"Lilly and Stella and Tori just being friends,"

Requested by @hanpuff

"Can we have all your female OCs meet?"

Requested by @OldSoulWriter

"Is four a lot?"

"Depends on the context. Dollars? No. Murders? Yes. Now, what did you do this time?"

The wry, bordering on smug smile that plays at the corners of Lillian Veronica Nightshade's lips do nothing to ease Estelle Gloria Aveline's flourishing curiosity. The assassin and anti-hero had been having a more than enjoyable, placid and downright normal catch up until that point, no talks of super heroes, criminals or any other unordinary part of their extraordinary lives. A simple, pleasant walk down the bustling streets of Manhattan, coffee in hand, with no prominent heroes as far as the eye could see. And yet, now that those four words have escaped Lillian's mouth, Stella is more than suspicious about where this conversation is heading, the Nightingale's grin only adding to Conquest the Horseman's suspicions.

Shrugging, the assassin scuffs her cumbersome combat boots against the dirty New York pathway, not even attempting to hide her smile. "Not much really. Steve just pulled me aside today and said I gotta stop picking fights on the streets. Of course, I dutifully reminded him that I only picked one fight on the street – the other three I instigated just so happened to be in gangster owned clubs and restaurants."

"Ah yes, who doesn't appreciate the metallic flavour of mob men blood in their chicken primavera?" Stella sarcastically agrees, daintily sipping away at her coffee, immaculately manicured nails tapping on the cup in unison with the clicks her white Louis Vuitton heels are making against the concrete floor.

"Apparently, it's putting a bit of a stain on the Avengers name, now that I'm technically one of them, as well as dating their number one sweetheart," Lilly carries on, appearing so flippant on the subject that Stella can quite clearly tell the assassin finds the entire situation rather boring, to say the least. The PA to CEO Jordan Parks of Parkcorp can't blame the Avenger, after all, Lillian having once been a free lance assassin, starting bar fights or street scuffles would be paltry next to what she used to do.

"Also, get this – beating the shit out of people is illegal," Lillian Nightshade explains in such a state of disbelief, it's as if she had never heard of the law before. Stella lightly chuckles, a gentle laugh with a distinct feminine air about it as Lillian continues to sarcastically ramble "Next they're going to outlaw murder."

"Perish the thought," the anti-hero responds, hiding her smile behind her coffee cup as she takes a small sip.

Commotion stirs like the foreboding clouds before a storm further down the street, a bustling crowd only ever sighted when an accident or crime has gone down gathering in a sizeable mass before what looks to be –

.... a T-Rex skeleton?

The artefact, so casually out on the street and in almost perfect condition – if you ignore the alarming sight of a torn article of clothing dangling from its jaws – is frozen in place, as a skeleton should be, and yet...

Why is it in the middle of the street with clothing hanging from its mouth?

Estelle Aveline and Lillian Nightshade are completely at a loss, staring at the clamour further away in no short amount of perplexity. If the two women didn't know any better, they would almost say, judging by the clothing and placement of the skeleton, that it was brought to life.

What kind of powerful and treacherous force is capable of animating a long dead King of the Dinosaurs?

***

"That doesn't subtract from the fact that water is wet."

"We're not having this conversation any longer."

Victoria Morana Kingsley – a practitioner of the arcane dead arts of necromancy, best friend to T'Challa, prince of Wakanda, and a bisexual, anti-social mess with anxiety – smiles into the phone, adjusting the large glasses sitting atop her petite nose, knowing she has won this round.

"Aha! One point to me, zero for Mr Scary World War II Soldier-Turned Soviet-HYDRA dude. You gotta step up your game Buck my man my buddy my pal my friend."

A soft, abrupt chuckle can be heard through from across the line, broadening Tori's own face-splitting, dorky grin. "You can't give yourself a point if I wasn't even arguing against you."

"You bet your pretty little L'Oreal haired head I can," the necromancer weakly rebukes, absent-mindedly glancing over the artefacts of the American Museum of Natural History.

Tori and Bucky had spent the better part of a month trying to track down the witch doctor that has been collecting potent potion ingredients and working with HYDRA, and against James Barnes' better judgment, he finally agreed to briefly parting ways with the witch to cover two separate leads. The Winter Soldier is currently in New Mexico, chasing up on strong HYDRA activity in the area, whilst Tori is in Manhattan, New York, investigating a disturbance in the veil that exists between the living world and the Other Side – dimension that runs parallel to the human world, wrought with the spirits of supernatural and human beings who refuse to pass into the afterlife, otherwise known as Limbo.

