Reptilian-Angel's

Crescendo

By

Reptilian-Angel

ME: This is simply a plot bunny that burst into my head when I started thinking about Mighty Ducks and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get it to disappear or die so here it is!

This is literally my first MD:TAS Fic in forever so go easy on me, plz! I owe nothing save my own OCs! Read and review plz!

Chapter 1.

Close

Encounter

Of

The

Strangely Dressed,

Short-Tempered,

And Short-Heightened

Kind

(Worse Kind Name Ever)

Normal P.O.V.

March 24, 6:38 PM

Wildwing Flashblade groaned at the rapidly-speaking voice on the other end on the comm Unit. "Dive, how could you spill a entire batch of pancake batter over one of your 'special edition' comic books when it was on the far side of the kitchen?"

Nosedive Flashblade rolled his eyes at his older brother from the screen. "It was not the entire batter; only at least like . . ." He paused to count off the portion on his fingers. ". . . 2/4's of it! Anyways, as to how it happened, I was trying this bit I saw on the cooking channel where this kooky chef could dance and cook at the same time and made this really good-looking marble cake. So, I started thinking, "If this chef-dude can do it with marble cake, I can do it with Pancakes!" So, I –"

"Nosedive, I saw the end result, I really doubt I wanna know the rest." Wildwing said, cutting him off. Nosedive smiled sheepishly at him from the comm.

Wildwing still couldn't believe the situation that had played out nearly an hour ago; he had just come back from shooting some pucks in the goal at the rink above their Headquarters, as he often did when he wanted to relieve stress. After a hot shower and a quick change into his casual gear, he went to get a snack and drink from the kitchen. Only to nearly get splattered full-on in the beak with some of Aunt Jemina's Pancake Mix™ before even getting through the doorway. Getting his bearings, he was greeted with the sight of Nosedive covered head to toe in batter while begrudgingly holding a now ruined comic book in his hands as a somewhat batter covered radio blasting fast-paced dance music went on from behind him.

Before he could even ask what happened, that was when Mallory McMallord had the misfortune of walking in and slipping on some of the mix caked floor and landing flat on her tail feathers.

Needless to say, when she finally comprehended what had just happened and saw Nosedive trying desperately to stifle his laughter, she was anything but happy.

In an explosive rage, while shouting at Nosedive so hard that her face had turned as red as her hair and loud enough to be heard from Mars probably, she suddenly pointed to Wildwing and barked at him to go out and pick up some fabric bleach to clean her now ruined pair of designer skin-tight white leather jeans that had, as which she had ranted on to Nosedive, as he did now quote, "Cost more than the feathers on your ass!"

He would've protested on the matter, were it not for the green-eyed glare of pure undisguised death she gave him that still had his feathers sweating through his mask and him out the door of the Pond within two minutes flat. He hoped that his baby brother would be capable of surviving the black death-cloud that was Puckworld Special Forces Lt. Mallory McMallord on his own.

The past hour after that had been a blur, he couldn't even remember where he had gone and gotten the said bleach that was weighing down in the one plastic bag in his hand, how he had even gotten there without the Migrator or one of the Duck-cycles; he couldn't even remember how he had managed to grab his wallet. All he knew was when he was walking into Captain Comics, his feet were sore from apparently running over all over town, according to some passing locals and fans who had seen him in action, his heart was pounding from sheer adrenaline and Nosedive had beeped his comm. asking him if he could stop by the said store and pick up another copy of the very comic he had ruined. He must've agreed to it at some point, otherwise he wouldn't have been there to begin with.

The bell jingled as Wildwing went through the revolving doors as Nosedive said to him, "Look, Bro, don't even worry about paying; I already called ahead to Mookie and told her to put on my card. And before you ask, no," Nosedive held up a finger at Wildwing's face when he was just about to reprimand him. "I did not use your credit card again because this is serious . . . That and Phil said I could use his card as a loan for saving him from Tanya's wraith from that mechanic commercial he had us do last month."

