Occasionally Bartleby would glance over to look at the group, not really understanding the dynamics. At this point, he had pretty much already accepted that he couldn't treat her like he had been taught to treat other girls. He wasn't stupid, after all.

But he was socially inept.

He startled a bit at her approach, ear pressing back as he leaned back his head to look yp at her. "Tired? Of course not." an obvious lie, but it would have to do. Slowly, the boy slid back up to his feet, careful to brush off the dust and debris from his dress slacks. "Who are they, anyway?" he changed the subject.

It all made him a tad uncomfortable, just with the thought of being in close quarters with a group of people he barely knew and a girl that he didn't even know how to properly speak to. He almost dreaded it, but he was in no position to complain now. If worst came to worst, he could always just jump off the boat and terminate the whole thing.

"Right... what kind of supplies? I won't be of much help to you if you don't tell me where we're going." he insisted, quickening his pace to walk side by side with her. He hoped that she wouldn't consider how he probably wouldn't be of much use if he did know. If anything else, he'd probably get an idea by the things they were going to get.

He almost frowned at the mention of food, but managed to keep his own stoic demeanor. "Right..." he didn't sound that enthusiastic. Well, they would burn that bridge when they crossed it now, wouldn't they? Besides, if she said that it wasn't a good idea to go on a ship without eating, then he should probably listen. A little something wouldn't hurt, right?

Right.

So with that pressing matter pushed to the back of his mind, Bartleby focused on the task at hand, eyeing the line of businesses that plagued the streets. Where does one even get 'supplies' anyway? What would they need?

It then occurred to Bartleby just how clueless he really was with all this. Jamie had literally thrown him into a pond and expected him to learn how to swim.

"I see..." that still wasn't all that comforting. If anything they looked like a band of cutthroats. What was there to trust? Suppressing a small shiver, Bartleby sped up his his pace and shoved the matter away for another time. "They seemed... nice." he added in, if only for the comment that Jamie made about them being family.

She was stubborn, painfully stubborn. Bartleby had to force himself to swallow a sharp demand, his tail violently whipping back and forth. The curiosity was just eating him alive at this point, out of both excitement and dread. "Fine then." he grumbled.

He simply dogged her heels in the store itself, biting back questions with every little item that she grabbed from the shelves. Most of it was pretty standard, if anything else. He didn't really know much if anything about what was necessary for 'the great outdoors' as it was often called in his time.

Still, he had to admit that her weapon choices were a bit archaic. He nearly gawked at the machete and knives she had picked up... as casually as someone doing their Sunday shopping. What purpose did they serve? Weren't guns enough?

He nearly winced as the heavy bag was dropped in his hands. It was a standard backpack, yes, but cumbersome by his standards. Scrunching up his brow, the boy swung it onto his back, nearly hunching over from it.

That wasn't the worst part though.

As Jamie led him into the pub, the sheer sight of it was enough to force Bartleby to consider asking if he could simply wait outside. The smell of cooking meat and flesh was enough to turn his stomach, let alone the cacophony of the crowd. His ears reeled back, and the tuft on his tail bushed out. Still, he walked close to Jamie, cupping a hand over his mouth to force the stench of meat away.

He didn't even hear her order for him as he took his seat, his hands bunching up the fabric of his slacks. Hell. This was Hell.

When the plate of freshly seared steak and potatoes was plopped in front of him, he gagged violently, eyes clenched shut as he shoved the offending plate away. "I... I'm a vegetarian...." he whispered, his tiny voice nearly lost in the crowd.

He forced his attention on the jug of beer, eyebrows raised in brief puzzlement. Bartleby had never had alcohol before, nor had he ever really seen it or knew the obvious smell of it. For all he knew, it was simply a peculiar type of iced tea to him. Curling his small hands around the glass, he raised the rim to his lips and took a sip, only to pull it back sharply. "Um... what's this?" he asked meekly. It tasted awful... whatever it was.

"Adventure... right..." frankly he sounded like he was about to either vomit or pass out. Both were likely options.

He nearly yelped as the sharp elbow jabbed his side, a flurry of instinctive shivers coursing up his spine. "I'm not frightened... merely uneasy." he admitted faintly, tail swishing as he picked up the murmured insult. As an ordinary human, he probably wouldn't have been able to catch that little quip. "You have no right to insult me when I haven't even had the chance to prove myself." he muttered shortly. The nausea he felt put him in a terrible temper to begin with, especially since he was pretty much stuck in the pub to begin with.

At this point his eyes were forced shut, his whole body stiff as a board. "Meat... it... ah... makes me ill." he stammered. That sounded pathetic, even he would admit. Wasn't the whole idea of this excursion to prove that he wasn't weak? He wasn't exactly giving himself the best impression.

"This is beer?" he pushed it away as well. Revolting. Hopefully he'd be able to find a cup of tea or something...

The boy glared at her then, brow furrowing in distaste. "Forgive me as I sit here sickened to my stomach..." he grumbled, more than happy to get out of this godforsaken place. The movement of getting up was enough to make his stomach go in somersaults.

He had never been more happy to be outside, and as he followed Jamie, he made sure to take in as many gulpfuls of air as he could. It eased the pain a bit, but it didn't change the sudden exhaustion that he felt. The bag that he lugging around on his back was taking its toll, and his tail had even begun to drag along the ground.

His legs were shaking by the time they had boarded, though his own condition was quickly forgotten once Jamie had come back to his side.

"Excuse me?!" he almost felt like at wit's end. "Of course I can be of use..." he weakly protested, raising a hand to place against his hurting chest. What was he to these people? A joke? Or was he just not understanding the sarcasm?

Just don't get in our way. He felt too ashamed to say anything. His face had taken on a deep shade of red, and his small hands balled into fists as Jamie led him below deck.

Disgusting. Did anyone even clean this ship? There was dust everywhere, coating the rickety wood floor. From the corner of the room, Bartleby caught sight of two beady yellow dots. He was sure they were the reflections of a pair of rat's eyes.

He flinched at the touch, but didn't say anything out of fear of looking even more foolish than he already did. Gratefully, he let the pack fall from his shoulders to the ground with a dull thump as he took his seat on the hammock.

With a small sigh, he watched her fly up the steps to help. Help. And here he was lazing down below deck while every other soul (save for that damn rat) was doing their part up above.

Useless.

