insusurro | NO DATE ONLY DINNER (ft the junon scrubs)

NO DATE ONLY DINNER (ft the junon scrubs)

_{[The days following the gala had been relatively uneventful, save for the morning after. There was a necessary visit to the slums - Sector 5 to be exact - and it had gone off without any major hitches. Was it a little awkward? Sure. It had been the first time Roche had gone searching for flowers in Midgar, and the first time he'd actually bought any for something. For anyone. He doesn't count the times he'd been involved with flowers in Junon. Those moments never involved being crouched over a bed of flowers being "relentlessly" teased by the very florist he'd been sent to, prompting Roche to actually look sheepish. Especially after he'd described them and the realization kicked in as to what they were.

Did Reno realize that they were the same ones that were part of the Gnole's motif?

It'd only become worse when she'd started telling him about the best colors to pick, and the meanings behind them.

Turning up Friday afternoon to pick them up had been even worse, and only cemented the fact that this girl - as lovely and as sweet as she is - was a menace. And right up his alley once the overall mortification passed. Yeah, Reno absolutely knew what he was doing when he sent Roche to her. (Note to self: payback.)

Fortunately the rest of the day was going by smoothly, and by the time eight o'clock rolls around? He's ready.

Roche can't remember the last time he'd actually been able to dress himself up the way he wants. In the past, other people had already had things in mind and the gala had been no exception. This time however, it was in his hands and his alone. The jacket and vest went together just fine all on their own with the white dress shirt underneath it all, and while it was tempting to be a little Extra, the tie itself is a simple, plain black one. He already knows they're going to be right menaces, but that doesn't mean you can't look nice while doing it. The real effort came with his hair. He didn't mess with it often, but this time... It's special. The red streaks would wash out easily and while it's not exact, he did his best to match it to the shade Reno wore in the past. The flowers? Now that was the selling point - a not so big, not so small bouquet of red, orange, pink and yellow Amaryllis, accented by a sparse collection of Forget-Me-Nots and smaller wildflowers. The latter weren't his idea, but who was he to complain? Aerith was the flower expert, not him. (Surely she didn't do it to make it weird.)

Even with the car parked on the street behind him, he doesn't look too out of place at Reno's door in Sector 8. One last peek at the time on his phone - ten to eight. Taking a deep breath, Roche straightens up, and knocks.]}

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ooh... there's an idea.

[ Get Roche all drugged up on that wicked shit and see what happens? Just for funsies? Hahaha, just kidding. Maybe if they do it together or something, like a small dose. It's better than smoking up, fucks you up less than coke does the next day, and doesn't make it impossible to function like heroin. That'd be a blast. But, eh... nah. They already had their truth serum moment. Anything they say, they should say it in their right minds. Or like, drunk at best. That's still in your right mind, right?

Guess they'll find out. Reno watches Roche give that a sip, laughs at his silly jokes, and then goes ahead and breaks the seal on his sobriety with a nice solid swig of his own. And how does the lady find his champagne this evening? ]

Haugh—fuck!

[ NASTY!!!

He knocks the rest of it back in a solid gulp that leaves but one single glistening drop of nectar that rolls down his chin and the side of his neck, head tilted back. Once it's gone, he takes that glass full of diamonds and smashes it on the floor of the car. Just because he can. ]

Fuck this nasty trash! Only rich bitches get drunk on this. We're gonna order us a whole-ass bottle of the Dalmore 62 and plow through it with our roasted peacock and swan soup, and that'll loosen up your tongue sure as anything. Not that I need it; I could guess your code using numbers logic if I really wanted to.

_{[Points. That's bait. That's bait and Roche, ever the opportunist, takes it with only the faintest of second thoughts. It's not in the way he thinks about doing and just licking it, oh no. This was c l a s s y. So classy in fact, that he ducks down to kiss that stray little drop away before it can reach the collar of his shirt. No one said anything about this being "against the rules", and really, isn't necking in the back of a limo part of the experience anyway?]}

Or you could just ask. Can't promise I'd give it to you right away, but what's that phrase they use in those Costan films... Mi casa es su casa? Something like that.

_{[It goes without saying that the offer extends to all the Turks as well. You can't have one without the others after all. Though if he goes that route, he's going to have to take a page from Reno's book and get another place of his own that's away from the company's eyes.

But that's something for Future-Roche to fuss over.]}

Just don't go too wild on me, Hotshot. It'd be a shame to forget about half of this come morning, wouldn't it?

