Comics Cookies and Revenge
By Lejindarybunny
IMPORTANT: THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITIED TO COMPLY WITH FANFICTIONNET'S NEW NO LYRICS POLICY. PLEASE VISIT http / www .freewebs. com/ syndromefan/ ch4 .htm FOR THE ORIGINAL CHAPTER TEXT!
A/N: Hey everybody thanks for keeping with the story, I actually had to go back and fix a teeny tiny plot hole that I hope nobody noticed. Kudos to anyone who did.
Oh, and btw, this chapter is the longest yet. Yay!
Disclaimer: Disney and Pixar own the Incredibles, Syndrome, and all related characters. Sharon is mine.
Chapter 4: With You in the Spotlight
Sharon had worked herself up into such an anxious state about the meeting that she could hardly force herself to go to school. It was certain that she could have used a few extra hours sleep. She'd been up until past four in the morning, tinkering and testing her tazer gloves, which meant getting up at seven was pretty painful. Ah well, it wasn't as if she hadn't pulled late nights before.
Anyway, she would have stayed home except for two things, the first being that her mega annoying little brother had the day off from first grade, because it was parent-teacher conference day. The little boy hadn't figured out how to keep himself entertained yet, so if she stayed home she would probably get stuck playing friend, fake-sick or not. Secondly, if she did fake sick, it would be a lot harder for her to get to the coffee house that evening. And Sharon wanted that to go smoothly. Preferably answering a bare minimum of questions.
She could imagine that conversation, 'Yeah, see ya later mom, I'm going to go meet my stalker.' Ha! That would be a hit.
She cast one last longing look at the rumpled covers of her bed, before pulling her Serenity uniform on over her underclothes. She was wearing navy blue pants today, instead of the skirt, but otherwise she looked exactly the same. She hated having to wear the uniform. It made everyone in school look like little clones of one another, and completely deleted any feeling of personal expression. It also meant that her mother wasn't forced to buy her any nice clothes for school, and so, on her meager allowance Sharon's non-school wardrobe was also rather limited. Which in turn made the few days a month that they did get to waer their own clothes a bit of a pain as well.
It was a vicious, vicious cycle.
Sharon's mind was in overdrive, both anticipating her clandestine coffee-house conference, and trying not to think about it at the same time, hence her brain was doing laps around thoughts of no importance, like her stupid clothing, when they should have at least been thinking about what she was going to tell her Theology teacher about why she didn't have her homework this time.
Because she didn't She had spent all her time making the gloves; which were perfect, in her opinion. Except for the fact that, being set on a base of rubber kitchen gloves, they were bright yellow. But they could still zap the hell out of you. She had them set up so that the knuckles sparked when she balled her fist a certain way. It had worked for Spiderman after all. However, she had a little more trouble perfecting it than good ol' Peter Parker, since hers also went off when she held something the wrong way.
She was confident that she could fix that later, but this was just a prototype, and she didn't have time to work it out now.
Therefore she wasn't going to be ale to wear them to school, even though covertly zapping a few people as she ran down the hall was definitely a temptation. And she couldn't leave them at home either. Mom had asked no questions about what she was planning to make with the parts last night, but Sharon didn't want to take the chance of her coming into her room to clean and fining the finished product. Or worse, her brother finding them!
So she bundled them carefully in the front pocket of her backpack, wrapped in an old t-shirt, and headed down to wait for the bus.
Syndrome was sleeping late. He didn't really have anything pressing to do that morning, and he'd been up late after a short flight up to Upstateville, New York, sitting in his hotel, trying to think up a good plan to get his revenge, and set in motion his eventual world domination. He hadn't really come up with anything good. He supposed he ought to start building up his army again first, but to do that he'd need another base. And to get both of those things he's need to spend money. And so he couldn't do anything about that until he had a lieutenant to make the purchases for him.
So it was all back to the meeting that evening.
He lay on his stomach beneath the heavy green comforter, his face buried in large, matching pillows of the hotel bed, awake, but not feeling like moving quite yet. It was somewhere close to noon, so he had a few hours until he had to get to the coffee house. But not quite five hours, since there was a good possibility that the girl would show up early, trying to catch him as he came in. What purpose she thought that would have he wasn't sure, but he had to be here first anyway. It was all part of the drama. And the right amount of drama and mystique was all he would need to convince her to come with him. Otherwise she would just think he was some sort of whacko, rather than the villain she wanted to serve.
Ah, the joys of a ready made lieutenant. He rolled over onto his back and stretched widely, curling his fingers in the cool air.
The plan was perfect. He couldn't fail.
It was time to test her, to see if her daydreams matched her mind.
And then a thought occurred to him. He had forgotten, in their brief IMing session, to give either her any way to identify him, or him her. And it was really unlikely that they would be the only two people in the café. Damn it!
