jchinds

*The Opening Credits start up, but with a funky 70s cop show bassline in place of the earlier theme music. Hephaestus 1 and Moby are standing in front of an apartment door.*

"Just open up, all right?" Heph asked. "We have papers we need to hand over to you."

"No," a gruff voice said. "I'm nae comin' out if I dun wanna!"

"These are plaintiff copies! Your attorney will need them," Moby said.

"I'm nae openin' the door!"

"Look. I understand this might be embarrassing, but we need you to sign for the papers."

"Sod off!"

"No. Now come out here and sign for these stupid papers! Seriously!" the big blue cyborg shouted as he opened the envelope. "It's only a... wait." Heph looked at the paperwork. "Wrongful powers lawsuit? People will sue over anything!"

The door was opened to reveal a large bug-eyed hairy Scotsman in a three-tone pink kilt. His tam-o-shanter had a princess' tiara wrapped around it.

"Are ye happy now?" the large man said.

Mobius Knight blinked. "No, I'm kind of disgusted, yet I'm also vaguely used to these things by now."

Heph looked at the paperwork again. "Wait. You're not Patty Perlman, the Princess of Preserves. Sorry, uh, man..."

"Och, it's indeed me, to my shame," the pink-clad Scotsman said. "I was once Patty Perlman, a world-class maker of jams and jellies. One night while working on my greatest recipe yet, I was struck by an errant bolt of unknown energy! Gone was sweet and innocent Patty and in her place was... LADDIE MARMALADE!" he said, weeping into a dainty lace handkerchief. "Now, I have this horrid body and the power to control all types of fruit preserves! I did nae want these powers! The City owes me for failing to protect me!"

Heph looked at Moby, then back at Laddie Marmalade. "Just sign the damn acknowledgement of receipt."

"Have ye no heart? Ye dinna ken the troubles I've seen," the large, hairy man said.

Moby grinned under his mask. "You have no idea what we've seen. You're only merely freaky compared to some of the things we've seen. You know, C-Beams glittering off the Tannhauser Gate, fiery angels falling, stuff like that. Hairy gender-bender in an ugly skirt? Merely freaky."

Heph nodded. "Yep. Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, sign please."

30 minutes later, the crew of "Serv'd!" was eating at a nearby Up N' Away Burger.

"So, Blade Runner quotes, huh?" Heph asked.

"I had to. I couldn't exactly point at the guy and say 'Stop breaking my mind!' now, could I?" Moby answered.

"Yeah, I guess not. I can understand the trauma of finding out you have superpowers when none previously existed," Heph said. "Especially when they're mediocre powers that come with a stupid limitation."

One of Heph's antennae extended. "Hang on, getting a call. Hey, Larry. What? Fang's in trouble? I EAT PASTE MAN is on a rampage? Right, right, we're on it." The antenna retracted. "Come on Moby, we've got some hero stuff to do."

The crew gathered up their trash and left.

If you haven't heard it already, Posi, thank you for feeding my altitis addiction. Without enablers like you, I couldn't get to be where I am today.



Seriously, this rocks. Thanks for the info.

"So, all those girls and you only talked to a couple of them?" the Cobalt Claymore said as he swung his longsword down towards Back Yard Boom. "Tommy, you're single. Go act like it!"

Back Yard Boom parried the sword with one metal arm, sparks flying where metal bit into metal. He shifted to one side and threw a spinning backhand towards the blue-clad swordsman. "Nah, man, I screwed up big time. I just gotta take my lumps an' deal with it." The Cobalt Claymore leapt back to avoid the shot, then re-sheathed his sword.

"Well, that was a half-[censored] punch, Tommy. If you're going to let this thing with Saya drain all the aggression out of you, then I'm not going to train with you until you get your act together again." He pulled back his cowl and mask to reveal the features of one Todd Galahad, History major at PCU and current collections specialist of the Harriman Archive.

"Dude, come on. I'm just gettin' warmed up!" the blue-haired cyborg said.

"Look, just go to the gym and lift or run or something. You don't have the energy right now to fight like you mean it," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Just scale back until you can get that fighting spirit again."

"Aw, come on, Todd, it ain't like that!" Back Yard Boom snapped.

The Cobalt Claymore was already heading towards the lockers from the training room floor. Tommy ran up to walk alongside him. "Seriously man, I'm ready ta ramp things up an' fight."

"No, you're not. Here's some unsolicited advice: go apologize to Saya and beg her to take you back, or go find some new girl to chase after. You've been saying that it's over between the two of you, so either prove it's over or get back together, all right?"

"Fine, fine," Back Yard Boom said as they headed to the lockers. "I'll see what I can do."

((Yeah, every day I think I have it easy in this thread, someone comes in and jacks up the writing quality some more. I tell you, it's murder in here! ))

At the St. Florian's KC Hall in High Park, Pipewrench stood at the bar, cleaning glasses before the first customers and regulars would come in for the lunch special: beer and fried bologna sandwiches. It was all he could cook, but he cooked it well. He never listened to his mama when she said "A man has to know how to cook, not just how to eat."

Tommy Pachowski walked in with his bookbag slung over his shoulder, with the thousand-yard stare that said "recent break-up." Pipewrench looked the young man over twice.

"Ya look like crap, kid. Bad day at school?" the old plumber asked.

"Nah, it's nothin', Mister San Fillipo," Tommy said. "I was just doin' some plannin' fer work tonight."

"Right. What's this plan's name? An' how does this plan look in one'a them short skirts?" Pipewrench said with a grin.

"It's really work related. I got this Bearcat project goin' right now an'--"

"Don't gimme that bull, Tommy," Pipewrench said. "I'm old enough ta know better." Pipewrench walked over to the tap and grabbed a mug off the rack. "Here," he said, returning to Tommy with a mug of Schlitz. "Onna house."

"But I ain't old enough ta drink, Mister San Fillipo," Tommy protested. "I don't wanna getcha in trouble."

"Trouble? Kid, technically speakin' I'm almost a hundred years old. Ya think I give a damn 'bout some stupid drinkin' law? I fought two wars and got punched 53 years inta the future. Some bluenose comin' in an' lecturin' me on how ta run a business is less than nothin'. Now, who's on yer mind? That one Japanese girl ya been seein'?"

"Useta see," Tommy said. "She dumped me."

"Uh-huh. What'd ya do ta make her dump ya?"

"Nothin'! I found out she's been doin' the Registered Hero thing behind my back fer a while now an' I told her I had reservations 'bout it. She's been drawin' our team comic book fer a while, an' she always told me she wanted ta be an artist. I didn't want her wreckin' her hands onna face'a some Council goon, y'know?" Tommy said in between pulls from the mug. "Her hands're what makes her a livin'."

Pipewrench nodded. "An' she wanted ta give up her day job ta fight crime?"

"More or less. She wanted ta fight crime with me. I told her ta rethink it. She quit bein' a hero once already, an' she signed up behind my back on that, too. We always fought over her wantin' ta fight crime with me."

"So, she wanted ta be with ya, an' ya said she oughta stay home," Pipewrench said. "Why?"

"I can't fix her hands if they get wrecked. They ain't machines like mine. They're works'a art in themselves. She's seen the kinda damage I been built ta take. She knows she can't handle that. I don't want her gettin' crippled or killed 'cause she thinks she can tackle a guy like Atta on her own."

Pipewrench nodded. "I know what ya mean. I didn't want my wife workin', either."

Tommy shook his head. "No, it ain't that. If she wants ta work, that's cool, just... not in somethin' that's gotta good chance'a keepin' her from what she's always said she wanted ta do since I first met her."

"If ya wanna know what I think," Pipewrench said, "an' maybe ya don't, but what I think is she loves more'n she loves her trade. An' ya want her ta be safe an' able ta provide fer herself 'cause ya love her."

"Right," Tommy said as he drained the mug.

"Well, do ya really love her an' trust her ta do the right thing?"

Tommy looked at the mug. "Love her, yeah. Trust her judgment? Not in this one situation. The rest'a the time, yeah. I think she's makin' a really big mistake, an' I told her so."

"An' that's when she dumped ya?" Pipewrench asked as he took the mug back and refilled it.

