This, is Touri Cowell.

Uncle Slim

It actually did turn into a song. It opened with the sound of wailing sirens, a pound on the door, a click of the hand cuffs. That's right, I just got arrested. Just so the Paps didn't see me I asked Louis to get me my sun glasses and a handkerchief to put on my face. As they shoved me down the stairs in my complex and into a car I asked them why I was being arrested. They just grunted and got into the front seats. When I got in I noticed they were taking to the US embassy. What? They threw the door open and pulled me out of the car to stand me up in front of a tall, skyscraper type building. The cops threw me into a silver folding chair in front of a black table in a small gray colored room with a giant mirror on the wall in front of me. I shifted in my hand cuffs and shook the handkerchief off of my face as a tall white guy standing in front of me, he had white, spiked hair and a thick New York accent,

“Ms. Cowell.” He nodded at me.

“Why am I here?”

“Well, your brothers...”

“What about them?”

“Your brothers are here illegally.”

“What? How?” My fucking parents....

“Well, when they came out here they came on a fake Passport.”

“Shit!” I cursed out loud making him jump.

“What?”

“My mom and my dad sent me those Passports...” I elaborated.

“Well they sent you fake ones. We're going have to send your brothers back to Staten Island.”

I sighed, “Fine. I'll go get their shit.” I said in a poisonous tone. Just like that he unlocked my hand cuffs and let me slink out of the room. This was outrageous, why did Americans have to be so picky? Those fat-asses were always trying to copy our things, or even trying to top it, even if it meant putting another country to shame.

SHORT AUTHOUR'S DISCLAIMER!!

I am American myself so do not reflect my characters thoughts on mine. After all, this is apart of the character herself and this is apart of building her. Again, My thoughts are not those of my character's. Thank you for your understanding.

I cleared my throat and gave Lindsey the paperwork she needed to file some law-suit case against some American artist that says we copied her song. My tutor has been teaching me a few things about copy-right laws and what-not, I felt I needed to know it, after all, music is 90% business 10% Music. I was better at it than her, she sucked at filing paper I don't even think she knows what a post-it is. I organized the papers and the findings in the sequential order she was going to defend me with in the case. I highlighted all things that we needed to win the case in pink, the information that she should throw in, in blue, and Finally, in yellow I highlighted the information that could make us lose the case. I basically handed her a script. Before the X-factor I wanted to become a lawyer, I'm still pretty damn close to one. As I wrangled James and Edward into the limo my phone began to buzz in my back pocket. As I handed my bags to Paul I answered my phone,

“Touri! Where are you?” My mothers voice was urgent. What happened.

“We're on our way to the air-port.” I said dryly.

“Touri! We're in trouble we need ransom money.”

“Mother... You're a terrible actor, just stop, I already told you, you're not getting jack-shit.”

“Damn.” and with that she hung up.

Yeah, my parents are like that, mean, cunning, vindictive.... Kind of like me... Oh well.

Staten Island was my favorite place to go. I was literally on an island, I always refuse to go into New York City, I'd get mauled. It was calming, I wasn't there to visit my parents.. Are you kidding? I'm going to visit my other Uncle, not Simon, my secret favorite one. He owns some sort of traveling freak show or something, I don't know, but I loved to visit him and my cousins, they always ask for my autograph. I think they sell it on the bus. Probably. My Uncle's a con artist to, but mot like my parents. Uncle Slim is my mom's brother, Uncle Simon is my Dad's. But Uncle Slim never takes from those he loves, so I have a strong trust in Uncle Slim. It was through Uncle Slim that I learned how to Pan-Handle at the age of 5. By the age of 8 Uncle Slim had taught me to hack into bank accounts and pick-pocket rich people. But thanks to him, I know how to tell if someone is conning me or not. My parents are just terrible con artists.