OMG! So swamped! It's depressing because under this stress I'm starting to lose steam and motivation :( I need a little pick me up... but how?

Sorry this took so long, it's been almost a month since I last updated and the Misto angst is probably putting him in a bad mood... oh well, better for the angst I guess ;)

FantabulousMe: Lol, 'lameosity' is a pretty sweet word :) I use it a LOT. Lol, thanks! Quaxie and his too helpful demon mind-mate. *crosses fingers too* At least they touch in this chapter!

lilgenious: Thanks :D I sure hope so,

Enjoy :D

P.S. OC in this chapter! Far too ugly to be Mary Sue... you're welcome :)

They walked up the small path that led from a remotely isolated, rural-esque road. They had been walking for a little over three hours and were approaching the end of their search as they approached an old, drafty barn on a desolated farm.

Tugger decided to voice his concerns when the vicinity laid silent."You sure he's here?"

"Quite," Tantomile snapped, she couldn't stand the mistrust some of the Jellicles had in her judgement.

Coricopat motioned Munkustrap over and, together, they walked up to the old beaten doors of the grayed barn. Munkustrap rapped loudly and could hear the echo as it rung through the hollow structure.

He looked to the male twin in confusion. "What?" a raspy, sandpaper smooth voice demanded from a crack in the wall next to the door. Munkustrap looked to Coricopat to make the introduction to this gruff character.

"It's us Soljian, we need your assistance with a member of our tribe," he explained curtly. A loud huff of ill-humour was his response before the loud shriek of the steel doors pierced the air; a small flock of birds sent into the air by the ear-splitting noise. The voice rasped again from behind the open door; not revealing himself his company.

"Please, do come in," he greeted with a slightly bitter tone. The two mystics lead the way and the two brothers proceeded hesitantly, neither trusting the horror-film theme of the barn. Tugger sniffed the air as he shuffled curiously into the large, dark cave. The air was musky and smelled slightly of horse though he never noted any presence of the creature. The door shrieked closed behind him, they watched as the large shadow of their mysterious host trailed the exterior of the room until he reached a small podium in front of his guests.

"What is it that you need, my friends?" he asked, noticeably more relaxed and welcoming. He leaned forward on his thick, creaky stand to scrutinize the four intruders. Munkustrap caught himself reciprocating the action when he bumped into Tugger as he strained to catch a glimpse of the elderly tom's face.

"There is a magic cat in our yard who has fallen terminally ill and-" Tantomile started, being quite rudely cut off by rusted bouts of laughter from the shape behind the wooden stand.

"If he is terminally ill, my dear, then there is nothing I could possibly do for him," he wheezed as he regained his composure. Tantomile frowned soberly.

"What she meant to say was," Coricopat chimed in seriously. "that he is critically ill and if we do not act he will progressively decline until he expires. Which is why we need your help."

"And who are they?" he grunted; motioning to the visibly uneasy toms.

"They are escorting us. They are the sons of our leader and the subject's friends," Tantomile explained. The figure simply nodded in masqueraded uninterest.

"So," he sighed as he shifted in his position. "You have a magic cat who has seemed to fallen victim to some sort of illness that he can't seem to alleviate himself, and you require my services to salvage. You don't believe it's his magical qualities but your uncertainty may lead to his demise" he stated. Munkustrap assumed that, from his sudden insight, he too was a mystic.

"Precisely," the twins agreed in unison.

"And my consolation for my services?"

"We have already given you enough payment up to date, your life being an result," Coricopat returned evenly. The old tom nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright, let me get my things and we'll be off," he concluded; stumbling down the back of his podium to rummage through a tray of ingredients and spell books. The pull of a small chain illuminated the entire chamber. The two brothers stared widely with open jaws when the old tom rounded a stable to reveal that the cat was actually a pollicle. He was extremely white and silver in the muzzle, very thin, and the fur on his body was thinning with large bald patches spotted. The elderly canine stalked over to a large, witch-like cauldron and lit the wood underneath.

Tugger tried not to stare when the familiar stare barely gave him any acknowledgement; the stare of someone who couldn't see him. Although the dark mauve of the pollicle's irises were only shaded lightly with the ugly tone, it was more than enough to resurface the small tux's terrified gaze. A small twinge of pain and fear flashed across his features, one to cross with the speed of a lightning bolt and the intensity to leave his muscles trembling in its wake. There was only another three to four hours left of daylight, they should be leaving if they don't want to run into any patrolling cats.

