(SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

[csyphrett]

Webs of the Widower game created and played by Kevin Schultz, GMed by C. E. Syphrett.

[Spidey88]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Am I missing something here? A link, or something else?

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Am I missing something here? A link' date=' or something else?[/quote']

 

Hopefully I will have a campaign log here eventually. The game is going on on the Solouber list for Uber-world.com.

CES

[Spidey88]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Gotcha. The spider references really tend to get my attention.

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

The working idea is Spiderman in Smallville. Hopefully it will be okay in action.

CES

[Spidey88]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Sounds pretty cool, anyway. I'd pay to see that without hesitation.

 

(Now I just need to figure out what Uberworld and Solouber are...)

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

This is the link to the list.

 

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/solouber/?yguid=38103590

 

youre welcome to lurk or play.

CES

[lemming]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Gotcha. The spider references really tend to get my attention.

Hmm. We really know how to bait your deathtraps now.

[aylwin13]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Hmm. We really know how to bait your deathtraps now.

I'd say that any Spidey TPB would do it.

[Spidey88]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Hmm. We really know how to bait your deathtraps now.

 

I'd say that any Spidey TPB would do it.

 

 

Sound reasoning - but to be sure it'd work, you'd have to find one I don't have!

 

That, in and of itself, might make it a bit too much of a pain to bother with...

[Kevin Schultz]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Sounds pretty cool, anyway. I'd pay to see that without hesitation.

 

(Now I just need to figure out what Uberworld and Solouber are...)

 

Heh - yeah, it does sound kinda cheesy when written up as an elevator pitch - the longer version is that an aging comic book fanboy in the Uberworld (Tribe's PBeM gameworld) ended up making a wish on a genie lamp; unfortunately, he was...kind of drunk at the time, and thus ended up mixing the his favorite comic book hero with his least-favorite comic book TV show.

 

The general gist of the wish was "a REAL hero like Spiderman would have done better!" As such, he's not actually Peter Parker, and isn't actually in Smallville - he just has the powerset of ol' Webhead, and he's going to be facing the general plotlines and situations from the TV show. Functionally, the character has Clairivoyance: Knows his Own Story Arcs, and Physical Disadvantage: Can't Get Away From the Plot.

 

And if you're wondering, "why this combo?" - the original game concept was called "Homage" - the idea of playing out the powerset and similar story arcs of a well-known fictional superhero, with someone who was self-aware of the fact. However, after finding a couple of good character write-ups, I realized that the concept would require that I or the GM actually find a summary of the targeted character's life - which, due to continuity changes, is actually more difficult than it would first appear.

 

So, I choose Smallville, which has some nice series summaries on Wikipedia. I also thought to use Enforcer84's Superman writeup to go along with it, but that sucker's 1800+ points: kind of a challenge to write adventures against, especially considering the low-power level of most of Smallville's characters. yeah, there are writeups of that version of Clark Kent, but let's face it: he's a wuss. So, I flipped over to a build of Spiderman, and wondered if there was any way to combine the two. This game is the result.

 

Yeah, an experienced Spidey could mop the floor with most of the Smallville villains anyway, at least up until Zod. Part of the fun of the game, at least to me, is being completely and utterly overpowered for that aspect of it. The character will probably try to go out and find other things to do, but he'll still have to deal with the thematic equivalent of the Magical Mutant of the Week. (It's like having a SID of a cop - you don't face any real danger from the criminals in your normal life, but you still have to deal with 'em.)

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Jason Jones, former middle-aged accountant, victim of a disastrous wish, and newly minted hero, spotted another of the green frogs with the red markings on the foster home farm where he had been dumped by the authorities. In two weeks, they expected him to restart school again. That was part of the proceedings after what had happened.

 

The frog croaked, apparently unafraid of him.

 

"It seems to like you, Mr. Jones."

 

Jason's danger sense said get out of here, dummy.

 

One look told him it was the djinn wearing something from John Wayne's costume department, right down to the ten gallon white hat.

 

 

Jason Jones, former middle-aged accountant, victim of a

disastrous wish, and newly minted hero, spotted another of the green

frogs with the red markings on the foster home farm where he had been

dumped by the authorities. In two weeks, they expected him to

restart school again. That was part of the proceedings after what

had happened.

 

[New, Widower] Jason sat slouched on the stump, leaning up against

the side of the barn, moping in the afternoon sun.

 

 

Jason sat slouched, contemplating the red-spotted frog in front of

him. It had unusual markings, and was more likely native to northeastern Australian coastal region than to the Virginian lowlands.

 

 

Frog.

 

 

They're a completely different type of animal, following a different

evolutionary track optimized for a dry environment, very often

further optimized for burrowing.

 

 

All I'm saying is that if you're going to ignore something, the least

you can do is get its species correct.

 

 

…..

…..

Jason sat slouched on the stump, not moping, not paying attention to

anything of scientific interest around him, and most certainly not

listening to the voice in his head.

 

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

 

So, if I may be so bold, what ARE you doing, aside from beating your

head against the side of the barn?

 

 

The frog croaked, apparently unafraid of him or his deranged behavior.

 

 

"It seems to like you, Mr. Jones."

 

 

Jason's entire body tensed, his stomach doing a flip-flop as the words seemingly came out of nowhere, his senses screaming

at him to get the heck out of Dodge. He threw himself off the stump,

body spinning as he dropped to the ground, sweeping the dirt with his

right hand as he came up into a crouch, ready to launch himself at

his unknown foe.

 

One look told him it was the djinn wearing something from John Wayne's costume department, right down to the ten gallon white hat.

 

"Iziz." Jason ground out the single word as the

adrenaline coursed through his veins. He forced himself to stand

slowly upright. After eyeing the immortal spirit's outfit for a

moment, he carefully brushed the dirt off of his pant leg and

slouched back down onto his tree stump.

 

"What?"

 

"I'm just passing through and thought I would check how you liked your new life." Iziz even copied the Duke's stance as he pushed the hat away from his swarthy brow. "We servants of the cosmos have tons of paperwork to fill out. Part of that is customer satisfaction."

 

 

 

Jason exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes; the

thoughts swirling as he leaned back, tapping his head

slowly against the old wood planks behind him.

 

 

It really all came back to that. He’d been trying to think of ways around it, ways his words could have been twisted, but it all came down to logic. No matter how he thought it out, some part of him, just before he made the wish, must have realized what would happen, and said: “Death of my loved ones? Complete destruction of all else I hold dear? Selling my soul for cheesy comic book powers? Sounds good to me!”

 

 

Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the intangible voice in your head. But I don't think you really sold your soul. That was just poetic license on my part.

 

 

Depends on your theology. Some djinn were called Shaitan, or “those who hate” – in English, the word translates to ‘Satan’.

 

 

All of this dialog taking place in a single breath, so he cracked one eye open. “Oh, getting through. Day to day, hour to hour. That kind of stuff.” He huffed, blowing up his bangs. “At the moment, I’m trying to figure out that, according to you, I enjoy metaphorically stabbing myself in the gut with a rusty trowel. Nice hat, by the way.”

 

"Thank you. I got it at some place called Goodwill." The djinn shifted, started rolling a cigarette from supplies taken from a pocket. A flick of his thumb set one end on fire. He puffed on the home made, swarthy face hang dog. "I won't lie to you. You have picked a hero's destiny, and soon you will have reason to regret that far more than I would like. A playing field has been selected and pieces are being assembled as we speak. It's not what I would like but Allah wills and the sun shines."

