?

Log in

Backlog. - East Midgar High [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
East Midgar High

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Backlog. [Jun. 8th, 2006|01:28 am]
East Midgar High

eastmid_high

[oowhirly_girl]
[music |Poe - Control]

Who: Vincent, Yuffie, Kisaragi family
What: General outrage.
When: Morning after a certain post.
Where: Midgar; Kisaragi Dojoj
Warnings: It's a morning in the Casa De Kisaragi; swearing, violence, outrage, butcher knives, het.


Vincent shifted some in his bed, and opened his eyes when he felt....skin rubbing along him also.His eyes traveled down some upon a topless, sleeping Yuffie. He watched her sleep, not really knowing if he should wake her up or not.

The wise choice would be to do so, but, he liked having her lay on him....and she looked peaceful.

She was also very quiet, and something told him that sleeping was one of the few times that peace could thrive around her.

Yuffie shifted in her sleep. She didn't often share beds with people because she tended to seek out heat.

She snuggled up close to the nearest heatsource. Her hands fisted in whatever she could find as she mumbled along with her dream.

He smirked lightly, it figured it wouldn't last too long. He wondered what she was dreaming about though. He kept his breathing steady as he watched her.

Her leg twitched. In her dream, she was kicking out.

No matter how much time passed, The Flight always made its way into her dreams.

Sometimes it wasn't horrifying.

Usually, it was.

With her usual startle reaction, she wound up waking herself.

She blinked up at Vincent.

"Uhm. Morning?"

"Morning." He said back, running his good hand through her hair. "What were you dreaming of?" His hand slid from her hair to her cheek as he rubbed it with his thumb.

She shook her head. "It's, uh, not important. They're just dreams, right?"

She was right, but not all dreams were that way. He knew that all too well. He pressed his lips to her forehead with a light kiss. "Then we shall speak of it no longer."

She smiled and looked for his alarm clock. Not finding it, her brows furrowed.

"Uhm, what time is it?"

He wasn't entirely sure of what time it was. "I believe it is still morning."

She rolled her eyes. "It'd have to be. I'm gonna go check a clock." And brush her teeth, her mouth felt nasty.

She padded off to do so.

It was five AM. Cripes. She didn't need to be up this early. She could easily sleep another hour and a half.

He watched her go, tilting his head to the side as she walked off. He sighed when she disappeared from view and he sat up, running his hand through his untidy hair. It always looked like this. Why he kept it long he had no clue

Yuffie returned. She hopped lightly back into Vincent's bed.

"It's five. I don't have to get up until six thirty. We have an hour."

"Would you care for more rest then?" He asked, laying back down on the bed. It may not be wise for sleep, however, it could very well get them caught if they both fell asleep.

As far as Yuffie figured, they were caught anyway. After all, her dad almost never slept through the night-- and he usually checked on her at least once.

Chekhov was the same with her own kids. If they couldn't find her at first glance... They'd likely look in every room of the house.

She shrugged, smirking. "Depends on what you want."

He arched a brow and shook his head. "I would rather not get caught....doing anything." If anything, they could just say she pestered him all night and ended up falling asleep on his bed. Hm, that was a pretty lame lie.

She shrugged. That kinda sucked, but he had a point.

She stole a kiss anyway. Earlymorning Vincentkisses were likely to be rare. It was light, not moving past the surface of his lips.

"I guess I should head back to my room, then, shouldn't I?"

He thought so. "Perhaps so....though I would rather you stay." He said that to let her know that he only thought it was best for her to head to her own room, and that he didn't actually want her to go.

Yuffie smiled. "Then I guess I'll stay." She laid her head on his chest, spreading her body out, flinging her arms wherever she could fit them.

His heartbeat was slighlty fast, but she just closed her eyes and sighed.

One finger ran along the left arm. Her smile widened.

That was probably going to be her favourite of Vincent's limbs.

He didn't tell her to stop, though he didn't know why his left arm was so well liked by her. Aside from the shiny reason. They still had enough time to at least lay together.

Yuffie pressed a brief kiss aginst his neck.

"So, did you dream anything?"

"Nothing of consequence." He replied, which was true. His dreaming hadn't been so bad....at least, not as bad as usual.

Yuffie smiled. She kissed him again, just because she could. "So. When do you have to be awake?"

He probably had a couple of more hours, they sometimes varied depending on how bad he was needed. "A little bit of time." He told her, returning the kiss.

She nodded, curling up against him. It would be really lazy to just go back to sleep. But she was tired, and she had another hour...

Hm, maybe he'd walk her to school? It was looking like that would be the only real time they got to spend alone.

"Are you thinking of something?" He asked, rubbing her arm some. Either way, he didn't mind what she wanted to do.

"Uhm, this is gonna sound uber-50's, but, uh.... I don't see us getting to spend lotsa time together any other way." She sighed. "Gawd, this is stupid. Feel like walking with me to school?"

