Chapter 2: Freaks and Geeks.
By BobCat (He's co-writing this with me. Go read Epic of Gauntlet to thank him. NOW! See you in chapter 3. Sincerely, Legend Maker)
"And that is why I've lost faith in humanity. A toast to the roaches that will take our place!" Kyra said, oddly cheerful despite her nihilistic sentiments, as she lifted up her glass of overpriced coffee.
Walt politely declined. "It may be inevitable, but I do not embrace humanity's downfall in the same way you do." He sipped his drink, and winced. "Ten dollars for a mediocre cup of coffee, and they add more than twice the syrup content I asked for."
Kyra sipped her own steaming cup. "That's what inflation and Starbucks are all about. My dad says that when he was my age, coffee cost three dollars a cup."
Walt sighed. "I have heard the same accounts; it makes me long for the simpler days of the 00's." After a moment of silence, Walt went on. "So, your father and mother were both members of the Teen Titans? That is a rather impressive pedigree."
Kyra shrugged. "Not as fun as it sounds. Sure, I've been to the moon twice, I get to vent my frustrations on any bad guy I find, and my father is independently wealthy and then some, but… you know, it IS pretty impressive, now that I think about it." She set down her drink for a moment, looking at something over Walt's shoulder. She went back to their conversation before Walt could ask what she was staring at. "But only from what I've gotten out of it. I mean, the Titan's objective, what, Truth, Justice and whatnot, is pretty much unattainable. People are always going to be assholes, and despite what you'd think, the superhero community has more than it's share."
Walt blinked. "Really? I had always envisioned them as flawless beings of great power and moral fiber."
Kyra was lost in a fit of helpless laughter for the better part of a minute. When she finally came up for air, she lost all appearance of mirth. "God, I'm glad I wasn't drinking anything when you said that. Believe me, metas are just as human as anyone else. Probably more human than human, since their powers tend to give them the impression that they're infallible, while most people have some humility. I've only met two, maybe three guys I could say fit that image, and then just barely." She decided to change subjects, inasmuch as she didn't like the topic. "So, you still haven't told me how you did that trick with the super-gum or whatever you call it."
Walt whipped out several beakers of chemicals. "Well, I took the formula for bubble gum and increased its plasticity several thousand times. Then, I added some chemicals that will cause it to expand once it is exposed to air, and then it will contract as far as whatever it has wrapped around would allow it. Thus, no bones are broken by the constriction, and since it will have extreme rigidity after the initial expansion, it will not slowly asphyxiate the target in the manner of a boa constrictor."
Kyra was studying one of the beakers, feigning comprehension. "I see… what possessed you to make something like this?"
"The short answer is, 'why not?' I hypothesize that it will eventually replace tear gas and manacles as the preferred forms of mob and inmate control. And I stand to make a good profit from the bargain."
Kyra's interest was piqued. "And the long answer?"
Walt put down his drink. "Well, my father… actually, that is bequeathing him far too much credit. The male who donated half of my genetic structure left my mother and me before I was born. Despite this, I feel no particular detestation towards society, I abhor heavy metal music and I have no interest in taking a firearm to school. I am told I am a statistical anomaly for some reason. Regardless, I was much like the other children until I was five years old. For my birthday, my mother purchased for me a child's chemistry set. I was hooked immediately, loving the delicate interplay of elements and molecules, learning their language, if you will, and I became quite proficient in chemistry."
Kyra nodded. "That's being modest. I couldn't even track you while you were mixing all, what, eight of these together to make the super-gum."
Walt took in the praise, puffing himself up slightly. "Well, I suppose it is a unique talent. I sometimes wonder if it is a metahuman mutation, but I do not wish to learn one way or the other."
"Oh?"
"As long as it is a more intrinsic talent, I am fairly competing in the field. If I do indeed have a metahuman based intellectual aptitude for chemical compositions and photographic memory, I am the Flash in a track and field competition."
Kyra glowered as she was reminded of her own problems that her special powers had brought her. "I HATE that distinction. People don't like admitting they aren't as good as someone else, so they feel the need to tear down anyone who's even a little better than they are! I say if it's a natural talent, then you're just another guy competing!"
"That is an interesting viewpoint. If only more shared it." He decided to steer the conversation back to his interests. "So, whatever did happen with the other Titans? I know that your father and mother live in the old Tower and run Collins Corp, but I do not know of the fates of the others. Care to enlighten me?"
Kyra shrugged. "Sure, why not? You're trustworthy, and nobody's trying to make it a secret; it's just not newsworthy. Lesse… Robin and Starfire went to Gotham, and Robin's Batman, since the old one is in semi-retirement."
