FF13 fic, House of Paddra 1 (Persona Conception)
title: House of Paddra
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Hope/Lightning, various
rating: M
summary: AU. Hope is a member of a group of up and coming designers, the House of Paddra. When the Academy's Department of Design issued the greatest challenge they had ever faced, will Lightning provide the needed inspiration to help them win? Inspired by Paradise Kiss.
words: 3009
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy belongs to Square Enix. Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square Enix and Disney.
A/N: yay for new fic! And more yay because I was actually inspired to write and I'm just happy to be writing ANYTHING at all and I've been floundering around all these months of not being able to continue my WIPs because of goddamn writer's block.
Anywho this fic has been brewing in my mind for a while now ever since Square Enix released those pictures of FF13 characters wearing Prada (the title is actually a play on words for that fashion house ;P ), and then there's the whole customizable outfits for Lightning in Lightning Returns (and ohmygod some of them are hideous, seriously wtf). Plus I've been a longtime fan of Paradise Kiss, so this fic is a happy blend of things I love.
All things considered, what she had been earning from her three jobs weren't nearly as good enough as she'd prefer. Claire Farron stepped out of the tall silver building of CrescEnterprises, an exhale of frustration escaping out of her chest at yet another failed job interview, cursing at the bright sunlight that merrily lit the long walkway that stretched before her. It was past noon, and pedestrian traffic was heavy as people wove their way through the city for lunch. Her stomach's loud growl was swallowed up by the white noise around her as she fingered the lightning bolt pendant that hung from a chain around her neck.
She couldn't stay here. There was nothing for her here.
She took the left set of stairs that led out into Main Street, stomach grumbling again that made her briefly entertain the thought of going into the nearest café on the building at the corner. She curled her lip as she spied a girl in a chocobo costume handing out flyers for said maid café, Claire's blue eyes roaming over the scandalous attire that didn't really cover anything and certainly put 'chocobo' as the last image to come to mind at the sight of the girl. If Claire could swallow her pride and immerse herself in pretending, clothe herself in the cosplay of a sexy chocobo girl complete with preening and tush-shaking and cutesy-voice-speaking as she took orders from customers, she would probably be able to work in that place and maybe able to get by with providing for her and her younger sister better. It would likely be no different than the job she'd recently resigned from. Only she'd be less covered up if that Chocobo girl's outfit was anything to come by.
She grumbled unintelligibly as she walked on, all the while running a hand through the tangled, unkempt mess of pink hair on her head. She'd been told time and again that she ought to make an effort in her appearance-it would land her better paying jobs, she knew-but who really had time for that especially since she'd be expected to maintain that kind of look?
The length of Academia's imposing Main Street sprawled before her, and she quickly got on the conveyor walkway heading southbound, away from the highrise buildings that littered the city's centre. She herself was native to Bodhum, but when monsters became too rampant and overwhelmed the small town, there was nothing to do but make like the rest of the populace and flee, taking nothing but her sister and running for their lives, seeking sanctuary upon the walled city of Academia and trying to make ends meet. How ever welcoming the city was to neighbouring towns that had been beset by monsters, living here was certainly not cheap.
She contemplated monster-hunting as a viable career choice as the conveyor path trudged on at its whopping speed of three kilometres per hour; all residents of any city in the world were required to know how to fend for themselves in case of monster attacks, and she herself was no lightweight when it came to protecting her sister and killing any monsters that had crossed their way. She knew there was much money to be made with trading claws, teeth, hide, and what ever monster parts that came from the hunt, but that would mean leaving Serah behind, and Claire was loathe to do that. All they had left was each other, after all.
Sighing, her gaze rose up to the bright billboards that littered the walls and roofs of the buildings that lined Main Street, advertising the latest in innovative technological weapons and armour mixed up with high fashion. Polished women and men gazed from animated screens amidst fur, metal, rich silks, velvets, leather, and chainmail, some even holding impractical weapons like yoyos and flasks and-was that a giant key? A derisive eyebrow rose over a blue eye as she scoffed, unimpressed at the display, remembering the survival knife Serah had given her for her past birthday. At least with a knife you know where you stand, thought Claire, especially if the business end is pointing away from you.
