I think it's sad, but I have to do it anyway. I mean, even I forgot what
happened before. ^_~
Short Recap: Mamoru just finished shooting his commercial/photos,
and
whatnot. He's being chased after by a few thousand girls (give or take
^_~). He asks Usagi out, but she doesn't exactly give him an answer.
Later, we find him playing with the bow and arrow prop, in which the
arrow
goes flying, and hits someone accidentally.
::ponders:: that should've been in point form. ::shrugs:: oh well. ^_~
===
Patch's AN's: Oy, do my eyes deceive me? *rubs eyes*
Iie! It's true, Mizu has written the next chapter!
That means... that means... O.O *runs off screaming*
Mizu's AN's: O.o;; ::coughs:: now that we know that
Kana-sweetie-pie is a half-demon, we can expect her to
go rabid after reading this chapter. ::wanders off
into the kitchen:: (Ah hem! No questions about her
poppa...)
^_~
Disclaimer: Mizu and I had to go to court last week.
It seems we can't agree on who claims ownership on
that nummy toga of Mamoru's. But we solved the problem!
*sporting a black eye, holds up piece of cloth*
Half 'n' half! Oh, everything else belongs to Naoko,
as usual.
***
Cupid's Wayward Arrow
By Patch & Mizu
Chapter 7 : Say WHAT?!
Rated R for a bit of swearing.
***
Cringing, Mamoru turned to meet the target of his
badly aimed arrow. Perhaps, just perhaps, this person
would forgive him for shooting a hard, wooden arrow
that could have possibly cracked their skull in two
different places, and thus, given them a terminal
concussion that could turn them into a vegetable for
whatever was left of their lifespan. Just maybe.
Automatically, he swerved to meet his judge, jury and
possibly executioner-although, he sorely hoped that
they would decline the latter-most occupation.
Without
sparing the simplest of glances, he bowed in a formal
apology, his head narrowly missed the fake marble
column by a hairsbreadth. Whoa, close call.
Retribution for his actions? Nah...
"Gomen ne, gomen ne, gomen ne, gomen ne..." He
muttered repeatedly, until he thought that he'd spewed
out enough apologies to the stranger. He heaved a
sigh, thought his predicament over, and proceeded to
think about the consequences of his accidental
actions.
Most annoyingly, the term, "Assault," came to mind,
as his eyes widened in the most adorable, mortified
expression possible. Yeah, that was all that he
needed
now. Can't have his fame without cost-can't have your
mochi and eat it too.
He summed up the courage to take a peek at the
arrow's
prey, surprised when he was met with the lovely face
of a rather stunning young woman-and a lovesick sigh.
Uh oh. It was one of *those* sighs-the ones that
Motoki received at the arcade.
Well, multiply that description by about, oh, I don't
know, infinity plus one, and perhaps we could
visualize
the scene before us, or something to that effect.
Great, another admirer-just what he needed.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to get on a list
to dump me into a garbage bag and take me home to
discover your unearthly delights, meet your parents,
or sit in as your personal chocolate-feeder in my
undies. Oh, and to answer the most popular questions
old ladies have been asking me for weeks: they're
boxers, not briefs." he sighed loudly. Noticing that
he had said the random thought aloud, his throat
tightened in embarrassment. Face drained of any
identifiable color as he gulped audibly.
She was all legs, dimples and err-bounce. Mamoru
blushed a healthy vibrant red that would've looked
wonderful on a tomato's resume, but unfortunately,
finding him in the produce department would be rather
difficult. (Oh, don't we wish we could just pick him
up at the grocery store?)
Stereotypically speaking, she looked like she would
have the brain capacity of a walnut, or worse, a...a
pea!
Her grin grew wider as she inched toward him,
attempting to seem modest. Quite difficult, since it
seemed to be riding up her, he coughed, point of
inflection on her backside.
