Reno's eyes do in fact light up instantly, but not with glee and wonder and delight, like a child receiving a new toy. His eyes brighten with fascination, an alertness like a cat's when it spies a twitching string and begins to observe it, calculating everything it will need to do in order to calculate and execute a proper pounce. It's a force of habit, really. Been on the job too long. There's so much to take in and notate, file away, commit to memory for informational purposes, and it isn't just because it's oh-so very interesting, although it is that, too. This is information he needed in order to start down his path to achieving his due vengeance. You can't make a plan without knowing the facts, and this piece of the puzzle is imperative. Reno looks with only his eyes first, lips parted, head tilted, critical of what he sees. People come back when they're killed sometime the next day between four and ten AM. Regardless of what's done with their body, they awaken on the cliffs. And they're given a scar that is a perfect healed replica of the damage that was done to them, if any. Based on the scarring, and he's no medical expert here, but he'd guess this is maybe a week or so old, like his. Reno nods to himself. Okay. That's useful. That will be useful.
But it isn't enough, either. Two examples aren't enough to say you've found a pattern. He'll need more tests run to make absolutely sure before he begins laying down the groundwork for what it is he wants to do. What about TOD? What if the bodies are burned or made inaccessible (he still needs to find out what was done with his)? What about if they aren't wounded, but poisoned or suffocated or drowned, or...?
This is going to take more work. A lot more work.
It almost feels like he's coming-to from some kind of stupor when he reaches out and finally, finally touches Tseng's body. Not directly on his scar, at first, but just above it, his fingers trailing down the smooth skin of his side, then coasting inward to trace along the jagged edges of this unsightly ruination disturbing the otherwise perfect landscape of what was once a familiar body. He's seen it, although never so wholly and deliberately, so gorgeously presented just for him and only him. Reno feels along every inch from side to side, top to bottom, with the pads of his fingers and his thumb, his touch feather-light, his gaze never once leaving that all-important mark. It would've been much cleaner, much more perfect, if he hadn't—for a second he's sorry. Nauseous and guilty, hurt all over again, full of regrets and sadness and pain. Is that the sane or the insane part of his mind at work, actually? The part that wants to pull Tseng in and hold him, comfort him, make things "right" in the way happy, adjusted people feel is "right," by erasing all the horrible things from this world and "moving on, replacing the bad with "happy" memories...
That's the insane part, surely. Because none of that is real, doesn't exist, never did. This world is full of desperate, pathetic people that feel they need to hide from things like this, and Reno can't even say he feels sorry for them. It must be a miserable fucking life, being so blind.
His fingers probe deeper, curling, as if he means to tear Tseng open again right then and there. He could almost do it, the tips of his fingers find a ridge so obvious it's like a zipper-pull. But he doesn't. Instead he finally lifts his eyes to meet Tseng's, the green faded from them like the Mako-purged earth surrounding Midgar, the blue inky like the bottom of the sea. "You haven't suffered enough to call it justice," is his verdict, at last. "And neither have I."
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But it isn't enough, either. Two examples aren't enough to say you've found a pattern. He'll need more tests run to make absolutely sure before he begins laying down the groundwork for what it is he wants to do. What about TOD? What if the bodies are burned or made inaccessible (he still needs to find out what was done with his)? What about if they aren't wounded, but poisoned or suffocated or drowned, or...?
This is going to take more work. A lot more work.
It almost feels like he's coming-to from some kind of stupor when he reaches out and finally, finally touches Tseng's body. Not directly on his scar, at first, but just above it, his fingers trailing down the smooth skin of his side, then coasting inward to trace along the jagged edges of this unsightly ruination disturbing the otherwise perfect landscape of what was once a familiar body. He's seen it, although never so wholly and deliberately, so gorgeously presented just for him and only him. Reno feels along every inch from side to side, top to bottom, with the pads of his fingers and his thumb, his touch feather-light, his gaze never once leaving that all-important mark. It would've been much cleaner, much more perfect, if he hadn't—for a second he's sorry. Nauseous and guilty, hurt all over again, full of regrets and sadness and pain. Is that the sane or the insane part of his mind at work, actually? The part that wants to pull Tseng in and hold him, comfort him, make things "right" in the way happy, adjusted people feel is "right," by erasing all the horrible things from this world and "moving on, replacing the bad with "happy" memories...
That's the insane part, surely. Because none of that is real, doesn't exist, never did. This world is full of desperate, pathetic people that feel they need to hide from things like this, and Reno can't even say he feels sorry for them. It must be a miserable fucking life, being so blind.
His fingers probe deeper, curling, as if he means to tear Tseng open again right then and there. He could almost do it, the tips of his fingers find a ridge so obvious it's like a zipper-pull. But he doesn't. Instead he finally lifts his eyes to meet Tseng's, the green faded from them like the Mako-purged earth surrounding Midgar, the blue inky like the bottom of the sea. "You haven't suffered enough to call it justice," is his verdict, at last. "And neither have I."