Feral
Chapter One
If it barks like a dog...
...smells like a dog...
...sics like a dog...
It's a dog.
You give a dog a name, it responds to you after some training, and in time it grows to be obedient and loyal. You feed it, you bathe it, treat it like family.
So it's still a dog, right?
But what if that dog stood upright, walked on two legs, and responded to human words as if it clearly understood? Then what is it? It's still a dog, isn't it? And what if you teach the dog how to fight, to bite on command, to snarl at the slightest gesture or provocation? What if you beat it into submission, making sure it knows its place?
Still...a dog is a dog.
And here, in the underground of Eden's crime world, dogs were only good for one thing.
Making money. Disgusting amounts of money.
Every Saturday night, the worst of the worst and the best of the worst gathered in the city's steely, secluded under guts to get a chance at that money, bringing their best dogs to ensure victory.
But these weren't just your regular, run-of-the-mill dogfights. Those fell out of vogue decades ago. They weren't what was in anymore. The sport has since been reinvented, redesigned to suit a new breed, and even bigger stakes. Million dollar wagers were commonplace at these events, the who's-who of society would throw stacks of bills around like chump change. Never mind that if word of them being involved in such activities got out it would cost them their pristine reputations. Pimps brought their hookers, pushers brought their product, everyone brought everything to the table to get their fingers on the green.
And not a damn one of them cared for the dogs.
But why should they? It wasn't like they were people.
Then again, that was the kicker.
Real dogs weren't popular anymore because they were boring. You could expect the same thing time and again. Lots of noise and biting, blood everywhere, but in the end it was all the same show. So, as I said, they needed to reinvent the game. Humans were found to be far less predictable than dogs, much more able to wow a crowd. If trained right, they could do anything and everything. And those who were aware of that simple fact made the most cash.
Like one fellow in particular.
His name was Cid Raines, everyone knew him for his sleek black hair, nice suits, and fat rolls of hundreds. He had been a dog breeder as a hobby. He'd had many actual dogs in these fights, most of them real winners. But, just like the spectators, he got bored with it. Once talk began to circulate of changing things around, he jumped at the opportunity. Now, some ten years later, he once again was the master of a champion. His dog was easily one of the best the fights had ever seen.
His dog's name was Lightning.
And thanks to Cid's diligent training, she was a dyed in the wool killer.
144-and-O. That was her current record, all victories by death or submission. Though he had only been fighting her a few short years, she had garnered him a small fortune.
Tonight would be no different, never mind how much he had heard about his opponent. Sure, her dog was bigger, pumped full of 'roids and God knows what else, but he was not concerned. His Lightning was small compared to most dogs, but she was faster, and by far more ferocious.
"You be a good girl, and win this one for me, yeah?"
Cid paced around her, whispering, in a small concrete room often referred to as the Pen. A single light bulb burned in the ceiling, making everything gray and washed out. You could just hear the surging of cries and applause from outside.
Lightning was small, one of the few bitches in the circuit, standing at just a bit more than five-five. She was lithe framed, but muscled, Her clothes were tattered, enough to cover her nakedness, and only somewhat clean. Brown stains of old blood and rips and holes dotted the cloth. Boots with broken down soles covered her feet simply for the protection. A steel collar, tarnished and scraped, rested about her neck, a button designed for quick release on its side. Hair hued like faded roses messily framed her face, the features soft, bright aquamarine eyes peering through the uneven tresses. She stood perfectly still, like a good dog.
Be good...win.
Her thoughts were simple. She was a good dog, just like master wanted. And if master wanted to win, he would get that.
She was a good dog.
The door of the Pen opened up, two men who need no mention dragging a body from outside, blood smearing across the cement floor as they went. Lightning was unaffected, didn't track the movement at all, all the while her master smiled.
"It's your turn now. Let's make a good show, yeah?" and he patted her back, giving a gentle push so she would walk with him.
