You're Tresspassing on Private Property

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 14:04:17 GMT

Did you ever just feel like no one really cared? Like no matter how much you made it clear you need help or attention no one you went to gave a shit?

Yeah. That's how I feel right now. And I know I'm not imagining it.

I'm tired of wanking. If no one else cares, then neither do I. I'm taking off.

I'll be back in the spring.

STFU

Sat, 20 Jan 2007 00:45:36 GMT

Hi. Here's a fucking thought: Don't get bitchy when people IM you with "stupid" jokes. It might be annoying but no one knows you had a shitty day except for you. Try communicating next time, instead of just putting up your away message and snarking at people through your LJ like some emo cunt. If you don't want people to comfort you when you piss and moan? Don't have friends. Or just fucking say so. Kthnxbai.

Side Effects May Include

Thu, 18 Jan 2007 00:40:53 GMT

Title: Side Effects May Include
Fandom: FFVII (AU)
Characters/Pairings included: Elena, Reno
Word Count: 3,913
Rating: T
Warnings: language, mild sensuality
Summary: Elena wakes up with new additions to her life, and new cravings to go along with them.
Note: For ofthespider.

She’d only had a headache.

It was pretty mild, just a dull throbbing, and she was tempted to ignore it, but something told her to do something about it “just in case.” So she went down to the…hospital? Wherever the magnificent mad- scientists-and-or-doctors practiced at, to get something for it. She found an opened cabinet in one of the emptier offices, which conveniently held pills and syringes for administering what, more than likely, hadn’t been issued to the public yet. She knew better. But she pushed that thought to the back of her mind while she searched, curious for something she could recognize. Ibuprofen, aspirin, vicodin – something. Finally she found what appeared to be a harmless bottle of clearly labeled medication. “For headaches.” That’s all it said.

It was half full, so obviously someone had used it before. Repeatedly. She thought about taking the entire bottle, but decided against it. One pill would do, just one. Nevertheless, she searched over the pale orange container, combing the surface for something that would clue her in into exactly what she was administering to herself. She found no “poison” or “warning” symbols, or even any serial numbers scratched into the surface. No “Side effects may include…” Nothing. That should have set off every alarm in her head, but seeing as how she’d come all this way, and through all this trouble (and it was only one pill) she shrugged, opened the bottle and popped one in her mouth.

Ten minutes later she was fine.

Perhaps that was her once chance to go into the ShinRa labs without having something bad happen to her. A stroke of good luck. Yes. Probably. She dismissed it, promising never to do it again, and finished out the rest of her day. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to her either, which she was very grateful for. Nothing falling on her car or people having heart attacks in her presence. Just a mild aching feeling in her back, but nothing that couldn’t be contributed to anything like pulling a muscle while carrying Reno home from his latest drinking binge. Nope. All in all, it was a pretty normal day.

However Luck and Turks were not often bedmates. In fact, Luck had to be nothing short of raped or held against her will at weapon-point before she agreed to stay anywhere in their general vicinity.

So it didn’t horrify Elena too much to find feathers littering her bed the following morning.

Big, long silken things, shining like jewels in the sunlight that streamed in through her uncovered windows. They were about the entire length of her arm from her wrist to her elbow, and equally wide. She pushed her covers down to her waist, retrieving one off her pillow in the process. Odd.

Her first thought was she slept with a giant chicken, but she hadn’t drank nearly as much as Reno had, and she didn’t know if she’d ever be that drunk. Her second thought was that it was a prank, or what remained of one. She twisted around in her bed, looking for signs of this alleged crime: honey, tar, staples even. With neighbors like her workmates, one could never be quite certain.

Her third thought was that perhaps the stuffing was coming out of her pillows. She turned each of them over, one by one, inspecting for holes, but found nothing short of perfection. Every thread still in place, just as the day she bought it. She’d really gotten her money’s worth. So then, where did the feathers come from?

She yawned, stretched and angled her feet out towards the floor. Didn’t matter. She’d figure it out later. She glanced at her alarm clock, which was blinking noon, and shut it off. She’d overslept. Didn’t matter. Reno was probably still in bed, in yesterday’s work clothes, rumpled and discombobulated, waiting for her to walk in, give him a cure for his hangover and make him some breakfast. She padded over to her shower. She wondered what Rude was doing, since he declined joining in on their festivities. Perhaps she would go see him later.

The mirror was the first thing to greet her when she entered the bathroom, as was the case with most bathrooms she’d been in. The sink just there right inside of the door, not two steps away, the mirror three feet up, conveniently placed at eyelevel, (hiding her medicine cabinet stored with all the things a woman could ever need or want), and the wings flanking either one of her slender shoulders. An eyebrow quirked delicately at this stunning discovery. Well. Those definitely weren’t there last night.

It was like being silhouetted by magic, taking the finer form of something familiar and associated with the supernatural, and blending it into human form. She turned sideways to peer at them in the looking glass. As far as she could tell, they were extensions of the lowest part of her shoulder blade, towards the center, where bone turned into rib before it joined her spine. They folded in very neatly, stopped right at her ankles (she had to bend over and twist herself into an odd position to conclude this) and took away all the shadows from her face and figure. Somehow they made her look brighter, adding light and a bit of sun kiss to her flesh. She pushed her hair from her face, peering into the mirror. Or had she always been that color? She seemed…different, though aside from the wings she could really determine how.

The feathers were long but the wings themselves weren’t; or at least didn’t seem to be. She tried to stretch one out to see how far it would go, but it didn’t exactly obey her. She reasoned it was like moving a finger, or some other appendage: just do it. Will it to and it will happen. There was no thought behind it; it followed commands given to it by her nervous system. “Pick up the pen;” “Step away from the fire;” “Touch them to see if they’re real.” It all happened in succession; thought then movement, will and then action. But the wings didn’t cooperate with the rest of her. It twitched when she wanted it to move, yes; but as far as expanding so she could see the entire length of it? She should be so lucky. It remained completely stationary, save for its light trembling.

She sighed aloud, even though there was no one there to hear her. They didn’t work, and she had to go get something done with them either way: either to get them to work or to get them removed. She wasn’t sure which one was safer, especially when ShinRa doctors were bound to be involved. She stepped over to her tub and turned on the shower, adjusting the water’s temperature as she worked out a decent plan. She couldn’t hide the wings, but she did have people who could help her hide them. And then, perhaps, they could go see someone about them who wasn’t exactly a mad scientist, and more like a doctor.

She showered quickly; the liquid on her back gave her goose bumps like she’d never experienced before. It rolled off her feathers like water off of a duck’s back – not as if it were repelled, but as if it were merely along for the ride, associating with the smooth surface in a fragment of a fantasy before falling to the ceramic floor below and disappearing down the drain. They were waterproof, she reasoned, but they still made her feel strange for being in the water. It was like she felt every individual bead striking her skin, not a collective whole but separate, singled out; tiny aqua pebbles being flung at her one by one. She wasn’t used to that feeling, and didn’t feel the need to relish in what was foreign. Thus her bathing was short-lived.

She dried off, then made the journey to her closet wrapped clumsily in a towel. It would not fit around her upper back, so she had to hold it around her chest while she searched for something suitable to wear. Nothing with a back would do, and she hardly possessed dresses, let alone one that would accomplish this impossible task. However, being the collector of clothes that she was, she knew there was something in her closet from seasons back that could keep her covered without restricting her newfound freedom. It took her a few minutes of searching, but she found something that seemed to work: some halter thing and matching pants hanging with it. The top had no back at all, not even around the waist, and the bottom wouldn’t leave her naked, so she threw them both on without much of a thought, wondering when she’d bought it and why she couldn’t quite remember.

