Daear woke somewhere around noon, and moved quickly to the shower. The room was the cheapest she could get with a shower as part of the package, and as such it wasn't all that bad a place. She'd spent quite a lot of time last night washing the monster and thug-blood out of her clothes, and by now they should be dry.

Now it was her turn. Scooping her cleaned clothes up carefully, she deposited them on the bed and proceeded to get herself properly clean.

She could become a power in Deling by only two routes; one was to put the public officials in debt to her, and one was to rise in the ranks of the city's underworld.

It didn't require much forethought to know how her father would react badly to her taking the latter path, so she would take the former. And to move in those circles, she couldn't reveal her nature. Her plain clothes suited her figure well, but they weren't the sort to proclaim her power to the populace at large. No one ever took an official seriously who dressed casually. No, she only needed them to be clean long enough for her to get to an upscale clothier - where she could acquire the wardrobe to make people believe she had power even if she had none. Yet.

The plan was a simple one, but Daear had faith it would work. Her father was well remembered in certain circles as the most beautiful man in the Gardens, and she had inherited every bit of that beauty. Politicians were only human, after all; if she put herself where they could see her, chances were good that they'd pay attention. Perhaps think to buy a night with her in exchange for some 'favor' or other.

That reminds me - better remember to buy a pocket recorder first, before the clothes. I'll need to know how big it is before I can know how best to hide it.

Daear had fully inherited her father's dislike of bodily contact - she certainly wasn't going to sell her body to some slobbering, overweight politician. Besides, such transactions almost always backfired. No...she was planning on recording the requests, and then using them as blackmail. The nice thing about that would be the light it would cast her in if she did have to release the tapes to the media. When she wanted to, Daear could look terribly innocent and pure - and since she was physically only fifteen, there was a decent chance she could get a statutory rape charge added to whatever else her target heaped on himself.

Of course...she'd have to appear in court to make the charges stick. And there was always a media circus around political arrests - Deling City was never surprised that its politicians were corrupt, it was more a case of using their getting caught as live entertainment. She couldn't risk a television appearance - that would get Seifer after her.

On the other hand, the only one who knew that was her. They wouldn't know that it was a bluff. Daear turned the faucet off, wrapped one towel around her body and another around her hair, and dripped her way to the room's table, whereon rested a telephone and a phone book.

Media agencies...media agencies...reporters always have contacts and they'd just love to break another bureaucrat. She flipped to 'Television Stations' and began copying addresses down on the table's notepad. She'd need information before she chose her target; reporters would be the most likely to know what she'd need to know. Perhaps she might even work for one for a while, long enough to get a feel for the city. It wasn't as though she had to fear the usual things reporters feared. She had no family a mob could threaten, and it wasn't as though she had to fear rape or kidnaping. Being shot was a danger only if a sniper was used, and even there her power would heal her from wounds that might kill an ungifted person. Any sniper would have to be a very good shot to kill her - a shot directly to the brain or heart, or right through a major artery.

Addresses duly copied, Daear settled herself in a chair and turned on the television. She could get an idea of the local scene while her hair dried.

"...cal news today, General Caraway of Sorceress War fame appeared at a luncheon to benefit war orphans. The luncheon raised 23,000 Gil for the Sorceress War Orphan Recovery Fund, which has as its charter an intent to recover information of children rendered homeless or orphaned by the late Sorceress Adel's raids into Galbadia for a successor. It is estimated that as many as five thousand residents of the city may have lost family members due to the raids, along with any forms of identification which might lead to recovery of lost assets or properties..."

That held possibilities, but not directly. The only such orphan she knew was Ellone, who lived in Winhill now and not Galbadia...hm. It was possible she might be able to claim any properties Ellone's family might have owned, but not without revealing her connection to the woman. Daear shook her head. Too risky.

Then it occurred to her to wonder why they were working on a fund for Sorceress War orphans, when most such orphans were at the very least forty or so years old now. She filed that away under Things To Investigate.

"...Secretary of Labor Tammy Felian was arrested today on charges of embezzlement and money laundering. Bond was set at 40,000 Gil, and we're still working on bringing you the trial date..."

Felian, hm? Her father was very close-mouthed on the circumstances of her birth and those of her siblings, but Zell had once let the name Felian slip. Daear tapped her lip thoughtfully with one finger. Like the others, Daear harbored a degree of curiosity about her origins. That Squall was her father was not in any doubt - she couldn't be anyone else's, not with her hair and eyes and face. That he was Taran's father, or Nodwydd's father, was also not the least bit in doubt. Just as only Squall could be Taran's father, Laguna could only be Nodwydd's grandfather.

Gwynt and the twins...well, there was wiggle room there, if you wanted to argue, but none of them particularly wanted to. Rumor held that there were paternity tests on record at Garden, but none of the Pride had wanted to be the first to approach Irvine about it.