"Mechanic commercial?" Wildwing raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Oh, that's right. You were with Duke that day." Nosedive said, rubbing his chin in comprehension. "Ok, you remember that you were just about to walk in the locker room when you got back with Duke from wherever you two were and saw Tanya in that skimpy –"

Wildwing's feathers instantly grew warm under his mask and he waved his hand off in dismissive embarrassment. "No, forget it, nevermind; I know what you're talking about. Don't say it."

Nosedive snickered at his brother's expression. "Man, I don't think I've ever seen you that flustered. Especially the part where Tanya's zipper suddenly got caught on the front of her bra and when she tried to pull it down, it –"

"Dive . . ." Wildwing growled lowly, feeling his face grow hotter and feeling extremely grateful for the golden mask covering his face.

Nosedive held his hands up in surrender with a smile. "Okay, okay, I'm done. Back to the subject, just tell Mookie you're there to pick up my order and you're all set. And if she's not there ask Thrash, odds are he's gonna be there because Mookie said something about having to pick up an order from another customer downtown and might not make it back for the rest of the day."

"Alright." Wildwing mumbled as he looked around the store. Staring blankly at the fake pterodactyl model hanging from the roof, he added, "By the way, how are you still alive? I'd assumed that Mallory had killed you after I ran out on you both."

"Well, at first she was going to go for the jugular but I managed to survive by offering to cook on her nights for two weeks and agreeing to be her sparring partner for nine weeks." Nosedive then frowned, suddenly irritated. "By the way, thanks for watching my back, Big Brother."

"Sorry about that, Baby Brother," Wildwing rolled his eyes. "But if I'm gonna lead this team I need to do it while still standing. You and I both know by now that Mallory is not one to let someone go unpunished when her clothes are involved. Especially when they cost more than Phil's entire car insurance."

"Don't remind me, my ears are still ringing from that one time when Duke accidentally spilled some of his coffee on Mallory's fancy new top that she got from Rodeo." Nosedive made an exaggeration of this by sticking his pinkie in his ear and rubbing the canal to relieve some of the figurative soreness. "Betcha he wishes that he slept in that morning."

"Heh. Yea'." Wildwing chuckled lightly. "Well, I'd imagine you're gonna be busy in a minute considering that it was Mallory's turn to cook dinner tonight and you offered to do her cooking shifts –"

"Careful, Wildwing," Nosedive pointed at him menacingly but with no real malice in his voice. "Or I might add a little something extra to your plate."

"That line I shall not cross." Wildwing smiled finally, though to anyone who saw him it would be hard to tell with the hard features of the mask. "Talk to you later, good luck."

"Thanks bro, see ya later." Nosedive gave him the peace sign before the image vanished with an electrical blink. Wildwing rolled his eyes at his little brother's attitude before snapping the comm. unit closed.

He walked up to the counter and looked around, hoping to see Thrash or Mookie working on either end of it but to no avail. Sighing slightly, he let his eyes wander around on the glass case below him; there lay an assortment of comics and collectable items of all shapes and sizes, a lot portraying superheroes and/or supervillians and the occasional monster and/or what Wildwing assumed were aliens. He felt his eyebrows furrow at the sight of a classic little alien plushy that was green with little arms and legs, a huge head and big shiny black eyes.

So, that's what aliens had been reduced to before the Ducks had came to Earth. Unbelievable.

"Hey, Wingman!" A familiar voice suddenly called out; Wildwing looked up and saw Thrash smiling his usual bright laid-back grin at him with a hand up in mid-wave. "Long time no see! What's been happening?"

"Not much." Wildwing tried his best to appear friendly despite the mask's appearance with a small smile. "Mostly just hockey practice and patrolling five times a week."

"Oh, bummer. Any signs of the criminal element?" Thrash asked sympathetically.

