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The alien finished the downloads and gathered the data packs and slipped them into a second uniform, folding them snugly inside. Another reminder of what madness it was getting into. It wasn't prepared for anything like this. Sure, it it technically knew everything about survival- and if it didn't, the data packs would tell it what to do. But, knowing how to swim is pretty useless if you haven't practiced in water, and the alien didn't have any equipment whatsoever. Not even a... knapsack, did they call it? No matter, the folded uniform would have to suffice. There was no time for second thoughts, which was really self-doubt and second-guessing. It had to go now, or never. It set the computer to random, and inserted a harmless virus that would wipe the digital memory and footprint. No-one would be able to find out where the computer sent the alien until it was long gone. The alien went to the wall with the frozen rose and gently detached its sphere from inside the wall, cradling it close to its chest. It slowly shuffled to the activated transporter portal, or transportal. It looked straight at the bright light (which really hurt) and briefly wondered where it would end up. With a quiet prayer to no entity in particular, it stroked the rose globe once more, and stepped through.

The alien immediately wished that it had set coordinates for the last known location of those humans instead of random.
It found itself sitting in a dark, sleek, futuristic vehicle. Black leather, softly glowing touch screens, tinted windows, nighttime outside. The driver had a very polished look, from his perfectly combed blond hair, suit, and manicured nails down to his gold watch and this top-of-the-line car. Basically, the human version of the alien's decor. The alien was uneasy for three reasons;
One, just how did the human get this kind of wealth? Has he just inherited this status, or was he involved in some criminal empire? Was he was a successful businessman, or was he an even more successful thief?
Two, this human was playing very loud, angry music (in surround sound) that really frayed the alien's nerves. Back on the ship, it had listened to quiet or classical music. It hated the way this music made its hearts pound, as if it was being roared at for some heinous crime that it hadn't committed.
Three, it was trapped.
The car had been stalling at a traffic light which now turned green. The car shot forward, increasing speed until object outside became a blur. The alien had learned to speak English, but it couldn't understand the voices in the music to save its life. It noticed a screen that displayed the sound spikes, lyrics, and sheet music.
Julien-k - Technical Difficulties
About 700 days and ways
inside this changing
mind is failing
twisting, turning
eyes are burning
and nothing is working

Are we failing?
talking cheaply
deepen feelings
no one's thinking
solving problems.
intervening
nothing is working

Are we failing?
talking cheaply
deepen feelings
no one's thinking
Solving problems.
Intervening
Nothing is working

we are
experiencing technical difficulties
we are
experiencing technical difficulties
we are
experiencing technical difficulties

please stand by

we are
experiencing technical difficulties
we are
experiencing technical difficulties
we are
experiencing technical difficulties

nothing is working
please stand by

About 700 days and ways
inside this changing
mind is failing
twisting turning
eyes are burning
and nothing is working

Are we failing?
talking cheaply
deepen feelings
no one's thinking
solving problems.
intervening
nothing is working

nothing is working eyes are burning
nothing is working

we are
experiencing technical difficulties (x3)

please stand by

we are
experiencing technical difficulties (x3)

nothing is working
please stand by

introspection
leads to rejection
foolish draining sound of laughter
confusion is our silent partner
and nothings working

introspection
leads to rejection
foolish draining sound of laughter
confusion is our silent partner
and nothings working

we are
experiencing technical difficulties (x3)

please stand by

we are
experiencing technical difficulties (x3)

nothing is working
please stand by

we are
experiencing technical difficulties (x3)

goodbye.

The alien knew the language the symbols formed and the direct meaning of the words, but it didn't understand what these words were saying. It gave up after a few paragraphs and continued worrying about the car. It flew on a slick black road that turned and twisted alarmingly though a city, so quickly that it once actually turned in an upside-down loop. Roller-coasters were child's play compared to this. The slightest miscalculation could send the car flying off the road and into a building. Whoever thought of this must have been a genius, bordering on the insane. Imagine, if you will, a hybrid of all these; Exhibit A Exhibit B Exhibit C and most especially, Exhibit D
Surprisingly, the alien wasn't terrified yet. It supposed this was due to shock. The panic was sure to come later. Then it realized that the human wasn't steering the car.
It screamed.