MODEST?! In *those* pieces of cloth? What was she
trying to be? The greatest oxymoron on two shapely
legs? Mamoru muttered to himself mentally, eyeing her
outfit (if one could even *call* that an outfit, let
alone a bathing suit) with distaste. Of course, he
was a man, with all the stereotypical manly urges, but
his tastes ran more along the lines of 'classy', not
'hussy'. Sure, there was only a three-letter
difference in the two terms. To him, they meant the
world-just as Usagi meant the world to him.
He blinked. What was he talking about? Usagi? The
world? No, she'd have to win over his love for
chocolate and black coffee first....but, her lips
must taste like chocolate, and she could make him just
as perky as black coffee could-
HENTAI! Here we go again with the practice of mental
self-flagellation... He halted the string of thoughts
to a knot, or a break, whichever metaphor you prefer
most. All right, perhaps black coffee wasn't the
perfect way to describe Usagi.
"Huh?" He uttered shortly. The woman had been
speaking to him.
"As I was saying," she eyed him carefully, almost...
lovingly. He cringed-she seemed too air-headed to
notice. "I think you make a great cupid. You look hot
in a diaper-"
His eye color flattened to a dull blue. "It's a
toga."
Yep, thighs of steel, brains of a peanut.
"Whatever," she waved her hand dismissively,
spreading expensive, toxic perfume into the air. "I
have some friends who own a bar. Perhaps we could get
a drink tonight?" She looked at him earnestly, eyes
somehow glassy.
Perhaps Mamoru was seeing things again. How the heck
did she achieve such an excellent puppy-dog
expression?
She cleared her throat, awaiting her answer
impatiently. He shot her an irritated expression, but
somehow, she saw it as an amorous glance. Any moment,
she would melt into a puddle of bad perfume and thin
rags.
He had to think of an excuse-quickly.
"Uhh..." He turned his head from one direction to
the other, hoping that the objects around would
inspire him. Carefully, he inched away, hands
outstretched to point to toward the general direction
of "there". "I have to...go wash...my..." Car?
Apartment? Underwear? "TOGA!" He blurted out.
Abruptly after he finished the sentence, his face
contorted into a strange looking frown. Oh well, an
excuse was an excuse.
"I thought you were finished shooting?" She asked
quizzically, vibrant smile ever-present upon her
radiant features. Well, well, well, what do we have
here? There is intelligence in that pretty little
head.
Mamoru inched farther away, making sure that the door
was right to his back. "Yeah, I am...but the toga
needs...err...special attention! Yeah, that's right!"
He restrained himself from slapping his palm on his
forehead.
She seemed to take the excuse to be genuine. Perhaps
intelligence is just something that comes by her every
lifetime, or so. He wasn't doting upon the second
segment of previous compound sentence.
"Well, hurry back!" She shouted from the other end
of the room, where he had just been standing, holding
a
dummy bow and arrow. He grinned nervously, "I will!"
He stepped through the gates to freedom, muttering to
himself, "and in the meantime, perhaps get yourself a
lobotomy. Yeesh."
***
Flowers. They were flowers. They were beautiful.
They were beautiful flowers that spoke of horrors from
her past.
She snapped the small card shut, face frozen in a
horrified expression.
"No no, it can't be him..." She shook her head.
Another voice continued her train of thoughts. "Of
course it's me, baby!" A blond man leaned casually on
the doorframe leading to Usagi's office, a goofy grin
upon his face. Mr. What's-his-face strolled toward a
plush chair, sitting upon it with practiced cat-like
grace.
She stomped toward him, a giant bunch of sunflowers
in hand. "What are you doing here?" She hissed,
refraining herself from batting his head with the
aforementioned bouquet. He gave her another goofy
grin that annoyed her to the high heavens-and he knew
it too.
"Why," he placed an arm around her small shoulders,
acting just as immature as he was back when they were
an item, to her mortification. "I'm here to see you."
He winked at her.
She twitched.
He didn't notice-darn. Hoped it would've given him a
hint or two.