They left the Pen and entered another concrete enclosure, walls twelve foot high and lined with strings of razor wire, and an open ceiling that let all the teeming masses above look in. Lightning's eyes tracked those movements, the frantic waving of arms and the jumping of bodies. Cid's hand tightened on her shoulder and her eyes set forward. The loud cheering made her ears twitch slightly, tracking sounds as they came and went.
Cid looked coldly at his opponent's owner, grinning as the woman walked over to him. She peered over her glasses at him, pushing a stray mess of blonde hair over her shoulder. Her tits were threatening to spill out of the slutty white secretary's suit she wore, and her skirt was too damn short to be considered decent.
"You really think you're going to win this?" Jihl Nabaat laughed as she looked over Cid's dog. "You're either crazy or a fool."
"I've been called both." he chuckled. He then peered over her shoulder. "That's a big one you've brought with you. That isn't the same from last week, is it?"
"No, afraid not." she adjusted the rectangle frames. "The last one needed to go back to obedience school."
"Really? Can't say I believe that."
"Believe it. And believe you're little bitch here is in for a world of pain."
"We'll just have to see, won't we?" Cid sounded so confident it was sickening.
"Indeed. Get ready to empty your pockets, Raines." and she turned away from him, walking.
Cid could only laugh. He knew Jihl knew better than to think she could win. She had seen Lightning in action before. Still, it would be fun to see her face when her brute got slammed to the pavement. And he was a brute.
Easily six-foot-something, maybe on the heavy side of a hundred and fifty pounds, most of it surely from muscle. Platinum silver hair and intense blue eyes. He really was massive for a dog, and he looked more than ready to throw his weight around. But Cid wasn't worried. Lightning could take him.
"You ready, girl?"
She didn't respond, as the only answer was yes. And he knew it. Good dogs don't say no. Cid reached around her neck, his thumb resting on the release switch of her collar. Her eyes had settled on the other dog, and that assured him she was ready to go.
"Kill him, Lightning, be messy." and he pressed the button, the collar coming undone. "And take a little time with it. We want to entertain them."
Cha-click.
It was like flipping a switch. Her face scrunched, her eyes narrowed, and she lunged for the other dog. She moved in a flash, lips curled back in a snarl. Her first target was his face, leaping in the air to lock his head between her knees so she could pummel him with a volley of quick punches to the temples.
The crowd roared with a mixture of disgust and delight.
Hard, muscled arms wrapped around her, yanking her down and squeezing. Damn near crushing her. But she kept on beating his face in, busting his nose, blood spattering from impacts against a split lip. He twisted hard and shoved her against the wall, the razor wire ripping into her flesh as he pushed and pulled her from side to side.
She just kept going. She wouldn't stop. The pain was fuel.
Good dogs don't stop.
Lightning shoved both feet forward, kicking him in the stomach and driving him back. She landed on her feet and went right to the offensive once again. She drove her knee with a running start into his chest, over and over. She was a machine, all movements pre-programed and second nature.
Wham-wham-wham-wham.
Blood started to ooze out of his mouth, dappling the floor in crimson blossoms. He grabbed her knee as she lunged at him again, shoving it down before delivering a hard kick to her jaw, sending her to the floor.
Another rousing blast of commotion from above. The crowd was loving it. Bets were going wild and in both directions, though most were convinced the big fella was going to win.
Blood was coming out of her nose, a red rivulet splitting in twain as the fluid diverted around her mouth. But she didn't quit, her eyes still wild and shinning with violent purpose. Lightning rolled out of the path of his stomping boot, twice more as he repeated the action, then leaped up and returned the assault with another flurry of bunches to the body. She jumped and kicked him in the throat, crushing the windpipe, but didn't give him the chance to reel. She took out his knee next, the snapping of bone almost audible over the din overhead. He tried to fight back, launching one fist towards her. She caught it at the wrist, then broke his arm at the elbow.
