Blamed

Chapter 8 - Teapots And Toasters

From the perspective of Evie.

Clearly, we had a problem.
The four of us were stuck in this little town, that none of us know anything about other than Mal, having this raving lunatic follow is around.

This thought is something overly disturbing to me. It means that they are tracking our movements - either that, or their guessing game is really on-point.

The smell of burning filled my nose - the smell of my burning flesh. The blistering skin on my hands made it particularly hard to do anything with them, but I forced myself to ignore the pain; push through it.
For my friends.

I risked a glance at the villain terrorising the village.
Jafar was making his way towards the crate both Mal and Carlos were behind. I couldn't see his face, but I pictured a devilish grin on it, like the ones we saw quite frequently back on the Isle when someone got on his bad side.

It was his mark of torture, and malice.

Just as I was about to do something to get his attention, a distraction by the name of Jay fell from the heavens. Literally.

He crashed through the roof of a stall in the market (that must have had a particularly unstable roof) and fell to the floor with a groan.

Jafar's head snapped round, and his eyes lit up with glee upon seeing his son in a pile on the floor.

"Well, hello my son," he taunted, "come give your old Pop a hug, hmm?"
Jay scrambled up, desperate to get out of this almost-submissive pose in front of his father. The villain grabbed his face roughly, and forced our friend to stare at him. Jay spat in his face, and his expression transformed into one of hate; he threw Jay's head down, knocking the VK off-balance and forcing him back onto the floor.

In an almost mimicking manner, Jafar spat on Jay's trembling form, before rearing back for a kick to his side.

It landed, and I heard a groan of pain. I flinched, as if it was a hit to me. I can't stand my friends being put through pain - especially from our good-for-nothing parents.
I shouldn't even call them that.
They disowned us the day they sent us into Auradon against our wills, even if it was one of the best things to ever happen to us.

I glanced around desperately, wanting to stop my friend's pain, without revealing my own location to him, and my eyes caught a rock, about the size of my magic mirror.
Grasping it in my sweating palm, I carefully peeked over my shelter, ignoring the pain in my hands that refuses to diminish, brushed my brown locks away from my eyes, and brought my arm back, ready to throw.

Unfortunately, those few seconds lost us the element of surprise.
A woman, quite short with soft ginger locks, a silver chain around her neck and freckles covering her face, leapt up with her own rock, and threw it with deadly accuracy towards Jafar's face, all while screaming like an absolute maniac.

"Come get me, you old toaster!" She screamed, and Jafar turned, just to get another faceful of rock.
His face became red, and he gave chase to the ginger; they turned a corner and disappeared from my sight.

Immediately, I jumped up and ran towards Jay's broken form, dropping to my knees at his side.
He looked terrible. His face and clothes were covered in dirt, his right leg was twisted at an odd angle and a steady stream of blood trickled from his lips. His eyes were closed.

Gently, I tried shaking him. His eyes fluttered open slowly and upon seeing me, he groaned.
"Dam," he muttered, sitting up.
(Sorry. I had to.)
"What is it, bro?" Asked Carlos who was by my side.
"I thought you were Lonnie."
At this, a sad silence swept over us. We all missed our other halves. I would give most of my beauty supplies up to see Doug right now.