Zelda the Grey Quiet One
Book 1 – Of Butterflies and Elves
Chapter Seven – Hero vs Villain
Summary: I'm nothing like my sister. While she's out and about exploring the wilderness. I spend most of my days huddled around the fireplace reading books, watching DVDs, snuggling Twig, and all in all being a smol couch potato. When ideas of moving to the city popped up, she was distressed, while I was apathetic.
*~~oOo~~*
Princess Zelda
"All-Star Superman—ugh, I don't need a hero giving me life advice, thanks.
Civil War, Marvel—way too much action. Like, does anyone even talk in this one?
Batman: Court of Owls—predictable villains, and seriously overpowered. Coulda called that plot twist a mile away.
Kick-Ass—man, that's just trying way too hard to be shocking.
John Constantine, DC—way too much brooding and booze. Just...no."
Zelda shakes her head, her brows furrowing as she rummages through a cluttered pile of comics smack dab in the middle of the shop. One by one, she flips through the unsorted stack, muttering under her breath with increasing irritation.
"Where the bloody hell is it?" she grumbles, raking a hand through her long brown hair.
A few of the regulars—mostly boys—pause mid-page to glance her way. Their curiosity flickers, as if they've never seen someone quite like her tearing through their sacred domain of comic books and superheroes.
Even the store manager, a large brown-skinned man, eyes her with growing unease, his fingers tapping absently on a battered register.
Then after a frenzied search, a triumphant gasp escapes her lips and she exclaims, "Aha! Found ya!"
"Walking Dead Volume 8: Made to Suffer!" She reads aloud, practically bouncing on her toes.
Holding it up, she admires the gritty cover. The artwork depicts a rugged man with a menacing eyepatch, his snarling face looming against a backdrop of shambling, grotesque zombies.
"Oh my days, this is it! How will Rick Grimes and his group face off against the Governor—who's got a flipping tank in a zombie apocalypse!" she gushes.
Her grin fades slightly, and a darker thought creeps in. What if someone doesn't make it? She pauses, the weight of the possibility hanging in her mind. The excitement shifts, replaced by a chilling thought: What will the cost of victory be? Who won't make it out alive?
Zelda hugs the comic tightly. "This is going to be so good," she cutely squeals out, already longing to get home, settle in, and dive into the thrilling chaos of the story.
Ding—ding.
The familiar jingle of the store door chimes behind Zelda, but she's too engrossed in her newfound prize to pay any attention.
A group of kids around her age bursts into the store, a trio of boys and one girl. Their entrance was loud enough to draw glances from a few regulars. At the front is a brown-skinned boy in a trapper hat, radiating an air of exaggerated authority. He waves his arm as if commanding a battalion.
"Right, Bagsy, Andy—you two take that side," he directs them toward a row of shelves.
"Got it, Trevor," replies Bagsy, a lanky boy with a tendency to nod a little too eagerly. He nudges the shorter, stockier boy named Andy, who's already scanning the shelves like he's on a treasure hunt.
"And Kailey," Trevor adds, turning to the lone girl of the group. She's a blonde with an unimpressed expression, her hands shoved into her hoodie pockets.
"What?" Kailey asks flatly, not bothering to mask her boredom.
"Just, I dunno… do whatever you want. Not like you're here to read comics or anything," Trevor says with a dramatic shrug.
Kailey rolls her eyes and scoffs, peeling off toward a magazine rack in the corner.
With his friends dispersed to their respective missions, Trevor swaggers over to the steel basket in the centre of the store, marked with a bright banner: New Arrivals.
As he passes, the other customers shrink out of his way, noses dipping further into their comics, avoiding his gaze. Trevor notices, puffing out his chest with a smirk.
"Right, where are ya? Been waiting all week for this," he mutters, plunging his hands into the pile with reckless abandon. The edges of the metal basket rattle noisily as he rifles through the stack, his impatience growing with every flick of a page.
When the last comic fails to deliver, his face darkens. "Damn it. Not here." Frustration boiling over, he slams his fist against the metal, the loud clang drawing a few startled glances before they quickly look away.
Trevor's eyes roam the store, scanning each corner with laser focus. Then, something catches his attention. His gaze zeroes in on the unassorted pile of comics near the middle—and the girl beside it.
