Warnings: None
Lucky Child
Chapter 28:
"Operation PUNishment"
Just as I spotted the punks I'd mauled the night before, the three boys spotted me. I braced my feet shoulder-width apart and tightened my hand around the strap of my bookbag. The punks and I exchanged a long, silent look as other Meiou students swarmed past us and into the gates.
Even though I took a moment to calculate attack strategy and escape routes, I didn't feel overly threatened by these boys. They wore identical dark blue uniforms; I didn't recognize the school. One had a dark crew cut, a strong jaw, and narrow eyes. The other two wore bleached pompadours like Kuwabara; the first had a round face, and the second a pointed chin. All three eyed me with fidgety intensity—mice watching a napping cat.
My face itched. I reached up to scratch it.
The boys flinched.
Well, now. I fought to suppress a smirk. They outnumbered, me, sure, but it was clear my beating from the night before had scared them. No way would these boys attack me with so many people—wait.
As one, the boys bowed low from the waist.
…the fuck?
As one they chorused, "We're sorry!"
Their ringing voices (it was amazing how loud they were with their diaphragms all compressed) startled a few of my classmates. I just blinked.
"We're sorry for last night!" they said in a rehearsed series of statements. "We won't go near Kuwabara again, we promise. We are very sorry!"
"Erm," I said. "OK?"
Mindful of the stares these three idiots were attracting, I walked past them through the gate onto school grounds. In my periphery I saw them straighten up from their bows. I promptly put my back to them. I didn't give a shit about these boys. Whatever. Thanks for the apologies, I'm glad you won't pick on Kuwabara, but—
The sound of footsteps made me stop.
The trio had fallen into step behind me. They stood like ducklings following their mother, hands in their pockets, staring and fidgeting. None wore Meiou uniforms—a fact made painfully obvious since they were the only boys in the crowded schoolyard not wearing that Garish Meiou Pink. Pretty sure the school had that shit patented.
"…the heck do you think you're doing?" I said.
"Do you need anything?" the one with the crewcut asked.
"…excuse me?"
"We could carry your books," said one bleach-haired boy.
"Run errands," offered the other.
Crewcut extended a hand. "Let me take your bag—"
I clutched the bag to my chest and stepped back. The boys tensed. The students watching them tensed, too—oh man. So many eyes on me all of a sudden. So many people watching the non-Meiou students, wondering what the heck was up, wondering why the new girl was standing in the yard with them and—
"You can't be here," I blurted.
The boys frowned.
"You—you don't even go here!" I said, sweat beading as I felt the weight of watching eyes. "You don't even go to this school!"
More fidgeting. "If you tell the administration we're your bodyguards—" Crewcut said.
Well, shit. That old chestnut. This explained a few things. I'd have laughed if I didn't feel so painfully self-conscious.
"No." I shook my head, emphatic. "No no no no no." I pointed at the gate, channeling my past life's very best boardroom stare. "Out! Out with you!"
"But—"
"Nope!" I surged forward, grabbed their arms, spun them and began pushing them bodily toward the gate. "Nope, no, I do not need bodyguards, I will not be the boss of your gang—"
One of them gasped. "How'd you know that's what we wanted?!"
"Let's just say I watch too much anime," I said. "Now out, out, out—"
We didn't get very far, too bad for me and my desire to fly under the radar at school. Amidst a crowd of murmuring onlookers I shepherded the boys in their sore-thumb uniforms toward the gate, but before I could push them over the edge…
"Masaru-kun!?"
On the sidewalk stood a girl in a Meiou uniform. I didn't know her name. Nevertheless, she stared between the Crewcut boy (whom I presumed was Masaru) and myself with wide eyes.
"Masaru-kun, what are you doing?" she asked. Her eyes blazed an accusation. "And who is she?"
"Naoko-chan," said Crewcut. "I was going to tell you after school, but—" Here he gestured at me. His voice contained undue reverence when he said: "She beat us. In a fight. All three of us at once."
Naoko's jaw dropped. "You told me you'd quit fighting!"
Masaru's face spasmed like he'd bit a lemon. "I'm sorry. But we thought about it all last night, and we decided—we have to repay the trouble we caused Yukimura-san." He sank into another dramatic, ninety-degree bow. "I will not be able to go on dates with you for a while! I am sorry!"
Naoko stood there for a second.
