Curious
Disclaimer: I don't, rather obviously (don't you think?) own the FFVII Compilation (which includes the original game and all its prequels/sequels).
Summary: How easily the world's color scheme can change. YuffieReno
Warnings: I like large amounts of unnecessarily large words -smiles- that's all!
Chopin's Fifteenth
(Raindrops)
Sitting on the slanted rooftop of his apartment building, cigarette dangling idly from his parted lips, Reno watched swirls of smoke rise from the lit tip of his cancer stick—the man's acquaintance with which, as forewarned by most everyone who had any inkling of hope in the red-head's grasp on the concept of common sense, in the long run, would do Reno more harm than good. Nonetheless, past all the complaints, threats, and pleadings from Reeve and Elena, the former Turk somehow retained his habit of smoking, claiming that without the distraction such an activity provided, he'd be insufferable. Of course, no one ever argued that such an adjective wasn't a correct description for him, even with the cigarettes, but, apparently, Reno thought of his behavior as tolerable...and such, as Elena would more than gladly attest, is a very disturbing thought. With that in mind, the red-head's blonde co-worker stopped her pursuit of such an elusive thing as keeping Reno healthy, and Reeve soon followed her example. After everything was said and done, despite occasional glares and pleading looks, Reno was left alone. And the brash ex-Turk was more than happy for that.
Turquoise eyes followed wisps of gray smoke, marveling at how little the color actually contrasted with the gray tones of the street below. Rising with the light wind, the smoke gradually faded into the canvas of the gray-blue sky above, smudged into the picture to the point of invisibility. Reno's eyes stopped their ascent when losing sight of the alluring swirls, involuntarily concentrating their attention on the dreary view of Midgar—a city once considered glorious, yet never quite stunning. Every which way one would have the pleasure of looking, identical cobblestone streets would greet the spectator's curious gaze—running through the heart and towards the darker edges of the city, creating a web-like pattern of veins and arteries flowing thick with people, cars, public transport, shops, factories, restaurants, and every other kind of common sights one would find in an urban capital. There was something comforting in Midgar's model, admittedly. The identical layout of most every central corner and the similar stretching lines of avenues from the axis—marked by a circle of white bricks, original statue residing there now destroyed—did make for quite a comfortable feeling of deja vu. Because West side was one and the same with the East side; North was no different from the South, and all four parts were indistinguishable from one another.
Reno scowled ever so slightly, languidly running his gaze over the gray scenery. It seemed that despite Meteor, life, for most, still hasn't changed. Rushing people crowded the narrow streets in one flowing wave; similar, dark clothing smudged together to the point that features and outlines of each individual were lost within the multitude. Every average person seemed to have fallen back on old habits, old style, old everything. Nothing changed, and most seemed to like it that way. Reno, however, was not average to any stretch of the imagination, and, perhaps, that's exactly why going back to his old lifestyle was impossible and change—no matter how unwelcome—was inevitable. With the transition from assassin to law enforcement agent, Reno's sporadic decisions and brash sense of independence have become substituted for obedience and reliance, landing the red-head in unfamiliar territory. Though Reno was grateful enough for Reeve's assistance in gaining a pardon, being a snitch for the WRO was hardly an occupation the former Turk wanted to see his name under. This line of work was a complete travesty! And as far as Reno was concerned, even his navy blue suit has been substituted for its cheaper, black imitation.
The wind picked up, gray clouds swallowing most of the sky in their soft folds. Just another sunrise that Reno wouldn't quite be able to see—for it didn't seem as though sun's first, weak rays would succeed in shining through the dense darkness above. The half-finished cigarette dangling from Reno's relaxed fingers flew from the man's grasp with the cold gusts of wind that seemed to only grow stronger as time wore on, but Reno didn't pay it much heed. It has become his tradition of sorts, this early morning catwalk—which ended with the same mocking, masochistic musings time and time again. The red-head only idly wondered why it was that his insomnia seemed to wake him at exactly four every single morning, but could hardly scrounge up an answer. The wake-up has become a part of his daily routine, and he hasn't deviated from it for the past year. The fact that he even had a familiar routine, truthfully, scared him more than anything. For a man who's joy came from sporadic improvisation, a repeating pattern of events was fatal. Reno didn't need a daily routine; he didn't want it! But, day in and day out, he fell back on it. Reno generally knew what he'd be doing in three hours, in five hours, in ten, in twenty-four. And the thought—no matter how true—was disconcerting.