They fit like skin; the top hung from her neck like an oversized scarf that had been left to dry there, and the pants were nearly painted on. She had no doubt in her mind she looked like a prostitute, or something resembling a character from science-fiction/fantasy pornography, but it wasn’t as if she could help it. She didn’t bother with a mirror, or shoes; she had no desire to see her new friends again or to hinder any other parts of her body. Walking towards the door, she made up her mind to go see Rude about it. Reno would probably poke them, which would get him punched in the nose. And Vincent…she wasn’t sure how he would react, especially after his little episode with his own demon, but she was pretty sure she couldn’t show up at his place smiling like she’d just won something. They were very noticeable, and she didn’t know how to explain them just yet. Besides, Rude was good with logic. And she felt a swelling urge to see him, to just be with him, even if he couldn’t help.

As it stood, the door was not her exit – at least not at the moment. Opening it found her standing in front of her guardsman: the lanky redhead, clothed in typical Turk uniform, sans bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He had a headache; she could tell by the way his eyebrows knitted together. And he’d just gotten there; she could tell by the way he wasn’t poised to knock. She looked up at him, senses twitching. He’d showered (thank the gods), but hadn’t eaten; his stomach was churning on the coffee he’d fed it but not satisfied with it. And he was…She rested her head on the door, blinking. Frightened? His heartbeat was a bit too fast; his pulse was throbbing under his skin clearly enough to be visible. Or perhaps he was anxious. Or high. Elena wouldn’t put it past him.

“Hey.” He slipped inside, past her, into the vague familiarity of her loft. No one had been in there more than him, and he hadn’t been in there enough times to remember where everything was. Elena was rarely ever at home. It was a grand place, like the palace of a princess, spoiled rotten with various rare arts and the best in clothing and food. But it wasn’t cozy, or warm, or even lived-in. It was just a pit stop. She was rarely, if ever, there.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, hands behind her back. “Need something?” she queried.

“Yeah. I’ve got a headache, and I don’t have anything for it.” He said it as if expecting her to fix it, knowing full well she could turn him out on his ass just for that attitude alone.

But today, Elena wasn’t that type of girl. “Alright. Have a seat; I’ll get you something.” She lifted herself from her lazy position, the light filtering through her windows like fingers from heaven. They stroked her hair, her skin, and her back with equal care, illuminating her features in a very fascinating way. Reno blinked away the haze of his hangover, and latched onto her wrist, stopping her from fulfilling her promise. She blinked at him, a slow motion, as if seeing him for the first time. “…What.”

“What the hell are those?” He nodded towards them, but he knew she knew what he meant. Playing blonde would only irritate him further; his grip suggested she tell him the truth or be damned for it.

“Wings,” she answered levelly; and, as if on cue, they fluttered and spread themselves, just enough for him to see that they were attached to her and very much real.

His next sentence was more of a demand than a question. “Why do you have wings Elena.”

“I don’t know.” She was honest too; she really hadn’t a clue as to why she had them. He could read it in her eyes. Yet she wasn’t scared, or even the least bit frightened. It was like she’d merely discovered she’d gotten someone else’s mail by mistake. ‘Oh.’

She pried herself from his grasp carefully, and with dignity, not wanting an argument or to be held back from getting his treatment. Reno watched her walk towards the bathroom, wings folding down just before she entered it. She emerged with a glass of water and three pills; the bottle said take two but Reno was a very special case. Two wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t even lay the foundation for other pills to work. Three, however, would at least get him out of her place, so that she could go and visit Rude.

She handed them over.

He gulped them down, chased it with the water, gagged at the lukewarm state but forced it to push the capsules into his stomach, so that it could begin to work its magic. Elena stood there, watching, took the glass back when offered it and placed it on the small stand next to the door. “Is that all?”

“Yeah.” At least, that’s what he wanted to say. What came out was something totally different. “You’re not going out like that are you.” He was half curious, but mostly waiting to bait her into something, something he hadn’t thought of or through yet; something he was playing by ear.

Elena’s eyes blinked, but not out of habit. It was if they were working out whatever he hadn’t yet, coming to a moment of clarity before he’d even laid bare his plans. “I really don’t have a choice Reno. I don’t have anything else to wear.” She said this carefully, half spreading her wings, waiting and warning him at the same time.

“You could go naked.”

Her eyes darkened, touched by shadowed fingers, dimmed with suspicion and certainty in the truth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” As she asked the question, her wings spread wide enough for him to see their entire span. They were gorgeous, ethereal and delicate; every feather was distinct and unique, yet they all blended in together, forming a mosaic: an otherworldly art blazed with a million shades of white, cream, peach, purity and grace. And Reno, in all of his primordial ethics and demeanor, couldn’t help but realize that she looked exactly like an angel. She may not have thought so, noticed or known, but dressed in all white, draped in sunlight, blonde hair and brown eyes that could damn souls, she really did look like a creature of the divine sort. He didn’t know if he should be scared or piss himself laughing, but his senses were igniting with more than those two desires.

“I think the question is, Elena, who wouldn’t like it?” The statement was meant to be harsh, meant to be said with a sneer but Reno was much too enveloped in magic to make it sound that way. It came out much softer, barely audible.

“…You look disgusting,” she pointed out, unaware as to what, exactly, her extra accessories were doing, and currently not caring. Reno was inching towards her, circling her, trying to figure out secrets long forgotten. “Like you’re going to eat me.”

“You gonna let me?” he deadpanned. Amazing that she’d figured it out all on her own, what he was after, before even he had a chance to. He was a creature of habit though, pretty predictable. Eat, sleep, work, fuck, play. It wasn’t hard to tell what he was thinking, and for Elena, it was especially not hard; he’d always been an open book to her. This time, however, she didn’t even have to turn the pages. She felt a bit unnerved by the extrasensory intuition she suddenly possessed, but she hardly had time to stand in front of him and dwell on it.

He was going to kiss her. He knew it, she knew it, and she wasn’t about to let it happen. She didn’t have time to play these games, and she felt it a bit insulting that he would only feel this way about her now that she had something unnatural hanging from her back. Plus the thought of kissing him repulsed her, so when their mouths finally met, she was more than prepared to slap him silly.

But she held off.

He tasted different.

There was the lingering taste of stale alcohol, which made her eyebrows furrow, but something else there, beneath that. Something…sweet. She was surprised; there wasn’t a sweet bone in that Turk’s body that wasn’t somehow tainted by something malicious. She delved further into his mouth, eager to discover a name for it. It wasn’t sugar, or honey, but an emotion, something constant, like the rhythm of a pulse. She moved closer, deeper, practically swallowing him as she desperately sought to name it. Nothing dirty, like envy, strife, or lust, but something that had been there since childhood. It had a likeness to innocence, walked a similar line with inexperience, and possessed the same artless form as honesty. But it wasn’t as solid as any of those, putting her on the edge of frustration.

She let him up for air, allowing him to catch the breath she’d never lost; however, she did feel breathless, though her heart rate had never increased. She wasn’t interested in the sexual aspect of it – kissing him was hardly arousing – but it was making her very curious. She allowed him to lift her up and place her against the wall, wrapped her legs around his waist for leverage and her arms around his neck to keep from falling. He was much more careful, this time, but it didn’t stop her from her explorations, or seeking to find the answers to her unasked questions.

