After sorting everything out, the Karen's threatening to countersue, it's just me, the cops, and my parents. And the Master, of course.

"Hey, there's an ambulance here, and we just want to check out your wound, if that's okay?" The cop said kindly, acting like I was a particularly dumb kid that he didn't mind talking to but still spoke simply to. Meaning his words weren't intentionally derogatory, he was trying to be nice.

"I can't afford an am-" I hold my head, the Master rolling his eyes, "Hey! You- you can't do that! You never do that!" He had hit me gently upside the head, more a tap than anything. Even still, that was Ky's move, not his.

"Yes, well your friend showed me how effective it was. I'll pay for any expenses that your health insurance doesn't," He said commandingly, and I blinked at him in awe. Woah. I mean, I know he always wore a suit, and he had a nice home, but I thought he was upper-middle class rich, not Richie rich! Seeing me staring at him in disbelieving awe, he rolled his eyes, "Yes, I'm classified as upper class, now go." I blinked. Or maybe I said that aloud. Well then. Okay.

"B-w-you're a principal! For a middle school!" I said in disbelief.

"Yes, and the owner and CEO of a company," He explained impatiently, "Go. I'll get you McDon... ald's after?" He hesitated and finished, me barely catching the words as I took the cop and ran outside right as I heard the Mc. I was fucking starving, I hadn't eaten since Thursday because they ate meatloaf for leftovers, then had stupid fucking pizza for the last night. It was Monday. I'd have happily been eating in the lunchroom, only to get cornered before I could reach it! It was so unfair.

The cop, chuckling, jogged after me, hand held in mine as we went to the ambulance. At the EMT's curious glance, the cop explained that I was promised McDonald's if I went to have my wound checked.

"I mean, it's honestly fine," I admitted, "But like, I haven't eaten since Thursday because I hate meatloaf and plain or pepperoni pizza and that's all they ate since Thursday, and like while I totally did a great job stitching the wound, and like so did the Mm-principal and yeah so check and McDonald's," I rushed out, having been unwrapping the coverings and shoved my grotesque-looking wounded arm at him.

The EMT had frozen when I said "stitched" and his eyes widened when he saw what had been done. Eyes evening out, he goes into Medic Mode™, "Okay, so you did that? And you're saying the principal finished the stitches?"

"Mhm. I'm broke, and I figured it's best if I don't get too many debts until I get a sugar buddy or something," I ignore the coughing of the cop I dragged out, "It's fishing wire, so it's clean, and I made sure the wound was as clean as I could get it before sewing it together."

"Okay, I'm going to cut the stitches to see if it needs to be stitched, and then we'll go to the hospital so I can put in dissolving stitches, how about that?" He says calmly.

I give him a blank look, "No. It goes down to the bone, dude. After a month I'm planning on cutting the stitches and just using bandages to keep it together so that it can heal naturally. Unless you can stitch it here, I ain't going anywhere," I said flatly, childish tone in my voice dropping before I utter the first syllable. The medic doesn't do anything besides purse his lips at the change in tone.

"You're saying you could see bone?" At my nod he continued, "It's best for the stitches to stay in, then," He told himself and the cop more than me, "Try and keep them clean, and can you promise me you'll visit the hospital in a month so doctor's can look at it?"

Before I could speak a hand tapped my head, "Of course, I'll make sure she gets there in a month's time."

At that the medic nodded, repeated what he said to me to the Master, and left. The cop gave me a concerned look, before speaking, "Where'd you learn that word you used before?"

Glancing at the cop, I hummed, "You mean sugar buddy?" The Master coughed once, having inhaled too quickly, "I mean, one, it's not like I'm fucking five, I know the lingo. And two, my friends have all been complaining that they weren't old enough for one."

The cop's concerned look decreased a bit, "Do you know where they got the term from?"

I gave the cop an amused look, "Me. Ow!" I hold my head, frowning at the Master who had tapped me gently again, certainly not hard enough for me to react the way I did, but I was feeling melodramatic today, "Fine, fine. I learned it from..." I thought for a moment. I learned it from my singular friend, but when she was older. I learned of the word rather old, I was eighteen when I learned it, "Uhh the uhh," I glanced around, lowering my voice when I saw that my parents were just barely in hearing range, "Library. Fifty Shades of Grey came out recently. Don't tell my parents though, they hardly ever let me go to the library," I hadn't honestly expected to change my answer last second. I had intended to say it came from the internet, but I couldn't risk my parents going full-on cable if they overheard. My KD was ONE kill less than M_OfYourMom, at the precipice of a percentage, and I was so, so going to get that number up by killing that fucker tonight. He was the only person I ever told to "get bent" too, having begun using it when I ran out of insults one weary night when he'd been spawn killing me for a few hours. I only thought it at others, but it was my main insult to YourMom, or M, as I called him.

