Interval #9
Volume 1. Story 7.
The Rogues of Bludhaven
Three thuggish figures silently crept into the natural history department of the Desmond University in Bludhaven. "And there it is my reputable colleagues. Is it not exquisite?" the first to have entered this arcane wing spoke eloquently of a discovery made, holding an air of leadership all about himself as he trotted along the black marble flooring with a slight jittering clap to his excited heels. His body was fully covered in a sleek second skin of white save for the tip of his nose down to his chin of which was not necessarily exposed but rather protected by an airtight hard plastic container, a gas mask, heavily tinted from its transparent form to a decisive orange hue. His eyes were protected by a sturdy set of goggles built into the suit itself, noted for their particularly strong black tint almost to the point of being solid. A two and a half foot high pack was strapped onto his back, its top rounding inward of his head to be quite seamless with his shoulder line while the flat bottom was noted for two thick hose like cords that rode out from it. The farthest to his right side wrapped around his waist like a belt and had a series of smaller cords venturing out from its form to run down the centre line of each of his four limbs while the one of the left connected to his left hand where a gauntlet piece was fitted tightly to his wrist like a bracelet. A tubular nozzle piece was fitted to its top side, venturing out some distance from its bulky base to run along the backside of his fingers. The pack itself was a shined orange painted metal with an outward face that shaped vertical rising tube making it appear as some kind of container that filtered its contents down the lines. Of special note was the gun holster; a leather like pouch of finely polished orange that sat on the left side of his chest, the weapon it carried currently unsheathed and in hand. Its handle was surprising simple with very little grip to his siding, feeling more like a baton when held than as it should be while its barrel was just as tubular and considerably long by comparison to the current day pistols. The top piece was noted for its pyramid like top, four individual pieces clanking into one another at a point while firmly held in position at the end of the barrel.
"But Fredrick, what is it?" A bemused figure followed in from behind, shaking his hands upward to touch the sides of his cheeks with floppy fingers. This figure was a tad bit smaller and rounder than the muscular cleansed white figure before him, though eyes would no less pick upon him for the memorable shades of orange and green that clashed across his costume of choice. Despite his robust body characteristics, the green flavoured head piece, shin high boots, and circular clamps that rode up his forearms, appeared to have been sloppily pieced together and hammered in to make them fit. The head piece in particular, which allowed full view of his eyes and nose down to chin line, circled around his shoulders with wide brimming folded flaps that periodically unfurled into a bib over his chest. An inch and a half thick sized belt circled his waist, carrying on each side a holster for shined white pistols most notable for their box like barrels.
"What have I told you?" the figure of white turned backward sharply to confront the cowering boy of dominating orange, "when we're out in the field, you are to call me Heat Zone, just as you are Mad Mirror and Rigel is Tricky."
The third and final figure stepped around Mad Mirror, his costume being even more so garish than his colleagues, like several different costumes had been sewed together and admirably so. His pants were flavoured like a bumble bee, vertically rising lines of the most pristine cuts of black and yellow cloth, while his skin tight shirt was a mixture of purple and orange, horizontally lining up against one another from waist line to neck. He wore a fading purple jacket that properly suited his tall gangly form; the strips of alternating circle and square metal clamps intended to fasten it were left unlatched, the bulk of its curvature around his back thus left to wave outward of and around his sides as he triumphantly marched beyond the line set by Heat Zone. His teal coloured boots were intriguing in design, pixie like wings flowing out from the bubble of his ankles while the coverings itself barely reached the middle line of his shin. His hair was a long flow blonde though cut short along the sides while atop each eye were black palm sized stars. He smiled widely, his perfect rows of teeth really exemplifying the rounded bulge of his chin as he turned to face the Mad Mirror with hands clamping to his sides.
"It's an elephant tusk," Heat Zone returned to his stride forward, on course to encounter his showcasing find.
A single filed series of pedestals about stomach height were enfranchised along the course of the wing. Their material composition was of the finest dark wood, sharp at each corner and unimaginably smooth along their faces. Atop of their flat tops was a size matching box, a cube of glass, which protected within their sides prizes of an earthly value. Precious stones, ancient era hand tools and clothing, were the oft displayed artefact but for those currently standing within the wing's walls the interest was in that of a rarity among body parts belonging to the animal kingdom: an elephant's tusk. The crescent shaped ivory tusk sat upon a transparent two pronged fork stand so that its thicker top nearly would be faced towards the ceiling while its shrivelling pointed end was left to curve towards one of the cage's sides. The wing was dark at this time of night, but it was not without light; strong blue glares from a small bulbs above let their engulfing energies fall upon each individual pedestal, the dust in the air becoming ever so clear in the coloured streams of light but were, as to be expected, ever so absent within the cage itself where the blue seemed replaced by a clarity emitted by the table of white that made the pedestal surface.
"My grandfather assisted in hunting these magnificent tusk filled beasts into extinction, though the species survives through the tuskless male's acquired dominance…quite of a feat of nature. He donated this tusk after his final bout in India. He got to see it all end for the creature…don't you ever wonder what species we'll see disappear in our life time?" He greedily raised his hands to the side of the glass cage, eager to touch it but holding back such eager persuasions.
"Personally," the one named Tricky stepped inward of the side adjacent to Heat Zone and placed a hand to the side of his chest when the smile dropped, "I'm more interested in the creatures I am to discover," his voice was calm yet pompously aware of itself.
"You?" Mad Mirror puzzled the notion.
Tricky nodded to the green headed boy, "that is so," the clasped palm fell from his chest as the smile returned, "I hope to be a fine member in the field of biology someday."
"My Father hopes I will come to this school just as he did and his father before him, this dreary place," Heat Zone fell back from his intense fascination over the artefact, pulling up a hand to his chin as he tossed himself in contemplative thought, "this place hardly presents a challenge for someone such as myself…" he took several steps backwards while shaking out his gun hand to compel his teammate Tricky to do likewise. With a light squeeze of the trigger, the pyramid top at the end of his pistol exploded into an inferno of flames, the sharpest of blood red intertwining with the voluptuous movements of the orange and yellow shades, all of it coming together in a blistering crackle of fire that shot out on a thin stream towards the glass case, skimming along its top where it danced for several seconds beyond the relinquishing of his finger from the trigger.
The three villains were unaware that they had fallen under the watchful eyes of an angelic figure above, hunched over top one of the black steel lined sky windows that sat in the dividing space of each pedestal below. A rare purple colour appeared to be a unifying theme to her heroic presence; her luscious lips, flamboyantly long and curvy hair, and solid unearthly eyes, all possessing a vibrant violet hue that glistened and glowed against the dark clouds of the night sky. Her glossy purple costume scampered to cover her body, being particularly sparse in coverage to some areas while also being excessively full elsewhere. A silver top lined collar held its shape around her neck just a thumb print short of touching her jaw line, the divide it left at the centre of her throat coming to a close with a round violet gem that sat atop bracket of silver that drove around and through her shoulder blade, along the tops of her shoulders and coming full circle on her backside. The rest of her upper body was fully covered save for the insides of her arms which saw only two finger width bands to each side make the connection across, one an inch back of the elbow joint and one an inch afterward. Her forearm was completely wrapped in bracelets that seemingly outclassed that of her necklace in both shine and metal class, being considerably thicker and seemingly bullet proof. The fabric that spaced through the bracelets became solid around her wrists with its completion around the hand coming with triangular pointed flaps caressing both the finger tops and palms with the points connected in the crevice of her index and middle fingers. Sprouting from the silver shoulder riding necklace were flat lying hooked shaped bands that started their curving as close as possible to her shoulders without interference. The full extent of these hooks reached about half way down her torso before their ending points backtracked upwards towards the centre of her chest. Her pants were similar in design to that of her arms, that being the exposure of her knees sides along with single connection straps across before and after her knee but as opposed to the revealing of skin, she took to wearing a silky pair of darker purple beneath. Her belt was similar in design to that of her necklace piece but more triangular in shape downward than the rounded off curve at the centre. Just above the belt and over top of her belly button was another glistening purple gem. Her hair was kept back from her forehead by an 'M' shaped silver piece whose outer lines curved inward with her jaw back towards her ears; a stylized purple star was engraved at its centre. Additionally, she wore a clean white cape that saddled itself upon her left shoulder and curved downward of her thigh. Her skin was a polished orange, verging upon a strain of rare pink, the collective genetic combination of her human-tamaranean parentage which has allowed her to pass amongst the people of planet as a strangely tanned individual rather than an alien foreigner. All in all, her costume was modest, very much unlike that of her mother whose own costume seemed to become lighter on wear with each passing year.
"What do you want with this relic?" Mad Mirror watched as Heat Zone leaned in overtop of the smooth ivory elephant's tusk that was now exposed to the outside world, its glass cage having been melted down into wavy ripples that glowed a lukewarm red along their tops; the cackling heat continuing to disintegrate it down to the wood of the pedestal.
Heat Zone pecked his free hand into the remnants of the cage and lightly tugged on the tusk to get it free of its holding support, "add it back into my family's personal collection of course. My grandfather began to throw his fortune into the wind when he learnt of my father's ambitions to dethrone him…I presume him to have poisoned him at some point, perhaps I too am expected of such."
"This was an easy target," Tricky complained. He clobbered his hands across his chest with a disgruntled slump to his lips, "there aren't many risky ventures to be hand with university security."
"Granted," Heat Zone marvelled at the tusk held in his hand, swaying it around with the turn of his wrist, "but it was just about the excitement of criminality that brought us here. As I understand it, the common person turns to crime so as to better ones position in life."
"What have we got to gain from petty criminality?" Mad Mirror held his shoe in Tricky's notion of disillusionment.
Heat Zone promptly turned his head to orange covered comrade, "what have we?" he took in a deep breath, "what of you?" he scoffed, "your family is considered by our circles to be significantly richer and you yourself are the most intelligent of present company," he returned his gawking eyes to the prize, inspecting the dark lines that looked like browned bruises upon a banana, "why is it that we have allowed you to retain the greatest power of each of us? You are here for the thrill of the endeavour."
"Still," Mad Mirror's shoulders slumped, "I've wanted to do some shooting since we started doing this, it's why I acquired the suit, but all I've done for our gang so far is provided teleportation services from one location to another."
"I know, I know," Heat Zone's voice became fuelled by scorn as he shook his head, "there will be a time when we can focus on your interests, but at current moment I have some strings that I'd like to have tied and it just may be enjoyable for all of us while we're at it."
"What's next on our list," Tricky dropped his arms as he allowed himself to be subjugated to Heat Zone's commands.
"The social gathering three days from now with Elias School," Heat Zone unlatched the holster that was strapped to his chest with a simple fling upwards with his gun, arching the long barrel inward of the hole with a smooth slice, "they're showcasing Christopher Sinise's latest artwork. I'd like to burn it right in front of him. Right in front of everyone," after a few seconds of fumbling around he finally managed to pocket his weapon.
"In public?" Mad Mirror spat in distaste.
"Yes," Heat Zone returned with the taste of scorn once more, "I believe it's about time we showed the world what power we possess and anyway, I hate these social gatherings…and I hate that snivelling artist and his family, he somehow believes has some kind of dignity that prevents him from selling to me. I have to teach him and all those peons just what I'm capable of doing."
"It's kind of risky," Mad Mirror gulped.
"Well then you better keep your pistol ready for a hasty exit," Heat Zone pompously shook his shoulders with a slight raise of his chin, "you'll start feeling it once you get in amongst them, the way they'll cower beneath your presence alone…we'll be far above those whom consider us to be their equals socially."
"I don't know," Tricky clasped the back of his head with a heavy hand, "my girlfriend goes to Elias. She was kind of looking forward to getting together that day."
"Then it's just the kind of challenge you're looking for," Heat Zone pointed a finger towards the garishly dressed teammate, "can Brian commit to separate passions at the same time?" he tilted his head, his eyes no doubt becoming beady behind the thick tint of his goggle pieces, "I don't want to be just a common thief, this," he rose the tusk above his head with an accomplished smirk, "this is symbolic of a victory. The challenged has been given, and we've accomplished it, it's not about the product-" Before he could even hope to complete his sentence, the ceiling window shattered in an explosive ear numbing crunch, bringing for a rainfall of slicked shards which thunderously echoed on the hard marble flooring in the space ahead of the pedestal. At the centre of the impact rose the super heroine Nightstar, rising to her full strength with hands ready to unleash a devastating array of purple flamed star bolts. The three relenting criminals cautiously took steps back, unable to take their eyes off this impeccable display of prowess.
"Then put it back," Nightstar scolded as she stepped towards them, in line with the shrivelling remains of the pedestal, the melting tar of the Heat Zone's flames now working their way into the wood, "and I could very well be nice to each of you."
Heat Zone, overcoming the numbness of surprise, immediately retracted the fire arrow tipped pistol into his hand and with a smirk unleashed its flaming force in the heroine's direction. The powerful punch behind his fuel made its mark against the wooden face of the pedestal, scorching it black for nought but five seconds before causing it to crumble completely to the floor; plenty of time for Nightstar to have already made her move. With a heavy smash of her right foot to the floor, she took into a hefty leap above the pedestal, following through on a curving smash that saw her powered up fist fall upon the poor boy's firing hand. His head fell backward immediately while his mouth opened as wide as it could to cry out in pain, the gun falling to the floor at a near instant. Understanding her limited time, she powered up a starbolt in her palm for half a second before firing it off towards Tricky, promptly dropping him to the floor with a blistering collision to his chest. She turned sharply to catch onto Mad Mirror but by the time she had reach back to make another volley the orange and green clad boy had already pulled up his box ended guns opened fire, smiling sinisterly as he did so.
They were like rays of compacted blue tinged lightning, one after the other, drawn from an intricate series of mirrors that layered the insides of the firearms' barrels. Nightstar was nimble enough in her footing to avoid the first two spattering rays and keen enough to block the third firing with a raised arm, the strong bracelet doing its duty, but the third one clipped her hard to the shoulder and with a shrieking pain ridden grunt of her own, she twisted her back towards her enemy and lost her balance in doing so, falling face first to the floor.
"Get us out of here!" Heat Zone shouted, his crumpled form having long since fallen to his knees so that he could appeal to the pain of his swollen hand. He clambered around for a bit to get a hold of his pistol, finally managing to get a hold and cobble up the strength to stand upright and get behind his laser totting buddy.
Mad Mirror took one last opportunity to fire upon the heroine, the strengthening beam of light finding its way to her lower abdomen causing her spin uncontrollably along the smoothly polished floor on a collision course with Tricky whom, while firstly startled, was able to get back on his feet quick enough to take a flat footed jump over top of her. Upon landing he immediately bolted over to join his colleagues.
As though he practiced the manoeuvre all his life, Mad Mirror holstered one of his guns in a flash so that his now free hand could go about modulating the other held pistol. His thumb and index finger clamped upon the white topped knob that jutted out from the back end of the barrel and proceeded to twist it in a hurry while his colleagues, pain and all, began to weakly find their cover at his side. With one last trigger pull, he shot the floor space directly in front of them.
The last that Nightstar saw of them as she pulled herself up to her knees was an impressive flash of white light. She had not failed to incite fear in the hearts of criminals as she had been taught so by her father, they had ran away after all, but she had failed to prevent the thievery of which they intended and for that she felt a little bit more worse for wear than usual.