She wears a grey sweater and is clutching something tightly to her chest. His eyes narrow. No way.
"Oi! You there!" he calls out, jabbing a finger in her direction. "—Is that the latest Walking Dead Volume?"
Zelda looks up, her expression blank at first. She blinks at him, seemingly taking a moment to size him up. Then, with an arch of her brow, she says, "It is. Why?"
Her voice carries a note of suspicion, her grip on the comic tightening almost as if on instinct.
He strides toward her, confidence dripping from his grin. "Good, I've been hunting for that for weeks. Thanks for finding it. Now, hand it over."
Zelda deadpans. "Uh, no?" she retorts sharply, letting him down without an ounce of hesitation.
Trevor splutters at her blunt refusal. A scoff escapes him, an attempt to mask the sting of surprise. "Excuse me? Do you know who I am?"
But Zelda doesn't bother to respond. She spins on her heel, clutching the comic tighter to her chest, and strides toward the cash register, her intent to pay clear.
"Oi!" Trevor moves to block her path, planting himself firmly in her way.
Zelda stops just short of running into him, her brow twitching with irritation. "Could you scooch?" she suggests.
"No," Trevor says flatly, crossing his arms. "I'm not moving an inch until you give me that Walking Dead comic. I've been waiting weeks for this, and you show up and snatch it right out from under my nose from the only store in the city that sells it!"
"It's called first come, first serve," Zelda retorts, with a practised air of defiance. "You can't just call dibs on something you've never even laid a finger on."
Trevor's eyes narrow as he jabs a thumb toward his chest. "No-uh, hold up. I'm the one who got this series stocked here in the first place, yeah? That's right. I requested it. So maybe show some gratitude and hand it over." He punctuates his words with a lazy grabby motion, smirking like he's already won.
Zelda's eyes flick to the store manager, who hastily ducks behind his comic, pretending to be engrossed. Her gaze sweeps the other customers, but they're just as quick to look away, their faces buried in their books or turned deliberately toward the shelves.
A small gulp escapes her. It's clear Trevor has some pull here, enough to make people steer clear of his bad side—and leave her to face him alone.
"See?" Trevor drawls, the smugness practically oozing from his tone as he leans back with a self-satisfied smirk. "Told ya."
Cowards, she bitterly thought.
Takes one to know one.
Zelda straightens her back, maintaining a steady gaze on him. "That still doesn't change a thing. I'm buying this comic, whether you like it or not."
Trevor groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Grrr, come on, girlie! Be reasonable!" His tone sharpens, the teasing edge turning sour. "Honestly, I doubt you even know enough about the series to deserve it."
"Excuse you?" Zelda snaps, her tone icy.
"Oh, don't act all offended," Trevor jeers. "You probably saw the cover and thought, 'Ooh, zombies, how cool!'" His voice pitches higher in mockery. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he picks up a random comic from a nearby rack.
"Tell you what," he says, holding a brightly coloured comic book up to her with a smirk. "I'll trade you the Walking Dead for this Barbie: Wonderland. That's more your speed, innit? You girls love this kind of sparkly fluff."
Zelda stares at the obnoxious pink cover, her face a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "Seriously?!" Her voice drips with disdain. "Like us girls are into that patronizing rubbish. And FYI, I know plenty about The Walking Dead."
"Oh, really?" Trevor taunts, leaning in.
"Yeah, but here's the thing," Zelda cuts him off with a pointed glare. "I don't have the time—or the energy—to prove myself to you. So why don't you take your Barbie comic and shove it where the sun doesn't shine?!"
"You don't want to mess with me, girly!" Trevor growls, looming over Zelda. He's a few inches taller, and he uses every bit of it to try and intimidate her.
"Oh?" Zelda arches a brow, her expression perfectly blank. The calmness is practised, a skill honed through countless face-offs with her twin sister. "And what exactly will you do?"
"I'll... I'll TP your house!" Trevor spits out, with a puff off his chest. "And I'll ruin your whole week with pranks, make you miserable. That'll teach you to mess with me."
Nearby boys flinch at the mention of Trevor's threats as he is infamous for his pranks, their nervous glances darting between him and his posse, who stands up proud of their infamy.
