It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

Episode 9: Misunderstanding  

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating of this episode: Let's say… PG-13… Though it gets very embarrassing toward the end. Innuendoes and the sort. It's a Cleon and Faleron episode! It has to get weird!

~~

Keladry pretended that she didn't know the two men walking behind her. Their loud arguing was not only embarrassing, but also pointless. At times, they often forgot why they were disagreeing in the first place. She had to remind them more than once about the reason that the three of them were in the mountain territory. There were obviously other things on their minds.

The trading post that they were at was the eastern-most on their map. From a bird's eye view, the post (settlement, really) was horseshoe shaped. The only opening was from the western side, facing civilization. From the heavy wooden and metal gate, a number of huts and cabins had been built to house natives, merchants, soldiers, and anyone else who might have traveled thus far. The trading post itself, a log built cabin of many branches and levels, was at the curve of the U-shape. Metals imported from across the seas, and rooted deep in the ground, supported the trading post's single radio tower.

The sound of the frosty winds blowing through the settlement drowned out the sound of men trying to find shelter for the night or buyer's for their wares. Many Eastern Yamani natives had traveled from all different directions to find the best prices for furs, food, and other necessities that could be found within the settlement's walls. Mountain sheep and goats were even kept in the same stables as the mules and packhorses that slumbered there. The larger creatures would not work until spring, when the snow had melted a bit and their hooves could tread safely on the hard earth.

The bleating of the mountain sheep barely reached Keladry's ears as she and her two companions entered a large, two-storied inn that was also built of logs and who knew what else. They hadn't seen many trees this far into the region, so perhaps those materials had been imported as well.

She made a mental note to check their supplies and their equipment. Unlike Joren and Neal, they did not need a whole team of porters and guides because their mission was not to rescue a plane full of people, but the rescuers themselves.

Instead, Keladry insisted on having no hired hands. She had read up diligently on climbing and hiking. She had even bribed travelers that her party had encountered to tell her about conditions of the area and essential tips for survival. She had heard that the trading master was a former Mithran eager to help his fellow patriots.  At least it would make her job relatively easier.

The three companions made their way through a small room full of people, similar to a saloon. Men and women (predominantly men) were seated at round wooden tables, drinking warm beverages, mostly either including alcohol or caffeine. They dressed in furs, skins, and modern styled parkas and long coats that provided as much warmth as possible, though the newcomers could feel the warm presence of a heating system within the inn.

The First Class female officer, remaining brave and unaffected by the room of strangers, led her friends to the bar. She fanned the smoke of cigars away from her face and knocked on the bar top. "Excuse me," she called to a darkly skinned man wearing a bartender's apron. "We'd like a room, please."

The man spat into a tin cup placed on the floor behind the bar. He squinted at her, all the while polishing and re-polishing the same mug over and over. "Money up front." He listed his price. Keladry, still wrinkling her nose from both disapproval of the price and disapproval of the smell of the place handed the money to him. The man nodded. "Good. Mifa will show you to your room."

A girl waiting on tables, upon hearing her name, approached. Being accustomed to the same duties day-in, day-out, she immediately motioned for them to follow her up a set of wooden stairs that lined the northern side of the saloon. Below the stairs was a darkened hallway, leading to rooms rented mostly by drunkards who didn't feel like stumbling up stairs. The rooms on the second floor were given to more responsible and sober guests, as Mifa observed that they were.

Faleron glanced over the railing, down at the hubbub below. He lengthened his stride so that he caught up with Keladry and kept pace with her.

"Kel, I was wondering what exactly we're planning to do here."

"I'm going to find this Mithran trade master, like I said I would. We don't need that many people to help us. Just a lot of good tips and one hell of a map."

"Yes," Faleron began, "but we have more money than the search party. Surely it wouldn't be too much trouble if we—"

Cleon broke in, rolling his eyes. "What he means to say is that he doesn't want to do all the sodding work himself."

The former King of Thieves became visibly irritated at the reference to the cultural and verbal influence of his prep school origins. "You have a terrible accent, my good man."

The redhead blinked. "Bloody hell! Great Scot! Do I?"

