one wound-up punch of intuition

lydiabell

fated_addiction

rushin_doll

lydiabell

"No!" Mma Makutsi's voice railed. "No, no, no, you silly man, that is not what has taken place here! It is a crime!"

Mma Ramotswe stepped through the bead curtain and into the former Kgale Hill Post Office. Inside, Mma Makutsi was pacing vigorously, her heels clicking with each step, and she gestured wildly with a stapler. BK sat perched on the edge of the desk with his arms folded; he looked exasperated. "I know that it would be a cri--" he said, and then his eyebrows rose and he stopped. "Mma Ramotswe." She wiggled her fingers at him in a small wave, and he began to smile.

"Yes," said Mma Makutsi fervently, her back to the door. "She would know what to do, but she is away on a very important case, and we cannot disturb her."

Mma Ramotswe gently cleared her throat. Mma Makutsi spun around and her face lit up. "Mma!" she cried, taking several quick, skittering steps toward her. "Oh, Mma, I am glad that you are back!"

fated_addiction

Jax was perched on the concrete front steps of St. Thomas with his knees draw up, shoulders hunched, and his chin low. He looked so small, so unlike his usual gangly swaggery self, that Tara paused for a long moment before quietly coming down one step, then two. Her sneakers made next to no noise as she sat down beside him, hip nearly brushing his.

Jax held the familiar top rocker in his hands, his thumb running across the TELLER patch just above the one that read PRESIDENT. Dried blood flaked off the leather under his hands. Tara wrapped both her arms around his near one and held on tight.

rushin_doll

"Yeah," hollered Urik Antares sarcastically, ducking a high-flying chair and rolling across the top of the bar. He hit the floor behind it hard enough that he knew he'd still be feeling the impact in his shoulder in the morning. "This was a great idea, Goncharova!"

Alex Goncharova, on the other hand, was laughing like a maniac. "Wasn't it?" she shouted back, and she popped over the top of the bar long enough to hurl a heavy beer stein in the general direction of the knot of combatants. She was grinning like a wild thing when she came back down, but she held an enormous bottle of blue-ribbon vodka in hand, which immediately made her a remarkably more suitable companion in Urik's eyes.

"My God," said one of the three judges seated up front. "It sounds like a herd of elephants back there." He raised his voice. "Can we have some professionalism backstage, please! We have a bloody television program to put on!"

Four stagehands carried on pushing a digital screen across the enormous stage. One worker followed along behind them, keeping an eye on trailing electrical wires. Just as the screen reached its place, a huge shaggy gray werewolf entered, stage left. Hellboy burst onstage a half a second behind.

There was a very long moment in which no one moved and no one said a word.

Hellboy and the werewolf stared out at the audience. Three-thousand four-hundred and one audience members -- and three judges -- stared back at them.

Rolling his eyes, Ian shoved two cards over to him across the rickety card table, and then his eyes slid to Ben, who had, Riley privately thought, the single worst poker face in the history of the game ever. He was currently frowning at his cards, like doing so would make them magically give up their secrets to him the way that historical artifacts seemed to. "Gates?" Ian prompted.

"Oh," said Ben, looking up. "I'll take, uh -- no, I'll take none. Thanks."

"You're really bad at this," Riley said, sitting with his feet up on Shaw's empty chair.

Ben glanced at him sideways. Dryly: "Thank you, Riley."

Riley tipped his invisible hat to him.