Disclaimer: I don't own the Final Fantasy series or Reno. No matter how much I would like to :)
The life of a Turk...
...it prepares one for an existence forever filled with slaughter and blood lust, and devoid of almost any emotion.
No one cares about your feelings.
Your complaints and concerns go unheard.
There is little to no respite, and you have to learn to deal with that...
...but sometimes, every now and again, there is an intermittent period of down time. Of course, there's no guarantee how long it's going to last, or if it's even genuine in the first place, but at least you are able to claim the fraction of a taste of that sweet freedom.
This was one of those bittersweet evenings.
Anyone who knew the redhead was well aware that he was a boisterous, sometimes lewd individual. Loud, oftentimes obnoxious, but loyal to the duties that he performed.
No one ever saw the unguarded side, or even knew if he had one. They only saw the redhead at face value, and that's how he preferred it.
But every once in a while...
...when he was certain that no one was around to see...
He could let this side of him shine through a little bit.
But only if it was raining.
It was peaceful, a small comfort, that the rain offered. How the soft pitter-patter rapping against the windows and the roof of the Shinra building could gently soothe and lull him into a false
state of security.
It never lasted long, especially if he was in public, but it was preferred to the everlasting paranoia that the Turk had to possess on each and every mission he was assigned to.
If he was allotted a particularly lengthy amount of free time, and didn't have to worry about the possibility of illness, then he would trek outside and watch the sky open up upon the world.
He would allow the rain to drench him to the bone, seeping through his thin suit, filling his shoes, rolling through his crimson locks, down the back of his neck, and into soft blue eyes.
Most times, he wouldn't even bother wiping away the little droplets. They represented, in a way, the feelings that he could not, dare not, express.
Turks did not possess emotion.
They were to be careless automatons, following the orders of the higher-ups without question.
After a while, it could really wear on a person.
Reno was no exception.
He couldn't cry, so he let the rain do the work for him.
And if he got sick? Well, at least he would feel something other than this constant empty pit of
oblivion.
He could bother Rude to take care of him.
He would be excused from the cruelty of his work, at least for a little while.
Yes, he would still be masquerading a lie.
And yes, he would still have a feigned happiness.
But for once, people wouldn't refer to him as a deliver of death.
He could just be Reno.
Painted a beautiful red.