Moonshine's Guide: I HATE HOJO. Have you ever seen his hair? Swear to God, I think he was doing biological experiments on his scalp... eww. It's greasy and yucky. I have no clue why Lucrecia decided to procreate with that slimeball... I mean, Vincent (hot, honest, nice, sexy, omg omg) versus Hojo (creepy, dirty, dishonest, eww)? Obvious outcome for most women. I'm a little unsure about where this story's going... I even don't have a timeline, and the ending of this chapter was not in my original plan at all. Neither was the dude... can't disclose anymore, but anway. I'm not winning Pulitzer anytime soon, obviously.
Echo the Ethereal - ARGH. I guess Sephiroth was right in the cosplay skit... Sephiroth in Darth Vader costume: 'That was just a marketing ploy by Square Enix to get all of your money'... I can't keep up with all the stuff. I only played halfway through DC, because my friend had it and I had to move away for college. I didn't finish half of BC on my phone. I can't get CC because I don't have PSP. And I probably won't be able to play EC because I'm not buying a PS3... although buying it will allow me to play the games I want (FVII series and DMC series)... dilemma. Fight between desire and time/financial management. Crap.
Chapter 19: Nighttime Leisures
"And why on earth can't I have Rude as my escort?"
"Since when did you start cheating on me with the baldy, huh?"
Arien crossed her bare arms. "You know what I mean. I don't feel safe around you with this much skin exposed."
"I don't have any leprosy or anything."
"Again, you know what I mean." She looked at herself in the large mirror with a determined sigh. "Why am I always the bait?"
"It's because you look good," Reno replied casually.
"No, really."
"Well, one, because you're a manipulative bitch, two, because you sure as hell know how to get onto a guy…"
"What!"
"Living proof," Reno pointed at himself.
"You played the seducer, I the seduced! Not the other way around!"
"Whatever. Three, you just look good in a dress."
"Thanks." She twirled slowly in front of the mirror, checking her appearance. "Do I look okay?"
"Your nose is in the right place."
"Reno." Arien was now getting very annoyed. "I mean, would I be able to do my job?"
"You mean, do you look good?"
Arien's eyes said yes.
"Erm…" He narrowed his eyes critically, then a vulgar grin wafted across his face. "You look good. You look good in that dress. In fact, you look so good in that dress that I wanna rip it off and see if you're actually that sexy out of that dress. Happy?"
"No," was her reply, followed by the clicks of her heels. Reno laughed quietly, then followed her out the office.
"Okay, Chauffeur, get me out."
Arien was being bossy, as if she was retaliating for his comment back in the office. What was wrong with her? He complimented her and all of a sudden she was in a huff. But then, she did rather value her humanity or some other crap, and treating her as a sex kitten probably wasn't a good idea. He turned around in the driver's seat. "Ready?"
"You mean, am I as ready as I can be with one gun on my person? Sure," came back the acidic retort. "Can we please get this going?"
"Yes, mademoiselle," Reno chirped. Arien frowned.
"What?"
"You pronounced it wrong. The accent's on the s."
"Es, schmes. We ain't here to take language lessons." Reno got out of the car and opened the back door. "Good luck."
Arien gave no glance or recognition for his goodwill, and just disappeared among the crowd that was already bunching up at the front door. Reno could see chandeliers inside the front hall, golden gilded mirrors, the red carpets, roses in vases, the works. Men in formalwear, women in evening gowns. Arien stood out with her height and being alone; her manners could probably lead this mission to success. He watched her hips sway in a particular manner that it does when a woman is in a tight skirt and unhealthily high pair of heels, then shook his head with a vague smile. Single men were watching her blatantly, married ones out of the corners of their eyes. The redhead took extreme satisfaction in the fact that while these boys could only dream, he knew her quite intimately, in ways that these men could only dream about during the darkest hours.
"She's a looker, ain't she?" asked a real chauffeur who was watching Arien disappear. Reno started, then grinned.
"Yep, bet she's good in bed too."
This was a party, and that meant she'd be bored out of her mind unless she latched onto the idiot fast. She hated parties. She didn't have the talent to be smooth, and making small talks was more painful for her than getting electrocuted. Social skills weren't taught in the Academy, and she never picked it up.
She looked around as she fished out the invitation – forged and forced at the last minute – and showed it to the man who was standing at the main entrance door. Without much concern she swept through the door, wondering who came up with the brilliant idea of having a subterfuge like this. Arien had a gut feeling that she knew damn well whose idea it was. Consequently, she would pretty much have to flash the entire hall in order to reach her gun, or rip her dress. Either way, it forced to get her last shred of modesty out the window. Great.
