New story!!! Yay!

Disclaimer : I do not own Fruits Basket. I only own Dusty. She is mine!!! I also don't own the song below...

Easily Amused - Things That Make You Go 'Hmmm'

This wasn't intended. Not by a longshot. I didn't plan on coming to Japan to get lost in a sea of tourists and gardens. It just kind of happened. Alright, i'll admit it. It didn't just happen. I should've kept a closer eye on my group of friends, making sure I was within a few feet of them. But no. My mind had to wander off into the gutter as it spotted a machine that cured...um...sexual frustrations. Curiosity killed the cat. In this case, it got the horny toad lost. I sigh as I hold my bruised wrist and I can't help but remember the past few days that led up to this single moment in which I felt like a lost little Cajun girl...

"We're so proud of you!!", my parents chimed together. They were the epitomy of perfect parenting. My mother, a local artist, had done her best as a single mom. She worked as maid for a wealthy family during the day and worked on her art when she came home. I can't say that we hurt for money but at times, it seemed we were better off living in a shelter. That all changed three years ago when my mom met Henry DeMurr, a widely known doctor in New Orleans. It was as if the story of Cinderella had unfolded right before me. Henry had literally bumped into my mom on her way to an art show and before either of them knew it, they were going on dates and sending each other sweet little text messages. Watching a pair of 43 year olds romantisize over my technically advanced cellphone is not your average senior's fantasy. But I coped and within the same year they met, they were married. And then came Meredith. My little sister. If cute had a picture next to its definition in the dictionary, Meredith would be right beside it, holding her overly stuffed dog to her chest and gleaming with the sappy smile that could bring a tear to the Grinch's eye.
We were driving home from my highschool graduation. Both Henry and my mom agreed that it was my decision if I wanted to attend a university or go to technical school. In all honesty, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. My counselors had jumped down my throat numerous times for not having a plan or a career choice for that matter. For awhile, it bugged me; not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. But as of last month, I was proud. I had narrowed my careers to a good ten choices from the previous thirty.There was always the choice of techinical school. Besides, my grades were less the perfect for university standards. It's not that i'm not smart. Any of my classmates will tell you of their losses with me in a battle of wits. But it's not for me. I was never into math or science or even gym, course who IS into getting sweaty and being hit by a volleyball in the head every five minutes? Not me, that's for sure. My main focus had been on my writing. Henry loved the idea of me becoming a famous novelist or the next Mark Twain. I constantly laughed at the idea of putting boobs on a picture of Mark Twain. We parked the large SUV in the driveway and I quickly shed my body of the insatiable violet gown the highschool forced us to wear.
"I wanted a few more pictures before you took that off."
"You have over forty five, Momma!" Momma. I can't believe I still used such a childish reference to my mother. She pouted, which looked cute on her. Her glossy lips mixed with her cobalt eyes and blonde hair - priceless. It was probably that same pout that snagged the slightly chunky, balding Henry DeMurr. Mom took my gown as I plopped down on the ivory couch in the living room. I was anticipating a call from Becky or Matt in concerns to a party that had been rumored around school. To go or not to go, that was the question. I really never was the party type.
"Dusty, hun, would you come into the kitchen please?" My mother's smooth Cajun voice drifted through the large house. I wish I could pull off the sweet Southerner thing, but I was too rough around the edges; too weird. I was no Louisianian Scarlett O'Hara, that's for damn sure. I jumped over Meredith's head, barely missing her curly flaxen head. She looked like a replica of my mother, only with Henry's deep chocolate eyes. I fit in no where. You could look at one of our family portraits and tell right off the bat that three blondes ( I assume Henry was blonde before he went bald) are related, then there's the chesnut haired, grey eyed tall one in the back. And you think 'Was she adopted or something?' No, I just look more like my father, damn yankee. I winced and mentally cursed myself for my mouth. I could never control it.
I stepped inside the tiled room as Henry pulled up a chair and placed a plane ticket in front of me. Oh great, they're tired of me already? I squinted at the rectangular piece of paper, barely able to make out the words without my glasses. I really should've stuck with contacts.
"What is this?'', I asked, knowing exactly what it was.
"It's a plane ticket....to Japan." Okay, getting rid of me is one thing, but sending me to another country?! Tell me it wasn't because I cussed in front of Meredith. My silver eyes lit up in spite of the ideas my mind conjured up. It was Japan!! I had wanted to go there since I first received pictures from my father, who just so happened to photograph these places for traveling brochures. I began to scream like a school girl at a Backstreet Boys concert and bouncing around like a jackrabbit on crack. I couldn't control myself. I had over a thousand dollars for my graduation trip that I had saved up during my endless hours at Honkey Dog, and a free plan ticket to Japan. Not only that, but my passport was still good!! I hugged my mom and stepfather and immediately ran over to the phone to call Becky.
"Japan!! Becky!! Do you hear me?! Japan?!" I was practically screaming into the phone.
"Uh, lemme get her for you." My cheeks burned with an ignorant blush. I had yelped into the ear of Jett, Becky's older, and very, VERY attractive brother who just so happened to be out of college for summer vacation.
"Dusty? What's wrong?" I figured Jett must've gotten freaked out by my yelling escapade. I quieted down, barely able to control my excited octaves.
"Japan!! Becky! Japan!" I could hear her squeal softly over the phone.
"I know!! Our parents got together and planned it for us!!! Can you believe it?!" Becky wasn't your typical outcast. I mean, we're polar opposites. I tend to communicate with everyone and ease my way into the lives of everyone's clique, not really caring about the person's genre. Not Becky. She declared her love for everything goth and leaned towards the darker things in life. But she was weird. Just like me. I was a Dean Martin fan, she was Rasputina. I loved Saturday morning cartoons, she loved dark indie films. I loved Van Gogh, she loved the fact the fact the Van Gogh cut off his ear. We had absolutely nothing in common EXCEPT an infatuation with scary movies. It was the building block of our friendship. We accepted our differences and rarely fought over petty things such as the fact I can't stand death meatal and she can't stand Nat King Cole. Like I said, polar opposites.

