A/N: For a block-breaker, this is flowing pretty good. I really have no ultimate plan for this story, the plot twists a little every day. One day I wake up thinking I'm make Misao a suicidal goth, another day I think perhaps Aoshi should be a cross-dresser. It's all one big blob. But I like what's forming as I go along. Thanks to all those reading this. (Before I begin, please forgive any spelling errors!)

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or anything affiliated with that anime. However, I do own Seraphim the Boa Constrictor. *squeeze him until he's blue* MINE!

Riffs and Canvas

Chapter 3: A Little Club Soda And Shakespeare

When Aoshi got home that afternoon, he entered the front door of the Aoyia and listened dismally to the annoying bell chiming on the closing door. He made a mental note to talk to his grandfather about that. Not right now though, right now he was off to take care of his coat. The restaurant was empty, meaning that the employees must be in the kitchen. Aoshi dropped his backpack on one of the booths in the restaurant and headed upstairs--into the house portion of the building. When he reached the floor that he room was on, Aoshi quickly disrobed from his coat and made his way toward the laundry room in the back.

Deftly, he tossed the coat over the top of the dryer and grabbed a bottle of stain remover. Quickly, Aoshi squirted the paint with half the bottle and stuffed his coat into the washer and set it on. For the full twenty minutes, Aoshi paced in the small laundry cubical. When the buzzer went off signaling the end of his wait, he pounced over and pulled the coat out. Only to be met with the sight of a large black blotch of paint bright on the front of his gray trench coat.

"Dammit!" he cursed, repeating the experiment.

After four washes, and two bottles of Shout, Aoshi finally crumpled to the floor in defeat and tossed his prized trench coat in the dryer. Stained or not, he would wear it proudly. So there he sat, on the floor in the washroom, in front of the dryer, until Okina found him.

"Aoshi?" he questioned, looking inside. Aoshi didn't turn around. His head was bowed in mourning and his voice was low.

"Hello Grandpa. Can I help you with something?"

"Boy," Okina said, tapping the cordless phone against his hand. "Why are you on the floor?"

Aoshi sighed and turned to look at his grandfather. Okina was a man who never liked to think of himself past his prime--even though it waved bye-bye to him long ago--and he still acted, although with great wisdom, like a large child most of the time. He was clean-cut and still was a good-looking guy, for an old man. He was just like Aoshi remembered him.

There was a time when Aoshi used to spend summers with Okina at the Aoyia. Okina, though now a revered restaurateur, was also a retired prize-fighter. During the summers that Aoshi spent at the Aoyia, Okina eagerly taught his grandson martial arts. That was, until Okina got into a fight with Aiko over money--of all things--when Aoshi was ten, and after that split, he was never allowed to return to the Aoyia. Still, Aoshi practiced his craft diligently over the years and Okina was very proud of him. Even though Aoshi once adored and admired his grandfather, nearly eight years of separation left him feeling a bit awkward.

"My life is hell," Aoshi said with a sigh.

"Why is that?" Okina asked, his brow furrowing and ceased his tapping of the phone.

Aoshi darkened for a moment. "Well, let's see, shall we?" he snapped sarcastically. "I had to quit my jobs, move away from my friends and everything I knew. I've come to this place that's unfamiliar and…weird! Some psycho chick from school dumped paint all over my favorite coat. I was stuck in some AP English class and now I have to get a fricking tutor tomorrow afternoon! For the love of God grandpa, I don't see how this day could get any worse!"

"Aoshi?"

"What!?"

"You have a phone call," Okina said, tossing him the cordless. Then he went back down to the restaurant and Aoshi was left holding the phone in a daze.

"Hello?"

"So Leader, you finally realized I'm here?" a calm, but amused voice said from the phone. Aoshi sighed happily and leaned his back against the dryer.

"Hannya," was all he said. Hannya, his best friend and second-in-command/partner in crime, laughed at his friend's reaction.

"I couldn't help overhearing," he said after a sigh, a little apologetically. "It sounds like you aren't getting along well, Leader."

'Leader' was the nickname that was bestowed upon Aoshi years ago, when the five teenaged boys who lived on his block formed their own makeshift gang--the Oniwaban Group to be exact. Aoshi had always been the strategist, the one who made and executed their plans of action, and stayed beside his friends despite good offers to go elsewhere. He was loyal and strong, one that others feared and respected, even if they couldn't understand him completely. Aoshi's four friends, his gang, his group, they would die for him, and he for them. This was the reason why it hurt him so much when he left. It was so good just to hear Hannya's voice again.

