[FF7] Shotgun Loyalty, Chapter 2
Heh, I had a conversation with denpagirl about this. This fic is equally insulting and sexist to all genders :P And jukeboxes, as well.
And the political views presented don't necessarily match my own...?
SHOTGUN LOYALTY
by elf asato
II.
They were off for a while until further notice, which meant that they'd have a few days of respite until Rufus decided that he needed them again, and then they would most likely be put back on the Avalanche case. It was boring, trailing Cloud and company, searching for clues about the Promised Land and Sephiroth; after the first week, Reno begged Tseng to let Rufus know he was more than welcome to recall them for local purposes, but it seemed he was the only one truly miserable with the wild goose chase. Rude, of course, was infatuated with Tifa and no one really blamed him considering her rather large and bouyant chest; Tseng liked the dullness, and since he spent much of his time in Midgar, it was like a vacation for him; and Elena liked the inaction. For Reno, it was too much inaction, too much searching. He didn't have the patience. So Tseng would allow him to accompany him to Midgar, if only for a little while, as a break in the monotony.
While they made enough to afford to frequent one of those ritzy, high class establishments those with money and power were commonly seen at, the Turks' favorite hangout was a dingy little bar just northeast from the train station -- still on the upper plate, but definitely in one of the uglier parts. It was a place where there was a brawl at least every week and not-so-legal substances were sold in the back room, but only if you knew what to ask for when ordering from the bartender, a guy named Sam who'd been there as long as Midgar itself; the Turks were regulars.
A few nights after pulling off the Annette job, they were there, and the bar was theirs alone. Tseng never went with them because he said he had more of a sense of responsibility than to associate himself and mix with the unsavory part of the upper plate, but Rude suspected it was because of the drug bust a few years ago that had Reno suspended from duty for nearly a month. Either way, Tseng was never with them, and for a long time it had just been Reno and Rude until Cloud had injured Reno at the Sector 7 pillar and Elena had been called in as a replacement that never left; Rude knew she was only there because she desired to prove something to the rest of them. Often he wondered how a nice and sweet girl like her had ever become a Turk. Reno said he didn't care about the kid as long as she did her job, but he tended to act like an older brother, shielding her from various unpleasantries. The first time she accompanied them to the bar, she tried to order what Reno was having, but he wouldn't let her.
There was a small jukebox in the corner of that dank establishment that was as temperamental as a woman; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, depending on how badly you wanted it to. Ever since he saw that it carried one of his favorite albums, Rude always wanted it to play, and because of that there was no music when the Turks came; none at all, even though Rude always spent half the night trying to get it to work. It was almost like a ritual: Reno always had the 'special' -- the drink Elena once unsuccessfully tried to order -- and when there were other patrons, most of them regulars, they'd talk him into sharing on-the-job stories, and instead of music from the jukebox that generally permeated the atmosphere, the events that went into top secret Turk reports were openly talked about and dominated the noise until they left. It didn't matter, telling 'classified' information like that; the bar's patrons were generally unsavory characters who knew what the Turks really did anyway. Recruiting those for SOLDIER was just a side job. Rarely were there fights in the bar with the Turks present because everyone was occupied otherwise, but when there was one, they never hesitated to jump in readily; the original fight and cause of it were irrelevant, rather it was the feel of excitement and physical activity that left such a feeling of elation unrivalled. Elena disapproved. She disapproved of the many things that the two guys did.
It was just the three of them there that night, which was unusual because at the very least the drunks and women of ill-repute, of whom Elena despised so passionately, were present, talking and drinking and talking and drinking. It was a seemingly endless cycle until the very last one was kicked out at closing time, but usually the Turks were gone before that. Elena was always the first to leave, and, depending on the flow of the night's events, Rude and Reno would leave separately much later. But that night was looking to be an early escape; it was quiet and boring already.
"The usual?" asked Sam as he wiped down a glass with his traditional towel and put it on the back shelf. The bar may have been dirty, but the instruments were always clean.
Reno nodded while Rude affirmed, but Elena told him she wouldn't be having anything. Had she not been a Turk and almost-loyal patron, Sam would've shot her a dirty glance for that on such a slow night.
But he didn't, and the drinks came quickly while the Turks sat, idly talking about unimportant things before Rude rose to 'liven up' the place, meaning he was going to attempt to get the jukebox working again.
