The Adventures of "Fish Guy" (Superhero fiction)

[Hermit]

20 minutes ago, BoloOfEarth said:

BTW, I ran my players against the Miscreants, to great success.  The Miscreants were convinced to pull a job in a city a ways out from San Francisco, to draw the heroes out of town so members of several supervillain teams could attack the newly-opened Alcatraz super-prison to break their teammates out. The heroes "found out" the Miscreants were hanging around nearby (one of the other supervillains called in a tip to PRIMUS) and the hero team got a briefing from Pinprick - who proceeded to irritate the heroes by calling their team "lame" for not having an archer.

 

The Miscreants were great, in that they irritated the #*!& out of my players.  The heroes figured out that Red Robin Hood didn't really fit with the other Miscreants, and they convinced her to work with them to help put down the would-be prison break, in exchange for the heroes putting in a good word with the authorities on her behalf.

 

One of the players ran Red Robin Hood, and by the end of the fight they were of the opinion that archers really do rock.  It was an awesome game.  Thank you for lending me the Miscreants, Hermit.

 

Thank YOU , for sharing that story Makes me proud!

 

EDIT: Ack, and I misread the bit about archers ! Go Red Robin Hood! Sounds like YOUR Creation did the heavy lifting there

[Lawnmower Boy]

Pogo! As I get older, young women increasingly remind me if my nieces: But Pogo us all nieces everywhere.

[Hermit]

6 hours ago, Lawnmower Boy said:

Pogo! As I get older, young women increasingly remind me if my nieces: But Pogo us all nieces everywhere.

 

Thanks . Any requests/suggestions for the other two?

[Lawnmower Boy]

On 10/21/2023 at 10:15 AM, Hermit said:

 

Thanks . Any requests/suggestions for the other two?

Three? Three? THREE? I have to think one, two, three times for this? Hermit, old buddy, old pal, you owe me forever. 

 

So, Pogo, obvs. Next up, Pinprick, not because I like the annoying little dude (archers, sheesh), but because clearly he's your favourite and I expect to see you fly free when you're channeling his voice. Finally, Slime, because their perspective is going to be the weirdest and hardest to communicate and I am an evil person.

 

If it helps, I was trying to put myself in the mind of an amoeboid functioning in a solid world, and I suddenly found myself imagining a Hanna Barbara world. For an amoeboid, real humans and their built environment blends into their visual comic art to an uncanny extent. "As usual, especially since he started secreting his upper octant down-oriented vertex dermal collagen structure, seeing Caleb burst into the room left me wondering why no gawky, oversized Great Dane came skittering in after him." 

 

Anyway, that's what I think, so it must be true. 

[Hermit]

20 hours ago, Lawnmower Boy said:

Three? Three? THREE? I have to think one, two, three times for this? Hermit, old buddy, old pal, you owe me forever. 

 

So, Pogo, obvs. Next up, Pinprick, not because I like the annoying little dude (archers, sheesh), but because clearly he's your favourite and I expect to see you fly free when you're channeling his voice. Finally, Slime, because their perspective is going to be the weirdest and hardest to communicate and I am an evil person.

 

If it helps, I was trying to put myself in the mind of an amoeboid functioning in a solid world, and I suddenly found myself imagining a Hanna Barbara world. For an amoeboid, real humans and their built environment blends into their visual comic art to an uncanny extent. "As usual, especially since he started secreting his upper octant down-oriented vertex dermal collagen structure, seeing Caleb burst into the room left me wondering why no gawky, oversized Great Dane came skittering in after him." 

 

Anyway, that's what I think, so it must be true. 

Not sure i can do Slime justice but I'll give it the old college try

[Lawnmower Boy]

On 10/23/2023 at 9:30 AM, Hermit said:

Not sure i can do Slime justice but I'll give it the old college try

Pardon me, I have a note from Slime, who was unaware that human dermal collagen accretions accumulate approximately uniformly and that the observed variation is due to "grooming," a practice explained with  heavy reference to human-style assisted mitosis, a subject that Slime frankly wishes had never been brought up. Slime assures us that although they involuntarily inverted and released the contents of their digestive vacuoles on learning all this, they are fine now, and there is no reason for alarm. Although they are  embarrassed for not noticing this themselves, considering that they rely heavily on the accretions to tell their human friends apart in the first place. 

[Hermit]

Who can blame Slime for any mistakes? We solids are rather disgusting by nature however sweet tempered some are. Study can require proximity.

Gross.

[Hermit]

Okay. Looks like I'll have to decide the others to fill out but what we have from those kind enough to respond are:

Aspirant

Brazen

Pinprick

Pogo

Slime

[BoloOfEarth]

Hey, what about that Eel character?  I mean, we always get the POV of Fish Guy and he mentions that Eel guy a lot.  Maybe it's time to give Eel some time in the spotlight. 

 

And I know I already gave a list of three, but I was thinking that to give you a challenge, you could go with a non-powered character (say Pinprick's son, Valerosa's mom, the postal worker who helped save Eel and Viewpoint, or even one of the reporters).  Just a thought.

 

 

[Hermit]

12 minutes ago, BoloOfEarth said:

Hey, what about that Eel character?  I mean, we always get the POV of Fish Guy and he mentions that Eel guy a lot.  Maybe it's time to give Eel some time in the spotlight. 

 

And I know I already gave a list of three, but I was thinking that to give you a challenge, you could go with a non-powered character (say Pinprick's son, Valerosa's mom, the postal worker who helped save Eel and Viewpoint, or even one of the reporters).  Just a thought.

 

 

Eel ? Sounds slimy and gross

 

As for a non powered representation?

Not a bad idea. And while technically Lady Obsidian might qualify I know she is not who you mean.

 

Of course, a certain Punk Rocker who hopes to sell out is probably performing with the other Kennedy Can't Duck band members as the wedding singers. No promises

 

I also considered a super powered individual who had no team affiliation but rather made a career of hiring him/herself out to super teams to play substitute during special events.  Got a Wedding day you need someone else to patrol during? Can do. New Years party and you want to get tipsy without guilt? Got it covered! Have a relative undergoing a bar mitzva? Will fight crime while you watch on in pride!

[Hermit]

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

If you asked me, and even if you didn’t, I’d tell you that there is no way Eel and Valerosa aren’t eventually breeding. She’s a good Catholic Girl. He? Is a hick. Oh sure, both are intelligent young people, but currently they’ve got advantages a lot of their generation don’t. Paid college, financial stipend, marketing deals for merchandise going into savings accounts.

Though how Eel T shirts are outselling actual life sized Pinprick action figures, I do not understand. My point is, while it would put a snag in Ariana’s superheroing for a year or so, there’s no way they’re not eventually shooting for a family.

I’m Pinprick by the way. As Archer of the New Samaritans it is my sacred duty to keep my team from not sucking. I’m also a father. It’s my job to keep my son safe.

 

Try to keep up with my train of thought, I’m going somewhere with this. I connect the soon to be newlyweds and their future progeny with my own son because one day, those two will face some of the unique challenges as parents and superheroes that I’ve already faced.

 

By challenge, I mean that cold, twisting knot in your belly, that almost irrational panic, like a rising scream only you can hear coming through your bones in blood that your child is in danger. I have fought Lovecraftian horrors, been in the middle of an Earthquake, and nearly died more than once. None of that holds a candle to feeling helpless to save your child.

“What do you think?” Caleb, the groom to be, shattered my thoughts as he came out of the dressing room in what was probably the third suit he had tried on.

 

We were at the base so for once I hadn’t had to hide to get someplace public. At my forever shrunken size, it wasn’t hard for me to do that but still, it was nice I didn’t have to. This particular suit was navy blue, a true blue tie with it. To me, it looked the same as the last two suits he wore with only minor variances. At my size, I tend to either wear my costume, or just mug a discarded Ken doll for when I wanted civvies.

 

I’m a six inch tall divorcee? Who am I going to dress up fancy FOR?

 

Thank god we had Tornado aka Valentino here. He actually cares about fashion, by hetero guy standards anyway. Tino has always been the lady killer of the group; the charming gadabout who had a dozen or more hot chicks on speed dial.

Lately, he and Mabel aka Brazen had become a couple, and showing a mature relationship in the making.

Good. About time Tino grew up. Hell, it seemed love was in the air for almost every other superhero I knew lately. Me? I considered becoming a cat owner, but the feline bastard would probably try to eat me. Death by Maine Coon is no way to go for a man.

 

“I like it better than the lighter blue you had,” Valentino nodded approvingly, “Looks more dignified. Mmm, not sure about the cut though.”

 

Viewpoint, who was in the public relations and marketing angle of superheroes, or had been, agreed, “With his build, another cut might present just a bit better. Color is fine though. Ariana said her bride dress would have a ‘little blue in it’ so it should all compliment.”

 

“What do you think, Pinprick?” Caleb asked me. Nice to be included even if I don’t give much of a rats ass what he wears. Way I see it, he should have just pushed Ariana to pick something out a catalog, nodded, and put THAT one. But Ariana is no bridezilla and trusted him to find something nice.

 

“I think if you use that 3D fabric printer to make too many suits that you’re never going to use more than once, Viv is gonna wonder why our electricity bill is so high,” I replied. That was an exaggeration, the base is pretty energy efficient. We have next generation solar panels, a small cold fusion reactor, yadda yadda. You know? Standard super hero base stuff.

