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Descendants of the Mundane	By : wickedorin Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Het - Male/Female Views: 698 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
"Special" Note:
        ...I want everyone to keep in
mind that this was an experiment in a lot of ways--a definitite departure
from several things, if only to explore certain aspects of writing, relationships,
and Kyrie's character further. Now, I can't say that this doesn't
fit into the Sins universe, because it obviously does. But
I do understand there's a shift here that some original fans of the series
didn't really like. So feel free to skip it and pretend John doesn't
exist... but you'll miss a lot of strange conversation and three-way action.
*grin* (Look, I swear I get back to the more "traditional" action/adventure
in
Ties That Bind and Tear Apart, alright? I mean that!
You're only a couple of stories away from it right now.)

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of
Descendants
of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters
Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda.
Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games
and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know
that by now, right?

        Background: It was
a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean,
come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded
so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the
beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in
Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with,
y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's
set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor
Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. Do not read, however,
if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep
the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been
together for a long time and they're very secure in one another).
You might get warped. Heh heh.

        Also Note: In the interest
of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon"
is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically
for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons,
but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.

Descendants of the Mundane

by Orin Drake
        She stretched out on the
wooden bench, finally feeling relaxed. It was of very little political
importance, really; but two smaller nations bickering back and forth while
at the same time trying to be aligned with Esthar just got freaking stressful
after a while. Lucky, lucky her to have volunteered to be in the
middle.

        Or to have been volunteered,
actually. "Kyrie can handle it." Vincent had said.
Oh that bastard.

        Relaxing under the shade
of a tree, on an uneven bench, overlooking the park... it was nice.
It was enough to remove the stress so she could go back and deal with it
all over again. Hooray. Why was she working for her grandfather
again?

        The cell phone rang in her
pocket. Considering there was only the smallest number of people
that would be calling, she answered with, "What?"

        "I love you, too."
Rodger joked on the other end. "Just realized you're not here."

        "I needed out for
a moment." She took a deep breath, sitting up and rolling her shoulders.
"I'll be on my way back in a couple of minutes. Will we miss each
other?"

        "Nah." He assured,
narrowly avoiding a collision with a new intern in the estate hallway.
"I'll drop in and visit before we go."

        Rodger had taken to being
one of Laguna's "travel buddies", as the president called them. It
was a great way to see the world and pretend to be doing work, frankly.
Kyrie had been involved in the same sort of thing before Vincent's little
suggestion. And she damn well planned to return to said easy job
right after this whole mess was over with, too.

        "See you then." She
promised.

        "You better." He added
lightly before hanging up.

        Phone off, back in her pocket,
she found the desire to stand up, let alone walk back, was... lacking.
It's not that there was some awful, critical situation waiting for her
or anything. But she would have to deal with the arguing again.
The back and forth. Being the in-between since they seemed to refuse
to talk to one another. What was she, the bridge between two countries?
They were right next to each other, for Hyne's sake!

        "That bastard." She
remarked under her breath. Nevermind that it had served her right.
It was just Vincent's way of getting back at her for replacing all of his
suits with jeans and T-shirts. Not such an expensive prank, really--until
the suits got lost somehow. That had not been part of the plan at
all. She was definitely paying for it now, though.

        "Hello, beautiful."
She heard clearly in front of her.

        There was a little bit of
shock at first. She was torn from her thoughts by that voice, but
stunned by the words. Focussing on her sense of sight again, she
gazed immediately upon a pair of black boots a few feet away. Eyes
slowly moving up from there, she bore witness to a pair of worn, stone
red jeans, topped off by a crimson shirt and a stylishly thin, waist-length
black leather cycle jacket. She was glad to see that sexy voice actually
came from someone who deserved it--he was quite incredible. Tall
(maybe more so than Rodger, even), slender but not scrawny, built but not
overly muscular, confident. Handsome. Pretty, even. Granted,
the mess of chin-length silver hair gave her the willies at first (understandably
so), but... it was just so perfect. This guy was certifiably hot.

        She found a predatory grin
spreading over her lips. She just couldn't help it. "Why hello
there. And you are?"

        "John." He answered
naturally. "John Sparda. And you?"

        Damn did he know how to
use his appeal. "Kyrie Leonhart. Although, depending upon who
you ask, the whole thing is Kyrie Almasy Leonhart Kinneas."

        John blinked at that.
"How about I just call you Gorgeous?"

        Ah, that caused a slightly
vicious smirk. Did he know what he was doing, or was he just a jerk?
Did it matter at this point? She certainly felt a far cry
from "gorgeous" after the morning she'd just had. "I'm going to assume
you know how to defend yourself."

        His eyes narrowed slightly
with concern. "Why would I need to?"

        Hm. Interesting response.
Nearly unreadable. "Leonhart isn't a household name of yours, huh?"

        He shook his head, putting
a hand in his pocket and drawing his slender but muscled body to the side.
Hell yes he knew how to work it. He was expert at getting people
to grant him favors.

        She found herself smiling,
somehow. "Where you from, stranger?"

        He looked down just for
a moment, unconsciously. "Uh... well, a ways."

        "Mmm hmm." She agreed,
finally deciding to stand up. "Well, it's nice to meet you, John.
I hope you'll decide to stay in the area for a while." I want
pictures.

        He grinned as if she'd spoken
that last thought out loud. "Leaving already?"

