Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Descendants of the Mundane ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. Do not read, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.

She stretched out on the wooden bench, finally feeling relaxed. It was of very little political importance, really; but two smaller nations bickering back and forth while at the same time trying to be aligned with Esthar just got freaking stressful after a while. Lucky, lucky her to have volunteered to be in the middle.
Or to have been volunteered, actually. "Kyrie can handle it." Vincent had said. Oh that bastard.
Relaxing under the shade of a tree, on an uneven bench, overlooking the park... it was nice. It was enough to remove the stress so she could go back and deal with it all over again. Hooray. Why was she working for her grandfather again?
The cell phone rang in her pocket. Considering there was only the smallest number of people that would be calling, she answered with, "What?"
"I love you, too." Rodger joked on the other end. "Just realized you're not here."
"I needed out for a moment." She took a deep breath, sitting up and rolling her shoulders. "I'll be on my way back in a couple of minutes. Will we miss each other?"
"Nah." He assured, narrowly avoiding a collision with a new intern in the estate hallway. "I'll drop in and visit before we go."
Rodger had taken to being one of Laguna's "travel buddies", as the president called them. It was a great way to see the world and pretend to be doing work, frankly. Kyrie had been involved in the same sort of thing before Vincent's little suggestion. And she damn well planned to return to said easy job right after this whole mess was over with, too.
"See you then." She promised.
"You better." He added lightly before hanging up.
Phone off, back in her pocket, she found the desire to stand up, let alone walk back, was... lacking. It's not that there was some awful, critical situation waiting for her or anything. But she would have to deal with the arguing again. The back and forth. Being the in-between since they seemed to refuse to talk to one another. What was she, the bridge between two countries? They were right next to each other, for Hyne's sake!
"That bastard." She remarked under her breath. Nevermind that it had served her right. It was just Vincent's way of getting back at her for replacing all of his suits with jeans and T-shirts. Not such an expensive prank, really--until the suits got lost somehow. That had not been part of the plan at all. She was definitely paying for it now, though.
"Hello, beautiful." She heard clearly in front of her.
There was a little bit of shock at first. She was torn from her thoughts by that voice, but stunned by the words. Focussing on her sense of sight again, she gazed immediately upon a pair of black boots a few feet away. Eyes slowly moving up from there, she bore witness to a pair of worn, stone red jeans, topped off by a crimson shirt and a stylishly thin, waist-length black leather cycle jacket. She was glad to see that sexy voice actually came from someone who deserved it--he was quite incredible. Tall (maybe more so than Rodger, even), slender but not scrawny, built but not overly muscular, confident. Handsome. Pretty, even. Granted, the mess of chin-length silver hair gave her the willies at first (understandably so), but... it was just so perfect. This guy was certifiably hot.
She found a predatory grin spreading over her lips. She just couldn't help it. "Why hello there. And you are?"
"John." He answered naturally. "John Sparda. And you?"
Damn did he know how to use his appeal. "Kyrie Leonhart. Although, depending upon who you ask, the whole thing is Kyrie Almasy Leonhart Kinneas."
John blinked at that. "How about I just call you Gorgeous?"
Ah, that caused a slightly vicious smirk. Did he know what he was doing, or was he just a jerk? Did it matter at this point? She certainly felt a far cry from "gorgeous" after the morning she'd just had. "I'm going to assume you know how to defend yourself."
His eyes narrowed slightly with concern. "Why would I need to?"
Hm. Interesting response. Nearly unreadable. "Leonhart isn't a household name of yours, huh?"
He shook his head, putting a hand in his pocket and drawing his slender but muscled body to the side. Hell yes he knew how to work it. He was expert at getting people to grant him favors.
She found herself smiling, somehow. "Where you from, stranger?"
He looked down just for a moment, unconsciously. "Uh... well, a ways."
"Mmm hmm." She agreed, finally deciding to stand up. "Well, it's nice to meet you, John. I hope you'll decide to stay in the area for a while." I want pictures.
He grinned as if she'd spoken that last thought out loud. "Leaving already?"
"I've got several supposedly important things to take care of." She assured him. Damn you, Vincent.
"Well, I don't have anything to do..." he started suavely, moving to get in her way before she could dart past him. "Maybe I could tag along?"
Oh, this was good. Why the hell not? He was a lovely plaything. And she got the distinct feeling he could due to be knocked down a peg or twenty. Hell, if she had a leash and a collar... well, with her, at the time... She tried to wipe those thoughts away before he got the wrong idea from her expression. "As long as you stay out of trouble, I guess that's okay." What a lure. What a tease. She felt so dirty. And she didn't really mind.

The estate was only a couple of blocks away--the traffic literally making conversation impossible. Maybe it was best that way; she could keep him in tow without screwing up by offending him somehow. After his introduction, however, she doubted it would be as easy to offend him as it was for other people.
