[ Above the Plate, rain falls heavy, gray clouds block out the sky. The sidewalks have been long-since abandoned, the streets transformed to wavering rivers as traffic persists through the floods. Some Sectors are worse than others. It is a constant balancing act, keeping the city from drowning.
Beneath, the rain manifests as heavy steam. It sits on Tseng's shoulders as he sips tea from a dented tin cup outside the Ruby Baan Café, which is less of a café and more of a stand jerrily erected into the groaning foundations of a ruined support structure. The only thing separating the kitchen from the Sector 6 streets are a parade of sand-blasted noren, faded blue. Paper lanterns flutter from the mismatched, salvaged beams that comprise its three hand-crafted walls, affecting the illusion of a breeze, when really it is the vibrations of the Plate above that make them swing and shudder. The air down here is stale and stagnant as ever.
He is sitting out of sight, his table wrenched into a corner obscured from view by the café and two surrounding shanties. He can hear people talking, but the words themselves are buzzed out, scrambled by the sheer volume of the crowd. It's perhaps too private a spot. It doesn't matter. He asked Reno to meet him here—patched through their new network, source encrypted and run double-blind—so Reno will find him. ]
[ Since the farm, Reno has been working very little. Oh, don't be silly, he hasn't taken any time off. But he's mostly only present there in body, not mind. It's fortunate they've had very little real work to focus on outside of their office, because it's seemed to him that he's going to need to save his energy for something. Just not sure what. He's been biding all that he has—time, strength, resolve, emotions. Compartmentalizing it and keeping it running on low capacity, the reserves barely more than skin-deep on the outside. Making a lot of effort on the outside to regain his footing. He'd lost nearly ten pounds since Gooski's that he couldn't afford, and now he's put that back on and maybe even a little then-some. He's stripped the artificial color from his hair and hasn't ever gotten around to dyeing it back in, reddish-brown and natural, muted and almost drab compared to his bright and shiny typical veneer, and yet... not bad. God, he's barely seen it this way since he was so very young. But then again, he's barely seen any of this side of himself since he was young. Times are a-changin'.
When Tseng beckons, Reno is quick to answer. He sends no actual reply, but his access to the network is as good as. His suit's a little wet at the shoulders, and his hair, too. He looks well. Like he's getting a grip. This is of course all according to plan. When he enters the cafe, not anyplace he's particularly familiar with, but also it's Midgar and it's the slums and everywhere is someplace he's familiar with, he knows where to look for Tseng right away and slides neatly into the seat diagonal from him, so that his back is to the other wall in the corner. It's all so deliciously classic. Meeting in a place like this, at a time like this, with secret messages like this... there may be a lazy casualness to how Reno slumps in his chair and grins, but his eyes are as bright and intrigued as can be. ]
[ Reno looks good. Really good. Fucking gorgeous, actually. Not like Tseng has had much time to make eyes at him, not lately. He and Rude have been keeping busy shaking down the underground fighting circuits, keeping SOLDIER fat and fed with new candidates, skimming a little product off the top for independent ventures. Between that and the farm, it's been a blur. Add Rufus to the mix and Tseng's barely had time to take a piss between meetings and rendezvous and emergency extrications. If he didn't know any better, he'd doubt himself, suspect this job was just a setup to get himself some time alone with Reno.
But he's not that stupid. It's been days now of torturing himself over how important this lead really is to him. He loves Reno, trusts him with his life, but his networks are a different story. His hustles are a different story. And getting Reno involved in a high-stakes game like this? That's a whole different genre. It's been hell, but now there's no going back on it. Tseng's made his decision. ]
Not long. You're just in time.
[ He whistles three notes. A stooped little old woman with a sun-leathered face ducks under the noren with a plate of stir-fried potatoes and two steaming cups of tea. Tseng bows his head curtly, says something in what sounds like a clipped, differently-intoned Wutainese dialect, and gestures to Reno with a tilt of his head. He presses something into her hand and she turns on her heels, hurrying away.
Tseng breaks apart a pair of chopsticks and offers them across the table. ]
[ Perhaps unsurprisingly, Reno's eyes light up when food comes his way. He can take or leave tea, really, but any kind of potato? Well, he has this to say: ]
Fuuuuck yeah.
[ So clearly the weight-gaining efforts are going well. He takes the chopsticks and uses them perfectly, because he's a big huge nerd, plucking several of the potato straws off the plate and crunching them down right away. Does he notice the hush-hush talk to their "waitress"? Absolutely. Is he so very, very curious? You betcha. He's got that look like he can't wait to hear what he's here for, but rather than launch right into it, he decides he wants to wait for Tseng to unfold it for him. He's always got such lovely presentation and delivery, he's sure he'll like it better that way.
And speaking of lovely, god, does it feel like forever since the last time he got to sit this close to Tseng and really look at him. That's the way of things, really, and he knew it would be like that, but he certainly doesn't miss the opportunity just to admire his face in addition to waiting for the big reveal. ]
I don't wanna hurry the surprise, but I gotta know... is this business orrrrr a date?
[ He's teasing, obviously. ...Unless? ]
UGHHHH MY FUCKING ACCOUNT EXPIRED FORGIVE MY LAZY ICONS
[ Conversely, Tseng gets at the bowl between them the same way he chops marks: precise, surgical, cobra-quick. These he'll eat all day; he knows exactly where Baat Tset's wok has been, knows without a shadow of a doubt that the bloodiest thing that's ever touched it is her permanently-scarred chef's fingers. Their shared contempt for roasted guts is one of the reasons why he frequents this place.
This right here is another.
The potato he's speared barely makes it to his mouth. Lately, it's proven difficult to keep this look off his face when Reno is around, this open, honest, tragically unprofessional expression that puts up a mighty brawl when he tries to school it into submission anymore. He gets it done, because that's what he does, but there's a moment in between. ]
I've got a big ask, Reno. I tried to think of anyone else. In the end, it had to be you.
[ They are breaking all the rules now, that much is true, but some are still sacred. There are boundaries that have been fifteen years in the making that Tseng thought they would never cross. In his heart, he still doesn't want to. But he plunges his fingers into the hidden pocket of his coat anyway, takes something from it, and spreads it out over the table.
It's a simple square of velvet, the color of black cherry, about three inches all around. It looks unassuming enough, which Tseng is sure must be the point. But when it's rubbed a certain way, textured patterns become clear beneath the fabric, even if they're out of sight. As he understands it, this one originated from a Junon night club, aptly named The Velvet Goldmine. A regular enough scene, almost suspiciously routine, unless you carried a square like this one back in the day. This was the key to a whole world of debauched desires, hidden away where no one could see, where no one could hear the cries of those who never had a choice to leave.
Tseng feels that look coming on again. He meets Reno's eyes, the line of his mouth tight and grim, hating that he's watching his own man for tells. ]
[ Truth be told, for a second there, Reno thinks Tseng might just be kidding around with him. In whatever way Tseng "kids around," anyway. That way isn't one of those ways, but sometimes you just never know. It's either that, or maybe he's just trying to be, yanno, cute. That doesn't quite track, either, but it certainly follows the look on his face. He's starting to recognize it, that look. They've shot similar ones at each other from across the meeting table a few times now, and it's honestly kind of funny to him that Tseng seems to be doing better at that than he is, too. Go figure. There's nothing Tseng isn't better than him at. Including being worse than him.
The square appears on the table.
Reno recognizes it right away. Then he gets it. It's not kiddin', and it's not cute. It was actually quite serious, and there's a good reason why, specifically. Because it's a direct violation of his rules. How Tseng knows he knows what this is, he doesn't want to know. He really doesn't. The second he touches his finger to the fabric and slides it across, all his blood goes cold. This is not something anyone is supposed to know about, let alone Tseng. Not even Veld should have known. Honestly, he's not so foolish anymore as to think that his past is as truly invisible as he feels like it is. That's something he began to come to terms with the older he got, the more he realized that everything has a way of finding its way back to you. Case in point: Roche, who may not have known him by sight or name, but who recognized some of the things he had done as a child.
This is a lot like that. Except it's a lot worse than an exploding cactuar parade float and the names a few now-defunct street gangs.
This is like something out of his worst nightmares. And Tseng knows about it. ]
That's a pretty big ask, yeah.
[ The dopey look is gone from his face, eyes cold. He pushes the scrap of fabric away from him with the fingertip he'd touched it with like it's dirty. The thing about how instantly the shade is drawn down over his face, though—the thing that makes it all so fucking damnable, is this: it's still not an ask he'll say no to. And he's sure Tseng must know that, too. Which is why he's asking. ]
What's the job?
[ There better be a good fucking reason you're bringing this up to me is what he's really asking. ]
[ Tseng has become a coin, flipping midair, unsure of which side he will land on. The coldness in Reno's eyes pleases one half of him. That coldness is resolute, unbreakable. It will get the job done. It will stalk in the night and leave no trace that it ever was but for the faces missing in the morning. It is the perfect pair to his razor-edged cruelty, his relentless pursuit of knowledge and power.
And then, the other side... ]
The place this comes from is gone now.
[ There is no 'this.' The cloth is as gone now as the ruins it used to serve. ]
You know this. I heard the whole operation was razed to the ground when one of the Midgar Tongs moved in. No one survived. Not even the bag boys. The Tongs do not leave loose ends.
[ That's Tseng's in, if Reno was wondering. He is prepared: if he is going to break a single one of Reno's rules, then he will break all of his own, too. This is not just a job. This is everything that they are, the last secrets they'll ever keep from each other. ]
You know that too. What you might not know is who did them. As I understand it, he ran with local crews. Small-time stuff. Too dangerous and unpredictable for the white collar guys to deal with. The biggest gig he ever scored was running recruitment for Velvet a year or so before its cremation. He had a talent for it.
[ The coin flips again. Tseng tilts his head. He speaks softly. ]
They called him Jagger.
[ The look he fixes Reno with is simple to figure. He wants to see if Reno knows him. Not just that; Tseng knows that he knows their mark, but to which degree? And to what end? These are years beyond the ones they built together. For all he knows...
Well, that's exactly the problem here, isn't it? ]
[ Reno is uncomfortable. Even after that square vanishes, the memory of its origins still manage to send a cold, uncomfortable feeling up the back of his spine. It's not something he's thought much about, and that's partly because there was a very brief period of time in which, a little bit later in life (a year or two, in fact), he had bigger and more, shall we say, locally relevant problems on his hands that sort of eclipsed the past ones. That is, once upon a time, Wall Market was an absofuckinglutely disgusting place to be, especially for a kid with a special set of skills. Let's just leave it at that.
But before that, there was his cluelessness in Junon. He followed the old beats of his miserable life under the guise of idle interest in the underground scene. Even watching the face of all his personal hell change and turn into something else entirely didn't sit well with him any better as he got older than it did back then, when he was caught in the middle of it. It doesn't sit well with him now, either. Tseng mentioning any of this to him, knowing something about it, makes him want to get up and walk away. The worst part is not being sure just how much Tseng knows. Until he has a better sense of it, and because he still hasn't quite let go of his last vestiges of defense against revealing everything that he ever was or is, Reno becomes more and more withdrawn as Tseng keeps talking. Quiet, showing very little on his face.
And yet he's still here, hasn't left yet.
He meets Tseng's eye. Great. So he's got names. And now he wants to know what he knows about them. And that name... if ever there were a moment to stand up, say thanks for the potatoes and fucking walk away, it would be because of that. Or maybe more specifically because of how Tseng looks at him curiously after he says it. Reno is exceptionally good at evading interrogation, but it's plenty clear but how obviously rigid and on high alert he is that he knows a bit more than just the name. Reno holds out for a long few seconds, his discomfort settling in the pit of his stomach as if he'd swallowed a rock. He's got to put aside the vague echoes in his head of The price for gettin' you out is everything you know, punk so he can answer. ]
... Jagger played both sides of the fence. He sprung loose the real eagle-eyed catches if they weren't too popular and bought their talk to keep patrons under his thumb and the pond fresh full'a new blood.
[ Which he wishes was saying enough. Reno never once looks away, even though he wants to. What he just said is factual and not difficult to corroborate, so really, anyone could tell Tseng this if he really put his nose to the ground and sniffed out a witness. Which is exactly why it's not saying enough. Because if it were that easy, he Tseng wouldn't need him for this. ]
He had a side business. He called it "bread for rats."
[ What've you got for me today, Red? Here. Talk with your mouth full. You look wrecked. ]
Never was too smart about not paying up front. Blamed it on my face. Said it was too pretty. Didn't stop him from kicking it in when we got tired of each other's shit, though.
[ Tseng holds Reno's gaze. They are a whole lot of nothing between the pair of them, soundproof glass for eyes. Except in this case, Tseng's stillness is respect, the same respect he showed to Reno when he first discovered what it meant to be shaped by the savagery of those streets that chewed him up and spat him into Shinra's basement. Of course, there's that twisted thrill he keeps inside, the siren song that called him to Reno in the first place because he recognized that peculiar cast they both wore in their gaze, forged in atrocities endured and neatly packaged away, fed like fuel into the vengeance they turned upon the world. It is a comforting ache.
He nods. ]
I believe it was one of those rats that sold the Velvet to the Tongs. Li Jun. He would have been younger than you.
[ He is quiet. Still. Li Jun's mother's voice is in his head, wailing, You lost my boy in an unforgiving land. Serene. Centered. ]
He and Jagger burned every bridge they ever built in Junon with that play. The war had just begun, entities with no stakes in the race started turning up to drive Wutai management out of the strip, and then...
[ Blood. Fire. All the symptoms of a very large market vacuum. Nobody ever considers the economics of deceit and betrayal. Tseng does. That is why he's so good at it; he always seeks out the simplest details first. ]
Those things that happen, happened. And Jagger was lucky because anyone who knew him was dead and buried. The Velvet was gone. The Tongs too, burning his old networks down with them. The new regime purged anyone who remained. The only one officially alive who knew his face was Li Jun.
