Mary Pachowski sat at the kitchen table, looking at an unopened bottle of vodka. She stared at it for a few minutes, keeping her hands under the table. "A drink would be nice right now," she thought to herself. All she could do to keep from thinking of Phil was to keep daydreaming about how fast she could kill that bottle.
She replayed that morning in her head over and over again. The kids had a late breakfast, which got interrupted by those worthless Rikti. She couldn't get a hold of Phil's dad at the K of C hall where he tended bar. Her father-in-law was always the first one at the bar, so she figured he was good and lit by the time the regulars came in. The kids ran off to fight the invaders instead of staying with their mother where they belonged. To make things worse, she got stuck with Saya, that little slag that Tommy called a girlfriend. Why couldn't he listen to his mother and date a nice girl from down the block? She didn't do anything useful, just sat there and waited.
Then Phil had to go off and get himself killed in a bombing raid. He said he'd be careful when he went to work this morning. He promised he'd be home right after work, even saying he wouldn't stop anywhere. He promised he'd be back. Why couldn't he have just stayed in the command center like all the arson investigators were supposed to do? No, he had to be the big hero and volunteer to run a rescue team! He just had to do better than the kids, didn't he? Mary's jaw clenched and unclenched as she fought off tears. He didn't deserve her tears.
She started thinking about her plans for Tommy. That little dunce wasn't smart enough to ever get a real education, no matter how hard he tried. College? Ha! Her son didn't have a chance in hell at finishing college. He'd flunk out by the first semester. If that wasn't due to grades, it would be due to getting into a fight and killing someone. It was inevitable. And what he did to Claire, oh that made her even madder.
Claire was the good girl, the smart one, the one with a future. Instead she decided to run around half-naked and fight crime! She was probably on a hundred different porn websites. They probably even paid her to dress like that. Clearly she was taking lessons from Tommy's girlfriend on how to steal boys away from their families. She had no shame, like her son had no brains. Just a **** and a thug, that's all her husband raised those kids to be. Those three put her through all that hell they called "alcohol abuse rehabilitation" and they don't even have the common decency to make sure she's okay when the Rikti attack!
She'd show them what she thought of rehab, of the Rikti, and Phil and Tommy and Claire and anyone else. All she needed right now was to grab that bottle. One drink would be all she needed to tell the world to go screw itself.
A few hours later, the bottle was found upside-down, stuck in the drain of the kitchen sink. Mary and her son were screaming at each other over who made what rules in the Pachowski household.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
Violet jiggled the key to her apartment building near the Perez War Wall in Steel canyon, holding the Sword of Otora Shiro between her legs as she worked the difficult doorknob with both hands, flustered because it just started to rain. The cheap knob always started to rust at the end of the summer. The taunting from an intelligent weapon rattling around in her skull didn't help any.
Stupid woman. If you were man, door would be opened now!
Azuria had assured her years ago that psychic weapons weren't supposed to have accents. Violet tried not to pay him any mind, but it had been a long day, and she was ready for a hot bath and a good book. The Envoy of Shadows would have wanted it that way. She took a deep sigh of relief when the door finally opened and she walked through the mildewed vestibule with cracked white paint and tiles that were cracked or missing, and headed for the mailbox.
You no get mair flom anyone. You stupid, razy woman. A man hording sword of Otora Shiro get many retters. Woman get--ouch!
Violet rapped the hilt on the mailbox to close it, "Bills."
She started up the stairs, dragging the sword on the ground and bumping it against every other stair. He had been a benevolent and cruel companion. The sword, though after three years still rebuked the fact that she was a woman, transformed her from an almost-fifty-year-old overweight housewife into a twenty-something bombshell, and gave her memories and skills of five centuries worth of warlords. Still, his words of protest as he banged against three flights of stairs were entertaining, and helped her unwind. She opened the door and headed down the musty-smelling hallway with old carpet decorated by years of untrained dogs and unruly children, her apartment door in sight.
Stupid, disrespectful woman! You berong in kitchen, not on battlefierd
She opened the door with a smirk and hung her fedora on the hat rack, unclipped her hair and shook it out. "You know, Torrie, you're absolutely right."
She unsheathed the sword and took a cucmber from the refrigerator, with the dirtiest words she'd ever been telepathically sent from a sword--which made her laugh--she cut it into thin slices. Satisfied, she resheathed the sword, leaving it on the sofa and went to start the bath water.
What an ill-tempered sword. Great story!
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
((LOL! That was great, TV! 
))
Thanks. I usually start with an idea of personal lives during costume creation, so I love this thread.
Claire stared at the demon for a long time, its face covered in a blank mask. "I told you. Whatever it takes to learn how to use these things, I'll do it."
"No," the demon rasped. "You would not accept the fate in store for you."
"My soul's already at risk here, what else would be worse?" Claire asked.
"Soul? Feh. It's not your soul we want. We get plenty of those already," the demon said. "With the Platonic Solids in use, you could easily change the nature of our agreement to get something else in exchange. No, we'd need something much better. Tell me, little girl, why do you want to use the Solids?"
"I want to bring my dad back from the dead. After that, I don't care if the Solids break and become useless," Claire said.
The demon's form wafted up out of smoke from the arcane crucible. "So you suffer from loss, then. And you wish to undo that which cost you your father's life? Oh, child, you have no idea what the Platonic Solids can do for you!"
"I just want my dad back, okay? Nothing else," the young hero grumbled.
"You feel sorrow now. And with your father returned, you'd feel joy?"
"Yes."
"My terms then are simple. I teach you how to use the Platonic Solids to return your father to life. Your father returns home as if he'd never left, but you'll never feel an ounce of happiness over it. The pain you feel now will be the only thing you ever feel for the rest of your life. Would that be enough?"
"Yes," Claire mumbled.
"Do not jump into this bargain lightly, little girl. You will never be able to take comfort in your father's return. The very sight of him will cause you nothing but anger, bitterness and sorrow," the demon said, its mask bobbing slightly. "No power here or anywhere will be able to make you happy again."
Claire looked at the smoky form before her. "So I get what I want, but I can't ever enjoy it?"
"More or less," the demon said. "Nor will you ever enjoy anything again. Every day will be an exercise in self-loathing, and you'll likely cause pain to those you love as well. Especially your father. Would you cause him further pain by returning him to you, only to have you do little else but revile him?"
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"I want you to know exactly how things will be when your father returns. I want you to know that your selfishness will have consequences. A contract must be understood by both parties for it to have an effect. Your father will return to life in return for causing constant conflict and suffering in your home. If this is a life you wish to give to your father, then say yes once more," the demon said. "If you are as young and naive as you look, then everything I've said will have no effect on your decision to return your father to life. You'll pay for your selfishness, and do so willingly. Now, is your answer yes or is it no?"
Claire looked at the mystical objects in front of her. "Do you think it's worth it?" she asked the demon.
"Why are you asking me? You brought me here to do business. Either way, I win. You go away broken-hearted no matter how you choose."
Claire removed the summoning stones from the arcane crucible, and the mask winked out of existence.
"I don't know what to do," Claire mumbled. "What does it take to make things the way they used to be?"
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
A sunbeam lanced its way under a window shade and onto a vanity mirror, which reflected the sunbeam into the face of one Mary Tsoo, Awesomest Martial Artist Hero of the Tsoo Who Weren't Evil. Here eyes popped open with a start, and a smile slowly spread over her face. She flung off the bedcovers as she made her way to the shower.
"This is gonna be the greatest day ever! Just like yesterday!"
After a shower that revealed far too much for the Comics Code (you better not have peeked! 
), she made her way back to the bedroom, where she selected her most favorite costume, the sleeveless robe and shorts combo, with a modesty-protecting short bodysuit underneath. And as always, her costume pieces were some shade of green or black, the color of nature like leaves and potting soil, and cute little froggies and emeralds and onyx and jade and big fierce *grrr* dragons! She picked up her rose-tinted glasses and deftly placed them on the bridge of her nose. "I might not have 20-20 vision, but I can always see my way through adversity," she said as her first affirmation of the morning.
After she got dressed, Mary Tsoo made her way down the hall, past all the pictures of her other siblings and relatives in the heroic part of the Tsoo family.
"Hello, Peggy!" Mary said. "Hello, Tirami! Hello, -nami! Hello, Himi! Hello, Pan! Hello, Boy Named! Hello, -perman! Hello, -perintendent! Hello-"
Mary found herself walking into the door again as she greeted her family pictures one by one.
"Hello, Mister Door... you've had quite an impact on me already!" she said, remembering to always find humor in adversity. After a healthy breakfast and time to perfect her latest sure-to-be-a-best-seller novel, Mary Tsoo started her regular kung fu and fourth-order calculus (Inuit edition) training regimen.
Thirty minutes later, she was ready to fight crime with a positive attitude and the power to beat criminals senseless.
