InsaneJournal

Reizo was not your typical spoiled rich kid.  He did not go out on lavish spending sprees to amuse himself or impress others (well not always), but instead spent his allowance in such a stingy, penny-pinching manner that it amazed his parents and baffled his fellow BOSOZOKU.  It was no real secret that he was ashamed of his wealth, but he never outright admitted it, only deflected it with a grin or scowl, and sometimes a vague answer that all of his favorite things were free. Sticks to hit people with and stones to throw at them were, after all.

    The only exception to his frugal, miserly ways was his bike.  He bought everything and anything for the bike, and at any time the mood struck him he would drop an amount of money into it that  even Ikeda or Kondo would find exorbitant. 

    And today was one of those days.  The parts he’d ordered were nestled neatly in a corner of the converted storage room, and the boy himself was sitting aside from them, eyes flashing hungrily over the boxes as he stroked his bike’s gas tank affectionately. 

    He was reaching into one of the boxes when a distinctly feminine shadow fell over him and his bike.  He didn’t bother to scowl, or even look up. 

“So how’d it go?”