The group assembled at the intersection of Gravella and
Limbell, near I-270. It figured that Gravella wasn’t even here, off to meet
with DeVeer, much to Limbell’s chagrin.
Slicking back his hair, Kirklan gave his usual cocky smirk
as he approached the assemblage of his fellow spirits. Limbell gave his usual
trademark scowl at his “little brother”, which Kirklan just ignored.
It was a bit of a motley crew tonight. Grand Lane, the twins Locklon
and Hector, Limbell, Kirklan himself, and to his surprise, Summer Town
stood among them. The town spirit, standing taller than all of them, looked
grim, unusual for his normally high spirits. He kept glancing upwards, to where
the dark clouds roiled. Even Kirklan could admit there was a restless energy in the air, unusual for this time of year. Probably just an early
tornado, surely.
“Took your time, little brother,” said Limbell.
“I always arrive when I mean to arrive,” said Kirklan.
“Fashionably late,” quipped Hector.
“Fashionably lame,” quipped Locklon.
“Fashionably blamed,” said Hector.
“Fashionably shamed,” said Locklon.
“Yes, yes,” Kirklan waved them off. If he didn’t nip the
twins in the bud, they’d be going all night. “So what are we looking at at?”
“Splinters of Hurricane Belle,” said Summer Town. He looked
off into the distance somberly.
