Space Royalty 1
Here is a useless fact. Sage's father is a space emperor. His sister Colleen is a space princess. This matters to no one, because his mother very sensibly did not inform the supervillain in question that twins had resulted from her captivity. It only matters to Sage and Colleen because their sixteen birthday just passed, and their mother sat down and told them they had a biological father who'd run off to be space emperor and then been officially kicked off Earth forever by the United Nations and heroes punching him in the face.
In some ways, Sage and Colleen are very similar people. Both have thick, dark, slightly wavy hair. Sage has green eyes, and Colleen has blue eyes. They are both neither thin nor fat, that comfortable middle that makes one's mother mutter about dieting and joining sports teams. Colleen played soccer as a child. Sage likes theatre. They are softly pretty, like their mother. They will never develop superpowers, because the power gene has been identified and they were both tested at twelve like everyone else in the class at their private school.
Their mother is married to a rich and powerful man who is a far better father than their biological one. He would still be mayor of a major city in the United States if not for term limits. He's contemplating a run for governor once Sage and Colleen go to college as an empty nesting solution. He thinks he is hilarious.
"Can you get a gun from your useless druggie friends?" Colleen asked.
Sage jerked out of his pleasant contemplation of how useless his dad was.
"Why would you even want a gun? Ever?"
"To learn to use it."
If he argued, she'd dig in and argue back, because Colleen was in a debate phase. Arguably, Colleen had always been in a debate phase. Sage usually found it best to avoid arguing. Not that this meant he did whatever she said, it just meant he played the deeply predictable argument out in his head and skipped to the end. Why learn to use a gun? Because their father had been a supervillain. Why did it matter? To shoot him or his enemies, as the case might be.
"I could probably get a gun," Sage allowed, studying the plastic stars dotting the dark blue paint of his bedroom ceiling. "But what you actually want is an alien laser pistol or rifle, and I can't get alien remnants from Dave."
"Ugh, well find some, would you? I'll sign us up for martial arts classes."
Sage suddenly felt like the argument he'd thought he was having wasn't deeply predictable at all.
"Why are we signing up for martial arts classes?"
"Because only idiots go out and fight crime without learning martial arts first, stupid."
The other reason Sage avoided arguing with his sister was that he had a temper. He felt this usual reticence snap like an old rubber band.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
In some ways, Sage and Colleen are very similar people. Both have thick, dark, slightly wavy hair. Sage has green eyes, and Colleen has blue eyes. They are both neither thin nor fat, that comfortable middle that makes one's mother mutter about dieting and joining sports teams. Colleen played soccer as a child. Sage likes theatre. They are softly pretty, like their mother. They will never develop superpowers, because the power gene has been identified and they were both tested at twelve like everyone else in the class at their private school.
Their mother is married to a rich and powerful man who is a far better father than their biological one. He would still be mayor of a major city in the United States if not for term limits. He's contemplating a run for governor once Sage and Colleen go to college as an empty nesting solution. He thinks he is hilarious.
"Can you get a gun from your useless druggie friends?" Colleen asked.
Sage jerked out of his pleasant contemplation of how useless his dad was.
"Why would you even want a gun? Ever?"
"To learn to use it."
If he argued, she'd dig in and argue back, because Colleen was in a debate phase. Arguably, Colleen had always been in a debate phase. Sage usually found it best to avoid arguing. Not that this meant he did whatever she said, it just meant he played the deeply predictable argument out in his head and skipped to the end. Why learn to use a gun? Because their father had been a supervillain. Why did it matter? To shoot him or his enemies, as the case might be.
"I could probably get a gun," Sage allowed, studying the plastic stars dotting the dark blue paint of his bedroom ceiling. "But what you actually want is an alien laser pistol or rifle, and I can't get alien remnants from Dave."
"Ugh, well find some, would you? I'll sign us up for martial arts classes."
Sage suddenly felt like the argument he'd thought he was having wasn't deeply predictable at all.
"Why are we signing up for martial arts classes?"
"Because only idiots go out and fight crime without learning martial arts first, stupid."
The other reason Sage avoided arguing with his sister was that he had a temper. He felt this usual reticence snap like an old rubber band.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"