Author's Note: I am super excited about the next couple of chapters. So excited that I'm not going to say anything more so I can't spoil it. Enjoy!

Chapter 5- Kings, Queens, Knights, Archers and Pirates… Wait, what?

The two days before the meet with Logan's friend passed faster than Clint had expected. Looking back, it was all kind of a whirl of shopping, hiking, and practicing. Clint wasn't complaining, far from it, but he just felt a little off center. Apparently, once Logan decided on something, he was committed and he took responsibility very seriously. He dragged his young compatriot from store to store, buying clothes and shoes; boots, which was apparently different than regular shoes; a better, water proof bag; new arrows and a nice foam target; and, finally, and most embarrassingly, a full set of toiletries. It was worse than buying underwear because Logan had to sniff every bottle and soap Clint picked, to make sure he could stand it. Apparently, enhanced senses are more of a pain than they seem. Then there was the hiking, in the new boots that actually fit even if they were clearance, so Clint could practice in private. Logan dragged him all over the mountain, finding little pockets of peace that Clint couldn't believe even existed in real life. Clint was born in Iowa. The mountains and trees took his breath away. When he said as much, Logan just laughed and promised to take Clint up North to his old stomping grounds but wouldn't explain further. Only when they were far beyond any sign of man, would Logan let Clint take out his bow.

It never took long for Clint to lose himself in the rhythm of draw and fire, and he appreciated having an attentive audience. He was trained in the circus. Logan never said much, just letting Clint set his own training routine but the archer could feel the man's regard. So he had showed off a little. First he went for distance, until he hit the little foam target from the very edge of his bow's cast, or range. Then, when that only got a raised eyebrow, he started hitting smaller and smaller targets. The best trick was impaling several leaves on one arrow. Logan had whistled in appreciation at that one. Clint was having so much fun that the days sped past and before he knew it, Saturday arrived.

Now that it was time to bring his skill to the table, Clint was surprisingly nervous. He shrugged it off as best he could and hid what he couldn't dismiss with his appreciation of the festival. He knew Logan could smell it on him, but the stoic man never said a word. Clint wanted to make him proud with a vigor that surprised him. He never felt this way with Swordsman or Trickshot. With them, he worried and fretted about being perfect because he didn't want to be punished, or worse, abandoned. That probably wasn't an issue with Logan, but Clint still wanted do him proud. It was a distinctly odd feeling.

A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to the present. They were standing at the front gates, waiting to enter the festival and already the atmosphere was, well, festive. "Check out the jester," Logan murmured in Clint's ear. "I think he's going to fall off the tower."

Clint glanced up at the gathering above the gate to the fair. There were six people all dressed up as ladies and lords, calling down to the crowd with lots of "thee's" and "thou's" thrown in to sound medieval. On one side was a jester hanging by one leg and an arm as he sprayed the milling crowd with water. He did look pretty precarious. When the jester dumped the last of his spray bottle on a man and women who were making out, Clint had to laugh.

"I think he's got the hang of it," Clint deadpanned.

Logan huffed in amusement and followed the crowd through the gates as the "King" declared the fair open. Inside it looked like a stylized medieval village crossed with a strip mall. A man dressed as a dirty beggar cat-called at everyone while girls in belly dancer outfits danced with bubble hoops. There was so much going on that Clint felt like he was back in the circus. Though, in the circus the customers didn't dress as performers, he thought as a man in clunky armor walked by, reading one of the maps they were handing out. A woman dressed as a fairy stopped by Clint and Logan and held out a shiny glass marble with an inquisitive tilt of her head. Clint accepted it with a shy smile and a blush that made his ears burn. The fairy laughed silently and did a little dance that sprinkled glitter on Clint before skipping off to give another marble to a little girl.

"I'd keep that," Logan offered with a straight face. "Maybe it'll bring you good luck."

Clint stuck his tongue out but tucked the marble in his pocket for safe keeping. They set off toward the edge of the fair, where the archery range was set up. Clint felt like his head was on a swivel as he tried to take everything in. Many people were dressed up, most as lords and ladies, but there were knights and woodsmen with Robin Hood hats too. Some of the women were dressed as woodland fairies or belly dancers, showing enough skin to make Clint blush and avert his eyes, though Logan seemed appreciative. One of the belly dancers winked at the mutant and blew him a kiss when he winked back. Surprisingly, there were a number of pirates intermingled with the renaissance crowd.

