Legacy

BY : Rina76
Category: Final Fantasy Anime > Final Fantasy 7: Advent Children
Dragon prints: 1417
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.

Previously on Legacy...

“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.”


Part 3.


After Shandi tells me I have an admirer, I swivel around on my seat to find the biggest and widest of the black-suited trio staring at me. He quickly averts his gaze, as if he doesn’t want me to know that he’s checking me out but hey, I don’t mind at all. That’s why I came here, right? To get noticed? And it seems like he’s definitely noticing, though he’s trying to act like he’s not, pretending to examine his drink like it’s suddenly the most interesting substance on the planet. Forgetting all about my spooky hallway encounter with Kadaj, I continue watching his older brother, waiting for him to look back up again. Sure enough, in few more seconds he does, turning his head slightly and shifting his focus sideways, back towards me. His eyes widen, as if amazed to find me still looking in his direction. Buoyed by his curiosity, I give him a little wave, smiling invitingly, and he actually twists around to see if I’m waving at someone else behind him. When he realises I’m not and that the greeting is meant for him, he stares at me and this time, doesn’t turn away. He has that half-frown again, as if he’s concentrating or seriously thinking, and he is gazing intently at me; not at my legs or boobs like most other guys would but at my face, as though he’s trying to memorise it and imprint it on his mind. The contact lenses he’s wearing gleam greenly in the dimness of the club, like the gaze of a nocturnal creature. They must have some kind of reflective coating on them specifically for use at nightclubs where there are ultraviolet lights. I wonder what colour his eyes really are under those. Judging by the paleness of his complexion, I’d guess a light blue. His short, brushed-back hair is such a curiously uncommon colour too; not the same dull grey as elderly people but a vibrantly shining steel-silver. But like the lenses, it’s probably fake as well, probably dyed for the purposes of whatever costumes he and his two brothers have got on. I’ll have to ask who they’re meant to be because if they are portraying characters from a video game or movie, I don’t recognise them.

“C’mon. Let’s really give him something to stare at,” Shandi coerces with a cheeky grin, slipping off her stool and tugging me from mine. Starting to grin myself, I let her lead me through the maze of plants and columns and onto the dance floor. The purple drinks I’ve had might look girly and weak but they’re sufficiently potent for my inhibitions to have slipped somewhat, enough at least to get up in front of all these people and attempt to shake my booty. We’re not the only ones under the mirror ball, though, and we join a writhing sea of other girls and guys, blending into the enthusiastic clubbers and strippers already getting their groove on, couples and threesomes of every gender combination all around us, bumping and humping to the pounding bass line issuing in stereo from towering audio speakers located to the left and right of the designated DJ area. Standing right in the middle of the deafening, high-decibel volume is like somebody punching my solar plexus repeatedly from the inside. Out here you can FEEL the music, in every way. Though I enjoy dancing, I’d prefer to blend even further into the crowd like I usually do so nobody can tell I’m hopelessly uncoordinated but Shandi keeps us to the edge of the parquetry flooring, right in the big dude’s field of vision. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a good dancer because Shandi is and she takes the lead, sidling up to me and moving her supple bronze figure in an undulating manner, grinning at me and encouraging me to do as she does. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that a hot guy is watching me but I discover myself actively following Shandi’s movements and it’s easier than I thought, my body flowing with the rhythm of hers, in time with the beat of the funk-house tune that’s currently playing. We aren’t actually touching but one of her legs is situated between mine and when she rolls her hips in a suggestive style, the crotch-seam of her shorts almost touches my thigh. Normally, that would make me mega-uncomfortable, having someone I’m not dating so up-close and personal, but she’s not hitting on me or trying to get in my skirt; we’re just doing this for novelty value. Completely at ease performing like this, Shandi runs her hand over her own breasts, the point of her tongue moistening her lips.

Catching my saucy roommate’s devilish mood I smile like I have a juicy secret, sliding my palms down my sides and then under the front of my top, lifting it up just enough to reveal my navel piercing; an amethyst star-jewel dangling from a sterling silver chain. Proving what a shameless exhibitionist she is, Shandi performs some crude, dirty-dance moves, dropping into a thigh-spreading crouch and making girl-on-top fucking motions with her pelvis while throwing her head from side to side right in front of my mound area, her black dreadlocks flicking over her bare brown shoulders. Her playfully pornographic display inspires me to even greater levels of naughtiness and I copy her hip-action, miming the motions of oral sex as though I’m slowly thrusting into her face. We both turn at the same time to check leather-dude’s reaction, Shandi and I laughing wickedly at each other when we see his jaw unhinging with disbelief. I’m sure his is not the only jawbone we’ve managed to drop with our raunchy girl/girl performance but I’m not concerned about who else is ogling me and the fact that I’m pleasantly intoxicated isn’t the sole reason. I’m mainly in high spirits because not that long ago I used to be overweight, dumpy and unhappy and with the way this guy is looking at me now I finally feel thin, sexy and attractive again. Knowing that we’ve achieved our objective, Shandi stands up, leans in to wish me good luck, winks at me and gravitates over to a curvy little brunette in a red dress, leaving me dancing by myself.

