The Misty Fire

by Punk19

With Master Vile taking over the Americas, Angel and her children, who's numbers have recently been boosted by the adoption of Guyunis, are forced to reside in a different country. Will they be left alone to live a normal life or will the ghosts of their kin bother them again?

21. Chapter 21

To say that the time spent walking to the araa, where the female MoHund went baying and loping towards, was easy for her was like saying that her legs hadn't fallen asleep during the near three hours that she had spent in the sidesaddle, that she put on the mare that her brother had let her borrow for the evening. Due to her legs being so asleep, she had very nearly had to grab a-hold of her stepfather's arm to keep from falling down after he helped her from Lillaaz—he probably would of let her to use him as a balance until she gained better control of her legs, come to think of it.

While the act of walking around, regaining the feeling and the physical use of her legs, was difficult the task of going down the hill, that she had just reached the top of, was even more so. She came close to falling, twice; she stumbled once; then she was forced to stop and then stand in place for all of two minutes before going on. Her older, half-brother had offered to help her down the rest of the hill when he reached her side and her stepfather had offered to carry her the distance between the hill and where the lights were; she had politely turned them two offers down. Tazir, Kuruk, and her stepfather hadn't just sat in their saddles all the while they were riding to their present location; along with using their legs to pump their horses along, after the MoHunds started to out-distance them, they had also stood up in their stirrup irons when they had to pull their horses to a sudden stop because of some obstacle that was in their path that they couldn't leap over safety. Because of her saddle—her nicely polished sidesaddle, that she purchased for herself some fifty years ago, after the old one broke down on her—she hadn't used her legs much. She had mostly used her hands and her voice to spur Lillaaz on. She had refused to use the riding crop, that was still stuffed in her ankle boot; she had known all along that Lillaaz was putting all that she had into keeping up with the other horses.

Although she had learned how to use a traditional English saddle, and although she had such a saddle in her small collection of riding equipment, she had decided, just for the hell of it, to grab the sidesaddle from its rack in the tack closet, that was near the stalls, that were in the lower decks of her brother's ship. She had received a lot of teasing after walking out of her brother's ship with that saddle in her arms; mostly, it was just her stepfather and Amadh that teased her about her choice in saddles but, earlier that evening, she had to contend with being teased by her stepfather and her two older brothers. After seeing the saddle, they started saying how numb or how uncomfortable their seats were; they had also said how "pained" their groins were too. She had taken the teasing well.

Her father was the one responsible for teaching her how to ride a horse. The needs of a horse were taught first, then the proper way of riding a horse, who has a traditional English saddle on its back, was taught to her; after them lesson were done in being taught to her, he took her to the side then said that she was going to learn how to use a "woman's" saddle next. She remembered saying okay daddy and she also remembered them going on with the rest of their day afterwards. The next two weeks consisted of her learning how to properly tack up and then ride a horse that had a sidesaddle on its back. Her father, despite being a rather serious man when it came time to teach and train his young in how to do certain things, had joked all throughout the lessons. While she was taught slowly, and while her father gave her plenty of time to adjust to the switch in saddles, and while he was understanding towards her for her mistakes, he was particularly hard with her brother. Her father was very mean and cruel and somewhat heartless with Tazir whenever he was on the back of a horse. She remembered seeing her father strike at Tazir; she had heard him yell, and use horrible language, and call her brother names, and she had also witnessed him beating Tazir for something that he didn't do right when he was riding the horse that he was thrown on. For most of her childhood, and for the early part of her teenage years, she had seen her older brother get beat and abused by their father; her mother, in comparison to her father, had always been nurturing and loving and understanding towards her and Tazir.

Whether the men in her group were sympathetic towards her, or were facing their own walking demons, she didn't know but, after going around half the distance between the hill and the area where the bright lights were, they teleported—she followed by example in doing the same as they. The first thing that they saw, after their teleportation was complete, was a white board fence—along with going all around the area, it was quite sturdy. They went over it the second they saw it; while everyone else had a smooth trip over the fence, Tazir had a small issue—the tail of his burgundy tuxedo jacket got caught on the board that he had just jumped over. He took care of that issue by throwing his arm back. It was mutually decided that they'd split up after they reached the fair that the fence surrounded.

Her stepfather had claimed the front of the fair, along with the parking lot, while her older, half-brother had said that he was just going to follow his feet. Zshon went off to check the section of the fair where some the food vending booths and stands were while his father went off to the far back of the fair; Tazir started searching through the tents where the music was playing. She had decided to head off to the center of the fair, where she thought there'd be less human traffic. She had also had a feeling that that part of the fair was where the game vendors were. She had only just started searching her picked area when she saw the backside of her brother's secondborn son—Hazaar.

At first glance, her young nephew looked fine then, when he moved, she noticed that he wasn't putting much of his weight on his left leg. She was just telling Tazir about her finding one of his sons when she saw that Hazaar was holding, and using, a gun. She must of blacked out for a few seconds because she couldn't remember what happened between her speaking to her brother about seeing Hazaar and her seeing Hazaar using a gun. She and Tazir had seen plenty of their father's guns in their youth. Their father had cleaned his guns sometimes in front of them and, sometimes, they had even walked in on him when he was in the room that all of his hunting equipment was stored in. Their father had let them watch him clean his guns whenever they came upon him when he had them out but he had made it known pretty loud and clear that, if either of them so much as placed a finger on one of his precious guns, they'd be getting a good, red, and raw bottom-end. Neither she nor her brother had touched one of their father's guns and, in fact, Tazir was a full-grown man when he picked up his first gun. He taught himself on how to clean and use a gun and he had also taught himself on how to wait patiently for some prey animal to wander into the area where he was waiting. He was very confident with a gun and his aim was really good.

After seeing that Hazaar had a gun in his hand, she came close to freezing in fear—her young nephew was no more than a mid-teenage boy and yet, here he was, playing with a gun that could well hurt him. Only when she heard her brother's yell come through her communicator had she become unfroze; she had missed seeing the human, that was manning the booth, giving Hazaar a cup that had some type of small animal in it and she had also missed the human throwing a stuffed toy and two ceramic ornaments at Hazaar. She gave Tazir her coordinates then she said that she was going to follow his son. He came back as saying that that was fine then, after he asked if Hazaar was limping or not and, after she replied by saying that he was, he said for her to not do anything that'd cause a panic in his son's location. She gave him her word that she'd stay in the shadows, and that she'd do nothing to harm his son, then she started to follow Hazaar from a safe distance.

"His limp's gotten worse," she thought as she followed Hazaar around a game booth, then down a long, concrete walkway. "It's been nearly a month since Olok and Ulok saw him and Lazeer in China and it's been nearly a month since he was heard complaining about his leg—whatever injury he received to his leg should of healed up by now."

He was six yards in front of her. He hadn't turned to see if he was being followed or not, which she was glad for—she really wasn't sticking to her promise of staying in the shadows. She was pretty much out and in the open. The area's present humans could see her, which meant that, if her young nephew turned around at any time—and for any reason—, he'd be able to see her too. She quickly studied her young nephew to see if he had any other ailments, or injuries, to him that she and her brother didn't know about. He didn't look any different body-wise but, since she was so far away from him, she couldn't really tell if his weight was good or if he had dropped weight or if he had any other injuries to him. Really, the only thing different about him was his hair. His deep purple rattail was mostly four and a half inches long except for one strand, which looked to be seven inches long. His rattail was, surprisingly, nicely combed and it looked healthy.

As she followed her young nephew, she was suddenly reminded of the short conversation that her older, half-brother had with her stepfather—it was strange that such a conversation would come up at that moment in time but it did and she was treated to remembering it in its entirety.

"Mr. Ubalki, if I may, what's the purpose of you chewing that junk?" KurukVile, she remembered, had asked after he caught up with the rest of the group. Her stepfather, Cheshire Keueitt Ubalki, moved the wad of chewing snuff around in his mouth before answering the question.

"Same reason why some people smoke, I suppose." he replied. There was a moment of silence between the two men before her stepfather said more. "I've had a hard run this evening; the chew is being used as nothing more than a stress dropper."

"You know that stuff makes the probability of mouth, throat, and jaw-related cancers grow, right?" KurukVile asked. He made a face a second later, when her stepfather turned his head to spit a green glob of the stuff that was in his mouth out.

"Yes, I'm aware of that." her stepfather replied.

She came close to needing to clamp her hand over her mouth—remembering that conversation had made her come close to laughing, which she didn't want to do right now. That conversation, along with the one that followed it, was hilarious—the looks, that Kuruk gave her stepfather after he spat a wad of his chewing snuff out, was most of what she viewed as hilarious, while the conversation shared between the two was also hilarious. Except for them two, everyone was in their own little world and was pretty much absorbed in their own thoughts—Kuruk had never really opened up to her stepfather; they treated each other like strangers, even though they knew who the other was and even though they had spent some time together in the same residence come time for the holidays or special events like Family Week or when Angel gave birth to her children.

Her stepfather was an avid chewer of his snuff; he preferred to chew rather than pick up a regular smoke, although he did smoke from time to time when he was really stressed out or when a special occasion was going on. According to her mother, Cheshire Keueitt Ubalki started chewing snuff almost immediately after he took a ten-year leave from teaching at Afaab High School, where he worked at so many thousands of years ago. Her stepfather had gone and purchased a hundred acres of land on Zeta Ren, his planet of birth, and he had taken that leave to plant half of it and mine the rest—according to her mother, the man mined the unplanted acres of land while waiting for the crops to mature enough to grow and then sell. His family had climbed all up his back about his purchasing that land and they had also been all over his back about his taking a ten-year leave of teaching to become a farmer and a miner—while they were okay with his becoming a farmer, they weren't okay with him being a miner; they demanded that he put all of what he took from the family vaults back and then sell what he purchased with that money and then return to teaching.

He became a millionaire almost overnight after discovering large collections of oil on ten of his fifty unplanted acres of land. Cheshire had told her himself that he paid his family back right after that discovery was made—with all the crap that they gave him over his wanting to do his dream, he washed his hands of nearly all of them afterwards. Clerabia, his older sister, was the only one that he heard from—they received mail from her almost once a week. He was disowned by his parents; he hadn't spoken with his younger brother in a long time now.

Her stepfather had pretty much been assured rich for life a year after his oil discovery—he discovered that some of the mines under his first one hundred acres of land had Gold Glass in them. Gold Glass was considered the Universe's most valuable and fashionable natural grown substance—it was also pretty rare. Most of the mines where Gold Glass was harvested from went dry very quick—the ten acres that the mines that had Gold Glass in them were still putting out ample amounts of Gold Glass every year. Even though his old acquired lands, and his subsequent acquired lands, were putting out oil and Gold Glass, he still farmed. He retired from teaching after the oil and Gold Glass discoveries were made; he was still retired now.

Qeeta was just remembering the other conversation that her stepfather and Kuruk had while on the way to the fair when she saw a triple gold flash. Tazir had picked a rather unique teleportation effect when he went to Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic—whenever he teleported anywhere, he left behind a triple gold flashing effect. She turned then went to her brother at the same time that her young nephew nearly fell. Since Hazaar didn't know that they were close-by, he continued to walk on.

