"Are you coming?"


Arashi muttered something obscene.


George straightened the tie he wore, looking back to the other. "I didn't realize how shy you were at heart, Arashi," his sultry voice chimed as he opened the door to the diner, waiting for Arashi to enter first.


Holding his position on the sidewalk, Arashi just glared... He was starting to get the feeling that this would be the permanent expression he wore around George.


The building before him looked relatively normal, as far as food joints went. In fact, he'd been pretty gung-ho about entering (as it's common knowledge that Arashi does have a bottomless pit for a stomach). That is, until he saw one of the customers leaving. The guy was wearing a skirt, cowboy boots, and an open jean-jacket... Ignoring the horrible sense of fashion for the moment, Arashi's jaw had dropped when he realized the crossdressed man was wearing lipstick and fake lashes...


No... The Lotus Lounge wasn't your run-of-the-mill diner. It was a bloody poof resort. And Arashi wasn't that hungry anymore.


George purposely looked down to the gold wristwatch he wore.


Arashi ran the tip of his tongue over the portion of the safety pin in his mouth. "Doin' this for Miwako's sake," he quietly reminded himself, rudely shoving past George to step inside.


The designer beamed with pleasure.


Arashi stopped dead in his tracks, only two feet in, stunned to the point that he didn't say anything as George stood only an inch behind him. He was unable to react.


If he thought George's blue hair and personality were weird, those things were nothing to compare to what he was seeing now. The room was filled.. FILLED.. with Yaza Art Loonies, as Arashi to tastefully liked to term them, the type of weirdos he spent damn near all his time avoiding.


No stranger to group hang-out spots, normally Arashi dealt with other punks, whose styles were influenced by the metal rock scene in America as well as the underground rock scene blossoming in Britain. There were some of those Elegant Gothic Lolita fans that hung around with his clique as well, but even they were tolerable. Granted, their outfits were pretty off-beat, but they looked -nothing- like this.


There were men in petite Lolita-esque ensembles, matching dolls and purses in hand... There were girls with neon hair and Victorian era petticoats... Someone was dressed in a spandex bodysuit, his/her head shaved clean down to the skin... Another favored that dramatic look that wasn't mainstream (yet), skin tanned to almost black, hair bleached and burnt to an albino white, eyes decorated in similar colored makeup... An entourage of every color imaginable, glitter, platform shoes, and body paint.


No two people looked alike... Oh yes, this was a poof resort alright. And for some reason, he and George were attracting quite an amount of attention.


"A new boy already, George? I'm so envious!" cooed a young boy from the booth nearest them. Somehow, Arashi kept his jaw from dropping as the 'boy' climbed onto the lap of a transvestite sitting beside 'him', and the t-shirt with the word "Queer" written across it tightened across the 'boy's chest to reveal two very unmasculine bumps (surprise, the 'boy' is actually a girl!).


Arashi sweatdropped and fixed a stony expression over his features. God.. Would they all just pick a gender and stick with it already?!


Shaking his head, Arashi forced himself to tune back in and actually listen to what was being said between George and that boyish-girl-thing, and ended up catching just the last fragment of it.


"...And, well," George was concluding, smugly draping an arm over Arashi's shoulders, "He's my new boy."


"You--" Arashi started, boxing glove on and ready to K.O. George. Just being in a place like this put him on ultra defensive.


"Wow! Isabella will be so thrilled to see that you got another guy to join your fashion group!" the drag queen (who was with the boyish-girl-thing) said.


"Neeeeee! I'm so ENVIOUS!" whined the genderless hybrid (Arashi's new way of referring to the boyish-girl) again.


Arashi felt his left eye twitching with a nervous tick, the sweatdrop only growing in size. Who, or rather, what was Isabella?


Miwako was going to spend a very, v-e-r-y long time making this up to him. Yes, he'd already decided that she was to blame for everything that had happened thus far this afternoon.


"Come sit over here," George beckoned to him, having already moved across the diner to select a booth for them to sit at.


Making his way across the room, Arashi kept his sight in line with the tips of his heavy boots. Not because his shoes were all that interesting, but because if he made eye contact with any of the students around him, they immediately thrust a hand out, demanding to shake his, or, demanding a kiss (which he wouldn't be caught dead giving). Oh yes, Miwako was going to have to do a whole lot to make this up to him, and George...


Well, Arashi had already vowed to murder that blue haired bastard.


Sliding onto the bench opposite George, Arashi snarled. Too bad George just didn't like to take hints.


"You're quite the popular one," George laughed, either not sensing or choosing to ignore the other's obvious discomfort.


Arashi grabbed up a fistful of the designer's jacket in a heartbeat, arm drawn back to beat that annoying grin off his face.


"Georgie!" called an exquisite tenor voice, and Arashi looked up to see a giant flurry of silk, jewels, lavender curls, and vanilla scented perfume headed their way.


"What the bloody--" the blond started.


Arashi's eyes widened to the size of half-dollars as George pressed a thumb to his lips, cutting off his rude questioning even as the designer's other four fingers cupped his cheek. Having already pulled George a portion of the distance over the table, the blue haired youth came closer still.


