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Natasha almost panicked. Almost. Outwardly, she looked like she was pausing for dramatic effect. The expression on her face and the attitude of her body language implied two things; One, Challenge accepted. Two, You have no idea what you just got yourself into, do you?
Inwardly, she searched madly for an adequate response. And she somehow found one. "Well, that's one I've never heard before. I've never spent much quality time with romanticizing she-males either, so I guess that must be why. Seeing as how you didn't have the nerve to say that to my face, I can safely surmise one fact about you: you will never be the man your mother was."
"Shocked" would be too strong a word to describe the reactions of the others. "Surprised", perhaps. "Stunned", maybe? Or "impressed" that she pulled it off?
Natasha couldn't think an accurate description at the moment, and a wish for her camera flitted across her mind before she brushed it away.
Who had challenged her? Perhaps he hadn't meant it as a challenge, but what else could it be? It was, at the very least, a poke in the ribs. Not exactly an insult, but it was definitely aimed at what was obviously her weakest point, until she deflected the accusation. She would have preferred to destroy it so that the issue would never be raised again, but she had been caught off-guard as it was. She supposed she had had it coming for a while, since nobody up to this point could think of an insult that hadn't obviously been used before, but now they knew more about her. She had been traveling, talking, and practically living with these people longer than anyone else since Cyrus, and they had had plenty of time to study her behavior. She knew that everyone's actions reflect who they really are, even a child.
Natasha knew of a real-life example, of a twelve-year-old Charlie and his friend Lee. Charlie had begun to show signs of thievery by snitching a cookie when he was six years old. He was never disciplined, and apparently only got caught on the ninth cookie run. Eventually, he did not feel guilty about stealing at all, and he thought it was fine to do anything, as long as he didn't get caught. Lee was shocked when Charlie suggested sneaking into a theater to avoid paying. To him, it made perfect sense. It wasn't like anybody was getting hurt because the theater was playing the movie whether the boys were there to watch it or not, nobody would know about it, and he and Lee could use their money to pay for some candy afterwords, so what was the problem? The action itself reflected his morals, or lack thereof, and Lee realized his friend was untrustworthy and sly.
Here, because of her action, (singing to the little girl) the hunters now knew that she was occasionally sympathetic. A flaw in her defenses, a crack in her armor, one that could later be exploited. She knew this was paranoid mode kicking into high gear, but she didn't travel the world insulting everyone she met without recognizing and acting on warning signs. Some people were highly dangerous, and not to be provoked. Whenever she felt threatened, she sat up and paid attention, actively sensing every detail around her, and reacted to her mental alarms when triggered; and even though she knew this was an emotional reaction, she felt extremely vulnerable right now, and a little scared. Being hyper-aware had saved her life a few times. Once bitten, twice shy.
At any rate, she had managed to fend off this subtle probe, but in the future she'd be far more careful about what sides of her true personality she let them see.

"Kian! Kian, where are you? Answer me! Kian, if this is a joke, it isn't funny! Kian, where are you?"
Jason heard the voice from afar, drifting though the darkness of a dreamless sleep. It was only when the shrillness of near panic infected the girl's voice that he realized something was wrong in the real world. He sat up abruptly and forced his eyes to open, took a deep breath of fresh, cold air as he threw his trench coat/blanket off, and slapped his face to finish waking up. Zack, Logan and himself had been forced to sleep out in the open after wasting what daylight they had had with their shouting last night. He cleared his throat and blinked hard, then got up and unsheathed his sword, leaving his coat and scabbard on the ground.
Logan was up as well, leaving everything but his bow and quiver. Zack was still asleep, so Jason spared a second to shake him awake and tell him to guard what little supplies they had. All of this took less than a minute. "Hello? Who's there?" Jason called, he moving towards the sound of her voice.
"I'm looking for my brother, have you seen him?" the girl's voice trembled with both hope and despair. "He's fifteen, but in his mind he's only about six or seven years old. He's not very tall, has brown hair, is wearing a green shirt and blue jeans with black sneakers. Please, please tell me he's with you!"
"I'm sorry, he's not. I can help you find him, if you want. Where are you?" He squinted in the pale morning light, trying to see into the thick greenery. They had been sticking close to the newly grown forest to avoid getting tangled in the vines, or lost in the dry sea of grass. Following the outside had seemed quicker and easier then tripping and hacking through the forest without someone like Vivian to open a path. At this point, after all the hours of walking they had done yesterday, Jason wasn't so sure the detour was worth it anymore.
The girl was less than ten feet away before he saw her. Her auburn hair was in a messy braid that was falling apart, thanks to the twigs that had been catching and pulling at her hair in the forest. Her pants had tears in them and her shirt was puckered with snags. Her hands were scratched and one of her knees was skinned, and she had a small cut on one cheek. She was young, about eleven or twelve. She tore away from the grabbing branches and clinging vines, then ran up to Jason, panting. "Please, you have to help me! He's lost and scared, I know he is!"
"Slow down. I'll help you find him, but you're tired and dehydrated, so you need to take a break and drink some water. I could use more information about your brother, too, like, did you see which way he went?"
"No, I didn't see him," she admitted, "but I know he's here somewhere! I heard him!"
"Sit down and tell me more," Jason ordered, pointing to the ground next to him as he returned to his coat. "You will sit there for no less than ten minutes before you go tearing off again."
"But I--"
"No 'but's, or I won't be able to help you at all. I'll have to carry you home after you pass out." He reached into a large outside pocket and pulled out a wide, flat canteen. He handed it to her after unscrewing the top. "Here, have a drink." She hesitated, then took it from his hand and sipped once. "Okay, I had a drink, let's go." She tried to get up, but Jason put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "What part of 'ten minutes' did you not understand? Sit there and drink some more, I know you're still thirsty. What's your name?" She sulked at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes in defeat. "Myra." she answered.

