With a very convenient photo above.


          "I apologize Miss Nightshade," Simon Zackery softly says, leaning back in his chair relaxingly to appear nonchalant. His muscles give away his true emotion though. They're tense. Stiff. Like the Tinman before his joints were oiled. "But you're going to have to repeat that to me again."

          This man is severely trying my patience. What idiot needs me to explain a simple predicament again after such a thorough report? Apparently this one does. Maybe I should've checked that contract for 'Warning: Potential possibilities of insufferable, thick, brick-headed employers and co-workers. Sign with caution' in fine print. Not like if I backtrack now he'll take me to court or anything though, pretty sure both of us would plainly be arrested on sight.

          "I could write a novel if you want," I sarcastically suggest, tapping my chin in feigned thought as I ponder "I can see it now. 'The Great McDonald's Escapade' or 'Falling for the Enemy'. See what I did there? Because Rogers fell in our fight—ˮ

          His sigh is sharp enough to finely cut through my derisive babbling like one of my katanas. "Your humour and sarcasm is not always appropriately placed, nor is it always desired. It does not hurt to present some respect to your superiors and-or employers when they inquire a question as simple as that. So, I will not repeat myself again Miss Nightshade. What. Happened?"

          My eyes narrow to razor sharp slits, the dangerous glint in them all too similar to a dagger in the moonlight. 'What happened?' he says. 'I will not repeat myself again Miss Nightshade' he says. Well maybe, jackass, I don't feel like repeating myself again. Ya consider that you condescending piece of Bildshnipe crap?

          I exhale temperamentally, tongue in cheek. "It was a bright and sunny day in Seattle. Birds were chirping, children were playing, people were stuffing their faces with grease and calorie filled food that may or may not give them heart diseases.... all was well with the world. But everything changed when the fire nation attacked—ˮ


          " – and by fire nation I mean one Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm. Only the Nightingale mastered all four elements. Only she could stop the ruthless and arrogant super heroes known as the Fantastic Four and the Avengers. But when the world needed her most, she vanished down a dark alleyway with her best friend, only to be attacked by America's golden boy – the Fourth of July stripper – Captain America."

          Despite appearing peeved at me, a prominent quirk of the lips twitches at the edge of his mouth at my adoring nicknames.

          "We didn't make it out alive," I continue, feigning a strangled sob whilst I characteristically bite my knuckles and dramatically glance away. "Lillian Nightshade and her faithful companion perished in that damp, dank alleyway. And may their ghosts forever haunt those unfortunate souls who dare taking a short cut down that alley."

          Simon tiredly exhales, his head falling into his hands with his elbows positioned on the austere, oak table. He soothingly massages his temple, as if mentally attempting to will away his migraine. "Find a happy place Zackery, find a happy place."

          "Showers work," I chirpily suggest, the remnants of my annoyance melting away to reveal my sarcastic and immature public/work mask. "They really dig into all the tight spots and soothe the mind, preparing it for an alleviating meditation state – or whatever other hippie bullshit you can think of."

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