One leg rose, straight and rigid, then came down so that her heel connected with the top of his head. He hit the floor, barely moving.
"Kill him, Lightning! Kill, girl! KILL!"
She could just hear her master's voice.
What master wanted, master would get.
He tried to get up again, stupid dog. He got to his knees before she kicked him over, putting him on his back. Gasping for air she stood over him, body thrumming with adrenaline and throbbing pain.
"KILL HIM!"
There was no hesitation. She jumped upward, both feet tucking, then came down with both of them onto his skull. It was like a water balloon breaking against the floor, if the balloon was full of blood and gray matter and bits of bone.
The crowd groaned, but then they cheered.
As always.
She knew he was dead, but was still ready to fight, her body tense and expression savage. And she stayed that way until Cid came and slipped the collar back on. Then the fury faded, the snarl softened.
"Good girl." he said. "Good girl."
Cid collected his money, gathered his men, and took his dog back to the van that was waiting outside the alleyway entrance.
"This isn't over, Raines." Jihl warned him, her eyes thinned behind the rectangle frames.
"It's over for tonight. But better luck next time." he laughed.
And she cringed as she watched him drive away, out of sight into the neon night of Eden.
Lightning was in the back of the van, quiet, calm, tired. She laid down on the blanket that had been spread out for her, curling tightly.
Master had been pleased. She was a good dog.
Lightning listened faintly to the almost soothing hum of the tires rolling over asphalt beneath her. The fight was over, master was happy, and now she could rest a while. Then again, who couldn't fall asleep in a car, especially after something like that and it now being nigh on three in the morning?
The van wove casually and with intent through a baker's dozen of back streets and poorly lit avenues until it whined to a halt at its destination. Cid stepped out, waiting nearby as his driver did the same and then came around to open the sliding side door. Cid called to his dog, "Lightning, come," in a firm yet strangely affectionate tone. It was but a second before the dog stepped out, the driver sliding the door closed again once she stood beside her master.
"Good night, sir," the driver nodded towards his employer.
Cid only returned the gesture with the tipping of his chin as he turned, snapping his fingers so Lightning would follow as he walked.
He stayed to the secluded thoroughfare, following it to its middle where a heavy steel door was illuminated by a single bulb at its top right corner. Cid fished for the key, pulling a noisy ring full of brass and steel tokens from his long black dust coat. The door cried in the hinges as it swung back, Lightning waiting obediently until Cid had stepped inside before moving in behind him.
Master goes first. Always goes first.
The room they entered was black but their steps echoed. Cid didn't need any light, he knew this place well enough to get about without it. And Lightning could just listen for his footsteps and follow. Tucked in one of the far corners of what I'll reveal as a storage room, was a flight of stairs that was too easy to miss. Down the pair went, the sound of steps dying but echoing still in the chamber that lay beneath them. At the landing, Cid paused, finding and flipping the only switch without so much as a thought. Light bled into the room, a large cluster of rectangular sheets of glass cradling the same kind of bulbs you would see anywhere, in any business you could visit. Though they flashed bright white after a tense flickering, the concrete room seemed to be gray and green at the same time, desolate and dismal. Though it was not entirely empty.
Along one wall rested a mess of well used training equipment; free weights of various size (seemingly massive with so many disks of steel lined up on them), a treadmill, and a hanging punching bag that looked one good sneeze away from falling to pieces. It was wrapped in layers of duct tape, some of it fraying with age, some of it still shiny new. There were traces of sand on the bare, cement rough floor from what had already leaked out of it. In comparison, the other wall was bare, save for the first-aid cabinet, a small steel hatch with a red cross painted on it.
Cid took off his coat as he stepped into the illuminated room, letting it hang in the crook of one elbow as he rolled up the sleeves of his pristine and pressed white shirt. Of course Lightning followed, like his second shadow. He went to the first-aid cabinet, twisting the handle and pulling it open with a whistle of the hinges. He gathered a small selection of things, things he realized he was starting to run a little low on. Iodine, bandages, tape, things of that nature that he never noticed having used so much of. Cid then set his coat on the floor in a lump.
