"It's warmer in Hell,
So down we go." -- The Distillers, "City of Angels"
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The Turk Turf War
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Act Five: What If...
Remember when we said the war was being fought on ShinRa ground? It still was. In his armored car, Reno was driving after the ambulance Elena was on, eyes focused no longer on the sounds and sights of the battle, but on making sure the Gold-Touch woman came out of this alive. Hadn't he warned her not to pull the handle too hard? The General slapped himself. It was no time to blame someone for this; the woman he loved was being taken to the hospital all the way in Costa to take care of her concussion.
Back to the Midgar-ground thing. If you went back to the dead city, with the Turk numbers and top-secret documents on the streets, you would find chaos in anyone who actually did stay there. The residents, except for the mothers and small children, would have bloodied lips, black eyes, and broken limbs. And they would still be carrying broken bottles and baseball bats, looking like they could be pushed just the smallest bit, and BAM. Another life lost in the panic of a street-fight.
Rude, who was now trailing in his green pickup truck, had given Reno some sketchy details. Elena had pulled the knob too hard, fallen, and bashed her head wide open on the tile. When he had finally gotten a chance to see the place, goldenrod tendrils were stuck to the floor in sticky redness, which caked the small step almost all showers had. The corner was an opportunity for injury as soon as it was installed; Elena had just proven it to them all. As much as he regretted it, he had left Shadow in charge of the troops while he went to attend to a "personal matter." He'd been looking through a sheet of tears all the way through that talk.
The Fire Demon was finally released, and the life came back into Reno for now. But how long could he keep it out this time? It was a driving force. To kill. To win. Those were two things he really wanted to do right now, and the Demon fueled it. As long as he had something to focus on other than Strife, the no-brained asshole across the battlefield, he could keep a level head and make sure they all came out of this safely.
When he'd seen her...
Elena was being wheeled into the ambulance on a stretcher when he had first seen her after the accident. Her eyes were closed and her skin fading in color just enough to put everyone on edge. The hair she had still was matted to the back of her head, which supported a crimson bandage; that had once held the color of white. She couldn't speak, of course, but the paramedics spoke for her: Amnesia was likely, just temporarily, and they would have to keep her at least overnight. It had been requested that they not keep her for too long, and the paramedics agreed that they would release her if the care she was going into was suitable. Reno vowed to stay by that hospital bed the entire time he could. He had never denied his love for her, but he didn't exactly show too much of it anymore, either. He never slept in the same bed at the same time she did, never sat down for a meal with her, and was rarely even speaking to her anymore. Once the Demon receded, he was able to open his eyes, take a deep breath, and scream it out as loud as he wanted. It hurt to wake up to see his destruction.
And it was even harder fending off the Fire Demon of the Slums. But then it came to him. What if...what if he didn't go back? What if he surrendered right now, gave them Mideel and found a new place to set up shop? Like Icicle Inn. They needed protection, and they had a bunch of assholes up there. The Fire Demon would be extinguished as soon as they made it there. Gold-Touch would fizzle out into the normal hand, extended to her -- by that time, if things went the way they desired -- husband, asking him to get out of the snow, stop watching the stars, and come to bed. And Rude, he would come, too. The Combatant would be sucked right out of him, but there would be nothing to do about his poor, cold head when he and Reno went outside for a backyard wrestling match, Elena smiling and taking pictures from the kitchen window.
Reno and Rude planned to grow up in a few years. They'd been planning that for a while, but it never really did come.
But what if, God forbid, she didn't live through this? They'd said she'd been bleeding for a while before they found her, and something else had happened. He was sure of it, but if he asked, they would look nervous and make an excuse for leaving. One he'd slammed up against the walls, but dropped him and looked at his hands after almost seeing the flames of the Demon reflected in his glasses. Reno had decided then to wait until he got to one of the doctors in Costa del Sol to ask.
The drive took them into the evening, which held radio messages sent between Rude, the ambulance driver, Lydiana – the bobbing ID from the cafeteria -- and the hot-headed General on Elena's condition. Reno mainly kept to himself, except when he and Rude were playing stupid games over the CB, just to ease the tension. They were putting Elena completely under last time the driver had interacted with them, and then she just tossed them "She's still alright, Mr. Karuno," referring to Reno by his last name.
You should know Rude and Reno by now. Two oversized kids, always competing against each other, and able to turn anything into a good laugh or two. That was when they were in a good mood, and although Elena was under, the Combatant and Demon had been left back in Nibelheim. So, of course, Reno jumped at the chance when he saw a dirt road, probably for carriages, and pulled his car, more muscle than armor, sideways to bar Rude's path. He pointed at the road, grinned, and picked the radio back up. "Lydiana, you go on ahead. Me and Rude've got some business back here." Rude slammed his head on the wheel when the radio scratched out a "10-4" and the sirens died away.
