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.How To Catch A Leprechaun.

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.Tip #21: Where possible, avoid running into Irish half-wits who are under the impression that they're omniscient.

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I was prepared to make a stand. I was going to make a difference, and judging by the odor coming from my associates, they were more than prepared to sacrifice their personal hygiene if it meant one more tree was saved.

I wanted the chance to put those loggers in their place. Starve them with pollution and cut them limb from limb with their malevolent chainsaws. Teach them a lesson. Good does prevail, stamping out evil in its own lecherous residue. We, we were pro environment and damn proud.

I was a crusader for the environment, just as Robin Hood was Mother Theresa to the poor. In the words of my Environmental studies professor, my fellow protestors and I were modern day prophets. I had taken his words to heart, but I wasn't sure I believed them now that I had to stand on a rickety podium that the government had provided for 'all those nut-cases obsessed with trees' and address my fellow lumberjack haters.

I cleared my throat and took a drink of water from my glass. Due to nerves, the glass barely made it to my mouth before the water had a chance to react to gravity and soak the ground. Mentally, I berated myself for wasting the precious liquid. There were people in third world countries dying from the lack of uncontaminated water.

A few drops splashed onto my 'Save the Earth' tee that I'd bought at a convention a few months before, and I hoped that no one would notice my failure to adhere to the strict 'no water wasters' policy that the organizers had put on the grounds. I gazed out at the sea of faces and spotted a few of what I termed 'regulars'. They were the dedicated people that had devoted their whole lives to saving the environment. They were my role models, and I only hoped that I would be able to make even half the difference that these admirable picketers had.

"My fellow enthusiasts," I spoke out to the horde, not bothering to take notice of the boy sporting the lopsided, red Mohawk.

It was quite possibly one of the most idiotic mistakes I had made that morning. It seemed as though all of my decisions this week had been nothing but ones that ended rather negatively. Earlier, I had accidentally let my inner demon run away with hunger. For god sakes, I ate dairy. I'd broken one of the biggest codes in the vegan handbook.

My eyes swept over the crowd once again. "It has recently come to my attention that despite the many letters or protests we've sent the city council, they have remained steadfast with their decision to continue logging one of the old forests surrounding our city.

"The time has come, I believe, to take action into our own hands. We need to show the council that we will not tolerate the atrocious and abhorrent way that they have been defacing our forests!

"It is time to take initiative and to prove to these people that we are immovable in our decision to take matters further!

"I am here to propose an alternative method of protesting! My fellow picketers, we have tried for months to make the government see reason through various petitions, protests and meetings! Yet, have they listened to us, even once?

"The answer is no, and from this moment forward we will need to do more than vocally object; we need to act now!

"The extreme method of protesting that I am talking about is, of course, physically attaching ourselves to the loggers' machinery.

"We need to stage our protests not here, but in the direct path of the very monsters who are allowing this vandalism to continue! The time has come to do something other than sit here and complain! Are you with me?" I bellowed out to the crowd.

My speech had become so passionate that in my euphoria I failed to notice the absent reactions of the crowd. Breathing heavily, I followed their gaze to the back of the park that the protest was being staged at. A small blur was pushing its way through the crowd, and a feeling of nausea swept through me as I realized who it was.

"Sonny," I breathed heavily into the microphone. My face blanched when my younger brother's lit into a fully-fledged grin. Before I had a chance to make an escape, avoiding any surefire scenes of embarrassment, Sonny was right next to me on the podium. Trouble followed him like the little pothead he was.

"Hiya Rowe," he greeted, slurred words booming out into the crowd. Nervously, I bit my lip and slapped my hand over the microphone, signaling to the technician to cut the power to it. The technician just shrugged. I frowned at Sonny.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded in a hushed voice, nearly gagging when I got a whiff of the marijuana that was reeking from his pores. It was only then that I took time to absorb in his appearance. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot, clothes torn and threadbare in certain areas. Indeed, he was the one sporting the lopsided Mohawk, not to mention his partially shaved eyebrow. He looked as if he'd just emerged from the ghetto. For some odd reason, I had a feeling he did.

