A/N: Here were are, chapter two. Like I said, this won't be that long of a story. I've just been hit with writer's block so hard that it hurts right now, and I thought writing something small and pointless would help me clear my head. So you all know--Wanders is once again on hold. It's just so hard for me to write that now. Everything that comes out is just so horrible. I won't give up on it though! I vow to finish it one day. As for Tainted Blood, my other open story, Chapter 14 is with my beta and should be uploaded soon. I don't think I'll get any updates out tomorrow since it's my birthday *yay me!* Oh, please remember everyone that this is an AU story, so the characters will be OOC! Enjoy chapter 2.
Riffs and Canvas
Chapter 2: Punishment, Tastes Like Chicken
The principle's office waiting room was cold and formal. It seemed devoid of humanity, not to mention personality, and was painted with that same sickly-white color that all school offices seemed to be painted in since the beginning of time. Everyone was convinced it was titled 'school hallway white.' In this waiting room, just outside of the office where the principle was currently interrogating the teacher who had broken up the 'paint fight' in the hallway, sat Aoshi and Misao. One was on either side of the room.
Aoshi fidgeted a little. Every second that went by with him sitting there was another second the paint had to dry and came closer to forever staining his favorite coat. He looked up suddenly, blue eyes fixed rigidly upon Misao's form. She was paying no attention to him whatsoever. Her hair was once more shoved beneath her bandana and her head bounced slightly along with the song that was pounding from the headphones were back on her ears. It seemed to Aoshi that she had been here before and either knew the drill, or didn't care. He didn't care one way or the other.
What he did care about was how brazen she seemed after being freshly doused by black paint. There was a long hand-shaped streak running down the front of her denim jacket, but she looked as if she had not a care in the world. Had he done a similar stunt to any of the girls he knew back in the city--or any of the one around here for the same matter--they would either be in tears by now, or gouging out his eyes when no one was looking. It made him edgy that this girl wasn't doing anything expected. Aoshi would never admit it to himself or anyone else, but he was intrigued by the fact that she was behaving unpredictably. An odd combination that left him irritated and interested at once.
It also didn't help that she was easy on the eyes. If she wasn't so tyrannical, one might even call her pretty. Long legs clad in denim, long fingers that gave her hands an elegant look. Her skin was pale, offsetting her bright eyes and dark hair. He had only glimpsed her hair before she dumped the paint on him, but it looked to be long and black. Now it was hidden, along with her eyes, in a mixture of bagging clothing and black paint. There was a smudge of it on her upturned nose. It made her look somewhat young, like those kids who finger painted in elementary school and always covered themselves from head to toe in the stuff. She looked up at him once or twice--at least he thought she didn't because her head turned up, even if he couldn't see her eyes. It made him a little uneasy so he looked away and pretended not to notice.
Still, his mind once more began to dwell on the sudden destruction of his most beloved coat. He could take on a rival gang, fight six guys all on his own, but when faced with the potential death of his coat, he was utterly helpless.
A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. The girl, whose name he still did not know, had put on a pair of sunglasses and was riffling around in her bag. He watched her pull out a sketch pad and what looked like a sharpened pencil. Then she began scribbling on the paper furiously. Aoshi turned away undaunted, but annoyed. Artists…he thought with distain. They're all tortured and tormented. How could anyone draw at a time like this?
That was an easy one, she could.
Why? He didn't know.
And you know what? He didn't care.
Know something else?
That was only because he kept telling himself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
For a long while, Misao did nothing but sit in the puke-colored room and simply listen to her headphones while waiting for the principle to come out and give her detention. It had happened before, chances were it would happen again. She just tried to calm the churning in her stomach and silently prayed that he wouldn't call her father. That was really the last thing she needed.
For another minute, she contemplated apologizing to the boy for her actions in the hall. He caught her on a bad day and accidentally wreaked the mural she was really starting to like. It hadn't really been his fault, but she needed to vent sometimes. He seemed like a good victim at the time. Noticing the large black streak over her jacket, she thought maybe her actions had been a bit hasty. One look over at him convinced her otherwise, however. He looked two seconds away from punching through the wall.
