sleazeoverstyle | Gold Saucer

Gold Saucer

Gold Saucer ain't nothin' like Costa del Sol. It ain't like many other places, at least not on this friggin' planet. It's loud and bright and colorful and full of people and surprises and amusement. Here, a guy could race Chocobos if that's what floats his boat, or tough it out at the Battle Arena. Go for a gondola ride, ride the coaster, go gaming in the arcade, check out the theater, stay at the ghost-themed hotel. All sorts of shit to do, and it's like a city in the middle of the friggin' desert. People come here from all over to hang out, to play.

He happens to think Lara might feel a little bit at home here.

Corel ain't much to write home about, but it is the gateway to Gold Saucer. As they start moving to the ropeway -- pain in the ass that it's the only way in -- he pushes up his sunglasses and points one thing out real quiet. No time like the present, and better now before it's too late: he likes Lara a lot, but he's got some suspicions when it comes to her... uh... motives about things. "There's a prison below here, did I tell you?" (He knows he didn't.) "They catch anyone doin' illegal shit at the park, they ship 'em right down there." He wouldn't want to go, not that he's ever been actually caught doing anything criminal here. Between the desert and the sand storms, it's just about impossible to escape from it. He knows people who've tried and ended up right back there again. He also knows of people who tried and didn't make it. He sure as fuck doesn't want his bones picked clean out there in the desert.

The whole bit about bartering for your release by having a Chocobo race for you kinda slips his mind.

Entirely.

At the entrance he buys her a one-time ticket; he's got his lifetime pass. Once they're inside, he lets her read the information about the different places there. The place already has a party atmosphere going for it, and they ain't even started yet. Still, this place has potential.

"Any of it look good to you?" As usual, he's well aware of the looks he's gettin' but like he gives a fuck. He'll just pretend everyone's all impressed by the lady at his side and leave it at that: he ain't here to work.

Nope, he's definitely here to play.

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"Well, the shooting part sounds interesting," she says judiciously. "Now what about the first part? Roller coaster?"

The way she says the words may make it clear: she hasn't encountered one of those before.

Now he's glad -- for once -- that he wasn't a complete and total asshat just a minute ago. He looks at her, a little perplexed.

"You never heard of a roller coaster?" Apparently not, 'cause she wouldn't have asked about it if she had and sometimes he forgets he has no friggin' idea what it's like where she grew up. Maybe one of these days he'll ask her.

Wait, what the hell's he thinkin'? Like he cares.

"It's a ride." His voice isn't indulgent or condescending or any of that shit. "Kind of cool. It runs on a track and the cars -- that's where you sit, they call 'em cars -- are attached to the track, and this one goes real fast. Speed Square, right? They call 'em thrill rides for a reason. In this one, there's different objects that appear in the distance and you shoot at 'em with a laser gun. Score points, win prizes, go home happy. You want to try it?"

He already knows she doesn't scare easy, and that will help. Not everyone likes these things, but the rides are usually pretty short. Personally, he likes them a fuck of a lot.

"Hmm," she hums, sounding intrigued. "So it's like a gravity whip simulator, except the module's really moving. That's clever. And target shooting at the same time?"

A sharp grin. "Sounds like fun."

"Come on." What the fuck, right? It's a friggin' vacation: taking her hand, he leads her through the tunnel to Speed Square.

This place is always crowded but it's pretty well managed; as they wait in line he points a couple things out: the cars, the track -- at least the pieces of it they can see from here before it disappears into the distance -- and the grins on the faces of people leavin' the ride.

And then it's time to ride it, and they listen to the real rudimentary lesson on the controls for the laser gun, and they strap in.

"You ready, Lara?" Doesn't matter a fuck of a lot if she is or isn't: they're off with a sudden rush of speed.

Oh, she's ready; braced for takeoff, and prepared to start shooting as soon as the little target holograms show up.

And as the car rockets forward along the track, she starts grinning. It's a purely artificial adrenaline rush, she knows, brought about by the acceleration and the prospect of competition -- but what the hell, she'll take it.

