The day was cold, wet, and dreary. It looked like all the colours of the world had drained and mixed together, leaving only a sad grey. No birds sang, no children played. In a field, three figures stood, dressed not in their normal blue suits, but in black. They were all tired, world weary, and sick in the heart. Though they had come from different places, they had come for the same reason. So say good bye to a man they’d all loved. The first man stood one one side of the simple grave, head bowed. His hair was red, plastered to the back of his neck. His suit was neat, surprizingly so. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, and his sunglasses on, despite the lack of sun. He hoped that the other two would take the wettness on his cheeks for the rain, and not for the tears that they really were. He shut his eyes, letting his mind drift back.
He knew the other’s hadn’t had good pasts. He’d heard sob stories from Soldiers that would’ve made Satan cry. But he’d never told anyone his story. No one, save the man he’d come to honor. Tseng had found him when he was seventeen. At seventeen, he’d seen more than most people saw in their entire life. Not happy things, but things that made sinners cringe and angels weep. He’d grown up in the slums of the slums. His neighborhood couldn’t even be called that. It was a pit of hell. He didn’t remember much of his early years, only remembering being happy when his father left him and his mother, because then the beatings would stop.
His mother had sold him at the age of seven. She’d sold him for a pack of ciggerettes to a pimp with a whip. He’d spent two more years being beaten, abused, and harmed in ways he hadn’t known exsited. At the age of nine, he had scars cris-crossing his back and shoulders, his thighs, and his chest. The ones on his chest had healed, as had the ones on his thighs. But the ones on his soul had never faded. He’d decided he’d had enough one day, and ran away. He’d joined a gang, which gave him a drug addiction, a drinking problem, and an attitude. He learned to fight, to fight dirty. He learned to take down four men with three hits. He learned to hurt anyone who might care for him. He became the leader of the gang at twelve.
He got shot more times than he could count. He’d shot people more times than he could count. He’d watched his so-called friends as they laughed while he was held down and beaten. He’d nearly died one night while he was on a date. The woman pulled the trigger on him, and if the bullet had been a centimeter to the left, he would’ve died in the back of an alley, his blood mingling with the other trash.
Lady Luck, who’d shunned him from his birth, then decided to smile on him. Tseng walked by at that moment, just in time to hear the shot, then to see the woman run away. Tseng took him to a hospital. Paid for a piece of trash to be patched back up.
When Reno woke up, he spat in his face in thanks. Tseng wiped off the spit, looked him over and gave him a choice. Reno came with him and Tseng taught him how to be somebody, how to live his own life, or he went back to the gutters with the other garbage. Reno chose Tseng.
Tseng taught him what morals were, how to get information without killing anyone. How to treat women. How to cook. He taught him thing after thing. Everyday,
Reno waited for him to slip up, for him to try and attack him. Somewhere along the line, Reno stopped realized it wasn’t going to happen. Tseng never hurt him.
He met the others. They became close, closer than he’d ever been to anyone. If the Turks were his family, then Tseng was his father. And now, that father had left him.
Geez, Tseng, what do I do now? He asked, silently. Who’ll drag my ass out of trouble, who’ll keep this family together? Tseng, why’d you have to leave? He shut his eyes tighter, then looked at the gravestone.
Another memory came, unbidden. He remembered what Tseng had told him, before all of this had started, on his twenty second birthday. “Family’s not always who you share blood with, Reno. It’s who you share a heart with. And family, no matter who they are, always take care of their own.”
Reno glanced up at Rude and Elena, then back down at the gravestone. We’ll take care of each other. He promised silently, then removed something from his neck. He set it on the top of the gravestone.