[ Tseng's gaze drifts for a moment, just a touch beyond Reno's face. He reaches into his jacket again, this time for a cigarette. He lights it with a matte black butane lighter, offers it across the table. ]
I sent his body back home to his mother this morning.
[ Reno's eyes narrow in thought. Li Jun? Younger than him. Obviously not from around here, not that that's saying much, since few kids back in those days were. It was a port city, for one thing, and Reno picked up tidbits of languages he was no good at speaking just from lingering near the docks all the time. Still, he doesn't remember anyone named... oh, but he does remember... Lily. The moment there is any recognition on Reno's face is about the time he reaches to take that lighter and extricates a cigarette from his jacket pocket for himself. ]
Bunch of us called him Lily.
[ He does a very good job of not looking concerned or remotely interested. He'd purged that whole chapter from existence in his mind, and now here it is, weaseling its way back in. He didn't give a fucking damn what happened to Jagger really, or Nervous Nelly or Kytes or Roland or any of the Trick Sparrows or Lily. Not any of them. Why should he? He vanished from Junon just as unceremoniously as he'd come. Never told anyone what he was planning to do (jump on the back of the next Shinra convoy headed back to Midgar and ride that puppy all the way to HQ, which he did, just wasn't expecting the 300 meter fall afterward). He was tangled up in so much shit by that point it'd have been a fair guess to assume he was killed or kidnapped, anyway. It wouldn't be the first time his little friends had been shocked to see him alive. What's more, he didn't have a name back then, so there's nothing to connect him. Nothing except his branding. A mark of honor in Junon—an outcast's symbol in Midgar. So why not pretend it never happened?
He'd kept his nose out of all of this. He'd rather keep it that way. Thing is, though, none of those people have any power over him anymore. None of those places. What little of it still exists is so far beneath him, he shouldn't have to feel the way he does about it. It's probably just because Tseng knows about it. He's sensitive to that. It's why he won't talk about his history with Rude. Last thing he wants is to be pitied and looked down on. He's better than all that. Way better. But the self-doubt keeps his smart about it. ]
So Lily got too close to something, knew too much... I'm guessing you already figured out what that is.
I have guesses. Nothing substantial. We hadn't spoken in fifteen years. I'd kept a few contacts on him, yes, but they disappeared, and then Li Jun. Everyone who touches Jagger disappears.
[ He flicks the filter of his cigarette off the side of the table. Tries to play it off like this isn't melting his brain right now. This is bad if Reno ever wants to chop him out, just like he'd suspected back in the day. There are threads he could follow, easy enough to pull now that he knows a few names and Tseng's involvement. He has the contacts for it.
For once, Reno knows so much more than he does. It would be exhilarating if it was not so nightmarish, like the fever dream of a shaman's plant, everything backwards and twisted. ]
I'd been looking for the body for some time before this—
[ He waves around the space, dragging smoking contrails through the air. This world, this universe, whatever hell they've found themselves in. ]
Imagine my surprise when it turned up in Midgar. Which means a couple things to me. I'm certain you can guess the most important one.
[ Ugh. He's not sure he likes it. At the very least, he has the benefit of a give-and-take. That Tseng had his pretty, pristine hands dipped in some murky waters doesn't quite surprise him, but he feels so restrained from leaning further into it. Like if he thinks too hard on it, if he gets too invested, this might undo both of them. But then, he has to think—their lines crossed this closely, Tseng could have done anything with it. Sussed him out, exposed him and humiliated him. It wouldn't have been that hard to do if he really, really wanted to. Giving him that kind of ammunition now...
This isn't that type of game anymore. Not for them. Maybe years ago he would have been absolutely rolling around with delight to get this kind of dirt on Tseng. Just the power of having someone's past enclosed in his fist used to make him feel really good about himself. It made him feel like he had a strength he lacked for the first decade-plus of his life, beyond something even becoming a Turk could give him. He could use this. He could still use this.
But not now. And Tseng wouldn't do that to him, either. He'd be pretty fucking sick to, considering the subject matter. ]
Too close to home.
[ That would be his first concern, finding an old, dead acquaintance here in his turf. Coincidence? Maybe. It's possible. Midgar and Junon are sort of intrinsically connected, and they're both big towns with a lot of shady business. But it'd still raise his hackles. Reno's honestly forgotten about his cigarette, a good portion of it turned to one long, cylindrical ash. ]
Tseng—
[ he starts, stops, sighs. Wants to just say just fucking let it go. But with the way the pieces are falling, it's not that easy, is it. Of course not. Reno remembers his cigarette, flicks the ash away and then forgets to put it between his lips again. ]
Jagger's not untouchable. I can guarantee you the only reason he got rid of Lily is because he's got chattier rats in cages, probably right here in Sin City. Ones that were desperate enough to say and do whatever they had to, including set up someone in his way. He's not a genius; he's a predator.
[ If Tseng ever trusted anyone, it would have always been Reno. He's the only one it's ever been difficult to keep secrets from, not because of his prying eyes or boundless curiosity—which are a factor, yes, but not the problem—but because of this.
Reno knows the answers before he spells them out, Tseng is sure. He knows the way this city works just as well as Tseng does, has eyes and ears in all the right places just the same. The two of them together could have been anything they wanted to be. It has always been tempting to let this happen.
But Tseng has never trusted him. Or anyone, for that matter. And now that he does, it isn't the right time. He shouldn't be asking this, how much he does or doesn't know should have always been kept concealed between them. Reno would have been perfectly happy. Now that Tseng trusts him, he wants to protect him, too, and that's the tragic break in it all.
He rubs the filter between his fingers until the cherry falls loose and stomps it into the dry-packed sand underfoot. ]
There's something else. There have been disappearances all over the city, mostly sub-Plate. From what I can tell, it started shortly after we went floating.
[ More Renoisms. Except this time, Tseng isn't smiling. It's just a good word for it. ]
I'd considered an official investigation, but the timing was too perfect. We know people don't disappear anymore. I had to ask myself who else might know, and why, and who would buy that kind of intel right here in our home.
[ No. It doesn't matter. That question doesn't matter, anyway. It says enough: a body before they went floating, as it's come to be known, is an interesting timestamp, but it's not one he hadn't already figured out. He even told Roche as much—we had successful executions right up until the day before what happened to me. Something along those lines. He'd checked records, obituaries, that kind of crap. People were dying. And then, the night of the party, some-fuckin'-thing went wrong. Some-fuckin'-thing went way wrong, and until he hears otherwise, he was the first person to find out about it the hard way.
"Disappearances" after, now that's worth looking into. ]
Someone who could make a fuckin' killing off of it, that's who. No pun intended. Better yet, someone who already was, and is lookin' to capitalize.
[ Has... has he been spotted? Has Tseng? Reno's brow furrows, tense all over again. Couldn't be; no way. No fucking way. ]
[ Tseng matches him with serenity. There is not a single ripple in his gaze or a hitch in his posture. ]
It doesn't matter.
[ He corrects himself: ]
It won't matter.
[ Tseng has done worse things for far less stakes. For Reno, he's not even sure where the limits are. Not death, that's for certain. But death's a mercy compared to the fate in store for him if all his bridges come crashing down, and yet here he is, here they are. ]
I think I know Jagger's buyer. You don't know him. No one knows him. He is truly untouchable; has been, for all the years I've been searching for him. The men he keeps close at hand are ghosts. It'd make sense that if Jagger was dealing him in, he'd have to cut that last thread first.
[ Li Jun, finally on his way back home. Tseng feels no sense of compunction; it is a far better fate, he knows, than what awaited him if he held out for another day or so. ]
What he thought was the last thread. The last person who could clock him, follow him back to his new boss. He's out there right now, thinking he's bullet proof.
[ He places his hands on the table, palms up and open. ]
All I need is an ID, Reno. Then you're out. We forget all of this. I'll erase it all myself.
[ He's been dodging around that point since it came up. Poor little Lily ate shit to hush up some big scheme. Velvet burned. Empires crumbled. Backs were stabbed, all that shit. Tseng didn't bring him in here with a big ask because he wants to know what he thinks about it all, just to pick his brain and beat around the bush. Further, Tseng didn't bring him here to try and glean something from his background that isn't really his place to know about him. Because again, if it were just that, other witnesses would be easy enough to find. It's just that none of them, if they even survived, can hold a candle to what Reno knows. None of them know Jagger like he knew Jagger. None of them curried the favor he did, after he was set loose from that helltrap and given cheese to start squeaking. None of them came as close to being murdered by the guy and managed to scurry away, either.
They're here because he's the only one who wriggled his way out of the mouse trap. The closer Tseng builds up to it and then finally comes right out and says it, the more Reno just hates it. Starts building up a sigh deep in his chest and starts working out how he's going to reconcile this shit, because he can't say no to Tseng. He just can't. And there's no point in bothering even if he could, because now the rat's out of the bag and he has nothing to hide anymore. Now he knows. And there's going to be so much more that he learns, as this unfolds, and—and there's just nowhere to hide.
Maybe it's about time he stepped into the light. Reaching out, he curls one of Tseng's hands closed, bending his fingertips to his palm. ]
I've got more to bring to the table than just an ID. Might as well give you everything.
[ The cigarette in his other hand's burned right down to the quick, almost to where he's holding it. Reno realizes a few seconds belatedly that it's getting hot and drops it on the ground, hissing. Smudges the ember out with his shoe and shakes out his fingers. ]
I got a problem with that, though. It's about his obsession with my face—I don't think twenty years is gonna be enough for him to forget it.
[ Tseng doesn't know. He has his suspicions, but nothing concrete. His curiosity is endless, he's never turned his nose up at good intel. But he's also never shaken down the streets that Reno came up on either, not even when they so closely aligned with his more privately-kept agendas. There was always something that stilled his hand, this x-factor that he couldn't shake, no matter how badly it burned for him to not know.
That burn served him well. It kept him clear, kept him out of Reno's business. It's probably what got them here, sitting across from each other, trading looks in a language no one else knows. Even now, he doesn't want to know anymore than he has to. Whatever Reno wants to keep from this, as far as Tseng is concerned, he can have it.
But that's not what Reno is saying. Suddenly, it feels like the car all over again. There's tension in his fingers for just a second, a squeeze of pressure that's gone in a flash. ]
I've got a fix.
[ He nods at Reno before he stands. His expression goes a touch apologetic. ]
[ Don't think you get it, Reno almost says. But Tseng probably does. The implication was pretty clear—obsession with my face really just lays it all out there plain and simple, really. Of course there's a whole fucking story, miserable and kinda gross and also weirdly intriguing, he guesses, but the long and short of it is, twenty years ain't enough for either one of them to forget each other. Twenty years ain't enough for him to be so sure of this "fix," either, but when has Tseng ever steered him wrong?
Fine, don't answer that. Never mind.
After a second Reno gets up, too. Plucks a few more fries from the bowl just in case he isn't going to get a chance to come back and devour them again, not that he has the most amazing appetite left after this conversation. Sickeningly uncomfortable memories from his childhood or no, he still does love him some carbs. Heavens knows he's going to need to eat his weight in them when this is all over to console himself. He never wanted to think about any of this shit ever again.
(He says that, but he still wears the charm Roche gave him; no longer on his wrist as a bracelet, but tucked into the inside of his suit jacket.) ]
If it's ripped jeans, I'm gonna dip. Fuck that.
[ Just make jokes. It's fine. Everything is fine. ]
[ The back way through Baan's is a barely navigable path through salvage parts and rusted out scaffolding. There's a discarded tricycle with a bent wheel laying upside down, several hundred crushed cans of beer, and the sand underfoot glitters like a sultan's trove with broken glass. Tseng leads them past a blown-out brick wall that must have sheltered the shanties at one point, probably during the construction of the plate. There's holes big enough for Reno to fit through now.
Eventually, they come across a ramshackle old building that's been built upon with aluminum siding and what looks like half an old Beaufort. Tseng opens the door for Reno, revealing a mismatched staircase ascending, some of the steps comprised of corrugated steel, others barely more than sawed off pieces of plastic. None of it looks stable. All of it is dirty with muddy footprints. Still, the prevailing scent in the air is sweet, maybe too sweet, all floral notes and something chemical.
At the landing, Tseng swipes a key from his pocket and turns the lock on the very first door.
The space inside is a world removed. Sheer scarves drape over a gleaming golden four-post bed. A rambling vanity sits in pride of place beside a crudely-sawed window. The chair before it is a rich, deep mahogany to match, its seat upholstered with thick red velvet. The table is cluttered with a rainbow of makeup palettes and lipsticks and perfumes. There's a standing wardrobe, intricately-carved with whimsical visions of birds and trees, none of them native to Midgar or any place nearby it. This is where Tseng goes first, throwing open the heavy doors, retrieving a small silk dress on a hanger, the kind the opium girls with their garish white face paint and rouged lips wear around the dens. He holds it up between them. ]
Like I said: I don't think you're going to like it.
The second they walk in, Reno sees right away why Tseng thinks he wouldn't like it. Honestly, he might even know before they walk in, when he catches that scent of something distinctly feminine and very strangely familiar. It probably should have dawned on him that this "fix" would be a disguise beyond just changing his hair color and wearing different clothes, maybe some makeup to cover up his more obvious features. If he had known to expect this, well... he'd have been bouncing off the walls. ]
Oh, fuck.
[ That's before Tseng even opens up the closet. That's just a comment on the setting, the gaudy furniture, the tools of the trade, as he once heard them called, lain out all over seemingly every surface. This very room is not familiar to him at all, but it's very, very reminiscent of places that used to be. In some ways, yeah, he doesn't like it. It's a little too uncanny, a little bit too much of a reminder of a life he never asked for and wasn't ever really given a choice about. There was a time when he was, by some actual to-his-face accounts, only good for one thing. He was allowed to walk the pristine marble halls of Shinra Inc. only because of his one special talent. And that special talent, as it turned out, irony of ironies, had a lot to do with this. It was kind of a messed up time, he realizes now, looking back. Seriously, what the fuck? They work for some sick fucking people.
