"Look you poor son of a bitch," Reno snarled venomously at the slumped over figure who sat in the chair behind the rooms only piece of furniture- an 18th century cherry wood desk. The dark blue jacket their captive was wearing was slicked with sweat and what could have easily been blood, the former of which caused by a massive heat lamp that dangled from a single wire from the ceiling. It cast a funnel of eery red light down over the unfortunate man, who didn't even seem to be listening to Reno's rampage. "We know you know. You know that we know that you know. And so on. So fuckin' tell us already, or I'll take that cute little pistol we took from you and start blowing your fingers off, starting with the index."
His threat completed, Reno pulled his red hair back and out of his eyes with one hand, wiping his mouth with the other. Intimidation speeches always made him salivate, though whether or not it was the simple fact he was speaking or some sort of yearning to complete the acts he threatened was something he really didn't want to think about. Plagued by a sudden self doubt, he backed away from the desk and allowed his partner to step in, fulfilling his part of a ritual as old as crime itself.
"Look," Rude said, in his short, halting voice, "I know this isn't any good. Believe me, I wanted to just bribe you, but my assosiate there..." Rude gestured over at the red haired Turk, who had slunk into the shadows and was quickly lighting a cigarette, "is a little tight with the gil. I apologize. Still, this can all end pretty quickly... all we need from you is the name of your employer."
The captive stared at him resolutely, his lips pressed tightly together. Rude heaved a sigh, and took a step back, almost as if he expected something to come flying from behind him- possibly the five pound Bible he had specicially instructed Reno to throw in such an occasion as this- but nothing appeared. Rolling his eyes behind his ever-present sunglasses, Rude stepped forward again, speaking in the tone teenagers use when they discuss shoplifting amongst themselves.
"Come on," he wheedled, "you don't even like the guy. Yeah, we did our homework... I liked you, so I looked some things up. Your boss is a prick, he rides your ass every day and doesn't give you a red cent extra for overtime. You know that. What you don't know is this guy has been bad mouthing you in every meeting, board review, and promotional discussion since he caught you checking out his daughters legs at the company picnic. You'd be a partner right now if it wasn't for that asshole."
Something in the eyes of the prisoner wavered, but it apparently wasn't enough. Confident that he had set this up perfectly for the kill, and Reno's alcohol-laden speel about how hot it gets in the center of a gasoline fire lit with a home rolled cigarette, Rude crossed his arms in apparent defeat and glanced back over his shoulder.
A minute later he was still glancing.
"Oh screw it," he barked, finally drawing the attention of his partner, who looked up from the spot on the floor he had been eyeing with a stare. Rude turned back to the man, drew a gun, and pointed it directly at his lap. "Your boss has also been fucking your wife," he stated simply, "and if you ever want to do it yourself again, you'll tell me his name."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Phill Connor," he said simply.
"Thank you," Rude said, returning his gun to its holster. He marched across the room to where Reno was standing, and calmly placed his hands on the man's shoulders, shoving him backwards and sending him flying. For a brief moment, it looked like Reno was going to be able to catch himself, but a wire trashcan struck the back of his legs and sent him crashing to the ground, where he landed with a somehow still intact and lit cigarette.
"Hey," Reno said, staring up through bleary eyes, "ow."
"You're an idiot," Rude growled, "and the fact you're currently completely wasted doesn't excuse that. What's your problem, anyway?"
"...wuddum dayt..."
Rude blinked, and on instinct, kicked Reno lightly in the side. Groaning more from effort than pain, the red haired Turk rolled over and propped himself up against the wall. "What did you say?" Rude demanded.
"Wedding date," Reno clarified, coughing to clear his throat.
"Wedding date?" Rude asked increduously.
"Wedding date," Reno confirmed.
"As in," Rude asked, "Yuffie and you have set one?"
"As in," Reno countered, "Yuffie mumbled something random around my dick and I did what I'm inclined to do in such a situation- nodded and shut the fuck up. Unfortunately, I found out two days later when I overheard her booking the Pagoda that she had asked if I was cool with having a summer wedding."
"Oh..." Rude muttered, voice filled with sympathy, before he snapped back to the present. "That still isn't an excuse for you forgetting your fucking cues!"
"I didn't!" Reno barked, sounding offended.
"What?" Rude asked, "then why didn't you... you know... take them?"