"And it starts," Elena remarked with a small, apologetic smile, still feeling a bit guilty. She explained before that she had a date later that night. Reno, of course, wanted to know all the particulars, and she obliged without complaint. After all, she didn't mind him prying into her personal life for all the right reasons because she liked the feeling of closeness they had; they were like family rather than colleagues.
Amidst the vague sound of Rude muttering curses and banging on the jukebox -- Sam didn't mind because he never caused any actual harm to it -- Reno inquired about the slowness that night, and furthermore about the general emptiness of the area.
"They've all either gone or died or they're too afraid to leave their homes. Nobody wants to be in Midgar anymore with all that's happening in the world," Sam explained, his voice saddened as he leaned against the counter. "We had that Sephiroth guy go around and kill the president, and then the vice-president has made everyone afraid to dissent out of fear of going to jail or being labeled as a traitor or whatnot. The old president used to buy our cooperation, but this guy..."
Reno observed him steadily, simply holding his drink in his hands, barely having drank any of it. "Aren't you afraid of saying that sort of stuff around us? We are Turks after all..."
"Sure I am, like everyone else, but you're off-duty now."
"You know us well."
Elena didn't understand as they then laughed and Reno began drinking more, potential crisis averted, as Rude, who had paused briefly to take a break, got his second wind. "Taxes are lower now than they were before... Isn't that better?" she mentioned, and her unsure and questioning tone betrayed itself.
"Taxes are nothing if you can't be free to speak your mind," Reno answered and Elena looked at him in surprise as the bartender nodded. "Taxes generate money to pay for our saleries and public facilities, but the president has decided not to spend the money on people and instead rule with fear. Taxes may be lower now, but with everyone escaping the city because they're afraid, there will be few left to tax, so for Shinra to pay for itself, it will have to significantly increase the taxes it once cut."
Elena looked vaguely confused as she tried to process it in her mind; she had always placed complete and blind faith into her bosses, so the peoples' dilemma was beginning to throw everything off. Out of curiosity she asked, "Who decided to lower taxes? Wouldn't the president rather have the power and the money?"
"Reeve," Rude answered, obviously overhearing as he reconnected wire to the infernal machine. "He's one of the few suits working for the people..."
"Doesn't Shinra generate a lot of money from mako reactors? We get a lot of money from Kalm and other places, right?" she asked, still trying to understand.
Rude took another break and leaned his arm across the top of the jukebox. "Yes," he said, "and their taxes will gradually go up as well, but you have to think long-term here. Within the next ten years, at the most, Midgar will have sucked all the surrounding resources dry and the city will have to relocate. They're already preparing Junon just in case, but the administration is putting its money on the Promised Land fable of the Ancients, the one Sephiroth assassinated the president for. Either way, the move is going to cost a fortune, and if the people aren't happy -- free, in this case -- they'll find ways to evade the incredibly high taxation that'll result in the endeavor."
"So..." Elena began, but any subsequent words died just before they reached her lips. She understood what Rude was saying, but it was difficult to visualize.
"If Rufus wants to get anything done, he'll have to please the people, but he can't do that if he won't spend money on them," Reno commented, taking a sip of his drink -- it wasn't something to be gulped down -- as he held his forehead in the palm of his other hand. "But...that's something for the suits to discuss." And with that, the topic was closed for the night and instead Rude brought up the latest race results from the Gold Saucer: some jockey had won, as he put it, 'a shitload of dough' and it made the news the night before.
Someday they'd go and do that, Elena had said with the hopes and dreams of a young kid, and for the nth time in his life, Rude wondered why she was there. By being a Turk, did she hope to meet and marry someone high up? Did someone leak to her that they made more money than their lifestyle let on? It was such a dirty job that he couldn't comprehend why such a sweet girl... But he was always reminded of what Reno had told him once: she made it up into their ranks, which meant she was certainly competent enough to work with them; perhaps the fact that she was a young, sweet girl was exactly why she was there in the first place. Of course, the knowledge that she could give as good as she got didn't quell protective instincts for them.
It wasn't long after when Elena left to meet her date, a young entrepreneur who owned a struggling business chain in the southern half of the city, Reno had found out after a brief interrogation; she met him on the train. The Turks weren't jealous -- just protective. Elena was the greenhorn, the rookie...and as clumsy and inexperienced as she was, she was still one of them. They were more like family than co-workers, after all.
Rude and Reno barely stayed a few minutes longer before Reno decided he had enough of the oppressive stillness of the place; it was boring that night, unbearably so. He stayed only to pay off his tab, and once he left, there was no point in Rude sticking around, so he went as well.
