This is a story I started tonight. If you like it, good, if you don't, lie to me. *chuckles, winking*

"So you want to know what I'm thinking, eh Michael?"

Soft rustling fills the room as row upon row of satin and silk dresses are pawed through and discarded. Short fingers trace patterns of bead work and elegant stitchery. She turns her head, looking over her shoulder to the man standing patiently behind her; his eyes a gentle gray. Her own eyes are harsh, scornful and bitter. Her voice rears up through her small chest, as if an echo of those angry eyes.

"I think you know what I'm thinking." She pauses a moment, scanning his face as if estimating exactly where to strike, and how deeply. "If you had an ounce of sense you'd just turn tail and run away. But no, you don't have any dignity at all. You're not a man, you're a flea."

She turns back to the rows of dresses before her, again pushing her way through them without care. Her eyes widen slightly as they alight upon a bright red, nearly crimson, silk sheath dress. Behind her, his voice slides thickly from his throat as she grabs the dress, moving with deliberate steps toward the changing rooms.

"I won't level petty insults at you, Joanna." He pauses, watching her for a moment before following in her ragged wake. "And I didn't ask what you were thinking. I asked why you were angry."

He takes up a position outside her dressing room, listening to the faint rustling of the silk as she tries on the new dress. A faint sigh of long-suffering frustration slithers from between her lips. He can almost see the rolling of her eyes and for half a moment he wonders what she would look like with her eyes permanantly rolled back into her skull. A faint smirk is quickly wiped from his lips at her next words.

"God, Michael. You are so dense!" She practically explodes from the dressing room, staring up at him, defiance mixed with hatred in her eyes. "You're of no use to me. You're a liability. All you do is drag me down. I don't want you, don't you get it? God, do I have to spell out everything for you?"

He blinks, never having expected such a volitile reaction. Watching her for a moment, Michael puts his thoughts into words. "Very well. You have made yourself quite clear. I will take up no more of your time." With that said, Michael turns from her, walking casually from the dressing area, through the racks of dresses and out of the store. No sign, no hint of emotion, can be seen as he walks from the mall toward the car.

His hand rests upon the release, not quite ready to open the door. Michael looks back to the store, only a hundred yards or so from the car. Joanna stands in the window, as if daring him to leave her there. A tide of hate rolls toward him tho he can't make out her face through the glass. Shaking his head slightly, he opens the door, slips into the Lumina and closes the door.

With the soft click of the door's locking mechanism, the hate surrounding him fades away. Michael exhales softly, starting the car and slowly pulling from the parking space. A soft sense of surprise settles over him as a weight seems to fall away. As he noses the car from the mall parking lot, pulling into the endless flow of traffic, each inch eats away at the frustration which had plagued him throughout his recent past.

