Sakura

[Dewey]

((feel free to ignore lol. oh, and the last line's been in my head for a while, and i was like.. where the heck have i heard this before? lol, and then i realized it was from ara's story ;D ))


It was on the eve of my seventeenth birthday that I killed him.

Some might’ve called it a compulsive decision. Teen angst. Better yet, the reaction of a PMS-ing teenage girl who’d had enough, who was tired of being pushed around by her jerk of a boyfriend. What do I call it? Justice. Justice in its purest form. Not like when the police bust a drug ring, or when a pimp is taken off the streets for breaking his whore’s jaw, or when an alcoholic is jailed for punching his pregnant wife’s stomach because he’s convinced it’s not his kid.

I’m not convinced any of those things really solve the problem. The victims still live in fear. They still have to look over their shoulder every few minutes when walking in the city. They still have to push furniture up against a triple-locked door in case someone comes for payback. What’s the point, then? You’d almost wished you have never even raised your voice. It’s almost better to take the beatings than to wonder if you’ll live to see another day.

I wasn’t interested in short-term fixes. I’d seen too much, I’d experienced too much. I’ve buried friends, I’ve walked with them to abortion clinics, I’ve nursed their black-and-blue bruises and busted lips. I’ve secondhand smoked; have watched “friends” get high and wasted. And I’ve let myself be used like dirty silverware in some rundown restaurant. For over a year. Until I decided enough was enough.

You know what? It felt good, too. The murder. There’s nothing romantic about it, though. The gunshots deafened me. To this day, I have slight trouble catching a few words now and then. The force of the gun nearly knocked me over; I’ve never been a well-grounded kind of girl. I’m 5’6, and only weigh 130 lbs. I’m surprised I wasn’t thrown into the nearest wall. Maybe my willpower kept me upright, my desire to see him die.

That was the best part. Simply holding the gun in my hands was a thrill. Aiming it at him made me shake all over, heart pounding so hard I thought I’d pass out. Pulling the trigger was pure ecstasy. The best part, though, when I play the night over and over again in my head, was watching him die. His blood sprinkled my face, a crimson constellation against the backdrop of my pale skin. I flinched at first when the warm drops slapped me, but within moments, I reveled in what they meant.

He sank to the ground, grabbing at his throat, choking up his own blood, his dark eyes wide with shock. He didn’t think I’d ever do it. He didn’t think it’d ever be like this, that I’d send him straight to hell one unsuspecting night while he played poker with the boys over a joint.

I’m not necessarily into lying, so I’ll be honest. I was scared shitless once the second-long euphoria ended. What the hell had I just done? What was this, first-degree murder? I’d be behind bars for the rest of my life, hanging out with the same people who made my days hell to begin with. I had to disappear. Now that was something I was good at. Disappearing. The only problem? I was stupid enough to involve witnesses.

I know what you’re thinking: amateur. I couldn’t wait until I was alone with him, though. Everything about him disgusted me more than usual during that poker game. The way smoke circled around his unshaven face like a white mane, his yellow fingernails and how they sifted through the deck of weathered cards, the stench of his body odor. Then, the comments. The bragging, really. Of how he slapped me around every night, got what he wanted, and kept his leash on me tight. That did it for me. Less than a minute later, he was dead. His little henchmen were on their feet, backing away with hands up. One idiot even tried to lunge for me.

I got nervous, all right? It was an all around bad situation to be in. They could’ve easily taken me, and who knows what they would’ve down? No, they had to be taken care of as well. So, one by one, I sent a bullet through their hearts or heads or throats. And before the last hit the ground, I bolted out of the place I’d called home for too long into the enveloping darkness of the night. Aimless.

I didn’t know what I was looking for, or where I was heading. Most of all, I didn’t think my life would change the way it did. I wasn’t looking to be God’s substitute when he was too busy to hear prayers. I wasn’t looking to be someone else’s savior. But this became my life.

Justice became my life. Justice became what I do, what I believe, what I give. And I wouldn’t take back a single day of the journey behind me, or the one ahead.

My name is Sakura Moriarty. I am an assassin.

