Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is copyrighted to Squaresoft
If you don't like fics with drugs, don't read it. Simply as that.
So here we are, stuck in Hell
Same old game, we know it well
I don't mind
Anyway
Spark it up and numb me on and off again
Oh, what the Hell
I don't mind
Anyway...
Dynamite Hack – 'Anyway'
~~~
Dull, brown eyes stared out uninterestingly at the setting sun. It symbolised the end of the day which had dragged on and on and on. Evening would soon turn into night which would turn into meaningless love, influenced by the Lifestream and the earth. The same old routine, over and over again. Why would today be any different? Unless the sleazy hotel they were currently boarding at mysteriously exploded, nothing would change. Nothing would erase the past and the terrible yet thrilling memories which went with it. Nothing.
With a barely detectable sigh, the owner of the lifeless brown eyes turned around to regard the scarlet headed peacock sprawled out on the dingy mattress of the endlessly squeaky double-bed they were to share for the next week. Marine eyes flashed and the air was suddenly drowning in unbearable screeches and groans coming from the monster they slept on as a pale, scar-ridden torso lurched upwards. Reno hadn't changed much in the past year, expect maybe to boast about a few more scars he had added to his collection. A smile was sent to the girl. Whether it was pleasant or not was debatable.
Words were not needed to communicate what the chocolatey eyes lusted for.
Thin, tapered digits quickly assembled a small paper tube full of fine magic powder; the powder needed to forget about all the fears and horrors of everyday life. The magic powder was the key to the other world. This other world was Plato's world of the Forms. Everyone and everything was perfect, all swirling about as different colours and different textures. It was tingling and electric and so over-whelming you sometimes thought you would die from the experience, but you didn't. And when the real world began absorbing the pretty colours and the pretty lights and the beautiful voices, sometimes you wish you had died, just so you didn't have to face reality again.
Trembling fingers reached out and snatched the thin cardboard tube on offer, unable to be patient any longer. Reno regarded the scrawny girl who was lifting the tube up to her shaking lips. He indulged in another smile, liking the way her eyelids drooped down over her brown eyes as she took her first puff on the tube of magic. His imagination was wild and he could imagine her closing her eyes in a very different situation.
This wasn't, however, her first experience with hash.
The redhead cast his mind back seven months ago. It was November and it was fucking freezing. He had been wandering around the dingy alleys of Junon, looking for a cheap and suitable prostitute for the night. There wasn't much left for the Turks after Shinra had been destroyed two years prior. Nothing but sex, drugs, alcohol and more sex.
Unable to find a whore who didn't stink of decaying flesh, the lanky man contended himself with the bottle of vodka he had taken along with him for the ride. Things always seemed better when he was drunk. As he began swigging the bitter spirit down as if it were water, he heard a whimper. Lowering the bottle, he looked around the deserted alley he had stumbled down, curious. He was by no means a saint, but if someone were in distress, he would do his best to save them. Especially if they were wealthy or beautiful.
He caught the whimper again, this time accompanied by a few sniffs. Maybe it was a child who had been abandoned down here by a cold and careless slut. Reno shuddered at the thought, thanking God that his mother, despite being a drunkard and a drug addict, hadn't abandoned him in some cold, lonely street.
As he advanced slowly down the alley, the whimpers turned into a gasp of fear and some shuffling was heard. No doubt it was a small child who thought some evil monster was going to rip it to sheds.
The brat ain't far from it.
"S'okay, kid," he said as softly as he could, vaguely wondering if the said kid could understand his slurred speech. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. Promise."
Behind a stack of rotten wooden boxes was a small face covered in dirt, peering up at him. The only clean thing about the face was the tell-tale lines running down the grimy cheeks. The child had been crying. Reno was reminded of snail trails, glistening in the sun.
Kneeling down, he made soothing noises of encouragement. "See? It's okay, I'll protect ya. Who's been beating on you?" His brilliant marine eyes travelled to the child's forehead. It was splattered with brick-red crust. The ex-Turk grimaced, knowing that it was probably the kid's own blood. He smiled encouragingly when the small face moved upwards, revealing a set of quivering pink lips which were going to tell him what he wanted to know soon, no doubt.
"R-Reno?"
The gangling man blinked rapidly.
The child – obviously female and perhaps older than he gave her credit
for – knew him. How she knew him was a
mystery to him. Thoughts flashed
through his brain as he frowned and stared at the demoted creature before him –
maybe she recognised the legendary Turk from days past? Or maybe she was – no, that was
ridiculous. She wasn't his child; she
wasn't young enough to be his child.
As thoughts churned around inside his brain, the girl sat up and removed the
hole-ridden blanket she had previously been hiding under. She pushed herself up, using the crates for
help, to reveal a horribly skinny female wearing a pair of ripped white shorts
and a stained green jumper. She was more than just a girl, she was…
"Yuffie!?" Reno sat back on his heels, and stared.