 

“Don’t listen to him, Caleb,” Tino huffed, “The man’s a savage. Go print out another one with this coloration, but the first suit’s cut.”

 

“Will do,” Caleb replied after an intake of breath.

 

The inhale wasn’t born of frustration, or impatience. It was just the jitters. Fish Guy was nervous. He doesn’t like letting anyone down, so the odd chance he’d disappoint the woman he loves? It’s getting him a bit twitchy. No way he’s going cold feet mind you. The team would murder him if he bailed on his bride.

 

While Caleb darted back to the machine to print out yet another suit and deprive the hard working tailors of the city of their livelihood, Viewpoint glanced over to me looking uncomfortable.

 

And just like that, I knew that there was a fifty fifty chance I was gonna get ‘a talk’.

Superheroes, one and all, are born meddlers. Thank goodness most of us have superpowers, or we’d likely all be ‘that guy’ who wanders around dispensing unwanted advice and going ‘well actually’

 

I’m including myself in that. I dispensed more than a few well intentioned words of wisdom in my time. Mostly to rookies and non-archers, but I repeat myself.

 

“Yeah?” I raised a small brow he might have missed noticing.

“Look, I realize you’ve known Caleb longer, and its probably not my business but…”

Here it comes.

“… you could be a bit more supportive of the guy,” Viewpoint said, and launched further into explaining, “He’s clearly nervous. Would it kill you to do a ‘that looks great’ or ‘she’ll love that?”

 

I made a show of stroking my chin to affirm I was deep in contemplation of his question, “It’s possible that it might. Could be my undiscovered kryptonite.”

 

He threw up his hands and looked to Tornado “I have never understood this guy.”

Tornado chuckled, “I know the feeling, amigo. But in truth, Pinprick maybe a jerk, but he’s our jerk and he does look out for us. In his way.” Valentino had known me a lot longer, and was a lot closer to figuring me out. Maybe he did have me figured out, but knew I’d resent him sharing what makes me tick too much with others?

 

Not for the first time, I realized Valentino would indeed make a good leader, or at least co-leader for his team in Port Cascade. Underneath the Zorro wanna be panache, there was a good deductive mind, and a not half bad tactical thinker. More importantly, he had matured to the point of recognizing his own selfish desires and then sacrificing them for the team.

 

I was going to miss the punk.

 

He was right, of course. At least in this case. While the other two guys were assuring Caleb this or that outfit would be the best thing since spin racks and sliced bread, I was taking another angle. By acting like a jerk, I WAS looking after Eel. Or trying to , anywho. What kind of idiot fusses over a few extra dollars in utility bills when you were saving hundreds in what a tailored suit would cost? Eel knows I am not a moron so he will chalk it up to me just busting his chops for funsies. By giving him grief over the ‘small stuff’, I hoped I was taking his mind off his wedding concerns.

 

If I kept it up too much, Eel would start to mutter and grumble about shoving me in a beer bottle (Which is hilarious as that’s pretty close to my Briar Patch thank you very much) and then move on. You know what he wouldn’t be doing? Stressing over the ridiculous notion that if he didn’t have just the right tie, he’d ruin the wedding and upset his bride.

I’ll share a little secret with you only a few have figured out: Being a jerk is kind of my love language. It might explain why I’m a single divorcee, but that’s neither here nor there.

 

“Speaking of my way,” I told them, “I need to get shopping for a wedding gift for the lucky couple.” I shot a line of gossamer line to the door way and zip lined to it, “You guys handle the suit situation.”

“You don’t have a gift already?” Viewpoint arched a brow.

“Cutting it close there, Pinprick,” Tornado agreed.

“Yeah yeah,” I waved them off as I used my feet to turn the knob and open the door to the hallway “My gift is gonna knock their socks off.”

They waved me off.

I had lied, of course. My gift was probably going to be thought of as cute as best, cheap, lazy, and presumptive at worse. What it was, if two future parents were going to keep their sanity, was absolutely necessary.

They were going to need a Gurt.

 

(TBC)

[Ragitsu]

What is a tuna's favorite genre of music?

 

Spoiler

Albacore!

 

[Hermit]

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

 

*** (Continued)

 

When I first meet Eel, I confess, I yanked his chain a bit about my origin. I also lied. I told him I didn’t remember details. That was not exactly true. Not only did I remember much of it. I’ve been back to the lands of Faerie since then over the years. It is a land of otherness, of nonsense and truths neglected both. It is a world where concepts of Good and Evil are superseded by the ethics, such as they are, of the courts of seasons.

 

One of those trips? It had been to get a Gurt.

 

My son had been kidnapped the month before that, you see? To this day I don’t know if it was Glen or my exe who let it slip that Glen’s daddy was Pinprick the superhero. One would do it because he’s a kid, and it’s unreasonable to expect kids to always show judgment. The other would do it because… well, she’s never forgiven me for having an origin. For making her life “not normal”. I suppose that means she might keep my secrets just to avoid association. Or maybe, just maybe, she hoped the villain would go after me, and permanently remove the source of her shame. Instead, Glen was kidnapped.

And that’s how I know how it feels to really know a father’s fear.

 

It was a fear I hoped to keep Caleb from ever finding out. So… off to Faerie land I would go.

Obviously, I did save Glen. And then I went to get his Gurt. A good Gurt is hard to find, but man, it can save you a lot of worry. Caleb likely would never thank me. Fairy magic often demands secrecy.

 

There as many ways to get into Faerie as there sounds a thunderstorm makes in a mountain range. I am not a poet but you can’t really describe the place without starting to delve into poetry, or at least purple prose. There’s a reason there are dozens of legends of men getting lost in strange places for long periods of time, and coming back as as artists, poets, or musicians. They had stumbled into Faerie, and some part of Faerie stumbled into them.

 

The problem with these paths and ways and means is that they’re not usually consistent or reliable. One day it might be a painting of a ship at sea you fell into. One moon later, you fall through a group of mushrooms in a circular pattern. Or maybe you walk where the shadows of Oak and Ash meet at the perfect twilight casting. Maybe you slip too deeply in a dream? Hell, at least four people got lost in a Purple Haze at Woodstock or so I’m told.

 

Fortunately, I had a short cut that was both consistent and reliable.

 

I just had to shoot myself with an arrow. It was going to hurt, of course. It always did.

I could shoot myself in the foot, but that lacked style. Instead? Once I got to the privacy of my room, I angled my bow up, straight up, and loaded a very particular arrow and drew it back. This arrow wasn’t one of a kind, but you would have thought so if you had good enough eyesight to notice the intricate runes and marks on the toothpick sized thing. Wavy marks symbolized certain Celtic beliefs that water was a means of transport from one world to the next. The main symbols were those of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter… reflecting the four courts. Only those with supervision, or shrunk themselves, were likely to notice the last mark: The Toxophilite brand.

 

If you’re in the know, you know. If you’re not, it’s likely you’re not an archer and you have my pity.

 

I fired the arrow up, straight up, and then moved my arms, one still carrying my bow, to the sides. I won’t say I never miss, but I rarely miss. And I was not a moving target. The arrow hit me squarely in the chest, the heart to be specific.

Hurt like the devil, as it slide through my flesh as if it was shot direct instead of just ‘falling into me’. There was a blinding light, and then? Then I heard the sound of hunting horns.

 

(TBC)

[Hermit]

(Please remember, this is NANOWRIMO so editing, and for that matter plotting, is not the priority. This may get a severe rewrite later )

 

 

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

*** (Continued)

Ever have those moments when you’re watching a trivia game show, or trying to solve a crossword, and you know, you KNOW you have the answer somewhere in your noggin? You are consciously aware it is in there. You just can’t, try as you might, reach it. Of course you have. Now, remember those few times when somehow you pulled out that bit of lost lore and finally get it off the tip of your tongue into the world? Felt like a relief!

 

Returning to Faerie was like having a dozen or more things you couldn’t quite remember surge back to you all at once. Every wish on a star you ever made remembered, every cloud judgment you decided on (Was it a pony or a dog… or a dragon?) recalled, and yes, every adventure you ever had IN faerie fully yours again.

I was so swept up in that moment, in the flood of all that, that I almost didn’t dodge the lance. Only now did I ‘remember’ another thing about Faerie land; I was full sized again, at least relative to others. And that? That made me a much larger target!

 

Of course, I did this fancy martial maneuver we superheroes like to call “getting the hell out of the way”, throwing myself to the side as the knight in frost hued armor tried to spear me.

 

“Damned Winter Court ASSHAT!” I called out drawing my bow as I rolled to my feet. For those wondering how arrows don’t fall out of my quiver when I tumble around, make like a tree and suspend D’Leaf already; it’s magic.

 

I released the arrow before the knight and his mount could come back around for another try. From this range, I sacrificed a bit of accuracy for speed. Not like I was going to miss. The knight raised his shield, to block the arrow. Good reflexes.

It didn’t help him.

 

Even in the so called Real World most of us live in, my arrows have more options than a swiss army knife. Here, back in the land the bow was crafted and enchanted in? It had more options than shades of color visible to the mortal eye. I wasn’t striking to kill. I wasn’t even striking to fell.

Mostly I was going for mild embarrassment coupled with neutralizing the guy without hurting his horse.