Faleron muttered something unrecognizable. Keladry could barely pick up one or two words, such as "incorrigible" and "wanker", though they couldn't have been as worse as the things she didn't hear. Of course, the accent and lingual quirks that Faleron had picked up from boarding school in Port Legann had diminished when he joined the Street Pirates, and had lessened even further in Tusaine. Keladry wondered whether the two men were having their usual type of squabble or if Cleon had truly meant to offend him.

Before she could ask Cleon to keep his comments to himself for the rest of the day, Mifa had led them inside a room with a small bed and two cots. Keladry was distressed that it was roughly the size of Commissioner Wyldon's office back at Headquarters. Mifa also pointed out a small table and a mechanized heat sentry built into the wall by the beds. Apparently, the local consensus was that if it had a roof, four walls, and a heat source, it was living luxuriously.

Keladry thanked Mifa. The woman left without as much as a bow of respect. Keladry didn't expect it. She set her belongings down on the bed. Trying to loosen her aching muscles, she moved her head from side to side and stretched her arms behind he back.

"I thought I was going to get the bed," Faleron said. "You two are supposed to be the bodyguards, after all."

She turned and glared at him, warning him that this was neither the time nor the place. He backed off, sighing, and laid his things below the nearest cot. Then, he sat on it, testing the cot's durability. The cloth was coarse and rough to sensitive skin, which Faleron unfortunately had. He grimaced and withheld his dissatisfied comments to himself.

"I'm going to see his man Higgins. I hear he's reliable for information, although somewhat of a pervert," she mentioned with a hint of regret.

"Oh, a relative of yours, Kennan?" Faleron chirped in a gloating voice.

The redhead promptly stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes at him.

"Anyway, you two make yourselves comfortable here. It would be a good idea to mingle with the crowd in the saloon and see what you can learn. I'm going to the trading post." And with that, she did a final check on her appearance. Habit caused her to strive towards impeccable cleanliness.

Faleron, now lying on his cot with his hands behind his head, whistled loudly. "You look positively keen, Officer."

"What he means," Cleon clarified while giggling as he often did, "is that you look very professional. I think. Wait, does keen mean sluttish?"

She glared at both of them. This time, they were working together to make a fool out of her. It might not have appeared so, but they disguised their act well. Faleron set up the pins while Cleon bowled them over, as was the case.

"I'll be back. Don't cause any trouble," she warned. Keladry knew that it probably wouldn't help anything, but at least it washed her hands of all fault. She whisked out the door and down the hall, not giving the two men another thought. Joren and Neal needed her now.

~~

Back in the room, Faleron suddenly sat up, ignoring the blood rushing to his head. He sprang up from the cot, an ecstatic expression on his face. Cleon observed him warily. He folded his arms.

"Now, what is it? You look crazy."

"I prefer whimsical," Faleron intoned, chuckling to himself. He bent over to go through his own things, heaviest of all their bags. His quick slender hands sorted through the contents while he whistled his delight.

Cleon, pondering the masculinity of the word 'whimsical', leaned down from where he sat on his own cot to observe the commotion. "What's in your head, short man?"

Faleron lifted himself up, brandishing a deck of cards in his hand as if it were a gladiator's sword. He grinned. "She said to mingle, didn't she? Nothing breaks the ice as well as poker."

"You mean nothing breaks the ice as well as acquiring three other men's money."

"You think? Good! Let's go down."

The sharpshooter groaned. "I wasn't agreeing! I was being sarcastic!"

Faleron was already at the door of their room, removing the key that was left in the lock by Mifa. He dropped it into one of his zippered pockets and feigned a look of innocence. "I have no idea what sarcasm is."

"Yes, you do! Fal! Stop!"

He chased after the other man as they went down the hall. Faleron was keeping a fast pace for someone of his size. He ducked around a turn while he could hear his friend clumsily skidding and colliding with a wall. When he reached the balcony of the stairs, he whooped. "Oh, come on! You're supposed to be my bodyguard! I'll need your services just in case these men are sore losers."

"You want to see a sore loser? I'll show you a sore loser!" Cleon yelled.

~~

Keladry presented herself to the guards standing outside the trading post. She didn't resemble any of the normal merchants or traders, so the guards there stopped her and began interrogating her. They asked to see identification and papers that allowed her to be traveling in the Yamanis. Hopefully, the recommendation from Daine would also help.

