Not to toot my own horn, but I yawn like a cat. The similarity is striking.
In news that we care about, Chapter IV's here.
Rude had watched Reno disappear into a back room with a geisha and taken note of the arrival of the old man who proceeded immediately to that same back room. Knowing Reno could now talk to the man and negotiate with him for bikes, Rude decided to see what the place could serve up for a drink.
He shouldered his umbrella again and started to move for the bar when two burly Wutainese men stepped up to him, seemingly from nowhere.
"'Scuse us, but we got business with ya."
Rude allowed no change in his expression to betray his surprise. He simply nodded.
The men motioned to one of the back rooms. Taking their cue, Rude stepped towards the door, making sure not to let them see anything overly suspicious about him, and opened the door. Inside, on floor cushions, surrounding a large table with saké, sat a number of what looked like bike gangsters, none of whom belonged to the Shinsengumi.
Continuing to affect an air of nonchalance as best he could, Rude plopped himself down on a free cushion. He heard one of the men step through and close the door behind him, then take up position there, while the other stood guard outside.
Looking around, Rude saw that there was but one spare cushion now – a cushion that was promptly taken by a man who emerged from even further back in The Jade Dragon. He was nondescript, bland in appearance; a perfect espionage agent. The only distinguishing feature he possessed was that he was not of Wutainese descent.
All of them, including him, had umbrellas of various colors.
"Nice of you to show up," he barked at Rude. "An' what's with the getup? The umbrella's how we knew it was you, but the suit and shades?"
Rude, contrary to all evidence that Reno would put forward at the drop of a hat, was not unable to talk on his feet. Obviously he had stumbled into some sort of underworld meeting by carrying his umbrella, which apparently served as an identifier. However, any number of people could be carrying an umbrella around, so that told Rude that the equation had to be umbrella plus The Jade Dragon equaled admittance to this rather exclusive club.
"Had to go to a funeral," Rude replied. "Didn't have time to change."
"Damn. Who died?"
The bald Turk didn't skip a beat. "Old colleague of mine by the name of Veldt. Taught me a lot." No lie there.
"Shame." The agent straightened up a bit on his cushion, poured himself some saké – apparently the geisha here weren't even allowed to know about this meeting – and drained his cup before continuing. "So, now that our friend from Shattered Hand's here – " and at this he indicated Rude – "we can start."
Rude didn't recognize Shattered Hand, but he filed the name away for future reference. No doubt it's a biker gang. None of those present were commenting on the obvious fact that Rude was a foreigner, but he saw several other foreigners seated as well, so he assumed that the rest of biker gangs were not quite as picky about who they let in as the Shinsengumi were.
The agent had another long swig of saké. "The boss is pleased with your efforts so far. You've got the police running in circles trying to figure out where you're getting your weapons from and causing tons of havoc at the same time. That's excellent.
"But what the boss wants is a really big event, at a time and place of his choosing. He figures that if you all haven't wasted your weapons and strength on stupid petty theft and misdemeanors, you'll have enough power left to make some major hits without much more supplementation from him."
One of the gang members slammed his fist down on the table, rattling all the cups of saké. From behind his sunglasses, Rude observed the punk. He was almost as nondescript as the espionage agent, save for the fact that he had on a sleeveless vest, which prominently displayed the large red tattoo he bore on his right arm. It was a long, sinuous snake, the color of glowing embers, and it started on his shoulder and worked its way down to his wrist, where the tattoo terminated in the snake's bared fangs.
"That's a load of bullcrap," he growled. "We Orochimaru put in a resupply request two-odd weeks ago and haven't gotten a single clip of ammo or a dagger in response. I think your boss is running out of shit to give us, and you're trying to cover that up."
Now that the point had been raised, other discontented murmurs were heard around the table. Rude made sure to keep his gaze steady and unfocused on any particular man so as not to give any impression of taking sides. He also catalogued the name Orochimaru with Shattered Hand.
With a growl, the agent planted both his hands on the table, palms flat. "Listen here. You Orochimaru haven't gotten shit because that's precisely what you did with the supplies we gave you – shit. You robbed a couple stores and roughed up a couple tourists; do you want medals or something? If you weren't actually committed to being useful, you'd be as bad as the Shinsengumi."
Rude began to listen more intently.
"Speaking of," another one of the bike gang members spoke up. This one was a foreigner, as was clearly evidenced by his reddish-brown mop of hair and dark skin. "I don't see anybody from the Shinsengumi here. Haven't seen anybody from them for a long while now, actually."
