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Mission briefings are agonizingly boring. They are really, truly, and honestly just about the most boring thing on the planet. Tseng came down to the lounge in the middle of the afternoon on Friday, interrupted our lounging, and prepared to brief us.
I was sitting on the couch with St. Andrew and Cyr, and Rafe was on a chair. We’d been watching a football game, and I’d just won fifty gil off Andrew, so I was happy about that. Samantha was in the corner, giggling about something or other, Rude and Rodney were playing cards, and Rosalind was sitting quietly at a table, flipping through a fashion magazine or something. Which was odd. The only magazine she gets is Fire Arms – The Official Magazine of Handgun Enthusiasts (it’s kinda creepy that there are magazines about this sort of thing) and whatever she was reading now didn’t really seem like her type of thing.
Anyway, he got us all untangled from whatever we were doing at the time, and cleared his throat, getting ready to brief. They call it “briefing” and I don’t know why, because it really takes a long time. Well. Maybe briefing is just when you’re told what’s gonna be going on. I suppose the actual preparation for whatever the mission is, is what eats up loads and loads of time. Often more time than it actually takes to go through with the mission. But then, maybe the mission would take longer if you didn’t spend loads and loads of time preparing for it. Oh well. To sum it up, briefings are boring.
“To begin, we’re going to be handling the party that Shinra are throwing, at the Fort Condor Embassy…”
“Question!” It’s easier to take mission briefings if you break them up with questions. I have assigned myself this duty. Everyone else will thank me, one day. “If Shinra’s throwing it, why’s it gonna be at their Embassy?”
Tseng cleared his throat. “Well…technically, it’s more of a joint party, sort of a gesture towards peace, after all those years of war. As an indication of their civility, Fort Condor will be providing a location.”
“Oh, okay,” I nodded vigorously, so he knew I understood. “I gotcha.”
“As I’m sure you’re all aware, nothing Shinra does is done without a motive. Well, this one is a little more complicated than just establishing contacts, or maintaining an image…”
“How so?”
“Well…it’s in regards to Avalanche…”
“What d’you mean?”
Tseng paused. “Given the militant nature of the attacks, it’s suspected that they may be a covert move by Fort Condor. And thus…”
“Jesus Christ! Fort Condor again? Man, those dumbasses never learn, do they? Why the hell would they do that? Especially since we’re square now! And with us having the Cannon, too!” This was a bit of a touchy thing for me. If there was a thing with Fort Condor, it would probably mean another war, and I really didn’t want that. “Why would they do that?”
“It’s just a theory,” Tseng said quickly. “This is just one of many. It’s our belief that they would do it like this, so as not to give us anything to point the Cannon at.”
“So if it’s true, then it’s really quite clever, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes…”
“Why didn’t we think of it? We’ve got loads of smart people, they could come up with something clever like that, couldn’t they?”
“Yes, I’m sure they could, but…”
“Well, then why didn’t they?”
“I don’t know, Reno, but…”
“Does Fort Condor have a special ops division, like us?”
“I can’t say for sure, we’ve never encountered anything…”
“Maybe we’ve never encountered anything ‘cause they’re just that good.”
“Reno, I really don’t think…”
“They seem to be pretty damn smart about things, don’t they?”
“I suppose so…”
“If I applied, do you think they’d take me on? They seem to have a good thing going on and I’m experienced and everything…whaddaya think, Tseng?”
Tseng sighed and rolled his eyes. “Reno, can’t you ever just sit through a mission briefing?” he demanded exasperatedly.
“Of course, I can’t, Tseng. You know I can’t.”
“Do you have to talk the whole time?”
“It helps break up the monotony of your droning.”
“I’m not droning. Are the stupid questions really necessary?”
“I’m curious!” I objected. “And you are droning!”
“It’s a mission briefing! It’s not droning!”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “You’re only making it worse by answering me, you know.”
Rude cleared his throat. “He’s got you there, Tseng. But, Reno’s poor attention span aside, why are we looking at the embassy in Midgar? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go straight to the source?”
Tseng seemed relieved to be back on track and cleared his throat again. “Avalanche have been more aware of our movements then we’re comfortable with. They knew about our presence in Costa del Sol, and, what’s worse, they seem to be learning about the SOLDIER process. This seems indicative of a leak within Midgar, possibly within Shinra.”
“A leak?” That was a seriously incredulous question. A leak is a bad thing, especially within our organization. The element of surprise is almost everything to us. That’s why things had nearly gone bad in Costa del Sol. And the fact that they knew about SOLDIER was also unnerving. SOLDIERS are treated with a type of Mako therapy, to make them stronger. I think it’s creepy, myself, but there’s a lot of bigger controversy about it among the general public. For obvious reasons, the details are kept very secret. It’s not the sort of thing you want Joe Nobody mucking around with.
“But the leak is just a theory too,” Tseng said hastily, trying to move along. “Don’t be concerned about it, it is not your primary objective. You will be informed of details regarding the aforementioned situation as it progresses. For now, it is best to concentrate on your main objective, this party.” You can tell when Tseng’s nervous, because he starts spewing canned lines from manuals and instruction booklets on protocol. “Are you going to listen now, Reno?”
