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

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit

Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls’, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (If you’re just starting, this link will provide the whole story.)

Most previously   …from Tom. and, now following our first Six this week, we continue the tale.

Now, as we’re sure you surmised from our peculiar subtitle, we up to some hijinks. Given that we’re approaching the climax of our Serial Six, we decided to switch desks! Tom is writing ‘our’ storyline, (in which Rocco is protagonist), and we’re taking over the Rue & Moonbeam narrative. For a while, at least.

Prompt Word:

TONIC

“I’m just outside the main doors, hurry the hell up, we’re on the move.”

Stepping into the cold morning air, Rue DeNite laughed at the sight of Moonbeam leaning over the empty front passenger seat of a brand new, shiny metallic green, something-or-other brand SUV; as soon as she clicked her seatbelt, he pulled away from the terminal, drove past what appeared to be a giant acorn sculpture and headed northeast.

Rue leaned against the passenger door after checking the GPS display in the dashboard; there were two starred highlights: the airport, receding along the illuminated route in the animated map and, on the destination end, ‘Tunglfjőrður’, with a label “Mooncross Industries’ at the bottom of the screen, Estimated Travel Time: 1 hour 50 minutes blinking in red.

“You’re mad at me, that’s what’s going on here,” in premeditated response to Rue’s assertion, Moonbeam furrowed his brow, as if his concentration on the nearly empty road was all that stood between their success and the fate of the world;

“While I’m impressed with that business of dark energy shooting out of your arm and being able to make people, like, suddenly fall sleep, when it comes to boosting cars and other forms of transport, of all the Supervillains I know, ‘You’re my all-time favorite‘;” Rue, pretending to admire the snow-covered mountains took hope in a slight tremor to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean, but since you brought it up, am I safe thinking that under all that white denim, you’re not wearing some kind of stripper-secret-weapon that, when we get cornered, you’ll start to twirl in the face of our foes?”

Taking off her jacket, Rue turned in her seat, added an unprovable arc to her spine and, with the hint of a side-to-side shoulder motion, brushed a button on her phone; Bob Seger’s voice filled the car, “They’d kill to make the cut“; laughter once again proving itself to be the best tonic.