A Losing Battle
A/N: heya! Here we are, once again. Thanks for checking this out! This is my immitation of another story that's been posted: Left Alone. It's not exactly the same thing, but if you notice similarities in plot, then this is why. [I hope it's not considered abusing, and if it is, let me know and I'll take it right down. I'm not trying to offend anyone.]
Disclaimer: Tekken isn't mine [unfortunately, cuz then I could take Hwoarang and Jin once and for all. ^__~] and so that I don't encounter the annoying pain that fellow authors have, I DISCLAIM TEKKEN ONCE AND FOR ALL!!!!!!! ::breathes::Now that it's all taken care of, let's get down to business, shall we? ^__^
Dionne DeLavega
Country of Origin: Cuba
Fighting Style: Various types of Chinese Martial arts [father's teachings], and various styles of Akido.
Age: 19
Blood Type: AB
Height: 160 cm
Weight: 48Kg
Occupation: Bartender, musician.
Hobby: Playing her black acoustic [guitar for those of you non-musicians], dancing, flirting.
Likes: Her guitar, American metal music, her read highlights.
Dislikes: Dishonesty, blondes [ditzy ones], conceited people, and cheerleaders.
Dionne gazed out the window of the public bus. She considered herself extremely lucky she had learned Japanese. She sighed, and looked at the people in the bus. A few of the women were older, and the men were quite young. They looked around her age, and a few even exchanged sweet glances with her. She ignored them, and turned her head. She had to keep her focus until she had won the tournament. She had to win the Mishima Zaibatsu. It was her destiny. The bus stopped at the hotel, and a few of the guys got off. One of them was blonde, and had dark, intense eyes. Another was tall with silvery hair. He was one Di would have loved to bed, but she remembered the promise to herself of abstaining. She sighed, and got out, heading to the hotel.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
After waiting in line, she finally got to the checkout counter.
"May I help you?" the clerk asked.
She nodded, "Checking in, DeLavega,"
The man glared up at her, and typed the name in the computer, "Dye- on?"
"It's Dionne…like Deion Sanders?" she said, rolling her eyes.
"I need passport,"
She arched a brow, "What for? No one else…"
"Because no one else is from a foreign nation," he muttered.
"That guy over there is obviously British!" she said, pointing to the blonde. A young man walked over. He was dressed in long black pants, and a white t-shirt with a colar. The clerk cowered.
"Let her check in," he ordered.
Dionne looked at the young man. He was extremely handsome. She could feel her heart skip a beat.
"Yes sir," the man spoke, typing in her name quickly, and handing her the key. As she stood up to get her luggage, the man was gone. She scratched her head, but went to the elevator.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
She got onto the elevator, bumping into a young man. She turned, and apologized.
"No problem. Hey, you're not from around here, are you?"
"Nope,"
He caught a hint of a Latin accent, "Spanish?'
She looked at him, "Cuban. You're good,"
He chuckled, "So I've often been told,"
She arched a brow, "I see…"
"Hwoarang. And you are?" taking her hand and kissing it. She pulled away.
"Dionne,"
He nodded. The elevator bell tinged, and the door opened. She turned, and offered a sweet smile, and she headed to her room. The delectable redhead was behind her, and she turned, arching a brow at him, "Yes?"
"This is my room," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"This is my room," opening the door with a key. She looked shocked. He couldn't help but smile.
"See?"
She shook her head, "Not possible," closing the door, and trying her key. They both worked.
He smiled mischeviously "Don't worry. I'm the perfect roomy,"
She looked a bit nervous. Sharing a room with this man could mean losing focus, being manipulated into losing…
"Fine. Just as long as you keep on your side of the room,"
He nodded, "Fine by me. Just as long as I get the last shower,"
She chuckled, "Fine,"
He held the door for her as she entered.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: heya! Here we are, once again. Thanks for checking this out! This is my immitation of another story that's been posted: Left Alone. It's not exactly the same thing, but if you notice similarities in plot, then this is why. [I hope it's not considered abusing, and if it is, let me know and I'll take it right down. I'm not trying to offend anyone.]
Disclaimer: Tekken isn't mine [unfortunately, cuz then I could take Hwoarang and Jin once and for all. ^__~] and so that I don't encounter the annoying pain that fellow authors have, I DISCLAIM TEKKEN ONCE AND FOR ALL!!!!!!! ::breathes::Now that it's all taken care of, let's get down to business, shall we? ^__^
Dionne DeLavega
Country of Origin: Cuba
Fighting Style: Various types of Chinese Martial arts [father's teachings], and various styles of Akido.
Age: 19
Blood Type: AB
Height: 160 cm
Weight: 48Kg
Occupation: Bartender, musician.
Hobby: Playing her black acoustic [guitar for those of you non-musicians], dancing, flirting.
Likes: Her guitar, American metal music, her read highlights.
Dislikes: Dishonesty, blondes [ditzy ones], conceited people, and cheerleaders.
Dionne gazed out the window of the public bus. She considered herself extremely lucky she had learned Japanese. She sighed, and looked at the people in the bus. A few of the women were older, and the men were quite young. They looked around her age, and a few even exchanged sweet glances with her. She ignored them, and turned her head. She had to keep her focus until she had won the tournament. She had to win the Mishima Zaibatsu. It was her destiny. The bus stopped at the hotel, and a few of the guys got off. One of them was blonde, and had dark, intense eyes. Another was tall with silvery hair. He was one Di would have loved to bed, but she remembered the promise to herself of abstaining. She sighed, and got out, heading to the hotel.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
After waiting in line, she finally got to the checkout counter.
"May I help you?" the clerk asked.
She nodded, "Checking in, DeLavega,"
The man glared up at her, and typed the name in the computer, "Dye- on?"
"It's Dionne…like Deion Sanders?" she said, rolling her eyes.
"I need passport,"
She arched a brow, "What for? No one else…"
"Because no one else is from a foreign nation," he muttered.
"That guy over there is obviously British!" she said, pointing to the blonde. A young man walked over. He was dressed in long black pants, and a white t-shirt with a colar. The clerk cowered.
"Let her check in," he ordered.
Dionne looked at the young man. He was extremely handsome. She could feel her heart skip a beat.
"Yes sir," the man spoke, typing in her name quickly, and handing her the key. As she stood up to get her luggage, the man was gone. She scratched her head, but went to the elevator.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
She got onto the elevator, bumping into a young man. She turned, and apologized.
"No problem. Hey, you're not from around here, are you?"
"Nope,"
He caught a hint of a Latin accent, "Spanish?'
She looked at him, "Cuban. You're good,"
He chuckled, "So I've often been told,"
She arched a brow, "I see…"
"Hwoarang. And you are?" taking her hand and kissing it. She pulled away.
"Dionne,"
He nodded. The elevator bell tinged, and the door opened. She turned, and offered a sweet smile, and she headed to her room. The delectable redhead was behind her, and she turned, arching a brow at him, "Yes?"
"This is my room," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"This is my room," opening the door with a key. She looked shocked. He couldn't help but smile.
"See?"
She shook her head, "Not possible," closing the door, and trying her key. They both worked.
He smiled mischeviously "Don't worry. I'm the perfect roomy,"
She looked a bit nervous. Sharing a room with this man could mean losing focus, being manipulated into losing…
"Fine. Just as long as you keep on your side of the room,"
He nodded, "Fine by me. Just as long as I get the last shower,"
She chuckled, "Fine,"
He held the door for her as she entered.
* * * * * * * * * * * *