The man holding the gun was short, stocky, and had a deep, rough voice. Natasha marched straight towards him. If he was serious about shooting, she was going to be dead. But she got the impression that he was all talk, and she was calling his bluff. "Buster, you put that gun down this minute or so help me, I will break your arm!" she snapped. He began to speak, but she cut him off and kept advancing, her voice turning quiet and dangerous. "If you dare to shoot me, I will make your life a living nightmare. I will haunt you from the pits of hell. Whenever you turn, I'll be there- in your mind; in your dreams, my voice will follow you wherever you go. Before you break down, though, I promise to hunt down everyone you hold dear and twist their little minds until they can no longer cope, and commit suicide. Once they die and you've understood true despair, I'll come back and finish destroying your mind." She said it so seriously and intimidated him so well, for a moment he forgot he had the upper hand. In that moment, she lunged for the gun, knocking its barrel away from its targets. He continued the motion, swinging the butt end of it at her head. She ducked a second too late, and it cracked against her temple. She staggered back, blinking stars from her eyes and trying to keep her bearings in a world that flexed in her vision, fading in and out of darkness. A large, dark shape rushed past her and tackled the short man with a dull thud. "I could sue you!" the little man roared.
"For what? Self-defense?" the large hunter who was pinning him, asked.
"Trespassing and assault. Now get off me!" the other commanded.
"No, you threatened us, and we were just passing through."
"I was informing you that I wanted you off my property." the slightly crushed man said, in a somewhat strained voice. "The gun was for backup."
Natasha's vision stopped acting funky as she focused on the firearm on the ground. She picked it up, aimed it at the ground a little bit away from everyone, and fired. She heard several sharp clicks, a thunk, and a tiny explosion. The resulting flare hardly emerged from the barrel before it flickered and died out. "This piece of junk doesn't even work." she announced.
"It doesn't?" Now the man just looked confused.
"Yeah, it's toast. You're telling me you've never shot this thing? Not even to practice?"
"I never needed it before."
"Survival waits for no man to learn how to shoot straight. I took you down because you weren't prepared."
"Heh, no, you didn't. He did. Still is."
Natasha touched the side of her aching head. It felt wet and warm. Her fingers came away sticky with blood. "You got lucky."
"Lucky or not, without him you'd still be dead." He squirmed, trying to get out from under the huge hunter.
The hunter casually leaned harder. "I'm not putting my full weight on you yet. Stop wriggling."
"If you had fired like you were threatening to," Natasha continued, "he and I would both be dead. But you didn't, so we're not. Technically, you are."
"But I'm not."
"That's right."
"...You're trying to confuse me."
"No, you're not paying attention. If you had shot me, then him, we'd be dead. But as I suspected, you didn't, so now he can kill you, but he's not. What did you think I said?"
"So, wait... you called my bluff?"
"Not only that, but since my instincts could have been wrong, the threat had to be nullified. When I take a chance, I'm willing to bet my own life on my instincts, but not others'. So the gun had to go. That's why I grabbed it."
"I see."
"As was mentioned earlier, possessing a gun is illegal. You threatened us with that illegal firearm when we had no idea this was your land, because we're lost. I acted in self-defense with a preemptive strike. Plus, it's our word against yours, so if anyone gets sued, it's you. Now deal with that."
The man stopped struggling and stared at her. Avery came over to check Natasha for a concussion. "Natasha, 4: Strangers, 0." he smiled as he rummaged through his medic box and found a tiny flashlight. The almost flattened man had to gasp for air as the hunter leaned harder to keep him from escaping. "I warned you to stop struggling!"
"What do you mean, 4?" the thoroughly squashed man rasped.
"Well," Avery explained as he checked Natasha's eyes, "First we hunters got to see her lecture a boy older than she for extreme carelessness, then Dylan was given a short, pithy account of her life, why she hated it and consequently left, that woman received a little rant a couple hours ago, and you just got lawyered. Hold still, Vivian." She pretended not to hear him and started to walk away. Avery stepped with her. "Hold still, Natasha." He dripped something onto a cloth and held it to her bleeding forehead. She flinched and tried to pull away as it made contact. "Making sure I didn't have a concussion is one thing, but what are you trying to do with- ow!"
"I have to disinfect that before I put salve and a bandage on it. Hold still!"
"I submit under official protest." she groused, and stood still.
"Your petty resistance has been noted." Avery accepted. "Don't be such a baby." He reapplied the stinging cloth to her wound.
"You know, my mother used to say that if you keep making those faces, it's going to get stuck that way."

Darn it, YouTube! That's like the third link that broke right after I posted it. This one works. Julien-k - Technical Difficulties

