Credits to Nimmo.

"So, do we have a plan?" Charlie asked, yawning as he sat down at the table. Absently, he ran a hand through his hair, inevitably screwing it up more than it was normally and causing random parts of it to stick up in their own directions. Tancred grinned to himself. He should see himself. "You know, 'cause we kinda need one, and sooner is normally better. I think."

Oh. Right. That whole last night thing hadn't been a crazy dream, Tancred thought darkly, making his previous grin disappear. "Tut wut, spit clown, eep," Tancred mumbled through a mouthful of food. He glared across the table, but the fact that his cheeks were rounded and full to bursting ruined the effect. He took another bite, chewing the food like he had his own personal vendetta against the poor things.

"Uh…What's a spit clown?" Charlie blinked, watching Tancred cautiously. "Don't like, all clowns spit?"

Tancred rolled his eyes, but he forked some more food into his mouth.

"Sit down, shut up, eat," Lysander translated, lazily walking back from the kitchen. He looked at Tancred curiously as he took a seat. "The real question, however, what did those poor pancakes ever do to harm you? Well, that and why are you up at thishour? It's pretty early; even I have to admit. I mean, you haven't gotten up before 8 on a weekend since…" His eyes widened comically. "Damn. I don't even know anymore!"

"But rup, Yanger," Tancred sputtered, trying to shovel more food into his mouth as he talked. "Iz pot dat wizz ff pa dewll."

"Yes, it is that big of a deal!" Lysander admonished, leaning back on his chair. He crossed his arms as he did this- making Charlie's slight ADD wonder how he even kept balanced upright on two legs- and seemed to actually take the situation seriously. Lysander scoffed, a faraway look in his eyes warning them of the potential his words would have. "Like, you're not even being grumpy too. Normally you're always grumpy after you get up, even on those days you stay sleeping in until way past noon. You normally don't even get out of the bed for an hour, at the minimum, either. You're like that Grouch thing from Sesame Street: angry for hours and a lazy bum who really doesn't do anything. Not to mention it, or he I should say, sleeps in a bigger-on-the-inside garbage can and talks to worms that make weird squeaky sounds that should give children nightmares."

Tancred's glare went by unnoticed, but Charlie's comment didn't. "I know that Tanc's house is strangely spacey, but wait, Sander, does that mean you're a weird worm that gives kids nightmares?"

Lysander scowled, making Tancred laugh, but continued without responding. "Your hair isn't even done! You have a thing against bed heads, and look at you! It's almost as bad as Char- well, no it isn't." Charlie scowled this time. "And you usually have this weird obsession with taking a shower right after get out of the bed, andyet you haven't! That's so-"

Tancred grunted, picking up a piece of his food with his fork and shoving it into his best friend's mouth as he was talking. Lysander rose his eyebrows, questioning this but not quite daring to say anything. He just began chewing obediently. Tancred nodded contently, taking his fork back after Lysander's face twisted in awe.

Charlie looked between the two, obviously confused. As before, Tancred sat there calmly, forking food into his mouth with a secretive little smile to himself that he probably didn't realize he wore, but Lysander on the other hand looked broken. He just sat there, working his jaw over and over as he chewed, eyes clouded again, but this time with wonder. Disturbed, Charlie cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Hey, you okay, Sander?"

The said boy didn't answer at all; he just chewed. Chew, chew, chew, chew, swallow. Chew. Chew. Chew…

"That ain't normal man," Charlie concernedly murmured, biting his lip. He waved his hand in front of the other boy's face. "Are you there? Sander?"

As with Lysander, Tancred's hand shot out across the table, forcing food into Charlie's mouth. Charlie protested, surprised at the sudden intrusion, but stopped shortly, and grabbed the fork. He chewed thoughtfully.

Tancred sighed exaggeratedly, grabbing a fork set out for someone else. He cut another piece of his food and promptly began eating. He almost groaned at the flavor. It couldn't get any better than this.

Gabriel walked in, trying his best to towel dry the water from his hair that stayed from his recent shower. He shook his head, decided that it's half-dry state was the most he could probably get done naturally, and let the towel drop down to his shoulders. Blinking he looked around, taking in the twin slack faces of Charlie and Lysander and the happy, stuffed face of Tancred. He frowned. "Uh, guys?"

