The Theory of Retribution
Subtle humor from the narrator and an abundance of sarcastic comments from the characters. You've been warned ;) Enjoy!
Vexed
Even with all the irrefutable evidence to the contrary, Reno's sanity has always been intact; and, it was optimistically expected that it would continue on that merry path for the sake of every living—and inanimate—being that has ever come into contact with the Turk. Despite the occasional—prompted by nothing other than pure idiocy—drunken brawl or the periodic disregard for one or two direct orders, the young man hasn't yet, as the widely-accepted expression goes, 'lost it'…
…at least not fully.
The lack of police sirens, high-pitched screams, and gun shots echoing through the bleak city of Midgar did nothing but prove such a conjecture; however, even that piece of fortunate information did little to ease Elena's anxiety. And the woman's worry, as unfortunately as that is, wasn't undo.
The energetic, albeit not strictly wholehearted in exerting said energy, wonder, more commonly referred to as Reno, was missing.
Indeed, who could possibly blame the blonde for worrying? As an arrogant nuisance with cockroach-like resilience, who has never been particular famous for keeping his persona out of anyone's business, for Reno, the feat of disappearing for an extended period of twelve hours, if not slightly more, was quite a challenge…
…unless, the red-head wasn't absent of his own accord.
With that simple reasoning, the problem Elena was facing escalated to much greater dimensions than a simple lapse—if not full loss—of reason. Reno could have been in any number of unfortunate locations—not excluding six feet under—and she had no means of attaining any information on his whereabouts. That realization, needless to say, only promoted overwhelming frustration and a heated glare at the innocent coffeemaker from the concerned young woman.
Also, needless to say is the fact that if, by chance, Elena would later find that the disappearing act was, indeed, done deliberately, Reno wouldn't be inclined to (able to?) walk for a few weeks post discovery.
Sighing irritably, Elena resumed work on her messily organized stack of papers, allowing the aforementioned coffeemaker a taste of euphoria at the diverted cold stare which the woman was shooting it while in contemplation. Apparently resigned to her fate, the blonde Turk relinquished her racing thoughts, focusing her wondering attention on the pages upon pages of useless information in front of her.
As per usual, Reno was proving himself quite capable of maintaining the gracious title of 'a pain in the ass', as far as Elena was concerned.
And what of Reno?
Well, the red-headed wonder in question, while luckily escaping the brunt of Elena's frustration—which the coffeemaker was taking on rather bravely—, wasn't in a particularly happy place himself. While not under the heated glare of a certain, blonde co-worker, he was rather pitifully stuck under the watchful eye of something—for the glob currently eyeing him could not possibly be considered a someone…that'd be too great an honor for the immovable piece of flesh by anyone's standards—much, much worse.
A sheriff.
How Reno got himself locked behind a nice set of polished, metal bars was a mystery covered by a thick layer of dust for the Turk, though something—through experience, one could even say—informed him promptly that the arrest wasn't based on any wrongful accusations…
…if only the bruise under the sheriff's left eye was anything to go by.
Having been awake for no more than a grand total of three minutes, Reno, unfortunately, started noticing an absurd amount of trivial details that weren't looking to work to his favor and could prove less beneficial than problematic in the long run…
…said list header, of course, being the dark gray bruise under the sheriff's left ocular…a very much swollen ocular which, when paired with the other, produced a rather vehement glare.
Indeed, that pleasant facial expression was exactly what greeted Reno upon waking. Actually, not only greeted, it was rather blatantly directed at him, one could say.
Attempting not to gloat in pride at his handy work—while gray was the most prominent color of the sheriff's discoloration, shades of black and blue easily jumped out upon further inspection…who wouldn't gloat at being the direct cause of such a shiner?—, the Turk assumed the most impartial of expressions, blankly staring back at the sheriff as if deep in contemplation. Though, truthfully, in contemplation he was.