Clicktyclickclick clicit-click clickclickityclick...
The alien typed so quickly its tentacles blurred as they tapped the keyboard, clicking each key with just enough pressure to click before its 'finger' darted to the next key, tapping it precisely in the center. It paused as the projection on the wall finished filling to its limit. It would wait for the human to finish reading before it typed another page.
The human revealed no expression as he stared at the words on the wall. The alien tried to guess which paragraph he was reading, but after about ten seconds it realized his pupils were contracted, his eyes half-closed, unfocused, and unmoving. He wasn't reading at all!
Skylar continued not reading for another minute or so, then finally said, "Sebastian, where are my reading glasses?"
The alien finally understood the meaning of the adjective, IRKED. It finally understood why humans contorted their faces into grimaces, because the alien was now glaring for the first time, at Skylar. And it felt right, like that was the perfect action. No shouting, no talking, just a simple, haughty glare from one who has every right to be annoyed. Skylar looked into its eyes... and began laughing. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I managed to read the bit about your name, but that's it. I am not reading the rest of that tonight, my eyes hurt and I can feel the hangover getting ready to whack me in the head. Sebastian, go ahead and cancel any and all appointments I have for tomorrow. I probably won't be able to attend."
"As you wish, sir."
"Now let's see..." he sat in a leather LA Z Boy office chair, put his feet up on an expensive-looking writing desk, and closed his eyes. "How recently has the guest room been cleaned?"
"Thanks to the programming that allows me to take care of this place because you do not, the entire mansion was cleaned two days ago for the first time in a year."
Skylar shifted comfortably in his chair. "I don't remember seeing the expense bill for that," he said, as though the A.I. had simply bought a box of cleaning supplies without asking.
"It is in your computer inbox, along with the other 136 items."
"How much, Sebastian?"
"I took the liberty of sifting through the spam, leaving only 74 messages for you to read tomorrow."
"How much, Sebastian?" Skylar repeated, swigging from the mouth of his bottle.
"Approximately 25000 golden mushrooms." Sebastian admitted.
Skylar choked and spewed liquor all over the desk. "That's highway robbery!"
"It was the best bargain for the minimum standard of cleanliness." the A.I. calmly replied.
"And by 'minimum standard', you mean 'surgery scrub room' clean. It's ridiculous!" Skylar declared, bringing hie feet down with a thud.
"It was necessary."
"If you had been able to see into the future that we'd have a guest, that would've been excusable, but cleaning a mansion at that price for one guy who lives in less than six rooms on a daily basis--!" Skylar looked like he had just been mugged while his mechanical butler was watching, somehow not understanding why his master was so angry. He took a deep breath and held it for several seconds before he let it out. He still looked angry, but at least he was controlling it. "Next time, ask me first."
"Yes, sir." the A.I. said quietly. Skylar rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Well, what's done is done. At least the guest room is clean. So," he turned back to the alien. "I need a nickname for you."
The alien typed a response. Skylar reached over and enlarged it a couple times. "A nickname is a term of convenience and acceptance, correct?"
He nodded. "In this case, mostly convenience. I am not rattling off a 23 digit number whenever I want or need to address you."
Intoxicated or not, this human was right. A nickname made sense. The alien wondered what he was like when he wasn't drunk. "You may give me a nickname." It typed. Skylar laughed. "Like I needed your approval." Then he paused. "Wait, you're giving me permission to nickname you instead of choosing one for yourself. I gotcha. Is it because you've never named anything before, or is it supposed to be an honor? Oh wait, it's both, isn't it?" Without waiting for a reply, the human continued, "Alright, what's your gender?"
The alien almost launched into an elaborate explanation about its reproductive system, but paused, and instead typed, "It is very complicated."
Skylar looked slightly miffed. "Oh, fine. Gender-neutral names it is. Let's see..." He leaned back in his chair again and closed his eyes for a few minutes. The alien waited, discreetly watching a grandfather clock count off what seemed like hours as the seconds dragged by with agonizing sluggishness.
When Skylar finally opened his eyes again he shook his head slowly. "Okay, that's it. I'm falling asleep and I can't name you without more information, which I am incapable of processing right now. A girl, for example, would be hard to name until I could see her.
A cute girl wearing a pink dress with ponytails in her hair needs a cute name like Lily or Marie, and a tall, regal woman with a sweeping skirt and a tiara-like headpiece needs a sophisticated name, like Lydia or Sapphira.
A passionate name to match a hot-headed temperament, like Scarlett, a sweet name to flow with tranquil nature, like Serena, ect, ect.
You, my friend, are completely alien to me. I have no reference points with which to name you. Do you come from a dry planet, in which case Sahara would be one of my first choices, or is it a damp, humid planet? Perhaps you even live on this planet and have decided to make your presence known for the first time, in which case I would give you a name that would have some meaning connected with shadows, invisibility or secrecy. Are you a young adult, or an elder? This is just the basic understanding I require to know, to say nothing about your personality.
And I must say, knowing your gender would narrow the field quite a bit. Just think of all the examples I popped off the top of my head once I decided on a female gender. Unisex names are much trickier, no matter what you're naming. In fact, I'll probably put together a list of names and ask you a bunch of questions before I decide on one.
I just don't know enough about you right now."
The alien stared at Skylar. The ritual of naming an individual was far more complicated than the alien had thought, and that was difficult enough beforehand. The human tipped the bottle all the way back to drain the last few drops, then glanced at the alien again and gave a crooked smile. "Why, you ask, am I stressing about a simple nickname? Well, it's because I believe names can be very important. I named Sebastian Sebastian because it fit his personality perfectly. Very butler-ish, if you know what I mean, and dignified. By contrast, I certainly never would've named him anything like Danny or Bob.
And my own name, Skylar. I've always believed that the sky's the limit for me; I can do practically anything I put my mind to, as long as it's within my capabilities. I could never defy gravity simply by wanting to, or bio-engineer a life-form despite the fact that science was always my weakest point scholastically, and that others far more intelligent than I have tried and failed. I can't do and anything everything myself, but if I want something doable done, I'll make it happen-- one way or another.
But tonight," he sighed, "this mortal form is once again woefully weak, and I must go to bed. At least I managed to finish off this vile liquid."
Skylar pulled himself up and stretched. "Follow me, and I'll see you to your room."