Skipping merrily through Steel Canyon, Mary spied a pair of Outcasts who were hassling some old lady for her purse.
"Come on, gramma! It's not like yer life savings is in here!" the first Outcast shouted.
"Yeah," the other Outcast said with his deep doofy voice, "It's not like you'll spend it on anything neat like... duh, hey, Crusher, what're we gonna spend this lady's money on?"
Mary Tsoo appeared, casting a long yet still-cute shadow across the Outcasts. "You're not spending that old lady's pension money on anything, meanies!"
The Outcast named Crusher looked at Mary Tsoo with a grouchy old scowl. "What're you gonna do 'bout it?" he asked.
"Duh, yeah, what're you gonna do 'bout it?" the big doofy Outcast said.
"You're going to give this nice old lady her purse back and let her go because it's the right thing to do. We can all be friends if we learn to respect other peoples' property and private space!"
The Outcasts looked at each other. "She's right, Killawatt," Crusher said.
"Duh, yeah," Killawatt said, "We ain't bein' nice, are we, Crusher?"
The Outcasts let the old lady go with an apology and a promise to be more considerate to their elders the next time they went down the street. The little old lady hobbled over to Mary Tsoo with a smile. "Thanks, Mary Tsoo! It's great that you help old people protect all the money they won at-- er, earned with all their hard work over the years."
"That's awesome!" Mary Tsoo said, giving the old lady a thumbs-up salute. "We should be kind to people in their golden years!"
"Well," the old lady said, "that's nice. Now if you'll excuse me, Mama's got herself a matinee show at the Beefcake Club she doesn't want to miss! Time for a trip to the man-candy shop!" she said as she took her tiny steps down the sidewalk.
"Now now," Mary Tsoo said, "Too much candy is bad for your stomach. Try a healthy treat instead!"
"Oh, they're plenty healthy at the club," the old lady said with a wave. "Hold on boys! These singles won't spend themselves!"
Mary Tsoo smiled, then turned to the Outcasts with a very cross look on her face. "Now you two march right down to the police station and turn yourselves in!"
"We will," the Outcasts said in unison. "We just can't say no to Mary Tsoo!"
"That's right!" Mary Tsoo said with a cheery smile. "Otherwise I'd have to crush your big scowly faces with the powers of a thousand spirits of war! Your souls would be forfeit and never again would you see the light of day!"
The Outcasts turned and ran for the nearest PPD precinct building.
Mary Tsoo continued her way down the street greeting everyone she saw and making lots of new friends.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
Tommy sat at his work desk, his first assignments from his new classes sitting untouched. The work orders for his cybernetics customization sat unfilled, and a backlog of car repairs and upgrades piled up in his inbox. All the while, he sat at the desk, staring at the scribbles he made on his memo pad. He scratched absent-mindedly, barely making a reaction to the sound of the electronic door bell as a customer came in.
"Hello?"
Tommy got up from the desk and walked to the front counter. His girlfriend Saya was standing on the other side. "Hey," Tommy grunted.
"I was wondering if you'd opened up any of your books yet," the young woman asked. "Just because it's the first week of classes doesn't mean you can slack off."
"I know," Tommy said.
"You haven't even gone to class, have you?"
"No."
"Tommy, you better show up soon," Saya said quietly. "You'll fall behind."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you going?"
Tommy looked a bit annoyed. "It's 'cause I don't wanna go, all right? It's boring."
"Then maybe you should put this off for a semester or something," Saya said. "Take some things off of your mind."
"I'll just withdraw completely, then. Got no reason ta go ta college. I got a job doin' what I love."
"This isn't like you at all, Tommy."
Tommy shrugged, the light glinting off of the polished and anodized highlights of his blue metal arms. "This is how I am, all right?"
"No, I'm not going to accept that. The shock is still there, Tommy. You've been like this ever since your dad died."
"I know," Tommy said. "Just lemme work this out on my own, okay? I don't wanna ruin anyone else's day with this. So if ya could, head back ta yer dorm. I gotta be alone fer a while."
Saya hopped up on the counter, then swung her legs over to Tommy's side and dropped back down. "No. You can't do this alone. I'm going to be right next to you the entire time until you work this out. Now, we can go over your assignments or you can do your car stuff or whatever, but I'm going to keep you doing something with your brain."
"Fine," Tommy said. He walked back to his work desk and sat down, sorting through his work orders. "Whatever ya want."
Saya pulled the guest chair next to her boyfriend's chair, and opened up his Western Civ book. "Okay, this is dealing with Sumeria..."
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
Kory McWhirter, aka the King of The Row, ran the entire way to a nondescript brownstone in High Park. The spirits had news for him, and he had to relay that news to his fellow heroes. He left a trail of Skulls behind him as he ran, all stuck in the concrete as angry spirits exacted revenge in the name of the residents of Kings Row. He stopped at the top of the steps to the apartment building, breathing heavily and searching for the right doorbell. He pressed one of them.
"Who is it?"
"It's Kory. I have to talk to Tommy and Claire. It's important!"
There was a buzzing noise as the door unlocked. He shot up the stairs, making enough noise to startle the other residents of the building. The door to the Pachowski family's apartment swung open as Kory ran through it.
"Guys! The spirits told me I had to tell you quickly! They said using anything to bring your father back would have disastrous consequences!"
Tommy Pachowski looked at the younger hero. "What?"
"Yeah," Kory said through heavy breaths. "Science or magic, it'll just cause trouble!"
"So that psychic residue yer spirits found from my dad is no good?"
"That would only bring back a copy of your father based on those memories. He wouldn't be the same at all."
Claire appeared behind Kory, her arms crossed. "And why shouldn't we use magic, then?"
"It could trigger something worse."
"Like what?" Claire asked.
"If you used the Platonic Solids, it would alert whoever had the missing ones to the location of the ones you have. Those have to go to MAGI."
"What if we found another way?"
"We could easily end up opening a portal and bring in these things called the Rulaaru or something like that. When you bring someone back like that, it leaves a door open for all kinds of things to follow."
Tommy sat down at the kitchen table, and rested his head in his hands. "So, if we did this, there's little chance'a things turnin' out fer the better?"
"Yeah, that's what the spirits tell me. I'm sorry, guys. I couldn't find any way of doing that without causing something worse to occur." Kory turned to face Claire. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but you had to be told."
Claire disappeared before Kory's eyes. He blinked and looked around.
"Tommy?" the young shaman asked. "Did you know your little sister can turn invisible?"
"Yeah, she does that sometimes. She's done that fer a couple years now. Somethin' ta do with a genetic mutation."
"She has a Hero license, doesn't she?"
"Yeah."
The door to Claire's room slammed shut.
"Okay, she's gonna be in there a while. So you an' me are gonna talk fer a while. Ya just want us ta move on now, like nothin' can be done, right?"
"Sorry, man," Kory said. "But that's how it goes."
"Gotcha," Tommy said. "Ma won't like it, either. But we gotta resign ourselves ta the fact Dad ain't gonna be around anymore."
"Right."
"Kory, I'm glad ya told us, even if it ain't what I wanna hear. I don't wanna believe that I can't bring my dad back somehow, but if that's how it is, that's how it is." Tommy got up from the table and walked over to the refrigerator. He pulled out a plastic box and opened it up.
"Hey, I want ya ta try this stuff," Tommy said. "Claire an' Saya an' Ma said it's okay, but I wanna know if anyone else likes the way I grilled up this chicken."
"Sure," Kory said. "I'll try anything once."
"Like tryin' ta date Claire behind my back?" Tommy asked with a grin.
"I never even asked her, man!"
"I know. She'd tell me if ya did."
The two heroes sat at the table while Tommy's latest attempt at cooking warmed up in the microwave.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
((For what happened between the last post on this thread and now, go here: Maggie's Rock Forums ))
"Rose? Rose McAden?"
Rose didn't move, didn't reply. She didn't want to open her eyes. For the first time since she had been taken captive weeks ago, she felt at peace .
"You must come with me Rose."
The voice was insistent and against her own will, Rose opened her eyes. She was in a hospital room. It was dark. Machines hummed and shot wave-patterns across digital readouts. A respirator hissed and thumped like a heartbeat.
Beside her bed, slumped in a chair, her fiancee, Nick Kinsolving slept the restless sleep of the weary. Rose stood, as quiet as a ghost, kissed him on his cheek. His mouth twitched a little as if it wanted to smile, but then it relaxed and rested, partially open.
"Rose?" the voice said again.
With steps so light they never touched the floor, Rose stepped out into the darkened hallway in search of the one who called her. She made an inaudible gasp when she saw a beautiful woman with black wings that nearly blended into the gloom.
"Come with me," said the woman.
"Who are you?" Rose asked, unsure if she wanted to go with her or not.
"I am the Catbird, and I have come to keep you company until you are ready to pass over."
