Girl Master of Disguises (Lesbian Story, GirlxGirl)

Chapter Two - The Model

su-per-he-ro

     noun

     a benevolent fictional character with superhuman powers

     example: Spider-Man

     Somewhat satisfied with the definition, Buggy opens another tab and enters something on the search bar. The definition appears at the top above the searches:

an-ti-he-ro

     noun

     a central character in a story, movie, or drama who lacks conventional heroic attributes.  

     example: Deadpool 

     As far as Buggy can gather about the latest New York Times, they don't know the definition of "anti-hero", only "superhero". And that just pisses her off, considering the fact there was a news article a while ago talking about the long reasons of why people with an 'intelligent' vocabulary are more prone to be the ones everyone listen to. She flips the paper by her laptop to the front, and the headline catches her eye:

MODEL MALIK EXPECTED TO APPEAR IN NEW YORK

     Buggy has no idea why that's so important someone's writing about it. She skims it over for the reason. Five minutes later, all she can find is some guy named Malik in Jamaica was found by someone from the modeling agency. Putting that fact with the one stating that the start of Malik's tour is at New York, Buggy doesn't find anything else useful or news-worthy. 

     She throws the paper in the recycling bin and turns on the little TV on the kitchen counter instead. The first channel was some reality show. Buggy immediately changes it, and finds the news station. She would've changed it again, but figures it's better background noise and leaves it on. 

     While a reporter's revealing some celebrity cheating on his spouse, Buggy's got out her small bag of weapons from her room. After the last mission, most of them are desperately needing to be cleaned thoroughly. Lesson learned: never hide behind a leaky bin full of something suspicious while trying to avoid the nosy guard. 

     Buggy sets it on the counter just as a change appears on the screen. "We have some breaking news about the male model Malik, who was supposed to come here in New York an hour ago," a female reporter announces. "He has been reported missing in the last twenty-four hours. The agent who was traveling with him claims to have seen Malik since his last flight from Canada."

     Buggy rolls her eyes. The model again. For all anyone knows, he's fashionably late, or decided to party a little longer without telling anyone. She turns up the volume with the tiny dial, anyway. It's not as if she can mock anything if she can't hear them well enough. 

     With her back to the television, she can only hear what sounds like some panicked movements. The reporter tries her best to sound professional as she states the latest, latest news. "It appears that the modeling agency have received a ransom note," she says.

     Did the agency even lend it over? Or did some reporter steal it from them? Buggy can imagine the latter.

     She turns around in time to see her holding a piece of paper. "'We have the one you want. Deposit two million grand at Central Park next Wednesday at midnight, and Malik won't get hurt'." The woman looks confused. 

     "Never heard of a criminal so generous to give over a week to collect the money," Buggy muses, wiping at a blade with a rag before setting it down with the other cleaned weapons. 

     "Well, this has confirmed one of our worst fears," the reporter says, not in any way sounding like she cares. "Malik has been kidnapped, and the agency has eight days to collect the money for the kidnappers! Tell me, Brandon--" The camera shifts to the left, showing a broad male reporter, "--do you think there is a reason for the long amount of time?"

     Before Brandon gets a chance to answer her question, Buggy shuts the TV off. The only thing she has on her mind is this might end up as another mission for her to accomplish. Not yet, though. First, she has to finish and edit a paper in Acting (in Acting!) that's due the next day. 

     Buggy zips up her now clean weapons and puts them back under her bed. Since she's next to her nightstand, she might as well get the Beretta in the drawer and see if it still functions. She first bought it back when she believed guns are the best weapons against a night prowler. Now that she's taking martial arts, Buggy finds it unnecessary. 

     Her phone rings. Putting the gun back down, Buggy picks it up as she's now rooting through her messy desk for the paper. "Yeah?" she mumbles, distracted.

     "Did you see the news?" James asks, excited. He doesn't bother with a simple 'hello'. "Did you?"

     "Uh-huh. What about it?" Buggy almost cries, "Eureka!" when she finds what she's looking for. She takes out a pen and starts correcting it as she waits for James' response.

     "It's such a big deal that most of the channels have been interrupted by the 'breaking news'," James says. "I tell you, this has got to be something the Mistress of Disguises would want to solve."

     Not really, to be honest, Buggy thinks. "Are you planning to track her down?"

     "I wish. If the cops don't know where she is most of the time, then how am I supposed to know?"

     "Says the one who not once, but several times, have solved the mysteries in that Bones show before the half-hour mark," Buggy points out. She makes a mistake and curses, crossing the mark out.

     James makes a little noise on the other end. "Wow! You've convinced me. Let me go find that one hidden bank account with a suspiciously huge amount of money I supposedly have and spend on the tracking equipment that I won't be able to find in a short amount of time."

     Buggy laughs at the sarcasm. "Okay, you have a good point." At least I don't have to persuade you if you decide to do what you wanted, she adds.

     "Of course I do," James says. "I make the best points in the two-mile radius."    

     "Only two miles?"

     "I'm trying to be realistic here."

     "Obviously not."

     "Angel," James warns.

     Buggy stands up from her desk to get her laptop. "That's the second time you've called me that in a week," she comments. "And I'm not finding that pleasant." With only one hand she starts typing.

     "Oh really? Did your parents ever call you Angel when you're in trouble?"

     "I don't know. I've rarely listened to them."

     Her friend gasps. "How so--"

     Buggy interrupts James. "I'd love to bicker with you like an old couple, but I have to go," she says. "In case you forgot, we have a paper to write in Acting."

     "Ugh, fine!" Before Buggy can end the conversation on a happy note, the line goes dead.

     She looks at her phone with annoyance. "Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever enter the classroom wearing a dress to add some flair into drama," she mutters under her breath.