"I want to go home," Aoshi confided, not caring how childish he sounded because Hannya would understand--he always did.

"We miss you here as well," Hannya said in his customary low voice. Aoshi also heard trouble in the tone of his friend's voice. Almost a bit strained.

"Hannya?"

"It's nothing, Aoshi," the other boy said hastily. Reverting to his given name was something Hannya only did when he was very ill and tired, or he was lying. And knowing Hannya practically his entire life, Aoshi knew when he was lying.

"Hannya," Aoshi said in warning. "What is it?"

Hannya sighed, long and low, before answering in a weary voice that seemed much older than the eighteen years he had lived. "Kanryuu knows that you're gone and he's been after the Oniwaban group for his own uses again. We've turned him down," he added rapidly, "but it's only a matter of time."

"No Hannya," Aoshi said coldly, his anger and stubborn nature rising faster than blood. He thought of the neighborhood drug lord who had been trying to solicite Aoshi and his gang into his employment for years and clenched his fists in silent fury. "He will never use the Oniwaban group, not while I still have breath!"

Hannya chuckled a little. "Of course Leader, of course." They chattered idly after that, cooling Aoshi's temper and making him feel that longing for the familiar once more. They spoke of old times, and of the rest of the Oniwaban group. Aoshi also fell into step talking about everything that had been going on since his arrival here, including the untimely death of his coat. He was happy that Hannya--the bastard--got a good laugh out of his misery. By the time the buzzer for the dryer went off on said coat, Hannya was giving his apologies and had to depart.

As he pulled the coat from the dryer, feeling the warmth still clinging to the fabric, he felt refreshed if still a little homesick. He shrugged on the coat as he walked to his room. He was feeling musical of a sudden, so he grabbed the large case sitting on his bed and went downstairs into the vacant restaurant.

Once there, he gently laid the second-hand case on one of the booth table-tops and opened it to reveal his prized possession, his guitar. The body was black, polished and smooth under rough fingers. Years of practice had worn the pads of his fingers into protective calluses, and his long fingers were meant to play the cords as they flew deftly over each string. As he lifted the instrument, sliding the band over his head to rest on his shoulder, he felt the comfortable weight of the guitar, an extension of himself.

The guitar was his favorite, even though he could also play the piano and the drums. All of his life, Aoshi had been raised around music, so it was only natural that someone with such a love would want to learn as much as he could. He remembered of a few of his mother's old boyfriends--those who hadn't been complete assholes--who had taught him a thing or two in passing about music and would listen to him play. A few of them had even offered to make a demo of him to go along with his mother, but Aiko always refused. Aoshi had a vindictive thought that she was jealous he might succeed where she failed for so long. She could sing like an angel, but she knew nothing of music itself. Aoshi, on the other hand, was music itself.

Despite a long list of short-comings, it was Aiko who had insisted that Aoshi get an instrument if he wanted one. When he was nine years old, he was given a guitar and that had changed his life forever. The more he played, the more he knew that his life was to be spent in the pursuit and study of music. It was the rhythm that beat in his heart and the notes that formed unbidden in his head that made Aoshi such a successful musician. It was his art.

Guitar in hand, Aoshi hopped on to the counter in the restaurant, resting the guitar in his lap as he strummed a few cords. Okina came out from the kitchen, followed by one of his live-in waitresses, Okon, and her young daughter, Loki. Having nothing recognizable to play at the moment, Aoshi only strummed a distant melody to soothe his nerves and entertain his spectators. After a while, he even added a few random lyrics, most featuring someone with an empty voice and haunting eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Let's just say that Misao didn't want to be a tutor.

After last night's scuff with her father, the last thing she wanted to do was to tell him that she would be spending some of her free hours with a random stranger. But she worked up her courage and told him that morning while readying for school. (She also packed her uniform in a bag since she wouldn't have enough time to come home before going to work.)

He was not happy, to say the least, but because it was educational--and Hiko had insisted--he had no choice but to allow Misao this thing. She received a could cuff across the side of the face for it, one that left a red mark she spent twenty minutes trying to cover. He stormed out not long after to go to the office, leaving her to make her own way to school. She was grateful for his absence, but couldn't shake the foul mood that descended upon her.