Then she burst into tears. Loud, wet, hiccupping tears that got precisely everyone and their mother in a five mile radius to stop what they were doing and stare at Naoko, and me, and Naoko's (now ex) boyfriend like we were actors in a movie.
A particularly stagy movie. One I had not auditioned to play a role in, thank you very much.
"Um." I took a step backward, edging away from the scene. "This seems like a personal issue the two of you should work through in private, so I'm just gonna—"
Naoko's eyes darted my way as I spoke. "You bitch!" she screeched, hiccups vanished into rage. "You think you can just steal my boyfriend? How dare you! You'll be sorry, just you wait!"
Aw, fuck, teenage drama incoming! I held up my hands. "Wait, no, I—"
Naoko wasn't having my excuses, of course. She'd decided I was the enemy and that was the whole story, thanks, no more information needed. I tried very hard to develop powers and turn myself invisible as she shrieked an indignant rant at Masaru and myself. Masaru yelped apologies and promises to see her again once his 'debt' was paid. All I could do was stand there, stunned and stammering. All I wanted to do was sink into the concrete and disappear. Christ, I hadn't asked for this! Maybe I should've let them beat up Kuwabara, after all—
"Yukimura-san." One of the other boys appeared at my elbow as Naoko yelled her fury. "Can I carry your—?"
"No, you fucking can't take my bag!" I snapped. "Leave me alone!"
Before Naoko could register her enemy had fled, and before the other two boys could see their would-be-boss had sprinted away, I darted past the gates and booked it for the relative safety of the school.
Something told me running away from my problems wasn't the answer, however. Not two seconds after I'd gotten inside, pasted on my best Keiko Face, and put my outdoor shoes in my locker, Junko appeared at my elbow. Ironic, really. I used to think she was the girl to fear at this school. She jerked her head toward the outside doors.
"What was that about?" she asked.
Should I tell her, I wondered? I wore a face of dedicated composure, because several people who'd seen the spectacle at the gates had come in to stare at me. What was I, a sideshow circus act? Junko at least looked at me with understated concern instead of morbid fascination. Maybe it was time to make friends…
"Apparently beating people up is considered flirting in this country, or something," I remarked.
She frowned. "What?"
I told her the short version: Those guys beat up a friend, so I bet them up, they wanted me to be the boss of their gang, and one of their girlfriends had taken exception to that. Junko chuckled under her breath when I finished talking.
"This is sort of hilarious," she said.
"No. No it isn't. It's awful." I shook my head and sighed. "Why me? I just want to fly under the radar!"
She snorted. "Fat chance of that."
"Hm?"
"You had a reputation even before this happened, and you're sure as hell gonna have a bigger one now."
"Wait—I have a reputation?" I asked. "Since when?" I hadn't stepped out of line at this school aside from that one incident with the teacher on my first day. So when had—?
"Remember when I was asking you about your friend Urameshi? Everyone knew about him, and that a friend of his was transferring here." She shrugged when my eyes widened. "The rumor mill never stops running. When you first got here, a bunch of students wondered if you'd be as bad a punk as him."
Oh. Well, this explained a few things: the stares in the hallway, the fact that the only person who'd sit with me at lunch was the intellectual recluse Kaito, Junko's questions on my first day at Meiou…maybe even why Kurama's fangirls were so scared I might be bothering him.
I asked, "Is that why I've had such trouble making friends here?"
"Probably." She nudged my arm. "C'mon. Bell's about to ring."
Junko walked me to my class before making her way to hers. We hadn't had time to bond or anything, but her frank attitude and plain speaking would doubtless grow on me if she kept it up. I thought about her during class, barely paying attention to the lecture. I'd been getting coffee with my friends from my old school on the weekends, but making a few more female friends wouldn't go amiss. How could I go about deepening my friendship with Kurama's Fangirl Gang? Hopefully Naoko didn't get in the way somehow. Speaking of which, how should I go about dismantling that debacle? Something told me it would take more than a stern talking-to to get those boys to back off. But what…?
I flinched when the teacher said my name, then the names of a few other students. She said, "All of you come work these problems at the chalkboard."
Yay, algebra. Sarcasm. I didn't allow annoyance to show on my face as I stood up. Admittedly I dawdled a bit, mind still fixed on my other problems, but after taking a moment to gather myself I stepped out from behind my desk and waked toward—
Pain burst like a dull firework across my shin.