"You're gonna kill my truck," is all the bald man said before gunning it onto the dirt road and taking off. Reno, who thought of himself as a pro when it came to drag racing, was hot on his tailgate. The only advantage Rude had was an automatic truck; Reno had been driving a stick for most of his life. Although he tried to act natural, rage was fueling the General.
First, Second, Third, Fourth. It all became a blur of hand movements as he tried to keep neck-and-neck with his companion. They soon blew right past the ambulance, but the road held; it was headed straight for their destination, which was probably a good thing. Pop. Pop. Pop. The hood of the car rattled, threatening to pop up and let out a blast of steam, but Reno kept on. The Demon had his mind back, and he would stop at nothing to win this one.
The Demon had its own way of fighting. If it could think and/or breathe, it would go on raging. Killing. Destroying. If Reno let it, the Demon could find its way through Strife's defenses and put a katana through his neck. But Reno would never be himself again, if he did that. It was like Valentine's "demon" problem. If Valentine surrendered completely, Chaos, Galian Beast, Hellmasker, or Death Gigas would have him forever. Reno was a closet fan of the old Turk's. He knew too much about him.
But Reno had one difference: He was the Demon. He had control, but it was minimal. If he second-guessed his actions, it was already too late. it was because of this that the Demon reared its angry head and forced him into Fourth Gear. Sparks clacked off as the two vehicles made brief contact, and then they were back, side-by-side.
Rude knew it was time to stop when he looked over and saw Reno's face. Eyes straight ahead, mouth set in a straight line, and arm pulsing with each shift. He would kill himself if that's what it took to win. He was walking the tightrope, and Rude didn't want to be the kid with the spitball that knocked him over. He pushed the truck until he had enough room to turn and slam on the breaks as Reno had done, stopping them both and almost tipping himself. Reno looked as if he'd just woken up.
And he had. The Demon hissed and retreated to its shell, waiting to strike out again. Breathing hard and looking at the road, a van sped by, way too fast for the normal speed limit. But Reno was unaffected by this. He looked at Rude. The man had his shades off and his jaw dropped; he'd seen it, too. Wordlessly agreeing, they gunned it for the beaches on the paved road.
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Act Six: Ring of Fire
Trailing the van the whole way and dodging the sane traffic, Reno and Rude CB-ed back and forth about its contents, and most importantly, its driver. A paint-chipped, black van, exhaust spilling out of its pipes, could only belong to one person; no one was more of an ancient artifact hunter than he. And the woman in the passenger's side -- if they'd both seen right -- had been in a Turk suit. That was unexpected, because the last they'd heard of her, she was AVALANCHE, wasn't she?
They reached the hospital without many problems, all three vehicles parking incorrectly, and rushed through the revolving doors. The man and woman were in the elevator with the doors closed by the time Reno and Rude got out of the said doors, so the latter two just took the stairs, asking for directions to Elena's room. They made it to the floor just in time to see the other couple disappear inside the room they were after.
That confirmed their suspicions, and for the first time since ShinRa's destruction, the inseparable Turks ran down a hallway and kicked in a door together. For Reno, it was comfortable. For Rude, it brought memories. The shocked looks on the faces of the occupants, the door splinters everywhere, and the guns drawn. This time, minus the guns, but still filling.
Lydiana paled. She knew most of the General's history. Most of the Turk history. And when Rude grabbed the blue-suited Kisaragi by the hair and took her out into the hallway, things could only get ugly inside the room, with the other man holding Elena's hand and the General falling back into his curse.
Reno was a time bomb. The man in front of him, Tseng, easily set his clock. This one had about thirty seconds on it to get some answers before the fires were set and Tseng was trapped. Reno held up a finger in turn for each question. "Why are you here? Why are you holding Elena's hand? And for God's sake, Tseng, why is Legs in a Turk suit?" His eyes could've burned red and his nostrils flared fire. He would've possibly looked less intimidating that way, too.
Tseng seemed unfazed. If Tseng was anything, he was Reno's direct opposite. Calm and cool until he got a reply. Strong where Reno was weak, weak where Reno was strong. He was the anti-Demon. Reno would pound someone to get information. Tseng would treat them to coffee and a game of cards to ease it out of their lips. Reno had a shorter fuse than he had hair. Tseng's went for miles. A deadly combination, those two.
"I'm here because the Elders from Cosmo Canyon found me, nursed me back to health, and pointed me here when I was healed. And Yuffie is in a suit because I made her a Turk after running into her at the Canyon. It seems we may need a new one anyway, no?" He dodged the second question with catlike grace. He didn't know his mistake.