After muttering a few incoherent lines and tossing random items into the pot, Soljian turned from his work to approach the silver tabby who stared cautiously at his approach.

"I need to use this," the old Canine rasped, pointing to the tabby's collar. "Don't worry, I will return it," he laughed. His laugh was odd and without humour, the laugh of a madman who had obviously spent too much time alone.

Reluctantly, the silver tabby removed his collar and placed it in the wrinkled paw. The pollicle sniffed it curiously and shrugged before tossing it into the boiling cauldron. Munkustrap was about to protest but thought it better to not annoy the creature who could quite probably save his friend.

The black witch's cauldron quickly started to overflow with mist. They were all reminded of an over-sized fog-machine as the cool clouds billowed at their feet. The barn, despite is cavernous and hollow structure, quickly filled up with the light green mist.

"This can't be healthy," Tugger coughed and wheezed. The air smelled terribly of chlorine and burned his airways. However, it quickly disappeared and was soon replaced with an all too familiar smell... They were in the junkyard. The mist disappeared as quickly as it filled the hollow stable, revealing the western entrance to the Jellicle junkyard. The old dog sniffed the air in disgust, the smell of rotting material and rusting metal causing him to sneeze and his eyes to water. They could hear the wrinkly pollicle mutter his disapproval under his breath but no one felt the need to reprimand him, it was a junkyard after all.

The twins proceeded to lead the party to the clearing, most-likely to Jenny's den. It didn't seem like this poor tom would enjoy, or feel the need for, a tour of the grand yard. Every Jellicle seemed to receive the news about the pollicle the moment they entered the gate; throughout the winding trail they were met with the wide eyes of the various cats that occupied the space. The kittens were in such shock that they didn't even bother to notice the Rum Tum Tugger following not too far behind him.

They were lead to Jenny's den, by now; all souls had gathered to catch a glimpse of the monstrosity brought into the pollicle-free zone, well usually pollicle-free. The five of them filed into the old stack of crates, Jenny's horrified expression as they walked into her home gave her little opportunity to speak out to the group.

"This is him," Soljian stated blankly; pointing to the seemingly sleeping tom on the floor next to the Gumbie cat. She patted Quaxo's arm comfortingly and he squirmed a bit, he could probably smell the decaying creature watching him intently.

"He's gotten worse," she announced to the Tugger and Munkustrap, both frowning with intense concern and unease. "He's gone deaf," she continued. To the flirt; it was a brick wall to the face. A deaf and blind cat's life was basically over; by now he expected that Quaxo was just waiting to die so this hell would be over and done with. Soljian took the sling from his shoulder and placed it on the floor next to the blank expressioned tom. Using Munkustrap and Coricopat for support; he gently lowered himself onto the floor next to his supply kit.

He poked and prodded the tiny tux, each sharp or unexpected touch received a very defined jump and often a surprised gasp or hiss. His expression was grim.

"I could stop the onset of his symptoms and probably alleviate some of the strain," he explained somewhat apologetically. "But I can't exactly cure him without exhausting all my resources. Great Pollicle knows that I don't have nearly enough to complete his treatment," he finished, his thinning brow in a knit.

"So, he's going to be like this forever!" Tugger nearly yelled. Sadness for himself and the tux bubbled up in his stomach, threatening to either spill it's contents on the floor of Jenny's den, or reduce him to tears in front of the entire company and quite possibly the entire tribe. He didn't know which was worse.

"Well, probably not," he assured as he rummaged through his small satchel, Coricopat reaching in and retrieving a small vial for him. "I can give him something to stop the toxin and help remove it; but recovering is up to his body, it also depends on the extent of the damage it's taken-"

"I thought you were a healer! Aren't you supposed to, you know, heal!" Tugger exclaimed rudely. Munkustrap placed a threatening paw on his arm and muttered his name quietly, but was quickly ignored by the coon. The twins watched him blankly, they probably already saw this little altercation coming a mile off. Soljian didn't seem either bothered or upset by the accusing tone in the flirt's voice; cats did have a short fuse after all, unlike his own kind.

