There is something comfortable about hate. Something serene and eternal,
something solid about that ever present, dark, deadly, rotting little
emotion that makes one feel like he has a purpose in life, even if the
purpose is the emotion itself. And for one lucky individual that chose
to flaunt himself as Reno the Turk, all that hate was focused on him,
the convenient and accessible target for every frustration and failure,
every fault and missed chance. Not that Reno ever considered himself a
target of the ever fickle lady of luck.
He also never considered that running his Mag Rod against the walls
irritated the HFIL out of half the inhabitants of Shinra Inc. Not that
he would have cared. Taking a moment out of his loud wanderings, much
to the relief of office grunts everywhere, to lean against the wall and
light up a cigarette, Reno brushed back the unruly mess of his hair and
undid another button on his shirt, smirking to himself. Time to go and
take on the most holy one himself ...
Still smirking, he pushed off the wall and returned to his former
amusement while he headed down the hall, straight into the proverbial
jaws of the wolf.
He was in rare form today. Indolently lounging on his desk, twirling
the rod, clothes more rumpled than usual, and giving his back a very
insolent look. Rufus was not amused. If he had been facing him instead
of watching his reflection in the windows that overlooked Midgar, Rufus
would have been hard pressed not to strangle the Turk himself.
Why had he called him in here anyway, a perverse masochistic whim, the
urge to mangle something, summoning a chew toy for Dark Nation?
"Reno. Get your person off my desk. Now." The Turk barely even
bothered to glance at him as he lounged back on the desk, picking up a
sheaf of papers and ruffling through them curiously.
"Whoa, didn't know Scarlet could be that graphic," he whistled, grinning
insanely at his back, "Ok, maybe I did." Rufus stiffened and turned,
giving Reno a look. Mako bright eyes smirked at him as he lazily tossed
that sheaf back onto the desk and happily started rifling through his
desk drawers, rolling onto his stomach to be more effective. He felt a
twitch developing as the Turk dumped a canister of paper clips onto the
floor and followed it up by a pen and a glass ashtray.
"Reno, get your shabby self off my desk and out of my things," the ice
in his voice was enough to lower the temperature in the room by five
degrees. Reno ignored him, pulling a 10 by 10 glossy out from a file
cabinet and admiring it, "Awwww, it's the mutt from hell, how cute. Is
that chibi Rufy?"
A click sounded in the room as Rufus leveled his shotgun and brought it
level with Reno's neck, pressing the cold metal cylinder against skin
viciously, cocking back the trigger, "Must it always come to this?" A
pleasant image of blowing Reno away came to mind, almost pleasant enough
to make him want to pull the trigger just to see it occur.
"Gotta do somethin' to liven up this black hole of cleanliness," Reno
chirped, pushing a pile of papers to the floor, "Whoops!"
A cold rage filled him. No, dying was too good for the Turk, he wanted
to see him suffer, see him whimpering in agony and begging for mercy at
his master's feet. Rufus pulled the gun away and brought in down on one
of Reno's shoulders hard enough to break the bone. The second blow
threw the Turk to the floor in a tumble a papers. Calmly, the gun
resting comfortable on his shoulder, he strolled to the pile of limbs
and rumpled cloth, smirking coldly.
"I rather like you like this, Reno. Helpless at my feet." He bent and
tilted the Turk's chin up, smiling coldly into pain washed blue eyes,
"You're almost humble."
He smirked. Reno just lay there and smirked at him, opening his big
mouth and daring to say something, "What? Feeling turned on?"
"Over you? Don't make me sick." Rufus eyes narrowed as he jerked the
head up and kicked the impudent little smartass. The effort was
gratified by the moan that was ripped from Reno as he flinched,
involuntarily curling up to protect himself from further blows. That
won't save you. He raised the gun to strike again --
-- and a knock sounded on the door. DAMN!
The knock was followed by Tseng stepping inside, "Sir, I -- " He came to
a stand still, door ajar, as he took in the scene; Reno a boneless heap
on the floor, Rufus standing over him with the gun raised for another
blow, the now messy office ... the head Turk narrowed his eyes, shutting
the door as an afterthought, "You better have an explanation for this,
"It's none of your concern, Tseng, I was simply dealing with some
insubordination," he glanced down at the Reno pile and slammed the butt
of the gun into the center of it, pleased to hear another muffled groan
of pain ensue. With that, ignoring Tseng's look, he turned and brushed
his hair back, cool and unconcerned, "You can take the trash out
Yes, hate was the best response for things not wanted, for things that
were better stretched in the noon day sun to die, things best left
buried and dead ... For a moment, he pictured Reno's body stretched out
in death, bright eyes dull and lifeless. He shuddered from the sudden
intensity of the emotion that image conjured up. Something comforting
about the dark emotion, something soothing for the inner turmoil. Hate
was the best response for things one didn't want to feel ... or
admit. No, he would never, ever admit ...
Final Fantasy VII