not a rookie

Elena. Employee of ShinRa Electric Power Company, Department Of Administrative Research.

[exoriistos-blog]

"Yeah, really!"

No, not really at all. That one sentence alone was already wild enough from start to finish - everybody knew it’d take at least a minimum of two Turks to commandeer a small vessel if they really wanted to. And he knew she knew that he was being an ass, but decided to continue on with his tale regardless. “All by my self. So there I was…”

Two minutes and a whole drink later, he finishes his short story. “And I had to strap marine adamantoise to each foot to get away. So how’s that for an exciting story?”

[notarookie]

"Impressive."

Elena's tone continues to imply she's in on the joke, but her eyes sparkle enough to conceal any hint of sarcasm. The trainee would probably entertain the whims of any active Turk, but she's grown especially (and quickly) fond of TG. There's something in that crooked smile of his.

Drumming her fingers lightly on the counter, she bites her lip and speaks in a lower volume.

"---You know, I'd love to see those guns again. If you don't mind, that is..."

[exoriistos-blog]

"It’s fine, sweetheart."

He gave a charming smile in turn, spinning the glass in his hand for a moment before taking a sip. While he wasn’t obliged to answer her question truthfully, he didn’t mind spinning her a tale of his own for both their entertainment.

"So this time, I had to commandeer a ship fulla Wutain ninjas. Or somethin’ t’ that effect."

—Alright, so maybe that was a little overboard.

[notarookie]

"...Really." His declaration is so far-fetched that she first thinks to laugh, but changes her mind and decides to indulge his arrogance instead.

"A whole ship full."

She casts a quick glance around, to check she isn't being spied on, before reaching for a nearby basket of nuts and grabbing herself a handful. People rarely care about the bar snacks here, but she's starving. Her dry tone continues, accompanied by a conspiratorial raised eyebrow.

"---All by yourself?"

[exoriistos-blog]

"Ah, well… You caught me. I’m supposed t’ be headin’ back to the Director to hand in a report, buuuuut… Nobody said I couldn’t make a pit stop along the way. Besides, you guys ain’t busy, and I ain’t in a real rush. What harm is one drink, ay?”

[notarookie]

"Fair enough."

Elena offers a smile to indicate her willing compliance with his mild misbehavior, producing an empty glass and a bottle of his usual to fill it. Then she leans forward, elbows on the counter - "Any exciting missions lately?" - before reminding herself he's not obliged to answer.

"---I mean, sorry. I shouldn't ask."

[notarookie]

exoriistos said:

"—You know what I like, cutie."

"...Sure, but---"

"---Shouldn't you be working right now?"

[notarookie]

"If you'd like anything that's not on the menu, let me know!"

"---I'm pretty good at mixology."

[exoriistos-blog]

"My food, ‘Lena!"

[notarookie]

"---Well, maybe you shouldn't leave it unattended."

[notarookie]

"---Boys."

[hinamoris-inactive-blog]

[notarookie-archive-blog]

by RobasArel

[notarookie]

[update: new theme and pages and everything, ayyyy]

[notarookie]

exoriistos started following you

[fuckyeahffboys]

Reno (FFVII) | lanimalu

[victoryfanfare-blog]

[notarookie]

kinship.

A week on the job and she's already getting into the swing of things: cheerfully pouring drinks, chatting with the patrons… letting her mouth run away with her. It feels a little fruitless. For the most part, the antisocial drunks merely roll their eyes at her small talk, failing to be inconspicuous whilst looking down her blouse. Elena tries to pay this no mind: she isn't going to be here forever, after all. Still, occasionally her bubbly demeanour takes a nosedive in the presence of unwanted customers. Like this one.

The blonde - only a couple of inches taller than she - glances over Elena, seeming unimpressed yet somehow amused. Her nose wrinkles, her nails (manicured professionally, Elena notices) drum on the surface of the bar.

The younger girl’s expression immediately darkens. “What are you doing here?” An appearance from her sister is not welcome at the best of times, much less during her working hours.

"Thought I’d come and see you." Gun’s tone is extremely level, no trace of indignation.

"…I’m elated."

A raised, mocking eyebrow. “Oh, that’s a fancy word, for you. Good to know you’re learning.”

"I…" Elena’s mouth opens, but a witty response isn't forthcoming. She seeths silently for a moment, furiously stacking away glasses as she had been doing a few minutes before.

"I’ll have a gin and tonic." At her sibling’s glare, she adds, "What? I’m a paying customer," she slides a hand into her suit pocket for some gil, "it’s not like you can refuse to serve me."

Elena purses her lips, before snatching the proffered tender: then goes about preparing the requested drink. She shoves the glass harshly towards Gun.

"Thank you," comes the reply, sickly sweet. Gun takes a seat now, watching as Elena continues cleaning up the bar. "Nice outfit," she comments. Then, more quietly but loud enough to be purposeful, "…a little inappropriate…"

A pause, but Elena is incredulous. “…It’s Wall Market, Gun.”

"All the more reason to show a little decorum," she shrugs. "…That means…"

"I know what it means," snaps back the younger, whilst discreetly re-analysing her ensemble. Maybe the skirt is shorter than most… but…

Satisfied with the result of her put-down, Gun goes quiet, sipping on her drink. Elena chooses to breeze along as if she isn't even there, causing a break in the silence after a short while.

