((Okay, I lied. This turned out to be almost as long as the first one! But I don't care. This chapter took so long because I think I wrote it, like, eight times. I finally found a version I really, really liked, and hope you feel the same way about it..))
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Family Ties
by Matthew Miller
Slipshod, on Virtue
Part II, "Little Things"
Sebastian stirred in his sleep, a peaceful smile gracing his lips. He was seven, and the familiar smells of his mothers cooking coaxed him from a dream-filled slumber. The boy dug the backs of his fingers into his eye sockets, partially to rub the sleep from his eyes and partially to shield them from the sunlight that now shone through his window. The suns heat was delicious on his skin, warm like a hug from his father. He almost gave in to its embrace, eyelids unconsciously drooping as it lulled him back to sleep. But those enticing aromas beckoned him, and in the end, resistance to their call was inconceivable.
In a burst of motion, Sebastian threw the covers aside and exploded from his bed, as if to stay in it a second longer would condemn him to its clutches forever. Bastian had hoped the sudden rush of movement would help to rouse him, and sure enough, the blood throbbed in his veins and urged him on, his body craving the exercise after hours of inactivity. Spilling out into the hallway, the boy made a run for the staircase at breakneck speeds.
If his quickened pulse hadnt been enough to draw him out of that lazy post-sleep haze, the laughter of his parents had finished the job. The sheer delight his family experienced at spending time with one another was an addiction for which he rarely got a fix, but today was different. It was one of those rare, incredible mornings where his mother wasnt due at the office, his father wasnt working the beat, and he was blissfully out of school. It was a Saturday.
In his eagerness to reach the bottom, Sebastian had skipped the last few steps in the flight of stairs, his hand catching the newel post which acted as a pivot and turned him in the direction of the kitchen. Even before hed arrived, even before he could see his parents, he knew what would transpire.
Hed throw his arms around his mothers waist and peer over the edge of the stove, eyes widening as hed watch her expertly work the knobs to regulate heat for each dish; marveling at how she somehow knew exactly when to flip a pancake to keep it from burning. The grease from the bacon would crackle and spit at him in tandem with the high-pitched pings of cookware being clattered about, each sound adding to the beautiful symphony that would accompany his mothers intricate ballet of movement.
Her smile and the promise that it was almost ready would be enough to send him to his seat at the dining table, where his father would inevitably pass by for the opportunity to tousle his sons hair and offer up his usual greeting of morning, sport! before taking a stack of plates from the counter and setting the table.
It was a scene Bastian and his parents played out each and every Saturday. But it couldnt begin until hed done his part, he knew. All that was required of him was to walk through the doorway that lead to the kitchen and deliver his opening line: Whats for breakfast? His mouth opened to form the words as he entered, gaze shifting to make sure his parents had hit their marks--
Sebastians eyes fluttered open, the smile hed been wearing suddenly replaced by the wide-mouthed gape of a yawn. He was eighteen again, and waking from an unusually peaceful rest. He tried desperately to stay in that blessed area between sleep and awake where one still remembers dreams, but the heavenly visions slipped from his grasp and vanished into the ether, leaving him with only a lingering feeling of joy. It was enough.
The smell of butter being melt in a frying pan drew the young mans attention, causing him to tighten his abs and slowly raise his upper body up off the couch cushions until his head was high enough over the back to see from where the scent had originated.
Standing at the kitchen stove was Stanley Green who was whipping a batch of eggs with a fork in lieu of a whisk, the rapid induction of air bringing them to a froth. The Whitmoores doorman wore a modest outfit of casual slacks, a white button-down shirt and a pair of red suspenders that hung at his sides. He let the eggs settle before pouring them from the bowl into the frying pan, where they began to sizzle and cook. Sensing someones eyes on him, the old man gave a look over his shoulder to Sebastian, offering a nod to the pair of curious eyes that watched him.
Sebastian watched as the mans lips moved, but the words came out muffled and incomprehensible. The boy gave a sigh and let his muscles grow lax, flopping back down into his makeshift bedding. Still half asleep, he rolled off the side of the couch, barely managing to catch himself on his hands and knees before hitting the floor. Taking a second to orient himself and refocus his senses, the youth took a deep breath and got to his feet.
Once again regarding the man, Sebastian plucked the plugs from the previous night from his ears, tossing them to the coffee table. Lips parted to speak, but his throat wouldnt cooperate. Working moisture into his mouth and swallowing, the teen finally managed to squeak out something that resembled a word. Wha?
I said, Morning. Sleep well? Mr. Green answered, offhandedly stirring the contents of the pan. The runny mixture began to congeal, fluffing into scrambled eggs.
Muh-huh, came Bastians reply, more of a vocalized rumble in his chest than an actual formation of syllables. Real well, actually. Good dream. At least, he thought.
What about, if I may ask? Stanley ended the question with a quirk of the brow before turning back to the eggs, almost instantly regretting the inquiry. He knew good and well what most teenage boys dreamt about. However, he also knew Bastian was hardly one to be grouped with the norm in relation to others his own age. Hell, he thought, when it came to women, the boy wouldnt know whether to take them in his arms or punch them in the shoulder and run away.
