Disclaimers: All mine, steal and I hurt you…

Author's Note: Kind of a weird idea that has been with me for a while, therefore it is my baby kind of inspired by my love of Laurell K. Hamilton and my disgust at the lack of good lesbian fiction readily available without leaving the realms of good taste. You rare shining exceptions know who you are and hopefully this story will be one of them. Updates might not be as frequent as you or I might like so I apologize for that in advance. :]

Mother and Father were as aloof as they could be from Linea without becoming utter strangers. Still, she strove for their minute affections, administered like steps in a recipe. The result might have been all that mattered, but Linea comforted herself with her own company.

She would run in the garden searching for fairies or hide in the attic next to her mother's old doll house talking to dolls and to pictures on the walls. If she had been asked-and indeed and she was- as to whether she was lonely or not, she would shake her head.

She was shy, pale and altogether lovely in the way that all girls are when they are young. In her flushed cheeks and the manner in which she carried herself, there was subtle evidence of the woman she would become. Perhaps it was her belief in all things 'absurd' that gave her a supernatural quality or simple her 'overactive imagination.'

Whatever attention she scrounged off her parents was enough to stave off the hunger she had for their company and more often than not, an obvious reminder of why she sought her own company.

Her parents were solitary as spiders except for the rare extravagant social soirees they had at their large house Her father's web was upstairs in the wing reserved for his business. Linea knew little of it other than that he owned the school she would one day attend.

Her mother's web was harder to find, for it moved depending on the season. More often than not, it was outside in her garden, her flowers that she loved more than her own child though Linea was too young to hold a grudge with orchids and tiger lilies.

And that was how she grew up in isolation that only hermits would have envied.

It was that isolation that had made her rebel against everything her parents wanted for her. Position or no position, potential or no potential, allowing Linea to attended his prestigious university was an endless source of embarrassment for her father. She had gone to a two-year college graduated with a degree in something, but she could barely remember it ever been of any use to recall exactly what it was for.

Linea had a hard enough time coming to terms with all the fairies that had never shown up, her life that had no chance of ending happily, of the magic that also had never bothered to come to her. As much as she tried to hide it, she did retain the beauty that had begun to manifest when she was a child.

It served its uses though. It had gotten her an almost decent job at a nightclub where sometimes she was allowed to sing. Singing is what she had wanted to do. It was all she could do, the one dream she hadn't given up on.

She remained mostly a loner more out of habit than actual longing for solitude. Her companions were the same old dolls from childhood and the keyboard she allowed her parents to buy her for her birthday. She still saw them on rare occasions when they celebrated her birthday or their anniversary even though they had become strangers.

She felt sad accepting gifts or money from them and even sadder when she gave gifts to them. Her mother was more a personification of anger than a woman; her father was more of a shadow than a man. They were both more likely to sprout wings than develop paternal instincts.

Her life was going nowhere and so was everything else. She knew that and thought that as she applied her eyeliner and half-heartedly fixed her black wavy hair. Singing was the one lifeboat left and she was pushing everyone out of her way to get onto it.

She had a weird feeling as she got onto the stage. She had them. Weird feelings, flashes of insight on people, but like all her other gifts, it was irrelevant and nothing would come of it. She tried to block out the chill on the back of her neck and the crawling sensation that came from being intently watched by something.

No.

Someone.

It was through the cigarette smoke that littered the place, past the gaggles of girls desperately waiting for a miracle. It reflected in the sunglasses of someone unknown, which came as no great surprise. So, some woman in mirrored sunglasses might be staring at her. Infinitesimal proof that her 'weird feeling' didn't mean anything whatsoever.

When this was over, she'd have to go face her parents so she had to use this moment while it lasted. She would have a moment to mean something, if only to herself.

She scanned the crowd one more time with her soft brown eyes, picked up the microphone and began to sing.