"Yeah. She said she wanted a guy who'd let her follow her passions or somethin'. Followin' yer passion is fine, but if it's gonna ruin yer future is it worth it?"

"How do ya know it'd ruin her future? What if she lucks out?" Pipewrench asked.

Tommy looked over at the old man. "I don't think she will. She's gonna wind up crippled or dead. She ain't built ta fight like you or me."

"Or yer little sister?"

"That's different. Claire can shrug off a lotta damage. She doesn't even catch colds anymore. It's part'a the healin' powers she got after that lab accident. Even then I don't like it. Ma don't like the idea'a Claire goin' out ta fight crime, either."

"But she still does anyway," Pipewrench said. "It's what she wants ta do."

"An' I let her 'cause she can handle the worst that comes after her. Saya's normal. No cybernetics, no weird powers from a lab accident on top'a her mutant powers, no armor, no nothin'. Just her an' her hands an' feet."

"Well, kid ya oughta support her, even if what she's doin' ain't smart. She'll figure it out quick enough, I think. I bet if ya try, ya both can salvage yer relationship."

Tommy drank half the mug down in one gulp. "Nah, screw it. Me an' Saya are done. If she's gonna ruin her chance at a stable job fer the rest'a her life 'cause she wants a little glory, then I can't support that. If I can't support that, then she don't want me around. It's over an' done."

"Uh-huh," Pipewrench said. "Look, give her some time an' some room an' she'll come around. An' it'll give ya the time ya need ta cool down as well. When ya cool down, you'll probably wanna talk ta her again."

"Maybe," Tommy said as he finished his second mug. "I dunno. Maybe I oughta start seein' other girls."

"Right, right," Pipewrench said. "Look, I gotta start up the stove. Those two beers're onna house. Ya want more, it's the regular price."

Tommy nodded his head and pulled out one of his textbooks. With a sigh and a shake of his head he began to study.

((It's been a long-standing argument of theirs. He wants her to have a future in case he couldn't provide for her, she wanted to be by his side in fighting crime as well as writing about it. Both of them are too stubborn to give any ground, so breaking up is probably the best thing for them.))

Tommy Pachowski sat on the small bed in Saya's dorm room, still groggy from just waking up and stunned from Saya's question. "I don't get it," he said.

"I'm just saying it's time for the relationship to change, Tommy," Saya said. "I want something different."

"Uhm, ya mean ya want someone different, right?" Tommy asked.

"I want someone who trusts me to take care of myself. I proved my ability, I earned my Hero license, and I want to go fight crime while I'm here. You just want me to sit in a little world where all I do is draw manga and never fight when I see bad things happening."

Tommy took Saya's hands in his. "An' when these hands can't draw any more 'cause ya came up short against the Council or the Tsoo, how're ya gonna earn a livin'? When ya can't draw how ya do now, are ya really gonna be happy with what ya did as a licensed Hero?"

"Is all that you care about is my ability to make money? You're taking it for granted that I'm always going to draw manga. What about other things I want to do? What if I want to fight crime directly?"

Tommy let go of Saya's hands. "Ya gotta license, that's true. I'm talkin' 'bout if ya can't be a hero any more. Ya need somethin' ta fall back on. I learned ta be a mechanic in case I couldn't make it ta college. If worse came ta worst, I had a way ta make a livin'. You lose the use'a yer hands, Saya, whattaya got? Royalties off'a one manga series? That ain't gonna last forever. This ain't just about money, it's about the rest'a yer life, dammit!" Tommy shouted. "I don't want ya ta throw away the trade ya decided on a long time ago just so ya have a couple'a nice medals an' some pictures'a you standin' next ta Statesman. Yer not armored up like I am, an' ya don't heal fast like Claire does. If it wasn't fer the Medicom system, ya might already be crippled or dead. I love ya too much ta see that happen."

"You don't love me enough to let me make my own decisions on this, though," Saya said. "I know what the risks are and I choose to take them. I don't have a problem with gambling my future away like this. A hero's life is supposed to be passionate, where the fate of the world rests on your shoulders and you only have one chance to save it. That's the kind of life I want, Tommy."

Tommy set his feet on the floor and began to get dressed. "Fine. Ya wanna fight crime. That's good. Go ahead. I can't watch ya 24-7, but I don't want ya complainin' again like when ya had that powered armor shot out from under ya."

Saya went over to the sink in her room and pawed her way to the toothpaste. "That isn't going to happen again, Tommy."

"I also don't wanna hafta say 'I told ya so' the first time ya come in fer a cybernetic arm or hand," Tommy said. "That's how careful I want ya ta be."

Saya didn't say anything, as she was brushing her teeth.

"So, we still a couple even if I got reservations 'bout yer new career?"

Saya spat out the toothpaste. "If you can't support me the entire way, then no. I want someone who appreciates my passion for justice. You took my art talent as all that makes me useful and there's more than just my art here. You can't appreciate that, and I want someone who can do that."

"Fine," Tommy said as he laced up his workboots. "I guess we're just business partners until the contracts run out. I was wrong 'bout us bein' together fer the rest'a our lives, I suppose. Seeya at the next pre-press meetin', then. I'll bring all the stuff ya left at my place at the meetin'."

"Good idea," Saya said. "And yes, you were wrong about us being together for the rest of our lives, Tommy. I want someone who wants me to be me."

Tommy just nodded as he walked out the door. "As ya wish."

Saya's eyes opened, and she focused her eyes on the clock on her desk. The college student began to roll over, then realized she was still sleeping next to Tommy. He decided to spend the night in her dorm room instead of home, since there was a big game night at the dorm on some weekends. Saya pouted a bit, then jabbed at his tattoo-covered shoulder.

"Hey. Wake up. I have to get out of bed," Saya said.

Tommy just murmured something, then pulled the covers over him with a blue metal hand.

Saya grumbled a bit and poked him harder. "Wake. Up."

"Huh?" Tommy said as blinked.

"I have to get up. Get out of my way, Tommy," Saya said.

"Right, right," the cyborg said as he rolled onto his back, then sat up slowly. "And a good mornin' ta you, too, Miss Fubuki," Tommy said with a tired grin.

The girl sighed a bit. "Good morning, Tommy. So, are you going to buy me breakfast?"

"Only the finest what IHOP can provide. Nothin' is too good fer my girlfriend."

Saya smiled. "Ooh, big spender."

"Besides," Tommy said. "I figure I can use both our licensed hero discounts there."

"I'm not a licensed hero anymore, Tommy," Saya said. "Don't be stupid."

"The file fer the Shizuoka Two-Step says otherwise, Saya," Tommy said. "Why didn't ya tell me ya wanted ta get back in the game?"

"Because you always tell me that I'm better off in the background," Saya growled.

"That's 'cause I'm yer overprotective boyfriend an' yer overprotective business partner."

"Look, we've got the last volume of the manga at pre-press right now. Can we stop being business partners once that's done?" Saya asked.

"Yeah, that's no problem," he said, moving his metal fingers through his dyed hair.

"Can we also stop being boyfriend and girlfriend, too?"

Tommy blinked. "What?"

On the next "Serv'd!"

Heph looked at the paperwork. "Wrongful powers lawsuit? People will sue over anything!"

*scene shifts to Heph and Mobius Knight sneaking through an abandoned fast-food stand*

Mobius Knight sniffed twice. "Gyros. He's HERE."

*scene shifts to the counter of The Wizard's Starship comics shop in Steel Canyon. I EAT PASTE MAN stands behind the counter grinning in his usual paste-flecked manner.*

"HA HA! I WAS ONCE- I WAS ONCE THE STUDENT, BUT NOW I AM THE MASTER, AM I RIGHT? RIGHT? HA HA! NOW I CONTROL YOUR DESTINY! IT'S NOTHING BUT ARCHIE FROM HERE ON OUT! BECAUSE- BECAUSE I AM THE BOSS NOW!"

Catch "Serv'd!" Friday nights at 9pm Eastern. Now on The Hero Channel. The Hero Channel: What Heroes Watch.

Mobius Knight, Hephaestus 1 and Arbiter Sands had all been in worse places before, being surrounded by laser-firing Council robots. However, none of them had ever been trapped by so many of them at the same time.