"You see," he continued, polishing his fingernails on
his crisp, clean, Armani suit that seemed
two-sizes-too
-big for him. "I just got a promotion-"
"As what?" She snapped irritably, "head *rat*?"
He didn't hear her, as usual. "-and I thought that
I'd give you a little present to celebrate. What do
you say? Rekindle that old spark?" He raised his
eyebrows a few times suggestively. She actually did
bat him over the head with the bouquet of flowers.
"Baby, I knew you'd say yes," he answered, after he
recovered from a direct swat to the gelled head.
Insert another goofy smile here.
"Look," she contained her voice to a mere shriek.
Impressive, in her terms. "I don't love you anymore.
In fact, I don't even *like* you. Just because I was
fifteen, and not very level-headed-although, I must
have been out of *my mind* to go out with the likes of
*you*--it doesn't mean that things haven't changed
between us. I still hate you because you were a
conniving bastard who deserved no less than eternal
damnation in a stench bog!"
She took a deep breath, surprised that she even spent
that much air on him. She spared a glance at him, only
to see that he still seemed his happy, weasel-like,
little self. The man didn't even have the tact to
look
crestfallen!
She sighed heavily. "Some things never change." She
shook her head resignedly. Perhaps if she grabbed
that
expensive imported vase by her books and smashed it
over his head, he might get some sort of a clue.
Never
mind the fact that it cost her almost a week's worth
of pay at the International Antiquities Fair... He
took her shoulders and drew her carefully toward him.
They were still at a respectable distance...sort of.
"Look, I know what we had was special to you. It was
special to me too-or did you think that the great
Kentaro didn't have a heart?" His eyes softened a
notch, and a significant amount of affection poured
out from his gaze.
"Well, you certainly didn't show any signs of having
one during our relationship," she muttered
sarcastically.
His eyebrows knit together, puzzled. "What's wrong,
Usagi-chan? You've become negative, sarcastic-icy."
She shot him a withering look. If he was a plant,
he'd be a dried husk by now. You can't have
everything now, can you?
Again, he ignored her, but was not oblivious to her
expression. "What happened to the bubby, vivacious
Usagi I once knew and," he hesitated, as if not quite
sure if the next word would still make sense to her,
"loved?"
She swallowed. This was the Kentaro she knew and
loved, all those eons ago. It was the same Kentaro
who showed her the true colors of his soul, leaving
her to recoil back from its ugliness. He seemed
sincere now. Then again, he seemed sincere all those
years ago as well. What would a decade or two do to
one's soul? Would it refine it? Or allow it to
tarnish even more so than it was before?
She bit her quivering lip, willing it to still
itself. She couldn't even answer her own questions,
and the thought itself scared her. Uncertainty was one
of the few things that she feared. "I remember, Ken,"
she whispered softly, refusing to meet his eyes. She
let him draw her into his familiar embrace,
temporarily wiping away the worst parts of their rocky
past with better memories of a happier, and brighter
Usagi who was deeply in love with a handsome Kentaro.
"Then, will you give me another chance?" He seemed
genuinely earnest in his request, not expectant, as he
used to be back in the past. He smiled, and it made
him look handsome instead of silly.
To his dismay, she shook her head-a negative. "No, I
don't think I bring myself to do that. To forget
about
what you did." She brought her gaze to level with
his.
He seemed saddened by her response.
"It was that bad, huh?" He remarked wryly.
"Yeah. Quite."
It wasn't the end of the world. He allowed himself
another goofy grin. "Well, no one said anything about
not
being friends, ne?"
Despite the familiar feelings writhing in the pit of
her stomach, she nodded appreciatively. "No one
objected to friendship...I accept."
The goofy grin grew wider. "Come here, baby!" He
entrapped her in a giant bear hug, burying his head in
her shoulder.
Slowly, her free arm wrapped around his waist as she
was
drawn in.
"Love ya," he grinned happily.
"Love you too, Ken." She smiled genuinely, basking
in
the friendly embrace.
