Disclaimer: The Kids Next Door does not belong to me. I do not own any stake in the Kids Next Door franchise. I do not own any of the characters that appear in the Kids Next Door television show. I do not make any money off this story. Any other non-canon characters, however, are mine.

Additional Disclaimer: If, for any reason, I should mention anything else that does not belong to me (for instance: songs, television shows, internet webpages, other franchise/brand names, etc.) I shall have you know that I hereby disclaim any ownership of said things. I do not make any money off of those things. I also do not condone anything criminal or unlawful.

= = = More experimenting! Hopefully, amidst all this half-assery, I have come up with something good. = = =

Fanny lay on the bed in the stateroom and stared at her left hand. There was a faint band of skin around her ring finger that was slightly lighter colored than the rest of her skin. It wasn't very noticeable, but Fanny knew about it and so to her it was as obvious as day was to night. She knew Rachel noticed it as well. Rachel knew everything. She had to. She was down on the list as the maid of honor. But when the war came up and the Mad Monday crew was drafted into service, Fanny simply dropped everything to do her part and Rachel had accepted her and not said another word on the matter.

It irked Fanny to no end.

Of course, Fanny had no idea whatsoever of what Rachel thought about her engagement. She seemed happy for her. She had always seemed supportive enough and she didn't say a word against the whole thing, but she didn't exactly express any remorse over the break up when it happened.

Wait. That was wrong. Fanny dropped her hand in favor of frowning at the ceiling. There was something she said, before the relationship turned serious, that Fanny had put the back of her mind.

"Are you sure about him," Rachel had asked. They stood at the bow of the Mad Monday. "He's rather old school."

"He's just being protective of me," Fanny had said. "He's being a gentleman. He was brought up that way."

"There is a difference between chivalry and chauvinism," Rachel said. Fanny turned and walked away and the two of them didn't speak again until the end of the voyage. And it was Rachel who broke the silence and apologized.

It seemed that was the end of it. Fanny thought and thought and thought some more and realized that Rachel was right. She was right about everything. The proof was that Fanny was on the ship right now. The proof was in the missing ring. The proof was in the letter that she had written Thaddeus.

Fanny knew that Rachel knew that too. And yet she didn't gloat or try to rub it in. She didn't say anything about him; Thaddeus had become a rather taboo subject between them.

A hamster crawled up onto Fanny's stomach. She watched it as it curled up over her navel and went to sleep. Fanny suspected that they used the vents to crawl around, but she didn't think it worthwhile to go around blocking them off. They were there for a reason.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? She loved Thaddeus. Or Thad. That was what he was to her while they were engaged. He was smooth, charming and very classy. He was the kind of man who stuck out his pinky while he drank tea and he knew exactly why it was done that way. And while Fanny would have liked gifts of the odd plushie toy or a new camogie stick, she had gotten books written by Sarah Stickney Ellis.

At first they were wonderful. The books had whole passages dedicated to describing the superiority of women. But then they were only superior in morality. And then they had to keep men in line. It admitted that while women could be smart, they were still inferior to men. And so they must concede power to their fathers, husbands and brothers. Such a woman who did all that was perfect. And of course women were that kind of perfect all the time.

Fanny had thrown the books away in horror. Screw that. Screw being 'perfect.'

Oh, Thad, Fanny had thought. A sharp pain had settled in her chest. Is that what you want?

If it was, then he would have to find it somewhere else. Fanny would never fit the outline in Ellis' books. She was much too willful. Too wild. And Fanny liked herself that way.

Fanny blinked. The door opened and Rachel stepped in.

"There you are," she said. Then she peered closer. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. What is it?"

Rachel frowned, but didn't press. "Abby's spotted a ship. A galleon. We're going to take it down."

= = = If you don't want to take Fanny's (or my) word for it, then you can read some of Ellis' work here for yourself: http (colon) /webapp1 (dot) dlib (dot) Indiana (dot) edu/vwwp/view?docId=VAB7198

Nigel stood at the window of the stateroom, holding his beanie in his hands. His p-coat was draped over the chair of his desk behind him. It was a beautiful day. It was very quiet, even with Lance messing around at the communications terminal behind him. It reminded him of this past winter. He remembered when one of those days had found him on the couch, in sweatpants and a comfy sweater, with a blanket tucked around him. His pet hen, Miss Tenders, had slept next to him. She slept often.