"The Shinsengumi are bidding for higher stakes," the agent spat. "The leader Makoto wants to marry Yuffie Kisaragi, Godo's daughter, and he's offered the services of himself and the Shinsengumi to the government as a dowry. They're not part of our calculations any more."
"How d'you know for sure that that's what Makoto wants?" Rude asked, taking a calculated risk.
"'Cause I heard it straight from the mouth of one of my… friends in the Shinsengumi," the man replied, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Amazing what a little money'll buy you."
As the group's attention began to focus back onto the agent more, the Orochimaru representative slammed his hand onto the table again. "Hey! Don't try changing the subject, you foreign trash!"
All the foreign gang members at the table started violently, but it was the reaction of the espionage agent that was by far the most retaliatory. With one smooth motion he pulled a concealed pistol from his sleeve and fired into the back of the hand that the Orochimaru representative had slammed onto the tabletop.
It was a silenced pistol, so the noise was negligible, but the gangster's scream certainly wouldn't be. He dropped to his knees and opened his mouth to let the entire world know precisely what was going in the back room, and a moment later he closed it again as the agent's booted foot came up in a swift kick to the gangster's jaw, sending him flying backwards, unconscious.
Rude fought down the urge to raise an impressed eyebrow. The agent's foot had come out of a cross-legged position and risen four feet into the air to connect with its target's jaw, and the man still had his other leg crossed beneath him, his balance steady.
Definitely a pro.
The man folded his upraised leg back beneath him and said aloud, "Clean up the trash." Moving quickly, the guard standing at the door wrapped a strip of cloth around the gangster's hand, heaved his inert form up, and plunged deeper into the back of The Jade Dragon. Rude assumed there were auxiliary exits not visible from the main street.
Deathly silence hovered over the room in the wake of the shot, and the agent smiled briefly. "That's what the boss's response is to any complaints about resupply requests. Now, we'll talk ideas for a major blow to the city. Obviously, the Orochimaru aren't invited."
Grandpa Souta took a long, protracted sip from his cup of tea before setting it back on the table. He'd just listened to Reno's lengthy explanation for needing the bikes, and his eyes unfocused and his face took on a contemplative expression.
The geisha Rei, who had been kneeling on her floor cushion and listening with rapt attention, seemed to shake herself back awake. "You threatened Makoto in his own compound?" she asked, her voice awed.
Reno blinked several times and looked at her. "Yeah. I was about to whoop his ass, too, if my partner hadn't stopped us. Probably just as well he did, else we wouldn't be talking right now, I bet."
Rei's ruby lips opened in a silent oh for a moment before she spoke again. "You don't know Makoto. He's terrible when he's angry, and he's been training himself for years in the old arts."
Raising an eyebrow, Reno chose to give Grandpa Souta a while longer to think and took the bait. "You're telling me that you know him personally? And what about these 'old arts?'"
For a moment, her eyes flicked down to her hands, which lithely rested on her knees. "Yes. I've known him since we were children. We went through the end of the war together. When he heard that Grandpa Souta was becoming my adoptive father and financing my training as a geisha, Makoto purposefully took an interest in motorcycles so he would have an excuse to talk with him and see me. But…"
"Makoto-kun never took any interest beyond friendship in Rei-chan," Grandpa Souta finally spoke up. "I've been telling him for years to give up his fool quest and marry her. It would make both of them happy, and it would guarantee Rei-chan a good future in her old age."
"Lemme guess. This 'fool quest' of his is for Yuffie."
A nod. "You're quite astute, young man, though whether it's inspired by your protectiveness of Lady Kisaragi or if it simply comes naturally to you is up for debate. Makoto has been somewhat obsessed with her ever since he gave her shelter near the end of the war – a story you'll hear in full from one of them in to the future, no doubt." The elderly mechanic reached into a pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, handing one to Rei and taking one for himself. "You smoke, Mr. Reno?"
"No."
Grandpa Souta returned the pack to his pocket, then pulled a lighter and lit his own cigarette and Rei's. Reno eyed the geisha as she expelled smoke through her nose with a protracted sigh; she slumped slightly, relaxing. The old mechanic showed no visible reaction to the cigarette, though Reno was sure the man didn't smoke just for the hell of it.
"Apologies, then," Grandpa Souta said. "I know it's irritating, but Rei-chan and I always share a smoke."
