Former IC Thread [The Exodus of Fables]

[Procculus]

Rosalinde Wyatt

Not a nice person

Rosalinde Wyatt was distraught, and very much so. She paced around her room, tearing at her hair. The action in itself did nothing to improve nor deteriorate her already motley appearance. Folders, documents and papers lay strewn on her desk and floor, making it almost near impossible to tread through the sea of white and brown without stepping on one of them. That was the least of Rosalinde's worries. She was terrified, and quite out of her mind, more so than usual, at the situation at hand. Her pacing took her towards her desk, which she promptly slammed her hands on. With an anguished cry of a wounded gazelle, which she was not, she clutched at her head and thrashed about for a moment or two.


You see, Rosalinde Wyatt is afraid of but one thing. That one thing is none other than boredom. At this instant, she is currently experiencing what one would call 'withdrawal symptoms'. Stimulation, to her, was like a drug, and she needed it to survive. Without it, Wyatt was nothing more than a regular human being, and regular was not in her dictionary, figuratively speaking. How she hated that word. 'Regular', 'mundane', 'normal'. It was disgusting. Predictability was disgusting. Habits were disgusting. Humans are disgusting. Every living being was disgusting. She knew their patterns, their needs, what they would do at any given point of time. Like clockwork. Like machines, driven by a programme. All of them made her sick. As she is now, she couldn't walk out of the room without immediately feeling like death warming over as soon as she locked eyes with the next person she saw. She needed entertainment. She needed something...or someone to poke and prod, and these doctors and nurses and interns were already so predictable. Bring up the past, dredge up their family problems, talk about their oh-so-depressing life stories about their dead parents and people never loving them. Boring boring boring boring boring. It was dull, and it sucked. There left only one person. One patient that had always been something of an apple in her eye. An apple that she liked to look at and pluck at the worms, but would not eat. That apple was...that girl Dodgson.


One of the resident doctors nodded to her as he passed. Wyatt blinked and waved to him cheerily, a goofy smile pasted on her face. He walked off without further comment. She stood up from the armchair and patted her long coat down. She strode across the clear and clean floor of the break room. She nudged the door open, making her way through the long, white corridors of the institution, past the numerous wards and cells that imprisoned their inhabitants within four padded walls. Well, almost all the cells were padded. Wards were less so. Still, these doors weren't meant to be opened from the inside. The inmates....patients were essentially trapped, like birds in a cage, their keys beholden by their cruel captors. Wyatt hummed a strange tune, to the key of E-flat minor as she slipped her hand into her coat's pocket and thumbed the key within it. She came to a halt in front of a cell, room, ward, whatever it was called. A nameplate was tacked onto the door, reading

Alicia P. DODGSON

​

Rosalinde removed her hand from her pocket and rapped the key against the door, making a metallic clinking sound as she did so.


"Hello, Ms. Dodgson. How do you do?" She thought she heard the girl talking to someone inside the room, but she couldn't be entirely sure. After all, the girl was...detached from the world. Schizophrenia, they called it. Interesting, Rosalinde found it. Rosalinde leaned her back against the door and folded her arms across her chest. In her mind's eye, the walls around her pasted over with a rows upon rows of papers, all of them containing the life and times of Alicia Dodgson. She reached forwards and plucked one of these pages from the wall, and another grew in its place, blossoming into a white piece of paper, words and pictures inked into it as time trickled by. It was nothing she hadn't read before. For some inexplicable reason, however, Dodgson was always a fountain of entertainment for her, despite the fact she had read her files over and over and over again. She cast the paper away, and at once, the corridor cleared of the numerous pages, leaving her, still cross-armed and leaning on the door. She tossed the copy of the key to Dodgson's cell into the air and caught it, and wondered. Maybe today, she would leave the poor girl alone. But that wouldn't be any fun, would it? She wanted to see the chaos, she wanted to see disorder. Leaving things as is would...well, leave it as is. Rosalinde turned the key over in her hands.


"If everybody minded their own business, the world would go around a great deal faster than it already does, don't you think so, Ms. Dodgson?" Without waiting for a reply, Rosalinde dropped the key with a sharp, high clink, and kicked it through the gap under the door, into Dodgson's cell. "What do you think that is, Ms. Dodgson? Pick it up. Don't be shy. The cameras are unmanned now. I made sure of that." How? That's a story for another day, but it was safe to say that those that were supposed to be monitoring Alicia Dodgson were currently sleeping soundly on their jobs, half empty mugs of coffee beside them.


The March Hare was drawing near, from the findings of her colleague. She and a certain pesky, cryptic feline character. They maddened her with talk of madness and puzzles, but she knew the Hare could sooner take her fluffy tail off faster than she could take hers. The Rabbit quivered in excitement. To anyone, this was staking everything, including her life and job. To her? It was prime time.

 

[Sir Raime]

The Boogeyman


The Boogeyman's smile changed into a frown once he felt the child's fear vanish, which likely took her sanity with it. Poor child. Alice was one of the few that the Boogeyman would not kill on sight, due to her trusting and polite behavior. Such a shame to see a child as good as herself be trapped in a place like this, bound in chains and tormented by her own waning ability to cope. "I am not what you would consider a lover of tea," he whispered icily, "I find there are many other drinks that are far more pleasing to the palate." Oh yes, far more pleasing was the sweet nectar of anguish and blood, tasting as if they were the Gods' ambrosia.


"Now then, I-" whatever he had to say next was cut off by the arrival of a new presence, a voice outside the room. He had no time to waste, this shall be so fun! The Boogeyman scooped Alice up in his arms, so infinitely cold and numbing, and gently slid her under the bed, making sure she was concealed. "Don't make a sound, little girl." With an unnerving hiss that echoed throughout the room, the black hood around his eternally obscured form wrapped itself around its wearer, tightening and constricting as it became like a second skin. Within moments it reshaped itself into hair and clothes, changing its own color and texture to suit the needs of its user. Once his transformation was complete, he fell to his knees and gasped for air. As useful as it was, his disguises only worsened the ceaseless torment he had to endure. After a few minutes, he regained his focus and stood back up, trying to ignore the pain. The girl's fear was exquisite and deliciously potent, but it was still such a small dose. The transformation would not last long.


The Boogeyman lazily strolled toward the door and picked the key off the floor, struggling not to scream with excitement. 'He' unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open, sporting a smile a mile wide on 'his' pale face, framed by his curly golden hair.....or to be more precise, Alice's.


"Hello there! Would you care for some tea?"

 

[Syrenrei]

Marian Greene (Maid Marian)

The Written Word book store

​

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Clegane." Marian smiled and accepted the book slid across the smooth table to her. The sheriff had an apparent sort of arrogance to her demeanor. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) Marian had dealt with this before in spades: her dear Robin and Will Scarlett both had robust enough egos to topple over a person that drew too close. When she was younger she found such an attitude completely maddening and it had caused several arguments between herself and Robin. Time had only smoothed over this annoyance and made it an endearing trait. It was something to make her laugh and tease. They were all full of pride in their own unique ways.


"I'm afraid that I'm not quite enchanting enough to convince anyone to hunt down scrolls for me without spending half my fortune," she admitted. It was partially true- Marian was warm and welcoming enough to strangers, but afraid of the rejection that followed if she admitted her identity. In the past she had been treated with fear and scorn for her agelessness. Some disbelieved the truth once it was exposed to her and others begged and pleaded for the secret to immortality. Her heart had been broken over and over again that she could not simply be both befriended and accepted in her entirety. That pain had not prevented her from seeking out relationships, just not pressing their limitations as she once had. If she requested such a favor it would raise a brow and lead to questions better left unanswered. Such a favor would cause the end of a friendship.


After she had finished signing her novel she reached under the table and plucked a blank card from her purse. Scribbling quickly, she jotted down ten digits with two dashes after the third and sixth digits- her phone number. "This is my private business number if you come across any sources you think I should use." Claire looked on with disapproval. It was impossible to her to voice an objection when Marian had already made an offer and commitment. The manager's lips curled into a frown as the card was pressed into the pages and passed to Laci in the autographed tome.


Marian did not discourage Laci from sticking around if she so chose, but she flashed an apologetic smile as she ushered forth a couple of young, giggly college students that were eager for their copies to be signed. Her publishing house had impressed upon her how much just sparing time for her readers would benefit sales. That alone had not been completely persuasive in allowing this tiny, dangerous amount of fame to be lit. It was their silly adulation that warmed her. Centuries of passage were eased by their vibrant smiles, the brilliance of their compliments, and the fervent passion they held for the tales. For a moment some of the minor characters that were long since dead came alive.


Perhaps it wasn't just the fans that were silly.


Some of them took pictures of her, others requested 'selfies' with her, and yet others had questions about character development and plot lines. Short messages were transcribed in the front cover of some, others had her sign the actual cover, and a few wanted a heart after their name. While most of the line consisted of women she spotted a few men as well. One very enthusiastic male told her that he wished he had been Robin's Maid Marian. She had barely kept her composure through that admission and swore she heard Claire conceal a snicker behind her. Swept up by the moods of those that came to the table, she never saw the tall, roguishly handsome man that progressed closer and closer.


It was not until Johnna and Robin were standing right there and the former was speaking her that the reality of their identities hit her. It struck like a bolt of thundering lightning in her heard and her breath seized for a split second. Johnna, the little sister that she never had- the sibling she had always wanted but yet been robbed of by blood. Robin, her Robin, the one which every paramour was measured against and found lacking. He was the source of the most intense passions she had ever experienced- and not just romantically. There was an indescribable manner in which he inspired others, igniting their beliefs into burning blazes that had to be quenched, propelling them to embrace the world without hesitation and force the change they wanted to see.


"Thank you," she finally spoke with a blush that spread across her features like wildfire. A few murmurs spread just as quickly in the line behind them as strangers wondered at Marian's reaction. Though her voice was smooth as silk, it sounded strangled in her mind and she struggled to find her footing for a brief moment. "I must admit that in my original version of the story Little John was the most beautiful of the Merry Men, but my editors thought it was unrealistic that none of men would woo such a lovely lass. They said such an oversight might invite speculation that Robin and his lads might be gay." Her gaze was fixated on the other female but here it slid to 'Archer' briefly before flickering back to Johnna. "I dare say that if that the original Little John was here, she'd be much more stunning."

 

[Teh Frixz]

Laci de Clegane


Sheriff of Emerald


"I'm sure I'll find a few. I'm decent enough at digging up the past." Checking the autograph and snapping the book shut, the Sheriff leaves the line, shooting a similar look back to the woman screening for the author.


Half ready to call it a day and make it back to a date with her hot tub and flask to ease the pain in her back, Laci stops a few feet away.


Something was in the air and after working as a cop the last few decades, an armed guard, and even as far back as working for dad and rousting peasants had given her a sense of things. When her gut wanted her to take a second look, she took a second look.


The next couple in line just seemed to ring a bell. Couldn't see the faces clearly but the demeanor. She'd studied plenty of faces over the years but only a few tended to stick out.


Deciding to stick around to watch, Laci slid over to a column. Leaning back in the shadow, she pretends to look at her book. Those two wouldn't stand around all day and she'd grab their plate on the way out.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Johnna Little

"The Written Word" Bookstore

​

When Marian broke the brief silence, Johnna grinned, shaking her head, “Oh… I’m sure if she were real, she’d understand about the necessity for the editing. Although that scene in chapter three had me wondering about that Robin character. Such a sensitive, emotional fellow...”


It was as much a success as she could have anticipated. They had shocked her, certainly, and they would no doubt hear about it, later. But thus far, no one was bleeding, crying or dead, and that was more than Johnna could have asked for. Sure, Robin hadn't gotten down on one knee, begging Marian to come back to him, but at least she hadn’t screamed to have them removed, forcibly from the bookstore. They were communicating, and it wasn’t steeped in hostility. Next would be Robin's turn, and it would go equally as wonderful.


All was well.


Or at least, it would have been, had Johnna not chosen that particular moment to scan the room. Six hundred years, but she would never forget. She couldn't, despite having tried, many times. Over the years, there had been many the occasion where she had thought she'd seen him. A glimpse, here and there... a certain walk, a face through a window, the sound of a laugh or a scent on the wind. This time, however, there was no denying it.


His hair was a little shorter, his beard short, trimmed to the contours of his handsome face, he was dressed like someone who belonged on the cover of a magazine, and it was fair, considering how damn good looking he was. The cane didn't escape her attention, either... and for a moment concern overruled the outrage of watching the ghost walk back into her life, without warning...


Without looking at Robin or Marian, Johnna quietly excused herself before making her way through the crowd, her eyes zeroed in on Will Scarlet with a look hovering somewhere around furious disdain. Of all the bookstores, in all the cities, in all the world... he had just happened to stroll into the same one as the very people he had blatantly abandoned, and something about that was infuriating, regardless of how bright the torch Johnna carried for him might still burn.


