*Slowly inches on stage, dodging a few rotten tomatoes. Lifts up smartyjonescrzy's borrowed 'Bag of Shame' over head. Taps mic and smiles nervously at the crowd* Hello, Ladies and gentlemen. The prodigal author has returned! Hehe...*feels awkward after getting no chuckling response from annoyed audience*
All jokes aside, guys, I'm so sorry for taking for EVER to do this chapter. Please accept my most deepest, sincerist apology from the blackest part of my heart. :) Blame it on my teachers. I think that they were all conspiring against me and trying to give me as much homework as possible.
But good news is...straight A's! And even better, it's SUMMER! Wooo!
So, at least I'll be updating sooner. :) *bows and scurries off the stage before anyone else can throw another tomatoe*
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IceDragonHikari: Thank you. If I had my way, bugs would be extinct. :) But, I did not memorize the movie all the way, :( , I watch it every week. :)
CarminaXBuranaX: Thanks, haha, I love making people laugh. And bees ARE scary. :D
Anonymous: Thank you! Yes, that scene was greatly delivered in the movie, I agree.
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HeartlessVampireGirl: Thank you, unfortunately, that was how I used to react to crickets, lol.
Beagle Bug: I know I promised Annie, :) she is in the next chapter which I already started typing. :)
BK Love-ah: Haha, I totally hate spiders, the worst is when you find one in the shower. Ewww. It's like arachnus deathicus…lol.
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Robert was feeling generally good about his life right now, despite the fact that the men had been lowered in pay; he was glad that it ended so well, without a mutinous riot on his hands. He reclined lazily in his chair behind a dull maple desk, staring up at the ceiling. More often than not, Shaw felt exhausted, but today, things were a bit different. True, he was still weary, but in a different, better way, like he had actually accomplished something worth accomplishing, and the effort had wiped him out.
He smiled softly to himself. The uniforms were delivered several hours before, and he would present them to the regiment during the twilight roll call. Robert was glad that he had visited the quartermaster again; more civil this time than the last, for he vowed that no one ever again should underestimate the things that he could do. He was not a shy, fearful little boy, but a grown man that had the power to stand up for something he believed in. In turn, he believed that if he continued to do so, his men would start to trust him, and he so craved their trust.
Forbes entered his quarters at that very moment like he bloody owned the place, as he did every time he decided to grace Robert with his honorable presence. But the colonel did not feel like yelling at him for not knocking or asking permission or just treating him like his commanding officer, frankly, he was in too much of a good mood to care. Forbes paused right in front of his desk, planting his feet shoulder-width apart. His face was grim to a fault as he thrust out a travel-worn envelope, his gloved hand quivering a bit as he waited for Robert to accept the message. Charlie followed in behind him.
Good Lord what now? Robert began to panic as he jerked up in his chair as if stung. He collected the envelope from Forbes, who in the most gruesome tone possible, murmured. "You fell for that horrible acting, Colonel?"
Robert blinked, unable to comprehend. "What?"
Forbes looked back at Charlie, and the two exchanged a loaded glance. They started laughing, well, at least Forbes did, and Charlie only chuckled for concern of pushing his friend's buttons too hard. The major forced himself to sober for a moment. "Read it, Robert."
Robert eyed him in distrust, but followed his advice. Easily snapping off the red wax seal which was engraved with the official stamp of the United States War Department, he released its hold on the envelope flap and turned it upside down, letting a thick sheet of hot-pressed paper slide into his open palm. He glanced at Forbes, who seemed almost giddy with excitement, and decided to punish him by deliberately taking ages to unfold the paper. However, the task didn't take as long as he would have hoped, and soon enough, Robert was forced to read it.
March 4th 1863
To: Col. Robert Gould Shaw of the 54th Massachusetts Infantry. Boston-Readville, Massachusetts
From: United States War Department: Secretary of War, Simon Cameron; Washington D.C
Subject: Grant of Regimental relocation for the 54th Massachusetts
Upon reading the subject, Robert leaned forward on his elbows in unbreakable interest, blocking out Charlie's presence and ignoring Forbes completely.