Misao dressed much as she had the day before, jeans and a random shirt, with her jean jacket over it. The bruises on her arms from her last scuffle with her father's 'guards' had not yet faded, so she needed to keep them covered for a while. Her hair was hidden beneath a hat this day, a small black one that shaded her face and her sunglasses from view.

Upon reaching school, she found that Miss Tae was hovering over her more than usual. It was a little irritating, and was thankful when the teacher finally let her back into the hallway to salvage what she could of the mural.

When Misao came to the hallway and looked at the wall, seeing the ugly line and what had been marred, she felt strangely hollow. That was when she reached into her bag and pulled out a large white Magic Rub eraser and took it to the wall furiously. It took her the rest of the period to finish erasing yesterday's masterpiece, and when she was done, it didn't make her feel any better.

After the period change, she still had a period to work. The problem? She had no idea what to draw now. Her mind was conveniently blank of all idea and thought, all that came--unbidden--to her mind, was the image of her father's face when he had discovered her secret. Now that he knew about her scholarship, he would try to stop her. That meant trouble, and pain, and war.

Abruptly she felt angry. Like hitting something, hard! Like throttling the life out of the next living person she saw! The period had already changed though, so that meant she was alone for the next half hour, be that good for them and bad for Misao. Still, she was without her muse. With a heavy sigh, the green-eyed girl slumped down with her back to the wall, and looked the image of defeat.

Think Misao, she mentally lectured herself in a voice hauntingly familiar to her mother's. This is a music hallway, so that means you should do something musical.

But I'm not musical, another part of her said furiously. I'm not anything. I'm just a waste of skin. She felt no better with that established.

That was when Misao heard the music coming from the nearest room. It was a familiar song, one she'd heard a thousand times before, but played in such a way that it sounded new. Misao crept, on all fours, to the door before kneeling and peaking in through the small window in the door. The room was dark, only the dais on the far wall was lit. On the dais, sitting on a stool, and playing the acoustic guitar, was Aoshi. His dark hair fell over his face, eyes closed while tuning the melody by ear. His body was composed , but relaxed, swaying slightly with the rhythm. He was also singing the words to the song, but she couldn't make them out, only the low timbre of his voice though the stone and wood and glass between them.

Now it makes sense, she thought with a lazy smile. He's a musician.

And that was when she was hit by a fabulous idea for her mural. Misao scrambled to her feet and scurried back over to the wall. As the music continued, she hummed and eventually picked up the lyrics herself, in a soft whisper so as not to distract herself from the sound giving her such inspiration.

"Everyday you're on my mind, pain is feeling passing time. But if she found out about us she would die. And if I have to live without you so would I. So I thirst for water; I find myself wanting now." Misao quickly sropped the pencil from her hand and grabbed a sharp one from her pocket, not wanting to lose her focus. She jammed another pencil behind her ear, for when this one was worn down. "So I'm running away to you, I cannot escape you, to feel your touch, the faith you prove, I'm running away to you."

The first figure was complete, so she lithely moved a to the next one without faltering one step. It was a fluid motion, one familiar and welcome. All thoughts of that morning, all dread and fear and anger was swept from her body and into the pencil. She was focused on solely one thing, and that was her art. "Hearts are never made of stone. Pain will cut you to the bone. But I know that holding you is all so wrong, so tonight's the last we'll ever be alone. So I thirst for water, I find myself wanting now. So I'm running away to you, I cannot escape you, to feel your touch, the faith you prove, I'm running away to you."

The second figure was done and she was on to the third, the final. All were being done in an artistic technique where the artist never removes the pencil from the canvas, she was only drawing rough shapes and little detail. The rest would be added when she did the outlining in the black paint. "Turn around, fill my eyes with you, all senses to commit, till every thing's all right. So I'm running away to you, I cannot escape you, to feel your touch, the faith you prove, I'm running away to you."

The song was finished, and so was Misao. She listened to the last chords die away slowly and sighed that deep sigh of a person who is fulfilled, if only for a moment. The rest of the day would work, and so would this tutoring business. It would all work out in the end.

"It can't rain all the time," Misao said with a spring in her step as she made her way back to the art hallway with a minute to spare. "It can't rain all the time."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aoshi walked into the library with a sigh. He was not happy about this, but it had to be done. It was the only way to pass English and graduate from this hellhole. He had his guitar--something he discovered would have to be brought to school every day he planned to play it if he was not willing to leave it locked in the classroom, which he was not.

