A little information: This story is connected to my other story The Eyes Of The Green Mile and IS going to be related to Beyond The Victory, and Thunder. I call this trio of stories, Victory's Legacy due to that fact that every Original Character's name means Victory and some accomplishments are fulfilled.

Plot: This story is a little odd because the Main Character, Vita II has made a promise to a fourteen year old Claude to get married once he's old enough. (There is no pedophilia activity whatsoever in this story.) 'Zeta' meets Tommy after hearing about him from Forelli. Aliases are present. This story takes place in Vice City, 1986. I figured that this story may be 8 chapters long.

Enjoy or loathe.

This is for my best friend Lili, I love you, and keep writing, and don't you ever give up, you'll find a cure for Writers' Block.
You've always inspired me in some way. I love ya to pieces.


Tommy Vercetti? Zeta thought. Why does that name seem familiar? She lain back into the dark chocolate leather chair touching the wall, opposite the open windows in Ken Rosenberg's office, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. Cloudless skies. The office was bedecked to Rosie's liking; Zeta was the only one who considered Rosie could suit as an interior decorator as well as a legal representative.

"Hey Vi—erm, Zeta, You wanna come with me and pick up Tommy and the guys from the Escobar Airport?"

She looked to Rosie, and shook her head.

"You sure? You might find Tommy delightful or something! You need a better boyfriend…n-no offence."
"I'm fine, Rosie, you and Claude, is all I need. No offence taken, besides I have a fiancée: Claude."
Rosie detached himself from his chair, went about his imitate mahogany desk and tapped Zeta on her shoulder.
"Alright, I'll be back in a few minutes." Rosie turned and paused at the door.
"Are you sure you're going to wait for Claude? He's only fourteen."
"Da. And anyways, he's coming to Vice City tomorrow."

Rosie smiled at her and strolled out of the office. Zeta rose from her chair and gazed out the second floor window of the office, observing Rosie driving absent in his ashen Admiral.

Meandered off into southwestern edge of Washington Beach, only a few blocks gone from K. Rosenberg & Co., numerous of the Washington Beach residents were tanned to a coffee looking texture. Zeta dyed her skin bleach white frequently to conceal her from herself, she, of course, stood out of the mass of bodies. Her fine white, bespoke, double breasted suit didn't belong usually here either. Click Clack Click Clack went her black low heels. The sounds of Vice City were hardly pleasurable, the prostitutes advertising, innocents being car-jacked and endless gibbering. Click Clack Click ClackThe air smelled of salt mixed with water from the spray the wind brought, cheap sun lotion—

"I do. Heh-heh-heh-heh."

Zeta twitched in shock as an arm unexpectedly wrapped around her shoulder, she hesitated from withdraw of the Bowie knife strapped to the thigh of her trousers. Her brow rose as she looked at her captivator. African-American, six feet two inches, his arm felt is weighted 7 pounds. 5% of a humans' body weight is an arm, If his arm is seven pounds, then he must be 142 pounds. He's a little underweight, I could take him down.

"Who are you? What do you want?"
Answer quickly, asshole.
"My name is Sir AppleBottom, a'ight? Are you interested in bein' part of mah Mafia?"
"No. I'm not interested get lost."
Zita shoved his arm away and continued walking. Click Clack Clic

"Ey! You sho'?"

Zeta responded with her finger. A taxi approached her.

The Malibu was full of dancing lunatics, but the songs chosen were grand. Scanning the area for Kent Paul, she tried to pay no attention to the tang of low-priced cigarettes and perfume. She saw Kent sitting at a table drinking something with a shady color to it; she walked over and greeted him. They embraced.

"What are you drinking, Lobby?" Zeta said petting his awful hairstyle.
" A mix ov Jow' Cola an' vodka, wanna 'ry?"
"No thanks, I don't drink."
" That's 'ard ter believe from a person like yew, a Russkie."
"How stereotypical!" She hit him lightly on the shoulder.
" Haha, its da truth, beloved, 'ow'd yew end up in Vice Ci'y anyways?"
"I heard Vice City was an agreeable place to live, so I wanted to see it for myself."
" Really, are yew sure yew didn't come fer me, rubba glove?"

I try my hardest to look like a man, but I don't seem to fool many people. Do I look like a man from this far away? I hope no one thinks of Paul being homosexual. Ha—Bisexual, maybe.

"I'm positive. Is my nickname now rubber glove?"
"Nah, beloved, its cockney slang." His voice echoed and deepened as the glass reached his lips and drank the last of the Jolt Cola and vodka mix.
"Oh yeah, huh. You've taught me a while back how to rhyme in limey… " She leaned in nuzzled his neck.
" Yeh. Can't believe yew forgot, I 'ope yew don't forget abaht me, beloved, that'll be 'eartbreakin' an' rude." Lobby positioned an arm around her waist, and placed his head on hers.
"Hmm. . . . Lobby, you should try speaking in an American accent, would you please?"
" Nah, I don't wan' ter be considered a Honky."

