It had never really occurred to her before this day that she had never had a playmate as a child.
Truly, Rapunzel hadn't a companion till she had met Pascal. Of course, Mother was an ever-present figure, but even Mother disappeared from time to time. There were too many hours that she spent alone in the house, kicking the dust under her feet and wandering through the rooms. She did have things to entertain herself, like paints, music, books, experimenting with light constructs, but she had to admit that she missed out sorely on the joys of being in a group.
She wasn't new to the games of pretend – indeed, she had once been a skilled hostess at imaginary tea-parties with her plush teddies and horses. But a good make-believe was so much better when there were others to make-believe with you. Perhaps that's why she was so easily sucked into the play-acting when few girls her age would ever indulge in such childishness.
But it was fun - so awfully fun. Rapunzel could have never imagined that 'running' through piles of books and crockery, her hand locked in the grasp of a little boy, who named himself her hero and savior, could that exhilarating but it was. Their pursuer was the strange tall boy who actually looked older than her and he was marvelous at whatever he did. As the 'villain' of the tale, he would lock them in tight corners, waxing bad poetry while uttering supposedly fearsome threats. Of course, her little hero, who had dubbed himself 'Megamind', would cast paper balls at the 'criminal', who would clutch his abdomen dramatically and yell vengeance upon recovery. With a squeal, 'Megamind' would lead her to safety once again, before 'Titan' would catch up once again, cast an obstacle their way and the cycle repeated itself.
Occasionally, a plush citizen would be in danger, but 'Megamind', with his amazing dexterity and ability to redo whatever scene he did wrong, saved every single one of them. Often, Rapunzel herself would help, throwing a weapon towards her 'hero' and giving quick advice on how to use it. There was also this little blonde girl who would sometimes use her toy bunny to whack their 'villain' in the shins, but for most part, Rapunzel wasn't really sure who she was playing.
The battle finally drew to a close after the 'villain' had stolen her away and thrown her into a fountain, which was really the sofa. And he didn't throw her. Rather, he had just picked her up bridal style, much to her surprise, before carefully set her down on the cushions. However, whilst he was occupied with this, she noticed that the young brown-haired laddie known to her as 'Megamind' had darted to the fridge in the kitchen section of the room, opening the freezer and pulling out the secret weapon. The 'villain' had flown over – actually, he had gotten there so fast that Rapunzel almost believed that he had indeed flown – and cornered him there. Quick as he could be, the little hero threw the ice cubes at the 'villain'. With a howl of despair and a woeful disparagement of the 'hero', 'Titan' collapsed on the kitchen floor, defeated after the loss of his powers.
The ending was really quite simple really. 'Titan' was put in 'jail' behind a row of dining chairs. 'Megamind' received the key to the city of Metropolis, which was just the house keys since they had nothing else. 'Roxanne', the obvious romantic interest of the tale, granted the hero a reward kiss. The last detail was cheekily added by the gangly older boy who, though in captivity, still narrated the tale. She didn't really mind it that much, so she gave the young laddie a peck on the cheek, turning him from a triumphant hero into a blushing, stammering boy. The older boy treated the whole thing like it was the funniest thing in the world, cackling his head off, while the little girl, who despite not comprehending these events in the slightest, continued to flog him with the plush bunny till he stopped.
Once their adrenaline and cheer had died down with the closure of their adventure, they took their respite at the kitchen, where the younger children were forced by their eldest sibling – or was he perhaps a babysitter? – to drink up at least half a glass of water.
"Tooth would kill me if you guys got dehydrated," he told them when the younger lad declared himself sufficiently quenched from a sip. A brilliant white grin stretched across the elder boy's face, his stunning eyes gleaming with mischief. "C'mon, Jamie, are you saying that you can't finish that in one sitting?"
Then, for no reason other than the fun of it, it became a challenge of who could finish the most glasses of water. Sophie couldn't participate, being too short to fill her melamine glass from the tap, and Rapunzel had been blinking away in confusion when the boys had hit their third round. Downing the clear liquid the way rugged men would down shots of vodka, it was evident that the older boy was winning and that she had simply become the impromptu spectator to the sport.
The little game ended with a time-out by a coughing Jamie, having at one point sucked in the water too quickly such that some of it came out through his nose. A panicked clean-up and several 'are-you-okay' later, they concluded that they should play something else.
"Who's your favorite Super?" the elder boy asked her. It then occurred to her that she didn't know his name and he didn't know hers, but for some reason, he didn't seem to care. In a matter of fact, he didn't seem to care that he was a young man dressed in a towel 'cape', playing games that he had obviously outgrown, and he certainly wasn't embarrassed about it. He took to the games as seriously as his young companions – more seriously, actually. He breathed life into the stories they played, taking the simplest thing and turn it into something magical and mysterious. She wondered if he was an actor, or a teacher, or maybe a sprite from a distant world.
"Um,-" she snapped back to reality once she realized that he was waiting for an answer, "-Matahari?"
"Who's Matahari?" Jamie asked with a quizzical look.
"One of the Golden Age heroes, but not that famous," the elder boy told him dismissively. Back to her, he asked, "Got anyone else?"
She couldn't help but be offended by how quickly passed it over. "Wait. What's wrong with Matahari?"
"She's a girl and her villain's also a girl, so we don't have enough people for that," he answered smoothly. In a lower tone, he whispered to her when Jamie was distracted with helping Sophie wash her drinking cup, "I don't really want to expose him to 'The Sexiest Super Alive' at his age."
"Oh. Right." She turned red. She never really considered the T-rating part. Scrambling for one of the few names she had known from Internet-less childhood, she supplied uncertainly, "The Guardians?"
The elder boy glanced at her in surprise, but he didn't look upset. He began, "Well-"
"We can't do the Guardians."
Both of the older children turned to face the young brunette boy, who suddenly had become frightening serious. Laying the rinsed utensils on the drying rack, Jamie continued soberly, "We're not allowed to talk about them."
"Why not?" The elder boy was first to ask, his brows knitting themselves together. Rapunzel noted that he was rather bothered about this. "Did Tooth-"
"It's not Thia, Jack," the boy interjected, hesitant. "It's because-"
Then the house door swung open, followed by a breathless, incredulous – "What happened here?"
Jack actually flinched when he heard her say that. He'd never known Tooth to be harsh. Fierce? Yes. Angry? Several times with good reasons. But for most part, she was a gentle soul. She was always full of energy, high spirits and enthusiasm.
But he was relying on experiences that he had had twenty years ago, of course.
"We were just playing, Thia," Jamie spoke up first. He could feel the boy tensing up next to him.
Tooth gazed upon the living room in horror as she pressed the door shut, her mouth falling open slightly at the sight of her books scattered all over the floor, or her precious collectibles strewn over tables and chairs, or her cutlery everywhere except the kitchen.