They both wondered, was Tseng so blind he missed the ring on the hand he'd been caressing. "Explain that second one to me, Boss. What the fuck gives you the right to march in here and do that, after all the Hell you put her through?"
Tseng smiled softly, that big, Wutain smile Reno had come to know and hate before his "death." "Simple. I realized my errors and wish to ask her hand in marriage when and if it becomes possible."
Lydiana knew what was coming. Reno knew he would do it. And had Elena been awake, she would've possibly helped. Screaming some made-up obscenity, Reno launched himself at the lanky Wutain man, fist swinging back in sheer madness. The Demon fed off of him; it had him now, and it would never let go if it didn't have to. As soon as Tseng had said marriage, that fuse was burnt down and the Hellfire of the Fire Demon General, hotter than Ifrit's, had been sent through the body of the General, activating the kill-all-around-you mode. As soon as Tseng had held Elena's hand, it was all over for him.
The first target, Tseng's face, stubbornly stayed in place, making it easy to take him to the floor. As soon as that was done, Reno picked his former employer back up and slammed him into the mirror, shards sticking on both of their shirts, but going unheeded, even when the Wutain was tossed out the doorway into a passing medical cart. Tseng was sure he'd seen a needle fly into him, but it was all illusion. The only thing he was seeing was a barrage of Reno's knuckles on his cheeks as the Demon bent over and pummeled his face.
Rude, off to the side, made no movement to stop the many gashes that sprung up on the older man's face, just stood there in awe as Reno's sharp knuckles made their marks. Yuffie was no matter anymore. She was frozen in shock. Another punch, another cut opened, and soon Tseng's face was a mask of crimson and Reno stood over him, panting and muttering, holding his tinted fist in front of his eyes.
Tseng's smile wavered, but refused to fall. "C'mon, Reno...I'll admit, I know...from Rude that...you're getting married... But do you honestly...think...she'd take...a failure like you?" His death wish was just voiced, though heavily-labored, with a high raise of his hand. "I mean...you're in the Turks...because your brother…was a drunk..." He was getting old and weak, and right now, he was cut from ear-to-ear. Reno could've finished him off right then, with a good crack of his mag-rod. But he didn't. The Demon shrank back in fear at this new power; the restraint not to kill his hero.
Tseng, years ago, had taken Reno under his wing as a lousy punk-ass kid with a few bucks and a quick hand. The Wutain molded the now-General into the killing and fighting machine he was. If he knew a move, Tseng had either invented it or been his inspiration for it. Countless hours shadowboxing had been made worthwhile by envisioning Tseng as his opponent, losing every time just to come back and fight another day.
Without Tseng, Reno was just a greasy, punk-ass kid with a quick hand and a bloodlust that drew vampires into the shadows...
He pulled his fist back again, kept it there, and stood up, removing the choked gasp from the Kisaragi girl's throat as he did. Not even signaling a thing to Rude, he walked for the doors, footsteps clicking all the way down the hallway, echoing through the staircase, and only exiting the hospital's sound-range when he was outside and on his cell to Propeller.
The gruff man picked up half-through the first ring. "Prop-Job. You're desirin' it, you'll end up flyin' it. What's the scoop?" This was the man's formal greeting, too. Usually it was something like...well, let's not go into that right now. Just know, someone who calls himself Prop-Job has a nasty mind when he wants to. Propeller was a private businessman, and ran his airplane construction right out of the base. Reno sometimes questioned why he trusted the pilot so much, but that was another story for another time. At this time, Reno wanted one thing:
"Get a plane to the Costa del Sol runway, would ya, Prop'?" No time for formalities. Reno was fighting back his fear. As soon as the Demon had let go, Reno woke up and screamed again, the light piercing through his eyelids and sending a thousand volts into his system. When the Demon, the imaginary tormentor of the red-haired Turk's life, had slithered into the depths of the endless void of his imagination, Reno's fear was revealed, and suddenly, he was lost. He didn't know where to go. "And while you're at it, tell that fucker Shadow to get offa my damn throne and get back to playing with his battalion's cockpits."
"Roger," Propeller grunted on the other end, then turning their connection off and letting Reno move forward to get into his car and drive the way to the Costa del Sol airport. And if they had come out, Tseng, Rude, and Yuffie might or might not've seen it. They could walk over it or pick it up. But there was a golden engagement ring, lying on the cement steps, with RKES engraved on either side of the diamond in the middle, forgotten in the dim lights of the Costa hospital.