Bucky, who has taken it upon himself to guard and take care of the awkward, dorky woman who has done nothing but treat him with kindness and sacrificed her quiet life for him, is concerned to say the least. Tori has good intentions, but an unfortunate tendency to draw attention to herself. To make it worse, she avoids conflict and violence like the plague, meaning if she's attacked, he won't be there to defend her as she tries to talk sense to her attacker.

Or, as was the case when he was assigned to kill her many years ago as the Winter Soldier, hug the arm of her enemy and promise them she'll run away and start a farm with a few goats.

Bucky doesn't voice his concerns over the phone, knowing it would merely sound like a broken record on repeat to the necromancer. Instead, he sighs, changing topic as smoothly as he can. "Nothing here yet. How's New York?"

"Wonderful! Did you know that the Statue of Liberty has size 879 sandals that are each 25 feet long? Chic's got some massive feet. I wonder, how long would it take her to paint her toenails?"

A brief pause between the two lapses, awkward in nature.

"... How's hunting the witch doctor, Tori?"

"Right! Yes, witch doctor. Yeah – no, nothing yet. I managed to pinpoint the activity to this museum, but otherwise got zilch. Wow, Theodore Roosevelt kinda does look like Robin Williams. Who knew?" Tori muses, flitting back and forth between the exhibits like an excitable puppy.

"Call me when you find something. Or if you need help." Pause. "Or if you're in tr—"

"Bucky, love your confidence in me my dude, but I'm good, really," Tori assures, moving onto the prehistoric exhibit. "Same goes for you, BTW. Catch you on the Other Side. Ha, witch puns. Ciao!"

"Bye."

Click.

Pocketing the phone in her long, dark purple cardigan that's a few inches short of dusting the floor, the witch throws her lengthy raven hair up into a high pony tail, simultaneously using her own magic to reach out for the source of magical activity stirring in the museum. Eventually, after many side tracks and commentaries that are spoken aloud to no one but herself, the witch stumbles upon the Hall of Ornithischian Dinosaurs, all things dinosaur and archaic as far as the eye can see.

And yet, it's not the skeletons, fossils, or other colossal artefacts that grasp her attention, but rather, the sixteen bodies – civilian and security guard alike – all collapsed onto the floor at awkward angles like they'd just been abruptly turned off and crumpled.

"Right..." Tori mutters, staring around the room with wide eyes. "Definitely not normal."

A lone figure remains standing; arm outstretched and plunged into a display case holding what looks to be some kind of fossilised feathers. The man is wearing an alarming red overcoat, with a mop of blonde surfer curls sitting atop his head. So, a witch doctor, presumably, but not the witch doctor she was expecting.

Unsure exactly what to do, Tori awkwardly tries to straighten her posture and make herself look nonchalant and threatening at the same time, stiffly crossing her arms and uncrossing them several times, before finally clearing her throat and tilting her head up, as if to stare down at him through her glasses. This would generally look somewhat arrogant or mildly confident coming from any other person on the planet, but not Victoria Kingsley.

The witch doctor, mid-grasp of the fossil, cranes his head in her direction, giving the necromancer a quick glance up and down before grinning amusedly. "Ah, big glasses, purple and black ensemble, and an overall awkward disposition. You must be the Kingsley necromancer. Nice to meet you luv." Gazing around, a small knot forms between the British witch doctor's brows. "Where's that pet Russian assassin of yours? Heard lots 'bout him and his particular knack for possessively protecting you. Nasty little piece of work he is."

"Nearby, somewhere," Tori rambles out unconvincingly, uncrossing her arms for the eighth time in the past thirty seconds. "And he's not nasty, or little – at all, really, dude is built like the Moscow Kremlin – and definitely not a piece of work either. Oh, and just a heads up, stealing is illegal."

One eyebrow arches on the witch doctor's pretty face, so far finding the witch as entertaining as his fellow witch doctor, Maleko, had said she is. Chuckling he backpedals amusedly, insincerely apologising "My, sorry for the offence, and just an FYI to you, possession is actually nine tenths of the law, little witch. If you're trying to look threatening, by the way, you're better off waiting for that HYDRA pet who is most certainly not nasty, or little, or a piece of work to return from where he is 'nearby, somewhere'."

