April 23, 1997 Alliance Headquarters Shaft 991 Outcropping, Lounge 17 Somewhere near the center of the Earth
Memorex fell back against the couch, eyes closed. "We did it. Flawless victory." Hellfire giggled, sitting next to him. Her uniform was designed to let her sit in seats without setting them on fire. It was an important consideration for the young superheroine on the go who couldn't extinguish the burning hellblaze that had replaced her flesh and bone. "It was a birthday party, Mem. I think we could manage that much." "Down here in the Underdark, with th' war and all? Don't underestimate just how much we needed this and needed it to go right. *And* we managed to have Moxie." "Which everyone but you found repellant." "Not my business to tell them they're wrong." He smiled, opening his eyes and looking at Hellfire. "Plus... well, makin' Transit smile was important, Ticks." Hellfire opened her mouth to answer, then cocked her head slightly. "Ticks?" Memorex smirked a little. "Ticks." "Why are you calling me Ticks?" Hellfire tried to look offended, but she was trapped between baffled and a silly grin. "Short for Matchstick, but calling you Tick makes it sound like y'should be shouting 'Spoon' and running on rooftops. Doesn't seem right for a pretty girl like you." "But naming me after a colony of horrible insects does? This to you is endearing, Bubbe?" Hellfire's grin had only grown. Memorex chuckled. "Hey, I wasn't about to call you Matches. Batman's nickname is Matches. You don't steal nicknames from Batman. You'll get messed up if you try." "Why not call me Hellfire? Or a nickname based on 'Hellfire?' Or, you know, my name?" Unconsciously, Hellfire had leaned a little closer to her classmate. Memorex had moved a little closer, still teasing, but his eyes not leaving Hellfire's. It took some doing to see her irises and pupils through the glow and flame, but when her fires were banked like this it was possible, and Memorex's senses were far more acute than most. "Everybody calls you Hellfire. A nickname shouldn't be just bandied about. And your name's pretty famous. Seems like I'd be outing you if I called you that." "I don't exactly maintain a secret identity, Mem. And of course nicknames should be bandied about. I mean, *everybody* calls you 'Mem.'" Memorex shrugged. "I like callin' you something that everybody *doesn't* call you, Ticks. Though if you want, I guess I could start callin' you Sparky...." Hellfire giggled again, leaning back away from whatever was happening -- which she hadn't even noticed she was doing so it was hardly a thing, now was it? -- and smiling coyly. "Nuh-uh, Mem. That's a Chicks With Attitude name. You are not a Chick With Attitude, so you don't get to call me that." "Summer calls you that." "Summer's an honorary Chick With Attitude." Memorex chuckled, leaning back as well. "I thought you didn't take applicants." "We don't. But... Summer was a special case. Summer and Phobos being what Summer and Phobos are... we wanted to bridge the gap between Maria and Phobos a little, and Summer wanted that too. Especially after all the years Maria pined for Phobos...." "Glad to hear it," Memorex said. His body language suggested he was indeed glad, which surprised Hellfire. "I'm surprised," Hellfire said, confirming the body language. "I thought the schism was complete, except for me. And Maria and I shared a hideous transformation moment, so I was going to get over it." "You're in no way hideous, Ticks. You're amazing. And... c'mon. You know Phobos way better'n I do. You tellin' me he wouldn't take any opening Maria gave him to make peace?" He shrugged. "I don't have to tell you how terrible Maria's betrayal was. You were kinda at ground zero for it." "Don't remind me," Hellfire said. "Seriously. I don't want to be reminded of what happened there." "Gotcha. I get why Tim an' Samantha haven't been able to get over it yet, and why Alice is so mad, and why Charlie growls when he sees her an' all the rest. But Phobos... he's a leader, at the end of the day. And leaders think about tomorrow, and do their best to tie up loose ends and heal wounds. 'Least, good ones do, and Phobos--" "Is a great one. I know. I work for him, remember?" She grinned. "What about the Brats? You guys seemed pretty pissed at Maria too." "We were. Buncha us still are. Porty's try figurin' out how to skeletonize a meal that reflects all damage off her skin. Fridge and Kid-E can barely stand to look at her. And I admit, I was pretty mad too." "Were?" She looked back, head cocked. Memorex shrugged. "My Mom'n'Dad taught me that holdin' a grudge was like holdin'..." he paused, and smiled a bit more. "...a lit matchstick. Sooner or later, you'll get burned, 'less you do somethin' about it." Hellfire giggled, then paused, her smile slipping. "So... in other words, blow it out or drop it before you can get hurt?" "Nah. That's linear thinkin'. Unorthodox Lass--" "Girl" "--whatever'd hit you with a water balloon filled with halon for that. Sometimes