A/N: Man, I'm on a roll with this stuff. At this rate, the stuff I actually want to get done (i.e. the fifth chapter of "Shipper Core") will be slow going. Oh well.

Yes, this is another Sonny with a Chance story…with an actual plot. I'm serious here. None of that "oh-let's-throw-together-crap-and-hope-people-read-it" nonsense, and absolutely none of the "Chad-and-Sonny-get-centre-stage-24/7" crap you'll find elsewhere (didn't mean to bash, but that's what I see).

Oh, you want spoilers? I SHALL NOT YIELD. THE EMPEROR PROTECTS. (Translation: I will not tell and you can't make me.)

So…let's get to it, then!

DISCLAIMER: I hereby forfeit all claims to Sonny with a Chance and all its characters, settings, etc. under the current circumstances, as said materials are trademarked and copyrighted under Disney (unless otherwise noted), and the same goes for any other materials that have been used that I do not have rights to, as they are properties of their current owners. However, I do not nor do I wish to forfeit claims to materials that I have solely created (characters, settings, etc. that are not formerly recognized by Disney and/or its companies) for the purpose that I have complete ownership over said solely created materials.

#~

Glasgow, Scotland

Two days prior

"Mistah 'Untah, Ah'm realleh tryin' mah bes' tae git 'hat drahft doon fa ye! It's sittin' raight 'ere on mah scahreen in front o' meh!" A teenage voice filled the room; the only source of true light being the screen of the laptop on the Maplewood desk, illuminating his face. A pair of green eyes worriedly scanned the words on the screen as the pale skinned hand held the phone close to his ear. His black hair had another pale skinned hand run through it rather nervously.

"Ye dinnae undahstahn', Mistah 'Untah! 'His is mah onleh shot tae make enough moneh fa mah famileh! Please, Ah'm beggin' ye fa 'his one chance! Jus' lemmeh emahl what Ah 'ave an' we'll take it—WHAT?! Ahre ye some sort o' looneh? Ye wan' meh tae bring ye this tae ye in 'Ollywood? In fahve dahys? 'Ow am Ah supposed tae pull 'hat off?!" It was clear that he wasn't pleased with the current deal as he slammed his fist into the desk.

"A'ight, a'ight, Ah git it! But…'ow am Ah supposed tae git enough moneh fa a plahne ticket? Ah'm sorta strahpped fa cahsh…"

The boy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he had to do some favors, but he also knew that he didn't have a lot of time to do them. This manuscript he had written, the product of his blood, sweat and tears…how much did it mean to him, really? What risks was he willing to take just to see this published?

In his mind, he took too many. It was doomed from the start and he knew it. So why did he keep working on it? Why did he knowingly set himself up for disaster? Why?

"Ok, ok…Ah'll git th' drahft tae ye…jus'…lemmeh make a few cahlls so Ah kin set oop mah flight." Defeat tinged his voice as he sat down on an oak chair nearby. "Ye better hold oop yer end o' 'his deal as well. Ah ain't gonna do 'his fa mah own giggles, ye know…

"…An' 'hat check better not bounce 'his time, Mistah 'Untah. Ah think ye know 'hat mah famileh can't afford tae spend moneh we dinnae 'ave on some stupid mistake ye made."

With that, he hung up. Now, what to do next…

Well, there was his cousin in Hollywood…maybe he could give her a call or an email?

No, no, he couldn't. He wouldn't do that! He wasn't going to bring in his distant family in to this mess. Call it pride or protection, he couldn't afford it. He just couldn't afford taking another risk. No, he took too many chances just to get a publisher who would read the drafts.

But…she had money, which he desperately needed…he could probably pull a favor or two for her when this was all over. Ah, but she was too kind to allow him to do that. She was a caring creature, she was…

Sighing, he knew that this was tough decision to make, but he knew the price he paid last time when he chose poorly. Too many ill happenings had plagued him over the past few months because of his stupidity. Just when he thought that he was on the right track, that he had it made, something always came up. A check bounced, a liaison got fired, he got another letter from a publisher rejecting him for the umpteenth time, that damn landlord came and said the rent was due a month early…

Mentally kicking himself, he called his cousin's cell phone.

