It all started at the tattoo parlor.
Strange place for this kind of thing to start, you would think, but it's true. The tattoo parlor where I got my little pixies tattooed just under either side of my collarbone. Where I realised that there was a world outside of my books. That I was changing, growing up, even.
Dad was going to be pissed.
I was your typical college student. My father was a senator for California. His real name isn't important, suffice it to say that he did his job thoroughly and had hardly any time for his little girl. Especially since Mom died.
Not that she was much help either. She didn't have more than fifteen lucid moments a day, and that was usually spent searching for another bottle of booze.
So I dug in to my studies, and made it into the University of California at Los Angeles. And started a life of mine. Or so my father thought.
Most of the time I spent being nosy. When your Dad is a former FBI agent working as a senator, he gets access to all kinds of nifty stuff. Unfortunately, my Dad had a bad habit of leaving his passwords written down where I could find them.
I just made sure no one else could.
Anyway, back to the tattoo parlor. My friend Tony had talked me into it, and he was there, sitting in a chair next to me, while the guy with the needle did his work. The little bondage pixies fit me perfectly, he said.
Let me describe Tony. He was your average Hollywood misgotten son. He was shipped off to boarding school, where he promptly became a hellion. But he passed with flying colors, and made it here, right around the same time I did.
Misfits stick together. Especially misfits who like to read. We met at the library, reaching for the same Robert Heinlein book.
I let him talk me into a lot of things.
Glancing at his watch, Tony sat up straight. "Drek, love. I got to run. You gonna be alright?"
"Sure... " I glanced at the guy with the needle. He grinned. Tony ducked out, heading back towards campus.
As the tattoo artist finished up, I got curious. Curiousity was always one of my major faults. Or one of my better traits. It just depended on what kind of trouble it got me into.
Strange place for this kind of thing to start, you would think, but it's true. The tattoo parlor where I got my little pixies tattooed just under either side of my collarbone. Where I realised that there was a world outside of my books. That I was changing, growing up, even.
Dad was going to be pissed.
I was your typical college student. My father was a senator for California. His real name isn't important, suffice it to say that he did his job thoroughly and had hardly any time for his little girl. Especially since Mom died.
Not that she was much help either. She didn't have more than fifteen lucid moments a day, and that was usually spent searching for another bottle of booze.
So I dug in to my studies, and made it into the University of California at Los Angeles. And started a life of mine. Or so my father thought.
Most of the time I spent being nosy. When your Dad is a former FBI agent working as a senator, he gets access to all kinds of nifty stuff. Unfortunately, my Dad had a bad habit of leaving his passwords written down where I could find them.
I just made sure no one else could.
Anyway, back to the tattoo parlor. My friend Tony had talked me into it, and he was there, sitting in a chair next to me, while the guy with the needle did his work. The little bondage pixies fit me perfectly, he said.
Let me describe Tony. He was your average Hollywood misgotten son. He was shipped off to boarding school, where he promptly became a hellion. But he passed with flying colors, and made it here, right around the same time I did.
Misfits stick together. Especially misfits who like to read. We met at the library, reaching for the same Robert Heinlein book.
I let him talk me into a lot of things.
Glancing at his watch, Tony sat up straight. "Drek, love. I got to run. You gonna be alright?"
"Sure... " I glanced at the guy with the needle. He grinned. Tony ducked out, heading back towards campus.
As the tattoo artist finished up, I got curious. Curiousity was always one of my major faults. Or one of my better traits. It just depended on what kind of trouble it got me into.