***
Mamoru strolled idly past Usagi open door. He
allowed
himself a glance, but rather, stayed for the view.
What was all this?
At first, he thought she was just meeting a family
member.
The man *was* blond, and he did look like her-or at
least,
from the backside. One couldn't really describe
someone
accurately by just looking at their backside. Well,
they
could-but he wasn't a back-analyst, if the profession
existed. Why was that man holding her so close?
"Get your hands off her!" He whispered violently to
himself, eyes ablaze with jealous fury. And what were
those flowers doing in her left hand? They looked a
bit
battered, but they were still flowers wrapped in nice,
clear plastic and yellow ribbon!
He caught his breath when he heard her say, "I
accept."
She didn't...she couldn't...Numerous possibilities
and
excuses came to mind, however, the most prominent one
rose above the rest. Twisting around the door frame,
he squinted, attempting to see if there was a wedding
ring encircling her fourth finger. Unfortunately, the
blasted bouquet of sunflowers blocked his view. He
was
really beginning to dislike sunflowers lately. He did
see a glint, however, and it was enough to confirm is
ill-founded suspicions.
His heart sank when he heard the man profess his love
for her in the most casual way possible. He didn't
even deserve to say it like that to her!
Although, he didn't know him, let alone see his face,
but at that point in time, even the backside was
enough
to make him hurl.
Angry and disappointed, he padded off toward the
elevators, and home.
***
"So, buddy, ol' pal? Shall we go off to celebrate
our
newfound friendship?" Ken led Usagi toward the
entrance to her office.
"Only if you'll hold back on the alcohol. I know you
can't hold your drinks very well," she jabbed him in
the ribs, reminiscing about previous experiences that
left behind spilled beer, broken glass and bleeding
noses.
He smiled while he fished out the keys to his new
convertible.
"Deal."
***
Shame shame shame, mizu-wizu... ::wide grin::
E-mails: (gee, I wonder why this is up...)
tokiya_ensui@yahoo.com
patchkhan1@hotmail.com
happened before. ^_~
Short Recap: Mamoru just finished shooting his commercial/photos,
and
whatnot. He's being chased after by a few thousand girls (give or take
^_~). He asks Usagi out, but she doesn't exactly give him an answer.
Later, we find him playing with the bow and arrow prop, in which the
arrow
goes flying, and hits someone accidentally.
::ponders:: that should've been in point form. ::shrugs:: oh well. ^_~
===
Patch's AN's: Oy, do my eyes deceive me? *rubs eyes*
Iie! It's true, Mizu has written the next chapter!
That means... that means... O.O *runs off screaming*
Mizu's AN's: O.o;; ::coughs:: now that we know that
Kana-sweetie-pie is a half-demon, we can expect her to
go rabid after reading this chapter. ::wanders off
into the kitchen:: (Ah hem! No questions about her
poppa...)
^_~
Disclaimer: Mizu and I had to go to court last week.
It seems we can't agree on who claims ownership on
that nummy toga of Mamoru's. But we solved the problem!
*sporting a black eye, holds up piece of cloth*
Half 'n' half! Oh, everything else belongs to Naoko,
as usual.
***
Cupid's Wayward Arrow
By Patch & Mizu
Chapter 7 : Say WHAT?!
Rated R for a bit of swearing.
***
Cringing, Mamoru turned to meet the target of his
badly aimed arrow. Perhaps, just perhaps, this person
would forgive him for shooting a hard, wooden arrow
that could have possibly cracked their skull in two
different places, and thus, given them a terminal
concussion that could turn them into a vegetable for
whatever was left of their lifespan. Just maybe.
Automatically, he swerved to meet his judge, jury and
possibly executioner-although, he sorely hoped that
they would decline the latter-most occupation.
Without
sparing the simplest of glances, he bowed in a formal
apology, his head narrowly missed the fake marble
column by a hairsbreadth. Whoa, close call.
Retribution for his actions? Nah...
