[ 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? ]
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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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ 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? ]