A Matter of Professional Respect
The clock struck midnight and the mighty, now formerly heroic, Firesword smiled. “Retired.” It felt odd, but wonderful, to say.
Atticus, villainous until the end of his days, matched her smile and affectionately stroked her hand. The two had been bitter enemies for years, had nearly killed the other dozens of times. “Dinner is on me.” They were at Creepy Crepes, a haunted diner in the tiny village of Peyroux. It was a safe spot to meet, diners being neutral locations, and Crepes being home to amazing food.
Bridget Stone, formerly Firesword, formerly The Red Blade, formerly… formerly… formerly…
“Remember giving me that scar, Atty?” she said slyly.
“Paid for it, if I recall,” he countered and they chuckled. “Tell me a secret from the old days.”
Bridget chewed on a bite of her omelette thoughtfully as she picked one that would both be harmless to her old colleagues and prickle the villain’s ego. “We used to call you The Old Hag.” Atticus laughed.
The hour grew late and their meal scarce. Atticus took a small red envelope from his bag and slid it across the table. Bridget regarded it warily, “we agreed on no good bye gifts.” “I lied. Fight me.”
Rolling her eyes, Bridgett opened it to reveal a token of Safe Passage and an open ended ticket on Bat Airlines.
“I want you to go see the Netherworld. You fought us long and well, now go explore. Go see the sights.”
A bit teary, Bridgett mumbled a gruff thank you. She was no longer bound by hero law, politics, or alliances. She had planned to spend the rest of her days exploring, and this boost would most certainly make it easier and more interesting.
“Give us a kiss you old hag.”