Story [Multi fandom drabbles and NADs] Small Time Latino Arms Dealers, beware...

Backstrom drabble - Flex​

NSWFF prompt challenge​

Lieutenant Backstrom was already talking before he reached the bodies, "I am declaring this crime scene a hom-" He hesitated, spotting the flattened male DB (dead body), under the lion. "What, a lion just fell out of the sky?"

Sergeant Neidermeyer, the team's dapper forensic liaison, kneeling beside them, looked up. "If I may, Lieutenant?"

Backstrom sighed, long-sufferingly. "Can't make this any worse."

"Sir, there is a new craze, FLEX. Fwow a Lion, EXpertly. They drug a lion-"

"They'd have to."

"Load it into a trebuchet."

"Do they realise 'throw' is spelt with a 't'?"

Neidermeyer shrugged. "Apparently not, sir."

 

Thank you for commenting, Mira_Jade.

I was originally going to comment on the global issue of landmines left behind in former war zones (Find Landmines, EXplode them), but sitting at the keyboard, I only felt like doing a drabble, and that idea was too long for one.

 

Why Starfleet Cells Don't Have Replicators​

​

NSWFF Challenge: Noisome​

The grey jump-suited prisoner, whose only crime had been to protest the handing over of settled human territories to the Cardassians, raised his eyebrows upon sighting the one item in his new cell besides the wall-mounted bed.

"Ooh, a replicator. In for a penny, in for a pound. Type Two phaser, please."

Unable to comply, the computer's feminine tones advised.

"Doesn't do phasers." The guard advised.

"Yes, I gathered that." The prisoner nodded and skipped down the wish-list a few places. "Dog ****. Hot."

The replicator obediently hummed as a vertical column of light slowly coalesced into a brimming glass...

 

Love your funny Star Trek reply

 

Backstrom: The Noah situation​

The corpulent, scruffy police lieutenant Everett Backstrom, stepped out of the rickety freight elevator that served the building where the deceased had lived.

His eyebrows went up as his gaze roved left to right across the huge, brightly illuminated by natural light, loft apartment; opposite end of the habitation spectrum from his dingy digs in the bowels of an old fishing boat at Portland Harbour.

His petite, redhead sergeant, Nicole Gravely, looking to him more like she should be at Middle School than overseeing a suspicious death, stepped over to him. “Morning, Lieutenant.” She half-turned to indicate a stiff, barefooted body sitting in a black leather executive chair sitting by itself on a slightly raised daiz, several metres before a big 50-something inch flat screen television. “Victim’s name is Noah. He is a film editor and digital artist.”

“No last name?” He enquired sarcastically. Nobody had just one name.

“No last name.” She confirmed, looking up at him from below the level of his shoulder.

“What, just ‘Noah’?” Backstrom scowled. “Like ‘Prince’, and ‘Cher’? What is it with artists these days, so pretentious that they can’t bothered with a second name.” He shook his head. “Who found the body?”

​

Sergeant Nicole Gravely and Lieutenant Backstrom at the Noah crime scene​

“His girlfriend, and apparent student, Beth. She walked in thirty minutes ago, and found him in the chair, called 911.”

“Why do you first responders always say that? Who else was she going to call, International Rescue?” Backstrom took some steps into the room, seeing more members of his team about the place. His dapper forensic liaison, Sergeant Neidermeyer, was dropping to one knee before the body, taking photographs with a camera affixed with a large reflective flash dish.

He spied an extremely familiar-looking dark-haired girl further to the right, sitting on the edge of a double bed, a puffy white duvet, clearly pulled from the bed, clutched around her shoulders. She looked downcast and pre-occupied. She also looked uncannily familiar, which certainly did not please him.

“Oh great. What’s the Fed’s interest in this case?”

“Feds, Lieutenant?” Graveley echoed, stepping close as she looked up at him.

“Never mind, I’ll find out myself.” He strolled purposefully up to the young woman, taking in the state of the apartment as he went. She glanced up as he approached. “So what’s N.C.I.S.’s interest in this case?”

She peered up at him. “Excuse me?”

“This Noah guy wasn’t a US sailor, he wasn’t an active Marine.” He gestured to the expansive sheen of still water between the television and the seated body. “Granted, there is water present, but surely not enough to interest Navy cops. Come to think of it, Miss Scuito, aren’t you guys based in D.C.? What’re you doing up here in Portland?”

