A/N: This chapter is based on an instrumental. That means it's a song with no lyrics. So, technically, this is still a musical chapter. There's just no singing. Teehee. Bow down before my Vulcan logic!

SOUNDTRACK: "Frankenstein" by The Edgar Winter Group.


Tork's and Vert's cars were left in Dino's parking lot to be guarded for the night, and they went with Nona and Mikki to a place in Little Moscow called Pietro's Diner. The place was owned by a Romany family who came from the Carpathian Mountains above Transylvania. The Girdas were a family of Romani, commonly called Gypsies, who had traveled through Eastern Europe for years, collecting all the best recipes, but they came to America with another family as soon as they got the chance. They were a loving and supportive family, but their son Vlad had never much been accepted by anyone, and so he became a Goth. Soon after, at least, he had found friends in Mikki and a few others who shared his dark outlook on life.

Vlad Girda worked the graveyard shift at Pietro's Diner, and though he sometimes had a sour attitude, his cakes and pies were the sweetest in Little Moscow and everyone knew it.

The raven-haired, green eyed young man looked up at the door when he heard the little bell that signaled customers. His black chef's coat was slightly stained with chocolate.

"Welcome to Pietro's," he said without any accent. "What can I get for you?"

Nona was about to order, but Mikki rushed past her. "A strawberry milkshake and two baklavas, don't skip on the whipped cream, he'll have the same," he said, pointing at Vert. Vlad raised his eyebrow at the other blonde, but he shrugged, and started on everyone's orders.

What a night, Nolo thought. At least now he could wind down with a little midnight snack before he went back to the hotel and to bed. But a strange feeling came over him, tingling at the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him.

"I am here, my friend," an accented voice said from a booth. "You are tired and uncertain, yes? You are unsure of what happens around you, and you feel you are by yourself. Well, do not feel alone, my friend, for your love waits for you in Hollywood; she has not made it yet, but with your support she will go far."

The hair on the back of Nolo's neck stood on end as he turned around; sitting there in a booth was a dark-skinned young man with grey eyes and his long, light brown hair pulled into a pony tail at the base of his neck. A silver pentacle hung from the chain around his neck. He rose and handed the boy a business card that read "Rhythm of Life; Spiritual Guidance and Curiosities for sale."

"Come by my shop tomorrow, my friend, and we shall see what the spirits have to say, yes?"

A chill ran down Nolo's spine, but the feeling passed when he heard Nona laughing.

"I see you've met Grigori," she said. "He runs a coven of Wiccans and owns the fortune telling shop around the corner."

"Hallo, Nona, my dark beauty. As always, it is wonderful to be in your divine presence." He bowed deeply, and she smiled.

"What are you doing here anyway, Grigori? Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Ah, yes, but I sensed a shift in the force and so I knew I must be alert to my surroundings," he said. "Also, I am wanting pie. This is best place for pie, so I come here."

Taking a quick look around, he saw the Maniacs and the new faces. "I see I was right about a shift in the force. You have returned, Tork! It is great to see you. Get well soon."

"Who does this number?" Angie whispered to seemingly no one, and then a hint of recognition: "Oh, the Edgar Winter Group. Thank you, I couldn't remember that one…"

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Take your meds, Angie."

Angie shrugged and popped a pill, and they had no trouble from him that night, even though it was now closer to morning.

There were more greetings and introductions, and they were enjoying the food for a while, and the evening was finally coming to an end. The unfortunate ordeals of earlier were nearly forgotten, and they got a chance to relax.

The diner had been empty when they arrived, save for Grigori and Vlad, but that was why the Foundlings came there after the shows every Friday night. It was their sanctuary, the intercom always tuned to a classic rock station. Jimmy ended up in a booth close to the counter, sitting with Tork and Nona.

"So, that little encore you gave," Tork started. "You said you were the resident leader of the Lost and Found. What happened to Demitri?"

Jimmy's smile faded slightly. "He's in the hospital. He left me in charge until he's out."


"So you ended up a skater and a racer, too?" Vert asked. "Guess great minds do think alike."

"Yeah, I never really had a lot of friends. All the Goths hated me because I skated, and all the Skaters hated me because I dressed like a Goth. It sucked, but there was this guy from the orphanage, another Russian kid, and a Goth, too. Demitri didn't skate, but he thought it was cool that I didn't take that kinda crap from anybody and did my own thing. So I started hanging out with him and this really tall Russian chick named Anya, and these Romani guys, Vlad and Grigori."

Mikki pointed his thumb towards the counter at the two Rom in question, but Vert was confused.

"Romani? Like, from Romania?"

"No. Well, these two are, but Romani is the proper term for—" and here he whispered—"Gypsy. But they hate it when you say the G-word."

Vert nodded. "Okay, okay. But then, how did you get with Nona, Jimmy and Angie?"

"Oh! OH!! Let me tell the story! I wanna tell it!"

Mikki sighed as all eyes were on him, and sank slightly into the cushion of the booth. "Angie, are you sure you took your meds?"

