This was written for the Columbus House of Scribes prompt challenge "history repeats itself".
If I owned any piece of The Incredibles, no matter how miniscule, I'd have a better tv to watch them on. And a bigger kitchen.
History Repeats Itself
They will never learn.
That was the second thing his mentor had taught him. They will never learn, no matter how many examples they get, no matter how many needless and stupid deaths they see or hear about. They're going to insist and not want to hear "no".
The first thing his mentor had taught him was …well, the first thing she'd ever said to him.
He was finally starting to make a name for himself and had set up shop in a small loft in midtown Manhattan. He was on the phone with a potential supplier when she had strolled into his office with her short-legged waddle, looked at a drawing he had on the wall and given him in his first lesson. In two words.
A week later he was working for her.
She was so many things; demanding, arrogant, egomaniacal, judgmental, a maven, irritating, infuriating … but freaking brilliant and the absolute top of the field. He learned more from her about life and his craft than he could ever have imagined.
But he didn't always agree with her. He preferred cooler, more subdued colors while she preferred them bright and vibrant. She assumed everyone agreed with her fabric choices but he would have given them choices where he could. (Sometimes you couldn't, depending on the stresses they would be putting the item through.) The biggest difference of opinion they had, though, was on clientele. He felt they should work with whoever wanted and was willing to pay for their services but she didn't. She dismissed that as "working both sides of the street" and she wanted nothing to do with the other side and, since it was her name and company, they didn't.
At least she didn't.
The Ferguson kids had a cousin who … bloomed … suddenly and publicly and they had called him, desperate, hoping he could help. He knew there were reasons not to, not the least of which was his job and career, but he'd grown up across the street from them and Lila Ferguson had been his first kiss and the crush he'd never quite gotten over so he'd agreed.
The cousin was grateful and Lila had been very appreciative. Very appreciative.
His mentor, however, was another story.
"What is this?" she'd snapped, pointing to the cousin in some news footage. He should have known that his work would be obvious. At least to her. He hadn't been paid for his work so, technically, he hadn't violated his contract with her but she still fired him.
And the firing hadn't stung as much as her "You disappointment me, dahling."
So here he was, back in the Garment District, in his old loft, actually, rebuilding his business and taking whatever commissions he could get … most of which weren't the ones he'd have to compete with her for. Not that he really minded, truth be told. Yes, his clientele were arrogant and megalomaniacal but, after her, they were easy to handle. They paid well and in cash. They never asked for anything too out-of-the-box and they usually listened to his comments and suggestions … except in that one area.
The first thing she taught him and she'd been right - no matter what you said, they never learned.
And they always wanted a cape.