"The way yer huffin' and puffin', gramps? I wouldn't bet on ya." The voice comes from down a dimly-lit sidestreet, high pitched and heavily modulated. "Good thing yer gonna have me around, huh?" There's a shuffling, the telltale cocking of a revolver, and wow that sure is a thirteen year old with zero eyes and one great big magnum.

Seriously, it's about as big as her head.

"'Bout time you mugs showed up. Things bein' as they were, I thought I was gonna haveta go it alone." But that's a load of bunk, because Peacock is never alone. Not as long as she has her ~*~imagination~*~.