"'Cause I didn't remember my lines," Reno said triumphantly, dragging himself to his feet, "I knew my cues just find."
"Fucking brilliant," groaned his partner, who jerked in surprise as a sudden voice came from behind the two.
"If you two are quite done," it came, not sounding at all like the frightened and weakened mumblings of a beaten prisoner who just condemned a co-worker to torment and death, "then you had better get this stupid heat lamp of yours turned off. I don't even want to imagine what it's doing to our energy bills."
"Probably nothing compared to that hot tub you had installed in the back of your office," Reno growled in response, "and all you do in there is fuck Count Dr-"
"Do you really," Tseng cut in quickly, his voice radiating with energy, "want to finish that sentence?"
Reno opened his mouth as if ready to take the challenge laid out by his boss, but after a moment of locking eyes with his suddenly inflamed boss the red haired man simply looked down at the floor. "Yes," he said under his breath, "in the worst fucking way. But I won't."
"Good," Tseng said, though whether he overheard Reno or simply took his silence as an answer it was hard to tell. He went to stand, brushing off his jacket, only to be cut off with a sudden jerk and looked down in annoyance. "Say," he muttered, "Reno? Considering that this was an excercise, don't you think that it was a little overboard to staple my tie to the desk?"
"Maybe..." Reno said slowly, "but that depends what you mean. Do you mean the stapling itself, or the fact that I chose the most expensive piece of furniture in this entire building to staple you to?"
"I mean," Tseng said slowly, "the fact that you used no less than forty two staples to accomplish the task."
Grinning unapologetically, Reno cleared the office and grabbed the tie in both hands and pulled hard, easily detaching Tseng from the desk. Unfortunately his efforts did little to rectify the half pound block of wood that was now dangling from Tseng's neck by the delicate woven silk article, or the whole new problem of a gaping hole in the top of the piece of antique furniture. Deciding to ignore them both, Reno was suddenly very fascinated with some going on's on the carpet as Tseng undid his tie and tossed it away with disgust.
"I don't like this," the Wutain man growled.
"I'm not the one who bought you a piece of clothing at a Big and Tall store," Reno responded quickly, "you need to talk to Elena about that one."
"I was referring," Tseng continued, waving Reno's comment off with a simple gesture, "to this side of you. If I was going to use three words to describe you, Reno, sloppy would certainly be in there. The way you dress, the way you eat... I'm fairly sure you have your pistol attached to your ankle with a length of electric chord as we speak... but never the way you work. Now I think I'll have to re-assess that opinion."
"Oh Christ," Reno groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's the only box on my work report that hasn't been checked off yet. Somehow I didn't want to be a compleatist in that particular section of my life."
"You think it's the wedding that has you so off balance?" Tseng demanded.
Reno paused, then nodded meekly, the broken gesture that only a man wearing a thirty pound shackle weight in the form of a gold band on his fourth finger can make.
"Well this isn't working." Tseng was obviously irritated, a condition which had the occasional side effects on those around him of blind terror and pained screaming. Reno looked up, hope blossoming in his chest like some sort of sticky, tar coated flower.
"I agree," he said with a quick nod of his head. "This wedding thing is, just... bad for business. So you're saying you want me to cut it off?"
"No," came the answer, a snip to the stem of the flower with cyanide scissors, "we just need to find a way to work this energy out of your system." A pale finger pressed down on the intercom on the desk, opening a connection to the newest temp secretary who had reluctantly made his way to the Turk headquarters. "Brian, I'll need two hundred fifty dollars in singles, and directions to the nearest strip club.
***
The Prancing Pony. Patrons of the strip club didn't know which was odder, the fact that a business based on gyrating pink flesh and bouncing tits named itself after a grass munching quadraped or the way it had so clearly gotten that name from a trouble assailed inn in a fantasy book. Then again, all such thoughts instantly left their heads when they made their way past the massive oak doors of the building and promptly forgot their idle questions.
As Rude and Tseng flinched back from the retina searing flourescent lights of the establishment, Reno actually plucked his sunglasses off his head so he could fully absorb the illumination he had been exposed to more so than sunlight. He walked through the club like a puff of smoke through a vent, untouchable, able to get anywhere and everywhere he wanted with the slightest effort as his two companions walked slowly behind.