"Who was Batman really?"
"Sorry, I trust you, but not that much. 'Sides, even I don't know. My dad does, but he's managed to keep it hidden. Anyway, I do know that the old Batman doesn't like Starfire helping him out, since it could be a security breach, or maybe the old man thinks that Batman should be a lone warrior. I dunno; I've only met the guy, like, twice. When I was six or something. Back to the story. Beast Boy lost his powers after some guy who called himself the Normalizer hit him with, you guessed it, a Normalization Ray. That kinda forced him to retire right then and there. He married another Titan named Terra and moved to Hollywood, in no particular order, and he's a director now."
"What movies has he overseen?"
"Lesse, American Mid-Life Crisis, three guesses what THAT'S a sequel of, Titanic 3000: The Revenge of Jack, oh, and I think he co-directed that live action Hello Kitty! movie. Yeah, he's a sellout, but he's a ludicrously wealthy sellout."
"If one wishes to be a sellout, I cannot think of a better end result."
"And Cyborg… well, the poor guy's trying to become fully human, but it just never works out. His body keeps rejecting the robotic parts, which hurts the body more than the parts, so then the body part that tried the rejecting gets replaced… it's a vicious cycle. And… I think that's everyone."
Walt thought hard. "Nothing escapes me usually, but for the life of me I cannot recall; I had thought there were eight Titans in their heyday. But we only have seven accounted for…"
Kyra counted off on her fingers. "Robin, Starfire, Raven, Savior, Beast Boy, Cyborg, Terra… that's everyone. You must be mistaken." Again, Kyra's gaze drifted over Walt's shoulder, this time staying there.
Walt frowned. "I'm usually not… what are you looking at?" He turned around and saw the source of Kyra's interest… all six foot something of him. "Ah."
The boy, sitting at a nearby table, seemed "off," for lack of a better term. Maybe it was the long, flowing blonde hair. Or perhaps it was his choice of dress; a white tank top that exposed his developed musculature, combined with fairly tight black jeans. (Another unusual feature was the metal glove he wore on his right hand, but that was not indicative of anything other than a slight eccentricity.) Maybe it was the chai tea he was drinking. Most likely, it was the fact that he was reading a book called "Great Musicals of the Twentieth Century."
Walt turned back to Kyra, who had already ended her "examination." It would be the fulfillment of a lifelong fantasy if SHE looked at me in that manner… "I do not believe he would be interested in you."
Kyra glared her best glare at a very shocked Walt. "I would expect YOU of all people not to judge by appearances. Sure, he seems to have all the characteristics, but I bet he's one of those people that has 'feminine' tastes while still being heterosexual. Besides, this one's interesting not because he has a nice bod, not that I mind, but look what he has dangling from his belt."
Walt turned around again. On his belt was a leather strap, and at the other end of that strap dangled an ancient war hammer. On the hammer were Norse Runes, which Walt instantly picked up on. "Intriguing. To be so boldly carrying such a stylized weapon, albeit a primitive and ineffective one, in public implies that he is more than he seems."
Kyra pointed towards another nearby table. "Yes, and he seems to be attracting interest from some other people. Lesser Metas, from the look."
Walt called up the definition from his gigantic vocabulary. The media had coined the term over a decade before to refer to a growing breed; those that were shunned for having superhuman powers, but lacked the strength, skill or control for recruitment by larger superhuman teams. These Lessers tended to form small gangs, and their abilities had ended the era of the inner city gang as it had been known in the last century, but had brought about a new problem. Before, the issue had been that the police could not convict these gang members for any major crimes. Now the problem was that the police couldn't apprehend these dissidents. The Justice League made regular city sweeps, but two more Lessers seemed to appear for every one brought to justice.
Of the three Lessers that were moving in on the blonde at the next table, one stood out the most. He seemed to be a refugee from ancient Greek mythos, a Minotaur. The other two, a boy of African descent and a girl with dyed green hair and enough piercings for an entire rock band, seemed content to let the Minotaur handle things. The human/bull hybrid snorted a cloud of steam and tapped Blondie's shoulder. "Hey fag, I thought we told you we didn't like you on our turf. You know the rules; two strikes and you're dead!"
Blondie turned a page, completely unperturbed. "Ah, Minotaur, Mags and Matchstick. If it isn't my three favorite homophobes. As far as the rules of whatever game you're talking about, three strikes is the conventional allowance. And like I told you last time, Minotaur, I don't care. Go find someone else to pick on; I'm just passing through."