Even as brooding and dangerous as he looked just then, Misao was struck by his appearance. In the hall, she hadn't really noticed. He was tall, yeah, but she had been too hurt and enraged to notice much else about him. Now she had a good look at him, and she what she saw was favorable.
He was new--he had to be because she had never seen him around school and Misao had been mocked or talked about by just about everyone by now. Most of the students here had lived in the neighborhood their entire lives. It was odd to have a new face, but at the same time, Misao was glad for it. Had she pulled a stunt like that with anyone from around here, he would have gone to her father so fast her head would have spun. That would have left her with a whole new list of problems.
Misao was not the kind of girl to lose herself over any guy, even a really hot guy, but she could freely admit that this guy, the one she had assaulted, was a really hot guy. Now, with that established, she quickly went into action. She put on her sunglasses like this morning, but this time it was to disguise her eye movements. Digging out her sketch pad and a pencil, Misao began to draw him.
Another good thing about him being new, Misao thought to herself with her tongue between her teeth in concentration. I could ass this drawing to the wall in the studio and Dad will never know. He'll just think it's another nameless 'pretty boy' actor like Johnny Depp or Keanu Reeves. It was rare for Misao to use a real model in her work because her father went through her pads on a daily basis. Drawing a person he knew or recognized was not worth the outcome to Misao. Even though, she still loved real models over pictures from magazines. There was just something magical to her about capturing a person in front of up on paper, some inner thrill that made her fell alive.
Her pencil flew across the paper, outlining and shaping, filling in positive space and negative space. It was actually turning out to be a good likeness, an etching that would lovingly be placed on the wall, until the office door opened and two people emerged. The first was the teacher who had broken up the fight--a senior math teacher Misao had no recollection of--and Principle Hiko. Misao quickly switched off her music and stuffed her things into her side bag before anyone saw. Principle Hiko looked at Aoshi, then to Misao. He came over to her.
The principle was a tall and imposing man with a short temper and a long list of grievances. For one, he didn't want to be in this school, or this town, or even this country, but like so many things in his life, he was trapped in this on place. Not that he was unkind to any student, he was just easy to tick off. Misao, whose father was responsible for Hiko's main grievance, was no exception from his wrath.
"Miss Makimachi, why am I not surprised?" Hiko grumbled when he stood over her. He looked down his nose to see the small girl looking back at him through mirrored-lenses.
"Principle Hiko!" Misao said in a sugary sweet voice that warned of trouble. "Is that a new hair cut?"
The principle scowled and pointed and imposing finger toward the open door of his office. "My office," he said sourly. "Now." Misao took off her glasses and gracefully got to her feet, making to follow the principle to his office. On a whim, she turned to look over at her victim but found that he was gone.
Mildly disappointed, Misao fell into the familiar chair in front of Hiko's imposing desk with a sigh. She looked across the top at the principle with a level stare that normally only came from grown men in their forties who spent their time around business sharks. It unnerved many adults when a child looked at them with such open expressions of wit and worldly knowledge. Hiko was not intimidated.
"Do you do this purposely to come see me?" he asked. "You could always make an appointment, Misao."
"And miss the chance to spend our time of punishment together?" Misao said with sarcasm thick in her voice. Hiko was one of the only adults she spoke candid with. The only other was the owner of the restaurant where Misao worked.
"Don't piss me off today," he warned. "I'm not ready for this from you yet. First day back to school for the new quarter and you're already making trouble?" Misao looked away, feeling the heat rise in her face and wishing to suddenly combust in a world of flames.
"It was a spur of the moment thing," she said weakly. "I don't plan."
"Misao, you have to learn to control your temper," he said finally.
"I know," she sighed, rubbing her temples. She was a veteran when it came to the 'temper' speech. "I know."
"Do you?" the principle questioned. "You don't act like it."
