Chapter 3
Adjusting her hair as she stood before a full-length mirror, Shalua Rui sighed. She couldn't believe Shelke was really gone. To try and take her mind off of the issue, she was busy preparing herself to go out, but it wasn't helping much. She glanced over herself in the mirror one more time.
She was attractive, but wouldn't dare acknowledge it if asked. With long auburn hair done up in a ponytail and a body honed by years of physical exercise, she could have passed for a model. Except, she would say, for the fact that she was missing an eye, only one blue orb staring out from behind her glasses. Having taken a shot to the face years ago, her left eye had been surgically removed and the socket sewn shut. Every time she looked in the mirror it was a reminder of the things that she had given up for her sister.
Like her arm, which she had also lost in battle; a Shinra grunt with a sword had mangled it so badly it had to be removed as well. She gave her prosthetic a brief flex as if testing it, the metal and rubber joints making only a faint hydraulic hiss as she did so. She silently praised Vincent's mechanical skills; the arm seemed as good as new.
The state of her body was partly why she dressed as she did, in a low-cut pink and black top that left her bare midriff exposed, and a matching miniskirt with a crescent moon-shaped slit cut into the side. Over this she wore a labcoat, which she very rarely actually used...mostly she let the sleeves dangle at her sides, seeing them as an impediment. The risque clothing was a way of re-asserting her own feminity in the face of her increasingly mechanical form; the arm was the least of her replacements, most of them safely hidden deep within her body.
And that was totally discounting her newest injuries; a blotchy yellowing bruise covered the right side of her face, and an angry-looking scabbed line snaked from right to left across her midriff. Currently, she was resting on a pair of crutches, her left leg still just as broken as it was the previous day when she had passed out.
She was interrupted from her introspection when she saw something in the mirror; a dark shadow stepped into the doorway behind her. It was Vincent, and he appeared to be in the middle of a phone call.
"Yes, who is this?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...I see. Thank you for informing me."
click!
Shalua stifled a laugh; it was kind of amusing to see that Vincent wasn't much more talkative on the phone than in real life. Then she turned around as quickly as she could while on crutches. She didn't have to say a thing; again it seemed as if Vincent were reading her mind.
He gave her one of his trademark neutral looks, the kind where his face looked like it was carved of ivory for all the expression it bore. "That was Reeve. The WRO spotted Rosso boarding a boat bound for Wutai."
Shalua practically leapt in the air, but of course the crutches restrained her. "She was with Shelke in SOLDIER...she has to have some kind of information on her, right?"
Vincent nodded, almost imperceptibly so. "Reeve has some men 'handling it'. I doubt very much they can 'handle' a SOLDIER, so that's why I'm going to Wutai to help."
Shalua froze, and could have sworn she felt her jaw drop at his last statement. "'you'? What about 'we'? She's my sister, and I can't just sit around here feeling sorry for myself while you go rescue her!"
The marksman shook his head, turning on his heels with cat-like grace. "...You're injured." he intoned calmly in that baritone voice of his, as if he were commenting on the weather.
For the briefest of instants, Shalua felt like she were talking with a child who wasn't grasping the obvious. A little of that irritation slipped into her voice. "I know you have to have a Restore materia around here, or something."
When Vincent turned his head to look at her, Shalua saw something in his eyes she wasn't used to seeing. It was pain. Then a moment later it was gone, and he spoke as if nothing had happened: "I'm not...fond of magical healing. It's tiring on the body with repeated use."
Shalua sighed. Part of her was appreciative of Vincent's concern, but she wasn't about to let go, and the notion that she was someone who needed to be protected galled her. "Your concern is touching, but if you think for one instant I'm going to let you galivant around looking for MY sister while I twiddle my thumb in here, you...you..." She trailed off then, apparently at a loss for words to describe how she was feeling. Losing her temper was very uncharacteristic of her, which prompted a raised eyebrow from Vincent. Then she composed herself, squaring her shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "Look, it's my body...I've already sacrificed so much of it for Shelke's sake, I can't just give up now. Please, Vincent, don't take this task away from me."
Vincent considered his options. His first inclination was to just turn and walk away as if he hadn't spoken with her. That was his usual M.O. when dealing with uncomfortable conversations. Then he looked into her searching gaze, and saw something. Something familiar. It almost reminded him of the look Lucrecia gave him when she wanted something...the kind of look he couldn't refuse. So, with a tired sigh he reached into his pocket and produced a green materia that he held out at arm's length. Closing his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he called out to the memories hidden within the crystallized bit of Lifestream...
Hang on! I can stop the bleeding, brother! I...I know how! So please, just hang on a little bit longer!