"Were there pirates in the Dark Ages?" Clint asked as he watched a man with an eyepatch and tri-corner hat with a huge feather sweep out a leg to bow to a lady in a voluminous dress.

"Not that I know of, short stack," Logan said, eyeing the couple. "I don't think there were ever pirates like that. I blame Hollywood."

As much as Clint wanted to investigate all the shops, which seemed to sell everything under the sun, it was important for him to sign up early for the archery competition so they pressed forward. By the time they reached their destination, there was already a line for the sign-up table.

It took nearly 15 minutes before they reached the sign up table, which was manned by a skinny old man with long white hair and a squeaky voice. "Does thou wishist to enter this tournament of champions?" he asked, laying on it a little thick.

"Um, sure," Clint responded.

"Are thou 18?"

Clint glanced at Logan. "No," he admitted.

"Then with a guardian's permission, thee may enter the Junior Tournament. The top three of the Juniors will have a chance to compete in the adult contest. Then the top three champions will be perform in the Grand Tournament before the King and Queen. Does thou agree to these terms?" the man squeaked.

"Sure do," Clint agreed, easily. Now that he was here, he was focused on his target.

"Then, sign here," the man said, his voice deepening as he got down to business. "This is a liability waver, this says you agree to the rules of the competition, and fill out your name and information on this page. Both of you will have to sign each page. Take this clip board over there and bring it back when you're done. Keep the list of rules and review it before signing the pink page. Next!"

Clint took the papers and hurried out of the way as he heard the man intone, his voice again squeaky, "Does thou wishest to enter this tournament of champions?"

"They certainly go all out, don't they?" Logan laughed as he scanned the documents. They had already agreed on their fake names and Clint had practiced his signature several times last night. He wasn't excited to use his middle name, but he was guaranteed to react to it. Logan picked the last name and seemed wildly amused by it, but refused to share the joke. Clint did not whine or mope about that at all, nope. "I was right, says here they provide the bow and arrows, to keep things equal. Juniors are at 10:30, so you have almost an hour to get your bow and look around. There are two more sets afterward at 11:30 and 1:30, then the final demonstration before the King at 4 at the jousting ring. Sounds like you'll be busy today."

"I'll be fine," Clint waved off his concern. "This will be a cinch, even with an unfamiliar bow. I only hope they have one with a good draw that will fit me."

Luckily, because they were so early, Clint had his pick of the smaller bows. He was impressed with the quality available, really. His bow from the circus was an old hand-me down that he had to compensate for depending on the weather. These, though well used, were all sleek and polished. They were also all natural, of either wood or bamboo, no plastic and no compound bows. Clint hid a smile when one of the older contestants complained that he only used a compound bow for hunting, so how was he supposed to pull such heavy bows.

Clint fell in love with a shiny recurve with a purple finish and a draw strength that was just on the upper edge of his limit. It felt beautiful in his hand and he couldn't wait to use it. He carried it reverently to the table to sign it out.

"You sure you want that one, young man?" the charming old gentleman who was manning the equipment booth asked. He wore a prospector's hat with a peacock feather and worn leather pants with a fringed leather vest. When he wasn't helping the contestants, he knapped arrowheads and flint flakes surrounded his moccasin bound feet. "She's real pretty, but most boys your age can't draw her."

Clint beamed as he ran a hand over the bow. "She's stronger than I usually work with, but I think I can manage her. She's a real lady."

The man laughed, showing strong white teeth. "You know, son, I made most of these bows. I rent them to the festival and sell them on the side, so I know each one here. That one is special. I call her the princess from the royal purple finish and because she takes a strong but delicate hand to master. I made her several years ago and she's only been used a handful of times. Tell you what, I like that gleam in your eye, boy. If she performs well for you, then I'll sell her to you at a steep discount, but only if you do well in the completion."

Clint laughed, his whole body vibrating with a bright energy that made him want to dance and sing. "Old man, if I can use your princess, I will win this whole thing."

The bow maker laughed. "You do that, and I'll give her to you. She's a special favorite and I'd like to see her go home with someone who'll give her the respect she deserves."

"Yes, sir!" Clint saluted. The old man waved him off and Clint hurried to where Logan was waiting for him, clutching the beautiful bow.

