Author's Note: Just a little head's up to those who haven't yet read my last story ("What the Eyes Don't See"), this NBC "universe" I've utilized contains some relatively mature content that is meant to contribute solely to the humorous appetites of older NBC fans like myself. That being said, try not to be too appalled at the strange antics of some of the characters (primarily those of Lock, Shock, and Barrel)…you'll get used to it, I promise. In addition: this such humor does not intend to detract from the seriousness of this story – in fact it shall be integrated for more of comic relief purposes, in part due to the heavy drama we will soon encounter. Anyways, that's enough rambling on my part. Enjoy, folks!

Thank you ever so kindly to BJXCBFOREVER (and of course Mav) for reviewing the introduction! As for the rest, account owner and anonymous reader alike, feedback is much appreciated. Thanks!

"Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own."

- Paul Coelho

"I don't know what a beet smells like. It just smells like…a beet."

Shock was recounting the odd events of the previous day to fellow 8-year-old cohort Billy Corpsechild on a bench outside of his apartment complex (which was located up in the northeast end of Hemlock Homestead).

Billy, a stout, pasty-skinned creature with swollen eyelids that were always stitched shut was actually Lock's best friend as well as his marijuana supplier. In fact, Shock's conversation with Billy this blustery morning was merely a byproduct of an errand that Lock had requested her to run for him while he and Oogie were out gambling at the race track. Shock herself was never particularly fond of Billy, for he always seemed to have this annoying flirtatious nature towards her and thus she tried to avoid extended conversation with him whenever possible. She wasn't sure why she felt different about it today; suppose she just needed someone else to talk to.

"As bizarre as that sounds," Billy mused while attempting to scoot closer to Shock, "I think you're overreacting."

Shock resisted his pathetic advance. She stood up from the park bench, crossing her arms. "What is there to overreact about?" she asked. "I just said I thought it was strange that the beet smell came about almost the same time Oogie discovered that crypt. I don't know…don't you think it's a bit odd?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Billy withdrew a crumpled pack of Snarlboro Red's from his shirt pocket and offered it up to Shock.

With a meager half-smile Shock obliged, selecting a cigarette from the box and placing it between her lips.

"Where did you get these?" she asked as Billy handed her a lighter.

"Stole 'em out of my parents' room," the corpse kid answered casually. "Sad to say that my parents aren't as cool as yours; buying you beer and cigarettes whenever you ask."

Shock rolled her eyes slightly. "Okay so first of all, I don't know my parents. I was adopted, remember? Second of all, the only reason Oogie started buying me that kind of stuff at age seven was because he knew that Lock, Barrel and me, being friends with you, would have picked up a nasty habit sooner or later."

Billy scoffed, lighting a cigarette of his own. "That is one dumbass reason," he grumbled under his breath. "You know, Oogie was supposed to be my godfather! It's my parents who went to high school with him, not yours. It's not fair that you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum get him first."

"Hey, look at it this way. If Bob and Darla drop dead then you're on deck!"

"You're a freak," Billy chuckled softly. "But a pretty damn sexy one at that…"

Shock's half-smile faded. She suddenly glowered at him, taking several steps backward. "When hell freezes over…twice."

Billy shrugged again, accepting temporary defeat, and leaned back on the park bench. He took a drag off his cigarette.

"Look man, I gotta get going now," said Shock as she turned around and buttoned her pea coat. "Thanks for the pot. I'll see you later."

With that the little witch scampered off down the cobblestone road, heading fast for the Towers of Terror where she was allegedly supposed to pick up Barrel from his friend Crate's house.

Billy grinned, watching her go lustfully. "Someday she'll come around," he mumbled to himself. "One can only resist the charms of Billy Corpsechild for so long before collapsing at my feet and begging to be mine. Oh, yes. It won't be soon before long."

Meanwhile…

"Why do you keep bothering me about this, Mayor?"

"Because, Jack, I believe there's a very simple solution to all of your restlessness: settling down."

"Oh, don't put your spin on it, please. The only reason you want me to get married is because a long time ago I promised that you could be Best Man at my wedding."

"…Why is that so wrong?"

The two conversing Halloween Town officials sat in a small diner next to the Witches' Shop on Main Street. They occupied a booth next to the window which looked out past the central fountain and guillotine monument. Two steaming mugs of espresso sat in the center of the table, and the Mayor, looking somewhat discomfited, claimed the cup closest to him and stirred in two packets of Splenda. He took a sip, relishing its bold flavor, and then set it down and lifted his gaze towards the Pumpkin King across from him.

Jack sighed, doing his best to avoid the Mayor's pitying stare and brought his own cup of coffee to his lips. Although it was true that he hadn't courted anyone in over two years, he didn't understand why that was such a high priority on the Mayor's list of concerns (which was incredibly long, mind you). He was perfectly content being single for the time being. Besides, was it not a prerequisite for committing to a relationship that one be first satisfied with himself? That was the main aspect of personality overlooked by both of his parents, Jack believed. Neither of them had really found what they were looking for in themselves by the time they eloped – not to mention they were incredibly young; just out of high school – and for that they found no other solution to their augmenting conflicts than to divorce back in 1941. And Jack extracted from all of the childhood pain and confusion as a result of that event a valuable lesson: marriage is toxic.