        "I've got several supposedly
important things to take care of." She assured him. Damn
you, Vincent.

        "Well, I don't have anything
to do..." he started suavely, moving to get in her way before she could
dart past him. "Maybe I could tag along?"

        Oh, this was good.
Why the hell not? He was a lovely plaything. And she got the
distinct feeling he could due to be knocked down a peg or twenty.
Hell, if she had a leash and a collar... well, with her, at the time...
She tried to wipe those thoughts away before he got the wrong idea from
her expression. "As long as you stay out of trouble, I guess that's
okay." What a lure. What a tease. She felt so dirty.
And she didn't really mind.

        The estate was only a couple
of blocks away--the traffic literally making conversation impossible.
Maybe it was best that way; she could keep him in tow without screwing
up by offending him somehow. After his introduction, however, she
doubted it would be as easy to offend him as it was for other people.

        At the front door, once
again, as always, the same damn guard stopped her. Having a guest
with her that she sincerely wanted to keep around for a little while,
she finally released a little aggravation on the guard with careful, way
too calm words. "I come through here twice every day, at least.
And I still need an ID card that you only glance at and never scan?
I suggest you either stop asking me for my card, or scan it through like
you're supposedly paid to do."

        The guy guarding the door
was perhaps a couple of years her senior, but he didn't look it.
Certainly not after she'd made her thoughts crystal clear, anyway.
Instead of responding, he merely waved them through, without asking to
see her card. If there was one thing he heard from rumors and second-hand
information, it was never to piss off a Leonhart. That guy she had
with her was pretty scary, too...

        "What was that about?" John
questioned quietly as they walked inside.

        "Sorry." Kyrie halfway
sincerely apologized. "It'd been building up a while."

        Quiet anger.
He told himself carefully. She was such a cute little thing, though.
Especially from behind. How dangerous could she be? "So, uh,
where are we?"

        "The Presidential Estate
of Esthar." She answered naturally, inviting him into the lift first.
Hey, she had to keep him in sight.

        He paused before stepping
in. "The... Presidential Estate? You work here?"

        "More or less, yeah."
She stepped in after him, swiping her ID card in the newer, "easier to
use" security device, then inputting the necessary floor. "Though
I get paid in privileges, for the most part."

        "You mean you don't even
get paid for working for the president?" He was aghast--for
no particular reason. He just assumed that if you worked in a place
like this, you'd get paid plenty. In fact, he'd sort of hoped it.

        "Well, he's my grandfather."
She admitted naturally. "It's okay, really."

        "Oh." Maybe she did
have a little more power behind her than he'd realized. But still...
"What do you do?"

        "Right now, just get annoyed
by adults acting like retarded children." She murmured harshly--then
cleared her throat. "There's that building up and releasing thing
happening again."

        He grinned slightly.
"I see."

        As the lift stopped and
chimed that their destination had been reached, Kyrie took it upon herself
to step out first. There was a mess of new interns roaming around,
and she knew that she'd probably have to bump into one or two of them eventually
anyway. It had become a game, for the most part--rather like pinball.
Only, with a few more bruises, sometimes. It somehow wasn't so bad
this time around, though. "Just follow me." She instructed.

        As if she needed to ask.
He followed her through the corridors of moving people like a hungry dog
after a bloody steak, never losing track of her steps. It seemed
like they were in a human tunnel for quite some time before they arrived
through an office door, shutting smoothly and silently behind them.

        Strange how he felt like
he'd just been through a battle of some sort. It had been a slightly
terrifying gauntlet of student interns, after all. He rested against
the corner of the desk in front of him, taking a good look around.
What an office. Windows, cushy chairs and everything. Very
comfortable, in fact. Hell, he could just lean back and--

        He instantly jerked away
from the scary little clownish puppet in the corner behind him, heart beating
out of his chest. He realized almost immediately that it was just
a stupid toy, but... man, that'd given him one hell of a fright.
He'd heard enough stories from his father, thank you very much.

        "I'm not too fond of it
either." Kyrie commented, noting his reaction. "But it was
a gift. And it freaks everyone out, so I don't tend to get bothered
much. I call him Jim." She rummaged nonchalantly about the
cabinets on the other side of the room, finding her house keys.

        John stared at her for a
moment. Was this lunatic girl serious? She seemed so... normal,
at first. That was just his luck, though. He finally started
to relax again when he saw the grin at the corner of her mouth at his mannerisms--she
definitely knew just how she came off, and she used it to its full extent.
Smart girl. Challenging. He liked that.

        The office doors suddenly
parted. "Holy Hyne, Ky." Rodger exclaimed, walking inside.
"What the hell is it with you? You're a magnet for hot young men."
He grinned widely, giving her a kiss.

        Uh-oh. Was
the thought that had suddenly enshrouded John's consciousness.

        "Thank you." She responded.
Turning toward said hottie, she introduced them. "Rodger, this is
John Sparda. John, this is Rodger Kinneas. My husband."

        "Oh." John paled.
"Um... hello." He offered his hand tentatively, thinking it may perhaps
be chopped off at any moment.

        Rodger grasped and shook
it instead. "Nice to meet you. I'd stick around and put the
screws on, but I've got places to go and things to pretend to do."

        Kyrie found that entertaining.
"Get me a souvenir, alright?"

