Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line.
Requirements: (as provided by Feidreva on The Seventh Heaven)
- a stamp
- a lawn mower
- a broken engine
- the sentence "these boots are made for walkin' "
Prints Parts:
• Baby Steps
• Hand Prints
• Footprints
• Stairway to Prints
• Fingerprints
• Imprints
...
...
WARNING: contains excessive humor, swearing, gunk, one blond moment, and my maniacal way of twisting things.
Prints: Part I
Baby Steps
Reno stared at the envelope in his hand, wondering just when, exactly, stamps had changed. It wasn't like he noticed them often-he avoided ANY kind of paperwork that involved him writing, from reports to letters. Besides, anyone he cared about whatsoever was either a TURK or in Strife's group of friends, which meant they were easily contacted.* So it wasn't unreasonable that the redhead hadn't noticed the difference in stamps before and after the WEAPON and Sephiroth incidents.
Quite a change, Reno thought to himself. From President ShinRa's fugly** face to Rufus ShinRa's smug one, and now THIS? Chuckling, Reno decided it was probably the best picture the press had managed to get, as Strife's fights tended to wreak havoc on the surroundings.
With a shrug, the redhead dismissed his thoughts and resumed walking. This was a request from Rufus (worded by Tseng) to Vincent Valentine. He had orders to deliver it and wait for a response. Unfortunately for the redhead's two bosses, he had been the only one available to take the message, as all three other remaining TURKs had missions already ordered.
For reasons involving Reno's personality and Vincent's reticence and habit of being elsewhere than Edge, it was unlikely that there would be a reply delivered within a day or two.
...
Tifa greeted him cheerfully when she spotted the redhead in the doorway of her still relatively new bar. "Reno! Good to see you." Noting his slightly more formal posture,*** the brunette asked, "What brings you here today? Official, unofficial, or personal?"
"Yo, I'd love a drink, but I got a letter the bosses want me to personally hand tall, dark and vampy."
Familiar with Reno's way of speaking, Tifa said only, "So do you want to go meet him or would you rather he come here?"
"Either's fine, yo," came the redhead's response.
"Then I'll see if I can talk him into dropping by**** for a visit. It's been a while since the last time we saw him, too." The ever cheerful brunette calmly walked back to the bar and dug her cell phone out from under the counter.
Reno heard nothing as she dialed the ex-TURK's number, which meant the phone was probably set to have no key pad noise interfering with either her work, life, or a fight. Bored and unwilling to wait due to his nearly non-existent patience, the redhead wandered into the back of the building. What he found was Cid, smeared and smudged with grease and oil, working on Cloud's bike.
"What's wrong with the bike?"
"Damn idiotic, chocobo-brained moron rode it through a patch of Mandragora***** and broke the engine. Think one o' the monsters took a bite outta his fuel line, 'cause that dumb blond said at least one of 'em lit up when he started the engine.****** An' then the damned fool musta landed on a rock after one of 'is jumps, 'cause not only are most of the pieces of the engine askew or completely misplaced-or broken-but he dented the underside of his bike's frame."
The irate blond ducked back under the bike with a socket wrench and a handful of clamps, fierce blue eyes intent on his work. Why Cloud thought he'd be the best choice to ask to fix the bike, Cid didn't know. He was a pilot, not a mechanic! That part he mostly left to his crew-well, and to Shera. But here he was, shirtless because it was easier to get grease and oil off of skin than out of clothes, trying to repair a motorcycle he hadn't broken.
A sudden flow of oil spurted from a ruptured line, splattering across the blond's face and oozing into his mouth. "Goddammit, Cloud, you spiky-haired idiot!" he snarled, spitting out what he could.
All Reno could do was stare and trail after the inordinately pissed off pilot as the blue-eyed blond stormed to Cloud's room. Gaia, I wouldn't miss this for the world! Strife's gonna get told off by a fellow blond man, yo!
...
...
*This was not entirely true. Former TURK Vincent Valentine lacked a mailbox and had only just bought a phone, but since Reno didn't know the number, the only way to contact him was to find him-or have him do the finding.
**Fugly: a combination of the words "F***in'" and "ugly," in Reno's case.
***Slightly being the key word.
****Due to my frame of mind when I wrote this bit, let's just say... No way was I going to write "coming" instead of "dropping by"... It made me laugh too hard. XD
*****The little plant-looking things with faces, by the Chocobo Farm
******SPARKS! YAY! *entranced by flames*
...
...
WARNING: contains Reno moments, blond moments, gunk, swearing, slight violence, and idiocy.
Prints: Part II
Hand Prints
The first thing Tifa knew about the confrontation between her two erstwhile blond comrades was that there was yelling and the sound of a scuffle upstairs. She could hear them clearly.
"If yer gonna mow down Mandragoras, ya damn well outta use a lawn mower instead of yer bike!"
Unbeknownst to Tifa, a thought occurred to Reno. "Yo, if you want, I could ask Rufus if he'd have a giant one built for ya."
Both blondes blinked. "What?"
