A/N: Hi! awkward pause Well, this is Ginger Glinda here... this first chapter was mainly written by me with inspired suggestions from the lovely HAlf - BlOOd PRiiNCESS. Go read her stuff, it rocks. 'Kay? Anyway, hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review! We love those things...

"Maureen! This is a bad idea…"

"Oh, come on, Pookie- I mean, Mark… It'll be fun!"

"Speed dating has never been, nor will it ever be, anything like anything that bears even a slight resemblance to fun."

Maureen stopped tugging on Mark's arm long enough to stare at him.

"Okay. I have no idea what you just said, but it will be good for you! I swear, Marky, me and Joanne met speed dating."

Mark picked at a piece of fluff on his scarf, managing to look nervous and incredulous at the same time. "You did not. You met at the Cat Scratch when you were both drunk."

"Oh, fine, start splitting hairs," Maureen huffed, rolling her eyes and flipping her Pantene-worthy hair over one shoulder. Mark's sudden look of longing was not lost to her. "But I think it'd be good for you."

"Good in the sense of, oh, say, getting my throat slit?"

"No!" The diva stamped her foot. "Good in the sense of… of sex!"

Mark adjusted the collar of his jacket to hide his blush, and the drama queen took advantage of his momentary distraction to yank him inside the community center, which was decked out in its best, somewhat faded Valentines Day decorations. Mark blinked, shocked and appalled at the amount of pink trying to assault his eyeballs.

"Hi!"

An over-enthusiastic, miniskirt-clad woman with platinum blonde hair and a fixed smile greeted the two bohos, handing them nametags.

"Are you two…?" She cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow, holding up two fingers and wiggling them.

"Are we…?" Maureen laughed. "No! I'm just dropping him off…" She leaned in to pinch Mark's cheek, and he ducked away just in time.

"Have fun, Marky!" the diva giggled, and skipped away before he could protest.

"You're not my mother, Maureen," he muttered.

"Oh, she's your ex, right?" The nametag woman pouted sympathetically.

"Yeah," Mark sighed.

"So your name was…?"

She picked up a pen, grimacing in a way that was evidentially supposed to be inviting.

"Mark," he muttered. "Mark, I'm Mark."

"Mark!" she squeaked, fixing the sticker to his lapel and patting it. "We'll put you at table three. Okay?"

"Okay…"

She sat him down, grinning so much he was sure her face was about to split open.

"Have fun, uh, Matt."

"It's Mark," he told her retreating back.

The filmmaker stared at the tabletop, wondering how Maureen had managed to talk him into this. Or, more accurately, pout and whine at him until he did whatever she wanted…

It's just like when we were dating, he realized with a sinking stomach. The tango all over again.

"Uh, ladies and… gentlemen? May I have your attention please?" The nametag woman had acquired a microphone and a sound system from somewhere, and was standing at the front of the room with what Mark supposed was meant to be a welcoming expression on her face. In reality, however, it looked like someone had stapled her eyelids to her forehead.

"Um, welcome, my name's Liz, and I'll be your… your, um, MC for tonight. So, what we've done here is given each… gentleman… a table, which they'll stay at for the whole evening. Each time I ring this bell," she continued, ringing said bell with relish, "you girls will move along one table in a…" She paused, concentrated and made a few subtle finger movements. "Clockwise! In a clockwise direction. Okay?"

With one final, enthusiastic squeak, she rang the bell, and the hall echoed with the sound of dozens of chairs scraping across the floor, and the first awkward hellos.

Here we go. Mark steeled himself, and looked up to meet the eyes of the girl who had just taken a seat opposite him.

"Hi. I'm Mark."

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