The fourth time, Reno doesn't meet him by chance. He's been dropping hints in the right people's ears, twisting the right people's arms, to get a feel for the Sword-man's habits – no-one can move through the slums without being noticed by someone, not unless they know the right people to make them turn a blind eye or conveniently forget. Not Shin'Ra, not thief, and certainly not someone who stands out as much as the SOLDIER.
Not, apparently, that the guy has been trying to hide.
He's taken up residence in the old church, the one that the Flower Girl likes tending, are the rumours. At random times, but always returns and departs from there. He's been to shops – Weapon-smiths, black-market materia, dealers that only people who know people know about – and been seen through most of the sectors. And it's not just the sneaky ones that see him.
Everyone knows about the swordsman, and Reno gets the surprising impression that if he'd been a Shin'Ra stooge, they wouldn't have told him shit. Protective of the SOLDIER in a way that no Mako freak has ever been protected by the Slum-folk before.
One conversation rankles him above all others though, because shit like that just doesn't happen in the Slums. Never has, never will, because in the Slums only the Slum-folk look after each-other, and even then it's a complicated web of gangs and alliances built from necessity.
"Leave Chocobo alone, Reno." One grizzled dealer warns him. "He's got allies you don't want to mess with."
"Already?" Reno questions drily. "He's only been here a month, yo."
"And he's killed off five monster dens, healed more than twenty fucking deaders, and stopped Shin'Ra from raiding two places." Healed one of mine, goes unsaid, but Reno reads it anyway. "And he ain't asked a gil for it."
"Regular fucking saint." Reno grunts. Barracus nods warily – even the merchant doesn't believe in coincidence, or in things too good to be true. But something's changed the man's outlook – which would be more paranoid than even Reno's.
"Believe it, rat." The dealer supplies. "He's got half the fucking neighbourhood in his pocket."
It's a friendly warning, but at the same, it's not. Because Barracus has known Reno since he was a foot-pad learning the ropes, it's a warning rather than a threat, but Reno knows that glint. It's the glint that tells him that the man's protecting one of his own.
"Whatever, man." Reno backs off, hands up in a sign of surrender. "Don't mess with freaky-eyes, I get it, yo."
He leaves the shop with a steal material he'll eventually learn how to use, gils lighter but it's not that that makes his mind whirl. No outsider randomly comes to the slums just to do good deeds. It never happens, ever. They always want something, always gain something – usually to the detriment of the Slum-folk.
Determined to track the man down, Reno set's out with a new urgency.
Because the blond was SOLDIER, that something was probably explosive and bad fucking news. Someone needed to keep an eye on their Saint Blondie, and quickly.