Reno of the Turks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raspberryturk) wrote2008-03-03 12:23 pm
raspberryturk) wrote2008-03-03 12:23 pm
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.]
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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Which was, of course, the cue for his boots to turn and head for a dark corner under the bed. With Sokka still in them.
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"My shoes would drink your boots right under the table," he decided.
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He stood up with his legs pretty far apart and tensed his muscles. "Let this be a lesson," he spat down at his boots.
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Everyone was right. It really did taste like shit. Funny he hadn't paused to notice that before.
"Shuts 'em up good, anyhow."
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Reno felt the burning need to point this out, here.
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It's quite possible Sokka hadn't at all thought about it in those terms.
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"I'm just not going to let them win, is all. They're not going to beat me."
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The shoes in his dresser? Very quiet.