_{[Meaning that just like with the Saucer, he's going to do his absolute damndest to keep an eye on him. They can save the crazy for when they're not in some high class establishment.]}

I won't, I won't. Promise. I'm a good girl, remember? And I'm on my best behavior tonight.

[ A good girl, he says, and struggles desperately with the impulse to chase Roche's mouth when he leans away again. God, he really is probably the easiest person in the world to rile up. It can't be helped, really. In general, and in this case, because he wouldn't know how else to act if he wasn't pretending to act otherwise. I mean, it's not his god damn fault Roche is so god damn attractive, is it? No. No it's not.

No kisses yet. He looks away, stretching his leg out to toe through the shards of glass on the floor with his shoe, snagging one of the diamonds underneath it and dragging it over. He bends down to pick it up and turns it around in his fingers appraisingly. ]

Fuck, how many carats you think this is, two? Sell one of these and half the slums could eat for months. —Pop the sunroof, wouldja?

[ Throwing diamonds out of the sunroof? Throwing diamonds out of the sunroof. ]

That's assuming whoever was in charge of the funds from it didn't go mad.

_{[Money did things to people. Sometimes they'd be fine and do good things, but in Roche's experience it turned them paranoid and vicious more than anything. And with Wall Market being, well, Wall Market? It'd only be a matter of time before the unsavory sorts came sniffing about.

Roche blindly reaches for Reno's hand as he awkwardly moves across the back, the other going for the switch to open the roof up. He's hit with a gust of wind almost immediately, but it doesn't bother him in the least. Why should it? He sticks his face into winds much faster on a regular basis. A little highway breeze was nothing.]}

Watch your head-- You know, I've actually heard talk about there actually being bottles encrusted with diamonds. Imagine taking that to the saucer.

_{[Hey, how'd your weekend go? Oh, you know. Broke a bottle of tequila worth over three million over some poor unsuspecting fool's head.]}

Hahaha, fuck. You wanna beat down a moogle with a bottle made of spacerocks, baby?

[ Now that'd be something. Just completely brain a dude in a moogle suit with a diamond bottle. Reno's cackling as he gets up, taking not just the one diamond he's found, but several others (but not all of them) from the floor. He has to stand on tiptoe for any real height, but soon he's got half his body wriggled out of the sun roof. Fortunately, those egg whites hold his hair down just fine, although his rat-tail does whip dramatically in the wind, the loose ends of his ribbon flying along with it. ]

Damn, that's nice. It's a step down from flyin', but I'll take it.

[ Speaking of take it: take that! Reno hucks one of those big honkin' jewels open-hand off the side of the highway rail, where it will no doubt sail right down to the bottom and land on some poor bottom-dweller's head. ]

Look, we're practicing altruism. We're good people.

_{[Well, when he puts it that way...]}

With you? Absolutely.

_{[What would be better? Getting beaned upside the head with an ordinary bottle and picking glass out of the suit, or getting beaned with a fancy ass bottle like that and picking diamonds out of it? Surely they could retire off of that, and wouldn't that be the good deed of a century? Rescuing someone from a lifetime of kupo this, kupo that and get your kupo nut balloons?

They'd be bigger heroes than the big shots in SOLDIER.

When Roche looks over to see where he's throwing, he almost wishes he could freeze time in this moment. Now this would be prime advertising material for all these limo companies. Part of him is almost disappointed there's no camera (save for the traffic cams), but if he really stops and thinks about it... This is a moment that he wouldn't want plastered in the papers under a lousy advertisement.]}

Here, you want to aim...

_{[It's luck that the vehicle slows - it has to for the exit ramp, which gives him ample time to point at the space between it and the main drag. There's a spot right... Roche takes Reno's wrist, lining it up.]}

There. You hit it right, and that baby goes straight to Sector 4.

[ Reno leans back into Roche as he had in the car, his arm cocked back, and waits until he's been aimed properly before he lets that moneybomb rip. Just as the car starts to change lanes that diamond goes sailing up and over the railing and then plummets like a sparkling meteor to the world below and then, right after it, he hucks a second one the same way. That one hits the rail and bounces, looking for a second like the wind might take it right back into the street, but fate gives it a gentle nudge and sends it down into the slums the same as the first two. ]

That'll make someone's day. Concussion or a windfall, it all depends on your perspective.

[ Right? Life's full of hard knocks, no sense bitching about it. The last diamond in his hand he turns and slips into Roche's pocket, patting his hip where the bump of it shows through the material. ]

That last one we're gonna give as the tip to whoever's unlucky enough to serve us.

