[ while the very notion of weddings and chapels and any associated paraphernalia is absolutely a repellent to Reno in every possible way, the allure of spicy games to make him some fat stacks and exchange a few cards easy-peas-like is enough to pull him into its gaudy orbit. he already spends enough time as it is down at the regular casino casually scoping out company for the evening, so why not this? what, like something absolutely crazy is gonna happen?
well, uh. kind of. for awhile everything's going on as usual, the drinks keep coming and Reno makes his rounds, but when a prowl's not enough to get him set for the night, he takes to the slots. the spicy ones, of course (if he has to endure any more of this kissy romancey shit in this fucking place he's gonna scream). and wouldn't you know it, he's pulled the lever once approximately 0.5 seconds ago when Aerith's face appears in his peripheral vision, leaning just close enough to scare the absolute, complete, total, and ever loving shit out of him.
of course, for Reno that just means he flinches a little bit, sliding askew on the stool to angle his body in her direction, his mouth falling open just enough that his lit cigarette tips from his lips and lands in his drink. if we're being honest, it's not the first time he's been jolted out of his wits by a specter of his past mistakes, but it is the first time that specter's been real. she'll pop up sometimes, y'know, like how she would back in the church, sneaky in her bare feet and him sprawled in a pew and absorbed in his phone—boo! and an infectious giggle—but as soon as he turns to look, she's gone.
not now, though. Reno's mouth moves, forming a soundless word (probably "fuck"), but he recovers just in time for his slots to finish rolling:
>Fuck >Face >In the bathroom
his gaze darts from the ding-ding-ding of a winning roll (every single one is), back to Aerith. ]
wildcard baybeeeeeeee
well, uh. kind of. for awhile everything's going on as usual, the drinks keep coming and Reno makes his rounds, but when a prowl's not enough to get him set for the night, he takes to the slots. the spicy ones, of course (if he has to endure any more of this kissy romancey shit in this fucking place he's gonna scream). and wouldn't you know it, he's pulled the lever once approximately 0.5 seconds ago when Aerith's face appears in his peripheral vision, leaning just close enough to scare the absolute, complete, total, and ever loving shit out of him.
of course, for Reno that just means he flinches a little bit, sliding askew on the stool to angle his body in her direction, his mouth falling open just enough that his lit cigarette tips from his lips and lands in his drink. if we're being honest, it's not the first time he's been jolted out of his wits by a specter of his past mistakes, but it is the first time that specter's been real. she'll pop up sometimes, y'know, like how she would back in the church, sneaky in her bare feet and him sprawled in a pew and absorbed in his phone—boo! and an infectious giggle—but as soon as he turns to look, she's gone.
not now, though. Reno's mouth moves, forming a soundless word (probably "fuck"), but he recovers just in time for his slots to finish rolling:
>Fuck
>Face
>In the bathroom
his gaze darts from the ding-ding-ding of a winning roll (every single one is), back to Aerith. ]
Hey, uh. Good timing.