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Nightwing's Wind Tunnel (WIP) Conner lead Jessica into the wind tunnel towards Nightwing. She then hopped up onto his back as Conner went to the control panel, and pressed a button. The fans started to spin quickly, making a light gust of wind.
"20 miles per hour", he said, as Jessica had her hands in the gently-flowing mane. Then the winds picked up. Jessica then lets go of the mane, and wraps her arms around the stallion's slender neck, with his mane already streaming back, and her t-shirt fluttering in the wind.
"40 miles per hour", Conner said again.
Nightwing was enjoying the winds blowing back his mane and tail; he didn't have to gallop, just stand in place.
"Are you ready?" The teenage boy asked.
"Yes" Jessica replied.
"Okay. Now hold on tight!" he said before the wind tunnel sped up.
"Holy crap!" Jessica cried as she held onto Nightwing's neck.
Her shirt was flying, and the stallion's m
The Dragon Rider (prologue)*Airburst's PoV* The human world looked so hollow to me. For such a long time in my life, humans were battling against the dragons. I don't know why, but from how it looked, it was because of their population. I listened carefully to the humans when they said something like 'airplane', 'jet plane', even this funny word, 'helicopter' made me chuckle. I even saw how young some kids are, and get bullied, but as much as I wanted to help the victim, I was hearing this 'Area 51' that sounded like a slaughterhouse to me. I still walked alone on the small street, until I heard screaming around a corner ahead of me. I moved quietly to the source to see a tall human male in dark 'clothes' pinning a small human female with long 'blonde hair' up against the wall.
"Nothin' left on ya?" He said, his voice deep. I moved closer to the bully: I've had enough of these creatures killing themselves for something that can be given to them later. I slowly approached the male until I clos
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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