"Show me," he said in the same tone he used to get his dog out of the van.
Lightning reacted immediately, as she was trained to, and began to take off her tattered clothes, starting with the boots. Cid watched with a gaze of indifference, thinking briefly that it might be time to get the dog something new to wear, something with less holes. And I say indifferent and mean exactly that. Cid Raines was a man, yes, but he didn't see Lightning as a woman. She was his dog, a very beautiful dog, but still a dog. Hell, even I like a finely groomed sable Collie, but I'll be damned if I start to drool over one. Excuse the pun.
Now one could see Lightning's strength, the physical power that seemingly tiny body could produce. Lean muscles, whipcord tight, bulging in some places even now as she just stood there. There couldn't have been an ounce of stray weight on her with the natural exceptions of her pert breasts and firm, rounded backside.
Lacerations, both superficial and very deep, reddened her back between the molded shoulder blades, blood smeared all around as her stained shirt had rubbed against them. Cid began to clean around the wounds, systematically, without any investment of genuine care. And though that was the case, Lightning would think he cared. That was how this worked. Give the illusion of a damn, just enough false affection to garner trust, coupled with the right amount of genuine discipline, and they got along just fine. Like a well oiled machine.
Lightning didn't wince, show any sign of pain though it hurt. Pinches, stinging, throbbing that was only now just starting to fade. Yes it hurt, but she wouldn't show it. Couldn't show it. Not in front of master.
Cid assessed the damage quietly, his gaze scrutinizing with a tightness around his eyes. None of the cuts were so serious. Though deep, they were thin and would heal just fine without any assistance.
"Turn around." he ordered, and she did so. There was a bruise forming on the bridge of her nose, bright red and splotched with accents of purple. He cleaned the copper crust of blood from her face, and found silent relief in that her nose wasn't broken. Even small fractures could be such an expensive setback.
"Good girl," he nodded after a final once over, now satisfied that she had been fully cared for. "Time for bed."
That command now allows the relevance of my revealing the only other structure in the room. The crate. At least, that is what Cid called, that is what Lightning knew it to be. It was no more than a cage, steel bars embedded in the floor and walls, light piercing the grid and making a checkerboard of black and white across what lay within. And it was peculiarly arranged, erected in the shape of a somewhat stunted "L". At its tallest the crate was maybe six feet high, and only two feet at its lowest. This is where Cid put his dog to bed, with just enough space in the larger portion for a toilet and sink, and the bedding in the smaller area. And the bedding only consisted of a blanket. Otherwise it was concrete.
Now, usually the crate had a timed lock on it, opening in the early morning and locking again around ten o'clock. But Cid switched of the timer on nights like these, when a fight was scheduled, as there was no telling when he would return. Otherwise, however, Lightning was very much accustomed to waking when the door opened, and lying down as it was scheduled to close.
Cid watched as Lightning stepped into the crate, into the criss-crossing light and crouched down, ducking under the low hang of the foot of the "L", and pulled the blanket tight around her. With a small smirk he shut and lock the door, the collision of metal on metal echoing briefly through the space. He picked up his coat, and as he reached the stairs he switched off the light. Then it was quiet again, and pitch black.
She lay awake in the darkness for but a short while, the familiar scent of home already lulling her to sleep. She clutched the blanket tighter, the only thing that was really hers. It was warm, soft, it brought comfort in spite of its tatters. In that darkness her wild blue eyes eased shut, the dog falling into a deep sleep and dreaming of things she wouldn't remember come morning.
(II)
During the daylight hours, and the night ones depending on the day of the week, Eden hustled and bustled like any other city of its size. Most of those that preferred the nights over the days often ended said nights on the toilet, or I should say, on their knees in front of it. I'm sure you're wondering what that has to do with any of this. I'm getting to that.