At the front door, once again, as always, the same damn guard stopped her. Having a guest with her that she sincerely wanted to keep around for a little while, she finally released a little aggravation on the guard with careful, way too calm words. "I come through here twice every day, at least. And I still need an ID card that you only glance at and never scan? I suggest you either stop asking me for my card, or scan it through like you're supposedly paid to do."
The guy guarding the door was perhaps a couple of years her senior, but he didn't look it. Certainly not after she'd made her thoughts crystal clear, anyway. Instead of responding, he merely waved them through, without asking to see her card. If there was one thing he heard from rumors and second-hand information, it was never to piss off a Leonhart. That guy she had with her was pretty scary, too...
"What was that about?" John questioned quietly as they walked inside.
"Sorry." Kyrie halfway sincerely apologized. "It'd been building up a while."
Quiet anger. He told himself carefully. She was such a cute little thing, though. Especially from behind. How dangerous could she be? "So, uh, where are we?"
"The Presidential Estate of Esthar." She answered naturally, inviting him into the lift first. Hey, she had to keep him in sight.
He paused before stepping in. "The... Presidential Estate? You work here?"
"More or less, yeah." She stepped in after him, swiping her ID card in the newer, "easier to use" security device, then inputting the necessary floor. "Though I get paid in privileges, for the most part."
"You mean you don't even get paid for working for the president?" He was aghast--for no particular reason. He just assumed that if you worked in a place like this, you'd get paid plenty. In fact, he'd sort of hoped it.
"Well, he's my grandfather." She admitted naturally. "It's okay, really."
"Oh." Maybe she did have a little more power behind her than he'd realized. But still... "What do you do?"
"Right now, just get annoyed by adults acting like retarded children." She murmured harshly--then cleared her throat. "There's that building up and releasing thing happening again."
He grinned slightly. "I see."
As the lift stopped and chimed that their destination had been reached, Kyrie took it upon herself to step out first. There was a mess of new interns roaming around, and she knew that she'd probably have to bump into one or two of them eventually anyway. It had become a game, for the most part--rather like pinball. Only, with a few more bruises, sometimes. It somehow wasn't so bad this time around, though. "Just follow me." She instructed.
As if she needed to ask. He followed her through the corridors of moving people like a hungry dog after a bloody steak, never losing track of her steps. It seemed like they were in a human tunnel for quite some time before they arrived through an office door, shutting smoothly and silently behind them.
Strange how he felt like he'd just been through a battle of some sort. It had been a slightly terrifying gauntlet of student interns, after all. He rested against the corner of the desk in front of him, taking a good look around. What an office. Windows, cushy chairs and everything. Very comfortable, in fact. Hell, he could just lean back and--
He instantly jerked away from the scary little clownish puppet in the corner behind him, heart beating out of his chest. He realized almost immediately that it was just a stupid toy, but... man, that'd given him one hell of a fright. He'd heard enough stories from his father, thank you very much.
"I'm not too fond of it either." Kyrie commented, noting his reaction. "But it was a gift. And it freaks everyone out, so I don't tend to get bothered much. I call him Jim." She rummaged nonchalantly about the cabinets on the other side of the room, finding her house keys.
John stared at her for a moment. Was this lunatic girl serious? She seemed so... normal, at first. That was just his luck, though. He finally started to relax again when he saw the grin at the corner of her mouth at his mannerisms--she definitely knew just how she came off, and she used it to its full extent. Smart girl. Challenging. He liked that.
The office doors suddenly parted. "Holy Hyne, Ky." Rodger exclaimed, walking inside. "What the hell is it with you? You're a magnet for hot young men." He grinned widely, giving her a kiss.
Uh-oh. Was the thought that had suddenly enshrouded John's consciousness.
"Thank you." She responded. Turning toward said hottie, she introduced them. "Rodger, this is John Sparda. John, this is Rodger Kinneas. My husband."
"Oh." John paled. "Um... hello." He offered his hand tentatively, thinking it may perhaps be chopped off at any moment.
Rodger grasped and shook it instead. "Nice to meet you. I'd stick around and put the screws on, but I've got places to go and things to pretend to do."
Kyrie found that entertaining. "Get me a souvenir, alright?"
"Always." He promised. "I should be home by nine tonight." They shared a kiss and an exchange of I love yous, and then he was walking out the door. With a last wave, he called, "Have fun."
A tingle of enthrallment rushed her. "Oh, I will." She promised, waving back.
All of this was giving John cold fear sweat. He was... understandably nervous, here. Alarms were going off all over the place. And yet he was still completely unable to form his concerns into words.
"Now that that's out of the way..." she turned to him as if nothing strange had happened. Key ring hanging from her fingers like a pendulum in her relaxed arm, she inquired, "Care to follow me a little further?"
Poison. This girl was a siren. And he was an idiot; before he even understood the question, he found that he had already uttered, "Yes." Oh, she was good. Too good.
She was trying her damnedest not to grin like a predator that had cornered something tasty. Now that much might send the boy over. Instead, she signaled that he follow her. And, like a good, stunned little prey, he did. Tentatively, granted, but he was keeping up with her through the next continuous wave of interns.