Dear Sir,
Upon your request for a location transfer of the 54th Massachusetts, the United States Department of War (U.S.D.W.) hereby agrees to grant your request to dispatch regiment southward to Beaufort, South Carolina. I regret to inform you, however, that U.S.D.W is unwilling at this time to grant your request of deployment to southern combat lines. The 54th regiment shall be transferred to the south on Tuesday June 9th, 1863. Your troops will remain stationed in South Carolina until further notice. U.S.D.W. would like to congratulate you on behalf of reaching the status of becoming an official Union regiment.
Regards,
Simon Cameron
Secretary of War
Washington D.C
Robert lowered the paper slowly, and his friends doubted that they had ever seen a wider grin in their twenty-give-or-take years. Robert did not even dare to dream that his day could get any better. He regretted that he was not a child anymore, because he certainly felt the need to act like one, running about the place hollering, cheering, and laughing because he received a shiny new toy for his birthday. Though he was old enough to restrain himself, he was young enough to appreciate how hard he had fallen for Forbes' impressive talents of lying-and nearly scaring him to death-with the prank he pulled on him in the matter he delivered the letter.
"Forbes?" Robert mocked with a grin. "Hasn't your mother ever told you it isn't polite to try to fool others?"
Forbes made a big show of pretending to whisper to Charlie. "Says he who fooled forty men and ladies with a ballroom cross-dressing act at seventeen."
Robert grinned. "I was able to fool you, Forbes." He retorted.
Forbes smirked, but there was an indignant tone in his voice. "Don't flatter yourself Robert. It was not difficult to see that you weren't a woman." A slow smile spread across the blonde's handsome features. "You looked awful. Frankly macabre."
It was Robert's turn to smirk. "I was propositioned by three men!"
At a loss for a better reply, Forbes changed the subject back to the original. "Even you have to admit, Robert, that that was a good joke."
"He who would pun would pick a pocket!" Robert quoted, but in vain, for his retort only gained Forbes and Charlie fresh peals of laughter. Robert could not help but smile as well.
It was unnecessary for the major to generate a comeback, however, as the bugle call sounded in announcement for supper.
Robert stood up, stretching. "Out! The both of you!"
Forbes raised his eyebrows in amusement, and Robert felt that somehow, he and his friends reconnected those fifteen minutes after being aloof and emotionally away from each other for several long weeks. After the two made no attempt to move, Robert made his voice overly commanding. "Go! Go!" His mouth pulling up at one corner. "I shall see you both at twilight roll call."
This time Forbes reacted, and he turned to the captain. "Come, Charlie, Caesar has spoken."
Robert chuckled as they both backed out.
Jupiter patted his full stomach affectionately; glad to receive its third daily fill after long hours of drilling and camp chores. Though supper was not fit for a baron, it was enough for Jupiter, consisting of a small ration of beans, hard tack, and dried meat that tasted like it had been spending most of its life soaking in salty sea water. Jupiter never complained. He knew that it was better than what he was used to eating-after being released from his plantation home because the white folks couldn't afford to feed so many slaves anymore.
He wouldn't mind another helping of dinner, to tell the truth.
He was in 'A Company' which would naturally go before 'B Company', and all were previously in line waiting for twilight roll call to start-and-finish so that everybody could go about their business. Jupiter yawned, rubbing his eyes, waiting for his turn to be called. They were standing in front of the stage again, where they had stood that very morning during pay day, and the colonel was standing at the bottoms of the steps, rocking back and forth on his heals next to an officer juggling several large white sacks in his hands,
"Rawlins!" The officer in charge of roll call shouted.
"Sir!" The old man replied without skipping a beat.
"Searles!" Obviously this was going in alphabetical order.
The house nigger firmly replied, "Sir!"
"Sharts!"
Jupiter stiffened; the epitome of attention. "S-sir!"
Ah, The Stutter, it was embarrassing, but it was unavoidable. He waited patiently for the rest to finish, and when the last name was called, he mentally sprang up, ready to leave. Unfortunately, they were ordered to remain stationary…whatever that means…but with a look around, told him to remain where he was. His mental energy went to sleep again, and he slouched his shoulders, the rest of his body still alert, as he squinted up at the powder-blue late-evening sky that was slowly being dotted with diamond stars.
He looked back down, front and center. His eyes found Rio first, leaning against the stairs of the podium, appearing to be just as sleepy as he felt. He transitioned his gaze to the colonel, who caught his attention with movement. He was reaching for one of the cotton-white bundles, taking two off of the other man's hands with his own strong grip. Jupiter, through his fatigue, was slowly aware that the colonel was moving forward.