"Screeeeeee!!"
"What the f-" (The loud music stopped abruptly and another voice came from the speakers at that exact moment, interrupting him.) "Sir, please buckle up for imminent arrival of destination. ETA 30 seconds." "-is THAT?!" "Unknown, sir." The disembodied voice was electronic. Not flat, but definitely mechanical. Three walls of plexiglass came up to separate the front seats from the back. The driver twisted in his seat to stare at the alien, who screamed louder. Now the human wasn't even looking at the road! The alien pointed at the front of the car, waving its tentacles frantically. The human's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. "What are you?" His words were transmitted to the alien via speakers. "Turn around! Turn around, you crazy homo sapien!!" it shrieked, ready to die of fright. The human's expression turned to one of puzzlement. Unknown to the alien, the computer tried its best to translate its speech to the human, but misunderstood many syllables. The human was hearing a lot of computerized gibberish. "What?" "Eyes on the road!! Watch where you're going! Stop looking at me and DRIVE, you fool!" "Sir, please strap yourself in. Landing in T- 20 seconds." The alien gave up trying to make the human look ahead and consulted a data pack. Seat belts, where were the seat belts? Most often located at the shoulder or hip, they always buckle at the opposite hip. Well, evidently not here. The alien didn't see any straps of any kind, and began to frantically search, probing the seats with its tentacles, desperate. The car/computer also sounded tense. "Sir, please buckle up, now. 10 seconds." The human tore his gaze away from the alien and pressed a few buttons. Four black straps made of some kind of plastic snaked out of hidden slits behind the seat, and clicked into a circular buckle at the center of his chest. "I don't know if you understand me, but you should touch the glowing red circle in front of you on the screen." Two strange shoulder pads descended on his shoulders. (like this)
"I'd hate to have to clean your brain fluid off my seats." The alien quickly hit the circle and was immediately secured into the seat. The car's voice was much less tense- almost relieved. "5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Initiating landing sequence." The human glanced back at the alien. "So you can understand me." It nodded. "Can you speak English?" "Yes." "Look, I'll have to try to teach you how to speak it some other time; I have a very important meeting here, and I can't miss it." he was quiet for a moment as the car slowed considerably, the built up momentum pressing against their belts and shoulder pads almost painfully, and turned into a tunnel. "Sebastian?"
"Yes, sir?" So the car was called Sebastian. Stranger things had happened.
"Escort our... guest to the house. Please make sure he isn't seen, and use the back door."
"The program is set and awaiting execution, sir." The human smiled and slipped a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses on. "What would I do without you?" "I'm sure I don't know, sir." The car stopped completely in front of a platform jutting out from the wall of the tunnel, beneath a door. "I'll see you both in a bit." The human was taking this all rather calmly. Odd, for a human. They were generally known for a tendency to scream at strange life-forms that suddenly and inexplicably appear in close proximity. He stepped out of the car with speed, precision and complete confidence. Before the alien thought to object at being left in the car, the door closed and and began to move again.

Logan strode out in front, leaving Jason and Zack to catch up later as he stewed in his bitter ire. Jason hoped that Vivian's offensive personality wasn't her ultimate defense, otherwise she could be in serious trouble once Logan caught up with her. They marched for hours in silence, until it was almost too dark to see. Zack's voice shredded the fog of quiet. "I'm not complaining or anything, but I'm not really used to marching like this. Shouldn't we stop before, I don't know, someone twists and snaps their ankle?" "Probably." Jason replied, "But I don't think Logan's finished having his pity party." Logan paused and shot Jason an icy glare. Not that Jason could see it, but he heard the pause. "Just so you know, I can't see your face, so if you're glaring at me it's not the best way to communicate." "I'm not finished having my what?" Logan asked, as if he hadn't heard quite right. Jason rolled his eyes. "You've had hours to cool off, and there's nothing you can do until we find Justin and Vivian. So for now, buck up." "Buck. Up." Logan repeated, this time to give Jason a chance to change what he said. Jason didn't care how insulted he was, Logan had no right to be angry at Zack and himself for this long. "Let me rephrase that. Buck up you little pansy. I don't care if you beat the snot out of Justin and Vivian once we find them, but Zack and I have been putting up with your temper tantrum all day. Until we find them, suck it up." "You son of a--"
"Hey!" Zack interrupted, "Let's not kill each other until it's daylight, okay?"
"You get your face outta this, bitch!" Logan retorted angrily.
"That was uncalled for!" "Suck it up."
Some very regrettable and rather colorful insults were launched as the general stress and resentment that had been building up for so long found an outlet, hitting their targets with fierce, explosive, icy, venomous, scathing and/or, savage, contempt. Annoyed, irritated, or wrathful, every adjective in the book was portrayed at one time or another as the insults ranged from patronizing to sarcastic, from pretended indifference to being extremely offended. Frustrated with Logan's general unfocused anger that kept spilling onto Zack and himself, and the way that he alternated frosty silence or cutting and almost vicious comments; Jason was finished trying to be tolerant and understanding. Zack tried to keep the peace, but Jason and Logan both told him to back off, this was not being put off any longer. He kept trying until someone said something that really got to him, and he began to berate them both. Each barb was carefully calculated for maximum effect as their voices began to raise in volume. In fact, it would have degraded into fisticuffs, except for the fact that it was too dark to see.