"Gomen ne, gomen ne, gomen ne, gomen ne..." He
muttered repeatedly, until he thought that he'd spewed
out enough apologies to the stranger. He heaved a
sigh, thought his predicament over, and proceeded to
think about the consequences of his accidental
actions.
Most annoyingly, the term, "Assault," came to mind,
as his eyes widened in the most adorable, mortified
expression possible. Yeah, that was all that he
needed
now. Can't have his fame without cost-can't have your
mochi and eat it too.
He summed up the courage to take a peek at the
arrow's
prey, surprised when he was met with the lovely face
of a rather stunning young woman-and a lovesick sigh.
Uh oh. It was one of *those* sighs-the ones that
Motoki received at the arcade.
Well, multiply that description by about, oh, I don't
know, infinity plus one, and perhaps we could
visualize
the scene before us, or something to that effect.
Great, another admirer-just what he needed.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to get on a list
to dump me into a garbage bag and take me home to
discover your unearthly delights, meet your parents,
or sit in as your personal chocolate-feeder in my
undies. Oh, and to answer the most popular questions
old ladies have been asking me for weeks: they're
boxers, not briefs." he sighed loudly. Noticing that
he had said the random thought aloud, his throat
tightened in embarrassment. Face drained of any
identifiable color as he gulped audibly.
She was all legs, dimples and err-bounce. Mamoru
blushed a healthy vibrant red that would've looked
wonderful on a tomato's resume, but unfortunately,
finding him in the produce department would be rather
difficult. (Oh, don't we wish we could just pick him
up at the grocery store?)
Stereotypically speaking, she looked like she would
have the brain capacity of a walnut, or worse, a...a
pea!
Her grin grew wider as she inched toward him,
attempting to seem modest. Quite difficult, since it
seemed to be riding up her, he coughed, point of
inflection on her backside.
MODEST?! In *those* pieces of cloth? What was she
trying to be? The greatest oxymoron on two shapely
legs? Mamoru muttered to himself mentally, eyeing her
outfit (if one could even *call* that an outfit, let
alone a bathing suit) with distaste. Of course, he
was a man, with all the stereotypical manly urges, but
his tastes ran more along the lines of 'classy', not
'hussy'. Sure, there was only a three-letter
difference in the two terms. To him, they meant the
world-just as Usagi meant the world to him.
He blinked. What was he talking about? Usagi? The
world? No, she'd have to win over his love for
chocolate and black coffee first....but, her lips
must taste like chocolate, and she could make him just
as perky as black coffee could-
HENTAI! Here we go again with the practice of mental
self-flagellation... He halted the string of thoughts
to a knot, or a break, whichever metaphor you prefer
most. All right, perhaps black coffee wasn't the
perfect way to describe Usagi.
"Huh?" He uttered shortly. The woman had been
speaking to him.
"As I was saying," she eyed him carefully, almost...
lovingly. He cringed-she seemed too air-headed to
notice. "I think you make a great cupid. You look hot
in a diaper-"
His eye color flattened to a dull blue. "It's a
toga."
Yep, thighs of steel, brains of a peanut.
"Whatever," she waved her hand dismissively,
spreading expensive, toxic perfume into the air. "I
have some friends who own a bar. Perhaps we could get
a drink tonight?" She looked at him earnestly, eyes
somehow glassy.
Perhaps Mamoru was seeing things again. How the heck
did she achieve such an excellent puppy-dog
expression?
She cleared her throat, awaiting her answer
impatiently. He shot her an irritated expression, but
somehow, she saw it as an amorous glance. Any moment,
she would melt into a puddle of bad perfume and thin
rags.
He had to think of an excuse-quickly.
"Uhh..." He turned his head from one direction to
the other, hoping that the objects around would
inspire him. Carefully, he inched away, hands
outstretched to point to toward the general direction
of "there". "I have to...go wash...my..." Car?
Apartment? Underwear? "TOGA!" He blurted out.