It was two weeks later that we boarded the plane with two other girls who we hung out with on a daily basis - Kimmi and Frankie. I wasn't particulary close with Kimmi because for one, she was a sophmore and was only traveling with us because Becky's aunt had helped pay for Becky's ticket and insisted that Kimmi come with us. Frankie was a different story. Becky, Frankie and I were known as the three stooges. We went everywhere together. However, Frankie was a year older than us and graduated the year before. She was the tough one. No drama. If you pissed her off, you knew about it.
"Yo Dusty!! Talk to me, Talk to me, Talk to me Bay-bay!!" I cringed as Frankie yelled out her infamous mating call to the entire plane. I didn't mind the Bay-bay part, it was my name. I still believe my mother was high on something, perhaps morphine, when she gave the nurse my name. Becky and Frankie thought it was cool to have the name Dusty, it sounded like I was a rebel in some sort of motor gang. It was rare times like these that I wished for a commonly used name like 'Sarah' or 'Christina'. I sighed and waited for my peanuts.
I barely remember the plane ride, for a I slept a good deal of the way. My mother warned me of jet lag but it was impossible for me. I could sleep anywhere at anytime. Call it a gift. I remember Frankie arguuing with Kimmi if the guy in front of them was wearing a toupee and I remember Becky conversing with herself quietly over the movie they had picked for the trip. But never once did I remember hearing the pilot say 'We're here.' Or maybe it was Becky who said it. Anyway, we stumbled off the plane, ready to meet with our bags and head to our hotel - complete with American toilets.
The next few days were a blur. We went sight seeing alot, stopping inside an interesting looking store every now and then. And then we hit that street. The one street that led me to this moment. It was slightly crowded with our Japanese peers. Frankie held the translation book and Kimmi was stuck with the cash. I, however, held the camera. The precious machine that would catch every girlish moment, every eccentric sight. Frankie and Becky were a few feet ahead of Kimmi as I stopped to peer into a store that held a point of interest for me. A machine that gave you....well you get the picture. I paused, enthralled at the fact that a machine could do that. I'm not perverted. I'm a virgin. Things like this just happen to catch my attention when I least expect it. Okay, and i'm TAD perverted. I turned my head just in time to see Kimmi's red head disappear into the crowd of passerbys.
I swallowed a large lump in my throat as I ran to catch up, only to find that my friends were no where in sight. Panic struck me. I was alone in a country that I had never visited before. No money, no map, and worst of all - no translation book. I scampered to the first person I saw.
"Excuse me sir!! Do you know how to get back to the Sakura Hotel?" He looked at me funny, receiving an equally confusing look from myself. Even in a strange country I give attitude. He began a long string of fast Japanese, sending my brain into an overload. "Okay, whoa. Wait! Hold on!! English? Do you know English?!" He studied me for a moment, trying to analyze what I had just said.
"English?" I nodded hastily. Finally, we're getting somewhere. He shook his head and began another string of Japanese as proceeded down the street, shaking me off his arm. I tried a few more people, realizing that not many tourists ventured out this way. I settled on the idea of a break and sat myself on a stone ledge. I was lost and bored. Bored and lost. I hummed a light tune from 'Josie and the Pussycats'. I hated that movie. However, the plane had chosen to play it and the opening song remained glued to my memory. I began to take pictures of the crowds, mentally flipping off the adult novelty store that had gotten me lost in the first place.
So here I sit, singing to myself and cussing at my camera because I ran out of film. It's amazing how time flies by with five rolls of film. Becky would not be happy about this. And then it hit - helplessness- big time. And I began to cry. Not the dramatic bawling like you see in E.T. or something. It was more of the soft, heart wrenching kind. Like a first breakup type of crying. In pure frustration, I pounded my fist into the stone ledge before immediately yanking it back in pain. Smooth move chikita. My hand and wrist throbbed from the impact and I could see a bruise forming by the second. It was then I began to pull at my lip. It was a bad habit I had picked up as a preteen. I always did it when I became nervous or frustrated and would end up resembling Linda Blair in possessed form from The Exorcist. No wonder I was single. I leaned back against a tree throwing my hand over my face as if I were a damsel in distress. Which basically I was, except for the damsel part. This was punishment. This was punishment for something I had no idea I had done but I was receiving major chastening for it. I groaned out loud, praying that my friends would come for me soon or I would spot an English speaking cop. I sighed once more. I don't even know if Japan has a police force. If this were France, I could get out. Hell, I spent a good two years studying the culture and the language and memorized every landmark. You ask me where the Louvre is and I can tell you in ten seconds flat. But nowhere, I mean nowhere, does France tell you about a Japanese police force. I tugged at my lip again, spotting drops of blood from where I had tugged just a little too hard.
"You're bleeding." I screamed and fell from my perch on the stone ledge.

