Is he doing JAZZ HANDS at the camera!?
Gender: Female
Location: In the closet
Rank: Decisive Witness
Joined: Mon Oct 15, 2007 11:59 pm
Posts: 207
Yeah. See, this is why I post when I have writer's block...it means that almost straight afterwards, I no longer have writer's block. XD Funny how the world works, ne? This Chapter's a lot shorter and more random-ish than the others, but this is an introduction to a pretty EPIC arc. And all the little hints here and there will be elaborated on.
So, yes. Here's to many more story arcs, Mercs and Sakuro, and Happy 2008 to all our fans, present and future.
Cheers and beers! And NOTE for those who're offended by such things, this chapter contains some swearing.
-----------------------------------------
It was night, now. The sun had slowly disappeared over the horizon, somewhere behind what was once Lockeforge Prison. He hadn't seen it set...he wasn't facing in the right direction, denied even that simple comfort. The day's heat slowly faded from his bound hands, and the concrete slab against his back grew cold.
He crossed his legs, one of the few things he could do to alleviate the growing numbness. He almost felt glad. Comfort brought hope, and hope meant he'd start
thinking, instead of just living. He might think that it would be
someone else, returning under the cover of darkness. He might hope that someone had ventured onto this wasteland, and seen this prisoner where there should be none. He might even dare to dream that there'd be food tonight.
He wasn't sure what time it was, any time spent like this was too long. Warmth had come and gone, and it had rained, once upon a time. And he'd slept on and off, trying to conserve his energy for a reason he wasn't sure of. Maybe he'd forgotten it. But he knew he couldn't break the chains keeping him bound to the piece of fallen wall, and he couldn't cry for help with the strip of cloth tied around his head, pinning down his tongue.
And still, he spared his energy. He waited, just letting the time pass, until he heard the sound of feet kicking small bits of debris out of their way. Not a welcoming sound...but an inevitable one.
"It's the end of the world as we know it...it's the end of the world as we know it..."
Singing. Or recognizable lyrics...it was more like talking to a rhythm, any parts which vaguely hinted at singing being terribly off-key. The singer already sounded like they had a permanent sore throat, a sound which slowly wore away sanity like sandpaper, setting his mind aflame and sending ice down his spine. Being tone-deaf wasn't helping things either.
Suddenly, the captive winced as he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. "And I...
feel...
fine..." The toothy grin which followed was almost audible.
"And how-are-
we-to-day...?" the voice came, in a mocking, sing-song tone. "Feeling...hungry?
Scared?" Sweat ran down his face as he tried to pull his head away. Fingertips, sharpened nails were playing at the sides of his head, tapping rhythmically.
And they stopped. He froze, the sweat turning to droplets of ice water. His eyes flicked open in panic –
what next?
"Oh...that's right..." one of those hideous claws, on a hand he couldn't quite see, was scratching the underside of his chin. Like petting a kitten, expecting it to purr. It was hard to see
anything with his mask in the way, but it was part of his costume, he couldn't be the Nickel Samurai without it.
"...you can't talk back, can you?" The claw stopped, pressing in just sightly. That moisture he felt...was it sweat or blood? "Can't even...
scream..."
He swallowed hard, his painfully empty stomach twisting, teeth clamping down on the gag. Tears leaked from his eyes, and his whole body shook. He
couldn't scream, or beg, or plead, at least with words. But his captor
felt it, relishing the moment with a guttural laugh.
"Your fear..." Claws, claws on his neck, a hand grabbing hold just enough to be a threat, cold and deathly. Another chuckle, and he felt a tug on his mask. "...your
fear..." The sound of slowly splitting rubber under a sharpened edge.
It was dark now. No light poured in as the mask split in two. There was just the cool night air, and them, and no-one else. And he didn't want to look. But he did, staring into a pair of reptilian eyes, pupils like black holes, drinking in every little detail of his victim's terror. A face covered in scars, where his own nails had cut deep. Brown hair slicked back.
A predatory smile revealed sharpened teeth as Matt stared into his own face, his own illusion. A mirror image, both identical and opposite. There was him, the real Matt Engarde...and this, one half of its face covered by that long bang of hair. Such a waste. Only one eye to watch, one pupil to widen as the adrenaline kicked in. One eyelid to twitch as it gritted its teeth and it
squirmed. And his little puppet only writhed and danced even more to the sound of clattering chains. His tongue left a warm trail against the side of its face. Salty, sweet, and most of all... "...
delicious."
