Disclaimer: I do not own Chix Verbil, Holly Short, LEP, or any of their affiliates.

Authors Note: Don't exactly know where this story is going, but I be bored. Please read on and review.

Long Way Home

--The story of the Haven gangs and where they planted their seeds--

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Chapter 1: Spider Web

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Commander Root looked up from his folded copy of The Haven Journal. Blue smoke billowed from his fungus cigar, winding its way wistfully up to the ceiling of the Commander's office until it was inhaled by the ventilation system's vent. A sprite in the corner of the disheveled office watched the moon-o-meter on Root's desk project green numbers onto the wall, clicking quietly every time a second passed. The Commander's face remained as drab as the plastered wall behind him as he read. The moon-o-meter clicked again, and the sprite wringed his hands nervously, his war torn wing twitching ever so slightly, the same way it did when ever he was under stress. Root sighed, folding the textured paper with careful precision. He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, taking a long draw on his cigar and crossing his arms, glaring at the tall sprite thoughtfully. After a moment he spoke quietly around the cigar. The words he pronounced slowly and gingerly, meaning that what they meant was final, and there was no use in arguing. There was never a point in arguing with the commander, unless you had a very sincere death wish. Chix Verbil looked up quickly, as soon as he heard the words. His hands were still.

"I understand that ever since the accident you've been a bit more, eh, devoted, to your current position, Private Verbil, but I really see no need to even consider promoting you, seeing as being a corporal would require more fly-by missions." The commander stretched and leaned over his desk, steepeling pudgy fingers. "Which in turn would mean you'd have to actually fly. Sorry kid, but you're not capable of following orders, let alone flying. You know this as well as I do

Face the facts, private. Ever since you were hit with that projectile you've been incapable of hovering more than a few feet above the ground, and you can only do that when you're really concentrating. I've been watching around the office, and I realize that you're never going to concentrate on anything more that a few minutes unless you're talking to a female; you've got the attention-span of a stink worm, and now you're disabled too. Anyway, I've already given the position to someone else. Shut the door on your way out."

"But, Commander Root --" The Commander's face grew a deep shade of crimson.

"You want to keep your low life job or not, worm? Leave now shut the D'Arvin' door."

So Chix shut the door. Hard. He left, walking fast; he wanted as much room between himself and his employer. Heavy, quickened steps took him down the hall mumbling to himself in anger. He pushed his sleeves up his arms.

Commander Root had made it so that his office was in the middle of a maze of cubicles on the fourth floor, so that anyone summoned to or leaving (most left the same way that Chix just had) was in the presence of the other officers, usually becoming subject of their spider web gossip within a just few minutes. I wonder what Lili was doing in his office for so long! Well I heard that Trouble's brother what's-his-name got fired yesterday. Oh yeah, well wait 'til you hear what I heard about Holly Short . . .

So now they were all leaning out to look in the aisles, trying to find who was the source of the door slamming, looking to see who had just had their future dreams crushed beneath the commander's boots. Private Verbil stormed down the aisle, keeping himself from snapping at anyone and/or cramming him or her back into the appropriate cubicle, where they should have remained in the first place . . .

Passing his own cubicle, he grabbed the worn leather jacket and sped down the hall to the elevator, ignoring the vine-like gossip that he already heard hissing in the background. HE slammed his fist on the elevator door, caught it just before it shut and pried it open, revealing a tired looking corporal. Oh how he hated corporals right now. He fumed, sliding down the opposite wall and attempting to ignore the icy stare he was receiving at the moment. Okay, he couldn't keep from snapping any longer, so he vented at the only other person in the elevator.

"Keep staring at me you freak and I'll eat you liver for dinner!' He mumbled, running his gloved fingers through his dark green hair and hiding between his folded arms. Stupid corporals.

Grub recoiled his gaze, used to the threats.

Chix exhaled loudly as Grub exited (escaped) the elevator quickly when it reached the next floor, probably off the tell Trouble that the private had threatened his again.

Chix stayed curled in the corner of the elevator, rubbing his temple with two fingers and replacing his head in his arms where it had been. A tear may have escaped the corner of his eye, maybe, maybe not. His left wing ticked slightly . . .

But what if he could fly?

A/N: Please excuse the short chapter! Please, please, please review anyway! =D And remember . . .

Everyone loves Chix.