"I…that…" Lysander muttered, swallowing the food.

"Amazing.." Charlie blurted.

"So you had them try the pancakes?" Mr. Newburt grinned, leaning sideways through the kitchen doorway so his loose flowered apron- "It's very manly thank you!" he had said one too many times- didn't show too much.

Tancred swallowed. "You could say that." He grinned back.

Gabriel gapped at the surprising picture. Elle's father's normally semi-neat brown curls were dusted with flour and more of the white substance was displayed on his face and arms, which showed muscle from how his t-shirt was rolled up. That looked nothing like his grammar teacher! Why could none of the Bloor's teachers be something other than old or scary? He nodded to Gabriel, seeming unaffected with his appearance and Gabriel's paralysis. "Mornin' son. Eat. Please. Before Tanc finishes it all."

Elle groaned, blinking sleep away. She moved to sit up but quickly diminished that thought. Her head hurt.

"So you're awake now? That's good," someone said beside her. "Very good. I was wondering when you would come around."

Shut up! She thought, gritting her teeth from the sudden eruptions of pain. She brought her knees up, curling in a classic fetal position, and covered her head with her hands. Elle groaned again. Her head was pulsing, her mouth felt hollow and stuffed with bags of cotton, and there was a sudden, undeniable urge to hurl rising. Whoever was talking was certainly was not helping in the slightest.

"You okay?" The person asked, managing to sound guarded yet slightly weary and confused.

She didn't even want to bother trying to put a face to that voice, although somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she recognized it from somewhere. He- or she; Elle couldn't quite tell through the dull pulsing from her ears- was being too damn loud.

The grating sound of a chair scooting over rough tiles came all too soon, making Elle wince. He- for only a guy wouldn't notice how much pain she was in- began talking again, although she happily noted it was noticeably quieter, "Hey, can you talk? If not don't answer."

She sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and answered reluctantly anyways, just to be rebellious. "Major headache. Please shut up."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Answering anyway doesn't make you rebellious." He pointed out. Elle managed to scowl. Who was this guy, a mind reader?

Elle breathed, trying to relax and even it out. She squeezed her eyes tighter, hoping it might help the pain subside. It worked a bit, and she opened her eyes as tiny slits as some of the pain eased away. She took in the view directly before her and paled even further. She saw off-white walls, only slightly covered by two drawers for presumably clothes, a couple picture frames on top of them, and an open window, its pale blue shutters flapping pointlessly in the slight breeze. Although she was still in her dress and her hair was, if not slightly messy from sleep, sprayed into whatever fancy 'do Olivia had managed it in, this was obviously not the ballroom, and the sheets over her made it obvious that this was obviously not her bed. Or her house even. "What the hell happened last night?" Elle muttered, hating the raspy sound of her voice and racking through her memories to find out where she was.

"So you're better now?" The guy asked cautiously.

"Yes, thanks for asking," she said, turning to look at him. Elle gaped, her eyes finally widening to their full merit. "Dagbert?"

"No, I'm Marcus, Dagbert's twin brother," he replied sarcastically, the concern in his voice completely fading to leave Elle wondering if it was ever even there, or if she had just been imagining it.

"Well, then, Marcus-"

"Yes, it's Dagbert!" He sighed exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. "Are you dense or something?"

"Bloody kid with no humor…" She muttered to herself. Elle stiffened, remembering everything in a rush. She frowned, her eyes regaining their steel. "What am I doing here!" She demanded, grabbing him by the front of his shirt roughly. She pulled him closer to her, snarling angrily, "What'd you do? Better yet, where am I?"

"Nothing!" He blurted frantically, not expecting the attack and not able to defend himself in his tired state. "I swear, I haven't done anything! I don't even know why you're here! They just dumped you here after you, um, fainted, and told me to make sure you weren't dead. And to make sure you stay undead, I guess. I didn't touch you, I swear."

Elle's frown deepened, but it wasn't a lie. She could tell from his panicked expression. Great, now I feel bad for assaulting someone. This is going swimmingly. She loosened her grip until he slumped back fully in his chair, sighing. "Alright, fine. Where is here though?"

