Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was Monday and Mondays meant it was the day when new shipments would arrive to nearly half of the mall's stores and she wasn't about to miss out on any new arrivals. She was growing dangerously low on her hoard of Sephora supplies plus she was feeling the genuine urge to admire herself in the dressing room mirror, regardless if she managed to find something new and cute to wear.

She almost missed the flash of black fur as she passed by, her fingers more focused on digging around in her purse for her phone. But fortunately (or not?) she saw the little tail and bow, causing her indifferent expression grow into a wide smile at the familiar sight.

"Lace? Sweetie, what are you doing out here?"

She stared at him for a moment, her expression going blank as she found herself thrown off guard by the sudden verbal assault. It didn't help, seeing a nasty half-eaten corn dog flop down on the ledge between his tiny paws. A breaded hot dog? Really? Who would care to eat a tube of fake meat when there were so many other options at the mall?

"You look like a kitten with a big mouth."

The bubblegum comment didn't settle well with her, but it was odd to see what looked like Lace, only with a much nastier attitude.

Wait.

Didn't she say she had a brother?

"You must be Satin. Or Silky?"

It was awkward enough to be standing beside the mall entrance talking to a cat, much less struggling to remember a kitten's name.

An eyebrow quirked up. Clearly no love was lost between the two siblings - Lace had tried to warn her, but apparently she had been too nice in her description of her dear twin brother.

"Yes, I'm one of those things," She said, keeping her voice low as she adjusted her purse. A shopper passed by and she glanced at them and then away, pretending she was talking on a handsfree device and not to a grubby little furball. "And your sister has been very helpful."

Pausing, she smirked. "And you? Are you helpful?"

"Prissy, you little - " She had to pause for a moment, her brain searching for an equally colorful insult because referring to him by his coloring would probably gain her more than a few scowls at the crowd currently exiting the mall. "- shrimp."

The pinkette moved to begin digging in her purse once again, but this time instead of a cell phone, she pulled out her henshin pen, a silver star adorning the tip. She dangled it in front of the kitten, defending her little kitten friend's worthiness as a Guardian cat. "Candy. Super senshi of candy, now."

It was only then that she felt a little more than awkward, trying to brag off to a kitten, of all things. "I dunno, pussycat. I think my General's probably got yours beat. Are you sure they didn't just toss you in for a mascot position?"

"At least my Daphne is better than your Scrappy."

Her grip tightened on her pen before she shoved it back in her bag. She had half a mind to bonk him on the head with it - wow, wait, what? Was she really being driven to the point of violence over the way a little squirt like this was talking to her?

Yeah, pretty much.

It didn't matter much to her now, what other people were thinking if they noticed the grown woman fussing at a stray mall cat. It was one thing to insult Chase, who probably could care less what a grubby little kitten thought of him, but it was another thing to keep taking pot shots at her.

"Maybe your General was just giving you a pity-job? I can't imagine you're very useful aside from..." she wrinkled her nose at the remainder of his snack, glancing at the shredded remains of the corn dog, "Garbage disposal duty. Goodness knows you talk enough trash to be one."

The van?

Really?

She was laughing far too hard at the tiny kitten trying to redeem himself by comparing himself to the Mystery Machine. Laughing too hard, in fact, to notice his rearing up and grabbing after the remains of the breaded meat stick. The force of the swing was rough - rougher than she'd have expected coming from a kitten - and the forgotten morsel was upon her.

Her eyes went wide and it took her a moment to realize what had lodged itself in her hair, mustard stain, stick and all. And then, the flailing began.

Hands began flapping at her perfectly curled pink locks as she batted and swatted at the absolutely disgusting tube of mystery meat covered in greasy golden carbs, her voice making a shrill, incoherent noise that sounded like a siren, growing louder the harder she hit at the food. It took several moments (and swats) for the corndog to fumble its way out of her hair, tumbling to the ground with an unceremonious plop, mustard side down.

The screaming stopped as fingers clutched to the strands of hair, keeping the mustard-stained parts away from the rest of her beautiful curls. "What is wrong with you, you...you little oversized rat!"

Yellow looks good on you.

That was the last straw.

She could feel her cheeks burning up, both out of embarrassment and rage. Her head was spinning, lightheaded from the screeching and flailing. And her ego? Bruised. Scarred, even. Prissy wasn't even going to consider her hair - her perfect hair - and how the color probably looked. Did mustard stain hair? What would she need to use to get all of it out of her hair? Didn't this tiny fiend realize how long it took to get hair so soft and smooth??

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head.

Then, she did the only thing she could think of. She swung her purse at the mangy little hairball.