Chapter Five

Author's notes: Full credit to The Weekend for the lyrics 'Wicked Games'. Again, there is no intent of profit or gain, unless one counts a slight notoriety as a gain. Please be advised the lyrics are explicit, and not for the gentle at heart; but then, this part of the story is based on angst and emotional pain; the music was a perfect fit; You Tube has several professional pole dancers using it as performance music (View at your own risk). Muse thought it would inspire a better scene for the heartbreak of Noel in the next chapter, and hopefully, this sets the scene with a ring of truth that we all hear when we are hurt by a love that is a lie…

That night, The pair descended on Andresyr's and not only drank, but ate dinner as the roil and rash of Pulsian life washed around them. Eventually, they made a connection and a conversation took place in a corner of a party tent that would have been labeled romantic, had there been two occupants instead of three. Then the conversation moved to Valhalla, on the second floor, where they all lounged elegantly, their pallid tints thrown into greater contrast by the dark décor of charcoal walls, black velvet drapes and smoky mirrors.

"I need to ask for your favor in one thing. I want to know where I can find a Fal'Cie. I do not intend death or harm, I just want to reclaim something of mine. He has it."

"What's the name?"

"Barthandeus."

The hand stopped swirling the glass for a moment and and a pair of moonstone grey irises expanded, changing the eye color to a murky black. "It…is possible."

"What coin do you prefer I pay in, Lord?" as an eyebrow lazily arched upward over a wary aquamarine gem.

The hand proffered a silver-edged card and just as lazily grinned at the beauty. "It would please me if you attended. I would hope my tent would be remembered this festival."

"Would you like the entire team of Valkyries? I can get Lexis to let them go, provided we have security. Oh, & I have a personal bodyguard –Noel Kreiss Shadow Hunter. He goes where I go. Any problem with him doing his job at the tent?"

"Noel Kreiss? Really? You must have a hive full of honey, little bee, to afford that for personal security. He is quite good. I do not forsee any problem; there will be no Fal'Cie attending, though I would not surprised if a few ghouls were sent to spy. Hmm…that may be a problem if he is recognized. However, some guests will be in costume from the masquerade at the palace; if he is clever and keeps his face hidden, it will be no issue."

"Done. Send me your Major Domo, we Valkyries can enhance your theme. Lord? One question: Do you wish me to be your personal Valkyrie for the evening? Or do you wish something more discreet?"

"Heavens, Lightning. I can answer that with only an enthusiastic yes! However, be mindful my fiancée and family will be in attendance; I truly do not expect anything more than my rights as a host."

" Ah. Whom is the lucky one?" She allowed a smile to grace her lips at last.

"Attend, and see!" The princeling pulled his helmet back on and strode to the door behind Hope's lean form, then nodded once and bowed with a flourish as he exited.

Lightning mockingly returned the bow royally, hands folded palm together and brought to forehead, then flashed her 1000 watt smile, much to the enjoyment of everyone in sight. She waited until the princeling banged the 2nd floor entrance door shut, then ran to Lexis, who screeched at the sight of the card. A patron from the upper crust, and House Imperate at that, was what every Oldtowner dreamed of.

Two weeks later everyone was going through a final practice and the practice dojo was full of girls practicing, tweaking costumes, sharpening sheath knives, and the 1,000 things performers do before a show. Noel had taken four men to the upper city party tents tonight to get a feel for the area; the festival had started yesterday, and would run a solid week, culminating in a procession to the temple on the last day to witness the antique fertility rite deemed necessary for Pulse by the Fal'Cie since old days.

He had almost laughed at Lightning's invitation, remembering the endless parties and masquerades he'd attended as a shadow hunter; thinking she was whoring herself like every other Oldtowner during Festival, he haughtily looked down his delicate nose at her, but kept his mouth shut once she made it clear he was going everywhere she was that night. In fact, she dragged him just about everywhere she went the past two weeks. He had no idea how much work she did for Valhalla and how well connected she was in Oldtown until lately; she ran him at a blistering pace, up at dawn to practice dance, followed by defense, followed by lunch with a variety of people from costume designers to the princelings major domo, then calls to the girls and Lexis. She planned and organized the entire act from the logistics to the music, and still managed to perform 3 nights a week. He respected her sense of command and was rather impressed with her, despite the rather seedy reason behind the preparations.