She huffed in annoyance. “I’m not Abby Scuito; I just look like her actress. Surely you get that Abby’s a character in a tv show. C’mon!”

“Lieutenant?” Neidermeyer called.

Backstrom glanced back towards him.

“That’s Beth, Mr Noah’s girlfriend.”

“Oh right,” Backstrom sneered down at the witness, his realisation of the error, quickly overtaken by what he thought of the revelation. “You two were bumping uglies, huh?”

“Ugh.” Beth turned her gaze away from him.

“Lieutenant?” Graveley whispered harshly from his elbow, trying in vain as usual to rein him in. She switched tactics, seeking instead to redirect him. “Why don’t you go and look at the body? See if this is a homicide or not.”

“I’ll go, Graveley, but only because I want to.” He stepped over to the chair, while behind him, his sergeant gave the girlfriend a sympathetic smile.

Backstrom rounded the chair, and drew back in genuine horror and disgust at the vic’s (victim’s) twisted face, rolled up eyes, and chapped lips that looked black with cyanosis, although that would be a blue colour. “Yeesh!”

Neidermayer took the exclamation as a cue to state what he thought had happened, from the clues he had found since arriving. “The body was positioned in the chair, Lieutenant, but I believe he was carried here from halfway to the bedroom. You can see rubbed patches on the tops of his feet from where they rubbed on the floor while he was being dragged back here, and there are lines of corresponding skin particles on the floor. There are also what look like small hand prints burnt into his arms, though I am not sure how that would be achieved.”

While the forensic man made his thoughts known, Backstrom’s gaze had fallen to the floor, to the spread of dark water before the TV, and a pair of still glistening damp footprints that should have evaporated by now, at the edge of the raised platform.

He studied them, noting the heels, the pads just behind the toes, and the fainter bridges from the arches.
“Neidermayer, have you taken any pictures of his face yet?”

The sergeant climbed to his feet, using one gloved hand to brush himself down, while the other held the heavy camera. “Several. Quite disturbing, isn’t it?”

“Open the camera, let me see some of the frames.”

The liaison frowned. “Buuut, that will expose the film.”

“The body is not going anywhere;” Everett waved at the seated figure alongside them. “you can take more pics afterwards.”

“Well, alright.” The reluctant police detective held the camera up with both hands, the back of it facing him, clicked open a flap and used one hand to unspool the frames he had taken, with both men standing shoulder to shoulder, examining the film. “Well, that’s odd. Film must have gotten corrupted.”

Backstrom stepped back from his subordinate and the seated corpse. “Nooooooooope.” He drawled, then raised his voice so that everyone could hear his pronouncement. “Everyone, stop what you are doing. We are leaving. Graveley-” He shot a look towards the bundled Nicole and indicated the woman on the bed. “-bring the girl.”

Graveley took a couple steps towards him, then bent slightly forwards at the waist, her woollen-gloved fists at her sides. “We cannot just abandon a crime scene. Especially not before the coroner gets here.”

The senior detective glared across at her. “We’re ******* doing it.” He waved to the mess of the entertainment area behind him and Neidermayer. “Big TV, water from unknown source, Noah left with a face not even a mother would love; this is that video tape curse, that slitch from the stone well-”

“Oh my god, that’s an urban legend!”

“Urban legend, my ass.” He growled. “I bet you a day’s vacation that if we get Paquet-” He referred to their civilian analyst Frenchwoman back at the station, “-to go through this guy’s phone records, that we find a phone call from an unknown number exactly seven days before whatever the TOD (time of death) was.”

He looked around, noting that the cops and techs were moving slowly towards the freight elevator and front door, exchanging looks. They were moving too slowly for his liking though.

“Come on, people! Step it up!” He urged, then whispered to the forensic liaison. “Neidermayer, phone Paquet; I want the contact numbers for the fire-bugs that we interviewed on that arson case.” He made a beeline for the filling elevator, wanting to be inside for the first trip back downstairs.

He hoped the building’s owners had paid their fire insurance.

The End​

 

Thank you, Mira_Jade.

This is set after a final twist scene of horror movie, The Ring, and the vic' and witness' names are as IMDB named them.

Although I have "survived" five of these movies, Japanese and US, writing this still gave me goosebumps.

