The Hand and Flowers was the kind of place that Vincent, in his younger days, would have gone out of his way to avoid. Old-fashioned without being picturesque, rustic without the charm. A relic of one of the nameless villages buried under the Plate years before. A few hanging baskets survived, improbably, clinging to the stray sunlight from the hole in the sky. Reno was alone in the saloon bar upstairs, nursing a half-pint of something murky amid a nightmarish backdrop of floral wallpaper and dining-room furniture. He nodded to the open window when Vincent walked in. "Across the road."
Vincent looked out. The view was less than picturesque: trash cans, a dog pawing through the litter. Directly opposite, though, there was a guns-and-ammo place, Grundy's. If it was the same Grundy as Before, he had to be pushing eighty.
Grundy had been an old boxer gone to seed; he'd been blacklisted by the Shinra networks when Vincent was still a boy. He'd never seen Grundy fight until Strand - the OLD old boss - had sent Vincent, him and Veld, to do a pickup. (Eugene Verdot, as he was then, before the remorseless teasing about Vincent's accent had driven Veld to take Vincent's mangled version of his name as a badge of honour.) Reno tapped his EMR against the edge of the table, uncharacteristically quiet.
Grundy hadn't come quietly. He'd been one of the barroom revolutionaries that Shinra delighted in cowing; in the end Veld had slugged him in the temple with a nightstick to get him into the van.
Vincent turned away from the window, and Reno kept tapping, eyes on his beer. "You got Rude to thank for this one, yo." Vincent shrugged. "He still keeps an eye out for Lockhart." Reno sucked his teeth. Clearly he didn't care much for Tifa. "They been comin' here around six for weeks. Not every day. But Rude saw Lockheart close up the bar last night-"
"She didn't go to the bank." Rude's voice was a low rumble from the other end of the room. Vincent turned and saw him emerging from the gents', zipping his fly. He leaned against the doorjamb, donning his gloves one finger at a time. "She always deposits the cash right away, unless she's heading over to Grundy's." Rude splayed his fingers out, made fists, and then, satisfied with the fit, shoved his hands back into the pockets of his shapeless pants. Vincent wondered idly just how many hours of AVALANCHE-watching Rufus Shinra was paying for; decided he didn't really care. He rubbed at his wrist, where the metal under the skin was beginning to ache from the long drive over.
A clock on the wall chimed twice. Reno glanced at it. "Half-five, old man. Want a beer?" Vincent shook his head, eying the clock. It sounded exhausted, each tick a little slower than the last. He imagined the cogs inside turning, worn teeth struggling to grip and turn.
"What is this to you, anyway, yo?" Reno had never been able to keep his mouth shut for long; Vincent didn't answer. "Figures Shinra'd want her. Take her, he has Wutai. Why's it mean so much to you? You still cut up over her double-cross back in that shithole?"
Vincent chose his words carefully. "The girl took- something very important - to me. In Wutai. Worthless to anyone else. A memento." The Turks, if they knew, would be on him like dogs. They knew about materia, and they knew about materia that was supposedly worthless. After the Forgotten City. After Tseng.
Time for a little misdirection. “She got away before I could retrieve it at Midgar. It'll be long gone by now, if I know her at all. But I want her to pay.”
Reno leered. “What'd she take, your balls?” Then his face grew serious. “Shinra won't have you touching her, y'know. He will have your balls. If Tseng don't get 'em first, yo.” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. He probably thought it looked intimidating. A reminder of whose side he was on, or whose he wasn't.
Vincent folded his arms. “I won't leave any marks. He'll get his princess. I just want to have-” he closed his eyes against the red sparks Chaos shot into his vision; it didn't work. “A talk with her, before we take her to Rufus.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2016-01-11 06:50 am (UTC)"You have?"
"Yeah. Six o'clock, at the Hand and Flowers."
The Hand and Flowers was the kind of place that Vincent, in his younger days, would have gone out of his way to avoid. Old-fashioned without being picturesque, rustic without the charm. A relic of one of the nameless villages buried under the Plate years before. A few hanging baskets survived, improbably, clinging to the stray sunlight from the hole in the sky. Reno was alone in the saloon bar upstairs, nursing a half-pint of something murky amid a nightmarish backdrop of floral wallpaper and dining-room furniture. He nodded to the open window when Vincent walked in. "Across the road."
Vincent looked out. The view was less than picturesque: trash cans, a dog pawing through the litter. Directly opposite, though, there was a guns-and-ammo place, Grundy's. If it was the same Grundy as Before, he had to be pushing eighty.
Grundy had been an old boxer gone to seed; he'd been blacklisted by the Shinra networks when Vincent was still a boy. He'd never seen Grundy fight until Strand - the OLD old boss - had sent Vincent, him and Veld, to do a pickup. (Eugene Verdot, as he was then, before the remorseless teasing about Vincent's accent had driven Veld to take Vincent's mangled version of his name as a badge of honour.) Reno tapped his EMR against the edge of the table, uncharacteristically quiet.
Grundy hadn't come quietly. He'd been one of the barroom revolutionaries that Shinra delighted in cowing; in the end Veld had slugged him in the temple with a nightstick to get him into the van.
Vincent turned away from the window, and Reno kept tapping, eyes on his beer. "You got Rude to thank for this one, yo." Vincent shrugged. "He still keeps an eye out for Lockhart." Reno sucked his teeth. Clearly he didn't care much for Tifa. "They been comin' here around six for weeks. Not every day. But Rude saw Lockheart close up the bar last night-"
"She didn't go to the bank." Rude's voice was a low rumble from the other end of the room. Vincent turned and saw him emerging from the gents', zipping his fly. He leaned against the doorjamb, donning his gloves one finger at a time. "She always deposits the cash right away, unless she's heading over to Grundy's." Rude splayed his fingers out, made fists, and then, satisfied with the fit, shoved his hands back into the pockets of his shapeless pants. Vincent wondered idly just how many hours of AVALANCHE-watching Rufus Shinra was paying for; decided he didn't really care. He rubbed at his wrist, where the metal under the skin was beginning to ache from the long drive over.
A clock on the wall chimed twice. Reno glanced at it. "Half-five, old man. Want a beer?" Vincent shook his head, eying the clock. It sounded exhausted, each tick a little slower than the last. He imagined the cogs inside turning, worn teeth struggling to grip and turn.
"What is this to you, anyway, yo?" Reno had never been able to keep his mouth shut for long; Vincent didn't answer. "Figures Shinra'd want her. Take her, he has Wutai. Why's it mean so much to you? You still cut up over her double-cross back in that shithole?"
Vincent chose his words carefully. "The girl took- something very important - to me. In Wutai. Worthless to anyone else. A memento." The Turks, if they knew, would be on him like dogs. They knew about materia, and they knew about materia that was supposedly worthless. After the Forgotten City. After Tseng.
Time for a little misdirection. “She got away before I could retrieve it at Midgar. It'll be long gone by now, if I know her at all. But I want her to pay.”
Reno leered. “What'd she take, your balls?” Then his face grew serious. “Shinra won't have you touching her, y'know. He will have your balls. If Tseng don't get 'em first, yo.” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. He probably thought it looked intimidating. A reminder of whose side he was on, or whose he wasn't.
Vincent folded his arms. “I won't leave any marks. He'll get his princess. I just want to have-” he closed his eyes against the red sparks Chaos shot into his vision; it didn't work. “A talk with her, before we take her to Rufus.”