Prince of Thieves (On temporary hold for major editing)

Chapter Two

Finnigan chuckles and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. "So, Ellie. How's it hangin'?" he says, walking over to a nearby tree and lazily leaning against it. A smirk rests tauntingly on his face as he sneers up at me.

Moving around to get a better look at him, I can feel the scratchy, coarse cords of the net scrape against my skin. Oh, he is so lucky I'm up here and he's down there. "Hilarious, Finnigan. Truly. You should host your own comedy routine at Wren's bar," I say dryly.

He regards me with an amused expression. "Really? Ya think so? Well I'm flattered, but I think I 'ave a pretty good thing goin' with being the Prince o' Thieves."

Shaking my head, I mutter. "Prince of Glomas more like it."

Finnigan presses a hand to his heart, his lips forming a pout. "Oh Elli, you wound me."

Wound him, my arse. That boy has enough ego to make a Telenoirian aristocrat look like a pansy. I only give him a scoff in reply as I close my eyes in an effort to relieve that familiar feeling of fury whenever I have to be in his presence.

Relax Estelle, he's not worth it. He's not worth feeding to a pack of hungry ogres, nor dumping in Mystica Lake and letting the sirens have at 'em. I give a snort at the last thought. Knowing him, he'd enjoy the last scenario, being the playboy he is.

A cool forest breeze streams through my red hair, and as it passes, it ruffles my black and red plaid vest. The leaves rustle gently, making my net sway side to side once more, bringing my focus back to the situation I'm currently in. I think I'm gonna be sick if I keep hangin' like this.

My eyes snap open and I turn my gaze to his cocky form. "Well? Aren't you going to get me outta this thing? Or am I just gonna keep hanging upside-down like an idiot?" I growl through gritted teeth.

Finnigan pushes off the tree trunk and proceeds to circle me, tilting his head here and there like he is admiring some kind of artwork. "Nah, not right now. I want to take a moment to enjoy this."

A snarl passes my lips and I send him a look that could freeze hell. "Finnigan Clyde! I swear to all that is good and holy, if you don't get me out of this trap, I swear I'll conformo ti meti'di excoro ti nuncanto treti vienando ti yatcha, retchandosoa vasta! Ti esi entronti'dem-pointayara di vi voleri gettare'ti-anya za ogrenzas."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down She-wolf. Ya know I can't understand one word outta that mouth 'o yours when you start talkin' Keeperian," he says, coming to a halt in front of me, clearly enjoying the predicament I've landed myself in.

"Get. Me. Out. Of. Here." I growl, switching back to Terrian.

His blue eyes sweep up and down my form and a smirk settles on his lips.

"You can get yourself out, you know? You do have a switchblade."

I let out a frustrated huff. "Ya. I know. The thing is, when a pack of gremlins trapped me in this damned thing, they took my knapsack from me, and the switchblade 'appened to be in there as well," I say as I jerk my head toward the pack of now passed-out gremlins.

Finnigan looks over his shoulder at the gremlins and lets out a low whistle. "Damn Ellie, you really let them have it, eh?" He walks over to one of the gremlins and picks it up by its little blue feet to examine it. "Your knockout bomb, I presume?" he inquires before promptly dropping the little cretin to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

A feeling of pride rolls through me at the mention of my knockout bomb. I've always been a quick thinker in sticky situations, and that knockout bomb just happened to come out of one. Who knew that a mixture of Draconian swamp gas and copper dust, mixed in just the right amounts, can be powerful enough to confuse a fire spitter and just nauseating enough to take down a pack of gremlins.