I think Noah was investigating the videotape for his ex-wife journalist, and watching the collage of odd images triggers a curse that kills in seven days.

Not nice at all.

Edit:

I think I misinterpreted what you were asking, and took even longer to come back to you.

So, if this is related to Neidermayer and Backstrom looking at the exposed film, in Ring lore, the faces of anyone infected by the curse, looks distorted or whorled when captured by photography, or seen on a television or CCTV monitor. Backstrom saw that effect on the shots of the vic's face on the frames of the exposed film, and knew what it meant, while Neidermayer assumed that the film had gotten corrupted.

 

Absence drabble​

Anton loved the peace and quiet of the woods, far from civilization.

His tent was set up in the clearing, thick woods all around, full of the peaceful sounds of all the fauna that he, during years as an outdoors-man, man and boy, had learned to recognise, like if he stopped to listen, he-

Okay, that was odd. There was no sound. There was ALWAYS sounds in the woods.

Everything had chosen that moment to shut the heck up.

Had he missed a memo?

The stench of wet dog hit him, but by then, he was heading for his truck.

 

No sound; glad he could get away.

 

Thank you for your comments, you two.

I think of this one as a subtle public information (safety) film.

 

Backstrom: The Noah situation​

That's a very clever twist! I also like the bit about fire bugs and fire insurance at the end. ​

​

Absence drabble​

A clever PSA (public service announcement) and creative use of the prompt. But now I want to know what happens next....​

 

Squabble Over Cappuccino​

NSWFF Challenge Prompt = "Squabble"​

Summary: There are some guano conspiracy theories on the internet, this is one of them.
Characters: Detective Sergeant Nicole Gravely (Special Crimes unit, Backstrom); Captain Mary Marvel, a Marvel comic character I recently saw a video on.
Apologies: To fans of Captain Marvel. I don't mean to impugn or disrespect her, I just don't give a **** since I don't know the character.

​

Nicole paid the woman at the till and carried the two mugs of cappuccino over to her coffee companion guarding the circular wooden table.

The sergeant was in a sleeveless black mini-dress paired with blue jeans, whilst her companion was in a mostly blue neck-to-ankle spandex item, but her shoulders were in red, and the two vibrant colours were separated by a twin horizontal yellow bars that zigzagged over the blonde woman's upper arms and chest, and presumably round to the level of her shoulder blades.

"Here you go, Cap'n." Nicole said, setting the cardboard tray down, and sliding one mug across to her friend, who was leaning towards an open laptop that she was typing on, trying to find something on a popular video-sharing site.

"Thanks!" Marvel turned the laptop around so that they could both see the screen, and grinned triumphantly.

The screen showed two pictures side-by-side, but if it was a spot-the difference, this one was going to be ridiculously easy. The left picture was an aerial shot of a craggy sloped table-topped mountain that stirred an ancient memory at the back of Nicole's mind, and the right image was an obvious tree stump with the radiating shades of light and dark brown in the wood that showed its' age, and surrounded by verdant green grass, and some dead leaves.

Gravely grabbed the back her chair through the fabric of the black jacket hung over it, and pulled it out from the table so she could sit and put her knees under it.

"Close Encounters." She decided, nodding as her hands clasped her mug for warmth.

"Huh?" Marvel queried, this not being the response she had expected.

"That looks like the mountain from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a film from long ago. The last century in fact. Is it real?"

"What? Of course it's real. I've flown over it; it's across in Wyoming."

"Wow." Nicole leaned closer. She recalled an actor that she wanted to say was Richard Dreyfuss, building a facsimile of the mountain out of mud or clay on his kitchen table, with his wife thinking he was nuts. "It was so odd-looking that I didn't think it was a real mountain." She finally gave some attention to the other image. "So what's with the tree stump?"

"Don't you see?!" Mary gushed excitedly. "Look at them!"

Nicole gave her drink a tentative sip then flicked her eyes between the images. her face creased into a frown under her copper-coloured bangs. "One is a mountain, one is a tree stump. Not seeing the correlation."

Captain Marvel pressed a finger to the image on the left, the pliable screen reacting to the pressure with faint grey curves radiating around her fingernail. "But that isn't a mountain, that is the fossilised stump of an ancient tree."

The redhead peered in surprise at the buxom super-heroine. "How do you mean, exactly?"