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Act Seven: Running in Circles
"Reno! C'mon, Man!" Rude was spinning in a fit on the steps, the same shimmering engagement ring adorning his own finger for now. Had he stood around, holding a ring like that, and calling for a man, he would've looked quite suspicious. The man's car was nowhere to be found, and, seeing as how the ring was off, he would most likely go and do something stupid like he always did, like run his car off a bridge and blame it on being asleep at the wheel, or going on a rampage with an assault rifle in a crowded plaza. The bald man had once walked in and stopped him before he could commit the second of those two.
Yuffie, the ninja brat from the old AVALANCHE, was leaning against the wall behind him, grown-out hair tied back, arms folded over her still-underdeveloped chest, and an uncharacteristically dark look on her face. "Look, Shiny, the guy's gone and flown the coop. But if I may point out the off-road tracks in the mud?" Her finger traced the air to show him the obvious. A pair of adjacent tracks, speeding away through the grass and uprooting many "peaceful" shrubs.
"..." Rude had to admit, he'd been pretty stupid to miss that. Pointing a finger at Yuffie, then retracting it and sticking out his thumb, he motioned to the green pickup truck behind the Turk van. "You're coming with me." He started to the truck as if it were no big deal. The wind couldn't carry away his words, certainly not by listening and taking them on their way, so all was fine, he figured.
The ninja girl's face lost some color. "Me?!" she screeched, stomping after him and stopping a few feet. "Look, Rude, just because I pointed out the obvious to your blind ass does not, in any way, mean I want to come with you, and frankly, I don't see why I should have to come while you confront General Psycho-Boy. And who died and put you in charge of my life? You have no power over me, and don't even try to put on the big-and-mighty act, because I've seen that one bef -- ACK!"
All protests were silenced when a clump of her hair was latched onto by Rude's iron-grip, and then she just flailed until he shoved her face to his and forced her to look at him. "Yuffie. Listen very closely. You are coming. And you know why? Because you're a woman, you have…" He paused, thinking of how to phrase this. "Well, you have the potential to have tits, and he surrenders to anyone with at least one of those two. Shut up and get in the truck." Her objections died away at his words, and she just glared at him as she stamped to the truck and got in after her hair was released.
When Rude got in, however, she was smiling widely. He could hear her silent question. Turning the key in the ignition and shaking his head, he nodded silently. "Yes, Yuffie, he actually finds you attractive, and you could probably sleep with him after a bit of effort." 'The pedophile,' the Combatant wanted to add, but kept to himself to keep his life. She wasn't a weakling; he had a few cuts on him to prove it. Their tracks melded together when he pulled off the side of the parking lot and into the wet grass, pushing the truck to its fullest just to get some speed. Luckily, the airport, their apparent destination, wasn't too far away.
They found Reno, sitting in his car with a cigarette in his mouth, all four windows down, in the middle of the runway. This place didn't hold commercial jets, which was probably a good thing, because any small, one-person planes could just land in front or behind him. The car was dead or just turned off, and the Demon General was staring into space, puffing on the cylindrical cancer-stick every few seconds, his arms limp on his knees. Of course, it was no Planet secret as to what was on his mind, but the other two knew something he probably didn't: Depression was fuel for the fire. As soon as he gave up, his mind went and he just...snapped. Became more obsessed with the war effort, paid less heed to the others, that kind of thing. Once in awhile, people suffering from the obsession like this would go completely mad in a fit of amnesia, counterfeit or authentic. They would scream about knowing nothing about their past life, and finally end up in the white sweater with the tying sleeves in the back, a pill bottle always on their tray with the food.
When it came to Reno, he was a dangerous man. As said before, he would most likely snap if anymore of this was put on his shoulders, give up, and go nuts. He struck most as the kind of person to sink into insanity, not leap into it with a zeal. He would sit in the corner, rock back and forth, and mutter "I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay..." until the words were numb on his tongue and as regular as breathing. And then he would sit there and rot into a pile of bones for the rest of his days. It was a pity to think he'd seriously never been hugged by his father.
When it came to Reno, barely anything surprised Rude anymore. He could run into enemy lines buck-naked and they would all just look on with the pitying, amused smiles on their faces, some doubled over in laughter, others wondering if they could shoot him fairly. But what did surprise him was when Yuffie, a woman he probably hadn't thought about in however long it had been since Meteor -- time was uselss to them now -- got out of the truck, walked over to the open window, and let the General use her shoulder as a makeshift, living tissue, patting his back with a steady rhythm.
Rude didn't know whether to burst out in chuckles or hang his head in shame at the both of them. Either one sounded appropriate at this time. Saluting his boss silently, the last thing the Cueball Combatant heard before he closed Yuffie's door and sat in silence was, "Damn him...damn both of 'em..."