She snickered, then rolled over, away from him. She sat up straight, kicked her legs off his bed, and tilted her head first right, then left.

In her dorkiest 1950's Highschool Girl impression, she said, "Why golly gee whiz, Vincent, it'd sure be swell if you'd walk me to school!"

He arched a brow at her. "Very well." He answered, wondering exactly what went on in her head.

Hah. Half the time, Yuffie didn't know the answer to that herself. She looked back at him, outlook brightening. "Ya mean it? You really don't mind? You're not just sayin' that to be nice, right?"

"I do not mind." He said assuringly with a nod of his head.

She smiled brightly, then moved to rejoin him. She cuddled up next to him again. "We're probably having rice for breakfast today."

For some reason, he wasn't surprised. "That is no problem."

"Well, I didn't think it would be. Just sayin'." She yawned. "Wake me at six-thirty, wouldja?"

"I will." He looked at her, wondering how she didn't see rice coming."

She went to sleep, with her head on Vincent's chest. A whooooole hour of sleep. It was ni-- zzzzzzzzzzz.

After some time had passed, he poked her lightly. "Yuffie...." He said softly, moving her some.

Yuffie woke almost instantly. You didn't train in Kisaragi-Chao Ryu and sleep deeply. She jerked awake, peering at him, then at the clock. She nodded. "Right. Time for a shower and getting dressed and shit."

She stood, grabbing her clothing off the floor. "See you at breakfast."

He nodded and got up, dressing into his usual attire and heading down the hallway to the kitchen. He sat in a nearby chair and waited to see who would come down first.

Yuffie skipped off to the shower, passing Chekhov. Chekhov eyed her with a look that said, clearly, You are coming from the WRONG direction, girly but shook her head and headed down the stairs.

She walked into the kitchen and pressed the button on the coffee-maker. The whirrs and gurgles of coffee beginning to percolate were immediately evident. That was what came of doing things the night before.

IN a house with this many occupants, the only way to stave off complete chaos was to follow a set routine.

"Good morning, Vincent," she said as she grabbed the rice she had fried the night before. Steamed was traditional, but in this household, fried was preferred. The children didn't like things they thought had no taste. The question she asked, however, was merely an inappropriately applied extension of her maternal routine: "How did you sleep?"

He gave her a nod when she said good morning and watched her as she went about what he had seen her do every morning. "Well enough....yourself?"

She shook her head. "Not quite so well. Hajime-kun kept Staniv and me up all night." She looked over at him. "He was having nightmares. And, well, even when I did sleep..."

Chekhov stopped, pouring rice into a pan, then pouring water into another, which she placed on the stove. She set the first pan into the second, then poured a little bit of water into the first. The stove clicked on and she left the rice to simmer and heat up. It'd be between five and ten minutes until it was read.

She briefly slapped her fists against the counter top, gripping the edge of the counter so hard it left marks in her skin. "You never bothered to inform me."

Everyone seemed to have nightmares. A shame. He arched a brow at Chekhov. What was she talknig about? "Of what?"

She glared at him and folded her arms across her chest. "And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me? How far are you willing to-- indulge her more idiotic impulses?"

If possible, the glare intensified.

What was she talking about? Unless she was referring to....oh boy. He sighed. "Once she gets an idea in her head, there is no stopping her."

"Don't you think I don't know that?" She wished, at that moment, that she could spit fire and burn him to a crisp. "Love of Leviathan, you could have at least--"

The glare broke. The pillar that was Chekhov's poise collapsed in on itself. She seemed to shrink, a little, as her eyes watered. "She's like my daughter. I know how stubborn she is."

She turned back to the rice, stirring it so it wouldn't stick or burn. "The least you could have done was be honest about it. But for some reason, mentioning anything to her family didn't even cross your mind."

He watched her closely before answering. "I understand." He wondered how Yuffie would react to all of this? Had he really been moaning that loud? It was a rather enjoyable experience....

Chekhov's glare returned. "I don't think you do," she said, voice chilly. "She could have died! And you didn't even think to mention that to us! No, instead you--"

She made a futile gesture. The truth was, as soon as it had been clear that Vincent had no interest in informing Godo or herself of Yuffie's activities, she had walked away from her hiding spot.
They were going to need new practice dummies.

Die? He thought that to be rather unlikely. He just remained silent and stood up from his seat. He pushed his chair in and made his way into their living room. He crossed it and headed for the door.

Chekhov snarled and followed him. "A gang war, Vincent Valentine. Tell me, would you have said something to Godo this morning? Or would you have let this 'mischief night' thing continue?"

Vincent paused with his hand on the knob. The....gang war? He thought she....He was thankful his back was to her as he closed his eyes and smirked, genuinely amused. Only Yuffie had managed to make him smirk some, but Chekhov did it just as easy, and she didn't even know it.

Wiping the smirk as easily as it had appeared, he turned and faced her. "How did you know of that?"

