The police were on the investigation in no time, having captured an array of Kacheeks to interrogate. They brought me down to the police office every so often, so I could peer through double-sided mirrors to see if I could clearly identify the proper Kacheek, but all of the Mutants looked the same to be, without any clear, distinguishing features. Eventually, they decided to do the questioning without my verification, squeezing all of the information they could out of each individual Kacheek. I didn't find it particularly unjust—all of them were Mutants, so at one point in their life, they must've gotten into some sort of trouble to have them assume the horrendous form they held currently.

To take my mind off the loss of Vali (which it had been stewing in relentlessly for the past week or so), I decided to get off my sulking behind and get out to parties. Thanks to the Lab Ray, my stats were increasing, and with it my stamina for being out at night and dancing fiercely alongside other Neopets. I had always been invited in parties—lavish black-tie events with caviar on tiny triangular crackers, Royal Draiks and Krawks smoking pipes and adjusting their monocles with glamorous Kois and Unis on their elbow, and the finest instrumentalists in Neopia congregating to play as background music—but I had only attended them sparsely, not wanting to seem desperate for socialization.

Now, though, downing carbonated drinks in long-stemmed glasses that sang when you spun your finger along their rim and smirking at the mansion of the hostess and how last-season it was seemed like a great distraction from all of the seriousness of the investigation. So I dressed in my most expensive gowns and put on my most glittering jewelry, and I hit the town nightly with much disapproval from my owner, who was forced to clean up after me in the morning from when I stumbled into bed, my dresses ripped, furniture slashed and stained, and picture frames broken.

When I woke up, my owner shaking me awake violently to go to the Lab Ray, I would receive a stern lecture on the proper way to go out at night, how I had to watch out for myself, and if I wanted to continue living in luxury, I would have to treat it with respect. I would listen to it dully and sulk, often with a headache, and cap off her speech with an unreceptive, cross-armed "yes-ma'am." My owner would then sigh disapprovingly, give me a questionable look sideways, and fall silent. We would continue and finish our journey with a tense quietness between us, a stalemate of sorts. And as soon as the night arrived, and my owner announced she was going to pick up some groceries and I'd better be here when she got back, I'd don my evening attire again and sneak out without permission, exchanging a night full of laughs and light for a morning of storm clouds and scolding.

My irresponsible partying, however, was soon met with a flash of karma. I had begun to become comfortable with our visits to the Lab Ray every day, as for the longest time it hadn't yielded any negative results. Halfway through the month (beginning where I called in the Kacheek), though, things made a negative turn. Assuming I would receive nothing more than a loss of movement, or a level, or even a change of gender at worse, I let the Scorchio set me up in front of the lab with a blazing pride in my eyes, over-confident. The Scorchio was cackling as always, all grins and maniacal hand-rubbing.

"Hahaha, ooOOooo, heheheheh, I can feel it … today will be something different, something new, something … exciting …."

This was a common refrain before a zapping, and it felt no different that day, no increased degree of foreshadowing (though it gave me the shivers as always)—it should have, though, because that day was about to be different as soon as the Scorchio threw the switch.

I expected the normal momentary agony of a level change, or even a status change, but this pain was prolonged, as if the electricity had decided to remain in my system. My proportions seemed to be distorting themselves, my fur sucking into my body, my face growing gigantic and the clothes that I wore as a Royal Acara vanished in a puff of smoke. I whimpered a little, my lungs too tortured to emit a full-fledged scream, and finally the pain let up, leaving me a different pet.

At first, I didn't dare look down at myself. I knew horrible changes had occurred, and to affirm them with my eyes would only seem to make them more permanent. I could hear my owner come in, and give a little gasp—and that was when my eyes popped open, if only to look at her. But they couldn't help but floating down to my body—and what I saw was what I had always dreaded. I saw a red, furless body, with stripes on the side, consisting of mostly a mouth for a body and four little stumps for arms and legs.

I was a Red Quiggle.

Upon the revelation, my eyes didn't wait for any further cues: I burst into an unrelenting flurry of tears. Though I knew there was a possibility the condition would only endure for the day, just having to spend twenty-four hours in that wretched body seemed too much to handle. I fell to the ground and continued my weeping, even when my owner asked me gently to stand up and take her hand. Eventually, my owner had to scoop me up and carry me out of the laboratory, the Scorchio's laugh following us towards the exit.

It took my owner hours of soothing, catering towards my whim, and ordering special gourmet room service to our apartment to get me to calm down. Her most common reassurance was that, like the time I was a Mutant, I would go back to being normal at least within the next few zaps.

So the next morning, after a day of sulking and feeling sorry for myself inside, I woke up with an uncharacteristic eagerness to head out to the Lab Ray, even going so far as to wake up before my owner and brew her a pot of coffee. My kindness, however, did nothing for the inevitable—instead of changing species, or even color, I was only granted with the warm shock of increased strength, leaving me depressed for the rest of the day once again.

