It was green and the pitch of chimes reach my bed. But I'm not there, not really. I could hear the young rattling below the porch window, the siblings of my closest playmates long gone. Weird, I can't remember the fire... I couldn't think about it.
Zangan would tell me to fight. "You dodge too often. Strike me!" But when I did he'd always block it. I was his best student, he'd say, but I got the feeling he had simply grown attached, a lot of boys did. How many came to my window at night professing their love? It felt like dozens. The other girls would say "there isn't a boy that slut hasn't slept with." Really, I'd only been with three boys and a couple men. They'd been so generous with their compliments and it felt nice... really nice for them. Most girls made a point to avoid me but older women gave me looks of understanding, cutting through the usual gossip of who'd been with who. Mmph, It's all so different since I left Nibelheim
I'd been riding with a couple of weapons traders, Marc and Bosque. They said they were brothers but I didn't believe them. Most traders would lie about anything if it helped sales. They'd agreed to take me past Gongaga (I pretended to know where that was). When we met, I could see lust in their eyes. The men were large, not properly trained in combat, but they could sense my experience. Their repulatation was growing and couldn't risk being beaten by a girl, not when Shinra was making better weapons for cheaper. (The old experts and outlaws preferred our business since we could get antique and unlicensed goods). We would sniff out camps and lesser know settlements away from shinra's influence. "just stand there and look pretty" they'd cough. I was used to people staring by now, but many of the men thought I was a prostitute and would offer nearly ten thousand Gil "for the night". Usually Bosque stepped in, scaring suitors with a cold "Not for sale." Looking back, I'm surprised he defended me. Maybe he had a sister or thought they'd fare better with "fresh goods". Anyway, It didn't matter since my reputation as whore was despelled.
Barret didn't step down. "I could use a soft girl". He was drunk, staring at my tits, brandishing a fucking gatling gun. The traders froze. They'd had problems with "darkies" in the past, convinced brown men didn't fight fair, but I didn't wait. I darted behind him and with effort, locked his gun arm to his back. He grunted, too drunk to wield himself, and stumbling, fired shots into the ground. I took the time to disarm his gun; it was physically attached to his forearm. All the men laughed at Barret. He'd practically passed out murmering "yeah... you wannapiece... ". No one approached me after that.