Choice of Words
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to the FFVII compilation (the game as well as all its prequels and sequels)...but the annoying blonde with the strawberry-flavored gum is all my own imagination—which, of course, was thought up simply for the purpose of driving Reno crazy.
Summary: Everything that looks simple on the outside turns out overly complicated when delved into. Illogical logic, but apparently true. YuffieReno.
Warnings: Sarcasm...too many commas and dashes...and unnecessarily difficult terminology on phrasing most things. Spelling isn't my forte, please be warned.
Pink Gum to Red Alert
For those lucky (cursed) few who could claim Reno's acquaintance on more amiable, than the custom victim-perpetrator—one guess as to who the perpetrator is—terms, even scrounging up the audacity to consider that the red-head has all his screws in place would present itself as an impossible feat. For certainly, when analyzing a man such as, one, Reno of the Turks, a set of words with even remotely similar denotations to that of 'sane' doesn't so much as threaten to come to mind. However, despite all his glorious lack of sanity, Reno—fortunately or unfortunately is well worth arguing over—cannot be labeled as suicidal.
And therein lies the problem.
Resting innocently on the edge of the Turk's bed, black, bold shrift newly-printed on yellow, mockingly colorful paper, the man's just-received train ticket was offering exactly that which Reno did not have the inclination to accept any time soon.
Mainly: suicide.
How else could one possibly define a semi-voluntary trip to Junon...?
...for a Turk, no less...?
...especially one as conspicuous as Reno...?
Reeve could masterly orate the forgiveness of grievances all he wanted. It still didn't change the fact that his well-prepared, well-thought out speeches were no more true than Reno's evasively vague promises to Elena pertaining to the Turk's apparent wish (bullshit) to quit drinking. Of course, keeping in mind that the red-head's inclination to lower his alcohol consumption was just about as strong as a tax payer's wish to part with his hard-earned money, there was only one conclusion to Reno's cooing and calming commentary: tax evasion...or more to the point, liver failure. Now transferring that analogy to Reeve's over-the-top enthusiasm and almost child-like naivete, let's just say Reno wasn't betting—or if betting, then only the next available passerby's (the more innocent the better) left leg and right arm—on his safe return from Junon.
'If I'll have the luck of returning at all,' was the friendly reminder from the red-head's ever so innocently amiable mind. How he hated that thing.
Not that the Turk was a coward, far from it—after regular brush-ins with high chances of being shot, lynched, impaled, drowned, or otherwise, fear becomes somewhat limited in its arousal—, but the goal of being chased around by a mob with pitchforks and who knows what kind of other curious paraphernalia, has not yet, for some odd reason, become one of those top priorities for the man.
In other words, Reeve would soon receive a greeting card from Costa del Sol with the most sincere, from the bottom of Reno's (inexistent) heart, 'fuck-you's.'
Right...
And that's exactly why Reno found himself at the train station, at five forty-five in the bloody morning, lethargically walking about platform number six, along the length of Junon's early morning train, in search of the first carriage...that wasn't there. After checking, rechecking, and glaring at the cornea-damagingly bright train ticket in his left hand—and giving himself a headache, for, indeed, the yellow color of the aforementioned ticket was a little brighter than might have been desired—, Reno got the distinct impression that luck was, yet again, not going to be lenient towards him.
Stalking, with utmost importance, foolishly thinking he actually had the right to do so, towards the nearest ticket booth, Reno nonchalantly presented the vibrant display of overly chirpy yellow paper to the woman sitting behind the counter. Expecting the silent question to be understood—or rather, hoping it would be (in light of the fact that Reno wasn't about to trust his sleep-deprived brain to come up with anything remotely comprehensible)—the red-head leaned onto the wall next to said ticket booth, calmly waiting for an explanation. The action, surprisingly enough, prompted a rather polite response from the female in question.
"What d'ya want?"
Reno hoped that his ears were mistaken, for he was almost certain that the less-than agreeable inquiry was followed up with a well-mannered 'pop' of pink, strawberry-flavored gum. Tired, hungry, and now more than mildly concerned with the, questionably, successful completion of his new assignment, Reno was feeling less inclined, than usual,—and that's saying something if considering the Turk's general lack of predisposition, even without his bothersome state of being,—to tolerate such cheeky attitude.
