If not one minds I would like to use several 'Little Legends' cameos here - as well as some of their elders.
Despite what you think, danger isnt my middle name. Papa says Im not allowed to change it until I turn 18.
Liesel Lethal Sawchyk
The rising sun peeked over the war walls, its soft yellow rays dancing off the gigantic globe that Atlas bore aloft on his broad shoulders. It lit the neat and orderly streets of Atlas Park, creeping along the darkened boulevards. Then it hit the windows of the third story of a five story walkup; lifting the darkness with the golden light. The light streamed through the window and onto the face of the teenager who slept, curled up nose to feet, in the center of a queen sized futon. This is when the bad things started happening. Mostly to other people. Had these people known, a dozen interior designers would have been dispatched, to shroud the window in question in blinds, drapes, and perhaps heavy ironwork with enough space to allow the egress of a mouse, but not much else.
But they didnt know. Their morning horoscopes spoke only of potential business windfalls, romantic complications and the shadow of Jupiter rising in the house of Mars. Not one mentioned Liesel rising in the rented apartment of Sawchyk. Well perhaps they did, but rather than being published in the morning papers, the prognostications were bantered around the morning cup of tea leaves in Magi headquarters and caused no small amount of giggling on the part of the seers.
Liesel awoke as the errant sunbeam crossed her face. She uncurled from her decidedly canine position, going through a series of languid stretches that would have had the average person screaming for a swift and slightly less painful death at the hands of an unmerciful god of an unrelated, and likely hostile faith. Thus refreshed, she ran her hands through the long, silky blonde hair that fell well past her waist. She grabbed a handful and brought it in front of her face, sniffing at it tentatively; her eyes did not quite cross or water at the smell, but it definitely triggered a strong, negative reaction. A similar investigation of her armpits merited the same response.
Breakfast! Shower! Danger! Liesel announced her intentions to the room. She ran for the door to her small apartment, stopping short of turning the knob before amending her list. Clothes! Breakfast! Shower! Danger!
The various piles of clothes scattered haphazardly around the apartment yielded a faded halter, comfortable, well worn sweats and a pair of battered flip flops. Thus attired, Liesel made another leap for the door and charged down the three flights of stairs, making only slightly less noise that an empty, metal trash can traversing the same route. She burst through the front door of the apartment building and sprinted across the street, oblivious to the possible presence of traffic and pushed through the door of the small Greek caf. Behind the counter Andrea Pappadimos was industriously scraping the grill, his huge, hairy arms moving back and forth with metronome precision.
You wan breakfast? Andrea rasped, the toothpick tucked into his mouth making the long journey from one side to the other.
No breakfast. Cheeseburger! Liesel hopped over the counter to the fridge and retrieved a double-handful of drinks; three bottles of orange juice, a two liter bottle of water and a six pack of Red-Bull. Andrea made an inarticulate grunting sound and began flipping burger patties onto the grill; only stopping when a half dozen were spitting and sizzling. He hefted his considerable bulk over to the fryer and dumped a huge portion of frozen French fries into the hot oil. Liesel smiled intently, not quite drooling, her left leg tapped the floor excitedly. Papa was not a fan of most American food, but Liesel had embraced it wholeheartedly and in huge quantities. It was necessary; the sheer level of her energy, combined with her ability to regenerate damaged tissue and her willingness to put herself in the path of that damage; required a phenomenal intake of calories. Papa and Mama were the same way, though their habits had matured slightly and were not subject to the added burden of teenagers hopped up metabolism. Andrea dealt a line of buns across an oversize platter, topping each with a rare, grease-beaded burger patty, a slice of cheese, and a generous dollop of tsatiki. The bun tops were slapped on and the platter slid to within arms reach of Liesel who had reclaimed her seat on the other side of the counter. She immediately fell upon it with furious energy, interspersing dangerously large bites of cheeseburger with huge swallows from the variety of drinks spread out in front of her. Andrea sighed as he dumped the fries into a basket and upended most of a bottle of ketchup over them. He approached slowly, carefully.
Grrrr. The growl started in the back of Liesels throat and her arms moved reflexively to cover all possible avenues of approach to her plate of food. She shook her head slightly and offered up a slightly guilty smile. Sorry, old habit.
Andrea placed the basket of fries on the counter and gave it a push to send it the rest of the way. His regular morning patron always paid her account promptly, tipped generously and had not yet bitten him hard enough to draw blood. There were other benefits to. It was rapidly becoming known that she favored the caf and that alone was enough to keep most of the riff-raff a healthy distance away.
Despite what you think, danger isnt my middle name. Papa says Im not allowed to change it until I turn 18.
