(no subject)

[sleazeoverstyle]

He doesn't really give a fuck, but... he does: the place is cleaner than it's been in friggin' years -- not that it's pristine or any of that shit, 'cause it ain't -- and the fridge is stocked with beer and the chopper's all lined up and he only had to promise the girl in charge two nights in exchange and that ain't a bad trade. They'll both get something out of it, even though she ain't exactly his type.

Lara is, though, and the particulars of the deal for getting the helicopter don't have to be shared. On the coffee table, he's got a map of the Planet and a visitor's pass to the Midgar Shin-Ra office complex and his standard travel pack: a few potions, his weapon, extra sunglasses 'cause who doesn't need to go around lookin' just that cool. A blanket, a towel or two, some camping supplies so they don't have to friggin' stop and get a tent just in case: all this shit can stay in the helicopter and hopefully they won't need it. He'd rather do the inn thing no matter where they end up.

But where they go will be up to Lara. He's already been everywhere.

So when they step through the bar door together arm in arm like they're goin' for a stroll to the friggin' park, he gives her a little unconcerned smile. This is where they start, and what happens from here is anybody's guess. He just knows it's gonna have potential.

"Figured we'd better start at the beginning. It ain't much, but it's home."

And it really does clean up pretty, even though he ain't never extended that same courtesy to any of the other girls he's brought here. The view from the window shows your standard city that was fucked over by powers greater than anyone can imagine and is in the process of being rebuilt, but at least his street is clean and a little bit safe, not that anyone messes with him, and the people across the street planted flowers once upon a time and they're in bloom, and all the shit he's collected from his years with the company don't even make for too much clutter inside.

Might as well start with the most basic of all the basics. "You want something to drink?"

Comments

[toxic_perfume]

She unhooks her arm lightly from his and strolls into the room as though she owns the place, half-turning to look back at him with a smile.

"What've you got?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

Well, there's him, but that ain't what she's askin'.

"There's beer, there's wine and brandy, there's hard stuff in the cabinet. Mixers in the fridge. Lemons and limes in there too, so yeah, pretty much whatever you want." He nods to the liquor cabinet. It's the one right next to where he keeps all the glasses and fuck if he can remember the last time he cooked here: no, this kitchen is for keepin' the drinks safe and sound. The wide variety of drink-mixing supplies is a standing testament to that fact.

"What do you like?"

Shit, he could answer that question with a single word.

[toxic_perfume]

The glance he gets from under those blonde eyelashes suggests that so could she, but what she says is "Well, let's see."

And drifts in the direction of the liquor cabinet.

[sleazeoverstyle]

He likes that little look she gives him. He likes it a lot, and he watches the way she moves like she's been here a hundred times before and knows the place like the back of her hand. It's that easy casualness that keeps him circlin' around her back at the bar where there's so many ladies to choose from: confidence is sexy, and confidence on a pretty lady is ten times as sexy.

And there's no doubt she's pretty. He might not trust her, but she's pretty, and he waits to see what she's gonna pick. He's got just about everything in there. When it comes to drinkin', he wrote the friggin' book and he has real good taste in alcohol.

[toxic_perfume]

This is interesting.

Cavilo reaches past three or four other bottles and draws out one with a label reading Icicle Village Hard in stylized icicle-hung letters, ornamented with clusters of tiny purple-white berries and spiky dark-green leaves.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen this before," she says, turning to look at Reno over her shoulder and lifting the bottle into his line of sight.

[sleazeoverstyle]

"That's a good choice. You drink that in shots and it's cool, 'cause it's always cold no matter what." Opening the cabinet with the appropriate glassware, he pulls out two very nice shot glasses and sets them down before moving to a spot just behind her. He ain't hoverin' but he doesn't mind bein' a little closer as he points out the berries. "Those are called northern ice fruit and they only grow in one part of the world here. Fuck if I'd have the patience to harvest 'em; you got to look for 'em under the snow and I guess they're only ripe a couple weeks out of the year in the springtime." Actually, he knows that for a fact; the ice fruit picking season always starts on his birthday in April, but he's never cared enough to actually watch anyone try to harvest the things.