“Yeah, I will, I will…”
Tseng cleared his throat again. He does that when he’s nervous, too. “All right. Our objective is the ambassador’s office. If they are receiving sensitive information, it would have to go through him to get to Fort Condor. So, while the rest of you are creating a distraction, two of you will head to the ambassador’s office and perform a search for sensitive documents.”
“Have we worked out who’s doing what?” Cyr questioned.
“Yes,” Tseng nodded. “Everything has been established and coordinated. It is imperative that this operation goes off without a hitch. Especially since it’s Fort Condor. We don’t want to provoke them into doing anything stupid.”
Yeah, that kinda went without saying. “If the consequences are that severe, why are we risking so much? I mean, we’re really just playing a hunch, right?” I asked dubiously.
Tseng spread his hands. “The Shinra are playing a hunch, Reno. We’re just following orders.”
When Tseng, or anybody, really, says “the Shinra” it means he’s talking about the Hierarchy. That’s the President and his closest advisors. That’s people like General Royce Heidegger, Arnold Palmer, Belinda Scarlet, and Alexander Reeve. They control the corporation; I guess it only makes sense that they would earn the title of “the Shinra.”
Forget what I said about mission briefings being boring. Or, at least, what I said about them being the most boring things on the planet. Mission outlines are worse. Mission outlines are thick, incomprehensible folders, full of all sorts of complicated shit. Graphs and charts and diagrams and all kinds of other things that don’t make any sense. And, because I knew it wasn’t going to make any sense to me anyway, I opened it, picked a page to stare blankly at, then covertly gazed at Rosalind while everybody else read through their assignments.
She was totally absorbed in her outline, you could see her eyes moving across the page, her lips half-forming each word as she read to herself. A few strands of blonde hair were caught back behind her ear, slipping slowly forward, until they finally came loose and fell across her eyes. I’d been waiting for that. She lifted a hand and tucked her hair back behind her ears absently, still reading. I love it when she does that. Just that one, tiny little gesture is enough to drive me up the wall.
She glanced up suddenly, and I immediately returned to staring blankly at the page in front of me. As an afterthought, I quickly skimmed it, so it would look like I was reading. When I spared another glance up, she’d returned to her reading, so I resumed my watching.
St. Andrew whistled and distracted me. “This is a big damn thing, Tseng. You’re even bringing in a TDT!”
“A TDT?” I repeated, then hastily shut up, remembering I was supposed to have been reading. “How ‘bout that, hey?” A TDT is a Tactical Diversion Team. They’re crazy. It’s their job to create diversions, and boy, do they ever create diversions. I’ve worked with one a few times before, and it’s always nuts. They set a building on fire, the last time I worked with them. It was nuts.
“We want as much controlled chaos as possible. They’re going to stage a hostage taking. And you’re going to save the day. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be managed and taken care of, we’re even going to call in Shinra’s Special Forces to tighten things up at the end. If this goes well, we might cement positive relations with Fort Condor.”
“That is, y’know, provided they’re not the ones launching massive terrorists attacks on all the cities in which Shinra has interests,” I muttered dryly, thumbing through my assignment. There was something about this one that bugged me, beyond just the fact that it was Fort Condor. Something seemed off.
“This all seems terribly complicated,” Cyr spoke up.
Tseng nodded. “Yes. It is. But don’t worry, we’ll be running through it for practice, until we’re sure it’s perfect.”
“He means that, too,” I told her, winking. “We’ll practice and practice and practice until we all have aneurysms. When we have aneurysms, that will mean it’s perfect.”
Rolling his eyes, Tseng sighed. “Study your statements, and we’ll begin practicing tomorrow. I want you all on the fifty-first floor at six o’clock sharp. The party is in exactly one week and we’re not going to have any screw ups, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” everybody answered quietly. I winced slightly. There was an edge to his voice that I’d heard before; it was something a little more than just nervousness. Everyone else had heard it too, but I don’t think anyone else knew quite what to make of it. He gathered up the papers he’d brought and crossed the room brusquely without a word, stepping onto the elevator and heading back up to his office.
I flipped my assignment open again, scanning it briefly. “Something’s up,” I said, not looking up from the paper. “He’s leaving something out, there’s something he doesn’t understand, but he can’t tell us…”
I’d broken a silence. Everyone looked up at me. It’s a good thing I don’t mind being on the spot, or it might’ve made me kinda nervous.
Rosalind bit her lower lip. “Why do you say that, sir?” she questioned, sounding a little worried. “I didn’t think…”
I shrugged. “Nahh, rookie, you wouldn’t have picked up on it. It’s just a feeling. The higher-ups always know more than we do, that much is true. I mean, really. Does it make sense to look at Fort Condor, based on what we know? I mean, we know that Avalanche have some sort of issue with Mako, right? Well, Fort Condor are just as bad about Mako as we are.”
Rafe shifted in his chair. “It might be a cover. It could be a way they’ve devised to divert suspicion.”
I nodded slowly, but that still didn’t seem quite right. I got up and glanced towards the elevators. There was still time to do a little digging. “Yeah…maybe. I dunno. I’m going to bed, after I ask a few questions about this thing. Missions like this are always so complicated. But I guess that’s just the way of things. Oh well. G’night, everybody.”