_{[And how could he ever forget it? It'll be a relief to get it out of his pocket by the time they're finished in that part of town, both because he'll be feeling it digging into his hip and because of the invisible flame against his skin. This is by far the most expensive thing he's had on his person in his entire life. Second most, if he counts The Sword.]}

Sounds like I'll have my work cut out for me between keeping an eye on the slums and wherever our waiter lives. Remind me to sniff them out tomorrow morning.

_{[Roche isn't stupid - people talk, and boy it's going to be a dogfight if any gangs find those sweet little nuggets. On the other hand if some ordinary person gets their hands on it first and the gangs come sniffing? He's no guardian angel, but someone needs to look out for the underdogs, and the slums are as under as anyone can get.

Waiting is going to be the worst part of it.]}

No matter what happens, I think we'll make quite an impression with them. Two stunning, wild dogs with appetites and hearts to match... Who could resist talking about us for the next couple months? Maybe even years?

Heh heh. You're such a good boy.

[ Tracking down and following the ripples he's just made in the slums to make sure nothing goes horribly awry? Good shit. Reno slides his hands back from Roche's pocket to feel him up, curling both arms casually around the width of his hips to squeeze his ass right there in the sunroof, their upper halves whipped with wind and the rest a naughty little secret. That their driver probably gets to see, but whatever. He trusts that Roche has him on a tight leash. He... trusts, isn't that something? Like genuinely, without reservation outside of the common sense ones that leave him never truly unprepared for a coup, but isn't that just how all regular people live? That's different. ]

Mm, yeah, I think I'm ready to be famous. We can be the new "IT" couple. Like what's her face with the whore lips and what's his face with the stupid facial hair.

[ They've already got both of those going for both of them. Reno indicates by pecking Roche's stupid chin.

And would you look at that, they're in the city proper now. It doesn't take long to go from close-to-the-highway rundown housing to the ritzy shit, mansions and high-class establishments and lights for days, as if the entirety of their mako production was made specifically to light up this area. It's stunning, really, absolutely gorgeous. The architecture, the layout of the streets and buildings, everything. A real testament to Reeve's work. And it's honestly nauseating to Reno, but that's why this is going to be so fun. Because they're gonna make a joke of it tonight and have a blast doing it. ]

Aw, babe. You really think it's stupid?

_{[His voice says shot through the heart, but his eyes tell another story. How could he be hurt with a pair of arms wrapped oh-so-nicely around his waist and unafraid to grab a handful? That's asking the impossible. One of Roche's arms snakes behind Reno's back, acting as an anchor to keep the two of them in place when the speeds drop. He may speed through residential neighborhoods, but he's not the one behind the wheel tonight.

There's no doubt in his mind that every house - every person living here is worth just as much as his own blood, if not more. How anyone could live like this is beyond his comprehension. That standard housing Shinra saddled him with is the most expensive place Roche has ever owned, and the thought of going fancier leaves him uneasy. It's begging for trouble. (What he wouldn't give to tear through these streets on a bike, though.)]}

...Imagine how bad the parties these people throw, huh? Nothing but a lot of standing around and doing nothing. I don't know how folks do it every day.

_{[Roche really, really doesn't. Tilting his head to the side, he rests it against Reno's and keeps his eyes peeled for the place. Their driver knows where it is, but he's heard talk about how... loud this place looks from the outside. Five, six stops at the lights and it's there, nice and lit up just like the big theater that puts on Loveless. The exterior blends in with the surrounding buildings, but the sign. Emblazoned by four seraphic wings spread out from the upper corners, an ever-rotating ring on a much larger track sits behind it. Even the writing on the sign is on the gaudy side. It's a beautiful, flowing script that reads two words;

Divine Judgement.]}

Classy enough, Hotshot?

[ The place is absolutely stunning. Reno knows exactly where they're headed before they even reach it, and not because he's ever been there or knows it on sight. He just realizes that this fucking baffling bastion of extravagance has got to be the place. At this stage in his life, it's really difficult to awe him (that will change—that will change real soon), but this place manages it. There are fountains, and they're gold. There are swans. There are peacocks. Holy fuck, both. Honestly, after working at Shinra Inc. for as long as he has, you'd think he'd be used to this kind of spectacle by now, but that's different. The marble and granite and gilding should be old news, but somehow he always manages to be impressed that other people have access to this same sort of shit. People live like this. All the time, in fact. For no reason other than because they can.

Listen, even nearly twenty years later, you can take the boy out of the streets, but you can't take the streets out of the boy. He'll never really truly be used to it. Maybe if he did this sort of thing all the time, too? But he ain't no business executive. The Turks version of extravagance is... well, maybe someday Roche will see it for himself. For now, he whistles as they come around the bend. ]

I'm wondering if they'll actually be stupid enough to let us in.

