Author's Note: I never planned on putting those two characters in there. They're my OCs, obviously. However, I felt it would add more zest to the story. Maybe Modesty and Rue will grow on you guys!

CHAPTER EIGHT:

Becky knocked on the door furiously. She stopped when she heard large footsteps and someone crying that they were coming. She placed her hand in her pocket. Her knuckles hurt.

Balthazar and Veronica flanked her. They were standing with rigid positions. Normally, Veronica would have been relaxed yet serious. She would have warm eyes, but a stern face. Now, she was just as strict and tense as Balthazar was. Of course, their situation was one to worry about. Balthazar's apprentice (and the Prime Merlinian) had been kidnapped. By his sadistic, blood-crazed uncle…and the girl named Levy.

Becky felt herself freeze. She hadn't known much about Dave, period. But Levy! Why didn't he tell her about his past girlfriend? Okay, so she didn't know yet whether this girl was his ex or not. But the way they interacted on the field made her think they were more than childhood friends once. Becky felt a tad betrayed. Even if he never planned to tell her about his family…shouldn't he have at least clued her in to this girl? She had never had any serious boyfriends or boyfriends at all. A few crushes, like any average girl. She had told him that. But he never revealed to her about Levy.

The door opened. Becky faced Dave's roommate, Bennet. She tried her best to put on a convincing smile. It was a half-hearted attempt. Bennet didn't seem to notice. He welcomed them into the apartment with open arms. He was very jovial and cheerful. Becky felt even gloomier when she noticed his attitude. She was jealous.

"Hello, Bennet," she greeted. "I'm here with Dave's…aunt and uncle. You've met them before, right?"

"Hi. Veronica and Balthazar?" he said carefully. Among claimed relatives who looked as supercilious as the queen herself, Becky understood his discomfort.

"Hello," Veronica said quietly.

"Yeah, um, we're here to borrow something of Dave's," Becky said.

"Help yourselves. He's got too many relatives," Bennet complained. "First his uncle drops over for an unexpected visit, then his sister comes over-"

"What?" Becky gasped, startled.

Bennet looked at her strangely. "Yeah. Rachael knocked and said she was looking for something here."

"Do you know what she was looking for?" Balthazar demanded.

"Um, I think so. It was something about a journal?"

Becky groaned. "Ohh…"

"Becky? Are you okay?" Bennet asked.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Just fine."

After regaining her posture, Veronica asked, "Do you know when she came over?"

"A…An hour ago, I think," he said. His eyes, usually full of mischief, were pooled with concern. He anxiously asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, things are fine," Becky said through gritted teeth. "We were just searching for the exact same thing, is all. We were worried it would be here. We're glad Rachael has it."

"Anything else?" Bennet asked. "You're welcome to sit down."

"No," Veronica said weakly. "Thank you, though."

"Incidentally, Dave won't be here for a while," Balthazar said. Becky quickly looked at him with a searching gaze. "He's going on a family trip."

"With you all?" Bennet asked, surprised. The impromptu news stunned him.

"With Veronica and Balthazar," Becky lied. "I'm going to be with my friends."

"Okay…"

"We'll…just be leaving now. Thanks, Bennet," Becky sighed. He nodded. He obviously wanted them out before anything else got weirder. After the door closed, Becky moaned. She backed up against the wall and slid all the way down in defeat.

"Becky?" Veronica's voice was colored with worry.

"I can't believe this," she cried. She angrily kicked the floor. Veronica jumped. "Sorry. I…I can't believe that Rachael got here before we could. We were so fast! For once, can't things go our way?"

"Calm down, Becky," Balthazar said sternly. "We'll be able to figure this out."

"No, we won't," Becky said. "They've got his mother's journal. They've got Dave. They've got his father, who is supposedly stuck in the box."

"It is an unfair advantage, I understand," Veronica said soothingly. "But sometimes, Becky, life isn't fair. And don't give up, all right? That won't do any good, and it certainly won't bring Dave back."

Her stiff shoulders relaxed. "Okay. I get what you're saying."

There was an unpleasant silence that followed. Becky was left to muse while the couple stared out the apartment window. She thought about how stupid she had been to let Dave out. She thought about how she felt upset over Levy. And how she was beginning to despise his uncle. Cyril the Cruor… If only she could see him now. If only she could do something about her boyfriend's sudden kidnapping. If only…she was a sorceress. That would be something.

