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accomplishedIntroductions to some of the villains for The Team.
( Catalyst )
( The Rabbit )
( Uncle Boffo Makes a Deal )
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| Beyond the Borders of Dullness This way lies cynical apathy |
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( The Rabbit ) ( Uncle Boffo Makes a Deal )
A couple short pieces meant to set up for possible longer stories. “Good afternoon, Mr. Roptera.” I looked up from the press I had been reading to see a stunning blonde woman standing beside me. She was wearing a business suit that probably cost more than my car and was showing me a very professional smile. Tight mouthed and nothing that touched the eyes. “Chi. Please call me Chi, Miss?” I ask as I stand up. “Gona, Ms. Gona Mr. Rope..Chi,” she answers with a slight warming to her smile. “I'm Mrs. Aysnjar's assistant. If you would please follow me.” As we pass thru the front offices of Hallowed Word Records I try to pry some additional information about Ms. Gona's reclusive boss or her equally mysterious band mates. But she easily deflects my questions, moving our conversation back to my own work. As we come to one of the more private back office meeting rooms, I find myself telling her an amusing anecdote about my interview with Elton John just prior to his knighthood ceremony. She laughs, her blue eyes now sparkling, as I finish the story and then motions towards one of the couches against the wall. “Thank you for tale Mr, I'm sorry. Thank you Chi. But I'm afraid I'll have to leave you alone temporarily. Always more errands to run. But Mrs. Asynjur will be here shortly. It was a pleasure and perhaps we will meet again someday Chi,” she says with a bright grin as she heads out, closing the room's door behind her. As I wait I glance around the room. Nothing unusual here. Comfortable furniture. A conference table loaded with simple yet expensive refreshments. And walls loaded with framed photos and magazine covers that highlight the companies successes. I spot a '96 Spin cover that features my first cover story and move over to look at closer. As I look at my first major break I hear the door open behind me. “He's part of the reason I choose you for this, “ a commanding, yet sultry voice says. I turn and there she is. Frigga Asynjur. Front woman for the multi-platinum, 5 time Grammy winners Frigga & Her Handmaidens. Four statuesque blondes with angelic voices, mysterious origins and mythic names. Frigga (vocals), Saga (lead guitar), Eir the Healer (bass) and Gefion Grendelsdam (drums). They had appeared from nowhere as part of the '98 Lilith Fair and exploded onto the world music stage. Anywhere they choose to tour they could sell out concert halls and arenas. All four of their albums were chart toppers. And in those five years this would be the first interview any of them had ever agreed to do. “Mr. Roptera, I thank you for coming, “ she says. She moves to one of the couches and sits, and then gestures for me to take a seat near her. “Please, call me Chi. And let me thank you for this honor,” I answer as I perch on the edge of a couch and ready my notepad and pen. “No, I think it best to things at a formal level for the time,” she answers with only the tiniest of pauses. I hesitate for a moment and then smile at her. “Very well then Mrs. Aysnjar. I understand from the terms you've given for the interview that you won't answer questions about your family. Or those of your other band members. And any questions about you prior to '98 are off limits. So lets start with what you mentioned as you entered. You said it was my interview with Nathan Amos, the Goth, that led to picking me for this interview. Could you expand on that?” “Of course Mr. Roptera. Mr. Amos was part of our last American tour and I spoke with him several times about the piece you wrote on him. And he told me those what you left out. About his parentage. Though I must ask, did you omit those parts because you didn't believe him?” I pause again, caught somewhat off guard. After gathering my thoughts I reply. “I'm still unsure about what he told me. He was exceedingly drunk when he spoke about his parents. But that wasn't it. I met both Mr. Reznor and Ms. Amos back when I was first starting out, and Nathan does bear a resemblance to them both. But his tale was fairly far outside the norm. Even for a former teen cape. So I felt it best to only report on what I could prove for fact.” “So you don't believe in magik then Mr. Roptera?” I have to pause again, as I wonder how to take back control of the interview. “I wouldn't say that. I've been backstage during several of Lady Mandrake's shows. And I was in Evergreen City during the '96 Fomorian attacks. I've definitely seen enough to make Nathan's explanation for the disappearances of Ms. Amos and Mr. Reznor in '94 at least slightly plausible. But you can't verify magik explanations for things, and I won't run what I can't confirm.” Frigga taps her finger against