 

And that’s how the Winter Knight ended up floating in a giant soap bubble, drifting off his confused horse and separated from his lance.

 

I know the horse was confused, because the horse said so “My knight, he hath entrapped thee in a most befuddling manner!”

 

Yeah, some animals talk here. Talking animals were a thing long before Narnia was written about. Yet another reason to be careful what you eat in fairy land. Not only will some snacks bind you to never leave, there’s always a chance you’re devouring the remains of an intelligent animal whose biggest crime was being a fan of boy bands.

 

“Thank thee, noble steed,” The knight said a bit dryly, “Were it not for thy keen insights, I’d not have noticed.”

 

“Why’d you attack me?” I asked, cutting through the snark.

 

“You failed to identify yourself on Winter lands!” The knight said loftily, and as he was floating, the pun was intended.

 

“You didn’t frickin’ ask!” I reminded him, “I appeared, and you tried to skewer me! Why didn’t you ask first then if I didn’t identify, then you skewer?”

“If people identify themselves, I might find they have right to travel these lands,” The knight explained, “And then I am not permitted to attack them. So instead, I attack, THEN ask.”

“Lot more fun that way, eh?” The Horse agreed.

 

Lewis Carroll was not far off in the thinking processes of people in places like this. Fairy denizens almost always follow the rules, but they’re often very creative in how they follow them. If I let this nutbar down again, he’d attack again. Unless, of course, I identified myself.

“I am Yeoman Pinprick, loyal ally and liege-man of the Obsidian Lady, Guardian of the Coast Sacred. I am the thorn in the paw of the predator, I am the sharp tongued friend, he who is shrunken yet undiminished. I bear the myriad bow. I am far tooth, I am he who pulls the string and sends the forest’s gift to die for my cause.”

All fancy stuff, and I was grateful no one on the team had come with me or I’d get no end of crap from some of them about the pretentiousness of it all. But it was necessary. I didn’t need to be constantly attacked while in these lands. It was going to be dangerous enough just getting the wedding gift. I didn’t need more work on top of it.

 

“Oh dear, he identified himself,” The Horse, still not the sharpest talking animal around, commented on the obvious.

 

“Did he?” the knight of winter huffed, “Faith, blew right by me,” he appraised me, “An archer? There are rumors of a brotherhood, a sacred fellowship, in this world, and many worlds beyond. Art thou…”

 

I held up my hand “As the wise say, Snitches get stitches. Even if I knew of what you speak, I could not talk of it,” I sent a shiver of will through my bow, and the bubble popped dropping the knight onto the ground, as his horse had sense moved, “Now,” I asked “Who the hell are you?”

He removed his helmet, showing a face that was far less elven than I expected. Seriously, half the folks you’ll meet in Faerie seem to have a least minor points on their ears. The face I was greeted with was almost like the classic neanderthal, a slightly sloped forehead over a mono-brow. The skin, as suited a knight of the winter court, was very pale. He had an unkempt beard black save for a light white flecking as if snowflakes had landed and left a mark that never melted.

 

“I am Sir Frostmyre, in service to the Winter Court. Thrice bound to the White Phantom Princess, slayer of the Spring Magician Gwynor. I have seen the Rosewyrm, and I have lived.” He puffed up, perhaps feeling a bit insecure that I had a fancier intro than him.

“I’m a horse!” the horse chimed in.

“Charmed,” I lied a bit, “I seek a gurt. I’m due three. I have but one. Can you tell me where to find the realm of Summer’s Last Breath? Been awhile since I’ve been here.”

“One could,” The knight said, trying to sound sly and failing “But what would one gain?”

I shot him again with another bubble arrow and he started to float up.

“I don’t know,” I said in my best cavalier manner, “You tell me.”

 

“I like you not,” Sir Frostmyre told me as he tried to stay upright while slipping in the over sized bubble he couldn’t pop.

“I get that a lot,” I told him, “Now, about directions?”

The horse let loose an equine laugh.

 

(TBC)

[Hermit]

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

*** (Continued)

Now armed with directions (Always possible the guy was lying), I made my way through what some would call the autumn lands. In Victorian versions of fairytales, the fairy folk are small, and their world is small things magnified. Giant roses, toadstools you could sit on, and so on. The Victorians are not to be trusted for Fairy 101. Lean more towards the Celtic myths, and the Grimm Brothers tales, then… throw in Gaiman, throw in Del Toro. Fae lords and ladies have no shame in stealing from human visions, often claiming they kidnapped and inspired said poets, playwrights, and dreamers. I met one puck who claimed he was friends with Dr. Seuss.

Where was I going with this? Easy to get lost in your own thoughts here. Oh yea, I was normal sized. And that was taking some getting used to. Part of me wanted to whoop, but I felt oddly exposed. At six inches tall, I got mocked and not taken seriously but also I was harder to spot. A small target is a small target. At ‘average height’ I had just lost a defense I’d spent years relying on.

 

Man, the others are right. I really do just like to complain. Oh well, to thy own self be true.

 

Ahead of me, I saw the road I was on splitting. If directions mattered in this place, I’d say one was going South West, and another North West. And there right at the part, were two gates, open, ready for me to just pick and go through. There was a thick fog obscuring vision beyond the gates though. And there were two guards that looked familiar …

 

“Oh not this again,” I groaned, marching up to the inevitable, “Every damned TIME.”

 

Between the gates was a wooden sign on display, and scratched in the wood were the words ‘BY THE POWER OF THIS SIGN AND THE WORDS UPON IT: The Guards are Bound! Of the Gates they guard, one leads to certain death, the other gate leads to the safer path! Ask the guards what you will, but know one of them can only tell the truth, and the other ALWAYS lies. So Sayeth the Sign!’

 

“EVERY DAMNED TIME!” I snapped again. The guards winced, looking uncomfortable. They looked identical, of course. Sometimes one wore countercharged outfits, but they almost always looked identical. The Southwest one flushed. The Northwest guard was looking at his feet.

“I know you guys got a job,”I told them, not wanting answer, “But for god’s sake, this one has finally aged out, don’t you think? The cat’s out of the bag. Ask one of you the right question, and you betray it all. I mean, don’t you get tired of this?” I asked.

“Oh sweet Oberon’s ass do I ever,” One said.

“Love my work, living the dream,” the other said despondently.

 

“Right, right, not your fault. Just doing what the sign says,” I held up a hand “I’m blaming the wrong guys. I…” then an idea occurred to me and I smiled.

“Sec, I think I got this.” I went up to the sign, and taking a single extremely sharp arrow, I scratched out certain words, then? Then I carved in a few new ones.

 

The sign now read: ‘BY THE POWER OF THIS SIGN AND THE WORDS UPON IT: The Guards are Bound Free to quit after giving me honest directions! They’ll bar the gate that leads to certain death and leave less bossy sign to warn others. The now former guards can be asked anything , but know that they can answer people now however they damned well please. So Sayeth the Sign!’

 

“I can’t believe you did that” One of the guards gasped.

“Me neither!” the other guard agreed.

“I worked customer service at a phone center once,” I told them, “I know what it’s like to be forced to follow a truly asinine script that drove customers nuts while taking the flack for management. Now, not to be rude, but I did say ‘after’ honest directions?”

“The safer path is Northwest,” The first guard told me with a cheesy grin.

“Definitely Northwest,” The other guard said, and then the two fist bumped at being able to agree.

“I can lie? I can’t tell you how much trouble not being able to was getting me into. You ever try dating and getting the ‘does this skirt make my butt look fat?’ question? It’s hell!” The first one said.

“I can finally get a message across without sarcasm,” the other replied, “Got so used to doing it a lot of folks think I’m British! I can tell the truth! I hate this outfit. I hate dressing like a damned tin soldier. My boss kiss my ass!” He was going giddy with bluntness.

“Well, I’d say you’re welcome but I probably just cost you both a job. Don’t forget to put up a warning sign on the Southwest gate so the new deal sticks okay?” I started to head Northwest “Safe path for me.”

 

“Ahem..well uhm…” One said.

“Err ah,” The other said.

I stopped and gave them the side eye, “Tell me you guys didn’t just lie to me about which one is certain death?”

“oh, the southwest is CERTAIN death” One assured me.

“it’s just, the northwest one is … less certain death?” The other explained.

I considered this, then nodded, “I can work with that. See you around boys.”

When I left them behind, they were hugging each other and crying.

So off I went off taking the path of less than certain death.

 

***

Less than certain death came in many forms. Mostly in the forms of temptations. It was like going by a flea market with a lot of pushy sales men if the flea market were scattered along a road side.

“A potion of strength, become the mightiest of men,” An old woman with a wart on her long nose called out from a small hut betwixt two withered trees.

“No thanks, Witch lady,” I told her.

“WITCH?” She huffed, “I were a man you’d call me an alchemist, you sexist son of a …”

I moved on, having no time to see if she weighed as much as a duck and less interest.

 

The next temptation came from a leprechaun looking figure in a clearing with a cauldron filled to the brim with coins, “Admit it, laddie buck. You crave me pot O gold, and it can be yours… for a favor.”

“Sorry,” I told the guy with the accent sure to offend any Irish folks out there, “Divorcee. California alimony laws in play.”

“Ah,” He took his hat off and nodded with the kind of pity reserved for the cursed but still walking, “On your way then, ye poor bastard.”

