Even after four years, not everything could be forgiven, much less forgotten. The deflated figure of a thrice-time war hero slumped even further in misery in the abandoned cathedral of the former Sector Five. Its dominant appendage brought across its chest mindlessly massaged the pulsing purple welt resting just left of the jugular.
Gelled, golden spikes wavered as the body's head lolled back, accompanied by a heavy groan. Mako-infused eyes glared hazily in contempt at nothing before him, aggravated veins contrasting with the brilliant blue hues under his pale lids.
The recently twenty-five year old was not attending another pity party in the silence of a crisp November night. No; instead the infamous Cloud Strife was mulling on whether his current situation—and prior events leading to—was hilariously ironic or shameful. His gloved digits never ceased rubbing his newest bruise as a small, but growing chuckle pushed past his lips. Only when his five foot seven frame slumped forward again did his leather encased hand move to catch his head, beginning ministrations on his weary orbs.
His entire body was shaking now, shoulders bouncing, spikes waving, a hoarse voice laughing merrily through its prison. To be jumped and defeated by Shin-Ra's Turks was incredibly embarrassing, all things considered, but to even be served coffee afterwards as if the incident hadn't occurred at all was hilarious.
An infantryman, Cloud remarked tenderly, would be all he'd ever be it seemed. SOLDIER was a little beyond his grasp if three Turks could successfully ambush and overtake him. "Seems like wasted time, huh Zack?" Directing his satirical gaze to the gleaming Buster Sword, Cloud tugged at his deep mauve turtle-neck. Reno, the little bastard, managed to strike him with his EMR so professionally, so precisely, so irritatingly successfully! Had it been Tseng, the blonde would have been taking the predicament better. Alas, it was the ginger drunkard, as he so graciously reminded everyone present in Shin-Ra's new office every moment presented hours prior.
Now, one might begin to question why the delivery man was sitting by his lonesome in Aerith's church like he did for a year and so long before, when he now had a snug bed awaiting his return at 7th Heaven. The answer: Aerith's church and Zack's treasure brought comfort and a sense of guidance Tifa couldn't provide, just as a parent would give to their quivering toddler in the dark of the night. Calming himself, Cloud ran his left hand through his locks, his eyes shutting in frustration.
It was a simple motive to leave at that hour really. A shady materia store Yuffie introduced to the gang had received a new shipment pertaining to treasure hunters. More often than not, most of the rare materia would require a journey far south to recover by oneself. It just so happened that Yuffie's twentieth birthday was rushing near and he was now "mandated" by the ninja to get her something. Tifa—of course—agreed wholesomely. So the surrogate father set foot outside the bar following a late dinner, bidding the children luck with their studies.
He tugged at his new wool jacket, the normalcy of such a piece foreign. Cloud himself must've appeared fairly shifty judging from some looks, flexing his leather clad digits incessantly, wishing he could've waited for a sunrise to head to the other side of Edge without Fenrir. It had to be winter of all seasons for the damned bike to break!
Weaving through the throngs of the night owls, half jogging the route, the blonde managed to pass by five blocks without a struggle and only a pink nose. Now only two blocks shy, Cloud dodged the oncoming traffic of teenagers by ducking into an adjacent ally. Serving as a shortcut, he'd end up just three shops down from his destination. But, as luck would have it, plans only went smoothly on the weekends.
Having barely stepped two metres in, flickering lights and flashy signs still dully illuminating the path, an enormous form lunged to his legs. Vaulting ahead with a barrel roll, the ex-infantryman bared his left arm in defense to an oncoming lean, wool coated fist. With Aerith's heartstring grasping his muscle, he deflected the entire limb aside, spinning out a kick in the process. Kneeling still, the blonde exhibited a sharp pirouette from the airborne second assailant to the first burly attacker, catching him square in the chest.
The preceding grunt was his downfall; the deep baritone resounded familiarly, a quick blind from a reflection had his memory burn on rewind. Cloud hesitated, his Mako orbs squinting in strain to view the shadow's face, realizing much too late.
As the sunglasses revealed themselves fully, the broad shouldered ogre standing tall again, a loudly obnoxious—and horribly nasally he might add—laugh overtook his senses. A sharp prick jerked his small body tense, the burning sensation crawling through his veins, numbing any pain alongside his vision.
