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"Tourmaline! Get down here! They'll be here any minute!" Slush called up from the kitchen, where he was making sandwiches. Dalton's were already finished, as the peanut butter (crunchy) and marshmellow fluff ones weren't too hard to make. Tourma's however, well they were a bit of an ordeal, but Slush didn't mind so much because he had gotten used to this whole vegetarian thing that she had gotten into lately.

By the time his daughter had arrived downstairs, Slush had finished the grilled veggie sandwiches for Tourma and packed them away into the basket he was preparing for the pair.

"TOURM- Oh! There you are!" He grinned when he turned around and was faced with his bemused looking daughter.

She was dressed in a bright, colorful skirt and a tank top. It was obvious that she was taking advantage of the warm weather, and that Isto didn't see her before she came downstairs. "No meat right?" The SM asked, peering over the counter and into the basket with a look of scrutiny.

"Of course not darling," he replied, packing in some sandwich baggies of apple slices, chips, and strawberries. Also packed were some bottles of Naked juice and a bottle of milk for Dalton.

"Good," she replied while he was putting the finishing touches on the picnic supplies, Slush shooed Tourma, who gave him a bored look as she went to find her flip flops before they arrived.

Surprisingly enough, it was Slush who had managed to bound to the door first, not Tourma, who had been only yards away when the doorbell rang.

"Hey guy- MY you've grown! Fifth already?" Slush chattered excitedly before opening the door wider and stepping aside for Dalton to come inside. "You two have fun!" He threw them a wink before waving them off.

Tourmaline was patiently leaning on the stairs' railing, expecting to see the same, though possibly bigger, Dalton. She wasn't in the least expecting him to be like her so soon. Needless to say, she was shocked, and her wide eyes and silence spoke for themselves.

"I'll go get the basket and stuff," her father commented briskly, leaving the two of them alone for a bit and intentionally taking his time.

"You're..." Tourma made a gesture towards him with her hand, eyes lifting to stare rather rudely at his hair. "You have cotton candy for hair..." Trailing off, she bit her lip as to not say what else she was thinking, as it would be rather not nice to suddenly proclaim redundantly that he was, in fact, black.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't get a mohawk," she said absently, glancing into the kitchen to see what was taking her mother so long. Really, he had everything carefully stacked together moments ago, how hard could bringing the pile outside really be?

His comment about her bracelet caused her to look down at her wrist, twisting it a bit as if examining it. "I figured... I should wear it." Yes, that seemed like the right answer. She returned the grin just as Slush returned with the basket, blanket, and a bag for the trash.

"Here you go, do you need hel--"

"No Mom, I can carry it." She interrupted, rolling her eyes before reaching up and taking the basket from him. Had it not been for her metal, the basket probably would have been too heavy for her, but as she was, it was quite light and managable. "Let's go," Tourma said simply to Dalton, giving a backwards glance to her beaming mother before heading out the door.

It was a short walk to their quaint little garden, and she set down the basket under a rather large oak tree before moving to lay down the blanket Slush had provided. "Sorry about him, Mom get's... Strange sometimes."

She blinked and simply stared for a moment as he sat in the middle of the blanket, having just witnessed his flip of embarassment. Unfortunately, it was too funny not to laugh, and so she did, while attempting to cover her mouth. "Ah... Sorry. I'm not laughing -at- you," Tourma attempted to explain as she sat down across from him carefully, she was wearing a skirt afterall.

Pulling the basket between them, she began to pull the various foods and the like from it, seperating them out accordingly. It was obvious to see which was his and which were hers sandwhich wise, simply because hers were exceedingly healthy for someone her age. "But yeah, Dad's worse... He nearly has a hernia if I so much as show any skin now that it's summer. It's annoying."

Maybe changing the subject would help?

"Awesome. I'd offer to beat him up, but I'm afraid I'd do some major damage..." She trailed off, following his lead and taking a bite of her own sandwich happily. Once she had swallowed, she answered his question, "Mom's the one who packed it." Obviously, Slush had been up to something.

Even though she knew this bit of information already, she couldn't help but blush at the compliment. It was quickly disguised with a hmph of displeasure at the mention of her father actually being 'right.' "I can take care of myself! I'm not a little kid anymore. God."

Really, she was able to do a lot more than other kids her age simply because of her strength alone, but then again, she couldn't just go for a swim like most people could. Either way, she could take care of herself!

She look surprised when he got defensive almost immediately, but simply took a rather violent bite of her sandwhich before reassuring him. "I'm not mad at you, and you wouldn't understand... You've never seen the state Dad gets in. I wouldn't be surprised if has a shotgun prepared for the first guy I date."

Shaking her head, she opened her own bottle of juice, taking a long swig of it before plowing into her sandwhich again.

