Jan 23, 2018
For Nonnie, who asked for Coldflashwave, 1920s Speakeasy.
“You tell Thawne, he comes to my City again and I’ll be lettin’ my Rogues loose in his.” Len sneered, his eyes hard and cold as he watched the little man before him shrink back in fear.
“Yo-you got it Mr. Snart.” The man trembled, pushing as far back into his seat as he could, eyes flickering between the boss and his right hand muscle, Mick Rory, who’s arms were crossed and lips twisted into a manic looking grin. “He’ll get the word. I promise.”
“He will.” Len promised, his voice dropping an octave as he let his anger bleed through.
He’d make damn sure Thawne got his message.
No one touch his Scarlet and Mick’s Doll and lived long after.