#helpstrcys

Alexa, @softlyrcse, congratulations.Thank you for giving me an outlet for the sweetest cliches and for giving me all the spins we can put on them. You are my Muse, with a capital “M”. 

Even for a college message board, it was a weird one.

There were many of the usual "babysitter needed" and "lost my jacket call 212-0000 if found" notices, but beyond that, the message board showcased a variety of bizarre adverts. "Test subjects with bizarre phobias wanted - pays cash $$$" was one of them. "Fast movers needed - must be willing to work late hours in the Diamond District" was another. If any passing students needed a reminder that they were attending university in Gotham, the message board was the prime example.

One notice in particular was notable for its vagueness, it was difficult to tell if it was someone having an innocent laugh or the start of something sinister.

$50 reward if you can solve my puzzle:

         “you need any help with that?” 

Finnegan slid the contract towards Gabby. The pages and pages his PR team had drawn up, that he’d spent his lunch hour reading, were filled with legal jargon, but it boiled down to one thing:

PR wanted to contract Mia’s social media accounts. Apparently, she had enough followers now to do the company a service and when they’d told Finnegan they wanted to use his daughter as a way to get the company name out there, make them relevant among teenagers, Finnegan had to fight the urge to ship Mia off to a boarding school without WiFi, somewhere in the Alps. Now, sitting at his desk he understood why PR didn’t want his only heir running an Instagram unchecked, but...

“They want to pay her to make social media posts,” he said. “Get her a social media manager, sponsorship from other brands, a makeup artist...”

Finnegan knew all about this kind of contract. He had a similar one - a less sizable deal he’d cut a few years ago. He’d given up more money in exchange for more control over his image. He worried Mia would not make the same choice, if given the chance. 

Or that if she did, she would use her newfound fame and elevated platform without any kind of foresight. 

“Until she’s eighteen, I have the right to accept or reject it for her, but I wanted to know what you thought before I did anything.”

Before Mia knows about it.

“I don’t know,” He answers easily in a deadpan, eyes flat as he looks over at her. An unamused grin lifts his lips fractionally. “Did it hurt when you burrowed up through the ground from hell?”

She startles when she nearly runs into a figure as soon as she turns the corner, heart still thundering in her chest when she stills, stops breathing, and then realizes. “Ah - Gabs, it’s just you.” 

Anya is ten times jumpier than she ever was before - after all, now she’s engaged in very much illegal activity, much more illegal than whatever pick-pocketing and thievery the other woman is up to. Besides - coming up to their impending getaway, both of her partners in crime have been extraordinarily busy - and with no Dmitry to walk her home at night, she’s much more on her guard for ruffians or particularly rowdy drunks.