"You think that flat top is by accident?" Mary whispered excitedly, "That it occurred naturally? Oh, open your eyes, Nicki. Look how similar it is to the tree stump. The rough sides tapering up from a wide base; and you can see where the roots are partially visible where they disappear under the ground. Archeologists have already found encient tree bark so old that it has turned to stone." She moved the hand from the screen to grasp Gravely's bare forearm where it rested on the table. "Do you remember the Tree of Life from Avatar?"

Nicole leaned back warily, gently pulling her arm from under the other woman's hand. "Frankly, no. What was it?"

"The Tree of Life was a massive tree so huge that those blue aliens had their villages in its branches."

"Really? I seem to remember riding through fields on their six-legged horse thingies." The detective allowed.

"That was how big the Tree of Life was. So huge that it formed actual terrain for them."

"And you are saying that that mountain is like this Tree of Life of yours?"

"Not just that one; ALL mountains!"

"All mountains?! Oh come on, think about this sensibly, Mary! If they were all trees, where would they get their nutrients from? The planet is only so big, it would never be able to support so many trees of...of-" Gravely waved a hand at the laptop, which had already gone to screensaver, "-that magnitude." You mad bitch. She added silently, trusting that Mary Marvel wasn't telepathic.

"Don't let them pull the wool over your eyes, Nikki!" Marvel pressed.

"My eyes? What about yours? What happened to the 'S' part of SHAZAM, that Wisdom of Solomon of yours? Did he really believe this ****?" Gravely leaned forward herself. "Think it through; if you are suggesting that all the mountains in the world are what is left of ancient trees, and that someone cut them down, where's the wood? Why aren't there big sod-off pieces of timber stretched across various continents. And another thing, surely there would be scars on the landscape, elongated versions of the Grand Canyon, for instance."

Mary Marvel opened her mouth to counter-argue, then shut it. "Actually, that is a good point." She had the power of Flight, after all. Surely she would have noticed those very same mountains having very straight rivers going from them where the rainwater had collected over the aeons.

Gravely stared at her friend in some relief. "Riiight!"

Marvel's blonde tresses flicked over her shoulders as she shook her head and sat back, her chair creaking with the movement as she regarded Gravely with a look approaching awe. "Wow, you are like Scully off the X-Files." She paused, contemplatively. "So, any new men in your life?"

Gravely blinked and micro-shook her own head at the sudden change of subject, and prepared to tell her friend about the city lawyer who she had blamed for setting back her career after a stint in Vice as an undercover. There had been a change in circumstance, and a dinner date with him was planned.

The End​

---

Notes:
Thanks to Google for the description of Captain Marvel.
Thanks to Wikipedia for the Wisdom of Solomon info, and Marvel's list of powers.
Grudging acknowledgment to Youtube for the thing about trees and mountains. Sergeant Gravely carried my arguments on the subject.

 

That's an...interesting....theory I'm glad Nicole could set her straight!

It's fun to see characters from different fandoms just causally hanging out together.

 

Nice discussion and story with all the fandoms

 

To Turn Back Time​

NSWFF Prompt = Turn Back​

Note: I think this started out well, but by the end, it became a pain to complete, so...whatever.


Owen Harper, former Torchwood operative, watched from behind the gravestone as the three remarkably unobservant people before him, two men and a redheaded woman, celebrated their triumph over something, hugged, declared an intention to go to the pub, then generally headed across the shorn green grass towards the wooden blue shape that Owen had learned was called the TARDIS.

One man, not looking that much older than his fellow male, but dressed in the tweed suit and bow tie of a certain type of school teacher, pulled ahead of the pair, reaching the TARDIS just as a curly-haired woman in a dark, long-sleeved tea dress, emerged from behind it, and together they started to sponge a chalky substance off the time craft’s flanks.

The latter two had almost reached the ship, when the taller male, faltered his gait, turning to investigate one of the gravestones that he had passed.

Which was when Owen launched up from behind his cover and swept the black sack over the man’s head, making him shriek in surprise.

“Rory!” The redheaded young woman, crumpled tan anorak over a stripey top, yelled as she turned towards the shout.

The older woman, sternly levelled a pistol at them with one hand whilst holding her blue sponge with the other.

“Easy there Tiger,” Owen tried to reassure the taller male, “I’m just getting you to the TARDIS.”