"Already have a new toy, I see." Vincent commented offhand just above the din, walking by in the other direction and stopping to grab a cup of water in the coffee nook.
John looked more incredibly concerned for his own well-being than ever. "Is there something I ought to know?"
"Probably not." She responded without looking at him. "Excuse me for a minute?"
What was he going to say, "No"? He nodded, confused and a little... unnerved, perhaps. She turned to follow the man who had just passed them and dropped the comment, appearing to consciously wait for her approach. He could easily make out the conversation with his half devil hearing ability.
"Yes?" the man asked teasingly, expectantly.
"I was wondering if I could take a little time off." Kyrie played right back. "And leave you with the work, for a change."
He grinned almost invisibly at her request, shaking his head and sighing. "Shirking your responsibilities?"
"Look, I didn't mean to lose your suits..."
"You are going to scare him off." He warned, half seriously.
Heh, that was amusing. "I haven't scared you, yet." She prodded.
"That is because I am far more frightening than you are." He answered nonchalantly
John could believe that, somehow. The guy had a freaking claw for a hand. He was as close to a devil walking among men as he'd ever seen. That was saying something.
"Make me beg and all deals are off." She teased.
"That's not what you said before." He shot back, deadpan. Hell, one of them would scare the kid off for certain. "And what did your adoring husband say?"
"'Have fun.'" She repeated, exceptionally proud of herself.
Vincent sighed once again, overdramatically. "Alright. But tomorrow you're in here bright and early."
Thank Hyne their idea of bright and early was well after the sun came up. "Aren't you a sweetheart." She smirked jokingly. Before he had the chance to agree, she interrupted with, "No. See you in the morning."
The two parted ways, and Kyrie approached John once again through the human traffic. "Good to go. Do you mind trains?"
He blinked, still sort of stuck in the conversation he'd "overheard". "Oh. Uh... no, trains are okay."
"Great." She started walking again, slowly enough for him to understand that he should follow. The waves of random interns had slowed down somewhat, allowing them relatively quick passage out and into the Jet station. It was times like these when she was glad to be the president's graddaughter--a swipe of her card at the end of a corridor which appeared like any other, and the "reserved for dignitaries" lift straight into the station opened up. She wouldn't flaunt her powers, but she'd sure as hell use them whenever she needed to. Or just felt like it.
Relatively safe in the lift, door closed behind him, John opened his mouth to ask her something--but fell short of a question. He simply couldn't focus on one thing to ask her to clarify. He took a breath to try again, but still no words would surface.
She "interrupted" politely. "We'll actually have some privacy on the Jet. If you need time." She added, grinning softly.
He began seriously pondering the level of trouble he was getting himself into. Okay, run-down: the granddaughter of a very powerful man was going to take him on a train, to a place he didn't know, from a place he didn't know. He swallowed that thought, and it didn't go down easily. He was just damn glad no one had frisked him. Just in case something should happen... well, he was ready. Enough. Freakin' hormones.

She made this trip so often that she practically had the second to first car on all the trains named after her. Technically it was for all "dignitaries and royalty", but her family was pretty much the only group to ever use it. Everyone recognized her, waving her through the whole process and welcoming her with tips of their hats and smiles--whether real or fake didn't make any difference. They were in, settled and comfortable in seconds.
A small number of minutes passed them in silence. Of course the Jet couldn't take off before schedule, and Kyrie seemed a little loathe to begin a conversation before the doors were closed and they were on their way. John understood that. He was a little loathe to begin conversation at all. Locked up and alone on a moving vehicle with, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. An attractive stranger, in a plush train car all to themselves, but nonetheless...
A bell rang outside, signaling departure. As the train subtly jerked into motion, the doors sealed shut with quick swishes. Off they went, starting off slow but leveling off into a smooth, fast run.
John regarded the girl silently, seated across from him on the same side of the aisle. He would wait for her to initiate the conversation. Besides, he felt kind of weird about even trying to make small talk.
But he would soon realize that she was not a girl for simple, flighty conversation. "What really brings you here, John?"
He took a very quick glance at the window, hoping he could blast his way through--and took note of the impossibly fast motion whirring outside. Okay, that wasn't a good idea. "I, uh... I'm kind of a... hunter, I guess."
She smiled, glad to have actually gotten something out of him. She got the distinct impression that he wasn't talking about wildlife, here. So, another telling question was in order. After so long of being around politics, she'd learned how to get more out of the interrogated than they bargained for. "A hunter? Does it run in the family?"
"Well, uh... my father was a demon hunter." Immediately his eyes widened, astounded at his own idiocy. Why the hell he'd just thrown that right out there, out in the open--was he fucking stupid? What the hell had this girl done to him? Drug him? Get him that excited? Now it was probably her turn to be on the defensive. With her position, she could have him locked away for the better part of his life.