Everybody kinda said good night, and I headed to the elevators. It was kinda late, but the floor where Tseng’s office was still showed signs of life. I went quickly to his office and knocked lightly on the door. “Tseng?”
His door was half open and I peered in cautiously. He was sitting at his desk, doing some paperwork and he hadn’t looked up. “Hey, Tseng?” I called, knocking a little harder.
He glanced up sharply, and relaxed when he saw it was me. “Oh…yes, Reno?”
I stepped inside and casually pushed the door shut. “I just had a couple questions,” I explained, pulling a chair up in front of my desk. “About my assignment.”
“Oh.” Tseng rubbed at his eyes. “Well, all right. Which part?”
“Umm…”
He sighed. “Have you even read it?”
“Nope.”
“Reno…” he sighed again, taking a file from his desk and flipping it open.
“Aww, come off it, Tseng. You know I can’t make head or tail of those things. They’re confusing. Can’t you just give me the gist of it, and I’ll pick up whatever else I need to understand when we run through it? That’ll work just as well, won’t it?”
Tseng paused. “Well…yes…but you’re undermining the system.”
I grinned and leaned back in my chair, putting my feet up on his desk. “It’s what I do.”
“Mmm. Basically, you and Rosalind are going to be taken by two of the ‘terrorists’, who will bring you up to the ambassador’s office. From there, you will search his office for sensitive documents, anything relating to Avalanche, or to Shinra. Ideally, both. After you have secured evidence of this information, you will lock yourselves in the nearest closet and pound away on the door until help arrives. Simple?”
I nodded, picking up a paperweight from his desk and tossing it lightly from hand to hand. “Yeah, sounds easy enough. But, still, kind of over the top, isn’t it? I mean, really, Tseng, don’t you think so?”
Tseng didn’t answer immediately, tapping a pen on his desk. “I don’t know. It’s an assignment; we’ve got to go through with it.”
“Well, yeah, I know that, but what do you think about it?” None of my colleagues ever think. I figured there was something more to this, and that Tseng, with all his intellect, must have noticed something too.
“We don’t have all the information,” he said finally, after a long silence.
“I know that, too, Tseng. We never do. But…still, you think there’s something more to this, don’t you?”
Tseng shrugged. “There’s always something more to it.”
He was being evasive. I might not be the sharpest tack in the box, but I know when people are shitting me. “Come off it, Tseng. Gimme a little more credit than this. Something’s going to go down and we don’t know what it is. Is that what you think?”
I think I mentioned that Tseng had a close call, a while back, that made him switch to administration. Well, if I didn’t; then he did. It happened during a mission when he didn’t have all the information. That’s one of the things that Shinra does that really, really gets to the Turks. They won’t tell us everything. They’ll leave out the things that would be compromise the company if any of us were ever captured, until the critical moment, and then expect us to work these new details into whatever we’re doing. Or they’ll incorporate our operations into something bigger, without telling us, and there are suddenly all these dependencies on our fulfilling the plan exactly as we were told to. It’s just bad.
“I don’t know,” he answered, sighing. “I really don’t know. For all I know, they really are expecting terrorists to attack, and they just want us to be ready, but…it’s all just so stupid. Commander Veld isn’t the one in charge of this one.”
If he had been, we’d know exactly what we were doing. “Who is, then?”
“Scarlet, I think.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, that just figures, doesn’t it? Goddamn, that woman can’t ever do anything straight.”
Tseng smiled wryly and rubbed his eyes. “That’s true enough. Ahh…I don’t know. It might be nothing…but it’s best just to be careful.”
“We’ll be okay, Tseng. Don’t stress about it.”
“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.” He shuffled some of the papers on his desk. “You should probably head to bed. You’re going to be getting up early tomorrow.”
I got up and stretched, nodding. “Yeah, all right. Thanks for the heads-up, Tseng. See you tomorrow morning.”
“Bright and early.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, yeah, bright and early. G’night, Tseng.”
*
Strike anything I’ve said about mission briefings, and mission outlines, and mission reports being boring. They’re nothing compared to mission run-throughs. Again and again and again, hundreds of times, until we can practically do the mission blindfolded. It’s insane. Coordinating everything down to the tiniest little detail is not how a Turk normally does things, but it’s how a TDT does, so we’ve just gotta roll with it. They say practice makes perfect, and I suppose it probably does, but “perfect” is the last thing a Turk wants. Perfect is unnatural, perfect is wrong. If something is perfect, than things are going to start going sideways in very short order.
But, anyway, we’d been practicing and practicing, and then all of a sudden it was the big night and everybody was scrambling to find some sort of little way to make it not perfect. Just for safety’s sake. There was no sense in jinxing the thing.
I had gotten myself dressed, which is always such a chore for these big things. I was dressed, and going about the process of arming myself. I didn’t expect to need anything terribly heavy, being that things were all supposed to go off relatively easily, but I tucked a knife in my jacket, just in case, and debated briefly about bringing a handgun, before deciding against it. Rosalind would have her handguns and, if push came to shove, she could probably handle a minor emergency.
