Legacy

BY : Rina76
Category: Final Fantasy Anime > Final Fantasy 7: Advent Children
Dragon prints: 1515
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII Advent Children or any of the characters from the film. I am not making money from the writing of this story.

A/N: Hi guys! Thank you for taking the time to read my first chapter, even if it's not what you're usually into. I hope you will find something to like about this story and that it doesn't suck too much. :P


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Part 2.

The next time I indicate for a refill at the bar I’m delighted to be served by spiky-haired Blue Boy and I ask him to make me a Grape Grope, continuing my trend of purple-hued cocktails. I’ve set myself a goal to try every one there is on the drink menu tonight. They’re costly and my eccentricity seems to amuse him but if I’m gonna get smashed I’d rather be drinking stuff that looks and tastes good, as opposed to bitter beer or unexciting spirits. Not only that but I like gazing into his eyes when he leans across the bar to listen to me. There aren’t many guys who have natural violet eyes such as those. They’re magically lovely. It’d be even lovelier looking at them from above me but alas, I’ll just keep on dreaming.

Since I’m a girl and therefore have a bladder the size of a thimble, I soon have to duck off to the bathroom to relieve myself of all this excess liquid. Having been here a few times before, Shandi is familiar with the layout of this place so I ask her where to go and she directs me to the rear of the club, down some stairs.

“Just don’t go too far along the hall or you’ll walk into the private booths. You know, where guys go to get one-on-one attention from the dancers?” Shandi’s mischievous eyes scan me over from head to foot. “Looking like that, girl, they might think you’re one of them.”

“That’s very reassuring, Shandi,” I say sarcastically, looking down in distaste at the baby-pink halter top clinging all-too-revealingly to my breasts and the denim mini-skirt that shows much more of my legs than I feel comfortable with. “Did I mention how thrilled I am that you dressed me in this crap?”

“You’ll never get laid dressing like a hobo all the time,” she scoffs. “In that outfit you will tonight, though. Guaranteed.” She grins with wickedness. “You can thank me in the morning.”

“These hooker-boots better work, bitch, or I’ll be kicking your ass with them later. And don’t let anyone steal my seat,” I warn before heading off the way she directed, passing behind Sideburns but he’s got his broad back to me and doesn’t even notice as I go by. I continue along, trying to walk through the crowd elegantly and not like an unco dork. I’d feel a lot more confident in a pair of sneakers but Shandi wouldn’t let me even think about slipping them on and handed over these gothic monstrosities instead. Even though her boots are surprisingly comfortable to wear I’m still not used to walking in such thick soles and elevated heels. I feel like I’m hunching over with my butt sticking out so I make a conscious effort to stand up straight, sucking my tummy in and pushing my shoulders back, carefully placing one platformed foot in front of the other while attempting not to bump into anybody. I pass by a group of guys who wolf-whistle and call out cheekily, trying to get me to go talk to them but none of them interests me like those sexy silver-haired siblings so I smile and keep on walking. It is kind of nice to be spotted and complimented, I must admit, instead of being ignored because you’re overweight or mistakenly thought of as expecting a baby which did happen to me a couple of times when I was chubbier and more bloated. If you want to make a fat girl feel like shit, just ask if she’s pregnant. Works every time. Won’t happen tonight, though. Depressed chubby me is gone and she isn’t coming back. Make way for slim, sassy me.

Sidestepping laughing clumps of patrons towards the back of the club, I come to the stairs, spotting the sign for the bathrooms which sports a helpful arrow pointing downward. It also says PRIVATE BOOTHS but I’m staying right away from there. Having some painted princess shove her boobs in my face isn’t really one of my turn-ons. Unlike my roommate, I like men too much. I love everything about them; their eyes, their smiles, their voices, their scents. Their tall, hard bodies. I can understand why Shandi loves women with them being all soft and perfumed and pretty but if they ain’t got a penis, they just don’t do it for me.

