A/N: Rated T for a bunch of naughty words.
The old, battered truck shook and rattled along the bumpy country road. It was fortunate that no other vehicles were crossing the plains that night, for the driver paid only cursory attention to the road. His mind was occupied with a troubling mystery: when, and how, had he managed to infuriate a superior in his first two weeks at the job?
One of them had to be royally pissed off, that much was clear. It was the only explanation Rude could come up with for being saddled with not only this terrible joke of a mission, but also this terrible joke of a partner.
He glanced at his new colleague. The sight of that wild mop of hair was enough to make his scalp itch. His fingers twitched as he took in the wrinkled, ill-fitting suit and he was sure that if he were to stare at that hunched posture for too long, his own back would begin to ache in sympathy. When Rude had been informed that his initial training was over and he would be paired up with a more experienced Turk, the last thing he had expected was to end up with this hotheaded teenage slob.
Only a few years into his twenties, Rude was far from old, yet he found himself mentally referring to the other Turk as "the kid". The kid put three heaped spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, then bounced off the walls for half an hour. The kid had the sense of humor of a six-year-old. The kid didn't know how to tie a tie – or so Rude assumed, as he had never seen one on Reno, despite it being a required part of the Turk uniform. He eyed the unbuttoned collar out of the corner of his eye, reaching up to check the neat knot of his own tie.
These were all details he could have overlooked if the kid had not also been too talkative, too loud and too rash, with a temper that matched his fiery red hair. Rude suspected that whoever had teamed them up was operating under the assumption that contrasting personalities complemented each other. He also suspected this person had never been trapped in a room with their own polar opposite.
Since the start of this mission, however, the younger man had been oddly quiet. Much to his vexation, Rude had found himself unable to enjoy the silence. An unacknowledged tension simmered just below the surface, making his shoulders tight and the back of his neck prickle.
It had been a very long drive.
"Is it meant to look like this?"
The question took Rude by surprise. After a few moments to switch mental gears, he raised his eyebrows, then realized Reno couldn't see the gesture in the dark.
"Hmm?"
"There's nothin' here," Reno said.
"It's the Grasslands."
"Shit."
Rude's brow knotted at the dismay permeating that single word. In the periphery of his vision, Reno's pale fingers flickered white against the dark fabric of the scruffy Turk suit, drumming an erratic beat on the kid's skinny thighs. A sideways glance informed him that the younger man was gnawing on his lip, too.
Fantastic. The redhead was restless at the best of times, but highly strung was definitely worse. Frayed nerves meant a shorter fuse, and Reno's was already too short for comfort.
Another glance at his colleague brought another curious detail to his attention. Reno spent more time with his eyes aimed up than straight ahead.
Scanning the horizons for threats or peeking over one's shoulder, that Rude could understand. Glancing straight up at the sky? What was the point of that? As he pondered whether Reno thought the chocobos would swoop down on them from above, it hit him. Of course. The speech and mannerisms, the brash attitude, the flashy hair – everything about Reno screamed slum kid from below plate.
Rude had carefully read through the intel on the target farm, on its neighbors, on the environment. In hindsight, he should have checked the facts on his new partner, too. Facts like how long the kid had been able to see the sky.
Well, better late than never. Rude took a deep breath to steel himself, then opened his mouth.
"First job outside the city?"
"Naw, man. I've been places."
Rude was not sure how to respond, so an awkward silence followed the dismissive answer. Maybe he should have mentioned the weather instead. That was the expected opener, wasn't it? Rude pondered this for a few moments, before dismissing the exercise as a waste of time. This was why he hated small talk. There were too many nebulous rules to follow, just so people could exchange empty platitudes.
Luckily, Reno piped up again of his own accord.
"First time in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, tho'. Who the hell holes up all the way out here?"
"Farmers."
Reno scoffed. Rude couldn't tell whether it was aimed at his choice of reply or the concept of farming itself. Both, probably.
The truck ride continued in silence, until a worrying possibility occurred to Rude.
"Have you seen chocobos before?"
