AN: The prompt this time was to write a story with the following words – geometry, kennedy, masochist, gangrene, and wimp.
Trying out a new way to write dialogue. Do you think it worked?
I also realize I have the tendency to switch between tenses as I write, for some odd reason. If you see such mistakes in the text, feel free to point it out! :P
I have to admit, I don't particularly like this piece. Maybe it's the lack of inspiration lately. Any suggestions, comments for improvement?
There had been rumors floating around the Shinra building that Tseng was a closet masochist.
It was especially the female staff who found this rumor to be of utmost interest, although Tseng clearly had his fair share of male fans as well. The Shinra building had been quite noisy during that period, where most of the staff were constantly bickering and discussing the prospect and probability of the mysterious, quiet, charming no-nonsense Director being one of those.
Every time Reno and Rude caught wind of such discussions, they made it a point to snort in unison, as loudly and as obscenely as they could. Reno had even gone around a few times with his huge toothy grin, leaning over desks uninvited and casually suggesting to the female staff that should they have questions about Tseng and his… preferences, they were welcome to approach Reno for clarification anytime after hours. First hand experience was always the most accurate, he said.
The rumor died down soon after.
But if any of the Shinra staff were present in Healin Lodge right now, it would be clear that the rumor was complete nonsense.
The door creaks open as Tseng hobbles in, his long ashen hair ruffled and in slight disarray, sticking out in odd places.
That itself is out of the ordinary. Tseng's hair is always combed back smoothly, like a sleek black waterfall, falling past his shoulders to rest somewhere around his mid-back. Somehow, it just seems fitting for his personality, especially with his constantly stern default facial expression.
He inhales painfully through his nose, as he grapples at the furniture in the room upon his entrance, slowly transferring weight from table to chair, from chair to couch. Step, transfer weight, grab. Step, transfer weight, grab. Rinse, wash, repeat. Upon reaching his destination, he immediately sinks into the cushions, his weight completely falling out from under him.
The only indication of Tseng being in any form of pain at all was the slight tightening around his eyes, and his mouth being noncommittally drawn into a straight line.
Other than that, the Director could have been on a cruise along the waters of Coasta de Sol, and would have had the same facial expression as always.
The Turk reaches down with slightly trembling fingers, gingerly rolling up his pant leg to the knee. His lower right leg is bandaged tightly, the layers upon layers of white cloth covering every inch of his leg from shin to ankle. Tseng draws in a silent breath, gritting his teeth as he moved to unwrap the bandages, fingers moving nimbly on autopilot mode, even if his mind was afraid of what he was about to see.
(At least that much was normal.)
He watches as the colour of the bandages gradually changes as he unwraps, darkening from white, to wolf grey, and finally to a dark stormy shade of grey that looks like the rainclouds in Sector 8 in September.
Tseng grimaces at the sludge, flinging the discarded bandages to the side carelessly with the slightest tinge of disgust. He slowly sinks deeper into the couch cushions as he leant back, his heart pummeling into his stomach, as he let out a shaky breath.
Shut up, Tseng, He tells himself resolutely. Get a hold on yourself. You're more of a man than this.
…
Something within him cracks.
No, I'm not.
Reno frowns, his red brow furrowed as his green eyes narrow malevolently.
The phone is cradled in his right hand, pressed to his ear, while his left arm is around Elena's shoulders, hugging the weeping girl to his side tightly.
Reno croons into the handset, doing his best to imitate Rufus on the line regarding an important business deal. So, let me get this straight, he says politely, although he's baring his teeth like a predator on the hunt. You are?
A brief pause follows, during which another pair of eyes in the room turns to watch Reno interestedly, hiding behind a pair of shades.
Ah, Mr Kennedy, Reno states civilly, lifting his left hand to idly tap Elena's cheek soothingly as he speaks. Well I don't agree, Reno snaps, his resolve to remain nice as long as possible crumbling. You're not making sense, and we're all bloody fine, and none of us have contracted the damn ge-
It was like a game to Reno, on the occasions he granted himself the luxury of playing with clients over the phone. Sometimes, these sessions would last for hours before whoever it was on the other end of the line would finally crumble and break down. They mostly were reduced to stammers and stutters as the time wore on, as Reno continued to verbally tear them to pieces, before stamping them into the ground.