"Other than the occasional mugger or jaywalker, I can't say we've had much of the like." Wildwing shook his head with an indifferent shrug. "Anyway, I'm here to pick something for –"

"– The Diver?" Thrash finished for him. "Mookie told me all about it before she headed out earlier, told me to expect ya. I gotcha covered, big man. Wait here a sec and I'll be right back." Turning his back on him and heading down the counter for the storage room, he suddenly turned his head and said, "Oh, sorry, Dudette, I'll be right with ya in a minute."

Dudette? Who was Thrash –?

Wildwing turned his head and his eyes immediately widened at the woman in question.

At least, he assumed she was a woman.

The human in question was a girl, as he could tell by the rhythmical curves of her figure, but was small enough to be a head and a half shorter than Mallory. The rest of her was a sight to behold; the top of her head was layered in multitudes of neon yellow, red and purple highlights and extremely cropped up so it had three curls of hair on the very top of her head and a string of black strands coming out from a bang and covering her face and brushing against the type of her nose, out of the back of her head a long black braid strode out and brushed against the back of her knees as she shifted her feet. Wildwing couldn't get a good look of her face because of her hair but could see some of light shining off the bottom of her nose and her lip so he could definitely say that there were piercings. Her skin was a healthy shade of white but was far from flawless; she was facing him on her left side so he could see the beginnings of some kind of ring tattoo on her shoulder blades and a very difficult view of – Ach, what did Grin call it? – An Yin-Yang symbol on her hip. Her outfit was interesting as well; she sported a gray tank top with one black strap going over her right shoulder with a fake red buckle, the collar of her top styled so it looked ripped and baring the words, "Risky, frisky, whisky" in bright pink, yellow and white letters on the front, the last word separated from the rest with the garment tailored so the midriff matched the trim of the collar and the hem was sewn black with archaic lettering. Looking down, he saw a pair of jeans that closely matched the pair that Nosedive had ruined with his batter but this pair was held up by a small blue belt that looked more like a rope with a cinch for a buckle, had small green pockets sewn on her sides and were still loose enough so the bottom of her legs bunched up at her ankles, or ankle, given the right leg was rolled up revealing a good portion of her thigh and calve. Her wrists were bare save for a small black watch set backwards on her left arm, her finger and toenails were both painted black and Wildwing could see something that looked like a . . . A mustache(?) like that logo from that canned chip brand Nosedive liked so much peeking out from her old-looking, worn-out sandals.

All in all, she was the most bizarre-looking – No, the most outrageously looking human that he had ever seen. And he had seen Mookie.

"For the record, I'm twenty-four." She whirled her head around to face him suddenly with an annoyed frown.

Wildwing jumped at the instant animosity of this human, he had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even predicted her making a move to face him. "O-oh, I-I-I, I was just –" He felt his tongue twist itself as he tried to come up with a decent excuse. The girl had put a hand on her hip and another on the counter where she tapped her fingers irate, making a succession of tinks against the glass. "S-s-sorry, I-I was –" He rambled on, rubbing his neck out of habit.

He finally put a cork in it when he caught a good look at her face.

The frame of her face was pieced together elegantly with high cheekbones, a softly sharpened nose, smooth plump lips and a long swan-like neck. However, that stood out in strong contrast to her face; her eyebrows were dark brown near black with a stud on the right side and silver ring on the left. Her nose carried an ivy green nose ring and another silver stud on her right nostril. Her upper lip was painted with a green matching her nose ring and below it housed yet another silver stud. He could also see her right ear and grimaced on the inside at the sight of two purple and green studs on her lobe and a chain earring whose ring clamped on the top curve of her ear. Everything about her facial looks, combined with her now agitated, tight-lipped expression, just practically screamed "I'm a metal punk rebel chick, don't piss me off!"

But that wasn't what caught Wildwing the most. What did was the collection of small scars below her right eye and the much larger and somewhat reddened collegiate of scratches on her exposed right calve.

Oh, and her eyes, of course, her big, blue/green irises had caught him as well.

Irises that did not look all too happy at all at how he was looking at her –

"Do I have something on my face? Or have you just become interested in checking me out?" She snapped, crossing her arms over her surprisingly ample chest and enlarging them in the process.

