Of all the dumbest jobs in the world, she just had to get stuck with this one. Her moped seemed to sneer at her, its blue green paint shining underneath the evening sun with a blinding gleam. As she stepped away from the vehicle and walked morosely up the steps of a two story, fine painted white house. A large, white paper sack was held in her hands and her right hand pressed the doorbell, foot tapping the ground in boredom.

Five minutes later, the door opened and a middle aged man opened the door. "Hello, I'm from La Feliz Taco," she somehow managed to say this without rolling her eyes, something she was very proud of doing. "Did you order the six tacos with sour cream and guacamole with potato oles?"

"Yes," the man snatched the bag from her, sniffing rather impolitely. "And you're late. My tacos are cold now!"

"Well they wouldn't be if you had opened the door five minutes ago."

"Are you sassing me?"

"Yeah."

He handed her ten dollars, which she promptly took and stuck it in her back pocket. The man just glanced back inside his house, where a dog was barking at her from behind his back. "Be quiet, Buster!" he snapped towards the canine before returning his focus back on her ."I insist on a refund. These tacos are cold and I ordered hot tacos, not cold tacos."

"Well I can't give you a refund," man, this guy was really starting to annoy her. "It's not our policy. And if you had opened the door five minutes ago, they wouldn't be cold! Just stick them in a microwave or something, I don't care."

He narrowed his eyes. "You better watch your tone, young lady," he sneered down at her. "Maybe I need to have a word with your manager."

"Fine," she snapped back. "Talk with him. See if I give a shit. I don't need this fucking job anyway."

He gaped at her, almost looking like a praying mantis while doing so. "My word," he sputtered, shaking his head in a confused tone. "Young people these days! And you, little missy, don't need to be swearing!"

"I'll swear if I want to! Is there anything else?"

He shook his head, but his eyes stared down at her meanly. "I'll be speaking with your manager," he said to her while scooting his dog away from the door. "If you come back here, you should have a better attitude. I am the one buying the food you deliver."

"Maybe I won't come back," she grumbled as the door closed, practically stomping on her way back to her moped. "Maybe my manager will finally come to his senses and fire me. Hell, he probably should have done that a long time ago."

The night was a lot color than the day, which had reached over a hundred degrees. Thankfully school had let out three weeks ago, so the hottest days of the year weren't spent cooped up in a stuffy, non air conditioned building. Apparently the school board thought that because they lived in New Mexico, they loved the heat and could tolerate it. Hell, if she didn't' have her AC, she probably would have died of heat stroke a long time ago.

La Feliz Taco looked almost like a Taco John's restaurant, only smaller and owned by actual Hispanics. It sat in the middle of town near the diner and it used to be a family run establishment until a year ago when the owners decided they wanted to do a take-out menu. That's where she, and three other people came in.

"I'm back," she called out as she opened the glass door to the restaurant, nose immediately assaulted with the smell of ground beef, seasonings, and fresh tortillas. A few of the customers were wrapping up their meals, her coworker Ronnie ringing up their orders while their manager and co-owner of the place, Geraldo Ramirez helped him work the register.

"Welcome back," Ronnie glanced up from the register. "Did old man Smith give you trouble?"

"No more than any other customer," she left the part out about her getting a little too sassy, but figured it wasn't relevant. "Are there any other orders?"

"Ask Rosario," Geraldo answered. "She's in the kitchen."

She pushed her away past the double doors, into the steaming kitchen that smelled of Mexican cuisine. The radio was blasted on high, Mariachi music screaming in her ears. Rosario was singing along in a low voice, hips swaying to the beat as she cleaned the stove. The restaurant closed at nine-thirty every day and she couldn't blame them for closing early. They had three kids and a fourth on the way. The older two, twin boys, were entering fourth grade next year and the youngest, a little girl that she thought was adorable, had finished kindergarten. "Señora Ramirez?" she asked, trying to get the woman's attention. "Señora Ramirez!"

"¿Qué?" the pregnant woman lifted her eyes, almost jumping when she saw her. "Oh, Neena, I didn't see you. You're just so small that sometimes I don't see you."

