Reminiscing [Ven]

Ven had an unsettling habit of arriving in places at the most unlikely of times. Unsettling, perhaps, because his arrival was always silent. One moment, a turn of the head would reveal the room to be empty, and in the next, somewhere in the space of a blink, there he'd be--hands clasped together and folded neatly behind his back. Or perhaps it was the way those cool blue eyes always sought and found the gaze of whoever he shared the room with--unwavering and quietly evaluating. Ven could tell much about a person simply by their clothing choice, their mannerisms of speaking, and even, and perhaps most importantly of all--the way they let their bodies speak for them.

It was a little disappointing to the man at times--that people didn't realize how predictable they were. He liked a challenge--something or someone that, ever so often, would cause him to sit back, truly stumped. But those types of people were far and few between, and if there was anyone like that among his ring mates, he'd yet to run into them. Then again, he wasn't precisely loyal to the Fulsi as a whole--something that should have--and probably did--cast him into suspicion. It would explain some of the darting looks, or the way conversation tended to fall silent whenever he entered a room. He was used to that. It didn't bother him.


No one really had the slightest idea who Ven was--not really, at least. And he supposed that was partially his fault, but letting people close was...difficult. He'd learned to hold them at arm's length--at first by necessity, and then, later, by choice. He wasn't the sort who really needed people--much less be liked by them. But that was really neither here nor there.

Ven had traveled to the park in order to escape Fulsi territory--something he only later realized was ironic. He couldn't stand the ugliness of the vacant city--the dullness of the buildings, how they crowded close together. It gave him an unsettling feeling of claustrophobia--he was used to brilliant streaks of color spiraling up turrets and splashed onto doorways. The scent of warm bread, rising in tins set out on bakery counters. He was used to the sound of traffic and the lonely, late-night sounds of bars. And the city of the Fulsi, with its towering, lifeless buildings...

God, he hated it. And so, when the opportunity to slip away unnoticed for the day, after his hunting duties were concluded, had presented itself so unexpectedly, he took it. The park had just seemed like the most logical choice. At least it was an open space, and he'd be able to feel like he could breathe again, if only for a moment. No one said he didn't have his quirks.

He didn't have a particular destination in mind--he was just walking. Exploring, really--taking in the sights, the scents of the greenery. It was a refreshing change from the stretch of desert he'd found himself in only days before. And so, in his wanderings, he just so happened to pass directly under Lyric's tree.

Not that he knew it was Lyric's tree--much less that anyone was in it. He hadn't bothered to look up, more focused on the ground and where he was placing his feet. Not that anyone could blame him, really--after all, what sort of person hangs out in trees, of all things? And so, when a rather alarming noise of something crashing sounded above his head, he was quick to step out of the way.

He'd assumed it had only been a falling branch--old and rotted with age, and finally giving way under its own weight. But when he glanced back at the foot of the tree--well, it was considerably larger than any tree branch he'd ever seen. Point in fact, it was not a branch at all, but a person. Judging by the unhappy curse that the person managed to utter once they had their wind back, they were very much alive. Which, Ven supposed was an encouraging sign.

Ven began to step towards them. "Are you al--" the words began to form on his lips, only to die when the scent hit him. Carna. By rights, he knew he was supposed to feel some sort of hatred towards the man in front of him, but...it simply wasn't there. A poor sort of Fulsi, indeed. Feeling a little emboldened, he stepped closer still, craning his neck to get a good look at the man's face. And then he froze. His body tensed, and his thoughts came to a standstill.

That's...this isn't possible. There has to be some sort of mistake.

Too late, the name rose to his lips and left them unbidden, as if his tongue had a mind of its own. "Lyric?"





OOC: Yeah, I definitely rambled myself. -facepalm- Er, surprise? 8D

The tiniest of half-smiles formed on his lips, the left side quirking up at the end in the barest of smiles that didn't reach his eyes. It probably wasn't the most advisable thing--after all, Ven still had hazy memories about how the boy--or rather, the man now, he supposed--felt about being laughed at. Mocked. But that didn't make the situation any less funny--even if it was in a somewhat ironic way. But the dead leaf litter that crowned Lyric's head did somewhat ruin the otherwise haughty image--and were a far cry from the sort of laurels he'd probably have preferred to circle his head.