"I can be threatening."

"Oh yes, I can clearly see that. Kitten's got claws."

Nose crinkling in displeasure, Tori summons what little back bone she has and demands "Who exactly are you? I was expecting—"

"Maleko?" The blonde interjects. "He's but one witch doctor a part of the whole ongoing scheme sweetheart. As for me, name's Jack, if you must know."

Yanking the fossil from the display case, Jack swiftly pockets the feather into his stark red coat, finally fully turning to face Victoria. Dramatically throwing his arms out to either side, as if inviting her over for a hug, the witch doctor smugly smirks, viper green eyes daring her to do something. "And you, Victoria Kingsley – I've heard all about you little witch. Maleko finds you more than entertaining, and I can see why. But what are you, the pacifist necromancer incapable of murder, going to do to stop me?"

Steeling herself, Tori plainly responds "Well, I'm going to politely ask first—"

"And I'm going to politely decline."

"—and then I'm going to go all Night of the Museum on your butt."

Jack is deprived the opportunity to properly form a coherent response, for the moment that a shadow of confusion passes over his features, a daunting, chilling succession of ominous creaks and cracks begins to stir in the bones of the prehistoric creatures around them. The triceratops, stegosaurus, and a couple duck-billed dinosaur skeletons begin to stretch the fatigue that had settled in their bones the past sixty eight million years, the groans coming from the act so guttural and deep, it's almost as if they truly are alive.

The witch doctor pales considerably, alarmingly tearing his gaze away from the fossils to stare at the necromancer in shock. Tori, who now holds her glasses in hand, grey eyes glimmering a soft purple, quirks an expectant eyebrow at Jack. "You're right, I don't like violence, so please, just hand over the fossil dude."

Emerald eyes rapidly dart back and forth between the witch to the dinosaurs now expectantly staring at him, deliberating whether the tiny feather fossil in his pocket is really worth being chased by actual dinosaurs over.

To which he quickly decides yes, apparently it is.

Sighing, Tori slumps her shoulders, the sigh eventually turning into a groan. "Of course he runs. Why wouldn't he run?"

Stumblingly chasing after him with lumbering, loud, cumbersome dinosaur skeletons running past her after the witch doctor, it isn't long before the necromancer is panting from exhaustion, apologising to every person her animated fossils nearly trample after escaping the Hall of Ornithischian Dinosaurs. Jack throws pouches of colourful powders over his shoulder as he desperately sprints, the pouches exploding in showers of fire and red, managing to take out one of the duck-billed dinos and the stegosaurus, prompting a "Baal!" from Tori as she tries to stop the bones from falling and destroying other exhibits around them, or harming any bystanders.

By this point, it was entirely Jack's fault that he made a wrong turn into the Hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs. A hall which just so happened to hold the King of Gore and of all the dinosaurs.

Fleetingly skidding to a stop in his mad dash to escape the bones chasing him from behind, Jack the witch doctor's eyes nearly bug from out of his head as he horrifyingly stares up at the enormous, colossal, towering tyrannosaurus-rex. With teeth more than six inches long and a jaw four feet in length, it's clear to see just how powerful a bite from one of these creatures would've been back in their day.

Jack takes a careful step back, meaning to find another way out of the exhibit.

Until the monstrous, dead reptile snaps its head in the witch doctor's direction, jaw dropping open, and unleashes an almighty, bone-chilling, blood-curdling roar.

***

Evangeline Mendax Winter used to think that she lived a rather ordinary life. Affairs, child custody, business background checks, identity thefts. Sure, the life of a private investigator is certainly more enthralling than your typical business clerk or bank teller, but in a world where super heroes, aliens, gods and individuals with extraordinary abilities exist, a small time private investigator from North Carolina is hardly all that unprecedented or exceptional.

That is, until she moved to Gotham City.

In a dark metropolitan wrought with corruption, crime, brutality and injustice – and no small amount of colourful, bizarre, certifiably insane super criminals – Eve never thought that she would stand out all that much, not with the likes of the Joker or Batman traipsing around the town, making the Gotham News on a weekly basis. And now?

Now, for her own safety, Evangeline Winter has decided to take a brief trip away from America's Crime Capital.

