Cloud was asking for it
The train stations were where vendors usually set up their stands, in hopes that even someone with a coin to their name would be hungry or simply take pity on them. In the grime and grit of the underplate, eking out a living wasn't ideal, but people did what they could to get by. But where train-hoppers had some kind of gil, the majority did not. And prices changed depending on who was buying. So when Koarin Creisse bought two peaches (cheap) and an orange (luxury item), he was paying the proper price and not the pauper price, having stepped off the train with a pack on his back.
Not that he minded, now that he was losing his resolve to stay within Midgar's boundaries. His money was almost gone, even with living as cheaply as possible and giving up many previous luxuries. Even when he tried to make a living between both levels of the city. Nothing paid off. Not that I was trying hard enough, Koarin mused, looking at his now-lighter change bag. Drunks spend their money on alcohol, information gatherers spend their money on bribes, handymen spend their money on tools. I did all that and more.
Leaving the city for good was seeming like a better idea every day. He had garnered nothing useful since he started five years ago. No stories changed, no wording was off. To the entirety of the world, the three generals of SOLDIER were dead. And the only reason Koarin believed otherwise was because...because... Koarin bit into one of the peaches as he ambled to the other side of the platform for the exit.
Because I'm an idiot who thinks he knows them well enough to believe they couldn't die so easily. Like a fairytale. On the bright side, Koarin knew he wasn't even on a list of priorities the Turks had to deal with. Still, he was not sure he was ready to lose the dye job. Five years with black hair, to change back felt like it would send up a beacon. Blond stood out too much in the shadow of the slums; the brighter, the more attention it drew. Everyone always looked at the blonds.
Which is where Koarin's eyes were currently drawn, to prove a point. A man by the exit stairs was slumped against the lamppost, all of him blended into the background except for the shock of spiky gold on his head like a crown. Drawing closer, however, made several details stand out, and Koarin wrinkled his nose in distaste, now trying to act casual, cautious.
It was a SOLDIER. 1st Class by the color of the uniform. He was slung onto the ground like a rag doll, a cast-aside toy propped up for display. Passed out drunk, Koarin guessed, crouching down on a step to inspect him closer. SOLDIERs always came to drink in packs, though, when they sought the less savory atmosphere of the slums' sectors. The SOLDIER was a young thing, so perhaps he was a clueless 1st Class. Or at least he looked young. Genesis had looked younger than he was, the only one of the three who did not look like an adult. His attitude had not helped him, either. Angeal and Seph at least acted their age and rank--
Angeal.
Koarin almost dropped his peach. Blondie had the hilt of a sword grasped in his hand, and attached to that hilt was the immense blade of a buster sword just laying on the ground. Koarin's stomach rolled, stood up--almost knocking into another man coming up the platform stairs--and stormed down to the landing.
Shit, he was not going to cry. Koarin had to leave here, soon. Or he'd go crazy knowing people were trying to follow in the Generals' footsteps. Stupid kid. Koarin hoped he got mugged for his stupidity.