To his surprise, she was actually nodding. "I really could have used him a few years ago." She tested softly, trying to get him to admit that either he was a demon hunter too, or she'd misjudged his taste for Galbadian elk.
It was an unexpected response, to say the least. So much so that the insane discomfort of the moment before sloughed away easily. He felt a little leap in his heart rate, like the moment before he felt that he was about to encounter a beast of the nether realm. "Demon problems?"
"Close enough." She took a long gaze out the window herself, really watching his reflection. She'd taken note of his interest, the little jump of excitement in his tone that she'd learned to listen for. Just an inkling, a weird thought to have, but it came out loud, "Do all demons have silver hair?"
His eyes widened. Was she implying..? Did she know what he was?
Ah, so that flying leap off the cliff of logic, straight into the ground of her twisted instinct, had proved correct after all. She knew he was "different", to say the least. And now she knew why. "It's so cliché." She answered humorously, the questions in his eyes enough to be responded to accurately. "The half-breed hunts the monster side--it's all over the vampire genre."
Only speaking could prevent his jaw from unhinging completely. "I suppose it is." Of course, if her assumption was accurate, that would mean that the raven haired gentleman with the claw he'd seen earlier, was not a demon. So he could only assume silver hair was a coincidence and nothing more. Come to think of it, his mother, also half demon, had blonde hair... "I guess any hair color goes." He answered thoughtfully. But he could sure use a change in subject. "So... what about your parents?"
That was most certainly laughable to her. "You're really not from around here, are you?"
"Not exactly..."
"Well, good." She offered seriously. "Squall Leonhart was my dad. He was kind of... a hero of the world type thing. And Seifer Almasy was my father. He just happened to be considered everything from a lunatic to a treacherous, insane villain." She met his eyes carefully, more than curious to see his reaction to any of what she'd just said.
He looked nearly casual, actually. This candid conversation was almost making him forget that he should be on his guard. "Two fathers. Is that possible?"
Well, that was better than she'd been expecting. Not that she anticipated complete revulsion, but... she was rather used to it. "My maternal mother was a nut case. Big long story there regarding romance and true love. I never knew her, she committed suicide a long time ago. She was a widely loved and feared sorceress, though."
"Wow." He commented, a big grin lighting his face. "You're just in the crosshairs of everything." Somehow... it was actually making him feel... a little "normal". School had been a living hell; he had no friends, and no one to confide in. But compared to this chick, he was run-of-the-mill conformist.
"Tell me about it." She shook her head, bemused.
Things were moving a little more naturally, now. So he let his curiosity wander. "You said 'was', though. About your parents. Are they..?"
"Yeah." She sighed quietly. "Both dead and gone, I'm afraid. On account of that particular demon I mentioned."
"I see." He sighed unconsciously. He knew the feeling.
"And your family?" she attempted gently, quite curious. Hey, if demon hunting ran in the family, and he really was half devil... well, this ought to be interesting.
He swallowed, not entirely ready for that question. "My mother's been dead for a while. Nobody really knows why, but... we always thought it was murder. My father, well... I, uh... I'm not really sure where he is."
"Simple" enough, she supposed. He'd had some hard times, too. "That sounds... unpleasant. Are those two things related?"
He turned his eyes to the window, feeling a raw anger burning in his chest. "I really don't know." He was lying to himself, and he knew it.
She understood that anger more than she cared to. Maybe it would have been smarter to let things drop, but... she'd push her luck, anyway. She had started to feel more of a kinship connection than she had really wanted. "How long has your father been gone?"
"Ten years." He admitted, gritting his teeth.
And his life seemed harder, still. "Well... that sucks."
He slowly turned back to her, finding nothing but sincerity in her tone. What... what was this girl? And what the fuck was this... power she had over him? Her words should have sent him into a rage--just "that sucks" and move on with her obviously charmed life. But they didn't. And they hadn't been any sort of snare or stab. Just... honest. Quiet, simple, truth. It was... weird. He wasn't used to it. He'd never talked to anyone like this before.
His surprised confusion was easily noted, making his icy blue eyes wide and vibrant. She didn't mean to smile--it just kind of happened, seeing his expression, how he opened his mouth just slightly to respond but wasn't able to think of anything to say. She had to look away and fake a cough so she wouldn't wind up offending him or giving him the wrong idea about the smile. He must be something, alright--she actually cared whether or not she offended him.
He continued looking her direction, uncertain of... well, anything. He got this... "feel" off of her, like he'd known her for a long while. It was this instinctual read that he'd never encountered with anyone before--except maybe in the comfort of his own home, back when things were comfortable. It was like when he was able to sense a demon, only... not bad. But then, he'd never really spent this much one-on-one time with another human being (half devil or otherwise) for... a really long time. And certainly not one this... "interesting".
A slight jerk and an audible clanking served as a solid interruption of though processes; the Jet was slowing in the last mile to the station. The two of them turned their attention to the scenery, noting the rolling hills and high mountains once they ceased being mere blurs. It was quite a beautiful place, in fact.
"Brace yourself." Kyrie warned.