She felt as if she were flailing about awkwardly in water and couldn’t swim, trying desperately to keep herself afloat. It was there, but obviously not in his kiss, but if she touched him…

Her fingers slid down his shoulders slowly, pausing over his heart. He was excited, warmer than she thought he’d be, and for that moment, she dared to think that Reno could dream, was human underneath it all, but disregarded it all with a flick of her tongue and a tug on his ponytail. Damn redhead.

Her fingers traveled up his shirt, flirting with skin and bones, exciting nerves and teasing feelings to life. She loved touch. She’d always been partial to affection when the others had all but withdrawn from it. It could have been contributed to the lack of it, increasing over the years, and a hostile (complete understatement) work environment; however, she wouldn’t brush it off so easily. She’d always felt that touch was the best way to communicate between beings, that she could understand people (or they her) better if she were to lay her hands on them for just a moment. It was strange to think that, even stranger to believe it, but to know it was probably grounds for a trip to the company’s psychiatric ward. That would put her in the category of empathic, or a tactile junkie, which Rufus would more than likely mistake for her thinking she was psychic, and she’d have more drugs in her than she could imagine within the hour. She would keep it secret, then, the sixth sense she suddenly possessed, the one that allowed her to read Reno like a scroll just by dipping her fingers in his pants to skirt the edge of his waist.

Genuine.

That’s what he was. Somewhere between his hipbone and thigh she discovered it. Reno hid nothing, and hid behind nothing. His blood ran far redder than theirs, his ties much deeper than anyone could ever imagine. He played games, and tricks, but just for show, a barrier to protect what was all but gone in the rest of them. And if she went deeper, took it further, got him into bed, she knew she could expose what he’d taken care to lock away, tear apart his gates and lay him bare. But just as that thought entered her mind, she found that she’d rather like to try her ‘perception’ on someone else. Rude, Tseng, Rufus. If she could get them underneath her, she’d have them figured out in all of thirty seconds.

She broke the kiss, watching him pant, shudder and twitch underneath her embrace, like coming down off of a high. His viridian eyes were glazed, his heartbeat racing, arousal pending – and there she was, without any side effects to their warm up. He didn’t do anything for her. Not that she thought he could. And she was pretty sure he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. She didn’t want him anyway. He was too easy a present to unwrap. She wanted something difficult, something littered with chains, spikes and life-threatening traps.

She wanted Pandora’s box.

She wanted that person with secrets so dark it would take years to unravel them all. She wanted emotions tangled like lights on a Christmas tree: beautiful, burning bright and completely dangerous once a live wire was exposed. She wanted guardians and locked doors, fights and lost causes, pasts entrenched in blood, skeletons in the closet, ghosts in the corridor, demons around every corner…

Vincent.

It went off like a light bulb in her head. If it worked with Reno, then it would work with him. It might suffocate her, or kill her in a thousand other different ways, but that was the present she wanted to unwrap. No doubt tugging on the end of that bow would unleash a hell she couldn’t imagine, but that’s what gave her the thrill that crawled up her spine. At the very least, he could keep her interested; Reno was boring her. Not that she would tell him that, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what women saw in him. Yes, he was genuine, and very cute, but he was also kind of pathetic, and hardly ever clean. That being said, her attention shifted completely; she pushed herself off of the wall, watching him hit the floor while she landed rather gracefully on her feet.

“Buffet’s closed,” she smirked, wings folding down in finality.

He rolled his eyes, picking himself up with the elegance of one who’s fallen more than enough times. “Just when we were starting to get along…What made you change your mind beautiful?”

“Why ruin a good thing?” She turned to open the door to her apartment, exiting in a trail of light and feathers; a few seconds later, he heard the elevator door close, officially ending his visit.

Paper Hearts, Iron Souls

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 22:35:59 GMT

This is absolutely the worst thing I’ve ever written. Ever.

Title: Paper Hearts, Iron Souls
Fandom: FFVII (AU)
Characters/Pairings included: Elena, Vincent (Chaos), Reno, Rude
Rating: M
Warnings: language, violence
Summary: Even the most fragile of beings have the strength needed to contend with the demons in their lives. Especially if it’s not your demons you’re dealing with, but the demons of someone you happen to really care for.
Note: Read at your own risk. Extremely bizarre. May cause brain damage. For ofthespider. We really should come up with a little index for these things. I’m supposing it follows Accidents Waiting, which everyone should read. Snarky!Tseng is amusing to no end.

Mad thanks to dunmeri for helping me revive this fic.

Exhausting.

One word, three syllables, encompassing her entire day. That’s what it’d been. Nothing short of exhausting. She pulled out the keys to Vincent’s apartment (which she had stolen and made copies of while he wasn’t looking), slipped inside, and closed the door behind her. The first thing that came off was her shoes – wonderful 4½ inch stilettos courtesy of the redhead and his plot to lure out their target – and then her coat. She locked the door behind her, heaving a sigh of relief while she left her belongings in a pile in front of the entrance. He’d probably get annoyed at her just moving in and taking over his shit, leaving her stuff lying everywhere but she seriously did not need to be alone right now. She was shaking, and half naked, cold and sore: the perfect recipe for a damsel in distress. And she needed a shower – an additional ingredient.

She suspected he’d be about doing paperwork but no such luck. In fact, he didn’t seem to be about at all. She blinked, scanning the area while she headed for his linen closet (assuming he had one). “Vincent?” she called, in no direction in particular. “You won’t believe the day I had. Reno is such a horrible dancer…and an even bigger asshole than I remember.” By now she realized she really was talking to herself, so she retrieved a towel and made her way into his bathroom. It was unusually clean (as usual), causing her to quirk a very delicate eyebrow at its appearance. “…Freak.” That was all she could say; his bathroom was much cleaner than hers, and she was a woman. He seemed a little anal about it too – this here, that there, three related items all in a row. “I always attract weirdos.” But it didn’t matter. At least it wasn’t unbearably disgusting, like a certain Turk who’s name would not be mentioned. She rolled her eyes, turned on the shower, and got undressed.

The dress peeled off of her body like another layer of skin, making her positively relieved that she’d come out of something that binding. It was difficult to breathe when one’s breasts were pushed up beyond their natural limit, and sitting out like to great big beach balls ready to be slapped. Reno said it was flattering and stunning, but Elena felt like a pencil that’d been wrapped too tight in duct tape. The entire notion of clothes that tight was just silly; although she had the body for it, she’d much rather wear her much-too-big trousers, business shirts, blazers and occasional ties. Comfort was of much more value to her than style, and anyway, no one she knew was worth dressing up over. Not even Vincent.

The shower seemed to wash away all of her cares. She lingered for a few moments between washing her hair and body, allowing the water to drench her in its magic. The way it padded over her shoulders and back was like having little fingers tapping and rolling all over and down her skin. A relieved moan escaped her lips. She really had to stop playing so rough all the time. The boys could get away with it - scars were sexy on them - but those same glorious badges made her looked like an abused child. She leaned her head to the side, giving permission for the liquid to touch her neck, caressing its way down her chest and ribs, curling along her hips, winding down her thighs and legs to the ceramic floor below. For a moment, she could almost believe everything was right with the world.

Content with the knowledge that she was squeaky clean from head to toe, she turned off the shower and climbed out of his tub. The towel was waiting for her obediently on the back of the toilet; she picked it up, wrapped it around herself securely and trudged over to his cabinet. Her intent was to find something to clean the makeup off of her face. She doubted he had facial care products or something like moisturizer, as he had no need for them, but she hated the way her skin itched when she left it on for too long. It felt sort of grimy, slightly oily, like over processed meat; she could even see her pores start to clog. She wanted to scratch, but didn’t want to risk rubbing it in.