Mobius Knight unsheathed his katana. "I guess it's time to see if the metalsmiths were right about this high-speed steel being able to handle repeated cuts on robot shells."

Arbiter Sands held his hands out. "No way, man. You're going to get shredded out there what with the lasers, the claws, and the angry robot hate."

Hephaestus 1 stood there, inert but for the whirring noise of his internal generator. He scanned the area for any weak points in the walls where they might be able to tunnel out, his internal signal filters deleting angry robot spam IMs transmitted during the fight. There was no luck, though, as the walls seemed to be well-built and too thick to easily tunnel away.

"Guys," Heph said. "There are at least fifty Mek Men, maybe three dozen Warcry bots and Hoverbots out the wazoo. "As you guys aren't particularly laser-proof, I'll go out and try to negotiate. All this for a stupid pair of mystical panties," the big blue cyborg grumbled.

"It's actually a belt, Heph," Mobius Knight said. "Back in the days, that's what they called fancy belts."

"What?" Heph yelled. "We're shedding our blood and sweat... relatively speaking... for a BELT?"

"Uh, yeah. I thought you knew that and were just joking."

"Okay, that's it. Ganymede can bite my shiny metal-"

"Whoa, big guy," Mobius Knight said. "we're here for a belt, not for copyright infringement."

Heph's shoulders sunk. "Yeah. I'm still going to kick Ganymede over the floating truck, though."

"Through the Pocket D windows?"

"Yes. I'll clear it with Zero, I think he'll be cool with it."

"Or he'll wish you into the cornfield," Sands said. "We'd better hurry. My latte is getting cold."

"You drink lattes?" Heph asked. "What, is black coffee too much for your delicate sensibilities?"

The Arbiter's lower lip quivered. "Mine is a MANLY latte, dammit!"

Mobius Knight's eyebrow popped up. "No one has ever questioned your choice of coffee?"

"I'm an Arbiter, my word is absolute!" Sands said.

"I EM DE LAAAW!" Mobius Knight said, mocking his Arachnos teammate.

"Shut... shut up! I'm totally reporting you!"

Heph looked at his teammates. "Guys. We've got to get out of here. This mission has been a bust from the get-go. Now think. We've got tons of metal out there, waiting for us to surrender. We've got to get out of here alive. Now, how are we going to do that without being shot, stabbed or otherwise made less viewable for television?"

"Look, I can go all slashy-stabby on them, it's cool," Mobius Knight said. "I just need a distraction while that happens."

"I blew up my robots already, so all I have is my big mace that shoots industrial solvents," Arbiter Sands said sullenly.

"Well, I think they've got backup after backup out there. Don't fret, though. We can get past these guys. After all, you can't stop the metal," Heph said, the concussion pistons on his arms hissing as they went through final checks.

"Wait, what was that?" Mobius Knight said.

"I was referring to the line from Tenacious D."

"Wait. Fear not, boss, I have a cunning plan, but it will require something else."

"You guys are not dressing up as robots. That's insensitive," Heph said.

"No, no. Even better. We're not going to walk out of here," Mobius Knight said as he resheathed his blade. "We're going to rock our way out of here."

Heph just stared at his sidekick. "Right. You distract them with being crazy go-nuts like that, I'll throw pieces of floor at them. Good idea."

"No, no! Robots are social creatures, you know that from COMMA meetings, Heph. And what do they do when they get together?"

"Well, Moby, they usually talk dirty about the girl robots."

"No, no, besides that. I've been checking out the newsfeeds you mentioned for Mecha-American culture. What's the hottest thing for robots to do in a public social situation these days?" Mobius Knight asked.

"Okay, where are we going to get the controllers for Guitar Hero at a time like this?" Heph asked. "Especially with fingers the size of mine?"

Mobius Knight walked out to face the angry robot horde. "Attention, robots! There is only one way to settle this properly! I challenge your hardest of hardcore robots to... A ROCK-OFF!"

The robots looked at Mobius Knight and at each other. "We expected you to come out fighting, but we must ponder this challenge. Also, Unit 28 owes me five dollars. This unit told Unit 28 that the targets would not try to escape in robodrag."

Two of the Warcrys stepped forward. "We accept the challenge and are here to rock. Choose your second."

"Heph!" Mobius Knight yelled. "Get out here! You're my second for the Rock-Off!"

Hephaestus 1 stepped out, a large chunk of rock in his hand. "Right! Time for you robots to get- wait. They accepted the challenge?"

Mobius Knight nodded. "They did."

Heph looked askance at the robots. "They probably haven't unlocked Dragonforce yet. Buncha noobs."

The first Warcry pointed at Heph. "Bring it, half-breed!"

Heph's eyes glowed bright red. "You do not call a full-body conversion a half-breed and expect to get away with it. I'm going to rock so hard you'll go analog and like it."

"Big words from a big vocoder," the Warcry said.

Within minutes, the game system was warmed up and the stereo volume set to "So loud it breaks space and time to make your grandma feel it." Two giant controllers stood next to the box. Like most Council entertainment systems, the robots had hacked, soldered, and welded the electronics into a true multi-system platform. Hundreds of likely-stolen games covered the walls, making Heph wonder if they'd just stolen an entire GameStop and called it good.

Heph picked the closest controller up. It fit perfectly. "Huh. A Gibson X-Plorer I can actually use. Nice." he started flipping through the songs. "Ha! I was right. They don't have Dragonforce unlocked!"

The second Warcry looked at him. "Shut up! We've been busy."

"I'll go easy on you. Ace of Spades, hardest mode."

"That's not so tough," the Warcry said. "Prepare to lose."

An hour later, the Warcry was walking away from the controller in shame. Heph looked around at the awestruck robots. "Next?" he asked.

A Mek Man walked up to him. "This unit would like to ask if you could unlock all the songs for us."

"Try harder, noob." Heph said. "You guys need more practice. And four fingers instead of two claws. Now, make a hole. We're outta here like Doug."

"Who's Doug?" the robot asked.

"Never mind."

As Heph walked back to his teammates, he shrugged. "Sorry, guys, I got carried away."

"Well," Mobius Knight said, "while you distracted them, Sands and I accessed their servers and found the location for the Girdle of Aphrodite. We know where to strike next."

"You know, I think I'm going to go tell Ganymede to get bent. I'm not going through another stupid base to find some belt that makes people sexy. If you don't embrace your inner hotosity, a fancy belt isn't going to help you, either."

"Hot... osity?" Mobius Knight asked. "And who the hell is Doug?"

"You know," Arbiter Sands said, "from the old tv show 'The State.' He was the teenager who had cool parents but he still felt that he'd never be cool unless he rebelled like the kids on tv."

"Never saw it. Sorry," Mobius Knight said. "Oh yeah. Here's a summons to traffic court. You're a witness to a Chaser-Sky Skiff collision or something. We only went on this gig to get you this paperwork."

Heph nodded as Mobius Knight stuck the summons in Sands' glove. "The instructions on where to report are on the summons itself. Failure to appear will result in the appropriate actions being taken. Even Arbiters are not above the law."

"I em de law," Mobius Knight said, mocking the Arachnos agent.

"So, you mean no more wacky hijinks and improbable escapades with you guys?" Sands said, his lower lip quivering again.

Heph shook his head. "No more fun for you."

"But... but I wanted to join the team. I have robots for backup!"

Mobius Knight rolled his eyes. "Nobody loves a whiner, Sandy. Suck it up and show up at court in two weeks' time."

"Can I hang out with you guys after the trial?"

"No," the tv crew and on-camera stars said in unison as they walked back to the entrance of the Council base.

"Yeah, well, I didn't really want to hang out with you guys anyway! You're a bunch of jerks who laughed at my coffee!" Sands yelled before the camera faded out.

After the commercial break, Heph and Mobius Knight were seated in Larry McGonigle's office. Larry was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar and using his "no smoking" desk sign as an impromptu ash tray. "You expect me to believe that?" he asked.

"It's all on tape," Heph said. "Moby can back me up on this, right?"

Mobius Knight shuddered. "I never want to see a robot try playing a guitar with his tongue ever again."