When she reached him, she did not wait for recognition... ignorant of his reaction, she gripped his wrist and dragged him back out the door and onto the sidewalk. There, away from the prying eyes of housewives and Merry Men alike, with little regard for those perfectly chiseled cheek bones that she struck out, decking him square across the jaw.

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook
The Ticking Clock - Private Lounge


































Hook stares at Isabelle as the dainty girl claims the bar as her own, the corner of his lip curling up, teeth exposed--occupying at last that delicate point between smile and snarl, in the confusing fashion which wild animals so often exhibit around people who don't know any better. His body is open, relaxed, but predatory; the way he leers at her, his regard hard sapphire, how he takes up more space than his body is large, how he moves with the powerful ease of the hunter.


The most handsome man I ever laid eyes on, someone once described him as. But also somewhat disgusting.


"Something to dry your mouth," he declares, reaching within his jacket and drawing out a thick cigar. Walking toward her, he leans down, and slips the head of it between her lips. Uncut and unlit, at the moment there's nothing to do but chew on it and savor the tastes to come.


"And something to wet it." Smiling still, in that gently cruel way, he reaches beneath the table and draws out an old, corked bottle--no usual club vintage, with a faded label and a murky-colored liquid within. Resting the bottle on the table top, he proceeds to unbutton the sleeve of his jacket. When the fabric is drawn apart, the shiny buttons separated, he rolls down his shirt sleeve for his right arm, revealing the artificial flesh of the prosthetic hand and the mechanism for attaching it to the stump at the end of his arm: a broad, metal base that surrounds the stump, with the hand attached. It is clearly lifeless, though well-made, immobile; purely decorative, unlike some other modern prosthetics.


Absently, Hook gently winds the hand sideways, and draws it off with the casual ease a father might playfully remove his thumb before a child. As the false skin is removed, the true prosthetic is revealed, that which gave the pirate his fearsome moniker in another life.


A metal hook, shining and gleaming, thick and sharp, in much the same shape as a fish-hook, albeit with a more dangerously pointed tip and an inappropriately sharpened cutting edge. It is driven securely into the metal cap-foundation firmly affixed to the stump, resistant to any sort of attempts to pry it off or move it.


Hook hooks the hook into the cork of the bottle and yanks it up with a loud, wet pop. The movement sprays a bit of dark rum into the air, the hook wet, and as he moves toward Isabelle once more he leans forward, chip-chop, and expertly slices the wrapped foot of the cigar. The severed end falls into his real hand, and balancing the various objects he gracefully lights her cigar, slides an ashtray over the bar, fills a glass for her, and watches her.


All in all, the actions took about half a minute. The man is practiced with his deathly instrument.


"You really ought not be so cruel to Wendy, my dear. I see how you look at her; let the poor girl work. She's never going to take your place -- ah, no, don't inhale so deep or so fast. The trick is to let it build, savor it. They're much better than cigarettes, these thick ones; far more concentrated and varied sorts of tobacco. I got these from a shipment from the islands last week. Delicious and illegal."


Playfully, he taps her forehead with his hook--the cork still on it, and it is that soft, spongey material that mars her forehead. "Always maintain good form. Do things properly. It's what separates us from the savages."

 

[Procculus]

Rosalinde Wyatt

Bitch Switch: Do Not Turn Off

There was an odd silence between Rosalinde and the inhabitant of the cell. Curious, she pressed her ear on the cold surface of the door, and held her breath, leaving only the beating of her heart to interrupt at regular intervals. Had the heart not been important to keeping her alive, she would have long taken it out of her chest and sold it to the highest bidder for just such an annoyance. There were muffled shuffling sounds within the cell of Dodgson, to which Rosalinde was inclined to investigate further. Alas, the most she could do was press her ear harder upon the door and strain to shut her own heart up. The sound of the key being inserted into the hole and the clicking of tumblers made her swing away from the door with a little pirouette of her own and reach into her pocket, grasping for the body of her knife, knees bent and one hand outstretched to meet whatever madwoman that sprang out from the depths. It never hurt to be prepared, after all. She was not wholly convinced of the idea that people completely learning of the concept "Not biting the hand that buys you what you want". Or however that idiom went. She didn't care, she wasn't running the Oxford's Dictionary editor's office.


The door swung open to the face of Alice Dodgson, looking perfectly innocent, with that perfectly annoying smile on her face. This is why no one can have nice things. She did a favour for this little bitch right standing in front of her and all she did was stand there, looking like the cat what got the milk. All smiles and cheerfulness and the filthy, filthy innocence. In her eyes, she saw herself stepping forwards, hands outstretched and grasping the girl's throat, wringing it until it lolled back.


"Would you like a cup of tea?"


Rosalinde blinked, and the Rosalinde that stood over the body of the golden-haired girl vanished, along with the corpse, replaced by the girl herself, alive and well, and looking far more irritating than she should be. It didn't look like she was going to be a threat, so Rosalinde straightened up, and twirled a lock of her mess of a hair around one finger. Rosalinde ignored the girl's question, and thought for a while. Would she like some tea? What a stupid question. Of course she wouldn't like some tea. But..."would you like some tea?" was an unbelievably humorous response to having opened the door and seeing a lady in a dark longcoat looking like she was about to stab you in the face. As she thought more of it, Rosalinde began to smirk and gave a strangled sound. Before she knew it, her lips were split apart by a strong exhalation of air, followed by a burst of laughter.


She took in a deep breath and rubbed her flushed cheeks, wagging a finger at Dodgson. "You never fail to entertain, Dodgson. You never do. Ah well, the clock ticks on, Ms. Dodgson. Pretty soon, they'll be making the rounds, and you'd be found. I'm just saying," Rosalinde shrugged dismissively, "that maybe you should wait for a later time to make your lucky break." Rosalinde gave a mocking bow, the hem of her long coat brushing across the floor as she did, and walked away from the cell, waving as she did. "I have some paperwork to do, so forgive me for my inability to give you a tour. Do show yourself the way out whenever you want. I wish you a happy day, Ms. Dodgson." Everything lay on that girl's shoulders now. That girl and her happy gang of madmen and women. That is, if she didn't bungle this up, like Rosalinde knew she would. The trick to not being disappointed is to always expect the worst of the situation. Besides, it was going to be much more entertaining to watch the girl fail anyway. Either way, it was a win-win situation for Rosalinde.

 

[Sol]

The Mulligan man

And his luxury ride

The car lot in question wasn't too far from the brownstone. Matthew had doubts about his contact but if that contact knew where he was based, he didn't need to wait to go to the car lot to confront Guy. He'd probably confront Guy and his syndicate at the brownstone, which made it safe to assume that an actual car was waiting for him at the car lot and not Guy and his lackeys.


It didn't stop him from being prepared though. Aside from the phone and his keys to the brownstone, Matthew kept a telescoping baton in his pocket just in case. It wouldn't do shit against guns but it was hell of a lot better than walking into a possible trap unarmed.


Matthew approached the car lot written on the direction. It looked less than a car lot and more of a parking building, no wonder it specified a floor level as well. So his contacts may be lacking in the intelligence department too but there wasn't much he could do about that. The car in question sat at the highest floor of the parking building. He was able to count seven levels as he circled the building's perimeter, looking for anything remotely suspicious or anything resembling the word "trap." The building's exterior was clean at least.


He slid his hand into his pocket and wrapped his hands around the baton's handle. It never hurt to be cautious after all. Matthew made his way inside the parking building. Even though it was noon there weren't that many cars parked in this particular building. Then again, there wasn't anyone collecting payment at the entrance or exit either. At the center of the pillars and parked cars were two elevator shafts. He made his way slowly toward them and kept his head on a swivel for anything or anyone that qualified as "suspicious."


Matthew made it to the elevators without any incident. He pressed the button and waited for the elevator to get to the bottom floor. He turned around to guard against anyone who thought to come up behind him at least. It probably drew too much attention to himself but what choice did he have? He wasn't omniscient in the slightest.


Ding.


The doors parted open to reveal an empty elevator compartment. Matthew quickly stepped inside and pressed the "7" button on the keypad. The button light up and the doors closed. He did all he could to stop himself from pacing the short width of the compartment as it creaked its way up the shaft.


5


6


7


Ding.


The parted open to an empty rooftop. Well empty save for a black SUV parked at one of the slots. Matthew fished the key out of his pants pocket and tried it on the car. He thumbed down on the unlock button and the car responded. Looking around to confirm that the rooftop was, in fact, empty, he raced toward the black car, slowing down a bit as he got closer. Perhaps he was just being too paranoid for thinking this was a trap.


The sunlight just seemed to bounce off the glossy sheen of the paint job. The Audi logo on the grills above the car's bumper was just as shiny and pristine as the rest of the car. He was hoping for some second hand vehicle but that went beyond his expectations. From the looks of it, the car was an Audi Q7. He couldn't tell which year model it was though, not that it mattered. Though he would owe that car dealer a drink, no doubt the dealer man was part of the people under the Guy extortion plan or something. He did seem eager to help when Matthew told him that they'd be hitting Guy soon. Hitting that fucker in style indeed.


Matthew hopped on the left side of the car and then realized he was in the wrong country. Which probably explained why he found a glove compartment greeting him rather than a steering wheel. Thankfully no one saw him commit his mistake and he quickly went over to the right side of the car. Matthew wasted no time in buckling up and disengaging the handbrakes. He keyed in the ignition and the engines roared to life. He then went straight to the audio system and jacked his Samsung phone straight into it and hit the shuffle button. "Don't Stop Me Now" By Queen played. Fitting. Now all that was left was to be pulled over for a speeding ticket.


"I get to ride something so fucken impressive. Job well done, sir."


A grin gradually plastered itself on his face as he drove out of the parking lot and out into the Emerald City streets, all to the sound of Freddie Mercury's voice. A little sunday drive, even though it probably wasn't sunday, around the city should be enough for Matthew to get a feel for his new ride. He could keep on the lookout for Archer and the gang while taking the car out for a spin. If any of the Merry Men needed him, he was always just a phone call or text message away anyway.

 

[Ayl]

Sebastian W. Scarlet

...getting "re-acquantainted"

There was no doubt about it. The walk, the face, even the punch. They were all her. Even though six hundred years passed, the stinging flare that blazed his face where she'd taken her swing at still hurt just as much as the first time they've met. Sebastian could remember that so vividly. How good she fought, and how she put Robin down without much effort. Truly a woman worthy of respect.


Although the punch had momentum and it was one hell of its kind, Sebastian didn't drop on his back, nor did he back away. He was a soldier, a fighter through and through. He'd taken bullets, swords and kicks, both physical and metaphorical ones all his life. One extra wasn't gonna make any difference. In fact, the only reason why he didn't dodge or parry it with his cane was because of the shock of realising who his assailant was. Talk about coincidences.


After taking the hit, his cheek now turning red from it, his lips formed a slight smile, turning into a full-bloomed grin. "I see you haven't lost your touch!" he said. Sebastian kneeled for a moment to grab his hat from the ground after dropping it during the assault. Resting his cane on his arm by the handle, he gave the grey fedora a few gentle slaps to shake off any dirt or dust, at the same time asking coyly, eyeing Johnna again. "Is that how you greet all old acquaintances?"


Her eyes narrowed and Johnna stepped back, her fists still knotted tightly, though the tension had left her, her first hit leaving her drained, "You're lucky it was just a punch, you smug son of a bitch! You have some nerve just showing up here like this..."


The insult left Sebastian cold. He was used to being called in every possible way. Normally he'd get upset, make a small scandal and the issue would be left to blow over. But this wasn't a normal situation. His grin vanished as he replied, holding the cane with his right arm again. "Trust me, it wasn't something planned. I...simply went on a whim.". Right now he was wishing he wouldn't had come to that damned bookstore, but the act was already done, so best play it out nicely. "And don't act so upset! If you really don't want me here, maybe I should leave!" he voiced again through his coy smirk, which was back on his face again.


She was angry. She was angry and it showed in every inch of her delicate features. Her fingers rolled and unrolled, clenched until her knuckles were white, but she only shook her head. She looked defeated, something Johnna wasn't accustomed to, and as she met Will's gaze, her frustration softened into something else, entirely. A beat or two passed in absolute silence before, with the same speed and intensity as the punch, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.


"Welcome back, you stubborn ass."


Even more surprising than being punched by someone you haven't seen in six hundred years was to get hugged seconds later by the same person who punched you to begin with. Yet, Sebastian couldn't help but respond by placing his arm around her waist and bend forward slightly, letting his shoulders fall down. "I missed you too, kiddo!". It pained him he had to dissapoint her so, but there was no use in building up her hopes. "But I'm afraid I'm not here to stay."


Johnna pulled back, frowning. Despite her attempts to hide it, there was an edge to her expression... she was hurt, even if she'd never admit it, "...Yeah, well. What's new."


Shaking her head, she stepped back, putting on a dry smirk, "What are you doing here, Will?"