And so this cycle continued, me changing my sleeping patterns to get up early for the Lab Ray, and never changing anything of value. For two weeks, I remained a Red Quiggle, and with each day I didn't change into anything different (even a Red Techo would've been nicer), my morale dropped down an even steeper slope. My owner tried to be nice about it, but a visible anxiety was beginning to manifest itself into wrinkles on her face, and she didn't look at me proudly anymore. Even when we fought in the Battledome (usually under a pseudonym as to not embarrass either of us), and I displayed the added strength I had gained from Lab training her favor did not fall on me.

We talked less and less about my condition, which seemed to be digging a rift between the two of us. My owner had always claimed that she would love me no matter what shape I took at the Lab Ray, and no matter how long I took it—but now, when she was face-to-face with the situation, she seemed to flake. I could see it in her eyes: it was no longer as fun to strut around Neopia with a Red Quiggle attached to her side, rather than a Royal Acara. Something about the paint job I had had, whether it was earned or not, had said something about her to passersby, something that a Red Quiggle didn't. When I was with her as a regally painted Pet, I showed the world her and value no matter how raggedly her clothes were: she was worthy and rich enough for a Royal pet—a Royal pet! A thing only available to the richest of the rich—the crème of the crop—the Hidden Tower seekers and finders, the glamorous adventurers!

I confronted her about it one night over dinner. Our dinners used to be lively, at least from her end—she'd ask how my day was, and I would give her detail in a haughty voice, dismissing things verbally that other Neopets would cherish and consider extravagant activities. Now, however, the tables were turning—I was the one inquiring her to speak, and she replied heavily, wearily, as if it were a burden to relay her day to me.

"Mistress," I asked, trying to make my voice sound respectable and demanding rather than desperate and meek, "you don't seem to take me out as much anymore."

"No, I suppose not," admitted my owner. She kept her eyes low on her food, denying me her gaze. I tried to command it by gesturing wildly, but that only made her stir her mashed potatoes faster. "It's just I've been very busy lately."

"With what?"

"With work. You wouldn't understand." She made up some excuse about restocks being more strenuous lately with the influx of Neopian citizens attending them, and then excused herself from the table to clean her plate. I watched her back depart slowly and thoughtfully—she walked as if she were treading a road to perdition, thinking long and soullessly about a task she was bound to commit.

That heinous crime came just the day after I asked the question. She managed to beat me to the sunrise, waking up just minutes before I did. She was already fumbling around with her keys in the front room when I opened my eyes, audible through my bedroom door. I rose and slid off the bed, opening my door a crack to peer through to where my owner shuffled around her things with a certain frantic manner. She was sorting through a stack of papers furiously, and looking back between the papers and a suitcase next to it, periodically opening the suitcase to check something inside. She didn't notice me until she had zipped up the suitcase with a certain finality, looking backwards to have her eyes fall on me with a start.

"Oh! Ferny. You're up." She paused, and looked around. "Morning," she added as a halfhearted greeting. I nodded slowly, emerging from the doorway. As I looked closer at my owner's eyes, I could see that they were slightly bloodshot and a little more dewy than usual.

"Mistress, have you been—"

"Oh, my eyes?" She gestured towards them, and then waved them away dismissively—but she did this in a manner too hurried to be taken seriously. "I just stayed up late, is all. S'why I'm still awake." She shoved the papers into the sides of the suitcase, and then turned towards me fully, holding her arms akimbo. "Well, well. You'll probably want some breakfast before we're off to the Lab Ray."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? We never eat it beforehand."

"Well, why can't we break our routine?" Her voice was slightly hysterical, with a bit of a falsetto around the edges. I backed up into my room a bit, and her tone became more conciliatory, as if trying to lure me out. "I made Faerie Pancakes for you, with butter and everything. They're in the kitchen … serve yourself."

While this was a shade concerning in itself—my owner never made her own food, and I wasn't sure how well she cooked—I headed towards the kitchen to find a plate of Faerie Pancakes waiting for me, along with utensils and syrup. I brought them out into the dining room and began to awkwardly pour the syrup on myself. It was a strange and new process—I was used to other people doing these details for me, up to everything but cutting the pancakes and putting them in my mouth myself.

My owner sat across from me, watching my every move. This only increased my sense of discomfort, and I chewed slowly as consequence. My owner asked me a few questions, none that I could remember clearly as of now, but in retrospect they all seemed to be oriented towards whether or not I could be self-sufficient. I answered uncertainly, but with answers that seemed to please her, and she nodded at them with too much interest, smiling distantly.