The controls for the laser gun are beautifully responsive. She targets the first ghost-image to appear, and blasts it.

Just so no one thinks he's actually a nice guy for too long, he takes his own set of controls and starts blasting away. He hasn't ridden this thing in a long friggin' time, but that doesn't mean he forgot how it goes. Zap, goes the first target, same with the second, and they explode into stars and he stops looking over to see how Lara's doing and just focuses on it. Guns (laser or otherwise) aren't his weapons of choice, but he's really friggin' good with 'em.

And this gets to be a thrill all its own, combining two of his favorite things: speed and blasting things. When he was a little kid -- Squirt, his oldest brother used to call him and he hated the fuck out of that -- the whole family came here one time. He was probably six, seven, and his mom thought he was too young for this ride but that same brother said fuck no he was old enough, and went on this with him and it was friggin' great. He made Riley ride it with him like... five more times before they finally went off someplace else. Yeah, there's reasons he adored his brother.

But now it's just him and Lara and a lot of holographic targets, and it's still fun but in a different, more competitive way. As they move away from the ghost area into the canyon, time goes so fast he barely even notices it.

This is fun.

It is. And as she blasts one primitive little fighter-plane target after another, blowing them into showers of stars, Cavilo's laughing.

Only once does she shoot down a target that Reno's already aiming at, and only to prove she can do it.

This is cool, and he feels like that little kid again as the terrain changes again -- terrain, yeah, right -- and they shoot at subs and some weird-ass steamship and stars, and just at the end there he catches sight of the ferris wheel out of the corner of his eye, and he knows it's there as a distraction 'cause the more shit you shoot, the more GP you win, and it's all good. It's all cool.

The ride's quick like coasters always are, and as fast as it started it's over. Now he does turn to Lara and she was laughing and that's sweet. She doesn't laugh like that -- out of pure joy -- a fuck of a lot and he likes the way it sounds.

For just a little bit he feels so friggin' normal.

"So that's a roller coaster. You like it?"

"Mmhm," she agrees, still a little breathless and bright-eyed, and hooks her arm through his as they head back up the tunnel.

The exhilaration isn't entirely a pose, but as long as it's there, may as well use it.

"You do know how to show a girl a good time."

Yeah, right: he knows how to show a girl a time, at least. "You want to do something else together? Or do you feel like exploring on your own?" He for one ain't used to being around some lady 24x7 like this and he's got the feeling she ain't that into it either. It's nice and she's a great buddy to have, but again, she ain't here for him. She's here to see another world and he doesn't offer her time away out of decency or nothin'.

It's just it feels like it's about time for that. If she takes him up on it, that's cool. If she doesn't, that's cool too. She's won some GP and she can use it to get herself shit around here; regular money ain't used.

"Either way's good."

She studies him for a moment out of the corner of her eye, through her eyelashes. This isn't the first time he's suggested splitting up. And while it wouldn't take anything this obvious for him to ditch her, still ...

On the other hand, he may just want some time out of her hearing again. In which case, whatever it is he has planned for that time is a fascinating prospect indeed.

Cavilo slides nearer, and slips her arm around his waist. "A little exploring on our own might be nice," she says thoughtfully. "Where would we meet back up?"

"Here. In an hour? Two? However much time you want." He's seen the place a hundred times and it ain't new to him any more. And anyhow, whatever agenda Lara's got -- and he's sure she's got at least one of those if not more -- probably never involved sticking by his side the whole time they were here. She's never struck him as that kind of lady and if she was, he wouldn't have offered to bring her here with him.

But he's been wrong once or twice before in his life, and she's free to prove him wrong again this time. The fuck, right? Live and learn. One thing he appreciates about her is she's kind of a master of doing the opposite from what she says, even though she makes it seem like her intentions are pure and honorable. Like the hand on his waist now: she ain't laying claim to him, even though that's probably what it looks like in case anyone's watching. Nah, she's friggin' buyin' herself some time, assessing the situation, being a good little terrorist or whatever the fuck she really is.

Actually, he kind of likes not knowing.

