Disclaimer: This is the forty-seventh time that I've had to do this. (I'm not lying-- I counted.) So, here it is, number forty-seven. *Ahem* …I don't own it. [Bows as cheering audience throws up roses to profess their admiration.]
Rating: Dippity Skippidy Zippity Do.
Summary: Things heat up. Like, REALLY hot. I'm talking walking-barefoot-on-a-bridge-of-hot-coals-over-a-river-of-lava-in-hell, hot.
Feedback: I'd really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really appreciate it. Thanks!
TO RECAP (Because I need to.) : Jarod and Astrea teamed together with the chess-loving, quirky English guy Arthur to find a cure for Astrea's "illness". Astrea's mute sister Lia (who Astrea now knows exists thanks to a security camera video) was captured and taken to the Centre. Lyle, who is involved in some mysterious project with Raines and COX, of all people, forcibly took Broots from his home on Christmas Eve. Broots awoke on a Centre jet flying to an unknown location and has been seated with Lia. Debbie saw her father taken, and called Miss Parker and Sydney. They came over, tried to find out what happened to Broots, ran into a brick wall, and called Jarod for help. Jarod agreed to try and find something on what's going on, and that is where this continuation to our story begins…
Quote: "We are Microsoft. Resistance is Futile. You WILL be Assimilated."
---Bumper Sticker
(This doesn't relate to the chapter at all, but I found it and think that it's frickin' hilarious.)
************************************ShadowElfBard**********************************
10:06 am, Sunday
Blue Cove, Delaware
Holiday Inn
Rm. 109
(Astrea)
I'm trying to be positive, I really am. But one can only look to the bright side if there's one to begin with. I have so much that I need to take care of, so many things going wrong, that I'm being crushed by the weight. My illness, my sister, Broots… And then there are separate categories under those. For example, with my illness I need to find out what chemical was used, how fast it's progressing, why the counter-agent wasn't administered, what the counter agent is… the list goes on. And it's like that for every one! I can't even begin to decide which one takes priority, and we can't just use the Magic 8-ball every time.
I sigh and glance over at Jarod, who is busily typing away on the laptop, his brows knitted in concentration. He's working so hard. I know that the phone call must have really shaken him up. His relationship with Miss Parker has always been strained at best, and I'm not entirely sure what it is that they feel for each other. I know without a doubt that Jarod cares for her deeply, despite her actions over the years, but I have no clue whether or not those feelings are returned. I don't know the woman well enough, and the only time I ever really talked to her didn't end that well. Needless to say, any opinion I have of her is a little biased.
"Have you found anything yet, Jarod?" I ask quietly.
He's quiet for a moment, studying the electronic document on the screen, but he then gives a slow and hesitant nod that gradually became more resolute. "Actually… yeah. Yeah, I think I have."
"Really?" I stand. "What is it?"
"See for yourself."
I do so, and frown a bit in confusion. Then, slowly, I find the key phrase in the otherwise useless document, and nod my head with a bitter smile.
"Yeah, that's definitely something."
I would be a bald-faced liar if I said that I was happy right now. Jarod has just discovered where Broots is heading… if he's alive and with Lyle, that is. And, presuming that this information is correct, Jarod and I both know what has to happen next if we're to keep his "promise" to Miss Parker.
Jarod, watching the emotions flicker over my features, frowns. "You don't want to do this." It's a statement, not a question.
"Should I?" I move away from him angrily. "I have a sister in the Centre, Jarod. Someone whose blood runs in my veins. Am I simply supposed to ignore that?"
"That's true," he concedes with a nod. "It's also true that we still haven't found out how to cure your 'illness', and it's true that we have practically no preparation time to give to any of our current problems, and most importantly it's true that we have three ways to go, and each one of them requires our immediate attention."
He gives me a purposeful look before finishing up his little monologue. "The only real question right now is which problem is most important."
"And you're leaving it up to me to answer?" I give a laugh that sounds harsh even to my ears. "Those are some leadership skills you've developed, Jarod."
"I'm not leaving it up to you," he says quietly.
I narrow my eyes in quick suspicion. "Come again?"
"I've made my choice, Astrea. I… well, you know my relationship with Miss Parker. I'm going to help her."
"And where does that leave me?"
"That's up to you. You decide what is more important, and you do what you think right."