But Ven knew better than to laugh. The last thing on his mind at that moment was provoking the young man--something he was fairly sure would've ended badly for one or both of them. The sharp tone that Lyric addressed him with didn't bother him--not truly. The weight of memory lessened the shock of it, muted it into the familiar. But the Ven who would have flinched away, averting his gaze and stammering out an apology with a soft, pleading touch to the arm. To be forgiven. To not be ignored. Those days were long behind him now, but the memory of that displeasure sparked something he'd kept buried and repressed for a very long time.

"Nothing." Of course, he regretted the word not a second after it left his mouth. It was easy--far too easy, to be taken the wrong way--to seem like he was either hiding something--which wasn't too terribly far from the truth--or that he was blatantly mocking him, now. But how could he be expected to explain that it was only the shock of seeing him again--here, and closer--far too uncomfortably close--than he'd been to him in years. His mind was still struggling to grasp what he was seeing. And, after a few tries, had decided instead to give itself over to a numb sort of shock. Not precisely helpful.

Lyric was speaking again, and there was something unnerving in the way his eyes appraised him--something far more condemning and predatory than any pair of once-familiar eyes ever had the right to be. Ven could sense the battle waged in those golden depths, even as they seemed to slant and grow narrow in suspicion. He was trying to remember. But it was like trying to recapture the fading line spoken in a dream upon waking--the sentiment, the tone--that lingered. But the words were lost. Ven wasn't too concerned that the memories would flood back to Lyric--he knew him as a child. As a girl.

But the thought brought shallow comfort. He thought about lying. He thought about giving some false name, made up on the spot. After all, he'd done it for years. But would Lyric see through the lie? And, more importantly, if he somehow caught wind of the lie, what would he do? And so he spoke.

"...Ven." The word was hushed, his voice pitched low. Something painful clawed itself raw inside of his throat. Too late to take it back, and far too late to get a grip on himself and rephrase what had already been said. He met his gaze squarely, back straightening.

We've come a long way, Lyric. It'll take a lot more than throwing blocks at me to scare me off these days, little boy.

"You did. A very long time ago." He paused, and then exhaled with a low chuckle. "I was wearing a dress, back then." He tipped his head quietly then, allowing a moment for the implication of those words to settle in. Perhaps now he would understand.

"That's impossible." Ven could almost feel the weight of the condensation on his tongue--the burn of battery acid contained within two small, simplistic words. They left behind a peculiar aftertaste--phantom though it was. The patronizing tone caused his eyes to narrow fractionally. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him like that--deliberately talked down to him in an effort to belittle him, or derail the subject. But that didn't make it any less infuriating. Ven had patience for nearly anything--but being treated like a child was not among them. He hadn't been a child for a very long time, now. And Lyric had just given him the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head.

But he hid the irritation well, calmly sliding the fist that had clenched into his pocket with a casual air, willing his fingers to uncurl. It wasn't the time for petty grudges, and he'd be damned if he'd let the man's barbed words get under his skin. Get to him. He exhaled, smiling almost serenely at Lyric. "So are a lot of things, but people still believe in them. Don't they?" He shrugged.

There was a carelessness, an almost-lilt to his words and gestures. But beneath the even rise and fall of his words was the glint of something hard beneath the surface--like the glimpse of something sunken beneath ocean waves--glimpsed for a single, shining, brief moment, and then obscured once more. If Lyric's words aimed to cut, then Ven's meant to tear holes. All the same, some part--a very small part of him--felt a strange and warming rush throughout his body. Some cheap thrill. He had remembered. And yet all it did was make Ven ache for what he'd lost.

That was gone. They were gone, and no amount of wishing would ever bring that back to him. Lyric continued on, speaking as if to fill the spaces between Ven's lack of it. But as far as Ven could tell, he wasn't really saying anything. Nothing of substance, anyway--he was just trying to win an argument--justify the 'truth'. Ven's gaze didn't waver from his.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "Sure, you saw her get run over, but did anyone actually see her die? Or do you always believe what you're told?"

He was crawling out of his grave on word at a time. Grabbing fistfuls of wet, heavy loam for each year of silence. Some part of him--some very small part--knew that it may have been wrong to toy with the other man the way he was. But he wanted to push him--to make him remember beyond surface things. Until that spark of recognition in his eyes became a flame. One thing was certain--when he was through, he'd make sure he was never forgotten so easily again.


