ARTISTIC BUSINESS (PG-13)

SUMMARY: Slightly AU. What happened that morning the day, Anton Mercer no longer wanted his son to draw? And can Trent convince his father otherwise to allow him to take up drawing more than just a hobby? Prior to "White Thunder (1)."

DISCLAIMER: Power Rangers is not mine. And it never will, I just like to use the characters in it to create my own adventures.

A/N: This is just a little random story I decided to post. It has no connection whatsoever to my other PR stories. It is right before Trent gets the evil white dino gem--pre-"White Thunder (1)." And for anyone who has seen the movie, "The Debut", it has some connections to that. This story however, had to be altered and changed from a script form to an actual story format. And I wrote it up in my creative writing class as an assignment, and my teacher really enjoyed it. I also find it a little ironic since, I, myself, draw, too. I don't consider myself a good one, though. I don't know. I hope you guys like it. Read and review.

PART ONE: THE CONFRONTATION

Trent sat in his room in the early morning hours of another school day. Not that he really liked school, it was senior year. It was what he was going through and getting used to. With his father, Dr. Anton Mercer--his adoptive father—they were always moving around because of the success and research his father did. But, it was always kept classified from him. He could only trust his father wasn't doing anything illegal or anything wrong.

But that didn't really matter now. What mattered was his senior year, as his father promised they'd stay here for him to finish off his high school career in a quiet town.

Yeah. Real quiet, dad. He thought. We have 30-story high monsters attacking the city almost every week or day. But, these Power Rangers are really doing a lot for the city. And I am grateful for all they've done. But you, dad are a whole other thing. You never have time for me.

But there was something else. His father had looked at him as a prize and trophy to show off. Anton wanted him to follow in his footsteps to become a businessman. But Trent had other plans. He was passionate about art and loved to draw. That's what people at school knew him as. Not a businessman.

He sat at his desk, techno music blaring in the background, drawing a new line of space-aged characters. His entire room was plastered with comic book posters and drawming he had done in the past year. His room was a shrine for comics, anime and anything that could tie him into art and comics.

KNOCk! KNOCK!

Trent doesn't hear it as he continued to draw, bopping his head to the beat as it created a flow with how he drew. The music dominated the knocking.

"Trent? Trent! Open the door. You're gonna be late for school." his father said through the door as he pounded it again.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Trent didn't budge as he outlined his drawing in a sharpie pen.

Then the door swung open as Anton Mercer came in. He let out an angered breath, rushing over to his son as he shut the stereo off as he went.

"What did I tell you about drawing?!" Anton growled slamming a set of pencils to the ground.

Trent slammed the sharpie pen on the desk, forcing out a breath. He didn't like the disruption, and his father never really bothered him, in the morning, until now. "Dad, I'm working."

Anton shook his head, scoffing. "On what?! These pictures will get you nowhere in life, Trent." He grabbed a picture-- the one Trent was currently working on--and ripped it in half tossing it to the ground. "It is your senior year. You should be thinking about college rather than waste your time on these stupid pictures."

Trent turned to look at his father, a hint of anger in his eyes. He had hated his father for running the college lecture over him time and time again. He was thinking about it, and it was hoping to go to an art school. He just hadn't told him yet.

"This is my future, dad. I'm gonna become an artist."

Anton slammed his hand on the desk, making the teen jump at the gesture. "And where do you think it'll get you, huh?" He grabbed a stack of drawing and swiped them to the ground, several landing into the waste basket. "You're wasting your time and mine by drawing. Why can't you be more like a businessman?"

"That isn't what I want!" Trent protested as he got to his feet, looking at his dad with fiery raging eyes. "Doesn't it matter what I think?! It's my life, not yours. I..."

"As long as you're under my house, you follow my rules! Do you understand me?"

That just pushed Trent over the edge. He had had enough bullshit coming from his father, and he just did it. He didn't know how or why, but all of the control he had for not confronting his father had just stopped. He winded up and punched his father in the face.