But honestly... that's only half the story. The other half is in how Reno's eyes light up at the pretty little garment Tseng holds up for him. Reno takes it from him, holding it by the neck of the hanger, and turns it this way and that to look it over. That's a quality dress, right there. And this fabric... yeah. Finally, he holds the thing up to his own body, approximating where it will fit around his chest and shoulders, how far down it will come on his legs. Not very far, as it turns out. Not very far at all.
You're too fucking old for that shit. Definitely too fucking old to be tryin' to pass for "cute" anymore. Time to grow up and do big boy jobs like everyone else.
[ Small miracle that they don't break up on the way here. Shame about the job. Oh well.
First, Tseng's attributing the sparkle in Reno's eye to... He doesn't know what. The closet is interesting, he supposes. Most of the furniture looks antique. Maybe that's one of Reno's secret vices, he wouldn't know. It's not like they've ever discussed hobbies outside of knives and using knives.
But then he holds up the dress and Reno takes it like Miss Gaia accepting her bouquet and tiara. Needless to say, it's completely unexpected. He remembers the old jobs, when they'd sometimes toss Reno into some powder-puff looking number or another and send him in to bait out targets. He'd always assumed that Reno hated it, found it degrading. He'd always told himself that he'd never do anything like that to his men if he got the chance. And now here they are.
And Reno looks happier than he's seen him all day.
Tseng crosses his arms over his chest, trying to remain neutral. ]
Think it'll work?
[ The dress, he means. He doesn't have to say the rest, right? That Reno is so pretty he could pass for a woman any day. That he's so petite and sweetly-curved and will do a fine job of playing everyone, even at close proximity. It's why Tseng brought him here, even though he was sure that Reno would scoff and give him hell for it. ]
[ Tseng tries to look like he isn't surprised, and Reno couldn't be more delighted at the turn of events. Honestly, it's a surprise to him that Tseng doesn't know. Maybe he never saw, back in the day? Maybe Veld never told him? Honestly, though, it's probably for the same reason that almost everyone else in the Turks would be surprised—because they don't know the history. Even Veld might not have ever truly understood it, probably (definitely) thought he was fucked in the head when he pouted and sulked for days after being told he wasn't cute enough to do the dressup missions anymore. He was just so god damn fucking good at it! And he loved doing it, loved completely hoodwinking some nasty fuck in a cute getup. He'd love to explain his thought process to Tseng on this. He'd probably get a kick out of it.
In a minute. For now Reno just smooths the dress down over the length of him again, admiring how short it is, thinking how fucking killer his legs are going to look. ]
Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I still got it!
[ Pretty sure Tseng was asking if it would work for the job, not for him. Whether Reno knew that and was being silly or if he only catches on belatedly, it's a moment of playing with the sleeves, stretching his arm out to see how they'll hang before he looks up with anything resembling attention again. ]
It'll work for our man, too. Always said he loved a skinny bitch in a short skirt and long sleeves. Aw, man, this brocade... takes me way back. It's fuckin' perfect.
[ Way back to hell, in fact! Two different kinds of it! Just out of curiosity, Reno lifts the collar of the dress to his face and inhales, but he can't really pick up the smokey scent of incense clinging to it, so it must not be from Wall Market. Or, at least, not that part of Wall Market. This odd behavior, at least, he bothers explaining: ]
You could always tell an expert apart from the amateurs by how much their shit smelled like sandalwood. They'd charge by the incense stick. Take too long and you'd just get smoked the fuck out. The ones who weren't any good, they'd just reek of the stuff.
[ Reno picks up so much. He's always the first to notice a hand slipping into a pocket, a fleeting look across a room. That sharpness is what makes him deadly—and, Tseng guesses, this is where he cut his teeth. It's fascinating to watch him turn the fabric over and over, eyes big, bright, and beautiful, but.
But they're on practically stolen time. He turns away, toward the closet again, but he's still got that soft smile he can't shake. ]
Where we're going... There's no guarantee our mark will be there.
[ Methodically, he pages through the suits hung up on the rack, dragging his fingers down the fabric of each. So sick of black. Let's go crazy tonight. Gray. ]
You should know that it's a gamble.
[ His gaze travels back to Reno, back to the suit. Does he really think there's a chance their guy's not going to show? No, not really. But even a surefire success needs a backup plan. His is tucked into a pocket, an eensy little Grayson snub nose with a curved stock that he remembers being a favorite for how well it kept the silhouette of a dress. He passes it to Reno once the wardrobe's respectfully resealed, making it clear specifically what type of gamble he means. ]
[ That's what Reno chooses to respond to, reaching his hand out to take that itty bitty lady's gun and, for the time being, tuck it into his jacket pocket. That's as much an acceptance of the situation as there's ever going to be, but really, does there need to be any more than that? He knew this was going to be an unboxing of all his old demons the second Tseng showed him that square of fabric and started speaking names he'd have preferred to leave behind in his past forever. And he's still here.
He hooks the hanger over his forearm and glances to the vanity table. After Veld shut his shit down a handful or so years ago, he'd gotten rid of his tools of the trade. The jewelry, the hairpins, the makeup outside of the stuff he still uses to cover up his tattoos and change the shape of his face from time to time. One look at what's on the table tells him this stuff isn't going to suit him, first of all, and secondly, it's probably expired. If they're leaving, like, right now, he'll make do, but if they've got time, he's got some shopping to do. Already he's plotting contour, what brushes he needs, colors for his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. What to do with his hair, where to find some nice and authentic decorative hair sticks on short notice...
Oh, it's alright though, totally still listening. ]
[ Tseng is sliding off his coat, then his shirt, carefully arranging them atop the bed while he switches up. ]
There's that den down by the old firing range, you and Rude went there on the Blassi thing about a year or so ago. The Chateau? It's Tianshi turf now; too hard for anyone else to hold.
[ Back then, it'd been little more than a squat-house for burn-outs and salary men come down from the Plate looking for a cheap, quick fix. Now, it's a proper affair: girls, gilding, gambling, and some interesting clientele. Exactly why Shinra's steered clear ever since. (Nothing more embarrassing than shaking down a joint and finding a key executive with his pants down and buried up to the nose in hired ass.) Tseng, however, is a different story.
But its new allegiance makes it a special kind of dangerous. Like stepping into a pit of vipers, it's asking for trouble. Tseng considers one of the hats rakishly angled upon a mannequin head as he slips into the trousers he'd pulled. ]
A place like that has a backroom, almost certainly, and I think that's where Jagger will be. Tonight.
[ He glances down at his watch, then up at Reno, sees his mind clocking hundreds of thousands of miles per hour behind his eyes. Oh, he thinks. ]
Let's say two hours.
[ He gathers up his hair in one hand and flips the hat on to his head with the other. Leans into the mirror, and would you look at that—subterfuge at its simplest. ]
That'll give me enough time to case it, you can meet me there.
[ Reno nods. He's listening. He's pawing through what's on the table for ideas, grabbing up what he thinks he can use. This palette, these brushes are probably fine, is this lipstick any good? Capping the tube and wafting it under his nose, swatching it on the side of his hand, studying the shade. Mm-mm, nope. Back down it goes. This loose powder is alright, but not these foundation sticks... ]
Two hours.
[ He murmurs back in acknowledgment and moves on to the trinket boxes. There's a phial of perfume in one, and it hardly takes more than a brief sniff to recognize it as agarwood. Couldn't have planned it better if he tried. That he tucks into his pocket as well, along with the makings of his disguise. Yup, this and a few more things and it'll be like he's sixteen again. Or like he's... y'know, nine. Whatever.
Once he's gathered everything that's of any use, he turns to see Tseng pulling on that silly hat and tilts his head, considering. A slip of a pretty little exotic thing and her svelte gangster boyfriend, huh? That gets Reno smiling, and he comes over to tip the rim on that hat up so he can duck down and kiss him, short and sweet and not just a little bit coy. ]
That should be long enough to make myself pretty for you, yeah.
[ It's still a shock to the system, the way Reno draws in close, smiling at him like that, invoking that gravity that is so distinctly him. Tseng's been around the slums for long enough to have been worked at least a hundred times, but Reno is the best at it. And Tseng's not even sure he's actually trying.
He catches the image of them in the mirror as his hand slips around Reno's waist, holding him for that second he'll allow himself to linger. It doesn't escape him: they look very good together. ]
For me?
[ His brow lifts, but he's grinning. Much as he wants to kiss Reno again, he knows the cycle now; he'll never stand a chance at getting out of here if he gives into it. His hand slides away, even if the going takes forever.
And then they're right back again, cupping Reno's cheek, sliding over his jaw. ]
Suppose I'll see you around, Miss...
[ Usually, he'd pitch a whole story. Hammer out the details in a cool instant. Not today. For some reason, it seems right to have Reno name himself this go around. ]
Seriously, though, did Tseng plan for this purposefully, or was it just a matter of convenience? The answer is unimportant, because he's going to do it anyway and wouldn't have said no even if slipping into this sexy little number wasn't his thing. It's not like he's forgotten about the job. This is as much an opportunity to relive the days Veld said he wasn't pretty enough for anymore as it is to close the books on one of the darker chapters in his life once and for all. Or something like that. If nobody can be killed, how closed can it really be? Whatever. He's reclaiming a lot of power here tonight, that's a big part of it.
Clearly. He hasn't even gotten changed yet, and already... Reno can't help the wickedness that creeps into his grin as Tseng tries and fails to resist him. And he wasn't even trying anything, really. Just bein' cute. You know. The guy kind of cute. The too fucking old obviously just a grizzled old wrinkly hideous man kind of cute. For fuck's sake. Alright, alright, alright. Enough foolin'. Reno brushes their noses together, lips close but not touching, and then steps back ever so slowly from Tseng's reach. ]
Renate. And before you dock me any creativity points—I didn't have a name back then.
[ Jagger won't get the joke. Not until the punchline, which hopefully will be where they fuck him up real bad. It'd be too much of a scene and a busted cover, but god it'd be nice. ]
[ Tseng pulls a face, but ultimately, he gives it a rest. Reno will cover his half. All he needs to worry about is covering his own—and Reno's back, should it ever come to that.
It's a nice comfort, he thinks, having something like a partner. He'd always envied the other Turks their buddy system; for Tseng, operating alone was the MO. Liked it that way, for the most part. But he'd always wondered...
He nods and straightens his hat with a decisive jerk. ]
Liang.
[ Maybe one day, he'll explain the joke to Reno. Probably not, but it's out there. Reno knows he never chooses something without a bigger meaning behind it. Honestly, his biggest hope for the endgame here is not ending up in some concrete basement where no one will be able to hear them scream. Tseng isn't ready for that kind of karmatic retribution, not yet.
He pauses by the door, gives Reno one last look before he slips away. Words don't have what he's got to send. He lets the silence speak for itself before he closes the door behind him. ]
[ It's really happening, then. This would be the moment, once again, where if Reno were going to run away, now would be the best time. Before this can really kick off. And make no mistake: as with most things, it crosses his mind. Run, now, before every last one of the illusions you built for yourself comes crashing down. Tseng knows too fucking much. Getting involved in this is going to make him privy to so much more. They've as good as said their goodbyes—he could just disappear. When he doesn't show, Tseng would surely quit the job, so he'd be safe. Then all he'd have to do is pull out every last stop in the book to hide from him, and everyone else he knows, forever.
Just like every other time he thinks it, though, that's where he hits his roadblock. There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. This is all he knows. And it's all he wants, and without it, he'd never survive. Life without the Turks is no life. So there's only going forward.
Time to go make himself pretty, then. For the "job."
A few quick trips to various stores and soon Reno's got a complete arsenal to transform himself with. It's just like the good ol' days. Better, even, because quite honestly he'd say he's hotter now than he was back then, all Veld's bullshit opinions be damned. When he was a literal child with nothing but innocence to use as his appeal, it didn't really matter what he wore; it was all a sick fucking fetish. When he was a teenager, god, those were the days. Yeah, so what if he was softer and more ambiguous-looking, it was still just raw teenage hormones and that jailbait energy that made him desirable. He thought he knew everything there was to know back then. Seems like a joke now. And by the time he's finished dolling himself up, he knows for a fact that it was. Eat your fucking heart out, Veld.
Impressively, two hours is more than enough time. You learn how to do this shit quick, even if it's been a long, long time. Toss up a couple how-to tutorials and fire up the flat iron and go to town, easy peasy. Any asshole can slap makeup and a dress on, but if you want to convincingly take yourself from "a guy" to "definitely not a guy," it's a bit more than rosy cheeks and mascara. The contours of his face, neck and chest are smoothed over and redrawn, brows softened, hair straightened and silky and soft. Make no mistake—when Reno leaves his apartment, there's almost a fair bet not even Rude would recognize him right away. Nobody can say he doesn't commit to his role.
And commit to it he does. The dress is a lovely thing to look at all on its own, belted tight with a pretty white obi knot in the back, the ribboned ends hanging down not quite as far as the (hardly considerable, mid-thigh at best) length of the thing itself. His shoulders and waist are already small, so it's really only a matter of adding a pad to the hip area, adhered to the inside to keep it grasped tight to his body. He tucks the gun inside the sash, pulled so snug it doesn't have a prayer of a chance at budging. To fill out the chest, he improvised, padded the cups and contoured himself some better cleavage (and just for Tseng's benefit, Reno made sure to buy the matching set). His hair he wears partly up, the bun wrapped cleverly around a sock to make it bigger and fuller, decorated with a pair of red jade pins. There wasn't any time to change the color, but it's fine. The auburn suits him. And the shoes? You walk in 'em by being very careful and not going too fast. For the most part, the makeup outside of what he's disguised himself in, covered his tattoos with, and essentially reformed the entire shape of his face with is relatively subtle—longer lashes, simple colors to make the blue in his eyes pop ever so brightly, pink cheeks, a dewy red tint for his lips. (He might have phoned a friend for advice on that part, or he would've just gone straight for hooker red lip lacquer otherwise. We want the eyes and the body to be the money makers here, this time.)
It's for the job, naturally.