“I was going there anyway!” Rory Williams exclaimed, trying to move in the other’s grip, although his captor was expertly holding him slightly off balance, leaning him to the rear of his centre of gravity.

“Yeah, but your eyes were wandering.”

“It’s a graveyard,” Rory pointed out, “not a brothel.”

“I wish it were a brothel.” Owen muttered to himself, although his face was very close to Rory’s right ear, so the other heard him through the sack. “Trust me, this is intended to be a rescue.”

“Well, I’m getting a distinct kidnap-py vibe.”

“Look, you need to start walking forward, otherwise we’ll be standing here all day.”

“Get your hands off him!” The ungainly looking school teacher was coming from the direction of the TARDIS.

“Stay behind me, Honey.” The curly-haired female warned.

“River, put that gun away; you’ll hit Rory. Amy stay back.” The man came almost toe-to-toe to the swaying duo. “I have warned you people before; trying to get at me through the people I love-”

Owen sighed. “Look, mate, I’m not trying to get at you; not trying to harm any of you; I’m just trying to get this friend of yours into your time capsule without giving him the opportunity to look around.”

“I am not your mate, I am the Doctor. And this is a free country, although-” He stuck his wet tongue out and down over his bottom lip as if tasting something, then pulled it back into his mouth. “-this is America, so it-” He paused again, their respective positions shifting enough that he could see behind the shoulder of Owen’s blue-and-white striped jumper.

The Doctor backed off a couple of paces and pointed, his eyes widening in fear. “Angel! There is a Weeping Angel behind them!”

River Song pivotted, her gun pointing at the grey stone statue of the female in long flowing gown, one arm raised to Owen’s back, with index finger pointed. It’s beautific, carved face was marred by a grin filled with very sharp teeth, triangular like a shark’s.

“Tosh!” Owen yelped, his voice high now, “Kate! I need eyes on a Weeping Angel, my six o’clock.”

Two women in brown leather coats jumped up from behind further gravestones, one to the left, one to the right, their handguns aimed in the indicated direction, covering the discovered Angel.

Toshiko Sato yelled across the cemetery to her NCIS counterpart. “Kate, keep an eye on it while I do a 360.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t blink.”

“I said, I’ve got it.”

Sato looked pointedly beyond Kate Todd, making sure there were no suspicious-looking statues behind her, then turned slowly on the spot, checking around and beyond the people they were here to protect, to her own right, behind herself, and back around to the original Angel.

Owen was keenly aware of everyone’s attention ominously focussed on a point just behind him. “Listen Mate, be a good idea if you walked forward.”

“I would,” Rory started sarcastically, “but I don’t know if you had noticed; someone put a bag over my head.”

“So?! Haven’t you ever played Blind Man’s Bluff.” The former Torchwood operative referenced a traditional childhood game, which he was pretty sure involved being blindfolded.

“Amy!” Kate called, also eager to get this over with, watching as the girl, apparently shocked into silence, glanced her way, with a wave of her long copper tresses. She was in a slight crouch, looking like she was in thrall to her fight or flight emotions, eager to get out of here, but unwilling to leave her husband behind. “Amy, take Rory’s hand, and guide him towards the TARDIS. Once we get you close enough, Owen will remove the sack, and you can all be on your way.”

Owen felt like there was a red-hot spot in the middle of his back, now that he was stuck with a Weeping Angel right behind him, as identified by the Doctor, and with his temporary captive, Rory, refusing to move forwards.
“C’mon mate, move forwards. I will guide you, as well as your girlfriend once she is over her fright. You will be back in the TARDIS in no time at all.” He looked down and lightly toed him in the back of the heel to remind him how to walk.

“Ow! Stop kicking me!”

“Well walk forward then!” Owen called into his ear, having lost patience with the young man. Beyond dealing with medical emergencies, he was long past caring what happened to people, or how they felt, beyond the colleagues that he worked with.

Slowly, jerkingly, Rory started walking, with Owen guiding him with nudges and sharp directions into his ear, whilst ahead of the both of them, the Doctor and Amy backed up, whilst those holding guns, River Song to Owen’s front and right; Toshiko to his right; and Kate to his left; variously covered him, the Angel behind, and the Time Lady herself.

Owen noticed out of his peripheral vision, Tosh resisting the urge to blink. “Kate, cover the Angel!” He ordered, one hand crimping the sack at the back of Rory’s neck whilst gently pushing him forwards. “Tosh needs to rest her eyes.”