"Get used to it... okay..." like he had a choice in the matter anyway. The stuff tasted positively vile. It didn't help that he wasn't one to want to act intoxicated. He had seen drunk people before, and he dreaded ending up like one of them. "You don't have to make any special accommodations. I can manage." he assured. If anything, he already starved himself on a daily basis. Sad but true.

Worst than any girl. Bartleby winced at the insult, though made no snappy retort. It wasn't his place to do so, despite how much it hurt. If he was going to be cooped up in some dingy ship for God knew how long with her and a band of strangers, then he might as well attempt to be pleasant. Instead, he looked over the side, hands clenching about the coarse fabric of the hammock. "I apologize for disappointing you." he muttered bitterly, defeated.

He listened intently to the clatter and flurries of footsteps that echoed from above deck, ears twisting and turning to catch every sound. Unfortunately, the loudest was the scratchy titter-patter of the rat's clawed feet. How irksome. He made a mental note that he would try and catch it later.

His thoughts were brought to a halt as Jamie crashed back down to fetch him, eyes wide as he felt his arm being yanked up. "You told me to stay out of the way, didn't you?!" a small protest, seeing how he was already being forced back outside.

It was when he was pulled to his feet that he had begun to notice that the ship had taken on a rhythmic sort of rocking motion. Back and forth, back it forth... It was enough to disorient the boy, as he held onto Jamie's arm for dear life until they reached the railing.

He grasped the rusted metal tightly, his own billowing back from the wind as he peered off behind them. Indeed, the line of the departing land was nothing more than a small sliver of civilization at this point. "It is quite a sight..." he breathed, for once agreeing with the stubborn female.

"How long will be out at sea?" he asked curiously. In a way, it was more or less indirect question to where the hell they were going in the first place. The anticipation was enough to make him shiver.

"I'll manage." he stubbornly replied. Like Hell was he going to live with such barbaric meals! He could hope that they had something that didn't come from an animal... dried biscuits or fruit. And tea. Tea would be nice. He nearly salivated at the thought of a nice cup of ginseng or earl grey. Actually... a nice stroll would be nice. Maybe there was a harp below deck? Of course not, but it would be nice to play some music.

He grimaced. "I didn't mean it like that. Don't shove words in my mouth." but she didn't seem to hear him, being already so bent on talking to that... man? He looked so grotesque that Bartleby wasn't quite sure what to make of him, just that he was probably an individual to be avoided. A few weeks out at sea. It might as well have been a few months or years...

The boy nearly squirmed underneath the man's gaze, broken only when Jamie directed him to the way to the kitchen. "Okay then..." he didn't sound too sure of himself. Bartleby had never cooked a day in his lives. How could he possibly help there? Still, he had no room to complain. If anything, he should have been grateful. Selfish thing.

Upon being told that they had to separate, however, he felt a small pit of dread. Jamie was the only person he knew here... among an entire band of people that either smelled like rotting fish or looked like zombies. Despite his uneasiness, he forced a faint smile. "Right... see you at dinner then." he murmured, his voice lost in the waves as she bounded off with her final warning.

Roger. What a lovely name. It sounded so... normal. He would have loved normal right now.

It took him a while to get his sea legs, though despite managing to keep his balance on the rocking boat, he still stumbled dangerously to and fro all the way to the stairs. Hanging onto the railing for dear life, he slowly made his way down, treading cautiously.

"What am I even doing here..." he mumbled to himself. It all suddenly didn't seem all that worth it now. Still, he wouldn't back off just yet. Bartleby was stubborn, almost to a ridiculous degree. He wasn't the type to just give up when things seemed as hopeless as they were now.

As he neared the bottom of the stair case he rubbed at his nose, feeling it itch quite terribly. His eyes watered, though not from sadness, no, but irritation. His cheeks were in no doubt flushed as well. It wasn't a particularly painful sensation, but it was unpleasant.

The boy knew damn well what it was too. An allergic reaction. So there was a cat on board! No doubt it was probably a mouser of some sorts. Didn't ships always have one on board? He looked around, scanning the dimly lit area until he caught sight of it. It was a rather portly calico, more orange than any other color, with a single black patch of fur over its left eye.

It was also sleeping on his hammock.

"Hey..." he started towards it, though it realized the futility of trying to shoo it off. Besides, the closer he got the more his eyes watered. It was probably best to keep focus on the task at hand. Shooting the lazing cat with a sharp glare, the boy made his way over to the little room on the side. It wasn't that hard to pick out, especially considering the rank odor of salted meat and preservatives that oozed from the cracks of the doorway.

Fighting back an urge to gag at the smell, Bartleby raised his fist and knocked at the door, in want of being civil. He could have just barged in for all he cared, but he refused to stoop to the level of the other crew members. Someone had to keep the peace.

"No one knocks ere' kid."

The voice was gruff, nearly distorted. It was almost like the man was chewing on something as he spoke. Biting back a gulp, Bartleby opened the door, only to be bombarded by a wave of steam that hit him like an anvil.

"Ah... Are you Roger?" the boy could hardly make out anything resembling a person amidst all the smoke and steam.

"Roger? Pff..." a short laugh, much like a rusty growl. It sounded strange, almost animal-like. "Roger is teh cat, y'know? Small thing with point ears." his shadow lifted his arms, pointing two fingers up on the sides of his head.

Now Bartleby was really puzzled. Didn't Jamie mention that 'Roger didn't like sluggards?' Well if that was the case then...

Oh.

"Is he sleepen on yer hammock? Yeah. He does that to folk he don't like. Lil habit of his." another warped sounding guffaw. "Anyway... m'not Roger. M'Dog." he waved a hand in front of his face, dispelling some of the smoke that curled around him.

Bartleby was about to ask about the curious name, but it soon became fairly apparent why 'Dog' was given his title. He was a lanky sort, not the type to be up running around the deck of a ship. If anything else, his build was a lot similar to his own. His skin was darker, a deep chocolatey brown that complimented that bushy black husky tail that lazily wagged behind him. His ears were pointed upwards, alert to everyone and everything about him.

That wasn't the peculiar part though. Much like a choice few of the individuals that had walked about the harbor, Dog's face was, quite literally, a dog's face. His muzzle and upper brow were nothing but of his husky origins. They weren't coated with fur, but instead retained the same dark skin tone. It almost looked like a deformity than anything else.. and it also explained why his speech was slightly more labored.