One of the men shifted his bayonet (Bayonet? Keladry wondered. An actual bayonet?) on his shoulders and conferred with his comrade over the legitimacy of the documents. While they pored over the papers, small flurries of snow began to fall. Keladry was glad that the documents were printed on plastic. Regular paper would have been soaked and ruined by the weather.

"Can I see him or not?" she asked impatiently. Usually, she was good at waiting, but the weather was even colder than she was used to. Irontown was cold, but not this cold.

"I suppose. I take you in," the taller, thinner guard said in an accented voice. Keladry frowned. She recognized it from the way Qasim sometimes spoke.

"You're Bazhir? What's a desert man like you doing in the Yamani Mountains?" she gasped.

The men before her both wore shaded goggles and masks over the lower halves of their faces. They turned to each other as if to discuss an appropriate answer. The taller guard shrugged. "I am here. That is all. You want see him or not?"

"Yes, yes, please. Lead me in," she acquiesced. She'd seen stranger things. Keladry highly doubted that some conspiracy was present in this part of the world as well. She'd had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

She trudged after the guard, who had to speak with another man in front of the door. They entered after the thick wooden door swung open with no one behind it. Keladry glanced at the doorman. A remote was in his hand.

Strange, she thought. As they entered the antechamber, Keladry respectfully removed her hat like the guard did. He gestured for her to take seat. Two long wooden tables were set up to the right side of the door, with wooden and metal stools set up all around. Customs officers, she identified by their badges, were seated at a small desk in the corner, going through documents and inspecting smaller wares that had been confiscated.

The guard left the room through a dark doorway in the opposite corner from the tables. Keladry surmised that he was just as annoyed by her presence, as he was gratified for a reason to be indoors.

Before long, she heard a loud guffawing coming from the where the guard had gone. She stood up, hat clutched tightly in both hands. She had the strongest urge to salute as the large trade master entered, and actually did so without thinking.

Pleasantly surprised, Samuel Higgins did the same. He laughed again, and Keladry discovered that he was the source of the raucous noise she had heard earlier. The trade master bowed as well and motioned for her to sit. The guard moved quickly behind Higgins, bringing forth a sturdier seat from the customs desk to support the robust man's weight.

"So, you must be the First Class girl I've been hearing about," Higgins said, stroking his unshaven chin. His cheeks were ruddy and blotched. "I'm from the army, myself, but you must be some real kind of professional to rise that far in rank."

Keladry inclined her head to him. "You can give me that sort of praise when I reach AA status, sir."

"Please! No sir's here. Just Higgins, that's me! I've been working this post for ten years now. Haven't seen an officer as stiff as you since… why, since that blond feller came in! Georgie! When did that blond feller come in?"

A man of Yamani descent, although Keladry could be wrong since she had identified the presence of many nationalities in the settlement, looked up. He shrugged. "A week ago?"

Higgins nodded slowly. "Ah. Guess it wasn't as long ago as I thought." He shrugged apologetically and tapped his skull with his knuckle. "As the years press on, it gets kinda foggy up 'ere."

Keladry perked up at the mention of an uptight "blond feller". She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers squeezing the blood from her hands tightly. "Higgins, uh… sir, was this blonde's name Joren Stone? Did he have a companion with him?"

"Can't remember, actually. I was havin' quite a spell that day! You know, when the fire's warm and the whisky is just right and the innkeeper's daughter is ready and willing, heheh—wait, wait. I'm sure I can remember for ya, Missy." Higgins began stroking his chin again.

The guard, who hadn't left yet, bowed respectfully to his scatterbrained employer. "There was companion, Mister Hee-gans. You gave them Imrah."

The trade master slapped the table excitedly. "That I did! Good work, man!" He leaned toward Keladry and winked. "Ya see, Missy, if I ain't got the answers, my good men do!" He laughed loudly. "So! What about them is of such an interest to ya? One of them jilt you at the altar?"

Without warning, a blush arose to her cheeks. "No! No, nothing like that!" she protested, although Higgins wasn't too far off. She cleared her throat. "Uh, I'm trying to track them down. I have reason to believe they are in trouble. They were traveling as a search party, as you might remember."

Higgins nodded. 'Yes, yes. I recall somethin' like that."