Tourma choose to continue eating and say nothing in response to the current topic. Of course his parents wouldn't be like Isto, he was a guy and it really didn't seem like either of them were over protective. Not like her dad, in the least.

"A choreographer," she said almost instantly, finishing up her sandwich quickly. "Music videos and maybe even for bigger things. All else fails I'll be a dance teacher or something. What about you?" It was obvious that she loved to dance, because she positively lit up at the topic.

She raised an eyebrow momentarily before dropping it and acting as though she had heard no sort of compliment to her figure. Before she could change the subject however, he did it for her, and a smug grin pulled across her face.

"I help Dad with his motorcycle when he's off work, and when I was younger I used to take things apart and fix them. Make them work better even, which I still do, but I started young." Secretly, she had been making plans to 'borrow' Isto's bike when she got a little bigger.

"Babcia said that I could learn do drive with one of her cars if I wanted," Tourma said proudly, obviously bragging as she rummaged around in the food for a baggy of apple slices. She immediately began munching on them while continuing to pay attention to Dalton. "I think I'd like... Or rather need to have a car, regardless of if I got a motorcycle or not. Just because of the winters..."

Trailing off, she took another bite of apple to occupy her mouth with.

She didn't see anything wrong with, or really signifigant with hand brushing that he'd have to apologize for, but she accepted it anyways with a wave of her hand.

"I think it looks like Cody, only better looking," the SM commented with a snort, eyes scanning upwards for a bit as if she were looking for another option for Cody. Nope, that was the weirdest cloud. Definitely Cody. It probably smelled like horse butt too.

"Cody's an adopted brother, and yes... They're all adopted. There's Gwen, L'aven, Violet, Cody, and Faust... Though he's been away for a while." She made it clear that she was the only one that -wasn't- adopted, but otherwise didn't seem against any of them, except Cody obviously. "And you just have Adam right?"

She stopped eating and gave him a curious look that was shadowed by a frown, "What do you mean they usually have twins...?" Did she have a twin? Did she have a twin out there somewhere, and if so, why didn't her parents keep her? Absently, she ran her hand over a piece of metal on her forearm.

"Complications," she repeated, glancing down where she had been rubbing and completely ignoring his jovial comment. Tourma knew Isto was 'worse' off as far as the metal was concerned, but she really hadn't been told the extent of it. Nor had he told her why he has an entire metal arm while she simply had flecks here and there.

She seemed just as startled, and immediately brushed away the frown and question of concern. "I'm fine." A lie, but she didn't really like to be a sissy, weak girl, especially to a guy. Absently, she crossed and uncrossed her legs to divert attention away from the topic. X did it all the time on Jack, and it seemed to work quite well there.

Tourma, of course, acted as if nothing had happened, but dutifully noted his reaction in the back of her mind for future reference. "We could go inside. I mean, my room's a lot smaller than the one back at Babcia's, but I'm sure both of us could fit." It was obvious that she was exaggerating about the size. Yes, it was small, but the only reason it bothered her was because X's place was much bigger.

"It's really boring her though, that's why I'm usually at the studio or something," she shrugged, tilting her head as she watched him placidly, tail giving the blanket a resounding thump behind her.

"Mom made it," she commented, "But you're welcome."

Standing, she helped him clean things up, and almost protested at him carrying the basket, stopping herself with a sort of smug smile. This was something that she could get used to, boys doing things for her.

Tail swishing behind her, Tourma walked with him back to the house.

She raised an eyebrow at his question, but pointed upstairs nonetheless. "I think it's clean?" It was a bit of a lie, as it always seemed that there was one thing or another in the way. Like clothes, both clean and dirty, workout stuff, and a rather large amount of fashion magazines that were usually tucked haphazardly under her bed. A few drawers had forgotten to be shut as well, one being the underwear drawer, but that was remedied the moment she walked in as she attempted to give her room a quick cleaning for her guest. "Close the door, or my dad'll be snooping."

"It's too small," she replied as she picked up some of the dirty clothes and tossed them into the open hamper in her closet. As an afterthought, her gym bag was also thrown in there so she'd have a place to sit on the floor, but before she sat down, she strode across the room and locked the door. Not that it'd matter with Isto, really, but then she could always yell at him for breaking her door knob and make him feel guilty.

"I'm usually out or in the garage tinkering, so there's not much to do in here I guess... But it's the only place away from the parents..." Maybe he'd suggest doing something?

After careful consideration, Tourma sat on the newly cleared off floor and leaned against her bed. This way, she could stretch out her legs and not worry about the fact that she was wearing a skirt. "Fixing anything that needs fixed, and helping Dad with his bike."

