Chapter 4:

A fuming Viola slipped into the hire-car's backseat, announcing, "Creamy Plaza..." Her mind kept playing back her irritating conversation with her sister. She'd always been the demur pup. Junior was the hellion. Kim was the successful pup. TV was the slacker. Viola was the demur pup, which was to say that the others did stupid shit and left her cleaning up the mess.

We were a family, she thought. I want us to be a family again, instead of individuals pursuing agendas. Part of her wanted to blame Finn. He'd gone down the road into politics, and he'd drawn down all this heat on all of them.

As an actress, Viola was used to folk stalking her. It was a hazard of the job. Lately, the business had ratcheted up, with multiple strangers showing up outside her building or trying to crowd the line when she was making personal appearances. It had been over five years since her last big video, so she knew it wasn't that.

He was doing the right things, Vi, a voice inside her head remarked. He married and took care of his kids. A corner of her mind had been worrying at the very real possibility that she was just as guilty of punishing Finn out of rage at her father as Charlie and Kim.

Her uncle was everything her father wasn't. Finn had been an involved dad, even when it was quite literally killing him to make all the teacher meetings and sporting events. Vi's father? Not so much.

TV blamed Finn for putting Jake in for the job of mailman, giving the stretchy dog plenty of opportunities for his cheating. Kim had put the duo together in the same corner of his personal hell—making Finn a frequent target of Kim's wrath whenever Jake got out of pocket.

Sinking into the soft cushions of the limo's back seat, Viola grimaced at the unhealthy reality that her sister had shoved under her nose. Finn had done more than pay her rent. He'd tried to keep her from giving up her virtue for a role in a fucking video. He'd been dad, when her real dad was fucking up.

Vi was still pondering the ugliness of her past, when the driver called out, "Creamy Plaza..." Shaking off maudlin thoughts of might-have-been, the actress refocused on the outside world. This wasn't a meet-and-greet, so she shouldn't see packs of people there. Thankfully, the sidewalk in front of the Plaza was empty, allowing her to relax just a little.

She'd been pondering hiring a bodyguard, but she wasn't so wealthy that she wanted an additional mouth to feed on the payroll. Her agent already took enough of her cash for doing little to nothing.

Stepping out of the car, the actress strode straight across the walk and into the Plaza. Scanning the scene, she was gratified to find most of the folk in the atrium engaged in their own business. Hips wig-wagging sensually, the slim pup crossed the atrium and slipped into the event center.

"Welcome, Ms. Rainicorn," announced the security guard there. "Hi," Vi responded, as she breezed by. She was just in time. The finance people were here, and they were already talking about funding for projects.

On the far side of the ocean, the Ice Prince grimaced in unhappiness as the pirate's doctor picked up a silver-plated thermometer. Belatedly, he realized that the ornate device might have a dual function on a ship where conditions could be less than sanitary. As visions of catching somebody else's cooties danced in his brain, the Dahiana Diaz rumbled, "open wide..."

"This isn't needed," Billy muttered. "You let me be d'judge o'that, big mon," the pudgy doctor replied. It hadn't taken long at all for Black Cass to learn that her unwanted passenger was awake. Not long after, Billy found himself in the pirates' ramshackle infirmary, getting looked over.

Pirate or not, Dahiana was just like every other doctor Billy had encountered across his life. Which was to say, she was snarky, pushy, and way too interested in relieving him of the burden of some of his blood.

On his side, Billy was a little disturbed to learn that his wives had ordered that he be kept drugged. He wasn't sure what was worse—being forcibly drugged, or losing his sanity, even if only briefly. More worrisome, he had no recollection of that night, and he feared he'd done something terrible while the entity was controlling him. Unfortunately, the pirates had nothing to tell him on that score—or they weren't talking.

"Don't like d'at she just put ye right t'sleep. Coulda' had a swollen brain in y'er skull," Dahiana remarked. "We'll keep an eye on'er and make sure nothin's really wrong. Walk as ye can, but stay off d'deck." With a wink, she added, "wouldn't want ye fallin' o'er d'side."