She weaved her way through, grabbing a tall flute of champagne on the way. The Colt Government was a good pistol, but she usually went double, and having only one wasn't too comforting. He wasn't here, but he was supposed to be. Was the contact the kind of a person who was chronically late? She hoped not. Lateness made her nerves go on edges and that meant she wouldn't be relaxed enough to do this smoothly. She wasn't exactly an actor even when she wasn't nervous as hell, and Reno's "you screw this I'll screw you and it won't be the kind with condoms" wasn't too comforting either.
"This should be Elena's job for once," Arien said to herself through gritted teeth, but Elena wasn't here to take the job over. Too bad.
The contact was already at the bar, drinking – surprise surprise! – alone. She considered waiting till he got drunk, then rejected the idea. A mildly drunk contact was good; a complete drunk would be a problem. A complete drunk usually blabbed but did not talk. She needed a conscious man, not a blabbing idiot.
She sighed, shook her head, resisted the urge to stick her well-manicured hands into her intricately curled and set hair that was made to look a little loose, then continued to walk to the solitary man.
"Do you mind… if I sit?"
Frank looked up and saw a tall woman with raven hair in loose wavy curls that snaked around her neck. She wore a black strapless dress that sheathed her body like a second skin; her skirt was skin tight down to her knees, then flared flamboyantly. A fur shawl was draped casually around her left shoulder. Her hair was bunched up at the top of her head, creating lazy waves around her neck.
Seeing his hesitation, the stranger whispered, "… or maybe you'd like to drink alone…?"
And who was he to turn down a pretty sex kitten from drinking with him?
"Go ahead." He gestured to a seat next to him, then scooted to the side. She sat down.
"Anything you'd like to drink?"
"Erm…" she cocked her head as if in deep thought. "Anything you'd recommend?"
"Same as me," he gestured to the bartender. As he placed a glass in front of the woman, he was mesmerized by her red lips.
"So…" asked the lips, "any fun going on lately…?"
"Men are stupid."
Arien pointed at Elena, who was seated at her desk, with both hands. "Un-der-statement!" She cut up the word to emphasize. "Apparently they think with the stuff between the legs, not between the ears. Not my fault." She pressed "play" again.
"… well, I've been to Wutai recently… mm, you're just ravishing…"
"Was he having sex with you?"
"Nope. I'm not Reno. I don't go for random plays." The raven-haired woman turned away from the blonde, examined the bookcase with keen interest.
"Sounds like you were being like me!" Reno was standing at the door, cigarette in his hand. "You're just ravishing?"
"Apparently I am." Arien shrugged. "Just because you don't appreciate me doesn't mean that others don…"
"Oh, I do. That's why I picked you, yo."
"YOU. Picked ME!?"
"Yeah." He waggled his cigarette hand. "And can you stop making fun of male egos and brains? We ain't stupid."
"Really." Her acidic sarcasm was dripping and burning holes in Elena's carpet.
"Yep. On tangent, gimme the tape."
Arien ejected the tape with more violence than needed, then threw it at him. He caught it over hand, took a drag, twirled the tape in his hand.
"Yeah, thanks. And Esile McKinnon came back to life."
"Uh huh." Careless response.
"See ya." He walked two steps away then stuck his head back into the doorway.
"What do you want?" Arien snapped.
"Oh, I wanna see you in an hour."
"Me?" asked Elena.
"No, my sexy girlfriend. I need her to relieve myself. Arien, in my office at 2PM, sharp. No newbies trailing around. This is private." Looking at Arien's "I'm disgusted" look, he grinned.
"You guys are sick!" chased him down the hallway.
"I've been to Wutai… Northern Crater lately… it's a really cool place, you know, cold, but it's just a glacial palace… Mideel… Cosmo…"
"This guy just sucks at sweet-talkin'," Reno muttered to himself. "You don't talk about yourself, you dumbass, you talk about the girl. Jeez."
But something was amiss. He couldn't place his fingers on it, but it was nagging at his senses, like some fly that had hit the net. It was extremely irritating to not be able to place fingers on the source. It buzzed around him like some kind of a bee that he couldn't swat and kill.
It drove him crazy.
He pressed replay. The recording replayed.
"I've been to Wutai… Northern Crater…"
"Wutai," he said to himself, examining the word. "Wutai…"
"I've been to Wutai… Nother"
Replay.