"It was a mistake," she said fiercely. "I was having a bad morning and he knocked me down and my mural-"
"No excuses," he barked. "You should know better than to throw paint on someone, especially a boy on his first day!"
"We wasn't exactly the perfect victim," Misao muttered under her breath, running a finger over the dried paint on her jacket. It was okay really, the paint would come out with club soda and Oxi-clean.
"Misao," he said with a pleading sigh, something that he rarely did. Misao was one of those frustrating cases, that had so many problems that you wanted to help so badly. She just wouldn't give him anywhere to go. She was surrounded by walls so thick and high he doubted anyone would ever get over them. It was just as well that she was graduating this year. "I'm sorry, but we had to call your father on this one."
All the color, the teasing smile, and the spark from her eyes, suddenly died from Misao's face. She once more became a silent statue. "Oh," was all she said.
"You didn't give me a choice!" Hiko said quickly, wanting her to come back to life suddenly. "This is your third disruption in the last two months Misao, I had to call him sooner or later."
"It's all right," she said quietly. "When will he be here?"
"He's not coming, we just spoke on the phone," the principle replied. The steely tone her father had used on the phone and the sudden change in Misao's demeanor left him to wonder just what went on in the Makimachi household. But this was a small town, and no one spoke of such things in small towns, especially of their most favored politician, the richest and most powerful man in the town.
"Should I go back to class?" Misao asked politely.
"No," Hiko said. "There is something else I have to discuss with you."
"Oh?"
"It's about your scholarship." That made Misao fall into her chair. It couldn't be! She couldn't have…lost it, could she? Not the scholarship, the only really lifeline she had to escape this town and her father. Not the one chance to go to the school she had dreamt of since her childhood. Not art school. He couldn't have taken that from her too, could he? Tears came unbidden to Misao's green eyes, but she refused to shed on, not while anyone could see.
"Tell me," she said viciously.
Hiko decided it was best to tell her now, than wait for her father. "You're in danger of losing the scholarship to the Metropolitan School of Liberal Arts, Misao."
"But I haven't lost it yet?" she asked, begging with her mind, her heart, and her soul that she still had a chance.
"No, you still have it." If relief could kill, Misao would have died in that moment a million times over. But as it was, something threatened her dream, and that could not happen. She would kill for her scholarship, her key to art school. The only way she'd ever escape her father for good, since he said he would never pay a dime for her to got to art school from his pocket. So she had worked and worked all her life and was awarded with acceptance and a scholarship to her art school. Now it was in danger, and she'd kill to keep it.
"What do I have to do to keep it?"
"They're enforcing a stricter activities clause to the scholarship. You need another educational extracurricular to qualify."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
"Quick, what's a club I can join?" Misao was once more quick to get things done.
"Unfortunately," Hiko said slowly. "There's only one spot available for you Misao, at least in a qualifying place."
"What?" she asked, straining across the desk eagerly.
"Tutoring." And that was when her father arrived.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The math teacher had taken Aoshi from the office, saying he was free to go.
It was a lucky break, and he was thankful for it, but he did feel a little sorry for the girl. She was taking all the blame for the fight. He looked down at the front of his coat and his pity vanished. It served her right.
Aoshi got around the rest of the day without incident, though a lot of people were watching him now. It made him edgy and look more dangerous. That only added more fuel to the gossip fire, and he was sorry for it. But in the end, there was little he could do to stop the masses from talking. He mourned his coat secretly most of the day, counting the minutes until he could go home and try to wash it.
His lunch was fifth period, and that was where he met 'the gang'.
He had brought his own lunch, fresh and packed by Okina--curtsey of the Aoyia restaurant. So he sat himself down at the furthest table from the masses as he could find, slowly eating his food while surveying the rest of the student body. Just as suspected, it was just as different from home in the cafeteria as it had been in all his other classes. Aoshi only sighed slightly and went back to his food.
"Hi," a voice suddenly said, surprising him out of his silence.