[ Back down inside the car he goes, wriggling through the sunroof to sit as they pull up to the valet. The attendant opens the door for them once they've come to a stop, and Reno gets out as elegantly as he knows how: one long leg first, like he ought to be wearing that slitted dress from the gala again to show off his gams before he steps out properly. Another attendant opens the door on the other side for Roche, and they meet around the back with a gesture toward the entrance. There's practically a red carpet, and he almost expects to be bombarded by paparazzi. That'd... not be great. He's actually not permitted to have his picture published publicly; it's in his contract. That's why his insta is private, sigh. ]

Geez. Well... shall we? Before they chase us off with a broom? Heh heh.

[ Holding hands? Or linked arms? One is technically classier than the other, he guesses, and also more what he's used to, but Reno wants to be as obnoxious as he possibly can. Holding hands it is, bitch. With laced fingers and everything. ]

_{[Reno beats him to the punch by miles and leaves him stunned in the dust. See, Roche's plan was to link arms and walk in like he owned the place, like he belonged with the limited knowledge he picked up from more... professional (whoring) nights in his past. Hell, Roche wasn't against holding hands by any means either considering how handsy he gets with people.

It's just this is... different.]}

They won't do that.

_{[His voice is so quiet he almost doesn't hear himself, but it's just loud enough to be picked up between the two of them. Roche's eyes are focused on their hands and the way Reno's fingers slot together with his. Like it's some... new, fascinating oddity that dropped itself into the world. Of course he's done this once before too - probably when he was coming out of that post-death hangover when he was vibing on his bed with the selfsame Turk. Something about this particular moment stirs something within his chest.

Heartburn? No... It's something familiar but foreign all at once. There've been moments where Roche has felt something similar to it on the road. Whatever it is always hits fast, hard, and vanishes just as quickly as it appears, but not this time. This was more subdued. Lingering, even. Something he almost, almost wants to chase and hook his claws into just to savor it.

But just like the former feeling, it doesn't last. Slower to depart, but by the time Roche finds himself squeezing Reno's hand, it's gone. Whatever. That'll be something to bash his head against when he's covered in engine oil and grease.]}

If this starts to feel like too much, give me a signal.

_{[Roche remembers being completely overwhelmed the first time someone brought him to a place like this, and almost ten years ago that shit was nowhere near this high-end. If the first ride had been a Hardy Daytona, this was an Ecosse.

Taking a breath himself, he waits for Reno, and brings them in. For a moment, he may as well be a different person, putting that SOLDIER air to good use. Head high, shoulders back, and a pleasant, clipped tone that refuses to take "no" for an answer. They're with Shinra, and he'd called ahead days ago, squared it away... Perhaps even the President himself would want to schedule events if it's satisfactory enough. "Of course," a "this way," and he silently trails after the host. Everything beyond the entryway is just as gaudy and tacky as the outside. The pillars scattered throughout the room even take after the deity the place was named after, almost mechanical, powerful, and gold. The piano playing away center stage off to the side? Gold, black and ivory all in one. Were he more musically inclined, Roche might even swoon over it. The two of them both stand out compared to everyone else, but that's to be expected. Let them stare all they want. Let them see what they'll never have.

Fun.

And one of the VIP tables, of course. Champagne, fancy napkins, Too Many Utensils, and the best goddamn breadsticks this side of Midgar all sit on the tabletop. "Someone will be with you shortly," and Roche doesn't miss the nerves in the man's voice as he turns away on his heel so fast he nearly trips. Pulling a chair out first, he tilts his head down towards it.]}

After you, dear. And... I've got it covered tonight.

_{[Code for; Go Fucking Ham My Dude.]}

Edited 2020-08-01 23:02 (UTC)

[ It feels... really good, holding Roche's hand like that. Now, mind you—mind you, he's got a thing about hands as it is. It's kind of his thing, like how some guys like tits and some guys like ass and some guys like eyes or legs or shoulders or whatever. For him, it's hands. That other shit's good, too, yeah, but there's something really intimate and special to him about a person's hands. You can tell a lot by a person's hands. The shapes of their fingers, their callouses, the soft or rough quality to their skin and where. Roche has got rough hands that have done more than just their fair share of work. He's no boxer, like Rude, but he's got the burns and scars and callouses to tell Reno just how much he works with them everyday, uniform gloves and whatnot aside. And besides that, they're big fuckers, those hands. But with somewhat oddly long, lovely fingers, and would you look at that, no street-grime under his nails, filed more or less nice and neat. His hand fits nicely in Roche's.