She sighed, standing up in defeat. He just had soap, but she could go next door to see if Reno had anything, although she seriously doubted he did. Reno was as careless with hygiene as he was with anything else outside of his job; he’d go weeks without cleaning his uniform and the thought of searching his bathroom for anything made her stomach turn. She thought twice about it. Rude was just upstairs – or rather, a few floors up. She could put her clothes back on and ask him for something.

A glimpse of scarlet shadow in the mirror above the sink caught her attention. She turned her head, blinking, trying to ignore the way the mascara pulled at her eyelashes with such a simple feat. Women did inhumane things to themselves for the sake of beauty; but the annoyance slid away just as she peeked out around the corner of the doorway, into his bedroom. “Vincent?”

No one there.

She sighed, shook her head, and then retreated back into the bathroom. She was just seeing things. Probably an eyelash in her eye or something. It only made her more determined to remove the paint on her face, so she unwrapped a fresh bar of soap and set out to do just that.

A few minutes of scrubbing and rinsing found her face much clearer than earlier. The remnants of her eyeliner and mascara were smeared on the edge of her towel when she wiped away what remained of the sudsy treatment. There. That was much better. Now then, time to find something to wear, and something to eat.

Her eyes widened at the flicker of red she caught in the mirror in her peripheral vision. There it was again.

Elena tensed, knowing full well that Vincent was not one for practical jokes. It could, however, be Reno, trying to steal something else out of her lover’s apartment. She snorted, going to the edge of the doorway and peering around the corner, planning to catch him red handed. But there was no one there.

She stepped out into the open, taking in the room carefully. Nothing was out of place, and nothing seemed amiss. Maybe she was just tired, but Elena’s occupation didn’t allow for second guessing. She had to thoroughly search the house before she could be sure there was nothing in there. She stalked over to his closet and dropped her towel to the floor, pulled out one of his shirts and buttoned it up partway. This one seemed a lot smaller than the others – still a little too big but fitted around the chest and hips. She took a moment to glance down at the cuffs on the sleeves. Bits of – materia? – met her gaze, etched with that dead language that only that dead race could understand. She lost the want to search the apartment, just for a second, absorbed in what she was wearing. It was a pretty white, and smelled faintly of flowers…Another woman’s shirt? It certainly wasn’t hers. “…Weird…”

The crash in the kitchen brought her back to reality.

She turned her head, narrowed her gaze, surpassing annoyed. There was another crash, forcing her to crouch down on the floor of his closet for a moment to retrieve a spare handgun. It had a very balanced weight, and she’d no doubt it was as deadly as she suspected; Vincent was an expert marksman and he was very serious about his job, so of course he needed serious weaponry for it. She checked to see if it was loaded, then crept, ever so slowly, around the corner of his doorway and into the kitchen.

Only to have her heart leap into her throat.

It stayed there, beating, as she watched a creature from her darkest nightmares rummage through cabinets and drawers. It looked like the thing she’d envisioned when she was younger: some hybrid cross of a demon and the children’s version of a boogeyman. Granted, her imagination had always been nothing short of black: when she was six she’d sat around her fireplace with a poker waiting for Santa Clause to come down her chimney so she could stab him. She thought he’d steal her cookies – or at least, that’s what her parents had told her. But she’d swear the creature in front of her had been haunting her nightmares for quite a while. Ghosts, apparitions, demons and the like tended to be completely faceless until one came across it physically. Then a finger could be placed on it: there! That’s what it looks like. And then the victim runs away screaming into the night, knowing that his nightmare was very much real. However, Elena wasn’t put together quite like everyone else.

She just stood there. Staring at him.

His wings were lovely: scarlet, etched in black, carved from the darkest of powers and bloodstained memories. Oh he was a beauty. The claws, the coloring, the eyes. Someone had very black intentions and the blackest of hearts to create something so intimately disturbing. She raised her gun quietly, eyes and weapon trained at the base of his spine. In a few seconds, it would all be over.

Suddenly he stopped shuffling, dropping the drawer he held in his hand, and turned on her. She saw him clearly then for all he was worth: monstrous, seething hatred and writhing, heated destruction, poured into an iron cast and molded into flesh and blood. His eyes sang with hunting, stalking and merciless death; this was not something she could reason with. His only purpose was to kill; the way he flexed his claws just before he rushed her said he would enjoy every second of it.

The brightly colored contents of the drawer bounced about and rolled out onto the kitchen floor, ricocheting off of paper thin walls and old furniture, colliding with each other like marbles let loose on the playing field. He’d been going through the materia drawer, Elena noticed, though this observation hardly slowed her actions. She fired twice – one pierced his shoulder, the other whizzed past his ear, puncturing the wall behind him as easily as if it were human flesh – then whipped herself around the corner of the doorway just to avoid the wicked slash of his claws. Her shoulder was laid bare, the cloth covering it floating to the floor in tatters. She glanced at it, noticing the red starting to seep through; but the wounds were so fine, she didn’t even know she’d been touched. He was clearly more dangerous than she anticipated, which sent her mind and heart racing. If he was here, and Vincent wasn’t, then…

The demon spread his wings fully, coming to a sudden halt, his claws digging into the floor for traction. She dipped into the kitchen, knowing full well that she could not take him out with just bullets. He was still moving around normally after a shot to the shoulder, and this gun was powerful; it took everything in her to keep standing after she fired it. Well, at least Vincent wasn’t a pussy; it took serious strength to handle a weapon like that. Her eyes searched over the materia, taking in their uses one by one. A summoning materia caught her eye; she snatched it up and placed it into a slot on the side, adjoining it to a nearly mastered enemy skill and a random green materia. She had one more slot open, but hadn’t time to choose another one, for it came back at her with a vengeance, baring wicked fangs, snarling unintelligibly.

Elena aimed lower this time, somewhere surely paralyzing – his stomach – but he flapped once, drawing himself up in midair, and caught the bullet in his foot. The howl was enough to make her move; she paused for a fraction of a second to scoop up two more materia, neither of which she’d seen, and placed one of them into the available slot. She ducked under the monster’s hovering frame, avoiding a raucous swipe of his claws. She almost stumbled, but held her footing, reassured by her self-confidence and training, and willed herself into the living room, towards the door. The locks unfastened before she reached them; her eyes widened only slightly as she kept up her pace, hoping that he was on the other end of that swinging door…

But it wasn’t.

“Reno!” she hissed, narrowing her alert brown eyes. She was disappointed, but still determined to find out what happened to Vincent. There was no evidence the demon had hurt him, but then, there was no evidence as to how he’d gotten into his apartment either. The locks weren’t broken; neither were the windows or the doors. Odd…

“I heard gunshots,” he announced, glancing around the apartment tentatively. “Did he piss you off or something?”

“No!” She didn’t even pause in her exit, just raced right out past him, her hand latching onto his wrist and pulling him along with her. “We have to go!” she warned. “Now!”

“What the hell is going on Elena?” he questioned, viridian eyes wide with shock and curiosity. She ignored the question completely, dragged him down the emergency steps, down to the next floor, then to the elevator where she rapidly pressed the ‘up’ button. Reno decided he’d had enough of being kept in the dark. “Elena.”

“There’s a demon in Vincent’s apartment,” she explained, eyes wild as she glanced from one end of the floor to the other, anticipating the inevitable. “It tried to kill me.”