Liesel Lethal Sawchyk
The rising sun peeked over the war walls, its soft yellow rays dancing off the gigantic globe that Atlas bore aloft on his broad shoulders. It lit the neat and orderly streets of Atlas Park, creeping along the darkened boulevards. Then it hit the windows of the third story of a five story walkup; lifting the darkness with the golden light. The light streamed through the window and onto the face of the teenager who slept, curled up nose to feet, in the center of a queen sized futon. This is when the bad things started happening. Mostly to other people. Had these people known, a dozen interior designers would have been dispatched, to shroud the window in question in blinds, drapes, and perhaps heavy ironwork with enough space to allow the egress of a mouse, but not much else.
But they didnt know. Their morning horoscopes spoke only of potential business windfalls, romantic complications and the shadow of Jupiter rising in the house of Mars. Not one mentioned Liesel rising in the rented apartment of Sawchyk. Well perhaps they did, but rather than being published in the morning papers, the prognostications were bantered around the morning cup of tea leaves in Magi headquarters and caused no small amount of giggling on the part of the seers.
Liesel awoke as the errant sunbeam crossed her face. She uncurled from her decidedly canine position, going through a series of languid stretches that would have had the average person screaming for a swift and slightly less painful death at the hands of an unmerciful god of an unrelated, and likely hostile faith. Thus refreshed, she ran her hands through the long, silky blonde hair that fell well past her waist. She grabbed a handful and brought it in front of her face, sniffing at it tentatively; her eyes did not quite cross or water at the smell, but it definitely triggered a strong, negative reaction. A similar investigation of her armpits merited the same response.
Breakfast! Shower! Danger! Liesel announced her intentions to the room. She ran for the door to her small apartment, stopping short of turning the knob before amending her list. Clothes! Breakfast! Shower! Danger!
The various piles of clothes scattered haphazardly around the apartment yielded a faded halter, comfortable, well worn sweats and a pair of battered flip flops. Thus attired, Liesel made another leap for the door and charged down the three flights of stairs, making only slightly less noise that an empty, metal trash can traversing the same route. She burst through the front door of the apartment building and sprinted across the street, oblivious to the possible presence of traffic and pushed through the door of the small Greek caf. Behind the counter Andrea Pappadimos was industriously scraping the grill, his huge, hairy arms moving back and forth with metronome precision.
You wan breakfast? Andrea rasped, the toothpick tucked into his mouth making the long journey from one side to the other.
No breakfast. Cheeseburger! Liesel hopped over the counter to the fridge and retrieved a double-handful of drinks; three bottles of orange juice, a two liter bottle of water and a six pack of Red-Bull. Andrea made an inarticulate grunting sound and began flipping burger patties onto the grill; only stopping when a half dozen were spitting and sizzling. He hefted his considerable bulk over to the fryer and dumped a huge portion of frozen French fries into the hot oil. Liesel smiled intently, not quite drooling, her left leg tapped the floor excitedly. Papa was not a fan of most American food, but Liesel had embraced it wholeheartedly and in huge quantities. It was necessary; the sheer level of her energy, combined with her ability to regenerate damaged tissue and her willingness to put herself in the path of that damage; required a phenomenal intake of calories. Papa and Mama were the same way, though their habits had matured slightly and were not subject to the added burden of teenagers hopped up metabolism. Andrea dealt a line of buns across an oversize platter, topping each with a rare, grease-beaded burger patty, a slice of cheese, and a generous dollop of tsatiki. The bun tops were slapped on and the platter slid to within arms reach of Liesel who had reclaimed her seat on the other side of the counter. She immediately fell upon it with furious energy, interspersing dangerously large bites of cheeseburger with huge swallows from the variety of drinks spread out in front of her. Andrea sighed as he dumped the fries into a basket and upended most of a bottle of ketchup over them. He approached slowly, carefully.
Grrrr. The growl started in the back of Liesels throat and her arms moved reflexively to cover all possible avenues of approach to her plate of food. She shook her head slightly and offered up a slightly guilty smile. Sorry, old habit.
Andrea placed the basket of fries on the counter and gave it a push to send it the rest of the way. His regular morning patron always paid her account promptly, tipped generously and had not yet bitten him hard enough to draw blood. There were other benefits to. It was rapidly becoming known that she favored the caf and that alone was enough to keep most of the riff-raff a healthy distance away.
![[Image: wink.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/wink.gif)
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![[Image: ohwell.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/ohwell.gif)
![[Image: strikersetcfinal9_th.jpg]](http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/forums/uploads/strikersetcfinal9_th.jpg)