insusurro | OPEN/MINGLE — SMASHING GARDENS

OPEN/MINGLE — SMASHING GARDENS

[ Meanwhile, in the middle of the desert......

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object? Who knows. This is more like two old, rusted Chevys trading flirting touches at low speeds. Galbadia Garden and Balamb Garden are careening into one another in a way that some of you might find all too familiar.

Maybe this happened years ago for you, maybe it hasn't happened yet, maybe you had no business being in these crazy hoverships in the first place, but regardless. You're here now and it's time to brace for impact. This one will be an even bigger problem, because there's no one at the helm of these ships. It's as if they've developed a will of their own and driven themselves into one another, sending both vessels careening into the boiling sands below.

Luckily, these things are as hardy as they are ancient. They'll both need new paint jobs and extracurricular activities will be out of the question for some time, but when the dust clears, everything is mostly intact. The Gardens will fly again. Someday.

Anyway, this is your chance to mingle somewhere that isn't Midgar. Both Gardens are smushed together, accessible through Galbadia Garden's basketball court. Maybe you want to organize a search and rescue. Or start doing damage assessment and making repairs. Maybe you wanna do some figure skating on the definitely not demon-infested hockey rink. Whatever you want, congrats, you're not in Midgar anymore. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Non. Info, not bodies.

[ That's rich, coming from him, but listen. Different times, different measures. They know enough (more or less) about how death works. It's no longer a particularly useful tool; in fact, it's detrimental. They need live worms that wriggle, not cockroaches that roll over on their backs and then skitter when the lights are out.

Some more sophisticated individuals might raise their eyebrow at Tseng's Macgyvered method of distraction, but Reno finds it precisely to his liking. Juvenile acts of mischief suit him just fine, thank you. Nobody expects a sophisticated and efficient job to come from the motherfucker that draws them out with shitty firecrackers, after all, and that'll be their downfall. Reno grins like he couldn't be more proud. ]

If we can get 'em to squawk, it'll save us some time. I'm not ringing anyone in until you're clear of the scene, so we might as well have some fun with this until then, huh?

[ Tseng grins at that. ]

I see your new station hasn't turned you into a duplicitous bastard yet. In due time.

[ He ties a few loose ends (literally) on his souped up contraption and starts stuffing canisters into the mortar. The awesome part of all these ties? Means they'll all go off, one by one, crackers first, big booms last. It's just going to get worse the longer it goes on, and Tseng knows for a fact that there are patrols out there watching. He's seen one or two himself, tracked their prints in the sand, and that's about all he needs to know.

And here it is. Tseng's magnum opus. He's even rigged it so those little parachute men will come fluttering out in the midst of all this wild noise. Remember when you used to do that? And it never went the way you intended? Tseng's actually fucking works because he's a professional goddammit. ]

Ready to deploy. Got a site in mind?

Mmmm...

[ Perfect. It's beautiful. Reno actually pretends like he's going to think about it beforehand; he makes his way over to the nearest outcropping of rock and scales it in a couple simple leaps and bounds like some kind of fucked up squirrel, perches low at the top and scouts with the binoculars again. Really, does it fucking matter? Just as long as the bangs and booms and blazes are sufficiently attractive. Back down he comes again in one solid hop. He lands on his toes, light as a feather in the sand. ]

Let's just take a stroll and throw it wherever feels right.

[ He'll need to head off, anyway, and get himself into position to either sneak in or bring down hell, whichever presents itself as the more generous opportunity. Might as well go in the same direction. ]

They could be trouble. Like, SOLDIER-trouble, for all we know. You got enough in the chamber to keep you on your feet?

Don't worry about me.

[ Just worry about yourself, is the sentiment. Tseng isn't sweating this no kill order too much. If shit hits the fan, it's better them than Reno.

Especially now that he knows what he knows about this 'gift' of rebirth. What a joke.

Anyway. Time to suit up. He throws the jacket back on, clips the belt around his waist. Gives the gun in his holster a quick check and slings the fireworks over his shoulder. Then, he nods at Reno. ]

You take point. I'll watch your back.

You got it, babe.