"Mom and Dad," his voice squeaked on the last word, "goin' on a sm-smarmy cruise. I getta stay with you." His o's and u's were drug out, but I didn't pay much attention to that. Instead, I directed my attention on the word 'cruise'.

I had made it clear to them, continuously, that cruises such as the ones they had been looking in to were nothing but an environmental hazard in the making. Because of the commercial cruise lines, a vast amount of feces and waste was being cast off into the oceans and seas each year, not to mention all of the marine wildlife that fell victim to the propellers. I felt disgusted to be the daughter of people who partook in such debacles.

Pushing my current distress aside, I refocused my attention on Sonny. "Go back to my apartment, Sonny," I said, grounding my words out. In attempts to appease the encroaching crowd, I threw them a false smile. "I'll deal with you later."

Intentionally, Sonny ignored my words. His eyes followed my extended arm, and halted when they spotted the microphone. "What's this?" he asked, words seemingly sober.

"Sonny," I warned, slightly hesitant to slap my brother for fear of angering the 'down with child abuse' organization. If they had extensively known Sonny as I did, I doubt they would have had any qualms with my use of corporal punishment. Regrettably, they did not realize he was the progeny of Republicans.

He had knocked me out of the way before I had a chance to know what he was doing. The arm that was blocking the microphone was now clutching my cotton shirt, in attempts to restrain myself. Sonny gave the crowd an all-knowing grin. His eyes focused back onto me as well as they could. His pupils were dilated, and his breath reeked when he opened his mouth to talk.

I held my hand up to my mouth, frantically shaking my head. I closed my eyes, dreading the words that would come next.

His voice sprung to life, illuminated any pretenses that he had came stoned. Knowingly, I let out a deep breath and tried to steady my shaking. He was going to award me with a permanent ban from the Environmentalist Guild, and I just knew Sonny was going to be my catalyst for a premature heart attack. I only wished that I had succumbed to the heart attack before he had a chance to speak. I would die without shame.

"Hey Rowe! KFC is having a major cookage." his oily voice easily slid over the crowd. I cringed. "Get your lazy ass off this podium and give me a damn ride." His voice had hardened, but he still wasn't done. It was on his agenda to humiliate me further. "The pork chops you made last night didn't settle right and…oh yeah, I think the cops found my fucking stash in your car. There's ticket in the window. Don't worry, I'll bail you out of jail even if it's your fault for parking in the handicap zone."

My face flushed with embarrassment. Would the kid ever shut up? For years I had drilled the concept of free speech into his admittedly vacant head, yet it was whilst I was in the midst of promoting one of the most worthy causes of all time for demonstrators everywhere that he chose to prove just how articulate he was!

Sonny dropped his voice to a whisper and added confidentially to the crowd, "She even uses paper towels because she can't be bothered washing cloth ones."

I clenched and unclenched my fist. He'd stepped over the line - he'd stepped so far over the line that if it had been a race, he would have been disqualified with honors.

The shocked gasp from the crowd was more than enough to alert me to the fact that I had fallen in these peoples' eyes. The look of disgust on the chairman's face as he gazed at me made me squirm in my locally-made-and-produced shoes. Even the 'Babies Against Diapers' group were looking at me in revulsion.

My palms felt sweaty and I took a deep breath in a tenacious effort to calm myself down and believe that the situation was not nearly as lost as I knew it was.

"Um." I resisted the urge to jump up and down and yell madly, 'It's not true, it's not true! He's the one that uses a synthetic bong!'

Instead, I managed to compose a weak ending statement. "Thank you all for coming to this worthwhile cause. I appreciate it, the trees appreciate it and Mother Nature appreciates it. If you could all drop by Ginger over there and sign up for a shift at the demolition site, we'd all be very grateful. Thank you."

I breathed a sigh of relief—Sonny hadn't said anything to interrupt my 'farewell'—perhaps the disaster that was the latest convention I'd headed could be salvaged after all. Frowning as I wondered why it was exactly that he hadn't said anything, I frantically glanced around for the feral child that was Sonny Jones—and noticed him making a beeline for the sign up stand, or more specifically, Ginger, with an insidious look on his grubby face.

