New chapter.

After a few minutes, Mello had to stop running. It was partly because of the mad case of chaffing his pants were giving him and partly due to the fact that since his main form of exercise was running from Matt when he wanted yaoi tiemz, he was in pretty awful shape. In fact his diet of chocolate bars should have given him a muffin-top, like it would to any normal person. Luckily, Mello had one of those nifty, plot-required metabolisms, because being anything less than bishounen got you kicked out the story faster than you could say Watari.

Now that he had run all the way down the block, Mello decided he had fulfilled the requirements of a dramatic exit, and could actually stop to think about what his next step should be. He knew it would take Matt at least a half an hour to figure out how to work the front door, so he didn't have to worry about being followed just yet.

But what to do now? He needed food, water, shelter, and fuck it if anyone thought he was living without indoor plumbing. But first, he decided, he would need a gun. This was of course, a perfectly logical conclusion to come to, because starvation and exposure are no worry for teenage runaways compared to pedophiles and rapists.

Luckily, he knew just where he could pick up a gun. There was this one place that had no problem selling guns to obviously underage children. It was located conveniently close by, right next to the Drink 'Til You Drop underage bar, Arsenic 'N' Things, and Build-A-Bomb.

As Mello walked down the street to the store, passing by five prostitutes, eight junkies, and a guy selling crystal meth out of the trunk of his car, he wondered idly why anyone would put these stores so close to an orphanage. Then he decided it probably because everyone knows that orphans are the most messed up people on the planet, and there was no way that any of them could live normal, happy lives.

A few minutes later, Mello walked back out of Gun's 'N' More, clutching a terribly generic silver shotgun. I mean, pistol. Handgun? Actually, how about a rifle, since that's the only one that the author knows anything about.

Of course, no one looked twice about at the blonde kid wearing a ridiculously small leather eyepatch, and holding a rifle. That was apparently quite the common sight in Wherever, England.

Ok, thought Mello, I have my big-ass gun, and I got rid of that creepy ginger kid. Now what?

The author knows that he's supposed to eventually end up in California, but to be honest she slept through that part of the anime and didn't feel like it was fully explained. Maybe it was in the manga, but those things are expensive and reading is for nerds. So is doing actual research into the fandom you're writing for.

So, with that destination in mind, Mello used some more of plot-magic to charm his way through customs at the airport without any kind of passport and hauling a rifle, two shotguns, a sub-machine gun, and three pistols. He had decided to pick up some more guns, because he heard California had that gay pride parade thing going on, and he didn't want to run into any more Matts without proper protection.

Shortly after arriving in California, Mello made his way to the nearest Mafia hideout. This was, of course, super easy, since the Mafia is known for it's friendly and helpful signs.

Mello pulled out two of his pistols, and readied himself to run charging into the Mafia hideout. He was going to become the boss. Never mind that his years of extensive education and training should have warned him a least a little bit against charging headfirst into a gang of Mafia members. He was the main character, so it would like he could die, right?


Of course, that's right. Character death involves writing actual emotions. Besides, then Matt would have no one to have hot yaoi tiemz with. Remember kids, necrophilia is wrong.

One thing I want to make perfectly clear: For the love of crap, please don't take me seriously guys. I write because I think it's fun, not to tell everyone else how they should write. I'm pretty sure I've used most, if not all of the cliches I've made fun of in this story.

So the point of my mini-rant: Write whatever you want, and to hell with what anyone else says.

=] You guys rock.