"Oh... a lion, eh?" he looked over Bartleby's smaller form with a trained eye, nose twitching when he saw his neatly painted nails. "Not a workin man either, eh?"

Bartleby wasn't exactly sure if that was meant as a question, so he simply nodded, feeling much like he was about to pass out from the rank smells of cooking meat around him. He snapped back to attention once an off-white apron had been thrown at him.

"Put that on. Don't wanna get yer pretty clothes all mussy." he commented wryly. "Now if ya could help me slice up this brisket I'd be more'n grateful..."


---


By the time that dinner had rolled around, it was only Dog that showed up to the mess hall with the standard gruel for the evening. If anyone inquired him about their curious new passenger, he merely said;

"Weirdest kid I ever had to work with, but he was trooper. Tossed his cookies about four or five times on the floor, but it was manageable... he passed out an hour earlier so I just put im' to bed... if ya must know."

I'm stalking this so badly fffff, you guys make me envy your writing-skills. BI
And Jamie.. LOL I LOVE HER ♥!

Your writing-skills too, miss, you're just as awesome. >BI
ROFL, she's totally badass ffffff ♥

Dog merely shrugged and handed the girl a wooden bowl, spooning a bit of the thick edible sludge with a rusted ladle. It was pretty standard stuff, if anything it was lackluster by his standards. Most of his time was just spent in trying to keep the poor kid from keeling over. If anything he was more of a hassle than help. Still... he felt sorry for him. Kid had certainly tried his best even if he just ended up being a burden. Bit of a shame that he would end up being the laughing stock of the crew for the weeks to come. "Be nice to im' James... he did what he could." he warned gently. Hell, this was why he was a cook and not a complete crewman. For all he knew he was the only decent soul laying around.

---

Bartleby himself looked arguably worse than he ever had. It seemed pretty obvious by his positioning in the worn hammock that the cook had pretty much just tossed him in there. His bone thin arms were askew, and his tail draped down to the dingy floor. Apparently he had lost his hair tie as well, seeing how his long hair was frizzled and lay all over the place. His nails were chipped, and his hands were a lobster red from excretion. It was almost startling to see how pale he was, lips parted as he struggled to breath from the weight of the fat calico that slumbered on his chest.

He startled a little when he heard Jamie's voice, eyes watering as he cracked them open. "Neuken kat..." he cursed weakly, pushing away the offending animal with a small sniffle before he even noticed that Jamie was there. He noticed the garish looking food and drink that she held and cringed, bile rising to his throat.

"You didn't have to go to the trouble of bringing me food..." he murmured. If anything, he was almost touched by the gesture. All this time he had just assumed that Jamie was merely using him for her own small minded amusement. He wasn't completely naive, after all.

He winced at her last comment, reaching out his hands to take the food and drink with a small thanks. "I can hear them all laughing from here..." he commented, not without a touch of bitterness. "Am I really that funny to them?"

In truth, he didn't care that much about what the majority of the crew felt about him. They were all idiots in his eyes. It was the respect of Jamie and Dog that he wanted... perhaps even the captain. The rest were merely fodder for the fire.

"Even if I did die... you could just fetch me back from the forest." he simply commented, as easily as one remarking about the weather.

He took a deep breath as the offending cat was pushed off, the painful sensations in his chest slowly dying down. How pathetic. He didn't even have the strength to shove off the offending animal. "I think it's trying to spite me... Roger I mean." he commented, watching as the chubby cat moved to another hammock to shed on.

The food was taken with some disdain, particularly the archaic wooden spoon that was so unceremoniously dipped in the middle of the cold stew. To procrastinate, he drank the water first, downing it all in a few gulps before neatly setting it off to the side.

Eating... now that was the hard part. It wasn't that the food was particularly awful (though that did kind of contribute to that). No, it was just that Bartleby had a very peculiar phobia. Perhaps one could call him 'anorexic', and be somewhat right. But it was different than that. Perhaps his fears weren't akin to an eating disorder, but of a result of poor nurturing. He had practically been conditioned to act the way he did, and the side effects were more than plainly clear to anyone that would watch him eat.

He ate slowly, painfully slowly. Every spoonful of mashed up gruel was as small as a pea, and raised to his mouth so deliberately and with such a shakiness in his arm, like he was afraid of it.

"No... I suppose that I can't..." he whispered. Oh, he would starve himself daily, only eating when his friends or loved ones forced him too. It was painful, yes, but going hungry was far more appealing than being full and lethargic.

Each mouthful was taken almost painfully, his whole small being wrecked with the occasional shudder. It physically hurt. It always did.

Still, he tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Jamie.

"Then I hope that they stop after a while..." he murmured. If anything else, he wouldn't dare join them for meals in fear of being branded as an object of comic relief. He'd no doubt lose his temper and make even more of a fool out of himself.

He felt so bitter and ashamed that he nearly missed the girl's next comment, his spoon still dipped in whatever unrecognizable food that he had to tried to help create. For once, he looked at her, olive eyes daring to sneak a small peek to hers. "Thank you..." he was clearly touched, from the way that his hardened expression softened if only for a moment. "That is more than comforting."

Jamie's tone was so lacking in all that cynicism and bite now. It was almost jarring to hear her speak in such way. For once, he could simply close his eyes and appreciate the musical cadence of her accent. Up and down... up and down...

"Mm well... I'm simply wondering why we couldn't have just used your device to go where you're bent on without all this hassle..." he commented. It wasn't a complaint. Far from it, but an observation.

Silently, he turned back to the food. He'd eaten only about a quarter of the dish. More than enough.

It was promptly shoved away.

"I suspected as much." he muttered disdainfully, before offering a final congested sniff. Damn cats, especially the lazy ones. Age wasn't a factor when it came to getting a job well done. It was one of the reasons why most of his employees had been more of a younger variety. Youth generated productivity, while the old tended to slog down. He could never quite understand why, being a Bartleby.

At being prodded to eat at a faster pace, he paused and parted his lips to say something, only to shake his head and continue what was more laborious than any chore that he had ever attempted to accomplish. He wasn't just thin, he was practically malnourished. If he had eaten like a normal person, then he probably wouldn't have been as sluggish and unhealthy as he was.