As he went he exchanged greetings, well wishes, random inquiries into the home lives of everyone who crossed his path. He knew the dancers, the bar tender, the bouncers and the owner, and those were only the one he felt close enough to that he'd call them by their first names. The patrons of the bar, the teeming horde of stumbling, rambling, drunken spectators cleared a path for him to walk through, but if it was out of respect for his well known job or simply difference to a professional in the field neither Tseng nor Rude could tell.
"How do you get any work done?" Tseng finally demanded.
"What do you mean?" Reno asked offhandedly, a king casting a sovreign gaze over his kingdom.
"Between this in your engagement," Tseng continued, "I can't believe I have been sending you a paycheck these last few weeks. If I didn't know any better, I would say all those targets I've been giving you have been dropping dead of heart attacks."
"Oh, what?" came the half offended reply, "I say 'hi' to a few strippers and suddenly I'm some sort of pervert. You both know damn well that the majority of my stripper sex doesn't even come from this place." He looked from Tseng to Rude, as if expecting him to validate his statement. When no such comment came, he rolled his eyes and turned around, followed Tseng's retaliation.
"Well," it came cooly, "if by saying 'hi' you mean asking them questions about their daily lives that I wouldn't be informed enough to ask my closest relatives, then you might have an accurate grasp of the situation."
"I asked how Jewel's kids were," Reno countered, "so what?"
"You asked," Tseng corrected him, "if she'd stopped dying their hair blonde to hide the red from her husband. And then of course their was Kristi, who you asked if she still needed her ceilings painted. Jenna, who you asked if she had fixed that squeak in her bed frame..."
"I'm a curious guy," Reno said with a wicked grin, leading the two other Turks to the front row of chairs. They were suspicously empty, a fact explained by a simple confused glance downward on the dark of Rude, who peered over his sunglasses to make sure he was seeing correctly.
"Did you tell someone we were coming?" he asked Reno slowly.
"Nope."
"...so why exactly is that seat reserved for you?" Rude said, pointing a long finger at the propped up sign that sat on the seat, bearing the name of the red haired Turk. Reno plucked the cardboard construct from its resting point and looked it over before tossing it away, taking his designated seat.
"What?" he asked innocently, "you're saying they don't do that for you?"
Sharing a pained look, Tseng and Rude took their places on either side of him just in time. It seemed that as soon as they were all in position, the lights dimmed, and the crowd began to rumble in approval as the ever over electified DJ got on the microphone to announce the next performer.
"Gentleman, gentleman, and more gentleman," came the play on the original beginning of the speel, which drew a cheer from some of the more inebriated inhabitants of the bar, "the Prancing Pony is happy, ectstatic, absolute orgasssssssmic to bring to you a first timer in these hollowed halls- Crystal!"
The customary roar that followed the entrance of a dancer occured, but then almost doubled in volume as the women actually stepped into view, and Reno drew a surprised look from both his co-workers as he made a weak choking sound and leaned forward for a better look. Almond tanned skin and raven hair twirled under the lights, legs that never seemed to stop twisted around the cool steel pole that lanced into the stage. Newly manicured nails teased quickly across throat, belly, thighs and ribs.
She wore a mask, like all dancers in the club, but hers seemed somehow unlike the others. While the other strippers wore theirs for concealment, simple black or white shrouds that did nothing cut detract from the image, Crystal's seemed tailor made to fit her face and actually accentuate her features, curling gracefully around her eyes and over her nose, sparkling with colored glass that seemed almost too beautiful to be the fakes they undoubtedly were.
The dancer stepped across the stage with the grace of a ballerina, feet barely seeming to touch the floor. On every corner of the stage money was waving, gil flapping in the overhead lights of the club, but Crystal ignored it utterly, her focus seeming to be locked on two things- the steel pole on the stage and the pale faced Turk who was watching her with a mix of fascination and lust.
Smiling seductively, the dancer folded her body in half with a simply bend, playing her hands on the wooden floor of the stage. A moment later her feet were in the air, and a moment after that they were twisted around the pole, a surprising grip from such a small frame. The hands lifted up, and suddenly she was simply dangling from her toes, arching her back as she dangled and drawing almost pained groans from the stunned onlookers.
She reached delicately behind her back with her now free hands and worked diligently as the room seemed to shake with anticipation. For being a building that saw nothing *but* skin, Crystal seemed to possess the uncanny ability to keep the crowd in suspense over what she had hidden- 'had' being used to the fullest extent of the word as strings were undone and the silk top of the girl went fluttering to the ground, causing the crowd to explode with noise.
