Hi! I'm back with the second installment of What Becomes of Snow?. Really sorry it took so long, but I've been busy as heck and I have 3 stories going...2 on here, and a novel I'm trying to get back on track with. So--kill me if you like, but I don't think that's gonna help me update faster...really. (sweatdrops) I guess all you can do is try and be patient with me. SO! Without further ado...ta da! Chapter numero dos!

Disclaimer: Do I really need to say this? NO, I DO NOT OWN TEEN TITANS OR ANY OTHER COPYWRIGHTED WORKS THAT MAY SEEM TO BE AFFILIATED WITH THIS STORY. (ahem) Well, anyway, on with said story.


Chapter 2: Home Sweet Home?

Gar stepped out from the shabby cab into the muted sunlight, passing the expectant driver a 20 and grabbing his suitcase before he closed the door. The taxi sped off through the snow promptly, wheels making a thick, skidding crunch against the cold white material. Hefting his bag over one shoulder, Gar watched the small yellow car disappear in the distance, speeding through the long, lonely tunnel the thick forest made around the rural road. He turned, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of a stately manor in front of him, far up a valley between the mountains, and the huge, forbidding gate that stood between him and 'home'. A tall brick wall enclosed the mansion grounds, and appeared, from what he could see through the iron bars of the gate, to extend all the way around the valley. Gar whistled admiringly. Who had 'Angela's' dearly departed relative been, the Queen of England?

Shaking his head in awe, he stepped hesitantly up to the front gate. Wrapping frigid fingers around the bars, he shook the metal vigorously, and a crackling rattle filled the air, echoing around the mountainsides. Yup, it was locked. A speaker wired to the top of the bars made its presence known when a tinny, irritated voice emanated from it, making him jump.

"There is a call box, sir." the speaker sniffed. "It's by the lock. Next time, think before you disrupt the mistress, please."

Gar stared in amazement as the box talked down to him. Grinning, he decided to mess with the man who was apparently master of the security system.

"Yes sir," he replied in a snooty monotone, not unlike the speaker-man's. "I happen to be Miss Angela's lawyer, visiting on the terms of her inheritance money? I-I'm afraid the will did not mention Miss Angela at all, but a Miss Angelique--a long-lost cousin of the relative's. All the land is revoked and now belongs to Miss Ange-" the boy was cut off when the speaker again...spoke.

"Sir Garfield, you cannot fool me. Miss Angela relayed to me your approximate time of arrival, and besides, I do have a camera. Sir." the old man added complacently. A tubular security camera, mounted on the topmost bar of the gate, swiveled in his direction as if to prove the sarcastic old geezer correct. Gar scowled and stuck his tongue out, angry that the man had ruined his fun. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little respect for the man--he had bested him, the king of pranks, after all.

"Now, sir, that you've proved your point, could you please let me in? I'm freezing my butt off out here," Gar whined, shivering and rubbing his skinny arms to show the guy just how much he was suffering.

"Right away, sir," the speaker snapped, and the gates opened quickly and silently. "I will send a snowmobile down for you in a moment."

Gar beamed. A snowmobile ride!!! The man hadn't been lying, and soon the teenager could see a silver shape skidding down the snowy slopes. It slid to a stop in front of him, spraying a sparkling wave of snow over his head. It didn't feel quite as pretty as it looked, however. Spitting out slush and slapping the wet, cold mush off of him, he glared pointedly at the snowmobile driver. The guy shrugged and his helmet bobbed in Gar's direction, then towards the back of the seat. Gar got the point. Throwing his suitcase into the basket at the back, he plopped into the seat behind the strangely small, skinny guy and loosely linked his arms around the dude's black parka-clad stomach. Hey, he didn't want to fall off, but he didn't want to look...you know...either.

When the craft took off, the excited orphan jerked backwards, nearly falling off of the seat. Actually, he would have had it not been for his grasp on the driver, which became noticably tighter after takeoff. The snowmobilist laughed--a thin, scornful sound--and pushed down the throttle, taking Garfield on a wild, bumpy ride over snowdrifts and through icy trees, heading in a willy-nilly zigzagging pattern towards the manor's gilded front doors.

Upon finally reaching the stairway leading up to said doors, Gar was frozen, his 'loose grip' on the driver's stomach more like a drowning man's grip on a safety line. Shakily detaching his numb arms from around the guy's belly and hoping he didn't get sued for that level of physical contact, Gar let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The escaping air revealed itself as a frosty white cloud in front of his face, and he watched it for a bit before turning and heaving his miraculously still present suitcase out from the basket. If he thought it was going to continue to be helpful, though, he would have been sadly mistaken. The weight of the bag, added to his half-frozen state and dazed demeanor, completely freaked out his equilibrium. The poor, confused boy fell face first into a large hill of powder, and, after a moment of struggle, decided to relax and lie there a while. It wasn't...that cold, and he was exhausted. Besides...he couldn't move his legs.

Within what seemed like five short seconds, he felt a hand grip his arm with a cold and machinated assuredness. He was promptly hauled out of the drift, and the snowmobile driver grabbed Gar's suitcase effortlessly from it. The guy took off towards the steps, and Gar silently scurried after him, blinking blearily and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Inside the manor, Gar was greeted by a smooth, gray marble floor and high cathedral ceiling. An intricate Renaissance-style painting in warm reds and yellows adorned the circular walls and a glittering crystal chandelier hung at least twenty feet down from the arched ceiling, but was still at least twenty from the floor. This so amazed the boy that he didn't even notice when the black-clad driver dropped his suitcase to the floor with a muffled thump, or when the tall, thin woman in a lavender house robe swished into the room.

"Garfield!!! Honey, you're here!" the pretty hostess--undoubtedly Angela--crooned. At this he looked down, finally noticing something other than the ceiling. Angela's long black hair swayed gently from side to side as she walked along in soft-looking fuzzy slippers and grabbed the slushy teenager up into a bear hug.

"Oh, I just couldn't wait for you to get here! I had Jonesy at that camera screen all day, to make sure I knew when you came, and you were right on time! You did tip the cab driver, right? OH! Yes, dear, this is Jonesy!" Her mouth moved a mile a minute, making Gar's head spin, and when she released him and spun him around, he was face-to-face with a pompous, oily-looking old man in a black suit. Ah. So...this was Jonesy. This was the speaker-guy. His frozen head took a moment to piece this all together, but by the time he was finished, Angela was talking again.

"Darling, we're all so glad you could make it. By the way," she spun him around again, this time until he was facing the snowmobile guy. "This is my baby, Rae." Angela beamed. Gar was confused for a moment, but then extended his hand in greeting.

"Hi. I'm Garfield, but you can call me Gar." he grinned. The still-silent driver looked him over, then seemed to come to a decision. Pulling off his helmet, he shook out a head of shoulder-length black hair. Wait...what?

The snowmobile driver gave him a small, tight-lipped smile, and he saw her face for the first time. She was thin like her mother, with a heart-shaped facial stucture and a widow's peak that sent her hair into a jaunty 'M' shape and cast deep shadows across her face. What was most impressive, though, was her eyes. They stood out brilliantly from the shadows her hair made, shining a light, cold blue-gray--like snow. This was really the only feature he couldn't see a resemblance to Angela in. Finally she spoke, in short, clipped tones, and she sounded as cold and sarcastic as she looked.

"Hello, Garfield I'm Rachel. And don't call me Rae."


Well...yeah. So ends the 2nd chapter, and...the twist was revealed!!! Rachel is his new foster sister! Where will this lead? Please review, and find out in Chapter 3!!! Ciao, y'all!