He can feel his pulse pounding all the way from his throat to the vein in their hands and he wonders if Roche will notice.

All the way to their seat, that feeling he's now not entirely unfamiliar with persists, and he chooses to swallow it down by taking in the surroundings. This place is really something else. Someone like him, even if he were to drop his name and title, would never ordinarily be welcome here. It strikes him only as Roche is pulling his chair out a fundamental detail he'd sort of mentally skipped over: that this is all for him, tonight. Sure, there are other people here, and whatever, but this is really... for him. This night between the two of them, in this insanely gilded and high-society place, is supposed to be special. It's "just dinner," but Roche could've taken him anywhere for that. To Denny's, for all he fucking cares. He really arranged all this, just as a joke? Because he asked him to? Seriously?

There are all kinds of eyes on him as he takes a seat, and he's absolutely goddamn positive no one's ever pulled his chair out for him before, either. Reno opts to grin and find it funny, like this is all part of the big huge mockery they're making out of high society tonight, and it is. But also... he can't help realizing no one's ever treated him this way before. This is... fucking weird. ]

I sure hope you do. God—what the fuck? Look at this.

[ That diamond in Roche's pocket is seeming a whole lot less impressive when there are crystals inlaid in the silverware. The place setting in front of them is absolutely priceless, he's sure. The glass looks like it's made of moon gems or some fuckin' type of shit like that, filigreed in gold with a bold design. The goblets they're meant to drink out of are even nicer than the glass he smashed back in the limo, with sparkling facets and a hefty weight that makes him wonder if it isn't just made of diamond entirely. But the crystals sparkling in the handles of their utensils is really blowing his mind. ]

Are people really like this? Seriously? Is the food made outta crystals, too?

[ One of their many attendants comes to the table holding a fucking mindblowing bottle of what appears to be liquid gold and speaks total nosensewords, Armand de Brignac Midas? and then adds, champagne, sir, so Reno must look as clueless as he feels. Fuck, he's really out of his element here. ]

Oh. Yeah, totally. We're celebratin', right?

'Course. To a n... To us. Wherever the road takes us.

_{[It's the best he can come up with on such a short notice. There's something strangely endearing in the way Reno's expression keeps shifting. Even if he doesn't show it outright on his face, Roche can see it in his eyes, and that's exactly why he wasn't prepared for the celebration. It's what prompts him to stretch his leg out under the table and bump it against the side of his calf. The whole time, Roche's gaze doesn't leave Reno's, even as he holds up a few fingers. Two glasses of Midas, just to start, and he doesn't forget the most important bit. Dalmore 62. The best one you've got. He's going to pay for the entire damn thing, and the knowledge that a single bottle runs nearly as much as some of the high-end bikes available to the public doesn't even phase him.

He doesn't have a Turk's salary by any means, but Roche has enough stashed away to be comfortable. It's a decent dent, and it's already worth it.]}

You'd be surprised at what the rich do to entertain themselves. Do you remember anything about... God, what was it... It was on one of the upper levels of Junon, almost at the very top. They had the big, red curtains on the outside. I can't remember the name of it, but it looked a little like this on the inside, only...

_{[Roche looks over, taking in the room. This really was an Ecosse. Everything was so streamlined all the way from the ceiling to the way the staff carried themselves. Practiced. People who can do this on a daily basis must be worse than the filthiest place in Wall Market, and it's almost a little frightening. Even the place in Junon wasn't this flashy. Oh well. Chalk it up to another first that he gets to experience with Reno. Gods know it's not going to be the last thing.]}

This place beats it by a country mile.

_{[Even the forks were fancier, and he finds himself drifting into the same lane Reno's thoughts are in. The diamond burning a hole into his skin could feed half of the slums, but here... It could probably buy the entire table setting, their meals and maybe two bottles of the mid-range booze. That doesn't mean it's not a bad tip considering how management could treat their workers... Hell, it might even be enough for someone to retire on if they were smart about it. Run away from this stuffy, uptight job and throw themselves into their hobbies if they wanted to.

That's what Roche would do in their position, anyway.

Next time, he's thinking Denny's or something greasy. Shame the menu didn't have anything like that, but what can you expect from something this high-class?]}

What're you in the mood for?