"A giant lawn mower, yo! Then ya could ride that instead o' the bike!"*
There was a pause, rife with astonishment, and then-
"Pffffft!" Cid sputtered. He was so overwhelmed by his amusement that he didn't even notice when his cigarette fell from his lips. Sounds like a game the Golden Saucer might have: Mandragora Mowing! Cut down the Mandragoras to win prizes! The pure comedy of the thought felled him, the pilot's face turning red as he struggled to breathe through his laughter.
Cloud, on the other hand, was rather offended. He scowled at the redhead, who mocked him. The mockery was returned, batted back and forth with bandied words, and suddenly the verbal fight erupted into the physical. Much to his wrath, Cid found himself ensconced in the middle of it, dodging fists and feet. It wasn't long before he, too, was trading kicks and punches.
"Ya stupid assholes!"
With a put-upon sigh, the martial artist put down the glass she was drying on top of the towel laid out on the counter. Then she walked up the staircase and followed her ears to the source of the racket.
If I'm going to get them all quick, I'd better use my limit break...
Smacking Reno upside the head wasn't a challenge. Nor was dropping a fist on each blond's head. Neither was paying much attention to anyone not blond or redheaded, and they wouldn't have been expecting an attack from a friend anyway.
"I'd like to know what you three thought you were doing, trying to fight your issues out inside."
"Reno just-"
"That damn chocobo-head-"
"Those two assholes-"
"One at a time!"
Trading glares, the trio sulked. Cloud resumed his typical silence while his pilot friend spoke. Reno, for once, shut up as well.
"I dunno what he was thinkin' when he called me in, but that damn bike needs to see a real mechanic, 'cause I dunno how t' fix it. Airships are my thing, not these tiny li'l toys." Cid harrumphed and crossed his arms over his still-bare chest, not noticing that he was further smearing the grease and oil—not that it would be fully visible for long, because bruises were already forming on his skin as well as on Cloud and Reno.
"I thought you knew engines," said Cloud, voice a little off due to a puffed up lip. "Can't you fix it?"
"No, I can't! I ain't no damn bike mechanic!" The pilot huffed in disgust. "Ya better find someone who knows exactly what they're doin' t' fix that engine! And yer damn frame! That thing has too many tiny parts, an' I've wasted enough time on somethin' that don't even fly!"
Once Cid had stormed off and started showering to rid himself of the gunk, Tifa sighed. "He does have a point, Cloud. You'd be better off asking if Reeve can find the time to fix it. Or maybe Vincent; he might know something about it—or be able to find out. Even as an ex-TURK, he's better at finding things out than anyone else I can think of." And you never quite know what he's been reading. Do all TURKs like knowledge for the sake of knowledge? She thought about that for a second. Guess not—after all, Reno's a TURK, too, and I just don't see him sitting down to read a book. He's too hyper. Has anyone ever tried giving him a Tranquilizer? Shaking her head, the brunette came to a sudden realization. "Hey, Reno! Vincent said he's busy right now, so you're supposed to meet him in the Forgotten City in five days. Could I get you to bring him back here with you? I'd call and ask if he could fix Cloud's bike, but since he's busy and it's probably got to do with either spying or fighting, I don't want to interrupt."
"I, uh, guess, yo." He was really hoping that she'd forgive him immediately for being in the fight. It wasn't too unlikely, what with the shiner on his right eye, so he was hoping.
"Thanks." She smiled.
Now I know why she gets all those repeat customers, thought Reno. And thankfully it seems like she doesn't much mind that I was fighting, too. "Well," he sighed, "guess I better get back to the Lodge an' grab one o' my babies,** yo."
He didn't waste time, instead leaving immediately. Fingers waggling a silent farewell, the redhead returned to the Healin Lodge and reported to Tseng and Rufus. His orders were to meet the ex-TURK as soon as possible, which meant he had to be there as quick as he could, just in case the raven-haired man finished his business early.
For the next three days, the redhead and both blondes, although in different places, shared the same woes. Hand prints, in the forms of fist and open-handed slap marks, marred their faces, torsos, and limbs.
Yes, it had been quite a scuffle. And they were itching for payback.
...
*The reasoning behind this one is simple: my mind went...strange, even for my mind. Instead of hearing the line "Let's do the monster mash"...it somehow turned into "Let's mow the monster grass." *facepalm* And when Reno mentions Cloud riding a lawn mower, it wasn't one of the modern riding ones I'd pictured. It was one of the more old-fashioned ones, not too old-fashioned, but a push-mower all the same. *halo* It's not my fault! My mind started it! XD
**Helicopters. I think we all know Reno loves them like they're his children, lol.
A/N: ... *shakes head* I still can't get over the remake of "Monster Mash" that keeps ringing through my head...
...
...
Prints: Part III
Footprints
Vincent Valentine, ex-TURK and reclusive friend of the group which, led by Cloud Strife, had saved the world, sighed noiselessly. This particular hunt was turning into quite a bother.
It had begun with rumors, tales of a monster terrorizing innocent citizens. As a being that could be classified as one of the monsters, it was no wonder that Vincent didn't condemn anything out of hand. So when he'd heard that a gigantic beast was rampaging through the edges of a large village,the ebony-haired man filed the information and decided to investigate.
