Rude wonders why you can be so damn happy all the time, but he don't get it, probably never will. (Reno PoV)
Happy as a coupon for a twenty dollar whore...
It ain't that bad, really.
For some kid grew up on the Market (Wall Market to the people above the plate, but you live below, you know what someone means when they say the Market, yo), this is a pretty good life. Food whenever you want it. Enough money to get any number'a girls or boys or blow or whatever else you wanna get.
Yeah, you gotta kill people. So? It's the job. You gotta do the job. (And you know you're damn good at the job, and these days it don't bother you as much as it used to, and you ain't sure if that's a good thing anymore.)
It's better than having to touch some guy's dick when it's colors it shouldn't be and you're pretty sure you see something crawlin' on there, but if you don't do it, you don't eat.
When you're a Turk, you don't gotta worry 'bout dyin' from the guy that's got a knife and don't wanna wear a rubber and might not wanna pay you, neither. You just gotta worry 'bout dyin' from every damn thing else. But you're cool with that, 'cause you got the best goddamn medical treatment the Company can give you. Kinda funny how most people think bein' a Turk lowers your life expectancy. S'not how it is if you're a kid off the Market, yo. This way, someone shoots you, you live to talk about it.
And you got a partner you're pretty sure won't fuck you over. And that beats the Market any day. Everyone fucks you over on the Market. Even people you thought were cool, even the people who had your back.
You don't tell no one how you tried to go back, after the Company started payin' you. Figured you'd check on some of the kids you were lookin' out for, make sure they got some food. Some of them ain't even twelve yet, and they're turnin' tricks just like you used to... They took your food, tried to pay you back on their knees, tried to take your Gil when you weren't looking, 'cause you ain't one of them no more. You're the Man now. You're wearing the Suit. And they can fuckin' smell the Suit on you even when you ain't wearin' it, no matter how you talk.
The Company tries to make you sound like one of them. Fuck that shit. You can have perfect diction if you so choose, speak in the preferred manner. You can be clean-cut, professional, tucked-in shirt and well-kept hair.
But you're a Market whore, even now. Rude wonders why you can be so damn happy all the time, but he don't get it, probably never will.
You're still taking it on your knees, yo. You're taking it for the Company, and you ain't never letting 'em forget what they're doin' to you, what it is they're payin' you for, 'cause no matter how they see you on the Market now, you ain't nothin' but Turk scum to the Company. You die, they get ten more just like you. Ain't hard.
S'all about service with a smile.
The first two lines are from "The Happy Song", artist unknown. (I came across the song for the first time in an AMV, and it gets stuck in my head at the oddest times.)
If you've got a problem with the way Reno talks in this fic, take it up with the nice folks at Squeenix who made him say "yo" every other sentence in Advent Children (something which, sadly, didn't make it to the official English translation). From there, it was an easy jump to this particular Reno-voice, yo.