It was night and, at last… the skies were calm. The only signs that they had been raging all the day and the night before remained in the form of those grey puddles of dank mud that spotted the ground, and in the almost eerie quiet that pursued the storm. In the SMO headquarters, a man peeled a curtain away to stare out into the darkness- seeing only a black, quiet sky.

Jen sighed, and let the curtain drop, turning back to where his cousin sat. Tawn turned at the sound of the sigh.

“Something wrong?”

The redheaded skull monkey anthro shook his head. “No. Just tired. Read that number back to me again.”

“4,678g.” Tawn thumbed through the rest of the papers. “It looks like that’s the final count. Did you want last quarter’s, too?”

“No. That’s all taken care of. It’s just this one that’s… floating.” Jen walked wide around the old couch to practically collapse next to his cousin. His arms, his spine- even his tail he let lay limp against the slightly musty-smelling brown material. They’d been running over the accounting figures for hours, trying to reconcile their current debt amount with any possible way of acquiring the funds. Jen found that his mind- quite like the sky outside… was quiet, almost deadened- struck to muteness by how tired he’d become.

He turned his head towards Tawn- it was the only body part he bid move, letting the rest hang limp. “How about a loan from your mother?”

It was the black man’s turn to shake his head, his eyes still rapt on the figures ahead of him. He, too, was tired- nearly exhausted- but where Jen had become collapsible, the father of two was almost statue-like: stoic, and rigid where he sat, his sleeves pushed up to the elbows and his jaw set into an acharacteristically solid line.

“She wouldn’t consider it a loan. We’d never be able to give it back to her. I’d prefer it to be a last resort. …What about Aunt Keppit?”

Jen lolled his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Still in The Past. But she’s pretty much strapped at the moment.”

“What about Ranald?”

If Jen noticed the lack of the word ‘Aunt’ on Tawn's part- he didn’t remark on it. He realized how touchy their odd living situation was with that side of the family. Best that they come to terms with that on their own time. “I doubt it. No one in the family really knows her finances. …If she even has any.” He laughed. It was a dry, half-hearted chuckle, diminished mostly by the yawn that crept up behind it.

If Tawn had something to say in response, however- it would never be heard. They were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Something about it echoed through the house- whether it was for the sake of the knocker, or that the headquarters, so abandoned at that hour of the night, had become cavernous- for whatever reason, both were struck by how booming, how insistent the sound. Tawn’s hands were still filled with the papers, so he nodded in the direction of the hallway. Jen only sighed and eased himself out of his languid position, moving towards the door even as the knocking continued- louder, more impatient.

“Hold on, hold on,” he called as he neared the great wooden double doors, “I’m coming. How can I help…” he was muted again- now, not by a yawn. If anything, the sight that revealed itself as he swung open the doors had wakened him- fully, and instantly.

A woman stood on the step before him- clothed nearly head to toe in an insistent wrap which allowed only the barest strip of skin above and below her eyes- which had also been freed- to show. She was also soaked- no doubt, she had been outside since before the rain had ceased… and in her arms, a woman who seemed half dead hung, water dripping from her fingertips where they lay slack and pointed to the earth, and also from her tail. Jen had only time to notice the black and white tail on the woman- and also, a familiar sort of white furred ears- when the woman who carried her thrust her into his arms.

“Oh good. You’re still here this late. Help me take her inside.” The woman’s voice was deep and gravelly- yet soothing, in a way. She brushed passed Jen as he struggled- not with the weight of the anthro SMO in his arms, but rather, the lack of balance he faced from having been so suddenly surprised with the burden. He turned, though, and followed the swaddled woman into the center.

“Who are you? And… how do you know who we are?” He said we, then, for Tawn had come, surprised at the voice, to stand in the doorway which led to the hall.

The woman narrowed her eyes- though it seemed more of a punctuation of her speech than a sign of irritation. “My name is Vayle. I’m an Escort. This is Luna. And we don’t know who you are. Just what. …You are a Skull Monkey Headquarters, are you not? We were here earlier this week... but no one was here.”

“Yes. ...I mean, yes, we're the Skull Monkey Headquarters.” Tawn chimed in from the down the hall, and Vayle spun to see him.

“Good. Then I’m assuming you can help take care of Luna.” She turned, quite matter-of-factly, and walked to where Tawn stood. She peered in at the main room as if considering, then nodded. “This will do. Come, you can lay her down in here.” And then, without another word, Vayle disappeared into the main room, leaving the two startled cousins to stand slack-jawed at each other for a moment. Then Jen adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms and hurried to do as the ‘Escort’ had said. Tawn followed- and only after Jen had laid her down on the couch did he straighten and turn back to Vayle.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Vayle had taken up position behind the couch, her mummy-like hands in all their tight swaddling resting on her hips as she looked down, ever the protector. She shrugged at Jen’s question- still looking down at Luna.

