Heroid

The sign said, Killarney, 70 KM. Under it stood a small man, shorter even than Ben's height, which, Ben having the physical age of ten years old, wasn't tall at all. Ben, having the mental age of ten years old, could not help but allow his curiousity to get the better of him, and so, after a minute or two of foot shifting and lip-biting, he approached the small man with the obvious question.

"Um," he said, by way of introduction, "Are you, um, a leprechaun?"

The small man looked up at Ben, then down at his briefcase. If an adult had approached him and said such a thing, Thomas O'Donnellon would have given them an earful. But this was a child -- albeit a strange one with mechanical arms and legs -- and was therefore assumed innocent. Thomas smiled and said, "Sure an' ye be talkin' t’ King Brian his very own."

Ben's eyes widened. "You're the king of the Leprechauns?"

"Aye, laddie. That I be."

"Omygosh! I can't believe this!"

“Aye, sometimes, I can’t b’lieve it meself.”

“Hey! Do I get three wishes?”

Thomas laughed and said, “Sorry boyo, that’s genies.”

“I know. Um… that was just to distract you.”

“Er? Distract me? From wh--!”

With practiced speed Ben moved. He pulled his punch, and released only a small burst of concussive energy, but it was enough to knock Brian of Knocknasheega out cold. Ben tossed the hapless “king” over his shoulder and headed back to his mother’s home to find a place to hide him.


He would succeed where old Darby O’Gill had failed. The gold of the leprechauns would be his.

((LOL! Awesome!))

Roy was still a bit uncomfortable in his role as head of the security team at Maggie's Rock. The kids weren't a problem and his crew were all good and competent people. Maybe it was the feeling that in a building with so many magical wards and super-powered students and faculty, a security crew seemed a little redundant. Maybe it was the idea of working for Nick in Maggie's absence.

At any rate when the earth elemental, Deep Schist, emerged from the brick wall beside the desk in Roy's small office with a message for Roy to come down to the sub-basement, Roy was elated. Finally, something to do.

Roy hustled down the hallway to the big door that opened up to the basement stairs. He took these four at a time. Then he ran around the odd furniture and strange equipment that was stored in the back section, and went to a section of brick that was a slightly different color from the wall around it. He started at the top center brick in the section, counted down five, then four to the left, and pushed that brick. The wall opened in front of him revealing another stairway that descended into the dark. He bounded down these as he had done the others.

At the bottom of the stairs he was greeted by an excited mass of grey stone that was roughly in the shape of a very large man.

Deep Schist indicated for Roy to follow and said, "Here, Mr. Roy. Deep find something."

Roy followed Deep across the sub-basement until they came to a massive boulder.

"Deep move pile of little brothers..."

Roy looked at the pile of rubble that Deep pointed to.

"... and Deep find this."

Roy looked at the boulder. It was irregularly shaped and approximately six feet broad at its widest point and five feet high at its peak. Protruding just downslope from the highpoint was a sword.

"What is, Mr. Roy?"

"I dunno, Deep."

"Is strange much."

"Yeah, Deep. Strange much."

"What we do, Mr. Roy?"

Roy thought for a moment. He had seen a cartoon once when he was younger about a young boy who pulled such a sword from such a stone and was proclaimed king of... What was it? Carmelite? Canselum? Candlerot? Something like that. He couldn't remember. He only remembered the name of the wizard who had put the sword in the stone to begin with -- Merlin.

"Well, what we do, Mr. Roy?"

Deep Schist was, in his own way, incredibly smart. Maybe even smarter than Roy. But right now Roy didn't feel like explaining the situation to his rocky friend, so he decided to sidetrack him onto something else.

"Ain't it time fer Peggy ta head ta work?"

It wasn't a lie. In a few minutes Roy's pregnant wife would begin her trek to her job at the library and Deep was assigned -- as he was every day -- to follow her and protect her from any dangers she might face along the way.

"Oh! Deep go do morning round now. Be back later!"

"Yeah, pal. Do a good job now. An' don't let 'er see ya."

"Deep never let Missus Roy see." And with that the earth elemental sank into the stone floor and went to see about his duties.

Roy stood and looked at the stone. Its surface was grey and worn mostly smooth, as if it had been in a river or a stream, and without the dark flecks of mica that would indicate it to be granite. The surface appearance told him nothing else. But just from the massiveness of it, and the fact that it had no visible cracks -- not even where the sword pierced it -- it had to be something along the lines of basalt or quartzite. Probably quartzite, he decided.

He thought about the cartoon again, and knew what he had to do.

"Here goes nothin'."

He wrapped his big hands around the sword's hilt, and pulled with all his superhuman strength...

"Nice work, Agent Catbird."

The Catbird looked down at the black-suited Crey agent. Dark ectoplasm was still steaming off of his body.

"Thank you, Commander. I couldn't let him sneak up on you."

KGB Special Section 8's Commander Smersh finished off the thug in the Crey power suit and said, "Yes, I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn't seen him."

"You could have handled him, comrade."

"Perhaps, but still I am in your debt."

The Catbird bit her lip and wondered if she should say the words that were in her heart. Just as she mustered the courage up, her commander said:

"Agent Catbird, would you return with me to our base? There is something I would speak of with you."

She nodded and followed him to King's Row. When they entered the base, it was quiet and only the security lights were on. No one was at the command center.

"Odd," the Catbird remarked.

"No, Agent Catbird, not at all. I relieved Comrade Kolduna of her monitor duties for the day. We are alone here."

She turned and looked at her commander. He stepped close to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Agent Catb -- May I call you Katrina?"

"Please, call me or June. It was... who I used to be."

"June."

With his Russian accent her plain, simple name sounded exotic.

"Yes... Yegeny?"

"We are both lonely people, in positions of leadership, which makes us feel doubly so. Da?"

"Da."

"Perhaps we can help each other in our loneliness?"

"...da."

He stood straight and said, "Initiate transport protocol Mu Sigma Zeta Zero Zero Six!"

He had issued the command to no person, but rather to the device which teleported his armor on and off of his body. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, there was a small flash and then a glimmer, and after that he stood before her, his bare chest colored blue by the dim light

"Command... Yegeny... I..."

“Shh. No words are needed now, only actions.”

The Catbird nodded and let free the ectoplasmic fabric that comprised her costume. It evaporated in a dark mist and she was as exposed as he. The room seemed to spin and the lights grew even dimmer as she found the nerve to look him in the eye. Her knees almost buckled as she fell into his muscular arms and he pulled her close.

"June."

Again, her name sounded poetic when spoken by him. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his hard chest.

"Yegeny, I... I l..."

"Don't say it."

"But I..."

"I said, don't say it."

She leaned back and looked up into his face. Then she screamed.

It wasn't Yegeny Korsakov who held her in his arms. Instead it was a young, slender man with pale skin, but dark features. His long hair was as black as a raven's wings.

"Dream!" She pulled out of the embrace, crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. Ebon tendrils began to form on her skin and writhe into place, forming the Catbird costume. She turned back toward the intruder and demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?"

The Bringer of Dreams laughed and said, " This time I'm in the 'catbird's seat'."