At the dawn of a new day, Jace Allen, the fastest boy alive, sought the company of the plain yet intricate forms of plant life he had set to grow and flourish within the walls of a makeshift greenhouse room at the side of the West family home. This plant dedicated section of the spacious home was originally reserved for the hot tub but due to difficulties with the weather [INT#3] and the pleading of Jace himself, the focus of the room had changed drastically. Since one of the home's masters, Jai West, enjoyed the view of the outdoors while emerging his body in calming hot water, the majority of the outward facing walls were already fixed with variably wide glass panels, each one flat, clean and ready to allow the sun's solar rays to pass through their forms to be absorbed by the precious greens stored within. The outside facing broad wall possessed a full length sliding door system to its upper side, closest to the front of the house, while a sizable window emplacement starting at about stomach height upwards to the ceiling began nearly at the touch of the sliding door's edge and trailed towards the back of the house. The backside wall had a sliding door system of its own, enfranchised at its absolute centre. The wall facing the front of the house was unlike all the others for its first metre of solidity was composed of oblong shaped rocks about the size of the average person's palm, all cobbled together tightly with cracks filled in with the pale cement grey paste; it was within this inside corner, along this strip of rock, that the sizable hot tub was entrenched. Above the stones, much like as it was to the floor and between the straight edges of the glass doors and windows, were horizontally laid wooden boards, all polished to glow in their creamy colour. The interior wall, running synonymous with the house, had a long window strip of its own that gave full view of a pleasantly empty white walled room on the other side. The full reach of this window across the span of the wall was cut short by the presence of a darkly painted door that held its position close to the back corner, its composition being notable for its hollowed interior as well as the head sized glass window that was more often than not perfectly matched to the height of the body part used to describe it.
Within this room, Jace had layered at least two rows of thick wooden plank shelves along the walls, avoiding of course the presence of doors, of which he kept atop their holds a variable size of clay pots of a very earthly orange flavour. The large majority of these plants he so dutifully cared for were especially rare flower types, well, rare in so far as they were not present in his home era, the twenty eighth century. The colours, while sparse in such an early stage of life, were quite remarkable, invoking many feelings of warmth with their sharp shades of scarlet and yellow, one of which, a mixture of the vying dominating shades, had caught his attention along the outside wall, less than a foot upwards of the window that the shelf ran along. His focus he held upon the cup of water in his hand was truly admirable, the essence that he poured out and into the blackened soil being calculated to precision necessity for the plant's health, but this vast determination and mental power was not without its faults for when the door leading into the house rattled upon opening his body suddenly shook and his hand wavered back to prevent the last gush of liquid from slipping off the container's curved ledge.
The person whom had taken him off balance with their entry was Jai, the powerless son of the once former Flash, Wally West. He was a sizable specimen of muscle, broad shoulders with grape fruit sized biceps and a striking shot of short rippling black hair with dark eyes to match. Flexed overtop of his body was a tight fitting short sleeved baby blue shirt that folded out minimally into curls around his waist line where his slick navy blue sweat pants began. His heavy steps were thunderous upon the floor; it was not difficult for Jace to realize just who it was without even looking, "Jace?" he cried out.
Jace was considered tall among his peers and naturally athletic. His hair was lightly trimmed short to his scalp, being unkempt and scruffy as the speed at which he travelled often caused it to become so and thus he felt there to be no reason in maintaining it fashionably. The colour that imbued his eyes was a rare tan colour; brown, but nonetheless lightly running in a very creamy sense, certainly not a shade that one encountered often in others roaming the earth in this era. Additionally, he was nearly straight jawed just as the other Flash's look like before him. Young as he was, he had never properly taken himself into the cultural hub and activity of the cities he lived in, preferring the ideals of substance over value and simplicity over complexity when it came to being alive day to day, and as such, took to a simple wear of black dress pants and a tight fitting red short sleeved shirt that properly conveyed his torso's muscular features albeit partially covered by the slimming almost plastic like black jacket that confirmed rather loosely to his arms but fluttering lifeless across the breadth of his chest. Initial encounters with the boy would affirm his youthful vigour, but those whom knew him well recognized the far reaches of his experiences that lay trapped behind his eyes. "Jai," his head bobbled up for nary a second before his chin slumped down to the centre of his chest. He promptly pulled up the glass and set it to the side of the pot that had once held his deepest interests.
"I just talked to Iris," Jai came to a resounding stop several steps inward of the opened door, padding his hands down his sides to iron out the bulging wrinkles in her shirt, "she's doing damage control with the Mayor today…" het let a significant space of silence elapses, all the time of which Jace continued to hunch his shoulders, unwilling to face him, "it's been reported," he let a heavy expulsion of air, "the Hyperguard killed twenty-three people [INT#7-8]."
Jace sighed as his neck straightened back up. The palm of his right hand smacked against the corner of his forehead where it roamed for a while till it had found a zone of comfort of which to latch onto. His unconscious eyes wavered to the clean blades of grass outside the window and the towering trees only a short distance away, closing off the West family's property, "what do you want me to say Jai?" the hand fell to his thigh as he abruptly turned around, "do you want me to apologize that a number of innocent people were killed because of my actions?" his voice came across as a growl, coarse as it strained to maintain a low key monotone.
"Whoa," Jai shook a hand out to Jace, "you haven't killed anyone." He shook his head as his hand returned to his side, "that's not what this is about…I was talking to Iris about what you said to her the other day," he took in two panting breaths, "I've got to admit; I've become quite concerned about you."
"And why should you care? I should have never come here…been left here," Jai appeared about ready to step in but Jace swiftly waved him down, silently commanding him to let him finish; "do you think I like being imprisoned in this devolving era? Everyone I've met," his eyes wavered around and about as he desperately sought out the proper wording but inevitably came out empty, "I can't explain it. They spend the entirety of their lives trying to attain what they most desire but they're all so unwilling to take those necessary steps to make those awaiting achievements real. I thought I was beginning to understand this train of thought…the actions I've taken with all their repercussions but I've seen something now, a future hope, and I can't stop thinking about it now," his head fell back against the window, pushing lightly against the multi-coloured bulb of the flower with his backside, "who wouldn't want to turn back the hands of time? To save the lives of those lost, of those we've lost," he accentuated hard upon the second slice of his concluding statement.
"And you believe you have the right to do that?" Jai flexed his bulging arms across his chest as he became stern.
"I have the power to; therefore, I have a moral obligation use all that I have to do so," Jace left his perch against the window and nodded in affirmation, "there has to be a reason why the Speed Force chose to embed its power within me…I've just made some mistakes in my past. I only need to reformulate some of my calculations."
Jai nodded as his arms flopped down to his sides, "I'm not exactly sure why Max Mercury left you here with us but," he gulped, "I'm pretty sure it had something to do with this. When my father left us, Iris was left to her own accord and sure I've been the best support that I could be but I know it's not the same, I don't see the same way that she sees. The world, it just flies right by her. But she's not alone anymore and neither are you…Jace," Jai reached out a hand for the boy's shoulder, "don't let yourself fall into this," he shook his head, "you can't keep fighting it. It's always going to escalate. It starts with one life shattering tragedy and then you're suddenly asking yourself why not all tragedies before it? You'll spend the entirety of your life looking for answers to problems that were never meant to be solved. It will engulf you."
"Is that what happened to Wally?" Jace piqued up.
Jai relinquished his hand, "I don't know," he sighed with the shake of his head, "I just hope you understand that with all that power you possess, every time you change a piece of your past you change every facet of your life. You'll change everything that makes you who you are. The impact of a tragedy such as your own is wholly stripped of its meaning the moment you step your foot in and change it," Jai huffed up as he turned to bellowing from the deep recesses of his lungs, "Jace, how could you ever want to kill yourself?"
Jace winced, his voice becoming sullen, "I just don't want to think about it anymore."
The swirling tensions that filled the air of the room were cleanly cut by a garbling ring, a phone within the house proper having sounded off in three second intervals. Two of these rings passed by him before Jai finally relented his stare from Jace's eyes, "I'll get it." Jace watched him as he infiltrated the house before abruptly turning back towards his planting project, once more becoming fully engrossed in the colours of the flower and lamenting the lack of sunlight falling upon it. "It's for you," Jai tossed up his hand with the blocky grey cordless phone in hand, "its Mar'i," he seemed to shake in disbelief.
"Hello," Jace clasped the plastic device to the side of his head. Jai watched as Jace's eyes lost all focus, spacing out into nothingness as the static laced words blistered out of the phone's speaker, "intriguing," a short span of seconds paced by once more, "no, I'm not doing anything today. Of course," he nodded, "I'll be over within the next hour," his phone holding hand dropped with the conclusion of his last word. He looked over to Jai, recognizing the curiosity that filled his eyes, "she says that she's encountered the rogues."
"You're alive!" it had not taken much to disengage Interval from his condensed strain of thought. It was quite impactful, this soft pitched shout, so filled of momentous relief. The voice itself, its tonal pattern, was becoming so very familiar to him, his calculated memory already having cycled through the various dates he had heard such poignancy. He inevitably fell upon a single recognizable face. It was the voice of Jadelynn, she having successfully untied the knots of stress and tension that formerly held a near impenetrable stronghold within her stomach with the simple crossing of her vision over him. Her tooth filled smile was growing evermore with every passing second as her feet trotted with a clang against the single sheet of metal that made the floor board; she was on course to meet him. Her hair was black and lacy though abstracted of such soft value as it was tied up in a bun at the back of her head. Her chin angled to a point of ease providing a strong base for a symmetrical outline that was best conveyed in her tear blue dotted eyes and tiny flat nose. She wore a jumpsuit of sorts, enticing nearly the entirety of her body in a thick silky black material that cut short only at the bulbs of her wrists and in a triangular point down the centre of her neck.
Prior to the arrival of Jadelynn, Interval's focus had been fixated upon the colour display of the cumbersome monitor screen that had its straight sides wedged snuggly into the fully rounded wall of the tubular shaped booth he stood in. The scarlet colour that represented the family line of the Flash was present in his shin high boots, the stunted gloves that meagrely reached beyond wrists, cowl piece, and the encompassing triangular piece that began along the ridges of his shoulders and narrowed into his waist where it closed off with a flat head while a thin chain of lightning circled around him like a belt. The rest of his suit maintained a straight black. His ears were fitted with small silvery saucers from which an inch and a half long bolt of yellow lightning blistered off to the back of his head while his eyes were protected by goggle pieces tinted to a light yellow. The oft considered essential feature of the Flash, the logo, was a feature present at the centre of his chest; a circular of white within a raised black boundary line with a thick bolt of yellow streaking from one side down a diagonal line to another. He twisted his neck away from the screen, peering out from the enclosure of the booth in order to gather a healthy look of her as she came to him with arms wide open. She reached both her delicate hands under his shoulders as she took a step up onto the booth's base so they could be on equal footing. Needless to say, he was most confused when she pressed her grasp around his backside tightly and gently laid the side of her head against his chest. His arms lay numb, uncertain as to how to approach this strange act of hers.
The booth that they stood within was spacious in its circular shape but along with the placement of the monitor screen wedged against the booth's curved wall, the wide stretching size of the plastic though light stone grey colour topped table directly below and the variety of computer cords trailing into the floor, there was just little room left to walk around. A thick coat of orange paint, its texture almost rubber like, engrossed the booth's base while the walls themselves were painted an empowering purity of white; not a single dimple in sight. It was one of three similar designed booths though not as complexly oriented. One was directly across from the one they stood in, the metre wide entrance ways of each lining up to one another handsomely, while the other was several metres down at the end of the walkway from which Jadelynn was presumed to have walked from.
They of course were not alone in occupying the space of the booth. Jadelynn's caretaker, John Thermos, was presently hunched over top of the computer table, his hands hovering lightly above the neon blue lined keys of the primary computer board that lay upon the table. When standing upright, he was a whole head taller than average person with a muscle structure well suited to such an advantage in height. He had a personal preference for dark clothing, currently wearing a long knee reaching deep blue jacket that was most notable for its wide lined lapels that sharply glinted white as its plastic like fabric dictated; it was of a high quality material most impeccable for its resistance to the assortments of scrapes and cuts a fighting man was oft to face. Its trustworthy design was used again in the fashioning of his black pants and once more in the coating of his shoes. He had very short black hair, nearly shaved, a crew cut of sorts that brought the attention down to his strictly brown oval eyes. His jaw line was quite embedded into his face, causing the skin of his cheeks to ripple inwards making the bulging of bone most prominent. He was very military like in his demeanour, a trait most fitting considering his previous career: NSA agent. When he had left the service of the government, he located himself and Jadelynn to Keystone city where he used his exceptional skills in service to the black market, providing buyers with documents, weapons and prized control computer chips, one of which in the last category gathering the attention of Interval, the powers of guilt being all to unmanageable for him and thus sought the young speedster's help after being saved by him [INT#6]. Upon hearing the light crunch of Jadelynn's steps upon the booth's base, his head suddenly rose up straight promptly followed by the turn of his head in order to catch the two in their friendly embrace with his sharpening eyes, a small smirk forming upon his face.
"What happened?" Jadelynn let the warmth of her body slide away from him after several seconds of their closeness elapsed. Her hands remained loosely connected to his sides most unwilling to let go completely, "you were acting like we were never going to see you again," her eyes fluttered rapidly as they connected deeply into his.
"At the moment of my exit, I believed that it was to be so," Interval returned with his dry monotone.
"I have to admit," John stepped in, arms grasping around his back causing the long flaps of his jacket to crunch in together like a cape, "I'm a little bit surprised by your visit myself but my curiosity remains ever more so bolder," he tilted his chin to the speedster, "how is that you survived your encounter with the Hyperguard? What has become of them?"
"Removed from our timeline," Jadelynn's arms slid from Interval's sides as he turned his attention to John, "there is a place within the core source of my power-"
"The Speed Force?" Jadelynn cut in with a knowledgeable understanding.
"Yes," Interval momentarily nodded to her before returning to John, "it is a motionless prison, designed to hold those powerful enough to transverse the speed of light and time itself if they so choose to use such abilities for ill purposes. I had been imprisoned there once before and as a result I became knowledgeable of the vibrational frequency necessary to enter it. My plan was to release them there."
"I take it that there was no way for you to return?" John pondered.
"The time that I was imprisoned there, when I made my attempt to escape, I nearly broke the fabric of the Speed Force," Interval suddenly became more sullen as his arms clobbered to cross over his stomach as though a boiling pain was emanating from there, "it was because of that and other actions taken that Hyperguard were able to escape from their lost time stream and enter our own. Risking an attempt to escape may have unleashed a greater threat than just the Hyperguard, and in any case, I am not as powerful as my colleagues. I had assistance on my first escape. I most assuredly would have been engulfed by its energies had I attempted to once more."
"The Flash," John took in a deep breath, "you should have seen her when she came to the understanding of your great peril. She moved so fast I had not even blinked. She knew exactly what you were planning to do and she straightened up at an instant. I assume since you're here that she had managed to preserve your existence but I must ask: what of her?"
"She is fine," Interval conferred in haste, "her arrival was perfectly time to remove me from my course of action," he pulled his sight down from John, "less than a millisecond before entry into the motionless prison."
"How can you be certain then," John's hand wandered to his sides as he intensely focussed on Interval as the young speedster pulled his head back up, "that the Hyperguard are where you want them to be?"
"I suppose that I can't be entirely certain," Interval relented but proceeded to take a lighter tone upon furthering his position, "but the Speed Force has more than just prisons within its many folds. It's been noted a number of times that speedsters who pass on from life enter a serene world within," he periodically glanced to both John and Jadelynn, a shine to his eyes, "a Valhalla for speedsters if you will. Those whom have encountered it claim that the heroes now living in this realm have occasionally come to their assistance as their battles progress into the Speed Force itself."
"So someone was there to help you?" Jadelynn squeaked.