I didn't notice the looks of alarm on the cops face, nor did I notice that he turned redder than a cherry. I was busy making strategies to lure M_OfYourMom into a false sense of security by playing a few games together. Get him used to shooting at noobs. Then? BAM! RPG his ass. Or sticky grenade. Yeah. Tomahawk? Maybe. Maybe. Oooh, C4. That'd really piss him off. Knifing would too, though, but I didn't want to risk it.

At the hit to the back of the head I flailed, "Oi! Stop it!" I snapped, and he gave me a confused look, before it changed into a smirk.

"Stop spacing out, then, astronaut."

"Maybe control didn't do its job and I'm trapped in space," I muttered sullenly as I turned towards the man who I had heard speaking but hadn't paid attention to.

"I don't think you should read things like that," The cop spluttered, and I gave him a blank stare.

"The fact that a twenty-something year old is more innocent than a fu-" I glanced over, they were in earshot now, "-reaking twelve year old goes to show how jaded I am to the ways of the world. Having said that, you should, it's really really bad. I can write shhhh... oz... better than that." They'd take away my playstation if they heard me swearing. I couldn't let that happen. Not tonight. Not yet.

The Master gave me a curious look, glancing at my parents. He'd been there for parent-teacher meetings. He knew I gave no fucks about swearing in their presense.

In the end Monica gave him his answer, "Still trying not to swear so you can keep the playstation?"

"I will fuck- damn it, I will freaking overcome his KD-ratio tonight! I'll be the better player, just you wait and see. I already have more kills than he does on an average basis!"

"Video games," The Master said flatly, "You said you weren't into video games."

"Dude, I'm not. I'm only into Pokemon and Call of Duty, everything else can suck my- your- ugh can't you choose something else to punish?" I turn to my very amused parents, "Not swearing is too hard for my young and pliable brain, I don't have nearly enough vocabulary to replace the words!"

Monica put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me very seriously. I gave her a flat stare. I'd done this enough times to know that she wasn't serious, "Ka-"

"May," I insist.

"May," She corrects, probably only because the Master was giving her a look that she probably took to mean interest but was more along the lines of don't-fucking-touch-my-Minion, "I will give you the four most important words in your life-"

"No thanks, I don't want to marry you."

Monica laughs, "Let me finish!" I tilt my head downwards in acceptance, "Fudge, Soup, Banana, Duck."

I give her a flat stare, "I... I think... I think I'm going to start swearing in different languages instead. Because this is a load of bull. Home isn't a place of professionalism, it's a place of comfort, and yet you're restricting my usage of the English language. And my constitutional rights. Maybe I'll bring back insults from the 50s."

Monica rolled her eyes, "Whatever, dude, have a good day."

I waved and soon it was just the Master and I.

"Why were you upset earlier? When they found out you were my minion."

"I said the wrong thing," I answered bitterly after a moment of silence where I recalled what he was talking about. Fuck did he have to ask this shit?

"The answer seemed fine."

"I should have said I didn't think it was important, or given some other reason, like a secrecy pact or whatever. Now any argument that I get pulled into will include "oh you've been keeping secrets from me" for answers or arguments that are all such bullshit," I answered in the form of a complaint, "I wouldn't mind if they used logic for what they order me about for, or yell at me for, but they're a family of dunderheaded beasts that know not the way of the book, but the way of ignorance. Or whatever."

The Master frowned, thinking it over. I had no fucking clue what he was thinking, but I wasn't happy that he was thinking about it at all, "So, food and then the talk?"

That got his attention, "The talk?"

"Yes, the one where I either tease you about the fact that my sibling was checking you out, or the one where I continuously make clear that she's off limits depending on what mood I'm in after eating."

The Master gave me an amused look, "Oh, jealous?"

I blinked, stared him dead in the eyes, "Yes."

I grinned at the expression on his face, and he relaxed, rolling his eyes when he realized I had been joking.

"Of who, exactly?"

"Adults in general," I explained, twisting my mouth into a semblance of a grin as we walked, "Freedom of speech, freedom of movement, and freedom to fuck. While I'm enjoying not having to do taxes, if I get a job I'll have to do them anyway, and same thing for rides. Can't wait to get a damned job, where I can complain mentally all day about work being a pain and then get paid for it."

The Master huffs out a laugh, "Right. McDonald's?"

"An application a week until they fucking accept, an entire month before I can even work," I confirmed, "I am fucking working every single hour I legally can a week until I'm eighteen."

The Master shook his head, understanding the sentiment, "Right, you said food, not McDonald's, do you really care?"

"I hadn't eaten since Thursday, so I'm hoping for something filling," I explained with a shrug.

"All-you-can-eat buffet?" He suggested, and I gave him a confused look.

"It's the middle of the school day, don't you have work?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I can do the work I have remaining after school ends. I really just keep everything in check and sometimes go around classrooms to see if everything's being actually taught at the school, and I only need to do that once a month at most."

"Cool. And the conferences, but those aren't school days for middle schoolers, I suppose. So, food?"