The artificial intelligence (A.I.) called Sebastian had killed the offensive 'music', if that truly was what it was meant to be, immediately after departing from the human. It had courteously asked if the alien would prefer silence or classical music. It had occurred to the alien later that Sebastian had not given the option of continuing the music that the human had left playing. Fascinating. Well, now the car was parked in the garage of the modern castle the alien was standing in. Everything about it was almost exactly to the alien's tastes; the curves, the muted but rich colors that blended perfectly, the softly glowing lights that brushed shadows away to take refuge in the corners. The furnishing was spare, but what little there was was expensive and luxurious, almost lavish in it's extremely high quality. And nothing was more than a few years old, completely on the cutting edge of progress. The opulent crystal chandelier hanging above the alien's head had the thinnest layer of dust, so either it had been cleaned recently, or more likely, was installed no more that a month ago. The alien looked around the room (imagine this and this combined into something like this) and wandered through a few more. When it had explored all the open rooms, it tried a carved glass (or was it crystal?) doorknob which did turn, but the door remained closed. It tried a few more doors out of curiosity, none of which opened. Sebastian's voice finally rippled through the silence, seemingly out of nowhere. "Is there something you require, sir?" The alien tried to use its clumsy English for the second time. It had to start over twice, trying to say "No thank you, that won't be necessary." and mixing it with, "I'm fine, thank you." Trying to untangle the two only caused it to stumble almost to a halt. "We, ah, I... No, I am... fine. I am fine. Thank you." Much to the alien's frustration, not only had it mangled a simple sentence that an Earthen three-year-old could say with ease, Sebastian still couldn't understand the alien's words. The alien's mouth wasn't meant to form these harsh syllables, curse it!
The alien finally lowered itself into a chair of dark wood and red plush, folding its ostrich-like legs underneath itself, and waited for the human to appear again.

BTW, If anyone has actually been following this, I'm really sorry I've been too busy to write for a while. Life and writer's block are a potent combination.
But I'm back now! I'll try not to do any less than 2 posts a week.
Fun fact, my sister rekindled my spark of inspiration by posting this as her status update:

"First one to wake the baby will have their eyes clawed out."

Having negotiated with Brice, the owner of the defective shotgun, he agreed to let them stay at his cottage for the night, providing that he confiscated all weapons (except one small dagger per person, the hunters argued for hours about that) and escorted them off his property in the morning. Breakfast would be available to those that could pay for it. A hard-boiled egg, for example, would be the price of a raw egg bought in the market. Anyone could fill their plate with anything they were willing to pay for, plus 6 blue Mushrooms, 3 silver Mushrooms, or 1 golden Mushroom, as payment for the effort his wife would spend cooking and for the time he would spend walking the strangers off his 20-odd acres of land. This done, he lead the group towards the candle in the window his wife had left burning.
Justin thanked him and apologized for the misunderstanding, Avery began to talk again, someone replied, a conversation began and a couple muttered complaints were heard as the raging headaches slowly faded away. Natasha almost told them to give it a break, but stopped herself before she began lecturing them. Everyone was tired and hungry, everyone wanted to know what the heck that girl had done and where they were, and everyone was miserable, so what was the point of complaining? The newcomers were trying to ask the very same questions everyone else had been trying to answer. Why were they here, what was the mist made of, what did it do, where did it come from, ect.
Natasha had a lot of responses, like "Why does it matter, we're all just living, breathing, and after a short time, dying. To answer the question 'why are we here?', you'd have to know why you were anywhere to begin with..." The entire spiel boiled down to "What is the meaning of life?"
Or to the complainers, "Justin has suffered the most lately, so why is it that he complains the least?"
Or to Avery, "Ever wonder why you were born with two ears, but only one mouth?"
Or to the newbies, "I'll tell you everything I know after I get some sleep!" She squeaked once, choking the words back down her throat. She was just tired, there would be plenty to shout about tomorrow. If she kept yelling at them all the time, eventually nobody would listen to her at all. Evan heard her literally swallowing her own words. He gave her a look that said what was that? "Are you okay?" She tried a smile, but it looked more like she was politely baring her teeth. "I'm freaking super." He rolled his eyes and left her alone.
"So you're a farmer?" Avery asked Brice, who was pretty much keeping to himself.
"What?
"You have how many acres again? If you don't farm, what do you do with it all?"
"None of your business." he growled.
"Touchy, touchy."
Natasha had to admit- to herself, at least -Avery really knew how to handle small talk, never dropping the conversational ball, but still giving everyone a chance to play. He switched subjects like a master, keeping the topics fresh and thwarting awkward silences, took the 'ball' by force (interrupting as loudly as necessary) whenever someone accidentally offended someone else, and basically owned the game. They were still talking as the group approached the door. Brice reached for the doorknob, fishing in his pockets for a key, when it swung open.
His wife was pretty, in a cute way. Her face was round, but not exactly 'plump' in the usual sense of the word. She stood in the doorway, clutching a blanket around her shoulders with one hand and holding a candle with the other, and she was glaring out at them as she ferociously whispered the warning about waking her baby. Justin tried to apologize for all the talking his men were doing, but she cut him off. Twice. "I'm sorry, we--"
"Shut up! No, seriously, shut up." she turned to her husband with a sightly overcome expression. "I've been up with the baby since 4:30 this morning. I'm tired. I don't want an apology or an explanation until tomorrow. Just... tell me what is going to happen, and do it quietly." "They're staying the night, possibly breakfast, then I show them the door and march them off our land for all time." She blinked slowly, digesting this. Then she sighed and stepped back, opening the door wider. "Just be quiet."