Oh. That's what she's mad about.
Taking a step towards her, Jack said, "We didn't mean anything by it, Tooth. It's was just for fun-"
"Yes, Jack," the vehemence in her tone cut him off swiftly and abruptly, "because fun is apparently all that there is in this world."
He wasn't used to this – the sharp words, the sharp look, the downturn of her lip that formed a hardened glare. He did note that she drew herself back for a second and pressed her lips together, as if knowing that her manner was uncalled for. She seemed about to apologize until something – someone, rather – caught her attention. Her violet eyes narrowed towards the brunette teen standing by his side. "Who's that?"
"Erm, Tooth, this is-" and then it occurred that he didn't actually know her name. Or anything about her.
"I'm Rapunzel," the brunette filled the blank. She had straightened herself up, unblinkingly returning Tooth's hard gaze with her own, though Jack did detect her hands trembling. "I'm just here to ask some questions about Flynn Rider. I believe you know him."
Tooth didn't answer at once, her eyes flitting to him. He then realized that she must be staring at the towel tied to his neck, so he hastily removed it, and the paper 'T' symbol stuck to the front his hoodie too, scrunching them into a ball and tucking it under his arm.
"Jack," she finally said to him. He glanced up. "I'll talk to you later. Just take the children to their room. Rapunzel,-" she turned to the girl – the stranger "-I don't suppose Jack offered you tea?"
"Um, no," he could see that Rapunzel was scrambling for some defense for him. Well, she was that nice. "But I don't usually drink it."
"Not even green tea? It's not as strong as the usual black tea most people give." Noticing that he hadn't moved, Tooth gave him a meaningful look.
He blinked, before scrambling to action. "Oh. Well, er, c'mon, guys."
Jamie was already on his way back to his room, so all Jack needed to do was scoop Sophie up and carry her along. The little blonde child was none too pleased with him for interrupting her during a hop-scotch session with Mr. Hops, but he'd rather risk the wrath of a toddler than Tooth's. Eventually, she did quiet down once he promised her that he would tell her the tale of Brer Rabbit and how he defeated the nasty Brer Fox and Brer Bear. Having ushered both children back into their rooms, he went back down the corridor, back to the kitchen. Rapunzel was already seated at the table, waiting nervously as Tooth set the kettle to boil. The latter seemed surprised at his reappearance.
"Oh, Jack, um," she hesitated, then, "I think it's better if I talked to her alone."
"Oh, right." He nodded, then quickly ducking his head down so that they wouldn't his face turn crimson. He spun on his heel, quickly shuffling down back down the corridor.
She might as well have said, 'Run along now. Grown-ups need to talk.' Because what kind of adult would play games with children? What grown man would stoop himself to dressing up as a 'villain' and indulge make-believe?
Maybe he should hope that Jamie had apologized to Flynn. Tooth would desire for them to have their old babysitter back.
When he hit the end of the hall, the choice came between going to the kids' bedroom or back to hiding in the toilet. As tempting as the latter seemed right now, he knocked on Jamie's door and pushed it open. Sophie had returned to her play corner, diligently stacking up some letter blocks while conversing animatedly with the tired-out, saliva-soaked plush bunny. Jamie was seated at his desk, quite reluctantly beginning his schoolwork. He had raised his head in time to see Jack peeking through the door.
"Mind if I hang out here?" Jack asked.
The boy beamed. "Of course!" Well, at least someone appreciated his presence.
As he shut the door, Jack made a low whistle as he noted the crumpled white uniform hanging behind it. The blue cloth belt was draped by its side. "I didn't know you took Judo."
"All of us have to. They say it's for self-defence," was the miffed answer. "I don't like it much though. The bigger boys always beat me."
Jack 'hmm-hmmed' to that, before taking a tour of the boy's room, the posters over the walls interlayered with scrawled pictures. Clay sculptures – were those ninjas? - sat near the nightlight, while origami shuriken were stuck on book shelves.
Between today and yesterday, he didn't really have time to explore much of the house actually. Tooth had kept him busy by with a list of ways to change his appearance – from him dyeing his hair, then getting himself new clothes, then even buying himself shoes of all things. She was scared that he'd be recognized - he understood that. It may have been years since Jack Frost had been seen in Burgeshima, but there remained the risk. Since her own identity would be threatened if he was caught, he respected her wishes. He knew that she was already going out of her way to accommodate him, so he didn't want to cause trouble. Of course, he supposed she didn't appreciate the way he had turned her living room into a playhouse. She probably had a bad day at work and he didn't help.
"Are you good at science, Jack?" Jamie broke through his thoughts. The boy was squinting hard at his workbook.
Jack shrugged. "Not brilliant, but I might be able to help."
He crossed over to the study table. Pencils sprawled the wooden surface and marked assignments took a pile on the left. Going over to Jamie's right, he read the question that the boy pointed to. As it turned out, the question was in his line of expertise.
"Oh, that's a common problem. When water freezes, it does contract - that's when it starts frosting up and everything. But after around thirty-nine degrees, it expands instead. Ice would actually take up a larger volume than it had when it was water. It's one its quirks."
"Really?" Jamie was amazed.
"Yep."
"That's so cool." He scribbled down the answer.
Jack nodded, a hint of smile creeping on his face. "Yeah, ice is cool." As an afterthought, he added, "Both ways."
Jamie chuckled at the little joke, before going quiet while he attempted the next question. Jack didn't mind the reprieve, for his attentions had been taken up by a curious book sitting on Jamie's bed, almost hidden by a blanket. He headed over there to pick it up. The title was made him grin.
Carrying it back to table, he remarked casually, "I thought you said you weren't allowed to talk about the Guardians, yet here in my hand I have-" he peered down at the cover "-'The Complete Fan's Guide to The Guardians of Burgeshima.'"
"Erm-"Jamie squirmed, not sure how to defend himself.
Jack laughed, ruffling the lad's hair. "Relax. I won't tell anyone."
Jamie did relax and went on doing his work, but occasionally he would glance Jack's way and sometimes at the door. Jack on the other hand poured through the book of the self-proclaimed 'true, I-kid-you-not facts' about the glorious Superhero Team. He was snickering away at the Bunnymund pages, cackled some about St Nicholas, mentally corrected all the problems with the Sandman, blatantly ignored the pages dictating the 'Anti-Hero' act, and flipped idly through those describing the Tooth Fairy, though nothing about her terrible loss of powers. He wasn't in there, but he kind of expected it. Not many people knew about his involvement in the Guardians and there had never been a publicized induction ceremony after Ameripan's sentiments turned against Supers.
