Summary of Episode 2: Already, the monks are fighting with each other over god know's what, and Clay's become the referee. Deciding he's had enough, the dragon of earth departs from the temple for good; not like anyone noticed at first. He may not need them to live his life, but they do need him, particularly when the remaining monks stumble upon a mind-wiped Jack Spicer who gets them into more trouble than they bargained for. Now it's up to Clay to pick up after their huge mess—again. An episode about our favourite selfless cowboy who never got enough screen time.

A/N: I've decided I'm going to cut the episodes up a little more. Less content per chapter, but in my opinion way better than a month long wait period for a half episode. Enjoy

If there was one thing Clay Bailey wasn't a fan of, it was the winter. Sure, snow was fun to play in, the cold was very refreshing from the hot summers in China and the white snow made every day seem brighter; but he just didn't like that certain season.

Maybe it was because of where he came from; spending his whole life in the hot Texan desert did make a cold winter seem very unpleasant. Maybe it was due to the fact that the wintertime always called for a wardrobe change, and the dragon of earth didn't much enjoy having to go through his moth-ball infested trunk and dig up his smelly winter clothes. There was a good chance that he disliked the winter so much because he always seemed to catch some kind of cold, and being sick was very unpleasant when fighting evil.

That's what Clay kept telling himself as he shovelled snow out of the temple's courtyard. If he kept repeating it in his head, perhaps he would start to believe it himself. Patience was a virtue, he reminded himself over and over again, so he might as well get used to it.

Of course, it wasn't that considerate of his fellow monks to leave the job to him alone, that he was sure of. Especially now with Ping Pong around, the new set of hands should at least be around to get the chores done.

The little monk had adjusted a lot quicker than anyone had expected. Of course he still had his little quirks that were getting on everyone's nerves only days after him being accepted in. Sometimes the things he would say wouldn't make sense, not in Omi's way of misusing words, more like they were incomprehensible to meaning. Or other times, he would stop you midsentence to define a random word you've just said. And he seemed very familiar with the idea of chores, and, believe it or not, almost appeared to like to do them. Then they would finish and go and do something fun, and he would act like the entire idea was befuddling to him. He was just like Omi, but… different in his own ways. There had to be some sort of connection between them, of which the monks at the temple had yet to pinpoint besides the uncanny resemblance.

Master Fung, after taking a good look at the boy, could almost immediately determine that he did indeed have some kind of magical ability like the dragons themselves. So far, all he knew was Sun Strike, a weird baseball like move that allowed him to harness the sun's power in like a laser type thing, and Ozone Shield, which was pretty much self-explanatory. If Ping Pong did have some kind of specialized ability, there wasn't really so much indication of what kind it was just yet.

Clay was surprised that Ping Pong wasn't there helping, he would usually enjoy this type of thing. Glancing down at the seemingly endless stretch of yet to be cleared snow, Clay can only hang his head and keep working.

Patience, he reminded himself, was a virtue.

XxXxXxXxX

Shedding his jacket at the door of the meditation hall, Clay's job was only half done for the day. He was as cold as a block of ice, but that frozen jacket wasn't going to keep him warm now. It would probably be best for him to leave behind his wet boots as well, but for where he was going he was still going to need them.

Flying down the stairs of the vault, Clay stops right at the same drawer he does almost every afternoon: The Golden Tiger Claws. With any other Shen Gong Wu there was a strict rule about not touching them. But after weeks of having to go through this same process every day, Master Fung had almost given him a free pass on their usage. At least one dragon was trusted with them.

"Golden Tiger Claws," Clay mumbles, slashing a hole in the air. Of course, he wasn't all that sure where to go, so it was always up to him to start guessing. But if he had heard right, Raimundo had said something about a beach. Jumping into the portal, he could only hope he would find the dragon of wind on the other side.

Wherever the dragon of earth reappeared, it had to be almost three in the morning. It was late, well past a natural born cowboy's bedtime, but the party was still going strong. The waves roughly lapping up and down the beach stood out as the quietest thing about the entire ordeal. People were yelling, chatting, and just plain screeching as they ran up and down the shore trying to avoid the water in some kind of game.

