a chair with a blindfold around one’s eyes. The different between that amount and zero
were surprisingly slim, but existent nonetheless. That slight degree of restraint was
enough to keep Reno from actively drooling on himself as he hurled random insults out
into the air around him, cursing everyone and everything he could think of. No one was
more startled than he that almost all of that subject matter had to do with an Irish nun
who used to teach at Midgars Academy for Trouble Teens, until being forced into early
retirement when the amount of bricks going through her class room windows had begun
to add up to more than the school could hire janitors to carry back out again.
In the beginning, Reno hadn’t minded her so much. In fact, during the brief seconds
between the time she had walked into the door of the classroom and started speaking, he
had been quite fond of the high cheekboned women with hair even brighter red than his.
Then she made the mistake of beginning to talk- to *him*, no less- and the whole
relationship had turned sour. Reno estimated that he spent more time locked in her
classroom closet that year than he did trying to convince the Darcie twins that he also had
an identical brother, by the name of Roy, and that Roy would make a good boyfriend for
Anita, the sister of Jackie, who Reno himself was currently going out with. He and Roy
had shared some good times.
“And another thing,” he snarled, not entirely anyone else was even in the room, “you
looked stupid in that outfit. Like a fucking penguin. You wore sweaters in the middle of a
god damn heat wave, and you dress like an Antarctic creature. What the fuck is wrong
with you??”
Reno paused, drawing breath and struggling furiously to come up with another insult that
contained the word ‘Antarctic’. However, as soon as he came up with one- and he was
particularly proud of it too, it was a rhyming number that suggested where exactly she
could place her icicles- a voice penetrated the piece of cloth that wrapped around his eyes
and back over his ears. The voice was deep, commanding, and very very familiar. The
voice belonged to the man Reno had once accidentally shot in the ankle and had the short
God damned temper to actually get upset about it.
“Why don’t you try being quiet?” Rude asked with an almost amused hint to his voice. “I
do it all the time. It works wonders.”
“Why don’t you try sucking my dick?” Reno barked back at him harshly. “Come on,
don’t be shy. I can get my fly down without using my hands, its a great trick. Your
mother taught me.”
Rude didn’t respond to the biting insult, as they both knew full well that Rude was the
leading runner when it came to bad mouthing his mother. Something about being left in a
train station in lower Midgar can have a lasting impact on a kid, especially when it has
been running on thirteen years that she was late in coming to pick him up again. “Come
on, Reno,” he said, his voice infused with warmth. “You know how to get out of this.
Tell me the password.”
“You know what I know?” Reno asked, his voice louder than usual thanks to the ear
mufflers. “I know that the last girl you went out with liked to have her ear lobe nibbled
while she rode me like a god damn rocking horse, that’s what I know. I know your dick is
so damn small that the two of you had been fucking for months but she still had her
cherry, *that* is what I kn-”
“-OK, let’s play a little game.” Rude said, having to force himself from grinding his
teeth. Taylor *had* liked having her ear lobe nibbled, though how Reno could have
gotten hold of that little piece of information was beyond Rude. Somehow the
sharpshooter doubted that Reno had learned it the obvious way, considering upon their
first meeting Reno had accidentally-on-purpose managed to dump a half full pitcher of
ice water onto the white T-shirt of the girl. Somehow, Rude doubted, the aftermath where
he offered to wring it dry we she was still wearing it had helped his chances any.
“Goody.” Reno said sarcastically. “I like games. Though that Uncle Pennybags creeps me
the hell out. What kind of millionaire needs to have a canon? That monocle wearing
bastard was up to something, I’m telling you.”
Ignoring everything said after the first word, Rude began to walk circles around the
sitting Reno with slow, deliberate steps. “Your name is Reno Tremaine, and you work for
the Turks.”
Reno paused. “Yes.”
“Your official job description is project engineer, though more often than not the only
thing you engineer is an excuse as to why you riddled the place with machine gun bullets
as opposed to simply going in the back door.”
No pause this time. “Yes.”
“You are aware that once a year, Tseng will give us a password in the morning and give
the other instructions to obtain that password from the first. He claims it gives him
valuable information about our strengths and weaknesses, but we both agree that he is a
sadistic bastard who just enjoys playing God with our day off.”
“Yes. The dick.”
“...we also agree that it is a far better ritual than an annual performance review.”
In his ropes and binds, Reno shuddered. “God yes.”
