plotted starter for @hxllblazer
Queenie hated being called into crime scenes for two reason:
1) she wasn’t much use with dead bodies, they didn’t tend to have emotions.
2) as much as she worked in crime, blood slicked rooms still made her pretty queasy.
But the police chief had insisted for some reason and so there she was, standing a ways back from everyone else, kicking absently at the ground as she tried not to look at the blood. The whirlwind of emotions buzzing about her served as a ready distracted as well. There was blue-gray confusion, vibrant red anger, and steely focus. If she worked hard enough, the empath could sort out what was coming from who, but that would involve looking up and then there’d be the blood. So she just kept scuffing her ratty Converse at the ground.
As she stared down at the concrete, Q began to realize what she was seeing where not just the human-enforced patterns of concrete but actual symbols. Memories of a blond man with a cigarette perched on a little stoop drawing with a used tea bag came to mind. It’ll only been about a week since she’d run into the magical stranger and she’d been pondering the possibilities of ghost magic since. And now the very same symbols--futhark he’d called them?--were before her at a crime scene. That certainly raised a few questions in Q’s mind. Questions only that peculiar stranger could answer.
But that would have to wait until she was finally freed of this crime scene.
--
Q had finally been released far too many hours later and was on her way home on the look out for the stranger. There was no guarantee she’d come across him--after all she hadn’t seen much if any of him since that day and she passed this apartment block almost every day--but willed the world to have him sitting out on that stoop because those symbols were going to haunt her if she didn’t at least try and get some answers.
And it looks like the world was in a listening mood.
There he was on the stoop just as last time. Queenie couldn’t help that almost self-satisfied smile that crossed her lips. Answers could be within her grasp and Queenie really liked answers.
“Hey there,” she greeted as she came to stop before him, “It’s the rude little shit again,” Introductions would have to done before long so that didn’t become a sticking nickname, but maybe it was already too late. “You’re going to hate this, but I’ve got another question for you.”
There was no pause for him to respond to that or make a reaction of any kind to indicate his liking that or not as Q offered her question forward: “Have you been drawing those futhark things anywhere else but here?”