"I saw someone," Interval nodded, "but as to his identity, that much is debated but I believe I have a grasp of it all. Though it may sound strange to you, I am under the belief that this person may have actually been me."
"What?" Jadelynn recoiled in puzzlement.
"I've travelled through time before. It is how I've made it from my home century to yours here," Interval continued, "perhaps I've been here before and you have failed to notice my presence just as I have. It's not exactly a notion that can be supported with any evidence, but it's a strong possibility considering the many facets of the Speed Force in relation to time travel, as well as the appearance of this person. Who would know the trials of my life better than me?"
"You sound overly optimistic," John chimed in, "I would go so far as to say you were feeling hopeful."
"Hope?" Interval seemed to raise a brow, "that is a good word. Yes, I believe so," he giddily nodded, "this future version of myself passed through the Speed Force without aid, overcoming the suffering and death that surely would have been placed upon me had I tried so. The greatest of my powers lay in the events of the future, and it is very bright…." He forced smile up on his face. It was weak in its breadth but powerful enough to be captured by Jadelynn whom felt a gentle sway of warmth fill her chest at a moment's notice.
"But aside from these pleasantries and stories of survival," John abruptly turned around to the table where his hands immediately swivelled in to gather their previous positioning overtop of the keys, "I assume there are other reasons for your appearance here."
"The Flash is not particularly strong when it comes to interrogation techniques," Interval stepped up to John's left side, eyes rising to the brightness of the monitor screen which displayed upon its flat face patterned blotches of green, brown, grey, blue, sand and other grounded shades that all collectively created a satellite picture view of the city they inhabited along the coast of the major river. "I was hoping that through your connections in the underground markets that I could acquire information about the movements of some arms, Rogue's arms to be exact."
"Ah, the Rogues," John tapped his index finger down on a sizable button which flushed away the bird's eye city view, replacing it with several fully bodied pictures, criminal persons of a costume variety whom he though to sound off as they appeared from left to right, "Heat Wave," the man in white with the orange cartridge flame showering gun, "Weather Wizard," a man in a full body green outfit with a golden wand in hand, "the Trickster," a scrawny being with an impeccably flamboyant fashion taste, "Mirror Master," an orange suited person with the oddest full face mask of green, "and of course, long time flash arch enemy and Rogues leader, Captain Cold," the man with the blue parka of doom and dual purple coloured pistols that oozed ice from their tips. Interval shook his head disapprovingly with the finality to John's words with the final member noted. "There are many others I'm sure, but even crime historians have had difficulty pinning down the entirety of their roster," he held back a heavy expulsion of breath, "much of the originals have retired and moved on to other business practices, most still illicit in nature, but not as life threatening as before. Captain Cold, as I recall, was particularly shrewd in his criminal acts and enforced fine policies throughout the ranks he commanded. " He further tapped the keys, the pictures quickly dissipating to a glossy black screen punctuated by the presence of green grid lines that placed a multitude of numbers within the sections created by row and column dividing lines, "they've done well to cover themselves as far as weapons dealing is concerned. Back in their days of infamy they were noted for killing whoever attempted to duplicate their unique approaches but that hasn't stopped a few off hand items slip from their hideaway."
"As you have probably figured, I encountered Captain Cold fairly recently [INT#3]," Interval scanned through the assortment of numerical symbols as they corresponded to cities such as Gotham, Keystone, Coast, Gateway along straight lined rows; it was the stock market of the criminal underworld. "He was using technology acquired from all Rogues members, applying their specializations to his own."
"Well, perhaps he has formed a new incarnation of his team?" John batted an eye up to the speedster, thoroughly understanding the agile thinker to have already conceived such a possibility to negative effect.
"No," Interval shook his head, "He turned his own ice pistol on himself as his plans collapsed upon my intervention. I have been unable to locate any of his remains but at the time of our encounter his vital organs were already slowed to the point of cryogenic sleep. If anything is left of him, it's buried at the bottom of the river."
"Then do you have any other information for me to work with?"
"Yes," Interval nodded in affirmation, "the city this incarnation was encountered in was Bludhaven."
For several seconds the keyboard fell under the mercy of John's finger, the plastic crunching sound of each individual key soon developed into a symphony as the rate at which he inputted commands increased. The multiple green lined columns soon flickered into emptiness but did not stay bare for very long; the column noted as city or location quickly filled in along each line the letter 'B', attaching to it after a single dash mark, 'Bludhaven'. And when sixteen slots had been filled, John's hands came to rest, "each thread makes note of a Rogue's based weaponry within the buying pool. I could investigate each one and might possibly acquire a name for you but there are several concerns I must make mention of," he pulled himself up from his towering position above the table, relaxing the tension in his back with the casual rotations of his shoulders, "while this market in particular functions on the underground protected Unternet, honour among thieves and all, it is not as though the authorities are not aware that transaction are being made in the subbasements of cyberspace. Even if these salespersons claim to be operating out of Bludhaven, more often than not they are from other criminal hubs like Gotham, outsourcing their products to avoid detection. It would take hours to sift through all the digital files to get a proper source."
"There's something else though, isn't there?" Interval raised a brow as he found himself staring at John.
"I'm a fairly well regarded salesperson," John relented, "I doubt my respectable reputation would be upheld if they found me to be investigating at the behest of a person associated with a major superhero."
"I don't particularly see myself as a superhero," Interval hastily replied.
"Of course not," John smirked, "that's why I said associated."
"I can handle this kind of investigation in a method more befitting someone of my talents," Interval let his eyes slide down the column of numbers that snuggled to the right side of the locations listing, each one detailing a particular time as based upon a twenty four hour clock, "I'll search each integer of the city on foot till I've found what I'm looking for."
"Not only would there be no guarantee that you'd find what you were looking for but it's Bludhaven you're searching through. It's a cesspool of violence with a governmental structure known for its severe criminal leanings" John stepped into a persona akin to a cautious father, "I trust that the Flash is to be with you on this case?"
"No," Interval took in a deep breath as he turned to John, "I'm afraid she's busy with matters of public image in light of recent events. But do not be concerned, I have a friend whom is local to the area, in fact, it was she whom made me knowledgeable of the Rogues being present in Bludhaven."
"Who is this?" John pondered.
"Nightstar," Interval replied with the loosening of a tightly held breath.
"Yes, I do believe I've heard of her," John turned to his keyboard once more, fingers slicing into the keypad with surprising immensity. The green lines and digits swiftly disappeared to bring up a crisp action caught picture of the violet hued super heroine, her fists fully engrossed in swaths of fiery energy, "the Tamaranean girl."
"She's only half Tamaranean," Interval corrected, "I've studied her file several times. She has lived in Bludhaven all her life, and has received training in fighting and gymnastics from both her parents in addition to having spent a year on Themyscira training with the Amazon tribes. If there's anyone my age whom could survive the brutality of Bludhaven that I hear in the weekly news reports, it would be her…its almost a wonder why she can't handle this problem on her own."
"She's very beautiful," Jadelynn chimed in, slowly wedging herself in between Interval and John as she threw her gaze upon the screen, caught in the heroine's clean tooth filled smile. The inner tips of her eyebrows began to curl upwards from atop her nose as her hands drew into a crumpled form at the centre of her chest; for whatever reason, she was quite distressed by the image she saw.
"Alright," Interval took a step backwards, "I shall be off. I'll be sure to let you know the results of this investigation."
"Goodbye Int-" Jadelynn rapidly turned around in an attempt to face the young hero with her farewell but all she found was the blurred after image of the scarlet hues that made up his costume; he was considerably far away from them now, but even more so further when she came to stuttering through the name of his heroic identity. "Well he went off in a hurry," she slammed her hands to the sides of her waist a she returned to John's side, "I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with this girl. I bet he takes off whenever she calls," she shook out a hand towards the delightful flat yet all-encompassing image of Nightstar that maintained its hold upon the screen, "I wondering if he's seeing her," the once straight admirable lines of her shoulder's slumped with a lung wrenching expulsion of air, "heh, I wonder what he sees in all that…" her head wobbled as the snarky comment lingered off towards words she did not have the heart to say.
"I see that you are jealous of her," John commented.
"Yes," Jadelynn snapped out from her depressing state with a fully body shake that ruffled strongly at her neck, "like I need to deny or explain anything to you anymore. You know what I'm thinking, how I feel…" she shied away from him as the uptight behaviour fell upon a sombre tone, "I don't even know her," she sighed, "I thought maybe we had something when he came here and talked to me but maybe all I'm really good at is being a listener. I barely know him either, but he's so noble, isn't he? I don't get to meet much people in this hole of ours. He can run anywhere he wants, be wherever he wants; he wants to run to that," she pointed disgustedly at the image once more.
"I don't think you should have anything to worry about," John tapped one key and the powerful image of the hero Nightstar whisked away into the nothingness, replaced almost immediately with the colour tones of the city from a space eye's view, "I don't think you're his type."
"What?" Jadelynn sparked up, shaking a hand out to John, "and so this super girl is because she's just so super? Well of course she is; she can defend her way through a slum like Bludhaven."
"That's not what I meant," John raised his back up straight, pulling his arms around to his backside as he looked down upon Jadelynn with a small smile, "I don't she's his type either…"
"Yeah, OK, I don't know why I can't compete," she huffed up as her skin began to boil in a swirling mixture of anger and resentment, somehow letting her emotional state glean over whatever wisdom her oldest friend had to offer, "no, I can," she nodded for her own personal benefit, "I can show him what I'm capable of. I don't need super powers or a rocking body to be effective as a vigilante," Jadelynn immediately stepped down from the booth, landing upon the walkway with a clang, "you've taught me everything you know…I've nearly mastered two different forms of martial arts, I can hack any Amtrac rail lines control centre and bank vaults…I have a lot of skills and I'm resourceful. I'm not just some person who lives in a wall waiting to be told someone else's life story. I mean has anyone ever seen me leave this place?" she twisted around to John, a hand thrown on a curvature across her body from waist to shoulder side.
"Well if they did," John shook his head, "then we'd have to relocate wouldn't we?"
"I have a life story of my own that I'd like to tell others someday," Jadelynn abruptly turned to her left, recognizing the solid steel plates that comprised the exit door, "I can't be hiding in a hole forever, I've got to do something, so that when I'm old…I can be satisfied with myself."
John took in a hefty gasp of air, "do be careful though." And with those kind words the dividing line of the door plates divided, opening up to the wide spacing alleyway outside than ran along the side of their humble abode. Jadelynn swiftly pulled up a rectangular shaped palm held device from her pocket as she stepped forward, its full top surface screen displaying an image very similar to that of the representation of the city on John's monitor screen though with one minor exception; speed lines, the trail of a speedster.
It was a simple cold coloured room with simple structured furnishings. The entirety of the western wall was a single sheet of glass several inches thick and while it did portray the immensely powerful reach of the sun's enveloping light, albeit slightly modulated on account of its bowed out shape, upon the clean buildings of Keystone City from several stories upwards, one gathered the feeling that what was seen from within here was not shared with the outdoor public on account of its surreal blue tint, a one way window. The lone desk of this room was shaped like a grinning smile, each broadside curved in parallel cuts to one another with sizable half circle closures to each end. The end side facing the window was particularly more so bulkier than the other, necessarily requiring a support base of significant esteem to hold the numerous shelves it carried. The smiling board top was smooth and of a slate like blue in its colouring touch; however, while the colour maintained through its supporting base, its overall feel was coarse and rigid with little flecks of gem like stones. Within its curving arch was a chair of a deep blue stained leather like coverage with a squared top ledge that rose well in excess of where the head would lay, supported instead by two horizontally laid ridges that would absorb its backside within their folds. It was slightly curved inward of the room, away from the window, all waiting for its rightful owner to take her seat within it. Yes, it was a simple room, but just how fitting was it for a private meeting with the mayor?
"Twenty-three people dead," the mayor's voice filtered through a hush as she circled around the bulge of the desk to get to her chair. Her eyes were fixed upon the soft comfort that lined the interior of the chair, imagining its feeling beneath her all to ready to sink body which she carried day to day, hour to hour, with a faltering conscience in times of duress. She was a sharped jawed tall middle aged woman with her dark raven hair cut short, well textured and pulled to a flat topped cliff at the top of her forehead; it was her sign of youth, strength and courage but the sullen tinge of purple below her lifeless brown eyes revealed in the inner turmoil that enveloped her since assuming this often delicate position of government. Her suit was dark and modestly fitting to her body, the only touch of colour coming from the button up blouse beneath her slimming jacket whose collar flared up the sides of her neck in their thick folded emplacements. She kept her chin buried in her chest as she took her seat, allowing for it to swivel on its wheels to put herself in the front face of the super heroin standing in her presence, The Flash, whom she had ignored all the way to her chair.
The Flash was a slender yet muscular looking woman with an abundance of strength and fortitude to match those whom carried the title before her. Like these predecessors, she maintained the distinctive colours and costume apparel along with her own personal touches; a scarlet red body suit, a bulky black belt with a very well shined golden centre buckle haphazardly sitting loosely around her waist, shin high clean yellow boots that moulded tightly to her feet in their blocky fashion, gloves that stretched more so on the outside of her arms than the inside thus creating a flair of triangular pointed barbs on the movement of her elbows and rising up from the coverage of her neck, a face piece that rode up her cheeks and crossed over top of her nose and forehead leaving the oval eye slots to be covered in bubbling goggles tinted just enough to prevent a visual find in her eyes. Of the more personal touches to her costume was the leather like jacket she was seldom seen without wearing, a throwback item from the nineties, she enjoy the comfort of its tightness around the arms while keeping the four buckles that normal surrounded her stomach open and free so as to allow the most important part of the Flash costume noticeable; the strike of thick yellow lightning across the chest. Her hair was no doubt flamboyantly red, long and luxurious when fully unwound but while treading around in her heroic identity the threads were pulled tightly together to a bulb at the back of her head, allowing the later sections roam freely like a tail; its movements while in top speed certainly did not go unnoticed. "Mayor Kolins, I just want to be understood clearly…I was not responsible for those deaths and I'm just as sorry as anyone that this has happened, even more so…" she was young, somewhere in the process of entering into her mid-twenties. It was at times like this that she was so desirous of her father's presence. It was not something she could simply run away from, be free spirited in the way she was as Kid Flash.
"Considering that these monsters' wore your colours, moved at your speeds , that they forcefully evicted them from their places of work, their cars, their daycare and restricted them to their homes…the fact that they wore your emblem," mayor Kolin's steadily raised her head with a heavy heart that bled its emotional girth through her mouth, "I do not think it very much matters how apologetic you are," they had finally reached a visual connection and with that, the Flash's nearly jumped, "I've already received several notifications for your arrest for questioning on top of hundreds of hate laced letters, threats to the wellbeing of the Flash museum…thankfully in your case, mayor Hazelwood in Central City has set himself up personally as the museum's protector, reminding just what your forbearers have done for both our cities and to disregard this one blemish in a long line of heroics."
The Flash took in a tough breath which promptly found itself held to a length that incurred internal pain, "I'm sorry…." She pleaded for forgiveness with a heavy sniff.
"I know," Mayor Kolin's nodded, "I understand, I never suspected you to have been involved in any of this, not after you, your father, your family, all that they've done for us over the years. No," she shook her head, "this, you love this city more than all of us, just as we all once loved you. You've dealt with these problematic speedsters I trust?"
"Yes," The Flash nodded, "but please, there must be something I can do now. I want to earn back their trust."
