Chapter 2 ~ Nathaniel Dean

While looking for the abducted Mr. Michigan, Nathaniel comes across Picasso Monahan, who has an obvious crush on Mr. Michigan, and Bailey de Vincent, Nathaniel's best friend

Chapter 2 ~ Nathaniel Dean

I had to find Mr. Michigan. With his leg in such a terrible condition, anything could’ve gone wrong with him. This is probably the doing of another of the teammates. And that’s even worse, as they can do worse. So packing the beret and the glasses into my satchel, I head off to look for him.

I go back out the way I came, but neither Mr. Michigan nor his kidnapper is here. They must’ve gone further into the hall. The room at the end of the hall is semi-dark, as its only light source is from the large, skylight ceiling above that’s covered in moss at the top. The walls and floor are made of stone, with random puddles pooled in some places. Sitting on the floor, playing with an Android phone of some sort is Picasso Monahan.

Much unlike Mr. Michigan, Picasso is a peasant, and doesn’t dress in very neat or fashionable manner, and his shaggy, maroon hair is always a mess. In fact, he only washes his favorite outfit, and puts it back on once it’s dry. Picasso also has a lot of scars and bruises all over his body, and his pale skin almost has a gray tint to it, which makes us all think that he was once owned by someone rich with a ranch or a big farm, and his was beaten a lot. In fact, he has so many deep, uncured wounds, that there’s a rumor that Picasso once died, and came back to life. However, Picasso never really said much about being a servant to anyone. He hasn’t said very much about his past altogether.

We all think that Picasso has a crush on Mr. Michigan, to top it all off. When one of the teammates of Amherst hurts Mr. Michigan in anyways, Picasso always scolds them for “abusing royalty.” He calls him Clarence, but in a flirtatious way, because he seemingly likes to see the Australian prince flustered. He also follows him to the libraries when he reads, and likes to pester him while he just wants to have quiet, reading time for himself. Since Mr. Michigan’s been kidnapped now, a worried Picasso will do anything to help me find him.

Upon hearing my footsteps in the room, Picasso snaps his head up to look at me, and smiles, shoving the phone into his pocket. “‘Sup, Nathan?,” he says to me. “You ready for a war?”

I laugh, and nod. “Yeah, I am,” I say. “But right now, we need to find Mr. Michigan. He was shot by Sergio Prezlocki in the leg, and he’s badly injured. I went to give him medicine for the pain, but when I came back, the door was locked, and he wasn’t even in the room. I think he was kidnapped. I’m out to look for him.”

Picasso’s expression melted in one of worry, and he stood up immediately. “Well, we need to find him,” he says firmly. “We can’t have him missing. I don’t want anything bad happening to Clarence. I thought I heard someone coming, but I was behind those rocks.” He points to a small piles a pile of rocks for making material stone out of. “They couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t see who it was either. But I heard someone breathing fast and nervously, and the other person’s breathing was more of a growl. That might be Clarence and his kidnapper.”

I nod. “I agree; it probably is,” I say. “Let’s go see them.”

The two of us start out the door on the other side of the room, making sure to keep a sharp lookout for one of Amherst’s kind and Mr. Michigan. We don’t find either of them, but instead, we do find Bailey de Vincent.

“Ah, bonjour, you two,” he says. “How is it going? Have you found Amherst yet?”

I smile. Bailey is probably my best friend. The Frenchman and I seem to spend the most time together, and we’re always joking around with each other and in our free time, we often go hunting together, as the Frenchman is a hunter and a soldier. He and his twin brother are both soldiers, and they were sent to Mr. Michigan when he moved into the castle to be his royal guards.

I sigh, smiling upon seeing Bailey. “No, we haven’t found Amherst,” we say. “But we think that one of his boys might’ve found Mr. Michigan and kidnapped him.”

Bailey looks up with thought for a minute, fixing his golden blonde hair. “You think it was one of Amherst’s voice?,” the Frenchman asks. “A few rooms back, I thought I heard a few doors slamming, and someone yelling. And it was no voice that belongs to anyone else.”

Picasso frantically looks from me to Bailey. “It’s probably them,” he says. “We have to go and see. Where was it coming from, Bailey?”

Bailey beckons for us to follow us, and takes us in the direction that he said he heard the slamming in.