My legs immediately bound down the podium and after the little worm, following his trail of scum that came from a week without showering. I appreciated that he wasn't wasting water—even if it wasn't his intent, but there was only so much filth that one could acquire before it was absolutely necessary to wash off the grime.

It wasn't long before I was at his side, trying to mask my blatant abhorrence for his infatuation with Ginger. His beady, brown eyes were raking over Ginger's curvaceous form, lingering in certain areas. I'd tried to convince my mother it would be best for the family, and the female population if we had Sonny castrated, but she just waved off my reasoning with the excuse that 'boys will be boys'.

Ginger pursed her plump lips as she gave Sonny a look of revulsion. He didn't seem to take the hint, instead, he grabbed her hand. A layer of dirt transferred onto Ginger's hand. She tried to snatch it back, but Sonny's grip was firm.

"Mon cheri," Sonny said with a pathetic attempt at a French accent.

Ginger plastered a constipated smile across her face, drawing off any superfluous attention. She squeezed her hand around Sonny's. A flash of pain appeared on his face, but it disappeared rapidly.

Her voice was cherubic; Ginger was anything but. "Touch me again you little cretin," she threatened with an elegant smile, "and I'll make sure you never make it through puberty."

"Is that a promise?" he asked in what he thought was a husky voice. I knew my mother shouldn't have read him her romance stories to him when he was prepubescent. She turned him into a pervert who thought heavy breathing was sexy.

"Count on it." She was brusque, but Sonny wasn't deterred. I grabbed Sonny's arm, making sure my almost nonexistent nails bit into his skin, and started to drag him away from the crowd. His hand slid off Ginger's. While she was still looking, he laced his lips with saliva and blew her a kiss.

He gave her his parting words. "Hey Ginge. You can Gilligan my Island anytime." To my horror, he meowed. I tightened my grip around his arm, cutting of the circulation, and began to drag him away from the assembly. If the choice was mine to make, I would have drug him away from humanity.

Ginger's cry of indignation was the last thing I heard before we rounded the corner and neared the dilapidated alleyway next to the park. Digging my nails into his arm, I hauled Sonny down the curb and started dragging him towards the other end, muttering furiously under my breath as I did so.

The idea alone of the little cretin taking it upon himself to ruin the very convention that I'd put hours into meticulously organizing was enough to make my face contort with rage. I had to physically restrain myself from hitting my brother over the head with a very tempting looking brick on the side of the pavement. The urge to clobber him increased tenfold with every rusty object we passed. Maybe an infection would clear his head.

Sonny suddenly stopped his vacuous snickering and paused. "Hey, I know this place," he said excitedly—or at least as excitedly as he could get without passing out. By now, I was sure layers upon layers of tar coated his lungs. He didn't snore at night, he wheezed.

"That's nice," I mumbled dejectedly. I harshly tugged at his arm once more. Sonny nearly tripped over his feet but quickly regained his balance.

"Yeah," he continued, ignoring me, "I got some top quality dope from Johnny DeMiraz for a really smash price-"

"Johnny DeMiraz?" I screeched. My nails tore at the flesh of his arms. That little traitor. "The very same Johnny DeMiraz running from the police?"

Sonny gave me a blank look as if I'd just asked the most idiotic question he'd ever heard. "Yeah…"

My eyes widened, not believing him. "The one that refused to stop growing marijuana in the Argentine rainforests, and now all the animals are too whacked out to be able to tell predator from prey so they're all…dying?"

"Uh." Sonny paused and thought so hard I could almost hear the clogs whirring in the empty head of his. "Yeah, I guess so."

I pinched his arm, just hard enough for him to cry out. "I can't believe you would support that crack-head's affluent estate. It's only going to go to one of his sixty-five illegitimate kids, who'll end up getting shot by a rival gang member anyway," I bitterly reasoned.