Jason knelt in front of the young girl and looked her in the eye. "What happened, Myra? Why is your brother missing?"
She looked at Jason, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I don't know. There was a lot of yelling in the street, and Mom told us to stay inside. Dad went out to see what was going on, and when he came back he whispered something to Mom, then took my brother's baseball bat and went back out. Kian got really upset. Mom tried to calm him down, but I guess he just waited until we weren't looking, then went outside to find Dad and get his bat back." She looked at the ground and closed her eyes, but tears still escaped. "And now... he's gone." She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
"It's not your fault." Jason said consolingly. It didn't work. Myra's voice began to catch, due to a large lump in her throat. She had to gasp the words out. "Yes, it, is. Mom, said, to... to keep an eye, on him, and, and, I... didn't." She burst into tears. Logan shook his head. "Nice going, Jason." 
Jason would've retaliated, but he didn't want to further upset Myra. Logan put a hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly, to face him. She didn't look up until Logan, using a rather stern tone, told her to look at him when he spoke to her. "Now look. You are, in part, responsible for your brother's disappearance." Myra was about to start crying again, but he didn't let her. "Hey, no crying. Dry your eyes and listen to me. Your mother should have known better than to leave you with a six-year-old kid. Normally I'd expect you to be able to handle that, but when that six-year-old is big enough to put up a serious fight --"
"But he didn't!"
"I never said he did, and don't interrupt. When that boy is big enough to cause serious problems for you when you try to keep him from doing something stupid, like bungee-jumping off the roof, you're not old enough to be left alone with him; ergo, he's not your problem. Your mother shouldn't have left you in charge, whatever she was doing in the meantime. So my challenged colleague," He gestured to Jason, "was right about one thing-- it's not totally your fault, because it shouldn't have been your fault in the first place. Now, these guys are going to try to help you and me find Kian before sundown. Alright? Are you with me? I don't take anyone who cries, or whines, or gives up easily. Are you going to cry, whine, or give up?"
Myra wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No."
"Good. Now sit there and hydrate yourself while the rest of us pack up our stuff." 
"Okay."
Logan gave her a brisk nod, then went back to his pile of stuff, putting his coat on and packing various personal possessions. "Well, Jason? You heard me. Get packing."
Zack sat up and blinked slowly. "What? Why are we packing? What are we packing...?" Jason sighed and collected his own miscellaneous items. He wondered if Logan actually had a plan to find Kian, or if he was making it up as he went along. Anyway, they didn't have a reason to stay where they were, so they might as well pack up whether or not Logan had a plan. "Do you have anything to carry, Zack?" Jason asked. Zack slowly shook his head. "Just my backpack... I don't have anything else." Jason did a quick check, nothing was left but Zack's waterproof flashlight, which had been unclipped from the outside of his black backpack last night. So Jason reattached it to Zack's pack with its carabiner (also known as a "climber clip"). "Just get up and follow us, Zack."
Logan looked at Jason sharply. "Wait a second, time out. 'Follow us'? 'Follow', 'Us'? You're kidding, right?" "No, I'm not." Jason replied, narrowing his eyes. If he had had fur, it would've bristled. "Why do you ask?" 
Logan rolled his eyes and walked over to Myra, crouching next to her. He used a stick to draw lines in the dirt. "Staying in a group is inefficient. We can cover more ground if we split up. Here's the plan," he said, drawing a circle. "This is where we are. Myra came from that direction," he looked up and pointed north with the stick, "so we'll keep going south." He drew a straight line through the circle. "We'll spread out until we're just within shouting distance of at least one other person. Myra will be to my right. Zack, you'll be to my left. Jason, you'll be at Zack's left." He drew a circle at the end of Myra's path, then added three more. Each circle overlapped another, broadening the search zone. "Each circle represents our individual shout radius. If we all keep shouting to each other and moving forward, Kian is less likely to miss us."
Now it was Jason's turn to roll his eyes. "It isn't the best way to search an area as large as this." Logan shot him a dirty look. "Do you have a better idea?"
Jason glared back. "Yeah. We head back to the city and get a real search going from the air, with a second team including dog handlers on the ground." Logan laughed and stood up. "What, you think that I didn't already think of that? The professional search party has already been launched; if not for Kian, for Myra. We can search for Kian ourselves since we're already out here. We might find him first. If not, at least we tried."
Why is it so hard to work with this guy? Jason wondered. "We're not going to find him by running around in circles. If we go back, Myra can go home and we can help the searchers cover even more ground than we could by ourselves." Jason unsheathed his sword and dug its point into the earth, carving an oval that enveloped the circles Logan had drawn. "That is our search radius. It's not bad, but when the search radius is an oval about 2 by 8 inches, and the area to be searched is about 15 square feet, Kian could easily miss us. We need to join the larger search party and coordinate our efforts."
“That won't work.” Logan retorted. “It could take days to search all this forest. We should start looking for him here and now.”
“We'll keep an eye out for him on the way back,” Jason insisted. “Kian probably won't even answer to a stranger yelling his name. Your plan doesn't work.”
“What do you know about kids?” Logan challenged. “I have seven younger siblings back home.”
“Who all recognize your voice. I may be an only child, but if I had gotten lost and a stranger started shouting my name when I was a six-year-old, I would've hidden and waited for them to leave.”
Zack heaved a dramatic sigh and addressed Myra. "Those two don't get along very well, but sometimes that's a good thing. It's like my dad once told me, 'A good debate is like a pancake; it's got to be cooked on both sides.'" Myra nodded sagely, then frowned. "But I can't figure out which one is right. They both sound right..." Zack shrugged. "That's the hard part about growing up. Nobody tells you the answer. You have to figure it out by yourself.” Myra crossed her arms as her frown deepened. “But that's not fair.” she complained.
Zack laughed. “I know, Myra. Believe me, I know.”