her lips and I wonder if I've blow the interview. I also notice how full and red her lips are and how pale and clear her skin is. Like shining ice. But then she speaks again. “That is good to know. So ask your next question Mr. Roptera.” I shuffle my notes without really looking at them. Any questions that delve into her interest in magik will likely involve her past, which is off limits. Best to stick with another musical query for now. “Your two most popular songs are both from your first album, Shaking the World Tree. What was the inspiration behind 'Wolves at the Doors' and 'Golden Boughs Bend Low'?” She smiles wide then and leans forward as she answers. “The first song is a warning Mr. Roptera. A dark time is coming. One spoken of by the stories and sacred texts of many cultures and faiths. Armageddon, the Tandava Nritya, the Apocalypse,” and here she hesitates, “Ragnarök. The song is a warning to humanity. To call them away from further swelling the forces of evil.” She pauses to take a drink from a metal cup. And where did that come from I have to wonder silently. “The second song is one of hope. That the Final Winter does not have to be true to its name. That Spring can still follow and the normal cycle of life may continue. To remain steadfast and not give in to despair and fear.” I hesitate before asking another question. I'm unsure again where to go next. But I finally decide to simply follow my instincts. “Is that why you decided to do this interview? To clarify the warning and message of those songs?” With my question she smiles again and stands before answering. “Saga was indeed right. You are a clever and worthy man. A true skald. This Summer's coming European tour will be our final one. And now I must go.” She then begins walking back to the door, but there she pauses, half in and out of the room. “But I am certain we shall meet again. My husband's hall needs warriors. But Fensalir, dear Chi, needs men and women of strong hearts and clever minds.” And with that final cryptic remark she leaves. Since that brief interview and then the band's vanishing after their '05 tour I've gone back and done more research into Norse myth. I never found anything on Gona, but there is a Gna, a messenger of Frigga. And Fensalir was Frigga's “Marsh Hall”, a place of crafts and learning. I also find the title of their final album Gullinkambi: the Golden Comb. Its the name of the rooster of Asgard that wakens their warriors and warns of the coming of Ragnarök. And as Fall draws to a close I wait for the coming Winter and wonder... “Its a circle. It circles and spins and turns and shrinks and breaks all fall down.” The young child continued to mutter apparent nonsense. His body was caked with sweat and filth. His eyes stared..elsewhere as he rested his head in the woman's lap. She petted his matted scalp and glanced up at the cloaked figure. “More?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of an East European accent. The figure nodded in reply. “I'm sorry baby darling. But we need more. Keep looking. Look again for mama ,” she whispered to him as the child shook his head in negation. “Please baby try again. Try again for mama.” The child stared blankly ahead as tears streamed down his face. “Round it goes. Round and round. All break down. Sheds it's skin. Starts again. Round and round and round.” The child's body convulsed and shook as the woman held him down. “Keep going baby. Keep going. Just a little longer,” she pled as she choked back to tears. “Round and round! All around the mulberry bush! Monkey chased the weasel!” the child screamed now and spat out flecks of blood. “Monkey thought 'twas all in fun? All! In! Fun!” The child now gasped each word as his nails dug into his hands and drew blood. His body arced and bent wildly. The woman looked up, tears now flowed freely down her face. She tried to silently plead with the cloaked figure. But it simply shook it's head in negation. The woman continued to weep and spoke again to the child. “More little,” she asked as she choked back sobs, “just a little more for mama. You are so strong, so brave. A little more.” “all in fun...but pop...goes the weasel, “ the child whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the snapping of his own arm bones flapped against the ground. “round and round and round. Fire and flood and rot and cold. Born again to eat its tail. Round and round and round and round...”. With those final gasped words the child's body bent again, almost in half. Blood leaked from his eyes and nose and between his clenched teeth. Then with a final twitch he lay still. The woman caressed his head and looked up at the figure. “Did you get enough? Was it worth it?” she asked, her voice flat and cold, tears still falling down to land on the child's slack face. “Yes Magda,” the figure replied as it turned and began to walk away. “You teach your children well. Perhaps we will be prepared this time thanks to your sacrifice.” The woman simply held the small body and continued to weep.