"I'm thinking," she says, drawing it out, "that if we take about three hours, that would let us meet up again in time for drinks and dinner. Which I'm betting you know the best places for here, eh?"

She gives him her best challenging smile, catching and holding his eye.

"Sure." That was easy, and from a guy who ain't always real easy, that's sayin' something. Exactly what it's sayin' is up for grabs but it's there anyhow. He's got a couple things to do -- some shit to check on -- and he's had to keep reminding himself that just 'cause he's with Lara doesn't mean time's standing still like it does at the bar. They've been on the Planet a couple days, and that means time to check in with a couple people.

That sure won't take three hours: that's almost enough time for a guy to get bored here. Lucky for him he knows where to get a drink or two; no one ever said being a Turk didn't have its perks.

The only reason he leans over and gives her a little kiss before swatting her lightly on that cute ass of hers is because of the dazzling smile on her face. Why the fuck not, right?

"See you in three. If I don't see you then, I'll head down to the prison and bail you out. I'm just jokin'."

Kind of.

"Good to know," she purrs, her eyes dancing with wicked good humor. The swat on her rear doesn't get an immediate response; her arm's still around his waist.

But as he starts to draw away, she reaches up with her free hand, grabs the open collar of his shirt, and pulls his head down to hers for a rather longer kiss.

When that one breaks, she grins up at him and says "Three hours," and slides away.

That's one of those kisses that leaves a normal guy breathless, leaves him wanting more, makes him rethink this whole see-you-in-three-hours strategy in favor of somethin' a little more possessive. Lucky for Lara he ain't a normal guy and he recognizes the kiss for exactly what it is. It's her way of ensuring he doesn't go off and forget her while she's doin' whatever it is she's' doin'. The worry's needless; he ain't gonna forget.

What he is gonna do is head off someplace quiet where he can make a couple phone calls. Vacation or no vacation, it's hard to put a decade of work away when a guy's not used to doing that kind of thing and while he's sure Tseng's got it all covered and Rude's taking care of the boss real well and even though he's really off the clock, it's still good to know what's going on.

The area by the hotel's the most likely spot for a little peace and quiet, so he heads there. The fuck, right? It's just a hotel and most people don't stay there. They want to do the attractions and shit and that's cool, it's what the place is built for. And to hide the prison. That aside, he finds himself a bench in a quiet corner, sits down, and takes out his phone.

Time to call in.

Cavilo wafts off through the crowd. For about twenty feet, before doubling back and finding a safe distance to tail Reno.

There's no way to get close enough to hear him while he's on the phone, not without being spotted, but she watches him long enough to be pretty sure of what he's doing: catching up on work again. There, she muses, is a man married to his job.

That'll work just fine. It seems he hasn't got any immediate plans to leave her here. And if it turns out he does after all ... well, back to the helicopter is as far as he'll be able to get without his keys, which are now riding safely in her bodice pocket.

(Men are so predictable, in some ways.)

For now, there are attractions to look at, and possibly some valuable information to gain thereby. And who knows? Maybe she'll meet someone else useful.

Cavilo heads in the direction of the audience seating for the Battle Arena.

The phone conversation's muffled, but he doesn't rush it. Every once in a while his voice gets louder than before and maybe, just friggin' maybe, someone could hear phrases like fuck yeah, at Gold Saucer and Costa del Sol before that and pretty? Yeah, you know how I feel about pretty and HEY, I don't wanna hear about work. I'm the one who's smart enough to be on vacation. But then there's a resigned sigh, a not gettin' better, huh? and a shake of his head. Nah, I'll be back in a couple days, we can take care of it then. There's a little more comfortable and maybe impersonal chatter before he folds the phone away, slides it back into his chest pocket.

There's no rush; he's got plenty of time. Yeah, Rude's his partner but they're also friends. You can't be partners with a guy that long and not learn to appreciate one another and he didn't tell him where he was goin' or why or any of that shit. And now Rude knows where he is, if not who he's with -- and the only place he checked in at the beach was with HQ, on the status of the helicopter and making sure the airport fees on it were prepaid by special arrangement -- he's definitely off the friggin' clock.

