• Sara loved riding the ferry. Sure, it only went across the river and back, and it was the dirty Mississippi (the boat wasn't much cleaner, either), but it was free, and a great (well, moderately not-boring) way to waste a half an hour.

    That wasn't why she loved it. She liked the light, calming breeze on the deck, the soft slapping sounds of grimy water coming up onto the ferry, the peacefulness of everyone sitting down, ready to go home after a long day of work. It was one of the few places she felt she could relax.

    And it was free.

    She smiled, her arms resting on the cracked white painted railings as she watched the other shore slowly come closer. On deck, many people had parked their cars, but there was still space to stand and walk around. It was a really simple, slightly unattractive ferry, not like the lavish steamboats that people thought of when they heard 'New Orleans' and 'ferry' in the same sentence. Sara hadn't lived in New Orleans long (technically, she didn't even live in the city; she lived on the West bank, in Marrero), but she loved it better than any other place she'd been. Everything was just so alive. People were passionate about everything; food, music, beliefs, hobbies... some people, when they died, even had a 'jazz funeral', where members of their friends and family carried the casket down the street, singing and dancing and playing jazz music, more like a parade than mourning the passing of a loved one. Everybody in New Orleans just wanted to live.

    Maybe Sara appreciated that more than most because she hadn't moved there as much as she had escaped there. She'd run away from an inattentive parent, a horrible school life, and the suicide of her younger twin sister, to live in the city with a friend. It was hard at first, but now she had a decent job, her own apartment, and a sense of self-worth.

    The ferry jolted, and Sara sighed. They were docking. It was time to go home, stop thinking about where she'd been, and focus on where she was now.

    --

    "The Pub again?" Sara groaned into the phone, as she tried to pull her skirt up with one hand. It was Saturday night; time to go out and enjoy the nightlife while she didn't have to wake up early to go to work. Sunday was her only day off, aside from some holidays.

    The Pub was what she called the bar she usually hung out at. It was primarily a gay bar, but there were occasionally straight women there, and there was Dyke Night. Until a couple of months ago, one of their friends had worked there. He'd quit, because he was tired of gay guys hitting on him all of the time.

    "Well, yeah," Renee replied, as if it were the only place they could go. Even though it was their usual hangout, Sara did, sometimes, tire of it. She never told Renee that, though, because Renee firmly believed that the Pub was the best bar in the Quarter. "It's the only place that lets me dance on the bar like a slut."

    Sara chuckled. "No, it's the only place that lets you dance on the bar with your top on," she corrected.

    "Oh, touché," Renee agreed.

    "Listen, Nee, I gotta go," she told her. "This ******** skirt won't stay up."

    "Lose some weight, fatty," Renee joked.

    "So mean," Sara pouted. "I'll see you in about an hour, okay?" she told her.

    "Yeah, yeah. Bye."

    Sara hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed. She pulled up the skirt again, holding it at her waist with one hand, and zipping it up with the other. It stayed in place, and she smoothed out the dark red, almost brown, fabric, the color of cooling blood on the bathroom tile...

    Sara suddenly gagged, and shook her head feverishly, trying to get the image out of her mind before tears began to well in her eyes. Sometimes, it worked, and sometimes, Sara had to redo her makeup because she saw the color red.

    This time, it worked. She had safely averted a bout of lonely tears, and she thought that maybe it was getting easier.

    She looked down at the skirt again, refusing to think anymore about it. It barely reached her knees, and even then, there was a slight up the left side to show off her legs even more. It was a tad short, and really, why did she need to wear it to a gay bar? Renee was just going to wear jeans...

    She didn't change out of it. She liked being dressed up, and maybe if she went out and had fun while wearing something red, she might stop always relating it to blood. It was just a color...

    Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. She went to the closet to look for a red shirt to go with it, and found a short sleeved button down. She grabbed it, nearly ripping it from its hanger, slipped it on, and buttoned it up, leaving it untucked. It looked good, surprisingly so. But Sara had never before thought to try this method of self-therapy. It complemented her even, slightly olive skin tone, her gently curled, dark brown hair, and jade green eyes. She wished that she had red heels to match it, but she'd just have to settle for one of the many pairs of black pumps in her closet.

    She fixed the skirt one more time, to make sure the slit was aligned with her leg properly, then did a turn for the mirror, smiling. How could she ever have been afraid of a color she looked this good in?

    --

    At night, reflecting the lights from the city and the toll bridge, the Mississippi looked almost pretty, Sara thought, passing over it on the way to the Pub, in her car.

    The bridge itself was still nicer. It was made of concrete and metal bars that went high overhead, intersecting, and its legs stood proudly out of the water. It curved slightly, almost like the Golden Gate. What was coolest about it, though, was the way the bars looked distorted if you watched them as you drove, because you could see them all through the gaps.