The Team evolved out of the terribly named and written Fairly Interesting Super-Heroes (F.I.S.H.). Only SpiffyMan kept his name and general Superman e-trope concept. The generic name simply came from my inability to come up with a decent name that fit the general "parody" setting of SuperGuy. And I still haven't finished a decent version of Introduction: Dr. Nifty The Nifty’s of New Neoppollis City, a respectable old-money family whose wealth and influence had helped to build the city. A family of idle wealth and political power. Work and labor were for the lesser classes; the ones without trust funds and land holdings. The lesser classes and the family black sheep. Eric Nifty, who could trace his family line back through fifteen generations of gadabouts and dilettantes. And the first in memory to do more than coast through a token college education. Eric Nifty, who used his inheritance to gain multiple doctorates in the fields of Esoteric Science and Weird Physics by the age of twenty-four. And who then went sold several patents to establish his wealth independent of his family. Wealth that he used to build his own extravagant home away from the family compound. And now Dr. Nifty waited at the gates of his home for the arrival of his attorney and friend, John Idle. It was time to advance his plan to the next stage. Introduction: ColorClash Alice runs in a panic thru the alleys of Oldtownsvilleburg. She stumbles along, crashing into piles of trash and debris. Her glazed eyes dart around as she looks for someplace to hide. Someplace safe. She’s given up on yelling for help and is concentrating totally on simply fleeing. Turning another corner she comes to a stop. The alleyway she’s turned into dead-ends at a brick wall. “No, no,” she mutters as she pulls on the rusty iron doors facing the back court. But all of them are securely locked. Alice collapses to her knees and begins sobbing as hears footsteps run up behind her. “You shouldn’t have run bitch. Now we’ll have to take our time, “ a harsh voice says. Alice flinches as a large, rough hand grabs her shoulder. A second figure moves in front of her chuckling. “Now sweetie just relax and this won’t be so awful. I’m sure you’ll even enjoy it a little, “ the second man says as he grabs a hold of her chin. Alice jerks her head away and tries to lunge back to her feet. But the first man pushes down on her shoulders, keeping her on her knees. “Please, please, please, “ she pleads softly, tears streaming down her face. “See Charley, she’s begging for it already, “ the second man says with a grin. Charley laughs as he shoves Alice forward, sending her sprawling to the ground. “I’m going first Tom, “ Charley grunts, as he fumbles with his belt, “no way I want your sloppy seconds.” Tom merely nods and looks down at the weeping Alice as Charley reaches for her. “Let her go!” Tom and Charley turn around and see that someone has come to aid the young woman. He looks to be a young man in his late teens wearing a grey trench coat. His dark brown hair is tied back in a ponytail and his face is partially covered by a simple black domino mask. “Its some punk wanna-be cape, “ Tom snarls as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a folding knife. Charley grunts as he begins clenching his fists. Both men tense up as they prepare to attack the kid hero. But before either can act a strange glow surrounds the young man. The glow flickers between various colors as it looms up behind the youth. As the kid steps forward the two thugs step backwards, almost instinctively. They exchange worried looks and turn back to the hero. As they do the young hero’s glowing aura snaps forward, shifting colors more intensely. It washes over the pair of would-be rapists, who momentarily vanish beneath it. And then it snaps back, leaving the two curled up in fetal positions on the ground. Tom only manages to make weak mewling sounds, while Charley whispers about “plaids” and “the colors”. “Miss, “ the young hero says quietly, “its ok. They can’t hurt you now.” Alice struggles to her feet and sees the condition of her would-be attackers. Still crying she clutches at the masked teen. “Thank you, “ she manages to stammer out, “thank