The hot sun shone mercilessly on the white marble tiles, super-heating them to the point where they would sear your bare foot if you were careless enough to step onto the patio thus unprotected. The harsh sunlight reflected up onto the net curtains, causing them to glow, transferring the illumination into the quiet bedroom. Inside, he stirred. Morning had arrived.
Cautiously he opened one eye. When he wasn't blinded by the light beaming from the radiant curtain as he might have subconsciously feared, he adjudged it safe to follow suit with the other. Okay, it was a bit bright; another lovely sunny day on the island of Corfu.
He stretched, his muscular legs reaching out along the firm mattress, his toes pointing and his feet extending. He rolled over to the side of the bed nearest the window, cautious not to aggravate those patches of flesh rendered tender by that merciless sun. He lowered his feet onto the tiled floor and got up from the bed.
First task of the day: make tea. He always drank coffee in the mornings; the tea was for her. There she lay, slumbering peacefully, blissfully unaware he had instigated the day's events. He found a bottle of water and half-filled the kettle. He put the plug into the electrical socket and silently prayed to whatever Greek deity had taken responsibility for fixtures and fittings before flicking the switch. The circuit-breaker kicked in, deactivating the apartment's electricity in open defiance to his prayer. He vocalised an expletive to no-one in particular, removed the lead from the kettle, opened the circuit-breaker cover, reset it, then jiggled the lead, hoping centrifugal force might remove whatever moisture or other phenomenon might be causing the quirky contraption to malfunction this time.
This ritual only needed to be performed twice this particular morning before he was able to prepare the beverages; tea for her, and coffee for himself, his mug first filled with enough honey to cover its base, then a spoonful of instant, then boiling water from the kettle over the mixture, then over the tea bag in the other mug, a brief agitation of each concoction with the teaspoon before adding the milk and stirring.
"Here you are, darling!" He placed the brew where she would find it, then drew aside the net curtains before opening the French windows, gaining access to the patio. Outside the two chairs and plastic table awaited, and he very nearly fell for it. Fresh mug of coffee and honey in one hand, his right foot swung forward. Just before he placed it onto the white marble, something stopped him. Transferring his weight onto that foot would have caused severe pain as the sole would be brought into contact with the heat of the sun, which the marble tile had been storing up for a good few hours.
"Wimp!" He chastised himself as he performed a balancing act he had practised during the week, inserting his feet into his leather open-toe sandals without spilling a drop of his freshly-brewed coffee.
He moved through the nets onto the patio. The heat of the sun hit him with the force of a blast furnace, or so it seemed. He flopped down into the left-hand chair, the bottom of his mug making contact with the table at the precise moment his own connected with his seat. And the view!
Ahead of him the bay stretched out, framed in green from the lush vegetation which rightly earned this island the top spot in the "green table" of Greek isle holiday destinations. The beautiful blue sky whose reflection imbued the sea with its lush azure seemed particularly vivid this morning - as it had each morning hitherto.
He took a sip of his coffee. Ah, that hit the spot; the sweetness of the honey counteracting any bitterness from the coffee. Looking out across the bay, he could see the Hotel Poseidon jutting out from the lush greenery. They would be heading past it later in the day on the way to one of the resort's beautiful bays in order to spend the day swimming and snorkelling, catching rays and glimpses of the iridescent fish that frequented the coral and underwater rock formations they encountered on their aquatic excursions. Back home, of course, he'd have merely to focus on the hotel and soar effortlessly into the air, intuitively aware of the intervening distance as he approached, or would simply surge along the dusty road, virtually unnoticed by the passers-by, despite the telltale golden glow beneath his feet as he travelled at super speed towards his destination.
Not this week, though. Part of their unwritten agreement was that he was not to use any of his "special abilities" whilst they were on holiday as "Mr. and Mrs. Joe Normal". And he owed her that much; she put up with so much from him back in Paragon City, out until all hours keeping the peace. It wasn't as if there was no-one else to do the job; these days it seemed as if the city were full of heroes! Still, a man's gotta do...
And she put up with it, his single-handedly righting the wrongs of the evildoers, or lending his might to inept but well meaning lesser heroes inadvertently putting her man at risk in awkward and unviable team situations.
But this week, this was for them: her team; her man and herself. And none of his "special abilities" were to be allowed. He owed her that much (and a whole lot more, if the truth were known!)
He sighed inwardly, and this time swigged a more substantial slug of coffee. It wasn't as if his "abilities" would be likely to be required here anyway! He couldn't envisage a swarm of malevolent Rikti showing up to cause trouble at Stavro's Bar and Grill - although to him it seemed they might stand a better chance of understanding the menus! Hell, the name of this resort seemed unpronounceable to him, and not too far removed from the sort of appellation a Rikti might choose as a kind of "personal name". They must have them, mustn't they?
His coffee was by now cool enough to drink normally, so he took a gulp before getting up to check on his beloved, still in the bedroom. Her bed was empty, the single white cotton sheet crumpled where it had been discarded. The awakening process had begun. Satisfied, he returned to the patio and his coffee.
He had encountered new Rikti incarnations in Paragon since the invasion had begun; Priests, for example, more individual than their brethren. They were obviously developing a hierarchy comprising distinct identities. Paragon, it seemed, was rubbing off on them. Serves 'em right for invading!
The invasion. He wondered how things were going back home. Were the damned Rikti still persevering with their indiscriminate attacks despite being beaten back by swarms of eager heroes in each and every encounter? Or had his colleagues finally gained the upper hand and sent the aliens packing once and for all? Of course that would be great, but still a part of him would feel sorry not to have been helping with those final decisive victories.