        "Always." He promised.
"I should be home by nine tonight." They shared a kiss and an exchange
of I love yous, and then he was walking out the door. With a last
wave, he called, "Have fun."

        A tingle of enthrallment
rushed her. "Oh, I will." She promised, waving back.

        All of this was giving John
cold fear sweat. He was... understandably nervous, here. Alarms
were going off all over the place. And yet he was still completely
unable to form his concerns into words.

        "Now that that's out of
the way..." she turned to him as if nothing strange had happened.
Key ring hanging from her fingers like a pendulum in her relaxed arm, she
inquired, "Care to follow me a little further?"

        Poison. This girl
was a siren. And he was an idiot; before he even understood the question,
he found that he had already uttered, "Yes." Oh, she was good.
Too good.

        She was trying her damnedest
not to grin like a predator that had cornered something tasty. Now
that much might send the boy over. Instead, she signaled that he
follow her. And, like a good, stunned little prey, he did.
Tentatively, granted, but he was keeping up with her through the next continuous
wave of interns.

        "Already have a new toy,
I see." Vincent commented offhand just above the din, walking by
in the other direction and stopping to grab a cup of water in the coffee
nook.

        John looked more incredibly
concerned for his own well-being than ever. "Is there something I
ought to know?"

        "Probably not." She
responded without looking at him. "Excuse me for a minute?"

        What was he going to say,
"No"? He nodded, confused and a little... unnerved, perhaps.
She turned to follow the man who had just passed them and dropped the comment,
appearing to consciously wait for her approach. He could easily make
out the conversation with his half-devil hearing.

        "Yes?" the man asked teasingly,
expectantly.

        "I was wondering if I could
take a little time off." Kyrie played right back. "And leave
you with the work, for a change."

        He grinned almost invisibly
at her request, shaking his head and sighing. "Shirking your responsibilities?"

        "Look, I didn't mean to
lose your suits..."

        "You are going to scare
him off." He warned, half seriously.

        Heh, that was amusing.
"I haven't scared you, yet." She prodded.

        "That is because I am far
more frightening than you are." He answered nonchalantly

        John could believe that,
somehow. The guy had a freaking claw for a hand. He was as
close to a devil walking among men as he'd ever seen. That
was saying something.

        "Make me beg and all deals
are off." She teased.

        "That's not what you said
before." He shot back, deadpan. Hell, one of them would scare
the kid off for certain. "And what did your adoring husband say?"

        "'Have fun.'" She
repeated, exceptionally proud of herself.

        Vincent sighed once again,
overdramatically. "Alright. But tomorrow you're in here bright
and early."

        Thank Hyne their idea of
bright and early was well after the sun came up. "Aren't you a sweetheart."
She smirked jokingly. Before he had the chance to agree, she interrupted
with, "No. See you in the morning."

        The two parted ways, and
Kyrie approached John once again through the human traffic. "Good
to go. Do you mind trains?"

        He blinked, still sort of
stuck in the conversation he'd "overheard". "Oh. Uh... no,
trains are okay."

        "Great." She started
walking again, slowly enough for him to understand that he should follow.
The waves of random interns had slowed down somewhat, allowing them relatively
quick passage out and into the Jet station. It was times like these
when she was glad to be the president's graddaughter--a swipe of her card
at the end of a corridor which appeared like any other, and the "reserved
for dignitaries" lift straight into the station opened up. She wouldn't
flaunt her powers, but she'd sure as hell use them whenever she needed
to. Or just felt like it.

        Relatively safe in the lift,
door closed behind him, John opened his mouth to ask her something--but
fell short of a question. He simply couldn't focus on one
thing to ask her to clarify. He took a breath to try again, but still
no words would surface.

        She "interrupted" politely.
"We'll actually have some privacy on the Jet. If you need time."
She added, grinning softly.

        He began seriously pondering
the level of trouble he was getting himself into. Okay, run-down:
the granddaughter of a very powerful man was going to take him on a train,
to a place he didn't know, from a place he didn't know. He swallowed
that thought, and it didn't go down easily. He was just damn glad
no one had frisked him. Just in case something should happen... well,
he was ready. Enough. Freakin' hormones.

        She made this trip so often
that she practically had the second to first car on all the trains named
after her. Technically it was for all "dignitaries and royalty",
but her family was pretty much the only group to ever use it. Everyone
recognized her, waving her through the whole process and welcoming her
with tips of their hats and smiles--whether real or fake didn't make any
difference. They were in, settled and comfortable in seconds.

        A small number of minutes
passed them in silence. Of course the Jet couldn't take off before
schedule, and Kyrie seemed a little loathe to begin a conversation before
the doors were closed and they were on their way. John understood
that. He was a little loathe to begin conversation at all.
Locked up and alone on a moving vehicle with, for all intents and purposes,
a stranger. An attractive stranger, in a plush train car all to themselves,
but nonetheless...

        A bell rang outside, signaling
departure. As the train subtly jerked into motion, the doors sealed
shut with quick swishes. Off they went, starting off slow but leveling
off into a smooth, fast run.

        John regarded the girl silently,
seated across from him on the same side of the aisle. He would wait
for her to initiate the conversation. Besides, he felt kind of weird
about even trying to make small talk.

        But he would soon realize
that she was not a girl for simple, flighty conversation. "What really
brings you here, John?"