"Of course they don't hate me. Why would a child hate its toy?" he retorted simply. Though he had to agree that gaining a stable relationship with the cook was more than lucky. It would have been more than unbearable if Dog was just as stupid as the other crew members. If anything, Bartleby had to admire his down to Earth attitudes, even if they conflicted with the cutthroat nature of the rest of the lot. "He is... nice... yes..." a simple, though awkward agreement.

The connection, though brief, was more than welcome. The boy nearly smiled at her remark, his own worn hands moving to play with the tips of his lime green waistcoat. "You can call me by Troy if you want to... by the way..." he ventured. Jamie was probably one of the few people that while somewhat trusted, would never get to know his elusive first name. It was too feminine...

He didn't question why Jamie couldn't simply request for the map. Besides, what help could possibly gained from such a group of blithering morons? And to think that he had to spend several weeks on board with them... He already felt a tad homesick. Then again, he was capable of surviving horrid conditions for long amounts of time. Frankly it was a miracle that he had managed to maintain his sanity for as long as he did.

"No longer hungry." he curtly replied, pushing away the stone cold meal even further. He was stubborn, ridiculously stubborn... and that was one of his biggest flaws.

He watched as she climbed into her own bed, quite grateful that it was closer to his. He couldn't even imagine the thought of sleeping near some barbaric stranger.

As the disfigured cook came in to take his meal, Bartleby looked glanced up at him, watching as he tended to her. "I'm already sick." he replied, watching him leave with some unintelligible remark.

It seemed certain that the coming weeks would be, by all accounts, nothing short of Hell. That was alright though. It added some spice to things, and the extended trip also furthered his curiosity on the unknown land that they were heading to.

He was so exhausted that dipping off into sleep wasn't as near as difficult as it usually was.

Several weeks, to Bartleby, felt like several months. He had taken to feeling homesick almost instantly after a few days. Of course this had made him even more bitter and indifferent than before. Still, his own cold nature offered a buffer against all the other useless member of the crew.

He had taken his time with Dog with some substantial improvement. After a good week or so of simply outright gagging at the sight of meat, the boy now merely tolerated. It wasn't like he had much of a choice to begin with. Still, his productivity increased with time, and it was in about two weeks or so that he actually had begun to make himself worth something.

His appearance, unfortunately, had taken a steady decline. His nails were no longer long and elegant, but clipped. His hair was slicked back with grease from a lack of washings, and his pale skin had turned an even whiter shade. Still, there had been some improvements as well. For one, he had gained a tiny bit of muscle from the labor. It wasn't much, barely noticeable, but something all the same. It might have had a bit to do with the lion's blood that coursed through his veins, but one could not say for sure.

Sleep had been more or less erratic for him, quite frankly because he just couldn't get used to the sensation of sleeping on a hammock. So when Jamie had charged below deck to rouse him, he was less than pleased.

"Sjit..." he cursed hoarsely, waving a limp hand to swat away hers. He didn't mind physical contact as much with her now. It seemed... normal. That in itself was a huge improvement.

As the girl ran up the stairs he paused, letting his mind process what she had just said. They were... here? It seemed almost impossible, like the journey had already lasted an eternity. Groggily, he swung his legs over the makeshift bed and unconsciously grabbed his bag. Seemed like he would finally be getting a use for it now.

Clumsily, he followed her footsteps and joined her to the railing. Approaching land had never looked so sweet, even if it did have a slightly ominous edge to it. It looked... tropical and muggy. Two things that sounded horrid, but he already looked horrid, so what was the matter? At least he was still better looking than any of the other sorry bastards that lounged with him. "It's beautiful..." he murmured, watching the crew as they prepared to bank against the shore.

Utilizing help from Jamie, he managed to disembark without too much trouble, his legs shaking as he felt warm sand sink underneath his boots. That's right, boots. He was in full gear now, as he had been for some weeks. He didn't want to sully his tailored waistcoat and slacks, so they had been stored safely away. He wore slightly more practical ware, light brown pants and a matching long sleeved white shirt. It was tacky, but it worked. He may have been notorious for being picky about his appearance, but even he knew when sacrifices had to be made.

He suddenly realized how warm the climate was, but that was alright. Too hot was better than too cold in his book. Taking out the well cared for pistol from his shirt, he loaded the clip as Jamie addressed him.

"I spent God knows how many days on that damn ship. I would be a fool to back away now." he replied, eying his own special weapon with a certain sort of longing fondness. He hoped that he wasn't too missed...

"What are we even doing and where are we... by the way? I assume either South America, Africa, or some random island you picked on the fly." he mumbled, eager to finally get an answer. There was no way she could deny him now.

Needless to say, he wasn't near as eager. Bartleby didn't want to go on an adventure, he wanted a hot bath and a piping cup of tea. He had never let his precious appearance degrade to such a low, at least willingly. Annoyed, he brushed away a few greasy clumps of hair that dangled in his line of vision. "I suppose we'll simply transport back to the forest when this matter is over and done with...?" he dared to ask. There was no way in Hell that he was going to take some pointless trip back the way they came. He'd rather kill himself.

The boy sidled a bit closer to take a closer look at the worn bits of sullied paper. "I see..." He should have expected as much, some exploration mission with temples and the like. It was interesting though. He knew little to nothing about Mayan history or culture.

He flicked an ear in mild annoyance. "Care to elaborate? What 'treasure'?" he prodded on, though made no move to grab for the map. He wouldn't have known how to read it anyway. Sighing, he tucked his gun in an external pocket on his bag. If anything popped up, he'd be ready for it. What sort of predators even lurked in South America? He had no idea, and it was probably best not to think about it.

One mosquito bite or a splinter and he'd be down for the count. If anything, it would be an outright miracle for him to survive this, especially considering the rather ominous back-story that Jamie gave him.

He was even more puzzled by what she said afterwards as they made their way across the sandy bank to the little boat. Still, he said nothing until they had pushed it off-shore into the stream. There was only one set of paddles, which Bartleby instinctively took for himself, sitting square in the middle as to take control.

Of course they had to go upstream, but thankfully the river's current was lazy enough to where it wouldn't cause that much of a problem for any normal person. For Bartleby, however, it was near impossible. He could barely fight the current let alone advance through it. As he struggled with the heavy paddles and the boat itself, he talked through small gasps.

"Why... why wouldn't they let you go?" he breathed, struggling to keep a steady beat as the wooden planks rose and fell. He was already sweating, and his heart beat painfully in his chest. "It... It... It didn't seem like they were the types to discriminate..." against her anyway. Now he was fair game. The crew members had always found good fun in belittling him, after all.

