In the back of small, old, chipped paint white house a silhouette stands cracking a whip with a fedora placed on their head. Well, you can only assume who it is. Suddenly the whip snaps back at it's owner a small cry was let out, but it was not deep like a man's, as a matter-of-fact it sounded quite feminine. A screen door slams open as Indiana Jones steps out to rush over to his daughter. "Star, what are you doing?" he asked half harshly half concerned. "Nothing," Star said quickly as the wind blew hair over her face where the whip and snapped back and withdrew blood, and she hid the whip behind her back. Indy noticed the blood mixing with her hair. He quickly moved the hair from her check and examined the cut. "What did I tell you about messing with that whip?" he asked trying to sound mean, without much luck. "Uhhhhh..that I shouldn't use yours," she said. "Well, who's is that?" he asked. "Mine," he reply was short and simple. He shook his head. "Alright, no whip from now on. I want you practicing with a rope if you must you must practice at all," he told her. "Oh come on Indy," she whined. Indy had told her not to call him "dad" because it made him feel old, but Star did not mind. She felt more adult and that made her happy, not that she did not mind being fifteen. "No," he said firmly. Who knew how long he could keep her from getting her way. "Oh. Alright. I'll go cook dinner," she muttered and went inside. Indy was left alone with his thoughts, outside. Perhaps she needs someone to teach her to be more like a women. She's beautiful, but if she keeps this up I'll have a miniature female version of Indiana Jones on my hands. Maybe I should settle down. Perhaps a mother figure would suit us nicely. Indy thought staring at the door where Star had just entered the house.