And then the jukebox started working again.
And the political views presented don't necessarily match my own...?
SHOTGUN LOYALTY
by elf asato
II.
They were off for a while until further notice, which meant that they'd have a few days of respite until Rufus decided that he needed them again, and then they would most likely be put back on the Avalanche case. It was boring, trailing Cloud and company, searching for clues about the Promised Land and Sephiroth; after the first week, Reno begged Tseng to let Rufus know he was more than welcome to recall them for local purposes, but it seemed he was the only one truly miserable with the wild goose chase. Rude, of course, was infatuated with Tifa and no one really blamed him considering her rather large and bouyant chest; Tseng liked the dullness, and since he spent much of his time in Midgar, it was like a vacation for him; and Elena liked the inaction. For Reno, it was too much inaction, too much searching. He didn't have the patience. So Tseng would allow him to accompany him to Midgar, if only for a little while, as a break in the monotony.
While they made enough to afford to frequent one of those ritzy, high class establishments those with money and power were commonly seen at, the Turks' favorite hangout was a dingy little bar just northeast from the train station -- still on the upper plate, but definitely in one of the uglier parts. It was a place where there was a brawl at least every week and not-so-legal substances were sold in the back room, but only if you knew what to ask for when ordering from the bartender, a guy named Sam who'd been there as long as Midgar itself; the Turks were regulars.
A few nights after pulling off the Annette job, they were there, and the bar was theirs alone. Tseng never went with them because he said he had more of a sense of responsibility than to associate himself and mix with the unsavory part of the upper plate, but Rude suspected it was because of the drug bust a few years ago that had Reno suspended from duty for nearly a month. Either way, Tseng was never with them, and for a long time it had just been Reno and Rude until Cloud had injured Reno at the Sector 7 pillar and Elena had been called in as a replacement that never left; Rude knew she was only there because she desired to prove something to the rest of them. Often he wondered how a nice and sweet girl like her had ever become a Turk. Reno said he didn't care about the kid as long as she did her job, but he tended to act like an older brother, shielding her from various unpleasantries. The first time she accompanied them to the bar, she tried to order what Reno was having, but he wouldn't let her.
There was a small jukebox in the corner of that dank establishment that was as temperamental as a woman; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, depending on how badly you wanted it to. Ever since he saw that it carried one of his favorite albums, Rude always wanted it to play, and because of that there was no music when the Turks came; none at all, even though Rude always spent half the night trying to get it to work. It was almost like a ritual: Reno always had the 'special' -- the drink Elena once unsuccessfully tried to order -- and when there were other patrons, most of them regulars, they'd talk him into sharing on-the-job stories, and instead of music from the jukebox that generally permeated the atmosphere, the events that went into top secret Turk reports were openly talked about and dominated the noise until they left. It didn't matter, telling 'classified' information like that; the bar's patrons were generally unsavory characters who knew what the Turks really did anyway. Recruiting those for SOLDIER was just a side job. Rarely were there fights in the bar with the Turks present because everyone was occupied otherwise, but when there was one, they never hesitated to jump in readily; the original fight and cause of it were irrelevant, rather it was the feel of excitement and physical activity that left such a feeling of elation unrivalled. Elena disapproved. She disapproved of the many things that the two guys did.
It was just the three of them there that night, which was unusual because at the very least the drunks and women of ill-repute, of whom Elena despised so passionately, were present, talking and drinking and talking and drinking. It was a seemingly endless cycle until the very last one was kicked out at closing time, but usually the Turks were gone before that. Elena was always the first to leave, and, depending on the flow of the night's events, Rude and Reno would leave separately much later. But that night was looking to be an early escape; it was quiet and boring already.
"The usual?" asked Sam as he wiped down a glass with his traditional towel and put it on the back shelf. The bar may have been dirty, but the instruments were always clean.
Reno nodded while Rude affirmed, but Elena told him she wouldn't be having anything. Had she not been a Turk and almost-loyal patron, Sam would've shot her a dirty glance for that on such a slow night.
But he didn't, and the drinks came quickly while the Turks sat, idly talking about unimportant things before Rude rose to 'liven up' the place, meaning he was going to attempt to get the jukebox working again.
"And it starts," Elena remarked with a small, apologetic smile, still feeling a bit guilty. She explained before that she had a date later that night. Reno, of course, wanted to know all the particulars, and she obliged without complaint. After all, she didn't mind him prying into her personal life for all the right reasons because she liked the feeling of closeness they had; they were like family rather than colleagues.