While many of Eden's citizens ended their evenings in such disarray, a small handful of them, a cult like following even, would start their days in such fashion. Those like Officer Yun Oerba of Eden's 163rd Precinct.
Just a little too much is all. She groaned mentally, burping with a whine of discomfort as she sat against the wall of the bathroom stall, her backside on the floor. Just a little too much.
It was always a little too much. Every time.
She wiped slowly at the beads of sweat dappling her forehead, skull pounding, hoping now the retching was over. Mostly due to her sympathy towards the good scotch she was yacking up and sending down the tubes. She felt like Taps needed to be playing. That shit was expensive too, so her billfold wasn't too happy either.
The officer, sitting comfy in her mid-twenties, wouldn't stand to be labeled an alcoholic. That was for the poor saps that couldn't even walk home, taking their mess out in public and pissing on the subway because they're too shitfaced to realize they're not on the john. "Alcoholic" was for the ass-showing bastards that beat their spouses and cry about it when they sober up, never mind they would do it again come tomorrow. "Alcoholic" wasn't for her. She functioned. She got up every morning, not always bright eyed and bushy tailed mind you, but she would get up anyhow, and be to work on time. Every time. She could drive, take a full day on duty, come home and not slap around a soul.
I just love the bottle, she would often use to excuse herself. Warmer and more dependable than any man.
Finally she stood up, back pressed against the stall and one hand pushing from its perch on the toilet. She slumped on the handle to send the water swirling, and lumbered out towards the sinks across the room. Yun twisted on the faucet and cupped her hands beneath the frigid flow, pressing it to her heated face. With a gasp she turned the water off, reaching for the paper towel dispenser just beside her, mounted on the wall.
That was better, she thought. Just needed to cool down a bit. I'm fine.
Once the world stopped spinning she straightened up, daring to take a look at herself in the mirror over the sink. She was still a little red in the face, but that wasn't such a big deal. She righted her hair, which she could only do so much with as it was about as wild as she was, and straightened her clothes. There weren't any stains on her navy button-down shirt, or her black blazer. Her sidearm hidden away in its holster beneath it. And her pants were clean, not even a drop of sick on her jump-boots. Oh, but there was one thing...
Yun fished into the inner breast pocket and fished out her badge, the large golden shield tangled up in a ball-joint chain that she eased over her head to dangle about her strong, slender neck. She tucked the chain under the collar, not wanting the pulling and pinching of it on her bare neck. Though she wasn't a full detective, not just yet, she was able to be on duty without that stuffy, gods forsaken uniform that made her ass look fat. Perks like that come with being such a damn good cop.
And she was a damn good cop.
But maybe that was why her co-workers and superiors seemed to ignore her...vice.
She strode out of the bathroom and into the hallway, not looking at all like she'd just been on her hands and knees praying to the porcelain god.
"Out late with the boys again, huh?"
Yun's head snapped to the side, curiosity hiking her eyebrows, but then they leveled and she smiled with feigned smugness. She started walking, knowing her fellow officer would follow, his arms crossed and his shoulders hanging slightly.
"A little bit."
"A little bit? You're a bad liar."
Detective Katzroy was a tired, single father who had been with the 163rd for as long as Yun could remember. You could see the years on the force in the dark bags under his eyes and the creases in his aged face. Though his dark skin did well at hiding. He and Yun worked together all the time, spending many a late night side-by-side in a patrol car on stake outs and escorts and so on, so forth. She knew him, and loved him, like a brother. But that counted the same for him. Sazh knew Yun better than she was ever willing to admit. And when he says "the boys" he means Jim Bean and Jack Daniel.
"You're here early, detective," Yun tipped her head back a little, still grinning. "They let you sit at the front of the bus this mornin'?"