The show of affection ended almost as swiftly as it began. Despite the attempt to hide, Sebastian could still see the pain caused by his words. Then again, he knew that would be the case, since Johnna was by far the most emotional among them. "It's "Sebastian" now. "Will" makes me think too much about the past...about what happened". His voice was neither glee nor coy as before, but was now speaking with a serious tone most would think him uncapable of. Sadly, life wasn't all about laughs and jokes. "And I think you know why I'm here, Johnna. Afterall, I left for a reason."


The frown deepened and Johnna shrugged, "You're "Will" to me. Doesn't matter anyway, if you aren't sticking around."


There was a bitter edge to her voice, and when she continued it intensified, "Should've guessed... You'd never come back to see us."


Her indirect accusations of him not caring for them pained Sebastian, more than he would've wanted to admit. "That's not fair, Johnna. You know why I had to leave! Robin didn't give me a choice. He refused me when I asked him for help, after all I've done for him!". Many years have passed since Sebastian's voice sounded so pathetic, so self-condescending as now. Shaking his head, he resumed his impenetrable face and elegant posture. "I'm sorry if I've made you suffer, Johnna. I really am. I hope one day you can forgive me.".


"Hell... Don't flatter yourself." She said, shaking her head again, "You didn't hurt me..."


Her lips pressed thin in a forced smile, her eyes rimmed with tears she refused to let fall, "You abandoned us. You quit on us. That's on you... not Rob. And you can blame him all you want, but we know why he turned you down. Your private crusade was no good for anyone, and you just didn't wanna hear it. So you bailed. But don't think for a second you hurt me. I'm not that weak, and you never meant that much to me."


As Johnna's lecture reached his ears, Sebastian couldn't do nothing but scoff, turning his gaze sideways, then smilling tiredly, letting his head fall down, before straightening up and eyeing her again. He knew she could never understand the sorrow in his heart, the void in his soul. But she was right too. She was no weakling, so it was easy to see how his words might have come off as an insult. "I get that you're angry. And I apologise. I never meant to undermine your strength. In more ways than one, you are stronger than even I or Rob.". All that, he said with that tired smirk on his face, which faded to nonexistance. "So, on a more less dramatic note, what are you doing here?" he inquired, curious.


Blinking rapidly, turning her eyes away, she shrugged, "It's Marian, Will. Why else would we be here?. Sebastian twitched almost imperceptible at being called "Will" once again, but didn't pay much attention to it. "I meant in this city, Johnna. I doubt you would've come to Marian's book signing if you didn't already knew about it. Seeing as this signing was a local news, then it means you've been here for some time now, and even if I know how much you all care about each other, I find it hard to belive all of you in the same city at the same time is just a big coincidence. So, what's your real goal?". A subtle smug could be spotted on his face, as he awaited the answers to his questions.


Johnna's smirk was a wicked one, and her shrug, nonchalant, "Official Merry Men business, old friend. Can't divulge information to outsiders."


She let it sink in, if only for a moment, before going on, "Prince John is here... and we're gonna take him down. Once and for all."


After hearing the news, Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle. "Old feuds die hard, eh? I should know, I've been on a six hundred year feud of my own. We should go for a coffee sometime, I'll tell you all about it!". Sebastian took the first chance he saw to be sarcastic, as per his usual behaviour. Of course, she probably wouldn't wanna go nowhere with him, considering the circumstances.


Johnna make a face, wrinkling her nose, "I thought you weren't sticking around...".


"I'm gonna be here for a while. I still don't know the exact identity of the guy I'm after. All I got to go on is that he's male, late thirties. Well, looks like his late thirties, anyhow. Until then, I guess I will rent a room at a hotel and wait and search. I got all the time in the world." he joked, smilling at Johnna, this time not with arrogance, but sincere, the most rarest of his smiles.


"...You're lucky I like coffee. But you're paying." Chuckling faintly, dryly, she smiled, "I've got a place in town, it's not much, but it's free. If you're interested..."


Johnna's emotion shifting was so close to actually freaking Sebastian out. But he was glad they were pass the arguing phase. That was a good sign. "Well, I haven't bought a girl coffee in a while, so this is perfect timing!" he said, gleeful. On the other hand, the other offer had the role of putting him on the defensive. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose or anything...".


Johnna quirked a brow, "Will... I lived the majority of my life in make shift huts in trees, with a group of heavily bearded thieves, who weren't exactly keen on personal hygiene. I think I can handle a temporary roommate. Just... just one condition?". Sebastian knew it. There just had to be a catch. "Uhm, let me guess! Personal hygiene is a must?" he asked, again with a coy smile. "Alright..." Johnna said with a small laugh, "Two conditions, then. Just... just tell me when you're leaving, this time?".


Sebastian's grin faded into a simple smile, as he extended his right hand, after placing his hat on the handle of his cane and saying out loud: "Deal! Now, I suppose the one you were here with talking to Marian is Rob himself, eh? How's that going? Last time we met, he was a real mess.". Johnna gave the hand a shake, before nodding, "He's better. We're all a little broken, understandably... But he's better. Will you come say hi?".


With a quick flick of his wrist, Sebastian glanced at his watch, only to see that he was running late for his meeting with his contact in town. After all, there must've been thousands of late thirties males in Emerald City, and although he had the time on his side, patient was one thing Sebastian wasn't. "Maybe another time, I'm afraid I've still got some...business, to take care of!". He scolded himself for pausing in the middle of the phrase, but he just couldn't think of any better word to describe his arrangements. "But tell you what! Here's my number," he said as he handed her a plastic card he fished out of his vest's pocket. "so you can text me where you want us to meet. Say, in about a couple of hours?". She took the card from him and nodded, tucking it into her back pocket, "...Good luck, Will. Really.".


Before turning around and making way down the street, Sebastian flashed her one last smile, coupled with a "Stay safe, kiddo!".


[This was totally not a collab between me and Elle, and yes, I've totally bunnied her character the way I wanted! I'm such a badass/rebel]

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle

'The Ticking Clock' Nightclub

​

Isabelle was remarkably free spirited, but also quite simple. She did what she wanted, when she wanted it and she rarely concerned herself with the feelings or thoughts of others, and certainly never considered their opinions of her. Hook, it seemed was just about the only person whom Isabelle held in any regard whatsoever, and she craved his approval more than some of her clients did the Dust she brewed in her apartment.


There was very little she would not do for Hook.

It was, nevertheless, incredibly difficult for her to take his suggestion without rolling her eyes. The suggestion that the irritating dancing girl would take her place might have been laughable… had it not already happened, once before. Upon his suggestion, she took a slower drag, puffing out the smoke from the cigar.


Casually, she watched him unhinge the prosthetic, revealing the hook beneath, the glint of steel, so sharp and deadly sending a shudder along her spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but also not entirely without fear. Breathing in the heady, earthy aroma of smoke, she shook her, “Hey… She doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother her. I’m perfectly capable of ignoring her. But as far as I’m aware, it’s not in my job description that I gotta like her…”


She wrinkled her nose at him, rubbed her forehead, then plucked up the glass and took a swig, “At any rate… I didn’t come to discuss Blondie, fun as that sounds.”


Uncrossing her legs she swung them back and forth, clicking the heels of her boots together, “I have your next shipment, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”


Grinning, she slipped off the bar top, took another slow pull from the glass, then an even slower drag of the cigar before continuing, “I figured out how to tweak the recipe to make a more concentrated dose… It's perfectly safe, but twice as potent, which means, my clever Captain, that you can sell half the amount for the same price and double your profits…”


Holding her arms out, cigar in one hand, glass in the other, she wiggled her eyebrows, “Tada…”

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

“The Written Word” Bookstore

​

With insight and wit, Johnna distracted Rob as the line slowly advanced. In his wisdom, Rob let her. Dreaming of and dreading seeing Marian had been woven into his daily existence in equal measure ever since he had pulled himself out of the bottle he had climbed into after their parting. He did not wish to revisit that particular set of scars: not his, and certainly not Marian’s. Not if she had found happiness.


In fact, if he had not succumbed to the temptation of reading the book, he would have continued to deflect Johnna’s insistent hints about attending this event. But he had been weak. He had read it, and it had done more than surprise him with her perspective, rekindle his memory of her and their shared past, or anger him with its weak portrayal of the illustrious Robin Hood: it had provided a dangerous sliver of hope.


Keeping his distance and leaving her to her to whatever happiness she had found was the honorable thing to do. If so, he had to admit to himself he was less honorable than he claimed.


As the tall and imposing dark-haired woman at the front table moved to the side, he caught sight of her. Marian. His wife, and still the only woman he had ever loved. Vibrant, whole, and free of the mantle of grief that had hung over them both when last they parted. Her make-up made his brain stutter: to him, she ever remained the fresh-faced girl who had bested him in the woods, partnered with him in his fight against Prince John, stolen his heart, borne and raised their children, and then finally shared in his decline into perpetual grief. Feeling the weight of the ring hanging on the chain around his neck, he was vaguely aware that he had stopped talking to Johnna.


He felt Johnna squeeze his hand. "Here we go..."


Taking the next step forward came naturally: Marian had her own gravitational pull where he was concerned. As he closed the distance between them, he reminded himself: as much as he might wish her retelling of their story to be an expression of longing, it was just as likely a cathartic release of memories once treasured but now no longer needed. He needed to be prepared to walk away, for her sake. Again.


Rob donned his best neutral expression and kept his arms folded as he listened to Johnna and Marian become reacquainted as only they could. The whole exchange, veiled as it might be for modern ears, transported him instantly to the past. Yet what he needed to know was the state of the present. The teasing about Little John’s gender represented neutral ground and told him nothing. Marian had barely even glanced his way. Then she lobbed a grenade in his direction in the form of a challenge to his sexual orientation. His eyebrows twitched upward as he grinned. She did care. She might still hate him, but at least she wasn’t apathetic.


Johnna replied and added fuel to the fire, ribbing him again about the ridiculously skewed chapter in which Marian had painted him an emotional idiot. It was at this point that Rob unfolded his arms, the book still in his right hand. “I think it’s a common mistake made in most modern attempts to retell the tale,” he countered. Johnna, apparently considering her work done, excused herself and left him alone at the table with Marian. Turning his light blue gaze fully to Marian, he continued the thought. “They need to make Robin effeminate and Marian strong, or her weak and feminine to make him masculine and brave, as if the public couldn’t accept them both being strong in their own right, and their own way.” He handed her his copy of the book, unable to keep his lips from turning slightly upward as he did.


Much like their first meeting, he was testing the waters, delivering a probative foray not meant to injure but to assess. Would she strike back?


Marian raised her brow and reached for Robin's copy of the book with her left hand. As her right lay on the table with a pen betwixt two fingers, he caught sight of a familiar gold ring on her ring finger. "Is that what you think, that he was made effeminate? That is an interesting interpretation, but I'm afraid that's not quite the reason I took the liberties I did. The modern woman no longer enjoys reading about a stereotypical strong man who is distant- they want their ideal, and that is a man who can show his emotions and be vulnerable." Her eyes lifted to his for a brief moment before falling towards the book before her. His breath still stolen by the sight of their wedding band on his finger, he thought he saw tenderness in her gaze. Or was that a manifestation of his desire?


"So, what name should I put?" She gestured toward the open book with an enigmatic smile, letting him determine if she was inquiring about his current name or hers.


Her words were cryptic, but what had he expected? An “I have missed you” in front of all these witnesses? For her to hit him? Either would be preferable because they would be clear. Instead, she implied he was insufficient while doing that thing with her eyes that she knew to be his weakness.


Well, he had not expected this to be easy. He didn’t know what he expected at all, but he could not leave the challenge unanswered.


His smile remained in place, although the associated amusement left his eyes as they lingered briefly on her right hand. When he looked at her again, his eyes narrowed slightly, fine lines that would never advance appearing at the outer edges; a look of pain or contemplation; it was hard to tell. “You can make it out to Archer... or Rob... whichever you like,” he replied in a more reserved tone before mustering a more flirtatious smile. “Or to ‘your Robin’, if that will get me your number.”


Ignoring the titter of laughter and one dreamy sigh coming from behind him, he glanced briefly at the woman standing beside Marian protectively and winked at her. He was feeling better already, once back in the role he knew how to play. “Better yet,” he said as he grabbed a promotional card from a stack nearby along with a pen and bent over to scribble a number on it along with the name “Rob”. Holding it between his index and middle finger, he offered it to Marian as he straightened to his full height, looking down at her with a cryptic expression on his face. “I can leave it in your capable hands. Lady’s choice.”


This had not been in the plan. He had intended to leave her to her happy life, but she had issued a challenge, knowing he could not resist it. Besides, improvisation was familiar territory.


