Warning for violence.

I took some liberty with this in Rude being a Turk before Reno, if only by a small amount of time. I'm not insinuating here that Rude has any kind of authority; he's simply playing a guessing game, trying to guess the perfect fit. Thank you for the R & R.

Enjoy.

fire mystic

The Perfect Fit

They were trained well in a variety of forms and weapons. But they all had their favorite, and sometimes one of them even had a weapon that was part of their personality. A perfect fit, as simple as that.

As Rude observed Reno from his vantage point, he tried to identify what that weapon would be for their newest Turk. They had tried guns. Reno didn't have a problem with them, but he was more of an up close and personal fighter. While Rude liked to keep his distance, keep his hands clean, keep his wardrobe sharp, Reno had a way of getting in his enemy's face, almost as if he wanted to look them in the eye as he took their life.

So, with some success, they moved to swords, then to short swords, and finally to knives. With all the rest, Reno was more than sufficient, but with knives, he excelled. He could hide them easily, and they fit his style. To some degree.

Reno could have easily taken out his opponent without such dramatic flair, but he was enjoying this fight, weaving in and out, playing with him. He flowed around and about, combining his Shinra training with what he knew before Tseng found him. Rude couldn't see the knife in Reno's hand, but he could see the evidence of the honed blade, blood dripping from a multitude of small flesh wounds that by themselves wouldn't have been worth the time, but together must have been agony. Reno dodged any retaliation, zigging like lightening and as untouchable. At long last, bored with his game but high on the kill, Reno circled, coming up and under his opponent in a blur of speed that was charged with attitude, determination, instinct, and survival. The outcome was quickly determined, in the expression on the double crossing bastard's face, in the brutal twist of Reno's body, in the crimson fluid that gushed as Reno pulled back. A killing blow. Reno disengaged, standing clear to survey the damage done, disheveled, hair pulled loose, clothes and hands bloody. But when he met Rude's gaze, his eyes, his body, still crackled with that menacing energy.

With that image indelibly burnt into his mind, the answer was clear. Rude knew exactly what kind of weapon had been made for Reno.