Finally, his arms gave out and fell limp. Defeated, he dragged himself to another seat, nearly falling over with the rocking of the boat itself. He said nothing of it, merely staring out to the side, away from Jamie's face. Shameful.

"I know you can take care of yourself..." his words were littered with small pauses in which he took a tired breath. What on Earth was he going to be able to contribute to this? Not much, merely company in the coming hours or days. Otherwise he was a burden.

"You seem bent on finding... whatever this is... why take me when it has such importance to you?" or was searching for some Mayan treasure a small trifle to her. He would not have been surprised.

He leaned back in his seat, raising a pale hand to wipe at his brow. "Ah, I suppose that would make sense..." indeed, that belt could get her out of any sticky situation. No wonder she was so reckless most of the time. She had been spoiled by the luxury of having it comfortingly looped about her waist.

At the comment on her 'family', Bartleby waved a hand in dismissal. "Sorry. Forget I said anything." he mumbled. He'd never understand it. Was she much like the 'baby' of the group for her gender or her age? Even if the boy had gotten into the habit of treating her much like his male friends, all of it still confused him. He chose to keep his mouth shut then, in fear of saying anything else stupid.

He stared at her in blatant interest as she finally went on to explain the 'treasure'. Needless to say, that surprised him. He leaned forward in his seat, large olive eyes locked to a spot between her eyebrows. "The statue of the twin gods..." he murmured in assent, nodding. Garish looking things in his opinion.

"Connection..." he cupped his hands together, letting his head drop. "I know numerous ways that one could leave the forest 'world' itself without the use of a device like your belt or the powers that my own... friend... has..." he fumbled slightly, though his own blatant interest brought him back on the proper path. "Any deer can leave the forest if they so choose... if they know the proper way..." he spoke quickly, trying to get out as much information as possible. The thought of there being evidence that humans could also travel there... possibly... At least in Jamie's world.

"When I was human, I already knew about the existence of the forest itself through one of my servants. He was a forest deer that had found the proper way to escape some decades ago... and he just happened to stumble across my family..." he curled his fingers to examine his chipped fingernails, eyebrows raising in disgust. "Therefore, it wouldn't be an outrageous assumption to believe that people of my world had access to the forest. I actually know some people that do. They're... not completely human themselves... but they could."

"That, and I've already suspected that the forest might have been inhabited by humans before. The ruins and gravestones point out the obvious for that... and the humanoid-like statues that litter the place." he voice rose slightly, betraying his excitement. A small, determined expression had settled on his features as well. It seems as if Jamie had managed to gain some motivation.

He took some time to admire the scenery, eyes drinking in every bit of tropical foliage that he could. It was so dense, like a wall of plants. Now he could understand the need for knives and the like, one could never get through such conditions without slicing it away.

As they banked on shore, Bartleby tried to help the girl pull up the boat, though he stopped if only to conserve the tiny amount of energy that he had left in him.

"Right..." prove himself... well... he had no idea if he was even physically capable of even walking for god knows how long. He may have toned up slightly from the grudgingly long ship ride, but that didn't change the fact that he was a hemophiliac with heart trouble. The likelihood that he was even going to survive this trip was slim to nil. He accepted that though. It was better that he die instead of Jamie.

Perhaps it was because he was lost in his thoughts that his senses seemed to heighten, particularly his hearing. As he gained his footing on shore, he let his roundish ears perk up, scanning the area for anything that would seem threatening. It was of little use though, if only for the reason that his hearing was only slightly above average now. Lions weren't auditory creatures, after all. That was alright though; he could see in the dark as well as any cat. It was a fair trade.

Still, it was a comforting gesture. He took a discreet whiff of air, instinctively analyzing each odor that he could effectively pick apart. The rank smell of animal fur... musty flowers... the skin of ripe fruits... Nothing particularly threatening though.

"How far do we have to travel?" he asked, turning to his companion with a small frown. Hopefully it wouldn't be that long or tedious a distance...

It felt like a blow had hit him from that, and it surprised him. Bartleby had only offended Jamie once before, and that was when he could have cared less what happened to her. Now it felt... strange... He didn't quite know what to say, so he kept silent, offering only a look that could have been interpreted as apologetic.

Instead, the boy focused on the business at hand. "You could call it a portal... or an opening." his eyebrows raised up at her theory, a little smile brightening up his face. "That makes perfect sense! There's always been some human that got forced into the forest before their death... maybe this is one of the reasons why..." it was like they were cracking a code that they hadn't even discovered. For once. Bartleby was excited.

He couldn't help but sigh, lifting his arms to adjust the pack on his shoulders. "Fine then..." he muttered, reaching back to take his pistol. Hopefully it would be enough. "I won't be able to just trudge on forever though... you know..." he blushed, shame-faced. Had to think realistically after all...

In the end, he simply followed her lead along whatever makeshift path she hacked and slashed away. As ashamed of it as he was, he did have to rest often. Walking had always been hard on Bartleby, even with the heightened stamina that his new form had given him. And it was because of him that night had fallen long before they had gotten halfway there.

Bartleby's eyes, despite lacking the vertical slits that all cat's did, shined quite brightly against the light of the lantern he held (which really he only carried for Jamie's benefit). His body was shaking a bit, the arm that held the gun completely limp against his side.

Everything about the environment was so much more oppressive at night. That, and he had gotten a splitting head ache in the last few hours that refused to let up. His skull pounded violently, growing in pain with seemingly every step that he took.

Eventually he had to stop on principle, slapping a cold palm against his sweaty brow as he took in a hissing gasp for air. He looked about ready to fall over.

"...Jamie?" he called out softly looking up to catch where she was. "Can we.... ah... stop?" how pathetic, but what else could she expect?

"Okay..." he nearly stumbled over to the spot she indicated, a lush little patch of moss and leaves. No doubt damp and moldy. Ugh. He was already dirty though, and tired enough to nearly collapse on the ground, hand pressed tightly against his temple. It hurt so badly that he didn't even mind the physical contact. If anything he had learned to tolerate it now from her.

"For you... anyway..." for him, the entire world had been bathed in a greenish hue. It had been so surreal at first, to be able to see anything and everything in the dark. It would probably take a long time to adjust to not having the luxury once he went back to his deer form.