A quick glance around his cell left Reno with the distinct impression that it looked…new. Well, relatively speaking, as new as a jail cell could look. This only set the Turk on edge with a very bothersome thought: he couldn't possibly be in Midgar. A city in which 'clean' is a relative term more effectively meaning 'less littered', being faced with a jail cubicle, of all places, with polished floors and sleek bars was unheard of. Not to mention Reno's common brush-ins with Midgar lockups; he probably had most of them down and memorized to a 'T'. The set-up of this particular one, however, he wasn't at all familiar with, which was proof enough that it wasn't located within the confines of ShinRa's key domain. And then, the sheriff…that was a problematic title of authority. Police officers, chiefs, and troopers—not that Reno was particularly friendly with any part of the law enforcement scene—sure…but sheriffs? The city of Midgar was much too large and much too unruly to allow for any such authoritative figure. No, the young man was most certainly not in Midgar.
And that, in turn, just begged the question…
"Where the fuck am I?"
Reno's voice was groggy and sounded rather raspy even to the Turk's own ears. Apparently, as warned by most everyone who had any affiliation with the red-head to brag about—or curse about, as was mostly the case—, years of chain smoking and binge drinking were finally catching up with the young man. Writing off the staleness in his voice to 'sex appeal', it didn't take long for Reno to find someone who simply begged to differ as far as that sweeping declaration was concerned.
In fact, all the red-head got as an answer to his less-than mannered inquiry uttered in his less-than pleasant morning voice was blatantly displayed disagreement—to his write off as well as his terminology—in the form of a disapproving look from a pair of cerulean eyes…one of which, actually, was adorned with a gray semi-circle, courtesy of Reno.
"Aw! Have I happened to hurt your virgin ears?" the red-head mocked his only company at the moment, shooting the sheriff a sweet look that could leave one wondering whether or not a simple gaze could possibly double someone's cholesterol levels.
Such unabashed cheekiness promoted unhealthy amounts of angry red to flood the sheriff's face, enabling, almost comically, the man to resemble an anthropomorphic tomato. Needless to say, however, a verbal response was not forthcoming…
…and no one could possibly blame Reno for taking advantage of the stunned silence.
"Now, I know how difficult the action of thinking is for you, so don't strain yourself too much," the red-head tsked in a distinctly motherly fashion, sitting up on his cot. "But do try and answer my question, won't you?...Preferable the first one…I have no interest in hearing your sap story for the second."
The sheriff's reaction, as unfortunate as that may be, could not possibly be described in any other manner but as an indignant squeak. An indignant squeak that sent a dangerously amused smirk onto Reno's lips, which was threatening to break out since the red-head's prompt awakening. Everyone has their own talents, after all…Reno's just happens to be the art of irritation. The perfected art of irritation, one could even go as far as to admit.
"You are not to speak unless spoken to!" finally rolled off the sheriff's lips as the only testament that he could, regardless of Reno's rising suspicions, speak and, perhaps even, think.
The man's voice was nasally, a tenor bordering on fragile, female alto despite all outward appearances of the muscle and fat infested torso. The small mustache that he was sporting above the top lip seemed to bristle slightly as he spoke only fueling the Turk's amusement, who was looking somewhat shocked and impressed at the obvious lack of deficiency in speech that the sheriff was displaying.
"Bravo, my good sir. I've had my doubts about your abilities in the field of articulation, but you proved me wrong! Now only to check whether or not you actually understood what you said yourself…" the red-head trailed his signature drawl off, diverting mako-infused, aquamarine orbs to a nearby wall which caught his slightly wondering attention.
Leaving the sheriff to this offended huffing and sputtering—though the man was, actually, forming coherent sentences to express his anger now—, Reno squinted at the framed certificate that drew his attention, which, perhaps, was proof pertaining to the legality of the small jail. No matter what the page was meant for, however, upon it, Reno found the answer to his original question.