Rei apparently felt Reno's eyes on her, because she exhaled more smoke with a short laugh. "I know what you must be thinking. Nineteen years old and I'm a fully accomplished geisha who works in an underworld nightclub and has a nicotine addiction."
"I did a lot worse at nineteen," Reno replied, letting the statement hang in the air for a moment. "Trust me on that."
"That we will," the old mechanic stated. "Call me senile, Mr. Reno, but I feel that we can trust you – to an extent, of course. You've no reason to lie about any of this, and you sound as though you're being sincere despite a history of insincerity. I haven't lived as long as I have without learning some things about humanity."
"I'm glad. That means we can skip all the crap we'd normally have to go through at this point and get down to business - after we resolve my question about these 'old arts' that Rei mentioned."
"Makoto has what you might call a fascination with power," Rei cut in. "Ever since he was little and the war took everything from him, he's wanted power to prevent that from happening again. He's studied ancient manuals, stuff nobody else would touch, to give himself physical power. The Shinsengumi's political power - pressure he can put on his enemies. Everything is about the pursuit of power for him."
Reno's eyes narrowed. "Including," he asked, "Yuffie?"
Grandpa Souta shook his head. "No. She represents a sort of ultimate goal for him, I think. Power is a means to an end, not an end unto itself. Makoto has his end, Yuffie, and his means, power. His end is what he's been building up to this entire time, and I fear what might happen if he's denied it." Another long, smoky exhalation. "But onto our previous business. What is it you need from me, Mr. Reno?"
Shrugging off the unsettling things he'd just heard, Reno replied, "I need two bikes, built to the specifications of myself and my partner. I need them done as soon as possible, and money's no object."
He didn't miss the glimmer in Grandpa Souta's eyes when he heard the tail end of that sentence.
"And you want these bikes from me because…?"
"Because you built Cloud his Fenrir, and we want something along those lines. Not quite as elaborate, thanks, but we need to have versatility."
"Not precisely what I was asking, but I'm glad to hear that you appreciate craftsmanship." The old man gave a quick, smoke-laden cough before continuing. "You've made abundantly clear to us precisely what these problems of yours are, but you haven't told us how you'll use these bikes of yours to solve said problems."
"When you get weeds in yer garden, you need a good hoe to root 'em out."
Grandpa Souta's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Wutai is not your garden, Mr. Reno."
"It's Yuffie's. And I intend to help her maintain it."
The old man had no response to that; he merely took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled, thoughtfully. Finally, he looked back up at Reno and said, "Two bikes to your personal specifications. I have connections and a good team of mechanics; it'll take me three days. That's if you can pay for priority servicing."
"I work for Rufus Shin-Ra. It's not something I should advertise 'round here, I think, but he's got a big enough pocketbook."
Rei blew staccato plumes of smoke from her nostrils with a short series of giggles. "I'd imagine not, Reno. Just think of what people would do when they found out Lady Kisaragi was involved with a Shin-Ra dog!"
"That's what they'd see me as, eh?" Reno asked, taking another sip of tea.
"Of course. Not only are you a foreigner, but you work for the company that put us down and ground us into the dirt in the first place. You can't expect any Wutainese citizen that survived the war or was raised directly afterwards to have good feelings towards the Shin-Ra."
Closing his eyes for a moment, Reno worked at a crick in his neck – again. Getting too stressed on my vacation. "Then I'll just have to 'forget' that I work for Rufus."
Rude walked back into The Jade Dragon proper last as the rest of the gang members slowly dispersed, the meeting concluded. The brainstorm session had been mildly productive, or so the espionage agent had declared, and he wanted to see everyone – save the Orochimaru representative – back in two days.
Checking his wristwatch, he noted the time, then hit another button on it. Immediately, the minute and hour hands sprang together and pointed at ten o'clock. Rude swiveled until the hands pointed at twelve, then looked up and saw he was facing one of the doors to a back room. He hit the button again and the watch returned to its normal mode. Shin-Ra technology at its finest. Better than opening every door until I find him because I couldn't remember the right one.
Striding purposefully up to the door, umbrella shouldered, Rude slid it open to find Reno sitting on a floor cushion at a table with a geisha and an old man, both of whom were smoking.
"Partner," Reno drawled. He gestured first at the geisha, then at the old man. "This is Rei, and this is Grandpa Souta. He's gonna make us a couple of rides."
