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I like Cyr. I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s worth bringing up again, because I really, really like Cyr. She’s got to be one of the nicest people on the face of the planet. Cyr should be a mother. She’d be very good at it. She sort of gathers a group of people together and takes care of them. One time, I came home from a mission in Icicle and came down with a cold, or the flu, or pneumonia, or something. I dunno what it was, if it was even anything, but it was one of those things where you lie in bed for days on end, just wishing to die.
Anyway, Cyr hadn’t seen me around for a few days, and was kinda worried about that, so she had the maintenance guy get my apartment open for her. Then she yelled at me for a while, because I hadn’t had the sense to call somebody. And then she spent the next few days making sure I didn’t die. Or whatever. I’m sure I would’ve gotten over it eventually, but it sure helped to have Cyr around.
The reason I mention this is because, a couple days or so after the thing in Costa del Sol, she came and found me alone in the lounge, gluing the pages of all St. Andrew’s porno magazines together. He keeps them hidden on a ledge on the underside of the pool table, and I don’t think he thinks anybody knows about them, but I do. Or I did. He’s moved them since, and I haven’t found them again yet, but I probably will.
It’s weird. I have one hell of a time devoting attention to most important things. I’m bad at concentrating on them, because I guess they make me nervous. But, when I hit upon the right stupid and pointless activity, I have the ability to put a remarkable amount of effort and energy into it.
In any case, Cyr happened across me, sitting beside the pool table, with a tube of glue, diligently gluing the pages of St. Andrew’s magazines together. “What in the world are you doing?” she asked critically.
“I’m gluing all Andrew’s porn together,” I told her brightly, not looking up.
“Why in god’s name are you doing that?” Cyr questioned incredulously.
I stopped and looked down at the stack of magazines I’d finished gluing, and the open pages of last one, which I was working through. There was absolutely nothing to be gained by gluing the pages of Andrew’s porn together, except maybe a small victory for the moral minority, though it wasn’t really, because he’d just go out and buy more, thus fueling the industry. I don’t particularly care about the relative morality of St. Andrew’s obsession with naked women. I don’t even actually have anything against St. Andrew. I just wanted something to do. “Well. Hmm. I didn’t really stop to think of a reason. I don’t honestly know why I’m doing it. I just am, I guess. Wanna help? I’m pretty near done, but he might have more under the couch and I could find more glue…”
Cyr stared at me for a few moments, then laughed. “Sometimes, Reno, you’re just too much,” she said affectionately, and patted me on the head. Cyr also pats people. It’s weird, but I guess I don’t really mind. “He’s going to be very mad at you when he finds out you’ve done this, do you know that?”
I shrugged. “That’s assuming he catches me at it. I’m almost done. And he’s upstairs making a report to Tseng right now. So he won’t catch me. But if you tell him, I’ll deny it.”
She laughed again. “I won’t tell him. I was looking for you. Are you busy tonight?”
“No…why? Whatcha have in mind?”
Cyr shrugged. “I’m rounding everybody up for a picnic. As soon as Andrew’s done reporting to Tseng, they’ll both be coming down to join us. And Tseng will be bringing a new Turk with him.”
“New Turk! Hey, a new Turk!” This was news. And good news, too. I like other Turks. “Guy or girl, Cyr?”
“A guy, I think. I don’t know for sure. Are you going to come along and meet him?”
“Yeah! Are you ready to go with all the stuff? Can I bring anything?”
Cyr smiled. “Blankets. Old ones. And then bring a car around to the elevators. Don’t try to cook anything. Is that all right?”
I also like it that Cyr doesn’t make me feel stupid about what I can and can’t do. I can’t cook. Not to save my life. Cyr doesn’t mind, though, and she doesn’t make me feel badly about it. “Yeah, I can do that. Are we going soon? Is Rosalind going to come?”
“I don’t know yet, I haven’t asked her. But I would imagine she is, yes. I’ve asked everybody else, I’m just going to grab my picnic basket and see if she has anything to contribute. Then we’ll be down.”
“All righty. I’ll see you downstairs, then. What sort of car should I get?” I questioned, finishing with Andrew’s magazine and stacking them neatly before I tucked them safely back in their spot.
“Umm. There’s nine of us, so I would suggest an SUV. Rude’s getting the same. Now get going, we need those blankets.”
I got up and nodded. “Right. I’ll see you down there. Remember, don’t tell Andrew on me.”
Cyr laughed again. “I won’t, I won’t. Get going, now.”
I headed to my apartment and retrieved four or five old blankets from one of my closets. I wonder where I got them. I don’t remember buying them or anything, but then, if it’s not something important, I won’t remember it. Even if it is something important, I’m not likely to remember it. Then I headed down to the parkade and checked an SUV out from Lloyd, the guy who’s in charge of all the cars. The Turks don’t really need cars of our own. We don’t commute and Shinra will arrange whatever transportation we need otherwise, so there’s really no point to owning a car just for the sake of leisure. It’s hard to keep up with those things, given the price of gas and all.
In any case, I brought the car around to the elevators, where Rude was already waiting with his car, and Tseng was standing by the doors, with a short, muscular looking guy, in cargo pants and a sweater. He had darker skin and brownish hair, the sort of coloring Cyr might have if she hadn’t taken after her father. “Hey, Tseng! Who’s the new guy?” I called, getting out of the car and going over. “Hiya.”
“Hello,” he nodded to me politely and extended a hand. “My name’s Rafe.”
“I’m Reno. What class’re you?” I asked.
Tseng answered for him. “He’s a fourth. He just recently graduated from the Academy in Junon and they transferred him here. We’re glad to have him.”