you want to hold onto the matchstick, so you need to take precautions. Gloves, say. Or dip your hand in wax like stage magicians used'ta do." Hellfire got a bit of a smile back, but still looked a bit sad. "So that's the trick? Always wear gloves, or put a layer between you and the flame?" "Sure. If you're normal." And then Memorex was kissing her. Hellfire was startled, eyes going wide, then closing as she molded against him. Her flame burned hotter and higher, almost forming a corona between their heads, so that one couldn't tell if Memorex was on fire or not. The kiss finally broke, though they stayed close within the halo of fire. "Your face should be burned off," she murmured. "Yeah -- turns out Nobody an' Porty decided to be... y'know... matchmakers." His voice was just as soft. "So they researched a spell together. They literally had to brand me with a ward an' it hurt like no one's business, but the fires'a Hell can't burn me now." "...really?" "Really, Ticks. 'Cause I've wanted to do that since--" "The first day of class? Or 'Addams Family Values?'" Hellfire looked wry. "The first day you guys came to visit an' there was dancing. Y'know, when I ended up decking Kid-E an' almost got thrown out." "I can accept that." She paused. "You have *seen* 'Addams Family Values,' right?" "Are you kiddin'? Do you have any idea how many skills I've sampled from those movies? And I have a shockingly good Raul Julia impression." "Do you? That's great." Her smile grew a bit, though her eyes narrowed. "Never, ever do your Raul Julia impression in front of me. Never, ever. Not once. I will dump you the picosecond you do a Raul Julia impression in front of me. Are we absolutely crystal clear on this fact?" "I... yes. Yes we are." He paused. "Is Christopher Lloyd off limits too?" "What? No. Everyone does Christopher Lloyd. *I* do Christopher Lloyd." "Then we have detente." Memorex kissed her again, and Hellfire kissed him back. A short eternity later. "Ticks? Really?" "That's how you know it's love. Any infatuated idiot can call a girl a flattering nickname. If a relationship survives calling your significant other a bug, it's in for the long haul." October, 2007 Kenmore District, Boston "Cairi?" Cairi blinked, turning towards her coworker. Blake had been crushing on her pretty hard for a while, and she didn't have a good way of letting him down easy. He'd taken to asking her random questions -- as flirting went, she'd endured worse. But she'd also endured so much better. "Yeah, Blake? What is it?" She smiled, a bit wanly. "I asked if you had any weird nicknames when you were, y'know, a kid? I was called Wallsy, 'cause I used to draw wallabys, like, all the time." "Yeah... I got caught in a memory. I had a few, yeah...." Sparky, but Blake wasn't CWA so he didn't get to use that. 'Squant' was something her brothers had called her, because she'd gone through a period being obsessed with the Native American Squanto -- but that was someone else now, so she didn't want to be reminded. *"...I like callin' you something everybody doesn't call you, Ticks..."* Nobody called her Ticks any more. No one even remembered calling her TIcks. "I guess not," she said. "Wallsy's cute, though. Customers." She walked over to the center island and stepped up behind the counter. The Store24 was busy most nights of the week, given its central location on the city streets Boston University laughably called a campus. "Hi there," she said, smiling a bit to the old lady at the front of the line. She was a regular. "Marlboros?" "And this coke and this gum, yes. And you need to eat something, Carrie. You're so *thin.*" "You're sweet." She smiled again, ringing her up. "Next?" she asked, looking at the counter-- A pack of Teaberry gum, and a 20 ounce of Moxie. Cairi's heart leapt, and she looked up-- Not Rip. So not Rip. The opposite of Rip, really. Pushing forty, but looked older than fifty easily -- strain and multiple near-death injuries over the course of his career having aged him somewhat prematurely and put a lot of grey in his unruly hair and beard, then coming out of the war having been a weapon, a pawn, a crucial element and a POW for several harrowing weeks. And *then* he found himself a parent to three children, one pair of twins and an older sister. A four months older sister. Awk-ward. "These," Scholarman said, smiling a slightly wan smile on his lined, bearded face. "And hopefully a chance to steal your next break, Cairistiona. It's been a while, after all, and what professor doesn't want a chance to reminisce with his students?" THE LEAGUE featuring characters by Frank Orzechowicz and *THE* Mason Kramer Episode #8 by Eric Burns-White who is dumb enough to be surprised when these things grow in length, like he learned nothing over the past twenty-nine years INTERNAL CONTINUITY NOTE Readers will notice we don't bother putting Continuity Notes on these posts any more. Why bother? They're period pieces and inevitably they're timestamped. They happened when they