Note : And this chapter introduces the new characters and the ones from the movie, yay.

shamrock920 - I've got writer's block on 'Dawn' so don't feel too bad. This story is more of just an introduction of the setting, places, and new characters. I'll probably do a longer one after this one with more of a serious plot.

CClark9 - Okay, I've kept on writing. Here's the result.

pen name - This story is supposed to be sarcastc and I'm best at sarcasm when I'm overly descriptive. The movie had kind of a serious tone, yeah, but this story is supposed to be humorous. As evidenced by this new chapter, if you'll read on.

The Definition of Normality

Chapter One : Hurricane

Once upon a time someone had referred to her as a princess, in fact nearly every guy she had ever met in her entire life, save for those who were related by blood and knew better, had called her by that horrific pet name. Usually it occurred three seconds before the speaker became severely in need of a pack of ice or possibly some ace bandages, but it did occasionally happen at other times when it was less convenient for physical repercussions. Normally when this rare circumstance popped up it was because the other person had something relatively solid between her foot and their ass. In this case it was a counter top bolted onto an old steel tool box which was, in turn, bolted to the floor and would cause a person much pain if kicked unless they were wearing special boots, which in such a case they'd leave a dent.

She was wearing special boots, the toes of which were made of the same material as the old tool box, but at this moment she wasn't interested in kicking the idiot standing behind the counter, annoying though he appeared to be. Instead she took off her red tinted sunglasses and fixed the name tag sewn into his shirt with a narrowed eyed glare and the expression of someone who is never impressed with anything. The off-white threaded embroidery spelled out the letters of 'V-I-N-C-E' which in the whispered terms of the condemned means 'Death Row Inmate Number Two'. Beneath the tag was the legend of 'J&J Customs' in slightly more elaborate threading that did not detract from the fact that the shirt had several stains, one of which may or may not have been coffee.

This Vince could be counted as looking rather scruffy in the head and face area, with tattoos running down one arm and a rather odd lacework of scars down the other. He was muscular and, maybe, if given time and a better haircut, an okay guy, but unfortunately there was rather little time and the barbershop was on the other side of town.

"Where's Jay?" she asked after approximately five seconds. Her tone conveyed that of someone who is not, under any circumstances, to be lied to or else.

"Which one?" Vince asked, sounding slightly taken aback that his earlier flirtatious greeting had apparently bounced off its intended target.

"Jay Junior," she clarified, sticking her sunglasses in the neck of her t-shirt. It amused her to see that, like every other typical male, his eyes followed the movement, temporarily numbing his brain.

"Uh, well he just got back," he responded, looking back up at her face in the rather hasty way of someone trying to appear as if they weren't taking a peek. "So he'd be out back."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards a door that had previously been painted blue but was now a peeling somewhat blue with a novelty parking sign on it reading 'Parking for Italians Only'. Next to the door there was a slightly crooked coat rack and another, much larger tool box upon which there was a conveniently placed crowbar.

"You want me to go get him for you?"

"Nah, that's alright," she responded with one of those small smiles that people respond with when there's an inside joke amongst a group of friends. "I can get him myself, thank you."

Then she stepped around the makeshift desk which apparently didn't register with Vince until about five seconds after she had moved past him, thus his reactant spin occurred just as she was picking up the crowbar to inspect for its validity as a blunt object. Apparently satisfied with her scrutiny of the iron cast object, she proceeded to open the door at exactly the precise moment he found his tongue.

"Hey!" he cried, moving to follow her because, after all, she was walking at a rather quick pace. "You can't go back there! HEY!"

The occupants of the garage beyond all looked up simultaneously.

One of them, being at vantage point beneath his current project vehicle, saw a pair of tanned well-toned legs leading up to ripped cut-off shorts and, if he strained his neck a bit, maybe the edge of the fabric of questionably existent undergarments. This one also saw, after he stopped straining to validate the existence, or nonexistence, of the afore mentioned panties, the crowbar.

Another witnessed the arrival of a girl who looked as if she were amused about something that had happened or was going to happen very shortly, as evidenced by the slight smile gracing her lips. He couldn't see her eyes very well as her hair, the part of it that wasn't braided, had fallen in her face, but if he had then this initial impression would have been extremely different. He did, however, notice the fact that the neck of her shirt was dipped rather low due to the weight of a pair of rose-tinted sunglasses hooked there.