Sazh laughed. It was the usual routine of kidney punches. No malice intended. "Oh yeah, right behind the driver."
"Christ," she breathed a laugh. "What's the world comin' to, I tell ya. Ya know, every time I look at ya I think of a glass of Bailey's. Speakin' of which, I'm thirsty."
"Leave your flask at home?"
"Of course I didn't," she laughed a little louder as they turned a corner, passing the break room and through a cloud of fresh coffee smell. "But it's empty."
"Aww, that's too bad," he shook his head with a mocking smirk.
"It's all right," Yun sighed, "I left a bottle of Wild Turkey in the cruiser."
"Yes you did." he nodded.
She whipped her head to him again, looking a bit more serious. "You didn't."
"I did."
"You owe me."
"The hell I do." he chuckled. "Honkey."
"I'm not white." she defended.
"That's true," his face scrunched in curiosity. "Which makes me wonder; just what the hell are you?"
"I'm awesome."
And the two shared a laugh. Every morning, and all day long. Picking at one another for no other reason that to laugh at and with each other.
As the two drew closer to their destination, the briefing room, more officers started to crowd to corridor, nearly twenty in total, going the same direction. Some in uniform, some in casual dress, a fair mix of officers and detectives. The whole lot of them filed in, one after the other, taking a seat around the long rectangular table. And one came in last, seemingly in a hurry, his face red from having to run to get there before the door shut.
Clearing his throat he rounded the table, silently swearing under the wheezes as every seat he had his eyes on was taken. Finally he spotted one.
"Move your fat ass, Oerba,"
"Testy, testy, I was saving it for you, Mahoney," she straightened, having been leaning on the chair next to her. "Just wanted to be sure you and your spare tires were comfortable."
And Officer Damon Mahoney was indeed a portly fellow with a bright red wooly-booger mustache. Just by glancing at his uniform you could see a messy sewing job on many of the buttons going down the front. Remnants of repairs to them having popped out. How he managed to get by the annual physical in his shape was a marvel. Would've had to roll.
He turned the chair around and leaned against the back of it facing the end of the room, his bitch-tits and extra...self, pressing and spilling out around the hard plastic formation of the chair. The whole thing groaned in protest to his weight.
"Choke on a cock," he wheezed in response.
"Sound idea, know anyone with one o' those?"
Mahoney smiled with the shake of his head. "You can suck mine,"
"Okay, ya know anyone with one big enough? I mean, when was the last time you even saw yours? Isn't it about time to declare the little fella legally dead?"
Snickers erupted throughout the room, even from Sazh who fought to hide them behind his hand.
"Dyke,"
"You're just jealous 'cause my tits are perkier than yours,"
That snickering became full laughter.
"All right everyone, shut the hell up," A loud voice ground out, drawing total silence and undivided attention. The Chief of Police of the E.P.D. was a tall, stout fellow that was pushing fifty-something and went by the name of Moors. A little pudgy in the face, Chief Moors wore large, squared glasses that seemed to perfectly compliment his white, thinning hair, and well kept white mustache. He always wore his fine, navy blue uniform, never smudged and always perfectly pressed.
"Got a few small things to go over before we get started." he had a manilla folder spread out at the far end of the table. "Got the Twenty-fifth Annual E.P.D. Barbeque and Benefit on the seventeenth, all of you are expected to be there to talk to the press. With the formation of the new task force those vultures are looking for a few hearts to eat."
"Oh joy," Sazh grumbled.
"And don't bring any alcohol, we're expecting a horde of kids to be there too."
"Christ, there goes my reason for living," Fang rolled her eyes.
"Also, Oerba you've been voted to take charge of doughnut duty this week."
She only nodded. She was voted in every week. Then again, she always got the best. Something none of her co-workers seemed able to figure out.
"What else," his thick, calloused finger traced down the paper, "oh yeah." and he cringed, as if not wanting to address it. "And this is gonna be the last time I ask; please, whoever you are, please stop writing 'the chief's daughter takes it up the pooper' in the men's bathroom."