Upon consideration, the brat was probably at fault for that. Most all of Reno's self-restraint was already drained by the time he got to the train station to accommodate Kisaragi's, still, breathing state. And yet, with a tremendous amount of effort, Reno manged not to throttle the unnecessarily rude woman.
'Why, that would have been most ungentlemanly,' Reno mused to himself.
Though, in all truth, the lack of one more death on the red-head's hands had nothing to do with etiquette...and had everything to do with the mildly stinging sensation that accompanied even the slightest movements of his frame.
"I want you to point me to carriage number one, as per what my ticket says. You can read what it says, can't you?"
Perhaps having more mental capacity than the Turk originally estimated, the young woman caught onto his less than subtle jest at her expense, sending a potent scowl in the man's general direction. Reno, needless to say, was dually impressed. Not only did she manage to comprehend what he said, she also had the ability to muster different facial expressions!
'Now only if she could show herself capable of responding in at least a mildly relevant fashion,' was the only sardonic thought that swam through the Turk's mind, as he nonchalantly regarded the mildly enraged female in question.
"You askin' the wrong person, mister. Gotta go talk to the train op.," the blonde responded slowly, as if contemplating screeching one unpleasant thing or another at the Turk's mocking inquiry.
"And would you be so kind as to direct me to him?"
Needless to say, Reno was coming up with the most inventive (unnecessarily complicated) way of phrasing his question. For, really, a simple 'where he at?' would have done the trick. Then again, a simple 'where he at?' wouldn't have rewarded the red-head with the look of priceless puzzlement settling over the gum-chewing individual's features, as she, obviously not used to even the slightest bit of formality, struggled with grasping what exactly he said. After a moment of stretched silence, the woman did, to Reno's mental applause, manage to formulate a response that actually—god forbid—addressed the red-head's question.
"In the first carriage."
'Helpful,' Reno drawled to himself with an outward roll of unimpressed, aquamarine orbs.
"And where is the first carriage?" he jostled the woman.
Now, to say that Reno was expecting an answer to that rhetoric would be foolish. In fact, he expected perhaps a glare, and a string of swears and curses hurled in his general direction. So, one can only imagine the red-head's surprise, when not doing either, the woman threw her hands in the air in frustration and actually answered him.
"I told you! Ask the op."
Now thoroughly curious, the red-head decided to push it further.
"And where's the train operator?"
"You deaf, mister? In the first carriage."
Reno sighed. Somehow, he wasn't doubting that if he were to start the circle of questions over again, she wouldn't catch his ill-intent in doing so.
'Then,' Reno's mind piped promptly, 'it'd be beneficial for both, her sanity and mine, to leave the poor woman alone.'
Stellar logic, but it hardly saved the situation from the fact that Reno's Reno.
"And where's the first carriage?"
The woman opened her mouth to respond, leaving the question of exactly how long Reno would be standing in front of the ticket booth unanswered. But, as one can easily guess, the mentioned period of time would be mildly (if not alarmingly) extended. Or, to be more precise, would have been alarmingly long, if only for not one very disturbing—not to many a passerby, but certainly to Reno—sound, ripping through the semi-quiet, morning fabric of the train station.
A train whistle reached the red-head's ears, with its piercing note of farewell wishes, signifying the departure of some early morning train...
...leaving from the sixth platform...
...now at exactly six in the morning.
Grabbing the yellow ticket from its perch on the counter, Reno didn't wait to listen (thankfully) to the large amount of less-than flattering, parting terms that followed his rushing form, as the man gracefully sprinted after the slowly moving train.
Perhaps 'sprinted after' would be a tad of an exaggeration. For in all truth, he didn't get that far. Not far at all.
Maybe he didn't even have the time to pick up his pace to a sprint, actually.
And the word 'graceful' could definitely be dropped if the red-head's actions were to be described in a more or less factual manner.
Alright, alright! So he turned around and took a step when colliding with a smaller, slimmer body than his own and toppling onto his unfortunate (unplanned) victim.
Oh, how easily sweeping and dramatic statements lose all their charm, huh?
Now with the option of 'gracefully sprinting after the slowly moving train' being thrown out the window, Reno growled into the black locks of short hair that happened to invade his less-than pleasant grimace of irritation. The cocaine-high-type giggling from the blonde behind him, of course, wasn't helping the red-head regain his quickly-draining semblance of, at the very least, mild serenity.
"Would you get off me!?"
Reno's eyes widened.