"You mean split up," I accuse. "I called you for help first, in case you've forgotten, and what we started is not yet finished."
He shakes his head. "There's simply too much going on, Astrea. I've had to sort out my priorities--"
"And I'm not important enough on your list," I finish softly.
He freezes, and sees the hurt in my eyes. He sighs in frustration. "That's not what I meant."
"Yes it is."
We stare each other down, hearing nothing but the hum of the computer, and the faint and muffled sounds of the world outside our hotel window. I feel worn all of a sudden, the angry fire inside of me snuffed out. And, abruptly, I realize that Jarod feels the same way. Anybody could look at that weary, haggard face and easily realize just how tired he is. There are bags under his eyes and lines on his face that weren't there two days ago. Even his usually bright and dazzling brown eyes have lost their sparkle. I wonder what my own face looks like. Is my drained state as obvious?
"Hello?"
Both Jarod and I turn as Arthur enters, carrying what was to be our breakfast in a non-descript take-out bag.
Arthur sets down the food on the table. "Is something going on?"
"No, nothing," I answer quickly, my tone tired and devoid of any obvious emotion. "We were just… nothing. Nothing at all."
I stride over to the door, picking up one of the breakfast bags as I walk by the table. "Come on. It's time we got going."
Arthur, puzzled as usual, is the epitome of bafflement. "Go where?"
I pause, halfway out the door, and then turn back slowly, my eyes locked on Jarod's as I answer.
"We're going to visit an old friend. Someone that Jarod knows very well."
"We are?" Arthur asks, incredulously.
"Yes." The word comes out caustically, resentfully, and I scrunch up my features as though I've bitten into a rotted piece of fruit. "We have a message to deliver. Plans to make. Don't we, Jarod?"
Jarod then seems to understand. He too looks as though he's eaten something vile and foul. Oh yes, he understands.
We file out of the hotel room silently, our fast-food breakfast bags in hand, and head towards the car to pay a visit to Miss Parker.
10:27 am, Sunday
Blue Cove, Delaware
The Parker Residence
(Jarod)
It was a dirty trick, I know, but I had to do it. Astrea would have backed me into a corner otherwise. I knew that she wouldn't, couldn't go alone, and I played upon that knowledge. Were I a boxer, I would have been booed out of the ring for using such a cheap and underhanded trick. If Astrea has any weaknesses, her biggest one is her need for companionship. I have a feeling that the worst punishment that could ever be devised for her would be complete and utter isolation. She's a very social creature, and I feel like the lowest scum of the earth for using that against her.
But it was, as the Centre would put it, a necessary evil.
Miss Parker. God help me, but that woman does drive me insane. One minute I hate her, the next I pity her, and the next I can't live without her. She'll never know it, but her simply being alive is enough to rattle me sometimes. I am, whether I choose to admit it or not, her slave. If she's sad, I'm drowning in sorrow. If she's angry or frustrated, molten lava rages through my veins and sets my blood aflame. If she has one of those moments, one of those really rare moments where she's smiling and happy, I can die in peace without any regrets. How can anyone live like this? I am utterly subject to her moods and her whims, and I go to foolishly extravagant lengths to appease her. She's like some cruel and violent goddess whose fickle temperament can either bring about lengths of tranquility or seasons of devastation.
And yet, despite all of this, here I am, standing like an idiot on her doorstep.
I hear a growl off to my left and glance over. Astrea is standing rigid, her arms folded against more than the glacial temperature, and her eyes are narrowed with irritation and mistrust. I give her an apologetic look, and in return she hands me a large and ticked-off glare.
Humph.
"Well," she grounds out, "are you going to knock or what, Jarod?"
I blink at her, still not used to having her anger directed at me. Usually she's so… kind. Sure she gets emotional, but I haven't seen such vehemence since our first meeting. Really though, it's a wonder that her fury hasn't set the very snow on fire…
She raises am eyebrow at me in an eerily Parker-ish way, and blinks― once again reminding me that we are still standing in the snow, and still freezing our butts off. Yet I can't seem to raise my hand to knock—and it's not because of the icy air, either.
"P-p-perhaps Astrea has a p-p-point, J-Jarod," Arthur stutters out, more quaking than shivering in his thin, brown coat and black scarf.