Rude nodded at the geisha and extended a gloved hand to the old man, who gripped it firmly and gave it a shake before releasing it and beckoning Rude inside. "Sit down, young man. Your partner and I were just finalizing the details of his bike, and I think you would like to be able to give me your specifications as well."
Nodding, Rude seated himself, closing the door behind him, and looked at Reno. "And how're we paying for this?"
Reno waved a hand. "Rufus won't miss fifty or sixty thousand gil. No worries."
"This on top of Tseng's car? You won't get a paycheck for months."
"Does it really matter? I'll just go live in a nice cardboard box somewhere." Stretching, Reno added, "But what have you been up to, partner? Treating that umbrella of yours to a drink?"
"Apparently carrying an umbrella in here's a sign that you're in on a conspiracy," Rude deadpanned. "I got hustled into a back room with a bunch of bike gang representatives and got to hear discussions with some espionage agent about a 'big blow' that the gangs are going to strike the city sometime soon. We're reconvening in two days."
Reno sat straight up, and Rei and Grandpa Souta both started coughing at the same time as they choked on cigarette smoke. Rei was the first to clear her throat and gasp, "You're not serious."
Raising an eyebrow, Rude replied, "I'm always serious."
"And they actually think you're a member of… which gang, now?" Grandpa Souta asked.
"The agent seemed to think I was a member of Shattered Hand."
"That's one of the more notorious gangs. Very large, has a small population of foreigners. I wonder why they didn't send a representative to this meeting you describe."
"I think they did," Reno said softly, leaning slightly to his right to look past Rude through a slit between the door and the wall.
Faintly visible through the slit, caught for a moment in a bright beam of nearly-white light, was a pink-and-purple polkadotted umbrella.
The redheaded Turk was up and moving out before anyone could say anything. Rude twisted around to look out into the main room, and he could see Reno talking to the man – who looked very much the part of a biker – and gesturing at the back room that Rude, Rei, and Grandpa Souta were in.
"You two might want to leave," Rude said to the geisha and the old mechanic. "We don't need you getting implicated."
Grandpa Souta snorted, the sound punctuated by twin jet streams of smoke issuing from his nostrils. "You think that we might be in some danger of implication? Young man, Rei-chan and I are known acquaintances of Makoto, and the Shinsengumi are possibly the Shattered Hand's most bitter enemies. However, I service the leadership's bikes, and they wouldn't dare raise a finger against me or my adopted daughter. You worry too much."
Rude heard footfalls moving towards the door behind him, and he stood up and out of the way. The biker walked inside, took one look around, and started to back out, but Rude grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him further into the room. Reno brought up the rear, closing the door behind him.
"What the shit is this?" the biker growled. "Get off of me, you tools, I'm late!"
"You're so late, in fact, that my partner here took your place at the meeting you were heading to," Reno told him. "Rude, hold him."
Rude, who'd been keeping hold of the biker by his jacket, moved around behind him and got his arms beneath the man's underarms, locking his flailing extremities above his shoulders. "Don't squirm too much or it'll be unpleasant."
"Who the hell are you?"
Without warning, Reno lashed out and landed a fist full-on in the biker's stomach. The man tried to double over, wheezing, but Rude kept him straight. "I'm asking the questions here, punk." Reno's grin was gone and his drawl had become a deadly serious snarl. "You work for Shattered Hand, right?"
The biker remained stubbornly silent, which earned him a cuff across the face.
"I asked you a question, asshole," Reno growled. "I expect an answer, or I can feed you your fingernails one by one."
He noted the ashen shade that the biker's face turned and decided to continue down this particular line of interrogation. Forcing himself to move casually, Reno strolled around the table for a minute, inspecting his own fingers, then stopped to the biker's side and grabbed his hand. "What say we start with this one?"
Slowly, Reno took hold of the man's index finger, his eyes never wavering from the ashen face and trembling eyes.
"Eeny…"
He shifted to the middle finger.
"Meeny…"
Ring finger.
"Miny…"
Pinky finger.
"MO!"
He felt the twitch go all the way up and down the man's arm, and he could see that the rest of the biker's body was also convulsing in sheer terror.
"WAIT! DON'T DO IT!"
Reno grinned and released the trembling hand. "We have an understanding. Good."
Five minutes later they'd sat the man down, given him a cigarette, and had him spill his guts about Shattered Hand, what he knew of the supplier, and his hand fetish - which was far more than they'd needed to hear.