The second man stood on the other side of the grave. His suit was neat, as always. The water dripped off his head, which was clean shaven. He was tall and muscular, with a fighter’s build. His eyes were covered by sunglasses, and he too, was lost in the past. Rude had grown up in high socity. His mother and father had both been friends of the president, and he’d never been lacking when it came to needing something. He’d had the perfect life, with anything and everything he could want. That changed in a heartbeat. Or more corectly, two gunshots. He was nine when the assassin’s bullets destroyed the lives of his parents. They both died that night, in a steral hospitle room. He remembered sitting in the hall, not allowed to go into the room, not allowed to do anything but drive himself insane with worries and images that destroyed him. It was past midnight when a nurse coolly informed him of his parent’s deaths. He had family. His mother had two sisters, his father one brother. He also had his grandparents. They’d all treated him well in the past, giving him gifts and praising him.
He soon found out how much they loved him.
His grandparents wouldn’t take him in. His aunt finally took him in when he was ten. After a year of being told, no, your uncle won’t take you, or I’m sorry, you’re grandparents are unable to care for you, his aunt finally took pity on him. She drove him insane. She wouldn’t allow him to eat if he did something wrong.
Nothing he could do could please her. If he got straight A’s in school, she accused him of cheating. If something turned up missing, he was always the one who took the blame. He had no friends, his aunt wouldn’t allow him to bring anyone home.
He wasn’t allowed to watch TV, nor play sports. If he slouched, she binded a piece of wood to his back. Almost too tightly for him to breath. If he was sick, she made him work harder. He waited on her hand and foot, yet was still accused of being lazy. Even now, her words drifted back to him.
"You’re a lazy piece of shit. I take you in, give you a home, feed you, and in return you sit on your ass and lounge about. You’re manners are crude, you speak like a ruffian, and you dress like a slob. You’re not good enough to lick the dirt from my shoes, yet I took you in. "
He’d finally decided he’d had enough one night. Deciding that if she was going to call him a theif and a liar, he might as well earn the titles, he stole over a thousand gil from her. Telling her he was going out to get her another bottle of wine, he left, without looking back.
He made it to Junon. The slums were rough, but Junon was a town full of Soldiers who wanted nothing more than to pick on some lone punk. He’d become a theif, one of amazing skill. He was quiet, and able to steal enough to live off of. Then he’d hit the age of fifteen.
He’d shot up a good six inches. Sometime over the years, he’d developed muscles, lost the softness of a high socity boy. He’d adapted the name Rude, because of the short answers he gave people.
He watched people kill others, watched people sceme and plot. He’d become an observer. No longer able to steal, because his hight and stature made him to conspicious, he’d started mugging people.
One day he made the mistake of mugging a man with long dark hair and a blue suit.
He’d done as he’d normally done, jammed a gun against his back and a knife around the guy’s throat. He didn’t remember what had happened after that, but he’d awaken with the man watching him, flipping his knife.
His side had ached for days after that, and he’d had a black eye. He was about to attack the guy, but the business end of his own gun convinced him otherwise.
The man had looked him over and offered him a choice that wasn’t really a choice at all. This man would pay him to fight for a living, to gather information. Teach him how to use his skills of blending into the background as a pluss. Or he could turn around and walk away, forgetting they’d ever met. Rude had been many things, but never stupid. He went with the man. Tseng introduced him to a hot headed punk who called himself Reno. He’d listened when Rude finally broke down and told him about his past. He became friends with Reno, and even better friends with Tseng.
Rude looked down at the grave and stifled a sigh. Tseng, you’re gone now, and I don’t know what to do. He said mentally. I don’t want to go back to being a street rat. Why do the people I love most always end up dying?
He glanced up at the only remaining people he trusted. The only two he could call family. Looking back down, he made his desision, then withdrew something from his pocket. He set it on the gravestone.
The third figure was a woman. Her hair was blonde, and the twist it had been in had fallen out. She stood straight, riged against the rain and wind. Her eyes were covered by sunglasses as well, but tears streamed freely down her face. The other’s had seen her as a rookie. Maybe she was. She was the only member of the Turks who hadn’t been reqruited straight off the streets by Tseng. But she’d been affected by him as much as anyone had.
