(Foiled, PG-13) How I lost my shirt
Title: How I lost my shirt
Universe: Foiled
Characters: Vincent, Bran
Word Count: 847
Rating: PG-13 (some swearing)
Summary: Inspiration strikes Vincent hard, and takes no prisoners.
Notes: A direct follow-up to this.
Bill’s party was hours away. (And that...thing...with Bran-the-neighbor.) As I looked at the clock, and the fading light outside, and my pants that still were marked from that last explosion in my now toasted lair, I couldn’t wait until later to douse my day away. I foraged everywhere in my apartment to find something- anything- that I could toss back and forget. Forget that self-satisfied look that Universe Man had when he "accidentally" knocked over my mailbox as he flew away. Forget the bill-pay reminders that are already piling up. Mind-controlling espresso is not cheap. God, why did I buy fair trade? I should have just stolen one of those signs that said it was. That would have been even MORE evil. Damn it all!
Fridge, nothing. Cabinet, nothing. Under couch, nothing. Hall closet, nothing. Bathroom drawers, noth-
...Well, well, well. I haven’t seen you in a while Mr. 30% proof cough syrup. You were so good to me last October. Will you treat me as well tonight?
"I hope better." I twisted the cap off and opened my mouth. As I sucked that grape-flavored goodness, two thoughts danced in my head. "If this is your best idea, no wonder your lair is now on the real estate listings under ‘cozy, with lots of natural light since lack of roof.’" This was followed up by "Was that last October three years ago?"
The latter made me pause, but by then I had consumed half the bottle. "Well...I’m sure that will be enough until tonight." My head started to roll back and forth. Already I was having difficulty remembering what happened earlier. All the espresso, explosions, and enemies seemed to just float away. I could almost see them flying out my window. Goodbye, Moon Boy. Remember, don’t quit before he fires you so you can collect unemployment.
"Moon Boy...unemployed...most likely...bitter...the enemy of my enemy...would be...someone...I would like to...” To...to...
My body wanted to collapse on the couch, but my hands were sweeping across the table, grabbing whatever they could- papers, pens, a blue crayon. The pictures that flashed in my mind seemed to sketch themselves. Yes- old, useless sidekicks. Kicked to the side, of course, when they get too old, too tall, too strong, too good-looking, too overpowering to be comic relief. Yes, and that collective those heroes belong to doesn’t make it any easier to move up in. Few sidekicks have been able to break through that titanium ceiling. If I could tap into all those poor, exploited losers, the things I could learn...the weaknesses, the...true identities!
I was in a dream, setting up the tables at my own Former Sidekick Career Fair. They were so excited to get in, I could hear them knocking on the door. I opened it, and smiled, and held out my hand to Moon Boy, and little Turtle Girl who now stood over six feet, and poor poor Uranus Kid, Moon Boy’s predecessor, who I believe is working as a cashier at Value Village.
"Welcome. I so look forward to talking to you. Would you like a latte? The coffee is fair trade."
They took my hand and shook it. I could already feel their want, their need, and I will all to happily fulfill it.
"This way, please." I showed them to the first table, laid out with brochures about leadership and goal-setting and how taking revenge on your former employer will win you true happiness. They oohed and ahhed, as expected.
"Wow, Vincent. I had no idea you were an artist." Uranus Kid picked up one brochure and turned it around in his hands. “I love the way you used the blue here.”
I felt giddy. It was all working perfectly. Already, they were lining up, reading, drinking my fair trade mind-controlling lattes with extra foam. I took Uranus Kid by the shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, "I’m sure you can see the future potential in all this. In what we can do."
"Oh, yes," said Uranus Kid. He was practically glowing. I couldn’t believe how easy this was.
"Excellent." I led him to the next table. "Then let me show you more."
----
I woke up with the sun in my face and paint on my feet. My hands reeked of curry and garlic. I sat up in bed, and smelled them, and tried to remember when I had cooked. I don’t think I did...but why am I wearing this apron then...why am I only wearing an apron...
I lay my head in my garlic-smelling hands. "What happened?"
I felt something touch my face, a hand, soft, took mine and held it. I looked up to see Bran-the-Neighbor, sitting there, on my bed, in my shirt. His short hair stood up in all directions. His eyes squinted as he smiled that awful huge smile of his. He took my hand and kissed it. "Mmmmm...smells good."
Three things happened next- but not in this order. I vomited on my floor. Bran-the-neighbor left still wearing my shirt.