The door was thrust open. Becky swiftly got up from her spot on the floor. Two pairs of brown eyes snapped towards Bennet, who was coming out. He looked slightly abashed, as if he thought he was interrupting something.

"Hey, guys," he said. "I forgot to tell you. I'm real sorry. I remembered when you left. I-I actually didn't know you were still here."

"It's fine," Veronica said firmly. "What did you want to tell us?"

It was only then did Becky notice the small box in his hands. "When Rachael stopped by," he said, "she gave me this. She told me that Becky or Veronica and Balthazar would come over. I was supposed to give you this. Sorry for forgetting."

He slipped the package into Becky's numb hands. He gave a little, sheepish dip of his head and then returned back into the room. The door shut quietly. The click was heard throughout the silent corridor.

She tore the box open. Then, it was gone.

She looked up to see Balthazar holding it. "Be careful," he warned her. "This could have been bewitched, for all we know."

Becky suddenly felt very foolish. Of course. She should have known better. Morganians always had sly tricks like that. She bet his family would have plotted an attack like that. Good thing Balthazar was around. He would definitely recognize something. Veronica too, probably, but Balthazar had been around longer.

Balthazar tapped the box a couple of times. He murmured some incantations under his breath. Nothing happened to the box.

Finally, he said, "It's clean." Becky giggled. He sounded like some sort of cop.

She took the box again eagerly. There was tissue paper in it. Becky wondered if this was a twisted joke. Why tissue paper?

There was a card too. Dear Merlinians,

I do believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. You see, perhaps we should behave like adults, and reintroduce ourselves formally. However, I must regret to inform you that I'll be awfully busy this week. David's father is still held up. His sister is much too occupied with her acquaintance, Levyette. We will meet eventually, but for now, if you wish to locate me during my busy schedule, I'll be where David's usual classes are. Ah, and as for the matter of my nephew, here is the answer: no, he will not be coming back. It's our little family get-together. Have a good day.

Cyril

Becky glared at the letter. She showed it to Balthazar and Veronica. They narrowed their eyes at the offending words. She lowered her head. She hated the helpless feeling she had inside.

"We can find him," Balthazar said, folding up the letter. "He purposely told us where he would be."

"Why'd he do that?" Becky asked.

"He wants us to find him," Veronica informed her in a hard voice. It made Becky look up. "To him, this is a game he has all planned out in his mind. He believes we won't be able to catch him."

"That's where he's incorrect," Becky murmured under her breath. Her voice cracked a little, and her words stumbled into each other. "I've got two Merlinians who are more than experienced, and they'll be able to track down one Morganian just fine. Then we can probably g-get some kind of information out of him…or something. Maybe he'll tell us where Dave is." She sounded like she was rambling mad.

"Er, Becky," Veronica said. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it seems quite easy. But it's not that simple. He seems more than prepared himself. He has others with him. He could actually be plotting to ambush us."

"But we have to try," Becky insisted. "Maybe we can nab him."

"Maybe," Balthazar said while grimacing. "However, we don't know for sure. We have no clue how far these people will go to get…whatever. Dave would probably have one of his tantrums if they hurt any of us seriously."

"His family doesn't seem like the caring type," Becky mumbled fiercely.

Veronica was the one to answer. "That may be. That may be."

"I feel…so…so…" She gripped the box in her hands. Then, without any kind of warning, she threw it against the wall. Veronica took off her hand. She appeared to be stunned by the behavior. Balthazar remained still. Perhaps he had seen this sort of attitude before.

"Becky," he sighed.

"I know that won't help," she snapped. Becky ran her hands through her hair furiously. "I just feel so fed-up!"

"We all do, dear," Veronica said softly. She didn't sound as such. Veronica just sounded…really exhausted.

"We'll go to the university," Balthazar promised her, "and hunt for him."

Becky nodded. She retrieved the box and stomped over the trash can in the corner. She jammed it down the empty space.

"In the meantime," Becky said, "I think I'll go to your house."

"I should walk you," Veronica said. "In case someone attacks."

"Fine," Becky said tiredly. She knew there was no point arguing. She trudged down the steps, hearing Veronica's delicate footsteps trail behind. Her loud noises contrasted greatly with Veronica's suave way of walking. It was just her anger. Becky knew she wouldn't have been creating such a fuss if she wasn't in a rage.