That smile he wears as he makes his way along the thoroughfare to the den in a careful, measured gait (still the same old saunter, but slower, with more hips) says he knows better than to play at innocence. It fits right in with the setting, the paper lanterns and wafting wisps of incense and other heady, less romantic smells down here in the depths of Midgar's depraved undercity. Reno—Renate—doesn't say a word, just offers his hand out once he's close enough. He could be just another local girl who Knows What She's Doing but doesn't really have a clue, actually. Just the sort of thing the son of a bitch they're after will be into. ]
[ There's an inn across from the Chateau with a good view of the crowds, which is precisely where Tseng heads for most of his two hours. The concierge takes a couple hundred gil not to ask questions about his very specific requests and brings him a perfectly prepared cup of tea while he settles beside the window, watching. In the end, it works out. While he's got no doubt in his mind that the big sharks have their own entrance, somewhere far out of sight from easy vantages, he's able to pick out how operations flow, who's coming in, and how they come out. Pretty simple stuff, but for someone like Tseng, it's worth the gil in hush money and then some.
And the whole time, his senses are tingling. No, he doesn't know anything for sure. This whole job could be a bust or a trap or worse. But that part of himself that made Veld steal him away to the underground like the reapers of legend, the part that just knows, is singing like a canary right now, and its song is loud and clear as day.
Once it's about time to meet, he leaves his post, greases the concierge's palms one final time, and heads out on to the streets. He keeps his distance at first, holding a conversation with himself on a device that has never been used for anything more than this, a signal-less prop. The den girls are out in force on a night like this, begging patrons off the street with swishing hips and soft, fleeting touches, but Tseng greets them all the same. ]
Bú yòng xièxie—no thank you, Miss. I'm waiting...
[ And then there it is, the moment when Tseng recognizes the dress and has to quickly process all the rest in kind to keep from gawking. Reno has done this before, sure, but that wasn't this. This doesn't make any sense to his eyes, a transformation of not just wardrobe and color, but bone structure and biology too. It doesn't seem possible. Maybe two hours was enough for Reno to score some off-market drug cocktail from one of the dealers down here that specialize in that sort of thing. Tseng isn't convinced that's the case. This is just Reno magic through and through, all him, all improvised, thorough to the fucking nth.
Also, this is going to be a problem.
Tseng has been having trouble lately with keeping his eyes off Reno. All that was child's play in comparison. There's so much to see, the way the glossy tint makes his lips look like ripe fruit, full of juice and delectably biteable, the shape of his calves in those heels, a perfect silhouette of shadow and curves, the subtle way he carries himself, like fire dancing atop a torch. It's good that this is a job, that he's Liang and not Tseng right now, because Tseng would be severely disappointed with the way his gaze drops in obvious increments, his lips parted just so, ready for surprise everywhere his eyes wander. Liang, on the other hand, isn't shy about appreciating the dame on his arm.
Yeah, that's totally it. Oh well. Roll with it. He slips into an easy smile. ]
Well look at you, Renate. Gonna make me the most envied guy in all of Sector 8.
[ There's truth to it. They're already drawing stares. He snaps Reno close, hands on his hips, leans into his neck to press a kiss to his skin and whisper, confidentially: ]
[ One thing Reno doesn't have in his repertoire anymore is the benefit of a high, easy to manipulate voice. If there's anything he aged out of, he figures, it's that. He hadn't practiced before he left; kind of forgot, honestly, while he was busy painting his pretty face and wondering balefully what a suitable alternative to killing Jagger would be, should he be so fortunate as to be given the opportunity, or when slipping those pretty lacy things on under his dress and picturing very vividly how Tseng would look at him as he slips them right back off. This isn't likely to be a scenario where saying as little as possible and looking like nothing more than a pretty little tagalong is going to help him this time, either. The girls down here, they've got mouths on them. They're all vying for notice, for money and position, for anything to get them ahead of the rat race. Resting on his looks will work sometimes, but not enough that he's not going to have to watch how he sounds.
Now's a good time to practice, he guesses, before they're truly in the thick of it. The bubbly little giggle he lets out when Tseng first lays eyes on him could use some work, but truth be told it's because it's largely genuine. It may not be an open-mouthed, wide-eyed, drooling gawking AWOOGA kind of stare, but for Tseng it may as well be as good as. And that feels pretty fucking good, not gonna lie. ]
You don't have to worry about a thing, sweetheart.
[ That may or may not be true. Time will tell.
He chooses to shoot lower than higher in the vocal range, and surprises himself with how it comes out sounding. If he puts a little spin on the accent, it might even sound downright delicate. Whatever. He'll work on it on the fly. The great benefit to this setting is that no one will notice whether he's got it "right" or not, as long as the gist of it passes well enough, and this does. Emboldened, Reno narrows his eyes challengingly at the other girls standing around. Sniffing around his classically handsome man, are you? Shoo. He whispers back. ]
[ They might cut too perfect a picture. Tseng sees it in their reflection in the smoked glass facing the street as they pass by, both of them cutting a neat, willowy silhouette that stretches heights above the rest of the crowd. They look like an act stepped fresh off of Loveless Street, not two individuals-about-town dropping by the Chateau for a smoke and a game. He thinks it's something they can use, though, and his hand tightens on Reno's swaying hips. Tries not to watch how they sway, even though it's tempting.
The door to the Chateau is obviously reclaimed, comprised of heavy wood and beveled carvings, the door pull gilded and polished. It gives you the sense that you're stepping into something classy, and within, the illusion continues. The ceilings are tiled with mirrors and slow-roaming lights that slow the tempo of the space down to an opiate lull. Everything is white and gold: the porcelain pottery, hundreds of years old and hand-painted with fantastical tableaus, the couches and bunks, gleaming white leather with golden studs, the floor underfoot, dazzling marble with resplendent tendrils of leafing stroked through like drifting smoke. Yun's girls stalk the grounds like hungry sharks, dressed in the same style of short-shifted silk dresses that Reno's wearing. They carry with them priceless pipes that buy them ample space for their long, delicate flutes, balanced precariously over their shoulders as they lean and whisper and negotiate.
One casts a glance his way, but Tseng watches another woman intercept her, whispering something in her ear that makes her eyes widen. For a moment, he's tense. But then he picks out the pink kimono embossed with silvery bird wings, the mahogany flash of piercing lilted eyes, and cants his head to the side like he's considering one of the squat lamps on the table beside him. Yun takes the hint and strolls over, moving like water through the current of the crowd.
Once again, his fingers tighten through the silk, warning Reno as Yun dances up on to her toes and kisses his cheek, whispering, "Báo. Three yú and a yán." Tseng makes a low noise. ]
Sounds like there's just room enough for two more.
[ Tseng reaches out, tucks something into her tightly-crafted updo, and Yun bows, low and slow. Then she's working her way through the crowd again and Tseng is brushing his mouth over Reno's like they're brand new lovers on the brink of something exciting, which isn't too hard to emote, considering. ]
'Course I do. I'd never dream of coming down here and embarrassing you like that.
[ There we go, now he's getting it. There's just a slight tip to the accent, not slums-rough but not plate-proper, either. Somewhere right down the middle and faintly foreign, like maybe he came here a long, long time ago from one of the western peninsulas past Rocket Town and never quite lost the propensity for lilting vowel sounds. That'll be easy to maintain. That, along with the affectation—essentially still just himself as usual, but sweeter, less god-damn devious. Reno smiles into their besotted little kiss, his hands sliding up the lapels of Tseng's suit jacket. The heels give him quite a few inches of height, almost enough to make him taller, but not quite. Actually, he's not a fan of that part. Kinda likes going up on tiptoe to get cute.
If not for the situation, this might have all the makings to be the most fun mission he's ever been on. As it stands, though, he kind of fucking hates it already. Being dressed up and playing pretend with Tseng is just about the only saving grace, really, because this place... this fucking place feels like being in a waking nightmare. It reminds him so starkly of Wall Market, of being twelve years old and stuck, sweltering in some back room, dazed by all the secondhand smoke. It reminds him of being deployed to trap some highroller that's been filching funds from Shinra coffers to have too good a time and not having the skills or training just yet to navigate the more organized setting of dens and whorehouses in Midgar rather than Junon. If he died in a place like this, wound up in chains and shipped off on a boat to some faraway place, no one would have cared to come after him. He was an expendable tool that no one took care of or looked out for. He had some really close calls. Really close calls.
The smell of this place, the faux-elegance, makes him sick. And knowing that, hopefully in due time, one of the key figures that made Junon miserable for him, too, will be here? Fuck. It's the worst of both worlds colliding. He wants nothing more than to ruin everything about this whole establishment and everyone in it.
But that's later. For now, he hums, low and satisfied and smug at the eyes on them as he nuzzles himself close. Appreciates the sound of his own stilettos clicking on the polished marble floor, measuring out each swaying step so that he doesn't roll his fucking ankle in these killer shoes (god, it's been years) and yet making it look sultry, not precarious. The table at which they'll be seated for their game has every pair of eyes already sitting around it look up and right at him. It's second nature, passing through sliding doors and bowing, murmuring greetings with soft lips and shrewd eyes, something he couldn't forget how to do no matter how many years it's been. It's just lucky that the image they've crafted for themselves tonight includes not having to let go of Tseng's arm most of the time. Until he gets into the swing of things, he really needs something to ground him. ]
[ The game room still has the original set, Tseng notes. The wood-paneled walls have been refinished, and someone went to work on the suspicious stains that used to dapple the lush green carpet, but other than that, it's like a time capsule. The only difference is the five-cornered table fashioned as the centerpiece of the room, with its old wooden sliding drawers and elemental inscriptions. The cards the players are holding are marked with characters instead of numbers, which is different too. The game has changed, and so have the players, but Tseng's been in this room enough to sense that the stakes have stayed the same.
Three of the players are Tianshi, which is expected. Each of them is wearing the leather jacket with embossed characters, the symbol of the Phoenix rising emblazoned on the back. Their fingertips are black where they've ritualistically removed the prints from them. These are worker drones, street guys. He recognizes one of them from a job Plateside, which barely made the footnotes of his day back when this guy's cell got too big for its britches and tried offering protections up and down West 64th. He'd parked Rude on the stoop of a laundry mat to make it clear who ran this town and that was that. Still, Tseng remembers his name: Sun Fu. Why he's dealing in with sharks has Tseng's appetite for intriguing mysteries piqued and burning.
And then there's Yun's yán. She'd warned him, but Tseng wasn't expecting this: a broad, monumental figure hunched over the table, his face cratered with rambling scars and mostly obscured by a thick, bushy black beard. There are faded tattoos on his tan knuckles, which is the only way that Tseng is able to place him: he's Hijos de Sinaloa, has to be, one of the cartels that runs the ports down south. One of the very few operations that Tseng tries his best to stay away from, considering their far reach and penchant for spilling as much blood as it takes to quickly counter any assertations against their strength. Image is everything to them. They've run afoul of the Hijos exactly once in an official capacity, back when Shinra was chomping at the bit for Costan SOLDIERS, and Tseng's done more than his fair share appealing to the powers that be to reconsider ever trying them again.
But why he's here, swapping cards with Tianshi enforcers, Tseng can only venture to guess. He tries not to let his gaze slide toward Reno as he takes a step toward the table. The chair he pulls for his companion is at the left-hand side, next to Song Fu. He's going to need Reno at every advantage for this. ]
S'cuse me, boys. She likes to watch a good game. Don't you, cutie?
[ His hands drop to Reno's shoulders, rubbing circles before he pulls out a chair for himself. The Hijo is seated to his right-hand side. He tries not to let the serendipity of it all get to his head; things have the potential to go truly, truly wrong. ]
Deal me in?
[ One of the Tianshi says something about saving those seats for someone else. Tseng shakes his head and says they'll make it quick. That he always wins with his girl on his arm, don't you worry. Flashes a winning smile.
The Hijo's eyes stare him down, unblinking. Sun Fu starts passing cards around, and Tseng flashes Reno a glimpse at his hand before he starts sorting them, calculating plays in his head. ]
[ To Tseng's question, Reno giggles, nods. It isn't the vapid, unaware sort of ditzy display that'd make him seem like a foolish little broad that doesn't belong, though, and that's something to be very careful of. It's a delicate balance, coming off as dainty and sweet but not too innocent. Nobody too innocent would come to a place like this, not even to be with her scheming boyfriend. These types of guys, they leave their little sweeties at home to play house. When a man brings his girl to a den full of thugs, she's either one of two things: a working woman, or part of the operation. Alternatively, he could be a tribute of Tseng's offering, instead, brought down for the people of this sick fucking upside-down world to feast on, too. Reno can remember seeing that happen before, too. Boys, girls, all sorts—people that hadn't been dragged and drugged and forcibly taken, or suckered in by naivete or desperation, but people who had been eased into the game and then sold wholesale before they ever even knew what was happening to them.
Truth be told, that last one would be a very nice angle to work. Maybe he still will, if it comes down to that. If he has to. But even truthier be told, the thought makes him feel desperately afraid, and he can hardly stand to think of being that kind of bait right now. Only if he has to, he tells himself. Then and only then. This is not a safe situation for him to be in. He hasn't felt actual, visceral fear like that in a long, long, long time. Fear makes you sloppy and reckless. It can't be allowed. Only in a last-ditch scenario.
For now, there's nothing to be afraid of. He leans in, presses his lips to Tseng's cheek. ]
Mm, that's right. My baby's very good. And yet he never manages to win when it's just the two of us...
[ His hand slides up Tseng's thigh, and there's two very good reasons for it. One is that it catches the eye of the man on his left, who watches the smooth movement of his fingers traveling up the seam of Tseng's pants for all of a second or two before they meet each other's gaze. Reno smiles, holding the stare with his lids lowered, his hand stilling and his lashes batting just twice in a you won't tell, will you? kind of way. It gives him just enough time for a lightning-quick gaze at the cards in the man's hand, the glance unnoticed when he's too busy being ogled instead. After he's gotten what he wanted, Reno inclines his head and sweeps his eyes across the table, and Sun Fu returns to his cards.
