#sparkstick

@sparkstick:

reno would suck in a breath through his teeth then laughed. he'd lean back in the leather armchair he occupied, sitting in a lounge somewhere up in the shinra building. a crystal glass in his hand half full. he'd swish it a little as he looked at jae. the soft glow of the mako reactors and city lights casting shadows over him, making his grin look even more sinister.

"oh, do tell. i wouldn't possibly use that information for nefarious intentions."

“Whatever you’ve got cooked up in that twisted little mind of yours is probably ten times more exciting than anything I could admit to, don’t you think? Why ruin that,” Jae replies with a sardonic grin.

Down time. To be perfectly honest, he’d rather be working. He normally didn’t even enjoy drinking all that much beyond socially, but the pairing of alcohol and cigarettes was a classic combination that he didn’t have the heart to resist.

“You’ve got quite the wellspring of secrets tucked away, I gather?“

Not surprising, given Reno’s senior status. There was probably a lot that he’d been privy to or a major player in. Their mutual respect and ironclad loyalty to Verdot was the connection cable linking them together- if not for that, they probably wouldn’t get along under normal circumstances.

@sparkstick answered:

meme ;; @argentdivinity

Several years ago, when he was just a young and rebellious teen, he and several other teens would sneak up onto the plate just to cause havoc.

Reno stood slowly from where he knelt in front of an old brick wall. Spray paint can still in hand. He silently cursed himself. There wasn't supposed to be any patrols here. They hardly swept the upper plate streets this late at night, when most people were asleep-- and there generally wansn't any ruffians out and about vandalizing old brick walls.

He'd done this a million times, there was no way he was gonna get caught this time.

He'd force on his most snarky grin as he slowly spun around, trying to appear more casual than he felt. His free hand slipping into his pocket. He'd shrug a shoulder nonchalantly. Behind him on the was a rather intricate scrawling of bubble letters of 'FUCK SHINRA', complete with a floating hand making a vulgar gesture.

"Thanks, you could say I'm a bit of an artist with a whole lot of passion."

Who is most privy to security detail other than the General himself? The path least patrolled is oftentimes the most pleasant...so long as the redheaded malcontents of society don't happen to share the same idea.

“If by ‘passion’ you mean inflammatory, certainly,” Sephiroth replies.

He looks past Reno’s affectation of cool to examine the wall of graffiti behind him. Some might call it an expression of the human soul, art, even poetry in motion. The last misnomer is particularly up for contention. Wherever Midgar’s true artists spent their time, it surely was not out in the dead of night tagging up old brick walls.

Without even a hint of potential malice, Sephiroth innocently removes his PHS from his pocket and holds it up meaningfully.

An eyebrow arched; Veld was pretty sure Reno had work to do, as did he, but then it was a miserable, gray, rainy day outside and none of them were feeling terribly motivated.

The question was strange to his ears and Veld didn’t reply right away, idly drumming his fingers; no one ever asked about his past. Too afraid or too uncaring, he supposed. Not that he really cared all that much himself. They were his employees after all and not in any way entitled to know.

Still... he’d humor this request this once.

“I’m not even that old, Reno.” he said dryly, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. “But I was never really a young Turk...”

“I came here after being a bodyguard to a.... well sort of a princess in Wutai, and took a job as young Lilith Shinra’s bodyguard. Her father had died and somehow I ended up sort of taking that role as well. She was a handful, especially when she was old enough to take over the company.”

Veld smiled fondly, lost in thought, then took a pull of his coffee and hummed.

“I was glad when I was allowed to start forming this department and could hire a few spare bodies. We all lived off assassination attempts and car bombings. Now most people are too scared to try an assassination.”

But by the gods he wished they would... and he wished that if they tired, they’d succeed. 

“I remember the winter gala... It was held in the fine arts center in Sector 2. I think it’s been turned into a orphanage and clinic now which is a shame. White marble floors and golden chandeliers, gilded banisters. Lilith matched of course, she almost always wore white and gold. Vincent went as her ‘on the arm’ bodyguard, since he could pull off a tux like none of the rest of us, and he was the better dancer.”

“About half way though, one of the floating drink servers pulled a .45. Unfortunately for him, he hit Vincent in the shoulder because he wasn’t a very good assassin who had’t been paying attention to the dance. Since that failed, this idiot thought he might as well give it a real go and charged with a knife, which I intercepted while Vincent hauled ass with Lilith. Smashed his face off a marble pillar and brought him home to be interrogated.”

Veld drained his coffee and wheeled back to his mini-fridge for a bottle of water, then wheeled back.

“Disappointingly he wasn’t involved with anyone... Just an anti-establishment wing nut. We’d not even discovered mako at this point. Lilith was fine, but pissed off that Vincent had bleed all over her white gown, but really she should have been used to it at that point. He was always getting shot, stabbed, or blown up protecting her.”

Reno lazily leaned into one corner, against the mirrored back wall, hand shoved in his pocket and one ankle crossed over the other. He looked a little too comfortable. He’d give the woman a wry smile. “Well, it could be worse– could be trapped like sardines like it usually is in here.”

@sparkstick

Well. This wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. A minor setback. A tool she could use later, really. 

She let out an amused chuckle, a light hum of laughter, thankful the man stuck inside with her wasn’t angry about the hitch in the day. 

“Well if this is the most fun you’ve had, you must live a terribly uneventful life.” 

While she didn’t know him, she recognized the suit, as unkempt as he wore it. He was an agent of the Department of Administrative Research. Her father had met with the director on several occasions, though about what she couldn’t say. 

That was men’s business. 

Just knowing that, she imagined this man’s life was far from uneventful, but she didn’t vocalize her perception. 

“Does this happen to you often?” she wondered, slipping her oversized purse from her elbow with a jingle of platinum bangle bracelets and set it down. No need to hold it if they’d be in here waiting for a while. 

She briefly considered removing her shoes as well. They were some of her least comfortable. Five inches of a stiletto heel and glistening red leather but barely a platform to support her weight. Not meant for standing in by any means. They were what Arthur referred to as ‘kneeling shoes’. 

Marie preferred the term sit-down-shoes, but then, she’d always been considerably more tactful than her father.

Marie was taken aback, stopped just outside the ShinRa building, on her way home from a follow up appointment with the client from last week. 

He’d…remembered her? 

Not only remembered her, but thought of her. Thought of her enough to buy a gift when there was no certainty they would ever meet again. This was new and she didn’t know quite how to process it. 

She knew how she should process it. She should have brushed him off, raised her chin and said something so charmingly condescending he wouldn’t have noticed she insulted him until a few days later.  She should have dismissed his trinket and wished him a good day, disappearing into Midgar society to live the life she’d been raised to. 

But she didn’t do any of this, caught off guard by this forward kindness, by this…unusual young man who either didn’t understand her position or didn’t care. 

Instead, she raised her eyes to her bodyguard who gave a slow nod. Her father would not hear of this encounter. 

“…thank you,” she breathed, accepting the jewelry with awe. Of all the gifts she’d received, this one meant something.

“Tolerating?” she looked up at him with a grin, the sort she rarely gave away, before dipping her head with a soft laugh. 

Sunday funday || Accepting

"Ohh, do I? You like it that much, honey?"