The Stagecoach Incident

Vaguely, I thought about the movie.

With the two dogs.

I hadn't watched it when I was a kid.

I'd watched it last year with my Moms who had loved it when they were kids.

Lady and the Tramp.

At the end, poor old pooch had gotten run down by the heavy, ungodly Animal Control coach. And if I remembered, most adults in that movie drove old-timey open cars. Not whatever that thing had been. So, what the twinkies!

Then again, here I was having tried to track down a best friend of mine, kind of the brother I'd never had, having bled and fought for our lives together as Magical (girls?) teens?

And of all things to take me out, it had been a-- AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Someone touched the bloody trench that used to be my side!

I could feel my breath escaping, each puff of air running a dagger through my lungs, a pick through my brain.

GOD! I was sweating buckets, all icy and deadly.

"Ahhh," I winced again.

To which a paramedic in yellow told me to shush and be calm.

And for the first time likely ever, I very much felt like cursing and spewing any and every sardonic, callous thought I could muster behind the mother-flipping agony. Generally be a huge nuisance.

Of course, I didn't.

Since Rori warned quite explicitly, Lola demonstrated very viscerally, our jewels posed great risk if we gave in to the worst parts of us.

Was Lucas okay then? He'd fallen hadn't he? Not to his so-called worst secret. His parents hadn't minded, and in fact had been overjoyed to be trusted with the information.

And then they'd thrown a Ball.

But come on Terrence. A cold, cunning, and obviously having you on, Gem-digging Aristras, just because he may dress more like a Prince than a Tramp.

Had not been worth a stagecoach or London original violent red trolley cars.