"Tazir, it's gotten—"

"Ssshhh," TazirVile held a finger to his lips; he then said in a very low whisper, "I see that it has."

"Can't really tell if he has other injuries to him, or if he's healthy." QeetaVile whispered. "His hair looks healthy. Not sure about the rest of him, though."

"Hair can be misleading," TazirVile responded. He started to follow his son; his sister fell in step behind him.

"Aren't you going to run over to him?" QeetaVile asked a few minutes after they started following Hazaar.

"No, I want him to find some place to sit at first." TazirVile replied. "He's injured; I don't want to aggravate his leg-injury, or any of the other injuries that he may have."

He didn't know that he was being followed; the same went with who it was that was following him—at the moment, he could give two hoots of a damn. He was trying to tell himself that the pain, that he was feeling, was worth it. All the walking that he did, and all the searching that he did for the booth that he had just gotten through playing, and the act of taking no breaks while looking for that booth, and standing around while playing that booth, was worth it—that was what he was trying to convince himself on. He kept telling himself that all of that was well worth the pain that he was experiencing and, even though he knew it was true, there was a certain voice rattling on and on in his head that was chiding him for his stubbornness in not wanting to slow up or take a break in finding the booth that he just won the two turtles from. This annoying voice was also telling him that he needed to shape up and grow up.

He knew who owned the voice that he was hearing in his head. It was the voice that he heard on a daily basis and it was a voice that belonged to someone that he lived with. It was his older brother. It was Lhaklar's voice that he was hearing. It was the voice that Lhaklar used when he was trying to do his daddy routine. It was the voice that Lhaklar used when he tried to be the rational one. It was the voice that Lhaklar used when he tried to be the "boss" of him and it was the voice that his older brother used when he tried to suck the fun out of his and their brothers' lives.

He hated that voice right now and he hated himself for hating that voice because, regardless of Lhaklar trying to act like the "big man" of the house, and regardless of Lhaklar being a pest when he tried to act like the "big man" of the house, he did love his brother. He'd be a criminal if he didn't love Lhaklar. He was raised under the same roof as Lhaklar. He went to the University of Telepathy at the same time that Lhaklar and Lazeer had. He, Lhaklar, and Lazeer had sometimes buddied up as study-mates after school let out—it was either the dorm that Lhaklar lived in or the one that he and Lazeer shared that they went to when they studied. He and Lhaklar goofed around and got into trouble sometimes. They drove their brothers crazy sometimes and they sometimes teamed up to pull a prank on their mother. Yeah, sometimes he wanted to bust his older brother's mouth to mush when he started doing that "daddy routine" of his, but he loved him. Brothers were suppose to drive themselves up the wall from time to time. It wasn't suppose to be all fine and sunshine all the time. He and Lhaklar were as close as brothers should be; they had their distant moments, and they had their moments where they fought, and they had their moments where they got on each others' nerves, but they did get along and he could always count on Lhaklar to lend him a hand if he was in trouble.

"You have no job. You rely on me and mom for money... how are you going to keep up with two extra mouths to feed?" his brother's voice, the voice that he hated at the moment, was saying. "It costs money to bring home food for them animals—them animals are expensive! You won't be able to keep up with their needs; you can't keep up with your interests and with their needs with a fifty dollar allowance."

"I can too." he thought angrily.

"You can barely keep up with yourself—"

"I can too!" he nearly said aloud.

He had yet to look at the turtles that he had won at the booth, so he didn't know what they were—all he knew was that they were tiny, yellow, and scared. They were trying to climb up the cup's sides; they saw him as a threat, so they were trying to run instead of sticking around to see if what was carrying them was a danger or not. He was given no instructions that revolved around their care, he wasn't told what species they were, and he wasn't given any paperwork that said that he had a "legal" fair-won prize—the man at the booth had just thrown them at him then told him to scram. While he didn't know what it was that was in the cup, that was in the palm of his hand, he was sure that some time in the Elchesheim-Illingen public library, or some talk with the folk who ran the local pet stores in Elchesheim-Illingen, would do the trick to both find what they were and what their care needs were.

The stuffed turtle toy—a rather silly thing that, while resembling a sea turtle, was a dark yellow color instead of green—, that had practically been thrown at him, was tucked in his armpit while the two, ceramic turtle ornaments, that were also thrown at him, were in his right hand. Both of his hands had things in them so he couldn't grab anything that was around him to keep his balance steady. He had to rely on his strength and his own balance to keep himself on his feet. His left leg had already tried to give out on him; he had managed to keep himself from falling face-down on the concrete walkway by hopping along on his right leg for a few seconds. It was past time for a Bufferin—before taking his medicine, he wanted to find a bench to sit on. Like the two turtles that were in the cup, he didn't know what the ceramic turtle ornaments looked like. After winning the two turtles, he had decided, just for the hell of it, to win three other, minor prizes.

"We went away only long enough for you to have your fun with that game, now it's time for us to return with a vengeance." his pains seemed to be saying.

Although it was mainly his hip that was doing most of the throbbing, his entire left leg hurt him. That was causing him to move around at a very slow speed and it was also causing him to feel fatigued. He felt pulled down because of the state of his leg and he felt depressed over not being able to walk on his leg the way a normal being, who had no injuries to himself, could. The pain that he felt after Lazeer body-slammed him to the concrete hadn't been that bad; he had felt some pain, and he had walked around with a right bad limp afterwards, but both had gone away after ten minutes. This pain was new. He had never felt this pain before in his leg—he was worried that something else was wrong. It felt like there was a clamp squeezing the bone in his hip; he felt a heavy pressure and there was a deep, throbbing sensation with each step that he took. It almost felt like there were daggers poking and prodding the bone in his left leg; he didn't know why his entire leg was hurting him but he did know that the pain that he was experiencing was causing him to break out in a heavy sweat. He stopped for a second to move the stuffed turtle toy out from his armpit, so it wouldn't get sweat-logged, then he walked on; his pain very nearly made him drop the ceramic turtle ornaments, and the plastic cup, that had the baby turtles in it, after that first step was done but he managed to stay upright. He managed to keep what he had in his hands from being dropped.

"Don't think of the pain!" he thought urgently. "Think of something else. Think of the weather... think of what you'll do if the weather is good for the next few days. Think of how you're going to spiff up your new turtles' cage. Shit, think of what all you will talk about while on the drive home after your mother says it's time to go."

He started doing just that after he started to breathe heavily; he was having to work hard to keep walking forward, so his pains were, in a sense, making him do some heavy-duty exercising. The first thing that he thought of, before the pain tried to creep back into his thoughts, was how his new pets' cage was going to look like. He pictured the cage as being one of them screen-topped, twenty gallon starters, and he also imagined it sitting on one of them one-shelf, bedside tables. The cage might cost him €30 or €40; the UVB and heat light fixtures might cost him just €15 a-piece, while the bulbs might cost him between €10-€20. If his new pets turned out to be a fully aquatic species, they'd have a fully aquatic environment in their cage. The bottom of their cage would have smooth, river rocks on it; there'd be some fake aquatic plants and some rocks and, if he had enough money left over after getting the cage and the cage's decor, there'd be a floating platform for them to climb on if they wanted to get out of the water or get up on something to bask under the UVB or heat lamp. If his new pet turtles turned out to be a semi-aquatic species, the cage would have an equally divided, water/land environment in it. He still had some of the stuff that he used to decorate his Spiny Turtles' cage with; the bag that had the fake autumn leaves in it, that he bought soon after he bugged Lhaklar crazy for €50, after his mother gave him and his brothers their September allowances early, was still half-full. After he put a layer of dirt substrate, gravel, and sand on the floor of the cage he could put a few of the fake autumn leaves on top of the substrate to give it a more natural look. He had one, uncoiled, fake Ivy vine left over; that could be used as another decoration in the cage.

That was really all that he had left over of that type of cage spiffing stuff; he'd have to go out and buy some fake plants, maybe another Ivy vine or two, and some cork bark pieces, and he'd also have to purchase two, natural resin, food and water bowls and a long, thick plastic tray—the latter, of which, would be put on the other side of the cage. It would act as the water-part of the cage. The dirt substrate would come right up to the lip of the thick, plastic tray; the bottom of the tray would have a layer of river or decorative rocks on it and the tray would be full of de-chlorified water. If his new turtles were of a terrestrial or fully land-based species, the cage would have a full, land-based environment in it. The cage would look like his Spiny Turtles' cage sans a water-based part... unless the turtles that were in the plastic cup preferred living in a desert-like environment. If his new pets were of a species of the desert-dwelling turtles, their cage would have a desert-like environment in it with all the fixin's that'd make it look almost like a mini-desert.

When the pain tried to creep back into his thoughts, he stopped thinking about what his new pets' cage was going to look like. He concentrated on what he'd do if the weather remained good for the next few days next. If the weather remained good—or halfway decent—, he'd take his turtles out for a short while. He'd make a rock wall come up from the ground in the backyard then he'd sit and take each of his turtles out of the tupperware containers that he put them in. They'd walk around on the grass for a bit; they'd get some natural sun-rays on their shells and bodies; and they'd get some good fresh air and exercise before he took them inside. If his leg wasn't causing him too much grief, he'd go out for a short walk of the neighborhood. He'd talk to the neighbors. He'd take in the sights, and the smells, then he'd go home. He'd lift some weights in the room that came off the house's basement. He might even take some magazines down to that room. He'd listen to some music and he might watch some tv.

Before the pain tried to creep back into his thoughts, he thought about the Eagle-1 transporter spacecraft model kit that he saw in one of the small shops that was in Karlsruhe a few weeks ago. He had really wanted to buy that model kit but he had found that his funds were a little low, so he had to walk away empty-handed. The Eagle-1 transporter spacecraft was a fictional spacecraft seen in the 1970's British television series, Space: 1999—it was the primary spacecraft of Moonbase Alpha in the series. If he had some money left over after buying a twenty gallon long starter cage, some cage decor, some cigarettes, and the November issues of the magazines that he liked to read and look at next month, he could get that model, build it, then add it to his new collection of spacecraft models.

His "new" collection of models was small in comparison to his "old" collection; while he couldn't remember how many models there were in his "old" collection he did remember that he completed more than three and he also remembered that his "old" collection consisted of more than just spaceship models. His "new" collection of models consisted of an Orion Space Shuttle, an Apollo Lunar Spacecraft, and a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier—the box on the latter model claimed that it was of a massive, amphibious warship that was capable of traveling both on sea and in the air. He had only just finished the latter model; it had 146 parts to it and it also had a base included for the model to sit on after it was completed. All of his other models—his trains and other spaceships—were at his father's place on Moas, which was a million or million-million or even a million-million-million miles from where he was. He had no train models in his "new" collection yet, but he was keeping his eyes open whenever he was out on the town, or in the cities that were near home. He had just thought about the armored train that he saw in one of the magazines that he slipped from Bile's room when another thought came to his mind.