[Marian's dialogue and actions with input from @Syrenrei ]

 

[Elle Joyner]

Johnna Little and Matthew Mulligan

Around Town

​

Quick as he'd appeared, he was gone. Granted, it wasn't a permanent absence, but with Will's history, it might as well have been. It was frustrating the think despite everything she had been through and all the time that had passed, Will still held such a power over her. Despite what she considered and initially impressive and appropriate reunion, one that still rang through her sore knuckles, as soon as he had smiled that charming, dashing smile she had folded like a card table. It wasn't just frustrating... it was infuriating.


In his wake, Johnna found herself in a familiar position of irritated uncertainty. She looked at the card Will had given her and considered chucking it down a storm drain, but her dependence was no more obvious than when she pocketed it. Breathing out a resigned sigh, she moved to the mouth of the alley but her bubbling aggravation would not abate...


Will had left. He had abandoned them... abandoned their cause. Chasing after revenge, instead of sticking with them, standing by the code with which all of them lived, the code they had sworn themselves to. He had walked away, to chase ghosts, rather than standing by his family...


And there was a small part of her that hated him for it. Which would have been perfectly fine, if she didn't also still love him so desperately.


Pausing in her pacing, Johnna let out a small growl of anger before kicking the nearest trashcan, sending the metal cylinder rattling and rolling out of the alley and into the street. Nearby, a car screeched to a halt and Johnna watched as Much stepped out of the car.


"Miss Little? Did something happen? I assume that trashcan that almost hit our getaway car was because of you?" He pointed to the car and the trashcan, its content spilled out in the street. And Johnna blushed, frowning a little before eyeing Much with something of a dangerous expression,


"...Will's in town."


"Will Scarlett in town? My that sounds like quite the scandal! In any case, I got us a getaway vehicle for when we go hit Guy and his syndicate. If you want to go anywhere, I'd be glad to bring you there. I need to take this car out for a spin anyway...then maybe hit a gun store for some firepower."


Matthew paused before adding that last part. He also kept calm even though it wasn't advisable when in the presence of angry Johnna.


"Considering how long it's been since the putz showed his face, I'd say scandal is the word for it." Stepping off the curb, Johnna eyed the car, "Getaway, hmm? I take it we're not shooting for blending in?"


"Yeah, I thought we go hit that wanker in style so I pulled a few strings and sympathized with some angry people who want to see Guy on a spike. As I've said, anywhere in particular, Miss Little? I can go hit the gunstore another time or maybe be boring and just "borrow" some funds and buy us the guns as well as forge the licenses needed."


With a smirk she shook her head, her shoulders rising and falling, "What the hell. Anywhere's better than here, right now."


Matthew made his way to the back passenger door of the Audi and opened it for her. It was the gentlemanly thing to do after all. He his hands gestured to the empty seat. Johnna rolled her eyes as she slipped into the car, shaking her head, "You really think I'm gonna turn down the opportunity to go gun shopping, Much? And seriously... Miss Little? We've talked about this. Don't make me hit you."


"All of you are my childhood heroes. How could I address you or Archer or Alan or the rest so casually? And it's Matthew now or Mr. Mulligan, if you please Miss Little."


Matthew flashed her an impish grin and moved take the driver's seat. He keyed in the ignition and swerved around the wreckage of the trashbin. Chuckling, Johnna latched her seatbelt, leaning back against the plush leather of the passenger seat, "Between you and Will with these names, I'm gonna need a glossary. I am little John... that is what I have always been, that is what I will always be."


But then, she was the one who'd always held onto the Merry Men with the most determination...


"Hey....what...whatever happened to Tuck? I think we could all use his japes and overall cheerful nature right about now. Going against Guy Gisborne isn't exactly...conducive to our health and well-being."


"Last I saw him, he was living in a beach house down in Florida. Owned a bar, I think." Frowning, she shifted, rubbing her reddened knuckles, "But I'm not worried about Guy... We took him down once, we can do it again."


"Well I guess if he's found his happiness, we don't exactly have the right to take that from him. Still though, I think I should swing by his pub and plan out what to do with my life when this is all over. I mean, I don't exactly have the luxury of experiencing the drama and thrill of trying to mend some love lost over the centuries like you, blokes."


"Hey, now. Rob's the one with the long lost love... Me, I'm just here for the fun..." Johnna lied, shaking her head.


"Oh sure, Robin's the only one. I can smell the shite from here. I'm aware of the way you look at Will way back when. In fact, I’ve known since I was twelve, because Alan told me."


Matthew didn't play any song but his phone was still jacked to the audio system. He wasn't sure about the tastes of Johnna when it came to music. Still, he snatched up his phone and thumbed through the apps until he found one that showed his bank account or at least the dummy bank accounts. One of them had earned roughly 100k in stolen revenue, which was probably where he'd get the money to go purchase those guns they'd need to hit Guy and his syndicate. It felt a little unnerving though, just four of them up against god knows how many men.


"In any case, where’s a good place to go gun shopping, Mi---Little John? We can use the money from this dummy account to get the goods. Preferably where they don't ask for licenses and all, though I have taken the liberty of using Alan's work desk to forge me one. Honestly, I'm still confused with how acquiring guns legally works in this country."


He waved the phone, with the screen still displaying the bank account, back at Johnna as well as the forged license, though it was probably shoddy work and lacking information.


before gesturing to the intersection they were coming up on, "Make a left... I have a guy who's got his own private stock. No license necessary. It's not far - Just a couple blocks." Looking over at him, she laughed softly, "You know, for as smart as you are, Much... Matthew... whatever, sometimes I don't how you've survived all this time in Emerald City."


"I've never been any like Emerald City, until you lot decided to drag me here. To be honest, I'm kind of missing the English countryside, but I've been missing it since the start of World War II."


Looking through the windshield, Johnna furrowed her brow. She'd been under the impression no one had known... now she couldn't help but wonder, it had her thrown, to put it mildly, and her focus shifted back and forth, "Wait, back up. I do not have feelings for Will. That's just... It's ridiculous. You should know better than to take anything Alan says seriously, least of all about someone's affections. He probably thinks I'm in love with him, too... In his mind, everyone is. Turn right at the next light."


Leaning her head back, she sighed, "And I miss it too... There's not enough trees, here. It's too damn... concrete."


"Yeah keep denying it but Alan is right about you at least. Anyway, this contact of yours, he accepts credit cards?"


"You keep tellin' yourself that, Much... You always were the romantic." Johnna winked, but there was no real mirth behind it. She would need to be more careful, in the future, "Cash only... but no worries... He owes me a favor."


"Me? Romantic? Well I am in love with the notion of being in love. Everyone needs a partner in life after all, just gotta find mine who is probably playing hide and seek against me for the last few centuries. Seriously though, I think you should act on those feelings. Unless of course, you aren't the Little Johnna of Legend, Miss Little? I mean she is a decisive individual and all and you don't seem to be half as decisive when it came to Will. Is this the place?"


Matthew had followed her instructions thus far but tried to keep his speed manageable. It'd be a shame if they shot past their intended destination after all.


Johnna shook her head, looking out the window again. He was dead set on believing it, and there was little point in trying to deny he was right when she could tell her posture had given her away, all too long ago, "It's not that easy... Will doesn't know. He can't know. Even if he wasn't still obsessed with finding his wife's killers... I've never been more than a friend to him. I'm not about to screw that up on a whim."


Nodding, she gestured to the curb outside a run down, graffiti ridden brownstone, "This is it. This guy's a little squirrely, so if you're gonna come in with me, don't be surprised if he acts like a dick."


"Now you're just making excuses for yourself. It is that simple. But that is none of my business, I've only ever been the gopher anyway."


Matthew parked the car right next to the run down building that supposedly held a cache of weapons they'd need to take the fight to Guy. It was irritating to hear someone so legendary since his childhood be so damned insecure. The solution was simple and probably staring at her face, all she had to do was grab it.


There were days he respected them and then there were days he questioned his decision. Still he had to commit to it all, it was just impossible to turn his back on all of this after going so far. It was a minor issue anyway and not a problem directly relating to him.


"If he acts like a dick, I'm pretty sure I can try to be a bigger one. I'm coming with, you did say this guy was a rodent and my ma always taught me never to leave girls alone with rodents."


Johnna smirked, pushing open the car door and stepping out, "...Let's be fair, Matthew. I don't think your Ma was talking about a girl like me when she said that. Still, come along. It'll be fun..."


Cracking her knuckles, Johnna made her way to the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. Behind a glass display counter, a wiry young man stood, his freckled pocked face long and thin, framed by greasy ginger hair. A brow quirked at the pair and he shifted, straightening upright.


"...Told you before, Meg... I'm only doin' deals with you. You want another shipment, your boyfriend's gotta bounce."


Johnna rolled her eyes, before approaching the counter with an easy smile, "...He's just a friend, Ben... No need to be jealous. And you'll deal with me, you always do." She winked, and the ginger boy flushed, looking down at the counter.


"...Well, for the record, I don't like it. Ugly brutes like him start traipsing around in here, I get nervous. And nervous... well, that makes me feel like raising prices."


"Uh uh, Benny boy. You owe me a favor... Or did you forget?"


"Hell, Meg! You can't expect me to just hand this crap over and watch you walk away."


"That's exactly what I expect. Or do I need to give Cecil a call?"


The boy frowned, his pale blue eyes widening, "You... you won't do that... You need me."


"No, Ben. I need guns. You just happen to be in the middle of that." Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, Johnna eyed the boy with a stern expression, "...He's on speed dial..."


"...What do you want??" The boy stammered, and Johnna grinned, looking back to Much.


"...You have the shopping list, Dear?"


"Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you Ben. Though I highly doubt I pass for an ugly brute, much less an unsavory bloke. Still I'll let that slide. Now, about those guns. Since they seem so important to you, I will hand you over the numbers to a bank account with a lot of money in it. I figure a good man like you, sacrificing so much for a good fight against men like the senator and Guy Gisborne needs to be rewarded for his efforts."


Matthew, wrote the numbers on a stray slip of paper on the counter with a pen he also borrowed from the counter. It was the numbers to the dummy account that had been siphoning the yearly revenues of a certain corporation. Of course, it stopped siphoning just a few minutes ago.


"I don't know what Meg has done to you in the past, but surely you can overlook it with 300 grand, or so you yanks say. C'mon, this Cecil bloke sounds like nasty business, he does."


Johnna grinned, watching Ben's eyes grow larger and larger. Looking over to Much, she winked, before tapping the counter, "We're waiting, Benny..."


Stammering again, the boy took one last look at the numbers on the paper before darting into the back, through a small, red door.


With him gone, Johnna returned her gaze to Much, "Well played. I'd like to hang on to that favor... as it is. And thanks for keeping my cover. It’s better I keep it in tact, in case Rob needs me to go under again..."


The door cracked open again and Ben peered out, "I've got enough firepower to take out the entire city... For 300 G's, I can give you a crates of pistols, some semi autos, the ammo and a carton of Semtex. Good enough?"


Johnna nodded, smiling warmly, "Oh Benny, that'll do nicely. Matthew, you satisfied with that?


"Don't mention it. I thought this guy was supposed to be all rodent like."


Matthew kept shut when Ben returned after ducking into his secret room.


"I am satisfied, so I take it you have people carting these weapons to Meg's flat? Or do you expect an SUV to carry around all that weaponry and not look suspicious? Also, I'd like to ask if you had a crossbow with you. The modern kind, with the scope. It's a just a personal thing, nothing to do with dear Meg over here."


Ben's brow peeked again, but Johnna shot him a look and he shrugged, "I can check in the stock room... I might have something. And I'll just ship it to the usual place?"


Johnna nodded, "That'll work. I guess our work here is done. Benny, you stay classy, hmm?"


"Yeah, whatever." He frowned and Johnna smirked, heading for the door again. Outside, closing the door behind Much, she lost the smile and shook her head, "...He's a slimy little guy... but money talks in this city."


"He didn't seem that slimy. What's with the frown, still thinking of Will? Be honest now, I'm just the gopher but I think I'm quite the listener too and I didn't have to study or train for that."


Perhaps the centuries just haven't been kind to one of his former mentors, perhaps they may have forgotten what it was to have a shoulder to lean on. It probably was a few centuries too late but it was better than watching Johnna fester.


"Oh, trust me... He's a sleeze, that one. But I don't think he believed me, when I said you were just a friend... He's probably afraid you'll run him over in the street..."


Returning to the car, she shook her head, "And no... I'm not thinking about Will. Contrary to the apparently popular belief, my life doesn't revolve around that git. Having feelings for him doesn't mean I've lost the ability to focus on other things. Besides, I'll have plenty of time to brood over him while he's staying at my apartment..."


"I suppose you'll be wanting to go back to your flat now?"


Again, Matthew stepped ahead of Johnna and opened the car door for her and closed it when she finally got on.


Johnna considered the question, then nodded, latching her belt again, "Yeah. I can give you the dossier we found last night in one of Gisborne's thug's apartment. Maybe you can get some good, solid leads off it..."


"Do I look like I have a choice? What's the guy's name?"