I nearly went down. Thankfully Hideki-sensei's teachings kicked in; I threw my weight to the side and slammed a hand onto one of my classmate's desks, just barely getting my feet back under me in time to avoid a faceplant. The sound of my slapping hand rang in my ears, force radiating hotly through my palm and elbow as I froze in place. The rest of the class froze, too.
Then, quietly—somebody snickered.
I looked toward the sound.
One row back, a smirking girl with a high ponytail dragged her foot under her desk.
…had she just fucking tripped me?
Didn't have time to wonder. The teacher surged forward at that point, helping me to my feet and asking if I was OK. Other students showed similar concern, standing up and offering to help me to the nurse. Clearly none of them had seen my would-be tripper. I avoided looking at her as the teacher fussed.
I'd bet money that she and Naoko were buddies of some sort. Best not rat her out. Payback would only escalate the situation.
Not that the situation needed my help to escalate.
When I got to my next class and saw the words "home wrecking bitch" scrawled across my desk, my certainty increased.
A few girls giggled when I walked into that particular classroom. They turned their faces away when I glanced at them, but it was pretty obvious they'd had something to do with it. I didn't spare them a second look, however. I refused to give them the satisfaction of gaining my attention—because clearly that's what they wanted. They wanted to intimidate me: perhaps on Naoko's behalf, perhaps at her behest. They wanted me to know people were watching, and waiting, and feeling less than sympathetic for Yukimura Keiko.
"Feeling less than sympathetic" is a euphemism for "feeling outright hatred", by the way.
I got tripped again in my third class.
I found more graffiti in my fourth.
Naoko worked fast, it seemed.
Lunch, as you might imagine, felt like a reprieve. I scurried from the classroom before the bell even finished ringing and all but ran down the hall toward the stairwell where Kaito waited. Once I got away from the crowds I slowed down and paced myself.
Much as I wanted to get away from the preying girl-gang, I knew seeing Kurama today was tantamount to throwing myself out of the frying pan and into the fire. The green-eyed, secretive, formerly-fox fire that could hurt me more thoroughly than any number of dramatic teenage girls.
Today I would put my Kagome-approved plan into action.
It was possible that would be the last thing I ever did.
I tried very hard not to think about that. Don't be dramatic, Keiko.
Before I entered the stairwell, I crouched down and meditated. Breathe deeply, clear the mind, calm the body. Focus on the physiological sensations of calmness—steady heart, even breathing—and hold tight to them. Give anxiety no quarter. Minamino was Minamino and no one else. The name 'Kurama' meant nothing. Minamino was Minamino was Mina-freakin'-mino. My plan relied on believing this, or at least fostering momentary amnesia regarding his past. Hell, my life probably relied on this, not to mention my acting skills.
Ugh, Keiko. Try not to think about that.
I kept meditating. Only once I felt sufficiently centered did I open the stairwell door.
Minamino (he was just Minamino, I reminded myself) favored me with a pleasant smile as I walked up the stairs and took my customary spot on the stairwell windowsill. In contrast, Kaito shot me a withering look over the top of his glasses as I pulled out my bento.
"You're late," he said.
"A woman is never late," I airily replied. I paused, working through a rapid Japanese translation in my head before speaking. "Nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to."
"Tolkien," Minamino said. "I didn't know you were a fan of fantasy."
I laughed. "Wow. You got that quote even through a language barrier?"
Kaito rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."
"Well, that was the correct phrasing of the quote in Japanese, aside from creative adjustments to accommodate your gender," Minamino said—as though admitting something mildly incriminating.
"Oh. It was?" I said. "I translated on the fly. I've only read it in English."
"I confess the same," said Kaito. "I haven't read it in Japanese, I'm afraid."
"Then the two of you have me outclassed," Minamino said with wry amusement. When Kaito quirked a brow, Minamino clarified. "I've only read the Japanese translation."
I counted myself lucky, that Kaito spoke next and drew Minamino's attention—because just then I froze.
I saw my shot, glaring like dawn off water.
Now was the time to act.
"Really?" Kaito said, brows almost level with his hairline. "You haven't read it in English?"