What he'd found made him wish he could justify killing humans who weren't mass murderers or otherwise psychotic.
Three boys-teenagers, almost men in all but maturity and wisdom-had been sneaking out at night to torment the beast. This was no doubt the cause of it coming so close to the city in the first place, Vincent knew. He'd tracked them there and back, and later followed the behemoth to its lair. Assured that the hulking monster would sleep until morning unless otherwise riled, the ex-TURK rose, cloak flapping softly, and made his way tree to tree as he searched for the boys.
Preoccupied with his irritation, Vincent would have missed seeing the trio were it not for his TURK training; TURK or ex-TURK, he noticed minute details. The teens were actually sneaking this time, presumably thinking to catch the behemoth unawares.
Morons, thought Vincent, disgusted. If they are an adequate example, today's youth is more of a lost cause than I'd supposed.He kept silent more out of habit than because he thought it required effort to ambush these spoiled brats.
...
The boys were sneaking along-or at least thought they were. There was a brunette, who appeared to be the leader. He seemed to be using the most brain cells. Unfortunately, that didn't say much; Vincent was reasonably sure that intelligent people their age (ordinary ones, anyway) didn't bait behemoths for sport. A second was blond, sadly stereotypical. And third was a redhead who, if he was anything like the fiery-haired TURK...
"What do you think you're doing?"
All three jumped at the sound of a voice coming from behind them. It was low-pitched and rather menacing, the vocal chords seeming rough with disuse or possibly age.* Spinning to see who had spoken wasn't reassuring, either. Now in front of them, Vincent was still dressed typically in his black and red outfit, complete with golden gauntlet and crimson eyes. Though he likely didn't care if it spooked people, the look was rather macabre.** Perhaps even evil, since the teens didn't know him.
"What do you think you're doing here?" Vincent repeated with false patience.
It was probably a good thing for the youthful trio that ex-TURK Vincent Valentine was not only steadfast but so stoic as to be nearly unflappable in any situation. Barret and Cid, for example, would have been much more abrupt and casually violent with the idiots. While Vincent was abrupt, so far no violence had erupted, and if the boys were smart, nothing would escalate into a fight. Indubitably, it would require more than three young men full of the fire that went hand in hand with inexperience to do so much as scratch or bruise the ex-TURK. Sadly, the boys were, as of yet, unenlightened.
"Who the hell are you! Why the fuck are you sneaking up on us!" demanded the redhead belligerently.
Vincent's crimson eyes narrowed. His reservations about harming humans were fast falling to his still rather TURK-like views on courtesy. Even the TURK Reno would not have spoken so foolishly, especially if taking part in something so liable to end disastrously.***
"I advise that you cease attempting to aggravate the behemoth." Unspoken was the order 'Immediately.'
The boys traded skeptical looks. "Why should we? It's just a big pussy cat." This last was said with scorn.
Sharp ears having given the ex-TURK forewarning, he stayed silent. Black and red flashed out of the leafy greenery surrounding the tableau.
"Ya smarmy sons o' bitches, yo! Who the hell-other than you Gaia-damned idiots-is dumb enough to bait a BEHEMOTH, of all things!" Obviously, Reno was pissed. His eyes, somewhere between blue-gray and green-gray, glared daggers at the trio.
Likely, part of the reason he's so pissed is because he found it difficult to locate me, thought Vincent. A silent, hidden part of himself was inordinately proud that he could give a TURK as intuitive as this one a run for his money.
Aforementioned pissed off glare focused on crimson orbs, initiating an eye lock. "You," snarled Reno, so pissed his slum-beginnings accent was starting to drift away. "What the hell is so important about this damned mission that you couldn't just have me meet you here?" the redhead demanded.
One ebony eyebrow rose. "Perhaps you recall the behemoth?" drawled the ex-TURK. Without ever turning his eyes from the crimson-haired TURK, he snagged two of the teens as the trio began an escape attempt. Then he held them there, one with a black-gloved hand firmly set on a tense shoulder, the other with a golden gauntlet not quite puncturing holes in a soot-black, hooded jacket.
"Tch, yeah, yo," muttered Reno. Deftly and without breaking eye contact with the man he had orders to get a written or personally-spoken response from, he reached his right arm out and clotheslined the third stupid teenager. Not missing a beat as the youth dropped to the forest floor, he set one booted foot on a heaving chest to keep the brunette in place. The redhead was probably the only TURK ever to commonly wear combat boots with a TURK suit and make it work.
"Pups."
Vincent didn't need to use another word to know Reno would understand. He was a TURK, instinctive and predatory. TURKs understood the predator's need to protect what was connected to them by blood, shed in unison or birthed as kin. If one had the skills, loyalty, and intelligence to be a TURK, all it took to join said group was to be introduced, don the suit, and successfully complete a lethal mission. Previous kills were acknowledged as having happened, but as they had no bearing on TURK life, such kills were otherwise ignored.
Predators exploited all weakness in any not bound to them by blood. Weakness meant prey. Shared blood meant...something more...