The very last person in the garage, however, recognized the distinct atmospheric change that occurred only when his cousin walked through the door.

"Oh shit!" Jay cursed, the exclamation followed by the sound of panic seizing his lungs in the metaphorical equivalent of a vice grip. He looked around wildly for an exit and, seeing none, proceeded to plead in the way that many a person has pleaded before : with a vague hope of escaping with his limbs and major organs intact. "I can explain."

"Really?" the girl asked, tilting her head to the side and shifting her stance which, according to later statements made by the first and still currently unnamed witness, gave a better, if brief, view of her underwear. "Let's hear it then, Jay."

She stepped forward in what could be contrived as an innocent way but was, given the fact that Jay Junior was looking increasingly more and more like someone standing on the last two inches of the plank, rather menacing.

"Let's hear why, not twenty minutes after I get back into town, I see YOU driving MY car."

There was a silence of the kind that would be difficult to cut with a knife.

Deprived of his view and possibly confused by the accusations being made, the previously unnamed witness who could now be safely called 'L-E-O-N' due to the name tag, slid out on the wheel board from underneath his car to look over at the accused. His shirt also held a lot of stains although it did appear as if he had at least tried to use the right detergent at the Laundromat. The hair, however, was slicked back and had a little too much gel in it.

"Wait a second, wait a second," he said, sitting up, feet bracing himself so that his seat didn't roll away. The girl looked at him in the way that someone looks at the recycling bins in the back parking lot of a Wal-mart. Unwisely, he continued speaking, not to the girl, but towards Jay who looked as if his speech capabilities had fled to Mexico. "Who the hell is this?"

Jay looked at him, then back at the girl, and, after evaluating the safeness of utilizing his vocal chords, answered.

"She's my cousin, Kat, remember I told you guys about her," he said, cautiously. Briefly, everyone in the room considered this news, comparing the real thing to whatever it was that Jay had told them in the past.

"She's hot," Leon commented with a shrug, rolling back under his car.

"Excuse me?" Kat said indignantly, tapping the crowbar against the concrete floor if only to remind everyone that she had one.

This was said at approximately the same time that Jay let out the rather observant exclamation of, "What the fuck?"

"She's hot," Leon repeated in answer to Jay's question, apparently completely unaware that he was three seconds away from having a crowbar smashed over his shins.

Luckily for him, Jay attracted Kat's attention by moving from the spot in which he'd previously been frozen in a mad dash to escape towards the only car that was not currently being worked on. Incidently, this car happened to be the very same one that had caused him to get into this trouble in the first place. The next three seconds of time appeared to move in the blur of slow motion film and shall be described as accurately as possible given the circumstances.

The crowbar swung in an arc and caught the perpetrator by the belt which, being securely fastened around his waist should have stopped him from going anywhere. Unfortunately for Jay, however, the laws of physics and the fact that the jeans he was wearing were already slightly torn from being thrown in the wash one too many times, worked against him. There was a loud sound akin to the sudden and very fast removal of duct tape from several yards of wallpaper, causing time to momentarily freeze.

"Nice boxers, Jay," Leon commented, cracking out a laugh that soon became collective as everyone else joined in. "Batman, what are you, five?"

The laughter faded a moment later when Kat fished out the keys from the shreds of what had been Jay's jeans, holding the ring in the air like a trophy and shaking them a little so that they clinked together. She then tossed the torn pants back at him, smiling sweetly as she pulled her cell phone from the clip on the back pocket of her shorts and flipped it open. A second later there was a sound like that of the shutter of an old fashion camera and Jay's face responded by turning a previously undiscovered shade of magenta.

The laughs began anew, possibly even louder before, as Kat held the phone out to show that, yes, there was a picture available for blackmail purposes. Jay's face went darker and, stomping his feet to make sure he was extra loud, retreated to the back office of the garage in order to dig out one of the spare uniforms. Kat snapped the phone shut and returned it to its clip just as Leon stood up, calling her attention back to the room instead of more vengeful plans to humiliate her cousin.

"So, what's your name again?" asked the third person occupying the garage, name tag stating the three letter epithet of D-O-M. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his shaven head and the rather new oil stain adorning the sleeve of his shirt.

"Kat," she responded, tossing her keys from one hand to the other. "Short for Katrina, like the hurricane."