"Who's lookin' sharp now, eh Rude?"
It hurt him more that Reno hit him than failing to realize the trap, than neglecting to land a true blow to Tseng or even how his SOLDIER enhancements proved futile. Tseng had more than one opportunity to take him out, yet he allowed that drunk to do the honours! Sunglasses at night! Cloud snorted, how did he miss that? The neon colours had reflected off them when Rude first lunged. Briefly, Cloud's thoughts idled on the new training regime Rufus must've issued. He could once single-handedly take down the Turks, and now he fell before them.
If anything, Cloud was grateful for the heat the building provided, his frozen nose returning to its rightful ivory shade. Back-water boy or not, a heated place was always a preference. "I'm disappointed. What happened to the SOLDIER you once claimed to be?" Rufus received a grunt to his mock, his "prisoner" slumped opposing him.
Reno took that moment to boast again, his loud recall turning into a fit of shits and giggles. Each of the men present in the office had some reason or other to knock the muscled blonde upside the head, but Reno—for once—came out on top.
Discovering his being unbound, Cloud groggily lifted his view to the steaming mug of coffee before him, with two painkillers and a small glass of water on the side, innocently laying on a fine china plate themselves. Levelling his gaze with the W.R.O.'s primary funder, Cloud erected himself, crossing his arms. With nothing but Reno's taunts filling the air, persisting through Rufus' glare, he rose rigidly. Rude recognized the gleam in the shorter man's bloodshot gaze boring into his partner's frame. He simply nodded to Tseng and Elena in a silent agreement to escort themselves out. Reno, on the other hand, was shown the door without mercy, later to sport a bruised neck and migraine himself.
Situating himself back in front of the Shin-Ra, he waited.
Though it compensated, it failed to lower any humiliated felt previously. Not only was the quest to satisfy Yuffie hopeless, but on top of that, now he'd have to explain to Tifa why there was an EMR mark etched onto his porcelain complexion.
According to Rufus, not all of Deepground was dispersed—though this came as no surprise. Battles were never over that easily. Currently, there had been strange activity readings in Banora, leading Tseng and Elena to Gold Saucer eventually. It seemed that whatever was there was a threat to Rufus; however his Turks were incapable of their jobs. Taking into account all of Shin-Ra's past, the W.R.O. would need solid, valid evidence collected themselves before lending aid. Insert the mercenary here. Tifa would murder him herself if he left on his own again. Yuffie would beat him—dead or alive at this point—if he missed/disrupted/ruined her birthday because/in the process of/for work. And Barret, well, he'd skin the blonde for abandoning Marlene one more time.
Truthfully, he wanted nothing to do with Rufus, but even Vincent had expressed his concerns about Banora months earlier, disappearing to investigate it. Speaking of the vampire, Cloud was dumbfounded that he became a prime and active member of the W.R.O. only to vanish. If dedicated to a cause, Vincent wasn't the kind of man to just... walk away!
Gingerly sliding out his phone, Cloud thumbed over the face, before ultimately flipping it open. The quick motion caused its bright and battered yellow chocobo charm to jingle—the mere sound bringing him a grin. Denzel had given it to him out of the blue last summer—blushing heavily in his rushed and illegible explanation. It never failed to make Cloud smile.
Scrolling through his contacts, his digits wavered over the "call" button. Similar to him, Vincent wasn't famous for picking up. Cloud doubted the ex-Turk really knew how to properly use it. With a push from Marlene and some directions from Tifa, Vincent had acquired it two years prior—literally in the midst of the Reunion. Just as Tifa and Reed, Cloud was entrusted with his number on the sole promise to keep it out of Yuffie's reach. Thus far, the three held up true; AVALANCHE's dearest brooder was safer from the whines of its youngest member. It didn't matter how much they enforced the group's disbandment among inquirers, when it really came down to it, that's who they were, how they met, what they fought for. Lingering fingers drooped, slowly but efficiently, beginning another mess.
"Vincent?" There wasn't a true reply, simply some rustling in heavy wind, distant screams drowning. "I have the verdict." It was a little late; Cloud had to be fair on that one. A languid smile crept up the mercenary's face, a sultry smooth scoff resounding in response now.
"Cloud, it's been awhile."