It wasn't even an hour into Sonny's stopover and I was already ready to disown him. Maybe I'd ship him off to Johnny DeMiraz's. After all, he appeared to be unperturbed with one of America's Most Wanted. I was betting Sonny would be on that list by the time he reached nineteen. He was doing a fantastic job at it so far.

Sonny shrugged, and kicked a tin can out of his path. It bounced off a brick wall and settled by a pile of canine excretions. "Just because your friends are wasting the money you gave them to buy chains to bet on how many hectares of the Yosemities National Park will get burnt by pyros this year-"

"Why would they be buying chains?"

Sonny snorted. "Isn't that what you tree huggers do? I've heard you have quite the collection," he said provocatively, letting a greasy smirk cross his features.

"What?" My incredulous tone was enough for Sonny to wince. Judging by the sweat beading on his forehead, I could tell that he was coming down from his high – his hearing always became hypersensitive when he was on a low. It was even more of an incentive to raise my voice a few octaves higher.

"You-heard-me," he said, willing to push me as far as possible.

I clenched my jaw and impulsively shoved him. He didn't fall as I had anticipated. For being a stoner, the twit had incredible balance. I, on the other hand, could trip on my own feet if I wasn't careful. When it wasn't necessary, I refused to use the stairs, even if they were more beneficial to the environment. It was a dirty little secret of mine.

"I don't partake in acts of sadomasochism," I snapped, angrily kicking some of the garbage littering the ground.

Half of the debris was recyclable. Did people not care about the environment anymore? I made a mental note to notify the 'Trash is Gold' cleanup crew about the alley; it was imperative that I mentioned the possibility of contaminated syringes. If Sonny bought his dope from here, I didn't want to know what the heavy abusers bought.

"Oh," he said doubtfully. "Isn't that why Roderick Deleuze dumped your pathetic ass? He found your cache of handcuffs and chains."

"Our breakup was consensual," I said, trying to assure myself more than Sonny.

Roderick and I had an unstable relationship to begin with, but at the time, I thought I was in love. My feelings for him made it easier for me to overlook his appalling habits. He wasted food, took long showers, and worst of all—he littered. Love is blind. So true. It was only after I confronted him about rumors of his infidelity, he broke up with me. The man had enough gall to tell me, 'The only thing worse than being alone, is being with you'.

"Oh please, you cried your fucking­ eyes out for weeks," divulged Sonny. "Even Mom and Dad noticed."

I shook my head, not wanting to discuss my personal life with my brother. He'd never been in a relationship that lasted more than two weeks. Mine lasted two years and three months. I sped up my languid pace, tired of dealing with Sonny. He was exhausting, even more so than a hangover.

"Rowe," yelled Sonny from behind me. "If it makes you feel any better, Dad was bound determined to make a bronzed trophy of his nads."

I could hear the gravel shift beneath his feet as Sonny attempted to match my pace. I lowered my head. Before Sonny had a chance to catch up, I found myself sprawled out on the ground with a massive headache. I blinked my eyes a few times, refocusing on my surroundings. Sonny was at my side. He held out his hand, but I smacked it away and pushed myself up.

"Check your pockets," whispered Sonny. "The asshole has probably been watching us for a while."

"Huh?" I asked, still not comprehending my current situation. Sonny gestured to an abnormally tall man. His hair was dark, almost giving it a dirty appearance. He had, from what I could tell, a couple of piercings. His icy eyes locked onto mine, and he sneered.

"Sorry heifer," he said in an unrecognizable accent. "you're not my type. I like my women tall with large knobs." With those parting words, he ran a hand through his shaggy hair and continued on, down the alleyway, acting as if the encounter had never happened.

Sonny scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at his retreating back. "Did he just call you a cow?" blurted Sonny, eyes locking onto the feminine sway of his rump. My eyes narrowed and I gave the man's backside my most piercing stare.

"Chauvinistic fucking pig," I hissed. "Men these days are too caught up whining about their sexist views to even stop and think about how far society has come now that women have some control. If it weren't for women, you men would still be jumping around the cave and picking lice out of each other's hair! Don't delude yourself, it's women that are running the world, not men. Think Lucy Stone, Rosa Parks-"

"God," Sonny groaned, rolling his eyes. "I hate that guy."