Amidst the vague sound of Rude muttering curses and banging on the jukebox -- Sam didn't mind because he never caused any actual harm to it -- Reno inquired about the slowness that night, and furthermore about the general emptiness of the area.
"They've all either gone or died or they're too afraid to leave their homes. Nobody wants to be in Midgar anymore with all that's happening in the world," Sam explained, his voice saddened as he leaned against the counter. "We had that Sephiroth guy go around and kill the president, and then the vice-president has made everyone afraid to dissent out of fear of going to jail or being labeled as a traitor or whatnot. The old president used to buy our cooperation, but this guy..."
Reno observed him steadily, simply holding his drink in his hands, barely having drank any of it. "Aren't you afraid of saying that sort of stuff around us? We are Turks after all..."
"Sure I am, like everyone else, but you're off-duty now."
"You know us well."
Elena didn't understand as they then laughed and Reno began drinking more, potential crisis averted, as Rude, who had paused briefly to take a break, got his second wind. "Taxes are lower now than they were before... Isn't that better?" she mentioned, and her unsure and questioning tone betrayed itself.
"Taxes are nothing if you can't be free to speak your mind," Reno answered and Elena looked at him in surprise as the bartender nodded. "Taxes generate money to pay for our saleries and public facilities, but the president has decided not to spend the money on people and instead rule with fear. Taxes may be lower now, but with everyone escaping the city because they're afraid, there will be few left to tax, so for Shinra to pay for itself, it will have to significantly increase the taxes it once cut."
Elena looked vaguely confused as she tried to process it in her mind; she had always placed complete and blind faith into her bosses, so the peoples' dilemma was beginning to throw everything off. Out of curiosity she asked, "Who decided to lower taxes? Wouldn't the president rather have the power and the money?"
"Reeve," Rude answered, obviously overhearing as he reconnected wire to the infernal machine. "He's one of the few suits working for the people..."
"Doesn't Shinra generate a lot of money from mako reactors? We get a lot of money from Kalm and other places, right?" she asked, still trying to understand.
Rude took another break and leaned his arm across the top of the jukebox. "Yes," he said, "and their taxes will gradually go up as well, but you have to think long-term here. Within the next ten years, at the most, Midgar will have sucked all the surrounding resources dry and the city will have to relocate. They're already preparing Junon just in case, but the administration is putting its money on the Promised Land fable of the Ancients, the one Sephiroth assassinated the president for. Either way, the move is going to cost a fortune, and if the people aren't happy -- free, in this case -- they'll find ways to evade the incredibly high taxation that'll result in the endeavor."
"So..." Elena began, but any subsequent words died just before they reached her lips. She understood what Rude was saying, but it was difficult to visualize.
"If Rufus wants to get anything done, he'll have to please the people, but he can't do that if he won't spend money on them," Reno commented, taking a sip of his drink -- it wasn't something to be gulped down -- as he held his forehead in the palm of his other hand. "But...that's something for the suits to discuss." And with that, the topic was closed for the night and instead Rude brought up the latest race results from the Gold Saucer: some jockey had won, as he put it, 'a shitload of dough' and it made the news the night before.
Someday they'd go and do that, Elena had said with the hopes and dreams of a young kid, and for the nth time in his life, Rude wondered why she was there. By being a Turk, did she hope to meet and marry someone high up? Did someone leak to her that they made more money than their lifestyle let on? It was such a dirty job that he couldn't comprehend why such a sweet girl... But he was always reminded of what Reno had told him once: she made it up into their ranks, which meant she was certainly competent enough to work with them; perhaps the fact that she was a young, sweet girl was exactly why she was there in the first place. Of course, the knowledge that she could give as good as she got didn't quell protective instincts for them.
It wasn't long after when Elena left to meet her date, a young entrepreneur who owned a struggling business chain in the southern half of the city, Reno had found out after a brief interrogation; she met him on the train. The Turks weren't jealous -- just protective. Elena was the greenhorn, the rookie...and as clumsy and inexperienced as she was, she was still one of them. They were more like family than co-workers, after all.
Rude and Reno barely stayed a few minutes longer before Reno decided he had enough of the oppressive stillness of the place; it was boring that night, unbearably so. He stayed only to pay off his tab, and once he left, there was no point in Rude sticking around, so he went as well.
And then the jukebox started working again.