"Has Tooth ever talked to you about them?" Jack wondered as he reached the villain's gallery. There were some old timers put alongside their profiles - The Monkey King, The Dream Pirates, The Lermantoff Serpent and so forth. But it was beyond doubt that the Boogeyman took the centre stage -and ten whole full-color pages. The cheer which he had upon opening the book had dimmed considerably as he browsed through these chapters.
"She doesn't like to." Jamie's reply too was sober, so soft that it barely broke above the scratching of his pencil. "Anyway, she's not allowed either."
"'Not allowed'? Why isn't she 'allowed'?" Jack then realized a change in texture along the pages, and then he realized that they were cuts on them. Slashes on the paper, made from a pen-knife probably, decorated Pitch's grand robes. Miniscule bits of writing were scribbled around him, made small as if not to be read. After the nearly pristine clean pages in front, he didn't expected Jamie to the type to graffiti a book. That said, he couldn't help but be glad that most of the damage was on this villain only. If anyone deserved it, it would be Pitch.
He was about to close the book when he realized that there were few pages left at the back. And then he saw it.
A sketchy illustration, drawn by someone who had been given a description but had never seen the person himself. The figure sat on a snow-covered oak, carrying in his hand a long, straight staff, careless sprinkling snow over a pair of passerbys. Despite the inaccuracy in attire and the very obvious mistake with the staff, it wasn't hard to guess who that was meant to represent.
"Jack Frost," the book narrated, "is a figure of mystery. An alien who crashed landed on Earth, one of his first acts was to freeze the city of Burgeshima in the middle of summer-"
So perhaps the book wasn't all that inaccurate. He was still pretty embarrassed about that incident – but he hadn't meant to do it. He had arrived on a foreign planet after being in hypersleep for who knows how many years, so sue him for panicking.
"Fortunately, the Guardians had managed to stop him before he did real damage. Since then, he has been known to cause mischief here and there, sending snowfall before its time or just nipping people at their noses."
He felt slightly indignant. He was so over those days. And besides, he had been really, really bored while trying to learn English.
There was no further words about him – nothing about his attempts at heroics, or even about how he had aided the Guardians in several missions long before he got inducted. He slammed the book shut, feeling definitely peeved. Any kind feelings he had towards the book had pretty much dissolved. He was under the 'Villains' section, tucked in a small forgotten corner. Was that really what the world thought of him?
It then dawned upon him that Jamie hadn't answered his question earlier. "Why aren't you guys allowed to talk about the Guardians again?"
Jamie continued scribbling, not looking up. Throughout it all, Sophie had remained happily oblivious.
"Jamie?" Jack gave him a sidelong look. The boy had suddenly gone stiff and the pencil movements became erratic, as if he wasn't even looking at what he was writing. The elder boy was hastily tossed the book on the bed, moving towards the boy. The workbook pages were decorated with wet splotches and Jamie was valiantly wiping off the following the tears.
"Hey." Jack kneeled himself next to the boy. The little lad sniffed, wiping his nose with the back his arm. "Hey. What's wrong?"
The boy swallowed, another tear trickling down despite himself. Through a nasally inhale -"The Boogeyman won't let us."
Jack didn't understand. "What?"
"The Boogeyman doesn't like us talking about the Guardians," the boy told him between sniffles. Seeing that he was in the need of blowing his nose again, Jack grabbed the tissue box near the bedside, handing it to the boy. It was accepted with thanks, though Jamie didn't seem much more comforted. "He's a bad man.
"He is," Jack agreed, gently holding the boy by the shoulder.
"I'm not calling him Kumicho, no matter what anyone says," Jamie blubbered, roughly wiped his eyes with the napkin, followed by his nose."Sophie doesn't remember, but I do. They tell me he saved me, but he's didn't. He's a killer. I don't care. I don't care-"
"It's alright. You don't need to." Jack let the boy hug him, let him drench his hoodie with his tears. From the corner of his vision, he noted that Sophie was staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. On the bed, he noted that the book had flipped itself open, resting at the front page. In cursive writing, happy words were scribbled –
"To our darling Jamie on his 9th birthday.
Love, Mum & Dad.
It wasn't easy to negotiate, but eventually they settled on talking more tomorrow. The girl wouldn't accept money - no, she wanted her motorbike back. She mentioned a mother and her need to prove something. Phone numbers were exchanged and Tooth saw her to the door.
Sadly, it wasn't the first time it happened. Flynn was always stealing this or that,even from people within the Yakuza. She wished that she could write it off as him being a kleptomaniac or not knowing any better, but it wasn't true. He always stole with intent, whether to spite someone or to pay for something or because he wanted it. The thrill of theft wasn't as high as on his list of priorities as much as necessity was.
Yet why did he feel a need to steal a bike when he could afford one? And yes, he could afford one. The Yakuza gave him enough money for that.
And yes, it was well within her means to find out how much handouts the Nightmare Yakuza granted its members.
She shut the door with a sigh, before heading back to kitchen table. She gave a start when she realized that there was a figure hovering there, but relief sank in once she recognized who it was.
"Jack, you scared me," she chided, bending forward to take the tea cups, carrying them over to the sink.
"Sorry." She was troubled by how cold it sounded. Indeed, his lips were drawn tight together and the creases were drawn over his forehead. He was holding his staff between two clenched fists, though she had told him to hide the weapon at the back of her closet.
"Look, Jack," she looped back a strand of hair behind ear, turning to face him, "I'm sorry about earlier. I was, well, frustrated with work and you did make a mess of the- "
"I know how Jamie and Sophie's parents died."
And with that her, the trail of words died on her lips. She gazed at him, flabbergasted.
Slowly, wanting her to catch every syllable, he said, "And I know who's paying you to look after them."
It was like a slap. She could almost feel her face smarting. "You don't have to put it that way."
"But it's true, it isn't?" He sounded bitter. "And I thought you did out of compassion."
"I did," she protested. "I wanted to have a real home of their own. I didn't want them to grow up angry and resentful like Flynn-"
"So Flynn's in this too. I should have guessed. All of you are." He glared angrily at the mess in the living room, perhaps only prevent himself for glaring at her. "Anyone else I should know about?"
"You don't need to make it sound like we've got the plague."
"And you?" His voice was barely above a hiss, not looking her way still. "Are you one of them too?"
"It's not that simple-"
"It is actually." His bright blue eyes, so often filled with glee and mischief, were as hard as agates. They burned at her now. "You either are or aren't."
The clinking of the ceramic against the steel plating of the sink was the calmest sound that fell between them. She kept her eyes fixed determinedly down at the dishes, taking them up one by one and scrubbing them hard with the soap. She knew that his gaze never wavered. She could feel it.
Eventually, she did answer. "I don't have any tattoos, so I'm not official member."