How was he going to iron out that kink in the works?
Today was going by even slower than the day before, and this time Sharon felt slightly nauseous. She was going to be serial murdered, she just knew it. She was heading straight towards her own demise. And she couldn't bring herself to not go. He had trapped her too effectively. Which was obviously exactly what he'd intended to do.
"Or wonder 'til it drives you mad, what would have followed if you had."
How could she not, now?
Of course, she had to remember what had happened when the character in The Magician's Nephew had heeded his curiosity. He'd awoken the evil queen. But that, in turn had led to the creation of Narnia, soooo...
Gah! It really was going to drive her nuts! And soon!
The very best case scenario, she supposed, was that it was another fan playing a sort of prank on her, a neat way of meeting up.
The worst was of course the serial killer thing.
Sharon stared across the empty lunch table. This was getting ridiculous; Vi had skipped out on her again. Without even saying anything. Couldn't she at least give her that consideration? She had thought better of the young girl.
Well, she stared at her brown paper bag, she wasn't hungry, and there was no one to talk to. So why was she in the lunchroom? She grabbed her things, stood up, and stalked through the sea of students towards the exit, and slammed right into somebody.
"Watch it," she growled down at the kid.
"Oh, oh! Sorry Sharon!"
Sharon, recognizing the voice, looked down. "Violet?"
"Uh, hi," the dark haired girl replied shyly.
The older girl frowned. "So you were coming to lunch after all, hmm?"
"Well, um, actually, I was going to sit with..." she looked over to another.
Sharon followed her gaze to one of the most popular tables in school, full of preps, jocks, and cheerleaders. "With them?" she demanded incredulously.
"Well, Tony invited me..."
"Is that where you've been these last few days?" she was trying to keep the hurt, and seething anger out of her voice.
"Yes."
"And you didn't even feel the need to tell me? I was almost worried too! Some friend you are!" Sharon wheeled around on her heel and stomped away, trying to convince herself she was just angry, and not hurt. She was hurt.
"Wait! I'm sure you can sit with us..."
She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned sharply her head to glare at the pretty, dark haired stick of a young girl. "Ha! Me, sit with the likes of them? You're joking." She kept walking.
'That stings Vi,' she thought to herself. 'That really effin' stings.'
Syndrome had had room service iron the clothes that he had brought for the meeting. He had the long black coat, and jeans, and a white, long sleeved shirt with silver buttons. He was also wearing his power gloves, in case a demonstration was appropriate. And of course, the shades. Inspecting himself in the mirror, he tugged at the collar of his coat. Nicely mysterious and evil, though slightly more 'The Vampire Lestat' than he had been going for. He pulled his hair back again, and strolled out of the hotel room.
He'd rented a car for his stay, which he expected would be short, a black Ferrari. He settled himself in the driver's seat, and started off to the meeting point. He'd picked Spotlight Coffee after doing a bit of research on Upstateville, the café was trendy, but not overly popular, and it had a nice central location that he had hoped would be easy for the girl to get to. He'd been right, of course.
He checked his watch as her pulled in the parking lot. It was four fifteen, right on time. With a smirk on his face he strutted into the café. There was a smattering of people inside, but nobody who looked like they might be his girl. There was a party of four college students in one corner, laughing it up, a young blond boy in one corner scribbling what Syn assumed to be bad poetry into a notebook, and two girls who looked like sisters giggling over frappes.
Syndrome adjusted his sunglasses on his nose, and ordered a plain cappuccino from the counter. Then he sat down in a nice, central location, watching the door. It was bound to be a boring half hour or so, and he was a little regretful that he hadn't brought his laptop. But it would probably have ruined the effect, so...
He sighed, and rested his chin on one hand, drumming the fingers of the other restlessly ionb the table, and began running over what he was going to say in his head.
The bus had dropped Sharon off as though everything was normal. As though she weren't about to die for a scrap of impossible silliness. The bag on her shoulder had felt as it always did, unreasonably heavy. Her house had loomed as safely and oppressively as ever. Her mom had greeted her will the same unconcerned care.
As if every moment that passed didn't bring her closer to some unquantifiable doom.
In ancient Greece, Sharon recalled as she sat waiting on her bed, (or was it Rome?) the word for 'fate' was 'weird'. And in the Norse lands, 'doom' was the word for 'fate'. To be weird was to be fated, doomed.
Sharon had always been weird. And now she was going to meet her doom.
There was a strange sort of acceptance of it in Sharon's heart. She was about to go to be killed by a serial murderer (she didn't really believe the gloves would be able to save her) all to prove to herself that she was willing to follow a dream. Her life would become a great and terrible sacrifice to the gods, and maybe, she thought, they would take pity on her and in her next life, they would grant her powers. If only...