Having spent eight of the formative years of his life in a coma, Sebastian Stevens went through a daily struggle to marry the two sides of his personality: one founded on the unwavering, naïve ideals of his childhood, the other constructed from the mature thoughts and emotions brought about by the string of peculiar events that took place after hed awoken from the near decade-long sleep.
Though this uneasy duality sometimes got him in trouble (usually due to a lack of respect for the social boundaries most others lived by), it also afforded him a unique outlook on life. One that Stanley Green often found himself highly envious of.
Dont really remember, Sebastian finally answered, taking a seat at the small table that acted as a buffer zone between what he referred to as the living room, and his kitchenette. An odd look crossed his face, as if it had just then dawned on him that Mr. Green was here in his apartment. Do you normally break into tenants rooms and cook them breakfast? Or is it even considered breaking and entering if youve got keys? he mused.
You promised youd stop by after you returned from your mission, last night, Mr. Green said, making sure to call it by the terminology Sebastian had insisted he use. When you didnt show, I figured youd had a rough night. Thought Id stop by this morning and try to get your day started off on the right foot.
Wait, I didnt show, and you dont get worried that I might be captured by the enemy or dead or something? Sebastian asked, feigning insult.
I came to check on you. Got a couple yards from your door and heard you snoring. Other than sounding like you were choking on a small, woodland creature, I knew you were okay.
Whatever, Sebastian grumbled, arms folding over his chest.
You know, I didnt have to take time out of my busy day to come over here and do something nice--
I appreciate it, Stan, I really do, Sebastian cut him off, sounding apologetic, if not a little dismissive. But its kind of useless, though. That stoves broken, so you might as well save yourself the trouble. The boy uncrossed his arms, either hands middle and pointer finger stretching out to the table while the others curled up into his palm, making his hands look like pudgy little people. He made them fight, their legs striking each other as they did gravity-defying maneuvers that Sebastian only dreamed he could pull off in the field.
Broken? Stanley inquired, putting the finishing touches on the eggs by seasoning them with a dash of salt and pepper. Why do you say that?
cause everything I try to cook on it ends up all burnt and nasty-tasting, Sebastian complained as he watched Mr. Green scrape the food onto a paper plate. Odd, he thought. This meal looked different than the ones hed prepared on his own. This one actually looked edible. The teen ceased his horseplay long enough for Stanley to place the dish before him, then resumed once the old mans hand had cleared the way.
With a battlecry stolen from one of the chop saki action flicks hed seen on late-night cable, Sebastians right hand delivered a forceful downward kick into the heart of the eggs, where it then tore a pinch off and took it to his mouth. He rolled it around his tongue, tasting every bit of it before swallowing with a content grin. Hey, you fixed it!
Sebastian took another pinch in his fingers and shoveled it into his waiting mouth. Im a miracle worker, Stanley said dryly, running the fork hed been using under the hot tap before toweling it off and handing it over to the young man. Please dont eat with your hands.
Whatm I supposed to eat with, my feet? the boy replied in a chipper tone, doing as told and taking up the utensil. Man, this is so much better than the crap they had at the party. Psh, like you could even fill up on those small servings! he whined. And everything tasted like salad. Sebastian shook his head, pointing the tined end of his fork at Mr. Green. You old people have weird tastes, he observed, before tearing open a packet of UpnAway-brand mustard and drizzling it on his eggs.
Stanley Green didnt even acknowledge the peculiar behavior. After spending so much time with the teen, he had grown used to it. Well? he prodded, crossing his arms as he watched his young friend devour his breakfast.
I told you they were good! Geez, fish for compliments, much?
Mr. Green sighed. I meant about last night.
Oh, right! Sebastian chirped, getting up from the table. He took his half-eaten food with him as he made his way back towards the couch. Hit the jackpot, Stan. Im gonna blow this guy right out of the water! Were talking front-page-grade hero stuff, here. The youth stopped at the foot of his bed, seemingly looking for something hed misplaced. Odd, coulda sworn I left it here
If youre talking about my jacket that you so casually threw on the floor, I took the liberty of hanging it back up in my closet. Stanleys voice carried just a twinge of annoyance with it.
Dude, my camera was in one of the pockets!
Dude, Stan began sarcastically, I also took the liberty of taking your photographs to the corner drugstore to be developed.
Well youre just a liberty-taking fool this morning, arent ya? Sebastian jibed, before giving a muffled thanks with a mouthful of eggs hed managed to shove in in between sentences.
I trust this batch wont consist mainly of you making funny faces and the odd shot of your rear end, the old man said, sounding a bit hopeful. That last image had been one that had taken quite a while to scrub from his mind, and he instantly chided himself for bringing it right back to the surface.
Hey! I had some pictures to waste, so sue me!
You couldnt have, say, taken a few photos of a tree or a pretty bird? Did it have to be your backside?
Sebastian looked surprised at the question, as if Stan should have already known the answer. Exactly how long have you known me?
Right, forget I asked, Mr. Green relented, slipping back into his suspenders before changing the subject. Youve gotten pictures before, though, and you werent this happy. Im guessing you came away with more than just a few blurry shots this time?
