"…You are sooooo goin' down."

The lanky redheaded young woman vowed flatly, and the cold, stoic expression she wore like a stone mask made it blatant she planned on keeping her oath at all costs.

Eliciting a low, threatening growl, she slowly took a firm stance and carefully prepared herself for the inevitable showdown. Keeping her teeth bared in a vicious snarl that a rabid pitbull wouldn't be able to match, the girl swiftly rolled up the sleeves of her emerald jacket and then casually began to crack her knuckles, making it clear her hands were the only weapons she'd need. All the while, she kept her unblinking gaze locked upon her foe as twin infernos raged deep within her jade pupils. Unfortunately, the fire in her eyes only barely hinted at the true extent of her legendary fighting power.

Nearly resembling an avenging archangel crowned with a halo of crimson flames, the fiery spirited young woman was truly an awesome spectacle to behold, astonishing enough to send any weak-spirited individual begging for mercy before she even moved a muscle. However, upon close examination, it was obvious to any fool that the opponent she squared off against was far from any sniveling coward.

This was a bit surprising at first, seeing that at first glance he seemed to be nothing more than a mere nine-year-old boy who was extraordinarily unfortunate enough to cross paths with the wrong woman. Just one look into his eyes however, and the unforgiving, stonefaced expression he wore, and it was blatant that he was a mere child only in appearance. Deep within that tiny body one third his adversary's height there obviously lay a strong-spirited soul who had seen his fair share of troubles in life and possessed more backbone then many full-grown men four times his age and five times his size when it came to danger.

This situation in particular was obviously no exception, for the little boy didn't even bat an eyelid during the spectacle the redhead put on, seeing right through the entire act for what it really was as a severely unsubtle show of intimidation. His face revealed no hint of fright or even a trace of worry. Just a frosty glare that could freeze a person's blood in their veins as he boldly stood his ground and showed he too was prepared to fight until the very end.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two stared each other down in dead silence. The boy lashed out with a piercing glare sharper than a warrior's spear, and the redhead returning the favor by glaring daggers in return, each one nearly slicing the other in half with their gazes alone.

"This is it, Mac." Frances "Frankie" Foster declared vehemently, jabbing a finger at the frighteningly stoic eight-year-old. "This ends, now."

Despite the barely restrained ferocity evident in her tone, Mac didn't even do so much as flinch. Instead, a queer, haughty smirk swept across his features as he laughed coldly.

"Of course this is where it ends, redhead." he sneered irreverntly. "For you, at least."

"Oh, very funny, Mr. Wise Guy." Frankie shot back sarcastically with a fierce scowl. "But mark my words, you're not going to find anything funny with what I'll do to you by the time I'm done with you."

"I dunno," Mac sniggered condescendingly. "I've never seen a twenty-two-year-old cry like a baby before, that's gotta be good for at least a couple of chuckles."

"The only way you're gonna be able to see anyone bawling is if you look in a mirror afterwards." Frankie countered. "After all-"

"Hey!" the boy rudely interrupted her with an impatient yell as he balled up a little fist tightly. "Are we gonna do this, or do you just plan to bore me to death with lame insults? Huh?"

The redhead hissed venomously like a crimson cobra about to strike.

"You just signed your death warrant, little man." She whispered with a spiteful leer.

"I'm ready whenever you are." Mac just announced with a scowl.

For a few moments, each opponent glared at each other as another dead silence blanketed the foyer, both of them standing stock-still as if someone had carelessly left a pair of wax statues in the middle of the room. Neither emitted so much as a word while they carefully calculated the strengths and weakness of their adversary, while also frantically trying to beat back any hints of doubt over their own possible victory in the process. Both child and girl were quite aware they were no legendary heroes future generations would name constellations after. They were only human, and thus being naturally flawed they carried the possibility of being unable to claim the victory they so fervently desired. Struggling furiously to silence the voices of skepticism over their chance of success, Frankie could feel the warm beads of sweat trickle slowly down her forehead, while Mac fought valiantly to still his noticeably quaking hands.

At this point, the tension in the air was so thick one would need a battle-axe to cut it. Finally though, after God only knew how long, Frankie suddenly made a curt nod, signaling that it was time to join battle.

"One…" Mac began, glaring at the redhead coldly as he prepared himself.

"Two…" She continued with a fearsome snarl. This was it, no going back now.

"THREE!" They finally yelled in unison as the fight was finally commenced, as each one rapidly beat a tightly clenched fist upon an open palm and hollered in unison,

"Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!"

And just as swiftly as it had started, the clash was over, the results speaking for themselves – the girl's balled-up fist matched up with the eight-year-old's two fingers outstretched. For a brief moment, the duo just gawked at the outcome.

"YESSSSSSSSSS!" Frankie squealed with elation, leaping nearly two feet into the air in her immense glee.

"NO!" Mac wailed to the high heavens in mortified despair as he tasted bitter defeat.

"Oh, yes! Rock beats scissors! Boo-yah!" The caretaker only whooped jubilantly, jabbing mockingly at the dejected child as she pranced about him wildly in a ridiculous victory dance. "In your face, pal! In your face! Yeah!"