"Shit, Halloween's only a few days away, and there's Thanksgiving coming up!" he started to get excited with this new thought. "I might be too old to go out asking for candy but I'm not too old to watch the Halloween shows that come on the tube and I'm also not too old to help momma in the kitchen when it comes time to doing the turkey. Bile and Lhaklar will do what they always do—they'll call dibs on making the homemade potatoes and the stuffing while Lazeer and I will take turns in de-gutting the turkey and then basting it. Guyunis can do the greens and the pies and the casserole—if he wants, that is. No biggie if he doesn't want to join in. He can just watch and learn from us, if he wants to.

"Momma will do as she usually does on Thanksgiving; she'll either sit at the table, or stand in the kitchen, and say how 'we're not being fair in not letting her join in on the fun'. We'll get depressed, then we'll apologize, then we'll go off to do something else in the house while she puts the turkey in the cooking bag. The only thing that she'd really have to do after we leave the kitchen is put the turkey in the oven and then keep an eye on the food. Lazeer will do his usual jokes on how the turkey's neck looks like a penis, I'll do my usual comebacks to his jokes, and Bile and Lhaklar will either laugh or tell us to shut up then they'll take turns in running their mouths.

"Bile and Lhaklar will say dirty jokes—they'll ask which one of us will be stuffed up and then put on a spit and roasted like a pig—then Bile will chase me and Lazeer around. He'll have a wooden spoon in his hand, like he always does. He'll only stop when momma tells him to—she'll say 'Bile, not in the kitchen', then he'll go back to making the stuffing or the homemade potatoes. Lhaklar might make the turkey "dance" with his Telekinetic powers too—he always tries to make the turkey "dance" each year; he mostly does it when momma's the only one in the kitchen. She always gasps and gets spooked every time then, when she figures out that it's Lhaklar using his powers to make the turkey "dance", she'll yell out his name. She use to chase him away from the kitchen when we were living in our old apartment, wonder if she'll do the same in our house?"

He was smiling when the latter thought came to fruit in his mind. He was still smiling when he came upon a small area that had three concrete benches in it. There were two steps that led down to the area; he stumbled down them then he practically skipped over to the bench that was closest to him. He fell to one of his knees while on his way to the bench; the plastic cup that had the baby turtles in it nearly flew out of his hand, but he tightened his grip just in time to prevent that from happening. The stuffed animal toy, that he was carrying in the crook of his left arm, had fallen to the ground. He kicked the toy as he went to the bench; he only stopped doing this when he reached the bench. He didn't sit down slowly; he let his weight, and gravity, carry him down to the bench's seat. He practically sat on the bench with a plop. His muscles all relaxed and he let out of a long sigh of relief afterwards.

"Thank goodness!" Hazaar gasped. Now that he was sitting down, he noticed that his chest felt almost like it was on fire. He was breathing just as heavily as he was sweating and he was shivering with both exhaustion and cold. He was drenched from head to foot in sweat and his arms were covered in goosebumps.

He did nothing for five long minutes. His chest heaved up and down in rapid succession for most of them five minutes while he stopped sweating almost at once; after five minutes was up, his breathing calmed down. The goosebumps, that formed on his arms, went away slowly. He had very nearly stopped shivering when he decided to begin the process of taking in the prizes that he won at the Shooting Gallery game booth. The stuffed turtle toy, that fell from the crook of his arm, was resting on its side between his feet. It had a few sweaty patches on it but, for the most part, it was dry. He mouthed the spell that would send it to the trunk of his mother's Porsche D2 then, after it disappeared, he turned his attention towards the two ceramic turtle ornaments. He found himself growing angry almost at once over the bigger of the two ornaments that he won at the game booth.

The bigger of the two ceramic ornaments was nothing more than a badly chiseled rock that was painted to looked like a tortoise. The top of the rock, which was red, brown, and black, had a set of grooves chiseled into it. The chiseled grooves were very poorly done; some were faint while others were right deep. To him, the chiseled part of the ornament looked nothing like the shell of a tortoise. The dark gray head and limbs of the ornament were just long rocks that were glued onto the larger rock. Hazaar very nearly threw the ornament away. He couldn't believe that he was given a rock that was crudely made to look like a tortoise. The human had said ceramic turtle ornament, not a bunch of rocks that were glued to a bigger rock! It took him a lot of effort to not throw the thing away; he forced himself to say the spell that would send the thing to his mother's car's trunk. He figured that it'd be good for something—he could use the thing as a paper weight, or just something to take up space on one of the shelves of his bookshelf. His mother might also have some use for the thing.

After sending the ornament that was made up as a crude representation of a tortoise to the Porsche D2's trunk, he looked at the other ceramic turtle ornament. He found himself as liking this one a lot more than the rock-made tortoise representation. The turtle ornament that he was looking at was painted with a combination of either yellow or green high gloss paint; it was another representation of a tortoise, but it was a lot better than the one that was made out of rocks. The shell-part of the ornament was hollowed out—Hazaar thought that the piece was much too pretty to be used as an ashtray. He spell-sent that ornament to the Porsche's trunk then he looked at the plastic cup that had the baby turtles in it.

"Jack—Fuckin'—Pot!" he exclaimed. It was almost an instant thing that the corners of his O-shaped mouth curved up.

He never really noticed that the world around him had grown quiet and still; he was too immersed in his excitement over what it was that was in the cup to give a care over the sudden quiet and stillness that had settled around him. After seeing that one of the ceramic turtle ornaments was a bunch of glued together rocks, he had grown a bit nervous over what else the human that manned the Shooting Gallery game booth had given him. He had started to worry over the two turtles that were in the plastic cup after seeing that he was given a non-ceramic turtle ornament. He knew that some humans painted the shells of certain turtles up to make them look more "pretty" or "appealing" to perspective buyers and he also knew that certain humans also liked to paint and decorate a turtle's shell for fun too, which was wrong in so many areas.

Paint was heavy and it had chemicals in it that could well harm a turtle. A turtle breathed through its shell—if the shell was painted over, the turtle couldn't breathe. A turtle's internal organs could suffocate because of the paint that was covering its shell. A turtle could absorb the paint's chemicals through its shell—that could cause health problems or even death for the turtle. After seeing what one of the "ceramic" ornaments looked like, he had grown concerned that the yellow-looking turtles, that the human that was manning the Shooting Gallery game booth was giving out, were really just painted-up turtles. He was now finding that his concern was all for nothing.

The two, game-won turtles were nearly three inches long and wide; they were rather colorful. Their shells were a dull, yellow-gold color, while the the limb sockets, and the undersides of the limbs and tail, were a brilliant pinkish-orange color; the sides of the limbs on both of the baby turtles were either a brown, a gray, or an olive-green color. The two baby turtles had narrow and pointed heads, that were also rather colorful. The top of the head of the smaller of the two turtles was yellow while the top of the bigger turtle's head was olive-green; both of the baby turtles had yellow-orange patches behind both of their eyes. Even though there was a thick, black line extending from the nose to the side of each of the turtles' faces, the lines on the smaller turtle were thinner. The upper and lower jaws of the two turtles were yellow while the underside of the turtles' necks was a pinkish-orange color. It looked like the turtles' shells were hinged—both of the turtles could pull their heads, tails, and limbs into their shells.

Hazaar's throat made a dry, clicking sound as he swallowed; with a rather shaky hand, he removed the plastic cup's lid then reached into the cup for one of the turtles. He didn't know why he was reaching into the cup—he guessed that he wanted to get a better look at the two turtles, and he also guessed that his excitement over finally seeing what was put in the cup had caused him to forget that the two turtles were scared and nervous of their surroundings and of the "threateningly huge and scary monster" that they were handed off to. He hadn't done this with his Spiny Turtles; he had only picked his Spiny Turtles, and his Eastern Long Necked Turtles, up to put them in their new cages. He had let them get accustomed to their new homes first before the act of handling them was done—mostly, he just picked them up to see if there was anything amiss with their health or if they were growing correctly. His action of trying to pick one of his new pets up was abnormal; he forced himself to remove his hand from the cup. He put the cup's lid back on then he spell-sent his new pets to his room, where he figured they'd be safe. After the turtles were sent away, he reached down to untuck his shirt. It was time for him to take another Bufferin and it was also time for him to go back to enjoying the fair. He had just touched the fabric of his shirt when a hand plopped down on his shoulder.

"I'm just sitting here," he said. He thought that it was a fair guard. He thought that someone of the law had grown suspicious of him—he was the only one in the area where the benches were, and he had also been doing a suspicious action. The hand that was on his shoulder didn't lift up; it just sat there for nearly ten seconds. Hazaar started to stand when he felt the hand's fingers start to press into the fabric of his shirt—whoever it was that owned the hand that was on his shoulder was starting to squeeze his or her hand. Hazaar turned around when he felt the hand's fingers begin to press into the flesh of his shoulder; the words that he wanted to say to the person that had him by the shoulder didn't so much as die on his tongue as much as they just evaporated.

While people were interested in what was going on at the booth they kept their distance; the sign, that was put up no more than ten minutes ago, was being looked at seriously, as was the presence of the three fair guards that were taking the booth down. The sign was pretty basic; it was mostly white except for a thick, black border. The message that was on the sign was clear and crisp. The letters were drawn on thickly and boldly in black. C-L-O-S-E-D—that was what the sign said. The booth was closed. It had been closed for the last ten minutes; the reason for that was mostly centered on the actions of two men. A near violent confrontation occurred between the booth's proprietor and a man who, at the moment, no one recognized.

The three fair guards had come running over after the booth's proprietor started screaming at the man that he was fussing with; they had only just gotten there when the proprietor swung his fist at the man. The man that the booth's proprietor had hit was still in the area; he gave one of the fair guards a statement over what was going on, and why he was there, after the three men subdued the one who assaulted him. The game booth's proprietor was currently seated against the blue kiddie pool; his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Even though the fair-goers didn't know who the man who had been assaulted by the game booth's proprietor was the three fair guards did—they had recognized him right after they came running up to put an end to the near violent confrontation that the two men were having. Stefan Leinart looked like he needed a good, cold beer and a bag of ice; his jaw was red and slightly swollen from when he was punched by the booth's proprietor... who was three inches shorter, and who was some seventy or eighty pounds lighter, than he.

"I'm surprised that Mr. Bisset was allowed to set-up shop here," Nils Kempf, a middle-aged man of African descent, who was wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, said. Nils Kempf was asked to wear this attire—he was a plainclothesman; for the last fifteen years, he had been working as a plainclothesman for the Munich polizei department. Nils Kempf had a few sheets of paper in his hands; he had found each of them after looking under the booth's folding chair. He was looking through them carefully. "These are all forged. The signatures are very horribly done—don't match up with the signatures of the sponsors."

"In a way, not surprised." Martin Huff, a thirty-four year old man who had brown hair and eyes, said. Martin Huff, like Nils Kempf, was a plainclothesman. He was wearing an orange and brown checked flannel shirt over a white t-shirt; the black jeans were very normal, as were the brown shoes that were on his feet. "The station claims that this isn't the first offense from Mr. Bisset. He's done time in the slammer three times for similar offenses. In France, and then in Spain."