        He took a very quick glance
at the window, hoping he could blast his way through--and took note of
the impossibly fast motion whirring outside. Okay, that wasn't a
good idea. "I, uh... I'm kind of a... hunter, I guess."

        She smiled, glad to have
actually gotten something out of him. She got the distinct impression
that he wasn't talking about wildlife, here. So, another telling
question was in order. After so long of being around politics, she'd
learned how to get more out of the interrogated than they bargained for.
"A hunter? Does it run in the family?"

        "Well, uh... my father was
a demon hunter." Immediately his eyes widened, astounded at his own
idiocy. Why the hell he'd just thrown that right out there, out in
the open--was he fucking stupid? What the hell had this girl done
to him? Drug him? Get him that excited? Now it
was probably her turn to be on the defensive. With her position,
she could have him locked away for the better part of his life.

        To his surprise, she was
actually nodding. "I really could have used him a few years ago."
She tested softly, trying to get him to admit that either he was a demon
hunter too, or she'd misjudged his taste for Galbadian elk.

        It was an unexpected response,
to say the least. So much so that the insane discomfort of the moment
before sloughed away easily. He felt a little leap in his heart rate,
like the moment before he felt that he was about to encounter a beast of
the nether realm. "Demon problems?"

        "Close enough." She
took a long gaze out the window herself, really watching his reflection.
She'd taken note of his interest, the little jump of excitement in his
tone that she'd learned to listen for. Just an inkling, a weird thought
to have, but it came out loud, "Do all demons have silver hair?"

        His eyes widened.
Was she implying..? Did she know what he was?

        Ah, so that flying leap
off the cliff of logic, straight into the ground of her twisted instinct,
had proved correct after all. She knew he was "different", to say
the least. And now she knew why. "It's so cliché."
She answered humorously, the questions in his eyes enough to be responded
to accurately. "The half-breed hunts the monster side--it's all over
the vampire genre."

        Only speaking could prevent
his jaw from unhinging completely. "I suppose it is." Of course,
if her assumption was accurate, that would mean that the raven haired gentleman
with the claw he'd seen earlier, was not a demon. So he could only
assume silver hair was a coincidence and nothing more. Come to think
of it, his mother, also half demon, had blonde hair... "I guess any
hair color goes." He answered thoughtfully. But he could sure
use a change in subject. "So... what about your parents?"

        That was most certainly
laughable to her. "You're really not from around here, are you?"

        "Not exactly..."

        "Well, good." She
offered seriously. "Squall Leonhart was my dad. He was kind
of... a hero of the world type thing. And Seifer Almasy was my father.
He just happened to be considered everything from a lunatic to a treacherous,
insane villain." She met his eyes carefully, more than curious to
see his reaction to any of what she'd just said.

        He looked nearly casual,
actually. This candid conversation was almost making him forget that
he should be on his guard. "Two fathers. Is that possible?"

        Well, that was better than
she'd been expecting. Not that she anticipated complete revulsion,
but... she was rather used to it. "My maternal mother was a nut case.
Big long story there regarding romance and true love. I never knew
her, she committed suicide a long time ago. She was a widely loved
and feared sorceress, though."

        "Wow." He commented,
a big grin lighting his face. "You're just in the crosshairs of everything."
Somehow... it was actually making him feel... a little "normal".
School had been a living hell; he had no friends, and no one to confide
in. But compared to this chick, he was run-of-the-mill conformist.

        "Tell me about it."
She shook her head, bemused.

        Things were moving a little
more naturally, now. So he let his curiosity wander. "You said
'was', though. About your parents. Are they..?"

        "Yeah." She sighed
quietly. "Both dead and gone, I'm afraid. On account of that
particular demon I mentioned."

        "I see." He sighed
unconsciously. He knew the feeling.

        "And your family?" she attempted
gently, quite curious. Hey, if demon hunting ran in the family, and
he really was half devil... well, this ought to be interesting.

        He swallowed, not entirely
ready for that question. "My mother's been dead for a while.
Nobody really knows why, but... we always thought it was murder.
My father, well... I, uh... I'm not really sure where he is."

        "Simple" enough, she supposed.
He'd had some hard times, too. "That sounds... unpleasant.
Are those two things related?"

        He turned his eyes to the
window, feeling a raw anger burning in his chest. "I really don't
know." He was lying to himself, and he knew it.

        She understood that anger
more than she cared to. Maybe it would have been smarter to let things
drop, but... she'd push her luck, anyway. She had started to feel
more of a kinship connection than she had really wanted. "How long
has your father been gone?"

        "Ten years." He admitted,
gritting his teeth.

        And his life seemed harder,
still. "Well... that sucks."

        He slowly turned back to
her, finding nothing but sincerity in her tone. What... what was
this girl? And what the fuck was this... power she had over him?
Her words should have sent him into a rage--just "that sucks" and move
on with her obviously charmed life. But they didn't. And they
hadn't been any sort of snare or stab. Just... honest. Quiet,
simple, truth. It was... weird. He wasn't used to it.
He'd never talked to anyone like this before.

        His surprised confusion
was easily noted, making his icy blue eyes wide and vibrant. She
didn't mean to smile--it just kind of happened, seeing his expression,
how he opened his mouth just slightly to respond but wasn't able to think
of anything to say. She had to look away and fake a cough so she
wouldn't wind up offending him or giving him the wrong idea about the smile.
He must be something, alright--she actually cared whether or not she offended
him.

