(2,700 words) I'm sorry if I haven't updated in awhile, I was being kinda slack with my writing, so here's a new chapter (that I wrote in one night)

My beta is having computer problems so she hasn't gone through this, I decided since it was short I should just read through it myself and then put it up. It makes it much easier than going through all the trouble to use a USB to get the files on her laptop then wait for her to actually be at school so she can give them back to me. she missed three days this week because she got a new dog (A four month old husky), I love him and he's awesome but he's an escape artist who just learnt how to jump the fence and so she's been looking after him.

And now this,

I CAUGHT THE MOTHERFUCKING HYLIAN LOACH MOTHERFUKER!

That didn't happen. Don't ask, 3 years worth of obsessing over a fictional fish is unhealthy. So you can expect what happens when you catch it full size. I rocked back and forth on the floor pouring my eyes out.

Hey is it weird if you walk into a classroom and your teacher has disappeared and some kid is screaming his head off and throwing chairs at another boy across the room who had to hide under the teachers desk for shelter.

That is all.

Disclaimer: I no own this.

Dance against the Wind

Chapter 9: Old maid

Claire was sitting on a loveseat in the house's front parlour; she had engrossed herself in a book to keep her thoughts away. Too much had gone on in the last month; her sister was married now, and had already moved away from Oerba, to a smaller city eastward. She'd promised to do her best to keep in touch; she meant through letters of course, the distance between them was too great for anything otherwise. It saddened her that she was gone, and with that oaf to add to it, but she tried to think it was better for her there. Tried.

Maybe that didn't even count as the worst part of it all, her father was currently in service of the Pulsian army. Not out of choice of his own, all the blame could be placed on stupid conscription. He had been the unlucky one chosen, all his friends and business acquaintances had been much luckier and for them life went as normal. Sometimes such things just made you want to hit something, anything really, goddess another person would certainly suffice. Everyone was taking their luxurious lives for granted, and she could hate nothing more. How dare they act like everything was fine when they only got to where they were from the people they trampled?

And people wonder why she can't stand them. At least she had always known that this life could easily be taken away, why every day this house is under threat of Cocoonian soldiers attacking it. She'd heard it all before, a small group of soldiers, going against their commands running off and destroying anything they deemed worthy of punishment. A plantation ticked all those boxes.

How on earth her mother could act so fine and dandy was beyond her.

"So that's where you are?" A voice piped up from the doorway.

Claire looked up from the pages of her book to see an unfamiliar man looking right at her with what she'd call a smug and confident smirk gracing his features. He was dressed in very expensive clothes, not much different from what she usually saw when men visited, but he seemed a tad bit more extravagant than those other men. He had dark brown hair tied up into a short pony tail, and had a good height. He had this aura about him that made him seem so sure of himself that he could do anything and everything he wanted without fail. A bundle of papers rested in his arms, she had no reason to question it, her father's colleges were collecting papers from his office as they were too look after his businesses while he was gone.

This man seemed younger than all those other men, besides his comment nothing but his youth made her surprised to see him.

"Most men I see in this house's hair is already greying and falling out, someone with your appearance is certainly a mite unexpected." She replied in an attempt of politeness in hopes he'd leave quicker instead of having an argument like most would.

"Well that's to be expected, most of those men have failed to have a son to take over their business. Mine was lucky enough to have as you can clearly see. But to be more honest it is actually my father who was acquainted with yours. He has fallen sick of late and the doctor's sure he will not make it, so I'm taken care of all his affairs." He explained; she spotted how he was trying to simplify his words, she was a woman; she wasn't surprised. But that wasn't the main thing that caught her attention, but a simple word instead.

"Don't' say 'was', he's not dead yet, and neither is yours according to what you said." A spark of annoyance hit her so she returned her attention to her book. A thought told her that if he was to spot her lack of interest in the conversation he'd leave. But as she soon found out he wasn't interested in what she wanted.

"Heh; that slave girl told me you'd say such. A high voice she had, took me by surprise." He chuckled quietly, like seeing him express emotion might bring back her interest. If only he knew she never had it from the start. "I do think if only that girl's skin was like ours she'd be quite the beauty. It's a shame really."

She looked up again, this time her annoyance had made her do the opposite of what it'd made her do before.

"The colour of someone's skin does not dictate a person's beauty, it's only your refusal to admit that someone different to yourself can have it that stops you from seeing it." She responded and had to forcible keep her irritation from sounding in her tone.