So. Being dressed, I headed out of my apartment, to grab an elevator down to the main floor. I met up with Cyr and Rude, who were on their way down too.
“Reno, you’re a mess!” Cyr exclaimed, staring at me and looking a little horrified. “Have you any idea what Tseng will do if he sees you like that?”
I don’t like to think of myself as an untidy dresser, I prefer the sound of rakishly tousled. And really, I wasn’t that bad. “Aww, Cyr…”
She grabbed me by the collar and hauled me into the elevator, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “The main floor, please, Rude,” she requested absently, unbuttoning my shirt.
“Cyr, cut it out!” I objected, and she started rebuttoning it with one hand, and turning the pockets of my jacket back the right way in with her other hand. “I’m fine, Cyr, really…”
“No, no, no. You’re not fine. You’re a mess. Honestly, do you need someone to help dress you?” she scolded. “And where’s your tie?”
“I don’t have one. And I wouldn’t wear one, even if I did,” I refused stubbornly. I hate wearing a tie. Like a goddamned noose.
Cyr stared at me for a few moments, then started fixing my hair. “They’re part of the uniform! What do you mean you don’t have one?”
“Well, way back when I first got all my ties, I cut them up into little strips and threw them all out the window for the birds. There are pigeons out there with nests made of very expensive Bordenii silk.”
We were very rapidly nearing the main floor, so Cyr just sighed exasperatedly and tried to tuck my shirt in. I stopped her in fairly short order.
“Cyr, I appreciate your concern for my appearance, but I draw the line at you shoving your hands in my pants.”
Cyr flared and lifted a hand, but Rude caught her wrist. “Leave him be,” he said, straightening the cuffs of his own suit.
“Well, I don’t want him to get in trouble,” she explained, glaring at me.
“He won’t,” Rude assured her. “He never does.”
“Nope, never do,” I agreed, and winked at her. “You look drop-dead gorgeous, Cyr.”
That got her off the whole “Reno isn’t properly dressed” thing. She flushed slightly and lowered her head a bit to acknowledge the compliment. “Thank you.” She did look great. Cyr has an incredible body. Like, really. She’s toned and fit without being bulky and her skin is sort of lightly tanned and she’s got her curves in exactly the right places. She was wearing a brilliant red dress that left a lot of her body exposed, but wasn’t trashy, because she carried it so well.
We got to the main floor and Tseng waved us over to the front entrance, where he was standing with St. Andrew, Rafe, Samantha and Rodney. All, with the exception of Samantha, were in crisp, tidy dress uniforms. The dress uniform is only a little different from the regular uniform, meaning to say looks mostly the same, it’s just it’s more uncomfortable.
What Samantha, was wearing, however, went beyond uncomfortable and into the realm of totally implausible. I really don’t understand how girls can wear such tight, ungainly, poofy dresses, for no other reason than for the sake of fashion. Further than that, I don’t understand how these dresses stay on. According to all I understood of conventional physics, limited though my understanding is, I figured that very soon she’d be standing there naked, with a poofy green dress around her ankles, but no, it stayed up the entire evening. I’m sure what Samantha was wearing was the absolute height of fashion, and, truth be told, she did look beautiful in emerald green, but it just seemed to be a bit over the top. Especially dripping jewelry like she was.
“Are we ready to go?” St. Andrew questioned, adjusting the two handguns he carried in the holsters at his sides. Rosalind carries two handguns, too, but the difference is, she’ll only use one at once. St. Andrew uses them two-handed, which is really rather impressive, I guess.
“Of course not. Rosalind isn’t here,” I told him.
St. Andrew rolled his eyes. “Well, can we at least go get in the limo? What is it with you and waiting for Rosalind all the time?”
“Andrew, we’re going to a great big party. It’d sure be a shame if you had to get roughed up beforehand.”
Arching an eyebrow, Andrew started to say something, but Cyr grabbed his arm. “Come along, St. Andrew, let’s get in the limo,” she instructed, pulling him along to the doors. “Rosalind will be down in a minute, I’m sure.”
Samantha giggled and looped a hand through Rodney’s arm. “Come on, Roddy! It’s a stretch limo, just like my daddy’s!”
Samantha is a bubble brain.
Rude and Rafe both sort of drifted out of the building, while Tseng remained waiting in the lobby with me. He had the two Wutain knives he uses, crossed in their sheaths across his back. I know he’s not a field agent. But he still practices with those goddamn terrible knives every week and it’s one of the most frightening things in the world to watch him. He can chop a person to pieces in three seconds flat and I’m not even kidding.
The elevators across the lobby opened and Rosalind stepped out, hurrying across the lobby, only one shoe on, a shawl trailing in her hand, and a little evening bag over her shoulder, stopping halfway across the lobby and tugging her other shoe on, before running the rest of the way and skidding to a halt at the front doors. “S-sorry I’m late!” she gasped, clipping a small, dangling pearl earring onto one of her ears and straightening her purse over her shoulder. “Th-the lady who came to do my makeup took absolutely ages and…oh, the limo’s here and I’ve kept everybody waiting! Oh, sirs, I’m sorry!” she cried.