Rude nodded. They were making progress. He had tried this exact speel a few hours ago
and gotten nothing but numbers in response, and a few hours before that had yielded
Reno telling the story of the first time he had managed to tie his shoes correctly, and how
much more satisfactory it had been than the second.
“You also know that at the end of the day, whoever has succeeded- the man holding the
password or the man taking it- gets a thousand dollar bonus and the week off. Whoever
fucks up loses the thousand dollars from his pay that month, and has to fill in for the
others duties for seven days. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And that I’ve always... always... ended up winning, no matter what side of the game I’m
on, year in and year out. Correct?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good. So lets make this easy. You like things easy, don’t you?” Rude asked, disgusted
at how closely he resembled a used car salesman.
“Mostly your mom,” Reno said, then seemed to remember he had already insulted
Rude’s mother to little effect. “And your daughter. You know, whenever she happens to
be born and grows old enough that she’ll be sporting actual tits.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rude said. “So all I want to know is the password. What is the
password?”
“Don’t know.” Reno said instantly.
“The password is ‘Don’t know’?” Rude asked.
“No.” Reno responded, almost triumphantly.
“You don’t know what the password is?” Rude asked.
“No.”
“Did you forget?”
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“No.”
“Was *that* lying?”
“No.”
Rude growled, and took a deep breath. This sort of thing usually lasted about five
minutes with Reno, when the craving for a cigarette kicked in and the annoyance of
constantly being kicked in the ribs began to register, but this year seemed to be different.
They had been at this for over eight hours, and in between his various distraction
techniques and insults, Reno had managed to maintain a staunch position of not knowing
the password.
“So you are telling me that Tseng never told you the password?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Tseng told you the password?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, yes he did?”
“...no.”
Cracking his knuckles in an effort to restrain himself from wrapping his sizable hands
around Reno’s throat, Rude sighed heftily, and tried again, hoping the sheer repetition
would eventually wear his red haired friend down.
“So, Reno. I was wandering around town the other day, and I look in the window of a
thrift store, and *what is the God damn password!?*”
Reno blinked up at him from behind his blindfold with an indignant look on his face,
almost as if he was insulted by such an obvious ploy that didn’t event involve alcohol.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
Rude barely heard him over the sound of his own grinding teeth
***
The Wutain were weird people, Rude reasoned. They were always talking about creation,
about moving forward, about big steps in this area of technology, and giant leaps in that
one. God knows every product you bought that had even a hint of plastic in it had the
words ‘Made in Wutai’ printed proudly across its surface. However, they were in a full
sprint to get away from something that wasn’t so bad. Out of all the major nations, Rude
had to say he liked Wutais past the best.
“I think you know how this work,” Rude said to Reno calmly, hovering above the other
man like an executioner, the usual black hood replaced by sunglasses instead. “Wutain
water torture. Drip. Drip. Drip. Onto the forehead, second after second, minute after
minute, hour after hour. First its an itch, then an irritant, then a sting... sooner or later
each drop feels like a sledge hammer blow between your eyes. Your skin will practically
be unmarked, but you’ll feel like there’s a crater in your head the size of a watermelon.”
Reno glared up at Rude from his new position- the chair he was tied to having been
kicked back so it was tilted over the sink. “The password is cheese.” He said calmly.
“You always were bad at making up passwords,” Rude responded with a simple shake of
his head. “I guess were going to have to do this thing. Only thing is, the water line is
broken, and I’m saving the ice cubes in the freezer as a back up, so were going to do this
with coffee. I’m sure the boiling temperatures wont inhibit the process any.”
Eyes closed tightly and jaw clenched, Reno awaited the inevitable as Rude set up a
dripping apparatus above him. It seemed to be home made, various different materials
peaking out from beneath the final black paint job the sharpshooter had slapped on it.
Rude grabbed a pot and upended it into the top of the device, and the torture began.
Drip... drip... drip...
It was hot, Reno had to admit, but nothing too bad. As a kid, the running game had been
using a piece of glass to focus the sun on the back of your hand, and whoever dropped
their glass first was the loser. The game had begun to come so natural to Reno he’d
started making little designs in his skin with the inevitable circles of burnt skin.
Drip... drip... drip...
Just a little tickle, it would be nothing if he could wipe it away. Of course he couldn’t,
and he reckoned that was the point, but if he could... then the little stinging sensation
would go away. All he’d have to do was lift his hand and press it to his head and wipe,
and all the discomfort would be gone, if his _fucking_ arms weren’t tied down...
Drip... drip... drip...