Words like that were not to be taken lightly--he tensed just in time to save himself from being hurled from his seat and straight into her as the train stopped entirely. Not that he would have minded much at this point, he thought with the light tremors of a grin on his lips. She was feeling a hell of a lot... "safer" than she had before. But of course, a moment later the doors flew open, and there were no opportunities.
"Shall we?" she asked like it was all up to him.
He shrugged. "Sure."
She lead her way off of the train and out of the station the back way, making sure not to move so fast that he couldn't follow through the crowd easily. Using a practiced path, they avoided most of the really tight masses and made it outside, into the golden warmth of early summer in Trabia.
It was when she was walking the opposite direction from the waiting taxis and the parking area that John started getting a little nervous. The sun was going down, and regardless of getting to like the girl, she was still... an unknown, so to speak. "Don't you, uh... want a ride?"
"Nah." She was hardly oblivious to his concern, testing. "It's really not far to the house."
Now he was stricken with a full-blown panic. He hadn't even thought to ask her where she was taking him in the first place. "The house" sure as hell meant her house. Where she and her husband lived. His throat was getting very dry, and he wasn't sure a walk, short though it may be, was in his best interest. Panic. He tried a last ditch tactic. "It's getting dark, though..."
"We'll be there before twilight ends." She dismissed easily. Almost... playfully.
He noted that extra bit of curve in the corners of her lips. And then there was that question: Why? It puzzled him that the word hadn't so much as emerged before. To add to all of the other weird shit he'd experienced, he was... still following her. No, he wasn't darting away, running for his life, reaching for his guns. How very, very... odd.
He waited, following carefully until they were well away from the station. By the looks of things, they were firmly in suburbia, and there didn't seem to be people outside. So, carefully, he consciously poured on the charm to finally straighten things out. If she was the sort of person she was shaping up to be (maybe that he was hoping she was), she'd give him a real answer. "So tell me something, Kyrie. Why am I following you around?"
She grinned brightly, albeit a touch devious. "Only you can answer that one."
Hm. Granted. But he wasn't going to take that as a full response. Understandably, he needed something more, here. "You introduced me to your husband, used me as an excuse to be dismissed from your work, I've been referred to as your 'new toy', and I'm still walking with you, in a place I don't even know."
"Yeah, how does that work?" she joked, slowing her pace. Well, what the hell did she have to lose? "You intrigued me. I wanted to spend a little more time with you. How about that?"
Uh-huh. But not good enough. "Is that all you wanted?" he dared with his ice melting, sure thing smile.
Ah, now it was down to business, as it were. Her tone was dripping with a false innocence. "Well, if something else were to happen..."
Now this was just... interesting. Almost car crash, horror movie interesting "And your husband?"
She stopped short, darting quickly off the path and behind a large hedge, making certain he was right behind. "Since you asked, I'll lay it out simply." She got straight to the point, leaning comfortably against a tree in someone's back yard, safely hidden from any main roads or other houses. "I am not, and never will be, looking for anything deeply emotional. Nothing could or would ever come between Rodger and I, and that's just the way it is. If I find a little fun in someone, though, I'm going after it."
He'd never heard a woman so frank before. Honest, predatory, hardcore, to the point. "No emotional attachment." He summed up quietly.
"Exactly." She agreed. "Friendship might even be fine on some level, but--"
"Fuck buddies." He grinned, daring to get close enough to lay his hand on the trunk of the tree she was leaning against, just above her shoulder.
"Yes." She was quite amazed that he hadn't looked disgusted, let alone walked away cursing her and her whole family.
He couldn't help but admit he was intrigued. He wasn't the kind of guy to have a girlfriend. It just... wouldn't work. This little arrangement, though... "Well, Kyrie Almasy... Leon... -hart..."
"Kinneas." She added playfully.
"Kinneas." He repeated, a little predatory grin becoming more apparent on his face. "Your husband is in on this?"
So he was interested. Oh yummy. "Completely. Or he wouldn't have said, 'Have fun'."
"Is he allowed to 'have fun', too?" he let his mind wander for a moment.
"Yes, in fact, he is."
"You realize this is a very strange relationship."
She grinned, noting that his decision was already made by the slowly decreasing gap between their bodies. "I seem to realize that, yes."
"Well, then." He chuckled softly and tilted his head down for just a moment, unconsciously making his hair fall into his eyes in a way that made her exceptionally happy. "Care to have some fun?"
She could melt. She really could. "You're not 'otherwise engaged'?"
"Never have been."
Score! she kept to herself as best as possible. "Then I would love to have fun with you."
But... there was one little thing. "And when your husband comes home? Is the fun over?"
Sweet fucking Hyne. She tried very, very hard to keep her voice level. It was just this absolutely fantastic picture she had in her mind of the two of them... of the three of them... whoo. Oh, what the hell. She hadn't even scared him away yet. "Unless you're not opposed to a little more fun."