She tried to ignore that comment. She was not that short! 153 cm was not that short! Rosario stood at least 176 cm, so her eyes barely landed on the top of her head. Damn, the woman was tall. Almost as tall as her husband. "What is it, Neena?"

"Do you have anymore orders?" she asked, trying very hard not to get impatient. "Or am I done for the night?"

Rosario glanced down at a notepad, clicking her tongue as she looked over the list. "No," she finally decided. "We're done for the night. Actually, by the end of tomorrow we'll be gone for two weeks. We're visiting my family down in Mexico for Luis and Mateo's birthday this Saturday," her eyes shone with pride as she mentioned her little nine year twins. "Mariana will miss you. You're her favorite employee, you know."

Honestly, she had no idea why. The little six year would follow her around the restaurant when she was taking orders, copying everything she did. She tried to keep the swearing down to a minimum while the little girl was trailing after her. The only thing she really did say around her was "Commie bastard," but that was the least harmful thing she could say.

"The boys will be ten, right?" she asked, just for reassurance.

"Sí," the Hispanic woman nodded. "Their Abuelos are looking very forward to seeing them. We haven't seen them since Christmas."

She nodded at that, removing her shoulder length black hair from her ponytail. Technically while she was out on delivery, she was supposed to put a hat on, but she never did. Hated those damn things. They made her hair all staticy and resulted in her looking like she stuck her finger in an outlet. "Well, I'm going to clock out," she punched her number into the computer nearby. "See you in two weeks! Tell the boys happy birthday!"

"Buenas Noches!" the older woman called back, giving a little wave. "Tell you father I said hi and tell him when the baby comes, we'll be wanting another portrait."

"I will!"

She bid Geraldo and Ronnie goodnight and hopped on her moped, taking off into the starry night. Just one more night of delivering boring tacos and she was free for two weeks. What would she even do for two weeks? Sleep, that was definite. Help her Dad in his art studio and just generally do nothing. Maybe listen to music, she didn't know. Since her Dad was Native American, Mescalero Apache, to be exact, she tended to listen to a lot of music he had listened to when he was younger. Despite the fact she didn't look very much like him at all besides the dark hair, almond eye shape, and high cheek bones. She even inherited his aquiline nose, though hers was smaller compared to his.

No, the rest of her looked like her mother. The pale skin, small nose and blue eyes were all from the mother she had never met. Gone away, was what her father told her many times. Not dead, just gone. "She was beautiful," he told her once as they were beading bracelets one day. "You look like her, you know. She had the same pale skin, even your lip shape. You have her eyes too. She had blue eyes just like you."

Well, much good that brought her. Her grandparents lived on the reservation nearby, and some of the people there didn't exactly look at her the same way they did her father. So yeah, what a whole lot of luck.

She pulled into the driveway of her home, the porchlight still on and the porch swing swaying as the west wind blew across the desert plane. Their home was on the edge of town, their closest neighbor was two blocks away. A one story house that looked more like a flat or trailer with cacti growing in the yard. Leaving her helmet on the seat, she tromped up the small steps and opened the door. Not a single light was on in the living room. The only light that could be seen was the glow from the kitchen door.

"What? Right now? Are you kidding me?"

She tiptoed towards the kitchen, opening the door silently. She expected to see her Dad talking on the phone or to someone face to face, but all she got was him facing the sink. He was staring down at it with his forehead creased, dark eyes scanning the water as if he was looking at someone...or something. She hid by the door, hoping her father wouldn't look up and see her reflection in the window.

She couldn't hear the voice he was talking to, but her stomach rolled nervously. His eyes narrowed at whatever he was looking at before sighing in what appeared to be defeat. "Fine," he sighed, looking more tired than he usually did. "I'll send her. But promise me she won't get hurt."

The water gurgled and she could hear the sink begin to drain. Quickly she opened the door, closing it swiftly to appear as if she just entered. Her father jumped, whirling around to look like a deer in the headlights. "I'm back," she flopped down in a chair. "And hungry."

"Right," he blinked and then began to compose himself. "What do you want for dinner? Do you want me to order out?"