Hi, guys!
Sorry I haven't been around for... geez, a whole month. Anyway, I hope this lengthier-than-usual post (even by my standards!) makes up for some of it.
I hope your holidays were amazing, and three cheers for the Great Chocolate Sales Day! (the wonderful date after Single Awareness Day, aka Valentine's Day)



Skylar began to walk out of the room, but thought better of it and turned back. He gestured for the alien to precede him as he put the laptop to sleep and tucked it under his arm, and followed the alien out. He clapped twice, and the lights obediently switched off a moment before he shut the doors. "And Sebastian..." he began.
"Yes, sir?"
"Remember to leave the bathroom door unlocked. My mother was not amused last visit."
"I do not think that she should have ordered me to stop listening/recording voice patterns and muted me within the same hour, sir."
"Last time, she didn't want you listening to her phone call like you did last visit, and especially did not appreciate your running commentary about her and the content of her conversations. After she ordered you to stop listening and talking to her while she was on the phone, you continued by directing your little comments at the cat within her earshot. Then she muted you. So you accidentally-on-purpose locked the bathroom door."
"She was not a pleasant guest."
"Well Sebastian, you're right, but it is our duty to be gracious hosts; you, because of your programming; me, because I am her son. You should be grateful that I managed to distract her before she demanded that I replace you. She'd only have to make one call to find out that you have outlived the average life span of an A.I. by about eleven years. I was the one who ended up on the receiving end of her bottled wrath because of your revenge."
"I did not--"
"Revenge, Sebastian. You two have been at odds since before I was born. You should be nicer to her."
"I?"
"You. She only visits every other week, and you'll probably outlive her. Anyway," Skylar yawned, "I think you could use an upgrade soon. But more on that later."
He was finally quiet as he led the alien down a hall, into a corridor, through a secret passageway from a sliding bookcase, up a spiral staircase, and out from underneath a piano-- a section of the floor underneath it rose like an elevator, lifting the piano over their heads. Three rooms later, Skylar suddenly came to a dead stop, looked at the bottle in his hand (as though he had just noticed it was there), then carelessly tossed the bottle across the room and directly into the center of a paper wastebasket. His crooked smile displayed blatant self-satisfaction, similar to that of an athlete who had just dunked the winning basket of a national NBA league final and pretended it was just another ordinary, everyday game. Then alien suddenly understood the saying, 'less is more'. Skylar hadn't said a word, but he was obviously smug, uncommonly proud of his perfect accuracy. How are humans so complex, yet so simple? The alien didn't understand why he was so proud of his minor accomplishment. So much to learn. So much data I have yet to comprehend.