Rafe inclined his head slightly. “And I’m glad to be here. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reno.”
“Likewise. C’mon, Rodney and the girls will be down soon. You wanna ride with me?” I offered. So far, I liked this guy. He was nice enough, probably a bit older than thirty. It’s weird, how there are people who are older than me, and yet I outrank them. I’m not entirely sure what basis rank is assigned on. Skill, I guess, and merit. And ability to command, and stuff. That’s why Tseng’s a first class. It’s lucky rank doesn’t really matter to me. I’ll take orders from anybody, if I like them well enough.
I was about to climb into the driver’s seat, when Tseng caught my shoulder. “I’ll drive, I think.”
“Aww, but…”
“This is Rafe’s first time in Midgar, he doesn’t deserve to see the sights at the speeds you usually drive at,” he told me firmly.
“But you drive like a little old lady!”
Tseng sighed. “Little old ladies adhere to the speed limits. Come on, Reno. You can sit in the front.”
“Hmph.” I reluctantly circled around and climbed in the passenger seat, not really wanting to appear too difficult in front of the new guy. “So what were you doing before you became a Turk, Rafe?” I asked him, glancing in the rearview mirror at him.
“I worked for the police force, in Junon. A detective.”
That was a new one. But then, we all come from varied backgrounds. “Hey, cool! Junon, huh? You should talk to Rude later. He grew up in Junon.”
Rafe nodded. “I’ll make a point of that, yes.”
I heard the elevator doors open and climbed up on the passenger seat, slipping through the open sunroof and waving at Rosalind and Cyr. “Hey, over here!” I glanced over at the other car, where Samantha and Rodney were climbing in, Samantha with a big picnic basket in hand. “I don’t think there’s any more room in there, come ride with us!”
Rosalind scurried over and opened the door on Rafe’s side of the car. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go around…”
Rafe declined immediately. “Oh, no. I’ll move over.”
I watched in the side mirrors as Rosalind flushed slightly and climbed in. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. My name is Rafe.”
I feel like kind of a creep for doing this, but I watched in the rearview mirror as she smiled and blushed again when he grasped her hand firmly. “I’m Rosalind. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rafe,” she said shyly.
It was just for a second, and I really shouldn’t have made anything of it, but for half an instant I was suddenly insanely jealous of Rafe. It’s wrong of me to be so possessive, but I privately considered that little smile to be for me, not anybody else. What’s more, she called him by his first name. She’s never called me by my name. “She likes you,” I commented, managing to keep the resentment out of my voice. “She didn’t try to call you ‘sir’.”
Rafe laughed at that, and turned his attention to Cyr. “And who are you, pretty lady?”
I didn’t like this guy so much any more. He was a flirt. And, what’s worse, he was good at it. He fell to chatting with Cyr. Rosalind tried to enter the conversation a few times, but then their talk switched to stuff about fist fighting, so she dropped out of it and watched out the window. That made me feel a bit better. It’s a really bad thing that I’m so possessive of her. I haven’t got any right to be. I’m just the guy who worships the ground she walks on, I don’t own her.
So we got to the park. It was autumn, so the Shinra Memorial Park was just gorgeous. I love Midgar. It’s the perfect city. I’ve been all over the world, so I can say that and be pretty damn convicted about it. Crime is down, employment’s up, development’s increasing, poverty is decreasing. Pollution is being reduced, green spaces are being added. The only problem with Midgar is the money it costs to live in the city. It’s an expensive kind of place. And that’s not really a problem, because it keeps the population steady.
I climbed out of the front seat and stretched. It hadn’t been a long ride, really, but I was a little stiff from sitting on the floor all afternoon. The sun was already getting low in the sky. It would be winter in a month or so, and the days were definitely shortening. So it was probably best to make the most of them.
Rafe opened his door and helped Rosalind and Cyr out. I felt all jealous again when he offered Rosalind his hand to help her down, but it faded quickly. “May I take your basket for you, Cyr?” he asked politely, relieving Cyr of her burden.
Tseng came around to the other side of the car, just as Rude pulled up into the parking space beside us. “Did you bring a picnic basket, too?” he questioned, getting out of the driver’s seat as St. Andrew pushed open his door and struggled for a few moment’s with the enormous basket Samantha had brought.
“Yeah, Cyr brought one.” I told him, going over and taking out the heap of blankets I’d brought, handing them over to Tseng. St. Andrew pawned the basket he was carrying off on Rude and grabbed a football from the backseat. “You brought a football?”
“Yup.” St. Andrew tossed the ball up in the air and attempted to spin it on his finger. “Anyone fancy a game? Looking to have your ass kicked Reno?”
“Not by you.”
“I’ll play,” Rafe agreed.
Samantha climbed out of her car and giggled. Then she went over to Rodney and rubbed a hand over his chest. Oh, right. They’re together. Forgot about that. “Are you gonna play too, Roddy?”
He grunted. “Yeah, I’ll play.”
She giggled again and pressed her head against his shoulder, rolling her eyes at him. “ If St. Andrew’s taking bets, I’ll put all my money on you…” There’s something about Samantha that’s sort of disgustingly ingratiating. She’s a nice enough person, but really. I mean, good god, woman. You’re twenty-three years old. Stop acting like a spoiled six year old.
I glanced over at Rosalind, partially because I wanted to see her reaction, partially because watching those two made me slightly ill. Given her expression, the way she wrinkled her nose a little bit and arched an eyebrow, she felt approximately the same way. She’s so cute when she disapproves.