"I don't care," she slumped in her seat, chin barely touching the table. "Just no tacos please. I can't stand the smell of them anymore."

He smiled at that. "How about I make some fry bread?" the smile grew wider as her interest was peaked. "And we put honey on it instead of meat. Does that sound good?"

"Fuck yes!"

"Language daughter," he shook his head, starting to gather ingredients and begin to make the dough. "You know swearing isn't a very attractive thing for a young lady to do."

"And?"

He raised his eyes. "Just try to keep a filter. You never know who you'll piss off if you don't."

"Yeah, like that will happen," she muttered sarcastically, remembering how one of her customers once called her a little shit. It was a wonder how she hadn't been fired yet. "So, who were you talking to?"

He froze, pausing in mixing the ingredients. She could see a million thoughts running across his eyes and he opened his mouth to say something, but ended up not saying what he wanted to say. "No one," he finally answered. "It was no one; just myself."

"Really?" she leaned forward, grabbing the honey off the middle of the table and putting a little on her finger. "You know you can tell me anything. I won't get mad."

Damn, he really looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. Instead, he just turned on the stove and gathered oil into the frying pan. "You get mad easily," he told her. "Just like your Grandmother Nashotah. She has a temper that rivaled even the angriest spirit."

"The last time we saw Gran-Gran was last summer," she put more honey in her mouth just as her Dad took the bottle away. "Hey! I was eating that!"

"You'll eat all of it," he teased and ignored her annoyed look. "You'll turn into a bear if you keep eating it straight from the bottle."

"Good!"

She didn't mean that; she rather liked being human thank you very much. Her father put the dough into the frying pat, the oil sizzling and filling the air with the smell of bread. Her mouth salivated and watched intensely as the bread sizzled and turned into a golden brown in the pan. Her father hummed something under her breath and that's when she noticed it. He had paint all over his arms and it brought a smile to her lips. Her father could get so lost in his art that he would even forget what he was doing or how he got paint on different parts of his body.

"I have something for you," he began, turning the bread over. "It just found it today."

"What?"

He left the pan to sit on the stove and dug into his pocket. Within seconds, a ring was lying in the palm of his hand, extended out towards her. In his palm was a bronze and copper ring twisted around a glass focal bead. He plopped it in her hand, and she studied it, eyebrow raised. "Uh, what's with the gift? My birthday isn't till October. Oh my God, what did you do?"

He made a face. "I didn't do anything. I was just digging through stuff and found this. It, uh, belonged to your mother."

The whole kitchen went silent. The only sound to be heard was the bread sizzling in the frying pan and the smell of dough turning to bread. The whole subject about her mother was taboo. Her father didn't like to talk about her and never brought her up unless absolutely necessary. She didn't blame him; her opinion of her mother wasn't very high. She abandoned her and her father as a baby and never came back. No note, not even a phone call. Some bitch.

"Why do you want me to have it?" she asked, sliding the ring on her finger. "It's a little...gaudy, don't you think?"

"She wanted you to have it; I just kind of forgot about it," he said sheepishly. "Before she left, she told me to give this to you. I would have given it to you last October, but I forgot where I put it."

"Thanks," she murmured, not entirely liking the thing on her finger. It didn't feel right; like a shoe that didn't fit. She was never much of a jewelry person. The only things she wore was sometimes Apache jewelry and the elastic bands from Hot Topic, but that was it. "Really though, Dad, thanks. I don't know what I'll wear it with."

He took the bread off the pan, drenching it with honey. "I know you don't care for jewelry, but I thought maybe you'd like it. It is yours after all."

"I guess."

They ate in silence, which is typically how they always ate. She knew she smelled like a taco and wished she could go shower, but right now, she was too focused on her food. That, and watching her Dad eat his food mournfully, deep in thought. He avoided eye contact with her and that just made things awkward. Really, really, awkward.

"I'm going to shower," she said, sliding her plate towards him. "Then I'm off to bed. Good night."

"Good night, Neena."