His regular team-mates had assured him that they would be able to handle things whilst he took his well-earned and much-needed vacation, and of course he trusted them with the task, but he was supposed to be their leader. Bunking off in the middle of an alien invasion for some "R 'n' R"? What kind of example did that set? Still, as they had argued, there's never a good time to leave Paragon; there's always something going on. You're always needed and you're always made to feel indispensable. Everyone needs a little downtime, even founder members of groups of Superheroes.
A noise from the bedroom announced movement therein. He sighed, this latest bout with guilt over for now. Draining the last of the coffee from his mug, he rose and headed back inside. His neck and shoulders had begun to "glow", due to their unprotected exposure to the burning sun.
Another lovely sunny day on the island of Corfu.
Once inside, he showered and applied himself to the task of "oiling up" in a futile attempt to defend his skin against that brutal sun. At the beginning of the holiday they had both used the highest protection sun cream; now he had graduated to one which boasted half that strength. Well, their two weeks was coming to an end and he thought it might be nice to sport a little colouring on his return.
He greased up his neck, shoulders, arms and legs as usual, those parts of his body that wouldn't be covered by the shorts and vest which passed as beachwear. On request he liberally applied the higher factor sun block to her back, then packed a beach bag whilst she finished getting ready.
They typically hit the beach first, preferring to let the cooling swim revitalise themselves before bothering about brunch. The resort boasted at least four nice bays in which to swim; each offered good satisfying snorkelling and a nice setting for sunbathing - not that either of them were particularly interested in that; eleven days into the holiday and neither of them showed any more than some light honey colouring due to the sun.
The bays were all a short walk away, however, and as he locked the studio apartment behind them and they set off, he was happy to forego his travel abilities, content just to amble along with her. Some of the coastal roads they walked along could be quite treacherous, devoid as they were of footpaths, and they occasionally needed to stop to let oncoming traffic (usually kamikaze mopeds) pass by. Other holidaymakers also travelled the coastal route; bronzed Adonises and bikini-clad lovelies of various nationalities, all eager to annexe their own section of beach for the day. He resisted the urge to glance above their heads for an indication of their name, alliance or group affiliation; over here people weren't as easy to "read" as they were back home.
They turned away from the coastal road, and down the familiar sloping dirt track. When they stepped onto the shingle beach their sandal clad feet sank into the stones before finding purchase. Cautiously they traversed the shingle to a place they had used as a base earlier in the week. They exchanged their sandals for plastic beach shoes to protect their feet from the stones and jagged rocks. Stripping down to their swimwear, they marked their territory with a towel which also helped to afford the beach bag some protection from the burning sun. They donned their masks and snorkels as they stepped into the sea (in this context it was permissible for him to "don his mask" and it made a nice change for her to wear a mask too, although the irony was no doubt lost on her).
Once in the cool water, the stones were replaced by larger rocks, often made slippery by the seaweed. As soon as he had waded in far enough for the water to support his body, he thrust forward along the surface, immersing his face in the water, the visor allowing a clear view of the sea bed, fish, stones, weed and rocks, magnified by the water, and the snorkel enabling him to breathe without necessarily turning his head. Behind him, his partner took more time slipping into the water as she didn't trust the slippery rocks underfoot.
As he swam out along the surface of the water he was impressed by the view of the fish and other sights of the sea bed, which now appeared to draw away from him as the water deepened. He imagined his movements to be more graceful, his body cooled by the clear blue water and held aloft by it - as if he were flying above that same sea bed!
She had by now safely entered the water behind him and was swimming out to him. Behind her, he could see a group of bronzed holidaymakers setting up their parasol and laying down their towels exactly where his own was still lying! Typical! They had the whole beach to choose from and they decide to set up camp right there!
Irritated, he swam back toward the shore, acknowledging her as he passed. Seeing his irritation, she grasped what had happened; it had happened before! She knew he wouldn't say anything - he'd just stride purposefully out of the water and gather up their things and then find another place for them, pointedly plonking them down, all the time thinking "Why should we have to move? We were here first!" She watched him do exactly that and prepared her best sympathetic face as he swam equally purposefully towards her. As he neared, their non-verbal communication consisted of his irritated face as he made more of an issue out of the situation than was really necessary, and hers empathising with his plight and soothing, calming: "I know, love!"
As a matter of course he had assessed the "raider's" threat level as he had approached (Grays - huh, not even worth bothering with - like Hellions!), and dismissively treated them with the contempt they deserved ("if they start anything, hey, I won't even need any powers to deal with them!") - this was all testosterone-fuelled bluster and bravado, of course, and by the time he'd swam back to her, it was all but forgotten about.
They spent an hour or so in the water, sometimes diving under the surface, sometimes taking snapshots with a single-use underwater camera they'd brought. He left the water for the warmth of the shore - and the heat of the sun - whilst she did some last-minute fish-spotting in the shallows. The two bikini-clad "Hellions" were stretched out under their parasol, and he pointedly ignored them.
The scenery was gorgeous; clear blue sky, deep blue sea made a luscious turquoise where there were patches of sand under the surface of the water. All manner of water craft were evident here, from pedalos and rented kayaks right up to huge luxurious yachts. They seemed so substantial too, not like those he regularly saw in Independence Port which were virtually intangible by comparison. Whilst patrolling Independence Port, flying just above the water's surface, he had failed to notice a small yacht heading straight for him until much too late - or so he'd thought. He had instinctively tensed his muscles and adopted a defensive crouching position which must have looked quite comical hovering as he was a couple of feet above the surface. Certain that there would be no chance of avoiding a collision, he braced for the impact...