I marched on. I passed by another cabin, this one smelling of perfume. A nymph, alien and beautiful, peeked out the second floor window, in an outfit that was so scanty that only magic was holding it together.

 

“Greetings, yeoman, been a while has it not?” There was an offer in her shimmering eyes.

I winced. She was right. I didn’t get a lot of offers, and I was still a man in my prime.

“Sorry, babe. I don’t eat fae food if I can help it,” I told her.

“Mayhaps something closer to home?” She offered, and her features blurred, looking like Lynda Carter circa 1979 in a certain trademarked costume, “I also do Erin Grey in a flight suit.”

STEAADDDY Pinprick, STEAAAAADY… “Hurts to say it, but… pass. Damned good effort though.”

 

“Pity,” She purred as she gave a triumphant smile, confident at what effort that refusal had cost me.

Or maybe it was the skin tight costume and me having to adjust my walk.

Damn damn damn.

 

Finally, the path curved away from the land of dangerous temptations. I even found a brook full of cold and clear water. I took a drink, and splashed my face after checking for, and failing to find, any signs of a curse or trap involved.

The terrain was shifting, starting to look familiar. I was approaching the land of Summer’s Last Breath. Like it said on the tin, the land resembled a glorious early September or very late August. The tree leaves were gloriously green, the sun delightfully golden, and there was even a breeze cooling me even as the sun warmed me. I fought the urge to curl up for a nap. The last thing I needed was to pull a Rip Van Wrinkle. Yet Faerie land enjoys knocking heroes down, almost as much as it does making nobodies into legends. I was growing sluggish, even more fatigued. There was a sweet smell in the air of flowers from fields that…

 

Poppy Gambit! I cursed, tempted to head back to the cold water and bury my head again to clear my mind, and shock myself awake, but that was now roughly a mile back. I’d be asleep before I managed it! Adrenalin from panic was the only thing keeping me going now. I yanked my head around and looked ahead instead of behind.

 

Ahead of me there was a group of trees, and one of them was a match for any redwood back home in height. How was I going to reach that? Then I remembered. I had a swingline arrow, and maybe, maybe if I was bigger, it’s reach was longer?

I fired, and the first shot … missed! That same breeze that had helped me cool off earlier (Yet, I realized, had also given me a face full of poppy pollen) was a strong wind up there! Cursing I fired again, shooting and wrapping the line about my wrist in one smooth motion.

It was a good thing I did. For a moment, my eyes insisted on closing, but then the self yeet hauled me up and over into the air. The stronger winds that had carried the poppy scent now broke it up, and I rose above the haze with pretty impressive alacrity if I do say so myself.

Won’t lie, I was worried I’d broken my arm. When I landed on the branch of the huge tree, big enough to walk on. I took in three deep cleansing breaths, and then gave it a look. Bruised, but not broken.

“Frickin Poppies,” I muttered again. I gave the tree a pat, “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome,” the tree responded.

 

Despite the fact I knew there were talking animals and the like here, I confess I was so surprised at the talking tree that I nearly fell off the limb.

 

I caught my balance.

A rumbling chuckle mixed with concern from the great tree I was on, “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah yeah, sorry, forgot about talking trees. Foolish of me,” I told him, “Also, do I need to leave? I’m an archer and… well,” I glanced at my bow and quiver full of arrows. They were magic, but they were also made of wood.

 

“Are you kidding?” The great tree snorted, “If I got angry at everyone who used wood, I’d be at war with the world. Beats plastic anyway. THAT is the stuff that’ll kill us all, mark my words. Heck, I’ve seen lumber jack get killed by an arrow once. Talk about conflicted feelings there” The big guy chortled.

 

I grinned at that, “I hear you. Here, take a look, the craftsman did your kinstree proud.” With my own pride, I showed the bow towards what looked like eye shaped whorls in the bark.

 

“Ah, a credit to the fallen that. So you’re not just an archer,” It observed, “You’re an Archer.” I don’t know how you can make sure someone hears the capital letter, but the tree managed.

 

“Yeah,”I nodded “the Toxophilite brand and all that.” I was not bothering to hide the pride in my own voice.

 

The tree knew why, and said “In the world of man, they don’t understand the importance do they?”

 

“Nah, but they don’t need to,” I told him with a shrug, “Me, and the other Archer superheroes still do our part to keep the …” I almost said ‘fire burning’ but it occurred to me I should read the room and remember this guy was a tree and likely not a fan of flame. I searched for new words.

 

But the tree knew and recited part of the old lore, the true lore, the reason some Archers used a capital A, “Where nobles wield sword, and would be masters the lash, the common man grabs the bow! From a distance he strikes, takes fell lord down from arrogant heights, into the soil the working man sows. Let the wealthy cringe at the sound of simple string, let the bully fear a shot from the dark. Let the tyrant in tower know he is not safe, from the arrow that flies singing like a lark!”

 

“You know about the purpose of the Archer, the fellowship and order,” I told him, “Impressive. Even here, not many do.”

 

“That every band of heroes in every age needs the man or woman who strives for the impossible shot, wielding the tools possible to the downtrodden where steel and wealth are denied them, to challenge their supposed betters, and somehow, succeed? Oh yes. Even a god may fear a brave mortal with a bow, and arrow, and a righteous aim. You are tied more to magic than most, but even the Archers of your world who use technology for their arrows feel it. Do they not? That they carry forth a message to the world. And that message?”

 

“Beware the common man with a just cause. There is no such thing as a ‘mere mortal’,” I nodded borrowing a bit of C.S. Lewis there. “Yeah, in their hearts, every Archer on every super hero team gets it.”

 

“And that,” The tree agreed back, “is why superhero teams without Archers SUCK.”

 

“THANK YOU!” I said. Honestly, it was nice to meet someone who got it.

 

Then something else came to me, “hey, are you the tree that gave the wood for this bow? I..”

 

“You have a Gurt to get,” the tree’s voice said, cutting off my question, “Shoo, Archer. Go.”

 

And before I knew what happened, I found myself spiraling down off the great tree on a leaf the size of a hammock. It made me feel small again, small and with conflicting feelings of pride, and confusion.

 

The leaf carried me for miles on an unnatural but friendly gust of wind. More importantly, it was carrying me towards the prize.

I was this much closer to getting that Gurt.

 

(TBC)

[Lawnmower Boy]

See? I knew you were going to have some fun with Pinprick and all that nutsy-cuckoo archer stuff!

 

[Hermit]

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

*** (Continued)

 

In a place where age is an option, time can lose meaning. That’s why you have to provide it. You need to keep your focus on your own inner clock, and try to make the story go at your pace of preference. It isn’t easy, but it is necessary. Otherwise you can get into one of those ‘a decade passes for every day you were gone’ thing.

 

But it was still hard not to let it slip out of my mind’s grip. I was trying to focus on this, imagining this quest as a quick fairy tale rather than a grand epic or saga. As a wise woman once said, Ain’t nobody got TIME for that.

 

My journey had almost come to its end, at least, at getting where I needed to be. The realm of Summer’s Last Breath was right in front of me.

 

Once I got past the huge honking long ass bridge, that is. As you might guess, it didn’t resemble the golden gate or any other modern age styling. The immense size aside, it looked a lot like a Roman Stone Bridge you’ll see all over Europe or period movies. It looked like it would be a lovely, quiet walk. The fact it could have crossed the width of the Mississippi river TWICE was what caught my attention.

 

Which meant, while the bridge was impressive, the river it was crossing was down right terrifying in size. It ran white and dangerous despite the girth of it, which you’d think would make it slow and steady. Nope! White water, sharp rocks below, and somehow it had sharks. Sharks. It makes no sense, but that’s fairy tales for you.

 

The leaf had dropped me off before the bridge, and I was okay with that, as it beat deciding to putter out while over the river; The incredibly huge and dangerous river. Still, this so obviously screamed ‘Boss Battle ahead’ that I approached with my bow in my hands rather than on my back.

 

And I started to cross over.

 

Sure enough, a voice called out, “You won’t be allowed to pass. And yes, we know why you’re trying.”

“I got two gurts due me,”I called out, “The Lord of the Land has sworn them to me whenever I visit. I’m visiting.”

“You’re not on the other side, yet,” The voice chuckled.

And then it sunk in. Technically, as long as I didn’t ‘visit’, I couldn’t collect on a debt due.

 

“That cheap ass deal breaking son of an elf!” I snapped, “Seriously? He’s playing barrister with this? Why? I mean, he has to give up his Gurts to somebody eventually? Why NOT me?”

 

The voice, and frankly I was getting annoyed I hadn’t yet seen the owner of the voice yet, answered, “New applicants for the Gurts have appeared. Ones who offer a certain item of power, and a couple of fire-jewels besides. As for your heroism of the past? I think the mortal phrase is ‘what have you done for me lately?’

 

“Dandy,” I said, “Look, why don’t you show yourself, and I can tell you how your liege is being used like a hand-puppet by one of my enemies. “

“Oh, but I’m here,” the voice said, “You CAN hit what you can’t see, but one must admit it’s a challenge, no?”

 

I didn’t have to admit anything but as a rule? Yeah, a pain to put an arrow into targets I can’t see. Of course, there’s always the choice of an arrow with a wide spread effect that he might get caught into. I don’t lob grenades, but I have a few arrows that have a similarly sized blast radius… albeit with a magical twist.