[Dewey]

((AN: the white font leads to the song mentioned hehe))

((AN 2: it appears Sakura has borrowed Nicolas's car ha. i assumed it'd have tinted windows..))




The Past is Never Far

"I'vent the bloodiest clue why you keep paying me every week to break your car, Kura."

Sakura smirked as she watched close friend Araxie count the twenties in the wad of bills she'd just handed her. She lowered the volume on her sky blue video ipod, currently playing MIA's "Paper Planes", and tilted her head to one side. "When will it be done?"

Araxie glanced around the garage from behind her black sides-swept bangs and pursed her lips in thought. "Blimey, I don't know. A few days. I've got cars up the wazoo 'ere, in case you'vent noticed."

"You've like a million in your name from that casino hit and your art thief thing. And you're working in a garage?"

"Hey," Araxie called out, pointing a finger at her. "And doin' crazy business for the likes o' you, huh? A little appreciation 'ere." She smirked and stuffed the money into a front pocket of her knee-torn, white-washed, low-rider jeans.

Sakura replaced the sunglasses resting atop her ahead onto the bridge of her nose. As her song came to her favorite chorus, she arranged the fingers of her right hand to grip an invisible gun and murmured. "Some some some some I murder, some, some I let go..."

"All I wanna do is boom boom boom boom, and a--" Araxie clicked her tongue, and pulled an arm back in a quick gesture, "CHING! And take your money!"

Sakura smirked, and pulled the trucker hat Araxie was wearing further down her face. "You're a mess."

"What else do you have on that thing?" She continued her minor dance movements, letting the hat remain where it was.

"Lots of things."

"Lemme take a guess. How'd you put it? Ah.. 'angry, angsty, gritty shit', yeah?"

Sakura walked over to her black Mustang and patted its hood. "Take care of my car, Araxie. There was a scratch on the hood last time. Don't think I didn't notice."

At this, Araxie took the hat off so she could see her friend. "A scratch! I've cleaned blood from your windows, and you're arse-about-face over a scratch?" She only received a look in return. "A'rright, fine. I can't make guarantees, o'course, but I'll take extra precautions." A few moments later, a smirk came across her face. "Only 'cause we share similar tragedies."

"And what's that?"

"We've both found ourselves in the position o' likin' older men."

Sakura seemed paralyzed for all of three seconds before she shot another icy look Araxie's way.

"What! Don't gimme that look! Y'know it's true, Miss Marner."

"Really. Can we get past that already?"

"I just wanna offer you some encouragement."

"I don't need encouragement, Araxie."

"I know what it's like to fancy someone a wee bit older than yourself."

"Michel is like, three or four years older than you, Araxie. I wouldn't exactly call that some kind of crisis."

"A'rright, that's true. But still!"

Sakura crossed her arms. "But still what? Our situations are nothing like each other."

"Look, would'ja find it in yourself to let a poor girl gab on at least? Bloody hell!"

"Seriously. I just want to stop talking about it. It's embarassing, okay? And I have to deal with it every day. I have to see him and wonder, 'God is he thinking about those damn video blogs and what I said?' If he didn't see me as just some kid before, he probably does now. God, I'm young enough to be his f-ing daughter, Araxie!"

"So what, Sakura? You're a human being. You're supposed to have feelings like that. I'd probably say you were messed up in the head if you didn't. You're a twenty-year old girl living with a bloody hot Sicilian guy. Ah, yeah, that's probably going to result in some sexual tension."

"Araxie."

"What! It is! Y'know the only reason it didn't happen to Ara is because Nicolas is practically like her father figure. He'd raised her since she was, what, five or six? But he's not yours, so stop acting like you committed some crime just because you actually care about someone."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I need to get some things done."

"Right-o," Araxie sighed. "Well, take care, love! I'll give you a bell when this beaut's been done some damage."