Or not so much by myself, since Mr. Muscles remains seated there at the bar observing me, still keenly paying attention even though I’m not grinding with a lesbian anymore. Due to the cocktails in my system I’m feeling fun, flirty and a lot less self-conscious than I typically am so I turn around and dance for him. Nobody else, just for him, raising my hands above my head and twirling my hips in a deliberate figure-eight motion, like I learnt in belly-dance class. That’s partly how I lost the weight, doing those classes four or five times a week, and I put my knowledge and expertise of the exotically ancient art form to good use, rolling my lower body as if I’ve got bells strung around my waist and am making them jingle. It’s not so much sexual or vulgar as the way I was dancing before, but more sensual and mysterious, more enticingly beguiling, the intricate hand and hip movements like a gypsy luring her lover closer under the moonlight. The sombre hulk perched on the bar stool continues to study me, appreciating the effort I’m going to for his entertainment, a hungry kind of look darkening his handsomely intent features, giving me a heady thrill.

I have him so hooked on me right now. He wants me. I’m sure of it. If I keep this up, he’s gonna be mine by the end of tonight.

All damn mine.

I’m too busy playing seductress and showing off my newly-trim figure that I don’t sense the person behind me and smack straight into them, knocking the drink out of their hand and almost knocking them over, and myself, in the process.

“Shit! I’m so, so sorry,” I apologise to a young man with bright red hair gathered in a long ponytail down his back. “I’m so unco! I didn’t even see you there.”

“It’s cool, lady. No sweat,” he breezes in a laid-back manner. He distractedly brushes drops of liquid off the front of his suit jacket and then suddenly notices what I’m wearing, lifting his chin and angling his head in a curious, cat-like way, gazing at me with half-lidded sky-blue eyes that are almost as pretty as Yazoo’s. He whistles appreciatively as he takes in the sight of my dominatrix-boots.

“Nice. Hey, what time’re you on stage?”

“Never. I’m not a dancer. If I was, don’t you think I’d be better at it?” I mutter ruefully. Feeling dreadful for soaking his jacket, I reach into the pocket of my mini-skirt and thrust a crumpled bill of money at him. “Here, take this. Buy yourself another drink. Please.”

I’m offering him enough for five drinks and his face lights up as he realises it.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He plucks the cash from my hand and grins roguishly as he stuffs it into his loose black pants. “You can bump into me anytime, yo.”

There are scarlet crescent-shaped tattoos on both cheeks, rings in his ears and a pair of goggles sitting fashionably on his forehead. His hair is sticking up in trendy spikes at the top, the eye-catching colour like hot coals or flickering flames. He’s cute. Very, very cute, and if I wasn’t already interested in the buff, role-playing silverback whose name I don’t know yet, I’d probably stay and chat a while with this other kid. However, I’m not going to do that. I get the feeling this blue-eyed babe is a bit of a player and a jester and from past experiences, those kinds of guys are a pain in the posterior to deal with. They never take anything seriously. Besides, I’ve already locked onto my target for the night and when I set my mind on pursuing somebody, to hell with everyone else, no matter how foxy.

Since I don’t respond to his not-so-sophisticated flirting, the redhead shrugs carelessly and ambles away to join a bald man in sunglasses at the far end of the bar, evidently eager to spend my money as soon as possible. Satisfied that I’ve made amends for my social ineptness, I turn around to find the pixie-haired hunk still watching me. I make a face of despairing embarrassment that he witnessed the whole incident and a grin starts to tug at his lips before he bashfully ducks his head and pretends to be engrossed in his drink once again. This guy? So not a player. I can tell that without even talking to him. His reluctance to sustain eye contact suggests a lack of confidence with women and the way he’s got his back turned to the crowd implies that he doesn’t really care about who’s in the club because he’s not here to hook up with anyone or even look at the strippers. It’s like he’s only here because his brothers wanted to come and he’s just passing time until they decide to leave.