Shigure Sohma fixed his tie and bent down to rub a smudge off his shoe. He had been watching the strange girl for some time, first noticing her when she left her group to spy on the adult store. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Finally, a female as perverted as himself. He ordered a soft drink from a nearby vendor and continued to gaze at the beauty from afar. She was obviously American. No Japanese woman would get freaked out by a man telling her directions. And then there was the humming. She was humming to herself and taking pictures of random people. This intrigued Shigure. What fascinated him even more was her crying. This girl was the ideal basis of his newest book. She resembled everything he wanted to put down in words. So, like any interested gentlman, Shigure nonchalantly walked over to where she had lay down. He couldn't help but comment on her bleeding lip. He wondered if she hurt herself intentionally after the run in with the stone ledge and her hand. It didn't turn out quite like he had expected. The girl shrieked and fell from the force of her bellow. Shigure kneeled over her.

I admit, I hadn't anticipated an English speaking man, a cute one for that matter, to waltz up to me, state the obvious and scare the living daylights out of me in the same breath. The blow to my rear was now taking the place of the pain in my lip but not from my wrist, which was now a pretty shade of red. Every inch of the man was gorgeous, which was another thing that caught me off gaurd. A handsome guy, who speaked English, approached me. This was something that didn't happen everyday. My brained scanned every cell for some witty comment that would prove to draw him in but my lips only muttered the following:
"You....you speak English...." He smiled at me, although I didn't know if it was from my impish statement or the crimson blush that had risen upon my cheeks that accompanied my equally red hand.
"Yes. I do. Sohma Shigure." I furrowed my plucked eyebrows. This culture was so damn confusing!
"Which one is your first name?" He quirked his own eyebrows before the smirk returned as he held out a hand to help me up.
"Shigure. What is your name, may I ask?" Polite. The eerie kind of polite. I hope this guy isn't the Japanese Ted Bundy.
"Dusty. Dusty LaFayette. Obviously American."
"Obviously. Are you lost?" Finally! Help!
"Incredibly. Do you know where the Sakura Hotel is?" He looked at me strangely. "What?"
"You must be mistaken. There is no Sakura Hotel." The tears came back. I felt like it was my first day of kindegarten in a huge school.
"No no no no no. There HAS to be!!" I went to grab for his jacket to emphasize my point, only to feel the throbbing wrist pull me back. I winced in pain and held my wrist to my chest.
"You need medical attention."
"I need to go home."
"We will worry about that later. First and foremost, medical attention. That wrist will begin to swell soon." I was beginning to grow nervous again. Could I have hurt it that bad?
"Really?" He waved away the comment, the simper returning to his lips.
"I don't know! I'm not really a doctor, but I know one!" He turned and began to walk away. I ran up behind him, assuming this was an indication to follow.
"Ari....Ari...." Damn this language. He glanced back at me from behind his shoulder. "Screw it. Merci beaucoup ma cherie."
"You're welcome." I was offcially smitten. Cute, sweet, and a french speaking man!
"I have to warn you....i'm bit on the weird side. Most people don't care for freaks." He paused, causing me to almost slam into him.
"You have no idea."

A/N: Ok, so it's not that long...I know.....but i'm getting to the plot, I swear. Shigure may be a tad out of character,so just bear with me.