Something wasn't fitting here. He was acting like-- like he had been defending himself against completely different charges. What was going on? It was a poor kunoichi who didn't know what happened in her own household.

"It's my business to know these things," she said, watching him, her insides suddenly cold and grim.

"Hm. I have already scolded Yuffie some for participating in the gang war." He saw where she was coming from, but her looks and behavior meant little to him.

"Scolding isn't what I'm talking about! It isn't your place to scold, it is your place to behave like a responsible adult and arm her family against her self-destructive tendencies! If you know her half as well as you claim to, then you know that scolding her will do nothing." She moved to closer to him, tilting her head to emphasize the differences in their height.

Time to use the techniques her mother had taught her, and she had passed on to Yuffie and her own daughters.

One hand reached out, fisting in his collar. The gesture lingered between something sexual and a threat.

"Now, do you want to tell me whatever it was you thought I was talking about?" She purred.

He nodded. "I am not completely sure; with Yuffie it can very well be anything." He blinked some, his face as straight and hard to read as ever. His eyes lowered to look at her hand in his collar, and then he raised them to her face.

Chekhov's hand unclenched, smoothing his collar. Her other hand slipped to his shoulder. Both had been decidedly sexual gestures, in the old country; not gestures she was entirely comfortable using. But she would have answers, and she would have them now.

Her expression shifted, clearly saying, I am going to eat you all up, mister, and whether you enjoy it or not is entirely up to you.

"You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?" She asked, voice sweet.

Oh no, where was Yuffie when he actually needed her? "....No." He replied softly, taking a step back from her and bumping against the door. This wasn't good.

"I think you're lying to me," she murmured.

Her eyes flashed, burned, bored into him and the overtly sexual touches turned theatening again. She pinned him to the door, her right hand drifting along his chest as she turned the lock.

Trapping him.

Her hand came to rest at his side. "I don't like it when people lie to me, Vincent. I don't think you've ever seen a true kunoichi angry." She licked her lips, never once moving her gaze from his eyes.

Yikes, the situation was getting worse for him. The things he did for Yuffie. She was gonig to owe him big. He kept his eyes locked on Chekhov's, resisting the urge to counter with the description of a demon appearing in place of himself when he got angry.

"You see, first we strip you..." A light, amazingly light, kiss to his neck. "And then we..." A low chuckle, "kill you."

Another kiss, just a touch harder.

"Stop lying. Stop evading. Tell me the truth. You know you want to."

Vincent closed his eyes, trying to think of Yuffie, which....only made it worse. He shifted some, clearly enjoying the kisses on his neck.

Now he knew where Yuffie got it from.

"She....merely had a dream, and came to my room to sleep. I rested on the floor, and she used my bed." The words came out in a breathless tone which he hoped would help add more belief to it.

He was lying again, but Chekhov was no psychic.

No psychic, no, but she had a hand on his shoulder. The vibrations of his heartbeat were near the bottom of her palm. She felt his heartrate speed up.

He was lying-- or he was aroused.

She shifted with him, smirking lightly. Yes, definitely aroused. Even so, it would be a good idea to check details.

"What was her dream?"

He opened his eyes. "She wouldn't tell me....she claimed it was nothing." That part was definitely no lie, she had done so earlier in the morning.

"And yet she demanded to sleep in your bed, while you slept on the floor?" Chekhov shook her head. "When Yuffie has-- those dreams-- she wants human contact. She would have wanted to sleep beside you, probably touching you. I know her, Vincent. I raised her. You're hiding something."

Furious and letting almost none of it show, she worked her lips up his throat, until she could plant a light kiss to his lips.

Fighting off the temptation to kiss back and silently cursing Yuffie for opening him up just a tiny bit, he ducked under Chekhov and wiped at his lips. "I do not like contact." He muttered in defense. He was a private man, and Chekhov knew him well enough from even when they first met to realize that.

Chekhov watched him, expression level. "Just tell me, Vincent. Whatever's going on here, I need to know. I-- whatever I find out, I'm not going to punish you for it. I may not approve, you may be hiding for a reason... But it isn't my place to punish you."

"Me and Yuffie...." He paused for a moment, wondering how to word it. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping for Yuffie to appear with some lie that could embarrass Vincent. He didn't care, it was better than him trying to word what had happened between the two in a decent manner.

It was, indeed, at that moment that Yuffie came bounding down the stairs. Unfortunately, she bounded directly into the locked door.

She kicked it, shouting nasty things. "Chekhov! I don't care what you're doing to Staniv in there, open the damn door!"

Vincent shook his head at the antics of the young Kisaragi, though he was secretly and deeply relieved that she finally came around to disrupt things.

Chekhov sighed, then turned the lock and opened the door. "Care to tell me what passed between you and Vincent last night?"

Yuffie turned to look at Vincent, then Chekhov, then bolted back up the stairs.

Chekhov followed.

