Hey there. This was, and still is, my first FFVII fic, and it's undergone a bit of a revamp I might add. Not an extremely noticeable one, but just to tidy up spelling and punctuation. Hope you enjoy the fic.

.:Chapter 1 – Cigarettes and Alcohol:.

The golden liquid sitting in the bottom of his glass reflected the garish blue light that shined, seemingly, on him alone. The wailing tones of the supposed 'professional' Blues singer made him want to put her out of her misery. He sighed and looked at the cheap tumbler sitting in front of him. The glass acted as a mirror to him, in its depths he could see himself – the dregs left behind. The red head tried to stare beyond the glass' superficiality, yearning for a deeper meaning but instead he was greeted with his golden, rippling reflection. Why am I here? The golden reflection reminded him of two years ago when he was respected. A Turk. A leader. He yearned for what he once was; he was fed up of being cast down to live amongst the dregs of society. The Turk downed the remainder of his drink, slamming the tumbler down on the battered bar top numerous times.

"Give me another," he bawled with a prominent slur whilst waving his tumbler, side to side, in the air.

He was drunk and he was bored. Two years had gone by since the threat of Meteor cast a grave shadow on the life of the Planet. Two years since Sephiroth had tried to seek out the Promise Land, killing everyone who got in his way. Tseng… Too many lives had been lost… ShinRa Inc. once a powerful, domineering force had degenerated and disintegrated; all that remained were a few die-hard elitist bigwigs. No Shinra meant no Turks. He was alone once again and the bastards at Shinra hadn't even given him a decent payoff. All he had were the clothes on his back, his .45 pistol and trusted EMR. Thanks for the fuckin' generosity. He had become restless, fidgeting and resorting to scratching obscenities into the bar top. Fuck this.

"Barman! I said give me another fuckin' drink!" he exclaimed in raised tones.

People in the nearby tanned booths turned and shot him a look of disgust and contempt. The red head could do nothing but smile to himself. He craved the attention of others almost as much as he craved his sodding whiskey. The service in shittin' Junon. Reno graciously pushed his black rimmed, black lensed shades further up his nose until they were sitting on top of his forehead. Impatiently, he ran a pallid, thin hand through his long yet ruffled crimson hair, tucking a few of the stray strands behind his ear. For as long as he could remember he had spent every night, almost, for the past two years drinking at this dingy shithole and what for? For nothing. Reno found himself subconsciously removing a smoke from the packet which he had divulged from his now redundant blue suit. He idly placed the smoke in his mouth. Nervously, the barman made his way to the fiery young man.

"Want a light?" he asked him calmly whilst measuring a double shot of whiskey into a fresh tumbler - whiskey on the rocks, his usual poison.

Reno gave the barman a gesturative head movement portraying the sentiment of "Yes. I would like a sodding light." The light illuminated the man's gleaming turquoise eyes, bringing out the Mako tinge that was embedded in them. He inhaled deeply allowing the smoke quick passage to his lungs. Seductively, he blew the smoke into the air.

Reno swilled his drink around the tumbler and watched how the liquid seeped down the transparent walls. Hours passed yet he felt like he had sat there for an eternity. As good as... A cute blonde in a revealing black dress and stilettos shimmied past him. His eyes trained on the distinctive way she walked, the way her hips moved, the way her ass wiggled, the way her hair was caught on the breeze as she disappeared into the night. Damn, I need to get laid... The primeval male instinct inside him took advantage of his inebriated state and got him lusting after any female with a pulse. Appalled by the lack of response he was getting, he downed his drink, stuffed his smokes in his top pocket and staggered towards the 'Little Boys Room.' What the..?

"Shit!"

His eyes adjusted and he found himself on the ashed and gum-smeared floor surrounded by a few of the local Junon tramps. Get up you sorry son of a bitch... Reno clambered to his feet, dusting off the ash and other grime from his old, worn suit. The haggard, fake and down right sleazy hags were standing between him and much needed relief.

"Hey dolls," he drawled sarcastically, placing his arms round their shoulders, "You mind getting outta my way?"

"It'll cost ya…" a peroxide blonde whispered in a syrupy voice.

