#reno ff7

I have no title for this.

Probably four or five?

Her regular customers.

3/?

I couldn’t figure out how many render theme like this.

Had to post it here too.

December Render part 1 of ?

I dont know how many I will be rendered soon.

No privacy at all

Nothing to say…

I have no caption for this.

oops i did it again, blame @blackkatmagic​

Vincent/Reno 2: Electric Boogaloo

“You should button your shirt.”

“Seriously, man, is that what you’re gonna open with?” Reno coughed, and tucked his chin lower towards his chest, trying to at least lower his face a little more out of the smoke, ignoring the way Vincent’s mere presence had him slouching far more relaxed into the sturdy hardwood dining chair he was currently chained to.  Reno’d like to think this sort of thing wouldn’t happen again, but in complete honesty this didn’t even rank top 5 in worst places he had been rudely woken in, though this one was cutting it closer than most.  A decent part of him was still genuinely surprised there was anyone around who cared enough about old grudges with the much-diminished Shinra to even bother, and it wasn’t like Reno had any personal vendettas left unsettled.

He couldn’t see well through all the smoke and the flames eating at the walls, but it *looked* like Vincent was just perched on the windowsill, imitating some sort of overgrown, mutated bat with a red bandana and a handgun.

The sound of two bullets, quick shots, cut through the crackling roar and hiss of flames, but Reno didn’t bother to flinch, and felt the sudden slackening of the chains restraining his wrists in response.  Hand’s free, Reno bowed all the way forward, lowering his head between his knees, gasping for clearer air.  Nimble fingers already plucking a thin lock shim from out of the straps of his goggles and starting to pick at the second set of manacles chaining his ankles to the chair.  He’d just gotten the last lock free when the wall behind him finally collapsed in a huge cloud of ash, smoke, and fiery debris, flame-whittled support beams crumpling under the load strain.  Reno immediately dropped down to his hands and knees, dragging the chair down on top of him as a makeshift barrier between his back and the sudden fall of ceiling tile and beams pouring in from the hole the decimated wall had left.

There was a sudden grip of cold metal around his forearm, yanking him forward as a swirl of maybe-sentient cape created a barrier against the sudden avalanche of flaming, collapsed ceiling debris.  Reno stumbled to his feet and near-tripped out of the window, steadying at the last moment with a grip of the windowsill to slow his fall and adjust to spin out and off against the outer brick facade, giving him just enough moment to spring across the gap between the buildings.  Slightly deadened and blood-swollen fingers grappled at the edge of crown moulding between dividing floors of the adjacent apartment building, scrabbling for a solid grip as his feet swung forward and up to try and seek purchase on the thin detailing surrounding the window.  He held fast for a split-moment, suspended, until the cheap concrete crumbled beneath the force of his weight.

“Shit-”

There was a moment of tumbling fall, Reno already starting to shift to try and cushion what was bound to be an unfortunate landing, when a clawed fist gripped him by the scruff of his suit, jolting him to a stop and then a much slower, controlled descent until his feet gently touch the pavement.  Above him came a sound like the beating of large wings against empty air, and Reno kept his head facing the front, awkwardly adjusting his soot-coated suit.

“So, uh, assuming we aren’t gonna talk about this one either.”

The rustle of wings, or maybe that damn creepy cloak of his—Reno sure as shit couldn’t tell—and metal sliding against more metal.

“I’m… gonna take that as a yes.”

Reno took two steps forward, then spun around, midway to bowing with exaggerated flair like a showman, with his eyes already staring at his shoes. “Lovely conversation, Valentine.  Adore the pleasure of your oh so verbose company.”  Without straightening, he whirled back around again, rolled his shoulders with a wiggle, and began to leisurely stroll his way out of the alley.

“Reno-”

“Catch you later, Valentine.”

@blackkatmagic​ gave me a lovely thing so i am giving her her lovely thing i promised

Reno/Vincent

When Vincent awakens, he finds himself sprawled out on the dinged leather sectional couch in the small office lounge that served as the unofficial breakroom for the Turks.  It was a terribly familiar couch, Vincent was fairly certain it had been just as old and patched when he’d been first inducted into the Turks, now nearly 30 years ago, though it seems to have since gained several new stains.

“Here, drink this.”  A water bottle is dangled in front of his face from pale, gecko-like fingers, cap still on with the plastic seal unbroken.  He grips it tightly in his fist, squeezing the thin plastic to check for holes or leaks, before unscrewing the cap to drink, the stale, room-temperature water easing the odd dryness of his throat.  He slowly shifts to sit up, and it feels as though his joints are creaking like Barret’s arm when it he hasn’t oiled it in a day or so.  He can sense the presence of the intruder who had so kindly handed him the bottle, but something in the back of his mind where his demons reside seems to growl in contentment, and frankly, Vincent isn’t exactly worried about Reno somehow managing to surprise him.

And it is Reno, even without looking for his face, or studying the callouses from his electro-mag rods, given away by the drawl of his voice and the soft notes of cheap cigarette filters under charred leather and ozone.

“You really ought to button up your shirt,” Vincent says at last, in lieu of a thank you.

“As soon as we stop meeting like this,” Reno drawls back instead of ‘you’re welcome’.  There’s a loud creak from the couch springs as the red-headed Turk drapes himself backwards over the couch back. “Not that I don’t like pets or nothing, but I gotta admit I’m more of a cat person than a dog one.”

Vincent snorts and lies back down, bringing his arm over his eyes, empty plastic water bottle crunching in his grip.

“I’m sure I could convince Reeve to come visit you instead, if that is what you are truly hankering for.”

Reno falls back all the way down to the seat of the couch, letting his legs sling over the back, hooked at the knee.

“Nah, I think I’m good.”

The silence draws on for minutes more, Vincent shutting his eyes against the faintly flickering fluorescent lighting in this maintenance-abandoned corner of the Shinra HQ, while Reno pops another Malboro-brand cigarette in his mouth, letting it dangle from his lips by the filter but leaving it unlit.

“So… ‘re we ever gonna talk about this?”

“No.”

“Cool, cool, just figured I’d ask.”

The silence stretches again like a bubble blown from stale mint chewing-gum, accompanied by the buzz of old office lighting and the creaks of worn leather.  Reno at last sighs, and shifts so that he is no longer lying completely flat on his back, instead half-sprawled up against the far armrest, and digs around in his suit pockets until he manifests a cheap cigarette lighter, and finally lights the end of his dangling cigarette.

“Do you know why—?”

“No.”

“A’ight, then.” Reno shrugs, and then mumbles under his breath, “I should start buying chew toys at this rate.”  Vincent reaches out with his foot and kicks out, jabbing Reno right in the side where he is attempting to fumble the lighter back into the depths of his suit pockets until he drops it with a curse against the cheap linoleum tile.  Vincent exhales, slowly, and sits back up again, shifting his legs over the side of the couch and slowly works himself up into a stand, crumpling the remains of the water bottle in his non-gauntleted hand and screwing the cap back on before chucking it into the new, brightly labeled recycle bin for plastics—a part of Shinra’s new green corporate initiative.