neopoints | here at the honeybee inn. / open

here at the honeybee inn. / open

[ they tell him he won't make soldier. no amount of training can fix a weakness of the soul. the mako doesn't agree with him - he's bedridden for three days after the initial test, and upon discharge, told he'll nnot be allowed to apply again. on the very same day he'd tendered his resignation, apologizing to his squadmates for letting them down, and left a message to the turk who had helped him on the trains as well as zack fair, thanking them for their belief in him, however ill-placed.

he was left with no choice but to improvise. there was nothing to return home to in nibelheim, no reason to quietly endure further ridicule and a lifetime of being ostracized, but no way he could live on the plate with the sky-high rent and the soul-sucking jobs requiring more skill than country boy can provide. he isn't the first SOLDIER washout to be too ashamed to go home, and he knows he won't be the last. the slums are full of them. he'd found himself lost, wandering lost in the shadow of the plate. sector five was bright and flashy but he wasn't equipped to deal with pickpockets and gangs. the better part of the day was spent utterly terrified, certain he was going to die here tonight and no one would ever know because he'd been too damn stupid to tell them his plans.

don corneo's men saw an easy mark for the coliseum. promising big money and a place to sleep - but a hand on his shoulder, a whisper in his ear, i could make you a star, darling - offered him something better.

andrea rhodea had smiled so charmingly and with such faith he'd decided he was in before he even heard the offer.

( they'd suggested claudia for his stagename, not knowing it was his mothers. he'd balked, almost shouting no, because while the rhinestones and glitter were rapidly becoming just another part of his world - he couldn't imagine the humiliation of anyone he knew knowing this. shame had consumed so much of his life, dictated so much of what he enjoyed - he refused to let it ruin this too. )

so cirrus was born. and cirrus was a fucking hit.

and he hadn't been lying. cloud's androgynous features were a smash with the customer-base. he was a quick learner, a hell of a dancer, and not too bad of a fighter. he was a star - and it came with glitz, and glamour, and gil, but no glory.

the usual showstopper was done for the night. cloud, center-stage, dancing to a flashy new routine in a uniform somewhere between the men's snappy suits and the women's bulky bee costume. he's fanning himself in the changing room, huffing out a breath as he counts down the minutes until the end of his shift, when one of the girls tells him he's been requested for a private show. ]

Seriously? I'm almost off the clock. Can't someone else -

[ it's someone important, she says, shaking her head. classified. you know what that means.

the blonde pulls a face.

don't worry, it doesn't look like an exec. she adds hastily. but you better move.

he sighs. turns back to the mirror to wipe away any evidence of exertion and heads for the room. ]

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Then kick back. Let's hang out.

[ he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that the guys who set him up for this shit will be expecting a conquest. they'd lose their fucking minds if they heard that all he did with the prettiest bee in the hive was "hang out" like a couple of dudes. and look, he'd probably laugh along with them, because this is fucking stupid. listen—listen. maybe he will still fuck the pretty blond. that's not off the table in the least. honestly, just because he's smart and whatever doesn't mean he's not a man like any other, and it's hard to look at someone that looks the way this kid does talking about serving him and not want to just bend that backwards over the gaudy velvet couch. but like... i mean...

whatever. he can do whatever the fuck he wants. that crafty look in his eyes doesn't say anything other than that if he's playing a game here, he's a long way off from showing his hand. but he does exactly what he says and settles back against the couch, puts his feet up on the table, and slugs back the bubbly like they're just gonna have a nice chill time. ]

[ oh this he doesn't like. one, he was ready to go the fuck home. if this guy wants to 'hang out' he'll probably be here until morning until he actually wants to get his dick sucked and cloud can get out of here ]

Sure. That sounds nice.

[ it does not, in fact, sound nice. but he can't deny he'd like out of these thigh-highs. so, the guy made the offer, so he reaches down to unzip them nice and slow to free those shapely little legs of his.

god. okay. what act does he put on here? he's not even a 'hang out' kind of person, he's an 'awkwardly be sidelined all your life and sit alone in your room' person. ]

I haven't seen you here before.