Passing along people on the other side of the conveyor walkway, she felt just like a mere speck, lost in the legion of people with places to go. Here and there, kids ran along, more often than not providing entertainment by tripping and falling. She shook her head. If they keep doing that on these walkways, those accidents are bound to really hurt sooner or later. Without really seeing, she unconsciously began counting heads as she passed by pedestrians riding the adjacent conveyor belt heading to the direction whence she came, just something to pass the time as she waited to reach the end of the long walkway.
Shrugging, she ran her hands through her hair, muscles flexing as she clenched her fingers through the bright strands. "Whoa-!" a voice beside her passed, and she caught a glimpse of pale hair and glass green eyes from her periphery, the figure carried off in the pathway opposite hers. Suspicion arched on her brow, and she steeled herself to ignore it, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead. Come on, come on, she urged the walkway as if that would work in speeding it up. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been propositioned by some stranger, and she knew well enough how to defend herself from another such encounter. Training for monster hunting did have its perks, after all.
She heard footsteps behind her before she heard a voice, the same one that had bellowed earlier. It seemed that he'd immediately switched over to her pathway after he saw her and made that initial exclamation.
"Er, hey, Miss?"
Oh great, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and proceeded to keep her back turned. She was in need of money, but she wasn't that desperate that she would sell her body for sex.
"Um, excuse me, Miss?" He tried to step in front of her, but she turned, now facing the direction she had come from and riding the walkway backwards. Persistent little twerp, she thought. Can't he take a hint?
"Please? I just-if I could just-please, Miss, may I look at you?"
Huffing, she rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache incoming. It didn't matter that he sounded polite. That could only be an act, after all, something to entice her to let her guard down and then-bam! Shenanigans would happen.
"Please, Miss? Just one look?"
Seriously, this guy, she thought, blowing a raspberry as she turned, the scowl already in place deepening, masking her discomfort, as she felt the weight of his gaze roam her from head to foot. She gave tit for tat, letting her own eyes wander over him as well, and begrudgingly conceded that he wasn't bad looking, eyeing the neatly trimmed layered silver hair, pale green eyes, a straight nose and thin lips. He was a bit taller than her, lean and slender, an arm over a shoulder holding garment bags by their hangers.
"Whoa. Perfect," mumbled the stranger. He took a step back, swallowing, a hand rising over his mouth as he took a shaky breath.
She couldn't help finding his behaviour strange. And were those tears in his eyes? What the hell?
"You're perfect," he repeated in an awed whisper.
Something in her chest went twang at those words, but she quickly snuffed the feeling down. Her blue eyes narrowed, and she would've swung her fist if he wasn't so quick to voice out, "Would you be interested in modeling?"
There was no helping the air of suspicion over this situation, causing her hackles to further rise in alarm.
Modeling? she thought, incredulous. Is he for real?
The young man waved his free arm as though to display how harmless he was, his face a picture of perfect innocence. "Please, hear me out? Just a moment of your time. No funny business here, I swear!"
She pursed her lips, keeping her expression frozen in place to keep him on his toes.
He nodded over his shoulder, indicating that they were at the end of the moving walkway and he stepped off, her following behind at a reasonable distance as he led her towards the middle of the bridge that connected the paths between New Town and Grand Avenue.
She couldn't help but accept the fact that in this place, he was giving her a way out if what he had to say made her uncomfortable enough; it would be easy for her to run in either direction and get lost in the labyrinthine streets.
"Okay, so, um," he began, "I'm a student at the Academy. Department of Design. My name's Hope Estheim. Oh, um, here." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a business card and handing it to Claire. She took it without looking, keeping her eyes trained to him.
He pointed to the card. "That's my group. House of Paddra."
"Prada?" she finally voiced, frowning.
He chuckled. "No, no. We get mistaken for them a lot. Paddra. Shuffle the letters a bit and add an extra D. Paddra. Like the ancient ruins over at Yaschas Massif?"
"O-kay."
"So, um, we have a school project. It's a great honour too, and it's a chance for us to show what we're capable of. So, the uh, Princess of Dalmasca commissioned the school for an outfit, a warrior princess type of outfit, and we need a model. And you look like the very one we need." His expression became earnest. "So, would you be interested in being our model?"
