in the back of my skull? Or is this conversation.... how do they say, off the record?
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He sits back in his chair and doesn't immediately go for his drink again, even though he's free to without Roche's dirty SOLDIER mitts all over it. ]
Lucky for you I'm fresh outta lead.
[ Got some 4140 steel if you give me any gaff though— just kidding, just kidding, gosh. ]
Don't act like one bullet in the head is all it'd take to kill you anyways, Mako-freak. And yeah, this is all off the record. I'm not thinking there's gonna be any records in general for awhile, so you're off the hook 's far as I'm concerned. Until I say so, anyway.
[ So he says, but he's keeping tabs on every single one, and every single thing, "off the record" or no. What Roche doesn't know won't kill him any faster! Probably! ]
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Definitely should've started talking to him sooner. So what if that's a name he's heard slung around in his direction already? It's true, and it's still funny. ]
Then I don't have to worry when I tell you that I'm only with our current employer for the perks of my station. I could've stayed with PubSec's Mobile Unit, but I wanted something that I couldn't quite get with them.
[ He picks his phone back up and swipes the main screen open, and this time he pulls up a picture. The garages ought to be nearly identical all things considered, but that bike sure isn't an ordinary model. ]
If the company truly does fall prey to a horde of beasts and a meteor, I doubt I'll be hanging around. They'd have to decide whether or not to take me out with them or run away to save their own skins, and knowing how the brass think... I'm going to err on the side of caution and assume they'll choose the latter.
[ The phone stays in the center of the table while Roche withdraws again. Go ahead. Look. ]
So... I'd say I'm very flexible.
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So you are a deserter. A future deserter. See? I know what the fuck I'm about.
[ Some people have that look, y'know. (Some people shouldn't exist but still do somehow, y'know.) He reaches for the goddamn "phone" as it comes his way again, this time marginally more confident and comfortable with touching the screen, but stops to glance up again one more time before he really takes a look at what's on it. ]
Which isn't an accusation, by the way. I mean, not really. Couldn't fucking blame you for getting out while the getting's, uh, objectively as bad as it can possibly get. Like you said, anyone still alive and not out of their goddamn minds took off or bunkered down.
[ He and Rude, specifically, fall into the category of people who were out of their fucking minds, something he doesn't bother to explain. But then again, he can't speak for his partner exactly, but he doesn't really think of himself as the company. He's not loyal to Shinra Inc and couldn't really give that much of a damn that it fell. But Rufus Shinra, that's a different story.
His eyes drop back down to the phone, and... okay, first of all, this picture is crystal fucking clear. God damn, the camera on this thing is nice.
Secondly—Reno lets out a low whistle. ]
Damn. She's a beaut! And she's also against regulations, which is even better. Whose dick did you have to suck to get that approved? Or how many, maybe that's the better question.
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