I move away from the dance floor and lean against a marble column, thoughtfully tapping my thumbnail against my front teeth as I watch this mystery-man from the shadows. The more I observe him, the more intrigued I get. He’s slumped on the backless bar stool with his elbows resting on the polished wooden bench, gloved fingers curled around the glass in front of him, gazing inattentively into the tawny liquid as if his mind is a million miles away from this noisy, smoky place. To both sides of him are empty seats, nobody game enough to right sit next to him, not with the body language he’s displaying. He appears closed-off and hostile, his stance wordlessly warning everyone that he’s not approachable yet at the same time he looks kind of lonely and lost, especially when his wide shoulders heave in a despondent sigh. Most of the other women in the club seem to be fixated with Yazoo and Kadaj, and quite understandably too since they are the most alluring individuals in here, but for some reason I’m drawn to this big, broody loner.

Weighing up my options, I debate whether I should go talk to him or whether that will come across as too forward and pushy. He’s interested in me. He likes me. I know that much. But will he like me coming right up and talking to him? Hard to say. I could return to my seat at the bar and spend all night giving him coy looks and smiles until he comes over to speak to me but life’s too short to sit back and be passive. In general, I’ve found that men aren’t too bright when it comes to us girls and often miss the signals and hints we give them, even if they’re huge frickin’ obvious ones and if I hang around waiting for this dude to make the first move it might never happen. And then I’ll never get laid.

Screw that letting-the-man-take-the-lead shit. I’m goin’ over there.

Having made the resolution, I tug my skirt down so it’s not riding too high up my thighs and take a fortifying breath, heading across to the bar and its intriguing silver-headed resident. A couple of drunken morons clutching beer bottles in their sweaty hands try to start conversations with me as I go past but I find slurring and dribbling quite the turn-off so I take no notice of them and continue walking in a set line. I briefly turn back to glance at Shandi but she’s occupied dancing with the girl in the red dress, getting a lot closer and a lot dirtier with her than she did with me. I’m on my own here and it’s been years since I’ve chatted up a guy so I’m kinda nervous about it but I’m sure I can handle this. I can do this. It’s as easy as opening your mouth and saying...

“Hi.”

Sideburns looks up to see me beside him and his face registers surprise for just a second before he settles back into a scowl. Instead of a returning greeting, he just grunts and turns back to his drink. He seemed to be extremely into me when I was shaking my hips on the dance floor but now that I’m right here next to him, it’s almost like he wants me to go away and I’m bemused by his abrupt change of attitude.

“I said, hi,” I attempt again cheerfully, parking myself on the vacant stool to his right. “You could try saying it back. You can speak, right?”

“I don’t want it,” he snaps, turning around and glaring at me with startling intensity. “So you may as well save your breath.”

“Um...you don’t want what?” I enquire, starting to get very confused here.

“Whatever you’re selling. Not that you ain’t cute but I’m not in the mood for a lap dance or a private dance or any other kind of dance,” he states, his baritone voice edged with irritation. “I just want to sit here and drink, okay?”

“Dammit. That’s the third time tonight.” I look down at myself and grimace. “I told Shandi these look like hooker-boots but she was all like, no, they look great! I knew I shouldn’t have listened to her, that lying cow.”

“Shandi?”

“My roommate.” I nod towards the coppery-skinned girl with gazelle-like legs laughing and chatting amongst a group of other ladies, including the red-dressed one with the dark hair. “Coming here was her idea. So was this whole outfit I’m wearing.”

The scowl starts to falter a little. “So, you’re not a dancer?”

“Gods, no. Couldn’t you tell?” I squirm in the seat, still humiliated about my clumsy mid-floor collision. “I’ve never been to this place before in my life. Shandi told me I’d like it here but I think she just wanted to look at the chicks. She digs chicks,” I add unnecessarily, the fact fairly obvious to any onlookers since she’s openly flirting with a couple of them.

“But you don’t?” he queries slowly, the savage scowling almost gone now.

“Not in that way, no. Me and her dancing together? That was just for fun. For your benefit, actually,” I divulge with an embarrassed shrug. “When it comes to chromosomes I like mine of the XY variety.”

His brows pinch in a perplexed frown. “Whassat mean?”

I try not to smile at his naiveté. “It means I like boys.”

“Boys. Right. Of course you do,” he mutters in a monotone. His face turns blank and expressionless as he stares dully down at the ice floating in his golden-coloured beverage. “If you’re here to get info on my brothers, piss off and go ask them yourself. I ain’t their fuckin’ pimp.”