Model? Her? For an outfit fit for the Princess of Dalmasca? This is just a load of bollocks, isn't it?
Her mouth began to form the word to decline, and seeing this, he actually fell to his knees in front of her, startling her and making her step back.
"Oh, please? Of course we'll pay you! It is an actual job, a proper one, and our group is a business, after all. We do sell what we make. And we also take orders and commissions for clothing and weapons and accessories, so we really do have money to pay! I swear I'm not pulling your leg!" He began to sound desperate, and she looked around, incensed that the two of them were beginning to attract spectators.
"Calm down," she whispered sharply, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him up to drag him off to the side away from the growing crowd. What am I doing? she asked herself. Am I seriously contemplating this?
He hadn't stopped talking though as he followed along. "You just model what we make and walk down the catwalk when it's time to show our creation off. If you're willing to also model our other products and have your picture taken for advertisements, you'll obviously get a sizeable earning from these as well. And, who knows, this could also be a good opportunity to get other modeling jobs, you know? Start you off for other fashion houses?"
She chewed the inside of her cheek. It sounded good, but a little too good to be true. But still...
"What did you say your group is called again?"
"House of Paddra. I don't really have a portfolio on hand, but, oh, um, here." He brought his arm around that held the garment bags over his shoulder, and slung them over his arm, unzipping one of the bags. Inside was a black leather coat, hooded, with a long zipper running down the front. "I'm actually on my way to deliver these to our customers." He looked at her expectantly, and she stared, eyes darting back and forth between the garment and him.
"It's..." she hesitated, at a loss, settling finally with: "Nice, I guess."
He sent her a disarming smile. "It looks like an ordinary coat, yeah?"
"Mm."
"We call this style 'Organization XIII.' And it's more about its function that its looks, really. It is leather, but the lining is composed of a special material that I had to create from scratch myself." His cheeks flushed, green eyes lit with delight and pride as he further explained. "My job in our studio is as engineer and inventor. Whatever our head designer illustrates and decides material-wise, it's up to me to figure out just how feasible the kind of material is for that purpose and try to make it work. I also work closely with our designated blacksmith in creating weapons and accessories. Our group specializes in combat clothing, so what ever we make has to be durable and has to enable fluid movement and not be constrictive. This particular coat is commissioned to have the function of protecting its wearer from darkness."
"Darkness?" asked Claire, interested despite herself.
"Yeah. They're performers, and part of their act is to disappear into a Corridor of Darkness at the end. Wearing this coat will protect them from attracting monsters called Heartless who dwell in that darkness."
"Huh."
"Their band is called Flurry of Dancing Flames, you should see their act some time. Pretty good music. And I'm not just saying that because one of them is my cousin."
She couldn't help breathing out a chuckle. I'm done for, aren't I? she thought, feeling a minuscule fluttering at the pit of her belly. She couldn't help but admit to herself that this Hope guy was charming and a bit cute, and she rather liked that he was passionate about his work and unafraid to show it, drawing her in with his enthusiasm and knowledge. Perhaps being around that dedication meant she would be in good hands. She could trust him, couldn't she?
An earnest beeping erupted out of his coat, and he floundered around the numerous pockets with one hand while the other tried to hold on to the garment bags that threatened to slip from his arm. Taking pity on him, she took the bags from him, hearing his relieved mumbled thanks as he found the contraption that was making the racket and pressed the phone to his ear. Looking down at what she held, she briefly ran a hand over the material of the black coat called 'Organization XIII', admiring the texture of the fabric and its stylish seams before zipping it back inside the bag.
"Hey-I know, I know. I'm already on the way-Yes! I'll be there before you know it. No, I didn't bring my teleporter-why? Because it's risky. We sacrificed a lot of hideous scarves to see if it worked, and well, let me just say it's good that we chose to experiment with inanimate objects...I said-I'm on the walkway, can't you see me? Well, then you need to get your eyes checked-Okay, alright already. Bye."
He heaved a sigh and glanced sidelong at her sheepishly. "Sorry about that."
"It's not a problem," answered Claire, handing the bags back to Hope.
Awkward silence fell between them, pregnant with hints and possibilities of what could be. She cleared her throat, but no words were forthcoming; she really was at a loss. On the one hand, she couldn't help but be curious of what could happen were she to accept the job he was offering. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just put on the clothes, strike a pose, have her picture taken, walk down the runway. And then done. It was a job, hopefully one that would pay better than her other current jobs. This would really be for Serah anyway.