Noel kept trying to convince himself, especially his vicious little voice of desire, that she was just selling her assets, just in a slightly more refined manner, and that she was nothing compared to her innocent, lovely, charming sister. But at night he would wrestle with his primal attraction, sigh over his constantly crushed illusions of her depravity as he watched Lightning endlessly flirt, dance and socialize, all without having spread her legs for any man, much less allow anyone a kiss. He was her constant companion, and as far he could tell, he was the only man she allowed to touch her past a handshake, unless you counted Hope, her cousin. It was a puzzle: How did a woman with the most notorious reputation ever manage to stay on top of the wildest club in Oldtown without being a totally burnt out, over-basted, artificially glamoured up little trollop? It was like a masquerade, except the glimpses behind the masks were not what he expected.

Part of him had started to cry out softly for Lightning inside; he fought it tooth and nail but was quite aware he selfishly missed the time they had previously spent alone. When riding Lightning about, he would find himself making excuses to keep her by him a little longer, or pretend to be more critical of her puja than necessary in the early morning, just to feel her body on his in some fashion; he even boldly shook his head during a group practice and made her do taqsim with him, much to the surprise of the other girls. Shocked, they watched open-mouthed as the sinfully gorgeous nomad impatiently pulled Lightning's derriere up against his own slim hips and hypnotically began moving with the grace of a serpent , counting the beat in his own tongue and then firmly lecturing her on the importance of fluidity of movement in the lower hips. After the giggles died down, they realized he was the real deal and bombarded Noel with demands for more demos of traditional moves, since the theme of the tent was a tribal primitive festival. Lightning had planned a hot performance a full 12 minutes long, and costume changes after into Valhalla Valkyrie gear for any cammed opportunities for the girls, then a 3rd change into anonymous street dress for the transport back to deter any harassment from the festival crowds.

Spirits were high as they arrived at the party tent of House Del'Arribiata; the Major Domo had planned well, and the tent was a clever mockup of a primitive tribal tent, with striped silks, a plethora of divans piled high with pillows, twiddly beaten metal trays, pierced metal lanterns and about 500 or so of the city's Elite, all foolishly, foppishly costumed in desert robes or bits of fur and garish beads. There was even a pretty little mock-up of an oasis, complete with miniature palms, fountains that tinkled colored water and a larger oasis of intoxicants in the front by the door. Everything was gemmed, plumed, inlaid, painted and gilded in a wealth of primitive energetic tribal designs, but as it had been chosen and arranged with a master hand, it all somehow rang true and became the talk of the Festival.

Of course, it was an interesting take to see so many rarified personages playing at being tribal or primitive; more than once the shadow hunter stifled laughter behind his draped keffeiyeh at hearing some of the chatter; the Valhalla security was all connected by headset , so they could all hear the attempts and flirtations that the Valhalla girls received as they made their way around the perimeter of the tent to the performance entrance. Then uddenly, they were there, and the lights dimmed dramatically and torches flared in the sudden dark of the tent; Lightning's voice over the headset said: "Showtime, Ladies – and Shadow hunter, you and Etro watch our backs." Then the tent was filled with 7 women trilling in zagareet and jingling finger cymbals, soon joined by a drunken, intoxicated party yelping in delight as the pretty group of women broke into bold tribal movement , silver coins and brocades sparkling and winking in the ruddy torchlight.