You betcha, Bastian replied, dismissing the knock at his photography skills. Theyre making some kind of deal at the docks tonight. And Im gonna be there with pair of handcuffs and a smile.
Youve got handcuffs?
Im going to be there with a smile, Sebastian backtracked, sounding a little dejected. Having finished his breakfast, he moved to the kitchen to throw the plate away and drop his fork in the sink, mentally reminding himself to do the dishes tomorrow if he got the chance.
Maybe you should ask a few of your neighbors to join you, Stanley suggested. It might be dangerous tonight, and you really shouldnt be going at it alone, Mr. Stevens.
Chill, Stan. I can take care of myself. Took that Fifth Column bot out all by my lonesome, right? Sebastians thoughts drifted to the epic battle that had taken place on the streets of Talos Island, where he had only been able to see the red and orange of explosions as he whirled and dodged and struck out at the uncompromising metal shell of his opponent.
In a stroke of luck, hed managed to punch through a weakened area in its armor and had damaged the firing mechanism for its short-range missile system. When it had tried to launch a volley, the unexploded shells merely stayed put until their fuses had ticked down and caused them to explode. The resulting blast took out the mechanical terror, and had knocked Sebastian a good block away.
Speaking of, do you remember your middle name, yet? Mr. Green asked, his tone one of concern.
Sebastian shook his head. Though his mutant healing factor kept the Murdocks Disease at bay, it was not strong enough to do so in tandem with healing any grievous wounds he suffered. Because of this, a period of intense healing would leave his brain defenseless against the effects of his illness, and the stress this caused his mind often led to gaps in his memory.
Nah. But Im sure itll come to me. He highly doubted his words even as he spoke them. He knew good and well that any memories lost to the White, as he called it, were gone for good. Thankfully, as far as he knew, hed never forgotten anything important.
Okay, so forgetting your middle name leaned toward the important side of things. But hey, it wasnt like he ever used it. And this way, no adult could ever pull the dreaded full name on him when they wished to admonish him. Bastian always seemed to find the silver lining to every cloud.
Just promise me youll be careful, all right? Youve made so much progress, and Id hate for you to develop one of your cases of amnesia and forget it all, Stanley said with a smile.
That sounded vaguely mushy, Sebastian groaned out. If Im lucky, someonell clock me in the jaw tonight and Ill forget you ever said that. The two shared a chuckle as Sebastian continued to get ready for the day ahead, lacing up his sneakers and trading out his mostly-dirty shirt with one that was relatively less dirty.
I just mean that you should try not to do anything foolish.
Sebastian stopped at the front door after opening it, letting out an exasperated sigh as he looked back to Mr. Green. Once again, how long have you known-- he started, but even he found the flaw in his line of questioning before it was finished. Mr. Green gave a knowing nod, which only served to further annoy the young hero. Yeah, whatever, he muttered, snagging his wallet and a pair of green-tinted, round-rimmed sunglasses from the stand by his door. He made a move to leave, but stopped once again as something came to mind.
Crap! Almost forgot: your friend Han probably lost his job and you owe him a round of golf. Dont forget to lock up on the way out! And before Stanley had time to react, Sebastian was halfway down the hall. The teen passed up the elevator in favor of the stairwell, which he found was a much quicker method of travel. And one he trusted a heck of a lot more than that rickety old relic that hadnt been serviced in years.
Entering the lobby, Sebastian readied for the Hell he was about to put himself through. The inside of the hotel was comforting, with a few drab maroon colors and mostly gradient shadow; nothing too harsh on his overworked senses. But even now, what he could see lying beyond the Whitmoores doors was already having a great effect on him. The slight tingle that had risen at the back of his brain was met with an intense focus that eventually drowned it out as Sebastian fought the effects of his illness.
Murdocks Disease erodes away the built-in filters of the human mind. In short, these filters act as a middle man between a normal humans senses and what they perceive. Though they take in an immeasurable amount of data, only the most important bits of information are made aware to a person.
With Sebastian, there was no buffer; no sieve through which the world around him passed. Instead, every sensation held equal weight with him. As a child, the unending tidal wave of information had destroyed his mind and banished him to a whitewash of nothingness for eight years. If it hadnt been for his latent mutant powers surfacing at puberty, hed still be in that hospital bed to this day.
In its infancy, there was no way his healing ability could possibly reverse all the damage that the disease had inflicted on him. Though it could restore the functions of his atrophied body in a short period of time, it took much longer to repair the damage to his mind. In fact, the feat turned out to be impossible. His body would have to come up with another solution.
That solution turned out to be more of a compromise. His powers, instead of ridding him of the disease, spent all their energies on mutating the physiology of his brain to cope with the massive amounts of data his senses collected every second of every day. It gave him the limited ability to understand every bit of this information, to the point that he could focus on multiple points in his surroundings without losing a single detail.
But as he exited the building and merged with the pedestrian foot traffic on the sidewalk, this compromises shortcomings became bitterly apparent. Though he could function, too much action going on around him caused a great deal of pain. It would start as a migraine, before moving up through the cycle of pain until he would reach a point where hed almost recede to that catatonic state brought about so many years ago. It was agony in the purest sense of the word.