With her costume fully formed, the Catbird no longer felt vulnerable. She released a few of the angrier souls she carried inside her and let them buzz the Bringer of Dreams. They swept around him like angry hornets, but if he was afraid of their sting, he did not show it.

"Call them back, Catbird. It is unbecoming of you to attack out of anger."

"Where's Commander Smersh? What did you do with him?"

"Your Yegeny? I did nothing with him. Unlike yourself. You appeared to be getting quite busy with him."

She ignored the remark. "Where is he?"

"June, you are dreaming."

He hardly ever called her by name. Both he and his sister, the Bringer of Death, almost always called her by her costumed identity. His familiarity with her convinced her not to try to pinch herself to test the veracity of his claim. She called the angry souls back into her. Then she sat down on the floor and rested her chin on her hands.

"It... it was a good dream."

"Perhaps. But dreams are dreams and the waking life is the waking life."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"My sister requested that I look into your well-being. That is why I insinuated myself into your fantasy. You need to give up this particular pursuit."

June looked up at this being who could, with a whisper, cast her forever out of the physical realm, leaving her the disembodied spirit she once was.

"It is not for such as us to enter into relationships with mortals,” he said.

"But, I am still a woman. I am still human. I still need..."

"Catbird, you are not human. You merely dwell in that borrowed body."

The difference in the way he addressed her did not pass her notice. She buried her face in her hands and fought back tears.

"But I am so alone."

"My sister has been very patient with your endeavors in the World, but be aware she does not consider that to be your first responsibility. You are the Bearer of Souls or you are nothing."

The Catbird raised her face from her hands and looked up into the morning sunlight streaming through the window of her modest bedroom in her modest apartment. She had much she needed to do that day. She stayed home in bed instead.

((Todd has more willpower than ten Green Lanterns!))

Katrina Allen looked at the stack of papers on her desk. She had been reviewing her list of suppliers all morning, looking for those whose names were on the Love Foundation’s list of companies that violated international child labor laws. So far she had found four. Those suppliers would have to be replaced and promptly. The King’s Row Toy Company had to keep going, rolling forward. A slowdown would mean not only hardship for the workers, but would also stall the industrial revitalization that was beginning in the Row now.

I can help, said a voice inside her head.

Please, thank you.

The voice in her head belonged to Robert Jermyn, a philanthropic businessman with the same socialistic leanings that she had. In April, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and was hit by an energy blast during a skirmish between the Council and a Longbow patrol in Founders Falls. He was supposed to have died in his sleep after hosting the No Masks Masquerade charity event in October. The Catbird had been carrying his soul for almost six months.

In that time, Jermyn had taught her about how to direct a business, and how to do so in a socially responsible manner, even in the midst of the unbridled anarchy that was modern capitalism. His voice was always a calm, clear resonance in the middle of the confused cacophony that arose from the others she carried. Moonlighting for Death was a difficult job.

She let Jermyn look through her eyes while she herself “stepped back” and relaxed. In moments he had suggestions – helpful suggestions – that would keep the plant productive, the workers employed, and the mayor happy, all without her having to compromise her convictions.

I’m going to miss you, Bob.

I will miss you too, June. Perhaps the Powers that Be will allow me to return to visit you.

She smiled inside.

The problem with having sometimes several dozen souls inside of you at once is that you have sometimes several dozen people who know your business. For instance, the souls would instantly find out her personal history. Some of them would feel sorry for her and drive her crazy trying to console her. Others would be judgmental and say cruel things like, I don’t blame him for killing you. Or, You left him no choice.

Those voices she pushed back, let them become part of the background noise. And she never felt sorry when she felt them descend instead of ascend when their time was up.

Then there were souls like Robert. It didn’t bother her that he knew she was really June Dawson, aka the Catbird, a caped adventurer who had met her own untimely death in 1957. She would allow him to come to the surface at times, to use her senses to interact with the world. He never wrestled her for control, and always receded back to the “inside” when he was finished with whatever business he was up to.

I hope They will, Bob. You’ve been good company over the past few months.

I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.

Katrina pushed her chair away from the desk and leaned back with her feet up on a corner. Talk about what?

You are lonely, June. I would feel much better leaving you if you weren’t alone.

I’m hardly alone, Bob. She let the din of clamoring souls rise to the surface, then forced it back down. See? Plenty of company.

You know what I mean. You need someone to share your life with. A Significant Other.

I’ve done that, remember? A mistake I don’t intend to repeat. I don’t intend to allow another man to use me and betray me.

Then you should find a woman to…

I don’t think so.

June, is there not a man left in the world that you trust? One who is better than the rest? One who has gained your respect.

Katrina closed her eyes. Her memories might be on open display, but she kept her emotions close to the vest. No.

Then even I am a lowly worm in your eyes?

I didn’t say that.

Then there is one.

Katrina bit her lip and nodded.

And he is free?

She nodded again.

And you have feelings for him.

Robert Jermyn, that is enough. She took her feet off of the desk, rolled her chair close to it, and began shuffling papers.

All right June. It is your business.

She paused, sighed, and smiled. I’m sorry Bob. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that… things are different today. I don’t know the first thing about relationships in the 21st Century. I…

June, I will be gone soon. I have accomplished much in my time on Earth, but one thing more I would see before I cross over – I would see you happy.

All right. I’ll give it some thought.

That is all I ask. And June?

Hm?

If this Yegeny is half as decent as you think he is, he is worth the try…

Katrina smiled and felt a blush rising to her face. I’ll think about it.

Benjamin Roy Kirby Sr. stood atop the war wall and looked through its haze of energy to the outside world. The world beyond Paragon City. The real world.

A passenger jet was ascending into the sky, flying away from him. He watched it until it became a dot. Two of the people he loved most in the world, Ireland Love and Ben Kirby Jr., were on that plane. He wasn't a praying man, wasn't a believer, but he still whispered a prayer that the plane would reach its destination safely.

So much had changed in their lives since that bachelor/bachelorette auction so many months ago. He had bid everything he'd had at the time just for a date with her. Roy was still trapped in robot form at that time, and caught more than a few odd looks as he’d called out his bid. When Ascendant put in a bid so large no one else could top it, Roy -- then called Ben, and a virtual unknown among most of the superhero community -- had sulked out. He'd made a fool of himself. But Maggie hadn't made him feel like a fool. She had never made him feel like a fool.

She had been so touched that he would give everything for a date that she contacted him and demanded a date with him. They spent their date on a small island near Talos. He played Van Morrison on his CD drive (geez, did he really used to have a CD drive?) and she promised to do what she could to make him human again. She kept her promise, giving up a piece of her soul to him to accomplish it.

Then she had taken in his son, Ben, when he himself couldn't cope with parenthood. That's why Ben was on that plane with her now. The boy would be back in a few weeks, and then Roy would make up for lost time. He'd only recently found out how much the boy meant to him, but he couldn't deny the child his mother, or Maggie her boy.

He didn't blame Maggie for taking her baby, Rhiannon, and leaving. If he had any sense, he would take Peggy and go to Georgia to let their baby be born and raised in a normal place. A place where he didn't need to have a body guard follow his wife to work and back just to keep her from getting mugged by Hellions.