you.” “Don’t…I mean only doing my duty ma’am,” the hero says nervously, “C’mon, let me get you somewhere safer.” “But who are you?” Alice asks as they leave the dead-end. “Just call me Color Clash, “ the hero replies. Introduction: SpiffyMan The 1st International Bank of World Commerce. Inside can be heard screams and the occasional gunshot. A trio of masked men rushes out, carrying duffel bags and sub-machine guns. They quickly pile into a waiting care, where a fourth masked man sits behind the wheel. “Go! Go!” one shouts. In response the driver merely points ahead, where SpiffyMan can be seen floating above the hood of the car. “Surrender now foolish criminals, for you are no match for,” SpiffyMan begins to say. But one of the thieves responds by opening fire thru the windshield, cutting off the Ponderous One. “Tsk, tsk,” SpiffyMan says, wagging his finger as the 9mm rounds of the SMG flatten against his sculpted abs. SpiffyMan’s eyes glow briefly and the gun of the trigger-happy crook glows and warps out of shape. The other robbers, knowing themselves outmatched, quickly surrender to the Man of Might. As the thieves pile out of their car, hands laced behind their heads, the police begin to arrive. As numerous squad cars pull up, SpiffyMan floats up several more feet. “Once again, let evil-doers beware. For the weed of crime bears a bitter fruit. And truly, those stray from the path of Right and Decency shall learn…” Seemingly oblivious to the rolled eyes and groans of cop and crook alike SpiffyMan continues on with his monologue. As the last bank robber is hauled away SpiffyMan nods to the police, salutes them and flies off. “I know the guy is effective, “ one of the beat cops mentions to his partner, “but why can’t he ever just shut up?” “Tell me about it,” the trigger-happy robber mutters from the back of one of the squad cars. Introduction: Rabid Wombat “You ripped off the wrong people Aussie.” Jeromy turned around on the bar stool and looked up at the person who had spoken. It was a tall black man, cloaked in a trench coat with a beat up Raiders cap pulled low over his face. The gleam of metal could be seen at his wrists and neck and the coat bulged in the back as if he was wearing a heavy pack. “You speaking tome pal?” Jeromy asked. A rhetorical question given how empty the dive bar was this early in the day. “You bet your ass. The toy's owner wants it back. Hand it over and I won't have to hurt you. Much.” “Sorry mate. But I'm still lost in the woods here.” “Cut the crap Bunyip. This sad ass disguise don't fool me. Just give up now before I bring the pain.” “'Fraid you've got the wrong Australian mask kid. Now scat let me enjoy my drink in peace.” Jeromy turned back to the bar, dismissing the whole thing. “Don't turn you back on me!” With that yell the man reached over and slapped Jeromy's beer off the counter to smash on the ground. With a sudden growl Jeromy dropped off the stool and then side-kicked his harasser into a nearby table. “You got a name kid? I like to know whose ass I'm delivering a beat down to,” Jeromy said thru clenched and unusually pointed teeth. At the same time he flexed his hands and his fingers lengthened and grew...sharper. The man stood up from the wreckage of the table and tossed aside his coat and hat. He revealed a slim body sheathed in gleaming silver metal. As Jeromy watched more metal folded out to cover the rest of the man's head and hands. And then the hands continued fold out, as they morphed into large metal pincer claws. “You can call me Scorpio Killah, Bunyip. And thank you for picking the hard way.” Jeromy tensed up briefly as he studied his opponent's upgrade. But he smiled as he responded, “I keep telling you fuck-wit you picked the wrong guy. The handle is Rabid Wombat. A name you can dwell on while I deliver your scrap punk ass to the junk yard.” With the trash talk out of the way, Rabid Wombat sprung forward, claws aimed at Scorpio's throat. But the cyborg unleashed a whip like tail that caught the Australian in mid-leap. Scorpio then shifted his hip and flung Rabid Wombat hard against the wall of the bar. “It doesn't matter much now,” Scorpio said as he stalked forward, “I'm in the mood for blood now.”