With the Riddler breaking into her apartment nearly four times a week, the mob families watching her every single move just waiting for an excuse to put a hit on her, Two Face popping up out of the blue asking for favours and claiming that she's his private investigator –Eve still struggles to fathom why the ex District Attorney would believe such an absurd notion – and allies of Sal Maroni that Eve missed when organising the mobster's demise currently hunting her down like hounds with a fox, everyone in Gotham is presently either trying to murder her or befriend her, and those trying to befriend her aren't particularly principled in the ways of the law and ethics. Therefore, the raven haired North Carolinian decided that a visit to an old friend and detective of the NYPD would be a suitable course of action for her to take whilst the inhabitants of the Gotham City Underworld are breathing down her neck waiting for an opportunity to strike. This way, she still gets the chance to aid police officers in trying cases, just like she's been doing in Gotham, but without all the crazy of the enigmatic super criminals and unbelievable, unordinary anomalies.

The very last thing she expected, was for that crazy to follow her all the way to Manhattan.

Hands tucked into the pockets of her white overcoat, the Gotham's Guardian Angel manages to tune out the chaotic amalgamation of various sounds around her, from the sirens, to the officers, to the grousing crowd of nosy onlookers behind the police tape. With an eye as sharp as Sherlock Holmes, usually, the PI would dish out every miniscule observation, detail and fact from the smallest pieces of evidence on the crime scene, her deductive case solving coming to her instinctually by now. This time, however, the private investigator finds herself mildly stunned by the crime scene in front of her.

Mainly, because the culprit is not human – and, not to mention, well over sixty eight million years dead.

Scanning the skeleton from head to toe, Evangeline Winter purses her rosy lips. Very little information about the entire farcical situation is available on the T-rex itself. Besides, of course, the DNA that will be gathered from the item of clothing hanging from its mouth. Single-breasted wool and cashmere red overcoat, it seems to be. Prada in design. Men's. Evidently, the man has more than a little money to spare, she notes. Eve's detective friend, Miles Miller, had informed her of the witnesses' recounts and security footage of the crime. A man, who had stolen a priceless fossilised feather, as well as knock sixteen people out without touching them, was chased by a long, ebony haired white woman and a few animated dinosaur skeletons around the museum, before the man finally escaped the building, only to be caught by the tyrannosaurus rex out on the street and tossed around like a chew toy, before the thief turned into a red northern cardinal – as in, the bird – mid-toss, and flew away.

Still not entirely sure what to make of the situation, the North Carolinian turns her head towards the other raven haired woman in a purple cardigan perched atop the hood of a police car not too far away, the very same woman that, according to Detective Miller, was running with the alive dinosaur skeletons. Intending to unearth some answers, Eve begins to approach the woman, who looks more than uncomfortable with all the people bustling around her. She's barely within five feet of her before all the little observations begin filtering through.

Young, likely mid-twenties. Physical appearance suggests Irish heritage. Sweating, yet expression does not display guilt, but rather unease. Breathing in for four seconds, holding for seven seconds, breathing out for eight seconds. Common technique for anxiety attacks, cementing theory of anxiety. Awkwardly hunches in on herself, shying away from others. Social anxiety. Is presently wearing glasses, yet witnesses described her to be without them amidst the crime. Neither do the glasses belong to any one style from any notable, distinct or even unpopular brands of prescription eyewear. Homemade? Tattoos are obvious. Small pentagram on the base of neck, small basic skull without the jaw behind left ear, witchcraft cross on right forearm peeking underneath the sleeve of the rolled up cardigan. Very notable Wiccan symbols. Skull tattoo, Wiccan appearance and animated skeletons would suggest necromancy. Small 1.5cm scar on the left side of upper lip. Angle, length and severity of scar suggests torn from brute force, perhaps several punches? Distinct scent of vanilla and herbs, more signs of a Wiccan practitioner. Fiddles with glasses, a tell of anxiety. Eyes are darting around in a manner which could only suggest that she's currently trying to plan a route of escape.

Smiling comfortingly at the woman, trying to ease her surmounting nerves, Eve hunches her own shoulders in a fraction, a non-threatening display. "I apologise for having to bother you like this, especially considering how many times you have and will continue to be questioned, but my name is Evangeline Winter. I am a private investigator, and I was rather hoping you would be kind enough to put to ease a few concerns of mine whilst answering a question or two about the incident."

Tori, who has been trying so hard to level her breathing and simultaneously plan an escape, was so distracted that she didn't even hear the woman in a white overcoat walk up to her until words started tumbling from her mouth. Startled, and staring at the apparent private investigator like a deer in the headlights, Tori momentarily stumbles over her words before managing a coherent sentence. "I – uh – sup?"