"It isn't impossible. I didn't die, Lyric. You could even say I've been right behind you the whole time. You just never bothered to check over your shoulder." A tiny little smirk then. Let the games begin. After all, it didn't truly matter if he knew. Not anymore.

Ven shrugged his shoulders carelessly, as if he could slip them from beneath the weight of Lyric's words. There was a smugness to his denial--like the spiteful child who is first among the elementary students to boldly declare that he didn't believe in Santa Clause. Maliciously delighted in the way their eyes flickered, wavered with uncertain and then crushing disappoint. Secure, in the budding of their tyrannical opinion, reveling in the fact that no one would challenge them. Afraid of being shot down, made to look like a fool. Afraid of being proven wrong.


Ven, however, was not afraid of much of anything. And whatever Lyric believed--or disbelieved--didn't really make much difference to him. "Such a rebel," Ven tutted, his tones laced with amusement. He'd heard that cold whisper of death behind those oh so carefully controlled words. Felt it like a draft through a window left carelessly half-cracked in the middle of a winter storm. Any sensible person would have kept silent, kept their heads down and their gaze averted. Hoping that the subject would drop, and then, once it did, would exhale a breath of quiet relief. Because it was over, even if they disagreed. But Ven knew he was finally getting somewhere--getting through those complex layers of the man. Not with patience, but with doubt. Not with gentle hands, but with his teeth.

"Right. Because parents never lie to their children. Because yours never covered up their embarrassments. Or bury them completely." A tiny smirk tugged at Ven's lips, and his gaze held Lyric's. There was something damning--something beyond a generalization in his words. He'd heard that hitch in Lyric's words--subtle, and easily missed, if he hadn't been listening for it. That first itch of doubt. He'd planted the seed. All that was left was to let Lyric's own uncertainty nourish it until it grew and spread like a cancer, eating away at what he thought he knew.

He wasn't sure why it was so important Lyric believed him. Maybe it was out of some need for closure--or some longing brought on by childhood memories, and the echoes of what they'd once been. The few--and only--happy memories he truly had. Though, his reluctance to believe his words was understandable. He was Fulsi, after all--and no self-respecting member of the ring would have reason to be honest with a Carna. Unless, of course, it was in expressing their dislike. His next words, however, caused Ven to still.

A raw, pained look flickered across his face, too late for him to smooth his face into a mask of neutrality. Because he wasn't wrong. True, it had been over in seconds, more or less. But what sort of scars did something like that leave behind on a young man's heart?

"I know what he thinks he saw," Ven replied evenly after a second. And it was a reasonable thing to think. Ven had been nothing more than a twisted heap, bone heaving through skin to gleam dully in the light. It was only the fickle turn of Fate's skirts that had preserved his lungs, rather than having his ribs puncture them, ensuring a slow and agonizing death.

The flash of Lyric's eyes caused Ven's own to echo them, more in frustration than anything else. His teeth gritted then, the cold superiority of his words like the steady drip of a leaking faucet against the cold steel of the sink. Each off-rhythm slight driving him into drastic behavior.

"Because if you had," he smirked, "I could have very well been the last thing you saw."

Ven could tell that his words had visibly shaken the man, in spite of his carefully crafted facade. No matter how the young man tried to convince himself that he was unchanged by the damning remarks that fell from Ven's lips, no matter how tightly he tried to rein in his emotions, curb them for some semblance of control, Ven knew. The slender wine glass still resonates, after all, long after it has been struck with the blunt edge of a tuning fork. Those tell-tale trembles gripped the man in front of him now, however subtle and in check Lyric struggled to keep them. And he didn't have time to reconsider, to stop, to feel bad about what he was doing to Lyric. A bitterness had taken hold of him--a resentment that twisted and coiled inside. So he stripped away the fragile facade of a false childhood--the last vestiges Lyric had to hold onto--to reveal something blackened and rotten underneath.

If you didn't bury the body deep enough, it would rise with the soil with the first hard rain. The Shikov family had made a mistake. He stared at him levelly, even when his jaw went slack--for once since they'd first encountered each other, it seemed that Lyric didn't have a scathing remark to counter with. The look of surprise that registered in the other's eyes would've been gratifying, if it had been what he'd wanted. As it was, Ven didn't know what it was he wanted. There was a quiet question in his own eyes--strained, yearning. Some foolish burst of optimism that he would have let thrived if he hadn't known better. It was too much of a coincidence to hope for. It was too much to hope. All the same, he couldn't quiet the soft murmur of his thoughts. Where is he? By the time Ven had shaken off his thoughts, Lyric seemed to have come to himself again.