“Because demons are such cuddly creatures to begin with.”

“Reno, I am serious!” she snarled, grabbing his full attention. “I came home and Vincent wasn’t there, but that thing was. No sign of forced entry either; everything was pretty much in place.” Excluding the kitchen, of course, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You sound panicked,” he noted calmly, despite the situation they were in.

“I am panicking!” she almost screamed at him. “Vincent never leaves his apartment; you know that! That thing could have killed him! It nearly killed me! And I have absolutely no idea where he is!”

“So…this is about Vincent,” he interpreted placing fingers thoughtfully on his chin. “Not about you possibly dying. Him missing.”

The door at the end of the hall suddenly dented in forcefully, alerting her to their hunter. “Damn it all Red, I don’t have time for your fucking acts! Are you going to help me or what?!”

Reno sighed, unaware of the peeling away of metal as the creature burst through the door, and rushed towards them. “Of course, but…”

“Then move!” Elena ordered, pushing him to the other end of the corridor. It leapt, but she dove into the elevator, banging against the corner from the force of her own movement. He lunged after her, but Elena ducked away from him, slamming her hand against the “penthouse” and “close” buttons as she jumped back out into the corridor. He tried to follow her, but Aqualung stopped him from going any further than just before the closing doors. Roaring with annoyance, he banged against the gates of his prison as he journeyed up towards his destination.

Elena turned to Reno, brown eyes anxious. “Now, while he’s distracted! Go get your rod, and Rude, and meet me out by the pool! Hurry!”

She didn’t wait to see if he was following her orders. She bolted straight for the door Chaos broke through, slamming her shoulder into the remains, forcefully moving them out of the way. She didn’t know if he would stay inside of the elevator for the entire ride, but she did know that she didn’t have much time. She had to come up with a workable plan. And she had to find out where Vincent went. She raced down the stairs as fast as she could, towards the lobby. In her mind, she had about ten minutes to do it. But if she and Reno and Rude played their cards right…

The security guard gave her the oddest look as she ran past him, but he’d known her for a while; Elena always did odd things. It was nothing new. So he settled back into his chair and continued his crossword puzzle, oblivious to the firearm she carried in her right hand.

Good. There was nobody around the pool. Elena paused, checking her ammo and the materia she’d gotten out of his kitchen. Perfect. She had five bullets left, a level three Contain materia and an added support. She switched the added support with the enemy skill, adjoining it to the Contain materia, checked the bullets once again, then surveyed the area.

There was nothing but open space, lined with concrete, centered around the pool and skirted by an iron gate. There was no cover here and nothing to use for weapons. They were all out in the open, which was the best and worst she could hope for. If she needed to hide she couldn’t; but at the same time, neither could he. However, there was plenty of room for her to run and dodge, and the water in the pool could provide some type of protection should the need arise. She could make do. Her mind kept racing, replaying the events as they’d played out so far. Still no sign of the others…

A window broke about fifteen stories up. Glass rained down on the side of the pool, scattering like rigid raindrops as they landed. She shielded her eyes for a second, throwing her head to the side to avoid any damage that may have resulted from its connection. A few seconds went by before she was sure it was clear, giving Reno just enough time to join her.

“Elena!” He ran up to her, her purse in one hand, his rod in the other. He looked absolutely silly, but it was the same bag she’d used on their mission earlier that morning, and it was still loaded with unused weaponry. He wasn’t a total fool – only pretended for the sake of argument. “Hey! Shit, that thing is disgusting! Have you seen it?!”

“Where’s Rude?!” she questioned, snatching the bag away from him and digging around in it haphazardly.

“It burst out of the elevator door just as Rude was trying to get into his place,” he noted, watching her search her belongings anxiously. “He tried to go straight for him, but I distracted him.”

Finding what she needed, Elena dropped her bag on the ground, and turned to him, brown eyes golden with determination. Now she was ready for him. “Materia check.”

“Just cure and bolt.”

“Contain, weapons support, enemy skill, summon.”

Reno nodded. They could do enough damage with that. “So what’s the plan?”

Her response was the click of the safety as she removed it off of her gun, and the glint of the sun reflecting off of the metal of both her firearms. “He’s not bulletproof.”

He couldn’t help but frown at that. “Yeah, but…”

The roar of an angry beast rang in their ears, forcing their attention upward. It was falling at an alarming speed, and Rude was riding it, feet in its abdomen and hands wrapped around its throat. The creature couldn’t spread his wings to get lift; he was facing the wrong direction, and the added weight coupled with the laws of gravity worked completely against him. So he plummeted like a brick, fifteen stories, crashing into the pavement below like a carelessly discarded doll. Rude used the impact to rebound himself off of its body, landing solidly on his feet. He had a few scratch marks, and a trail of blood from his forehead to his nose, but other than that, he was fine. He made the transition towards them smoothly, adjusting his fighting gloves like this was an everyday occurrence.

“Showoff,” Reno muttered, bringing a smirk to his partner’s lips.

“What’s going on,” Rude questioned, his brown eyes boring into Elena’s own.

Elena nodded towards it, watching it try to rise and shake off the impact. “It was in Vincent’s apartment. I don’t know how it got in there but it tried to kill me.”

“Was Vincent home?”

She shook her head, eyes still glued to their enemy. “No.”

Rude set his jaw, letting Elena read her mirrored thoughts through his eyes. For a moment she felt that fragility, the kind she felt only when she had been screwed over. Then it was gone, replaced by the light the red materia gave off as it came to life on Vincent’s borrowed gun. The battlefield was no place for emotions, however justified they may have been.

The air grew thick with magic, the protective and dazzling nature of it swirling about her like a wind without a force to guide it. A shadow fell over the demon, growing wider by the second. It looked up, seeing the sun falling towards it…And was smashed back into the pavement by the powerful weight and smothering feathers of the fat chocobo.

The impact made the ground ripple like a small earthquake rupturing underneath their feet. Elena swore, stumbling forward, but the other two were completely unaffected by it.

“…Nice, Elena,” Reno chuckled, tapping his rod on his shoulder.

“Very poetic,” Rude agreed, trying to hide his smile.

Elena, however, was not amused, by the spell or the fact that she wasn’t as graceful as the two of them. However, she chose to comment on the former, leaving the latter for another day. “What the hell was that?!”

“Looks like Choco/Mog materia,” the redhead observed smoothly. “Maybe you’ve got something else cute in there too. Like Chocobo Lure.”

“Or an All,” Rude put in, unable to resist teasing her just a bit.

“Blow me,” she muttered, ignoring the color rising to her cheeks. “It worked didn’t it?”

It did, somewhat. It slowed him down if nothing else; it was taking him a very long time to get up off of the ground. He was on all fours, shaking the cement from his wings, growling and trying to gather his bearings. Which wasn’t good. The Turks advanced on him slowly, knowing that the time he was dazed would be limited, and they should take full advantage of it.

Elena glanced at the pool, its surface still troubled from the double impact, waves licking at the walls as if trying to break free of its prison. That’s when she got the idea for it. “Rude, get him in the pool. Reno, cast – “

“Way ahead of you,” he assured her, turning his rod all the way up as he moved to shadow his partner.

“Let’s not get cocky,” Rude warned, cracking his knuckles and stepping in front of her. “We still don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Reno nodded, giving Elena the signal to stay back. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled in mild agitation, but now was not the time to argue with him. She’d pull his ear and lecture him later, after this was over.

