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The rich, smoky fragrance of a bonfire just being kindled surrounded the quarter-to-five, early evening air. A tall, 6 foot 4 thin figure stood silhouetted against the cloudy sky. He didn't seem to fit into the era; he was like some kind of bounty hunter. The bottom of his face (his nose and mouth with chin included) was covered with a mask that was like askull's nose and mouth. His skin was a Latino tan, his hair was waist-length and black with a bounty hunter hat on top of his head. The hunter's apparel was of mostly steel armor and hardened leather. His stormy green-grey eyes were not gazing at the bonfire before him, but at the brick high school building in the distance.

Meanwhile, inside said school, down the empty blue and gray colored hallway, and through the doors of the media center, Emma Fallwell, was reveling. Why, do you ask? Because, after almost an hour of aggravation, she had finally accomplished to save a completed version of her french project. Glancing at the clock, Emma quickly gathered her things and rushed out of the media center. She'd have to go call her mother from the front office phone now. Oh, how she'd love to have her own cell phone, though...but, for now, she just had to deal. It was 4:45, and she'd have to let her mom know her final decision to stay for the homecoming bonfire. Of course, it wasn't necessarily her first choice in the way of birthday celebration, but she decided that she'd at least get rid of all the nagging from her friends, who insisted constantly that she go to a school function at least just once in her life.

She steadily made her way to the bonfire sit after calling her mother. ("Are you quite sure you want to do this, honey? It's the day you turn 17. And I'm sure your Aunt Helen would love to see you..." wink , only to see a strange man crouched in the sand, sitting criss-cross style with a small, suspicious looking flask of liquid next to him.

As she stepped closers, Emma noticed a white mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

"Um, what's with the mask?" Emma asked hesitantly, hoping a bit of humor would help her get on the stranger's "good side"...Well, that is, if he at least had a good side. "So what is it? Have you got a supposedly horrid wart you feel the need to hid or something? Or do you have really fat lips, or fangs? Buck teeth? Yellow teeth?" she paused. "Rabies?"

Slowly, with one armored finger, he pushed up the brim of his hat to properly address his "What the heck?" look. Instead, he saw some teenage girl in a shiny green/blue summer dress cut above the knees with designs of plants and flowers on it. Her skin was so pale it almost glowed, and her large, brown eyes were quiet and curious. Her hair was medium dark lush brown with subtle curls, complete with a black headband. She looked like she had a very heavy backpack slung over her slim shoulder. Seeing an opportunity too good to pass up, he muttered, "Don't worry, I don't bite. Hard."

The resulting slap seemed to reverberate through the empty parking lot, leaving a livid, red handprint on the side of his face where the mask didn't reach.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Emma asked harshly. "Are you here for the bonfire?"

Rubbing the tender mark on his face, he gave her a strange look. "Actually, I'm waiting for someone who may be coming here. Do you know such a person...?" Too late, the man realized the stupidity and obviousness of his question.

"I know hundreds." Emma replied dryly. "Unfortunately I myself am one of them...Wait a minute," she said, a scared look upon her face, "you're not looking for me, are you?"

"Ah—" He began to say, but was cut off before he could utter his reply.

"Okay, before you say anything, I just have one question to ask: are you a stalker?"

He shifted in his seated position uncomfortably, then muttered, "It, uh, depends on the person." After a moment's hesitation, he added quickly, "And the amount of bounty involved."

"Bounty?" Emma asked, confused by the term, "What? Like—like what? Like the cleaner-upper? Or...—Please tell me you're joking." she pleaded.

He stood up, reaching her eye level, then placed his gauntleted hand against her forehead in a somewhat pitying manner. "Don't think too hard about it," he said, "you might hurt yourself."

"I'm not stupid, you know," she replied bitingly, while swatting his hand away. "Believe it or not, there is no blonde under this hair." She quickly lifted one of her curls so as to further prove her point.

At that point, he decided it would be better not to say 'hmmm...let me check more thoroughly...', and instead reclined back onto the sand and gestured to the spot next to him. "Take a seat?" he offered.

"Um..." she hedged, a nervous expression filling her features, and her feet moving backwards a couple steps. "Well, I'm not sure I should take it..."

A voice in the guy's head nudged him, saying, 'she is right, you know'. As usual, though, he ignored it. "Well, aren't you going to this bonfire party?" he badgered.

"Yes, but I have my own question for you," she replied, "do you even go here? I mean, you look kinda—I mean to say, I'm sure I would've recognized you. Had I seen you before, that is." she stammered, still hesitating to take his offer of a seat, even though the weight of her schoolbag was making it increasingly difficult.

He coughed once—then twice—then unconvincingly answered, "I am—the female janitor's date. I don't see her very often, you know, but she asked me, and I, uh, said 'Sure, Bertha, why not?'...Y'know?"

"There's...no employees at the bonfire..." Emma answered, "I—I may not be, like the most spirit-filled person in the world and attend everything. But I'm pretty sure that employees...don't come. And, I don't think we even have a female janitor for that matter, either." she said bluntly.