"I'm need to find them so I can assist them with their search. We lost contact with them a few days ago," she explained. She released her blood-drained hands from their strangle hold on each other and instead gripped the edge of the table. "I'm asking, Higgins, if you know where they went."

"I'm not so sure," Higgins confessed.

The guard cut in once again. "Imrah made routes on paper and leave them behind in his hut. Get them?"

"Yes, please do. Aha! Such helpful workers all around me! Life doesn't get much better than this, Missy." He slapped the table again in enthusiasm. "Say, while we're waiting, can I offer you a drink? Some brandy, maybe? I think I have a bottle of wine 'ere, too. Always prepared for the company of women!"

I bet. Keladry smiled nervously.

~~

Faleron dealt his cards deftly, his hands practically a blur of movement over the table. His three acquaintances stared at the younger man's face, suspiciously wondering what semblance of man sat with them. They reluctantly picked up the cards and fingered their coins on the table.

"All right! Shall we begin, gentleman?"

Across the room, Kennan was seated at the bar, trying to force down some hot stew that Mifa had brought to him. He had no wish to sit by and watch Faleron win—as he always did—then have to protect him against the angry losers. He considered himself only responsible for what he saw, and if he didn't see it, he certainly wasn't responsible.

A twisted way of logic, but one that made the guilt go away.

He was halfway finished with his bowl when he noticed someone sit down beside him. He glanced to the side briefly and returned to his eating. When he realized that this person was continuing to stare at him, he put his spoon down and hesitantly turned his head.

"Yes?"

A Yamani girl, dressed in colorful skirts and shawls, smiled at him. She was perhaps in her mid-teens, her hair plaited into two braids that trailed down her back. Her skin was tanned from frequent work in the harsh mountain sun, which would give way to early wrinkles and dark brown skin in later years. A man of darker skin but the same family facial structure stood behind her. He rested his large hands on the girl's shoulders. Her father.

"This Shizuru, daughter. You marry?" he said, an awful guttural noise to Cleon's ears.

The redhead gulped. He shook his head. "Now, wait a minute. I'm sorry, sir, but I've got a girlfriend."

The girl, Shizuru he presumed, frowned. "What is girlfriend?"

"Uh, uh… woman. I have a woman."

The man and his daughter looked around, confused. "Where woman? Woman supposed to be by man's side always."

Cleon didn't think it would be wise to contest this bit of knowledge, as it seemed to be the most natural and undeniable thing to them. "Um, right you are! Heheh, well, I… I definitely can't marry your daughter. Sorry, but—"

The man growled deep in his throat, causing Cleon to trail off in hysteric, nervous laughing. He leaned toward Cleon threateningly. "What wrong with my daughter? She not pretty?"

"Oh, very pretty! Very, very pretty!" he cried. Although horribly under-aged…

"Then, you marry her! She good worker! Pleases husband!" the man insisted, gesturing to his daughter in wide sweeps of his hand, a hand that could very well crush Cleon's skull as easily as one would crush an egg.

Cleon jumped to his feet, thoroughly terrified.

"Just give me a moment to confer with my associate!" he squeaked and darted into the crowd of tables to find his only chance at salvation.

~~

Faleron allowed himself a modest smile. "Oh, wow! I haven't been this lucky in ages!" he lied. "To tell the truth, I've been having the worst losing streak. I'm sure I'll lose again if I were to play another game, say, in another hour."

The other three men had murderous expressions on their faces. They watched stoically as the Mithran newcomer swept all the coins and bills toward himself. Their fingers stealthily strayed toward the hunting weapons that were across their laps.

From out of nowhere, a perpetual cry of panic began. Faleron frowned and turned his head—

—just as Cleon leapt from out of nowhere and slid to a stop at Faleron's side. He hugged his friend's knees, reduced to rambling frantically about a large scary man wanting him to marry his daughter.

"You've got to help me! I don't know what to do!"

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Faleron complained. He could feel the glares of his fellow poker players burn into him. He tried to pry the redhead's hold from his legs as it was starting to conflict with circulation.

A few moments later, the large lumberjack of a man and his daughter were standing in front of the two hapless Mithrans. Cleon whimpered and clung even tighter to his lifeline.

"Where this wife you speak of?"

"Wife? Cleon, you're not—" Faleron began.