The witch mentally face palms. Nice.

"I mean, uh, I'm Tori. Tori Kingsley. Fire away my friend."

Eve quirks a brow, momentarily taken aback. Faded African accent. Nigerian, or Wakandan. Intriguing. Hazard a guess I suppose.

"May I inquire, as to why a Wakandan necromancer has taken it upon herself to pursue magical shape-shifting thieves of priceless prehistoric fossils?"

The aforementioned necromancer's jaw drops on impulse, wide, grey eyes staring into the gentle hazel gaze of the private investigator. "Wha—" cutting herself off, Tori blinks at Eve timidly, anxiety striking her spine like a bolt of lightning. "You... You're not a witch hunter... are you?"

"Witch hunter?" The detective repeats, mildly thrown off by the inquiry. "No, in fact, I actually didn't even truly believe in magic until half an hour ago."

The Wakandan's brows furrow, puzzled. "Then how....?"

"I am still very aware of the Wiccan spirituality," Evangeline explains. "Your tattoos, particularly the Wiccan cross, are admittedly a dead giveaway. And what witch is notorious for animating the deceased? Necromancers, evidently. Between your tattoos and the very much alive fossils, I'm certain most, detective or not, could piece that together."

"But how did you know I'm Wakandan, specifically?"

"Hazarded a guess on your faded accent, it was either that or Nigerian," Eve shrugs, expression soft. "I'm not all-knowing, I do gamble with possibilities from time to time. Makes my occupation all the more riveting."

"Yeah, you must get a lot of wack cases," the witch agrees, nodding absent-mindedly. "Dunno if I could do that. Frick, you must catch so many people in affairs and stuff. How many wives cheat with the pool boy, and how many husbands cheat with the assistant?"

"Forty eight percent and sixty one percent," the North Carolinian immediately answers, lips quirking. "And that's excluding maids, butlers, and postmen."

"Postmen?"

"Mm, many seem to forget there is no post on Sundays when fabricating a cover story. Tragic, really."

"Yeah man, even Vernon Dursley knew that shiz. Damn, what a world we live in," Tori shakes her head, pulling her long legs up to sit cross legged on the white and blue vehicle. With an exhausted sigh, the witch directs the conversation back on track, having a feeling that this Evangeline Winter chick isn't one to drop something until she gets some answers. "As for your question, well it's kinda long and definitely cray-cray, but—"

"If you tell me to stay behind this goddamn fucking police tape one more time I swear to God, I will actually shove the entire length of it up your ass until it's coming out of your mouth. I'm an Avenger Goddammit, let me do some damn super hero shit."

Both raven haired women are abruptly torn from their conversation, the loud, crude threat snapping their attention towards two women standing off a fair bit away on the other side of the police tape, one with all the patience in the world slipped onto her face, and the other looking like she's just about ready to ram her fist down the police officer's throat.

The two women look comically paradoxical standing beside one another, both Eve and Tori note. One is a curvy yet powerfully built, short brunette covered head to toe in black leather and flannel and looks like she'd just about punch anyone who so much as glimpses at her the wrong way. The other, an average height, lithe blonde business woman with propriety and perfect posture, dressed in the finest brands and wearing a sharp yet deceptively gentle smile.

Eve, someone who regularly keeps herself up to date with current events, recognises both of them of course. Estelle Aveline, PA to multi-millionaire and CEO of Parkcorp Jordan Parks, could give Aphrodite a run for her money, the woman always wearing the most exquisite clothes, sharp eyes and a diplomatic smile. Meanwhile, Lillian Nightshade, ex-assassin and current controversial Avenger, was notorious before dating America's Golden Boy and sweetheart, Captain America. Now, she's hardly sighted out in public without either her patriotic partner or billionaire best friend, Tony Stark.

Tori merely stares at the two in awe, both goddesses in their own right, and a sudden reminder of why the necromancer is bisexual.

Yikes, I can't say a word about Bucknado though, Tori remembers, knowing that Bucky wants more time to figure himself out before actively searching out his World War II bestie. Which, should she starts blabbering a thousand miles per hour – like she always does – to said World War II bestie's girlfriend, might be end up being sooner rather than later.