Abruptly after he finished the sentence, his face
contorted into a strange looking frown. Oh well, an
excuse was an excuse.
"I thought you were finished shooting?" She asked
quizzically, vibrant smile ever-present upon her
radiant features. Well, well, well, what do we have
here? There is intelligence in that pretty little
head.
Mamoru inched farther away, making sure that the door
was right to his back. "Yeah, I am...but the toga
needs...err...special attention! Yeah, that's right!"
He restrained himself from slapping his palm on his
forehead.
She seemed to take the excuse to be genuine. Perhaps
intelligence is just something that comes by her every
lifetime, or so. He wasn't doting upon the second
segment of previous compound sentence.
"Well, hurry back!" She shouted from the other end
of the room, where he had just been standing, holding
a
dummy bow and arrow. He grinned nervously, "I will!"
He stepped through the gates to freedom, muttering to
himself, "and in the meantime, perhaps get yourself a
lobotomy. Yeesh."
***
Flowers. They were flowers. They were beautiful.
They were beautiful flowers that spoke of horrors from
her past.
She snapped the small card shut, face frozen in a
horrified expression.
"No no, it can't be him..." She shook her head.
Another voice continued her train of thoughts. "Of
course it's me, baby!" A blond man leaned casually on
the doorframe leading to Usagi's office, a goofy grin
upon his face. Mr. What's-his-face strolled toward a
plush chair, sitting upon it with practiced cat-like
grace.
She stomped toward him, a giant bunch of sunflowers
in hand. "What are you doing here?" She hissed,
refraining herself from batting his head with the
aforementioned bouquet. He gave her another goofy
grin that annoyed her to the high heavens-and he knew
it too.
"Why," he placed an arm around her small shoulders,
acting just as immature as he was back when they were
an item, to her mortification. "I'm here to see you."
He winked at her.
She twitched.
He didn't notice-darn. Hoped it would've given him a
hint or two.
"You see," he continued, polishing his fingernails on
his crisp, clean, Armani suit that seemed
two-sizes-too
-big for him. "I just got a promotion-"
"As what?" She snapped irritably, "head *rat*?"
He didn't hear her, as usual. "-and I thought that
I'd give you a little present to celebrate. What do
you say? Rekindle that old spark?" He raised his
eyebrows a few times suggestively. She actually did
bat him over the head with the bouquet of flowers.
"Baby, I knew you'd say yes," he answered, after he
recovered from a direct swat to the gelled head.
Insert another goofy smile here.
"Look," she contained her voice to a mere shriek.
Impressive, in her terms. "I don't love you anymore.
In fact, I don't even *like* you. Just because I was
fifteen, and not very level-headed-although, I must
have been out of *my mind* to go out with the likes of
*you*--it doesn't mean that things haven't changed
between us. I still hate you because you were a
conniving bastard who deserved no less than eternal
damnation in a stench bog!"
She took a deep breath, surprised that she even spent
that much air on him. She spared a glance at him, only
to see that he still seemed his happy, weasel-like,
little self. The man didn't even have the tact to
look
crestfallen!
She sighed heavily. "Some things never change." She
shook her head resignedly. Perhaps if she grabbed
that
expensive imported vase by her books and smashed it
over his head, he might get some sort of a clue.
Never
mind the fact that it cost her almost a week's worth
of pay at the International Antiquities Fair... He
took her shoulders and drew her carefully toward him.
They were still at a respectable distance...sort of.
"Look, I know what we had was special to you. It was
special to me too-or did you think that the great
Kentaro didn't have a heart?" His eyes softened a
notch, and a significant amount of affection poured
out from his gaze.
"Well, you certainly didn't show any signs of having
one during our relationship," she muttered
sarcastically.
His eyebrows knit together, puzzled. "What's wrong,
Usagi-chan? You've become negative, sarcastic-icy."
She shot him a withering look. If he was a plant,
he'd be a dried husk by now. You can't have
everything now, can you?