"Sonneh, it's meh, Milton. Ye know, yer favorite cousin from Scotland…listen, lass, Ah need yer 'elp. Ye see, there's 'his publishah Ah need tae meet with…in 'Ollywood…fahve dahys. Not a lot o' time fa meh tae prepahre…Ah need tae know if ye can set meh oop with a plahne ticket…ye can? Thank ye so vereh much, lass! Ah owe ye one, Sonneh, Ah owe ye so much fa 'his!" He happily hung up and placed the phone on the desk.

He got up and bounded to his room after he excitedly saved his work on the laptop, shut the lid, and tucked it under his arm. Almost busting the door down with his shoulder (those rusty hinges were still there because the landlord was a sorry clot, saying it would be "too costly" to replace the damn hinges for new ones that didn't creak as the door swung when the window was open), he hurriedly placed his laptop on his bed and threw a duffel bag beside it. He began the task of gathering all the clothes he thought he would need, a map of Hollywood he printed off the internet, a compass (to help him navigate the urban jungle), a one quart sized clear plastic zip-top bag filled with his three ounce toiletries…wait, wasn't he missing something? He did a mental checklist…

And realized that he didn't have a hotel to stay at! But he refrained from calling Sonny a second time. She already did one good thing for him, it was best not to overdo it.

That was until the phone rang again. "Ah got it! Ah got it!" He rushed to the living room where the phone was and answered.

"'Ello, Bronx famileh, Milton 'ere. Speak oop now, it's yer 'alfpenneh…Sonneh? Nevah thought Ah would 'ear from ye again, even ahftah Ah jus' called ye!

"What? Ye mean ye…aw, Sonneh, ye bonnie lass, ye! Thank ye so much! Ah owe ye doubles fa 'his! Ye won't regret what ye've doon fa meh!" Again he hung up happily. Sonny just set him up with a hotel room, and just his luck she made sure he got a good hotel, too! One right near the Vine! How she was able to do this, he wasn't sure of, but he didn't care.

All that mattered now was that he got that duffel bag packed and his behind was on a plane to Hollywood.

Hollywood…America…it was a dream come true for him. It wasn't like he didn't love Scotland, the place that he would always and forevermore remember as his home. It was that he just wanted to get away from this lifestyle of curse after unyielding curse, this bloody three bedroom house that sheltered six because his father didn't have enough money before his death to get a real house thanks to that damn shady landlord setting rent payments that were nigh impossible to pay, the mediocre job he had at the run-down grocery store that didn't pay him enough money for the rent, the nosy neighbors that constantly observed his every move as soon as he set one toe outside the house…

He was truly blessed to have such a lucky family in America. His cousin faced the same hardships he was currently having and she persevered in the face of total ruins, snatching fame and fortune from the gaping maw of loss and poverty. It made him a bit envious, jealous even, that she had achieved her dreams and she now had new ones to catch, but he knew better than to mope about that.

So he got his duffel bag packed and packed up his laptop in his shoulder bag that his dad (again before his death many months ago) got for him at the corner store for less than a hot meal, so it was a miracle that he could not only afford to have the laptop but the bag as well. Then Milton remembered. They were both gifts for his birthday, and the laptop came complete with all the software he needed to make his dreams come true.

Da…Ah 'ope ye're listenin' tae meh now. Ah'm gonna make ye proud o' meh. Ye an' ma both. Ah won't screw 'his oop. Ah got Sonneh lookin' oot fa meh in 'Ollywood.

America, da, America! Can ye believe it? Ah'm goin' tae America…Ah'm goin' on mah way tae America! Ah'll make ye and ma proud o' meh. Ah'm gonna make ye both proud.

So farewell tae Mistah Shires, th' bloodeh two-timin' bastard who we 'ad as our landlord; farewell tae Victah, th' daftie Ah 'ad tae cahll mah boss aht 'hat grocery store Ah worked aht; farewell tae ahl th' nosy, good-fa-nuthin' neighbahs 'hat keep spyin' on meh.

Farewell tae ye, Rossing Street View! Ah 'ope ye burn in 'ell like ye should, 'cause ye pretteh much made mah life a bloodeh mess before ahl 'his!

Ah 'ope one dahy Ah kin come back tae Scotland…but as soon as Ah doo, Ah'm gonna avoid 'his bloodeh neighbah'ood and show Shires 'hat Ah got what it takes tae make it big!

'Ollywood…no, America, ye best be readeh fa meh, 'cause 'ere Ah come! Milton Bronx will be th' most famous writah 'his side of Glasgow!

Ah'm gonna make sure o' 'hat!