Holding onto the wooden handrail, I navigate the set of descending steps with great caution, trying not to trip over my own feet as the last thing I want is to sprawl down the stairs and land on my face. Not that it’d be the first time I’ve tripped over in public but now I’m in a skirt and letting everyone have a good view of my lavender lace underwear is something I’d rather not do. I’m relieved when I reach the bottom without incident and, dodging people standing and chatting inconsiderately in the narrow hallway, I finally find the door to the ladies room.

Of course, there’s a huge line. Always is for female toilets. I take my place and wait, the others already here giving me the quick once-over, silently criticising and judging my outfit, shoes and hair, as women do. I can feel them looking at me but I don’t pay much heed to anyone else, not caring what they’re thinking; only wishing for the queue to hurry up so I can pee. While I’m waiting I glance around, noting the midnight blue tiles and shiny features, such as stainless steel taps, sinks and hand driers. Even the soap dispensers are silver and the large round mirrors are edged in it too. Halogen lights are dotted over the blue ceiling, like small moons. It’s a nice bathroom. Eventually, it’s my turn and I enter the cubicle, discovering that even the toilet itself is made from stainless steel. As I lock the door and sit down I make a note to get me one of these stylishly modern loos when I have a house of my own and not a crappy two-bedroomed apartment as big as a shoebox. For that dream to come true I’ll have to not only sleep with a rich guy tonight but marry him too and I don’t see that happening anytime in the close future.

I can still hear the music from upstairs in here which is good because it covers the sound of everyone peeing. I hate going if people can hear me. When I’m done repositioning my skirt I flush and go to wash my hands, the space-age faucets turning on automatically when I wave underneath them. I check my makeup, which is something I hardly ever wear because I frankly couldn’t be bothered applying it every day, glad to see my black eyeliner and shadow hasn’t smudged messily on me. I fetch some clear lip gloss out of my pocket and slick it onto my smallish mouth. I have a bad habit of licking my lips and they get dried out and chapped so I need to keep my gloss-stick with me all the time for that reason, not so much to keep myself looking great. I never wear the coloured type because it just ends up on my teeth or sticking to any glass I drink out of. Apart from Shandi’s tacky clothes, I’m fairly happy with the way I look this evening. I’m not beautiful and I don’t have a plump, bee-stung pout or huge anime eyeballs with fluttering lashes but I have been told that I’m cute and spunky and that’s good enough for me.

I then turn my head from side to side, checking that my ‘do hasn’t collapsed. My hair is the exact same shade as my eyes – dark cocoa brown – and because it tends to frizz uncontrollably when it’s long I keep it cut short, boy-style. Most of the time I wear it softly swept forward in an easy-to-manage, street-urchin kind of way but sometimes, like tonight, I whack some styling goo in it and sculpt it upwards towards the centre, creating a sort of Mohawk effect. My sapphire nose-ring twinkles in the light; the studded jewellery, smoky eye-makeup and upswept hair making me look a bit punky and rock-chick. I like to be a little different than other girls and that’s why I’d never go blonde like the two females standing to the east of me, both heavily made up and cheap-looking, also monitoring their appearances and adjusting their tops to show maximum cleavage. They start talking and normally I wouldn’t bother to listen to a couple of brainless bimbos gushing about boys but I overhear something that catches my ear.

“Hey, Justine. Did you see who’s here tonight?”

“No, who?”

“The one and only Kadaj.”

Justine gasps and turns to her smug friend. “No way! And the others?”

“Here too, since they’re all joined at the hip. You’d think they were Siamese triplets or something.” The second girl pulls out red lipstick and smears it around her mouth, pressing her lips together. “That Kadaj is so effin’ hot.”

Pretending to fix my hair while they gossip, I hang around for a bit longer, hoping I might learn something useful from their drunken blathering.

“I like his brother,” Justine joins in. “Not the big ugly one, the pretty one with the long hair.”

“Yazoo?”

“Yeah,” Justine sighs, gazing into the mirror over the basin with far-away eyes. “He’s beautiful.”