"I've been to Wutai…"
"Wutai…"
Wutai. That was what was nagging at him. Some jackass had removed Vince's tracer, but that was last around the ocean between the continent and the Wutai Island. And his intonation was slightly off. It wasn't a "hands-down I'm dead sure" lead, but he trusted his senses in times like these.
Just then, a knock jarred him from his thoughts. "Yeah?" He called to the door. Arien peeked in.
"Bad time?"
"I was waiting for a hooker, but you'd do, I guess. Oh, and shut the door."
Arien obeyed with a frown, then sat down without his permission. "I know you didn't need me for sex, and I know you're onto something. I also want to go get coffee. So please, confess."
"Yeah. Wutai."
Arien looked lost. "What?"
"Wutai. W.U.T.A.I. It's an island to the west you know, kinda longish? Has the best sushi in the world and also the best ninjas? Kinda tried to kill all of us about ten years ago?"
"I know what it is," Arien said in an annoyed manner. "What about it?"
In response, he pressed "PLAY".
"Oo… you look so hot… mind if I see if you're actually really hot? Getting out of that dress might cool you down…"
"Oops! Wrong section," Reno said sarcastically as Arien's eyes narrowed dangerously. He hit "search", found the place he wanted, and played the correct part of the recording.
"I've been to Wutai… Northern Crater lately…it's a really cool place, you know, cold…"
"Your point being?"
"Hear it again."
She did. Heard nothing that caught her.
"Focus on the words."
No results.
"I guess my ears aren't as sensitive as yours," she admitted candidly. "I got vision enhancements, not auditory."
"I know you had the conversation recorded visually. Have the recording?"
"Uh, yes, actually. It's in the retrieval file. The contact lens recording just got processed."
Reno tapped out some codes on the computer, retrieved the file. He pressed "project" on the computer screen, switching the display from the monitor to the projector. The graphics came out clearly on the white wall.
"I've been to Wutai… Northern Crater lately…"
"The blinking is annoying."
"Yeah, blame yourself." He played back again. Played it.
"Wait. Pause it." She leaned forward. "He blinked twice."
"So?"
"That's usually a giveaway to something. Play again."
Reno didn't catch it, but she did. "Yes, he blinked twice," she said confidently. "His mouth also twitched."
"Okay! You're going to Wutai," Reno sat back in his comfortable chair.
"Alone?"
"Nope, I'm your partner."
"You?"
"Yeah. Rude's going cross-country skiing with Laney. Let's hope they can ski."
Arien stood up, sighed. "Gould wants to see you, and we have a problem about our trip," she said carelessly. Seeing his puzzled expression, she said, "the blond bear that tried to take me out when we sparred." Obviously her expression was one of contempt and… disgust? Irritation? Whatever it was, Reno was sure that his name wasn't worth remembering now… and his complaints probably weren't worth listening to either.
Reno was not interested in discovering what the problem was, but he had to know. So he went to Elena's office to discover the problem.
"Let me see," Elena said, and tapped up a query in the computer. The results came back within a few moments; "Hmm. Interesting."
"What?"
"Apparently Wutai isn't too kind on her. She's blacklisted."
"Bu… wait, why?"
"Because Wutai doesn't take kindly to premarital sex, killing, Shinra, and traitors," said a voice. Reno groaned. He knew that voice damn well, and he knew the speaker quite well as well. In fact, too well.
"Tseng, why the hell are you here?"
"I asked Elena to bring up a file for me few minutes ago. She's usually on time."
"Yeah, if you haven't noticed, Elena's my bitch now, not yours. So stop ordering her around. If you want her as your personal bitch, you gotta file the trade-off to me."
Tseng ignored Reno's rude comments. "In Wutai, premarital sex can be a punishable offense. Usually nobody tattles, but I'm guessing that Arien isn't everybody's idol there, especially working with Shinra."
"Can she enter?"
"She can, be she will be tried."
"Yeah. Don't have the time."
"Oh, time's not an issue," Tseng said coolly. "Our trial is very quick. Oh, and when you go," he added as an afterthought, "tell her to bring a blade."
"So now what?"
Arien pocketed her Shinra ID. "We go as normal people into Wutai. Catch a flight in two hours."
"There is no nonstop to Wutai."
"Right. We catch a flight to Rocket Town, from there to Wutai."
"Okay." Reno remembered something important. "Oh, and Tseng said to bring a blade."
Instead of being confused, she just nodded, then resumed packing.
"I hate Economy," Reno grumbled.
"Sorry. First class may look suspicious."