"Just your color," Logan commented with a gleam in his eye. Clint did a happy shuffle as he grinned up at his friend. "We've got an hour to kill. Want to look around a touch?"

"Of course," Clint replied, bouncing with enthusiasm. "Let's go!"

Logan indulgently allowed himself to be pulled by the hyper teenager as they started to explore the enclosed shops. Clint wasn't real interested in the sundials, but the bright wind chimes made him smile. After that was a shop that sold chainmail jewelry, followed by a candle maker. The chandler was in the middle of a demonstration that Clint watched with wide eyes for several minutes while the woman took a block of soft wax and slowly, slice by slice, turned it into a work of art, until she had a fairy castle in blue and white. The next shop sold hats and Clint joking grabbed a big floppy one with feathers to stick on Logan's head.

"Isn't that better than an old cowboy hat?" the boy teased.

Logan rolled his eyes and snagged a jester's hat, complete with tinkling bells to stick on Clint's blond head. "I think it suits you," he returned in good humor.

"Aw, bells, no," Clint whined as the bells bounced around his head.

They played around for another minute, trying on different hats before Clint moved on to the next booth, which was selling jewelry. Their specialty was puzzle rings, which distracted Clint enough that he didn't notice that Logan wasn't right behind him. By the time the pretty sales girl showed Clint the trick to the ring, Logan had finally caught up.

"Here you go, short stuff," the man said, plopping a purple and blue Robin Hood hat on his head. "Now you look like an archer."

Clint stared at Logan for a minute. He reached up to touch the hat, the leather was butter soft. He could feel his cheeks warm uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that," he whispered.

"I know, just thought it suited you. Besides, it will make you blend in with this crowd," Logan pointed out, not bothering to hide his shit-eating grin.

Clint looked out over the crowd of fair goes and sure enough, just from here he could see six people with the same hat and one of them was even purple. "Fine," he grouched. He rubbed his chest that was suddenly tight. "But I'll pay you back."

"No you won't," Logan said, waving a finger under the young archer's nose. "It's a gift, bub, so don't even think of it."

The tension between them built until the sales girl giggled. "Oh, you're both so cute," she twittered. "And that hat looks real dashing on you, sir."

Clint felt like his cheeks were on fire as Logan steered him out of the stall and back to the archery range. It was time for the first round of the junior competition.

As Clint stood with the other young archers, about twenty in all, his ears were ringing with Logan's advice.

"Don't be a showoff, not yet," the mutant had whispered. "I know you can win this with your eyes closed and a bent arrow, but hold back for now. Win, but by a thin margin, got me?"

Clint had nodded before hurrying off to get in line. He understood completely, though it rankled. He was a showman, for goodness sakes. He decided to think of it as training in subtlety and precision. They were lined up before four targets which were set up in an open field cleared out for just this occasion. The rest of the time it was used for pony tricks and other strenuous games like hammer throwing. The guy with the squeaky voice announced the rules in full renaissance style.

"Thou willst not point thou bow anywhere but down ye range. Thou willst not interfere with another champion's shot. Thou willst not…" he droned on. Clint looked over at the girl next to him and when she met his eyes, he rolled them in an exaggerated fashion. She giggled behind her hand and pointed discretely at a young boy, about ten, in another line who was imitating the official with exaggerated arm movements. Clint and the girl, a red head with really cute freckles who was probably about 16, shared a quiet laugh as the man finally wrapped up his recitation. "Thee willst have three practice arrows then thee shall demonstrate thou skill with one full quiver of a dozen arrows. The archers with the most points shall move to the next round at a greater distance. This will determine our champions. The top three archers win the right to challenge the adults in the Grand Championship. Good luck to you all!"

Clint watched the other archers with interest as the first group stepped up for their practice shots. The ages ranged from the ten year old boy, who was fittingly dressed up as a jester, to a strapping young man of at least 17. He was dressed up in full regalia with fancy boots and tooled green leather pants. He also had a hunter's cap like Clint's. Clint took an instant dislike to the older boy because of his aura of superiority. He scoffed when a little girl dressed like a princess barely hit the target and out right laughed at an older boy who missed the target entirely.

When the bully stepped forward he sighed heavily. "This bow is so inferior compared to what I'm used to. I hope it doesn't ruin my aim." Clint clenched his teeth as he watched the boy show off, hitting in the black all three times. "Oh, well," the jerk huffed dramatically, "it will do, but with my equipment, I'd have hit the bullseye."

