"What are you doing, babe?" I ask Hayden.

He stops at some bushes by the dirt path we are on, taking a handful of wildflowers by the wayside at the time.

"Well, I just think it's rude to go to a funeral empty-handed," says Hayden. "Of course, I would've preferred a little more time to prep some muffins or something."

"yeah, but, ain't like Okayden's family the protector of the forest and shit?" adds Brayden, on the back of the group, kicking his feet on the ground like a bored teenager whose mom ran into her best friend at the supermarket and has spent the last hours talking about what that bitch Brenda at work did this time. Fuck Brenda.

The man guiding us through the forest, Trevor the Man-man, gives us a gentle chuckle as the click-clack of his cane/staff pierces through the silence. The forest is beautiful, if thick. Dummy thick. I can't see beyond a few trees due to density. But not a sound of rustling leaves is heard, as if the whole forest was mourning as well.

"The Tri-state forest alliance does not work like that, young one," says the Man-man. "The protector of the forest is not a king, nor owns the land. They are merely a mediator between the races that live here. See, it all started with the first magika war, when-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't remember asking, sir," I say. Rude? Perhaps, but that sounds like plot. I don't care about plot. I just wanna get Okayden and get this over with.

"I want to hear this story," says the LB, walking smugly like a smug smuggler.

"Nobody asked your fucking opinion. Be quiet and seek your natural death."

Trevor the Man-man laughs once again. "I understand, no explanations. Master Okayden will surely explain this in a succinct manner when you meet with him. He has such a beautiful way with words."

"Yeah, right. He didn't even tell us his mother died," says Hayden.

I hear Brayden whistle in a very suspicious manner all of a sudden, hiding his hands behind his back.

"Brayden? Is there anything you need to tell us?" I ask him.

"no...?" he says/ask.

"Are you telling me, or asking me?"

"Fufufu, the gloopy nazz's heart is beating like a drum," says the LB.

That's weirdo for "fucking lying," me thinks. "Brayden, spit it out."

Brayden stops dead in his tracks, I think because his eyes are pinned to the ground. "well, three days ago, schooby-dork gave me this piece of paper before disappearing. i thought he was giving me something in a foreign language or some shit."

Brayden produces a piece of paper from his pocket, all covered in snot and spit. It's obvious it was yet another victim of Brayden's white hole. Hayden takes it from his hand and slowly folds it.

"So, what does it say?" I ask.

"It's a poem," says Hayden. "From John Donne. For Whom The Bells Toll."

"The Metallica song?"

The LB snatches the paper from Hayden's hand with that bottom energy of his'. "Ah, a poem. The holy slovos of a bard signing to the soul of art. Too much to handle for a moodge of your... intelligence."

"Better start reading, Pepe le Bitch," I say as I take a step toward him.

The LB clears his throat, and with a theatrical bow, begins to read.

"No man is an island,

Entire of itself.

Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less.

As well as if a promontory were.

As well as if a manor of thine own

Or of thine friend's were.

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

Therefore, send not to know

For whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee."

See, it's okay because the poem is in public domain. Also, why did Okayden gave us this poem?"

"see? in another language," says Brayden, pouting. "the fuck is a continent?"

"A vast expanse of land, brother. Like Europe."

"the fuck's a europe?"

Trevor the Man-man releases a giang chortle while smashing his cane/staff into the ground over and over again. "Marvelous! Truly, marvelous! I see why your japes make master Okayden laugh so much!"

I think we are talking about different people. The most Okayden has told me is that he likes feet and books about running with pointy objects. "Anyhow, that's a roundabout way of telling us his mom died."

LB makes a pirouette, ending in a grande-plie, raising the poem aloft. "It is not roundabout in any way, no sir. The beauty of the poem, the sorrow, the pain of loss, it is all here. A moodge hears a death collocol, and because he is so in-tune with earth, he feels pain for the dead. For death affects us all. Such elegance, such beauty!"

"Yes, it is!" says Trevor the Man-man. "The tenderness in Master Okayden's hearth can only be expressed in prose. Such is the depth of his magnificence."

"dude, clean your chin. you got slobber all over from sucking his dick," says Brayden with a smile he shouldn't have for very obvious reasons. It was all his fault. Well, not Okayden's mother's death, but you get what I'm saying.

Trevor the Man-man gives us a small laugh and proceeds to lead us back to our trek. "If he were to ask me, I would surely do so. I am eternally grateful for the kindness the McHumans have shown me, a hideous beast, pariah of the monster world. If not for them taking me in as a ward, I would've died."

"You truly are a scoteena of the most hideous ilk," says the LB. "They must have the mercy of saints."

Uh? Am I missing something here? I mean, Trevor looks normal. Very normal. I wish I was Trevor, to be honest. No abs, no magic eyes, no sweat that smells like "Invictus," nothing. Sure, he's mostly bald, and what little there is seems to be ginger, which is a yikes for me, but it is a small price to pay for normalcy.

