{the conscript}
ii. three is not a crowd.
She did not like it when she found him staring at her. Those eyes - disarming yet acerbic, a complicated fusion of sky and ocean. They prickled the vessels that spun adrenaline and cackling glassbits beneath her skins, their gleams skittering like broken lights.
Of course she knew who he was, it was rather hard to forget the very faces and identities that were constantly spat on and used as crude dartboards in the boss' office. What she did not know, however, was the reason for his presence.
"Sordid bars and Turks, " she declared to no one in particular, "They come hand in hand." She nodded unquestioningly to herself; it was almost a conventional penchant for the Turks to sojourn these places. The fact that Reno happened to be at the Purple Hazard tonight had to be a sort of coincidence.
Then again, it was not a coincidence for the Turk to be sober at the same time.
Which was a hitch in her little fun. She had Hulken to thank, nonetheless. The perfect distraction, and a rather propitious way to make herself scarce. Damn if he hadn't noticed a Turk on her heels before she had. She was alleviated, however, by her successful haul for the day. Six purses and a few elemental materias would probably sustain her for a while. A ricebowl that was dependant on her mercenary duties alone would never satisfy her financial needs.
The secret basement was not difficult to locate; she swept away verdant fronds from a strategically positioned potted plant, experienced fingers effortlessly tracing a lever that was camouflaged behind it. Minutes later, she was seated coolly behind an office desk, a single data processor illuminating the caliginous room with its murky alphabets, foreign shapes taking on black feathercoats on the walls behind her like contorting hieroglyphics.
Please key in password.
"Password? I'll give you fucking password." She took to muttering beneath her breath, and without further ado, a miniscule hooked wire was selected from her tool kit and inserted into the hard drive unit. Digits swarmed and amalgamated like furious hornets, stream after stream of valuable codes rattling down in a distinctive sequence.
Bingo.
It was now a matter of agonising minutes before the imperative documents were transferred into her compact disc. Transiently, she sensed a perturbed feeling which dragged itself from the back of her throat to her stomach, as if something was vaguely amiss. Everything seemed to be progressing a little too conveniently, especially for a task as important as this.
A tiny ejecting sound sliced through her trepidation, and after restoring the computer track record to its original state, she covertly slipped the disc into a plastic case strapped around her left thigh. Her uncertainties sedated, she then proceeded to retract the wire from the device.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
His voice was almost jovial; a little patronising, as if speaking to a child. She stiffened instantaneously as he ambled down the filthy stairs towards her.
"Nice try and all, babe. But I just can't help being so damned good at my work."
"Get the fuck out of here, Turk." Fingers discreetly enclosed over a handful of miniature shurikens, and before he had the chance to continue, the air was severed by a flurry of steel.
He swerved to the left with unnerving nimbleness, darting to the other side of the room.
"Hasty isn't the way, sugar. And you might want to be careful with those things as well. Somebody could actually get hurt." He made no move to counter her attacks, his shadows leaping from a hundred million directions at once.
She found her patience wearing thin. "You're not leaving this place alive, not if I can help it."
The Turk raised a dubious eyebrow. "Temper, temper. That's exactly what I fancy about you, you know. You always want your way-"
Stormblue orbs narrowed precariously.
"-But this time, you're not gonna get it."
With astonishing swiftness, he swung forward and unleashed a harsh belt to the side of her head.
She parried the blow and wrenched away, sweeping his feet off him as she tumbled to the ground. Reno cursed fervently under his breath as he felt her fist connect with his abdomen, and in one fluid motion he grasped her wrist in a vice-like hold before she could withdraw her arm, hauling her downwards forcefully.
She was no match for his strength, and her face met the peeling, begrimed floorboards as he manoeuvred himself over her, fastening her arms tautly behind her back. She struggled frenetically, thrashing fitfully enough to chance a desperate kick at his face.
He loosened his staunch grip upon her as her boots found their target, swiping at his bloodied lip captiously.
"Looks like I've underestimated you."
Electrical discharge surged and torched the room in myriads of whitesilver as he aimed his nightstick at her, but she dodged artfully, repaying the favour with another fistful of small daggers. As he sought cover to avoid the torrent of blades, she made a reckless dive to the computer desk and dislocated the wire in one crucial instant.
Almost at once, clamorous sirens reverberated around them and a series of overhead ceiling lights sprung into life, encompassing the basement in an outburst of excruciating brightness and shrieking alarms.
Spidery lashes quivered, her cinnamon eyes flickering from one end of the room to another as the sound of pounding feet resounded above them, trailing towards the camouflaged shaft, and then the trapdoor shifted open with a tormenting slowness.
Her mind was a gyration of bitter dismay, mottled pigments of garish red and black veiling her vision and train of coherent thought. The floor seemed to shudder involuntarily, taking her throbbing pulse with it as if they were silently adhered together by tethers of nerves and crossed veins.
It was no doubt that she was going to be arrested. In any case, she would be facing a series of charges that would indubitably spell the death penalty. And then, they would notice the infamous little band that she wore as a second identity and discover that-
-No.
They would not find out. Not if she could help it. Tugging furiously at the bronze ring around her index finger, she prised it off and clenched it unyieldingly in her whitewashed fists.
"Is there a problem, Reno?"
She balked at the florid, immaculately dressed businessman before her, trying to register Jaffrey Gaunier, primary objective and nemesis of their client, Quenton Incorporated, regarding Reno of the Turks with surprising cordiality.
Which was twice the jeopardy. She presumed then, that Gaunier was probably their client, and that he had more than likely placed the confidential documents under their administration and custody.
The very documents that Slade had sent her to pilfer. It was no wonder then, that Reno had been lurking within the compound vicinity, grimly vigilant and lying in wait.
He was waiting for her.
"I heard the security alarms, Reno. Somebody was trying to break into-" Gaunier faltered abruptly as he tried to deduce the curious pair before him. A perplexed frown crossed his forehead, and he suddenly broke into a knowing smile. "Ah, I see that you've managed to nab the little spy before my guards have."
"Spy?"
She felt her breath caught and sewn to the back of her throat like wet cotton, wary eyes panning from one burly guard to another.
Reno broke into a twisted sort of grin, barely masking an artful leer that threatened to spill forth his lips. Striding towards his client, he draped a sloppy arm over his shoulder, chuckling almost a little too casually for her to disregard any suspicions.
"You mean my subordinate over there?"
Her head snapped up instantaneously, mahogany orbs meeting waterwashed green, and she wondered what ruse he was trying to pull.
Jeffrey Gaunier turned to her, all traces of mistrust replaced with one that was mollified. "Your subordinate, " he repeated, his tiny eyes crawling lasciviously along the mooncurve of lithe, slender calves. "You Turks sure know how to pick 'em."
Reno shrugged, beckoning to her. "A rookie. She's new."
"New, eh?" Gaunier chortled. "Charming young lady she is, Miss…?"
"Kisaragi. Yuffie Kisaragi." She stepped forward, every skin and every softsilver fibre of her nerve the constitution of a Turk, as her lips curved into a wane smile. "At your service."
The older man nodded curtly, failing miserably to hide a grin that was full of dripping satin, bloodgold thoughts and sex. Yuffie noticed his serrated lips, prune-like and colourworn, his yellow-ebbed teeth and body odour, forcing herself to comply with a demure flicker of lips.
After all, she decided, if Reno wanted to play with fire, she supposed that she could as well.
Three wasn't a crowd. Not just yet.
.to be continued.