Kyra whispered to Walt, "So these guys are M&M…&M. I wonder if it's a coincidence?"
For once, Walt was at a loss for words.
The girl leaned over. She gestured, causing a switchblade to float from her pocket to her right hand. The blade popped out of its casing and she put it to Blondie's throat. Mags smirked. "Yeah, you'll be passing through all right. Right through a pine box!"
Again, Blondie turned a page. "You know even if I was a homosexual, WHICH I'M NOT, I have done nothing that would inspire your anger. Now, I would please ask you to leave me alone; I just got to the chapter on Rogers and Hammerstein, and I'm interested in this author's opinion."
To Minotaur's left, Matchstick held up his hand. It was instantly enveloped in flame, and a small fireball shot out, hitting Blondie's book. It was swiftly burned to a crisp.
Blondie held the charred remains of his book for several seconds. His bemused indifference vanished even as the flames died out. He stood up, glaring right at Matchstick. "Do you know how much that book cost me?"
Matchstick shrunk slightly until the gaze. He rolled up the sleeves of the hooded sweatshirt he wore. "H-hey, fag, we warned you what would happen!"
Blondie's right arm suddenly shot up, grabbing Matchstick by his dreadlocks. The boy cried as he pulled hard. "FIFTY. SEVEN. DOLLARS. AND. FORTY. NINE. CENTS. I had to go for a week without any lunch to pay for that, what with my budget and all. Did you think about that? Nooooo. You just wanted to get my attention. Well, YOU GOT IT."
The increasingly distraught woman behind the counter yelled, "Hey, take it outside… please?"
Blondie turned to face her, his expression momentarily becoming genial. "Why certainly. It is not your fault that you cater to cretins. I shall be glad to take this outside."
Minotaur cocked a fist back. "Nuh uh, fag! We're settling this here and OW OW OW OW OW!!!" Minotaur was rendered helpless when Blondie grabbed his oversized nose ring. Blondie proceeded to calmly walk out the door, whimpering metas in tow. Mags followed shortly after, yelling for Blondie to stop.
Kyra and Walt quickly trailed behind, keeping a safe distance. Kyra whispered to her companion, "Curiouser and curiouser. I wonder how he'll handle this?"
Arriving in the middle of the street (which was oddly empty, considering that it was the middle of the day), Blondie released his captives. Matchstick's lower arms and head immediately burst into flames. Matchstick threw a pair of large fireballs at Blondie, who sidestepped the attack. "Just like a nigger; you couldn't hit the broad side of a continent."
Matchstick screamed, "HOW DARE YOU!?"
Blondie smirked. "See how much fun slurs are on the receiving end? Maybe you'll think of that next time you want to use one." Minotaur had finally recovered, and was charging at Blondie straight on. Blondie chose not to dodge this attack, instead sticking out one hand. "No, I suppose not. Thinking isn't a strong suit for any of you imbeciles."
Even though Minotaur had at least one hundred pounds of muscle on his opponent, he felt as though he had hit a brick wall. He stumbled back, muttering, "Damned cheating fag…" Blondie's punch to the gut sent him doubling over, moaning.
Blondie's smirk grew even more arrogant. "You see, I'm the peaceful type. I don't like fighting, although I will admit that beating the crap out of you brings me great joy." He pulled the hammer from his belt, even as Matchstick prepared a larger fireball. "But, you've awakened the storm; now prepare to reap the WHIRLWIND!" He swiped the hammer in Matchstick's direction, sending a gale wind that blew out his flame an instant before he was slammed into a nearby brick wall.
Mags lifted her knife and threw it. Its speed was far greater than her ineffective throw would have suggested, and if flew right at the back of Blondie's head. It hit, and the end of the blade broke off. "What the HELL!? How can a fag be THAT strong!?"
Blondie turned to face his tormentor. "For the last time, I'M NOT GAY! Just because I didn't join your gang when you offered me your sloppy seconds, you SLUT, does NOT mean that I'm a fag! Stop calling me that anyway! I am Donar, wielder of Mjolnir, of the house of Wotan! I'm a bleeding demi-god, and you should thank whatever you worship these days that I don't kill you on the spot!" A crack of thunder finished his statement quite dramatically.
Kyra, now taking shelter behind a bench with Walt, was growing more impressed by the second. Strong, restrained, well spoken… I'm surprised that he hasn't been picked up by any metahuman teams yet.
Mags smirked. "Yeah, well you might be strong, but I bet you're nothin' without that hammer there!" She pulled on an invisible rope, causing Mjolnir to fly out of Donar's grip. He seemed remarkably unconcerned by this development.
