Title: Gunshot Residue
Rating: PG, PG-13 for bad language, mature themes
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7
Characters: Tseng, Reno
Notes: Another drabble request from![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
dazedpuckbunny and I struggled with this one for a while before a lightbulb went off today. XD
Reno had seen a lot of things in his years as a Turk - most of them had been initiated by himself, of course, but he had still seen a lot of jarring things. The slums, whose sky was the rusted metal plate the rich in Midgar lived on, was beginning to devour itself. Turf wars stemming from rebel factions trying to gain an edge to fight against a Company that could care less.
Bodies would line the streets, and be shoved on or under the countless piles of scrap metal. Belonging to men, women, children … if you were weak, the slums ate you alive. He was a child forged in the slums; nothing phased him though when he joined the ranks of the Turks, he definitely saw some variations on old favourites.
He had seen a lot of things.
Despite that, when he entered the Turks Lounge on Floor 61, he was momentarily stunned to find the Director with his shirt partly off as he attempted to remove a bullet from his upper arm. That wasn’t an infrequent occurrence, it was Tseng’s state of undress that had snared Reno’s rapt attention.
“If you’re going to gape, come over here and help while you do so,” Tseng said, his voice as calm as ever.
Reno grounded out his cigarette against the doorframe and stepped in, dropping his Mag Rod on a nearby seat. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”
“It’s her way of saying goodnight,” Tseng replied, his lips curling into a faint smirk. Reno snorted and took the thin surgical tongs from his boss, leaning in closer to take a better look at the wound.
“Christ, no girly pistol did this. I don’t know whether I should applaud or fear your taste in chicks, Boss,” Reno muttered, his eyes narrowing as he manoeuvred the instrument inside the wound, feeling Tseng tense. “This thing’s in deep. How pissed did you make her?”
Tseng chuckled. “She wanted to move in with me. I told her that Corneo’s got room in his place.”
“Hah! No wonder she took out the big gun.” Reno placed a hand on Tseng’s shoulder to brace himself as he dug around deeper in the bloody hole in Tseng’s upper arm. He nearly dropped the tongs in surprise when he felt Tseng’s other hand on his wrist, holding him steady.
Tseng’s dark eyes watched Reno’s expression carefully and quietly, the intense concentration in the pale green strangely calming and a refreshing change from the punk-ass defiance Tseng usually saw in them. He had been trained for many years to resist pain, be it from a stab wound, bullet wound, or plain torture. There were a variety of techniques to raise mind over matter, but the simplest would always be to find something calming to strengthen your resolve.
He certainly didn’t think to find that in Reno’s eyes, but he would take what he could get. “Do you even have it, Reno?”
Reno hissed as the bullet narrowly avoided the tongs’ grip. “Yeah, hang on a minute. This fucking thing is in deep. -- Heh, did you tell her that too?”
Tseng smirked and looked away. “Perhaps next time.”
“Hah, there’s going to be a next time?” Reno snickered. His eyes then suddenly lit up as he felt the tongs grasp the bullet. Slowly, Reno slid it out, and after a painstakingly long moment, was now staring at a bloodied, malformed bullet. “Want me to send it to her in a heart-shaped frame, or what?” He dropped it into a (somewhat) clean ashtray, reaching over to grab the dampened cloth Tseng had ready on the coffee table in a small bowl.
The smirk on Tseng’s lips broadened slightly. “A romantic idea, but no. Just toss it.” He took the cloth from Reno and began carefully cleaning away the dried blood on his pale skin. “Hn. Thanks, Reno.”
“No problem, Boss.” Reno waved a hand. “These chicks are fucking nuts, I know that.”
Tseng smirked as he smoothly started bandaging his arm. “You fuck anything that moves, Reno; I’m certain it isn’t just women you’ve pissed off.”
A wolfish grin spread across Reno’s face, and he wiped his hands on another cloth, leaning back on the sofa with his arms behind his head. “None of ‘em have shot me.”
“Not yet.”
The grin on Reno’s lips got wider. “There’s the fun.”