"But?" he supplied warily.
"But you're right." She made herself sound detached, even slightly bored. There was no point being defensive about it. "I suppose I'm too closely associated with them to pretend otherwise. I've even attended some of their more ... 'private' events before."
Tooth only dared just one glance – just one – and she was right to do so. The betrayal etched his countenance was almost enough to break her heart. "Why? Tooth, he's the one who hurt you."
"He's also the person who gave me back my clinic," she countered. The irony did strike her, but it was no less true. "I tried not to get involved with his Yakuza, Jack, I did. But some time after the divorce, my clinic got attacked - a chemical bomb throw through the door. Those responsible were never caught I didn't have the money to fix the damages and there was no way I ask my ex for help." She bit her lip. "Pitch paid for it. Every cent of it. All he asked in return was for friendship."
"Friendship," he repeated scornfully. "Has it occurred to you that it's probably his gang that bombed it in the first place?"
She had to admit, "Yes."
"And you're still going along with it?"
She was gripping the cups so hard that they almost slipped from her wet fingers. "Do I have any choice?"
"Yes!" He was always so earnest, so eager, so naïve. "There's always a choice. You could use your powers and -"
"And what, Jack?" she demanded. "Rob a bank and wipe their memories of the deed? Would that be better? I need to earn a living, Jack. Besides, I haven't used my powers for years."
"But you still have them," he argued.
"Just barely. Not enough to send Pitch running from Burgeshima, if that's what you mean." She stacked the cups on the drying rack, drying her hands more roughly than required. "And the minute I try, he'll know. He'll recognize me." Fluttering bits of memories came rushing back to her - dark memories full of screams and shudders. "I can hide my fears from him, but only superficially. If anything prompts him to dig deeper into my mind, he'll find out. He'll know, Jack, and he can't know. He still hates the Guardians. He'll destroy us all out if he had the chance, and I have a daughter to think of." Her eyes were pleading.
Jack hesitated, twirling the staff in his hand.
"You don't remember having a family, so I get if you don't understand-"
"I do understand," he interjected with quiet indignation. He stopped fidgeting with the staff. "I just-" he let out an agitated exhale "-I still don't think it's right."
"And I won't try to change your mind." She felt like there was something dying inside of her – a flame of a long lost hope. A hope that something more could ever happen between a strange girl in a foreign land and an alien boy that could never grow up.
"I need to time to think. I need to go." She had guessed as much after having taken a good look at his clothes. He was back to the dowdy rags of trousers and the outdated hoodie. The only thing he had not changed back was the brown hair, but it would not take much for him to revert to pristine white.
"I won't stop you."
So he made his way across the living room, straight to the window. As he undid the latch holding the glass panes shut, she couldn't help saying, "If you're going to disappear for another ten years, then you should at least have the decency to say goodbye. You didn't the last time." Despite herself, her eyes were feeling moist. "I did miss you."
"I missed you too," he answered quietly as pulled the hood over his head. "I think I still do. Goodbye, Tooth."
He had vanished with the wind before she could say anything else.
"Well, what do you think, Ms. Dunbroch?"
In her head, she was going over her head how the battle could have gone differently. Instead of teleporting him off the dragon, she should have let him crash with it. Maybe he'd get injured, but why should she care? He certainly didn't mind giving her a bloody nose, but he had explained later that he never had taken attacks on his dragon very well. Maybe she should have shot him instead – not a fatal place, of course, in the arm or the leg. He had magical powers that turn his cat into a dragon and himself into an armed warrior, so why not magical healing powers?
In body, however, Merida was standing on a pair of four-inch high T-straps, a tight floor-length gown and had her face smeared with at least five different cosmetics. When she had returned to her hotel room with a black bruise across her nose, her P.A. almost fainted at the sight. She had shrugged it off as a fist fight, which was not all that different from what she had said back in school. It took great skill (from the P.A., not her) and lots of powder till the blemish was covered up. For now, her carefully and painfully manicured hand held a champagne glass filled with sparkling soda and her sore feet held her prisoner as she stood in the company of gentlemen and ladies pressed and dressed like her. One gentleman, some investor in the Dunbroch Bank & Trust Company whose name she couldn't remember, had asked her a question. The problem was that she had no idea what the group had been talking about previously
All the eyes were fixed on her, polite smiles fixed on painted lips. She fumbled for a suitable reply that wouldn't reveal her negligence. "Um, I don't really have an opinion on that."
The gentleman harrumphed disapprovingly, making her cringe – she hoped more inwardly than outwardly. "Well, you should if you're going to run such a big company someday."
"Now, Byron, she's just seventeen," his wife in the flowery dress and way too many pearls excused her. "She has better things to do than worry about company matters at this age. Merida, isn't it?" The lady's expression became frighteningly predatory. "Have you got a boyfriend yet?"
"Erm." She was subconsciously taking a step back. "No?"
She regretted her answer immediately after that when all three ladies in company began to suggesting all kinds of eligible young men she could 'take walks with'. She wondered if the waiters in this fine ballroom served paper bags, because she might need to throw up.
Eventually, the redheaded girl managed to escape the bothersome older ladies, who obviously should stop finding amusement in micro-managing the lives of others and indulge in healthier things like watching soap operas. During an attempts to sprint over to the buffet table, she almost fell over, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from cursing aloud. She could feel that there were eyes watching all over her room, waiting for the heir to one of the largest financial chains in West Ameripan to fall on her face. Forcing herself to take slow controlled breaths, she crossed the carpeted floor, hoping that she would make it to the serving table and have her face stuffed before anyone tried talking to her.
When she was about twenty wobbly steps across the glittering gold hall, she felt a mild vibration emitting from the tiny purse – beg your pardon, minuscule handbag - under her arm. Pulling it out, she unzipped it and retrieved her phone. The number on it was a private one, so she supposed that it might be Hans, perhaps to apologize for ditching her in this agony of a so-called party. She hit the answer and placed the device to her ear. "Hello?"
"Hi. Try not to panic, or say anything suspicious, but I thought it'd be fair if I updated you on what I found." The nasal tinge in the voice gave everything away.
She could barely keep a straight face, and she definitely didn't hold back on the low growl. "How much about me do you know, really?"
"Hey! What happened to not saying anything suspicious? You're in public place right now. People are watching."
"And how did you know where I am?" she hissed through clenched teeth. Let people look – she'd just tell them she was scolding her P.A.. All of them loved complaining so much about their own assistants, so they would sympathize.
"Let's just say I'm a really resourceful guy, okay?" She could hear the irritation building in Knight's tone. "Since we're working together now, I thought you should get to know what's happening even if you're not investigating."
