Opening Note: Okay. I've been a really bad girl. And it turns out that my next week turns into two years, but…like…I graduated with my degree in writing. Isn't that fun and exciting? Which means now…my story will be even better even if there was a fire and stuff and I have a fancy piece of paper that says that I'm an expert now. :D

I'm sorry. And I've missed all of my reviewers and spending sleepless nights mulling over what would become of my corpse should I just give up. And I haven't given up, I just got lazy. Or busy writing a billion original short stories amongst other things. I intend upon taking this fic eventually and rewriting it, so…I haven't abandoned anyone.

WARNING: There are explicit sexual advances in this chapter. I do not condone these sorts of actions in any way (it's not yuri…I like yuri. It's good). If you cannot handle these sorts of things, then please don't read on. (This is rated M for a reason…)

Chapter 13

It was an ocean of soft lips and caresses. Of tongues against her burnt flesh and promises held by dark blue eyes. A beat pulsed through the scrappers veins, pricking her skin with electrified explosions, her fingers tangling themselves into gorgeous locks of sea. A haze misted over her eyes, mind shutting itself off, her thoughts no longer her own. Haruka desired something she couldn't have. Her fingers twisted around the other woman's waist, fingers knotting themselves in folds of threads and fabric. Her ribs burned, blood between her fingers, leaving a slick trail of crimson vipers down her faintly bruised flesh.

She pushed against the other woman hotly, the ache in her side driving her mind blank. Simply gone. There was a dull, distant noise of something indescribable. What did it matter to her? The taste of salt and an ocean breeze was on her tongue, against the exposed flesh of her neck, cooling the pulse that leapt at her throat.

What was she doing?

She traced a blood soaked finger against Michuru's outer thigh, leaving a trail of madness in its wake. A hollowness swelled inside of the caverns of her chest, threatening to collapse her lungs upon themselves. What was she doing? She couldn't ask the question enough. But no matter how hard she racked her brain for the answer, Haruka continually came up short. There was no rhyme or reason. She hated the musician. Hated her. Hated her. She bit down on her lip and tugged. Hated her.

A clang bounced through the empty corridor. The sound of a rusty hinge grating against itself rattling itself in her ears. She jerked back, Michiru's eyes glazed with lust. But riddled with terror. Haruka opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. Nothing could accompany the sound of the musician's fleeing footsteps. Nothing could make this alright. A bitterness swept over her shoulders, dragging its fingers down her spine, chilling the blood in her veins. There was nothing here for her, she realized. Nothing but money. What was she thinking.

The blonde allowed herself to slump against the wall, her back received by the welcome stone, her throat taut as the hanged mans rope. More liquid crimson poured from her wound, her fists balling at her sides. That woman. She didn't know who she was toying with. She didn't know what she was getting herself into. Yet something still stirred, something small and dormant in the pit of her stomach, something that drove her nuts. Something she couldn't quite place, or maybe just didn't want to place for fear of naming it. There was power in names. "Michiru…" The blonde let out a weak chuckle and shook her head, only faintly aware of the sounds of more footsteps proceeding down the stairs. She glared at the blearing white door and tasted the sand. Tasted that metallic, thick, viscous liquid slide down her throat. Could hear the sound of her voice, ghosting her name against the soft underside of her ear.

"…pper…"

She was faintly aware of a presence on top of her, the warmth of their body returning her senses to her only in the slightest. Cream. She felt cream against the rough calluses of her palms, her fingers nimbly prodding at the soft flesh straddling her. She felt lips against her skin, her body burning for the salty sweet kisses of the musician.

"Scrapper…"

She blinked a couple of times, the edges of her vision blurry. Perhaps she had lost a lot more blood than originally assessed? The thought briefly crossed her mind, her fingers knitting even tighter to try and staunch the blood flow. Who was that? A scent that accosted her nose. Smelled like other men. Smelled like cheap nights in a barn house, mixed with fresh cut hay and spunk. Emerald eyes pierced through her haze.