I suppress a sigh, and nod my head, getting the point. It's now or never. I rap upon the wood of the door and hear Astrea's muttered "Finally!" when the locks on the other side are undone.
Sydney steps out and greets us, his large and friendly smile already in place, and he barely twitches when he sees Arthur, though I do spot the curiosity that enters his eyes. Psychiatrists are as close to pretenders as I think any one person can come, and Sydney's one of the best.
He ushers us in and out of the cold, firmly closing the door behind us. When he offers to take our coats Arthur and I hand them over, but Astrea firmly (and yet politely) declines.
It's been a long time since I've entered Miss Parker's habitat (invited, that is) and I amiably take in the simple, stylish décor of the home. Every placement, picture, statue and furnishing proudly tells me who lives here. This abode is infused with the very spirit of my rival, and sorrowfully I realize that the spirit is a cold and austere one.
"Jarod."
Perspective Change
(Astrea)
"Miss Parker," returns Jarod coolly.
I roll my eyes, irritated, and then point to myself. "Astrea. Arthur. Sydney. Great, now that the Oh-So-Dramatic intros are over, can we start discussing business?"
All eight eyes in the room blink in chorus at my abrupt and rude attitude.
Miss Parker does her signature eyebrow-raise, attempting to look indifferent and succeeding with flying colors. "Does Zoo Girl have PMS or is this only on Sundays?"
I feel the steady rumble of an irate growl lodged deep in my throat, and from Jarod's slightly worried look, I can tell that he's able to hear it. Miss Parker simply folds her arms, unconcerned, and both Sydney and Arthur look as though they are attempting not to have heard my rather feral response.
Jarod clears his throat. "And on that cheery note…" he reaches into his coat pocket and extracts a folded piece of paper. "I was able to find some information that would be considered particularly helpful, but that seems to bring up some…er… issues."
"Like?" Miss Parker snaps crossly. Suddenly, she turns to Arthur. "And just who the hell are you?"
Arthur nearly jumps in surprise at the unexpected acknowledgement of his presence. "Me? I'm, uh, I'm Arthur. Arthur Norman. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
She glances down in distaste at the hand he's offered, and curls her lip. "The pleasure's all yours."
Arthur lowers his hand with confusion and mild dejection, and then stuffs the rejected limb into his pocket uncomfortably.
Sydney mutters something irritably about a certain someone's social skills, and before the object of his annoyance is able to request a louder repeat, a new voice enters our merry little conversation.
"Um…Miss Parker? Who are these people?"
A girl about my age is standing by the railing of the stairs, gazing down at us in uncertainty.
The director's daughter clenches her fist and whirls on Jarod. "Just perfect, Wonder-Boy. You've woken Debbie."
Debbie? This must be Broots' daughter!
Debbie shakes her head and comes down. "No, it's okay. I wasn't really sleeping anyways."
I watch this newcomer with curiosity, unable to keep a small smile from my lips. She's a beautiful young girl, and, from what I've been able to see, polite as well. She's got her father's chestnut colored hair, and his friendly brown-green eyes. She is undoubtedly related to my dear friend, and the thought helps to pacify my previous anger.
"Hello again, Debbie," Jarod greets with a grin.
She pinches her lips. "Do I know you?"
"Well, we haven't been formally introduced but, uh, your father has… your father has mentioned you."
Sydney takes on the role of the mediator. "Debbie, this is Jarod."
Her eyes widen. "You're Jarod?"
Though confused, he gives a hesitant smile. "Yes. Have you…erm, heard of me?"
"Uh huh!" she says, nodding vigorously. "You're the Centre's pretender!"
A deathly silence takes the room, and only after the first few seconds go by does Debbie realize what it is that she's exclaimed so casually.
Mortified, she raises a hand to her mouth. "Oh… I'm sorry, that must have sounded… I'm just so…. Really, I didn't…"
"It's okay," Jarod finally says, and though the others may not catch it, his reassurance seems forced. "No harm done. I'm just surprised that you know of me."
Still abashed, Debbie just nods and bites her lip.
Miss Parker's clipped voice provides an explanation. "Long story short, Debbie is handy with a computer. Now, we have business, don't we?"
Jarod makes a sound of acknowledgement. "Yes, I suppose we do. Where do you want to…?"
"Living room is fine, just take off your shoes. God only knows what's under them." Miss Parker looks over at Arthur. "Do you know how to play chess?"