 

I drew, fired at where I heard the voice generally. This particular arrow could create a blindingly colorful display of lights with thunder lingering. Imagine if a Rainbow and a Flashbang had a baby and you got the general idea.

 

When the ordinary wooden arrow clattered against the bridge’s stone laden path, the deep voice broke into laughter that was mocking, arrogant, and felt obligatory. The last was entirely possible. Bridge Guardian is an ancient profession that goes back to antiquity, and it has always required a touch of theatricality, at least in Faerie lands. So yeah, the guy might be under orders to ham it up.

 

“And now you see the spell on this bridge, magic that counters the magic of your bow! You have no shrinking arrows, no sleep arrows, no blinding magical arrows! You have only … arrows, and against a foe who cannot be seen? Much good may that do you!”

 

“Crap.” I muttered a bit louder than I intended. This was a problem. This was a big problem. Worse, it was a little embarrassing. Having a Deux Ex Machina in a quiver had been nice, more than nice actually. I’d used it to save more lives than I bothered to keep track of. I had used it to kick more ass than a Grand Canyon Donkey Caravan! Now? Now I was just a man with a bow and some arrows.

 

But, then, wasn’t that how Archers got started?

 

I spat to the side, “You’ve got a lot of lip, Inviso boy. But I’m pretty sure I know what you are. You’re a troll, aren’t you? Mess with me, and I’ll get gruff with you, troll boy.”

 

I’m all for trash talking, but I wasn’t just shooting my mouth off for fun. My eyes were searching the stonework. Maybe I couldn’t see the voice’s owner, but maybe, if I was lucky, I’d see some dust moving, some signs of some stones pressed down from unseen mass? What I wouldn’t give for a bucket of glitter or even water to throw forward and down. Sadly, I didn’t see anything of the like I can use.

 

I readied another arrow, waiting for him to talk again. Then I heard the hard and rapid stomp of hooves! Wait, a troll on horseback? Never heard of that before!

 

Whatever was coming for me, I decided not to stand still for it. The habit born in me to grab a magic arrow to swing-line to safety or create a barrier or shrink the oncoming foe seized me only for half a second. It was a half second too much.

Something sharp tore into my shoulder. If I hadn’t also been rolling to the side, it would have speared a lung instead. There was a spray of blood and I said words I’d never say in front of my young son or even Lady O. The gash could have been deeper, but I wouldn’t call it shallow either. The spray of blood did do me one good thing. It gave me a brief moment of outline of the target!

 

Immense horns on a broad head, a broad chest on towering legs, like a ‘roid amped Pro-wrestler with the head of a …

Oh!

 

“You’re a Minotaur!” I managed as I continued moving to the side, “An Invisible Minotaur? Damn, I was going for troll.”

At this point, you might be wondering what happened to the arrow I was a bit too slow on firing. Answer, I got it off. Problem?

 

It didn’t do a damn bit of good. The arrow had bounced off the son of a bull. I wasn’t surprised, mind you. I lived in a world where the power of ‘bulletproof’ was so common they had police begging for rocket launchers to be standard issue. There was some sort of chain shirt involved.

 

Chatting brought me a pause to the fight, and I swore the Minotaur's deep voice sounded embarrassed, “Well, yes, uhm, the job should be for a troll, but they’re all on the internet now.”

 

I blinked, “The internet is bleeding into fairieland?”

 

“And vice versa,” I couldn’t see the nod but there was dread in the voice.

 

“God help us,” I winced.

 

“or gods,” The minotaur agreed, “Anyway, I have a ring of invisibility, not THAT one, of course, and a chain shirt. So… I think I’ll do the job seeing as you’ve been hobbled.”

 

I could kill him.

 

My own blood had provided the aid I needed in locating the guy. Oh sure, he had thick hide and armor, and all I had was arrows. But he also had something else.

 

Eyes.

 

And odds were good that even a plain old fashioned arrow would sink into that. Possibly all the way up to the brain. I could make a pretty good guess where the eye was thanks to the bloody marker on that horn to gauge from.

 

Some heroes, like Eel, will tell you that super-heroes, real superheroes, never kill. Ever. That they always find a way to take the big bad down while keeping them alive. That once we put ourselves in the roles of judge, jury AND executioner; we have failed society and ourselves. He wasn’t alone in that view. It was really common among his generation of superheroes.

If fortune is kind, Eel and his idealistic friends would keep their innocence. I don’t trust fortune to be kind, so I try to nudge things to that end too. But the truth is, more than one good decent super hero or heroine had felt forced to cross that line to save others or even out of self defense. Super heroes have a lot less excuse for killing. We had more options than many, more control than most, so we had less excuse to play god. But we still have limits, and sometimes, those limits mean all you have is a hammer, so it’s treat someone like a nail, or watch the villain kill an innocent.

 

That said, Bloodwatch is an asshat. There’s a difference between what some heroes are forced to do when there are no other options that save innocents, and the murder spree he actually seeks out.

 

By now you’re wondering if I, myself, ever killed before.

Keep wondering.

 

The Minotaur charged again. With my wound, I’d have even less reaction time to judge, but at least that floating blood coating the horn would let me know he was coming this time beyond the sound of hoofbeats. Even at normal size, I still had years of acrobatic and martial training to fall back on. I feigned a panicked retreat to the side of the bridge, then tried to trip the oncoming brute into the river below. Yeah, it was fierce white water, but a thought had occurred to me and I had the feeling that the minotaur would be just fine.

 

It worked, and it didn’t. I avoided the worst of the charge again, and the horn didn’t touch me. The hoofed leg of the monster though? It put considerable weight on my boot, and there was a horrible crack sound.

I wasn’t sure just which bones in my foot had broken, but I knew it hurt like raging hell!

 

I kept enough focus to use my bow to continue the trip and lift of my enemy, and his own momentum did the rest! The minotaur plunged towards the river, with its white rapids, sharp rocks, and sharks.

There was a surprised bellow, a huge splash! And then, the river below shifted, going from nightmare to summer dream. The waters were wide, sure, but lazy and slow moving. The surface glittered as pretty as any postcard. The only real ripples were from where the horned guardian had hit.

 

There were no shark fins.

Illusion, the old fae stand by, had made the river look far worse than it was. I should have realized when I SAW that river before I heard it. If it had been a river of nothing but rapids? It would have roared!

“Take your damned armor off, and you won’t drown!” I called down. But I didn’t need to bother, because the minotaur, or rather, the outline created by the river around the invisible foe, had bobbed to the surface of the water.

Using the low ledge of the bridge as support, I limped my way along the bridge. The long, long, long ass bridge. I didn’t dare take my boot off to check the injury. It felt like it was the only thing holding my foot in one piece.

If Minotaur guy made it out of the river and back to the bridge before I made it across, I was toast! I hobbled faster, cursing all the way.

 

At this point, I was doing the math. I had faced at least three threats. That’s kind of traditional for your Euro-centric fairyland adventures. Still, I kept that pace up.

 

By the time I got my busted foot and the accompanying exhausted body to the other side, I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a hard drink. But screw it, I was getting that Gurt.

 

(TBC)

[Hermit]

Puppy Love- A Pinprick Tale

*** (Final chapters)

 

“My old friend and ally,” This time I was greeted by a different voice. Not so deep, yet still commanding, “Pinprick, yeoman and vassal of the Lady Of Obsidian and Protector of the Coast Sacred, the sharp tongued …”

 

“Can it, Keltchar,” I said limping up, “You tried to have me snuffed.”

 

Keltchar was every inch the elf you see in the movies, and read about in the books, and then some; Slender but strong, lovely to look at, with eyes that glitter like stars, yadda yadda.

 

“Kennel Lord Keltchar, if you please,” the fae harrumphed, and smoothed out his fine huntsman’s garb, “I am baron of these lands after all.”

 

“You’re right,” I nodded, and cleared my throat before saying “CAN IT, Kennel Lord Keltchar, Baron of the Realm of Summer’s Last Breath, you tried to have me SNUFFED!” My foot hurt like hell, I had a shoulder that needed stitches, and I was pretty sure I smelled like ox sweat and dry blood.

 

“Thank you,” Keltchar said, confusing me until I realized he really was thanking me for using his titles. He went on smoothly, “And I did not try to have you ‘snuffed’. I merely wished to have a certain horned agent keep you from crossing my bridge. And before you start up, I know a troll would have been better, but now they waste their time on that interweb thing. It’s not my fault that no troll wants to work anymore.”

 

I gave him a low glare “Have you considered paying them?”

 

“You mean wages equal to their skills, dangers, and effort?” Keltchar tilted his head.

 

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Never occurred to me, they do that now?” He was boggled.

“Some fight it, but yeah,” I told him, “Now, about the Winter knight?”

“What Winter Knight?” He said, trying a bit too hard to feign surprise.

“Frostmyre, who somehow was right outside where I landed,” I observed, “You set him on me, didn’t you?”

 

“What nonsense. He’s of the Winter Court. I favor the Summer, or at least the Autumn,” Keltchar held up a hand as if to forestall any further ‘nonsense’.

“Right, because the frickin MANBULL just screamed Summer Court,” I snorted, “I’m not saying you hired, Frostmyre. I’m saying you sicced him on me. I didn’t catch it at first, but when I first made the trip here, there was the sound of hunting horns. Yet, not only was he not hunting, there was no horn on him. Someone sounded the alarm and got his attention even as I appeared.”