Zelda doesn't flinch. Instead, she tilts her head and fixes him with a cool stare. "So, that's your game? Threatening and harassing anyone who stands up to you? Is that how you keep getting away with being such a little tyrant?"
Trevor falters for a moment, his smirk flickering, but it quickly snaps back into place. "Beat it, girlie. I've scared off tougher people than you. Don't push your luck."
Zelda steps forward, her eyes blazing. "I am. Not. Afraid of you," she says, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word. Her voice is steady, unwavering.
"And I'm not afraid of your friends," she adds, throwing a sharp glare toward his posse, who shuffles awkwardly under her gaze.
"Your little scare tactics?" She scoffs, crossing her arms. "They're not going to work on me, so save yourself the effort."
Trevor's eyes narrow as he steps closer, circling her like a predator sizing up prey. Zelda stays rooted, her sharp glare tracking his every move.
"You're not a Sparrow Scout," Trevor sneers. "That lot's too goody-two-shoes to even try standing up to me. And you're not from school either—otherwise, you'd know better than to cross me."
Zelda smirks faintly. "And if I did go to your school, I'd definitely remember that mug of yours."
Trevor's face twists. "Who are you calling ugly?"
"Just calling it as I see it," she fires back without missing a beat.
"Hmph!" Trevor huffs, pacing around her again. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Zelda crosses her arms. "What's it to you? I'm from the wilderness." She proudly says.
He snickers, the sound grating and smug. "Ha, knew it. Only some country bumpkin would waltz in here with manners like yours."
Zelda doesn't miss a beat, rolling her eyes. "Oh, we're really going there, are we? Scraping the bottom of the barrel already?"
He leans in. "Not as low as the mud and muck you probably crawled out of. Here's some advice—when you're in the city, try showing a little class. There's rules here, girlie."
"Oh, give over," Zelda snaps, her tone cutting. "At least I don't strut around like I own the place, throwing my weight around like a spoiled brat."
Trevor's grin twitches, but he doubles down. "Better that than someone who probably drinks out of dirty streams and wipes their butt with leaves. Your hygiene's probably as bad as your attitude."
Zelda's lips curl into a sharp smirk. "Hygiene? Oh, that's rich. Tell you what—take a deep whiff of your own breath and let me know how it goes." Her voice is calm, but her eyes gleam with a taunting edge.
Trevor freezes, his sneer faltering as murmurs ripple through the watching crowd.
"I don't know how your little posse can stand it," Zelda presses, her words deliberate and biting. "Coming from that mouth on that mug? Bet they're just holding their breath and praying you don't talk too much."
Trevor opens his mouth to retort, but Zelda cuts him off, delivering the final blow with a mockingly sweet tone. "— Didn't your mum ever wash your mouth out with soap? Or maybe she just couldn't be bothered. Explains a lot, really."
The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far, emphasized by Trevor stomping forth.
"I waited all week for that issue to show up!" Trevor barks, his voice rising into a shrill tantrum.
"Then wait another week—and while you're at it, order yourself a new personality," Zelda fires back, her tone dripping with disdain. "Impatient brat. Now, leave me alone."
"Ooooh,"
A few murmurs ripple through the small crowd.
"Shut up, you lot!" Trevor snaps, turning to glare at the onlookers. "This doesn't concern you!"
While his attention is on the gathering crowd, Zelda seizes her chance and tries to slip past him. But Trevor pivots just in time, blocking her path.
Her patience splinters. She sidesteps, only for Trevor to mirror her movements like a human barricade, grinning smugly. Another attempt, another block.
"Seriously?" Zelda scoffs, her voice tight with frustration. "Move!"
"Not a chance," Trevor replies, leaning just enough to predict her next move.
Zelda darts left, then fakes right, but Trevor counters each time, his larger frame cutting off every opening with irritating ease. Her knuckles tighten around the comic in her hands, her foot tapping furiously.
"Shove off already!" she snaps, shoving at his shoulder in frustration.
Trevor doesn't budge. Instead, he chuckles darkly, then casually pushes her back with enough force to send her stumbling onto the edge of a nearby comic rack.
"What the heck is wrong with you?!" Zelda snarls, catching herself before falling completely. She straightens up, glaring daggers at him as her chest heaves with indignation.