    She'd seen it before, so it didn't hold her attention for very long. Her right hand moved to the radio, flipping the dial and changing the station. Most of them were country, and it was hard to find a rock station unless it belonged to a college.

    She sighed, and turned it off. She'd be at the Pub soon, anyway. They had good music there.

    --

    The bouncer at the door was checking IDs, which meant that business was about to pick up. Sara had gotten there just in time.

    "Heeey, you don't need that," the bouncer told her as she started reaching into her purse. "Renee's already at the bar. Just go inside," he said.

    "Thanks!" She skipped past him, into the Pub.

    It was sparsely furnished, with the basic bar and stools and giant shelves of liquor, a few beat up tables and sets of nicked chairs. The only important feature was the patio; where hormonal gays could dry hump under the French Quarter's starry night sky. People didn't come for the 'atmosphere', anyway; they came to party.

    "Sara!" Renee called to her. Already, the music was loud enough to drown out her friend's voice.

    Sara walked up to her, the tapping of her heels against the hardwood floors most definitely not heard. "Hey. How long have you been waiting?" she asked, hoping that it wasn't long.

    Renee shrugged. She was such a rock star, and it made Sara a little jealous. Right now, her straight blond hair had been gelled and mussed up for that wind-blown look, her stonewashed jeans were ripped at the knees and frayed badly at the hems, her white A-shirt was probably stolen from an ex-boyfriend and was just a little baggy, but also just see-through enough for a guy to know that she was wearing a black bra. Heavy black eye-liner and mascara, and beat up blue converse high tops gave her a sexy, boyish look, and she seemed to fit in perfectly at the Pub.

    "Only 'bout five minutes. What took you?" she asked.

    "Sorry, sorry... Traffic was bad on Poydras again," Sara replied.

    Renee nodded; during the day, she worked at a sushi bar on Poydras Street. A few celebrities had eaten there, and the owner had their autographs and pictures framed. "Ready to get blitzed?" she asked.

    Sara nodded. "Hell yeah!"

    "Bartender. Cranberry and vodka, hold the cranberry, and a Stoli blackberry and Sprite, hold the Sprite," Renee said, winking to Sara. Sara giggled; just like a true punk rock star, some of the smooth jokes that Renee used just came off as cute and dorky.

    The bartender set two shot glasses full of clear liquid down in front of them. Renee knocked hers back like a pro, not a single drop of alcohol touching her tongue. Sara wasn't as good at it, which was why she got something that tasted fruity. It warmed as it went down and left a pleasant blackberry taste in her mouth.

    They slammed the shot glasses down at the same time, grinning at each other.

    Tonight was going to be good.

    In twenty minutes, the place was packed with writhing, half-drunk bodies (ninety-five percent of them male), pouring out onto the patio, making it impossible to navigate a way back to the bar.

    "Hang on a sec," Renee yelled, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sara to try to head bang, mosh, or dance (or a strange combination of the three), by herself.

    The screaming vocals and frantic guitar where suddenly replaced by mid-tempo piano. For a moment, the entire bar was confused. Then, electric bass joined it, and a few notes later, upbeat guitar, and it sounded like rock. New screaming vocals jumped in, and then faded into something understandable.

    Something about a girl in a red dress...

    A few people around her looked at her and chuckled, but Sara was still confused.

    Someone grabbed her hand, and she jumped. Then she laughed; it was only Renee.

    "Come on, let's go up on the bar!" she urged, turning her around and pushing her towards it.

    The vocalist bellowed, the drums pounded a beat into the heart of every person in the crowd.

    They reached the bartender, and as he and Renee helped her up onto the bar, what Renee had done finally broke through her foggy inebriation; this song was about a girl in a red dress, and she was wearing one!

    "You're so stupid!" she shouted at Renee, before realizing that was she was the teapot calling the kettle black.

    "I know, but it got you up onto the bar, didn't it?" she replied with a wink.

    With the crowd of boisterous, drunk gays cheering for them, Sara decided to live a little.


    --

    Sara rolled over, but didn't move as far as she had sleepily expected. Her back and sides kept hitting something soft, but firm. She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion for a moment as the sounds of two people fighting and the sight of bright sunlight reached her.

    She was on a couch... but she wasn't sure how she had gotten there.

    "Figures. As soon as I start winning, you counter whore," Renee accused, her eyes focused on the television screen, her fingers tapping the buttons and sliding across the D-pad rapidly.

    Her boyfriend chuckled. "You wanted to play this game. If you don't like counters, don't play a game with them," he replied evenly.