She sneered inwardly. This whole 'working together' was his idea, and because she had been handcuffed to a bridge, she gave in. He didn't really bring up the whole identity threat thing anymore, but it still loomed over her like an anvil on a thread. He had tried to even the playing field by introducing himself, giving his real name – which was really weird name - but as far as she could tell, he wasn't anyone that remarkable. He didn't have as much to lose as she did and she wondered if he was aware of that. She also didn't like him working with the files without her, but his night was much freer than hers, so in the name of efficiency, she had totter around with rich old fuddies while he hunted for clues.
"Anyway, I've checked several of the places where 13 had hit in the last three months," Knight continued – and she still thought of him as Knight. "They hadn't seemed connected at first, but then I dug up some stuff and I found out that they're all owned by the same people. That is, the members of Nightmare Yakuza."
"Big surprise there." Merida was unimpressed.
"The strange thing is that his attacks were all quite close to each other – about three to four days apart," went Knight's dry narration. "However, about two weeks before the San Fransokyo, all themjust let up. It was a dry period, except for a random attack on a pharmaceutical plant on the last week. It was Yakuza-owned, but he didn't kill anyone or destroy anything. He actually just seemed stole an assortment of medical supplies."
"Maybe he was sick." Merida had managed to move herself off to one of pillars of the ballroom, leaning against it to support her weight and giving her an aching feet some rest.
"The place's records say that he stole about a three-weeks worth of medical supplies for a hospital. I'm actually considering that he might have been preparing a catastrophe." She heard some low grunting in the background, followed by loud animalistic snort – the beast, undoubtedly. "Well, I'll let you know if I've found anything else."
"You better." She supposed to she could have thanked him. After all, it was a break from the awful monotony of everything else. But after coercing her into working with him, that's all he was getting out from her.
Just as she had replaced the phone in the miniature handbag, she heard her name being called. Her eyes darted about in alarm.
"Ms. Dunbroch?" She finally placed to the voice. It belonged to a young man in a simple tux and tie. He had a pair of glasses rested on his thin nose, and peering through them were curious eyes, intently assessing her. "You are Ms. Merida Dunbroch?"
She straightened her back, facing him, putting on her polite voice. "Yes, yes, I am." A fake, plastic, artificial Merida Dunbroch that nodded dumbly in conversations about brands of pillow cases and whether gluten-free products were more or less slimming.
"Are you finished with that call? We can wait until you're done," he told her, a surprisingly pleasant smile greeting her.
"Oh, no," she made the little shrill giggle that she had too practice in front of the mirror, "I do have a minute." It only hit her later that he had said 'we'.
"Excellent. He's been dying to meet you." He then gestured to a gentleman just a little way behind, a pale fellow dressed too in an elegant tux that somehow seemed a thousand times more splendid than that of his spokesperson. For some reason, setting her eyes on this thin, bony fellow with hair as dark as night and eyes as bright as fireflies sent chills down her spine. "Ms. Dunbroch, this is Mr. Kumori Nakahara."
"Oh?" Yep, she had no idea who that was, so she just held out a hand. "How do you do?"
The pale man merely gazed down proffered hand, seemingly confused.
"Mr. Nakahara only speaks Japanese. I'm translating for him," the younger man quickly explained. "By nature, he's also a rather traditional man."
"Oh, I see." She quickly took her hand back while rummaging through her head for all the traditional Japanese bows she had practiced before. It was definitely a deep bow, because Mr. Nakahara was her senior, but she just couldn't remember where she was supposed to her arms. Was it by her sides or behind her back?
As if reading her thoughts, the young interpreter whispered subtly to her, "You should fold them in front."
Her hands were supposed to be folded together in front over her stomach. Of course!
She did just that and bowed, and was relieved to find that Mr. Nakahara was pleased enough to return a smaller bow of his own. He said something to his interpreter, who promptly translated it, "He hopes that you have enjoyed your time in Burgeshima so far."
She had been chasing down a mysterious vigilante who didn't want to be found. She had her identity uncovered by a rival teen Super. And most of all, her bloody shoes were killing her! "Yes, I have."
The politically corrected answer was translated back immediately. The businessman, or maybe investor (Merida wasn't too sure of the difference), then murmured something else to his interpreter, who then said, "He wonders if your stay at his hotel as proved satisfactory?"
"Huh?" It was an automatic response, one that her mother would berate her endlessly about. One had to always seem interested in the other party, and ignorance was a very bad way to demonstrate that.
"Didn't you know?" The younger man appeared astonished. "Mr. Nakahara owns the Hotel Kurokuro."
"Why, yes, of course." She felt her cheeks flushing. She could have sworn that the shadow-skinned Mr. Nakahara was smirking at her. Well, he was no nice guy, that's what. This was why she needed her glorified babysitter back. Hans would know all these people and how to deal with them. "Well, my stay there has been excellent so far." She winced after the words left her mouth. She shouldn't have added the glaring 'so far'. It implied that she expected something to go wrong. Before she could edit it out, the interpreter had already passed it on in Japanese.
"Is it true that you would be taking over Dunbroch Bank & Trust Company in the near future?" he then asked after his boss said the same to him in Japanese.
She wished it wasn't so, but who else would her mother trust it to? "It has yet to be confirmed, but it's quite likely to be so."
"That's excellent news indeed," the interpreter told her after conveying the message to his employer. "Mr. Nakahara says that you do seem like a very talented young woman and he has no doubt that you would follow closely in your father's footsteps." The pale man added something, which was swiftly translated, "He looks forward to working more closely with you in the future."
"Certainly," she answered, feel anything but certain. There was something horribly unsettling about the businessman's mannerism towards her.
Bows were exchanged, firm one from Mr. Nakahara and a clumsy one from Merida. She didn't even realize that she had been holding her breath until both men had left the immediate vicinity. Pretending to straighten out an imaginary crinkle on her dress, she took a second to calm herself before making her way to the buffet table. This time no one interrupted her, so she helped herself to at least five of the tiny apple pie slices, each barely larger than her pinky.
While she nibbled carefully through piece number three the way that her mother had taught her, it struck her that Mr. Nakahara's choice of words was odd indeed. It was pretty well-known that her mother ran the show in the company, even when her father was alive. So why he had said she'd 'follow her father's footsteps' instead of her mother's? Surely the latter made more sense. Or had the interpreter made a mistake in translation?
Yet, in the back of her head, an odd little rhyme rang –
'Follow steps of the Bear King,
Follow his hunting call,
Follow his ride to battle,
Follow him to his fall...'
Merida gazed up from her plate sharply, the fork slipping from her hand as she did. The clatter of the utensil on the floor earned her looks from some other party guests, but her own eyes were searching for the strange businessman she knew nothing about. However, he and his interpreter had already melted into the crowd.