"Nothin' what's wrong with you!" Trevor steps closer. "Look, girlie, I'm at my wit's end here. Just hand over the comic, tell your big brother—or whoever you're buying it for—that they're out of luck, and go back to whatever hole in the wilderness you crawled out of."
Zelda's jaw clenches. "Why do you assume I'm buying this for someone else?"
"Because girls don't read comics," Trevor says as if it's a matter of fact, crossing his arms. "It's just… not a thing. " mean, seriously," Trevor continues, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.
"When's the last time you saw a girl actually into this stuff? Like, properly into it. Not just flipping through pages 'cause they're bored." He snickers, his grin widening. "Bet you just saw the cover, thought, 'Ooh, zombies! Cool!' and decided to act all edgy."
Zelda's brow arches slowly, dangerously. "That," she says in a low, measured tone, "is the most pathetic, narrow-minded rubbish I've ever heard! What timeline are you living in?"
Trevor rolls his eyes. "Timeline, what? You sound like my mum—always hysterical and preachy. Now hand it over, you freakin' tomboy."
Zelda stops dead, her entire body stiffening at the word. A shadow passes over her face, her expression darkening as her grip on the comic sharpens, the edges crumpling under her fingers.
Her voice drops. "What did you just call me?"
"Tomboy," Trevor repeats smugly. He grins at finally eliciting a reaction from the girl as he leans in to crowd her space. "What, can't hear me? I'm not keen on repeating myself. Figures. Not sure you're clever enough to keep up—"
Bam!
A fist snaps forward in a blur, cutting clean through the air.
The impact is solid, a resounding crack of knuckles meeting cheekbone. Trevor's head jerks to the side, his trapper hat spinning off his head as he stumbles back, arms flailing for balance. His heel catches, and with a graceless thud, he crashes onto the cold tiled floor.
Thud!
Zelda straightens, her arm still outstretched for a heartbeat before she shakes it out, her knuckles throbbing with a sharp stinging ache.
"Bloody hell, that hurts!" she hisses, flexing her fingers. A small maniac smile curls at the corner of her lips. "But damn was it well worth it!"
A shriek cuts through the stunned silence—Kailey's sharp voice ringing out as Bagsy and Andy rush to Trevor's side.
Trevor groans, his hand pressed to his cheek, now a vivid shade of red. The murmurs in the store rise like a growing tide, customers and onlookers darting wide-eyed glances between him and Zelda.
She stands over him with a glare. His eyes, glossy with humiliation and fury, lock onto hers.
"You'll pay for that…" Trevor snarls through clenched teeth.
Zelda tilts her head, feigning thought as she flips the comic book in her hands with deliberate nonchalance. "Maybe," she says, her voice sharp and steady.
Not stopping there, she then turns a glare to the rest of Trevor's friends and then the rest of the store, as she raises the Walking Dead comic book in the air like a banner.
"Listen up, everyone!" she declares, her voice ringing clear. "Trevor's reign of terror in this very comic book store ends here! No more stealing, no more threats, and no more bullying. This store is a sanctuary—for nerds, geeks, and anyone who loves a good story. It's not some playground for cowards who think throwing their weight around makes them big."
The onlookers exchange wide-eyed glances, emboldened by her words. Even the store manager peeks out from behind his comic, nodding ever so slightly.
Zelda lets the silence linger for a beat, then delivers her final blow. "And if anyone has a problem with that…" She pauses, sweeping her gaze across the room before landing back on Trevor, her smirk returning. "Well, they'll have to go through me."
There's a ripple of agreement—a quiet "Yeah!" from someone near the back, then another voice chiming in.
Bagsy, Andy, and Kailey falter under the weight of the united room, shifting uneasily.
Trevor, though, doesn't waver—at least not outwardly. His glare sharpens, focused entirely on Zelda's smug face as he wipes his cheek one last time. His lip curls, but no retort comes. Instead, he pushes himself to his feet with a grunt.
He huffs, jerking his head toward the door. "Let's go," he snaps, his voice low and brittle.
Ding—Thud!
The bell chimes briefly as Trevor shoves the door open, followed by a heavy slam as it swings shut behind him and his trailing friends.