Reno blinks almost innocently as Kennedy interrupts him mid-rant. A dangerous glint then flashes across Reno's emerald eyes, too fast to be noticed by anyone other than Reno's partner. The muscles under Reno's eyes contract almost unnoticeably, and Reno could have been a red-maned wolf sizing up its prey. Reno's face was all angles and points, and with his snarky attitude, cheek markings, and flaming red hair, it only served to make him look all the more dangerous.
Whatever Kennedy said, he shouldn't have said it, Rude thinks idly, reaching over for his coffee mug. In 3, 2, 1-
Reno blows up right as Rude's mental countdown hits zero, a mini nuclear explosion in the confinement of the Turks' shared office. Elena whimpers, startled, as Reno flails his left arm widely, gesturing and pointing in the air while he peppers his yells with creative insults. He tells Mr Kennedy that yes, the Turks are healthy and that yes, you are a fucking wimp to accuse us through the phone, and that fuck you, I hope you eat shit and die.
Elena cowers in fear, bright blue eyes gazing at Reno meekly, as said redhead promptly ends the call and throws the phone against the wall. Rude continues sipping his coffee unperturbed, wondering what the Turks were having for lunch.
In the aftermath, Reno gives a generous bear hug to Elena, holding the platinum blonde head to his chest and murmuring assurances and promises in her ear.
Rude misses the grey patches on Elena's shoulders, but Reno doesn't.
Rude wakes up with a pounding headache.
You look like shit, a gleeful voice announces, and Rude doesn't have to look up to know who it was.
His throat is dry, his nasal passages raw, and he tastes vaguely the familiar metallic tang of blood. He sees Reno next to his Shinra hospital bed, with a bouquet of flowers, and offers a brief snort. eHeRude raises an arm to rub his hand over his face, and feels an unfamiliar rough surface scratch against his cheek. Confused, Rude gazes at his forearm dumbly, seeing the toned muscular arm covered in heavy unfamiliar bandages. He blinks, flexes his arm gingerly to determine nothing's broken, before moving to tear off the bandages.
Reno's suddenly beside him, hand gripping onto Rude's arm gently, saying that I wouldn't do that right now, yo. Why don't you rest some more? He sounds polite, and Rude's immediately suspicious. He swats Reno off, only grunting to acknowledge he heard Reno speak, and tries to take off the bandages again. His attempt is hampered once again when Reno grabs his chin roughly and snarls. Don't you understand it, yo, I said leave it the fuck alone.
Rude narrows his eyes, still unspeaking, and suddenly jerks to move his arms out of Reno's grip, swiftly initiating attempt number three before Reno can stop him. Something was wrong, and Reno wasn't telling him.
And if his partner wasn't telling him, it was either very bad for Rude, or very good for Reno.
Reno gets there in time, landing a punch on Rude's already-sore face. Reno's muttering about how Rude's a stubborn asshole that doesn't deserve his attention right now, but not before Rude sees the tinge of grey under the first layer of bandages, hears the worry in his partner's voice.
Reno doesn't know how bad Rude's geostigma is. Rude doesn't know how Reno carried him back from where he collapsed during his morning run.
Reno wakes up one morning and feels like crap, with a throbbing headache and a really dry throat. Reno tries to cough, it comes out dry and painful.
He swallows experimentally, before glancing at the clock to check the time. Shit. He curses out loud, before closing his eyes and thinking about how Tseng would react to his lack of punctuality. Even in Reno's mind, Tseng didn't look very happy. But well, Reno figured, it's not the first time I reported late.
Reno allows himself to lie down for another full ten minutes, before he allows himself to believe that even Tseng had limits. But when Reno tries to sit up, a wave of nausea hits him, so strong that his head reels, and his world spins uncontrollably. Reno helplessly sinks back down onto the mattress, eyes screwed up against the morning sunlight.