Okay, Anna, pick. Green frilling or gold frilling?
Green went well with her eyes, but gold went equally as well with her hair. Of course, that being said, dark green would look awful and lime green would look worse, so gold was a safer bet, just in case the dressmakers were didn't follow instructions properly. Then again, a dark gold would look just as bad. Everything with dark gold somehow looked old and gaudy, so there was no way she was letting that shade anywhere near her wedding.
"Sorry, but I don't quite follow that."
Anna was most abruptly jerked back into reality. The chandeliers, the bouquets, the white draperies, the gowns, the chimes – all of them were hastily folded back into the 'dream wedding' drawer in the recesses of her mind as she scrambled to remember where she was.
Right, she was on a date with Hans at the sandwich bar, like they had agreed on.
She brightened immediately up.
She was on a date with Hans. The wonderful, incredible drop-dead gorgeous Hans, who was actually in every way her match. He loved sandwiches, he had good-humor, he was really, really smart, and most importantly, he was as interested in the supers as she was. Honestly, tonight had been the first time in life that she had managed to hold a serious discussion about supers with anyone without that person going 'oh, please, that's kid stuff'. He wasn't exactly pro-super, which she would prefer, but he was able to explain why he had his reservations, so she definitely respected that. At least he was able to acknowledge that the difference between various supers and their relationship with their cities.
"Instead of implementing a countrywide ban of heroes, what the Ameripanian government should have done was relocate them from Metroville," he had explained in between bites of his Parma ham, ricola and cheese sandwich – a choice that she instantly approved. "It makes sense, you see, because Metroville has one of the most efficient police units in Ameripan, and there were too many supers crowded in that city. Having supers there became more a bane than boon. But in other cities with fewer supers and weaker crime units, supers had become a significant figure in law enforcement. That's why implementing the Anti-Hero Act so abruptly resulted in the police workload increasing tenfold overnight." He had made a scoff. "And people wonder why crime has gone up over the last twenty years."
With her chin rested upon a fist, she had gawked at him, almost drooling. Where had this beautiful, perfect man been all her life?
"Um, Anna?" Oh, right. She hadn't answered him.
"Oh, erm, that was nothing," she said. "Just this crazy thought I had." She peered at the crumb-stained hands with a sigh. Crumpled wrappers of their finished sandwiches and empty glasses were all that adorned the dining table. Time always passed so quickly when you're having fun.
"Well, I love crazy, so you can tell me." That's another thing she really liked about him. He was such a good listener. Hadn't so many girls always complained all over the Internet how their boyfriends never listened to them? Well, Hans was nothing like those guys. He sympathized, he empathized and he always gave the right answer. "So what's this about a wedding?"
"O-kay," she gave in at last. "But don't laugh, and don't freak out."
"Cross my heart," he uttered in mock seriousness, his eyes dancing with merriment.
She chuckled nonetheless. "Okay, I was – don't laugh, I mean it – planning our, erm, imaginary wedding."
She watched him suddenly go still and wondered if she might have just given him a seizure.
And then he threw his head back and cackled.
"I told you not to laugh," she chided, but her heart wasn't in it. She was just relieved that he wasn't taking this so badly. The last time she had ever brought up marriage to anyone was to some terrified kid in kindergarten, who promptly fled her presence and screamed for his mama.
"I'm sorry." He coughed, pulling a straight face at once, though she could tell that he was barely suppressing his laughter. "It's just, well, you don't need to marry me just because I paid for dinner."
"Wait, what?" Sure enough, the waitress was already returning with his credit card and the receipt, which Hans accepted with thanks. She probably hadn't noticed the bill arriving at the table after she had sunken into her daydreams. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I mean, we should have split the bill first. How much do-"
"Nope, this one's on me," he insisted. "I was the one who knocked a cab door right in your face."
"Well, I did kind of walk into the cab door, so technically it's my fault too," she countered, leaning forward to grab the slip of paper.
"Whoa!" He swiftly moved it out her reach. "Nope, I'm paying for this one."
"C'mon, it's not fair to you," she insisted, reaching out to try again.
"Sorry, nope." He swiftly whipped out his wallet and shoved the slip in. "It's my treat." Observing how she sighed and shook her head, he added, "Well, if it puts your feministic wiles to rest, you can pay for the next one."
Her jaw fell open.
Realizing that he might have been too forward, Hans quickly added, slightly embarrassed, "I mean, if you would like to go out with me again."
He asked her out. He wanted to see her again.
He wanted to see her again.
'Say yes, you moron!' her instinct told her. 'When Prince Charming asks you on a date, you ask 'what time?''
But practicality prompted her to reply otherwise. "Oh, actually, I'm returning to Arenashi tomorrow."
She felt a sinking in her own chest as she watched how his shoulders drooped. "Oh."
"But I could call?" she suggested lamely.
"Yes, please! Do!" She did feel a bit better with how enthusiastic he seemed. "I would like that. A lot."
Necessary contacts were exchanged – though technically they did have each other's numbers, but Hans insisted that she had his email and he had hers. She did manage to give him all her social media IDs as well, and he promised that he would 'like' every single thing she posted, no matter how unfunny.
However, parting was still an eventuality, so both of them rose to their feet. He had offered her hand, to which she gladly took, and they made their way out of the eatery, leaving the glaring neon lights and the smell of oil on crust behind.
"I have to walk back," she told him, though she really didn't want to leave. In a matter of fact, she didn't want to leave Burgeshima at all. She hadn't found the story she had wanted, or any story worth telling in a matter of fact. Once she was back in Arenashi, her mentor would berate her for her recklessness and how she had wasted her time. Besides, despite Kristoff's own misgivings, she found Burgeshima somehow...magical. Like a miracle was just waiting around the corner, or the next alley.
Well, the other half of her 'match-made-in-heaven' apparently didn't think so. "Walking at this time of the night?" Hans shook his head. "It's too dangerous."
"It's not that late, it's only-" and then she checked her phone. It was half-past eleven. Wow. They had been out that long?
"C'mon, I'll drive you back to the hostel," he offered. "It's not parked too far from-"
"Thanks, but I got it from here."
Standing in front of them was the last hulking blonde boy she expected to see. "Kristoff?"
"Hi." He gave her a tight smile, which faded almost instantly as when his eyes fell on Hans. "You must be the date."
"And you must be the pushy partner," Hans answered just as coldly, letting go of Anna's arm just to fold his own together.
Kristoff didn't budge an inch – no surprise, since he was at least three inches taller than the lawyer. "Well, I'm sure Anna had a great time complaining about me, so if you don't mind, we're going to walk back now."
Before Anna could protest, her blonde partner had already grabbed her arm and began to lead her away from the redhead, marching them straight pass the train station.