We departed for the Lab Ray after my owner had, inexplicably, instructed me to take one of my favorite plushies with. (I selected my Faerie Cybunny plushie, which was one of my first and one I had always had a fondness for. It was worn around the edges, but it still retained a fraction of its beauty despite its age, and I loved it for that). I noticed my owner was taking me in a direction different than we usually took to the Lab Ray, and I confronted her about that.

"We're taking a short cut," she reassured, but the wild, crooked smile and desperation in her eyes gave my stomach a sinking feeling. I tried to deduce what she was up to, but nothing came immediately to mind, and for the time being it seemed my best bet to follow her.

When we approached the outskirts of Neopia Central, though, my stomach sank all the way down to my bladder. If the stinky feeling inside of my gut had any say, something baleful was afoot, and it was in my best interest to bolt. But I had developed a trust for my owner all of these years, even if I hated being under her command, and a voice deep down urged me to keep my loyalty.

But that voice's judgment was flawed. Very blatantly now, my owner was leading me towards a modern-architecture building that reminded me of an above-ground tomb, boxy and made of concrete. A sort of gloom seemed to exude from its walls, and cover the area around it in a smoke that made flowers and even simple grass wilt around it to be dominated by an inhospitable terrain made of pavement. Affixed to the top of the building was a neon, campy sign that swung in the wind from years neglected in the face of gales. It read, in a midday, reddish glow: THE NEOPIAN POUND.

Unlike other Neopets who I saw being pulled towards this coffin of a structure, I did not struggle against my owner's wishes. I thought of doing it at first, of course—giving my owner a desperate, epic struggle, swaying her with empathy towards my out-of-control emotions and tears. I certainly could whip up a whirlwind of sorrow, regret, and pleas in an instant, but the aura of the building seemed to drain all the energy from me. I couldn't fathom how those other Neopets managed to put up such a fight. My soul already felt grey and beaten on the inside—if I could only force that feeling to manifest on my skin, perhaps my owner would see more worth in me. But it was a feat I could not manage.

Wearily, I craned my neck up to my owner as we approached. "You detached my Moltenore during the night, didn't you?" I asked, a hint of accusation in my voice.

Her response was sorrowful, and she refused to make eye contact. "Yes. I'll probably be putting him in the store soon."

"No more Neopets for you?"

"Yes—unless they find Vali. So don't take it personally, will you?" Bags seemed to fill out underneath her eyes, purple and unsightly, and her hair seemed to fray and whiten at the roots. In a moment, I realized that these imperfections had always been there, but my mind's eye had not chosen to amplify them. About to be abandoned, I was seeing my owner for the first time as a human, rather than someone to answer to, and a human was prone to all sorts of subjective flaws in appearance.

"That'd be impossible."

We continued in silence, through the revolving doors that I nearly got my foot stuck in (my owner consoled me afterwards, kissing my toe with that tenderness that I would miss achingly), and into the stuffy interior. The Pound seemed to refuse to get air conditioning in the lobby to further discourage owners from abandoning their Pets, but nevertheless, the line reached almost to the door. There was something pathetic wailing and weeping, except from those colored pets who were obviously meant to be transferred who waiting patiently in their owner's arms for a better life. I was the only common pet that was complacent and quiet, the reality of what was about to happen still not yet kicking in.

DrDeath was a real butt hole to my owner, and gave her a hard time about abandoning me. Apparently he recognized my name, and he went on a lengthy diatribe about painted pets and plain pets and how they were all the same if you pulled off their fur, and blah blah blah. I, much to his surprise, was the one that cut him off, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

"Look. She has the paperwork. How about you just get me situated in a cage already? I don't want to be rearranging my new place past my bedtime."

DrDeath was too stunned by my defense of my negligent owner to stamp the papers himself, and I ended up inking up the stamp, placing it in his hand, and slamming it down for him. A volunteer at the Pound—a tired-looking Cloud Ixi—escorted me to the back along with my owner.

I tried to close my ears off to the wailings of the kennels, but it was impossible. All of the Neopets in the Pound seemed gluttons for a melancholy atmosphere, and many of them rattled the bars of their cages like ghosts bound in chains. Haggard eyes behind scruffy, uncut fur looked up at me with bleary looks from Yurbles and Meercas, some of the more common Pets scattered inside the Pound. The cages were stacked on top of each other, and sliding ladders like those in a library lined the cages so the pets could be fed. Tragically, those in the top cages tended to be the most overlooked, and had to gain attention through alternate methods: unusual shriek and hurling feces.

I was condemned to a cell about in the middle, and the Cloud Ixi helped me up to it. My owner stayed on the ground, looking up to me. She watched as the Ixi fumbled with the door, closing the latch and then locking it. The Ixi whispered an apology to me when the lock clicked shut, but I shook my head at the unnecessary gesture. Perhaps I would've been bratty in the past, but in that moment I understood it was her job, and if she didn't lock me up, she wouldn't eat.