... which never came. When he opened his eyes the boat was sailing away from him, evidently having missed by the narrowest of margins. He'd silently saluted the piloting skills of the craft's skipper and continued on his way, but much later he'd reasoned that there had been no sense of a massive object narrowly missing him, as one would expect.
On another occasion, in Talos this time, he'd followed a larger vessel and decided to land on it for fun and give the owners a thrill. But as he'd lowered one foot down onto the deck he was startled to see it disappear into the deck as easily as if it were made of balsa wood! He'd jerked the foot back and as no-one aboard seemed aware of his presence as yet, he changed course and flew away from the craft. Very heroic! He'd blamed his momentum and a side effect of his powers for the accident, and also justified his faux pas by telling himself that the deck of the boat mustn't have been very substantial: a great paint job, but paper thin!
He passed her the towel as she reached "base camp", and they sat in the rays of that unyielding sun for a short time, soaking up the rays and the views. Gradually, baseball caps, sunglasses, then sun cream, and finally their tops and shorts were deemed necessary protection and were replaced. They never lay about in that harsh sunlight for very long.
Next: food. All manner of snacks and full meals were available from the small beach bars and tavernas. Back home it seemed all a hero "on the go" could ever grab to eat was either a burger or a hotdog. Okay, these seemed readily available in even the unlikeliest of places, such as in underground caverns or in besieged office complexes, and were so reasonably priced as to seem virtually free, but lacked real substance. It seemed one could munch on one of those burgers for minutes at a time; they never tasted of much, and never seemed to get any smaller! "Junk food!" he smiled to himself.
"Fancy a hotdog? A burger?" He jokingly posed the question anticipating her response, which as expected was a screwed up face, a pulled out tongue and a brisk shake of the head, her locks adhering together due to the salty water. Actually you could get a nice burger here, with "everything" on it - a breakfast in a bun. They had bought these in the past, but tended to choose omelette instead, again filled with "everything", yet it seemed a more healthy choice, somehow, which suited her. He didn't care just as long as it tasted delicious - and fortunately, just about everything they ordered here tasted exactly that.
He packed up their things and after a quick check to ensure they hadn't forgotten anything they headed back up the dirt track to the coastal road. They headed for a waterfront bar in a nearby bay where the omelettes were good and the beer was served in large iced tankards. From their vantage point they surveyed the beach, packed uncomfortably with holidaymakers of all manner of shapes, sizes, nationalities, and states of undress. Very young sunseekers frolicked in the shallows like Rikti monkeys. Some even physically resembled Rikti monkeys! Mercifully, there was no trace of anyone with reptilian skin or bestial legs. Back in Paragon a gathering of this magnitude all in such close proximity would certainly evoke a Rikti incursion, he mused as he ate. His eyes wandered skyward; clear blue skies, a trace of wispy cloud stubbornly clinging to the high craggy mountains - oh, and a parachute holding a lucky reveller aloft, dreaming of the power of flight (or at least hovering) as it was towed by a speedboat - but no dropships signalling a Rikti bombing run, and no sign of any invasive activity.
Also, despite the claustrophobic mass of people, there was no sign of anyone leaping high into the air and freezing motionless before rematerialising on the ground and claiming to have been affected by some form of time lapse - or "lag" as they were now calling it - which seemed to be an increasingly frequent occurrence back home.
She was looking at him questioningly. "Just thinking!" he responded to her mute inquiry. He smiled and finished his brunch by downing the last of his cold beer, now a few degrees warmer due to the heat of the environment. Paying was often problematic, as the waiters seemed embarrassed to present a bill. After settling up, they left to return to their apartment.
A cooling shower and a siesta was the next order of business. He let her shower first, and drank some chilled water fresh from the fridge. He loved to shower after walking in the intense heat, which his body seemed to store up like some kind of solar battery. When he stepped under the cool jets of water it always amazed him how his hot head heated the water so it ran warm down his back.
After their shower and a short snooze she invited him to come for a dip in the swimming pool, which he declined. When you can swim in that huge blue sea amongst all the fish, the pool never held any appeal for him, other than to cool off if they were seated at the poolside reading, sunbathing or enjoying a drink. Besides, it would mean greasing up with sun cream again, and he was feeling clean and refreshed from the shower he'd had earlier. She mouthed her disappointment, snatched up a towel and headed for the sound of children playing enthusiastically in the water.
He moved through the nets onto the patio, shaded from the sun by the building now that it was late afternoon. He took a cold drink and his camera out with him and watched from their balcony as she entered the water. He knew she'd be slightly irritated by the numbers of children playing with large inflatables in the hourglass shaped pool, as ideally she liked to swim length after length; the revellers made this activity virtually impossible. He smiled inwardly and took a few shots of her as she made a few futile attempts to backstroke a length of the pool without hitting anything, then he returned to his drink.
Sitting at the plastic table, he surveyed the surroundings. High craggy rock formations abounded, at once arid due to the intense heat and rendered green by the vast expanses of olive trees and tall spiking firs. Martens flew through the air catching insects, their aerial manoeuvrability immeasurably superior to his own. Occasionally seeing an opening in the hordes of people, one would swoop down and in a single movement would take either a drink from the pool or an unfortunate bug caught on its surface. Their eccentric activity made her smile up at him, and he grinned back.