[ The time for being a follower is over. Tseng says he's got it, so he's got it. Reno decides on his course, which is around to what he assumes (or hopes) is the flank of the Galbadian garden. He cuts a wide breadth, using the landscape of the desert dunes to aid his approach. There isn't really any way to lay low and keep out of sight, and the closer they get, the easier it'll be to aggro whoever's out there watching. What he doesn't want is a guns-blazing frontal assault, and that's not what he's going to get, keeping to the sloping sand until they're near enough to hear voices from their position.

He feels his opening before he sees it. A stack of crates a few uniformed individuals are working on creating, lugging them out two men to one crate at a time. There are also sacks of things and other hodgepodge supplies, none of which strikes him as very valuable, otherwise why put it out here, even in the back (or is it the front? who knows, honestly)? Probably just getting it out of the way while they work on something else, who knows. Who cares. He wants those crates blown up. He nods his head toward them indicatively, points to his eyes and points to the goons that've just dropped off the latest box and are heading back in. As soon as their backs are turned, he goes dashing off across the sand, one hand up over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He closes the distance so quickly that he has to wait for them to come back, and boy are they surprised. And willing to give chase, as it turns out.

That's good. That's what we want. These aren't the ones he's after—there's bigger fish that'll come running once these two are out of the way. ]

[ Tseng is off the moment that Reno gives the signal, stalking soundlessly through the sand, crouched low. He's played hide-and-seek a few times with this crew since their high-impact arrival; this is the easy part. Getting all the gear in check before somebody notices? Now that might be an actual challenge.

He runs the line over one crate and around the next. A mortar is positioned like a flag on a sand castle, rising triumphant from the topmost crate. For good measure, he tucks a few sparklers into the nooks between each wooden slate of a box, then steps away, appraising his work.

Gorgeous, if he's allowed this moment of shameful egoism. Not that he remembers why egoism is shameful. All the better—he beams with unadulterated pride. And then he scurries away and tucks himself beneath one of the loading ramps, snapping his fingers to bring forth the energy for a big, roaring lash of Fire.

The crackers go off first, a few whimsical pop-pop-pops that call over a couple curious soldiers. Then come the rockets, shooting into the air. The mortars spew vivid flashes of color into the sky. Sparks and wheels of flame are sizzling and spinning in every direction. Dozens upon dozens of little green men are falling from the sky, drifting peacefully upon their pastel-colored parachutes.

He hears someone scream, "Fire!" and the ramp above him quakes with footsteps. A few men pass, not the ones he wants. He removes his knife from his boot and readies himself.

At the first flash of red, he strikes. His blade chews through a boot and the officer tumbles down, seething. By the time he starts kicking, Tseng has his helmet off and the point of his knife hovering a scant inch away from his eye. He whispers: ]

I'm okay. Just fell.

[ "Sir!" one of the soldiers is shouting. His hostage gets the message.

"I'm okay! Get a move on! Go go go!" And then to Tseng: "Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't call the whole cavalry over here to smoke your ass."

Tseng covers his mouth and tucks his arm under the soldier's neck until he stops moving. And then, ugh. This part. ]

[ This is the part he was looking forward to. Why he brought the sword instead of the stick, hoping he'd have a good reason to use it (and not on or at Tseng, otherwise fuck this shit). Cutting down the two that chase after him is easy, leaving them bloodied and injured but not dead. Truth be told, it's actually a little bit of a struggle not to apply too much force. He's practiced, but not on any people other than, like, himself, and the real thing is so much... sexier. God, this is great.

You know what else is great? That fucking lightshow! Reno cackles as it goes up, stops to appreciate the absolute majesty of it all with complete and utter unrestrained delight, and then kicks off with a spray of sand to head back the way he came, headed straight for the center of the chaos. His option to scramble inside is halted by a cascade of uniformed soldiers headed straight for him, and he feels the sand fly up in bursts at his feet as he diverts, dodging bullets. Where has Tseng gone? He can't spot him from this vantage point, but it doesn't matter. He cuts down the battalion down, one and two and three and four, kicks five to the ground, dives under six. These he toys with, just to see what he's up against. He's much too fast for them, and that tells him enough: not SOLDIER stock. They can't land a hit on him, but tragically the one that comes awful close is run straight through and if he dies, he dies, sorry 'bout your luck. The last one, number six, he captures and drags along with him.

Ah. There they are. And he caught an even bigger fish, perfect. Always good to have an underling to torment to get the big dogs barking. ]

You've really outdone yourself.