The second reason for that hand on Tseng's thigh, now angled far in such a way that it's difficult to make out on either side of them, is to subtly trace the shape of the characters he's seen in Sun Fu's hand against his leg. Honestly, he isn't sure what the values of some of the characters are off the top of his head, but that's fine. Tseng will know. This is minor-league shit compared to what's coming, anyway. They're going to have to play their way to the next room, and that's where he figures they'll find their man. Unless one of these seats were meant for him, in which case...
In which case it's just a lucky thing that it isn't breaking character for him to disrupt the silence of the table with some charming gab, meant to draw all the attention toward himself so that Tseng can play a perfect game, and also a much-needed relief for the high-alert nerves he's feeling. ]
[ Tseng's got a much better angle in mind, now that Reno's got everyone's attention. As far as he's concerned, it doesn't matter if they're improvising this close to the end game; it's been fifteen years of them reading each other's subtle cues in the face of almost certain death. Reno will be able to divine a character shift, no problem.
He starts following Reno's lead. Looks at him before he plays every card. Stutters when his hand goes up his thigh. Already, their opponents are starting to overlook him, getting the picture he's trying to portray: he's some kind of self-important nobody, probably some fat cat's son all stuffed full of old money and venturing down-Plate for a sense of adventure he can't get where the sun shines. He lets it look like Reno's playing him, looks for much longer at Reno than at anyone else, pours everything he never had into an obvious desperation that practically drips from his gaze. He presses too many kisses to Reno's neck—or just enough, considering each one is slow, stroked, counting out the number of sides on the card he needs. Reno, he's sure, has hands quick enough to filch it in plain sight.
Just in case, he clears his throat and plays a bad card. The Hijo mutters something in another language that Tseng pretends not to understand. He smiles at him instead, blank as a whiteboard as his card is flipped. ]
Shit! This is my engagement ring money you're stealing here. Gonna get married right on the bay in Junon, aren't we, doll?
[ Tseng slaps a stack of gil in the center of the table. It's enough to quiet the tittering Tianshi leaning in to whisper, enough to wipe the glower off of the Hijo's face. Sun Fu exchanges glances with the rest of the table, then nods and clears the space. ]
[ The money goes down, the eyes go down with it, and Reno has the card Tseng has asked for palmed in a flash. He pretends to pout as the gil is raked into the center, and what a stunning pout it is, enough to draw eyes to him again, all trained on the pretty face and the lovely lips and missing entirely the way he slips the pinched card into Tseng's hand. It's this same card Reno indicates with a delicate touch of his fingertip, slipping it apart from the rest. ]
This one.
[ You can practically hear the gears turning in the heads of the other men at the table when, lo and behold, this card the lady's chosen is the one that saves the day. Their eyes are all over him and it isn't just the low cut of the dress and that dazzling smile, it's, ahh, so she's the brains here. It doesn't keep him out of harm's way in the least, really, but it's enough to make anyone think twice about what a gal like this might be here for. Whatever gets him face to face with the man he wants to see, gets Tseng shaking hands with whoever he has to.
It's just a matter of working the crowd. These worker bees are easy to sway and liven up, and that man from the southern peninsula, well, they like a little spice to their lives, you know. The longer it goes on, the more confident Reno gets. If there was anyone they were actually saving those seats for, they don't ever seem to arrive, and eventually a waitress is brought in to serve them drinks. Reno only wets his lips, which while the obvious ladylike thing to do is also for two main reasons: because he hasn't really drank since Gooski's and would rather not, and because there is absolutely no way he's letting his guard down in this place. A couple more rounds, another pass from the waitress, and Reno sees one of the Tianshi stop her to murmur something in her ear; she nods, and exits through a different door, one no one has come in or out of thus far this evening. To fetch the special liquor? Or something else? ]
[ Tseng has had Domino's number for a very long time. It began with Rufus, a service closet, and a lingering look. Years later, the bruise on his hip from an unfortunate impact with the steel corner of an electronics shelf has faded away, but his omniscient oversight of AVALANCHE operations has become something of a favorite, familiar toy. If he and the president had a song, eco-terrorists would be it. It's almost too easy to pull their strings.
All but for one cell in particular. Militant, erratic, impossible to control—that's the intel that comes in from Black Hawk, from Red Sun, from Sky Blue and all the others. Their official codename is Flameskull, an image that one of their members helpfully inked on his flesh for ease of identification. Over their PHS devices, patched into private networks where Barret's team cannot overhear, they're referred to as Black Sheep.
Tseng has always been very interested in black sheep.
Spoofing Domino's number is a piece of cake. Almost tragically easy, a task as boring as locking his front door behind him every morning. One twist of a key and he's in. The only strategy he needs to consider is who he might call. Barret is out; he's far too paranoid, more volatile than Tseng cares to deal with. He will waste valuable time that Tseng does not have. Likewise, it would be wasteful to ascertain which KIA members are ghosting through this world, miraculously revived by whatever cosmic force keeps bringing the dead back to life. They uninteresting to him anyway. And the 'ex-SOLDIER...'
The better avenue, he ultimately decides, is through Tifa. She could likely complete this job on her own. She is capable and quick, but easily accessible if he plays to her empathic nature. He dials her number and waits. She should find this caller code familiar. ]
[Does she recognize it though? Not really. She hadn't even known the mayor was involved with AVALANCHE until a very short time ago. And Barret, the head of their cell, was as surprised as everyone, when they'd met the Mayor. HQ really froze them out.
That doesn't mean she doesn't answer the phone. Things are just too weird, all the time, to not take a chance on a random number.]
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@reno
Beneath, the rain manifests as heavy steam. It sits on Tseng's shoulders as he sips tea from a dented tin cup outside the Ruby Baan Café, which is less of a café and more of a stand jerrily erected into the groaning foundations of a ruined support structure. The only thing separating the kitchen from the Sector 6 streets are a parade of sand-blasted noren, faded blue. Paper lanterns flutter from the mismatched, salvaged beams that comprise its three hand-crafted walls, affecting the illusion of a breeze, when really it is the vibrations of the Plate above that make them swing and shudder. The air down here is stale and stagnant as ever.
He is sitting out of sight, his table wrenched into a corner obscured from view by the café and two surrounding shanties. He can hear people talking, but the words themselves are buzzed out, scrambled by the sheer volume of the crowd. It's perhaps too private a spot. It doesn't matter. He asked Reno to meet him here—patched through their new network, source encrypted and run double-blind—so Reno will find him. ]
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When Tseng beckons, Reno is quick to answer. He sends no actual reply, but his access to the network is as good as. His suit's a little wet at the shoulders, and his hair, too. He looks well. Like he's getting a grip. This is of course all according to plan. When he enters the cafe, not anyplace he's particularly familiar with, but also it's Midgar and it's the slums and everywhere is someplace he's familiar with, he knows where to look for Tseng right away and slides neatly into the seat diagonal from him, so that his back is to the other wall in the corner. It's all so deliciously classic. Meeting in a place like this, at a time like this, with secret messages like this... there may be a lazy casualness to how Reno slumps in his chair and grins, but his eyes are as bright and intrigued as can be. ]
Yooo. Been waitin' long?
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But he's not that stupid. It's been days now of torturing himself over how important this lead really is to him. He loves Reno, trusts him with his life, but his networks are a different story. His hustles are a different story. And getting Reno involved in a high-stakes game like this? That's a whole different genre. It's been hell, but now there's no going back on it. Tseng's made his decision. ]
Not long. You're just in time.
[ He whistles three notes. A stooped little old woman with a sun-leathered face ducks under the noren with a plate of stir-fried potatoes and two steaming cups of tea. Tseng bows his head curtly, says something in what sounds like a clipped, differently-intoned Wutainese dialect, and gestures to Reno with a tilt of his head. He presses something into her hand and she turns on her heels, hurrying away.
Tseng breaks apart a pair of chopsticks and offers them across the table. ]
These are way better than french fries.
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Fuuuuck yeah.
[ So clearly the weight-gaining efforts are going well. He takes the chopsticks and uses them perfectly, because he's a big huge nerd, plucking several of the potato straws off the plate and crunching them down right away. Does he notice the hush-hush talk to their "waitress"? Absolutely. Is he so very, very curious? You betcha. He's got that look like he can't wait to hear what he's here for, but rather than launch right into it, he decides he wants to wait for Tseng to unfold it for him. He's always got such lovely presentation and delivery, he's sure he'll like it better that way.
And speaking of lovely, god, does it feel like forever since the last time he got to sit this close to Tseng and really look at him. That's the way of things, really, and he knew it would be like that, but he certainly doesn't miss the opportunity just to admire his face in addition to waiting for the big reveal. ]
I don't wanna hurry the surprise, but I gotta know... is this business orrrrr a date?
[ He's teasing, obviously. ...Unless? ]
UGHHHH MY FUCKING ACCOUNT EXPIRED FORGIVE MY LAZY ICONS
[ Conversely, Tseng gets at the bowl between them the same way he chops marks: precise, surgical, cobra-quick. These he'll eat all day; he knows exactly where Baat Tset's wok has been, knows without a shadow of a doubt that the bloodiest thing that's ever touched it is her permanently-scarred chef's fingers. Their shared contempt for roasted guts is one of the reasons why he frequents this place.
This right here is another.
The potato he's speared barely makes it to his mouth. Lately, it's proven difficult to keep this look off his face when Reno is around, this open, honest, tragically unprofessional expression that puts up a mighty brawl when he tries to school it into submission anymore. He gets it done, because that's what he does, but there's a moment in between. ]
I've got a big ask, Reno. I tried to think of anyone else. In the end, it had to be you.
[ They are breaking all the rules now, that much is true, but some are still sacred. There are boundaries that have been fifteen years in the making that Tseng thought they would never cross. In his heart, he still doesn't want to. But he plunges his fingers into the hidden pocket of his coat anyway, takes something from it, and spreads it out over the table.
It's a simple square of velvet, the color of black cherry, about three inches all around. It looks unassuming enough, which Tseng is sure must be the point. But when it's rubbed a certain way, textured patterns become clear beneath the fabric, even if they're out of sight. As he understands it, this one originated from a Junon night club, aptly named The Velvet Goldmine. A regular enough scene, almost suspiciously routine, unless you carried a square like this one back in the day. This was the key to a whole world of debauched desires, hidden away where no one could see, where no one could hear the cries of those who never had a choice to leave.
Tseng feels that look coming on again. He meets Reno's eyes, the line of his mouth tight and grim, hating that he's watching his own man for tells. ]
god dammit im too sleepy to get my wallet
The square appears on the table.
Reno recognizes it right away. Then he gets it. It's not kiddin', and it's not cute. It was actually quite serious, and there's a good reason why, specifically. Because it's a direct violation of his rules. How Tseng knows he knows what this is, he doesn't want to know. He really doesn't. The second he touches his finger to the fabric and slides it across, all his blood goes cold. This is not something anyone is supposed to know about, let alone Tseng. Not even Veld should have known. Honestly, he's not so foolish anymore as to think that his past is as truly invisible as he feels like it is. That's something he began to come to terms with the older he got, the more he realized that everything has a way of finding its way back to you. Case in point: Roche, who may not have known him by sight or name, but who recognized some of the things he had done as a child.
This is a lot like that. Except it's a lot worse than an exploding cactuar parade float and the names a few now-defunct street gangs.
This is like something out of his worst nightmares. And Tseng knows about it. ]
That's a pretty big ask, yeah.
[ The dopey look is gone from his face, eyes cold. He pushes the scrap of fabric away from him with the fingertip he'd touched it with like it's dirty. The thing about how instantly the shade is drawn down over his face, though—the thing that makes it all so fucking damnable, is this: it's still not an ask he'll say no to. And he's sure Tseng must know that, too. Which is why he's asking. ]
What's the job?
[ There better be a good fucking reason you're bringing this up to me is what he's really asking. ]
SAME THAT'S THE PROBLEM
And then, the other side... ]
The place this comes from is gone now.
[ There is no 'this.' The cloth is as gone now as the ruins it used to serve. ]
You know this. I heard the whole operation was razed to the ground when one of the Midgar Tongs moved in. No one survived. Not even the bag boys. The Tongs do not leave loose ends.
[ That's Tseng's in, if Reno was wondering. He is prepared: if he is going to break a single one of Reno's rules, then he will break all of his own, too. This is not just a job. This is everything that they are, the last secrets they'll ever keep from each other. ]
You know that too. What you might not know is who did them. As I understand it, he ran with local crews. Small-time stuff. Too dangerous and unpredictable for the white collar guys to deal with. The biggest gig he ever scored was running recruitment for Velvet a year or so before its cremation. He had a talent for it.
[ The coin flips again. Tseng tilts his head. He speaks softly. ]
They called him Jagger.
[ The look he fixes Reno with is simple to figure. He wants to see if Reno knows him. Not just that; Tseng knows that he knows their mark, but to which degree? And to what end? These are years beyond the ones they built together. For all he knows...
Well, that's exactly the problem here, isn't it? ]
no subject
But before that, there was his cluelessness in Junon. He followed the old beats of his miserable life under the guise of idle interest in the underground scene. Even watching the face of all his personal hell change and turn into something else entirely didn't sit well with him any better as he got older than it did back then, when he was caught in the middle of it. It doesn't sit well with him now, either. Tseng mentioning any of this to him, knowing something about it, makes him want to get up and walk away. The worst part is not being sure just how much Tseng knows. Until he has a better sense of it, and because he still hasn't quite let go of his last vestiges of defense against revealing everything that he ever was or is, Reno becomes more and more withdrawn as Tseng keeps talking. Quiet, showing very little on his face.
And yet he's still here, hasn't left yet.
He meets Tseng's eye. Great. So he's got names. And now he wants to know what he knows about them. And that name... if ever there were a moment to stand up, say thanks for the potatoes and fucking walk away, it would be because of that. Or maybe more specifically because of how Tseng looks at him curiously after he says it. Reno is exceptionally good at evading interrogation, but it's plenty clear but how obviously rigid and on high alert he is that he knows a bit more than just the name. Reno holds out for a long few seconds, his discomfort settling in the pit of his stomach as if he'd swallowed a rock. He's got to put aside the vague echoes in his head of The price for gettin' you out is everything you know, punk so he can answer. ]
... Jagger played both sides of the fence. He sprung loose the real eagle-eyed catches if they weren't too popular and bought their talk to keep patrons under his thumb and the pond fresh full'a new blood.