Exhibiting foul language had never been a problem for Reno. "Shit, yo!" he cursed, slum accent returning as his ire at the ex-TURK faded. Turning a flinty gaze on the erstwhile offenders, Reno growled, "Ya pissed off a behemoth MOM? Yo, Valentine! Whadda ya wanna bet these fucktards**** ain't got a brain between 'em? Too bad Gast's dead; be a real treat to see these idiots used fer experiments, yo!"
Vincent grunted. "I wouldn't wish Hojo on my worst enemy,"***** agreed the raven-haired man, acknowledging the unspoken remark that Gast had been more of a decent person than Hojo.
Of course, that wasn't saying much. Sephiroth was a better person than Hojo; all the silver-haired man wanted to do with mankind was slaughter it, while the scientist...well, there was normal human twistedness, TURK twistedness (a leap above normal human twistedness), and somewhere in the infinity above even the renowned TURK twistedness was Hojo's. At least Rufus, for all the ruthless blond man's flaws, silently granted all other intelligent beings the right to either accept or refuse his orders, even if he tended toward the malicious side of human nature when refused. Hojo didn't even grant people the right to refuse. He demanded it and broke them over it gleefully. Sure, he'd disappeared, but Vincent knew that no one was truly safe from Hojo until the psycho scientist had been killed, his corpse burned, and the energy returned to the Life Stream and purified by Aeris.******
Reno didn't know exactly what Vincent had been through-but he'd unintentionally seen the scars one night when he'd gotten drunk at the Seventh Heaven. And, above and beyond that, the redhead knew how to read other TURKs' subtle expressions******* as well as he did normal people, and for all that Vincent had been reported MIA and assumed dead, the ex-TURK was still one of his brethren in black. Once a TURK, always a TURK, until the day that last gasp echoed in the still air...and even after that, if the TURK was respected enough for techniques and stories to be passed on.
The redhead didn't know how deep the scars went psychologically, didn't know just how much Hojo loved to walk all over his experimentation subjects and underlings. Reno had never had to work with the insane bastard. But the thing about the scars Vincent bore, the thing about the mental instability still precariously open to further knocks, was...
"Yo. Vincent. The scars he left? They don' matter. Footprints can be wiped away."
An inner stillness didn't so much descend upon him as the revelation totally pole-axed the raven-haired man. It lasted only an instant before ebony hair swayed in a small yet respectful nod. He didn't say a word, but then Reno had become accustomed to the ex-TURK's eerie silences.
Nature never meant footprints to be permanent, regardless of what they were left in.
...
*Then again, this is Vincent. His beast/demon counterparts having rougher vocals may have had an effect on our favorite ex-TURK's as well. Although he doesn't say much, lol, nor is he exactly young... But we love the ageless ex-TURK anyways, don't we...? *blows Vincent kisses* I mean no offense, mmkay?
**Perhaps his subconscious-or, for that matter, his consciousness-had decided that the macabre look served as a warning to humans, saying "Beware! Blood may be spilled! This person has a dark side!" ... Or perhaps not. This was Vincent, after all. He may have simply not thought to dress in modern ways. Old habits die hard.
***This is Reno. In the first place, it's unlikely he would indulge in cruelty to beasts when he could just as easily be cruel to the fools who needed to learn proper manners and respect, as the latter was less liable to get Tseng mad at him. While Reno had little of either in surface tendencies, the simple fact that he listens to his bosses and obeys their orders indicates a certain respect. Casual, but respect. And in the second place, he'd be more likely to say, when confronted with words like Vincent's, "What the hell, yo? Why are you trying to ruin my fun?" and then listen for an explanation that hopefully made sense.
****Fucktards: a combination of "f***ing" and "retards" usually.
*****He'd wish Hojo on JENOVA only if the twisted, psycho bastard had only basic surgical tools, since the last thing anyone on Gaia needed was another Sephiroth Incident, or Geostigma-or, for that matter, to suffer an abundance of Remnants again.
******Even if I don't like Aeris due to pink- and early-death-related issues, I do admit the Cetra girl not only has a purpose but also does good things for people and the planet. Just because I don't like her doesn't mean I won't use her character, lol.
*******He can read their expressions when they're not hiding behind emotionless or work-related masks, I mean. Everyone has masks that can't be read. TURKs are just much more difficult for people not similar to them to read.
...
...
Prints: Part IV
Stairway to Prints
Suppressing a sigh, Vincent triple-checked that he was heading for the village. Two of the teens were out cold over his shoulders, his mutated body carrying them easily. Behind him, Reno bore the other, and while the third teen had been knocked out as well, the redhead hadn't shut up.
Currently, he was ranting about Cloud, and how the often quiet blond man had called in his pilot friend to do something that, had Strife thought about it, would have made no sense. Vincent wasn't sure how this had anything to do with Reno, but the redhead was making some rather cogent points in his verbose state. Well, he always had a lot to say, so that wasn't really a surprise.
What was a surprise was that there had been a three-way free-for-all bout, spur of the moment, between Cid, Cloud, and Reno. Sure, Cloud and Reno really didn't get along in the first place, but that Cid hadn't sided with his fellow blond. Cid had no more love for ShinRa than did Vincent. Okay, perhaps a little more-Vincent had been wronged in worse ways, and repeatedly.