And I let my eyes drift towards the horn at his side.

 

“What an odd coincidence,” the elf gave me a smile so fake it belonged on a Mr. Potato head.

 

“You owe me two more gurts,” I told him, holding up some fingers, “Not one,”I dropped one finger (Feel free to guess which one stood up by its lonesome) for just a second, “TWO,” And I put the second finger back up, “I love the one I got for my son, but you owe me TWO more, and it’s time for the second.”

 

Keltchar raised a brow, “You know human greed disgusts me. You have one, why would you need two? To protect yourself? Is such cowardice befitting… an Archer?”

 

“It’s a GIFT, to protect the future off spring of two boon companions, you effeminate spock looking wanna be,” I said testily, “And I saved your realm and your hounds once, remember? You swore three Gurt hounds, genuine legendary Gurt hounds, to do with as I saw fit. Now, do you pay up the second, or do I spread word your word is no good?”

 

At that he bristled, “My word is good. You’re here. And you shall have your second Gurt. Here… I ask nothing for this.”

The sun here was already pretty solid, but it seemed to grow stronger, and illuminated me. I found my breathing growing easier, my foot popped, and … the pain in it was gone. I could put pressure on it again.

 

“And I give you no thanks,” I said, hoping I remembered the courtesies right by NOT thanking him, “Now about the second Gurt?”

 

“Follow me,” he lead me to his kennels. Imagine if you will if Tolkien had gone on half as many pages to describe an elven dog kennel as he did some freaking trees, and you can probably imagine it better than I could describe it.

 

Through out the British Isles, there are legends of mystical great black dogs. They go by many names: Barghest, Black Shuck, and Gytrash to name a few. And eighty percent of them are friend to no man. Then?

Then there’s the Gurt Dog.

Despite the fact their coats are dark as sin, they’re the white sheep (or should I say shepherd?) of their magical canine kind. They’re guides, they’re protectors, they’re ‘good boys’. They walk between faerie and the mortal realms ready to watch their chosen charges from the shadows.

And they have no hesitation in manifesting long enough to bite a would be kidnapper’s jewelpouch right off from between his legs.

 

“That one,” I said after seeing one of the dogs that looked dopey, but dedicated. It reminded me of Caleb in that.

 

“You will need the anchor,” Keltchar told me, and handed it over, “Want to stay for dinner?”

 

“I’ll take the anchor but no thanks on the dinner,” I told him. This I could thank him for.

 

“Drink before you go?” He wheedled.

“Stop trying to bespell me just so I have to give up the last dog in exchange for my freedom, Baron,” I was a bit testy.

“Fine,” he gave what I’m sure he thought of as a look of great sorrow, but to me just looked like a fae pout, and handed me over the prize at last.

My prize achieved, my quest over, the laws of the realm sent me away so it could do that mythical version of ‘roll credits’.

 

***

The gift giving was a scattered affair, and while there was no official time or place for it, yours truly and some others handed theirs over at the base in an informal lump.

Valerosa and Eel beamed as she plucked one up, then worked with Eel to unwrap it in front of the rest of us, making a needlessly long and overly sentimental show of it in my opinion, but the matrimony high is a hell of a drug I suppose.

 

 

“Mister and Missus Champagne glasses, custom designed,” Valerosa cooed at the admittedly lovely glasswork, “Fox, this is wonderful. Thank you.”

 

Eel agreed, “Classy, and… we’ll be using them every anniversary.”

 

The two gazed into each others eyes as he said that, and we all smiled at the sheer sweetness of it. Yeah, even me, and I have a limited tolerance for Hallmark movies. Then, the next package came up.

 

It was more of a gift bag, than a wrapped box. At my restored six inch height, wrapping is a tedious process.

“This one is from Pinprick,” Eel held it up, and the crowd gave their polite attention to it, though Arctic Fox sniffed a bit at the lack of style of the container. She could be a bit of a snob.

 

He held it out to Valerosa, and she dipped her hand in and pulled out…

 

A small stuffed animal. Yeah, you guessed it, it was a small black dog. Teddy Bears are open and welcoming. This little doggie looked judgmental, like he was checking everyone out to see if they had the go ahead to get past it. It looked cheap. It looked small. And it looked presumptuous. It sure as hell wasn’t on their registry.

 

“For your kid one day,” I told them, confirming my presumption. I could see the looks in the eyes of the women folk in the crowd. I had committed a faux pass by acting like kids were a sure thing. That was a fair point, but the safety of this potential kid or kids was too important to not do this.

 

A shame I could never tell them about the Gurt attached to it. Part of the magic is secrecy. If I told, then it would weaken the bond, or break it entirely. Still, I gave my best smug smile, and it wasn’t without reason. Both of them had touched it, and I could see what they couldn’t, the shadow in the corner of a dog wagging. It was the shadow of a really big dog watching from one world over.

 

“Thank goodness,” it was Lady Obsidian who came to the rescue, “You’re a dear friend and valued teammate, Pinprick, but I was afraid it was going to be a six pack of beer.”

 

Everyone at least chuckled at that, including me.

“What KIND of beer?” Eel said with exaggerated interest, getting a poke from his lady love.

This brought on more laughs and chuckles. As a rule I don’t laugh at Eel’s jokes; it just encourages him. And then who suffers? All of us.

He followed up with a “Thanks, Pinprick. I had something like this when I was a kid.”

You really didn’t, I thought smugly.

 

“Yes, thank you, Pinprick,” Valerosa said to me, “it’s cute.” Then she glanced at Eel, some couple telepathy going on there, rather than the literal kind. There was likely a whole conversation between them about intentions regarding children that I could only guess.

 

My gift was one of the last ones opened, so as they finished up, and graciously thanked folks en mass, I started to make my exit. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy a good party. Hell, I even enjoyed a so so party, but I was tired. Some parts of my latest journey were a blur to my memory, but the energy expended, the long travel? I felt it catching up with me.

 

“That,” Mayo’s voice said out in the hall I just turned into, “was an incredibly generous gift. All the more because they’ll never know. And, I suspect cannot?”

 

“For a blind guy, you see a lot,” I gave him a warning look which I hoped he could ‘feel’ even if he was incapable of sight.

“Doctor Salem is an excellent mentor,” he inclined his head as if she were here to show deference to, “My ability to read certain energies clued me in, the lore she taught me cemented the details as much as any could. That’s a powerful conduit and it is bound to their bloodline now.”

 

I sighed, “I long for the days when most mystics were cryptic secretive recluses. Respectfully, keep your big mouth shut.” I did not add an ‘or else’.

 

“Of course,” Mayo nodded, this time the deference was to me, “I just thought it might cheer you to know that at least one other in this world knew and was impressed by the breadth of your generosity. You have put yourself at great risk. You’re not getting the praise you deserve and likely never will.”

 

I snorted, “Getting the princess and the crowds is for knights in shiny armor. Me? I’m an Archer.”

“Would you settle for a beer?” Mayo inquired.

I smiled at that, my nap could wait, “That? That I could go for.”

 

(The End)

[Hermit]

Okay, hope you guys liked that but I'll understand if it wasn't your cup of tea. NANOWRIMO goes for speed not quality and that was the very definition of a rough draft

[BoloOfEarth]

I thought it was very good.  It had action, humor, good character development / background expose, and captured the characters involved quite well, IMO.  Thank you, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.  Who's up to bat next?

[Hermit]

10 hours ago, BoloOfEarth said:

I thought it was very good.  It had action, humor, good character development / background expose, and captured the characters involved quite well, IMO.  Thank you, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.  Who's up to bat next?

 

Thanks for the input , because it helps me try to keep on target

As for who is next? That's a bit more fluid. I'm jumping back and forth between short stories. The most likely one will be Pogo.

 

It should be noted that the fact I have not used first names for most of the Fish Guy's fellow heroes in the past. 😮 This is biting me in the ass a bit

[Hermit]

Cakewalk- A Pogo Adventure

 

Old people are everywhere. From the 'now on their decline' thirty year olds, to the truly wizened of forty five and beyond; you’ll find them. And, if you’re a Chinese American woman of the much younger age of nearly nineteen? Your elders will ALL think they’ve got the right to boss you around.

“Caihong!” My mother called out her voice somehow carving through three walls to reach my ears. Now she really did have the right to boss me around, “Are you done with your chores?”

 

Fortunately, I had an answer, “Yes, mama,” one thing I’ve got is energy, energy to burn, ask anyone and they’ll tell you I keep going and going and just don’t tire out though maybe that’s just in comparison to others because sometimes, just sometimes mind, I find out if I talk to older people for a mere twenty minutes or so and they start to look very tired indeed, “I got my list done!” I had a list, my own creation so I could keep ahead of my share of the various small unimportant to get them out of the way so I could focus on my true calling: Fighting crime!

