We where in front of some kind of electrical equipment store, when I saw. . . Well, it was a primitive plasma screen. . . But that's not the point! I was what was on the screen that caught my attention. It was a sim of some sort. It reminded me of some of the battle simulations I'd done, back at the lab. . .

In my head, even 6-2-6 and Stitch stopped bickering for a minute to look. 6-2-6 surfaced for a bit, and we growled theatrically. It was nice. . .Who knew that something so primitive could be so amusing? My attention was drawn from the screen when a different scent assailed my nostrils. . .Similar of my juvenile, but. . .  It pointed out some approaching natives.  They where riding on self-propelled ground-based automobiles.

Not even basic hover-craft!

But, I scented something strange about these three. My juvenile seemed friendly towards them, but they where hostile. Enemies, perhaps? But then, why was my juvenile acting in such a way? . . .I'll never understand politics. . .Hmm. . . The juvenile is speaking of me. . . Proudly?

'Well, you are hers, you know,' Stitch whispers in my mind.

I growled at Stitch. 'Nobody owns me.'

Hmm . . . Now the other juveniles were being out rightly cruel to my juvenile. . .

'You should help her. . . .' Stitch advises.

'Shut up!' Both 6-2-6 and I snarl. 'It doesn't need any help!'

I needed a distraction from Stitch. I examine the ground-based vehicle of the lead juvenile. It appears to have three round nubs, whereas the others only have two, and a pair of smaller ones that seem to be of little use, as they rarely touch the ground. Is that to increase stability? I casually look over one shoulder, and then. . . Jumba?

It is! My creator and Pleakley are both disguised, very badly, I might add, as some of the natives of this world. That only confirms my theory that they're going for a quiet capture. In that moment, 6-2-6 takes control.

Escape! With one quick movement, I flip the light-haired juvenile off her self-propelled ground-based vehicle. As an afterthought, or maybe under the influence of Stitch, I pull my juvenile along behind me. Now that 6-2-6 was out, and we where out of the area of Jumba, we had the need to. . . destroy!

. . . Sometimes I hate my destructive programming. . . but not now.

Both 6-2-6 and I shut Stitch into a mental cage at the back of my mind, so all we could hear where his muted yells of 'Stealing is wrong!

I'd rather go with 6-2-6 for now. . . Destroying is so much more fun! We sped all over the island, looking for large cities.

Nothing! We were getting frustrated. We halted at the top of a cliff, where a trail stopped abruptly. It was a nice vantage point.

'A city's gotta be around here, somewhere!' 6-2-6 was muttering. . . Until the juvenile made a comment that made our blood run cold. . .

"It's nice to live on an island with no large cities."

Stitch took the opportunity to break free from his mental bonds while we where throwing an apoplectic fic as soon as we heard the words 'no' and 'large cities' in the same sentence. Later on, the juvenile tried to 'teach' us to do several things. . . Many of them where extremely degrading. Even Stitch got frustrated with the 'fetch' game.

And then there was lunch. . . We weren't aloud to eat anything, even though we hadn't eaten for several days. What didn't help matters was the fact that Jumba and Pleakley were always on the side-lines, waiting for me to stray from the native's view. . . Jumba especially loved to taunt me into doing things.

6-2-6 and I kept having to lock and re-lock Stitch up mentally, until he was so wrapped up in mental chains that you could hardly see and a paw-length of his mental fur.  The only problem was, there wasn't an equivalent of a mental gag anywhere, so we kept having to put up with a 'conscience' the whole time, every time we ever did something wrong, he'd whisper about ways to improve the situation.

Pah.

How could I not retaliate when hit in the head? Or sniffed at in one place I'd rather not mention? The worst hit for our morale, though, was when we thought we found an actual space-worthy ship on this inhospitable planet! . . .But it was just a game for juveniles. . . It didn't even have a real thrill to it! . . . Jumba relaxing and having fun in the background (and being loud enough at it, too) didn't help our mood, either. . .

