Apples
Nanjiroh explains to Rinko why he loves apples so much.
Rinko was not happy. Nanjiroh had been dragging her all over Los Angeles for the past week, from tennis tournament to strip club and back again. She did not like it. Sure, Rinko enjoyed his tennis matches, as they were always exciting. It was the strip clubs she had a problem with. What a pervert, to bring her to such a filthy facility and expect her to enjoy herself.
And now, he was having her do his shopping.
"He's such an arrogant bastard," she grumbled as she glared at the milk. She snatched one carton up and threw it into her basket with more force than necessary.
"Oi, Rinko-san!"
Rinko sighed at his voice and turned, her tone coated with false sweetness. "Yes, Nanjiroh?"
Nanjiroh was across the aisle, in the women's underwear department. A particularly lacy one was dangling from his hand. "You would look good in this," he told her darkly.
It took all her effort to not throw an orange from the table behind her at him (it was ball shaped, after all, and Nanjiroh would just return it with his racket). Instead, Rinko closed her eyes and stalked away, heading towards the vegetables.
The sound of footsteps behind her told Rinko Nanjiroh had caught up. "I want some carrots," he informed her.
"Why don't you get them yourself?" snapped Rinko.
"And zucchini!" Nanjiroh called, already walking away.
Rinko gritted her teeth together, furious. Did he think he could just use her as a maid? Stupid, idiotic Japanese tennis player! That was all he was good for, anyways. Playing tennis. And stalking big-breasted blonds.
But, since she was Rinko, she picked out the carrots (only the best) and the zucchinis (none but the ripest). When she found Nanjiroh, he was staring down at the apples, carefully inspecting each one.
"Rinko-san," he began, not looking at her. "Do you know why I like apples?"
"Because they look like boobs?" Rinko said exasperatedly.
Nanjiroh ignored her. He held one of the apples up, smiling. "Because they remind me of someone."
Rinko paused. What perverse story could he possibly be weaving this time? She hadn't forgotten the time he explained the origin of the tennis ball, and was starting to worry she never would.
"See," Nanjiroh went on, showing her the apple, "most of the apple is red and angry, but," he twisted it in his hand, "some of it's yellow, and happy." He tossed it in the air and smiled at her. "Like she is," he stated, and threw it to her.
Rinko struggled to catch it and stared at him. "One apple? Who the hell gets one apple?"
"I only want one apple," said Nanjiroh, strolling away from her. "One perfect apple." He looked back at her. "Are you coming, Rinko-san?"
Hesitant, Rinko examined the apple carefully. It certainly wasn't perfect. Bits of it were bruised, with one or two brown things on its colorful surface. She set the apple carefully in the basket. "What is he talking about?"
*AN: This was a play on the fact that the Japanese word for "apple" is "ringo." It sounds like Rinko. That was my inspiration for this.*