The girl screamed shrilly. She stumbled down the stone path, tripping once or twice. Cyril sighed. He always knew that the prey ran; it was merely instinct, completely self-preservation. Still, he hated it when they thought they could actually escape him. Those who survived the first torturous stages of the feeding process usually attempted to flee. They held on to that thin shred of hope. Cyril shook his head. Why did they believe they could get away so easily? They had seen his ability and how he obtained them without difficulty. Subterfuge and any chance of life was impossible.

He did like it, in some strange, irrational way. He loved watching them run. Especially the young women. In all their bloody, torn glory, they would bound across steps, halls, or cold ground like today. They were much like golden gazelles with a desperate, needy kind of beauty. Even when they were injured or a few moments away from death. So precious.

Cyril didn't chase after the girl. He walked casually down the stone path, admiring its graceful construction. Who had been the artist behind this simple, yet lovely artwork on the ground? He chuckled. The girl screamed again; he was sure he hadn't even gotten close to her. But his head snapped up to see why the girl howled.

She had tripped. Except this time, she had fallen. Perhaps she twisted her ankle in her haste. The girl was on the path, shivering from the cold and wincing constantly from the pain. Cuts decorated her bare arms and black lips. Bruises covered some parts of her pale, delicious skin. Her red hair was ruffled. A mess. It was more colorful and vivid with the bright blood on her shoulders, as well as on her bangs. Cyril could hear the faint noises of Chopin playing. Ah, a musician was near. He smiled softly. Ironic. A beauty has fallen, lost all of her will and grace. The final moment was nearing.

She was not crying. She held her head up high and kept her frame steady. He liked that. The girl knew she was going to die, yet she carried her few moments with a torn fury.

He came closer now, and sealed the distance unwillingly. Poor girl. She was such a pretty thing, with her red hair and light, blue eyes. He almost wished not to kill her. As he stepped towards her, he decided to issue some words. Cyril bent down on one knee and gave the girl a gentle smile. She stared at him with strong eyes. She had given up, but had done it with grace. She was a broken ballerina doll, with glassy, exquisite splendor.

He had never spoke with the victim when the end of their time came near. He hated clichés, the villains that smirked as they sauntered down the street towards their bleeding victim. Of course, he might seem like a cliché, considering how he walked with such confidence. However, he only smiled softly and made their deaths quick. He did not talk. It was unnecessary.

Cyril just couldn't help it this time. She deserved some sort of recognition for giving in to him beautifully. No one held such a steely gaze when their death was arriving.

"You were just so wonderful," he told her happily. "You did put up a fuss at first, but only because you are human. It was such a zestful performance. You changed tack completely. And now you are on this ground, making no move to save yourself."

She didn't glare, like he expected. She did speak. When she did, her voice was blasé. "I knew you were trouble from the minute I saw you," she said. "I wanted to see how capable you were."

Now this was new. Cyril let her continue, instead of killing her outright.

"It's stupid, I know," she said. "But that's what I had to do. Risk my life for the sake of knowledge."

He tsked at her. "Dear girl," he murmured. "It was only for your sake. You will die now, and no one else will be the wiser."

"Why did you do it?" she whispered. There was a curious spark in her eyes.

"I must feed," Cyril answered indifferently. "I need your blood. I hope yours won't disappoint, my pretty dear."

He leaned in and kissed her neck. Then, within a flash, her skull was smashed against the path. He smiled faintly. He surveyed her again. Was it possible? She was prettier when she was dead. Cyril put his lips to her neck, but lifted them silently. He didn't like neck wounds, for some reason. To see blood leak out of her neck would be unsettling for him. Instead, he cut her arm with his teeth. A fine red line ran from her shoulder to her wrist. The blood suddenly burst through, running over her arm like a burgundy waterfall. Cyril lapped up the liquid. He had made a small mistake; he wouldn't be able to suck her blood this way. He settled for simply licking it like a cat.

Her blood was…difficult to describe. She didn't have a hint of saltiness to her blood, like the girl named Melissa. She wasn't too sweet either. A perfect balance, although there was something else. Her blood was too perfect. He drained her quickly.

Cyril stroked her red hair, then sighed. He would have liked more. Oh, well. He got up and started walking away. He noticed that it was ten in the morning. He should have gone to greet his nephew. But he did promise those Merlinians he would meet them. Two problems with easy solutions. He decided he shouldn't keep either of them waiting.