The reason for his lack of concern became evident when Mjolnir came to Mags' hands. She was suddenly wrenched forward by the hammer's incredible weight, and she hit the ground head first.
Donar put a finger to his forehead and concentrated a moment. The hammer immediately returned to his right hand. He put it back in its case. "Only my grandfather, my father and I can even LIFT Mjolnir, you stupid little slut." By now, Matchstick and Minotaur had recovered, and were more than a bit surprised at Mags' easy defeat. "Fire, strength, magnetic powers. If it wasn't for the fact that you were all blithering incompetents, you might be an effective fighting force." He casually threw Mjollnir, which traveled in a wide arc, clipping both Minotaur and Matchstick in the back of the head. Again, it returned to his gloved hand. "Now that I have defeated my foes, I suppose I ought to go off into the sunset." His grin grew yet more. "However, you DID burn a rather expensive book. So, I think it's time to punish you. But let it be noted that I do NOT trust you as far as I can throw you," he said, whipping Mjollnir around, "inasmuch as I can throw you a VERY long way." Another whirlwind came up, twisting around obstacles in its path, picking up M&M…&M in the process. "AND THROW YOU I SHALL!" And as promised, they were catapulted into the distance.
Again returning his war hammer to its resting place, Donar was more than a bit surprised to hear applause. As he spun about, he saw Kyra and Walt leaving their hiding place.
"Bravo! Encore! Additional generic theatrical congratulation!"
Donar, caught up in the approval, gave the pair a deep bow. Then he caught himself. "Wait, who are you and why were you watching me?"
Kyra blinked. "You don't know who I am? No preconceived notions?" Donar shook his head. "Thank you! It's gonna be nice to get to know someone without them knowing a lot of stuff about me first." She pointed to herself, and then her compatriot. "I'm Kyra, and this is Walt. We're like you."
"Wandering fourth generation Norse Gods?"
Kyra could only sweatdrop. "Actually, we meant the not being accepted by humanity part."
Walt was silently contemplating the situation. "Blonde hair… Norse God… hammer… superbeing… you seem awfully familiar."
Donar shook his head. "Wrong comic book company."
Kyra blinked. "Wha?"
Walt nodded. "Ah, I see. So, a fourth generation Norse God?"
Donar nodded. In his most dignified voice, he said, "Yes, I am Donar, son of Magni, son of Thor, son of Odin." Then he smiled. "I also inherited this nifty war hammer as part of the deal!"
FACEFAULT!
Walt moaned, "I wish I was in a less manga inspired fanfic…" Nearby, a brick wall collapsed.
Kyra, again, blinked, dusting herself off. "So, anyway, we were wondering if you'd like to hang out." She stopped as she noticed that she was being completely ignored. "Eh?"
Walt was studying Donar's hammer. "So, is this the original model or a facsimile?"
Donar responded, "It's the real deal, all right. It used to shoot lightning every time I threw it, but I made it stop since it was getting a little destructive."
"Shouldn't this belong to Thor?"
Donar shrugged. "He's a little dead, what with Ragnarok and all."
Walt blinked. "I thought I would have noticed the end of the world... I remember reading that humanity was supposed to be first destroyed and then purified after that…"
Kyra blinked. She wasn't the center of attention? This was new.
Donar responded, "Nah, the poets just added that. After all, what bored Viking in his lord's hall gives a rat's ass about the death of the gods if mankind gets ignored? Anyway, we timed it to match up with World War II so that all of the soothsayers and whatnot would assume their premonitions of death were about the Axis and Allies. We didn't want people getting too worried about something that didn't involve them."
Walt narrowed his eyes. "You planned your own demise? That seems rather counter-intuitive…"
"Well, I wasn't alive for the planning sessions, but apparently they decided that they were best off controlling when it happened instead of using all their energies to try to fight it off."
"So, what is your story of origin?" Walt whipped out a note pad.
Holding Mjollnir in front of him, Donar began his tale. "Verily did Magni, son of Thor inherit this hammer after his death fighting Jormungand, the World Serpent. And lo, after the titanic battle of Ragnarok, and the rebirth of Asgard and the 8 of 9 worlds effected by the conflict, he decided he was just sick of the whole Aesir scene and became an accountant in Milwaukee."
Walt stopped his scribbling. "Are you kidding?"
Donar shrugged. "I admit it was not the most logical career move, but he seems to like it. Anyway, he met my mother and I was born in 1962."