But he couldn't leave. Not yet. His life was here. What he had become -- what Maggie had help him become -- wouldn't let him quit. In his heart, he knew she hadn't quit either. She was only moving the good work to another continent.

The stars were out before he realized he had stood there for hours. The plane would be far out over the Atlantic by now.

Peggy was probably starting to look for him to come home.

He turned away from the outside world, the real world, and looked down at the city lights below. Was it his imagination, or did they seem less bright than before?

He let out a sigh, leapt off of the war wall, and headed home to the woman he loved.

((Just a reminder: This isn't a thread for just me and those who have already posted something here. If you have a tale of your hero's homelife, worklife, or just a story about one of your characters that you just want to tell somewhere, then here's the place.

And comments (at least in my case) are welcome. ))

((I thought I had posted this next bit on this thread already. But I just realized I hadn't.

To catch you up with the story: Rose does indeed arrange to turn Nick over to the Prioress, but has a change of heart at the last minute. When Ireland Love arrives on the scene, Rose decides to face the Prioress herself.

Nick and Maggie search for her, and find her at the Prioress' "church" where a battle ensues. Ireland Love rescues Rose while Nick takes on the evil nun and her followers.

Shamed, Rose decides to return to the Rogue Isles...))

Weeks ago...

"Alexander, please, I need to get back to the Isles."

The Warrior leader looked at her and said, "Rose, what you need is doctor."

Rose reached her hand to her face and touched her nose. It still hurt. She had never thought of herself as really beautiful. Now she doubted she would qualify for "pretty" even. She wore a scarf to cover the terrible rope burn around her neck. Every breath came with an effort, catching in her broken ribs and burning in her crushed throat.

She shook her head and said, "Not here, when I get back home."

"Why don’t you use the Blue Door? You fooled the city into registering you as a hero.”

“That – that nun destroyed my I.D. She said... she called me a liar... and other things.”

He looked at her with pity in his eyes. That both hurt and angered her, but she said nothing. She had no pride left. If he refused, she wasn’t above begging him.

Finally he said, "All right Rose. I'll see what I can do, but this is a foul business, and I worry for your welfare."

Days later...

The captain snored and smelled of soured hair oil and sweat. The fat of his cheeks and chins blended with the fat of his neck and flattened against his pillow, forming a roll at his ears. His mouth was open, gaping as he gasped for breath, looking for all the world like a fish dying on a pier. Rose almost laughed.

Almost laughed, but didn't. She was too busy crying.

There were no sobs, no sniffling; only tears that flowed and fell in drops like liquid diamonds on her pillow. She shut her eyes and pretended that when she opened them, her handsome, fair-haired Nick would be beside her.

But then, he wasn't her Nick, was he? He never had been. She had seen it. She had known of his feelings for Margaret Love. No strings – her rule, not his. She hadn't meant to fall...

But fall she had. Low. She was exactly what the Prioress had said she was: A liar, a thief and a harlot.

Now, she was a harlot without a home, a prisoner on a freighter bound for who-knows-where, sleeping with a corpulent captain who spoke a language she couldn't understand. She was in pain, both from the beating she received at the hands of the Prioress' acolytes and the abuse she withstood from the captain.

How much had Alexander paid this man? When the ship approached Port Oakes, everything seemed fine. No one had bothered her, nor even spoken to her, but had left her to herself. Only when the captain approached her, smelling of liquor, with a lascivious sneer on his face did she suspect she wouldn't be disembarking. Now, how many days she had endured the company of this foul-smelling monster, she did not know.

She slowly sat up and looked around the room. On the other side of the narrow bed, on the captain's desk laid the book she had gotten from the shelves at the Rock. Nick had told her of the magic in that place; from rooms that seemed to appear out of nowhere when someone new came to live there; to doors that would slam shut, trapping intruders in dark rooms where the shadows were alive; to other things he could not talk about. And he had mentioned the magic books and the warded bookshelves.

She had only wanted to show him that she could get past all of Maggie "Ireland" Love's magics. She had snuck the white oak stick in just to knock one book from the shelf and into her hand. All good thieves know that white oak bypasses many magical protections. She was a good thief. She had only wanted Nick to know that she was a good thief.

She was going to give it back.

How was she to know that Hell would descend on her in the form of a nun and she would wind up spending her last days in slavery on a rusty ship. Would they throw her overboard, she wondered, if she died? Or would they throw her into the bowels of the ship to let the rats feast on her remains?

Stop it! she thought, You're going to survive this.

Her eyes swept around the small cabin. There was a gun locker, but it was secured and opening it might wake him. She looked at her book again, and then her eyes wandered over the rest of the desk. Forms and charts and papers and...

There. An ink pen.

How many jobs had she turned down because they involved an assassination? Sure, she had caused grievous bodily damage -- even severe bleeding and permanent loss of limb. But she had never, in her whole life, killed another human being. How much more money could she make if she would give up that scruple.

But could she do it?

Only one way to find out. She had the knowledge. She had the opportunity. And if he laid another clammy hand on her, she would likely kill herself.

Pushing back the pain, moving with the speed and grace of the cat burglar she once was, Rose straddled the captains voluminous belly, reached to the desk, and grabbed the ink pen.

The captain awoke and stupidly smiled when he saw the once-pretty blonde sitting on his stomach. She smiled back.

Then the hand with the pen moved. It moved with power and precision and pierced the man's bloated neck, right into the jugular. She drove the pen further so that it punctured into his throat. The smile turned to horror as he tried to call for help, but found himself choking in his own blood.

Rose leaned forward so that her face was only inches from his. "I don't know the words in your language for what I feel right now, so this is going to have to do..."

Then she spit in his face and watched him die.

((another shameless bounce))

The woman across the table was a nun. A freaking nun. And she was meeting her in one of the most notorious bars in the multiverse -- Pocket D.

Themari, you idiot.

In Rose's experience, every time someone from the church was desperate enough to hire a professional thief, it meant two things: One, whatever they wanted was more trouble that it was worth; and two, when she had completed the job, there would be a sudden shortage of funds.

So she couldn't help viewing the woman across from her with skepticism.

"I fear I'm rather a novice at this sort of thing, but...quite frankly I've run out of options and they say that you're one of the best at...recovery." The nun's sincere blue eyes seemed to betray a bit of shame as she spoke.

Rose smiled. "I've been know to... 'recover' an item or two."

"To be quite honest, it isn't so much a 'what' as a 'who'. I do hope that falls within your particular...idiom?"

Rose held her hands up. If this was going where she thought it was... "I'm not an assassin."

The nun looked either shocked or offended -- or perhaps both. "Oh no!" she protested, "No, no...nothing of the sort!"

"So, you just want someone 'delivered' to you?" Something didn't quite seem right.

The shame on the nun's face was clear now as she replied, "...yes."

This was getting complicated, but the nun was ready to lay aside all self-respect for whatever this was. Rose couldn't find it in herself to deny the woman.

"I can do that. And what you do with the person in question then is up to you. I'll only be responsible for delivery." She looked straight into the nun's eyes to drive her point home.

