Grocery shopping for four rapidly growing teenaged boys and their pet weasel is not a task for the faint of heart, let me tell you that. I generally have Junko come with me to help lug all the junk around, and since he's such a sweetheart he gets the privilege of actually being there when I pick out the food. Like, I mean, if Junko wants rainbow sprinkled cookies and Finn wants the peanut butter chunks, I'm more inclined to go Junko's way. You get me?

But today wasn't a major we-need-to-refill-the-empty-fridge mission. It was just I noticed we were low on a few things and I thought it might be a good idea to stock up in increments rather than our usual monthly shopping spree. Well, a few things turned into a few more than a few things, and balancing three paper bags (one of which the bottom was disintegrating from the sweat of a carton of juice) is not an easy task, even for me.

An orange spilled and went rolling. That's what did it. It had to be an orange. If it had been any other fruit I would have said, "Screw it, I'm not getting that, it's ruined anyway."

But, you know, who eats orange peels? They're dirty anyway. I didn't like wasting money on fruit that went rolling in sadistic glee down the fregging sidewalk. I chased it, like the fool I am. And it rolled right up to a pair of booted feet. Someone's booted feet.

And someone

picked it

up.

So now here I am, clenching three paper bags close to my chest with my teeth pressed so tight against each other I can feel the headache forming. And Master Cyclonis takes my orange and brushes the dirt off of it and holds it out to me, face unreadable, thoughts unknowable.

"Hi," she says, wrapping the orange in a white handkerchief and tossing it at me. I shift so that it lands in the gaping mouth of one of the bags, never taking my eyes off of her.

And then she says:

"Truce?"

OoOoOo

Lark and Cyclonis.

Friend and Enemy.

Which is her true name? Her true nature? The empress- or the girl?

(I just can't wrap my head around the idea of her being both.)

"Truce," I repeat dumbly.

She sets down her mug of hot chocolate and smiles thinly at me, that lying-snaky smile that she probably practices in the mirror. "Kind of weird, isn't it?" she says to me. She rolls her shoulders and closes her eyes in a carefree gesture, and I can't help but flinch, waiting for her to attack me, waiting for the Dark Ace to burst in with a squadron of Talons ready to kidnap me, ready for the ice cream to rot inside the brown paper bags that rest on the cafe table. She leans forward, hands forming a steeple, and I keep my hands on my lap and flinch again. "I want you to help me," she says. "You're probably the only one sneaky enough who can."

"Sneak-" I start, but then I see her reach inside her jacket pocket and I surge to my feet, fumbling for a crystal knife.

She pulls out a white envelope. Waves it at me with a dry smile.

I sit back down, feeling foolish.

"In this letter is a course of actions that 'you'" she makes finger quotations. "Came up with in order to start negotiations for a peace treaty between Atmosia and Cyclonia." For the first time, I think I see an actual, unplanned emotion cross her face as she adds, "I can't suggest it for images sake. For me to ask for peace would be a sign of weakness."

That has me a little riled up. "Oh, and it wouldn't be if Atmosia was the one asking? We have our pride too."

"Yes," she says, patiently, "But you're nothing but a soldier and I'm the leader of the entire empire."

Ouch.

"I'm asking you to do this because you'd lose nothing. I'd lose face. I'm asking you to bitch slap the Sky Council a little and let them see that this war is ruining both of us." Bored now, she crosses her legs at the knee and starts bobbing one foot, glancing off down the street. "They wouldn't think twice, after they see this nice reasonable argument that 'you' thought up all on your lonesome. Who'da thunk Piper of the Storm Hawks was so politically savvy?"

She laughs.

"Nah, they wouldn't mind looking weak. They're as eager to end this war as I am, but I as the aggressor must not-"

"Why do I have to do anything you say?"

She stops.

"She", stops.

("She" because I don't know what her name is.)

Because I don't know how to react to this.

Because the first time I met her she saved my life and told me I was just like her, (-I'm not, I'm not like you, I'll never be like you, I'll never join you-) the second time I saw her she tried to kill me. She tried to traumatize me, rip my friends apart limb by limb and make me watch it all.

Because she was my friend and then she used me.

I don't even know if Lark isn't just some pseudonym she made up one day.

(This is a trick this is a trick this is a trick this is a trick this is a trick this is a trick)

"All I have to do is shout and the guards'll come running."

"Yes," she admits. "And then I would have to kill them all, and then kill you. And that's not what I want."

"Well someone is confident," I snip. "If you really wanted peace, you'd stop threatening me."

"If you want peace, do as I say."

We glare at each other, sparks igniting and catching on the tinder.

And then I can't help myself. I look away, wrapping my arms around myself, and I whisper, "...Why?"

"Why... what?"

"Why.. everything? Why come here? To me? I thought you wanted to..."

"...Take control of Atmos? Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. However-" She reaches forward faster than I can see and grabs my right hand by the wrist, yanking me forward and pressing my palm underneath the heavy folds of her jacket.

And I feel...

I feel....

I feel life.

(Pulsing.)

My eyes go buggy. "You... you're... But you're... I mean, we're... we're the same age!"

Sixteen.

Jesus Christ Almighty on a Pogo Stick, she's pregnant.

Her dry voice snaps me back to reality. "However, I'm a little... preoccupied with other thingsat the moment."

"Who-what- why- what??" I can't help but blurt out.

"That, is an incredibly personal question that I don't feel the need to answer right now." She lets me go and I take a few steps back, still mildly disturbed, still frightened this is all a trick, still confused as hell. "All you need to know, Piper is...children..."

(Purple eyes completely unveiled, vulnerable and pleading.)

"...Children shouldn't have to fight wars."

She leaves, and the white envelope sits on the table top, waiting for me to pick it up.

OoOoOo

A/N: A brief return to the Moa universe! Before Moa was born! And a complete lack of DA! YAY!