I do agree with her on that but her comment regarding his other sibling makes a flicker of anger cross my face. The big one is NOT ugly. Even though he was frowning when our stares met for that split-second, his handsomeness was strikingly evident and I think it’s unfair to label him as unattractive just because he’s bigger and more masculine than his brothers. I’d love to give that superficial slut a piece of my mind but I keep my mouth closed, wanting to see what else she and her peroxided bestie are going to say.

Justine sighs again, longingly. “I would so have his babies.”

The other wench gives a snorting sound. “Good luck with that since he’s gayer than your cousin Ricci.”

“Yazoo is not gay!”

“Yeah, he is.”

“No, he’s not, Sara,” Justine insists. “My ex-boyfriend’s sister had a one night stand with him.”

Sara huffs derisively through her nose again. “She did not.”

“Did too. Told me herself. She said it was the best sex she’d ever had. Apparently he’s got an incredible mouth.” Justine’s cheeks flush, obviously imagining Yazoo using it on her.

“She’s full of crap,” Sara decrees, cleaning up the edges of her lipstick with a fingertip. “Here’s what I think happened: She hit on him, he rejected her – because he sucks DICK with that mouth – and she made up that story to make herself feel better.”

“It’s true,” Justine perseveres. “She really slept with him.”

“Whatever.” Not buying it for one minute, Sara pulls out a powder-puff and dusts her face over with it.

Justine takes a deep breath, pulling her top down a little further to show more of her boobs. “I’m gonna talk to him tonight.”

Sara slants her friend a disbelieving look. “Uh huh. That’s what you say now but I bet when you actually see the guy you wimp right out and hide behind a potted plant.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you talk to Kadaj either. Not since he grabbed your arm walking past and you fainted.” Justine giggles at the memory.

“I had a lot to drink that night, okay?” Sara retaliates indignantly. “At least he touched me which is more than you’ll ever get from long-haired Girly-boy.”

“He’s not a girl!” Justine argues, defending Yazoo’s manliness all the way out the door as she and her gal-pal leave, teetering in their ludicrously high heels. I roll my eyes disgustedly in the mirror, hoping they get so drunk that they puke all over each other because that’s what they deserve. Shallow whores.

As I exit the toilets and come out into the hall I hesitate and instead of going left back to the club, I turn right, heading down towards the room containing the private booths. I wasn’t going to look in here but curiosity has gotten the better of me so after a quick survey of the corridor to make sure nobody’s watching, I stick my head around the doorway. I see two rows of booths lining each side of the dimly-illuminated room, some open and empty with only a plush couch inside, others occupied with curtains drawn. By the sound of the male groans coming from behind some of them it appears dancing isn’t the only service the girls offer and I suddenly feel the need to get out of there before somebody spots me and asks what the fuck I’m doing, peeping through the door and listening like a voyeur. I spin around, intending to go back the way I came, but I halt abruptly in my tracks, my heart nearly stopping.

It’s Kadaj. I’m face to face with him.

He was right behind me and I didn’t even hear him, didn’t even sense him there. I stand frozen on the spot, stupidly staring at him, only one thing running through my startled mind.

His eyes. Good Gods, his EYES!

They’re the same brilliant green as Yazoo’s but utterly inhuman, with thin, narrow black pupils like those of an amphibian or reptile. They also have a strange shine to them, similar to a fox caught on the side of the road in car headlights.

That...that’s not normal. That’s downright freakish. And frightening.

It’s about then that I realise they must be lizard-style contact lenses and I almost laugh at myself for being so silly. It’s part of his sci-fi costume. Duh. No-one can actually have eyes like that. I bet the whole three of them are wearing the same lenses too. I just didn’t notice because I hadn’t looked this closely before. I’d be relieved about that except there are other things which disturb me about Kadaj. His height, for instance. When he’s next to his taller brothers, he looks small but now that he’s standing before me, and over me, I’m the small one. Power radiates from him, like an aura, along with a feline seductiveness he’s only too conscious of. He looks me up and down with undisguised interest.

“Are you my lapdance?”