As he idly sipped at the chilled lemon drink he watched the people moving along the coastal road. Often couples and groups would be forced to walk in single file due to the lack of sidewalks, and it struck him that this too reminded him of the way the citizens tended to move in Paragon: in long single file columns. From above they often resembled ants, regimented as if following the dictates of a collective consciousness. More likely they were each too wrapped up in their own activities to notice, he thought dismissively. He sighed contentedly and sat back in his seat. A place like this gives you that time to reflect and take stock. What was missing from this picture? Lowry-esque thugs pulling at the tourists' beach bags every couple of hundred yards, and no-one shouting "I need a hero!" as they are set upon by multiple assailants.
He stirred from his reverie as he heard the telltale shuffle of her flip-flops below him, her reflexive cough as she left the water behind her. He moved back inside, to fill the kettle. She would no doubt be requiring tea again fairly soon, which meant a return bout with that damned kettle!
In fact the tea-making passed without incident on this occasion, and he made himself another coffee with honey, and they both drank their beverages sitting at their patio table where she joined him in watching the world go by.
Jutting out from the lush green carpet of olive groves were many brightly-coloured buildings (some were tavernas or hotels, some were mini-markets, and a few were private residences) and a number of wooden telegraph poles suspending cables above the coastal road. The ones in front of their apartment bore five such cables, which put him in mind of a musical stave. When the martens perched on these wires it amused him to internalise the melody their little round bodies "spelt out" in staff notation (usually it was something in E minor or G major).
Time passed, and she went inside to "put her face on" for going out in the evening. He remained at the table, left to his musings as she busied herself in the bathroom, at the wardrobe, and finally at the dressing table. The sound of the hairdryer clicking off was his cue to move inside, as he could get himself ready in the time it took her to make herself look stunning. His own change of clothes comprised an alternative pair of shorts and another top, but he had to shave and give his hair a quick comb for appearances sake. He checked their money, ensuring they had enough currency to pay for whatever they might need tonight, locked up their apartment and headed out into the approaching dusk.
Cocktails preceded the evening meal, and they headed for a lovely cocktail bar situated in a crag down at sea level. Here, decking had been erected and shored up on either side of the crack in the rocks, creating a beautiful grotto to sit and stare into whilst you sipped your drinks. The drinks were a little more expensive here but the idyllic setting made it seem worthwhile. The grotto was a rocky staircase into the blue sea and the centrepiece was a large crag jutting up out of the small jagged bay, topped by a single olive tree. As darkness fell, floodlights above and below the waterline illuminated the grotto; if you were lucky you could see the fish swimming by, attracted by the lights. They sipped their drinks and chatted about nothing in particular until they decided it was time to go for something to eat. A nice restraunt provided his favourite Greek style stuffed tomato and green pepper, followed by swordfish. She chose a tomato salad followed by a chicken souvlaki kebab, and both quaffed red wine with their meal, after which he ordered baklava, a sweet nutty greek pastry soaked in syrup, while she could manage no more.
On the way back to their temporary hideaway they stopped to gaze up at the stars. Devoid of the light pollution to which they were accustomed back in Paragon City, the ink-black sky was awash with stars and constellations, some familiar, others definitely not. He made out Orion, the three stars which made up Orion's belt a give-away. Cassiopeia was up the somewhere, a Goddess who gave her name to one of the northern resorts on Corfu. The Plough was evident here too, in a different orientation than they might normally expect, due to their alternative positioning on the globe. Back home they were lucky to make out the North Star!
He looked at the less familiar constellations and wondered from which part of the infinite galaxy the damned Rikti came from. Could he possibly form a team from his Super Group and their co-aligned Groups, and set off into space to take the fight back to the damned aliens? What an adventure that would be, and he could easily name seven or eight of his like-minded colleagues (not to mention some others he'd recently worked with who might in different circumstances be thought of as villains) who would jump at the chance to help turn the tables in this way. But as she looked at him gazing off into space, he decided to keep that particular pipe dream to himself.
"It's sure a beautiful night!" he said instead, and offered her his hand. They walked back along the coastal road hand in hand, except for when they were forced to break ranks for the odd kamikaze moped rider hurtling past.
They reached the apartment complex and decided to forego the pool bar, churning out loud "boppy" music and headed up to their rooms. Unlocking the door, they kept the lights off until they were inside so as to discourage any "unwelcome visitors". Once inside he turned on the bathroom light so they could partially illuminate the apartment without inviting the world without to stare in at them. The nets remained closed, but the French windows were open, allowing easy access to the balcony. They changed into more comfortable (scruffy) shorts and tops, and he prepared night-caps for them to sip beneath the stars gazing down on the poolside hubbub still in progress.
Before too long they'd be back to his schizophrenic lifestyle, she coping with her job and homelife, he doing the same in addition to fighting crime and defending against alien invasions. But for the moment they had a respite and some extra time to devote to each other, so they finished their drinks and turned in.
No doubt tomorrow would be another lovely sunny day in Corfu.
A Postcard From Corfu
The hot sun shone mercilessly on the white marble tiles, super-heating them to the point where they would sear your bare foot if you were careless enough to step onto the patio thus unprotected. The harsh sunlight reflected up onto the net curtains, causing them to glow, transferring the illumination into the quiet bedroom. Inside, he stirred. Morning had arrived.
Cautiously he opened one eye. When he wasn't blinded by the light beaming from the radiant curtain as he might have subconsciously feared, he adjudged it safe to follow suit with the other. Okay, it was a bit bright; another lovely sunny day on the island of Corfu.