[ He comments as he hauls his quarry struggling and coughing against the flat of his bloodied blade through the smoldering wreckage. ]

There'll be more, let's move.

[ Tseng is halfway through peeling this musty ass uniform off his mark when he hears someone shout, "What the fuck is that!?" It's a little too late for someone to be bawlking at the fires he's started; something's up. He peeks over the edge of the ramp.

There's Reno, dancing with bullets. See, he's the asshole here who figured that the point of creating a distraction was not to immediately run into the epicenter of it. Oh well.

Tseng throws himself on to his belly on the sand and starts taking potshots at the guys who look like they have the steadiest aim. It's not many of them. No sign of SOLDIER here... Not yet, anyway. This is more like a carnival game than a shoot-out, with a bonus display of Reno whooshing around with that sword. By the time Reno drags his guy over, Tseng is already all twisted up about it and hissing as he pulls Reno into a hard kiss. ]

We're fine. I'm a lieutenant.

[ He's got the badge to prove it, freshly plucked from the comatose body behind him. Tseng admires it for a second before he gets to removing the rest of the uniform, nose wrinkling as starts to change. ]

[ Listen, he had intended to sneak around, but how could he help himself with all this fun? The point of a distraction like that is to stand right in the middle of it and get blown to shit right along with it, right? In two years, both he and Rude will learn this lovely lesson once again and be none the worse for wear (kinda) for it, so fuck it. He's on the right track, baby, he was born this way. No one he fells, save for maybe that one guy who gets Jeffed right through the middle of his spine, is gonna die tonight if they're smart enough to seek attention for their injuries. And maybe this guy he's got hostage, too. This guy, who he's strangling with the flat of his blade, whose struggling goes oddly slack when these two lunatics kiss each other. To be fair, Reno's grip does a little, too, and it'd be the perfect opportunity to escape otherwise, but the moment passes much too quickly. Just as quickly, Reno's blade pulls tight against his captive's throat again. ]

What was that for?

[ And in almost the same breath, he relinquishes his victim and slams the hilt of his lovely lovely sword into the back of his neck. Down the poor sap goes like a sack of rocks, and Reno flips him over to remove his uniform and pull it on over his getup. His clothes are all so tight, he can get away with it. It's fine. As he's pulling the outfit on, he has a realization: ]

Oh, it's Tsukuyomi, isn't it. You can kiss the sword, if you'd rather.

[ he named it. of course he named it. the serpent-slayer's moon-kissed blade. ]

[ Tseng is curious by nature, so his first inclination is to glance at the sword, head tilted in thought, and ask what that name means. But.

Reno must have picked the name because it means something to him. Tseng can guess that that meaning is one that he would likely know as well, considering how long they've known each other, how well-acquainted with Reno's interests he is. To ask would likely be to admit that something is missing.

It's enough to be broken irreparably. The burden of those specifics is his to shoulder alone. ]

No thank you.

[ In the end, he's glad for the helmet, musty and humid as it is. It offers him the shield he needs to get past that minute hitch and focus on what really matters. ]

Follow my lead. We can begin by...

[ Oh yeah. Reno's the director now. He smiles coyly once he catches himself. ]

Pardon me. Your orders, chief?

[ In that brief moment that Tseng considers, contemplates, and deflects, Reno observes the minutiae of his reaction carefully. He has close to no doubt that this sword came from him; it couldn't have been Rude, because he'd never keep a secret from him like that (he's not great at surprises, at least not big, fun ones, he always gives it away by telling him first), and he by no means buys Roche's story about lifting such contraband from some operation out at the railyard and deciding, all willy-nilly, to gift it to him, no matter what they may think or feel about each other. There's no way. This sword came from Tseng, it had to have. But he has no proof, and he's curious, too—but Tseng is good about not giving too much away. No recognition, no questions.

Maybe he'll come right out and ask later. We'll see. Instead, he gives the sword in his hand a lash to flick the blood from it and removes the sheath from his back to affix it to his hip the way these soldiers wear theirs, and stows the blade away. His hair he gathers up and conceals inside his helmet, pulling the visor down past his eyes. ]

Ugh... stuffy...