And, well...to work with this guy Hope wouldn't really be a bad thing. He seemed nice, after all. And nothing had to happen between them. Not that she was entertaining any thoughts along that matter. Who had time for that anyway?
"So, um..." He scratched the back of his head. "Why don't you think the offer over?"
She shrugged, giving off an air of nonchalance. "I supposed it wouldn't hurt to consider it."
A smile stretched on his lips, and the flush that suffused his cheeks seemed to spread to his ears. "Would you be willing to consider it over coffee?"
To her mortification-that she immediately brushed off as though nothing had happened-her stomach chose that moment to growl for attention.
He chuckled. "Or lunch?"
Her lips pursed as she eyed him, telling herself that those puppy dog eyes of his certainly weren't getting to her. No sirree.
"My treat, since I asked."
On the other hand, to turn down an offer of food...
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" countered Claire as she made a show of checking her watch. "You're obviously late for an appointment, and it looks like I've been keeping you."
A funny little smile lingered on his lips. "Well, if you say yes, I might show you a way I can get around that."
She fought so hard not to reply with an almost playful tone. She SO WAS NOT flirting with him. She just did not do that kind of thing. But it seemed she couldn't help peering at him from beneath her lashes and quipping, "Don't tell me you lied about bringing your teleporter."
Hope threw his head back as he laughed. "Maybe I got something better." He wiggled his eyebrows, patting the bags slung over his arm. "Do you trust me?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You don't even know my name."
"Well, you don't seem comfortable enough to give it." He bit his lip, eyeing the pendant at the base of her neck. "For now, would it be alright to call you Miss Lightning?"
She resisted the urge to touch said pendant. "I suppose just Lightning will do fine."
This is good, isn't it? He doesn't know my name, therefore no strings attached. No commitment expected.
"So is that a yes to lunch? After delivering these, of course. Would that be fine with you?"
And here it is, she thought. Yes or no? Claire would say no. But Lightning...what would she say?
==================================================
next chapter
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Hope/Lightning, various
rating: M
summary: AU. Hope is a member of a group of up and coming designers, the House of Paddra. When the Academy's Department of Design issued the greatest challenge they had ever faced, will Lightning provide the needed inspiration to help them win? Inspired by Paradise Kiss.
words: 3009
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy belongs to Square Enix. Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square Enix and Disney.
A/N: yay for new fic! And more yay because I was actually inspired to write and I'm just happy to be writing ANYTHING at all and I've been floundering around all these months of not being able to continue my WIPs because of goddamn writer's block.
Anywho this fic has been brewing in my mind for a while now ever since Square Enix released those pictures of FF13 characters wearing Prada (the title is actually a play on words for that fashion house ;P ), and then there's the whole customizable outfits for Lightning in Lightning Returns (and ohmygod some of them are hideous, seriously wtf). Plus I've been a longtime fan of Paradise Kiss, so this fic is a happy blend of things I love.
All things considered, what she had been earning from her three jobs weren't nearly as good enough as she'd prefer. Claire Farron stepped out of the tall silver building of CrescEnterprises, an exhale of frustration escaping out of her chest at yet another failed job interview, cursing at the bright sunlight that merrily lit the long walkway that stretched before her. It was past noon, and pedestrian traffic was heavy as people wove their way through the city for lunch. Her stomach's loud growl was swallowed up by the white noise around her as she fingered the lightning bolt pendant that hung from a chain around her neck.
She couldn't stay here. There was nothing for her here.
She took the left set of stairs that led out into Main Street, stomach grumbling again that made her briefly entertain the thought of going into the nearest café on the building at the corner. She curled her lip as she spied a girl in a chocobo costume handing out flyers for said maid café, Claire's blue eyes roaming over the scandalous attire that didn't really cover anything and certainly put 'chocobo' as the last image to come to mind at the sight of the girl. If Claire could swallow her pride and immerse herself in pretending, clothe herself in the cosplay of a sexy chocobo girl complete with preening and tush-shaking and cutesy-voice-speaking as she took orders from customers, she would probably be able to work in that place and maybe able to get by with providing for her and her younger sister better. It would likely be no different than the job she'd recently resigned from. Only she'd be less covered up if that Chocobo girl's outfit was anything to come by.