Vincent sighed. Yuffie always did have such....interesting ways of answering questions. He followed closely behind Chekhov, wondering what was going to transpire next.

Yuffie ran down the other stairway, into the living room, and wedged a chair up against the door. Then she rushed to the kitchen, closing and locking the door to the stairs."

Gawd, what was the story? What was their story? She didn't know.

After several long minutes, she unlocked the door, slipped up the stairs, and snagged onto Vincent. "What's the story?"

"You came to my room because of a dream, and I slept on the floor and you, on my bed. You wanted to lay next to me, but I refused because I dislike being touched." Wow, that was the most he had ever said at once.

She nodded. "Gotcha. Thanks." She headed toward the other stairway, where Chekhov was glaring at the locked door.

"I dreamed about The Flight," she told Chekhov. "And I got up and went to Phe Tsen's room, but Vincent-- he wasn't Phe Tsen, and he wouldn't be him for me."

The glare softened. Chekhov's bronzed arms wrapped around the younger kunoichi.

Carefully, trying so hard not to let down the walls they put up every morning, they cried. It was short, it didn't last longer than a minute or two.

"Sometimes I just want to go home," Yuffie confessed.

"It wouldn't be worth the pain." Chekhov framed Yuffie's face with her hands. "Nothing would be the way it should."

Yuffie nodded, looked toward the door, and moved away, her shoulders drooping slightly. Inwardly, however, she was cheering. Score one for Yuffie! She'd distracted Chekhov.

She had managed to pull off distracting the older woman, but he didn't know what she was talking about. Whatever it was, Chekhov understood what she meant.

Maybe she told him some time ago, and he just forgot?

"The Flight," Yuffie told him as she moved down the stairs, into the kitchen, "was the night when we left Wutai. Most of the capital city was... on fire. There were soldiers everywhere. The really old people who survived said Wutai hadn't seen anything like it since World War Two."

Chekhov followed, moving back to the stove and pouring the rice into a hot bowl. She put a lid on the bowl and set it on the table. Now it was time to sort lunches, homework, and hygiene.

"The people who attempted to flee... Most of them died. It was the single bloodiest night in the history of the war," Chekhov said, letting out a bitter chuckle. "It was also the night the war ended."

It sounded like she hadn't told him that, because he would have remembered being told such a thing. "How....unfortunate." He mumbled.

Yuffie laughed. Bitter. "Unfortunate. Yeah."

He could hear it too. Moving to change the subject, he asked, "Is school ending soon for you?"

"Middle of June. And then it's.... You know. Work in the dojo." Yuffie sighed.

Chekhov, however, laughed. "At least one part of your routine will stay the same, hm?"

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled.

Vincent nodded. He felt like going, making sure to keep his gaze averted from Chekhov. He actually touched his neck lightly, wondering if she had left a light mark from the second kiss she had given it moments ago.

Chekhov looked over at him and smirked. Not a bad-looking man. Not at all. If she were about fifteen years younger...

Yuffie set about eating her breakfast."You gonna make me take lunch today, Chekhov?"

Vincent managed to see Chekhov look at him and he quickly looked down again, staring at the table.

Yuffie quirked an eyebrow. "Something going on here?"

Chekhov sniffed. "I'm not the one staring at my plate."

"I was looking at the pattern of the plate." He told Yuffie, raising his head back up. He blinked and looked back over to Chekhov. Time to pretend he wasn't embarrassed to make eye contact with her. "What is for breakfast? The usual?"

"You," Chekhov said, lightly, and in Wutaian. In English, she said, "The usual.

"All right, that's it. Chekhov, what the hell is going on?"

Chekhov sighed. "I... questioned him. Hard."

Yuffie beat her head against the table. She, technically, couldn't say anything. Like, Why did you have to go and nastify my boyfriend?. So instead she said, "Grossness nasty, NOT the mental image I needed."

Good, Yuffie handled that well, though all Vincent could do was shift some. "....Rather hard." He couldn't help but add, glad he had his collar up to hide the faintest of blush on his cheeks.

Yuffie aimed her ninjalicious death glare at Chekhov. Fry, Chekhov's shoulderblades, fry!

Chekhov felt the death glare but ignored it. "Yuffie, I'd like you to take a lunch today."

"Fuck no," Yuffie replied, standing up. She pushed her chair in and moved toward the stairs. "Those thoughts have ruined my appetite. I don't think I'll be able to eat for the rest of the day."

She grumbled as she walked. "Or the week. Or my life."

Just before she left the room, she aimed the death glare at Vincent. The stairs door clicked closed behind her-- dangerously softly.

This wasn't good at all. However, he was going to have to play dumb, even though he caught that death glare she gave him. He sighed, knowing that he was going to be in trouble later. "Is the image that bad?"

Chekhov saw it too, and put it together with the... noises she'd heard the previous night. Not a pretty picture, but she wasn't going to interfere. If Vincent hurt Yuffie, he would die. Slowly and painfully.