Kyra blinked. "Wait, that would make you…"
He rolled his eyes. Here we go again… "Far older than your father, or even your Grandfather. And before we get the oh so fascinating question and answer session, I'll just give you this pamphlet I have prepared."
Kyra took the leaflet. "Demigod aging and you." She flipped the page. "The Norse Demigod ages at a slowed rate, reflecting both his mortal and Aesir heritage. Although he technically ages at the same rate as a full blooded god, he is unable to eat the Golden Apples of youth that full Aesir use. As such, he has a lifespan restricted to a mere four to nine centuries." Kyra reread the last line again. "You're going to outlive my great grandchildren?" Her tone had more than a little disbelief in it.
Donar shrugged. "Well, all I really know is what I've been told. I look pretty good for a septuagenarian, eh?"
Walt prodded, "Please, tell me more! What brings one of the Aesir to Jump City?"
Donar shrugged again. "It was cheaper than the train to Metropolis, and I had to scrimp and save to get that book."
Walt raised on eyebrow. "You don't have any destination in particular? And why didn't you just fly or something?"
Donar replied, "Well, when you live as long as I do, it isn't when you get there, it's the fun you have doing it. I'm heading for New York after seeing San Francisco, and this is the same general direction."
Walt stifled a laugh. This guy does has all the stereotypes for a male homosexual… I wonder if he's aware of it…
Donar paused. "That's about the long and short of it; my dad didn't have much use for old Mjollnir, so he gave it to me, I got the wanderlust and here I am."
Kyra made a time out sign with her hands. "Wait. You mean to say that a bunch of gods lived and died without anyone noticing?"
Donar sighed. "Yeah, that Christ guy kinda got a monopoly on our home turf."
Kyra returned her sigh. "Now we're bringing up the carpenter that was supposed to be the son of God. You know, man's unfailing capacity to believe what he prefers to be true rather than what the evidence shows to be likely and possible has always astounded me. We long for a caring Universe which will save us from our childish mistakes, and in the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary we will pin all our hopes on the slimmest of doubts. God has not been proven NOT to exist, therefore he MUST exist."
Donar glared at Kyra. "Do you have to doubt my existence while I'm standing right in front of you? That's rather bad form."
Kyra shook her head. "No, no, I believe you exist; I just don't think you're a god."
Donar blinked. "Who else but a Norse God would be as strong as I am and have a rune covered war hammer?"
Kyra counted off on her fingers. "A mutant who wants everyone to think he's a demi-God. Or a government experiment with a bit of super-technology that escaped with delusions of divinity. Maybe you're an alien here to spy on us by taking the form of a well known mythological figure."
Donar was a bit surprised at this. "Do you assume EVERYTHING someone tells you is a lie?"
Kyra sighed. "When you've seen who and what I've seen, you start doubting everything."
Donar smiled. "Ah yes, the layman atheist. Knowing just enough about science and religion to "learn" that they're utterly contradictory. You choose the science because it is the "proven" aspect, when you take most of what they say just as much on faith as any religious person. I mean, what evidence do you directly have that v=d/t or whatever? We Aesir do not doubt YOUR existence; you should return the courtesy."
Before Kyra could respond, Walt stepped between them. "Whoa, I thought this was written by BobCat! Where's the humor?"
A voice boomed from the heavens…
DAMMIT, leave that poor fourth wall alone!!!
Donar peered upwards. "Allfather? Is that you?"
Oh that's it, I am SO letting Legend Maker get angsty on your sorry ass!
Donar started weeping. The voice seemed content and moved on.
Walt coughed into his hand. "So, I believe that Kyra had a question to ask, before we started a theological discussion…"
Kyra, more than a bit miffed at not getting the last word in,* decided to let it drop just this once. "Well, we were actually wondering if you'd like to hang out with us; you seem pretty cool, and we couldn't help noticing how well you got rid of M&M…&M."
Donar thought it over. "Hmmm… hanging out with a punk who all but called me liar to my face…"
Kyra began, "Look, I'm not saying that you ARE lying…"
Donar cut her off. "Oh no, I see where you are coming from; I'm just deciding whether I should be happy or sad, considering this is the friendliest offer I've gotten in months. I'm going for happy now, sad if and when we part ways."
Kyra sweatdropped. This guy is a bit eccentric… "Fair enough! So, can I take that as a yes?"
"Indeed! We can be like the three musketeers!" He held out Mjollnir.
Walt joined in, putting a beaker to the ancient war hammer. "Yeah!"