He paused to seriously think that over. It's not like he ever... y'know... But an experience was an experience. Sinning in small numbers, maybe. Besides, how could you know if you didn't like something until you tried? What, he'd be accused of not being "all man"? Well, he could kick any human's puny ass a dozen times before they had a chance to fight back, so fuck that. He got the feeling neither Kyrie, nor anyone she chose to spend her life with, was the kind of person who would blab bullshit like that all over the place, anyway. "We'll see what happens."
Ah, the promise of sweet things to come... But she knew they couldn't exactly be standing like this for long out here. Sure it was a back yard, and sure there didn't seem to be a lot of people on the streets, but she couldn't afford any more attention than she or her family already got. "It's only a few minutes away."

It was all she could do not to break out into a run as the driveway was in sight. She kept herself in check, however. At least for the moment. Their walk had been relatively quiet, tinged with the sounds of birds and spotting the local wildlife stealing food out of trash bins and fighting over it. John had asked about the landscape, the name of the town and the continent, and Kyrie had been helpful on filling him in. He really wasn't from around there at all.
"This is it." She said, taking the last turn and searching for her keys in her pocket.
He couldn't help but be impressed. The back yard looked more like a private forest from where he was--not that the front was all that shabby, either. It rather surprised him that blood red roses climbed up the side of the house, if only because he certainly didn't think of her as the gardening type. But then, maybe they were wild roses. What the hell did he know about plants? The house itself was almost a mix of rugged and modern, two stories and an attic, and a pretty stone walkway that lead up three steps to the door. There was a nice porch, extending all the way around the side and containing a couple of odd looking potted plants. He got the distinct feeling they weren't of this world, either.
Door unlocked and opened, Kyrie stepped back and motioned him in. There was one, solid moment of uncertainty... but it seemed to have relaxed itself even before he took the first step. The inside was just as nice; from where he stood, he could see all the way up the stairs, a very clean and homey feel meeting him every step of the way. Kitchen to the left, closet and some other little rooms to the right, and--
He stopped short in absolute awe, catching sight of Masamune and the Buster Sword on the wall. It was just... a miraculous show of weaponry. He'd never seen anything quite like them, even in his father's vast collection.
"They tend to get that reaction." Kyrie joked behind him.
He shook his head, still staring straight at the weapons. "Are those... yours?"
"They are now." She replied thoughtfully. "That one's the Buster Sword. It belongs to a friend of mine, but he gave it to me, so... And that one... that is Masamune." She felt a little shiver go through her spine at the mere mention of it. Some things simply never faded away. "It belonged to the 'demon' I was referring to."
He wondered what other kinds of "friends" this girl had. Masamune... the word rolled so easily but held so many shards. It was clear this sword hadn't merely been given to her, so he let it go for the time being. Besides, if she didn't have demon problems any longer, then what did it really matter? Taking a quick look around, he noted another scattering of weapons on the wall slightly to the right and underneath the stairs. There was a rack of rifles and shotguns that he more or less recognized, and a number of interesting blades that he didn't. "You must be a collector." He commented quietly, mostly to himself. There was that little nervousness tickling at him again; though he was starting to realize that there was no real foundation to it.
She grinned slightly at that. "Not really. We just sort of happen upon them. These, for instance..." she stepped forward to indicate the crossed weapons that hung above the rest, "Are my parents' gunblades. And most of the guns were from Rodger's father." She then pointed to possibly the most frightening looking piece, announcing quite naturally, "And that Save the Queen is my aunt's."
What a... terribly interesting family she had. He wasn't quite sure how to express that politely-so he didn't.
"But what about you?" she turned to him suddenly. "Hunting demons, you must have something to defend yourself with."
"Oh, sure." He agreed suavely. Never pass up a chance to impress, that's what his father had taught him. Under his jacket, fit perfectly against his sides in a thin and nearly invisible holster, he pulled out two seriously dangerous looking pistols. It was a wonder no one saw the monstrous things even "in hiding"; but then, the jacket was simply cut in such a way that it fell straight over his sides, making anything hidden in his curves, so to speak, remain that way. Ingenious.
"Sa-weet." She commented, watching the shining metal as if hypnotized. One glistening silver, one shimmering black. Both really, really gorgeous.
He grinned without the least bit of shyness, spinning the pistols with perfect and rapid precision before placing them both back in his flank holsters. "Thank you. Maybe I should hook you up with something."
The smirk was utterly silencing. She really didn't have to say a thing--the look said it all. John followed the subtle tapping of her finger upon her thigh, down her body and to her leg. "Oh." He hadn't even noticed--and, looking back on it, how the hell had that little beauty evaded him? Little, hell; it was a great big... thing. And even sheathed it looked fucking dangerous. There were questions seeping into his consciousness, but he suddenly wondered which one would prove more lucrative to ask first.
"It's my gunblade." She answered with a hint of pride. With one well practiced, smooth movement, she unlatched the strap across the hilt that held it in place and drew her weapon, up and across her chest for a perfectly wicked visual, finger solidly on the trigger. Fighting fire with fire worked well for her.