Wildwing once again was taken aback at her swift sharp tone. Feeling himself become more nervous at the crude scrutinize of the glare she was giving to him, his tongue once again became glued to the top of his mouth as he started, "N-no! I-I didn't mean to stare! I-I w-was just, uh . . ." The girl frowned even more at his procrastination of an answer. "I-I was just a little –"

"Don't tell me, let me guess; revolted of my outfit, agitated at my posture, miffed at my looks, pissed off just by my sheer presence alone?" The girl sneered, counting off her dainty fingers with each suggestion, a scowl aimed right at him, not at all intimidated by the outer looks of Drake Ducaine's Mask.

Wildwing looked at her, now stunned at her bitter choice of words and some thoughts of nervousness forgotten. "Wait a minute, what?"

"It's rather obvious." The girl said curtly. "I could see you grimace at my little up-do, even from the outside of that fancy-dancy faceplate of yours." Wildwing felt himself jump once again. How the hell did she know he did that? Had he been that obvious? Almost as if she read his mind, she quickly added, "And yes, I'm not as much as ditz as I look. The blonde part of my hair is just highlights, I'll have you know."

Wildwing couldn't help but look at this girl incredulously. He hadn't thought she was a ditz. He wasn't even thinking about her highlights and she was accusing him of being stereotypical? This human had some serious brass. "Wait, where did you get that from? I wasn't thinking about that at all." He asked her, looking way down to meet her gaze.

"Uh-huh," The girl scowled even more deeply, totally unconvinced. "And I'm the Shah of Iran."

Now it was Wildwing's turn to scowl. He couldn't believe the nerve of this human, she barely made up to his collarbone, in fact she only made it up to his solar plexus, and she was the one telling him off? Unbelievable. He couldn't quite hide the snark in his voice as he said to her, "Well, you certainly have the height to live up to that claim."

"Oh, really?" The girl sneered. "How about you? I'm sure the hockey team's missing their mascot by now. Why don't you go and talk to them? I'm sure they have that cute little costume of yours all ready for you."

"Take it you're not a hockey fan, otherwise you wouldn't say that." Wildwing growled, leaning in towards her, actually depending on the design of the mask to scare some sort of respect into her.

The girl, however, didn't buy it as she inched towards him as well, her face now portraying true annoyance as she snapped, "Yea', I would be if I was actually a fan of watching over-grown and over-stuffed meat-heads skate across fake ice like a bunch of bloated buffaloes and slap a little black disk back and forth with sticks and slam into each other into the boards like it was their jobs. Which pretty much is," She faked a tap to her chin at that part as if she actually contemplated it. "Now that I really think about it. So, tell me, Sports-Ducks, how much cash do you have in your wallet?"

Wildwing felt his feathers ruffle. This girl was mocking him, that he knew. Making fun of his Home-world's national sport, he was used to that, he was a huge Alien Duck, for crying out loud; but to actually mock him using that dumb insurance duck commercial? Now, that was just taking it too far.

He reared back from her, going to his complete height and full-hockey-captain-mode, as Nosedive had so dubbed it as a joke in the past during one of the few very serious hockey practices they've had in the past, and giving her his best glower, he started, "Okay, listen, you –"

"Uhm, Wildwing, Dudette?"

Thrash shrank back meekly when both the Drake and the girl bombarded him with dual death glares. He hid behind the comic in his hands as he said, "Whoa, guys, hostile much?"

That did something to the girl because the next second, like some sort of hidden switch was flipped; she lost her glare and smiled at him sweetly with a happy glint in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was rude. I was just coming in to see if any more of "The Legend of Sirius" books have come in yet?"

Wildwing's anger immediately fizzled out and was promptly replaced with utter confusion.

What the puck? What was that all about? What happened to that pissed off little girl who was comparing him to that damn Aflac™ duck? Out of nowhere, he bitterly noted that if Nosedive was here, he would probably be laughing at the sudden switch of personalities that this girl just did.