After a few minutes of listening to 'Fascination by Human League' and Lobby's pulse, Zeta pulled up her suit sleeve and glanced at her watch.
Almost time, I better get back, don't want Rosie suspicious, do I?

"I gotta go," She detached herself from Lobby and straightened out her suit. She would need to get a similar suit or clear the odor of cigarettes and alcohol. He took hold her hand.
" What? No, no, no, yew just got back from Liber'y Ci'y two days ago, we need ter spend quali'y time together,"
"Lobster, we'll spend some time together the day after tomorrow. Claude will be arriving tomorrow, so I'm going to be busy."
" How abaht a phone call tomorrow, beloved?"
"Alright, see you later."

He detached his hand from hers and watched her graceful stride towards and out the entry.

Her bottom barely touching the dark chocolate chair in Ken's office yet again, Rosie exploded through the door. He lurched over, panted and huffed. Zeta got up with a quiet sigh and sarcastically asked,

"What happened Rosie?"
"Gah! The guys and I got ambushed! The cocaine is gone, the money is gone, everything! What do I do—"
She got a hold of Rosie's shoulders and stood him up straight.
"This, Tommy, will take care of it, go sleep or something."
"Hey! That's exactly what he said! Why do I need to sleep, do I look like I need to sleep—"

She guided him around his desk and sat him down. She then sat on the corner of his desk, looking at him.

"Mmm… I don't want to—"
"—Stop worrying, it'll make your stomach hurt, Rosie."

Rosie looked in her eyes, the right one was blue, and the left was green.

"Why'd you even go out with the limey bastard anyway, I was heck of a lot better boyfriend than him! He's weird, and he's always at the Malibu, there are women there, Zeta, lots of 'em. He could be cheating on you!"
"You're jealous."
"No! Never in a million years… Hey, have you ever eaten Giggle Cream? I could use a bit more joy in my life, ya'know?"

Zeta scoffed and gave his cheek a light smack of enlivenment.

"Why? What's wrong with Giggle Cream?"
"You're already screwing around with cocaine; I might have to put you in a rehabilitation center."
"Oh, thanks. . ." Ken placed a fist against his cheek.
"What's Tommy's full name?"
"What is it? Heard of it before?"
"Possibly, I have the worst memory in the entire world."

She rose from the angle of the desk and left abruptly.

The ghost of a sallow female went home on foot. Prostitutes offering themselves to her, perhaps they considered she was a man. She had a Torsolette within her suit to conceal her natural curves, her shoulder length white-blonde hair, and a somewhat straight jaw line that probably tipped them off. The night was here, and summoning the freaks.

At least they think I'm a man. Good enough.

Entering her apartment in Vice Point, it began to drizzle.

How I hate this weather, I miss the fog in Liberty; maybe.

She hurriedly went inside and shut the door. Shuddering with her brow aligned with the door, she noticed her breaths were irregular and without tempo. Her hand slid down the chilliness of the door.

Tommy Vercetti . . . Who are you . . .

Regaining the strength to straighten herself, she walked all the way through her living room in shadows. It began to rain harder.

"Son of—!"

Feeling around for the lamp, she stubbed her toe into the table; eventually she found the lamp and switched it on. The room brightened and seemed more approachable. The ruby, azure, and shades of cherry covered the chairs, walls and table; the 80s look. She fell into the zebra striped chair, a sigh of relief. After an hour, the rain stopped, she fell dead to the world.

Tommy opened the door and entered. The room was echoing in quiet sobs, occasionally being inaudible. The 20 year old sat on the bed, and looked into nothing but darkness except for the tinge of illumination from the streets peeking through the window.

"Vita—Hey, it's Tommy, don't cry, okay? Jeez, I'm not a babysitter"

At the sound of his voice, Vita immediately uncovered herself from the bed sheets and clutched Tommy's torso, sobbing into his white undershirt. His body was toned and firm due to his hard work of beating up other students at school, and seldom of pounding an adult.

"Hey . . . it's just thunder, only sound, it can't hurt you." He ran his fingers through red hair.
"Da. . . It's the lighting. Lighting hurts."
"The lightning you mean, yeah, lightning sometimes kills people if they're not being careful. You're smart for a five year old."

The child looked up at him with two wet separate blue and green eyes, her freckles lost their color. Tommy cupped his hands around her cheeks, and kissed her forehead.

"I'll sleep here if you want me to. I don't mind, but you better not tell anyone."

Zeta shook away from her slumber, the corners of her eyes wet with motionless tears. She remembered nothing of her dream just now. Frustrated and tired, she rose from the chair, left her apartment building and headed for Rosie's headquarters; she couldn't stand to be alone.