She could spot his smile from the corner of her eyes.

"I was right to believe when your mother claimed you were a strange one." He let out a short laugh.

"That's what everyone says." She rolled her eyes.

"You shouldn't be so negative to yourself, I'd say interesting myself."

She raised an eyebrow, but he said no more, in fact he did nothing more but walk away.

Interesting? Strange has nothing to do with interesting, what on earth was going on in that mind of his?

In the days after the short conversation with the unknown man, Claire found herself taking up the habit of walking aimlessly around the house. Even to this day she had trouble calling it hers; it had retained throughout the years a feeling of coldness and distance. She had no one who she could talk to sides Butterfly, and the young teen never faved talking. She only talked when she had too, or simply to scold someone. Everyone else disliked Claire greatly, and when she had no one but a shy girl she may as well have no one. Her mother would talk, but what interested her certainly didn't when it came to that woman, most every attempt at a chat ended as an argument between them. All because her mother was being herself or because Claire had chosen a topic that her mother valued as something only a man would dare talk about; apparently women shouldn't even understand one word of it and it was wrong for her father to teach her one bit. Calling it a silly thought didn't feel enough, but sometimes she felt wrong thinking so spitefully about her own mother.

So with her being stuck in silence, wandering about the house was her last resort. Sadly escaping to her special place didn't help anymore, her memories would attack her if she ever dared. The only memory that couldn't be deemed bad whenever she thought of the place was that night from the party when god knows why some kid actually stayed and listened to her as she ranted on about all her annoyances. What was his name again? It was a girl's name she remembered that much at least, she'd originally found it funny. Oh it didn't matter anyway, she had high doubts they'd meet again. According to what her mother had informed her not even two nights back his father had made the choice to sell all his slaves and move up to Cocoon. Claire's mother had called it cowardice; she'd called it being smart. It was simple, either be killed brutally for the way you've been brought up or live in another place with an alteration or two and be forever safe.

Maybe she should tell her mother that multiple times when the soldiers had found women living at the homes they were attacking, they also raped them before killing them. Maybe, just maybe she'd begin to have worries. The common sense in her head told Claire that even hearing such a thing would still be unable to get through to her mother. She wouldn't call her thick, more delusional.

Claire sighed and took those thoughts away, she wasn't her mother; she knew if she dwelled on them too long she would indeed begin to feel worried. She had mental strength better than most women, but she was nothing in the physical aspect. If such a thing did occur, there would be nothing she could do.

She strode at a slow pace into the library; it was the most breathtaking part of the house in her eyes. Sure the ballroom was amazing, but not as elegant. If you were to stand in the middle of the doorway you would see book shelves that went as high as the roof and spanned for longer than the eyes could see. The room was all beautifully decorated in rich vibrant colours to add to its magnificence. Surely that was enough to make her mother love its appearance dearly, even if she had no care for what it was there for. She didn't doubt, that her mother had never read a book in her life, sometimes Claire wondered if she even knew how to read. There weren't many skills she had at all sides giving out orders, which she had mastered over the years for sure.

Claire took out a leather encased book from near the bottom of the shelves on the left side. It was close to the place she had taken out the one earlier a few days back. The group stacked in front of her were no more than simple fictitious novels. She didn't have as much interest in them as she did with the ones that covered more business related topics, but it was the closest she had to an escape right now, and she was glad for it. The last one had supplied extra entertainment because it was about a woman but written from a man's view. This was not the problem, he had written the female lead, though what she'd call cliché for lack of a better word, he had written her with startling accuracy. The way she was was racist, but sadly true, she was far too feeble and useless. Claire had gotten so annoyed by the main's personality that she had on more than one occasion where she had unwillingly been sucked in had begun yelling at the book, specifically at the fictional main. Poor Butterfly had walked in on one such occasion, perhaps it was right to feel at least sorry for her to a degree.

She took no more than three steps and sat down on a cushioned couch, one of three all placed in a circle around a glass-topped coffee table. She could only hope that she wouldn't encounter similar problems with the characters as she had before.