Again, he ignored her, but was not oblivious to her
expression. "What happened to the bubby, vivacious
Usagi I once knew and," he hesitated, as if not quite
sure if the next word would still make sense to her,
"loved?"
She swallowed. This was the Kentaro she knew and
loved, all those eons ago. It was the same Kentaro
who showed her the true colors of his soul, leaving
her to recoil back from its ugliness. He seemed
sincere now. Then again, he seemed sincere all those
years ago as well. What would a decade or two do to
one's soul? Would it refine it? Or allow it to
tarnish even more so than it was before?
She bit her quivering lip, willing it to still
itself. She couldn't even answer her own questions,
and the thought itself scared her. Uncertainty was one
of the few things that she feared. "I remember, Ken,"
she whispered softly, refusing to meet his eyes. She
let him draw her into his familiar embrace,
temporarily wiping away the worst parts of their rocky
past with better memories of a happier, and brighter
Usagi who was deeply in love with a handsome Kentaro.
"Then, will you give me another chance?" He seemed
genuinely earnest in his request, not expectant, as he
used to be back in the past. He smiled, and it made
him look handsome instead of silly.
To his dismay, she shook her head-a negative. "No, I
don't think I bring myself to do that. To forget
about
what you did." She brought her gaze to level with
his.
He seemed saddened by her response.
"It was that bad, huh?" He remarked wryly.
"Yeah. Quite."
It wasn't the end of the world. He allowed himself
another goofy grin. "Well, no one said anything about
not
being friends, ne?"
Despite the familiar feelings writhing in the pit of
her stomach, she nodded appreciatively. "No one
objected to friendship...I accept."
The goofy grin grew wider. "Come here, baby!" He
entrapped her in a giant bear hug, burying his head in
her shoulder.
Slowly, her free arm wrapped around his waist as she
was
drawn in.
"Love ya," he grinned happily.
"Love you too, Ken." She smiled genuinely, basking
in
the friendly embrace.
***
Mamoru strolled idly past Usagi open door. He
allowed
himself a glance, but rather, stayed for the view.
What was all this?
At first, he thought she was just meeting a family
member.
The man *was* blond, and he did look like her-or at
least,
from the backside. One couldn't really describe
someone
accurately by just looking at their backside. Well,
they
could-but he wasn't a back-analyst, if the profession
existed. Why was that man holding her so close?
"Get your hands off her!" He whispered violently to
himself, eyes ablaze with jealous fury. And what were
those flowers doing in her left hand? They looked a
bit
battered, but they were still flowers wrapped in nice,
clear plastic and yellow ribbon!
He caught his breath when he heard her say, "I
accept."
She didn't...she couldn't...Numerous possibilities
and
excuses came to mind, however, the most prominent one
rose above the rest. Twisting around the door frame,
he squinted, attempting to see if there was a wedding
ring encircling her fourth finger. Unfortunately, the
blasted bouquet of sunflowers blocked his view. He
was
really beginning to dislike sunflowers lately. He did
see a glint, however, and it was enough to confirm is
ill-founded suspicions.
His heart sank when he heard the man profess his love
for her in the most casual way possible. He didn't
even deserve to say it like that to her!
Although, he didn't know him, let alone see his face,
but at that point in time, even the backside was
enough
to make him hurl.
Angry and disappointed, he padded off toward the
elevators, and home.
***
"So, buddy, ol' pal? Shall we go off to celebrate
our
newfound friendship?" Ken led Usagi toward the
entrance to her office.
"Only if you'll hold back on the alcohol. I know you
can't hold your drinks very well," she jabbed him in
the ribs, reminiscing about previous experiences that
left behind spilled beer, broken glass and bleeding
noses.
He smiled while he fished out the keys to his new
convertible.
"Deal."
***
Shame shame shame, mizu-wizu... ::wide grin::
E-mails: (gee, I wonder why this is up...)
tokiya_ensui@yahoo.com
patchkhan1@hotmail.com