"I'll call!" she yelled back to Hans, trying to wave only to almost trip over when hrt shoes caught onto a drain cover.
"Maybe you should watch where you're going instead," Kristoff told her drily as he dragged her down the street. "That way you might just not fall flat on your face in front of the love of your life."
"Oh, shut up," she told him crossly, roughly removing his grip on her. She glanced behind, but Hans was no longer in sight. "Great, I didn't get to say a proper goodbye."
"Well, you can call him if you want, but only after we reach the hostel." Kristoff waved at her to follow. "Can you walk any faster?"
"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked while struggling to keep up with his pace. All the shops that usually lined the streets were closed and the roads were as good as deserted. Even the lights in most apartments had been turned off by now.
"You hadn't checked in by nine," he said gruffly, looking intently at the path ahead. "So I went to find you."
"You went to find -" she broke off as a curious thought struck her. "Wait. Were you worried about me?"
"What! No, of course not." His denials were fervent, but under the orange-lit streets at night, she detected a slight reddening of his cheeks.
"Aw, you were worried." Her face split into a wide smile. "That's so sweet." Then Anna frowned. "Well, if you'd been less worried, I'd be riding in Hans' car right now."
He pretty much spat it out. "Like I'd let that happen."
"Hey," she protested as they took a turn just before the end of the street, leading them into a quiet alley on the backstreet. "Hans isn't the kind of guy to take advantage of a girl."
"Please." He rolled his eyes as they passed the graffiti-splashed walls. "You don't even know him."
"Well, I do know him better than you do, so I think I'm a better authority on what he would or wouldn't do," she retorted. "Despite what you think, not all human beings are evil sociopa-"
She never did get to finish her sentence, because for the second time that night, unexpected company showed up.
Squeezed in tight space of the alley besides the duo from Arenashi were four darkly garbed figures. From the glint provided by the lights from the streets, Anna noted that their heads had been shaved clean, covered with elaborate tattoos rather than hair. All wore simple bagging leggings and all had their arms uncovered, showing off the remarkable patterns etched on their skin. A recurring symbol that she noted amongst the motifs was a bright red eye, drawn with red swirls attached to its side.
Oh, she should mention that one of them, the one with scar drawn across his eye, had a gun pointing at her head.
"Hands up," he ordered. It went without saying that unarmed and definitely not trained to deal with these kind of situations, both journalism interns did just that.
"I'm blame you," Kristoff hissed to her.
"Hey, we could have gone back in Hans' car. I'm sure he'd take you if I asked," she answered hotly.
"Shut up!" another hoodlums snapped at her. The tattooed gangsters moved forward, positioning themselves in semi-circular formation, all facing the two with their eyes narrowed. With them closer to her, Anna realized that they couldn't be much older than her. They could very well be students – well, if they bothered wearing wigs to school. She noted that how they spoke harshly amongst themselves, but it wasn't in English. She had learned some conversational Japanese back in high school, so she tried discreetly listening in, but to her bewilderment, she didn't understand a single word.
Letting out a curse under his breath about how cliché the entire scene was, the blonde boy stepped forwards, saying, "Look, if you want our money, fine. But, just saying, we don't have much. We're just stud-"
"We don't want your money."
"What?" Anna was stunned. "Then what do you want?"
"We need to send a message," the scarred-eyed fellow told them, the barrel of his pistol still pointed at her. "You're going to be the letter."
And it struck Anna how terrifyingly irreversible her fate was about to be.
Just as the man pulled the trigger, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that wherever the bullet struck, it would be fast and painless.
But the bullet never came.
Anna opened her eyes, confused. She was still in a dark alley, which smelled off soured juice and rotting food, so that part wasn't a dream. She was still standing at the mercy of four tattooed gangsters, so that too wasn't a dream. The part that she couldn't decide on was whether the chunk of ice that had the man's hand, his pistol and his newly released bullets frozen in motion like a Jurassic amber fossil was a just hallucination.
The man exclaimed in surprise as he glanced at his own hand, and his companions too held the sight in complete amazement. She and Kristoff should have taken the moment run, but it seemed they too had been enchanted by the sight.
That meant went that the gust of wind struck them, it knocked everyone off their feet, sending them flying everywhere.
Anna winced as she pulled herself from the ground and pulled a face as she noted how her knees and skirt were stained with grime. She brushed the snow off her dress as she gradually rose to her –
Wait. Snow?
She glanced down at her shirt, then to the ground, then she stared up.
It was snowing. In spring. In the middle of Burgeshima.
"Hold it!" She jumped at the coarse voice, spinning towards it. One of the other gangsters – not the scar-eyed dude - had too recovered. His own revolver was pointed her way. "You're not going any –oomphf!"
That gangster was now pinned to the red walls of the alley, trapped behind a blanket of ice. His gun had fallen out of his hand, landing uselessly on the ground. Anna glanced around in alarm, seeking the source of these mysterious happenings, and her heart almost stopped.
Even in the darkness, even after the years had eaten into her memories, she knew that crooked staff. She knew that hooded figure, and she knew the gleaming blue eyes.
The hero was locked in a fearsome battle with another hooligan. The fellow was armed with a long knife and he wasn't unpracticed with it, given the stains along it. Nonetheless, his lunges proved useless against someone who could move with the wind, and in no time at all, the hooded hero had grabbed him by the shoulder, locked his elbow with his own arm and tossed him to the ground. As he lay there groaning in pain, the hero tapped his staff on his back, spreading a layer of ice over his torso to lock him down. One wily fellow thought himself clever to attack the hero while his back was turned, so he whipped out his gun to fire. But the hero ducked in time, before proceeding to do an elegant back flip, ending with double-foot kick in the criminal's stomach. The fellow toppled rather comedically, grabbing his abdomen as he did. The hero then directed the staff towards him, freezing him where he was, but leaving the face uncovered so that he could breathe.
Then Anna suddenly felt a clammy hand grab her shoulder, and before she knew it, a tattooed arm was locked around her neck, one that was still frozen in a block. The free hand produced a cool blade of steel, which was pointed at her throat. "Hold it right there or I'll kill her!"
The hooded figure gazed sharply towards them and it was then Anna noticed that instead of a scarf around the nose mouth, he now wore a black mask to cover the upper half of his face, only revealing his eyes. His lips were curved into a definitive frown.
She shifted uneasily in the sweaty, sticky arm, but the one-eyed gangster wouldn't let her free. Backing them both carefully away from the hero, the gangster eased them down the alley, slowly but surely making his way back to the main street where he'd make a run for it. The question was whether he'd slit her throat before he did that.
But knowing full well that the hero of her childhood was here, Anna had the faith that she would never need to know the answer to that question.