The mere sight of this broad was enough to make his stomach turn. He barged past her and collapsed onto the floor of a stall. You waste of space. Sitting on the floor of some urine encrusted... Reno came to and wretched over the bowl of the toilet as the smell of stale urine crept up his nose. He used the grimy, yellow walls to help himself up. Sauntering over to the mirror, he looked at himself. Two faces stared back at him mimicking his every move. The man closed his eyes and then opened them again trying to fully focus on himself. He didn't look as bad as he thought he did, albeit his suit was becoming worn due to constant wear, but he was considered to be the 'rogue' Turk of his time– never tucking in his shirt, never doing the overtly smart thing. After reminiscing about his previous habits, Reno's gaze shifted to the other end of the long stained mirror... Cloud! He stared with disbelief and malice at the so-called 'Saviour of the Planet.' Cloud was wearing his trademark 'I'm a moody psycho' look. The red head's eyes narrowed and shifted back to the mirror in front of him. Cloud moodily stared at him – burning holes into the back of his head. Reno smirked at Cloud's stony, stoic glare. Just a fuckin' picture man... That's all.

"Hey blondie," he whispered warningly, "Quit wishing me dead."

He laughed and squared up to the picture, drunkenly staggering around. He remembered the battles the Turks and AVALANCHE had fought. Fierce. Unforgiving. Cloud was strong; he'd give him that, but only that. Along with the two main scars under each of his eyes, he had further distinguishable scar down the side of his neck – given to him by Cloud. He winced as he examined it. It wasn't painful but the memories it invoked were.

Reno continued to grimace at the picture that was encased in one of those cheap plastic clip frames. The type you find in somewhere like Costa del Sol. The caption "Victory through Struggle" emblazoned underneath. Cloud was leaning against his bloodied sword smouldering into the camera. He looked dishevelled, battle-weary…like he'd just been to Hell and back. Sephiroth…the One Winged Angel. Reno glanced either side of Cloud – he was not alone, instead he was flanked by two others. Vincent Valentine. Now there was a guy who commanded respect. He used to be leader of the Turks, decades ago. I gotta hand it to ya Valentine. An inexplicable sense of unity came over him. Both of them ex-Turks. Both of them having the blood of many still of their hands… Reno cast his mind back to previous jobs that had amounted in substantial bloodshed.

"Sector 7…" sighed Reno nostalgically. "How…sad?"

She had been there too. Yeah, the brunette chick… Tifa. Damn she was hot. Reno smiled to himself as he passively gave her a thought. He noticed something in the picture and walked closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with Cloud. He noticed the loving, compassionate gaze that was directed from Tifa's wine-drenched eyes to Cloud's cold glare. Cloud gazed obliviously into the camera. Bastard. As much as he hated AVALANCHE, it still didn't stop him feeling pity for this brunette…hell any girl, whose affections were obviously wasted on a mental case like Cloud.

"Bang," he whispered, as he mimicked a revolver with his hands.

Reno blew the smoke away from the mimicked revolver, and then resolved to take a leak. Paying the barman on the way out, he staggered on to the streets of Junon. For once, he was mentally aware enough to equip and arm his EMR and take the safety catch off his .45. Junon was a rough place and sense of foreboding enveloped him – a feeling of danger swept over him. Psychos all over the place... Ever since Shinra and the Turks had disbanded, he was at risk from being accosted by AVALANCHE disciples as they liked to be called. It was nothing he couldn't handle but still, he kept a firm grip on his EMR. He didn't know when he would have to use it or whom he would have to use it against. However, Reno blended easily into the shadows with his dark blue suit, only his eyes betrayed his invisibility amongst the darkness with their ethereal glow. Turning down a side ally, he leaned up against a graffiti-smeared wall and placed a cigarette in his mouth. Recently, he had begun to feel weakened as if some strange omnipresent force was following him, quelling his reflexes, slowing him down. He laughed.

"Its nothing," he lied, conversing with the air around him.

Reno exhaled the smoke and watched how it slithered up into the air like an indistinct serpent, eventually blending into the polluted Junon atmosphere – becoming nothing but another toxic fume.

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm hoping it still has the same 'Reno' appeal as it did first time around she hopes. Anyway, keep reading... this fic has a tendency to change perspective. Feel free to drop me a mail or give me a review.