As Opposed to..

XAIX ALASTAR REAGAN

Even God has it out for me, after having 'graced' me with not having to spend a meal with my parents, I had to spend an entire afternoon with an annoying little red headed girl who insisted that I buy her a shirt to replace the one she spilled coffee onto. It's clearly not my fault that she wasnt minding where she was going. She bumped into ME.

For one, she nearly got my precious car stained in her own little brown mess. Then she refuses to get out of said car until I drive her to some girly store and get her new clothes. Who the hell does things like this?

Oh. Well, apparently she does. Did I also happen to mention that her accent is incredibly thick and hard to understand? Its probably some strange European language, maybe French. Like I'd know.

So, here I am at some frilly lady store, unable to escape to my apartment and relax before Dom comes over for some L4D. Why? The 'small thing' somehow got the assistance of the nearby officer to not let me out of the store unless I was accompanied by her. I would assume it was fairly easy to convince the guard that I, a delinquent, shouldn’t be going around the mall alone. I could practically feel the rent-a-cop trying to melt my piercings off with his eyeballs. To bad for him, he doesn’t have heat vision.

"Hey! Heyy!" The red headed thing screamed from across the store, "You! ... uhh. The guy who got coffee on my clothes!"

I was so tempted to ignore her, but she'll come and get me either way. "What do you want." I said in a completely lifeless gesture of ‘kindness’ while I grimaced at a line of badly designed clothing.

"Ohhh, I really should know your name. Let me guess!" she exclaimed as she flitted over to where I was.

'Oh, perfect.' I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes and turned to face a ‘less’ girly portion of the store.

"Jacob? Tony? ... Adam? Jean? Pierre? Smith? Paul? Toby?" She shot out in one breath. "How about.. Marc Alexander!"

I couldnt help but stare at her for that one. "You're never going to guess right."

"I know! “ she exclaimed, just as if she had an epiphany. “Its so stupid that you're ashamed of it, so... I'm thinking its Fufu!" She said excitedly.

Again, I continued to stare at her and her pathetic guessing game. Its not like she'd ever guess Xaix. It was a completely strange name that my godforsaken parents 'gifted' me when I was a child. Really, though? Who the fuck actually names their kids ridiculous names like mine?

When she noticed I wasnt going to reply to her, she started again, "No? Hmm. What about you, miss?" She asked a random customer, "Do you know this guy? What do you think his name is?" Carrot-top continued to badger the stranger out of her wits.

"Jesus, carrot-top. Stop annoying the fuck out of other people." I finally spoke, obviously annoyed that she had to bring in some random person into her strange rambling. "It's Xaix." I said in an attempt to get her to stop playing her retarded guessing game.

"SAI-ICKS?" She asked, blatantly perplexed by the annunciation of my name.
I simply looked at her, making it known that I wasn’t going to give her a reply, then blinked.

"Well, it truly is a unique name. Mine's Isolda! Nice to meet you, Xaix." her hand was outstretched and a smile plastered on her face. Unfortunately for her, I don’t do handshakes, so I nonchalantly swatted her hand away. "Listen up Carrot-top. I don’t give a shit about who you are. Just hurry up and buy something so I can get back to my life, okay?" I spat out.

We reached the counter at that moment, and the lady at the cashier was just about to punch in the Jacket when Isolda interrupted, "Actually, I think that I'd like a different sweater. I thought it looked different." She then retrieved the sweater from a very confused saleslady and proceeded towards the sweater section. Swiftly, I grabbed the sweater in her hands and threw it back at the saleslady. "She'll be buying it." I said, opening my wallet and tossing a twenty to the still, very confused saleslady. "Keep the change."

I turned to 'the girl' and said, rather obnoxiously I should add, "I dont take to well to brats, carrot-top. You've got your sweater, and now I'll be going." I then began to stalk off towards the door, where a very cocky rent-a-cop stood in my way, his arms crossed.

“Alright, rent-a-cop,” I began. “As you can see, the lady has her sweater, so now I can leave her to do whatever the hell she wants.”

The overweight man glanced over to Isolda, checking for her ‘okay.’