"When is he coming?" Dave repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Rachael lifted her head from the book she was reading. Her delicate eyebrows went up in disbelief. He had been asking this constantly. However, he was given lame excuses, false promises, and deliberate shoulder shrugs. This had gone on for two hours. Dave woke up again at seven (without his clock, somehow…) and saw his sister in the dining room again. They had sat at the table and said nothing to each other. It was then that the minutes and silence took a toll on him. He began to ask whether he would see his uncle or not. Rachael didn't actually know, as she claimed. Dave didn't buy it. He kept on pestering her with the question. She would explode soon, he could tell.

Right now, she was very sang-froid. Rachael pushed her book away and said coolly, "I have no idea. When. He. Is. Coming."

"Fine. Don't tell me." He leaned back in the chair. He surveyed the décor of the place once more. He had memorized the surface, the ceiling, and the pattern. It was dull work.

There was a soft click somewhere throughout the place. Dave sat straight. Rachael left her book on the table and flitted off. He got up and followed her.

He was pulled through twists and turns of the long hallway. There were doors marking both walls of the foyer. He stopped short in front of a bigger door. Rachael pulled on the knob. His uncle was standing there. At first, Dave didn't believe it was Cyril. The black clothes were stained with what looked like blood. He stepped back and took a better look. He realized that it was his uncle. Another realization came, and he wished it hadn't. Cyril had been feeding. And judging from his face, he had a good time at it too.

Dave's stomach churned.

"Hello, Rachael," he said. His breath came out like fog. "David." He gave a little tip of his head.

"How was it, Cyril?" Rachael asked.

"Fine. I've had two, so far. One was perfect. She was pretty too…"

"Remember your wife, Cyril," Rachael added. "She'd be pretty ticked off if she learned how you were picking off the prettiest girls in the bar."

"Not necessarily the bar," Cyril mused. "And I'm sure Alexandria has the utmost faith in me."

His sister snorted. "Sure. Come on in."

They came to the dining room. Dave sat in his chair and tried to keep his head up. The thought of his uncle murdering nice-looking girls made him sick. Choosing his victims just because they were pretty.

Brushing aside those thoughts, he said, "Cyril! I want to know why I'm here."

"Damien sent him," Rachael said. Oh, now she gave him an answer.

"So as you see, I couldn't say no to my brother," Cyril explained.

"What do you want from me?" Dave demanded. "I didn't see you for years, and now you decide to pop up into my life?"

"Well," he said slowly. "I've been really busy; couldn't exactly plan a visit ahead of time."

"What were you busy with?" Dave asked, scowling.

"Trying to contact your sister. And your father. The Cell was very weak when I arrived. The guards disbanded and Rachael was left all alone. The mental walls were brought down quite easily."

"I thought you said you got out by yourself," Dave said, looking at Rachael.

Cyril smiled. "Yes, she did. But that doesn't mean I wasn't waiting for her when she did."

Dave mumbled something rude under his breath.

"Everyone important needs to be here," Cyril continued. "You'll find out soon what we came here for. It's a bit tangled, I'll admit. However…we have matters to discuss right now."

"Like what?" Dave asked sourly.

"Like that ring of yours," Rachael said. She frowned.

A cold chill ran down his back. He had forgotten. Dave glanced at his hands. For the first time, he noticed that his blue ring was missing. Why hadn't he felt it? In all the commotion of family business, he didn't realize that they had confiscated his ring while he was unconscious. Some family.

Then a darker thought entered his mind. The same question that was addressed back at Balthazar's house was echoed in his head. How would his family react to him being the Prime Merlinian?

"Your ring looks valuable," his uncle said, interrupting his musings. "I like its design, but I prefer red to blue."

"That's wonderful."

"Sarcasm. I never thought you'd resort to that," Rachael murmured.

"I've noticed something besides its appearance," Cyril said. Dave's eyes strayed elsewhere. "It's Merlin's ring, isn't it, David?"

He didn't know what to say. So he stayed quiet.

The question passed on. "I'd just like to know how you acquired such a ring."

Yeah, right. "Um."

Cyril's eyebrows raised. "You don't know? Surely you can remember."

"It's my ring now."

His uncle appraised him. His eyes were blank. His sister sat there. She looked sort of anxious. Perhaps it was their stare-down.

"What?" Dave asked.