"But you have blue eyes…?" She gave the young woman a curious look, taking her hand away to brush crimson against the paleness of her cheek. Tears welled in the emerald depths. Had she said something to hurt her?

"RING AN AMBULANCE, NOW." Her voice was thicker, less gentle upon the ears. It echoed and bounced in her head. But it didn't make her lips buzz. Haruka blinked a few more times, the stupor induced by shock quickly beginning to wear off. Jordan sat poised upon her lap, her hands cupping her face in an effort to make eye contact, her throat moving in time with the sounds of her panicked yells. Haruka grit her teeth, her mood suddenly soured, tossing her head to rid her face of the fingers that accosted her so.

"You're not Michiru." Her voice wasn't quite her own, the syllables slurring off of her tongue as if she was drunk. A headache pounded against her eyes only made worse by the slapping of shoe heels upon concrete. White hot chills racked her body, sweat beading up from all of her pores, her fingers weakly grasping at the hole in her side. Warm fingers locked with hers, Jordan's emerald stare panicked and on the verge of tears.

"Fuck you, scrapper." She cursed. Resentment lingered in the soft undertones of her voice, her palms pressing down upon Haruka. The blondes hand threatened to slip away, but Jordan would have none of that.

"So this is how I'm going to die?" Haruka let out a laugh. "By a stray bullet and with a beautiful tart on top of me? There could be worse ways to go."

"I'm flattered you find me attractive, kitty cat, but shut your damn mouth. You aren't going to die today." A determination had sprung up in the young vixen. But she was right. Haruka couldn't die. There was too much at stake for that to be possible. Too much weighing on her shoulders in order for her to give up and lie down. More dark shapes loomed over her, a bright light flashing through her eyes, pupils dilating a wild look surely upon her face. She felt like a trapped, wounded animal, her heart weakly fluttering at ten million times a minute. Run. That's all she wanted to do. Get away from this place and never come back. But…she licked her lips. They still tasted.

"Move woman!"

"We have another one down here!"

"It looks pretty bad."

"Get a stretcher!"

Haruka felt like she was underwater, the shouts all distorted within her inner ear. She felt someone lift Jordan up off of her body, her fingers receding from her own. "Don't." It slipped out before she could stop herself. Everything was falling out from beneath her and she didn't know how to stop it. Many sets of hands pressed all over her body. She locked eyes with the last friendly ones that she had known and clung. Sure, it was stupid. The smell of hay burned her senses. But she still couldn't let go. She was lifted, a sense of weightlessness making her head swim, her fingers grasping out for the young dancer.

To say she wasn't scared would have been a lie. She was scared. But she was also proud. She retracted her hand. She would be fine. This was all just a minor set back. Nothing more nothing less. Emerald eyes burned into her flesh, a prostitutes warm fingers finding her own as they moved up the stairs and out towards the real world. Haruka never looked away from her life line.

Defeat.

It welled up, infiltrating every sense and every nerve that she possessed. Her head dropped, shoulders threatening to shake with the sobs that desperately tried to rack her body. Once the die has been cast, you can't escape the outcome. The young musician could feel the edges of her mask beginning to crack, could feel the worn lines running along the mirror of her psyche. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, people groaning on the floor, blood staining the hardwood. She clucked her tongue. That would never come out.

Pieces of glass mixed with pieces of bone and flesh where men, too excited, had smashed each others heads in. Bullet holes pierced the window overlooking the entrance door, threatening to shatter the veil that they had worked so hard to drop down between these two worlds. Emergency technicians pulled the injured from the wreckage of the mob, dragging them from the mock safety that these four walls had instituted. She heard yelling, heard screaming, but it all fell on deafened ears. A man was waiting for her. A man with a swollen purse and locked lips. Business was business. Do everything in your power to make your contractors and allies happy. That's what he had always told her. Her heart slowed with each step she made towards the private boxes, bits of matter lightly clinging to her sole. It's best to leave your humanity on the floor. Where it can be trampled and destroyed before you even have a chance to become attached to it. It's best to just leave your individuality hanging at the end of a taut rope to sway back and forth against the currents this world has to offer. It's best to do as you are expected. It's best to keep your promises.

