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Emma had long ago left Turvy unconscious in the sand. At first she had unfortunately even felt sorry for him. She hadn't meant to knock him out, but he really was getting on her nerves, what with his ogling the school cheerleaders. He had even started drooling, for goodness sake!

But, when Emma had returned, she found Turvy quite messed up. He was sitting in the sand, his arms on the shoulders of a football player and a cheerleader. Swaying to a non-existing song, he drunkedly planted a kiss on both their cheeks through his mask. The cheerleader didn't seem to mind, but the football player slowly turned his head to stare at him when Turvy started to pet his arm.

"TURVY!" Emma yelled, charging over to him immediately. "What the heck do you think you're doing?"

He jumped slightly. As the football player ran away, Turvy held up a drooping hand. "Lookit, Em," he slurred, "I made shome friendsh!" He hiccupped slightly, then went to take another sip from his flask, only to have it immediately snatched away by Emma.

"I think you've had too much to drink," she said icily, dumping the flask of unknown liquid into a nearby sewer grate, slightly shocked when she saw the metal of the grate dissolve at the contact. "What is that stuff, anyway? Or do I even wanna know?"

He paused, mulling his answer over, and said, "You don't wanna know. It'sh kobold bile." Then he blinked "But I jusht shaid you didn't want to know." Finally, he shrugged. "Kobold biiile beer. It'sh fresh."

"And you're drunk!" Emma replied pointedly.

"Yesh, m'ladeh, yesh I am," was his automatic drunken reply. The cheerleader saw the romance in him gone, slapped him, and went off to the snack bar to gossip with the fellow cheerleaders.

"Oh, give it a rest, will ya?" Emma pleaded.

"I wish you all would give it a resht with the schlapping," he moaned. "I don't know how much more mah fashe could take."

Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he seemed to cough inwardly. "I gotta go. Be right back," he called behind him as he ran off into the distance.

Emma raised her arms in an I-don't-care-what-happens-
now type gesture. In five agonizing (for Turvy) minutes, he returned and collapsed into the sand next to her. "Sorry," he apologized, a little more soberly.

"Um...." Emma began, sitting down on her knees in front of him, "do I wanna know what that was about?"

"The revenge of the kobold beer," he said almost painfully, and she unfortunately felt sorry for him again. The feeling subsided again.

"I'll, uh...take that as a 'no', then," she replied.

"Answering your first question, I don't know if I can give this a rest. Still gotta find this per—" Turvy started, then face palmed his forehead. "God, I'll never drink again. For the next 2 hours," he said sheepishly. Then he took off his hat and began to fish around inside of it under Emma's curious stare.

"Well, can I do anything to help you find whoever it is?" Emma asked.

"Well, number one, you can still take up my offer to sit down next to me," he mumbled with one hand pulling out a roll of parchment and the other pointing to the empty spot next to him.

"I'm comfy sitting right here, thanks," Emma replied, "And—no offense—but your breath smells bad enough from right here, actually."

Ignoring that, he replied, "And number two, it says right here, on this handy piece o' paper. And I forgot it until now." Topsy Turvy unrolled the paper, and handed it to her.

Name: Emma
Place: Bonfire outside of Motley High School
Time: Quarter to 5
*And remember to stay sober.*



"But—but that's me. I mean, oh my god, that's...that's me." Emma stammered in disbelief. Then, she began to laugh hysterically as she reread the last line. "Well, I guess you don't take to following instructions very well, do you?" she said, flipping the paper around and showing it to him.

"Oh, really? Let me see that..." he said unconvincingly. Then he licked his armored thumb and smudged the last instruction. "I see no instruction of the sort to stay sober. See? An ink stain." He handed it back to Emma, who carefully folded it back up with a disgusted look on her face.

"You're a real filthy liar, you know that?"

"Ah, back to the point. That is you. And y'know what? I didn't think of it until now. So," he said in a singsong voice, "you're stuck with me for now."

"Ugh!" Emma growled, "Don't remind me." She grit her teeth.

"Does that mean you believe me now, Ms. Emma skeptic?" he inquired, chuckling, his hands now on his hips.

"Oh, whatever," Emma said, "It's not lie you didn't know I would in the first place."

"True, true. But this means now we've gotta stick together. Buuuut..." he said, rubbing his chin, "we can stay and mingle for the moment."

"Um, that sounds nice and all, but I've got a curfew..." Emma hedged.

"Oh. Right. What would your parents say if I rang your doorbell and told them you're coming with me? Hmm?" He seemed to get agitated. "So you'll just sit still at home, daintily sipping a cup of herbal tea while I go back empty handed?"

"Okay, first: They would strongly disagree. Second: No, but I'd really love to sleep in my own bed tonight. And third," Emma said, "I don't like tea. Herbal or otherwise."

Turvy growled. Then he put his hands on his head. In his head, he had a mental conflict, for he didn't know what to do. At last, he said quietly, "Fine." He stood up and said a little louder, "Fine. All right. You go to your house. Go to sleep. Tell your parents you love them. I'll wait outside your house until early morning, when your parents are still asleep. I will need to set a time capsule onto the house, so it will be locked in time. Like life would be put on pause there. If anyone were to enter, no one would be in there. You'll be fine."

"Ugh, can't I sleep in just a little?" Emma complained.

The look then that she received was too serious to be from Turvy. "Enjoy tonight. Come on, let's mingle."

"Define your meaning of...'mingle'."

His eyes were glinting, and she was sure he was smiling behind his mask. "It means stop being antisocial and make friends, my dear."

"Alright, then, I'll go try and track someone down who seems worthwhile." Emma replied. "This won't include you, sorry to say." And with that, she left Turvy sitting there, speechless and alone, in the sand and firelight.

"Ay, no me gusta la chica. Ella es muy loco*," he grumbled in Spanish. Suddenly, a latino cheerleader passed him, giggling with another cheerleader. For a while, his eyes just followed them, then he got up and chased after them calling, "Wait! You look hot!"


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*Translation: Agh, I don't like the girl. She's very crazy.