Finesse
There's
a reason why this game is old.
Everyone
plays it. The survivors play again.
Pass me
a drink, beautiful. I'll shuffle.
- Reno of the Turks
Prologue: The Opening Bid
Tseng starts to speak, thinks better of it, and glances warily over at Rufus, who can't help a lightning-flash stunned glance at Reno before he neatly crumples up the form with the signature that he's just smudged and begins to print out another one as calmly as ever. From the way he moves, Reno can tell he's angry: he's noticed that the more graceful Rufus gets, the more he's holding in. One day, he thinks, Rufus is going to gracefully put a gun in his mouth and explode without warning.
So, Reno lights up a cigarette, just because he knows it would piss Rufus off a bit more, to see if there's any reaction that might help him gauge how far away that moment lies.
There isn't. There never is.
So kill him off already, he repeats, and then it's all yours, and we can all quit listening to you bitch about what a bad job the old guy's doing.
Reno can almost see Tseng's breath begin to frost over in the air.
But Don't you have anything better to be doing, Reno? is all Rufus says, patiently ignoring the impudent spout of smoke that Reno blows toward him in response. I do not currently see a need for your presence in this room as Tseng is here, and your presence is something that I certainly do not care to endure when unnecessary.
Heh. Take it up with the boss. Who isn't you, Reno doesn't add, but from the way Rufus finishes that signature with an almost forceful flourish, he knows that the last part has been clearly understood. Bein' stuck in a room with you for half a day ain't my idea of heaven either, Fus-Fus, but I'm not off 'til 1800 hours. You know that.
All too well, is the dry, clipped response.
Reno waits for more, but there isn't any. There never is.
So he just smirks, leans back in his chair, sticks his heels on the edge of Rufus's desk, and decides to add more himself.
Kill him off. Hell, everyone knows you want to—
Reno—
Reno makes an annoyed noise as Tseng quietly sweeps a hand at his feet and knocks them off onto the floor, but he doesn't put them back.
The warning note in the Turk leader's voice is clear.
And the cold, detached, incisive look in Rufus's sudden attention is clearer, even as he complicates it with the intrigued raise of an eyebrow and the almost careless yet delicate replacement of his pen it its holder.
Clink.
Reno thinks of icicles, no, ice scalpels, and takes a slow drag on his cigarette.
So? What do you say?
Sir— Tseng starts, then falls silent when Rufus raises a hand, exchanging a bland glance with Reno that the both of them understand. It's the look of men that are long used to being brushed aside, and men that have found that resistance gains them nothing. Except in Reno's case, nothing seems a perfectly good reason to fight, just for the hell of it.
Besides, he's got nine minutes to waste.
Tell me, Reno, Rufus says with a flat, pleasant tone in his voice, what makes you think I wish the President harm? Just because I don't agree with certain decisions he has made certainly doesn't mean that I would stoop to something as low as murder. I don't know where you people get such ideas.
Rufus runs a hand through his hair, and reaches calmly for more papers.
But I suggest that you stop spreading them.
Really, Fus-Fus? For whose safety, yours or mine?
Safety has nothing to do with it. I simply dislike the slander—
Half of Reno's mouth rises into a catlike grin.
I'll kill him.
The room crystallizes for one split-second before Tseng's head swivels around to face him
Reno—
and the papers fall from Rufus's hands.
Excuse me?
The second half of Reno's mouth rises to match the other.
You heard me, Fussy. I'll kill him. If you want me to.
Behind Rufus, near the windows, Reno catches the movement of Tseng's hand to his gun, but his eyes are busy, locked on Rufus, waiting on the Vice President's play.
When it comes, it's as flat and as unpleasantly pleasant as ever, spiced up with a bit of dry amusement—Reno can't tell whether it's real or not—and a shake of the head.
Reno, while I'm glad that you were honest enough to turn yourself in as a traitor to the company—you do realize that you've done just that, don't you?—what makes you think that I would now trust you with the task, if I were to order such?
The obvious answer to this one is easy enough, and Reno shoots it back, making a little shrugging gesture with the hand that holds his cigarette.
Because you know I'd do it.
Rufus nods.
Exactly my point.
Exactly what point?
That maybe-real-maybe-not amusement again.
If you are willing to betray one President, what should lead me to believe that you would not betray another?