    "Yeah, but as soon as I start winning, you stop playing, and just start mashing back plus X. That's not fun," she retorted, glaring at him for a moment, as the game announced that he was the winner, and showed the score as 9 wins to 3, his favor.

    Sara sat up and looked at them. She felt a little lost in their video-game mid-play conversation. The way they spoke about it, with quarter circles and x plus square, sounded like calculus to her most of the time. She had never gotten past Geometry in high school. "Uh... good morning," she said.

    "Oh, hey! You're awake!" Renee said happily, turning to look at her. "We weren't too loud, were we?" she asked, flushing a little.

    Sara shook her head. "Nope. You guys were fine," she answered. "What're you playing?" she asked.

    "Dead or Alive 2 Ultimate," Renee told her. "But he's being an a*****e about it," she added, nodding her head towards her boyfriend.

    "Whatever," he said apathetically, switching off the Xbox.

    "Why don't you guys just play the third game?" she asked them.

    "Becaaaaause," Renee began, standing up and moving to sit next to her on the couch, "that one's even worse about the counters. That and it's basically, 'Ninjas only, cool characters forbidden'," she finished.

    "Yeah... maybe," Sara agreed. She really had no idea. She hardly recognized anything they played at all, let alone characters.

    "So, how'd you sleep?" Renee asked.

    Sara shrugged. "Okay, I guess. What happened last night?" she asked.

    Renee giggled. "Well... you got really, really dizzy while we were dancing on the bar, so some of the guys helped you down, and then, you had a few more drinks... you said you were sleepy, so I decided it was time for us to go home. You fell asleep in the car, so I woke you up, and you passed out on the couch as soon as we got inside," she explained.

    "Oh... yeah, sorry about that," Sara apologized.

    Renee shook her head. "No, it's no biggie. You hardly ever spend the night anymore, so it's cool."

    Renee's boyfriend began to unplug the Xbox and hook up the PS2. He put in Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike, and turned it on. "Hey!" Renee said loudly. "That's not cool! We don't play Third Strike! Rude much?!"

    He ignored her, and Sara only giggled as he began to practice playing Makoto.

    "Hey, why haven't you guys gotten an Xbox 360 yet, anyway?" Sara asked suddenly.

    They both snorted, and Renee answered, "Because it's a piece of s**t that Microsoft put into a shiny box and said was worth three hundred bucks. Those things break all the time, and then you have to send them into Microsoft, lose all of the data saved on the hard drive, just to have it break again as soon as the warranty runs out."

    Sara chuckled. She was glad that she wasn't as interested in anything as much as Renee and her boyfriend were interested in video games. She would hate to be that obsessed with anything, let alone anything that dorky.

    "But, yeah, you want some bre-- OW!" Renee shouted reaching towards the floor and grabbing something, frowning. She pulled up a kitten with tortoise-shell fur, very mottled brown, black, gray and white. It mewed at her, swiping its little kitten paws towards her face.

    "Leon, you stop that. Go play with your sister, Mi-Na," Renee told the kitten, setting him on the floor. Not a moment later, then was a scratching, ripping sound, and Leon climbed onto the couch cushions, pawing at Sara's hands.

    "Leon and Mi-Na?" Sara asked, unaware that her friend had gotten new pets recently. She raised a brow.

    Renee nodded happily. "Yup! Leon S. Kennedy, and Seong Mi-Na. Leon and Mi-Na, for short. They both came from the same litter," she explained, then began calling for the other kitten. "Mi-Na! Mi-Na baby, where are you?"

    Another kitten came scrambling into the living room, barely steady on its legs, almost sliding across the waxed, hardwood floors. She was gray, black and white tiger-striped.
    "How'd you come up with those names?" Sara asked, wagging her hand at Leon. He jumped up, swiped at it, and then rolled over onto his tummy. Sara began to scratch it. He wrapped his paws around her wrist and gnawed on her thumb gently.

    "Leon S. Kennedy is the main character of Resident Evil 2 and 4, and Seong Mi-Na is a character from Soul Calibur. She's in every single game," Renee said proudly.

    Sara gave her a funny look. "You do realize that there is something wrong with naming your kittens after your hobby, right...?" she asked them.

    Renee blinked. "What do you mean?"

    "You don't see golfers naming their dogs birdie and eagle," Sara quipped.

    "Not true. I've heard of dogs being named Birdie," Renee's boyfriend piped in.

    "I've heard of people being named Birdie and Eagle, too," Renee added.

    "And you say you don't like Street Fighter," her boyfriend muttered.

    Sara and Renee looked at each other, and then both picked up pillows and threw them at him. Makoto got hit by the Aegis Reflector and let out a death scream. KO.