Ficlets

Blake slowly rose, wiping the sludge remains of Alec off of his knuckles. He was tired and — of course — the bleeding incision in his arm, the one he favored for punching, hadn’t made things easier.

“So?” Winters said, impatient.

“Give me my shirt,” Blake replied.

“Why didn’t you do that before?” Angela asked.

“What?” replied Blake.

“Show him the Elder Sign and beat the frak out of him,” Simon interjected.

“Didn’t know what he was,” Blake paused. “Not until he downed The Baron. And then I figured the odds were in my favor.”

“Wait,” Winters said. “You weren’t sure that was going to work?”

Blake finished stretching his shirt over his frame. “Nope,” he replied.

“Okay,” Winters said. “Now what was that? What’s happening?”

“That was a gorram Elder Sign,” Simon replied. “Serious mojo against the Old Ones. Where the frak did you get that done?”

Blake nodded. “A little tattoo parlor in Dunswich. Nice place.”

“What’s going on here?” Winters asked again.

“Do you know who Cthulhu is?” Blake inquired.