"Jeez, what the hell is this thing, some kind of torture device?"
From his position by the window, Vincent rasied an eyebrow. "It's traditional" he explained patiently. "Wutaian warriors do not regard comfort as a priority. They see soft bedding as a sign of weakness."
A snort showed what the junior Turk thought of that idea. "Hah!" he exclaimed. "Stuff that shit, I want something decent. With two, no make it three, pillows."
Deacon and Peston regarded their own beds with reluctance. "I've only been away from Midgar for a day" said Preston, "and already I wish I was back there."
"Never thought I'd feel this way about that shithole, but I hear ya buddy." Linden was doing his best to make himself comfortable and not having much in the way of luck.
Vincent moved away from the window and walked over to the fourth bed. The Wutaians had for some reason packed all four Turks into one room. There was enough space (just), but it did make for slightly more intimate living arrangements than they expected. He lay down on the pallet without complaint, stretching himself out as far as he could. He noticed that he had grown considerably since the last time he'd slept on one of these - his feet now hung off the edge. Damn.
"So" he said at length. "What did you think?"
The three other Turks all looked at each other. Deacon was the first to speak. "Very… formal" he said carefully. "It all seems too choreographed to me."
"Don't beat around the bush" Linden interrupted. "They all act like they've got sticks jammed up their arses."
Vincent couldn't surpress his smile. He had to admit that in spite of his crude way of putting it, Linden was absolutely correct. Wutaians were strictly locked in the formalities of years gone by, constrained by ritual. He didn't think they had always been this way, but after centuries of practicing the same customs, it had become so ingrained in them they knew no other way.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Preston curled his lip. "That Lord's got a lot more security than we bargained for" he pointed out. "I counted at least twenty of those guards in that hallway. Visible katana obviously. But I'd stake a hundred gil that they've got more weapons stashed away inside those fancy uniforms."
"I'm surprised they can even move in those, let alone fight." Deacon sounded skeptical, and was surprised when Linden shook his head.
"That's what you're meant to think" he said. "They look heavy and awkward so as to put you off - you won't think they're much of a threat. But the way they're made is like the karate outfits, there's splits and stuff so they can move." He suddenly seemed to notice that all eyes were on him, and they were wearing disbelieving expressions. "Whaaaat?"
"You were looking at how those dresses were made?"
"No!" Linden immediately leapt on the defensive. "It was obvious!"
From his bed, Vincent tried hard not to snigger. He'd learned early on about the value of getting the Turks together like this. Each had their own particular way of looking at the world, and sometimes noticed things that the others missed. By bouncing ideas off one another, he was almost certain to cover every possible angle. On occasion, it also provided him with endless hours of amusement.
He decided to interject here, before an argument could develop. "Kisaragi does have a lot of men" he agreed, "but I don't think they're the threat."
Preston shook his head. "Twenty armed ninja aren't a threat?"
"They won't attack us unless we provoke them" he reasoned. "They're restricted by their code of honour."
"Whereas we have no such thing."
"Correct." Vincent pushed himself up to a sitting position and faced them. "It's dishonourable for them to attack innocent people. And until we do something to the contrary, we are innocent." At that, all four men laughed. The very idea of the Turks being innocent was something they could all find humourous.
Deacon had been pondering Vincent's words, as was his way, and had noticed something which he now pointed out. "The threat. You said that they weren't the threat. So what is?"
"Bet I can guess" muttered Preston under his breath. Deacon looked on expectantly at his superior.
Vincent smiled once more. "What were your impressions of Kisaragi's son?" he asked.
There was a smirk from Preston's direction. "Bingo."
"You think the guy's trouble?"
The leader of the Turks nodded firmly. "He's definitely not happy that we're here. Whether it's us or Shinra that upsets him, I'm not sure. But something's getting to him."
"Bug up his arse."
Deacon turned to Linden. "What is it with you?" he queried. "Everyone has something up their arse. Sticks, bugs…"
"Moving swiftly on…" Vincent hurriedly diverted the conversation before it could head off on a tangent that he had no wish to go anywhere near. "Preston, I want you to stay close to young Godo. Find out who he associates with, what he does, what goes on in his head. The last thing we need is him to get in the way."
"Consider me his shadow."
"Linden, Deacon, I want you to patrol the house and just keep your ears to the ground. Usual drill. If there's anything happening anywhere, then I want to know about it."
"Gotcha."
"Any questions?" Linden raised his hand. "Yes?"
"Where's the nearest bar?"