I shot Sonny a surprised glance. It was about time the kid developed a social conscience.

"Yeah," Sonny continued, nodding fervantly. "He got you started on all that feminist bullshit."

I clenched my teeth and curled my hands into fists—I could still think of a few ways to make him accept my views...

Breathing angrily, Kian O'Brien kicked at the hidden door within the stone wall he was facing. Humans, he thought, had to be the most insufferable, reprehensible creatures on Earth—why Mother Nature didn't just blow a tornado through them, he didn't know. Most probably, he thought wryly, because she knew that it would make him happy. He mentally wondered why Mother Nature was such a vindictive bitch—after all, he and her mother had gotten along fine. Almost too well, Kian smirked, reliving old memories.

For as long as Kian could remember, humans were always getting in his way, and interfering with his way of life. They were nothing more than the dirt beneath his shoe, as far as he was concerned, yet they were always causing more inconveniences than they worth. Always stealing something, or killing someone, or stumbling into his make-out spots. Not that Kian particularly minded the first two—he'd always liked the Bold and the Beautiful—but the latter caused him grievance. Especially, he snickered, when he was entertaining Mother Nature.

Despite all this, the main reason he hated humans was because they were so inferior. They whinged and whined and argued, yet they never actually did anything about it. Their wars were, in Kian's opinion, pathetic. They had no powers to propel them into the upper regions of civilization, they weren't particularly intelligent and they weren't even aesthetically pleasing to look at. The only reason that they were even worth mentioning was because of their remarkable lack of ability to use protection. Their population just kept growing and growing, more people were starving and the humans were letting their populations die, and for what? A quick fuck?

Kian snickered and shook his head. If the humans hadn't figured it out yet, then there was little hope that they'd live past the next century. And quite frankly, Kian couldn't wait to see them go - he even thought he'd splash out and buy a flag.

He was shaken from his musings by the familiar click of a latch sliding out of place, and a shock of blonde hair made itself visible. Its owner cautiously looked around, before turning to Kian and beaming. "Kian! We were starting to wonder when you'd show up."

Kian's eyes narrowed at his friend. He was never late, and if it happened to be the case all it meant was that the others were early. "It seems to me that I'm right on time," he replied coolly.

Clearly, Nolan recognized when to drop the subject. He settled for a jesting shake of his head and held a pale hand out. "Coins, please."

Curling his lip in distaste, Kian reached into his pocket, expecting to feel the cool metal of his gold coins. Instead, his hand produced a lone coin—to which Nolan was already shaking his head.

"Sorry mate, you know the rules-"

Kian kept his stare level. "I'm a prominent member of this clan," he said icily. "The rules can be bent." His tone was mocking, but the meaning of Kian's words were unmistakable—let me in, or else.

"Nobody is an exception to the rule," Nolan said calmly. He met Kian's gaze and shook his head again. "Not even you."

Ruefully, Kian smiled at his friend whose face contorted into an undeniable look of 'Oh shite.' Not one for peer counseling, Kian was rather impetuous in his decisions. Nothing required much thought. Thinking was a waste of time, and it tended to slow down the production process. After all, actions speak louder than words. Kian was a true believer of that.

"Is that right, mate?" Kian contemptuously spat the last word, clenching his fist with budding anger. His missing coins were weighing heavily on his mind, not to mention he risked probation if Nolan wasn't willing to allow his admittance into council.

Nolan hesitantly nodded, crossed his arms, and took a firm footing. "That's what I said," he confirmed resolutely, willing to face any pending consequences.

Ignoring all rationale, in a swift, fluid action, Kian reeled his fist back and with a rush of adrenaline, he propelled it forward. Kian could feel the crunching of cartilage beneath the intense force of his fist as it collided with Nolan's nose.