 

"The whole getup? Huh." He studied the djinn for several moments. "Points for low-rent costume hunting, then." The adrenaline had finished its mad stampede through his body, and was shaking like a caffeine junkie before their first triple-shot latte. He flexed his hands into fists a couple of times, before finally

folding them over his stomach.

 

 

Sorry. I'll try not to scream so loud the next time an inter-dimensional entity of Phenomenal Cosmic Power appears nearby.

 

 

That was sarcasm.

 

He chose to frown instead. "I thought I had a hero's destiny." He

gestured vaguely around him, at the field in front of him, the parked

rust-red antique tractor nearby, and the woodpile next to him.

"Y'know, the whole `foster alien in a small farm town' thing. Seasons

one through six, and counting." He stretched his hands out in front,

framing the djin with his hands. "Only not so much with the alien bit,

and more with the magical construct." Then he let his arms drop, and

sighed.

Jewish legends of the golem, means I actually fit in just fine, damn it.>

 

Wow.

 

 

I'd just like to say that, appearances aside, you're a complete nerd.

 

literary references to the Devil.>

 

Never claimed otherwise. Your point?

 

 

 

"You'll understand." The djinn puffed on his cigarette for a moment. "Things have been invoked beyond changing your personal history and setting. Heroes are being called to battle. I have to go check on the rest of my work. I'll see you again if Allah wills and the sun shines."

 

He dropped the cigarette butt on the ground, stamped it out, and started off in John Wayne's pigeon toed walk.

 

"Good luck."

 

“Umph.” John didn't bother to watch the spirit saunter away, not trusting his eyes to not spontaneously develop heat vision and ignite the spirit's hat. Instead, he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the ground, listening as the clink of the djinn's spurs faded into nothingness, ultimately masked by the myriad sounds of a living, working farm: the distant highway, the lowing cattle, the rustle of the wind through the fields. Along with those, he was left with the cryptic warning from his supernatural Mentor, floating through his memory like the spirit of air and smoke that spoke

them.

 

Well, the frog was still there, too.

 

 

Why not? It's highly influential!

 

John spat, still staring at the dirt.

 

Think about what you just said, and where you are. It was the Call to Adventure! How Campbellian can you get?

 

He grimaced, and then stood in a rush. “In that case, it would be traditional for me to Refuse The Call then, wouldn't

it?” he muttered.

 

Well, yes. But then you'll have to deal with your aunt and uncle being killed by storm troopers.

 

“I think we're already past that point,” he said, growling. He strode over to the woodpile, and grabbed at a random stick. “So he's the mentor then.” Taking it he began to thump on the wood.

 

“The Old Man.” Whack.

 

“The Obi-Wan.” Whack.

 

“The Wizard.” Whack.

 

“With the power.” Big Whack.

 

“But gets.” Even bigger Whack.

 

“Some ignorant %$#@” Ooh, gonna break the stick with

that one.

 

“TO DO HIS DIRTY WORK!!

 

Whack-whack-whack-whack-wha-CRUNCH!

 

You do realize you're yelling at the woodpile, right?

 

Jason stared at the broken stick in his hand, his throat raw, his eyes burning.

 

You going to have any more psychotic breaks that I should know about?

 

He slouched back to his stump, idly tossing the now-shortened stick to the ground.

 

That's the spirit! Cross the first threshold! To Mos Eisley, and Beyond!

 

 

Whatever.

 

"Hey Jaaaaaay-son!" Aunt Martha May's call sounded over the farm, powered by lungs that could blow up a hot air balloon. "Phone call!"

 

 

sound of his foster parent's voice.

don't KNOW anyone.>

 

You know Ms. Rebecca 'Young enough to be your daughter' Bennet. As well as a large number of individuals in the fields of social

services and law enforcement.

 

 

It's certainly a mystery, then.

 

 

Convenient, that.

 

 

He sat there for a moment longer, debating the pros and cons of

hocking a loogie in the face of destiny, or of at least whoever was

on the phone. But with a sigh, he determined that 'Aunt' Martha

(thank God she doesn't require he call her Mom) hadn't done anything

to deserve such a phlegmatic dress-down. "Oh-kayyyyyy!" he hollered, rose from the stump, and jogged out from behind the barn and towards the farmhouse.

 

"There you are, boy." Aunt Martha May Baggs was a big woman, stout like a rhino and smiling like a sun beam. "Some girl is on the phone. She's talking about going to the mall."

 

Jason leapt up over the final steps leading up to the farmhouse, landing lightly on the porch, unwinded by his quick jaunt. "Um, do I know anyone like that?" he said, casting a puzzled glance at the woman. "I've been...kind of out of it, these last few days."

 

Which was putting it mildly; for all he knew, he had been introduced to this person the day Social Services dropped him off, and had agreed to go cow-tipping, or something.

 

"I think it will do you some good to go out with peers." Mrs. Baggs smiled at her foster son radiantly. The dog at her feet seemed to nod and grin as well. "You can't mope around the farm all your life."

 

"Huh." Shrugging, he went inside and picked up the phone. "Um, hello?"

 

"Hey Jason." The voice was incredibly light over the line. "We were thinking about shopping and Poster said you would want to go with us."

 

Poster Rollins was on the school newspaper, and lived just down the road from the Baggs's farm.

 

"Oh, right. Rollins."

 

Jason vaguely recalled the name being mentioned at some point in the

last few days; quite possibly from one of Martha's `you're going to

love it here' speeches. Unfortunately, a description of this person,

much less their gender, had not been included in the conversation.

 

more teenage girls.>

 

You are going to agree, then.

 

amphibians.> "Ah, sounds good. Thanks for the invite."

 

"As the new kid, you're buying." The bubbly voiced smiled. "It's tradition. We'll be by to pick you up in ten."

 

He made vague pleasantries with the as-yet-unidentified individual on

the other side, then managed to hang up. "Right," he said, turning to

Martha. "So, I guess I'm going to the mall with someone."

 

"That's good, dear." Aunt Martha smiled. "Don't be too late.

We're having cabbage and potatoes."

 

Thinking back to when dinner occurred yesterday, he nodded, then

headed out the door. He sat on the steps, reached into the inner

pocket of his jacket, and pulled out his billfold.

 

Jason had a twenty. Not much, but enough for something small, maybe a burger meal.

 

Sighing, he put his wallet back in his pocket, and quietly waited

for the inevitable kidnapping by unknown, aggressively friendly,

female, forces that was about to occur.

 

Did you know that potatoes are a higher source of potassium than

bananas?

 

 

Well, except for the rhythmic headbanging. But that was only to be

expected.

 

A red Jeep arrived in a few minutes. The beeping of a horn told Jason to hurry up. Aunt Martha May smiled and waved at the visitors.

 

A red Jeep arrived in a few minutes. The beeping of a horn told Jason to hurry up. From the living room window, Aunt Martha May smiled and waved at the visitors.

 

As Jason stood, he could hear her open the screen door and come over to where he was standing. "Remember to stay on your best behavior, and watch out for ducks," she murmured from behind as she slipped something into his jacket pocket. "Have fun."

 

He turned slightly and, sighting her out of the corner of his eye, gave a crisp nod. “Will do.” The dog, having followed her outside, jumped up on Jason's leg, smiling at him ferociously. Then he proceeded to sit

near his mistress, tongue hanging down.

 

Jason peered at her doggy companion. “You too,” he said, before ruffling the canine's ears. With that, he jumped lightly off the steps and walked towards the jeep, fishing into his pocket. Finding a folded

ten-dollar bill, he smiled slightly, and put it back inside.

 

Arriving at the passenger-side door, he peered in at

the occupants. “Ah, hi.”

 

Poster Rollins smiled in the back of the jeep, white teeth in a round face, head almost shaved.