"Afraid not. My oral English skills are far superior to my reading skills." Minamino shrugged, hair glimmering in strands of garnet and inky black. "I find the constant phonetics tiresome and prefer the more pictographic attributes of written Japanese, though of course I can read English when I must."
I didn't take a deep breath. I didn't gird myself. I forced the anxiety away and spoke naturally, normally, casually. Thank you meditation for the borrowed calm.
"Interesting," I said.
Minamino turned my way. "Oh? What is?"
"Just…I didn't expect that," I said. When he looked confused I smiled. I shrugged. I waved a hand, off-the-cuff and teasing. "You know. It's weird you're not better at English when you're such a demon at tests."
I spoke with no notable inflection. No emphasis on the word 'demon'. No knowing smile. No ironic smirk. No wink. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
Still: the effect was instantaneous.
Kurama—because he was Kurama now, not Minamino, transition as obvious as it was sudden—went utterly, completely still the second the word 'demon' left my mouth. Green eyes darkened like the clouds of an oncoming storm. His weight shifted in my direction, subtle indication I'd gotten his attention. At his sides his hands curled into hard fists.
…all according to plan.
Now for Phase Two.
I didn't allow myself the luxury of observing his reaction beyond that initial shift. I smiled and immediately changed the subject. Toying with my bento box on my lap, I said, "I prefer reading in English, myself. Don't know why. It's my best subject."
"And here I thought that would be literature," Kaito said, "given your propensity for nuanced critique."
I smiled at him. "I'd rank literature as my second-best subject, tied with biology. In fact—"
Kurama's eyes stayed on me as I spoke, weightier even than the combined stares of my peers' when they watched my feud with Naoko. I poured every last ounce of my willpower into acting naturally, into maintaining an air of casual, indifferent ignorance. I acted like I hadn't done what I'd just done. I acted like I had no idea the mistake I'd just made.
Or rather, I acted like I had no idea I'd just made a very stupid (not to mention dangerous) pun.
Because that was my plan, you see.
Puns.
Puns were my plan. Puns, and the dumber the better. Because no sane person would taunt someone like Kurama with something as low-brow as a pun—especially not one about his past life. And Kurama knew I was smart. He knew I was too smart to ever do something as stupid as this.
…well.
Surprise, I guess.
Stupidity—not to mention a heaping helping of pig-headed gall—was to be my shield.
I chattered on with Kaito for a few minutes more about our favorite subjects. Sinking into conversation—rife with our practiced brand of banter and Kaito's dry humor—provided familiar comfort. Kurama watched, eyes on me, but soon the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. Probably because I hadn't made any more puns, intentional or otherwise. Perhaps he'd written it off as a slip of the tongue. An unwitting pun made by an unwitting party. Because I wasn't stupid, and therefore the only possible conclusion he could come to was that I made that pun accidentally.
Little did he know I was counting on that big brain of his to come to that conclusion.
I knew full well the pitfalls of overthinking. Now it was Kurama's turn.
"Anyway," Kaito was saying. "For film class we're required to see a movie in theaters. Alas, I detest most modern cinema." He shoved his glasses up his nose with a derisive sniff. "We have traded literary merit for explosions and nudity."
"So you prefer the classics?" Minamino asked (he was Minamino again, pleasant-smiled and cheeky instead of terrifying).
"Of course. Although finding theaters that show them can be a trial." Kaito eyed me sidelong. "And you, Yukimura? Classic or modern cinema? Please note that your answer will greatly impact my opinion of your taste and intellect."
"Heaven forbid you think badly of me," I said with exaggerated concern. "Personally? I think being snobbish is a waste of time. I love the classics as much as anybody, but some modern movies can be fun."
Kaito chuffed. Minamino gave a chiding chuckle.
"Ah, Kaito," Minamino said, "has her answer offended your sensibilities?"
"Depends on which modern movies she prefers," he solemnly intoned. Then he looked pained. "Just—tell me you are not a connoisseur of the chick flick. Please."
Legally Blonde crossed my mind, but that movie hadn't come out in this timeline. "Maybe I just haven't found the right one yet."
Kaito shook his head. "Careful. If you're too open-minded, your brain could fall out your ear."
"And if you're too close-minded, you could lose out on a wonderful new experience," I shot back. I glanced at Minamino. "Tie-breaker?"
He smiled with contrite reluctance. "Sorry, Yukimura. But I prefer the classics as well."