BAM!

Anton stumbled back slightly appalled at the gesture as his son grabbed his backpack and left the room. Anton shook the gesture away wiping his lip to see the line of blood on his finger. He went after his son, mad.

"Trent? Trent! Hey! Hey!" Anton grabbed ahold of his son's arm. "Get back here! You don't walk out on me like that."

Trent shrugged off his hand, shaking his head. He was too upset to look at his father. "You know, you didn't have to take me in, you know. It all happened so fast. And I could tell you weren't ready to take care of a son."

"I made a promise to your parents I would look after you after the accident." Anton said cautiously.

"You would have been better off leaving me to fend off for myself." Trent concluded as the anger slowly left him.

Anton took a step back appalled at the remark. "I gave you a place to live, Trent. I put a house over your head. Your parent would have wanted that for you rather than dump you into some orphanage or out on the streets."

Trent forced out a breath. "If you're looking out for me, than why can't you let me do my own thing? I can take care of myself."

Anton shook his head. "Trust me, son, you wouldn't make it--not one second--in the real world with an attitude like that."

A spark of anger grew inside Trent again. He glared at his father. "And I take it you know better? Because that's what you seem to be good at. Making other people's lives miserable, while you take all the glory and money out of them." He left out a saddened breath. "You know, I bet you were never in my situation before. Losing someone close to you at a time where making choices mattered most about the future."

Anton is shocked at the words that were coming out of his son's mouth. He had never expected so much come out of him as he took a step back.

"I take it you're not at all grateful for everything I've already done for you." Anton said quietly.

Trent turns away after seeing the saddened look on his father's face. He didn't mean to say that. He was grateful for all that his father had given him. But it wasn't the same. Even being an only child, he missed his real parents a lot. He turned away, not wanting to see the hurt in his father's eyes.

Trent dropped his head, sighing. "It's not like that, dad. No. I didn't even want to move, again. We do it so much I just had hoped we'd stay in LA to live out the rest of my senior year."

Anton nodded, understanding the hurt in the teen's eyes. He knew how much he didn't want to move half the time, but his research sent him all over the world. "And I get that, son. You're still trying to get your bearings. Still trying to find what you want to do. But, can you consider my request? Look into business. I have no one else to give the family business to, but you. I want it to continue on. You'd make a great businessman."

"Dad, I..." Trent began.

Anton held up a hand, silencing his son. "Please, just think about it."

Trent reluctantly nodded. "Okay, dad. But can you look into art for me?"

Anton sighed and shook his head. He wasn't going to, and he wanted to make it clear that his mind was made up. "Drawing is a hobby, Trent. It's not a career. Where do you expect to go with it? It doesn't exactly scream success or 'mercer' in my eyes."

"But it does in mine. Dad, you gotta look at the options. The possibilities. I mean, look at Stan Lee."

Anton looked at his son like he had said something wrong. "I'm sorry, but who?"

Trent was shocked. He would have thought he would have heard some things about one of the best comic artists of all time.

But it was clear he didn't. "Stan Lee. The Stan Lee who created Spiderman, X-Men and The Incredible Hulk."

Anton shook his head, making it clear that the name sounded foreign to him. "Sorry, buy I've never heard of him. Those are just pathetic examples of exciting the human psyche in believing that superheroes are everything in this world, and they're not. They're fantasy. They're not real."

"But people enjoy them anyways." Trent protested.

Anton held up his hand, not wanting to discuss this matter anymore. "I don't know how else to say this, Trent, but I am no way shape or form supportive of your artistic endeavors. They'll get you nowhere in life except a one way ticket to a world full of insanity and lies. Now, you need to get to school and get yourself an education."

"But, dad..." Trent protested.

Anton shook his head, pointing to the door. "Go. We can discuss this later."

Trent nodded obdiently. "Yes, sir."

Trent turned and leaves the house leaving the tall, stern man alone to his own business.