He stretched, his muscular legs reaching out along the firm mattress, his toes pointing and his feet extending. He rolled over to the side of the bed nearest the window, cautious not to aggravate those patches of flesh rendered tender by that merciless sun. He lowered his feet onto the tiled floor and got up from the bed.
First task of the day: make tea. He always drank coffee in the mornings; the tea was for her. There she lay, slumbering peacefully, blissfully unaware he had instigated the day's events. He found a bottle of water and half-filled the kettle. He put the plug into the electrical socket and silently prayed to whatever Greek deity had taken responsibility for fixtures and fittings before flicking the switch. The circuit-breaker kicked in, deactivating the apartment's electricity in open defiance to his prayer. He vocalised an expletive to no-one in particular, removed the lead from the kettle, opened the circuit-breaker cover, reset it, then jiggled the lead, hoping centrifugal force might remove whatever moisture or other phenomenon might be causing the quirky contraption to malfunction this time.
This ritual only needed to be performed twice this particular morning before he was able to prepare the beverages; tea for her, and coffee for himself, his mug first filled with enough honey to cover its base, then a spoonful of instant, then boiling water from the kettle over the mixture, then over the tea bag in the other mug, a brief agitation of each concoction with the teaspoon before adding the milk and stirring.
"Here you are, darling!" He placed the brew where she would find it, then drew aside the net curtains before opening the French windows, gaining access to the patio. Outside the two chairs and plastic table awaited, and he very nearly fell for it. Fresh mug of coffee and honey in one hand, his right foot swung forward. Just before he placed it onto the white marble, something stopped him. Transferring his weight onto that foot would have caused severe pain as the sole would be brought into contact with the heat of the sun, which the marble tile had been storing up for a good few hours.
"Wimp!" He chastised himself as he performed a balancing act he had practised during the week, inserting his feet into his leather open-toe sandals without spilling a drop of his freshly-brewed coffee.
He moved through the nets onto the patio. The heat of the sun hit him with the force of a blast furnace, or so it seemed. He flopped down into the left-hand chair, the bottom of his mug making contact with the table at the precise moment his own connected with his seat. And the view!
Ahead of him the bay stretched out, framed in green from the lush vegetation which rightly earned this island the top spot in the "green table" of Greek isle holiday destinations. The beautiful blue sky whose reflection imbued the sea with its lush azure seemed particularly vivid this morning - as it had each morning hitherto.
He took a sip of his coffee. Ah, that hit the spot; the sweetness of the honey counteracting any bitterness from the coffee. Looking out across the bay, he could see the Hotel Poseidon jutting out from the lush greenery. They would be heading past it later in the day on the way to one of the resort's beautiful bays in order to spend the day swimming and snorkelling, catching rays and glimpses of the iridescent fish that frequented the coral and underwater rock formations they encountered on their aquatic excursions. Back home, of course, he'd have merely to focus on the hotel and soar effortlessly into the air, intuitively aware of the intervening distance as he approached, or would simply surge along the dusty road, virtually unnoticed by the passers-by, despite the telltale golden glow beneath his feet as he travelled at super speed towards his destination.
Not this week, though. Part of their unwritten agreement was that he was not to use any of his "special abilities" whilst they were on holiday as "Mr. and Mrs. Joe Normal". And he owed her that much; she put up with so much from him back in Paragon City, out until all hours keeping the peace. It wasn't as if there was no-one else to do the job; these days it seemed as if the city were full of heroes! Still, a man's gotta do...
And she put up with it, his single-handedly righting the wrongs of the evildoers, or lending his might to inept but well meaning lesser heroes inadvertently putting her man at risk in awkward and unviable team situations.
But this week, this was for them: her team; her man and herself. And none of his "special abilities" were to be allowed. He owed her that much (and a whole lot more, if the truth were known!)
He sighed inwardly, and this time swigged a more substantial slug of coffee. It wasn't as if his "abilities" would be likely to be required here anyway! He couldn't envisage a swarm of malevolent Rikti showing up to cause trouble at Stavro's Bar and Grill - although to him it seemed they might stand a better chance of understanding the menus! Hell, the name of this resort seemed unpronounceable to him, and not too far removed from the sort of appellation a Rikti might choose as a kind of "personal name". They must have them, mustn't they?
His coffee was by now cool enough to drink normally, so he took a gulp before getting up to check on his beloved, still in the bedroom. Her bed was empty, the single white cotton sheet crumpled where it had been discarded. The awakening process had begun. Satisfied, he returned to the patio and his coffee.
He had encountered new Rikti incarnations in Paragon since the invasion had begun; Priests, for example, more individual than their brethren. They were obviously developing a hierarchy comprising distinct identities. Paragon, it seemed, was rubbing off on them. Serves 'em right for invading!
The invasion. He wondered how things were going back home. Were the damned Rikti still persevering with their indiscriminate attacks despite being beaten back by swarms of eager heroes in each and every encounter? Or had his colleagues finally gained the upper hand and sent the aliens packing once and for all? Of course that would be great, but still a part of him would feel sorry not to have been helping with those final decisive victories.
His regular team-mates had assured him that they would be able to handle things whilst he took his well-earned and much-needed vacation, and of course he trusted them with the task, but he was supposed to be their leader. Bunking off in the middle of an alien invasion for some "R 'n' R"? What kind of example did that set? Still, as they had argued, there's never a good time to leave Paragon; there's always something going on. You're always needed and you're always made to feel indispensable. Everyone needs a little downtime, even founder members of groups of Superheroes.
