Tank wriggled in Anchor’s arms, practically vibrating with
“I can get fwench toast, Anchur?”
The caretaker smirked and nodded. He was a pushover with any
of his little charges but especially Tank, the little toddler had easily won
over Anchor’s heart with his bright smile and sweet disposition.
They were seated and Tank sung a little made up song about French
toast as they waited for the waitress to take their order. When she finally came
back she had a big smile on her face, obviously enamored with little Tank.
“Awww, what’s your name sweetie?”
“Oh my! Such a big, strong name! Well, what would the big
man like to have to eat today?”
He threw his arms up in the air as he shouted in his sweet
voice. Anchor gently shushed him and Tank pressed a finger to his lips,
“And what toppings would you like on that French Toast?”
“Mmmm…” Tank kicked his legs back and forth as he thought. “Just
fuck me up!”
He said loudly then smiled brightly, apparently proud he’d
used the saying. The waitress looked horrified and Anchor wore a matching
What, did his
sweet little Tank just say?
“That is a bad
word Tank, you don’t use it, ever!”
Anchor hissed at him and the boy immediately looked upset,
big green eyes already watering.
He sniffled and Anchor sighed, pulling him to his side. Tank
nuzzled against him and when he’d calmed down and they’d left the restaurant,
Anchor asked just where he’d heard that phrase. Surely Tank’s mother hadn’t
been spouting off foul language while her son was around.
“I heard it fwom Voodoo.”
“Voodoo! I heard him say it when he was weading me stories
“What stories was he reading you?”
“I can’t wemembuh but it was about dead things.”
Tank nodded his head then perked up as if remembering.
“Oh! I wemembuh some of the book! Voodoo wed that def is
only the beginning.”
Tank nodded sagely after the sentence and Anchor could feel
his blood boiling. Everyone in the park turned as the tall, intimidating
looking man yelled one word.
Miles away the artist looked up from his sketch book.
“Did you hear that?”
Rogue raised a brow and shook his head.
“Oh shit, Anchor’s mad at me.”
“What? What are
you talking about? How do you even kno-where the hell are you going?”
Voodoo was already putting on a jacket and grabbing his
“Mexico, maybe the middle of the Pacific, anywhere that he
can’t track me.”