"Hm, an Avenger with the PA to Jordan Parks, intriguing," Eve mumbles to herself analytically, despite Tori catching on to her every word. "This day is certainly proving to be more eventful than I initially imagined. Let's see what they want, shall we?" Mischief underlines the PI's pleasant smile as she begins to call out to Officer Tompkins trying to dissuade the brunette and blonde.

"That's quite alright Officer Tompkins! They're with me!"

Stella is just about to step in to ease the brash Avenger when a shout breaks off their dispute from a distance. Sparing a glance in the direction of the exclamation, the anti-hero and assassin spy two women with dark coal coloured hair, one with a style similar to Lillian's – short, just below the jaw length with layering – and the other fairly lengthy and in a high ponytail.

Conquest scans the two head to toe, masking the thoughts convulsing in her head. Begrudgingly, the officer lets them through, Lillian shooting him the stink eye as she and Stella make their way over to Eve and Tori, until all four women are face to face, Stella nodding her thanks to Eve immediately. "Thank you for that, I honestly thought my friend here was about to actually follow through with her threat."

"Not a problem at all, though I must admit part of the reason why I did so was to sate my curiosity," Eve honestly confesses, hazel gaze flickering between the two new comers. "Why is Lillian Nightshade and Estelle Aveline so determined in their endeavours to examine the crime scene? Miss Nightshade I suppose I understand, considering her occupation as an Avenger, but a business woman such as yourself, Miss Aveline?"

"She was with me at the time, just tagging along," Lilly cuts in, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket roughly. "Sorry, didn't catch your name....?"

"Apologies, my manners have escape me. Winter, Evangeline Winter," Eve politely introduces herself, courteously shaking hands with the Nightingale and Conquest. "I'm a private investigator stationed in Gotham City. Just helping an old detective friend with this... bizarre case."

The assassin's eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline at the PI's words. "Gotham City? Even I haven't been to that batshit crazy city. Plus, not a fan of clowns."

"Anyone who actually says they like clowns are lying, straight up," Tori eventually chimes in, hugging her cardigan around herself more firmly. "Demons? Sure. Ghosts? Fine. Poltergeists? Bring it on. But clowns? I'd leave the friggin country, move to a farm in the middle of nowhere, buy three goats and name them Pedro, Pablo and Paolo. I am not dealing clowns."

Lillian snorts in amusement, whilst Stella lightly laughs. "I personally have nothing against clowns," the PA admits, to which Lilly narrows her eyes in playful suspicion.

"You have no soul."

"As a necromancer, I can confirm that."

The blonde and brunette's necks almost get whiplash from how quickly the two snap their attention to the witch, blinking dumbly at her. "I'm sorry... what was that?" Lillian asks, wondering if she did, in fact, hear that right.

Grinning sheepishly, Tori nonchalantly introduces herself "Right, yes, names and introductions and all that jazz. Well, hiya, Tori here. Tori Kingsley. Magical entrepreneur of the arcane dead arts, otherwise known as a necromancer. Practicing witch my whole life, born in Wakanda. Aaanndddd the current reason why Rexy here is out for a nice stroll in the streets of Manhattan."

Blinking at the necromancer several times in an attempt to process her word vomit, Lillian keeps darting her hazel gaze between the looming, out of place dinosaur remains and the apparent witch, crossing her arms tightly when words finally decide to grace her tongue. "Wonderful, just as I thought my life could not get any weirder, of course this curve ball would be thrown my way."

"I know a fortune teller myself, actually," Stella admits, attempting to hide her smile at Lilly's befuddlement. "A witch, technically. He practices divination – also an arcane art, I believe?"

Tori nods enthusiastically. "Yup! There's three main arts; mental, elemental and arcane. Each has their own divisions and sub-divisions. It gets rather confusing."

"And the man from before, the thief who stole the fossilised feather, and then proceeded to shapeshift into a bird whilst your tyrannosaurus rex tossed him around," Eve slyly steers the topic back onto the case, sharing a curious look with the Wakandan. "Is he a witch practicing in some form of arcane art?"

Stella startles back at the news, addressing both Tori and Eve. "That's why there's a T-rex on the street with a Prada coat in its mouth?"

"Why does crazy stuff always happen around me?" Lilly mumbles tiredly up at the sky, the others continuing to converse amongst each other and disregarding the Nightingale's commentary.

The private investigator nods in affirmation. "The rest of the museum's state does not fair much better than the street as of this moment, for apparently, there was also several other dinosaur skeletons involved."