He was... impressed, alright. It was something of a cross between her parents', he realized, and was actually quite aesthetically pleasing. The humor reached his eyes once again as he sensed a challenge coming on. "Let's take this outside."

He had misjudged the back yard; it was a lot bigger than it had looked from the other side. She pointed out where the property lines ended, marked not by fences but little stone markers. She probably could have built seven more houses out there, if the mood ever struck.
And all of this space allowed a miniature shooting range. She showed him the collection of what used to be cans and trash lids, reduced more or less to rubble. In that was a friendly challenge.
A challenge he picked up on. "So... accurate?"
"Pretty much." She grinned, knowing he'd taken the bait.
He nodded, pulling his pistols again and giving them each a little spin. "What about style?"
She chuckled, sensing a more interesting sort of contest developing. "What about style?"
It was his turn to grin, shifting the black pistol behind his back and shooting an already severely wounded tin can off a rock pile without looking.
Nodding silently, she accepted that. Taking Eleison in both hands, she rushed forward toward a slightly melted trash lid, held up by a small configuration of stones at the bottom. Slashing down and sideways, she pulled the trigger just as the blade hit dead center--and literally blew it into a million little charred fragments.
Yes, he could get to like this girl. As she stepped back, he made a show out of twirling his twin guns again. Halting them in a dead stop, he crossed his wrists and blew two more of the cans away, both having been on either side of his peripheral vision.
Kyrie stood with a hand on her hip, eyebrow slightly raised--but she was not overly impressed. Time for the big guns, as it were. As a slight look of puzzlement overcame John's face, she extended a hand and delicately projected her palm toward the center pile of random sticks and rocks that once held up a can. Instantly the Fire materia buzzed through her muscles--practice had made near perfect, indeed. A barely controlled spark erupted into a hot, bright blaze. Only when her "adversary" seemed thoroughly impressed did she use Ice to freeze the flames themselves. All that was left behind was a small mist of steam and some blackened rocks.
"You're certain you're not part devil?" was the only response that came from his mouth.
"Only as far as I know. And that's not much." She admitted jokingly. "It's Materia--like an outside power source that connects to the body. Fire and Ice are my specialty. I've got Ultima, too, but... I can only use that one when I'm 'in an enclosed environment'."
He grinned appreciatively. "Sounds best that way."
"So I hear." She joked--with truth solidly behind it. "Rodger has Lightning and Restore. That guy with the claw, Vincent... he thought it best if he was the one who could heal the wounds."
He actually laughed at that. Maybe that Vincent character wasn't so bad, after all. Still scary, though.
While she was quite comfortable in the growing darkness (not knowing that John's vision was perfect even in the total absence of light), the night was getting a bit chilly. The sun had been down, and a breeze was blowing in. "We may as well get inside and settle down."
An interesting way to put it. "Did you have any... plans?"
She tried her best to hide the devious expression threatening to break out. He didn't have to know how much of a pervert she was right away. "Not really. Just go get changed, relax. Whatever else happens."
He'd definitely follow her inside for that completely ambiguous statement.

He was never much of a coffee drinker. But she had asked, and he had said yes, if it wouldn't be any bother. A little caffeine fix never hurt. Especially not when you could add sugar to the mix. He needed sugar to drink the black poison, anyway.
Sitting on the couch, waiting for her to come back downstairs, he let himself be fascinated by the television. Media was pretty much the same no matter where you went, wasn't it? Not that he cared what the weather was like in Fisherman's Horizon, but he kept the channel there for a few minutes anyway before moving on. Every little bit of another world was interesting.
Hearing the stairs creak, however, he quickly shut the tv off, put his half empty coffee cup on the table, and glanced behind. It was a silly thing, really; she'd changed into a pair of loose fitting plaid pajama pants and an old, ragged once-black t-shirt. Yet somehow... it was actually kinda sexy. He let that thought settle in an expectant grin.
She gave him a little amused wink in response, finishing her descent and walking up to him, naturally sitting at his side as if they'd done this a million times. "It's probably not what you had in mind, but it's comfortable." She admitted about her ensemble.
"No, that's alright." He promised.
But this wasn't over just yet. She was a dirty, rotten bitch for using this moment to finish things, she knew--but it had to be done. It was eating at her as she was changing. "Now tell me, John." She shot straight for the kill, turning her full attention to him. "Why did you approach me in the first place?"
He looked at her for a moment with narrowed, searching eyes. Her ability to change subjects, not to mention to tear straight to the heart of the matter, was uncanny. Almost uncomfortable. "You were attractive." He decided upon, letting himself take another look while he had the opportunity right in front of him.
She grinned, but it was clear the rest of the subject was not going to drop so easily. "And..? I get the feeling that wasn't the only reason."
He let his shoulders relax a little, seeing that this wouldn't be a pissing contest. Rather, she was just trying to protect her own interests above all else. He could understand that easily. "Instinct." He summed up, choosing his next words carefully. "And... you felt... like you were in a place of power. So I approached. And I liked what I saw."