He reacts faster this time. "Oh, yes. I do enjoy a good game of chess every now and—"
"Fine. Debbie, this is 'Arthur, Arthur Norman'. He's going to play you at chess. You can get the board from upstairs and the two of you can set up in the kitchen."
Before either of them can object, she raises a hand. "Don't. Just don't. I'm sorry to be harsh, Debbie, but this week has been nothing but hell."
Broots' daughter seems to understand, and though she doesn't look happy about it, she bites her back her protests and nods. They both leave, and Miss Parker heads to a reclining chair in the living room, not even looking back to see if we're following.
Once we've all gotten situated-- Sydney on the couch next to Jarod, and myself standing up against the wall with my arms crossed-- Miss Parker leans back and crosses her legs, her finely manicured nails drumming impatiently on the arm of her chair. And, as the silence goes on, I realize with a bitter sigh that it's going to be a long, hard, uphill climb until this issue is resolved.
Perspective Change
(Miss Parker)
"You said you had news, and you seem too much of a Boy Scout to lie," I state to Jarod flatly, vexed.
"You flatter me," he returns.
"Believe me, it's not intentional. Now, what the hell did you find? And don't beat around the proverbial bush-- I don't want to have to throttle you for a straight answer."
Zoo-girl seems to object to this idea, if the way she's growling at me is any indication. I knew from the moment she walked in that the girl and I were going to have problems, no matter the temporary truce we might have formed in the sub-levels. The fact still remains that she's a screwed up experiment, and a potential danger. And, to tell the honest in-your-face truth, I would bring her back to the Centre if I had the chance. I reluctantly admit the fact that I'm not sure about Jarod, there's still too much there to think about, but if she was in cuffs and I had a sweeper, she'd be back at the Centre before you could say Jack Robinson.
"Astrea," Jarod almost hisses at her, pleading with his eyes for her to stop.
She stares him down for a long time, but finally concedes and moves her gaze to the floor.
Satisfied and relieved, Jarod hands Sydney the piece of paper he'd extracted earlier. "After a few hours of unsuccessful searching through the Centre's mainframe, I was able to find this."
Sydney looks over at his prodigy in confusion. "I don't understand, Jarod. This is simply a list of employees going on temporary leave."
Jarod nods and points at something on the page. "True, but look who made the list."
Sydney follows Jarod's finger, and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh my."
I clench the sides of my chair in frustration. "Skip the dramatics, Freud. What's on the paper?"
"Well, Lyle for one."
Though others might have experienced it, I'm not surprised. For someone who has heard three or more different versions of how their mother died, discovered family members who were once hated enemies, and seen two or more people come back from the dead, knowing that my brother's name is on a sheet of paper is nothing special. And with a raised eyebrow, I tell them this.
"Okay, so Lyle the Psychos' name is on a piece of paper. Whoop-de-do. I'm having trouble seeing the importance here, Jarod."
"It wouldn't be important," he starts, "if the paper weren't a notice of leave written by a very rushed Lyle who left for India about, oh…" he looks at his watch. "Eight hours and forty three minutes ago."
Perspective Change
(Arthur)
"Your move," I point out rather jovially, knowing that she's about to fall into my trap.
She stares down at the board, mentally calculating her options. Her fingers rest slightly on her remaining knight, but her eyes flicker over to one of the bishops. She seems to come to a decision, and then, with a slight smirk, advances her pawn directly into the path of my rook.
My jaw drops, wondering how she was able to entirely demolish my subtle and carefully laid trap with a single move. Bullocks. Perhaps my chess glory days are coming to an end.
Wait a tick… did I even have chess glory days?
"Your move," Debbie says with a malevolent grin, throwing my words back at me.
I fold my arms and quirk my mouth, contemplating what move I should make to regain the offensive. To put your opponent on the defensive, is, perhaps, one of the most common moves in chess, but it is also one of the most effective.
Aha, I think to myself with a sly smile. You might just find a way out of this yet, Arthur old boy.
And with a rather large amount of satisfaction, I move my head pawn diagonally and take out her remaining knight, putting her king in check.
She winces at the loss of her rider, but quickly moves her king out of harms way… or so she thinks. Because in the next moment, filled with elation, I boldly pick up my queen, set it down directly across from her king, and Bob's your uncle, I've won.