Natasha didn't wait for a rebuttal. “There's not much space here, so I suggest that the baby sleep with the couple upstairs, whats-her-face and I can take the baby's room because it's so small, and the rest of you boys can divide whatever space that's left amongst yourselves.” She turned to Brice. “Sound fair?”
He frowned. “I was about to say the same thing.” Was he miffed that she voiced his plan first? It probably gave him the impression that she was bossing him around in his own home. Whoops. Natasha shrugged it off and hoped it wouldn't get under his skin with a, “Fine.” She began going upstairs.
“Where exactly are you going?” Matt asked. “Not that it's any of your business,” she replied, “but I feel this compulsive need to wash up before I fall asleep in the grime I've accumulated today.”



Jason straightened abruptly. “Okay, that's it. You can run around in circles, but I'm going back to the city to help the search party find Kian.” Logan's eyes flashed with temper. “Fine by me. Come on, you two.” Logan began marching. Jason turned on his heel and stalked in the other direction. Zack and Myra glanced at each other. “What do we do?” she whispered. “I guess it's up to you.” Zack whispered back. “If you go with one, I'll go with the other. Okay? Which one do you want to go with, Myra?” “Get a move on, you two!” Logan called. Jason looked back at them, saw their indecision, and shrugged. “You can go with him if you want. I don't care.” Myra bit her bottom lip for about ten seconds, then decided, “I'll go with Logan.”
“Zack, you stay with her.”
Zack raised an eyebrow. “Why, Jason?”
Jason's reply drifted through the trees. “Because if you're going to be searching the entirety of this forest by yourselves, you'll need all the people you can get. I'll be joining a larger group, so I don't need you to come with me. Logan does.”



Skylar had escorted the alien to the guest room and bid it goodnight; leaving it standing in the center of the room, staring at the bed.
It was a very nice bed, to be sure; king-sized with huge, fluffy pillows. The room itself was furnished like a hotel's. Clean, bare, but classy. There was a spectacular view of the city through a wall of one-way glass that could be darkened to shut out light. It was a nice place to stay, but it was by no means welcoming. Clearly, it was meant to be lived in only temporarily, and not for any longer than a six week period, if that. Hence the term 'guest room'. The alien understood that.
What it didn't understand was the method of sleeping in a bed. It knew humans would lie between a sheet over the mattress, and a second sheet to keep body heat in. Additional coverings, blankets, would be laid over the top to trap even more warmth. The alien itself, however, could not lie flat because of its awkward limbs. Back on the ship, it had a recliner that tilted to a 30 degree angle. The recliner was molded to fit the alien's contours snugly. The temperature was adjusted to comfort level. That was how the alien was accustomed to sleeping.
This flat... thing, while soft, was still flat. These coverings, though also soft and pleasant to touch, were unnecessary. The alien never moved much on the ship. It never had to, and exercise was pointless. It's blood did not flow a quickly as a human's. Humans' movements make their blood move faster and warms them all day. At night, when they are not moving, their blood slows and their body temperature drops. Humans may need blankets, but the alien did not.
After pondering the problem, it placed its data packs in an empty drawer, folded the blankets down to the foot of the bed, then positioned the pillows to support different areas of its body.
Then it slept.

Natasha lay in bed, staring at the soft purple ceiling. The color scheme of the baby's room was an unlikely blend of pinks, purples and blues, but the result was a soft, dreamy and relaxing atmosphere. The pillow was small and blankets were a little flat, but sleeping on a shag carpet inside beat the heck out of sleeping on grass outside. That girl, Morgan, and the other woman, Rita, were already asleep; sharing the one bed that Brice and his wife usually took turns using to be near the baby at night. The two girls might have tried to include her in their short conversation before saying goodnight, but Natasha had rolled over and shut her eyes, nipping such an impulse in the bud.

Natasha was tired. She didn't want to talk, but she had to think.

What was happening? That thing, whatever it was, seemed to be following her. But it had come after Zack, too. He controlled the colored mist. So maybe the creature was drawn to the mist. It seemed the most likely explanation.
What about the little statue? She hadn't been able to examine one. She and Alyssa hadn't been the only witnesses on Black Monday. A birdwatcher, hiker, picnicker, hunter or some other person had seen a beam of white-hot light go up, then heard Cyrus screaming in pain, and had found him “trying to put out a fire with his bare hands. Then the old man saw me and began to yell something about a statue that fell apart. I figured I should leave the crazy man to the professionals, so I started to run back to the city. I was about halfway there when this huge cloud with red eyes just came out of nowhere. There was something inside... something evil... it scared me half to death. I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. I just stood there and watched it tear the forest apart. When it left, I ran back to the old man, but I was too late. He was... dead.”

Natasha had read the story in the newspaper the next day. Time heals all wounds, she had been told, but her traumatic memories still ached with an intense, bitter pain. Hot, angry tears prepared to push themselves out, but she lay in bed and forced herself not to cry with sheer willpower.
“Focus.” she ordered herself quietly. “The statue. Why the heck is a stupid statue always around?” Although, now that she thought about it, Zack had only appeared after the statue had done its work.
Justin had touched it, it shot a beam of light up, it disintegrated, and the creature made its appearance. The same had happened to Cyrus. Maybe it was just her mist that made the thing appear.
So what? she thought. The mist causes a figurine to appear, then someone touches it, the statue reacts by shooting the sky, and the creature appears. That doesn't make any sense.
If it really was only her mist that caused the statue to appear, would that mean another would be waiting outside in the morning? Technically, she hadn't been responsible for the transporting vortex of energy, but she had participated somehow.

