Iktsuarpok (Inuit) – The feeling of anticipation that leads you to keep looking outside to see if anyone is coming. (This definition is questionable – I could only find it in lists of untranslateable words)
One of Magpie’s and Wild Streak’s get-togethers, but he’s running late, as usual, but apparently not for the usual reasons
CW: mentions of parental abuse (literally, it’s just mentioned that Daisy was abused), mentions dangerous driving and police, implied relationship with significant age difference (they aren’t dating at this point, but Daisy is in high school and everyone else is far beyond that)
Rating: G
Magpie put down the lock and her tools. Dammit, she didn’t expert Wild Streak to be on time, but this was getting ridiculous. They didn’t get together that often, and usually at Wild Streak’s place. This time, he’d said – and it was obvious he was being prompted by Charles, the sweetie – that he didn’t want to disturb Daisy while she was doing homework. She’d thought she’d had him figured out years ago, but turned out he still had surprises. No idea who Daisy was, but it was the first time she’d heard that sort of affection from him.
She turned up the police radio. She hadn’t heard anything, but nothing else was as in character for him as catching the attention of some cop. He’d get away, probably, and have a good time doing it. Of course, that’d only be if Wild Streak was driving and his boys had stopped that ages ago. Andre was smart enough to keep the cops from noticing them.
A knock on the door. Finally!
Wild Streak strode in, the mannerless oaf, carrying his kit like it was weightless. She grinned. “What took you so long?”
His smile faded. “Oh. Uh. Daisy was upset.”
Andre prompted from a step behind him. “She doesn’t know who Daisy is yet.” He waved and held up a big cookie tin. “Hi Magpie. Charles sent snickerdoodles.”
“There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
“Got it.” Andre headed that way.
Wild Streak set his bag next to the couch and flopped down. “Somebody was teasing Daisy. At school,” he started, pulling out his lockpicks.
She rolled her eyes. “Backtrack a bit there. Why do you have a school age kid at your hide-out?”
“Her dad abused her,” he said with a shrug.
“Since when do you care?”
Another, more eloquent shrug. “Since it was her.”
Andre returned with a tray with cookies and drinks for all of them. “We don’t get it either, but he adores her and she’s a peach.”
“Okay then, how’d you meet her?” And his face lit up, like she’d only ever seen when he was bragging, and he started his tale.
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