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

_{[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.

_{[Maurice, man. This is totally payback from him, isn't it? He's probably looking for the greenest, most nervous waiter they have on hand as a sort of hazing ritual. Make the new guy suffer and deal with the rowdy table, because everyone else has their heads so far up their asses and have such higher standards. Whatever. They've got enough sense to take it somewhat easy on whichever poor kid they get, and maybe he'll even be lucky enough to get the name of someone who could turn that little diamond into cold hard cash.

God, especially if he saves them from whatever the hell is going on.

Roche doesn't know why that fuzzy, content feeling shifts to nausea, but his nerves don't give him any say in that. He can count the number of times he's felt like this on one hand, and one those moments is happening right now. Bad alcohol? Nah, this was the primo shit. Maybe he's not dying or dealing with heartburn. Maybe he's just coming down with something. Yeah, that seems logical.]}

You... do?

_{[Maurice, please send the guy-- Roche is stepping into uncharted territory here, yet despite how much he wants to laugh it off and be the same little shit he always has been, he keeps his attention solely on Reno.

Ah, hell. He's going to try it anyway.]}

You're probably going to need all the help you can get if you're going to try and keep me in neutral, Hotshot. Sure you're up for that?

[ What precisely is "his future"? That, Reno cannot answer. He couldn't answer it when Rude asked; he couldn't truly promise it when Rufus did; he can't explain it now. He doesn't know where he sees himself in ten years or five years or even the two years that have supposedly already been accounted for. All he knows is the one simple matter of wanting who he wants and not wanting to be without them. There are a good handful of people to be counted among those he doesn't want to be without and... it just so happens that Roche is one of them now.

Could he live without him? Oh, sure. Absolutely. But he could live without anyone, he thinks. He's going to learn to live without Tseng. He could probably be forced to survive without Rude. That's not the issue, though. There's a remarkable lot he thinks he could live without, but that has nothing to do with what he wants. As a Turk, he's never really had the luxury of wanting anything. He can't have what other normal people have. A love life is off limits. A family is off limits. Hell, even friends, really, are off limits. He found ways to make it work with Zack, and... well, look what happened! (The part where Shinra gunned him down, not the part where they had a tragic falling out.) Roche could be an outlier like that, too, maybe. But then again—

Fuck. Look, he doesn't want to think that hard about it! He just wants what he wants, god dammit, and what he wants is this dumb fucker right here. ]

Psh, I'd never dream of forcing you to burn your fuel like that, tiger. You can put the pedal to the metal as much as you want. I'm just hoping that when you do—ah, oh hey.

[ ...you'll take me with you, he would have said, but here's the waiter! Oh joy! This is in fact a different person than dear old Maurice, and boy does he look overly smiley. Young, anxious, clearly hoping to make up for any grievances and his own failures by being as friendly as humanly possible. My apologies for the delay, sirs, he says, his voice high and reedy. It would be my pleasure to take your order. ]

_{[It's the kid's arrival that keeps Roche from reaching across the table for Reno's hand, and he both curses and thanks the powers that be for it. That'd have been weird, right? Especially if he just... blurted out something even stupider. Yeah, this kid? He's a winner tonight. The big, million-gil winner. A regular gillionaire. At any rate, it gives Roche a chance to slam the brakes on whatever is going on in his head before it gets away from him.]}

Ah... Don't worry about it. I'd be completely lost in your shoes, kid.

_{[He says kid like he's so much younger. It's the bright eyes that remind Roche of one. Bright and hopeful for the future, and he finds himself hoping that this place doesn't destroy that look. You hate to see high society do that to a person.]}

We're happy to have you, mister...?

_{[A-Alfons, sir.]}

Alfons. I like that. You'll have to forgive us. We've heard lovely things about this place, but some of the names here are a bit new to us.

_{[Best to be honest and upfront about it all, because Roche knows he's tripping up on how to pronounce some of the words listed as he rattles off his own order, and then tilts his head towards Reno. Do you want the honors? remains unspoken, but there's no hiding the shit-eating smile on his face.]}

...And whatever my dear companion would like.

[ Poor, dear, sweet Alfons. They clearly selected the greenest and most helpless of the bunch to send to the wolves' den, thinking they'd haze the newbie or else give them less than the gold standard of service. Maurice thinks he's pretty fucking clever, does he? Yeah, well, if sweet little Alfons plays his cards right tonight, he could wind up with a diamond in his pocket, a fat stack of cold, hard cash, the favor of two of the most powerful men in the world (each in their own ways, as it were), and also maybe even get invited for a threesome (to be cashed in at a later time, maybe—tonight is just for them unless they decide to get real freaky). It all depends on you, kiddo.

Reno's wicked little grin softens at the kid's nervousness and politeness, but when it's his turn to order, the teeth are showing again as he glances across the table. He contains his laughter and says, extending one finger to tap the menu, in as debonair a voice as he is capable of using: ]

Yeah, I'll get the Douche Burger. With the foe-y grass and gruh-yur cheese, all that. Yep. Oh, and extra gold leaf. I like my douche as gilded as possible.

[ Alfons is having a fucking crisis. Alfons furiously writes that order down, his face beet red. Y-Yes, sir. And for your side, we offer— ]

Fries. [ whoops. ] Please'n'thank you.

[ O-Oh. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Will there be anything else? ]

Yeah... do me a favor. After you drop off our order, step out back and have a laugh where no one can hear you. You probably get sick of holding that in all day, huh?

[ There's a pause. And then, quietly, It is a struggle, sir. ]

I'll bet.

Make it extra fries. As many as they can load onto one of these plates.

_{[That's the thing about places like this. They never give you enough when it comes to them, and isn't that the worst crime of all? It's always a gigantic slice of pickle and hardly any fries. This is The Test.

