v. Trouble lurking

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"Mikan Sakura always landed on her feet, however tall the tree she had climbed, and however tough the challenge she might have to face; she wouldn't let some insolent, up-his-own-arse jerk make her feel inferior or bad about herself."

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"May I ask for the dance?"

Surprised, Mikan looked up from the glass of champagne that she had been cradeling in her hands for the last thirty minutes. She was counting the minutes to get out of here, to leave this stupid pompous ball behind. Frowning, she took the stranger's appearance in. He looked familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly where she'd seen him before.

"Miss Sakura?" His proffered hand hovered awkwardly in the space between them. "What is it? I mean...excuse me? What were you saying?" Mikan sputtered, absent-mindedly.

"I asked you if you would do me the honor of dancing this dance with me?" he repeated, and started smirking. Mikan blushed as it started to dawn on her who this man was. She recalled spilling her beverage all over his attire two weeks ago at Lady Haywood's soiree. She still remembered every conversation around her stilling as she desperately tried to apologize to him, scandalized faces turned in their direction, and she, painfully aware of the huge mess she'd caused, a bumbling fool. She didn't know much about him, only that he was apparently considered the catch of the season, came from a wealthy family, and was a well-respected member of society; a refined gentleman.

"Dance? With me?" she echoed, her mind a million miles away. She blinked, trying to concentrate on the situation. "Of course, yes. I mean, yes, it would be a pleasure to dance with you, Mr...uh..." She flushed as the raven-haired gentleman led her to the middle of the ball room, put his hands on her back, and waited for the tact of the waltz to start. She avoided his gaze, knowing how terribly rude it was of her to have forgotten his name.

As they gently started waltzing, she felt him examining her. She looked up hesitantly, expecting him to look bored or worse, irritated, but she found him smirking. She wondered if his facial features were frozen in a constant smirk, and if he was even capable of any other expression.

He cocked an eyebrow, and Mikan took a deep breath, causing her corseted bosom to press against his chest. She instantly let all the air rush out of her lungs, and had to resist the urge to bury her burning face in her hands. She was aware of her own ineptitude, and how he must be conceiving her rudeness. She had not only forgotten his name, but didn't even make an effort to initiate a pleasant conversation. She spared a glimpse at her chaperone, an old family friend, who nodded at her and smiled encouragingly.

Mikan straightened up and immediately felt taller and braver, and pasted a bright, false smile on her face.

"I'm terribly sorry to inform you." Mikan told her dancing partner graciously. "But your name seems to have slipped my mind."

"Indeed?" he retorted, and Mikan was sure to detect a hint of amusement in his voice. "Well, it is good then that I still remember yours, Miss Sakura."

Mikan waited a few beats, but the man didn't seem inclined to disclose his name. How inconceivably frustrating!, Mikan thought. "Well?" she hinted politely, giving him another opportunity to clue her in. "Well?" he repeated, cocking his blasted eyebrow again.

"Your name! Won't you reveal it to me?" "I don't feel particularly inclined to do that, as a matter of fact. But enough about me now, Miss Sakura. Let us talk about you and your lacking manners." He smiled benignly, his expression in stark contrast to the venom coating his voice. Mikan's jaw dropped. If at first this gentleman had seemed condescending and unpleasant, she was now convinced he was the most infuriating creature she had ever had the misfortune and displeasure of meeting.

"I'm afraid I do not know what you're getting at, Sir." she told him primly, dead set on not showing him that he had gotten to her, and doing her best to contain the mortification she was feeling.

"Let me clue you in then, Miss Sakura: You not only lack in beauty, charm, and education, but also in grace, manners, and as it seems to be the case, common sense. You would do good to mind your own station, and not get in the way of those superior to you." His voice was quiet, smooth, and the epitome of smug confidence. Mikan saw malice glistening in his eyes, his mouth set in the perpetual smirk, his trademark expression.

Tears of rage threatened to overspill. But Mikan wouldn't give him the satisfaction of bursting into tears in the middle of the crowded ball room, with every pair of eyes on them. She would leave this fight, and this battlefield that constituted the dance floor, dignified. She refused to let him have the upper hand. Her pride refused to let this insult go without showing him what he was getting himself into.

Mikan Sakura always landed on her feet, however tall the tree she had climbed and would have to jump down, and however tough the challenge she might have to face; she wouldn't let some insolent, up-his-own-arse jerk make her feel inferior or bad about herself. Just because he was considered above her by society, had an ever-expanding ego, and was probably more wealthy than her whole family combined (not to forget the fact that he was a man; his sex had always been prone to bouts of imagined superiority), didn't give him any right to put her down. His self-importance disgusted her.

She wouldn't put her family's name to shame any more than she already had. He needed to be put into place himself, and she was just the person to conduct that feat.

The chap was an annoyance and she was about to show him that she wasn't easy prey. If trouble came lurking, Mikan would be prepared. And this guy definitely qualified as trouble. As the last tact of the waltz faded, Mikan dropped his hands, smoothed her gown, and looked up to find him watching her, a condescending smirk in place.

She donned her brightest smile, came a step closer, clearly catching him off-guard, and whispered, putting all the menace she could muster into her voice, "You would do good not to underestimate me, Sir, or you might find yourself not liking the consequences." Then she deliberately stepped on his foot––hard, putting all her weight into the step––turned around, and swept away, leaving a speechless Natsume Hyuuga standing, on his own, in the middle of the dance floor, among lingering pairs of dancers who were oblivious to the scene that had just taken place, her gown rustling over the floor in her wake.

A/N: This takes place before Illusion, if you hadn't noticed. It is rather short, I know, but oh well. Hope you like it. As you know, reviews are always appreciated. ;)