And where was Zack? He had promised to explain-- no, he had been about to, and Ninja stopped him. Natasha was getting tired of trying to figure out the answers by herself, and it was frustrating to know that he had them and wasn't sharing. Zack, Jason, and that other guy... Logan? He was her opponent in the archery contest, wasn't he? All three of them. AWOL. Well, Jason didn't really count. He wasn't a hunter, and... actually, she didn't even know why he hung around. She had never invited him to, nor had the hunters; as far as she knew. Justin had been looking a bit stressed, so he had probably noticed Logan was missing before they all crashed in the other rooms. Zack, however, still had a lot to explain before she was ready to let him walk away. Natasha supposed that they were left behind, shut outside the vortex. She needed to figure out where she was now in the morning.

And why, just why were those others here? Rita, the other guy, and Martin. Who exactly were they? For all she knew, one of the girls sleeping near her could very well be a violent psychopath.

Natasha massaged her eyes. So tired. Exhausted, really. She desperately needed to catch up on some sleep, but she felt like if she did, she wouldn't wake up for about three days. The paranoia wasn't helping her relax, either.

She thought about sneaking outside and sleeping in a tree to calm her paranoia, but then she remembered the couple upstairs. Brice had probably locked everyone downstairs anyway. Natasha would've done the same if she were he for personal security, but she still felt uneasy.
Worst-case scenario, he could open the door at any time and throw a gaseous grenade down the steps, and she'd be trapped along with everyone else. She had noticed some of the hunters quietly expressing concern about the only exit to Justin, but there was nothing to be done about it. She guessed that he had set up a watch, having his hunters take turns keeping an eye on the the strangers and the door.
So not only was she stuck, but if she opened the door for any reason besides going to bathroom, whichever hunter was on duty would be even more suspicious of her. She didn't need anyone thinking she was a shifty, sneaky, untrustworthy type. The only good quality she really had going for her was her honesty. Besides that, nobody had any reason to tolerate her. So far, she knew she was loud, obnoxious and generally disliked, but she prided herself on being totally open on everything but her personal life. That was nobody's business but her own...

Jason leaned his back against a tree. So tired. Mostly sore, but still very tired. Exactly how far he had walked since leaving the others, he didn't know. He knew he'd find the city sooner or later. The sun rose in the east, so as long as he kept it on his left side, he'd be heading north. It did bother him that he should have found a post or two by now. He had probably passed several that were buried in vegetation.
This was why there was supposed to be a guardian for every area. They were supposed to make sure the posts were in plain sight, for example. They were also expected to evaluate their area. If it was 'green', they were responsible for making sure it was safe for people to walk through, or if not, color yellow or red. On every map of the sectors, areas were colored red, yellow or green. Green is normal. Yellow is “Enter at your own risk.” Red is “Dangerous, be careful!”

But there wasn't a guardian here because this forest hadn't existed until yesterday.

He sighed. So much had happened to him these past months. What was it, December? Yeah, December. Dragons loved it here because the weather never dipped below 66 °F , or about 19 °C . The warmth of the climate here in winter, coupled with the dragon's sluggishness (in lieu of hibernation), was why Celebration City thrived. Winter was relatively warm and pretty safe. Summer was great fun for those young and crazy adults who were willing to chance one-in-thirty odds of having a serious accident. Those odds were pretty good when you considered the risky activities that were only available during the summer. Bungee-jumping and sky-diving, plus active dragons and cranky goblins, ect. Parents tended to only bring their kids during winter, so activities were juggled to increase appeal for families in winter, and thrill-seekers in summer. Of course, then there were those who wanted to court death and dare fate for as long as their luck held, then die having fun, drowning in pleasure because they were too afraid of death to die by their own hand.
Jason sighed and shook his head. Even if he did find a post, he would have to...
He narrowed his eyes. He could've sworn...
The light winked at him again. A tiny light peeking out from a tall shape wrapped in kudzu. “Oh, heck, no. Seriously?” Jason asked aloud. He pushed himself away from the tree that he had been leaning on and moved to inspect the source of the light. His suspicions were confirmed as ripped the plants away from the post. Yes, it was indeed a post. “You'd think that someone would've thought of an actual name for these things by now,” Jason muttered. Why bother keeping his thoughts to himself? Nobody was around to hear them.
He stood back and looked at the post he had just uncovered. It seemed even taller, now that its silver shone in what sparse sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead. The touchscreen wrapped all the way around the top half of the post. It was divided into four quarters, and each one was blank. The top of the post, above the screen, glowed softly. In the dark, it shined brightly for two seconds. Then five seconds later, it would shine again, gaining the attention of anyone searching for it (and hypnotizing the occasional 'light sprite', or 'fire fairy'). The silver substance on the outside tended to catch the eye during daylight hours. The point of these qualities being that anyone who was lost would be able to find a post, and the post would display a map showing you exactly where you were.
Jason skimmed the touchscreen with his fingertips. It reacted by displaying several languages. English, Español, Italiano, Français, symbols he didn't recognize, ect.
He tapped the 'English' selection with his knuckle. It asked him to please touch the red spot it presented with his thumb pressed flat against the screen.
His mouth twisted in a humorless smirk. Anything sentient would have been annoyed at this point. Fingerprints were usually scanned when one touched the screen to activate it, or when the person in question selected his or her language. Rarely did it have to be this specific, unless that someone was trying not to have any of their five fingerprints registered.
Jason happened to be that someone.