Kyra reluctantly held up her chain to the crossed weapons. "I get the odd feeling we're going to be more Three Stooges than anything else…"
And thusly, did our three heroes set out, in search of adventure, justice, and mayhaps a pizza, inasmuch as Starbucks coffee is not the most filling of edibles. However, they had not traversed more than a block before they found something to draw their attention…
As they made their way past the park, something caught their ears…
"And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon,
When you comin' home, Dad?
I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, Son,
You know we'll have a good time then."
Donar halted just outside the entrance of the park. "That has to be the single most beautiful singing voice I have ever heard…"
Walt felt slightly happier, as the singer continued with The Cats in the Cradle. "Indeed, I can feel my endorphins flowing already."
Kyra stroked her chin. "Yes, it's weird that anyone could take a song about a father missing out on his son's childhood and make it so… uplifting."
Donar floated off of the ground and flew forward. "Well, I for one am going to see who this angel upon the earth is! Mainly 'cause she sings so purdy."
Walt and Kyra shrugged, and went in after him. Kyra commented, "Considering how much time he claims to have on his hands, he certainly doesn't like wasting it."
Walt answered, "Well, from the perspective of his father, he has an incredibly short lifespan; that must have something to do with it."
As Walt and Kyra came around the corner, they saw Donar hiding behind a bush, peering out. Sitting at the base of a fountain was a girl about their age (well, in Donar's case, his physical age, not his chronological age) strumming on a guitar and singing. The accumulation of change and dollar bills in her case indicated that she had been doing a good business. She was wearing a tattered brown bomber jacket and a stained black t-shirt beneath. Her waist length, platinum blonde hair also looked a bit on the dirty and worn side, as did her tennis shoes and blue jeans.
Kyra noticed that Donar was paying much more attention to the singing girl than he had to her. She was fine with this; unlike the "popular girls" she detested, she saw no reason to monopolize every man on the planet. What caught Kyra's eye was the way that light seemed to bend around her, forming fantastic shapes and colors, not unlike a kaleidoscope. Hmmm… another meta for our "club?"
Suddenly, along came M&M…&M. All looked a bit worse for wear, but they still carried themselves with the same self-superior swagger. They made a beeline for the singer, and as they did so, Kyra saw that Donar was ready to move in and clean their clocks. She put a restraining hand on his shoulder; although it was not enough to stop him, he did notice the contact. He looked up, saying "Eh? What?"
"I want to see how she handles this."
This time, Matchstick went in first. "Hey, I though we told you we didn't want you hustling in our park, bitch."
The singer was far more intimidated by the three than Donar had been. "Look, I don't want to cause any trouble; I can just leave and…"
Matchstick cupped his hand under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Nah, too late for that. See, you made money on our turf. As such, we get a percentage of everything you made while on said turf."
Singer stuttered, "H-how much?"
"All of it." To emphasize Matchstick's ultimatum, Minotaur leaned down and picked up her guitar case.
Singer leapt for it, crying out, "No! That's all I have!" Matchstick and Mags held her back while Minotaur counted her proceeds.
Minotaur whistled. "Shit, there has to be a thousand bucks in here! We picked a good day to check out this park!"
Singer struggled against, their grip, seemingly unable to break it. "No! No! Let me go, you jerks! This is your last chance before I get mean!"
All three found this incredibly amusing. Mags, having found a new switchblade, pressed it against her captive's throat. "Oh yeah? And watcha gonna do about it?"
"This." A bright light filled the air, blinding everyone who was watching, including our watching heroes. As her assailants moved to cover their eyes, she rolled, picking up her guitar, and slammed the thin end of it into a carefully selected spot on Minotaur's torso. The man/bull hybrid fell like a ton of bricks, moaning. Evidently unaffected by her own burst of light, she picked up the dropped case and ran at top speed…
Only to be confronted by a wall of flame. She halted inches in front of the inferno and spun around.
Matchstick rubbed his eyes. "Nice trick, bitch. Ya woulda gotten away with it if I weren't wearing my sunglasses. But now? Now you SUFFER. Mags? Gut her." Mags seemed more than happy to comply and used her magnetic powers to speed up her switchblade, which flew through the air, straight at the singer's throat.
Singer quickly dropped her guitar and case and shot one hand up, catching the blade in mid air. Using the momentum, she spun around in mid air, retracted the blade and threw it with pinpoint accuracy into Mags' head.