And he wasn't stupid. He'd have to know what he was risking.

"She stops eating, when she's really mad at me," Chekhov said.

The ache in her chest wasn't important... But it was telling.

Just to make sure Vincent got the point, she gripped his right arm when set the glasses on the table. "Make her cry, and you'll have the Five Mighty Gods coming down on your head."

Well, at least he didn't have to pretend around her anymore. He refrained from making a comment that would have been deemed sarcastic, seeing that it was. He shook his arm loose from her grip and stood. "I should go speak to her then."

Chekhov nodded. "Go."

He looked at Chekhov a second longer, the only way to express his thanks for not lecturing him about this in a silent manner. He understood the risks. Going the way Yuffie went, he closed the door behind him and looked around as he walked up the stairs. "Yuffie?"

Yuffie was in her room, listening to The All-American rejects-- not blaring it, though, not this early in the morning-- and running a brush through her hair.

She was already wearing her uniform, with the skirt at her knees.

The brush met with a particularly large tangle. Viciously, she jerked it through, ripping out some of her hair. That was right, she had a date with her hair lady this Thursday... That was two days from now.

Good lord, she'd be losing all of it.

Between the music and the hair, she didn't hear Vincent call her.

Vincent walked up the steps some more, the music reaching his ears as he made his way closer to her. "Yuffie." He called out again, slightly louder than when he was at the bottom of the stairs.

"Leave me once and I'll be fine," she mumbled along with whoever the lead singer of the Rejects was.

She still didn't hear Vincent's voice.

Sighing, he went up to the door and knocked once. It was times like this he preferred to be alone. Sighing, he went up to the door and knocked once. It was times like this he preferred to be alone.

Yuffie opened it automatically. She blinked when she realized it was him. Her immediate urge was to slam it in his face, but she left it open. She ripped a knot out of her hair with the hairbrush.

He wasn't going to say anything first, it wasn't like he went up to Chekhov and initiated something. He just settled for watching her silently.

She sighed. "I don't know what to feel about this. I mean, Chekhov's married, for god's sake!"

"It was nothing I desired to experience." He blinked and looked down.

Yuffie nodded. "I... kinda figured. I guess I'm madder at her... But you probably could have gotten away."

"I did. If you recall, I was not near her when you arrived." It hadn't been exactly bad, he just rather it had been Yuffie doing all of that.

"So how much did she fuck with your head, anyway?" She asked as Tyson Ritter began to exhort an unknown person to Move along, move along, like I know ya do. "Was it bad? It usually is."

"Not that bad, I believe she was merely in a warm up stage of sorts." At least, that's how he saw it.

Yuffie snickered, and then realized why she was laughing. And how unfunny it was.

She was going to ream Chekhov.

"She did not know about us." He said in Chekhov's defense.

"Not an excuse. She's married," Yuffie mumbled.

Not, of course, that marriage usually stood in a true kunoichi's way. But still. In the kitchen, when everybody was awake and moving around...

And with somebody Yuffie had more or less claimed for herself.

Married? She sure wasn't acting like it....Moving his collar around some and clearing his throat, he shifted some. "There is no need to bring this up around anyone."

Yuffie blinked. "Us, or the whole thing with Chekhov? Because, uhm, if Chekhov knows, then Uncle Staniv knows. And if Staniv knows, then Gorky knows. And if Gorky knows.... Then Dad knows."

And if Dad knew... Watergod on a pogostick, she was dead.

He was talking about the Chekhov thing, but either one was a good enough answer. "Would she really tell somone else so quickly?"

She shook her head. "Totally. I bet you she's fixing Staniv his coffee and telling him right now."

Down stairs, Staniv was already drinking his coffee, which he'd fixed himself, but Chekhov was filling him in on the details.

"...." So this wasn't going to go down well then...."Your father is sure to be displeased."

Yuffie grinned, but it was too large. Obviously nervous. ".....ee-yeah."

"Perhaps you should sneak out and let me speak with him." He saw no reason why they couldn't just discuss it normally. Plus, it would be easier without Yuffie possibly interjecting and saying the wrong thing.

"Perhaps you should shove that idea somewhere useful, like sideways up your--" she quit. No reason to take out their impending deaths on him. She sighed. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "It's fine, next time I will rethink trying to make something easier for you." He walked away, preferring to get this over with as quickly as they could.

She shook her head again. "No. That wouldn't make anything easier.... He'd just kill me later. And probably slower."

She followed him. If she was gonna die, she might as well die with messy hair.

When he reached the kitchen, Staniv and Chekhov turned, watching him silently. Staniv wasn't saying anything, but Vincent could swear his eyes held some....amusement in them. Perhaps he was looking forward to a show? He looked around and saw no sign of Godo....yet.

Yuffie saw the amusement in Staniv's eyes.

"It's not funny," she mumbled. "I'm gonna die."