[ Yep, hate that. But he's sure it probably looks pretty cool when he's nothing but a big, toothy grin, cocking his head at Tseng with a hand on his hip. ]

Pretty fuckin' ironic that you're in the boss's uniform again, then, huh? After you, Lieutenant. Primary objective is to find whoever drives this thing and capture them. Barring that, we find our C.O. and squeeze him 'til he sings. Secondly, we map the layout, find out who the hell these people are and where they came from. Tertiary objectives—

[ He pulls on the gloves, switches shoes. The extra layer of bulk actually makes him look like he's got some muscle under that uniform. And yeah, he is really pleased with himself to be using a big, professional word like tertiary. ]

—Are to case the place and make off with anything that looks fun and shiny.

[ Tseng is too. He's pleased as punch, even with the sting of Reno finding all this hidden potential for professionalism after he's effectively exiled himself. Would have been nice to have that around back in the day. Whatever. All that is soundly overridden by the deep satisfaction of seeing the pieces fall into place like this. At least in that, there is some peace to be had.

He nods deeply. ]

Understood.

[ He stands, adjusting to the added weight of the metal plates, the viewscreen through his helmet. No wonder why the soldiers who'd come for Reno were such bad shots; visibility is poor and these crystal screens are cheaply made and projected through imperfect lenses. He's reminded unpleasantly of Heidegger and his less than thorough hand with military equipment.

He's also reminded that the best part of being cut loose in the desert is no Heidegger. He's almost giddy at the excitement of it all—in his own diluted way, of course. The smirk remains as he steps out of cover and offers Reno a hand. ]

I want one of those gunblades. I've never seen one up close before.

[ He's sure he'll love them. Surely there is nothing tragic that has to do with a gunblade in his future. Not a chance. ]

[ Listen, he's only doing as Tseng asked. Honoring him for one specific reason, and it isn't because he wants to do a good job as Director, or for him to be proud of him, really (although that's nice, too). It's his freedom Reno is honoring. The last thing he wants is for Tseng being released out into the world to pursue whatever he likes to come at the cost of a department that's falling apart. It might provoke some sense of responsibility, for one thing, and for another, Tseng left him with a promise: do as he's asked, and he'll see Tseng again.

Who would've thought it'd be that easy! ]

Consider it yours, beautiful. We'll take it right out of their grubby little hands and shoot 'em in the back with it.

[ Didn't he say no killing? Yeah, but he didn't say anything about anyone dying from that gunshot, alright? Reno takes that hand and gets to his feet, and then gestures for Tseng to go ahead. It only makes sense that he'd follow his commanding officer, right? It just so happens that it has the added benefit of providing cover fire, should they need it. This machinegun is pretty solid. It's decent stock, unlike the uniform. Clearly they poured all their budget into weaponry instead. ]

[ Really makes you wonder, doesn't it? What's the hierarchy here? Are weapons and recruitment efforts consolidated, or are there independent operations for each? And who is the unifying figurehead here? This is not like back home, where the Shinra name is emblazoned across every other wooden crate and tacked up sign. As Tseng moves them into the Garden proper, there's really no hint of a unifying sense of anything, other than the uniforms and urgency everyone here seems to share.

The bizarreness of it all is further compounded when Tseng steps up to another red-clad officer standing guard over one of the stairwells. ]

Got a report for the boss.

[ Strangely, the officer replies, "Which one?" Tseng tries to pass off the resultant confusion with a joke about taking patrol reports up the chain of command, which earns him a somber headshake and a hushed reply.

"Think the sorceress would sooner kill ya than suffer a debriefing."

Tseng casts a glance back at Reno, then shrugs. He asks if there's been any word on the recovery efforts, to which the officer lets loose a great, drafting sigh and mentions something about the nerds down in the labs compiling digital reports on it. Tseng's eyes are obscured by the mask, but it's easy to tell that they must be alight with excitement. He asks for a hint in the right direction, and then he beckons to Reno, hurrying him along. ]

If I can get on one of these terminals...

[ It's a damn shame he can't use his notes app now. That's fine, he's not an idiot, he's gone ten years keeping everything in his head and consolidating it all into reports later, and he can do it just fine now, too. Sorceress, he memorizes. Okay. That's who's in charge. And then, after a second, Sorceress? What the fuck? What, like a Materia user? A summoner? That's such a fucking dated term, who the hell says shit like that anymore? Whatever, okay, fine. One thing he does recognize is the word labs.

