I apologize for the lateness with the update. I've started working on another story and I also have been doing a lot of family things and I've got a kinda-sorta halftime job, so yeah.

*is still shot*

I hope this makes up for it. You are all free to spam me.

Anything not Disney is mien and will not be used or distributed in any way shape or form.

"What the fuck." She said outright, sitting up, gripping her head and falling forward, holding herself up with her elbows on her knees as a pounding racketed through her brain like bullets.

"Well that was an attractive statement."

She blinked, letting her mind slowly comprehend the voice of Clement, who seemed to be beside her. In fact, upon lifting her head and turning to the side, she found she was right.

"W-Where are we?" She asked, leaning her head back down. She would literally kill for an aspirin right now.

"From what I've collected, a dungeon of some sort." Clement said, coming to her side. He then pressed two fingers to the back of her neck and began doing some sort of strange massage. Normally Amelia would have slapped him and demanded to know what the bloody hell he was doing, but now she refrained for some reason. It seemed her body knew he was trying to help as the pounding in her head slowly faded, only leaving her with an exhausted feeling throughout her body.

"Thank you." She mumbled, standing on unsteady legs. Clement pushed himself up from his kneeling position and neatened his hair. Amelia looked around with her now clear vision. Stereotypical dungeon. Stone walls and floor, rusting gate closed and locked that kept them in their cell, floor covered in mildew and dirt, and a jolly old skeleton in the corner who wore an outdated Terran Empire naval uniform that expressed his rank of Admiral.

"This is just lovely, isn't it? Rather charming. They've really done their best to keep it up to date and comfortable." Said Amelia sarcastically, bending by the skeleton, which looked human.

"Who is he?" Clement asked, pointing to his nametag. "I can't tell."

"He's, hm," Amelia squinted her eyes at the faded fabric writing and rubbed it with her thumb. She then spat on it and rubbed again but still had issues seeing. "Bloody hell." She easily ripped the patch from the uniform and took it to the front right corner of the cell by a rusting lock, using light from a burning oil lamp in an otherwise pitch black hall to illuminate it.

"It's..." Amelia squinted, slowly tracing the script, then stopped. "T. ...but...that can't...that can't be right..."

Clement cocked his head to the side. "Isn't your maiden name Smollett?"

"Yes, yes it is." She said, turning her head to the skeleton. "But..."

"Did you know this man?" Clement asked, following her gaze.

"Yes."

"...Who is he?"

Amelia looked back to the tag. "T. . Timothy Mallory Smollett. My grandpapa."

"Oh..." Clement looked to the skeleton. "But he's human?"

"He married my grandmama, and she was Felinid. They had my papa, and he married my mama."

"Oh."

"Aye." She went back and slipped the tag into the chest pocket. "He was Rear Admiral until I was seven years old. Then, he went off on a voyage to...to Treasure Planet...and was never seen again."

Clement was silent a moment. "Well...at least you know what happened now..."

"Aye..." Amelia stood. "I suppose I do."

Suddenly, clapping came from nowhere. Both Felinid's turned their ears to the supposed hall and stood in rather feral poses with their claws ready to strike and fur on end. From the shadows came the source of the clapping-a well dressed Procinian. Alright, more than well dressed. Royally dressed. He wore a robin's egg blue robe with navy trimmings, which matched his almost priestly hat and bluish purple robes with both blue and gold trimming. On each finger he had some sort of ring, and he had several necklaces on, tucked under his shirt. He was much taller than the average Procinian and held himself with great dignity and respect.

"Bravo, Miss Smollett." He said in un-accented Terrinian. "Bravo. I wasn't sure if you'd go to the trouble to figure out the name of that poor soul, but you did, and now you know what happens to tresspassers."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. That voice. She recognized it, all to well. "King of Laar decided to pay a visit, eh?"

He smiled twistedly. "I'm a gracious host to my guests, Miss Smollett."

"It's Mrs. Doppler, now." She corrected.

"Ah, proud to be tied down, I see."

"Proud to be in love more like." She felt herself correcting again, approaching the cell door. "Unlike yourself."

"I have married myself, dear Admiral." He smirked.

"Poor woman." She hissed.

"Poor me, more like. I can't go chasing off the palace maids anymore without getting put on the couch." He said, both humorously and pervertedly.

"You're disgusting."

"I've been trying." He sneered. "I see you're just as gorgeous as yo"u were ten years ago."

"Fuck you."

"Sounds like a wonderful idea."