One onlooker, however, remained silent as he rose to his feet, a curious look on his face. This wasn't exactly considered odd, but when the red haired man began to step up onto the stage the bouncers who just second ago had been exchanging high fives with him began to rush forward in protest. They quickly found themselves faced with two walls by the name of Tseng and Rude, who stood resolutely in their way, arms folded easily over their chests.
Crystal, for her part, didn't seem a bit surprised, simply placed her hands back on the floor and flipped back to a standing position as Reno approached her. His mouth was twitching, though whether it was in smile or laugh or angry grimace it was impossible to tell. He reached forward as if to brush the dancer's hair from her eyes, but instead seized the mask she wore and pulled it free.
"Hey Turkey," Yuffie whispered, barely audible over the thrumming music of the club. "Funny seeing you here."
"What is this?" he asked, searching her brown eyes with his glowing green ones. Though he himself had been the one to unmask her, Reno now moved to block her face from the view of the crowd, her exposed chest not seeming to bother him in the slightest.
"A present," she said, though it sounded like a question. "You weren't really supposed to recognize me. Did Tseng and Rude tell you?"
"You have a birthmark on the back of your right knee cap," he said simply, "So those two dicks set this up. Remind me to shoot them later," and then pulled her to him, touching his lips to hers. Dissapointed grumblings came flowing in from around them as the crowd realized fully how the show was definetely over, but neither of the figures on the stage seemed to notice as they wrapped their arms around each other- and then suddenly, Yuffie pulled free. Reno opened his mouth in question, only to be sent reeling, an open palm cracking him full force across the cheek.
"I cant *believe* you needed to come to a place like this," was the only explanation he got, a huffy exhalation, and then 'Crystal' was gone in an angry clicking of high heels, leaving Reno standing alone on the stage, suddenly feeling quite exposed. We was still in that exact position a minute or two later when Tseng climbed up beside him, looking incredibly nonplussed by the whole thing.
"So you're marrying *her," he said, just to make sure Reno's hearing hadn't been affected. In response, his employee simply rubbed his cheek, where a dark red mark was rising to the surface.
"Yeah," Reno said, and for the first time his voice didn tseem to hold its usual paranoid edge. "But hey, I could do a lot worse."
"She sets you up, strips for you, smacks you in public," Tseng counted off on his hands. "You're a lucky guy."
Reno caught the mockery in his voice, but ignored it utterly. "Huh," he said, "maybe I am."
His threat completed, Reno pulled his red hair back and out of his eyes with one hand, wiping his mouth with the other. Intimidation speeches always made him salivate, though whether or not it was the simple fact he was speaking or some sort of yearning to complete the acts he threatened was something he really didn't want to think about. Plagued by a sudden self doubt, he backed away from the desk and allowed his partner to step in, fulfilling his part of a ritual as old as crime itself.
"Look," Rude said, in his short, halting voice, "I know this isn't any good. Believe me, I wanted to just bribe you, but my assosiate there..." Rude gestured over at the red haired Turk, who had slunk into the shadows and was quickly lighting a cigarette, "is a little tight with the gil. I apologize. Still, this can all end pretty quickly... all we need from you is the name of your employer."
The captive stared at him resolutely, his lips pressed tightly together. Rude heaved a sigh, and took a step back, almost as if he expected something to come flying from behind him- possibly the five pound Bible he had specicially instructed Reno to throw in such an occasion as this- but nothing appeared. Rolling his eyes behind his ever-present sunglasses, Rude stepped forward again, speaking in the tone teenagers use when they discuss shoplifting amongst themselves.
"Come on," he wheedled, "you don't even like the guy. Yeah, we did our homework... I liked you, so I looked some things up. Your boss is a prick, he rides your ass every day and doesn't give you a red cent extra for overtime. You know that. What you don't know is this guy has been bad mouthing you in every meeting, board review, and promotional discussion since he caught you checking out his daughters legs at the company picnic. You'd be a partner right now if it wasn't for that asshole."
Something in the eyes of the prisoner wavered, but it apparently wasn't enough. Confident that he had set this up perfectly for the kill, and Reno's alcohol-laden speel about how hot it gets in the center of a gasoline fire lit with a home rolled cigarette, Rude crossed his arms in apparent defeat and glanced back over his shoulder.
A minute later he was still glancing.