"Pff, 'course I have. 'Bos are cheaper than cars, even slum rats can afford 'em. Some of 'em anyway. Ain't always easy to get the greens to feed 'em under the plate, but it's still cheaper than fuel."
Rude considered this. Chocobos were a rare sight in the poorer districts in his hometown, but from what he had seen so far, the giant birds were ubiquitous on the Eastern Continent. It made sense that some of them would end up in the Midgar slums.
"Used to watch one as a kid, actually," Reno continued. "The guy who owned her ran a one-man taxi service under the plate and would pay a couple gil if I kept an eye on his bird while he grabbed a few drinks. He kept braggin' that she used to be a racer at Gold Saucer, but she sure didn't look it no more. Real old and skinny as hell, with a half her feathers missin'." He chuckled. "No one was gonna bother stealin' her, not even for eatin'. Easiest gig I ever had."
As he talked, the kid grew more relaxed. Rude had expected as much, considering Reno's evident love for his own voice. The odd thing was that he did the same.
"She was a nice bird, ol' Dodo," the redhead mumbled, staring out the window. "Shame what happened to her."
In the short time they had known each other, Rude had already discovered Reno's aggravating tendency to leave a story hanging. Apparently, this one was no exception.
"Well, what happened?" he finally asked.
"The carriage got caught in the crossfire of some gang fight in Sector 2. The guy made it. Dodo didn't. I heard the gang that won fed her to their dogs."
The kid's voice was indifferent, but the distant look in his eyes suggested something else. Rude shrugged off the odd compulsion to offer his condolences.
"Hey, look." Reno pointed, bringing Rude's attention to a small cluster of buildings that broke the monotony of the plains. "That the place?"
"Yeah."
According to plan, Rude pulled over a distance away so as to not disturb the farmers with the truck's engine or lights. He hopped down out of the driver's seat, taking care to push the door shut with as little sound as possible, then took a few moments to mentally prepare himself. It was difficult to focus, though, when the goal was utterly ridiculous.
The mission, in all its absurdity, was simple enough. Locate the farm, break into the stables, find the rare white chocobo and bring it back to Midgar unharmed. Birdnapping, in other words.
"Yeah, tell me 'bout it," Reno grumbled, and Rude realized he must have said the word out loud. "It's gotta be the dumbest thing I've heard. Don't let it get to ya, tho'. Unlike this dumbass job, most of the missions are 'bout huntin' bad guys and such. Y'know, shit that actually makes sense. Birdnappin' ain't exactly part of the job description, yo."
"Yet here we are?"
The redhead responded with a cynical chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
"Yeah, well, every now and then one of the big bosses gets it in their head that us Turks are their personal lackeys. If it's someone like Palmer or Scarlet, you can politely tell 'em to fuck off, 'cause they don't have the authority to give us orders. When it's Heidegger, Veld can always try talkin' to the Prez. But, when it's old man Shinra himself... " Reno made a sour face and shook his head. "Eh, talkin' 'bout it ain't gonna get us nowhere. Let's get goin'."
The night was quiet and the full moon cast more than enough light for an easy trek to the farm, but the farther they got from the car, the more Reno glanced around. He was getting jumpier by the minute.
"Why would the old man wanna give Shinra Junior a chocobo, anyway?" Rude heard him mutter under his breath. "The hell's he gonna do with it? He's already got a pet hound and far as I know, he'll choose ridin' in somethin' with an engine over a 'bo any day. What a dumbass idea."
He considered asking Reno to kindly shut up, but suspected it would just make him worse. It was less trouble to just put up with it. The start of the action would be the end of the verbal flood, anyway.
The T-shaped farmhouse was dark and quiet. Most of the open space in front of it was given over to a large enclosure, the ground inside dug up and uneven. A more modest one was attached to the property's largest building, rectangular in shape with a rounded roof. The chocobo stable, Rude guessed.
The Turks hustled to the stable, forgoing the large main doors in favor of a smaller one on the side of the building. While Reno investigated the lock, Rude turned around to keep an eye on the farmhouse. Soon, he heard muttered curses behind his back. Instinctively he tensed his muscles, but the lack of urgency in the younger man's voice kept Rude at his post, instead opting for just a glance over his shoulder.