        He continued looking her
direction, uncertain of... well, anything. He got this... "feel"
off of her, like he'd known her for a long while. It was this instinctual
read that he'd never encountered with anyone before--except maybe in the
comfort of his own home, back when things were comfortable. It was
like when he was able to sense a demon, only... not bad. But then,
he'd never really spent this much one-on-one time with another human being
(half devil or otherwise) for... a really long time. And certainly
not one this... "interesting".

        A slight jerk and an audible
clanking served as a solid interruption of though processes; the Jet was
slowing in the last mile to the station. The two of them turned their
attention to the scenery, noting the rolling hills and high mountains once
they ceased being mere blurs. It was quite a beautiful place, in
fact.

        "Brace yourself."
Kyrie warned.

        Words like that were not
to be taken lightly--he tensed just in time to save himself from being
hurled from his seat and straight into her as the train stopped entirely.
Not that he would have minded much at this point, he thought with the light
tremors of a grin on his lips. She was feeling a hell of a lot...
"safer" than she had before. But of course, a moment later the doors
flew open, and there were no opportunities.

        "Shall we?" she asked like
it was all up to him.

        He shrugged. "Sure."

        She lead her way off of
the train and out of the station the back way, making sure not to move
so fast that he couldn't follow through the crowd easily. Using a
practiced path, they avoided most of the really tight masses and made it
outside, into the golden warmth of early summer in Trabia.

        It was when she was walking
the opposite direction from the waiting taxis and the parking area that
John started getting a little nervous. The sun was going down, and
regardless of getting to like the girl, she was still... an unknown, so
to speak. "Don't you, uh... want a ride?"

        "Nah." She was hardly
oblivious to his concern, testing. "It's really not far to the house."

        Now he was stricken with
a full-blown panic. He hadn't even thought to ask her where she was
taking him in the first place. "The house" sure as hell meant her
house. Where she and her husband lived. His throat was
getting very dry, and he wasn't sure a walk, short though it may be, was
in his best interest. Panic. He tried a last ditch tactic.
"It's getting dark, though..."

        "We'll be there before twilight
ends." She dismissed easily. Almost... playfully.

        He noted that extra bit
of curve in the corners of her lips. And then there was that question:
Why?
It puzzled him that the word hadn't so much as emerged before. To
add to all of the other weird shit he'd experienced, he was... still following
her. No, he wasn't darting away, running for his life, reaching for
his guns. How very, very... odd.

        He waited, following carefully
until they were well away from the station. By the looks of things,
they were firmly in suburbia, and there didn't seem to be people outside.
So, carefully, he consciously poured on the charm to finally straighten
things out. If she was the sort of person she was shaping up to be
(maybe that he was hoping she was), she'd give him a real answer.
"So tell me something, Kyrie. Why am I following you around?"

        She grinned brightly, albeit
a touch devious. "Only you can answer that one."

        Hm. Granted.
But he wasn't going to take that as a full response. Understandably,
he needed something more, here. "You introduced me to your
husband,
used me as an excuse to be dismissed from your work, I've been referred
to as your 'new toy', and I'm still walking with you, in a place
I don't even know."

        "Yeah, how does that work?"
she joked, slowing her pace. Well, what the hell did she have to
lose? "You intrigued me. I wanted to spend a little more time
with you. How about that?"

        Uh-huh. But not good
enough. "Is that all you wanted?" he dared with his ice melting,
sure thing smile.

        Ah, now it was down to business,
as it were. Her tone was dripping with a false innocence. "Well,
if something else were to happen..."

        Now this was just... interesting.
Almost car crash, horror movie interesting "And your husband?"

        She stopped short, darting
quickly off the path and behind a large hedge, making certain he was right
behind. "Since you asked, I'll lay it out simply." She got
straight to the point, leaning comfortably against a tree in someone's
back yard, safely hidden from any main roads or other houses. "I
am not, and never will be, looking for anything deeply emotional.
Nothing could or would ever come between Rodger and I, and that's just
the way it is. If I find a little fun in someone, though, I'm going
after it."

        He'd never heard a woman
so frank before. Honest, predatory, hardcore, to the point.
"No emotional attachment." He summed up quietly.

        "Exactly." She agreed.
"Friendship might even be fine on some level, but--"

        "Fuck buddies." He
grinned, daring to get close enough to lay his hand on the trunk of the
tree she was leaning against, just above her shoulder.

        "Yes." She was quite
amazed that he hadn't looked disgusted, let alone walked away cursing her
and her whole family.

        He couldn't help but admit
he was intrigued. He wasn't the kind of guy to have a girlfriend.
It just... wouldn't work. This little arrangement, though...
"Well, Kyrie Almasy... Leon... -hart..."

        "Kinneas." She added
playfully.

        "Kinneas." He repeated,
a little predatory grin becoming more apparent on his face. "Your
husband is in on this?"

        So he was interested.
Oh yummy. "Completely. Or he wouldn't have said, 'Have fun'."

        "Is he allowed to 'have
fun', too?" he let his mind wander for a moment.

        "Yes, in fact, he is."

        "You realize this is a very
strange relationship."

        She grinned, noting that
his decision was already made by the slowly decreasing gap between their
bodies. "I seem to realize that, yes."