It was an astounding success; the choreography was just varied enough to keep interest high, yet blended the seven women into a cohesive whole; each had a moment where they stepped forward from the swaying, shimmying group and shone, each performing unique dance movement that emphasized their unique charm. They circled the low divans that held the host party and each smiled and bowed as they spun by, then playfully ended the show throwing up small balls that exploded with a puff of smoke and small flare of light , dropping to the floor to disappear for a few seconds, djinni-like. The princeling was well pleased, and the Major Domo drew up proudly, signaling the music to segue into a hot rhythm, drawing the occupants onto the small dance floor, while the Valkyries quickly changed and mingled with the crowd, posing for pictures or cams, or collecting the many personal chip-cards of admirers, held out by the dozen. The Valhalla sec unit was on the Valkyries like they were royalty, and no one was behaving badly, so they all grinned into their mics as Noel informed them that they were a crack team tonight…and that Major Domo had just delivered a bonus of 3,500 Gil just for the girls. After stowing the cash in the transport and checking in on everyone's location, Noel made his way back to the tent and began to look for Lightning; he'd been oddly ill at ease; there was no problem, and that is precisely what bothered him; it was going too well.

The primitive beat of the rhythm invaded everyone's blood and soon the tent was a seething mass of dancing, sweating bodies; a woman boldly raised her colorful pretend-ragged tribal skirts of a hundred bright silk scarves to a lean man in a black leather loincloth while shaking her hips in an imitation of tribal shimmy, and suddenly the crowd ate it up; the pair joined and she wrapped her legs around his waist; he carried her to a table where they proceeded to gyrate & thrust , then stripped to consummate a far fiercer dance of passion; Lighting was slowly moving to the beat at the back of the crowd, watching like a hawk, almost shocked, but not quite; she knew the pair had to have been hired for just that purpose: the start of an orgy. Still, it was exciting; the groans of the men overlaid with the high coos of the women were a sensual counterpoint to the low, heavy, sexy, conga-esque beat of the drums providing the soundtrack to the sex act being performed on the table. Noel watched Lightning in the shadows as he always did; he inhaled deeply, catching a faint floral scent wafting in the air under the smell of 500 people, tobacco smoke, alcohol, sweat, incense torches and city exhaust fumes. He exhaled slowly, his body warming slightly as a wave of relaxation stole over him.

The primitive beat invaded his blood until desire sang; he followed her with hungry eyes, mentally murdering anyone lucky enough to dance with his private obsession. He started wishing for one good beat and no partner, so he could show her what it really felt like to pair off for a tribal mating dance. City people had no idea how to move to drums, he thought and stifled a snort of laughter watching a silver-haired young blood trying to dance in front of his obsession, clad in a foppish pink striped silk burnoose and tripping over the sash. The memory of moving his hips in time with hers and bending back, back until they reached the floor was driving him insane. She seemed to be a taunting dream in the tent, always just in sight in her gorgeous silver and black tribal bellydance costume, but always out of reach. He hated the way he wanted her.

So he began to stalk her, hunt her, run her down to ground; he didn't care anymore, no one knew him in the crowd, no one would know, except the two of them. Noel kept moving closer to her in the crowd, his face still hidden in the carefully draped keffeyieh until he stole close enough to stand directly behind her; he could feel her body heat, smell the extravagant cactus flower perfume she wore tonight. Her icy rose hair shimmered, and he longed to bury his face in the wildly mussed tresses and pull her to him; the pair wildly basting each other in a practiced set of positions had excited him as well as Lightning; the beat and throb of the drums mixed with the indefinable something in the air until he was becoming dizzy; he blinked as the woman's face suddenly seemed like Lightning's, and the proud male body was his own bronzed lean specimen, it was them bending over the table, then on the tabletop, wickedly basting each other in full view of a hungry crowd and somehow enjoying the hell out of it; she was everything he wanted, so hot, so unashamed of her desire for him, so…Etro-damn, he wanted it, wanted it, wanted her and be damned to anyone who stood in his way. He inhaled sharply to gather her scent under the sexy perfume and caught the sweetish scent of vanilla, then electrified into total sobriety as he realized the air had been seeded with a soporific.