So down we go." -- The Distillers, "City of Angels"
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The Turk Turf War
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Act Five: What If...
Remember when we said the war was being fought on ShinRa ground? It still was. In his armored car, Reno was driving after the ambulance Elena was on, eyes focused no longer on the sounds and sights of the battle, but on making sure the Gold-Touch woman came out of this alive. Hadn't he warned her not to pull the handle too hard? The General slapped himself. It was no time to blame someone for this; the woman he loved was being taken to the hospital all the way in Costa to take care of her concussion.
Back to the Midgar-ground thing. If you went back to the dead city, with the Turk numbers and top-secret documents on the streets, you would find chaos in anyone who actually did stay there. The residents, except for the mothers and small children, would have bloodied lips, black eyes, and broken limbs. And they would still be carrying broken bottles and baseball bats, looking like they could be pushed just the smallest bit, and BAM. Another life lost in the panic of a street-fight.
Rude, who was now trailing in his green pickup truck, had given Reno some sketchy details. Elena had pulled the knob too hard, fallen, and bashed her head wide open on the tile. When he had finally gotten a chance to see the place, goldenrod tendrils were stuck to the floor in sticky redness, which caked the small step almost all showers had. The corner was an opportunity for injury as soon as it was installed; Elena had just proven it to them all. As much as he regretted it, he had left Shadow in charge of the troops while he went to attend to a "personal matter." He'd been looking through a sheet of tears all the way through that talk.
The Fire Demon was finally released, and the life came back into Reno for now. But how long could he keep it out this time? It was a driving force. To kill. To win. Those were two things he really wanted to do right now, and the Demon fueled it. As long as he had something to focus on other than Strife, the no-brained asshole across the battlefield, he could keep a level head and make sure they all came out of this safely.
When he'd seen her...
Elena was being wheeled into the ambulance on a stretcher when he had first seen her after the accident. Her eyes were closed and her skin fading in color just enough to put everyone on edge. The hair she had still was matted to the back of her head, which supported a crimson bandage; that had once held the color of white. She couldn't speak, of course, but the paramedics spoke for her: Amnesia was likely, just temporarily, and they would have to keep her at least overnight. It had been requested that they not keep her for too long, and the paramedics agreed that they would release her if the care she was going into was suitable. Reno vowed to stay by that hospital bed the entire time he could. He had never denied his love for her, but he didn't exactly show too much of it anymore, either. He never slept in the same bed at the same time she did, never sat down for a meal with her, and was rarely even speaking to her anymore. Once the Demon receded, he was able to open his eyes, take a deep breath, and scream it out as loud as he wanted. It hurt to wake up to see his destruction.
And it was even harder fending off the Fire Demon of the Slums. But then it came to him. What if...what if he didn't go back? What if he surrendered right now, gave them Mideel and found a new place to set up shop? Like Icicle Inn. They needed protection, and they had a bunch of assholes up there. The Fire Demon would be extinguished as soon as they made it there. Gold-Touch would fizzle out into the normal hand, extended to her -- by that time, if things went the way they desired -- husband, asking him to get out of the snow, stop watching the stars, and come to bed. And Rude, he would come, too. The Combatant would be sucked right out of him, but there would be nothing to do about his poor, cold head when he and Reno went outside for a backyard wrestling match, Elena smiling and taking pictures from the kitchen window.
Reno and Rude planned to grow up in a few years. They'd been planning that for a while, but it never really did come.
But what if, God forbid, she didn't live through this? They'd said she'd been bleeding for a while before they found her, and something else had happened. He was sure of it, but if he asked, they would look nervous and make an excuse for leaving. One he'd slammed up against the walls, but dropped him and looked at his hands after almost seeing the flames of the Demon reflected in his glasses. Reno had decided then to wait until he got to one of the doctors in Costa del Sol to ask.
The drive took them into the evening, which held radio messages sent between Rude, the ambulance driver, Lydiana – the bobbing ID from the cafeteria -- and the hot-headed General on Elena's condition. Reno mainly kept to himself, except when he and Rude were playing stupid games over the CB, just to ease the tension. They were putting Elena completely under last time the driver had interacted with them, and then she just tossed them "She's still alright, Mr. Karuno," referring to Reno by his last name.
You should know Rude and Reno by now. Two oversized kids, always competing against each other, and able to turn anything into a good laugh or two. That was when they were in a good mood, and although Elena was under, the Combatant and Demon had been left back in Nibelheim. So, of course, Reno jumped at the chance when he saw a dirt road, probably for carriages, and pulled his car, more muscle than armor, sideways to bar Rude's path. He pointed at the road, grinned, and picked the radio back up. "Lydiana, you go on ahead. Me and Rude've got some business back here." Rude slammed his head on the wheel when the radio scratched out a "10-4" and the sirens died away.
