Author's note: Chastise me for the weird pairing, but this is mostly based off of roleplay; at least the pairing is. Yeah, pre-Organization Larxene/Saix. How the pair met from both perspectives. And because I know you're going to ask who the hell Calvin is, he's the founder of Calvinism, an offshoot of Christianity that believed in predestination (that God decided every event in your life before you were born.)

Chapter 1: Arlene

This is my bus stop. Not to go anywhere, really. It seemed like all the rich people passed by here at least once. For corporate robots, they sure are cheapskates. I had a better living with my group, but I will admit this path involved less pain.

My original panhandling location was in front of a bank, because then I wouldn't get the "I don't have any money" bullshit. But apparently attempting to make a living counts as loitering, whatever the fuck "loitering" is. At least the rental cops can't boot me out here.

Seemed like today would be the same; being ignored. It was kinda nice, but it defeated the purpose. Strange I would be ignored… I was all over the news, the only survivor of the Society of Enlightenment cult. The way they described me was like I was the subject of a personal advertisement. Rightfully pissed off, I took a seat on the worn metal bench. Some upper class asshole sitting at the other end of the bench was looking me over; I glanced at him quickly, just to establish how much of a douche he looked like in a suit with one of those frilly neck things. He might as well put on a name tag that said 'Hello, my name is uptight.' I figured he was like the others; thinking how much it would suck to be the homeless chick. "Are you alright?" He finally broke the silence.

"I'm living off of quarters, scavenging for cardboard boxes, and getting screwed by the government. I'm fucking peachy." He looked straight ahead, both of us unwilling to make eye contact. I pulled up my sleeve to scratch at a bug bite. The burn scars and scabs on my arm seemed to grab his attention.

"What happened? Did someone burn you?" What was he expecting me to say? 'Yes, my father burned me with cigarettes because God told him to.' If he wanted the truth, he could ask.

"It was God's will." I pulled my sleeve back down. Shit, I shouldn't have said that. The look in his eye said that everything was making sense, but I could've been wrong.

"Someone burned you because it was God's will…?" He seemed confused.

"What is this, 20 fucking Questions? What about you, Sir Hoity-Toity? Where the hell are you off to?"

"If you must know, I am going to school." The way he spoke was annoyingly calm, like he was incapable of getting excited about anything. Jesus Christ himself could be on this man's doorstep and he wouldn't even twitch. "Where are you going?"

"Hell." I fidgeted with a piece of my bangs. "Oh, you mean before I die? Nowhere. Literally and figuratively." I didn't even bother to look at him. "What school?"

"Hartford Law School." He replied.

"Oh. The douchebag melting pot of the city. You'd fit right in." This is the longest conversation I've sustained with someone that didn't end in an exchange of "screw you, screw yous." "Not like I can tell a sign from a hole in the ground."

"What street is this?" He changed the topic quickly.

"How the fuck should I know? It's your job to be the educated one." He finally caught on.

"You cannot read."

"No, but I can sit, stay, roll over, and balance a milkbone on my nose. Isn't that what you rich people think we are? Non-reading morons?"

"I never said that. Many great men have fallen into the streets."

"Name me one philosopher that sustained himself on a diet of cocaine and hookers." An awkward silence followed. "Just as I thought. Even Jesus had a fuckin' job."

"He was a carpenter."

"So you're not completely void of morals. I misjudged you." I leaned back against the bench, laughing a little. "You're a heathen with style. At least Hell will be more chic with you there." The bus pulled up, the man getting back on his feet. He turned slightly to look at me.

"I never got your name."

"Arlene. And you?"

"Isa." He smiled a bit. "Will you be here in about four hours?"

"No, of course not, my day planner is filled up. What do you think?"

"I will meet you back here. Treat you to dinner." Now this was something I didn't expect; I felt a connection to this Isa. "Maybe teach you how to read."

"I… would appreciate that." He got on the bus as I scurried off to panhandle.