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