 

I’m Pogo, bouncing bringer of justice and member of the New Samaritans! I inspire dread in the criminal scum, the villainous rogues, the slimeballs of… oh I can’t say that. Slime is a friend and ally, sure he smells terrible and he’s gross to watch but he’s a hero! Oh my god I’m so insensitive at times. Just because he’s a liquid-american, I shouldn’t discount him like that and it’s just rude. Wait, did Slime ever become a citizen? He’s an alien after all, not like the racist way of saying alien, I mean he’s actually from outer space. Maybe I should call him an extra-terrestrial expat? A Galactic citizen? I never asked Slime’s preferred identification. Wow, that is really insensitive of me!! I needed to find him and get this sorted, but of course, he wasn’t always easy to find. I would do it! I would comb the streets of the city! I would not rest, I would not stop, until I had made sure that…

 

“Caihong!” Oh right, I was talking to my mom, had she said something while I went down that train of thought? Oops.

 

“Yes, Mama, I finished my list,” I repeated, hoping she just hadn’t heard, and I hadn’t missed something else she said.

 

No such luck.

 

“I KNOW that, Caihong,” Mother tutted. How the heck do old people tut all the way across the house like that? At least moms. Now THAT is a crazy weird super power. Kind of like her immense guilt attack where she just looks at me and shakes her head slowly with disappointment. Gah, that just cuts right through every defense I’ve got: so annoying!

 

She went on, “Bring this tea to your grandmother before it gets cold. My hands are full.”

 

“Yes, mama,” And I moved through the halls of our house, the often crowded halls.

 

Nothing like siblings to make you think maybe a One Child Policy in the old motherland wasn’t a bad idea. One of my sisters was glued to her phone, as usual, probably flirting with her latest boyfriend. Not that I had room to judge, I was in a pretty serious relationship myself, well, serious by my standards, probably pretty tame by other girls my age. Still, I didn’t know if I liked her latest crush who had been kind of pushy from the look of the few texts I peeked. She was too young for that if anyone asked me, of course no one did.

“One side, please,” I said moving by. She didn’t budge. Why did this ‘respect your elders’ stuff only work one way? I squeezed through.

 

I nearly tripped over my brother’s socks that he left in the hallway.. again! I kicked them into his room, the door of which was open enough to do so.

“Hey!” His voice came out annoyed.

“Stop leaving them in the hallway,” I huffed.

“if it bothers you, why don’t you do my laundry and help me out?” His voice was smug.

 

I peeked in to shoot him a look, “We’re all victims of the Patriarchy to some degree, but you’re more like a collaborator, and collaborators get shot when the revolution comes. Just saying.” My voice was sing song as I went on down the hall towards the kitchen.

Obviously I would never shoot my family. But he actually thought I might do HIS laundry, so who was the one deeper in the land of make believe? Not this girl, that’s for sure. My brother was trying to make some snide retort, but I tuned him out. I love the jerk, but his banter sucked. That was yet another reason why he’d never be a superhero! That plus his pro-patriarchy behavior, and lack of costume fashion sense, and, of course, the whole ‘no powers’ thing.

 

Finally I got to the kitchen. My family kitchen is a magical place. My grandmother thinks I’m not traditional enough and I guess I’m not. My Cantonese is terrible, for example. But even I was a bit in awe at all the cool old stuff decorating the kitchen or utensils waiting to be used. A lot of these had been in my family for generations! There were doodads to bring good luck, and pots for practical cooking. But among the most precious things was the tea cups reserved for my grandmother. They went all the way back to the expansion of the old west. That’s right, some folks in my family line had helped connect the eastern and western halves of a still very young United States by rail.

 

Related to that, I have a grand uncle who acts like the only English he knows is “You’re welcome” which is what he says to every white person he meets for the first time. He knows more English than that, of course, but he gets a kick out of it. Grandmother finds it childish. He just sticks his tongue out.

 

I guess siblings driving you crazy happens to every generation.

 

Oh, where was I? Oh right, the tea set. They were beautiful. Patterns had been gracefully crafted into the elegant material. There were symbols for both home and travel in there, a sign of the long journeys taken by many of my family to find a new home where we could prosper. Grandmother had been very fussy about anyone else getting to drink from this tea set.

 

She’s very superstitious and was afraid if someone drank from them while too young, they would be driven to travel and try crazy things before finally settling down like our ancestors did when they came to America. She absolutely forbade anyone from drinking from it until they were 18 years old.

I stole a sip from one when she wasn’t looking when I was seven and never told her.

If I were as superstitious as she, I’d think that’s how I got my bouncing field and my life as a superhero. But frankly, I never was as into the study of ancestral mysticism as she hoped I’d be. It was a silly girlish act of rebellion, nothing more. It was the forbidden, and thus the best tea I’d ever tasted.

 

“Here, Mama,” I announced myself dutifully and grabbed the tea set, “Sorry I was late. Had to run the gauntlet.”

 

“Thank you, Caihong,” Mother replied with relief at the aid. Her hands were indeed full, and a bit bloody! It was kind of odd. My mom’s rather pretty, at least I think so. She has bright eyes and a gentle smile. The bloody hands contrasted with that in a way that most would find creepy.

 

“That’s a lot of pork,” I observed. Stating the obvious is one of my many talents, “You should get one of us to help you with the cooking, mama.”

 

“I take it your siblings are NOT tending to their studies like they said they were?” She arched a brow. She didn’t seem that upset, or surprised.

 

I winced, “Mama, you know how when I was younger they thought I was a tattletale, a squealer, a snitch, a blabbermouth…”

 

Mom tutted, “I’ll take that as a yes. Go to your grandmother now, and indulge her humors,” More gently, “She’s having trouble lately, Caihong. She would never admit to her pain or confusion, but it shows. I know you don’t like her lectures, but I want you to know she does them out of love. Her discomfort may make them a bit worse. And I am sorry.”

 

“Mama, you don’t need to apologize,” I started to say, but she shook her head and made a zip motion with a bloody finger. Mama is one of the few folks who seems to be able to cut me off while I start up. Ask anyone, I’m a babbler, I can’t help it. Thoughts enter my head and then they have little thought babies and soon my brain has a whole nation of thoughts and they’re all very loud. Then to quiet them I just have to rattle them out through my mouth and that’s how I lose friends.

 

But my mother had a gift for helping me reign it in.

 

“But I do,” She said, “You are a good daughter. A good grand daughter. Yes, you vanish at odd hours, yes you are often late for events. And I confess, I had my doubts about your boyfriend, but I’ve been placated, mostly. But you give your everything to everyone and everything you love, and you love your family very much. You are a helper, and I am proud of you. But I am the daughter in law with a daughter’s duties, not you, and it is unfair of me to lean on you so much when it comes to her.”

 

If mother’s skull had split open and four great white cranes had stepped out, I’m not sure I would have been more surprised. Wait, was she saying I was the responsible one? I guess I was, but I never felt like it. I mean, how much did my siblings suck that I got saddled with that one? I thought of all the times I’d ducked out to go fighting crime. I remembered every moment I lied to their faces to make a cover story. It was to save lives, but it was still a lie.

 

I should be overjoyed at the praise but instead my belly knotted a little. I didn’t feel like the good daughter. I felt like I was, at best, the one who put on a good show. Heck, I hoped to go to Canada in a few years. Who would help mom then? Who would..

“The tea’s getting cold,” My mother motioned.

 

If mama hoped to shoo me off before I could protest, she had severely neglected my ability to move and talk at the same time. Taking the tea set up carefully I turned but also talked, “You’re a great mother, and a good daughter in law. You’re always there for us, and the fact you might need help now and then doesn’t mean you failed, it means you’re human. Even superheroes need a team, mama, and they have like superpowers, though some have amazing kinetic powers and others are stuck with water-breathing, they all chip in. That’s how they win! And that’s how families win too. I have a wedding to be at this week, but after that we’re going to talk about how you work too hard when you’ve got THREE healthy grown up children to assist you.”

 

Rather than looking guilty or sad, or even mad I was lipping off and telling her how wrong she as, mom looked amused. Like she just thought I was the cutest most delightful thing in the world. So annoying “I mean it!” I said a bit less calm about it than I meant to.

She reigned in that expression, but the gentleness remained, “I know you do. Go on, my CaiCai. I’ll put your siblings to work. Even it is hard to picture any of us in capes.”

 

I could feel the blush rudely disobeying my mental orders to stay off my cheeks. Mother hadn’t called me Cai Cai in quite a long time. Bobbing my head, I turned and took the tea set in my hands on my way to my grandmother.

Once again, my mother’s voice pierced the barriers of the walls summoning my sister and brother to get into the kitchen NOW and stop goofing off!

I could hear them scramble to attend. Good thing. If they brushed mama off, I’d have made their lives hell. Such is the danger of arousing a dark vigilante’s furious wrathful..err wrath!

 

 

(TBC)

[BoloOfEarth]

I gave the latest installment a Like, though it does seem a bit short for a Pogo adventure intro.  (I kid, Hermit, I kid.)

[Hermit]

8 minutes ago, BoloOfEarth said:

I gave the latest installment a Like, though it does seem a bit short for a Pogo adventure intro.  (I kid, Hermit, I kid.)

 

Thank you for the like. I have a dependence complication on them (Once every 5 posts at LEAST, or I take an EGO drain)

 

[Hermit]

Cakewalk- A Pogo Adventure

(continued)

Tentatively, I approached Grandmother’s room and then, managing to settle things on one arm long enough to knock with a freehand “Grandma? I have your tea.”