The librarian's desk was on the right, just after coming down the four steps from the door. That was where he headed. And when the stereotypical school librarian--an old woman with an attitude and a bun--looked up from the rim of her glasses at him, she only pursed her lips before turning to the next page in her Danielle Steele romance novel.

"I'm here for tutoring," Aoshi said patiently when she wouldn't look at him again.

"Try the room in the back, honey," she said without looking up. "She's already waiting for you."

"Thank you," Aoshi said flatly before heading to the small glass rooms in the back of the library reserved for students in need of 'quiet' study. Only one was occupied.

In the room sat a girl with her feet crossed and propped up on the table top, and a copy of Shakespeare's play blocking her face. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Aoshi knew he should have just turned and run, but pride made he walk into the room, and ego made him close the door behind him. That was when Misao looked up from her book.

For a moment, there was only silence, before they began an intense stare down. No words were needed, all their ill feelings and temper flashed in the electricity that passed between their eyes. If looks could kill, they would have both been impaled on giant steak forks and had their livers eaten daily by vultures, like Prometheus.

"Have a seat," Misao said in a frosty voice.

"Thanks," he replied with a match tone.

"So you're the Shakespearean dunce," she commented. "I don't suppose you brought a copy of the play from class?"

"Didn't occure to me," he said, bristling in silence.

"Good thing I thought ahead," she said calmly, sliding her spare copy across to him. It was a hard cover edition, perfect for a beginner because it had many of the quote translated in the footnotes. Misao's own was her paperback, worn from constant readings, dog-eared a million times, and highlighted for her favorite verses.

"Aren't you a clever one," he muttered to himself.

"I am," she sad with a sort of feral grin. "Now, we should get started." Aoshi let out a sigh under his breath and braced himself of an hour of agony. Misao, seeing his totally disregard for her favorite author, brought out a small white egg timer from her bag and turned it for one hour. So they would both know when this was over. There were no clocks in the study rooms. "This is my favorite of his plays," she said lightly, to start off on a good note.

"Good for you," Aoshi said smoothly. Misao was not amused.

"It's actually good for you," she replied. "I know this play front and back, so you should get an A on next week's test, or I've failed my job as an instructor."

"I'm sure that will keep you up at nights," he commented lightly, his blue eyes flashing with mocking. Misao leaned forward slightly across the table, bringing her legs down under the table once more. Her eyes were fixed with his.

"If you don't pass this test, then I don't get credit for this little venture," she said slowly, as if he was a dense child. It made Aoshi grow eerily close to losing his patience. "And if I don't get credit, I could lose my scholarship for college. If that happens, you'll rue the day you stepped foot on to this campus."

"Listen kid," Aoshi said, satisfied that he hit a nerve when she flinched. "I already rue the day I came to this town, so spare me the threats and instruct."

Misao leaned back in her chair, biting her bottom lip to keep from hurling said chair at his head. Temper Misao, her mother's voice came to her mind one more. Temper. There was no other voice in the world who could calm the wild streak in Misao accept for her mother, now only a memory. She took a breath, fighting fury and anguish at the same time.

"Start reading from page 1," Misao said softly, not looking at him. Aoshi rolled his eyes, but did as she said. After a moment, she spoke again. "Aloud, if you please. This is a play after all." Aoshi ground his teeth together, but began reading in a sickeningly calm voice. That was his greatest weapon, his control. Yesterday had been a slip, a compound of new places and strange girls, but now he would once more be a stone wall.

As he read, Misao began to calm, her mind once more focusing. It was clear he had no passion for what he read, but his voice wrapped around the lyrics regardless. He had a voice of song, and couldn't help the flow of music in the text even if he tried. Misao believed that if he had meant what he read, it would be so much sweeter, like the bards of old, but she was satisfied with what she was given.

After a while, she stopped him. "All right," she said evenly. "Let's go over what we have read so far."

"Joy."

"I don't want to be here any more than you do," she said in frustration. "The least you could do is try to pass English." That shut him up. "Well, so far we have established that there is going to be a wedding in Athens, any guesses as to who's getting married?"

He had none. Misao was getting a headache already. "Theseus, the Duke of Athens, and Hipolyta, the Amazon Queen," she answered for him.

"Okay."

"And then you meet three of the four main cast, Hermia, Demetrius, and Lysander. Do you know why they are there?"