Natasha stepped into the very large room. Room, singular. Kitchen and table on one side, shoes and coat rack near the door, easy chairs and a fireplace nearby, and a large bed in the last corner. Tim said it first. "We can't all fit in here." Brice's wife looked Tim, then at her husband. "You didn't tell them?" she asked. "I thought I'd just show them." he answered, then crouched and rolled a huge rug back across the floor. He reached into a knothole in the wooden floor and pulled open a large trapdoor, and began to descend the wide staircase, hitting a light switch on the way. "Follow me and don't touch anything." he said. Natasha stood back and let everyone else go first. Why, she didn't know. It was just a habit of hers.
The hunters were surprisingly quiet, but then again, she reasoned, how hard was it for them to sneak up on prey in a forest of crunchy leaves? This must've been a cakewalk for them. The boy, she thought she heard Avery call him Martin, tripped on the stairs and fell against Tim, who knocked into Matt, and so on like a stack of falling dominoes. The hunters recovered pretty quickly without hitting the floor, but Brice wasn't prepared and hit the floor hard.
A baby began to cry in one of the rooms down there. Brice's wife just sat down in a chair and buried her face in her hands. Natasha jumped on the banister and half-slid, half stepped past everyone else, then jumped down. At the bottom of the stairs it opened into a corridor with several doors. The crying came from the nearest door. While Brice was getting helped up off the floor, Natasha opened the door and found herself surrounded by warm pinks, soft purples and deep blues. The baby must be a girl, she thought. She did not go farther then a few steps, but she began to quietly sing to the little girl a song that Cyrus had taught her. He would play on his guitar as he sang, but she only played the violin. Not that it mattered, she didn't have either at hand.
[lien]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxi832Kje_c[/lien]
The child's sobs began to fade as Natasha's soft, low, comforting tones calmed her. When the song finished, she began to coo at the baby, keeping the sound of her low voice constant as Brice's wife came down to take over. She stood on her toes, craning her neck to try and see the baby without moving. "Hey. Hi. Are you a beautiful little girl? Yes you are. Did you like the song? You did? You'll have good taste in music when you grow up, yes you will..." The mother mouthed a silent "thank you" to Natasha as she passed, then closed the door. Natasha nodded and turned around to see the hunters staring at her. Raised eyebrows, slightly widened eyes, slack jaws, the whole package. She felt self-conscious for the first time since she met them.
"What?"


Blackmore's Night -- Hanging Tree lyrics:

There have been many tales
Tainted by truth twisted by time...

Some choose to forget
Yet it still
Weaves webs in their minds....

And it seems like she's been here forever
Her branches as black as the seas
She's been through it all
By the luck of the draw
She became the old hanging tree...

She asked for nothing
Except maybe
A little rain...
They used her strength
To help them steal lives away...

And she witnessed the sadness and sorrow
To this day she still doesn't know why
And her heart broke
When they came with the rope
To declare her the old hanging tree...

Life stranger than fiction
Can make you want to cry
Roots could never stop her
From reaching for the sky...


Those years have all past
Lucky for us lucky for her...
Now, children play at her feet
And in her arms she cradles birds...
And it seems she's been here forever
These days are the best that she's seen
But somewhere in the back
Of her mind
Is the time
She was known as the old hanging tree...