Cyr apparently had gotten sick of this too, because she tied her hair back and took her picnic basket back from Rafe. “Rosalind, Samantha. Come with me. The boys can go have their fun, we have work to do.”
“Aww, Cyr, get off it. We just wanna play…” St. Andrew sighed, tossing the football up in the air a few more times.
“And leave all the work to us? My, you’re such a gentleman …”
Andrew shrugged. “You’re women. Women like to work. It’s what they’re good for.”
St. Andrew’s kinda stupid, really.
Cyr didn’t react immediately. She handed her picnic basket back to Rafe and cracked her knuckles once. I would’ve taken that as an indication to run, but Andrew just sorta stood there with his big dumb face hanging out.
So he kinda deserved it when she slugged him in the gut. I mean, it’s one thing not to have the sense not to insult her, it’s entirely another not to run the hell away when she cracks her knuckles like that. And Cyr punches hard, so it was really only natural that he fell over. It might’ve been a bit much when she stepped on his head, though.
She leaned over and said something to him, very quietly. I didn’t catch it, but I think Rosalind might’ve, given how intent she looked. Andrew nodded once, as vigorously he could with her foot on his head. “R-right, Cyr. Sorry, Cyr.”
“Not at all, dear,” she answered placidly, letting him up and dusting the gravel off his sweatshirt. “Just don’t do it again.” Cyr’s a funny sort of person. She’s incredibly dangerous when she’s mad, but as soon as she’s gotten her point across, she’ll be right back to being nice and happy.
“Cyr, d’you wanna play football? You can be on my team…” I offered, once she’d let him up. It would be good for a girl to play. None of the guys on the other team would hit her, but she wouldn’t share the reservation.
Cyr shook her head and grimaced. “Gods, no. You’re all too competitive, you play too hard and too rough and afterwards you all stink. No, we’ll be quite all right. Rosalind, Samantha, come now.”
So Cyr went sweeping off down the hill, with Rosalind and Samantha trailing along behind her. Girls are weird.
Then Rude and Rafe sort of realized that they had the food and that they should probably follow along, so they did. “We should probably go see if we can help,” Tseng spoke up, shifting his armful of blankets slightly.
“Yeah, you go on,” St. Andrew gasped, still a little winded from getting punched and all. “I’ll be right there.”
Tseng went trumping off down the hill that sloped away from the parking lot, and I stayed with Andrew for a minute, scooping up the football he’d dropped. “You okay?”
He nodded and straightened up, taking a few deep breaths. “God, why does she always hit me?” he complained.
“Maybe she likes you.”
“So she hits me? If she likes me, I can think of some goddamn better ways she could show it!”
I shrugged. “Maybe if she didn’t like you she’d hit you harder.” I didn’t know, really. I knew she didn’t hate him. So she must be hitting him because she liked him. Like I said, girls are weird.
Anyway, we headed down to try and help, but Cyr made all of us go away. She really doesn’t mind the work. I think she likes it, actually. She just doesn’t appreciate people thinking it’s the only thing she’s good for.
So instead we went to play football. I would’ve preferred soccer, personally, because I’m sort of better at it than anybody else, but that might’ve been why Andrew picked football. I was on the same team as Rafe and Tseng and St. Andrew, Rude, and Rodney were a team. That was fair. Rafe and Rude are both big guys, Tseng and St. Andrew are about the same size, and Rod’s the only guy who can come close to running as fast as I do.
Of course, Turk football is a bit different from regular football. Just a touch or a tackle isn’t good enough, if the other guy wants the ball, he’s gonna have to fight you for it. I’ve said it before; it’s really a surprising thing that none of us have killed each other.
The game went well enough, we were winning (though if you asked the other team they’d probably disagree with that), until apparently some sort of plot to kill me sprang up.
I’m not a very big person. I’m tall, sure, but I’m kinda on the scrawny side. Pretty much every other guy I know has got more muscle and more weight on me. And so when the lot of them spontaneously decide to gang up and try to kill me, I’m at a bit of a severe disadvantage.
I suppose they think this is all in good fun, and I guess it probably is, but it’s still one hell of an unnerving thing to have five guys tearing after you, their only motivation being that you’re the one with the ball. So naturally, and because I have more sense than St. Andrew, I ran.
Rodney, apparently, has been working on his running, because he just about caught me. And he had the goddamned switchblade again, this time I was sure of it. I don’t know what the hell his game is. He’s can’t really be trying to kill me, because both times I’ve seen him with a knife, it’s when there are other Turks around. And, if he decides to stick a knife in me, I know for a fact that most of them aren’t going to take it well. Maybe he’s just trying to scare me.
As such, I made for the little hill where the girls had set up. It was a nice little hill, with a big old tree on top, and they’d spread their blankets out and gotten out glasses and were sitting around chatting and drinking wine. I hope I didn’t interrupt them too badly when I went running through their conversation, but I felt I very badly needed to get up in that tree.
I like trees. I like climbing trees. This one was no exception. I got comfortably up among the branches and got ready to defend myself against anyone who’d have the nerve to try and climb up after me.
And, as it turned out, no one did. Climb up after me, I mean. But St. Andrew did show up at the bottom and yelled up at me for a while. “Reno! Get down from there!”
“No!” I shifted on the branch I’d chosen, trying to get more comfortable. “Why should I? All you guys want to kill me! What the hell brought that on, huh?”
“You run too damn fast!”
“That’s not my fault! And you think I’m going to slow down because you lot are chasing after me? Fat chance!”