"Flatterer." She joked. Then, in a lower tone, she repeated, "Instinct."
There was a silence between them; one that wasn't making John feel one way or another about her reaction, in fact. That was... kinda weird. He felt it wasn't appropriate to break her thoughts, however.
When she finally spoke again, it was still in her friendly manner with nothing dark underneath it. "You usually attach yourself to people of power."
It wasn't spoken as a question, but he got the feeling it was meant as one. "It has its advantages." He admitted. "But..."
When he didn't continue, she tilted her head ever so slightly, looking every bit like a curious wolf. But this time, John didn't feel like prey. Dare he think it, he felt like... an equal. Truth be told, he just... gelled with her, even before he'd met her. If he believed in fate, maybe he'd have had a better explanation of how or what or why--but he just didn't know how to continue. Until he looked at the clock. "Shit. It's almost nine..." They hadn't even done anything yet. Not that that's all he wanted out of this girl... strangely enough. He'd never had a... y'know... friend, before. Maybe he was just imagining it now.
She smiled slightly, trying to press devious thoughts back. Down, libido, down! "Do you have a place to stay while you're 'in town'?"
A slight knee-jerk reaction of utter distrust came over him for a moment before he realized she was being genuine. "Look, I'm sure there are hotels around he--"
"Oh please." She interrupted patiently. "Make a show out of it if you want, but we have a spare room upstairs."
He was dumbstruck for a moment at her casual bluntness. "I don't want to be a burden." And I don't want your husband to kill me in the middle of the night...
She held back a typically biting comment when she realized he was being utterly honest. "Like I said, we've got a spare bedroom. Call me stupid, but I think we can trust you."
"Stupid." He joked under his breath.
She accepted that with a normal, though slightly devious, smile. What was it about him that drew her so close? It was more than the way he piqued her curiosity, obviously. That much was a nice touch, but it wasn't everything. Sure the guy was hot, but that wasn't it, either. What a strange idea; she'd made a new friend. As if to ground her, bring her thoughts back to earth, the sound of a car engine and grinding gravel in the driveway interrupted. "You aren't nervous, are you?" she teased a bit too freely.
He really couldn't answer that accurately. Her husband had come home a bit early, but on time as promised. And while he knew they had this agreement... well, who wouldn't be nervous? That coffee really hadn't helped much, after all...
"Relax." She said quietly, reassuringly, getting up to get the door.
He had the frightful feeling that that had been far too easy for her to say. But then, her husband had given permission, right? He hadn't seemed to mind. He hadn't even seemed the least bit concerned. It might be different now that he was in their home, now that he was sitting on their couch, using one of their cups, conversing and having had a style competition with his wife--
It was too late to move now. She'd opened the door, and Rodger had come right in. And John... he was glued to the couch, watching their interaction with curious, careful eyes. As they embraced like they hadn't seen one another in years, he was actually trying to figure out why he didn't feel awkward and out of place. Nervous, unsure, but not... not awkward. It seemed, you know, "the other guy" ought to have been skinned alive by now. Or at least be so afraid for his life that he was trying to dart out the back door.
"How was it?" Kyrie asked, opening the front closet to receive the travel bag.
"Annoying." Rodger answered with a just-glad-to-be-home sigh. It was then that he looked over, noting their guest. "Ah, a brave one."
His wife grinned, but said nothing. Was there really any reason?
"John, right?" the brunette questioned politely, walking over.
Ah, now the heart rate picked up. He stood and cleared his throat, offering a hand. "Uh, yes."
"The husband" nodded and shook with a casual smile. This would be very, very fun if this guy was easily freaked out. Hell, maybe that already wasn't the case--he was still there, wasn't he? "Are you staying?"
He found that he had to swallow to get a little relief in his dry throat. "If I... uh... I hadn't planned, at first, but..."
"Feel free." Rodger gave his blessing. He looked to Kyrie, standing off to the side and watching his signals carefully. Hey, they could run some pretty fucking great schemes if they wanted (and had, on occasion, but nothing for money)--they could read each other from different sides of the country.
"Are either of you hungry?" their "hostess" inquired.
Even with all of this reassurance, John was slow to respond. Hell yes he was hungry. He hadn't eaten for... well, it'd been a while. Still, he waited for Rodger's response. "I could eat."
"Yeah, I know." Kyrie joked. "John?"
Well... what the hell. "Yes, please."
Rodger slapped the fast-learning silver-haired boy on the shoulder. "How do you like pizza, John?"

---

I honestly don't know what to say. I came up with an idea, I started typing, and this happened. I wasn't even quite going to keep this, until Andariel said, "Continue this or die." So what was I to do? Hell's not ready for me yet and Heaven never will be. So, this will be continued. And who knew Kyrie was such a hell-slut? *grin* Oh yeah, she's going to get me back for that one... Nothing wrong with knowing what you want and getting it, people.