Notes: Follows on my previous work in this fandom, "with great power," but it's not necessary to read that first. Just know that my Metro/Music Man's civilian name is Steve Scott.
Artisan Tea and Facebook Friends
Steve hums to himself, happy and off-key, as he finishes off his tea. It's an herbal blend he's grown and blended himself, and while it doesn't really have any particular flavor, it does taste like the satisfaction of a job well-done.
Steve takes one last sip and smacks his lips with a satisfied, "Aaaaahhhhhh!" Then he goes to turn on the computer.
It's a monstrous contraption, huge and hulking and liberally covered in spikes. Megamind built it himself, as a gift for Steve's thirty-eighth birthday.
"All right!" Steve says brightly. "Time to check out the interwebs!"
The machine boots quickly, at least. Actual boots may or may not be involved. They, too, are covered in spikes.
Steve tries to open Internet Explorer, even though he knows what will happen. But he still grins at the message that pops up on the screen.
"Uuuugggggggghhhh," Megamind's enlarged blue cranium declares in disgust, his projected visage glowering out from the monitor. "I can't allow you to do that, Music Maaaan. Friends don't let friends use Internet Explorer."
"Sorry little buddy," Steve murmurs, grinning ear to ear. It's so good to have friends looking out for him.
He moves the cursor to open Firefox instead, and Megamind's glowing face disappears with a haughty sniff and a, "That's better."
Steve has three Facebook updates, and one friend request. For a moment he blinks at it in surprise, then finally, with only a brief nano-second of hesitation, he clicks the request.
It's from Maurice, the man he met in the club two nights ago. Steve stares at it.
His Metro Man fan page, which still exists in spite of his best efforts, has over a hundred thousand followers. His newer, and much preferred, Music Man fan page already had nearly six thousand. But Steve Scott, until this moment, has only three Facebook friends.
He's never had anyone from the club ask to friend him before. He lets his cursor hover for a moment over the invitation, soaking up the warmth of that little number one, before finally pressing "accept," a huge smile blossoming over his face.
The words bubble up in his mind, and Steve turns away from the computer, all but dancing across his Secret Fortress of…Music, and grabs his ukulele. It's going to be a great day for some lyrical magic. He can feel it.