"I wouldn't bother," Mayor Kolins fell back into her chair, hands perplexing overtop of her stomach, "unless you can turn back the hands of time, in all likelihood, somewhere over the course of your adventures here, they'll have all forgotten and moved on…" she took in a hard swallow, "I hope."
Bludhaven's storied history played a crucial role in its architectural design. Its original planners sought to develop the location as a fishing and whaling town but with the decline of this industry by the turn of the twentieth century its more prominent neighbour, Gotham City, began to shift its weight of influence upon it, applying to its narrow faculties an economy that while diffuse in its structure inevitably made it wholly dependent upon the successes and failures of Gotham centred corporations. With its role of dependency secured, the city became a new field of operation for gangs and crime lords whom felt themselves no longer suited for the constant battle ground of Gotham City but with the dawn of a new century, after well over a hundred years of control, their authoritative hold of collapsed upon itself. No more than twenty years ago several super villains unleashed a swath of deadly chemicals upon the city nearly levelling it in addition to taking the lives of half its populace. With this focal point an opportunity for change arose. The subsequent elected mayors decided to rebuild the ruins in a way that applauded the architectural designs of its forefathers but applied a modern approach when it came to its physical construction. The results of this undertaking saw the creation of buildings that held upon their faces such aged features as brick linings, hardened black steel, plastered rock, and columned beams of wood; however, anyone willing to take the time to inspect these features would find their substances to be wholly compatible with the generic materials used in this current era of architecture: hard plastic, mixed concrete, and a wide variety of fabricated metals. While these impeccably strong materials gave the city a fresh coat of paint, the gangs and crime lords whom had come to see Bludhaven as their home prior to its destruction soon returned with a heightened edge of hostility towards outsiders and thus, with the a very short passage of time, business in the underworld returned.
There was a particular home in Bludhaven that was of interest. It was within the city limits but stood apart of the dirt and grit of the inner city in a clean luxurious strip of other homes of a similar social build; the upper class. It was a two story building shaped much like a box with straight edges, flat sides and notable angles. The overall size of this building appeared well in excess of a personal sized arena which appeared to be more or so the case considering that the front wall of the second floor was for the most part a long window strip comprised of small foot squared panes of glass as divided by inch thick black steel lines. With a finely painted violet dual door set situated at its centre and a series of smaller windows along the line of the first floor, as well as the second where the long one did not reach, the outer sides of the house were designed with hard plastic brick overlays of a deep slate blue tint. The front yard was tattered in variable shades of green, the grass blades unwilling to grow and flourish in and amongst one another but all in all quite evenly placed throughout the rectangular box with but one interruption: the cold grey stone walkway that led up to the entrance. Numerous thin pine trees of exceptional bounty lined closely to the sides, providing privacy to the home from the others that began beside it, those equally as well off neighbours. It was of special interest since while the other homes to its block were for the most part unoccupied, crime having scared many of wealthy class away, this one was inhabited.
"This is where Todd trained to become Nightwing?" Interval took a quick look around the cumbersome training arena he had come to be in before inevitably allowing his eyes to wander to the floor where the slanted view of the large window's black lined shadow cascaded across the floor, interacting occasionally with the a much straighter lined shadows as generated by the similarly built sky light windows that made up much of the roof. About seven feet inward of the walls was a solid premium blue plastic frame, containing within it, the centre of the room, a rubbery foam of a much lighter touched grey colouration; it was presumably the field in which much training took place. He avoided its soft touch beneath his feet with much candour, stepping along the hard edge of the plastic floor that encompassed its sides as he followed his guide, Mari.
"My father was particularly fond of him," Mari gingerly responded. She was on course for a single steel door embedded within the blue plastered side wall just a few feet inward of the front face of the house. It was smoothed into the wall so cleanly as to make a levelled feeling in passing across, "he was very close friends with his mother as was mine," she stumbled in her final words as she came to recognize a stop in Interval's following steps. She abruptly turned around to confront him, finding him to be fully transfixed upon several wooden tubular pegs that lined along the full breadth of solid back wall. They were at a height perfect enough to hang one's jacket, but each one was lacking any such item to hold. Without warning, he shifted his examination to the soft rubber floor, seemingly working his way through the multiple imperfections that arose from objects, most likely balance beams, exercise equipment and others of that ilk having been positioned in their spots a significant amount of time to overcome the retraction of the rubbery composition. "Yeah, I…" she trailed off for a moment, "I only come here when I need a place to stay, same for my mother," Mari took let out a heavy breath as she returned to her to her course for the door, "it hasn't exactly been a home since my father disappeared."
Interval maintained his stationary position, watching Mari as she continued to distance herself, "unless my memory is incorrect, I believe that in researching your file I read that Dick Grayson had died."
Mari's pace had slowed to a crawl the moment Interval had decided to speak but it was only when he reach the subject of her father that her fingers began to crinkle inward of her palms, finishing off their tense knuckle bound movements when she came to a resounding stop. She arched her chin onto a shoulder so that her eyes could spot him with their piercing sight, "that's just what some people want you to believe." Mari had taken to simple wear while at home: a slimming pair of fine blue jeans with a bright violet short sleeved shirt noted for the puffy curls that rounded the edge of the sleeves just after the edge of the shoulder's end. Her hair was loose and fine, curled throughout its back scratching length as it always was and maintaining her oft favoured colour in its rarest dark forms. She immediately noticed through the yellow goggle pieces that Interval was immensely fascinated with a particular part of her body, compelling her to turn around to confront him in full, "the eyes?" she pondered, "they're contact lenses," indeed, her eyes looked reasonably plain, circular gems of blue upon a white canvas, "I've found that my natural full purple palette tends to offsets a lot of people when I'm not wearing my costume." She returned her focus to the door once more; "speaking of which, why are you still wearing yours Jace?"
Jace pulled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, raising it up to his head where he marvelled at the lightning flash logo engraved into the circular top of his golden ring; though small, the reality was that the ring was a storage container for his costume. Mari's hair sprawled over her shoulders, caught up in the wind tunnel created by his spiralling tornado like movements at super speed, an act taken to drill his costume into the holster of the ring and return to his civilian identity, Jace Allen, wearing the black slacks and a tight fitting scarlet red shirt. Needless to say, Mari was quite startled by the blustery winds, turning around sharply to locate the cause of all the commotion but was put at ease in an instant when the bright blond haired boy nodded his head and smiled politely. He observed Mari with open eyes as she stepped up to the door which promptly compressed inward of itself and slid inward of the wall, "I have to admit, I'm a little curious as to why you have called me. Called for me help," he coughed a little into a closed fist as his voice struggled to become clean in its monotone style. Mari distanced herself into the blackness of the room beyond but not so much out of visual range, her body dropping to the floor almost immediately upon entering, " while I recognize the association that the Rogues have to the Flash, I fail to understand why you are unable to deal with them yourself," he shook both his hands down his sides as he came to stand three feet back of the door, wobbling in his footing to get comfortable, "what I mean to ask is, why am I here?"
"Because," Mari shot up from the floor while in a twisting struggle to greet him face to face. In her hand she carried a considerably luxurious fine black jacket, one hand clasped to the thick wooden hook of the coat hanger with the other fanning across the shoulder top. She pressed the coat's backside up against his chest, biting her tongue as she examined the flailing sleeves that knocked against his arms. She looked up to him with a dose of happiness that broke through the fake sleeve that covered her eyes, "I need a date," her brow popped with the final word.
"Pardon?" Jace understandably became quite flustered. The sole of his right foot dragged upwards along till its tip planted itself firmly to the floor, his knee fully willing to support a push backwards but finding himself to be somewhat hesitant in doing so as the probing of Mari's free hand intensified to the point of pinching.
"No, that won't do," Mari shrugged with a simple toss of her coat hanging hand, the jacket forming a crumpled heap of cloth upon its conflict with the smooth plastic floor. "I'm sorry, I thought we'd have easier finds considering Todd had turned my room into his personal closet while I was away at school," she twisted around to the door and reached for another article of clothing, a slimmer navy blue jacket with golden cuff buttons, which she corralled with crossing arms, "I swear there's nothing that boy won't buy if he thinks there's a chance it might look good on him someday," she shook her head disapprovingly as she pressed the jacket up against Jace's chest drawing from him a hollow growl with the loss of his breath, "but as it so happens, his clothing is mostly all in blue and you're more a red? Right?" She chucked the jacket in hand down to the floor where it joined the other. "And then I didn't have your sizes," she knelt over as she stepped back through the doorway, this time her hands gathering up a more sizable bundle of clothing, "so I just bought an entire shelf of suits and now, well, I'm hoping for the best."
"Date?" Jace squeaked.
"My school is hosting a social gathering at the Roth Arts Forum with the boys from Schwartz Academy…and guests," her head bobbled up atop the mass of cloth she carried in her hands, brows bouncing as she reconnected with Jace. "My extracurricular activities," she chuckled under her breath as she dropped a body sized bundle of folded scarlet red thick collared shirts with the finest trims of black pants and jackets to the floor in a reasonably nice pile at her feet. She smiled as she waved her hands out from the centre of her form as though she was presenting what she had brought to Jace, "my heroics," her head began to shake sarcastically, "let's just say I haven't had a whole lot of time to meet people," she shrugged.
"I don't mean to sound inconsiderate about your offer Mari," Jace drew a breath as he pulled himself back from Mari, holding open palms towards her while she in turn maintained a puzzled look of distancing dismay, "but I was under the notion that you had information regarding the Rogues," he abruptly dropped his apprehensive hands with a beleaguered expulsion of breath. After the passing of a silent moment, he took a step towards her, "am I mistaken?"
"No," Mari chuckled once more but came across as pitiful in execution, "I overheard them talking," she began to nod convulsively as she pulled herself into a serious huff, "they plan to hit the gathering…there's an old friend of mine, Chris Sinise, he's an artist. He does work in gold, silver, and other special metal shavings, he's very good," she made a lip tight smile as she gulped.
"What does this artist have to do with the Rogues?" Jace posited his curiosity.
"They mentioned him," Mari returned to her stuttering cycle of nods, "the arts forum plans to put his latest work on display…they're going to present it at the gathering." Mari lowered her voice, "I've heard rumours that he created it with diamonds."
"So they're planning to steal it for monetary value?" Jace popped an eyebrow, "historically, the rogues have always been interested in small arms heists and robbery but unless my history is wrong, diamonds haven't been of significant value since manufacturing."
"Well quite clearly you've never met a significant other," Mari voiced in sarcasm. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and shook her head in a negative fashion, "they don't plan on stealing anything. I believe they plan on torching it, right in front of everyone. This is about personal pride and power. I wouldn't doubt it if they're well off and acting out for the thrill of rebellion, maybe they even go to the Schwartz academy and are just jealous of Chris."
Jace nodded in affirmation, "so it's just as I figured, they purchased the Rogues equipment on the underground market. That's not particular good for them if the real Rogues hear of their actions; they're known to kill those they don't authorize."
"Then its best we get you fitted with something nice to wear," Mari gushed with happiness as she bent over to reach down for a blood red shirt that sat atop of the folded pile of others. She clutched it by its long sleeves, pulling it apart of its folded state as she got back onto solid upright footing, "this would be perfect," she leaned her head around the torso of cloth, "try it on."
With a dose of super speed, Jace had undergone more than eleven robe drawer changes in the span of a half hour, most of the time in between the full over turning of clothes being allotted to Mari whom took great joy in voicing her critical impressions of what he had come to wear though Jace noticed very little in change from shirt to shirt, jacket to jacket, pants to pants. She was smiling throughout the full duration of his rearranging clothes, absolutely marvelled by his rapid fire disrobing and accumulation of the precious coverage. It all came to an end suddenly when he had acquired a layout Mari had aptly described as 'deliciously perfect' though he had come to see in a different view: "this suit, its looks a lot like my Interval costume." And indeed it did. The black fine cloth jacket he wore was fitted modestly to his body with red piping fitted to the end of the sleeve. The shirt he wore was of a deep scarlet hue and as such the cuffs that came to encircle his wrists were so too. The jacket's lapels were considerably thin though still fleshed with enough silk to make their jagged lighting like lines noticeably displaced from the primary fabric used in the jacket's making. They homed into the centre of his waist on diagonal lines thus leaving much of his chest exposed. His pants were nicely matching to his jacket just as his leather like shoes were. The only part missing from this ensemble was the most important aspect of his heroic costume, the emblem.
"You look good in it," Mari lightly laid her hands upon his shoulders with her widening smile, "wait until you've seen what I've got to wear."
"If this social gathering, as you call it, if it includes your school, would I be wrong in assuming that your roommate, Lara Kent," Jace paused in collection of thought while his eyes attempted to waver around from Mari's enticing grip, "Supergirl. Does she plan on attending?"
"Well, you really do know a lot about me," Mari sighed into a smirk as she pushed Jace away from herself with enough force to cause his footing to fumble in solidity but in a quite admirable fashion, he restrained himself from falling with a quick shot of speed; she had clearly misjudged her own strength. "I'm afraid she doesn't much like these social functions. Anyway, she always uses the issues in metropolis as an excuse to avoid getting involved with people."
"I suppose the usual threat the Rogues pose would be below her skills at any rate," Jace contended with a slight bit of shame, understanding the disparity of villainous behaviours between the two heroic families.
"She'd argue that it's not. For her, it really all just depends upon what's going on in her life that she doesn't want to have to deal with. She'll be called to home to Themyscira for a twenty four hour prayer service to the gods and look, suddenly theirs a crime wave hitting the city, she has to be there," Mari let her head sway in a seldom seen disillusionment; "she always makes metropolis sound worse than it actually is. There's a lot of support for her out there that she doesn't seem to realize," she took in a heavy breath, "you know, you two have a lot in common…" her face winced, "Jace?" she was now forced to plead for the boy's attention, his eyes having found their way through the front side window where they seemingly came across something of peculiar interest; his face was so stoic. "Jace?"
"I'm sorry," Jace returned to Mari, "there's something I have to take care of. I'll be back in a Flash." With the passing of a furious heel turning wind that sparked her hair into division of threads, Jace was gone, leaving behind the receding foot prints he formed upon the rubber portion of the floor. Mari's strong shoulder structure slumped while she shook her head disapprovingly.
"Jadelynn, what are you doing in Bludhaven?" Jace slid along the slick black tar pavement on the turned sides of his dress shoes, acquiring a firm stationary position at the conclusion of his question. The high fashioned fabric that made up the shoes was ironically weak in structural build, his sharp turn leading too much wobbling in his ankles as his feet slammed up against their sides with the solidity of the soles embracing the friction of the ground at a less than expected hard edged strike. While there were a number of spacious luxury homes of the same character as Mari's across the street in a long parallel line, the space directly ahead from hers was allotted to a dual lane roadway that split it up into neighbourhood blocks. On the sidewalk, standing just outside the white arrow topped fence of a sizable front yard, he was surprised to find a familiar face from his usual base of operations.
Jadelynn fumbled to get both her hands cradling a personal electronic device, raising it from her waist line so that the screen would be shown to Jace; understandably, she was quite surprised to see the boy out of costume. "I followed you here. I took the Amtrac." Within the encasing of her palm device was a satellite picture of the Bludhaven area including within its various shades of grey, black and deep pine green, the wavy scarlet lines that indicated the movements of a speedster.
"I was unaware an Amtrac could be taken from Keystone to Bludhaven," Jace padded his hands to his sides, developing a stern façade.
"It doesn't," Jadelynn shook her head, "I had to hotwire one," she smirked.
"Jadelynn," Jace stepped up to her, a hand falling upon her shoulder the moment he reached close proximity, "what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to help," Jadelynn nodded.