He doesn't really give a shit about things like that. Only about how they affect his liquor, and in this case they infuse it with their own brand of flavor. A little sweet, a little heavy. The people up north have all sorts of stories for the little brambles that grow under the snow. If Lara asks, he'll tell her.

If she doesn't, then he won't have wasted his breath when he could've been drinkin'. He takes the bottle from her -- nicely, of course -- and opens it with a twist and a flourish and fills both shot glasses.

"See if you like it." If not, there ain't exactly a booze shortage goin' on in this kitchen.

[toxic_perfume]

She takes the shot glass from his hand, lifts it in a toast, and takes a delicate sip: fruit-sweet and rich and cold, as advertised, enough that she half expects to see her breath when she lowers the glass. The cold and sweetness mask the strength of it; the kick as she swallows is so subtle it's nearly subliminal.

She lets out a slow appreciative breath, and smiles at him over the rim of the shot glass.

"Very nice."

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Show you what's even nicer."

It's just a little trick he figured out about this shit one night: he takes his own sip from his glass, swallows it back, then presses a kiss right to her lips. It's quick, it's sweet, and it's cold... but then the kiss turns warm and then it turns hot.

Some sort of effect from the berries or whatever, he guesses.

Completely unconcerned, he grins to himself and takes another sip of his drink. "I'm not sayin' you have to drink it that way, but it makes it fun." So what if this shit costs an arm and a leg? There's a reason he's got it, and it ain't to make his shelf look pretty.

"You want to look at the map and figure out where to go? 'Cause if it's up to me I could spend this whole vacation right here." They have plenty to drink, there's plenty of places to eat, and his place is clean. Put 'em all together and that almost qualifies as a miracle.

[toxic_perfume]

If Cavilo's eyes widen in reaction to the temperature-changing kiss, it's only for a fraction of a second before she's got it under control again.

(And it's not from arousal, or not entirely; there's a fleeting suspicion, a nanosecond's certainty, that she's just been drugged or poisoned. Some combination of the liquor and a drug-infused lip balm worn over sealant, or with the antidote taken in advance, she's used that trick enough herself -- so what if she picked out the bottle, he knew she was coming, he could have dosed all of them --)

(No; no other physiological reactions. She's fine. She's fine.)

She makes the smile broaden and deepen, and drops her voice to a low purr. "Oh, you do know some interesting tricks, Reno."

And then half-turns away with one shoulder leading, in a nearly-subliminal beckoning gesture, and strolls over to the coffee table. "This map?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

No, the one I have rolled up and hidden up my ass. "Yeah, that one."

And fuck yeah, he knows some tricks. He's got a whole friggin' arsenal of 'em up his sleeve and, apparently, other places too. And seein' as how he ain't stupid he recognizes her little flirtatious walk for what it is and follows behind, casual as all fuck, his shot glass in his hand. Makin' out or not, he ain't gonna be the one to waste the Icicle Hard. This shit costs a friggin' fortune.

Reaching for the map, he turns it so it's facing them. "We're here." His finger stabs Midgar. "Now, we could be all slow about shit and head down to Junon and take a boat over to the other side, but where's the fun in that? I got a helicopter at our beck and call. So take a look and see if any of those place names strike your fancy."

Picking a destination 'cause she likes the sound of its name is as good a way as any, and he's been everywhere.

It's his job.

[toxic_perfume]

She leans down, reaches to touch the map with one finger, tracing lightly from one little dot to another in a random progression.

Costa del Sol (sounds vaguely Escobaran), Gold Saucer (sounds vaguely intriguing), Temple of the Ancients (sounds immensely boring); Gongaga, Cosmo Canyon, Nibelheim, Rocket Town.

Her finger stops there. "Rocket Town?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

The look he gives her is a little amused. "It's nothing special. Just another town." Its only real claim to fame is that it's the site of the first attempt at manned space flight, but who gives a fuck about that when attempt is the operative term? "You don't want to go there. You want to go here."

