Lawnmower Boy

Yes, Mandarin is much more common among recent migrants, to the point that Cantonese is almost as endangered in California (probably BC, too, these days) as it is in Guangdong and Hong Kong. 

Ahem. I've been keyboardless on vacation for the last week, or I would have responded earlier, because my thoughts were having little baby thoughts. Apart from it being unlikely that a family descended from railway workers would speak Mandarin at home as opposed to Cantonese, I liked it! And I was acutely reminded of it when my brother walked in on my niece, K., discussing the graduate school application process at me and held up his hands in the timeout position and said "Pause," just to get a word in. 

That's my approach as well, alongside the occasional "big convoluted conspiracy no one can fully stamp out" (eg VIPER) and "stays in the shadows" mastermind types.  Learned my lesson with D&D's Deities & Demigods way back when - if you give combat stats to an entity, it will eventually be beaten in combat because you gave it stats.  There's nothing wrong with foes who cannot be defeated in a conventional fight, not even a super-fight. and they do not need stats. 
 
Just use them wisely and if defeating them does become a plot necessity, offer the players at least a couple of ways to do so that don't involve a brawl.  Defeat can mean a lot of things, and what the heroes may see as a win for them is often just an unstoppable foe deciding they have better things to do.  Save the "monomaniacal obsession with punishing the heroes" stuff for their lackeys and other foes that can be beaten with punching.  "Fiat invulnerability" villains shouldn't behave that way any more than you'd declare a vendetta against a gnat.

You know he's back in print in Dyskami's Absolute Power, right?  The game is nothing but a new edition of SAS with the setting time-skipped forward a bit.  No better balanced than ever either, I might add.  And Kreuzritter is as much a cardboard cutout of a master baddie as ever, so if you liked him before you'll like him there, he hasn't changed in any meaningful way.  But he does have quite a few more words written about him now - they split the setting into its own book, making it a $120 two-volume game if you want the world and the rules.

You can and probably should run some of VIPER as a behind-the-scenes operation -- their resources and reach are vast. But almost everything and everyone you'd want to use actually has been written up, in either the 4E or 5E VIPER source books. The sheer detail Scott Bennie put into those books is very impressive.

Oh, I see you've met my gaming group.

Emperor Norton lives!
 
Oh, and hope Lawnmower Boy enjoys too. I confess, LB, as you are perhaps the biggest Pogo fan, I am hoping I'm doing this right, or close to it in your eyes.

Woot!  We get to see Ted again!  And by proxy, Emperor Norton!  Bonus points!

Cakewalk- A Pogo Adventure
(continued)
 
I have a car. It was old when I got it. I got a pretty good deal though as the seller was a friend of the family. It’s Cherry red and it has a ‘Honk if you Love Heroes’ bumpersticker on it. One nice thing about knowing a super scientist who makes her own power armor is that every now and then she sends in a little repair robot to keep it alive for another year. It’s got a few dents, but it’s mine.

And it has just enough space in the back for a truly huge wedding cake. Which is one of the reasons I was sure I could help. I set up a nice clean spot and everything.

Unfortunately while I’m now a legally recognized adult, I’m still a young woman, so I’m kind of stressing out that my boyfriend still hasn’t responded to my text! Fortunately, I had an alternative means of catching up with folks. My car has a glove box, not a surprise, but what some folks don’t know is I have a hidden box UNDER the box, and unless you have my thumb print, you’re not getting in even if you find it. I keep a spare costume there, and a spare communicator for the team.

It’s all very James Bond, and I love it! Oh where was I? Anyway I opened up the hidden compartment, got the communicator, and slid it into my ear. There was a brief slurp sound as it nestled into my ear and I listened for any chatter even as I began to drive towards the bakery with the cake.
“Check check check,” I announced as I drove, “Radio Free Pogo of the New Samaritans on the comm. Thanks for joining my podcast, where we’ll be talking cake walks and open talks. I’m on my incog-neato to grab a cake for the lucky bride and groom to be as agreed. If you’re enjoying the show, give me a call. Our number is 1-800- where the heck is everyone?”

