Ficlet: 372 (Oracle, PG13, Prompt #19: Caught in the form of limitation)
Title: 372
Fandom: DC Comics
Prompt: #19, Caught in the form of limitation.
Word Count: About two hundred and fifty.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: DC Comics owns all characters involved. Not that Oracle pays too much attention to things like that.
Summary: With hindsight, it all makes sense.
Author Notes: Katarik's fault. That's all I'm saying.
The girl who had chosen five minutes ago to be called Misfit was practically vibrating against the energy transfer pads attached to her skin. "Can I go now? C'mon, I'm growing old here!"
The woman in the wheelchair smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. Somebody less trusting than the girl -or somebody less used to the older woman's company- would have worried at seeing that smile. "Have a little patience. If I get things wrong, this machine will kill you instead of sending you to the past, and there'll be-"
"Screwage?
"Universal screwage. Ok, it's set now. A last word of advice."
"I know, jeez. Think ahead. You've told me that like a zillion times."
"I meant to say, don't underestimate the past. Just because it's old fashioned, it doesn't mean it's not dangerous. If you're going to hit somebody, hit him hard. And if it's a woman, hit her twice as hard."
"Gotcha. Anything else?"
Heavy sounds came from behind the lab's armored doors. "Soldiers. Get going."
"Wait, what about you?"
The woman smiled again, taking two automatic guns from below her chair. "I can take care of myself. GO."
The girl's face grew serious. The machine began to whine quietly, and a few seconds later, the girl seemed to blink out of existence.
"Besides," muttered the Black Canary as she turned her wheelchair around to face to door about to be opened, "I'd rather not be there when Babs sees how I raised her daughter."
.finis.
Fandom: DC Comics
Prompt: #19, Caught in the form of limitation.
Word Count: About two hundred and fifty.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: DC Comics owns all characters involved. Not that Oracle pays too much attention to things like that.
Summary: With hindsight, it all makes sense.
Author Notes: Katarik's fault. That's all I'm saying.
The girl who had chosen five minutes ago to be called Misfit was practically vibrating against the energy transfer pads attached to her skin. "Can I go now? C'mon, I'm growing old here!"
The woman in the wheelchair smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. Somebody less trusting than the girl -or somebody less used to the older woman's company- would have worried at seeing that smile. "Have a little patience. If I get things wrong, this machine will kill you instead of sending you to the past, and there'll be-"
"Screwage?
"Universal screwage. Ok, it's set now. A last word of advice."
"I know, jeez. Think ahead. You've told me that like a zillion times."
"I meant to say, don't underestimate the past. Just because it's old fashioned, it doesn't mean it's not dangerous. If you're going to hit somebody, hit him hard. And if it's a woman, hit her twice as hard."
"Gotcha. Anything else?"
Heavy sounds came from behind the lab's armored doors. "Soldiers. Get going."
"Wait, what about you?"
The woman smiled again, taking two automatic guns from below her chair. "I can take care of myself. GO."
The girl's face grew serious. The machine began to whine quietly, and a few seconds later, the girl seemed to blink out of existence.
"Besides," muttered the Black Canary as she turned her wheelchair around to face to door about to be opened, "I'd rather not be there when Babs sees how I raised her daughter."
.finis.