He slides her finger across the map to Gold Saucer. "That's where all the best opportunities are."

Yeah, she'll like it there. But since they're already playin', and since the shot glass is gettin' cold in his hand, he takes another sip, swallows, and moves her finger over to the northern continent. "We could go the long way. Fly over the crater. It's pretty from up above."

[toxic_perfume]

"Well, a pretty view's always worth a little detour," she says, glancing at him again under her eyelashes, her tone ambiguously teasing.

He's taking charge, and for a moment she debates internally whether or not she should continue to let him. But it's his world; for the moment, at least, she should probably let him lead. Or at least let him think he is, though that's scarcely more appealing.

"So tell me: what kind of opportunities do they have in Gold Saucer?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

"The kind you'd like. It's an amusement park, kind of. A whole entertainment... complex. Lots and lots of people. Lots of them. Crowds, all trying to win whatever they can." Shit, he'll put money on her wanting to go where the money is, and what better place than somewhere like that?

Stepping back, he eyes her up and down. "You're a fighter. You could win at the Battle Arena, or watch the races, or... go to the haunted hotel. There's no shortage of shit to do there."

If he's gonna open up Reno's Travel Service, he ought to have a brochure but he doesn't. He'll just have to tell her all about it: from the Chocobo races to the roller coaster to the arcade with all its games. There's even a gondola ride if she likes heights, and somethin' tells him she ain't afraid of anything.

[toxic_perfume]

Not a lot, at any rate.

An entertainment complex sounds maybe a little too much like Creema di Leema, but she has the feeling (Battle Arena?) that it might have a bit more of an edge on it. And that's fine with her; that is just fine with her.

"Sounds like a good place to start, then. Or ..." Slow and thoughtful. "Or maybe a better place to finish?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Depends." Now he moves back by her side, traces the map thoughtfully. "There's always Costa del Sol instead, if you like the beach and warm blue water." Shit, he's a redhead: the sun is his worst friggin' enemy. But if she wants to go, he'll take her. It's her vacation as much as it is his. "Or if you want to see a city in the works, we could go to Edge. That ain't far. Or Junon, if you want a city on the water. Shit, I could take you anywhere, really. Even Rocket Town if that's what you're interested in." And because he can, he's got to ask. "What about the name of that place got you interested?"

His arm might just creep around her waist a little bit.

[toxic_perfume]

"Mm," she says, letting her hand settle lightly on his at her waist, "a beach and warm blue water definitely sounds appealing....

"Rocket Town? It sounds like an early spaceport name, and I was wondering if that's what it was."

[sleazeoverstyle]

Well, that makes sense.

"It's the site of the first attempt at space travel. Didn't work." She doesn't need to know Cid Highwind's there working on whatever the fuck he works on. "Mostly, it's just a town." Gracefully, he directs her around to the couch. Fuck, he cleaned it up -- no flight manifests, no work shit, no piles of paper, no empties -- so they might as well sit on it.

"Tell you something, Lara. For all the names you see on the map, I think most of this planet is pretty normal. I've only ever been to one other world and that was Hawaii on Earth, but it seemed a lot like this place only warmer. The company I work for has a whole branch devoted to space travel, but they haven't figured it out yet."

That's just the way it is.

"But they do know how to channel the planet's power source and turn it into usable energy, and... well... Shin-Ra kind of runs everything. I've been workin' for 'em ten years now. There ain't nothing that goes on here where they ain't involved."

Just a little tidbit of information for her.

"So wherever you want to go, there's gonna be company presence. They won't know you and they might or might not know me, but they'll recognize me." It's hard bein' off the clock sometimes. "So let's pick someplace real fun, 'cause it ain't like I get to spend quality time with a pretty lady in exotic locations a whole lot." It's his first vacation in years.

[toxic_perfume]

Most of this planet is pretty normal. And he has no idea, does he, what that casual assertion says about him? If he hadn't said he's only ever been to one other world, she could have guessed that much from that alone. It's amusing, but sadly not very useful; no interplanetary travel here.