[ the hell it does sound nice, but at least for now, he intends for it to be. you know, insofar as anything is "nice" in places like this. you could get paid to deal with worse, he guesses. being stuck here until some shit-for-brains with deep pockets gets tired of your "company" and wants to get to the point when all you want is to go to sleep, but then again, fuck it, it's all the same shit tomorrow anyway, isn't it? he doesn't pass up the opportunity to check out his legs either way.

an even more solid case for the yeah, i'll probably fuck him later thing. ]

I don't make a habit out of it. Bees kinda creep me the fuck out. Bugs ain't sexy. Ehh, I just came because the guys wanted high-class entertainment.

[ snorting under his breath. ]

This is what they consider "high-class." No offense.

None taken. We're as high class as the slums go, but key word there is the slums.

[ he honestly doesn't understand why the hell you'd come here with your friends to pay for sex. don't you lose bragging rights when someone won't fuck you for free? or, in his case, when no isn't an option? or maybe that makes it better to them. a thrill of power of whatever. it's stupid. but he's still a simple country boy somewhere underneath it all.

he stretches out. this guy isn't going for saccharine sweet so - might as well be himself. ]

We get a lot of SOLDIERs and management, but... I've never actually seen a Turk here before. You were sitting left of the stage, right? I recognized the tattoos and the hair when I walked out.

[ as is basically obligation, reno stretches an arm across the back of the couch, behind cirrus but not explicitly touching him. maybe just manspreading, not out to do the creepy hand on the shoulder thing. it's hard to say with this guy. he seems relaxed, genuinely low-key, but he also doesn't seem like he came here just for a therapy session. no matter what he says about "the guys." ]

Aw, you noticed me? Yeah, that's right. Turks—we go elsewhere.

[ we go elsewhere is said in a kind of oddly specific way, but there's no telling what he means by that. ]

The tattoos aren't a Turk thing—they're just mine. Or do I got a rep here already?

Yes and no. Word gets around quick here, and you've got quite a name for yourself... even if your name doesn't come attached to it mot of the time.

[ he relaxes, leaning against the couch and turning his full attention to reno, one arm propping against the overstuffed back of the couch to prop his chin up. drawing a long leg up onto the couch as he takes a drink. this time it's less about putting on the act and more because if the guy said to get comfortable, then he's getting comfortable. ]

I've seen you around Sector 5 a few times.

[ good. good. he's already about ten thousand times more attractive to reno by acting at least somewhat naturally, as unsexy a set of body language as you can possibly get. nothing about that pose is demure and alluring and meant to show off. not that he isn't still. that's a real nice leggy. ]

Oh, yeah? Sector 5, huh...

[ sector five is where his apartment is, so it'd make sense. it's very much out of the way and in the outskirts, but it's his preferred haunt. not the two places topside. listen, old habits die hard. but he's not about to just say that. ]

Yeah, I know some folks in the area. You spend a lot of time there?

A friend lives in the area.

[ she's a dancer most nights here, works at the orphanage. he doesn't go out of his way to help out but they've walked home together and he's crashed in an empty bed more than once to get away from the suffocating weight of the don and his gaze. ]

I prefer it to here, though. It's beautiful.

Is it?

[ evidently, he doesn't see what's so nice about it. or he's just wondering what cirrus thinks about it, in particular. i mean—considering the little friend he has in the area, yeah, it's a really nice place. you can see the influence all over. but he's not so sure everybody appreciates the poetry of it the way he does. ]

You talking about the flowers?

That. And the people.

[ the slums have a sense of community like no other - pretty much everywhere but right here. people do what they can, but its all limited when its the don's pudgy little hands controlling everything. ]

They really take care of each other over there. I've never seen anything like it before.

Yeah... it's kind of unique to the area, I think. That.

[ the taking care of each other thing, the community. he's noticed, generally, that the slums are different than they were when he ran them all over, though. wall market is less disgusting, seven actually allows its rats a chance to contribute before labeling them vermin. but five has always been unique. it's where he went for a break from the grind and suffering, and that's why he still has a place there in spite of... well, other things changing. ]

You ever been topside? It's not like that up there, either. Not really, I mean—people just don't give a fuck up there. Ain't even cruel, just... whaddaya call it? Indifferent.

I lived there for a while.

[ a story told in six words. he shakes his head. broken dreams and bad memories. ]

It wasn't like that out in the country, either... Everywhere you go, people just looking the other way.

Heh. You a country boy?

[ cute. country boys are always cute. he happens to be fond of smalltown guys, as it turns out, seeing as every guy he's particularly fond of is, in fact, from a small town. or at least a town that ain't midgar, which means pretty much every other town there is. except maybe the one he's from. ]

Tell ya a secret: the whole world's like that. Trust me, I've been all over.