"Jadelynn," Jace shied away for a breath moment with a soft sigh, "Bludhaven alone is a dangerous place, but…."
"So what's up with this," Jadelynn brushed away Jace's hold as both her hands shot up to the lapels of Jace's borrowed jacket. She proceeded to pull him in tightly, her head bouncing around as it failed to find focus on any one particular section of his fine fitting suit.
"I've been invited on a date," Jace replied in his solid monotone.
"With Nightstar?" Jadelynn promptly questioned receiving a sharp nod in an affirmative from Jace, "so you two are seeing each other?" Her hands slid down to his stomach level before unleashing their grasp with step backwards, her chin bowing lowly to her chest.
Jace shook his head, not necessarily in a manner found within a negative foundation but more so with the pricks and vices of puzzlement; a complete misunderstanding of the question posed to him, "the date is our cover. She claims to have overhead these Rogues imposters discuss infiltration of the Roth Arts Forum. They plan to torch the latest work of an artist named Gary Sinise and we plan to be there when they strike."
"The Roth Arts Forum," Jadelynn shook her head as she turned away.
"Jadelynn," Jace suddenly reached out a hand to clasp her shoulder, pulling her back to face him, "I hope you're not planning on getting involved."
"I can handle it here," Jadelynn snapped with a hint of rage, bolstering up her chin to level her eyes into taller Jace.
Jace gulped before he allowed himself to nod reassuringly, a small curve to the sides of his closed lips the moment his eyes connected contently with the shine of Jadelynn's, "I know you can." He let his hand slip back down to his side and with one more nod he turned his back to her.
"Wait, Interval," Jadelynn cried out with a voice that cobbled back together her previous form of a soft spoken person. The abrupt call brought Jace's attention back to her, "that prison…in the Speed Force," she leaned forward to him, "what was it like."
Jace shied away, "cold…so very cold."
"Iris?" Jai cried out. There was a slew of disturbing noises that had caught the man's attention, the alarming rate at which footsteps thumped upon the floor insinuating someone of speedster relation. With Jace currently out of town, he reasoned with certainty that the source of such thunderous noise could only be one person, his sister, but by the time he made his plea for a response from her, the voracious rustling had abruptly ended with an explosive drop. Upon entering the kitchen from the living room's entrance way he turned to his left where he found her huddled up in the cornering intersection of the room encompassing counter, her fallen bodily form being an easy contrast against the white skin of paint. Jai dropped down to a knee as he wedged up closely to her, "what happened?"
Iris slowly arched her knees up, distastefully dragging the flat soles of her boots along the floor in the movement, "I wish he was here," the elbow of her right arm planted itself firmly on the bulb of her nearest knee, providing the support she need for her falling head. Her flash mask had been torn down from her face, the goggle pieces now dangling around her neck with a cumbersome amount of red cloth. She was shaking all over, very minimally, but noticeably enough; the effects that the powers of stress had upon her.
"Who?" Jai leaned in further.
Iris locked eyes with Jai for a single moment, "dad," before the strength of her neck gave free. The side of her face jostled free of her hand and soon here chin had become buried in her chest. "He was right," she gulped, "I'm not ready for this."
"That's not what he said," Jai retorted post haste.
"No?" Iris tilted her head up with a disdainful taste to her tone, "then why didn't he name me his successor?"
"We were nineteen Iris," Jai placed a caring hand upon her shoulder, tensing up the muscles of his fingers to get within the folds of her dark jacket, "no one knew that he was going to disappear. No one saw this coming, but you stepped up in his absence and you've done it, you've made yourself the Flash."
"But not more," Iris rebuked, "I'm not as fast as him. Not as smart as him. The people loved him as they loved Barry before him, but not me," at that moment her head swung upwards, the wrangling mess of her flamboyant red hair buttressing her head within the corner she sat up against. There she sat for a silent moment staring up into the pristine white lights above.
"There are other attributes," Jai shook his head disapprovingly as he stuttered to find comforting words but inevitably came up dry much to the detriment of Iris's already faltering conscience.
"I never had life," Iris politely shook away Jai's hand as he brought herself back straight, directive in facing her brother, "you got to school, make lifelong friends. You got to pursue your dreams as a journalist just like mom did, but I've got nothing but a bunch of familial ties, a history with my role so increasingly scrutinized, I doubt that very many future generations will remember me."
"But I'll remember you," Jai responded with an indeterminate questioning tone.
"Yes, thank you," Iris responded with a sharp turn of sarcasm, "when I die, at least my twin brother will remember he had a sister at birth." The sullen attitude abruptly returned with the swaying of her head and a heavy sniff, "our family. I have a brother and a sociopathic cousin from the distant future who's been more trouble than he's worth. Was I expected to settle down at some point in my life? Start a family so that one day my kids could take this role while run off to the great Valhalla of speed?" she winced at her own rhetorical questions, "we should ask Jace how the West family is doing in the future. Maybe we're the last of our family line. I'd be ok with that if you are…."
"Iris," Jai clenched his teeth as he shook out the empathic feelings he had for sister. When he reached clarity, he rephrased his question, "what's wrong?"
"I'm tired of being sad Jai. I just want it all to end."
The chosen ballroom for the social gathering was a little trite and simplistic in its build but its rich flavour of colours and masonry materials in companionship with its spacious atmosphere afforded through its immense size more than made up for any undue criticisms levelled at its basic architecture. A spectacular blend of black marble christened the floor with the only occasional disruptions in its immaculate purity being the touches of pearl white in the form of large diamond shapes evenly situated from one another across the board. Its collective form was notable for its differing shaved textures; nonetheless, a crisp smoothness was maintained through the application of solid wax layer which caused it to glisten in the warmth the room created through its other surfaces; the walls featuring peppered tastes of peach that regularly invoked thoughts of an engrossing fire, the presence of gold plated light based torches ebbing out from the wall being all to enlightening in such regard. At the first story cut off, a sizable area was cut within the longer side walls. The area was supported on its outskirts by alabaster stone pillars of the rarest salmon hue lined, their presence just inside the interior cuts creating an almost segregated space, a sizable walkway, that seemingly served the purpose of protecting the paintings pinned up there, their various collages of colourful hues abstracting from the orange flesh of the walls proper.
There were tables in excess of thirty circling around the most centred diamond of the room, each one beautifully covered in an ivory white blanket of silk, a cleanliness matched by the multitude of plates and glasses that were dutifully placed upon it so as to match in line the gold bared, cream coloured cushioned chairs. Following this expansive area of dining were two sets of stairs circling in along the walls towards an equally spacious fenced balcony that bowed out towards its centre. It was sombrely distant from the dark tone of the floor, that while it retained the marble constitution it was more of a subdued white that stressed solidity rather than textural forms. Drapes of royal purple fell from the ceiling, four to each side, lining along the steps; quite the contrast. At floor base end of each stairwell were opening in the wall, leading down in the intricate labyrinth of showing halls and artistic displays.
At current moment, the ballroom was lush with life. Young men dressed in the finest of wears stood to the attention of their more fairer dressed others, the lovely ladies finding greater pleasure in the design and fortitude of their wear, imbuing a great deal of colourful sights. The process of intermingling was bittersweet at best. The boys from Schwartz academy were easy standouts with their school's jackets, the finer navy blue with the gold three prong gold badged ironed to the right side of their chests; they hardly appeared to be interested in the other boys, shunning them into a guild of outcasts that Jace Allen, given his similar status, would seem slated to join.
"I don't know about this," Jace gently pulled his jacket forward at the lapels as he, along with the pleasantly purple Mari, came to a sound stop just a few steps inward of the ballroom from the bypassed hallway of paintings, "I feel so uncomfortable, so out of place," he shook down his legs, stomping his heels into the ground to acquire a comfortable footing.
"You're a time traveller from another world," Mari chided him in short. Her mouth opened with a cheek crackling smile as she scanned her eyes through the room, "I thought you always felt out of place." Nearly the entirety of her neck, along with her shoulders down to their downward edge, was engulfed in round fabric bands of polished silver. A single dividing point existed on the collar, aimed straight down centre of her throat and closed off in the touching curve of her collar bone where a sharp yet round emerald jewel had been emplaced. The silver shoulder piece curved inward of the centre of her chest, tossing a line down to her abdomen where a girdle like device formed; it was from underneath its thickness along her waist that the floor touching dress flowed. It was an interesting clash of violet hues, one solid in its uniformity, a lush purple, and another glistening in its mesh like top layer, a shivering pink. Long nimble gloves of the particular fond matching colour reached up to within an inch's reach of her elbows, cutting off towards it with two tightly wound triangular points. All in all, it was heavily influenced by her heroic persona's costume which, as it happened to be, was heavily influence by her Tamaranean heritage; all that was felt to be missing was the prized tiara.
"Well, it's more so than usual. This place…it's noisy and crowded. So many people, all strangers to me," he turned to Mari, "What exactly am I expected to do here?" Jace raised a brow in puzzlement.
"Have fun hopefully," Mari winked as she caught Jace's attention. She kept her hands in tight to the centre of her waist as she took a deep breath and refocused herself forward, stepping once to get out of line with the boy, "perhaps you'll meet someone interesting, perhaps someone will find you interesting…" she slurred off in a very high pitched playful tone, "we'll take some time to eat and speak with others in fashionable discourse," she shrugged her shoulder's as she pulled her chin back to a shoulder, holding that almost permanent smile, "who knows, maybe we'll even get to dance later. I bet you're very good with your feet."
"Mari?" a woman called for the young girl's attention. She was a tall woman with a sparkling rich value to the entirety of her form, a radiant daughter of cheer whom nonetheless held to herself an air of authority. Her bleached blond hair was cut to shoulder length, circling around the edge of her ears to explode outward along the sides of her cheeks as it was so with her lively bangs that rose on arches over her forehead. A slate blue colouration, very light, very faint, was held within her eyes, well fitted within their pristine oval shape. Take the blend of her eyes against her hair would best describe the one piece dress that she graciously wore in addition to having a slight golden flavour to it as it looked to have almost small gem like features all and within its threads.
"Miss Hayes," Mari suddenly gulp as her eyes widened, finding the tall woman to be leaning in on her softly. Taking in a breath of confidence, Jace crossed his arms over on his back side and stepped forward to once more be on line with his so called date, nodding once in a polite gesture to this soft smiling woman standing before them.
"Who's this you have with you?" Miss Hayes grinned as she clamped her hands down to her waist, contorting her body out somewhat as she did so, lowering her sight to meet the creamy brown eyes of Jace.
"Jace Allen," Mari skipped a breath, "Jace this is Miss Greta Hayes," she waved out both her hands towards the woman as she bolstered her voice with a strain of glee that just wasn't quite sarcasm, "my math and trigonometry teacher."
"Allen?" Miss Hayes suddenly appeared startled, her narrow jaw line dropping.
"Yes," Jace nodded affirmatively.
"Well," Miss Hayes suddenly stretched out her back as her hands fell off the curves of her body. Her head fell back a bit with the stretch, taking in a heavy breath that saw her eyes close for a brief moment, "well I bet you're fast on your feet," she returned her eyes to the two of them, "oh," she looked atop and around them, "the caterers are coming, please excuse me," she made her polite farewell with a silent nod and walked off to their sides leaving Jace and Mari to look at one another with a shared confusion.
Jace became quite startled suddenly when Mari raised her head and began to sniff compulsively, seemingly looking to the glass panelled ceiling but never quite finding something to focus on; she was becoming quite spastic in her movements. It was at that moment that a row of four wheeled white plastic carts rolled along his left side, each one manned by a cleanly groomed caterer wearing what appeared to be a standard uniform of black jean pants and an untucked fresh white silver button up shirt, both articles of which were noted for their thick fabrics. It was with this fact that the final individual in the train of food carrying carts interesting. She wore the shirt, albeit quite poorly given that it was oversized, but her pants were almost skin tight, smooth rather than coarse as the jean material dictated. He was unable to catch a view of her face as she passed by but soundly judged from the way her dark hair was tied up on the back of her scalp and the way in which she carried herself forward with the cart ahead just who it was. "What are you doing Mari?" he popped a brow as he longingly stared at the purple wearing girl, "I mean, what are you doing?"
Mari suddenly shot her eyes at Jace. They were so terribly open, her face so expressionless, "I smell chocolate," and with that simple statement she hastily rushed off to follow the trail of caterers as they entered through the ring of tables to get into the centre, clutching her dress as her feet kicked up a furious storm.
Jace sighed with the shrug of his shoulders; he had been left alone in a strange place. With one last look around the ballroom, he found through the teeth chattering bodies of the young a place of possible solace: the hallway across the way. While it maintained the fiery excitement of blended peach tones in its walls along with a great deal of lively painted images all throughout its length, it was empty and thus, without much thought, he made the necessary moves to get over there.
The first few paintings inward were not as captivating as he thought they would be. More often than not, this was at fault with the colour of the walls they hung on, the spray of more earth based clay orange shades and textures along with splashes and showers of ocean blues being far too contrasted against the fiery backside that the gold light torches, sitting on the vertical dividing line between each painting, created with their blinding white sources working in unison with the peach tonal paint as was of a similar case, albeit more majestic, in the ballroom proper. He was never one to be interested in art but nonetheless held onto a sliver of hope that there was perhaps something down this way that would develop an interest in him for this form of media even if it be for a short time, meaning of course to get him through what is shaping up to be a terrible night if the imposter Rogues do not arrive shortly. As the long seconds passed and his feet grew tiresome in the foreign shoes he wore, he further opened his mind to doubt that he would find the soul of which brought these works of art into existence. It was an existential thought on the creation of beauty that he was less than willing to search and understand for fear of finding the form's seemingly inherent boredom to be completely abstract; his line of logic just had to be in absolutes. This however moved quickly on its way to change.
At About midway through the long spacious decorated corridor he had finally found that startling image that he so desired for, one so very different from the pack and yet still so very fitting. It was a heavy splash of dense textured silver and gold piece shavings, not the kind of moulds found through a processing mill but rather what one would expected to find laying around in a mine shaft after numerous excavations; they were all dark and brooding yet entirely cohesive in creating a spiralling tornado that gathered the eyes of its onlookers into its soulless heart, whisking their minds off into another dimension of reason. It was complete anti-art and yet it used some of the finest minerals known to man in this era.
"Do you like it?" a light pitched voice ripped Jace free of his senseless state of mind as found through the plaque of shaved metal pieces in question. Turning, he encountered a boy no older than himself whom was almost as equally as tall though perhaps more so ganglier. His head was as round as one could be, this being more so notable with his ebony touched red hair being cut shortly to his scalp, almost buzz like in its entirety. His eyes were a solid green, his nose long and suitably thin while his growing closed lipped smile did not do so much as dimple the curvature of his cheeks; he was well groomed though still quite rugged and dirty in perception. Of the most notable feature was his navy blue jacket, the golden emblem ironed onto the right side of his chest signifying that he was a member of the Schwartz Academy.
"Pardon?" Jace politely questioned as his hands came to clasp together at his backside.
"Do you like the work?" his voice had a unique touch to its form, cheery and decidedly modest all wrapped into a clean pitch.
"It's engaging," Jace nodded once before returning to his attention back to the artwork.
The fellow boy took the necessary steps to align himself side by side with Jace, assuming a similar standing position as he too ventured into the realms that this work of anti-art projected, "it seems to have that effect on people. Personally, I've never thought it to be my best work but it is rarely ever that we're allowed to make those decisions in the public eye."
"You're Christopher Sinise," Jace shot his head towards the boy.
"Yes," Christopher suddenly turned towards him in response, hand ready to be shaken in polite gesture, "And you are?" he trailed off as Jace clasped his hand, absorbing its soft cushion like touch.