Bracing his feet and hands against the cool concrete of the ground below him, the red-head hoisted himself into a position of leverage, hovering over that painfully familiar individual under him. With a groan, Reno slung his body to sprawl next to the raven-haired girl, glaring at the dark, starless sky above him.
'So which one of you bastards up there has this sick sense of humor?' the man pondered irritably.
There was a moment of strained silence between the three individuals on the corner of the sixth platform, disturbed only by the distant rumble of heavy thunder. Reno's glare intensified as a direct effect.
'Take your own advice, curb your sadistic tendencies, and start atoning!'
In case the goal of the previous statement wasn't quite obvious, that was the red-head's ditch effort at pleading against the obviously worsening weather.
Well, whoever's attention Reno's bitter musings happened to catch, apparently, wasn't all that appreciative of the Turk's sense of irony, as Reno's sought response from above (literally) came in the form of cold—very cold—rainwater.
And to think that people, in past, numerous instances, actually gathered enough audacity to question his lack of spiritualism.
Hearing a sharp intake of breath and a rustle of clothing beside him, Reno figured that the brat—surprise, surprise?—jumped to her feet and was scrambling to get out of the downpour. Wishing to do something to a similar extent, it was with great frustration that the Turk understood that he...couldn't. His efforts at doing something as remotely active as getting up were simply not going to pay off, the man realized. The bitter conclusion, consequently, pushing Reno to do exactly that which he ended up doing: crawling on all fours to the inner sanctuary of the train station.
Mildly surprised, but hardly able to do more than briefly note the act of kindness, the Turk watched his backpack being slung over Kisaragi's shoulder from the corner of his eye, as the girl rushed to opened the door for him to crawl through.
Settling on the smooth, chilled surface of the patterned train station floor, Reno managed to mold himself into something that, at the very least, resembled a sitting position, giving his bag, which was dropped unceremoniously next to his (almost) inert form, a wary glance.
Noticing the Turk's apprehensive look at his backpack, Yuffie ran a nervous hand through her hair, now realizing just how foolish the action of dropping his bag could have proved if only some semblance of luck wasn't on her side.
"You don't have explosives in there, do you?" she wondered aloud, half in jest, half in genuine curiosity.
"And you ask that after you so unceremoniously mistreated my belongings?" Reno snipped reproachfully, turning his tired gaze to the ninja.
The Turk could sense Yuffie's bubbling annoyance, but could do nothing but smirk at the girl's small, clenched fists. As amusing as the ruffle-feathered display of furious one meter, fifty eight centimeters was, however, it did not serve to hold Reno's attention in place long enough to distract the red-head's ears from picking up on a loud (deafening) rawr of erupting flames from the outer part of the sixth platform.
Smartly staying in place, the duo of forced acquaintances exchanged puzzled looks, eyes following the increase of frantic activity, as if from a greater distance than that of approximately ten meters, as the train station employees began rushing about the sixth platform in an almost hypnotic pattern.
After a moment of tense, stretched silence, came the opportunity of one short individual in a mechanic's uniform running past Reno, who's progress the Turk halted, curiously inquiring as to what was going on.
"The early train to Junon, sir," the man replied slowly, trying to will the traumatic expression off his face. "It just exploded."
Perhaps luck wasn't as dead-set against the red-head as Reno often felt the urge to complain.
A/N: -ducks under the first large piece of furniture she sees and pleads that she be spared- I apologize for this late update. What's sad is that I had it half-written for over two weeks now, and still didn't get the time to finish it. Let's just say college professors are...-insert vulgar term of choice here- But..here the second chapter is, nonetheless, and I already have a plan for the third one, so that shouldn't take too long to get up as well. -sheepish grin- Hope this was enough to placate you for a bit: perhaps a week at most. Tell me what you think!
Thanks!
Red.
so-mi: I do thank you for the feedback, for you really managed to quench my fears concerning the flow. I don't like when stuff turns out choppy :D I do apologize once again for being late with the update, but, hopefully, you can forgive me for that one )
Kaikai PANTS: Addicted, huh? -rubs hands in evil scientist fashion- Excellent! -coughs- I mean..that's not like it's my plan to convert the world to Reffie-ism or anything...-coughs- Right...Well, in any case, I'm glad you enjoyed it, and please, don't even mention the late update. I know! -headdesk- Thanks so much for the wonderful review, though!