 

Jason didn't know the other two passengers like he did Poster, and he didn't know Poster all that well. Two females, one a blond, the other a red head. One of them had to be the one that called.

 

"Hey, Jason." The red head waved a come-on gesture. "Come on. We're the welcoming committee."

[Trebuchet]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Was that reflecting an actual game session, or just some fiction? (It was great either way; I just want to know what I'm reading.)

 

The formatting is a bit weird, with some narrow paragraphs and some full width. I dunno if that's the Hero boards or something else.

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Was that reflecting an actual game session, or just some fiction? (It was great either way; I just want to know what I'm reading.)

 

The formatting is a bit weird, with some narrow paragraphs and some full width. I dunno if that's the Hero boards or something else.

 

Its from a mail list of solo games for uber-world.com. The formatting is probably me. I'll have to work on it.

 

 

http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/solouber/

 

CES

[Trebuchet]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Its from a mail list of solo games for uber-world.com. The formatting is probably me. I'll have to work on it.

I remember reading recently about an application that strips HTML code from any text, allowing you to edit it in any word processor or text editor and then paste it into a desired location. Something like that might get rid of the weird formatting. I'll see if I can track it down.

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

I remember reading recently about an application that strips HTML code from any text' date=' allowing you to edit it in any word processor or text editor and then paste it into a desired location. Something like that might get rid of the weird formatting. I'll see if I can track it down.[/quote']

 

Looking at that, that's my laziness that did that. Usually I keep a separate corel file for recaps, usually to make into web pages. Since I am not doing that for the SU games, I am loading them on an email and just loading them here.

 

And E-mail formats caused that.

CES

[Kevin Schultz]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

I've been keeping a Word doc at home with a running line of my posts in it; I learned a while ago that composing in the Yahoo! dialog box isn't the safest thing to do. (I've lost a couple pretty large e-mails that way.). I'll see if I can post my version later tonight.

[Kevin Schultz]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Webs of the Widower, Chapter 1

 

Jason Jones, former middle-aged accountant, victim of a disastrous wish, and newly minted hero, spotted another of the green frogs with the red markings on the foster home farm where he had been dumped by the authorities. In two weeks, they expected him to restart school again. That was part of the proceedings after what had happened.

 

Currently, he sat slouched on the stump, leaning up against the side of the barn, moping in the afternoon sun.

 

I’m not moping.

 

Jason sat slouched, contemplating the red-spotted frog in front of him. It had unusual markings, and was more likely native to north-eastern Australian coastal region than to the Virginian lowlands.

 

I’m not contemplating the frickin’ toad.

 

Frog.

 

Whatever.

 

They’re a completely different type of animal, following a different evolutionary track optimized for a dry environment, very often further optimized for burrowing.

 

Shut up.

 

All I’m saying is that if you’re going to ignore something, the least you can do is get its species correct.

 

What part of “shut up” don’t you understand?

 

…

…

Jason sat slouched on the stump, not moping, not paying attention to anything of scientific interest around him, and most certainly not listening to the voice in his head.

 

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

 

So, if I may be so bold, what ARE you doing, aside from beating your head against the side of the barn?

 

I’m…thinking.

 

The frog croaked, apparently unafraid of him or his deranged behavior.

 

Oh, don’t you start.

 

"It seems to like you, Mr. Jones."

 

Jason’s entire body tensed, his stomach doing a flip-flop as the words seemingly came out of nowhere, his senses screaming at him to get the heck out of Dodge. He threw himself off the stump, body spinning as he dropped to the ground, sweeping the dirt with his right hand as he came up into a crouch, ready to launch himself at his unknown foe.

 

One look told him it was the djinn wearing something from John Wayne's costume department, right down to the ten gallon white hat.

 

“Iziz.” Jason ground out the single word as the adrenalin coursed through his veins. He forced himself to stand slowly upright. After eyeing the immortal spirit’s outfit for a moment, he carefully brushed the dirt off of his pant leg and slouched back down onto his tree stump. “What?”

 

"I'm just passing through and thought I would check how you liked your new life." Iziz even copied the Duke's stance as he pushed the hat away from his swarthy brow. "We servants of the cosmos have tons of paperwork to fill out. Part of that is customer satisfaction. "

 

Jason exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes; the thoughts swirling as he leaned back, tapping his head slowly against the old wood planks behind him.

 

Depends. Why am I a complete %$#@?

 

It really all came back to that. He’d been trying to think of ways around it, ways his words could have been twisted, but it all came down to logic. No matter how he thought it out, some part of him, just before he made the wish, must have realized what would happen, and said: “Death of my loved ones? Complete destruction of all else I hold dear? Selling my soul for cheesy comic book powers? Sounds good to me!”

 

You’re not helping, you know.

 

Hey, don’t look at me. I’m just the intangible voice in your head. But I don’t think you really sold your soul. That was just poetic license on my part.

 

That, and he’s a djinn, not a demon.

 

Depends on your theology. Some djinn were called Shaitan, or “those who hate” – in English, the word translates to ‘Satan’.

 

OK, now you’re REALLY not helping.

 

All of this dialog taking place in a single breath, so he cracked one eye open. “Oh, getting through. Day to day, hour to hour. That kind of stuff.” He huffed, blowing up his bangs. “At the moment, I’m trying to figure that, according to you, I enjoy metaphorically gutting myself with a rusty trowel. Nice hat, by the way.”

 

 

"Thank you. I got it at some place called Goodwill." The djinn shifted, started rolling a cigarette from supplies taken from a pocket. A flick of his thumb set one end on fire.

 

“The whole getup? Huh.” He studied the djinn for several moments. “Points for low-rent costume hunting, then.” The adrenaline had finished its mad stampede through his body, and was shaking like a caffeine junkie before their first triple-shot latte. He flexed his hands into fists a couple of times, before finally folding them over his stomach.

 

I really need to get used to that.

 

Sorry. I’ll try not to scream so loud the next time an inter-dimensional entity of Phenomenal Cosmic Power appears nearby.

 

Um…thanks?

 

That was sarcasm.

 

Unaware or uncaring of the internal monologue, Iziz continued to smoke. "I won't lie to you,” he said between puffs. You have picked a hero's destiny, and soon you will have reason to regret that far more than I would like. A playing field has been selected and pieces are being assembled as we speak. It's not what I would like but Allah wills and the sun shines."

 

“I thought I already had a hero’s destiny.” Jason gestured vaguely around him: at the field in front of him, the parked rust-red antique tractor nearby, and the woodpile next to him. “Y’know, the whole ‘foster alien in a small farm town’ thing. Seasons one through six, and counting.” He stretched his hands out in front, framing the djin with his hands. “Only not so much with the alien bit, and more with the magical construct.” Then he frowned, letting his arms drop.

Which, seeing as Shuster and Siegel were inspired by the Jewish legends of the golem, means I actually fit in just fine, damn it.

 

Wow.

 

What?

 

I’d just like to say that, appearances aside, you’re a complete comic book nerd.

 

This, coming from the voice that has an orgasm over toads and literary references to the Devil.

 

Never claimed otherwise. Your point?

 

Shut up.

 

"You'll understand." The djinn puffed on his cigarette for a moment. "Things have been invoked beyond changing your personal history and setting. Heroes are being called to battle. I have to go check on the rest of my work. I'll see you again if Allah wills and the sun shines."

 

He dropped the cigarette butt on the ground, stamped it out, and started off in John Wayne's pigeon toed walk.

 

"Good luck."

