Sorry this took so long to update, I was having trouble deciding how I wanted to format the rest of this story. It may be a long wait for future updates as well but they are coming. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Hey, I Know You
He watched the news every night. It was his custom—since he was sadly no longer a part of it. Sometimes he'd even comment to his television how he would have done things differently in his day. He'd offer up a few critiques to the newcomers of his former profession with slurred bitterness. What? Oh no, no, it's not like being forced into early retirement ever angered him. Heck no. He was just…
A bronze tinted froth spat out from the top of the can he punctured using only a thumb.
…a little grumpy.
He scratched at the half past six shadow clinging to the side of his cheek as he moseyed on back to his beat up recliner. He hadn't shaved in a week, or maybe more. He didn't keep track. Why bother? He didn't really go out anymore; no need to impress anybody.
The anchor on the TV proudly announced that the Heroes Guild had finally captured one of the country's most notorious villains in New York. He grumbled something generally unkind about the Guild and all its members, and he laughed at the newest-soon-to-be-inducted member blushing on camera as he described his triumphant discovery of the Evil League of Evil's eastern headquarters. Johnny Snow. That sounded familiar. He was probably one of those wannabes who had been trying to get in for years. Well, at least there was a spot open for this kid now.
The program had changed to something more pressing and urgent during his musings. As a reflex he inched closer to the edge of his ratty chair. It was a natural reaction at the mention of his rival's name.
Some footage from New York started to roll. Hostage situation, SWAT team breaking in, and Dr. Horrible…
The beer can crinkled and imploded under the force of the once hero's fingers. He coughed on the liquid that had unintentionally sprayed into his mouth. Did he just see…? Was he watching…? Did Dr. Horrible just…? Is he dead?
"Have you ever tasted this slop?" the scruffy man asked, a cracked bowl in one hand and scratching his peppered beard with the other.
The woman to whom he spoke sighed, unimpressed. She twirled the giant ladle like a baton between her fingers. "Nope," she responded in her squeaky voice.
The man huffed and growled. His shaggy eyebrows furrowed as he shoved the bowl and its barely steaming contents under the woman's nose. She squirmed—instinctively leaning as far away from the dish as possible. Her nose crinkled in disgust. The woman mumbled a tiny 'ew' causing the man's frown to deepen. She failed to notice, but instead pushed the basin back with her ladle—afraid to touch the substance.
"How dare you try to serve us this!"
"Sir, I'd appreciate it if you just kept your voice down," was her automatic response. Violet eyes rolled and she blew a feathery strand of golden hair free from a net of eyelashes thick with mascara.
"I demand better food!" the man pounded a fist against the faded countertop separating the duo. He likewise allowed his bowl to drop. The crack expanded with a loud clank. Her adorable red polka dot apron was now splattered with unidentifiable soup substance, not to mention he had practically spit on her. That was just gross.
He scratched his beard again, flakes of something breaking free from the gray patch of fur. She shuddered. Enough was enough.
"Sir, you're homeless, you don't to be picky!" she snapped in a nasally tone, swinging her ladle haphazardly through the air. The man was stunned into silence, and for a brief moment a smug little grin of victory sprawled over her lips.
"HOLLY!"
"Aw crap…" she muttered at the sound of Frederick Reynolds's scolding voice.
Holly plopped her ladle down into the coagulating stew with a sigh. She knew what was coming even before the over worked man took hold of her arm and dragged her far, far, away from the bothered patron. They passed through the swinging double doors into the busy kitchen, the petite woman rolling her eyes in anticipation of the upcoming conversation.
"Honestly, Holly," Reynolds's moaned— rubbing the bridge of his nose—as their brief journey came to halt, "I can't have you insulting our guests all the time!" he always referred to the homeless as his "guests". Apparently humanitarians are too good to say bums or hobos.
"Pssh!" was Holly's only reply.
"Please, Holly!" he folded a pair of hairy arms over his chest at Holly's eye level. It was at moments like these she loathed being the towering pillar of four foot nine that she was. "This is the third time this week! These people are not blah, blah, blah, grumble, grumble!"
After a while it all just turned to noise in Holly's ears. She practiced looking past Frederick without having to lean to pass the time. Every now and then behind him the doors leading to the stuffy dining room would swing open once more. Holly paid little attention to the empty or full bowls her fellow volunteers transported through those portals. She preferred to watch the ever shifting images of the aging television hanging in the far corner. If the doors swung wide enough she could just make out what channel whoever's picky fingers skipped over next. Food Network, Disney, MTV, NBC, CBS.
It stopped. The doors swung shut.
"You are a grown woman, making such childish remarks is—"
Open fly the doors again, and this time somebody had turned up the volume. A newscaster reported: "…just received word that Metro News One of New York has just overcome a terrifying hostage situation…"
Doors closed. Holly hissed.
"Why do you even come here?"
Open: "The villain known only as 'Dr. Horrible'…"
Close.
"Holly? Holly, are you even listening to me?"
"...images may not be suitable for younger audiences," this time she heard it before seeing the gates reopen. Holly could feel her jaw hanging on its hinges when her eyes finally caught sight of the ghastly images on screen. Reynolds turned his attention to the TV—as did every other body in the shelter at that moment.
Holly cringed as she watched the clips of police crashing into the studio for a heroic rescue. She gasped after seeing Dr. Horrible be gunned down by the enthusiastic swat team. His white coat was instantly spattered with blood, the weapon he was holding clattered to the floor—though that was barely noticeable over the gunshots—and someone inside the shelter gasped even louder than Holly.
The blonde woman immediately cursed herself for not being by that gasper's side already. The sound of breaking dishes echoed in the next room.
"Sweet Lucy in the sky with diamonds! McCartney?!" she called out, pushing Frederick aside and dashing through the kitchen doors before they had a chance to shut. She found the copper haired girl standing frozen at the dining room's center, pile of spaghetti and chips of ceramic at her feet.
"Honey…" Holly approached her carefully, then suddenly realized that this near statue of a girl was trembling from head to toe, "Sweetheart? Are you alright?" she gently placed on hand on the girl's quaking shoulder, "Sweetie your nose is bleeding!"
"B-B-B-" the shaky girl stuttered. Holly wished she had a handkerchief.
"Honey, maybe you should sit down…"
"Billy?!" the copper haired girl rasped. A shudder coursed through her pale body before green eyes rolled back into their sockets and she fainted.