Once more, she was met with silence. Misao sighed. "Hermia's father, Egeus, wants her to marry Demetrius, but she is in love with Lysander. Egeus comes before Theseus to beg the law of Athens--that Hermia marry the man of his choosing, or she is put to death."

"That sucks."

"Yes," Misao said, glad they agreed on one thing at least. "Once Theseus agrees with this decree, he takes Demetrius and Egeus with him, to speak privately, and that is when Hermia and Lysander come up with their plan."

"Don't even ask because I have no idea," Aoshi said suddenly. "I read it, but don't expect me to understand this lyrical shit." Misao fought to calm the urge of chair hurling once more--if only it was an Olympic sport, but alas.

She got to her feet them, holding the book before her, but barely needing to look at it as she quoted Lysander for him. Her voice was passionate, and low, holding in it all the emotion that should be put into such a line of love. "Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth."

Aoshi only blinked at her, a little taken back by her sudden conviction. That was when he noticed something. She wore the same jacket that she had the day before--only quite without a black paint stain.

"Hey!" he said unexpectedly. Misao swallowed the last line. "Where's the stain?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're jacket," he said with sudden fury. He pulled closed his own, showing the black stain in full view. "Where is yours?"

"I washed it off?" she said in question.

"I washed mine four times!" he said, striving for calm once more.

"You didn't do it right," she said with a shrug. "I'm a painter, I'm constantly washing paint from my clothes. You in the other hand," she said, leaning over to inspect the stain--which had in fact grown--and smiling suddenly, "have no hand for it."

Aoshi switched from angry to brooding in 3.2 seconds. "And how does one go about washing paint from their jackets?"

Misao gave him a lazy smile, grabbing up both their books and stuffing them into her bag. "Come on," she said with a nod of her head toward the door.

"What?"

"Come on," she said again, more forcefully this time. Then she grabbed up the timer and walked out of the room. Aoshi quickly followed at her heels. Once at the desk, Misao smiled at the librarian. "We're leaving a little early today, Lorraine," she said cheerily. "Can you save me the room again tomorrow?"

"Oh course, Misao dear," Lorraine the librarian said, looking up from her book with a smile. "Have a good afternoon."

"You too." Then she was walking again, and Aoshi was catching up.

"You're in tight with the staff," he said calmly.

"I'm in there a lot," she said with a shrug. "We'll take my car," she said once they entered the parking lot. "I can drop you off here before I go to work."

"Where are we going?" Aoshi asked, confused. He followed Misao to a rusty-black truck. She unlocked the doors and hopped inside, starting the engine placidly and waited for him.

"Get in and find out," was all she would say. Deciding he had nothing to lose, Aoshi got him. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove off toward the middle of town, to a part Aoshi had never been to. She hummed a little as she drove, but didn't talk or look at him. When she pulled into a driveway, Aoshi was sure that it was her house. It was big, airy, and beautiful, just the kind of place he would picture someone like Misao growing up in. For some reason, that thought made him feel vaguely inadequate, like he was not welcome. "Come," Misao said, hopping out of the truck.

Aoshi followed her once more as she riffled through her bag and pulled out a house key to unlock the door before leading him in. He looked around at the well-lit rooms, all covered in expensive rugs and full of new furniture. He was sure that Misao had never slept in a place without heat, or with broken windows and rats. He couldn't see a girl like her somewhere dirty and cold and rundown. She was raised to comfort.

Misao got that same sickly feeling in her stomach she did every time she walked into the house, but this time it was accompanied by a panicky and exciting feeling. She was doing something illegal, something forbidden, something her father would beat her senseless over, but she was gripped by a sudden madness and didn't care about the consequences. She had brought a boy--much less a strange boy--into her perfect house. This boy was far from perfect, and Misao loved the contrast between him and her father's world of order and category. He was something so unique and unfamiliar. Misao had the feeling he had no idea just was a beautiful thing he was. It made her feel a little bad, though.

"You have a nice house," Aoshi said after a moment of awed silence. Misao frowned slightly and turned away as she closed the door.

"Thanks," she said with a monotone voice. "Follow me," she said again, heading up the staircase and to the second floor. When they got to the second floor, she stopped them. "Give me your coat," she said, holding out her hands. Aoshi was loathe to part with it.

"Why?"

"Do you want me to clean it or not?" The question struck him as odd. That was why she brought him here? To wash his coat? Slowly, he took it off and handed it to her. "The least I can do for staining it," she said softly. "You can wait in the studio, just up those stairs," Misao explained, pointing to another staircase. Then she disappeared down the hallway.