The snickering emerged anew.
"I'm as serious as a heart attack, gentlemen." and he scowled at all of them, but that didn't stop the small noises. "I am not happy, and I will not tolerate this behavior any longer."
"What's the matter chief? I don't see why this would bother ya," Yun did have trouble shutting up sometimes. "Unless, of course...it isn't true, is it?"
"Have I fired you yet today, Oerba?"
"Well," she pulled back one sleeve to reveal a watch, "it's only nine...I don't believe ya have."
"Keep firing off that mouth then." Moors face had reddened with well stifled anger, his hands fumbling to sort through the other sheets of paper in front of him. "Now let's get down to business." he grunted.
"Got a call around seven this morning from a realty agent down in the harbor district. He was opening up one of the large storage compounds on the south pier to show to a client and found some unannounced renovations as well as what he thought to be large amounts of blood spatter on the floor. Forensics hasn't come back on whether it's human or not."
"Renovations?" one of the other officers asked. "What's that got to do with us?"
"These so called renovations fit the M.O. of many of our other cases." he held the paper up, adjusting his glasses as he read matter-of-factly. "'Looking to have a portion of the floor removed to form a deep pit.' And that doesn't take into account the numerous articles of paraphernalia that were recovered from the scene. So, in short, we think our realtor may have stumbled on another one of the dog rings."
Quietly all of the officer's exchanged glances.
"I need four officers to go down to the harbor and do a secondary investigation of the scene, maybe forensics missed something. Two of you need to stay and watch the place overnight. Any volunteers?"
The room was quiet, like a tomb.
"Fine, I'll volunteer you." he shook his head, closing the folder. "Katzroy, you and Owens take your partners down to the harbor. I'll let you bitch amongst yourselves over who's sleepin' over. Callahan and Mahoney, I need you lot to go door-to-door in the surrounding neighborhoods. The rest of you have shit loads of phone calls to make."
Christ, Yun pulled her hand down her face, grumbling. "Last thing I wanted to do tonight."
"That's what you get for coming in hung over," Moors gruffed behind his mustache.
"I'm not hung over, chief,"
"Then what day is it?"
Yun stood up, pushed the chair in, and thought a moment. "Tuesday?"
"Swing and a miss," Sazh shrugged under his breath.
"Wrong answer. That'll teach you to get shitfaced on a Sunday."
"Hey, chief, when are you gonna fire Oerba for comin' into the station like this? She's an embarrassment."
Moors looked at Mahoney with all the severity of a gun to your head. "The same day I can your sorry ass for being a colossal prick."
"And the sad part is, with his ass, you'd have to fire him twice," Yun sniggered on her way out the door.
Mahoney opened his fat mouth to protest.
"Get out!" the chief screamed before anyone else could squeeze in another word.
Stepping out of the precinct and onto the pavement, Sazh was still shaking his head.
"Why do you have to do that?"
"Do what?" Yun was smirking as if nothing had happened.
"Everyone and their mother already knows you and Mahoney don't get along. Why you got to push it?'
"Because fuck Mahoney, that's why."
Sazh's expression quirked into something to show he was less than impressed with her answer. "Just get in the car."
The two stepped around to the respective sides of Sazh's car, a fine old thing that was painted the color of wood varnish and had navy blue suede interior. The upholstery groaned beneath them as they settled in, two clicks of seat belts fastening and the jingling of keys.
"Why can't I drive?"
"You kidding? You never get to drive on a Monday."
"It's Monday?"
Sazh shrugged hard as he turned the keys. The engine rolled over and the vehicle rumbled to life. He started forward slowly, waiting for a clear opportunity to enter the thoroughfare. "And you wonder why none of the other detectives wanted you for a partner."
"No, I know why. It's because they're intimidated by the awesome power of my ovaries."