Same thing happened every day: every single, fucking day! Reno found himself wide awake—despite his complaining muscles—at four in the morning, engaging his forming tradition of a good mind fuck on the roof of his apartment building—with a few cigarettes, no less—for approximately the next two hours. He'd leave his perch at about six in the morning, climbing back through the window and into his bedroom, giving himself another hour's worth of sleep. At no later than five past seven, he'd hear his answering machine turn on followed by Elena's shrill voice, threats, and vilifications that warn him against being late for work...again. By 'round about seven ten, he'll finally get his vocal chords to function and something along the lines of 'rookie' will float through the room, as he'll make his lethargic way to the shower. And yes, he will be late to work yet again, and yes, Elena will throw yet another fit. He'll meet Reeve's disapproving look and Rude's amusedly quirked lips behind the blonde's shoulder and snicker, only fueling Elena's anger. Then work, then dinner, then bar, then bed...and everything starts up again at four the next morning.
For some, a routine provides comfort; for Reno, a routine is as close as he'd ever felt to being dead.
The red-head lit another cigarette, refocusing his eyes on the sky above. A blue-white streak of lightning cut through his vision, making Reno tilt his head in a more or less expectant manner. It didn't take long for the silent inquiry to be answered in a downpour of clear, cold rainwater. The thought of retaining his health and escaping the rain did cross Reno's mind, but only briefly. As long as his cigarette remained lit and his muscles protested with every slight movement, he was immune. His vibrant red hair slowly darkened to deep burgundy as it, along with the rest of Reno, progressively became wet. The man didn't pay it much attention, only moving drenched bangs from obstructing his vision. Once again, Reno fell back to scanning the street under his roof, diverting his gaze to the far, left end of it involuntarily upon catching sight of something not quite fitting.
Just a flash—a cringe-worthy, cornea-damaging kind of flash—of lush green and vibrant orange raced past his almost unseeing eyes, repainting the gray canvas of the street below ever so slightly. The agile speck of color, no matter how cornea-damaging it was, served well to attract his wandering attention, blue-green eyes gluing themselves to the strangely familiar figure. She stopped her frantic running, seemingly giving up on the idea of retaining her dry state, as Reno watched her slow to a lethargic walk half-way down the narrow street's length. The sudden drop in speed set the former Turk slightly on edge with more than mild curiosity. Regarding the spectacle closer, he realized that the petite figure was heading in the direction of a small ball of fur, who's state was making her cringe with pity. The girl now seemed less interested in getting out of the rain and more concerned with the small puppy, who was softly whining his discomfort with the downpour from the sidewalk. Wrapping the stray k-nine in the folds of her green jacket, the young woman assumed a seat on the vacated spot where she just found her new acquaintance.
After a few moments of pensively observing the young woman, Reno closed his eyes with a sigh. Having seen her on a limited amount of less than pleasant occasions, under less than convenient circumstances, and on less than friendly terms, as far as their respective parties were concerned, Reno still managed to pin a name to the face: Yuffie Kisaragi—princess, Godo's only daughter, and the 'single white rose of Wutai'—otherwise known as the AVALANCHE brat. Consisting mainly of a big mouth, bigger head, arrogant attitude, and an unhealthy materia fetish, the girl wasn't the company most strangers would go searching for of their own volition—and Reno was, though not a stranger, no pleasantly familiar face. Even so... Perhaps he overdid it on the alcohol the night before or, maybe, the encroaching ennui and the terribly depressing turn his musings were taking made him seek a distraction, but before he actually formulated a reason for his outburst...
"Hey, brat! The fuck are you doing?"
Well-hidden parody of concern for her well-being was certainly not what he was going for, but the words had already tumbled out, leaving him just as surprised that he'd said anything as the figure below—who was shocked on account of having been spoken to. It took her a few moments to locate the source of the inquiry, eyes quickly darting over the playing shadows on each massive, stone building boxing in the street on two sides. When the ninja did find her current company, however, it was rather obvious from the changing look of confusion, to realization, to irritation on her face that she recognized Reno almost immediately.
"Trying to catch pneumonia," Yuffie informed the ex-Turk dryly, subtle sarcasm easily lacing the words.
"I can see that," Reno responded just as dryly. "But you're going about it the wrong way. You know how much faster you'd achieve that blissful state of sickness if you..."