Sebastian quickly donned his sunglasses, painting his surroundings in emerald hues, save for the extreme edges of his peripheral vision. Color was a large factor in his ailment, and the simple act of subduing them into a single visual spectrum was enough to quiet the scream of his body as it had no choice but to experienced the world around it.
Careful not to make too much contact with anyone else, he traversed the crowd of commuters, actively people-watching as he did so. It wasnt like he had a choice in the matter, so he might as well enjoy every facet of the sea of men and women that coursed around him.
From the young blonde whom he deemed the intelligent sort from her business attire and leather satchel that hung over her shoulder, to the young boy with exactly twenty-three freckles on his cheeks that skipped by on his way to a friends house, to even further down the street, where a middle-aged man was doubled over in an alleyway as he was being assaulted by a young brute whose face had been painted to resemble a skull.
Bastian thought back to the Halloween where hed dressed up as a skeleton, and-- Wait, man being assaulted? Almost as quickly as the realization had struck him, the teen hero coiled his legs and meant to leap to the mans rescue. But no sooner had the heroic idea cropped into his head, did the costumed figure of another hero pass overhead on his way to save the day.
Just as well, he thought, allowing his muscles to relax as he retook his place in the ebb and flow of the movement around him. He had other things to do, and it wouldnt do him any good to waste his energies on an impromptu performance when the real show was set to open later that night.
Wait... where's the rest of it?
I feel like I've been enjoying a really good dinner ((aka The Long Goodnight (Origin) , just discovered and completely read for the first time yesterday 4/7/05)) and had started in on the dessert cookie, to learn that the two bits are all I get, and I can't eat the rest of the cookie yet.
When's the next part going to be posted? This "cookie" is very good and I'm hungry to finish it! 
[ QUOTE ]
Wait... where's the rest of it?
I feel like I've been enjoying a really good dinner ((aka The Long Goodnight (Origin) , just discovered and completely read for the first time yesterday 4/7/05)) and had started in on the dessert cookie, to learn that the two bits are all I get, and I can't eat the rest of the cookie yet.
When's the next part going to be posted? This "cookie" is very good and I'm hungry to finish it!
[/ QUOTE ]
((Shh! Don't draw attention to it! Maybe if I'm lucky, I might be able to put up the next chapter before people start filling my box up with Private Messages again..
::Writewritewrite::
Oh, and I can easily use a generic hero, but if anyone reading this has a hero they'd like to have a small cameo, let me know. Only requirements are that they can fly, possibly have robotic suit, and carry an armament of readily-available explosives.
So, uh, if any of your characters fit that bill and you're crazy enough to let me get my hands on them for a couple of paragraphs, feel free to PM me their details.))
Well, get writing already!
*waiting....impatiently*
Bruisefairy|Lilyn Morrow|Raina Mallory|Knucka Sammich|Whisper In The Dark|Scaryfairy
Virtue server FTW!
Finding A Home: The Origin of Lilyn Morrow
/emote pokes Slipshod
Together we entered a city of strangers, we made it a city of friends, and we leave it a City of Heroes. - Sweet_Sarah
BOYCOTT NCSoft (on Facebook)
https://www.facebook.com/groups/517513781597443/
Governments have fallen to the power of social media. Gaming companies can too.
((Talk about a serious case of writer's block. Yes, this little snippet is what took me so freaking long to get out onto paper. Thankfully, I'm pretty sure I know how to finish off the rest of this chapter, so the follow-up shouldn't take too long.
Speaking of, this is only a portion of Part III. But stay tuned! Because the story's about to heat up!))
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Family Ties
by Matthew Miller
Slipshod, on Virtue
Part III, "A Star Is Born"
The mastermind who had overseen the construction of this suburban neighborhood could have been mistaken for a stage magician, constructing an elaborate system of enormous mirrors to make it seem as if one house was, in fact, many. But Sebastian knew that each home, though unremarkable in their sameness, held something quite unique within their walls. One stood head and shoulders above the others, however, as it guarded a treasure of unimaginable value. Something that the Stevens boy had taken great interest in.
Nicholas Crenshaw slumbered heavily in his bedroom, unaware of the costumed teenager that kept vigil over him. Were the child to rouse from his sleep and look out his window, it would have been possible to make out the shadowed figure of this silent watchman buried somewhere in the black smoke of his neighbor's chimney across the street. And, were the wind to change direction, he might have noticed the moonlight-muted greens and whites that painted his guardian's attire.
But countless nights of silent observation had led Sebastian to believe that his brother was no light sleeper, so the chances of him rising from his bed and taking to the window seemed small. Nevertheless, he remained cautious, doing what he could to use his surroundings for cover. Granted, perched atop a roof on a cloudless night didn't exactly scream stealth, but it offered the best vantage point. Sacrifices had to be made for the sake of convenience.
Leaning back, Bastian bathed in the black plumes of smoke, inhaling the acrid stench and loving it. The odor spoke to him of camping trips he would take with his father as a boy. The two huddled by the campfire as his dad would whisper of terrors that inhabited the night just beyond the light cast by the flame, causing the boy to cling ever tighter to him.