Rude advanced with a swiftness underappreciated by most, hands gripping the edge of one of its wings tightly. The creature seemed to take this as an immediate wake-up call, and threw his wings out in agitation, forcing Rude to stumble backwards; however, his hold remained firm on his wing. It got agitated at that, folded it in swiftly and turned around, lunging angrily at its component, who had bested him once before. It would not happen again.

An electrical surge up his spine paralyzed him for all of three seconds, just long enough for Rude to punch him dead in his face. His head snapped back; his brain felt jarred, his ears rang fiercely with the force of the impact. Rude shook out his fist, knowing he’d cracked at least three bones with that move, but picked Chaos up with the ease of a child with a toy, and flung him face-first into the pool. The splash was sickening, like hearing dead weight drop into the toilet.

Reno smirked, casting his third level bolt spell, watching electrical currents run freely through the turbulent waters. The creature flailed about awkwardly, roaring loudly in pain and anguish. It was loud enough to wake the dead; Elena felt her ears splitting at the sound of it. Something a bit more than that would have been far more damaging, but he was already weak, so it wouldn’t take much to bring him down. His fighting slowed. The currents continued, dancing through the water to the haphazard rhythm it was given, but soon the waves eased, lapping up over his subsiding body until the fight was over. Now just a mound of dark flesh, he sank like a rock, disappearing under the after-effects of the battle.

Reno was the first to chuckle, shaking his head and resting his rod on his shoulder. “Rufus is gonna love this,” he couldn’t help noting, looking up at Rude. “And security around this place is gonna be extra tight from now on.”

“Or he’ll just get the building fixed and do nothing about it,” Rude put in, relieved when Reno handed him an elixir he’d pocketed earlier in the day.

“Or that…”

On the other side of the pool, Elena sighed in frustration. “Vincent isn’t picking up his phone,” she called to the others. She was worried. They could see it in her eyes. She bit down on her lip. She suspected something may have happened to him, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. It might make it true.

“Relax, rookie,” Reno chuckled, causing Rude to shake his head. “He’s probably staying late at work or something.”

“No, he’s not.” They didn’t understand, but she did. He was predictable. Went to work, came home. Didn’t run errands. If he were sent out, he finished his job within the time allotted – most times before – and then went home. He didn’t go out in public. He didn’t deviate from anything. If he had extra work, he took it home with him. But he was always there when she came in. Always. Which meant something happened to him...

She glared at the water, tears rising in her eyes. That thing.

It didn’t make any sense when she thought about it; there were no signs of forced entry and no remains of a body, but she knew, knew in the back of her mind that it had something to do with his disappearance. She could feel it in her gut. She knew her lover well enough. More importantly she knew that when things didn’t add up, something was wrong. And right now, the only thing that didn’t fit into the equation was that thing at the bottom of the pool.

Sorrow drowned her senses, flooding her eyes and nose. Her heart throbbed, ached in her chest, like that fated day she’d seen the news on Lenne’s kidnapping. That’s when she found out her heart could break. Now it felt like it was breaking again.

Reno blinked at her, observing her wiping her eyes with morbid curiosity. “…Elena, what -- ”

His question was interrupted prematurely; a geyser exploded in the center of the pool, vomiting the demon out like waste. It roared angrily, shooting straight up into the sky, then suddenly plunged at a dangerous speed, angled straight for her.

How many times had she been hurt by the demons in her life? The skeletons in her closet that came to life and sought to take over? Her unreciprocated love for Tseng, her hatred of herself, her inability to allow herself time to properly heal from any emotional trauma, and now her feelings for Vincent, all undermined by this creature charging towards her: the embodiment of all that was primordial, without emotion, without guilt or fear. She knew she shouldn’t have let her hurt feelings get the best of her, that it only made her more vulnerable but now it didn’t matter. The point was it had happened, that she’d crossed the professional divide between coworkers. Perhaps this would be easier if she didn’t felt like she somehow deserved to be punished for the entire affair. It was one long chain of events that finally ended in disaster. For her it was the only possible way it could end.

He was closer now, close enough for her to smell his charred flesh, to see the hatred boiling in his yellow eyes. His breath was like death, and having him looming over her was like the coming apocalypse. But it didn’t stop her in the least. One bullet. That’s all it would take. She took aim carefully, her fingers tightening around the trigger, and, when he was only a mere few inches in front of her, fired.

Twice.

One struck directly in the heart, the other next to it. His feet hit the pavement but he didn’t feel a thing; the added effect materia had coated one of the bullets in its magic, freezing him upon impact. For a moment he was a lifeless statue, solid and bleeding, a river of life flowing from his chest. Then the spell shattered, leaving only flakes of magic – and the object of her affection, slumped over lifelessly at her feet.

The tears couldn’t fall fast enough.

She sank to her knees, her chest constricting against her ribs, hyperventilating. This was not happening. This wasn’t her nightmare, and he wasn’t her demon. He was supposed to protect her, steer her through this. He was not a monster. He was the thing that comforted her the most, the thing that kept her safe and warm and swept away the excess clutter, the things that didn’t matter; her angel, her saint, her lover…

“…Elena…”

He was staring at her, his eyes red, rimmed with uneasiness and fear. Not of her; for her. And something else. Something else skirted around his pupils, something that failed to stay there long enough for her to place it. Not that it would have mattered if she did; gratefulness was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment.

She slapped him.

It was painful, not because of the force behind it, but because of the emotion behind it; she’d been wounded more than physically by this encounter. “Bastard!”

“Elena, I –“

“Why did you hide this from me??” she demanded, raising a gun to point at his temple at his temple. “I don’t delve into your background because I want you to have your space, but you could have told me Vincent!”

“I was trying to protect you.” As lame as it sounded, it was the truth. Most of it. Part of him was afraid that if he told her, she wouldn’t want him anymore. And part of him hoped that it wouldn’t happen so long as he could have her. But nothing ever worked out the way he wanted it to.

“Bullshit!” she hissed angrily. “I want a reason damn it! Answer me or I’ll blow your brains out.”

She meant it too. Elena’s temper was nothing short of fearful, and Vincent had never had enough exposure to deal with it. He swallowed, looking her straight in the eye. He’d never wanted this. Any of this. He’d never meant to hurt her. His eyes glanced to her shoulder, which had been torn to shreds by Chaos’ claws, but she was too busy hyperventilating and threatening his life to care. She probably didn’t even feel it. God, how could he be so stupid…

“You’re hurt,” he noted calmly, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

“No thanks to you!” she shot back. “I refuse to be treated like this! Least of all by you! You kept me in the dark, you made me feel helpless, even when I asked you not to! Even when I asked you…not to do me like they did…” Her voice broke, ending in a defeated sob. There was no getting around it. She could not be mended. She would never heal.

He reached for her, pulled her close to him, took his gun from her and laid it gently on the pavement. His eyes shut tight while he embraced her, arms wrapped securely around her trembling frame. She just let it all out, every tear she wouldn’t cry, every tear she couldn’t, from every memory she had all the way up until now. “You could have trusted me,” she muttered heartlessly between sobs. “You should have trusted me.”

“I know,” he whispered, running his fingers through her hair and gently kissing her skin.

“Then why didn’t you? Why wasn’t I good enough?”

“You are,” he reassured her, rubbing her back to smooth away her racking sobs. She’d fought for him when no one else had. And even now, she wasn’t angry that it had taken over him, went awry and tried to take her life. She was upset because he didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Because he’d treated her no different than Tseng had.