Matthew keyed in the ignition and drove out of that seemingly bad neighborhood. He had spent enough time in the city to know where Johnna's apartment was.


"Leroy Tennison. He's a hired goon for Guy's private security branch. We've got some dirt on him, already, but there's no point in blackmailing someone we can't find. We'll need details on where he goes... where he spends his time."


Leaning back, Johnna pinched the bridge of her nose, "Once Robin's through, meeting with Marian, I'm sure he's gonna need something to do, to distract himself..."


The remainder of the ride continued in silence. When they reached Johnna's apartment she ran inside to collect the dossier, before handing it off to Much. After a brief chat about Tennison, Johnna made the suggestion that Much look for the mistress to whom the apartment had belong. A few minutes later, when he pulled away from the curb, Johnna waved, then turned to her apartment again and made her way up the steps, disappearing inside.


((Collab post between Elle and Sol))

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

City Street

​

Hunter faltered for a minute, lack of sleep getting the better of him. His bloodshot eyes took another look at her closely and he frowned, eyes going next to the blade she so tightly clung to. "Lass... if I'm mistaken, why don't you grace me with the tale of how ya' got yer hands on my dagger?"


Confusion stole over the girl’s features for a moment, before she looked down at the knife in her trembling hands, her eyes growing wide, fear emanating in twilight orbs.


"Y...your..." Looking at him, she shook her head, "No... no. You can't be here. You... you're supposed to be... I... I thought you were... I killed you..."


He smiled a little, meeting her eyes with his own dark and enflamed ones. "Red, I remember a helluva lot about the old days. If you'd have killed me, I certainly hope I would have remembered that," he said bluntly. Moving closer to her, he stopped at a good distance and pulled up the right sleeve of his grey jacket. Long and jagged scars, old patterns from powerful teeth and razor sharp claws, wove their way up his flesh. "Unless ya' made these... but I've got a feeling we both remember what did that. Even if yer tryin' the best ya' can to forget."

With each step he stood, she had taken one backwards, but as he rolled up the sleeves and her eyes fell to his arms, she stood frozen, her clear eyes tearing up at the sight of the marks. She couldn't forget. No matter how hard she tried. None of them could.


"...You never came back..." Her expression, suddenly, turned to one of anger and she looked up at him, eyes narrowing, "You left me there... you just left. You never came back and I thought you were dead! And you let them... you... you have no idea what what they did. What they said about me. You can't just... show up here, like this and expect me to... No... No!" She shouted, and held up her hands, her face a mask of defensiveness,as she took a few more steps back, "I will not go back to that place! I don't want to remember! I won't!"


Her words cut through him worse than any blade or claw ever could. He had just left. Swallowing with a dry click, he looked back at her and at the angry and defensive expression and put up his hands. "Red, I..." he started, trailing off and frowning again, jaw set. He felt ashamed and pitiful, self-loathing anger fuming in the pit of his stomach like hellfire.


Finally he spoke again, his voice low. "Yer' right. I did just leave. I thought I was turnin' into the same kinda' monster that I fought so hard that night," he explained, eyes set against hers, despite the distance between them. "I suppose... I was ashamed that the 'hero' everyone saw in me wasn't the person I was starting to become."


Hunter gave a chuckle, void of all humor and looked to the ground for a moment before looking to her again. "Look: I don't want to force ya' to remember, Red. But those memories are a part of who you are. Moreso than... whatever the hell it is yer' doing here to forget." Reaching over, he carefully touched a hand to her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, a gesture of comfort.


"I know that rememberin' all this isn't the easy way. Hell, if the tables were turned, I can't say what I'd do." Heading back around to his car, he leaned against the driver's side door and let a beat pass, thinking.


Red stood quietly for a minute, reaching up to touch her shoulder where his hand had lay, her own hand shaking still, though not nearly so violently. When she spoke, the hysterics were gone from her tone, her voice quivering, "They blamed it on me. Said I was cursed... I... I'm not so sure they were wrong."


He watched her, frown deepening as she told her sad tale. Anger flickered in his eyes and he shook his head. "They were wrong, Red," the man stated plainly, voice hardly hiding the spite behind it. Not that it was directed at her, of course, but the past always made a sour feeling rise up in his stomach. "If any of those cowards had been there to see what happened, they'd have known the curse wasn't yers."


"But they weren't there. You were... and then you left." Shifting, Red wrapped her arms around her chest. The wind had picked up, droplets of rain leaving splatters of moisture on the concrete, the pleasant scent of ozone caught in the breeze, "I was the only one left to tell the story... and when you're the only one telling it, well... it hardly seems real. Even... even to me. I wonder sometimes, when I wake in the middle of the night... after the dreams... I wonder if it was me who did it. I try to remember, because it's all I have left of that time... but then I do remember, and all I want is to forget."


Shaking her head, she looked up at him as a tear traveled the length of her pale cheek, "I thought you were, dead, Hunter. I thought I... I dreamed... and in my dreams, I killed you. I killed them all. Gran, too. And it felt so real... I thought I'd made it real. It's funny... what you said... about how you left because you thought you were becoming him. Because in my head... I'm always the wolf."


Hunter listened to her in silence, taking in the words. The more she spoke about the day and her past, the worse he felt about all of it. Regret gripped his voice like a vice and held roughly as he fought to try and explain himself and got nothing.


The past, however, would always be the past.


Reaching up quickly, he wiped the tear off of her cheek with his thumb, then pulled his hand back as if it had burned him. He hadn't been close to anyone in a very long time and even such a simple gesture felt alien to him. "I'm sorry, Red. I really am," he admitted with a set jaw, trying to ignore the anger at himself that still churned below the surface, ever-growing. "Nothin' I can say will make up for running and leaving ya' with all that nonsense."


He sighed and found himself very badly wanting a drink or thirty.


Raking back his hair and feeling the rain for the first time, he noticed was cold, but his shiver didn't come from the falling droplets. "And The Wolf yer not. Far as I know, that bastard is part of the swamp I dumped'm in all those years back." Looking past her, then looking up at the sky, he made a small grunt. "Hey, you happen to have a place around here we can talk more and get outta' the rain?"


Shaking her head, Red took a step back, her eyes reflecting a world of confusion, of sadness and longing, frustration and fear... and somewhere, in the myriad emotions there was the mortification of someone who had something to hide.


"I... I can't... I... I'm sorry. It's too much. I need to think. I... I have to go."


As she turned and walked away, the skies opened, unleashing their torrent, a rumble of thunder masking the quick click of her heeled boots.


He could tell her response before she'd even spoken it just by her eyes. There were so many things in just that one look that it was crushingly difficult to follow. When she did respond, he just nodded somberly and watched her walk away in silence.


Getting back into his Buick, he slammed the door behind him and clenched his fists around the steering wheel as if he meant to strangle life from it. "Shit!" he snapped aloud, startled by the volume of his own voice and the regretful rage that fueled it.


The car still turned off, Hunter sat, losing himself in thought for a few moments, though it felt like hours.


((Collab with Elle))

 

[Elle Joyner]

Red Copper

City Street

​

Nothing permanent. Nothing familiar. No friends, no family, no ties. These weren’t merely a series of mantras to Red Copper, they were rules. Hunter Madson showing up out of the blue like that… It went against every defined guideline she had set for herself. So long now, she had convinced herself he was gone, but there was little sense in denying it.


She had to leave him. She had to run and never look back and pray that he forgot she was there… pray that he could go back to believing she was merely a figment of his imagination. He was alive, but he wouldn’t be for long, if she allowed him back into her life. She was poison… and he would not survive her.


Brushing her eyes dry of tears and rain and stepping off the curb to cross the street, Red very narrowly avoided becoming the hood ornament on the bright red Charger, whose wheels squealed to a halt mere inches from her.


The driver clambered out and Red felt her heart freeze in her chest at the sight of the man, tall and gangly, a living snake… beady, wet eyes narrowed in rage as he crossed the front of the car to grab her arms, his bruising grip leaving grooves in her skin.


“Chris…” She whispered, her eyes widening.


“Don’t you ‘Chris’ me, you stupid tramp. You wanna tell me why you were three hundred bucks short last night? Thought you’d be a smart ass and drop it in my mail slot? Figured I wouldn’t notice? Real brilliant, Bitch.” He spun her round, shoving her back into the bumper of the Dodge. “Where the hell is my money, Rox…?”


Before Chris could say another word, a deep voice interrupted him. "Scuse me, 'Chris', but is there a problem here?" Hunter asked calmly, bloodshot eyes staring at the other male in angry slits as he walked toward the sickeningly red car. "I suggest ya' take your hands off the lass before I break 'em off and shove 'em somewhere unpleasant."


The man whipped his skinny neck to the side, turning his scowl on Hunter, his cheeks flushed nearly as red as the vehicle he'd pulled up in. Red's heart pounded in her chest, her eyes pleading Hunter to let it go.

"You mind your own damn business there, Dudley Do-Right. This bitch is my property, and I do with mine what I choose." As if to punctuate that point, his hand slipped down to Red's wrist and he twisted her arm behind her back, prompting a cry from the girl. His lips split in a grin and he spun her round, pinning her to the hood of the car.


"I could take her, right her in the middle of the damn street if I wanted... and you know what you could do about it? Nothin'... Cause it's not a slut's job to say yes or no, is it, Roxie?" He grip on her arm tightened and Red flinched, with another strangled cry. "So piss off... Before you get involved somewhere, that ain't your place."


Hunter scowled and, in seconds, was at the man's side. His right hand snapped around Chris' throat like a vice and squeezed, silencing the other before he could say anything else that would further Hunter's yearning to put him six feet underground. "This 'bitch' is an old friend of mine, Chris," the male said plainly, squeezing harder until the other man's grip on 'Roxie' loosened. "And I'm way past involved, chum. Matter of fact, you've officially got my undivided attention with that last comment."


Shooting a gaze toward Red that told her to look out, Hunter spun the other male around threw him at the windshield of his own pretty red car. "Now, if yer smart, you'll stay right there. I've got a feeling though, ya' junkie little fuck, that yer' going to be stupid. So, let's get on with it."


With her arm released, Red dropped to the ground, cradling her wrist. Chris sailed, hitting the car with a smack and a grunt. Fury on his pinched, rat-like face, he rolled off the hood and righted himself, his eyes narrowed, his cheeks crimson. Gritting his teeth, he balled up his fists.


"Big mistake, Prick!" He swung, wildly, a man clearly more practiced in picking on those beneath him.


Clenching his own fists, Hunter watched the approach of the other just enough to expect the punch and dodge out of the way, swinging with a precise punch to the throat. "Stop talking," he stated with a scowl, sending another punch to the man's stomach to knock the wind from him and end this quick. The longer they fought, the harder it was getting for Hunter to stay in control of the situation.


Rising, slowly, making a barrier between herself and her handler behind Hunter, Red grimaced at the sound Chris made when the punch connected, watching him drop to his needs with an odd sense of dread and satisfaction. For a beat, he seemed to consider getting up again, but with his breath escaping in a wheeze, he only staggered to his feet and took his keys from his pocket, shaking them angrily at the pair.


"This ain't over..."He hissed, then rounded the Charger, dug the keys into the ignition and with an impressive display of smoke and squealing tires, peeled away.


Shooting the escaping Charger the bird, Hunter shook his head and then turned to Red again. "You okay?" he asked quietly, knowing that she probably didn't want a damn thing to do with him at the moment.


She stared, silent for a moment, in the wake of the car, cradling her wrist with a tender grip. When Hunter broke that silence, her eyes moved to him, wide... frightened, but there was something else there, too. He had saved her again...


No matter how much time passed, how much they changed, he was still there... just in the nick of time.


Ignoring the pulse of warning in her head, the screaming, whaling siren, reminding her about her rules, about the sanctity of that complete lack of commitment... of the need for detachment, Red took a tentative step forward before, without hesitation, throwing her arms around his waist, clinging to him as if he were a ghost that might fade, should she relinquish hold.


Meeting her eyes, he watched her for a second before she stepped toward him and wrapped herself around him. His back stiffened and, for a split second, he almost recoiled from her touch and shoved her away. The feeling of another person's touch was such an oddity that it almost made him feel ill. However, it didn't take long for his arms to pull around her in return, tugging her closer.


Hunter stood like that for a long time, not daring to let go for fear that one of his only connections to old memories might be a delusion. His memories drifted, back to the last time they'd seen each other and the last embrace shared - her horrified form shaking like a leaf and staring at the carnage that was once her Grandmother's cottage.


"It's good to be back, kid..."


When she finally did release him, she didn't go far, stepping back just enough to give him room to breath... room to leave, which part of her expected and another part of her desperately hoped for. But if she were honest with herself, she didn't want him to leave her. Not again, not ever again.


Looking down, fingers dancing along the edge of her wrist, where stippling bruises were already beginning to form, she spoke, her voice quite.


"...It's good to have you back, Hunter. Thank you... He... he's not usually like that. I'm sorry you had to get involved..."