"You're gonna kill my truck," is all the bald man said before gunning it onto the dirt road and taking off. Reno, who thought of himself as a pro when it came to drag racing, was hot on his tailgate. The only advantage Rude had was an automatic truck; Reno had been driving a stick for most of his life. Although he tried to act natural, rage was fueling the General.
First, Second, Third, Fourth. It all became a blur of hand movements as he tried to keep neck-and-neck with his companion. They soon blew right past the ambulance, but the road held; it was headed straight for their destination, which was probably a good thing. Pop. Pop. Pop. The hood of the car rattled, threatening to pop up and let out a blast of steam, but Reno kept on. The Demon had his mind back, and he would stop at nothing to win this one.
The Demon had its own way of fighting. If it could think and/or breathe, it would go on raging. Killing. Destroying. If Reno let it, the Demon could find its way through Strife's defenses and put a katana through his neck. But Reno would never be himself again, if he did that. It was like Valentine's "demon" problem. If Valentine surrendered completely, Chaos, Galian Beast, Hellmasker, or Death Gigas would have him forever. Reno was a closet fan of the old Turk's. He knew too much about him.
But Reno had one difference: He was the Demon. He had control, but it was minimal. If he second-guessed his actions, it was already too late. it was because of this that the Demon reared its angry head and forced him into Fourth Gear. Sparks clacked off as the two vehicles made brief contact, and then they were back, side-by-side.
Rude knew it was time to stop when he looked over and saw Reno's face. Eyes straight ahead, mouth set in a straight line, and arm pulsing with each shift. He would kill himself if that's what it took to win. He was walking the tightrope, and Rude didn't want to be the kid with the spitball that knocked him over. He pushed the truck until he had enough room to turn and slam on the breaks as Reno had done, stopping them both and almost tipping himself. Reno looked as if he'd just woken up.
And he had. The Demon hissed and retreated to its shell, waiting to strike out again. Breathing hard and looking at the road, a van sped by, way too fast for the normal speed limit. But Reno was unaffected by this. He looked at Rude. The man had his shades off and his jaw dropped; he'd seen it, too. Wordlessly agreeing, they gunned it for the beaches on the paved road.
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Act Six: Ring of Fire
Trailing the van the whole way and dodging the sane traffic, Reno and Rude CB-ed back and forth about its contents, and most importantly, its driver. A paint-chipped, black van, exhaust spilling out of its pipes, could only belong to one person; no one was more of an ancient artifact hunter than he. And the woman in the passenger's side -- if they'd both seen right -- had been in a Turk suit. That was unexpected, because the last they'd heard of her, she was AVALANCHE, wasn't she?
They reached the hospital without many problems, all three vehicles parking incorrectly, and rushed through the revolving doors. The man and woman were in the elevator with the doors closed by the time Reno and Rude got out of the said doors, so the latter two just took the stairs, asking for directions to Elena's room. They made it to the floor just in time to see the other couple disappear inside the room they were after.
That confirmed their suspicions, and for the first time since ShinRa's destruction, the inseparable Turks ran down a hallway and kicked in a door together. For Reno, it was comfortable. For Rude, it brought memories. The shocked looks on the faces of the occupants, the door splinters everywhere, and the guns drawn. This time, minus the guns, but still filling.
Lydiana paled. She knew most of the General's history. Most of the Turk history. And when Rude grabbed the blue-suited Kisaragi by the hair and took her out into the hallway, things could only get ugly inside the room, with the other man holding Elena's hand and the General falling back into his curse.
Reno was a time bomb. The man in front of him, Tseng, easily set his clock. This one had about thirty seconds on it to get some answers before the fires were set and Tseng was trapped. Reno held up a finger in turn for each question. "Why are you here? Why are you holding Elena's hand? And for God's sake, Tseng, why is Legs in a Turk suit?" His eyes could've burned red and his nostrils flared fire. He would've possibly looked less intimidating that way, too.
Tseng seemed unfazed. If Tseng was anything, he was Reno's direct opposite. Calm and cool until he got a reply. Strong where Reno was weak, weak where Reno was strong. He was the anti-Demon. Reno would pound someone to get information. Tseng would treat them to coffee and a game of cards to ease it out of their lips. Reno had a shorter fuse than he had hair. Tseng's went for miles. A deadly combination, those two.
"I'm here because the Elders from Cosmo Canyon found me, nursed me back to health, and pointed me here when I was healed. And Yuffie is in a suit because I made her a Turk after running into her at the Canyon. It seems we may need a new one anyway, no?" He dodged the second question with catlike grace. He didn't know his mistake.
