Oh, the Cleverness of You
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“This is spectacular!”
“Don’t be silly, this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”
The boy in green and Thistle’s feet just barely floated above the minute hand of Big Ben, hands on their hips and staring out over the city as the sun slowly fell. The know-it-all tone combined with the smirk from Peter usually would have earned him a glare, but Thistle was far too impressed by the scene before her to mind: this was nothing compared to the scenes outside her window. Peter, recognizing her need to ogle a bit more, remained silent as lights began to switch on all throughout London — it was noticeably different than the flickering candles and unreliable early light bulbs that Peter was used to seeing from this perch. Though Thistle did not notice, his feet planted solidly on the clock, if just for a moment.
However, their reverie was interupted most rudely. “Hey, whachu think you doing? How’d you kids get up there anyway?”
Startled, both children ducked and glanced up at the uniformed man standing in the clock tower just above them, glowering down with walkie-talkie in hand.
Peter looked up at him indignantly, his hands planted at his hips completing his stubborn, boyish composure. “Since when did they get so mean? I don’t even remember guards here.”
“Seriously?” Thistle hissed, trying to hide her face from the policeman. “They’ve been stationed here forever! When was the last time you visited?”
Peter shrugged. “A while.”
“I’m calling you kids in!”
Peter gave Thistle a side glance, pushing his thick auburn hair out of his eyes. “Come on, can’t let that happen. Last time I checked, the bad guys aren’t supposed to catch the heroes.”
Thistle nodded hurriedly, and struggling to coax her feet back into the air, was grabbed by Peter who dived off the clock face and into the night without a single warning.
She would have screamed if Peter hadn’t planted his hand firmly over her mouth as they dropped gracefully onto a rooftop. After his feet settled unwillingly back into gravity, he set his friend back onto her feet.
“Girl, you aren’t very good at being a hero,” he pointed out, lifting his green hat to run a hand through his hair.
Thistle stuck her chin out. “Well, Boy, I’ve never been a hero before,” she retorted, lifting a brow at the Green Boy as if daring him to argue.
He laughed, grabbing her hand and without wasting a moment, they were flying once more.
“Well, it’s your lucky day, because where I live we play all sorts of games. And we’re always the good guys.”
“We’re going there now? Won’t your Mom be mad if I come over unexpected.”
The image of Peter’s last “Mother” tainted his eyelids, but he tried his best to ignore it. “Mom? We don’t have any of those where I’m from. It’s just me and the Boys.”
Thistle lifted a brow but didn’t question it. “The Boys?”
“The Lost Boys, that is. I look after them.” And for the first time since Thistle had met the Green Boy, the hint of protectiveness in his voice had him almost sound like the age he looked to be.
“Well I look forward to meeting them,” Thistle said happily, imagining other, littler Peters to be her new friends.
The boy’s trademark grin appeared instantly, and his happiness caused him to leap another ten feet into the air, jerking Thistle with him. Neither noticed, for they were both laughing.
“Good! Now to the second star to the right, and straight on ‘till morning!” Peter cried, pointing to the star he spoke of.
“And what’s there?”
A glimmer appeared in his eye. “Neverland!”
“Don’t be silly, this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”
The boy in green and Thistle’s feet just barely floated above the minute hand of Big Ben, hands on their hips and staring out over the city as the sun slowly fell. The know-it-all tone combined with the smirk from Peter usually would have earned him a glare, but Thistle was far too impressed by the scene before her to mind: this was nothing compared to the scenes outside her window. Peter, recognizing her need to ogle a bit more, remained silent as lights began to switch on all throughout London — it was noticeably different than the flickering candles and unreliable early light bulbs that Peter was used to seeing from this perch. Though Thistle did not notice, his feet planted solidly on the clock, if just for a moment.
However, their reverie was interupted most rudely. “Hey, whachu think you doing? How’d you kids get up there anyway?”
Startled, both children ducked and glanced up at the uniformed man standing in the clock tower just above them, glowering down with walkie-talkie in hand.
Peter looked up at him indignantly, his hands planted at his hips completing his stubborn, boyish composure. “Since when did they get so mean? I don’t even remember guards here.”
“Seriously?” Thistle hissed, trying to hide her face from the policeman. “They’ve been stationed here forever! When was the last time you visited?”
Peter shrugged. “A while.”
“I’m calling you kids in!”
Peter gave Thistle a side glance, pushing his thick auburn hair out of his eyes. “Come on, can’t let that happen. Last time I checked, the bad guys aren’t supposed to catch the heroes.”
Thistle nodded hurriedly, and struggling to coax her feet back into the air, was grabbed by Peter who dived off the clock face and into the night without a single warning.
She would have screamed if Peter hadn’t planted his hand firmly over her mouth as they dropped gracefully onto a rooftop. After his feet settled unwillingly back into gravity, he set his friend back onto her feet.
“Girl, you aren’t very good at being a hero,” he pointed out, lifting his green hat to run a hand through his hair.
Thistle stuck her chin out. “Well, Boy, I’ve never been a hero before,” she retorted, lifting a brow at the Green Boy as if daring him to argue.
He laughed, grabbing her hand and without wasting a moment, they were flying once more.
“Well, it’s your lucky day, because where I live we play all sorts of games. And we’re always the good guys.”
“We’re going there now? Won’t your Mom be mad if I come over unexpected.”
The image of Peter’s last “Mother” tainted his eyelids, but he tried his best to ignore it. “Mom? We don’t have any of those where I’m from. It’s just me and the Boys.”
Thistle lifted a brow but didn’t question it. “The Boys?”
“The Lost Boys, that is. I look after them.” And for the first time since Thistle had met the Green Boy, the hint of protectiveness in his voice had him almost sound like the age he looked to be.
“Well I look forward to meeting them,” Thistle said happily, imagining other, littler Peters to be her new friends.
The boy’s trademark grin appeared instantly, and his happiness caused him to leap another ten feet into the air, jerking Thistle with him. Neither noticed, for they were both laughing.
“Good! Now to the second star to the right, and straight on ‘till morning!” Peter cried, pointing to the star he spoke of.
“And what’s there?”
A glimmer appeared in his eye. “Neverland!”
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Poor Tink, Thistle doesn't even notice her following them around like a lost (indignant) puppy. And I'm terribly sorry about the (lack of) length, as well as the tardiness /: I'll update sooner, I promise!