"Yes, let's go get food," He agreed amicably with an eyeroll. I understood his frustrations. I became rather simple if I go too long without food.

"On the bright side, I have abs because I haven't been eating too well this summer, see?" I lifted my shirt to show off my intense abs.

The Master frowns, "That's not anywhere near healthy."

"Better too thin than too fat," I shrugged, and he gave me a judging stare.

"You said you wouldn't go through the dieting phase."

"Do I look like I'm dieting?" I gave him an exceedingly disgusted look, "I'm a total fatass, if there's food and drink I like around."

"Picky eater?"

"Kind of. Not really, I only dislike a maximum of ten foods. It's just that the ten foods I dislike are exceedingly common in my household, and school food isn't available in the summer."

"Ah. Not something you'd experience in any other household?"

"Not particularly," I shrugged, "I mean, I don't like peas, or most pizzas, but other than that there's really nothing too common."

"You don't like pizza."

"I like some pizza. Just I have a general disliking of most pizza."

"Name a pizza you like."

"Dessert pizza," I said immediately, "Canadian pizza- er, Hawaiian, I mean, though that's not really pizza."

"So you like things that don't count as pizza."

"Well, I guess yeah. I don't really go out of my way to try pizza," I shrugged, standing awkwardly at his car. He rolled his eyes at my obvious need to be invited into his car, and waved his acceptance.

"Why do you do that?" He asked as we pulled out of the parking lot.

"Do what?" I replied dryly. I did a lot of things in the past minute that he could be questioning.

"Wait until you have permission to get in the car." The Master tapped his fingers, not impatiently, but bored.

"Because you aren't offering rides sometimes," I claim, knowing I had no proof. Out of the many rides I have taken in his car, or walked up to the car with him, only a few times has he not been offering a ride when I thought he would. Most of those times are mainly to spite me into walking back, admittedly, but still. Typically I know when he's offering a ride and when he's not, like when he's leaving for home and simply has me set shit in the second seat, or when he has nothing else for me to do.

He simply remained silent, obviously not caring. I didn't either.

"Professional or not, you need to learn to lighten up," He started after we were finished eating, our conversation around my sister already finished when he exuded the appropriate levels of disgust, "My minion can't be a stick in the mud all the time."

The school day had finished a few minutes ago, and he claimed he'd take me home. I agreed, knowing I'd miss the bus no matter if I ran, stole a car, or whatever. Ah. Life, "I'm more like a tree in the mud," I mused, "Pretty nice, boring, emotionless."

The Master rolled his eyes, but he was still looking at me like I was a puzzle, "No, seriously. I spoke to your parents earlier, and they said they've never seen you laugh or smile before. Not since you were young."

"I smile and laugh all the time," I lied, "For example, I grin genuinely when I win against someone good in a video game."

"Mhm, and laughing?" He pointed out.

"Ah," I suddenly wasn't feeling very defensive, "There's not much to laugh about, is there?"

"Depression," He pointed out, as if he solved the world's mysteries, pointing a fork at me.

I titled my head. No, I don't think that was it. I had lots of sunlight, water, food, exercise, and all of that, and while I hadn't laughed, I certainly wasn't going about being sad and moody and dead inside. Or, well, sad and moody, "No... I think life is just shitty enough that I can't bring myself to. Maybe I'm a sociopath."

"You don't fit the description," The Master refuted. I shrugged. Exhaustion tried dragging me down, and I yawned. I'd need to sleep if I wanted to beat my arch-enemy, "Have you been sleeping?"

"Yeah," I said, blinking at his disbelieving stare, "I sleep every day, unless I can't. That's rare, though."

"Mm? How long?" The Master asked, and I shrugged.

"Depends on when dinner is, and when I finish it. Sometimes I sleep for five hours, sometimes for one. I get up at nine to play games and relax," At the Master's frown, I continue, "Mainly I get an average of three hours of sleep a night, so I'm good," I yawn again, "you know?"

"Children especially need around twelve hours of sleep. All the way up to being a teenager," The Master said as if I didn't know that.

"I'm not keen on spending a third of my life dreaming about what could never be," I said firmly, "My body just needs time to adjust to its new schedule."

"I presume you've had this schedule since you got the playstation?" The Master asked reluctantly. I nodded. He gave me a look that I didn't understand, like he was suffering at my idiocy, though what I did didn't effect him in any way, shape, or form.

That was the end of the conversation, oddly enough, and he drove me home. The weeks passed, and, as expected, M_OfYourMom kept up with me. When he found out that I was essentially broke and didn't have the other games he wanted to play he easily game-shared, and soon we were defeating each other and staying in the same skill range as each other in anything we played. The Master still wasn't happy about my sleeping schedule, but gave me more of a workload anyway, and school got just that bit harder, seeing as I was in Algebra now, the last math class I had paid attention to in my previous life. It had served me well, and I, obviously, got all A's in the class. The Master was pissed off beyond belief when the lawsuit was dropped, neither side giving money to the other. The loons returned not a month later.