They both wondered, was Tseng so blind he missed the ring on the hand he'd been caressing. "Explain that second one to me, Boss. What the fuck gives you the right to march in here and do that, after all the Hell you put her through?"
Tseng smiled softly, that big, Wutain smile Reno had come to know and hate before his "death." "Simple. I realized my errors and wish to ask her hand in marriage when and if it becomes possible."
Lydiana knew what was coming. Reno knew he would do it. And had Elena been awake, she would've possibly helped. Screaming some made-up obscenity, Reno launched himself at the lanky Wutain man, fist swinging back in sheer madness. The Demon fed off of him; it had him now, and it would never let go if it didn't have to. As soon as Tseng had said marriage, that fuse was burnt down and the Hellfire of the Fire Demon General, hotter than Ifrit's, had been sent through the body of the General, activating the kill-all-around-you mode. As soon as Tseng had held Elena's hand, it was all over for him.
The first target, Tseng's face, stubbornly stayed in place, making it easy to take him to the floor. As soon as that was done, Reno picked his former employer back up and slammed him into the mirror, shards sticking on both of their shirts, but going unheeded, even when the Wutain was tossed out the doorway into a passing medical cart. Tseng was sure he'd seen a needle fly into him, but it was all illusion. The only thing he was seeing was a barrage of Reno's knuckles on his cheeks as the Demon bent over and pummeled his face.
Rude, off to the side, made no movement to stop the many gashes that sprung up on the older man's face, just stood there in awe as Reno's sharp knuckles made their marks. Yuffie was no matter anymore. She was frozen in shock. Another punch, another cut opened, and soon Tseng's face was a mask of crimson and Reno stood over him, panting and muttering, holding his tinted fist in front of his eyes.
Tseng's smile wavered, but refused to fall. "C'mon, Reno...I'll admit, I know...from Rude that...you're getting married... But do you honestly...think...she'd take...a failure like you?" His death wish was just voiced, though heavily-labored, with a high raise of his hand. "I mean...you're in the Turks...because your brother…was a drunk..." He was getting old and weak, and right now, he was cut from ear-to-ear. Reno could've finished him off right then, with a good crack of his mag-rod. But he didn't. The Demon shrank back in fear at this new power; the restraint not to kill his hero.
Tseng, years ago, had taken Reno under his wing as a lousy punk-ass kid with a few bucks and a quick hand. The Wutain molded the now-General into the killing and fighting machine he was. If he knew a move, Tseng had either invented it or been his inspiration for it. Countless hours shadowboxing had been made worthwhile by envisioning Tseng as his opponent, losing every time just to come back and fight another day.
Without Tseng, Reno was just a greasy, punk-ass kid with a quick hand and a bloodlust that drew vampires into the shadows...
He pulled his fist back again, kept it there, and stood up, removing the choked gasp from the Kisaragi girl's throat as he did. Not even signaling a thing to Rude, he walked for the doors, footsteps clicking all the way down the hallway, echoing through the staircase, and only exiting the hospital's sound-range when he was outside and on his cell to Propeller.
The gruff man picked up half-through the first ring. "Prop-Job. You're desirin' it, you'll end up flyin' it. What's the scoop?" This was the man's formal greeting, too. Usually it was something like...well, let's not go into that right now. Just know, someone who calls himself Prop-Job has a nasty mind when he wants to. Propeller was a private businessman, and ran his airplane construction right out of the base. Reno sometimes questioned why he trusted the pilot so much, but that was another story for another time. At this time, Reno wanted one thing:
"Get a plane to the Costa del Sol runway, would ya, Prop'?" No time for formalities. Reno was fighting back his fear. As soon as the Demon had let go, Reno woke up and screamed again, the light piercing through his eyelids and sending a thousand volts into his system. When the Demon, the imaginary tormentor of the red-haired Turk's life, had slithered into the depths of the endless void of his imagination, Reno's fear was revealed, and suddenly, he was lost. He didn't know where to go. "And while you're at it, tell that fucker Shadow to get offa my damn throne and get back to playing with his battalion's cockpits."
"Roger," Propeller grunted on the other end, then turning their connection off and letting Reno move forward to get into his car and drive the way to the Costa del Sol airport. And if they had come out, Tseng, Rude, and Yuffie might or might not've seen it. They could walk over it or pick it up. But there was a golden engagement ring, lying on the cement steps, with RKES engraved on either side of the diamond in the middle, forgotten in the dim lights of the Costa hospital.