 

“Umph.” John didn’t bother to watch the spirit saunter away, not trusting his eyes to not spontaneously develop heat vision and ignite the spirit’s hat. Instead, he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the ground, listening as the clink of the djinn’s spurs faded into nothingness, ultimately masked by the myriad sounds of a living, working farm: the distant highway, the lowing cattle, the rustle of the wind through the fields. Along with those, he was left with the cryptic warning from his supernatural Mentor, floating through his memory like the spirit of air and smoke that spoke them.

 

Well, the frog was still there, too.

 

I’m not in the mood, now, Voice. And don’t start quoting the monomyth on me.

 

Why not? It’s highly influential!

 

In 1990’s television and movie screenwriting, maybe. John spat, still staring at the dirt. His theories don’t apply well to things outside a select group of stories, mostly originating from Western myth and legend.

 

Think about what you just said, and where you are. It was the Call to Adventure! How Campbellian can you get?

 

By calling me Ashley and replacing my hand with a chainsaw, but I see your point. He grimaced, and then stood in a rush. “In that case, it would be traditional for me to Refuse The Call then, wouldn’t it?”

 

Well, yes. But then you’ll have to deal with your aunt and uncle being killed by storm troopers.

 

“I think we’re already past that point,” he said, growling. He strode over to the woodpile, and grabbed at a random stick. “So he’s the mentor then.” Taking it he began to thump on the wood.

 

“The Old Man.” Whack.

 

“The Obi-Wan.” Whack.

 

“The Wizard” Whack.

 

“With the power” Big Whack.

 

“But gets.” Even bigger Whack.

 

“Some ignorant %$#@” Ooh, gonna break the stick with that one.

 

“TO DO HIS DIRTY WORK!! Whack-whack-whack-whack-wha-CRUNCH!

 

You do realize you’re yelling at the woodpile, right?

 

Jason stared at the broken stick in his hand, his throat raw, his eyes burning. Yeah, I know.

 

You going to have any more psychotic breaks that I should know about?

 

Nah, I’m good for now. He slouched back to his stump, idly tossing the now-shortened stick to the ground.

 

That’s the spirit! Cross the first threshold! To Mos Eisley, and Beyond!

 

That’s high school, dumbass.

 

Whatever.

 

"Hey Jaaaaaay-son!" Aunt Martha May's call sounded over the farm, powered by lungs that could blow up a hot air balloon. "Phone call!"

 

Wha-huh? Jason's head whipped up and around at the sound of his foster parent's voice. Who would be calling me? I don't KNOW anyone.

 

You know Ms. Rebecca 'Young enough to be your daughter' Bennet. As well as a large number of individuals in the fields of social services and law enforcement.

 

OK, I don't know anyone I want to talk to, then.

 

It's certianly a mystery.

 

Yep.

 

Convinent, that.

 

Uh-huh.

 

He sat there for a moment longer, debating the pros and cons of hocking a loogie in the face of destiny, or of at least whoever was on the phone. But with a sigh, he determined that 'Aunt' Martha (thank God she doesn't require he call her Mom) hadn't done anything to deserve such a phlegmatic dress-down. "Oh-kayyyyyy!" he hollered, rose from the stump, and jogged out from behind the barn and towards the farmhouse.

 

"There you are, boy." Aunt Martha May Baggs was a big woman, stout like a rhino and smiling like a sun beam. "Some girl is on the phone. She's talking about going to the mall."

 

Jason lept up over the final steps leading up to the farmhouse, landing lightly on the porch, unwinded by his quick jaunt. "Um, do I know anyone like that?" he said, casting a puzzled glance at the woman. "I've been...kind of out of it, these last few days."

 

Which was putting it mildly; for all he knew, he had been introduced to this person the day Social Services dropped him off, and had agreed to go cow-tipping, or something.

 

"I think it will do you some good to go out with peers." Mrs Baggs smiled at her foster son radiantly. The dog at her feet seemed to nod and grin as well. "You can't mope around the farm all your life."

 

"Huh." Shrugging, he went inside and picked up the phone. "Um, hello?"

 

"Hey Jason." The voice was incredibly light over the line. "We were thinking about shopping and Poster said you would want to go with us."

 

Poster Rollins was on the school newspaper, and lived just down the road from the Baggs's farm.

 

“Oh, right. Rollins.” Jason vaguely recalled the name being mentioned at some point in the last few days; quite possibly from one of Martha’s ‘you’re going to love it here’ speeches. Unfortunately, a description of this person, much less their gender, had not been included in the conversation.

 

So, for all I know, I’m about to agree to go shopping with two teenaged girls.

 

You are going to agree, then.

 

Well, it’s either that, or sit on a stump and contemplate amphibians. “Ah, sounds good. Thanks for the invite.”

 

He made vague pleasantries with the as-yet-unidentified individual on the other side, then managed to hang up. “Right,” he said, turning to Martha. “So, I guess I’m going to the mall…with someone.”

 

"That's good, dear." Aunt Martha smiled. "Don't be too late. We're having cabbage and potatoes."

 

Thinking back to when dinner occurred yesterday, he nodded, then headed out the door. He sat on the steps, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and pulled out his billfold. he had a twenty; not much, but enough for something small, maybe a burger meal.

 

Sighing, he put his wallet back in his pocket, and quietly waited for the inevitable kidnapping by unknown, aggressively friendly, female, forces that was about to occur.

 

Did you know that potatoes are a higher source of potassium than bananas?

 

AAAAAARRRRRGGGG!!!!!!

 

Well, except for the rhythmic headbanging. But that was only to be expected.

 

A red Jeep arrived in a few minutes. The beeping of a horn told Jason to hurry up. From the living room window, Aunt Martha May smiled and waved at the visitors. As Jason stood, he could hear her open the screen door and come over to where he was standing. "Remember to stay on your best behavior, and watch out for ducks," she murmured from behind as she slipped something into his jacket pocket. "Have fun."

 

He turned slightly and, sighting her out of the corner of his eye, gave a crisp nod. “Will do.” The dog, having followed her outside, jumped up on Jason's leg, smiling at him ferociously. Then he proceeded to sit to his mistress, tongue hanging down.

 

Jason peered at her doggy companion. “You too,” he said, before ruffling the canine’s ears. With that, he jumped lightly off the steps and walked towards the jeep, fishing into his pocket. Finding a folded ten-dollar bill, he smiled slightly, and put it back inside.

 

Arriving at the passenger-side door, he peered in at the occupants. “Ah, hi.”

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Page 3-

 

The trio hauled Jason Jones to the Falls Church Mall. Essentially it was a strip mall with two floors. Metal spiral staircases on either end allowed you to get to the top floor. Fifteen stores covered the spectrum of what you might need from Tractor Supply to Baskin Robbins 31.

 

Along the way, Jason learned the red head's name was Lorna Luna, she ran track, and worked part time afternoons and nights at a Taco Bell.

 

The other girl was Callie Lowe, she worked on the school paper with Poster, and dreamed of working on the Washington Post, or even the New York Times, or Wall Street Journal.

 

Jason listened to the groups self-description, nodding when appropriate, mentally creating a back story checklist for each person. However, when the subject of school sports came up, he smiled a bit. "Neat - used t'train with the sprinters," he said to Lorna, "for football." Upon further inquiry, he shrugged. "Eh, I was OK. Got a tendon thing, now," he said, tapping his knee, "So it's a no-go anyway." Which had the advantage of being technically true: his ligaments, like every other part of his body, was preternaturally strengthened, and thus disqualified him from competing in high school athletics.

 

 

Oh, what a tangled web we weave...

 

 

Upon reaching their destination however, Jason almost blanched. However, he managed to control his expression as he stepped out onto the parking lot.

 

Well, we're relatively near DC.