Daear had a quick mind, and a propensity for asking the questions everyone else was willing to let lie. The question that currently occupied her mind was simply - how had she come to be? Her father was practically joined to Rinoa at the hip, and yet not one of the Pride could truly call Rinoa 'mother'. All of their birthdays were within weeks of each other - between March and May of the year after Griever had come into being. Had any of them managed to be carried to term, it was entirely possible their birthdays would have been within days of each other instead of weeks.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that for all the Pride to be Squall's, some serious and literal screwing around had to have taken place. It did not raise Rinoa in Daear's estimation that she didn't seem to see anything wrong with this. Had a boyfriend of Daear's fooled around to the extent Squall would have needed to, she would quite happily have crunched the little sod into a bloody pile of goo no larger than a tennis ball.

Daear wasn't suicidal enough to ask her father about it directly, though. She'd seen the look on his face the day Soares Detmer died. That was a SeeD's expression - cold and calculating, and ruthless. She knew herself to be willing to do whatever was needed to accomplish her goals. Again, it didn't take a genius to think perhaps she might have inherited that from her father.

No...she couldn't ask her father, and she wouldn't ask Irvine - who had an even worse reputation for screwing around before he'd married Selphie. But this Tammy Felian, so conveniently in jail...there was a trail here that would lead to answers.

It would at least provide a beginning for her fact-finding. Daear began running a brush through her now-dry hair - getting it in order for her afternoon. She pulled on her jeans and boots, tugged the tank top over her head. She'd have to sleep here again tonight - no good going to job interviews with all your worldly goods in a sack at your feet. She might have worried about applying for a job in casual clothing, except that if her interviewer was male she was reasonably sure he wouldn't mind a bit.

A job in reporting seemed the perfect way to begin. She'd have an excuse to ask odd questions of just about everyone, and even if she printed the truth...in this town, no one would believe it. She'd learn the rules written and unwritten, who the players were and which side they were playing on.

The fact that she would also probably hear almost immediately about any SeeDs in town would be an added bonus. She frowned; SeeD probably had contacts in Deling City. It would be ridiculous not to. She would have to be very very careful until she learned who they were, and whether she could transfer their loyalty to herself. SeeD were the best in the world, and Zell and her father had not seen fit to educate her in their espionage tactics. She'd have to learn fast, or run afoul of Seifer before she was properly entrenched in her position here.

She grabbed the notepad with the addresses of local news agencies on it, and strode out of the room - locking it behind her. It was time to set plans into motion.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Do you have any experience?" asked the man, and as far as Daear could see he wasn't intending to pun.

"No sir," she said demurely, to answer all possible meanings of the question. "However, I am not afraid to work hard or get my hands dirty, and I learn quickly. I'll take whatever pay you can give me."

"That so," mused the editor thoughtfully. "Tell you what - I'll give you a trial run, drop you in the deep end for a week. We'll see what your skills are. I'll cover your room and board for that week, but no paycheck - you're a trainee. Deal?"

Daear covered her rising ire by lowering her eyelids demurely; it would do no good for this idiot to see the yellow-gold of her temper. "Of course, sir," she said pleasantly. "That will be fine. When do I start?"

"I'll drop you on the uptown beat today, break you in gently. What did you say your name was?"

"Dara," said Daear.

"Right. Well, your partner is Mark. He's the redhead at the end of the row, third cubicle on the left. If he's not in, wait there for him."

"Yes sir," said Daear politely, and moved to obey. She was beginning to get hungry. Perhaps this Mark could be persuaded to buy her lunch or something.

Mark turned out to be a redheaded guy in his thirties, with an eidetic memory and a non-stop mouth. Daear followed him around town quietly, observing everything, listening to everything. The 'uptown' beat meant the upper strata of society, it seemed - the editor wanted to find out how dedicated she might be to 'printing the truth'.

The answer, as Mark quickly found, was 'not very'. Her stated reason was that she needed to have a steady income, and didn't want to 'rock the boat'. The real reason was simply that if she didn't publish it now, that left her the option of publishing it later - after, perhaps, a request for a favor was refused.

Not, of course, in the Deling Times. But anonymously, on her own, on flyers or faxes. But that would wait. First she needed to know about the newspapermen and editors she worked with. Who was in whose pocket, and for how much and for how long? Not only was such information vital if she wanted to stay out of Seifer's hands, it would also guarantee her future employment.

She gave very little of her intentions away to Mark. She let him think she was a little overawed by the size of Deling City, but determined to do her best - the model rookie reporter. And all the while, as they covered their part of town, checking contacts and watching for anything interesting, she jotted down little notes in her notebook for future reference. She wasn't going to stay a reporter, she knew that - but some of these techniques would be transferable. At the end of the day, Mark seemed impressed by her energy - she wasn't winded at all, though they'd covered several miles on foot. He treated her to dinner, which she didn't mind in the least, and then took off for his home. Since he told her when to show up the next day, she could only assume she'd passed the first test.

Once off of work, she went looking for apartments. Something on the ground floor would be nice - she wasn't particularly worried about someone breaking in. She filled out several applications before the offices closed.