"Oh screw it," he barked, finally drawing the attention of his partner, who looked up from the spot on the floor he had been eyeing with a stare. Rude turned back to the man, drew a gun, and pointed it directly at his lap. "Your boss has also been fucking your wife," he stated simply, "and if you ever want to do it yourself again, you'll tell me his name."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Phill Connor," he said simply.
"Thank you," Rude said, returning his gun to its holster. He marched across the room to where Reno was standing, and calmly placed his hands on the man's shoulders, shoving him backwards and sending him flying. For a brief moment, it looked like Reno was going to be able to catch himself, but a wire trashcan struck the back of his legs and sent him crashing to the ground, where he landed with a somehow still intact and lit cigarette.
"Hey," Reno said, staring up through bleary eyes, "ow."
"You're an idiot," Rude growled, "and the fact you're currently completely wasted doesn't excuse that. What's your problem, anyway?"
"...wuddum dayt..."
Rude blinked, and on instinct, kicked Reno lightly in the side. Groaning more from effort than pain, the red haired Turk rolled over and propped himself up against the wall. "What did you say?" Rude demanded.
"Wedding date," Reno clarified, coughing to clear his throat.
"Wedding date?" Rude asked increduously.
"Wedding date," Reno confirmed.
"As in," Rude asked, "Yuffie and you have set one?"
"As in," Reno countered, "Yuffie mumbled something random around my dick and I did what I'm inclined to do in such a situation- nodded and shut the fuck up. Unfortunately, I found out two days later when I overheard her booking the Pagoda that she had asked if I was cool with having a summer wedding."
"Oh..." Rude muttered, voice filled with sympathy, before he snapped back to the present. "That still isn't an excuse for you forgetting your fucking cues!"
"I didn't!" Reno barked, sounding offended.
"What?" Rude asked, "then why didn't you... you know... take them?"
"'Cause I didn't remember my lines," Reno said triumphantly, dragging himself to his feet, "I knew my cues just find."
"Fucking brilliant," groaned his partner, who jerked in surprise as a sudden voice came from behind the two.
"If you two are quite done," it came, not sounding at all like the frightened and weakened mumblings of a beaten prisoner who just condemned a co-worker to torment and death, "then you had better get this stupid heat lamp of yours turned off. I don't even want to imagine what it's doing to our energy bills."
"Probably nothing compared to that hot tub you had installed in the back of your office," Reno growled in response, "and all you do in there is fuck Count Dr-"
"Do you really," Tseng cut in quickly, his voice radiating with energy, "want to finish that sentence?"
Reno opened his mouth as if ready to take the challenge laid out by his boss, but after a moment of locking eyes with his suddenly inflamed boss the red haired man simply looked down at the floor. "Yes," he said under his breath, "in the worst fucking way. But I won't."
"Good," Tseng said, though whether he overheard Reno or simply took his silence as an answer it was hard to tell. He went to stand, brushing off his jacket, only to be cut off with a sudden jerk and looked down in annoyance. "Say," he muttered, "Reno? Considering that this was an excercise, don't you think that it was a little overboard to staple my tie to the desk?"
"Maybe..." Reno said slowly, "but that depends what you mean. Do you mean the stapling itself, or the fact that I chose the most expensive piece of furniture in this entire building to staple you to?"
"I mean," Tseng said slowly, "the fact that you used no less than forty two staples to accomplish the task."
Grinning unapologetically, Reno cleared the office and grabbed the tie in both hands and pulled hard, easily detaching Tseng from the desk. Unfortunately his efforts did little to rectify the half pound block of wood that was now dangling from Tseng's neck by the delicate woven silk article, or the whole new problem of a gaping hole in the top of the piece of antique furniture. Deciding to ignore them both, Reno was suddenly very fascinated with some going on's on the carpet as Tseng undid his tie and tossed it away with disgust.
"I don't like this," the Wutain man growled.
"I'm not the one who bought you a piece of clothing at a Big and Tall store," Reno responded quickly, "you need to talk to Elena about that one."
"I was referring," Tseng continued, waving Reno's comment off with a simple gesture, "to this side of you. If I was going to use three words to describe you, Reno, sloppy would certainly be in there. The way you dress, the way you eat... I'm fairly sure you have your pistol attached to your ankle with a length of electric chord as we speak... but never the way you work. Now I think I'll have to re-assess that opinion."