 

 

Maybe the National mall sucked all the mall-osity out of the surrounding region, leaving naught but skeletal remains behind.

 

 

"Not what you expected, Jase?" Poster watched the girls lead the way, hanging back to talk to the new kid. "Falls Church has a lot of commuter traffic to DC. Most of the country side is rural, suburban. I'm surprised that they would let a city kid stay out here with the rednecks."

 

"I'm takin' it as an opportunity to delve into my surplus of nervous sheep jokes. Not much of a call for those back in the urban jungle," he said, slouching along side the other teen. "Seriously, though, I haven't really figured it out, either. I should have gone to an orphanage in Iowa, not to a foster family in a different state all together." With that, he shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets. "Maybe parental authority got switched across state lines through a surviving relative, or something. Didn't want me, maybe, so I got tossed into the system."

 

he thought.

 

During this time they had trailed after the girls, and were a couple of steps behind them as they traversed

the parking lot. "Yeah...so on that really, really depressing thought...The Mall."

 

Jason's spider sense started tingling. It lanced through his scalp like fleas. The parking lot has some pedestrian traffic, but nothing looked out of place at a glance.

 

He slowed for a moment, scratching his head in a subtly vain attempt to get the metaphorical fleas out.

 

 

Could very well be. Or it could be about ducks, or something about the sun shining. Both Iziz and May were suitably prophetic this afternoon.

 

He glanced around.

 

A tool?

 

 

"Ah, crap," he said, fishing around in his pockets. "I think my funds went walkabout. Hey, Lorna," he called out. "Can you beep the Jeep? I think my money slipped out of my pocket –– be right back." With that, he jogged back to the vehicle, and made a show of fishing around.

 

he thought, spying a full-sized tire iron behind the back seat.

over-engineering.>

 

Reaching under the seat, he grabbed the tool and slipped it into his right-side trench coat interior

pocket; while the pocket was deep enough to fit the tool, it was more than slightly uncomfortable as the wrench head jammed up into his armpit. Also, it made his jacket hang oddly.

 

he thought, closing the jeep door.

 

Dimensional storage.

 

 

How should I know? They're just characters on a low-budget syndicated fantasy show.

 

Jason snorted, pushing his right hand deep into his outside pocket.

 

OK, good point. But they really are TV. This is real life.

 

Through the coat lining in his pocket, he grabbed the side of the iron and lifted slightly. This allowed his jacket to hang more naturally, although it required that he keep his hand in his pocket.

 

He smiled towards the group of teens, holding the folded dollar bill in his left hand, then scooted his

way back towards them.

 

Jason spotted something moving back and forth in the game shop on the bottom floor. It looked like a giant glowing marble. It bounced back and forth between the two side walls, speeding up every time it hit.

 

He frowned, then started to jog back to the group.

 

Indeed; objects tend not to speed up, even in perfectly elastic collisions.

 

Running, he pulled the tire iron out of his jacket pocket.

 

Any port in a storm.

 

Sprinting past the kids, looks of confusion on their faces.

 

Yep.

 

The store was closer. He vaulted a shopping cart nest with the ease of an Olympic hurdler.

 

Or else it's magic.

 

 

Ah - noticed the lack of broken interior walls so far, have you.

 

Over the road separating the parking lot from the mall, and onto the curb.

 

How do you figure?

 

At the window, looking into the game store.

 

You have a plan?

 

 

The giant marble seemed to have someone floating inside it. Jason could see the velocity continue to build, actually inflicting impact damage everytime it hit. Unless something happened, it would punch through the wall and into another store.

 

Looks as though your fears were well-founded.

 

 

You never know. I could have been warning you that it was about to rain fish.

 

He paused before the store's main window.

 

Thunder, lightning, and hail: it's not just for the Discovery channel any more.

 

he thought, quickly observing the scene,

 

Judging by the wreckage, I find it unlikely the proprietor would care either way.

 

A check of the layout reveals a counterman on the right, cash register and display counter next to the door. Several long tables, with chairs. The ball is rolling down the central aisle between the second and third table, about twenty feet from the front door. Some kids stood to the far left, keeping away from the glowing juggernaut while hugging the racks of games and books that hadn't been knocked to the floor yet.

 

As the ball passed near his position, he leapt, swinging the crowbar with one hand while protecting his face with his free arm.

 

Jason landed perfectly after crashing through the window. His iron handle hit the six foot ball as gently as possible. The light orb hit the ground outside as Poster Rollins stepped inside the shop's door. The blue marble hit the ground rolling away.

 

"What was that?" Poster turned to look at the marble heading toward the road.

 

Jason had saved the store but the vandal was fleeing the scene like the road runner.

 

"Extreme Pokemon taming," he said, quickly checking the store. "Lemme tell ya, sometimes Furries are weird, even for me. Be right back." With that, he leapt out the window, hot on the trail of the now-dubbed Marble Man.

 

That's a little sexist. It could very well be a woman with a Hamtaro fetish in there.

 

Jason sprinted through the parking lot, quickly matching speed with the rolling vandal. "OUTTA THE WAY, FOLKS!"

 

Ah. How about The Malcontent Marble Maniac? Spherical Sadist? Globular……Goober?

 

Running right behind the sphere, he reached out with his iron, using the L-shaped wrench to hook the front of the orb, gently nudging it towards the middle of the parking

lot, while using his other hand to lightly but quickly brush away the kinetic energy.

 

"Hey, look out, new kid!" Callie's voice was high enough to break glass.

 

A car pulled into the lot, aiming for the rolling sphere with its front bumper.

 

Son of a $#@!" Jason yelped. "Watch out!"

 

Whether that was shouted at Callie or at the driver of the car will forever be unknown, as Jason sprinted over the broken window and out into the parking lot after the now-dubbed Marble Marauder.

 

The Spectral Sphere ran into the front bumper of the car as Jason ran toward it. There was a moment when he almost had his hands on the slick cling free surface. It rebounded like a cannonball directly at Jason. He could see lightning trace its surface as it rolled right for him faster than it had at first.

 

If it collided with him, he could expect the impact would be like being hit by a fast volkswagen.

 

Jason thought as he frantically backpedaled back up towards the mall. Grab it? That's your whole plan? Grab it?!

 

Just as it was upon him, Jason `stumbled', gaining a few more precious yards, and landed on his back. He brought his legs up into a defensive position, and just as the sphere rolled over him, caught it with his feet and palms, absorbing some of the force and pushing the sphere back the direction it came.

 

Jason caught the slippery orb on the palms of his hands and feet easily. He could feel it start to roll over his face when he decided to throw it. It landed in front of the car, and bounced at an angle when it hit the lot. It started rolling away to one side, toward the front of the mall again, but Jason' left.

 

Well, that worked, in a ‘let's give away our secret identity to the entire parking lot' sort of way.

 

Jason performed a quick kipup, bringing himself to his feet. As he leapt up, he snatched his crowbar off the ground, dropped in his own mad roll.

 

A secret identity is like virginity, Jason –– you can't loose it more than once.

 

He jogged further back towards the store, positioning himself for another throw.

 

Ha! Trust the invisible voice in your head: if it's a question between "'contradiction of something boring I slept through in high school," and "new uberhuman drops his metaphorical trousers in mini-mall", the average American is going to go ogle the naughty bits.

 

The ball hit and bounced away. Jason flew back but he can grab support columns, the edge of the building, the stairwell to prevent hitting anything solid.

 

The ball's speed has increased from the blow, using phase five to roll up to full speed, and down the outer lane of the parking lot.

 

It was headed for the busy street.