“You do run very fast,” Tseng called, from back where the blankets were spread out. I glanced down at the picnic. Rude and Rafe were trailing along up the hill, and it looked like Tseng had settled down with a glass of wine. I couldn’t see Rodney anywhere, but I figured he was probably around somewhere.
“I’m not coming down until someone tells Rodney that there are no switchblades in football.”
St. Andrew sighed and rolled his eyes at me. “He doesn’t have a switchblade. You’re just making excuses.”
“I am not! He’s got a knife, I’ll swear to it! I’m not coming down. What do you care if I stay up here?”
“You’ve got the goddamned football!”
Well, that was true. I did. I’d sort of forgotten to drop it. Remarkable that I got up the tree, really. It’s a cumbersome sort of thing. “Why, Andrew, do you want your football back? I’m only too happy to oblige.”
It might have been a bit malicious of me to pelt it at him like that, especially because it did nail him right on the head, but in my defense I wasn’t actually aiming for him. Just sort of near him.
He growled a bit about that, and I started looking for other things to throw at him as he started to attempt to climb up the tree, when Cyr called him off. Everyone else had gone to start eating. So Andrew kicked at the tree and then went to join them.
I stayed up there for a little while longer, just to be safe, but it was getting cooler, so I decided it was probably best to go down before all the food got eaten. So I clambered down and went over to sit by Rosalind on the blankets. She looked very pretty, in jeans and a denim jacket and a pale green sweater. “It’s cold up there.”
Cyr passed me a glass of wine and a plate of food. I really like Cyr. Trust her to make me a plate so I wouldn’t go hungry. “It’s getting a bit nippy, yes. We’ll have a fire later, how’s that?”
“Sounds good to me.”
We all sat around chatting about stuff for a while, eating and drinking and whatever. Then Samantha giggled. “Who else knows about the party Shinra’s throwing?”
If you want to know office gossip, talk to Samantha. She’s the best connected in the company. If you want to know what’s going on businesswise, though, you talk to St. Andrew. He can weasel information out of just about anybody. He’s pretty damn shrewd, for all his antics.
Tseng looked slightly taken aback when Samantha said this, however. “How did you find out about that?” he asked incredulously.
Samantha waved a hand and giggled again. She was more giggly than usual. Probably had been drinking a little bit hard. “My daddy has connections all throughout the company. They tell me absolutely everything. I’ve known for ages.”
Tseng was silent for a few moments. I couldn’t tell why, but for some reason, that information upset him. He shook himself out of it, though, and cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, I found out yesterday. Yes, there’s going to be a party. Mostly members of the Shinra Exec will be attending. And so will we.”
Beside me, Rosalind started. “A…a party? Why are we going to a party?” she asked, sounding a little nervous.
“We’ll be security,” I explained to her. “It’s all well and good to have SOLDIER there, but really, a bunch of fully armed guys in body armor really detract from the atmosphere you’re going for at a party like what this one will be. We look classy.”
We do, too. I love being a Turk.
“Oh. We’ll just be patrolling, then?” she asked, sounding immensely relieved. “I can go in uniform?”
“Umm…well, I don’t know. I’ll be in my dress uniform, myself, but I think you’ll probably be required to wear something a little more feminine. A cocktail dress or something. You’re supposed to be part of the party.”
Rosalind paled slightly. “Part of the…you mean like a guest? I can’t be a guest! I’ll be working! Where will I put my gun?”
I didn’t really know why she was upset. It was just a party. “Rookie, it’s all right. It’s no big deal. We’ll just get you a dress holster.”
“You mean I’d wear my sidearm in plain sight? But…”
“We’re not undercover, Rosalind,” St. Andrew interrupted. “All the people will know who we are and what we’re doing there. It’s just like if some of the guests were to bring their bodyguards. So long as everyone knows you’re armed, you might as well flaunt it. There are some very nice dress holsters, made for ladies.”
Rosalind bit her lip and fell silent. I could tell she was nervous and I patted her shoulder a bit. “Don’t worry, rookie. Cross the bridge when you get there,” I murmured.
She sighed and nodded, smiling a bit. “All right, sir.”
Samantha sipped at her wine and hiccupped. “Rufus Shinra will be there,” she sighed. “God, he’s so dreamy…”
Tseng cleared his throat. “Well. Keep in mind that we will be working. It’s not really a party, as much as it is a job. You’ll be briefed beforehand and everything.”
I glanced at him. There was something in his tone of voice that made me take notice. There was a bit more to this than he was saying, and he was uncomfortable to have us think that it was just a regular party. So this went a bit deeper than just a standard party job. But, whatever the case, we’d all know in time.
Cyr may have noticed it too, because she shivered deliberately and changed the subject. “I think we should have a fire. It’s quite chilly out. Is everyone done eating? Start packing the food up.”
Tseng appeared thankful for this, but paused and cleared his throat. “Just a moment, Cyr. There’s just something…well…yes, now is as good a time as any…” Tseng opened his jacket and pulled out a small box, passing it over to Rude. “Here, Rude. Congratulations. Sorry I wasn’t very official about it, but you know how they make big deals about the higher grade promotions…”
It didn’t quite click, at first. Everyone was suddenly congratulating him and everything, and I couldn’t quite figure why, until I heard somebody say “second class.” And then it kind of hit me.
I don’t know why I was so blindsided by the whole thing. I mean, I’d been expecting it for ages now. Ever since they started giving him recruits, I’d kinda been trying to brace myself, because I knew it was going to hurt when he got it. I’d gotten myself almost to the point where I could pretend I was all right with things, and that it wasn’t really such a painful thing. I guess the fact that I’d deluded myself into thinking I’d be okay with it was what made it hurt worse.