"Some people just don't seem to want to learn," Nils said. He slid the papers into the folder that he had found them in then he put the folder in the box that he was putting the other evidence that he was finding in. Nils looked at Stefan, his country's president, who looked to be gazing off into space, after doing this. "Mr. Leinart, you doin' alright over there?"

"I'm fine, bit dazed but fine." Stefan answered. The only problem with him was the fact that he was in a state of shock. After Hazaar finished playing the booth, he walked up; he had expected for a small altercation to happen—the act of the booth's owner, a man named Bastian Bisset, who was from France, acting so violently towards him was a shock.

"Take five, Mr. Leinart." Poldi Lieberenz, a man who had gray hair, near white sideburns, and steely blue eyes, said. Poldi Lieberenz was the only one of the three guards who was wearing a uniform; he was down, beside the boxes that had the turtles in them. "What did the paperwork say these turtles were again, Nils?"

There were three species of turtles at the booth; all of them were put in plastic bins, that had either very little or no water in them, and then were given out as prizes. After Nils Kempf started searching the booth, looking for papers that would say that it was legal by both fair and country standards, it was discovered that all three species weren't native to Germany. One of the turtles was a native of India while the other two came from Southern China and Northern Vietnam. Bastien Bisset, who was still steaming mad, and who was apt to trying to kick his legs out in his anger over being cuffed and caught in doing something that was illegal, had given all of his Indian Star Tortoises out. He very nearly gave all of his Indian Flapshell Turtles out; the only species that he still had plenty of was the Golden Coin Turtle. Mr. Bastien Bisset was in a lot of trouble—along with being caught running an illegal booth, and having forged documents that said that he could put said illegal booth up, he had also been caught giving out live turtles as prizes and owning and then selling endangered turtles.

While the Indian Flapshell Turtle wasn't classified as an endangered species by the IUCN—that one particular species had never really been on the IUCN's list of endangered species; it was a species that was pretty widespread in South Asia and India—the Indian Star Tortoise, and the Golden Coin Turtle, were two of the most highly endangered turtle species on the planet. The Indian Star Tortoise had been on the IUCN's endangered species list twelve times; the species had recovered after the natural disasters and plagues happened only to be brought back down by either habitat destruction or human demand: the species was a highly sought one for the pet trade.

The Golden Coin Turtle, on the other hand, had made a comeback after three natural disasters and a war. The Golden Coin Turtle had once been found only on turtle farms in China; the Chinese had only used the animal as the key ingredient in their medicinal dessert, Guīlínggāo or Turtle or Tortoise Jelly. Many of the thousands of farm-captive turtles had escaped from their farm environments after two natural disasters happened. Many others had followed. The newly wild specimens had bred; the population had grown only to dwindle after the Chinese discovered that the wild-bred turtles gained more dollar on the market. The species went extinct in the wild four times and, up to a hundred years ago, it was thought that the species had gone fully extinct. On August 12, 4000, a whole colony of Golden Coin Turtles was discovered in a remote location near the Vietnam border; the Chinese had started capturing, farming, and then killing the turtles to put in their medicinal dessert jelly soon after. Of the five hundred turtles that were rediscovered, only a hundred were left in the wild. The last plague had caused the turtles to make a comeback but their numbers were still questionable due to the farming and over-collection. A zoo in England had twenty Golden Coin Turtles—all wild caught from the location near the Vietnam/China border. Since the Golden Coin Turtle and the Indian Star Tortoise were so rare, it was illegal to sell them as pets; the people who received them as prizes would either have to relinquish their turtles or have to apply for a permit. Mr. Bastien Bisset was looking at some heavy jail-time because of his having and then giving out the two endangered turtles as prizes.

"Put him on charges of running a game booth without a license; having forged documents, which claim that he has a license to run a game booth at Oktoberfest; for giving out live, non-fish, animals as prizes; for putting the lives of fair-going civilians at risk; and for giving out and having highly endangered animals without a permit." Poldi Lieberenz said as he pulled the plug out of the kiddie pool. The rubber ducks had already been removed from the pool; the pellet guns were now being put in boxes while the remaining turtles had been put in plastic animal carriers a long time ago. "Should a charge for assault also be added to that list, Mr. Leinart?"

"N—"

"You ask that big flake-out buffoon anything and he'll come back saying no. Pussy president." Bastien Bisset growled. He looked up, at Stefan, then smiled a wicked smile. "Is I right, Pussy Man?"

"Not just any ordinary assault charge, Mr. Lieberenz." Stefan said. He locked his hazel-colored eyes with Bastien Bisset's furious brown ones. "Assault of a public official."

"You bastard!"Bastian Bisset shrieked. Bastien's short, black hair flew into his eyes. The front of Bastien Bisset's red and green flannel shirt had come unbuttoned; his near skin-tight, silver pants were pulled back tightly in the groin section. Stefan shrugged his shoulders at the slim man then stepped back fast—Bastien Bisset had suddenly yanked and then thrown his head forward at him. The green loogie, that Bastien Bisset had just spat at him, landed on the toe of his brown shoe a second later. The gross collection of spit and snot would of splattered against his pant leg if he would of remained where he was standing.

He stared at the man, who hadn't only just tried to violate him with the collection of spit and snot but who had also been discovered as being a three-time criminal, in shock which quickly turned to deep hate. If there weren't people around, he would of done more than just turn around and walk away. He would of given a certain someone named Bastien Bisset a good kick in the skull. Seeing as there were people around, and seeing as he couldn't let his anger get the better of him, he just told the three fair guards to finish up with the closing down of the booth. He said for Nils, Martin, and Poldi to have a good night then he turned around. He walked away as Bastien Bisset sat, laughing and cursing at his backside. At the moment, Stefan was glad to be wearing a pair of normal, everyday shoes—if he was wearing a pair of his good, workday shoes, and a collection of spit and snot had landed on them, he wouldn't of just stood there in shock. He had dressed pretty casual for this event just so the press and his nation's people wouldn't recognize him and, so far, it was working. Except for Munich's mayor, Dieter Kronawitter, he was left alone to enjoy the fair with his wife and Miss. Irene—and his children, who he, his wife, and Miss. Irene had happened upon on two or three occasions that evening.

Miss. Irene had taken his wife's constant questions in stride; they had learned a lot about her during the three hours that they were at the fair. Miss. Irene claimed that she enjoyed making Water Works—she was the special effects "artist" for that film; Water Works went out in theaters on July 12, 3098, it was a smashing success—and she also claimed that she had fun in making the two films that she also did the special effects for. The two films that followed—Shake and Volcano Eruption—had also been box office smash successes because of her "artistic" abilities—her powers, meaning. Miss. Irene claimed that the studio that was doing Volcano Eruption was hard on her; she had to be off the set for a while to tend matters at home with her sons. That was a lot of the reason for why the effects for that film weren't as good as the ones incorporated in Shake or Water Works. The film had still been a success at the box office, despite the effects not being as good as her prior film associations.

When his wife asked their friend about her involvement in the film Helen Erupts, Miss. Irene had gone quiet. Helen Erupts had been another box office smash success, and it had made a lot of people rich. Miss. Irene, after a few minutes of silence, had told his wife that the director for that film, and the film's studio, had very nearly fired her for her inability to show up to do the film's effects. Her sons had kept her from coming to work. She had to leave work to go tend to her sons and their needs; the studio and the film's director hadn't understood that.

Most surprising was the fact that Miss. Irene didn't have just five sons. His wife had asked the question of how many children their friend had while they were enjoying a helping of Bratwurst with a side of cabbage; his jaw had come close to dropping to the table after she said that she had another child out there. Angel Irene, his planet's heroine, had an adopted daughter named Eshal who, Miss. Irene claimed, was rather close to her birth-fader. Since her adopted daughter was under no threat by Master Vile, and since she was so close to her fader, Miss. Irene had decided to leave her with her fader. Miss. Irene did claim that she loved her adopted daughter just as much as she did her biological sons and Guyunis. He and his wife guessed that the act of their friend leaving her daughter behind, with her birth-fader, was the right thing to do—Miss. Irene had said that, if she had caught the scent of anything amiss or dangerous coming towards her adopted daughter, she would of brought her along with her sons to Earth too. Before Bile, Miss. Irene had eight other children, most, of which, were miscarried. There was one child born still, and she aborted her first child sired by her father. Rather shockingly, her grandfader had taken it upon himself to remove another child from her womb.

"My grandfather had help in doing that deed; my father held my arms while the man that I call my rightful husband held my legs." Angel Irene said, continuing with the conversation on the child that was taken from her womb. "My grandfather used this gun that enabled him to operate without the use of anesthesia; after cutting the fetus's lines, he gave it to my father. While my father held the gun, my grandfather removed the fetus from me."

"Your... rightful husband helped to hold you down while your grandfader removed a child that you were carrying?" Rosalinde said slowly. Shock and anger was quite present in her voice, and her face looked quite red in color. "How can you call such a man a husband? How—"

"I would of lost the baby," Angel Irene said. She looked at the sausage, that was on her plate, before saying more. "I can't have children by a human; the child that my grandfather removed from me was around four months old... I would of lost it a week to a week and a half later."

"How do you know that? You can't possibly—"

"Before Bile was born, all of my other pregnancies failed at four and a half to nearly five months gestation." Miss. Irene said quickly. "I can't produce offspring with a human; I can with someone that isn't human but I can't give birth to a living child that's been sired by a human."

"I take it that you see what they did in taking that child from you as a favor?" he asked. His friend had simply nodded her head. They spoke about something else after a few minutes of heavy silence fell between them.

Since the conversation was happening between two women—his wife and his female friend—he hadn't been able to step in to calm things down or smooth things out. There were some conversations that men weren't meant to be apart of; the one that his wife and his female friend were having was one of them. While he didn't have any comments on what his friend had confided to his wife, his wife had obviously had plenty to spit out. His wife was plenty upset, angry, and offended after his female friend said that she considered the taking of one of her unborn children a favor.

He and Rosalinde had been married for eighteen years and four months; their oldest was sixteen, but they had two others that were older than her. The two children that they had before Annelise was born had, sadly, been lost—one shortly after conception and the other four months after conception. The child that was lost after it was in his wife's womb for four months was actually removed by a doctor; his wife had a complication during her pregnancy. Her life was in jeopardy so it was decided that, for her to live, her unborn child had to be removed. Sophie Annelise Leinart, who they called just Annelise, was born abnormally small. She spent some time in the NICU before being brought home. Thede was born perfectly healthy, while Rainmund... well, his wife and he had worried themselves sick when he was in the womb. Rosalinde was on bed rest for most of her last pregnancy. His wife had gotten her tubes tied after Rainmund was born.