Green motes of energy danced away from the materia in Vincent's hand, surrounding Shalua's battered body and condensing over her injuries. Where they touched, pain faded; the bruise on her face began to disappear, the gunshot wound in her arm knitting back together...and as she glanced down she could see the slash over her midsection fading away as well. Her leg felt like it was brand new, and an experimental step forward confirmed that all was well. Shattering the plaster cast with a good kick against the floor was a welcome relief.
Vincent, for his part, had a deep frown on his face that was concealed behind the high collar of his trademark cloak. Truth be told, he wasn't very fond of materia at all, and the memory of someone trying to heal their injured brother only proved the point.
Materia, you see, are the memories and power of the ancients given physical form. By tapping into these memories you can unleash magical power. For Vincent, however, the brief glimpses into someone else's life they gave were an unwelcome intrusion. He was used to keeping his own counsel, and frankly preferred it that way.
But, seeing Shalua whole and eager to go made him wonder if it was worth it this time. He nodded as if at some unseen question, then abruptly brought the thumb and forefinger of his normal hand up to his mouth, and...whistled. One sharp, loud note.
Shalua tilted her head to one side in curiousity, not having expected the sound from her companion. Then she heard a rustling of feathers outside the shell-house, and a muffled 'kweh!'.
"Our ride is here," Vincent said solemnly. Just like he said almost everything else.
Katana sighed and adjusted his tie.
He considered himself a man of action. Nearly a decade in the Turks hadn't dulled his true nature one little bit. It was KILLING him to stand around a market in Da Chao and pretend he fit in. A foreigner in a fancy blue suit, jacket halfway unbuttoned to reveal the neat white dress shirt beneath. His face was covered in scars, with glasses that glinted in the afternoon sun and a sheathed katana in one hand. Yeah, he really belonged here. Thankfully they were off in a side alley that was far from the hustle and bustle of the market.
Frankly, he didn't mind it at all.
But his partner's whining was REALLY starting to get to him.
"Ka-taaaanaaa..."
Six years later and Shotgun was still a beauty, with aristocratic features, alabaster skin, and long silky brown hair. She was one of the few people who, in Katana's mind, made the Turks' standard uniform look GOOD. Even with the ugliness of her namesake weapon slung over her shoulder; her new shotgun was a deadly-looking toy, with a box magazine underneath, a jet-black finish, and a collapsing stock. The kind of thing that promised death to anyone in her way.
He just wished, for the love of Gaia, that she would learn to let things go.
"We've been over this before, Shotgun. You know why we're here, your whining won't change that."
Shotgun looked vaguely hurt. Katana briefly wished he hadn't let his inner thoughts bubble to the surface like that, but it couldn't be helped; she was a big girl, she'd live.
Their job here was simple: stand by and keep an eye out for their target, who they weren't even sure would show. Their backup was nearby, but Katana had no clue how near...it was standard procedure for the Turks to operate in seperate teams, so that nobody could overtly or covertly betray an entire operation.
"Say, Yosef..."
Katana glared at his partner, the kind of look that could curdle milk. Unfortunately for him it was obscured by his glasses, as a ray of sun caused them to turn into two bright ovals. "Don't call me that. You know we left those common names behind us when we joined the Turks."
Shotgun huffed, narrowing her eyes at Katana. "What's with you today anyway? It's not like you to get so nervous when we're eliminating someone."
"Because we're not really Turks anymore. Shin-ra is dead, and we're basically working pro bono for all that the WRO can spare us. Our target is not like the normal scum. This is serious, Shotgun: the company isn't here to back us up anymore."
Abruptly, Shotgun looked askance and held a hand up, gesturing for silence. Katana complied. "She's here," she whispered, her voice edgy as she carefully lowered her weapon to her side. Across the market, a woman with unnaturally-shaped red hair had appeared. She was wearing a dark red trenchcoat, fully buttoned, and had what appeared to be a very large guitar case strapped to her back. Katana almost mistook her for a minstrel of some kind, until he noticed her eyes: they were red, and glowed with mako fire.
The hunt was on.
Rosso had never felt so humiliated in her life. After barely surviving Vincent's wrath in Midgar, she was forced to run. Run, from a battle. The very idea was anathema to her soul, and it took every bit of concentration she had not to lash out at the humans that surrounded her. She knew she was stronger than they could ever be...all she'd have to do is pull her double-bladed sword out from its concealment at her back, and let the blood run until she grew bored.
But she couldn't.
She was the last Deep Ground SOLDIER now, she had to lay low for a bit. Had to plan, had to think of some way to reverse this setback...maybe find the other Zvets, if they hadn't all been killed. She wanted so badly to kill, though; it was like a fire inside her.