He gave her a dumbfounded look as Thrash said to her, a little stunned at her mood-swing himself, "Oh! Uh, yeah, just came in yesterday over in the fantasy section." And pointed over to the said section, still somewhat hiding behind the comic.

"Thank you very much." The girl said before swiftly turning on her heel and walking away from the counter, but not before slapping Wildwing in the chest with her braid. Wildwing felt his eye twitch in annoyance but didn't otherwise react on it. He instead only paid attention to the rest of the ring tattoo her saw before; the five national multi-colored rings of the Olympics sticking out on her shoulder blades like taillights on a car.

Wildwing gave that a blank look. Yep, the most outrageously fitted human he had ever seen.

Thrash handed him the comic after they watched her go from a distance and when he was sure she wasn't about to come back in the next second for Round two of "Who is going to explode?!" "Hey Thrash?" Wildwing said to him, keeping his voice low to keep the girl from overhearing them. Thrash hummed in response. "Do you have any idea who that is? I don't think I've seen her before."

"How do you know?" Thrash asked him, propping his elbow onto the counter. "Maybe she's been here for months and been to a few of your games and you've just never seen her until now."

"Thrash, I sincerely doubt I would miss any human who has a hairstyle like that." Wildwing gestured dryly to his own mullet in emphasis. "You could shine a flashlight on that hair and it would glow like the northern lights."

"Okay, good point." Thrash snickered at the blatant expression of the fearsome mask on Wildwing's face. "As for the girl, I don't know a whole lot about her; word is that she just moved here. Out-Of-Towner, y'know?"

"Hmm . . ." Wildwing murmured, mostly to himself then Thrash. "Where from?"

"No one really knows. All I do know is that she rented some place near the mall; she doesn't say where but she did mention it being surrounded by a whole bunch of trees. My best guess is that she lives near a garden house or something. Mookie's hung out with her a few times, says she's a pretty okay girl." Thrash mused quietly, both keeping their eyes on the girl as she looked over the comic selection carefully and thoughtfully. "Oh, and her name's supposed to be like a "smarty" name or something."

""Smarty"?" Wildwing said.

"You know, like "Genius" or some kind of name like that." Thrash clarified as he wagged his finger absently. "Some kind of really hard to pronounce name, man. Like Italian, I think?"

Wildwing gave the girl another look, the said human now holding one book and looking through one thick comic another aimlessly. "Really? She doesn't look Italian." He said. When she talked earlier, he didn't recall hearing any trace of an accent in her voice.

Although his experience with humans from other countries or continents was rare, thanks to a few sports dinner that Phil had somehow managed to talk him and the rest of the ducks into every few months, Wildwing had actually had either the pleasure or often times, displeasure of meeting some fellow hockey players from all over the world; some of them were a little aloof when talking to the alien duck, as if him just being there talking was just some freak force of nature. He recalled seeing the Los Angeles and Washington colors on them, so that probably explained why. Some were just straight up rude and ignored him completely before adding whispered insults and crude remarks to his back as he walked away to try and mingle somewhere else. He definitely saw some of Chicago and New York colors on them that time.

There were a few more tolerable players there; this one man from Bensonhurst, with slicked-back hair and blue eyes made interesting conversation with him. Of course, Wildwing could barely understand him with his bizarre accent and was tempted a few times to find Duke whom he thought could translate the motormouth human's language.

He was happy Phil was nearby when the human started talking even faster and even more incoherently and pulled him aside before Wildwing mistakenly said something wrong and said set off the drunk human off the deep end.

"I'm not saying she is Italian, dude," Thrash pointed out. "I'm just saying her name might be Italian. It's like really fancy and long, that's all I know for sure, man."

"How is it you know something like that yet you don't know her exact name?" Wildwing couldn't help but ask him, giving him a side-glance.

"Hey, I'm just telling you what I know, man." Thrash said to him with a dry smile. "Why do you even want to know anyway?"

Wildwing went silent. That's right. This human was deliberately trying to start something with him, calling him out and now she was reading blissfully in the other side of the store with at least five thick books in her hand like nothing had even happened.