Towards him.
The young man paused less than a yard away from Jupiter, and all that the stunned private could do was blink in astonishment. The colonel, however stunned as well, was confident in his actions, though his face betrayed a look of acute shyness as he handed one of the bundles to Jupiter. Jupiter was relieved that he wasn't in trouble; and he slowly accepted the package from him, feeling like the whole world was watching.
His fingers shook as he tried to undo the tight knot that held the package in place. Several times his clumsy digits slipped, and he flinched, remembering how angrily the colonel reacted several weeks ago when he used him as a demonstration for weapon training. This time, however, Shaw waited patiently, his eyes on the package that with a final, firm tug, was finally undone. Jupiter held his breath, pulling the white scraps of cotton away to reveal…
…a blue suit.
The blue suit. He could not have released his breath even if his life depended on it, and as the seconds crawled past for his oxygen-deprived body, eventually, it would become life-dependent. For a moment, the colonel and everybody else were forgotten. He trailed his fingertips over the shiny black buttons, the soft, cotton material, appreciating the brilliant, indigo shade of the deep, dark blue. He was overwhelmed with gratitude, for the Lord knew that there was nothing more-short of food-which Jupiter had been wanting.
A slow, deliberate grin brightened up his features, and he raised his head to look at the colonel square in the eye. Shaw had been chewing on his bottom lip, waiting for a good or bad reaction that would come out of this. Jupiter gave him the best he had in him, and it was contagious. The colonel did not hesitate as he returned a tentative smile, and for the second time today, the young 'nigger-beatin'-white-boy' had proven his worth.
One week later…
"Where does Alex sleep, again?" Charlie grumbled, groggy from sleep deprivation, and none too excited to go back to the barracks. "I can't see anything in the dark." He yawned.
Forbes rolled his eyes, returning the contagious yawn. "You still don't know where her bunk is?"
Charlie only blinked, dumbly.
"Just follow that atrocious snoring." Forbes tried, but to no avail. He tried to stare his friend down, and he was glad to succeed. "Forget it. Don't bother, I'll go."
If you want something done, make your friends do it. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
His personal philosophy.
It was his job anyway, since Alex could not wake up to the bugle call to save her life. He stepped outside of the mess hall, into the dim light of the morning and crossed the small avenue between the cafeteria and the officer's barracks. He removed the flap of heavy cotton that served as a door out of his way and stepped inside of the dark, musty sleeping quarters. Only one form was still laying in a cot…Alex. Who bloody else?
Forbes sighed, stomping over to her bunk. Since the regiment was official, they were to have their official 'march'-or whatever Robert said-to signify their existence. The entire Beacon Street had been preparing for their arrival, which was later this very morning. They were to camp outside of Boston for the few following days, then progress to South Carolina. Forbes was hardly excited, it meant less sleep, and by the looks of Alex's dreaming expression, it would not go well on her either.
He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned over her. "Forgive the disturbance, your majesty, but would you care to rise out of bed?"
She didn't even stir.
Forbes blinked. "Madam, I beg thee to indulge us with the opening of your lovely eyes." He smirked.
Again, no reward for his efforts.
He frowned. She was a lot easier at waking up usually; perhaps it was because of the bugle call that sounded almost two hours earlier than normal, depriving her of an extra two hours worth of sleep. The major shrugged, and being the brilliant strategist that he was, decided to change his tactics. Slowly reaching out to her, he put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook it. She grimaced in her sleep, and rolled away from him. He sighed and strolled around her cot to face her again. He shook her shoulder again, slightly harder.
"Miss Janeiro. Alex. Rio. Whatever you're calling yourself this week…arise!" He ordered, in a tone that suggested he was preparing for battle.
She muttered something about how Edward should just go die in a hole.
Forbes arched an eyebrow. What on earth was a Cullen? He shook her as hard as he dared. This time, however, he received a reaction, but it was not one that he had expected. She opened her eyes slowly, as if in pain, and scowled as she raised his eyes to his. Suddenly, she paled, and her eyes rounded. She drew in a deep breath and screamed so loudly that Forbes' ears started to ring, drawing back a fist, she propelled it straight into his right eye.