"You all right in there?" my owner—my former owner—called up to me, a shred of guilt in her voice. I looked down through the bars and waved, and gave a slow nod. The Ixi descended the ladder, and my owner tried to push the suitcase into the Ixi's hands. "Here. Here's Ferny's things."

The Ixi looked at my former owner quizzically. "I'm sorry ma'am. I can't give your Pet—er, your former Pet, those things. It's not company policy."

My former owner looked at the Ixi blankly, and then back up at me. Conflict was in her eyes, and she looked almost ready to throw the bag upwards for me to catch (which I wouldn't mind if I wasn't so poor at catching things). But this only lasted a moment, and then she looked downwards to the Ixi, nodding curtly. "Ah, okay. I understand."

The Ixi offered to lead her out, but my former owner declined the gesture of courteous and began lingering around the cages. I wondered why she was stalling her exit, and thought of calling down to her to pass up the bag now. But before I could call out, something happened that made my complacency towards being thrown in the Pound turn full circle.

The Cloud Ixi returned, having disappeared back towards the lobby, this time escorting a Maraquan Gelert by a leash. The Ixi was looking amongst the cages for a proper place to put the Gelert, but was immediately interrupted by my former owner before any other potential owners could confront the Ixi. My former owner practically seized the leash from the Cloud Ixi's mouth, her eyes bugged and slightly crazed.

"Mine. She's mine."

The Cloud Ixi gave my owner a strange look. "I beg your pardon … I mean, it's okay if you have her, that's part of our rules … but—"

"A transfer, a transfer," explained my former owner, leash in hand and already leading the Gelert back towards the lobby. "It was arranged beforehand. No money involved, no worries, it's legit."

My former owner didn't even look back at me, seemingly immersed in just staring at the Maraquan Gelert. I watched in silence until they exited the door together, my former owner already verbally gushing and flattering the aloof Gelert, who seemed to take no interest in my former owner's praise.

The shock wore off at the same time the door slammed behind them. I screamed—shrieked, really, a banshee shriek more suitable to a Ghost Neopet. Though I knew many of the Pets around me had gone through hardships, I doubted they had had to witness such blatant treachery from their former owners. The betrayal stabbed itself deep in my heart—though I had never cared for my owner exceptionally, I had always had a strange family tie to her, and would never have abandoned her without warning for another owner. No, the betrayal was not the stab—the abandoning was, and I could take that puncture wound in stride. But the twisting of that cursed dagger by way of the Gelert—that was the blow that no suture could close, deep and ragged in my heart.

I shrieked until my shrieks turned to screams, screamed until my screams turned to yells, yelled until my yells turned to wails, and wailed until my vocal chords gave out. My throat was raw as I collapsed in my cell, but no vocal agony could compare to the metaphysical one I had just endured. I was exhausted and defeated, and was just beginning to notice how cold and dingy my cell was. There was no luxuries that surrounded me—no pampering to be lavished on my Royal head. I was a common-colored, common-species Neopet, with no appeal whatsoever to potential adopters besides a name that wasn't mutilated. And potential owners' lack of interest showed as they passed by my cell without consequence. Had it been only a few weeks earlier, they would've bought me without batting an eyelash—but now I was an invisible Neopet, rendered so by my commonality.

In sleep I only found fitful dreams of Vali, wondering if she had been found yet. I had managed to suppress the pain of her disappearance until now through the partying and anxiety over my condition, but now it came back in full force, dominating my thoughts to drown those about my former owner. In my dreams, Vali wandered through darkened woods without direction, weeping and eventually collapsing, to become prey to the merciless hunters of the wilderness around her.

I would awaken from these dreams with a start, and shake my head into reality, momentarily believing I was in my bed at home, wrapped amongst silken sheets. But then I would feel the cold metal beneath me, and the rank scent of a lack of hygiene amongst a slew of Pets, and remember where I was, and weep.

Days passed by in a blissful blur, transitioning from day to night and back to day again in one beautiful motion of the sun circling the globe. Unemployed, I could enjoy the fruits of these days without wasting nine hours of each living through a drudging job and dealing with clients whose only pleasure in life was torturing me. Outside of work, I found pleasures previously unexplored—I found lands I had never traveled to, the Lost Desert, Mystery Island, and Terror Mountain, sunning myself where appropriate and setting out on mountain treks in the snowy regions.

I suppose Chiitsuru and Miko suffered from a deficiency of income, but instead of feeling sorry for them, I saw myself as administering much-needed karma on their heads. While I globe-hopped, sending them postcards of beautiful Aishas and gorgeous sunsets, I outran their replies by keeping an unsteady address. Even though Miko had insisted I get a P.O. box, it was back in Neopia Central, and I rarely visited that dull place of the status-quo. Instead, I busied myself on the high seas, and went scuba diving to the Ruins of Maraqua, testing my skill in deep sea fishing.