Softly sighing through his nose, Vincent resigned himself to having his ear assaulted by Reno's words for at least a while longer. The village was in sight, and he had no intention of being the one talking if he didn't have to. Not that he'd told Reno this yet.
...
TURK and ex-TURK alike understood the villagers' concern* when they arrived in the town square with three teenagers unconscious over their shoulders. It wasn't the most friendly greeting they'd ever received, but that was acceptable and easily remedied.
Crimson eyes turned a TURK-scrutable** gaze on Reno. One black eyebrow rose a slight bit higher.
Reno cursed, immediately understanding, and turned to the people holding back anger only because one was a hero and the other was a TURK.*** "Listen up, yo!" he told them flatly, eyes stony with pent-up ire. "Ya know the monster trouble you've been having? These three were the reason it happened. Don't believe me, yo? Is anyone other than a teenager stupid enough to rile up a behemoth mother for no real reason? He wouldn't, yo," asserted Reno, pointing at Vincent. "Not even ShinRa ever has. Yo, don't let their age fool ya. They say wisdom comes with age and experience. I wonder, yo, how much do these three have? I can tell ya without even lookin' it ain't much, yo."
Shamed glances filtered through the crowd. Finally, one elder stepped forward. He was small of stature, with wispy white hair and wrinkled skin. The simple fact that he was the one who moved to the front told both Reno and Vincent that he had the biggest balls, metaphorically speaking. No one else dared risk sparking more ire than had already been shown. Plus, the dark-haired man in the cloak was scaring them. He wasn't doing anything, but he was scaring them. Something to do with how he appeared to be looming menacingly, even though he was only listening to Reno and paying attention to the villagers' reactions.
Some ex-TURKs**** were just naturally tall, dark, and intimidating.
"On the village's behalf, I offer our apologies. We didn't know." A hard glint showed in faded blue eyes. "But now that we do, steps will be taken."
It was all Reno could do not to smile. The old man was so somber. Still, given the phrasing of his last sentence, the redhead was tempted to ask Tseng if they could grant the man honorary TURK status. Talking about punishment and probation but wording it as steps to be taken, that smacked of quality intelligence and both a knowledge of what the situation required and a willingness to do what had to be done.
"Good, yo," he said instead. Then he turned to Vincent. "Any business here, or do ya have somewhere else ya need to be soon?"
"I have a stop to make before I go anywhere else again," came the ex-TURK's oblique reply.
Leaving the village, Reno felt a curious sinking sensation. Puzzling over it, eventually he realized it was probably called 'dread.' He has a stop to make, and I'm three days early. Is he going to go about his business as usual as if I wasn't with him, just to put me in my place, teach me that impatience doesn't get me anywhere with him? Or... His thoughts rambled on, growing increasingly desperate. Patience was not Reno's strong suit.
...
From what Reno could see, the business Vincent had to deal with... Okay, he just really didn't understand. What on Gaia would ex-TURK Vincent Valentine want from a shop called PicsЯUs? It was a second-floor business that probably didn't see many customers, and the paint was fading badly.
Suddenly a man came rushing out from a news crew's office nearby. He dashed up the stairs, muttering under his breath, "Oh Gaia, please don't let him use the back door!"
Stupefied, the redheaded TURK stared after him. Was he talking about...?
No more than five minutes after entering the shop, the raven-haired man exited, neatly vaulting the rail and putting a package in a secure pocket under his cloak. From the door behind him scurried the man from the news crew, all but latching on to the ex-TURK in an effort to get him to-
Get him to what, exactly? Reno wondered.
"Please, sir, just once more?" begged the man.
Vincent just watched him, one ebony eyebrow slightly higher than the other. Neither was looking for Reno's input...but since when had that ever stopped the redhead?
"What's he askin' for, yo?"
The news man barely so much as glanced at the TURK, as if afraid that taking his eyes off the dark-haired man might mean another disappearance. It wasn't the first time they'd met, after all. "Please, Mr. Valentine, just one more shot? Everyone else in your group has allowed me to get pictures of them for the special!"
Again the eyebrow rose.
"Well, okay," the man admitted, squirming as if uncomfortable, "everyone except your blond leader. He...appears to be camera-shy. The last one I took, well...the post office liked it so much they actually bought it and started using it as stamps, but we couldn't really use it for the news without being laughed out of town."
Another twitch higher.
"Alright, I sold them the last one of you, as well. Do you have a grudge against cameras or something? It just didn't turn out well at all!"
Ignoring the man adeptly, the ex-TURK turned and left, heading for the Forgotten City. It was perhaps his favorite place, what with its sense of sleepy calm that invaded everyone who went there. This may have had something to do with the Sleeping Forest, but whatever the case, it still acted like a lullaby for his inner demons.*****
Behind them, the news photographer stared at a red cape and brilliant red hair that seemed to mock him. It was unintentional, but had the result of the man throwing his hands in the air and returning to his office. As he shut the door behind him, the neon lights of the sign for PicsЯUs flared brightly, illuminating the stairs that led to their door.