Shivering, he raised up his knees to wrap his thin arms about them, his tail coiling about his ankles so that he resembled a tiny ball. The pounding in his head seemed to spasm, and he ground his head against the ball of his knee, teeth clenched.

It felt like something was trying to push itself out of a tiny hole in his cranium.

He watched as Jamie prepared a measly little fire, eyes sparkling against it's warm glow when it ignited. It was comforting, to say the least, in a world so black and oppressive. "Where... where do you think we are now? By the map I mean..." he asked faintly, tightening his grip about his legs.

"I'm sorry... you probably would have gotten there by now if it weren't for me slowing you down." he admitted shamefully. Considering how often he had forced them both to sit a few times if only for him to prevent himself from passing out, it was no wonder.

Suppressing a small groan, he let his arms go slack as to get the heavy pack off his shoulders. "Do we have any... aspirin or something?" he unzipped the pack, rummaging about uselessly. He hardly even glanced at what his companion had packed for him let alone utilized any of it.

"Doesn't seem like it'd be safe to sleep here..." he observed, scanning the surrounding foliage with some uneasiness. He couldn't see anything, but there were still obscuring shadows everywhere... and all the smells blended...

"Do you think we'll get there tomorrow?" he asked blandly, blinking tiredly. Sleep. Sleep sounded nice, even if his head continued to throb incessantly.

He kept his eyes locked on the little glowing flame, shifting over so that he could sit on the blanket without further sullying his clothes. Its material felt slightly rubbery, not at all plush or let alone comfortable to sleep on. At this point though, Bartleby could have cared less. His head throbbed so painfully that he almost couldn't think straight.

"A rock that looks like a... that sounds quite like the crying idol or one of the guardian statues in the ruins..." he observed absentmindedly, if only to get his head off of the physical pain that he felt. It was a comforting thought that they had covered more than half the ground though, at the very least. "I'm glad we're almost there, at the very least..."

He nearly snorted at that little comment. "To die now would be disgraceful when we're so close to the goal. I don't intend to let myself go..." yet, that was. He honestly felt as bad as he looked. "It's better than any other location in this godforsaken place though... I don't see or smell anything." nothing threatening in any case.

Sighing, he took one of the softer blankets and rolled himself in it, so tightly that he could only move an arm to cup a hand to his forehead. "I'm not an idiot." he weakly retorted, casting her a less than serious glare. "And I trust you enough to know that you wouldn't... even if I do hold you back." the last bit was muttered, but all true.

Bartleby squirmed around in his blanket as he felt her scrutinizing gaze on him. "It's... something you take for a headache... quite common in my world..." he had to stop assuming that they were as similar as they seemed. While cut from the same cloth, they still carried distinctly different patterns.

"I have heart trouble yes... not usually with my head though... maybe I simply need to sleep it off" he took the offered pills anyway though, despite having a bit of a reputation for being wary of taking medicine that belonged to other people. It was nice to get some water in his system, at any rate.

He sat up a bit to grab his bag ans drag it over, laying back down to use it as a pillow. "Oh... food... maybe..." he eyed it all lazily before turning back to her. "And... you'll wake me up when it's my turn to keep guard? Right?" he didn't even wait for an answer and simply fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Or at least he pretended to, because he soon rolled himself as to face her opposite side, taking care to bury his entire small being into the cotton blanket's embrace, including his aching head.

Eventually it was obvious that he had fallen asleep, his mouth mumbling tiny incoherent foreign words together. He had always had a habit of sleep talking, as strange and bizarre as it was.

Bartleby was a heavy sleeper, being one who had often been spoiled with late mornings and frequent naps. He slept with no dreams or thought, his exhausted mind far too tired to give him the luxury. In the end, he merely curled into a little ball, all wrapped up in blankets.

Perhaps that was why didn't initially wake up at the first scream.

But it was at the second, and the familiar cursing that roused him from slumber. Bleary eyed, he allowed for his head to poke out from his fleece cocoon, only to violently tuck back down as bright sunlight stabbed into his retinas. It was a bright, sickly yellow, almost unnatural considering how there was such a shaded canopy that virtually no natural light could have possibly broken through.

Immediately, the boy jolted up, bringing his hands up to feel about the crown of his head. There was a familiar warmness, much like his fingers were phasing through something intangible or ethereal. He knew what it was, and yet he was unable to really accept it. His head still pounded violently, and he rolled up his eyes as far as he could to catch sight of the bottom rim of his pictogram.

Before he could even begin to question or even think about the meaning of the symbol itself, he heard another, more shrill cry of pain.

"Jamie...?" he looked to his left, greeted with the sight of an empty bed and what appeared to be fresh animal tracks. Stumbling to his feet, he let his ears swivel, taking in a small whiff of air. It was musky, rank enough to nearly knock him over. It was distinctly feline though... and the prints were large.

Bartleby's stomach lurched as a contented growl rumbled from afar, and he bent down to clumsily grab for his gun. It was an older model, a well cared for machine that Heika had given him some months ago. It had proven useful in the past, but it would be unlikely that he would be able to kill a giant cat with it alone unless his aim was at a vital point. The problem was that the boy was a terrible shot. He had always been, simply because he had never had need to use a gun in many instances beforehand.

That didn't matter not though. Where was Jamie? Was she hurt? Shaking away his emotions, Bartleby clicked off the safety of the firearm and crept forward as quickly as he could while remaining as silent as possible. Perhaps it was the feline blood that coursed through his veins, but his footsteps were nearly silent as pressed against damp moss and rotting leaves. His tail lashed violently, beating against dew covered leaves and undergrowth as he continued on.

It wasn't long before he could make out the spotted pelt of what appeared to be a cheetah or a leopard. Bartleby didn't know, nor did he care. His eyes were locked to the blood stained body of the fennec, her arm torn and mangled.

Bartleby himself was used to the sight of blood and gore, but not when it came to the select few that he actually cared about. In a flash of panic, he wondered if she was dead, but felt a tiny bit of relief when he realized that she was, if faintly, breathing.

The cat itself didn't seem to be interested in her now, if anything it appeared to be 'guarding' her, like a piece of meat that it wanted to save for later. It prowled incessantly, following a basic pattern as it made a consistently sloppy circle around her.

The boy could see the flecks of blood that dotted its black lips, lining the rim of its muzzle.