"Guilty," Tori sheepishly admits, shrinking in on herself with a bashful smile.

"I swear, I was a normal assassin."

"What precisely did he obtain?" The Horseman inquires, directing her question at Tori.

"I killed politicians, rich brats, maybe a government official or two."

"It's the feather of a Kulindadromeus zabaikalicus, a feathered ornithischian dinosaur. The fact it's a dinosaur or that specific dinosaur isn't relevant to what he wants it for. The potion ingredient he needed was the feather of a prehistoric being, which, yay, he got. Not good, because that shiz is used for ancient corrupt potions and spells," the witch explains, and, despite her wording, none of it sounds bitter, but instead, rather meek and dejected. "And he's a witch doctor, BTW. They don't really like witches. Dude's blonde, like, beach blonde. Bit teasing and arrogant. Got a British accent though, so he gets a semi-pass in my books."

"And now? Now I'm dealing with dead dinosaurs, magic, voodoo and Prada coats. Not to mention it looks like I'm gonna have to apparently murder some Harry Potter Wannabe Point Break who can turn into a freakin bird," Lilly continues to exasperate, shaking her head. "If only dad could see me now."

Finally garnering the attention of one of the other ladies, Tori stares at the assassin aghast, paling even more than her already naturally ivory complexion. "Wow frick frack diddly dack back it up – who said anything about murder?"

Holding the witch's grey, startled stare, Lillian casually elaborates "Well, that's obviously gonna be our course of action, especially considering how if we don't stop him, it apparently results in some evil, ancient, corrupt spell being cast. Which, no thank you."

"You can stop people without killing them," Eve supports Tori, realising the necromancer is as much of a pacifist as she is.

"It's a cute ideal, but these days, the only real way to stop a criminal is putting them in the ground," Stella puts her own two cents in, remaining level-headed about the topic.

The private investigator regards the anti-hero dubiously. "And what, pray tell, would a personal assistant know of this?" Eve asks, not accusing in manner but courteously curious.

"Oh, didn't you know? All PA's are active vigilantes, cleaning up the streets with one stapler at a time," Lillian sarcastically diverts the topic away from Stella, immediately resulting in those astute hazel eyes meeting her own.

Eve purses her lips, gaze gentle in understanding. "You use sarcasm to distance people."

"And yet, you're still here."

"Pain and feelings of inadequacy are hidden behind a wall of sarcasm and dry humour. You do not need to hide them, Miss Nightshade. You of all people should wear your battle scars proudly."

"A person without scars has never had to fight for something they believe in," Tori quietly pipes up, earning a small smile from Stella.

"Beautifully put."

"Right, as cute as this group therapy session is, let's focus on the shapeshifting thief of a witch doctor with the dinosaur fossil." The Nightingale scrunches her face, staring off dazedly. "Never thought I would have to say that sentence."

"There has to be another way besides killing him," Tori reasons, adjusting the glasses slipping down her petite nose.

"Seriously, it'll be fine Sabrina. Just stick him with a people opener and poof, problem solved."

Perplexity mars the features of the Wakandan. "Did... did you just refer to a knife as a 'people opener'?"

Now, Lilly is the one who appears puzzled. "Should I not have?"

"We can decide what to do about the man once we find him," Stella acts as a mediator, easing Tori's nerves in the slightest. "Right now, I believe, should the four of us put our heads, resources and abilities together, we could accomplish taking down this witch doctor much more quickly than we would separately."

Once again regarding the PA analytically, Eve tilts her head, interested, stating "By the sounds of it, I believe you have something in mind."

A slow, wry grin works its way onto the lips of Conquest the Horseman, an 'innocent' shrug to follow. "Something like that."

A/N: This was a) hella longer than I thought it would be (hence the Part 1 thing) and b) soooooooo much fun to write! All four of my main OC gals are different and unique in their own way, and their friendship is quite amusing to write. This should only be two parts, but I thought it was a nice, fun one shot. Thanks for the request hanpuff and OldSoulWriter! One part will be dedicated to each of you, and I hope you like!

Lillian Nightshade (Nightingale Chronicles - Falling for the Enemy, Played by the Enemy, Broken by the Enemy)

Estelle Aveline (Conquering an Untamed Flame)

Victoria Kingsley (In the Dead of the Night)

Evangeline Winter (One Winter Knight)

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L