“It’s all right, Rosalind,” Tseng assured her graciously. “We’re early anyway.”
I probably should have said something. I wish I could have. I also wish I could’ve stopped staring at her, like a complete idiot. She looked so incredibly pretty. Cyr had been gorgeous and Samantha had been beautiful, but Rosalind was just so pretty. I guess it kind of sounds like “pretty” is something less than “gorgeous” or “beautiful” and I suppose maybe it is, but that’s not a bad thing. Not at all.
There’s something about Cyr that makes you sit up and stare, because her body is sculpted and toned, and there’s a way she carries herself that sort of says, “I am the closest you’ll ever see to a goddess. Worship me.” And there’s something about the way Samantha dresses and acts that draws all the attention once she enters the room (possibly because she’s the approximate equivalent of a disco ball with all that jewelry.)
But with Rosalind it’s different. She’s not pushing it. She’s not even trying. She’s just being pretty. I couldn’t tell you with absolute certainty what Samantha and Cyr were wearing that night, other than the fact that Samantha wore green and Cyr wore red, but I remember every single detail of what Rosalind was wearing.
It was a light blue dress and had two layers, I guess, silk or something underneath, and then a sort of lace overtop. It came about to her knees and flared just a little bit, so it twisted a bit when she moved. It hugged close, but not too close to the curves of her body and cut modestly across her chest, with two narrow straps. She was also wearing a string of small pearls, and clip-on pearl earrings, that gleamed a bit when she moved her head. There were two plain silver clips holding her hair back behind her ears, and around her waist was a silver chain, looped once around her waist, and then allowed to hang down past her hip, where a beautiful Colt 45 pistol was holstered.
“You look pretty.”
Yeah, I’m really proud of that. All the things in the world I could’ve said and I say something dumb like “you look pretty.” Man, I’m stupid.
I wish I could’ve said something a little more poetic than that, but I guess it was good enough, because she blushed a little, and shrugged. “Ohh…I don’t know. It’s all right, I guess.”
Tseng cleared his throat and held open the door. “Well. The clock is running, so we should probably be going. Come along, you two.”
“Coming!” she called, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and glancing up at me. “Are you coming, sir?”
“Y-yeah, of course.”
“You’re not moving, sir.”
Oh, right. I have legs. “Uhh…oh, yeah. That’s kinda necessary, isn’t it?”
“Get your head together, Reno,” Tseng said a bit sharply. “No freezing up tonight.”
I shook my head and followed Rosalind outside to the limo. The driver opened the door and she climbed in. I did the same and sat down next to her, next to the window. She was close and I was sort of struck dumb by the fact that her thigh was pressed against mine and I could feel the heat of her body.
Tseng climbed in and we started moving. I concentrated as hard as I could on staring out the window and not at Rosalind, like some sort of braindead creep. Tseng was talking about something, but I’d kind of tuned him out, I guess, because I was so focused on staring blankly out the window.
And then I felt Rosalind fidget slightly beside me and that was just the end of that. I watched her as she toyed with the string of pearls about her neck and touched her fingertips to her hair, then reached down and pulled at the hem of her dress, trying to pull it a little further over her knees. I can’t imagine why. Rosalind has beautiful, smooth, dimpled knees and has every excuse to flaunt them.
“Rosalind, calm down. You look lovely,” Tseng assured her, noticing how she was fidgeting.
Lovely, but miserable. “Oh, I just wish I could’ve worn my uniform,” she lamented, lifting her hand to her lips, presumably to chew her nails. “I feel so awkward…”
I caught her wrist and was momentarily thrilled by how soft and warm her skin was. “Don’t do that, rookie, you’ll wreck your nails. Tseng’s right, you look great.”
She shrugged and blushed again. I guess she really wasn’t comfortable, despite the fact that she looked so pretty. It’s really not her thing to get all dressed up, I guess. And, knowing that she came from the same place I did, I suppose I can appreciate that.
We reached the embassy and pulled up the long, winding drive. Embassies are always such nice looking places (the Wutain Embassy is particularly nice) and that’s sort of a deceptive thing, because Fort Condor is really a big old fort on top of a sunblasted hunk of rock that they like to call a mountain. I think embassies should reflect what the places they represent are really like. But I suppose that would make things sort of difficult for the Icicle Embassy, so I guess things are probably fine.
Tseng cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “All right, everybody. You all know the plan. It’s important that all of you are on your best behavior. Just act naturally…”
“I’m naturally poorly behaved,” I interrupted. “What do I do?”
“You keep your mouth shut and your head down,” Tseng said firmly. “Let’s not have a repeat of the last party we attended. You nearly caused an international incident.”
“Yeah, well the Junon ambassador started it…” I muttered, slouching slightly.
The shadow of the chauffeur passed over the window as he opened the door, and the inside of the limo was suddenly illuminated by flashbulbs. Rude, who was sitting on the other side of the door, grunted and got out. Limos are a bit low-ceilinged for him, at six and a half feet, to be comfortable.
Beside me, Rosalind went completely rigid and looked slightly sick. “There are reporters…” she said faintly.
