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Chapter Two – two weeks later

Claire adjusted her dress and then checked her reflection in the mirror. Besides the fact she was wearing a hooped skirt and a bodice, she felt pretty good about herself.

"Tell me one more time where we are," Rebecca asked from the bed. She was still wearing her dirty Umbrella battle uniform. After a couple of weeks, Claire had managed to get back to Midgar and pick up her friends.

"The town of Kalm."

"And Kalm is where?" Leon asked. He was sitting on the trunk that passed for a dresser in her motel room.

"East of Midgar," Claire said. "And before you ask again, both cities are on a planet called The Planet. We're not in Kansas anymore."

"We weren't in Kansas in the first place," Jill said, stepped from the bathroom with an itsy-bitsy towel wrapped around her body. "But the better question is what happened. Any clues?" She sat down on the bed, motioning Rebecca toward the shower. With one hand she started toweling her hair dry.

Claire shrugged. "We teleported with the Umbrella scientist. It was his bolt hole and we got lucky enough to get dragged along."

"You'd think that it would be a more controlled . . . portal," Leon said.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Umbrella doesn't excel at control." She started applying lipstick.

Jill stood up, adjusting her towel for maximum coverage. "Tell me more about this job you got."

"I'm working as a waitress at the bar," Claire said. "Not much more to tell." Actually there was. When Reno had proposed the job, she'd initially balked. Gangsters didn't make good work partners. But as it became clear that they were on a different world, it became equally clear that she needed resources for food and shelter and, eventually, ammunition to take out Hojo. If she had to work in a less than savory job, then so be it.

She was really nothing more than a glorified informant. She would take messages for the Turks, spy on the people they wanted spied on, and pass on the information she learned. So far she'd learned that the Turks were like gangsters after the mob-boss had a change of heart. That made it less bad, but her friends didn't know she was working for the mob. They'd disapprove. Or at least Leon would, and what Leon thought mattered a lot to Claire.

She explained the normal bar duties she had, and explained that she got room and board as part of her compensation. "You'll all need to get jobs too."

"Doing what?" Rebecca asked. "I'm a biologist."

"They deal in science and magic on this world," Claire said. "I'm sure you could do something in your line of work. Maybe with the WRO."

"The world police, right," Jill said. "Makes me think of Team America . . ."

"Or we could try something freelance," Leon said. "I think we should see how things work before we tie ourselves down to firmly anywhere." He locked eyes with Claire.

"Hey," she said. "I can cut ties here anytime." It wasn't exactly the truth, but she figured he didn't need to know that now. Police officers were funny about the mob. She knew that for a fact. Chris had been pissed with her for dating Jonny the mobster.

"Good," he said. "Have fun at work. We'll finish getting cleaned up and then take a look around."

Claire smiled. "All right."

Near the end of her shift, one of the keep-tabs-on-guy's came in. Cloud Strife. He looked like his picture, with spiky blond hair and surreal blue eyes. His skin was flawless, and just like Reno had promised, the guy was wearing purple and toting a sword taller than Claire across his back. He was with a lively group of mismatched individuals: a large white animated toy, a short bouncy girl shaped like a twig, a sensuous brunette with a rack to rival Jill's, a barrel shaped black man with a gun grafted onto his arm, a wolf-lion creature with feathers in his mane, an older man with a cigarette stuck in his mouth, and a man with deathly pale skin and a mop of black hair falling around his face.

Claire took her time approaching their table. None of them paid her any attention. Except the man in red. His eyes locked onto her immediately. His face didn't betray his thoughts. He was simply watching her. His eyes were red. As soon as the fact sank in, she stopped walking, and simply gazed into his eyes.

They were beautiful and scary, and she almost thought she could see something moving behind them – inside them. Something animalistic and chaotic. It sent a shiver down her spine, and she let out of soft gasp, lips parting. Without meaning to, she started walking toward him.

He hadn't sat down with the others, and as she got closer, she realized he was actually quite tall. He was dressed in black; his clothes had a number of straps that made the get-up look sexy and uncomfortable at the same time. On his right thigh was a gun-holster that housed a large gun. On his left hand was a gold gauntlet that ended in claw like fingers. And he was wearing pointy shoes – as in the kind that could puncture a skull if kicked.

She came to a stop a few inches away from him, gazing up, into his eyes like a hypnotized child.

Then Cloud was beside the man. He clapped him on the back lightly. "Vincent, sit down," he said, voice soft and chiding. He turned his blue eyes to Claire, offering a half-smile. "Sorry about Vincent. He's not the most social."

Claire swallowed, suddenly back in the reality of the bar. While she'd been looking at Vincent, all noise had vanished. Hell, Wesker could have walked in the room stark naked with a gun and a hula-hoop and she wouldn't have noticed. She blinked several times and shook her head. "Ahh . . . that's all right," she said. She licked her lips, directly her attention to the group. "So, do you all need menus or is it just drinks tonight?"

"Menus," the twig girl said.

"Drinks," the cigarette guy said.

"I don't exactly eat or drink," the stuffed animal said, bouncing up and down. He sounded Irish.

"Eh . . ." Claire said.

"Reeve, why aren't you here in person?" the brunette asked. "I mean, we get together so infrequently . . . and then you have to come in your cait suit."

"Well, I got caught up at work, and couldn't get out of Edge. So here I am instead." He bounced a bit, and then deflated. "Sorry if I'm a disappointment, Tifa."

"No, not at all," she said quickly. "We're glad to have you."

Claire forced her attention away from the conversation and back to Cloud. He was taller than she was too, although not as tall as Vincent (who she didn't dare look at again for fear she'd get sucked into the vortex of his eyes. It wasn't like she hadn't seen attractive men before; it was that there was something else about him.)

Of course, there was something else about Cloud too . . . "I'll get those menus," she said. "In the meantime, does anyone want anything to drink now?"

The twig and the cigarette both placed their orders, and she scurried away. When she returned, the twig snagged all the menus, declared herself a master thief, and distributed them to her friends. Cloud and Tifa ordered drinks along with the black man (whose name was Barrett according to the twig's endless chatter).

Vincent caught her arm just as she was leaving. "I'll just have water," he said. His voice sent another shiver down Claire's spine. It was perfect. Low and deep, it had an almost rusty quality to it, as if he didn't speak much.

"Right," she said. She risked a glance at his face and found him staring at her, studying her unabashedly. She bit her lip, looking away. But couldn't force herself to move away while he was still touching her. After a minute, the twig seemed to see the two of them caught in limbo.

"Yo Vincent!" she shrieked. His fingers, which had been resting lightly on Claire's arms, tightened, hinting at his strength. The twig bounded over the table and launched herself into his arms, causing him to stagger a few feet back. "Don't ya just love me!" She planted a large and sloppy kiss on his mouth, and Claire felt a worm of . . . jealously thrash through her stomach.

She hurried to the bar, placing the drink orders with the bartender. While she waited for him to get them ready, she tried to quell her nerves. This Vincent guy wasn't anything to her. She tried to pull up her mental image of Leon, but couldn't quite fixate on his features. Then the drinks were on the tray in front of her.

Claire drew in a deep breath. Think of it like Umbrella then. If you get distracted, you get killed. Think of that man like a Tyrant. Dangerous and hypnotic. Her lips quirked into a small smile. But not vomit inducing. Armed with fresh resolve, she headed back to the table, reminding herself that she still had to spy on Cloud for the Turks.