And now that shit's done and he's got a couple hours and then some to kill before meeting Lara again and sure, he could go to the arcade and fuck around, but there's a perfectly good bar right here and he's way too sober. Yeah, he knows how he'll be spendin' his solo time.

* * *

The first place she goes is the arena, to watch the fights.

Thirty seconds into the first combat, she's silently cursing in a steady stream behind her smile -- in shock, and in bitter annoyance at her own naivete. She'd assumed the gladiators would be fighting each other.

The man in the arena is about seven feet tall, and looks like a toy next to the hideous hulk of muscle and bone facing him, all razory folded-back limbs and fangs and spikes. His next opponent is humanoid, but vivid red in color and huge enough to dwarf him; the red creature's sword is bigger than the warrior.

Cavilo keeps her smile fixed, and resolves not to attempt arena combat herself.

***

After his third vodka tonic ("No, sir, those are on the house, please") he shrugs, gets up and stretches, takes a little stroll around the place. He still has an hour to kill before he meets up with Lara again and he's already checked in with Rude, so fuck if he knows what he's gonna do to kill the time.

He's a friggin' Turk, though, and even though their numbers are smaller today than they used to be, people still look at him twice when they see the outfit. This ain't a couple years ago, he wants to tell them without telling them he's the guy who dropped the plate on Sector 7. That gave him enough pause for thought over the years and thinkin' about it now almost drives him back to that bar for another drink. But nah. He doesn't want to stay at the bar for three hours alone and one of the reasons he ain't there is 'cause after those three vodka tonics, some of the other ladies there started lookin' pretty nice.

What the hell's wrong with you, he asked himself, but he didn't bother answering. Ain't a thing wrong with him: he just ain't ready to settle down and get all domestic like some of his brothers. Riley wouldn't have done it and he ain't gonna do it either.

He'll have fun sleepin' with Lara, though. But before he can do that again, he has to kill an hour: he heads down to the Chocobo races, sits back, and watches for a while. Sometimes, he wishes he smoked. That'd help pass the time.

* * *

The mood of the place is subtly different when she's not with Reno, she notices as she strolls through the arcade. The slight edge of uneasy respect, the way people walk wide around, is gone. That's fine -- it makes it easier to slip by people unnoticed, even dressed to catch the eye as she is.

Information is changing hands, here as anywhere; the crowds aren't quite so singly fixated on enjoying themselves as they seem. The noise level makes it hard to overhear anything without moving in close, which means she tends to only be able to make a few fragments here and there: something about a delayed shipment of supplies to Corel (wherever that might be), something about a disease called Geostigma, something about a hypothetical theft -- her ears prick up at that and she trails behind the two men for a while longer, but loses interest when it becomes apparent that they (a) really are only talking hypothetically, and (b) couldn't plan a theft if their lives depended on it. Amateurs.

She plays a few of the target-shooting games, keeping her hand in, and watches the time. Coming up on the two-and-a-half hour mark; time to see if she can't find and tail Reno on his way back to the rendezvous point.

***

Like he's ever been interested in Chocobo races a day in his life: his wanderings take him to Battle Square and the arena instead. Some poor shit's gettin' the crap beat out of him but so it goes. He gets to fight enough at his day gig and doesn't need to do it here. Gold Saucer, he realizes, is pretty friggin' boring and he wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Lara; he really hopes she's the one who lifted the helicopter key. He hasn't been that close to anyone else or that distracted by anyone else, although that third vodka tonic put a nice layer of haze over everything.

She's a strange one. She followed him when they first split up and he wonders idly if she was planning on trying to fly that chopper herself. Could be. She could've tried, but she wouldn't have gotten real far. It's rigged to be a little bit theft-proof -- if anyone's got the balls to try to steal Shin-Ra property to start with -- with a fuel line cutoff. All the Turks-operated vehicles have shit like that. As they say, it ain't rocket science.