“We don’t know, exactly. Only that it’s not Smog. Well, she has Smog, of course, but this is something different. Her symptoms are provoking it, though. Speeding it along.” She looked up at Jen- Tawn had since knelt down to examine Luna more closely. “She only got this sick when we hit the shore.”

“The shore? …Where do you come from?” Jen raised a reddish brown eyebrow- his curiosity about their origins outweighing that of the ‘smog’ issue- but before Vayle could answer, Tawn interrupted.

“Jen… you’re going to want to take a look at this.” There was a peculiar tone to his voice, and Jen obeyed- kneeling down almost immediately. Tawn was the cousin he had always been closest to: for although the man had always been older than him, they were closer in age than many of their own siblings- and had, to some extent grown up together. So Jen knew that when Tawn- ever the consummate ‘gentleman’- interrupted… it was something important.

He hadn’t been down on Luna’s level for three seconds that the woman jerked in her sleep- and sprayed a noxious vomit all over the redheaded man.

They all quieted a moment in shock as the vile smell hit the air, and the substance- almost purely liquid- dripped from Jen’s cheeks and soaked into his shirt. It was thick, but not so thick that it obscured the swirling marks on his cheeks. He had been thrown up on before- he was, after all, a father and quite familiar with the company of the young… but it was never, ever an experience… that he would become ‘used’ to.

“Yup.” He finally said. “She’s sick alright. Thanks Tawn. I think I would have taken your word for it.”

His cousin, who had since stood and walked to the corner to get a towel that waited there- shook his head. “No. I don’t mean that.” He handed the bit of cloth to Jen. “I meant those.” He pointed to a very particular point on Luna, and after he’d wiped his face clean, Jen saw what his cousin had intended him to see: several raised lines against the unconscious Skull Monkey’s neck, beneath which a red, almost lace-like framework rested.

Jen turned in surprise to Vayle. “She has gills?”

The Escort crossed her arms before her irritably. “Of course she has gills. Don’t any of you?”

Tawn and Jen had only the presence of mind to shake their heads dumbly. Then it was Vayle’s turn to look surprised.

“Well.” She dropped her arms, flustered. “We’ve heard that the Shore Monkeys are a little different… but we figured that was mostly custom-based. You mean to say you don’t have any of the random mutations?”

The looks on their faces prevented Vayle from having to hear their answers aloud. She shook her head and joined the silence. Tawn took the opportunity to stand.

“I think she’s going to be okay. It just looks like a V Tech Virus. …They were going around like mad a few months ago.” He turned to Jen. “Airborne. Dalton had it, and so did Sarabi. Perhaps it took a while for it to get to… where did you say you were from?” The latter he referred to Vayle.

“I didn’t. Origin Island. Thank you… for Luna, I mean. She’s always getting herself into trouble- thus why I came with her.”

“But why did you come here, exactly?” Jen asked. Tawn had left- he’d gone to find a blanket somewhere on the edges of the main room, where the younger SMO’s often crashed during their mid-play naptimes.

“Well, I’m just The Escort. Luna here was supposed to be the Emissary- we’ve heard you’ve found a way to live with Smog.” Vayle laughed then- her gravelly voice thick with a sort of ironic mirth. “I’m sorry- I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just that Luna is so… well… impetuous. It’s strange to call her the Emissary.” Her voice, though chiding, was also filled with a sort of warmth- and Jen could sense that she had a true fondness for the girl. “…She was only chosen to come because she’s the least contagious.”

An alarm went off in Jen’s head- and Tawn froze where he stood, having just returned and tucked Luna into the blanket.

“Contagious?”

“Well, why would you think I’d be swaddled?” Vayle put her hands on her hips again, petulant for the sake of the two slow-witted anthros. “I don’t exactly want the Skull Monkey Plague now, do I?”

Jen’s head was suddenly a recording center- and in it, he rewound the events of the past few minutes. He had carried Luna to the couch… Tawn had prodded at her gills, and felt her pulse- held his hand against her clammy skin… and Jen was still sticky, his shirt sweet with the results of her sickness. The Skull Monkey Plague. The world shrank.

“The Plague?” It was Tawn’s voice- deep, incredulous- and even, Jen sensed… afraid. “We’ve never heard of it. …The SMO’s are a generally healthy bunch.”

Vayle, her eyes wide with something- whether it be fear, or realization- shook her head, and drew her brown cloth tighter around her head. She looked at Tawn- then settled her eyes on Jen, a sort of apology waiting in her green eyes.

“Not anymore…”

Luna, where she lay, still unconscious- coughed up a sort of raw, white sputum… and then shuddered a bit before lying still once more. Tawn and Jen could only bring themselves to stare, open-eyed and slack jawed… at what they feared was a harbinger of what was to come.