She straightened her dress, running her fingers through her hair, a distant gaze left in the wake of her vacant blue eyes. She passed his hired hand, his broad shouldered body placed protectively next to Van Toff's door. He gave her a small nod, the line of his mouth set in a grim frown, his eyebrows stitched into steel. Her hand twisted the brass doorknob. And she quietly entered the room, making herself known only by the sound of the latch locking into place.

"There are so many wonders in this world, my dear." The older gentleman stood on the far end of the room in front of the large smoky window, a glass of liquor held in his gnarled hands. He motioned her forward, his other arm ready to welcome her. He did not turn to face her. She floated across the room, his hand dropping lightly upon her shoulder, the pads of his fingers tartly playing with the seam of her neckline. "There are so many things to see. Things to do. Harlots to fuck…" His sticky breath clung to her skin, goose bumps springing up along the back of her neck. Her teeth snapped shut, jaw locked to hold back any sort of response that she had on her lips.

"But it's all so trivial when you can just reach out and grab it." He removed his arm from around her, swirling his drink in his hand, the soft chiming of ice against glass piercing through her ears. She leaned against the poker table, her back to the window, her hands gingerly sweeping her long hair to rest on the left side of her neck, exposing her flesh, asserting her submission. "I like to fight for it. To take what is another's." The weight of the empty glass being placed upon the bar counter sounded like an iron ball dropping. He removed his jacket, carefully folding it and placing it next to his glass. Dark eyes sunken in, he slowly advanced, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"To work for what you want," he ran a finger along the curve of her neck, his nose buried within the soft confines of her hair. He inhaled deeply, his finger trailing along her collar bone. "It's weakness." His hands worked against the buttons of her dress, the shoulders falling lose, exposing her white flesh underneath. She looked away, eyes distant. Humanity left on the floor. Bleeding out and staining the hardwood. His mouth latched onto her neck, his fingers holding her against him, hot irons branding her skin with trails of lust. He bit down, piercing through her, beads of blood bubbling to the surface. Alarmed, she stiffened, her heart seeming to stop in her chest. "To take it?" He rose, his eyes dark, his fingers entwining themselves around the front of her gown.

"Van Toff, please don—"

"That's real power." He wrenched his arm away, the sound of tearing fabric fraying at the edges caught in her mouth. He'd never been this way. Had never…his fingers locked around her neck, her body slammed back against the table, head swimming with exploding white stars, a ringing deep within her ear. Panic bubbled to the surface, her own hands locked around his wrist, her eyes wild with fear, oxygen passing too slowly through her constricted throat. He was a lot stronger than he looked. And more fearsome than she imagined.

He was hot against her, murderous intent gleaming in those dark orbs. "You do not disrespect me, Miss Kaioh. You DO NOT DISRESPECT ME." Her head lulled over the side of the table, her eyes distant, his screams dead on her ears. He wouldn't kill her. His hand released, his fingernails piercing through her flesh, her insides ripped and churning with his lust. The flood of oxygen made her light headed, her eyes slowly roving over the emergency personnel, a dizzying space left in the wake of his hand.

A stretcher was being pulled. Blonde locks fell over the victims face. Green eyes wandered. Strong hands grasped a surly harlots. Lips meant only for her spoke another's name. And for the first time in her life, Michiru Kiaoh felt the bitter pangs of jealousy.