A smile flickered across his lips. Fleeting. Cold. There was no humor or warmth in the gesture, but rather a flash of wry, bitter resentment. "I know," he said quietly, "because your family ran my mother into the dirt." He paused, holding Lyric's gaze steadily. "She loved you," he said suddenly. They were not the words he'd meant to speak, but they rose to his lips unbidden. An admittance of truth that had come years too late to help either of the twins. "The both of you." And so she did. Ven's mother had doted on the two boys as if they had shared blood. A hardness entered his eyes once more, though it was softened by an undercurrent of something else--a briefly pained expression. And they were killing her. The accusation, though present, wasn't spoken. She had been a good woman--hardworking, honest. But too often tired, too young. "Selfish. Expecting your servants to keep your secrets. Then again, the Shikov's never were the type to consider what the things they did were doing to someone else." He shrugged carelessly. "Then again, your dirty laundry never was much of a secret."


The next question startled Ven--or perhaps not so much the question itself, but the emotion behind it. The first glimmer of any sort of emotion at all since the conversation had begun. For a moment, he almost pitied him. If only because he understood the sentiment all too well. But he had long ago given up on asking. The word 'why' no longer factored into his vocabulary--weary of asking and twice as weary of the absence of answers. "I'm not doing anything to you." The words came quietly. His eyes narrowed abruptly. Selfish. "Not everything is about you." And yet, Lyric's next blow struck home. His attempt to wound was a successful one--one that left Ven breathless and reeling. Because as malicious in nature as the question had been--as much as Lyric clearly relished the chance that had come at last to hurt Ven as he'd hurt him--Ven couldn't answer honestly.

He didn't know what Dem--a child then, must have seen. Felt. Heard. The experience wasn't something that would be the same for the both of them. "No," he said lowly, his gaze averting from Lyric's for the first time. He sensed, rather than observed, the other man's sudden stillness. It bought him the time he needed to compose himself once more. His spine straightened as he slowly drew himself up, his gaze once more locking with the blonde's.

"I mean," he said, "that I've been tracking your every move until you vanished. You, and Dmitri both. I mean that my entire 'purpose' has been to eliminate your father, and, if necessary, the Shikov brothers were just unfortunate collateral damage." He paused, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "In short. I was under orders to kill you both."



Ooc: It's perfectly fine. <3

If Lyric had simply left the accusation at that, Ven would have let the subject drop. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the man had accused him of being a liar, and he wasn't one to take such things personally, when whatever it was he was discussing wasn't a serious matter. But Lyric hadn't left it at that--and it was the man's first mistake. Unintentional though it'd been, all Ven could focus on was the slight against his mother. The stubborn rejection of her love--and the way it negated, as far as he was concerned, everything she'd ever done for the twins and their family--at the cost of her health and happiness. His eyes narrowed then, his fingers quietly curling into his palms in a hard clench. Lyric wasn't the only one who trembled--Ven shook himself, with a quiet sort of fury. "Don't mistake your parents hatred for my mother's." The words were calm--though flat and slightly colder.

"She loved you," he repeated slowly, as if somehow stating it again, more slowly, would somehow force the weight of his words to sink into the other man's brain with clarity. "And I'm sure you can't even remember what she looked like." Truthfully, it had been many years since Ven had seen his mother's face. His memory of her was precisely that--preserving her hair fair and the laugh lines that creased her eyes--and the faint scent of flour and small, sweet violets caught in the rain. The older he got, the memory faded, running like the colors of a photograph warped with water spots and age. How much longer until his accusation was turned on himself? Lyric's next question caused Ven's head to snap up, and his lip curled in a quiet sneer. "I don't know," he countered. "Were you the one to throw her down the stairs?""

How very like a son. Coming to his mother's defense years too late--finally old enough to be able to act on the furious indignation and fierce love of a child, but realizing only then it was several years past due. He took a breath, trying to calm himself and the schoolyard impulse to simply launch himself at Lyric and beat him into the earth as viciously as he dared until he took back that statement--that harmless little statement just seconds before. It was only when his nails cut into his palms, breaking the skin, that he slowly relaxed, focusing on the muted sting.

