here at the honeybee inn. / open

[makopoison]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[electroburst]

[ to be honest, the honeybee's not his favorite place in the world. there's a story for why, and not anybody who knows him now knows it. time was, a good long while ago—eighteen years ago, to be more or less exact—things were different in the slums. wall market was different. nowadays, it's cleaned up and run like a business, no matter how dirty and fucked up a business it may be. it's because they got solid heads on solid shoulders at the helm of the main attractions, mostly, but also just because times change and the shit people got a tolerance for isn't quite as forgiving as it used to be. but back then, it wasn't so neat and tidy. there was a lot of fucked up shit happening in midgar's undercity entertainment capital. fucked-upper than there is now. and reno ran way too close to it more than just once or twice.

considering the type of guy he is, you'd think that would be pretty fucking standard fare.

but also consider: eighteen years ago, he was ten.

yeah.

anyway, so the honeybee isn't reno's favorite place, but he's not about to let some shit like one (or two or fifteen) bad experiences run afoul an otherwise spectacular night. he and some of the guys get the idea to go out and make a time of it, slumming it up as some like to call it and aren't they just so clever? ha-ha. it starts out with just drinking and then it's bar hopping and then it's some guys wanted to pick up some tricks in the south end and hit the love hotel but some aren't ready to call it a night that early and what do you do when you're running horny on main but not ready to actually get your rocks off but go see the show? then one guy says they got this new star at the honeybee and that's how they wind up at reno's less than favorite happiest place on earth.

of course, now, nobody would recognize him, so it ain't no thing. they all get a few bees on their arm and hit a booth to kick back, enjoy the magic. that's the one! his buddy says and elbows reno while he's halfway to a sip of his mojito and nearly makes him slosh it all over himself. reno laughs like he doesn't want to stab the little umbrella decoration into his eye. but then he actually does look at the stage (finally), gets a load of what's on it, and that wipes the look right off his face.

god damn. what a looker.

hey, you like blonds, right? says pointy elbows on his right, snickering at him, and the guy on his other side leans around and says dude, we should buy her for him.

"her"? is all reno has to say to that.

yeah, man, you need to loosen up!

maybe he does need to loosen up.

he lets the chucklefucks at the table around him drunkstupid their way into pooling enough gil together to make a special request, and reno watches them with a crooked smirk on his face as they point him out to the proprietor of the evening. he can see the very moment the answer changes from wondering where the fuck they get off making a request like that to oh, god, a turk? and immediate acquiescence.

yeah... maybe some things don't change.

so why doesn't he just leave? well, because that gal— guy— whatever, they're a looker, and maybe he needs to loosen up. so while his stupid friends take their honeyboys and girls off for what's undoubtedly going to be a mediocre time, reno settles in the vip room sans accompaniment with what's probably his fifth mojito and waits. ]

[makopoison]

[ you can say what you'd like about andrea rhodea, and people often do, but the queen serves and protects his hive. you get paid on time, get set up with safe housing, and most of all, aren't expected to entertain the way you are in some of the other clubs down here. the honeybee in prides itself in providing fantasy and a good time over all else. if you want to go, you can go. if you don't there's no one putting a gun to your head and taking nos for yeses.

but there are exceptions.

shinra vips. he's met with palmer, heidegger, even scarlet when she she craves people who will cry and hang their head instead of batting their eyes and asking for more. old president shinra gets down here when the wife isn't looking, heavy into roleplay and not wearing a rubber for some stupid fucking reason - but that isn't cloud's problem, the old man specifically requests he doesn't preform on those days. it's either some antiquated high society bullshit about men in dresses, or something about how he and rufus shinra look alike if you're drunk enough.

some of the high ranking SOLDIERS used to be regular, back when there were enough of them to matter. cloud head rumors that once the great genesis, rest his traitorous soul, had hired a bee simply to hear him read poetry. don corneo gets whoever he asks for, whenever he asks for, delivered special straight to his bed.

( his only complaint about cloud was that for having such a filthy mouth, the kid sure didn't know how to use it )

some sacrifices just need to be made to keep the peace. and he gets that apologetic look he always get as he passes by him in the hall and a gentle hand on his arm and the next day off. this guy isn't a regular which means god only knows what he's into, what he wants to do, shinra's turks are fucking notorious for being freaks in their own right.

he takes a breath before he steps through the door with their finest bottle of champagne in hand. the elaborate quick change outfit from the show has been replaced with something sleek, strappy, and resilient enough to survive being yanked off by a superhuman. ]

Thanks for having me.

