Lawnmower Boy

Of all the published Champions villains, it would have to be Fleshtone (Champions Villains Volume Three: Solo Villains). His powers involve "biokinetically" reshaping living flesh in practically any manner he desires, with attacks expressed through Drain, Transform, and Blast or RKA NND Does Body, with SFX that are grotesque and hideous. He's powerful, murderous, sadistic, very difficult for most heroes to defend against, and his attacks can leave someone disfigured and/or crippled permanently. He can also use his power to make himself look like anyone, so he can easily lose himself in a crowd, or sneak up on someone in disguise.
 
I've never had the nerve or the cruelty to actually run him in a game.

Since we often post the negative stuff in this thread, here's something positive for a change:
 
President Biden Announces Historic Railroad Modernization
 
Speaking as someone who relies on the trains, I heartily approve!

Brother Twelve: "There's nothing worse than egotists hijacking communal fun. We should do something before social solidarity is undermined."
 
Maid of Gold: "Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud!"
 
Queen's Fist: "You're good with these Boomer maniacs? Are you even the real Dora?"
 
Maid of Gold: "What? No! I'm disagreeing with Twelve! It's fun!" (Elbows Twelve in a way that brings her in under his shoulder. Looks expectant; speculative glance at the group from Twelve; Charlotte rolls her eyes.)
 
Rush: "They're going to ruin the parade. I'm with Twelve --Brother Twelve. Have I mentioned you need a better codename in the last minute and a half?"
 
Brother Twelve: "It's been forty-five seconds. Which I know is a long time for you. Codenames are for the bougies. Parades are for everyone. With the cartoon animals and everything. They must be weird where you come from, though."
 
[Rush smiles; It's nice of Twelve to feed her a straight line]: "In dark, post-apocalyptic future, all cartoons are Heathcliff. It's hard to enjoy a parade in an underground city. There's no sightlines. Sometimes I think people don't appreciate just how much not-fun it is to grow up in an underground shelter. Anyway, there won't be any sightlines for these guys, either, when they get thrown in Clown Jail." 
 
[Scout appears out of nowhere]: "Have y'all considered the value of some toomfoolery and harmless pranks, a bit of turnin' reality on its head, some mistaken identity shenanigans? Ah know sometimes Ah just want to light things up!" 
 
Queen's Fist: "Pranks aren't harmless if you're always the target, Hick Boy."
 
Scout: "Like, who's the hick now? Ah been to Hope once!"
 
Queen's Fist: "Seeing it in a movie doesn't count. Say, have you seen Bruce? It's not like we're going to be able to do anything in New York without the Goblinjet."
 
Scout [Nervous]: "Heh. Well, I--Ah-- guess that settles it. It's a New York problem an' New Yorkers  can fix it."   
 

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

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)

Daylight Savings Time is a con run by Big Time to sell more clocks and calendars.

Did....  Did we do it?  Did we save the daylight?  Is the daylight okay now?
 
 

IME when something relatively innocuous provokes such an intense response from someone, it's not primarily a matter of personal morality or philosophy. Those supposedly objective beliefs are being used to rationalize deep-seated fear, hatred, envy, and in this case probably lust, triggered by anything seen as a challenge to the shaky foundation of said person's sense of identity and self-worth.
 
It's a truism that those who decry sin the most have the most sinful thoughts, but it's a truism for a reason.

New one up!
https://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots1290.html

All True Bazza, but in doing almost all of those, his EGO got in the way of common sense. Putting an unknown AI from off world into Ultron, an ultimate weapon. Not listening to Steve's argument and assuming he could control any government interference in the Avengers, then, again, not really investigating Winter Soldier's attack, but following "orders" and attacking Steve and the others. Not following up on what was going on with SHIELD and Project Insight, but instead effectively handing the 3 most technological weapons to a Bureaucracy run organization, despite his earlier run-ins with them, including butting heads with the leader of SHIELD over their secret weapon projects.
So, again, I wasn't saying Tony's reasons for doing things weren't, in some ways, altruistic, but that his own arrogance made him think that it was better for everyone and that he could keep control of it.

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)

Happy Halloween, Everyone!

The Mercury
 

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)

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.