Suddenly she got some unexpected relief, when a voice from behind called out to her: "Rosso!" She immediately spun around, finding herself face to face with a scarred man with glasses in a dark blue suit, and a waifish young girl in a similar suit. Turks. The man with glasses had a sword, one of Wutai make to Rosso's recollection, which he had resting over his shoulders supported by his right hand...he shrugged off his left jacket sleeve and tucked his left arm into his jacket, leaving his hand dangling as if broken. Rosso couldn't place the gesture, but she could place the woman cocking what appeared to be a very large and dangerous-looking gun and aiming it at her. Great...they send the Turks after me NOW?
Then the man with the sword was on her, swinging with deceptive speed and power considering he was only using one arm.
For his part, Katana was thrilled at how everything had worked out. The woman was so lost in thought that she hadn't even noticed them approaching, or that everyone in the whole damn market had cleared out at the sight of the Turks. It was almost too easy.
As he suspected, the guitar case was a sham; she immediately reached for it, but his initial slash was aimed at the strap holding it to her, and so the case fell to the ground with a loud 'clank!' before she could grab whatever weapon it contained. She growled ferally and leapt back, skillfully dodging his follow-up.
Then he heard someone clearing their throat, and ducked to the side; Rosso seemed confused by the gesture, but then saw Shotgun standing with a clear line of sight to her and her weapon ready to fire. He had bought her time to get off a shot, by standing directly in front of her before she was ready.
Unfortunately for the Turks, SOLDIER doesn't accept just anyone. Rosso saw the shotgun coming up just early enough for her to duck away, a solid slug whizzing past her ear and embedding in a miniature bronze copy of the Da Chao statue behind her. She made a grab for the guitar case, but froze in mid-leap as the man with the sword suddenly placed his blade in her path. She glared up at him for a moment. "Fine, I don't need that to kill you anyway." Then she leapt up with all the grace and power one would expect of the Mako-enhanced, and drove her fist into the sword-wielding Turk's stomach as hard as she could.
To his credit, Katana remained conscious after the blow. He even managed to retain his footing, stumbling back a few steps in the process. Unfortunately, that was all the gap that Rosso needed. She quickly jumped in and kicked her legs out in front of her, diving low and knocking her target's feet out from under him. His partner didn't dare fire at such close range for fear of hitting the other Turk. How touching.
Before Katana had reached the ground, Rosso's hand shot out, grabbing him by the ankle and spinning him around with inhuman speed. Shotgun could only gape in horror as their target suddenly released her grip, sending Katana spinning like a human football. Too late, she realized that he was heading straight for HER. Turk met Turk with a deafening crash, knocking both to the ground in a dazed heap.
Rosso simply clucked her tongue as she strode matter-of-factly to the guitar case and reached inside. Withdrawing her trademark double-bladed sword, a red-tinted affair with a large D-shaped grip, she approached the two Turks who were flitting in and out of consciousness. "How easy it would be to end your lives here...I should thank you, I haven't had this much fun in YEARS." She raised the blade overhead, and was just about to strike, when she heard something whistling through the air...she had just enough time to raise her arm to shield herself, before a liquor bottle smashed against her forearm and shattered into a thousand pieces. She ignored the pain as bits of glass stuck to her; she even found it a little exhilirating. However, her face fell a little as her eyes followed the bottle to its source.
Standing at the steps of the Turtle's Paradise were two men in blue suits. One had brilliant red hair that was almost pink, with crescents of the same shade tattooed under his eyes. His suit was rumpled and unbuttoned, a pair of aviator goggles on his forehead and a metal stick in one hand that seemed to have buttons and switches on it. The other's suit was impeccably maintained, his head completely bald and eyes concealed behind dark sunglasses. The only deviation from the standard Turk dress code were his earrings, and a pair of leather gloves.
"You guys got beaten already?" the man with the red hair asked incredulously, glaring at the semi-conscious Turks. "Damn, and you newbies wonder why we always leave you behind, yo."
The bald man simply adjusted his gloves. "They can't hear you. Let's deal with the target first."
The red-haired man sighed and shook his head. "It never ends, does it Rude?" Then he turned his attention to Rosso, grinning in a lazy, wheedling fashion. "Heeeey, lady. You should know that the Turks are kind of a close-knit bunch. I'm afraid we're going to have to beat you up now before we haul your ass in. It's the principle of the thing, yo."
Rosso grinned. This was going to be FUN.
Author's Notes: Forum for this 'fic now up, ID #216926. Stop by for a bit if you like.