[ Their attendant nods and procures them both two crystal flutes, uncorks the bottle of golden nectar champagne from the gods, and pours both of them full for each of them. Salud, he says, and departs to fetch the second thing Roche has asked for. Reno tilts his head and grins, leaves the champagne where is for the moment. Just to watch aaaall those bubbles float to the surface. ]

It was called La Chatre Alexandria, and it was supposed to look like a big, fancy castle. I remember. I remember egging a guy's car out in the parking lot of that place, once.

[ Hehehe. Ok. Champagne time. He picks up his flute, gives it a waft under his nose, and then holds it across the table to clink that shit before they sip it. Pinky out, bitch. ]

To the future where these are our good ol' days. —Yo, this is actually pretty good.

[ And to think he was concerned about not being able to stomach the fancy stuff. And speaking of stomaching the fancy stuff... ]

I want whatever the most expensive thing is. It's either gonna be an entire roast toddler or one single potato made of Materiajuice or something, watch. [ He's flipping through the menu to find it, and sure enough... duck foie gras with beets, some other vegetable shit, and fucking spicy mustard, topped with gold leafs and whatever the fuck "bonecrumb" is. sure. ok. ] That. That's the one.

You know there's still people who believe that old piece of propaganda? According to it, SOLDIERs are born from mud and they gained their strength by eating babies. For all we know there may be some truth to that, because my earliest memory is rolling around in a pit of mud.

_{[Ha ha can you imagine. Not the mud part, because that's totally easy to believe considering their origins. It's either mud, or a puddle of gasoline. Actually knowing Junon, it probably was that. Mud, gas, oil, and god knows whatever else dripped down from above. Good times, though. Good times.

He has to lean over a little to see what he points at, and... wow, huh. Roche doesn't recognize that name. Did they have that at Chatre? Fuck if he remembers. Expensive and expensive go hand in hand though, and he'll bribe (trade) his way with the the wagyu strip. It's almost just as flashy, boasting about being on top marbled potatoes and... year and two year old cheeses. Cheese is cheese, people!!!

And then something else catches his eye.]}

...Hey, Reno. Split this one? It's...

_{[He beckons him closer, like it's some big important secret, and points it out. a Kobe beef patty stuffed with foie gras and gold-leaf, caviar, lobster, truffles, some other sort of cheese melted with champagne steam and sauce made from coffee. Holy shit. People?? High society?? Are you okay up here?

Roche tries. Oh, he tries so hard to stifle it, but he chokes on a snort and taps the name.]}

The doucheburger.

[ Yeah, he believes that. That Roche was born rolling in mud, that is. He knows it must be true because he himself recalls much the same thing. Being basically indistinguishable from the dirt and trash on the side of the road, his hair so dirty it looked black. His big, colorful eyes cut through the muck, though, or so they say, and he's inclined to believe that, too. He's starting to think these Junon folk have just got The Look. Roche has it. Roche has him by the throat with those eyes, sometimes, and it's got shit-all to do with the Mako.

Like right now, for example. He looks up as Roche beckons him closer, watching his face instead of looking at the menu for the longest moment. It isn't until the snort (so cute, so funny) that he finally takes a gander at what he's pointing out, and.

Wow.

Doucheburger.

Reno barks out a squawk of a laugh that makes all the heads around them turn in annoyance and has to bite his lip to stymie the giggles. ]

Are you fucking—yes, fuck yes. I've never wanted anything more in my life than how much I want to share a d-doucheburger with you.

[ Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Here comes the guy who brought the drinks, now with their bottle of Dalmore 62, and he looks Proper Snooty at the commotion they're raising over here already. Your whiskey, sirs, he says. ]

Yo, we're ready to order. Can I get, uh—

[ You'll place your order with your waiter, sir, says Mr. Only Serves Drinks Apparently, and Reno clicks his tongue, sitting back in his seat and shooting a sardonic grin across the table. ]

Oh, scuze me. That's fine. We'll just get tanked in the meantime. Thanks. Hey, what's your name again, pal?

[ Maurice, sir. ]

Maurice. [ Reno taps his temple. His smile is positively carnivorous. Predatory. A wild, hungry dog. ] I'll remember that.

_{[All it takes is one look. One brief glimpse of the twisted curl of Reno's lips and a flash of teeth, and just like that the feeling he's familiar with slams into his heart, seizes it, and bolts. Roche has to remind himself to breathe. In. One, two, three. Nice and composed, and exhale.

Maurice... Oh, Maurice. You really don't know what you've stepped into.]}

Lovely.

_{[It's directed towards sweet, dear Maurice, but Roche's eyes don't leave Reno's for a second. It's meant for him, but what he's talking about could be anything. It could be that vicious grin, or the look that screams Terrible Idea in those pretty turquoise eyes.

