Her birthday. It was her birthday, she was eighteen. Green light, baby.

Yeah right.

She was drunk. Never been drunk before, kind of weird. Things were fuzzy, reality frayed around the edges. How many had she had? Five, six. Ah, who cared? Enough anyway, and she wasn't sure she could stand. One drink in her hand, nearly gone. Another at her elbow. What a nice waiter, hey? She'd tipped him enough, he'd damned well better be prompt. Else, RAGE. Or something.

Sitting alone in a dirty Deling city bar on her birthday. By choice, of course. She could only take so much Raijin before she went crazy. And Seifer didn't bear thinking about. She wanted to relax, after all. Didn't feel like baiting him tonight. No sandpaper against steel. No thank you, not tonight. They just pissed each other off anyway without Raijin as a buffer.

Raijin, the bastard. Never remembered to forget her birthday. He'd gotten her gifts- plural- this time. Clothes. She'd put them on to please him, fuming inside. She knew what would happen if she didn't; if there was anything worse than a happy Raijin, it was a hurt one.

Seifer was much better, never remembered anything. She was glad- if he'd said, "Happy birthday, Fuu," or worse, gotten her something, she probably would have had a stroke. She didn't really want to die young.

So she slipped out of their house after dinner, still wearing the damned silly shirt and pants. Actually, the pants were kind of cool- navy, lots of pockets. She liked pockets. The shirt though, she objected to. She wasn't some kind of street whore, what had he been thinking? The tank was skin tight. Navy, though, always a good thing. She looked like some kind of army reject. Wait- she was. How amusing. At least it was cooler than her jacket. Of course, the looks she'd gotten had made her want to put her left boot clean through some of those lecherous grins. Men were so stupid. Well, so were women, when you really stopped to think about it.

Anyway, she'd snuck out of their house while Seifer was busy taking a shower (probably masturbating, the freak) and Raijin was involved with the TV. That was a tempestuous love affair. Fujin felt sorry for the daytime shows- Raijin often ditched them to play video games.

She shifted in her seat. She felt weird. Happy? Yeah, happy. Nothing wrong with being happy, was there? She didn't have to be angry all the time, after all.

She reached out and swiped a cigarette from the pack she had bought from the bartender. She attempted to light a match- oh how she loved those free books of matches you could pick up anywhere, always with some interesting advertisement pasted on, usually with something profoundly philosophical like a woman in a bikini- but somehow she couldn't get it to work. Her hands, usually so steady, couldn't seem to grasp the whippy stem of the match properly. She tried again, failed miserably, and cursed as she tossed the ruined match over her shoulder.

But then a flame flared into life right in front of her eyes, almost startling her. She accepted the light and sat back as the stranger slid into the chair adjacent to hers.

He was tall, nice-looking, with red hair. She liked red hair. But she didn't like strangers. She waited for him to hit on her so she could tell him to go to hell.

"You're welcome," he said wryly, and grinned.

She scowled at him. How stupid, like she cared that he'd lit her damn smoke. Like manners were important. Etiquette was merely a dance to give stupid people something to do while they waited to die. She and Seifer agreed on that, at least.

"See that in a movie somewhere?" She sneered at him.

He smiled comfortably. "Maybe. Did it work?"

"Depends on what you were aiming for." Huh, funny how it was so easy to talk. Words were just tripping over themselves to get out. Alcohol.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully and gazed at the ceiling. "Let's see, disgusted, contemptuous, homicidal?"

She found herself smiling. "Yes, then. Worked like a charm."

He laughed, leaned back in his chair, and tapped a cigarette out of her pack.

"You're welcome," she mimicked.

He laughed. She watched the tip of the cigarette flare red as he inhaled.

Today was a day of firsts. First cigarette, first drink, first time wearing skimpy clothes. First time talking to a stranger in a bar. Maybe she'd add another first to the list before the sun rose.

"So what's your name, my murderous new friend?"

"Fujin." The word was an accusation, and she saw the stranger's eyes flick up and behind her. What the hell was he doing here? She took a drag from her cigarette and tilted her head all the way back. Sure enough, he was standing right behind her. She blew a thin stream of smoke up into his face.

"Go away, Seifer," she whispered, smiling.

He frowned, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the stranger.

She looked back down to see the red-haired man rising out of his chair. "It was nice to meet you, Fujin," he said, and strolled off.

She stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and turned to Seifer.

"What the hell is your problem?" She stared at him in disgust. Butting in where he wasn't wanted. Asshole.

"You're drunk. We're going home." He took her arm, not gently, and led her out of the bar.

"What, only you can have fun?"

He didn't answer, just took off for their house with her in tow.

She ripped her arm out of his grip and stopped. "I'm a grown woman. I can do what I want, with or without your permission, Sir Almasy. I can drink, smoke, even go to bed with strangers and it is none of your business. Understand?"

She could almost hear his teeth grind as he turned to her.

"Don't make me pick you up and carry you home, Fujin."

She growled. "Try it and see how far I can kick your balls into the air."

He advanced on her then, so quickly she didn't have time to react, and scooped her up. She struggled wildly, but was no match for him. Finally she stopped, allowing him to carry her, thinking maliciously that he was a crappy taxi. No tip for him.

Finally they reached the street outside their house, and he stopped.

"Are you going to behave?"

She sank her teeth into his shoulder. He dropped her instantly, leaving only his hand clamped on her lower arm. Amazingly, she landed on her feet and her momentum gave her the perfect opportunity to smash her free fist into his perfect golden face.

He toppled. Unfortunately, he was still gripping her arm, and she fell with him. They landed in a sprawl on the hard pavement.

She found herself looking down into his face from not two inches away. He was scowling like a demon.

"Gonna beat me up some more, Fuu? You might wanna reconsider, if that's what you're thinking about."

"Oh? And why is that? You gonna send me to bed early? Cut my allowance?"

"Nope. I'm going to bend you over my knee, and for each bite, each punch, each kick, you are going to get a swat."

She ducked her head and hissed into his ear. "Bring it on."

And she became aware of his hand. His hand on the small of her back, last two fingers resting gently against bare skin where the tank had ridden up. She'd kill Raijin for getting her the damned shirt. No doubt Seifer was getting some kind of perverted kick out of this. Bastard.

She smiled, then, as she saw her opportunity to get the upper hand in their never-ending battle for supremacy.

She turned her head. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Seifer," she breathed into his ear. "Me, bent over your knee." She rubbed her cheek against his in one long sweep. "At your mercy."

She felt something stir against her leg.

"Thought so," she said smugly.

She bit his earlobe then, hard. "Too bad it'll never happen."

And she pushed herself off him. She didn't look back at him, still lying on the pavement, as she shut the door behind her.

She was oddly elated, pulse racing. She'd caught him off guard, and it tasted sweet. First time for everything, huh?