Notes: This is sort of KH/FFVIII crossover-ish. Fujin's ending is a little up in the air so I can do what I want, even though this probably isn't a possibility, but that's what AU is for, neh? It's pretty mature as well, but I didn't want to label it 'M'.

0----0

"How was that?"

She didn't look at him.

"Come on, girly, give me a little feedback here."

Never sleep with the clients. Ever. That was rule number one, two, and three. She just broke three out of five rules. The other two rules? Never tell them where you're from, and never give out your real name. The business was a strict one, how else could a mercenary operate?

"Come on, Fujin, missing your Garden already?"

She whipped around. "Name? Location? How?"

He stretched back across the bed, a cigarette between his poison lips. "You can knock back quite a few drinks. You gave me your whole life story."

She clenched her eyes shut. "Work?"

"Right." She could hear him moving around. "Here's the information packet, just like you requested."

He was close to her now, and she could smell the smoke coming from the cigarette ready to stain her reputation. She took the packet without turning around, snatching it greedily from his hands. It would be a simple job, should be a simple job, but it was already a little too late for that.

"C'mon, Fuu, what do you say? Can I call you Fuu?"

"No."

"All right, Jini."

"Fujin," she barked, spinning to face him.

"Whatever you say, girly." His smile mocked her, and his eyes were already observing her, learning as much as he could. "My name's Riku, and I need you to take care of a little problem for me. You see, there's this boss of mine, and I don't like the way he's running things. I was thinking that maybe you could," he waves his hand, "knock him down a few rungs on the social ladder."

Fujin swallowed, wondering why suddenly her throat was so dry. "Fine. Gil?"

"About that. I was thinking, girly, that—"

"Payment." She stuck her hand out towards him.

"Didn't I pay enough last night? Who do you think bought all your drinks? You drank away your salary, girly."

0----0

She wondered how she'd ended up like this again, horizontal for him, and sober this time. It had been an easy job, an easy kill, and just another trip to the bar to demand payment—or, it was supposed to be. Instead it was an easy job, and easy kill, a trip to the bar for money—with her dancing on puppet strings the whole time.