happened. And Continuity? Doesn't matter. This happened after stuff and before other stuff and during other stuff. Heck, most other stories won't ever even mention the war, and why should they? But things are a bit weird with today's episode -- not because of continuity with the rest of Superguy, but because of internal continuity. You see, at the end of last episode, we had Transit going off to find a detective. We had Alice getting ready for a family dinner with herself, her sister, Elizabeth Tirkoff and Kirby Rogers, which had all the potential for hijinks ensuing. And we had Maria and Darrin -- who loathe each other -- having a late night assignation that both seemed to resent. And now we seem to have Scholarman -- and who thought he'd do more than cameo? -- and Cairi. Proper pacing suggests we should interweave between these subplots. The slightest logic suggests *hours* would take place between them. So we put this note here to say "eh, deal with it." Because seriously, who cares? Mice? Do mice care? Damn mice. INTERNAL CONTENT NOTE This post includes a conversation between Darrin and Maria after a night of hate-fueled sex and no one to cut them off. They're sweary. Also, there's some nudity, but this is text so eh. * * * * * * When Maria woke up, the sun was pouring into the room like a knife stabbing her optic nerve. Naturally, that left all kinds of interesting patterns on the walls because she was nude, and because she'd let her control slip in her sleep, activating her mirror force and making her look like she was sculpted out of silver metal. On a table just off the bed -- which looked like a whirlwind had hit it, which Maria supposed was true enough -- she saw a white tee shirt neatly folded. Clearly left for her. Whatever else she could say about Kid-E, he took care of his houseguests the morning after. Of course, given his proclivities and lifestyle, that was probably a survival skill. Maria tried to push up, but her hand slid and she flumped back down, the pillow skittering away from her head, reflected by the force. Rolling her eyes, she concentrated for a moment, and her reflective skin faded to the goldish-undertoned light brown she'd grown up with until the incident. She pushed up and slid off the bed, walking over to the shirt and skinning into it. It was big on her, of course -- Darrin was built like a pro wrestler who was toned like a boxer. She couldn't deny that. He was damnably good looking and damnably good at all this. It's why she kept coming back. And she figured she must be okay at it, because he didn't slam the door in her face. But then, she was female. Maria padded barefoot out of the bedroom into Darrin's living room. It was actually a pretty bright and airy room, decent furniture, well kept up. It was sometimes easy to assume the worst of Kid-E because of circumstances -- but the tragedy of 'Kid Electron' had been he was good at everything. Good at fighting, good at school -- apparently good at decorating and keeping things tidy. He was good at absolutely everything. Except being a hero and a human being. But then, Maria was hardly the best of those. "Morning," Darrin said, a bit of a grin on his face. He was wearing a white button down, red tie and grey slacks. And gold rimmed glasses. He looked for all the world like an up and coming middle manager, not an engineer. He lifted a pan off his stove and deftly slid a pair of fried eggs -- yolks still a bit fluid Maria could tell, with a slightly griddled tomato between the yolks and grated cheese sprinkled over the top onto the top of what looked like a fresh waffle. He then scooped up the plate and stepped around to the living room, where a table had been set up, with orange juice, coffee, a bowl with sliced melon and the folded Boston Globe sat. Maria rolled her eyes. Good. At. Fucking. Everything. "Looks great," she said, a bit muted. "Thanks." "Your gratitude is thanks enough," he said, a bit of sarcasm in his voice in response to her response to his breakfast making skills. "Be still my heart. Why do you look like a Young Republican today?" "Because in fifty-seven minutes I have to walk into my office and begin engineering electricals. Some of us aren't rich, y'know." "Says the man with the condo in the Back Bay." "That just means I invest well and jump on opportunity." "Why do you end up with the nice condo while Dani and Roger have a hole in the wall and Cairi's place constitutes a closet?" "Because, my dear reflective Rita Riches, some of us didn't have a gig after the Acadely, so had to do something mundane like go to college for a career that nets him six figures." "So you get the nice condo, and the girl who once blasted Satan into dust works bookbuying for under thirty K. That seems fair." "Exactly as fair as the girl who once betrayed and very nearly murdered her best friends over an orgasm being rich as sin because one of the people she betrayed died and left her a buttload of cash. And I can't help but notice said best friend doesn't