She walked towards her room, grabbing pajamas out of her dresser and gazed up towards the shrine of her favorite influence: Captain America. Damn, he was just so awesome! She had old action figures from the forties, a few of the trading cards they had made. She had found and printed off articles about him, the few pictures that were released of him with his friends, especially that handsome Bucky Barnes. Still, it would be totally awesome to meet the real man in person. Too bad he was gone though. He and Bucky.

"Good night Cap," she said, giving a mock salute. "I'm off to take a shower!"

Not that he cared; pictures don't talk after all. She slid her ring off, tossing it onto the dresser. It gleamed in the light in an almost ethereal glow. She paused, staring at it few a few seconds. A chill went down her spine just looking at it. The ring felt...different. The patterns on it, the way the copper and bronze twisted together made it seem like an ancient pattern. Or a pattern that wasn't from this world. But that would be silly. Her mother was human and she was off probably bangining other men and getting pregnant. Her father was a victim of some deceitful whore.

With that in mind, she abandoned the thoughts of the ring and made her way to the shower, whistling the Star Spangled Banner as she went.

The next day as she headed off to work, she didn't realize a change was in the air. Her father sat in the living room, working on a new painting when she stepped into the living room, ring on her right index finger. Dressed in her work uniform, she peered over the canvas. "I'm off to work. Won't be back till nine thirty. I'll probably get something on the way home, so you don't have to cook tonight. I saved you some hamburger helper in the fridge."

He smiled a watery smile and stood up. The next thing he did surprised her. Instead of telling her goodbye and have a nice time at work, he embraced her. It wasn't a light embrace, but rather a bone crushing hug. "Goodbye," he continued to hold her tightly, moving some of her hair back. "Please be safe. I'm sorry Neena, I wish I could be a better father. I'm doing the best I can…"

"What are you going on about?" she asked, feeling now very weirded out. Her Dad rarely ever hugged her. "Have you been drinking? If you have, you should probably lay off for a little bit."

"Please remember," he murmured in her ear and she wouldn't deny it, a shiver went down her spine. "That I have and will always love you. Even when you are mad at me, please remember that I do love you."

"Okay?" This was really confusing; the last time he'd hugged her like this was when she was almost five years old. "Dad, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry for everything I did; I was wrong. I don't think I can ask for your forgiveness right now, but please...please be safe. And please, this is all I ask of you, but please find your way back home, alright?"

"Uh, okay?" she pulled away, staring at him as if he had grown a second head. "I'm going to work now, okay? I love you too!"

He didn't say anything else, but she could have sworn that he had tears in his eyes. She got on her moped, having about fifteen minutes to get to work. The second she got there, Rosario planted the hat on her head, scolding her that she should be wearing it. "I can't wear it under my helmet!" she griped, wanting to take the damn thing off. "It'll get squished and make my head uncomfortable!"

Rosario didn't say anything, just handed her the order and told her to get a move on. "Mr. Smith called this morning," she began as she was making her way out. "If you sass to another customer young lady, it will reflect on your paycheck!"

Damn, fuck her life! Could it get any worse? "I'll try!" she called back, taking the order off the counter. "No promises!"

The wind was hot today, smacking her across the face and getting dust in her eyes. "Fucking sand," she hissed as it stung her eyes. As she drove, she turned on the radio and fiddled around with the stations until she found one she actually liked. "Shut up and drive," she sang, rather obnoxiously to no one in particular. If this was the only way to alleviate boredom, then so be it.

"Get you where you wanna go if you know what I mean, got a ride that's cooler than a limousine," she sang loudly, now jamming out for the other cars on the road to see. Behind her, there was a man in a van with a thing of coffee in his one hand and the other hand on the wheel. "Shut up and drive, shut up and drive!"

She was so busy jamming out, subconsciously fiddling with the stupid ring on her finger. She rotated it counter clockwise, the metals cool on her fingertip as she twisted it around. The wind began to pick up, which made her pause in the middle of her song. "Weather's bad today," she mumbled to herself, but cranked the music up louder, jamming out once again. Driving forty miles an hour, she continued to sing to her heart's content. Never mind the fact she sounded like a dying ostrich.