Was, once. Guess the accent and I'll give you a prize.

[ not that his accent is very clear these days. he'd worked hard to hide it, cover up any part of that small lonely kid who'd come here with big hopes and dreams. only to find the city desperately cold and unfeeling.

reno's word might as well be gospel. he hasn't really ever been anywhere but home and here. both had felt about the same. ]

You must travel a lot for work.

Hmmm... what's my prize if I get it right?

[ might as well make it a little gay. since, y'know, they're here and the point is to fuck the bee, not ask the bee its opinions on the socio-economic whateverthefuck of whereverthefuck and ask him about his hometown. listen, he didn't plan this, he just—will get around to it when he feels like it, fuck off. anyway, he finishes off his champagne and rather than make cloud pour him another glass, he takes his feet off the table and sits forward to do it himself. he gestures with the bottle before he sets it down. ]

You want a refill?

Sure.

[ he has to think for a moment, swishing the contents of his glass before he finishes it and offers it out. ]

I'll give you a sneak preview of my new pole routine.

[ is that a reward? reno laughs, but he takes cirrus's glass and refills it a solid just-more-than-half. that gives the illusion that he isn't drinking very much, but he'll refill and refill and refill again—classic trick. it goes well with their fun little party trick game. ]

Alright, deal. Now, repeat after me: "the mailbox was bent and broken and looked like someone had knocked it over on purpose."

That's cheating.

[ his lips quirk in a half smile, the fingers of his hand curling over his lips as he watches the turk fill his glass. it also might not do him much good - cloud had spent ages practicing on sentences just like that, trying to shake the country bumpkin out of him. some people liked the accent - it made him seem simple and cute, a good way to play it up and get tips or get someone talking when they shouldn't.

but he prefers the clean, crisp accent of the plate.

he takes a sip and licks his lips. ]

"The mailbox was bent and broken and looked like someone had knocked it over on purpose."

[ reno listens carefully, head tilted. thinks for a moment, picking apart the syllables. he's got a terrible ear for languages, but dialect is a different story. it's kind of one of his favorite subjects. rather, he likes to play around with people and surprise them with how smart he supposedly is, when really, it's no different than recognizing one or two simple sounds. he taps his temple when he's got it. ]

North of the Canyon, west of the Saucer. Gotta be somewhere around the mountains there. Right?

[ huh.

surprise registers in his eyes. but, leave it to a turk, right? ]

Right on the money. What gave it away?

Your vowel sounds, mostly. They're long, over-pronounced. Just a little bit. I probably wouldn't have guessed if you didn't already say you're from the country.

[ it was a rough guess, but a rough guess is usually all you need to get people to tell you what you want to know. he grins and knocks back some of that bubbly. ]

I'll keep that in mind if I ever wanna be a spy.

[ he's not giving a town, because fuck that. fuck who could find out about it. nibelheim isn't notable at all, and the accent isn't too different from rocket town so...

he stands up. ]

I promised you a dance. I should warn you - it's for the main show, not a private one. Not quite as flashy.

[ alright, alright. at least this is something more like what the fuck he's supposed to be doing here. he sits back, smirking, and raises his glass in gesture. ]

Alright, blondie, let's see it.

[ the routine is certainly more theatrical than you may expect if you aren't a regular of the honeybee in. cloud isn't a star because he's pretty to look at, he's talented. a childhood running wild in the military combined with those two years in the military made him strong and lean and more than capable of preforming some impressive feats of flexibility and dexterity.

but he's got rhythm. and that ethereal look that sells the whole thing. he looks like he was born to be nobility, even if he was and always will be nothing more than a country bastard. ]

[ well, if nothing else, he's a pretty, pretty boy. reno's not special just because he's cynical and has bad memories that happened nearly two decades ago—he's a guy. he's susceptible to the same shit. maybe even moreso, considering the type of careless, loose person he is. he's sure to provide plenty of encouragement throughout the whole thing, although it certainly has the funny effect of coming off more like a pal amping up his buddy than a whistling hound panting for a cut of the steak.

when it's all said and done, he refills cirrus's glass to about half again. ]

Well, it's no wonder they call you the shining star of Wall Market. You must got a lotta fans. Maybe even me, too.

here at the honeybee inn. / open

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