"Trouble?"
Reno straightened up, his face scrunched up with disdain.
"They didn't even lock the place up! Can this gig get any more borin'?"
He demonstrated with a small tug. The door swung open with a quiet creak, releasing a whiff of hay and animal musk. Rude craned his neck, peering in, but all he could see were wooden walls and a stone floor.
"C'mon, let's get inside," Reno urged.
Inside the stable, the air was warmer and thicker, and carried the sound of heavy breathing from several directions. When Reno closed the door, the creak caused a minor stir, setting off a round of shuffling and huffing noises.
The Turks had entered a small alcove of sorts, which cut a row of stalls in half. In the moonlight filtered through several windows, Rude could just make out a similar alcove on the opposite side, with a rack of equipment along the back wall instead of a door. The two formed a cross with the main aisle, dividing the stable's eight stalls into groups of two.
Now that the younger Turk had a roof over his head, he eased into his usual demeanor. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Reno ambled into the intersection and glanced down each end of the passage.
"'Kay, you take the left. I'll go right."
Each stall had a door that came up to Rude's chest, leaving the top third open. A cautious peek into the first one revealed a yellow chocobo curled up in a pile of straw, fast asleep. The second stall contained a green bird, sitting on its haunches and swaying its head around in a slow, drowsy fashion.
In the third stall on the opposite side of the aisle, a chocobo stood in the farthest corner, meeting Rude's gaze with an even stare. Its plumage shone pure white in the moonlight.
"Here," Rude called quietly to his partner.
His experience with chocobos was limited to races on TV and the couple of times he'd sat on one as a kid. The bird in question had been a young one, of a size better suited for children. Their target was supposed to be a juvenile as well, but this bird was twice as big as the one from his childhood. A tingle of apprehension settled in his gut as the white chocobo stared him down from its shadowy corner. It was easily a head taller than him, with legs that looked powerful enough to kick a man in two.
Reno sidled up, ignoring the avian death glare on his arrival in favor of the painted sign on the stall door. He mouthed the letters to himself before reading the word written on it out loud.
"Blanco, huh? Funny name."
"Not really. Means 'white'."
Blanco hadn't blinked even once, Rude was sure of it. Did chocobos blink at all?
"Oh, it's Costan, huh? That where you're from, right? Costa del Sol?"
"Yes."
"Been there once," Reno commented as he fetched a halter and rope from a rack in the doorless alcove. "Better than the fuckin' Grasslands, that's for sure. It's got people around, for one. And bars, lots of bars. Gotta have booze, yo."
Once the younger man had returned to Blanco's stall, he stopped for another look at the sign.
"Blanco," Reno repeated with a surprisingly accurate accent; thoughtfully, as if tasting the Costan flavor of the word. "All right, Blanco, you're gettin' a change of scenery. Let's roll, birdie."
The bird hissed. To Rude, it sounded like the chocobo equivalent of a death threat.
"Hey, think you could teach me some Costan?" Reno asked, still unfazed by the bird's behavior. "Could use a few pickup lines, y'know. Tho' I got the message across last time with just–whoa!"
The moment the younger Turk had unlatched the stall door, the bird sprang into action. Reno spun aside just in time to avoid a trampling by clawed feet as the prized chocobo barged past them. Making a beeline for freedom, it knocked the stable door open and disappeared from sight.
"Shit!"
Reno set off after the fugitive. Aided by a burst of adrenaline, Rude was only a couple of seconds behind him. He stumbled through the door only to find the red-haired Turk locked in a staring match with the white bird, who had taken up a position by the far end of the barn.
"Gotta have fingers to open the gate on this fence thing," Reno explained, waving his hand toward the nearest wall of the enclosure. "Lucky us, huh?"
"Paddock."
"Huh?"
"It's called a paddock."
"Whatever," Reno groaned. "Thing is, both stable doors lead into it. Think you can sneak up on our bad boy through the main doors while I keep him distracted?"
