A/N: This is not 'my' account. Not entirely. The original creator [the original FangirlsTarot] is going through some stuff and, seeing that she isn't using it and that I want to work on my writing skills, she is letting me post from here until she gets back to writing.

{Sorry—to any inquiring about her work—I can't say when she is going to post again.}

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prologue

::Not the Oddest…But Close::

There were odder starts to friendships…

There had to be, right?

Something more peculiar than a failed smash and grab heist of a hardware store leading to three children—barely older than seven with two being the culprits, who crashed into the third—falling into the mall's central fountain and being carted off into 'jail' by security guards not certain if they should laugh or scowl.

"Damn it, Kristoff, keep it together." Glaring at the adults milling about beyond the lost-and found cage the three had been shoved into to await guardian interference, the dark-haired boy pulled off his sudden hat, causing his soaked hair to spike about on passing it towards the trembling blonde, currently red faced and fighting for each wheezing breath.

Hazel eyes looked at the unraveling knit and towards its owner. "Why did you give me this?" The words were shallow, costing their speaker to get even redder in his pale face for the effort.

"To breathe into, duh. Like they do in movies."

"That's paper bags." The third, slender and slight with shaggy black hair and a soddenly over-sized military jacket, spoke for the first time since the three had fallen into the fountain. Reaching over, she pressed hand to the blonde boy's back and pressed till he had his head resting between knobby knees. "Just try to take some deep breaths, you should be fine."

"Really?" The first boy lifted a brow. "That doesn't sound right, and I'm certain you just have to breath into something—anything—to stop from dying of no air."

The blonde flinched; voice pitching upward. "Dying?!"

"You're not helping matters." The girl snapped, giving the blonde an awkward pat while glaring at his friend. She wouldn't have even been there if the two hadn't collided into her as they dashed out of the hardware store, taking her over the lip of the fountain when the blonde tripped over his own feet.

"Well what makes you an ex-ex…exterminator?" Dark brows knitted as he shook his head. "No, that's not right. What makes you right? You know, about the whole paper bag. For all I know you want Kristoff to die"

"Why would I want that?"

Holding a dramatic finger in the air, the boy rolled the beginning letters of, "Revenge."

Head tilted in contemplation before she shrugged. "It's what my dad says."

"Well then, what makes him a—"

"Pacha is going to kill us!" The blonde interrupted, clutching at his hair as his face blanched of all the color that had previously flushed it.

"No, that would make far too much paperwork. Instead, I might be inclined to let you stay in jail a few nights."

The children's head snapped up in unison; eyes going to the stocky man, wearing a well-worn hoodie and jeans that were probably not purchased with the tears they currently sported, currently standing in the doorway of the supply-closet turned child-holding cell.

Both boys leapt to their feet, the blonde nearly toppling from the action while his more compact counterpart took a moment to return his hat to it's proper placement. "Pacha!"

Crouching down, going to their level, the man pinched the bridge of his nose as the boys went to stand before him. "What in the name of…Why did you…How did this…Why? Just why?"

"We're sorry."

"No, Eugene." Square finger covered in callouses pointed towards the boy. "I didn't ask for an apology. I asked 'why.' Far be it, it was jumbled amongst other things, but the question was still there." Reaching out, he cupped both boys by the back of the neck. It could have been an intimidating jester, but the gentle manner it was executed made it nothing but disappointed affection. "It's been almost a year since you stole something. Why now? And why take a ratchet kit when..." Head fell mid-thought, dark hair curtained the man's expression from sight. "Damn it." The curse said more to himself, he lifted his head and stood, hands moving from back of their necks to holding each of theirs. "Okay, worked that bit out on my own. Let's get home so we can talk about punishment."

"What about him?" The leader hooked a thumb towards the girl while the blonde's eyes swam from either the relief of going home or horror of what the aforementioned punishment would pertain.

Arms crossing her chest, the girl's chin jolted out in pure defiance. "I'm a girl."

"Really?" Dark-copper eyes narrowed in analysis, then widened once more. "No." Eyes narrowed again. "Really?"

"Eugene." The man sounded drained, common sign of a veteran to countless battles. Stepping forward, taking the boys with him, the man crouched down once more. "Sorry that my boys got you involved in their trouble, Miss." He had a kind smile under that proud nose. "Are they looking for your parents?"

"Her father knows about breathing."

The man looked down at the brunette. "What?"

"I think he's referring to my being an army medic." A slightly accented voice came from the vacated doorway. A tall man paused to rest a hand against the white-washed metal frame before stepping in further. A regal quality to his gait despite a pronounced limp. "And my daughter thought it wise to wonder away from where she was supposed to be helping her grandmother."