His captive felt the bile rising in his throat, and probably would have retched if only he'd been fed recently. He recoiled from the touch of him, his
other self, swallowing the nausea and mumbling his thoughts against the strip of torn leather in his mouth. What he got in return was more laughter, a hand planted melodramatically over a heart which existed only physically. "What? I'm
disgusting?
Vile? Maybe...
hideous?"
His head was again in that cold grip, firm and commanding. His eyes were shut, but a gut feeling filled in the details, the unspoken words.
Open your eyes or have them plucked out. He complied, and raw fear met sadistic glee. "...Well you're looking at the new ruler of the idiot masses. That Big Bang was the end of one world and the start of another." He drew closer, the corners of his mouth turned up in a horrible smirk. "Because now, I don't have
you getting in the way of
me doing whatever the hell I want."
All at once, Engarde turned his back. And his prisoner could could see, for the first time, that his other self really had changed beyond almost all recognition. He probably couldn't even pass for human any more; even his vocal chords seemed strained to produce speech rather than a growl or hiss. "
You...good little puppet, perform that 'refreshing spring breeze' bullshit for the people...but no,
you had to be
more than that,
you had to be that
little voice that said
think again."
The little voice called a conscience. Unwritten words in his illusion's eyes...he didn't know how, but he saw them.
But now I don't have one, his smirk said as he examined a rapier claw. The fake chained up behind him was doing that thing again. Somehow
reading his intentions, making him unable to spring a surprise and irritating him to no end. But the smell of its fear, the feel of its terrified anticipation, it was finer than any vintage brandy he'd hoarded in his expansive cellar.
Now, to make his mark on this blank canvas before him. He turned, ready to create his masterpiece...then, movement! At last, after keeping him waiting the past few days and nights, they'd
finally decided to show themselves. He was starting to get
bored. But hopefully they would keep things interesting, even with the odds tipped in his favor. Night vision was just one of the many things that now fully, finally, separated him and his inferiors. "COME!"
A raise of his arm, and they came, from inside half-demolished cells and out of forgotten alleyways. Young or old, male or female, why be picky when they were all disposable? The stronger would act as his weapons, the weaker as his shield. All it took was a bite or a scratch, and their weak minds bowed to his superior will, his
absolute command. "ATTACK."
As the newcomer struggled to fight off the hordes of innocent victims, the other Matt Engarde – Could he use that name? Did he even
want to? - found himself hiding behind a wall. He was scared, really scared...but mostly because he didn't know what just happened. Rings of rust and and dried blood, showing through the filthy rubber suit, proved that he'd struggled before. But all of a sudden he'd just
pulled...and...
His fingers wrapped around the chain still tangled around his wrist. SNAP. Clatter-clatter-chink-chink. He ran, his breath short and tears streaming down his face, but the Nickel Samurai wasn't
supposed to run.
Heroes weren't supposed to run...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Kallisti Project – Samurai Arc – Chapter 1If one thing was for sure, at least in the comic books, heroes weren't supposed to hide. Maybe on stealth missions, sure, but cowering in terror was for civilians. But Maya wasn't here to say that. And Phoenix Wright the lawyer
was a civilian; a civilian who'd had the misfortune of being caught in an armed bank robbery.
Crouched on the floor, his hands over his head, and a man in a gorilla mask forcing a shaking cashier to put the money in a bag, he felt oddly calm. Maybe it was just easier to accept a situation, when you're completely helpless. Or after a while, you just got used to danger, being a superhero. You just rode the wave until it was over, and you were on the reliable, solid ground of real life.
He'd wondered what had gotten into him that day, saying
they should be the ones to clean up the city. He hadn't even meant to motivate anyone in particular, but it seemed his impromptu speech had even swayed
Edgeworth's opinion. And he couldn't believe it himself, but what was once an on-the-spot plan was
working.
Just a few weeks, a few super-criminals rounded up, and the words were in the papers and on everyone's lips. 'Supers'...'heroes'...and was that 'Blue Phoenix'?...he could even pick out the words in the terrified whisperings of the people near him. They were
known. A few weeks, that's all, and he already felt like he was just doing his job. Saving people's lives was just another day's work.
He was still upholding the right to be defended, just in a different way. In or out of court, he couldn't just stand by while innocent people were attacked. Even if that meant dodging flying food and soda cans at an anti-mutant rally, even though he wasn't the one attacking them. Even if a certain tabloid newspaper was still going out of its way to portray them as criminals. Even if the Police still weren't sure whether to arrest them or praise them.