He pounced on Lightning, yanked her back and yelped in his headset to pull the girls out before they were sucked in or worse, raped. Lightning started to fight her captor until she heard his voice, then relaxed, letting his long sinewed arms hold her against his torso; she slowly realized they were safe, beyond the tent's perimeter. It was dimly lit, and the city traffic noises could be heard floating up, underlaid with a dull roar of a festival crowd in the distance. She expected him to let go, and respond to the chorus of reports that the six girls were safe and piled into the transport-cum-dressing room-cum –sec command post. But no; Noel kept hold of her, his body trembling, his male excitement clear under the loose tribal clothing he wore. He was gasping softly, repeating a set of phrases in a tribal dialect over and over until his body calmed; she caught the word walah, which she knew – it meant amorous rapture. Was he feeling desire? For her? Or was he so disgusted he was praying to Etro to calm himself?

She responded and gave the acknowledgement, & covering for Noel, said he was with her, but had his mic knocked off extricating her. They were 500 feet away from her velocycle parked in the back. She switched off her mic and then stood absolutely still, mentally walking through the situation that just happened; she wondered how he had gotten to her so quickly, the last place she had seen him was by the side wall by the fake oasis – he had to have been right behind her, watching over her as she drifted through the crowd. Etro-damn, he really must be some shadow hunter if he can move like that in a festival crowd; I didn't see him at all…she shivered slightly as the thought of her shadow hunter hunting her in this crowd evolved in her mind's eye; she knew she should be frightened, but her gut instinct responded with just a warm ripple of desire. Maybe he was more attracted than he was willing to admit? Or was he drugged? He must have gotten hit with a lungful of happy dust before anyone else did, how else could he recognize the scent?

Noel was still desperately hanging on to her, warm breath stirring the tumble of hair by her ear as he continued to breathe his tribal mantra under his breath, still trying to clear his head. She calmly waited for about a minute more, then firmly turned around, leaned into the lean frame - oh, walah, the ecstasy, then deliberately tilted her face up and gave him the lightest brush of soft rose lips against the darker rose of his; looking up under lowered eyelashes she could tell he had flushed, his cheeks stained coral and his body had responded again, his erect sex burning through the wrapped pants. She spoke sternly to keep the amusement out of her voice: "Nope – you still have a snoot full of happy dust. No way are you driving tonight, shadow hunter. Give me the keys." And if you still want to kiss me after 30 minutes of city air at 250 KPH, I'll let you.

He dug them out and silently held them dangling from his finger; as she moved to take them his arm shot up; as she lightly jumped to snatch them, he wrapped the other arm around her waist and pulled her back to him; the key laden arm almost leisurely wrapped around the back of her neck and he bent her back until she was almost lying back in his arms; however, his gaze was anything but amorous; angry they were, and full of disdain. "Tempt me? Kiss me in the dark like I'm some nameless body to be used and tossed after festival? Just who do you think you are, Lightning Farron?"

He angrily wiped her lip gloss off his mouth and spat on the ground, but kept hold of her waist with a dangerous glint in his eye; she let her eyes harden to aquamarine gems as she felt a fight coming on and was not in the mood to be gentle with a stoned, horny nomad in a snit. She hooked a heel around his ankle and shoved him off her, grabbing the keys off his finger as he tumbled to the ground. She didn't pause to look back and rapidly made her way through the parked transports to her 'cycle; she'd just thrown a shapely leg over the seat when she was forcibly yanked off. Lightning threw her best right hook and elbow jab, but Noel twisted like a cobra; he tightened his arms and picked her up bodily, striding back into the hard lights of the tent, jerking her face to his. His eyes shone with a wild animal light as he ever so lightly laid a hand on her throat as he said with a white hot passion: "Oh Habibi, if I ever decide to end my virgin state and take a lover, it won't be in the dark, it'll be in the full light of day!" He kissed her savagely, his teeth biting her lower lip, drawing blood as he shoved her away. Just as savagely he hissed: "But it will not be with someone like a damned pole dancing slut from a drinking hell!"