“Well, President Shinra and General McArtney are two of the world’s most powerful men. It only makes sense that the national stations would be covering their meeting,” Tseng explained, as Rafe climbed out of the car and proceeded down the red carpet to the embassy. Rodney followed after him, and Samantha caught his hand as she climbed out, wrapping an arm around his waist and beaming at the cameras. She’s such a ham.
“It’s fine, Rosalind. They’re taking pictures of all the guests,” St. Andrew explained, then glanced over at Cyr. “I’d look really good with you on my arm, Cyr.”
Cyr laughed a bit at that. “Very well. I’d hate to walk up alone anyway.”
“Rookie, are you shaking?” I asked, touching her arm lightly. She was trembling slightly, and her eyes were large and wild. Tseng seemed to realize that Rosalind might be freezing up, and he didn’t really look much better. “Get out of here, Tseng. I’ll manage this.”
He stared at me for moments, then nodded and climbed out of the limo. Rosalind winced as the reporters outside recognized him as a member of the administration and shouted questions even more loudly than before. “I…I’m sorry, s-sir, but I w-wasn’t expecting reporters,” she stammered, shaking her head.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, rookie. But, c’mon, you’ve got to get it over with…”
“No! I can’t, sir, really I can’t! W-what if I trip or fall or something?” She shook her head again, pressing her hands against her cheeks and closing her eyes. “M-maybe they’ll go away if I wait…or…or maybe I could slip in through the back…”
She was absolutely terrified. But we had to go. “You won’t trip and fall, rookie. We’ve got to go now, everybody’s waiting. They need us, remember? C’mon, you and me together, okay? I promise, it’ll be just fine.”
“B-but…”
“Rosalind, listen to me. I’ve seen you in firefights, I’ve seen you fight guys who had at least a hundred pounds of weight on you…you met the woman who’s in charge of Avalanche and faced off against her! How on earth can you be afraid of reporters? You can’t be, simple as that. We’re going in, rookie.”
“O-oh…”
I hated myself for doing this, but I stepped out of the car and held out a hand to her. “Come on, rookie. I don’t want to leave you here on your own, but I’ll do it if you don’t come with me now.”
She stared at me for a few moments, then bit her lip and took my hand, stepping lightly up onto the curb and straightening her shawl about her shoulders. Then the cameras started flashing and she paled and swayed slightly.
“Here, rookie.” I offered her my arm and she latched onto it immediately, clinging to me for support as much as for appearances. “C’mon now,” I murmured, coaxing her up the walkway to the doors. “This is a piece of cake, rookie. You’re doing just fine.”
She kept her head down and nodded once, walking as quickly as she could without falling. We got to the entrance in record time and the doorman held the doors open. Rosalind sighed heavily once we were inside and leaned against my arm, still hanging on tightly. I really didn’t mind.
The lobby was brightly lit, decorated in an oldish sort of style, and bustling with people, guests and staff of the embassy, dealing with each other. Pretty soon, a young man in a smartly pressed uniform came over to take Rosalind’s wrap and direct us upstairs. “Ahh, you must be with the party of Turks who just came in. The fourth floor.”
“Thanks,” I nodded to the man. “C’mon, rookie, that’s our party.”
Rosalind nodded and I carefully steered her over to the elevators, stepping on to one and pressing the button for the fourth floor. She sighed a little as it got started upward with a little jolt and covered her eyes with her free hand.
“Rosalind, I’m sorry, but you can’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup.”
She dropped her hand immediately and flushed. “I…I’m not, I’m just still seeing stars from all the flashing. Sorry, sir.”
“Hey, it’s all right.”
Rosalind sighed again and absently smoothed the front of her dress, looking up at the dial that slowly indicated our progress (it was an older elevator) with an expression of dread. I felt very badly for her.
“Rookie…you really look pretty tonight, rookie. Please, don’t worry. Everything will be fine, okay? You’ll be fine.”
She shrugged and shook her head. “I’ll…I’ll just try my best, sir.”
And I suppose that was all I could ask of her, really. The elevator doors slid open and I tried to step off the elevator, but Rosalind had frozen, rooted to the spot and was staring around the room in complete and total horror.
I glanced up, trying to determine exactly what was so scary, but I guess I wasn’t looking through her eyes, because all I saw were executives and representatives from other parts of the city, talking and dancing and stuffing their fat faces. They were kinda disgusting, but they weren’t really scary. Though I suppose I’d been a bit unnerved the first time I encountered the upper class too, so it was probably understandable.
I gave Rosalind a little nudge in the ribs. “Honey, I think we’re holding up the elevator. And it’s okay if you’re nervous, but I feel kind of like you’ve got my arm in a vice. Could you loosen up, just a little bit?”
Rosalind jumped and immediately let go, stepping off the elevator and skidding a little on the hardwood floor, losing her balance and almost falling. She probably would’ve, if I hadn’t caught her.
Her pulse was throbbing quickly in her wrist again, just like back in Icicle. I kind of hoped the evening would end in a similar manner, if with a little less choking up and freezing on my part. “Easy, rookie, come on. Heels on a hardwood floor, it’s just like skating. It’s all right, rookie.”