"Of course you do," I said with a dramatic sigh. "You're an old soul, after all."
Minamino's smile faded. Another veiled reference to his true nature, though not quite as elegant a pun as previous—seems he'd spotted it regardless, that wily fox. I held his gaze for a second, then shook my head and tutted.
"You and Kaito are peas in a pod," I said. "Why do I even hang out with you old fogies?"
"Old fogies?" Kaito repeated. "I'm insulted. I assure you, I am full of youthful vigor." He looked at Minamino askance. "I trust you take umbrage with her words, as well?"
"We've already achieved the unthinkable and agreed once today," Minamino teased—but his eyes held an edge, calculating and cold. "Perhaps once is enough."
"Oh, stop with the stoic act," I said. I drew myself up and declared, "My insult are cutting, barbed and poisonous! It's understandable if you feel insulted. In fact, it's only natural!"
Minamino tittered skeptically. My jaw dropped—but only to cover a sly smile. I nudged his knee with my toe as he took a delicate bite of onigiri.
"Are you not human, Minamino?" I said, quoting The Merchant of Venice with theatric panache. "Do you not bleed?"
I wish I had the verbiage to explain how satisfying it is to see Kurama choke on a rice ball. Alas, I possess no such verbiage. I watched with amused concern as Kaito pounded Kurama on the back. When his airway cleared, Kurama glared. I don't have the verbiage to describe that, either, but let's just say that if I hadn't entered a calm, meditative head-space before enacting my plan, I'd have probably crapped myself.
Kaito quoted Shakespeare like I had. "'If you poison us, do we not die?'" he said. The boy pursed his lips, looking oddly pleased. "Seems Minamino's human, after all."
Kurama went still, like he had earlier, only this time he stared at Kaito with that glare that could cut glass. I mentally cheered. Yes, Kaito, yes—make unknowing puns! Further confuse the fox! Now it wasn't just me who looked innocently suspicious.
Kurama studied Kaito for a moment. Kaito stared back with a bored expression, clearly waiting for Kurama's reply. Kurama cleared his throat with a grimace.
"Seems I am susceptible to choking, at the very least," Kurama said, velvet voice roughened from his cough. That voice get even rougher when he looked first at Kaito, and then at me, through hooded emerald eyes. "Now…just what are you two playing at, exactly?"
A loaded question…and I was the only one who knew it. Kaito frowned, confusion evident. I mirrored the look. Kaito made for great camouflage.
"Does friendly banter require ulterior motive, suddenly?" Kaito asked. "Interesting. I was not aware."
"Yeah—we're just teasing you." I nudged Kurama's knee again. "Sorry. Didn't mean to offend."
Kurama's lips thinned as he observed my apologetic smile. For a moment I thought he'd say something else—dig deeper, press for what we knew about his past life, interrogate and question—but then he looked away.
"Apologies," he murmured. "I'm afraid I'm out of practice. It's been some time since I've spent lunch hour with my peers."
A quick lie to cover that he'd just suspected Kaito and me of knowing about his past. The falsehood would fool anybody who wasn't already looking for it. Kaito nodded, buying the lie outright.
"Yes, you are always tucked away in that greenhouse," Kaito said. "Speaking of which, Minamino. I could use your expertise. I was reading a mystery novel in which a tincture of hemlock was used—"
Kurama relaxed as Kaito picked his brain about a plot device's plausibility. From my vantage point I observed Kurama's rigid posture loosen, his eyes quell their fire, and his fists uncurl. He was Minamino again in short order, bearing the brunt of Kaito's questions with quiet enthusiasm (I think he was happy to get to talk about plants with someone). Their conversation lasted until the bell rang.
Minamino only lasted until the bell rang, too.
Kaito made a habit of walking me from lunch to my next class. We'd never spoken about it, and he'd never asked for information, but I got the sense he did so to keep me from being alone with Kurama. Guy was too smart to not read the signs during our first lunch with Minamino, and he was too good a friend to not act on those signs' implications.
Too bad today he had to use the bathroom.
The moment Kaito trotted away toward the toilets, Minamino disappeared—leaving me alone with Kurama. It was easy to tell when the shift occurred. His eyes flashed in a way I couldn't ignore when he said my name. I stopped, brow knit in silent question as we traded a long gaze in the empty stairwell. Somewhere in the distance I heard feet and voices as students made their way to their next classes, but here, we were very much alone.
