A/N: You asked for it, I delivered. I'm glad to know that people like this story (so far that is). I'll try to keep up the standards. Me? Good at first POV? I'm rather shocked, but thanks anyway. Oh, I forgot to mention this in the last chapter, this story takes place in Arles, France (one of my favourite cities) sometime in mid November. Eriol and the gang are about twenty. Enjoy!

(Not) Selfless Advertisement: I'm offering my services as beta. If you are interested, e-mail me or just review. Warning, though, I ain't no good at English -__-'

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Chapter 2: Foxtrot

At first there was darkness, one that was both cold and hot at the same time. The next thing I knew, the obscurity was clearing way like a gigantic curtain, revealing a lighted stage. I wearily made my way toward it, knowing before hand that I was having a nightmare but not able to wake up. The lights turned their attention on me, and I was suddenly on the stage, looking out. The panic level rose, and I wanted to dash off, away from the blinding lights, but my feet were suddenly bolted to the floor. I heard a commotion from somewhere; I turned and nearly screamed. A mob of brightly colored figures was hurtling my way, like the toy projectiles I used to play with as a kid. I realised that the flashing hues were parts of over-exaggerated costumes and make-up, and that made me even more afraid. Before I could even attempt to dash from my spot, the legion of performers was surrounding me, pawing my clothes and face, flaunting their crimson lips and fake eyelashes at me. I wanted to scream, to wake up, but I found a piece of something lodged in my throat. I tried to fight them, hitting thin air where their bodies were supposed to be. They surrounded me...

As I thrashed around in my place, I suddenly discovered that my captors were my own sheets and that thing stuck in my throat...? Guess what that was.. No, it was my pillow. Sighing, I untangled myself from the stronghold and fell back into the comforter. I glanced at my watch and remembered that I dislocated it sometime during last night. At the mention of previous evening, I groaned aloud and pushed my head deeper into the pillow.

Last night, as I was preparing for my routine shower, my best bud, Syaoran, showed up on my doorstep, begging me for a favour. The next thing I know, I was being dragged to a party a certain whatever-his-name was having. I don't remember the details, but I can guess the end result wasn't pretty, thus the migraine that was now beginning to build in my head. I don't even remember I got home and into my bed.

I heard a faint scratching sound beyond my bedroom door, and released another groan. My cat, Spinel Sun – don't ask what truck decided to hit me when I named him – was apparently very awake and demanding food. I wondered for a second for how long I've slept, but that wasn't my top priority at the moment.

Scratch.

"Im coming!" This was followed by a meow. I wearily got off the bed, shivering slightly at the cold that met my bare skin and swaying on my feet from momentary dizziness. The wretched cat began meowing and scratching with more fervour, grating on my headache.

"Sometimes, I think you hate me," I said to him after I opened the door, letting him in. He entwined himself around my feet – how he managed that, I have no idea – and looked up at me with big, blue cat-y eyes. "What do you always want from me? Do I not feet you? Smother you? Give you a litter box?"

Meow.

"You could at least show some gratitude."

I proceed to the small kitchen, noting that I forgot to wash the dishes from yesterday. What? It's only two plates and a glass; I don't live in a pigsty, you know. Spinel Sun trailed after me, tail in the air and eyes on the fridge. After I delivered his breakfast – Friskies, the gourmand's choice – I went in search of my own meal. Sometime later, coffee mug in one hand and bagel in the other, I plopped down on the couch.

Aa.. Fridays. The best days of the week (besides the weekends). It was quarter to ten and I had classes in the evening, so the morning was totally free and mine for enjoying. I was planning to spend the rest of my free time just watching TV, maybe go out and see an early show with Syaoran or Yamazaki. As I was surfing though the channels, looking for anything that struck my fancy, I stumbled upon an advertisement for a Broadway show and I nearly spit my coffee out. I completely forgot about the interview! I was supposed to meet that dancer-lady at nine o'clock at Chez Pierre's! That Daidouji something-or-other was gonna have a hissy fit!

I quickly dashed from one part of the apartment to another, cussing under my breath and ignoring the new coffee stain on my couch and my cat that was giving me weird glances. After sparing a quick shower, I hastily dressed in a black button-up shirt and casual pants – gotta leave some sort of impression on Her Majesty. I know exactly what these people like. Class. And elegance. Nothing is too good for them; nothing is too expensive or too outlandish. Grabbing my watch, coat and scarf, I ran outside, only to return a minute later to grab my keys, notebook and put on my shoes.

As I ran through the frost-covered streets, I silently cursed not for the first time the fact that I did not have a car. This city – thank you, whoever discovered it – wasn't that big and it wouldn't take long to reach the other side of it. The air was cold against my skin, making my cheeks sting from the rush of winter's breath. Everything was a blur, only my destination clear in my mind. I must've looked like a madman, an escapee from the mental institution, but at the moment the interview was my top priority. After fifteen minutes of running, Chez Pierre's was in sight, and I hastened my gait. Stopping outside the quaint establishment, I took a moment to catch my breath and straighten out my slightly rumpled coat. Wiping off the sweat that was gathering on my brow, I walked in, making sure to look dignified while doing so.

I scanned over the cozy room; the morning people were hunched in front of their mugs of coffee, staring almost lifelessly out into the street, some couples were nestled near the entrance, murmuring sweet endearments to each other. I saw no pissy Prima Donnas, though. Maybe the girl had tired of waiting and left? If that's the case, my boss would have my ass on Monday...I went up to the lady at the reception, who paused filing her nails to spare me an appreciative glance, and told her of my appointment there. She looked at me sourly and pointed with her brightly colored fingernail to the back booth.