( SMURF! #2 )
I doubt I'm alone in that when I first started coming with super-hero parody concepts many were Batman/Robin types. When I took many of those earlier ideas and started to try and write for Superguy I ended up discarding most of them. And when I gathered up the various concepts from that for what I want to do with my Superfic stories, I trimmed away nearly all the rest. Because most of them were really, really stupid. I mean REALLY stupid. And this is from a guy who STILL thinks a Hulk-parody named SMURF! is awesome. But yeah, HatchetMan and Kid Cutlery? Finding-StuffMan and Lost Boy. TERRIBLE IDEAS. But one managed to stick with me. Mostly because I actually had a few story ideas for the sidekick. So BadgerMan and Kid Weasel remained...
So I guess this is a monthly journal now? Oh well, heres a few short SuperFic pieces I did a while back... Then the SuperFic 'verse version of Power Rangers: The sun rose slowly over the bay of Saffron City. And by its light a dark shape could be seen moving rapidly beneath the water. As the shape approached the docks, its’ wake rocked the various boats in their moorings. And then, with the morning sun perfectly back-lighting him, the gigantic rubbery shape of Kaiju leaped into the air and landed with a resounding crash in the docks district. The thirty foot tall, fake-looking reptile posed in a classic x-position and tilted his head back. *GODZILLA ROAR* And then the colossal anarchist began smashing buildings beneath his massive feet. His giant plastic eyes seemed to gleam with a playful glee as he stomped a Blockbuster into rubble. And then they gleamed with something else as beams of pure destructive force shot forth from them and destroyed a patrolling police helicopter. *HAPPY GODZILLA ROAR* Meanwhile, at various points across the city, the over sized watches of five ordinary teen boys began to flash. The pentad of youths all simultaneously stood in the same pose. Legs apart and arms held out to the side, looking straight ahead determinedly. And then with perfect synchronization each extended their right arm across their chest, followed by a crossing of their wrists. “Magi Prinsessa Metall Soldat Force Go!” they exclaimed as one. Each is bathed in a blinding column of light, within which their vague silhouette can be seen rising into the air, hovering for a moment and then returning to the earth. As the light faded the five teen boys are gone, replaced by five gorgeous, metallic, multi-hued women. Each struck a unique quasi-martial arts pose and shouted their call sign. “Red Mercury!” “Black Iron!” “Blue Steel!” “Green Aluminum!” “Gold Gold!” And then all resume their original pose, except now their heads are tilted back as they look upwards. After a second each is teleported away in a stretchy beam of cheap f/x. In the docks district Kaiju continued his rampage of destruction. He seemed most happy when demolishing some corporate chain. But as he stomped another Starbucks flat a booming voice called out. “Stop this senseless destruction fiend!” Kaiju looked up from his play and to see a twenty-five foot female robot was advancing on him. The giant ‘bot looked to be an amalgamation of five smaller robots of different colors. The massive machine paused to do some kind of hand kata and then spoke again. “Leave our city now monster, before you get hurt! For you face Jatte Stjarna Orotting!” *DEFIANT GODZILLA ROAR* Kaiju followed up his response by blasting the female ‘bot with his AtomVision. JSD staggered back as a series of small explosions rocked it. But it quickly recovered and pointed with both hands at the villain. And then its’ breasts rocketed out to explode against Kaiju, while a new set quickly slid out to replace them. Then the new set rocketed out to hit Kaiju. And then again. And again. Dozens of explosive, metal mammaries hammered into Kaiju and he faltered under their impact. The great beast fell to his knees and then collapsed. As he did, he shimmered and the giant rubber reptile dissolved away. What is revealed is a short Japanese man, now unconscious in the rubble. With the threat ended the members of the MPMS Force teleported down to the ground and surrounded the comatose villain. Each then struck their unique victory pose as police and emergency services arrived.