There's tension in the air, and bless his stars it doesn't take long for Mr. Maurice to figure it out and back off. He'll be back of course, but not for awhile at least. Best to give these two wild animals a little space, and wish that poor waiter luck.

They've got time. Plenty of time for Roche to snatch the Dalmore, twist the cap, and fills one of the old fashions that had come with the bottle. It's tempting to steal the first hit for himself, but nah. Roche slides that baby across the tablecloth, right to Reno.]}

I think I know that look.

What look, sweetheart?

[ Is he gonna murder poor Maurice? No. Oh, heavens, no. As was declared to him quite recently (shockingly recently, when you think about it—the Turks Revolution was only a matter of mere months ago, isn't that just the goddamnedest thing? Right before the whole world turned over and people stopped staying dead), it's a new era for Shinra. It's a new era for the Department of Administrative Research, too. He has yet to make this great shift in hierarchy anyone's knowledge but his own yet, but he has plans for his actions going forward. No. His last execution will be Chirpy. Maurice...

Maurice just won't be sleeping for awhile, that's all.

But Roche doesn't need to know that. Reno bats his long, dark lashes and smiles from ear to ear like a wicked little crocodile, takes the offered glass, and knocks it back, pinky out(, bitch). ]

Ahhh, yeah. That's the stuff that's worth your money. Last time I had this was at the Saucer. Me 'n Rude were on what they called a "corporate retreat" that was s'posed to be work but wound up being aaaaall play. Hehehe. He was so smashed. Tried to punch a ghost at the hotel and wound up flat on his face. It ended alright, though. I put him in for a nice long bubblebath and got cozy with the chick that runs the racin' stables... she introduced me to the guys. [ "introduced" = "it was a chocojockey gang bang" ] Next morning we got up still drunk as hell and lucked into a cool mil on the slots. It was just enough to pay for all the bottles of this we racked up on the tab. Y'see, this shit makes dreams come true.

[ a million gil worth of whiskey ]

_{[Oh.

Oh no. He's thinking about that, now. He's thinking about Rude, absolutely gone to the world swinging at air... Should he feel bad for laughing? He kind of does, but that's not enough to stop Roche's snickering. Even if it wasn't Rude, it's still funny. Funny, and... man, actually kind of endearing? So many people forget that the Turks are more than just a suit. They're human. Even with all the terrible things he's heard of the Turks doing, the ones he's met were more human than some SOLDIERs he's known in the past.]}

I'm almost afraid to ask how much it took to get that wasted. He and I are around the same size, but I've got those nice little perks they don't tell you about in SOLDIER to keep me going.

_{[Past!Roche's liver would hate him.]}

If it makes your dreams come true... _{[Roche looks from Reno, to the bottle, and back to Reno as he picks it up and offers it out. Refill?]} What were yours? And what are they now? I might be able to nudge the wheel in the right direction.

[ Refill, yes. Reno reaches out with the empty glass to have it filled again, only this time he doesn't immediately knock the shot back. He swishes it around and thinks for a minute, instead. ]

Back then? I didn't have time for dreams. Just took things one day at a time, y'know? Be lucky if the next day was as much of an adventure as the last. Now, though...

[ He'd rather not think about it. His dreams, his future, what there is left for him in this life, when this life seems like it might not ever end anymore... nothing's been more uncertain before. Everything's been stripped apart and turned upside down. Even just a few weeks ago, when he told Rude under absolute truthfulness that the only perfect world he could picture was still being a Turk, being together with his people. That's... that's over now. It's changed. He just isn't sure how it's changed, just that it has. He wants his people—that's all he knows he still wants. Just to be with the people he cares about, however that has to be. A couple seconds to mull it over, then he tosses back that shot, too. ]

You're already on the right track. I just want to spend my time with people who like me. You liiiike me, right?

[ Batting his lashes again as he sets that glass down. Making a silly joke of it, tee-hee, play-flirting, what a pair. Hopefully none of the sincerity shows. ]

_{[Not the dreaded eyelash batting! His one weakness! He's even hamming it up, chin resting on top of his hand as he leans across the table and just sort of... looks at Reno. Admiring him, really. It's all part of the fun, right?]}

Maybe I liiiike-you like-you.

_{[The near-feral grin melts away as he laughs, and for a split second Roche looks a little... wistful? Like when he had no choice but to watch Cloud peel away into the night on the Motonox. Or... Ah, fuck. There's that Other Feeling again. Maybe it is heartburn. Or maybe it's that thing Sephiroth had said about his body starting to break down, and ha ha wouldn't that be hilarious if he started dying tonight?