Quickly, Nolan recovered from Kian's attack and rammed his shoulder into his opponent's gut. Stunned, Kian let out a grunt and doubled over as a wave of nausea swept over his body. Not one for wasting time, Nolan hurled his foot into the same spot his shoulder had. Shaking off the attack, Kian slammed his body into Nolan's bringing them both to the ground. Nolan's head hit the asphalt, but the impact didn't seem to affect him as the two continued grapple on the ground, punching and kicking any appendage of their opponent. Kian managed to wrap an arm around Nolan's neck, immobilizing him in a headlock.

"Concede," Kian growled through clenched teeth as he struggled to maintain his hold.

"I—I ca—can't," Nolan managed to choke out, clawing at Kian's arms.

"Concede," repeated Kian, tightening his hold on Nolan's neck, attempting to persuade him. Before Kian had an opportunity to react further to the situation, he found himself being ripped off Nolan and forcefully thrown into the decrepit brick wall behind him. A loud crunching sound reverberated off the walls of the enclosed space as Kian's head snapped back and clashed against the wall. A low moan escaped his lips.

A large, calloused hand wrapped itself around the front of his shirt and proceeded to lift him back on his feet, but the grip remained strong.

"What do you lads think yer doin'?" growled a larger man sporting a red bowler hat. Kian grimaced when spittle flew out of the man's oversized gob and landed on his face. Using the sleeve of his tunic, he wiped the saliva off his face.

"Get your bleeding hands off me," retorted Kian as he struggled to release himself from the man's steadfast grip.

A mischievous smirk formed on the weathered face of the perpetrator. "Why don' yeh make me," suggested the man.

"If I could have, your remains would have been cast into the rotting depths of the Irish Sea," snarled Kian.

"Kian lost his gold, Marley," Nolan supplied, rubbing an inflamed area above his right eye. He straightened his back, regaining an image of composure. It was quickly ruined when he spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Yeh lost yer gold?" shouted Marley incredulously.

Kian tried to shush him before he could alert any other member of the clan. "I don't lose things," Kian said fiercely. "I ran into some human girl. She must have lifted it, or that boy she was with. I've seen him hanging around DeMiraz's on occasion."

"DeMiraz?" snorted Marley, releasing his grip on Kian. "He must be one hell of a customer. It's a wonder he's not a shrub yet."

"Even DeMiraz doesn't have that ability," said Nolan.

"Maybe not a shrub, but by the time DeMiraz is finished with one of his victims, most of them piss their pants. The others have the runs for a week." Marley looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, "Sometimes both."

Nolan turned his attention back to Kian. "How are you going to find your gold? You know we can't help you…" trailed off Nolan.

Kian let out a heavy sigh. "Track it. How else am I supposed to find it? Without it, I'm a nameless beggar."

"I hate humans. It's been hundreds of years, and they still smell like they crawled out of Mother Nature's arse." A sordid smirk crossed Marley's features. "But then again, Kian would know a bit on that subject."

Kian's mouth tightened at the corners. It was one thing for him to joke about such things, but when it was a lecherous old man who was into the habit of borrowing others' concubines, it wasn't nearly as amusing. "As enthralling as this conversation is, I have a room full of councilors waiting for me," he said, smoothly stepping past Marley into the doorway.

He would have entered, too, if Nolan hadn't blocked his way with an apologetic look on his face. Kian sneered at him. "Move, before I make you move," he said dangerously. In the fading evening light, the shadows crossing his face made him look all the more formidable, and Nolan took a cautious step back before standing his ground.

"Yeh can't get in without the coins, O'Brien," Marley rasped from behind him. "Or are yeh forgetting yer own rule? I bet old Nesbitt ain't forgettin' yet." The hidden slander behind the old man's words made Kian's eyes narrow. Marley never had forgiven him for throwing Nesbitt out the day that he'd had his coins pick pocketed.

Kian smiled softly at Marley, causing him to step back in alarm. "You remember what happened to Nesbitt after he'd left the clan, don't you?" His tone was calm, and Marley watched him warily. "I heard that they never did find his hand... Of course, that can just as easily happen to another person, don't you agree?" The snide implication in his words would have made a smarter man shiver, but Marley had never been particularly intelligent.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well then," he chuckled, "yeh better find yer coins right quickly then, hadn't yer?"