He cringed at the thought. He hadn’t meant to. He knew that feeling, to be treated like everyone else, or less than everyone else just because of what you were. He never should have…

“…But you didn’t tell me…”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Elena seemed to accept that – or at least gave up on trying to convince herself that he’d hurt her on purpose. She clutched his shirt and relaxed into him, crying until it quieted down to a soft whisper. He held onto her gratefully, assuring her with stray kisses here and there, and fond whispers in her ear.

Reno stood by idly, watching with more or less mild interest. Rude was a little closer, and a little more tense, having his own reasons. This was exactly why he didn’t want them involved with each other; he knew there was something wrong with him. Now there was evidence that he could kill her at any given moment, including in her sleep. And still she wanted him, held onto him like he was her lifeline, and he to her. It was, to put it fondly, wretched. And enough, he reasoned, to make him think twice about other things.

“What are we gonna do about the building,” he asked, breaking in on their moment.

“I’ll handle it,” Elena sighed, breaking away from Vincent for a moment to turn and look at them. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes and nose red, her face flushed pale. Her appearance tugged on his heartstrings; for a fleeting moment he wanted to hit Vincent in the face just for even looking at her like that. But he would address it later. He pushed it into the back of his mind, filing it very high on his agenda.

“Don’t tell Tseng anything,” she warned, her voice suddenly stern. “Neither of you. Or Rufus.”

Reno grinned, his gaze darting to Vincent. He loved secrets. They were nice foundations for blackmail. “So you’ve got a story I’m guessing?”

Elena ran her fingers through her hair slowly, explaining the story she’d fabricated off the top of her head. Together they meshed it out, made it foolproof, and agreed to stick to it, no matter what. To everyone else, a Turk’s word was worthless, but to each other, it was as good as the blood running through their veins. They would never betray each other.

Vincent felt a little strange as she took his hand and guided him up the steps of their apartment building. She’d fought for him. She’d put herself on the line for him repeatedly, would even lie for him and endanger her job just to keep him safe. He felt guilt pierce his conscious, awakening it with sharp tingling, forcing him to say something. “…Elena.” He stopped her on their ascent, pressing her against the wall, capturing her attention. “You know, you shouldn’t…”

“I know,” she nodded, reading his thoughts in his gaze. “But I want to.”

“Why.”

She smiled coyly, slipping out from underneath him and continuing up the steps. “I dunno Valentine,” she chimed teasingly. “I guess girlfriends just do strange things sometimes."

As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

It Can Wait

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 19:28:55 GMT

Title: It Can Wait
Fandom: FFVII (AU)
Characters/Pairings included: Elena/Vincent
Word Count: 545
Rating: K+
Warnings: slight sensuality
Summary: Some things are more important than work.
Note: For ofthespider. I don't know exactly where it fits into our storyline, but it does.

His television was off. The curtains were drawn. She wasn’t doing anything. She was just sitting there staring off into space while he did paperwork.

The mountain of papers was slowly making its way down to where it could be managed. She’d offered to help but he’d told her no; he knew why Tseng had given him all that paperwork. She knew why he’d gotten the paperwork, and she’d offered to punch their leader dead in his eye for assigning it to him, but Vincent talked her out of that too. Though he didn’t know why. Hitting Tseng in his eye sounded pretty good right now, as most of his paperwork was a gigantic waste of time.

“Hey.”

He acknowledged her without looking up from his scribbling. His hand ached from holding the pen for way too long, so some of the annoyance must have leaked into his voice. “What.”

She ignored it. “Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Mm.” He heard her get up and leave; a few seconds later various pots and pans danced their way across his kitchen counters. He sighed and concentrated on double checking the form he’d just filled out. The problem with pretending to be legitimate was making it look like you really were, and Vincent had been stuck with filling out all of the paperwork that went along with following the procedures. If so much as a ‘t’ wasn’t crossed, or an ‘i’ wasn’t dotted, Tseng would explode. Which was exactly what he didn’t want.

A short time later she rejoined him, settling into the couch like she’d been before. More silence ensued, though with her at least it wasn’t strained and uncomfortable. He could appreciate that.

“Vincent.” Her voice was soft, almost demure; if he weren’t so consumed by his world of black and white he’d have turned around to see the look on her face so that he could read her thoughts.

“Yes, Elena.”

“Do you dream about me?”

The edges of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, tempting him to give in. What a question; but by now he was used to her seemingly random personality. If she didn’t say anything odd at least once every hour, he’d think there was something wrong with her. “Not while I’m awake.”

It seemed almost instantaneous; he didn’t hear her get up or come towards him, but he felt her arms wrap solidly around him, her lips pressing gently at the back of his ear. “I can change that,” she whispered, brushing her nose through his silken ebony hair. “If you come to bed.”

He turned his head just a little, opened his mouth to tell her that he had to finish his work, but her lips covered his before he had a chance to. Her tongue was warm, pleading, running along the roof of his mouth, exciting the tiny nerves there; she paused only a little just to suckle on his bottom lip before departing completely. A little fire danced in her docile eyes, fueled with the promise of fulfilling her statement if he’d only separate himself from his job for just a little while.

He placed the pen down on his stack of unfinished documents, stood up, and led her into the bedroom. Paperwork could wait.

Caution & The Wind

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 22:26:48 GMT

Title: Caution & the Wind
Fandom: FFVII (AU)
Characters/Pairings included: Elena, Rude
Rating: T
Warnings: blood, language, violence
Summary: It was only hopeless because she’d given up hope.
Note: For ofthespider.

Her eyes ached.

Her entire body ached, into crevices she didn’t even know existed until she felt them groan under the pressure of her trying to move about. Her joints protested loudly, her bones creaked, her flesh tensed and cried. She opened one sparkling brown eye, an unusually lively shade of chocolate rimmed with black, and none-so-subtly reached to turn off the alarm. Her arm was bruised the usual colors: dark, royal purples, ink blacks, and cerulean to midnight blues. There was a bit of red in there too, but that was probably dried blood or bleeding under the skin – nothing that wouldn’t heal with the passing of time. She’d had worse. She pulled herself into a sitting position, hissing at the unnecessary strain put on her overworked muscles. She just couldn’t remember when.

Her fingers padded along the back of her neck carefully, trying to work out the knots near the base of her spine. She knew when she’d thrown that lamp at Rude he wasn’t going to let her get away with it, yet it didn’t stop her from doing it. No, it only encouraged her, and the lamp was first of many soon-to-be-broken objects that had been launched in his direction. Hell hath no fury, after all. She rolled her neck to the side, listening to bones crack, pop and adjust into their original places. “Lovely,” she muttered, her tongue thicker in her mouth than she remembered. Probably had a busted lip too, on top of everything else.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she pushed herself off the soft surface, landing with anticipation on the wooden floor. Now she felt everything; the cold surged through her, alerting her to every trouble spot she possessed. She turned in the direction of her bathroom, or rather the direction her bathroom would normally be in. Instead she came face to face with a rather spacious closet. She blinked swollen eyelids. This was not her place.

Sinking back into the bed, she went over that morning’s events in her mind. The alarm sounded at the right time. She’d turned it off, got up, got out of bed, and turned to go to the bathroom, only to find a closet there. She looked over skeptically, eyes questioning. Yep. Still there.

She looked around. The room itself wasn’t alarming; she’d been here before, dozens of times. The question on her mind was how she had gotten there. Yesterday she’d left in a huff, bruised, broken and bleeding. She’d gone back to her apartment, drank one too many, crashed on her couch…and woke up here. In Rude’s bedroom, of all places. She looked down at herself to see if she were still clothed, then gave a small sigh of relief. Thank God for small favors.