"This is one of the members of my fashion group. I don't want you to give Isabella any lip, got it?" Hypnotic sapphires sharpened their gaze, drilling the point home.


Just when Arashi was starting to think that George didn't care about a damn thing...



Arashi cleared his throat. He could have easily pulled away from the other's touch, but it was as though he were frozen. "Uh... Yeah... Sure, you--" he stammered.


"Shh!" George whispered, coming even closer. "If you don't argue, and you behave, I'll let you use your 'dirty' words on me later."


Yes.. George definitely had a deathwish.


"Oh, my!" Isabella gave a little holler as he rushed to the booth George and the punk-blond were sitting at, Arashi having knocked over a waterglass as he climbed across the table to pulverize George into the cushions of the booth.


Finished with his work, Arashi re-took his seat. He even flashed a grin to Isabella. Arashi hated George; he'd decided that two minutes into meeting the guy. But, smackin' him around some did put the guitarist in a better mood!


Meanwhile, all the while whispering 'Oh, dear,' like some healing mantra, Isabella fanned George with the menus he carried. "Georgie? Are you alive?"


George slowly sat up, one eye closed as he nursed a few more bumps. Provoking Arashi was definitely George's newest and most favorite pastime, especially when he made the blond blush and sweat- but it did have its drawbacks. "I'm fine." That infamous, million dollar smile surfaced. "You're looking lovely, as usual, Isabella."


Isabella just grinned, basking in the compliment with rather girlish delight.


Arashi watched skeptically, not sure how he should be taking all this.


"Isa, I'd like you to meet Arashi." George looked to the blond.


Isabella followed the designer's gaze, somehow maintaining a polite smile, despite his unease. Arashi -had- just been beating the stuffing out of George... "My, hello there."


Arashi at least made an effort. He gave a short wave.



"Isa, Arashi will be the final member of our fashion group," George announced, waiting for Isabella's reaction.


The cross-dressed male's smile faltered for a moment before it restored itself, and he nervously toyed with strands of his hair. "Oh.. I.. How marvelous! Welcome then, Arashi. I'm sure we'll all get along splendidly," he said sweetly, almost as though he were trying to assure himself.


If the crossdressed guy always used words like 'splendidly' and 'marvelous', Arashi got the feeling that somehow they wouldn't...


"Alright, I'm ready to order," George said, handing Isabella back one of the menus.


Arashi blinked, scrambling to grab the other one and look through it.


"Excellent choice!" Isabella said when George told him what he'd like.


Arashi frowned, mumbling to himself. "Too many selections... Hey!"


Isabella giggled softly (while Arashi paled) and took the menu from the guitarist. "Don't worry about it, honey, I know just what to bring you."


Arashi grew even paler as Isabella walked away, but not before giving the blond a friendly wink...


Miwako was -so- going to have to make this up to him.


"Ready to talk business, while we wait for our meals?"


Arashi shrugged. "Speak."


A frown threatened to surface at Arashi's less than caring attitude. "First thing then, what days can you come to work on the clothing?"


"Whenever."


". . .'Whenever'?" George echoed.


"Except on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons and nights. I've got band practice," Arashi bragged, not even trying to hide his proud smirk.


"...Are you the lead singer?" George asked, actually sounding interested.


"Naaah.. Lead guitarist."


"Good, then it won't matter if you have to quit. Which you do," George said calmly, pleased with himself.


"What?" Arashi snapped. "What the 'ell do you mean I 'have to quit'?"


George's tone grew slightly mocking, gaze sharp. "Did you think that I would choose someone to work for me who couldn't hold their part of the load? I won't tolerate it."


"Oh, really?" Arashi snickered. "And what about Isabella? He's a waitress.. er.. waiter. Won't -that- interfere with the group?" he fired back, certain that he'd won the argument.


"This job is temporary- Isa will be quitting as soon as we get the last member to our fashion group, and you're him," George retorted, never missing a beat.


"Well... I quit then!" Arashi shouted, defeated. Sitting up, he pulled out his cellphone, punching numbers rapidly. "And if I'm going, I'm taking Miwako with me! I'm sure you know by now that her sister went to Yaza Arts, so I'm positive if I ask nicely, she'll pull a few strings to get Miwako outta workin' for a crazy bastard like you!"


George's blue eyes formed narrow slits, like that of an angry cat. He did -not- like to be in this sort of position at all. Grabbing the phone along with Arashi's hand, he quickly pushed the 'Off' button.


He could have sneered at that annoying grin Arashi wore. "Change practice to just Tuesdays and Thursdays, and we won't have any problems," George reluctantly sighed.


"Deal!" Arashi said, putting his cell back in his pocket. See? It wasn't -that- hard to get the better of George! Of course, everything he'd said had been a lie. Mikako would never use her status to get his sorry arse out of something as silly as this (and had told him just that on more than one occasion).


George couldn't possibly let Arashi have the last word though, or think he'd won. "Your dedication to your music is refreshing, Arashi... If you put forth that sort of attitude with our clothing, you just might earn my admiration," he smiled.