"I walk this empty street, on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams; when the city sleeps, and I'm the only one and I walk alone..."
The alien rose at the sound of his voice. The human had a very nice singing voice, but it sounded... off, somehow. Slurred. As though his tongue were numb. His key scratched on the doorknob outside as he repeatedly missed the keyhole. Sebastian's voice sounded somewhat stern. "Sir, this would be why I asked you to give me control over the deadbolt."
"I walk alone, I walk alone," he sang, swinging the door wide open, so it almost crashed into the wall.
"If you had, I could've opened the door for you."
"I walk alone, I walk alone," he repeated, ignoring the A.I. Then he stopped singing abruptly to ask "Sebastian, how come it's considered classy to wear a noose around your neck? All someone would have to do is pull and I'm gone." he punctuated the last word with a sweep of his arm. "I do not know why, sir, it is simply--" "One of the rules of social etiquette." he interrupted, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Who's this?" He looked at the alien.
"Your guess is almost as good as mine, sir." The human eyed the ceiling. "Sebastian, the arrogance of your statement is astounding." He brought his gaze back down to the alien's large eyes. "Okay, let's start with the basics. English; you speak it?" The alien concentrated, focusing on slowly pronouncing each word clearly. "Yes. I can speak English. It is not easy." The human cocked an eyebrow. "What?"
"Yes. I. Can." It repeated. He nodding in understanding this time."Oh. Okay. Open your mouth."
The alien decided to try using body language, which was almost as foreign as English. It stepped back, narrowed one eye, and tilted its head quizzically instead of asking "Why?" The human stepped forward, closing the gap.
"Seriously, open your mouth. I want to see why you have such a problem speaking."
Well, why didn't he say so in the first place? His breath smelled foul, then sickly-sweet as he leaned in close to peer inside its mouth. The alien tried to breathe shallowly.
"Wow, your mouth is really small. My friend Darrin, he has a huge mouth, he can fit an entire cupcake in his mouth without it touching his lips. You have two tongues? Damn, no wonder you can't talk. Press them both together, like they're actually one, and try to talk that way. Say, understood."
The alien attempted to use this method several times, and succeeded well enough on the ninth try that Sebastian could finally register the word. The alien began to practice speaking by asking an honest question. "What have you been drinking?" He gave the alien a look that said 'try again'. It repeated the question. He shrugged. "Champagne, mostly."
"Sir, exactly how much did you ingest?" Sebastian inquired. "Enough to give me one hellva hangover tomorrow." He draped an arm around the alien's slim shoulders. "You know, when you mix enough sugar in champagne, it tastes just like ginger ale." "Would you like some water to dilute the sugar and alcohol rampaging through your bloodstream?" the A.I. asked resignedly. The man shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. For now, anyway. Sugar crash and a hangover tomorrow, hanged if I'm gonna regret it until then." He walked to a door that the alien had tried earlier. The handle turned and the door opened by itself, or so it seemed. The alien assumed Sebastian was responsible. The man went in and came back a moment later with a tall, slim, dark green bottle. "Guess I might as well finish this off. I started it what, six, seven months ago? Somewhere around there. Why'd I open it anyway?" he muttered, popping the cork.
"You were brokenhearted at the time, I believe." the A.I. answered casually. Perhaps Sebastian was trying to slip under the human's radar. It didn't work.
"Oh, yeah..." he remembered. "She was one classy, conniving siren. Suave she-devil. Good riddance. Slut." He seemed overly passive. Like his act was.. too perfect. That could be masking unresolved rage. Or he was just drunk. The alien couldn't decide. Sebastian's attempt at subtlety needed some work. "Sir, I thought you were finished obsessing over her."
"What I thought was a relationship is over now, so what I think of her doesn't matter anymore." The human swigged straight from the bottle's mouth. The alien wrinkled its forehead, puzzled by a single word. "Siren?"
The man paused, then lowered the bottle. "Yeah, siren. You know the story."
It shook its head and looked at him expectantly. He narrowed his eyes. "You don't know? Well, according to Greek mythology, sirens were creatures with voices so angelic and songs so enchanting, sailors who heard the singing would leap overboard to find them; something like a caveman trying to touch a hologram of a jewel. Mysterious, seductive, entrancing and hypnotizing, they lured sailors to their island; then ate them. Bottom line, sirens are femme fatales. B*ches." He stifled a belch. "Sorry, you're not really seeing me at my best. What's your name, anyway?"

Jason was finally sick of the fighting. Not only was his throat beginning to hurt, he was starting to get a migraine from all the yelling. And even though he and Logan and Zack had been shouting at each other for over four hours, they had begun to argue in circles, repeating the same things over and over.
Not telling the hunters what he and Justin had done was unspeakably low.

Jason simply hadn't thought that Justin would drag the hunters along, Logan included.

Zack pointed out that nobody really had a chance to do anything, at least not since he arrived. Everyone had been running at full speed and nobody had time to stop and ask questions, so really it wasn't as though Jason or Justin had been actively deceiving anyone; there just hadn't been time, and if even if there had been a moment to spare, it was neither the time nor the place to admit they made a mistake. Technically, Zack continued, Justin wasn't even obligated to give the hunters a full report on where he had been or what he'd done-- nobody did. They followed the orders he gave because someone had to lead, or it would have been every-man-for-himself. In that respect, the hunters chose to follow him, they were not forced to go along.

Jason agreed, Vivian herself had said 'leave anytime you want', or something along those lines. Except for the 'mistake' bit. What 'mistake'?

Logan resented that, because he and the other hunters had trusted Justin in the past and had seen no reason to question him until now. Did loyalty not mean anything to Zack or Jason? How about betrayal? And of course Jason had made a 'mistake', he'd pawed through Vivian's purse contents like a thief. Her personal belongings were not public property. If that wasn't just sneaky, it was a major screw-up in self-control.

Logan was quite the expert on self-control, Zack and Jason agreed. Sarcastically, of course.

Logan did not appreciate the jibe.

Some valid points in the heated discussion had been made, but practically every sentence had been laced with venom or scorn, which didn't help at all.