Suddenly, it looked towards him. No doubt its eyes were attracted to the glowing symbol atop his head. If anything he had been lucky that he had stayed hidden for so long.

For what seemed like several seconds, the two stared one another down. Tails lashing in their own silent tongue as their eyes burned into one another. There was no fear from either side, simply primal rage and emotional hate from their own respective sources.

He had to do something, anything that could either effectively kill the beast or something that would rouse Jamie from her stupor. He was worried that if he made the slightest movement that the cat would immediately throw itself onto him. It would only take a single, fluid motion, after all.

The gun was held firmly at his side. How long would it take to lift and aim? A few seconds at the the least. Not enough time. The cat was getting antsy, its rimmed ears flicking back as it emanated a warning snarl.

At that, Bartleby decided that he would try another approach. He had once heard that the most effective way to ward off predators like bears was to lift one's arms and shout at them. If it worked for bears, why not a cat? If anything, it would allow for him to lift his arm with the gun attached. If it didn't work, he would have more time in shooting at the thing.

That, and it might wake Jamie.

In one fluid motion, the boy lifted his arms in the air and shouted, or, at least, he intended to shout.

No, what came out of his mouth was not a shout or a pitiful yell from his often quiet and demure voice. It was a roar, a male lion's territorial scream that busted out from his modified vocal cords. It had been instinctive, a trigger set in and uncovered from the small pile of new found abilities that his new body had.

It was deafeningly loud, and Bartleby had to drop his gun to cup his hands to his ears. A lion is one of the few cats that can roar, and the loudest. The scream could have been heard from a two mile radius. Birds fluttered from their canopy nests and small mammals fled in fear.

The giant cat itself reeled back, stunned by the surprise as it shook its head. Now was his chance!

Breaking off into a low growl, Bartleby reached down and grabbed the fallen gun.

He had more than enough time to aim directly at the beast's forehead. He shot multiple rounds into it, mercilessly watching as it fell unceremoniously to its side.

Shaking, Bartleby walked over to Jamie, knelling down to examine the wound. It was merely a bite, nothing more, though she was losing blood. He opened his mouth to talk to her, but no sound came save for a hoarse croak.

Seemed that his little display had a price after all.

He wouldn't have been able to explain the peculiar glow above his head even if he was able. Perhaps it had something to do with a potential 'portal' that was up ahead, the one responsible for all the missing explorers. If he concentrated, he felt a sort of magnetism, like he was being pulled towards something. The forest.

Desperate, Bartleby tried out his voice once more, but all that he could manage was another crackled groan. Frowning in frustration, he reached out to place a hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever. She seemed disoriented, like an infection had already set in. No... that wasn't it...

She was afraid. The boy tried to offer a tiny smile, at least offering up something before he stood to hold up a finger. One minute

As much as he didn't want to leave her, that wound needed to be treated. He walked back the way he came, the campsite being several yards away from the disaster site. Bending down, he grabbed his own bag, making sure that there was at the very least a medical kit tucked away in one of the pockets.

Nearly jogging back, he knelt back down to her side, pulling out the little box with various treatments and paraphernalia. Rummaging about, he found a roll or disinfectant wipes and gauze. Not perfect for the size of the bite marks... but it would have to do.

He worked diligently, cleaning away all the crusted blood and cat saliva away from the openings before he tightly wrapped as much bandaging around the cuts as he could. He had learned how to treat himself many times before in the past, and the quality of his work showed before he checked the tightness of the knot he tied.

He pat her arm gently, to indicate that he was done, before he went back to the bag to try and find a pad of paper and a pen. He remembered that Jamie had picked some up, for entertainment purposes or something of the like, he assumed.

Leaning forward, he moved to pull her up, not to stand, but to sit before handing her a canteen of water.

It was then that he scribbled down some words on the little bit of paper, handing to her as he gestured toward his faded pictogram.

The note simply read, "We're close."

Not that he meant to be so vague, just that didn't know what else to say. He stood, leaned over and offered a hand to help her stand, ever smiling.

The boy went back to his pen and paper to scribble down something else. His handwriting was lackluster at best, portraying how he had to relearn his composition skills upon moving in with Heika. The letters were uneasy, even more so since he rushed them. "I don't know. My throat hurts though", the note read. He handed the leaf of paper to her, offering a shrug of the shoulders to couple with it.

He had kept a close eye on her as he treated the bite marks, wincing whenever she grimaced or grumbled in pain. When finished, he wrote another small note to her. "Are you okay?", it inquired.

It felt almost as if a tight grip had taken hold of his being, mentally dragging him to some unknown location. Oh, he knew what it was, and the very thought caused for an icy shiver to course down his spine. The Gods sensed him here. They had branded him, and they wanted him back to the world in which he belonged. Why here though? Perhaps it had to do with the strong connection between this particular area and the forest itself. From what Jamie had described, it seemed important to the civilizations that lived here.

Still, his troubled thoughts seemed to wash away at Jamie's praise. The boy nearly beamed at the compliment and thanks, hiding a small grin as he cupped his hand to his face. He didn't mind being temporarily mute now anyway. He wouldn't have known what to say in response.

Bartleby wanted to offer himself for her to lean on, but was respectful enough to allow for her to move on her own. He almost wanted to offer to take her bag, but wasn't fast enough in writing out the request. The apple was taken with some disdain, a short groan escaping him.

Still, she was right. He had to eat something, and it would give him something to do as they continued on. He struggled to eat it, only to give up half-way and toss it over his shoulder. For him though, that was more than enough.

As they both slowly stumbled through the undergrowth, the magnetic sensation only grew, and the glow atop his head grew brighter and brighter.

Nearly there.

Bartleby simply shook his head in response, offering another weak smile. Why should he consider Jamie a weaker person for a fear that was just peculiar for what she did? If anything, he saw her as a stronger person for going into something that gave her the risk of being exposed to said fear. He wouldn't have been strong enough to do so.

As they kept along the path, and as the glow upon his head grew brighter and brighter, so did the pull that kept dragging him along. By the time they had reached the replica of the Crying Idol, the grip around himself had nearly grown painful. He didn't mind keeping a slower pace, particularly for Jamie's sake. He took each break that they took gratefully, doing what he could to take his mind off of the increasing discomfort that he felt.

By the time they stood in front of the entrance of what appeared to be some sort of basement structure, the pain had grown significantly. His pictogram nearly blazed atop his head, humming audibly as it nearly forced him to continue on.

