Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2014 12:20:13 GMT -6
Another day in the neighborhood, a day like any other; people were out and about, tending to affairs both mundane and grand. The streets were bustling with the hurried steps of people heading to and fro. It was the perfect day to stand in line at the bank stuck between some fatso and a girl who won’t hang up her phone and shut-up.
Not.
Q rolled his eyes as the line moved forwards by one person; and then again. And again. This slow process continued until he arrived at the teller who smiled when he approached. “Hello! Welcome the Wright-Bright Bank of America. What can I do for you?” Quentin returned the smile and handed the woman a special ID card that recognized him as affiliated with the Wright-Bright Foundation and all its affairs. ”Just making a deposit today, Miss.” Upon seeing this, she instantly knew who he was. “Ah! Mr. Wright! No one said you were coming… Mr. Goldstein usually…” Q shook his head. ”Most times…but he wanted me to do it this time around. And, so, here I am.”
The teller smiled and ran his transaction.
All in all, the process took about seven minutes, after which he was given a receipt and told ‘good day’ as he headed for the door. But before he could exit through it, events transpiring outside caught his eye. He paused and dipped out of view where he could spy on the men without them seeing him. What he saw looked like something out of the Blues Brothers; two nuns, toting automatic weapons, appeared to be holding some man with a briefcase up. Quentin watched up till the moment the man placed the attaché case on the ground. That’s when he got an idea.
A blur shot through the bank, out the side exit.
Meanwhile the gunmen moved to collect the case the other man had relinquished. Carefully, the gunman knelt to retrieve it, keeping both barrel and eye on the pilfered man. As he fingers went to curl around the handle of the case, it was greeted with the hard, rough texture of the bare concrete; wiggling them about, he realized his fingers had not lost their mind. “What??!” The briefcase wasn’t there??! Where had it gone??? None of them noticed the blur that shot past them much faster than the human eye could ever hope to move.
”Yo! Doughboy!” A voice chimed out. ”You drop something?” There, at the corner of the street, leant up against a light pole, clad in jet black uniform was a youth who seemed to be much more than that. He made no attempt to flee. Yet. ”Nuns with guns… heh, sounds like an 80’s sitcom.” He never mentioned it, but he knew they could see him holding the case… and if they wanted it, they’d just have to play tag.
With the fastest kid in the world.
Not.
Q rolled his eyes as the line moved forwards by one person; and then again. And again. This slow process continued until he arrived at the teller who smiled when he approached. “Hello! Welcome the Wright-Bright Bank of America. What can I do for you?” Quentin returned the smile and handed the woman a special ID card that recognized him as affiliated with the Wright-Bright Foundation and all its affairs. ”Just making a deposit today, Miss.” Upon seeing this, she instantly knew who he was. “Ah! Mr. Wright! No one said you were coming… Mr. Goldstein usually…” Q shook his head. ”Most times…but he wanted me to do it this time around. And, so, here I am.”
The teller smiled and ran his transaction.
All in all, the process took about seven minutes, after which he was given a receipt and told ‘good day’ as he headed for the door. But before he could exit through it, events transpiring outside caught his eye. He paused and dipped out of view where he could spy on the men without them seeing him. What he saw looked like something out of the Blues Brothers; two nuns, toting automatic weapons, appeared to be holding some man with a briefcase up. Quentin watched up till the moment the man placed the attaché case on the ground. That’s when he got an idea.
A blur shot through the bank, out the side exit.
Meanwhile the gunmen moved to collect the case the other man had relinquished. Carefully, the gunman knelt to retrieve it, keeping both barrel and eye on the pilfered man. As he fingers went to curl around the handle of the case, it was greeted with the hard, rough texture of the bare concrete; wiggling them about, he realized his fingers had not lost their mind. “What??!” The briefcase wasn’t there??! Where had it gone??? None of them noticed the blur that shot past them much faster than the human eye could ever hope to move.
”Yo! Doughboy!” A voice chimed out. ”You drop something?” There, at the corner of the street, leant up against a light pole, clad in jet black uniform was a youth who seemed to be much more than that. He made no attempt to flee. Yet. ”Nuns with guns… heh, sounds like an 80’s sitcom.” He never mentioned it, but he knew they could see him holding the case… and if they wanted it, they’d just have to play tag.
With the fastest kid in the world.