For certainly it couldn't be what it seemed. Couldn't be what she desperately wanted it to be. Yes, there were people with powers in the world, yes there were villains. But the world just didn't work that way, didn't have any justice in it for a small girl who just wanted to be someone special. Life was not one of her silly fanfics.
Of course she didn't want to die, not if she could help it. And she really did hold out, in the deepest reaches of her thoughts, that maybe...
That was why she was going. Not because she had given up hope for her life, but because she held out that tiny spark of hope, that dream.
For as long as she could remember, Sharon had been unsatisfied with her life. It wasn't like she didn't make an effort either. She tried to be happy, tried to love being at school, and tried to make friends, and tried to accept herself for who she was.
All her life she'd been waiting for someone to come and take her away. Someone, anyone, to rescue her from her little mundane life. She had waited for something special to happen to her, and even now, she refused to give up.
The words of a song were running through her head, they had been all day. Avril Lavigne, or whoever wrote her songs, knew what Sharon was feeling. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe Sharon just bent the words in her own mind to match her emotions. Like a badly written songfic.
She cradled her face in her hands. Why, goddamnit, why did everything have to be pretend to her? Life was not a story! Life was life! All having a song stuck in your head meant was that you had heard it too often! Everything didn't have to follow some story arc! Why the hell couldn't she get that through her head?
Why was she such an idiot?
The clock on her wall said it was four thirty. Sharon reached under her shirt and squeezed the Loki pendant she kept there.
Yea yea yea
It was time to go.
Maybe this time the winds of chaos had finally blown her a favorable hand.
Syndrome was right to think he'd know her when he saw her, and she was right on time too, there had been no need to get there early. A good sign.
She was a little shorter than average height, with wavy chestnut hair that hung around her pale, pointed, stubborn but fragile-looking face. A pair of large glasses was perched on her nose, glinting, and accenting the determined look in her grey eyes. She wore a violet t-shirt with a big white heart on it. The shirt was, well...
Mirage had been pretty easy on the eyes, but she was very skinny. This girl wasn't quite fat, but she was definitely curvaceous. The shirt... accented that. She had on a very baggy pair of blue jeans and a short, black pleather jacket, the sleeves of which hung over hiding her hands.
She was standing just inside the doorway with her arms crossed, most likely wondering where he was, and how she was supposed to figure that out. He smirked, locking eyes with her, waved her over.
It was time to get started.
Sharon hadn't quite conquered her doubts and fears on the short walk to the coffee shop, but rather had hardened them into a fierce resolution, and a buzzing anxiety. She was going to do this. She was going to meet this person.
So what if she was a silly fangirl, who wanted to be a dark villain? That was who she was, and she wasn't ashamed.
She raised her chin stubbornly and opened the door to the coffee shop with her bare right hand (she had decided just to wear one glove was best, the other was in the bag at her hip) and stepped inside.
She immediately realized that she had no way of knowing whom in the place, if they were even there yet, or would show up at all, she was supposed to be meeting. Damn it!
Just as suddenly she realized someone was gesturing to her, beckoning her. Her pupils dilated and her heart began to beat faster. Someone really was there to meet her...and he was really handsome!
He had soft red hair, with golden accents pulled back in a ponytail. His face was a long oval with a smattering of freckles upon which his sunglasses cast a small shadow, like a mask. His clothes were obviously expensive, especially his black, mysterious looking coat. He was poised at a table in the middle of the room, with an amused, almost predatory languor.
Definitely, definitely a serial killer!
Sharon took an involuntary step backwards, but then hardened.
No.
She had come this far. There was no way she was going to back out. For once in her life she was going to be daring when it counted, and if he tried to kill her?
She wiggled the fingers in her gloved left hand. A smirk played on her lips.
She would simply have to take him out first.
Straightening her shoulders, and flicking her hair back, she walked forward, and put a hand on the back of the chair at his table facing where he sat.
"You're Syndrome?" she asked, courageously.
She saw him try not to wince.
He put a finger to his lips. "Shh, not so loud, okay?"
She furrowed her brow. "Why not?"
"You really don't watch the news, do you?"
She shook her head.
"Huh. Well, this would certainly be easier if you did..." he muttered. "My manners! Have a seat, my dear Vexxation. Or would you rather I call you Sharon?" He raised an eyebrow.
She pulled the chair out and sat down. "Vex is fine," she muttered.
"Alright then, 'Vex'," he said with a grin. "Why don't you get a cup of coffee before we start?"
"Uh, yeah..." she said, getting up, and walking to the counter. She ordered her usual, a mocha frappe with caramel, without taking her eyes off of her mystery man. She took the drink, and sat back down.
"So then," he said, "why do you think I asked you to meet me here?"
"Er..." she wondered how to answer that, and decided to go with the truth. " Because you're a serial killer preying on my innocent dreams?"
