A/N: Wrote this for fun, there's more to it. Don't take it seriously because I didn't! It's semi-based on a prompt I had to write for LA. OOC! :)

Chapter 1

"Look Mace, I'm sorry." I don't know how many times I've said that already. "How was I supposed to know? I wasn't thinking! You scared me!"

Mason finally stopped pacing the room and sat down on the sofa. I took a seat on the far side of the room for safety and then started tracing the small hole in the wall my bullet had made earlier.

"You, uh..." I gulped. "You okay?" What a dumb question to ask, I thought. Would anybody really be okay if they got shot at? I mean, sure they'd be okay if it had missed them...

Mason started rubbing his hand. There were a bunch of red bite marks on it from the time he got attacked by chickens. "Don't you dare pull another stunt like that or I'll-" He was either too angry for words or about to blow.

I quickly jumped up and threw my hands in the air as if I was surrendering to the police. With Mason here I might as well have. "It won't happen again. Promise." I started towards the bedroom, then stopped.


"Hmm." He was still rubbing his hand.

"What ever happened to those chickens?"

I thought I saw Mason jump a little. "Oh, uh, you don't remember?"

I shook my head. I couldn't really remember anything about the chickens. I only remembered that Mason told me he got bitten by them.

"Umm... Tex, you might wanna sit down for this."

"Naw," I stayed standing in the doorway. "I'm good."

"Okay. So you remember what I've already told you." -I nodded- "Well after that we had a wonderful and delicious supply of fried chicken." He said that all in a rush. "Good night." And he flipped the light switch off.

"Wait a minute," I said, flipping the lights back on. "I wanna hear the story."

"That was the story."

"I mean the real one."

"That was the real one."

Now was not the time for playing games. I couldn't think clearly enough. "Dammit Mason, you-"

"Okay! But you really ought to sit down. It gets gory." Mason's face slowly turned up into this sort of taunting smile. That smile matched his tone of voice as he added, "I know how queasy you can get."

I sat down on the couch and put my feet up. "I don't get queasy," I grumbled. Before I forgot I apologized to him one last time:

"Sorry for shooting at you. I thought you were a burglar." That was as sincere as I was going to get.

"Oh yeah. No problem. It's not like I could've died or anything."

"A little heavy on the sarcasm today, aren't we?"

"Do you wanna hear the story?"


"Then shut up."

I did and so Mason began.

A/N: No flames, please! I already know it doesn't make sense. ;) ~Review~