A soft smile, the first in months, crawls out upon his lips as an idea comes to him. He turns West, driving toward a new destination. A new destiny unfolding before him.

~~~~~~~~

Shock registers on her face as Michael turns away from her, leaving the store. She stands still for a moment, then quickly moves to the window, watching as he turns to look back at the store window. Knowing he can see her, Joanna laughs coldly, turns on her heel and strides back into the dressing room. Her fingers smooth the bright red silk over her slender hips, her raven hair stretching in vain to reach her shoulders.

"Excuse me, Miss. Do you have any clothes to go back on the rack?"

The nearly timid voice stutters forth from the small, mousy girl outside the room. Joanna laughs to herself, rolling her eyes at the question. She slips the dress from her body, replacing it on the hanger then quickly dressing once again, nearly running over the girl as she pushes through the door. Her condescending words drip from her lips.

"No, there's no tip for you, girl."

Joanna strides lightly toward the counter, dropping the dress upon it as she waves her Visa Platinum card before the woman behind the register. She ignores the look of scorn in her elder's eyes, drumming her perfectly manicured nails on the counter top as the sale is rung up and her new dress packaged and bagged. With a haughty toss of her head, Joanna turns, striding from the store. With her passing, the buzz begins, women chittering and chattering incessantly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Two Years Later ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kyra looks up from her computer screen, her long, slender fingers pausing a moment as she levels a gentle, yet bright, smile to the stranger walking toward her. Her voice slips warm and professional from between dusty-rose colored lips.

"Good morning, Sir. Welcome to Sky-Way Industries. May I help you?"

He nods curtly, a slight aire of urgency to the set of his jaw. "Yes. I'm Michael Thomas. I have a meeting with George Stratfield as of five minutes ago."

Green eyes sparkle brightly as she nods once, her voice teasing and light. "Mmmmm, late on your first meeting with the Strat-o-caster. Not a good sign." She grins brightly, winking. "Just a moment and I'll page him."

Micheal supresses a sigh of frustration, nodding, then turning slightly to occupy his time with a perusal of the decor. Her voice echoes slightly as she seems to speak into the air.

"Sir, your 10 O'clock is here. Shall I send him up?" She pauses a moment, sneaking a peek at the man before her desk. She arches a brow just a bit as he turns, catching her eyes with a frown. Her voice, again, is teasing and light. "It won't do to frown at me. I don't bite..." As an afterthought she adds, "... much." Again she grins, then looks to the computer screen, her fingers flying over the keys as she listens to the voice from her headset.

"Yes sir, right away." She looks up to Michael once again, smiling professionally this time. "He's ready for you. Take the fourth elevator. Just get in and let the doors close. When it opens, you'll be in Strat's office. And have a wonderful day, Mr. Thomas." She grins just as he turns toward the elevator, then turns back to her computer screen, her fingers still busily tapping away.

As Michael moves toward the indicated elevator, he can hear her voice bright and gentle echoing through the large reception hall as she answers phone calls. The sounds of her typing can be heard as an understated counterpoint to her soothing voice. A single thought flies through his mind before he once again thinks of nothing but the interview before him... 'she seems like a nice girl...' He looks back to her as the doors close, hazzarding a smile before she is blocked from his view.

Soft laughter teases the high ceiling of the room and her eyes sparkle brightly as she catches that hint of a smile. Her own thoughts turn briefly to the stranger. His gentle eyes seem to look back at her from behind her own eyelids. Kyra shakes her head slightly, chuckling to herself with a muttered sigh. "Back to work, kiddo."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator doors open, revealing a large, elegantly appointed office. Huge windows occupy the entire South wall with a large Draconia taking up sentinel duty at the South West corner. A rich foghorn of a voice fills the room with warmth as the high-backed chair turns from the window to face the elevator and Michael.

"Welcome, Thomas. We've been waiting for you." George stands, coming around the desk to greet and shake hands with Michael. As he steps from the elevator, Michael extends his hand in a firm handshake, grudgingly admitting to himself that he likes this man already. His inner pessemist grumbles curses into Michael's brain, cautioning against early confidence and comfort.

George claps Michael on the shoulder, leading him toward a comfortable-looking leather chair across the imense desk. His voice once again booms throughout the office. "So, you're here about the Comp Tech position, eh?" He pauses, but only for a moment, as he seats his bear-like frame into the chair. "Show me your certs, tell me your game plan, then tell me something about yourself."

Another mental grumble winds its way through Michael's mind, always having dreaded the personal questions. As he opens his briefcase, removing a slender file folder, a soft buzz sounds upon the desk, followed a second later by Kyra's voice, a slight note of frustration coloring the edges of her bright tone.

"Sir, we have a slight... uh... problem down here." A definate commotion can be heard in the background before the intercom shuts off. George taps a key on the console, speaking gruffly. "Well, anything you can't handle?" Her voice again slides from the speaker. "There's a lady here asking for Mr. Thomas and she...." A banshee scream of rage can be heard from the background "That son of a bitch won't..." the intercom goes dead with a muttered "Shit" from Kyra.

George looks across the desk to Michael, a chuckle in his voice. "Looks like you've got a fan club, Thomas. Shall we find out what's going on down there?" Without waiting for an answer, George stands up, striding easily and quickly to the elevator. Michael stands reluctantly, leaving the file folder on George's desk as he quickly makes his way to the elevator, the doors sliding silently shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part two whenever I get the time to write more... Just started writing this tonight. Dunno where it's going or if it's going at all. Comments are welcome. Or rather, comments other than "You suck" or the equivilant are welcome. *grins*

Peace unto thy hearts, folks.

PS.

Tomorrow's court day. Prayers and well wishes would be greatly appreciated. Specifically, I would like the words to flow easily and with respect. Gotta respect that authority thing.