(A/N) No, this is not a bunch of little one-shots. They all tie in, just give it time. As for pronunciation, Utopia is You-toe-pee-a, and Pandeamon is Pan-day-mon. Daiquiri/Daiqui is Dak-ir-ir or Dak-key. Molotov is Malt-awe-v. Schnapps is Sh-nawps. That's about it, I think. . I'm not trying to condescending, just clear.

I've had the first half written for a while, but all the reviews got me off my lazy butt to finish it.Reviews WORK! THEY DO I TELL YOU!

And for any taddlers out there, I'm not RESPONDING to reviews, just clearing a few things up. shifty eyes Yeah…

I didn't make new paragraphs for dialogue in the last chapter because I thought it would seem like I was trying to stretch the page. I didn't know it would confuse anyboy. I also know that there's another Jing section (I wanna know how that happened…) But I like the title King Of Bandit Jing better than Jing: King of Bandits. Don't know why. And yes, the story revolves mostly around Jing and Molotoz (NOT in a shonen-ai way.) For reasons that shall be explained in an upcoming chapter.

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Once again, we bring you to Pandeamon. In a small, smoky bar in the southern quarter, a young man sat at a round table, surrounded by chattering women, and smiling to himself. The ploy had worked perfectly. Since very few knew what the Bandit King looked like, it was easy to claim you were the Bandit yourself. Girls always fell for the bad boys, especially the king of the bad boys.

"So, like, what was the last thing you stole" giggled the oldest of the four sisters. Schnapps smiled and leaned towards her, pushing a bit of hair out of her face. "Your heart, I hope." She and her sisters giggled even louder. From behind him, the red haired boy heard a loud, raucous voice. "Look, if that line worked, I'd have a following of hundreds by now." A rustle of cloth, then the voice continued. "Hey, Jing, I can't say I'm a big fan of imposters." The statement was quickly followed by a large, curved blade embedding itself in the table in front of him. He backed up as far as he could into the cushion of the booth and turned around, eyes huge. Arching over him was the arm attached to the blade, and on the other side of it was a boy a year or two younger than himself in a vibrant orange coat. The black haired boy smirked. "Neither do I, Kir." Schnapps turned back to see the blade be pulled from the table, and notice that his girls had all disappeared.

"I wouldn't suggest doing that again. Most people don't like the Bandit King too much."

Schnapps stood and whirled on the stranger. "And what would you know?"

The bird hovering behind him cackled. "He IS the Bandit King, moron."

"KIR!"

At once the gaggle of females returned, flocking around the young boy. "What, really?" "So, how long are you in town?" "Are you single?' And so forth. The boy backed up slowly, smiling and sweatdropping. Schnapps turned away and sulked. Of course, with his luck the REAL Bandit King had to be sitting one booth away. Damn karma.

A few minutes and a fire escape Later, Jing and Kir were once more walking down the crowded street. "Hey, Jing, why didn't you beat that guy up more?" Jing looked lazily at his friend. "As far as we know, that's the first time he's done it. He probably won't do it again." A vein popped out on Kir's head. "How do you know that?" Jing looked back at the black bird.

"I don't. But it's nice to give him the benefit of the doubt, isn't it?" An irritated avian followed him for the rest of the day.

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"So, Jing, you haven't told me where the train is headed yet." Kir said with a smirk. Jing walked slowly down the aisle, looking for a compartment with space in it. Finding a suitable one, he ducked in to avoid the ticketmaster and sat down across from the other occupant, Kir pestering him the whole way. The boy sitting across from him had his face buried in a large newspaper.

Turning to Kir, Jing finally replied. "The city of Zaza." He responded with a smile. Kir's jaw (beak) dropped. "Weren't we just there two years ago?"

Jing lifted an eyebrow. "Most people don't consider two years a short time, Kir."

An older boy with dark skin and black hair popped into the compartment. "Tickets?" He demanded. Jing easily produced a ticket he had stolen from a passenger earlier and handed it to the man. He saw a hand protrude from behind the newspaper and do the same. He read the name on the ticket. Tequila Mockingbird. 'That can't be right.' He thought.

"Hey, Daiqui, that Bandit King guy sold a bunch more loot in Salem the other day."

A higher-pitched voice also came from behind the newspaper. "Think he'll be at Zaza in time for the Masquerade?"

Kir's jaw dropped again. "The Masquerade? That's why we're going, Jing? No treasure, no grand plots-" He was cut off by Jing's hand covering his beak. "I do wish you'd stop doing that, Kir." The newspaper dropped, revealing a boy with pale blue hair and a vibrant green coat. "Oh, it's you."

"YOU!" Kir and Daiqui exclaimed, and lunged for each other. "IMPOSTER!" They yelled in unison.

Holding Kir back from attacking the bird in the blue tie, Jing turned his attention to Molotov, who was doing the same with his companion. "So, you're real name's Tequila?"

Molotov smirked. "I dunno. Is your real name Taxidermy?" Jing raised the arm that wasn't occupied with Kir up in a symbol of defeat. "Okay, you got me. Looks like we have a similar line of work." Molotov nodded.

Eventually, Kir and Daiqui calmed down, even tolerated each other enough to chat about their travels. Finally, bored of having read the cheap rag that the train tried to pass off as a magazine, Jing started up some conversation. "So, why are you headed to Zaza?"

Molotov smiled and tilted his head to the side. "Let's just say I need to meet somebody. You?" Jing smiled back. "Let's just say our reasons aren't too different."

Molotov's smile turned a little sarcastic as he looked out the window.

"I doubt it."