Time for Phase Three of Operation PUNishment.
"Hmm?" I said when the silence stretched thin. "What's wrong?"
He stood with his hands in his pockets, posture lazy—but I knew enough to fear whatever he might be hiding in said pockets. Or should I be more afraid if he started messing with his seed-storing hair? Whatever. He was scary either way in spite of his porcelain complexion, heart-shaped face, and full lips.
I was lucky I'd been looking at his lips when he next spoke, because if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have heard him talk.
Kurama was distractingly pretty. But now was not the time to wonder if his hair felt as soft as it looked.
"Yukimura," he said. My name sounded like a purr, somehow, although his eyes held no softness whatsoever. His next words came as carefully-measured as coffin dimensions. "Am I correct in thinking you know something about…?"
He trailed off, eyes knowing, like he expected me to fill in the gaps and admit to something unspoken.
Perfect. Phase Three was going according to plan.
I mimicked Kaito's earlier, confused frown. "Do I know about what, exactly?"
Kurama stared at me hard enough to burn holes in my uniform sweater. I shot him a what-the-hell-is-your-problem scowl.
"Do I know about what?" I repeated.
Kurama opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
I saw the war in his eyes, and I freaking loved it. He couldn't interrogate me without giving himself away, without mentioning his past directly, but he couldn't let my puns go unexplained, either. And I highly doubted someone as tactful and secret-keeping as Kurama would ever use a demonic plant-trick on a student unless he had concrete proof doing so was absolutely necessary. Kurama balanced on the knife-edge of an unresolved question, a catch 22 of inquiry, with no way to gain answers from me without giving up answers of his own.
We played a game of 'chicken,' in a sense.
A partially demonic, pun-reliant game of chicken.
Only question was who would break first, and be the first to admit they knew too much.
Although he did not speak, Kurama's eyes blazed like a forest catching fire. I took a step back on reflex. Fear fit all of the masks I could possibly wear in this moment. Fear was fitting. Fitting, and believable.
"Uh…you're acting weird right now, you know that?" I said.
Kurama's lips tilted, smile tight. "Am I?"
"Yeah. Like, really fucking weird." I lifted a thumb over my shoulder. "I'm super uncomfortable being alone with you when you're looking at me like that, so if you don't mind, I'm just gonna…?"
I didn't wait for permission. I snatched my bento off the windowsill and turned away, heading toward the stairs to the next floor.
"Yukimura."
I paused with my foot on the top step. Looked over my shoulder.
Kurama had become Minamino again. I saw it in the fall of his hair and the twist of his beautiful lips.
"I'm sorry," he said. This time his smile looked languid, not tight—but his brittle eyes told a different story. A story of suspicion, and tension, and unwilling uncertainty. "It seems I made an erroneous assumption. Can we, perhaps, forget that exchange occurred?"
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling for a moment, the portrait of an internal debate.
"Whatever, weirdo," I said. I turned from him and scurried up the steps. "See you tomorrow."
"Yes." His voice floated after me, full of promise I don't think he realized I could recognize. "I'll be seeing you."
Took every pounce of my willpower not to sprint away, just then.
Judging by Minamino's eyes and the tenor of those parting words, he'd given up today's battle. But he had no intention of losing the war.
Kurama never lost the war.
In spite of my fear, an electric thrill streaked through me when I muttered, "Let the games begin."
NOTES:
KEIKO'S PLAN WAS PUNS. Or is that just wordplay? Innuendo?
I love puns. Puns are amazing. I once made someone cry with puns (funny story). This makes sense if you know me. Hope you liked it!
MANY THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED. You make my world go 'round: Siris Derp, Lariee, DarkDust27, Archaeological, rya-fire1, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, xenocanaan, Jolly Loser, guest (x3), racnor, giant salamander, Yunrii, CrystalVixen93, Ink Winged, nevvy, Angurvddel, 431101134, Gwen Flaming Katana, buzzk97, Dec Jane, Just 2 Dream of You, Prince Maoyan, ballet022, Freaky Shannon-igans, Melissa Fairy, Leahcar-Soutaichou, SanguineSky, FireDancerNix, I-Y-T-Y, reebajee, WickedBeet, Caelyn M, Lady-Nevermore 13, EridanusV!