Hunter looked down to her as she spoke and, for the first time in a long time, smiled warmly. "Glad I could be back. Really am," he started, but frowned a little at the marks on her wrist. "And... not usually like that? What've you got yerself into, Red?"


Thinking for a second, he shook his head. "Ya'know, before you answer that, let's get the hell outta' this rain. C'mon, my apartment's not that far of a drive and I've got heat and towels," he joked, tugging off his jacket and sliding it over her shoulders. "This should keep ya' a little more warm 'til we get there. That is, if yer' willing to come do a bit of catching up over a drink. I know it's early - or late for me - but I need one after... all this."


Despite the rain and the chill of the wind, she could feel his body heat as he transferred the coat to her shoulders, could still detect that subtle scent that reminded her so much of home...


Slipping the jacket on over her arms, she managed a small, dry smile and nodded. There was no sense in standing out in the rain, anyway, and something told her he wasn't just going to let her walk away, unhindered. And really, she wasn't sure she wanted him to...


"...Sure. Better than standing out here, getting soaked, anyway. And I know I could use a drink..."


((Collab with Grin))

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

Hunter's Apartment

​

Arriving at his complex a few minutes later, Hunter pulled the Buick into one of the empty carports near his apartment building and got out, appreciative of the temporary relief from still falling rain. "I'd offer ya' an umbrella to get to the building, but I don't own one and we're not exactly dry as it is," he said with a bit of a chuckle.


Red only shook her head and smiled, faintly, "I won't melt..."


She pushed open the door and stepped out beneath the car port, stuffing her hands into the pockets of his coat, "Lead the way...?"


Smirking at the comment about her 'melting', he nodded his head toward the nice looking cluster of buildings about 15 feet away and started toward the door, jogging up to it and unlocking it with one of his keys before holding the door open for her. "It's just this way," he called, waving her on.


Red passed through the door, waiting for Hunter inside. Her eyes traveled the length of the lobby, her brow raised. It was bright, almost too bright, with brass sconces every few feet and wide, bright fluorescent panel lights overhead. To her left there was an information desk, but the chair behind it was unoccupied.


Frowning softly, she shifted imperceptibly closer to Hunter's side, "...Nice place."


Hunter shrugged a little, looking around. "Yea', it is. It's not the top of the line, but the walls are thick and nobody asks questions when yer' coming in at all hours." Looking up to the desk, he shook his head. "Don't think I've seen anyone sitting her yet. Not sure why the desk is even there."


Shrugging again, he headed toward the stairway. "Up on the third floor, though. I'd say we could take the elevator but they're in a constant state of repair. Nice old building... but it's still an old building," he explained, trailing off and ascending the stairs in silence.


"...Better than what I've--" But Red fell quiet as she followed him up the stairs, her own silence not without a measure of discomfort. When they reached the door, she pulled her hands out of the pockets of his coat, hugged them around her arms, watching as Hunter turned the key in the lock.


Pushing open the door, the Huntsman stepped into the apartment and gestured her to follow. The place was decently sized to large, but it seemed even larger given how empty it felt. The lack of walls didn't help and, for the most part, the floor plan was an open one with the exception of a bathroom in one of the corners that jutted out in a square.

There wasn't much 'life' to it, despite the plain furniture that was placed more on utility than style. In one corner, a cluster of exercise and weight equipment sat that were obviously well used.


"Let me turn on some lights so we can actually see," he grumbled, lurking around in the half-dark easily and flicking a few switches. Some lights flickered to life and glowed dimly, a stark contrast to the sharp florescent bulbs from the lobby, and thankfully not as blinding.


"Home sweet home," he said with a half-hearted chuckle, heading to the bathroom to grab some towels. "If ya' want to let your clothes dry, I can try and let you borrow something of mine to wear... but it probably won't really fit at all," he called out to his companion before coming back out with two giant towels and handing one toward her.


Taking the towel, Red slipped out of Hunter's coat and pulled her hair loose from the band, squeezing the moisture into the terrycloth before rubbing life into the rain drenched curls. Then, bending down, she unlaced the knee high boots before pulling them off, shrinking down a good few inches.


"...I don't mind if it doesn't fit..." She said, softly, her eyes roving over the apartment with a small, sad, smile, "How long have you lived here?"


Drying off his own hair and face the best he could, he headed toward the back bedroom and tugged a door shut. "Be out in a sec," he called out and quickly changed into a green long-sleeved and a pair of comfortable looking shorts. Grabbing some drawstring pants and a longer shirt for her as well, he came back out and set them on the arm of the couch.


"Erm... I've probably lived here for a year an' some change. Maybe two." Looking around, he winced a little. "Not that you could tell with all the 'clutter'," he said sarcastically, raking some still-damp hair from his eyes.


“Yeah... It's a real mess." Red teased, "At any rate, I like it. Even if it is a little sparse..." She continued, with a small smile, before slipping her damp sweater off, over her head, tossing it with her boots. She wriggled out of her jeans, then pulled on his clothes, which were, decidedly, enormous on her tiny, wiry frame, giving her the appearance of someone suddenly much younger than her age would indicate.


"...It'll do."


Hunter chuckled at her comment, but nodded all the same in appreciation. It wasn't much, but it was his home... even if it was a temporary one. Snapping out of the thoughts, he looked up to notice his companion in a state of undress and coughed, flushing.


"Well, I was going to offer up the bathroom for changing, but here works," he said in surprise, scooting past her toward the small kitchen space. "Why don't I grab the drinks then?" Opening a cupboard, he grabbed two tumblers and poured a generous amount of whiskey in both. "Ice?" he called back.


Red smiled coyly, drawing the string on the pants tighter before following him to the kitchen, "Sorry. Old habits... When you do what I do, you get used to--"


Trailing off, she rubbed the back of her neck and took a seat at the table, "Sure."


Placing a couple of large squares of ice in each glass, he moved to the table and sat at a chair to the left of her, sliding the drink over. "Yea', been meanin' to ask about that... especially after what that Chris guy said," he inquired. "What is it that you do, Red? Or did as 'Roxanne'."


Looking away, either unwilling or unable to meet his eyes, Red shrugged, "...Don't suppose we can call it Networking? I think you know the answer to that question, Hunter."


He blinked as the realization hit him like a slap. "Ah, yeah..." he said, a bit of shock obvious in his voice. Unsure what to say, he was quiet for a time, sipping his drink thoughtfully. Eventually, he set it down and reached toward her, cupping her chin and meeting her eyes.


"Look, kid, far as I'm concerned that wasn't you at all. Not the 'you' that's here now, anyway. Not the Red I know." He smiled and moved his hand to squeeze her shoulder again, that familiar gesture of comfort that was getting less and less strange every time he did it.


Biting her lip, Red avoided that gaze as long as she could, shaking her head, "But I'm not that girl, Hunter...I don't even know who I am, anymore. Sometimes I think maybe this is me... Maybe this is who I was always meant to be. At any rate, it's a job, and it keeps me on my feet. I don't enjoy it, but there's worse positions to be in."


Reaching up, she caught his hand and held it for a moment, lowering her cheek to the back of his fingers, her eyes closing, "It still doesn't seem real... any of this. I'm so afraid I'm gonna wake up to find it was just a dream."


Releasing him, her eyes snapped open and she picked the glass up off the table, taking a drink, savoring the burn of the whiskey as it rolled down her throat, "...After you left, I took to sleeping on the floor by the door. That way, if you came back, I'd know right away. It was stupid, but I had to hope..."


Rising from her seat she moved to the nearest window, peering out through the drops of rain on the glass, "I missed you, Hunter. I missed you so much, it hurt to keep going. But I did... I did keep going, and I'm not... I'm not proud of who I am, but I didn't have much of a choice... This is me, and I know I'm not what you expected, but this is the only person I know how to be, anymore. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you."


Hunter sat still as a statue, letting all of her words sink in and feeling terrible for the girl. Finishing the last of his drink, he stood and refilled the glass - not bothering with ice this time. Taking another drink, he finally spoke.


"If this is a dream, then it's a gods-damned cruel one," he said quietly, lowering his head for a second. "I won't judge ya' for what you've done to survive, Red. Hell, at least you tried to do something. At least you tried to move on."


He smiled sadly, draining the other tumbler and setting the glass down roughly. "You haven't disappointed me at all, kid. I'm just glad I found ya' again, found a familiar face. All these years, I started thinkin' I was crazy. All these memories and nobody else to collaborate 'em," he sighed, voice low and thoughtful. "Then after all this time, I find the one person I've run into every time I wander too far outta' fate's path. Just took a little longer this time. Call me a sap, but it's been nothin' but true."


The male chuckled a little and moved to the window behind her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry if I broke yer' hope, Red. I shouldn't have run, but I was afraid. The Wolf didn't scare me, but becomin' something just as bad did. All that time helping and I was slowly turning into a common killer for hire."


Standing there, holding her, he was quiet for a time and then spoke again, tentatively. "Why wait for me, Red? All that time... ya' could've just run away from all of it and gone somewhere unassailed by misplaced blame." Sighing, he continued. "Instead, ya' waited for me. Not a prince or royal, hardly even a member of society," he said with a dry laugh.


Staring out the window, resting her hand on the arms rounds her shoulder, she smiled faintly, "But you don't understand. You didn't break anything... You are my hope. And maybe it took a long time, maybe it took too long... but you're here. And that is all that matters."


Turning to face him, so close she could see the flecks of rain reflected in his eyes, she shook her head, her voice only just above a whisper, "I had to wait, Hunter. You're all I have..."


Lowering her gaze, she stared blankly ahead, "I didn't want to remember... because it scared me, so much... the idea of you, being back here. Everyone I ever cared about, everything concrete I've ever held onto, it's been taken from me. So I stopped holding on to things. Nothing fixed... nothing permanent. No attachments. No friends, no family, no home... I just had to float, to change, constantly. And I hated it, I hate what I do, who I've become... the things I've done. I am so ashamed... But it was easy, and it was safe, and no one got hurt. No one but me. And when I saw you today, I was so afraid. I was so afraid, because I can't lose you... not again..."


Shifting, she looked up again, her eyes welling with tears, "But I would rather spend one more minutes with you, than a hundred years alone. Hunter, I waited... I had to wait, because I love you. I always have. And I always will."


Her words echoed in his head and he stood for a moment, unmoving, as he tried gathering his thoughts. It was a lot to take in, if he was honest, but the more he thought about it, the less and less it shocked him. Looking down at her, her blue orbs brimming with tears, he found himself unable to speak.


Instead he leaned down, cupping her chin in his scarred hand, and kissed her.


((Collab with Elle))

 

[Elle Joyner]

Red Copper

Hunter’s Apartment

​

A few hours later, Red sat on the sill of the large windows in the living room, Hunter’s shirt draped loosely over her frame, her bare legs crossed, one over the other. The rain had stopped, and the sun, freed from heavy pregnant clouds, hung low in the early evening sky, the city cast in a pale yellow glow. She could hear the shower running in the next room over and smiled to herself, leaning her head back against the sill brace, letting her eyes fall closed.


Between that morning and now, ages had passed, or so it seemed. When Hunter had first appeared, she had wanted nothing to do with him, a fearful representation of everything she had lost and still stood to lose. But as swiftly as he had reappeared, he had reminded her of the man she had fallen in love with in the first place, and after that… she had been helpless to resist.


Taking a sip from the mug she held between her hands, she contemplated what had happened over the warmth of lemon tea, allowing the heat and steam to draw her back to reality.


It scared her still, the idea of allowing Hunter back into her life, but she had meant what she said. Being alone, being without him, was infinitely worse. And regardless of what she might think, after what had transpired, she couldn’t imagine Hunter would let her go, too eagerly… and she was in no rush to leave him, either.


Finishing her tea, she slid off the sill and dropped the cup in the sink, before she made her way back to the bedroom to find Hunter, getting dressed. She slid up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck before leaning her head between his shoulder blades, “It stopped raining. Think we could swing by my place, so I can grab some clothes? I mean, comfy as I am like this, I can’t exactly walk around town this way…”

 

[Ashurbanipal]

The Big Bad Wolf
Emerald City - Bad Neighborhoods





Wolf's lungs are a bellow, his mouth a chimney, such is the smoke that comes from him as he rests over the beaten body of the thing in the crackhouse--ah, but they're not supposed to call them crackhouses anymore, he remembers, not since the Dust started becoming so popular. What was the new term going around the streets? His mind set on a new subject, he bites down on his cigarette, tasting the ash as it licks and burns his tongue.


Pain helps him think. The whining body on the floor learns this quickly. A finger pulled back until it breaks. A fist to the back of the head. A kick to the stomach, and the coughing of blood. Blood vessels break, the skin deforms, muscle aches, and its chest rises and falls laboriously. A voice softly pleads, and the sound triggers a memory. That soft, wheezing voice, like someone speaking during an asthma attack -- it's just like the girl in public relations who was talking about the new term in the office.


