So, No one voted...
:`(
But purplechic13 did leave a lovely comment that cheered me up and got the creative juices flowing again. I got my Mojo back baby! Anyways here I am, making my slow burn story s'more. Hopefully we will actually get somewhere today! (Or tomorrow. Or a week from now. Or…)
Enjoy
"Italics" = Spoken in a languages other than English
Italics = Thoughts
Chapter 4
So You Think Your A Metahuman?
New Orleans, LA
February 8th 2017, 18:56 CST
A blatant chirping sound roused Arsenal from a strange dream that consisted of a giant Blue Beetle asking him to pass him the coleslaw as they roasted colossal hotdogs over the burning warehouse. Blearily, Arsenal glared at the blinking blue light of his communicator with the sort of menace he usually reserved for his enemies and overly happy people. The tiny light refused to be intimidated however and he resolved to ignore it, pulling his pillow up and over his head in an attempt to block out the sound.
It worked too. After about a minute the the chirping subsided and Arsenal relaxed into the blissful silence.
That lasted for all of five seconds.
And then it was back again, louder and more strident, causing him to growl and mash the pillow so hard against his ears that he was nearly positive some feathers had taken up residence in his ear canal. What the hell did they want from him?! He wasn't one of the League's trained monkeys, ready to do whatever stupid mission they sent him on at the drop of a hat. He had only agreed to help Blue Beetle and the little Lactaid because he had been casing the place for months and had, grudgingly, admitted to himself it was too big a bust to handle on his own. He was a solo act, not mentally unbalanced.
At some point during to his mental tirade the little device had ceased beeping. Arsenal waited. A minute passed. Another. After about six minutes Arsenals sleepiness finally got the best of him and he allowed his head to nod and his eyes to close.
"HEY SPEEDY! Get up off your lazy butt and talk to us!"
With a speed that startled even him, Arsenals hand shot out from under the pillow, grabbed the communicator, wound up like a World Series Pitcher and chucked the thing into the opposite wall, where it made a satisfying thumping sound.
The communicator made a crackling sound and a new voice replaced the Lactaids (Who was DEAD next time Arsenal saw him, He bet his crossbow on that)
"Ok, who gave KF the mic?" This voice was male and it sounded annoyed.
"Don't ask me, I didn't even know he was in here!" This voice was female and much less miffed.
"Blue?"
"Hey, I just got here. I have no idea what's going on either."
"Where's Miss Martian when you need her?"
"Off duty with Superboy. Something about a "hot date." Her words, not mine."
"Eww... gross! That my big sister you're talking about Cassie!"
"Sorry Garfield."
"I have lost all control of the situation."
"Sorry to break this to you Rob, but I don't think you ever had it."
"Thank you Robin. I'll take it from here." This voice was calmer, older and considerably more authoritative than the previous four voices.
"Arsenal? This is Aqualad. I would like to discuss the details of last night's mission. I have been informed that you may have encountered another Reach triggered metahuman."
THAT got Arsenal's attention. He sat up like the mattress had electrocuted him and stared so hard at the little device that if he had been a meta, he would have incinerated it. A few sleepy brain cells banged together, trying to jarr free the memory of last night (Or was it this morning?) in any clear detail. A terrified face and two huge green eyes summoned themselves up from the depths of his subconscious and kick-started a few neurons. He groaned as he discovered what a small part of his brain had been trying to tell him sence he stared down those glass green eyes and felt the heat of a molten furnace singe the hair on his neck. Reluctantly, he stood up and dragged his feet toward the little blinking device, stooped to pick it up and…
And that's when the damn CAT jumped down from the rafters and on to his head.
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The Watchtower, In Orbit
February 8th 2017, 19:01 CST
The occupants of the communications box where looking around nervously at each other while the sounds of small scale combat raged from the speakers that were transmitting all sound from Arsenals communicator, before returning their attention to Aqualad, standing serenely, apparently unfazed by all the fuss, mic still in hand.
"Arsenal, do you copy." he said, raising his voice slightly as something that sounded like glass smashed on some unseen wall.
There was no response apart from the sound of more things breaking and a stream of colorful swear words that got more creatively vile by the second.