[electroburst]

[ it's not like he's never done this type of shit before, here or in general. like—as the entertained, not the entertainer. although sometimes kindasorta the entertainer? if you count the type of shit he gets up to for attention being entertaining, but he's sure as fuck not getting paid for it. still, he feels a very vague modicum of regret for going along with this. how old is this kid? what's his story? that's the type of musing you bleed out of your head when you're finally free not to have to think about it anymore or ever again, but sometimes little flashes catch you by surprised.

everybody's got a fucking story, though. nobody's special.

reno grins and it's almost like they've met a dozen times before. he's just friendly like that, charismatic. people like him, he's sociable. and also has a few screws loose and doesn't know how to relate to others even though he's probably the best one out of the bunch at pretending like he does. he's not dressed in uniform, but in his goin' out clothes, which is basically the same shit: black slacks, black button-down, black shoes, black elastic in his hair. no gloves. ]

Thanks for bein' cute. You don't got to use your manners in here, by the way.

[ well, since there's bubbly, he just goes ahead and knocks back the rest of that cocktail and sets the glass aside. ]

What do they call you, again?

[makopoison]

My names's Cirrus. [ some people know what it means, they like being able to weave in a line about clouds being sexy. it's usually never done right, but he allows the opportunity.

he takes a seat on the couch beside reno. the friendly ones usually like someone forward, after all, and tips a generous amount of wine into both of their glasses. he'll probably end up sipping, if he touches it at all. maybe it'll be an after drink. ]

And flattery will get you absolutely everywhere, mister...?

[ a slight incline of his head, laying it on thick. ]

[electroburst]

No "mister," just Reno.

[ it's so contrived, this stuff. that's why he doesn't make a habit out of it. it can be fun, but what's the point in all the fucking pretendy funtimes when you can just jump straight to the point and get laid and call it good? eh, because sometimes it's fun to fuck around and pretend. and maybe he's just—curious. what it's like now.

also, cirrus (totally not a real name, but still cute) is pretty damn hot. he picks up his glass and gestures for him to do the same. ]

You're right, though. I don't gotta flatter you. You're a hot ticket commodity here, gotta be special even just to get to talk to you.

[makopoison]

Reno.

[ he offers a smile. gag him with a fucking spoon, the whole ritual of this is stupid and cringeworthy, but he lifts his glass and offers it out to toast. ]

You do. [ reno is good looking, at least. easy on the eyes, oozing charm, he'll take this over the rest of the shinra regulars any fucking day. they're all sadistic freaks - except for palmer, that one's just a gross, harmless night that'll put you off butter for as long as you live.

of course the redhead's pretty face doesn't mean his soul is pretty. he's a turk after, after all. no one knows a damn thing about them other than the fact that you don't get that far by being gentle.

cloud honestly doesn't remember hearing any stories about what they like in bed. no warnings about how they don't know their own strength and can hurt you, like a soldier. or the insane, dehumaninizing kinks of the science department.

this is a total fucking mystery. so he'll just smile and nod, bumping their knees together. ]

You must be extra special, because I feel like actually talking back.

[electroburst]

[ yeah, wow, that is cringeworthy. reno lets the kid do his whole routine, the smiling and sitting pretty, clinks the glass with him and everything. is this how it looks like now, in wall market? at the bee, too? just pretty as a god damn wrapped package on christmas, tied with a beautiful red bow. in some ways it's not really all that different, but there's certainly a lot more class than there used to be. this place was full of fucking freaks back in the good ol' days. like, you didn't dress a pig up in a dress and call it a classy time, you feel me?

it's honestly just—funny. when cirrus sits that close and makes sure their knees touch, pretends like he's into him, reno snorts and laughs. he can't help himself. he's just never played the game all that well, walking on his hind legs in a tutu and all that. it's funny how it's almost the same shit below as it is above. ]

Aw, come on! They can't possibly pay you enough to feel like that about it. How long have you even been on the clock, huh? Bet you're sick of this shit. Tired? Feet hurt? You can kick your shoes off if you want. Don't worry, that's not a thing with me, or whatever.

[ he says it like it's all pretty funny, downs a big gulp of his wine with a grin. ]

[makopoison]

[ you can see the act drop, even monetarily. the purposefully vapid look in those blue eyes drops, replaced with something wary and all to keenly aware. survival instincts shining through in the way that he can't possibly allow.

He has nothing to fear from andrea. andrea can be, and sometimes is, a cruel man. you don't reach this level of power if you're simply kind and supportive. but he's never been cruel to cloud, and never valued the dollar more than the lives of his staff. the same can't be said for shinra, and certainly not for don corneo. the slightest whisper of displeasure could be his fucking death if it got to the wrong ears. the don likes him mouthy and able to stand up for himself so long as at the end of the day he knows the skirt comes off.

he isn't going to like a worker that's tired of being treated like shit unless he's the one looking in their eyes and wringing the confession out of him.

he tries to school himself, go back to cheerful, but that sharp look is still in his eyes. this isn't about him. ]

Its been a long day. But I'm more than happy to serve you however you want to be served.

[electroburst]

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. ]

[makopoison]

[ 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.

[electroburst]

[ 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.

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

[ 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?

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

[ 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?

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

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?

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

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.

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

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.

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

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?

[makopoison]

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.

[electroburst]

[ 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."