Blurry colors and vague shapes faded in and out, swimming before Natasha's half-closed eyes. She was about to close them again when she realized how bright the light was. “Oh, lord. It's morning,” she moaned softly and buried her face in the pillow. I should get up. she thought halfheartedly. She didn't like mornings. She hated them. She was a late-night kind of person and slept like a log. She'd try to sleep in whenever she could, but once she regained consciousness she would usually doze for an hour before she finally got up. If she rolled over and went back to sleep, odds were that she wouldn't move again until noon. If there was an appointment to be kept she'd leap out of bed and get cracking, but unless there was a goal to be met by getting up early... no. She had once slept though a minor earthquake.
Cyrus used to joke that she was half-vampire and half-rock, with a smidgen of sugar (representing the sweetness hidden deep inside). There wasn't really a need to get up early, anyway. Being half-dead to the world, she didn't give a thought to her whereabouts or the events leading up to them.
Then it hit her. “Morning?! σκατά!” (She'd learned to curse fluently in obscure languages, Greek among the many. That way, if she just had to swear, nobody would know what she was really saying; adults got the general message, kids hadn't a clue.)
She sat bolt upright, forced her eyes to focus enough to give her an general idea of where she had fallen asleep. Nobody was in the room. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, then threw the covers off. She gave her head a quick shake, trying to fight off the drowsiness. She yawned and cleared her throat, then surveyed the room.
A baby's room. A baby's room in somebody's house. Natasha stared into space until she remembered whose house it was. The light was coming from an overhead fixture that somebody left on. She glanced at the bed Rita and Morgan had shared. The bed had been made, and a few of the blankets Natasha had pushed away in her sleep were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. “チェ!” she swore again, this time in Japanese. “I fell asleep. Why did I-- how did I fall asleep? I was trying to plan one moment, and the next, it's morning!”
She buried her face in a pillow as she continued scolding herself, “I am such an idiot. Either of them could have killed me in my sleep. Granted, it wouldn't be easy for either of them to take me on, but if they teamed up... not to mention the fact that they left the door unlocked, so any of the boys could have gotten in here at any time. And they left the light on, sucking up power; considering that we're out here in the middle of nowhere, Brice probably doesn't have much besides maybe solar power and batteries. It's wasteful. And gee, heck, I don't know, but maybe I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep! I... I could have camped out on the stairs, I could have slept underneath the baby's crib, I could have slept in the closet under some blankets, I could have done something. I should have set my watch alarm so I wouldn't sleep so long, I have no idea how long I've been out. I--”
“Coulda, shoulda, woulda.”
Natasha froze, then composed her features into a ferocious scowl, and slowly lifted her head from the pillow. Evan was leaning against the door frame. She shot him a dirty look. “Get out.”
Evan's mouth twisted in a crooked smirk, like he was trying not to grin. “Since when is this your house?”
“Since when is it okay for a guy to enter a girls' room? Get lost.” she snapped.
He pretended to think about it. “No, I don't think I will.”
“When I get up I'm going to kick your butt unless you get out now.”
“Why should I?”
“Fine, don't. I'll kick your butt later.”
“As long as I'm getting my butt kicked, I might as well make it worth my while. You are seriously that paranoid? What, we haven't earned your trust by helping you and putting our own lives on the line? We aren't good enough for you?”
Natasha glared at him. “Do you always question people when they've just woken up? Are you hoping I won't have a handle on how much comes out of my mouth? Do you often watch girls sleep? Do you have the slightest idea of how angry you're making me? Do you have a death wish? Are you waiting for me to march over there and strangle you with my bare hands?”
Evan raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you're irritable in the morning. Or rather, afternoon.”

The alien awoke at eight, according to the digital clock on the nightstand. It stood and stretched, rotating its head and various limbs. Sleeping in a bed was... an interesting experience. It was far softer than the alien's recliner, but the softness also allowed the alien to gradually sink into the pillows, flattening them during the night. As was already established, the alien itself could not lie flat. It was incredibly uncomfortable. It would have to find a better solution before it slept again. After filing that away to be dealt with later, the alien next pondered its next problem; what to tell Skylar.
The human was busy, then he was drunk. When the alien saw him again, he could be a completely different man. Perhaps even a dangerous man. If he were a genuinely good man who was not planning to exploit it in any way, the alien still owed him an explanation of some sort. But what would it tell him? How much should it tell him?
The alien mentally chewed on this problem as it ventured out of the room. It wandered around the mansion for some time before it found its way to the main staircase, and from there it found the library again. The doors to the library were still unlocked, so it went inside. It perused the books for a while, recognizing many classics, as it thought and waited for Skylar to make an appearance.

