III - enough to understand
Yuffie would (often) have an outburst of womanly fits as he made his path for the door those certain afternoons. Her naturally pale face would turn shades of what he could determine as vermilion, and she would shout, "I just don't get you!" And Reno would be left without a response and no opposition to offer.
With Rude it was different, a budding friendship which flowed as harmonious as alcohol penetrated his system. Rude had come from a low Midgar Sector and, although he hid it all beneath the dark shades and calm exterior, had endured more than any psychiatrist would dare to skim over. Rude /understood/ what it was, the sensation of waking among silverfish and hunting for food, the sense of instinct that if you didn't steal and survive then the world would backstab you like an ill enemy. For that's just what the world was; true friends and the kindness of others was too dubious a philosophy.
Reno knew murder and orders were his job; women had too little value, his mother had proved that bit; and hangovers were enough a reminder of life to result in painful mornings. Midst it all, the word love made him uncomfortable.
The same didn't apply to her. Yuffie grew with a silverspoon in her mouth, though she had rejected the luxury by spitting it to the ground or making use of it as a weapon.
"What don't you get?" said Reno, his eyes sharp, "I have a job, and things to do. Don't /you/?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter," Yuffie would blurt, unsure herself of what she meant.
"What doesn't?" his brows furred, "Listen, Princess, you have the option of losing everything you've ever worked for and still come home to a hot plate. Not everyone is so fortunate, have you ever stopped to look around?" his hand cold on the door handle, "Life is /really/ overrated."
As he trailed with his nightstick to the outskirts of Wutai in search of his fellow Turks, he found its many bars and tourist attractions much more interesting. Once in a while he'd fancy back on Yuffie and feel a sudden ready guilt, that perhaps he'd unknowingly and unintentionally made her cry. Women, he noted, spent half their lives weeping if certain things didn't flow as they'd expected.
But he hated tears.
Reno could stand the gushing of blood and hopeless pleas, but not tears; imagining Yuffie's face smeared with them left him more uneasy and uncomfortable in his own skin. Rude had cried, once. Elena, many times, practically each night in their hotels. Reno imagined Tseng was incapable of such human reactions, so he didn't give it much thought.
A whore had positioned herself on his lap at the bar, her hysterical laughter fixing every men's attention. He had dismissed her with a handful of gil and a, "Not tonight, sweetheart," with a brush on her hip which made her slip backwards. Wutai had once been a city rich in its history, full of glory and pride, Reno mused as he examined over the details on the counter tables. But day by day it lost its incantation and soon the citizens wouldn't realize it ever existed. Perhaps that was why she wouldn't give it up.
He chose a bench overlooking the mountains, which were more as ruins caved in after hundreds of years. Bars were too intoxicating, and the hotel room he shared with Elena and Rude didn't seem welcoming. "Night's almost done," he murmured. The sun was transposing oblique rays of sunlight
"It sure is," a tiny voice came behind him, as if it had just wept one thousand tears.
"You must really love Wutai," Reno said lowly, an usual cigarette dangling at the edge of his lips.
"Of course I do!" Yuffie said eagerly, "It's my hometown, and it's all I've ever known. I wasn't taught anything else than to adore it, and so I grew with a driven notion that I had no choice but to support it."
Reno sighed, smoked, and didn't respond for several minutes; a small morning breeze passed through them, gently running through their faces.
"You know, in Midgar there's none of that stuff," he explained, "We just pile up metal and call it a home, and steal to eat most of the time; I had a buddy who knew the original names of the Sectors, but it was a long time ago he told me and I don't remember. I think he was the only one I ever met who knew," he continued, "but he was killed, another lost krill to the city. And the things those whores do, it'll make your head spin, you can never respect a woman again; guns were part of life, and decent materia was hard to come by, if not too expensive, and the sellers would be shot for it."
...Then he stopped, having spoken too much. No need to dwell on the past, no need to tell her things she wouldn't want to know.
"It explains a lot," said she, "Having no pride to protect is pathetic."
"I'm my own pride," said he, "I'm still alive. You don't understand the meaning of this, but I'm still alive."
Her eyes welled up again, and he turned away to avoid them, "You're right, I don't understand," Yuffie stated, "But there's a lot about you I don't understand."
And she blew a kiss, touching her fingers delicately on his forehead, that night to be forgotten to the next time they met.