Sinking deeper into her jacket, the girl clearly attempted to conceal the desire to pout. "Nainai was taking forever in the tea shop."

"And what did we talk about patience?" His voice was even elegance; a fine-boned hand rested on his daughter's still-dripping hair.

The pout won.

Smiling, recognizing a kindred spirit, the boys' guardian offered a hand. "Pacha Supai. These two loveable heathens being Eugene—"

"Flynn."

"—and Kristoff."

Accepting, "Fa Zhou." Then ignoring the weakness of his leg, he scooped the girl—who tucked her head under his chin—into his arms. "And this is Mulan."

The boy—who seemed to take it upon himself into his own naming—cocked his head and looked first towards the man at his side and then to the blonde. "I still don't believe it."

Twelve years later and it seemed that the concept continued to slip through Flynn's grasp. Either that or over a decade of friendship dropped all social barriers and made breaking into a girl's room, dropping onto her bed where she was sleeping, completely acceptable.

"Lonnie." There was a tug at the end of the braid spread across the pillow. "Hey, Lonnie." He sang out her name in a whispered hush. "Lonnie, wake-up!"

Face buried into her pillow, Mulan absently kicked a leg out from her blankets, half-heartedly trying to shove him off the mattress. "I'm going to stab you, Mushu."

"My name isn't Mushu."

"When you wake me up at three in the morning…" A whine entered her voice on looking at the clock posted on her cluttered nightstand. "Really, you wake me at three-am?" Grabbing another pillow, she tried to bury her head from sight. "You will go by whatever I want to call you."

"Really, are you think feisty with Dash? No wonder the sci-nerd is jealous of me…you know, beyond the obvious."

"Well, that's not going to be a problem anymore." Retracting her head from its den, Mulan sat back on her heels. The strap of her camisole, faintly smelling of sweat from working at her family's martial-arts gym, falling off her shoulder. "Got dumped, didn't I."

"Oh, Lonnie." Turning on his outdated cellphone's flashlight, Flynn cupped her chin to better turn her face about. "Don't see much signs of crying but you really need to take better care of your skin. I could steal from those bags under your eyes."

"Sven."

A highlighter hit the back of Flynn's head, thrown from where Kristoff leaned against Mulan's desk.

"Thanks."

"Welcome Cricket." Unhitching himself, the towering blonde came over to sit on the mattress's edge.

"Want to go egg his house?"

Shrugging, her posture sagged. Back rested against Kristoff's with her legs thrown over where Flynn was sprawled. "We're not kids anymore."

"That's not a no."

"No."

Twisting about, Kristoff hugged an arm across her shoulders. "He give you a reason?"

"Of course he did. What it boils down to is school and taking care of his brother, who has started bot-fighting."

"Hiro's in the circuit? Remind me to place a bet next time we're…" Propping himself on his elbows, Flynn caught the expressions of his friends from the moonlight streaking through the blinds. "Yeah, you're right, not the time for that."

"What brings you guys here?"

"You don't have to—"

"I had a brilliant idea!" Flynn whispered as loud as he dared. Mulan's room just being across the hall from her parents'. Zhou might have permitted his daughter to continue affiliation with the boys, that did not mean he would allow such an arrangement if he was aware of the frequency of their crashing in her room.

It wasn't that they had nowhere else to go; it was just that, since Pacha's third child was born, the two foster sons were starting to feel as if this was the case. Despite how ardently Pacha denied such.

"The last time you had a 'brilliant' idea, I ended up chained to you and Kris in a gaisi protest line so you could chat up a braless vegan as a bulldozer was rumbling toward us." Falling to her side, Mulan reached for her pillow once more. "Why am I friends with you guys?"

Flynn beat her to it, fluffing the stuffing before settling it behind his head. "Because no one else would take the job?"

"You're aware that I can break that pretty face of yours five different ways, right?"

A gasp and fluttered lashes. "You think I'm pretty."

"Don't hit him," Kristoff warned. "The screams will bring up Zhou."

"Would have to be a pretty loud scream," Mulan stole her pillow back, curling around where she hugged it to her chest, "baba is out of town."

Kristoff gave her braid an idle tug. "What for?"

"Conference, maybe. He's been pretty tight-lipped lately."

"This is perfect!" No longer controlling his volume, Flynn beamed down at her. "Now you can't use his disapproval as an excuse on not lending a hand."

"Yeah, not liking where this is heading."

"I can hear the sirens now."

A/N: Please let me know your thoughts. I am trying to improve my writing and, apparently, critics are a part of the process. Who knew?