I expected Mabel to respond, even though she’s no longer wired into everything so intimately as before, she was still in the city and that meant she was never really without her connection to us in this close a proximity especially. But there was no response from her. Weird, even if she were with someone, Mabel can multitask like nobody’s business and have several conversations going on at once, at least on this device.

In fact, I wasn't getting much of a response from anyone. The brain-weasels of anxiety were rising up to attack my spiritual butterflies of justice. I hit the gas pedal without even thinking about it. The faster I got the cake, the sooner I could get it delivered to the base for cold storage until it was needed.
The lack of response was ridiculous, there were two and a half teams of superheroes in the city right now, and a lot of them had access to our com line. I was tempted to turn the car towards the base and go there in case it was under attack. Some paranoid part of my mind tried to think of what I’d done to earn some kind of shunning from the others. I hate being shunned. The silent treatment drove me crazy when I was a kid. If you asked me what my nightmare power would be? It would be to be invisible and inaudible. I don’t think I’m a vainglorious attention seeker, others can have the limelight, but I sure do hate being left in the proverbial dark.

But I made a promise, and I try to keep those. So, I decided to stick to the cake retrieval plan. After finally achieving victory over my old enemy, the Fellowship of Evil Red Lights, I pulled into the parking lot of the small plaza that included the cake shop. Founded in 2007, ‘Honest Cakes’ (With subtitle ‘Our Cakes really ARE a Triumph’) had a solid reputation for quality, and more importantly in the superhero business, asking no questions beyond what type of cake you wanted. The New Samaritans had used them on and off before. Mind you, almost always in their secret identities, but the point is, these guys didn’t raise an eyebrow if you asked them for a cake with the words ‘Rot in Jail forever’ for some villain you finally put away.

Consequently, their discretion and creativity had also won them a steady customer base among the LGBTQ+ community, so there’s that!

Earpiece still inserted, I walked into Honest Cakes armed with my confirmation number and a smile. The only one at the counter was a laid back looking man wearing an apron that said ‘Honest Cakes’ over another shirt with some kind of old My Little Pony novelty shirt. He had a kindly smile and facial hair that had gone past five O clock shadow but I wouldn’t call it a beard. It was hard to place his age, he could have been anywhere from twenty six to thirty three.
His name tag said ‘Ted’ so I went with that.

“Hi, Ted? I’m here to pick up a cake?” Then I realized how little that narrowed it down given his line of work, “I mean, of course I’m here for a cake, that’s what you guys make. Oh wait,” I realized, “Of course, you also make cupcakes and pies, so sorry, didn’t mean to make it sound like you guys aren’t diverse, it’s just your cakes are really good and in your store name and I realize that just telling you I’m here for a cake pick up isn’t going to help you very much and I’m sorry about that.”

Aaaand I realized I still hadn’t said anything helpful.
“I’m having a very worrisome day,” I muttered as an equally less than helpful addendum.

“Hey,” Ted shrugged, gently, sounding incredibly relaxed, “I feel that. I had to pill Emperor Norton this morning, and not the fun kind. Y’know? Vet says its good for him, but now? He’s not talking to me. Very stressful to have a bro mad at you, right?”
Despite his concerns for his own shunning, I was a bit in awe at how at ease he sounded when he explained it. I’d met Buddhist monks that would have envied this level of casual zen Ted was exuding. He seemed truly aware of the ebbs and flows of life around him and willing to coast along serenely with a wisdom few possessed.
 
Or he was stoned. Possibly stoned.
 
“I take it, Emperor Norton is your cat?” I inquired, curious despite my aforementioned concerns and the cake mission in hand.
“Well,” Ted chuckled lazily, “Only in that I’m also his human. Yeah, you wanna see pictures of him?”
 
Did I want to see pictures of his cat? Despite the fact I was in my mind mannered (but also feisty and self assured) secret identity of a young Chinese-American Gal on the go, I was Pogo! I was a super-heroine, one on a mission no less, who needed to make a crucial pick up and delivery that others were relying on me on, even as, for all I knew, one or more of my team mates could be secretly in danger. And one of those at risk? My hot Canadian boyfriend! Did I have time to waste looking over some guy’s cat pictures?
 
