oh. i’m channeling a little of cillian murphy’s jackson here.

motchi gave me the first line of this (minus the “reno”) and it got me writing something. so, this is all her fault.

Definitely Not Strawberries

“Just because it’s red doesn’t mean it tastes like strawberries, Reno.”

She was clearly bat-shit crazy, but Reno didn’t really give a damn anyway.

He peered up at her wisely, from his seat on the blood-splattered floor. His red stained fingertip was stuck stubbornly between his teeth, his lips closing slowly around it. (He always loved the acidic taste.)

Tifa would have thought him childlike–sitting there like an ass with his finger in his mouth–if not for the two men who he had just slaughtered, both laying sprawled on the splintered wood of the floor in unimaginable positions.

“I remember when they first opened this bar...” He slurred his words and Tifa chalked it up to blood loss or a possible concussion. “Used to be karaoke. There was a disco...” She assumed he meant disco ball. He licked his lips; more blood, trickling down from his nose. “Nice drinks, too.”

She would have loved to tell him to get the hell out of her bar, but she didn’t want to be left alone with two dead men, even if Reno of the Turks was her only other company. And she did feel a little sorry for him. After all, the two men had initiated it, something about revenge and the past and unpaid debts.

“I really fuckin’ hate karaoke.”

“That’s fine, Reno. There’s no karaoke machine here now–”

“I mean, I really, really, hate it.”

She had a coffee pot in her hand and a mug in the other. “Drink this,” she said, wrapping his fingers around the cup for him. She felt the slick, nauseating stickiness of his blood-covered hands and had to struggle to keep herself from shaking, ever so slightly. A deep breath and a moment later, she poured the coffee with a steady resolve.

The now liquid-heavy mug slipped from Reno’s hands and shattered on the floor. He looked at it between his legs with passing interest, then grinned slightly. “Whoops.”

“Idiot.”

That magnificent smile. “You’re gonna have a hell of a time cleaning this shit all up, kid.”

Tifa rolled her eyes and knelt down beside him, carefully picking up the larger chunks, blood now soaking into her pants. (She was a moment away from sticking one of the sharper pieces into his eye.) “Next time, leave your goddamn problems at the door.”

“Can’t–they follow me.” He waved his hand lamely in front of his face, then, as if he’d lost balance, slipped his arm through hers and leaned on her shoulder for support.

The tangy smell of blood was everywhere suddenly.

“This is not how I pictured my night.” She picked up the last piece of broken mug and tugged her arm away from Reno. “Once you have your head back on straight, you’re getting rid of–of...them.” She stood up and carefully stepped away from him and around the dead men, throwing away whatever was left of the cup.

“Sure thing, kid.”

“Tifa.”

“I don’t care.”

She mumbled a long list of words she’d rather not have said out loud and made sure the front door was locked. In her haste her elbow hit the light switch and the sudden darkness (and the blood-smeared floor) caused her to back step and slip. Gracelessly, she tripped backwards over one of the bodies. Her head hit Reno’s leg and he flinched slightly.

“Shit. Did I die or somethin’?”

She groaned as she grabbed the back of her now throbbing head, kicking away a stiff arm with her foot. “What?”

“It went dark all of the sudden.”

“This is disgusting.” Tifa kicked at the dead man’s arm again, just for good measure. “You’re going to have to take them through the back door. I’d rather not draw attention to this...” The moonlight from the front windows cast an unearthly blue on everything in her bar and, once Tifa’s eyes adjusted properly, allowed her to see the dead men more clearly. “Jesus.”

She was obviously displeased.

Reno found that amusing.

Tifa turned herself partly onto her stomach and pulled herself up next to him, occasionally looking down with discomfort at her blood-covered clothes and limbs. She didn’t want to look at her hair, although she could feel it was significantly heavier, as if something had saturated it. “Do me a favor, Reno?” She nudged his still leg with her boot.

He laughed.

“Don’t come back here again.”

“Anything you say, kid.”

She knew he would anyway, just because he could. Tifa glanced over at him, that annoyingly fearless smile on his lips, his hair plastered to his forehead with blood and sweat. At least his eyes were nice. She smiled slightly. “I’m getting a karaoke machine.”

His lips were beside her ear, so close that they left a dark smear across her skin when she moved her head. It stood out remarkably against the blue of everything else. “I’ve always loved karaoke,” he said.

Tifa stuck her bloody finger in her mouth to keep herself from cursing. She felt his nose press softly against her cheek and she swallowed, like a knee-jerk reaction, the forgotten blood in her mouth sliding down her throat. She must have grimaced noticeably.

“Definitely not strawberries, Tifa.”

Of course not.