 

Her response was in Cantonese, which she spoke beautifully, <”Caihong? Ah yes, my tea. Is it in my favorite cups?”>

“Yes,”I said in English, though I know she would prefer if I used Mandarin more, if only to stay in practice. Its just, my Cantonese is terrible and I really wasn’t in the mood to get a lecture about how I neglected my heritage or whatever. I love my grandma, but some days it seems I just can’t do anything right in her eyes.

Or maybe that’s just a child’s insecurity and now that I was an adult it was time to just hand the tea over and not worry about her finding everything wrong in me.

 

She took a sip from the cup, now in her frail looking hands, then made a face, “A bit cold.”

 

I eyed the steam still coming out of it, sure not a lot, but what did she want me to do? Arrange for third degree burns?

“Should I take it back?” I offered. I didn’t mean it in a snarky way.

That got me a sharp look, “I’m not done with it yet.”

 

I shrank back. Which is stupid because I’m a superhero and I’ve fought aliens and supervillains and terrorists and more but here I am shrinking back because my grandmother isn’t approving of me.

 

“Don’t flinch,” My grandmother tutted and took another drink before saying, “How is my garden?”

 

That perked me up, grandmother’s garden was small but very pretty, with so many flowers of so many types. While father had his doubts about it’s use, grandmother had used her considerable authority to make sure we had one to be proud of. It took time, effort, and work, but it was one of the things that cheered her up.

“Well, it’s not the full blooming season, but what we have looks great, and …”

“What do you mean it is not the full blooming season?” She looked towards the window, eyes straining, “It’s spring.”

 

I bit my lip, “No, grandma, it’s winter still. But as this is California, it’s still very nice and we …” As I tried to ease her confusion, I saw the tea cup start to drop from her hands. She had forgotten it was there.

My powers may seem erratic to some, and they are I guess, but I’ve practiced a lot and gotten a lot more athletic than I look. I shot my hand out just in time to keep the tea from spilling out and clasped the cup.

That was close!

 

Grandmother got up to her feet, not even noticing the near spill, and with that lurching gait that had plagued her more and more lately, she made her way to the window to move the curtains aside. Costa Sagrado has one of those slices of California that is the envy of other states when it comes to enjoying gentle winters. Still, she could see enough of her garden from the window to see for herself that the full bloom of spring was not here yet.

It really is a lovely garden in any season, the family works hard to make sure of that. It almost always makes grandma smile.

 

Now was not one of those times. She gazed at it with a small pensive frown, and in the light, she looked even older. Making sure the tray was okay and not likely to be knocked over, I moved to her side.

“It’s winter,” She observed, “How can it be winter? Wasn’t it winter last…” She shook her head, then turned to find me there, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. The garden looks good… for Winter.”

“It does,” I nodded so rapidly my head probably looked like it was going to pop off, “And it will be even more glorious in Spring. It’s going to be a good year,” I realized I was doing it again. I was babbling. I get like that. I know, I know it’s irritating. I get on others folks nerves, most folks anyway but I mean well, “I can tell, lots of good things are happening already. Why I’ve even get to go to a wedding.”

 

At that grandma turned to me, and gave a look of concern, “You’re too young to get married. Who put this idea in your head? Where’s my cane? I want to talk to them.”

 

The way she stressed the word talk when she asked for her cane made me realize I might not be the only family member comfortable with brute force if there was a lesson to be learned.

 

I held out my hands in a classic placating gesture, or maybe it was the sign for ‘don’t shoot?’ either way, “Not me, Grandmother, not me. I’m not getting married. I’ll just be attending. I do have a nice dress though. And I even offered to pick up the cake.”

 

As soon as my mouth said it, my brain set out an alarm reminding me that the mouth actually knew what it was talking about. Since the brain kept more detailed files than my mouth, I also realized today was the day I was supposed to get the cake.

It was a big responsibility! You see, there was more than one wedding, in a sense, because Caleb and Ariana had the secret identity one, and the superhero one. And I was supposed to fetch the cake for one of them. Today!

 

I needed to tell grandma that I had to go. Wait, mom wanted me to talk to her for a bit and stay with her. I needed to get one of my sibs to handle this. Wait, sis would have her nose so deep in her tablet kidnappers could STEAL grandma and she’d not notice, and I haven’t been too impressed with my brother of late. Besides they had other projects now that mama had used their full names.

 

An idea occurred to me, and I pulled out my phone and texted my boyfriend.

TXT: Hey babe, can you help me out with a Cake retrieval? I am kind of stuck.

Then the response… didn’t come.

 

That wasn’t a good sign. Aspirant, his hero name, is pretty prompt because he knows that while I am a grown woman now, I still read way too much wrong into a slow text response. Of course, logically I knew that everything was probably just fine. He was just busy with one thing or another. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he was helping set up some bachelor party with the guys of the team, though like me he wasn’t old enough to drink.

Or maybe my Canadian Cutie was in a desperate battle for his life against some crazed super-villain, alone, stranded, without back up? What if he left his blaster behind and was facing a giant telepathy proof killer robot? What if he was strapped to a train track with five other people, while an evil philosopher practiced cruel ethical experiments on some hapless bystander forcing them to choose who would live, and who would die?

 

“The fiend,” and only then did I realize I had muttered that aloud. Darn my eternally flapping mouth!

 

And why don’t people in those tests ever just call for a superhero to save EVERYONE? It’s the 21^st Century, 911 will get you through to the nearest recognized superhero team if they don’t have their own contact info made public in the first place. Geez!

My grandmother was looking at me. She had her focus back. That was good. The bad? She was using that focus to give me that ‘what is wrong with you, girl?” look again.

“Caihong, why is someone a fiend for making you wear a dress and having you get cake?”

I suppose, given her own lack of telepathy, that was a legitimate logical leap on her part. I squirmed a bit, and fought the urge to look at my shoes, “Well, actually Grandmother I… I have to pick up the cake today for a friend. I practically begged them to make me a part of it, to let me help, and they said I could pick up the cake and I…”

 

 

“Do you need to go now?” My Grandmother arched a brow. She cut me off, but to be fair, a lot of people do that. Something about getting a word in edgewise or needing a pause between sentences so it could be a two way conversation.

“Actually?” I took a breath then answered, “Yes. But I don’t want to leave you alone or anything.”

My grandmother looked at me, “We have a decently sized family, Caihong,” her voice gentled, “I am sure that someone will check on me again shortly. Go. A promise should be kept.”

“Thank you, Grandmother,” I said. Honestly, there is nothing in my culture that says I have to bob my head like a bobblehead toy, it’s just my own habit when dealing with my elder family members.

“Though you do vanish at the oddest times. It can be rude, you know?” She arched a brow.

“Sorry, Grandma,” I winced.

“Mmm, take the tea with you, I’m done with it for now,” She dismissed me and looked out at her garden.

 

I gathered the saucer and cup up, and started to head out. As I closed the door to her bedroom, I swore I could hear her say.

“Winter? Again?”

 

I got some dirty looks from my sister as I put the cup and saucer on the kitchen counter to deal with while she washed the dishes. It looked like mom had the pork all cooking now though I didn’t see her here at this moment.

“Tell mama I had to go out and Grandmother was okay with it,” I said then added, “Please?”

 

“Not sure why I should. How come you get to go out and see your boyfriend willy-nilly while I get treated like the house slave and can’t even see mine?” She said in a waspish tone.

 

I put a hand on my hip, in the universal sign of big sisterhood about to unload some truths, “Gee, I don’t know, because I’m two years older than you and just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean you get the same bennies as soon as I prove myself trustworthy? Maybe because mom and dad know about how MUCH you’re sharing on the phone of yours in those texts between you?”

 

“You’re spying on me?” She gasped.

 

“No, you just suck that much at keeping secrets. Also, I have A boyfriend, maybe it will fall apart, I bet it won’t, but you don’t have a boyfriend. You have boyfriends, plural, one this week, then another that week, so let’s not pretend your romances are just as solid or serious. And as for ‘house slave’? Seriously? Mama does about 70% of the work in this house. I do another twenty, and you and bro? You’re in a contest to see who can do the least for the remaining 10% percent. THAT’s why you can actually bear the burden of passing on a lousy message that I’m out.”

 

I shouldn’t have raised my voice to her. I shouldn’t have snapped back. I don’t do it, not often, at least I don’t think I do? This worked to my advantage as her mouth fell open in shock.

 

I wanted to apologize. I wanted to assure her that I was just concerned about her being taken advantage of, not that I thought she was a sleezeball. I wanted to explain grandmother, who had always intimidated me a bit, though I love her, was now scaring me, because I could feel she was slipping away. And I wanted to explain mama could feel it too, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. How she felt overwhelmed.

 

And I wanted to tell her that yes, I knew that while I did a lot of chores around here, I had also been vanishing unreliably for the last few years since I became an active superhero. I save lives! I don’t expect a reward for that, but it sure would be nice to just tell her to shut up about my irregular schedule and pick up some freaking slack on her own! And right now, my boyfriend, who, unlike her and her boyfriends, I actually knew the birthday of, and favorite color, and favorite book, and and and…. He could be in a fight that was lethal!

 

But as big a motormouth I was, I knew my sister. She wasn’t all bad, but she also would try to turn any knowledge of superheroes into tiktok hits or the like for five minutes of fame even if it brought all sorts of trouble to our family.

So while she was stunned, I whirled on my heels, grabbed the keys to the car, and headed out!

And still no response on the text!

*** (TBC)