Larry grinned. "Don't worry guys, the next thing doesn't deal with robots at all. Your next assignment is to the Botanical Gardens to serve a writ of mandamus on some guy named Gardenor. He apparently has been breeding counterfeit Devouring Earth creatures. The Hamidon wants Gardenor to cease and desist."

Heph threw his hands up into the air. "Like that's any better? Why can't we get someone like Captain Mildly Offensive?"

"He hasn't done anything since the 'I'm Not Touching You' incident last October."

"Fine," Heph said. "We're here, give us the briefing..."

The team conversed as the screen faded to credits.

For a chilly March day, Heph had to admit that it was a stupid idea. This photographer, Jimmy, had a weird idea of doing holiday-themed public relations stills for the show. So what was the deal with St. Patrick's Day?

"Hey, you're Irish, right?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, Southside Irish," Heph said. "The best St. Paddy's parade in Chicago is the Southside Irish one."

"Yeah, yeah" Jimmy said. "And since your family is from Ireland, and it's St. Patrick's Day, you ought to go for something ethnic. Something that shows heritage. I think that'd be suuuuper for this photoshoot."

Heph's newly-added cybernetic eyebrow raised up. "Ethnic costume, huh?"

"Hey, why have you got an eyebrow over one of your eyes?" Jimmy asked.

"Easy," Heph said. "That way I can give people a 'what did you just say?' look now. See?"

"Heh, suuuuper," Jimmy said. "So, what's with the look?"

"Are you sure you want me to go ethnic on this?" Heph asked.

"Why not? People like people who aren't afraid to wear traditional old world clothing. It'll be good for publicity," Jimmy said.

"Fine," Heph sighed. "I'll get something put together at Icon."

The next day, Heph found himself at the Independence Port Icon, speaking with Lauren, the head of design. She walked around him a few times, the stiletto heels on her boots clacking on the floor. She paused, put her hand on her hip and gestured to the tailors.

"He says to 'go ethnic,' yes?" Lauren asked.

"Yeah, and can I make a suggestion?" Heph asked in reply.

"Well, I can't guarantee we'll use it, but go ahead," Lauren said.

Heph leaned in and whispered something in her ear, causing Lauren to grin wickedly from ear to ear. She spun on her heel and clapped her hands twice.

"SEAMSMINIONS! FRONT AND CENTER!" she shouted.

At once a squad of junior tailors and seamstresses appeared, notepads and pens in hand. Heph yelped in surprise and jumped at their sudden appearance.

"GAH! They're like fashion ninjas!" the big blue cyborg said.

"Hephaestus 1, our client has come up with a delicious idea for his current sartorial dilemma. It is up to us, the tailors of Icon, to make this suggestion a reality!" Lauren said while pacing, her heels still clacking on the floor. "His photographer wants 'ethnic costume,' and 'ethnic costume' he shall get! Who will stand with me on this project?"

The tailors and seamstresses cheered in agreement.

"Men and women of Icon! Tonight we dine... at SCARLATTI'S ITALIAN BISTRO!"

Tape measures and chalk markers were raised above heads as the cheering resumed.

Heph's eyebrow of surprise raised again. The tailors swarmed him as Lauren looked on with approval. The fitting room of the store became a flurry of activity as fabrics, colors and embroidery patterns were compared against the blue metal and ceramic that made up Heph's skin. Finally, the creation was done.

"Brilliant!" Heph said as he admired their handiwork. "I wish I could get a hat, though. It would complete the look."

"Yes, but it would be impossible to keep it on your head without gluing it there," Lauren said. "So no, no hat."

Heph walked out of the store later, clad in his new tactical lederhosen. The suspenders for his short leather trousers had been upgraded from a standard leather brace to something that could carry ammunition and other immediately necessary supplies. The red and gold piping on the shirt's collar and cuffs matched up with the tie, and a sturdy pair of "Bunyan 3000" hiking/combat boots completed the look.

"Go ethnic, he says," Heph said with glee, "Too bad he never specified which ethnicity to use..."

Inside the clothing shop, Lauren put her finishing touches on the new "Raiderhosen" line of fashions. She knew from speaking to numerous heroes that the Rikti feared Bavarians, so this was sure to be a hit the next time U'kon G'rai sent his troops out from their mothership. This time, the Rikti would know that their deepest fears were revealed to the world. And maybe this time, the Rikti would leave once and for all.

What can I say? My CoHverse is just a bit weirder than the regular one.

Now, naturally, Serv'd! runs in more than just the Paragon City, Rhode Island market. It also runs in Heph's hometown of Chicago. And as always, some of the best ads for a show come from the local cable affiliates. Let's take a look at one of Chicago's very own offerings, shall we?

((N.B., this is a half-remembered script from long ago, and features the origin of where I originally got the idea for Back Yard Boom's last name.))

----

*We see the grimy inside of a full-service auto service center, with a decrepit-looking hatchback placed forlornly in the middle of a shot. A portly man in a pair of red coveralls, a brown plaid sports jacket (with elbow patches!) a Chicago Bears ball cap, sunglasses and a mustache that would make Tom Selleck envious strolls up to the car. The caption reads "Larry Filipowicz, owner and proprietor."*

Larry: Oh, dis poor, poor car. As you c'n see, dis piece'a automotive efficiency has been put t'roo da wringer an' has come up wantin'. So, what would you do? Leave da car ta rust on some side street, its parkin' sticker faded an' gone?

*A portly woman with similar sunglasses to Larry walks up next to him. She's rather matronly and a bit too serious-looking for the hippie style of clothing she's wearing. The caption reads "Paula Filipowicz, Car Health Expert."*

Paula: If someone did dat ta dis poor car, dey oughta be took inta jail immediately an' beat with da Sunday Trib! No car oughta be resigned ta such a fate!

*Larry looks with earnest sincerity at the camera, trying not to show that he's reading from cue cards.*

Larry: An'-- we can't let dat happen! But fer a car like dis, we gotta do more'n just grind da valves, rebuild da electrical system an' put in new shocks!

Paula: Dat's right, Larry, we need ta heal da car, not just repair it! An' ta heal da car, we gotta heal da whole car.

Larry: Dat's so true, Paula. So here at--

*Larry pauses and swings his arms wide*

Larry: Larry Filipowicz's Totally Holistic Car Healin' Centre, we use a wide variety'a techniques ta bring da car healin' arts ta dere full circle. Here's some'a our techniques:

*The caption "Aromatherapy" appears.*

Larry: We start wit' a car like dis by usin' aromatherapy. Now, I'm gonna open up dis jar'a... pa... patch... *lifts up his sunglasses and squints, trying to read the psychedelic label on the canister* ...pachowski ta help center da car an' hide any scent'a fuel line leaks.

*Larry pops open the canister and gags, dropping it on the floor and spilling the contents.*

Larry: Jeez-O-Pete, Paula, it smells like yer sister Moonbeam exploded in here!

Paula: Dat's why we also use our famous Sweat Garage technique ta draw out any poisons inna car, an' fer dat we add da power'a sage!

*the scene shifts to one of Larry beating on a bongo drum and Paula dancing sullenly and seriously around the car with a tambourine*

Paula: C'maaaaahn, car! Open up ta da inner universe dat is yer soooooul!

*The car honks twice and a light beams out of the middle of the hood*

Larry: Dere! We opened da car's t'ird headlight! Now it can unnerstan' da t'ings we're gonna do ta make it a well car again.

*The scene shifts to another car, where Larry, Paula, and a concerned-looking man in neutral colors is holding a scale model of the car in front of it. The caption says "Individual Counseling by a Licensed Car Counseling Expert.*

Counselor: Can you show us on the transmission where your first driver driver said he was "making adjustments?"

*The car's alarm system sets off, its headlights blinking wildly*

Counselor: It's okay. I understand. You're not ready for this, but I think we've made a real breakthrough today.

*The scene shifts back to a mechanic who appears to be sprinkling blood on the hood of the car. Larry stands in front of the scene as the mechanic swallows a bottle of something, then uses a torch to blow fire around the car.*

Larry: Our ASE-certified witch-mechanics can rid yer car'a any kinda evil spirits! Whether it's a simple thing as castin' out imps ta full-on Satanic takeovers, here at Larry Filipowicz's, we can make yer car whole once more!