* * * * *

Sakura Moriarty, on the world wide web and most especially thinkitblogit.com, was solely known by her chosen alias: Samantha Marner. Ever since the lapse of reason that had caused her to feature firearms in one particular video, she had only logged into her account once, and that was to post a rebuttal to all the criminal allegations that had accumulated against her. The issue eventually fizzled away from the media shortly afterward, as the Auvernha Police Department bemoaned their poor judgment, considering how "teens these days can create all kinds of illusions with some movie magic."

Having therefore enjoyed her fifteen hours of fame, Sakura was more than surprised to log into thinkitblogit.com and find 1,083 messages in her account inbox. She could only rid herself of them in sets of 25, and so spent a good amount of time clicking the box beside 'Select All' before hitting the delete button. She had no desire to read any of them. They were either words of praise or scorn for a girl who didn't even exist. Finally on her last set, she clicked the delete button, and while waiting for her cursor to transform out of its hourglass shape, her eyes caught a particular subject line "i kno who u really r."

The page reloaded to display an empty inbox before Sakura could change gears. She quickly dove into her Trash folder to recover the message with that ominous line and opened it, heartbeat gone.

TO: [e-mail]
FROM: [e-mail]
SUBJECT: i kno who u really r

did u think u could hide 4evr sakura??

923 4th st. name ur time.

0269.319.880


Sakura didn't even afford herself a second to think. She snatched her phone from the desk and punched a quick text message to that number.

"Tonight. 1 AM"

* * * * *

Sakura was familiar with the destination named in the mysterious email. It was where the slums of Arcadia began. Most people didn't even know they existed. The projects. The ghetto. After an hour and a half of driving, high-rise condo's and theatre marquis became quiet warehouses, and these in turn became abandoned, broken-windowed buildings covered in crude graffiti. Laundry dangled from lines, stray animals prowled the sidewalks occasionally assaulting a garbage can, homeless men in mismatched threadbare rags snored in alleys, clutching decanters of whiskey in their calloused hands.

Home.

Sakura leaned over and popped open the glove department of Nicolas's car, wherein her silver Caspian 9MM was tucked away. She already knew it was loaded. She'd pushed each bullet in herself before leaving the house. There was also a knife hidden on her person.

Though the upcoming traffic intersection was devoid of drivers tonight, Sakura still stopped at the red light, awaiting a green arrow before she turned onto 4th Street. Here, boys swaggered about in two's or three's, their baggy pants sagging, silver chains swathed around their necks. There were teenaged girls, too, sprawled across building stoops in their mini skirts and heavy makeup, catcalling to the passing black Mustang with obscene visuals.

Sakura, unfazed, drove on, glad Nicolas's car boasted tinted windows.

* * * * *

"You don't have to do this, Mia."

"Ay, Dios mio, Sakura! Callate ya! Damn. I don't want to hear it, all right?" The tanned girl unclipped the wet pile of black wavy hair from atop her head and let it cascade past her shoulders. She combed her red nails through the tangles, and then began to tease each lock.

"No, I'm not going to shut the f- up, okay?" She snatched the eyeliner pencil from Mia, gripped her arm, and turned her around so their eyes met. "What the f- are you doing, Mia? Do you realize how dangerous this sh!t is?"

Mia wrenched her arm away. "Of course I know how f-ing dangerous it is, but I don't really have a choice, now do I? I aint got no money, Sakura, and my damn baby's crying alone on the f-ing bedroom floor every night because his daddy's somewhere smokin' rock while I sleep with some n*gga to get a f-ing buck. I done been through more sh!t than you could ever relate to, so don't come b!tching to me about how dangerous things are, all right? This is our life, Sakura. Wake up and smell the f-ing coffee."

She snatched her eyeliner away and turned back to the mirror to prepare.

* * * * *

Sakura's expression was one of pain now. She swallowed back a lump in her throat, a glare steadily hardeninig in her eyes as she gripped the steering wheel. Mia's body had turned up weeks later, in the trunk of an abandoned car, bearing more scar wounds than Sakura cared to imagine.