The nun nodded.

"I do have two stipulations," Rose continued. "One: No children. Two: It can't be some innocent person who's just minding their own business. If you don't have your reasons -- and I don't want to know them -- for wanting this person, other than some sick desire... Well then I'm not your gal."

"I can understand your concerns. I suppose this is a rather...shady method of accomplishing things," the nun said, then surrendered what was left of her pride, saying, "But, as I said, I have no place else to turn."

"Shady" was a term Rose had no love for either. "Then let's not call it shady. Let's call it neccessary."

The nun nodded ashamedly. "I feel I should defend my purpose for calling upon you, though. This person, you see....he *is*innocent. He's become like the son I could never have on my own. I raised him from the time he was a little boy...but...well, he's fallen in with the wrong sorts of people and will not listen to reason... I fear for his well-being."

"I don't do 'deprogramming' if it's a cult he's in..." Against her better judgement, Rose was sure she was going to take the job, she just had to be clear as to exactly what she was supposed to do.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of asking you to. No, no, all I need is someone of your talents to find him and bring him back to me -- unharmed, of course."

"Well... it seems like a pretty clean job." She wondered how difficult it could possibly be to abduct some teenager from his unruly friends. "How old is he?"

Relief moved over the nun's face like he sun breaking through the clouds. "He should be about thirty, I believe."

Not a kid. Complicated. She looked at the nun. An attractive face. Probably a fine figure under the habit. She began to wonder exactly what kind of relationship she really had with the man she wanted so badly.

"I'll do it, but it will cost you."

"Oh, of course! Just name your price."

Rose regarded the nun closely. Her robes weren't moth-eaten, but neither were they fine silk. They were simple, like a nun's habit should be. "You don't look rich," she said.

"I fear i am not, but the money has been raised, nevertheless."

"Good. In need details..."

"Of course."

"Some jobs are more complicated than others."

"Whatever aid I can provide."

"I'll take a look at the job, then I'll name you a price."

"I suppose that sounds fair."

"But be prepared to pay. I can take him back to wherever I find him, you know."

"I assure you, you will be compensated apporpriately."

"And I'll want half up front, the rest on satisfactory delivery."

"Fair enough."

So the deal was set.

"Now, do you have a dossier on him? A file? Anything?"

"I have a recent photograph here." The nun reached into the interior of her robes, pulled out the photo and handed it to Rose to look at.

In doing so, their hands touched.

Suddenly, Rose felt woozy, dizzy, hazy. She grabbed her head and swooned then looked down at her rum and cola accusingly.

"Child, are you all right?" The nun asked.

"Must have been the rum. It's letting up now. It might have helped if I'd had something to eat today before I came here."

"Rum," the nun lectured, "I fear such things can have that affect on people."

"Don't preach to m..." Rose began, but then the photo grabbed her attention. For the first time she took a good look at it. "This? This is... Nick?"

"Yes, that’s his name. Do you know him?” The tone of the nun’s voice had changed slightly.

Rose couldn’t believe it. “He's my... Er... he's an aquaintance.”

“Is he now? How fortuitous. You should have little problem locating him then.”

Rose’s mind raced. Who was this woman? She had to have known about her relationship with Nick all along. She wanted to damn him for all of his secrets. But she had kept some of her own. Still...

“I... I can’t,” she said flatly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t. I know this guy. It would be... unprofessional.”

The nun smiled and said, “But I’m prepared to reward you handsomely.”

Pocket D was a place where only the most normal-looking, most average-acting, most median-intelligence person would stand out. That there was a large man in a business suit loitering near Isaac’s bar normally would garner at least some attention. The fact that he stood still as a statue and held a moderately sized suitcase made him just unusual enough to blend in here.

The nun made a subtle motion to the man and he moved with deliberation to the table where they sat. He set the case on the table, opened it, and then stepped back and stood like a statue again.

Rose couldn’t stop staring wide-eyed into the case. Inside it was money. A lot of it. She estimated it to be at least a half-million dollars.

“Oh, god...”

She ran her fingers through her hair. Her stomach was suddenly full of feathers and her chest tightened so that it was hard for her to breathe. She looked up at the nun, who smiled at her in triumph.

“Five hundred thousand now. Five hundred more upon delivery, Ms. McAden.”

“Oh god.”

No strings. Her lips mouthed the words.

“You can count it if you like.”

Rose shook her head. She was afraid to touch it. Once she touched that case, she knew there would be no turning back.

The nun shrugged and closed the lid. She was still smiling as she slid the case to Rose.

“Still not interested?”

Her mouth was dry and the remains of her rum and cola offered her little comfort. “"He'll be all right?"

The nun’s smile grew wider so that her teeth showed in a predatory grin. She did not reply.

“I mean... I know him... pretty well. I don’t want him hurt.”

The nun’s smile didn’t fade a bit as she said, “He'll come to no harm. I promise you. I just want to take him home.”

“Home?”

“He doesn't belong here.”

No strings.

“Do we have an accord, Ms. McAden?”

Rose ran a hand over the top of the case. Then she nodded.

“Good.”

The nun handed her a piece of paper with an address written on it. “Bring him to this address. My men will take care of the rest.”

Rose looked at the nun who was gazing at her with a look that made Rose feel dirty. And maybe the nun was right.

“You... I didn’t get your name...” Rose stammered.

“How rude of me. You can call me Sister Grace.”

The name made Rose want to laugh. Instead she just nodded and felt a spark that had been growing inside her die.

“I do hope your...personal feelings won't interfere with your ability to complete your task?”

“No. No strings.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rose shook her head and said, “No. They won’t interfere.” A pause, then, “I’m a professional.”

“Glad to hear that. I'm a firm believer in trust, Ms. McAden.”

“I'll bring him to you. Just have the twin sister of this case ready.”

“Forty-eight hours.”

Rose nodded, looked at her watch, and nodded again.

“Any more, and I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to believe I've been double-crossed. And we wouldn't want that.”

For the first time in several minutes, Rose looked the nun in the eye. “No. We wouldn't, would we?”

Sister Grace smiled sweetly, “I've been known to do worse things than, say...nail someone's legs to the floorboards.”

Wha--? How did she...? “Who are you really?”

“I told you. A mother concerned for her son.”

“If you're lying to me about any of this. I'll burn you on a pyre of this money.”

Burn a nun? Why not. She was already going to hell.

A week ago...

The Longbows were smiling as they approached the copter.

"R & R time?" asked the pilot as he waited for them to board.

"Yeah! Paragon City, here we come!"

"Hurry on board, we're clear for takeoff, but it's gotta be pronto. We got confirmation of two black birds in the air only eight miles south and headed this way. I want to be gone before they get within strike range."

The Longbow hustled onboard and the red and white helicopter lifted off in a storm of dust and wind. When it was only a few feet off the ground, before it made its turn toward the ocean to zoom away, a black arrow darted toward it. It shot between two struts before the line attached to it jerked taut and caused it to open up into a grappling hook. The hook caught and a dark-clad figure zipped across the line.

