Page 21 of The Timeless Vigilante

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Gen said, pulling the jacket snugger around her, enjoying the way it fit her like a glove. She couldn’t imagine anything ever fitting her any better. It wasn’t just made for her, but it was made around her, like it fit her personality. She was wearing the absolute perfect outfit that she would ever have.

The suit that the strange large spider, who was surprisingly gentle, made for Gen was all black and armored. However, it was light and flexible with a fitted top and short jacket that would keep her warm when riding her dragon. The bottom consisted of a half skirt, also ideal for flying through the air. And the pants were thick and allowed for movement.

But most importantly it was a fierce look, mixing both elements of medieval style with the modern era. Jeremy Bearimy and Juergen had designed Gen something that made her feel more than powerful and she almost felt ready for the next phase of her life. Almost—but not quite yet.

Gen knew there was one thing she needed. She could feel its absence at her essence. She needed her dragon to hatch, for sure. But before that, she needed a weapon that would match the power of her dragon. Gen felt that his power would be ultimate, so she needed something to complement that. But so far, she hadn’t found anything that fit. Actually, she’d broken pretty much everything she’d tried, almost like she was jinxed when it came to weapons.

“I’ve got you covered on weapons,” Sophia assured her when they entered the place that Gen had first lived upon stepping into the twenty-first century—The Fantastical Armory.

“How do you mean?” Gen asked, feeling like she was entering an old memory that was strangely new at the same time.

Sophia winked at her. “Trust me. Beaufont love all the way.”

Gen didn’t know what that meant, but she did feel like these people from this generation were the owners of her heart. They seemed to have her back, no matter what. So therefore, feeling like a warrior but not prepared to be in battle, she entered the place she knew that Father Time and Mother Nature called home presently. It was also a shop filled with weapons and artifacts and home to a grumpy man.

“Oh, good, another Beaufont is here,” Subner, the Protector of Weapons muttered when they entered the shop of oddities.

This was the place that Gen had to call home for the days when she couldn’t do anything and was waiting to be put back on her timeline. What person is told to have tea and biscuits with Mother Nature and not look out the window for days? Genevieve Beaufont. That’s who.

During that time, she was pretty sure that the creator of all life told her many things secretly, but dissecting them, well, that would take some time. The woman who was the creator of all things was discreet in all ways, starting with her appearance. She wore a purple velour track suit and the whitest sneakers and had bluish gray hair to impress—all curled up like a loud and outgoing woman would have it. And although she was as old as time, literally, being mated with the creator of time—Papa Creola, she looked about seventy years old with smooth skin lined with a few wrinkles and pink lipstick and long eyelashes.

Father Time, who went by the name Papa Creola, looked like the most handsome old man one could meet. He was a silver fox with his pushed-back salt and pepper hair, sly smile and blue eyes. He was the perfect height at six feet even and the perfect build at just around one-hundred and seventy-five pounds. And he was cool with his low tone and relaxed manner to counter Mama Jamba’s southern style.

Papa Creola had to regenerate his form when he reset time to try and put Gen back in the medieval era. It hadn’t worked because, from what everyone could tell, she wasn’t supposed to go back. This was her time. But that hard reset had caused Papa Creola to take on a new look. He went from being an elfin hippie to a halfling. Presently, he was both a magician and a fairy, having the logic of the first and the artistic and attractive style of the latter.

Gen didn’t know what dictated the appearance or mannerisms of the creators of the earth or time, but she also didn’t care. These two, who were the foundation of everything, did what they did because they could and who was she to question it all. If she’d been around since the beginning of everything, she’d probably have purple hair and talk in an Australian accent, just for fun. As it were, she just wanted to understand the last six hundred years and all that she’d missed.

“You don’t mean that. You’re not glad that we’re here,” Sophia said to Subner, the grumpy guy who was wearing all black with long, dark hair partially covering his face. He was a fairy in this iteration, but had his wings cut off to negate any emotional or artistic characteristics that might come with being a fairy.

The Protector of Weapons, Gen had learned, was the grouchy type. That was apparent during her time living at his shop, the Fantastical Armory, and it was almost endearing, like an old grandparent who complained about everything but secretly liked it all.

“Let me have a look at you, dear,” Mama Jamba chimed in her southern accent, striding over to Gen and Sophia.

She was shorter than the two women which was saying a lot since they were both below average. Looking at her felt like staring in the mirror and then also the world at large. It was the strangest experience and Gen never thought she’d get used to it. Peering into the creator of life’s eyes was more than intimidating. But then again, she didn’t want to look away from the woman who was responsible for everything—quite literally.

Mama Jamba was small and spritely in her tracksuit and sneakers, with hairspray making her large hair absolutely perfect. She smiled slyly at Gen, looking at her new outfit.

“I like this new style for you,” she said, a sparkle in her periwinkle blue eyes. “It suits you. It’s old and new and fun and also a little rebellious.”

Gen glanced down at the outfit that felt like the best thing ever and smiled. “Thanks. It feels…right.”

“Remember the way this outfit makes you feel and never choose anything or anyone that doesn’t measure up the same way, dear,” Mama Jamba said, like she meant something really profound but was trying to be discreet.

“Okay,” Gen said, drawing out the word.

“It works, for a timeless vigilante,” Papa Creola said, taking the position next to Mama Jamba, making the couple look complete. He smiled and Gen felt like she was in the company of the most beautiful set of grandparents, but that wasn’t the right term for them. They were that, but times a thousand.

“Vigilante makes me sound like something fierce,” Gen said with a laugh.

Mama Jamba looked at Papa Creola with a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t it be great if she knew…”

“It would mess up everything,” he replied with a devilish grin. “And I like it much better when they have to figure it out on their own. Watching them be confused and struggle is fun.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I like that part too,” Mama Jamba said. The pair clasped hands and turned, walking off for the pink armchairs at the front of the Fantastical Armory where they spent most of their time, plotting and planning the universe from the shop of oddities.

“You all are sadistic, and we love you dearly,” Sophia said, waving to the pair’s back.

“They are sly little devils, if you ask me,” a woman Gen knew little about but loved dearly said, joining them.

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