The small phone buzzed, swiveling in place as it vibrated, and brayed out a scrap of a formerly popular radio tune. Reno chewed his mouthful of noodles at it, and it shut up for a few seconds.

It inevitably rang again, vibrating a few centimeters across the top of the table and chittering against his bowl. The proprietor of the dingy little shack glared at him over the huge, steaming pot of broth that determined the flavor of everything she sold—he knew, because he'd tried to order the 'bo soup once, and found out that it tasted exactly the same as the pork and the vegetable. He wiped a splash of broth off it and clicked the phone open to see who was interfering with his lunch. The phone's display claimed that Cloud was calling him. Huh.

"Hey," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Reno," said the familiar voice, "I was going to ask you—"

"You're still doing delivery, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Great. I was going to call you anyway." Reno propped his feet up on the chair opposite him. "I've got a bunch of crap that needs to get out to Kalm and I don't feel like going, there's some other stuff I have to do tomorrow and Kalm's about as cool as a sand-dragon's ass anyway, so…"

"Yeah, fine," Cloud said, but his voice over the phone was distracted-sounding, and faint as though he was holding it away from his face. "Just…hang on a second." Reno heard a scuffing noise and a clattering thump as the phone dropped. There was a truly odd wet whuffing sound. It sounded…snouty.

"Hey Cloud, man, if you let your dog lick the phone while I'm on it I'm going to be pissed off. That is low."

"I'm…sorry to reach you this way," replied a voice much lower than Cloud's, and differently-accented. There was another wet whuffle. "Can you hear me?"

Reno switched the phone to his other ear. "Yeah, I can hear you…who's this? Are you the kid's dog or what?" He took advantage of the lengthy pause to get another clump of noodles into his face.

"My name is Red Thirteen," said the phone.

"Awesome," said Reno, chewing. He waited. Did he have enough time for a beer?

"…hello?"

"Yeah, what."

"Do you recognize that name?" Cloud's dog was using a tone of voice suggesting that Reno was missing out on something very significant.

"Never heard it before," he admitted cheerfully. "Does everybody in the club get a code name like that? I kinda want one." He heard the phone rattle again.

"Look, damn it, can't you be serious for once? He just wants to talk to you." That was Cloud.

"We were talking! He was definitely saying words."

"It's important , Reno."

"Fine, whatever. Put your dog back on."

He heard Cloud set the phone down on something and the thumps of boots walking away. "This isn't going as well as I'd hoped," the dog snuffled. It sounded sad. "I'd…like to meet you and discuss this in person, Reno. Soon."

"Eh, I'm not doing anything tonight. D'you eat, you know, food?"

"I eat food," the dog confirmed solemnly.

"Right, yeah. There's a place just off Silence Street right outside the downtown core, a little Hangang joint with a yellow sign and some tables in front. They do barbecue. Probably let pets in. Get there at eight."

"I will."

"See ya." Reno clicked his phone off, paid the proprietor for his lunch, and walked out of the dim shack into the gritty sunlight of a Midgar afternoon. He'd made a dinner date with a domestic animal. He'd be screwing chocobos next.

He fought the urge to ask Rude what he thought about the whole deal. He was pretty sure what Rude would think about it anyway, specifically that he'd be screwing chocobos next, so he didn't ask. He was a good little corporate drone for the rest of the afternoon, except for the part where he didn't actually do much of anything. And he left early.

It wasn't like it was a real date anyway, he thought on the tram ride home. The dog just wanted to talk to him about something.