WARNING: This fic is older than ass and is therefore terrible. Because this fanfiction is several years old, I am NOT looking for constructive criticism on this particular story. Basic feedback is appreciated, but reviews with cc will be ignored. If you would like to critique one of my stories, please consult my Pokemon fanfiction, as it is much newer. Thank you very much, and your favorites and reviews tickle my pickle.



"Do you like carrots, Vaughn?"

The look that was slapped on Vaughn's face with the force of a supersonic decking gave Chelsea her answer. It screamed Oh god, no! Why does everyone ask me this question? They're absolutely mortifying. Carrots are the epitome of all things evil. See, I have a theory. I believe that the antichrist will not be reborn all at once like prevalent belief dictates, but that his soul is actually divided into all carrots that are created and will be anachronistically. Then they will eventually take over the world and certain doom will befall modern society as we know it. Long live the apocalypse.

"So… that's a no?" Chelsea tried, seeing the meek expression on Vaughn's face.

Feebly, Vaughn shook his head and shrank back a little as if Chelsea was going to pull the malevolent vegetable from her pocket. "They… don't taste very good," he tried, weakly attempting to cover his raging hatred for the common crop.

"Oh… kay," Chelsea mumbled, looking down with shame at the covered dish of carrot casserole, leftover from last night's dinner with her brother Mark. Vaughn usually took anything Chelsea had extra of food-wise, but today, he seemed to want to heave up his breakfast behind the counter of Mirabelle's animal store. "I'm… really sorry…"

"It's… fine," Vaughn croaked, his face greening and his cheeks expanding with barf. "I can… smell… it…" He managed an ill-spirited choke before dashing to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chelsea hung her head with a plaintive sigh as Vaughn's heaving sounded from the restroom. "I can't believe I didn't know he hated carrots that much," she sniffled, tears welling up and spilling over the brim of her crystal blue eyes, glistening with remorse.

"Oh, you poor dear, Vaughn is such a rude young man sometimes," Mirabelle sighed, going around to the front of the counter and placing her arms around the girl's broad, orange-clad shoulders. "It just so happens that carrots are Julia's favorite food. She'll be delighted to have your leftovers for dinner tonight. Vaughn can stuff it. If he's hungry, he can go buy some chocolate at Chen's store."

"It's Friday," Chelsea pointed out poignantly, still reabsorbing her tears. "Chen is closed."

"Then he can eat hay, for all I care," Mirabelle snorted. "Come, now, dear. I think Vaughn's regaining himself."

There was a relieved ugh from the bathroom as the surreal regurgitating noises ceased. The toilet flushed and the door opened, at first diffidently; Vaughn stepped out, wiping his mouth on the raven-dyed cloth of his gold-buttoned sleeve. "I apologize for that," he said as stoically and deadpan as he could muster. "I'll take the dish if it'll make you happy, Chelsea." His eyes started to water at the sight of the callous vegetable, mocking him silently with its orange-ness like a crow buggering a distraught passerby in a park.

"You're a day late and a buck short, Vaughn," Mirabelle proclaimed, whisking the plastic-wrap-concealed plate with one hand, filling out order sheets with the other. "I already claimed it while you were in there hacking up your guts. You're dinnerless tonight."

"Such a compassionate woman," Vaughn muttered to himself sarcastically, his blanched face recollecting blood and his violet eyes roaring back to life from the absence of the carrot dish.

"But you've got to make it up to her," Mirabelle snapped. "We're going to be closed in a half-hour, so take the rest of your shift off and walk Miss Chelsea home."

"Why?" Vaughn questioned, pleasantly surprised. "Her house is only a quarter-mile away."

"You never know who could be out at this time of night," Mirabelle observed. "Perverts, used car salesmen, Mark with an enormous basket of corn, Eliot wielding an ax."

"The kid's not a murderer, Auntie."

"Well, that's what they said about Max in Bloody Kansas, and the guy killed fifty!"

"That's just a soap opera, though."

"Soap opera, my ass. It's a way of life." With this deriding comment, Mirabelle ushered them out the door. "Now hurry before it gets dark. Don't do anything indecent now, Vaughn."

"The hell?" Vaughn started to say, but was cut of viciously by a blast of a cold current from the whammed door. "Come on," he grumbled. "It's getting dark."

"Y-yes," Chelsea stuttered, twiddling her thumbs in nervous consolation before setting off diligently behind him, her short, choppy steps not able to keep up with his lethargic long strides.

Eventually, she managed to keep in time next to him, gauchely not meeting his gaze. Sneaking a sidelong glance at her perpetrator, she discovered that he too was feeling on edge, violet eyes darting about, abhorring from locking eyes with her.

They walked in deafening silence for a while, watching Charlie dash by with an armful of lumber for Gannon. The summertime flowers rustled in the wind, the pink buds swaying back and forth as if they were bells, tolling out to fill the island with their melodious whispering.

Soon, they paused at the entrance to the ranch, eyeballing a slaving Mark as he hurried about in a madcap rush to water his crops before nightfall. Mark had the green thumb of the two- Chelsea dealt more with animals. I wish that could get me closer to Vaughn, but I guess he's just too indifferent.

"Well, I guess I'll see you," Vaughn concluded as Mark flagged them down, bare-chested, waving his shirt around in a frenzied attempt to avert their attention to him. "S-sorry about today."

"No, no, don't worry about it…" Chelsea promised, blowing off Mark's shouts of "Hey Vaughn, hey Chels!" and smiling a little bashfully. "I'll… see you tomorrow."

Both were blushing furiously, staring at each other's chests. Sure, this distraction was fine for Chelsea, but Vaughn suddenly realized the fatal gaffe and tried to revert his gaze, but no such luck. It appeared that his vantage point was glued to her breasts.

"Awwwwkkkwarrrrd!" Mark chirruped from the fields, but his gyp was once again overlooked.

Chelsea smiled slyly and looked up. "They're really that bad, huh?"

"Horrifying." Vaughn couldn't help but to grin at the insatiable brio Chelsea was exuding. "All I ate until I was eighteen at the orphanage was carrot stew, carrot salad, carrot… casserole."

Chelsea threw her head back and swathed the air around him with laughter. "Got tasteless after a while, hum?"

"That's the truth," Vaughn said, bemused and bubbling with benign joy. They gradually ceased laughing and Vaughn's gaze alighted with Chelsea's. "Chelsea," he said, pewter eyes sparkling with adoration. "You're so beautiful."

Chelsea audibly gulped before reaching up to cup Vaughn's face with her calloused hands. "Say that again, please." Her oceanic eyes pleaded with him, beseeching for him.

"You're beautiful," he reiterated, enveloping Chelsea's waist with his arms and kissing her with deep passion not supplant to any outside force. "Chelsea, Chelsea, my angel," he moaned into her mouth. "I love you."

"Oh, god, I love you too," Chelsea sobbed, tears overflowing and making her bawl as she kissed Vaughn hard, letting her lips part to allow his tongue in.

Vaughn's surroundings dissolved. He couldn't hear the overzealous whoops from Mark, or the traction of the dirt at his feet. No, all he could feel was Chelsea's mouth against his, moving perfectly rhythmic. Her deftness at kissing was artless, but that didn't matter. Right now couldn't be more stellar. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Not even the fact that Chelsea tasted like carrots.