A noise from the bedroom announced movement therein. He sighed, this latest bout with guilt over for now. Draining the last of the coffee from his mug, he rose and headed back inside. His neck and shoulders had begun to "glow", due to their unprotected exposure to the burning sun.
Another lovely sunny day on the island of Corfu.
Once inside, he showered and applied himself to the task of "oiling up" in a futile attempt to defend his skin against that brutal sun. At the beginning of the holiday they had both used the highest protection sun cream; now he had graduated to one which boasted half that strength. Well, their two weeks was coming to an end and he thought it might be nice to sport a little colouring on his return.
He greased up his neck, shoulders, arms and legs as usual, those parts of his body that wouldn't be covered by the shorts and vest which passed as beachwear. On request he liberally applied the higher factor sun block to her back, then packed a beach bag whilst she finished getting ready.
They typically hit the beach first, preferring to let the cooling swim revitalise themselves before bothering about brunch. The resort boasted at least four nice bays in which to swim; each offered good satisfying snorkelling and a nice setting for sunbathing - not that either of them were particularly interested in that; eleven days into the holiday and neither of them showed any more than some light honey colouring due to the sun.
The bays were all a short walk away, however, and as he locked the studio apartment behind them and they set off, he was happy to forego his travel abilities, content just to amble along with her. Some of the coastal roads they walked along could be quite treacherous, devoid as they were of footpaths, and they occasionally needed to stop to let oncoming traffic (usually kamikaze mopeds) pass by. Other holidaymakers also travelled the coastal route; bronzed Adonises and bikini-clad lovelies of various nationalities, all eager to annexe their own section of beach for the day. He resisted the urge to glance above their heads for an indication of their name, alliance or group affiliation; over here people weren't as easy to "read" as they were back home.
They turned away from the coastal road, and down the familiar sloping dirt track. When they stepped onto the shingle beach their sandal clad feet sank into the stones before finding purchase. Cautiously they traversed the shingle to a place they had used as a base earlier in the week. They exchanged their sandals for plastic beach shoes to protect their feet from the stones and jagged rocks. Stripping down to their swimwear, they marked their territory with a towel which also helped to afford the beach bag some protection from the burning sun. They donned their masks and snorkels as they stepped into the sea (in this context it was permissible for him to "don his mask" and it made a nice change for her to wear a mask too, although the irony was no doubt lost on her).
Once in the cool water, the stones were replaced by larger rocks, often made slippery by the seaweed. As soon as he had waded in far enough for the water to support his body, he thrust forward along the surface, immersing his face in the water, the visor allowing a clear view of the sea bed, fish, stones, weed and rocks, magnified by the water, and the snorkel enabling him to breathe without necessarily turning his head. Behind him, his partner took more time slipping into the water as she didn't trust the slippery rocks underfoot.
As he swam out along the surface of the water he was impressed by the view of the fish and other sights of the sea bed, which now appeared to draw away from him as the water deepened. He imagined his movements to be more graceful, his body cooled by the clear blue water and held aloft by it - as if he were flying above that same sea bed!
She had by now safely entered the water behind him and was swimming out to him. Behind her, he could see a group of bronzed holidaymakers setting up their parasol and laying down their towels exactly where his own was still lying! Typical! They had the whole beach to choose from and they decide to set up camp right there!
Irritated, he swam back toward the shore, acknowledging her as he passed. Seeing his irritation, she grasped what had happened; it had happened before! She knew he wouldn't say anything - he'd just stride purposefully out of the water and gather up their things and then find another place for them, pointedly plonking them down, all the time thinking "Why should we have to move? We were here first!" She watched him do exactly that and prepared her best sympathetic face as he swam equally purposefully towards her. As he neared, their non-verbal communication consisted of his irritated face as he made more of an issue out of the situation than was really necessary, and hers empathising with his plight and soothing, calming: "I know, love!"
As a matter of course he had assessed the "raider's" threat level as he had approached (Grays - huh, not even worth bothering with - like Hellions!), and dismissively treated them with the contempt they deserved ("if they start anything, hey, I won't even need any powers to deal with them!") - this was all testosterone-fuelled bluster and bravado, of course, and by the time he'd swam back to her, it was all but forgotten about.
They spent an hour or so in the water, sometimes diving under the surface, sometimes taking snapshots with a single-use underwater camera they'd brought. He left the water for the warmth of the shore - and the heat of the sun - whilst she did some last-minute fish-spotting in the shallows. The two bikini-clad "Hellions" were stretched out under their parasol, and he pointedly ignored them.
The scenery was gorgeous; clear blue sky, deep blue sea made a luscious turquoise where there were patches of sand under the surface of the water. All manner of water craft were evident here, from pedalos and rented kayaks right up to huge luxurious yachts. They seemed so substantial too, not like those he regularly saw in Independence Port which were virtually intangible by comparison. Whilst patrolling Independence Port, flying just above the water's surface, he had failed to notice a small yacht heading straight for him until much too late - or so he'd thought. He had instinctively tensed his muscles and adopted a defensive crouching position which must have looked quite comical hovering as he was a couple of feet above the surface. Certain that there would be no chance of avoiding a collision, he braced for the impact...
... which never came. When he opened his eyes the boat was sailing away from him, evidently having missed by the narrowest of margins. He'd silently saluted the piloting skills of the craft's skipper and continued on his way, but much later he'd reasoned that there had been no sense of a massive object narrowly missing him, as one would expect.