She sighs and gently knocks her ruler to the ground in defeat, and I resist the urge to do what Americans would call a "victory dance".
"A jolly good game, Debbie," I tell the girl, holding out my hand. "Very well played."
"Thanks," she says, shaking hands with me. "You're really good at it."
I smile at her words, and start resetting the board. "So, are you up for another game?"
"No," she says quietly, shaking her head.
I pause in my movements, and look over at her in confusion. " 'No'? But your were doing so well…"
"It's not that I don't enjoy playing with you, Mr. Arthur. I really do like having someone to play against, but it's just that I'm… I'm worried about my father. And they're talking about him in the living room, deciding what to do, and I'm out in the kitchen playing chess. I want to do something; help in someway. Isn't that fair?"
Uh oh. Dangerous ground. "Of course that's fair, young lady. I understand completely. The only problem is that you're… um… just a tad too young, I'm afraid."
Hurt enters her eyes and she stands up angrily. "I'm not a little kid, I'm nearly fifteen now! I help around the house, I sometimes walk the four blocks to the grocery store and pick up food, I can stay up after my father goes to bed not have to sleep until ten-thirty, and I should be able to help find him!"
"I never said that you were immature or without responsibilities," I tell her soothingly, hoping I don't sound too much like a parent. I recall what Astrea told me about what happened last night, and use the information to my advantage. "It's just that your father was… taken, and fought to protect you. What sense would it make to ignore his sacrifice and put you in danger again?"
Though she is still quite upset, I can see that my words have reached her. She hangs her head. "I just really miss him… and I don't like feeling this helpless."
Cautiously, I reach out my hand to hers, and pat it gently. "I understand. No one likes to feel as though they've lost control, but we must never act irrationally."
She nods.
"Now then," I say, eager to put this awkward little moment behind me, "are you going to be black or white this time around?"
Perspective Change
(Sydney)
"Well this is just great, isn't it? F---ing fantastic."
I silently sigh through my nostrils as I watch Miss Parker pace the floor, her hands on her hips and her eyes burning with fury. She has Jarod's piece of paper clenched in one fist (she'd snatched it from him to see for herself) and it is obviously the root cause of her present distress.
She stops suddenly—turns to Jarod. "So, Wonder Boy, what now? Lyle's in India, Broots might be with him… I'm going to go for the best case scenario and assume that you came over here with a plan in mind."
My protégé stands up, rising to meet her challenge. "You assumed right. But, unfortunately, the only plan I have is not going to be to your liking."
"None of this is to my liking, Jarod, but I don't really have a choice in the mater, now do I?"
"True," he says with a nod. "Alright, my plan is this, pure and simple… we go after them."
"'Go after them'?" The pretender girl repeats in incredulity, leaving her position at the wall and walking towards Jarod. "They have an eight-hour advantage on us. To make any difference at all we'd have to leave within the next two hours, and even if we got there in record time (assuming we know where they even are) what is us traveling there going to accomplish? Are we going to kidnap Broots back, is that it?"
Jarod shrugs. "Basically."
For a moment she seems too shocked to move, but then she looses a few, harsh, dry laughs. "No wonder you have a psychiatrist, Jarod—you're completely insane."
"For once, I agree with Zoo Girl," Miss Parker says, a smirk on her face.
"Jarod," the feral pretender continues, ignoring Parker, "even if we were to successfully kidnap Broots back, his life would never be the same again. The Centre isn't stupid, though you sometimes make them seem so. They would wonder why the very pretender that they're after would go to all that trouble to rescue him, would assume that he's been helping you in some way or that he means something to you, and would then lock him up in the Tower and either use him to get to you or simply kill him." Her eyes narrow dangerously. "I will not allow that to happen."
"Now hold on a minute," Jarod says, holding up a hand. "I wasn't suggesting that we actually kidnap Broots back. I only used it for lack of a better word. What I actually mean to do is set it up to look like the director ordered his return to the pursuit team, using a fake document as proof and Miss Parker's presence as evidence."
"What?!"