Her mother had raised her. Her father had walked out on them years ago. Her mother expected so much of her. Always wanting her to be someone she wasn’t. At three, she had a voice teacher, a dance teacher, and a tutor. At six it was a tutor for every subject, a singing instructer, an instrumental instructer, and an ediquette teacher. She’d learned how to waltz, how to host a dinner party, how to play four insturments,how to sing. She knew more at the age of thirteen than the first lady herself had known.
What she really wanted to be doing was be outside, playing. Or on the streets, getting in fights, never worring if her dress was mused or her hair mess up. She wanted to learn to shoot a gun, to win a fight, to ride a chocobro. She taught herself in private. She learned to shoot with deadly accuricey. She learned to fight by watching Soldier train. She practiced again and again until she had the moves right, then went off and practiced on a kitchen boy. Still, the lessons and teachers came. The more she yearned to be free of her gilded cage, the tighter her mother locked the doors. She’d reached the age of eightteen and hightailed it out of her mother’s home. Leaving behind her mother’s crushed dreams, praying her own weak dreams would be enough. She joined Soldier as a man. It had been easy enough, hiding her gender.
After being accepted, she’d revealed what she was, but by then it was too late. She’d made her first mistake. Revealing who she was was like waving a steak in front of starving wolves. She quickly learned how to harm a man. How to get rid of unwanted advances. But despite it all, one night a group of men had come to her tent and while four held her down, the fifth raped her. Then they rotated. She stopped fighting, closing her eyes and concentrateing on just living through the night. When they’d finally left her in a shaking, bloody heap, she’d been broken. But she’d been far from beaten. By sheer will power alone, she’d picked herself up and dusted herself off. She threw herself into training, and was never without a gun and knife. The next time the group of men came for her, she was waiting for them. With two loaded guns and a gernade.
Of the five men who’d entered her tent, only three of them were able to walk out. She didn’t kill any of them. But there were worse things than death, and she’d shown them what they were.
Soldier soon became too easy, too boring. She wanted to fight, to do something. One night, she overheard some of the men speaking of the elite group of men who composed of the Turks. Of how they would be coming to find a new requrite because one of them was injured.
It was then that she’d decided she would be a Turks.
When Tseng had first come, she’d fallen in love with him. First glance. He walked onto the training field, with a look that demanded respect. They were holding a fighting match. It was whispered that the winner became a Turks.
She lost. She made it to second place, but she was beaten. Lifting her head, despite the other’s calls and degrading remarks, she left the feild.
Tseng came to her in the changing room, and sat down. Offered her a choice. She stayed with Soldier and was elevated to a comanding postion, or she went with him to become a Turks.
She chose the Turks.
If all the men in her life had taught her of betrayal, he was the one who taught her how to love again. She met Reno and Rude. Though they fought a lot, she’d been determained to stay. And she did. The others and her formed a bond, despite their bickering. Tseng led them, and they were powerful. They were family.
She shut her eyes against the pain. Oh, Tseng, why did you have to leave us? You’re the only man I’ve fully trusted in years. You taught me to respect others, beside myself. Why did you leave us?
She looked down at the grave. He was gone. Her heart was broken, but she would heal. Yet somehow she knew she’d never be the same. She set a ring down on the gravestone, then looked up at the others.
“I’m staying.” She said.
Rude looked down at her, then laid a hand on her shoulder. “Me too. Reno?” He asked quietly.
“I’m a Turks. There is nothing else for me to be.” Reno smiled half-heartedly. “I’m not leaving.” He walked around the grave and stood by them. He looked at both of them, then nodded to himself. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said.
Sitting atop the gravestone were three items. Three tributes to a man they’d loved, a man who’d given them a choice when they’d had none. A necklace was curled there, a golden bead strung on a thin golden chain. Next to it sat a smooth stone, with a design carved into it. The last item was a small golden ring, with a tiny heart on it.
The three figures turned and walked back towards the city. The Turks were back, and they weren’t leaving. They had to make their father proud.