"Jace Allen," Jace nodded as his hand dropped, "I've read quite a few texts about you and your work."
"Oh, have you?" Christopher gulped as he smiled in evident surprise, "I trust that you had heard of me prior to this whole event this evening?"
"My apologies then," Jace sharply replied, "I'm afraid I am not one to be interest in the visual arts."
"Nor culture it would appear," Christopher cheekily looked over his shoulder to the hallway opening leading into the Ballroom, "you do not wear our academy's jacket nor do I recall your face in my attendance there…" he paused for a moment, head swaying forward ever so slightly as he processed through some apparent, though quite evident, facts from his reception of Jace in full, "I hope," he began with great candour, "that you were not left here to fend on your own?"
"Well," Jace gulped, "I suppose I was. My uh," he shied away for a brief moment, "my date, she left me in order to satisfy her appetite. It's rather fine though, I have limited ambitions in the social realms and it seems to me that I oft prefer my loneliness."
"You sound as though you have little confidence in her. You claim your desire to be alone but you've accepted her invitation to come…social gatherings such as these intend to bring people into discussions, however trivial, as they partake in their meals," Christopher stroke up a small grin, "forgive me if I cross a line, but I am an artist of great curiosity…since you have come here, wandering for solace and found my art, I wonder whether this girlfriend of yours satisfies your ideals of a social union?" He vigorously nodded, "even the most silent of us seeks contact. We are all still beings of great emotion."
"And you sound very well educated," Jace abruptly dropped into his monotone.
"I may be seen as young but a few years' worth of schooling in the arts and philosophies has gone a long way for me," Christopher chided him with his grin widening ever more so, "as should be evident by this particular work," he waved his hand back to the twisting collage of precious metals, "additionally, my father liked to speak in philosophic and romantic dribble, I am told that we are very much alike."
Jace took in a deep breath, "I'm more or less with her tonight as a favour," he bowed his head a small bit as he turned back to the wall. A slight step of discomfort spiralled its way down his legs with a twitch, "I am not especially invested in her outside of friendly discourse, that being something in of itself a social bond or union."
Christopher crossed his arms as he leaned in closely to Jace, "Well then, perhaps there are others whom you would find as fitting to your ideals. I know of many fine ladies here tonight who would be more than willing to meet a stable gentleman, one whom is willing to be a student of love, unless of course," he became sharply apprehensive as a caressing hand of his own planted at the centre of his chest, "you do not lean towards such teachings?"
"That is probably how I would characterize myself," Jace nodded as his head began to rise, "I do not mind them as social companions, as a social union of friends, but as far as romantic inclinations are concerned, I have never known myself to have any interest," his voice developed a tendency to slur as his rate of words increased. As this was, at the conclusion of his statement, he found himself to be in a bit of a huff.
"Then perhaps, in that respect, we are kindred spirits," Christopher's voice drew itself to quieter pitch, "I myself am less than attracted to the woman kind as others within our collective guild of body types profess, though I still find them to be a great deal respectable in many manners of conversation and, well," he took let out a dignified breath of air, "I would gladly admit that I am still a pupil of love."
"Jace?" Mari's voice cried out from the ballroom entrance way causing both boys to flip on their heels to look her way.
"Mari?" Christopher whispered to himself before turning with a raised brow to Jace, "it is Mari Grayson whom you are entertaining tonight?" Jace nodded in affirmation as the hard clap of Mari's soles intensified as she drew near, "how puzzling it is that she be turned away by any man, I have heard so many gracious things of her from my school colleagues, most acclaimed of their sentiments being that she is love incarnate. I take it she is aware of your train of thought regarding her kind of student?"
"She is very in touch with her emotions while I remain stranded on the opposite end," Jace kept his words beneath the power of his breath.
Christopher nodded to Jace, "perhaps then, you are waiting to be rescued."
"There you are," Mari rushed right passed Christopher's face on a mission to catch Jace with arms wide open, each fingers soon coming to wrap around his arm nearest to the wall, "Chris?" her neck performed a full turn to the artist in a split second, her face conveying herself to be, insofar as he could describe it, halfway over the ledge of being startled, as though she was completely out of the rational mind or at the very least out of her usual character. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," her hands broke down from their hold and, along with the drag of her body, met Christopher in a close embrace that filled both their hearts with friendly delight.
"As it is nice to see you, as always," Christopher smiled cheerfully as Mari took a solid step backwards from him but kept her hands gingerly attached to his biceps, "I was just talking to Jace here about my art though if I be wrong in saying so do stop me, but I do not believe he does not fully understands its power and emotional girth."
"Well, who can?" Mari mirrored Christopher's grin as her hands slid to her waist, elbows arched out to her sides, "your works have always been exquisite marvels. I'd be surprised if there could be anyone but yourself so capable of wrapping their heads around what you were trying to tell us," she raised her chin a little, a simple gesture that implied her sentiment as being in full, a compliment.
"Perhaps then, my latest effort may be more clearly revealing," Christopher pulled up a triumphant fist, "I'd love to appease you both with a sneak peak if it is of no bother?"
Though Jace appeared about ready to voice his approval of such an offer, Mari took her stand in front of him, waving back an arm to once more grab his, "not that I'd love to take you up on your offer Chris, but Jace and I have been invited to a table, I have some friends I'd like him to meet before the night is through. Beside," she paused for the building of tension, "I'd hate to spoil myself with a surprise meant to be shared by all."
"Very thoughtful," Christopher, though evidently set aback, nodded off to Mari with a kind smile, "Perhaps my art is best experienced with the collective whole as the curators intended rather than the selected few. I bid you farewell then, if not only to be seen again within the hour."
"Goodbye," Jace said his soft farewell as the strength of Mari pulled him back down the hallway, leading him the rampant noises, the spectacle of fire laced lights, and the bodies of young men and women intermingling that had come to define the current state of the ballroom.
Near one of the tables closest to a stairwell, where the ceramic white plates placed upon its surface had yet to be touched, Mari introduced Jace to one of her friends from school, "Jeanette, this is Jace Allen," she spoke candidly as she pulled the boy lifelessly forward. It quickly became evident that there was some restraint to Jace's heels as he was pulled, occasionally leaning them in hard and heavy against the floor resulting in a stuttering stride.
Jeanette had a pleasant face, more rounded along the cheek line than narrow. Her eyes were an immaculate green while her dark raven coloured hair curled into a multitude of bunches that diverged over and around the round caps of her shoulders. While Mari opted for the modest touch in her dress, Jenette opted for a more liberal approach; a single shoulder strap, fully exposed arms, deep diagonally lined collar, and a shin grazing dress line that rode particularly high to her left knee on a sharp curve. Needless to say, her glistening fully fit body more than made this approach appealable. The dress itself was a solid teal colour with a thick layer above of lighter pitched silk like fabric running across the bottom edge of her dress, around her abdomen like a girdle, and around her neck like a collar, just above the beginnings of the collar. "You've acquired yourself a tasty catch," Jeanette giggled as Jace became something of a temperamental fixture, unable to hold a solid posture for more than a second.
It was the words that Jeanette had spoken that had caused Jace to gulp in nervousness, temporarily tossing him into a state of discomfort as he nodded in acknowledgement of their meeting. To some dismay he found himself unable to find the strength to raise his hands and greet her properly, a grievous misstep that did not go unnoticed by her arriving date.
"This is my boyfriend Brian." He was tall in stature, moderately so given that Jace still stood that much taller than him, and gangly but not so much so that his athletically fit muscle tone could not be observed. His hair was a delicate blonde that was long in its flow along the top although parted near the centre line where the string like threads whisked off overtop the sides to run their ends against his ears. That menacing smile of his, so perfect with the bulge of a chin beneath, was unnerving but nonetheless quite charming in the way of execution; a bounce to his thin lined eyebrows.
Jenette's eyes rolled, "His close friend and confidant, Fredrick Werthem the fifth," a boy of modest standing stepped up and joined Brian in line. His hair was an intricate blend of light brown tones and blond, waving across the broad length of his forehead with the tips of his bangs touched the thin lined eyebrows in passing. A hard encapsulating brown made up the round centre of his, so steeped in its darkness that it failed to present a reflection. He was athletically fit and had a face that could only be described as forever grumbling.
"And Rigel," the last of the three boys appeared startled when he heard Jenette's call his name, abruptly turning his attention from the bodies stepping down the stairwell to find themselves transfixed upon the presence of company, immediately taking to commanding steps forward to join in the line beside Fredrick. He was certainly more so rounder than his colleagues but nonetheless held a packed physical girth. His eyes and hair had a pleasant matched dark black shade.
All those introduced shared a similarity that could not go without noticing: the Schwartz Academy jacket.
"So this is whom has stolen Mari's hand for the evening," the gloomy faced Fredrick held himself up to be as pompous as possible in confronting the assumedly timid Jace. As he stepped aside his tall friend Brian to lean in towards Jace with his menacing streak, it became terribly apparent that his right hand had been damaged, currently wrapped in tight swaths of clean white plaster, engulfing the fullness of his wrist, palm and most of his thumb.
"Stolen?" Jace rebuffed, stifling the readiness of an outburst, "you've invited me here for a motive outside of casual discussion and friendly pleasantries?"
"Werthem…I come from a long line of hunters," Frederick's eyes flickered in sly movements from side to side with a sharp menacing grin on the path development. "We're also deal in art collections in addition to being treasure seekers," his damaged hand sunk into clasping palm of his left hand as he nodded towards Mari whom held up quite the unflattering stare upon him, "Mari is one of finest works I've ever allowed my hunters instinct to be infatuated with, wouldn't you agree?"
"I know of your family," Jace spoke unflinchingly in his standard wooden monotone as he stepped up to counter the pompous boy's shady attempt at being intimidating, "and of the various criminal activities they've been involved to gain those artistic-" he abruptly grunted as a hard soled shoe, Mari's, landed soundly on his toes.
"Allen is it?" Fredrick smirked, "Allen," he repeated. "Where are you from, I ask?"
It was at this point of this question that Mari slipped into a state of unease, clutching her hands ever so tightly around Interval's nearest arm as she gulped, "Keystone City," the earth based town of the young speedster relinquished Mari of the short order breakdown of her nerves, letting a soft breath free with a short timed closure of her eyes.
"Allen from Keystone City," Fredrick haphazardly attempted to cross his arms, forgetting the scorching pain the engrossed his right hand, "I've never heard of any Allens. Is your family perhaps a part of the automotive industry your city is so famous for?" Jace held himself straight, "perhaps the steel refinement business?" His smile grew wide, "don't tell me I've lost Mari's hand to a common-"
"Officers of the law," Jace bolstered in, "I come from a line of detectives and crime scene investigators."
"Hmph," Fredrick grunted. "You're not wearing a school jacket;" the cheekiness returned with an added hint of ferocious delight, "where pray tell do you attend? A public school perhaps…" his two colleagues allowed a subdued chuckle to filter from their lips.
Jace shied away for a moment, taking a look into the soft blue palette enfranchised in Mari's eyes, "Keystone Polytechnic University," he brought his head back up with a thorough voice.
"Studying what?" Frederick winced with much surprise, a shared trait amongst those present.
"Quantum mechanics and causalities," Jace continued in his informative tone while the surrounding company, Mari included, began to zone into a place of curiosity mixed in with a hefty dose of disbelief, "I intended to go back for my doctorate this semester but due to time constraints on my experiments I've had to put on hold future educational endeavours."
"Alright every one," the voice of Miss Hayes shook the group free of their state of bafflement. A quick turn towards the sound of her voice revealed the slender golden shined teacher striding towards the centre of the room with a finely dressed robust man with smart fitting dark features in tow, a member of the Arts forum no doubt. "We have a special treat from your very own Chris Sinise tonight," she smiled graciously as she came to a stop at her destination.
"If you'll excuse us," Fredrick looked to his two colleagues before centring back to Jace and Mari, "we have some private matters to attend to." As he walked towards the hallway at Jace's backside, he kept his shifty gaze upon him, followed up by his classmate Rigel whom did so also. Brian was soon to follow but first took to a more proper farewell given his circumstances, laying a caressing hand upon Jeanette's exposed shoulder and smiling to her as he pulled away, walking past the line of Jace of Mari with his back to them. Jeanette was left quite puzzled.
"OK," Jace groaned, "have any other friends I should be meeting?"
"Jace, there's a reason why I wanted you to meet them," Mari pulled Jace's attention to her as Jeanette sought to take her seat. "Frederick's hand, I must have broken it when I encountered him when he was calling himself Heatzone. I think maybe his friends," she sharply turned her neck to take a look down the hallway as the boys in question became distance ants in size, "they must be the ones playing Mirror Master and Trickster."
Jace suddenly turned around to face the hallways also, his sour attitude suddenly clearing up as he became invigorated with criminal interests, "excellent," he hushed beneath his breath, "I'll follow them," he immediately shot back to Mari, "see if I can stop them before they go public."
"What should I do?"
"Well, if they manage to get through me," Jace nodded, "then someone's going to have to be here to stop them." He began to speed walk towards the hallway but as he was entering it entrance strip he saw within the long line of catering carts on the outside of the table circle, Chris gingerly talking with Jadelynn.
"So if you can keep everyone subdued for a little while, I'll torch the work." The self-titled Heatzone, the pompous leader of the recently formed Bludhaven based Rogues, shouted out his words like an order as he waved around his flame throwing pistol in his left hand. He was back into his sleek skin of white with the various orange decals and belts in their standard positions along with the fixed gasmask clamped from the bottom of his chin to the lower edge of his nose.
"No worries," the orange suited more shapely thick boy, the named Mad Mirror, piqued up as he too rose up his white shined box like pistol, "I've been working on the mirage trick for a while now, I think I've finally mastered it." the cumbersome fabric of his green mask began to slump along his chest necessitating the guiding of his free hand to correct the folds leading to much amusing a laugh in his even more so garishly coloured colleague, Tricky, noted for his bumble bee striped pants, teal coloured boots of a pixie design, mixed orange and purple shirt with a somewhat fitting faded purple jacket left unlatched, black star painted eye mask and flamboyant blonde hair all moulded at the centre of his head, rising over his forehead like a peak.
The three of them were within a storage closet of sorts, various amounts brown paper covered paintings in various sizes leaning up against one another on the walls along with stacks of chairs, benches, easels and other simple constructs construed about waiting for use. Their only source of light for this little gathering to get changed into their villainous guises was a dim bulb overhead hanging from a small metal chain, the occasional thunderous bustling in their movements leading it to occasionally wobble to and fro, its circular imprint upon the solidity of a cement grey floor being quite the eerie spectacle.
"It shouldn't take us longer than thirty seconds," Heatzone stated with the maintaining of his authoritative voice.
"This place is kind of crowded. What if someone, I don't know," Tricky began to hesitate in finding his words as he came under the glare of his fiery tempered leader, "tries to stop us?"
"No one would be stupid enough to try something," Heatzone drew his weapon down from its posture on his shoulder, holding its barrel aimed towards Tricky with a slight glint in his eyes.
"I wouldn't say there's no one," the foreign voice was quite startling, each of the three villains jumping something of a height from the floor. Turning towards the lone door they found within the darkness a scarlet clad person casually leaning up against the wall with his hands crossed over his chest. The fashioned bolts of lightning that sprouted out from his ears, his boots and rode around his waist line developed some conclusive argument to the person identity but it all honesty, they only came to understand whom they saw when his arms dropped lowly to his stomach thus revealing the circle of white and the strike of yellow diving through it on an angle.