Women were complex creatures; they had different emotions and triggers than men and they reacted differently to certain things that a man would normally not worry over. Though he respected and loved his wife, he did think that she was somewhat strange from time to time and, even stranger, she knew that he thought of her as strange. They joked about it sometimes; she referred to herself as Mrs. Strange-Rosalinde Leinart when the children weren't around. His wife's attitude towards Miss. Irene had changed after she was told about Miss. Irene's husband participating in the removal of one of her children and about Miss. Irene seeing that child's removal as a favor thing. Rosalinde had referred to Miss. Irene as his friend—not theirs, just plain his—afterwards. He guessed that he'd have to talk to her about it; he also guessed that it'd be a while before his wife saw why Miss. Irene thought of the removal of one of her children that she had said she would of lost regardless of it being taken from her as a favor. Miss. Irene knew more about herself than he and his wife did—she probably had reason to consider that one child being taken from her as being a favor. After miscarrying seven of the eight children that she had before going through a successful pregnancy, that produced her oldest son, he guessed that she had a reason for thinking that the removal of one fetus as a favor. Women were emotional when it came to their offspring and they got especially emotional when they lost one of them; Miss. Irene was probably seeing the removal of that one child as being a favor to her in the regards to her not getting but so emotional over it.

A slight breeze struck him; except for the usual fair antics, that whole night had been still and quiet. It had also been a bit too warm for his liking. It was nice to feel a little cool breeze drift across his flesh. His thoughts were momentarily quieted with that breeze. He walked down the concrete path, that joined many others, in silence for a few minutes then, when he reached an area, where there looked to be around twenty or so people milling around, he stopped. The first thought that crossed his mind was that some fight was happening. There were a lot of people at Oktoberfest drinking—drunkenness did cause people to lose track of their senses. Drunkenness can cause people to be peaceful; some people just fall asleep after they got drunk, while others just got real quiet or funny, and others just got raving mad. He figured that two or more people had started a fight; the people that were around them had just formed one of them fighting rings—like the ones that kids made when one of their school-mates started to throw out the punches. He was just walking by the cluster of people when Annelise, Thede, and Rainmund ran into him. Annelise stepped in front of him while Thede wrapped her arms around his middle. Rainmund grabbed his hand.

"Hey kids," he said. He gave Thede a pat on the head before pulling Rainmund in for a hug. "Ready to go home yet, or are you just running up to say hello?"

"No," Rainmund answered. He then went quiet. He wrapped his short arms around his father then he buried his head into his father's stomach. Stefan found this a little strange; Rainmund only did this when he was scared, or nervous.

"We have a little under two hours left before we head for home," Stefan said. Even though it wasn't a school-night he did want to get home before three o'clock. Stefan's forehead grew wrinkled when he took in his oldest daughter's appearance. Annelise's cheeks and forehead were red, but the rest of her face was a pale-white color. Stefan looked at his two other children; he tilted their heads up then grew alarmed. Thede and Rainmund's faces looked just the same as their sister's. "You three feeling alright? You look a bit unwell to me."

"How many bruders does Hazaar have again, datty?" Annelise totally ignored the question that her father had asked her and her siblings. Her father gave her a confused look. His confused look grew even more confused with the next question that she asked. "Does Hazaar have any bruders that have light blue skin?"

"Annelise, you know how many bruders Hazaar has. He has four and, no, none of them have light blue skin." Stefan answered after being silent for a few seconds. Stefan felt his oldest daughter's forehead; it felt cold to him. When he looked more closely at his daughter, he saw that she looked afraid—her pupils were dilated, and she was breathing a little on the heavy side. "Annelise, what's going on? What's wr—"

The people that were in front of the little area, where he went to sit and rest, had started milling around after he managed to yell after his initial shock over who it was that owned the hand, that was plopped on his shoulder, had passed. He had yelled quite loudly after looking up and then seeing his father standing behind him. He had actually leaped up and then tried to run away afterwards; his father had manage to catch him before he went two steps. Dear, old, aunt Qeeta had come right behind his father almost like a shadow. Once his father's hands were on him, he was ripped and then torn and then twisted all over the place—he went from his father to his aunt and then back to his father again. Once, he had nearly fallen, but his father had caught him just in time, then he had found himself as being yanked around to facing his aunt. His leg was screaming in pain, and he was near to being terrified. His breath was coming out heavy again; he was sweating again. He wasn't shivering any, though.

There was no way in hell that he could yell for help, or scream, or even say anything in a normal way; his tongue was all tied up, and his throat was too tight and dry for him to speak, much less yell out or scream for help.

The fair was over for him; he was quite sure of that. With his father here, he was sure that his mother would be yelling for everyone to pack up shop and get ready to move out of the area—honestly, he wouldn't complain or bitch about having to leave. His honest opinion on his father wasn't good—he thought that his father was an uncaring bastard. This opinion stemmed from what happened earlier that year, in January. The man hadn't given two hoots of a damn about him after he woke up after having a nightmare—which wasn't a nightmare at all; it was Guyunis, who was only trying to get in contact with him. His mother had gone to pieces after he woke up, screaming in terror on that January night. She had rushed up to see what was up. While she gave him comfort, his father threatened to punish him; the man hadn't even budged to care after the gashes, that went down the length of his arms, were made known to him the morning following that nightmare's occurrence.

He was terrified on that January night; had his father cared or tried to give him any comfort? No, he had just said that he was going to be punished if he didn't quiet up, stop being childish, and quit acting out.

Hazaar heard his shirt rip in the back, then he felt his body pitch backward after his father yanked him around to facing him; he fell back, against his aunt, who gave him a push forward. The humans that were milling around the area, where the stone benches were, gasped loudly. Stefan Leinart was attracted to this gasp; he was walking towards the group of people that were surrounding the area when Hazaar tried to knock his father off balance. His attempt was a feeble one, which his father perceived wrongly; his father must of thought that his attempt to knock him off balance was really his way of asking for a hug because he suddenly felt his arms wrap around him. His father had started fussing over him and his leg right after he caught him after he had tried to run away. He was constantly asking him what happened to his leg and where the pain that he was feeling was stemming from. Stefan Leinart had just pushed through a line of people when Hazaar shoved himself forward; he used every ounce of strength that he had in him to push his father off balance. If his father hadn't re-positioned himself, he would of fallen back on the concrete. Hazaar's sudden terror evaporated a second later when his father gave him a firm swat on the behind. The emotion that replaced the terror was anger—raw, red, and deadly.

"Well, I'm glad that whatever you've gone through in the last several months hasn't dampened your attitude any." TazirVile said after disciplining his son. He had nearly toppled over the bench that his son was sitting on nearly five minutes ago.

"Still a right feisty fellow—that's a good thing." QeetaVile said. She grabbed Hazaar by the arm then pulled him around to facing her. "Looks like it's only his left leg that's been injured. He uses his arms well, and his other leg looks to not be causing him any pain."

"My wife said that our sons are of the strong elite once—I do believe her on that." TazirVile said. Hazaar slapped at his hand when he started running it down his hip. TazirVile responded by slapping his son's hand right back. "You stop that. Not here to hurt you, or to cause any further injury to you. I'm only here to find and then bring you home."

"Looks thinner than he was in January," QeetaVile said. She pulled the tail of Hazaar's shirt over to the left; she released it after seeing a body indent. "I'd say he's lost between ten and fifteen pounds."

"I have not!" the sudden anger that took the place of Hazaar's terror made his ability to speak return. Hazaar was about to say more when his father grabbed him by the shoulder; the man turned him around, so that he was facing him. Hazaar glared angrily; his father said nothing about the glare.

"He'll gain that back after he's eaten a few good meals." TazirVile said. "Poor kid, probably hasn't had anything decent to eat in months."

"I have t—"

"Hush, son." TazirVile said. He untucked his son's shirt then pulled it up. Hazaar lunged forward. He pushed his father hard; his father went only a step back before regaining his balance. TazirVile lightly pushed his son back then looked down; with his Telekinetic powers, he made the magazine, and the brown paper bag, that fell out of his son's shirt, float up to his hand. He looked at the magazine first. "I see that you're still reading this filth."

"Surprised that he has it," QeetaVile sighed. "Must of taken it from one of them outside stands."

"This month's issue, surprised. Was expecting for it to be—" TazirVile leaned back when his son lunged at him again. Hazaar grabbed the magazine from his father then tried to run off; he didn't get but a step before his father's hand wrapped around his wrist. "And where do you think you're going, Young Man?"

The humans, that were milling around, gasped loudly as he pushed his son against his sister. He had only given his young son a light push, but he guessed that the humans had seen his lightness as rough. At the moment, he really didn't care whether or not there was a mob in the area or if there were only two or three humans around to witness what was going on between he, his sister, and his young son; all he cared about right now was looking into his son's well-being. He let his son have the magazine; when his son tried to lunge forward, for the brown paper bag, he took a step back. Qeeta wrapped her hand around Hazaar's arm; she was reaching down to tuck his son's shirt back into his pants when he was opening the brown paper bag. He had expected to only find some things of candy—his son was at a fair and fair's routinely gave out candy and other foods that are baggable, after all—in the bag. When he took out a white bottle, that had a tag on the front that said Bufferin, he, himself, gasped.

True, he didn't know what the humans took in the way of pain relievers and, true, he didn't know that his son only had the pills on his possession because of his leg-pains but, still... he felt his chest grow heavy as the anger seeped into it. The bottle's tag simply said Bufferin; Regular Strength Buffered Aspirin. He really didn't pay much mind to what the tag said. He and Qeeta had followed Hazaar to this location; while his son was examining what he had in his possession, they stole around the area's borders quietly. All of the items that his son had in his possession—some stuffed animal toy, and a plastic cup that had some sort of animal in it—hadn't been on him when he made his presence known. He figured that his son was so hungry that he just plain ate whatever was in the plastic cup raw and he also figured that his son had also eaten the toy—that was the only logical explanation he could think of on why Hazaar didn't have them items in his possession.

He could accept his son eating an animal raw and, in some strange sort of way, he could also accept that his son—who he thought had been baching it on his own for so long—had eaten a toy, but he couldn't accept that his son had a pill bottle that felt half-full on his person. He was about to ring out a lecture on the item that he had found in the paper bag when his sister pulled a half full pack of Marlboro cigarettes out from the left back pocket of his son's pants.

"You think I'm just going to find these and think everything is peachy-fine in the Universe, son?" TazirVile asked his son. His voice was heavy... Grave... Full of anger! TazirVile reached over then grabbed the half-pack of Marlboro's from his sister; Qeeta gave him a questioning look then glanced over at the throng of humans that were nearby. TazirVile surprised her a second later by nearly slapping Hazaar in the face with the pack of cigarettes. "You trying to prove something to everyone? Cigarettes at your age! P—"

"Tazir?" Qeeta said shakily. TazirVile ignored her.

"Temperamental phase does not mean that you can go out and be a Juvenile Delinquent!" TazirVile nearly shouted. This time, he actually did hit his son in the face with the cigarette pack. Hazaar reacted by throwing himself forward. Qeeta's grip had become loose; he managed to simply shake her off. He charged at his father after he was free. He very nearly bit the tip of his tongue a second later, after his father gave him a firm shove back.

Stefan's mouth dropped so low that, if it hadn't been attached to his upper jaw, it would of touched the ground. After seeing the alien, that he saw in a photograph earlier that month, he went cold. He had begun to wonder how the alien had gotten into the shields that his planet's heroine had put up over two thousand years ago after he saw it... and its companion.

