firecracker
. o .
It was fifty-six minutes to midnight, and the front room of the Seventh Heaven was in a state of chaos. Tifa was balancing a tray of beer glasses on her hip, trying not to laugh at the antics of a table of regulars, or at Barret as he stomped out the door in search of - "marlboro cherries, Teef?"
"Maraschino!" she replied, giving in and laughing as the big man shook his head and shrugged into his coat.
Wedge laughed as well, looking up from mixing a drink and keeping Marlene away from Jessie's stash of home-made firecrackers. When Marlene had first seen the fireworks, she had dived to the colorful pile with a jubilant cry of 'candy!' and, finding her childish fingers not agile enough, had set to unwrapping the foil with her teeth, much to the horror and amusement of the adults. They were going to set off the fireworks from the roof at midnight - noise regulations be damned; New Year's only happened once a year. His smile only grew as he caught sight of Biggs, who was balanced on an ancient ladder, trying to pin a sprig of mistletoe right above the door - and, not-so-coincidentally, Jessie's head.
The girl was painting snowflakes onto the window on the door, and took a step back to admire her work when the door opened, admitting an unfortunately familiar redhead.
At her snarl, he smirked. "Well, well, Happy New Year to you, too."
Jessie sighed. "Should I even ask why you're here?"
Reno rolled his eyes. "For a drink, 'cause it's colder than Shiva's tits out here, but ya'd pour it over my head. So, uh, wishin' the best of the season to you from Shinra, Inc."
Jessie's jaw did its best to drop.
The redhead muttered something about "goodwill and shit," and was about to turn around when a blur of white caught his eye. Biggs had tried to pull the mistletoe away from the door, but had mistimed his movement. Reno's expression became calculating, and before anyone could move, he'd stepped forward and slanted his lips over Jessie's in a kiss that caught her breath and left her clutching at his arms.
"...Oops?" His smile was wicked.
"I'll - I'll give you 'ooops,' Turk," Jessie hollered, fists balling at her sides.
"You're blushing."
"You're leaving."
The redhead shrugged. "Whatever. Rude?"
Rude drew out of the shadows beyond the Heaven's porchlight to follow the redhead, but not before looking critically at Jessie's hands. "Thumbs out."
"...What?"
"Thumbs out," Rude repeated, hands moving towards hers as if to correct them before freezing and falling back to his sides. "You'll break your hand if you fight that way."
She blinked.
"Much as I hate to admit it, he's right." Tifa moved to stand beside the younger girl, crimson gloves dangling from one of her hands. The gesture was not lost on Turk or rebel. "Trouble?" she asked, her voice sweet.
"Is halfway down the street, Miss Lockheart." Rude fixed the scarf around his neck. "And so should I be. Have a happy New Year, now."
It was Tifa's turn to blink. "You...too?"
"Hmm." With a curl to his lips that seemed more suited to his partner, Rude nodded once more and descended the steps. He had to edge around a wary Barret, who had just turned the corner with a massive jar of cherries under his arm. "Wallace."
"Rude," Barret replied, flicking his gaze from the Turk. "Everything okay, Teef?"
"Fine, Barret," Tifa answered.
"BUT THEY WON'T BE if you don't get back in here," Wedge hollered from inside. "These drinks ain't mixing themselves, Teef! Jessie, some help, and for Ifrit's sake, close that door!"
And just like that, the spell was broken - Rude turned the corner and disappeared, and Barret joined Tifa and Jessie, sighing at the warmth and the line of glasses that Wedge had lined up along the bar.
New Year's or not, some things never changed.
. o .
karma come and karma go
some days it seems to overflow
the tide will come, the tide will go
the sky will fall, the wind will blow
if you fly on broken wings, cardboard cut-outs, hung from strings
on phony backdrop bristle-board
I'll play for you in major chords
'cause it's not the end of the world
(just yet)
. o .
disclaimer: Still not mine. Curses. Also, the bit at the end is from the wonderful Danny Michel's "It's Not The End of the World."
sabe's scribbles: Written as a request from jestaariadne over on LJ, who wanted New Year's, fireworks, and Reno/Jessie - the little drabble that grew and grew, but I liked where it ended up. Over-nice Turks and all, though thanks is owed to Ardwynna for reminding me they're not Boy Scouts, either. Happy New Year, everyone!