Chimaera scoffs.
His derision isn’t directed at anything in particular.
He just scoffs.
His mother used to say he was neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring.
She also used to say his father wasn’t drunk, he was tired.
Sphinx inspects his expression with a weathered, but curious, eye.
“You in there, hon?”
He grimaces. A linguistic paradise Long Island is not.
“...So?”
Not even bothering to look at the application she’s already thrown aside, Sphinx blows a bubble at him and pops it with her tongue.
“You’re good. But something’s missing.” She cocks her head at him, sizing him up. “You need a stage name.”
The answer comes immediately.
“The Red Herring.”
Ingenious.
His derision isn’t directed at anything in particular.
He just scoffs.
His mother used to say he was neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring.
She also used to say his father wasn’t drunk, he was tired.
Sphinx inspects his expression with a weathered, but curious, eye.
“You in there, hon?”
He grimaces. A linguistic paradise Long Island is not.
“...So?”
Not even bothering to look at the application she’s already thrown aside, Sphinx blows a bubble at him and pops it with her tongue.
“You’re good. But something’s missing.” She cocks her head at him, sizing him up. “You need a stage name.”
The answer comes immediately.
“The Red Herring.”
Ingenious.
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