The grandfather clock tolled out the hour of twelve before Skylar came to the library doors and found the alien reading a book. “Good afternoon,” Skylar murmured. The alien glanced up. He had an iced glass tumbler filled with an amber liquid. Judging from the bubbles, it was carbonated.
A common home remedy, the alien remembered, for a human's upset stomach was ginger. Ginger tea or ginger ale. It appeared that he preferred ginger ale to ginger tea.
Skylar rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I'm terribly sorry you had to see me in such an intoxicated state last night. I apologize for neglecting to be a proper host this morning, as well. The conference I attended last night was a success, and the entire board decided to celebrate with a bottle of champagne. The younger men all went to a high-end bar to continue, and I as well. Socially, I had to accompany them or I could have shut myself out of future business opportunities.”
He leaned against the desk and accidentally knocked a book off the edge of it. He winced and touched his temple as it hit the ground with a thud. “At any rate...” he continued, going around the desk to lower himself into his huge office chair, “I am now prepared to listen to what you have to say.”
The alien blinked slowly, still unsure what to say. Skylar waited for a few minutes, possibly to allow the alien to collect its thoughts. Unfortunately, it could not. The alien was unused to being put under pressure. It was not a public speaker. All of its work, all of its thoughts were expressed in written form, not verbal. It had never been put on the spot like this before.
If it were not physically impossible, the alien would have begun having a panic attack.

Skylar raised an eyebrow. “Are you well?” The alien shrugged helplessly. Skylar frowned slightly, agitating the alien even more.
After a moment of tension, Skylar ran his hand through his hair and leaned back. “I suppose... you are unaccustomed to the English language. Are you more familiar with other Earthen languages?” He began speaking in different languages, each more foreign-sounding then the last. The alien shook its head unhappily. It knew only standard English and Mandarin Chinese, and those were more difficult for it to learn than any numeric system of rules. Mandarin Chinese because it is the most common spoken language, English because it is the most widely learned as a second language.
Skylar looked frustrated for a moment, then the expression was gone. “English is all you speak?”
The alien nodded.
“Well then. Shall I ask you 'yes' or 'no' questions for the moment?”
The alien couldn't have thought of a better solution itself. Until Skylar was able to read words on a screen without getting struck by a migraine, and until the alien was able to speak clearly and coherently, this would have to do.
So, the alien nodded again.
“Please, have a seat,” Skylar said, gesturing at a comfortable armchair.
The alien lowered itself onto the cushioned seat as Skylar leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. He smiled, politely, but pleasantly as well. “Shall we begin?”


Three hours later, both the alien and Skylar felt mentally spent. Skylar reached for his ginger ale only to discover, for the third time, that it was empty. In fact, it was bone dry. Skylar sighed and massaged his eyes. “This did not turn out to be as effective as I had hoped it would. Would you care for a beverage? I'm sure I have something that would appeal to your taste.”
The alien was abashed at the fact that its vocabulary was not as extensive as this human's, and did not respond.
“Beverage.” Skylar repeated. “A liquid to be consumed. To say, 'can I offer you a drink?' usually implies liquor. The implication arises from the expressions, 'to go drinking' or 'he has been drinking' or 'he's had one too many drinks.' Beverage encompasses any other consumable liquid, usually offered in place of plain water. Liquor, juice, milk, soft drinks, ect. I hope I was correct in assuming you are not interested in liquor?”
The alien nodded once. The corners of Skylar's mouth tilted up in a hint of a smile. “So. Is there a particular drink you have been curious to try?”
The alien's answer came without a second thought. “Pink lemonade.”
Skylar laughed quietly. “Pink lemonade. That was my favorite drink when I was a child. The pink color in the cheap brands is simply from red or pink dyes. The more expensive brands use raspberry or strawberry juice for both color and flavor. Naturally, that is the only kind I allow to enter my home. Come,” he rose and gestured for the alien to follow him, “I can hardly remember the last time I've had pink lemonade.” As usual, Skylar filled the silence with his voice as they journeyed to their destination, which was most likely to end in the kitchen.
The alien wondered if he felt as though he had to speak, if he thought that the silence would be unnerving. Skylar's voice, whatever his motives were, was relaxing. He spoke as though to a childhood friend, offering his personal opinions on trivial subjects. His manner was personal without being invasive or pushy, yet he was not... what was the expression? 'Spilling his guts,' that was it.
“I'll be honest-- adulthood is not much fun. Booze over sugary carbonation, newscasters over cartoons, responsibilities instead of fun. Sometimes I wish I could turn into a little penguin. That way I could ignore my human duties. Meetings, deadlines, taxes, emails, errands, social obligations, bills... I wish I hadn't tried to grow up prematurely. Then again, if I hadn't I wouldn't be on top today. All the same, that pink lemonade will be like a taste of childhood. A trip down memory lane for me, a new memory made for you. It was an excellent choice on your part, to choose a natural drink instead of an artificially-flavored juice. I don't have a grudge against those, but they're unhealthy compared to the natural things. Why bother with a diluted, poor imitation of orange juice when it would be more cost-effective to buy a box of the fruit and press the juice out yourself? It tastes far superior, to boot. Ah, well. I'm using common sense again. The irony being that it's not exactly common these days...”