"you're a 4/10, bro," says Brayden, now chewing gum. Where did he get it, and why hasn't he shared it? Rude. "like, if we dim the lights, get a few drinks, we can see where it goes from there."

"Fufufu, you fool, you think he's a human, right? How grand, to be a gloopy nazz without a care in the world!"

Well, he is. He pretty much looks like a human. A disgusting, ginger human, but a human nonetheless.

"It's alright, young Brayden," says Trevor the Man-Man. "I think you are confusing me with a human. However, I am everything but."

Perhaps there isn't a more tragic tale amongst the paranormal community that of Trevor the Man-man, the unfortunate loser of the mythical genetic lottery that comes when a mommy mermaid and a daddy minotaur have a couple of Sazeracs after meeting during a soccer game, with only a porta-potty available to satisfy their most primal urges, which, thanks to the irresponsible nature of their meeting, led to a shotgun wedding that quickly turned into a loveless marriage as daddy minotaur tried to drown his sorrows with light beers, which is the official beer of the depressed, while mommy mermaid found solace in her cooking, enough to keep her distracted until Friday where she would meet with her mermaid girlfriends and quietly listen to their success stories while she quietly wept internally for her squandered potential.

And in the middle was Trevor the Man-man, which, in a twist of fate, got the double-recessive lottery by pulling both of his parents' human parts, thus turning him into a full human with cryptid blood. Some would call it a step up from his younger brother who nabbed both the bull and the fish part which made him a Taur-maid chimera who can't walk on land, nor breathe underwater, making his existence a living nightmare.

Most, however, would point out that Trevor the Man-man was a ginger, which put him in a slightly worse position than his brother in life. If only barely. Not monster enough to be accepted amongst the supernatural community, and not human enough to walk amongst normal people, mostly due to the ginger thing. He was deeply scarred by crippling social anxiety that made him develop a F.O.M.O, or fear of missing out.

After years of trying to fit in somewhere, and failing miserably, he was ready to throw his life away when Leighkalleh McHuman took him as a ward. It was her job as a protector of the forest to look after the weak and the ginger, after all. He then dedicated his entire life to the McHumans.

Now, did I ask any of this? No. But we are in a werewolf arc now, and all the characters have weird backstories and dumb names. And abs. A lot of abs.

The LB, oddly enough, is gently sobbing while wiping his tears with a golden handkerchief. "What a beauteous story. And sad. Oh, the montruosity!"

"Remind me again why you're tagging along," I tell him.

With a flick of the wrist and a light giggle, the handkerchief disappeared in mid-air. "I have nothing better to do. And we have a eegra pending."

"You could've waited for us to return."

"I, for one, am glad that master... hmm, I'm afraid I do not know your name," says Trevor the Man-man. How long must we walk again? My feet are hurting, and I'm not taking my shoes off to rub them. Y'all nasty. "In any case, I'm glad you are here. You look like a very powerful spellcaster. We will need your strength in the trials to come."

"In the what now?" I ask.

"Trials to come, baby," says Hayden.

"I heard it the first time. But what trials?"

"Young master Ayden, you explicitly told me not to explain anything," says Trevor the Man-man. "I'm sure master Okayden will explain it to you in his eloquent way when we reach him."

Yeah, that's not gonna happen. I have a bad feeling about this. It ain't gonna be an easy out.

LB makes a small bow at Trevor the Man-Man, all the way plastering his signature smirk all over his face. "I'm glad a monster such as you can recognize my greatness. I wouldn't share my eemya with everyone, but you, scoteena, have proven worthy of knowing my eemya. Kneel and pray to me, your new lord, the magnificent-"

"We have arrived!" says Trevor the Man-man, finally reaching the top of the forest hill we were climbing.

Honestly, I expected something... Cullen-esque avant-garde woods mansion with glass everywhere and shit. But no. What we find is a simple cabin in the woods. Kinda like something you would find in a folksy AirBnB where you go to detox from all things electronic. It doesn't even have glass windows. What kind of vampire/werewolf house has no windows?

Men with heads of pigs, and tusk of pigs, and also body of pigs... okay, not men, but, like, bipedal. Bipedal pigs. Pigmen. Yeah, let's go with pigmen. Several pigmen came in and out of the cabin, one after the other, carrying boxes and furniture alike. Hu, weird.

"Is Okayden moving or something?" asks Hayden.

For the first time since we met, there isn't a smile on Trevor's lips. Instead, there is a sad, melancholic pout. "Yes, and no. Again, I cannot say anymore. After all, young master Ayden has instructed not to explain anything."

Is he sassing me? He's sassing me! That bitch. Oh, boy, if looks could kill, Hayden would've left me in a vegetative state, at least. Like a carrot, but not ginger. "Please, explain, brother. It is for the good of our comrade."

Trevor gives me a look, but I can't tell if it's apologetic or smug. Maybe both. "This home belongs to the protector of the Tri-state forest. Since Master Leighkalleh is no longer the protector, the manor is being vacated for the next forest protector."