I-I'll do my best, sir. And really, that's all anyone has to say. They just have to say, and try. I'll be back with your orders as soon as I can.]}

...What do you think?

_{[Roche, now that he's regained most of his composure, looks back up to Reno. Well. Most of it, because an awful snort still manages to slip out, but he doesn't even try to hide it. Nope, that fake, haughty mask he had around Maurice is g o n e. Adios.]}

I think he looked like he was about to lose it about the gilded douche.

[ Bless his soul. Reno has another short fit of giggles when Roche snorts, and that just made the whole night worth it, didn't it? If nothing else, he ordered an extra gilded douche burger at the nicest restaurant in all of Midgar and no one can do shit about it. He pours himself another glass of whiskey and has a solid sip of it as if to celebrate his success. ]

Yeah, I like him. Unless he does something real fuckin' heinous like spill the food all over us or something, I'd say he's the one. Don't you wanna make his night one to remember, too, you gentleman, you?

[ I mean, really, Roche has done way better at pretending to sound high class, at least. Then again, he's got that flowery, imaginative vocabulary. Reno just says whatever the fuck he feels like whenever the fuck he feels like it. ]

Then that'll be two no-good suckers you've swept off their feet in short order. A real force to be reckoned with.

If anyone is doing any feet sweeping, it's you.

_{[Reno certainly swept Roche off his, and that was the night Reno was all over the place. And how many times has he done that since?? He's honestly lost count at this point, and a lot of that was in part due to the little tiny things shared around the building. Nods across floors, loitering outside, things like that.

It does things to his awful, outcast heart.]}

Next thing we know you'll be coming back in from a job and I'll be waiting on your desk like one of those pin-up girls from the calendars. Think I could convince Gloria to let me in while you're not around?

_{[He's joking. Unless...?]}

Hahaha, oh shit. I'd love that. You'd be more likely to—

[ oh... well... wait a minute now. He shares an office with Rude, and he doesn't intend to leave that desk, but if he's going to be running the joint, that means the Director's office is all his. And its faculties, too, the ones you need sign-off from the bossman to use. Reno's eyebrows raise as he lifts his glass to his mouth, stopping to think before he sips. Honestly, he could have used any of these resources either way, but the fact remains that Roche is categorically less likely to run into Rude instead, like he was going to say, now.

But there won't be any sharing that tonight. Instead, he takes a sip and grins over the rim of his glass, pinning Roche with his searching stare. ]

You can't convince Gloria of shitthefuckall, but she knows the score. Honesty's the best policy with that one. And maybe if you butter her up with, eh... shit! What's that one she keeps around sometimes... begonias, I think. She also likes those shitty little cactus-sesses.

[ cacti, reno. "cacti." ]

_{[Begonias? Huh. He never would've pegged her for a Begonia Gal. If Reno thinks he's not filing that away, then he's in for it. Clearing his throat a bit, Roche sits up straight, plucks the champagne glass off the table, and extends it forward.]}

Good morning, Gloria. I was wondering if you could let me in so I could spread myself across a certain Turk's desk? I'm starting to feel like I'd be a better Honeybee than a SOLDIER, and I'd like his opinion on the matter.

_{[He's unable to keep a straight face for long, especially with Reno still looking at him like that. It all dissolves into a wheezing sort of giggle that Roche tries to cover up with his fist, but... It's already out there. God. At least they're seated far enough away that other tables can't hear, right? All they get is snippets and their reactions.

Animals, the both of them.]}

God... I'd even try bringing both, but...

_{[His eyes wander to the cactuar on Reno's wrist for a moment. Small, green spiky things seems like it's their thing, doesn't it?]}

[ Not cactuars, dummy, succulents! But yeah, Reno's gaze jumps to the dangling cactuar on his wrist, too, and he gets that kinda fuzzy feeling all over again. Yeah, cactus-sesses are their thing. Smirking, he gives his wrist a little shake so that the charm swings back and forth as he's taking another sip of his drink. It's meant to help him muffle his grin (and probably his laughter) when Roche laughs like that. Fuck, he's starting to get a little sloppy. This shit is gonna take him from pleasantly buzzed to drunk real quick. It kind of already is. Plus he's been dry for, what, several months? Yeah. It's already going to his head. His cheeks are getting a little ruddy. ]

Make sure you tell her which Turk, specifically. Oh, and you better come dressed for the part! I want fishnets, the little stinger bee ass thing, wings... the works. Evidently Rude's got a hookup with the proprietor for playing dressup. You should ask him to connect you. Aw, he'll make you pretty.

[ Can you imagine? yes. He can, and he is, and it's glorious. Oh, but wait— ]

Mm, you're already pretty, actually.

[ yeah, the dalmore's getting to him. ]

You just want an excuse to see me all dolled up like you were during the gala, don't you?

_{[Everything minus the weird bee ass could be hidden under his uniform, so it'd be missing part of it but... Huh. In all his years, Roche never actually considered doing that before. Who'd have thought that one Turk is all it takes to get him to actually think about it now?

Stranger things have happened.

Roche is going to have to mull it over some more, but hey! The idea is in his head now.]}

Though you ought to remind me which desk is actually yours. I get the feeling you'd get a kick out of it, but I don't know if your partner would appreciate me putting my ass all over the space he does his paperwork.

_{[Or... No, no, that's a silly idea. Even if the thought turns the tips of his ears the tiniest shades of pink. He knows this is the Good Primo Shit, but Roche barely feels the buzz in his fingertips. Is it time for a third glass? Perhaps, but he's not going to drink it right away. He just sort of... sloshes it around.]}

...I am serious about that, for what it's worth. Turning up on your desk and waiting for you to come back. I could even throw in a shoulder rub, though I don't have the talent Rude does.

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