"Huh?" was his oh-so-intelligent reply. Aoshi looked up and was met with the sight of a boy around his age, small for his size, with bright red hair and an obnoxious smile. His wide eyes were purple, and odd combination if anyone asked Aoshi. Of course, they didn't. He came across as welcoming, even if he was a little goofy-looking.
"I said hello," the boy repeated. "I don't think anyone has formally introduced themselves to you, or welcomed you to school."
"Not really," Aoshi said. "And that's just fine with me."
"Come now," the boy said cheerily, sitting himself down opposite Aoshi and signaling to someone behind him. Suddenly, three other people appeared and plunked down their trays at the table. Two girls, two guys, all looking at Aoshi expectantly.
"Uh…" he mumbled awkwardly before going back to his sandwich.
"Oh, we have a bashful one here," one of the girls said in a flirty voice. "You know what this means?"
"It means you'll have to retract your claws?" one boy--the other one--said in question. Aoshi was sorry he had ever acknowledged the goofy red-head.
"Guys," the other girl said with a sigh. "Shut up."
"Whatever."
"I'll do what I want."
"Sorry," the red-head said with a shrug. "That's just how they are." Aoshi did a great job of ignoring him. "By the way," the cheery boy continued. "I'm Kenshin, and these are my friends. We just wanted to make you feel welcome here." Aoshi looked up briefly and saw they were all watching him again.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You suck at intros Kenshin," the loud boy said with a sigh. He had short, spiky brown hair with a red headband around his head. It looked like he could be a good fighter, and was only a few inches smaller than Aoshi. His brown eyes held humor and pride. He turned to Aoshi then. "I'm Sanosuke, but everyone calls me Sano."
"That's because he's too dense to understand that long of a word," said the girl next to him as she smiled. "I'm Megumi," she introduced herself. She was a pretty one, and obviously knew that, with a fall of dark hair and equally dark eyes. She was the kind of girl that liked to flaunt, but was a good person underneath.
"You know, that's really uncalled for," Sano said with a wounded look.
"Rooster head, don't pout," Megumi taunted. "It'll make what's left of your brain die faster."
"That's it!" Megumi shot up from her seat and took off across the room with Sano hot on her heels, throwing fries at her as he went. It would have been comical, but Aoshi was just more annoyed now.
"One day those two are going to kill each other," the other girl said with a sigh. Her hair was bound behind her head, revealing a pretty face with large, innocent eyes. "I guess I'm the last to introduce myself. I'm Kaoru. It's a pleasure."
"Yeah," Aoshi said with a nod. He went back to his food and tried to pretend they weren't there.
"So," Kaoru said causally. "By the looks of your jacket, I'd say you've had a run-in with Princess Makimachi."
Aoshi looked up then. "Pardon me?"
"She means the paint," Kenshin clarified. "You aren't the first person to be doused by her highness, and I doubt you'll be the last."
"I never did catch her name," Aoshi mumbled, more to himself then the others.
"That would be Misao Makimachi," Kaoru said with a firm nod. "She's the school's royalty. Rich and foul-tempered. If you get anywhere near her or her precious art, you'll be dyed another color."
"I take it she's not very popular then," Aoshi commented, thinking back to a few people like that he knew from his old high school. Back in the city, most foul-tempered people were poor, and proud.
"Not really," Kenshin said with a shrug. "She keeps to herself mostly. She's the daughter of our town Mayor."
"That's why we call her royalty," Kaoru said lightly. "She's in grade, graduating this year with our class."
"She doesn't look old enough," Aoshi commented, finishing off his lunch.
"She skipped a grade back in middle school," Kaoru clarified. "Her father's doing, no doubt. She just turned seventeen last month."
"Just take our word for it," Kenshin continued. "You don't want to bother her again. Her Dad is law in this town, and even if it's her that starts something--which it usually is--you'll get the blame."