Rose looked at the woman again. She had seen her before, in a different form. The Catbird's adopted daughter was a student at the Rock.
When the Catbird reached for Rose's hand, Rose pulled back and backed away from her.
"Why should I go with you? And what do you mean 'pass over'?"
The Catbird sighed and explained, "You have died before your time, Rose. I'm afraid I must keep your soul in my care until your appointed time arrives."
Rose felt a panic rise within her. How could this be? She had been rescued! She had been healing! How could she have just... died?
"This can't be... no, this can't be real..."
"Denial is the first stage of..."
"Don't give me that! Don't give me that psychobabble! I'm not dead! I'm not ready to die! I won't go! I won't!"
A look of utter sadness crossed the Catbirds face as she said, "Then you will become a shade -- a non-manifesting ghost -- doomed to walk among the living, but never able to speak to them, touch them... They will not even know you are there. To them, you will not exist. Only those who loved you will feel your presence. Oh yes, they will feel your presence, and you shall feel theirs; for the grief they will carry with them for the rest of their lives will become as fresh to them as the day you died and you will feel their grief a hundredfold."
The panic and denial gave way to tears as Rose thought of Nick and Betsy.
"Please," she said, "there must be a way out... a... a way back?"
For a moment, the Catbird's lips formed a thin pink line, and then she said, "That is not up to me, but I can take you before my boss."
"Comrade Smersh?"
The Catbird covered her face with the palm of one hand and shook her head.
"Commander Smersh is not my superior on this plane. I only serve under his leadership in the realm of the living. I speak now of another; one whose presence you will fear."
Rose was quaking now, she backed away from the Catbird, and in doing so, passed through a wall. This startled her so much that she became altogether immaterial and fell through the floor.
And she kept falling...
And she kept falling...
Until she impacted something and... bounced?
Indeed, she bounced not once, not twice, but three times before she came to a stop. For a moment she couldn't see, but then, as if a fog lifted, her surroundings became clear.
She had bounced upon a rather large bed, covered with pink and black satin sheets, upon which she now laid. The bed was surrounded with dark curtains with many hints of colors, all blending together to form black.
Rose sat up quickly. Instinctually, her hand moved to her waist to grab her collapsible bow off of her belt, but she was still wearing a hospital gown.
Then a voice -- not the Catbird's -- said, "Oooo! Pajama party!"
Rose snapped her head around to see a girl (or a woman -- her age was difficult to determine by her appearance) of slight build, thin and waif-like, with hair so dark that it had no shine at all and skin the color of bleached bones. Her eyes also were black, and reflected no light, held no gleam.
"Catbird!" the girl shouted. "Catbird! Come on! It's pajama party!"
The girl patted Rose's knee (and when she did so, a chill ran through Rose's entire being) and said, "It's been so long since I've done anything totally girly!"
"Y-you're... Death? Right?" Rose said.
The pallid girl stuck out her lip and her arms crossed her chest, then she said, "Well! You don't have to say it like that!"
"I-I'm s-sorry."
"Why don't they ever just let it rollll off the tongue -- Deeaath. Deeaaath. See? Perfectly lovely name."
"S-sorry."
Death smiled at Rose and told her, "Oh, stop saying that. You don't have to be afraid. I mean... Have I ever hurt anybody?"
Rose began to stutter an answer when Death shouted, "Caaaatbirrrrrrd!"
"I'm here."
The curtains around the bed parted and there stood the Catbird -- out of uniform, and her wings now a pretty pink and her clothing a short, sheer nightie.
"I had to change into something more appropriate," the Catbird explained, blushing as she spoke.
"Oh stop turning red! You have the body for it!" Then Death looked at Rose and furrowed her brow. "That hospital gown will not do." Then Death reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a gauzy purple nightie. "Here, put this on."
Rose took the lingerie in her hands and looked at it.
"Don't be shy. Go ahead and change. You don't have anything we've never seen before."
Rose looked up at the Catbird who looked down at her apologetically.
"Really... what I-I would l-like to talk to y-you about..."
"Stop right there!"
Death stood up on the bed and stood astride of Rose so that if she wanted to try to escape, she could not.
"Let's get one thing straight, I want a pajama party. Now."
Rose sighed, then closed her eyes and put on the flimsy nightie.
"Better," Death said and laid down on the bed beside where Rose sat with her legs drawn under her.
"Now, you two tell me about your boyfriends."
"My lady, I..." began the Catbird.
"No boyfriend, still?"
The Catbird shook her head.
"You into chicks?"
The Catbird shook her head.
"Then you should put out. You're not a spring chicken you know. Men expect more on a date with a woman your age than just holding hands and a quick kiss goodnight."
Rose found herself feeling sorry for the courier of Death.
"Well then, what about you, miss Rose? Tell us about your boyfriend."
"Well... his name is Nick and..."
"Does he kiss good?"
"Well... he..."
"Have you done it with him yet?"
"Well... we... what?"
"Have you done it with him yet."
"I hardly think that's any of your business..."
"Of course it is. Do you know how many people die every day while they are doing it?"
Anger gushed up within Rose and she stood on the bed in nearly the same way Death had stood over her.
"Look! If I'm dead, fine! Send me to hell or... or... whereever! But I'm not going to let you... steal whatever dignity I might still have after putting on this nightie!"
Death's black eyes began to swirl in circles, the dark around them got dark, and where there had been hints of pink, red, blue, there was now only a hot red glow, like embers.
"You talk to me thusly!"
Death stood and knocked Rose down upon her backside. She did not hit a soft matress where she fell, but rather rough, hard stone.
"You refuse my good hospitality!"
Rose was afraid; more afraid than she had ever been when she had been alive. But she had made her stand and she wouldn't back down.
"I do," she said.
Death loomed over her now, as if she had grown larger. Her pale skin fairly glowed crimson with the light from the embers.
"Then go!" Death said, her tone harsh and biting. "Go! And see if I ever invite you to the part again!"
"Mom?"
Rose opened her eyes.
Nick was in the chair, shaking off the drowsiness from having just awakened.
"Mom?"
"Betsy?"
"Mom!"
Betsy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rose's neck and kissed her on the cheek.
"Oh, mom! You're going to be all right! They said you flatlined twice last night!"
Betsy stood back as the nurses came into the room and began checking Rose's blood pressure and other vital signs.
Then she got a good look at what her daughter was wearing.
"Did you forget your pants?"
Betsy smiled and explained, "No! This is Serge's new line for next spring! I'm going to be his 'It' girl!"
"You're wearing... panties."
"No! They're shorty-short-shorts!"
"They're panties."
"No, they're part of Serge's new GGW -- that stands for Good-Guy Women -- collection! And I'm going to be the catalogue model!"
"Oh hell no..."
Rose pushed away the nurses and against Nick's protests grabbed a robe and threw it on and then stormed out of the room.
She hadn't backed down from Death. Serge should be a piece of cake.
It had started with a painting. Maiden Walking Through a Field on a Sunny Day. A rumored lost Van Gogh. Rose (Rosies twin with whom she once shared one body) had received it in Paragon City, along with a letter from Fleesem and Steele, LLP. The letter that accompanied it stated that Ian Scott, Rosies paramour from their previous shared life had passed away and, in the settling of his estate, had bequeathed to his one-time lover this priceless treasure.
Since Rose did not like to think that it was she who had engaged in that particular relationship, she carefully packed the painting taking great pains to conceal its true nature and forwarded it to the Lion Brigade headquarters in the Etoile Islands where her twin lived.
Rosie, ecstatic to have received the priceless piece could not wait to share her great news with one of her two significant others. If Dustlight had not been away on one of his enigmatic missions, he might have been the recipient of the news, but since he was not available, Prioress Grace got to share Rosies joy.
Grace, however, distrusted the veracities both of the painting, and of Ian Scotts death.
So, as soon as was possible, Rosie and Grace were off to the City of Lights and Love Paris.
Where else would you find an underground art appraiser qualified to declare the painting real?
Le Meurice had been everything Rosie had expected. She hadnt realized how much she had missed the luxuries her life with Ian had afforded her. The sheets on the bed were so soft against her skin that she hardly wanted to get out of it. Indeed, for the first day and a half, she had hardly gotten out of bed. Room service had brought in their meals (Grace always put on a dressing gown and met them at the door, usually holding the gold-plated letter-opener from the suites desk behind her back just in case.) When she wasnt in bed, she was in the spacious marble bathtub usually with Grace and a bottle of champagne for company. No guns (she had made Grace promise), no zap-suit, only luxury and leisure.
By the evening of the second day, Rosie and Grace had had enough of watching the city pulse and thrive beneath their balcony, and decided to go out for a night on the town. The adventures of that evening should best be left for another time, for ears less sensitive and sensibilities that will not be scandalized. Suffice it to say that everywhere they went, Rosie indulged herself excessively so that Grace sometimes had to literally drag her lover away from some of the general bacchanalia that takes place in Paris at night. And although Grace tried her best to guide Rosie to the more restrained and tasteful nightspots, Rosie would always find a rave or rowdy bar and pull her inside.