Reno matches Rufus's sardonic smirk and pushes his sunglasses further up on his forehead, covering his face with his hand for one brief moment so that Rufus can't see his eyes.
Because, he says, I like the way your mind works.
An interesting reason. Pray tell, Reno, how does my mind work?
I have no fuckin' idea. That's why I like it.
Reno laughs, then, and leans forward to extinguish his cigarette in the ashtray on Rufus's desk. It's only when he's close enough so that he knows Rufus can feel his breath that he adds:
I could respect a President like that, even if I thought he was a self-righteous prick.
Not a fan of your own kind, I see.
Mm, Reno affirms with a casual nod. But then, you're not the President. Yet.
Then, he pushes himself away from the desk, rising with his back nonchalantly turned toward the room, and reaches for his jacket and cell phone, tugging one on and tossing the other in the air before catching it and reading the time.
1800 hours, Fussy. Looks like I'm free. Or rather, I will be, after playing watchdog for the old man 'til Rude takes over. Reno turns to Tseng. Both of 'em in one day... Who the hell did my schedule? I need to be paid more for this shit.
With that, he's striding toward the exit, listening to Tseng's gun slide out of his jacket and Tseng's light footsteps behind him across the carpet, and only turns around when he hears the rustle of Rufus's jacket sleeve rising and the room falling into yet another silence as he reaches the door.
Reno looks at them, Tseng tense, gun drawn and halfway across the room, and Rufus contemplatively holding Tseng off with a hand, both watching him closely. He tilts his head a tiny bit, just enough so that he's looking down at them both, and a slow grin spreads across his face again.
I'll be armed, is all he says. Call me.
And the door slides shut.
Rufus watches it for a moment longer, staring at the flat grey steel, then turns calmly back to the papers on his desk.
Tseng.
Sir. Tseng turns, immediately, hand tightening on his gun, alert for new orders.
You were the one that recruited Reno, yes?
Tseng bows his head, closing his eyes briefly.
Yes.
...I commend your judgment. Oh, and, Tseng.
Sir.
This conversation never happened.
Tseng holsters his gun, returns to his place behind the Vice President's chair, then turns to the window and breathes.
Toss.
Catch.
Toss. Catch.
Toss, catch, toss, catch—
Ring.
Reno leans back against the side of the windowsill, outline black against the mako reactor light outside, and the pale green glow of the cell phone screen is the only thing that lights up the slow, lazy smile that spreads across his face as he scans the caller ID. It's Rufus; Reno had known that he'd either call or kill him, and he'd been delightfully alive for the past five hours, waiting for the phone to ring as it's doing now.
Ring, ring.
Pick up the phone, Reno.
Ring ring ring.
He does.
What's up, Fussy?
He listens as Rufus's voice details a time and place.
Sounds—
He's interrupted by a click in his ear as Rufus hangs up.
Good, Reno says to the dead phone, then snaps it shut with a little smirk.
Toss.
Catch.
Toss. Catch.
Toss, catch, toss, catch—
Well, aren't you going to tell me who it was?
Reno pauses in his juggling, turning slightly to glance across the office at the desk there and squinting a bit to see in the dim light of the single reading lamp.
Who do you think, man? Your baby boy.
And?
Reno grins.
He wants me to kill you.
Is that so.
President ShinRa laughs, putting his book down and removing the reading glasses from his nose. Here and now? While I'm supposedly asleep in my Turk-guarded quarters? If so, I've given the boy far too much credit.
Nah. Not that dumb. Wants to meet up somewhere to discuss.
Is that so, the President repeats, and sighs, shaking his head, the spitting image of a disappointed, half-embarrassed father. The ungrateful little upstart. So I was right, about him.
Looks like it.
And you said Tseng was there?
Uh huh.
Hmm. Interesting. I have yet to hear from him. Regardless: a fine job done.
Thanks, boss.
Quite welcome. You've done your company a favor.
Reno hops off the windowsill and moves toward the desk as President ShinRa beckons him over, reaching for a glass from the nearby liquor cabinet and pouring it halfway full of his own expensive brandy before offering it to the Turk.
So? Reno asks, taking the glass, leaning against the desk, and waiting for ShinRa to pick up his own.
So, the President says, congratulations. Enjoy your first drink as the second-in-command of the Turks.
Oh, hell yes I will.
Clink.
Reno thinks of icicles, no, ice scalpels—
—then grins slowly, showing all his teeth.
Cheers, boss.