Alright, it's time for a new storyy! I randomly thought this one up when I was bored yesterday. Don't know if it'll be a chapter-story yet, which is the reason for the random title. I'll probably make it a series; I don't like stopping it where it is.
Secondly! Forgive me if [AKA WHEN] you notice the errors when it comes to the cultures in this story! I'm not good with that kind of stuff, but I needed that for the story to "floww" ;D (I'm talking about the English and French differences) If someone would like to help me out with those, THAT WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED! lmaoo.

Lastly, try to enjoy this one, it sounded nice in my head, but idk if it's the same on the computer ;P

It was that rainy afternoon that initiated everything.

I was at the trolley stop. Drops of heavy water tapped on the cover of the small station. My black hair was matted to my forehead, which was a very unpleasant feeling. Getting out of the rain and into the confines of my apartment was an extreme necessity.

Then she came.

The woman was humming to herself as she approached the trolley stop, her head bobbing to her voice's soft tune. Without a struggle, she closed her umbrella and sat comfortably on the bench. I made sure to not even acknowledge her from my standing position, for she looked like one to talk excessively and I really was not in the mood for such behavior.

The first thing I noted about her was her vibrant hair. Could anybody's head sprout such bright locks? The vivid orange was so out of place. It was an overcast day, just like every other day in this town. She didn't belong here.

When she opened her mouth and a question escaped her lips, I realized that she literally didn't belong here.

"Oh my, what time will the bus arrive?"

The words were coated in a thick French accent.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The bus?"

"You mean the trolley?" I clarified.

"Ah yes, I apologize; I am from out of country," she explained timidly, light red coating her cheeks.

"The trolley, when will it arrive?"

"In four or five minutes, I believe," I replied.

"I see."

She was silent for a while, and I turned back around to stare dully at the raindrops racing across the station's plastic panes.

"How far is 'Arrington Court, sir?"

Once again, I directed my attention to the strange French woman.

"Harrington Court," I subconsciously corrected, "is about fifteen minutes from here. The trolley will most likely get there in six or seven stops."

"Thank you." She gave me a warm smile. "You are from around here?"

"More or less," I answered with a sigh.

"Oh. I just moved here actually. From Paris."

"I see. Welcome to Bellingham, Northumberland, ma'am," I greeted.

She giggled. "Thank you. I'm Orihime Inoue, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Ulquiorra Schiffer."

I bowed politely before turning my attention away from her.

I had never believed people when they said French natives were friendly, yet extremely chatty.

"Schiffer? Are you fully English?"

I closed my eyes to suppress the urge to smirk. Obviously I was learning quite a lesson that afternoon.

"No, I am mostly Italian, ma'am."

"Italian? Why, that's pleasant, isn't it?" Her eyes lit up. "Italy… I should visit there one day. You look like the travelling type, I may say, Mr. Schiffer."

"Business trips carry me abroad, that is all," I replied.

The trolley came winding down the track at that moment.

"Ah, well… still! Your body language shows that you have been exposed to the world!" she cried, rising from the bench.

I quickly entered the trolley the second it halted at the station, swiping my card in the designated slot before finding a seat.

The Frenchwoman followed suit, plopping herself right next to me.

"Have you any children?"

I twisted my head to gaze at her incredulously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Children, Mr. Schiffer, have you any?"

I simply stared.

"…N-no, I don't."

She looked as if she was pondering on my answer before shrugging and turning away, mumbling to herself.

I couldn't bring myself to ask her to repeat herself, because frankly, I didn't really have an interest in it.

There was silence for a couple of minutes. I gazed out of the trolley window, observing the rain that had subsided a little.

"So, uh, Harrington Court is a few minutes away?"

Street signs and family-owned businesses filled my conscious awareness as I estimated where we were.

"It should be in two stops, actually," I told her.

She nodded, facing the front of the vehicle and humming to herself once again.

When her stop came, she dramatically stood up as if she was in a hurry.

"It was nice talking to you, Mr. Schiffer! I hate to leave so soon! Good-bye!"

And she rushed off the trolley.

What do you think? Aah, aah, that's what the review button is for ;D