This repost is one of the first things I wrote way back when (my freshman year in college in '93) for Superguy. Superguy, if I haven't mentioned it, is a mailing list/writing collective about a parody super-hero universe. Its still going on, though not at the same level of output. I participated with it twice, once my freshman year and again for a couple months during what was technically my junior year at NAU before dropping out. After that I didn't have conistent internet for a while and I kind of stopped writing for the most part... Finland, the Malahvia Forest Deep in the secret heart of the forest lies an unusual village. A village inhabited by people less than a foot tall. These secretive folk led quiet lives avoiding humanity and seeking to exsist simply and in harmony in with nature. These tiny blue-skinned people only wished to be left alone, to live in peace. A wish that would not be granted. His first sensation is of pain. Every nerve and sinew in His massive frame felt like it was afire. He tilted His head back and screamed His pain to the night sky. Slowly the agony faded and He managed to focus on His surroundings. And on himself. He stood in a barren spot amid the dark woods. All about Him was the wreckage of tiny buildings and gardens. And surrounding the barren area were dozens of humans. Big Folk. Big Folk? Where did that thought come from. The humans were half...His...size. In shock He looked down at His own form. His limbs were massive, as thick as tree trunks and corded with muscles. He grasped at His head, clutching at His bald pate. The shape felt right. But too large. Far too large. He tried to speak, to question the humans, but all that came out was a deep growl. Who am I? What am I? He had to make them explain. Force them to tell Him what was going on. His growls become louder, angrier. Escalating into enraged roars. Several of the humans stepped towards Him, moving out of the shadows of the woods into the moonlight. Now He could get a better look at them. While the perspective of looking down at them still felt wrong to Him, they looked normal enough. They were all wearing the same clothing, some kind of ivory white suit, which was slightly odd. Odd? Why was that odd? Why were they normal? Nothing made sense! He glared about and noticed that the humans seemed nervous. Several of them spoke to Him in some unknown language. Their tone seemed calm, but there was an undercurrent of fear to it. Angrily He stepped forward and the nearest humans raised their hands at him. They all held some kind of metal device. What were they doing now? Suddenly he felt a half-dozen tiny pricks. He looked down at Himself and saw numerous tiny darts stuck in Him. And then He felt pain again as some kind of energy flowed from the human's devices to the darts. The humans had hurt Him! He screamed in rage and lunged forward and grabbed ahold of the closest human. And then the human screamed as His hands crushed the smaller arms of the man in His grip. Stupid, puny humans. The screams annoyed Him. As He tossed the broken human aside He felt yet more darts hit him and delivered more shocks. Why did the humans keep attack Him? Why did they hurt him? As He turned and looked for a new target, something rushed past Him. And in its passage He felt a new pain across His chest. Something had cut Him! He snarled again and looked for the source of this new hurt. There! Another human, this one all in black and wearing a funny hat. And it held a large knife that dripped blood. His blood! He screamed in rage and charged the new human. But the man leaped aside, easily vaulting over Him. One of the white humans was now in front of Him, as He attempted to stop and turn. The White human screamed briefly as He trampled him into the ground. He spun about and looked for Black Man as the remaining White humans scattered into the woods. And then pain again. Black Man had thrown his knife and hit Him in the leg. Stupid Black Man! He spotted Black Man standing over a hundred feet away, back by the barren area. He roared again and leaped this time, clearing the distance to Black Man in a single bound. Black Man managed to dive aside at the last moment and avoided being crushed under His feet. As He landed the forest seemed to shake from the impact. Black Man now held two new devices that spat lights at Him. These hurt more than the