-
Act Seven: Running in Circles
"Reno! C'mon, Man!" Rude was spinning in a fit on the steps, the same shimmering engagement ring adorning his own finger for now. Had he stood around, holding a ring like that, and calling for a man, he would've looked quite suspicious. The man's car was nowhere to be found, and, seeing as how the ring was off, he would most likely go and do something stupid like he always did, like run his car off a bridge and blame it on being asleep at the wheel, or going on a rampage with an assault rifle in a crowded plaza. The bald man had once walked in and stopped him before he could commit the second of those two.
Yuffie, the ninja brat from the old AVALANCHE, was leaning against the wall behind him, grown-out hair tied back, arms folded over her still-underdeveloped chest, and an uncharacteristically dark look on her face. "Look, Shiny, the guy's gone and flown the coop. But if I may point out the off-road tracks in the mud?" Her finger traced the air to show him the obvious. A pair of adjacent tracks, speeding away through the grass and uprooting many "peaceful" shrubs.
"..." Rude had to admit, he'd been pretty stupid to miss that. Pointing a finger at Yuffie, then retracting it and sticking out his thumb, he motioned to the green pickup truck behind the Turk van. "You're coming with me." He started to the truck as if it were no big deal. The wind couldn't carry away his words, certainly not by listening and taking them on their way, so all was fine, he figured.
The ninja girl's face lost some color. "Me?!" she screeched, stomping after him and stopping a few feet. "Look, Rude, just because I pointed out the obvious to your blind ass does not, in any way, mean I want to come with you, and frankly, I don't see why I should have to come while you confront General Psycho-Boy. And who died and put you in charge of my life? You have no power over me, and don't even try to put on the big-and-mighty act, because I've seen that one bef -- ACK!"
All protests were silenced when a clump of her hair was latched onto by Rude's iron-grip, and then she just flailed until he shoved her face to his and forced her to look at him. "Yuffie. Listen very closely. You are coming. And you know why? Because you're a woman, you have…" He paused, thinking of how to phrase this. "Well, you have the potential to have tits, and he surrenders to anyone with at least one of those two. Shut up and get in the truck." Her objections died away at his words, and she just glared at him as she stamped to the truck and got in after her hair was released.
When Rude got in, however, she was smiling widely. He could hear her silent question. Turning the key in the ignition and shaking his head, he nodded silently. "Yes, Yuffie, he actually finds you attractive, and you could probably sleep with him after a bit of effort." 'The pedophile,' the Combatant wanted to add, but kept to himself to keep his life. She wasn't a weakling; he had a few cuts on him to prove it. Their tracks melded together when he pulled off the side of the parking lot and into the wet grass, pushing the truck to its fullest just to get some speed. Luckily, the airport, their apparent destination, wasn't too far away.
They found Reno, sitting in his car with a cigarette in his mouth, all four windows down, in the middle of the runway. This place didn't hold commercial jets, which was probably a good thing, because any small, one-person planes could just land in front or behind him. The car was dead or just turned off, and the Demon General was staring into space, puffing on the cylindrical cancer-stick every few seconds, his arms limp on his knees. Of course, it was no Planet secret as to what was on his mind, but the other two knew something he probably didn't: Depression was fuel for the fire. As soon as he gave up, his mind went and he just...snapped. Became more obsessed with the war effort, paid less heed to the others, that kind of thing. Once in awhile, people suffering from the obsession like this would go completely mad in a fit of amnesia, counterfeit or authentic. They would scream about knowing nothing about their past life, and finally end up in the white sweater with the tying sleeves in the back, a pill bottle always on their tray with the food.
When it came to Reno, he was a dangerous man. As said before, he would most likely snap if anymore of this was put on his shoulders, give up, and go nuts. He struck most as the kind of person to sink into insanity, not leap into it with a zeal. He would sit in the corner, rock back and forth, and mutter "I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay..." until the words were numb on his tongue and as regular as breathing. And then he would sit there and rot into a pile of bones for the rest of his days. It was a pity to think he'd seriously never been hugged by his father.
When it came to Reno, barely anything surprised Rude anymore. He could run into enemy lines buck-naked and they would all just look on with the pitying, amused smiles on their faces, some doubled over in laughter, others wondering if they could shoot him fairly. But what did surprise him was when Yuffie, a woman he probably hadn't thought about in however long it had been since Meteor -- time was uselss to them now -- got out of the truck, walked over to the open window, and let the General use her shoulder as a makeshift, living tissue, patting his back with a steady rhythm.
Rude didn't know whether to burst out in chuckles or hang his head in shame at the both of them. Either one sounded appropriate at this time. Saluting his boss silently, the last thing the Cueball Combatant heard before he closed Yuffie's door and sat in silence was, "Damn him...damn both of 'em..."