“Oh no, I’m not a...I don’t work here,” I hastily reply.

“A thousand apologies,” he drawls insincerely, making a point of glancing at my buckled footgear. “I just assumed you did.”

If it were any other guy I’d probably hurl some scathing remark back but with such a daunting, dominant male presence right in front of me I can’t form words, let alone string any together coherently. He has the same arresting beauty that Yazoo possesses except where Yazoo somewhat resembles an elegant woman, Kadaj’s face is unmistakably that of a teenage boy; all milky softness and smoothness, little nose and perfect pouting lips. Being this near to him I can see just how young he really is but when I look into his eyes, there’s nothing young or innocent about them whatsoever. They are icy and eerie. Dead yet dangerously aware. Like snake eyes. I know he’s wearing special-effects lenses but holy hell, they look real. And while they terrify me they also entrance and mesmerize me, making it very difficult to drag my wide gaze away from his.

He cocks his head at me, his hair swaying much like Yazoo’s, only shorter, falling half across his face, the tips extending just below his collar. It’s very stylized, like someone’s taken a razor and ran it down each section as it’s been twisted to achieve that urban feathery look. Either that or he’s six months into growing out a very close cut.

“May I go past,” he begins in a humorously polite tone, “or would you like to stand here and stare at me for the rest of the evening?”

“Um. Yes. No! Sorry,” I stammer, stumbling backwards until I smack into the wall, giving him plenty of space to get by in the narrow corridor without him having to brush against me. I can’t explain why but I don’t want him to touch me. If he does I’m afraid I might scream. He gives a little smirk and glides past me with the soft creak of leather, disappearing into the room with the booths. Now that he’s gone I force my jelly-legs to get moving again, damn near sprinting up the hall and scaling the stairs two at a time, frantically checking behind me to make sure he’s not following. He’s not. I exhale a long shuddery breath of relief as I burst into the club again and merge with the crowd, never having been so happy to be surrounded by masses of people before. Normally, I’m not one for crowds but right then I’m thankful for the cover they give me and I weave and zigzag through the collection of club-goers back to the bar, not even caring about the way I’m walking this time. If I managed to gallop up those stairs without tripping ass-over-head I think I’ve learnt how to handle these boots now. Besides, I’ve got other things on my mind apart from strutting like a supermodel.

I’m glad to see my stool is still vacant and I slump gratefully onto it, my heart still racing. Shandi squints at me.

“You okay?” she asks in concern, touching my arm. “You look kinda spooked.”

“I AM spooked,” I reply, reaching for the drink she’s ordered for me in my absence and thirstily gulping half of it down. Swiping across my mouth with the back of my hand, I look at her. She’s waiting for an explanation.

“I came across one of the brothers in the hallway,” I confide. “Kadaj.”

“The little randy one?”

“Randy, yes. Little? Not so much.” I gaze pensively into my cocktail. “And not as young as you might think, either. Appearances are deceiving.”

Shandi frowns in puzzlement, not understanding the problem. “But he’s doable, right?”

“Well, yeah. He’s very doable,” I unwillingly divulge, my skin still buzzing from all the sexually-charged electricity that was oozing from his pores. “He even thought I was gonna give him a lap dance.”

“So, why don’t you, then? You never know. He might give you a big tip.” My roommate grins at her own innuendo.

“I dunno, Shandi,” I say tentatively. “Yes, he’s hot but there’s something about him that scares the utter shit out of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s dangerous. Bad, you know?”

“You LIKE bad boys,” she reminds me. “You married one, didn’t you?”

“Not that bad. I think he’s evil.” I suppress a shiver, recalling those cold, cold eyes. “Like a demon or something.”

She laughs, thinking I’m exaggerating. “Well, what about the big one? He seems harmless. Plus, he was eyeing you off as you sashayed by.”

I perk up and look back at her interestedly. “Was he?”

“Yeah, and he’s still doing it.” She affords me a teasing smile. “Looks like you might get lucky sooner than you thought, Cate.”


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