"…Aren’t you going to ask me how it’s going?" Gun inquires, gesturing vaguely towards her suit.

"No. Isn’t that all classified, anyway? Besides, I don’t care."

"Fair enough. Are your studies going well?" The question is offhand, empty-sounding.

"Yes." Elena wipes down the bar in an overzealous fashion, scrubbing tiny circles.

"One-word answers. That’s definitely not like you."

"I’m working. Which… isn’t that what you should be doing, too?”

Some shadow of a smile on Gun’s lips, as though she wishes to give a quick retort, but then that familiar seriousness returns. “…It is.” She finishes the last of her drink and stands up, leaving an obnoxiously generous tip on the bar.

Elena crosses her arms tightly. “I don’t want that.”

"…Please yourself," Gun says, indifferent. "I’m sure someone will want it, though." She leaves the gil where it is, and exits the pub.

[notarookie]

values.

"Elena, would you like to hold the baby?" It's a question she never believed she'd hear from her esteemed boss, not least because the life expectancy between them all had, at one time, been next to nothing. Never mind the prospect of spouses and children amongst the ShinRa clan.

Yet here they were, gathered for the greeting of a newborn. Rufus and his glowing wife; young Grayson on his best behaviour. Reno and Rude on the sidelines, having left the latter's own infant with her mother for the day. She isn't used to this odd, traditional picture of family - it is so remarkably foreign, so far removed from death and torture and the healing wounds of the past.

Apprehension is rife as she blinks at her President: he is proud and eager to share his cheer, and she merely stands like a deer in the headlights. "I... yes, of course," she concedes, politely, taking the opportunity to slide into an empty chair before he lowers the bundle into her arms. The child is soft and malleable, a dumpling swathed in cotton, and she's terrified of harming it. So small, with blue eyes, spiky golden lashes. Tiny pink fingers flex and clench. "He's beautiful," she murmurs, mostly because that's what you say about babies, regardless of how alike they all seem. In any case, he comes from good stock - the sentiment will be true in a year or so.

Her attentiveness toward the living doll is more of a learned etiquette based on what she's seen in movies - it can't really be mistaken for introspection, but she isn't surprised when Reno takes a good-humoured swing.

"Ahhh, look. She's thinkin' about one now." He nudges Rude, who does not encourage, just offers a courtesy curl of the mouth.

"I am not," Elena huffs, sharply, flustered by the accusation. She's not coloured by denial, either.

Laughter emerges from the border of the kitchen, followed up with a Solian-tainted timbre: "If 'Lena had a baby she'd lose it somewhere."

The blonde scowls, if only for the assault on her ability to be responsible. In the event of desperation she could play at being maternal, though hopefully such a thing would never come to pass. "...Thank you, Tony."

"Jus' sayin' what no one else will."

"As always," she acknowledged, lifting little Wesley and handing him back to his father. Tony presses a kiss to her cheek by way of penance, to which she reacts with a wry smile and a swipe in his general direction.

Rufus is largely oblivious, rapt by his second heir, his presence no longer disarming in the warmth of domesticity: and as Elena watches, she can confirm the truth that so many others had tried to deny. They were human, after all.

[reglissenoire-blog]

Elena by yume-utsutsu

Love her face!

[notarookie]

fidelity.

He's running from them.

There's no mistaking it. The stumbling gait is one thing, and the hurried glances over one shoulder… but the wide-eyed stare is the giveaway. He’d been avoiding a particular kind of trouble, clearly: trouble that was now catching up at a rapid speed. No clue as to who he might be. Just a drab little stick figure whose alias is less of an issue than his unknown crimes against the company. His suit is cheap, not a patch on those belonging to the ones who are stalking him. In the bilious lamplight, Elena can notice the threads hanging loose, the stitching coming away from the fabric in a tired metaphor for his state of mind.

She’d been walking home amongst the filth and the garish neon glow as he brushed past her. This deserted street is a quiet one, perhaps someplace this stranger thought he might find salvation. He’d been wheezing, doubled over, taking brief advantage of his apparent chance for respite.

He was foolish to even pause.

And now the sudden, sharp echo of footsteps in the near distance; his jaw slackened, chest heaving. Two of them. Elena stands rigid, her breathing halted: out of respect, but likely they misread it as fear. One casts her a fleeting look, but is ultimately dismissive in favour of the target, who has begun to sprint. The Turks give chase, and Elena waits a moment. Any other girl would start running in the opposite direction, back towards Wall Market, back home, anywhere but here. Yet…

Twenty paces on the path they’d gone and she's at the end of the street. They’ve caught him in an alley, classic dead end, no room for escape. Peering inconspicuously round the corner, she knows it's too risky to watch. …But maybe not to listen.

Bracing her back tightly against the adjoining wall, she hears the man’s weak protests. Defeatist whimpers, and brass knuckles denting bones. Hard, hard, and then - she isn't close enough to tell, but she can imagine - sickeningly moist. Her eyes shut, she bites her lip, and pictures herself back at the Academy, throwing punches. It's only practice… abridged rehearsal. She had never truly hurt anyone, not in comparison to this. This is real, and the sound of it is mesmerizing. No discernible words are shared between her two unwitting idols, though at one point she swears she can hear laughter.

When the man’s cries cease for good, she leaves the scene. She feels no sympathy for him.

He was their enemy, and by extension, hers.

[every-cactuar-has-its-needles]