raspberryturk | Room 429, Monday Afternoon

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Room 429, Monday Afternoon

Reno was sleeping, dammit.

He didn't have classes today, he'd spent his entire break on the road and drunk, his behind still hurt from a certain drunken tattoo fiasco, he was going to sleep in.

Except that someone in his room wouldn't stop chattering. Kind of a squeaky sort of chatter that brought his sleep-fogged mind to think of an ill-made shoe, or something of the like. Annoying as all heck, sitting there beside his bed and nattering back and forth, every now and again breaking into giggles.

"Shuh'uuup," Reno commanded, in the way only a possibly still hungover, mostly asleep Turk could command.

The squeaking stopped.

And then started again, this time most certainly directed at him.

"We know what you diiiii~iid," one chirped.

"Gotta tattoo, no big deal," Reno mumbled. "Sleeping. Shh."

"We know what you aren't tellllling her," the other added. "About what you dooooo for ShinRaaaa~."

Oh. Well, that was different. The taunt sent a bit of an electric chill down his spine, and he ignored the ache in his rear as he sat up and looked around.

"We've seen it allllll."

"And we know what you stepped in! Pollen everywhere!"

"Very bad form, zoto."

"Very bad! Bad like chasing that Ancient that kept them pretty!"

"Bad like gathering people up to be forced into SOLDIER!"

"Bad like dropping the plaa~aate!"

Reno was awake now, and his hands were in fists, and he was going to kill someone. But there was... nobody there? Nono, there had to be. Mezcal worms weren't really hallucinogenic, and he had heard voices, and someone had to die right now. He stepped off his bed, and the squeaky things squeaked again in that distinctly shoe-like way, and skittered out of the way.

His shoes. His shoes were talking and moving and squeaking at him and taunting him.

"Watch where you put that foot," the slightly-more-squeaky left shoe commanded.

"Yeah," the other agreed, "we're sick of you walking all over us!"

"This some kinda messed up Fandom thing?" Reno's eyelid was developing a bit of a twitch, here.

"Give the guy with the badly-groomed toenails a cookie," the shoes singsonged in unison. Which prompted Reno to snarl and make a dive for them, ShinRa issue fine Wutai black chocobo leather be damned. They were going to be in a world of pain. "We're gonna telll her! Tellll her about the stuff you doooo!"

"I'm gonna rip your freakin' tongues out!!!"

A high-speed chase of comedic proportions, one toppled lamp and a bruised knee later, and Reno was triumphantly shoving the pair of shoes into separate drawers in his dresser, a wadded-up pair of dirty socks stuffed into the 'mouth' of each one.

He wasn't drunk enough for this, dammit.

[Door is closed, post is open if anyone wants to investigate the sounds of rage and chaos from within.]

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Sokka's boots giggled in response. "Welcome to Fandom," he said.

"Jus' when I think I'm gettin' to like the place," Reno grumbled, "the shoes threaten to share my life story."

He glowered at the dresser, which was still giggling, and then stalked across the room and gave it a good, swift kick.

Which hurt his toes. Which caused him to curse, loudly. Which made the shoes giggle more. Which earned the dresser another painful kick.

It wasn't just the shoes giggling.

"You really showed them," Sokka chuckled, once he had caught his breath.

"Could kick you too," Reno grumbled, stalking back to the door. "I need a drink. You need a drink? Your boots are lookin' frisky. Booze helps with that."

"Yeeeaaah," Sokka replied. "Because what we REALLY need around here is my boots with LOWERED inhibitions." It seemed to him like he'd heard something similar just the other day...

"You know what, I could probably use a drink." It would make him seem cool and all.

That was not a very amused sort of grin spreading across Reno's lips. Really.

It was more a scheming, wicked sort.

"You ever tried mezcal?"

Sokka cocked an eyebrow, not sure where this was going. "Was there any Friday night? If there was, I probably tried it."

"Nah. Was keepin' it to myself. S'good stuff." Reno was heading back to his dresser. He gave the whole thing a good, fierce shake before opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a bottle. "It'll put hair on your chest, yo."

And chocobos on your ass, but he wasn't mentioning that part.

"Real manly drink."

Sokka wasn't eyeing the bottle warily, whatever it might have looked like. "Sounds good. Hit me!"

Reno grinned and fished around for a plastic cup. Had to have one around here somewhere. Ah yes. Cup.

And then he poured Sokka a nice, big glass.

"Don't mind the worm. Adds flavor, zoto."

Big smirk.

Ahhhhh. Suddenly, one of the wacky t-shirts (http://www.cafepress.com/bizarretees.84766832) he'd bought Saturday night actually made sense.

He took a sip -- not too small, but not too big, either -- and coughed a bit. "Yeah, that's good stuff. Worm's good, zoto." And then he passed the cup back to Reno.

"Yeah, thought you'd like that." Reno took himself a mouthful, swallowed, and stuck out his tongue before grinning some more. Okay. He was mean. "I probably got some beer hidin' in there. More your speed?"

Sokka raised an eyebrow at him. "I needed a drink, I got a drink. A drink. Any more, and I'll think you're trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me."

"Pfft. Nah. You ain't my type." Reno smirked and finished off the glass. "I don't do kids who're still wearin' diapers, yo."

"It's a LOINCLOTH!!!" Sokka shouted.

The shoes in Reno's dresser?

Were killing themselves laughing.

Reno was doing a better job, really, keeping from cracking up.

"Yeah, okay. Sure it is, Boom." He tossed the cup to the side and gave a shrug of his shoulders. "My bad, zoto. I'll try to keep your fancy words for your little pants-wettin' problem in mind next time. Spare your dignity and all."

"Oh, yes, thank you. I just LOVE the way you insult my traditional tribal garments. Very understanding of other cultures, there."

Note to self: Buy some boxer shorts, in case you're ever invited to another game of strip poker.

"Call it payback for the rousin' singsong on the bus," Reno laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Be thankful I ain't gonna mention your diaper on the radio, zoto."

He could make no promises about anything his co-host might like to say, of course.

That got him a Look. "You are evil, do you know that? EEEEEEEVIL."

"Well, yeah, ain't gonna argue there," Reno shrugged. "Spent a good chunk of my time perfectin' the evil."

He was damn good at it, thank you very much.

"Well, see, that's a problem," Sokka pointed out with a smirk. "You spend too much time on the evil, you'll miss out on the awesome."

"You figure? I think I got plenty of awesome goin' on," Reno mused. "Nothin' like the evil schtick, zoto. I'd say you should try it sometime, but that'd probably break you in half, Boom."

Reno's shoes: Still making conspiratory noises from the dresser.

"Evil's not really my style," Sokka explained, stretching a little and trying to look his coolest. "I'm more the hero type. You know, saving the world sort of thing? That's me. With a big ol' side dish of scathing sarcasm."

Reno looked very unimpressed.

"An' how's that workin' out for you? Stop any mass-murderers or deflect any meteorites lately?"

Sokka raised an eyebrow. "Maybe that sort of thing's common where you're from, but my world's not like that. I've saved a few villages, a few towns, a couple of big cities, but nothing like deflecting meteorites." Hey, when you put it like that, it sounded pretty impressive, actually. He shrugged. "I escaped from the Great Spirit of Knowledge once. That was pretty exciting."

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