Then in the blink of an eye, the scenery changed. No longer was the wind slapping her face, rather her eyes were assaulted with at fifty different pairs of eyes staring at her like goldfish. Food went flying, the sound of glass breaking and drinks sloshing onto the floor. She could hear their gasps of shock and the looks of surprise and bewilderment as she drove past. One man with a golden mane held a goblet of ale in his hand, and as she drove by he continued to drink it with ease. The man next to him was leaning on his hand, eyes following her as she drove by screaming. The woman next to him was obviously talking to him, but he wasn't listening. As she drove by, she paused and began to follow her with her eyes.

As she weaved through the table full of food and drinks, she lost control. She flew off the table, her moped crashed onto the floor and she landed on the ground to the left of it.

"Shit!" she cursed, now holding wrist tightly, tears threatening to fall out of her eyes. "Mother Fucking Shit! Holy Fucking shit, that fucking hurt!"

She felt a shadow loom over her and kneel down next to her. She flinched, expecting some horrible figure but instead it was an older woman a salmon colored gown. She held out a hand, smiling gently at her. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"What the fuck? Oh my God, who the fuck are you? Where fuckity fuck shit am I?"

A woman with a long black dress with a slit from the thigh all the way down to the feet. Her curly golden blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She knelt down next to the older woman and the man with dark hair stood behind her. Neena flinched back even more. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Calm the fuck down," the younger woman laughed, but that didn't make her feel any better.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she was scooching away from the three people towering over, which was not easy to do with an injured wrist.

"Do be aware this is the queen you are speaking to," the dark haired man began in a casual tone, glancing at the older woman.

"Shit," she hissed, causing the older woman to raise an eyebrow. "Man, I really fucked up this time!"

"Are you alright?" the queen asked once more. "You made quite the entrance this evening."

"No fucking shit!" she hollered, grasping her wrist. "Where the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you people?"

"Let me see your wrist," the younger woman went grab it.

"No, you stay the hell away from me!"

"Just give it here," she took her wrist anyways

A tingling sensation shot up through her hand and up her arm as the younger woman held her hand. She could feel her bones mending together and it hurt like shit, but then things were fine. Slowly, the pain receded and she couldn't feel a thing. "What the fuck did you do to me?" she snapped as the woman let go of her hand.

"You're welcome," she said flatly.

She tried to stand up, but then two men came behind her and grabbed her upper arms. "Bring her to the Great Hall," the queen commanded. "Gently!" she added, staring the two guards down.

They dragged her away and she could see her moped lying broken on the floor. Damn, her father was going to kill her. If these people didn't kill her first.

The Great Hall, or whatever the hell it was called, was pretty much all gold. The floor was marble, the walls were solid gold with intricate designs. A giant throne held an old man with a corny eye patch who looked very angry. His eye unnerved her; piercing through her soul. "What is your name, child?" he demanded in an angry voice.

"Why the fuck do you want to know?"

Wrong thing to say. He took his big stick and slammed it to the ground. The floor made a very loud sound that echoed through the hall. She didn't say anything, for fear he would impale her.

"And you thought I was bad," she heard the younger woman whisper to the man with dark hair.

"Why the fuck are you following me?" she snapped towards the woman. "What are you, some kind of child molestor?"

She heard the dark haired man snicker, but when the woman glared at him he shrugged. The woman stepped closer, "I was in your position earlier this week, so I suggest you just pipe the fuck down. Okay?" she smiled.

She ignored the woman. "Can it, skank!" she hissed towards the woman before returning her attention back to the old pirate sitting on the throne. "Will someone please explain where the hell I am?"

The dark haired man intervened, putting himself between Neena and the woman, "Father, might I suggest a night in the dungeon so this child may collect her wits?"

"I am not a child! I'm fourteen!"

"Take her to the dungeons," the old man ordered. "We will send for you when you have recovered your manners," he told her condescendingly. "Go now, take her away!"

"Shit," she whinned, ignoring the younger woman's nasty look as the dark haired man held her by the waist. "Fuck. My. Life!"