An unfamiliar ceiling in an unfamiliar place. Her eyes drifted open, the sound of rushing people and wailing sirens blearing in her head. Whiteness surrounded her, the color of something clean. The color of something pure. Fingers grasped at her hand, smoothing the skin, trying to rub away the blood that had stained them. She wanted to rock her head over and stare at the owner of those fingers. She wanted to say "Sorry sweetheart, but there's nothing in this world that can erase that mark." The young scrapper prayed, her eyes adjusting and focusing, her head lolling to the side so she could get a good view of her caretaker. Prayed that it was a blue eyed vixen with a sharp tongue and soft lips.

A weak prayer, she knew, since she never prayed. God doesn't listen to the poor. God doesn't answer the dying. And it was no different here. Dark brown locks ticked the exposed skin on her arm, emerald eyes sagging with exhaustion. How long had she been here? Her brown knit up into confusion, vaguely aware of the conversation that the young dancer was having with what she assumed was a nurse. They hadn't taken notice of her yet.

"…next of kin…"

"…sister…"

The grip on her hand grew tighter, as if Jordon feared that she would have to let go. Haruka's heart felt dead in her chest. "Damn violinist," she cursed as she pulled herself up. Fire erupted along her side, skin pulling against threads that bound itself together. Something felt hollow inside of her. As if a shaft had been carved out of her muscle and left to collapse in upon itself. She gasped in pain, head swimming.

"You're awake." The brunette whirled, relief washing over her, her lips gently placed to the back of her hand. Haruka raised an eyebrow, her lips curling just in the slightest. She was kind of cute, at least. And it wasn't like she was the worst of company.

"Barely…what the hell happened?" It was all just a blur. There was a gunshot. A mob. Warm lips. Heat began to snake its way up her neck. That didn't happen…did it? What a stupid joke for her mind to making up such ludicrous stories. To be dangling things in front of her. She gripped the blankets.

"There was a riot…you were shot. I'm not sure how, but you managed to claw your way down into a side alley…" Wait…what? Haruka gave her a sidelong glance. She at least for sure knew that she wasn't in any street riot. What was she trying to pull? "The streets are still burning." A low roar of voices drifted through her rooms window. "Burrows has gone completely mad."

Gunshots thundered.

"What do you mean? What happened!" She began to pull back the covers of her bed before the nurse pressed a gently hand against her chest.

"They've lynched him, Haruka." It was Nan standing now in the doorway, her eyes downcast.

"Who Nan, who?" Why wasn't anyone telling her anything. Jesus Christ!

"Your father."

A/N: Okay, so it's a little shorter than all of my other chapters, I must admit. I'm so so so so so sorry about the whole "I'm going to fall of the face of the planet and probably never come back," but well, here I am. I'm alive and here's another chapter. I know it's been two years in the making and I'm sure some of you will rejoice, while some of you will be just all "wtf mate?" It's not the best, but like…I know that some certain things had to happen and I was all "well, shit." So this is the result. I realize that this chapter is a little graphic and I apologize, but it was time for some people to show their true colors and I thought "Hey, we can all be regular adults here, can't we?"

Hopefully I'll be updating more regularly again. I'm going to try my hardest, to say the least. Now that I'm out of school and all I do is work my fingers to the bone, I have a little more time to write for fun. Uhm…since the last time I updated, I got me a haircut…and I've played about a billion games and beaten quite a few. I'm currently on a Mai-HiME binge and have been writing original fiction for quite some time. Er…yeah.

T. – So, I got your last review and I was all "….yeah I should update." Besides, the only way for me to talk to you is if I DO update, which makes me sort of sad because I like you. Because you give awesome insight.

Lin - ; I did it! Hooray.

Okay, well I've got to be going to work now. Hopefully I'll get some good feedback on this new chapter. There are so many things that I want to change within this story, I thought about completely rewriting it, and maybe I will, but that's a project for a different day. I'd like to at least finish this version first before I completely scrap it.

Well…I'll see you guys later. I'll update again, I'm sure of it. Have a little faith.

Heart: Me.