*Read: outrage
**TURK-scrutable: only TURKs can read it.
***Yes, Vincent is an ex-TURK, but the citizens only know him as a member of Strife's group that saved the world; they don't know about his past as a TURK.
****Okay, the ex-TURK with the initials V. V. *has flashbacks of Final Fantasy IX*
*****I have this mental image of the Galian Beast curled up like a puppy and snoring. XD
...
...
Prints: Part V
Fingerprints
Reno couldn't say that seeing where the ex-TURK spent most of his time-which, for anyone else, would be called 'living'-was entirely pleasant. This wasn't because Vincent was a bad host,* but rather because he kept thinking of the last TURK mission that the raven-haired man had wound up involved in.
Had the rescuer been anyone but ex-TURK Vincent Valentine, the TURKs would have owed him for saving the lives of their leader and their newest comrade. Tseng and Elena had been caught by the Remnant triplets, Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz, and if it weren't for the actions of the ebony-haired Vincent Valentine, Tseng had admitted that it was highly unlikely that even one of the TURK duo would still be among the living. Elena had been too new for what had happened...but Reno supposed that was part of why she was a TURK.
Bad things happened. TURKs liked to make sure they happened to someone else. Someone not a TURK.
A noise down the hall indicated that the dark-haired ex-TURK was prepared to leave, so Reno brushed his thoughts aside and rose. Guess it's time to go. He'd delivered Tifa's request to Vincent, who had deemed it of more import to help his comrades than even listen to anyone ShinRa. While this irked the redhead, he supposed, having looked at Vincent's file once or twice before the Meteor incident was over, that the man had reasons.
Well, he was a TURK. Not working with the rest of them, but not really opposing them, either. And TURKs always had reasons for doing things, even if, in Reno's case, they tended to be along the lines of "I wanted to see what you'd do, yo!"
The missive from Rufus still in his jacket, Reno followed Vincent to Edge and into Tifa's bar, where the brunette greeted them with a dash of good cheer and obvious irritation. While Reno had no idea how a non-TURK deciphered even an ex-TURK's unspoken communication, when Vincent raised one eyebrow at her, she understood.
"Cloud's moping," she sighed. "And Cid's been ranting so much about Cloud to Shera that she's been calling here to vent to me, and the kids can tell I'm stressed and Cloud's off his game, so they've been running circles around him and trying to cheer me up." Taking a deep breath, she said, "Can you fix his bike and spend some time with the kids? They've been missing you." Unspoken was that the martial artist had missed his stoic and amiable presence that so tempered Cloud's depressions.
Vincent grunted. "I'll look at the bike," he told her. "And I have something for the children."
Tifa took this to mean that if he didn't know how to fix it already, he would find the information and get it done. If there was one thing the ex-TURK never complained about, it was helping his friends. This would help two friends at once, both by fixing the bike and by distracting the children. Not that Denzel and Marlene were little terrors; far from it. But any child worth its salt plays the role of emotional barometer-the worse the emotions around the child, the more it acts sullen, angry, or depressed.
Reno stared as the raven-haired man stalked straight back to the garage where Cloud's bike was to be found, disappearing through the door frame in no time. That was fast. Even for a TURK, that was fast.
"So what did he say?"
"What?" The redhead started, jerked from his thoughts.
"Vincent. When you told him about the message. What did he say?"
"Oh." Reno dragged his mind back into focus. "Well, he didn't really say much. Muttered somethin' real quiet, yo. I think he said, 'Thirty years and it comes to this?' but 'm not exactly sure. I mean... Yo, has his silence ever bugged you?" Changing the topic had not been in the redhead's plans, but his tongue just kind of ran away with him. Apparently the hushed time with the ex-TURK had been bothering him more than he'd realized.
The bartender blinked. Then she smiled and said, "No, but it seems to annoy Yuffie and Cid fairly often when they try to get responses."
THUNK-CLANK!
Freezing for a moment, Tifa turned to look in the direction of the garage. "Are you okay, Vincent?" she called back.
Instead of an answer, she heard silence. Reno frowned. Can a TURK-turned-science-experiment get taken out by a motorcycle? he wondered.
Tifa nodded. "I'll let you know when dinner's ready, then." Turning back to the visiting TURK, she noticed his expression. "What's the matter?"
"How do you know he's really alright?" Reno managed to ask.
She waved a hand blithely as she headed into the kitchen. "Oh, if he was hurt, I'd have heard snarling or him actually saying something fairly loud. If he's not hurt enough for that to happen, trust me when I say he wouldn't like to be treated, let alone checked for wounds. He's been the only one who looked out for him for so long that I can't think of another friend of mine who's better suited to living on their own. Cid relies on Shera. Barret leaves Marlene with Cloud and me. Cloud takes off and broods. Aeris looked after everyone else too much when she was alive. Yuffie likes to annoy people and take care of her fellow Wutaians too much to ever wind up a loner. But Vincent...well, he was locked in a coffin for thirty years, so I'm not surprised he's not all that good at dealing with people, and since he has the Galian Beast, Hellmasker, Death Gigas, and Chaos, it's easier on him to not have to restrain them from going after humans. I know he could, but as long as he visits once in a while, I won't let anyone make him do something he doesn't want to." A clear and focused stare bored holes in Reno. "Especially ShinRa people. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said as she began making dinner.