On another occasion, in Talos this time, he'd followed a larger vessel and decided to land on it for fun and give the owners a thrill. But as he'd lowered one foot down onto the deck he was startled to see it disappear into the deck as easily as if it were made of balsa wood! He'd jerked the foot back and as no-one aboard seemed aware of his presence as yet, he changed course and flew away from the craft. Very heroic! He'd blamed his momentum and a side effect of his powers for the accident, and also justified his faux pas by telling himself that the deck of the boat mustn't have been very substantial: a great paint job, but paper thin!
He passed her the towel as she reached "base camp", and they sat in the rays of that unyielding sun for a short time, soaking up the rays and the views. Gradually, baseball caps, sunglasses, then sun cream, and finally their tops and shorts were deemed necessary protection and were replaced. They never lay about in that harsh sunlight for very long.
Next: food. All manner of snacks and full meals were available from the small beach bars and tavernas. Back home it seemed all a hero "on the go" could ever grab to eat was either a burger or a hotdog. Okay, these seemed readily available in even the unlikeliest of places, such as in underground caverns or in besieged office complexes, and were so reasonably priced as to seem virtually free, but lacked real substance. It seemed one could munch on one of those burgers for minutes at a time; they never tasted of much, and never seemed to get any smaller! "Junk food!" he smiled to himself.
"Fancy a hotdog? A burger?" He jokingly posed the question anticipating her response, which as expected was a screwed up face, a pulled out tongue and a brisk shake of the head, her locks adhering together due to the salty water. Actually you could get a nice burger here, with "everything" on it - a breakfast in a bun. They had bought these in the past, but tended to choose omelette instead, again filled with "everything", yet it seemed a more healthy choice, somehow, which suited her. He didn't care just as long as it tasted delicious - and fortunately, just about everything they ordered here tasted exactly that.
He packed up their things and after a quick check to ensure they hadn't forgotten anything they headed back up the dirt track to the coastal road. They headed for a waterfront bar in a nearby bay where the omelettes were good and the beer was served in large iced tankards. From their vantage point they surveyed the beach, packed uncomfortably with holidaymakers of all manner of shapes, sizes, nationalities, and states of undress. Very young sunseekers frolicked in the shallows like Rikti monkeys. Some even physically resembled Rikti monkeys! Mercifully, there was no trace of anyone with reptilian skin or bestial legs. Back in Paragon a gathering of this magnitude all in such close proximity would certainly evoke a Rikti incursion, he mused as he ate. His eyes wandered skyward; clear blue skies, a trace of wispy cloud stubbornly clinging to the high craggy mountains - oh, and a parachute holding a lucky reveller aloft, dreaming of the power of flight (or at least hovering) as it was towed by a speedboat - but no dropships signalling a Rikti bombing run, and no sign of any invasive activity.
Also, despite the claustrophobic mass of people, there was no sign of anyone leaping high into the air and freezing motionless before rematerialising on the ground and claiming to have been affected by some form of time lapse - or "lag" as they were now calling it - which seemed to be an increasingly frequent occurrence back home.
She was looking at him questioningly. "Just thinking!" he responded to her mute inquiry. He smiled and finished his brunch by downing the last of his cold beer, now a few degrees warmer due to the heat of the environment. Paying was often problematic, as the waiters seemed embarrassed to present a bill. After settling up, they left to return to their apartment.
A cooling shower and a siesta was the next order of business. He let her shower first, and drank some chilled water fresh from the fridge. He loved to shower after walking in the intense heat, which his body seemed to store up like some kind of solar battery. When he stepped under the cool jets of water it always amazed him how his hot head heated the water so it ran warm down his back.
After their shower and a short snooze she invited him to come for a dip in the swimming pool, which he declined. When you can swim in that huge blue sea amongst all the fish, the pool never held any appeal for him, other than to cool off if they were seated at the poolside reading, sunbathing or enjoying a drink. Besides, it would mean greasing up with sun cream again, and he was feeling clean and refreshed from the shower he'd had earlier. She mouthed her disappointment, snatched up a towel and headed for the sound of children playing enthusiastically in the water.
He moved through the nets onto the patio, shaded from the sun by the building now that it was late afternoon. He took a cold drink and his camera out with him and watched from their balcony as she entered the water. He knew she'd be slightly irritated by the numbers of children playing with large inflatables in the hourglass shaped pool, as ideally she liked to swim length after length; the revellers made this activity virtually impossible. He smiled inwardly and took a few shots of her as she made a few futile attempts to backstroke a length of the pool without hitting anything, then he returned to his drink.
Sitting at the plastic table, he surveyed the surroundings. High craggy rock formations abounded, at once arid due to the intense heat and rendered green by the vast expanses of olive trees and tall spiking firs. Martens flew through the air catching insects, their aerial manoeuvrability immeasurably superior to his own. Occasionally seeing an opening in the hordes of people, one would swoop down and in a single movement would take either a drink from the pool or an unfortunate bug caught on its surface. Their eccentric activity made her smile up at him, and he grinned back.
As he idly sipped at the chilled lemon drink he watched the people moving along the coastal road. Often couples and groups would be forced to walk in single file due to the lack of sidewalks, and it struck him that this too reminded him of the way the citizens tended to move in Paragon: in long single file columns. From above they often resembled ants, regimented as if following the dictates of a collective consciousness. More likely they were each too wrapped up in their own activities to notice, he thought dismissively. He sighed contentedly and sat back in his seat. A place like this gives you that time to reflect and take stock. What was missing from this picture? Lowry-esque thugs pulling at the tourists' beach bags every couple of hundred yards, and no-one shouting "I need a hero!" as they are set upon by multiple assailants.