And I threw away the cough syrup.
Universe: Foiled
Characters: Vincent, Bran
Word Count: 847
Rating: PG-13 (some swearing)
Summary: Inspiration strikes Vincent hard, and takes no prisoners.
Notes: A direct follow-up to this.
Bill’s party was hours away. (And that...thing...with Bran-the-neighbor.) As I looked at the clock, and the fading light outside, and my pants that still were marked from that last explosion in my now toasted lair, I couldn’t wait until later to douse my day away. I foraged everywhere in my apartment to find something- anything- that I could toss back and forget. Forget that self-satisfied look that Universe Man had when he "accidentally" knocked over my mailbox as he flew away. Forget the bill-pay reminders that are already piling up. Mind-controlling espresso is not cheap. God, why did I buy fair trade? I should have just stolen one of those signs that said it was. That would have been even MORE evil. Damn it all!
Fridge, nothing. Cabinet, nothing. Under couch, nothing. Hall closet, nothing. Bathroom drawers, noth-
...Well, well, well. I haven’t seen you in a while Mr. 30% proof cough syrup. You were so good to me last October. Will you treat me as well tonight?
"I hope better." I twisted the cap off and opened my mouth. As I sucked that grape-flavored goodness, two thoughts danced in my head. "If this is your best idea, no wonder your lair is now on the real estate listings under ‘cozy, with lots of natural light since lack of roof.’" This was followed up by "Was that last October three years ago?"
The latter made me pause, but by then I had consumed half the bottle. "Well...I’m sure that will be enough until tonight." My head started to roll back and forth. Already I was having difficulty remembering what happened earlier. All the espresso, explosions, and enemies seemed to just float away. I could almost see them flying out my window. Goodbye, Moon Boy. Remember, don’t quit before he fires you so you can collect unemployment.
"Moon Boy...unemployed...most likely...bitter...the enemy of my enemy...would be...someone...I would like to...” To...to...
My body wanted to collapse on the couch, but my hands were sweeping across the table, grabbing whatever they could- papers, pens, a blue crayon. The pictures that flashed in my mind seemed to sketch themselves. Yes- old, useless sidekicks. Kicked to the side, of course, when they get too old, too tall, too strong, too good-looking, too overpowering to be comic relief. Yes, and that collective those heroes belong to doesn’t make it any easier to move up in. Few sidekicks have been able to break through that titanium ceiling. If I could tap into all those poor, exploited losers, the things I could learn...the weaknesses, the...true identities!
I was in a dream, setting up the tables at my own Former Sidekick Career Fair. They were so excited to get in, I could hear them knocking on the door. I opened it, and smiled, and held out my hand to Moon Boy, and little Turtle Girl who now stood over six feet, and poor poor Uranus Kid, Moon Boy’s predecessor, who I believe is working as a cashier at Value Village.
"Welcome. I so look forward to talking to you. Would you like a latte? The coffee is fair trade."
They took my hand and shook it. I could already feel their want, their need, and I will all to happily fulfill it.
"This way, please." I showed them to the first table, laid out with brochures about leadership and goal-setting and how taking revenge on your former employer will win you true happiness. They oohed and ahhed, as expected.
"Wow, Vincent. I had no idea you were an artist." Uranus Kid picked up one brochure and turned it around in his hands. “I love the way you used the blue here.”
I felt giddy. It was all working perfectly. Already, they were lining up, reading, drinking my fair trade mind-controlling lattes with extra foam. I took Uranus Kid by the shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, "I’m sure you can see the future potential in all this. In what we can do."
"Oh, yes," said Uranus Kid. He was practically glowing. I couldn’t believe how easy this was.
"Excellent." I led him to the next table. "Then let me show you more."
----
I woke up with the sun in my face and paint on my feet. My hands reeked of curry and garlic. I sat up in bed, and smelled them, and tried to remember when I had cooked. I don’t think I did...but why am I wearing this apron then...why am I only wearing an apron...
I lay my head in my garlic-smelling hands. "What happened?"
I felt something touch my face, a hand, soft, took mine and held it. I looked up to see Bran-the-Neighbor, sitting there, on my bed, in my shirt. His short hair stood up in all directions. His eyes squinted as he smiled that awful huge smile of his. He took my hand and kissed it. "Mmmmm...smells good."
Three things happened next- but not in this order. I vomited on my floor. Bran-the-neighbor left still wearing my shirt.
And I threw away the cough syrup.