She grumbled unintelligibly as she walked on, all the while running a hand through the tangled, unkempt mess of pink hair on her head. She'd been told time and again that she ought to make an effort in her appearance-it would land her better paying jobs, she knew-but who really had time for that especially since she'd be expected to maintain that kind of look?
The length of Academia's imposing Main Street sprawled before her, and she quickly got on the conveyor walkway heading southbound, away from the highrise buildings that littered the city's centre. She herself was native to Bodhum, but when monsters became too rampant and overwhelmed the small town, there was nothing to do but make like the rest of the populace and flee, taking nothing but her sister and running for their lives, seeking sanctuary upon the walled city of Academia and trying to make ends meet. How ever welcoming the city was to neighbouring towns that had been beset by monsters, living here was certainly not cheap.
She contemplated monster-hunting as a viable career choice as the conveyor path trudged on at its whopping speed of three kilometres per hour; all residents of any city in the world were required to know how to fend for themselves in case of monster attacks, and she herself was no lightweight when it came to protecting her sister and killing any monsters that had crossed their way. She knew there was much money to be made with trading claws, teeth, hide, and what ever monster parts that came from the hunt, but that would mean leaving Serah behind, and Claire was loathe to do that. All they had left was each other, after all.
Sighing, her gaze rose up to the bright billboards that littered the walls and roofs of the buildings that lined Main Street, advertising the latest in innovative technological weapons and armour mixed up with high fashion. Polished women and men gazed from animated screens amidst fur, metal, rich silks, velvets, leather, and chainmail, some even holding impractical weapons like yoyos and flasks and-was that a giant key? A derisive eyebrow rose over a blue eye as she scoffed, unimpressed at the display, remembering the survival knife Serah had given her for her past birthday. At least with a knife you know where you stand, thought Claire, especially if the business end is pointing away from you.
Passing along people on the other side of the conveyor walkway, she felt just like a mere speck, lost in the legion of people with places to go. Here and there, kids ran along, more often than not providing entertainment by tripping and falling. She shook her head. If they keep doing that on these walkways, those accidents are bound to really hurt sooner or later. Without really seeing, she unconsciously began counting heads as she passed by pedestrians riding the adjacent conveyor belt heading to the direction whence she came, just something to pass the time as she waited to reach the end of the long walkway.
Shrugging, she ran her hands through her hair, muscles flexing as she clenched her fingers through the bright strands. "Whoa-!" a voice beside her passed, and she caught a glimpse of pale hair and glass green eyes from her periphery, the figure carried off in the pathway opposite hers. Suspicion arched on her brow, and she steeled herself to ignore it, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead. Come on, come on, she urged the walkway as if that would work in speeding it up. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been propositioned by some stranger, and she knew well enough how to defend herself from another such encounter. Training for monster hunting did have its perks, after all.
She heard footsteps behind her before she heard a voice, the same one that had bellowed earlier. It seemed that he'd immediately switched over to her pathway after he saw her and made that initial exclamation.
"Er, hey, Miss?"
Oh great, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and proceeded to keep her back turned. She was in need of money, but she wasn't that desperate that she would sell her body for sex.
"Um, excuse me, Miss?" He tried to step in front of her, but she turned, now facing the direction she had come from and riding the walkway backwards. Persistent little twerp, she thought. Can't he take a hint?
"Please? I just-if I could just-please, Miss, may I look at you?"
Huffing, she rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache incoming. It didn't matter that he sounded polite. That could only be an act, after all, something to entice her to let her guard down and then-bam! Shenanigans would happen.
"Please, Miss? Just one look?"
Seriously, this guy, she thought, blowing a raspberry as she turned, the scowl already in place deepening, masking her discomfort, as she felt the weight of his gaze roam her from head to foot. She gave tit for tat, letting her own eyes wander over him as well, and begrudgingly conceded that he wasn't bad looking, eyeing the neatly trimmed layered silver hair, pale green eyes, a straight nose and thin lips. He was a bit taller than her, lean and slender, an arm over a shoulder holding garment bags by their hangers.