But, what you feel isn’t important. What you can fake is what matters. Rude was proud, I could tell that much. But he was trying to make everybody be quiet about it, passing it off as not such a big deal, probably for my sake. And that was stupid. It was his promotion; he deserved to be celebrating it. Tseng shouldn’t have had to give it to him, away from the company, away from the party he would’ve got otherwise, just because of me and my bleeding heart. That wasn’t fair to my partner.
“Hey, Rude, come off it. Of course this is a big deal. It’s been a long time in coming, partner. I’m glad you finally got it.”
Rude was silent for a few moments. “Thanks,” he said finally.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, because everything just got kind of quiet after that. Should’ve kept my mouth shut and let him play it down. But that wouldn’t have been fair either. I was happy for him, don’t get me wrong. He’s deserved that promotion for ages. I was just miserable for my sake.
Rosalind was watching me. I could feel that much, but I didn’t really have the heart to look up and try and force a smile for her. It would be a pathetic effort, and she didn’t deserve that.
Cyr broke the silence and the stillness, thankfully, by clearing her throat and getting back to repacking the baskets. “St. Andrew, would you go get some firewood, please?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, I’ll…” St. Andrew started to get up, but I interrupted him.
“No, I’ll do it. You stay here.” I wasn’t going to go for firewood. I hoped Cyr knew that. I just had to get the hell away from people and have some time to myself. I was making everybody else miserable, and that wasn’t any good. A pity party should be a solitary sort of affair.
Rosalind started to get up. “Do you want some help, sir?” she questioned.
I kinda wanted her to come, just a little tiny bit. If only to keep myself from getting to disgustingly depressed. Except she probably thought I was going for wood. I wasn’t. I needed a long walk. If I brought her along, though, then I’d have to get wood and come back. “Nah, rookie. It’s all right. You stay. I’ll be back s…well, I’ll be back.”
She sat back down and nodded. “All right, sir.”
I hunched my shoulders and walked down the little slope where they were sitting, cutting through the forest at the bottom. I just needed some time to be miserable.
I think I’ve mentioned that I can’t be promoted. I can’t remember, so I’ll go over it again. I can’t be promoted. It’s a simple fact. It has to do with a lot of things, most of which are company rules and regulations, meaning to say I don’t really know why I can’t be promoted; it’s just something the higher-ups tell me is true.
I mean, I know it has something to do with the fact that I’m kinda hyperactive and I’ve got a poor attention span and I can’t sit still for five minutes and complicated things scare me and some stupid psychiatrist or psychologist or whatever those guys are decided to go and slap an ADD label on me and try to solve the problem with drugs.
But I’m not bitter about this, or anything. Oh no, I’m certainly not upset about the single damn thing that’s prevented me from getting a promotion for three goddamn years. No, not a bit.
That was approximately what I was thinking when Rosalind caught up with me, just as I left the little bit of forest and got onto the bike trail that cyclists used during the day.
“Sir!” she called, and I straightened up a bit and looked back at her. I shouldn’t have been slouching. Bad posture, bad habit.
“Oh…rookie. Hey.” I was glad to see her. I always am. I just hoped she hadn’t come to drag me back to the picnic, because that would mean I’d have to pretend to be happy and I didn’t know that I could do that very well, as I was.
She stopped a few yards away when I looked up, blushing a bit and kicking at the ground with the toe of her running shoe. “What are you doing, sir?”
Just seeing her made me feel a bit better. She’s so pretty. I hated to disappoint her by being in a bad mood, but this was one particular slump I didn’t feel like pulling myself out of. “I’m just…well, taking a walk. I wanted to clear my head, kinda.”
Rosalind nodded and toyed with the sleeves of her sweater. “Might I join you, sir?” she asked shyly.
“If you’d like to.” I can’t say no to her. It was lucky that I didn’t want to, that time. But I did hope, privately, as I started walking again, that she wasn’t going to make much conversation. I didn’t know that I’d be able to talk too much without being severely depressing.
She caught up to me and we walked for a while without saying anything. That was fine. I was lost in my own, depressing little world. And then, eventually, she cleared her throat.
“Sir?” she said quietly, tugging on my sleeve.
“Hmm?” I was actually kinda glad she said something. I can only be depressed for so long before it really starts to get to me.
“Can I ask a question, sir?”
I looked down at her and shrugged. “Sure, rookie. What’s on your mind?”
Rosalind stopped and put a hand on my arm so I stopped too. Then she moved up close, pushing herself up on her tiptoes, just a bit, and brushed her fingertips against my neck. I just about died. I forgot everything that had to do with Rude, or his promotion, or Shinra, and let myself be totally absorbed by the fact that she was right there, I could hear her breathing, count every strand of golden blonde hair, and smell whatever shampoo she uses. God, she smells good.
Her fingers found the chain of my dog tags and she drew them out from beneath my shirt, cupping them in her palm and tilting them towards the light. “Ah, yes…I thought I remembered right. Your dog tags don’t have your full name on them, sir.”
She let them drop back against my chest and moved away. I recovered the power of speech as we started walking again. “Yeah, I know.” Though the power of speech isn’t really worth much if all I was going to say was something stupid like that.
“Why not your full name, sir?” she questioned curiously.
“Well, when they made them, the guy asked if I wanted my full name or my first initial, and I…”
“No, sir, I don’t mean it like that,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “I mean, why didn’t you just use your full name? What is your full name, sir?”
“My name?” That seemed like a weird sort of question to me. I dunno why. I guess because nobody’s ever asked me. “Reno” was always good enough for them, I suppose. “Umm. No one’s ever asked me that.”