Grimacing, he turned to Jamie, reaching into his pocket to pull out his little notepad and pen. Placing the tip of the sheet, he paused for a moment. "Haa..." nope, still nothing. It was a little better though, at least he could manage to make some sort of noise.

He scribbled down another note, a tad longer this time, and handed it to her. "Are we almost done? We need to get you some help and I need to get back to the forest." It read. If anything the whole thing didn't even seem to matter anymore.

It was obvious that he was in pain, though he made an effort to cover it all up. His legs shook from exhaustion, threatening to give way underneath him.

He looked into the looming entrance. It was quite dark, to Jamie anyway. Hopefully his pictogram would be enough to illuminate the interior enough for her.

A thought occurred to him, and he wrote Jamie another note.

"Are we gaining anything from this now that the thrill is gone?"

Was there a point? It seemed like the girl wouldn't be gaining much, if anything from all of this.

He nodded slowly, though there was no smile. At this point, Bartleby just wanted this whole mess to be over. The giant cat had been more than enough excitement for him, particularly with his own peculiar conditions. He likely wouldn't have even survived all of this in his ordinary human form.

His lips pulled up a tiny bit at the promise of almost being there, even if he already knew that himself. Still, he shook his head at the order, blinking slowly. He was supposed to worry, ans hopefully make himself useful from that concern.

Silently, he wrote down another note. "Of course I know what's there, the way back to the forest." That was all that mattered in the end, a way to get back. His family and friends were no doubt worried sick for him, for which he was rather ashamed. Still, at least he had gained something. A friend. Experience. Those were pretty valuable in his eyes.

Wincing at the light punch, he reluctantly followed behind, keeping close to her side as to act as a sort of makeshift flashlight. It bathed the inner caverns in a bright, almost natural light. It beamed wildly, its low humming growing in volume as they descended down the musty steps.

It really wasn't that spectacular, at least to Bartleby. The inner walls were well-worn, the floor formed in a classic cobblestone pattern that would seem wholly unsuspecting. Everything was coated in a layer of fine dust, indicating the neglect that the place had suffered over the decades.

At being told to watch his step, Bartleby just walked even more closely to Jamie, emulating her own footwork. He didn't trust himself in a situation like this, and he constantly scanned the floor, picking out every little detail that he could. The entrance had led to a narrow corridor, going in a straight line to a simple inner chamber.

When they reached the larger room at the end, the pictogram's magnetism had grown so powerfully that Bartleby was, quite literally, being drawn forward. His steps were slow, but he was unable to stop.

In the middle of the room, there a small pillar, just reaching his own waist. Upon the top was a crudely sculpted statue, a shoddy representation of the twin gods. There was nothing else, nothing.

The statue itself seemed to pulse upon their entering, no doubt attracted to its own resident. There were piles of half rotted clothes littered about the pillar, gear and half picked supplies. No doubt they were remnants of past explorers that had been sucked into the forest's portal.

And Bartleby continued to slowly walk towards it.

He turned back to Jamie, eyes wide as he tried to redirect his path. No good. He could barely control his legs. "Ja... mie..." he croaked, reaching a hand towards her helplessly. His head burned, throbbing with the endless pulsing of the statue itself.

Everything flashed by as soon as his hand was forced onto the statue. His eyes instinctively shut as a flash of white light erupted into his vision, and the transformation was near instant. Unlike Jamie, he was used to the sensation of having his body morph. His fingers melted into each other, and he could feel his curled antlers sprouting up from the crown of his head.

Eventually, the morphing stopped, and Bartleby forced his eyes to open. He was greeted to the sight of two familiar golden hooves staring up at him, glimmering away in the sunlight. Upon looking to the side, he found Jamie's doe form, laying on her side.

"Jamie?" his voice had returned, vocal cords no longer molded with lion's blood. He took a few steps towards her and sat down, leaning his head over to nose her shoulder. They were next to the god statues.

"How is your wound?" he asked, cocking his head around to try and make it out. Hopefully it hadn't hurt her more with the transformation...

He didn't notice that the shining symbol atop his head had changed as well. It was no longer a mass of curves and commas... but a simple circle with a small pattern that broke through it. How could he notice? But it was still peculiar all the same.

"Hm... well..." he looked down, eyes seeming to physically search for a proper retort. "I suppose it was proper sacrifice in order to save your hide." he settled on, nodding proudly. It wasn't often that he was the one that got the glory of saving another.

He could feel that her shoulder was a tad warm, slick with sweat. "You're feverish..." he murmured, his large ears dropping to sides of his head. "I'm sorry... I cleaned the bite marks as well as I could." unless her subtle illness was from something else entirely.

"Pardon?" he tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean, different? That's..." he stopped himself, letting his eyes roll up to try and catch sight of the symbol. He could barely see a wide curve, much different from the two smaller ones that had made up the base of his old pictogram.

Was it normal? Of course not. Even with every rebirth Bartleby had always kept the exact same symbol. It was a way of identification, his unspoken name, as Malware called it. Why would it change?

"No... it's not 'normal', persay... but it has happened to other deer." he slowly reasoned. Yes, there had been cases where pictograms have been changed for other deer. Never to him though, never. The instance itself was incredibly rare in most cases.

In a way, it made him a tad sad.

"You had no need to prove yourself." he murmured, blinking slowly. He wasn't particularly keen on sitting so close to the twin god statues. After all, he wasn't one to often want to hang around them unless he absolutely had to.

He frowned, standing to shift his position and examine the wound. The bandage was gone, of course, leaving behind a rather irritated set of bite marks. Ears flicked back, he leaned his muzzle forward to sniff it, trying to catch the smell of infection. Mumbling an unintelligible apology, he let his light pink tongue run over the scabbed cuts.

A circle? Perhaps it would at least be more aesthetically pleasing than his old pictogram. Still, he couldn't help but long for his old one. "I'll have to take a look at it later..." he murmured. He couldn't even think of leaving her to go down to the pond. Besides, he was rather tired himself.

He tensed sharply upon having her lean against him, a small hiss exhaling from his lips. Still, he wouldn't push her away. He didn't have the heart. Instead he simply forced himself to relax.

"Perhaps..." he watched as she fell into slumber, his own eyelids heavy. He wanted desperately to go home, to tell everyone that he had made it back safely.

But... he supposed that another few hours wouldn't hurt.

B)