A girl off to his right shrieked as someone poured a substance down her shirt, although Clay could barely make out her outline in the dark, maybe it wasn't a girl at all. The only light source at all was a massive bonfire near the center, the people surrounding it casting odd shadows along the sand.

It was an odd place for a party, the music was almost incomprehensible to boot. No dancing, not even any light; this was definitely not a typical western hoedown that he would have enjoyed. Best to get in and out as soon as possible, problem was, how was he supposed to find Raimundo in the dark?

Muttering something or other about irresponsibility, Clay weaves through the crowd towards the fire. His hands were frozen to the bone, and although the jeers and hoots from the groupies were annoying he could really use some heat in his fingers.

And that's when he saw him, sitting around the fire surrounded by a bunch of girls. Back in that stupid white hoody of his, a pair of white framed Ray Bans on; although it was the dead of night. One of them was clinging onto his shirt, whispering in his ear. He laughs and then they all laugh, and at that point Clay decided it was the best time to take Rai home.

Grabbing the hood of his friend's sweater, he begins to drag him through the sand. They needed to find an open enough space to use the Golden Tiger Claws without delusional partygoers falling in.

"Hey!" Raimundo tries to yank his hoodie out of Clay's hands, but it's no struggle of strength between the two. Glancing over his shoulder to see who this powerhouse must be, the Shoku warrior immediately gave up the struggle after recognizing the cowboy hat. "Clay? Dude, what are you doing?" He moans, digging his heels into the sand to try and stop himself. Even with both legs good and healthy again, he was no match for his stronger counterpart.

"You lost your watch or somin', Rai?"

Raimundo's expression jumps from surprised to confused to peeved in three seconds flat. "What? No…"

Finally letting go, Clay dumps his friend in the sand. "Then why don't you explain what you've been doin' here all night. You missed another Shen Gong Wu."

Raimundo blinks once, but otherwise shows no expression. "Did you get it?"

"Of course we got it!" He kicks the sand, turning his back on the dragon of wind, his voice dropping. "I just wish you and Kimiko would work things out rather than havin' me drag your sorry behinds home every night."

"Me and Kimiko aren't fighting, dude. She does what she does with her time, I'll do what I do with mine."

"Seems more like a contest to me."

"It is not!" Raimundo gets to his feet, the sand falling away from his green jeans. Why he even bothered to go back to his old look when he went out was beyond Clay.

Opening up another rift with The Golden Tiger Claws, the Texan can't help but sigh. This routine was starting to get tedious, even for a patient guy like him. "Just get in, we've got to go find Kimiko." He says, leaping into the portal and out into another dark party scene.

XxXxXxXxX

"What's with the sunglasses anyway? You look ridiculous!"

"I could say the same about your blue hair, you look like a clown!"

"It's called style!"

"You looked like you curled your hair with the Iro Iris every morning!"

"At least I try and look presentable when I go out! It's called a comb, invest in one!"

"I can do well enough without you trying to change everything about me!"

"It was your idea! You got a new look and I agreed to stop dying my hair, or has your pea brain forgotten that too?!"

"Block it out, Clay." He cowboy huffs, humming to himself to drown out the screaming match coming from inside the vault. As soon as they had picked up Kimiko and morphed to the vault to put the Claws away, it began again. At least this was the first time in a while he hadn't been dragged in to play referee. Almost at the exit of meditation hall (Although it should be renamed the yelling room after what it goes through every day), he's hoping he can make a quick and quite escape in time for lunch.

Grabbing his slightly damp coat from the floor, he zips it up right to his chin. He didn't have time to worry over Raimundo and Kimiko both having to brave the freezing weather in short sleeves, getting caught in the crossfire was way worse.

Clay's about to rush out the door when he notices them out in the courtyard, bickering like kids, although in technical terms they still were. Ping Pong, as he now asked to be referred as, trudging his way across the courtyard in an oversized pair of red goulashes. Lower lip jutting out in determination, gloved hands clenching onto his jacket as he walked. Every couple steps his green glasses seemed to fog up and he would have to rub away the premature frost with the hem of his hat, which kept up the constant battle of falling over his eyes. He looked like he was trying to walk quickly, but with the small steps her was taking it was hard to tell.