"I notice that you are a terrible liar. You always were. Ask anyone," his uncle said. "However, I know you aren't lying when you claim it's yours. I'm positive that is Merlin's ring, and I think I know why you have it in your possession."

Uncle Cyril was a genius, Dave decided darkly.

"Do the words Prime Merlinian ring any bell, David?"

"Yes," he answered boldly. "They do."

"That's good. But I don't believe you're father would like them. He'd like his son to be a Morganian. Or at least have some proper morals."

This snagged his attention. "Excuse me? Proper morals?" Was he kidding?

"You're girlfriend," Rachael said slowly. "The blond one you seem to love so much."

Dave crossed his arms. "Is that another matter that needs to be addressed?"

"Absolutely," Cyril replied.

"What's wrong with her?"

A cold look passed over his uncle's face. "Ah," he said. "Let us count the ways. She is a human. Second, she can't stand up for herself. Third, she has no business looking for sorcerers to canoodle with. And-"

"Did you just say canoodle?" Dave demanded.

"Yes, canoodle. I'm sure you and that girl are familiar with those terms."

"Maybe."

"I don't think you're understanding the problem," Cyril said. "She is a human girl. Humans and sorcerers cannot be."

"You're such a hypocrite, Uncle," Dave shot back. "Your own wife is human."

"No, she's not, David. She's one of the Cruor."

"But I never-"

"You never saw her drink blood, but she does," Rachael interrupted.

Dave blinked. So his Aunt Alexandria was one of them.

"Listen, nephew," Cyril cut in dryly. "I don't care about whatever relationship you have established with this girl."

"Her name's Becky," Dave fumed.

"Listen to me," Cyril repeated, the words distinct and clear. "When have you heard about sorcerers and humans getting together? It just doesn't happen. Humans get killed, are much too vulnerable, and can't protect themselves. Sorcerers, on the other hand, are much more capable. Smarter too."

Dave opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly shut it. He mulled over his uncle's words. There was something Cyril said that bothered him. He claimed that humans were less smarter, unable to take care of themselves against attack, and could die. Sorcerers could die too…but they did have a lesser chance of that. He hated to acknowledge it, but his uncle was correct. Humans and sorcerers didn't mate. Humans were frequent targets. Dave shook it out of his mind. No, he told himself mentally. Don't listen to Cyril. He's only trying to get into your head and make you think what he wants you to think. He wants you to agree.

"It seems you don't understand the message," Cyril noted. He didn't sound as pleased as he was before. "Perhaps you will in time. What else is on the list?"

"His father," Rachael prompted.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Rachael," Cyril murmured. He folded his hands on top of the table. "Rachael was the one who brought the box. She says you had it in your bedroom closet. I want to know why."

"I…"

"It's interesting, David," Cyril said, stopping him short. "You want nothing to do with your family, yet, you have your father inside of your closet, trapped in a stupid, tiny box. I know you haven't placed him in there, and that sorceress did. But you had it in your closet. How did you come across it?"

Dave fumbled with his words. He knew he had to explain. If he had been explaining to Balthazar, he would have been completely awkward and nervous. But he was explaining to his uncle. He was a bit more afraid with him.

"She came to me," Dave finally said. He sighed. "Modessa. She…gave it to me. The box, I mean. I…didn't know you two would come. Or want it. It's been such a long time. I didn't even think you would remember me."

"Don't be sad. We did remember."

"The only reason I'm sad is because I'm here, instead of being with Becky."

"She's not right for you," Cyril said heatedly.

"I never asked you for permission," Dave answered sharply.

"You're right," Cyril replied calmly. Too calmly. "And you don't need to. However, you do have to ask your father's permission."

"Uh, no I don't. I'm twenty. I can do whatever I want."

"Have you forgotten? We have magic as well. I think Damien can stop you pretty well."

"He should mind his own business."

"That's a tad ironic, David," Cyril noted. "A father's son is his business."

Dave stood up. He shoved his chair back in. "I'm going," he said. "I don't want any of you"-a pointed look at Rachael and Cyril-"to bother me."

"Have it your way," Rachael sighed.

Dave stomped towards his room like a sulky child. He slammed the door. Hard. It gave him no satisfaction, as he expected. Dave went to sit on his bed. He finally sunk down and crushed his face into a pillow.

He tried to sleep, and tried to dream about Becky.