Once there, the stowaway worked quickly to latch herself onto the undercarriage of the chopper, then released the grappling hook and line just as the vehicle finished its turn toward the ocean. No one noticed the entire operation. They were too busy watching the skies for the Arachnos fliers she had reported on the Longbow communication band.

Rose McAden (called Cracklin' Rosie by her mother after a song recorded by a 60's pop star) dangled from the belly of the aircraft by her safety harness and enjoyed the peaceful ocean view. It was in harsh contrast to the constant struggle for survival that was life in the Rogue Isles. She pulled off her black stocking mask to let her long blond hair billow in the wind, then she pulled off her black leather jacket and let it fall also. The wind stung her bare, tanned shoulders, but it felt so invigorating.

She had worked so hard, and fought so long, and had resisted the pulls and tugs of the various factions of the Isles. She looked forward to seeing Nick in the relative tranquility of Paragon City.

Hours later...

"Surprise, Tiger."

Nick was startled; his hand was a blur as it grasped his sword hilt.

She had found him sitting on a bench in a park east of the Arena in Galaxy City. It was no small feat to sneak up on him, but she succeeded. In retrospect, slipping her hands over his eyes from behind might have been foolhardy. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one with quick reflexes. She pulled her hands away and bent forward over the bench so that he could see her.

While his eyes and mouth were still wide-open from surprise she kissed him on the cheek.

"Rose?"

"No. I'm her evil clone." She smiled.

"What the bloody -- what're you doing here?"

So, he didn't smile back. Did you really expect him to?

She withdrew her own smile and replied, "There was a Longbow helicopter coming this way. I... hitched a ride."

"Sorry, I... where's your suit?"

At least he looks chagrinned.

"The 'zap' suit's heavy. I didn't want to spark the fuel tank, and I couldn't hold on without it being powered up."


"You hitched a ride to come all the way out here? Why would you take that risk, luv?"

"Nick... come on! It was fun! You should try it sometime."

He always called her "luv". L-u-v. He knew he meant it the way he said it. The other -- l-o-v-e -- hadn't been mentioned between them. If their relationship worked out as she hoped it would, then it never would be.

Nick sighed and shook his head, "You didn't do it for any thrill seeking."

"Well... Actually I did, if I count you as a thrill."

That one almost got a smile out of him.

Something caught Nick’s eye and he nodded his head in greeting. Rose turned to see a strange, feminine, and roughly human figure approaching. She looked at Rose as questioningly as Rose looked at her.

“Friend of yours?” Rose asked.

“One of our staff -- counselor.”

“Oh.”

Rose and the newcomer both waited.

After several seconds, Rose asked, “Are you going to introduce me?”

Nick looked from one to the other, then said, “Rose, this is Mai.”

“Hello, Mr. Nick,” Mai said, then, “Hello, Miss Rose.”

“Hello, Mai. So... you work for Nick?”

“Yes. He is a very nice person.”

Rose looked for some hint of guile, but Mai seemed quite sincere. She smiled and replied, "Yes. I think so too."

"At least someone thinks so..." Nick mumbled, his British accent making his words all but unintelligible.

“Hm?” said Mai.

“Nothing.”

“He always does that,” said Rose, “Mutters something, then says,” and here she segued into a bad impersonation of Nick’s accent, “‘Nothing’.”

“Are you well Mr. Nick?”

“I’ve been better, Mai,” he replied, rubbing his face.

“Is there something I could do?”

“No, Mai, but thank you, luv.”

Rose smiled at the strange being called Mai, and put her arm around Nick. She felt him tense slightly.

“Then I must sleep,” Mai announced and left the couple. She ran across the park and scampered up a tree.

“She’s a good climber,” Rose remarked, “I wonder if she can scale a building that fast?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Are you going to show me around your school, Tiger?”

“...I don't think that's a good idea right now, luv.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Some of the kids and I are...having a falling out.”

“Over me?”

Nod.

“Aren't you in charge?”

A look, then, “Yes.”

“And the problem is...?”

“But it's not a bloody prison, Rose. They're my kids. Their opinions matter to me.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

And it was true, he hadn’t raised his voice.

“So I guess I won't be sleeping at your place tonight.”

“Look, they saw you in the D and they're basing things on their first impression of you, that's all.”

“Oh. That really didn’t go so well.”

“No, it didn't.”

“You're partner was there. Ms. Love. I don't think she liked me either.”

“That would be an understatement.”

Nick sighed, and it pulled at Rose’s heart in a way she wished it hadn’t. But she made a decision:

“All right. I don't have a problem being your secret if that's the way it has to be.”

“You're no secret any longer.”

“No, but I don't think they much care for me coming to town to see you.”

“The kids I can work on. It'll just take time. Maggie? Well, that's another story, but she forfeited the right to dictate who I see and who I don't.”

“Ah,” Rose said with a crack in her voice, “Now I understand everything. You were in love with her.”

No reply.

His silence stung like an eyeful of Snake venom, and brought tears just the same, but Rose choked them back. She had made her decision, and would stand by it.

She looked away and said, “So... you're over that?”

“She chose someone else.”

“And you're still trying to choose.”

Nick shrugged and Rose answered in kind. No strings. She had extracted the promise from him herself.

“I'm bloody tired of competing with other men for her.”

“Well,” Rose brushed a stray strand of blond hair from her face. “I'm not asking you to run a footrace.”

Nick nodded, “I'm not going to run one either.”

“No strings.”

“We keep saying that, don't we?”

“I can live with it.”

[ QUOTE ]
((Jeepers, Morv. Well done.))

[/ QUOTE ]

((Seconded!

All of you peeps are writing some wonderful stuff!))

((I usually "story-ize" these rp's. This one, I decided, needs to just stay as it is, intact.))


