WHO: Cap, Superman, Condiment King
WHERE: A baseball stadium of some sort
WHEN: Forward dated to Friday (because a baseball game on Monday just feels odd)
WARNINGS: Ridiculousness and bald eagles crying and happenings IN AMERICA.
SUMMARY: Take two All-American heroes and pit them against the Condiment King. Oh goodness gracious.
FORMAT: Quick log
(
if they don't win it's a shame )
Comments 6
As he reaches the centre of the stadium and casually sprays an annoyed looking official in the face with said mustard to grab the microphone, the laughter turns more nervous, and the crowd quiets just a little to hear what he says.]
Mayo I have your attention, sports fans! I am the Condiment King, cream of the criminal crop, and the sauce is with me! Toss your wallets and other valuables onto the pitch and into my de-serving hotpockets, or face my spicy wrath!
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Maybe.
He'd always liked baseball, watching it more than playing. Good memories of him and Pa on the sofa watching the weekend games. It never mattered who was playing, really. The same applied here. Funny, even the team names are similar in this world... For a while, Clark Kent was relaxed, absorbed in the atmosphere at the stadium when...
He frowned. Squinting, his telescopic vision brought him closer than the giant screens overhead. Condiment King? Why was that so familiar...?
Despite the laughter coming from the crowds at that absurd speech, the reporter reached up and pulled his glasses off, frowning. This didn't look too good...]
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Oh darn.
[Much to the dismay of the people he had just passed, Steve changed directions and started making his way back out into the aisle. The mutters of the fans dimmed, though, as he started pulling off his clothes and stuffing them into his bag, revealing his costume.
It was heartening to think that people here had just as much faith in him as they did back home... at least, until he overheard someone whispering "Oh hey, maybe he's a part of the show!". Then Steve just felt embarrassed. No time to correct them, though, as he sprinted down the aisle to get to the pitch. The jump over the railing was going to be painful, but he was fairly sure he could weather it. After all, he didn't have a flight-capable partner to back him up right now...]
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Now that's what I call hiss and vinegar - extra mild, lucky for you. [He raised his voice to address the crowd once more.] Curry it up, ladies and gents - you mustard realised by now that this is no half-time show! Refreshments will not be served if you behave yourselves and fork over the dough!
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