I tried writing this chapter about eight times, but my laptop would not save it, I lost it five times and I've tried writing it like a million times trying to get it somewhere close to how decent my first version was, but I can't remember it and it's really frustrating so I've tried what I could and see where I go from there. Just an idea that I wanted to write up ^_^ I own nothing, etc.

"I'm going to get some food," Leo announced, dusting his hands down on his shirt, "I will literally be two minutes. Just sit. There." Leo aimed a warning finger at his son. Charlie smiled sweetly, but Leo knew better. The little demon sat before him had his mother's smile. "Touch nothing, no touchy."

"No touchy." Charlie agreed. Leo eyed him dubiously. "Chop chop, Padre, I want food too."

"No touchy." Leo flicked two fingers from his eyes to Charlie one, two, three times, said "No touchy" again and backed out of the room slowly, hesitating at the door. Charlie shooed him away. Leo loved his son, but did not, under any circumstances, trust him. Charlie didn't blame him, but even he could manage two minutes of unsupervision?

He managed thirty seconds.

Started sifting through the messy work, glancing at blueprints, fiddling with tools and going through various inventions they had littered about. Most were unfinished or exploded, a couple lay untested because Charlie had put them together and Leo didn't trust them either. Charlie couldn't even remember what they were supposed to do, so he shrugged it off and moved onto the next shiny thing.

He found an orb. It was made of metal rings, like a one-way silver-coloured Rubik's cube, and hidden at the back. Leo had stuck a post-it note on it with a cross face and 'no touchy!' scribbled across the top. Charlie weighed it in his hand, not much bigger than a melon, as heavy as a bag of sugar and rippling his reflection across the rings.

With a glance over his shoulder, Charlie determined his dad was going to be a little longer than literally two minutes, so he twisted the first ring. All it did was click.

Pouting, Charlie tried the next ring. Another click. Three and four yielded the same results so he skipped to ten and turned it as far round as he could- click-click-click-clunk.

"Oops." He muttered. "Don't tell me I've broken it." He gave it a shake and, when nothing rattled or feel off, he determined, "Not broken. So what do you do?" Another shake and he sighed. "Fine." He went to put it down, only to find it was glued to his fingers. "Off." He told it. "Oh no." Blue-white light flooded from the lines between the rings. Charlie had quickly learnt glowing objects were bad for legacies, very bad. He tried smacking it against the table quite a few times, somehow overbalancing and toppling from his stool. He crashed on the floor, wiggling and rolling. He wedged his feet on the contraption, trying to push it off.

When that didn't work, he had another idea- "Lose the hand." He decided, hopping up onto his knees and surveying his line of tools. He picked a hacksaw up, considering the blade. "Wait, what?" He asked himself. "You need the hand. It's not much use if it's stuck to a thing. But it's your hand!" He argued with himself for a minute and then cursed profusely, putting the tool down. That's when the blue-white light burned crimson. "Nope! Lose the hand, lose the hand, lose the hand!"

The ground seemed to open beneath his feet and he was falling. Swirls of reds, greens, blues, yellows and oranges flashed past him so quickly, motion sickness broiled his stomach. He tried closing his eyes, but didn't want to fall into any weird magic by surprise. He would fall into a bear trap. Or be turned into a ferret. Or- worse- a toad. He'd rather lose a hand than be a demon amphibian covered in warts.

Eyes wide open, screaming, Charlie fell and fell and fell some more. The screaming turned into some of his father's best Spanish curses, quickly into his mother's favoured laments; a blinding white circle was zooming closer. His fingers scrabbled for the mean orb, only to see it shimmer and disappear.

Arms over his head, Charlie plummeted. When no weird magic hit him, when he didn't croak, he peeked through a gap in his arms, wooden flooring appearing out of nowhere and crashing into him. "Ow." He groaned. Startled shouts filled the air, footsteps clattered all around him. Charlie could hear- sense - machinery, so much of it, hundreds and hundreds of inventions and mechanics and gadgets flooding his system, making his head spin. He could hear masts creaking, the material of numerous sails flapping in the sharp wind, the whir of thousands of oars rowing in perfect unison.

More shouting threw out his reading of this new place. Most of the voices died down as someone else shouted louder, the whine of a bowstring pulled taut. Charlie looked up instantly, recognising that voice in a heartbeat.

He was on the Argo Two.

And his teenage mother was aiming an arrow at his head.