I was almost considering letting 6-2-6 completely take over for a while and let him have a little 'fun' with Jumba, but for once Stitch changed my mind.

At least, later that day, I saw an amusing show. One of the older, male natives had been. . . It's hard to explain his movements, but it was almost as if he was putting on a weapons display. He had two long sticks, at each end was a small, primitive plasma ball. . . The natives call it 'fire'.

It wasn't the show that was amusing, (although, we had to admit, it was skillfully done for a creature that wasn't fire-proof), it was afterwards, when some of the primitive plasma had spread to the roof of his stage, and the native hadn't noticed until it had fallen on him. Both 6-2-6 and I were cackling madly at the display, Stitch was half-heartedly mumbling about how we should help the native.

We where all interrupted by my juvenile native (Stitch kept insisting that we should call her 'Lilo'), who had drawn a vague likeness of me, but it seems to have only been have-finished. . .  Badness level? I squinted. . . Am I really that ugly?

I didn't quite pay attention to the rest of what she. . . it said.

Geez. . . Did I really say she? Stitch is getting to me way too much. . . My juvenile's elder dropped by, and the two seemed to have a minor argument. Desserts? . . . Sounds like a good thing. . . The native that had been doing the demonstration earlier also walked by.

My juvenile seemed to recognize it. It pointed out me to the other native. They discussed me. . . Why is it that all the natives, aside from my juvenile, on this planet seem to think I'm something to be hated? . . . I bet they're jealous.

Who wouldn't be?

. . .That's about all I heard, because soon after, two pieces of food where placed upon our table.

I quickly placed them both in my mouth, but at the juvenile's protest, Stitch merged with me and regurgitated them, carefully placing them together, and pushing the whole lot towards the juvenile. He even retrieved the small fruit! . . . The juvenile was less than pleased with Stitch's efforts.

I didn't really pay attention to the two elder native's conversation. . . Why do they speak of such things? . . .These natives seem to like talking about everything. . . Back in the lab, nobody spoke unless necessary. I was still hungry. . . Speaking of which. . . I scented. . .

Was that a Walawala drumstick? . . . Mmm. . . My favorite. . . I didn't even stop to think of the reason why one was on this planet, I just tracked it down. . . Until Jumba had me. The two tried to restrain me. . . And I dropped the drumstick! Arg. . . I made a grab for it with my mouth. . .But it closed on something that definitely wasn't the delicious Walawala meat. . .

Ah, it was Pleakley's head.  I must admit, after sampling both in succession, there wasn't much difference, which made me wonder now, exactly what is Walawala meat. . . My juvenile's elder tried to remove me. . . At first, I didn't notice, as 6-2-6 had merged. . . Until the liquid hit me. I detest liquids.  I finally left contact with Pleakley's head, mainly because I had to breath, sometime.  The elder had a hard time restraining me and 6-2-6. . . And Stitch was still yelling at the back of my head to stop and not to resist Nani.

'. . . Who's Nani?' Asked 6-2-6.

Stitch finally (and with difficulty) wrestled 6-2-6 into his own former mental bonds, and we followed the natives meekly back to their dwelling.

"This is a great home. You'll like it a lot." I sniffed in deeply. Hundreds of new scents assailed my nostrils. I hissed. . . breathing in the essence of the house.

The juvenile ('Lilo,' insisted Stitch) shoved something soft in my face.  I sniffed. Food source, maybe? I tried to open it, but the elder native shoved me away. What was that for, anyway? I curled up, and rolled in the direction of the strongest food-scent.

I uncurled in a different area of the dwelling, and scented food just above my head, pulled out some container from the wall. . . No food. Just metal bits. Aha! There. Something pink. . . but my nose told me it was sweet. . .

Now, how to open it. I pressed a button. Nothing.  Just a slight movement in the jar. Aha. . . Primitive containment unit. . .I took off the lid. Suddenly, the liquid spurted out at me! Is that some kind of security device?! Even if it was. . . It wasted the food. . .For that, it was going to pay!