*The car behind Larry starts honking and spraying transmission fluid from its headlights as the mechanic calls in for backup. A team of Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic priests start blessing the car and it seems to be calming down. It begins to thrash violently again, and one of the priests flings open the hood and drives a stake through its alternator. The car goes silent and the mechanic walks up cautiously, poking it with a ratchet extension.*

Larry: Phew! Dat was a close one! I haven't seen a car do dat since da last time we got a '64 Dodge Dart in here! Seems we had da ghost'a a little ol' lady who drove it on weekends at da Joliet Speedway tryin' ta make it run again.

Paula: You bet, Larry. Dere's no cost to great ta pay fer a properly workin' car. An' in honor'a da Lenten season, everybody from da Archdiocese can come in fer a free St. Christopher medal or a free caricature'a dere car by da ghost'a Ed Roth fer da nonbelievers. Though Ed'll prob'ly give a picture ta anyone who wants one... he's nice like dat now dat he's onna other side.

Larry: So come on down ta Larry Filipowicz's Totally Holistic Car Healin' Centre! We Heal Da Whole Car!

Disclaimer Voiceover: Car healing services extra with purchase of basic diagnostic and oil change package. Larry Filipowicz's Totally Holistic Car Healing Centre is not responsible for misdiagnoses based on being given improper information about the vehicle's current spiritual state. Note: depending on car's preferences, resurrection and/or reincarnation services may not be available. Always check with your car first.

*the screen switches to the next commercial*

Things in Pocket D had calmed down a bit since the little incident of the attempted armed robbery by three very stupid thugs.

"I really hate that Numa Numa song, whatever it's called," Arbiter Sands said, his cup of coffee still steaming. "Or maybe it's the dance. My Arachnos Drones can't do the little dance that goes with it, so maybe that's why I really hate it."

Hephaestus 1 looked over at his new sidekick, Mobius Knight. "What did Ganymede put in his coffee?"

Mobius Knight shrugged. "No idea, Heph. Whatever it is, though, it's keeping him from attacking us."

"Well," Arbiter Sands said, "I'm also not attacking you because I choose not to. I'm an Arbiter, and thus a law unto myself."

Heph's antennae twitched. "I have a question for you. Did you ever see Sylvester Stallone's version of Judge Dredd?"

Arbiter Sands scowled. "No. It's an insult to the noble rank of Arbiter."

"Rank, right. Hey, Moby, how did Sly's tagline go again?" Heph asked.

Mobius Knight smiled under his mask. "I em de laaaw!"

Heph chuckled a bit. "Right, right."

"It's a near-universal phrase, too. You can use it in all kinds of situations," the sword-swinger added. "Fighting a traffic ticket? 'I em de laaaw!' Need to get a zoning ordinance done you way? 'I em de law!' It's got lots of uses."

"So, it's the new 'I am Batman' then?" Heph asked.

"Only for Arbiters," Mobius Knight added.

Arbiter Sands grinned more. "I like you guys. Really."

Heph and Mobius Knight looked at each other with worry. What was Sands up to?

The group found their way to a vaguely secret Council facility in Faultline. "It's over this way, guys," Sands said.

"Right, so, did Ganymede tell you why he wanted the Girdle of Aphrodite?" Mobius Knight asked.

"I thought it was because even gods like to feel pretty sometimes," Heph said.

"No, it's for Ghost Widow," Sands said. "She wants to use it in order to come back from the dead."

"There's a problem with that, though," Heph said. "Apparently these mystical drawers of love only make you more appealing."

Sands raised an eyebrow over his mirrored sunglasses. "Really? So, it doesn't bring people back?"

"Nope. So, GW would still be dead, but she'd be the prettiest dead chick of them all."

"Well, Sandy, this must be the place. Apparently we can track it down through a Council computer," Heph said.

"Yeah, I could also check for it on Makoslist, the online want ads for Arbiters. There's usually something about things like this in the free section," Arbiter Sands replied. "Wouldn't that make it easier?"

Heph and Mobius Knight looked at each other.

"Well, I heard that Archon Gruber said something about your mother," Mobius Knight said quickly.

Arbiter Sands' eyebrow twitched. "Well, the Council is known for smack-talk. I ask you though: who has their own nation? Arachnos, or those astrofascist Cobra wannabes?"

"Yeah, but this was nasty," Heph said. "I mean, I'm not talking 'yo mama so fat she jumped up in the air and got stuck' nasty, either."

The Arbiter smirked. "Right."

"Fine, here," Heph said as he leaned in and whispered what the Council leader was rumored to say.

First, Arbiter Sands' smirk faded. Then one eyebrow popped up over his sunglasses. Then both. "But... what would she need a dozen jai-alai baskets for?"

Heph leaned back in and whispered some more. Sands' jaw dropped.

"MY MOTHER WAS A SAINT!" he shouted as he kicked in the door and charged in, his two Arachnos drones following him quickly. "GRUBER, YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!"

Mobius Knight shook his head. "What did you say?"

"I'll tell you later," Heph said.

"No, seriously, man, what did you say?"

"You really want to know?" Heph asked.

Mobius Knight pondered it for a second, rubbing his chin. "I do, but I also fear for my sanity. I guess I'll pass."

"Good man," Heph said as he motioned towards the door. "After you, faithful sidekick."

The two heroes found themselves in a maze of twisty passages all alike, guided only by the sounds of an Arbiter who was swearing a blue streak and shooting everything in sight. Once they got to the first control center, they saw a fuming Arbiter sitting on the floor in a huff, two smashed drones at his side and Council bodies everywhere. Behind him was a computer terminal with a smoking hole where the integrated keyboard used to be.

"Problems, Sandy?" Heph asked.

"I shot the computer in my unthinking murderous rage. Then my drones laughed at me and called me dumb for shooting the computer. So I ordered them to self-destruct," the Arachnos loyalist said, still pouting.

"You're lucky we've got Heph here," Mobius Knight said. "He speaks Robot."

"But that's a Computer. I don't speak computer. '1001011010101' in Robot means something totally different in Computer," Heph explained. "I mean, sure it's just on-off switching to us, but there's a huge rift between the two cultures that mere binary code can't bridge."

"You're joking," Mobius Knight said.

"And besides, they don't like my accent."

"Accent," Mobius Knight said with disbelief. "How can ones and zeroes have an accent? You're not even speaking to each other!"

"It's context, Moby," Heph said with a shrug. "It's a Mecha-American thing. You wouldn't understand."

"Okay, now I know you're joking," the swordsman said.

"Fine, I'll go see if it has an infrared port and beam information that way."

After a few seconds of searching, Heph found a tiny IR port that hadn't been damaged. "Okay, I hope this works," he said.

Arbiter Sands and Mobius Knight stood guard while Heph stared at the IR port, transmitting and receiving information. Suddenly the lights went red and machinegun turrets popped out of the walls. A pneumatic blast door opened up, revealing a horde of Mech Men and Warcry robots, all of whom looked angry for some reason.

"You implied WHAT about our manufacturer?" the robots said in unison. "Laser weapons systems charging! Attack Mode P3W-P3W-P3w!"

"Heph," Mobius Knight said. "There are angry robots looking at us. Why are there angry robots looking at us?"

"I told you the didn't like my accent!" Heph said as he brought up his offensive systems.

The big blue cyborg led the way into the horde of laser-armed Council robots.

*Hephaestus 1 is seen at what looks to be some kind of dimly-lit auto showroom with an entourage of his fellow Mecha-Americans from the recent COMMA meeting. He also looks a bit apprehensive just to be there.*

Android-1: Waitress! This unit demands the finest in ethane-based inebriants for my companions!

R1v1th3d: WH0000! FR33B1RD! T4K3 17 0FF! *lights up a flamethrower, sending the robotic waitstaff scurrying*

Heph: Guys, seriously, this isn't what you said it would be. I thought we were going to an auto show.

Steamdriver: *pfft* But-Heph-we-said-we'd-be-checking-out-some-fine-pieces-off-chassis-assemblies! *hssssss* We-said-nothing-about-automobiles. *pfft*

Heph: Yeah, well, you never said anything about this either.