HEROID: I hoped I'd find ya here. Mind if I siddown?
Ireland Love: I missed it. Sit.
HEROID: Miss this place too.
Ireland Love: Ever'thin' seemed easier when we used t' come here.
HEROID: Ya know when I take Ben out, he still comes here an' makes sure there ain't no Vhaz on this rock.
Ireland Love smiles a bit.
HEROID: Yer picture's still carved near th' bottom, just b'low th' waterline.
Ireland Love: Are ye alright, Roy?
HEROID nods
HEROID: Yeah.
HEROID: Just... thinkin'.
HEROID: It wuz either here 'r th' D.
Ireland Love: Thinkin' what?
HEROID: How... how just when ya think ya got things figgered out an' life's lookin' good...
HEROID: God throws ya a changeup an' ya can't quite catch up with it.
HEROID: Ya know?
Ireland Love: I know, aye.
HEROID: Peggy's pregnant.
Ireland Love: She told' ye, then.
HEROID nods
Ireland Love: How d' ye feel 'bout it?
HEROID: I...
HEROID shrugs and shakes his head.
HEROID: I love 'er Maggie.
HEROID: I don't want nothin' bad ta happen ta her.
Ireland Love: She'll be fine, Roy. She's stron'er'n she thinks she is.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: But...
HEROID: ... what if th' baby's... like me?
Ireland Love: I hope 'tis. 'Tis yers, either way.
HEROID: ...
HEROID puts face in hands.
HEROID: Maggie...
Ireland Love listens.
HEROID: ... while we wuz in th' Rogue Isles, on that wild goose chase...
HEROID: ... look...
HEROID: ...ya remember that other clone?
HEROID: Th' one that... Ben...?
Ireland Love: Roy, ye love 'er, right?
HEROID: I guess ya know about that.
Ireland Love: Are ye gonna love th' baby?
HEROID nods.
Ireland Love: Are ye gonna raise it wi' 'er?
HEROID: O' course!
Ireland Love: Will it have yer blood runnin' through it?
HEROID: Well... yeah... either way, I guess.
Ireland Love: Then 'tis yers.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: I dunno if she's gonna see it that way. I hope she does.
Ireland Love: She will, in time.
HEROID: See, I gotta get past all this, 'r she's gonna think it's a problem fer me.
Ireland Love nods.
Ireland Love: She's gonna need ye more'n ever now, I think.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: I might be able ta pick up a bus... I ain't that strong. Not inside. Not where it counts.
Ireland Love: I think ye are.
HEROID shakes his head.
Ireland Love: Ye jus' needa realize it.
HEROID: I always had you, 'r Neb, 'r Shae, 'r Ma.
HEROID: I'm gonna tell ya somethin' Maggie...
HEROID: ... th' great secret o' th' Fraternal Order o' Men...
HEROID: ...we're th' weaker sex.
Ireland Love: Really? I'm shocked.
Ireland Love is being sarcastic.
HEROID: Yeah. Guess ya knew that.
HEROID: Well...
HEROID: It scares us.
HEROID: It scares th' bejeezus outta me, Peggy bein' pregnant.
Ireland Love: Roy, yer gonna be fine. An' when ye need us, ye still have me 'n Shae 'n ye Mum. An' Claire an' Tera an' ever'one else too.
HEROID: I know.
HEROID: There's somethin' else.
HEROID looks up, there's a tear in his eye...
HEROID: Missy's gone.
Ireland Love: Eh? Gone?
HEROID: Peggy told me some. Mike told me some. She pricked 'er finger on one o' them thorn things...
HEROID: An' only Peggy wuz left...
HEROID: Ya know all th' times I wished I could have Peggy all ta myself...
HEROID: ...I feel like it's my fault fer wishin' it.
Ireland Love: Bloody hell.
HEROID: An' Peggy's like a sittin' duck in th' city now.
Ireland Love: Peggy'll be fine. Ever'one else 'round here is.
HEROID: She can't even walk outta work ta hail a cab without some thug grabbin' 'er purse an' pushin' her' down.
HEROID: She comes home with bruises...
HEROID: ...she ain't like us.
Ireland Love sighs.
Ireland Love: I kin have someone stay wi' 'er. I kin spare a bodyguard.
Ireland Love: Someone t' walk 'er t' work an' home.
HEROID: I dunno if she'd do that.
HEROID: She's so goddamned proud.
Ireland Love: She will if she dunno.
HEROID looks up...
HEROID: Ya think ya got somebody that could tail 'er without bein' caught?
HEROID: I mean... she'd really be pissed off, me doin' this b'hind 'er back.
HEROID: I think she'd love me fer it... but it'd hurt 'er first, then make 'er mad.
Ireland Love: My guys're th' bes', Roy.
HEROID nods.
Ireland Love: She'd ne'er know.
HEROID: If ya don't mind... it'd be a load off o' my mind if she wuz safe when I ain't around.
Ireland Love: I kin switch 'em up so 'tis a differen' one ever'day. She'd jus' think she's lucky an' has heroes 'round when she needs 'em.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: Yer a doll, Maggie.
Ireland Love: How's Missy's lad doin'?
HEROID: He ain't th' type ta tell ya how he's doin'.
HEROID: I think maybe he blames me too.
Ireland Love: Th' hell was she doin' wi' a spirit thorn anyway?
HEROID: I dunno. Maybe I should find out.
Ireland Love: Where's th' thorn now?
HEROID thinks...
HEROID: Peggy didn't say...
HEROID: I... I gotta find that thorn.
Ireland Love: Aye. Ye do.
Ireland Love: Know who might be able t' help? Give ye some advice?
HEROID: Who's that?
Ireland Love: Tessa.
HEROID: Yeah...
HEROID: It happened ta her too, didn't it?
Ireland Love nods.
Ireland Love: Problem is...Now't she's out o' Peggy...She's gonna need a new body.
Ireland Love: No' so easy t' fin'. People dunna like t' give up thier bodies verrah offen.
HEROID: Nope.
HEROID: But...
HEROID: ...I wuz helpin' clear out a clonin' lab a few days back...
HEROID: I didn't actu'ly see th' clones...
HEROID: ...actu'ly, I don't r'member that much o' th' whole thing...
Ireland Love frowns.
HEROID: ...this new kid that Jenna knows -- he's been hangin' around th' Base-ment some -- he showed up an' pulled me out o'there.
HEROID: Blue Mavis. He said th' place wuz took care of.
Ireland Love: Magus. Blue Magus.
HEROID: Oh? Ya heard o' th' kid.
HEROID: Seemed like decent guy.
Ireland Love smiles a bit, "I know 'im, aye."
HEROID: Real polite.
HEROID: His momma must've raised 'im right...
Ireland Love: I'm sure she did 'er bes'.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: Well... if we could find a place like that, with clones... but...
HEROID: ...that ain't no good.
Ireland Love absently touches the blue stoned ring on her finger.
Ireland Love: Ye gotta try'n figger out what Missy'd want.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: Maybe we could get a mediator ta talk ta her.
Ireland Love: Medium. We could try. I bet Tessa'd be able t'.
HEROID: Tessa'd do it, I'm pretty sure.
HEROID: If she can.
HEROID: Would it help ta maybe have it in a place where Missy spent alotta time?
Ireland Love: I'm no' sure if I could. I ne'er tried t' talk t' a dead person.
HEROID: Yeah. Ya gotta be special like that kid in th' Sick Sense.
Ireland Love: Sixth. I dunno, Roy. I dunno much 'bout thorns. Jus't ye needa fin' it. An' 'twillna be easy t' git 'er out, even if ye do fin' a body.
HEROID nods.
HEROID: Okay. I'll talk ta Peggy an' Mike... find out if they know where it is. Gives me a plan o' action.
Ireland Love nods.
HEROID: One more thing...
HEROID: ...I been all over lookin' fer a job...
HEROID: Ta most places havin' a superhero workin' on th' premises is a liability.
HEROID: I... It... It's hard ta ask ya this...
HEROID: ...I mean...
Ireland Love: Yer hired.
HEROID smiles sheepishly.
HEROID: Thanks, Maggie.
HEROID: Uh... now whadda I do at th' Rock?
Ireland Love: Ye kin start ty'morrow. Oh, an' look! Ye've been permoted too. Yer now Head o' Security. Congrats.
HEROID: Now, Maggie... I ain't askin' fer no handout...
HEROID: I don't want no promotion that ain't deserved.
Ireland Love: Roy, d' ye know how lon' I've been lookin' fer someone t' fill that p'sition?
HEROID: Oh.
HEROID: Uh...
HEROID: Then... yeah. I'll do it.
HEROID: It'll gimme a chance ta see Ben reg'lar.
HEROID: An' I'll still be able ta do my civil duties fer th' city.
Ireland Love: Good. Ye'll like th' guys. Mos're retired heroes. Great bunch.
HEROID: Nice!
Ireland Love nods.
HEROID: Uh... one more thing...
Ireland Love: Hm?
HEROID: Somethin' we got cheated outta...
HEROID grabs Maggie and kisses her on the lips.
Ireland Love stiffens and hesitates, raises a hand to slap Roy...then shrugs and gives in, kissing back.
HEROID doesn't linger on the kiss. It's just a friendly kiss, a "what might have been" kiss.
HEROID: Uh... sorry.
HEROID: I...
Ireland Love: Outta yer system now?
HEROID: Yeah.
Ireland Love: Good.
HEROID smiles.
Ireland Love chuckles.
HEROID: So... t'morra.
HEROID: Shirt an' tie, right?
Ireland Love: Aye, please.
HEROID nods.
Ireland Love: Walk yer wife t' work, then come by.
HEROID nods.
Ireland Love: Ye kin pick who ye wan' t' folla her t'morrow.
HEROID: Heheh. She sure better not find out she's bein' shadda'd now...
Ireland Love: One more thin'...I wan' her care t' be at th' Rock. Tessa's a midwife, an' we've a bloody good docter too.
HEROID: I don't think that'll be a problem.
HEROID: She likes that place, I think.
Ireland Love: Good.
HEROID: Well...
HEROID: I better go home an' get some sleep.
Ireland Love: I'm glad we talked, Roy.
HEROID: Me too, Maggie.
HEROID: Yer still th' best. I hope ya know that.
Ireland Love smiles.
Ireland Love: Be well. G'night.
HEROID smiles, pats her knee...
HEROID: G'night, Maggie.
HEROID: Everything's gonna work out fine.
HEROID: I can feel it.
Ireland Love: Me too.
HEROID smiles.
HEROID: See ya t'morra.
Ireland Love nods and waves.