 

Jason's move blocked the ball, sending down the outside lane. It headed for the open street as he flew backwards. Hands caught him before he hit anything.

 

"You're sure you're not playing any sports?" Poster Rollins slid a little but kept Jason from hitting anything hard.

[Kevin Schultz]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Web of the Widower, Chapter 2

 

Poster Rollins smiled in the back of the jeep, white teeth in a round face, head almost shaved.

 

Jason didn't know the other two passengers like he did Poster, and he didn't know Poster all that well. Two females, one a blond, the other a red head. One of them had to be the one that called.

 

"Hey, Jason." The red head waved a come-on gesture. "Come on. We're the welcoming commitee."

 

"Ah, right," he said, stepping up through the rear passenger door. After confirming that his somewhat battered trench coat wasn't caught in the door, he glanced towards the one person he vaguely recognized. "Hey Poster." Then he turned towards the two in the front. "Hey, people I don't know. Thanks again for the invite." he gestured vaguely towards the barn as the jeep rolled off down the driveway. "I figured the woodpile deserved a break from my cutting wit." With that, Jason tried to keep up as the talk flowed only slightly awkwardly around him. However, one thought kept rolling through his mind.

 

Holy %$#!, these kids are young.

 

In retrospect, he was probably fooled by Hollywood; most actors who play teenagers are in their early 20's. These kids, on the other hand, actually looked their age: 16, maybe 17 at the latest.

 

The trio hauled Jason Jones to the Falls Church Mall. Essentially it was a strip mall with two floors. Metal spiral staircases on either end allowed you to get to the top floor. Fifteen stores covered the spectrum of what you might need from Tractor Supply to Baskin Robbins 31.

 

Along the way, Jason learned the red head's name was Lorna Luna, she ran track, and worked part time afternoons and nights at a Taco Bell.

 

The other girl was Callie Lowe, she worked on the school paper with Poster, and dreamed of working on the Washington Post, or even the New York Times, or Wall Street Journal.

 

Jason listened to the groups self-description, nodding when appropriate, mentally creating a backstory checklist for each person. However, when the subject of school sports came up, he smiled a bit. "Neat - used t'train with the sprinters," he said to Lorna, "for football." Upon further inquiry, he shrugged. "Eh, I was OK. Got a tendon thing, now," he said, tapping his knee, "So it's a no-go anyway." Which had the advantage of being technically true: his ligaments, like every other part of his body, was preternaturally strengthened, and thus disqualified him from competing in high school athletics.

 

Yeah, and it's not a lie, so if I figure out how to tell 'em all later, it'll be ok.

 

Oh, what a tangled web we weave...

 

Thank you, Sir Walter Scott.

 

Upon reaching their destination however, Jason almost blanched. This is a mall? I thought anything with that name had food courts and fountains and stuff. However, he managed to control his expression as he stepped out onto the parking lot.

 

Well, we're relatively near DC.

 

What's that got to do with anything?, he thought, following the rest of the group towards one particularly large clump of buildings.

 

Maybe the National mall sucked all the mall-osity out of the surrounding region, leaving naught but skeletal remains behind.

 

Um...no.

 

"Not what you expected, Jase?" Poster watched the girls lead the way, hanging back to talk to the new kid. "Falls Church has a lot of commuter traffic to DC. Most of the country side is rural, suburban. I'm surprised that they would let a city kid stay out here with the rednecks."

 

"I'm takin' it as an opportunity to delve into my surplus of nervous sheep jokes. Not much of a call for those back in the urban jungle," he said, slouching along side the other teen. "Seriously, though, I haven't really figured it out, either. I should have gone to an orphanage in Iowa, not to a foster family in a different state all together." With that, he shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets. "Maybe parental authority got switched across state lines through a surviving relative, or something. Didn't want me, maybe, so I got tossed into the system." And thank God for THAT, he thought. Putting up with a fictional relative or, God forbid, one of my ACTUAL relatives, would have been just too weird for all involved.

 

During this time they had trailed after the girls, and were a couple of steps behind them as they traversed the parking lot. "Yeah...so on that really, really depressing thought...The Mall."

 

Jason's spider sense started tingling. It lanced through his scalp like fleas. The parking lot has some pedestrian traffic, but nothing looked out of place at a glance.

 

He slowed for a moment, scratching his head in a subtly vain attempt to get the metaphorical fleas out. Great, what’s supposed to happen, I rescue someone from a car accident?

 

Could very well be. Or it could be about ducks, or something about the sun shining. Both Iziz and May were suitably prophetic this afternoon.

 

Yeah, but her name’s May, not Cassandra. Besides, that seer chick doesn’t show up until mid-season. He glanced around. I need a tool.

 

A tool?

 

Yeah. Better to plan than to improvise, prevention vs. cure, all that stuff. Anyway, here goes.

 

“Ah, crap,” he said, fishing around in his pockets. “I think my funds went walkabout. Hey, Lorna,” he called out. “Can you beep the Jeep? I think my money slipped out of my pocket – be right back.” With that, he jogged back to the vehicle, and made a show of fishing around.

 

Ah ha! he thought, spying a full-sized tire iron behind the back seat. Thank god for rural over-engineering.

 

Reaching under the seat, he grabbed the tool and slipped it into his right-side trench coat interior pocket; while the pocket was deep enough to fit the tool, it was more than slightly uncomfortable as the wrench head jammed up into his armpit. Also, it made his jacket hang oddly.

 

How those Highlander guys do this is beyond me, he thought, closing the jeep door.

 

Dimensional storage.

 

Really?

 

How should I know? They’re just characters on a low-budget syndicated fantasy show.

 

Jason snorted, pushing his right hand deep into his outside pocket. Think where you are, and think about what you just said.

 

OK, good point. But they really are TV. This is real life.

 

Uh, huh. Through the coat lining in his pocket, he grabbed the side of the iron and lifted slightly. This allowed his jacket to hang more naturally, although it required that he keep his hand in his pocket.

 

He smiled towards the group of teens, holding the folded dollar bill in his left hand, then scooted his way back towards them.

 

Jason spotted something moving back and forth in the game shop on the bottom floor. It looked like a giant glowing marble. It bounced back and forth between the two side walls, speeding up every time it hit.

 

He frowned, then started to jog back to the group. OK, that's kinda weird.

 

Indeed; objects tend not to speed up, even in perfectly elastic collisions.

 

Actually, I meant the fact that it's a giant glowing marble in a game store. Running, he pulled the tire iron out of his jacket pocket.

 

Any port in a storm.

 

Whatever. Sprinting past the kids, looks of confusion on their faces. This is what I signed up for, isn't it.

 

Yep.

 

The store was closer. Fine. He vaulted a shopping cart nest with the ease of an Olympic hurdler. So, it's probably got some sort of power source...

 

Or else it's magic.

 

Which still means it's probably got a power source, but yeah. Buoyant, too.

 

Ah - noticed the lack of broken interior walls so far, have you.

 

Over the road separating the parking lot from the mall, and onto the curb. Yep. I'm thinking an uber with some sort of kinetic amplification power, just getting started on a mall destruction attempt.

 

How do you figure?

 

Occam's Razor: rolling yourself up into a ball is less weird than summoning bouncing spheres. At the window, looking into the game store.

 

The giant marble seemed to have someone floating inside it. Jason could see the velocity continue to build, actually inflicting impact damage every time it hit. Unless something happened, it would punch through the wall and into another store.

 

Looks as though your fears were well-founded.

 

They were founded on you putting imaginary ants in my hair.

 

You never know. I could have been warning you that it was about to rain fish.

 

Hey, that actually happens sometimes, with tornadoes. He paused before the store's main window. Actually...weather prediction would've been pretty useful back home.