She had angered him yet just walked away. With that being said, why was he asking Thrash, Thrash of all people, about her?

"'Scuse me?"

The girl suddenly vaporized at the counter; Wildwing almost visibly jumped for the second time that day at her odd reappearance while Thrash's stunned eyes widened the tiniest bit, equally as astounded. The girl simply stood there with no longer five but eight thick comics in her arms, carrying them like it was nothing and blinked indifferently at them. "If it's not too much trouble I'd like to buy these."

"Oh yeah, sure thing, Dudette." Thrash said, taking the books from her and ringing them up. Wildwing looked away to avoid her look, pretending to be studying the little green alien plushy again, despite how much it annoyed him.

He heard the cash register beep as Thrash lined up the receipt. "Okay, that'll be 85.98, Dudette." He said to her. Wildwing rolled his eyes at that extravagant price. That was one of the things he really hated about the humans' economy; one minute something's cheap as one dollar, the next it's more expensive than your entire household.

He had expected her to complain about the amount of money and demand a discount relentlessly. The Ducks had seen more then their fair share of stressed-out and over-worked humans doing that whenever they went out to do whatever kind of shopping they needed to do. One time, it even led to an armed hold-up while Grin and Tanya were out shopping for some new parts for the Aerowing. He was just happy that Grin had handled it, by which he mean that Grin had simply reached over and grabbed the gun used for the robbery out of the robber's hand and crushed it like a wad of paper; with the humans' capital system as messed up as it was, no wonder people were turning so low as to robbing some store right on the spot.

So imagine Wildwing's surprise when the girl simply smiled, pulled out her wallet, saying, "Call me Brill." Before casually handing him a whole wad of crisp dollar bills.

Wildwing counted the amount of tens, twenties and fives he saw in his head. That amount probably matched what Mallory paid for those pan-caked pants if not more. If the girl, or "Brill" as she just said her name was, saw him staring as she watched Thrash count out the change, she didn't comment on it. Wildwing was grateful for the red lens of the mask at the time.

Okay, so now, this girl was short, fiery, outlandishly fashionable, quick to flip personalities and had more than enough cash to burn?

Brill waved Thrash off when he handed her the change. "Keep it as a tip. I'm sure I won't need it."

And wasn't picky about getting back change either? He was sure Thrash had just gotten a thirty-dollar tip.

Thrash didn't try to force her to take the change; he smiled at her with an "Awesome! Thanks!" and set the money aside before gladly filling up some bags with her books. Brill simply smiled in response.

Now Wildwing's interest was peaked. Who exactly was this girl?

Brill either forgot he was there or didn't acknowledge him, because once the books were all bagged, she took them into her hands easily, said good-bye to Thrash politely and moved around the Team Captain without so much as blinking, and walked right out the doors.

Wildwing, either to her knowledge or without her knowing, watched her go. If he hadn't just talked to her, he would've never believed that she was just there.

"She's seems pretty cool, dude." Thrash commented as he stuffed the tip in his pocket. "Not many girls leave big-time tips like that, less'en they're like ultra-rich or something."

"Yeah . . ." Wildwing murmured, once again mostly to himself. It sounded mostly like a blank answer because his mind was more focused on watching Brill go through the glass doors of Captain Comics. ". . . Do you think she'll come by here again?"

"Don't see why not." Thrash said, not noticing how he was acting. "I've seen her sometimes go to that book store downtown with like huge gnarly stacks of books and tear through at least two of them at once while walking at the same time; she's barely been here for, like three weeks and she's already been, like most everywhere around here and downtown Anaheim."

"Really?" Wildwing looked back at him. Thrash nodded before picking up a box off the floor and sorting through the comics that were set within.

Wildwing mulled over everything Thrash had told him in his head. That human had been living here for three weeks and until now, he hadn't even noticed her once? What was up with that? He was usually way more observant whenever it came to noticing things out of particular. Hell, he was a goalie; he was used to it, that's how he could block even the most difficult of slap-shots during the season. So when something like this slipped by him, it really seemed to ruffle his feathers a little.