...
Reno fled the children. Marlene kept trying to play with his hair and Denzel was doing his best to talk Cloud into joining them in a game of some sort. No, the redhead didn't know what game-nor did he care to. He was a TURK...but TURKs don't normally have other people's kids climbing all over them. It was unfamiliar, and he really hadn't been prepared.
"Gaia, what the hell am I doing this for again?" he whined to himself.
It wasn't so much that they'd overwhelmed him. Rather, he was uneasy because he hadn't yet fulfilled his duty as a TURK and yet here he was, dodging children, waiting like some rich little debutante girl. Well he'd had enough. He was going to find Vincent, and he was going to give tall, dark and quiet a piece of his-
WHUMP!
The redhead froze for a moment, disbelieving. No yelling? After I just ran into someone? Here? Wait-that means... "Uh...sorry?"
No words emerged in response to his apology, and Reno chanced a quick look up to judge the weight of temper in the other man's eyes. He didn't look pissed, but then Vincent Valentine had a poker face that made Tseng's look expressive when he wanted to.
Barely glancing at the redheaded TURK, the ex-TURK continued on his way. Stopping in the kitchen, he caught Tifa's attention, held up a small piece of paper, and set it on the counter before exiting the room and seeming to flow up the stairs. He rapped his gauntlet once against the children's bedroom door and then wisely stepped back. Almost against his will, Reno trailed after the other man, also keeping well away from the door.
"Uncle Vincent!" Marlene exclaimed, having inadvertently slammed the door into the wall so hard it rebounded.
Vincent caught it before it could hit her, only to be pounced on by Denzel as well.
"Uncle V! You're back!"
"Can you show-"
"Will you play-"
Holding up his black-gloved hand, Vincent reached into his cloak once he'd assured that they wouldn't jump on him. He pulled out a packet-the same packet Reno had seen him tuck into his clothes just before he'd been harassed by the news man. Small hands accepted the packet, pulling out photos, stamps, and prints.** The kids were ecstatic.
"Capey Cape!" giggled Marlene. "Was Capey Cape protecting you or was it just feeling secretive?"
Denzel was also amused. "These stamps were supposed to be of you, right? How did your cape wind up being the only thing visible?"
All Vincent could do was shrug. His cape left more evidence of its presence than he usually did; it was rare for him to even leave fingerprints. TURKs did not leave traces of their presence, and Vincent had been trained as a TURK. Even fingerprints were unacceptable.
*Although he was a bad host, because it honestly didn't bother him not to offer Reno anything in the way of food, drink, or a place to rest; TURKs were trained to be prepared, and he regarded the redhead as a TURK.
**For those of you not versed in photo/art meanings: a print is a copy of something an artist painted or drew that was an original work. Prints can come in different sizes but are usually about the same size as the original work, and they cost a decent bit but not as much as the real things. I know this because one of my older relatives is a muralist, who often gets prints of works he's done in smaller sizes-or takes pictures of them if that's a size that still leaves most of the work visibly detailed. Depends on the size of the mural. If you're interested in seeing his work, search on-line for art by Lee Bowerman. He has his own site, , I think, but it may have changed. Lee's an excellent artist.
...
...
Prints: Part VI
Imprinted
It wasn't the first time Reno had been hit with a skillet. It wasn't even the first time he'd had the makings of a meal dumped all over him out of said skillet. But it was certainly a first to have it followed by a fist to his gut, courtesy of one Tifa Lockheart.
"Oof!" He doubled over, muscles clenched in agony. She...made it hurt...to think...*
Tifa froze for a second, then knelt next to the redhead. "Oh, Reno, I'm sorry! You startled me!"
Note...to self...NEVER...spook the...martial artist... It was all Reno could do to hold onto consciousness. He groaned, a heartfelt noise that reverbrated with echoes of his pain.
"What were you doing, anyway?"
The redhead tried to tell her, but the only words that came out intelligible through his rather garbled mumblings were, "Job...yo..."
As he saw more than felt himself hit the floor, Reno noticed a pair of boots by the counter. There were feet in them, and that was the last he knew before losing consciousness.
...
When Reno woke up, he was confused. "Whaaa...?" Even his normally glib tongue wouldn't work with him this time.
"Are you okay, Reno?" Tifa asked worriedly. It wasn't everyday she gave a TURK that hard a wallop, after all.
"Jus'...confused," mumbled the redhead.
"Confused?" Thinking this could be a sign of amnesia or a concussion, Tifa checked the knot she'd raised on his head. It was still there, of course.
"Yeah, yo," breathed Reno. "Why'm I thinkin' o' boots, yo?"
This confounded the martial artist as well. Thankfully, there was a third person present who was more observant than the barmaid.
"When you lost consciousness shortly after she hit you, you were staring at my boots," Vincent told the TURK.
"... Right," said Reno, as if that made sense. In a way, maybe it did. "My head hurts, yo." He nestled further into whatever it was he'd been set on, drifting off immediately.