For a moment, there's nothing but the hum of the store's AC and shuffling feet. Then, like a dam breaking, the store erupts into cheers.
"She did it!" someone yells, and the energy in the room explodes.
The crowd swarms Zelda, their excitement spilling over as they gush over her victory.
"That was epic!"
"You're amazing!"
"Did you see his face? Priceless!"
A lanky boy with glasses pushes to the front, practically bouncing with excitement. "What's the name of our saviour?" he asks breathlessly.
Zelda blinks, caught off guard. "Uh… Zelda?"
The boy gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "A perfect name for a princess!" The lanky boy then turns to the crowd of onlookers "Three cheers for Zelda!"
Before she can protest, the room erupts into cheers and the group takes up a chant.
"Hip, hip, hooray!"
"Oi, stop that—" Zelda tries to wave them off, but the cheers drown her out. Suddenly, Zelda finds herself being hoisted up, the crowd chanting her name.
"Hip, hip, hooray!"
"Hip, hip, hooray!"
As the crowd lifts her up, she feels her feet leave the ground—literally and figuratively. Amid the chaos, she can't help but let out a small, sheepish smile. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.
*~~oOo~~*
Bug Boy
As the celebration winds down, and after enduring a few overly enthusiastic pats on the back, Zelda deftly slips away from the huddle of her newfound admirers. The group of prepubescent boys, still starstruck by her display of bravery, doesn't seem to notice her departure.
They migrate to a corner of the store, their voices buzzing with excitement as they continue gushing over her bold stand against Trevor, replaying the scene in animated detail.
She throws a fleeting glance toward the excited group in the corner but doesn't linger. Her focus sharpens on the one thing that set her entire journey into motion: The Walking Dead, Volume 8 – Made to Suffer. Clutching the comic tightly against her chest, she makes a beeline to the counter in giddy.
Behind the register stands the store manager, a large fat man with brown skin, wearing a green cap and simple t-shirt with a faded superhero logo.
"Ya shouldn't have done that, kid," The manager warns. "Trevor and his lot—those aren't people you wanna mess with."
"So Trevor's his name?" Zelda snorts, brushing a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Figures. I'm not afraid of him."
The manager lets out a long sigh, leaning slightly on the counter. His gaze drifts toward the street outside, where the cloudy skies hang low over the city. "It's not Trevor you need to be worrying about," he says, his voice low and ominous. "It's his mum. Now, she's the real storm brewing."
Zelda sends him a look. "You could've stepped in anytime, y'know?" she huffs, crossing her arms.
Caught off guard, the manager flinches slightly under her pointed glare. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, his broad shoulders slumping. "Yeah, you're right," he admits, the words slow and heavy. "I should've. But it's easier to let that lot have their way than deal with the fallout."
He lets out a long sigh, then reaches for the comic in her hands. But instead of scanning it, he pushes it gently back toward her.
"Here," he says, his voice softer now. "On the house."
Zelda blinks, momentarily stunned. "Really?" she asks, hugging the comic closer, her earlier irritation melting into surprise.
"A reward for putting that brat in his place," he says with a faint smile, "And as an apology for me not stepping in earlier. I've let Trevor and his gang run wild here for far too long."
She studies him for a moment, the sincerity in his tone evident. Then she nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Mister—."
"Ramirez," he says, extending a hand. "Call me Ramirez."
"Zelda," she says, shaking his hand firmly. "Just promise me next time, have a bit of a backbone, yeah?"
Ramirez chuckles. "Kid, you're talkin' to a comic book store manager. Backbone ain't exactly part of the job description. I'd much rather sit here and read comics all day."
Zelda's face lights up at that. "Me too! Someday, I wanna own a bookshop," she daydreams. "Not just comics—books of all kinds, from everywhere. Imagine just sitting around, surrounded by stories, not having to deal with the outside world or lifting a finger for manual labour. Sounds perfect, doesn't it?"
Ramirez tilts his head, a soft smile spreading across his face. "That's a solid dream, kid. Just keep your head down, do well in school, and you'll get there."
Zelda blinks. "I'm not enrolled," she says bluntly, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Oh," he mutters, scratching his chin. "Well, that's a bit of a curveball for your grand life plans." He hesitates, then adds with a grin, "But if there's one thing I know, it's that kids like you—sharp, stubborn, and way tougher than you look—always find a way. You'll overcome it, no doubt about that."
