Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

Damn!

How much fun is: a) this Six Sentence Story bloghop, (in general) and 2) the opportunity to co-write a serial Six with Tom, (in particular)!

Previously (in Tom’s side of the narrative): Read this Six first (though the music should be enjoyable if divided between)

This closes our little story-ette. Good fun with characters, scenes, action and relationships.  Besides the simple fun of writing/co-writing a story, I’ve benefitted from the challenge, pushing (self-imposed) boundaries.

Tom. yo

Prompt word:

FORGE

“No, she’s ok; your instinct for people, well, Lou, I remain in awe…’ogni spada inizia nella fucina‘   no, not Danté, my great aunt Lucrezia, I’d hear it every time the nuns sent me home after losing a fight in the schoolyard;  yeah, right, [hushed laughter]  you tell her”.

The design specs for a vault usually do not include soft, comfortable flooring, as resistance to being breached is the priority, despite the discomfort of lying on the floor with, god-knows-why, currency on her chest, it was only the three-quarters of a lifetime spent hiding what she felt that allowed Rue DeNite to resist the impulse to wrinkle her brow at the incongruity of Rocco’s voice and his words.

Taking inventory of her physical condition was simpler and way more comfortable than the task of remembering what happened from the moment Dropped Apostrophe stepped in through the door she’d opened to him; that she’d been double-crossed by the superhero caused little, if any surprise, resentment or anger; her life experience confirmed two things: nearly every guy wanted to be a superhero and being a hero or a villain was in the eye of beholder.

The decision to open her eyes and deal with the most recent incongruity of her life was best executed by a slight fluttering of eyelids and a subtle tremor in her limbs the added benefit of this strategy was it permitted Rue to observe before being required to interact; the sight of Rocco crouching over her against a backdrop of a shiny wall full of busted out safe deposit boxes was the flash of light that heralded the thunder as the concern in his expression smoothed-over into his previous distant, slightly impersonal regard.

“If you promise to say, “What happened, where am I“, I promise to answer, “You’re safe now, everything will be alright.”

The steel walls of the metal vault should not have softened the tone of her erstwhile bodyguard, but from a place few were allowed access, Rue DeNite was able to distinguish between real and forged emotion; both man and woman laughed, sharing the moment.

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