It was the human girl, he was sure of it. The very scent of her made his mouth curve up in distaste, but the unmistakable metallic smell of his coins made his head snap up. He had returned to the alleyway where the ungainly wench had stumbled into him. Waves of revulsion washed over him as he realized that she had actually touched him.

It wasn't difficult for him to follow her trail. The scent of his coins, combined with traces of marijuana, body odor, and some sort of herb were like a beacon for his cultivated tracking skills, and he soon followed them to a run-down, depleted neighborhood that looked like it could use a wrecking ball or two.

He glanced around, unimpressed. The street lights had all been smashed, the fences of houses were all falling down and he saw what looked suspiciously like part of a roof in a front yard. But the anomalous thing of all was that the entire street was completely devoid of rubbish.

Kian shook his head bemusedly and looked over the house he was standing before. The front yard had been left to grow freely, resulting in what looked to Kian like a small-time drug nursery. He couldn't see the front door and the gate was swinging brokenly off its hinges.

His dubiosity about the area increased ten-fold when he saw the insufferable kid that had been with the girl climb out of the lit window and jump into the bushes below. Kian watched impassively as the kid proceeded to water the questionable plants in the front yard. After watering them, the kid bent down, sniffed the plants, and proceeded to lick the leaves before shaking his head and moving on to another set of smaller plants.

Seizing the opportunity, Kian deftly slipped past the boy, pulling himself up into the same window that the boy had jumped out of. Sliding into the room, he saw that it was a bedroom—a female's, if the pink frilly pillows were anything to go by.

Kian scowled to himself. The room's stench was almost unbearable, and it was all because of that damned human's scent. Quickly dismissing the room, his attention honed in on a jewelry box resting next to the bed. It was small and round—just the right size for a bag of leprechaun coins, Kian thought as he snapped open the lid and peered inside.

There were no such coins inside, which only served to add to his anger. Instead, there was a thick silver necklace, which looked to be very shiny and very expensive. Smirking slightly, he pulled it out to examine it. He'd never been above stealing if he saw something he wanted, and although the girl's hideous smell covered it, he was sure he'd be able to sell it for much more than he spent to acquire it.

He was just putting it in his pocket when all of a sudden a door slammed against a wall with a resounding crash and a shrill voice demanded, "What are you doing in my house?"

Kian started, his movement imperceptible to the human eye. The girl had surprised him, but when he turned to face her, a wide smirk appeared on his face as he took in her appearance. Her auburn hair was ruffled and she was only wearing a t-shirt and underwear. He allowed his gaze to roam over her, taking his time before reaching her face.

Kian lowered his stare meaningfully before looking up at her and leering, "Why, looking for you, of course."

A/N:

This is Peekaboo speaking, Bluebell and her moldy werds will be on after me. First off, I'd like to admit I am in love with Sonny, so he's mine you bitches. Find yo own crack ho. Oh, and this is the first chapter. It's kinda long I guess. Yeah. Kinda. For those you who don't know, I have another account. It's under K.B.Hanna, so go visit it because my stories kick my sister Bluebell's moldy butt. All she eats is mold. Yogurt, Blue Cheese, Cottage Cheese, and Sour Cream. Yuck!

So leave some werds of your own. As in review. Cause I eat reviews for breakfast. It's the breakfast for Champion Writers, like Wheaties.

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This is Bluebell signing in. Why, oh why must I always be last? I feel like I'm always going to be the bridesmaid to Peekaboo (I would know, as she's been married at least ten times - nine of them to strippers, she likes them). So, the second chapter probably won't be up for some time as we're just so cool we have these things called L I V E S. Well, I do. Peekaboo just goes around trying to find her eleventh victim - er, I mean husband.

So yeah, feel free to add this to your favourites/alerts/most-hated-lists. We luuurrrrrrrvvveee reviews. Especially flames, although ones that go on about our genius are acceptable also. (Please note that there is a tax deduction when more than two dollars is spent, reviews are non-refundable items.)