I know where I want to go with Charred Pages at the Sunshine Café, but as of know, I don't have a map so I decided to portray Daine as a punk, a way I've always seen her.

Diclaimer: Da-duh-da-duh-da, why do I even bother? I saw flying uni-pines out my window and decided to reveal my true identity as Tamora Pierce . . .

And here we go . . . !

Chapter 1

The train began to slow. They were underground this time. Numair closed his eyes and tried to shove back feelings of panic. Even after all these years, the dark still bothered him, ever since . . . no, mustn't think of that. He mentally painted a picture of a paradise. Harsh sound, that of screeching brakes, shattered his daydream. He cracked open one swarthy eyelid. A young woman stood outside his window. She was walking to the cart's doors. The train doors opened with a swish and she stood silhouetted against weak yellow light barely conquering infinite blackness. Numair glanced around the crowded cart. He was next to the only vacant seat, soon to be filled by the kind of person he felt he would normally cross the street to avoid. Well, he argued. It wasn't as if he had no reason to avoid people who . . . He began to paint the picture again.

Rattling noise painfully jolted him back to earth. The woman was walking down the narrow aisle, silver chains around her waist clanking like a ghost's. She wore a short grey/lavender/black plaid pleated skirt over torn fishnets and chunky-heeled, knee-high boots that laced up in the front. Her shirt fell off one shoulder. It was black, with a skull on the front, torn in some spots, in others, like her shirt collar, purposefully cut. The white paint that made up the skull was pealing in some places. A strip of white skin showed between her ultra-low skirt and shirt. Her left ear had piercings all the way up her earlobe and cartilage. Her right ear had only three earrings in the lobe and one in the cartilage. A silver hoop punctured the skin of her left eyebrow, and a small stud rested in her nose. Her vibrant red curls fell to her waist, the smoky-grey roots showing a few inches, framing a pale face with soft lips, and extravagant lashes housing large ocean-eyes.

Unconsciously, Numair inched over to put plenty of room between the empty seat and him. The woman sat down with an extra-loud rattle and put her boots on the seat in front. With a loud sigh of disgust, the grandmotherly lady sitting there leaned forward in her seat.

Oblivious, the girl took out headphones and blasted surprisingly mellow music. She jumped up in surprise, slamming chunky heels noisily on the flimsy floor.

"DAMN!" she yelped, causing a young mother to gasp and herd her children out of the cart. All of the other passengers followed in suit. Numair, much to his dismay, was stuck.

Numair quietly moaned and leaned his head against the window. There was a good three hours left on the train-ride. He thumped his head on the smudgy glass, content to suffer a slow death. Still unaware of her surroundings, the girl nodded her head in time to the irregular beat of music only she could hear. Slowly, in a daze, her skirt riding up, she raised her legs, straddling the headrest of the seat in front between her thin white calves. Her feet moved back in forth, eager to dance. Numair stopped, mid-thump. He was fascinated by her reflection. Was that a . . . no, they wouldn't allow that. But it looked so, so . . .

"Excuse me . . . ?" he tapped her shoulder, hesitant to touch the bare skin there. Her bra strap slipped and gently tapped his finger. As if suffering from an electrical shock, Numair drew back quickly.

She turned slowly, deliberately to look at him.

"I, uh, I couldn't help but see the, uh, the, you know . . ." he gestured broadly to her thigh.

She removed one ear of her headset. She squinted, unsure as to what he meant. Nuamir blushed Her eyes lit up as she understood. "Oh, you must mean my tattoo." She pulled the skirt up high on her thin leg. Sure enough, there was a dove there. "I've got others," she said cheerfully. "Want to see?"