*A rather, erm, "aerodynamic" robot struts out onto the stage and begins removing its custom decals to the beat of some kind of industrial track*

Android-1: Excellent! That's a well-milled gynoid structure, and this unit would certainly enjoy the deburring process with that unit!

R1v1th3d: H4Y GUY5! 1'M G3771NG DRUNXX0RZ!

Steamdriver: *FFFFFT* Aww-yeah-shake-that-credit-transactional-device-your-manufacturer-added-as-part-of-option-package-1.0! *PFFT*

Heph: Oh dear Lord, why did I volunteer to be the designated driver?

*The screen goes black*

Watch Serv'd! Because it's better than a robot bachelor party.

Friday nights at 9 Eastern, only on A&E.

*The screen goes back to Hephaestus 1, who is being chatted up by one of the robot staff.*

Robot: 10110111010111?

Heph: No, I really don't care to see what you can do with that oil can.

*The screen goes black again*

((Plucked from another thread, this is another episode of just how nervewracking it can be to be around Mary Tsoo.))

Mary Tsoo sat quietly in her meditation room, which was always spotless and nice-smelling. She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. She let her mind wander, trying to determine what she should do this year to be the best Mary Tsoo that she could be.

I could help a hundred puppies, she thought, because puppies grow into dogs that love people. Or I could teach everyone the meaning of friendship. But those are too easy!

Searching for the Ultimate Nice Thing To Do, Mary sent her astral form forth to search for the current Mystic Overseer of the Universe. Her thoughts flowed like a river of happiness as she directed herself to the Mystic Overseer's spirit castle. It was a nice enough castle, though the orange and black stripes were a bit gaudy. Two guardian spirits stood by the doors, in their orange and black jackets.

"Hi, guys!" Mary Tsoo said. "Is the Mystic Overseer of the Universe in today?"

"He is," one of the spirits said. "But he's busy."

"I traveled a long way to get here, though. Can you check to see if he can squeeze me in today? Pleeeeeeease?" she asked, smiling her usual dazzling smile.

The two guardian spirits looked at each other. "What do you think?" said one of the spirits.

"Well, she did travel a long way, and she did ask nicely," said the other.

"We just can't say no to Mary Tsoo!" both spirits said, smiling happily as they opened the gates made of pure mystical gridiron.

Mary Tsoo's astral form skipped merrily down the hallway shouting out the name of the Mystical Overseer of the Universe.

"HU DEI! HUUUUUU DEEEEEEEEEIIIII! Where are you?" Mary Tsoo shouted.

Hu Dei, the Chinese sorcerer who, during the Han Dynasty was known as the Master of Tigers, had his arcane studies interrupted yet again by this particular meddler.

"Always with the interruptions and the shouting!" the wizened old mage said as he threw his hands up in frustration. "All I ask for is a little peace and quiet and I get the Treasure of Gornischt for my results!" He adjusted his robe and set his court official's cap on his head as he did long ago. He slid down from the stool near his desk and hobbled his way to the door.

"Enough with the shouting, already! The dead don't even make this kind of racket during the Dragon Boat festivals, oy!" Hu Dei said as he opened the door. "Oh, it's you, Mary Tsoo. What brings you to my humble manor, blah blah, have a cookie. The Mrs. made them fresh this morning."

Mary Tsoo leapt out and hugged the old man. "Hu Dei! It's been a year since I saw you last! Thanks to you, I was the best Mary Tsoo I could be last year!"

Hu Dei yelped in surprise. "The floor just got waxed in here, go clean your shoes off!"

"But I'm in astral form," Mary Tsoo said.

"It's, eh, spiritual pollution, so go shuffle your feet on the mat over there. If you went through the Woods of Despair, your feet will be all icky and disgusting."

"Silly old wizard," Mary Tsoo said. "I came here so you could tell me the secret to being the best Mary Tsoo I can be for this year!"

"Right, right," Hu Dei said. He turned his back to Mary Tsoo and cast his eyes skyward. "YOU never told me I'd have people like HER to deal with! Do you suppose this is funny? Some kind of joke, this?" he whispered. He then turned back around, smiling and stroking his beard. "Now, what can I, Hu Dei, the Mystical Overseer of the Universe do for you?"

"I want to be the best Mary Tsoo I can be!" Mary Tsoo said. "I'm already pretty and smart, but what can I do to be a good neighbor and crimefighter?"

With a silent "Why, you..." to his supervisor, Hu Dei sighed raggedly. "Being the best Mary Tsoo is what you want, is it? What, you don't think you're the best now?"

"Didn't Confucius say that a righteous man can always find some new way to improve himself?"

"What, do I look like some kind of authority on Confucius?" Hu Dei said in court robes. "You want an authority on Confucius, you want to go to a college or somesuch, nu?"

"But I already went to college on another full-ride scholarship to get my fourth Ph.D.," Mary Tsoo said. "I mean, you can only go to college so many times before you turn 18! So, can you tell me what I can do to be a better person next year?"

"Stop it with the questions! That much you can do for me! If you want to improve yourself, fine, go find your own path or something, but enough with the bothering me in my Arcane Sanctuary! It's not enough that I keep the mystic forces of evil at bay for you, is it? You want I should tell you how to make your own life good, too? You ask too much of me!"

Mary Tsoo tilted her head to one side, then seemed to get it. "Right! That's what I'll do! I'll go out and spread what I know to everyone! Everyone can benefit from shared knowledge! Thanks, Hu Dei! You're pretty nice for a grouchy old sorcerer!"

Hu Dei waved his hands in front of him. "No, that's not what I-- oh, go ahead and bother everyone else. It's not like you listen to an old man like me."

Mary Tsoo smiled. "Thank you, Hu Dei!" she said as her spirit skipped happily out of the castle. Once again, Mary Tsoo's year was set. She'd help people by giving them the benefit of her knowledge. She returned her spirit to her body, and then adjusted the rose-tinted glasses on the bridge of her nose.

This was going to be Mary Tsoo's Greatest Year Ever, just like last year.

((Oh yes, it's back for another season.))

erv'd! Season 2 Ep 1

*The Season Premiere Episode of "Serv'd!" starts out with new music (a very 70's-cop-show instrumental piece) and a new montage of Heph and his crew. Fang is only present in one shot, but scenes of the new guy, Mobius Knight have been spliced in of him looking harried, tired, and the usual "Oh no, not again" look of every good sidekick.*

The camera faded in at Larry McGonigle's office where Hephaestus 1, Clem, Mitch, and Larry are waiting on the arrival of the new guy.

"I thought he was supposed to be here by now," Larry said. "I mean, you got a guy who understands punctuality, right?"

"Maybe he got tied up in traffic," Heph said. "Those high-occupancy Group Flight lanes can be nasty."

"Wait, he flies?" Clem asked. "You never said anything about him flying."

"No, but when you leap from building to building, you tend to cross those flight paths. They're a real pain," Heph said. "At least I think he does that. Maybe he drives, I don't know."

A knock at the door announced the arrival of Mobius Knight, Heph's new partner. He showed up in his usual outfit, black and white with a mask covering the lower part of his face, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He wore a scarf around his neck in blue and white, to provide a little dash of color on the costume. His katana was attached firmly to his tactical belt. "Hey, guys," Mobius Knight said. "Sorry I'm late. Snugglesworth was extra stubborn today. He didn't want to go outside for his morning walk."

"Hey, Moby," Heph said. "Clem, Mitch, Larry, this is Mobius Knight, my new teammate."

Clem and Mitch looked at each other and grinned.

Larry stood up from his desk. "Pleased to meet you! The last time I worked with any ninja was in 'Brick Landers IS Brick Torquewrench in NINJA KILL FORCE 3000!' So, can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"I'm not a ninja. I just use a katana, that's all. It's just a sword, no big deal," Mobius Knight said. "And no coffee for me, thanks."

"So, you have a dog named Snugglesworth?" Clem asked.

"Yes. He's still a puppy. He'll grow, though," Mobius Knight said.

"Yeah, Akitas tend to do that," Mitch said. "Great dogs for ninjas, though."

