The past deserved to be in the past — a foundation for growth, for the future, Reno was a firm believer of such. People plastered a disgusting slew of inspirational sentiments across their shirts and with the decorations of their homes. Keeping the past buried like a corpse was nothing profound; it helped salve the soul from the rot of the ugly. Reno could keep quiet about all the horrid things he did even before reaching the age of eleven as well as the things which happened to him, yet the glory days of the electric company could not be suffocated into the recesses of his mind.
Smelling clean mountain air only made the redhead scowl with disgust, longing for the aroma of street food, lifestream pollution, and blood. He fucking hated it here. He fucking hated all the commoners who thought themselves better than cockroaches, better than the Turks. Ifrit, there were so many things Reno missed, but as long as he still had his fellow Turks . . he was not completely lost. Long gone was his ShinRa issued loft with its king sized bed, hot tub fit for three, and a cleaning service which worsened his sloth.
On the flip side, their limited resources had the Turks bunking in close, and it was possible that he and his partner had never been closer. Reno was radiant with the closeness even though they were demoted all their fancy gadgets; he was not sure, however, that Rude shared the same sentiment of kinship. Everyone believe Rude and Reno to be glued at their hip. For two people who were primarily solitary and did not give out their trust like flowing water, they were as close as two platonic friends could be.
Rude had still desired his space most nights . . likely to flirt with brunette bartenders. If the man was not in fact bald, the necessity of them sharing every common space would have made his hair fall out. At least that was what Reno told himself when negative thoughts plagued his mind. Even through his self deprecating thoughts, their big boss being stricken ill with geostigma, and no hint of ShinRa reclaiming its former glory, Reno still smirked. He smoked, too. Plenty of cartons gathered and burned through despite his best attempts to quit.
More than the ShinRa headquarters was demolished that fateful day. Foul smelling cigarette butt was smashed into the textured ground of the roof the redhead sat perched upon as he turned his attention from the wandering bumpkins to the sight of an energetic Elena following after Tseng. What a shitty time for someone to become an official Turk. At least Elena stayed loyal unlike the secondary Turks across the planet . . Reno had plenty of opinions regarding that lot. Their fearless leader was probably taking to the cool shadows of his temporary office; the man turned more and more vampiric as the geostigma progressed.
The cockroaches of the commoners would only amplify their displeasure and rumours if they saw the President so taken with illness. Rude was likely showering, or meditating, or jerking off — whatever the bald man's pointed look at his partner had been suggesting this morning. With Reno sick of smoking and nothing but smoking, he ignored his hunger pains and stretched himself out on the gravel roof top. He stretched like a feline in the sun when in reality he stretched his limbs to reach for his secret stash of whiskey. It was only noon. Lips barely had the time to touch the glass rim before he heard polished heels scraping against concrete.
( ❛ Don't tell me some street rat found me out . . ❜ )
Reno mumbled under his breath and screwed the top of the bottle back on before hiding it beneath his oversized sweater.
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