Zelda glances at him, her expression softening. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," Ramirez nods. "You've already got the guts to stand up to Trevor. Compared to that, chasing your dream will be a piece of cake."
Her lips curl into a small smile, "Thanks," She softly says
Their moment is cut short by a sudden burst of chatter and commotion from the corner of the store. Both their heads turn toward the source: the crowd of comic shop patrons, the same ones who'd cheered her victory over Trevor, now huddled around a table, deep in discussion.
"What are they doing?" Zelda asks, her brow furrowing. The confusion is evident as she squints and leans forward. "Wait... is that a picture of me?" Her voice rises slightly, a mix of bewilderment and worry.
Ramirez barely glances over, his tone nonchalant. "Oh, they're setting up a fan club of you. Calling you 'Princess Zelda' or somethin'. Nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"What?!" Zelda shrieks. "I hate that name! Why Princess? Why not Zelda the Defender of the People? Or, ooh, Zelda the Grey Quiet One?" She throws her hands up in exasperation.
Ramirez chuckles, leaning lazily on the counter. "Names stick, kid. Plus, they're nerds and geeks. Over-the-top is kinda their thing."
Zelda groans, glancing back at the group, who are now proudly displaying the framed photo of her like it's some holy relic. "When did they even take that picture? And how did they frame it so fast?"
Ramirez smirks. "Efficient little lot, aren't they?"
Zelda slumps over the counter, burying her face in her hands. "I can't let my sister find out about this. She'll never let me live it down!"
Ramirez bursts out laughing, his deep, hearty chuckle filling the shop. It only makes Zelda groan louder, peeking at him through her fingers. "Cheer up, Princess Zelda," he teases. "You're a local hero now."
"Don't call me that, Ramirez," she grumbles, shooting him a half-hearted glare as she straightens up. Turning toward the door, she tosses one last glance over her shoulder at the excitable group still buzzing in the corner. "Great. Just what I needed," she mutters.
Ding-ding.
The door chime jingles as Zelda steps out of the comic book store, clutching her prized issue tightly against her chest. Her emotions swirl—a mix of triumph and unease.
On one hand, she's riding the high of having secured The Walking Dead: Made to Suffer and putting Trevor in his place. The memory of his shocked face draws a small, satisfied smirk.
But on the other? She's miffed, knowing full well that a pack of comic nerds are now probably spreading the tale of "Princess Zelda" all over the shop—and maybe even the city. The thought makes her cringe. Hopefully, Mum and Hilda won't catch wind of it.
A gnawing thread of worry tugs at the edges of her thoughts, though she tries to ignore it.
Stepping onto the pavement, Zelda feels a cool breeze ruffle the hem of her sweater, carrying with it a faint smell of salt on the horizon. The cloudy sky above stretches heavy and low, but she doesn't notice the ominous shift—her mind is too caught up with the events earlier.
Squinting down the street, she spots Trevor and his gang further ahead. He's in the lead, stomping along with fists clenched at his sides. His friends follow at a cautious distance, exchanging uncertain glances.
Around the corner, a Sparrow Scout boy bounds down the pavement, balancing a precariously tall stack of paper bags in his arms. He has short brown hair, beady eyes, and stick-thin limbs that struggle to manage the load.
There are plenty of Sparrow Scouts out and about today, Zelda notices. Probably some badge activity. Coincidentally, her mind drifts to Hilda and the two Sparrows she'd been helping earlier.
What's taking her so long to catch up? She thought with a frown.
Zelda watches as the boy hurries closer—until Trevor, still fuming, intentionally bumps into him with a hard shoulder.
"Oh crud!" the boy yelps as the bags tumble to the ground, their contents spilling everywhere—books, art supplies, and what looks like a half-eaten sandwich.
"I think you dropped something, birdie," Kailey sneers, her voice dripping with mockery. Bagsy and Andy chuckle beside her, but Trevor doesn't join in. Instead, his face twists in irritation as their laughter scrapes against his nerves.
"Grr, shut it, you lot," he snaps, rounding on his gang. "I don't need your annoying laughs right now. Just leave me alone!"