"Hey!" Clement came forward and punched at him, making the cell door rattle and rust float down. The King didn't look the least bit startled.

"Oh, boy-toy?" He said, looking to Amelia. "Rather defensive, isn't he?"

"Go to hell."

"I live on Laar."

Amelia kind of gave an agreeing shrug before reaching through the bars and grabbing the unsuspecting ruler by his collar and pulling, making him slam his face into the bars. Before he could react she did this again, and again and again and again until he was bleeding from the forehead. She then shoved him away, watching him fall to the ground in a heap of robes, briefly watching his hat roll away before stepping from the bars and looking at them, trying to figure a way out. Clement just stood with his mouth wide open.

"You...Just..."

"Quit gawking like a child at a fair and help me figure out an escape plan you dilly-dallying fool." She snapped, crouching down and observing the bottom of the bars, rattling it slightly.

"Is he dead?!" Clement asked while making it look like he was trying to find a way out, when in reality he was just staring at the King and the blood slowly trickling from his forehead and dripping onto the stone floor from his raccoon-like whiskers.

"Of course not, though I'm half tempted." Ameila chided, sticking her feet between the bars and managing to use the rust as a sort of grip to help her get up to the top, which was the same height of the ceiling at about ten feet. "That would just cause another war, and I have a feeling this one is already screwing us over."

After capturing all the admirals and their second in commands, Evan found it amazingly easy to take over the rest of the fleet, and without a single person on the planet they were harbored at noticing. It was simple, really. They'd waited until night with the knowledge that the crew assumed the meeting was going to last a long while, so they wouldn't be suspicious. They also knew all crew was required to return to the ship by eleven at night, no exceptions. It had been easy after that. One of Evan's crew would go to a ship and use their best Procinian skills to quietly detach the ship from the dock and take off without using the thrusters. The next morning, they'd been deep into space, and none of the crews could object. At first, most tried to escape, but that was quickly stopped when Evan made clear that he and his people weren't afraid to publicly execute.

He was just sitting in his stateroom with a cup of tea, feeling rather pleased with himself, when one of his officers barged in. He was one of the larger brutes, and only had small brown circles under his eyes, which meant he was of the lower class. Probably one of the manual laborers Evan had brought along.

"Chief-"

"What gives you the slightest idea it is appropriate to barge in like this!" Evan snapped, standing. The young man was breathing heavily as he dropped to one knee. Evan sniffed in an odd manner that rang his disapproval.

"Chief," the young man said, looking at the ground, "please forgive my unannounced and unprofessional entrance into your quarters."

"I'll think about it." Evan glowered. "What is it you have to say, hm?" He turned to the side, flicking a speck of dust from his pristine desk. The boy was new. He probably was fretting over nothing. The young man stood as Evan was taking a drink from his tea.

"Someone has escaped, sir."

Evan spat out his tea and turned to the young man, jumping over his desk and grabbing him by the collar, slamming him to the wall. "WHO?!"

Jim panted as he ran through the city. Rain pelted him, his clothes growing heavier and heavier as the liquid seeped in. His boots squished with each pounding step, and he could feel his lungs burning, begging to be let to rest. He refused and kept running, through the streets, jumping over vehicles and dashing into the hospital where he ignored the nurses and everyone else and barged into Onyx's room, where Minerva was dutifully staying by his side, refusing to abide by the curfew rules. Upon his entrance, Onyx and Minerva jumped from their sleep and stared at him.

"Jim, what the hell?!"

"Onyx, bro-"

"WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES YOU DUNDERHEAD, IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!" Minerva snapped, standing.

Onyx took her arm calmly and brought her down, giving her a look as if to tell her to shush before looking to Jim again. "Jim, what's going on?"

Jim took a few gulps of air, leaning against the doorframe, and then slammed the door shut and looked at them. "The Procyons have captured the entire fleet, all the admirals and first mates are who the hell knows where." He gave them a moment to be surprised while leaning on his knees, breathing.

Onyx immediately stood up, removing the IV from his arm and completely ignoring Minerva's requests to "sit your gawd-damn ass down" as he put on his undershirt and then his dress shirt. He put on his cufflinks and, after making sure Minerva had her back turned, put on his pants, then socks and shoes and looked to Jim and Minerva, who were both rather silent, a bit surprised by his wordlessness.

"Well then," he said, walking to the door. Jim watched him slip some pain medication from a nearby table into his pocket. He opened the door and looked to them, "lets go save the queen."

"