        "Well, then." He chuckled
softly and tilted his head down for just a moment, unconsciously making
his hair fall into his eyes in a way that made her exceptionally happy.
"Care to have some fun?"

        She could melt. She
really could. "You're not 'otherwise engaged'?"

        "Never have been."

        Score! she kept to
herself as best as possible. "Then I would love to have fun with
you."

        But... there was one little
thing. "And when your husband comes home? Is the fun over?"

        Sweet fucking Hyne.
She tried very, very hard to keep her voice level. It was just this
absolutely fantastic picture she had in her mind of the two of them...
of the three of them... whoo. Oh, what the hell. She hadn't
even scared him away yet. "Unless you're not opposed to a little
more fun."

        He paused to seriously think
that over. It's not like he ever... y'know... But an experience
was an experience. Sinning in small numbers, maybe. Besides,
how could you know if you didn't like something until you tried?
What, he'd be accused of not being "all man"? Well, he could kick
any human's puny ass a dozen times before they had a chance to fight back,
so fuck that. He got the feeling neither Kyrie, nor anyone she chose
to spend her life with, was the kind of person who would blab bullshit
like that all over the place, anyway. "We'll see what happens."

        Ah, the promise of sweet
things to come... But she knew they couldn't exactly be standing
like this for long out here. Sure it was a back yard, and sure there
didn't seem to be a lot of people on the streets, but she couldn't afford
any more attention than she or her family already got. "It's only
a few minutes away."

        It was all she could do not
to break out into a run as the driveway was in sight. She kept herself
in check, however. At least for the moment. Their walk had
been relatively quiet, tinged with the sounds of birds and spotting the
local wildlife stealing food out of trash bins and fighting over it.
John had asked about the landscape, the name of the town and the continent,
and Kyrie had been helpful on filling him in. He really wasn't
from around there at all.

        "This is it." She
said, taking the last turn and searching for her keys in her pocket.

        He couldn't help but be
impressed. The back yard looked more like a private forest from where
he was--not that the front was all that shabby, either. It rather
surprised him that blood red roses climbed up the side of the house, if
only because he certainly didn't think of her as the gardening type.
But then, maybe they were wild roses. What the hell did he know about
plants? The house itself was almost a mix of rugged and modern, two
stories and an attic, and a pretty stone walkway that lead up three steps
to the door. There was a nice porch, extending all the way around
the side and containing a couple of odd looking potted plants. He
got the distinct feeling they weren't of this world, either.

        Door unlocked and opened,
Kyrie stepped back and motioned him in. There was one, solid moment
of uncertainty... but it seemed to have relaxed itself even before he took
the first step. The inside was just as nice; from where he stood,
he could see all the way up the stairs, a very clean and homey feel meeting
him every step of the way. Kitchen to the left, closet and some other
little rooms to the right, and--

        He stopped short in absolute
awe, catching sight of Masamune and the Buster Sword on the wall.
It was just... a miraculous show of weaponry. He'd never seen anything
quite like them, even in his father's vast collection.

        "They tend to get that reaction."
Kyrie joked behind him.

        He shook his head, still
staring straight at the weapons. "Are those... yours?"

        "They are now." She
replied thoughtfully. "That one's the Buster Sword. It belongs
to a friend of mine, but he gave it to me, so... And that one...
that is Masamune." She felt a little shiver go through her spine
at the mere mention of it. Some things simply never faded away.
"It belonged to the 'demon' I was referring to."

        He wondered what other kinds
of "friends" this girl had. Masamune... the word rolled so
easily but held so many shards. It was clear this sword hadn't merely
been given to her, so he let it go for the time being. Besides, if
she didn't have demon problems any longer, then what did it really matter?
Taking a quick look around, he noted another scattering of weapons on the
wall slightly to the right and underneath the stairs. There was a
rack of rifles and shotguns that he more or less recognized, and a number
of interesting blades that he didn't. "You must be a collector."
He commented quietly, mostly to himself. There was that little nervousness
tickling at him again; though he was starting to realize that there was
no real foundation to it.

        She grinned slightly at
that. "Not really. We just sort of happen upon them.
These, for instance..." she stepped forward to indicate the crossed weapons
that hung above the rest, "Are my parents' gunblades. And most of
the guns were from Rodger's father." She then pointed to possibly
the most frightening looking piece, announcing quite naturally, "And that
Save the Queen is my aunt's."

        What a... terribly interesting
family she had. He wasn't quite sure how to express that politely-so
he didn't.

        "But what about you?" she
turned to him suddenly. "Hunting demons, you must have something
to defend yourself with."

        "Oh, sure." He agreed
suavely. Never pass up a chance to impress, that's what his father
had taught him. Under his jacket, fit perfectly against his sides
in a thin and nearly invisible holster, he pulled out two seriously dangerous
looking pistols. It was a wonder no one saw the monstrous things
even "in hiding"; but then, the jacket was simply cut in such a way that
it fell straight over his sides, making anything hidden in his curves,
so to speak, remain that way. Ingenious.

        "Sa-weet." She commented,
watching the shining metal as if hypnotized. One glistening silver,
one shimmering black. Both really, really gorgeous.

        He grinned without the least
bit of shyness, spinning the pistols with perfect and rapid precision before
placing them both back in his flank holsters. "Thank you. Maybe
I should hook you up with something."