[ Which he wishes was saying enough. Reno never once looks away, even though he wants to. What he just said is factual and not difficult to corroborate, so really, anyone could tell Tseng this if he really put his nose to the ground and sniffed out a witness. Which is exactly why it's not saying enough. Because if it were that easy, he Tseng wouldn't need him for this. ]
He had a side business. He called it "bread for rats."
[ What've you got for me today, Red? Here. Talk with your mouth full. You look wrecked. ]
Never was too smart about not paying up front. Blamed it on my face. Said it was too pretty. Didn't stop him from kicking it in when we got tired of each other's shit, though.
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He nods. ]
I believe it was one of those rats that sold the Velvet to the Tongs. Li Jun. He would have been younger than you.
[ He is quiet. Still. Li Jun's mother's voice is in his head, wailing, You lost my boy in an unforgiving land. Serene. Centered. ]
He and Jagger burned every bridge they ever built in Junon with that play. The war had just begun, entities with no stakes in the race started turning up to drive Wutai management out of the strip, and then...
[ Blood. Fire. All the symptoms of a very large market vacuum. Nobody ever considers the economics of deceit and betrayal. Tseng does. That is why he's so good at it; he always seeks out the simplest details first. ]
Those things that happen, happened. And Jagger was lucky because anyone who knew him was dead and buried. The Velvet was gone. The Tongs too, burning his old networks down with them. The new regime purged anyone who remained. The only one officially alive who knew his face was Li Jun.
[ Tseng's gaze drifts for a moment, just a touch beyond Reno's face. He reaches into his jacket again, this time for a cigarette. He lights it with a matte black butane lighter, offers it across the table. ]
I sent his body back home to his mother this morning.
no subject
Bunch of us called him Lily.
[ He does a very good job of not looking concerned or remotely interested. He'd purged that whole chapter from existence in his mind, and now here it is, weaseling its way back in. He didn't give a fucking damn what happened to Jagger really, or Nervous Nelly or Kytes or Roland or any of the Trick Sparrows or Lily. Not any of them. Why should he? He vanished from Junon just as unceremoniously as he'd come. Never told anyone what he was planning to do (jump on the back of the next Shinra convoy headed back to Midgar and ride that puppy all the way to HQ, which he did, just wasn't expecting the 300 meter fall afterward). He was tangled up in so much shit by that point it'd have been a fair guess to assume he was killed or kidnapped, anyway. It wouldn't be the first time his little friends had been shocked to see him alive. What's more, he didn't have a name back then, so there's nothing to connect him. Nothing except his branding. A mark of honor in Junon—an outcast's symbol in Midgar. So why not pretend it never happened?
He'd kept his nose out of all of this. He'd rather keep it that way. Thing is, though, none of those people have any power over him anymore. None of those places. What little of it still exists is so far beneath him, he shouldn't have to feel the way he does about it. It's probably just because Tseng knows about it. He's sensitive to that. It's why he won't talk about his history with Rude. Last thing he wants is to be pitied and looked down on. He's better than all that. Way better. But the self-doubt keeps his smart about it. ]
So Lily got too close to something, knew too much... I'm guessing you already figured out what that is.
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I have guesses. Nothing substantial. We hadn't spoken in fifteen years. I'd kept a few contacts on him, yes, but they disappeared, and then Li Jun. Everyone who touches Jagger disappears.
[ He flicks the filter of his cigarette off the side of the table. Tries to play it off like this isn't melting his brain right now. This is bad if Reno ever wants to chop him out, just like he'd suspected back in the day. There are threads he could follow, easy enough to pull now that he knows a few names and Tseng's involvement. He has the contacts for it.
For once, Reno knows so much more than he does. It would be exhilarating if it was not so nightmarish, like the fever dream of a shaman's plant, everything backwards and twisted. ]
I'd been looking for the body for some time before this—
[ He waves around the space, dragging smoking contrails through the air. This world, this universe, whatever hell they've found themselves in. ]
Imagine my surprise when it turned up in Midgar. Which means a couple things to me. I'm certain you can guess the most important one.
no subject
This isn't that type of game anymore. Not for them. Maybe years ago he would have been absolutely rolling around with delight to get this kind of dirt on Tseng. Just the power of having someone's past enclosed in his fist used to make him feel really good about himself. It made him feel like he had a strength he lacked for the first decade-plus of his life, beyond something even becoming a Turk could give him. He could use this. He could still use this.
But not now. And Tseng wouldn't do that to him, either. He'd be pretty fucking sick to, considering the subject matter. ]
Too close to home.
[ That would be his first concern, finding an old, dead acquaintance here in his turf. Coincidence? Maybe. It's possible. Midgar and Junon are sort of intrinsically connected, and they're both big towns with a lot of shady business. But it'd still raise his hackles. Reno's honestly forgotten about his cigarette, a good portion of it turned to one long, cylindrical ash. ]
Tseng—
[ he starts, stops, sighs. Wants to just say just fucking let it go. But with the way the pieces are falling, it's not that easy, is it. Of course not. Reno remembers his cigarette, flicks the ash away and then forgets to put it between his lips again. ]
Jagger's not untouchable. I can guarantee you the only reason he got rid of Lily is because he's got chattier rats in cages, probably right here in Sin City. Ones that were desperate enough to say and do whatever they had to, including set up someone in his way. He's not a genius; he's a predator.
no subject
[ If Tseng ever trusted anyone, it would have always been Reno. He's the only one it's ever been difficult to keep secrets from, not because of his prying eyes or boundless curiosity—which are a factor, yes, but not the problem—but because of this.
Reno knows the answers before he spells them out, Tseng is sure. He knows the way this city works just as well as Tseng does, has eyes and ears in all the right places just the same. The two of them together could have been anything they wanted to be. It has always been tempting to let this happen.
But Tseng has never trusted him. Or anyone, for that matter. And now that he does, it isn't the right time. He shouldn't be asking this, how much he does or doesn't know should have always been kept concealed between them. Reno would have been perfectly happy. Now that Tseng trusts him, he wants to protect him, too, and that's the tragic break in it all.
He rubs the filter between his fingers until the cherry falls loose and stomps it into the dry-packed sand underfoot. ]
There's something else. There have been disappearances all over the city, mostly sub-Plate. From what I can tell, it started shortly after we went floating.
[ More Renoisms. Except this time, Tseng isn't smiling. It's just a good word for it. ]
I'd considered an official investigation, but the timing was too perfect. We know people don't disappear anymore. I had to ask myself who else might know, and why, and who would buy that kind of intel right here in our home.
no subject
When did—
[ No. It doesn't matter. That question doesn't matter, anyway. It says enough: a body before they went floating, as it's come to be known, is an interesting timestamp, but it's not one he hadn't already figured out. He even told Roche as much—we had successful executions right up until the day before what happened to me. Something along those lines. He'd checked records, obituaries, that kind of crap. People were dying. And then, the night of the party, some-fuckin'-thing went wrong. Some-fuckin'-thing went way wrong, and until he hears otherwise, he was the first person to find out about it the hard way.
"Disappearances" after, now that's worth looking into. ]
Someone who could make a fuckin' killing off of it, that's who. No pun intended. Better yet, someone who already was, and is lookin' to capitalize.
[ Has... has he been spotted? Has Tseng? Reno's brow furrows, tense all over again. Couldn't be; no way. No fucking way. ]
Shit. I screwed up, didn't I?
no subject
It doesn't matter.
[ He corrects himself: ]
It won't matter.
[ Tseng has done worse things for far less stakes. For Reno, he's not even sure where the limits are. Not death, that's for certain. But death's a mercy compared to the fate in store for him if all his bridges come crashing down, and yet here he is, here they are. ]
I think I know Jagger's buyer. You don't know him. No one knows him. He is truly untouchable; has been, for all the years I've been searching for him. The men he keeps close at hand are ghosts. It'd make sense that if Jagger was dealing him in, he'd have to cut that last thread first.
[ Li Jun, finally on his way back home. Tseng feels no sense of compunction; it is a far better fate, he knows, than what awaited him if he held out for another day or so. ]
What he thought was the last thread. The last person who could clock him, follow him back to his new boss. He's out there right now, thinking he's bullet proof.
[ He places his hands on the table, palms up and open. ]
All I need is an ID, Reno. Then you're out. We forget all of this. I'll erase it all myself.
no subject
They're here because he's the only one who wriggled his way out of the mouse trap. The closer Tseng builds up to it and then finally comes right out and says it, the more Reno just hates it. Starts building up a sigh deep in his chest and starts working out how he's going to reconcile this shit, because he can't say no to Tseng. He just can't. And there's no point in bothering even if he could, because now the rat's out of the bag and he has nothing to hide anymore. Now he knows. And there's going to be so much more that he learns, as this unfolds, and—and there's just nowhere to hide.
Maybe it's about time he stepped into the light. Reaching out, he curls one of Tseng's hands closed, bending his fingertips to his palm. ]
I've got more to bring to the table than just an ID. Might as well give you everything.
[ The cigarette in his other hand's burned right down to the quick, almost to where he's holding it. Reno realizes a few seconds belatedly that it's getting hot and drops it on the ground, hissing. Smudges the ember out with his shoe and shakes out his fingers. ]
I got a problem with that, though. It's about his obsession with my face—I don't think twenty years is gonna be enough for him to forget it.
no subject
That burn served him well. It kept him clear, kept him out of Reno's business. It's probably what got them here, sitting across from each other, trading looks in a language no one else knows. Even now, he doesn't want to know anymore than he has to. Whatever Reno wants to keep from this, as far as Tseng is concerned, he can have it.
But that's not what Reno is saying. Suddenly, it feels like the car all over again. There's tension in his fingers for just a second, a squeeze of pressure that's gone in a flash. ]
I've got a fix.
[ He nods at Reno before he stands. His expression goes a touch apologetic. ]
Don't think you'll like it.
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[ Don't think you get it, Reno almost says. But Tseng probably does. The implication was pretty clear—obsession with my face really just lays it all out there plain and simple, really. Of course there's a whole fucking story, miserable and kinda gross and also weirdly intriguing, he guesses, but the long and short of it is, twenty years ain't enough for either one of them to forget each other. Twenty years ain't enough for him to be so sure of this "fix," either, but when has Tseng ever steered him wrong?
Fine, don't answer that. Never mind.
After a second Reno gets up, too. Plucks a few more fries from the bowl just in case he isn't going to get a chance to come back and devour them again, not that he has the most amazing appetite left after this conversation. Sickeningly uncomfortable memories from his childhood or no, he still does love him some carbs. Heavens knows he's going to need to eat his weight in them when this is all over to console himself. He never wanted to think about any of this shit ever again.
(He says that, but he still wears the charm Roche gave him; no longer on his wrist as a bracelet, but tucked into the inside of his suit jacket.) ]
If it's ripped jeans, I'm gonna dip. Fuck that.
[ Just make jokes. It's fine. Everything is fine. ]
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Those were Aliamenti Fyor.
[ The back way through Baan's is a barely navigable path through salvage parts and rusted out scaffolding. There's a discarded tricycle with a bent wheel laying upside down, several hundred crushed cans of beer, and the sand underfoot glitters like a sultan's trove with broken glass. Tseng leads them past a blown-out brick wall that must have sheltered the shanties at one point, probably during the construction of the plate. There's holes big enough for Reno to fit through now.
Eventually, they come across a ramshackle old building that's been built upon with aluminum siding and what looks like half an old Beaufort. Tseng opens the door for Reno, revealing a mismatched staircase ascending, some of the steps comprised of corrugated steel, others barely more than sawed off pieces of plastic. None of it looks stable. All of it is dirty with muddy footprints. Still, the prevailing scent in the air is sweet, maybe too sweet, all floral notes and something chemical.
At the landing, Tseng swipes a key from his pocket and turns the lock on the very first door.
The space inside is a world removed. Sheer scarves drape over a gleaming golden four-post bed. A rambling vanity sits in pride of place beside a crudely-sawed window. The chair before it is a rich, deep mahogany to match, its seat upholstered with thick red velvet. The table is cluttered with a rainbow of makeup palettes and lipsticks and perfumes. There's a standing wardrobe, intricately-carved with whimsical visions of birds and trees, none of them native to Midgar or any place nearby it. This is where Tseng goes first, throwing open the heavy doors, retrieving a small silk dress on a hanger, the kind the opium girls with their garish white face paint and rouged lips wear around the dens. He holds it up between them. ]
Like I said: I don't think you're going to like it.
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Yeah? More like "looked better on my floor."
[ So anyway, what in the fresh hell is all this.
The second they walk in, Reno sees right away why Tseng thinks he wouldn't like it. Honestly, he might even know before they walk in, when he catches that scent of something distinctly feminine and very strangely familiar. It probably should have dawned on him that this "fix" would be a disguise beyond just changing his hair color and wearing different clothes, maybe some makeup to cover up his more obvious features. If he had known to expect this, well... he'd have been bouncing off the walls. ]
Oh, fuck.
[ That's before Tseng even opens up the closet. That's just a comment on the setting, the gaudy furniture, the tools of the trade, as he once heard them called, lain out all over seemingly every surface. This very room is not familiar to him at all, but it's very, very reminiscent of places that used to be. In some ways, yeah, he doesn't like it. It's a little too uncanny, a little bit too much of a reminder of a life he never asked for and wasn't ever really given a choice about. There was a time when he was, by some actual to-his-face accounts, only good for one thing. He was allowed to walk the pristine marble halls of Shinra Inc. only because of his one special talent. And that special talent, as it turned out, irony of ironies, had a lot to do with this. It was kind of a messed up time, he realizes now, looking back. Seriously, what the fuck? They work for some sick fucking people.