Of course there's labs. Where there's tech and there's military there's fucking scientists doing fucking science shit behind the scenes. Down in the labs, too. Of course. Offff courseee.

Reno follows along, focusing his attention on the demeanor and direction of everyone they pass while Tseng takes them to the next point of interest. An odd lack of hushed voices, as it were, but very little to overhear. Mostly chatter about the collision, wondering if they'll be airborne again soon. Something about a garden. ]

What's it take? Keycard, passcode? These fuckers don't chatter much. Might need to lift it off someone.

[ Yeah, but are there cameras... he's almost certain there are somewhere, but it's hard to tell when this tech is all so unfamiliar. ]

We're just going to have to do whatever it takes.

[ Tseng casts a wayward glance up at once of the shining black lenses covering an inverted port in the ceiling. A camera, almost definitely. He's sure that Reno sees it too. While it would not be good to find themselves in an altercation here—there are ways around it. They can make it look accidental. They can plot out the camera's blind spots. They can strike and disappear. The possibilities are endless.

Instead, as soon as they reach the hall and the door labeled Lab A, the port opens and three officers come rushing out. Tseng stops them with a sharp whistle. The exchange following goes as so:

"Where is everyone going? I was assured that we are compiling our reports in this lab."

"Got called away to run perimeter patrols."

"And the reports?"

There's a deep sigh. "You care so much about those stupid reports, you run them. Take my keycard."

Tseng is left with a metallic card in his hand, too stunned to close his fingers around it yet. It has been years of him bemoaning the lack of structure and professionalism inherit within Shinra's ranks. But this...

This almost makes him wish for it all back.

Almost, but not quite. ]

Reno. [ He says quietly. ]

[ Reno is prepared, completely, to drop every last one of those men as they come scrambling. Whether he just clocks them, sticks his leg out, drags them elsewhere, whatever—he is completely prepared to put down all three of them in as close to a single move as he can manage. While Tseng talks to them, he begins planning his strategy, the shiftiness of his eyes lost behind the visor of his helmet. He has one ear on the conversation and one out for the sound of any approaching footsteps. He has spotted the camera, yes, and is looking for ones like it. He has decided which hallway would be best to execute this in. He's deciding what the fastest and cleanest way to incapacitate three people who are all taller and stockier than he is would be when he sees the exchange of something shiny go from one hand to Tseng's.

He also is momentarily too stunned to speak. Instead, he makes an audible noise of disbelief, a sort of stammering u-uh as their new friends take off again.

Tseng says his name.

The glee on his face is mostly lost, but the way his nostrils flare and he purses his lips hard say all that needs to be said. Right up until he can't hold the snort of laughter in anymore, and god what a snort it is. It's so loud it echoes down the hall. The following fit of cackles are strangled down to choked, high-pitched giggles instead, as well as hissed little tss-ss-ss-sses with his tongue poking between his teeth. ]

Times've changed since you were in charge. Let's get those reports run, Lieutenant.

[ Tseng is glad for the visor covering his face; he's well-aware of the twisted look on it now, somewhere between ten seconds to hysterical laughter and absolute abject disappointment. This is their target. This is what they're up against.

He can't lose it now, not here. Instead, he huffs, a small noise that is equal parts amusement and hurry, and hastens Reno inside the lab with him.

It's not a lab like Hojo's lab. What it is is a wide, open space filled with sprawling, curved desks and glittering, humming monitors. Huge monitors, at that. Everything feels oversized and bulky, which gives Tseng the impression that a budget just has not been there for them as of late. He slides into one of the benches and strikes the keys on the board, watching as the screen lights up before him.

Same keyboard, he notes. Language is all shit that he understands. He lets relief settle over him for a moment before he feeds the keycard into the slot. ]

This is...

[ What he sees amazes him. Every aspect of this mission is laid out and labeled for him in a neat, pointed list. There are data tables with extra information should he choose to click on it. Information that he didn't even know he wanted is presented plainly and prominently.

He realizes that soldier didn't even ask him for his name so that he could get his keycard back later. ]

Everything is here. It can't be this easy.

[ Has to be a setup. Tseng removes his gun and places it in his lap, gestures for Reno to take watch. ]

Lock the door. They must be on to us.