"Thanks for the advice," Aoshi said, getting to his feet and pulling on his backpack. It's a little too late to save my coat though, he thought bitterly. By this time, Sano and Megumi had returned from their escapade, just in time to say goodbye as Aoshi departed early to get to his next and final band class. This was a class specially for people who played string instruments--the guitar included. His fingers itched to touch the familiar strings of the instrument, to touch a pick and hear the sounds of tuning. He longed to play a melody and get lost in his own world of notes and harmony. He hadn't written anything new in a while, and that always let him a little testy, but he felt a song coming on and needed to start playing a melody. There would be a double period of this, and finally, AP English. Then he could go home and see if any of the Aoyia employees could help with his coat crisis.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Final period of the day, Aoshi walked in with doom written upon his heart. He had no idea what lay in store for him, but his heightened instincts told him that it was not good. Upon entering, he knew he was right.
There was, at most, fifteen students in the AP English class. Most of them adorned glasses and pocket protectors, a few he couldn't see because their faces were hidden behind large volumes of text on their desks. The only two he actually could see were both sitting in the back of the room.
The first was a boy who didn't look much older than sixteen, maybe seventeen in a stretch. He had to have been a senior to be in the class, but he looked so damn young. He had a youthful face that was fixed in a smile, as if amused at his own private joke. He drummed his fingers on the desktop to an internal rhythm as his gray eyes roamed the room and settled on Aoshi. Suddenly they went wide, and shifted to the person beside him.
The other person Aoshi saw, sitting next to the boy, was Misao. She was slumped back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, chewing on a pen cap as she looked down at an open notebook on her desk. Aoshi guessed the boy beside her said something--he was too far away to hear--because she looked up and met his eyes. A second later she turned away, sinking lower into her chair and pulling the edge of her bandana down further to cover her eyes.
"Mr. Shinomori," the teacher said with a nasally voice. "Welcome to AP English. We're just about to start our discussion on the materials we read over the break. Tell me, are you familiar with William Shakespeare's work A Midsummer's Night's Dream?"
Oh God, Shakespeare. That was all Aoshi needed. It took all the willpower in his body to keep himself from groaning aloud and wishing a large meteor to strike the earth. "No," he said shortly. "I can't say I am."
"Uh-oh," the teacher said in a sing-song voice. "Looks like you've got a lot to catch up on then." Aoshi wanted to kill himself in that moment, but he would have settled for killing the woman instead. "You can take the open seat in the back next to Misao. Misao, please raise your hand?"
Without enthusiasm, Misao raised her hand, with her middle finger pointing up, slowly into the air. That drew a snicker from the boy in the seat next to her. The teacher turned bright red and looked like she was about to have a heart attack and die. "Misao! Don't make me call principle Hiko!"
Her hand disappeared quickly and Aoshi made his way to the back and to the empty desk. He looked over at the girl next to him, but she didn't register his presence. Instead, she became very interested in the picture she was drawing in her notebook. Beyond Misao, Aoshi saw the smiling boy again. He caught Aoshi's eye and punted a paper football at his head.
Aoshi, curious despite his intense feeling of warning, opened the note and read it over. Hey, welcome to English of the Damned. --Soujiro
It must have been some kind of inside joke because Misao shook her head and scoffed when she saw what Soujiro had done. She then began whispering in a hushed voice with the boy at her side. Aoshi only caught "scholarship", "punishment", and "chicken". After a quick analysis, he decided that he didn't want to know what they were talking about after all.
The class was the longest forty-two minutes of his life. Shakespeare was the one English author he couldn't even pretend to be interested in. The teacher frequently asked the class response questions, and Misao's hand went up for every one. Aoshi had no idea what they were talking about. When the teacher mentioned a test the next week and about it being a third of their grade, Aoshi knew he was in danger of failing this course in his first two weeks of school.
Once the bell rang, he watched as the students filed out. Misao and Soujiro were the last two. Soujiro left with a brief wave in Aoshi's direction and a smile to Misao. She took a little longer, adjusting her headphones and putting away her notebook. With a glance flickered in Aoshi's direction, Misao got up to leave.
"Aoshi," the teacher said with a sigh. "I would like to talk to you a moment." Aoshi, with nothing to lose, walked up to the teacher's desk. "You don't seem t be familiar with the material at all, and with the test coming up, I don't think there is enough time for you catch up in class."
