Jaisy feels as though she’s floating. Bobbing up and down, up and down… ah, this is pleasant. It reminds her of when she was a child, when her father would pick her up and she would pretend she was an aeroplane, or a gull, squawking and hooting so that her father would have to put her down, and wipe away the tears of laughter. In her hazy, dream-like state she smiles peacefully.

But this is no time for laughter, and the pastel-coloured, muffled womb of reminiscence is ripped apart by the harsh reality materialising before her. She is still floating, but there are bumps and jolts, and she is aware of a pain, an aching which indicates she has been in this position for a while. There are occasional huffs and pants from the man carrying her - the idea of which is rather a worry to Jaisy in and of itself. But for now, she feels too weary to object to this free ride.

Although it appears she doesn’t have a choice. There is also an old woman, probably in her mid-fifties, jogging absurdly behind her as she dangles unglamorously from a prison escapee’s shoulder. Her eyes, which just a split-second ago were gazing vaguely ahead of her, dart into sharp focus, and only when they are locked onto Jaisy’s does she realise her own are open.


As the woman opens her mouth - possibly to reprimand her for being so lazy - Jaisy begins to think clearly about her situation. Has she been kidnapped? No, that would be ludicrous. Being a convicted murderer, and with no living relatives - wealthy or otherwise - she would be a hostage of little worth. From this, she can only deduce that this is a rescue attempt. She winces. Whoever heard of a prisoner with a heart? As seemingly altruistic as their intentions are, this pair would only cause themselves trouble with her around.

The old lady’s incessant jabbering appears to be connecting with the big lout’s brain, and she’s lowered slowly onto her feet. She takes the opportunity to scrutinise her rescuers fully.

The first thing Jaisy notices about the man is his white-blond hair. That can’t be natural, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. Other than that detail, he’s entirely uninteresting. His vague, gormless expression, his goofy gait - nothing’s particularly striking about this guy. ‘Grandma’ looks as though she’s about to explode. Jaisy can see spittle gathering on her lips from her little outburst, and the shade of puce her face can achieve is rather impressive. 

Oh, boy. I thought heroes were supposed to be dashing.

“So… What brings you two glamour models here?” she jokes, by way of introduction. “Actually, now that I think about it… Where is here?”

The End

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