Author’s Note: The name “Deathstroke” is… basically a placeholder, but it’s good enough.
“I found you.”
Leofric grinned at the unassuming and surprised-looking man. The “man” who had been terrorizing the region: murdering, stealing, torturing, and generally making the look bad. The moster Leofric had been tracking for no less than half a year.
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They spoke of one who could find anything. The stories differed in their description but a few constants remained: a beautiful red-haired woman with eyes like a sunlit forest, and a smile which could melt the hardest of hearts or strike fear in the sternest of warriors.
She could find your ideal lover, they said, or your long-lost child. She could find for you a buried treasure, or the answers to your greatest questions, or the weak point in your enemy’s plan. She could find artifacts from ages past, the one who bears the face from your dreams, the place where, when the wind blows just right, the stones sing a melody so beautiful it will haunt you for the rest of your life.
She could find you anything, they said, but always for a price.
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1 September
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She was cursed.
Everyone else in her class was getting cool Changes – like flaming wings or poison tails or rainbow tattoos – but Desdemona? Not her. She got to be a statue. All day long.
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Miss Frost is property of B and I apologize for any terrible mischaracterization in advance.
The two blondes sat in silence, the just-left-but-only-for-a-moment third member of the group seeming to have taken all the conversation with him. It was not an entirely comfortable silence as they both pretended to ignore the surreptitious looks cast by the occasional stranger; quick glances at their hair accompanied by hushed remarks to their own companions.
One of the two – a small, delicate-looking young woman with uncommonly fair hair – picked up her tea and took a careful sip, then replaced the cup on its saucer with equal care. The other – a sandy-haired young man – pushed gently at the handle of his own cup, rotating it a fraction of a circle.
The silence continued for several seconds too long before the young man quietly cleared his throat and looked up. Continue reading
for Lyn!
“And I’m the rightful king of Scotland.” Jake snorted derisively, looking down at her – or trying, at least. At five foot eight (and a half), Desdemona was taller than at least half the school. “You think I give a shit who your parents are?”
“I think you should know better than to think I’m some weak little girl.” She sank back into a fighter’s crouch, raising her fists. “I also think you’re an asshole.”
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The ringing of a telephone – the kind with a real bell – came faintly from behind the door. The phone itself was on a simple wooden desk in the back office of the two-room suite; fire-engine red with a rotary dial, and accompanied by a number of papers and pens.
The slim figure standing by a window in said back office turned towards the phone at the sound, watching it quietly as it rang once, then once again, then a third time. On the fourth ring, he – or she, it was difficult to tell – finally stepped over to the desk and picked up the phone.
“Peregrine Falcon, detective for hire, what can I solve for you today?”
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Silly thing which probably doesn’t make sense if you don’t know much about Boom.
And by silly I don’t mean light-hearted, just… pointless?
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