When they returned home, Sebastian's mother would scold her husband for filling their child's head with such stories, and would be forced to undo the damage he had caused over the course of the next few nights. Don't be afraid, she had told him. There was nothing in the darkness that wasn't there during the day.
As a child, these words had comforted him. But now, months after awakening in Paragon, the truth of her words had taken on a different meaning entirely. Indeed, no insidious creatures lurked solely in the shadows. No, he could only be so lucky. The truth of it was that monsters were real, and they preyed upon the weak night and day. And no simple flick of a switch would be enough to scatter them.
Was that why he came here so often? To protect what was left of his family from the terrors of the city? On the surface, it seemed like a good enough reason. But he knew it wasn't the case. After all, this place seemed to reside in a plane of existence all its own, unmarred by the taint of the outside world. The homogenous trappings let them pretend that they were all exactly alike, and had nothing to fear from one another. These conclusions gave them a sense of security that Sebastian found downright impossible when compared to the disposition of the citizens of Paragon.
Heck, these people didn't even lock their doors at night.
So if it wasn't for worry of his brother, then what drove him to return here time and again? In a word, devotion. Devotion to his parents, devotion to his brother. Devotion to a dream that, one day, he wouldn't have to skulk about the rooftops or peek around trees in the nearby park to get a glimpse of Nicky. That someday, he could introduce himself to Nicholas as Sebastian; as his brother. And he would tell him all about the Stevens family and all he had gone through to get to this point in his life.
Not yet, though. There was still so much to do before he could be worthy of such a glorious moment. "Tonight's the first big step towards that, though," Sebastian said with a smile, finishing the thought. "It's going to be the biggest thing yet, Nicky. The whole city's going to take notice. And maybe you will, too..."
He shook his head. This wasn't the time for daydreaming. Not when his destiny was at his fingertips. What was about to come would require his utmost concentration, and he knew how prone he was to wandering thoughts. The last thing he needed was another lofty wish to cloud the task at hand.
Fingering the recessed activation switch, the night-vision goggles that masked his identity sprang to life with a snap-whine. The silvery tones of the moonlit night gave way to emerald hues, much the same way his carefree attitude was shrugged off in favor of the grim determination that his alter-ego carried with it.
Where once the unsure Sebastian had been, now was Slipshod, leaving his brick and mortar perch to stand resolute. One final look was given to the darkened glass that separated he and his sibling, before he wished him goodnight and took to the air, his unnaturally powerful leg muscles sending him in long, lazy arcs across the neighborhood and beyond.
(( Heat up, hmm? You've always been a tease, dare I hope for an exception? Keep at it, darlin'. Don't keep me waiting. ))
Slipshod, you're not going to make us all wait another six weeks, are you?
~Yydr
Here's to hoping that the rest is on its way soon.
Ok
. What happens next?
Its been close to a year now? 
After a lot of requests to hear more about the adventures of my awkward little teen hero, I've finally started writing again in my free time. So, here's the first part to my new tale, which may or may not turn out to suck. For some reason, this first part is, like, three/four times as long as an individual part in The Long Goodnight was, so be prepared to devote a little time to it. Hopefully I can condense following chapters to make for easier reading. So, if there aren't any objections, here we go!
___________
Family Ties
by Matthew Miller
Slipshod, on Virtue
Part I, "A Cinderella Story"
High society -- a rigid structure built on forced laughter and feigned interest in old stories heard countless times before. Men and women in tailored suits and extravagant gowns crafted by some foreign designer with a name no one but they can pronounce correctly, attracting toadies to their flanks with the unspoken hope that one day they, too, could be a somebody. Here in their posh surroundings, they felt at ease. Lulled into a false sense of security, these almost-aristocrats let spill their most intimate of intimates with little sign of fear. The way they saw it, they had two choices. In the one hand, they could keep their secrets to themselves until the day a rival outed them to the world; and in the other, they could openly flaunt their dirty laundry and play down its importance, hoping to coast by unnoticed on their inflated reputations. Most chose the latter, as to do otherwise would show weakness, and in their twisted world, weakness was blood in the water; something to prey on.
And to be sure, there was a predator in their midst -- if not an unassuming one. He drew looks from the crowd, who found his musty tweed sport coat an affront to their cultured tastes. They took note of his youthful appearance: that crooked, boyish grin; a head of short, auburn curls with flecks of ashen highlights; broad shoulders that hinted at the muscled frame tightly wound beneath his outdated clothing. But good looks were surprisingly not enough to break through the icy exteriors his audience had put up. They watched his every move with bitter disdain reflected in their eyes, whispering out the corners of their mouths just loud enough for him to hear; just loud enough to let him know they didnt care if he heard them or not.
Though he could feel their baleful gazes, he fought the rising heat at the back of his neck and kept his nerves in check. Seeking an exit from the limelight, the young man quickly chose a spot at the nearest table and took a seat, hoping to diminish their interest in him by lowering his visibility. But his plan backfired, as despite his best efforts to beat his wardrobe clean before attending the gala, his jacket exhaled a breath of dust into the air as he flopped carelessly into his seat. Senses irritated, the boy rubbed furiously at his nose in an attempt to calm the rising impulse to sneeze. But there were things even his body had no control over, and this happened to be one of them. The thunderous outburst stole the attentions of many, but once hed recovered from the vision-blurring reaction, he found hed also caught the unwanted eye of someone whose radar hed hoped to fly under.
