Edge, Saturday, Early Morning
It had been another long, hard night. Tseng seemed to be doing everything in his power to drive Reno to the point of cracking since Elena had taken off for Fandom, and Reno couldn't exactly blame him. This time, it had been a run to the outskirts of the makeshift city, under heavy gunfire, to neutralize a group of citizens who had gotten fed up with the poverty. They'd gone out, found themselves some weapons inside the wreckage of the old ShinRa building, and had taken to going door-to-door, shaking people down and waving said guns in their faces until they handed over all of their food.
Not cool.
Needless to say, for as much as Tseng probably figured that he was pushing Reno right over the edge, this was what the redhead was made for. The clash hadn't lasted long, really. The people with the guns were hungry civilians with no weapons experience. Reno was a professional killer, the fastest of the Turks, and trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit. He ended the night with his clothes sodden with blood, and very little of it had been his own.
But it was a long walk back to Rude's apartment, and so by the time Reno had gotten there and stumbled his way to the couch, the best he could really manage was shrugging out of his bloody shirt and jacket and tossing them across the room. His EMR, the sun baton that he typically strapped to a cuff on his wrist for battles, was going to stay put. It was practically a security blanket, anyhow.
Sleep had been short, and it had been fitful, the smell of electrocuted flesh still fresh in his nose. Somewhere during the night, he'd settled down, managed to get some rest. He had his rod, he was fine, the fight was over and somewhere else.
Waking up to the feel of something tugging at his cuff and breath against his ear, however?
Oh, somebody was going to get a punch in the nose.
Somebody who, once he had recieved said punch in the nose, proceeded to look very hurt and confused, indeed. The other man, clad for whatever reason in the Turks uniform, pulled away, frowning and putting a hand to his face.
The hand that wasn't strapped to Reno's wrist, naturally.
"Aw, for the love of Odin's flamin' left nut, yo..."
Looks like the weirder aspects of Fandom had followed Reno home, after all.
[Open for phone calls or what-have-you.]
Not cool.
Needless to say, for as much as Tseng probably figured that he was pushing Reno right over the edge, this was what the redhead was made for. The clash hadn't lasted long, really. The people with the guns were hungry civilians with no weapons experience. Reno was a professional killer, the fastest of the Turks, and trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit. He ended the night with his clothes sodden with blood, and very little of it had been his own.
But it was a long walk back to Rude's apartment, and so by the time Reno had gotten there and stumbled his way to the couch, the best he could really manage was shrugging out of his bloody shirt and jacket and tossing them across the room. His EMR, the sun baton that he typically strapped to a cuff on his wrist for battles, was going to stay put. It was practically a security blanket, anyhow.
Sleep had been short, and it had been fitful, the smell of electrocuted flesh still fresh in his nose. Somewhere during the night, he'd settled down, managed to get some rest. He had his rod, he was fine, the fight was over and somewhere else.
Waking up to the feel of something tugging at his cuff and breath against his ear, however?
Oh, somebody was going to get a punch in the nose.
Somebody who, once he had recieved said punch in the nose, proceeded to look very hurt and confused, indeed. The other man, clad for whatever reason in the Turks uniform, pulled away, frowning and putting a hand to his face.
The hand that wasn't strapped to Reno's wrist, naturally.
"Aw, for the love of Odin's flamin' left nut, yo..."
Looks like the weirder aspects of Fandom had followed Reno home, after all.
[Open for phone calls or what-have-you.]