100 Words A Day by Hydrargentium

Well, at least 100 words — best served random….

Tag: Psyche

In the distance, she could see the flames. His flames, lighting up the horizon, shooting into the night sky, burning off his frustration.

Psyche shook her head. One of these days, Firehawk was going to have to grow up. He might have fooled the others, but she knew his hot-headedness had nothing to do with his powers. He was just a little spoiled.

She wondered idly if he was an only child, or maybe the youngest of his siblings. She didn’t know how much stock to put in birth order, but there was definitely something to it. She’d met too many middle children who spent their lives trying to make everyone get along with each other.

Over on the bluff, the flames seemed to be dying down. She should go over and talk to him now, but it seemed a little pointless. He never seemed to get it — what personal responsibility was really about. There was far more to it than just showing up to save people and fight bad guys when you could fly through the air and spout flames from your fingertips.

Her wings fluttered on her back. Sometimes, they seemed to have a mind of their own, and right now they wanted to move. She took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh, and stood up.

She’d go talk to him, bring him back to the base. Someone else was going to have deal with the follow-up, though. She’d had enough, and didn’t need that kind of negativity all the time. There were lives to save and bad guys to fight, and someone else could deal with Firehawk’s selfishness from now on.

“What are we doing here again?”

Psyche’s wings fluttered behind her as she leaned over to look at the plaza below.

“Because Firecracker is supposed to be attacking the Senator after he leaves the conference.”

Call-out shook his head. “That’s why you’re here. But why am I here. Why are we here?”

Psyche looked back at Call-out, drawing her wings together to keep them from blocking the view. The teleporter was squatting against an AC unit, tossing pebbles over the side of the roof, and then calling them back to his hand just before they dropped past the edge. He always did stuff like that when he was feeling put-upon.

Call-out looked back at her. He couldn’t help thinking how cute she looked with a question clearly written in her knit brows, in the way she pulled one corner of her mouth down. He’d always liked that about her.

“Can we… talk about this later?”