The Valkyrie charged in, backhanded the drugged nomad across the mouth and swung her hand again to deliver a ringing slap to his face. She coldly informed him: "I'll consider that the drugs talking, but if you ever disrespect me again, I'll take that knife of yours and make you the woman you dream of." She arrogantly, leisurely, turned away from Noel spitting blood and gasping, then tossed a sharp retort over her shoulder: "I happen to believe in waiting for the right one too, and guess what, oh Habibi? You're sure as Etro-basting hell not the right one tonight! I'd sooner go fuck a Fal'Cie!"

That was like a bucket of cold water on Noel's psyche; it cut right through the runaway synthetic lust running rampant in his veins; what was he doing in this place, surrounded by all these people openly basting like there was no tomorrow? Who was looking at him…looking at him with her? He turned white under the golden skin as he realized they were in a public place where anyone could be a ghoul and slamming a tanned hand over her mouth, he whispered in her ear: "Don't say that! You have no idea! We leave NOW!"

He nearly ran with her in tow out of the tent, then sighed in relief as he realized they had been pretty much ignored, as most of the tent was in the throes of lust; his passion also had been dunked in the same cold water as he rethought his actions and words, now seeing he was way, WAY out of line with this beautiful woman who was in his care, his client for Etro's sake! He was almost in tears as he shook her, and continued in a near frenetic tone: "Lightning, never say that again – Etro, the Fal'Cie will tear your soul apart and suck you dry. I sure as hell do not want you to travel that road. You are so…so damn beautiful, it attracts…you're just like your nickname…everything wants to come to the light. Even the evil within us." He drew a shuddering breath, looked in the tent again and now shamed, he finished with: "Look, even I am made of light and shadow - Forgive my evil, Lightning. I will never touch you without your permission again. I- I shouldn't even think of you as anything but my client."

She tilted her head and merely said: "Lips don't lie, brother." She sighed then spoke again with a quieter note: "I didn't say you were evil; I said you weren't right, tonight. You're pumped full, Noel. Aphrodisiacs and neural receptor drugs. It's pretty common in Oldtown; I just didn't expect it here in his tent tonight. Luckily for you, and the rest of the male population of Academia tonight, I happen to prefer my Eros with unclipped wings, so to speak. Now give me the keys. You're not driving. And you'd better hang on."

By the time they got back to her place, he had unbent enough to forget about his outburst for about 10 minutes at a time. She cheerfully teased him to set him at ease, recounted a few close encounters at other parties, and before he knew it, she had him laughing at himself instead of slinking off in shame; suddenly he saw a glimpse of what Hope loved about the woman. She faced life head on, and didn't back down one bit from what she felt was right. He saw a gleam of genuine kindness in her even when she was cracking jokes about the stoned look on his face when he was about to kiss her. She even hugged him goodnight, and quietly said: "Thanks for pulling me out of there." He before he knew it he kissed her again, but softly, lightly as a shy child.

"Now. That was a kiss." She murmured walking to her bedroom; he tucked an arm under his head as he hungrily watched her glorious hips undulate from the couch. She throatily laughed , her voice floated on the soft night air: "Good night, oh Habibi."

And again, Noel realized how lacking beautiful women were in his life. He punched the pillow twice.

Noel lay there in the dark, the ocean breeze stirring the curtains as he debated many times over what to do – he wanted to go to her, and confess he'd been biased against her due to her profession, but thought he'd get punched for alluding to her current job as less than an honest living; he thought about making some romantic gesture, like desert poetry, or be primal, just take off everything and just get in her bed, but again thought it would land him a punch in the face; he was on the brink of just breaking the law about self-pleasure and doing a rather disgusting act on her couch to alleviate his out of control desire for the rose haired demoness sleeping soundly in the next room, but was interrupted by the front door quietly snicking open. Two figures silhouetted against the dim street lights in the doorframe. The taller one huskily whispered at the slim figure in its arms: "Let me stay the night –I'll love you until morning light, my angel. Don't you want me too?"