The third day was spent with Grace keeping an eye on Rosie as she slept off the debaucheries of the previous night.
The fourth day, Rosie had an appointment with David Fournier, an art appraiser whom Ian had always sworn by. As the taxi pulled up in front of a nondescript building, Grace kissed her goodbye, explaining that she also had a bit of business to attend to while in Paris, and wished her luck. Rosie picked up her painting, got out of the taxi, and watched it go up the street and disappear around the next right turn.
Then she stepped up to the door of the shop.
David ran a shop that specialized in contemporary copies of classic antiques for a discriminating clientele. What that really meant was that he was a fence for stole treasures. If there was a thief that was trusted among other thieves, it was David.
His store was lined with shelves of ancient-looking junk mixed with original antiques and artifacts. David was careful to dust neither. The place was lit by a single dim bulb in a single fixture suspended from the center of the ceiling. The wooden floor was uneven and well-worn with a clear path leading from the door to the counter in the back upon which sat an old style cash register, the kind that had tabs with numbers printed on them come up to show the amount of the total sale. Beyond the counter, a faded red velvet curtain separated the store from a back room.
Rosie knew the routine. She stepped into the shop and browsed over the and knock-offs and originals of Louis XIII through Louis XVI furniture and Renaissance sculpture while she waited for the stores proprietor who she knew was watching via closed-circuit camera to emerge from the back room.
The place brought back memories of the night they had gone practically room-to-room at the Hotel Regina stealing not from the hotels patrons, but rather the opulent, expensive looking decorations of the hotel rooms, some of which now sat on the shelves in this store. It was done as a favor for David and was later traded for an appraisal of a Rembrandt which Ian and Rosie stole from the Louvre. David determined the Rembrandt to be a forgery. The two thieves stealthily returned it to its spot that same night. Several months later, the experts at the Louvre realized they had a fake on their hands.
Rosie and Ian had shared many laughs over the night they stole a forgery and returned it.
David hadnt emerged after twenty minutes or so. Something was wrong. Suddenly Rosie found herself wishing she hadnt made the pact to leave all of their equipment back in the Isles.
With as much nonchalance as she could muster, Rosie continued to look over the antiques and artifacts until she made her way to the wall directly under the stores camera. There, a shelf full of brass (and gold) crosses gave her access to an impromptu weapon. She edged her way along the wall to the curtained doorway to the back, then sucked in a breath and held it as she spun through it.
David sat at his desk with his old, familiar magnifying headpiece raised up above his brow. His hands rested on the desk, spread apart and open with the palms up as if he had been holding something, examining it, but there was nothing there. A small silver dagger probably worth tens of thousands of dollars since it was from the Napoleonic Era protruded from his neck.
Hlo, darlin, said a voice in a thick Scottish brogue, Did ye miss me?
Todd Galahad blinked a bit, shaking off boredom-induced drowsiness. This current stack of translated texts had to be drier than T.E. Lawrence telling a joke in the Negev. Todd cursed his professor silently. He had a primary source that he could translate easily enough, but the professor wasn't willing to take his word for it. Todd wondered if his professor even knew Latin.
He looked around trying to focus his eyes on something at a distance to avoid eyestrain, and wound up focusing on the painting of one of the PCU presidents of years past. They were apparently a long line of stern men whose gazes could induce sleep through boredom. Todd shifted on his chair, a blocky overstuffed burnt orange thing that announced to the world that 1975 had officially arrived. The chipped formica of the low table in front of him was covered with books, with almost no space for a drink much less a laptop. Dozens of books, journals and papers were collected there, all on the subject of one Gaius Vindex.
All he was reading was diary entries from a man who owned a team of chariot racers in southern Gaul. It wasn't even particularly exciting, as the owner fretted more about where to dump the bodies of his horses and racers if they died in a crash than anything else. There weren't any descriptions of the circuses, no vivid descriptions of races, and barely any kind of financial information unless he he was lamenting a lost wager. This diary was little more than one long gripe session. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, his finger tracing the shadowy brand under his right eye.
After getting that mark on his face from his mother, Todd always had some kind of excuse about it. He'd had to make a mask that covered even more of his face than before so no one could see such an obvious identifying mark and match him with being the Cobalt Claymore. A few other heroes asked him about that, and he'd left them with a few excuses: his face got cold when he was 25 stories up, he walked into doors a lot, and the old standby of "a wizard did it." Other students who met Todd in his civilian clothes saw the brand under his eye and figured he must either be a bouncer or an often-removed barfly.
A fellow undergrad sat next to Todd and nudged him. She was cute but she couldn't compare to his girl, not a bit. Todd looked over. "Hey, Jen," he muttered.
"You must get punched in the face a lot," Jen said. "You always seem to have a black eye."
Todd grinned and settled back into the overstuffed cushioning of the library chair. "My mommy drinks this funny-smelling water out of a bottle marked 'Gin' and then she hits me. She says that drinking helps her aim. Then she goes to sleep in front of the tv while watching her stories."
Jen stifled a laugh. "You're a sick man, you know that?"
"So you're saying that adding the fact she smokes unfiltered Luckies and wears her hair in curlers to the mini-mart would be superfluous?"
"Yes," Jen said, "it would. What's the real reason?"
"I get punched in the face a lot. I'm a bouncer at" --his mind raced to plug in the name of any of the sleazier bars where Jen would never go-- "uh, you won't laugh will you?"
"No," Jen said.
"I'm a bouncer at Stinger's," Todd said, looking downcast. "It's the only place that'll hire me at my age."
"Wait, Stinger's as in the strip club?" Jen asked.
"Yeah." Stinger's was a very rundown club, but he knew the bartender there, and the bartender was pretty open with any information he picked up from the criminals who frequented it if you had the money.
"That place just sounds creepy. Nothing but frat boys and bikers drooling over some poor woman who can't get a better job," Jen said.
Todd guessed right. Jen's taste in guys ran towards the record-store clerk demographic, so mentioning a bar where they'd never be seen was probably a place where she'd never be a patron. "Hey, it's a job, all right?"
"You could really do better," Jen said. "And what does your girlfriend think?"
"She thinks I should work here at the library."
"Then why don't you switch jobs?"
"How would I explain my getting punched in the face at the library to her?" Todd asked, his grin returning.
Jen looked up, as if she was lost in thought. "You could always tell her you got snarky with your Late Roman Empire study partners."
"Touche," Todd said. "So, which stack of texts should we leave for Will? Gaius Vindex Loses A Bet And Gets Kicked by a Small Child, or Gaius Vindex Loses Another Bet And His Driver Bursts Into Flame?"
Jen opened up her notebook and grabbed a bound monograph from among the books. "Which one sucks more?"
"It's got to be the one where he's kicked by a small child. I think it's a prequel to the entry where he's kicked by a slightly larger child," Todd said.
Jen looked over at Todd. "Does the research ever get interesting?"
"If you don't find this stuff interesting, you'll have difficulty as a history major."
"Wow. No wonder so many people run screaming from Dr. Sands' class," Jen remarked.
"Why's that?" Todd asked.
"I think it's the only way to stay awake after reading this crap."
"You may be right," Todd said.
They passed the time reading while waiting for their third partner.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
"Ian." She had fought the urge to say his name as a question, but if she had said it with any inflection at all, then he would know that he had taken her completely unawares. "I see you haven't changed. Still stabbing your erstwhile partners in the back or in this case the neck."
Ian smiled at her and for the first time she realized how very much older than her he was. Though he still stood with regal posture, liver-spots covered his hands. Though his chest still was of greater circumference than his waist, he looked smaller, as if the years had diminished him. His teeth were yellowed, receding from the gums, with lower front teeth visibly worn so that they were flat on top and so were speckled with tea stains and cavities. From his yellowed smile her eyes followed to his jaw line, once strong and chiseled, now jowled and wrinkled, with a turkey-like neck below it. His hair was wispy and completely white now.
Only his eyes were the same. When her gaze fixed on them, she felt the pangs of the heartache he had caused her, and realized that she could forgive him; that she still had feelings for the man; that, under other circumstances, she could still call him her lover.
Ian smiled at her, and said, "Nae, Rosie. Twasnt me. I arrived jus afore ye. Poor David was aready sittin there an th dagger in is neck."
Rosie scrutinized him a little longer, wanting to call him a liar; wanting to exact revenge for David for herself from this cruelly charming man. But, she believed him. If he had killed David, he would have been in and out before anyone especially herself knew he had been here.
"Explain
this then."
Rosie ripped the brown paper covering off of the Van Gogh and Ians eyes widened.
"Whered ye git tha?"
"From your lawyers, Fleesem and Steele."