Forbes staggered back, clutching at the smarting part of his face and moaning. Suddenly, she sat up, and Forbes automatically shielded his other eye. She squinted in the dim light. "Forbes?"
"No, of course not, what makes you think that?" He hissed through his teeth, massaging his wounded eye in small circles.
My hand flew up to cover my mouth.
"Forbes!' I exclaimed, wincing as if I was the one hit instead of him. "I'm so sorry!"
He only nodded, refusing to look at me.
"Forbes, are you all right?" I asked, genuinely concerned. I hopped off the bed and sprinted towards him.
"No, I'm not all right!" He grunted, still clutching at his eye.
Seriously, men can be such babies.
I sighed. "Let me look at it." I offered.
He chose that moment to go all macho on me. "Tis nothing, just a scratch."
I rolled my eyes. Ha! And I thought I was bipolar!
"Fine." Be that way. I walked past him towards the exit. "Is it time to go?"
"I believe they're lining the up the men as we speak." He grunted, pulling out his pocket watch. "The marching begins at ten o'clock on the dot, it's almost eight thirty."
I nodded. "And how long does it take to get to Boston…er…Beaker Street?"
"Beacon Street." He corrected. "About half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes."
"I see." We stepped out and into the light, making our way towards the cafeteria. I turned towards him to say something, but at the sight of what I saw made me drop it. I stared at him, shocked, open-mouthed.
He frowned when he noticed me gaping. "What?"
"F-Forbes!" I pointed at his eye. "I gave you a bruise!"
Forbes' hand flew up to cover his eye. "What?" He repeated. "How?"
But it was there. It was a shade of dark lavender, with a bit of indigo starting to creep in around the corners. "Geez, Forbes, you really took a hit, didn't ya?"
Forbes groaned, his hand not leaving his right eye, hiding his embarrassing wound. "Really, Alex, of all days you have to pick this one! We're marching today!"
Oh yes, and you've got to see Susannah.
"If it's any consolation, Forbes, the blue in it brings out your eyes nicely." Ouch. I honestly don't think that was a very smart thing to say.
Forbes glared at me.
I wasn't making fun of him, I swear I wasn't, I was just trying to talk my way out of it. But I can't. I'm not a smooth talker. It is at times like these that I wish so badly that I was superhuman; perhaps a superhero or at least a villain. If I could be one, I would honestly choose to be Megamind. I see a lot of Pros to this. He is less clumsy. He is way smarter. He is a smooth talker, and can get away with anything…('cept prison.) And he is such a good liar. The only con is the giant blue head.
"You know what? I'll just keep my mouth shut from now on, how's that?" I suggested, cringing under his laser-eyed stare.
His frown turned upside down slowly. "You do that."
It was nearly two hours later that Robert found himself atop of Glory on the outskirts of Boston, seated tall and proud on an equally tall and proud horse. It was a beautiful animal, obedient yet somehow free, its powerful body relaxed for the moment, patiently waiting for his master's commands. With the last of Mulcahy's brutal calls, the entire regiment was finally reassembled into a slightly different style of marching rows. There were exactly thirteen men in each row, which Robert learned from his father as a boy, were meant to symbolize the original thirteen colonies and were commonly used by the old fellows in the Revolution.
Robert nudged Glory with his heels, digging them gently into the animal's generous belly. Immediately, the steed lurched forward, calmly following the orders that were given to him through the language of Robert's reins. As the colonel, he was to ride in the frontal rows, save for the flag bearers and the drummer boys that were to go before him. He guided Glory to his designated spot, catching sight of Forbes. Robert furrowed his brow, the major's eye was a darker shade of blue than his uniform could ever be.
Robert made a mental note to inquire about that later. Instead, he raised his gleaming saber, watching the weapon silently slice through the air, glint wickedly in the sun, and immediately earn the regiment's attention. He took a deep breath of the treasured air, enjoying the sensation that filled his lungs and emptied them just a few moments later. This was it. The young colonel caught the steely eye of Sergeant Mulcahy, and nodded at him to signal the order to march.
Okay, I am genuinely scared now; I hope nobody really sees this. I'm on Charlie's fat, stupid horse, the one that threw me off several times in one day. I'm lucky I didn't damage my spinal cord. Charlie is on it with me, even though he looks as cool as a cucumber-or whatever-while I look like I have 'Freshman' and 'Rookie' written all over me. I'm clinging so tightly to his jacket that he had to shake me off a few times, saying that I'll pull us both down if I keep doing that. But I can't help it. I have developed a bloody phobia for his bloody horse.