OK, that was enough of this, Reno snarled in his own head. He’d played Rudes little
game, but he’d taken all the steamy caffeinated beverage to the forehead he felt like for
this day. He opened his mouth to tell Rude so, but suddenly the sensation stopped, and
the coffee that had begun to pool in the worry lines on his forehead suddenly ran slick
down his temples, leaving bare a small red mark that had started to form.
Reno opened his eyes, looking at Rude in surprise. Rude, for his part, simply stood
scowling at the machine. “That’s it?” Reno asked.
“Elena got to the coffee before I could,” Rude said almost huffily. “There was only half a
cup left. I was hoping I could psyche you out.”
“Didn’t it occur to you to make more?” Reno asked, not entirely sure why he has aiding
in his own torture.
“Yes.” Rude said gruffly. “But by the time I got to the pantry, Elena had discovered that
the coffee beans were chocolate covered. She sucked them down like a vacuum cleaner.”
Reno laughed, and then froze. “So I guess you need to let me go, right?”
Rude stared at him, malice gleaming behind his glasses. “What’s your second guess?”
***
“Ow.” Reno muttered quietly, for the thirtieth time in a row. Rude gave him a confident
smirk, one that had the words ‘just tell me the fucking password, Red’ seeped
throughout, but the red haired Turk simply stuck his tongue out at the man, his middle
fingers currently being tied down.
Rude stood with a small wire that still glowed white with the heat of the stove. He
crouched over Renos face with the delicacy of a lover, but the intent of a psychopath, as
he touched the wire to his best friends skin in tiny strands of contact. Rude gave the wire
an appraising look, as if to make sure it was still hot enough, and then swiped it across
Reno’s skin yet again.
“Ow.” Reno said.
“OK, that’s done,” Rude said, tossing the wire into his sink- were it the glowing hot tip
quickly fizzled out in a small sweat diluted puddle of coffee. Reno sighed in relief, the
continuing fiery touch to his face seconds away from making him scream out random
words from the dictionary until he could convince Rude that he had given him the right
one.
“Thank fucking Christ,” snarled Reno, knowing it was a bad idea but not really caring.
Fuck Rude and his little wire, he thought, and his fucking vacation. There are certain
things that go a bit far, and an hour and a half of agonizing cheek tickling was damn
close to crossing the line. “Finally realized I could take the heat, huh?”
“Not really,” Rude said with a shrug, “I just finished with my picture.” He reached
behind him, felt around on the counter, and grabbed the massive butcher knife that lay
there. Reno winced noticeably as his captor snatched up the weapon, but Rude only
angled it so it flashed his captives reflection back at him, causing his jaw to drop and his
mind to reel. Why didn’t you just fucking *stab me*!?, Reno’s mind screamed in terror.
“That... that’s a penis...” he managed to say, his voice hoarse due to a vice grip
constricted throat.
“It certainly is,” Rude said, admiring his handiwork. It had taken longer than he’d
expected, but he’d managed to burn quite a detailed phallus into Reno’s cheek. Even if
Reno did give him the password now, and get some salve on there as quickly as possible,
he would have blisters forming the shape of a dick on his face for at least a week.
“You son of a bitch!” Reno snarled. “I don’t know the fucking password! I will *kill*
you!”
“Now, now,” Rude said, clucking his tongue like a chiding mother. “That sounds like a
man who wants a pair of testicles to go along with his new tattoo.”
Heat be damned, Reno reckoned, this just got serious. As Rude grabbed a new wire and
placed it on the searing coil of his oven, Reno took a deep breath, and began to scream.
***
One dangling set of balls later, and Reno still hadn’t spoken. Even when Rude had added
long stringy hairs to the image, utilizing quick squiggly streaks with the wire, all he’d
gotten out of his friend was hisses of pain and long, rambling streams of curses, most of
which involved Rude’s fingers and a baltine hammer. As amusing as the activity had
been, Rude was quickly growing frustrated. He only had two hours left until the deadline,
and it was time to go to utilize some drastic measures.
***
“OK, games over.” Reno said, his voice practically squeaking in nervousness. He tried to
roll his eyes down to see his current affliction, but Rude had stuck his long red ponytail
in a drawer and slammed it shut to prevent any such vision. An interesting side effect was
that he couldn’t see Rude either, and wasn’t entirely sure the man hadn’t simply left
Reno to his fate and gone to get a few drinks. Until now, Reno hadn’t realized how
important this exersise was to his partner.