They were sitting in a cramped cabin of the Economy class; their only luggages were carry-ons, which were stowed above their heads. They both had weapons which they got through the security by showing them the Shinra ID. As soon as Reno swiped the ID card through the card slot for identification, the Shinra logo flashed and the classification that showed they were Shinra personnel that were allowed dispensation from weapon regulations. There was fear in the security guard's eyes when he saw Reno's face on the small display screen along with "Shinra Personnel level 2A code B" under his name, and rightly so. Messing with the Turks could get messy and painful.
When the security guard saw Arien's classification, his expression became more painful. They pretended that they weren't looking, which was made easier by their sunglasses that were perched on their noses. There was confusion on the guard's face; Arien wondered then realized that Turks were always in uniforms, except right now, they weren't. It was a contradiction, and contradictions threw people off.
The transfer at Rocket Town was no better, No sooner had the first passengers filed into the arrival area than the public address system began a recorded announcement, reciting through the same message in major languages used throughout the continents: Passengers are requested to have travel documents ready for inspection by Port Authorities, please form a line in the appropriately marked queues. Visitors with health problems would please present themselves post-clearance to the airport authority. It is the hope of Rocket Town Tourist Bureau that all visits would thoroughly enjoy their stay, blah blah blah.
Arien was relieved to see that she would be able to present her identification in some relative privacy, for the security presided over private booths. Those waiting in line could not overhear or ogle the process. She waited for her turn to approach the inspector – from the looks of it, Reno was three ahead of her in the next queue – then walked up to the glassed panel. She swiped her identification card into the slot; the Shinra logo swiveled in the small display, along with her photo, her name, her personal details, and her class.
"Your name?"
She had no idea what the purpose was, but heard Reno saying "Renaldo Miller," and followed suit.
"May I see your identification, please."
She slid her ID under the glass. The security officer took a look at it, then compared her face to the photograph. Arien stifled a frustrated sigh. Then the blank expression of the inspector's square face underwent a remarkable change as she saw her classification flash on the screen. She stood up, beckoned her to follow her beyond the door to the side. She saw Reno stand up as well, with a slight grin on his face. He replaced his sunglasses, then motioned her to do the same.
"We are extremely sorry for not realizing," the square-face began, "but we never expected people from your classification to travel economy. I'm sure this mistake will be rectified…"
"It wasn't a mistake."
"Excuse me?"
"We-" Arien received a sharp jab in the ribs for that- "wished to travel economy. Now can we please go without further fuss? And would you please notify the security sensor attendants to ignore our belongings? We're not here on leisure."
"Yes, of course!" The two scrambled. Reno whistled a sharp A flat.
"What?"
"Even when we don't get recognized, we get ID'd." Reno snorted. "Our lives suck."
"Sucks being famous."
"I ain't famous. The squad is." Reno began walking through the corridor. "Come on. We don't wanna be more conspicuous."
As soon as they landed at the Wutai airport – which was small and rural and just about as old-aged as anything this technological could be – the Turks retreated to the mountains which, as Reno had said, "was hot enough to roast a Chocobo for dinner". They ripped off their regular clothes, revealing black suits that Rufus had purchased so long ago. They were uncomfortable and just about as hot as hell, but they provided maximum protection and movement. Arien opened the duffel bag, and with Reno's help was in a harness with the sword hilt poking out the back in few moments. Reno had his nightstick, as usual, but otherwise, all they had were Arien's earrings, her finger knives, and a small pistol that was holstered on Reno's thigh.
"Let's hike."
The hiking took several hours just to scale up the cliff. By noon they were both drenched in sweat, hungry, and more than tired. Reno looked into the distance as they trekked up the hill. The sun beat upon the two, covering their faces in light sheens of sweat.
"Company?"
The redhead nodded. Dressed in the black stretch combat suits that all Turks hated – it allowed ease, defense, but absolutely no thermal control and it stuck to your body like a second skin – he shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand, but sweat still poured out from his skin. "Two."
Arien squinted. Sighed.
"What?"
"You're about to see something you've never seen before," she told him as she tied her hair up. "It won't take long, I hope."
"Want me to do anything?"
"No." A shake of her head confirmed her vocal response. "Let's just wait for them. No sense in wasting our energy."
It took a full fifteen minutes for them to reach the Turks. By then, they had retreated to a nearby tree, seeking the shade the leaves provided. Reno was sitting, both legs propped up, looking off into the distance. Arien had her right elbow resting on a propped up right knee, the other hand supporting her weight with the palm on the ground, straight. Her left leg was thrown carelessly in front of her. Her hair was still in ponytail, strands caressing her black-clad breasts. With a sword on her back, she looked in ease, as if she did this all the time.