"Shh!" Cleon hissed. "Don't!"

The daughter, a little slow on the uptake and not too familiar with the language, pouted and poked Faleron in the shoulder. "You wife?"

"Yes! Genius idea!" the sharpshooter exclaimed and immediately climbed into Faleron's lap, much to the former thief's disgust. The other poker players made sounds of disapproval and spat on the floor, picking up whatever money they had left and leaving the table.

Faleron reached out to them. "No! No, it's not what it looks like! Come back!" He tried to throw his friend off, but Cleon was a leech refusing to let go. "Kennan, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He shook his head toward the watching man and his daughter. "I'm not with this man. Trust me. You can have him."

"NO!" Cleon's cry of terror echoed throughout the inn, causing all who heard it to turn and stare.

The man began digging in his pockets for something. "Man marry Shizuru, take her back to his country with her, then Shizuru brings rest of family to the new country. Yes?"

"You're not going to sell me, are you?" Cleon glared at Faleron accusingly.

"Of course I wouldn't, stupid. Now, let's talk to this fatherly chap and see if we can reach an understanding." He addressed the man again. "Sir, you can't just go around selling your daughter to an absolute stranger—whoa. That's a lot of money."

When the man had finished digging through his pockets, he opened his hands to reveal sparkling nuggets of gold. Faleron stood up, promptly dropping his friend to the floor with a painful thud. He leaned forward, his dexterous fingers itching to touch the little miracles in the man's cupped hands.

"Fal?"

"Changed my mind. Sorry, my good man. I'm selling you," Faleron murmured, staring at the gold.

The father appeared triumphant. "Migration Department not let family move on our own, so we marry oldest daughter off to foreigner! You take money for this man?"

The former thief grinned, the widest grin that Cleon had ever seen on his face. "You got it!  Cleon's all yours. I'll go get you his passports and his travel visas right now, sir!"

Before he could take a step, he found that his desperate companion anchored his feet down. He struggled to free himself of the hold, but stumbled to the floor, banging his elbows on the hardwood. "Let go!"

"How could you just sell me?! I thought we were friends!"

Faleron beat his fists at Cleon's arms. "Oh, come on! She looks like a nice girl! Maybe I can talk Kalasin into sharing you! I'm sure a liberal minded person like her would be open to the idea!"

Shizuru, having no idea what their struggle meant, tittered happily like a pleased girl watching performing acrobats. She clapped her hands and beamed joyfully at her father, who returned her look with one of fatherly pride.

The two Mithrans continued to thrash about on the ground, pummeling each other with half-efforts, but still trying to inflict some pain upon the other. It went on for some time. Eventually, the man and his daughter sat down at the former poker table and counted out the appropriate number of gold nuggets to give for the dowry.

"Let… me… go!"

"No! How could you? Selling me! Dude, that's so… not cool!" And the last part of the sentence was punctuated with an elbow to the stomach.

"GAH! KENNAN!"

~~

Keladry rolled up the map that Higgins had given to her, after having to listen to a few of his army anecdotes and having to sip from a glass of wine for a near half hour. She placed the map on the inside of her jacket for safekeeping. Hopefully, Imrah had stuck to his plans. She would be able to find Joren and Neal now. Hopefully.

She glanced over her shoulder at the guard that offered to escort her to the inn. She couldn't make sense of a Bazhir being so far from home, but she didn't want to seem nosy. The guard had turned out to be even more useful than the absentminded trade master. She was very grateful to him, although she couldn't express it.

As they entered the inn, Keladry became astonished at the number of people crowded around the center, hooting and hollering as if they were watching a cockfight. The thought of roosters being illegally bred and forced to fight each other seemed somewhat ridiculous to Keladry, as did the idea of two Pit bulls fighting it out in some inn in the mountains. She shouted to the bartender.

"What's going on?"

"Keladry?!" a familiar voice shouted. The crowd parted and before she could react, Cleon had burst through the line of people and leapt into Keladry's arms. She stumbled back a bit, staggering under the weight of the redhead holding on to her as if his life depended on it.