Staniv shook his head. His hands shook on his coffee cup, fine tremors that were signs, she knew, of the toll his particular martial arts style took on his body. Staniv of the Enduring Faith was getting old too quickly, thanks to his style's focus on destroying one's opponent-- even at the cost of one's own life.

"He won't kill you. Shout a little, maybe, but he won't kill you."

"Who won't kill him?" Asked Godo suddenly as he came walking in, stance straight and proud. He carried himself as though he had energy and had been up for hours already.

He only did this around Vincent, though the older man didn't know that thanks to the others, he already knew that Godo was just pretending and in reality, had gotten up less than an hour ago.

"You, actually," Chekhov smirked. This cat hadn't just eaten the canary, she'd swallowed some cream and convinced the humans that the dog did it.

Godo blinked. "And why would I do that?"

"Because he's sleeping with your daughter?" Staniv merely snickered and left the room. Chekhov had given Valentine his fair warning. He felt no need to be involved yet.

Besides, Godo shouting was never any fun if you actually had to see it.

As predicted, Mount Vesuvius Godo erupted. "WHAT?!"

Vincent sighed. "We are not sleeping together." They....or she, really, had just done something else, is all.

This did not faze Godo. Logic almost never did. "IS IT EVEN CLOSE?!"

Yuffie blinked, stammered a little, took a step back.

She had absolutely no idea how to explain this to her father. None.

Technically, it was nowhere near actually doing it, but Vincent didn't think that would be wise to answer. He couldn't suggest that Godo calm down either, seeing as how Yuffie was rather young, and his daughter.

"Depends on what you call 'close'," Yuffie finally hedged. "I mean, sure, I'll probably--"

"--YOU WILL NOT." Godo thundered-- thundered, seriously, the voice carried perfectly in the kitchen, bouncing off tile and pots and pans and everything, really. "YOU WILL NOT SLEEP WITH SOME FOREIGNER!"

Yuffie backed away, stammering again. Finally, though, she lit on the perfect way to end the argument. She stood stock still and raised her chin.

"I'm trying to become a real kunoichi," she said, proudly. "Who I use to surpass my sensei is my choice, not yours."

Godo glared. He glared at his daughter, at the man his daughter apparently intended to seduce, at the world at large.

At last, he grumbled his assent.

This argument was far from over. But that was enough for this morning.

He arched an eyebrow, hardly able to catch what she said. Whatever it was, it was obvious she didn't what Vincent to know.

It was a complete lie, of course. Yuffie didn't want Chekhov even looking at Vincent. She tended to be exclusive.

Godo sighed. "Staniv, Chekhov, it's safe to come back in," he called.

He never saw a reason as to why they left in the first place, but then again, family had a tendency to scare one another easier than any stranger.

Staniv and Chekhov re-entered the kitchen. Chekhov got out bowls and plates. "Yuffie set the table, please. Vincent, well," she paused, hating to say it. But it was, in a way, as true as it could be without the two having actually married. "Welcome to the family."

Staniv and Godo turned to glare at her. "He isn't family," Godo said through gritted teeth.

"No way he'd marry her," Staniv added.

Yuffie stamped her foot. "Hey! I'm totally marry-able! Take that back!"

"I don't want to." Staniv folded his arms across his chest and turned up his nose.

Exasperated, Chekhov got out several coffee mugs. "Coffee. Who wants coffee. Vincent wouldyoupleasefortheloveofgod have I mean like some coffee?!"

Vincent blinked at Yuffie's outburst, which came soon after Chekhov's "welcome". This was why it was bad to get involved in someone else's life, especially one so young.

Yuffie moved to set the table. Bowl here, bowl here, bowl here, cup here, here here...

"DRINK. COFFEE." Chekhov said, pouring some in a mug and thrusting it at Vincent.

Both she and Yuffie wanted this conversation over.

Chekhov searched her brain for a suitable topic change, and finally lit on shop talk. "Godo, what do you think of Kino's request to advance in the next testing?"

Godo stroked his chin. "His skills have improved, but I don't think his attitude has."

Yuffie waved an arm. "You let me get away with the attitude all the time."

"Well, yes, but you're devoted to the dojo, so it's not like you'll do anything half as stupid as Kino."

"Vincent?" Staniv quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not weighing in until you do."

Mostly, Chekhov knew, he was doing this to help Vincent feel more comfortable about the fact that Godo might or might not want to kill him. If he felt like he was an invaluable part of the family, he might be able to actually to have a little fun with this relationship.

Vincent nodded to Staniv as he took the mug that was thrusted at him. He thought for a moment on Kino. He did have an attitude, but his skills seemed good enough. "....Test him." He said finally, figuring the best way to see if he was worth advancing would be a test of some sort.

Staniv nodded, and made a hm sound. "He could use a few tribulations. Get banged up a little. He really needs to accept that being defeated in a dojo isn't the worst thing in the world. And that there will always be somebody better than he is."

