"Well Peter go do whatever you have to do before breakfast, We are all going out for pancakes."For some reason, known only to God and Joseph Stalin pe...rhaps, the Russian Pancake house made the very best pancakes in the county. Since that was the case, I drove the PT cruiser to Tryon. I drove it so that we didn't all need to fit into the front seat of a compact pickup truck.When we arrived in the parking lot, I realized how different I was. Both of them were all hunched over trying to avoid the. She found her working at a whorehouse. Her pimp was Valsic Pootin.Jane was thinking high society to a whorehouse. Things must have taken a downturn for Melanie. Or perhaps a step up if it was DC society.Jane needed a disguise, so she dressed as a man, putting on one of her many strapons. Jane was met at the whorehouse by Mr. Pootin. They settled on the price so she could have Melanie all by herself.Jane knew this would be tricky with eight slits for her to contend with. It would be like fucking. Com. I took second place int he contest with this short piece,which pleased me. I've meant to post it on FictionMania for quite sometime, but kept forgetting where it was at in my files. Well, I found it,and here it is.The story does require some familiarity with the books/movies made fromthe Hunger Games series, if only to understand what's required of the maincharacter. ***Mickey was ecstatic! He was just leaving a little place he found off thebeaten path in the mall, a small shop called. . he did this!“What did you do?” Rookwood snarled. Potter backed away, his hands held up.“Not me, Dumbledore. He must have switched them.”“Dumbledore could not have touched the prophecy!”“He could if it was already played out.” Potter glanced at the muck on the floor. “A trap, or else his illusions on me interfered somehow.”“You speak madness.” Rookwood reached out to grab the boy but just as he did so the ground shook, throwing them both off their feet. “What the hell is that?”“He‘s come.” The.