To fund these endeavors, I would visit the local game shop wherever I went. I was fairly decent at some of the action games, and an ace at most of the puzzles, and the Neopoints poured out in quantities that seemed far vaster than the paltry paycheck I received at home. Of course, I knew my paycheck yielded a far higher outcome on the whole, as it came consistently and what was written on the check was higher than any number I earned in Neopoints, but feeling the physical bulk of Neopoints felt far more substantial in the face of the paper-thin scrap that served as my paycheck.

In all honesty, I felt guilty for leaving Chiitsuru and Miko at home—but even if they hadn't been going through a patch where they hated me due to my ferocity towards the porcelain, I wouldn't—couldn't—have brought them with. This vacation was about me—about my liberation from the National Neopian, and enabling me to get my first real breath of fresh air in eternity. For too long, I had been made to inhale the exhalations of others, and weaken my soul through their carbon dioxide waste. So far away, though, they had no say as to what happened to me, and what I breathed for air. So I gulped in all of the oxygen I could greedily until I had to return to that stuffy Neohome and resume breathing the fumes of others.

I went away for about three weeks (directly after quitting my job) and returned promptly afterwards. I had told Miko I would be away that long, and although I was testing new grounds for my life, I had no desire to be a liar. My bags were filled to the brim when I arrived—they were limp and lifeless when I left—and although I had eaten richly on my travels, more muscle lined my body than fat as I had been constantly active throughout my vacation. I entered—no, burst—through the door, my heart filled with jubilance, trying to make it pour into the house.

Something strange happened upon my entrance, though. Everything was as I had left it—the porcelain still in a pile near the wall, and my owner unresponsive to my entrance—but there was one significant change in the décor:

On the dining room table sat the Fountain Faerie, waiting patiently for someone to notice her.

As if on cue, I dropped all of my suitcases and gaped. I had seen her likeness plastered to the Rainbow Fountain whenever Miko was kind enough to take me along on one of her and Chiitsuru's many escapes to Faerieland, but she was far more stunning in the flesh. It baffled me how she arrived, for she had no wings and a turquoise, scaled mermaid tail. These scales ran up her body and covered her bosom, giving the illusion that her whole body was glimmering with sequins. Her face was inarguably gorgeous, marked with turquoise as it was, and her hair seemed to be spun from something divine. I almost fell to my knees in reverence (and in a weakening of them), but I managed to stand to stare blankly.

"Hello," she finally said, awkwardly.

"Uh, hi," I managed to squeak.

"I was looking for my Red Moehawk Guitar," she said calmly, running her fingers through her hair. "You think you could manage that for me."

"Um, well, what does it look like?" She held up her hand, and a little puff of smoke caused a slip of paper to appear between her fingers. Simply, she held it forward, and I took it. Still, I never took my eyes off her visage.

"When you get that, come back to the Faerie Quest thing in Faerie City, all right?" she said with the most heart-meltingly charming smile Neopia has ever seen.

"Uh, do you know where I might be able to, uh, find this thing?" I asked, not bothering to glance at the estimated value beneath the picture of the guitar. She laughed, and it felt like I was in a Jacuzzi of sound, bubbling all around me.

"That's up to you to find out, dearest. See you soon."

With a snap of her alabaster fingers, she vanished in a puff of turquoise smoke, taking my heart with her. Behind her, she left a stack of papers regarding the quest, presumably some disclaimers and some rules to 'questing,' as it were.

I didn't bother with any of that fussy paperwork. Perhaps when I was working under the yoke of the National Neopina, I would've—but I had long since changed my ways. I no longer colored by the numbers, but outside the lines, and sang my own tune while others played rigidly to the meter.

Without bothering to pack away my stuff (I left it on the floor at the door, making it nearly impossible to exit), I darted out the door and immediately headed for the Shop Wizard in Neopia Central. I had never been on a quest before (such activities had been reserved for Chiitsuru only), so I wasn't aware that the Shop Wizard was off limits. As soon as I handed the Shop Wizard the little ticket displaying the red guitar with the strange keyboard, the Shop Wizard shook his head solemnly.

"'Fraid I can't help you out with that, son. You've got to search around the Marketplace by yourself for that kinda request."

I was insulted at first, and thought about retorting, but then I reasoned that all of this was probably detailed in the fine print I didn't sort through. With a shrug, I headed towards the Marketplace, alive with the buzzing of Neopians trying to find a good bargain at resale.

There were numerous amounts of buildings to pick from, and within each one of those buildings there were separate tents, divided up by owner. Some had signs outside of their tents that advertised what they specialized in, if they had a specialty. Others encouraged people inside with promises of having certain items for a certain Faerie Quest, with directions to 'sister tents' to cater to a Neopet's needs through a tight-knit circle. Seeing no sign that appealed towards the Neopet on a Fountain Faerie Quest, I eventually wandered into one of the bigger shops just for inquiry.