It had become so commonplace in places like Atlas Park, it was easy to filter it out. He had to admit to being guilty - as were many others, he was certain - of almost subconsciously assessing the threat level of such undesirables as they went about their various nefarious activities, and dismissing them as unworthy of his attention, or as he preferred to think: "One of the new guys'll handle it - the experience'll do them good!" This smacked as being tantamount to dereliction of duty, when he actually stopped to think about it, but in a City full of Heroes, it was easy to become blasé about it. He had had this internal struggle before, and for a time he dealt with it by answering all calls for help, however trivial they might seem. This had meant all his time being taken up on "trifles" (although he sheepishly acknowledged that they probably didn't seem so to the victims), and had seriously affected his progress on his "cases". In the end he had decided to trust in the hierarchy of the City, and leave more trivial incidents to those with less experience. The adulation of those rescued citizens did still give him a buzz: " You're my new favourite hero!" - it was too easy to lose sight of that as you became more and more popular.
He stirred from his reverie as he heard the telltale shuffle of her flip-flops below him, her reflexive cough as she left the water behind her. He moved back inside, to fill the kettle. She would no doubt be requiring tea again fairly soon, which meant a return bout with that damned kettle!
In fact the tea-making passed without incident on this occasion, and he made himself another coffee with honey, and they both drank their beverages sitting at their patio table where she joined him in watching the world go by.
Jutting out from the lush green carpet of olive groves were many brightly-coloured buildings (some were tavernas or hotels, some were mini-markets, and a few were private residences) and a number of wooden telegraph poles suspending cables above the coastal road. The ones in front of their apartment bore five such cables, which put him in mind of a musical stave. When the martens perched on these wires it amused him to internalise the melody their little round bodies "spelt out" in staff notation (usually it was something in E minor or G major).
Time passed, and she went inside to "put her face on" for going out in the evening. He remained at the table, left to his musings as she busied herself in the bathroom, at the wardrobe, and finally at the dressing table. The sound of the hairdryer clicking off was his cue to move inside, as he could get himself ready in the time it took her to make herself look stunning. His own change of clothes comprised an alternative pair of shorts and another top, but he had to shave and give his hair a quick comb for appearances sake. He checked their money, ensuring they had enough currency to pay for whatever they might need tonight, locked up their apartment and headed out into the approaching dusk.
Cocktails preceded the evening meal, and they headed for a lovely cocktail bar situated in a crag down at sea level. Here, decking had been erected and shored up on either side of the crack in the rocks, creating a beautiful grotto to sit and stare into whilst you sipped your drinks. The drinks were a little more expensive here but the idyllic setting made it seem worthwhile. The grotto was a rocky staircase into the blue sea and the centrepiece was a large crag jutting up out of the small jagged bay, topped by a single olive tree. As darkness fell, floodlights above and below the waterline illuminated the grotto; if you were lucky you could see the fish swimming by, attracted by the lights. They sipped their drinks and chatted about nothing in particular until they decided it was time to go for something to eat. A nice restraunt provided his favourite Greek style stuffed tomato and green pepper, followed by swordfish. She chose a tomato salad followed by a chicken souvlaki kebab, and both quaffed red wine with their meal, after which he ordered baklava, a sweet nutty greek pastry soaked in syrup, while she could manage no more.
On the way back to their temporary hideaway they stopped to gaze up at the stars. Devoid of the light pollution to which they were accustomed back in Paragon City, the ink-black sky was awash with stars and constellations, some familiar, others definitely not. He made out Orion, the three stars which made up Orion's belt a give-away. Cassiopeia was up the somewhere, a Goddess who gave her name to one of the northern resorts on Corfu. The Plough was evident here too, in a different orientation than they might normally expect, due to their alternative positioning on the globe. Back home they were lucky to make out the North Star!
He looked at the less familiar constellations and wondered from which part of the infinite galaxy the damned Rikti came from. Could he possibly form a team from his Super Group and their co-aligned Groups, and set off into space to take the fight back to the damned aliens? What an adventure that would be, and he could easily name seven or eight of his like-minded colleagues (not to mention some others he'd recently worked with who might in different circumstances be thought of as villains) who would jump at the chance to help turn the tables in this way. But as she looked at him gazing off into space, he decided to keep that particular pipe dream to himself.
"It's sure a beautiful night!" he said instead, and offered her his hand. They walked back along the coastal road hand in hand, except for when they were forced to break ranks for the odd kamikaze moped rider hurtling past.
They reached the apartment complex and decided to forego the pool bar, churning out loud "boppy" music and headed up to their rooms. Unlocking the door, they kept the lights off until they were inside so as to discourage any "unwelcome visitors". Once inside he turned on the bathroom light so they could partially illuminate the apartment without inviting the world without to stare in at them. The nets remained closed, but the French windows were open, allowing easy access to the balcony. They changed into more comfortable (scruffy) shorts and tops, and he prepared night-caps for them to sip beneath the stars gazing down on the poolside hubbub still in progress.
Before too long they'd be back to his schizophrenic lifestyle, she coping with her job and homelife, he doing the same in addition to fighting crime and defending against alien invasions. But for the moment they had a respite and some extra time to devote to each other, so they finished their drinks and turned in.
No doubt tomorrow would be another lovely sunny day in Corfu.