The smaller slim figure made to detach itself as it said in a sweet belling voice: "Your amorous intentions always fade with the morning light, Imalde; it was a nice time at festival. Maybe we'll have another date before festival ends, ok?"

A growl of utter frustration was the answer and the shadows became a weird one headed monster with four arms and feet; muffled sounds issued that indicated unpleasant sensations and suddenly Noel's brain clicked into high gear; the two shadows were joined by a third, and somehow, a new monster shadow was thrown on the wall, this time with two heads, one with a long arm growing out of its neck and a curiously bent arm that looked like a wing; more unpleasant sounds were made, albeit a bit more muffled, as Noel had a good grip on the windpipe of the young skank of a male. He was quietly pulled out the door and a short moan cut short was heard before a transport suddenly jumped to life and skittered off in the deserted street.

Noel was surprised, then elated that a soft feminine form had thrown itself on him and was quietly sobbing in relief; it was a scene straight out of his mental book of fantasies about his personal obsession, and suddenly he was utterly charmed and protective of this variety of a pretty rose haired form. An hour later, after carrying Serah to bed, tenderly tucking her in and holding her hands like two slim birds, promising he'd be there all night to watch over her, he'd fallen in love. If you had asked him about Lightning, the answer would be a resounding silence. After all, what was a private obsession with an unreadable state of mind when your life was no longer lacking for a pretty girl?

It was too bad he never saw the master bedroom door left open in a silent invitation. But then love is blind. Always.

Lightning was uncharacteristically silent the next morning, but it went unnoticed by both Noel & Serah; Serah ever so charmingly overrode Lightning's monosyllable when Noel eagerly offered to escort her to the festival that night; nor were the dark storm clouds gathering in the sky and in one beautiful woman's eyes heeded. Snow ended up escorting Lightning to work, where the crowds were sparse; everyone was at festival. One by one the girls left, the crowd dwindling down to a few regulars as the frenzy of the fertility festival mounted in the cool evening; it started to rain, a gentle downpour hitting the asphalt and plasteel of the streets with a soothing, yet mournful hiss as it soaked in, and overflowed every nook and cranny in Oldtown. The musicians relaxed, and began to play for themselves, the bartenders and security sat down and began to listen to them, and drink. It was a night for bourbon and blues, everyone wallowing in memories as the music evoked past loves, failed careers, and the deep loneliness of life lived hard.

Lightning took to the pole on the lower main stage, something she hadn't done in a long time; she danced for herself and no one else; she had her own demons to wrestle with, namely Noel and Serah together; she imagined her sister so dainty, so delicate, being shielded by Noel's strong arm; Serah lightly laying her head on the firm chest, which she just knew was welling with tender emotions for her baby sister; she imagined each tender gesture of protection Noel would make, the feather light caress of the neck she had felt, the angel's breath of a kiss brushing her lips goodnight, then later the searing velvety mouth pressing on hers, now all being given to Serah, and not her; the slow thrash of naked limbs, gold on silver, dusky sable on rose blonde intertwining, moving in the ancient rhythm of the oldest expression of love in the world as she spun on the pole, mentally caught in her own crucifixion of her heart's desire; she leaned back on the pole in the fallen angel position and slowly let herself spin, tilting her head back as long crystal runnels painted the outer corners of her eyes and dripped into the dark abyss below her feet.

Etro, get me off this nightmare, cut my heart out and burn it, no one wants it but you.

