root for the home team

[touchmyflagpole]

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

Comments

[saucy_regent]

[Something decidedly deliciously disastrous is about to happen indeed. At first, the colourfully costumed figure who makes his way out into the centre of the stadium could be mistaken for part of the show, and that's what the crowd of onlookers assume, laughing and joking about the patched state of his costume and what appear to be salt and pepper shakers stuck on the side of his head. Maybe he's a comedian doing a routine about fast food, one woman near the reporter speculates, pointing out what resemble waterguns full of ketchup and mustard slung at his waist.

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!

[ex_ofsteel]

[It's a welcome respite, if not a bit forced on Clark Kent's part. For one thing, he'd rather be out in the City looking for the trouble he no longer has the speed to reach in good time, but...Well, his new employer was surprisingly perceptive at times. "Take a break, Kent," he'd said, clapping the awkward man on the shoulder before shoving him out of the office. "You work too hard."

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...]

[touchmyflagpole]

[Steve was initially unsure if the Condiment King was part of the entertainment or not. He certainly looked strange enough... but then he started calling for valuables.]

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...]

[saucy_regent]

[Clark and Steve were not the only ones heading towards Condiment King, although the security guards weren't taking him very seriously. They looked more long-sufferingly annoyed than anything, having put up with crazy sports fans doing plenty of stupid stunts over the years. As they came within range and started telling him to put his hands up, however, he simply doused them both with a different gun, squirting a virulent green liquid that smelled like vinegar, but hissed on their skin, burning like acid - mild, but still painful, and strong enough to eat holes in their clothes where it hit. They both dropped to the ground, crying out and rolling on the grass.]

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!