[ It's really quite stunning how simple this is. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, but he is. Reno had expected there to be a certain kind of access level or something. This card seems to give them absolutely everything, and he isn't sure if that's just because the guy who gave it to them had high security clearance or if these cards are genuinely programmed not to discriminate, but either fucking way, who... who the hell does this? It's really mindboggling. It makes him feel ten thousand times better about the standards back home, that's something the two of them can share. ]

Yo, remember that time you reamed me out for "losing" my keycard, only to find out it was safe and sound in my desk drawer the whole time? I want a fucking apology.

[ That was such a National Fucking Incident. He has clearance almost everywhere, and the chaos it would have caused to have a Turk's security card floating around loose somewhere in the building would be nothing short of a complete disaster. Total SNAFU. This, though? Nobody probably gives a shit if they lose their card here. Just ask Joe Schmoe for his. Or... yeah, a trap, maybe.

Reno makes his way across the room to lock the door, gives the door a solid push-and-pull to make sure it's locked, then puts his back to Tseng's and rests a hand on the hilt of his sword. His instinct tells him to prepare for an ambush, or for the room to fill up with gas, or something, but as the moments pass, and nothing happens... is this for real? ]

If this is a trainee academy, too, then it isn't any wonder everyone here is useless, but still. I'd hate to see what the fuck their actual army looks like. Anyway, gimme the goods. Names, places, where they keep the fun toys. Fuck it—if they're giving us everything and all the time in the world to do it, take everything.

I have no idea what you're talking about.

[ Tseng isn't even really paying attention, honestly, just muttering whatever is on the top of his mind. Reno knows how he gets when it's like this, a deluge of information for the taking at his fingertips, his eyes wandering as he absorbs and processes and extrapolates. Even if this is a set up, even if they are so confident that what the two of them see here will never make it out of this room, it is so much. Within seconds, he can recite the make and model of the uniform he's wearing and Reno's too, he gets into the diagnostic checklists for the Garden itself and begins to piece together how it might work, and there's a wealth of strategum and missives to lose himself in, each and every one of them cleverly accented with digital diagrams and clearly labeled timelines and projections.

Tseng promised himself that he would leave this all behind but—this doesn't count, right? Not really. ]

I can... No, wait.

[ He strikes into a list that is advertised as five parts, but when he advances to the next screen, there's six, then seven, and it never ends. Anything that's meant to be locked away is done so on the good faith that the user will trust not to scroll too far. Now he has more access. What the fuck.

He tries that little trick on the main screen and ends up in a program that simulates the uniforms they're wearing. A digitized soldier pops up on the screen, wiggling like a snake. To be fair, the amount of movement he's clearly exhibiting is pretty amazing—just probably not for the right reasons.

This is it. This is his fucking limit. Tseng is gasping for air now, dying in his chair, tears dripping down from his visor and spattering across the keys. ]

[ This is now the third time Reno has heard this sound, although technically only the second occasion, and since he's got his back turned and isn't paying attention, it scares the everloving fuck out of him. All he's doing is jabbering on at his back about taking the info on a drive back to HQ and going through it later, maybe with Sidewinder (yeah they're all snakes now, do you think it's ironic that he named his sword after the serpent slayer and then got put in charge of serpents? yeah he thinks that's pretty funny too), when Tseng loses his shit and makes him jump about a foot in the air. ]

Wha, wha—?!

[ Fuck, are they under attack? Nope, just Tseng fucking dying, and after a couple of seconds to swallow his heart back down and look at what is so god damn funny, he smacks Tseng on the shoulder and wheezes: ]

Fuckin'stop.

[ Is that for this shit on the screen or for Tseng, really? This is too god damn much. Who designed this shit? Who is in charge?!? ]

We could have walked right in dressed in our plainclothes and told them we're maintenance and they wouldn't have given a single fuck! You better get that on the jump drive. I need to schedule a seminar for security do's and don'ts.

[ Reno, scheduling seminars, is too fucking much. Now he's laughing, and fuck watching the damn door. Nobody's coming. ]

Stopstopstop. You're gonna fry the cheap circuits.

You stop.

[ Tseng is growling, clutching his sides. It's been a week since he's even really smiled; this is exhausting. And here he is, trying to work in earnest, when he strikes the key to go forward and just finds another one— ]

No. [ he whispers, voice hoarse. ] I cannot decide if this is genius, or...