Matchstick, his arms and head now covered in flame, charged forward, even as his teammate fell to the ground. Singer seemed unperturbed by this, dodging his hastily aimed punches and fireballs. However, she dared not get close enough to strike back for fear of getting burned. She saw an opening after nearly a minute and created a smaller flash of light in the vicinity of Matchstick's head. He cried out in pain, his flames fading away as he lost his concentration. Singer took advantage of this, grabbing one of his arms and expertly flipping him into the fountain. "This time, I put the light UNDER your sunglasses. Enjoy."
At that moment, Minotaur slugged her, hard. She fell to the ground, blood flowing from a gash on the side of her head. Mags had by now recovered, and Matchstick was climbing out of the fountain, his flame gaining strength by the minute.
Matchstick sent down a spark that lit the singer's hair on fire. "Now, you little bitch, you had so much money in there, we were just gonna let you off. But now? Now you have to learn why we're in charge of this city, baldy." He opened his palm, causing the flame to expand in such a way that it left her clothes alone, devouring over half of her hair.
"ENOUGH!" A storm began, as clouds deviated from their paths by miles to drench the area. Donar floated out from his hiding spot and flew over, picking up the Singer. He lifted Mjollnir high, and his voice took an odd, echoing quality. "I say to thee, oh scum of Midgard, that I, Donar of the house of Wotan, hath seen TOO MUCH of thy sins! Whether or not thou invoke Syn, goddess of defendants, I say to thee, I know that thy crimes are too GRIEVOUS to be worthy of a day in court! For thy crimes against art and decency, this evening, thou shalt dine in Hel's chamber!"
The sudden deluge and the show of power sufficiently cowed M&M…&M. (In Minotaur's case, it was easy, but regardless…) Donar wound back his hand, ready to give the three the smiting of a lifetime. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Eh?"
Kyra and Walt were standing on either side of him. Kyra smirked. "Hey now, you already got to beat them up; it's our turn. Turn off the waterworks so Sparky over there can gimme a good fight. Oh, and you might want to watch where you're grabbing that minor there."
Donar blushed furiously, even as the storm came to a halt. He looked for a moment. "Hey, I'm just holding her by the waist…"
Kyra winked at the giant warrior. "Made ya look, you dirty old man." Her promethium chain seemed to come to life, writhing like an angry python.
Minotaur was the first to recover from the deluge. He walked over, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. "Well well, looks like the fag's too afraid to fight us himself. Don't blame him; he just got lucky last time!"
Walt adjusted his glasses. "Your assumptions are erroneous, both empirically and logically."
Minotaur blinked. "Eh?"
Kyra's chain wrapped around her right hand. "He's saying you're full of bullshit. Which, I suppose, is probably true."
Minotaur snorted, sending a small cloud of steam into Kyra's face. "Look girly, I don't know WHO you think you are, but there's no way you're beating me. I'm the strongest guy in the whole city; I got muscles with muscles on 'em, and you, ya little pansy, how can you compare with THAT?"
"Really tough huh?" Kyra responded. "Abs of steel, pecs of rock, thighs of stone?"
"Yeah! You'll never win!"
Kyra responded with action rather than words, as she cocked her arm back and slammed her chain-wrapped fist straight into Minotaur's groin. His eyes bulged out of his head and he collapsed, moaning.
"Balls of mush." Kyra said, chuckling. "Next?"
Matchstick's head and arms once again burst into flame. "Mags, get the nerd and then gimme a hand!"
Mags whipped out another of her seemingly endless supply of switchblades. "Right." She ran right at Beaker, intending to gut him.
She never got the chance, as Beaker mixed up a pink substance and quickly threw it at her hand. The beaker hit the blade, and it instantly began bubbling and smoking. Mags dropped it instantly. "What the hell!?"
Beaker had already mixed up another concoction. "Is that the best that you have?" He threw another pink mixture at her, this time drenching her with a pink, sticky liquid. "Because if that is the extent of your talents, then the metahuman community as a whole needs to address this serious lapse in quality."
Mags stared blankly at her tormentor. "Huh?"
"Thanks for proving my point. As far as your vaunted "magnet powers," as you so eloquently called them, the liquid I have sprayed you with will utterly disrupt your connection with the Earth's magnetic field."
"Huh?"
Beaker's grin spread from ear to ear. This is why it's so fun having a large vocabulary. "You're powerless. Give up."
She shook her head again. "Nuh uh!"
Beaker dug through his pocket. "Really? Then if your magnetic powers are intact, then you should be able pierce my eye with my metal mechanical pencil." He held the item in his open hand.
"You'll see! People are gonna call you the one eyed nerd… or something." Mags put all of her concentration into the effort, but, after nearly a minute, the pencil hadn't moved a micron. "Uh oh… Well, I can still kick your scrawny ass, nerd!"