"Arsenal come in." Aqualad said, shifting to his Leader voice. It was near imperceptible even to those who knew him well, but a certain cast to his jaw and cast to his stance that told them that Aqualad was getting… Annoyed. Yes. Annoyed with the capital letter. He might have not been part of the Bat-Clan, but he had commanded four and worked alongside two and that alone was enough to make him a force to be reckoned with. Bart did a dry-swallow.
"Ok… Hands for whoever wants to get out of here before we become collateral damage." he whispered hoarsely. Three hands shot in to the air as if from a plasma cannon. In fact, one was a plasma cannon, Jaime's elevated fight-or-flight response having triggered Khaji-Da's defense mechanisms. Tim was nowhere to be seen. The door out was still swinging.
"I HATE it when they do that!" hissed the speedster as Jaime and Cassie each grabbed a shoulder and dragged him out backwards by his uniform, Gar sprinting ahead of them. They caught another loud crash and a cry of, "I'll kill you ya mangy fleabag!" before the door swung shut behind them.
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Boston, MA
February 8th 2017, 20:05 EST
My father has a very precise way of dealing with unexpected occurrences. You don't just BECOME a publicist for a military dictator and not have some plan for dealing with unexpected eventualities. Ok, to be fair, many DO but none of them have particularly long life expectancies. It could be broken down into a series of precise steps, each of which triggered another set of steps depending on the outcome of prior steps.
The first was, of course, to remain calm, both for your own safety and the safety of others. Scared people make rash decisions and when said person is holding you at gunpoint, it's generally best for your health to not give them any reason to use said gun. Step two was to assess the situation. See what everyone wanted out of the scenario and use that to try and minimise stress and manipulate the events to your advantage. Step three was to try and solve the problem on your own, if possible, or with others in the immediate vicinity. If you were unable to do so you moved on to Step four, endeavor to contact someone who can. Step five was to wait patiently for a problem to resolve itself and/or repeat steps 1-4 as necessary. Or die, which explained why, at age 16, my father had regularly updated his Last Will and Testament.
Somehow I doubted he had ever factored in that possibility that his teenage daughter could shoot fire so hot it melted pottery into a bubbling, soupy mess that left a distressing grey-red stain on the patio, but the approach had worked for 48 years and he was sticking to it.
We had breezed by steps one and two, dismissed step three out of hand and where now pondering step four, i.e. who the hell we could call so that this mess would make any kind of sense!? I clutched Valentine to me like a security blanket, sitting unusually still as talk flew between my parents like messenger pigeons. The family doctor had been ruled out, along with a steadily increasing list of other medical practices. They had now tentatively brought up the idea of science and research labs around the city. There were some branches of Star Labs, Queen Industry's, Wayne Enterprises and (You could tell they were getting desperate) LexCorp.
In my mind I shot all of them down with my new built-in flamethrowers. It was my fear of professional sterilized rooms compounded in to one bite-sized package of terror. The thought of anyone hooking me up to ANYTHING mechanical caused me to have a small, centralized anxiety attack right there on the couch.
"Mama, Papa, can I go for a walk?"
Their expressions registered their shock at the unexpected outburst. I was shocked too. I hadn't actually spoken since the table incident, but the words had forced their way out like a weed though a sidewalk crack. There was a few minutes of deafening silence, before my mother finally said,
"Of course sweet one, but are you sure…" The silence stretched out uncomfortably as she weighed several different options in her head before settling lamely for,
"You feel well?"
I gave her a smile that I hoped was sunny, but in reality was probably something between a grimace and a sob and said,
"Ya, fine. I just need to get some air."
Another pause while they factored in the fact that it was a) My car was still waiting on new wheels b) I was in my pajamas, c) It was February and thus cold and d) the limited amount of places I could actually go given the prior specifications. Finally deciding that the chances of me committing, a) a serious crime or b) grievous bodily harm were slim to none, my father finally conceded with,
"Yes, of course. Just be back for dinner."
I smiled again and carefully set Valentine down on her pillow. I got up, kissed them both on the cheek and still smiling, walked out to grab my coat and boots. The smile remained till I was almost a block away from home, when it then proceeded to drop like a stone and the same time I kicked my rear so hard into gear that I almost ice skated the first ten feet.