"No, man, honestly, I'm not a ninja. Yes, I studied the sword arts of Japan. Yes, I can be sneaky, but no more sneaky than others. That doesn't make me a ninja. And Snugglesworth is a Pomeranian mix, not an Akita," Mobius Knight said.

"Right, because we'd never expect a Pomeranian to throw shurikens. Very clever, Mister Ninja!" Mitch replied.

Heph looked at his recording crew. "Guys. Be serious. Moby's not a ninja. I can vouch for that. I know real ninjas. He's not one of them."

"That's what they want you to think, Heph," Clem said in a dead-on Dale Gribble impersonation.

"I can't believe this crap," Mobius Knight said. "It's not even ten minutes into my new job and the hired help is giving me a hard time!"

Mitch and Clem stared at Mobius Knight.

"We're not the hired help," Mitch said.

"We're trained professionals, the only ones qualified to-"

Heph interposed a large blue hand between his new teammate and his recording crew. "Okay, quit it, you two. Moby here was nice enough to take the job after we had such bad luck with other applicants. This guy isn't related to any of us, he wasn't foisted off on us like some people's nephews, and he's competent right out of the gate. So lay off or get laid off, got it?"

"Fang was competent!" Larry blubbered from behind his coffee travel mug.

"Yeah, he was competent after he was on the show. This guy comes to us, uh, pre-competent," Heph said.

"Anyway, O'Flannagan," Larry said using Heph's civilian ID, "I'm glad we're all here. It seems we're going to have to make a deal with the devil, so to speak, for this case."

"This is me raising my invisible 'the hell?' eyebrow," Heph said. "Are we dropping off papers to Steve Irwin, the Envoy of Shadows, again?"

"Steve Irwin?" Mobius Knight asked. "the Crocodile Hunter?"

"No, different guy entirely," Heph said. "Steve Irwin, the Envoy of Shadows is the uncle of a teammate of a friend. It's a long and funky story."

"No, we're not doing anything with Steve this time," Larry said as he put his coffee mug back on the "Nicest Bureaucrat in Rhode Island 1995" coaster on his desk. "We're actually working for Ganymede."

"What's that?" Heph asked.

"Ganymede is a who, not a what. He's the official representative of Eros, the ancient Greek God of Love," Mitch said. "I thought you read through that book of Greek legends I gave you."

"I, uh, got distracted," Heph said. "A girlfriend covered in bacon will do that to you."

"Ba- no, I refuse to go down that dark and evil path of knowing too much!" Mobius Knight said.

"Two words: Hickory Smoked," Heph said. "And I'm a man who loves his bacon."

Mitch, Clem, and Larry feverishly thought of everything they could to blot out the mental image of Hephaestus 1, his alien girlfriend and a whole lotta bacon.

"Anyway!" Larry shouted. "We need to help Ganymede in retrieving an item for his patron."

"So, we're not serving a summons to anyone?" Heph asked.

"Actually, we will be serving papers on one 'Arbiter Sands' to appear as a witness in a fender-bender incident involving a Sky Skiff and a Longbow Chaser. However, to get to him, we need to help Ganymede out. We'll be helping the good arbiter with a retrieval mission to get the Girdle of Aphrodite."

"The Girdle of Aphrodite," Mobius Knight said. "We're going after women's underwear?"

"Well no, it's a name for a--"

"Holy crap, we're going on a magical panty raid," Heph said. "Larry, what in the hell have you gotten us into?"

"Look, talk to this Ganymede guy at Pocket D. He'll get a meeting set up with Sands from there. Now, Lorna has the paperwork ready so take care of your sign-out forms and go pick up the summons. Let's get this done today, all right?"

Hephaestus 1, Mobius Knight and the recording crew walked out of Larry's office, wondering why their legal liaison hated them so much.

This is a very nice collection of positive gaming stories. I'm glad to see that you're doing something interactive with your children as opposed to just watching tv with them.

I had to get it out of my brain somehow, and the sharp, pointy, and rusty electric scissors I have at work weren't doing the trick. So, I typed it instead.

((Here's an ad for "Serv'd!" that usually runs during other shows.))

*Hephaestus 1 and his sound crew are sitting in the main hallway of the Rhode Island District Courts building waiting for their initial deposition stemming from a civil suit.*

Heph: So, guys, if we play it straight and keep to what's on tape, we should be out of there quickly.

Mitch, the Cameraman: That shouldn't be a problem.

Clem, the Sound Recorder: Yeah, man, we're professionals.

*The trio is passed by about five or six younger lawyers and paralegals, all of whom are surrounding a prominent bald and well-known local attorney.*

Junior Partner 1: Okay, McCaskill and I are sure this will be Chris' 300th win. If he gets this, the Trial Bar's annual award is a lock for him. McCaskill, based on the witnesses and evidence, what would you say our chances are?

Junior Partner 2: About... 32.3 percent. Repeating of course, Snyder.

Junior Partner 1: Not good, but if we stick to pounding the table to get our point across--

*The bald attorney breaks away from his employees, a look of unholy fury on his face.*

Prominent Lawyer: LET'S DO THIS! CHRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSS JENKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNS!

*Chris Jenkins runs into the court chambers, waving his legal brief over his head and using his briefcase as a shield.*

Junior Partner 1: Oh... oh no! Who forgot to give him his meds? Okay, stick with the plan! Stick with the plan!

*The legal staff breaks into a panicked run as Heph and his loyal sound crew look on in stunned jaw-dropped silence. The screen fades to black*

SERV'D! 50% smarter than the regular legal system.

Fridays at 9pm Eastern on A&E.

*The image of Hephaestus 1 and crew appears again.*

Heph: Evidence, schmevidence. We've got this one won.

*The commercial fades out.*

That's right. Season 2 is on its way! Here's a teaser until I get the final version ready:

Larry stood up from his desk. "Pleased to meet you! The last time I worked with any ninja was in 'Brick Landers IS Brick Torquewrench in NINJA KILL FORCE 3000!' So, can I get you a cup of coffee?"

----

"Ganymede is a who, not a what. He's the official representative of Eros, the ancient Greek God of Love," Mitch said. "I thought you read through that book of Greek legends I gave you."

"I, uh, got distracted," Heph said. "A girlfriend covered in bacon will do that to you."

----

That's right! Hephaestus 1 gets a new teammate! Is he really a ninja? What is their ultimate mission? Don't miss the Season 2 premiere of "Serv'd!" on A&E!

The near-empty headquarters of Jizoku no Himitsu in the Rogue Isles was barely lit by a few electric lights. Mother Aoi brushed the last few strokes of a spirit seal on the floor, placing herself and the paper talisman that contained the soul of her late husband within its center. She had brought with her a few things removed from the original Cobalt Claymore's old safe deposit boxes in St. Martial, things he'd owned at one time, things with enough sentimental value that he saved them for his son. There was the old spring-driven wristwatch he'd worn when he still went by his Malta designation of Royal Helix Sierra, a first-edition printing of his first academic textbook, the steel cufflinks that were created from his first sword and a still-unopened letter addressed to his son.

Mother Aoi laid the items around the talisman and started the ritual she used to lure Ghost Widow into a trap. Unlike Lord Recluse's lieutenant, however, she would use it to bring her husband back, if only for the moment. The ritual had been a poorly-designed one, as the person returned from the dead would not last for too long on this plane before being returned to their proper place, and was also bound in their movement by the seal itself. It might bring someone back to life, but quickly and only in one place. Mother Aoi knew it would be long enough to apologize. She spoke one last word and the paper talisman bubbled and melted, eventually growing and forming into the body of her late husband. He stood there, still dumbfounded from when Mother Aoi trapped him.

"Why, June?" Michael Galahad whispered hoarsely. "To do this to our son--" he stopped once he realized that his wife had placed her hand on his chest. Not near it, not through it, but on it.

"I told you twenty years ago that I love you, Michael, but you know I love my family more. I still love my family enough to ensure they have a good leader. I just wanted to apologize for doing something so foolish," Mother Aoi said, putting her arms around her husband's bare chest.

"You're touching me," Moichael said. "What have you done, Junie?"