Leaving the infirmary, Billy found himself worrying about the literal voice in his head. He remembered that much from the fateful days before he lost consciousness. He'd brushed the matter aside, but now he feared the voice was actually the Ice Tiara, speaking to him. The spark of terror inside him wanted to reach out to his mom, but he knew that was even worse. Don't do that to mom, he told himself.

Back in Creamy Plaza, Producer Harvey Weissblum slipped up behind Viola and rested his hands on her thin shoulders. "Hey," he greeted her. "How's my favorite actress?" Viola spun about to face her violator, stepping back from him.

That was how Vi thought of the man who gave her that first role now. He was a violator. He'd taken advantage of her to get what he wanted.

"Mr. Weissblum," Viola greeted him. The fat peanut-person gave her a smile, his eyes raking her from head to toe. Shameful memories came back to her. She'd sucked him off under his desk, while his wife was in the room. She'd given him a titty-fuck on the set, and he'd blown his wad on her face. She'd never understood why he enjoyed that so much until now.

"Looking for work, Vi," he asked? "No," she responded. Giving her a chill smile, he said, "it's been what? Seven years?" "Five," she retorted. Her last big video had been five years ago, when she'd been in her twenties. Nodding at the financiers around them, Harvey remarked, "lots of projects starting up, Vi. I could get you a spot on one."

Coolly, Viola responded, "I'm not here looking for a part, Harvey. I'm here looking for support for a project of my own." Frowning, he said, "you're doing a picture? You got a script?" The slim pup checked herself from rolling her eyes. "The world doesn't revolve around picture-shows, Harvey," she said. "I'm trying to put together funding to start a homeland for my people."

"Thought the rainicorns had the Crystal Dimension," Harvey responded. "I'm only half rainicorn," Viola retorted. "My father's people, the dogs, need a homeland too." Harvey laughed as if she'd said something hysterically funny. He laughed and laughed, until she wanted to claw his eyes out.

Shaking his head, Harvey said, "you're gettin' older, Vi, and you're running out of options. You're going to need help getting parts. Come see me at the office..." "My agent...," Viola started to say. Shaking his head, Harvey retorted, "that loser won't get you anything. Make an appointment. Come alone. Wear something nice."

With no further word, the slimy producer sauntered off. Viola found herself torn between announcing to the world just what kind of man he was and literally teleporting him into a wall. Fighting rage, the slim pup turned and stalked out of the venue.

The slim pup found herself waiting on her hired car to return, as the icy wind blew. Down the street, a candy-cane and his chum, a pudgy plum from Wildberry Kingdom, watched her from the interior of a rickety truck, making notes about her precipitous departure from the Film Industry Convention. When Viola's hired car finally pulled up, the duo sprang into action, quickly putting their camera gear away, in favor of scrambling into the front seat to start the truck.

On the far side of town, Kim Kil Wan looked up from the reports on expenditures when his phone rang. He was in a bit of a pickle. The other partners were starting to ask questions about all the money that was leaving the company's coffers. He'd been putting them off, while he tried to secure the bag, but that was getting a lot more difficult.

Flicking the phone open, the dog-icorn rumbled, "this had better be good..." "I can't speak for good," Gordon Wells responded. "I can speak for important." Kim frowned. He was tempted to hang up. At the same time, he had an almost desperate need for this to pay off. "Say on," he muttered.

Gordon declared, "we can't get into the lost city, but we may not need to..." Kim shot to his feet. "You still there," Gordon asked? "Yeah," Kim responded. He'd been angry and then shocked. They'd expended a lot of energy on that and gained nothing.

"The lost city was our best chance," Gordon allowed, "but the machines Nagumo lost in your uncle's initial onslaught are still there, right where they fell." "You can salvage them," Kim asked? It was hard to keep the hope out of his voice. "With your help, we can," Gordon responded.

Now, they were at brass tacks. Frowning, Kim growled, "what do you need? A few more ships? A fleet?" "We need a warehouse to cover the operation," Gordon responded. "We need a few innocuous cargoes to hide the shipment." "Where and when," Kim asked?

Viola discovers that bad decisions can haunt you for a LONG time. Billy finds himself standing on the brink of an abyss. And Kim digs the hole deeper. Pray he doesn't see it turn into a grave...