Aoshi did as she asked, climbed the stairs to a strange looking studio. The room was open and devoid of furniture, accept for a comfy chair in the corner--next to a lit terrarium--and a stool on wheels with several easels and a desk. It was obviously for an artist, and art he found in abundance. He walked over to the wall, the one splattered with tacked up drawings and paintings. He saw the change in them, the ones at the bottom were raw and obviously done by a beginner. The farther he looked up, the better they got. A bright painting in the center looked out at him with bright green eyes, a smiling woman who looked much like Misao, only with fair hair.

Misao, in the mean time, was humming lightly to herself as she dabbed club soda on the stain, then poured a little oxi-clean on it before tossing it on a low speed in the washer. She figured she better check on Aoshi, least her studio be in ruins before she returned. When she did go up, she saw he was mesmerized by something on her wall. Upon closer investigation, she saw he was looking at the painting of her mother.

Although she began it when she was ten, Misao had since improved it over the years, thanks to a large picture that sat forever at her bedside. The painting was nearly a duplicate, only enlarged and improved. It captured just the right sparkle in the green eyes, the perfect warmth of her smile, even the tiny freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. The freckles Misao had so envied in her young, beautiful mother.

Misao was sure Aoshi hadn't heard or seen her come up, he was that entranced. "You like that one?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned on her with a frown. She only looked at him in question. "Yeah," was all he said.

"That's Sae," Misao said with a sigh. "My mother." Aoshi looked back at the painting, and then looked at the girl before him. There was strong resemblance between them. Sure, Misao had darker hair and lacked the freckles, but the eyes were the same. And he was sure that if Misao smiled like that, she would be just as beautiful as the woman in the painting.

"It's good," he said in compliment. Misao shrugged it off.

"Your coat will be done in a couple minutes, then I'll toss it in the dryer and we'll be done just in time."

"For what?"

"For me to go to work," she said calmly. That made Aoshi wonder about something.

"Will your parents be home before that?" Misao looked like she just took a blow to the stomach.

"Mom's dead," she said without feeling. "My father works late." She didn't say that he could have had her tailed today, due to yesterday's fight. It had happened before. Makimachi was mistrustful of his daughter and could, at any time, tell one of his 'guards' to follow her. If they saw he break any of the rules, they called her father, and she paid dearly for it.

"Oh," was all he said, not liking the way she looked suddenly.

That was when the phone rang, and Misao jumped higher than a cat after an electric shock. After her heart began again, she walked to the small extension in the studio and picked it up, dreading the voice on the other end.

"Misao!" a cheery voice greeted her instead. Misao let out an even breath, vowing to kiss that boy next time she saw him.

"Soujiro," she breathed.

"Sorry to scare you," he apologized. "I was just curious as to how your tutoring is going. I saw you two skip out from library." She did not like what he was insinuating.

"And what were you doing, little perv," she accused.

"I'm in basketball, weasel," he reminded. She heard the smile in his voice and all thoughts of kissing him were gone.

"Yeah well, I needed out of there." She looked over at Aoshi, who was watching her with a fixed experession. Misao took a deep breath. "Nothing is going on, ok? Look, I'll call you tonight."

"Sure, blow me off as always," he said in a wounded voice, but laughed a second later. "Later 'Soa."

"Bye Sou," she said and hung up. Aoshi was still watching her when she turned around. "Kid from English," she said, as if that was explanation enough.

"Boyfriend?" he asked.

"No," Misao said quickly, holding up her hands in a dramatic protest. She very nearly laughed at the thought. "He's…kind of…like my brother." She struggled for a second before letting it drop. That was when, thankfully, she heard the faint and distant buzz of the washer. "Your coast is done, come and see."

And so he did, and was amazed to see that the paint, in fact, was completely gone. As if it had never been. His coat, his beloved favorite trench coat, was alive once more! Misao, delighting in her superiority for a moment, tossed it into the dryer for twenty minutes.

Aoshi, though mostly silent, suddenly broke it with a comment. "I noticed that there is a picture of me on your wall." Misao looked at him a moment before her entire face flushed a brilliant red. Damn! She was certain he hadn't seen that one, lone, picutre tucked away near the outer edge.