After the singing and the slight applause, which came mostly from the creepy woman in the back and some of the drunk girls in front, Linea left the stage and got ready to meet her parents. The dressing room that everyone used was vacant, so she simply slid out of her low-cut dress and into a less revealing skirt and white peasant shirt.

Regardless of the less-than-staggering reception of her singing, she felt better having sung. She glanced at her face in the mirror and wiped off the remains of 'seashell pink' lipstick before throwing on her coat.

The walk was uneventful. Cold, but uneventful. There was a bus, but she didn't mind delaying the visit for as long as possible even if she had gotten off work early to go. Though when she realized she had spent about fifteen minutes on one block that she decided that focusing on something else would be good. So she thought about her singing that made her recall the woman who had continued to stare at her.

Hopefully it meant nothing. She might have forgotten the incident already if she had been able to see the woman's eyes.

And there it was. The "quaint" Italian restaurant her mother liked so much. Linea felt guilty for liking it herself. She had spent a good portion of her life working to be nothing remotely like her mother. She even went out of her way to avoid people that remotely reminded her of her mother and she felt that this decision had always served her well.

Her parents were waiting inside. Linea and her father exchanged courtesies stiffly and formally like dukes at a tea party for the Queen Mother. Linea's mother greeted her with a superficial shower of affection, the Queen Mother entertaining her unwilling guest.

Then they found a table and next came the obligatory reports of Linea's current affairs followed by the even more obligatory gift of money and some other trinket, in this case, a sweater. A nice cashmere sweater. Linea tried not to appear suspicious despite the warning sign. A serious talk was on its way.

The attack was launched shortly after the arrival of dinner.

"How long do you plan on doing this?"

Linea swallowed her forkful of lasagna and attempted to avoid the question. "Until I'm done eating?"

A snort from her father, which for him was the closest thing to a laugh.

Her mother scowled. "I meant your ridiculous rebellion, Linea."

She set her fork down. "I thought we agreed not to talk about this."

"That was when I thought you were going to give it up."

"I like what I'm doing. The night—"

"It's a waste of your talents, Linea."

What talents? Linea glanced at her father who merely shrugged and went back to chewing his spaghetti like a cow in a meadow.

"Your father and I are disappointed."

Funny, Linea would have sworn that a cow would have been more disappointed than her father. She drummed her fingers on her thigh and sighed.

"And you have nothing to say?"

"No."

"You can't even have a conversation with your own mother?"

"A conversation, yes. A verbal assault, no."

"You can't expect for us to accept the idea that my only daughter works in a nightclub!"

Only her mother could have packed so much loathing in one word. Linea was rather amused that she was whispering.

"Would you be less embarrassed if it was a strip joint?"

Her father paused mid-chew and her mother gave her a withering look. "I can see talking to you is pointless."

"So we're done then? Can I go back to eating?"

"How can you just eat and ignore me?"

"Father seems to be doing a fine job of it," Linsa observed, removing the napkin from her lap and pushing her chair back from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I'm not very hungry anymore."

She scooped up the box of sweater and check before looking at her parents.

"Thank you for trying."

She didn't think they'd note her sarcasm.

She turned on her heel and walked to the front of the restaurant. She was really not in the mood for another bi-monthly screaming match. She felt rather mature as she flung wide the door and walked outside.

From now on, she'd call her father at work if she ever wanted to speak to him. At least with him she would only get a free meal, money without any conversation involved. She could count on her parents not to follow her outside so there went the free ride home. Dignity had nothing to do with Linea meeting with her parents.

She stopped on the corner and looked for a bus stop. She wasn't walking home with a cashmere sweater and substantial amount of money.

She turned and walked down the block still looking for a bus stop. She should have thought better of wearing heels when meeting her parents.

And then she saw it, almost aglow like a beacon of hope for the lazy: a bus stop.

She looked quickly to see if any car was making its way down the deserted street. No car. She moved to cross but a hand that was suddenly around her waist stopped her.

"We need to talk."

tbc

Love me or hate me, but spare me your apathy? :]