Precipitation
Drabblesome fun by Sweetest Oblivion
It smelled like rain.
Reno of the Turks growled mutedly as he made his way through the dimly lit halls of an Upper-Plate condominium-complex. The building was fancy, clad in china chandeliers, marble colonnades, and women in traditional stockings and horned rimmed glasses. Their manners were professional, their voices like honey. So unlike Reno -- his unkempt façade dripping sloth and a clumsiness that belied the quick reflexes and keen senses of a trained killer, kidnapper, and interrogator.
Yes, even in these halls, so shut out from the rest of the world – from the reality that threatened to crumble hallowed halls of money and naiveté, Reno could smell the rain.
And Reno hated the rain.
Maybe it was his youth in the slums, the land putrid and trash-ridden – so much so that no amount of rain could cleanse the rotting earth. The rains would come, most likely in the cool September mornings, acidic and smelling of Upper-Plate runoff. You could smell this rain coming, too, but it smelled of kitchen cleaners, tar, and sewage.
It was a stench not easy to get rid of and the feeling of irritated skin and eyes was not a feeling that one could easily forget.
Even this cleaner, fresher rain brought Reno into duller, more thoughtful spirits. It seemed to pull him down. His clothes weighed more and were darkened a deeper color of black than they had been before. His hair would become plastered, crimson and wet, dragging in his eyes. Everything would cling onto him.
And the smell. Even the Upper-Plate's humidity – the smell of oncoming rain in grey tinged clouds smelled like filth.
Reno gritted his teeth and nodded to the doorman as he exited Midgar Towers #4, pulling his EMR closer to his body, shielding it from the rain that would inevitably fall. He probably wouldn't see any of it, at least for the day. Reno had a job to do in Sector Seven, a top secret mission that he was still in the dark about. All he knew was that it promised to rid the Planet of AVALANCHE -- the vermin that didn't quite catch on… that didn't know how to die. He would be heading down by the slums – an old place he never could call 'home.' And while it would be a few days after the rains started on the Upper-Plate until the deluge hit the slums, Reno knew that it would smell.
And what it would be like.
And as the smell of ozone and water heightened all around the Upper-Plate, a slight drizzle sprinkled down on the Turk, dampening his hair as he walked to his black, Shinra- issued Junon Coerl, housed thankfully in covered parking.
And as he disabled the security system on his luxury vehicle, Reno inhaled a deep breath of the damp air and grimaced.
It would be a long day and Reno had a bad feeling about it already.
Ramblesome: Spur of the moment, this has been trapped in my head since I signed up for Reno in a Livejournal community called 30gens.
I think we can figure when this takes place, in game.
The Junon Coerl was a car that I invented while role playing as Rufus Shinra a year ago. Think of it as a Bentley of sorts. Shinra-issued. Everyone's got one in some form. Reno's must be a sight to see.