But the flare of anger in the other young man's eyes put him instantly on alert once more. He eyed him warily, saying nothing throughout most of the unexpected outburst. For a moment, there was as flicker of pity in his eyes. It must be a terrible thing, for a child to know their own parents felt nothing but contempt for them. But the apology stirred Ven's own sense of frustration and anger once more--simply because of the helplessness he felt. That he did not know what had happened to her, and likely never would. After all, the young man had no way of knowing that his mother was long dead. "No," he said quietly, although whether he was agreeing that things couldn't be changed, or that he doubted Lyric was sorry at all, it was hard to tell.


But a harsh laugh left his lips, and he gave his head a rough, scornful shake. "The son of the poor?" he echoed. "If you and your family had any idea of what that life was like, you wouldn't wish for that." But a change had come over Lyric. It was different than the subtle play of emotions that had flickered over his face in the past minutes of their conversation--this one had seized all of him. He seemed...to deflate. His posture reflecting defeat. And it seemed...peculiar. So out of place. Especially for a man who had seemed so determined to fight him every step of the way. But the resignation did not last long. Ven's eyes widened slightly, and though his first reaction was to deny that there was any cruelty on his part, the words wouldn't come. Instead, he shrugged.

"Maybe it's what you didn't do." The words were as dry as they were cryptic."And sometimes you should remember." Moments later, whatever pity Ven had begun to feel for the young man vanished instantly. There was sour twisting of his gut, and Ven found himself choking down the bile that rose at the back of his throat. The images that Lyric painted were too vivid, and grotesquely surreal. It was a memory he'd run from for many years himself.

"Don't you think I know that?" the words were hoarse and choking, nearly a whispered scream. The agony that Lyric had hoped for was present at last. "Don't you think that I'd have given anything to fix that, in some small way? Even if it meant finding some way to ease the guilt?" It took all his self-control not to hit him then and there. "Where is he?" he hissed, the question managing to force its way past his lips at last--borderline desperate, in fact. The impulse to grab the man and shake him by the shoulders was quite appealing.

He stilled, however, at the point-blank question. He shrugged quietly. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm not as cruel as you seem to think."

"Oh?" The question was nothing more than a quiet breath. There was something hardened behind the word, however softly it was spoken. Like the green-gold flash of predatory eyes in the murk--the whisper, the hint, perhaps--of something dangerous. But something that had not yet emerged. There was only the threat of the possibility. "Aren't you?" he continued. "By throwing her affection back in her face, as it were, just because you never got the attention you so desperately wanted--from the people who never gave a damn about you?" The tremble in his voice was telling. Lyric could deny it as much as he wanted, but it was denial for the sake of it. The sort of denial that a liar or a cornered man makes. Ven was beginning to suspect that the man before him was both.

The tide of the conversation had begun to turn at last. Both men, until now, had been talking wary circles around each other, like contenders in a ring. Testing where they stood in their collective memories, what could be said--and what was, perhaps, best left unsaid. But their emotions were slowly but surely getting the better of them. Years of bitterness, grievances aired. It was only a matter of time before one of them did something they'd regret. It just depended on which of them would be swept away by their emotions first. Ven's lip curled as Lyric's words stumbled, the man's insistence that he had never been cherished by anyone or anything repeated like some sick mantra. Anyone else might have pitied Lyric Shikov. But Ven couldn't bring himself to pity anyone bearing that last name. Not anymore. "Or maybe you were just too self-absorbed to notice anyone unfortunate enough to be born with a different last name. It wouldn't surprise me."

He paused, spine stiffening slightly at the realization of his words. Lyric's earlier accusation of his being unnecessarily cruel rang true. For a moment, a flicker of remorse colored his eyes, and his mouth opened as if to speak an apology. But it died on his lips at his next words. If Ven was cruel, then Lyric was callous. Intentional or not, he'd thrown his mother's death back in his face--and it rocked him with all the sharpness of an unexpected backhand. His eyes narrowed then, and the fury that had been smoldering, undisturbed, was suddenly unmistakable. "Shut. Up," he hissed. If nothing else, Lyric was exceptional at prodding two key buttons--and Ven wasn't naive enough to think he was ignorant of it. "You don't that talk about her. Ever. You'd think you'd have been raised well enough to not disrespect someone you don't even remember." The last word rose slightly, his voice cracking. There was a strange tightness in his chest.