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The Watchtower, In Orbit
February 8th 2017, 19:24 CST
Arsenal may have lacked several things as a teenage vigilante superhero. A steady education. A pair of wheels. A base of operations. A Mentor. Any kind of reliable healthcare. But, they would have to admit his intimidating glare was on point. Which was why Bart was using Cassie, Virgil and the new girl, Jennifer aka Jade, as a meat shield between him and the archer.
"Jeez Kid. What did you do to him?" asked Virgil over his shoulder.
"Why do you immediately assume it was me!" complained the speedster ducking lower to avoid the glare that was trying to burn holes through his skull.
"Because I lived with the guy, remember? And the only time I saw him look like that was when somebody had shoved a gun in his face. And when Asami tried to wake him up. But to fair, it was at five at the morning. I don't know how Ty stands it. The girl has no concept of sleeping in."
"You brought it on yourself hermano." came Jaime's voice from further down the kitchen counter, where he sat, pencil eraser in teeth, pouring over various sheets of notes and a big textbook. "Incidentally, does anyone know what t = ol/al means? I can't read my own notes and Khaji-Da won't tell me. Said that I 'Need to exercise primary neurons pertaining to the parahippocampal region to attain peak biological potential" but I think he's just being lazy."
"T = ol/ al, right?" said Cassie, sliding to a stool next to the third Blue Beetle. He blinked owlishly at her.
"Que? Oh, right, I mean yes."
The demigoddess studied the paper intently for a couple of seconds before her face brightened in to a smile.
"Oh I see. Pythagorean Theorem right? So that means its tangent equals opposite leg divided by adjacent. So you have to divide the square root of six by three to get X."
There was a moment of silence as the room adjusted itself to this new development. Cassie blushed pink and said, "I used to accompany my mom on a lot more of her digs. I got most of my schooling from tenured professors and their assistants and uhhh…"
She petered out for a moment before…
"Híjole, Cassie that's amazing! You just saved from flunking Trig and you didn't even break a sweat! How did you do that?" The wattage contained in Jaime's smile could have powered the state of Rhode Island for a month. Cassie blushed harder. Virgil studied a piece of wall with great interest and wondered if someone should do something about the embarrassingly pink cloud forming over his two teammates.
He was saved the trouble of making this decision however, when the intercom crackled and a voice proclaimed to the empty air,
"... and roast chicken nibblets!"
"Who are you?" Batgirls voice came through the speakers. She was using the infamous "Bat Voice" that could have untrained criminals wetting themselves in terror at the very sound of it. There was a long, crackling pause and then the voice said,
"You're not Mr. Emmett are you?" in the kind of tone one usually reserves for being chastised by your mother or for people holding a gun to your temple and demanding all of your valuables RIGHT NOW.
"No." Batgirl's voice had added another layer of crackling ice to her already sub-zero tone.
"Ah. Good to know. Follow up question, who are you? It's just, I've bounced around to so many separate departments my head is starting to spin."
"I believe I asked you first."
There was another pause, followed by a sigh so defeated it was waving a white flag.
"Someone who needs help." The voice was small and tired and now had a hint of a foreign accent.
"Look, I can't GO to anyone else. I only exist in the paper trail is 'cause you can't DO anything in this world without one. And there's a REASON why I keep it that way. I can't go to a lab. I can't even go through the normal healthcare practitioners because a) I doubt they could help me anyway and b) This can't get out to ANYONE. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm calling you, except that I'm so desperate right now anything seems like a good option. That and the fact that if I don't have something to focus on I might accidently light myself on fire."
There was another pause before Batgirl, in a slightly softer voice, asked,
"What's your name?"
This silence stretched out for so long Virgil began to wonder if the mystery voice had hung up before it said, with a confidence that hadn't been there before,
"Pyre. My name is Pyre."
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh uh huh uh huh
Did I include the Watchtower AND the OC? You bet I did! WITH character development? Plus a little WonderBeetle fluff thrown in? I might get the hang of this after all! But seriously, I think I've found a schedule of chapter releases that works for me.
On the 7th of every month (Or 8th. Oops.) I will release a new chapter of NATA (Never Admit to Anything) to the world at large. That gives me roughly 31 days (An average month) to think of, write, revise and quickly edit a chapter. I'm not the best editor in the world, so forgive me if there are some mistakes.
See you all (Hopefully) Next month!
Zoo Out, Peace!