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Not.

Just to kill the relaxing holiday-esque mood of the whole scene, Every’s mobile, even with its bad connection services out here in the wild, rings. A recording of Mambo No.5 fills the dry, wintry air, startling the alien guards, unused to technology.

He tugs it out of his pocket, all while chewing a thin slice of frozen fish the patrolling alien had cut for him with a bloodied hunting knife.

How clean.

“Sorry babe, but I’ve gotta take this.” On his lap, Lily is perched lovingly, since they decided that this is an informal honeymoon and all.

In this way, the over-enthusiastic screeches of the ice queen are made for all to hear, ramping up to ninety decibels even without the speaker on. “Ev, guess what? Papa told me to call you ’cause he couldn’t. The internet over there must be so bad, huh? Calls from Earth can’t reach it.”

Good old Evera, always having her thoughts and words jumbled up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Every answers like the bored subordinate he had somehow become. “You know how sad my plight is; no need to double it over.”

“Anyway, he wanted me to pass you the information that Queeny’s place is under attack, and you should go help her.”

A thick eyebrow raises. “What do you mean Queeny is under attack? Mentally or physically?”

“I said what I said, brother dear,” says the phone.

“Hello,” Every says with a sigh in a sarcastically sing-song voice, kind of like a pissed-off teacher whose students have stopped paying attention, “this can be serious, so please answer me.”

After a pause, he adds. “Or it could be that she has another nightmare and wants me to go kill the imaginary monster under her bed like the last time. Her boogeyman of a bodyguard could easily do that.”

“He said Fernando went rabid again and is camped out around her place. Lily’s the fairy queen, yeah? So the least you two could do would be going there to die for the people.”

Every scrunches his face like a spoiled kid denied his chocolate ice cream and helium balloon. “That’s not exactly an appealing notion, sister. What about you, what would you do to help a friend?”

“Ev, Queeny may be like a foster sister to me, but you know I do not have any connection whatsoever to the place. Unlike you, the knight, and your girlfriend, the queen. And she is more of your friend than mine, anyway. But out of the kindness of my heart, I can lend them some infantry.”

“How generous of you, sister,” Every grunted out before abruptly cutting the call. Then he turns to his beautiful secret-fairy-queen of a girlfriend. “Something is up, Lily.”

Lily arches an eyebrow suspiciously, eyeing him up and down.

“Not that, you dirty girl.”

CHAPTER 17: A BALD MAN’S WAXED HEAD

“Guess our sweet little honeymoon phase of bliss has to be cut short,” Every announces the obvious to Lily as they walk up the familiar steps into the regent fairy’s throne room. The journey had been smooth, smoother than a bald man’s waxed head, with them reaching Fairyland in literally the blink of an eye. All thanks to the ancient technology of our even more ancient trailer park king and queen.

And this time, thankfully, Elma and Elmo had not been perusing a high in any sketchy activity.

Freaks.

The door guards with their sugar component names didn't mind them much either, most probably because Lily didn’t make any remarks in the first place. They did their job mostly in silence, the threat looming on the horizon weighing heavily in their hearts, cracking the nuts of these nutcrackers.

“That’s quite apparent,” Lily answers her man flatly, turning to his pretty face.

But he then suddenly stops in his tracks, nearly toppling over at the sudden halt. “Hey, Queeny, are you alright?”

Queeny, sitting ever pristine on her throne of sweets, and in an even more pristine body-hugging gown, wails. “See my face, bro? I’ve got mascara stains all over, so obviously not.”

She sure isn’t, perched there with her usual high, bubbly personality replaced by a completely serene vibe. Her big, scary bodyguard is shushing her, though to no avail since it doesn’t seem to stop her awful tear-flow one bit. There is even a recording of Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On playing on the stereo nearby. Instead of funny brownies or the popular boba milk tea, she slowly sips red wine from a thin glass.

Even her fairy wings, which disappear and appear in convenient situations, are drooped down, a haze clouding the once vivid golden color.

How serene, yes, how serene.