"Chimneys," the Wolf says with a laugh, and gestures broadly at the dilapidated and mostly-abandoned structure around them. The floorboards creak louder than the people, stoned as they are. "Because it's all so dusty. Get it?"


--


The rest of the afternoon is a blur. The criminal was brought in, and his injuries were for resisting arrest; he was, after all, known for being a violent offender, and when a detective of Wolf's pedigree makes a claim it tends to be assumed true. Subject sustained moderate to severe injuries during a violent struggle with Detective Doran Wolf, the documentation will indicate; Detective Wolf was attacked by the perpetrator who refused to surrender peacefully, found to be in an altered state of mind due to heavy drug usage prior to the arrest. Recommend a stay in the hospital, under guard, followed by immediate arrest for blackmail, possession with intent to sell, assaulting an officer, the prostitution of women...


Wolf has gone through the motions before, and knows what to say, what to do. People know better than to look to close, and the punk was a piece of shit anyway who lost his protection. The rest of the night is for recreation.


The next morning..


There she is, walking so happily. Without a care in the world--kept safe by his actions, for anyone who has ever endangered her has been eliminated. He's in plain clothes still, a hood drawn over his head, fiddling with a cellphone. Sweat pants, a stained hoody -- he looks like a big ol' street kid. But he's listening, and watching, as his darling Red, the beautiful Red, talks to a man. A client. Wolf hates them, but tolerates their presence; it's a transaction, and he doesn't fault a girl for working. Everyone has to eat.


But then a man lays a hand on her. And that client returns, and his eyes narrow, and he rescues Red -- and she wraps her arms around him, the embrace no longer the professional touching of a client and a working girl, but one rich with emotion. He smells her tears on the air, hears her laments.


His jaw clenches, teeth like pestle and mortar, grinding themselves into deadly fangs. Huntsman. Murderer. Coward. Drowned him, tricked him, stones and axes, surprise attacks, a vicious fight. Stole his prey. He stole her!


Oh, the rage burns hot and bright, a fire in his veins as surely as if a needle had pierced them--a consuming hatred that hurts him like his hunger hurts him, that impossible chasm in the pit of his stomach deepening and turning red from the spite-heat. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes deep, gasping breaths, and his voice bubbles up like pitch, tar-black and offensive, a gurgling rumble that grows to a thunderous reckoning, animalistic, caught between human and beast.


It is the purest sound in the world. Hatred and hunger, raw, a growl in the rain.


--


Later on, after Red and Hunter have reconnected, the girl sips a warm drink before a window. The storm has broken, and the rain has abated, and this is a rare time the city seems clean; a storm is like a good cry, in that it cleanses and serves as a cathartic release for the filth of life.


And, oh, how the city has wept, for the city is Wolf's home, the city is alive, the city is the same as Wolf, and Wolf's heart is broken by Red's cruelty. When the knock comes at the front door, loud and insistent, louder than the shower, it is Red whose attention it will grab.


And when that door is opened, by the girl or the man, there will be no one there. And on the ground will be two severed hands, the wrists attached, shards of bone poking out from the mess. A mess of blood, and veins, and pulped, smashed muscle.


And a finger, so familiar to the girl, with an old ring on it. Her pimp's wedding ring, from a failed marriage decades ago. And a small message, handwritten, the letters deliberately blocky and crude.


I SAW HIM HOLD YOU HE HURT YOU I SAVED YOU YOU'RE SAFE I WAS HERE.


And, underneath that, written perfectly normally, in clear and obvious contradiction of the insanity above..


Grandma, what big hands you have.

 

[Syrenrei]

Marian Greene (Maid Marian) & Robin Greene (Robin Hood)

The Written Word book store

A collaboration by @Syrenrei and @Erica
​

Marian smiled despite herself, but Claire frowned with obvious disapproval. Not once since in all the time she had been visible to Robin had her features even inched anywhere towards a smile- even when Johnna was at the table. With slight hesitation, Marian set down Robin's copy of her novel and plucked the card from his fingers. "The lady chooses both," she asserted as she leaned down to fetch one of her business cards beneath the table. It was a plain white card stock with her name, her manager's name, her business phone number, and a post office box for fan mail to go to. "That way there is no excuse if you fail to follow up, don't you think?"


Marian turned it over to the blank back and started to scribble three digits- as she had done for Laci- but then paused. Ink spread out from the paused pen in an unsightly blotch and seeped from the point of contact. The numbers that followed what were already written eluded her, traversing to some distant point of her psyche. It was embarrassing and infuriating to have this happen here and now when Robin of all people was patiently waiting. Knowledge that had once filled the void in her memory refused to surface despite her valiant efforts. Willpower alone, she had discovered, could not conquer every battlefield.


Claire stepped forward and leaned over discreetly, whispering in French that was audible to Robin but no other bystanders. "Do you want me to finish for you? We can take a break if you like." Concern laced her visage as she spoke delicately. Precious Claire did not expose the dirty secret nor insult her pride with insistence. Claire and her father before her were patient, steadfast, and confident in their abilities to guide her.


Rob took her double-thrust in stride. His only outward reaction to her pause was an increased focus in his gaze. When Claire stepped forward, he grew still and asked, “What’s wrong?” Despite the soft volume, the concern in his tone was unmistakable.Marian's chest tightened. Frustration blossomed across her features for a moment before she sighed and passed the small card to Claire. For someone so fiercely independent, this was a notable admission that something was wrong. The younger woman retrieved a new copy and jotted down the number quickly and efficiently while giving Robin a meaningful look. "It's nothing," Marian tried to remark casually, "I just need a little caffeine I'm sure."


"What an excellent idea," Claire announced loudly enough the line behind them could here. "Miss Trevor needs a few minutes to get some coffee. Can we please move the line just a moment?"


Her crowd was supportive- she had been generous with signatures, pictures, and questions and they couldn't exactly fault her for needing a drink. There was a little cafe attached to the store that Claire motioned to before gently handing Robin his hard and giving him a hard shove the right direction. Robin didn't move from the aggressive contact but the point had been made. Marian got to her feet quickly before she was man-handled by either Claire or Robin- they were both stubborn mules in their own right and she suspected they might be of like mind on this matter.


Pocketing the card, Rob took one belated step and met Claire’s eyes coolly as he waited for Marian. He made no move to touch his wife but stayed at her side, only a slight step ahead. He ran interference, redirecting any well-meaning fans as they navigated the crowded path to the coffee shop. A few people whispered in their wake, both wondering aloud why he got to go with her and providing theories as to the obvious reason. Marian let them gossip for now- she was sure to answer inquiries on the situation later regardless of what she tried to say now.


Rob held his arm stiffly out at his side as they progressed in case she should need it, although whether the motion was conscious or habit was unclear. Marian presumed it was the latter though she knew him to be overzealous when it came to protecting what he viewed as a "wounded chick." As they joined the line to place their order, Rob nodded toward the small tables decorating the coffee shop area of the store. “Do you want to sit? I can bring your coffee to you. Just tell me what you want.”





"I know you haven't seen me in quite a long time, but did you get a false report that I'm a cripple?" Marian retorted with a defensive air. With a sigh under her breath she apparently calmed her temper enough to proceed with a more civil tone of voice. They were grown adults and not squabbling children- and in public nonetheless. As tempting as it was to chastise him back into the last century for all his assumptions and pandering, she was determined to rise above it... slightly.


"It's good to see you doing well," she commented in a more subdued tone as she pushed down her ire. With her thumb she spun the slightly lose wedding band on her right ring finger absently. The change of topic was an obvious but not unimportant. "What brought you to the city? Our old 'friend' John? Or did you just have an insatiable need to see me and talk about my romantic take on history?" Of course she did not expect to hear he had come just to reconcile and be with the love of his life- that was something that only the novel version of Robin would do. This one would rather focus on giving a smarmy smirk and eluding discussion of his own feelings. Yes, her Robin liked to fix the problems of others so long as it did not make him- what did she call it?- emotionally vulnerable.


His smile faded with her defensive answer, and the change of subject inspired a clenching of his jaw. “I am not ‘doing well’,” he answered in a quiet but serious tone. He turned to face her directly, his gaze darting around the room briefly before returning to hers. “Not when there’s clearly something wrong that you are hiding from me.”


"Hiding?" Marian visibly bristled at the indication that she was perhaps being cowardly about her affliction. In this way she was masculine- she didn't take prods at her bravery well at all. "What right do you have to ask me? Are you going to waltz back into my life and pick up where we left off? Do you really want that responsibility?" She stopped spinning the jewelry on her finger to cross her arms in defiance. No matter how incensed she was, there was a quality to her voice that was indicative she didn't want him to back down so easily. And she didn't. While it would never come at this moment and in this breath, she wanted a declaration of love and a return to their marriage. She wanted Robin back before she revealed the loneliness and weakness she had struggled with for what felt like an eternity.


They faced off in the middle of the coffee shop amongst shoppers, students, and would-be writers. Rob looked down at her fingers twirling the ring he had given her: the one made from gold they had stolen together. His hand clenched into a fist briefly at his side before he lifted his hand and scratched his beard with his thumb.


"Can I… help you?" interrupted the barista tenuously. While they had been talking, the line in front of them had dwindled to nothing.


Rob stepped to the side, motioning for Marian to order with a small dip of his head. After she ordered herself a black coffee "extra strong", Robin reached for his wallet and, when she started to protest, smirked and added, "Allow me, please. It's the least I can do." That smirk, that damned smirk. It wasn't worth arguing over, however, so she let him do as he pleased.


As they stepped to the side to await her coffee, Rob looked down at the floor, then to her ring. His eyes fixed on that circle of gold, he scratched his beard once more, speaking with deliberate calm. "I would like to think I have some right." He paused long enough for his hand to drop to his side as he searched her eyes for a reaction. "But ultimately, that is up to you. You are, and always have been, your own woman." His smirk returned, this time filled with pride and wistfulness.


"I haven't been fair. Surprising you here..." Glancing over the room, he gestured nonspecifically to the bookstore and coffee shop. "This is no place for us to discuss..." He chuckled dryly. "Anything."


"I will leave you to your signing." He smiled and his hand lifted of its own volition to touch her cheek tenuously, a single brush of his fingers to her flesh before it fell to his side again. "For now," he added with a half-smile. Marian felt her heart melt with the effortless touch of affection that had (hopefully) not been noticed by her rabid fans. Her coffee was called and placed on the counter and she reached for it eagerly, barely keeping an anxious tremble from seizing hold of her limbs. In all this time she had forgotten how charming he could be when he was truly focused on empathizing rather than confronting. This was not an end to their heated debate but a delay and a gesture that something intangible still existed between their two hearts- or at least that's what she hoped it meant.


"Claire is descended from Margaux," she finally responded once she felt her voice was suitably steady. "They have been helping me for... a while now," she admitted ambiguously, staring down at her coffee cup rather than meeting his steady gaze. No doubt he had conflicting emotions about meeting someone that was such a distant relation to his own children. It took some adjustment to be certain. "I should be finished here after five at the latest and then she'll take me home. I'll have her text you my address, presuming you haven't already scouted it. You can bring the kids for dinner" she said, vaguely referencing the Merry Men. When she was certain that no one was paying them any attention she used the height from her heels to her advantage and placed a tender kiss on the cheek of the taller male. "But you better be damn sure before you ring that bell you are all in, or instead of discussing anything I'll be schooling you on swordplay again."


With a wistful smile and mischievous raised brow she patted his arm and retreated back towards the line and the table at which she had been signing her novels. There was cheering as she held her coffee aloft and Claire looked slightly relieved that she had not tarried for too long. A manager could only entertain eager youth for so long while they waited for their hero of literature to explain how to live an unrealistic romantically fulfilled life. Little did they know that "Lucille Trevor" was steeped in a tragedy just as profound as the elation she wrote.

 

[Teh Frixz]

Laci de Clegane


The Sheriff of Emerald


Coffee coffee coffee....it was all they drank these days. Half the people she pulled over in the morning rush hours had their hands full sucking down the drink with sugar and milk mixed in. Her teams pratically lived on the drink. Three machines they had lobbied for. Three! Eugh. Nasty mud water.


The Sheriff never did care for water sifted through plants or beans. Take those plants, mix EM around with some other shit and ferment them? Now we're talking. She figured her BAC probably hovered around the Smirnoff range, spiking to Everclear on a bad day. Even now she could feel the balance between her gun on her right and her flask hugging tight to her body on the left. Half full, she was right on target with her usual intake. Enough to keep the pain at bay for the most part.


Sliding casually into the background as she shut her book, the Sheriff wasn't quite just ready to write the two off when another face entered play. Just in time too. The little one hauled up and punched him in the face right before the banter even got good between them.


Her hand hovers over her sidearm before deciding to play things close to her hand. The fight was really once sided as the two began to mosey about. Chit chat and light talk, up until the little one looked like she was about to cry but holding it in well enough.