With an almost audible click in my head, I finally understand why he’s acting so rude and unfriendly. He must have girls coming up to him constantly, asking tons of questions about Kadaj and Yazoo, requesting their phone numbers or wanting him to pass on theirs. Dealing with that every time he goes out somewhere would really suck. He must feel so ignored and rejected, being approached time after time by bitches in heat who only want to use him as a source of information for his two slenderer, prettier siblings.

Fortunately for him, I’m not one of those bitches.

“I didn’t come here to talk about your brothers,” I tell him. “I came to talk to you.”

He looks back up in plain disbelief and doubt. “Oh, yeah? Which one of them sent you? Him?” He motions to the willowy one with the long hair who is standing against the left wall of the club, quietly surveying the whole room and everyone in it, as if scouting for danger.

“Or was it him?” He shoots a glare at his smaller sibling’s back as he’s reaching up to a large-breasted strawberry blonde posing on a podium, stuffing money down her thong. “I bet it was Kadaj. I HATE it when he does this.”

“Nobody sent me. I’m a grown girl and make all my own decisions.” I crease my forehead in perplexity. “Why is it so hard to believe that somebody is interested in you?”

“Cause it never happens.” His voice is as flat and lifeless as two-week old road kill.

“Well, prepare to be shocked because it’s happening right now,” I inform him with glee. “I’m Cate. With a ‘C’. Short for Catalina. I was named after my grandmother but nobody ever calls me that. Just Cate.” I grin at him, the alcoholic beverages I’ve consumed loosening my tongue and making me a lot less tactful than usual. “You’ve got a great ass, by the way.”

He gapes at me mutely, like he’s forgotten how to talk.

“This is the part where you tell me your name,” I remind him expectantly.

“Uh...Loz,” he eventually reveals. “With an ‘L’. Short for Loz.”

I smile at his droll attempt at a joke. “Ah, so there IS a sense of humour lurking underneath that gloomy exterior. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Loz.”

I stick out my hand, hoping I don’t have to prompt him into taking it. It’s not necessary because he recalls what to do next and fumblingly but courteously peels off his left glove. As he goes to take my offer he notices that I’m right-handed and he’s not so he hurriedly removes the other one, dropping both articles of leather on the bar next to his drink before finally enclosing my awaiting hand with his. And what a huge paw it is too, his long, strong fingers dwarfing my petite ones and squeezing so hard I feel something pop. Also feeling it, he quickly lets go and cringes, as if only remembering his strength.

“Whoa,” I comment, gingerly retrieving my hand. “Some grip you got there, dude.”

“Sorry.” He looks down with a worried expression. “Did I break sumthin’?”

“Just cracked a knuckle. It’s nothing.” I smile, flexing my fingers to prove they’re unbroken and he visibly relaxes.

“So, Loz with an ‘L’. Are you and your brothers gamers? Do you role-play?”

“No,” he replies, sounding puzzled. “Why?”

Glancing at his buckled and zippered suit, I venture, “You mean you dress like this all the time?”

“Pretty much.” He peers uneasily down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” I hasten to assure him. “You look awesome. It’s just that you don’t normally see three dudes walking about in matching black...Oh. Ohh. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.” I make an eye-roll at myself.

“Those massive machines parked down the road are yours, aren’t they? You’re bikers. That totally explains the head-to-toe leather.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, we’re...uh...bikers.”

“I hope I didn’t insult you. I really didn’t mean to,” I apologise with a squeeze to his concrete-firm forearm. “I’ve never been the brightest flower in the bunch. Please don’t send all your gang members to hunt me down or anything.”

“It’s okay,” he returns in a mumble, seeming baffled as to why I’m still talking to him. “But there are no other members. Just me and my two bros. That’s it.”

“What are you called?”

“Who?”

“Your gang,” I clarify. “All biker gangs have a name. Like, the Black Skull Bandits or the Silver Foxes or something. You got one?”

“No. We don’t have a name.” He pauses musingly. “Starting to think we should, though. That’d be cool. I’m gonna ask Kadaj if we can get one.”

Flicking Kadaj a curious glimpse – he’s now dividing his Gil and charismatic attention between three of the dancers at once who are all lapping it up like cats and cream – I ask Loz, “Is he the leader?”

“S’pose.”

“But isn’t he younger than you?”