Blanco glared at them both with an ill will intense enough to start fires. Rude swallowed.
"Yes," he said.
"Cool. Here, take this." Reno shoved the halter and rope in his face. "Now hurry up. Blanco boy ain't gonna stand still forever."
Rude took the gear and slunk back inside without a word. It wasn't as if he could say no. It wasn't as if he wanted to say no. It was just a chocobo, for Odin's sake. A chocobo.
By the time he reached the end of the stable, his mouth had gone dry. Sneaking didn't come naturally to him, but Rude took special care to make as little sound as possible while he unlatched the main doors. Pushing one of them open just enough to peek out, he spotted the tail end of their target. Blanco was still trying to stare Reno to death.
Ever so slowly, Rude pushed the door farther, until he could slip his body through the opening. The rope was in a firm grip in one hand, the halter in the other. He wouldn't bother with the latter. As long as he could get the rope around the bird's neck and hold it still, Reno could take care of the halter.
He took a step closer, then another. He was sure the chocobo would hear his pulse racing out of control, but the bird stayed still. Rude took another step.
Blanco's head snapped around, fixing him with beady, malevolent eyes. Rude's stomach plummeted.
What happened next would forever be a blur in Rude's mind. There was hissing, then screeching, then screaming. That last sound might have been his own. There was some flailing on his part. Running, too. Definitely running. How he ended up back inside the stable, his ass planted on the cold stone floor and back pressed up against a wall – well, that part he wasn't so sure about.
Reno stood in front of him, his hands on his hips, gaping at him incredulously.
"Seriously? You ran away from a giant chicken?"
Rude wasn't about to dignify that with a reply. Mostly because he was too busy trying to catch his breath. Eventually, Reno huffed and threw up his arms.
"Whatever. C'mon, let's try again."
Oh, no. No way. Rude was not facing the demon chocobo of the Grasslands so soon again.
"Bad idea," he croaked.
"Why?"
Rude hesitated, racking his brain for a convincing argument.
"It's bigger than us."
Reno's glacial glare surpassed even Blanco's death gaze.
"You wanna go back to Veld and tell him we failed the mission 'cause a freakin' bird was too scary for two of his Turks?"
His voice was like the calm before a storm. Rude had to admit that for a teenage brat, the kid could be pretty damned intimidating. He cleared his throat.
"The bird is smart. We have to be smarter."
Reno's eyes narrowed. Then, without warning, he slapped his forehead, bursting into laughter.
"Shit, of course! Chicks, man! Like, literally!"
Rude stared at the younger man's delighted expression, unable to find any sense in the exclamation.
"What?"
"C'mon, it's simple! Pretty girl bird shows up, guy bird goes gaga. We're gonna work with mother nature, buddy."
It took Rude a few moments to catch up with Reno's train of thought. When he did, it took all of his willpower not to plant his face in his palm.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah! All we gotta do is find some fine piece of 'bo tail, flaunt it by the door and Blanco boy's gonna come runnin' back. Easy as pie, yo."
"And if he won't?"
Reno rolled his eyes.
"'Course he will! Bird dudes wanna get laid too, right?"
Rude sighed, but he had no counter-argument to make. As far as he could tell, the kid knew more about chocobos than he did.
Reno grinned and skipped over to the neighboring stall door to peer at the sign.
"Here's a Daphne. Sounds like a girl to me."
Rude followed at a slower pace and peered in at the stall's inhabitant. It was a common yellow chocobo, about the same size as the target and just as keen to keep out of reach at the back of the stall. Unlike Blanco, however, this one seemed nervous, shifting its weight from foot to foot and clucking anxiously.
Reno wasn't deterred. He leaned over the stall door, holding out his hand to beckon the bird closer.
"Here, birdie. Come say hi, will ya?"
The chocobo took a step backwards and scraped at the straw on the floor with her claws.
"Don't think she likes you," Rude noted.
Reno chuckled, placing both hands on the top of the door so he could rest his chin on them.