He turned his head back to the doors. Brill was no longer in his sights. She had vanished just as quickly as she came. Somehow, Wildwing felt disappointed. Why, he didn't know, he just was.

Wildwing then shook his head. No sense getting all worked up about it. She was gone. Simple as that. So just leave it at that. He picked up his brother's comic and the fabric bleach from where he had abandoned it on the floor.

He had to get back and make sure that Mallory could still get her pants cleaned and hadn't skinned Nosedive alive yet. He really didn't want to have to end up cleaning up that mess.

~X~

Brill tuned herself out as the world went on around her.

People walking on the sidewalk, chatting on their phones or the person next to them, skating on roller-blades or riding on bikes on the streets, listening to loud music blasting from their headphones or radios; all of it faded as she shut it out by will.

Closing her eyes and with amazing coordination, she avoided crashing into anybody or anything. She swerved around workaholics, crept around poles and side-stepped the occasional pet out with it's owner on a walk. Brill put all of the obstacles out of her mind.

All that mattered to her was the moments of before.

"Do I have something on my face? Or have you just become interested in checking me out?"

"N-no! I-I didn't mean to stare! I-I w-was just, uh . . . I-I was just a little –"

"Don't tell me, let me guess; revolted of my outfit, agitated at my posture, miffed at my looks, pissed off just by my sheer presence alone?"

"Wait a minute, what?"

"It's rather obvious. I could see you grimace at my little up-do, even from the outside of that fancy-dancy faceplate of yours. And yes, I'm not as much as ditz as I look. The blonde part of my hair is just highlights, I'll have you know."

"Wait, where did you get that from? I wasn't thinking about that at all."

"Uh-huh, and I'm the Shah of Iran."

"Well, you certainly have the heightto live up to that claim."

"Oh, really? How about you? I'm sure the hockey team's missing their mascot by now. Why don't you go and talk to them? I'm sure they have that cute little costume of yours all ready for you."

"Take it you're not a hockey fan, otherwise you wouldn't say that."

"Yea', I would be if I was actually a fan of watching over-grown and over-stuffed meat-heads skate across fake ice like a bunch of bloated buffaloes and slap a little black disk back and forth with sticks and slam into each other into the boards like it was their jobs. Which pretty much is, now that I really think about it. So, tell me, Sports-Ducks, how much cash do you have in your wallet?"

Opening her eyes, she found herself standing at a crosswalk. Once again, she was astounded that she hadn't just walked right out in the middle of ongoing traffic.

That was quickly quelled as she replayed the conservation she just had over and over and over again in her head.

"You just love stirring up trouble, don'tcha, Lanti?" A snarky, joking voice came unbidden.

Brill gnawed at her lower lip. She hung her head, suddenly interested in her feet. The light changed on the neon-lit sign above her and she felt herself drift with the people as they made their way across the white-striped walkway. Once her feet hit the stone of the sidewalk, she walked to the nearest bench and plopped down on it, never once letting go of her bags.

She kept silent for five . . . Six . . . Several moments before breathing in and letting out a heavy sigh.

Nice work, Lanti. You had just made an enemy of Wildwing Flashblade of the Mighty Ducks.

Great work.

ME: This fic was oddly enough just a one piece when I first thought of it and, I'm ashamed to say, I forgot all about it when I got caught on an Archipelago kick months and months ago . . . But I decided that this story was more better suited to be a chapter-ficlet rather than just a one chapter wonder so the following chapters and possibly lame titles that'll follow will be the end result.

This will officially be my first Mighty Ducks fanfics in a long time; my second attempt since my first one was when I was just starting out on this site and royally SUCKED the BIG one. So please go easy on me!

Anyways, I hope you all give Brill a chance for not being the usual fan-girlish human that the Ducks usually meet and being a totally evolved character that you all can fall in love with! I know I have!

'Till next time!