Almost laughed, having to hit the breaks as he tipped his chin too low for him to see the road. "No, it's because of your sipping. That, and the biting thing."
"Biting thing?"
"Yeah," he chuckled again, finally entering traffic, "Fang."
"Son of a bitch. You still remember that? That was months ago."
"Still funny. Did you really have to bite the kid, though?"
"He called my mom a whore." she protested, her hands behind her head as she cocked the chair back a little, sliding a pair of aviator's onto her face.
"Is she?"
"That's beside the point. It was the principle of the matter."
"You're so full of crap."
"And you're black."
Sazh gave her a sideways glance, catching her gaze towards him over the rims of the sunglasses. "What? I thought we were playing 'state the obvious' again."
He could only laugh and shake his head, reminding himself it was dumb fucking luck that Fang was a natural officer, or she wouldn't have even made it out of the academy with her attitude.
Most of the trip to the harbor was a quiet one, thanks in great part to Fang having fallen asleep only minutes from having started. It was the sudden stop, the jarring as the brakes were pressed that woke her up some hour later. Traffic was a bitch. She straightened, stretching first, and then corrected the angle of the seat so she could sit up. Fang rubbed her eyes.
"Suppose we'll wait for Owens to get here first?"
"Yeah, I suppose." He turned the keys until the engine cut off, but then once more so the radio was still on. It was a station that mostly played big-band jazz. He glanced over, watching his partner yawn. "You gonna make it? We gotta long night ahead of us."
"I thought we were gonna bicker about it for an hour before Owens eventually just left anyway." she mused sarcastically, rolling down the window to let a cool Spring breeze rush in. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Could always take a long walk off a short pier if I get too tired of lookin' at ya."
"You make it sound like this is going to be a picnic for me."
"It's always a party when I'm around, old man."
"Yeah, the kind you don't remember and wake up half naked on someone's lawn."
"It only happened once." saying as if they'd had this exact conversation before. "I've gotten better."
"Not much." He narrowed his eyes on her. "In any case, better call home and let Dahj know I'll be late."
And Fang realized she needed to make similar call, reaching into her blazer for her phone. Though she paused a moment to watch Sazh struggle with his cellular a moment.
"Too modern for ya, gramps?"
"Stuff it."
Fang chuckled as she pounded out the numbers with her thumb, putting the phone to her ear in time to hear the customary buzz of the dial tone. There was a click, then a sweet, feminine "Hello?"
"Vanille, it's me."
"Hey, what's up? You okay?"
"Just fine. Needed to call and tell ya I'm not gonna be home for dinner."
"I had a feeling. It's okay, we can reschedule."
"Sorry, hate to miss it." and she really did. It was physically painful to have to turn away from a steak dinner at her favorite roadhouse.
"I know." there was a disappointed sigh that you could easily miss if you weren't paying attention. "Just be safe, okay? Catch some bad guys for me."
"You got it, kiddo. See you tomorrow." and then there was a click, ending the brief conversation. Little did she know that Sazh had hung up just as she did, the two of them mimicking each other's movements to the letter, right down to putting the phones back in their respective pockets. And a customary shrug. Almost a ritual at this point.
Sazh turned his head, looking up with a slight squint to his features. "There's Owens."
Fang groaned faintly. Her headache having gotten suddenly worse. "Do we have to?"
"It's our job. Serve and protect." he unbuckled the seat belt.
Fang merely stuck out her tongue with a feigned "blech" as she slid out of the car.
Author's Note: So it begins anew. So let me get a few things straight. I'm doing this for fun, to hone my skills as a writer. You don't have to like it, and you sure as hell don't need to rant and rave to me if you don't. This is going to be a romantic FLight, my first primarily homosexual pairing. Give me a little margin for error. Otherwise, please enjoy, and any questions or comments (if any) will be addressed as promptly as I can manage to do so. And don't bother complaining about the racist jokes, because I won't be listening.