Whispers

So to anyone that saw the notification for "Transition" go out then couldn't get into the fic because I locked that baby down as fast I humanly could, so, so sorry.

I am writing this fic on two computers and a tablet and in the end, I went with a draft on AO3 to keep me in access to the latest edits (2 too many times emailing the wrong file and all). Unfortunately, I clicked Post without Previewing instead of Save without Posting and had to jam it into my anonymous collection ASAP.

Again, sorry.

We're closing in on deadline, so it will be available soonish. With art.

Snippet: "That Traitorous Mistress, Memory"
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Author's Note: I don't have time to work on this piece and, unlike my other snippets, this one doesn't make me want to finish it. If anyone wants her, you can have her.

Neither looked none too pleased when they saw Moira clicking in with her high heels, gun slung in the holster at her hips (over business suit dress—they were stodgy and they were old), with that determined look on her face.

"Who's put a bee in your bonnet, dear?" asked Mrs. Sturgeon. Her mouth puckered into a tight frown under her severe black glasses and even more severe steely grey bun. "Ladies shouldn't walk like they're out to kill someone."

And I'm not ready.

:glares at internet that resurrected less than 5 minutes ago:

Must clack this lunch break. Heaps to do, heaps to do.