A/N: Because I am really tired of seeing SuperDepressed!Fuckedup!DrugAddict!POMFGThere'sSomethingHorriblyWrongWithMe!Reno. Well, not really. If it's well written, I don't mind, but, seriously, it's completely OOC when he goes all clingy and whatnot. Yes, I am a bitter bitch, thankyouverymuch.
Feel free to flame me. Watch me laugh.
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(Reno)
Kicking my shoes off on the doormat and slamming the door in the ever-dull Midgar sky, I vehemently cursed at almost every person I knew. Old Shin-Ra, Rufus, Elena, Rude, Tseng, fucking MUDSLIDE or whatever natural disaster they fancied themselves to be...
The mission has been a success, as Tseng had said, in a half-hearted attempt to make himself feel that he wasn't at fault. Success, sure. A success that managed to get me two bullets in the shoulder, a gash or four on my back and legs, and all the colours of my rainbow on various areas of my body. Nothing that a good Cure couldn't handle, but fuck all if it didn't hurt like a fucking bitch.
I think Tseng missed a certain area of my body on purpose when he cast that Cure spell.
I tried to turn on the television only to be greeted by the snowstorm fuzz. Ah, right. I just collapsed a plate of Midgar onto Sector 7. Cable? Hah. I think not.
Elena, (or that's what I think her name was. I was too busy trying to stare down Tseng to really pay attention to her introduction) has just given me a bunch of sympathetic looks, saying that it was hard for me to kill the people that I might have lived with, and my feelings were perfectly understandable.
What?
I ain't no slum rat, that's for damn sure. I mean, sure, my slum drawl is damn near perfect, but she's a Turk now, right? She should be able to-- ah, screw it.
I bet she probably thinks that I'm some fucking depressed druggie, or something like that.
Nah, Nazzareno Lindari the fucking fourth came from a well-to-do family. I was just a bad apple, or whatever the hell the metaphor is. I went to a nice, clean private school, learned my ABC's, got my education, threw it all to hell and became a Turk.
Why?
Fuck if I know.
The job pays good, but the food in the cafeteria is chocobo shit. Lumps that are varying shades of gray. I do not call that food. I may be a slob, but I like to eat something with colour. I bet most of the people I work with like to think I come home to a huge mess; pizza boxes, clothes, garbage, and whatever else, and maybe a hooker in my bed (that wouldn't be so bad, actually). Nah, not me. I'm something of a neat-freak, even if I can't be bothered to tuck in my shirt. I mainly do that to piss Tseng and the President off. Tseng does the weirdest thing with his nostirls-- the kind of narrows them, while scrunchingthe top of his noseup at the same time. It would be ridiculous-looking on anyone else, but... hey, it's Tseng. He could wear nothing but toilet-paper and he would still look all imperial and shit.
Rude, he's possibly the only person who can stand to be around me. I don't know how the hell it happened, we just kind of... got stuck together. Friends by default, if you will. Not that I mind though. He lets me talk and curse and basically do whatever the hell I want, save for killing/maiming/raping/cooking someone that we haven't been ordered to kill/maim/rape/cook. He just has this languages of looks.
Hah, did you know his name is really Rudolph? God, he must have been some sort of mistake. Poor guy. He nearly broke my nose when I shouted it out (accident, I swear to god.) when reading his file.
Elena... well... She's annoying. Already. With boobs as fake as my hair colour. Turns out she's my replacement, as Tseng's suspended me for a few weeks. From the looks of it, she's a lousy hand-to-hand combationist. She's so screwed if she's getting my job. I hope Titfa or whatever Spikey-Ass called her punches her boob implants out of place. Fucking blondes.
Shifting gingerly on the sofa (expsensive, but it was worth it) and kicking my cat (not one word) off of the couch I sprawled out, glaring at the ceiling.
No, my life isn't bad. I'm just an asshole.
And I love it.