"I brought you back so I could properly apologize. I don't know how much longer you have here. While you're here, neither of us can leave this circle." She dropped to the floor, bowing deeply enough to almost touch the floor with her forehead. "I used you as a bargaining chip against our son. I have used you to force him into accepting leadership of my family. I apologize for using rash actions where I should have used reasoning. Please forgive me for doing such things."

"Get up, June," Michael said. "I forgave you a long time ago for trying to steal both our sons away. I can't forgive you for this, though, as much as I still love you. You forced Todd to succeed you in a criminal enterprise. You gave our son no choice other than aceptance of this fate. He's made a promise because of threats to me and that girl that he loves. Even if it was through force, you know he'll see it through to the end. His is the forgiveness you should seek, not mine."

"I didn't want him to refuse," Mother Aoi said.

"You could have found a better incentive."

"Perhaps."

Michael Galahad folded his arms across his chest. "If I'd lived long enough to meet you again, we would have fought, you know that."

"Yes," Mother Aoi said.

"I'd have killed you before you had a chance to manipulate Todd like that."

"I know."

"I'm wondering if you actually even love me or not, the way that you act."

"I do love you, Michael. It took me a long time to accept that. But I have responsibilities to the family-"

"Your family includes me and Todd, don't forget that!" Michael said, his voice rising in anger. "Don't ever visit my grave again, and don't ever raise a finger to hurt or manipulate Todd ever again. You've already chased off Michael Junior, and now you're taking it out on Todd. There's only two things you can do now, one of which is letting Todd run the family as he sees fit. The second one? See a psychiatrist. You've let your need to be in control of every situation go too far. It's driven you nuts."

"I suppose you could be right, Michael," Mother Aoi said. "I've gone too far in consolidating my power. I'm too hungry for control." She turned back around.

Michael was gone. All that was left was a scrap of paper and some faded calligraphy.

"I don't even get to say a proper goodbye," she whispered. "Not even a kiss."

Mother Aoi sat on the stone floor and pondered her next moves for the family.

[ QUOTE ]
[good thing he can duck fast...]

[/ QUOTE ]

"If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball."

While Pipewrench was gone out on an errand, Hephaestus 1 manned the bar at the St. Florians' KC Hall in Kings Row. Naturally, he got bored dusting off the beer mugs, so he called over to his fellow heroes the Cobalt Claymore and Back Yard Boom. Though neither would usually skip class, they decided to take a day off and assist their fellow hero with his task. Naturally the subject of the bar's usual bartender came up.

"Let me get this straight," the Cobalt Claymore said, "Pipewrench was shot into the future somehow?"

"That's what he says, an' that's what the guy at Portal Corp told me when I asked him," Back Yard Boom said. "He never gave the tech his name or nothin', he just said ta call him Pipewrench, 'cause everyone else did."

"Well," Heph said, "I know he used to be a plumber. I also checked out some of the old records here at the hall. Get ready for this. The guy's name is Niccolo San Fillipo."

"So what?" CC asked with a shrug. "He's Italian. Big whoop."

Boom grinned. "Italian... an' a plumber. Put it together, Todd, whattayagot?"

CC shook his head. "Good grief. Give the old guy a break. You're going to start comparing him to Mario and Luigi? Video games weren't even dreamed about back in the day."

"Still though," Heph said. "It's kind of funny. I mean, don't you want to hear the guy say 'It'sa me! Pipewrench!' or something?"

Boom grinned. "Ya gotta admit, Todd, ya send an old guy from the past ta the future where Italian plumbers are looked upon as pop-culture icons an'... well, I guess ya just gotta look at it right."

Heph piped up. "It'sa me! Pipewrench!" and started humming the old Super Mario Brothers theme.

At about that time, Pipewrench returned to see three heroes acting like total buffoons in his bar. A quick clearing of his throat and the presence of his signature plumbing tool, a 3-foot long cast-iron pipewrench, stopped the commotion.

"Whattaya doin' standin' around an' singin' stupid crap fer? I told ya ta dust them mugs off, Mick!" Pipewrench said while pointing his wrench at Hephaestus 1.

The three other heroes became silent rather quickly.

"That's better. Now, which'a you geniuses is gonna help me set up this space phone?" the old plumber said, holding a tiny cellphone in his hand. "Eh, ya know, a cell phone. Whatever it is."

"Sure thing, Mario," Boom said.

"Nah, that was my dad's name."

Boom stopped. "Was he a plumber, too?"

"Yeah, who do ya think I apprenticed to when I was a kid?" Pipewrench asked.

"Ah, geez, my mistake," Boom said. "Uh, ya didn't happen ta have a Uncle Luigi who was also a plumber, did ya?"

"Yeah, an' yer the fifth college kid ta ask me that today. What the hell's funny 'bout two Italian plumbers tryin' ta make a honest livin' fer their families?"

The Cobalt Claymore stood up. "Pipewrench, let me tell you about a certain video game..."

Two masked guards wearing tri-corner hats stood watch as a haggard-looking man approached their door.

One of the guards pointed at the man. "Dude! It's Mr. Chekov! Dude! Say 'nuclear wessels!' C'mon say-- aaaaghk!" the guard gagged as a telekinetic grip began choking life out of him.

"I hate when they say that," Coach Bellichick said. "You! Other guard! Let me in!"

"At-- At once, Head Coach," the guard said as he typed in the access code to open the door. The door hissed open and the Patriots coach made his way to his opulent throne. He sat in the throne as his throng of administrators brought him form after form, decree after decree.

The Coach sighed raggedly. "Bring me... Brady."

Within minutes a visibly shaken Tom Brady appeared before The Coach.

"You failed to heed my signals, Brady," Coach Bellichick growled. "I am displeased."

"But Head Coach, I did exactly as you commanded! You said to wait until Randy Moss--"

"I SAID NO SUCH THING!" the man on the red-white-and-blue throne shouted, sending the normally unflappable quarterback to his knees in fear.

"But you said to wait, I heard it confirmed by our Offensive Coordinators in my helmet radio!" the quarterback said.

A nondescript functionary brought forth a cd to The Coach. "This is the recording of last night's radio traffic, Head Coach."

"Play it."

The Coach and the quarterback listened as signals were remixed on the fly, intercepted play calls deliberately misinterpreted, and voice commands lost in the shuffle of static.

"This... this is not what I said!" the Dread Lord of the AFC said. "Who mixed these calls up?"


The functionary looked at The Coach and then bowed his head. "We went further into the signal interception, Head Coach, and found the following audio artifacts."

Under the static hiss of the signals could be heard the chant "J! E! T! S! JETS! JETS! JETS!" from a small group of people.

"So, ya think yer gonna win tonight, ya big cheater? No way! We got the goods on yer dirty ways, Coach! The Knives of Artemis ya had infiltrate the other teams were more than willin' ta tell us what we needed ta know 'bout yer communications system, so we hacked it an' fed ya what ya wanted from yer plants near the Giants bench, just a bit different than how ya wanted it! I might not like the Giants, but I hate signal-interceptin' playbook-stealin' coaches even more! So, enjoy yer off-season, Bellichick! Ya earned it! J! E! T! S! LET'S GO JETS!"

The Coach's mouth twisted cruelly around one name.

"Pachowski."

Tom Brady looked at his coach. "So, can I leave now?"

"No, Tom Brady-3, you have failed me. For this you must pay."

"Tom Brady-3? What's that supposed to mean?"

The Coach pushed a button on his throne, which caused the wall behind him to separate, revealing a huge line of clone vats with players' names on them. "You will not be missed," The Coach said as he pressed another button, causing the traditional trapdoor to a fiery doom to appear beneath the quarterback's feet.

"Now, ready Tom Brady-4. He has a press conference to attend." The Coach was most displeased.

He raised his fist to the sky and shouted "CURSE YOU, PACHOWSKI! YOUR BELOVED JETS SHALL NEVER SEE THE LOMBARDI TROPHY AGAIN! SO SWEARS BELLICHICK!"

((The reference to names and events during the regular season have been trumped up to ridiculous levels for the sake of thumbing this Colts fan's nose at their AFC rivals. Tune in next time for a rousing rendition of "Mike Holmgren Writes Brad Hasselbeck's and Brett Favre's Names in the Book of Grudges."))