Rosalind blinked at me. “No one? Why not?”
I shrugged. “I guess nobody ever really cared enough to want to know. Well…I don’t know, maybe some people have asked me. I can’t remember. I don’t think I’ve told anybody, that’s the thing.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know that. If you want to keep it to yourself, then don’t mind my asking.”
“No, that’s all right. I want you to know.”
Rosalind blushed. “I didn’t mean to press you into it…”
“Nahh, rookie. You’re not. I do want to tell you. What do you think it is, though?”
She stopped again and tilted her head to the side, squinting at me thoughtfully. “It begins with J, sir?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it Jason? I think you look like a Jason, sir.”
That was a good guess. If I’d had to guess something, I think I’d have guessed Jason. But it was wrong. “Nope.”
“Jeremy.”
“Nuh uh.” I knew a Jeremy, once, quite a number of years back. Nice guy, kinda quiet. Not the sort of person I figured I could share a name with.
“Umm…” she paused and thought for a moment. “Joshua.”
“Absolutely not.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t really suit you, does it?”
I shook my head and grinned a bit. “I don’t think so, no. Too biblical. It’s an easy name, though.”
“Easy…easy, short? Or common? Jeff? Jack?”
“Nahh…though I think Jack might be short for it, or something.”
She hesitated and thought a little more. “John?”
“Not John. Not Johnny, either. Always Jonathan.”
I’ve always wondered about my name. It’s just one of those things, you know? I guess, in a sense, I’m named for my father. I didn’t know my mother all that well, so I can’t really make too many calls about her motivation. At least she had a sense of humor. I mean, really. A hooker’s kid, named John. There’s a weird sort of irony to that.
Maybe that was my mother. I didn’t know her all that well, for a mother. She was just this lady who was around from time to time, made sure I didn’t starve, slept around a hell of a lot. I always wondered about that last one, when I was younger. Not so much, later on.
The fact that she named me the way she did could mean a lot of things, I guess. I like to think that it means she was a shrewd, ironic kind of woman and that she didn’t give two shits about me because she knew how caring about people makes it easier to get hurt. So she was just trying to look out for me, in a cruel kinda way. That’s possible.
But then, it’s also possible that she’s forgotten about me. I didn’t hang around that long, really. Neither of us really made memorable impressions on each other. I don’t even remember what color her eyes were. It’s possible I have my mother’s eyes, but I’d never know it. It’s just as possible that she didn’t even make the connection when she named me. It’s possible that she doesn’t lie in bed at night, wondering if her son ever appreciated the grand, cruel irony of his first name.
And maybe she does. Maybe she does lie in bed at night, thinking about me. I think about her, sometimes. Maybe she settled down somewhere. Maybe she got out of Midgar. Maybe she wonders if I ever figured out my name. Maybe she did the same thing to my siblings, and wonders if they ever got it. Maybe I’m the only one who ever did. Maybe she figured I’d be the only one to get it. Maybe she wonders how I’m doing from time to time. Maybe she thinks about me.
Or maybe she’s dead.
“Jonathan,” Rosalind repeated, and smiled. That kinda snapped me out of my little trance and back to the present. “I like your name, sir. It’s nice. Why don’t people call you by it?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Because I’ve never told anyone what it is, I guess. Honestly, rookie, the only person who ever called me by my first name was my mother.”
“Oh. Does she still…umm…I don’t mean to be invasive sir, but is she dead?”
“My mom?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in years. Probably…oh, lemme think…about ten years since I saw her last. A few years before I left the slums.”
Rosalind stared at me for a few moments. “I grew up in the slums too, sir,” she said in a small voice, a little hesitantly.
I didn’t believe her. Not for a second. Someone as sweet and kind, as pretty and wonderful as Rosalind couldn’t possibly have grown up in the same hellhole as I did. But I didn’t want to call her an out-and-out liar. “Really, rookie?” I asked doubtfully.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. I did.”
“A nice girl like you?” I hadn’t met any “nice girls” living in the slums. They were all sharp and mean, just as dangerous as anybody else down there. None of them were “nice.”
Rosalind lifted her hands helplessly. “I wasn’t always so nice, sir. I was quite a handful, back before I got into the reform school.”
“Well…it’s not that I don’t believe you, rookie…it’s just…goddamn, a girl like you? From the same place as me? Nah. I mean, you’re one of the greatest people I’ve ever met…I’m still rough around the edges and no amount of effort is gonna train it out of me.”
Rosalind blushed and shook her head. “Oh, no, sir. I don’t think you’re like that at all. You’re very nice, sir. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I met terrible guys beneath the plate, sir, and you’re not at all like them.”
There was something about the contempt in her voice when she said them that struck a chord with me. I remembered the way my mother used to bitch about her “clients” and there was something about the Rosalind said it that was just overwhelmingly familiar. “Hey, rookie…umm…I dunno exactly how to say this, but was your mom a…?”
I trailed off. All of a sudden I hoped I wouldn’t offend her. I was just playing a hunch. For all I knew, Rosalind’s mother had been an honest, hardworking woman, not a trashy hooker like mine. Or maybe she was an honest, hardworking hooker. I didn’t know, and it wasn’t my place to make guesses like that.
However, before I could apologize, she nodded and stared down at the ground. Well, not at the ground. We’d walked to a footbridge that stretched over a softly babbling creek in the dark. There were a few lamps about, casting whitish golden light down on the pathway and glittering off the water. We were both leaning against the bridge railing and watching that. “Yeah. She was,” she answered shortly.
“Oh.” I could tell from her tone that she’d known exactly what I’d meant, and that I’d been right. “So was mine,” I said quietly.