"I drew it in Hiko's office yesterday," she said. Red, but not breaking eye contact, she stood toe to toe with him. He was quite impressed by her attitude and her courage. He had seen--and used--a level, cold gaze reduce people to babbling idiots and submissive worms. Misao, this slip of a girl, stood toe to toe with him even if he was her senior in age and height. He was starting to feel respect toward her, and that annoying interest rose to the surface of his mind once more.

But the moment was shattered with the slamming of a car door outside. Misao, eyes wide and the color quickly draining from her face, flew to the window. There, she could see her father's car clearly, and the man himself stalking toward the door. A look of intense rage was on his face. Misao froze, every muscle in her body suddenly tensed.

"Misao?" She turned to look at Aoshi. In her intense state of horror, she didn't notice that it had been the first time he had ever called her by name. Nor did she notice just how musical it sounded when coming from his lips. All she noticed was that her father was here, and he was coming. If he found Aoshi, Misao was as good as dead.

"My father's home," she said, soft as death. She lunged at the dryer, pulling out his coat. it was still damp, but she shoved it in his arms and grabbed his hand. Quick as lightning, Misao dragged him with her from the laundry room and raced down the hall to her father's bedroom. There was a sliding door that led outside to the deck in the backyard. From there, Aoshi could sneak through the gate and get to the truck. "You have to get out of here before he finds you," she said hurriedly, pushing him outside just as the front door opened.

"Why?" he managed to ask. She didn't have time to answer.

"Misao!" a voice called from below.

"Please," she begged. At the pleading looking in her eyes, the same green eyes as the painting he had seen, the haunting eyes he had only flashed yesterday morning, Aoshi knew he dare not refuse. He only nodded curtly and flew. "Coming!" Misao called, once sure he was safely out.

She quickly ran back down the hall and to the stairs. He was in the den now, giving Misao time to rip off her hat and pull her hair from it's braid fiercely. Then, she pulled off her jacket--positive she ripped a button in the process--and kicked off her shoes, thus making it look like she was in the middle of changing her clothes. Then she went downstairs to face her fate.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was sick this week so I didn't get around to posting like I hoped I would--and last week was my birthday so I was distracted by gifts and parties…and cake. Oh my one, true weakness! (well, Ramen is the real weakness, but cake is #2!) Here is reviewer response, enjoy!

Gauntlet challenge: Here is the next chapter, hope this is as intriguing as the others.

Mistress-eos14: Here's what's next. Different is good, yes? I hope so!

Tiian: My writer's block is deformed against me, I swear. But I haven't had any inspiration for anything, so it's good that I get this out while it's running. The purpose--and why I love Aus so much--is that they take a well known character and place them in a situation totally foreign and abstract. It makes you free to use them as you like, while in the actual setting, you have the really hard job of making them true to life. I like making them my own. You inquire after Misao's mother, which will come in later chapters. I like giving my characters one raw talent, and one major character flaw. This story is very focused on that fact. Thanks for reviewing--I like them long!

Tamakia'gss: Yes, yes he is. Don't worry, I'm not much of an artist either. I love art, but mine is horribly mangled, heh. I write though. Seraphim is a boa constrictor, perhaps more of a ball python. I love snakes too! I had a ribbon snake for about four years, he was only a little over two feet, tiny but adorable.

Misao Mei Mei: Yes, there is nothing like the bond between boy and coat. I see Misao as a snake person. *nods* This was the first one, expect the others to be more….'heated' if you get my drift.

Allin656: I actually didn't plan on making her abused when I started writing this. But the more I thought about it, the more it would help the eventual outcome of this story if I made it more than just psychological. Thanks for the birthday wishes, I'm happy that you like this story--and hope you like my others as well.

Darkmoon0829: I am very pleased that you like this story. I hope this chapter is up to your standards!

Mariana-chan: The next one will be better, I promise. This one was a test run, you could say. I'm one up on you for the stain, lol. Thanks for the luck, I hope you like it!

Jerjonji: Thanks for the compliments, that's what I was going for. I'm really happy that you can feel as they do. I always try to make my characters as real to my readers as they are to me.

SpiritDemon: Here is your update. Well, this is a romance story after all. What kind would it be if my hero and heroine didn't fell all fuzzy!? I gave you a bit of spoilers, so you know my position on the rest, thanks for the review!

Susan: Thanks for the love of reading this, lol! Well, it is an AU after all, so I'm allowed to take creative license. Here is the next chapter, I hope it's up to standards! I won't disappoint--I hope!