I brought her over to one of the tables that had been set up for people who wanted to sit down and eat, and sat her down. I sat on the floor in front of her, because that’s kind of how I do things. “Just sit for a few minutes and get yourself calmed down, okay?”
She took a shaky deep breath and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’m just…I’m hopeless at these sorts of things…”
“Aww, rookie, no. No, of course you’re not. It’s hard stuff. I know. These people are different from you and me. Remember, I came from the same place you did. People like this…” I gestured around the room. “Well, I think they’re disgusting. Filthy rich. I spent so much of your life, wanting what they had…you know what it’s like, don’t you?”
Rosalind nodded and I felt another connection, like the one we’d had, walking through the park that one night. She did know. Somehow I could tell she knew exactly what I was saying. It’s a great feeling to connect with somebody like that. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s just the way the world is. The fat get fatter, the poor stay poor…the moneymakers always win. It’s not fair. It’s never been fair. But it’s also never gonna be fair, so you can’t stress about it.”
“Oh, but sir…”
She was still worried about this whole thing. And it is intimidating. Some of these people make more money in a day than I’ll probably see in a year, even with bonuses. It’s hard to talk to somebody like that. “You can’t let it get to you, rookie. You can’t believe that these people are better than you. Because y’know what? They’re not. Not even close.”
“I’m just worried they’ll talk about…about money and business…and rich people stuff that I won’t understand. Tseng told me to ‘mingle’…I don’t know how to mingle…if I don’t have any common ground with these people…if they do that, sir, what am I supposed to talk about?”
I put my hand on her knee as she started to fidget a bit again. I hadn’t even thought about it. I just did it. I’m not sure if that was a good thing or not. Then I recovered from the shock of that and cleared my throat. “I’ll tell you what I’d do, rookie. If one of them starts going on about their penthouse in Sector Two or the prices of stock in Midgar, you look ‘em straight in the eye and say ‘Well, last week I saved your stupid penthouse from being blown to pieces by the Junon Cannon.’ And see how that grabs ‘em. Now. You keep yourself calmed down, and I’ll go get you a drink, and then we’ll go see if we can’t shut a few fat faces.”
Rosalind laughed. “Do you really think I’ll be okay, sir?”
“Hell, I think you’ll be just fine. Just tell them the truth, rookie.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“It’ll be fine. Okay. I’ll be right back. You just sit there and stay calm, okay?”
She nodded and I headed across the room. I felt good. Astonishingly good. I felt like, in spite of everything, tonight I could maybe tell Rosalind I had a thing for her. Maybe she felt the same way. Maybe she’d just been too shy to say so. Knowing her, that was completely and entirely reasonable. She’s very shy. She probably wouldn’t have known how to say so if she did. I know I didn’t know how to say so. But, hey, something had to be imperfect about tonight and if it happened to be the way I told Rosalind I loved her, maybe that was okay.
Cyr was at the bar, chatting with the bartender. I joined them and waited patiently until they were done talking. “Hey, Cyr. What do you figure Rosalind would want to drink?”
“Rosalind?” Cyr glanced across the room. “It looks like Rosalind already has a drink.”
“Huh?” I looked back at where I’d left Rosalind, but she was gone. Suddenly a little frantic, I scanned the room, trying to figure out where she’d gotten to. It turned out it was approximately the worst possible place in the world.
I’ve mentioned that I’m not a terribly violent person. I’m really not. I mean, as Turks go, I guess I’m really kind of pathetic. I can’t stand the sight of blood; I’m sub par at torturing people, I’d sooner run than fight, if I had the choice, and I’m not really very good at killing large numbers of people. All that being said, though, I wanted to see every single drop of Rufus Shinra’s blood spilled out on the floor. I wanted to go over there and cut off the hand he had on my Rosalind’s arm. I wanted to punch his stupid face in. I wanted to jam broken glass down his throat. I wanted to kill him six or seven times over.
But I didn’t do any of that. I didn’t do anything more than stand there, half stunned. “O-oh. Well. I guess she’s good, then.” I heard myself say it, but I don’t remember actually stringing the words together.
Something caught Cyr’s attention across the dance floor. “Ahh, I think St. Andrew wants to dance. I’ll be back in a little while, Reno.”
“Yeah, okay.” Again, I absolutely do not remember saying anything.
I remember sitting down at the bar, though. “I would like the largest glass you have of the hardest stuff you can legally give me. Please.”
The bartender blinked at me. “I…uh…I don’t know if I can do that, sir.”
I didn’t much feel like arguing with him at the moment. “Just give me a drink.”
He complied quickly. Smart man. I handed him a few gil and then proceeded to ignore him. Bartenders are notorious talkers and I really didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I’ve always kind of scoffed at the phrase “broken heart.” It always just sounded sort of stupid and cheesy to me. If I’d known how accurate a description it was, maybe I wouldn’t have scoffed quite so openly. Because that’s how it feels. It’s an actual, physical sensation. It starts out kind of cold and keen, but dull, because you’re still numb from the shock of it. Then it settles right into the center of your chest, and it kind of aches all over. Kind of like frostbite, I guess. Dull, though. It still hurts like hell, but it can only be called “dull” in comparison to how badly it hurts when you hear her laughter on the other side of the room, or hear someone else say her name.