"Ye misjudged badly, then me Rosie. I dinnae sen ye tha paintin." A look of understanding passed across Ian Scotts face. "I ha nae seen tha piece since it was stole from me
"
A panel in the wall made a "shushing" sound as it slid open and a voice from behind it said, "
puisqu'I l'a volé."
Rosie and Ian Scott turned at the same time to see David Fournier step out from the hidden doorway.
"Bonjour," he said, "Préparez pour mourir."
(Inspired by the news of Issue 11...)
The Rhode Island Circuit Court building in Paragon City looked a grittier than normal as the custom 1975 Ford Econoline screeched to a halt. Hephaestus 1 stepped out of the van, his perfectly styled feathered hair not moving at all. He smoothed out his bushy mustache and adjusted his half-tinted sunglasses and started walking to the building. It wasn't too cold, so he left his old green field jacket open.
"Hey, Heph!" Fang shouted. "Wait up, man!" He slid out of the passenger seat and caught up with Heph, taking time to make sure his white-boy afro was in perfect condition, then adjusted his half-tinted sunglasses and smoothed out his bushy mustache. As he walked, his genuine naugahyde jacket creaked as he broke it in.
"I told you, Fang, you need to oil that jacket to soften it. The next time we go up against the Mullettis' numbers ring, I don't want your coat tipping them off to where we are."
"It's cool, man, it's cool. I took care of it. But I -do- have to look good for all the fine, fine ladies who show up in the course of all our investigations," Fang said, making sure his turtleneck collar was even as he walked through the door.
After Fang flirted with Brenda, the busty receptionist, the pair made their way to the nicotine-stained office of one Assistant Chief Larry McGonigle. Larry was sitting at his desk hunting and pecking out a report while chewing on a cigar which had gone out a while back.
"Knock knock, chief," Heph said as he ducked and strolled nonchalantly into Chief McGonigle's office. "The alien lounge singer case is done. We got the collar and now Rikti Martin is going down for good."
Fang strode in, writing something on the inside of a matchbook cover, chewing on his trademark toothpick. "What's the word, Chief?"
"The word, as you put it, Fang, is that you and O'Flannagan here are a couple of maverick cops who cross the line time and time again! Do you know how many reports I have to write because of your shenanigans?"
Heph folded one big metal arm over the other, his cybershell's antennae twitching as they tuned in police band broadcasts. "Shenanigans? Didn't we bust Ulysses and his Warriors when they tried to run drugs through there?"
"Yeah, man," Fang said disinterestedly. "Great happy hour specials, too. Like Linda, the waitress there." The little werewolf pointed both his index fingers like he was shooting from the hip at Heph. "Serious action there, Heph."
Heph smoothed out the mustache on his faceplate again. "Right, right, Linda. She ever give you the time of day, much less her number?"
"That's cold, man," Fang said. "You know she's hot for the one and only Lupine of Lovin'."
Heph shook his head. "Like that new band in Boston says, Dream On," he said. "So, Chief, what's next on our list?"
"If you're not careful, O'Flannagan, I'll have you back on Traffic Detail faster than you can say Jack Robinson! Now, listen. Rumor has it that the Tsoo gang is trying to run the Carl Douglas Memorial Self-Defense School and Community Center out of the neighborhood. I want you and Fang to investigate and catch those guys in the act! If the Tsoo run another community center out of the neighborhood so they can put in one of their 'massage parlors' again, I'll have your badges!" Larry shouted from around his cigar.
"Whoa, be cool, Chief, we're on it," Heph said, his big blue hands waving in front of him. "There's no need for all this negative energy."
"Yeah, be cool, man," Fang added. "You've got an ulcer already. No need to add hypertension," he said, teasing out a flat spot on his afro.
"Well, what you're gonna do is- wait," Larry said. "I haven't worn a paisley tie and plaid jacket together since 1977. You guys shouldn't have mustaches. And why do I have a mustache? What's going on here?"
Heph and Fang looked at each other. "He's right, Fang," Heph said. It should be physically impossible for me to have a mustache. I should also be physically impossible for you to be the smooth one."
"I noticed, too," Fang said, "but I didn't want to ruin the magic."
Larry looked around his desk. "I think someone is screwing with time. Portal Corporation may have gone too far in one of their experiments."
"Yeah, well, how do we break out of it?" Fang asked.
"Hmm. Guys, I think we'll just have to make do for the time being," Heph said. "Maybe if we solve this case, everything will go back to normal."
"I don't know if I want that," Fang said. "Here, I'm cool."
"Yeah, but where will you get your comics?" Heph asked.
"Manga!" Fang snarled. "They're- I see what you mean, Heph. We've got to get this solved."
Larry looked around. "Right. Okay, we'd better play along, then."
"Right," the big blue cyborg and the short grey werewolf said.
"All right, you two! Our computer department ran their data tapes and they say the next Tsoo shakedown will be at the Lo Mein Emporium on 7th Avenue!" Larry pointed at Heph with his stogie. "If you two break the rules one more time, I'll nail you to the wall, got it?"
"Right, Chief, but I'll tell you this much: I don't trust computers," Heph said. "They can't go out on the streets and see what the situation is."
Fang looked at Heph. "We better go before our favorite paper-pusher blows a gasket."
"Right, it's for his own good," the cyborg said. "Don't worry, Chief, we'll keep the neighborhood in one piece." With that, the two detectives walked out through the bureau, leaving pure cool in their wake.
Larry burst out of his office, waving his burned-out cigar. "O'Flannagan! I better see results! Got it?"
"We dig, man," Fang said.
The two heroes got back in the van and peeled out, leaving twin streaks of burned rubber as the only sign of their passing. Once they were en route, Fang popped open a can of Tab and took a drink.
"Hey, I told you, no food or drinks in the Love Wagon," Heph said. "Besides, that stuff'll give you cancer."
"It shows I have a sensitive side. The ladies dig that," Fang said. "And cancer? You're joking. That's like saying cigarettes will give you cancer!"
The custom van pulled up in front of the Lo Mein Emporium, where an ethnically-diverse crowd stood in line to order their lunch. KC and the Sunshine Band blasted through a tinny speaker outside to keep the crowd entertained. Heph and Fang got out of the van and looked around.
"I don't see anything," Fang said.
"No, but I do," Heph said as he walked towards an outrageously-dressed man who was surrounded by a bevy of scantily-clad women of ill repute.
"Why, Hephaestus 1, as I live and breathe," the fabulous eyesore of a man said. "Has the time finally come for you to sample the wares that only my fine, fine Foxy Mamas can provide?"
"No, Kissy Fox," Heph said. "I need information on the Tsoo gang's protection racket." Heph grabbed the pimp by his crushed velour lapels. "And unless you want to be dragged in for supplying your women to the Tsoo gang's massage parlors, you're going to tell me."
Kissy Fox pulled a switchblade out and flicked it open. "Now now, my big blue metal brother, we don't want anything heavy to happen on these streets. And it will get very heavy if I use this. Don't make me cut you!"
"Easy, Fox, easy," Fang said, separating the two men. "Heph, don't make this tougher than it has to be. Now, Fox, you need to give us that information. The Carl Douglas Memorial School of Self-Defense and Community Center is at stake. That place makes a positive impact on the neighborhood!"
"It's competition," Fox said. "Here I am providing jobs for the community's neediest women, and the community center is trying to take them away and make them work in an office outside the neighborhood! Tram fare is expensive, you know."
Fang looked around. "I bet if, say, Ulysses S. Grant asked you about the Tsoo gang's next move, you'd tell him," the werewolf said as he slid a fifty-dollar bill into Kissy Fox's chest pocket.
The pimp looked around. "You didn't hear this from me, but Tub Ci is gonna shake the place down with his heaviest soldiers. It's gonna be tonight, when the disco party starts--"
A late model LTD roared down the street past the trio of men, and Kissy Fox clutched at his chest. "Aw, man, they got me!" he shouted as he revealed a throwing star stuck in his chest. The crowd screamed and scattered as Fang gently lowered his wounded information source to the ground.
"Remember... when the disco party starts..." the pimp said as he passed out.
"Somebody call an ambulance!" Heph shouted as he and Fang leapt into the Love Wagon and shot down the street, chasing after the LTD. Heph slapped a magnetic spinning red light on top of the van and drove like Richard Petty.
"This is Zebra 3," Fang said into the police radio's microphone. "All units be on the lookout for a late model red Ford LTD with Vermont plates and expired tags. Suspects are considered armed and dangerous!"
The van managed to catch up with the LTD in Skyway City, dodging white-suited trolls and robots made out of discarded glitter balls and 8-track players.
"Where's that bass riff coming from, man?" Fang asked. "That's solid."
"WVEL," Heph said. "Apparently they play car chase music all the time, but you can only hear them when you're driving 80 miles per hour down city streets! Look out, Fang!"
