Chapter Text
“I am the mighty Disco Disaster and my story is that I did disco so much that I turned into a monster and now blind people with my shiny head and ultimate move, Funky Killer Hustle of Doom, and today I will show the--”
“And I am Ultimate DDR Man! With my lightning quick footwork I will destroy you and save the--”
Garou gazed blandly at the fight scene unfolding before him, wondering why in the fucking world he was bothering to sit on this wall and watch in the first place. They’re both so stupid.
Sighing, he slid off his perch and landed lightly on his feet. Man, I’d really fucking love to hunt down a hero right about now. But what’s the point in that anymore?
Jamming his hands into his pockets, he walked away, directionless, distance marked only by the monotonous punctuation of the city’s dullest telephone polls.
This sucks. They suck. Everything sucks.
He caught a glimpse of something small moving in the corner of his vision. He stopped; he took a couple steps back.
Garou cocked his head to the side and made a loud pff sound. “That poster sucks.”
The kid hanging it quickly swiveled to face him, and suddenly Garou realized exactly who she was, and exactly who it was supposed to be on the poster, because they had the exact same death glare, and he had seen both of them shoot it at him at the exact same time in the past.
“That’s a bad word. And don’t you tell me anything about what my big bro looks like, because I know you two don’t get along.”
“Well yeah, the drawing’s not bad, I guess.” Garou drawled, following the edge of the character’s pompous hairdo with distaste. “You can tell what he looks like--sort of. But how you expect anyone to read that? You think people are gonna bother straining their eyes to squint at wimpy little print like that?”
“I have the best handwriting in my class!”
Oh God it was one of those kids. “I’m sure you do, princess. But if I’m a car driving by, or even some kiester taking their dog out to take a crap, I’m not gonna bother looking at something made in pencil.”
Her eyebrows went up as she started picking up what he was putting down. She shimmied her back pack from her shoulder and fished around to procure a pink pencil case that matched perfectly with her bag except for the musical notes and peeling “Great job!” “A+” “Wow!” stickers plastered across it.
“I have a blue pen.” She said, holding it up for him to see.
“Pen? C’mon.” Garou swiped the case from her and dug through about forty different colors of highlighters until he found a black sharpie. “This is what I’m talking about, genius.” He knelt down and began tracing over the letters so they were dark and bold. M-I-S-
He could feel those familiar, glaring eyes watching him over his shoulder. Leave it to a kid to shut up the one time I don’t feel like dealing with an awkward silence. S-I-N-
“So how long has he been missing, kid?”
It felt like there were two holes being burnt into the back of his head. But when he heard her voice, it sounded like the fire in her had been totally snuffed out.
“Three days,” she said quietly.