The former NCIS agent swung her pistol, a SIG-Sauer P228, away from River to aim it at the ominous grey statue.

Tosh looked down and closed her eyes for a slow count of three, then raised them again to join her in watching the Angel.

“Doctor, what should I do?” Amy enquired, her voice still high with fear.

The Time Lord glanced from Amy, to Rory, to the blue box behind him, and then back to her. “Well, they are leading Rory to the TARDIS, Amy.” He observed.

“So, should I take his hand?”

“YES!” Kate confirmed loudly without looking at her.

“No, Mother.” River advised. “You would be giving them another hostage.”

“Hostage? This is supposed to be a rescue.” Owen set his face in a stern grimace at the way this was going, although, silver lining, they were at least moving, increasing the gap between his back and the Weeping Angel with each stumbling step.

“How,” Rory muffled through the bag, “is this a rescue?”

“You all escaped a paradox in 19-something New York, but it is not quite over, as that Angel is here to prove. By being too inquisitive, between here and the TARDIS, you are about to set off another paradox that will separate you and Amy from the Doctor, forever.”

Tosh piped up, gaze and gun aimed at the gowned female frozen in rock. “Amy, River, Doctor; look carefully. Apart from stopping Rory looking around, what are we actually doing to him?”

“Well, he is kicking me in the heels.”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t get a drokking move on.” Abruptly, Owen tired of the situation, and breathed deliberately into the spot where the shape of Rory’s right ear was visible against the stretched dark fabric. “Listen Mate, start walking a darn sight quicker or I’m taking the bag off your head and leaving you to it.”

“Owen!” Toshiko exclaimed, a shocked look on her face.

“Leave it, Tosh. I’ve had enough.”

Rory took another slow step, cynically countering, “You’ll leave me alone if I stop moving? Why would I believe that?”

“Try me.”

The nurse planted his feet and leaned back. “Alright, called your bluff”

“Bye then. There is the wife of a BAU agent who I’m sure will be more grateful if I try to save her life.” Owen whipped the sack away from Rory’s face, and tapped buttons on the leather-banded vortex manipulator strapped to his wrist, within a second, his form glowed bright blue, then shrank to a point like a deep sea submersible catastrophically succumbing to water pressure, vanishing altogether.

Rory blinked rapidly and rubbed at his eyes to help them re-adjust to the afternoon light, stepping back a pace as Amy rushed to him, hugging him tightly and resting her head on his chest. “It’s alright, Amy. I’m fine.” He peered over her towards a grave marker. “Hey, check that out; that gravestone has my name on it.”

To his left, Kate sighed, swept back her jacket, and re-holstered her SIG, gaze never leaving the Angel whilst addressing the Doctor. “Well, according to your own rules, Doctor; him seeing that inscription makes it a fixed point in time. We tried to help.” She uncapped her own wrist-device. “Tosh, ready to leave? On three.”

The End​

 

Thank you for reading, Mira_Jade

I have wanted to "save" Rory and Amy for a fairly long while, and started the story with just that intention, but by the end, following the characterisations as I remembered them, I couldn't see Rory and friends cooperating, and RL, and with the environment that I was typing in, I just wanted to end it.

Since I like to maintain a coherent timeline across projects for my characters, Owen went from this one to intervening in the infamous Criminal Minds' slaying of Aaron Hotchner's ex-wife in the Week VII UDC drabbles. That went better.

 

The Dark Tower: Choices​

NSWFF Challenge Prompt - "Choices"​

Character: Mary Formal.



There was a crisis somewhere, the handsome black man, a spitting image for Idris Elba, had recounted upon approaching her on the street, worlds to save, and Mary Formal, self-style UNCLE agent, and actual E-Branch agent, had nothing to wear.

But fortunately, there had been a costume shop handy.

There was a series of muffled cracks outside the plate glass shop front, as across the New York street, the Idris-clone, Roland Deschain, engaged in a shootout with New York City cops.

Yup, they were not going to find this black man as easy to kill as with a traffic stop.

She did not know if he would be able to stall them long enough for her to choose something to wear, for her journey with him and his ka'tet (some kind of spiritually close grouping), to find this Dark Tower.