Kailey raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing! Just back off!" Trevor barks, stomping away without another word, his fists clenched and his trapper hat pulled low.
The three exchange looks as they watch him storm down the street.
"Well, someone's in a right state," Bagsy mutters, giving a stray pencil a light kick.
Kailey crosses her arms. "That girl really rattled him. He's gonna be unbearable all week."
"C'mon," she says with a shrug, nudging Bagsy and Andy. "Let him cool off. The library's not far—let's find something to do there."
Their idea of 'fun' clearly means their usual brand of mischief, which instantly perks the boys up. Sharing a knowing grin, they dart off after Kailey, heading in the opposite direction without a second thought.
Meanwhile, the Sparrow Scout boy kneels on the pavement, scrambling to gather the scattered contents of his load.
"Flipping Trevor," The boy curses under his breath, his brows furrowed as he fumbles with the mess.
"Are you alright? Need any help?" a soft voice asks unexpectedly, cutting through his frustration.
He glances up, blinking in surprise. Standing above him is a girl about his age, her flowing brown hair catching the light. She wears a red scarf over a grey sweater.
The sun casts a glow around her from behind, and for a fleeting moment, the world seems to tilt off balance. Her pretty smile, framed by her button nose and fair skin, is warm and disarming.
"Hello? You okay there, bud?" she says again, her hand hovering slightly, waiting to offer assistance.
"Wha—?" he stammers, snapping out of his daze. Heat floods his cheeks as he realizes she's been speaking to him this whole time. How long was I... staring?!
"Uh, yeah, 'Mm fine!" he squeaks, his voice cracking in a way that makes him wince internally. He straightens up quickly, brushing off his yellow Sparrow Scout uniform. "Trevor and his lot are always like that. I'm kind of... used to it."
The girl folds her arms, her brows pulling together in mild disapproval. "You shouldn't have to be," she says firmly. "But, I might've given him extra reason to be a grump today."
He blinks, curiosity flickering in his wide eyes. "What'd you do?"
"I may or may not have... punched him," she replies nonchalantly, kneeling beside him to help gather the scattered items strewn across the pavement. Her tone is so casual it catches him off guard.
"Wait, you punched Trevor?" he repeats, his voice pitching in disbelief.
"Yup," she says, popping.
He stops mid-reach, staring at her with pure admiration. "That's... amazing. You're, like, the coolest person I've ever met."
The girl smirks, shrugging off the compliment like it's nothing. "Somebody had to knock him down a peg," she quips, her red scarf shifting slightly as she helps pick up another item.
"And trust me, I'm not even the coolest person I know." She adds, her mind briefly flickering to someone else. She doesn't elaborate, but if her twin had been there, Trevor might've gotten more than a bruised cheek—even if violence wasn't her twin's style.
"Is this everything?" she asks, neatly sliding the last paper bag toward him.
"Yeah, that's all of it!" he confirms with a grin and giving her a thumbs up.
But before he can thank her, the girl suddenly freezes. Her shoulders stiffen as though and the hair on the back of her neck prickles. Her gaze flicks upward, sharp and searching like she's expecting something terrible to descend.
He notices her sudden stillness, tilting his head in confusion. "Uh, are you—"
Kra-koom!
The sky erupts in a blinding flash of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it rattles the pavement. The boy lets out a high-pitched shriek, instinctively throwing his arms over his head as the sky above him briefly lights up.
Then comes the wailing. Car alarms erupt in dissonance, one after the other. The noise grates on his ears, sharp and relentless.
A soft drizzle begins, cool and light, dotting his Sparrow Scout uniform with dark specks. He cautiously peeks out from his arms, his face scrunching in dismay as the rain slowly thickens, each drop colder and heavier than the last.
"Oh great, just what we need, and in the middle of a badge activity, no less," he grumbles, shaking his damp hair and glaring skyward.
He glances around, confusion knitting his brows. "Huh? Where'd she go?" The girl in the grey sweater and red scarf is gone—he only now notices.
His eyes dart across the street, scanning the scattering pedestrians. Blurred shapes of umbrellas and hurried figures fill his vision, but there's no sign of her. Not a flash of brown hair, not even the flutter of a red scarf.
It's as if she vanishes into thin air.
