Standard Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, its characters, its cities, and the company of Shin-Ra, Inc. are the property of Square. I claim no rights to any of these concepts. Rebeka and the dark-eyed men, however, are my own creations.

Author's Note: Chapters One, Two, and Three, as of June 26, 2002, have been updated to reflect a moment of inspiration in the form of a more suitable origin for Scarlet's name.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, sliding the screwdriver's point into the crack at the end of the toaster.

Gently, she began to wedge the tool into the appliance; every now and then giving it a firmer nudge to widen the rift where the sides of the item joined. A gleam of delight came into sapphire eyes as the plasti-coated metal buckled, and she poised her hand for the final thrust that would separate the sheets complet -

"Charlotte!"

The six-year-old jumped at the sound of her mother's voice and dropped the screwdriver; which rolled away, unnoticed, to rest beneath the sagging sofa. Contriving the most innocent expression she was capable of, Charlotte raised her head to appraise the older woman's temperament. "...hi Mommy."

Rebeka Kirana shook her head. "What have I told you about taking things apart?"

The girl blinked once and replied instantly, "Not to?" Well, that was a stupid question. It wasn't as if she didn't know the answer, as often as it left her mother's mouth. It was just that she didn't care, which was another thing entirely.

"Then why do you insist ...forget it. I don't have time to deal with this today." Ignoring the squeal of protest that resulted, Rebeka bent over and scooped the child into her arms.

"Lemme go lemme go lemme go!" Charlotte whined, squirming helplessly against her grasp. "I'm bored!"

"Why don't you buy the kid a doll or somethin', Becky?" The inquiry came from the man leaning against the doorframe; most likely another of her mother's boytoys. Dark-suited, with piercing eyes and a shoulder-length ponytail of similar chroma, he certainly looked every part of the successful type of man Rebeka preferred to dally with in the hopes of reaping more than simply physical benefits. He crossed his arms languidly and lofted a brow, waiting for the reply.

"Take a look around. Does it look like I can afford to buy her toys?" Rebeka snapped, turning to face him. "I have a hard enough time keeping her fed, let alone entertained."

That, at least, was true enough. When her various paramours did pass her a handful of wadded bills to help ease her way, she tended to fritter them away quickly on comforts for herself; leaving the tiny flat she and her daughter inhabited in near-squalid shape. Little more than a hovel in the slums of Midgar to begin with, the disinterest Rebeka showed for trying to improve her surroundings had quickly reduced the environment even further - a situation that had only worsened more after the birth of her child. Walls and floor alike were a sickly grayish hue, lacquered on from years of accumulating dirt and grime; and what furniture there was was broken and stained, the majority of it pulled home from trash depositories.

Tired of wriggling to no avail, Charlotte opened her mouth and latched onto Rebeka's arm.

The woman's reaction was instantaneous; releasing the hyperactive child to drop onto the sofa. Briefly, she regarded the reddening marks on the back of her wrist; a thin trickle of blood welling where a tooth had managed sink in more deeply before being torn away. "Brat!" she hissed, wiping the crimson fluid away with a fingertip and raising her hand again; this time to strike her daughter sharply across the mouth.

Charlotte whimpered, blinking rapidly a few times as her eyes filled with tears. She knew better than to wail, however, now that Rebeka's patience had worn thin. Abruptly tasting the copper of blood on her own tongue, she sought its source, finally pushing the end of the pinkish muscle into the gap created by the knocking free of a previously-loose baby tooth.

"You had best be in bed when I get home," Rebeka warned her as she snatched her coat from the back of a chair. Without another word, she picked her way to the door. The man standing there already watched the child for another moment; then shook his head quietly and followed the woman out.

Charlotte waited until the sound of footsteps in the hall had died away, then slid from the sofa. Her tears dried quickly as she gathered the pieces of the broken toaster; eyes needed to survey the parts in her lap. As near as she could tell, the only thing missing was the screwdriver, and that was easily taken care of.

She set the mass of metal and wire aside and sprawled out on the floor in front of the sofa, one small hand stretching forward to fish through the mess beneath it. Her fingers passed over a lump that could have been anything from carpet bits to rat hairballs and she wrinkled her nose, but her efforts were rewarded as they closed around the cool, glassy handle of the instrument. Pulling it free, the girl straightened and began re-assembling the pieces of the makeshift puzzle.

* * *

"... told her to go to bed."

"Hey, she's asleep. What more do you expect? You leave the kid alone in a dark flat in the slums on a regular basis. She's probably scared to death of going back there."

Charlotte blinked sleepily, yawning. Oops. She really had meant to take her toaster into the back of the flat, but the light there was far less than sufficient to see where the sharp edges on the metal were. It had taken longer than she'd originally expected to peel away the outer coating, as well. She must have drifted off and not realized it, and now there was going to be hell to pay.

"Get your ass back there, girl! Move it!" Rebeka glowered at her daughter as soon as her eyes were in range of catching the expression. The child simply nodded, murmuring a frightened, "Yes, Mommy," and scambling to her feet.

The dark-suited man stepped forward. "I'll take her," he offered, not bothering to wait for an agreement from her mother before capturing the girl. As she had in her mother's hands, she squealed and kicked her heels. He merely curled his other arm beneath her knees and strode to the tiny bedroom.

Plunked unceremoniously onto the thirdhand bed, Charlotte abandoned the battered toaster and drew her knees to her chest, sniffling. "I'm sorry," she whispered, daring a brief peek at the man.

He smiled quietly, dropping a hand to the top of her head and ruffling her hair. "Sure, kid," he replied easily. "No problem. I think maybe you ought to stop using your mom's kitchen as a toybox, though." His fingers retreated from the wispy, golden strands, and he reached inside his coat to withdraw an object from a pocket in the lining. "G'night." With a wink, he stepped through the door; turning at the last second to toss the gift to the child.

What little light that did filter into the room was cut off as he closed the door, and despite her best efforts to catch it, it struck her in the chest - albeit with less force than she had expected. She scooped it from her knees, crawling across the bed to pull back the curtains with free hand and examine her prize.

A doll; no more than six inches in height and crafted completely of soft, clean cloth. Its hair, loops of coiled, yellow ribbon, was arranged in two lengthy braids; and its face was painted on with careful strokes of a brush, barely visible in the greenish glow of the neon lights that made the slums negotiable after hours. Charlotte gasped, hugging the little treasure to her chest. It was a cheap one, to be sure, but it was more than any of her mother's other playmates had ever given her. It was very nearly more than Rebeka had ever given her, save on the rare birthdays when there was a bit of extra money left from one of her escapades.

She let the thin curtains fall to obscure the window again, and dropped back to the pillows. There, the doll cradled in her palm, she slept.