        The smirk was utterly silencing.
She really didn't have to say a thing--the look said it all. John
followed the subtle tapping of her finger upon her thigh, down her body
and to her leg. "Oh." He hadn't even noticed--and, looking
back on it, how the hell had that little beauty evaded him? Little,
hell; it was a great big... thing. And even sheathed it looked fucking
dangerous. There were questions seeping into his consciousness, but
he suddenly wondered which one would prove more lucrative to ask first.

        "It's my gunblade."
She answered with a hint of pride. With one well practiced, smooth
movement, she unlatched the strap across the hilt that held it in place
and drew her weapon, up and across her chest for a perfectly wicked visual,
finger solidly on the trigger. Fighting fire with fire worked well
for her.

        He was... impressed, alright.
It was something of a cross between her parents', he realized, and was
actually quite aesthetically pleasing. The humor reached his eyes
once again as he sensed a challenge coming on. "Let's take this outside."

        He had misjudged the back
yard; it was a lot bigger than it had looked from the other side.
She pointed out where the property lines ended, marked not by fences but
little stone markers. She probably could have built seven more houses
out there, if the mood ever struck.

        And all of this space allowed
a miniature shooting range. She showed him the collection of what
used to be cans and trash lids, reduced more or less to rubble. In
that was a friendly challenge.

        A challenge he picked up
on. "So... accurate?"

        "Pretty much." She
grinned, knowing he'd taken the bait.

        He nodded, pulling his pistols
again and giving them each a little spin. "What about style?"

        She chuckled, sensing a
more interesting sort of contest developing. "What about style?"

        It was his turn to grin,
shifting the black pistol behind his back and shooting an already severely
wounded tin can off a rock pile without looking.

        Nodding silently, she accepted
that. Taking Eleison in both hands, she rushed forward toward a slightly
melted trash lid, held up by a small configuration of stones at the bottom.
Slashing down and sideways, she pulled the trigger just as the blade hit
dead center--and literally blew it into a million little charred fragments.

        Yes, he could get to like
this girl. As she stepped back, he made a show out of twirling his
twin guns again. Halting them in a dead stop, he crossed his wrists
and blew two more of the cans away, both having been on either side of
his peripheral vision.

        Kyrie stood with a hand
on
her hip, eyebrow slightly raised--but she was not overly impressed.
Time for the big guns, as it were. As a slight look of puzzlement
overcame John's face, she extended a hand and delicately projected her
palm toward the center pile of random sticks and rocks that once held up
a can. Instantly the Fire materia buzzed through her muscles--practice
had made near perfect, indeed. A barely controlled spark erupted
into a hot, bright blaze. Only when her "adversary" seemed thoroughly
impressed did she use Ice to freeze the flames themselves. All that
was left behind was a small mist of steam and some blackened rocks.

        "You're certain you're
not part devil?" was the only response that came from his mouth.

        "Only as far as I know.
And that's not much." She admitted jokingly. "It's Materia--like
an outside power source that connects to the body. Fire and Ice are
my specialty. I've got Ultima, too, but... I can only use that one
when I'm 'in an enclosed environment'."

        He grinned appreciatively.
"Sounds best that way."

        "So I hear." She joked--with
truth solidly behind it. "Rodger has Lightning and Restore.
That guy with the claw, Vincent... he thought it best if he was the one
who could heal the wounds."

        He actually laughed at that.
Maybe that Vincent character wasn't so bad, after all. Still scary,
though.

        While she was quite comfortable
in the growing darkness (not knowing that John's vision was perfect even
in the total absence of light), the night was getting a bit chilly.
The sun had been down, and a breeze was blowing in. "We may as well
get inside and settle down."

        An interesting way to put
it. "Did you have any... plans?"

        She tried her best to hide
the devious expression threatening to break out. He didn't have to
know how much of a pervert she was right away. "Not really.
Just go get changed, relax. Whatever else happens."

        He'd definitely follow her
inside for that completely ambiguous statement.

        He was never much of a coffee
drinker. But she had asked, and he had said yes, if it wouldn't be
any bother. A little caffeine fix never hurt. Especially not
when you could add sugar to the mix. He needed sugar to drink the
black poison, anyway.

        Sitting on the couch, waiting
for her to come back downstairs, he let himself be fascinated by the television.
Media was pretty much the same no matter where you went, wasn't it?
Not that he cared what the weather was like in Fisherman's Horizon, but
he kept the channel there for a few minutes anyway before moving on.
Every little bit of another world was interesting.

        Hearing the stairs creak,
however, he quickly shut the tv off, put his half empty coffee cup on the
table, and glanced behind. It was a silly thing, really; she'd changed
into a pair of loose fitting plaid pajama pants and an old, ragged once-black
t-shirt. Yet somehow... it was actually kinda sexy. He let
that thought settle in an expectant grin.

        She gave him a little amused
wink in response, finishing her descent and walking up to him, naturally
sitting at his side as if they'd done this a million times. "It's
probably not what you had in mind, but it's comfortable." She admitted
about her ensemble.

        "No, that's alright."
He promised.

        But this wasn't over just
yet. She was a dirty, rotten bitch for using this moment to finish
things, she knew--but it had to be done. It was eating at her as
she was changing. "Now tell me, John." She shot straight for
the kill, turning her full attention to him. "Why did you approach
me in the first place?"