Chekhov handed Yuffie a mug of coffee. Yuffie accepted it, making a face at the taste.

She shrugged. "I'll be happy to rough him up a little. Show him what the advanced courses look and feel like. But really, I don't care if he gets his black tips or not. He won't be making actual blackbelt for another year at least."

He saw no problem with watching that. He took a sip from his mug and played the part of a silent spectator, which was something he was good at.

Godo nodded. "We may need you to do just that. I'll think more about it and let you know." He accepted a mug of coffee and left the kitchen. At that moment, Shou walked in. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed some coffee.

"What was Uncle Godo shouting about?" He asked.

It was a good thing that Shou came in and asked after Godo left, his timing couldn't have been any better. Hopefully, the old man hadn't heard him asking the question. Vincent waited for one of the others to answer the boy.

"Vincent and me. Dad thought I'd slept with him." Yuffie took another pull of cofee, then made a face. Gawd, she hated that stuff. Not good, like tea, or sweet and chocolatey like hot cocoa, just... Bitter and strong.

Shou blinked, then immediately pulled a butcher knife off the wall magnet. The blade glided easly between his fingertips, balancing perfectly.

Chekhov had actually checked all their kitchen knives for throwing balance, Yuffie remembered. Table knives, steak knives, knives on the magnet.

He glared at her. "Did you?"

"No, now--"

Chekhov expertly tossed an empty coffee mug. It struck her son in the knuckle and forced him to drop the knife.

"--put that--"

The older woman's foot landed heavily on the knife. She crossed her arms and glared at her second-oldest son.

"--down," Yuffie finished, her voice weak.

Gawd, they were a violent bunch. Love of Leviathan... Why hadn't anybody died yet?

"Are you going to?" Shou asked, suspiciion blatant.

"That is none of your goddamn business." And the answer, for now, was a resounding 'no'. Give her another hour alone with Vincent, however, and she couldn't guarantee what that answer would be.

Wow, what a group this family was. Of course, he had been around for moments similiar to this one, but he was still not quite used to it. If Yuffie had complied with his first want, which was to make her his own, than her answer to Shou would be different.

Actually, her answer would have been the same. Yuffie was not the most honest of creatures.

Of course, they likely would have checked Vincent's room. Since Chekhov could usually tell when she was lying. Godo, too, usually knew.

She sighed. "Shou, just let it rest. If my Dad hasn't killed us, there's no need for YOU to kill us."

Shou grumbled and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

chekhov glared.

Well, it seemed like he and Yuffie would just have to find somewhere else to go, which was no problem for him. He could think of a few places where they could go without being disturbed.

Yuffie grumped at Shou's blatant disregard of his mother's cooking. "Let's go eat inna dojo. We've already had WWIII, I dun wanna be part of WW four."

Vincent nodded and waited for her to lead the way, assuming that she was actually speaking to him.

She filled two bowls with rice, fish, eggs, and the various parts of a traditional Wutaian breakfast, handed one to Vincent, and walked out of the room. Blinking, she went back in for silverware, then darted back out, heading for the dojo.

He took the bowl and followed her after she came in and got the silverware, his mind on some of what happened just a mere moment ago. Yuffie had an outburst in English that seemed to suggest the conversation had turned to marriage. He assumed they were referring to him, and he wanted to ask her about it.

Yuffie slid open the door in the garage. It was shoji, and led to what the family referred to as "the safehouse". In Japan, and therefore in Wutai, there was an old proverb: master and student are not two.

This meant that the dojo was a second home for its students, should it need to be. It provided places to sleep and eat, and should it prove necessary, hide.

Not all parents were the quirky but caring people her own family was. Violent as her family life was, it was never abusive. Nobody genuinely wanted to hurt each other. The butcher knife thing had been closer than anything else had been in years, but Yuffie wasn't defenceless, and she was far from truly threatened by that.

Statistically, however, at least one of the students had to be unlucky.

Hence the safehouse. It had only two entrances: one from the house, and one from the dojo. No windows, pipes, or otherwise potential entrances. No weapons.

The door to the dojo was a deadbolt. She unlocked it and then took a seat on the wooden floor of the dojo.

He followed closely behind, sitting across from her on the floor as he took in the surrondings. He had yet to see the safehouse. He quietly began to eat his breakfast.

Yuffie shovelled rice into her mouth. She always ate the rice first.

She eyed Vincent.

There something about this quiet...

"What's rattling around in that pretty head of yours?" She asked.

He hoped she didn't choke on any rice, though he did appreciate the pretty head comment. Clearing his throat after swallowing some food, he spoke up. "What made you mention marriage?"

Well, that hope was in vain. Yuffie choked. She hurked and gasped and pounded her chest until it came free. After she had swallowed and was breathing normally, she flushed and replied, "It was because of what Uncle Staniv said. Dad said you weren't family, and Staniv said that there was no way you'd marry me."