darts or the knife! Black Man darted away, and continued to fire on Him. He grew even angrier at Black Man and He grabbed ahold of a nearby tree trunk. With a sudden jerk He easily uprooted the hundred year old tree and tossed it at Black Man. Ha! Stupid Black Man didn't avoid that. He strode over to the pinned BLack Man and reached down. With a squeal of tearing metal he tore off on of Black Man's arms. Metal? Puzzled He looked at the arm clutched in His hand. It dripped a pale fluid that didn't look like blood. He sniffed at the severed limb. It didn't smell like flesh and blood either. He stuck the torn end in his mouth and then quickly spat it out. It most definitely didn't taste like blood. As He looked back towards the trapped Black Man He felt a dozen more sharp objects stab into His back. He snarled and spun around. There, more of the White humans, all of them pointed long devices at Him. He prepared to leap at them, but staggered forward instead. Muzzily, He blinked and took another staggered step forward. And another volley of sharp objects from the humans hit Him. He felt so tired. Why was He tired? Why... BadGuy Guy muttered to himself as he managed to leverage the heavy oak trunk off of himself long enough so that he could slip free. He quickly bounced up to his feet and stalked over towards the recumbent blue brute. He kept his remaining pulse pistol trained on the creature as he stepped up and kicked it in the side. He instantly jumped back, but the creature merely began to snore. BadGuy Guy grinned and yelled at the cautiously approaching Men in White. "Hurry up boys and get this bastard gagged and caged! I don't know how long the tranqs will keep him under. But before they wear off I want him back at HQ and someone else's problem." BadGuy Guy holstered his pistol and then knelt down by his mangled arm. He picked it up and looked it over. Damn it all, the servos were totally wrecked. Repairing the cybernetic limb was definitely going to cut into the profits form this job. Oh well, if the thing had ever really gotten ahold of him it would have been much worse. He looked over at the Men in White who were now swarming over the Alpha subject. "And someone find my fucking hat!"
“Ok, what was it this time?” “Ok so lets hear yours.” “My what?” “Story of unrequited love.” “Well frustrated lust really.” “Fine, fine. So lets hear it.” “Right. So the last month I’ve been working on busting up a W.O.E. cell in Chicago. And most of that time working with the neocon twins.” “The All-American Teens?” “Yeah. And the both of them walking sex appeal. The whole time Rocket is trying to flirt and act like he wants to hook up. But I can tell he’s faking it. And Bombshell’s trying to either ignore me or trash me in front of her brother. Except she keeps watching me when she thinks I can’t tell. I swear they’re the two most closeted people I’ve ever met.” “Rocket’s gay? Holy crap.” “Yeah, both of them are. But totally in denial about it. And while Rocket’s a hunky piece of man-meat, I’m so not being either his beard or bolstering his self-delusions.” “He did know you’re only fourteen right?” “Fuck no. Its not my fault my people reach adulthood by twelve. Fucking high speed parthogenesis bullshit. And after the disaster that was my relationship with Dom, I’m telling anyone my age again.” “Hey, I can’t blame Swimkid for freaking when he found out his girlfriend wasn’t just younger, but could have got him tagged as a pedophile.” “Four years isn’t that big a difference. And even if we’d been found out both our families have full diplomatic status. It was no excuse for him to start fucking BirdMaiden.” “I still can’t believe you got back at him by sleeping with his sister.” “It wasn’t just revenge. Naiad’s insanely hot. And she knew things.” “You are such a slut. You know that right?” “Oh hush. Great. Now I’m all depressed about that. I can’t believe their father sent them back to Lemuria.” “Hey, talk was getting around. It would have been just a matter of time before the whole sordid thing was in the papers.” “I know, I know. Mom explained it all to me and how she agreed with Prince Gav’s decision. But damn it, you don’t forget your first love. Or loves.” “Slut.” “Quiet. I should have concentrated on being frustrated with the morality twins.” “Probably best not to get romantically involved with them anyway. I’ve heard