        He looked at her for a moment
with narrowed, searching eyes. Her ability to change subjects, not
to mention to tear straight to the heart of the matter, was uncanny.
Almost uncomfortable. "You were attractive." He decided upon,
letting himself take another look while he had the opportunity right in
front of him.

        She grinned, but it was
clear the rest of the subject was not going to drop so easily. "And..?
I get the feeling that wasn't the only reason."

        He let his shoulders relax
a little, seeing that this wouldn't be a pissing contest. Rather,
she was just trying to protect her own interests above all else.
He could understand that easily. "Instinct." He summed up,
choosing his next words carefully. "And... you felt... like you were
in a place of power. So I approached. And I liked what I saw."

        "Flatterer." She joked.
Then, in a lower tone, she repeated, "Instinct."

        There was a silence between
them; one that wasn't making John feel one way or another about her reaction,
in fact. That was... kinda weird. He felt it wasn't appropriate
to break her thoughts, however.

        When she finally spoke again,
it was still in her friendly manner with nothing dark underneath it.
"You usually attach yourself to people of power."

        It wasn't spoken as a question,
but he got the feeling it was meant as one. "It has its advantages."
He admitted. "But..."

        When he didn't continue,
she tilted her head ever so slightly, looking every bit like a curious
wolf. But this time, John didn't feel like prey. Dare he think
it, he felt like... an equal. Truth be told, he just... gelled with
her, even before he'd met her. If he believed in fate, maybe he'd
have had a better explanation of how or what or why--but he just didn't
know how to continue. Until he looked at the clock. "Shit.
It's almost nine..." They hadn't even
done anything yet.
Not that that's all he wanted out of this girl... strangely enough.
He'd never had a... y'know... friend, before. Maybe he was
just imagining it now.

        She smiled slightly, trying
to press devious thoughts back. Down, libido, down!
"Do you have a place to stay while you're 'in town'?"

        A slight knee-jerk reaction
of utter distrust came over him for a moment before he realized she was
being genuine. "Look, I'm sure there are hotels around he--"

        "Oh please." She interrupted
patiently. "Make a show out of it if you want, but we have a spare
room upstairs."

        He was dumbstruck for a
moment at her casual bluntness. "I don't want to be a burden." And
I don't want your husband to kill me in the middle of the night...

        She held back a typically
biting comment when she realized he was being utterly honest. "Like
I said, we've got a spare bedroom. Call me stupid, but I think we
can trust you."

        "Stupid." He joked
under his breath.

        She accepted that with a
normal, though slightly devious, smile. What was it about him that
drew her so close? It was more than the way he piqued her curiosity,
obviously. That much was a nice touch, but it wasn't everything.
Sure the guy was hot, but that wasn't it, either. What a strange
idea; she'd made a new friend. As if to ground her, bring her thoughts
back to earth, the sound of a car engine and grinding gravel in the driveway
interrupted. "You aren't nervous, are you?" she teased a bit too
freely.

        He really couldn't answer
that accurately. Her husband had come home a bit early, but on time
as promised. And while he knew they had this agreement... well, who
wouldn't be nervous? That coffee really hadn't helped much, after
all...

        "Relax." She said
quietly, reassuringly, getting up to get the door.

        He had the frightful feeling
that that had been far too easy for her to say. But then, her husband
had given permission, right? He hadn't seemed to mind. He hadn't
even seemed the least bit concerned. It might be different now that
he was in their home, now that he was sitting on their couch, using one
of their cups, conversing and having had a style competition with his wife--

        It was too late to move
now. She'd opened the door, and Rodger had come right in. And
John... he was glued to the couch, watching their interaction with curious,
careful eyes. As they embraced like they hadn't seen one another
in years, he was actually trying to figure out why he didn't feel
awkward and out of place. Nervous, unsure, but not... not awkward.
It seemed, you know, "the other guy" ought to have been skinned alive by
now. Or at least be so afraid for his life that he was trying to
dart out the back door.

        "How was it?" Kyrie asked,
opening the front closet to receive the travel bag.

        "Annoying." Rodger
answered with a just-glad-to-be-home sigh. It was then that he looked
over, noting their guest. "Ah, a brave one."

        His wife grinned, but said
nothing. Was there really any reason?

        "John, right?" the brunette
questioned politely, walking over.

        Ah, now the heart rate picked
up. He stood and cleared his throat, offering a hand. "Uh,
yes."

        "The husband" nodded and
shook with a casual smile. This would be very, very fun if this guy
was easily freaked out. Hell, maybe that already wasn't the case--he
was still there, wasn't he? "Are you staying?"

        He found that he had to
swallow to get a little relief in his dry throat. "If I... uh...
I hadn't planned, at first, but..."

        "Feel free." Rodger
gave his blessing. He looked to Kyrie, standing off to the side and
watching his signals carefully. Hey, they could run some pretty fucking
great schemes if they wanted (and had, on occasion, but nothing for money)--they
could read each other from different sides of the country.

        "Are either of you hungry?"
their "hostess" inquired.

        Even with all of this reassurance,
John was slow to respond. Hell yes he was hungry. He hadn't
eaten for... well, it'd been a while. Still, he waited for Rodger's
response. "I could eat."

        "Yeah, I know." Kyrie
joked. "John?"

        Well... what the hell.
"Yes, please."

        Rodger slapped the fast-learning
silver-haired boy on the shoulder. "How do you like pizza, John?"
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Descendants of the Mundane