“Yeah. And a lot bossier too, which is why he got the job. I ain’t leadership material. I don’t have the smarts for that. Although Yaz does – plus he’s a deadly force not to be messed with, but he’s too quiet and easy-going to order us around.” He shrugs acceptingly, like obeying his kid brother is the way it’s always been and always will be.

“Wow. That’s the most I’ve heard you say in go,” I comment teasingly. Just then a thought strikes me. “Wait, if you’re not in costume, then why are you wearing lizard-eye contact lenses?”

He immediately glances away. “I’m not.”

“Those are your actual eyes?” I blurt in incredulousness.

“It’s a genetic thing,” he mumbles shortly. “We all got ‘em.”

He’s looking down into the glass he’s holding, as if he’s trying to hide his abnormal irises from me but of course now I want to check them out even more. “Can I...Would it be okay if I take a closer look?” I hesitantly ask.

He peeks at me, raising his slanted brows. It’s like everything I say surprises the hell out of him.

“People usually avoid lookin’ right at me,” he admits. “They get freaked out.”

“I’m not freaked. Incredibly intrigued, but not freaked.”

He shakes his head in astonishment. “Well, look if you wanna.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nope. Knock yourself out.”

“Here. Move that way so I can see,” I say eagerly, gesturing for him to shift his head. He tilts it one way but it’s not the way I need him to go so I tentatively reach up, putting my hand under his chin and tilting it at the correct angle so the lights above the bar shine directly on his face. He doesn’t push me away and lets me touch him so I take that as a positive sign that he really doesn’t mind me doing this. I’m meant to be looking at his eyes but I can’t help noticing how remarkably sculptured his facial bones are. He’s got a jaw that seems chipped out of stone, a pair of fabulous cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose that ends in an impish little point. His mouth is wide and designed for sneering or snarling but I bet if he wanted to he could use it for much more sensual purposes. I make a mental note to discover that for myself a bit later on in the night. Now that I’ve moved him into position, I don’t have to hold him there but I keep my fingers on his chin, shifting my thumb just to feel his skin. It’s amazingly soft and smooth. Except for a couple of scimitar-shaped sidelevers he’s clean-shaven although I can detect the slight roughness of stubble beginning along the line of his jaw. Being this close to him I’m surrounded by the scent of his cologne and it’s distinctly masculine. He smells musky and sexy, like a man should, and I feel like burying my face into his neck just to breathe it in more, and maybe even licking him a little, but I manage to restrain my urges. For now.

This is what happens when you haven’t had sex with anyone in over half a year.

Unaware of my naughty thoughts, he stays sitting there with his head angled patiently, trying not to blink too much as I finally focus on his unusual eyes. When I first saw them on Kadaj I was shocked and then subsequently decided they had to be fake but now that I’m gazing right into Loz’s I can see for myself that they aren’t lenses. They’re real and utterly captivating. His long, vertical pupils are black slashes, like those of a cold-blooded creature such as a frog or alligator. When I wave my other hand over his face, they expand and contract with light and shadow, and when they’re fully dilated they’re almost completely round. The vivid blue and green tints in his irises merge into each other from the outside in to create a brand new colour somewhere between jade, aqua and ultramarine, like the waters of a tropical sea. They seem to glow and glitter with an inner luminescence, similar to a radioactive substance, as though I can see the very essence of life inside him, shimmering and sparkling with energy and vivacity. The overall effect is visually striking and extraordinarily beautiful.

So, I tell him that.

“Beautiful?” He glances sideways at me, keeping his head still. “You think?”

“Oh, for sure. That colour...I’ve never seen anything like it before. Actually, I’ve never seen anything like YOU before, Loz,” I confess, finding him absolutely fascinating. “In fact, I’m probably gonna hang around and bug you all night.”

I let go of his chin and give him a nervous grin. “Hope that’s okay.”

He looks astonished again. “Sure. Yeah, course it is. It’s just...Girls don’t normally want to be anywhere near me. I’m too scary.”

“You’re not scary to me,” I say assuredly. “I tend to find that the biggest, toughest guys in the room usually have the softest, mushiest hearts.”

He frowns at me for a moment, like he’s trying to work out if I’m making fun of him but then, apparently deciding that I’m not, his expression changes into one of hopeful optimism. “You go for big guys?”

“Definitely. Big guys rock.”

When he aims an unsure glance at Yazoo leaning sophisticatedly against the wall with his slim coated body and luxuriously lengthy hair, I concede, “Okay, yes, your brothers are clearly pretty but I prefer men who look like men. You know; muscles and stubble, a few rough edges. I think that’s attractive.” I smile admiringly up at him. “Besides, with me being so short, I feel safe with bigger guys. My ex-husband was a big dude too and every time I went somewhere with him I knew I’d be taken care of and protected.”