"Cleon? What—"

"Oh, Keladry! It's horrible! I was just minding my own business eating stew, then this guy comes up to me! And he's all like 'Grr! Marry daughter! Grr!' and I'm all like 'Dude, no way!' and he's like 'Grr' again… and then I go to Faleron, and they mistake him for my wife at first. But he clears that up right away. Disgusting idea, I tell ya, but I was ready to play along if it got me out of the mess. But then Fal sees the guy's gold—and let me tell you, there's a whole lot of gold—and he decides that it's okay! He tries to sell me, Kel! Sell me! And mind you, I wouldn't care if it were one of those charity-auction things where a guy would be auctioned off for his services just one day… but this was like, holy matrimony and all that crap! Dude, the girl is young enough to be my kid sister! Sure, she is kinda pretty. I mean, she has Kalasin's dark hair and she's got some pretty nice curves for a teenager, but give me a break! I don't want to get married yet! Kel, oh Kel, you've got to help me! I don't want to have twenty new in-laws! I'm still trying to get over Roald's threat to kill me if I ever did anything bad to Kally!  HELP ME!"

Keladry, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, could only stand there and hold the sharpshooter bridal style in her arms. She couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth since he was babbling so rapidly. After a few moments, she snapped out of her shock and unceremoniously dropped him to the floor.

For the second time that day, Cleon rubbed his bottom from the fall and began to cling to her legs. In the meantime, Faleron and the two Yamanis had approached them, watching the spectacle with a mixture of perplexity and frustration.

"King! What's going on here?" Keladry demanded sternly.

The shorter man chuckled nervously. "Oh, you know how Kennan gets. He has such a wild imagination. I daresay he might be in need of a psychiatrist. You know how unstable he's always been… Heheh…"

The Bazhir guard, although not fluent in the Common language, happened to be very adept at the Eastern Yamani dialect. He took the father aside and began conversing with him quietly. When he had just about received a full summary of the day's events, he turned to Keladry with a polite bow and explained.

She grasped the situation, trying to remain as calm as possible. I'm gone for less than an hour and look what happens! Keladry instantly turned her head to glare at Faleron, who only shrugged and began to inspect his hands to see if they had obtained any damage from the small fistfight from a few minutes ago. She kicked at Cleon to cause the former shell of a man to let go and huddle behind the Bazhir.

"I tell him that Shizuru have better luck finding husband elsewhere," the guard told Keladry. He pointed at Cleon. "I tell him that madness in this one's blood. Not good for future children."

Faleron chuckled. "You'd be surprised how close to the truth that is."

"Traitor!" Cleon yelled, peering at him from between the guard's feet.

Keladry pinched the bridge of her nose and commanded herself to breath deeply. "Okay, okay. You two go up to the room. Cleon, please calm down and start behaving like an adult. Faleron, you are not allowed to sell him to anyone! And I mean that!" She turned to the guard and nodded her head to him. "Thank you so much. I know this seems very odd and it must have been a lot of trouble… I really do appreciate it."

The Bazhir guard smiled. "Not as bad as arguing between the blond man and his companion. But it make excitement. Much excitement for boring job."

She returned the smile and let out a deep breath. "Well then!" She shook hands with the father and patted Shizuru consolingly on the back. "I'm sure you'll find some very handsome man out there. I'd rather you marry for love, not passports, but I have a feeling that you'd do the latter anyway."

With that, she began to wearily drag her feet across the saloon, making slow progress up the stairs after her two arguing friends ahead of her. She was almost at the top of the stairs when the father called up to her again with a whistle. Keladry leaned over the railing. "Yes?"

"I have son! He older than Shizuru by two winters—very, very strong! Make you happy! Would please many woman in their tents, see, because he has very big—"

Before she could hear any more, she dashed up the rest of the stairs and ran down the entire hallway with her fingers plugged into her ears.

~~

Author's note: Phew! I tell ya, it took a long time for me to write this scene. I paced and paced and paced (as I do when I'm brainstorming) and finally I came up with this odd thing. Oh dear, I think I've traumatized Cleon for life.

Anyway, tell me what you think! I hope I made someone laugh. I've been slacking off on the comedy so much this season that I'm finding it very hard to get back into the swing of things.

Next episode! Joren and Neal have found the plane. Now what? They run into some unforeseen troubles and stumble upon an ancient secret that will change their lives forever! Episode 10 of It Could Be Worse Season 3! Enter the Mist…!

See ya there!