Which was true. Marriage was not an option. Their relationship was still in its baby stages, whatever happened in the later parts of last night notwithstannding. If he was thinking about marrying... ew."

"And, I mean, I'm totally marrying material. Just, ya know, not right now."

"I understand. You are still too young." Others married at her age, but he agreed with her nonetheless. They had hardly even started being together, and marriage was nothing to think about for the moment.

She nodded. "'xactly. Then again Chekhov married Staniv when they were like seventeen... And my grandfather basically beat my dad over the back of the head when he was nineteen and arranged the marriage with my mom. He was causing too much trouble."

a shrug, as well as more bites of rice. "So I guess to them, sixteen doesn't seem that young. But it's still crazy talk." She laughed. "That was what was botherin' you?"

He nodded, one of their differences being that he took things far more seriously than she did. Now that he thought about it, this whole....thing between them could very well be just that....a thing. Something for her to do until she found a better person. He resumed eating, once again silent.

Yuffie sighed, then snickered. "Dad says he doesn't remember his wedding because his dad seriously hit him on the head and dragged him to the temple, unconscious."

It was silly, but kind of funny, at the same time.

She sighed again, then started on her fish.

"You know," she drawled, "this might not last forever. Probably won't, actually, 'cos I'm annoying and not even really all that pretty to make it worth it." That was hard to say-- she preferred to pretend she was the prettiest girl in the world and that she didn't care what anybody eles thought.

"So we should have fun with it while it's here, you know? Just because it doesn't last forever doesn't make it pointless."

She shrugged. That was about as philosophical as she got.

She could be annoying, but she was still young and could easily mature once she got old enough. Not too much though, most of the time he found her antics to be endearing. "....You are not pretty." He agreed after a swallow of food.

"You are beautiful." He wondered if that'd make choke number two.

Yuffie blinked, momentarily forgetting to chew. She had no real idea of how to respond to that. She genuinely didn't think of herslf as pretty.

She flushed, then forced herself to chew and swallow. "That's not the point! Point is I'm not perfect and I can be really dumb, and you aren't going to want to be around me forever."

Good, she didn't choke this time. He fixed her with a look before speaking again. "No one is perfect, and any ignorance you show is due to your youth and inexperience." He nodded and chewed some more food, swallowing it before continuing. "If I had no intention of being with you in a long term manner, then what happened last night would have never happened."

...That made sense. Yuffie nodded. "So, where do you want to go from here?"

Anywhere, as long as it was with her. "....Wherever you wish it."

"Um." She blinked, then looked down at her fish. "I guess I should be honest with you. The reason I got Dad to approve was because... I told him I was gonna use you to finish my training. As a kunoichi."

She flushed an even brighter red. "BUt that was a lie. I try not to be all sneaky like that with people I care about, ya know?"

He nodded. "If that is the case, then why are you honest with me?" Did that mean she didn't care?

"There's caring about somebody and not wanting to lie to 'em.... And keeping all my bits where they belong, y'know? I care about you. I don't want to lie to you. Same for Dad. But you're not going to take my head off with three swords, so..."

"...." He just had the ability to turn into demons, he had a claw in place of a hand, and could put a bullet in between her eyes in the blink of an eye. Why, he was no threat at all. This actually caused him to do the rarest of the rare: A very brief sound came from his lips, almost like....a chuckle.

It was good to hear him laugh. She began to smile at him, looking a little sheepish. She shrugged, still smiling. "No matter how scary you can be, I'm sorry, you're just not going to scare me more than Dad."

Well, probably wouldn't scare her more than her father.

He nodded, accepting that. He finished off the rest of his meal in silence, thinking of how she smiled when he did what could only be described as being a chuckle. She seemed pleased by it.

Yuffie smirked... right until she put her thumb through a piece of fish. She huffed a bit and sucked a bit of the sauce Chekhov had used off her finger.

He smirked when she put her finger through her fish and huffed. He found it to be sort of cute, which he never thought was something he'd admit to himself. Then again, it was one of the things he liked about her.

She blinked. First a chuckle, and now smirking? Hm, good morning, was it?

She finished off her fish and stood, stretching. The chopsticks landed on the floor. Sighing, she bent and picked them up, as well as the bowl. She'd just stuff that in the sink and grab her backpack.

"You about ready to head out?"

He nodded and grabbed up his stuff as well, waiting for her to lead the way.

She rinsed her bowl and tossed her chopsticks into a bowl full of water, playfully chatting with the younger cousins while she did so.

Her backpack was by the door. She snatched it up and waited for Vincent to leave his things in the sink.

He put his stuff in the sink after her and went to the door, opening it and waiting for her to go first.

Yuffie breezed through the opening, grabbing his left arm at the wrist. "C'mooooon," she said, slighlty impatient to be out of the house already.

"Yes m'am." He said, making sure to close the door behind him, letting her grab his wrist. They were together, after all.
linkReply