You've been awesome, Cuppa. You've always given us help when needed. If I've had questions, you've answered them.

Good luck best wishes on your new position.

((And keep in mind, this is a thread for everyone to post shorts and vignettes dealing with what your characters do when they're not facing down some infinite crisis. Please, feel free to join in! ))

Months ago...

A small man in a white lab coat stands beside another, larger man in a white lab coat.

"You know, with the costume on," says the smaller man, "he looks just like the original."

"Yeah," says the larger man, then, "Hey! Let me get the original and stand him up beside the clone!"

In moments, the large man in the white lab coat, is propping up an unconscious superhero beside the clone which he and the other whitecoat helped create.

"See? They look...!"

The large man loses his grip and the original superhero falls against the clone, resulting in a tumbling mess of superhero limbs and torsos and heads. They land in a heap on the floor.

"Ooops."

"You idiot! Now we won't be able to tell the clone from the original until he wakes up."

"But we were supposed to release him back into the wild as soon as we confirmed the clone was an exact duplicate!"

"Well... he's not supposed to wake up until he's back outside, for obvious reasons."

"Uh... I'm pretty sure the original is the one that landed on top."

"What on top? His legs or his head?"

"Uh... his head."

"This is a hard choice. The clone has zero intelligence at this point. Surely people who know this guy will notice if we send out the wrong one. Still, it's a 50/50 chance we'll have to take..."

Later that day...

A beautiful young heroine is assisted by a young man in a purple and green costume. They have just finished defeating a coven of the Circle of Thorns.

"Wow, Vandal Bug, I've never seen you fight so well before."

"Mmmmm."

"Oh, yes it was quite exciting."

"Mmmmmmmm."

"Oh, Vandal, you've changed over the past few weeks. You're so much more... mature now."

"Mmmmmmmmmm."

"Me too. I just didn't want to say it. I was afraid of... you know... the rejection."

"Mmmmmmmm."

"Oh Vandal! Yes! Now! Right here! Take me!"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...."

Days ago...

A red-hued android woman stalks through a conquored Crey cloning lab, searching each and every room before she directs her robots to destroy it. She happens upon a steel-reinforced room, with a heavy steel door.

"Abadon, open."

Like an obediant dog, one of her robots trots up to the door and rips it from it's hinges. Inside, a startled young man wearing a green and purple spandex costume sits in restraining cuffs and leg-chains.

"I don't know who you are, shiny and beautiful," he says to the android woman, "but I'm glad as hell to see you!"

He jumps up and kisses the android woman on the cheek.

Momentarily taken aback, the android woman gathers her composure and says, "I'm Elle. Sometimes called Demonelle. And you would be...?"

"I'm called Vandal Bug," Then he thought, But if you knew me better, you could call me Ricky James.

"You were a prisoner of Crey Industries?"

"Yes! I don't know how long, it's all a blur of boring day after boring day. They don't have cable here! Can you believe that? And no satellite radio! And..."

At that same moment, in the office of the Dean of Paragon University...

A young man with purple hair sits across from the Dean, a blank expression on his face. (Er... that's the young man's face, not the Dean's.)

"Mr. James, it is my pleasure to inform you that your grades have improved from a 0.05 GPA to nearly a 0.25 GPA. That is a vast improvement."

"Mmmmm."

"And I see you're working on your communication skills too. Very good!"

[ QUOTE ]
"Roy, I'm pregnant."

[/ QUOTE ]

((Oh snap!))



[ QUOTE ]
"She's gone. She's not here. I...I'm alone, Mike. I can't feel anything. I'm only me."

[/ QUOTE ]

((Oh SNAP! ))

It was good to be home.

Rosie was exhausted. She kept getting involved in Arachnos' business, something she had been determined to avoid. She wasn't a joiner. She had no desire to be a soldier in Lord Recluse's grand scheme. She only wanted to turn a profit from it if she could.

Unfortunately, on the Rogue Isles, Arachnos made the rules. If they called offering her work, she dared not turn them down.

She needed to do something to relax, so she ran a hot bath and soaked the soreness of the day out of her muscles. That's when the idea hit her.

There was a little bookstore in Mercy proper where was displayed a rare edition of a certain book, signed by the original English translator. Out of habit, she had checked out the store's security system. The tiny tell-tale mirrors along the baseboard revealed the presence of a laser grid on the floor. Motion detectors were visible throughout. Concealed, but visible to her trained eye were three CCTV cameras. A couple of active defenses involving gas and sonic waves. Nothing fancy. Nothing that she couldn't be in and out of undetected within minutes.

If she could steal it, that book would make the perfect gift...

Two hours later, the morning sun rising and streaming into the window made Rose's hair shine like spun gold. She smiled to herself as she wrapped the book and addressed it to Nick Kinsolving c/o Maggie's Rock. The Fed-Ex office opened in an hour.

Wouldn't he be surprised!

((I've had people ask me to start this thread again. It's a place for stories about your character's home life. Or maybe lack thereof.

Explore relationships. Present vignettes of daily life. That kind of thing. We're not looking for big rp plots or plot-driven stories. It's just a way to let others -- and yourself -- get to know your character(s) a little better.