=END=
Author’s Note: Writing Tseng is HARD. Also making Reno be a smart-ass and not a massive tool is difficult. I hope I succeeded in making them sound *vaguely* in character. XD
Rating: PG, PG-13 for bad language, mature themes
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7
Characters: Tseng, Reno
Notes: Another drabble request from
dazedpuckbunny and I struggled with this one for a while before a lightbulb went off today. XDReno had seen a lot of things in his years as a Turk - most of them had been initiated by himself, of course, but he had still seen a lot of jarring things. The slums, whose sky was the rusted metal plate the rich in Midgar lived on, was beginning to devour itself. Turf wars stemming from rebel factions trying to gain an edge to fight against a Company that could care less.
Bodies would line the streets, and be shoved on or under the countless piles of scrap metal. Belonging to men, women, children … if you were weak, the slums ate you alive. He was a child forged in the slums; nothing phased him though when he joined the ranks of the Turks, he definitely saw some variations on old favourites.
He had seen a lot of things.
Despite that, when he entered the Turks Lounge on Floor 61, he was momentarily stunned to find the Director with his shirt partly off as he attempted to remove a bullet from his upper arm. That wasn’t an infrequent occurrence, it was Tseng’s state of undress that had snared Reno’s rapt attention.
“If you’re going to gape, come over here and help while you do so,” Tseng said, his voice as calm as ever.
Reno grounded out his cigarette against the doorframe and stepped in, dropping his Mag Rod on a nearby seat. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”
“It’s her way of saying goodnight,” Tseng replied, his lips curling into a faint smirk. Reno snorted and took the thin surgical tongs from his boss, leaning in closer to take a better look at the wound.
“Christ, no girly pistol did this. I don’t know whether I should applaud or fear your taste in chicks, Boss,” Reno muttered, his eyes narrowing as he manoeuvred the instrument inside the wound, feeling Tseng tense. “This thing’s in deep. How pissed did you make her?”
Tseng chuckled. “She wanted to move in with me. I told her that Corneo’s got room in his place.”
“Hah! No wonder she took out the big gun.” Reno placed a hand on Tseng’s shoulder to brace himself as he dug around deeper in the bloody hole in Tseng’s upper arm. He nearly dropped the tongs in surprise when he felt Tseng’s other hand on his wrist, holding him steady.
Tseng’s dark eyes watched Reno’s expression carefully and quietly, the intense concentration in the pale green strangely calming and a refreshing change from the punk-ass defiance Tseng usually saw in them. He had been trained for many years to resist pain, be it from a stab wound, bullet wound, or plain torture. There were a variety of techniques to raise mind over matter, but the simplest would always be to find something calming to strengthen your resolve.
He certainly didn’t think to find that in Reno’s eyes, but he would take what he could get. “Do you even have it, Reno?”
Reno hissed as the bullet narrowly avoided the tongs’ grip. “Yeah, hang on a minute. This fucking thing is in deep. -- Heh, did you tell her that too?”
Tseng smirked and looked away. “Perhaps next time.”
“Hah, there’s going to be a next time?” Reno snickered. His eyes then suddenly lit up as he felt the tongs grasp the bullet. Slowly, Reno slid it out, and after a painstakingly long moment, was now staring at a bloodied, malformed bullet. “Want me to send it to her in a heart-shaped frame, or what?” He dropped it into a (somewhat) clean ashtray, reaching over to grab the dampened cloth Tseng had ready on the coffee table in a small bowl.
The smirk on Tseng’s lips broadened slightly. “A romantic idea, but no. Just toss it.” He took the cloth from Reno and began carefully cleaning away the dried blood on his pale skin. “Hn. Thanks, Reno.”
“No problem, Boss.” Reno waved a hand. “These chicks are fucking nuts, I know that.”
Tseng smirked as he smoothly started bandaging his arm. “You fuck anything that moves, Reno; I’m certain it isn’t just women you’ve pissed off.”
A wolfish grin spread across Reno’s face, and he wiped his hands on another cloth, leaning back on the sofa with his arms behind his head. “None of ‘em have shot me.”
“Not yet.”
The grin on Reno’s lips got wider. “There’s the fun.”
=END=
Author’s Note: Writing Tseng is HARD. Also making Reno be a smart-ass and not a massive tool is difficult. I hope I succeeded in making them sound *vaguely* in character. XD
Current Mood: 
accomplished
accomplishedCurrent Music: "Underneath the Rotting Pizza" FF7 OST
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