A Family of idiots

Grace

to my readers,

It's a case of attack of the plot bunny. I've had this one rattling around upstairs for a while so I thought I'd let him free to nibble on the tips of computer screens rather than take places in perfectly honest margin space. I'm taking a breather from my Shinra FF7 work, and decided that between working on the game novelization for FF7 I'd get back to some of my old, incomplete works. This one is is on the top of my "to do" list.

Kasan Soulblade

Ditching pursuit had been easy. A piece of cake or a slice of pastry, (the saying depended on if you asked Noir or York about it). Once up the slope and hugging the side of the mountain the trail had gone cold. Losing both trail and head the Comidant had charged headlong to the heart of the mountain while his quarryhiked along it's flank. Satisfied that the hunt was off the four people of dubious repute and their charge had begun the walk down. When they had stopped for thier light luncheon they had found a stream, and play, both.

The water was shockingly cold. The shock though was a pleasant one, the numbness that followed it a blessing. Raising their voices in gasps of surprise at their fine, the unlikely gathering of Malkuth and Kimlascan thieves acted in the most unlikely of ways.

They acted like children.

Kicking off boots and vests they plunged into the water, even the deformed, short man cast his walking stick aside and tumbled in. Racial alliances were forgotten, grudges cast aside, all for the pleasure of the moment. Grinning mischievously the red haired woman called Noir slipped behind the tall black bearded man. One half jump later she descended, bringing him down with her. Howls and hoots met that attack, and with a blush that could have done a maiden proud Noir retreated to the far shore before their leader could rise and give out retribution.

Sputtering, red face, the tall black haired man surged to the surface and managed one step towards his assailent. Hoots form the background made justice unplasable. In moments all out war was declared between the men.

At the forest's edge the child watched the thieves play with eyes wide.

Running a hand through her own locks -red today, as red as the child's hair whom they'd stollen- Noir looked upon her manufactured chaos with a smile. Smug, triumphant, and with the barest of blushes on her cheeks she looked upon the fight as if it were all her doing. Then, she looked past the fight, across the shallow river, and from the far bank looked on him. Hard eyes warmed with amusement she favored her "loot" with a backhanded kind of attention.

"Aren't you going to join in, kid?"

He'd been creeping forward without knowing. Slinking from the shadowed edge into sunlight and the laughter he was an unwitting victim of the soundless beckoning of lapping waves. Jolted back to himself, the boy cringed back at the blantant invitation. Eyes wide, he shook his head wildly, sending crimson locks swaying this way and that.

As always, when faced with opposition, Noir went the way of water. Took the path of least resistence, and she did it with grace.

"Whatever" The thief sniffed.

Whether it was ill grace or good, Noir did everything with grace. No one could ever denying that.