The second alien that was with the one alien that was photographed by one of the drones earlier that month looked feminine. While this unknown alien looked to have black hair, she also looked to have a short, black horn sticking out from the back of her—if it was a female, that was—head. The short, black horn had a blunt end to it. His jaw had snapped shut after the alien, that was wearing a burgundy tuxedo, that had a tail that trailed down to the ground, called Hazaar a juvenile delinquent. His skin grew tight and hot as gasps rang out behind him; if not for the one alien that was wearing the tuxedo shoving Hazaar, them gasps wouldn't of been emitted.

He didn't gasp along with everyone else. Instead of simply gasping, he reached into his brown and tan sport coat.

"Isn't someone going to help that poor boy?" a woman behind him asked.

"That's one of our heroine's sons," a teenage boy, who stood behind him and off to his left, said. "Isn't he? Isn't he one of our heroine's sons?"

"You think I wasn't going to see them pills?" the tuxedo-wearing alien, who seemed to have a gravelly-sounding voice, exclaimed. "What's the matter with you, Hazaar? You think I was going to be all concerned over your injured leg that I wasn't going to say anything on the pills that—"

"N-n-n-no..." Stefan thought he detected a note of fear coming from Hazaar then, at the last second, Hazaar's angry yell reached his ears. Stefan looked up to see that Hazaar was still on the concrete; he was trying to scoot back on his rear and get up at the same time. When the strange, tuxedo-wearing alien lunged and then grabbed him up by the arm, Hazaar roared out a command. "Lemme alone, dad!"

His jaw threatened to fall again; he forced it to stay shut as he wrestled the Walther PPK .380 semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster. The people that were behind him seemed just as surprised as he over Hazaar claiming the alien as his fader; there were a lot of gasps being sounded behind him, and there were a lot of people crying and yelling for help too.

The Walther seemed to be stuck in his shoulder holster; from the moment that he got up that morning, he had a strange feeling that it would be needed so, before he and his family left the house to go to the second-held Oktoberfest, he made a quick trip up to his and his wife's bedroom.

The room's cedar dresser was old; while most of the dresser's were full of pants, shirts, and undergarments, the top drawer was clothes-free and it had a lock on it for a fine reason. He kept his old, but still usable, Walther PPK .380 semi-automatic pistol in it. The drawer that the gun was locked up in was kept locked for a reason—he didn't want his children to find the gun. He didn't want his children taking the gun out, he didn't want them to go out playing with the gun, and he didn't want them to hurt themselves with it. He also didn't want the gun to be a "free prize" to some person who decided to break into his family's house. Before leaving his and Rosalinde's bedroom, he loaded a full clip into the gun. A brown leather shoulder holster was wrapped around his shoulders then the gun was slid in; the sport coat that he was wearing had only been donned as a way to conceal the weapon. Stefan had just remembered that he needed to undo the snap that kept the flap over the gun when a fair guard suddenly walked into the area where Hazaar and the two aliens were.

"Tazzy, maybe you should do this in private?" QeetaVile said. She was nervous, and embarrassed, by her brother's actions. TazirVile went silent; he released his son's arm then took two steps back. He looked down at Hazaar, who had started to mouth off at him right after he started chiding him over his having the pill bottle on his person. Hazaar had a mean look to him... an angry look that he wished he'd drop. TazirVile was about to tell his son to drop his expression when he felt the fingers of a hand tap him on the shoulder. TazirVile turned around; he was mildly surprised to see that there was a human standing just two feet from him. The human was of the male gender; he had red-brown hair, blue eyes, and he was wearing a blue police uniform

"This be the secon' time I be comin' to yer aid me boy," the human, who spoke in a rather thick accent, said to Hazaar. The human then turned his attention towards TazirVile. "I be sayin' this to ye once and only once, ye get goin'. Leave this here boy be."

"Wh... I beg your pardon? Do you know who you're talking to, mister?" TazirVile shot in an anger-induced shock. Qeeta took two steps from the fair guard; she looked down, at Hazaar, who was now getting to his feet.

"I don't be needin' to know who ye is, Feller. All I knows is that ye is causin' trouble." the human guard said.

"I'm his father," TazirVile said. He took a step closer to the guard then stopped. He held his position firm. "I'm not causing trouble here; I am only being a father to my s—"

"I be seein' ye pullin' an' throwin' him around; that, in me mind, is ye causin' him harm." the human returned. There was a light in his eyes that TazirVile didn't much like. It was an angered light... a light that was brought on by anger.

"Sir, while I understand, and appreciate, what you're trying to do I must insist that you go on your way." TazirVile said. He had decided to try to calm down.

Stefan ripped the Walter PPK .380 semi-automatic pistol out from his shoulder holster at the same time that the guard looked over at Hazaar. The guard gave Hazaar a good sizing up; he took in the youngsters face, then he took in the way his body was being held. Hazaar mouthed the words help me to the guard, who nodded his head almost at once. Something happened that made the throng of people scatter in a blind panic—the guard, an obvious vetern of the force, had taken his nightstick from its slot on his belt. He took his stick out then he pulled it back. The stick's end was thrown forward, into the stomach of the light blue-skinned alien.

The light blue-skinned alien made a grunting sound then looked at the guard, who had just thrown his nightstick back. In preparation for a blow that'd strike his chest. Before the stick could be thrown forward, it suddenly flew up and then out of the man's hand. The guard's nightstick floated above his head for a second before being flung to the side; before the man could say anything, he found himself as being flung back by an invisible force. The man was trying to get on his feet when he heard a loud bang that he recognized—it could of only come from a gun being fired; he had no other explanation for the cause of the loud bang that he had just heard.

The loud bang that he had just heard was followed by a loud, and feminine-sounding, scream.

"Qeeta!" TazirVile yelled. He ran over to his sister, who was nearly doubled over. She shook her hand then pointed to the left.

"For-forget about me, Hazaar ran off in that direction." QeetaVile said shakily. Although the hole, from where the bullet went into her leg, was bleeding quite profusely, she didn't feel much pain. At the moment, she was more scared than hurt.

He never would of shot at the teal-skinned alien, who had the black hair and the black, blunt-ended, horn-like appendage on the back of her head, if she hadn't of grabbed Hazaar by the arm. Hazaar was trying to back out of the area and the alien had prevented him from doing so; he had shot at the alien to ensure Hazaar's escape. He had just aimed and then fired. The feminine-sounding and looking alien would live; his bullet had only gone in and then through the flesh of her lower leg.

Stefan tore off in pursuit of Hazaar, who had disappeared from where he was standing only to reappear twenty feet away; he held his gun at the ready just in case he had to fire at the other alien as he followed his friend's son. Hazaar was running; how he was running so perfectly, with his leg being in the state that it was in, was beyond him, but the youngster was running and he was running quite quickly. Annelise, Thede, and Rainmund were running behind him in that order; they were scared but they seemed to be relieved to finally be away from the situation that they had just witnessed. Hazaar ran for nearly five minutes before finally stopping. He collapsed soon after stopping. Stefan and his children caught up quickly. While Annelise, Thede, and Rainmund stood by, Stefan knelt down.

"Hazaar?" Stefan said. Hazaar looked at him for only a second before starting to cry. Stefan reacted by simply giving Hazaar a pat on the shoulder; he thought, and believed, that Hazaar was in his right to be getting hysterical.

"He-he-he..." Hazaar stuttered a few seconds later. He was trying to get himself under control but, once he had done so, he found himself growing hysterical again. "I'm n-n-not a juh-juh-juvenile deh-deh-linquent, ah-am I M-Mr. Leinart?"

"No, you're a kid. Just a kid who behaves like he should." Stefan answered. He didn't need to ask Hazaar if he was offended over being called a juvenile delinquent by... his father. While he didn't know Hazaar as much as Hazaar's mother did, he did know that the kid didn't act like a juvenile delinquent. "Hazaar, you behave like a normal teenage boy should. Nothing wrong with how you act or behave. You're normal."

"M-M-Mr. Leinart—"

"Yes?"

"Wh-where's my m-m-mom?"

It took a short while for Hazaar to calm down; when he did, Stefan asked for him to stand up. Stefan threw Hazaar's left arm over his shoulder then he began to walk away. His children followed behind him without being told to. While Stefan was taking Hazaar to the spot where he left his wife and his friend aka Hazaar's mother, Angel Irene, at, Bile and Lhaklar were just finishing up with the two women that they had picked up as their dates only an hour and twenty minutes before.

Except for Bile and Lhaklar, and their dates, the fair's parking lot was empty. There was only one or two people milling around in the lot when Lhaklar and his date, a woman named Dorle, made their way into it. The one or two people that were in the parking lot went back into the fair soon after they started getting busy in the front seat of the i8 BMW. They had just moved their business to the BMW's back seats when Bile and his date, a woman named Amaline, walked into the lot. Bile was fully against using his mother's Porsche D2 after he and Amaline started to walk down the row that the i8 BMW and the Porsche D2 were parked on. There was a lot of noise coming from the i8 BMW and the vehicle had also been bouncing around rather crazily; Bile hadn't liked the idea of entertaining his date in the car that was beside the one that his younger brother was conducting his own "important business" in so he asked his date if she had a car or if she knew of a car that they could use that was in the lot.

"Yeah, my Chevvie Sonic is three rows from this one." Amaline replied.

"What does it look like?" Bile had smiled a pretty wide smile after asking that.

"It's purple," Amaline repleid. Bile gave her a strange look. "It also has four doors, a skylight, and two exhaust pipes in the back."

"Lead me to it madame," Bile said. They walked by the i8 BMW quickly and quietly afterwards, so Lhaklar and his date weren't disturbed.

It was about thirty-five minutes later when Lhaklar and Dorle's date ended. A pretty winded and sweaty Dorle was sitting beside a rather exhausted, but quite happy, Lhaklar when Cheshire Ubalki walked into the parking lot. They sat in the back of the car, saying nothing to one another, for a few minutes before Dorle started the process of collecting the clothing that she had worn before they decided to do the rest of their date in the vehicle's back seat. Dorle had just started to re-dress herself when Cheshire started down the row that the i8 BMW was parked on. Except for the clothes that Dorle was fussing over, the car was silent; nothing was said between the two of them for another minute.

"You have no idea how much I needed that," Lhaklar said. The only thing that he had on his body was a pair of gray-green briefs. The pair of brown pants, that he put on that morning, were by his ankles. He was sitting on his multi green striped, long sleeve, button down shirt. His brown shoes and socks were by his feet. "Been almost a year since I've had any sort of female company."

"Sometimes them long waits are well worth it," Dorle returned. She ran her hand up Lhaklar's left arm affectionately before going back to putting her clothes on. "Been a while for me as well. Things at home and at work have kept me pretty busy."

"Same here," Lhaklar said. He, all of a sudden, had a need for a smoke. He pulled his shirt out from under him then he retrieved his cigarette case from the pocket that was in it. After he took one of the Black Devils cigarettes out from the case, he held the case out to Dorle. She responded by shaking her head.

"Thanks. You're too kind, but I don't smoke." Dorle said. "People think I'm weird about that. I drink but I don't smoke."