Reno curses and swears, taking deep breaths and swallowing repeatedly to try and curb the urge to lean over and empty his stomach contents onto the floor. He sniffs and feels himself break out in a sweat, and vaguely thinks that whatever I've caught this time, it sure is nasty.
He reaches for the phone and calls in sick, punching in the numbers for the Shinra HQ number with his eyes closed. When he finally gets through, he only hears silence at the end of the line, which meant he was talking to Rude. He ploughs on anyway, saying that he doesn't feel well. Maybe it was the drinking from last night, he suggests.
Rude pauses at the other end of the line. What's happening, partner? He asks, after a pregnant pause. You never fall sick on a work day.
Reno rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue impatiently. Yeah well, first time to everything, Rude. Even the best fall down, yo. Oh, and cover my shift for me tonight. Thanks.
Reno hangs up unceremoniously, tossing his cell somewhere on the bed, before staring at his cracked bedroom ceiling. He traces the part of the ceiling directly above his bed with his gaze - an elaborate series of cracks that he always thought looked like a chocobo – and thinks idly that it was funny how he had a guardian angel chocobo watching over him as he slept. Reno shakes his head with a scoff, realizing his thoughts had gone off a tangent. Reno had never been good at geometry, but since when did he think of things like that? He turns onto his side and snuggles into the covers, trying to get comfortable. He doesn't see the black slime that drenches his back, seeps through the back of his shirt, and stains the mattress.
Reno naps for the entire afternoon.
Rufus swallows, ignoring the slow trickle of slime down his hands and thighs.
He reads the hospital reports of all his Turks, and bites his lower lip from underneath the cover. Not that he let anyone see that. No one ever saw Rufus in any state of vulnerability. Ever.
Tseng:
Geostigma present on lower right leg, spreading to ankle and knee. Patient is predicted to suffer mobility difficulties in coming months.
Elena:
Geostigma present on shoulders, is predicted to spread to arms. Nervous problems might ensue.
Rude:
Geostigma present on right forearm. Predicted to spread to either wrist or upper arm in the next 2 weeks. Close observation necessary.
Reno:
Geostigma present on upper and lower back. Diagnosed with severe weight loss. Amendments to diet necessary. Severe case.
Rufus eyes the Shinra hospital reports, and when he's fully certain he knew every detail by heart, he looks up to watch the screens silently. All of his Turks are still working faithfully in their office in the exact same room Rufus occupies, one floor down. They have bandages here and there, some in more visible places than others, but they were still working at full force. Even Reno is doing his paperwork, behaving himself for now.
What was this? Geostigma? Was it a sort of… gangrene?
Rufus continues watching his Turks, watching as on-screen Reno chucks paperwork at Rude's unsuspecting head, and Tseng looks on grimly and threatens death using solely his eyes.
Rufus thinks about how the four of them are going to look in a month's time, with all the problems that the less-than-optimistic hospital record promised.
Tseng would be limping, not looking so impeccable after all. Elena wouldn't be able to control her arms as well as she currently could. Rude might not be able to type fluently anymore, nor hold a pen or phone. Reno wouldn't be able to sneer or curse at anybody or get himself drunk into oblivion, if his bodily functions weren't going to even cooperate.
Rufus wants to sob. He feels his throat constrict, but stays silent and unmoving from underneath the fabric. He could have passed off for being simply asleep, although his four loyal Turks would know better.
But his personal image is secondary right now. Rufus knows that he could very well lose the only four people he has left in his life, in the span of a few months.
Rufus blinks and inhales slowly, hoping the deep breathing would help him regain some sort of composure. He feels his heart and fists clench simultaneously. No such composure was going to happen any time soon.
For the first time in his life, Rufus Shinra is actually at a complete loss as for what he was supposed to do. And as he watches his oblivious Turks continue working, his right hand clenches around the wheelchair armrest, his eyes narrow, and his lips peel back in a silent snarl.
The sludge trickles down his face, tracing a trail between his eyes.