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Dedicated to Scarr. Who's beauty shines through her work and inspires me.
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The chalk was chipping off as I drew the boxes in the rocky ground. A cool breeze caressed the tree's and pulled playfully at my hair. Leaning farther over, I put the finishing touches on the box. Then quickly, I went back and put a number in each box. Brushing my hands off, I stood up to admire my work.
Searching the ground I found a good shaped rock and picked it up. Tossing the rock onto my perfect hopscotch squares I proceeded to play the old game. Memories were seared into my brain, of playing this game as a child. Listening to the other children laughing. Shaking the memories away I began to play.
The sun beat down on my bare shoulders. Hopping from square to square, I begin to whistle a slow tune. The tune was something my mother would sing to me when I was younger. The actually lyrics were lost with time, but the tune was one I could never forget.
Hopscotch was one of those games children grew up with. Everyday we would run up here, multi colored chalk in hand. Under the watchful eye of Kinutora, the Lady of Wutai. The children would escape from the world that was around them. But when she died, nobody would come and watch the children.
"Well Yuffie girl," I whispered out loud to myself. "You are the Lady of Wutai now."
Cool breeze tickled my bare arms, sending shivers down my spine. Up here, away from the prying eyes of the world, I could be myself. Have no fear and don't feel like I need to hide the shame that crisscross my body. I continue to play my game, knowing full well how they look in the sun. The most recent cuts are angry welts, others have faded and are dull looking. But each has a story behind it, a tale that is easier to cut than to say.
With the trained eye of a ninja I can catch any sudden movements around me. Even the more subtle movements of the tree's shifting in the wind. How I let him slip past my guard I don't know. I had lost myself in the game, in the memories of the past.
"Pretty princess playing her game," a voice sneered from behind me.
It has been three years since I last heard that voice, but I would never be able to forget it. A cold voice that was as confident as it was rude.
But instead of throwing a sneering comeback, I simply continue to play the game. Jumping from one foot to the next, tuning out the world. Turning I finally spotted him, leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. In three years he hadn't changed. His expression still was the same, his eyes still cold, filled with an eternal hatred. His flame red hair was the same length, still held up by those ridiculous sunglasses.
The blue Turk uniform was gone. Replaced by regular jeans and a rumpled blue shirt. A black jacket completed the look.
"Is the kid having fun," Reno asked, pushing away from the tree.
"I'm not the kid you remembered me to be," I stated, stopping to watch him approach.
"You certainly don't look like the kid I last saw in Midgar," he said, looking me up and down. "Your innocent look is no longer."
"That was a long time ago."
I watched him with calm eyes as he stopped a few feet from me. I felt his eyes drinking me in and I fought to not cross my arms over my chest. He had always had a way of making people feel small. I still wasn't sure why I let it effect me so much.
His eyes narrowed sharply and I frowned. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see my jacket laying across the face of a rock. I made a lunge for it but he moved swiftly. His right hand closed over my arm, jerking me to a stop.
"Let go," I ordered, trying to shake out of his grip.
Ignoring me, he ran his fingers over the scars that crisscrossed my arms. That sharp look in his eyes disappeared, being replaced by one of confusion.
"Something tells me these aren't battle scars," he murmured, glancing down at my legs. "What are you doing?"
"Who asked you to care?" I snapped, still trying to get free.
A smirk crossed his features and that confident look leaked back into his cobalt eyes. I never even thought about my next action, I simply let reflexes takes over. My left hand connected loudly with his right cheek. My whole body was trembling, yet still he didn't release me.
"Let go!" I ordered sharply, a gust of wind blowing my long hair into his face.
Glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, he continued to smirk. Hand raised again, ready to deliver another strike. A steely grip caught my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin.
"Reno, I said let-"
The caresses of warmth against my lips halted the words. For a moment, all the world stopped for me. I had been expecting everything but this. His hand still gripped my left wrist, trapping me too him.
A cool brush of rough skin against my cheek sent a shiver racing through my body. His eyes were closed, hiding all emotions he may have been feeling.
Raising my right leg slowly, I grabbed the handle of the knife, hoping that my actions were going unnoticed. Holding the handle in a steady grip, I moved.
The tip of my blade pressed dangerously into the side of his neck. He pulled back slightly, eyes slowly sliding open. A dangerous smile warned me too late of the trap. His blade was positioned at the hollow of my throat. I had been so preoccupied with gaining my own advantage, I forgot to give him the credit he deserved. He was a Turk after all.
His cool eyes locked onto mine. There was no laughter in his eyes, his face completely serious.
"Now babe, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," he whispered, his breath warm on my face.
I smiled at him, portraying to him that I was game.
"Let's decide on three," I said.
Our voices become one as we counted down.
"One."
His trademark smirk graced his featured.
"Two."
I kept my smile, increasing the pressure on my blade.
"Three."