Forbes, who is driving ahead of us, keeps glancing back of his shoulder and smirking at me. I guess that's payback for the black eye. I'm debating on whether or not it's worth flipping him off, I finally decide not to do it…there's way too many witnesses. Hundreds of cheering 1800'sners are packed together, pushed up against the walls of the streets to let us pass through. People are shouting praises at us, and with a spark of vanity, I closed my eyes and imagine how it would feel like if they were cheering for me.
Robert, on the other hand, looks totally nonchalant, as if he experiences this kind of attention every freaking day. He's not even puffed up with pride for the Fifty-Fourth. His face is utterly blank and unfazed, as if this was not worth celebrating, or at least a smile. I know for a fact that if they truly were cheering for me, I would totally be totally strutting it, putting on a show that was as loud and dramatic as Elvis mixed with Las Vegas. Thank-you-very-much, ladies and gen'lemen, you've been a won'erful audience.
There was a loud marching band that's playing some familiar patriotic song that I don't know the name of; and small white pieces of confetti sprinkle down from the balconies above us and settle our shoulders like snow. Gee, I'm going to have a lot of fun picking that out of my hair. All you see is red, white, and blue everywhere you look, swirling around, banners hanging off of ever door and balcony. Children wave tiny Union flags in the air, as I wave at them. Despite my dilemma with Charlie's noble steed, I can't help but loosen up a little and grinning ginormously.
Up in the balconies of the elegant Victorian houses, ladies with hoop skirts of silk and lace hang on the arms of senior gentlemen in coats with shiny top hats, watching us proudly from above. But it is the old men and women on the streets below that catch my attention. They crowd the street on both sides, a few feet away from me; if I reached out enough I could touch one of them. There is an expression of hope on their faces and tears of joy in their eyes, as every one of those African-American women-most of them probably ex-slaves-search our marching rows with desperate eyes in hopes of getting just one, small glimpse of their men.
It was a pleasant thought, beautiful even, for the women of the Civil War did not suffer any less than their men. Perhaps, not all of them were in pain physically, but the loss of a loved one who meant the world to you would hurt more than you can bear. I tried to blend in with Charlie, pulling my navy kepi low over my eyes, and hoping that the blue of my uniform jacket would disappear amidst the blues of the men. I did not want to stand out because I was a girl in britches, and people don't really accept that. Besides, I was still sore over the time when those guys started making fun of me when we first got to Camp Readville, and I shouted the 'your mom' thing to them.
Gasp! You will never believe what I just saw. As we were passing Mulcahy in the bystander's line, I saw him smile! With my own two eyes! Swear to the lord above, I did, he actually smiled! Quick! Alert the press! I smiled back at him, I'm not sure why, but he didn't see me. Nope, never mind, I lied, he just nodded at me.
Charlie's unicorn…horse suddenly jerked abnormally just to piss me off, and for a minute I cling to the captain like a sailor to a lifeline. I heard something like a cross between a sigh and a chuckle, before Charlie reached back to loosen my hands from his jacket, telling me to chill the freak out, only he said it in a more fancy and elegant and polite manner.
It was one of those moments when you know that someone is cheering for you. Those moments where you force yourself to be serious, but the muscles on your face involuntarily turn up in a smile. Thomas was at that moment. He was doing everything that they were supposed to be doing, head high, shoulders back, hands at the seams.
It had been a miserable few months. He was beaten, yelled at, and humiliated before a large group of people, and he learned a very valuable life lesson the hard way. Life was not fair. And no one knew that better than Thomas. But he had come out of that in the lead. Those shouting drill sergeants were brazen but had good intentions.
They made a real man out of Thomas Searles, who was now marching proudly in row three of A Company. Confetti floated through the air and landed on his straightly-carried shoulders, the tiny, white circles of paper in noticeable contrast with the blue darkness of his uniform. Thomas was proud of what he had become. He was an American soldier, and to him, that was an honor.
Trip bit his lip as his eyes scanned the crowd for someone he knew. It felt out-of-place for him to be here, but the private would never be able to appreciate the moment until he had found her. Perhaps she did not know that they were marching today. Perhaps she had forgotten. Or perhaps she simply could not come.
