"No, you don't understand, I just want vanilla." Dew tries to explain.

The sizable frog-man running the ice cream stand stares at him, unimpressed. "We don't have vanilla."

Dew shakes his head, not believing the dude for a second. He can see the vanilla right there through the glass. "It's right there, I can see it!"

The frog, now with a parrot head, squawks, "no vanilla!"

"I'm looking right at it! There's a label that says Vanilla!"

The parrot-frog-man, now wearing a police uniform, replies in Mom's voice, "we have the flavors Flea and Chocolate. That's it."

Dew shakes his head. Chocolate ice cream? That's disgusting.

Ring ring ring.

Pastor Frank rests a hand on Dew's shoulder. "Fleas are delicious."

Dew turns to look at the elderly man. Huh. He hasn't seen Pastor Frank since he was a kid. He takes note of the several people passing by, all wearing oversized hats and the exact same clothes. Almost all are making obvious attempts not to stare.

"I just want a vanilla cone! That's all."

"All this hate in your heart. Get to work." The police-parrot-frog-man says, voice soft.

"Get to work," says Mom.

"Get to work." Pastor Frank agrees.

Dew frowns, trying to remember if he fed Spikes.

Ring ring ring.

Ring ring ring.

Ring ring—

Dewey Price opens his eyes, and comes face to face with his buzzing phone.

Groaning, he rolls over and stares at the ceiling, vision blurring in and out. Who is calling him? When was the last time he made a friend? Last time he talked to someone was... huh... when was the last time he had social interaction?

Dew pauses. Oh yeah, his job.

The man shoots up to a seated position and grabs his phone, pressing the green button and answering the call with a haste rivaling an actually speed abnormality.

"Where the fuck are you, Price? Your shift started an hour ago. This is the fifth goddamn time in the last month—"

"I'm sorry! Sorry, I... Uh..." Dew can hear the fury seeping through Nick's voice, and he's immediately thankful he's not actually near the guy. Still, even through the phone, it's difficult not to let the emotion spark its own flame of anger within himself. "Had a family matter."

"Oh? Like what?"

"My mom has—uh, hepatitis. So I've been a nurse, yanno."

"Your mom lives in Aberdeen. I'm sick of your shit and I swear to god, one more fucking time—"

That's what you said last incident—

"And you're out of here."

Dew rubs his eyes. He spoke too soon. There has never been a feat stronger than repressing emotions. "Oops, I actually can't come in at all! Guess I shoulda called."

Nick actually growls, and Dew takes a deep breath to calm himself down. That proves unnecessary, though, when the co-assistant manager hangs up. All at once, the anger leaves Dew's body.

A world where people are born with special abilities, and Dew just had to get the worst one.

Okay, so that's overkill. At least he wasn't born with a tail or something and locked up in his adolescence.

See, up until a month ago, those born with abnormalities were kept in institutions and tortured for their weaknesses. This was to avoid repeating history, as over a century ago there was a huge war between those with superpowers and those without.

Until Marley Nocona (an abnormal himself) inherited the throne and changed things up. Thank god. Now Dew doesn't have to worry about ever being discovered, since it wouldn't matter either way.

Abnormals are still treated a bit wrong by a few old fashioned people, but for the most part, King Marley has set everything right. Him being an abnormal absolutely had something to do with the people's general acceptance, since he's the most well liked leader the Westhem has ever had. It's only been a month and although abnormals are looked down upon in some areas...

They're equal.

Abnormals were essentially institutionalized because normal people were scared of their strength. However, one thing that's not talked so much about, is the fact that not all abnormalities are useful. As in, they don't all help the person possessing them.

Dew is a prime example of this, with his abnormality:

Empathy.

Of course it's a regular thing for people to experience empathy—that is, a very moderate amount—but Dew happens to feel it to the extreme. He feels it abnormally.

It mostly takes effect when he's around others. He can feel it just from watching people, too, or hearing their voice. The strength of that effect varies, though. An example of this would be the instance that just occurred.

The worst it's ever been, though, was when one of his neighbors was informed their child died. Dew wasn't okay for days.