[ He'll just have to resign himself to wiping away tears while he uplinks everything. At first, his best guess is that none of their equipment will pair with any that he's brought with him. He's never seen tech like this before, after all—why would it be compatible?

Color him surprised when his drive slots in like butter and the terminal immediately recognizes what it is. Curious. And now this is another mystery to add to all the rest. Unlike Reno, mental notes have always sufficed, but yeah lately he's been rethinking his stance on that one. Too little too late, maybe.

He strikes a sequence of keys and a progress bar ribbons across the screen. It's going to take awhile. Surprise, surprise, he's not exactly sweating it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, eyes on Reno. The grin's still there, but it's got a more malicious edge to it now. ]

Speaking of. What's the going price for intel these days, Turk?

[ That loading bar gives him a moment's edge of anxiousness before he remembers that there's not a snowball's chance in Ifrit's blazing hellfire that they're going to have to worry about anyone coming in here and actually being so prepared for them that they can't get the jump on them first. Reno has a few more hehe-hehehs of dying laughter before he settles down, and the moment when his eyes meet Tseng's is just as startlingly electric as the very first time they ever did.

Well, the very first time they ever did when Tseng wasn't staring at him with disbelief and then disdain and then out-and-out ignoring him. He means the first time they ever locked eyes and understood one another. That feeling has only gotten more and more impossible to handle since the troubles began in Midgar, but he finds himself pleasantly sane, for the moment. Only time he'll need to worry is if anyone manages to get through that door thinking they'll lay so much as a finger on a single hair on Tseng's head. ]

Hah! I dunno if you can afford me anymore, outsider. The same old prices just won't cut it when knowledge has become all-powerful.

[ He knows why he's here and not Sidewinder or King Cobra or Cottonmouth, really. There's a comfy spot right next to that gun in Tseng's lap, and Reno takes it, perched lightly on his knee. ]

I'm pretty sure you came ready to cut a good deal, though.

[ Tseng tsks. ]

Adorable. I'm not that desperate yet.

[ Maybe it's a bad idea to tuck the gun away in favor of tugging Reno on to his lap proper with a decisive jerk. Sure as fuck doesn't feel like one. Even if they do get pinned, they'll have enough of a heads up with the locked door.

Also, Tseng just hardly cares. Death is a farce and life is a joke. The only thing that's even real anymore is the heat of Reno beneath his slow-smoothing hands. ]

Just wondering what you owe me for all this cooperation.

[ In fact, he cares so little that he's got his hands roaming over Reno's thighs, slowly and sweetly prying them wide open. Then it's not just apathy but the sheer wild thrill of it, all alone deep in the heart of enemy territory, wound up with Tseng nipping at Reno's ear and kissing down his neck. It's honestly the most normal things have felt for the longest time. ]

Ohhh, I'm paying you? Hahahaha.

[ Evidently that's funny to him. It is not, actually. Alright, maybe a little. It's funny in the "this is the sexy banter we're doing" kind of way, and also in the "it's funny how life turned out like this" kind of way, but he can't really be preoccupied with stupid shit like humor when Tseng's got his mouth and tongue and teeth on his throat like that. He's temporarily seized by how much he missed that, how badly he craved these particular hands on him, how utterly separate they are from anyone else's. They touch all the same places in all the same ways, and yet it's a completely different feeling. Even through both layers of clothes, his own and the uniform, he feels his skin prickle with goosebumps and heat up all over.

When he tips his head down, their helmets clunk together. He honestly kind of forgot he was wearing one for a second. Stupid fucking visor, does this thing come off? Lift up? Something? No? He scrapes the lenses of their facemasks together like two deer tangling antlers, teeth gritting. It's never been such a damn ordeal to kiss someone before, that actually kinda makes it hotter, not being able to. ]

I could pay you in just not selling you out or caging you, or whatever, isn't that how I'm supposed to act...? What was it you said? Duplicitous bastard.

[ Tell that to how he parts his thighs to straddle across Tseng's lap, pressing the heels of his hands and his fingertips into his shoulders and the sides of his neck in a coaxing, massaging sort of way. ]

I don't think I can run things that way. New era and all that, y'know.

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