The door to the bedroom opened and closed, allowing her and the owner to meet privately, face to face, for the first time since yesterday. She’d been an uncontrollable type of angry, and they’d gotten into a wicked spar, one Elena was surprised she survived. Rude was pretty merciless with her, but judging from the depth of the scratch marks on his face and his swollen eye, she’d given him something to remember. She was sure she looked far worse, having seen what little bits of her body that were exposed, but she didn’t dare try to locate a mirror. It wouldn’t help anything.

He sat on the bed, and stared at her, gaze and voice equally even. “Hey.”

He gave nothing away, yet Elena knew he wanted to talk. Rude would never initiate conversation unless he had something important to say, which meant that she was in for it. Inwardly she sighed. Here it comes… “Hey.”

“I got you off your couch last night,” he informed her. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Well, at least she knew how she got there. “And you slept on the couch I’m guessing.”

“Yeah.” She needed space, after all.

He produced a first aid kit from nowhere, opened it and began shuffling through the contents. She thought he’d need a bit of it himself, but when he pulled out the alcohol pad, her eyes snapped to attention. She hated those things, with a fiery passion. He reached for her but she shrank away, hissing like a wounded cat, all fear and warning. Rude just moved aside the collar of her shirt, exposing the junction between her neck and shoulder. Her expression changed from one of threatened animal to one of curiousness; she blinked, shivering as the cloth parted with her skin, sliding down mid-shoulder and stopping there, hanging by a moment. There, on her otherwise flawless skin, were teeth marks, suspected to be human, but deeper than anything she’d ever seen on another living being. They broke the surface, drew blood; it was still lingering around the wound in dried flakes of rusty red and brown. Rude touched it with the pad, and Elena almost went berserk, screeching and hissing like he’d poured acid on it.

“That hurts!” she exclaimed, glaring at him as if he were the cause of it.

It wasn’t just the alcohol either; it hurt to touch. The pressure of his fingers was just as bad as the antiseptic, making the injury twice as painful. He lightened his touch just a little, cleaning around it as gently as he knew how. He wasn’t used to being careful when it came to wounds though; Turks went for the “just make it stop bleeding” approach more often than not. That usually stemmed from quick fixes out on missions, and this thing would have been ignored if they were out in the field, and patched up later. But she was with him, and he didn’t want her going to work with that thing on her shoulder.

“He’s not good for you Elena.” He said it the way he always said anything: casually, with no hint of feeling whatsoever. Yet Elena could see in his eyes that he was dead serious.

“Mind your own business Rude,” she warned, which only increased pressure on her wound. “OW!”

“Have you seen this? This isn’t normal Elena. He’s not normal,” and he said it as if to condemn him to death for it.

“You mean, he’s not you or Reno,” she replied testily.

“He tried to eat you.”

“No he didn’t. GOD, could you be more CAREFUL PLEASE?!”

Rude lessened his pressure once again, skating around the wound with extra special care. “Human beings that crave blood are psychotic. Even Turks aren’t that sick,” and his brown eyes bore into her, as if to invoke her conscious.

“I didn’t hear you complain about the way Tseng killed those kidnappers,” she brooded, her tone laced with icicles.

“That’s completely different. He was protecting something he cared about.”

“Oh shove it,” she snorted, tossing her hair like an uneasy horse at the mercy of a careless master. “You’ve all got excuses for him, don’t you. What about me. When do I get my turn to be excused for being a complete asshat.”

“That’s not what this is about Elena.”

“Oh, enough Rude.” She snatched away from him, pulling her shirt back up on her shoulder with little care as to whether he was done tending to it. “Yes, I’m rebounding. No, I shouldn’t be. But I seriously don’t care at this point, and I request you stick your bald head in someone else’s business for a while.”

“Is that why you went to him?” he questioned, a fraction of hurt present in the corners of his eyes. “Is that what you wanted?”

“No! Damn it, I wanted someone to listen to me and tell me that it was okay to hurt, not get babied or punched in the face just because I made a mistake!” She was so furious, she could barely breathe. “I am so sick of being like this! Turks don’t retire Rude; they die. I want to feel something before I die, and I want it reciprocated by another human being, even if it’s unethical! I’ll never find love – I’m not that type. And I can’t keep thinking about Tseng all the time! He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t care. Reno doesn’t care, Rufus is just going to laugh…” She sighed, pure frustration leaking out into her voice as she rested her head in her hands. “I just want it all to go away.”

“…I know,” he replied quietly, after a time. And he wished he could take it all away from her, but in a way, it made him happy he’d never been foolish enough to have feelings for his coworkers. Still, Elena was only human. And a woman, on top of that. Constantly surrounded by men who either belittled, berated or underestimated her time and time again. Never taken seriously, just because she was a different gender. Never respected. Always just second best. “But this isn’t the answer.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she muttered, her words thick with tears. “He doesn’t look at me like the rest of you do. I’m not his little sister, or the rookie, or the stupid blonde with the tits. I’m just Elena. That’s all I want to be right now. Just me.” She leaned into him, nuzzling her face in his neck and clutching his shirt for dear life. “Please don’t take that away from me Rude,” she pleaded softly. “I need it.”

He could feel the tears trailing down his neck, every last one like a stab in his heart. She was so very fragile…And he was the only one who knew it. His fingers lifted to her head carefully, running through her unruly blonde hair just once. “…Alright, Elena,” he allowed. “I’ll leave it alone. For now. But if he does one more thing…”

“I bite back, you know,” she reminded him without lifting her head.

Yes. He recalled. On many occasions, in fact. “I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. But if I have to step in…”

“Oh blow it out of your ass,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “He’s got a few kinky bedroom quirks that I happen to like, but he’s not the devil. Now shut up and make me some pancakes. I’m starving.”

Rude sighed, disentangling himself from Elena and standing up. A few kinky bedroom quirks…He glanced at her shoulder again. He’d marked her. That was far more than a love bite; the ferocious nature of it suggested he didn’t want anyone else touching her. Ever. Perhaps it was paranoia, but one didn’t bite so hard during such engagements. That was a bit much.

He pushed it aside though. Elena wanted pancakes, and she needed a shower. She was already rummaging around his closet for something to wear to work. As if he had anything in her size.

“I brought you some clothes from your place,” he directed. “They’re on the couch.”

“Oh? Thanks,” she said, padding softly out of the room. The conversation had officially been dropped.

A few kinky bedroom quirks. He pondered that while heading for the kitchen. He seriously hoped that’s all it was. For all of their sakes.

Coldplay

Mon, 01 Jan 2007 21:13:04 GMT

I: Coldplay
II: Wordplay
III: Foreplay
IV: Bloodplay
V: Aftermath

Enrapture

Mon, 01 Jan 2007 19:39:23 GMT

I: Allure
II: Enchant
III: Enamor
IV: Enrapture

Thu, 14 Dec 2006 03:52:47 GMT

I am very very disappointed right now. And I know it wasn't my fault, but I still feel responsible, because if I hadn't have applied, this wouldn't have happened. End of story.

This isn't going to stop me from playing or joining the new community, but I still feel bad that things had to end like this. Nothing is going to change that. And all over a game. You hurt all these people over a fucking game. You ought to be ashamed of yourself Hyu. You really ought to be.

Edit: And your hissy fit? Was really for nothing, cause guess what? I still get to play Rydia. So, in light of this, I've decided to be childish as well: NYAH! :P

No, that didn't solve anything. :D But it certainly made me feel a hell of a lot better.