“You were married?”

“For two years,” I enlighten him. “Great guy; we just work better as friends. Not that it wasn’t difficult getting divorced.” I sigh. “You spend so much time with somebody, making all these plans for the future and then all of a sudden you’re on your own and everything you’ve worked for has no reason or purpose anymore. You kind of lose all motivation and sit there in your empty house thinking, what the hell am I gonna do now?” I shake my head dismissively.

“Anyway, enough about that. It’s ancient history and I’m finally enjoying life as a single gal able to do whatever I want, whenever I want without having to answer to anybody.” I stop and squint inquiringly at Loz. “Hey, you don’t have a wife waiting at home, do you? Or any children?”

He seems almost stunned at the query. “No. Hell no!”

“To which question?”

“Either. Both. I live with my brothers. Nobody else. I certainly ain’t hitched or nothin’.”

“Good. Just checking.” I grin sheepishly, noting that Loz is looking a little overwhelmed by my off-topic interrogation. “Before I completely dominated the conversation, what were we talking about again?”

“Uh...I don’t know...” He tails off confusedly.

“Oh yeah,” I exclaim, recalling where I was going with this. “Big guys. I like how protective they are. I bet you’d be the same. Say, if we were dating and walking down the street together and some punk tried to mug us, I bet you’d kick his ass; be all heroic knight in shining leather. Am I right?”

He shrugs his massively-built shoulders, as if kicking ass is a fact of life for him. “You got it, girl. If I was around, nobody would be able to touch you. They’d be dead first.”

The last part he says so nonchalantly yet so seriously, like he’s actually done that before. I can’t bring myself to ask if he’s really killed anyone or is just speaking figuratively so instead I question, “Are you a professional fighter or something? Like a boxer? You sure got the body for it.”

“Nah, it’s just something I do to keep fit. My brothers too. We all train with each other; kickboxing, martial arts, weapons. That kind of stuff.”

“Weapons? Oh, like the ones you had to hand over to the bouncer.” I cast a look across the room at Kadaj’s empty sheath. “Your little brother’s sword is wicked.”

Loz snorts and takes a swallow of his drink. “Yeah, everybody likes the damned sword.”

“What was that thing you had on your arm before? What does that do?”

“It’s called Dual Hound. It’s an electronic stun unit. Titanium casing, self-recharging lithium power source, 50,000 volts of pure juice,” he offers proudly, showing off his weaponry knowledge. “Doesn’t look as cool as Kadaj’s Souba but it sure packs an awesome punch.”

Peering at the holster on his thigh, also empty, I mention, “You have a gun too. Like Yazoo’s.”

“Velvet Nightmare. It’s got an inbuilt knife blade. Anyone tries to grab it off you, they lose their fingers.”

“Ouch.” I wince. “So, why do you get two weapons and the others don’t?”

“Dual Hound can’t discharge over distances. It only works in direct physical contact with your opponent. Eh, I prefer that anyway.” He gives a casual shoulder-lift. “Hand to hand combat is more my thing.”

I nod knowingly. “You’re the brute force.”

“Whadda you mean?”

“There’s always one in every gang – the hard hitter,” I explicate. “You said Kadaj is the boss and Yazoo is the silent, lethal one so you must be the blunt instrument. You’re the type that talks best with your fists. Don’t you?”

“I guess,” he replies with another lift of his shoulder, not offended by my summary. “Somebody’s gotta do the hittin’.”

Speaking of hittin’, I think to myself...

“So, biker boy. You gonna buy me a drink or what?” I suggest flirtatiously.

He looks narrowly at me, like he’s trying to decipher what my motives are. “You...want me to?”

“Why do you question everything I say?” I tease. “Have you never bought a girl a drink before?”

“Sure. Lotsa times,” he quickly returns but I get the feeling he’s fibbing. “Yo, dude. Over here.” He signals porcupine-guy and tells him to get me another one of whatever I’m drinking and a whiskey on the rocks. A real man’s drink. As the cute blue-headed bartender hands over my cocktail, I smile my thanks and glance at him, noting that his violet eyes somehow don’t seem so magical anymore, not now that I’ve looked into Loz’s glittering jade-aquamarine ones. I don’t think I’ll ever see eyes any more magical and wondrous than these.

These eyes are the ones I’ll be gazing into when all my clothes are off later.

You can be damn sure of that...

***


TBC...


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