have any of that money now that she's back." "I offered, fuckface. She refused. I offered to move her in and have her be a roommate. She refused. She has pride, unlike some people--" "I thought I was the arrogant one. Low self esteem was always more a Mem thing. Well, until he grew up and became a Heinlein main character as played by Colin Ferrell during his good period." He stepped back into the kitchen area, picking up a coffee cup and sipping. "On the other hand, there's this hot chick who treats me like complete shit, and I still let her in whenever she needs another fucking allergy shot, so there's a case to be made." "Do you have to call it that? Oh wait, it's you. Of course you do." "What else do you call it? You loathe me, Maria. You hate everything about me. So why are you here again?" Maria looked away, sipping orange juice. "No please. You're going remind all the people I actually care about in this world about what an asshole I am for the rest of the day, so please remind first -- why exactly are you here?" Maria looked back, eyes narrowed. "I'm here because when you can cut loose with your abilities, you don't just have sex, you're a fucking roller coaster of sensation. I practically have a body migraine for three days and endorphins for nine." Her glare grew more intense. "So if I can fuck myself blind with you, I'm not a danger to everyone else." "You mean you can't be seduced into revealing everyone's secrets and nearly killing the sweetest woman on Earth. Again." "Oh Jesus. You had a crush on Samantha." "I'm human. We *all* had a crush on Samantha. You're high enough on the Kinsey scale -- tell me *you* didn't have--" "Don't be vulgar." "Too late." Maria rolled her eyes. "Don't you need to go to that job." "Yes I do." He grabbed a well tailored sportcoat that matched the slacks. "Feel free to enjoy the shower and whatever else, and have yourself a wonderful day, Miss Mendez. Be sure to beg forgiveness of Jesus for sullying yourself with me." "I will." "And then back on the fifteenth." Darrin rolled his eyes, and began walking for the door. "You let me in." Darrin paused. "I don't exactly show up with sweet words and apologies and doe eyes. Well, not counting--" "We don't talk about that night. That's not for us to talk about." Darrin had turned back around. "I know. You let me in, Darrin. Every time. Even last night. And take my shit both here and outside. So don't get high and mighty with me. You don't have enough *pride* to say *no,* now do you?" Darrin's chin went up. "Maybe next time I will." "No you won't." Maria slid out of her seat, and peeled off the borrowed tee shirt. "Hi. I'm nude. If I said the word, would you go to work?" "*Maria.*" Maria slowly put her arms behind her head, arching an eyebrow and shifting her weight ever so slightly onto one heel. "Well? Figuring out what excuse to give your boss yet?" Darrin had flushed. "Maria--" Maria's reflective force snapped on, her body gleaming silver again. She could *feel* the sensation of air, of the coolness of the A/C, the fibers of the carpet be pushed away from herself, isolating herself in complete numbness. "Well don't worry -- I won't drop the field until you leave, so you couldn't do anything if you wanted to. Drive safely, Mister Bates." Darrin stared. He was becoming an interesting shade of purple. "You utter bitch," he muttered. "I totally am. And I'm being cruel right now too, knowing you're just as chained to your problems as I am to mine. A total bitch. But I'll drop by the Church on the way home, and I'll talk to the Priest, and God will forgive me. Who's going to forgive you, Darrin?" Darrin breathed hard, and Maria could hear a crackling sound. Behind him, the Microwave's clock reset. Without another word, he turned around and stormed out. Maria watched him go. After the door slammed, the silver field dropped, and she folded her arms in front of herself, sitting down. She'd gone too far -- way too far. Bitch wasn't a strong enough word -- she was just *evil* to Darrin, and regardless of what he got out of this, he let her desensitize with him, strings-free, and never told anyone else. He deserved better than that. Especially with how much pain he'd be in soon enough-- "S'why I come here, right?" she murmured. "I betrayed my closest friends before. Now I just betray a guy I can't stand. That's progress, right?" She sighed. She had to talk this over with Cairi. Well, after the Priest, of course. * * * * * * "So, you're freaking out. What's that like?" Elizabeth Tirkoff looked at her son. "It's like having a sarcastic nine year old who's too perceptive for his own good." He shrugged. "I blame you. You're extra perceptive." "That's Extra *Sensory* Perception, and I don't actually have that, thank you very much." Kirby cocked his head. "You don't?" "No. E.S.P. was codified in the CSGP-4 as the nonphysical reception, perception and interpretation of contemporaneous stimuli through psionic, mystic, or unspecified metanormal talented means, exclusive