"I don't recall asking for your advice," the ninja interrupted Reno's soon-to-be suggestion snappishly.
"That's because you didn't," the ex-Turk shrugged. "Still doesn't change the fact that you're in desperate need of it."
Yuffie scowled in response, childishly presenting Reno with her tongue in that—oh-so familiar to any parent—huffy manner, natural to every self-respecting youngster. The ex-Turk looked upon the display in mild amusement, almost contemplating answering in kind before rejecting the idea. His sulking time was cut dismally short, courtesy of his own unthinkable actions, and now he was sourly regretting his attempt at being the voice of reason—no matter how skewed—for once.
"And what is it that you're doing, Turkey? Sun bathing?" she inquired after a stretched moment of silence.
"Nah. Just...contemplating." More than mildly surprised at his own honest response, Reno now seriously considered how much he drank the night before. One of his hands mindlessly ran itself over the location of his liver, which—agreeably enough—wasn't hurting.
"Life, death, and love?" Yuffie pressed, giggling quietly at her own absurd question.
The feminine sound was just as foreign to the ninja's ears as it was to Reno's, but while the former cringed at the unfamiliarity, the latter cracked a small, barely perceptible smile. Not that the red-head would be able to articulate his mind's acceptance of the pleasant noise, but he liked it. Elena used to often indulge in that ridiculous activity: giggling. And though it annoyed him in his Turk days, Reno had forgotten what it sounded like. With her added professional experience, Elena denied herself the small pleasure, taking away Reno's only source of the sound. The red-head's other female—one night—acquaintances, didn't, sadly enough, often giggle. And if they did...the sound was more forced than natural.
"No," he denied past a moment's pause, already assuming that rather pompous and overly dramatic look required for his next statement. "My deep musings stretch along a different set of lines."
"Quantitative or qualitative?"
"Quantitative."
"Let me guess!" the ninja exclaimed mock-enthusiastically. "How much more you drank yesterday compared to how much you could have actually handled?"
"Touche," Reno deadpanned, pleasantly surprised that the banter had yet to turn sourly unenjoyable.
As unfortunate—or fortunate (for the lighthearted jostling still had a good chance of turning in a more or less lethal direction)—as that is, the slowly building conversation was at this point rudely interrupted. Exposed cleavage, long, red nails, a cigarette, and a bottle of what looked to be cheap Brandy was the cause, to be more precise than simply referencing 'an interruption.' Add in the fact that the woman looked to be no less than forty, Reno would soon be neededing eye surgery. Thankfully, Yuffie was spared the sight, having sat herself directly under the balcony of the disturbance above. Pointing a less-than delicate (understatement) finger in the red-head's direction, red nail polish contrasting unpleasantly with the calm gray tones of the general atmosphere, the woman (creature) wagged her aforementioned finger a few times at the red-head and pressed it back to her lips, making it more or less obvious that she was looking for him and his acquaintance to cease their discussion.
Yuffie took the hint from Reno's hands, which came up to calm the woman in a resigned manner, that her leave was overdue. Wrapping the puppy tighter in the green folds of her jacket, she rose from the ground, bouncing in place to get semblance of feeling back into her cold legs.
"Hey, Turkey!" the ninja called back in parting, light footsteps barely heard over the roar of thunder behind her. Upon catching Reno's bewildered look, she waved, small, genuine smile gracing her features. "Get some sleep. You look like shit."
And with that parting compliment, she was gone; all cornea-damaging display of vibrant colors gone with her besides the few stray rays of sun's weak attempts at breaking through the gray blockade of forecast, casting bright streaks on the pavement below.
And, curiously, when his answering machine clicked on at five past seven, Reno could only smirk, foregoing his usual routine of getting up.
"I need my beauty sleep, 'Laney," he mumbled into the pillow. "Wouldn't want to, y'know, look like shit."
A/N: Before you say it -holds up hands- I know. That hardly even began to hint at a Reffie, but, what can you do? My muse decided to go haywire and make things cutesey. Hope it was still enjoyable enough :D But, on a more serious note, I really need your advice. I have a (feint, but still there) idea of how to make this piece into a longer story, but, I'm not certain whether it's better as a one-shot or a chaptered piece of fiction. Neither am I certain whether I want to add one-shots onto it and make somewhat of a collection-sheepish grin- I'm open to suggestions! XD
Thanks!
Red.