My apologies for the late upload. I was grounded for half my life, and my family is moving so as I type, I'm surrounded by a mountain of boxes. I know this story is just getting into swing and this is a bad time for me to move, but, being fifteen and all, I don't really make the choices. This quick little zip-up is just shy of a thousand words, so for at least one chapter, you won't have to mark your place and maybe can make your coffee break on time. ^_^ Enjoy, ye of moderate faith!

Disclaimed: I swear to the lord, as good a shape as Danny Trejo is in for a 67-year-old, he's not mine.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling mischieviously. "No problem. I know a damsel in distress when I see one."

I smirked. "That was not necessarily distress."

"And you aren't a damsel. I've heard it all before."

"You have? And how many girls have you... saved?"

"If I could have your number, I'll call you with the number of lovely ladies and juicy details in which I swooped in, my shining armor at full polish, and rescued them from certain doom."

"I... am not quite that grateful. Regardless, I give you my thanks once again. Have a good day." I stood, keeping my eyes on my shoes this time. I instantly scoured for Haruhi, but in my attempt to walk away with a clean slate and at least a minor bit of dignity left intact, he also stood and grabbed my sleeve to prevent my getaway. I paused, looking first at my arm and then at his face.

Well, he really did have gorgeous eyes...

Damn.

"Please? Gimme a chance. Not every day I meet a lady like you who has the mental capacity to turn me a cold shoulder."

I ran my right hand through my hair, chewing my lip. Was it really worth it? The last had broken off worse than ripping steel apart. Jagged, strained edges, sharp serrations that couldn't be bent back into conformity. Would everyone be like him? I had met good, decent people before. My parents were good people. That, and they had been perfect for each other. My father had never touched my mother unless it was lovingly. Some things, like my parents marrying one another, were just meant to be. This roller coaster ride couldn't possibly end worse than the last one, now could it?

"Fine." I recited my newest cell phone number, and watched as he entered it into his phone with a giddy, almost drunk-with-delight expression. "Gotcha."

"One thing."

"Yeah?" he yipped, a childish contentment now overpowering his face.

"I at least want to know your name...?"

He smiled, that devilish glint returning. "Danny Trejo."

"You can't be serious."

"Naw. I'm Kanate Yorimoshi."

This time, I was free to turn around and leave. While I headed off, I turned around and looked at him over my shoulder. "I'm Ryceryn. You can call me Reese. And Machete was a good movie for my tastes."

I could hear a light chuckle trailing behind me.

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx

Kanate's Point of View

She was, without a doubt, utterly fascinating and intriguing. I could let my dinner plans with that one chick- what was her name?- go for now. We were only acquaintances and at that stage, it's easy to just pull the "Now's not the right time for a relationship in my life" trick. She was another face in the crowd. But this girl, Ryceryn,
wasn't like the blonde bimbos I dated casually on the side. She didn't chase me; I could do the chasing. And in the last ten minutes of my life, I had decided that I could not get enough of the raven haired girl.

A half an hour later, I was snooping around in the racks of Victoria's Secret, watching her and a shorter, brown haired friend, presumably a girl too. I mean, come on.
Why would there be a DUDE in Victoria's Secret?

...Don't listen to me.

"Can I help you?" came a sharp voice, the kind that sends jagged arrows from the sky to plow you into the ground. I turned around, scared half out of my wits, to find a sales assistant with bronde hair and a really nasty shade of wine red lipstick on her lips. I twitched. "Erm... not really. I'm just buying a... a... THIS thing," I pulled the nearest item off the rack, "for my girlfriend. This..." I examined the article of clothing, and sweatdropped, but feigned confidence. "I AM BUYING THIS THONG FOR MY GIRLFRIEND!" I touted with an air of definite determination, fist pumping. On the other hand, I was pretty much dying on the inside.

You know those days where you clean out your refrigerator and find a slimy, gross, brown, disgusting smelling onion in there? And it smells so bad you feel your lungs withering? This was a very similar moment, minus the nasty onion. My soul pretty much slipped out of my mouth.

"Ah. That's our sale special. Three pairs for fifty dollars."

I choked. Fifty dollars? "How much is one pair?"

"Thirty-five."

Needless to say, I walked out thirty-five dollars poorer.

But I would not be disheartened!

I carefully examined her from behind leather sofas and benches, potted plants and bed sets, cabinets and pyramid stacks of perfume. Despite how many lame jokes her friend cracked, she never smiled, laughed less, and was basically depressing in presence alone. However, her steel will and self control was endearing... and her disregard for my obvious infatuation.

As I peered out from behind the plastic leaves of a plant that would never grow or die, a baby in a carriage, presumably that of the woman who sat reading a book on the bench behind me, stuck a cherry lollipop in my hair. I did not understand this meaningless cliche, often seen in television shows. Who was careless enough to give their young child a lollipop anyway? All else aside, it happened, there was a cherry lollipop in my hair, I lost thirty-five dollars, and there was a pair of spanking brand new panties in my pocket that might never have an owner. As a matter of fact, I would probably burn them as soon as I got home.

But then again... when I told her they were for my girlfriend...

That wasn't necessarily a lie, now was it?