'Verna' was displayed in bold, proud letters as the location at which the documentation was issued.
Straining his memory, Reno quickly pulled out the name from the deeper confines of his mind, happy, perhaps for the first time, that he actually paid attention to a part, no matter how insignificant, of Reeve's propaganda on the topic of structuring cities and opening opportunities.
The newly-nominated President of the Neo ShinRa Corp. was a firm believer in granting aid to the growing small towns, which sprouted post-meteor on practically every relatively manageable piece of land, in the hopes of providing opportunity for the less fortunate survivors of the past crisis. This town of Verna, as Reno could clearly recall, was no exception as far as Reeve's generosity was concerned.
Located on a diagonal between the two flourishing cities of Kalm and Junon, the town was quick to grow, but not to any significant extent. From what the red-head knew, Reeve funded the inner workings of the place with no little amount of enthusiasm, sporting high hopes for what Verna might become in a relatively short period of time. While not an industrial giant, by any means, it was unquestionably expected that the town would thrive nonetheless.
Snapping his attention back to the still mumbling sheriff upon the words 'improper treatment of authority,' Reno cut the man off mid-sentence.
"And to what, pray tell, do I owe the honor of my required presence in Verna's jail?"
The red-faced and unsettled individual who began nervously pacing in front of Reno's cell stopped his jagged actions to stare back at the Turk. A very much uncharacteristic and not at all pleasant smile narrowed the line of his lips into a failed try at a look of cordial respect.
"Homicide…but I'm certain you knew that."
Someone was shaking her.
"Yuffie."
Someone was shaking her insistently.
"Yuffie!"
Digging herself deeper under the covers, she didn't even grant the annoying hand, which was rudely interrupting her peacefully slumber, the honor of batting it away…though that was mostly due to the inability to move actively rather than the lack of desire to do just that.
"G'way," the ninja slurred tiredly.
The bothersome appendage was lifted from her shoulder almost immediately with a heavy sigh accompanying the action. It could have been her hopeful imagination playing tricks on her, but Yuffie could have sworn that for the next two minutes the second presence within her room was missing, and that prompted the ninja to relax once again. Closing her eyes tighter, she began slowly drifting back to that tremendously pleasant alternate reality that she was so impolitely jostled out of mere moments ago.
But, unfortunately enough, that state of impending euphoria was, as mostly happens with all good things, cut painfully short.
"Yuffie," the deep baritone from earlier addressed her softly in a coaxing manner. "The ship you are due to travel on leaves in three hours from Costa del Sol. The trip to the port from Wutai will take slightly longer than two. You must get up."
The gentle persuasion, needless to say, didn't work on the stubborn teenager. She remained securely under her covers, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the reasonable request…the reasonable request that was made for her own benefit, no less.
"Do forgive me, Yuffie, but I have no other choice…"
The voice trailed off, and Yuffie's mind, despite its demand for sleep, was set on slight alert.
'What the heck is that supposed to mean?' was her immediate thought, which was answered quite promptly in the form of cold water being spilled over the ninja's head. The cool liquid trailed down the whole length of the bed, soaking the sheets as well as the shell-shocked teenager underneath them.
Though Yuffie found herself in a state of slight incomprehension, it didn't take long for her reflexes to kick in and propel her out of bed with the most cordial of blessings screamed in the general direction of the perpetrator.
Though one look about her room told Yuffie that no one other than her was present, she knew perfectly well who was there before and what to do for revenge.
"Staniv! Go hide your stamp collection and start praying that I'm feeling merciful!"
Author's Note:
Do pardon the somewhat slow start to this story. I decided to touch slightly on all places that will be involved in the action, opening up the plot slightly…mostly on Reno's account. As stated in the summary, this will be a Reffie, so do expect an abundance of their interaction come next chapter and on. Hopefully, however, this wasn't particularly painful to read through. Tell me what you think; I'd absolutely adore feedback :)
-Thanks.