As Arien realized a new shadow, she looked up. Saw two young men – barely out of boyhood – clad in leather tunics, belted at the waist. Long cotton trousers covered the legs, tucked into boots. Both of them wore swords on their backs. Twins.
Both of them bowed. She inclined her head in return, not bothering to get up. "What brings you here, gentlemen?"
"You're Wutaian," said the boy on the left.
"Indeed I am."
"I challenge you by the name of our master," said the boy on the right.
"Hm." Arien raised an eyebrow. "Who sent you two after me?"
"The archpriest."
"Ah." She stood up, balancing on the balls of her feet like a stalking cat. Reno looked up at her, grinned, bud otherwise did not move. "And my crime?"
"You have been coupling with…him." The challenger pointed at Reno. Arien nodded.
"So I have." A careless shrug. "And?"
"That is a sin."
"What's going on, yo?" Reno asked as he stood up. He leaned onto the tree, arms crossed. "What do these kids want?"
"They – he – challenged me," Arien explained calmly. "By their master's name. It's a Master's Challenge."
"A what?"
"It means that if I accept their challenge-" she gestured toward them, "and I lose, I get to be brought in front of the conclave and be judged."
"And if you win?"
"We go free." She turned toward the challenger. "Are you sure you want to challenge me by your master's name?"
A nod.
"Very well then." She stepped out of the shade. "Where shall we mete out the justice? Here?"
"No," said the companion. "In the central arena."
The sun beat hotly down the backs, and Reno was sweating profusely in the black that stuck to him like second skin. It was clinging and annoying, like a possessive woman's hands. He had a girl once like that, and because her obsession went beyond the norms and became hazardous, he was forced to dispatch her. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
Arien was sweating as well; her black hair was stuck to her scalp, and a shiny sheen decorated her pale skin. Her eyes were clear, however, undaunted by the hazy, humid atmosphere. She also wore a pair of black gloves to reduce the slippage from sweat. Her hair swished like a real pony's tail as she moved. "Draw the circle."
Reno continued to watch, unsure of what was going on. The boy shook his head. "You are the challenged. You have the right."
"I refuse that right. I'm your elder. Now draw the circle."
The boy nodded. Unsheathed the sword. Removed the harness, threw it onto the ground. Then began to draw the circle.
Arien also removed her harness, unsheathed her blade. "Death-dance," she said casually, stepping into the circle.
"Death-dance!"
Arien nodded as she stuck the blade into the ground, hilt-up in the center of the circle. "You drew the circle. I get to decide."
"It was not meant to be to death," the boy protested.
"Too bad. You fell into the trick." A sly sneer. "Hurry up."
"I may rescind my challenge," the boy stated worriedly.
"Of course you may. But usually the challenged refuses to engage, not the challenger. It might look like cowardice, and of course a fully-trained justice-enforcer shouldn't be afraid to take on a half-trained whelp." Another shrug. "Either way, not my problem."
The boy stood, baffled. Arien scowled.
"Look, I'm a busy person. I have places to go. Can you please make up your mind?"
The boy seemed to have made up his mind. He jammed the sword into the middle of the circle. Both Arien and the boy stepped out of the circle. Bowed to each other.
At that point, Reno saw who was more seasoned. The boy was younger, more springy, but he didn't know all the dirty tricks to survival in a battle. He took his eyes off the opponent during the bow, but Arien never did. She was assessing his muscle movements, his strength, dexterity, adding it to her calculations, computing the best method of win.
"Here stands the accused, Arien DeVir, of impure fornication, of murder, and conspiring with the enemies," came the voice from the highest tower that looked down upon the arena. "Let the justice be swift, victory for the innocent, defeat for the guilty."
"Prepare."
The boy tensed. Arien looked relaxed, but now she was on the balls of her feet, just like he had taught her – always shifting balance, ready to move fast.
"Dance."
Reno had never heard of these dances before, but he could see why it was called a dance. It looked about seven and half feet in radius, from where Arien was standing to the sword. Arien had longer legs, and Arien was faster. Before the boy even picked up his sword, she had yanked her sword out, twisted it, and hooked his sword out of his grasp. He whipped out a dagger and threw it; she deflected it, but he had already lunged for the sword. The battle was on.