"911...917..." Some buildings didn't even have numbers. The residential area broke off for just a moment to allow space for a dwarfed convenience store called simply 'Quik Mart', though the light for M had apparently died out. Posters for cigarette and liquour brands covered the windows. Neon signs blinked from inside as well, things that read "Open 24 Hours" and "We Cash Checks". On the establishments door were a few other signs, square stickers with warnings. "We Call Police". "We Card Hard". At the top were the most important sticks, though, three separate entities with white numbers on a black background: 9, 2, and 3.

"Yippie," muttered Sakura. She continued on in Nicolas's car, deciding there was less likelihood of it getting stolen the further away she parked from such a place.

Twenty minutes later, she was back at Quik Mart, armed and alert. She approached the building from its back alley, deciding to observe for a time before moving in. Besides, it was only a quarter to 1 AM. She still had fifteen minutes. Backstage access proved to be a bore, however. All that kept her occupied was the dripping of a rain gutter, and the flies buzzing around a piece of garbage.

She slowly crept from her hiding place and inched along the brick edifice of the building's side, hand trained on her gun's hiding place. Occasionally, she glanced up into the matrices of fire escapes protruding from the adjacent building's exterior. The ghetto seemed to be at rest tonight. Finally rounding the front corner of the Quik Mart, she scanned her surroundings one last time before entering.

The store was empty. Quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators in the back. Not a soul stood behind the check-out counter, and beyond a display of lighters for sale, Sakura caught her black and white image in one of four surveillance TVs. Her eyes darted to the ceilings to find the imposing cameras. Frowning at the one closet to her, she headed down an aisle to the store's back. Crouching down on one knee, she stared at the store's front windows from between two shelves of bug sprays, watching for someone, anyone.

That's when she heard the click beside her head.

She froze.

"You actually came."

"I gave a f-ing time, didn't I?" She kept her gaze toward the windows, not daring to turn her head.

"Stand up."

She didn't move.

"Stand the f- up!"

Slowly, she arose, placing a hand on a shelf to support herself. Only then did she regard him. She instantly regretted doing so. Her face paled.

"Surprised to see me, b!tch?" Xavier Lopez, one of the original last remnants of Scorpion had the unlucky fate of finding himself at the other end of Sakura's gun three years ago, when Nicolas accompanied her on a vendetta to eliminate her enemies.

"No," she lied. "More like indifferent. So you survived, so what? I'll f-ing shoot you again any day."

He shoved the gun against her head and forced her against the shelves, quickly twisting an arm behind her back. "Not so tough now, are you, b!tch? We should've killed you when we had the chance. But that's all right. I'll do it now. You'll love it. I'm gonna take you back to my place, cut you up real nice, and put a pistol down your throat."

It wasn't the worst position in which Sakura had been in, but it wasn't neccessarily encouraging either. She winced at the pain surging up her arm and stared at the row of RAIDS cans before her. While Xavier breathed his deranged plans against her neck, she reached out for one, nudging the plastic lid before she gripped it in her hand.

"I'll let you beg for your life first. Maybe I'll even let you use that little body of yours t--"

Sakura spun toward the side of the captive arm, feeling something pop as she aimed the roach killer at Xavier's face and sprayed into his eyes and mouth. The man stumbled back, shouting obscenities, giving Sakura just enough time to produce her own gun. Though not left-handed, she threw as good a punch as she could into Xavier's face with gun in hand, reached down to retrieve the RAIDS can, and swung that as well into his face. When his back was to her, finally, she brought forth her knife. Once lodged into his thigh, it brought him to his knees wonderfully.

Now the tables had turned. Sakura stood beside him, Caspian 9MM aimed at the side of his skull. "Ten seconds. Two choices. Tell me who else is alive, or have your f-ing brains all over the floor."

"You f-ing psycho b!tch. I don't know who else is alive! We all split!"

She shook her head once. "Wrong answer."

"Wait, all right? We all over. There were a bunch of n*ggas after your @ss once you killed Deon. You ruined some good money for a lot of people. Now we got some hustler out with a vengeance for you. Offering some good money to whoever can bring you to him. Dead or alive."

Sakura wanted to tremble. She didn't. "What's his name?"

"Sh!t, I don't--"

"WHAT'S HIS F-ING NAME?" She screamed, smacking the gun against the back of his head.