Awkwardly blinking, he stuttered, "W—well then, it was a female aspiring to, uh, be a female j-janitor, of course...Come to think of it, I think her name was Shelly..."

"Okay, now I know you're lying," she said, giving him a hard look and moving her hands to rest on her hips.

He gave in with a sigh. "Yes, my lady, yes I am," adding the flattering 'my lady' comment to ease up her anger.

"Well, do ya think..you might tell me the truth?" she asked hesitantly, letting her arms fall back to her sides again.

The man eyed her with a curious look, paired with an upraised eyebrow. "What if would you say, after I'm done telling you the truth, that it's another lie? What would you say then?" Absentmindedly, he began picking up handfulls of sand and letting the grains fall.

"I'd have to hear it first." she replied, finally giving in to her now-aching shoulder by letting her bag slowly drop onto the ground.

"Changed your mind, have we?" He chuckled slightly as she shook her head and said 'Unh-Unh'.

"Well, then, I'm a bounty hunter from a different dimension who goes by Topsy Turvy. But sometimes just Turvy. And I need someone to help me."

He waited for her next inevitable, incredulous response.

"Name's Emma." she replied, "And—again: a bounty hunter...being a...?"

Turvy stared, as if it were completely obvious. "A bounty hunter. I hunt creatures, cut off their heads, and receive my payday. Nothing more to it."

She hesitated a moment before replying—or maybe it was more stammering—, "But not, like, you know bunnies, and—You don't kill bunnies, do you? I mean, I-I'm not like, you know, a 'tree hugger' or whatever, but....bunnies? What did they ever do to you?" She paused. "Squirrels, however, you know, they just ask to get run over by cars, but re—Bunnies? Please tell me you don't kill bunnies." she rambled with a sincere, pleading look on her face.

"If there's a were-rabbit in question, then yes, but..." He paused, pondering, then asked, "You don't believe me, do you, Emma?"

"Mmm..." Emma pondered for a moment before answering, "The bounty hunter part, su—I'll give you that, but ...another dimension? Gonna need a tad bit more convincing."

"That's a long story, my dear. Why don't we save that for another day?" He lied down, stretching. "I mean, there'll be a beautiful bonfire, and—"

"I—I...—no." Emma said, cutting him off. "I mean, how do I know that you're not just gonna off and disappear to this supposed 'other dimension', huh?" she gave him another incredulous look.

He grinned behind his skull half-mask. "Let me put it in a way that you don't hurt yourself thinking about it—" he started, only to be interrupted again.

"I'm not stupid," Emma practically growled at him. "Again, do you not remember the non-blonde?"

"There's a spell holding me to this dimension so I may find said person whom I mentioned earlier. And no matter how hard I may try, I wouldn't be able to sit back in my leather armchair, sipping a nice cup of hot herbal tea, until I do."

"Um..." Emma began.

"'Um', what? A bounty hunter can't enjoy his herbal tea?" He had to practically bite his tongue to keep himself from bursting out into laughter.

"What? Kills animals for a living and then sips tea daintily on the side? Why, yes, actually, I do find that hard to believe! Especially when considering the skeleton mask and gauntleted hand, and—Well, they just make you seem, I don't know, menacing? Is that a word I can use?" she answered.

"Menacing, yes..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Don't you ever think menacing people take, say...bubble baths, or...go shopping for toilet paper, or even drink tea while kindly talking about the weather to their neighbor?" He snickered, picturing what might be in Emma's head: Turvy relaxing on an armchair in front of a stone fireplace, drinking from fragile painted china teacups with his pinkie sticking out and wearing (sadly) bunny slippers on his feet.

"Uh...no, yes, and...apparently no. In that order." she replied matter-of-factly.

"My dear," Turvy said, innocently nodding, "bounty hunters are people too, just like an elementary school teacher. Or Shelly the wannabe janitor and her dear mother Bertha." He winked. "We don't just live at our work."

"Well, obviously...!" Emma said sharply.

"Anyways, back on the subject, Emma," Turvy said abruptly. "I need to find someone. You may be it. You may not be. And—" his train of thought was lost as he spotted the cheerleading team pile out of a large bus that had pulled up. "...Hellooooo nurse," he crooned.

He was surprised, though, to find a pair of snapping fingers only about two inches in front of his face.

"Yo! Turvy!" Emma yelled, in an attempt to gain back his attention, "Do I need to slap you again? If you want, I can even do so for each and every single girl over there!" she threatened, pulling her hand back in preparation.

He cringed, grasping his hat and steadying it, while groaning something about not having any fun on the job.

He lost track of just how many slaps he received after just about 15...By that point, he just enjoyed his imaginations that it were really each of the cheerleaders themselves slapping him...I think it was at about slap twenty that he started drooling...And the slapping stopped. He glanced over at Emma just in time to see her swing her school bag in his direction—and headed straight for his face.

His last thought would be the equivalent of, "Agh, not again—"