 

Thunder, lightning, and hail: it's not just for the Discovery channel any more.

 

Whatever. Y'know, he thought, quickly observing the scene, I'll be wearing the Stupid Hat if this was just some guy trying out his ginormous hampsterball.

 

A counterman was on the right, cash register and display counter next to the door. Several long tables, with chairs. The ball is rolling down the central aisle between the second and third table, about twenty feet from the front door. Some kids stood to the far left, keeping away from the glowing juggernaut while hugging the racks of games and books that hadn't been knocked to the floor yet.

 

Judging by the wreckage, I find it unlikely the proprietor would care either way.

 

Good point. Time to screw myself over, then.

 

You have a plan?

 

Yes, I do. And with that, as the ball passed near his position, he leapt, swinging the crowbar with one hand while protecting his face with his free arm.

 

Jason landed perfectly after crashing through the window. His iron handle hit the six foot ball as gently as possible. The light orb hit the ground outside as Poster Rollins stepped inside the shop's door. The blue marble hit the ground rolling away.

 

"What was that?" Poster turned to look at the marble heading toward the road.

 

“Extreme Pokemon taming,” he said, quickly checking the store. “Lemme tell ya, sometimes Furries are weird, even for me. Be right back.” And with that, he leapt out the window, hot on the trail of the now-dubbed Marble Man.

 

That’s a little sexist. It could very well be a woman with a Hamtaro fetish in there.

 

I’m going for alliteration. In this group, it’s all the rage. Jason sprinted through the parking lot, quickly matching speed with the rolling vandal. “OUTTA THE WAY, FOLKS!”

 

Ah. How about The Marble Maniac? Spherical Sadist? Globular…Goober?

 

Now you’re just being inane. Running right behind the sphere, he reached out with his iron, using the L-shaped wrench to hook the front of the orb, trying to gently nudging the sphere down the middle of the parking lot, while using his other hand to lightly brush the spinning sphere, gently robbing it of its kinetic energy.

 

Hey, look out, new kid!" Callie's voice was high enough to break glass.

 

A car pulled into the lot, aiming for the rolling sphere with its front bumper.

 

"Son of a $#@!" Jason yelped. "Watch out!"

 

Whether that was shouted at Callie or at the driver of the car will forever be unknown, as Jason sprinted over the broken window and out into the parking lot after the now-dubbed Marble Marauder.

 

The Spectral Sphere ran into the front bumper of the car as Jason ran toward it. There was a moment when he almost had his hands on the slick cling free surface. It rebounded like a cannonball directly at Jason. He could see lightning trace its surface as it rolled right for him faster than it had at first. If it collided with him, he could expect the impact would be like being hit by a fast Volkswagen.

 

Well, not quite what I was hoping, but I guess I can grab it now, Jason thought as he frantically backpedaled back up towards the mall.

 

Grab it? That’s your whole plan? Grab it?!

 

Now is not the time, Dr. Venkman. Just as it was upon him, Jason ‘stumbled’, gaining a few more precious yards, and landed on his back. He brought his legs up into a defensive position, and just as the sphere rolled over him, caught it with his feet and palms, absorbing some of the force and pushing the sphere back the direction it came.

 

Jason caught the slippery orb on the palms of his hands and feet easily. He could feel it start to roll over his face when he decided to throw it. It landed in front of the car, and bounced at an angle when it hit the lot. It started rolling away to one side, toward the front of the mall again, but Jason' left.

 

Well, that worked, in a ‘let’s give away our secret identity to the entire parking lot’ sort of way.

 

Yeah, let’s see if I can do it again. Jason performed a quick kipup, bringing himself to his feet. As he leapt up, he snatched his crowbar off the ground, dropped in his own mad roll.

 

A secret identity is like virginity, Jason – you can’t loose it more than once.

 

He jogged further back towards the store, positioning himself for another throw. I’m hoping that the gross violation of several Newtonian Laws will obscure that particular tidbit of information.

 

Ha! Trust the invisible voice in your head: if it’s a question between “contradiction of something boring I slept through in high school”, and “new uberhuman drops his metaphorical trousers in mini-mall’, the average American is going to go oogle the naughty bits.

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

Page 4

 

Jason's move blocked the ball, sending down the outside lane. It headed for the open street as he flew backwards. Hands caught him before he hit anything.

 

"You're sure you're not playing any sports?" Poster Rollins slid a little but kept Jason from hitting anything hard.

 

No," Jason said, grunting, "but I'm pretty sure someone's playing ME. Thanks for the save, there."

 

Maybe you should try to use your environment a bit more.

 

Jason spared a quick glance behind him.

 

Stop being a $#@!. This isn't about you.

 

He ran after the ball, stretching his iron claw out again.

 

No, it's not. This isn't about you wandering around naked in a storm, yelling at Shakespeare. It's about doing what needs to be done to keep that sphere from plastering little Betty Jo into the pavement.

 

 

Oh, knock it off with the passive-aggressive smarminess already. So what if fate placed a sphere-based villain right next to a sphere containment facility? It's not predestined if you freely choose to go along with it.

 

 

Summa Theologica. Just kick the damn ball into the damn skate park.

 

 

Jason let fly with the tire iron. The flying hook bounced and missed as the marble rolled into the light traffic passing in front of the mall.

 

"Chloe's car." Poster ran for the open jeep. "We can use that to catch up."

 

The marble got hit by a delivery truck and got sent flying to Jason's right, down the main road. It bounced once, then started rolling again.

 

Jason stared down the road for a moment, before snorting. "Nah, %$#! it." With that, he started back towards the mall.

 

Hold on. You're just going to let it roll?

 

Jason meandered over to where he had thrown the crowbar, and picked it up.

 

Stop being passive-aggressive. That thing's careening into everyone on the road.

 

He strolled back to where Poster was. "Not our car. I really don't think we can ask her parents to do that."

 

You %%$#@ bastard! People are going to DIE because of that thing!

 

He closed his eyes, turning away from the youth.

 

So go chase after it! Get somewhere where those plans ARE feasible!

 

he thought, He turned back, and stared straight into Poster's eyes.

 

"We're not heroes, Poster. Let someone else handle it."

 

The voice, for the first time, was silent.

 

"It's cool, man." Rollins headed for Chloe's jeep. "You did what you could."

 

He got behind the wheel and cranked it. A moment later, he started out of the parking lot.

 

Jason stared out towards the teen. "Huh. I just got shown up by a teenager." He pondered the event for several moments longer, then shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Screw it," he muttered. "If he wants to go off and be useless, he can do it." Frowning at his own words, Jason trudged back to the broken window, passing the girls as he went. "Hey, um...Poster just took off with your jeep."

 

"Why didn't you stop him?" Callie made this face that was half ferocious scowl and half pouting moue. "This is an awesome story and now he's getting all the credit. You suck."

 

She stomped inside the broken store, looking around the debris.

 

"Don't mind her." Lorna looked on something like amusement at her friend. "She wants to be a big city reporter like her cousin. She'll get over it."

 

Jason managed to avoid a face-fault. "You mean he was doing all that for a BYLINE? Good lord, he's, what? Sixteen?" He began gesticulating with his hands, as though directing a particularly angry

orchestra. "Reporters his age should be covering football games!" His voice began to rise. "ASB elections, Prom snafus! Not class one Felony crime scenes!" Then, he stabbed at the air, crescendoing. "Even the Hardy Boys didn't run after uberhumans until they got into college!"

 

"Idiot kid..." abruptly, he brought it back down from its crescendo and into the denouncement. "Death isn't fun," he muttered, turning back towards the broken storefront. "Kids shouldn't chase after it."