"Whoa. Perfect," mumbled the stranger. He took a step back, swallowing, a hand rising over his mouth as he took a shaky breath.
She couldn't help finding his behaviour strange. And were those tears in his eyes? What the hell?
"You're perfect," he repeated in an awed whisper.
Something in her chest went twang at those words, but she quickly snuffed the feeling down. Her blue eyes narrowed, and she would've swung her fist if he wasn't so quick to voice out, "Would you be interested in modeling?"
There was no helping the air of suspicion over this situation, causing her hackles to further rise in alarm.
Modeling? she thought, incredulous. Is he for real?
The young man waved his free arm as though to display how harmless he was, his face a picture of perfect innocence. "Please, hear me out? Just a moment of your time. No funny business here, I swear!"
She pursed her lips, keeping her expression frozen in place to keep him on his toes.
He nodded over his shoulder, indicating that they were at the end of the moving walkway and he stepped off, her following behind at a reasonable distance as he led her towards the middle of the bridge that connected the paths between New Town and Grand Avenue.
She couldn't help but accept the fact that in this place, he was giving her a way out if what he had to say made her uncomfortable enough; it would be easy for her to run in either direction and get lost in the labyrinthine streets.
"Okay, so, um," he began, "I'm a student at the Academy. Department of Design. My name's Hope Estheim. Oh, um, here." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a business card and handing it to Claire. She took it without looking, keeping her eyes trained to him.
He pointed to the card. "That's my group. House of Paddra."
"Prada?" she finally voiced, frowning.
He chuckled. "No, no. We get mistaken for them a lot. Paddra. Shuffle the letters a bit and add an extra D. Paddra. Like the ancient ruins over at Yaschas Massif?"
"O-kay."
"So, um, we have a school project. It's a great honour too, and it's a chance for us to show what we're capable of. So, the uh, Princess of Dalmasca commissioned the school for an outfit, a warrior princess type of outfit, and we need a model. And you look like the very one we need." His expression became earnest. "So, would you be interested in being our model?"
Model? Her? For an outfit fit for the Princess of Dalmasca? This is just a load of bollocks, isn't it?
Her mouth began to form the word to decline, and seeing this, he actually fell to his knees in front of her, startling her and making her step back.
"Oh, please? Of course we'll pay you! It is an actual job, a proper one, and our group is a business, after all. We do sell what we make. And we also take orders and commissions for clothing and weapons and accessories, so we really do have money to pay! I swear I'm not pulling your leg!" He began to sound desperate, and she looked around, incensed that the two of them were beginning to attract spectators.
"Calm down," she whispered sharply, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him up to drag him off to the side away from the growing crowd. What am I doing? she asked herself. Am I seriously contemplating this?
He hadn't stopped talking though as he followed along. "You just model what we make and walk down the catwalk when it's time to show our creation off. If you're willing to also model our other products and have your picture taken for advertisements, you'll obviously get a sizeable earning from these as well. And, who knows, this could also be a good opportunity to get other modeling jobs, you know? Start you off for other fashion houses?"
She chewed the inside of her cheek. It sounded good, but a little too good to be true. But still...
"What did you say your group is called again?"
"House of Paddra. I don't really have a portfolio on hand, but, oh, um, here." He brought his arm around that held the garment bags over his shoulder, and slung them over his arm, unzipping one of the bags. Inside was a black leather coat, hooded, with a long zipper running down the front. "I'm actually on my way to deliver these to our customers." He looked at her expectantly, and she stared, eyes darting back and forth between the garment and him.
"It's..." she hesitated, at a loss, settling finally with: "Nice, I guess."
He sent her a disarming smile. "It looks like an ordinary coat, yeah?"
"Mm."
"We call this style 'Organization XIII.' And it's more about its function that its looks, really. It is leather, but the lining is composed of a special material that I had to create from scratch myself." His cheeks flushed, green eyes lit with delight and pride as he further explained. "My job in our studio is as engineer and inventor. Whatever our head designer illustrates and decides material-wise, it's up to me to figure out just how feasible the kind of material is for that purpose and try to make it work. I also work closely with our designated blacksmith in creating weapons and accessories. Our group specializes in combat clothing, so what ever we make has to be durable and has to enable fluid movement and not be constrictive. This particular coat is commissioned to have the function of protecting its wearer from darkness."