Thrust, parry, side step. In a rapid movement both moved, white loose garment against the black silhouette. The opponent used wide arcs and larger movements, while Arien relied on her wrists and kept tight, jabbing patterns. Considering that the boy had almost identical physique to the woman except for the gender, he might have been better-suited to the tighter moves. Metals clashed against each other; feet jumped, kicked, side-stepped. Silver arcs flared in the sunlight.
Then one of the blades was no longer silver, but crimson. Reno started; Arien's blade was dripping blood. A gut wound. Slow, agonizing death.
"Yield?"
Reno scowled. The poor idiot couldn't gag, let alone speak from pain. Arien was just being damn cruel.
"I see that you won't."
The boy pleaded with his eyes. She paid no heed. Without warning, she ran him through the stomach, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly.
Everyone was appalled and disgusted by the unnecessary violence. Then that authoritative voice:
"Begone. You are proclaimed innocent."
Arien raised her head from the dying male. "Because I'm innocent," she yelled, "I demand the right to stay here as much as I want."
A shocked gasp reverberated throughout the audience.
"Denied."
"Then your justice is prejudiced, and this man died for nothing."
"We cannot grant you that right, Arien DeVir."
"Then you admit that your justice is just about as crooked as a viper."
The sinister allusion shut everyone up. The silence followed, but Reno saw Arien's mouth curve into a triumphant smile.
The permission was granted; the two set out to hunt down their son. Unfortunately, their efforts were currently going fruitless. Arien was not in a happy mood; what was worse, her gunblades needed severe repair after using it violently in a heavy gunfight in an alley, and so she had to resort to pistols that she had found in the Shinra building armory. She picked Colt Government, but it was heavyweight for her for its power. She had hardly any sleep, her injuries weren't healing as well as she had liked due to lack of proper medical care, could not eat, and was consequently very cranky.
Reno suffered the full verbal blows, and returned it thricefold. Their sarcasms gradually grew to painful levels, and their jibes had ceased to be playful and became more hurtful. Sometimes it nearly got to a physical fight, although they stopped before the first blow landed. They both knew that if they began, they'd never stop, and they'd continue until one of them died. And both knew who'd live – and it wasn't Arien. Arien didn't fancy dying yet, and Reno didn't want to kill her. So one of them always left before blows flew. But all in all, both were in extreme stress and fatigue, and their partnership was getting rocky.
It was one of those nights that left Arien walking out, guns in hand, furious with herself and Reno, a dark heavy scowl on her face. She left the door open and disappeared into the darkness, headache coming.
She walked aimlessly for an hour, cooling off, wishing that this'd end; it always ended with that night, when they shot at each other. It was still painful, that memory, like a sliver in their relationship that made a chink in the armor. She didn't know who was hanging onto the past – maybe both.
She entered the dark forest, not caring. Nor did she hear the soft footsteps behind her, which was very unlikely of her. It was too late when she finally realized that she had someone behind her.
She stopped her gait, tensed.
Shit. Why did she not foresee this?
Fuck.
Well, what could she do? Best thing was to attack, but she had no idea what the thing was. She didn't want to waste her bullet on a raccoon, did she?
Then a bullet whizzed past her ear.
That's it.
She broke out into a run, using the trees as her shield. She sidestepped a fallen log, nearly tripping on it, then whirled, and haphazardly shot. She could clearly see the man; it was a silver-haired man with unbelievably large guns, wearing a long, red jacket. He looked a little like Vincent Valentine, but did not have the gravity the vampire had. Two guns. Double-shot.
Pro. Shit.
He dodged, and shot again. She narrowly dodged it, but it lightly grazed her arm, cutting open the black shirt she was wearing. Thin trickle of blood trailed down; it was painful.
She looked around, looking for shelter. Found a hut.
She bolted for it.
He shot again, but she did not realize as one landed in her thigh. Her thigh was just healed, but the adrenaline nullified the pain. She dived, rolled into the hut. She was on her legs in a nanosecond, guns pointed at the entryway.
Nothing.
She backed into the hallway, and into a bedroom. She quietly shut the door, hoping that the door wouldn't creak. She sat down on the bare bed, wincing in pain as she realized her injury. Great. Thigh, just healed, shot through.
Creak. She jumped up, guns up and ready to fire.
As the man kicked the door open, the bullets were slicing through the air, directly to him. Thirteen more followed; she reloaded without a pause, ducked, and shot at his foot, hoping that would deter him. She rolled, into…
The moonlight.
The moonbeam shot at her face. And to her utter surprise, he lowered his guns, surprise on his face.
She shot.
Then she felt a heavy impact on her head, and then everything went black.