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Page 2
“What, have I said something strange?”
“So? Is everything going according to plan?” the broad shouldered man asked, anxiously. He leaned over the desk at which was seated an attractive young woman. She didn’t answer, though. He face was stiff with concentration, eyes closed. Annoyed, the burly man turned away.
“Gently, gently,” a second woman said. “She’ll let us know as soon as she can. You must trust her.”
“The did nothing to assuage the large mans temper. “Willow. Please don’t tell me that you just suggested that I don’t trust Riddle. You are joking, right?”
“I’m not sure, when you pester her so,” Willow said calmly. “Why is it that no amount of training or practice can give you patience? You must calm down, Strong, you must!”
There was a pause as Strong made a visible effort to gather his emotions. “How can you ask me to be patient when at any moment her brain might fry?” His temper was definitely not in check. “Bang! Poof! No more Riddle. Not even you can claim that this doesn’t worry you. The sooner she snaps out of it, the sooner is finished, the sooner we can end this ridiculous bullshit and get on with our lives.”
Willow raised an eyebrow, still perfectly calm. “You go around in red underwear and a mask and throw buses at people. What ridiculous bullshit can you possibly be talking about?”
Seething, Strong turned towards the bulletin board on the far wall, plastered with newspaper articles, maps, handwritten notes, and old pieces of sticky gum. “You KNOW what I mean! That man! That bastard of a man and his overly obnoxious laugh, and his overly convoluted plans, and his overly oiled hair!” He gestured vaguely at the board, the strength of even that small movement causing a breeze that rippled the loosely attached clippings.
“And what of his slippery victories?” asked Willow, an ironic tone in her voice.
Rather than an immediate response, however, this comment produced a pause. “You’re deliberately provoking me, aren’t you, Willow,” Strong said, forcing calm in his voice, as if sounding calm could produce actual calm. “Why?”
Willow smiled in that mysterious way that she was known for. “You won’t become impatient again, will you?”
“Have I ever told you that I hate you sometimes?”
“So? Is everything going according to plan?” the broad shouldered man asked, anxiously. He leaned over the desk at which was seated an attractive young woman. She didn’t answer, though. He face was stiff with concentration, eyes closed. Annoyed, the burly man turned away.
“Gently, gently,” a second woman said. “She’ll let us know as soon as she can. You must trust her.”
“The did nothing to assuage the large mans temper. “Willow. Please don’t tell me that you just suggested that I don’t trust Riddle. You are joking, right?”
“I’m not sure, when you pester her so,” Willow said calmly. “Why is it that no amount of training or practice can give you patience? You must calm down, Strong, you must!”
There was a pause as Strong made a visible effort to gather his emotions. “How can you ask me to be patient when at any moment her brain might fry?” His temper was definitely not in check. “Bang! Poof! No more Riddle. Not even you can claim that this doesn’t worry you. The sooner she snaps out of it, the sooner is finished, the sooner we can end this ridiculous bullshit and get on with our lives.”
Willow raised an eyebrow, still perfectly calm. “You go around in red underwear and a mask and throw buses at people. What ridiculous bullshit can you possibly be talking about?”
Seething, Strong turned towards the bulletin board on the far wall, plastered with newspaper articles, maps, handwritten notes, and old pieces of sticky gum. “You KNOW what I mean! That man! That bastard of a man and his overly obnoxious laugh, and his overly convoluted plans, and his overly oiled hair!” He gestured vaguely at the board, the strength of even that small movement causing a breeze that rippled the loosely attached clippings.
“And what of his slippery victories?” asked Willow, an ironic tone in her voice.
Rather than an immediate response, however, this comment produced a pause. “You’re deliberately provoking me, aren’t you, Willow,” Strong said, forcing calm in his voice, as if sounding calm could produce actual calm. “Why?”
Willow smiled in that mysterious way that she was known for. “You won’t become impatient again, will you?”
“Have I ever told you that I hate you sometimes?”