"Are you going to switch me out?" Aoshi asked in a monotone voice, but inside he was hoping and praying.
"No." His hopes were dashed. "I want you to get a tutor," she continued.
"A tutor?" Aoshi asked with incredibility.
"Yes," she said with a nod. "Our school has an after school tutoring program, and it just so happens that my best student has volunteered time for those struggling in English."
"Great," Aoshi said, voice thick with sarcasm. The teacher chose to ignore his comments.
"Just stay after school tomorrow and go to the library," she said, picking up her books. "Have a good afternoon."
"…" Then she walked out, and Aoshi had the extreme wish to throttle something. Yes, his life was hell.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Misao pulled up in the driveway, his car was already waiting. Polished and shiny, the red chrome car was like a beacon of power. It made Misao shiver, thinking about what would happen now. Gathering what courage she could, Misao exited her car and walked toward the front door.
Upon entering the house, the eerie calm washed over her, forcing a shiver down her spine. God, how she hated being afraid. She vowed to herself, just as she had nearly every day for six years, once she left this house, she would never be afraid of anything again.
He was sitting in his leather chair, in the living room, watching her as she entered the doorway. Dark eyes watched her movements with cunning and anger. Misao could see it already, a coiled spring in the back of his eyes, like a cobra waiting to strike. She swallowed the lump in her throat, placing her side bag on the floor just outside the entrance, then walked into the room.
"I got a call today," her father said evenly. "It seems you were in a fight at school today, Misao."
"Yes," she said without tone. It wouldn't mean a thing if she said that it hadn't been a real fight. Paint was exchanged--she had taken off the denim jacket after coming inside to hide the evidence--and insults, but nothing more.
"And he also informed me that your scholarship to Art school was in danger." The word was like a curse on his tongue, burning into Misao's skin and making her begin to shudder. She hadn't told him about the money for art school. She hadn't even told him about art school. Her plan was to just leave, no discussion, no fighting. To simply escape from this hell.
"Yes," Misao whispered in a shaky voice. She knew what was coming. He got up languidly from his chair and walked over to her.
"When did you plan on telling me about a scholarship?" he asked in a falsely understanding voice. His politician's voice.
"After graduation," Misao lied. But she knew he wouldn't know this was a lie. It was a half-truth. He would have found out after graduation, after she left.
"Oh," he said calmly. He lifted his hand to her face, forcing her chin up so she would have to meet his eyes. "That was very stupid."
"I know," Misao said slowly. It was a pointless effort to respond since the blow was already coming. A hard, open-handed slap to the side of her face. The kind of hit that radiated heat in her face, but wouldn't leave a bruise. The kind of hit that would hurt her for hours, and made her eye feel like it would explode with the pain. Over the years, her father had gotten very good and discovering just how he could hurt her without leaving evidence of laying a hand on her. His favorite was psychological.
After a backhand across the other side of her face, pulling on a fistful of her hair and holding his hand precariously tight around her fragile neck, her threw Misao down. "Get out of my sight." She did not have to be told twice. Misao quickly scrambled from the living room, grabbing her bag as she went.
It was rare for her father to hit her anymore. He hadn't physically hit her since she was sixteen, when one of his employees had seen her getting a ride home one afternoon from Soujiro. That had been at the beginning of the school year. Mostly, he just yelled at her, insulted her, and made her feel worthless. That was usually enough for him, but whenever she broke one of his rules, Makimachi would never hesitate to hit her.
Misao took sanctuary in her room on the third floor, her studio. It had been her mother's favorite place in the house, and now it was Misao's. A terrarium was set up in the far corner, with a heat lamp and a few plats set up in and around in. Inside the glass cage, curled up in a large heated rock, was Seraphim, Misao's prized pet. She only had to feed her beloved snake once every three weeks, so he could last until that night. She dropped her bag on one of the stools and crossed to the tank.
