Got to Go Back to�Work.

Here comes Smokey, and in the same motion, look, there goes the Ranger. That two-faced son of a lunisun. Sliding just like the eel, he has quickly become since heading up the defense portfolio and rolling the wooden spoon. There he goes, sliding out of Shadow's sleeping chamber after having gone in and administering the potion onto the pillow where Shad will be planting his weary head in a New York minute's time. Then drifting away into Slumber-land, from which he won't be returning any time soon to view the sunshine, but he doesn't know. Shad doesn't know any of that yet.

Smokey would have made sure that it would be so. He was careful to make sure of that, among other things, while on the go to stir the pot, you know. He, the Smokey being. It was that said Smokey dude who would have worked it all in on him, probably by way of his plate of food and commitment to sin. He also made sure, while he was at it, to furnish the long-term form of Cekkolandee fix, so that he wouldn't be coming back any time soon to sit. Smokey was the first to quit the conference room, uncharacteristically so, and said he had a few minor chores to get done while he could still keep his eyes open. And while his feet were still on the go, those things could not wait, so he'd said.

Shadow, in the meantime, was having no end of trouble keeping his own eyes open to look at you, and to view the sunshine. He blinked rapidly as he reached out to take a strong-arm hold of the doorknob and pull the door open. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could have sworn that he saw something move. He hesitated just long enough to convince himself that it was nothing, nothing at all. He needed to get some shut-eye and fast.

Meanwhile, look down at the far end of the hall. Somebody who looked a lot like Smokey to Shadow's sleepy eyes, who could barely see anything anymore, turned the corner so very fast that he would have scraped his shoulder on the 90-degree edge of the wall in the process. While holding the hem of the black housecoat he was wearing and pulling it in front of the fast-running away legs. He wrapped the coat around him and hoped the action would save him precious split seconds, enough for him to get out and stay out of sight. Not to be found out and to be busted, no, not on this night. He cannot afford another setback, not now.

He was lucky, it would have seemed, enough to get out of there and not be seen. He then headed down to the closest staircase, down into the servants' quarters of the building, where his son should be (by then) fast asleep in his tiny sleeping chamber, tucked away in the farthest northern corner of the building, and underground. He spoke the code upon nearing the cubicle. The door swung open to let him slide in and push it back close behind him fast. Leaving you out there in the dark, no? "No." "Well, if you say so, Dell."

Smokey is the Chief Ranger, the chief agent in charge there. He has free access to almost any chamber in the building and most other facilities on the compound, I hear. Meaning, he'll have no trouble at all getting around. So, there he goes into the rooming house, or so I'd supposed. The young boy stirred to life on the father's entry into the chamber, happy to see his father again, as usual. They exchanged pleasant words and hugs as they embraced, disturbing the bugs in the place. He embraced the son's face again before the father tucked the son back in under the warm night covering cloth. Look! He's rubbing the head of the young boy. Ruffling the low-cut brown hair somewhat before turning around and then walking back to the exit door. The same way by which he'd come before. Look at him there, he stopped in the doorway and leaned in.

"You know I love you, don't you?" he said. The boy nodded and shook his head in agreement, while pulling the covering cloth back up under the chin with a grip from both hands. Smokey's neck and head popped back on the inside as he nodded again and winked approvingly at the young boy on his final exit out of the chamber, waving a fan to cool himself down. While pulling the door shut behind him, well, as far as I can remember, that's how these things were said to have happened. Smoking Smokey has one more thing to see about before he calls it quits for the night, and he's out to get some food and shut-eye before we get to daylight.

Smokey is now in the lab. It's his domain, so there is nothing to it, you might think, on a hiss and sob, if one should have happened to be somewhere around, though, somewhere close enough to sneak a peek at him on a drive through Benbow. Like, peeking through a crack in the door, or through a curtain, perhaps. Or by way of something else, you know, like, by way of any and everything with see-through cracks. Such a person would've been likely to see a somewhat altered Smokey. Altered from the norm was he, because? Look at him. He's apprehensive now; there's an air of uneasiness about him this time. His physical demeanor is noticeably out of whack. Off-beat, he is walking the line somewhat. But, he's there.

Look, look at him through the lens of this thing. There he is, pouring essence from one vial after the other, carefully selected fragrances too, and chopped spices. He's pouring it all into the glass tube, and then into the bubbling pot over the fiery flame, as may be determined by the master brewer himself; he sure has a name. He's stirring the pot now with one spoon-equipped hand and shaking the glass tube with the other. Rapidly now. Look, he's applying drops of the liquefied mix from the tube into the pot periodically, and the spices too. As he shakes and stirs yet more. Look at him there! Looking back at who? Probably you, beware! Not seeing you behind the door there yet, though.