Geoffrey Snaps chin was tilted upward, eyeing down the length of his nose to stare disapprovingly at the boy that sat before him. He was dressed all in white, and held the position of head concierge for the guests of the Luxe Paragon, the hotel which had put on this lavish party. As such, he tried to carry himself with as much false nobility as one of his meager means could. But despite his stately appearance, the young man for whom he held so much venom could do nothing but snigger at him, having found something humorous in the black forest of hair that sprouted from Snaps nose, made all that much easier to see thanks to the concierges arrogant posturing. At this, he became even more perturbed.
Your name, sir? he inquired, the steady tone of his voice hiding the annoyance that bubbled just beneath the surface.
Stevens, the youth replied, pausing momentarily to quiet his chuckles. With a deep breath, the act was done, and he could go about this situation as had originally been planned. Sebastian Stevens. The boy tried on the debonair smile hed practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, an expression that went through many iterations before he had settled on just the right one to capture his impish charm.
All his work fell short of its goal in the presence of this crude gentleman, however, who seemed largely unimpressed with Sebastians expression. Geoffrey Snap was all too familiar with New Moneys affinity for portraying itself as one of the social elite. No amount of money was going to change who someone was at their core, he knew. These pretenders were understudies, hoping for the day the true actors would exit the stage and give them a chance to fill their role. And even if they got that opportunity, they werent who the audience had come to see. They were still bit players. All their money could do was make sure their costumes were elaborate, each one hoping that would be enough to complete the illusion.
This kid didnt even have that going for him, he mused.
This event is strictly black tie, Mr. Stevens. Some of the other guests find your attire lacking. The concierges last word was punctuated with an abrupt chuckle as he gave Sebastian a once-over with his critical eye.
Oh, right! Sorry, the boy stammered, offering up the apology with one hand while fishing in his pocket with the other. Sebastian had planned for every contingency. Touching the object of his search, the teen drew out a clip-on bowtie, which he quickly snapped to his collar. Cool?
Sebastian raised his chin to allow the attendant a better look at his new accessory. But to the casual observer, it looked as if Sebastian was mocking him; attempting to adapt the same conceited air the concierge had previously displayed. It brought about the sound of hushed laughter from a nearby table, which only seemed to infuriate Snap even further.
Your invitation, please, the man said in a restrained yet demanding tone, doing his best to keep his irritation from boiling up to the surface and resulting in a scene.
Invitation? Sebastian asked, suddenly stricken with a case of cottonmouth. Okay, he had planned for almost every contingency. I, uh.. Lost it. In my limo. I mean, that things so big, Im constantly misplacing stuff! Tickets to the opera, diamond rings, the keys to my jet The boy tugged at his collar, unwittingly pulling off the clip-on hed just adorned. Nervously fumbling with both it and his choice of words, Sebastian tried desperately to come up with a suitable excuse. He couldnt let the night end without getting what hed come for -- whatever that might turn out to be. Truth be told, even he wasnt sure what information he could glean from his surroundings, nor whether it would be useful in his case.
Hed almost prematurely lost hope in the face of what seemed an insurmountable wall, but catching sight of Carl Perkins smiling face as he chatted with a string of flirtatious women filled Sebastian with the resolve he needed to get the job done. Especially once one of the women stepped aside and revealed the man Carl Perkins was sharing this feast of flesh with.
Carl Blackboard Perkins was a small-time thug, once upon a time; resorting to petty acts of thievery and eventually moving up in the world as the muscle behind many an extortion scheme. He might have stayed unnoticed in his chosen field of work, had it not been for that voice of his. Some thugs got their nicknames from their method of killing, or a peculiar character quirk. This one earned his just by speaking in his natural way, which was so high-pitched and screechy that many likened it to nails on a chalkboard. But it was that same voice that had caught the eye (or ear, rather) of the man that would become his new boss, one Anthony Rosetti.
Anthony had a penchant for finding those that amused him and keeping them close. It made his mundane existence more bearable, if one could call it mundane. As the only son of the well to-do businessman, Aldo Rosetti, every need or want Anthony had was taken care of. Trips to exotic countries, fast cars and even faster women were a consistent thread in the tapestry of his day-to-day life. But Anthony wanted more -- something he could call his own. Something he could say he built with his own hands. The crime organization that was birthed from this moment of boredom was ill-thought out at best, but even in its struggle to cement itself as a major player in Paragon City, it had managed to pull off a few interesting capers.
It was at the scene of one of these crimes that Sebastian had first caught wind of the young Rosetti and his twisted ideas of a fun pastime. While patrolling the Industry Pier district of Independence Port as his heroic alter-ego, Slipshod, Sebastian had born witness to the murder of a dockworker who had gotten wise to a mysterious shipment of goods that was to be smuggled into Paragon at some undisclosed date. This information was entrusted to the young hero as he held the dying man in his arms, even as Slipshod wished to spring into action and chase down the men that hastily fled the scene. But he refused to leave someone in their last moments -- they deserved better than to die alone, even if it were a death in the company of a stranger. All he could do was be there for the broken man that lay in his arms.