She looked up sharply. “She was, sir? Really?”
“Yup. I grew up in Lower Sector Seven. You?”
Rosalind flushed slightly. “Lower Sector Eight,” she answered shyly.
“Well, how’s that for something? We were neighbors! Hey…did you know your father?”
She shrugged again and shook her head. “Not really. Only what my mom told me about him. All I really knew was that he was in the army.”
I nodded. “Ahh, yeah. I know how that is. I don’t think my mother knew my father.” I stopped and grimaced. “Uh…that didn’t come out quite right. They knew each other, of course. Just not personally.” Oops. Did it again. “Umm. Pretty personally, yeah. Not intimately…” Talking about how well your mother knew your father on the night you were conceived is awkward; especially with a girl you spend no small amount of time daydreaming about. “Uhhh. I mean, like...they didn’t know each other well. They weren’t going together, or anything. Whatever. I didn’t know him. And then my mom just left when I was fifteen, so I didn’t know her so well either…”
“She left you, sir?” Rosalind questioned, looking confused. “Just…left?”
“Yup.”
“Oh. Well, that’s awful, sir.”
I didn’t think it was, really. Like I’ve said, we weren’t close. “Nah. I mean it’s awful, in principle, yeah, but not so bad as it sounds. We weren’t close, and things had gotten to the point where neither of us really needed each other. I was probably kind of bad for business anyway.”
Rosalind seemed to accept this with a bit of difficulty, nodding slowly. “It still seems like an awful thing to do to your only child.”
“Oh, I wasn’t her only child. She had lots of kids. She was a ways into her thirties when she had me. She was always kinda careless, in that regard. I probably had at least four or five half-siblings by her, and maybe more by my dad. I met a few of them. It’s freaky to run into someone who has your eyes.”
She fell silent, digesting this information. I hoped I wasn’t bugging her, talking about this stuff. It’s funny; I’d never just talked with anybody about this stuff before. Not ever, not with anybody. Not with Rude, or Loretta, or any of my other friends. No one’s ever gotten this close. I mean, this was stuff about me. Things that went way, way back, and way, way down. These were the sort of things that make me who I am. And I was just telling her, and she was just getting to know me.
It’s also funny that all of a sudden, I wanted her to know me. I wanted to tell her everything I could think of. Most of the time, I don’t think people want others to know them. Not really, at least. When people get close to each other, it can get awkward. I know I keep most of my past to myself, because I don’t see any reason to bother other people with it. Besides, there’s stuff in my past that I’m not proud of. That’s the weirdest kind of closeness you can achieve, I think. I didn’t want to hide anything about myself; I didn’t want to have to pretend. I wanted her to know about every single glaring deficiency I had, and more than that, I wanted her to accept me anyway.
“My mother died, when I was fourteen,” she spoke up quietly, breaking the silence.
“I’m sorry about that.” I hoped it was the right thing to say. She sounded sort of sad about it, like any normal person would, talking about their mother.
She shrugged. “It got me off the streets, ultimately. My father was dumb enough to give my mother his name, so she had a very easy time getting money and things from him, after I was born, in exchange to keep quiet about it. It was blackmail, but people have to do desperate things to survive in the slums, sometimes. She told me if I was ever in trouble, I should call him. So…when she died, that’s what I did. It was better than trying to make it on my own. Of course, all he did was put me in military school. But, still…”
“Is that how you got into the Turks?” I asked. I wanted to know about her, too. I wondered if she wanted me to know about her.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Originally, I thought I would go into the military…but…well, you know how the organization is. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity. What about you, sir?”
I grinned. I like the story of how I got into the Turks. The only good thing that came out of my being in the army was the story of how I got out. “Well, it was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down, either. Originally, I was given the choice between the military and jail time. At the time I was given this choice, there was a war on with Fort Condor. However, since I didn’t know that…and you really couldn’t blame me for not knowing…I mean, you must know how it is, right? Living like that, in the slums…the only thing you worry about is how long you’ll have to go before your next meal.”
She nodded, and she knew exactly what I meant. For some reason, that made me feel kinda weird. Not bad weird, but good weird, kinda. She knew what I was talking about. She’d been there, she’d done that. I’d never talked with anyone who’d had the same experiences before. It meant a lot.
“Anyway. So I got myself stuck in the middle of a war. Totally wasn’t prepared for anything like that. I was just a street kid, and damned sheltered from the way the world outside Lower Midgar worked. Hell, I’d never even seen the sky.”
“But how did you get into the Turks, sir?” Rosalind pressed insistently. “I don’t mean to push you, I’m just curious.”
So she did want to know. I was happy about that. “Yeah, well. I’m getting there, keep your shirt on. Umm. Well, after a couple patrols or whatever, I went and got myself hurt, and ended up in a field hospital. First time I’d ever been seriously injured. I didn’t like it. And, seeing as I’d had quite enough of the war in question, I figured it was time to leave.”
Rosalind nodded a bit stiffly. “I suppose that’s understandable,” she answered politely. She was forcing it a bit, but I think that’s mostly because she disagrees with my views on desertion. That’s fine, it’s her prerogative. “Then what happened?”
“Veld got me out. Caught me trying to steal one of the jeeps, actually. He suggested that if I attempted desertion, I could be shot. If I changed venues, I could make some smart choices about the way I wanted to serve my time, and not have to deal with the whole war thing. So naturally, I switched into the Turks.”
Rosalind smiled and nodded. “That’s a good story, sir. Much better than mine.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think so. They’re just different.”
