There's, as usual, little to no editing here, so comments in regards to that would be lovely. Thoughts on what the storyline thus far appears to be would be equally delightful.

Necessary disclaimer: I don't condone violence. Especially against innocent victims. This is just a story idea I've had scrawled on papers a while that's starting to expand.

Even stunned and terrified, Ryan was mesmerized by the girl in front of him. It wasn't as though she was especially pretty, the flimsy white dress showing off a pale apparition wrapping her arms across her chest as she shuddered. Her face too, was fairly dull. It was the kind of face one passed a thousand times and never noticed, almost impossible to describe in its simplicity. Only her long hair, fluttering as the wind carrassed the hill was of any real notice. And baby, he noticed it.

Mya watched him curiously, face warping with a thousand thoughts. How had he escaped her attention before? Even after a few weeks, she should have noticed this dark handsome figure much earlier. Perhaps, she thought with a surge of delight, he'd hidden himself intentionally. After all, his actions seemed to agree with the possibility. This place she'd found him at was hardly his father's home, of that she was sure.

Handing over the sweater she had been wearing before exiting the car, the brunet took her in some more, before finally talking. "So you were waiting for me," he stated slowly. It was a statement, never a question. Clearly she'd been waiting for him in the cold, and as she wrapped herself in his old battered sweater- the better to appear young and fragile, he'd found- it was clear she was flesh and blood.

"Of course," came the sacharine answer, "I've been waiting my whole life for you."

A smarter man might have run. The smartest man would have shot her then and there and saved the state the trouble of doing it in thirty-two years. Ryan though, was just a boy who thought he was a man, and did what any such creature might do- he flushed a bright pink for a moment before shrugging it off, flustered. "But you waited here," he pointed out, leaving what didn't need to be spoken hanging in the air. No one knew where he went on his weekends, so why had she?

"It's the best place nearby for target practice," she explained, ignoring the white fabric flapping at her knees, and gesturing at the rifle resting on the tangle of weeds at their feet, "At least, I would think so."

With her words, it was as though a switch had flickered on, his face lighting up beneath his thick glasses. Obviously no one had ever thought things through as well as he did. There had been no opportunity for him to share the details of his ideas before, no chance to explain why he did what he did. And here was this seemingly normal girl standing in the middle of a field waiting for him in his sweater, asking the questions no one else had ever considered. "Old man MacMillan's been deaf since before I was born, and the land's just begging to be used. Plus, the next nearest people are over on route fifteen, about ten miles away."

Oh, she knew that last bit just fine. Hitching a ride out would have been too risky, so she'd walked. Walked and walked and walked, making it to the grove only an hour before he had. It had left no time to know her enemy, to figure out just who this brown haired saviour in front of her might be. Was he safe? Was he a threat? She'd thought to figure it out when he arrived, but looking into his seemingly innocent face she didn't know. He was genuine, switching to blathering on about how the targets at the top of the hill had been set up to test the abilities of the gun, but she had never counted on that. Genuine could be dangerous. Genuine could get her in trouble.

Still, she nodded in the right spot and asked questions, wide eyed and innocent to the last. After a fairly long monologue about the benefits of a pump action rifle over a bolt action rifle, he finally glanced over at her sheepishly, hunching over as he had at the store. "Sorry, you must be completely bored."

A little bit. "Not at all." I could use a gun enthusiast. "I find it so fascinating. I don't know anything about guns." If you want a registered gun, people are going to want to know why. "But don't you find the slide action a little..."

Trailing off, she watched him slowly follow her thought process, nearly dropping the rifle a second time. He stuttered, opened his mouth, and then shut it. Mya had at least part of him figured out. He was either a consummate actor, or had no time for girls after his love affair with the Remington. Leaving him to flail a ltitle more, she finally extended a small, childlike hand. "Mya, by the way," she tossed out by way of introduction.

"Ryan. Ryan Moser," he managed. Clearly, her first perception of him had been accurate. What liar would give his real identity. And Ryan Moser from what she'd overheard, was the town's angel. She could use one of those.

"Ryan," she murmured, savouring the taste of the word. It tasted like jalapenos and cinnamon hearts. "I think we're going to be good friends. Very good friends," she tagged on, letting her eyes rest on him a beat too long. Their little friendship was something she was counting on.