Trip did not give up hope so easily, however. He narrowed his eyes and searched the crowd more vigilantly. To his unspeakable surprise, he had found her in less than twelve seconds this time. It was Marion. His friend whom he was madly in love with. She did not know that, unfortunately, that she was so beautiful and the light of his world. Trip wasn't the kind of man to weave pretty words together.
He had met her here in Boston, months and months and months ago. He did not tell her that he loved her because he could not risk making her a heartbroken sweetheart or a soul-broken widow. She had a handkerchief pressed to her face and tears were forming in her eyes as she watched him. That was the conformation Trip needed.
She loved him.
Some people say a man is made out of mud. Some people say that poor man's made of muscle and blood, skin and bones, a mind that's weak and a back that's strong. But this regiment would prove them wrong. Frederick Douglass could feel it, especially when he looked at his son, Lewis Douglass he was filled with fatherly pride for the son that was fighting for their freedom.
His son Lewis, a handsome young man in his early twenties, held his head high and his jaw set in determination, his marching movements sharp and in sync with the drums of the marching band. He held his eyes forward, not steering them away from the front, like an agent on a mission. Frederick nodded at him when the command was given for the troops to look right.
Frederick Douglass placed a hand over his heart, his way of saluting, as the officers and politicians in the groups beside him raised a hand to their forehead in the standard army salute. Frederick's eyes found the colonel, and he gave the young man a slow nod, congratulating him on his sky high accomplishment.
Mulcahy stood a ways a part from the crowd. He was an old man now. Almost eight and forty. He had two children of his own, a boy named Peter, age twelve, and a girl named Molly, age ten. His wife Mary was nearing forty three. Mulcahy missed them. He wanted to go home and spend time with his family, after many months of hard work.
He watched the men proudly, like a father watches his children. He had shouted in their faces, spat on their shoes, and swore at their simple-minded naïvetés. He had beaten the knowledge into them, sometimes literally, so that they would understand that life on the battlefield was not a Sunday outing with one's mother.
Though their marching was impressive, there was still work to do. Though their discipline was better, he still had to break them. But as the old sergeant watched his shabby group of miscreants that he had strived to transform into strapping young soldiers, he felt enlightened. It was like an invention, his creation, which had finally worked! Though there was still more ahead of them, Mulcahy knew that his work, here at least, was finally done.
Robert's heart started to pound eagerly in his chest as he neared his family's mansion. He could already see the balcony, protruding from the second floor of the house, decorated with red white and blue banners of the United States. He could see the shapes and outlines of men and ladies leaning over the edge, waiting to catch a glimpse of him.
He had to resist the urge to speed up Glory, knowing that that would not look very professional; instead, he pulled out his silver saber, listening to the wooshing sound it made when it sliced the air, thick with streams of confetti. It glinted in the sun, smiling blindingly at the crowd, as Robert gripped it's intricately engraved tang. Yellow tassels of decoration swung wildly as Robert pointed the blade forward, keeping his arm taut until they had reached the line of vision of his childhood home.
"Eyes right!" He ordered in rhythm, a hundred heads snapped in that direction in sync with his own neck.
There they were. He saw his dear mother first, a lacy bonnet on her head and her hand over her heart, smiling affectionately down at him. His father came second, his hand over his heart as well, saluting his son proudly. His sister Susannah waved wildly at him, and her bright smile was contagious. His other younger sisters, Josephine and Ellen stood off to the side of the group, smiling and waving tiny flags. His older sister Anna was holding her six month old infant, looking like a happy mother. And then came Annie Haggerty. She was a beautiful woman, and one of his closest friends, but Robert was surprised of himself that he did not think of her earlier. He used to be quiet infatuated with her.
Robert had a thin film of tears in his eyes as he looked at his blessed family which was trying to hold back tears as well. But Robert kept his head high, shoulders back, and heart as far away from his sleeve as possible. He would see them tonight before his regiment left for South Carolina. He missed them, and he wanted to say goodbye.
For who knows how long until they meet again?
Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Thank you so, so, so much! It made me feel guilty, spoiled, and downright aweful for not updating sooner, but that's a good thing. I'll be updating faster now. I already started the next chapter! :) Review please :) your opinons are very important to 'us' :) lol