When I arrived at the appointed booth, my jaw nearly dropped, along with my eyeballs. I saw a fragile looking young woman, slender-built and pale in complexion. Long, ebony hair flowed down her back, sheathing her slim form. Her eyes were downcast, staring into the dark of her coffee from beneath her eyelashes. I couldn't believe my eyes. Here I was, imagining an elephant-lady or a "Goth Queen", and all I got was this delicate, dainty creature sitting in the corner?

I cleared my throat.

Startled, she looked up to me and my jaw almost hit the floor for the second time that morning. She had the most astonishing purple eyes I've ever seen – even though I hadn't seen too many; they had flecks of blue and violet mixed with amethyst. They kinda sent chills down my back.

"Yes?" She prodded gently.

That woke me up from the momentary spell. I shifted my feet around nervously, unable to find words appropriate enough. "I-I'm supposed to have an interview with you today...?"

"O-oh! You must be Mr. Hiiragizawa; I've heard so much about you from Mr. Strorm. Please, have a seat," she gestured toward the leather-upholstered bench opposite her, and I took my seat stiffly.

"I'm sorry I'm so late; overslept," I said sheepishly, extending my hand for her to shake.

"No harm done. I needed a bit of quiet time," said she while excepting my offered hand.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence, during which I surveyed her more closely. She had a full, rosy mouth, with just a hint of dimples at the corners. High cheekbones and an elfin nose graced her youthful face; I felt as if I was staring into a deity's face. Her eyes were the most prominent features, though. And, yes, I know I sound like a newly weaned child – or a hormone-driven teenager – but her appearance startled me, that's all. She seemed so ordinary, dressed in her simple peach-colored turtleneck and what I assumed were dress pants. In fact, I can bet my entire CD collection that I've seen her around the university campus; she might even be in my English Lit. class.

The waitress, Elle, chose that moment to show her bubbly self. "What ya want, honey?" She asked, winking at me. Elle is a sweet gal, a bit odd at times, and not to mention old enough to be my mother, but sweet.

"Just black coffee with two sugar cubes, please, Elley,"

"And I'd like some pizza (A/N: argh! I don't know any French food), please," cut in Daidouji-san and Elle bounced away cheerily.

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. I thought artistic people like her only fed on rabbit food and protein shakes. "I didn't know your kind of people ate this kind of food," the words escaped my mouth before I was able to stop the urge.

"My kind of people? And what kind would that exactly be?" She asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Err..."Nothing; I was just talking to myself." Lame excuse, huh? "Now, onto the interview, can you tell me something about yourself, Ms. Daidouji?" I said while flipping to a new page in my notebook.

"What do you want to know?"

I thought about that for a moment. I was not given specific instructions regarding this interview. Heh. Just what my boss would do. He wanted me out of the game so badly, he purposely "forgot" to include the details of my assignment. Well, no biggie, I've been in tougher situations before this.

I was wondering why she was so unlike every other artist. Why she didn't wear make-up and way too expensive clothes. And why two minutes of looking into her eyes got my stomach doing the samba. Instead I asked: "What's your background? Where were you born? Family? Anything particular in your genealogy?"

She looked at me and smiled slightly. "There's nothing special about me, really. I was born in a small town – Tomoeda, Japan. My mother and my self moved here when I was six. I was always interested in music and art, so I've attended classes ever since I first placed foot on this soil. Anything else, Mr. Hiiragizawa?"

I could tell that that wasn't her entire story, but I respect her privacy and won't question her about it – too much. I could feel more than see a tiny smirk crossing her features. I don't know how, but she was mocking me. I felt the red of embarrassment tinge at my cheeks. I was about to open my mouth for a clever comeback when Elle decided to flounce back in, bringing my coffee with her. Coffee, just what I need. Sometimes, I love this woman to bits. Taking the warm cup into my waiting hands, I almost sighed with contentment. The Diva smirked at me almost imperceptibly, but I caught it and practically glared at her. She giggled and I tightened my hold on the mug.

She was about to say something when she suddenly froze. I quirked an eyebrow at her. She glanced at her watch hurriedly and got up, exclaiming: "Oh no! I'll be late!"Before I could gather my wits to realize what was going on, she was donning on her coat and dashing toward the exit.

"Hey! Where are you going?" I called out to her, unwittingly catching the attention of everyone else in the room.

"I forgot; I have to meet my manager in ten minutes!"

"What about the interview?"

"I'll arrange another meeting," with that she disappeared outside.

I sighed and leaned back into my seat. She sure wasn't what I expected. It almost made me feel guilty; I assumed her entire personality without even knowing her. Almost. There were always other chances to prove my theory true. I glanced at my watch and noted that I had almost two hours before I had to go to class. I looked out into the street, taking leisurely sips of my coffee. I would have to meet her again – Argh! – and my boss would have a proverbial fit when he heard about this. At this moment, though, all I could think about were the Diva's entrancing eyes and the sway of her hips when she walked out of the café. I mentally groaned and slid farther into my seat.

(tbc)

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Gah! Try to write a funny dialogue while listening to Lux Aeterna! It's impossible I tell you! (For any of you who don't know what I'm talking about, it's the LORT: The Two Towers trailer music)