No, that wasnt true. There was something else he could do. He could watch. He could lose focus on the man and push his heightened sense of surroundings to their utmost limit, hoping to score a lucky break: a voice, a name, a face. With the aid of his night-vision goggles, the gamble paid off, when one of the killers had glanced back to marvel at his deadly handiwork. The sickening grin of Carl Perkins would forever be acid-etched into Sebastians mind.
Several weeks had passed since the incident, and Slipshod had been diligent in his hunt for the murderers. Easy access to word on the street, thanks to criminals tendency to roll on each other when offered a deal by the District Attorney, had given Sebastian more information than he knew what to do with. Blackboards past offenses, his likes, his dislikes, his vices. Most important of all, however, was the guy that held Blackboards leash. The one who called the shots. The man behind the man. The same man that now sat beside Perkins at the party; Anthony Rosetti.
And after all that work, Sebastians crusade would be halted by a snooty old man demanding to see an invitation he never had in the first place.
This teen hero wasnt alone in the lions den, though. As he stuttered and bargained, a friend was already coming to his rescue. A young Asian man, perhaps only a few years Sebastians senior, arrived with a snap in his step. His name was Klahan Srisai, though the children from his youth had opted to call him Han. The youngest in a family of Thai immigrants, Han first called Paragon City home at the age of three. Eager to make their mark on the city, they sat out to find jobs and a place to live. Lucky for them, they found both in the same building.
The old Mason Hotel was finally on an upswing after years of neglect. Once abandoned, men and women who were down on their luck had now taken up residence within its walls. They formed a closely knit community and eventually, led by fellow resident Henry Whitmoore, had taken it upon themselves to restore the structure to its former glory. They both lived and worked there, renting out available space to anyone desperate enough to stay. Many times, new guests would join the work crew as a permanent facet of the Mason. Such was the case with Hans parents.
Today, the place was a government-owned building that leased out free rooms to fledgling heroes, and did so under a new moniker -- the Whitmoore Apartment building. Its inhabitants [censored] workers were given a healthy severance package and relocated to new homes. But the ties they had formed could not be broken, and many friendships born in those troubling times remained to this day. In fact, it was one such mutual friend that had initially brought Han Srisai and Sebastian Stevens together in the first place. All it took was one phone call, and Han was eager to repay a debt to this old acquaintance.
Han now worked as a concierge at the Luxe Paragon, and had used his position to sneak Sebastian through its doors. Now, he was going to make himself useful once again, calling Geoffrey Snap's attention with a clearing of his throat.
Sir, he began, half-whispering, Im sorry to bother you, but..
What is it, Sissery? the old man snapped, butchering Hans surname as he always did. This had better be an emergency. Im in the middle of something. He cast a frigid stare at Sebastian, before returning his attentions to his subordinate.
Its the Betencourts, sir. You know how poorly they get along with the Millers, and, well Theyre clashing at the front desk as we speak. Something about one having a larger room than the other. I tried to assure them that all accommodations were the same, but that just seemed to tick them off even more.
Damn it, boy! the head concierge hissed through clenched teeth. You know how much theyre both worth! If we were to lose them as customers The old mans grim face gave way to a look of sudden panic at the thought of the consequences. The snobby feud between two of Paragons richest families was well known, and normally, painstaking measures would be taken to keep the two from ever being in the hotel at the same time.
But the owners of the Luxe had taken a chance tonight, knowing that they couldnt get away with not inviting one of the families to the soiree they were holding in the hotels ballroom. After all, it was a night reserved for the crème de la crème, and getting snubbed on an invite could have a catastrophic effect on the hotels relations with that family, and more importantly, their profit margins. The owners thought they had everything planned out perfectly, so that the two would never catch wind of each other at the party. But communication must have broken down between their employees, and now they had a disaster on their hands. Something must have happened to facilitate such a grave misfortune. That something just happened to be Han Srisai.
Come on, the old man finally said, visions of himself at the unemployment lines spurring him to action. If we hurry, maybe we can comp them enough stuff that theyll forget tonight ever happened. As the head concierge dragged Han away, Sebastian was able to pick their voices out of the myriad other sounds around him. One spoke of consequences and repercussions, while the other was muttering a few choice Thai phrases underneath his breath. Though Sebastian didnt speak the language, he had a good idea what they meant. Hed look them up later, if he remembered to. But now, there was the much more important task at hand.
Not knowing how long Hans diversion would last, Sebastian was quick to spring into action. He produced a disposable camera from his coat pocket, trying his best to keep its existence a secret from the other partygoers. With middle finger covering the flashbulb, he tripped the shutter switch and caught a few snapshots of Carl Perkins and Anthony Rosetti looking awfully friendly together. This wasnt damning evidence of their ties with one another by a long shot, but Sebastian knew every little bit helped. He also knew that if he wanted something substantial, hed have to get a lot closer than this.
Trying to steel his nerves, the boy mimicked an action hed seen in countless movies when a character was faced with a daunting task. As a waitress passed by, he quickly snatched a glass from the tray she carried and took a mouthful of its liquid, intent to swallow. But just as quickly, the contents were spit back into the crystal.