Drat. Too late for clothes shopping today - she would have to do that tomorrow. She got back to her hotel room and noted that the 'message' light on her pad was flashing. More 'we're still here' messages from the others, no doubt. She wished that she didn't have to keep track of them - they were, one and all, royal pains in the rear to deal with - but if one should disappear, it would shortly spell disaster for herself. It was probably best to think of them as early warning devices of Seifer's interest and activities. She cycled through them and fired off a few comments of her own, just to let them know she was still around. Mostly needling the others, though - no actual news. She didn't trust Irvine to not rat to Seifer if something was up, particularly in Irvine's own home town.

That done, she checked the clock. The stores were closed, but she only needed perhaps four hours of sleep. What else to do with her night?

Night clubs. She could go to a night club, and see whether her day roaming the high-class districts netted her any familiar faces she could cultivate. And after, she could go thug-hunting for cash. That should easily keep her busy until two in the morning. She checked over her hair and made sure it looked good - long chestnut hair only shone when it lacked a significant number of tangles - and set out.

Time to take the bull by the horns.

* * * * * * * *

The Talon was supposed to be an upscale, exclusive night club - but such places always made exceptions for pretty young girls who were willing to serve as eye candy on the dance floor, and as such Daear got in easily. Like all the Pride she had a good sense of rhythm and beat, so she was able to devise a dance in short order that caught the eyes of every male near her. That was the idea; draw their eyes to her, so that no matter their power or position they would seek her out, and save her the trouble. Of course, it helped that she'd had several years of martial arts instruction under Zell - it made her considerably more flexible than the average person. The positively wonderful thing about solo dancing was that no one touched her - as close as they were, no one touched her.

Of course, such places are crowded, and she was busy attracting attention rather than watching the room, so the presence of certain guests eluded her.

Selphie's pager began to vibrate, so she headed back to the bar. The noise here was such that had it beeped she would not have noticed it - and it was only Irvine in any case, attracting her attention without attracting other people's as well. She ordered a daiquiri to quench her thirst - though she loved the atmosphere, it was harder keeping up with the music than it used to be, even as fit as SeeDs kept themselves.

"What's up, Irvy?" she asked. "Did we get called off vacation again?"

Irvine pulled out the earplugs he stoutly maintained preserved his sanity in such establishments, and shook his head. "Sefie hon, look over by the cages."

Selphie did, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my goodness," she blinked in surprise. "Tell me that isn't -"

"It is, Sef," confirmed Irvine. "I should know, I saw her only a few weeks ago in the plains."

"But Squall isn't an exhibitionist," said Selphie. "I mean, I used to wish he was, but he isn't. What's she doing up there?"

Irvine shrugged. "Well, if it weren't Squall's daughter, I'd say posing for the slut-of-the-month centerfold. As it is, I'm not really sure."

Selphie laughed. "You can't be serious."

He sighed. "I wish I wasn't, Sef. Those kids are supposed to be in hiding, not showing off cleavage - nice cleavage though it happens to be. I thought Daear had more sense than this."

Selphie sipped at her daiquiri and watched Daear dancing. She was certainly very flexible, had to give her that. "She's doing it on purpose," she said at last. "Look at what she's doing - not how she's doing it."

"Huh?" asked Irvine, brows scrunching - but at a pointed gesture from Selphie tried to work out what she was talking about. Once he pulled his eyes away from the skin Daear was showing, it was obvious - Daear was working on specifically attracting certain men's attention. "Oh, Hyne," he muttered. "She just doesn't give up, does she?"

"Any word from Griever on what we should do about this?" asked Selphie.

Irvine closed his eyes, then winced. "One guess," he said, and Selphie grinned.

"Squall's not happy, huh?" she laughed.

"That's putting it mildly," grumbled Irvine. "But he doesn't want us to interfere for the present. Wants her to weave her own hanging rope."

"Why?" asked Selphie. "If Seifer takes a vacation here he's sure to run into her if she keeps up like that. And then he can get the other five."

Irvine looked sullen. "Squall wants her to screw up first. He's only got two modes with them, he can either see them as his kids or as a threat. He wants to wait for her to cross the line, I think. Prove she's a threat, so he can take her out."

Selphie sighed, and made a face at her mostly watery daiquiri. "Sometimes I don't like Squall very much," she said. "To plan on killing his own kids..."

Irvine put an arm around her shoulders, began leading her out of the club. "Trust me, Sef. The only one of his kids that seems determined to get herself killed is the one on that dance floor. And I've been around the girl enough to know that if he takes her out she deserves it. I'll set my network here to watching her. We'll know if she tries anything big."

"Do you know where the others are, too?" asked Selphie. "Could we drop in maybe, let me meet them? Daear just seems so..." she shrugged. "I don't know. Squall was no exhibitionist but somehow she's like him."

"The part we don't like, maybe," said Irvine. "Yeah, we can go visit Noddy, I think. And see Zell's kid. You'd like them, assuming Bella lets us get within arm's reach." He leaned in close as they exited onto the cool night street. "So when we gonna try for kids of our own, Sefie?"

Selphie hugged her husband back. "Whenever you're ready, cowboy," she murmured.