But honestly... that's only half the story. The other half is in how Reno's eyes light up at the pretty little garment Tseng holds up for him. Reno takes it from him, holding it by the neck of the hanger, and turns it this way and that to look it over. That's a quality dress, right there. And this fabric... yeah. Finally, he holds the thing up to his own body, approximating where it will fit around his chest and shoulders, how far down it will come on his legs. Not very far, as it turns out. Not very far at all.
You're too fucking old for that shit. Definitely too fucking old to be tryin' to pass for "cute" anymore. Time to grow up and do big boy jobs like everyone else.
Reno looks up, deviously delighted. ]
Why, Chief. You spoil me!
I can't believe u fckn spengbabbed me I quit
First, Tseng's attributing the sparkle in Reno's eye to... He doesn't know what. The closet is interesting, he supposes. Most of the furniture looks antique. Maybe that's one of Reno's secret vices, he wouldn't know. It's not like they've ever discussed hobbies outside of knives and using knives.
But then he holds up the dress and Reno takes it like Miss Gaia accepting her bouquet and tiara. Needless to say, it's completely unexpected. He remembers the old jobs, when they'd sometimes toss Reno into some powder-puff looking number or another and send him in to bait out targets. He'd always assumed that Reno hated it, found it degrading. He'd always told himself that he'd never do anything like that to his men if he got the chance. And now here they are.
And Reno looks happier than he's seen him all day.
Tseng crosses his arms over his chest, trying to remain neutral. ]
Think it'll work?
[ The dress, he means. He doesn't have to say the rest, right? That Reno is so pretty he could pass for a woman any day. That he's so petite and sweetly-curved and will do a fine job of playing everyone, even at close proximity. It's why Tseng brought him here, even though he was sure that Reno would scoff and give him hell for it. ]
LMFAO <3
In a minute. For now Reno just smooths the dress down over the length of him again, admiring how short it is, thinking how fucking killer his legs are going to look. ]
Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I still got it!
[ Pretty sure Tseng was asking if it would work for the job, not for him. Whether Reno knew that and was being silly or if he only catches on belatedly, it's a moment of playing with the sleeves, stretching his arm out to see how they'll hang before he looks up with anything resembling attention again. ]
It'll work for our man, too. Always said he loved a skinny bitch in a short skirt and long sleeves. Aw, man, this brocade... takes me way back. It's fuckin' perfect.
[ Way back to hell, in fact! Two different kinds of it! Just out of curiosity, Reno lifts the collar of the dress to his face and inhales, but he can't really pick up the smokey scent of incense clinging to it, so it must not be from Wall Market. Or, at least, not that part of Wall Market. This odd behavior, at least, he bothers explaining: ]
You could always tell an expert apart from the amateurs by how much their shit smelled like sandalwood. They'd charge by the incense stick. Take too long and you'd just get smoked the fuck out. The ones who weren't any good, they'd just reek of the stuff.
fuck u
[ Reno picks up so much. He's always the first to notice a hand slipping into a pocket, a fleeting look across a room. That sharpness is what makes him deadly—and, Tseng guesses, this is where he cut his teeth. It's fascinating to watch him turn the fabric over and over, eyes big, bright, and beautiful, but.
But they're on practically stolen time. He turns away, toward the closet again, but he's still got that soft smile he can't shake. ]
Where we're going... There's no guarantee our mark will be there.
[ Methodically, he pages through the suits hung up on the rack, dragging his fingers down the fabric of each. So sick of black. Let's go crazy tonight. Gray. ]
You should know that it's a gamble.
[ His gaze travels back to Reno, back to the suit. Does he really think there's a chance their guy's not going to show? No, not really. But even a surefire success needs a backup plan. His is tucked into a pocket, an eensy little Grayson snub nose with a curved stock that he remembers being a favorite for how well it kept the silhouette of a dress. He passes it to Reno once the wardrobe's respectfully resealed, making it clear specifically what type of gamble he means. ]
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[ That's what Reno chooses to respond to, reaching his hand out to take that itty bitty lady's gun and, for the time being, tuck it into his jacket pocket. That's as much an acceptance of the situation as there's ever going to be, but really, does there need to be any more than that? He knew this was going to be an unboxing of all his old demons the second Tseng showed him that square of fabric and started speaking names he'd have preferred to leave behind in his past forever. And he's still here.
He hooks the hanger over his forearm and glances to the vanity table. After Veld shut his shit down a handful or so years ago, he'd gotten rid of his tools of the trade. The jewelry, the hairpins, the makeup outside of the stuff he still uses to cover up his tattoos and change the shape of his face from time to time. One look at what's on the table tells him this stuff isn't going to suit him, first of all, and secondly, it's probably expired. If they're leaving, like, right now, he'll make do, but if they've got time, he's got some shopping to do. Already he's plotting contour, what brushes he needs, colors for his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. What to do with his hair, where to find some nice and authentic decorative hair sticks on short notice...
Oh, it's alright though, totally still listening. ]
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There's that den down by the old firing range, you and Rude went there on the Blassi thing about a year or so ago. The Chateau? It's Tianshi turf now; too hard for anyone else to hold.
[ Back then, it'd been little more than a squat-house for burn-outs and salary men come down from the Plate looking for a cheap, quick fix. Now, it's a proper affair: girls, gilding, gambling, and some interesting clientele. Exactly why Shinra's steered clear ever since. (Nothing more embarrassing than shaking down a joint and finding a key executive with his pants down and buried up to the nose in hired ass.) Tseng, however, is a different story.
But its new allegiance makes it a special kind of dangerous. Like stepping into a pit of vipers, it's asking for trouble. Tseng considers one of the hats rakishly angled upon a mannequin head as he slips into the trousers he'd pulled. ]
A place like that has a backroom, almost certainly, and I think that's where Jagger will be. Tonight.
[ He glances down at his watch, then up at Reno, sees his mind clocking hundreds of thousands of miles per hour behind his eyes. Oh, he thinks. ]
Let's say two hours.
[ He gathers up his hair in one hand and flips the hat on to his head with the other. Leans into the mirror, and would you look at that—subterfuge at its simplest. ]
That'll give me enough time to case it, you can meet me there.
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Two hours.
[ He murmurs back in acknowledgment and moves on to the trinket boxes. There's a phial of perfume in one, and it hardly takes more than a brief sniff to recognize it as agarwood. Couldn't have planned it better if he tried. That he tucks into his pocket as well, along with the makings of his disguise. Yup, this and a few more things and it'll be like he's sixteen again. Or like he's... y'know, nine. Whatever.
Once he's gathered everything that's of any use, he turns to see Tseng pulling on that silly hat and tilts his head, considering. A slip of a pretty little exotic thing and her svelte gangster boyfriend, huh? That gets Reno smiling, and he comes over to tip the rim on that hat up so he can duck down and kiss him, short and sweet and not just a little bit coy. ]
That should be long enough to make myself pretty for you, yeah.
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He catches the image of them in the mirror as his hand slips around Reno's waist, holding him for that second he'll allow himself to linger. It doesn't escape him: they look very good together. ]
For me?
[ His brow lifts, but he's grinning. Much as he wants to kiss Reno again, he knows the cycle now; he'll never stand a chance at getting out of here if he gives into it. His hand slides away, even if the going takes forever.
And then they're right back again, cupping Reno's cheek, sliding over his jaw. ]
Suppose I'll see you around, Miss...
[ Usually, he'd pitch a whole story. Hammer out the details in a cool instant. Not today. For some reason, it seems right to have Reno name himself this go around. ]
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[ A ha ha ha.
Seriously, though, did Tseng plan for this purposefully, or was it just a matter of convenience? The answer is unimportant, because he's going to do it anyway and wouldn't have said no even if slipping into this sexy little number wasn't his thing. It's not like he's forgotten about the job. This is as much an opportunity to relive the days Veld said he wasn't pretty enough for anymore as it is to close the books on one of the darker chapters in his life once and for all. Or something like that. If nobody can be killed, how closed can it really be? Whatever. He's reclaiming a lot of power here tonight, that's a big part of it.
Clearly. He hasn't even gotten changed yet, and already... Reno can't help the wickedness that creeps into his grin as Tseng tries and fails to resist him. And he wasn't even trying anything, really. Just bein' cute. You know. The guy kind of cute. The too fucking old obviously just a grizzled old wrinkly hideous man kind of cute. For fuck's sake. Alright, alright, alright. Enough foolin'. Reno brushes their noses together, lips close but not touching, and then steps back ever so slowly from Tseng's reach. ]
Renate. And before you dock me any creativity points—I didn't have a name back then.
[ Jagger won't get the joke. Not until the punchline, which hopefully will be where they fuck him up real bad. It'd be too much of a scene and a busted cover, but god it'd be nice. ]
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It's a nice comfort, he thinks, having something like a partner. He'd always envied the other Turks their buddy system; for Tseng, operating alone was the MO. Liked it that way, for the most part. But he'd always wondered...
He nods and straightens his hat with a decisive jerk. ]
Liang.
[ Maybe one day, he'll explain the joke to Reno. Probably not, but it's out there. Reno knows he never chooses something without a bigger meaning behind it. Honestly, his biggest hope for the endgame here is not ending up in some concrete basement where no one will be able to hear them scream. Tseng isn't ready for that kind of karmatic retribution, not yet.
He pauses by the door, gives Reno one last look before he slips away. Words don't have what he's got to send. He lets the silence speak for itself before he closes the door behind him. ]
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Just like every other time he thinks it, though, that's where he hits his roadblock. There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. This is all he knows. And it's all he wants, and without it, he'd never survive. Life without the Turks is no life. So there's only going forward.
Time to go make himself pretty, then. For the "job."
A few quick trips to various stores and soon Reno's got a complete arsenal to transform himself with. It's just like the good ol' days. Better, even, because quite honestly he'd say he's hotter now than he was back then, all Veld's bullshit opinions be damned. When he was a literal child with nothing but innocence to use as his appeal, it didn't really matter what he wore; it was all a sick fucking fetish. When he was a teenager, god, those were the days. Yeah, so what if he was softer and more ambiguous-looking, it was still just raw teenage hormones and that jailbait energy that made him desirable. He thought he knew everything there was to know back then. Seems like a joke now. And by the time he's finished dolling himself up, he knows for a fact that it was. Eat your fucking heart out, Veld.
Impressively, two hours is more than enough time. You learn how to do this shit quick, even if it's been a long, long time. Toss up a couple how-to tutorials and fire up the flat iron and go to town, easy peasy. Any asshole can slap makeup and a dress on, but if you want to convincingly take yourself from "a guy" to "definitely not a guy," it's a bit more than rosy cheeks and mascara. The contours of his face, neck and chest are smoothed over and redrawn, brows softened, hair straightened and silky and soft. Make no mistake—when Reno leaves his apartment, there's almost a fair bet not even Rude would recognize him right away. Nobody can say he doesn't commit to his role.
And commit to it he does. The dress is a lovely thing to look at all on its own, belted tight with a pretty white obi knot in the back, the ribboned ends hanging down not quite as far as the (hardly considerable, mid-thigh at best) length of the thing itself. His shoulders and waist are already small, so it's really only a matter of adding a pad to the hip area, adhered to the inside to keep it grasped tight to his body. He tucks the gun inside the sash, pulled so snug it doesn't have a prayer of a chance at budging. To fill out the chest, he improvised, padded the cups and contoured himself some better cleavage (and just for Tseng's benefit, Reno made sure to buy the matching set). His hair he wears partly up, the bun wrapped cleverly around a sock to make it bigger and fuller, decorated with a pair of red jade pins. There wasn't any time to change the color, but it's fine. The auburn suits him. And the shoes? You walk in 'em by being very careful and not going too fast. For the most part, the makeup outside of what he's disguised himself in, covered his tattoos with, and essentially reformed the entire shape of his face with is relatively subtle—longer lashes, simple colors to make the blue in his eyes pop ever so brightly, pink cheeks, a dewy red tint for his lips. (He might have phoned a friend for advice on that part, or he would've just gone straight for hooker red lip lacquer otherwise. We want the eyes and the body to be the money makers here, this time.)
It's for the job, naturally.
That smile he wears as he makes his way along the thoroughfare to the den in a careful, measured gait (still the same old saunter, but slower, with more hips) says he knows better than to play at innocence. It fits right in with the setting, the paper lanterns and wafting wisps of incense and other heady, less romantic smells down here in the depths of Midgar's depraved undercity. Reno—Renate—doesn't say a word, just offers his hand out once he's close enough. He could be just another local girl who Knows What She's Doing but doesn't really have a clue, actually. Just the sort of thing the son of a bitch they're after will be into. ]
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And the whole time, his senses are tingling. No, he doesn't know anything for sure. This whole job could be a bust or a trap or worse. But that part of himself that made Veld steal him away to the underground like the reapers of legend, the part that just knows, is singing like a canary right now, and its song is loud and clear as day.
Once it's about time to meet, he leaves his post, greases the concierge's palms one final time, and heads out on to the streets. He keeps his distance at first, holding a conversation with himself on a device that has never been used for anything more than this, a signal-less prop. The den girls are out in force on a night like this, begging patrons off the street with swishing hips and soft, fleeting touches, but Tseng greets them all the same. ]
Bú yòng xièxie—no thank you, Miss. I'm waiting...
[ And then there it is, the moment when Tseng recognizes the dress and has to quickly process all the rest in kind to keep from gawking. Reno has done this before, sure, but that wasn't this. This doesn't make any sense to his eyes, a transformation of not just wardrobe and color, but bone structure and biology too. It doesn't seem possible. Maybe two hours was enough for Reno to score some off-market drug cocktail from one of the dealers down here that specialize in that sort of thing. Tseng isn't convinced that's the case. This is just Reno magic through and through, all him, all improvised, thorough to the fucking nth.
Also, this is going to be a problem.
