Basically, I have this urge to prompt a fic where Marcone meets Tim Drake from the Batman comics. I've resisted, because I doubt anyone would fill it! I just really think it'd be freaking amusing to see Marcone meet the world's creepiest and least in need of protection teenager and all. So since we have 'open prompt'...a brief meeting. _________________ Dresden chose the worst places to hold important, 'secret' meetings.
Take, for instance, his latest choice.
The Field Museum, in the shadow of the skeletal remains of the Tyrannosaurus known as 'Sue'. In the middle of the day, surrounded by middle and high school students on school field trips.
I leaned back from one passing group, dodging curious looks and sticky fingers. Mr. Hendricks didn't need to move. The children flowed around him at a good distance, like a river breaking around a boulder. Dresden was late, of course.
My eyes wandered across the room, touching on each individual. No one seemed to be doing anything out of the ordinary until my attention lit on one lone figure. He was a young man, slender and rather short statured. His black hair was slicked back except for the front which he had stuck up like a porcupine. He appeared to be flowing with one of the high school groups, but in fact was not. He trailed along with them only so long as they were going in his desired direction.
In the palm of one hand, mostly concealed against his body he held a flat, matte black box and he split his attention between it and his surroundings. I made a small movement and brought Mr. Hendricks' attention to the boy. It was possible the child was merely skipping school, wandering around to avoid detection and that the device he held was an iPod or something similar. I wasn't close enough to identify it.
Ten more minutes passed and I signaled to Mr. Hendricks that we would be leaving. Something had clearly happened to hold Dresden up this long. Perhaps he'd managed to set himself on fire this time. More likely though, he was in the process of digging himself a very deep hole.
This, of course, was when a dozen masked men ran into the room, automatic weapons raised and began shouting for everyone to get down. A short burst of fire from one of the men made the people around us scream and drop to the floor, hands covering their heads. All except for myself, Mr. Hendricks, and the child I'd noted earlier.
He turned to look at the men, his mirror sunglasses taking it all in before he slowly knelt. Hendricks moved closer to me, his gun out but down to the side, invisible. I slipped a knife out from its sheath and tapped the blade against my thigh. Already I could hear the men I'd left outside moving over the ear buds we wore.
There was a sudden squeal of static over the ear piece, interference and then the power in the museum cut out. People screamed again, children's voices, high and frightened. Someone, one of the masked men shouted a curse and there was another burst of gunfire.
It cut off abruptly, capped by a gurgling scream. I could feel Hendricks' body close to mine. It wasn't us. And it was entirely too quiet and not on fire enough to be Dresden.
More noise, flashes of light and heavy thumps in the dark.
Less then five minutes after the lights went out they struggled back into life. The men were all down, unconscious and bound in a tight little group. Teachers and tour guides realized they were no longer under attack and moved their charges out, running.
"You should probably put that knife away, Mr. Marcone." I turned, only the timbre of the voice keeping me from throwing the blade as I did so. The boy stood beside me, out of arm's reach. He'd pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and was watching me with pale blue eyes. He smiled, and I feared it would crack his face it looked so false. "The police should be here soon, and I don't think you want to have to explain the weapons." He nodded at Mr. Hendricks and his gun.
There was a fresh bruise forming across one cheek and his knuckles were scraped. This close I could see that he was older than I'd originally thought, at least eighteen. My god, he was tiny, but his frame was tight with muscle.
"Young man, what are you?"
"Alvin Draper. Tourist." He grinned, this time making it seem natural. Smug and a bit amused. Sirens in the near distance and the police burst in, shouting. I trusted that Hendricks had concealed his weapon as I turned and slipped my knife back up my sleeve. When I glanced back, the boy was gone.
In all the excitement of the attempted hostage taking, the museum didn't realize that they were missing a small chunk of rock with a cave drawing of a stylized bat on it until three weeks later.
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Re: OPEN PROMPT - ficlet for myself
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 03:06 am (UTC)(link)_________________
Dresden chose the worst places to hold important, 'secret' meetings.
Take, for instance, his latest choice.
The Field Museum, in the shadow of the skeletal remains of the Tyrannosaurus known as 'Sue'. In the middle of the day, surrounded by middle and high school students on school field trips.
I leaned back from one passing group, dodging curious looks and sticky fingers. Mr. Hendricks didn't need to move. The children flowed around him at a good distance, like a river breaking around a boulder. Dresden was late, of course.
My eyes wandered across the room, touching on each individual. No one seemed to be doing anything out of the ordinary until my attention lit on one lone figure. He was a young man, slender and rather short statured. His black hair was slicked back except for the front which he had stuck up like a porcupine. He appeared to be flowing with one of the high school groups, but in fact was not. He trailed along with them only so long as they were going in his desired direction.
In the palm of one hand, mostly concealed against his body he held a flat, matte black box and he split his attention between it and his surroundings. I made a small movement and brought Mr. Hendricks' attention to the boy. It was possible the child was merely skipping school, wandering around to avoid detection and that the device he held was an iPod or something similar. I wasn't close enough to identify it.
Ten more minutes passed and I signaled to Mr. Hendricks that we would be leaving. Something had clearly happened to hold Dresden up this long. Perhaps he'd managed to set himself on fire this time. More likely though, he was in the process of digging himself a very deep hole.
This, of course, was when a dozen masked men ran into the room, automatic weapons raised and began shouting for everyone to get down. A short burst of fire from one of the men made the people around us scream and drop to the floor, hands covering their heads. All except for myself, Mr. Hendricks, and the child I'd noted earlier.
He turned to look at the men, his mirror sunglasses taking it all in before he slowly knelt. Hendricks moved closer to me, his gun out but down to the side, invisible. I slipped a knife out from its sheath and tapped the blade against my thigh. Already I could hear the men I'd left outside moving over the ear buds we wore.
There was a sudden squeal of static over the ear piece, interference and then the power in the museum cut out. People screamed again, children's voices, high and frightened. Someone, one of the masked men shouted a curse and there was another burst of gunfire.
It cut off abruptly, capped by a gurgling scream. I could feel Hendricks' body close to mine. It wasn't us. And it was entirely too quiet and not on fire enough to be Dresden.
More noise, flashes of light and heavy thumps in the dark.
Less then five minutes after the lights went out they struggled back into life. The men were all down, unconscious and bound in a tight little group. Teachers and tour guides realized they were no longer under attack and moved their charges out, running.
"You should probably put that knife away, Mr. Marcone." I turned, only the timbre of the voice keeping me from throwing the blade as I did so. The boy stood beside me, out of arm's reach. He'd pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and was watching me with pale blue eyes. He smiled, and I feared it would crack his face it looked so false. "The police should be here soon, and I don't think you want to have to explain the weapons." He nodded at Mr. Hendricks and his gun.
There was a fresh bruise forming across one cheek and his knuckles were scraped. This close I could see that he was older than I'd originally thought, at least eighteen. My god, he was tiny, but his frame was tight with muscle.
"Young man, what are you?"
"Alvin Draper. Tourist." He grinned, this time making it seem natural. Smug and a bit amused. Sirens in the near distance and the police burst in, shouting. I trusted that Hendricks had concealed his weapon as I turned and slipped my knife back up my sleeve. When I glanced back, the boy was gone.
In all the excitement of the attempted hostage taking, the museum didn't realize that they were missing a small chunk of rock with a cave drawing of a stylized bat on it until three weeks later.
Re: OPEN PROMPT - ficlet for myself
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 03:14 am (UTC)(link)True words. True, true words.
Re: OPEN PROMPT - ficlet for myself
Re: OPEN PROMPT - ficlet for myself