Clint wished he could say something, but it was his turn and the prospect of using Princess outweighed his annoyance. His focus narrowed to his bow, the arrow and the target. Nothing else mattered. His first shot was a little high. He compensated for the heavier weight, which made the arrow fly straighter than he expected. His second and third shots hit exactly where he aimed, the very edge of the inner circle, one right on top of the other. Princess was like a song in his hands and he practically floated to the end of the line, he was so giddy.

The rest of the practice shots went quickly and soon they were shooting for real. Clint pulled himself out of his happy head space to pay attention. It was obvious that most of the younger kids were just having fun. The little princess squealed and waved frantically at her proud parents when one of her arrows hit dead center. The jester boy at least hit the target every time and seemed happy enough with his efforts. A dark haired girl in jeans and a "Pirate Wench" t-shirt only hit about half the time, the rest of her arrows hitting the dirt around her target. The pretty red-head was really good. She hit almost all of her arrows in the middle two rings, but Clint was a little distracted by how cute she was in her long blue skirt and cut off shirt that was bunched to show her midriff. She winked at him when she finished.

Clint's good mood was spoiled by the jerk though. The flop had strutted up, loudly declaring that this was all too easy and shouldn't they just award him the prize already. He shot lazily, but he had impressive bunching around the center, putting him ahead in points. Then the jerk had the gall to shoot finger guns at the red-head. "That was for you, babe," he sneered before reluctantly getting back in line.

Clint was steaming as he stepped forward and took the quiver the helpers handed him. He settled it on his hip, intending to show up the bastard when he happened to glance at the crowd. His eyes were instantly drawn to Logan's red flannel. The older man slowly shook his head and waved a hand carefully, indicating that Clint needed to cool down. Right, he was supposed to not show off this early in the game. With a deep breath, Clint brought his bow up and nocked his first arrow. It flew straight, hitting the edge of the center circle. With careful, deliberate movements, Clint grouped his whole quiver inside the center, but just enough to the right that none of them hit dead center. It gave him the most points possible, but looked less impressive than the bully's display.

He waved off his line mates congratulations with a smile and returned to the end of the line while the judges tallied up the points.

"Good job," the red-head whispered. "I'm Wendy."

"Um, Francis," Clint replied shyly, barely remembering to give his fake name. "You did great too."

Wendy giggled. "Thanks."

The squeaky voiced officiant, who had somehow found a tall wizards hat since the last time he stood up, called out, "Those, whose names I call out, please step forward. If I do not call you, we thank you for your courage to compete and we honor you with these gold plated arrows for your participation." He waved a hand at a jester in blue and orange beside him who was carrying a pillow piled with gold spray painted arrows. "Ah hem, in tenth place in the first round of ye championship Bobby Wilson. In ninth place…" he called out each name. Wendy was fourth, a cheerful Asian boy named Harry got third. "In second place, Thomas Wilcox. And finally, in first place, Frances Summers. Now all participants move to the side while we move yon targets another 15 yards out. Thank you." He stepped down and abandoned his helper to the rush of the kids out for a golden arrow.

Clint made his way over to Logan. The Canadian was short enough that it was kind of hard to find him, but when he did, Logan was grinning. "Good job keeping your temper with that blow hard," Logan praised.

Clint shrugged. "I beat him anyway. The next round will be harder because at that distance we'll have to compensate for the wind."

"You'll do great," Logan encouraged, before looking up to scan the crowd. "My friend should be here soon. If I'm not here when you finish, get yourself something to eat before your next round." He shoved $40 in Clint's hand. "If something happens, meet me back at the bike."

Clint stilled at the other's serious tone. He glanced around nervously but didn't see anything out of the ordinary, except a guy dressed as a dragon. "Why? Do you think something is going to happen?" he asked nervously.

Logan chuckled and squashed Clint's hat against his head. "Nah, just being prepared. I didn't get this old by being careless. Just watch yourself, Hawkeye."

Clint laughed and shrugged of the hand. "You too, old man."

"Careful, brat, I can still run the feet off ya," Logan teased. "Get back there. They're lining up."