Softly, Tifa said, "Thanks, Vincent. It would have been difficult to move him on my own, and I wasn't thinking clearly enough to tell the children things they would calm down about. You even had Marlene giggling." She smiled at the memory.
Vincent snorted into his cloak. Had her giggling? Sure...over a little girl's dream. Maybe you didn't hear what she said, Tifa, but she told me that she thought Reno looked like a bride on her wedding night, with his hair hanging loose like that.If there were any yearnings in his heart, he ignored them adroitly, never saying a word to anyone about the thoughts running through his head.
...
The next time Reno awoke, it was late. There was a shadow in the room; try as he might to pretend obliviousness, the redhead felt eyes on him. Something twitched in the darkness, something small.
"You're aware again," stated ex-TURK Vincent Valentine.
"Why...are you the one watchin' me, yo?"
A soft snort indicated that the raven-haired man thought the answer obvious. "As I witnessed the incident that brought about your...lack of health...and carried you here, Tifa judged me to be the only one suitable to keep watch on you. In turn, she has kept me fed and spelled me occassionally." His voice was dry of emotion.
"... Thanks, yo," said Reno. "Ya didn't hafta, an' we both know it."
After all, no one could force a TURK to do anything when they really didn't want to. Typically that list included fellow TURKs, which helped to separate potential commanders from the average TURK...not that any TURK was average.
Redhead and ebony-haired men sat in silence together. It was, for Reno, an unusually comfortable silence. Lack of sound tended to mean danger for him, but this one was peaceful.
"So...will ya take the letter now, yo?"
Vincent sighed softly through his nose but didn't decline. Interpreting this correctly, the redhead pulled a somewhat mussed envelope out of his jacket. "Here, yo. 's from Rufus, an' I'm s'posed ta get a response or bring ya back with me. Orders, yo."
"It looks like you," commented the raven-haired man as he accepted the missive.
"What?"
"Rumpled and battered," explained Vincent, still not really explaining much.
"Yo, what is this? I play nice and do things your way, and you insult me, yo?"
Crimson eyes rose to meet Reno's. "I never said I disliked things rumpled or battered. On the contrary, survivors have my respect."
To TURKs, this was a standard view. To others, sometimes not so much. One main difference between TURKs (and ex-TURKs) and other humans was that humans often pitied survivors, instead of admiring whatever spirit, will, determination, luck, or skill had allowed them to make it through what would have killed others. TURKs knew better, every last one of them having been through something life-threatening and come out the other side. When they stopped beating the odds was when they died.
Reno's eyes fell, somewhat embarrassed at his assumption and subsequent correction. They landed on a set of keys and a pair of battered boots. This pairing brought a question to mind...
"Why d'ya walk everywhere, yo?"
"What else are shoes for?" queried Vincent in a wry drawl. "Especially ones like these, with pointed metal toes built for combat."
"So get different shoes, yo!"
"I'm used to these. Using different shoes for combat could be problematic." Wasn't that an understatement...
It was all Reno could do not to slap a hand to his face. He hurt enough as it was. Of all the stupid things ta say, yo! I outta know better!
Changing the subject firmly, the redhead said, "So, uh, ya wanna write a response or speak directly to the boss? I can't promise you'd get a reply any time soon, yo, Rufus' been fairly busy helpin' Reeve."
"I'll see him in a few days."
"A few days?" parrotted Reno, feeling ridiculous. Might as well be sayin' somethin' like, "Polly wanna cracker?" yo! In short, he felt more humiliated than normal.
"Cloud's bike needs a new part, and I have a couple other things to do anyway." Unspoken was that he'd told Tifa and Cloud it would be taken care of. It didn't need to be said.
Silence fell once again, this time unbroken by both men. They sat in the dark, feeling companionship but drifting through their own thoughts. When midnight rolled around, the two were just starting to drift off. And when morning came, Vincent bid farewell to Cloud with a nod, pressed an opened envelope into Tifa's hand with advice to look closely, let the children mob him one last time, and told Reno to return to his comrades and bosses with the knowledge that the ex-TURK would be back around in two to five days to give his answer.
Reno, for his part, left the bar with the profound feeling that, in his time spent with the dark-haired man, something had changed. Something in him. Like he left imprints of those damned boots inside me, somehow, yo. And he didn't even touch me with 'em...
When he returned to Rufus and his fellow TURKs, he was asked why he had not accompanied Vincent until his arrival at their headquarters. He'd shrugged and mentioned that firstly, he was hurt and not up to par; secondly, he'd tried to offer the raven-haired man a ride and been turned down flat; and thirdly, Vincent had pointed boots.
Of course no one in the office understood this. So Reno summed it up.
"Basically, he said, 'These boots were made for walkin'' and left, yo."
Tseng took Reno aside later and had him explain the comment further, summarizing it for Rufus once he comprehended the meaning as well. Rufus, of course, was mostly irked because he was used to being answered immediately, but there was nothing he could do.
*For Reno, this was an on-again-off-again occurrence, due to the simple factor that there were times when he all but used his brain, while at other times he was the most conniving bastard around.