Bring your love baby I could bring my shame
Bring the drugs baby I could bring my pain
I got my heart right here
I got my scars right here
Bring the cups baby I could bring the drink
Bring your body baby I could bring you fame
And that's my motherfucking words too
Just let me motherfucking love you

The goddess had no answer for her, no beautiful dark haired shadow hunter suddenly appearing to escort her home, or shyly admitting he missed her; so she slept at Valhalla, not wanting to go home to an empty house. She quietly dressed in old plain riding leathers and her father's old keffeyieh from his desert GC days under the jacket and took an idle ride; she ended up at Etro's temple and sat there in the festival crowd, all praying for fertility. She found herself crying out inside for Etro, for her dead & missing father, anyone, anyone to point the way out of the endless pain of her existence. Etro, why is it so? Why does Serah attract all the love in the world, but I can't even get a single man to look at me unless I'm tricked out like a Valkyrie? Please, I can't hold out much longer by myself. If there's really somebody out there for me, send them…please…Oh, Goddess,tell me true – did you send me Noel Kreiss? I don't understand this…this unspoken bond, this invisible rope between us – he pushes and I am pulled to him; yet when I pull, he pushes away; I don't understand where I fail, help me…

She never heard her goddess answer, and there was no place left to go, so she slowly turned to go home.

When she finally opened the door to her house, it was quiet; Noel was sleeping on the couch and Serah in her bedroom; Lightning leaned on the doorframe, arms folded and stayed there, thinking. Something was not right with Noel when Serah was around. It was like he was a ghoul, a 'lights on nobody home' look about the eyes she knew, but couldn't quite place. She was sick of Serah's attitude towards her, Serah's lies, her too sweet voice delivering insults, Serah's too bright eyes on Noel in front of her.

"Are you going to stare at me all day or shut the door, o sister mine? " a brittle voice, sharp as tinkling shards of broken glass sliced her ears.

"Why aren't you at school?"

"It's festival week, I'm on a break. What's the matter, disappointed you can't yell at me for skipping school?'

Lightning gave Serah a coolly flat look then turned away and quietly shut the door, only to be faced with a stern faced Noel: "I thought you were going to call me as soon your shift at work ended so I could get you. You know your sister and I waited up for you – why do you act this way and worry her so?"

It was one thing to have Serah swipe at her, but this? Her bodyguard too? It was too much. She snarled inside, reined it in and calmly said: "I did double shift, since everyone was at festival and slept in Lexie's quarters. It was dead at Valhalla. I didn't see the need to come home, not that it's any business of yours, shadow hunter. I sent you a text." Then her tongue ran away with her and softly, coolly slipped in with: "Of course, it would be hard to see when you're staring at my sister all night long. And I doubt Serah would ever wait up for me – she's too much into creating her own fantasy life to be interested in real life out here, much less lift a hand to any help around here."

'It's a basting dump and I am sick of being so far from the city center, you jade!" Serah's voice cut in, a touch strident; "Why can't we sell mom's house and move somewhere else? Oh yeah, I forgot! You are going to be the next Lexis of Valhalla, and live there until your ass is too wrinkled to shake on stage, like her!"

Lightning growled and whipped round shaking a finger in Serah's face: "You'd better watch your mouth when you speak of Lexis, little kupo; if she hadn't taken a chance on me, we'd have been both on the streets within 6 months after mom's death! And just who do you think paid half your college tuition in your first year? Lexis, and all the people you know at Valhalla! Now back off of me."

"Baste you to Etro's hell! I am not hanging around that bar trash!"

"Bar trash, am I?" Lightning cocked an eyebrow, now really irritated; "Bar trash pays for everything you've had for the last 4 years, Serah. I wonder if you know what you're made of."

"I sure as hell am not like you – and I sure as hell won't end up old and alone! I even tell people I'm not your sister when they ask me at school, I am so sick of being associated with you and all that…that…shite!"

Lightning was shocked into silence at that for a few seconds; she simply turned away, white under her tan, and simply wounded replied: "So. I'm no sister of yours, am I? Then why are you here, under this bar trash roof, sleeping in a bar trash bed?"

Silence.

"I'm done with you. Do as you will."

Silence. Then two pairs of feet left the house, the door closing with a quiet click, so unlike the singing, snapping recoil of two broken heartstrings resounding in her heart.