Yuffie would (often) have an outburst of womanly fits as he made his path for the door those certain afternoons. Her naturally pale face would turn shades of what he could determine as vermilion, and she would shout, "I just don't get you!" And Reno would be left without a response and no opposition to offer.
With Rude it was different, a budding friendship which flowed as harmonious as alcohol penetrated his system. Rude had come from a low Midgar Sector and, although he hid it all beneath the dark shades and calm exterior, had endured more than any psychiatrist would dare to skim over. Rude /understood/ what it was, the sensation of waking among silverfish and hunting for food, the sense of instinct that if you didn't steal and survive then the world would backstab you like an ill enemy. For that's just what the world was; true friends and the kindness of others was too dubious a philosophy.
Reno knew murder and orders were his job; women had too little value, his mother had proved that bit; and hangovers were enough a reminder of life to result in painful mornings. Midst it all, the word love made him uncomfortable.
The same didn't apply to her. Yuffie grew with a silverspoon in her mouth, though she had rejected the luxury by spitting it to the ground or making use of it as a weapon.
"What don't you get?" said Reno, his eyes sharp, "I have a job, and things to do. Don't /you/?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter," Yuffie would blurt, unsure herself of what she meant.
"What doesn't?" his brows furred, "Listen, Princess, you have the option of losing everything you've ever worked for and still come home to a hot plate. Not everyone is so fortunate, have you ever stopped to look around?" his hand cold on the door handle, "Life is /really/ overrated."
As he trailed with his nightstick to the outskirts of Wutai in search of his fellow Turks, he found its many bars and tourist attractions much more interesting. Once in a while he'd fancy back on Yuffie and feel a sudden ready guilt, that perhaps he'd unknowingly and unintentionally made her cry. Women, he noted, spent half their lives weeping if certain things didn't flow as they'd expected.
But he hated tears.
Reno could stand the gushing of blood and hopeless pleas, but not tears; imagining Yuffie's face smeared with them left him more uneasy and uncomfortable in his own skin. Rude had cried, once. Elena, many times, practically each night in their hotels. Reno imagined Tseng was incapable of such human reactions, so he didn't give it much thought.
A whore had positioned herself on his lap at the bar, her hysterical laughter fixing every men's attention. He had dismissed her with a handful of gil and a, "Not tonight, sweetheart," with a brush on her hip which made her slip backwards. Wutai had once been a city rich in its history, full of glory and pride, Reno mused as he examined over the details on the counter tables. But day by day it lost its incantation and soon the citizens wouldn't realize it ever existed. Perhaps that was why she wouldn't give it up.
He chose a bench overlooking the mountains, which were more as ruins caved in after hundreds of years. Bars were too intoxicating, and the hotel room he shared with Elena and Rude didn't seem welcoming. "Night's almost done," he murmured. The sun was transposing oblique rays of sunlight
"It sure is," a tiny voice came behind him, as if it had just wept one thousand tears.
"You must really love Wutai," Reno said lowly, an usual cigarette dangling at the edge of his lips.
"Of course I do!" Yuffie said eagerly, "It's my hometown, and it's all I've ever known. I wasn't taught anything else than to adore it, and so I grew with a driven notion that I had no choice but to support it."
Reno sighed, smoked, and didn't respond for several minutes; a small morning breeze passed through them, gently running through their faces.
"You know, in Midgar there's none of that stuff," he explained, "We just pile up metal and call it a home, and steal to eat most of the time; I had a buddy who knew the original names of the Sectors, but it was a long time ago he told me and I don't remember. I think he was the only one I ever met who knew," he continued, "but he was killed, another lost krill to the city. And the things those whores do, it'll make your head spin, you can never respect a woman again; guns were part of life, and decent materia was hard to come by, if not too expensive, and the sellers would be shot for it."
...Then he stopped, having spoken too much. No need to dwell on the past, no need to tell her things she wouldn't want to know.
"It explains a lot," said she, "Having no pride to protect is pathetic."
"I'm my own pride," said he, "I'm still alive. You don't understand the meaning of this, but I'm still alive."
Her eyes welled up again, and he turned away to avoid them, "You're right, I don't understand," Yuffie stated, "But there's a lot about you I don't understand."
And she blew a kiss, touching her fingers delicately on his forehead, that night to be forgotten to the next time they met.