Oh God! What is this stuff? he remarked, face reflecting his disgust.
Wine, sir, she replied.
Ugh. Tastes like pee.
She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before walking away, dumbfounded. Still scratching his tongue to rid his mouth of the taste, Sebastian rose from his seat and took to the crowd, stealthily maneuvering through the sea of people in search of his targets. He left behind a group of onlookers who, after some thought, agreed that this particular vintage tasted like French piss. Despite himself, Sebastian may have had a chance at fitting in, after all.
Drawing nearer to the two, Sebastian could now clearly make out the voices of Perkins and Rosetti -- much to his chagrin, in Perkins case. That high-pitched squeal of his grated on the youths every nerve. But he pushed its annoying qualities to the back of his mind, instead deciding to focus on the content it offered. Which, for the moment, consisted mostly of the size of a womans breasts or how hed kill for a burger and fries in lieu of the finer foods the hotels kitchen was serving.
Dont you ever get tired of being you? Rosetti asked in a lazy drawl, countering Blackboards whining.
Who else do I got to be, boss? You are who ya are, aint nothing gonna change that.
That was uncharacteristically wise, Blackboard. Rosetti grinned. Have you been, gasp, reading?!
You know me better than that! Blackboard protested.
True. Which is why Im afraid to ask the next question. Is everything set at the pier for tomorrow night?
Sebastian was taken aback at Rosettis bluntness. Hed come to expect more from his villains. At the very least, not to give away their plans so easily. But the young hero had forgotten that, first and foremost, Rosetti was a spoiled, rich brat. To him, talking business over a fine meal was par for the course.
Did just like ya asked, boss. They wanna meet half past midnight to make the deal.
And those loose ends we discussed? the would-be crime boss asked, picking at the meal set out before him with his fork.
Took care of em myself. They didnt put up much of a fight. That self-absorbed grin of his was flashed once again, and Sebastian almost lost it. He couldnt fathom how someone could be so casual about pain, so pleased by inflicting it on others. Or perhaps he could, considering he wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and beat that look off his face, to exact some small bit of revenge for everyone that had suffered at Perkins whim.
Hans hand on his shoulder stayed the impulse.
Hey, you almost done here? he mumbled, glancing warily at his surroundings for the old man hed managed to ditch. If my boss sees you after what hes just been through, hes likely to tear you a new one.
Yeah, Sebastian relented, taking a few lengthy breaths to calm himself. Despite his usual run of bad luck, the hero had actually hit gold with the information hed just acquired. It would do no one any good for him to go off half-cocked and tip his hand prematurely. Instead, hed have to take his new friends advice and beat it. Thanks, he sighed out, shaking his head at himself for nearly losing his cool. I appreciate all your help, tonight.
I dont suppose this is the part where you tell me what this is all about, is it? Han had been purposefully kept in the dark, for his own safety. The fewer people Sebastian had to drag into this life, the better. He wasnt even allowed to reveal his status as a crime fighter.
Sorry. Stan gave me strict orders, Sebastian said.
Still looking out for me, is he? Han smiled. Stanley Green had lived and worked at the Mason Hotel concurrently with Han and his family. And like most of the residents, they quickly bonded as like souls. But where Hans family had taken the Governments deal to move away, Mr. Green had chosen to stay behind to work as the newly christened Whitmoore Apartments doorman. Which just so happened to be where young Sebastian now found himself living. Well, you tell him that the next round of golf is on him. Especially since I may be out of a job next time I see him, if they ever find out I had a hand in this.
Roger, dodger, Sebastian said with a nod, before one last glance was given to Perkins and Rosetti. Throughout he and Hans conversation, Sebastian had also been monitoring what was being said between the two. Nothing else substantial had been given, but he felt confidant in what hed already obtained. He could leave without feeling the night had been wasted. So, wheres the nearest exit?
Service elevator through the kitchen area, Han directed, pointing towards a door to the northeast.
I was thinking more along the lines of an open window.
* * * * * * * * * *
A stream of moonlight bathed Sebastians apartment and its contents in a silvery glow as he opened the window that lead out to his fire escape, which had become more of an entrance and exit than his front door ever had. Musty jacket slung over his shoulder, the youth threw a leg over the sill, ducking his head back into his home before allowing the rest of his body to follow. His movements were labored, having spent all his energy on the trip home -- and stopping that mugging hadnt helped matters.
But the ache in his joints and sporadic muscle spasms were the least of his worries. Instead, it was the crystal clarity of the room. Sebastian knew that the more exhausted he was, the harder it become to keep his focus, which meant that the sensations from the world around him began a constant barrage against his senses. Falling asleep was going to prove difficult. Again.
Hed have given anything to get a good nights rest, considering the task that lay ahead of him the next evening. But it was this same curse that kept him up at night that had also allowed him to take one small step towards bringing Rosetti and his men to justice, so he refused to complain about it. He simply grabbed the earplugs from his three-legged coffee table and popped them in, allowing himself to collapse onto the couch and drift into a troubled sleep. The waxy plugs helped keep the noises from the outside world to a minimum, but did nothing to quiet the thoughts in his head. And in the end, those were always the loudest; the hardest to ignore.