Interrupting Jack's silent train of thought, the Mayor cleared his throat and resumed, "You know, this town is going to need a queen sooner or later."

Jack set his mug down, brow furrowed. "Says who?"

"Never mind."

"Will you just tell me what your problem is, already?"

The Mayor let out an exasperated sigh, intertwining his stubby fingers on top of his vinyl, plaid-colored placemat. "Jack, you're 28 years old," he said. "Haven't you…hey, wait, what about that Sally Finklestein?"

Jack blushed slightly and stared down at his espresso. "Okay, fine," he muttered. "Sally is pretty, but we're just good friends. Don't be jumping to any conclusions, like I know you're doing right now. I couldn't court Sally…"

"Well why the hell not?" exclaimed the Mayor, suddenly delighted.

"Because," Jack continued, nervously tracing the rim of his coffee mug with his skeletal finger. "I wouldn't want to put our friendship in jeopardy, and besides, she's too young. She just turned 22 last month. Remember what I said about finding yourself before committing to a relationship?"

The Mayor's face, having spun around to reveal its elated side, fell slightly. He was still grinning however, and he reached across the table in attempt to pat Jack on the shoulder (but alas, he was too short and Jack was too tall, even while sitting down).

If Jack had eyes he would have rolled them. "Plus, you know, the Doctor is weirdly protective of her. I feel like…oh dear."

"What, what is it?" the Mayor questioned, noticing Jack suddenly lay a hand to the side of his face as if to conceal his identity.

At that moment, a petite, scaly waitress approached their booth, sporting a black and orange apron with two menus tucked in the bottom left pocket. Her pouty, fish-like lips pursed gamely upon realizing that her customers were two acclaimed town officials.

"Well hello there Mister Mayor…Bone Daddy," she greeted them seductively in a vague Russian accent. "I'm Anastasia Finn and I will be your server today."

Jack nodded curtly, still averting his gaze, and the Mayor compensated for his companion's impolite behavior by shaking Anastasia's clammy, webbed hand.

"Good to see you, Anastasia," the cone man said pleasantly. "I see you're working morning shifts, now."

Smiling as if to affirm the keen observation, the Undersea Gal extracted the two menus from her apron pocket and placed them delicately in front of the Mayor and Jack. "Yep," she replied casually. "Though actually, I just got a job at Scarebucks down the road so I don't think I'll be here much longer. I'm not the type of person to want to work multiple jobs at once."

"I'd say that's wise. Don't want to get overworked."

"Hmm. Say…is he alright?" Anastasia gestured curiously to Jack, who now had his skull completely buried in his hands. He seemed to be trying his best to remain utterly still.

"Uh, yeah," the Mayor croaked nervously, casting the Pumpkin King an irritated glance (although Jack could not see this). "He's just…praying. He does this before every meal, best not to interrupt him."

"Ah, I see," said Anastasia, nodding slowly. "Well, I'll give you gentlemen a chance to look over the menu. I'll be back in five to take your order." She started for the opposite direction, though suddenly she whipped back around and placed something else on the table. "I almost forgot," she added almost reluctantly. "It's complimentary fortune cookie day. Come back tomorrow and we'll be giving out shoehorns…Enjoy your stay."

With that the waitress slinked off, and at last Jack uncovered his face. He groaned and took another sip of espresso, not bothering to succumb to the Mayor's obvious scowl. The fortune cookie randomly sitting in the center of the table caught his eye and he took it, proceeding to bounce it playfully up and down in his palm.

After a minute of silence the Mayor finally accused, "What was that all about?"

Jack still didn't return his gaze. "What was what about?"

"That – with the waitress. You were being incredibly rude, Jack. That's not like you at all."

Sighing through his nose, Jack continued to examine the fortune cookie, at last contending to break it ever so carefully. He unfurled the little piece of paper within, squinting harshly to read the black text. Though before he could do so, the Mayor snatched it up out of his fingers, placing it face-down on the saucer on which his coffee had been delivered.

"My God, Mayor," said Jack, sitting up straight. "You're so uptight today."

The Mayor said nothing but continued to stare displeasingly back at Jack.

At last Jack resigned. "Fine, you want to know? Anastasia has been the biggest, most unseemly flirt ever since the day I met her. It's almost disturbing, the way she regards our purely platonic relationship. And for some reason which is beyond me, she hasn't received any of my signals of disinterest. Either that or she just doesn't take 'no' for an answer. Okay?"

"Okay," grumbled the Mayor, accepting the compromise. "Have you ever actually gone on a date with this woman?"

"Heavens, no!" Jack replied, disgusted. He grabbed the little paper fortune back from the Mayor's saucer and began to unfold it once again. "Just speaking for myself, I don't fancy the harlot type."

Holding the fortune so close it was mere inches away from the bridge of his nose, Jack scrutinized the black text and then raised a curious eyebrow as to what it read. It was an old Ukrainian proverb:

"A tale that begins with a beet will end with the devil."

Confused though as well mildly entertained, Jack shook his head slightly and crumpled up the small piece of paper, tossing it in the waste bin to the side of their table.