Goddamn, man. Tonight is not the night to start trying to process all of that (or ever.)]}

But in all seriousness, have I ever given you a reason to think otherwise? Every time I talk to you, I don't know what to expect and it's... honestly something I look forward to. I've been riding solo for so long I nearly forgot what it felt like to be around people who can keep me on my toes.

_{[He feels it with all of the Turks. Each one has their own unique way of doing it, and that's partially what drives Roche to keep coming back. They fed the stray, and now they're stuck with him following at their heels, eagerly awaiting scraps.]}

No, you haven't.

[ Given him a reason not to think so, that is, and that was kind of the joke, but... listen, he knows Roche likes him, that part is obvious, but... he was talking about, like... er... y'know. Ugh, come on, okay, it's not like he's going to ask Roche to circle "do you like me? yes/no" and ask him to come up with baby names or whatever, eugh, geez. He just meant, like... like... oh. Oh, nope. Don't want to go there.

Except maybe he does kind of want to go there? Reno swallows, subtly and quietly, passes it off by flirting with the champagne still left in his flute, should he down this too? Or leave it? Don't want to get trashed too fast. Or maybe he does, if this is the type of shit he's thinking about. This is all funny ha-ha, but if it's only as deep as the surface-level, does it really, truly matter? By all rights, the answer is no. It'd be no different than any other time anyone "took him out." As a consort at best, or as a joke, or just for fun. Or for work, even. Thing is, he wouldn't have felt the way he felt if he didn't know differently, and that's... that's the part that makes his palms sweat and his heart race. He's never felt so nervous about it before.

But he's never gotten attached to an outsider before, really, either. He's only ever had his Turk family.

Fuck it. Knocking back the champagne, too. Whew, his dry spell is going away with a bang. He's going to be fucking stumbling drunk by the end of the night. ]

Heh. If you're saying I make your heart race, speed demon, then my dreams are for sure coming true.

[ Just keep it light. Play it off. ]

_{[He makes it race, alright. Clearly he makes it do something else too, but Roche doesn't fully realize that yet. For all he knows there's something wrong with him (there is, but that's beyond the point). At first it had only been the adrenaline, but now? God, there's something else going on that makes him feel content when he's at rest. Never in a hundred years did Roche think he'd ever find himself in this position, and it's...

Actually a little scary. A good scary? He's not entirely sure yet.]}

Oh, you've done more than make it race, Hotshot. You've taken it for a ride and found out how to make it purr.

_{[Is that too corny? God, it probably is. You know what fixes that? Whiskey. It's a welcome distraction, but it doesn't quite drag Roche's mind away from it entirely. Who says something like that? He's said things like that to others before, but it had been in jest! That felt like the exact opposite, and maybe floating in that sea of green after that night in the car did break something in him.]}

Am, ah... _{[Alright. Knock back the first glass, and... No, he definitely needs a second one. Yeah. A second glass sounds just fine.]} I really part of your dreams?

_{[F u c k.]}

[ There's something... cute about Roche's expression. There's often something cute about Roche's face, those big wild eyes and that feral grin. He's so damn animated, even here in this stiflingly fancy place, all dressed up and dust-free. Roche purrs when he says purr, and it isn't lost on Reno how he knocks back a-one and a-two of the dreamgranter whiskey, the subtle hesitation in-between shots. He's seen nervousness creep into the mannerisms of all sorts of people, whether it's fear or reluctance or something else entirely, but somehow it's strange to see it here, now. And yet... not, because isn't he doing the same thing, himself? He's tossed back every drink he had access to and there aren't even any breadsticks to shove in his mouth and deflect with. God, what kind of fucking restaurant is this, anyway?

He just needs to not think too deeply on that metaphor. Taking someone's heart for a ride and making it purr is, uh... that's, uh... Reno puts his chin in his hand and laughs about it, nose crinkling, but he can't just cryptically giggle off the question, too, can he? Dammit, where's that waiter to take their doucheburger order so he can just sail past all this without having to confront that seasick feeling in the pit of his stomach? No such luck just yet. Guess they're giving them ample time to get trashed first. Well, cool, Reno pours himself more champagne. ]

Mm, well... let me put it this way...

[ How would he say it to Rude? Because he can always say things to Rude, right? Now, maybe, yeah. It took a lot of extremes for that to happen. Death, durance, truth serum, the works. Fuck, and sometimes they still aren't on the same page. But, uh... ]

When I picture my future, I want you to be in it.

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