I was greeted by an emo-looking Usul, who wore an ornery pout on her face. "Welcome," she said with no degree of convincing enthusiasm.

"Hey," I replied, trying to be casual. "Do you know where I could find items for a Fountain Faerie quest?"

"Just about anywhere," she replied with a smirk. "But you're going to have to pay big." Her smirk faded, and a look of honest interest appeared in her eyes. "Whatcha looking for, bro?"

I helped up the slip of paper to her, pointing at the object's picture. "A Red Moehawk Guitar."

If she had been drinking anything, there would've been a spittake. Thankfully, that was replaced by a simple drop of her jaw. "You're looking for the guitar of only the most famous punk rocker ever?"

"Yeah, it looks that way. You a fan?"

"Majorly. If you could find that, man, I'd give you the Neopoints for it, and you can buy whatever Paint Brush with the sum I give you."

After thanking her for what little advice she gave me, I headed off to other stores to try my luck, narrowing my searches down to stores that specialized in instruments. Each time I inquired about the guitar, I was met with similar looks of amazement and wonder, whether from the fact I was on a Fountain Faerie quest or that I was looking for such a fabled item. Sometimes, I was even met with coarse, mocking laughter that earned some unfortunate shop owners a flattened nose, but I quickly recovered from that momentary anger to find the energy to search in another tent.

It was dusk when I finally found the guitar, and most shop owners were packing in their things or switching off with another employee to hold down the fort during the quiet night hours. It was even more brilliant in person after all of those hours of hunting for it—it was my holy grail with an electric outlet, the Fountain of Youth with a power jack.

Holding it as if it were made of glass, I ran towards the front of the store, knocking a couple of Jubjub customers out of the way as I went. The store owner, a Yurble who had, until I came up to him, been playing on a portable keyboard with headphones plugged in, looked up from his musical pursuits, tipping his head downwards to gaze at me over his glasses pretentiously. "What do you desire, young Skeith?" he asked, his voice obnoxious and forcibly low. Holding back a laugh, I held out the guitar demonstratively.

"How much are you asking for this?"

He laughed a suspiciously non-nasally laugh, snooty and stuck-up. He took the guitar from my hands and ran his fingers the length of the strings, admiring it on his own for a moment. "Ah, yes, Moehawk's red guitar. Quite a fine chap, that Moehawk. What did you think of his latest album?" demanded the Yurble suddenly, as if he were the gatekeeper and that the critical question.

"Actually, I'm not a fan," I admitted with a shrug, and this was met from the sincerest of scorns from the Yurble. "I'm on a Fountain Faerie quest, and I guess she has a dire need for expensive rock equipment."

"Expensive is surely the appropriate word, though I'd prefer artifact," sniffed the Yurble. "While I can't sell this on regular store terms, between the two of us, I'll let it go for, oh … one and a half million Neopoints."

My jaw dropped. As a former teller, I had seen clients throw around money like that as if it were dishrags—yet for my poorer clients, I had learned truly how great a value that was. I picked my jaw up off the counter, trying to regain some pride, and swallowed. "Well, I don't have that kind of money right now … but how's this: you put this item on hold for a week, just a week, and I practically guarantee you I'll get you that money in a week's time. If I don't, well … I give you full permission to track me down and break that thing over my head, Clash-style."

"I would never break a precious item such as this … but I will take you up on your offer. Besides, no one but"—here he paused to look me up and down and express his disapproval through a highly distasteful look—"you has inquired about it so long as it's been here." He placed the guitar behind the counter, next to his keyboard. "Come back in a week. You'd better have those Neopoints. One and a half, and no less."

I knew he was being obnoxious about the price, but so far I had spent the whole day searching and his was the first guitar I had seen. I spent the remainder of the day until midnight scavenging for a better offer, but I found no further Moehawk guitars. Not entirely defeated, and knowing I had a backup, I retreated back home, my limbs weary and ready for a rest. I wasn't allowed to go directly to bed, however, for Miko finally decided to emerge and welcome me back with a strict lecture.

"You cannot just go on random holidays like that, Max. And how could you have quit your job? Do you know how hard I've been working my fingers to ensure that I can put food on the table? All the while you're waltzing around Neopian islands, without a care in the world! Chiitsuru and I were worried sick about you!"

"Spare me, Miko," I said. Her pet addressing her by her first name still sets her off into an awkward position. It suggests that the two of us are equal, and I'm not subordinate to her. Even Chiitsuru didn't call her Miko, and he was higher up on her ladder of respect. "I've just spent the past three weeks experiencing first-hand that it's a cakewalk to survive from games alone. If all else fails, there's still the Omelette, or maybe the Giant Jelly. Either way, you've got options for food, and for fun there's Kacheek Seek for the two of you. It's just the superfluous stuff—the stuff you don't really need—that you're missing."