a few things.” “What do you mean?” “I was talking to Netizen a few months back, when we were upgrading our computer systems. And he mentioned some stuff he’d found out on them.” “Like what?” “According to Netizen they’re not just sponsored by the America’s Future Foundation. The two of them are lab-grown and raised clones. Plus he said he found a bunch of oddball psyche stuff that he couldn’t understand. Too much outside his frame of refrence I guess.” “Damn, that’s kind of creepy.” “Yeah, I mentioned it to James and he said he and some of the others are keeping an eye on the situation.” “Why do you call it him?” “James?” “No, Netizen.” “I don’t know. He just seems male to me. You’ve never felt he had a gender?” “No, not really. Still its good to know at least someone in our social group who has less of a love life than me.” “Actually he’s involved with the Otaku Collective.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Nope. They even have something similar to sex apparently.” “I don’t fucking believe this! A pair of juvenile A.I.s have a better sex life than we do!” “Well, better than you at any rate.” “Un-fucking-believable! This just…wait. Are saying you’re seeing someone?” “Sort of.” “Who? Is it a civ or one of us?” “Sort of one of us. His name’s Danny O’Bannion.” “Why do I know that name?” “His alias is Caterwaul.” “…” “YOU’RE DATING A SUPER-VILLIAN?!?” “Ok, first off we’re not dating. Its more like, well…” “A booty call?” “I guess.” “And you’re calling me a slut?” “Point. And he doesn’t know I know.” “Oh?” “We hooked up at a club a couple weeks back. I didn’t even recognize him at first. I mean he’s not one of our stable of villains, you know?” “Sure, I suppose.” “And even after I figured out where I knew him from I didn’t see the harm. He thinks he’s been hooking up with a college student.” “How old does he think you are?” “Twenty-two.” “Only off by five years. And how old is he?” “Thirty-two.” “Woah. Even with the lie he’s robbing the cradle.” “You’re bringing up age differences?” “Point for you. So?” “So what?” “What’s he like?” “Less aggressive than I would have expected. I was the one who had to initiate things. But once I got things going it was pretty intense. Plus no fumbling around or awkward pauses like I’ve gotten with the few guys my own age.” “What is he doing in your town anyway?” “He said he was here selling exercise equipment to the local gyms. But I trailed him one morning and it looks like he’s working as a bodyguard for Professor Puzzle.” “So you’ll eventually be taking him down.” “…” “I mean you’re going to have to stop whatever Puzzle’s latest scheme is and take out your new boyfriend. Sounds awkward.” “Maybe. But it looks like the Prof is planning something in Seattle. Which makes them the Goth or Underwaterer’s problem. I’ll pass word along when it looks like they’re getting ready to leave town.” “I wonder what other villains might cruise the bar scene?” “Why?” “Well I always thought King of the Beach or Madame Drama were hot. Or even better XeroxMan. Mmmm.” “You have officially won the Biggest Slut contest you know?”
So a drabble is a 100-word piece of fiction. These are a collection of those I had on my LJ. Frank Miller's Underdog I want to quit. I need to quit. Flush these damned white pills away. Be normal. Average. No one. But they call out. Their voices filled with fear. Only I can save them. Only I. Its not the rush. That overcomes me with the speed of lightning. That fills my head with the roar of thunder. No, its not just the rush. Someone has to face them. The ones with greed-filled hearts. Who but me can right these wrongs. So I can't quit. So let them fear. As I come upon them with blinding speed. Let THEM fear! Fear Underdog! UNDERDOG!!! MulchThing In the end death embraces all. Everything falls to decay from within and without. As a wise man once said, the center can not hold. Like these two here. They came into my lands seeking to capture me. So they could return me to their masters' experiments. And now they struggle to escape from a morass of clinging mud. They strive, but all their extertions simply bring them closer to finality. But from darkness can come light. From rot can spring life. As their lives end, they will feed me and my domain. Life to death to life, the cycle of MulchThing. |
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sleepy
geeky