“You bet I would!” I said, grateful for the distraction from my stress and worry. Also, come on, CAT PICTURES!!!
 
Emperor Norton, it turned out, was a Silver Tabby with ‘tude and very photogenic by feline standards. I oohed and awed for a bit, as Ted went on about his little furry buddy’s mannerisms and more.
“…and that's why I suspect he and I get along despite our political differences,” Ted finished up.
“He’s wonderful,” I assured him, then I realized it was time to get back to the tasks at hand, “Would a confirmation number help?”
“Oh sure,” Ted said, “Lay it on me.”
I gave him the number, he gave me the cake, and Ted was such a sweetie he even helped me load it up for maximum safety in the car.
 
“Thanks, Ted. My regards to the Emperor, don’t you worry, he still is your brah, and you’re looking after him. Sometimes we have to be firm with our loved ones about what is needed to keep them from greater harm. That’s not a failing on your part that it’s so, it’s just .. part of life.”
Ted nodded, “You’re right, you’re right. Just, I worry, you know?” He said though his expression was one who wouldn’t be worried if a gang war broke out near his ovens.
“I know,” I said gently, and backed the car up and started to head out. Sometimes folks know the answers already but they need to hear it from someone else. Other times they’re blind and deaf to the facts of things, not from malice, but because they take too much on their own shoulders.
 
My, but those folks can be frustrating to deal with.
 
(TBC)

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 21st 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)

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

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

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)

The "corporate robber baron" incarnation of Lex Luthor is another example. Enormous "soft power" due to money, influence, and connections, with the outward image of respectability. Heroes know he's dirty but can never find proof. The Champions Universe has its own analogue to that character, Franklin Stone, pretty much Luthor without his obsession with Superman. (In Champions Villains Volume One.)
 
The Circle of the Scarlet Moon is a CU organization (CV Vol. 2), a whole cultish conspiracy of behind-the-scenes manipulators who have used subtle magic to accumulate vast control over the economy, the media, political apparatus, even law enforcement. Almost no one knows the identities of any of the higher-ups, and magic makes many of their activities untraceable by normal means. They don't send blaster-armed agents to deal with their enemies, at first favoring legal harassment, financial pressure, and media tarnishing of their image.

I have finished one of my 'short stories' more or less (obviously a rough draft, so I'm not sure how readable it is). I'm currently weaving between two more, back and forth. This is where a plot would really come in handy. One I meant for a bit of overdramatic superhero action has turned into a bit more personal than I expected. The other is a challenge in a truly alien POV.
 
All total, I have about 14,500

Not the place for rumors....and definitely not the place for known-false rumors.

She was not in the car and was not [edit]directly[/edit] targeted in any way. It was an unmarked Secret Service vehicle which three people were observed attempting to break into...in an area that has seen a 100% rise in car thefts over the past year.

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?

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

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)

I will repost this when the Christmas 2023 thread is initiated.

As someone who works in a democratic institute, I appreciate the humour, but have concerns that this is entirely the kind of thing that anti-democratic folk build upon.  If you get convinced that you can trust no-one, that there is no value in voting and that those who seek public office should be barred from it, then you open the door to populists like Trump, who tell folk that he is the ONLY one you can trust and we can all see where that gets you.

It is an insidious tendency and undermines both our democracy and our democratic institutions.  Once it is mainstream that you can believe nothing then there is a chance that you will believe anything.
 
I work with politicians every day and I can tell you that they are human beings like the rest of us, the vast majority of those that I meet have honest intentions to make things better, even if their version of better does not match with mine.  I do see their public presentation be skewed by party political stress and the fact the media constantly looks to highlight those that speak differently from their party and forcing the tendency not to deviate from the party line in public discourse.  Intheir work I see nuance and humanity, I wish everyone could have the same insight and engagement.

Doc

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)