She had been intrigued by all his talk about Beams connecting realms and holding up the Tower, and Sharvik the Bear, the latter being one of the old Guardians of something.

"This is some next level, save the cheerleader, save the world, guano." She murmured as she scraped hangars aside and momentarily regarded a Black Widow bodysuit in its cellophane protection.

Didn't appeal to her. Would keep the desert sand at bay, but she was all about sex appeal, and the gimp suit did not really cut it. Plus, how much flour or talcum powder would she have to take with her, just to get in and out of it, of a morning?

It was innumerable leagues to this Tower, so they would be travelling light. The clothes on their backs; water bags; their guns, holstered six-shooters. A rucksack filled to the brim with talcum powder would be an unnecessary burden.

Speaking of guns, she had tried to show Roland a Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun, but his face had dropped, and he had said that she had forgotten the face of her father, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Mary spotted something shiny amongst the plethora of different coloured costumes, their features partially concealed by the plastic coverings.

She pulled it out, finding the thick fabric and semi-armour of the modern Wonder Woman costume, ample room for her breasts, and a nice mini-dress edging going on around the bottom of the outfit.

There were metal bracers for her arms, and protective...stuff, for her shins and knees, should an impromptu game of cricket occur. Looked sexy as drokk. Practical too. She expected a degree of poetic licence in the movie, but Wonder Woman had taken on a German machine gun nest in World War One France in that thing, after all.

The Arcateenian looked around for the big round shield, but there was no sign of it. Ah, that was a deal breaker.

Disappointed, she put that back, pouting to herself.

​

Wonder Woman leg skim​

Seven selections later, the sound of police sirens were dopplering along the street, and getting louder, no doubt responding to the 'Officer Down' call that she had no doubt caused, getting the NYPD-issue revolver and gun belt draped over her shoulder.

If this had been the original, top-down, Grand Theft Auto video game, then those sirens would mean SWAT, which the protagonist attracted if he was unable to lose the normal police.

Actually, she reflected, it still might be SWAT.

Mary took her selection, perused behind the counter for a low denier pair of black nylons, and headed to the back of the shop where she expected to find the changing rooms.

Sliding the heavy curtain closed, despite the shop being empty of staff as well as patrons; her new gunbelt and gun sounded heavy when she laid it on the bench.

She quickly stripped, piling her stuff on the floor and paying it no more mind as she sat on the cubicle bench to savour the smoothness of the tights as she rolled them over her feet, drawing them up her calves, over her knees, then stood to finish getting them up over her hips and smoothed round her waist.

Next she stepped into the black miniskirt, pulling that up, pleased that it was elastic-waist. She would be drokked if a zip ruined whilst she was walking the Earths.

Long-sleeved, white button-down blouse which she could roll the sleeves up if she wanted to. The collar was open, waiting to be secured by an abbreviated black-and-white chequered tie on an elastic band, that she stretched out and pulled over her head, the rubber digging into her ears and temples as she negotiated it over her face, gazing into the full-length mirror so that she could puff the tie up, and adjust the collar wings over it.

She shrugged into the black anti-stab vest, although, this being a cosplay store, it was unlikely that this padded, sleeveless number would stop an actual blade.

Formal velcroed it shut and half-turned so that she make sure in the mirror that it had the POLICE logo in white on the back, under a horizontal strip of blue-and-white chequered squares. It also said 'Police' on the front too, chest level on the left.

She eschewed the costume's equipment belt, for the one that she had taken off the police officer that she had put down to get the gun she had now, and secured the belt around her waist, so that it rested on her hips. She now had cuffs to slap on this Walter, or the Man in Black, should they cross paths with either being.

The unbuttoned sleeves were rolled back to her elbows, and then she had a good look at herself.

"Yeah, rocking the Amy Pond look!" Nodding at her reflection in delight, and not caring that her hair was the wrong colour and would never be as long as Amy's, Mary Formal put her own shoes, the Trespass Bergenz unisex combat boots that she had decided would be best for trudging round the Big Apple, back on, and stopping at the counter to score a couple more pairs of tights, headed out to join Roland, Eddie, the bird in the wheelchair, and the kid, Jake, in their search for the Dark Tower.

THE END​

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Mary Formal spies the Dark Tower​

 

love to see Mary going through the shop for clothes and her comments on the various suits being impractical or not

 

Thank you for reading, and saying which bit you liked.