Her neck hurt, but the weight of Seraphim's leathery body on her bare skin made her feel safe. The snake's head rested in her hands as she ran her fingers over his nose. He was still a baby by snake standards, only five feet long, but he was big by human standards. Misao had had Seraphim since she was fourteen, when she had bought him and everything she'd need to take care of him. And to this day, she paid for all his needs thanks to the money she made working at her job--witnessing at a restaurant called the Aoyia.
After a while of caressing her snake and calming her nerves, Misao put Seraphim back in his cage to rest, and unpacked her bag. She took out one of her sketchbooks and sighed. She wouldn't have time to finish her drawing tomorrow after school because she was roped into that tutoring job, thanks to Hiko. Her father could hit her all he wanted, Misao was not backing down from this, not from a chance at art school.
She flipped through a few pages of her book nostalgically. When she reached the most recent of drawings, she looked down at the likeness of Aoshi. Misao was happy that she had been able to catch the brooding look on his face, the shadow across his eyes that came from the fall of his hair. It was a good work. One that she ripped carefully from the book and tacked to the wall behind her. On the wall were pages and pages of drawings. Some were of Seraphim in different stages of his life. Most were human figures from pictures she had seen or memories of television. There were a couple of Soujiro mixed in, ones that were made in secret. Her father had noticed them, but he hadn't torn them down yet. Aoshi now joined her forbidden arts. All the pictures swirled around the one canvas in the very center, a painting Misao had down when she was eleven, one of her mother. Of all the art she had ever created, Misao loved that one piece the most. Now she had to admit that Aoshi was her second favorite.
A/N: My favorite part of fan fiction--writing back to my reviewers! Yay!
Tiian: Thanks for the kudos on my writing. The characters develop slowly in all of my stories, that's all I can say. You'll see what happens to them, what goes on around them, a few thoughts, but their feelings and motives don't really become clear until mid-story, for me anyway. Everyone is commenting about Aoshi losing his temper. Frankly, I think it would be funny to see him get pissed and yell at someone! I dunno, the story is very OOC, I'm just trying to have fun here. Thanks for reading and I hope you like the rest of it.
Silver Miko: I'm so happy that you like my story! It's just going to be a fun, semi-serious story that I hope everyone will enjoy with me. I was feeling dramatic--wanted to write something dramatic--but keep a little humor and stuff. I'm an artist too (not to mention writer) so I feel Misao's pain. Thanks for reading, I'm happy you enjoy!
kakashi-fan: Well, here's what happens next! Next chapter will be out in a few days. Well, they appeared, and they will be popping up through the story, but it centers on Aoshi and Misao--because I heart them, lol. Thanks for reading my story!
Leina: I am glad you are intrigued by my story so far. I read a lot of Aoshi/Misao because I love them. I love Aus--especially OOC Aus--because I hate tampering with things that are already so perfect. Sorry about them being same age, I just don't want Aoshi to have a Lolita complex and all. Thanks for reading!
Tamakia'gss: Updated and set! Next chapter to come soon. I'm happy that you like it so far, please remember to review, hehe.
indigo chipmunk: I think it's been soon enough, yes? I'm really happy that you like this story. I think it's not that bad for what it is. Enjoy this chapter. The next chapter will be out soon.
Jerjonji: Yes, I always like to take my time in revealing my characters because I always try to make them complex. I'm very happy that you are interested in my story. I think it's pretty good for a block-breaker. I hope I can keep you interested!
Misao Mei Mei: Sorry for the OOC-ness. I just think it's appropriate for the situation I set them in. You know teenager + high school = outbursts of anger. I'll try to tone down the Aoshi temperament a little, to keep you satisfied. But I'm happy you like the rest. Thanks for reading.
Allin656: I'm glad you like the start--and my other stuff for that matter, lol. I plan to stick with this one, to help me get out of my current funk. I never start a story I don't intend to finish--Wanderers will be done, I swear it! I predict about 10 chapters, maybe more, maybe less. I'm not sure yet. Thanks for reading!