“I’m serious man, fun is fun, but its time to cut this out. You are going to cause
permanent damage here!” Reno yelled, and then waited. Nothing. Not a word, not a
cough, not a footstep. If Rude was anywhere near him, he was sitting as still as a piece of
God damn plywood, which would actually not be too out of character for the man. Reno
decided he would try one last plea, an ultimate emotion stirrer that would reach the soul
of even the most heartless individual.
“I can’t feel my dick!”
Icy. Lots of it. Cubes. Big honking chunks that felt like they had been stuck to the bottom
of some semi truck since winter and had just been busted off with the aide of a blow
torch and a crowbar. Tiny, mean little slivers that felt like they had a life of their own and
were working their way inwards into flesh, as if they were suicidal trying to burn
themselves alive by finding the highest degree within slithering distance. Ice of all sorts,
and all colors- why not, he reckoned, he might as well assume they were technicolored.
He couldn’t see them anyway- had been packed tightly around his crotch, placed there
with the delicacy and care of a devoutly heterosexual man.
At first it hadn’t been so bad. At first meaning about four seconds from the time the first
piece had been slid into place. And from then on, agony. There was a reason, Reno
reasoned, people wore pants. There was even a reason that people who weren’t him wore
underpants. Something deep in the human condition, he believed, was dedicated purely
to the action of keeping the genitals warm. His condition was current going into seizures.
Frosty, painful seizures.
“The password is chalk!” Reno cried out, thinking back to passwords from yesteryear so
he wouldn’t repeat any. “Board! Meeting! Room! Service! Station! Train! Take your
fucking pick and get me a hair dryer!”
Hearing him scream but not catching a single believable word in the list was Rude, who
stood silently behind him with his arm crossed, a worried look on his face and a watch in
his hand. The look said that he did not have much time left to get Reno to reveal the true
password. The watch said the same thing, but to a more specific detail. He had two
minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. One hundred and sixteen, after he’d taken the
time to translate the minutes into seconds.
He continued to watch as Reno continued to squirm, and the clock continued to click. A
single bead of sweat formed on Rude’s forehead, running down the bare surface easily.
He hadn’t expected things to go this far. Legitimate worry began to rise up about
sterilizing his friend- an act which would no doubt be a favor to the world at large, but
would probably drive the read head to blow him away with a shotgun in the middle of the
night. With sixty seconds left, Rude simply hurled the watch away, smashing into the
wall where it explodes into a million tiny gears and springs.
He rounded Reno in one big bound, stopping dead and bracing down. He launched out of
his new position like a jungle cat, striking his friend in the chest and flipping the chair
over in mid air so it landed backdown, sandwiching Reno between Rudes massive bulk
and the cold floor, sending ice flying as the bald Turk grabbed the front of Reno’s jacket
in both hands and shook him wildly, screaming. “Tell me the password! Damnit, Reno!
Tell me the fucking password! Tell me!!”
A single ding rang out, and all the air ran out of Rude as if he were a popped balloon.
Time was up. For the first time ever, he had lost. Reno, his hearing currently inhibited by
an acute ringing sensation from his contact with the ground, continued to stare at Rude in
trepidated worry, but the bald Turk simply sled off him and lay on the ground in defeat,
breathing heavily.
So it was that the first thing either man saw of her was her shoe, a bright red sneaker as
opposed to the official Turk regulation brown hush puppy. They’re eyes traveled upward,
quickly past the knees and dwelling a bit on the thighs before going all the way up to
meet the laughing brown eyes of Yuffie Kisargi who stared down at them with unmasked
superiority. In her hands she held a chunk of cash, which she was thumbing through as if
they were LSD laced.
“I think I’m going to get the hang of working here yet,” she said with a smirk. “Though it
would have been more fun if either of you had at least tried to get the password out of
me.”
Rude and Reno both stared at her in absolute shock, their eyes wide, their jaws hanging
loosely around their pelvises.
“Do you wanna hear it?” Yuffie asked, mistaking their horror for confusion and dying to
get the secret she’d had to keep for twenty four hours under her hat out in the open. “You
probably could have guessed it. It was-”
She was drowned out by a sudden scream of pain as Reno managed to launch his body
and chair package like a spear into his best friend and began to try his damnedest to bite
the mans nose off, straining against his ropes so hard a vein was popping out of his
forehead.
“Huh.” Yuffie said, watching the two struggle on the ground. Reno had managed to get
some skin between his teeth, but now Rude had two hands up, wrapped tightly around the
throat of the red head. “Guess they don’t really care about this game.”