Clint snickered as he hurried back to the others. He nearly ran into a tall black man, who looked a little ridiculous with his black leather trench coat and eye patch in the hot summer heat. Despite that though, Clint was instantly wary as he dodged around the man with a mumbled, "Sorry, sir." There was something dangerous about the guy and Clint wasn't going to stick around to find out more and he hoped that the pirate wasn't the "something" Logan had been worried about.

All thoughts of the scary pirate flew right out of his head as he quietly slipped behind Wendy just as the wizard with the squeaky voice (he now had a staff with a crystal ball on top and had let his long white hair flow over his shoulders) called for the next round. "The contestants will have two quivers of 12 arrows each with which to display their skill. Take heed that your targets are much further down field, so be careful of a stray breeze or magically conjured wind that seeks to throw off our champion's aim. Good luck to each of you."

This time, they had been paired up before their targets and Clint was quick to slide in behind Wendy, just barely beating the jerk who was stuck with a 15-year old brown hair boy proudly sporting a dragon t-shirt with small stuffed wings sewn on the back. Clint winked at Wendy who giggled before she stepped up to shoot her first round. As the wizard had warned, and Clint figured, this was a lot harder and while she hit the target every time, she didn't get any arrows in the center ring. She cursed under her breath as Clint stepped up.

"I'm surprised you can hit the broad side of a barn with that sloppy form," the ass-hat tossed out as he stepped up next to Clint. "I've been training since I was 6. You look like you just picked up a bow today."

Clint grit his teeth until his jaw hurt then forced himself to relax. The kid, for all that he was obviously older than Clint the guy was still just a brat; the kid wasn't that original. Clint had heard worse from his own mentors, let alone hecklers from the audience at the circus. The best retort would just to shoot better than the jerk so that's what Clint did. He took a breath and sighted down the shaft of the arrow, letting all distractions fall away. He watched a flag on the fence bordering the field flap lazily and adjusted for the breeze. He aimed up slightly and released, feeling the fletching rush past his cheek. He watched the arc of the arrow. It was perfect. Princess was a dream and the arrow flew straight and hit an inch off center, just like he planned. After that it felt like a dance as he nocked, drew, and released until he was actually surprised that his quiver was empty.

"That was beautiful, Francis," Wendy gushed, her hair floating on the breeze like a fiery halo. Her whole face lit up as she beamed. "I've never seen anyone shoot like that, it was, like, so Zen."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his shoes. "Um, thanks. I just get in zone, you know."

"Whatever it was, you blew that douche out of the water," she whispered. Clint finally looked down the range to Thomas's target. He had a couple good shots, and hit the target every time, but his grouping was shit.

"Huh, looks like he can't shoot in the wind," Clint murmured.

"It gives me fits too," Wendy said as she stepped forward. They had to wait for the helpers to clear the targets, so they had a minute.

Clint looked over at her, noticing the crease between her eyebrows that showed how worried she was. He swallowed nervously, pulling on his lessons from Trickshot. "Wendy," he said carefully, ready to back down if it looked like she didn't want his help. "If you watch the flag, it shows how much you need to adjust for the wind. And remember to put an arc on your shot. It'll be cleaner than trying to shot straight." She was staring at him and he blushed. "At least that's what I do. My teacher explained it better. I don't think I'm using the right terms."

Wendy smiled at him. "Don't worry about it. Thanks for the help," she said sincerely. She saluted him as she picked up her bow and got ready to shoot again. She did a lot better this time and got several arrows in the middle, though one got caught in a freak gust and fell short.

Thomas's partner was quick so the jerk was already half-way through his second set when Clint stepped up. The breeze picked up enough that it was a real pain but Clint just settled into his zone. By the time he pulled out, he had a beautiful grouping just above the bullseye. It was more than enough to win, even without getting them all in the middle ring. The jerk had had trouble too and Clint noticed he had several arrows in the outermost ring.

The bastard huffed and turned away without a word, leaving the dragon kid, Wendy, and Clint to snicker behind his back. This was more fun than Clint had had in a long, long time.

"Gather around, Our Champions," intoned the wizard, now in a robe with sewn on stars and moons to complete the look. Beside him the jester from before held seven gold painted arrows decorated with plastic gems, while on the other side two of the festivals "Royals" held three ceramic mugs with bows and arrows stamped on the side. They also had the garish arrows stuck in the mugs. The wizard named the runners up who solemnly stepped forward to claim their arrows while their friends and family cheered.