of invasive or noninvasive technological methodology. Telepathy and Empathy are not considered contemporaneous stimuli under that definition. Neither is precognition or postcognition. Breaking the CSGP-3 definition into separate classifications and talents caused quite a scandal among paranormal researchers and therapists who had been grouping together mental perception and communication and temporal perception in the definition for years. It was largely decided the person who forced all this through was a horrible shrew who should be shot out of a cannon into the Sun. Kirby nodded. "So it was you?" "Of course it was me. Grouping what I do in the same category as Kent's Mighty Vision is ridiculous. We know better. We've made it better. And I'm very, very powerful. Do not test my wrath." She smirked a bit, brushing her hair out. "Mm. How're my roots." "Mostly strawberry blonde instead of whatever you were born with." "That! Is what I like to hear." She turned and kissed Kirby on the forehead. "You look very gentlemanly yourself, Mister Rogers." Kirby flushed, shifting. "Yeah, well... Aunt Susan's coming over so--" "Aunt Susan's adorable and fun and knows how to make chocolate milk last forever. Trust me, I get it." She grinned. }{Hey Alice -- what's our ETA?}{ {{Susan's just out of the shower, she says. Call it eight minutes?}} }{I will *call* it *eight minutes.*}{ Elizabeth's smile grew a bit. "And she's on her way -- so, let's go make sure things are ready." "Okay -- is she and Momma Alice gonna fight?" "*Are* she and Momma Alice gonna fight." "What're you asking me for?" "Did you set me up for that?" Kirby looked innocent, dashing out ahead of his mother, heading into the living room of the extended suite. "Hi Buddy!" she heard him yell to their cricket roommate. Elizabeth looked back at the mirror, and took a deep breath. "I dunno, Kirby," she murmured to herself. "*Are* Susan and Alice going to fight? Let's find out, shall we?" She checked her hair again -- Kirby was right. The strawberry blonde was holding steady and her hair otherwise looked good. She had showered and changed into 'casual' clothing -- jeans and a sweater -- but upscale casual. The idea was Susan was family so they didn't need to go all out, but at the same time she was a guest so they *should* go all out. Her presence was special, but she could come by any time. Psych 204 stuff. }{Alice, why didn't social norms get written up in the DSM-IV?}{ Elizabeth sent as she stepped out herself. "How can I help?" she asked out loud. "You can't set the table," Kirby said. "Because *I'm* setting the table." And it seemed to be true, as plates and dishes seemed to mist into view in their proper place. "And for this you need to be stealthed?" Elizabeth asked with a grin. "Always be prepared!" "My son the Boy Scout." "That's fine!" Alice called from the kitchen. "Come help me get things ready in here!" {{They didn't get written up in the DSM-IV because you didn't push hard enough, clearly,}} Alice sent telepathically. Elizabeth could feel Alice's tension. }{I was only on the mailing list for that one. I had my hands full with the CSGP-4. Remember?}{ Elizabeth walked into the kitchen. "What do you need me to do?" she asked verbally. "Remembering that I am the single most dangerous person you know when it comes to food preparation." {{Like I could forget. It was like watching every terrible trolling comment thread collapsing together into a singularity of suck, but with academic formality to make it all worse.}} Alice smirked. "Over there are a series of vegetables," she said. "They have already been prepped. They need to be placed into that bowl. Then, they need to be tossed with those tongs. Gently." }{Plus there was the knife fight at the Johns Hopkins Symposium. Doctor Orletti should really have remembered I went to medical school there -- I had the home court advantage.}{ Elizabeth smiled in echo. "So you're saying you set up a safe environment for me to help while accounting for the Lil-Factor." {{The horror... the horror... the catering at that thing was *horrible.* Why do you go to those if they won't properly feed you?}} Alice shifted entrees onto serving platters, carefully. "Consider it part of mise en place." She giggled. }{It's like attending a Mortal Kombat tournament, only fatalities equate to denial of tenure.}{ Elizabeth began putting vegetables carefully into the bowl. "Man, Heather would *wince* to hear your accent." }{...oh God I want to film that so badly....}{ Alice laughed again. "How *is* the redoubtable Ms. Thompson? Still poised to marry that tool?" There was a dinging sound as the elevator arrived. "I'll get it!" Kirby shouted. }{...that was never eight minutes,}{ Elizabeth sent to Alice. }{I'll go and greet her--}{ {{Toss salad, Lil. I'll go greet her. I'm closer to ready than you are.}} Elizabeth smiled slightly. Alice smiled back, then blurred out towards the door. [[This is the end of Part 1 -- I hope you enjoy its delicious creaminess]]