Claire stood in front of her dressing table's looking-glass, dressed in a cream nightgown. Glad the day was finally over; she'd gone through the day virtually without having to talk to her mother at all. The older woman had attempted to start a conversation at dinner time, but she'd been quick to shut her out and ruin that attempt. Nothing that came from her mouth was useful or worth her time. It was only ever complaining. Sometimes it was because she was being too stubborn, sometimes because she reckoned she was being so un-lady like. Whatever the cause, it always ended with her mother telling her that she believed that she would never get a husband. She simply could not believe that a daughter or hers could not want to have one; to her it was a need in a woman's life.

"Ahem." A voice appeared from the doorway, well speak of the devil.

Claire turned to face her mother, who happened to still be fully dressed in today's attire. A surprise; because it was common for the woman to retired for the day before her daughter.

"What is it?" She asked in a poison laced tone, for she'd hardly be surprised if her mother's chosen topic was worse than usual.

The elder woman flinched at the tone, taken aback clearly, but doubting in her mind if she should be shocked at its almost random and unexpected use.

"You've avoided talking to me of late have you not Claire?" She asked rather simply, an anger hid at the back of voice, one she failed to hide.

"I'm amazed you noticed." Her daughter rudely gave a roll of her eyes and folded her arms, choosing to stare opposite her, instead of at her face. Claire's tone had held sure hints of sarcasm, yet it was serious at the same time. A sign that her mother was being looked down upon, how could she not feel insulted? When it came from one younger than her?

"Of course I noticed, you're my daughter, a mother knows their daughter! How could I not notice!?" She failed to keep her voice low, as it lifted close to a yell.

"A mother knows their daughter?" Claire repeated the words, mockingly. "That's not what I've learnt growing up." She scoffed.

Her mother's face flared red in anger. She was used to Claire's rudeness, but it never came out so fast, and so spitefully as well.

"How dare you!? Sometimes I really wonder if you understand anything that's said to you!" She screamed the sentence this time, now she didn't care at all if it be overheard.

Claire lifted up her face, to stare into her mother's blue eyes. The cheeks below them were a deep red, she hid a laugh, for a stupid reason yes, but the startling difference between her cheeks and blonde hair looked a mite hilarious.

"That's a common thought I have, for you of course." She replied in a voice showing close to no emotion. She wanted this over and done with, not to drag it out. Her mother chose a bad time. She was so tired.

If it was possible, the ageing woman's face became even redder than before.

"How can you be so mean!? I'm just trying to look out for you and you get like this!" She yelled at the top of her voice, as loud as possible.

Claire lifted an eyebrow at what she saw as an overreaction.

"Looking out for me? How so?" She inquired seriously.

"I don't want my daughter becoming some old maid, I don't want you to be lonely all your life." She started but was stopped by her daughters sigh and next comment.

"Oh not this again. You'll never accept that I don't want to be married? Why must you persist with this issue?" Anger flickered behind her blues eyes.

Her mother took a breath. "Because no woman should be alone, rich or poor alike. A woman is not complete until she has a man by her side." She answered in a begging tone.

"How can you think like that!?"

"How can you not!? Have you ever thought about getting a husband? That pretty face of yours will not last forever…what about that young man who was here a couple of days ago? He seemed nice, plus when I got talking to him he never said he believed you to be strange…"

"Oh wow, wanting to marry me off to a stranger, because that's what every mother wants. Anyway he said 'interesting', but that's just how he was choosing to say it. He still thinks I'm weird." She finished

"Oh come on Claire!" The older woman pleaded.

"Get out!" She raised her hand and pointed it to the double doors behind her mother.

She was shocked, and hurt. It all shone from her pitiful expression. But she gave up, and said nothing more. And luckily for Claire, she did listen to her for once, and walked out.

I don't know what to call this...who wants to help me?

Oh and if anyone noticed don't worry that I took FLight off the description, I just want to attract more Hope/Light fans because I have none.

If anyone is stupid enough to put in a review 'more FLight' I'm going to threaten you with discontinuing the story because frankly it's annoying as all god damn hell. If the match up is the only thing that's keeping you reading this story then be careful or I will hate you.

Thanks for all the reviews in the last chapter, that made me really happy, let's see if I can have the same luck as I did with my episodes on Flipnote Hatena and see if I can beat my record. Though I doubt I will because not allowing my fans to talk about FLight cuts it all down to only my sister reviewing (Can you understand now why the FLight fans are getting on my nerves?)

I recommend you read my darling 'Wings of Regret' because no one does and I tell you now it deserves popularity way more than this does.

~Serah Villiers Valentine