"Oh. Right." Dagbert coughed uncomfortably. "This is my, uh, house, home, whatever. They drove us over to my place."

"Who's they?"

"Dr. Bloor and that old fart Ezekiel obviously." He scoffed, but the derisive note left his voice as he began talking again. "Manfred volunteered, but of course, they refused, thinking he'd lead you elsewhere, and they couldn't have that." He sneered.

"Why would Manfred-"

"Shit, I did not tell you that." He cursed, hitting himself for letting anything slip. "Just forget it."

"But-"

"Just forget it." He repeated firmly.

"But-"

"Do you have anything other to ask?" Dagbert interrupted, eyeing her warily. "Please, just don't remember it."

Elle sighed; obviously she couldn't ask about whatever he was talking about. She tried to run a hand through her hair , like she did when stressed, but scowled as her hand snagged a few pins and whatnot. "Alright. Why am I here?"

"I told you already, I don't know why you're here. I guess it's because…everyone else has stuff to do and they don't have room or something."

"And you do?"

"I live alone." He replied bluntly, looking away.

"Oh." Elle chewed her lip, the kind part of her urging her to comfort him and ask why, but the rational side screeching "he's the enemy!" and preventing her from doing anything. "Well, where am I? And don't say your place, I already know that."

"This is my room," He responded tiredly, knowing he was going to get bombarded with more questions.

"Your…room."

"Yes."

"So, I'm on your…bed."

He blushed, shocking her. "Well, I couldn't very well leave you on the floor or something. I may be your enemy, but I am the son of a Lord and I do have my manners." Dagbert explained defensively.

Elle blinked owlishly. "But I thought you said you had room."

"I did, but I didn't say I had other usable ones. They're all pretty much empty except for the kitchen and bathroom." He reddened again, clashing with his greenish hair and pallor, yet it somehow made him look younger and kind of…she hated to admit it, but adorable. He glared as she chuckled quietly, thinking it was at him. "So, I guess I'll have to find a way to find you a sleeping bag or something depending on how long you'll be here."

"Oh. Wait, if this is your bed, how did you sleep?…Oh my god, you-"

"NO!" Dagbert rushed horrified. "I…haven't yet."

"What? But you-"

He sighed, trying to come up with an excuse other than the oh-yeah-I-didn't-exactly-fancy-sleeping-on-the-floor-or-getting-into-bed-with-you-you-know that was threatening to come out. "I had to make sure you weren't dead remember?"

She scowled. This guy's nothing more than a big…bloody…butt. Yeah, I won't let anything distract me from his big bloody buttliness…Dammit. But he stayed up to make sure I was okay! And I invaded his bed! I shouldn't feel bad for my enemy! "Uh, thanks." She conceded bitterly.

He rubbed his neck, keeping his head down. "Don't worry about it." He muttered.

It was silent.

Uncomfortably so.

"So, uh, what happened?" Elle asked, trying to break it. "I mean, I know I passed out and stuff but, you know, I wasn't here and I didn't have a major mind breakdown."

Dagbert nodded. "No, you weren't. Okay, where to start?"

"I think you should start after the whole Joshua-put-crap-in-my-drink part." She answered dryly.

"Well, okay." He inhaled deeply, preparing for a long story…

Short, I know. But this is basically a kind of…filler chapter I guess, not that much is all that important in here, really, 'cause I just needed a way to put an announcement without breaking any rules or whatnot. Right, well, I'll get to it.

So, basically, I know my updates have been excruciatingly (for me anyway) slooooowwwwww, and that's 'cause while I try to write, I keep ending up writing other parts of the story. Mainly the ending. Or different scenarios for the ending I should say. Which isn't doing me any good. -_-' So, I'm going to outline everything that happens before it happens so I can get over this Imma-plan-50-different-endings-for-no-particular-reason. BLAH.

Thanks for staying with me, if you have. (:

R&R!

~tubs.

Word Count: 2356

Next time! What happened at the ball? Where'd the bad guys go? And what's up with Dagbert's crazy girlfriend?