It’s wrong that I’m so possessive of her. It’s a very bad thing. It’s terrible. I love her more than anything, but I don’t have any right to own her. It’s so bad that I don’t ever want her to smile, except for me. I don’t want her to touch anybody else. I don’t want anybody else seeing the entire world in her eyes. I don’t want her to be with anybody else, because they couldn’t ever love her nearly as much as I do. I hate myself for feeling like that.
I was tearing myself to pieces inside, because it was my fault. If I’d just stayed with her. If I’d asked her to come with me to the bar, instead. The tiniest little change in what I’d done and it would be me she was standing with, me she was talking to, me with my hand on her waist. God, I wanted to kill Rufus.
He’s an asshole. He really is. I’m not just saying that because he’s an arrogant, haughty, crass, insensitive bastard. I’m saying it because he’s a womanizer. He’s a selfish, disgusting letch, just like his father, who was only interested in her because she was beautiful, not because she was smart and sweet and wonderful. He wouldn’t care about the fact that she’s a natural at poker, or that she likes reading by the fire, or old movies, or about the fact that she gets nervous around strangers or that deep, deep down she’s really scared of Avalanche. He couldn’t ever know exactly what she means when she talks about her past. He wouldn’t care enough. He wouldn’t be around long enough to hold her when she was frightened or have her fall asleep next to him. He was just going to hurt her.
And yet, there she was, standing with him, talking and laughing. He had his hand on her waist, her fingers were lightly resting on his arm. And she was happy. I couldn’t bear that. She was smiling. She was on the other side of the room, smiling and laughing with someone who wasn’t me, because I was stuck at the bar, with an empty glass and what could only be a very badly damaged heart.
“Gimme another drink,” I demanded of the bartender. He was actually a member of the TDT, there to ensure that most of the party guests were nice and sauced, and that most of us Turks stayed sober.
He shifted nervously and glanced across the bar. “Sir, I’m not supposed to. During operations like this, there’s a two drink limit and…”
“I have only had one drink. I know this, because I am still entirely sober and I would like to rectify the situation.”
The bartender hesitated. “Well, sir, that was a double.”
“Why the hell’d you give me a double?”
He shrugged. “You looked like you needed one.”
“Well, I still need one!”
“Sir, I can’t…”
I waved a hand and interrupted. “Listen. You see across the room, the sweet blonde girl with her hand on Rufus Shinra’s arm? She came in with me. Now either gimme a drink or I’ll go over there and rip his arms off. Which do you think is gonna throw a bigger wrench in this deal?”
So he gave me a drink. It didn’t really help. Every once in a while I heard her laugh from across the room and I felt like killing somebody, it hurt so badly. “D’you have a gun?” I asked the bartender again.
He looked up from polishing glasses and nodded slightly, glancing around. “Yes, sir, I do…but…”
“How much would it cost if I were to want you to accidentally plug a bullet into the President’s son? Nothing fatal, of course. Just, you know, cripple him or something.”
“Sir, I…”
“Name your price. C’mon, really. I can go as high as twenty grand.”
“Really, sir…”
“All right, fifty. But for fifty, you have to hit him in the crotch.”
“Sir, this is…”
“A hundred, and that’s my final offer. Shit. Actually, gimme the damned gun and I’ll do it myself.”
“No, sir,” the bartender said firmly, shaking his head.
I fell silent for a few moments. It was probably a bad idea anyway. “Well, could I have a corkscrew?”
“No.”
“Jack knife?”
“No.”
“An empty bottle?”
“No.”
“A handful of toothpicks?”
“No.”
I paused. “A spoon?”
He hesitated. “I can let you have a spoon,” he conceded, taking one out from behind the bar and handing it to me.
“Great! Thanks!” I got up and prepared myself to go inflict some damage on Rufus, only to have Cyr appear in front of me and pluck the spoon out of my fingers.
“Never,” she instructed the bartender firmly, “give a Turk a spoon.” Returning the spoon to the bartender, she shook her head. “Not unless you want eyeballs flying around the room.”
I scowled at her and slumped at the bar again. “Piss off, Cyr.”
She put a hand on my shoulder firmly. “Tseng says you’re deterring the other party guests from using the bar,” she chided. “And Andrew has abandoned me for the arm candy one of the exec brought. So come along.”
“Piss off, Cyr.”
Cyr sighed. “Reno, if you don’t come with me, I will drag you across the room by your hair. Now, come dance.”
Cyr could’ve made a very good living as a dominatrix. “Fine.”
I let her lead me across the room and half-heartedly went through the motions of dancing with her. It probably would’ve gone a bit better if my eyes hadn’t been glued to the back of Rufus Shinra’s head, trying to will it to explode. There was soft jazz playing in the background. I decided that if I could make Rufus’s head explode, I should try and time it with the climax of one of the saxophone solos. It would be a shame to ruin Rosalind’s pretty dress, though.
“Reno, if you step on my feet one more time, I’m going to kick you,” Cyr warned, after putting up with this for a good while. “Look at |