I'm starting this one off with my former cat-burglar turned door-busting raider (electric armor brute), Cracklin' Rosie.))

Rosie? Rosie, damn it! I know you're there! Did you get those rocks?

Rose listened to the pause as Peter Themari waited as if he expected her to answer.

Listen. If they lean on me about his, I'm gonna lean on you. Got that? You may think I'm small potatoes now, but I've got connections.

She listened to the pause again.

Damn you, Rosie. A deal's a deal. Freakin' god...

Rose tossed the phone across the room and watched it smash against the wall. "No, Peter. I didn't get the diamonds."

A quick glance at her security console told her that she hadn't neglected to arm the locks on the door when she came in. Red lights winked at her, indicating that every entrance to her apartment was adequately sealed and protected against unwanted intruders. She tried not to think about the fact that not only were others locked out, she was locked in.

The apartment was cool and she liked it that way. As she unzipped her "zapper suit" and dropped it to the floor, she relished the gentle breeze of the air-conditioning against her bare skin. For that moment, she could forget Themari. She could forget the Arachnos recruiters' constantly reminding her that if she joined, she would have a level of support that she could only dream of presently. She could forget the warmth of another body pressed against her own as she drifted off to sleep.

Hot water first, to wash the dirt and sweat of the day away. Then cold to wash away the memories.

No, Peter. I didn't get the diamonds.



"You try to burgle the wrong place tonight, girlie girl."

The tall skinny man with dark, cruel features knelt down to speak to her. His three thugs held her face-down on the floor, arms above her head and legs spread-eagle. She felt like crying. Begging for her life. But no one would see her cry. All her life, she had lived by that, and if it came down to it, she would die by that.

"You know why they call me Nappy "the Nail" Marcone, sweetheart?"

A large hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head up so that she had no choice but to look.

"You see these?" He opened a wooden toolbox. In it was a hammer and several sizes of nails, and spikes. "Tools of the trade, girly-girl. Sometimes you have to make sure people remember you."

She held back both tears and screams as he held up a railroad spike.

"See this. You really make me mad, I drive it through your pretty head..." He touched her temple. "...right there."

She nearly sighed with relief when he put the large iron spike back into the box.

"But see?" Nappy "the Nail" swept a slender hand over the wooden floor with its delicate 16th Century inlay. "It would be a shame to make such large holes in this floor."

She found herself pleading in her mind for him to let her go, but she clenched her teeth to stop the words from pouring out of her mouth.

"Now this..." He held a long, slender, galvanized steel nail down in front of her eyes so she could see its wicked point and large flat head clearly. "This is sharp. And it will sink into the floor and leave two little bitty holes. It will leave little bitty holes in you too, girly-girl, and you'll feel those holes every time you stand up for the rest of your life."

The thug pushed her face back to the floor. She heard Nappy "the Nail" set down the tool box and from the corner of her eye she saw him take the hammer out to fit.

"Hey, boss," one of the thugs said, "after you nail her can we... you know... nail her?"

Napoleone Marcone's foot set down beside her face as he walked over and knelt beside her legs.

"No, stupid." Nappy said. "What kind of sicko are you?"

Something sharp touched the back of her thigh, just above the knee. Then she heard the terrible sound of steel hammer striking steel nail...



When she woke up, the apartment was dark. The sun had gone down. The dream again. She used to wake up shaking and crying out, but she had gotten used to it. Now it only left her dry-mouthed and sweating.

How long had she slept? She looked for her clock, then remembered dashing it against the floor this morning when she woke up and Nick was gone.

Nick? Had he called while she was asleep? Oh. That's right. The phone.

But really, why should she care? He was just an aquaintance. An handsome aquaintance. A handsome aquaintance who had shared her bed for more than the one-night-stand she had intended him to be. And when he was sleeping next to her, she didn't have the dream.

Earlier tonight, when she was using her suit's power to short out the magnetic locks on that safe full of smuggled diamonds, she had thought of Nick Kinsolving. The thought had made her smile. It also made her lose her concentration long enough to botch the job and bring a full squad of Gold Brickers to confront her. She was lucky that she was able to fight her way through them and flee.

No, Peter. I didn't get the diamonds.

Her mouth was dry.

She walked out of her tiny kitchen with what was left of the bottle of wine she had opened the previous night, plopped herself down on the floor beside her stereo and turned on the radio. Something easy, she thought, Something to put me back to sleep.

She turned the knob until she heard a smooth masculine voice singing softly:

In every heart there is a room,
a sanctuary safe and strong...

"God. DAMN!"

She stood and kicked the stereo from atop its stand. When it hit the floor with a thud, it was dead.

No clock. No phone. No music.

Nobody.

She sat in the dark silence and cried.

((Awww man... I really hate to see you go. You were great to work with!))

Dr. Frank Werner checked his email every day when he sat down at his computer to have his breakfast. Today, along with the usual spam was one from someone he had been waiting for many weeks to hear from.

Doc Werner looked at Roy's name for several seconds. The Kirby's handn't heard from their son since he had been "deprogrammed" from his time with Elle. He figured Roy was dealing with conflicting emotions -- anger, shame, grief -- and felt responsible for the crimes Elle had committed.

He understood completely. After all, Roy had only set the monster free. He had created it.

He clicked on Roy's name:


Doc, I now you dont owe me no favers. And Im sorry for what happened. I will make it up to you I promise but I have a bigger problim right now. My freind Tera has been kidnapped. I found the nutcase that had her took and all she wants to bring her back is $40,000. That aint that much but I aint got no money at all no more since my cartoon got cancelled. I now you have a lot of patients on all of your invention and I hate to ask this but I need $40,000. Most of my freinds here in Paragon City think we should not copermise with kidnappers. But $40,000 dont sound like that much. Oh yeh. She also wants somebody who nows someting about life foces to fix her yang. Do you know anything about a woman's yang?

Also and this is bad news I think Val is dead. I think Elle took over her body and now she kinda has all the stuff Val new about magic in her head so watch out.

Are Ma and Pa real mad at me?

-Roy



Frank Werner rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he hit "Reply"...

((Oh, Dragonberry, do be careful!

Oh, and charming post.))

As days go, it had been a bad one.

Roy finished off the last bottle of his last case of beer, then staggered to the computer. He had finally remembered to check his email...

You have (3) new messages, it said on the screen.

Roy fumbled around with the mouse and clicked them off one by one:

<NEW! THE ENLARGER!

Have you ever experienced the shame of...>

He clicked the next one:

<Tired of paying your mortgage? We can take that debt off of your hands...>

The third one wound up being important:

<I have some bad news. It would appear that the group of villains, known as Future, have taken Clobber-Girl captive. I don’t have many details, but rest assured I am on the case and will not rest until she is safe again. As soon as I learn anything, I will let you know.

Noisemaze, signing out.>

Roy felt the effects of the alcohol leave his system. He got on the comm. "Jenna... I got some bad news... an' tell th' others..."

((Hmm... Might have a go at this myself... Only, I know there are a couple of people just waiting for Elle to show herself in Bloody Bay... Could be interesting.))