And she was right too. Just as both her and her captor were about to reach the end of the alley, the gangster suddenly lost his balance, falling backwards. In an attempt to break his fall, he let go off both the knife and Anna, yelling frantically as he crashed onto the ice that had appeared under his feet. The brunette would have joined him in his tumble if the hero hadn't dashed forward right then, using the crook of his staff to jolt her back to her feet and at the same time pulling her away from the villain. It was here that Anna noted the change in the staff. He had apparently coated with some kind of ice-covering, giving it a more crystalline appearance.
"It looks prettier than when I last saw it," she told the hero with a slight giggle.
He just stared silently at her, so much that she wondered if he had heard what she had said at all. In the darkness, she couldn't read his expression. Was he confused? Or did he remember?
She was about to ask when he abruptly spun on his heel, sprinting straight down the alley.
"Wait!" she ran after the white figure, hopping over the entrapped criminals. "Hold on a moment!"
But his feet were fleet indeed, and he had made half way across the road by the time she reached the alley.
Still, she didn't cease chase. "I need to talk to you!"
The figure didn't stop, darting down another alley. Ice and snow grew from each step he took, growing into splendid white patterns. Anna crossed these patterns, hoping desperately that they took her nearer and not further.
"Please!" she cried, her feet beating against the dirt, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could not beat him in a race, she knew that. "Stop! My name's Anna! Don't you remember?"
Just as abruptly as his escape was his pause. He stopped in the middle of the alley, his back facing her. The break had come none too soon, for she was certain that she could not possibly run anymore. Panting, heaving, she gasped, "We last saw each other at the Black Raven Hotel. Ten years ago."
She noticed a hesitation in his movement. Slowly, he turned to face her, hugging his staff tight towards him. Behind the black mask, she saw his brilliant eyes bearing into hers.
She continued on, "You saved my life. You were my hero. Actually, well,-" she smiled, "-you've kind of been my hero for the last ten years."
He didn't answer still, but she noticed a flicker in his expression – not a happy one. It actually looked…guilty?
Then it hit her. "It's about my sister, isn't?"
Still no words.
"It's not your fault. I know you did your best."
Silence alone greeted her. He averted his gaze.
She didn't want to him to be guilty. She didn't want to him to even feel that way. "The ice-thing, the collapse - I know you didn't mean it." She saw him hanging his head low, ashamed, but she went on, "It doesn't matter what other people think, because I know the truth. You're a hero. And if people stop believing in you, let them. I'll always believe in you. I always have."
She tried to step forward, to reach a comforting hand towards him, but then she realized she couldn't. There was a barrier in her way – a glassy barrier. It grew thicker with each second, and opaque frost patterns began to form all over it. She saw the deep blue eyes behind the mask watching her sadly, before the hero spun away, fleeing once again.
"Jack, wait!" She hammered a fist against the wall, but it wouldn't budge. She pushed against it, smacking her palms on it till they turned red, but he made it too well.
He shut her out. Why did that sound familiar?
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring through the frosted ice, not knowing what to do. When she heard a sound behind, she whirled about, raising her fist to punch.
"Whoa! Fiesty pants!" Kristoff took a step back, raising his arms as he did. "You really need a chill pill."
"Had one," she murmured listlessly, jabbing a finger at the ice wall. It hadn't even begun to melt.
"Oh, wow. That is awesome." Kristoff took a moment to drink in the sight, before adding sardonically, "Thanks for checking on me back there."
"Oh." She hadn't realized that she had abandoned Kristoff at the alley while pursuing Jack, who just couldn't wait to get away from her. "Sorry, how are you?"
"Got a hit in the head, but it's alright. I've got a thick skull."
She really wasn't interested right now. She was feeling far too miserable. "Huh."
"So I reckoned you were too shaken up to do anything just now," he went on, as not noticing her mood, "so I figured that I should let you know that I wasn't. And because I'm horribly nice, I'll let you share."
"Share?" She blinked at him. "Share what?"
The grin that Kristoff gave her was one that she hadn't seen since they had first arrived in Burgeshima. Whipping out his phone, he made a few taps on it, before showing her the screen. "This."
The angle wasn't the best, but Kristoff's hand were steady enough for the entire scene to be understood. The spurts of ice appearing almost magically everywhere, the aggressiveness of the gang members and the swiftness by which the hero defeated them.
"Looks like we got our story."
S/N:
Finally! Some actual crime fighting! I though I'd never see it happen.
The entire play-act in the front part is still part of a scene in Megamind, but with deviations because that's what happens in play-acting - you take liberties with the story. If you've watched the movie, you might understand why ice cubes at the end of it.
Just remember the name 'Matahari' - it's importantly for later.
The other 'villains' named in Jamie's book are some of the antagonists in the 'Guardians of Childhood' books.
I wonder if I made it obvious enough on how Jamie's parents died - or at least, who to blame.
The whole 'bombing the place then paying for repairs' thing that Tooth experienced is actually a tactic that the mobster Al Capone used to get bars to sell his smuggled alcohol during prohibiton-era America.
If you can't remember who's Kumori Nakahara, see chapter 5.
Merida and Hiccup team up! Sort of!
Anna is a sad person. Give her a hug if you see her moping in the corner. If you can't remember her relationship with Jack, see chapter 4.
Up Next: There are quite a few routes I can go from here, so what shall it be? Will Kristoff and Anna publish their first story? Will our hooded vigilante get caught in the act? Will we follow Hiccup on his investigations? Will Rapunzel get her bike back? Will 13 ever appear after so much talk about him? That remains to be seen.
A/N: Hello, I'm in the process of applying for some courses that I really want, so I've been busy prepping all the paperwork. That and I'm starting a new internship. Busy, busy as a bumbling bee, except that I hate honey.
As a Disney fanatic, I went to the theatres to watch Zootopia and it's really good. I didn't find it hilarious, but it was very creative, touching even, and had a surprisingly mature message to convey. It's a good watch even if you're not a big animation fan. That aside, I'll probably bring a human version of Judy Hopps into this story, 'coz why create a police officer when I can have a character who is already one?
I'm also proud to announce that I've finally finished my cover art for this story. It's the first time I've tried to draw in a comic book cover style (inspired heavily by Batgirl New 52 #35's cover), especially for the background, so though it's not perfect, I'm quite content with it.
Guest Mailbox:
JX101: Wow, that is dramatic and I mean the whole thing, not just the top. Thanks for threatening to kill me - it brightens up my day - though I think that might work against your interest as a dead author is non-updating author...
Please a leave a review if you've enjoyed this. This story is fighting for attention with my other story and my life, and though I'd like to be above mercenary sentiments, I admit I'm more inclined to pen the more popular story. But yeah, it is up to you.
Review. Ask Questions. Critique.