Fang ducked as a throwing star flew within an inch of his hair. "Oh, no one goes for the hair," Fang said as he pulled out his snubnosed revolver. He fired two shots, but they bounced harmlessly off the thin sheet steel of the car's trunk.
"I told you to pack the .357 Magnum and not the .38 Special today," Heph said.
"I did! I must have gotten the ammo mixed up." Fang checked the remaining four shots in his Colt Python. "Okay, the rest are Magnums."
"Hang on," Heph yelled. "We're going through the Skyway-Talos Tunnel!"
Fang tried to get another shot at the LTD, but either support posts or other cars disrupted his aim. They finally exited the tunnel, and headed straight toward the infamous Olympia Curve, bane of street racers in the town. Fang fired twice more and shot out the back window and a rear tire on the LTD. Heph jammed on the brakes as the LTD missed the curve and shot off over the breakwater, flying for a few moments before hitting the water and exploding in slow motion. Heph slid the Love Wagon into a parallel spot and stepped out to survey the scene.
"Call this in, Fang. We're not getting anything out of those guys now."
Later that night, Billy Chin and Sammy Chung were putting the finishing touches on the Disco Night Party. As owners of the Carl Douglas Memorial School of Self-Defense and Community Center they were committed to having a party where everyone could enjoy a positive atmosphere of neighborhood unity. The ethnically-diverse neighborhood crowd danced to some unknown beat and enjoyed themselves.
Then the music stopped. Tub Ci and his heavies arrived. "Chop them up," Tub Ci said as the sleeve of his kung fu jacket fluttered as he pointed towards the owners, "and then chop them down!" The assorted Tsoo gang members started wrecking the place with nunchaku and katanas, and one of the Heralds brought down the disco ball with a well-placed throwing star.
"Ha ha! Soon no one will come to your community center and I can use Easily-Bribed Developers, Inc., to make this into another "Happy Dragon Massage Parlor" franchise!" Tub Ci said. "Ha ha!"
"Not so fast, Tub Ci," Fang said as he and Heph walked through the wrecked doors to the school and community center, "your days of shaking down the neighborhood are over!"
Tub Ci looked at Fang, then at Heph. "Ha ha! Look, my soldiers! Here comes the big boss!"
Fang and Heph dropped into fighting stances: Heph went into a boxer's stance, and Fang into a Praying Mantis style stance. "Let's get it on," Heph growled from under his mustache.
Kicks and punches flew as the two detectives traded blows with some of Tub Ci's toughest fighters. Finally, the two detectives stood in front of Tub Ci as he smiled and twisted one end of his fu manchu. "Excellent. You have proved your fighting skills. Now, face me! Face death!"
With expert timing, Tub Ci kicked from the hip and sent Fang flying into the disc jockey's booth. "MacArthur Park" started playing.
"Bad move, Tubby," Heph said. "I can't stand that song."
"It's Tub Ci, fool!" the leader of the Tsoo yelled as he went from a feint into a slip and swung out his hand towards the big blue cyborg. Heph took the ineffective punch and followed up with a vicious uppercut, sending Tub Ci flying into the air and landing on his back, stunned.
"All right, you cats are all under arrest, dig?" Heph said to Tub Ci. He began reading Tub Ci his rights as police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer every second.
As Paragon City's finest stuffed the last member of the Tsoo gang into the prisoner transport, Heph took statements from witnesses as well as the owners. Fang took a moment to check what he'd written on the matchbook cover. He walked casually to the phone and dialed.
"Hey hey, sexy mama," Fang said. "This disco party might be busted flat, but I know an even wilder party that's gonna start in an hour. So, how about it, how about we meet up there?"
"Oh, sure thing, dollface! Let me just fix my makeup!" Myrna, the middle-aged and matronly night receptionist at the detective bureau said. Fang put the phone back on the hook, a look of terror on his face.
"What happened, man?" Heph asked.
"I asked Brenda for her number," Fang said. "So I call her up to see what she's doing now that she's off work. I got Myrna instead."
"You asked Brenda for her number," Heph said, "but did you ask her for her home number?"
"Oh, man," Fang groaned. "I can't believe she'd pull a stunt like that!"
"I can't help it if you don't know how to ask a lady out properly," Heph said. "Well, we've got to get our reports in. And I've got to get the Love Wagon ready for tonight. I'll be entertaining a guest."
"Who's that?" Fang asked.
"A certain day shift receptionist by the name of Brenda," Heph said, pointing his index fingers at Fang as if shooting from the hip. "I asked before you showed up this morning."
Fang stood there. "Man, you gotta be kidding me!"
"You snooze, you lose, man," Heph said as the scene froze with Heph giving a thumbs-up then went black.
The lights came back up and Fang and Hephaestus 1 were back in more modern attire, and the Love Wagon was replaced with a 2006 model of GMC Yukon.
"Man, that was weird," Heph said.
Fang looked even happier. "Thank God! I thought I was going to have to go out with Myrna for a minute. I wish I was still the cool one, though."
"Patience, grasshopper," Heph said. "You will learn in time. besides, my girlfriend would kill me if I actually dated another woman. And she's known for melting steel with fire."
"Ooh. Yeah, gotta watch out for-- hey! It's the new volume of 'Hai! Frilly Girly Happenstance!' Yes! Back to reality as we know it!"
"Yeah," Heph said. "Back to reality indeed."
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
( Yay more story stuff )
Was it 70s-cop-show enough to pass muster?
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
(Actually that was exactly what I was thinking of while reading it , I loved the small talk between Fang and Heph the most )
Good. That's what I was going for.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
Claire Pachowski blinked a bit as she woke up. Every morning it was the same thing when she wasn't on assignment: wake up, bathe, get dressed, put on the tactical vest, the traditional long scarf and headband, and then go see if the rest of her team was ready for an assignment. Was life always this annoying? She scarfed down a quick breakfast of some kind of microwaveable pork bun while putting on her sandals. She looked down where her family usually kept all their shoes.
Okay, those are Mother's shoes, she thought, and those are- wait. Her brother Tommy was supposed to be at work right now. And whose uber-girly sandals are those? They don't even look like they were made in this village. Claire knew she should investigate, and knew where to start. She pulled her sandals off and trudged towards her big brother's room.
"Tommy!" Claire yelled. "You're supposed to be work by- uhm, who's this?" she asked pointing to the young woman currently massaging her brother's shoulder while pouring him another cup of sake.
"Eh-heh... Claire, this is Saya. She's from the Village-in-Sunlight. Saya, this is my little sister Claire. She's just recently become a junior-grade ninja. An' besides, I AM at work!" Tommy took a swig of sake. "I'm eh, collectin' intelligence on the therapeutic massage arts'a her village! Ooh! Little ta the left, Saya-chan... right there!" Saya smiled and continued kneading the shoulder muscles that connected to his metal arms. "Preliminary reports indicate... oh that's nice... an increased flow'a chi ta the extremities, though further research is gonna be needed."
Claire stood at her brother's door, nonplussed. "Uhm. I think I left a shuriken in the fridge or something."
"You should see to that," Saya said. "Your brother and I are in intense study at the moment."
"Yeah, like the second leader'a Village-of-Emperors once said: 'Giggidy-giggidy-giggidy-gig!' I now understand what he meant," Tommy said from behind a very big grin.
Claire was now thoroughly squicked and ran back to the apartment doorway. She threw her sandals on and leapt to the job assignment center.
The job assignment center was its usual chaotic self: dozens of teams competed to be first to get the most prestigious assignments. The current leader of Village-of-Emperors, Mother Aoi, sat behind a large table, flanked by her advisors and assistants. She noticed Claire striding into the main hall alone.
"Claire," Mother Aoi said, "Where is the rest of Team 37? Your partners should be here."
"I have no idea, Mother Aoi," Claire said. "Our little Imperial Shadow wannabe and Overachievement Lass are-"
"They're right here!" squealed Mary Tsoo as she and Claire's other partner King McWhirter arrived on the scene. Mary was bubbly, too bubbly. Especially in the chest region. It made all the guys follow her around like she was the greatest and most wonderful thing in the world. Even King went ga-ga over her. What was worse was that she graduated at the top of the class with 100% scores in everything. "We wanted to start the day with a healthy fifteen-kilometer run! Why fifteen kilometers? Because the metric system rocks!"
Claire shook her head. "They've arrived, Mother Aoi."
"Now," the current Imperial Shadow said, "about your team leader. Since your brother Tommy is currently on assignment, I've had to assign another leader to you."
The three junior ninja looked at each other. "So, who's going to help us out?" Claire hoped Mother Aoi wouldn't assign that teacher to her team.
"Sorry I'm late, Honored Mother," Whispering Typhoon said from behind his mask. "I was busy speaking to Heph-Sensei about things of an administrative nature." With a flourish, he pulled out a copy of [u]Sword-Chucks Paradise[u] and began reading.