There you are in that tiny spot with the leaned-up chair, no? "No." A makeshift brace it is, drawn over and placed behind the door to bar you in and all the others out of the crib. Including him, Smokey, by the Shadow Man, no doubt. The pot is boiling in Smokey's kitchen and bubbling under his hand. As clouds of steam mushroom up from the belly of the boiling pot, fogging up the ceiling and curling down the back. He now stops the shaking and the stirring. Look, he's putting down the glass tube, and with his bare-naked hands, he's now holding the pot, and, what the?? Look at that, he's lifting it off the fire and then tilting it sideways to pour out some of the mixtures from the pot and into the fire itself.

The inferno, oh my! Look, look at the flames as they go up, up, up. The inferno is erupting. That's amazing! Unlike how things are with us in the earthly realms, when seen in these and such things, Smokey does not seem perturbed at all. Even though the flame is swinging as if it is clinging to the sleeves of the lab garments he's wearing. Wow! What a dude. Look! He's putting the pot down on a table a little ways removed from the fireplace and is walking over to a cupboard. Now, keep on looking, you coward! Did you see that? He's reaching into the cupboard and taking out something. What is it? Oh yes, there it is. It's another vial and? but-but, why is he moving so fast with that bottled-up glass and-and, and what's that?

Oh! It's a pair of pliers, but why? I can't say for sure, but he's walking back to pour some of the liquid from that vial into the pot. Look at that! A cloud of steam is billowing out of the pot, still. He's fanning the pot now as if to quickly cool it down, and blowing steamy breath from his mouth in through the lips pointed round. He's reaching back into the other cupboard for a bowl of some sort, and a scoop too. Look, he just pulled it out of the drawer, and with it, he's now dishing out some of the potions from the potted brew and into the bowl to fill it up to overfill with the broth. To come over and give it to you as a start, no? "No." Oh well, if you say so, what can I do? But still, keep on looking, look at him go. He picks up the bowl and is now walking.

Walking towards the door left half-open. Still walking. He's walking out of the lab now and going down the corridor. Down the stairs, he is now going down towards the sleeping chambers where he had been earlier to hide with her. Look at him, he's going towards the door of the chamber again and entering the chamber where he knows that he's there sleeping, along with the rest of them. All of them, like his helpers and associates, are there each evening, including him. "Yes?"

"Yes, including his son."

Smokey's son, Sparks, was a top-level secret in the kingdom. "It was a business deal," so they say. When everything was said and done. He never wanted it to become a certified regular right away, "he just wanted one of those things," like a son. I guess he had hopes, dreams, and plans, one might say. Big plans, it would seem; big plans for the future, and for realizing his dreams of the day. The agreement with the chambermaid was signed, sealed, and delivered. Both sides were satisfied. So, she bore him a son. He then sent her off to be married to, or as the terms were for that sort of thing in Cekkoland, certified regular.

They were to then "certify it regularly." By doing those sorts of Cekko things irregularly, until it was done. So, the popular story went on to say, she would become a "certified regular." She was assigned to a distant relative of his and would be afforded a rare chance to live out the rest of her very long life. Lived according to Cekkoland's standards of the kings and the knights. But as for her? As of this point, it will come with grandeur and flair off Smokey's arm. Well, again, so the story goes over there, but then, be forewarned. Not quite unlike how it is with the kings and their consorts, but there are some small differences here, of sorts.

The difference, as it goes in the case of the kings, was like this, as it applies to women in these sorts of setups and things. Any Cekko woman would much rather sign on the dotted line with someone who was anything like Smokey. Or any of the men under him, smartly. More so than they would have been with the king, be it the current king, King Liam, or any other kings throughout the ages. The reason for this is that? Unlike how it was to go with this arrangement between them and Smokey, Sparky's pops, where the woman in question was to have gone on to live a full and somewhat respectable life by way of the swaps.

When it comes to the Cekko kings, such a woman can never go on to establish a new relationship with other men. Let alone, certify it as "regular" with them. In other words, to regularize it in marriage as such things are referred to in the humanoid world in the earthly realms, and on the humanoid carriage, to get it to them. At least, that is how it works in theory with them. Many are the stories, though, popular stories such as those told to us in the days of glory on Cekko ore. Stories of babies being born to these very sorts of women, and then being done away with, in one form or another.

There were many other stories, too, of babies being laid away, encased in storage chambers under the Royal Housing Complex with you. Indoors too, if I remember well how these things were said to be true, no? "No." "Okay." Some of them were alive, even, because they would not die. No matter how hard some people were known to have tried. Spooky. Spooky indeed are those babies. Babies whose eyes, up until then, had never seen the lights of a Cekko sunrise. Or even a sunset, for that matter, that's such a surprise.

But a day is coming, and it's just about here, when some long-hidden things, secrets even, will be made known. Things will be revealed soon. Every eye shall behold it. Everyone's eyes in Cekkoland are now watching, and all are waiting for the fallout. Oh sheet! Look at this. To be continued. Yeah, man, word play is the order of the day around here.�

WritingElk.