"Nah, she's just a bit shy 'cause she don't know me." He fell silent for a few seconds, studying both the stall and the bird. "Right, let's try this. I'll open the door, and either catch her as she comes out or go in and get her. You stand by the stable door, make sure she won't run off in case she gets past me."
Rude nodded. Once he'd taken up his assigned position, Reno unlatched the stall door, working with slow, deliberate moves while keeping an eye on the bird inside.
Daphne was better behaved than her male neighbor. Rude could hear the sound of shuffled hay as she paced back and forth, warking repeatedly, but she stayed in the back of the stall while Reno opened the door. It wasn't until the Turk stepped inside that the chocobo gave an alarmed cry and bolted.
"We got a runner!"
After his warning, Reno made to grab her on her way past, but let out a surprised yelp and jumped back. Rude spread his arms, ready to act, but the chocobo didn't even try to flee outside. As she rounded the corner of her stall and darted into the alcove next to it, he saw what had startled his partner. Two balls of knee-high, blue fluff scurried after her on spindly legs, chirping in distress. By the wall, Daphne turned around and hunched down with a hiss, raising her wings, while the little ones tried to hide behind their mother's legs.
Reno strolled out of the stall, scratching the back of his head as he looked over the trio.
"Well, shit," he said with a sheepish laugh. "That ain't the kinda chicks I had in mind."
"Think it'll still work?"
Rude though it a perfectly reasonable question, but it seemed to catch his partner off guard. A strange look flitted across his features before he gave a half-hearted shrug.
"Uh... Dunno, really. Guess we can try."
Although Reno's earlier enthusiasm had evaporated, he quickly devised a plan to catch the female chocobo. Halter in hand, he would approach the alcove from the left, while Rude guarded the right side, preventing any escape attempt.
The start was promising. Rude moved first, and the chocobo reacted by shuffling over to the other side of the alcove. Reno approached without a sound, gliding across the floor like a shadow. The bird didn't notice him until he was close, too close for comfort. She danced to the side, warking in alarm, and Rude spread his arms to keep her put. Startled by his sudden move, she lunged, snapping at his left hand.
Reflexively, Rude leaped back before the pain struck and stumbled out of reach, letting loose an uncharacteristically long string of curses. He checked his hand, relieved to find all fingers intact. The beak had only caught a bit of skin off the forefinger, enough for a painful pinch, but not for lasting damage.
"C'mon, man, why'd ya have to go and call her names? She's just lookin' out for her babies like a good mama bird should, keepin' 'em safe from bad guys."
Rude gritted his teeth in utter disbelief. His foulmouthed so-called partner was defending the vicious creature that had just tried to bite off his fingers?
The bald man whipped his head up, ready to give his fellow Turk a piece of his mind, but the look on Reno's face made him pause. The redhead was frowning, his mouth set in a sad pout of reproach. Seeing the kid look like a kicked puppy was bad enough. Even worse was the twinge of remorse it stirred in Rude's chest.
"Then catch her yourself," he growled, irritated by both the bird and his own softhearted reaction.
Reno was quiet for a while, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the chocobos, the frown remaining on his face. The chicks chittered non-stop as they milled around their mother's legs, to which she responded with quiet warks – cautioning her brood, Rude thought, while she kept a wary eye on the humans. After a minute she let her guard down enough to lower her head, cooing softly while she stroked her little ones with the side of her beak.
"Ah, fuck it," Reno huffed. "I don't need Mama Bird. I got this."
He stalked toward the stable door, his shoulders squared and his jaw set.
Rude sighed. This would not end well.
A/N:
Thanks for reading! If you've read "The Unwelcome Guest", you may remember the mention of an ill-fated mission to a chocobo farm at the start of chapter 22. It was meant as a throwaway remark, but the idea kept popping back into my head, again and again, until it evolved to this two-shot of silly fun. I hope you enjoy! The second part will be posted once I get a chance to edit it.
Special thanks to Mr. Stompy for helping me wrangle the English language and to fellow fic-writer U for the irresistibly puntastic title.