Beaker's hands moved faster than the human eye could track. "Thank you for that wonderful opening; I could not have scripted it better myself." Mags cursed loudly and (for once) eloquently as a beaker of super-gum hit her, pinning her helplessly to the ground.
Kyra, meanwhile, was having a bit of trouble with Matchstick. Much like Singer, she couldn't close in without risking being charbroiled. On the other hand, her chain removed Matchstick's long range advantage, but he was fast enough on his feet to avoid more than a few glancing blows, which he blocked with his flaming arms. Kyra pondered this. That last one should have broken his arm, but he doesn't seem hurt at all. He must get tougher when he's on fire… Finally noticing an opening, she whipped out her chain, wrapping it around his right arm. He cried out in surprise as she pulled back and quickly ran in, punching him in the gut with her free hand. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. Or rather, WHERE he's on fire.
Suddenly, Matchstick's clothes were incinerated as the flame spread across his body. He stood up and yanked the chain from her grasp. "You should be honored, ho.' Ain't no one but five people seen me when I'm all fired up like this. You ain't got a chance in hell." To drive in the point, he melted the chain.
Or rather, he tried to. "Eh?" Although the promethium glowed a bit as he tried to melt the chain, it remained entirely intact. "What gives!?" His flames grew brighter, going from red to orange.
Kyra added fuel to the flame, so to speak. "Come now, a big, bad meta like you oughta be able to melt a little iron chain like that no problem!"
Matchstick doubled and redoubled his efforts, so intent on proving his power that he didn't notice that his fire was beginning to thin. Finally, after thirty seconds of full effort, his flame died altogether, leaving him completely naked.
Kyra looked him over. "Matchstick. That's… appropriate."
Matchstick quickly covered his "dignity." "Uh… I surrender?"
"Oh, I'm sorry we're all out of surrender." Kyra's chain, still attached to Matchstick's right arm, lashed around. "We do have a nice special on chain upside the head though." He fell to the ground, unconscious. "That normally comes with a side of kick to the gut or kick to the groin, but since today's Two Side Tuesday, you get BOTH!" She began viciously kicking the poor boy, who could only moan.
Kyra was suddenly lifted off of the ground. He turned and saw it was Donar. He commented, "He's already down. I think we've given him something to remember. No honor in hitting a downed opponent, after all."
"Why give honor to any opponent that has none?" Kyra snapped.
"Kyra, please stop. I don't want to have to force it."
"All right, all right." Kyra said as Donar set her down. But when he had turned away, she quickly stepped over to the groaning Lesser.
"You got lucky, punks. But if I ever see you trying to push people around again, you're getting a pine box! Hear me!? PINE BOX!" Kyra hissed, and gave Matchstick one last kick that Donar didn't see before she spat on the ground and walked away.
Singer had by now recovered. Donar handed her the guitar case, with the instrument inside. "I believe this belongs to you."
Singer blinked. "Who are you?"
Donar offered his hand, which she took. As she stood up, Kyra handled introductions. "I'm Kyra, the guy with the glasses is Walt, and the big lug trying not to blush is Donar."
"My name's Sierra; what happened to those three jerks?"
Kyra motioned in the direction of the moaning gang. "We cleaned their clocks."
Sierra smiled. "Well, thank you. How may I repay you?"
Kyra stroked her chin. "Y'know, kicking their asses was fun. We should form our own super-gang, so that we can do that more often!"
Donar queried, "And fight for truth and justice, right?"
Kyra shrugged. "Maybe if it looks fun. You in, Sierra?"
Sierra said, "Yes; I have nowhere better to go, and I should repay your kind act." The other two nodded.
Kyra was jubilant. "Good! But we still need a certain something…lemme make a phone call." She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and walked a good distance away.
Donar said, "Now, Walt, there's one thing that confuses me. What was that stuff you sprayed on Mags? I wouldn't think you COULD cut someone off from the magnetic field, just like that."
Walt replied, "I think you might be able to, but it would require more than a beaker full of strawberry soda."
Sierra asked, "And that pencil? It wasn't metal?"
Walt nodded. "Yes; I bluffed her so that she wouldn't try to use her powers to free herself. Don't be too loud, though."
Sierra made a show of zipping her lip.
Kyra had by now dialed her number, and after the forth ring it picked up.
"Hey Brick. It's Kyra. I have an offer for you."
End Part 2
* It seems as though all original characters belonging to Legend Maker and her not-to-be-named brother have the Divine Right of the Last Word in any debate with another person's character. It was fun violating that law. ^_^