He stands frozen, the chill of the rain creeping through his uniform as the drizzle thickens into a steady downpour. The soaked paper bags at his feet sag limply, their contents barely holding together. His gaze drifts back to the spot where she stood moments before, lingering there with an unsettled sense of disbelief.
"What's that?"
His eyes catch on something small and out of place amid the growing puddles. Kneeling down, he picks it up—a comic book wrapped in a sealed plastic bag. The Walking Dead Volume 8: Made to Suffer. He flips it open out of sheer curiosity.
"Gyah!" he squeaks, slamming it shut almost as fast as he'd opened it. The vivid, gory depiction of zombies tearing through flesh churns his stomach, making bile rise in his throat. "How does she read this stuff?" he mutters, carefully putting it back in its plastic bag to shield it from the rain.
"Well, guess I'll have to give it back..."
Before he can take another step, a familiar voice calls out.
"David!"
The boy looks up, relief washing over him as a dark-skinned girl with long curly black hair strides into view, her Sparrow Scout uniform pristine despite the rain. She holds a large umbrella in one hand and pulls a trolley in the other.
"Frida!" David blurts out, his surprise at seeing her turning into immediate gratitude.
She stops in front of him, taking in his drenched appearance and the soggy state of his belongings with wide, incredulous eyes. "What happened to you?" she demands, already fishing a yellow raincoat out of her trolley.
"A lot," he mutters, shrugging the coat on as she thrusts it toward him.
Frida sighs, shaking her head as she gestures to the sodden paper bags. "Put those in the trolley before they disintegrate."
Together, they hustle through the rain, stopping under the red-and-white-striped awning of a nearby building. Frida pulls out a towel, handing one to David while she rubs her hair dry.
"What's that in your hand?" she asks, pointing to the carefully wrapped package as she squeezes water from her curls.
David glances at it, still a little shaken. "A comic book," he says simply.
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End Scene
Chapter Seven – Hero vs Villain
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one! As usual, this chapter was meant to be a lot longer, but I decided to split it in half so I could get it posted. The rest will be in Chapter Eight, which will come a bit later due to the holidays.
I decided to include some modern media, literature, and shows in this fic, even though it doesn't quite match the show's timeline (which is set in the early 2000s). But that's just Zelda's quirky side, so don't be too thrown off by it!
I've used The Walking Dead comic as the main comic book in the following chapters because it's a well-known series. Even if you haven't read the comics or seen the show, I figure most people can grasp the basics—it's just zombies, after all.
This chapter took a while to get right, mainly because I had to rewrite it, and honestly, not enough reviews to keep me motivated—yeah, I'm a bit petty like that.
Est. Word Count: 5800+
Published Date: Dec 2, 2024
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Reviews
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Leave a Review! My reply will be in the respective chapter you posted the review at! As Fanfic writers, we do this shit for free and in our own volition!
Kudos to: DEV, Crazycartoons5488, KID-Z4P, and MagiDarkness
DEV: "It's nice to see that while Zelda might not be as brave as Hilda when it comes to the wilderness, she can be her own kind of brave for what she believes in. Either that or being in the wilderness has made her naive to social cues. It was still fun to read though, always up for a great punch.
Having Zelda meet David first was an interesting choice. I can see a friendship between her, David, and Frida working out really well.
It was a really nice and fun chapter for your OC. Can't wait to see more."
- Establishing the connection between David, Frida, and Zelda early on was one of the main goals for this chapter—and let me tell you, I've got a ton of adventures planned for those three! Zelda's bravery stems from her stubborn streak, a trait that definitely runs in Johanna's family. She's fearless about most things, as long as they don't involve venturing outside (which you'll see more of in the next chapter).
And while being raised far from the city and people has shaped both twins, Zelda's social cues and intelligence are slightly sharper than her sister's. I'll delve deeper into that dynamic in Book 2. Thanks so much for the review—it's always a huge motivator!
Tziput13 : I've replied to your review in your inbox (Private Messages) to keep this footer tidy, especially for responses to guest accounts.
MagiDarkness : He respondido a tu reseña en tu bandeja de entrada (Mensajes Privados) para mantener este pie de página ordenado, especialmente para las respuestas a cuentas de invitados.