Sogo's Place.

Naoki Sohma tapped the biro pen against her note pad in front of her, the page half filled with words. Her chocolate brown eyes scanned the extract she had written over and over, an action which only served to increase her anger. It was strange, considering the sun was shining, the birds were singing, there was a light breeze to keep the hot day warm and most of the fine, sunny weather was pouring through her bedroom window and making her long, brunette hair shimmer even without motion.

It better had damn well shimmered with silky softness; the shampoo and conditioner couple she had bought overseas had cost her an arm and a leg.

Though it wasn’t hair products which was getting her so riled up. No, the reason she was quite this annoyed was her greatest opponent, her arch-nemesis and indeed the enemy of all who considered themselves to be writers.

Writer’s Block.

The name spoke for itself. Every time Naoki tried to edit the passage of her own words, scratch out a phrase, a sentence, re-write it. Heck, she was even tempted to begin all over again. But nothing came to her. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Zero. It was depressing, it really was, and aggravating. The nineteen year old felt like she would have truly snapped the pen in two, along with every other pen within her immediately reach, had it not been for the French manicure she was applied this morning. God, beauty was a curse sometimes. It stopped you from doing anything.

Letting out a sigh of pure, concentrated frustration, Naoki tried to fufill her angry needs by swivelling in her wheelie chair and hurling the writing instrument across the room. It bounced off her pillow and disappeared behind her bed. Pushing herself round full circle, she came back to her desk and slammed both her clenched fists and her forehead into the fake wood. Bang!

“Ow…” She spoke, her voice muffled by her own pampered hair. Now she knew why it was called writer’s block. It really was like hitting a brick wall. Or, for this instance, your writing desk. Sometimes, Naoki felt there was rarely much difference.

A tempered wind suddenly picked up, as if the weather was responding to her emotions. Naoki looked up, pouting at the work in front of her, her hair flying in every direction. She sighed again, though this in came out all in one big puff, lifting the bottom edge of the page. It was enough lift that the wind needed to pick it up completely, snatching it from the desk and out the window. Naoki yelped and stood up all too late and too quickly. She succeeded only in tripping, slipping, sliding and going arse over tit and landing in a heap on the floor.

Just as quickly as she had gone down, she was up, her eyes darting around like a deer caught in a lorry van’s headlights. The paper was gone and heading further and further away. Without thinking, Naoki spun on her heel and tore out of her room, rushing off down the stairs and past her mother, who watched her with raised eyebrows as she feebly asked what all the lumbering about like a herd of elephants was about. She received no response; Naoki was already out of the house. She hadn’t even put her shoes on.

Unlike the more formal Sohma members, Naoki was very much dressed as a typical, ‘in‘-trend teenager. She wore a white vest top underneath a short, black waist coat. Exposing a lot of leg were her denim hot pants and the only things protecting her feet were a pair of thigh length, navy blue socks. Around her neck was a double lopping, faux pearl necklace, matching a faux pearl beaded bracelet on her left wrist and her faux pearl stud earrings. Her hair was left loose, save for a large chunk at the top-back behind piled into a simple bun held up by wooden chopsticks.

“Wait!” She called after the piece of paper in vain, outstretching her right arm as if that would help her somehow. She followed it’s trail off the wooden decking onto the grass and then round many houses built along the large, stone wall which blocked out the outside world. God, she prayed it wouldn’t escape out there. It was rather a, ehem, saucy piece of literature. She had been practising more mature scenes for her secret novel, which she doubted would ever get published but hey, she enjoyed writing it so she thought she might as well continue. And who knows… Maybe she would send it to a publisher under a pen name and she could come out lucky.

“Come back!” Naoki exclaimed, not wasting a moment to breath a sigh of relief when the wind changed direction away from the wall, taking it deeper into the residence. Her gratitude was short however, when she saw exactly who the paper was going to hit smack-bang in the face. Sogo Kuwasaki. If he even glanced at that writing, she would never hear the end of it. As she felt the world around her beginning to spin into chaos, Naoki could only think one thing.

’God must surely hate me…’

Sogo coolly walked out of his Japanese styled house that was given to him by the Sohmas and headed for his own independent house which he bought on Sohma property. It bothered him greatly to leave his beloved house in the immature hands of Izumi and Isabella.. but he was running quite low on alcohol and he didn't think he could last another night without the companionship of the bottle. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back as he walked, oozing confidence and charm. He looked like the perfect gentlemen.. although he was anything but.

Sogo fumbled through his pockets for a lighter as he retrieved a damp cigarette. The last one. The butt of the cigarette wouldn't even ignite and he frowned in displeasure, causing crease marks to settle over his facial features. Sogo glanced upwards and his dark eyes widened as a piece of paper hit him square in the face. He swore loudly and made a face as he roughly removed the random object. Flustered at the sudden ambush, Sogo stuck the unlit cigarette in his mouth and began chewing on the end as he observed the writing.

One would be flustered and embarrassed at the deeds written on the page, but seeing as Sogo did the things described on the page daily.. he merely raised a disbelieving eyebrow and surpressed his laughter with an unconvincing cough. Surely, this paper didn't belong to someone living in the Sohma residence, could it? He couldn't imagine anyone with the last name "Sohma" writing a story such as the one he was clutching in his hands.

Sogo peered above the sheet and spied a young girl whom he guessed, the paper belonged to. At closer inspection, Sogo raised both eyebrows. Isn't that Naoki? He regained his cool composure and casually strolled over to Naoki. He stood in front of her and offered her the paper. "This is yours right?" he inquired teasingly, in a playful manner that instinctively came out whenever he was around a female with a beating heart. A smarmy smile played on his lips.