Now, Jason just wished he had kept his mouth shut and avoided all this. Letting Logan kick innocent rocks and bushes would've been far better than getting involved in this mess. Logan had been acting rather childish by doing so, but it really wasn't any of Jason's business in the first place. Treating Zack and himself with the icy contempt Logan should have been saving for Justin and Vivian did make it Jason's business... right?
It was the question mark at the end that really bothered Jason.
But what do I do now? he wondered. Zack was still going strong, though Logan's voice was beginning to sound scratchy. Well, he didn't really know what he should do, so he borrowed a page from Vivian's book. Jason began in a normal tone. "Hey. Guys." They ignored him. He cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his words as he roared at the top of his lungs; "HEEEYYY YOOOUUU GUUUYYYYYYS!"
They both stopped, dousing him from head to foot in silence. Stunned or just incredulous, silence was silence. Jason waited a moment to allow his ears to stop ringing before he continued. "I'd love to continue yelling, but when I can feel my clothes beginning to get wet from dew, it's time to give it a rest. I don't really care what you guys do, but to me, it's bedtime." Zack rubbed his arms, trying to smooth the goosebumps that rose from the nightly chill. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Finally, we agree on something." Logan grumbled. Zack ignored him. "What time is it? 11:45? 12:20?" Jason checked his digital watch. "Close. 12:13." There was a moment of quiet. Then;
"Does anyone have a flashlight?"

Dylan answered first. "Natasha, what the hell was that?" She put her fists on her hips. "The hell was what? I sang a song. Big deal."
"You. Sang. To a screaming baby."
"The baby was crying, and before that she was sleeping. You guys woke her up, and she had every right to be upset. So I sang to her to compensate for your clumsiness. Be more careful next time."
She managed to sound annoyed, displayed perfect logic, and shifted the focus to their own slip-up, thus salvaging her reputation. She did NOT have a sweet little marshmallow heart inside. She did not just pretend to be a tough cookie, she was a tough cookie-- and one without a soft, chewy center. Zip, zilch, zero, nada, none. She was a rock. She was an island. She was strong, and she didn't need human companionship to be happy.
Truth be told, she did have a soft spot and was more than a little lonely, but she didn't exactly want the world to know that. The weak are targets for the stronger, especially those with inferiority complexes. The timid and tender are trampled underfoot, and only the strong survive in the real world. Sweetness becomes sour, or bittersweet if they're persistent. The only solution, Natasha had long since found, was to create armor for her sweet, gentle, sensitive, and kind alter ego. If the world was cruel, harsh, and painful to her, well then, the kiddie gloves were off. It wanted to play hardball with her? Fine. GAME ON. It and its sadistic, selfish players could try a taste of their own medicine for a change.
Children were innocents, so they didn't deserve to have a cold hard dose of reality rammed down their throats.
The wounded players who trusted too much hadn't even been aware of a 'watch your back' mentality, and paid the price of their ignorance by being beaten almost into the ground. They learned the law of 'every-man-for-himself' the hard way. Natasha didn't have to verbally kick them around to teach them a lesson at all-- in fact, her heart broke for them, because she would've been one of them if she hadn't built a protective wall around herself. They needed a comforting hand on their shoulders, a hug, a kind word, a shoulder to cry on, someone to listen to their story, or someone to talk things out with; something to let them know that someone cared about them, and that they were not forgotten as life apathetically flowed past them. Every single one of them had a story to tell, but no one stopped to listen. No one except Natasha.
Of course it wasn't surprising that she would sing a lullaby to an innocent little girl, cranky as she may have been. (As Natasha had pointed out, she had a right to be after being disturbed from her sleep.)
But the adults didn't know that.
"We were being careful." Evan said. "At least I was. Avery knocked into me."
"Someone bumped into me first." Avery said. His tone added an unspoken "don't you dare throw me under the bus".
"Tim did it." Matt chimed in helpfully.
"You crashed into him, Matt." Tim said.
"You did it to me first." Matt insisted.
"No, Dylan started it." Tim explained.
"I did not." Dylan protested.
Natasha shushed them all. "Would you kids get over yourselves and let her go back to sleep?"
A low voice she couldn't identify was clearly heard. "Careful, Natasha. It sounds like you might have a real heart after all."
It got very quiet.
Denial would sound too much like... well, denial, but she didn't want to look vulnerable either. She had hoped at first that the remark would go unnoticed, because she didn't want to make it a big deal. But it was heard anyway, and everyone was waiting to see her reaction. A witty one-liner should fit the bill, but she didn't have much in her arsenal for an accusation like that. It's like someone saying "So, you've only been pretending to be dumb all this time." Is that a backhanded compliment or an insult? Should she treat this one as a big joke, or just give them all a silent death glare?
For the first time in years, she couldn't think of a single damn thing to say.



Well, the holiday season is almost here, so I won't be writing often. I know I haven't been posting very reliably, but I'll try harder next year, when things aren't as busy. I highly doubt anyone is reading this, but maybe someone is. Or will. I felt like explaining, just in case.

