Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


May 24th 2017 in Microfiction

“I love that you’d consider being a guardian,” she said, moving through the paperwork at lightning speed. “What kind of assignment would interest you?” He sat, pensive, for a moment. “The awkward; those who believe you are either born with savior faire or not (and are doomed if not); those that feel unworthy when good fortune arrives because, deep down, they consider themselves undeserving and expect nothing other than fighting and losing.” “Wow,” she said, pausing in her task. “We have millions of those cases.” “Of course you do,” he said, leaning forward. “And wouldn’t it be lovely to simply take care of that?” “Yes … of course, yes,” she said, slightly distracted and blushing. “Expedient help,” he said softly, “expertly given.” “You’ll report to me,” she said, not looking up, shoving the papers towards him to be signed. “Perfect,” he replied, signing them without looking away from her. “When do we start?” “Today,” she answered, extending her wings and folding them back again. “You’ll be briefed, outfitted, and then we’ll talk again.” “I look forward to it … ?” he asked with a smile. “M,” she said. “You may call me ‘M’.” “It really is like coming home,” he said, with that accent and those eyes.

(In memory of Sir Roger Moore)

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