Wolfgang:
A girl was leaning casually up against the door, one boot propped up against the wood behind her, tapping an unrecognisable tune. She was frowning at the phone in her hands and her fingers blurred as she furiously texted. Wolfgang could hear the rapid click click click of the keyboard from across the dingy room. She didn't even glance up when he approached so he cleared his throat meaningfully.
She didn’t move.
“Uh,” he ducked a little, trying to get in her line of sight, “I need to go through that door you're leaning on.”
“Just a minute.” Her voice sounded familiar, though her looks were anything but. Wolfgang would have remembered someone who dressed as bizarrely and she did. Her tattered jeans and knee high boots were normal enough but she also wore a teenage mutant ninja turtle t-shirt, fingerless pink gloves and smiley face earrings. Her curly dark hair was gathered into two bunches by her ears which made her look absurdly young. She couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty.
“What are you still doing here, girl?” he said, irritated. “We are closed.” Her soft laugh was low and throaty and too grown up for the fresh faced teen.
“I’m here to escort you home, Wolfie.” She finally looked up from her phone, flashing him a half-grin. Her eyes sparked with mischief.
“Nyssa?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“In the flesh.” She winked at him and pushed off the door using her propped up foot.
Wolfgang blinked, befuddled by the turn of events. He struggled to equate the sarcastic, droll voice from the other end of the comm with this eclectic teen.
“What is going on?” he asked. Nyssa snagged his leather jacket from the hooks assigned to the staff and lobbed it at him. He plucked it out of the air before it hit him in the face but didn't put it on. She slipped on the faded trench coat that always hung there and breezed past him.
“No time for questions, Wolfgang,” she said cheerfully, mashing a battered beanie haphazardly onto her head and whipping a matching scarf over her neck. “We are going to be late to your murder.”
“What?”
She flashed him a grin, her eyes glittering mischievously. “Let’s go.” She flicked one end of her scarf over her shoulder and marched out into the rain. At a loss, Wolfgang followed her.
The night air was brisk. The cold didn’t bother his kind much but Wolfgang pulled his coat on anyway. A teenage boy wearing nothing but a t-shirt in the sleet would draw too much attention. By the time he had made it out the door, Nyssa was a good way down the street.
“What do you mean murder?” Wolfgang yelled, jogging to catch up with her.
----------------------------------------
And so the plot thickens.