I let 6-2-6 immerge, but before I could get to the containment unit, the elder native grabbed me.

I struggled ineffectively in her grasp, and it hurried along with me. . .To take me away. . .Much to the protest of the juvenile. . .Nothing was working until. . .

"What about O'hana?!"

"He hasn't been here that long!"

"Neither have I! Dad said O'hana means family."

At that statement, the elder stopped.

Stitch was curious, and although I didn't admit it, so was I. What was the meaning of that statement?

"Huh?"

"O'hana means family." Lilo said.

"Family means,"

" . . . Nobody gets left behind." They finished together.

". . .Or?" The little girl prompted.

"Or forgotten. I know, I know. . . . I hate it when you use O'hana against me."

Meanwhile, 6-2-6 was bored by this exchange. He took control, squirmed out of the elder native's grasp, and followed the juvenile upwards, to a different level of the dwelling.

The juvenile opened a different door. . . Many more scents. . .Most were unknown to me.

"Look how curious the puppy is. This is my room! And this is your bed. . ."

My bed? Looks pretty tiny. . . 6-2-6 gave a non-committal grunt.

"This is your dolly and bottle. See? Doesn't spill."

We weren't interested in the 'doll', but we shook the bottle to be sure of it's non-spillyness, then tasted it's contents as the juvenile continued, "I filled it with coffee." Mmm. . . I could really get to like this kind of food source. . .

"Good puppy. Now get into bed."

Hey! Nobody gives us orders! We shoved the juvenile down (gently, though. . . durned Stitch!), and went onto the larger bed.  Hmm. . . This pillow was much softer than the one down there. . .

"Hey! That's mine!" It whined. "Down!" It ordered.

If I hadn't been drinking the coffee, I would have snorted. Instead, I just hit her with the pillow. Again, if it wasn't for Stitch, 6-2-6 and I would've just bopped her with the drinking container ('That'd make her be quiet!' cackled 6-2-6 in my mind). I noticed something where the pillow had been. . . It was not unlike the primitive plasma screen, but the pictures weren't moving. I barely got a glimpse of it before it was pulled from my grasp.

"Be careful of that! You don't touch this! Don't ever touch it!"

'It has to be important to her if she goes through the trouble to hide it like that. . .' Stitch reasoned.

'Shut up!' We hissed together as we jumped off the bed. Ack. . . 6-2-6 needed to take his frustration out on something. . . I needed to as well. . . .That doll 'll do.

Rrrrrip. . .

"No! Don't pull on her head! She's recovering from surgery. . ."

Grrrr. . . We rolled up.

Rrrrrip. . .

"No! That's from my blue period!"

'Don't do that! Listen to Lilo!' Stitch screamed in our head. Nothing was working, until. . . There was something around our neck.Stitch was in control. . .

"Hoh. . . Mmmm. . . Purrrrr. . . Purrrrr. . ."

"There. . . You know, you wreck everything you touch. Why not try and make something for a change?"

'Y'know, that is a good idea. . . Let's do it!' Stitch mumbled.

'Let's do it? How original, Stitch,' Scorned 6-2-6.

We were silent all through the making of a model of the city we had seen on the plasma screen earlier, humming the whole while.

'There!' Stitch said proudly.

'Wow. . . I didn't know we had such a creative side.' I commented.

"Ahh. . ." We said out loud. Lilo was impressed.

"Wow, San Francisco."

We removed a portion of fabric from the light inducer, and rubbed our paws together. Suddenly . . .

"Rrraawrrr! Boom! Boom! Grrrrr! Eeee! Save me! Rrrraawwwrrr! Eeee!"

"No more caffeine for you. . ."

'6-2-6! Stop that! Stitch worked hard!' I rebuked.

'Ahhh. . . It's not me.'

We both looked at Stitch, who was looking innocent (something that he was very good at, I might add). . . Yet hyper from the coffee.

I sigh 'Only I have a gentle side that's prone to destructiveness. . .'