"The Flash!" Heatzone shouted as he clumsily pulled up his pistol to fire towards the speedster. The stream of fire was straight and narrow but nonetheless fully engulfing in its explosive like nature; however, its burning effects were put at a standstill with the arrival of a blustery wind that snuffed its scorching strength into nothing ness and pushed each member of his team back several feet with the rustling of the brown storage paper.
"Not exactly," Interval stepped forward into the light, his spinning tornado forming arm coming to rest back at his side. He took a moment to look to each of the villains as they stood with an overt willingness to attack but relented to their fears and hesitated to move even the smallest morsel; they had never encountered resistance before now. "I don't think either of you realize what you are doing," he made use of his deep wooden voice; "the real rogues don't exactly like it when others try to emulate their skills. Many of them are still at large…they'll find you and then they'll kill you," he took in a deep breath, "surrender now, and this can be put behind- ahh!" A laser like beam had found its mark on his left side, narrowly avoiding his arm to get a knick on his ribcage. His left foot slipped on the floor resulting in a sudden trip that saw him stumbling to floor with hands arising in a split second to brace for impact. He took some much needed seconds there to recuperate from the attack, letting his mind suffer into the acknowledgement of the pulsating sensations of heat rubbing around the bulk of his ribs as his cells worked at their rapid speed to rebuild the scorched tissues; quite thankfully, the costume remained intact, only tarnished slightly but a coarse brand of black.
"Come on, get us out of here," Heatzone immediately commanded as he, along with Tricky, lurched into a spattering run towards Mad Mirror.
Interval raised his head slower than usually as he watched their feet fly by him. He managed to get a good look at his attacker, Mad Mirror, whom had a wide smile on his face, the delight of causing pain in his eyes; he was most likely trouble and didn't even care. He needed to be stopped. In a split second Interval was back on his feet and barrelling towards them, each step gaining in strength and speed, reaching their pinnacle when he was within arm's reach of throttling Mad Mirror but too much astonishment he came to hit nothing but a solid plate of glass, or rather a slickly shined mirror, which wobbled on its axel upon collision. He grunted a little as he pulled away from the full body rectangular mirror he had come to encounter, intrigued by the reverse image of himself in it; with the Mirror Master technology, they could literally be anywhere and he knew it. They were simple gone.
"Thank you Miss Hayes, Mr. Pettlerman," Chris nodded in greeting to the teacher before placing a firm hand within the art forum member's, shaking lightly while he blissfully grinned, understandably thrilled by this occasion of honouring. Along with Chris presence at the centre of the ballroom was his artistic creation albeit shrouded behind a cloth veil of white. It was in a rectangular shape consistent with his work already on display in the hallway but certainly a lot more expansive in overall size, its broadsides being nearly eight feet across and no doubt being suspended in the air with it highest edge being a whole head taller than Miss Hayes, the tallest of the three present in its company. Most, if not all, eyes had fallen upon Chris but he felt no pressure, he was completely sound in mind as he approached his work with hand poised to tear away the veil. Just as his fingers touched upon soft cloth the electronic torches, the source of light throughout the ballroom, fell out from favour, twisting the world into darkness leading him to stumble backwards to find solid footing in the aftermath of being startled. His hand was unable to find its way to clasp a fold within the cloth and thus his work remained covered in mystery.
"What…" Mari raised a brow as she pushed herself away from the table she sat around. A tad bit of light was offered through the ceiling windows but for the most part, the patrons of this evening were quite disabled. Mari was quite fortunate however, her alien physiology enabling her eyes to adjust quickly to her surroundings which for the most part was a collision of grey shades mixed in with an assortment of faded colours present in the extravagant dresses. For the most part though, she had become enamoured in the sounds of gasping breaths and chirping voices of confusion as other bodies stumbled around the ballroom floor looking for relief to their faltering lines of vision. She was all prepared to see if she could be of any assistance but before she could get herself free of her chair she felt a pull on both her arms, a tug that whisked all those dark hues and fading dress colours into swirling patterns that blistered past her at light speed.
"I've turned off the lights," it all came to an end when Interval's voice was found. She was brought face to face with the speedster in the far of distance of the hallway. Startled at first with such a rapid whisking away of her whole, she managed to accumulate clarity in Interval's words within a span of three seconds, nodding in acknowledgement, "suit up. I think they may still be here."
"Why?" Mari gasped.
"Because of that," Interval pointed back towards the Ballroom, drawing the swivel of Mari's neck with a receptive glare following his outstretched arm. The room was now glowing in a delicate flavour of orange and crisp gold against a coarse black surface, not the same kind that engrossed the room earlier with its electronic fixtures but rather appearing as though a small sun had been suddenly transported into its centre and now let loose its energy to fester around in waves of rage fuelled fire.
The audience of the evening, the young men and women of their associated academies, leaped from their chairs at the moment the explosive entanglement of fire evolved from the top of the balcony, scorching the royal purple drapes along the sides of the steps and on occasion reaching the closer table cloths. The source of this fury of flames of course was Heat Zone, standing atop of the centre of the banister of the balcony's fence with knees slightly bent and left hand, flamethrower active, flying wildly across the breadth of his body as he screamed in glorious destruction. The crowd quickly dispersed from their tables, seeking a way out of room but were instead throttled into a whole new other state of panic when another villain made his entry. The bases of the electric torches were caught up in the twisting curls of the flames, reinstating their reflective ability of their gold like surfaces thereby allowing for the humanoid body of the Mad Mirror to sift through and out from them or rather numerous version of him; mirages, one to each torch base, grinning fiercely with pistol drawn and waiting to discharge its wispy laser band. Wisely, the students backed up to their tables as the clones stepped towards them in unison upon touching ground and reforming to their absolute height. The energy transfer of the multiple Mad Mirrors left in their wake a meagre source of light as implanted in the torch bulbs, soon joined by emergency strips that outline the door frames of the hallways in addition to the top of the pillars.
Heat Zone jumped off from his stance on the banister, landing atop the nearest table with a thunderous rattle of utensils that culminated in the displacing of several plaster white plates which inevitably slipped off the table ledge and crashed into a multitude of shards upon the floor. Rising up from his crouched position, he immediately took into a narrow walk towards the centre of the room where Mr. Pettlerman, the arts forum member, was trembling in fear, Chris was in the course of taking a deep gulp as spots of sweat formed along the top of his shoulders, and Miss Hayes stood unabashed, though, completely willing to resort to fisticuffs if this villain so dared to conflict her in anyway.
"What do you want?" Chris took a light shaky step towards Heat Zone but was summarily smashed to the floor when the fiery villain crossed the butt of his pistol atop of his head.
"I want you to watch," Heat Zone coldly stated as he continued on walking towards the covered work of art.
"Chris!" Miss Hayes shouted as she dashed over to him but before she could even hope to get within an arm's reach of cradling the artist's head, a series of old fashioned, pirate like, black orb bombs fell from the air, colliding against the ground with a sparkling array of twisting green and red strands that sparkled like fireworks. With the sparks came along swaths of smoke that formed a dense curtain around the fallen Chris and following a brief moment, it dissipated lowly to the ground thus revealing the tall, almost gangly, image of Tricky whom had taken a position of dominance over Chris's body, his smile ever so foreboding that it caused Miss Hayes to step aback.
"Hold him up," Heat Zone commanded to his associate without once looking back. He raised his hand to wander along the smoothness of the drape covering the work of art, looking upon it, from the top to the bottom, as though he could see within its solid hue. He suddenly turned about face, walking back towards the startled Miss Hayes while the poor Mr. Pettlerman sought his way through to the outside of the circle of tables, quite a heavy tap to each foot. Tricky maintained his unearthly smile as he dragged up Chris's head, pulling along the button of his chin till it was the only part of his face touching the floor. Heat Zone took a moment to look into Chris's eyes, "hope you're watching," before he unleashed the powerful punch of fire upon the art work, the white cloth veil almost instantly evaporating while extended use of the flamethrower melted down whatever was of the art work proper.
In the flash of a single second, Interval propelled himself from the hallway into the ballroom where he proceeded to pass through the boys and girls, all stiff as statues, to grab a hold of Heat Zone's firing hand, pulling it down on a wrist crunching arch before pulling himself around to meet the villain face to face. A swift kick, that's all it took, and Heat Zone was riding across the floor on his lower back towards the balcony wall, stopping just a few feet short of knocking against the getting a layout of the room, noting the presence of the multitude of Mad Mirror people all looking subdued in shock, he came across the crumpled heap of scorched wood that once formerly held within it the work of art. He was staring at its lost form now, unable to break his transfixed consciousness upon the thought of such precious metals boiling to melting, the full destabilization of their core components to the point of becoming mush and meagrely slipping into a drainage pipe as perhaps the most expensive waste ever learnt of, but there was none to fall through; all it had become was a hardened lump cemented to the floor.
"Take care of him," Heat Zone let out a curdling scream as he slowly pulled himself up from his remorseful position on the floor, scorning those elitist kids nearby with a blood lusted glare. As he got his footing, the spare flame pistol was pulled out from its holster around the back of his waist, oddly enough requiring him to keep in track the transparent fuel line, and aimed at the backside of the swift footed young hero.
Heat Zone's order did not go without being noticed of course, Interval pulled his chin to a shoulder in which he caught in the corner of his eye the gaping mouth of Tricky as he released his hands from Chris's head thus leaving the artist's face to fall lightly to the floor, completely deprived of any energy to hold on its own strength. He made his dash towards Tricky with the full intention of putting him down for good in the context of this battle, but following in his namesake, Tricky tossed out his hand revealing well over a hundred heavy glass marbles, small little orbs of exuberant colours that smashed to the floor in a kaleidoscope of dings, soon coming to cover a large amount of space ahead of him thereby resulting in what could only have been expected from someone whom needs floor friction for speed, a complete collapse to the floor. The first step caught at least three beneath his sole, causing him to slip forward while the second foot completely missed its mark, the tips of his toes reaching the floor only in time for his back to meet it also. The feeling of small marbles smashed throughout the entirety of his backside: what a very odd kind of pain.
"Get him out of here!" Heat Zone shouted. All save for one of the Mad Mirrors present suddenly flickered with a ring of static, that lone one apparently being the real deal, breaking from formation to vault across a table to get into the centre of the ballroom where Interval lay dazed.
After slogging his hands through the bits of marbles, pushing them away from his fingertips, Interval proceeded to twist around and prop himself up onto his knees, raising his head just in time to see the orange suited menace leap off the table while his free hand steadily worked the knobs at his armed pistol hilt; he was changing its setting. An opportunity had presented itself but it would require of him absolute timing or else he would be experimenting with a fate worse than death. When the villain had finally brought the hero into the line of sight, as composed by the length of his pistol's barrel, Interval drove himself towards him, tossing his body into the air with all limbs spread out to their zenith. The trigger finger closed inward and the tip of the gun exploded into a blinding dispersal of white light. Knowing full well of its effects, Interval kept his eyes shut as he strangulated his arms around Mad Mirror's backside, pulling them together chest to chest, thus absorbing the impact of the currently non-lethal laser beam and forcing it back onto the young man who fired it. In an instant the two of them had become locked together in their transmission into an alternate realm of existence full of mirrors, each one leading to pre-programed reflective surfaces any place the owner so wanted.
An opportunity for sight-seeing was short, their conglomerated bodily form being flung across the dimensional void at an unimaginably slow pace, horizontally twisting about with one another while throwing in the occasional punch, Interval especially trying to wrestle free the mirror pistol before they hit the flooring which in of itself could in fact be a great deal of many things other than the flat aquatic blue surface it appeared to be. Being of a much smaller stature, Mad Mirror slipped his head down to Interval's chest level from which he proceeded to jerk upwards, using the top of his head to smack right into Interval's chin. An opportunity to leave the speedster behind in this void with no hope of exit had presented itself but the inertia of their movements had them on the collision course with a particularly large gateway, Interval looking up towards it as his hands flowed into the quicksilver like interior of the mirror, sucking him into the other world.
"Whoa," Interval punched the bulk of his palms against the first thing he saw, a pearl white counter top. It was hoped that he would be able to slow himself down but the reboot in his speed, after travelling so slowly in such a foreign dimension, resulted in him falling over the ledge of the counter head first, his legs arching up on a curvature towards the ceiling before plummeting to the stone white floor with the rest of his body, aimed as it were towards the finely scarlet red plates of metal that made up the bathroom stalls. In a quick second, he was back on his feet and encountering a young woman dressed for the occasion he was said to be a guest to; a flourishing pink dress with a multitude of streamlined fabric lines of a more baby hue along the lower bulk, and hooped scrunches on the edge of her shoulders. Her dark hair showed tireless effort in their braided design; he would have thought her to be having a good day had it not been for the tears the circled around the lower rung of her jade eyes. "Hello," he gulped, somewhat in relief now that he believed himself to be within the Arts Forum building. The tears around her eyes suddenly froze; she was in shock but not over the fact of the young hero's presence in the women's washroom but rather what unsightly thing was right behind him. "Oh," Interval suddenly turned back towards the mirror from which the orange suited villain was shovelling himself through with a sneer and laser gun ready to fire. He tossed up a stiff hand to Mad Mirror's face with enough force to get him back within the mirror portal. He swivelled back his dominant foot as he awaited for the entirety of the Mad Mirror's body to become engulfed in the mirror dimension once more and when such was achieved, he shot his hand back towards the villain, this time however, with a fist. The mirror collapsed around the print of his knuckles leading to one of the most horrified screams that the young woman in company had ever heard; the Mad Mirror had been trapped within the realm he believed himself full authoritative over, his face superimposed on each crack with eyes circling back in forth looking for answers.
The frightened girl sniffed as her nerves had since come to stifled away any emotional anguish. Following a nod and a short smile to her, Interval was gone.
"Where is that idiot," Heat Zone hunched his shoulders, brooding now that much of the fanfare upon his arrival had simmered down leading to awkward silence throughout, those in attendance tonight being uncertain as to whether they were free to leave or that a threat still loomed just behind the door. For the most part they all stood there in stunned silence, gasping.
"Police are going to be here soon," Tricky staunchly whispered as he walked over to his colleague.
"That's why Mad Mirror's supposed to be here to get us out," Heat Zone waved out his gun towards the students to reinforce his might in this desperate situation, "we can take them anyway. We're still good."
"We've got to get out of here," Tricky's voice hit a high note, becoming audible to the select few nearest to the villainous gathering.
"Sure you two don't want to stay around for some after dinner fun?" It was quite a cheeky voice, being soft and intelligibly sly, but it would be imprudent to disregard the menace of its impact upon the villainous duo; they could not conceive of there being any one amongst this group of students and few select teachers and staff that would dare challenge their authority, not with the power they've shown.
"You again," Heat Zone face winced into a standard set of grumpiness as he took a heavy step forward, nudging Tricky aside as he aimed the end of his pistol on a diagonal line to the ceiling, lining his sights up with the dashing violet hued Heroine holding her flight there. It was the Heroine was Nightstar, letting her right leg dangle below to its fullest extent while her left leg arch slightly inward at the knee so that the flat of her foot calmly connected to the right's shin in addition to holding out her fists which shined ever so intensely of energy, a continuous cycle of venomous purple. The contacts had been removed; her eyes were fully immersed in their true colour.
"So does that mean you're staying?" Nightstar continued with her cheeky attitude, "I never claim it's been a good night without some slime to beat up and some premier chocolate to do it on," she winked, "and I'm all out of chocolate."