But the buzz from the drinking distracts and mellows him, and he ends up just kind of wandering around the place. The phone in his pocket buzzes and he looks: it's Tseng who he guesses pretty much is the boss, so he takes the call. Hears about some shit going on over near the Forgotten City and he tucks that information away for later, for when he ain't actually on vacation and anyhow, that's nowhere near here and he has other shit to do besides hike through the friggin' Sleeping Forest to get there and investigate.

On his day off. Screw that.

With about ten minutes to go he starts back to where he's supposed to meet Lara. A couple people get out of his way but hey, what the fuck. By the time the three hours are up, he's hangin' around cool and casual, arms folded over his chest like he does this every day. Odds are about 50/50 that she'll actually show up again.

She comes sauntering out of the crowd about five minutes past the hour. When she catches sight of him, her walk curves in his direction but doesn't speed up.

She does smile, though, the expression as lazy and confident as her walk.

Just before the top of the hour, he takes out his phone again to check messages. Friggin' thing's been off 'cause he's on vacation, but that ain't stopped people calling. Rude again. Tseng. The boss. His sister: he can delete that one. Elena. The home office. Yeah, his life's all kinds of exciting.

He doesn't check so he looks busy or cool or any of that shit, but there is something a little calculated in not wanting to look like he's hangin' around waiting for some lady to show up. He's just listening to the last of his messages, the one from HQ confirming that the helicopter's being returned tomorrow. Friggin' paperwork: yeah, he'll get it back.

By the time he's done checking calls, he looks up to see Lara strutting over looking all smug and pretty and that's cool. The phone clicks closed; he sets it away in his pocket.

"Hey. You have fun?"

"Some," she smiles, sliding up beside him; not quite touching, but within arm's reach. "You?"

"It was a time." He does noncommittal as good as she does. "Where'd you go? Win anything?"

He won himself three free vodka tonics, or at least his uniform did. That was unexpected. And he is a little curious about what she did and where she went. Three hours is a long time to stay out of trouble at a place like this. He was almost expecting a phone call from the prison.

Yeah, they have his number.

"Well, let's see. I went to the arena and watched the fights. Very educational. And I spent some time at the arcade, and won a few games."

She traded the points back for gil. She might even give some of them back to Reno if he asks; after all, he's the one who gave her the coin to play in the first place.

"Hey, that's cool. I always liked the Super Dunk and the Snow Game. Torpedo Attack's not bad either." She couldn't have done the Snow Game, but he bets she could've kicked ass at anything else. It's an educated guess and he's pretty satisfied making it. She's good, Lara.

"By the way, I'll take the key back now." Speaking of educated guesses. "And then we can go get dinner. If you're hungry for food, that is."

A half-second's pause, and then her head tosses back in a peal of delighted laughter, the sound looping up and outward like a fountain.

Her hand goes to the vee of her neckline and the concealed pocket there. He's watching, so she makes just a little stage business of drawing out the key slowly before tossing it to him.

"I wondered when you'd notice." Teasing; not quite challenging. Nothing even close to apologetic.

Oh, he noticed. He noticed early on, but what the fuck was he supposed to do about it? Go running around the whole friggin' place looking for her? Nah, that ain't his style.

"Thanks." Now he pockets the key again, same place it was before: he ain't worried she's gonna pick it out of there again. Not now that she knows he knows. She's good and this is far from the first time he's had that thought. Not on this trip, and not before. He knew it the first night he met her, and that other guy he was talkin' to that night still owes him drinks over this.

Yeah, right: like he's ever gonna see him again.

Once he's got that key, he offers Lara his arm. "Want dinner?" He sure as fuck does. He didn't kill three hours waitin' for nothing.

She slides her hand into the crook of his arm, rests it there lightly, and smiles up at him. "Dinner sounds marvelous. Drinks first, or after?"

"Before, during, after. I ain't picky."

Arm in arm, he leads her toward the preferred dinner spot. Fuck yeah, there's gonna be drinkin'.

And food.

And more drinkin'.

And everything that comes after a great friggin' date. In fact, the shit that comes after is the best part of the whole thing and they both know it.

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Gold Saucer

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