Their peace was shattered by Lizzie, who stomped into the room, snatched the TV remote from Nigel and said, "Nigie! Nigie, we are out of ice cream!"

Miss Tenders squawked and flopped onto the floor, a flurry of feathers. She flapped her wings and ran out of the room. Nigel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lizzie," he had said. "It's winter. It's around 50 degrees out. There is snow on the ground. Why would you want ice cream?"

"Please," Lizzie begged. She pushed her bottom lip forward in a pout. "Please, Nigie?"

"Do you want to go together?"

"Oh no," Lizzie said. "You go."

Nigel sighed again and got up. "Alright."

He pulled on his coat, scarf and boots and went out. As soon as he stepped out, snow whipped him in the face. He fumbled with the keys and get into the car.

The store was empty. There was a pimply teenager mopping the isles. A middle aged woman stood behind the checkout counter and smacked gum as she watched a soap opera on a mini television set.

"Ice cream," Nigel went to the frozen food section. Which ice cream did Lizzie want? Whatever it was, it had to be sugar free. She was rather self conscious about what she put into her body nowadays. It's didn't seem to help anything, and Nigel just assumed it was some kind of placebo effect or something like that.

"Nigel?"

Nigel looked and saw Rachel. She was dressed very warmly and the frost on her jacket hadn't melted yet. Her nose was red from the cold.

"Rachel."

"What are you doing here? There's a blizzard going on outside."

"Lizzie wants some ice cream."

Rachel stared. "But it's cold."

"Exactly. What are you out here for?"

"Firewood," Rachel raised a wrapped log. "It's the kind that burns in all sorts of colors."

"That sounds pretty cool."

"Where is your hat?"

"…Hat?"

"Oh my gosh," Rachel whispered. She grabbed Nigel's sleeve and set off through the store like that. "You are going to die of cold."

Nigel chuckled and let her pull him through the store. There was a clothes rack in the skin care aisle. Rachel let go of Nigel and dropped the firewood. Then she took a beanie off the rack and pulled it over Nigel's head and over his ears. It was very snug and Rachel's hands lingered over Nigel's temples.

"You look good in a hat," she said.

"Yeah?" Nigel mumbled. They were very close.

"Yeah," Rachel pulled away and picked the firewood back up. "Here," she shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill, which she pressed into Nigel's palm. "It'll be my treat…"

Nigel's fingers curled around Rachel's hand and she trailed off.

"Thank you," he said. Rachel's eyes flickered up to his and Nigel saw…a lot of things in them. It was strange. He had never been looked at like that before.

"See you later, Nigel," Rachel turned and disappeared around the corner. Nigel found that he had wanted to go after her.

Nigel turned the beanie around his hands and stared out at the calm ocean. What the hell was he doing with his life? What did he plan to do when he caught up with her? What did he plan to say? A whole lot of nothing, that's what. Perhaps also a whole of something that would have been inappropriate. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He should have gone after her.

Lance sat at the communications desk in Nigel's stateroom. His cane leaned against his knee.

"Take a look at this, sir," he said. Nigel's grunt was barely heard from his place at the window. "We have a bounty on our heads. We're wanted alive."

"Uh huh."

Lance frowned. "Miss Devine sent you a message."

"Oh," Nigel finally snapped out of his stupor. "Where is it?"

"Here, sir," Lance tapped a little icon on the computer screen. He took his cane and eased up. "I'll be on the deck if you need me."

"Thank you, Lance," Nigel looked at the screen, then froze. "No!" He bellowed. "Not Miss Tenders! Not Miss Tenders! You leave her alone!"

"Time to go," Lance limped out the door and made his way up the stairs. He bumped into young Paddy Fulbright, who looked as if ready to smash something to bits. "Uh…Mister Fulbright?"

"Yes, sir," Paddy said. "Drilovsky told me t'get you. You're needed on deck."

"What is it?" Lance let the young man lead him up onto the deck and frowned when Paddy slowed down to match his pace.

"Lee spotted a man overboard. We pulled him up," Paddy pointed to a crowd of boys on the deck. Hoagie pushed boys apart to get through.

"Aren't you glad we saved someone, Mister Fulbright," Lance asked.

Paddy looked away and said nothing. Lance sighed.

"Very well. Let's see what we've got."

Paddy pushed through the crowd a little bit more roughly than was necessary, but Lance overlooked it and followed him in.