"You're joking," Parker says in disbelief. "You actually expect me to go with you and your little 'Elf 17' to Ind—"
Her move is so fast and unexpected that it seems as though she's broken through the barriers of time itself. One second Miss Parker is talking, and the next the room has gone deathly quiet—all eyes on the feral pretender who is nose to nose with the director's daughter, and baring her teeth in unbridled fury. Jarod is momentarily stunned and I almost jump out of my seat, but to Miss Parker's credit, besides a fleeting pass of fear and surprise over her normally flawless features, she doesn't bat a brow.
"My name," the feral pretender hisses slowly with a toxic snarl, "is ASTREA. Elf 17 is dead."
"You will be too in a second if you don't get out of my face," Parker retaliates with a sneer.
"I'd have you on the floor with your throat ripped out before you could even get your finger on the trigger."
Miss Parker forces an almost smile on her face. "You can slap a new name on sh-t but in the end it's still crap."
"THAT'S IT!"
Jarod has pushed himself
between the two women (which is probably no easy feat) and he looks from one
to the other angrily.
"I didn't come over here to watch two people threaten to kill one another
while an innocent girl is forced to wonder whether or not her father is even
alive. Yes, my plan does involve us traveling to India; yes, Miss
Parker is a key part of this plan; and yes, we'd have to leave as soon as possible.
But, contrary to what appears to be the popular belief, what is not a part of
my plan is wasting time with petty arguments while our enemies become that much
closer to achieving whatever depraved goal it is that they have in mind."
All is quiet. Jarod looks from one woman to the other, and steps back. Astrea, (what Elf 17's name has apparently been changed to) curls her lip at Miss Parker, glares at Jarod, and then, as swiftly and silently as a shadow, glides out of the room and out the front door. Parker watches her go, and then turns back to us and folds her arms.
"Your visits are always a pleasure, Jarod," she says with a mocking tone. Then she sighs. "Alright. I don't know why, but I'll go with you. What do Syd and I have to pack?"
Jarod and I exchange glances.
"Miss Parker," I start softly, "…I'm afraid I won't be accompanying you."
"Knock it off, Sydney, I'm in no mood for pranks."
"When have you ever known me to pull a prank, Parker?"
"But you can't just not come," she grounds out, pleading.
"I'm old, Parker. I don't like to admit it, but that doesn't make it any less true."
"That's never stopped you before," she accuses. This is hurting her so much. I've always known how I fill in the role of her father figure, and that attachment is evident in her eyes.
"I've never had to fly halfway across the world before, either, Parker. I'm simply not up to it, and Debbie also needs someone to look after her. Besides, of what use would I be? No," I reaffirm, shaking my head, "I can not come. I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am," Parker replies quietly, once more becoming as hard as stone and as cold as ice. She turns and heads to the stairs. "I'm going to go pack, Jarod. If this is as urgent as you say it is, I expect you, the Englishman, and Zoo Bitch back in an hour with your purses packed and your teddy bears in hand."
"Well," Jarod says with a sigh once she's disappeared from view, slowly sinking into an armchair, "that could have gone better."
************************************************************************************
YAHOO, IT'S FINISHED!!! Of course, I apologize profusely for the ridiculous amount of time it took me to update, but you wouldn't believe what's been happening to my computer over the past couple of MONTHS. Hopefully everything will be getting back on track now, and I hope that you guys will forgive me and review. Thanks!
Review Returns:
Pretender Fanatic: Hey, pretender fanatic, my old pal. (Okay, so maybe not that old.) I was really surprised to hear that you like my character Astrea so much. Most people tend to hate the new characters added to fan fiction, but, then again, you're certainly not common! ;-D
Rem-Cycle: …You really think that I have all of that in my story? Wow… And yes, Broots IS a genius!!! (If you haven't already guessed, he's my favorite character and I hate how few stories there are on him.) I'm glad that you think I did a good job on writing Sydney's character—I certainly tried hard enough to get it down. Again, I'm pleasantly surprised that you think I'm writing so well, and I'll try and have less time between updates.
Earthdrago: Thank you soooo much for your generous compliments. I don't really know that I'm that great a writer, but I of course appreciate being told that I am! And, sorry about the cliffhangers, but I just can't seem to get enough of them! ;-D
Ann: Thanks for the compliments-- they're great as ever! And, yep, the troublemakers have it made in the back (I should know). Glad that you're enjoying this, thanks for the review!
Onisius: Broots and Mr. Cox have met? I didn't know that! What happened? And, yeah, I thought the Magic 8-Ball was a cute touch. ;-)