WARNING: CRACK ENSUES. Crack pairings, excessively ridiculous amounts of sparkling shiny redundant descriptions, and adjectives that basically say the same exact thing at least more than one time in a row. Like that sentence. And most likely there will be out of character-ness. I have no idea how the pairings will develop, or how the plot will develop. If you have any suggestions for plot twists or anything, feel free to tell me.

-|Approximately 5 years earlier. (Somewhere around/during 2004)|-

It all started out as mere admiration; a hint of a blush on a businesswoman's cheeks as she walked hurriedly to the workplace, the lead singer in that one 80's band with the excessive amount of eyeliner, and, especially, the vast multitude of women at the dinner parties I used to attend with Cross and their various different shades of lipstick. I not only noticed these things. I looked forward to seeing them. At first, I thought it was a normal thing... for a young boy to be attracted to all these lovely ladies. But then, more and more, I started realizing that I not only liked to look, but, more than anything, wanted to be like them. I, Allen Walker, wanted to be able to look this beautiful. After this realization, I slowly grew to be increasingly accustomed to this world of vanity.

I learned how to acquire this thing called 'make-up' and began to practice applying it in the privacy of my bedroom. Cross never really worried about the reason for why I was being so quiet. Apathy was just like him, I suppose. And on the off chance that he would ask about it, I would just claim that I was reading a book. Even, on the even less likely chance, when he would bother opening the door, my furniture was conveniently organized to conceal my peculiar behaviors. I would simply wash my face, using the (somewhat vulgar) excuse that I had been sweating, and stash my materials back into the drawers of my vanity. I had become an expert at sneaking around, often going to local salons to observe the techniques of the professionals. It was necessary if I wanted to keep up with this life.

-|Present Day - September 1, 2009|-

About a week ago, Cross decided to relocate us to America, a rather small, quaint town; Pickets, Wisconsin, right on the Mississippi River. Low population, anyway, but it had more business than the average town. I'd been enrolled in the local high school's 10th grade class, as of yesterday, and the year's first term started the next day. I'm actually not quite sure whether or not to look forward to this. I mean, transferring schools is one thing, for lack of a non-clichéd line, 'been there, done that,' but moving to a different country? This experience was a bit new for me. At least I wouldn't really have to worry too much about grades, they were easily attainable. And I was already finished unpacking, so I had most of my time leftover to play.

I looked at my watch - 1:30 PM - I had hours before I would have to be in bed, and I was just anxious for the day to be over. The next day would be the end of my summertime blues. I pulled out my trusty make-up bag, and as I was about to open it, my bedroom door whipped open with an earsplitting CRACK, as it banged up against the wall next to it. Cross.

"Hey, Kid. We're getting you a haircut, so you look decent for school," my shady uncle announced plainly.

"W-what?" I responded, stupidly, as if I honestly didn't know what he was talking about. My hair had become a complete disaster lately.

"I know you're not the brightest, Kid, but at least try to act a little smarter than that, okay? You have five minutes to be on the front porch." He verbally abused my poor, innocent, adorable self.

"What if I'm not?" I rebelled, which was also kind of stupid of me.

Cross gave me his 'don't you back-sass me, boy'-glare, and I shut up. "If you aren't out there in exactly five minutes, I'll just have to come up here and drag your scrawny ass out to the car, won't I?"

I gulped, my eyes widening like a little girl's when she finally gets that Barbie mansion she wanted, but in fear instead of excitement. "Yes, Uncle." I started pulling on my awesome black boots as Cross turned around and walked down the hallway, smirking his usual triumphant smirk of victory.

By the time I had reached the front porch, Cross had already turned the shiny, metal key in the shiny, pimp-red Ferrari's ignition. VROOOOOM, VROOOOOM. The manly vehicle sounded as it's engine started, a warning to me, not that Cross would soon leave without me, but that he would soon be running me down, and taking the house along with me, if I did not 'get my ass into the damn car,' so I proceeded to 'get my ass into the damn car,' and we were off.

A few minutes later, after Cross' constant glaring at the road, swearing at passersby, and speeding more than 10 miles over the limit, we arrived at the hair salon. I started walking toward the door, and turned around to learn that, apparently, Cross would rather help his lung-health deteriorate with his cancer sticks than go into the salon with me.

He threw a twenty dollar bill at my ankles. "Tell the person cutting your hair that if you're not out by the time I finish this, your loving uncle will throw a chair at them, and then I'll leave, and you'll have to walk back home," he threatened.

I nodded violently, picked up the twenty, and continued into the salon.