Angie nodded vigorously, clearing his throat. "Long ago—around about 1998, I'd say—young Mikhail Ilyich Kalishnikova was in a group of Goth kids, the oldest of who were just old enough to start driving. Mikki was only thirteen, so he got left out of a lot of things."

"Please skip that part!!" Mikki shouted, and Angie nearly fell out of his chair.

"Aww, hush, man! I'm trying to tell a story here!" Though this statement did not make much sense, Angie collected himself and continued. "Me and the Mik-meister here were problem children and ended up at Barstow Sands under protective custody. We were roommates."

Nolo, Vert and Lani exchanged nervous glances. Here, Angie gave an innocent smile and laughed.

"We helped each other out and stayed sane together, if you could call this sanity, and became close friends. Once we got out, we'd sit around on weekends and he'd write poetry while I played the bongos. I'd been let back a grade, so I was a year older than my new friends, Jimmy and Nona, but they wanted to start a band, and, well, like minded individuals coming together and all that. They really dug some of the poems for songs, so I brought Mikki over, and he ended up our writer and our roadie.

"By then, I was seventeen and they were sixteen, and Boots talked his dad into giving us a chance, so we started playing at Dino's every Friday night. Also by then, Mikki's Goth buddies had formed into a street racing team called the Lost Boys, after some 1980s vampire movie. The first time the Lost Boys came to see the Foundlings in concert, Vlad insulted my drumming. Now, I don't care what people say about my drumming, as long as I actually get to drum, but Nona got all defensive and was this close to cracking Vlad's skull open."

"Good times," Vlad murmured, snickering, and handed a stack of pancakes to Monkey; it was three in the morning, but he wanted breakfast.

"I thought she was gonna kill him, but the leader of the Lost Boys stepped in. Demitri Ostrog is one cool dude, I tell ya; he took full responsibility for what Vlad said and offered Nona to win back her honor in a race. She had this monster of a beat-up '78 Pontiac Trans Am, still does, and Demitri has this perfectly polished black and crimson '79 Mustang GTO. Everyone thought for sure that Nona would get creamed, but—"

"She beat me by three lengths!" boomed a voice from the doorway. There stood the man himself, Demitri Ostrog, crazy smirk dancing on the edge of his eyes. A bandage circled his bruised forehead, and his arm was in a cast, but he let on absolutely no sign of discomfort or weakness. Right behind him, his beautiful but freakishly tall girlfriend ducked under the top of the doorway. She wore a tight leather halter top and black jeans tucked into white boots, her short blonde hair framing her stony blue eyes and high cheek bones. Anistasia Onoprienko was the youngest of the Onoprienko sisters; the two bouncers at Dino's were her older siblings.

"None of us knew that she had had all this excellent coaching from her cousin from L.A." he continued. "Not just in technique, but mechanics! The Trans Am only looked crappy 'cos she hadn't gotten a new coat of paint just yet. I gave her everything I had, and this new kid off the streets kicks my ass. It was freakin' hilarious. So, on a whim, we started hanging out together. All eight, the whole group. We taught the Foundlings mechanics and driving technique, and eventually we just combined the names of the two groups. The Lost Boys became the Lost and Found, and that was how we all got here."

Tork laughed and he and Demitri shook hands. "Dude, what happened to you? You look like forty miles of bad road."

"Oh, so they told you," he said sarcastically with an artificially sweet smile. "A bunch of drunken hicks in a Dodge Ram ran me off the road when I took Czarina for a spin. My poor little Harley's in Hog Heaven now."

Porkchop looked at him with sympathy. "Some people just have no regard for the safety of motorcyclists. Dammit, bikers are people, too!"

"I know!" he said, indignantly. "It's ridiculous!"

Monkey, meanwhile, was hiding behind Lani and hoping she wouldn't notice the icy stare from Anya he was trying to avoid. He decided to try and ignore the Russian in hopes that she would leave him alone. "So, why'd you leave St. Jimmy in charge?"

Demitri opened his mouth to speak, pointing his good hand towards the ceiling, but he stopped and looked confused. "I left Jimmy in charge? Wow, I must've hit my head pretty bad. He's terrible at making decisions!"

"I'm right here, you know…"

He ignored Jimmy. "Anya's always been next in the chain of command. I'm so sorry, honey."

"Apology accepted," she aid nonchalantly, and finally took her eyes off of Monkey, but not before Lani caught them. She'd definitely have to have a talk with Monkey when they got back to the hotel.

"Vlad," he said in a tone Vert remembered the Major using with his underlings, "A BLT, comrade, and a hot fudge sundae. Your Czar commands you."

Vlad smiled, taking a deep breath and sighing. "Yes, Sir. Great to have you back, Sir," he said, and with that, Demitri took up his command post once more.

The group hung out for maybe an hour, just eating, talking, laughing, and telling funny stories. Vert and Mikki made plans to go to a local skate park on Sunday afternoon. Lani acted like everything was okay, despite her growing suspicion of Monkey. But, finally, Angie fell asleep in a booth as the sun began to rise, and they knew they had to sleep sometime, so goodbyes were said, and they headed for the Circus.


A/N: OMG! Beware of moshpits! I am still in pain, and it's been a week since the concert. Irish punks are crazy violent...