Author's Note: A writing sample for a PBeM game turned into this. ^_^ It's short, but it's not too bad. If you're looking for where this would fit into the FF7 timeline, try about after the destruction of Area 7, but before Cloud and co. break into the ShinRa building. Enjoy.
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The faint clinking of glass sounded in the night, as Rudolph Mills - or Rude as he was called by his friends - examned each shot glass in his extensive collection. Reaching to the back of the first shelf, the bald-headed Turk removed yet another glass, and studied it. This one was nothing different from your average shot glass - save for the small, metal plate in the glass' center which contained his initals - but it was special to him. It was the glass his best friend, and fellow Turk, Reno had given him shortly after they had become close. His red-haired friend had told him only to drink from it when he needed Reno's support when he wasn't there to give it, and tonight was one of those nights.
Walking over to the bar he had custom built into his room at the ShinRa building, he removed a bottle full of clear liquid and poured it into his special glass. Vodka and Reno's glass all in one night? Boy things were bad. After all, he only drank vodka when he was especially down, and... well he had already reminded himself of the importance of the shot glass earier.
Sliding into a chair near the cabnit that housed Rude's precious collection of shot glasses, the bald-headed Turk took a sip of his drink. Yeah, thing were bad alright. Those AVALANCHE bastards had gotten in the way at Area 7, and they had beaten the hell out of Reno. Now his poor best friend was lying in a ShinRa hospital somewhere recovering from broken bones, bruises, cuts, scrapes, and whatever else AVALANCHE had managed to do to him. Taking another shallow swig of his vodka, Rude frowned. Tseng hadn't even stepped in to help Reno. That was to be expected, but a little part of him had hoped that the leader of the Turks would have said he had tried to help.
Another gulp, and the drink was finished... and Rude's frown deepened. Not even a buzz off the liquor, how dissappointing. At one point in his life, that much vodka would have made him view the world with a slightly happier approach - not drunk, mind you, just a little tipsy. But now, now that he drank nearly every night one shot of the hard stuff wasn't even enough for a little bit of momentary happiness. And so, with that and his bitter outlook on his life currently, Rude drank himself well into the night.
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The faint clinking of glass sounded in the night, as Rudolph Mills - or Rude as he was called by his friends - examned each shot glass in his extensive collection. Reaching to the back of the first shelf, the bald-headed Turk removed yet another glass, and studied it. This one was nothing different from your average shot glass - save for the small, metal plate in the glass' center which contained his initals - but it was special to him. It was the glass his best friend, and fellow Turk, Reno had given him shortly after they had become close. His red-haired friend had told him only to drink from it when he needed Reno's support when he wasn't there to give it, and tonight was one of those nights.
Walking over to the bar he had custom built into his room at the ShinRa building, he removed a bottle full of clear liquid and poured it into his special glass. Vodka and Reno's glass all in one night? Boy things were bad. After all, he only drank vodka when he was especially down, and... well he had already reminded himself of the importance of the shot glass earier.
Sliding into a chair near the cabnit that housed Rude's precious collection of shot glasses, the bald-headed Turk took a sip of his drink. Yeah, thing were bad alright. Those AVALANCHE bastards had gotten in the way at Area 7, and they had beaten the hell out of Reno. Now his poor best friend was lying in a ShinRa hospital somewhere recovering from broken bones, bruises, cuts, scrapes, and whatever else AVALANCHE had managed to do to him. Taking another shallow swig of his vodka, Rude frowned. Tseng hadn't even stepped in to help Reno. That was to be expected, but a little part of him had hoped that the leader of the Turks would have said he had tried to help.
Another gulp, and the drink was finished... and Rude's frown deepened. Not even a buzz off the liquor, how dissappointing. At one point in his life, that much vodka would have made him view the world with a slightly happier approach - not drunk, mind you, just a little tipsy. But now, now that he drank nearly every night one shot of the hard stuff wasn't even enough for a little bit of momentary happiness. And so, with that and his bitter outlook on his life currently, Rude drank himself well into the night.