This about Shin-Ra is interesting, though; a planetary corporation with a hand in everything. Runs everything, though, he says, as though they haven't any Jacksonian-style competitors. That could be ... well worth looking into.

And if they run everything? They'll definitely run the entertainment complex.

"So what would you say to Costa del Sol," she says thoughtfully, resting one arm along the couch's back, "and then Gold Saucer?"

[sleazeoverstyle]

Now that sounds like a vacation a guy could friggin' get behind.

"Sure. You got it, Lara. We got three days startin' tomorrow, 'cause there ain't much use in flying out in the dark. Unless you don't really want to see the planet. But shit, if you don't really want to see the planet, there's plenty I could show you right here."

He reaches forward for that shot of Icicle, takes a sip, swallows it back. The look on his face is only a little expectant and a little more full of hope. And it ain't like this is the first time they've done this. He remembers two specific nights real well already, and there wasn't no shortage of fun either time.

"Of course, if you have somethin' else in mind, speak up now, pretty lady."

[toxic_perfume]

She takes a sip of her own shot, and the tip of her tongue glides along the edge of her upper lip as she leans forward. Her mouth moves toward his --

and brushes past it, breathing cold smoke along his cheekbone, to murmur into the cup of his ear: "I think starting out tomorrow sounds just fine."

[sleazeoverstyle]

Shit, she's a tease.

He likes that. And he can give as good as he gets, so he dips his left index finger into the glass and lifts it to her mouth. When he traces her lip it leaves her flesh cold, then, warm, then hot. Then he trails that finger right down her chin, down the graceful curve of her neck, to her collarbone.

And a little bit lower, and everywhere he touches leaves a temperature-changing trail. But then he stops, pops his finger in his mouth, and gives her a little grin.

"So that's tomorrow: what do you want to do tonight?"

[toxic_perfume]

"Oh, I don't know," she says, running a finger around the rim of her glass, giving him that under-the-eyelashes look again as she leans back against the cushions of the couch.

"I'm sure there must be something around here to do."

[sleazeoverstyle]

"Come on." He ain't one for wastin' a whole lot of time. "Let me show you around the place." When he stands he reaches for her hand: he can give her a personal guided tour. Living room, kitchen, the balcony outside, the tiny extra room he laughingly calls his office, the bedroom.

In that order, too.

Yeah, he kinda likes her hand in his and no, he ain't gettin' sentimental over it or nothin': he knows exactly why she's here and it ain't 'cause she's in love or any of that shit. Fuck no, she's here for a free ride through his world on his dime, and that's okay. They're both all grown up and they both know exactly what the deal is.

Except the truth is nothin' happens for free. In this case, it's pay up front.

[toxic_perfume]

She follows him through the apartment, making appreciative sounds and smiling. It's not as though either of them has any doubt where this is ending, but the game's half the fun.

(On the balcony, she takes automatic note of the layout of the streets below, hardly even conscious of mapping out possible bolt-holes.)

As they step out of the office, she drains her shot glass and sets it down lightly on the nearest flat surface, a little shelf in the hallway.

And as he lets go of her hand to open the door to the bedroom, she reaches up and traces three liquor-damp fingertips up the back of his neck, spreading outward at the base of his skull, leaving trails of chill-warmth-heat behind them.

[sleazeoverstyle]

Tomorrow they have an early morning date with the Northern Crater. Lara doesn't know it yet, but they'll be awake before dawn to head over to Corporate, get their helicopter, and head out. And all this because... the view of the sun rising over the crater is friggin' spectacular and if he's gonna give her a show, he's gonna do it right.

But for now there's no thoughts of piloting or the crater or jumping through paperwork hoops or any of that shit. Nope. Now there's just the prickling of his skin where she touched, and the bedroom door closing behind them, and the promise of all those hours before they have to leave here stretching out in front of them real pleasantly.

He's still got his drink in his hand, and he intends to use it the right way. And if what she likes hasn't changed since last time, she's really gonna like it with a taste of the Icicle on his mouth.

Guaranteed.