"Yes, I mean, no . . . thank you," but she didn't hear. She stood up, spun a graceful semi-circle, her skirt flaring out, and pulled her shirt down over narrow pale shoulders. On each shoulder blade was a small angel wing. She turned to face him and pulled down the top hem of her skirt. On the left hipbone, jutting out from a white stomach with virtually no body fat was the beginnings of a tattoo, the rest still covered by the skirt. Intrigued, Numair leaned forward, eager to see the design. She continued to pull the hem down. With a snap, her skirt dropped to her knees before she caught it. Pale pink in her cheeks must have been her blushing. She ripped one of the many safety pins out of her shirt and swept up her skirt, pinning it to her underwear. She sat down and tried to strike up the conversation where they left off, the color of her cheeks slowly returning to normal.

"Yeah, so, a while ago, this tattoo and piercing parlor had this deal, like 'get two piercings and get a tattoo free' or something, and I totally took advantage."

Numair tried to think of something to say, but all her could think about was this complete stranger's rather nice underwear, and if she had one tattoo for every two piercings. "I would have thought that they wouldn't allow, uh, minors to get that kind of thing . . ."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Minor? I'm definitely beyond 'minor.' I like to think of myself as a . . . a –" The train hit an uneven patch and jostled the riders into silence. The girl put on her headphones again, and Numair resigned himself to staring out the window. Talking with this girl, no, really a young woman had made Numair forget his fear of the dark, and he hadn't noticed when they passed back into open air. He checked the position of the moon, and guessed that there was maybe 2 hours, in the least, left of the ride. He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes.

"Hey . . . ? Um, you awake?" Numair cracked open one eye at the voice. It was definitely feminine, though deeper, quieter and more melodious than the stereotypes perceived. Strangest of all was that he felt the vibrations of sound through the hard, almost bony, pillow he rested on. He straightened, peering groggily around. Sleeping on trains made him feel worn out, and soiled. Someone's head loomed into view. He drew back, startled.

"Hey," It was the same voice from his dreamlike state moments before.

"Hey," he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"You awake? Good. I need someone to help me with my stuff."

"Um" Numair was totally thrown off my her brazen personality.

"Well, that's just the excuse. I'm totally lost around here. I thought this train went a bit further, but it doesn't. This is the last stop. So, wherever I am, I'm getting off. Here. Now."

Numair laughed. He liked her manner; straightforward in a beat-around-the-bush kind of way. He carried all his suitcases, plus the girl's lightest bag, just for show. She reached up to get her suitcase out of the overhead compartment. Numair stared at her shoulder without seeing for a moment. "Whoa, where did you get that bruise?" His first impression of her was a punk, then just another kid, but now he was wondering if the young woman did have a shady past.

She laughed. Was that a flicker of nervousness in her eyes? "You, my friend, have one hard head. Maybe 10 minutes ago, we took a sharp turn. And your head totally whacked my arm. I've be a vegetarian since I can remember, and I guess I bruise way easy. It can be embarrassing, and gets me in trouble, you know, bruising like that, but it's worth it, saving animals." She smiled again, then stepped off the train. Numair followed.

A cool air whipped around them. The hem of her skirt lifted, but she didn't appear to notice. She stood stiff, hair flowing out to the side, the wind quickly drying the tears slipping down her cheeks. She tilted her head back, letting the cool breeze slide between crimson locks. Why was he so nice to her? Lord knew she didn't deserve it. Oh g0d, she thought. It was too much too handle. Nastiness, spite, she could take those like cough syrup. It was those that got her to where she was, who she was today. But niceness?Where had the Lord gone wrong? A sob bubbled up in her throat. She held it back, but in the end disguised it as a sneeze. She felt the unquenchable urge to run. Stiffening her knees, she pictured an evergreen forest, snow gently falling from the night sky trying in vain to calm herself. She was so exhausted, and had to place to stay. Another sob threatened to some up, but she held it back. She took in a ragged breath, and waited for the nice man from the train to catch up.

What do you think? One-shot? No-shot? Or shall I continue? I know, this story is basically mine sans the names, the characters are so OOC. Please, review honestly, even if it means flames to rival those of Hell.