Miko inflated, her cheeks and ears turning red like a balloon. Her eyes flickered to the still-uncleaned porcelain, though, and she seemed to recall the apathetic fury I was able to muster on a whim. Quickly, she tempered her rage to just below boiling point. "Well, anyway, we missed you. And why didn't you unpack your things?"

"Didn't you look at the paperwork on the dining room table?"

"No."

"We're on a Fountain Faerie Quest."

Like a spring tempest, Miko's wrath faded from her face in seconds, evaporating to a broad, goofy, unbelieving smile. "You're kidding me!" I didn't have to tell her that I wasn't—she was already rushing over to the paperwork, skimming and sorting over it hungrily. Her smile kept spread like a plague of her face, threatening to diminish her cheeks to nothing but elated wrinkles. "My God, Max, we're on a Fountain Faerie Quest!" She looked through the papers a bit more, skipping the disclaimers, until she came upon a picture of the time. She pulled this paper away from the rest, and squinted at the caption underneath the photo. "Red … Moehawk … Guitar?"

"That's the one," I agreed.

"Did you compare and contrast prices? Did you find it?" Her questions were out of order, but I ignored it and answered them in the proper sequence.

"Yes, I found the Guitar—but there's a catch." The eagerness on Miko's face had not ceased to fade, so I decided to continue with my admission. "The lowest price I could find was for one and a half million Neopoints."

For a moment, I was afraid Miko would faint: all the color drained from her face, her eyelids moved rapidly up and down across her eyeball, and her body swayed as if moved by an erratic breeze. She was about to swoon when she regained herself, stumbling forward to catch herself on her hands on the table. Quickly, she pulled out a chair and sat herself down, cupping her forehead in her hands. She was chanting the sum under her breath with wide eyes that stared into the woodgrain blankly, probably unable to comprehend the fortune.

"Well, don't worry, it might not be as hard as it looks," I reassured Miko, coming over to rub her shoulders soothingly. "I know that I set us up a National Neopian account, so we should still have some money in there …"

"No." Miko shook her head hard, half to reject my statement and half to wake her out of her trance. "No. We spent all that money, while you were gone."

"Already? Jesus. On what?"

"A new Paint Brush for Chiitsuru. He decied Christmas was too common, and he wanted something exotic, like Island, and well … he's Island now, quite a fetching shade, but it was ridiculously expensive, and I had to withdraw from our account … there's only about a grand in there now." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, visibly stressed. "And even worse, he's already complaining about he's getting sick of the color, and … I just don't know if I can keep up with all of these trends anymore …" She pulled her face up from her hands, and looked up to me. Her eyes were reddened, and I could see the vague beginning of tears in her eyes. "It's just too much for me."

Miko had been a complete idiot to me in the past, and had always favored Chiitsuru, but with those words I felt a sort of unity towards her, banded against the vanity of Chiitsuru. She had never really expressed emotion to be besides discontent and irritation, and seeing a desperate, straining, human side of her played a empathetic melody across my heart strings. Consoling, I wrapped my arms around the front of her and gave her a quick hug, nestling my chin into the crook between her shoulder and her neck.

"Don't worry about it, Miko, really. I can work for the Neopoints—I've got a few contacts who still owe me a favor or two, and I'm getting pretty good at some of the games. One week is plenty time to earn one and a half mil, especially if I decide to start up my own store. That guitar'll be ours in no time. You've just got to promise me one thing."

"There's always a catch," Miko said with a sigh.

"Don't worry, this one doesn't require signing away your soul—it's really quite logical. You've just got to promise me—no matter how Chiitsuru begs for another new form—you've got to let me be the one to bath in the Rainbow Fountain."

Miko looked to the side, her eyes meeting with mine. The incident with the Faerie Ixi Morphing Potion was still painfully fresh in both of our minds, and neither of us seemed to want to repeat the outcome of that action. The clockwork was working in her head—I could tell by the way her pupil seemed distant and clouded, although they were inches from mine. I wished I was psychic at that moment, so I could determine the probability of my wish being granted, and her trustworthiness overall. But I was tragically disconnected from her brain, the outside looking in, and could only rely on the stability of what promises came from her mouth.

"All right. I promise."

Those four words set a machine in action: a machine devoted to generating Neopoints whatever way possible. In the first few days, I called or neomailed every available contact I knew that owed me money, whether I thought it was possible that they would pay me back in the timeframe allotted. With that base covered, I moved on to being a religious attendee of giveaways, surveys, and other ways to earn Neopoints through easy means. I started a shop, and began stalking the restocks with a diligence seen only by the most frugal and richest of Neopia. I outfitted my tent grandly to attract more customer attention, and in two days time I had a bustling storefront, paying a reliable Uni I used to know from the National Neopian to tend to my budding business.