"I don't know! F- you! Half us aint never even seen the n*gga. He don't give out no name. What the f-, you done forgot where you come from? You know that's how the motherf-ers be playin' it here."

"You're dead."

"I told you what you wanted!"

"I want a name, d@mnit!"

"Look, last time I checked, he just be givin' out cards with some picture of a dragon on it." He started to shove his hand down his pocket.

"Put your f-ing hands where I can see them!" Once they were in the air, Sakura leaned over him to excavate the contents of his pocket for herself. She raked out loose change, cigarettes, and a tiny bag of white poweder before coming across a business shaped card. Standing back up, she flipped it from its blank side to reveal a simple black ink print of a dragon.

"What the f- am I supposed to do with this?"

"They say it's how you can find him."

Sakura stared at it a moment longer before pushing the gun closer into Xavier's skin. "You should've stayed home."

"What the f-, I thought you--"

She pulled the trigger, and his body jerked before falling forward. Unlike the many times before when she was seventeen, she didn't flinch when the blood speckled across her skin. Instead, she marched towrd the check out counter and leaned forward to eject the security video from the TVs' shared VCR. On the floor behind the counter, she glimpsed a bloody hand, the body to which it was attached hidden behind some dirty crates.

Shit. Cradling the security video with her pained right arm, she jogged out of the Quik Mart to 4th and Anderson, where she'd parked Nicolas's car, stopping short only for a second to curse at the damage some young hoods had clearly done it. The rims had been stole, the exterior had been keyed, and though the front windshield was still entact, splinters all across its paneling made it look like a cobweb.

"He's gonna love this..."

The drive back home took over an hour and a half, but to Sakura, it dragged on for an eternity. She couldn't take her eyes off the dragon insignia on the card but for a few minutes. Who did it belong to? Where would it lead her to?

And just how many people were on the hunt for her life?

[Dewey]

((did you know Pinocchio was made in 1940!? geez! I didn't even know Disney was making movies at that time haha. I wonder what the first one was.. P was the second...ah, Snow White))

((also: www.dollhousefurniturekits.com/index.php it makes ME want to build a doll house! lol. i think i will! ha. look at all the cute accessories for each room!))




Life As We Know It


"Sakura!"

The platinum-blonde glanced over at the sound of her name, watching Rae Maconochie make her way over with a wide grin.

"Oh my gosh, that Pinocchio doll was adorable, Sakura! Thank you so much!" Without a moment's hesitation she threw her arms around the younger girl, squeezing her in gratitude.

Sakura quickly moved her plate of cake to the side to accomodate for this most unexpected gesture. Unsure of how to respond, she remained rigid in Rae's arms, grateful when the girl finally pulled away.

"Where did you get it?"

Sakura hadn't prepared an answer to the question, and so chose this moment to place a large portion of cake in her mouth. "Mm," she said, holding up a finger in request for time.

"I'd like to buy the whole set."

The younger swallowed quick. "The whole set?"

"Yeah. Did they have the others? Geppetto, Jiminy Cricket, Blue Fairy..."

"Oh." Damn. "Uh, they might've had it.. I'm not sure. I'll have to check again."

"Great. Let me know!"

"I can just get them for you," Sakura said. "I'd get an employee's discount and all."

"Really? Where do you work?"

"Uh, around Millenia Mall. So! Greece, huh?"

* * * * *

"Sakura, people are just raving about last Saturday's class!"

Sakura glanced up from the the register she was cashing in, five hundred dollars between her gloved hands. The gloves, black and wool, were cut at the knuckles and only used because The Scrap Yard had a "no tattoos" policy. Sakura doubted any of its customers would appreciate the black widow spider and dragon on her left and right hands respectively. The Chinese symbol for dream, located behind her left ear, and her many piercings, stepped on enough toes. "Oh yeah?"

"For the first time since this business was started, we actually have a waiting list! People keep asking if we can increase the maximum number allowed in each class!" The woman, a rotund but tall redhead with two chins andmerry blue eyes, clapped her hands together. She was the manager. "What did you even go over on Saturday?"