That was the irony, wasn't it? Lyric Shikov, who wouldn't remember the woman who had adored him so--who had brought, doubtlessly, the warmth and light into his young life he claimed to never have had. And Ven, who so desperately wanted to remember. Who had, for so many years, in spite pf everything, tried so hard to live his life as the sort of son who, when she looked at him, it wouldn't be with disappointment in her eyes. The mention of Dmitri was accompanied by a soft, metallic hiss. Quiet, low. And with it, several long inches of steel. Almost involuntary. But there was a pointed, nonverbal threat in the gesture. "You. Don't have any right to say that name, either. He wouldn't. And if you honestly think he would, then you understand him even less than you understand me."

Oh, the impulse to cut the smile off of someone's face had never been greater--even one as corkscrewed as Lyric's. And indeed, he drew his fist back, as if to strike him. And though both wrist and blade shot out, they paused just inches from the hollow of Lyric's throat. For a moment, there was nothing--just Ven's harsh breathing and the cold length of steel between them. And the silence. "Don't let me hear you talking about him like that again. Understand?" The blade flicked up, nudging gently towards his chin--though it didn't cut, didn't leave so much as a scratch. A bizarre chuck of the chin. His fist dropped. The threat was neutralized--for now.

And the words Lyric had spoken sank in. The tirade had clearly been building for years--the bitter words of a shunted child. There were glimpses, here and there, of the boy he'd been. That was the Lyric he'd known, and he was, for all his petulance at times, easier to deal with, than his hateful young man he'd grown into. "If it makes you feel any better, the world doesn't know you exist, either," he said dryly. "And I won't make excuses for your parents, Lyric. There's nothing that can be excused." He blinked, then. The subject had turned to his parents once more.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I don't know if they were, or if they would have been. Be grateful you had a childhood at all, Lyric," he said rather coldly. "Even with neglectful parents, you were still spoiled. Still given anything most boys your age could've wished for. It was still a form of attention, and obviously they knew something about you, if they managed to buy you things that made you happy. If they didn't know you existed at all, like you say, they wouldn't know what to give you. My childhood was stolen." He shrugged carelessly. "The last time I saw my mother was exactly two months after..." he trailed off suddenly. The pause Lyric had taken was...he was nearly incredulous, and his burst of ragged laughter definitely was. "My father?" he repeated. "He was a drunk, Lyric. A drunk and bitter man who gambled and drank away every bit of money my mother managed to bring home. Worthless. And when the money ran out, he decided he'd beat it out of us. And it worked. My father. Can rot in hell, where he belongs. Somewhere next to your parents, I'm sure."

His eyes flashed once more, and a low chuckle escaped him. They were back to Dmitri again, and oh, how accusatory the Carna sounded. As if he should be ashamed. "Did it occur to you," he said quietly, "that I confided in him because I loved him? Because he was the one person that could make that hurt go away? Did it occur to you," he gritted out, more or less spitting like a feline, "that of the two of you, he was the only one who could see that I needed him? Where were you?" Giving his head a vicious shake, he stared at Lyric. Things had come to a head.

"You could have done a lot of things, Lyric. You talk to me about how things might've been different if I hadn't run out in the road. But things could've been different if you'd tried more. Tried to make a connection with everyone else. Don't snivel at me when you've made plenty of decisions that lead you to this point." He quieted, tilting his head as he considered the man in front of him. So alike and yet unlike the youth he remembered. Stubborn. Sullen. But there was something twisted now that left a bitter taste. "Funny. Because I do know. I've been watching you both, remember?"

And then he did laugh, giving his head a slight shake. "What did you expect, Lyric?" There was something pitying in the question. Nothing false, only a low sort of regret. "You don't exactly forget your first love. And I think I will. Find him, that is."

And he would have turned and left, then and there, if it hadn't been for one last question. One that nailed him to the spot. There were so many answers he could have given. The obvious--but he was sure Lyric had worked that one out for himself, by now. He could tell him how a whore had more freedom than he did. He could tell him any thing imaginable, because in the grand scheme of things, what did it really matter? He certainly wasn't anything to him. "Very, very dangerous, Lyric Shikov." It was only then that he turned around at last, already starting to walk away from him. But then he paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"I didn't. Because you were a friend. Once." And then, without a single backward glance, he was off.