He turns around and walks towards the house, but not before whispering something under his breath. Oh, but I hear it. I definitely hear it. It is the curse of the protagonist.

"Well, if everything goes according to plan, there won't be a change in administration."

I... don't like where this is going. But nonetheless, we enter the cabin, only to find nothing. It's empty. Thankfully, no white hole this time. In fact, there is no hole to be seen. But also, no furniture. No painting hanging on the wall, no sofa, or Tv, or bookcase. Nothing. What little there is, which is mostly boxes, is being carried away to the yard by the pigmen. The only thing in the room is a very small chair, almost flat on the floor, with Okayden sitting on it.

He's hugging his own legs, looking uncomfortable, with his eyes half closed. He looked tiny, incredibly so, with his big coat looking extra loose on his body. I cannot avoid feeling pity for him.

Hayden, weirdly enough, is the first one to engage. He takes a knee next to him, all the while soft patting him on the back with his left hand while raising the wildflower bouquet with the other.

"Hey, buddy," says Hayden, gently, almost like cooing a baby. "Sorry we are late. Brought you flowers."

Okayden's eyes open up wide and light up with sparkles. Obviously, he had been expecting us. I'm sorry for being shitty friend. I blame Brayden for all of this, again. He grabs the flowers, looks at us, back at the flowers, and takes a bite out of them.

"I knew I should've brought some muffins," says Hayden.

Honestly, I love this man. He's so sweet, I might take a bite out of them.

I take a seat on the floor next to Okayden, giving him a smile. "Hey, man. I'm very, very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, my comrades,

It does means the world to me,

To have you all here."

The LB and Trevor the Man-man got to another room, deep in conversation. That doesn't give me a funky-fresh feeling, to be honest. Trevor looks shifty, like all gingers do.

"better late than never," says Brayden as he sat on the floor across from us. "what's with the kiddy chair?"

Okayden simply opens up his coat and reveals a star of David around his neck.

"sweet ninja star necklace, bro. but what does being a ninja have to do with tiny chairs?"

"Dumbass, that means he's jewish," I say. "He's sitting Shiva."

"oh, didn't know. ain't shiva the hindu goddess?"

"It's a mourning time,

I must remain low and mourn,

To find peace in death."

"Wait, wait, wait," says Hayden, all the while scratching his chin. "Aren't you supposed to sit shiva for seven days?"

Shit, that's right. He can't leave the house for seven days. And the tournament is tomorrow. We are thoroughly fucked.

Okayden takes another bite out of the flowers. They are crunchy. "Seven days, dog time,

Is one day in human time,

And I'm a Werewolf."

Oh, thanks Farfallah. We'll be able to make it. For now, the only thing we can do right now is do what friends do in these types of situations: be there for him.

"How you feeling, bub?" I ask him.

"Fine, for now, I guess,

Feels kinda lonely up here,

But you make it good."

"I'm glad, brother. I'm glad," says Hayden. "Did you get along with your mother?"

Okayden hugs his legs once again, and nods. Tears pool in his eyes, slowly running down one after another without a sob. His heart is open wide to us. No barriers, no holding back. Just a heart trying to reach out.

"Good, good," I say. And that's it. I don't know what to say. I never allowed myself to get close enough to somebody, let alone help them grieve. How does one even go about it? Shit, I should've bought muffins as well. Maybe try to relate. Yes, that's right. Relate. Like a human would. Hmm. "You know, count yourself lucky. At least you got to know and spend some time with her. That's not something I got to do. My mom died giving birth to me."

Oh, did I say relatability? I mean self-deprecation. Whoops.

"Hear, hear, brother," says Hayden. "My mom died protecting me in a car crash. I only remember her voice, and her smell. And barely that, if I'm honest. Seems like I'm forgetting her little by little as time passes."

"Babe..." I didn't know that. He's never mentioned his mother before.

"man, i'm not allowed to forget mother," says Brayden, laying back on the floor. "everyone's telling me how awesome and wonderful she was, but... i dunno, i would've loved to know her first hand, you know? not what everyone else thought about it."

I can't help to laugh. Internally, it is. Here we are, four bad boys, all broken, without knowing a mother's love. We should call ourselves the "Dead Mother's Club."

I think crying would help a bit here. I take Okayden's hand, gently stroking it with my thumb. Hayden does the same. Even Brayden is able to read the room, and instead of saying something stupid, he decides to hold our hands.

There, alone, in a vulnerable moment, we all cry in unison. You really don't have to ask for whom the bell tolls, because they toll for the love of a mother that we will never have. Today, we all mourn. For nobody is an island, all alone on themselves.

Still, there is something odd here, isn't it? This is a shiva, to pay respect and mourn the dead. So, then, the question is simple.

"Hey, where is everybody?" I ask Okayden. "Shouldn't there be people here paying respect?"

Okayden takes a deep breath, rubbing his knees nonchalantly.

"Oh, everyone is,

Well, preparing, for the, uh,

Election deathmatch."

...

The what now?