Sakura made a quick notation on receipt paper, reminding herself she was currently $320 into her count. "Uhm.. the bathroom. We did the bathroom. No one could get over the accessories. The little toilet paper roll, the toothpaste, the faux wood toilet seats. The Victorian tubs with the clawed feet were especially a big hit."

"Women just love those little details."

"You're not kidding." She continued counting her bills, only speaking again once she'd reached 500, and had organized the money into the register. "A fight almost broke out over the wallpaper choices. Next time, we're going to have to just have 10 copies of each choice."

A phone rang, and the manger promptly answered the call. "The Scrap Yard on Millenia Blvd. This is Meredith speaking. How can I help you?"

A dark cloud passed over her previous jovial features. "I see. This is the 4th time this has happened within two months, Judy."

Oh, Judy. Sakura adjusted the black-framed glasses on her face and then reached back to tighten her ponytail. Judy was a tall, skinny old dame with graying short hair and a slight osteoperosis that made her walk with a barely noticeable hunch. She claimed to own fifteen cats back home, all strays at one point or another, and was the widow to a former marine who'd "gone to meet the Lord" three years ago after a brave battle against lung cancer. Judy generally was a quiet employee who occupied herself with organizing and reorganizing the same shelves on the hour, but she wasn't the most dependable of people. Too often, she showed up to work late or, a new habit, didn't come in at all.

"I know she's retired," Meredith would always say to Sakura at these times, "but I've a business to run here."

"Well, you should get your Cadillac looked at, Judy," Meredith said with a sigh. "I understand that things come up, but..."

Sakura watched on, hands diving into the pockets of her red apron. At The Scrap Yard, uniforms were a must. Khaki pants, black polo shirts, and the ever coveted red apron. On its front was the store's name, with the accompanying graphics of a paint brush, teddy bear, and needle with spool of thread. In the apron's three pockets, employees were encouraged to carry scissors, measuring tape, and what have you. Sakura had all these things, of course, but right now she was fishing for her lip gloss.

"You'll pick up Sakura's shift tomorrow morning, then. No more excuses, Judy." She hung up and shook her head. "By golly. You give people a job, and then they don't want to do it. Sakura, I'm going to need you to close today."

"Ah, Meredith, I really can't. I have to meet with a friend."

"I know it's last minute, but I really need your help. You can have tomorrow off. Judy will work your shift."

Sakura hesitated.

"We're slow on Monday evenings. You're more than welcome to invite your friend over. Just don't let it interfere with customers, all right?" Without awaiting an answer, she wobbled off into her office.

"...All right." Sakura rolled her eyes some and slipped her cell phone from an apron pocket before dialing Ara's number. She received a voicemail message. "Ara, hey. You can meet me tonight at 960 Millenia Blvd. I'll be there until 10. Later."

She closed the phone and then pinched the bridge of her nose, as she felt the onset of a migraine develop.

No one had a clue that Sakura worked at an arts & crafts store.

* * * * *

During her lunch break, Sakura usually relaxed in the small employee's lounge, doing any number of things. Sometimes, if it had been a late night on an assignment with Nicolas, she slept. Sometimes she watched the tiny black and white TV that sat atop a counter, apathetic as 13 year old prostitutes informed their mothers that they were now pregnant. (Meredith ate up talk shows like that). Sometimes, Sakura read the obituaries, praying to find a familiar name. And then still, sometimes, she simply pursued what she was best at: arts & crafts.

It's what she did today. Michel's girlfriend was so pleased with her Pinocchio spool doll that now she wanted the whole set. Sakura was beginning to understand why Rae was so well liked. Her life was simple. All she had to do every day was look gorgeous and act well. The rest fell into place. Her biggest worries probably stemmed from a rip in a dress. Michel, Nicolas, Ara, and Sakura --sometimes Araxie and Daemon--weren't as fortunate. They had problems bigger than wardrobe malfunctions. And so, Rae's presence was, at the end of the day, pretty damn refreshing.