 

"He'll be okay, Jason." Lorna looked at the devastation. "If we can find out what started this, maybe Callie will ease up on the temper tantrum. The Sheriff's Department will be here to cover things up shortly anyway."

 

She walked over to the owner of the shop, and began talking to him.

 

Jason huffed, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "Yeah, well...", then realized he was talking to air.

 

 

Instead, he slouched the distance over to the broken window, and peered inside.

 

"I didn't know a hamster could do that, Uncle Phil." The younger of the two customers fairly jumped and down in excitement. "That was awesome. Do it again."

 

"Look, Will, I didn't do that." The older guy, maybe thirty with a bad complexion and glasses, looked at the destruction. "I don't think this is awesome at all."

 

Jason thought as he made his way through the broken glass, "Destruction ain't cool, kid. People die from it." He stepped gingerly around a toppled D&D display, and turned towards the older customer. "But was that really a hamster?" he said. "I just figured I was just making jokes in the face of certain doom."

 

"We thought it was a hamster." Uncle Phil rubbed his face. "We got it from the Ham Jam down the road. We didn't know it could do this."

 

"It had that new protective device, Uncle Phil." Will jumped up and down. "Remember with the head lights and stuff."

 

"That's right." Phil looked around the destruction. "Here's the box."

 

He gave Jason a box that had a hamster about to be run over by a car. Ham Jam's Whammer Jammer screamed in bold yellow on the dark brown.

 

 

"Wow." He peered closely at the box in his hands. "No, really. I mean, wow." He fiddled with the box a bit more, squinting inside for any obvious signs of nefariousness, before tossing it gently at his companion. "here y'go Velma. A clue. Hey," he said, turning back towards the older man, "Was there actually a hamster inside it, or was it just the ball running amok?"

 

"Oh yeah we put Mike in there." Will looked down at the ground. "He was the best hamster ever."

 

"I'll get you another one, boy." Uncle Phil rubbed an eye.

 

"Let's go talk to the pet shop guy, Jason." Lorna hooked her arm through his. "Maybe there are more of these Whammer Jammers around."

 

"There was a truck load, miss." Uncle Phil spread his hands out wide. "People were buying them like hot cakes when we left."

 

*Aw, geez.* "Um, is that a metaphor, or was there an actual truck?"

 

"Both." Uncle Phil looked up at the ceiling. "They were bringing the things in on dollies to be set out on the shelves."

 

"Hey, um, we're planning on telling the cops about this whole Hamster Hellball thing, right?" Jason said as he allowed himself to be lead out the door. "What with their guns and badges and

their promise to serve and protect, and all that stuff."

 

"Let's look into it ourselves." Lorna smiled. "It might have just been one defective protector."

 

Jason raised an eyebrow as the pair walked out. "Yeah. And here I was, thinking it was just MY balls that grew to enormous size when busted." As they walked back out onto the sidewalk , he not-so-casually looked around for some sort of mall map. "Uh, do you know where the pet store is?"

 

"Yes." Lorna smiled. "Quit worrying. I'm not going to throw you down and have my wicked way with you, Tiger."

 

The small double strip mall faced the road. On the left side and behind, an enclosed space held concrete bowls for skaters. Beyond that, Jason could see another building that faced the road the same as the mall. He could also see a sign that said PetSmart on the bottom half of the brick wall.

[csyphrett]

Re: (SoloUber) Webs of the Widower

 

"Yes." Lorna smiled. "Quit worrying. I'm not going to throw you down and have my wicked way with you, Tiger."

 

he thought. And just with that, Lorna wasn't Lorna any more, but another girl, her bottle-blonde hair splayed against the dirt, orange in the fire, framed with the split-level detritus of 20 years suburban living. The ambulance lights were twirling, the fire trucks are coming, Daddy's sorry honey, it's not so bad, just a bit of PLEASE baby girl, PLEASE! And it wasn't a strip mall anymore so much as a cratered hole, smoking as the devil's anus, burning the last remains of all he knew. He could feel the blood drain, could smell the sweat, could hear his own voice echoing "Oh, right. Sitting down, now," somewhere off in the black beyond.

 

"Are you okay, Jason?" Lorna stood close, almost too close, touching his arm with her slim fingers.

 

The small double strip mall faced the road. On the left side and behind, an enclosed space held concrete bowls for skaters. Beyond that, Jason could see another building that faced the road the same as the mall. He could also see a sign that said PetSmart on the bottom half of the brick wall.

 

The wall was solid against his spine, the pavement sticking rocks into his butt, and his knees were almost into his armpits, but at least he wasn't splayed against the road. "Gah, sorry." Sorry that you're way too young to be talked to like that. "D'ya know how sometimes adrenalin can mask the pain of overexerting yourself?" he said, not looking at the girl as he lied through his teeth. "Yeah,

that just wore off."

 

"I tell you what, you just stay here." Lorna looked at the pet store. "I'll go over and look around, then come back and get you. Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?"

 

"Yeah, I'll be good," he said, grimacing, but waving vaguely down towards the pet store. "Go do your……thing. I'll be right……here, I guess."

 

Jason sat there, watching the shadow slowly creep across the floor. After a few moments, he began to slowly beat the back of his head against the brick wall.

 

 

There was no toad this time, nor was there any particularly sarcastic narrator to perform voice-over commentary.

 

 

No, Jason was quite alone, angsting nicely, all according to genre convention.

 

 

No, breaking the 4th wall is for She-Hulk, not for Jason. He just goes along his own way, stumbling into doing exactly what he's supposed to be doing.

 

He groaned.

 

Yes, indeed. They're nowhere near you, are they.

 

 

And it's not like they could get into trouble without you being there.

 

 

No, the chances of them all getting into trouble at the same time, in drastically different places, thus creating some sort of plot complication designed for maximum dramatic conflict are nothing short of astronomical!

 

He pushed himself to his feet, and stumbled off towards PetSmart.

 

Why, you'd have to be cursed to have some sort of comic book life for anything like THAT to happen.

 

 

I was. Look how THAT turned out.

 

Jason could see Lorna on the breeze way headed for the front door of the pet store. He also saw a truck with the HAM JAM WHAMMER JAMMER picture on the side pulling across the parking lot. It resembled food delivery trucks for fast food places.

 

The brown semi turned on the road in front of the shopping area and headed east toward Washington. The panicky mascot showed its fear to Jason as it rolled out of sight.

 

Jason got up off the concrete as the truck pulled away.

 

Well, if you want to. But if you do you may be involved in a misunderstanding, and end up thumping harmless old Mr. McGreety, who will likely turn out to be a recurring comic foil.

 

 

That'll work.

 

With that, Jason slouched over to the pet store.

 

Lorna and the employees were checking through the supplies. She had one of the little harnesses in one hand with a remote clicker in the other. Several hamsters were being outfitted with the HJWJ.

 

Jason meandered into the store, bypassing the colorful displays of fish food and polyvinyl chew toys. Slouching up behind Lorna, he snagged one of the plastic balls (empty of any domesticated rodent), and twirled it on one finger. "Y'know," he said, "it's at times like this, when I'm feeling SOL, that I look at my very own HJWJ, and think to myself, "Self, WWJD?". He glanced over the spinning ball. "And then I realize I'm talking in acronyms, and that I need to STHU and STFD."

With that, he hopped up on the counter, and raised an eyebrow at what she held in her hands. "Decided to forsake the glamor of modern journalism for an exciting career in retail, eh?"

 

"I'm going to test fire this babies and see if they do the same thing as the one from the game shop." Lorna held up the clicker. "You might want to step back."