"My friend, I am quite old as you can tell. I have little energy to perform the duties I did when I was a pup. What I can do is offer him an opportunity to heal himself," a sympathetic smile pulled at the loose lips of the grey-muzzled pollicle. "I can't promise you anything else however."

The room was a vacuum, stealing the voices of even the most opinionated. The only sounds that broke the trance was the heavy and somewhat labored breathing of the stinky pollicle and the slight whimpering of the tuxedoed tom whenever the unfamiliar feel of the shriveled paws touched his fur.

The silver tabby turned from his little brother in a wave of emotion, leaving the den in a swift motion. Shortly after he was followed out by Jenny and Coricopat ,who didn't care to deal with such a situation. Not that he wasn't sympathetic towards the tux and his misfortune; he, like Quaxo, was a very empathetic tom who was easily overwhelmed by others' emotions as well as his own. which is a large reason why he didn't immerse himself in the Jellicle social scene.

All who were left were Tantomile, Soljian and the Rum Tum Tugger. He quietly made his way to his friend's side, well, one could argue that they were a bit more than just friends by now, and sat down beside him comfortingly. He began to stroke the black fur soothingly and, for the sake of his reputation, subtly and out of view from any wandering eyes. Quaxo turned his head to stare vacantly up at the flirt. How can I make the tux see that it's me? He laughed at the irony of his words bitterly.

Tugger placed a gloved paw on his shoulder and, as he expected, the small tom sniffed him curiously before a small grin crept onto his cracked lips. Tugger stared sadly, he just wish that he could kiss the tom's pain away; he was, after all, a very good kisser, so if the kittenish remedy actually worked Quaxo would be the pinnacle of health.

Soljian wheezed as he struggled to pull the cork from a glass beaker, he noticed the coon's staring and started to chuckle nervously. "Would you mind?"

Tugger took the oddly warm beaker that contained what anyone would assume was some sort of lime flavoured Jell-O. He popped the cork with ease, white putrid fog started to overflow the top and pool onto this arm. He handed back the ungodly substance and returned to rubbing the black fur behind Quaxo's shoulder, the latter letting out a soft sigh at the relaxing sensation.

"He's not going to have to drink that, right?" Soljian grinned wickedly, obviously trying not to laugh outright at the ignorant cat.

"Why not?" he joked. Tantomile, who sat statue-like on an empty milk crate, giggled softly. "No, he's not. The puss would only make things worse," laughed the hound.

A somewhat confused flash passed in the coon's eyes. "Puss? Like a pimple?"

"A boil, actually," the other two affirmed. Tugger just shut his mouth and returned to his self-assigned task of flattening the ruffled and obviously neglected fur in front of him, he was just happy that he wasn't the tux. He couldn't imagine what they had in store with the sickening mixture that began to develop in the graduated cylinder on the ground in front of the age-spotted dog.

"Tague," Quaxo murmured, his words being brutally slurred and warped in his inability to hear his own voice. The three looked to each other in hopes of having some form of translation. At the lack of a response, he turned over and tapped the taller tom's paw agitatedly. "Tague." Tague, Tauge... Tug!

"Oh!- Ok, what's up? What is it?" Tugger leaned in eagerly, gripping the younger tom's shoulder in encouragement.

"Ch-Chamina" The coon looked over at Tantomile for help in depicting his words. The queen gazed intently, head tilting to the side as she analyzed the situation heavily. "Chemima!" the tux repeated more sternly.

"Jemima?" Tantomile suggested thoughtfully, although she didn't see how the little queen-kit fit into the whole equation. Soljian made his presence known with a very loud and intrusive cough, quickly returning to his work when the two felines stared at him expectantly.

Jemima... what about her? Jemima... Misto? Tugger wasn't sure how the two were connected or why he would be calling out her name at a time like this... he would have to pay her a visit and have a talk with her. In the meantime, he busied himself with entangling his claws in the short, kitten-soft fur behind Qauxo's overtly sensitive ears; finding a soft spot that sent visible chills down the tux's spine that travelled back up as a soft pur. Tugger would have to remember that for later.

Jemima...

Oh damn! They caught her! RUN JEMIMA!

But yeah, I'm hoping to get to finishing the next one pretty soon so I could get my wicked plan in motion! MWAH AH AH AH

Review or Tugger gets a mysterious box of milk!... Wait... he doesn't like milk :/ hmm...!