We both shut up for a little while. She pushed away from the railing of the bridge and stood, staring back down the path we’d walked for a while. I kept staring down at the water, enjoying the silence. I like being with Rosalind. I don’t believe in auras and all that crap, but there’s something about being around Rosalind that just makes a person feel so good. I dunno. Maybe it’s just me.
“Sir…” she murmured, after a little while, joining me at the railing again and touching my shoulder lightly.
“Mmm?” I shivered a bit. It might have been the cold, it might have been the sudden, electric hope that maybe she was going to confess that she’d had a thing for me ever since we’d first met, that she thought I had nice eyes, and she loved me just as much as I loved her and that she just couldn’t keep it in any more. It was a bit much to hope, I know, but I’m kinda dumb like that. When it happens, though, that’s exactly how it’s going to go, because I’ve run through it in my head dozens and dozens of times. “Yeah, rookie?”
She hesitated and bit her lip, lowering her face shyly. I’m fairly confident that my heart stopped beating. “Sir, I…I’m sorry you can’t get second class, sir.”
Of all the things she could have said in that moment, that was fairly low on the list of things I wanted to hear. I probably would’ve preferred, “Sir, I’d like to go back now.” Hell, even “Sir, your hair is on fire” would’ve been better
I didn’t answer immediately. I couldn’t. I’d kinda been doing all right, up until she’d brought it up. I mean, walking with her, just talking about stuff, I’d felt good. I’d forgotten how jealous I was of Rude, how mad I was at Veld, how disappointed I was with myself, and how depressed I was about the whole damn state of affairs. “I guess…did Rude tell you I couldn’t get it?”
Rosalind nodded and paused. “Well…he did tell me some things…back when we were in Costa del Sol, sir. But I didn’t understand…we were interrupted before he finished. And I didn’t…” she trailed off and flushed, when she noticed I was watching her closely. Then she cleared her throat and finished. “He said you have a condition, sir. I didn’t know what that meant. Is it serious?”
I sighed. I knew this sort of question would be coming sooner or later. “Hell, rookie. I’m standing here, I’m breathing, I’m not stuck in some goddamned hospital. Of course it’s not serious. Rude just tells everybody and then everybody thinks there’s something wrong with me. Well, there’s not.”
Rosalind blinked and the color rose in her cheeks again. “O-oh…I…I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think…I’m sorry.”
I didn’t mean to make her feel badly. It wasn’t her fault. It’s just this whole damn thing. I mean, okay. Back when I started with the Turks, after I’d gone for a few weeks with the company, Veld sent me for a psyche exam. At the time I thought it was sort of a cursory thing, though talking to all these guys and taking all these tests drove me absolutely nuts, and I didn’t really know what they were on about when they eventually told me I was “attention deficit, socially insecure, and unfit for command.” At the time it hadn’t really mattered. I mean, to me, a commander was somebody like Veld. And he had one hell of a stressful job, so I was actually kind of glad for that.
But then, as I got a little better acquainted with the company, I learned that no commanding meant no promotions. And no promotions meant no raises, no new apartment, no promotion parties, none of the perks that second class Turks get, and I’d never be an Ace. An Ace is a first class Turk, who’s gotten to first class by merit of skill, not by bureaucratics. Tseng’s a bureaucratic first class. He’s a great Turk, don’t get me wrong. Probably better than I am, in some ways. But he got to first class because of administrative things. Not because of work done in the field. I’d love to be an Ace. But it’s not in the cards.
“Nahh, rookie. Don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just…well, you know. Starting with the Turks was a tough thing for me. I screwed up a lot. I’d never done anything like it, is all. Suddenly people who I might’ve robbed in earlier times were counting on me for important stuff, and giving me orders and directives and everything…it was hard. I was having one hell of a time managing on my own.”
I really needed her to understand. I hoped she would. She’d had at least eight years in military school before being transferred to the Turks. I hadn’t. I didn’t know how to do the “soldier thing.” It didn’t make any sense to me. I thought the Turks was different then the army. I had no conception of rank and discipline, beyond the basics that you learn under the plate (for example: Rank: gang member – can kill you and therefore outranks you. Discipline - falls under the category “consequences of pissing off a gang member.”) So maybe it was understandable that I got blacklisted so quickly.
Thankfully, Rosalind nodded and patted my arm. “Oh, sir, that would have been hard,” she said sympathetically. “I went through the same thing when my dad put me in school. Is that when you started working with Rude?”
“Yeah…but it didn’t help. Heh, we didn’t really much care for each other, when we first started working together. He thought I was a hyperactive whacko he’d gotten saddled with, and I thought he was some tightass goon they’d picked to keep an eye on me. We were both kinda right, actually. And the fact that some stupid higher up had gone and decided I have ADD or something didn’t really help much either.”
Rosalind didn’t answer, biting her lower lip and staring at the railing of the bridge, tracing the shapes carved into the wood with her fingertip.
“What? Not surprised?”
She started and stared at me for a few moments. “N-no, sir!” she stammered, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh! S-sorry, I mean, y-yes, sir. Or…oh…I’m sorry, sir…I didn’t…I don’t…sorry,” she trailed off awkwardly, pressing her hands against her cheeks and lowering her head.
“Aww…no, rookie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m just…well, it’s hard not to be kinda mad about the whole thing. It’s frustrating.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, sir.”
It was sweet of her to say, but I didn’t see how she couldn’t. “It’s all right, rookie. It’s true, I guess. I mean, I am kinda off the wall, so it only stands to reason…most people probably get that impression when they meet me.”
Rosalind shook her head vigorously. “But there isn’t anything |