Mother Aoi gave her son a very displeased look. "Son, you shouldn't be so flippant in front of your new teammates."
Whispering Typhoon looked up from his book. "New teammates?" He looked around, obviously ignoring Claire's team.
"Yes," Mother Aoi said coldly. "Team 37."
The blue-clad young man raised an eyebrow. "Honored Mother is joking with her stunningly handsome and virile son, the Emperor's Bluest Blade!"
"No."
"Well," Whispering Typhoon said, "I think my social call to the princess of Village-Under-Waves is going to be postponed." He slipped the book into his carryall. "What is our assignment?"
Mother Aoi looked through the books. "Since you are a new team, I'm giving you a C-rank assignment. You're to act as bodyguard to our new ambassador to Village-in-Islands. Get him to our embassy, but remember that you'll have to pass through the land of our sworn enemies, Village-In-Traffic Gridlock."
"No problem!" Whsipering Typhoon beamed under his mask.
"Yay! Adventure awaits us!" Mary Tsoo yelled.
"What she said," King added, his eyes fixed on the bubbliest parts of Mary's personality.
"So annoying, the both of them," Claire grumbled.
----
Meanwhile, in the Paragon City we all know so well, Claire Pachowski dreamed peacefully in bed, her smile barely showing from under her latest manga.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
"Ah, excuse-moi, I forget Mademoiselle Rosie elle ne parle pas français." David held a Gaudin MagnaForce gauss pistol in his hand which was aimed toward Rosie. "Greetings, Mlle. Rose. Eet is good to see you again. Eet is too bad I must kill you."
Rosie was very confused. She looked again at the figure sitting in the chair with its neck impaled, and then at Ian. If Ian was confused, his expression did not show it.
"Why, lad?" Ian asked calmly. "If a man is t die, hasnt he th right t know why?"
"Oui, mon ami, I suppose eet would be only fair. You have been fair with me in our dealings, I shall be fair with you now." David smiled politely as he spoke, but did not lower the weapon. "Do you remember ze Rembrandt?"
A smile crossed Ians face as the memory rose to the surface. "Aye. A fine caper that one! Ye discovered that the Louvre had been displayin a fake for years! They were embarrassed as hell when they figured it out later. Ill never forget that as long as I live." He cleared his throat and the smile disappeared from his face as he said, "However long that may be."
David continued without comment.
"Did you ever wonder where ze real painting was, Ian?"
"I didnt much care, to be honest."
"Ah. Honesty among thieves. Not as uncommon as one would think. But I must admit, I have not been honest with you."
Rosie remained quiet, unsure of what David was getting at, and unwilling to draw unwanted attention to herself. She held the heavy gold cross behind her.
"Cut to the chase, David," Ian said, "Are ye going to shoot us or talk us t death?"
"Ah. But you said you wished to hear the story
"
"Aye, but speed it up, man -- or add some spice an make it worthy of the last tale these old ears are t hear."
David smiled. "I love you, mon ami, I truly do. Eet shall be as much a shame to end your clever wit as eet will to end Mlle. Roses beauty." He shrugged then added, "But a man must do what a man must do."
"Aye, a man must."
Rosie glanced at the "David" in the chair again.
The alive David continued: "As I said, I have not been honest with you. You and many others have come to me for appraisals, and many times I have misled you. You see, I have zis
capacité
zis
talent
a puissance superbe. I have ze ability to recreate zat which I can see."
Rosie looked at the figure in the chair, then at David as his words sunk in.
"Any thing
or as I have very recently discovered any body."
"Handy," Ian said.
"Oui. Zat is I stole your Van Gogh, Ian. I copied ze girl who cleans your house een Tahiti. I could have left a copy, but zen you would not have come here when I sent word that I had seen eet, non?"
"Brilliant. But why all this?" Ian waved his hands in the direction of Davids weapon.
"Because, Ian, I have the original Rembrant."
"Och. I see. You with a priceless painting and we the only ones who could tie you t th fake at th Louvre."
"Exactement. Eef I try to sell eet, and zat connection is made, zen I will be ze accused, non?"
Ian nodded and said, "I see your point."
Something didnt add up to Rosie.
"No," she said. "Thats not it at all
Youre still being dishonest. The Rembrandt we stole
it was real. You created the fake. You created a counterfeit Rembrandt that was so close to the original that it very nearly fooled the experts at the Louvre a fake so close that they assumed it had been a fake all along
"
Ian looked at Rosie with surprise, and the expression gave her a sense of satisfaction. If she was going to die, at least let her die one-up on Ian.
"Astucieux, cheri. I knew zat eef I sold ze painting, one of you would figure eet out."
"Then why, lad? Why sell it? Ye could jus create another forgery an keep th original
"
"Because," Rosie answered for David, "his forgeries arent perfect. They may be close, but the people at the Louvre discovered something. It may have taken them months, but they did find it out. Our friend here may be dishonest, but he makes his living based on his appraisals. To get caught selling a forgery would ruin that for him."
"Again, you prove most astute, cheri. Oui, selling ze painting will make me rich, but selling a forgery could ruin me. Someone would get very angry, and I could very likely wind up like my double there."
Rosie looked at the dead David again. His headpiece sat atop his head with wisps of brown hair, sticking out from under it. At his temples, a little grey showed at his temples. Then she looked at the live David with his evenly brown hair and a realization came to her.
"Wait
you can copy anything, right? When you made your double, could you have copied your memories?"
David looked at her and for the first time since the smile left his face. He was speechless as he raised his weapon and aimed it toward her.
Then the curtain over the doorway ruffled and a dull thud sounded as the smell of smoke entered Rosies nostrils.
Ian and Rosie turned to see Grace tamp out a small flame that burned around the hole she had made in the curtain. Smoke still drifted from the silenced barrel of the Glock in her hand.
[Graceful entrance as always...]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
"Serv'd!" is next on A&E.
*On a black screen the following warning is printed:*
"Due to mature themes, viewer discretion is advised."
*The screen slowly fades in to a scene of Hephaestus 1 sitting in his SUV. It's late at night, as he's currently outlined by street lamps and the glow of the faint light coming from his faceplate.*
Hephaestus 1 moved the back of the driver's seat a bit further back as he settled in for a long wait.
"Man, I haven't been on a stakeout in years. I know what you guys are thinking, why did they send a registered hero and process server on a stakeout?" He took a sip from his coffee cup. "It's because we're dealing with more reports about problems at Wentworth's. Remember how we found out that Ops Princeps, the self-aware android who's incognito, was running salvage from Paragon City to the Rogue Isles by using himself as a regular tractor trailer? Well, something new is happening. A bunch of people have been getting ripped off lately by a network of fraudulent sellers. It seems people have been getting salvage that's a little... dodgy."
Heph pulled out a small cylinder, similar to a CO2 canister used in air guns. "This is supposed to be a sample canister of an inert gas, designed to prevent metal oxidation during the fabrication process. Well, someone instead filled it with a very... uhm, ert... gas. Well, said salvage went home with a local inventor and during the fitting stage of a new faceplate fabrication process, the former Dr. Magnetronic got his nosehairs and nasal mucus membranes flash-fried. This has caused no small amount of discomfort for the good doctor, who has had to re-license himself temporarily under the name of "Cap'n Crusty." The less said about that, the better, but to make a long story short he's created a powerset perhaps more disgusting than the Spines powerset."
He set the cylinder back into the center console and looked out the windows again. "Well, to make things interesting, the PPD asked for me and Fang to help them out with this. Apparently Fang has a talent that no other hero has at the moment." He motioned to the camera crew. "Heads down, guys, here he comes."
The runty form of Fang, the Littlest Werewolf, appeared under a street lamp. Fang was wearing something similar to the War Wolves' leather pants and suspenders, except that the pants were some kind of green fabric. The suspenders were bright red and attached to the pants by the use of oversized gold buttons. He leaned up against the wall and looked up towards the sky.
"Heph, I can't believe you talked me into this," Fang groused.
"I tried talking you out of it, remember? I told you that if you did this you'd have to put your dignity away for a while. Undercover work like this can take its toll on your sanity," Heph said.
"Well, it's taking its toll on my comfort. Who in their right mind ever thought of tight-fitting corduroy shorts?" Fang asked as he adjusted himself on-camera.
"Dude! Ixnay on the atchingscray! You're on-camera!" Heph snapped.
Fang's little snout quivered. "But I was itchy!" he whined.
"Blame your uncle. He was the one who demanded authenticity."
"How did he know that the real Werner Wolf went commando, though?" Fang asked.
Heph sat there, not moving for a few seconds. "There are times on this show where I wish my face could express the horror of knowing too much about my co-worker. This is one of those times."
Heph shook his head and settled back into the drivers' seat. A late-model sedan drove between Fang and the SUV, then slowed down.