"The people who think you're weird are actually the weird ones," Lhaklar said. He lit his cigarette by making a tiny flame appear on the suction cup that was on the tip of the index finger of his left hand. He took a drag from the cigarette then leaned back. "There's plenty of people out there who drink but don't smoke and there's plenty of people who smoke but don't drink."

"That's what I say but they still think I'm weird." Dorle said. "How much control do you have of your powers? It seems that you made that small flame appear on the tip of your finger with no effort at all."

"My mother trained me very well. I have good control of my powers." Lhaklar replied. He put the end of the Black Devil cigarette in his mouth then he started to put his clothes on.

Lhaklar slid his shirt around himself then bent down to grab his pants; his action of doing that caused him to be missed by Cheshire, who was just now walking by the i8 BMW. All Cheshire saw was a woman, who had dark blonde hair, that looked to be a mess, in the back of the car. He walked on by. Lhaklar half-stood in the car to pull his pants up a few seconds later then, after he had his pants on, he bent down to put his socks and then his shoes on. A few minutes later, when he decided to exit the i8 BMW for a little fresh air, he did so with his shirt left unbuttoned and untucked. Dorle got out of the car after he did; she walked around to the side of the car that he was on then she wrapped her arm around his waist. He responded by putting his arm around her shoulders. Dorle was wearing a red blouse; the pair of blue jeans, that were on her lower half, had pink dyed patches on the legs; there was a pair of red tennis shoes on her feet.

She had actually just gotten through telling a man to scram when he came upon her; Lhaklar was a sport in giving her a little assistance in sending the man that was giving her grief away. The man that she was having problems with was her own cousin, who had one too many drinks. After helping her get rid of her inebriated cousin, he asked if she wanted a little friendly, non-drunk, company. Along with saying that he was too kind, she said that she wanted to be alone for a little while. His response was to say okay, then to give his head a nod; he went to the nearby Ring Toss game booth after doing that. She had followed him for some reason so, he had gotten the crazy idea of winning her a prize. Just to lift her mood up a little. The winning of a rather large, stuffed cat toy had been the start to his asking her for a date; the date happened after he took her to one of the coffee tents for a non-alcoholic coffee. He listened as she talked. She talked about how her cousin had forced her to come to the fair, and she also talked about how her cousin had just insisted on their spending nearly all of their time at the fair drinking beer.

Dorle's cousin had insulted her a lot during the two hours that they were at the fair and he had also hit her. Twice. After letting her talk and vent out her trouble for all of fifteen minutes, he started talking. He gave her some comforting words, had told her that she was pretty and smart, then he told her a little about himself before finally deciding to shut his trap. The walk out to the parking lot was done five minutes later; they started doing their thing in the front passenger seat of the i8 BMW soon after.

"Seems that with each passing year the moon gets closer to our planet." Dorle said. "Is it true that it's just an illusion?"

"Sometimes. It's sometimes an illusion." Lhaklar replied. He walked around to the tail-end of the i8 BMW. He jumped up, onto the trunk then leaned back. "Other times, it's the planet's gravitational pull. The gravity that this planet generates pulls the moon in a little closer."

"Wouldn't the moon being closer to our planet create trouble with how the tides work?" Dorle asked as she joined Lhaklar on the trunk of the car. Lhaklar sat up; he helped her get situated on the car's trunk before leaning back.

"No, doesn't really cause anything bad to happen. Only thing it does is make for a more romantic or peaceful moment." Lhaklar replied. He took a drag from his cigarette then blew out a jet of gray smoke.

"Wish the stars were out," Dorle said. "The moon seems so lonely in that sky."

"At this location, it is lonely. The fair's lights are making it too bright out for the stars to make an appearance." Lhaklar explained.

"Are your bruders as smart as you?" Dorle asked. "You seem right smart, how old are you again?"

"My brothers are rather intelligent; we don't go around acting like we're know-it-all's but, we are all right smart." Lhaklar replied. "I'm two thousand, one hundred, and one years old."

"How old is that in human years? That seems so old and yet you look so young!" Dorle said in shock.

"Twenty-one," Lhaklar lied. In alien-terms, he and his brothers were all in their mid-teenage years.

"How many bruders do you have again?" Dorle asked.

"Four," Lhaklar replied. He turned his head when he saw that Bile was getting out of a purple Chevrolet, that was three rows from him. "The big guy that's getting out of the purple car three rows from us happens to be one of them."

"I honestly didn't think I'd ever get the chance to see one of my planet's heroine's sons much less speak or spend time with one of them," Dorle said. She glanced over at Bile then snuggled up against Lhaklar. Lhaklar responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Bile's his name, right?"

"Mhmmm," Lhaklar nodded his head as he took another drag from his cigarette. "He's a hundred years older than me."

"You make me feel so young whenever I hear how old you and your bruders are." Dorle said. "I'm only twenty-three and, yet, here I am with someone in his thousands."

It might not of been the longest time that he had spent with a woman but he and his date both agreed that they had fun after they got into the four-door, purple Chevrolet Sonic. Bile felt only a tinge of resentment towards his brother; he figured that he couldn't hold any grudges against his brother—Lhaklar would of done the same as he in changing his plans after seeing that one of them was still in the area with his chosen date. Bile put his hand up. He gave a short wave over in his brother's direction then he started to go over to where the i8 BMW was with Amaline. He had only gone two steps before stopping dead in his tracks; his eyes lighted on Cheshire, who had his back turned to him, then he ducked down, beside one of the cars. Bile reached up and grabbed Amaline's arm afterwards. He pulled her down beside him then he held his finger to his lips. Amaline, a German woman who had French blood in her veins, who's hair was so black that it looked blue, and who had dark brown eyes, asked him in a whisper what was wrong and what was going on; when he didn't answer her, she poked her head around the car that she and her date were hiding beside. When she didn't see anything, she looked under the car. The only thing that she saw when she did that was a pair of formal, brown leather shoes, that looked Italian-made, walking slowly across the parking lot.

The parking lot was quiet and still, which seemed strange because she knew that she and her partner had made a lot of noise in the Chevrolet; she also knew that her partner's brother had also been in the parking lot, and that he had also also been making a lot of noise with the lady that he was spending some time with. The parking lot was also dark too; while there were plenty of solar-light poles in the lot, only half of them were on at the moment. At the moment, all she heard was a crunching sound. She knew that this was coming from the parking lot's gravel being walked on. Amaline was about to ask Bile what was going on when she heard someone yell out in surprise.

"What the hell?" one who had a rather low, but strong and powerful-sounding voice, was heard as saying.

"I'm about to ask the same to you," a bass-like, droning voice returned. There was the sound of a struggle; Amaline heard a woman scream then she heard someone running away. "What are you doing smoking, Lhaklar? You know how bad that is for you? Your lungs haven't developed well enough to handle cigarette smoke!"

"Bile," Amaline looked at her partner. Her partner grabbed her hand in his, kissed it, then started to move away from her.

"Stay here," Bile said.

"What's going on?" Amaline asked. She suddenly felt scared. She grabbed Bile around the middle then she started to follow him. "Bile, wh—"

"Ama, please. Stay here. I need to go help my brother." Bile said as he gently pried Amaline's arms from around his waist.

While he hoped that his date would do as he had told her to he had to get moving and he had to do so now. Bile duck-walked around the cars that were on the row. He poked his head up from time to time to see what was going on then he ducked his head back down so he wouldn't be seen. Lhaklar was struggling in Cheshire's arms. He was fighting, and he was trying to get away, but his adversary had more control of his balance, was stronger and older than he, and he was also mad, so he wasn't able to get away. Cheshire had an iron grip going on with Lhaklar. His left hand was wrapped around Lhaklar's right wrist—he'd periodically yank Lhaklar back to standing before him when his brother tried to either back away or run off. When Lhaklar lunged forward, then tried to push the man that was his grandfather back, he received a shock when the man stepped out of the way. Cheshire released his grandson's wrist after he stepped out of the way. The top of Lhaklar's skull collided with the bumper of a car a second later; that made Lhaklar yell out in pain, and become disorientated. Cheshire grabbed Lhaklar's wrist again; he yanked him back to his feet. Bile had just reached the row that his younger brother was on when Cheshire swung his fist at his brother after he lunged at him again. Lhaklar groaned loudly then doubled over; he wrapped his arm around his stomach, just above the abdomen, then dropped his head low.

"Where in the Universe did you get this?" Cheshire asked in sudden alarm. He walked over to his grandson then reached his hand out. He ran his hand over the four and a quarter inch long gash, that was on the right side of his grandson's head, that he had just noticed. He had just enough time to see that the area that was around the gash was a dark green color before his grandson jerked his head away from his touch. The first thing that ran through Cheshire's head, after his grandson moved away from him, was that the wound was still tender and sore. "What in blue blazes have you been getting into, Lhakie? I come here and find you smoking and with a female. I find you with your shirt untucked and unbuttoned and I also find that you've got an injury to your head that... When did you get that gash? What gave you that gash, Lhaklar?"

He was still temporarily off balance, so he couldn't get to his feet and then run away from the man that ran up from seemingly out of nowhere to put an end to what he thought was a fine and dandy sort of night. Lhaklar shook his head; the area that was around the gash, that he received during the October 2 earthquake, was throbbing like hell and he gave most of the thanks for that throbbing sensation towards his grandfather.

He could hear well. He could speak, but he preferred to not do so. The gash that was on the right side of his head was received after his head crashed up against the lip of the stage that he was dancing on at the Die Heiß und Hastig strip club. He had managed to get up after falling over but he hadn't been able to stay on his feet—the ground was shaking too much for that to happen.

The bruises that he received on his chest, stomach, and ribs had all come from the tables and counter-tops that he ran into after the earthquake ended. After seeing that he wasn't able to teleport home, he collected his clothes then started running; he ran into nearly all of the tables and the two or three counter-tops that flanked the aisle that the stage that he was dancing on while doing so, which was funny, since no one else in the club was doing that. Lhaklar shook his head; he was trying to get rid of the pain that he was feeling when he felt a hand wrap around the deltoid muscle that was on his right arm. Lhaklar allowed for the man that was his grandfather to pick him up from the gravel-filled parking lot then, after he on his feet, he kicked his leg out. Cheshire yelled when a pillar of Earth shot up from under his feet. Cheshire flew up twenty feet. When he collided with the ground, he started to breathe heavily. Cheshire was trying to get to his feet when Bile appeared beside Lhaklar, who was having a rather difficult time in staying on his feet.

"You okay?" Bile asked. As if in answer, Lhaklar doubled over. Bile grabbed his brother around the middle to keep him on his feet; he stared in shock as Lhaklar started to spit up blood. "Oh shit!"

"No offense, Bile," Lhaklar said weakly. "I don't know what color your shit is but mine always comes out looking brown. What came out of my mouth is a bluish color so it must be blood instead of sh—"

"Thanks for that highly valuable and disgusting insight to the colors of your bowel movements." Bile said. Although he was disgusted, he was struggling to not laugh at his brother's words. Bile helped his brother to stand up straight then he looked up. Cheshire had recovered and it looked like he was coming right for them. "Stay beside the i8 will you, let me deal with him."