From her position following them, it wasn't difficult to get a good read on them. The girl had a chip on her shoulder and the guy was trying his damndest to hide nearly everything from everyone. It was actually funny. The more his body language screamed, don't look at me, the harder it was to look away. Combined with the blue in her hair, Laci had little trouble keeping them in sight. Like usual though, it was tough for her to stay unnoticed. Keeping in crowds and walking in the street helped but twice she had to visibly duck out of sight.


On one such moment, by the time she recovered. Male was gone and just the girl was left. Laci felt that same pang of frustration as she called her driver over. One of Guy's old men, she'd picked up most of her team from his ranks. The killers with clean records that wanted a badge. They had a close relationship. He was the only one she knew that was like her. Except John. Hell, she wouldn't have even known that anyone else was like her until John got in contact and they had their little get together. John wanted the City, Guy and Laci would deliver it. Just like old times.


Sitting in the car, she waited for little miss blue head to show herself again.


Didn't have to wait long, some flash in an Audi eventually picked her up. He was tough to follow but Guy's men weren't new to this. After some shady activity, Laci found herself outside an apartment building. Blue got out and the Audi left.


Shaking her flask, Laci figured she had enough to last the rest of the day. Kicking Guy's man out to go snoop about the place, she shifted behind the wheel to watch and wait.

 

[Auren]

Felicity O'Hare

​

March Hare


Somewhere, someplace sneaky-sneak
​

Felicity twirled down the street, humming some joyful song about tea and pastries. She grabbed a hold of the sides of her dress's skirt and swung it around herself. When someone made the occasional raised eyebrow or stare, she took a bow. Of course they were staring because they enjoyed her street performance. She was not one for subtlety with moving from one place to another, thinking that hiding in sight was better than hiding behind a few alleys. Though, she could think of a couple of her friends that much preferred to slink around shadows. One of which, she recently held Kindness towards.


When she reached the spot where her old friend, a once feline figure, had promised to greet her. She didn't see him at first, but after a glance or peer or two, she saw a familiar pile of clothes. She pranced over to the garbs of rubbish that her feline friend had chosen has his new napground. She hopped to this side, grinning widely under her checked themed mask. Her grin was exaggerated by the two blue gems she has stuck to the corners of her lips. Her amber eyes glittered in the shadows of the alley.


"Wakey, wakey, lemon pakey! Time to go visit the Honey Dew," she said. She grabbed Chess's hand and tugged a bit. Then she giggled with a rather abrupt thought. "Not that Time will ever hold us accountable again. He's gone!"she laughed. She let go of her feline friend, allowing him to stand however he wanted. She tilted her hip, and the unicornmask that hung there like a loose sash wavered a bit.


"I think Misses Honey will love her new gift. Now, let us gallop on our way, Lemon Tart,"Felicity said before pulling her skirt out and curtseying to her friend. He was an interesting tart, always mambling, that's rambling and mumbling, about some new philosophy of his. She found that the Honey found his talk much more entertaining than Felicity could. Not that she didn't mind his mambles, but she much preferred talking about tea, and parties. Though, that did remind her. She had a party to plan.


(( short is short v__v))

 

[Elle Joyner]

Johnna Little

Johnna's Apartment

​

Johnna returned to her apartment in a considerably worse mood than when she had left it. Her outing with Much had been beneficial, of course, but his insistence where Will was concerned was frustrating, at best… more so, because he was absolutely right. She had no real excuse for keeping her feelings from him, other than a self-conscious fear she would never admit to.


Closing the door behind her, she tossed her messenger bag on the floor and with a sigh, and kicked off her shoes. She had made her way to the kitchen and was halfway through pouring a glass of scotch when there came a knock at the door.


“Of course…” She sighed, setting the bottle down. Returning to the door, she peered through the peep hole and frowned at the sight of the tall, mustached figure behind it, before pulling it open.


“Yes?”


The man’s expression was stoic, his dark eyes boring into her, accusatory, before he’d even opened his mouth, “Miss Little?”


Leaning on the door frame, she nodded, “Yeah.”


“I have some questions for you…” Reaching into his sports coat, the man produced a leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a brass badge, marked E.C. Deputy


Johnna eyed the badge, then the man, her shoulders rising and falling in a shrug, her expression unfazed, “Shoot…”


“Are you familiar with a man named Benjamin Colter?”


“Ben? Sure… I met him in a café a few months ago. I mean, we’re not close or anything… wouldn’t invite the guy to a wedding, if you know what I mean. Why?”


“…Would you be surprised to know that Mr. Colter has been involved in some unscrupulous activity, as of late? Primarily… arms dealing?”


Johnna fought to keep her face straight, shaking her head. It was too coincidental. There was no way she had just happened to visit Ben on the same day he got discovered… Someone had followed her, and she was losing patience with this day…


“I was not aware of that, no. If I had been, well… I would be having this conversation with you at the station, downtown, believe me…”


“I see… And you said you’ve only know Mr. Colter a few months?”


“…Right. Look… Is there something you’re getting at, here? Because I’ve had a hell of a day and there’s a glass of scotch calling my name right now. I’d really like to answer it.”


“I’m not sure I believe you, Miss Little.”


“…I could show you the glass.”


The man frowned and Johnna ticked off a point in her head, trying not to smirk.


“About Mr. Colter.”


“Well, you’re just gonna have to give me the benefit of doubt. Now, if there’s nothing else?”


“…We may be in touch.”


“And mom said I’d never make friends.”


The man gave a nod and stepped back and Johnna wasted little time, closing the door, watching through the peep hole until the deputy made his way back to the elevator. She returned to the kitchen, but thought better over the scotch…


Whatever had just happened, it wouldn’t do to have anything but a clear head when she dealt with it.

 

[Snek]

The Chesire Cat,

Chess Velices

​

"Callooh, Callay!" chortled the tramp, standing up and dusting off his coat. "O frabjous day, Carrot Cake! I just love Honey Dew, so sweet and delectable. I'm sure she'll love the Tea we're bringing her, we just have to make sure not to lose track of Time, or else we'll have to Switch Seats early again like we did three Unbirthdays ago."


Chess was very happy at that moment, it had been nearly a week since he had seen Honey Dew! She was always willing to listen to his ideas and often sang songs with him and Carrot Cake. Misses Honey could sometimes manage to bring up some nice bits of conversation, and she was so fond of Tea! Chesire could go for some nice warm Tea right about now, he enjoyed drinking it with his friends and celebrating yet another glorious Unbirthday with them. But it didn't always go well. Sometimes it would Start Raining, and the Tea would Get All Wet, or they would lose track of Time and it would creep up on them, or sometimes even the Queen paid a visit with her Cards, and the whole Party would have to be canceled.


"Come along, Carrot Cake. We do have a nice long ways to go, and we haven't got a moment to lose. If we're late for the Party, Honey Dew might Spoil by the time we arrive. As for the route...some people go that way," Chess chuckled, pointing down the alley to the right, "and some people go that way," he pointed to the left, "but as for me, myself, personally...I prefer the Shortcut."





At the last point, Chess gestured towards the fire escape affixed to the apartment building that was located across the alley from their location.


"We'll go through the Queen's Gardens. I'm sure she won't mind! Her Cards will be much too busy Painting The Roses Red to notice us, anyways."


Donning his famous grin, Chess took Felicity's hand and led her towards the fire escape, chuckling hysterically and singing quietly to himself, "...and the momeraths, outgraaaaaabe~"


Oh, this would be so much fun!

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook
The Ticking Clock - Private Lounge


"Good girl," Hook praises as Isabelle agrees - with great reluctance, but agreement is agreement - to not pick so many fights with Wendy. "This is a business, and we are all professionals. Besides, it breaks my heart to see those important to me bicker."


His smile is roguish at the end, crooked and half-serious, and it lingers as he watches her drink and smoke slowly, making sure to savor the experiences in front of him.


Captain Hook runs a tight ship and expects obedience. He's pleased when he finds it.


"An even more concentrated dose? Marvelous, my dear! Smaller doses are easier on the dealers, as well; easier to transport, easier to hide, easier to sneak with and consume." Approval echoes in his voice, and he claps his hand in slow mimic of theater, striking the metal foundation of his hook to produce a unique sound.


The hook catches her chin then and lifts it up, the Captain's startlingly blue eyes peering through the thick curls of jet black hair at the fairy-girl before him.


"You are exquisite," he declares, and the hook slides away from her skin--sharp enough to cut, but handled too expertly for accidental injury, leaving naught but the feeling of the metal's cold touch upon her flesh.


"We'll raise the prices and relabel it as a purer form. Convince people that it's special, have the pixies sell it as a new and improved version. I'll leave it to the pixies to decide price and volume, as always. So long as they bring me my due."


The pirate lord refills her glass before she even finishes. "Still, Isabelle.. as happy as I am to see you improve the formula, I'm worried you're overworking yourself. You try so hard to please me; it'd warm this old crook's heart to see you settle down. You don't want to be stuck doing this for me forever, do you? Find a good man, explore the world together, start a family. You have a bright future -- my crew can take over production in your stead, once you teach them."


A pause, and though the change is not overt, a practiced eye can see it--the way the corner of his mouth sags briefly, the downcast look to his eyes.


"You wouldn't want to wake up one day old, alone, and done for. Crime's no life for you, sweetheart."

 

[Teh Frixz]

Laci de Clegane


Sheriff of Emerald


Her fingers strum idly across the wheel as she sat outside waiting. The car itself had seen better days, like most of their unmarked vehicles. It smelled like smoke and not even the best restoration efforts would ever get out the stains in the back seat. Every spring was sprung in the drivers seat and the odometer had ticked over a 100k probably a year or two ago. Still, tinted glass, built in lights and the added benefit of a well maintained engine kept the old man in their motor pool. Classic American.


Laci swore she'd quit smoking about a hundred and fifty years back but cancer never showed up and she soon got wise. Drink all she could, liver still healthy, smoke a pack a day for twenty years and she still had the perky lungs of a choir girl. Since she found out her body wouldn't quit on her, no point in not doing it.


Soon enough, smoke began filling the interior of her beat up old ticketing machine. A small pile of ash collecting in the tray. It sucked being what she was sometimes, she almost regretted not being able to be one of those old (ha), at least physically old women, playing bridge and hearts while being allowed to say whatever they want. Then of course she's have to remember she was the fucking sheriff. No boss outside of the voters but John had them wrapped around all his fingers and not a single person would run opposed to her. Easy enough. He had a way with people and everyone who heard him speak just wanted to do what he said. Laci had never been so eloquent.


The deputy had just left the building, crossing the alley and hopping in the passenger seat. Such was the rapport between the two that he began talking as soon as the door was closed.


"Johnna Little, saucy girl. Studio apartment and the building seems well enough to do. She knows Colter and I'm getting the feeling that she knows more than she's letting on."


Laci smirks, giving a little half cough half laugh. "I'll take a closer look. Think she'll want a warrant?"


He laughs. "Want me to grab a sticky note for you to write one up?"


Frowning, she gets out of the car. "Go shave that thing off your lip." Smoke drifting out around her, Laci cozies up to a pole to wait for the sun to set before acting. The deputy shifts over to the driver's seat and heads out.


The cruiser crunches off the gravel lot and off onto the street, Laci left true and well alone.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle

The Ticking Clock

​

Isabelle tipped her chin at the feel of the cool metal on her skin, her eyes fixed on the intense blue in his piercing gaze, a small smirk curving the corner of her lips. He was a calculating man… Rarely did he say or do anything without purpose.


He was a passionate man, a dangerous man, and Isabelle knew not to push him beyond his limits, but there had been a battle waged between the two for some time now, concerning her recipe for the Dust, and she wasn’t even close to backing down on her end. She would never admit it, not aloud, but being the only person with that recipe made her indispensable… If she lost that, there was nothing keeping Hook from sending her away.


She would not be banished, again.


“I’ve got some things in the works, as far as pricing and volume go. My girls will be updated, as soon as I’ve finalized the math… and I think you will be quite pleased with the increase in your cut.”


Reaching for her glass, she took a sip, the glass hovering by her lips as she flashed a coy, saucy grin, “Oh, Cap… You know you’re the only man worth anything in this craphole city. And I ain’t exactly the family type. Could you imagine me, barefoot and pregnant, makin’ baked ziti for some egghead insurance clerk? I like work… it keeps me from getting’ bored. Besides… cute as some of them are, I can’t exactly see your crew pullin’ off the pixie name.”


She winked, well aware she might be pushing it, but they had been over this enough in the past, and she was stubborn as ever. Lowering the empty glass, she plucked out a piece of ice and perched it between her teeth, sucking the lingering flavor of rum from the cold cube.


“You forget where I come from, Hook… Wasn’t exactly good, honest work I did in the old days, either. And frankly, I like it that way. I’m not lookin’ to alter the status quo.”