Then there was Omi, for once in his life looking big when compared to his companion. An almost overly cheerful smile plastered on his face, a game box hefted between his arms. He looked like a blur, jumping back and forth in front of Ping Pong, waving the game box in front of his own face. It had been like this for days now, Omi's constant pestering to play games, Ping Pong constantly denying him that much.

On one hand, Clay could barely blame the dragon of water for wanting to spend time with the new monk. For once in his life, even if it wasn't true, it appeared like Omi had some kind of actual family. He wanted that bond, and unfortunately for him, Ping Pong was not so eager. The new monk liked hard work, he liked reading and most of all he liked silence. And lately, Omi hadn't shared any of those qualities.

"For the last time," Ping Pong growled through clenched teeth, although Clay could hear him from across the distance of the courtyard. "I DO NOT want to play CHECKERS!" He keeps up his even pace, but it's easy to tell that he wanted to hit something. Or someone.

"But this board is one square larger in diameter!" Omi argues, pointing at the cover of the box like that would make the game more appealing. "Imagine all the more fun it would be!"

Shaking with cold, or maybe it was rage—it was hard to tell from so far away—Ping Pong stops his march. "I would just like to spend some time in the peace and quiet, if you do not mind." He says surprisingly calmly considering the expression on his face.

"Ah, yes." Omi nods, stopping as well. He holds down the box, and for once his head can be seen clearly. "But first, maybe just one game?" The checkers are back in Ping Pong's face, which now seems to be turning an unhealthy shade of red.

Footsteps coming up the vault stairs, the sound of their voices echoing into the meditation hall.

"You're being a jerk, you know that?!"

"Well excuse me, but you're the one who kissed me!"

"I told you already, Rai, I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT IT!"

Now was the time to get the heck out of there. Clay discreetly descends the steps, careful not to draw any attention to himself from the two boys out in the yard. The voices grow louder behind him, pushing him to move. How could it be that life at the temple has gotten to the point where he has to take precautions to avoid the other monks?

"But it'll be fun!"

"You have proven that it will be otherwise!"

He scrambles back towards the side of the building, trying to keep out of view. Just keep walking…

"You're so damn moody all the time!"

"Fine, it was a huge mistake! Happy now, Rai?!"

Scoot away from the building as far as possible, got to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Banshee.

"Clay, can you please communicate to Omi that I DO NOT WANT TO PLAY CHECKERS!" Ping Pong yells, his eyes making direct eye contact with the dragon of earth and refusing to let go.

"Clay, can you know you can't leave me alone with him!" Kimiko shrieks, pointing in Raimundo's direction, but she's locked onto the poor cowboy in a death stare that would burn holes in his jacket.

"PLEEEAASSEE! This game will be just as riveting as the last!"

"You say that after every game!"

A pounding headache was beginning to develop.

"Well you're no joy to be around either, Miss congeniality!"

"Right back at you, Mr. amiable!"

The dragon of earth takes a step back, fingers crossed none of them will notice. They notice.

"Clay, back me up here!" Raimundo demands, clenching his fists like he was preparing to jump into a fight. If things went the way they usually did, he eventually would.

"Clay, can I have some assistance please?" Omi asks merrily, although there is an underlying tone of frustration in his voice.

Yelling, more yelling, more yelling, more yelling. How the heck did it ever get this way? Everyone worked together so well before, and now look where it's gone. The fault is equally divided, even if they don't see it. How has the dependency of holding the team together suddenly been given to him to handle alone?

The yelling melted down into one harmonious scream. And it wasn't going to stop.

This wasn't worth it anymore. Four monks were more than plenty, after all. Ping Pong could take his place no sweat. "I'm going home," He says in an even tone, although everyone is being too loud to hear him; too busy with their own personal battles.

Turning around, Clay heads in the direction of the common room building. "And I ain't comin' back."