"Darkness?" asked Claire, interested despite herself.
"Yeah. They're performers, and part of their act is to disappear into a Corridor of Darkness at the end. Wearing this coat will protect them from attracting monsters called Heartless who dwell in that darkness."
"Huh."
"Their band is called Flurry of Dancing Flames, you should see their act some time. Pretty good music. And I'm not just saying that because one of them is my cousin."
She couldn't help breathing out a chuckle. I'm done for, aren't I? she thought, feeling a minuscule fluttering at the pit of her belly. She couldn't help but admit to herself that this Hope guy was charming and a bit cute, and she rather liked that he was passionate about his work and unafraid to show it, drawing her in with his enthusiasm and knowledge. Perhaps being around that dedication meant she would be in good hands. She could trust him, couldn't she?
An earnest beeping erupted out of his coat, and he floundered around the numerous pockets with one hand while the other tried to hold on to the garment bags that threatened to slip from his arm. Taking pity on him, she took the bags from him, hearing his relieved mumbled thanks as he found the contraption that was making the racket and pressed the phone to his ear. Looking down at what she held, she briefly ran a hand over the material of the black coat called 'Organization XIII', admiring the texture of the fabric and its stylish seams before zipping it back inside the bag.
"Hey-I know, I know. I'm already on the way-Yes! I'll be there before you know it. No, I didn't bring my teleporter-why? Because it's risky. We sacrificed a lot of hideous scarves to see if it worked, and well, let me just say it's good that we chose to experiment with inanimate objects...I said-I'm on the walkway, can't you see me? Well, then you need to get your eyes checked-Okay, alright already. Bye."
He heaved a sigh and glanced sidelong at her sheepishly. "Sorry about that."
"It's not a problem," answered Claire, handing the bags back to Hope.
Awkward silence fell between them, pregnant with hints and possibilities of what could be. She cleared her throat, but no words were forthcoming; she really was at a loss. On the one hand, she couldn't help but be curious of what could happen were she to accept the job he was offering. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just put on the clothes, strike a pose, have her picture taken, walk down the runway. And then done. It was a job, hopefully one that would pay better than her other current jobs. This would really be for Serah anyway.
And, well...to work with this guy Hope wouldn't really be a bad thing. He seemed nice, after all. And nothing had to happen between them. Not that she was entertaining any thoughts along that matter. Who had time for that anyway?
"So, um..." He scratched the back of his head. "Why don't you think the offer over?"
She shrugged, giving off an air of nonchalance. "I supposed it wouldn't hurt to consider it."
A smile stretched on his lips, and the flush that suffused his cheeks seemed to spread to his ears. "Would you be willing to consider it over coffee?"
To her mortification-that she immediately brushed off as though nothing had happened-her stomach chose that moment to growl for attention.
He chuckled. "Or lunch?"
Her lips pursed as she eyed him, telling herself that those puppy dog eyes of his certainly weren't getting to her. No sirree.
"My treat, since I asked."
On the other hand, to turn down an offer of food...
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" countered Claire as she made a show of checking her watch. "You're obviously late for an appointment, and it looks like I've been keeping you."
A funny little smile lingered on his lips. "Well, if you say yes, I might show you a way I can get around that."
She fought so hard not to reply with an almost playful tone. She SO WAS NOT flirting with him. She just did not do that kind of thing. But it seemed she couldn't help peering at him from beneath her lashes and quipping, "Don't tell me you lied about bringing your teleporter."
Hope threw his head back as he laughed. "Maybe I got something better." He wiggled his eyebrows, patting the bags slung over his arm. "Do you trust me?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You don't even know my name."
"Well, you don't seem comfortable enough to give it." He bit his lip, eyeing the pendant at the base of her neck. "For now, would it be alright to call you Miss Lightning?"
She resisted the urge to touch said pendant. "I suppose just Lightning will do fine."
This is good, isn't it? He doesn't know my name, therefore no strings attached. No commitment expected.
"So is that a yes to lunch? After delivering these, of course. Would that be fine with you?"
And here it is, she thought. Yes or no? Claire would say no. But Lightning...what would she say?
==================================================
next chapter