Heat Zone groaned in contempt, "take her down," he clicked in the trigger, flashing a wavy stream of flame in the Heroines direction. It was quickly realized that the effects of gravity were having quite the poor reflection in his stream and so she nimbly stepped up that much higher than all that he could ever hope to toss at her. Her chuckle and indeed, even her beauty while doing so, antagonized him so greatly that even though he wore protective gear, he felt his body boil. Relief of the poisonous grip around his body was found in a clever way; his colleague Tricky tapped his heels and immediately took to the sky, a streak of lightning riding itself around the sole of his pixie boots thereby enabling such a hovering feat.
Reaching for his waist, Tricky pulled through the folded bags two black orb bombs as he had done before, grinning as he continued to march right on up the invisible stairwell he created. The first one thrown towards her was summarily shot down with a sharply discharged star bolt and while the second grenade was met with similar results it was significantly lower than that of where she hovered, sinking to her far left and thus within the range of possibly endangering the patron students of the evening. One star bolt and the bomb exploded into a swath of smoke and sparkling Christmas colours. It was on the return of her focus to the villain that she had realized that the second bomb was something of a trap, a distraction so that the villain could pull up something a little more damaging than what the mosquito bite bombs could do. It was a small blue capsule, not much longer than his palm and no thicker than his thickest finger. With a pitcher's throw, Tricky nailed the capsule straight on her chest where its casing instantly exploded, the blue ooze it carried bursting in in the only way it knew how along with it. The ooze expanded at such a rate it was that Nightstar was deeply astonished that such a small container was able to hold it so. It was a plaster shade of blue, almost play dough like in its appearance and acted similarly as so, formulating itself to her body as though a child's hands had come into play but were never quick able to hit upon every facet of her form. She tossed out her arms wildly and sniffed increasingly as she felt it bind to her stomach, depriving her of air. Each struggle proved only to make the transference of this ooze around her tighter but she steadfastly refused to give up. It was crawling up her neck, clinging to the strands of her hair, stifling out her star bolts, and solidifying around her toes; there appeared there to be nothing she could do and in the span of ten seconds following the capsule's breaking, she was fully absorbed in its oozing substance and cratering to the floor where she made such a bone crushing sound that even the audience felt in addition to their constraining fear, empathy for her as manifested in their legs.
"Nightstar!" Interval unleashed a harrowing cry upon gaining sight of Nightstar's crash, coming to a stuttering stop at the edge of the hallway he blustered right on through faster; though he moved faster than sound, he was still much to slow to prevent that all too disturbing crunch. He was stunned, rendered inert by the sight of the fallen star, sharing in on that strain of empathy that filtered through the crowd but reconciling it all in very different way than them for he knew her and was surprised in himself for caring. It was kind of care he previously believed himself to have of her, that of having use for her varied abilities, but rather something that he couldn't quite focus his brain upon just watch it was; that notion of empathy just continuously eluded him.
"Interval," a soft plea lodged itself into the speedster left ear drum where it festered with enough veracity to snap him out from his locked position. An alternate identity of his had been called upon and it instinctively drew him to search for the speaker, falling upon Jadelynn whom upheld her caterer's garb and persona while she seamlessly slipped through the conglomerate of bodies whom were now hurriedly following in behind those brave enough to try the exit doors and hallways. It was the name that she had spoken, the name associated to this costume he wore. He refused to acknowledge it but he knew exactly what Jadelynn saw: a hero. Regardless of her feelings about him, he still could not bring himself to move, instead clasping a palm to his face and shaking with great irritancy; fortunately, his hesitance may have indeed saved him from injury for Nightstar, though fully encased within a shell of hardened blue ooze, was about to make her move to freedom.
As Tricky approached the encased Nightstar he began to notice something quite intriguing. He had little experience with all this Trickster gadgetry, more so especially in the case of this silly putty like goo of which he knew from rumours and scarce documents that it was near unbreakable when fully formed and hardened. At this moment however, this grand ideal of being unbreakable was being put to the test for cracks of a vibrant violet hue were beginning to blossom all throughout her form with a primary focus being around the hands. As he inquisitively leaned in on the bend of his knees, it finally happened; the casing completely shattered throwing up in his face a multitude of shard like chunks that carried him into the air, all for the better it would seem for a bubble of intense violet energy boiled out from the floor like a nuclear reactor which, within seconds of the preliminary burst, exploded. The concussive wave, as generated through the outer remnants of the blast's power, carried the villain a significant distance into the air where he inevitably, after finding himself unable to make his magical boots active and get upright, came to crash upon the surface of a table, collapsing two of its legs thereby leaving him on the floor with an odd number of broken plates and silverware. The portion of the black marble floor where the explosion occurred had been turned into a crater, Nightstar's body lying within completely deprived of its life.
When the unnerving display of explosive energy had reached its conclusion, Interval's arms fell from their protective position over his eyes, "Nightstar," he whispered. In a split second he was at the edge of the foot deep crater and looking down upon her. He made some sharp, tightly wound breaths as he took a moment to analyze and assumedly begin to admire the cleansed state of her alien skin which stood in just the right amount of contrast to her predominant costume colour; she appeared absolutely fine on an external level. He suddenly dropped to his feet and reached his hands for her upper body, bypassing through the short sized white cape riding along her side to get to the shoulders, clawing in and pulling her upwards to himself. When her head inevitably slumped back his hand slipped in to support it in a flash. "Nightstar," he whispered once more and with a calm wave of relief, her solid coloured eyes shot open; however, there was something more, something overhead that she saw. Her face was absorbed in a state of panic, losing all its delicate tan with the stifling of breath. Interval need not to turn around to understand what it was she saw, he felt it at the back of his head: the barrels end of Heat Zone's pistol.
"Heroes on the hunt for villains, treating them like game," Heat Zone mumbled, "tell me, what does the hunter do when the game starts fighting back?" Death was on the horizon for the two young heroes and all they could do was listen to the crinkling of metal, that trigger, being slid back to order the firing mechanism. "Agh!" the villain roared in pain fused into confusion as the back of his flame shooting pistol expulsed its fuel along the breadth of his arm, lightning up just as fast with rampant flames he had originally sought to shove through the speedster's head. It was not long till his suit had served its purpose; the orange cord along his side erupted with white foam which proceeded to snuff out the flames. He spent the several seconds twisting his arm around, satisfied with the removal of the threat of being burnt but understandably disgruntled to find the cord which contained the fuel had been severed. When he proceeded to raise his head in full intention of finding the culprit, he was met with the boot of Interval, the young speedster delivering a kick much more troublesome than then the last; he was forced bum first to the ground and propelled towards the balcony wall once more. His head came to hit against the ledge of the table forcing the entirety of his upper body down so that he could snuggly fit beneath it; the crash at the end, against the solid surface of the wall, was anything but recovery safe or silent.
Interval nodded to Jadelynn, a toke of gratitude for having saved him. It was an odd kind of silence that ensued. He had fully intended to help Nightstar to her feet but was caught up in a strange aroma, something burning. Then his eyes were riveted open, "Nightstar," he made a mad dash towards the sunken Heat Zone where he proceeded to tear away at the boys costume, ripping away the fireproof suit so that the zippo pack he wore could be ejected from its position. With a firm boot on the boy's backside and a muscle tensing pull with both hands, the curvy orange bundle of fuel was free. His hands already felt like they were on fire when he turned around to retreat back to Nightstar. He took a brief moment to analyze it; the temperature readings on its top side were through the roof which was exactly where he believed was best to dispose of it.
Like she knew only from his eyes, the half-Tamaranean teen clasped the bottom half of the imploding bomb and held it tightly to her chest. Legs still a bit wobbly from the crunch of falling, she relied upon the tall speedster for support, his hands working upon her waist as fast as they could to get her airborne. Off she went in a trail of smoke and violet energy while Interval quickly worked on getting Jadelynn, Christopher and Miss Hayes out from the centre of the ballroom, quick snaps of speed with no more than a second required for saving. She bowed her head as she hit the foot-by-foot panels of glass enfranchised in the black steel framework of the ceiling. Successfully gaining altitude in the night time cloudy sky, she shovelled what little strength she had into the musculature of her right arm, letting the pack of near exploding fuel slump onto the edge of her fingers as she rotated it all in its entirety on the axis her shoulder joint. It was just in the nick of time. The explosion was a feisty assortment of orange flames that followed in rapid succession bubbling bursts of energy. All in all, the end result was a cloud amongst the already many though it was hard not to deny that this particular one was the darkest of them all.
"Are you alright?" Interval called up to the Nightstar as she hovered back down to him.
"Fine," Nightstar winced with a gulp. Her left leg was shaking uncontrollably and her face really showed the pain, "but if you don't mind, I'm going to stick in the air for a bit."
"Thank you," the sweet tipped voice of Chris drew Interval's attention. The artist proceeded to raise his hand to the hero, forming a closed smile that was above all the best he could offer in greeting given his shaken nerves. "It's not often that you get to meet a super hero," his eyes were extended as far as the socket could provide and could be described as being most sincere in their sadness. When Interval clasped his hand and shook it gingerly, a sensation of calmness embraced him, "although you look too much to young to be the Flash and decidedly less female…" his free hand wobbled to point towards the speedster's chest.
Interval glanced down at this chest where he caught in his eye the emblazoned logo that marked his association with a hero of quite notable esteem, at least those whom rode the lightning before the current one. "You're welcome," he stiffly spoke as his greeting hand dropped, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to provide safety for your work of art."
"Oh no," Chris gulped with a negative shake of his head, "my work is fine."
"Pardon?" Interval recoiled in puzzlement.
"What's going on?" Miss Hayes stepped up beside Chris, gently laying a hand upon his shoulder, drawing him to connect with her eye to eye, "are you alright Chris?"
"I'm fine," Chris responded, once more gulping down the frog that clung to his throat, "just have a small head ache is all."
"What do you mean?" Interval proceeded to prod for answers.
"I took the smart route," Jadelynn rose her chin in pride as she triumphantly stepped up to the three but this façade faded downward to one fourth of its former strength when the soaring Heroine above allowed herself to sink so as to be alongside Interval where she too could here an explanation, "I stole it," she smirked with a sniff, "figured that since no one's seen the work, well then the Rogues wouldn't care what they were burning as long as they thought it was what they wanted."
"I never thought my work needed such stringent security, but when I caught this fine lady in the act, well," Chris stepped in with his weakened voice, "she claimed she had good intentions and since I am rather gullible in these matters, I let her go. I assure you the rogue only burnt some wood and plaster, the real work is actually a lot smaller."
"Then where is it?" Interval crossed his eyes from Jadelynn to Christopher in rapid succession.
Jadelynn grinned, "I stored it on the caterer's trolley," she turned back towards the grouping of tables, taking to a swaying walk towards the catering carts that lined in behind, the own she drove in being at the end of the train and most notable for its blank white curtain top.
"It's a good thing you two were around," Miss Hayes turned to Interval and Nightstar with a relentlessly positive nod. She kept her voice moderately low, "it's a shame you two never got the opportunity to dance though. I think you both look like you would make a beautiful couple."
Mari suddenly gasped.
"What?" Interval suddenly found himself pondering what knowledge Miss Hayes held of him and Nightstar while she, coming to understand her slip in words, let her jaw drop as her eyes went into shock.
"Hey!" A disgruntled voice broke the moment. Everyone, including those patrons still cemented to their positions around the tables, found themselves looking upon a young woman whom held very similar features to Jadelynn albeit with longer silkier hair. She wore the dark jeans of the caterers but enjoyed a soft blue in her short sleeved shirt. To say that she was angry would be an understatement, "that's the girl who beat me up and stole my shirt! Arrest her!" She bellowed from the mouth of the hallway as she came to be joined by a multitude of armed people dressed in the slick blue with black, white, and gold features. Belts, badges, insignia, hand weapons; they were the police.
"I believe it would be prudent at this time if we left," Interval slid in beside Jadelynn grabbing her wrist just before her fingers could be used to displace the white cloth that rode overtop of the cart. With her in hand he returned back to Nightstar, grabbing her wrist with his other hand and within a flash, they were all gone, whisked away by way of super speed.
"Thank you Jadelynn," Interval weakly smiled as he turned to her. He had taken her along with Nightstar to a dingy brick laid alleyway that reeked of all things one could imagine to be in trash piles and maybe even more given that it was in fact still Bludhaven. For light they relied upon the street lamps of the street at each end, "perhaps I would have done well in modelling your approach, but for now," He laid a hand upon her shoulder and took in a deep breath, "thank you for saving my life."
"Well," Jadelynn grunted, "maybe if you drop this bimbo," she tossed a fist over her shoulder; thumb pointing back to the hovering Nightstar, "you can get back up to top speed. We could team up more often."
"Excuse me," Nightstar snarled.
Interval waved a hand up to his fellow super hero, acknowledging the sudden resentment in her eyes but held fast to his simple gesture, politely asking her to hold rage in check, at least for a moment. "Jadelynn," he said her name softly as he gave into a sigh, "why were you so desperate to help me? It's not that I'm not thrilled you were present…I really did mean it when I thanked you, but," he sighed once more, "but what happened here today could have turned out to be a lot worse than what it was. You could have been hurt."
"I can handle it," Jade responded in earnest, raising her face to encounter Interval in boldness, "what's it matter to you anyway?"
"Because I'd like to believe you to be a valuable friend," Interval hurriedly responded, "and in a scenario such as this, I would be at blame for anything that would have happened to you. I have to far too respect for John to let my presence be at the detriment to anyone he considers essential to his living, such as yourself."
"Well, he's fine with me doing what I want," Jadelynn continued in her uptight attitude.
"So you want to prove yourself to me is that it?" Interval questioned, sharply changing the mood of their ongoing discussion, "because I understand, I know you can handle yourself, you've got nothing to prove to me that you haven't already."
"I don't know," Jadelynn shrugged as her head slumped, shying away her eyes, "I thought maybe we connected the other day, when you told me about your father but then you run off with her," she shook a hand out flippantly towards Nightstar, "and suddenly it's like I don't matter, that I don't factor into anything you could have ever want," she shook her head, "I know that maybe we haven't known each other for very long but-"
"Of course you do," Interval cut in, "but in different ways. At that the time where we spoke, I needed someone whom I could talk to just as Nightstar is a valuable asset to my endeavours…" he paused for a moment, "in crime fighting," he concluded with much hesitancy.
"I thought maybe there was more?" Jadelynn gulped with the oncoming of her pondering statement, "just, I don't want to be just some person that you go talk to when you're sad. I'd like to see if there could be more between us."
"Oh," Interval's chin suddenly hit his chest; he knew full well what she meant, "I'm sorry," he suddenly popped right back up, "I don't feel that way."
"So, you're with her then?" Jadelynn's face winced.
"No, I'm with no one," Interval shook his head, "I don't feel that way for anyone. I never have."
"And what does she think about this?" Jadelynn snapped back into her poor attitude.
"I think of it fine," Nightstar hovered in lowly to Interval's side, "I am quite in line with my emotions and I'd like to believe I have a good understanding of those in my company," she calmly placed a hand upon Interval's shoulder, "he has feeling, I assure you, but it's in a far more different, more complex way that I doubt very much any one of us could understand."
For the duration of Nightstar's sentiments, Interval had his head hanging lowly but with her conclusion he rose and embedded his eyes with Jadelynn's and held there for several seconds in silence before deciding to speak, "that way you looked at me," he sniffed, "I think you've got me wrong…I'm not a hero, not like what the Flash is, nothing like Nightstar," he shook away the Heroine's hand as he stepped towards one of the alleyway walls, "she is right though, I do feel differently," he suddenly turned to them, "maybe I don't have friends, I only have assets to meet my goals."