At last, a question the alien had prepared for. It had originally planned to answer,
"My name? My people do not have names. We have designated numbers. Please, allow me to demonstrate.
The first eight digits of my number begin with the number of my generation; I am one of the 47839291 descendants of the first generation, who began to record the length of our lineage.
The next 15 digits signify the order in which we, the 47839291th generation, reached maturity. I am number 315629347564851; therefore my full number is 47839291315629347564851.
Of course, we have a different numerical system than that of Earth's Indian system, which is often misrepresented to be of Arabic origin; but I digress.
Ours is slightly more precise and much shorter, though more complicated. The slightest difference in a mathematical equation can drastically affect the outcome of an interstellar journey. The odds of miscalculation increase with large, unwieldy numbers, such as your one quadrillion; which has precisely 15 zeros.
In our calculational system, my name is much more... pithy, and takes less than three of your Earth seconds to verbalize."
It had not anticipated the difficulty of pronunciation. It had assumed that as long as it was speaking English, it would be understood. It now realized that it could never say all that it had planned to out loud, not without hours of practice.
It considered its limited options, then asked (with multiple tries) if it could use a keyboard and screen to communicate.
The human agreed. "Sebastian, open my library. We'll use that computer. Come with me, my skinny little friend," he said to the alien as he gestured to the staircase with his bottle. "Up the stairs and to the left." They ascended the grand staircase slowly, mainly because the human was unsteady but refused to use the smooth black (marble?) banister. "I hate leaving fingerprints, particularly on touchscreens; but really, anything that smudges at a touch annoys me. But this added the perfect finishing touch to the main entrance, so I made an exception." He continued rambling conversationally, taking his time going step by step. "Speaking of, didn't I ask Sebastian to open the back door for you?" he shrugged and kept talking, not bothering to let the alien even try to reply. "Eh, whatever. As long as nobody saw you."
The alien had to admit, it was secretly glad of the slow pace. Alien architecture never used stairs, so it had never used them before, obviously. Ramps were much safer and easier, and they were smooth, sloping gently without edges, so one hardly noticed the rise or fall from one room to the next-- not choppy like these, and there were no sharp corners to trip on.
They reached the top of the staircase without incident, though the alien had felt itself come close to losing its balance once or twice. There were several elaborate wooden doors along both sides of the long hall. The alien noticed that the carpet underfoot turned from a deep red color and short, velvety texture to a thick, soft, and dark blue carpet in the hall. It felt odd, yet pleasant to the alien's unshod pads.
The human pressed the gold handle of one of the carved mahogany double doors, pushing it open. He stepped inside, and clapped twice. Two or three reading lamps responded by shining brightly at the first clap, and softening at the second. "Man, I love these things." he said, referring to the clapping mechanism he had just used.
The alien stared in awe of the vast personal library as the human continued talking. "Most kids are so spoiled with their fancy electronics these days, none of them can truly appreciate a good book. My father raised me as a fellow bookworm, and I'm very glad he did. Staring at a computer screen hurts my eyes after more than an hour, but a good book can suck me into another world for several. It's a very nice diversion at the end of a stressful day, just to turn off my cellphone and mute Sebastian, to be completely cut off from the rest of the world for a couple hours. Bliss."
"And then I have to inform you of the calls you missed, the messages that you did not read before you locked yourself into the library, remind you of the housekeeper you still have not interviewed, and ask you what you want for dinner because of the lack of the aforementioned housekeeper."
"And then Sebastian comes and rains on my parade." the human smiled. "If he didn't, no one would, then were would I be?"
"Living in a dusty mansion with wrinkled clothes, living on restaurant fare because you won't do your own laundry or cook your own food." the A.I. replied. The human laughed. "You want me to burn the house down? Don't tell me you don't remember my last culinary disaster."
"Which is why I keep asking you to hire a housekeeper."
The human shrugged the reminder off. "Tell me again tomorrow."
"I have been doing so every day for weeks."
"So what's another day?" he asked, powering up a small laptop.
"Your habit of procrastination is a terrible fault."
"I know. I just don't care." He placed the humming computer on a reading table and spun it to face the alien. "This technically has internet access for streaming videos and such, but it's basically a giant electric notepad with spell-check and an instant-result thesaurus. Saves time from looking each one up in a book. Oh, check this out." He pressed a few keys, and the laptop projected its screen onto the wall. "Pretty handy, right?"
The alien cocked its head quizzically. He tilted his head in unison with it as he explained. "Handy. It means convenient. Useful. There's a thesaurus and a dictionary at your... fingertips?" His eyes widened he stared at the alien's upper extremities. He only noticed its tentacles at this moment? The alcohol's influence was more potent than the alien had thought. Perhaps this conversation should wait until morning.
Sebastian voiced the alien's last thought aloud, word for word, as though the A.I. could read its mind.
The man gestured to the laptop impatiently. "I'm wide awake right now, and it'll be hours before I can focus on a screen once this," he sloshed the liquid in his bottle, "catches up to me. Just start typing, I'm dying to know what you call yourself. My name is Skylar, by the way. Your turn." He gestured to the computer again.
The alien took one look at it, then spread its tentacles and began typing.