Clint watched with a grin, enjoying the atmosphere. The kids were so excited, even a 17-year old who got fifth; and the crowd was drinking it up.

"Finally, our three champions who will compete against the adults to prove that age does not limit skill or honor. If you will please step forward and receive your prize from our Lord and Lady then stand here so we may commemorate this moment with a portrait. Thank you. In third place, Wendy Corduroy," the wizard announced.

Clint cheered as loudly as Wendy's family, a hulking red bearded man in a kilt surrounded by red haired boys of various sizes. She stepped forward and accepted the mug from the Lady and curtsied as best she could. She waved at her family and grinned at Clint as she came to stand beside the wizard.

"In second place by only six points, Thomas Wilcox," the old man squeaked. Thomas lifted his nose at the mug but accepted it and a hand shake from the grinning Lord with reasonable composure. "And finally, our first place winner who will receive $50 of the king's dollars along with a trophy drinking vessel, is Francis Summers. Step forward, good sir and accept your winnings."

Clint beamed as he walked up. He followed the lord's example and bent at the waist before accepting his prize. He even milked it a little by kissing the lady's hand. She was old enough to be his mother, but she still giggled when he released her fingers. Later, after the obligatory photo session, the wizard explained the next step to the three youths. "Be back here in a half hour, at 11:30 for the preliminaries against the adults. Don't be late. Here are your numbers, they determine the order. It will be fast paced, but don't worry about it. All of you are great shots," he said, squeak suspiciously absent. "All right, enjoy the fair and we'll see you soon." He waved and walked off to start setting up for the next contest.

The young archers split up quickly after that, Wendy to her enthusiastic family and Thomas to a pair of college boys who were probably his brothers. Clint glared at them for a minute before looking for Logan. Surprisingly, the mutant was waiting for him just on the edge of the crowd along the fence.

"Well?" Clint asked as he hurried up to his guardian. He was feeling just a little cocky, especially with Wendy's peck on his cheek before she left.

"Nice job, Hawkeye," Logan acknowledged. "Think you can keep it up?"

Clint scoffed. "Duh! I'll wipe the floor will all comers."

"Good enough," Logan laughed. "Let's get you a snack. Can't have you fainting from hunger, right?"

They walked off, quickly finding a pretzel hawker who had apparently been harassing Logan. The feral snarled his order at the man who beamed as he produced two pretzels and a little sauce packet of mustard. The pair ate their treat as they walked around a little. Surprisingly, it was Logan who got distracted first.

"Let's check out that shop," he said, leading the way to a leather shop.

"They just sell shoes and stuff," Clint whined a little as he followed. He would have rather looked in the stall selling elaborate masks.

"Not just shoes and they're moccasins, not shoes," Logan corrected. He quickly waved down a clerk who had them sitting down so she could take measurements with surprising efficiency. "I prefer boots, but when it comes to moving stealthy, you can't go wrong with moccasins."

"Fine," Clint moped, but when the sales lady, a sweet middle aged woman with black hair and a no-nonsense attitude put the first pair on his feet to try, he was sold. "Whoa," Clint gasped as he walked around. "It's like walking barefoot but better."

Logan chuckled quietly and paid for a pair of lace up moccasins, with thickened soles and lacings up to the knees, for both of them. His were in dark blue, while Clint's were obviously purple.

Clint did a dance step in his new footwear as they went back to the archery range. "Seriously, these are awesome!" he cheered as he skipped around his more sedate companion. Around them, people grinned at his excitement and a man dressed up as an elf, who was wearing similar moccasins gave a thumbs up. "You didn't have to do that, though," Clint offered, not sure how to be gracious. He really appreciated the gift but he didn't want to take advantage of Logan or look greedy.

"Think of it as congrats for winning the kids show," Logan shrugged it off. "Besides, I'm planning to submit an expense account to Nick. We'll see what I can get from him. I could still come out ahead in this."

His admittedly small amount of guilt lifted; Clint said a cheerful good bye to his friend as he rejoined the crowd of archers waiting to shoot.

P.S. For those you might have recognized Wendy, yes that is her. She just kind of happened. See the cute red head was named Jess and was a local girl, but her personality as I wrote her just sounded so much like Wendy that I just gave in and embraced it. But this is not a crossover, so just enjoy the easter egg. For those who don't recognize her, don't worry about it. See you next week!