Modesty hurried to the bleeding figure's side. She bent down. Her friend was still breathing, but she had lost a lot of blood. Modesty groped her coat pockets for something to use. She finally found a pack of tissues. She hadn't needed it since her cold had worn off, but she was grateful she had kept them. Modesty dabbed her friend's split arm with the tissues. It soaked up blood very quickly. The sight sort of made her ill. She would have to deal with it. Now that she had seen a Cruor in action, she'd have to face a lot more people with bloody cuts.

Rue's eyelids fluttered delicately. Modesty felt her spirits soar.

"Oh, Rue!" she cried. "You're all right! Thank God!"

"Hey, you know I'm not religious," her friend said gruffly.

Modesty grinned. "Sorry, I guess. I'm just so relived! H-He licked all that blood off your arm! I nearly fainted while watching!"

"How do you think I feel?" she mumbled. Rue snatched a tissue from Modesty and began wiping her arm.

"How's your head, Rue?" Modesty questioned.

"Fine. As soon as he left, the healing kicked in. My arm's going at a speedy rate too. He went pretty insane, to say the least. I mean, did you hear the way he talked?"

"It was a bit weird," Modesty agreed.

Rue handed her the bloody clump of tissues. "Here, take these. I don't need them anymore."

"Sorry I had to put you through that. I needed the information, though," Modesty said.

"It's okay," Rue shrugged. "Eh, you know I've had worse. The injuries didn't feel so horrible; a little prick, and then I felt those places go numb. That's what always happen, right?"

"Right. Good thing we have our healing factors." Modesty gave a shaky laugh.

"Yeah, good thing," Rue said, grinning. "Hey, Mo, do you think you can help me get some new clothes? These were the last pair of jeans I could afford, and they're nearly shredded."

"You're shirt's ruined too," Modesty noticed guilty.

"Whatever. I know you'll get me some spare."

"Sure, sure," Modesty agreed. "I swear, if my mother had told me I had to be in your place, I would have had a fit."

"That's the difference between you and me, kid," Rue laughed. "I volunteered, though."

"True. Let's get you off the ground. It's awfully cold."

She extended a hand as she stood. Rue grabbed it. She was pulled up. Rue brushed some imaginary dust off her ruined jeans. She winced.

"What?"

"I just noticed. It's really, really cold."

Modesty frowned. "Want to borrow my jacket? I've got it under my coat, and I'm sweating like crazy."

"Yes, please."

Modesty took off her coat. It fell to the ground. She slipped out of her brown jacket. That left her in a t-shirt that showed off her bare arms. She felt the cold bite into her skin. She quickly gave the jacket to Rue and hurried to get into her coat.

"So what kind of information have we gathered today?" Rue asked. She pulled up the sleeves. They were big on her.

"Well, the Cruor have very frightening ways of feeding," Modesty answered. "And they like to let their pray run. At least, this one does. Maybe it's just his thing. He is the only Cruor we've ever seen."

"Yeah. I'm still freezing."

"Want to go to my mother's?" Modesty asked.

"We have to report back anyways," Rue said, nodding. "Hey, Mo, did your mother ever say who we were trying to help?"

"She mentioned some guy named David Stutler. His father's a Morganian," she said. "Mother even thought that he was kidnapped."

"Who? The Morganian dad or this David Stutler?"

"David," Modesty replied. "She thinks another relative joined the fray and decided to take him."

"Wow," Rue said, sounding stunned. "That sounds strange. Who ever heard of a family member kidnapping his blood relative?"

"Actually," Modesty said, as they walked down the stone path, "that occurs a lot in the human news."

"I don't pay attention to humans."

"All right, all right. Let's get home faster. My mother will be eager for some kind of info."

"Right," Rue agreed. "Do you think we'll get any more jobs? Despite having to undergo a smashed skull and a Cruor lapping up my blood, it was pretty fun. Really cool to play the victim."

"It's not supposed to be cool, Rue. We're getting data and telling my mother so she can help this David," Modesty sighed.

"I know." After a while, she added, "Did you hear him call me pretty?"

Modesty groaned.

I would like my reviewers to answer this simple question:

Q: Did Modesty or Rue come off as... I dunno, Mary Sue-ish? Even a little. I don't want any of my characters to be Mary Sues.

Thanks for all the reviews! Twenty four so far, I believe. I'm always so happy and grateful when I read them! Happy reading!

-TracedScars