What would a description of your *exact opposite* be like? Huh. Seems like the great question askers're losin' their touch; this one's pretty easy
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Reno had been taking one of the worst beatings of his life for a little while now; if he had been sober or even fairly drunk, there was no doubt that he could have taken the four men swinging at him in the rancid, dark alley behind the bar, but he had set out to get incredibly drunk, and he was a man of his word. He had fought back initially, when they had first escorted him out of the bar after he had said something that--in as much retrospect as his muddled brain could take--had been pretty stupid, but after a while, he had come to embrace the loud ringing in his ears and the utter sense of detachment as to what was going on. So he had simply curled up in a ball on the cracking concrete and waited for them to stop kicking and picking him up and hitting him. He had been yelling something completely incoherant in protest every couple of minutes.
He had been waiting for a while when he heard the first grunt of pain.
It had taken Rude a moment or two to recognize the crumpled figure under the dim light of the buzzing streetlamp; the mop of red hair had appeared orange and the body had looked far too frail. Then he had heard a slurred, completely indecipherable yelp in a familiar voice as one of the four men (who had all had their backs to him) had kicked it in the ribs, and he had known that it was indeed, somehow, Reno
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He had heard the voice, and even his fucked up at the moment brain had recognized it. "I'unno," he had slurred, opening his eyes to find Rude leaning over him, implacable as always in a dark coat and dark sunglasses. "All I said wuz that guy--that guy looked like a girl I yooshedtaknow." He had made a sound that was quite unmistakably a giggle, then had winced as the movement send a spark of pain through him. "Owfuck."
Apparently, Rude had underestimated Reno's ability to take blows to the head and retain consciousness.
He hadn't been able to hold back the faint snort of amusement at the redhead's revelation of what he had said. "You're an idiot," he had told the very drunk younger man. "Can you stand up?"
"Yeahsee, funny!" Reno had gleed over the fact that his crack had made someone else laugh. Or as close to laugh as Rude got, anyway. Then he had remembered that the bald man had said something else. "C'n I...shtn...uhhh, y'c'n st-stand me up but I probly won't stay there," he had said honestly.
Rude had taken that for as much of a 'yes' as he was going to get, and had pulled the shorter man up into a seated position. "What are you doing, Reno?"
"Trying not to-not to puke," Reno had responded, words still incredibly off-kilter. Nausea had temporarily overcome him as he wrapped an arm around his aching ribs, and he had shut his eyes tightly. The loss of sight had suddenly made his balance very suspect and he had immediately started to tilt to one side, unable to figure out left from right and up from down.
Fortuitiously enough, he had tipped toward Rude, so Rude had simply placed a hand on his shoulder and righted him. "That's not what I meant." He had wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here, getting beat on in a sector 7 alley, but this had clearly been no time for a serious discussion with him. "You going to?" His voice had been noticably gentler with the second comment.
Reno's state of utter intoxication had immediately become even more apparent, as his feet and legs had refused to stay under him. He had yelped a little in pain at first, as the movement tugged at bruises and possibly cracked ribs, but then had laughed in pure amusement as he struggled to remain standing, wobbling uncontrollably. He had only stayed up because of the large hand wrapped around his bicep.
Rude had shaken his head; even drunk, only Reno would be laughing at his complete inability to stand on his own power.
He had pulled the other man's arm across his shoulders so that most of his weight was leaning on Rude. "C'mon." He had started walking out of the alley.
Given that Rude had the hand across his shoulders in an iron grip, Reno had had no choice but to walk--or, rather, sway and wobble--alongside him. He had mostly just leaned hard against the other man's shoulder and trusted him to keep him walking in a straight path, which his feet were absolutely incapable of doing.
"Where the fuck-" He had lost the train of thought for a moment, then found it again. "The fuck we goin'?"
Reaching the street had been fairly difficult; Reno was deceptively skinny looking. He was actually fairly heavy. Looking up and down the congested street--filled with cars even at this late hour on a Sunday night--Rude had spotted a familiar yellow and black blur and waved to it. Then he had finally replied to his coworker's question. "Your apartment. You're going to sober up and I'm going to go home and sleep for three hours before going to work."
Immediately, as the cab pulled up to the sidewalk, Reno had begun trying to twist away from him, to no great avail. "Awno, fuck no. Rude, ya don' get thapoint; thapoint is to get really really hammuh-rur-rur...rured an' then spend the nest day with a amaaazing hangover."
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He had been waiting for a while when he heard the first grunt of pain.
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He hadn't been able to hold back the faint snort of amusement at the redhead's revelation of what he had said. "You're an idiot," he had told the very drunk younger man. "Can you stand up?"
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He had pulled the other man's arm across his shoulders so that most of his weight was leaning on Rude. "C'mon." He had started walking out of the alley.
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"Where the fuck-" He had lost the train of thought for a moment, then found it again. "The fuck we goin'?"
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