Sakura enjoyed an admirable 40% discount at The Scrap Yard on all things, even sale items. Because of that, she was able to get all the parts she needed for Rae's collection for under ten dollars. From her backpack she produced two books, one of which she'd purchased at the adjacent Borders next store before work. "Pinocchio". Having never watched a Disney movie, let alone one apparently produced in 1940, she had no idea what Rae was talking about when she started to go on about talking crickets and lying foxes.

"Geppetto." Sakura flipped open the cover of her second book, a weathered sketch pad, and began to sketch out the basics of the Italian carpenter. In doing so, she briefly wondered if Rae would appreciate an accompanying doll house for all these guys. Well, that was a no-brainer. Of course she would.

The real question was whether Sakura felt like making one, She thought upon the dozens of dollhouses stored in Nicolas's attic, unbeknownst to him. She'd snagged the idea from Araxie, who at one time had stored close to fifty stolen paintings in Michel's attic. This, of course, wasn't neccessarily the same thing. Sakura doubted Nicolas would even care about the dollhouses. It was really more of her caring. She couldn't stand the idea of him, or any of the others, one day discovering that their beloved femme fatale maintained a penchant for all things dolls.

Sakura time and time again tried to convince herself that it was simply something she did because she was good at it. Because it gave her a meager paycheck every week. It was her meth. She just couldn't stop doing it. Sure, a psychiatrist could have a field day with it: she did it because it reminded her of her mother, of a time when innocence lived; she did it because with each creation, she was making a new home for herself, something she never quite had; she did it because...

"Damnit." She slapped the sketch pad down onto the table, took off her glasses, and rested her face into her hands. She didn't want to think about these things. She needed some fresh air.

* * * * *

With only thirty minutes left in her break, which had been extended since she was pulling a double today, Sakura roamed the plaza strips of Millenia Blvd, simply glad to feel the sun on her skin. She brought a can of Grape Soda to her lips, and drank in moderation. Unfortunately, there was no 7-11 within reasonable distance, and so she'd be without a blue slurpee for now.

She was about to make a turn and check out the prices at a new restaurant when a 'salon' caught her green eyes. Curious, she approached the building. The designs displayed on its windows were what grabbed her, really.

"Go figure. Only in Arcadia." Before her stood a tatoo and body piercing parlor with the airs of an upper echelon day spa. She peered into the windows, blocking her peripheral vision with her hands. "Damn..." The lobby could've passed for a noble court. Italian tiles, Tuscan wallpaper, mahogany furniture. "This, I've got to see."

She pulled open the front door, a melodious chime sounding when she did, and stepped inside. It was freezing! She crossed her arms and scanned the waiting area. Flat panel TV's, recliners, magazines about everything from Oprah to Nascar.

"Can I help you?"

The woman who came out looked nothing like a tattoo connosueir. She wore black slacks, a thin yellow sweater, and her hain in a ponytail. She clasped her hands before her and smiled at Sakura.

"This is a... tattoo joint?"

"Mhm!" The woman replied with a smile. "Would you like to look through our catalogue?" She pulled a thick leather binder from behind the receptionist desk.

"Actually, I wanted to know if this design looked familiar to you."

Sakura swung her backpack around and foraged through it for a few minutes before finding a computer print out of the dragon insignia Xavier Lopez had given her. Before giving Ara the originaly copy (which glared up from a business card), Sakura had scanned the design and had printed out numerous copies on photo paper.

The woman took it and smiled. "How funny! We just hired a man last week who had this design in his portfolio."

Sakura stiffened. "Oh yeah?"

"Mhm," she replied, handing the paper back. "If that's the design you're interested in, I'd be more than happy to set an appointment for you with him."

"Uhm.. you know what, my schedule's kind of out of whack right now. Maybe you could just give me his business card or something. I guess you guys... have those?"

The woman laughed softly. "Of course. Right over here." She walked over to a business card display and picked out the rightful one. His name is Jamie."

"Jamie...?"

"We only use first names here."

Ah, there's something I'm used to. She nodded and took the card. "All right. Thanks. I'll give him a call."

"Wonderful. I'll let him to know to expect it. Have a great day."

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