"Oh Christ," Reno groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's the only box on my work report that hasn't been checked off yet. Somehow I didn't want to be a compleatist in that particular section of my life."
"You think it's the wedding that has you so off balance?" Tseng demanded.
Reno paused, then nodded meekly, the broken gesture that only a man wearing a thirty pound shackle weight in the form of a gold band on his fourth finger can make.
"Well this isn't working." Tseng was obviously irritated, a condition which had the occasional side effects on those around him of blind terror and pained screaming. Reno looked up, hope blossoming in his chest like some sort of sticky, tar coated flower.
"I agree," he said with a quick nod of his head. "This wedding thing is, just... bad for business. So you're saying you want me to cut it off?"
"No," came the answer, a snip to the stem of the flower with cyanide scissors, "we just need to find a way to work this energy out of your system." A pale finger pressed down on the intercom on the desk, opening a connection to the newest temp secretary who had reluctantly made his way to the Turk headquarters. "Brian, I'll need two hundred fifty dollars in singles, and directions to the nearest strip club.
***
The Prancing Pony. Patrons of the strip club didn't know which was odder, the fact that a business based on gyrating pink flesh and bouncing tits named itself after a grass munching quadraped or the way it had so clearly gotten that name from a trouble assailed inn in a fantasy book. Then again, all such thoughts instantly left their heads when they made their way past the massive oak doors of the building and promptly forgot their idle questions.
As Rude and Tseng flinched back from the retina searing flourescent lights of the establishment, Reno actually plucked his sunglasses off his head so he could fully absorb the illumination he had been exposed to more so than sunlight. He walked through the club like a puff of smoke through a vent, untouchable, able to get anywhere and everywhere he wanted with the slightest effort as his two companions walked slowly behind.
As he went he exchanged greetings, well wishes, random inquiries into the home lives of everyone who crossed his path. He knew the dancers, the bar tender, the bouncers and the owner, and those were only the one he felt close enough to that he'd call them by their first names. The patrons of the bar, the teeming horde of stumbling, rambling, drunken spectators cleared a path for him to walk through, but if it was out of respect for his well known job or simply difference to a professional in the field neither Tseng nor Rude could tell.
"How do you get any work done?" Tseng finally demanded.
"What do you mean?" Reno asked offhandedly, a king casting a sovreign gaze over his kingdom.
"Between this in your engagement," Tseng continued, "I can't believe I have been sending you a paycheck these last few weeks. If I didn't know any better, I would say all those targets I've been giving you have been dropping dead of heart attacks."
"Oh, what?" came the half offended reply, "I say 'hi' to a few strippers and suddenly I'm some sort of pervert. You both know damn well that the majority of my stripper sex doesn't even come from this place." He looked from Tseng to Rude, as if expecting him to validate his statement. When no such comment came, he rolled his eyes and turned around, followed Tseng's retaliation.
"Well," it came cooly, "if by saying 'hi' you mean asking them questions about their daily lives that I wouldn't be informed enough to ask my closest relatives, then you might have an accurate grasp of the situation."
"I asked how Jewel's kids were," Reno countered, "so what?"
"You asked," Tseng corrected him, "if she'd stopped dying their hair blonde to hide the red from her husband. And then of course their was Kristi, who you asked if she still needed her ceilings painted. Jenna, who you asked if she had fixed that squeak in her bed frame..."
"I'm a curious guy," Reno said with a wicked grin, leading the two other Turks to the front row of chairs. They were suspicously empty, a fact explained by a simple confused glance downward on the dark of Rude, who peered over his sunglasses to make sure he was seeing correctly.
"Did you tell someone we were coming?" he asked Reno slowly.
"Nope."
"...so why exactly is that seat reserved for you?" Rude said, pointing a long finger at the propped up sign that sat on the seat, bearing the name of the red haired Turk. Reno plucked the cardboard construct from its resting point and looked it over before tossing it away, taking his designated seat.
"What?" he asked innocently, "you're saying they don't do that for you?"
Sharing a pained look, Tseng and Rude took their places on either side of him just in time. It seemed that as soon as they were all in position, the lights dimmed, and the crowd began to rumble in approval as the ever over electified DJ got on the microphone to announce the next performer.
"Gentleman, gentleman, and more gentleman," came the play on the original beginning of the speel, which drew a cheer from some of the more inebriated inhabitants of the bar, "the Prancing Pony is happy, ectstatic, absolute orgasssssssmic to bring to you a first timer in these hollowed halls- Crystal!"