"Have fun," Lhaklar said. He collapsed beside the i8 BMW after Bile moved off to intercept Cheshire.

He had only to look at the furious light that was in Bile's glowing, yellow-green eyes to know that he was in for some trouble and, honestly, when he told TazirVile later on about the encounter, he would be saying that he deserved that gained trouble—he'd also be doing plenty of apologizing for his actions. He hadn't meant to act or be so rough with Lhaklar. After seeing that Lhaklar was nearby, he grew excited—seeing Lhaklar as lying on the trunk of a car, with a female lying right beside him, and seeing Lhaklar with a cigarette, and with his shirt untucked, had caused that excitement to turn to frustration and concern. The frustration and concern that he felt had coupled with the sudden influence of annoyance and anger after he caught the whiff of alcohol on Lhaklar, and when Lhaklar started to struggle and then fight him after he grabbed him from the car.

The girl that was with Lhaklar ran off, screaming her fool head off in panic, after he grabbed his grandson. He didn't blame her none. If he was born a female, and if it was he in the girl's shoes, he would of done the same thing. Probably. He was with Tazir when Qeeta put in the call about Hazaar. He already knew about Hazaar being injured; he didn't know anything about Lhaklar being injured too.

He had seen injuries like that of what Lhaklar had on his head before; they were nasty ones and, unless Lhaklar fell on something that was pretty sharp, or unless something fell on him that was heavy, head-gashes like the one that Lhaklar had usually came from fights. He hadn't meant to put so much oomph into his punch—he had only been trying to get Lhaklar under control and the only thing that came to his mind at the time was to temporarily cripple him by punching him in the stomach. Lhaklar had just gotten through bashing his injured head on the bumper of a car for crying out loud so he should not of swung at him! His follow-up action, after picking Lhaklar up and then having Lhaklar lung at him, was horrible! Cheshire stopped when there were three cars between him and Bile and Lhaklar. He stared at Bile for a few seconds then he chanced a look at Lhaklar, who was lying on his back on the gravel next to the car that he had plucked him from.

"Bile..." Cheshire said. His voice was calm and collected. He held his hands out to show that he had nothing in them with which to harm anyone with. "It's been a while."

He didn't know of anything else to say. He was suddenly stunned to silence after Bile walked into the circle of bright, yellow light that was coming from one of the parking lot's solar-light poles. He had taken notice of Lhaklar's physical condition right after he plucked him from the trunk of the car that he saw him lying on; it looked like Lhaklar had lost between five and ten pounds—for some odd reason, it also looked like he had gained some muscle on his arms.

The four and a quarter inch long gash, that was on the side of Lhaklar's head, was the only injury that he saw on the kid; the rest of him had looked fine.

Bile, on the other hand, looked as if bachelorhood hadn't fazed him any. His body condition looked the same. He had the same muscle mass and he looked to have no injuries on his body. He was walking fine and he wasn't acting like anything on his body was hurting him. Cheshire started to circle around Bile at the exact same time that KurukVile walked into the parking lot. KurukVile took notice of Lhaklar lying on the gravel, then he noticed that Bile was standing a few feet from him. KurukVile took a step forward then stopped; the muscle, that was in his body, grew tense when he saw the shadowy movement to his right. He turned towards it and, to his complete disbelief, he saw nothing but a pair of yellow, slanted lights. They were just ten feet from him.

KurukVile felt a sudden form of terror roll over him as he watched the yellow lights move away from him. They moved in the direction of Bile, Lhaklar, and Cheshire. That caused a chill to roll down his spine. It also caused him to be paralyzed.

"Bile, calm down now." Cheshire said. He had also seen the slightly slanted, yellow lights. At the moment, he was more concerned about Bile and Lhaklar than the lights. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I had no idea that he was injured. You two are my grandsons; I was only acting out of concern and self-defense. I shouldn't of swung at him like I did, I apologize." Bile said nothing in return; he just stood where he was. The youngster watched as he walked around him. Cheshire decided to try to get Bile to calm down by talking about something else that he thought would soothe him. "You and Lhaklar look well for being on your own for so long; Lhaklar looks to of dropped a little weight and, despite the injury that he has to his head, he looks healthy. You both do. Your dad and Eshal miss you two, so does Zanra. You remember Zanra? The puppy that your mother brought back after she went to see Trobrencus? She's gotten big. She sure don't look like a puppy anymore."

"Don't you come another step closer to him!" Bile spat. Cheshire stopped. He stared Bile in the eye for only a second before dropping his gaze to Bile's hands. Bile's hands were in tight fists; them fists had a bright, orange glow to them. Cheshire stared at the orange-glowing fists of his adopted grandson for a second before looking Bile in the eye again.

"Bile, I understand that you're angry with me. I hurt him! I understand that your anger is directed at me because I hurt your brother. I'm not going to hurt neither of you again, okay. I just want to make that clear." Cheshire said. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark mass walking across the parking lot. He followed that mass for only a second before turning towards it. To his complete surprise, he heard a muffled yell after his energy strike struck the mass. Cheshire yelled in sudden shock a second later, after Bile ran right, smack, into him.

Bile's charge was so unexpected; Cheshire had no time to prepare for it. Cheshire lost half of his breath when Bile slammed into him. He lost the rest when the force of Bile's charge sent them crashing into a parked car.

The alarm system, that was in the car that they landed on, went off. Cheshire didn't hear it. He heard only two things right now: the grunts and groans, that Bile was making, and the sound that Bile's fists were making as they were swung towards him. Bile's fists were now fully engulfed in orange flames—he was swinging these flame-filled fists at him and he was causing sparks to fly from him with them. Using just about all of the strength that was in his body that had yet to be taken from him, Cheshire pushed Bile off him. He stood up; he was gasping for air, he was off-balance, and he was disoriented, but he could see very well. That allowed him to leap out of the way when Bile came at him again; he was so off balanced that, after he leaped out of the way, he fell to the ground. Cheshire worked on regaining his wind back as he rolled away from Bile; he kicked his leg up after his body struck the tire of a nearby car.

The heel of the tailor-made, brown leather shoe, that was on his foot, struck one of Bile's skeletal knees. Bile produced a half-snarl, that was also a half yell, then jumped back after the shoe collided with him.

While Cheshire felt horrible for hurting yet another of his grandchildren, he knew that he hadn't kicked out with ill-intentions. His action in kicking his grandson had only been done in self-defense. Cheshire took advantage of the time that was available to him to grab the undercarriage of the car that was behind him. He pulled himself under the car with all of his strength; the gravel, that was under him, went down the collar of his shirt and down the back of his pants as he pulled himself under the vehicle. He had only just finished pulling himself under the car when the gravel started to fly up and then around him. The dust that was around him was thick. The gravel cut his face. It ripped into his clothing. He snapped his eyes shut to keep the gravel from cutting them then he waited for his breath to return to him. When he started to cough and wheeze and gag, he decided that enough was enough. He reached for the side of the car that he hoped was away from Bile then he pulled himself out from under the car.

Bile, after seeing the man that hurt not one but two of his younger brothers come out from under the car, leaped onto the roof of the car that Cheshire was under. He roared something incoherently at Cheshire as he shot his arms out; a gust of red-hot, heated air blew Cheshire back ten feet a short half-second later. Cheshire only just managed to stay on his feet; he leaped out of Bile's attack then he swung his fist at the youngster. There was a loud zapping sound as a large, electrical charge flew out from his first. It sizzled towards Bile, who saw it a half-second too late. Cheshire winced when he heard Bile yell in pain. Bile was flung from the roof of the car; despite his hard landing, he didn't stay down for long. He rolled over, got to his feet, then threw a purple energy beam at Cheshire, who ducked to avoid it.

Cheshire ran forward. He dodged several energy balls and strands then, when he reached Bile, he slid to a stop. He kicked Bile's feet out from under him then he tied Bile's legs up with his own. Bile growled angrily then rolled over; he managed to free himself from Cheshire then, after getting free, he performed a handstand. He kicked two blasts of white fire out. Cheshire responded by holding his hands out; he felt the suction cups, that were on the tips of his fingers, burn and he felt his palms screaming in pain but his face was kept safe. He was damn glad for that!

Just as Cheshire was lowering his hands from his face, the ground, that was under Bile's feet, flipped. Bile disappeared; the parking lot went silent. Cheshire stood where he was for a few seconds before looking to the left. He had seen movement come from that direction.

"You're sure a lot of help!" Cheshire shouted at KurukVile as he ran past him. He had seen Lhaklar running off with Bile trailing behind him; Cheshire wasn't sure of what all he had seen but, he was pretty sure that there was another person running in front of Lhaklar. He was also pretty sure that Lhaklar had Bile by the arm. KurukVile's paralysis broke at just that moment. He ran off in pursuit of Cheshire. When he caught up to Cheshire, he grabbed and then threw him against a concrete wall.

"You...!" KurukVile said. At the moment, he could only say that. He was still in shock over what he had seen.

"Let go of me you fool!" Cheshire barked.

"Who was it that you fired at?"KurukVile spat. When Cheshire began to struggle, KurukVile swung his fist low. Cheshire's breath started coming out in whistles after his fist collided with his gut. "Who was he? The dark dude that you fired at before Bile—"

"What d-dark du—" Cheshire sputtered. KurukVile dropped him then raced off in the direction that Bile, Lhaklar, and the fellow that he had only been able to see for a little under twenty seconds had gone in.

Bile ripped his arm right out from Lhaklar's hand then put the brakes on. Lhaklar ran on for a short distance before stopping and then turning around while Guyunis ran on for ten more seconds before doing the same. While Bile's left skeletal knee was unharmed, there was a bleeding cut to his shin; the edge of Cheshire's tailor-made, brown leather shoe had cut it open, and the fall that Bile had taken after Cheshire's electrical charge struck him had opened it up even more. Bile gave Lhaklar a good, long stare before throwing his arms up; he uttered a sound that was half a sigh, half a growl, and half a cry then he started towards his brother. He didn't hesitate to grab or turn Lhaklar around when he reached him. He gave Lhaklar a big shove forward; Lhaklar moved on without saying a thing. When Bile reached Guyunis, he tried to do the same thing. Guyunis shoved him back twice then he stood his ground after he was shoved again for a third time; Bile stared at him for only a second before lunging at him. He grabbed Guyunis by his shoulder then he whipped him around.

"Move your feet forward," Bile said angrily. "Fair's over—time to return to ma!"

"Quit pushin-k-g me!" Guyunis snapped.

"Walk and I will," Bile spat. When Guyunis stopped and then turned to look at him, Bile produced a low, yet very audible, growl. "I'm the oldest here, you—"

"I know tha-k-t. Doesn't mean that you have the righ-k-t to be mean to me, or shove me around." Guyunis said as KurukVile ran into view.

"Move, Numbskull!" Bile nearly shouted. KurukVile's slide-like stop was so fierce that gravel and dust flew out from behind him. Guyunis backed away from Bile slowly then turned and walked off, towards Lhaklar, who was waiting just ten feet from him. KurukVile stood and stared in dumb shock as Bile, Lhaklar, and the fellow that he had just heard Bile call Numbskull walked away.