n. the Fool

Apr 15, 2010 01:24

[ The bright shine of light off this teenaged boy's glasses subsides when he moves his head, showing worried blue eyes. His accent is British, but not terribly strong — he's a Londoner, to those who have an ear for such things. ]

All right, that's... convenient. I wanted to go to America, and here I am. Well. At least I think I am. Am I? It's definitely not London and I don't have the right currency for a newspaper I've got this deductive reasoning thing down pat and things look, um. Big?

Anyway, ah, I'm not anywhere near San Francisco, am I? Anyone, um, have Zatanna Zatara's phone number? No? Calling card? No? Xanax? No?

... How about any hints on home tattoo removal?

I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing or where I am or who I'm talking to, so I tend to just... babble, madly. And so on. Um. Help? Because, um, I'm not a hero of any kind. I'm fourteen. I mean, I can take care of myself just fine, I always have, but there's a big difference between that and - heroics. And I mean big, unwieldy, staggering acts of heroism, not, not, uh, being a good person and helping old ladies cross the street, that kind of thing. Which is not to say that's less important, but generally one doesn't get, I don't know, abducted from an airplane for it. I'm not even especially good at conducting old ladies across the street.

... I'm sorry. I'll stop babbling now. But I really would appreciate help.

† timothy hunter | the opener

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