Tseng has been having trouble lately with keeping his eyes off Reno. All that was child's play in comparison. There's so much to see, the way the glossy tint makes his lips look like ripe fruit, full of juice and delectably biteable, the shape of his calves in those heels, a perfect silhouette of shadow and curves, the subtle way he carries himself, like fire dancing atop a torch. It's good that this is a job, that he's Liang and not Tseng right now, because Tseng would be severely disappointed with the way his gaze drops in obvious increments, his lips parted just so, ready for surprise everywhere his eyes wander. Liang, on the other hand, isn't shy about appreciating the dame on his arm.
Yeah, that's totally it. Oh well. Roll with it. He slips into an easy smile. ]
Well look at you, Renate. Gonna make me the most envied guy in all of Sector 8.
[ There's truth to it. They're already drawing stares. He snaps Reno close, hands on his hips, leans into his neck to press a kiss to his skin and whisper, confidentially: ]
If shit goes south, it's officially your fault.
no subject
Now's a good time to practice, he guesses, before they're truly in the thick of it. The bubbly little giggle he lets out when Tseng first lays eyes on him could use some work, but truth be told it's because it's largely genuine. It may not be an open-mouthed, wide-eyed, drooling gawking AWOOGA kind of stare, but for Tseng it may as well be as good as. And that feels pretty fucking good, not gonna lie. ]
You don't have to worry about a thing, sweetheart.
[ That may or may not be true. Time will tell.
He chooses to shoot lower than higher in the vocal range, and surprises himself with how it comes out sounding. If he puts a little spin on the accent, it might even sound downright delicate. Whatever. He'll work on it on the fly. The great benefit to this setting is that no one will notice whether he's got it "right" or not, as long as the gist of it passes well enough, and this does. Emboldened, Reno narrows his eyes challengingly at the other girls standing around. Sniffing around his classically handsome man, are you? Shoo. He whispers back. ]
I told you I've still got it.
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[ They might cut too perfect a picture. Tseng sees it in their reflection in the smoked glass facing the street as they pass by, both of them cutting a neat, willowy silhouette that stretches heights above the rest of the crowd. They look like an act stepped fresh off of Loveless Street, not two individuals-about-town dropping by the Chateau for a smoke and a game. He thinks it's something they can use, though, and his hand tightens on Reno's swaying hips. Tries not to watch how they sway, even though it's tempting.
The door to the Chateau is obviously reclaimed, comprised of heavy wood and beveled carvings, the door pull gilded and polished. It gives you the sense that you're stepping into something classy, and within, the illusion continues. The ceilings are tiled with mirrors and slow-roaming lights that slow the tempo of the space down to an opiate lull. Everything is white and gold: the porcelain pottery, hundreds of years old and hand-painted with fantastical tableaus, the couches and bunks, gleaming white leather with golden studs, the floor underfoot, dazzling marble with resplendent tendrils of leafing stroked through like drifting smoke. Yun's girls stalk the grounds like hungry sharks, dressed in the same style of short-shifted silk dresses that Reno's wearing. They carry with them priceless pipes that buy them ample space for their long, delicate flutes, balanced precariously over their shoulders as they lean and whisper and negotiate.
One casts a glance his way, but Tseng watches another woman intercept her, whispering something in her ear that makes her eyes widen. For a moment, he's tense. But then he picks out the pink kimono embossed with silvery bird wings, the mahogany flash of piercing lilted eyes, and cants his head to the side like he's considering one of the squat lamps on the table beside him. Yun takes the hint and strolls over, moving like water through the current of the crowd.
Once again, his fingers tighten through the silk, warning Reno as Yun dances up on to her toes and kisses his cheek, whispering, "Báo. Three yú and a yán." Tseng makes a low noise. ]
Sounds like there's just room enough for two more.
[ Tseng reaches out, tucks something into her tightly-crafted updo, and Yun bows, low and slow. Then she's working her way through the crowd again and Tseng is brushing his mouth over Reno's like they're brand new lovers on the brink of something exciting, which isn't too hard to emote, considering. ]
Still got your card game too, I hope.
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[ There we go, now he's getting it. There's just a slight tip to the accent, not slums-rough but not plate-proper, either. Somewhere right down the middle and faintly foreign, like maybe he came here a long, long time ago from one of the western peninsulas past Rocket Town and never quite lost the propensity for lilting vowel sounds. That'll be easy to maintain. That, along with the affectation—essentially still just himself as usual, but sweeter, less god-damn devious. Reno smiles into their besotted little kiss, his hands sliding up the lapels of Tseng's suit jacket. The heels give him quite a few inches of height, almost enough to make him taller, but not quite. Actually, he's not a fan of that part. Kinda likes going up on tiptoe to get cute.
If not for the situation, this might have all the makings to be the most fun mission he's ever been on. As it stands, though, he kind of fucking hates it already. Being dressed up and playing pretend with Tseng is just about the only saving grace, really, because this place... this fucking place feels like being in a waking nightmare. It reminds him so starkly of Wall Market, of being twelve years old and stuck, sweltering in some back room, dazed by all the secondhand smoke. It reminds him of being deployed to trap some highroller that's been filching funds from Shinra coffers to have too good a time and not having the skills or training just yet to navigate the more organized setting of dens and whorehouses in Midgar rather than Junon. If he died in a place like this, wound up in chains and shipped off on a boat to some faraway place, no one would have cared to come after him. He was an expendable tool that no one took care of or looked out for. He had some really close calls. Really close calls.
The smell of this place, the faux-elegance, makes him sick. And knowing that, hopefully in due time, one of the key figures that made Junon miserable for him, too, will be here? Fuck. It's the worst of both worlds colliding. He wants nothing more than to ruin everything about this whole establishment and everyone in it.
But that's later. For now, he hums, low and satisfied and smug at the eyes on them as he nuzzles himself close. Appreciates the sound of his own stilettos clicking on the polished marble floor, measuring out each swaying step so that he doesn't roll his fucking ankle in these killer shoes (god, it's been years) and yet making it look sultry, not precarious. The table at which they'll be seated for their game has every pair of eyes already sitting around it look up and right at him. It's second nature, passing through sliding doors and bowing, murmuring greetings with soft lips and shrewd eyes, something he couldn't forget how to do no matter how many years it's been. It's just lucky that the image they've crafted for themselves tonight includes not having to let go of Tseng's arm most of the time. Until he gets into the swing of things, he really needs something to ground him. ]
no subject
Three of the players are Tianshi, which is expected. Each of them is wearing the leather jacket with embossed characters, the symbol of the Phoenix rising emblazoned on the back. Their fingertips are black where they've ritualistically removed the prints from them. These are worker drones, street guys. He recognizes one of them from a job Plateside, which barely made the footnotes of his day back when this guy's cell got too big for its britches and tried offering protections up and down West 64th. He'd parked Rude on the stoop of a laundry mat to make it clear who ran this town and that was that. Still, Tseng remembers his name: Sun Fu. Why he's dealing in with sharks has Tseng's appetite for intriguing mysteries piqued and burning.
And then there's Yun's yán. She'd warned him, but Tseng wasn't expecting this: a broad, monumental figure hunched over the table, his face cratered with rambling scars and mostly obscured by a thick, bushy black beard. There are faded tattoos on his tan knuckles, which is the only way that Tseng is able to place him: he's Hijos de Sinaloa, has to be, one of the cartels that runs the ports down south. One of the very few operations that Tseng tries his best to stay away from, considering their far reach and penchant for spilling as much blood as it takes to quickly counter any assertations against their strength. Image is everything to them. They've run afoul of the Hijos exactly once in an official capacity, back when Shinra was chomping at the bit for Costan SOLDIERS, and Tseng's done more than his fair share appealing to the powers that be to reconsider ever trying them again.
But why he's here, swapping cards with Tianshi enforcers, Tseng can only venture to guess. He tries not to let his gaze slide toward Reno as he takes a step toward the table. The chair he pulls for his companion is at the left-hand side, next to Song Fu. He's going to need Reno at every advantage for this. ]
S'cuse me, boys. She likes to watch a good game. Don't you, cutie?
[ His hands drop to Reno's shoulders, rubbing circles before he pulls out a chair for himself. The Hijo is seated to his right-hand side. He tries not to let the serendipity of it all get to his head; things have the potential to go truly, truly wrong. ]
Deal me in?
[ One of the Tianshi says something about saving those seats for someone else. Tseng shakes his head and says they'll make it quick. That he always wins with his girl on his arm, don't you worry. Flashes a winning smile.
The Hijo's eyes stare him down, unblinking. Sun Fu starts passing cards around, and Tseng flashes Reno a glimpse at his hand before he starts sorting them, calculating plays in his head. ]
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Truth be told, that last one would be a very nice angle to work. Maybe he still will, if it comes down to that. If he has to. But even truthier be told, the thought makes him feel desperately afraid, and he can hardly stand to think of being that kind of bait right now. Only if he has to, he tells himself. Then and only then. This is not a safe situation for him to be in. He hasn't felt actual, visceral fear like that in a long, long, long time. Fear makes you sloppy and reckless. It can't be allowed. Only in a last-ditch scenario.
For now, there's nothing to be afraid of. He leans in, presses his lips to Tseng's cheek. ]
Mm, that's right. My baby's very good. And yet he never manages to win when it's just the two of us...
[ His hand slides up Tseng's thigh, and there's two very good reasons for it. One is that it catches the eye of the man on his left, who watches the smooth movement of his fingers traveling up the seam of Tseng's pants for all of a second or two before they meet each other's gaze. Reno smiles, holding the stare with his lids lowered, his hand stilling and his lashes batting just twice in a you won't tell, will you? kind of way. It gives him just enough time for a lightning-quick gaze at the cards in the man's hand, the glance unnoticed when he's too busy being ogled instead. After he's gotten what he wanted, Reno inclines his head and sweeps his eyes across the table, and Sun Fu returns to his cards.
The second reason for that hand on Tseng's thigh, now angled far in such a way that it's difficult to make out on either side of them, is to subtly trace the shape of the characters he's seen in Sun Fu's hand against his leg. Honestly, he isn't sure what the values of some of the characters are off the top of his head, but that's fine. Tseng will know. This is minor-league shit compared to what's coming, anyway. They're going to have to play their way to the next room, and that's where he figures they'll find their man. Unless one of these seats were meant for him, in which case...
In which case it's just a lucky thing that it isn't breaking character for him to disrupt the silence of the table with some charming gab, meant to draw all the attention toward himself so that Tseng can play a perfect game, and also a much-needed relief for the high-alert nerves he's feeling. ]
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He starts following Reno's lead. Looks at him before he plays every card. Stutters when his hand goes up his thigh. Already, their opponents are starting to overlook him, getting the picture he's trying to portray: he's some kind of self-important nobody, probably some fat cat's son all stuffed full of old money and venturing down-Plate for a sense of adventure he can't get where the sun shines. He lets it look like Reno's playing him, looks for much longer at Reno than at anyone else, pours everything he never had into an obvious desperation that practically drips from his gaze. He presses too many kisses to Reno's neck—or just enough, considering each one is slow, stroked, counting out the number of sides on the card he needs. Reno, he's sure, has hands quick enough to filch it in plain sight.
Just in case, he clears his throat and plays a bad card. The Hijo mutters something in another language that Tseng pretends not to understand. He smiles at him instead, blank as a whiteboard as his card is flipped. ]
Shit! This is my engagement ring money you're stealing here. Gonna get married right on the bay in Junon, aren't we, doll?
[ Tseng slaps a stack of gil in the center of the table. It's enough to quiet the tittering Tianshi leaning in to whisper, enough to wipe the glower off of the Hijo's face. Sun Fu exchanges glances with the rest of the table, then nods and clears the space. ]
That's right.
[ Tseng loops an arm around Reno's shoulder. ]
Help me out here, babe. I'm feeling lucky.
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This one.
[ You can practically hear the gears turning in the heads of the other men at the table when, lo and behold, this card the lady's chosen is the one that saves the day. Their eyes are all over him and it isn't just the low cut of the dress and that dazzling smile, it's, ahh, so she's the brains here. It doesn't keep him out of harm's way in the least, really, but it's enough to make anyone think twice about what a gal like this might be here for. Whatever gets him face to face with the man he wants to see, gets Tseng shaking hands with whoever he has to.
It's just a matter of working the crowd. These worker bees are easy to sway and liven up, and that man from the southern peninsula, well, they like a little spice to their lives, you know. The longer it goes on, the more confident Reno gets. If there was anyone they were actually saving those seats for, they don't ever seem to arrive, and eventually a waitress is brought in to serve them drinks. Reno only wets his lips, which while the obvious ladylike thing to do is also for two main reasons: because he hasn't really drank since Gooski's and would rather not, and because there is absolutely no way he's letting his guard down in this place. A couple more rounds, another pass from the waitress, and Reno sees one of the Tianshi stop her to murmur something in her ear; she nods, and exits through a different door, one no one has come in or out of thus far this evening. To fetch the special liquor? Or something else? ]
@tifa
All but for one cell in particular. Militant, erratic, impossible to control—that's the intel that comes in from Black Hawk, from Red Sun, from Sky Blue and all the others. Their official codename is Flameskull, an image that one of their members helpfully inked on his flesh for ease of identification. Over their PHS devices, patched into private networks where Barret's team cannot overhear, they're referred to as Black Sheep.
Tseng has always been very interested in black sheep.
Spoofing Domino's number is a piece of cake. Almost tragically easy, a task as boring as locking his front door behind him every morning. One twist of a key and he's in. The only strategy he needs to consider is who he might call. Barret is out; he's far too paranoid, more volatile than Tseng cares to deal with. He will waste valuable time that Tseng does not have. Likewise, it would be wasteful to ascertain which KIA members are ghosting through this world, miraculously revived by whatever cosmic force keeps bringing the dead back to life. They uninteresting to him anyway. And the 'ex-SOLDIER...'
The better avenue, he ultimately decides, is through Tifa. She could likely complete this job on her own. She is capable and quick, but easily accessible if he plays to her empathic nature. He dials her number and waits. She should find this caller code familiar. ]
I am writing this tag for the 4th time
That doesn't mean she doesn't answer the phone. Things are just too weird, all the time, to not take a chance on a random number.]
Ah hello?