just a kid
I think. A lot.
I also drink a lot. And people seem to notice that before the thinking thing. Maybe because I've never made a point of being the intelligent turk.
Hell, I'm 17 years old.
Oh, I'm sorry, did your jaw just drop? Yeah. I, Reno, am only 17 years old, thrust into the position of killing other people because it was that, or me and 'Lena would starve to death.
She's my sister. She's only 16. We're kids, ferchrissakes. So when Rude, the big burly guy who drank at the tavern we lived behind, wanted me to spar... I was scared. Shitless. I was only 16 at the time... Rude's a big-ass guy, y'know? What the hell was I supposed to do, though? He wanted to get me in a fight... said I was a cocky little bastard. Seemed he thought I was trash, but 'Lena says the gleam behind his sunglasses said different. Maybe old Rude saw something in me that day. Maybe... definitely... he let me win. Why he let me take Elena, I'll never know. But I'm thankful. Damn, to the Lord, I'm thankful. My sister is one of the few constants I've ever known... and if anyone ever makes her cry, I'll make him cry, a hell of a lot longer and louder.
Long story short, Rude did a little alteration on the story of us street kids, and presented us as Turks. Turks, as he told me, were Shinra. Now, listen to me when I say, I do NOT support Shinra's shit. But they guaranteed me a livelihood, and promised me to take care of 'Lena, too. Said they needed someone quick on their feet- that's me. You don't live from store to store with what you steal and not learn to be almost feline.
So now, I'm this 17 year old guy, not even a man yet, and I have the blood of a thousand plus people on my hands. Can't look 'Lena in the eye, knowing that she has to be a cold-hearted killer too. I saw her take a man down in Wall Market with nothing but a plate frag. And I wonder if she cries her 16 year old self to bed at night. I wonder if she remembers Alsace, the little white cat that used to come around when we were behind the tavern. I wonder if she remembers the first time she drank a Sylkis beer and didn't wrinkle up her nose. I remember.
Nobody knows Mike Reno. They think of an icy, bitter man. They think of a killer. At very least, they think of the blue suit.
Cut me some slack.
I'm just a kid...
---
a/n: I've never seen a portrayal like this of the two of them. I'm kind of happy with this one.
I think. A lot.
I also drink a lot. And people seem to notice that before the thinking thing. Maybe because I've never made a point of being the intelligent turk.
Hell, I'm 17 years old.
Oh, I'm sorry, did your jaw just drop? Yeah. I, Reno, am only 17 years old, thrust into the position of killing other people because it was that, or me and 'Lena would starve to death.
She's my sister. She's only 16. We're kids, ferchrissakes. So when Rude, the big burly guy who drank at the tavern we lived behind, wanted me to spar... I was scared. Shitless. I was only 16 at the time... Rude's a big-ass guy, y'know? What the hell was I supposed to do, though? He wanted to get me in a fight... said I was a cocky little bastard. Seemed he thought I was trash, but 'Lena says the gleam behind his sunglasses said different. Maybe old Rude saw something in me that day. Maybe... definitely... he let me win. Why he let me take Elena, I'll never know. But I'm thankful. Damn, to the Lord, I'm thankful. My sister is one of the few constants I've ever known... and if anyone ever makes her cry, I'll make him cry, a hell of a lot longer and louder.
Long story short, Rude did a little alteration on the story of us street kids, and presented us as Turks. Turks, as he told me, were Shinra. Now, listen to me when I say, I do NOT support Shinra's shit. But they guaranteed me a livelihood, and promised me to take care of 'Lena, too. Said they needed someone quick on their feet- that's me. You don't live from store to store with what you steal and not learn to be almost feline.
So now, I'm this 17 year old guy, not even a man yet, and I have the blood of a thousand plus people on my hands. Can't look 'Lena in the eye, knowing that she has to be a cold-hearted killer too. I saw her take a man down in Wall Market with nothing but a plate frag. And I wonder if she cries her 16 year old self to bed at night. I wonder if she remembers Alsace, the little white cat that used to come around when we were behind the tavern. I wonder if she remembers the first time she drank a Sylkis beer and didn't wrinkle up her nose. I remember.
Nobody knows Mike Reno. They think of an icy, bitter man. They think of a killer. At very least, they think of the blue suit.
Cut me some slack.
I'm just a kid...
---
a/n: I've never seen a portrayal like this of the two of them. I'm kind of happy with this one.