"Haha! Spunky," he grinned. "But your dreams can't really be considered innocent, can they?"
"Well," she admitted. "I suppose not."
"But you're a quarter right," he took a drink of his coffee, and then swirled it around in the cup. "I am preying on your dreams."
She stared at him, utterly boggled. "What?"
"You have to watch enough TV to at least know that the anti-super law is being repealed, right?"
She nodded. It had actually put her more on edge than usually. For almost her whole life, the supers had been underground, rather than out in the open. She hadn't had to deal with the fact that there were real people with real powers. She had only had to be jealous of comic book characters.
"And did you happen to hear what caused this...abrupt shift in opinion?"
She racked her brains, trying to remember. She'd heard her mother and father talking about it a few days ago... "There was some super villain, destroyed a city with a giant robot...His name was-"
Sharon probably looked like an anime character about then, her eyes were so huge. He voice caught in her throat, and the words came out a raspy whisper. "you...y-your're joking!"
A wide grin split Syndrome's face. "Nope. No joke"
She stared at him. And stared, and stared. There was no way. "Prove it."
He looked around the room. "Come outside, then. There's no way I'm attracting that much attention in here."
"No way! Not unless you explain yourself a hell of a lot better!" she said, echoing his whispered tone. "Like telling me why the hell you contacted me for starters."
"You mean you haven't guessed yet? Come on!"
"Humor me," she said, taking a drink of her frappe, to try and put a little moisture back in her throat which had gone so suddenly dry.
He rolled his eyes. "Alright then. When I was defeated a few days ago, I lost my island base, and all my minions. But that wasn't the big ego blow. The thing that really cinches it is I would have won, if my lieutenant hadn't betrayed me."
Sharon saw a flash of anger in his nonchalant blue eyes.
"But," he continued. "There's an upside. I still have my money, my inventions, and the world thinks I'm dead. They won't suspect that I'm plotting my revenge right under their very noses! I just need one thing before I can start my new plans..." he locked eyes with her, the penetrating gaze of a wild cat, "A new lieutenant."
Sharon's hands were trembling. "M-me, you want me, to be your lieutenant?" she was torn between laughter and tears, and her voice settled on a generic hysteria. "That's ridiculous. Why me?"
Syndrome chuckled. "Vex, babe, don't be so modest! You're perfect! I read your stories, your livejournal. We're two of a kind! Think of it, the pair us, both outcasts from a world that doesn't understand us, both longing for the power to revenge ourselves on those who wronged us! A power that the world refused to grant, one we have to take for ourselves! I need a lieutenant who's intelligent, trusting, loyal, but most of all, someone who believes in the goal that I'm trying to achieve! You, you've practically been waiting for this moment your entire life, haven't you? Haven't you Vex?" he gestured emphatically as he spoke; letting his last words hang in the air for a moment, before finishing. "Together, we could rule the world..."
His words were enchanting, compelling, they echoed and resonated deeply in her heart. It was what she was asking for all the time. Right here in front of her, being offered sincerely, so it seemed.
But what about the ancient rule 'be careful what you wish for'? Or in Labyrinth, 'don't take anything for granted'?
"What would I have to do?" she asked in a hushed voice.
He shrugged. "Well, first we have to buy a new base, gather minions, and then help me with my plans for world domination. Simple enough."
Simple enough.
"I'd have to leave my family...friends...school..."
He gave a derisive snort. "Are you really learning anything at school?"
Crap. Useless busy work, all of it. "No."
"Your family, do they give you the respect that you know you deserve? Do they see how special you are?"
'Try harder'
'Don't shoot yourself in the foot'
"No, they don't" she admitted.
"What about your friends. You don't even have any, do you?"
She thought of Violet, her one maybe friend, and how little she seemed to care.
She sighed. "No."
"Well, then, what do you have to lose?" he asked.
Syndrome reached his hand across the table. A white gloved hand, with mechanics around the wrist.
Sharon glanced down at her left hand, the one with her tazer. They really were the same, weren't they? And this was what she had always wanted.
Screw careful, screw taking things for granted. Hadn't she always cursed the end of Labyrinth? Didn't she yell at the screen every single time, begging Sarah to make the right choice, and go away with the Goblin King?
Wasn't that the choice she was faced with now?
She took his hand.
"I'm with you."
To be continued...
And now, the reviews...
Maya Beebop: A pseudonym? What on earth are you implying? Lol Thanks for all the compliments, I really appreciate them!
dKiWi: Insane hmmm? Maybe because that's because I'm completely out of my mind! Glad you like it!
RavensHaelo: I'm glad you're making an exception for my fanfiction. Like I said, Sharon is a Mary-Sue, but she isn't exactly average. Here is more, obviously, and I promise more yet.
Artymas: Loss for words? How about...Incredible? haha. Thanks for your review!