Big Damn Heroine

11th November 2016

Question reblogged from Looking for a path with 220 notes

random-idiosyncrasy asked: 7. “I don’t believe in ghosts". Someone from Leverage?

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” declared Sophie serenely, her smile never wavering. It was the sort of smile that could slice through skin, muscle, and alibis all at the same time, and anyone with any sense would have run from it without hesitation.
The mark, who did not possess the sense the Great Pumpkin gave the little jack-o-lanterns, smiled back. He was attempting the same possessive, predatory gleam that came to Sophie so easily, and only succeeded in looking like a pug attempting to dominate a wolf.
A wolf in high heels, silk stockings, and a six hundred dollar blazer, but still, a wolf.
“You should,” he said. He paused before asking, “If you don’t believe in ghosts, why are you here?”
“My employers heard about your little ‘auction,’ and while I may not believe, well, they have a great deal of money, and a ghost in a bottle–real or not–is precisely the sort of thing they enjoy investing in. Now,” she purred, leaning forward to afford him a glimpse down her blouse, “can I see the merchandise?”
“Sophie, she’s been in there for almost twenty-four hours,” said Hardison in her ear, his voice tight and strained. “She’s got to be terrified.”
Sophie, ever the professional, gave no sign that she heard him. Her smile softened around the edges, turning suggestive. “I heard your pack was in excellent health,” she continued. “With an alpha like you, it’s easy to understand why.”
The mark swallowed. “I’m not the alpha.”
“I suppose that’s clever,” she said. “A strong male like you, hanging back until the time is right to pounce…now. About that bottle?”
Three hours later, she was racing ahead of the rising moon, a green glass bottle in her hand, heading for the black van parked behind the pack compound. Inside, the real alpha was finding his second-in-command drugged in a pile of papers that showed proof of his embezzlement from pack funds. Not elegant, but life wasn’t always elegant. Sometimes, life just needed to go on.
The van door opened. Hardison leaned out, and she flung the bottle into his hands as she kept running, heading for the bushes on the other side of the pavement.
“Cutting it close, don’t you think?” Hardison shouted after her, and threw the bottle to the ground. It shattered, releasing a cloud of glittering vapor which rose and twisted and resolved itself into a pale, lanky blonde in black tank top and climbing pants.
He grinned.
“Welcome back, mama,” he said.
“I want to burn something,” said Parker.
“That can be arranged.”
From the other side of the lot, a howl rose, sweet and wavering, toward the shining moon.

Tagged: leverage sean maguire