"Get back," Hoagie shouted. "Give the man some air!"

Lance finally broke through to see the saved person. He was drenched. His orange hair was matted against his head and around his neck there was a cravat. He also wore a double-breasted vest, a linen shirt and trousers.

"Lance," Patton clapped him on the shoulder and the corners of his mouth twitched uncontrollably. "It's about time you showed up."

"What is going on?" Lance whispered. Patton snickered and cleared his throat. "Did he fall off a costume cruise? Like a convention or something? He's dressed like he's straight out of the 19th century."

"Hell if I know," Patton turned away from the poor man and grinned. "He was just floating all on his lonesome when we found him. On a door."

Lance took Patton's arm and led him out of the crowd. "What are we going to do? This isn't a cruise, Patton; this is a warship. He didn't sign up to go to war. It's not fair to keep him with us."

"So what do you want to do, take him back to Springsthesia? We could lose precious time! What if he's Autumnopolis?"

The two of them looked back at the crowd, who burst into cheers. The man must have woken up.

"Maybe he can fight," Lance suggested. Patton snickered. "Patton…"

"Okay sorry. Geeze. I just can't take that dandy seriously, okay?" Patton shrugged. "I mean, did you even look at him?"

"Yes. Anyone would look pitiful if they were half drowned," Lance paused as Patton grimaced.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Hmm," Lance shrugged and turned back to the crowd. "Well, might as well ask what's happened to him. He might surprise us." The two of them made their way back to find the stranger sitting up with a blanket draped around his shoulders.

"What's your name," Lance asked. The stranger's teeth chattered.

"Thaddeus," he said. "Thaddeus Payne."

"Very well, Mister Payne," Lance looked around. "Paddy?"

"Uhm sir," Lee gave him a slight elbow nudge. "He doesn't want to have anything to do with this guy."

"He said that?" Lance turned away so that Thaddeus wouldn't hear them.

"Not exactly. He said…uh…I'm pretty sure he's not going anywhere near this guy."

"Okay, fine," Lance frowned. "I guess I can make sure he's settled in myself." He turned back to Thaddeus. "Shall we get you some dry clothes?"

"Please," he sniffled and got to his feet.

= = = I hope Lizzie hasn't done anything horrible to Miss Tenders. = = =

Thaddeus came back out of the bathrooms with a fresh pair of trousers and a linen shirt. Lance nodded and led him down to the hammocks.

"What brings you out to the open seas at this time, Mister Payne," Lance asked. "There's a war, you know."

"I was looking for my fiancé," Thaddeus said.

"What happened to her?"

"Cold feet, I suppose. Woke up one day and she was gone."

"I'm sorry about that."

"It's nothing. She just needs some…persuasion to come back."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I mean, don't get me wrong; she's rather stubborn, but she'll see it my way in the end."

"Hmm," Lance chose not to say anything about that. Instead he said, "You think she's out at sea?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. This is a warship, Mister Payne. Can you fight?"

"I had formal fencing lessons."

Lance stared. "…Is…is that all?"

"Yes."

Lance sighed. "We'll drop you back in Springsthesia next week."

"No," Thaddeus' eyes widened and he took a step towards Lance. "Don't do that! Please don't. If I stay on this ship, I'll find my fiancé again. I can feel it. Please let me stay!"

"Eeh," Lance raised his cane to keep Thaddeus at bay. "I'll ask the Captain."

= = = Better ask him while he's distracted about Miss Tenders, Lance. = = =

Now you know who Thaddeus Payne is. He's a pain in the ass (lawl). This chapter would have been up earlier, but I got lazy and opened up Photoshop and put together a sketchdump. And then it was twelve midnight and this chapter was only 1000 words long. So I had to work on it. I hope you enjoyed it.

Damn, I could go for a chicken sandwich right now…

– Arty

Glossary:

Sarah Stickney Ellis: A Victorian age writer who wrote about the role of women in society. Everything she wrote about women is a backhanded compliment. This woman could not die fast enough, IMHO.

Galleon: Galleons are also known as merchant ships, or trading ships. They are quicker than Frigates and slightly smaller. Galleons that were outfitted for piracy could have around 60+ guns and could be crewed by 145 men. The Sweet Revenge and The Root Canal (captained by Stickybeard and Black John Licorice, respectively) are galleons…I think.