"I think these are our guys," Heph whispered.
Fang gave his best deer-in-the-headlights impression as the sedan backed up. The drivers' side window rolled down, and a middle-aged man leaned out the window.
"Hello to you, fuzzy person! Did you now that at filthygoldfamrers.com you get top gold price for drops! Rare, Ultra-Rare! Try our lottery today! You want buy gold? You buy gold with us!" the man said, reading off a sheet of paper. "How about you, sir? Do you has a salvage which we exchange for moneys? Rares or ultra-rares?"
Fang gave the best disinterested look he could. "Maybe. What are you looking for?"
"We are interested in procurizing the latest in drops! Rares! We like rares!" the man shouted again, his glasses fogging up at the thought of illicit trade. "We look for the Essence of the Furries! Give 500,000 moneys to u for it!"
"Don't you mean Essence of the Furies?" Fang asked.
"No! Essence of the Furries! Stupid buyers don't notice until after they buy it! So, how about the 500,000 moneys for your Essence of the Furries? I can tell you have much Essence of the Furries, hairy little dog mans!"
"Dog man? DOG MAN? I'm a WEREWOLF! I am the righteous claw of nature's judgment! I am the fang of divine retribution! I'm like Glenn Danzig getting a double mocha latte when he asked for a regular mocha americano! I AM WEARING ITCHY GREEN PANTS THAT MAKE ME ANGRY!" Fang yelled as he leapt towards the sedan. He grabbed the middle-aged man in a headlock and tried pulling him out through the window. Sadly, Fang's legs didn't quite reach the ground.
Heph and his crew burst out of the SUV with the speed of a running back avoiding a paternity suit. Heph shot out the tires on the car with his head-mounted lasers and ripped the passenger door off of its hinges and grabbed the steering column with his huge arm. With a slight twist he pulled the column out of the dashboard and powered his lasers up again. Heph turned to the passengers. "Nobody move! This is a Registered Hero bust in accordance with the Might for Right Act of 1937!"
"We gets lawyeas, right?" one of the men asked.
"Yeah, it's the usual spiel: you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law, as well as your right to have an attorney present and if you can't afford one, the state will provide one for you. Get it? Got it? Good."
Inside the sedan, a group of very nervous-looking businessmen remained seated, fearing the angry little werecreature who was scratching his anger into the side panels of the driver's side door with the claws on his toes and fearing the giant blue cyborg in front of them who just disabled their car.
Heph looked at them. "Lawyeas? It's pronounced lawyers. I take it your English classes weren't up to date?"
"We have the English as she is spoke!" a businessman said, trying to not anger the heroes.
"Honored heroes, getting angry doggie off my head, please!" the driver shouted.
"NOT DOGGIE! WEREWOLF IN ITCHY PANTS!" Fang shouted.
"Fang!" Heph shouted. "Calm down!"
"MY MAN-BITS CHAFE, HEPH! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN! I RAGE! I RAGE!!!" Fang howled as he swung ineffectually on the businessman's neck.
With a click and the sound of a puff of compressed air, Heph fired a tranquilizer dart out of his oversized forearm, hitting Fang in the back of the neck.
"I AM THE FURY OF NATURE! I AM-- oh, my, Anko-sensei. Have you appeared to become my ninja of love?" Fang slurred as the fast-acting tranquilizers took effect. He released the driver from his headlock and slumped to the ground.
"Sorry about that. Fang's a bit sensitive about his heritage," Heph said to the driver.
After the businessmen were put into a prisoner transport to be taken to the local police precinct, Heph and Fang were sitting in the SUV. Heph took another sip from his coffee cup as Fang sat in the passenger seat, his ears drooped in remorse.
"I'm sorry, Heph," Fang said. "I just hate being mistaken for a dog is all."
"You promised you wouldn't throw a temper tantrum like that, Fang. I could lose my process serving gig because of this," Heph said. "And no gig means no money and no tv show. And then we don't get paid. Do you not want to get paid?"
"I want to get paid," Fang sniffed. "Next time I won't listen to Uncle Larry. I'll wear something a little less outrageous."
"Or at least you'll dress comfortably. And what was this 'Essence of the Furries' business anyway?"
Fang leaned over and whispered something into Hephaestus 1's audio pickup.
"Oh that's DISGUSTING!" Heph said. "You're joking!"
"Nope. Only animal hybrids with a background in cartooning can do this properly. You have to be an artist as well as an anthropomorphic animal."
"So, that rules out most of the catgirls, then," Heph said.
"Right. Most of them aren't cartoonists by nature. And besides, what catgirl in her right mind is going to stand on a dark street corner in a skimpy outfit looking to do some quote-freelance cartooning-unquote?" Fang looked at Heph. "The catgirls I know have much better taste than that."
Heph looked over. "So, it looks like these guys were preying on people's spelling errors to make big profits and defraud heroes out of their hard-earned cash. I'm glad we got a few more of them on the ol' ignore list tonight."
"Heph?" Fang asked. "Can we go back to the station? There's uh, excessive itchiness in places."
"TMI, Fang," Heph said as he pulled the SUV out of the parking space. "TMI."
*The screen fades to black. Another announcement appears on the screen:*
"For a free informative walkthrough on how to recognize fraudulent salvage and what to do if you think you've bought such items, please go to the Wentworth's Fine Consignments homepage and follow the link marked 'Fight Fraud With the Wentworth Squad' at the bottom of the page. Together, we can put an end to deliberately misspelled and fraudulent offers."
*The warning fades and the credits roll.*
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
The wreckage of the Founders Assurance Building was still being sorted and identified after the initial Rikti attack. Papers were picked up and thrown into shredder bins, held and waiting for disposal. Personal things like day planners, photos and purses were held in a separate bin, waiting to be reunited with their owners or their owner's next of kin. A blue-haired and blue-armed young man stood with a field-jacketed student, a clipboard and pencil in his hands.
"So, what do the spirits tell ya, Kory?" Back Yard Boom asked.
"The dust says it knows he was here, but it's not sure he is here," the other teenager said. "The concrete and the wiring says they felt him here today. It's not that he's stuck here, but there's something here that feels like him."
"Huh," Boomer said. "That's what yer spirits are tellin' ya? That he might be here?"
"I never said this was guaranteed, Tommy," Kory said. "Besides, why'd ya bring me over here? I don't like Steel Canyon."
"One, yer a shaman. Two, ya signed up fer a Hero license. Three, if yer gonna take a name like 'King of the Row' then yer gonna live up ta what that name entails."
Kory kept sketching, his eyes scanning the building as spirits seen only to magic-oriented people looked through the ruins, exploring for important goods and comforting their dying brethren. "What, you mean like takin' all that money and bein' in charge?"
"No. I mean standin' up fer yer people, bringin' justice where it's needed. That's what kings're supposed ta do, even if there ain't been a king like that in a long time."
"And this is gonna help my people how?" Kory said. "You know I only took the name because my first name is King. Everyone calls me by my middle name. And I'm from the Row, just like you. Just 'cause you're from the Yards don't mean you make stuff explode over there."
Boomer looked at Kory again. "I remember you tellin' me a long time ago that the Row takes care'a its own."
"Everybody says that. Nobody does it, though," Kory said.
"Wait a minute, did I just hear some chump from Industrial Avenue say that the Row is fulla liars? Did I just hear some weak-[censored] Southie punk say he ain't gonna help out his neighbors?"
Kory scowled at Boomer. "I ain't no Southie. That's those wannabes in Bricks and Overbrook."
"Ya sure sound like a Southie an' not like a king. I came to ya fer help, Kory. Ya gave me that help. An' now we gotta figure out the next part. If my Dad's still here, I gotta make sure he moves on. I can't do that on my own. So I need ya ta step up, man. Can I count on ya ta be a hero?"
Kory sighed. "Fine. I'll keep working on this. But you owe me. How 'bout a date with your sister?"
Boomer gave Kory a look of pure death. "She's thirteen."
"So? I'm fourteen."
"If it was high school, I wouldn't say nothin'. She's still in eighth grade, an' yer a freshman at Monarch East. Ya sure ya wanna be known as a guy who couldn't get a high school girl fer a date?"
"Fine, but you're helping me with algebra, then," Kory said.
Boomer grinned. "That'll work."
Meanwhile, a shadowy form slipped into the tiny arcane library at the Young Phalanx headquarters. A small bag containing a few perfectly-cut crystals was placed on the table next to the arcane forge, with the shadow pulling a book off the library's shelf. Maybe "The Neophyte's Overview of Mystical Artifacts" wasn't something that real mages would use to research the Platonic Solids, but it would work for this young hero.
The shadow coalesced into the form of Claire Pachowski, known to the world as Emo Catgirl. She looked through the book until she found the entry on the artifacts.
"How do I use these to bring Dad back?" Claire thought to herself.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!