For the remainder of my time, I was a devotee of the Game Room. From the crack of dawn to twilight (and often well into the night), I glued myself to the machines and cycled to every game, milking the Neopoints out of the three payoffs I was allowed. I would hog the game if I needed to, ignoring the cries of waiting players, and sometimes I walked home with a newly-earned trophy, baffled at my success. Mostly, though, I came home with a sack full of Neopoints, which Miko and I would sort through and count in the late hours, out of Chiitsuru's sight. Miko did what she could to earn Neopoints to contribute to the pile, but the fraction of my donations to hers was staggering. Still, we were rapidly adding to our cash supply, and we final came to our grand total (plus a little extra) the night precisely before the store's deadline.

Ecstatic, my owner immediately sent me out in the dark of night to retrieve the guitar, promising we would head out tomorrow morning for the Rainbow Fountain. I was more than happy to follow orders, practically prancing to the instrument shop. There the Yurble had plugged his keyboard into a nearby speaker, and was driving out customers with extended Mahler symphonies transcribed all to piano. He didn't hear me entering, and barely saw me once I had brought the guitar up to the counter. I had to rip the plug to his keyboard out of the socket to grab his attention.

"I'm here with the cash," I proclaimed, and with a deft movement, placed a stack of Neopoints on the counter. (We had consolidated the change and the bills I had received from the machines.) "So now you'll give me the guitar, right?"

"Uh, well." The Yurble looked frantic, his eyes darting from the Neopoints to the guitar, and back again. "Well, I suppose it's, uh, the right thing to do, yes. But, uh, before you take it, do you mind if I … play it once?"

"I don't know if I understand what you're asking."

"Well, see, it's more of a collection piece than anything else, so I've always had it in stock, rather than actually getting around to playing it …" The Yurble, usually so full of himself about music, had suddenly become almost bashful now that I had shown legitimate interest in buying something. "… so I was wondering … if I could actually get a few notes out on it before you give it to the Fountain Faerie …"

It was quaint, and cute in a saddening way, and I didn't reject his request. The Yurble fumbled with an amp he kept behind the counter, plugging the jack attached to the guitar into the amp. He gave a few tentative strums of the strings, letting out a horrible chord—he apologized, and then began twisting the knobs at the end of the neck of the guitar until the notes started to sound decent. With only his right paw's fingers, he began to pick out select tunes on the guitar, his left paw gently tending to the fingerboard and frets.

He had positioned himself on the counter of the music shop, the electric guitar held like an acoustic on his lap. He began to sing along with the guitar—his voice was a trembling tenor, that faltered every so often to alto, but there was something appealing in how off tune and carefully he sang a slow, emotional song by Gruundo. The care with how he tended each syllable as if generously pouring parts of his soul into each sentence was entrancing, and I watched without reservation.

I considered asking him for lessons once he finished, but I knew I had practically no money left to even afford a simple kazoo, let alone a guitar and a private teacher. The only way I had left to earn money was the Game Room for such special luxuries, and I never wanted to see the dim, drudgy lights of the Game Room ever again.

I thanked him for the song, and he smiled weakly, jumping back behind the counter. I had to remind him that I had bought the guitar (he was grasping to it with white knuckles, obviously having second thoughts about selling it), and eventually he relinquished it with a few stern words of the importance of maintenance as well as handing me a guidebook to the 'caretaking' of my guitar. I declined to remind him that the guitar would be in my possession for only one night before it was transferred to the Fountain Faerie—he just seemed so concerned that it would be safe in my hands that I didn't want to traumatize him with the thought that it was trading hands once more beyond me.

It was midnight exactly when I headed back home, and Neopia Central was asleep, save for a few lights glimmering from the residential areas. The Marketplace was suffering its nighttime doldrums, and the few owners that decided to tenaciously stay the night for the possible stray customer nodded off at their posts. It would be tragically easy to steal valuable items from their shops at these vulnerable moments, but my moral compass wouldn't allow me to swing that far south, and I continued home, keeping my hands—and the guitar—firmly to my side.

When I arrived home, nobody was awake; I could hear the soft snores of Miko and the heavy breathing of Chiitsuru creating harmonies in the other rooms. I tucked the guitar neatly away in our inventory and then scribbled down a note reminding Miko to wake me when she decided to leave for the Rainbow Fountain. I attached it to the inventory with tape, a place I knew Miko would see it. I contemplated a cup of warm milk before bed, but my stomach wasn't feeling up to lactose, so I skipped my midnight snack and stumbled into bed, exhausted yet relieved, waiting to be refreshed for a new day, and a new life.