The twenty-two year old yawns, rolling out of bed so he lands on the ground. He only owns a mattress, no bed frame, so it isn't much of a drop. He stretches out on the floor, joints imitating popcorn, and finally stumbles to a standing position. A glance at the time reveals it's after 5 p.m. and Dew just slept for a full 12 hours.

He shuffles his way to his bathroom, brushes his teeth, then finally makes his way into his kitchen.

Immediately, he catches sight of Spikes. The 4 year old feline is currently seated on the countertop. Dew gave up on chiding her about that little habit awhile ago.

"Hey, Spikes," he greets the long-haired Calico. The fur around her head sticks up in all kinds of directions, which reminded teenaged Dew of... well... spikes.

His abnormality only works with people. Animals, reptiles... he feels normal around them. This is why the only companion he needs is a 9 pound cat.

She doesn't answer him, just starts licking her paw, and he begins to put together her meal. He mixes wet food and dry food into a little cat head-shaped dish (meal titled: Spike Porridge) and sets it beside her, still on the counter. She immediately chows down.

Now that the single most important creature in his life's needs are met, he begins making himself a bowl of breakfast. It's all routine to him. Bland. It's what he's used to, what he's comfortable with.

Something Dew's noticed about himself when he's alone, is that he doesn't feel much of anything. Sure, there's always underlying emotion in everything happenstance, but he doesn't feel it to the extent he should. He's numb.

Obviously that all goes away when he's around others, which is why he happens to avoid social situations as often as possible.

There's no middle ground for him. He's gotten used to it over the years.

Dew makes his way over to his small living room, taking a seat on the two seater couch. He turns on the TV, and as he waits for the device to boot up, takes a bite of his cereal.

It's something off brand from the corner store down the street, but it tastes decent enough, though a little stale. He's almost out of milk, too. He really needs to make a trip to the store.

Dew flips through channels until he finally finds a cartoon that looks worth his time. It's got an animated frog in it, which reminds Dew of his earlier dream. That is, before it was interrupted by Nick.

Nick, the co-assistant manager of Bandy's Burgers, and also Dew's sworn enemy.

Okay, so let's not go that far. The two aren't enemies, they just don't like each other. Nick despises Dew's complete and utter lack of a work ethic and Dew hates how seriously the co-assistant takes his job. They work in a fast food place.

Not to mention the dude literally gave himself his title. Co-Assisstant? That's not a thing! But stupid Nick thought that just because he's worked there longer than the actual assistant manager, he deserved some kind of special title. Fuck that guy.

Dew rolls his eyes at his thoughts, taking a bite of cereal and growing bored of the cartoon. He changes the channel and finds a kid's program, decides it's interesting enough, and leaves it.

It's minutes later as Dew is finishing his meal, seconds away from pushing up to a standing position, that he hears it.

His doorbell.

Dew frowns, mouth full of cereal as his mind begins shuffling through who in the world that could possibly be. Again, he has no friends. He doesn't want any, either. Whoever that is can crawl back to wherever they came from.

Unless it's his landlord. Fuck! Is it? Dew payed his rent on time, though, and usually Amy announces when she's coming over to look around. Thank god, too, since it gives him time to hide Spikes.

Oh, if Amy saw Spikes? Dew would be on the street in hours.

Dew hopes that's not the case. He sets his bowl—now just partially filled with milk—on the counter. A glance down at his disgusting forearms and he's walking into his bedroom and rolling on his compression sleeves.

Now that he's all set, he makes his way to the front door. It really better not be Amy, because he does not have enough time to lock Spikes in his closet with everything she needs. He'd have to pick up all her toys, too. Nope. No time.

Who else could it be, though? Nick out for revenge?

Dew shakes his head, running a hand through his black hair. He's already stressed.

Right now, it needs to be noted that Dew has never met anyone of royalty before. Famous? Sure. He's been around celebrities since he was a kid. When it comes to the royal family, though, he's only seen them on TV. He thought it would stay that way.

Evidently he was wrong.

This is made apparent when he opens his front door and finds himself face to face with two people. One, a tan-skinned man with auburn hair, he vaguely recognizes. Perhaps of some political importance? He hasn't a clue.

The other, however...

Well, the other person on Dew's doorstep, is King Marley Nocona himself.