The customary roar that followed the entrance of a dancer occured, but then almost doubled in volume as the women actually stepped into view, and Reno drew a surprised look from both his co-workers as he made a weak choking sound and leaned forward for a better look. Almond tanned skin and raven hair twirled under the lights, legs that never seemed to stop twisted around the cool steel pole that lanced into the stage. Newly manicured nails teased quickly across throat, belly, thighs and ribs.
She wore a mask, like all dancers in the club, but hers seemed somehow unlike the others. While the other strippers wore theirs for concealment, simple black or white shrouds that did nothing cut detract from the image, Crystal's seemed tailor made to fit her face and actually accentuate her features, curling gracefully around her eyes and over her nose, sparkling with colored glass that seemed almost too beautiful to be the fakes they undoubtedly were.
The dancer stepped across the stage with the grace of a ballerina, feet barely seeming to touch the floor. On every corner of the stage money was waving, gil flapping in the overhead lights of the club, but Crystal ignored it utterly, her focus seeming to be locked on two things- the steel pole on the stage and the pale faced Turk who was watching her with a mix of fascination and lust.
Smiling seductively, the dancer folded her body in half with a simply bend, playing her hands on the wooden floor of the stage. A moment later her feet were in the air, and a moment after that they were twisted around the pole, a surprising grip from such a small frame. The hands lifted up, and suddenly she was simply dangling from her toes, arching her back as she dangled and drawing almost pained groans from the stunned onlookers.
She reached delicately behind her back with her now free hands and worked diligently as the room seemed to shake with anticipation. For being a building that saw nothing *but* skin, Crystal seemed to possess the uncanny ability to keep the crowd in suspense over what she had hidden- 'had' being used to the fullest extent of the word as strings were undone and the silk top of the girl went fluttering to the ground, causing the crowd to explode with noise.
One onlooker, however, remained silent as he rose to his feet, a curious look on his face. This wasn't exactly considered odd, but when the red haired man began to step up onto the stage the bouncers who just second ago had been exchanging high fives with him began to rush forward in protest. They quickly found themselves faced with two walls by the name of Tseng and Rude, who stood resolutely in their way, arms folded easily over their chests.
Crystal, for her part, didn't seem a bit surprised, simply placed her hands back on the floor and flipped back to a standing position as Reno approached her. His mouth was twitching, though whether it was in smile or laugh or angry grimace it was impossible to tell. He reached forward as if to brush the dancer's hair from her eyes, but instead seized the mask she wore and pulled it free.
"Hey Turkey," Yuffie whispered, barely audible over the thrumming music of the club. "Funny seeing you here."
"What is this?" he asked, searching her brown eyes with his glowing green ones. Though he himself had been the one to unmask her, Reno now moved to block her face from the view of the crowd, her exposed chest not seeming to bother him in the slightest.
"A present," she said, though it sounded like a question. "You weren't really supposed to recognize me. Did Tseng and Rude tell you?"
"You have a birthmark on the back of your right knee cap," he said simply, "So those two dicks set this up. Remind me to shoot them later," and then pulled her to him, touching his lips to hers. Dissapointed grumblings came flowing in from around them as the crowd realized fully how the show was definetely over, but neither of the figures on the stage seemed to notice as they wrapped their arms around each other- and then suddenly, Yuffie pulled free. Reno opened his mouth in question, only to be sent reeling, an open palm cracking him full force across the cheek.
"I cant *believe* you needed to come to a place like this," was the only explanation he got, a huffy exhalation, and then 'Crystal' was gone in an angry clicking of high heels, leaving Reno standing alone on the stage, suddenly feeling quite exposed. We was still in that exact position a minute or two later when Tseng climbed up beside him, looking incredibly nonplussed by the whole thing.
"So you're marrying *her," he said, just to make sure Reno's hearing hadn't been affected. In response, his employee simply rubbed his cheek, where a dark red mark was rising to the surface.
"Yeah," Reno said, and for the first time his voice didn tseem to hold its usual paranoid edge. "But hey, I could do a lot worse."
"She sets you up, strips for you, smacks you in public," Tseng counted off on his hands. "You're a lucky guy."
Reno caught the mockery in his voice, but ignored it utterly. "Huh," he said, "maybe I am."