"No fair! No fair!" The boy immediately began to protest defiantly. "Rematch! I wanna-"

"Nuh-uh, Macky-Poo!" Frankie happily denied him in a cheerful singsong manner and a wag of her finger. "You know the rules of the game, it was best two out of three, and in case you've forgotten, the final score is two victories for moi versus one measly win for you."

"But-"

"Nope!" the girl just trilled happily as she nudged the clearly unwilling child towards the front doors. "We had a deal, pal; I won, you lost, so get going!"

Frankie flung the doors open and then leaned up heavily against the wall, with a ludicrously merry grin plastered upon her features as she waited for the child to start the very much-unwanted task. As she waited patiently to reap the fruits of her victory, Mac elicited a whimper as he gazed down the walkway to the mailbox.

At least he tried to see through the heavy sheets of rain that mercilessly pelted the earth and nearly swallowed up everything in a torrential downpour of biblical proportions.

"Well?" Frankie giggled with a smirk. "Don't you have some mail to pick up, pal?"

Mac fidgeted about anxiously as his mind went a mile a minute, honestly mulling over whether he needed to go fetch a raincoat or even a small rowboat to cross the plethora of massive puddles that had practically turned the lawn into a miniature lake. Meanwhile, the caretaker couldn't help but elicit another chuckle or two at the spectacle he was creating, and while badly muffling a snigger, she reached over to tousle his hair playfully.

"Y'know, the longer you wait here, the worse it's gonna be when you actually-Hey! Mac, what're you-"

"Three out of five!" Mac blurted out frantically as he seized her outstretched arm in a tenacious hold, desperate to save himself a journey through a veritable flood. "How about that? We do three out of five, and loser not only gets the mail, but-"

"Oh, no way!" Frankie swiftly denied the quick-thinking child before he could improvise the slipshod bargain any further. "Nuh-uh, we clearly had a deal, Mac Foster! Two out of thee, loser gets the mail now, that was what we agreed on, you little sneak! C'mon pal, we-"

"But that's not fair!" Mac squealed indignantly as he fought to keep his iron grip upon his guardian, much to her annoyance.

"Yes, that's so fair!" she shot back while struggling wildly to pry him loose. "I told you, we clearly agreed to-"

"But that's what I said last week when the garbage had to be taken out!" The boy argued steadfastly. "We first only had one match to decide, but then you forced us to do two out of three, and we actually went up to four out of seven before-"

"Knock it off!" The girl countered with an exasperated groan. "Whatever point you're trying to prove, you can just forget it, little man! That was different, maybe if you hadn't cheated every time we-"

"I cheated? I cheated?" Mac yelped incredulously. "I won fair and square every time, if anyone was cheating-"

"Nice try, but it ain't happening! I remember everything, you definitely-"

"For goodness sake, what on earth is the meaning of all this?" someone suddenly boomed angrily like a tremendous roll of thunder. Within an instant the squabble came to a screeching halt as the pair looked up to meet the frighteningly stern glaze of the aged imaginary rabbit hastily exiting his nearby office in a harried but dignified hop.

"Miss Frances! Master Mac!" he scolded, looking clearly repelled by the spectacle before him. "Will one of you please tell me-"

"Mr. Herriman, we were just-" Frankie hastily tried to improvise a slapdash excuse before she was abruptly cut off.

"Good heavens, where in the world is the mail?" Mr. Herriman snapped angrily, causing both of the miscreants to involuntarily flinch. "Didn't I ask no less than ten minutes ago for one of you to go fetch it outside?"

"Yeah, but – OW!" Mac squeaked in pain before he could get a single word further.

"OUCH! Hey, quit it!" Frankie protested in vain as the authoritarian rabbit's paws moved like blurs, expertly nabbing hold of both ruffians by the earlobes as if apprehending a pair of naughty toddlers. Foster's Head of Business Affairs was in absolutely no mood to play judge while the pair babbled foolishly in an attempt to defend themselves.

"When I ask for something to be done around here," he growled, ignoring their whines of agony as he effortlessly began to drag them along, "I mean I want it to be done now! Both of you, outside, and don't expect me to let you back in unless you have properly retrieved the mail as was specifically requested GO!"

With this strict edict, Mr. Herriman effortlessly deposited them onto the front porch and quickly retreated back inside, muttering darkly to himself about the youth and their enigmatic nonsense before angrily slamming the doors behind him. The unfortunate pair thus found themselves all alone, staring dumbly at the mailbox a few yards away, and separated from them through a monstrous deluge one would need experience in the Coast Guard to get through it all for the sake of a few letters.

As she tried to comprehend the unimaginably unpleasant soaking they were about to receive, Frankie's depressing contemplation was suddenly roughly interrupted by a light tug on her arm.

"Hmmm?" she grunted absentmindedly, gazing upon the child stand by her side.

"…Um….wanna see who can make it down there first?" Mac suggested hopefully with a weak grin in a feeble attempt to make the most of the situation.

Frankie needed only a second to muse over his offer before a tremendous grin swept across her face from ear to ear. Giggling lightly, she gave his hair a playful tousle as she declared eagerly,

"You are sooooo goin' down…."

The End