The woman at the counter smiled a smile so bright and shiny and sparkly that it was obviously fake, but I returned it as genuinely as possible, anyway. "Hello, young man. One of our dressers will be out for you in just a minute," she said through her smiling teeth, pressing a small white button that I assumed was some sort of pager to the break room.

After about 30 seconds, a dark-skinned man with brown, curly hair trotted fashionably toward me from the door at the back of the shop.

"Oh, baby!" He exclaimed, as if he were put into a serious state of shock as soon as he had laid his eyes upon my hair. "Honey, you need a haircut, seriously... but I suppose that's why you're here, isn't it?" His shocked expression turned into a warm smile. "I bet you'll be adorable after I'm done with you. Come, come. Sit down!" He continued, grabbing my arm and pulling me into one of the height-adjustable chairs.

As he wrapped the cape around me, his smile growing from warm to increasingly creepy every second he looked at me, I relayed Cross's threat, and added, "I'm not entirely sure if he was serious about the chair-throwing bit, but I know he'll leave me here alone, so, I sincerely hate to rush you, but can you make this quick?" I asked, looking up at the man with a pleading expression and my best set of puppy-dog eyes.

"I don't know, sweetie. I can't rush beauty, so we'll see." He smirked, probably thinking something like 'if he gets left behind, I'll just have to escort him home.' Then he started attempting to make the small talk that all hair-stylists love. "So, school starts tomorrow, right-... uhm.. what's your name again?"

"A-Allen. Allen Walker." I stuttered, I wasn't sure if I should appreciate his curiosity, or be frightened by it. I decided to appreciate it as much as I could. "And yeah, that's why I'm getting the hair cut today."

"Nice to meet you, Allen. I'm Tyki." He responded, gesturing to his name tag with the hand that was holding the scissors.

-|Divider|-

After long enough, Tyki had finished with my hair. I was more relieved that Cross hadn't barged in like he had threatened than I was to be out from under the clutches of Mr. Mikk, as I had learned was the tan man's last name. I handed the money Cross had given me to the smiling woman at the counter, and ran out of the salon hoping like bloody hell that I would see the Ferrari still sitting in the parking lot, ignoring the waving Tyki.

My hopes were crushed. Just as I had reached the parking spot where the impressive, manly sports car had been parked, I saw it rolling out of the parking lot and back onto the road on its way back into the residential area of town. I really did always have the best timing.

I sat down on the curb outside of the building, with my head in my hands, reluctant to begin my long walk home, just as Tyki came strolling out, his now-folded apron slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Allen, didn't expect to see you still sitting out here." He stated, although what he really meant was 'I was watching you from the time you walked out of my salon.'

I looked up at him and gave a slight 'it's all your fault' glare.

"I know. How about I give you a ride home? Would that make up for it?" He offered, actually meaning, 'I want to take you into an alley and rape you.'

I nodded, not knowing the man's true thoughts, not yet understanding the full extent of his creepiness, and gave him my address.

-|Divider|-

I arrived home to see a very angry Cross standing on the porch, and glaring down at Tyki's very sexy, not-so-manly, metallic purple Mustang convertible. Tyki handed me an index card as I climbed out of the automobile, and murmured something, seeming to think that Cross couldn't hear it. Little did he know; Cross hears all. "Here's my card. Call me if you need anything... And I mean anything, Allen." He cooed, like the creepy-pedophile-stalker-man that he was.

I took the card and ran to my room as fast as I could to avoid Cross's, excuse my pun, Cross-examination, then locked my door and thanked the architects of this house that there actually was a lock on this door.

Yes, Allen has a vanity with a mirror attached, as opposed to a normal dresser. (I think that's probably uncommon for males, but he needs the mirror to do his hair anyway, so it works for him, and is definitely not suspicious, as long as you don't go through his drawers.)

The main pairing in this fic is Laven, but there will most likely be some Poker Pair involved... and... well, Tyki x anyone, really, because... c'mon! It's Tyki we're talking about here.

Also, as far as I know, there is no real town in America named "Pickets", and I'm too lazy to look it up, so I'm going to say that I made it up... which means if anything resembles any real life stuff, it's wrong! Don't believe it. D

Also, the reason he wasn't completely enthralled by the going-ons in the salon was because freaking Tyki Mikk was his dresser. He was probably too busy being hit on.

Now for a character introduction (Planning on doing one per chapter at the moment):

Name: Allen Walker

*British. Yay.

*(Secretly) Obsessed with cross-dressing, but mostly make-up.

*Unofficial birthday is on Christmas.

*Adorably innocent and stuff.

*Totally raepable.

*Entirely unaware of how much jailbait he is to Tyki.