He almost leapt up as he heard a sudden, insistent beeping in his ear.
That would have been a really stupid move, with three armed robbers still collecting their cash. He pressed his badge to pick up. You could probably hear a pin drop amidst the silence, never mind loud beeping from the tiny speaker. "Blue? Blue, this is the Scientist. Just heard about your situation through the fuzzbox...the Badger says they're on their way but we're sending M for backup."
His heart sank. He wanted to yell 'no' at the top of his lungs. The signal to the earpieces was heavily encrypted, but using code added another level of security, and kept things short. A rough translation was that Ema had heard about the robbery, through a cheap radio modified by Desiree to pick up police signals. Gumshoe knew some Police Officers who were on their way...but they were sending Maya for backup. Didn't she get the bit about them being
armed!?He screwed his eyes shut and bunched his fists.
Now he was far from calm. If only he could stand up, put his hand over his heart and the other in the air...but there'd be too many witnesses, and not just because he'd look like an idiot. The 'hero-like' gesture was programmed into the badge on his lapel, just over his heart, to change his normal blue suit into his hero gear. It had taken a few embarrassing incidents for them to work out the kinks, but it certainly beat a quick-change in the nearest men's room.
"Come ON! We've got the money, now let's go!" One of the monkey-masked men shouted to his companions. The robbers started leaving, a sense of relief slowly filling the room, as their guns were taken further and further away. For Phoenix, the feeing was twofold; he was safe, and Maya wouldn't even get involved. The sound of sirens and screeching tires was bound to come any second.
"Stop right there!" A male voice, completely unfamiliar to his ears...an officer? He turned his head to look, but through the group of confused robbers, all he could make out was someone, dressed in an almost unnaturally pristine white suit. A few people gasped or shrieked at the sound of clicking guns. Unless this mystery hero pulled off some incredible superhuman stunt, that suit wouldn't be white for much longer.
There was a ring of four gun barrels, pointed at him from all sides, but the stranger still remained as calm as ever. For a minute or so, there was silence again.
"You don't want to do this, do you?" There was a clattering sound as grips weakened, and three pistols and one sawed-off shotgun fell to the floor. And as the criminals dropped to their knees, one of them even curling up in a fetal position, their victims made good their escape.
All, that is, except Phoenix, who got up to find himself looking into a face he'd seen clipped to an autopsy report. "...It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Wright." The man said to the speechless lawyer. Tipping the same white fedora from the video played in court, he gave a friendly yet sad smile. "Bruce Goodman, code name White Heart. You and your assistant down on Earth are causing quite a stir in the afterlife." He offered a pale hand to shake.
"And...thanks for bringing Gant to justice.""It...you...t-thanks for letting Maya channel you, sir...!" he managed to reply, shaking the hand enthusiastically. Something about the Detective's tone of voice, and looking into those dark eyes, he seemed to be towering over him.
Memories flooded back like they'd happened just yesterday. Larry picking the fattest, longest worm he could dig up and chasing girls with it. Miles folding his arms and tutting, like he did, wondering if there was a word for the opposite of a gentleman. And him, a kid in the fourth grade...and right now, he was talking to a
superhero cop! Wait 'til he told them, they'd never believe him-!
Suddenly, Phoenix shook his head, the spell broken. What had come over him, just then? He'd felt every part like a little kid again...snapping out of it, he even gave himself a once-over to check he hadn't shrunk. And then he saw Goodman smiling apologetically.
"Sorry...rookie mistake. Couldn't figure out how to turn it off." He looked down at the men at his feet, still under the influence of his strange powers...but how much? One of them was still sucking his thumb, but the others were bemoaning their own stupidity. How they'd dreamed of being so much more, how their mothers would be ashamed of them. "I guess a little childhood innocence can turn anyone into a good man. Even make hardened criminals cry for mommy."
"Yeah...that's...that's really something..." the lawyer replied, avoiding the obvious pun. He was still feeling a little lightheaded; either from the last of the hypnotic effects, or because something even more surprising was going on. Mike Meekins – he'd recognize that far-too-straight posture and megaphone anywhere – was handling crowd control, and
doing a good job."PLEASE STEP AWAY AND LET THE PROPER AUTHORITIES HANDLE THIS!" The megaphone shrieked and crackled, and a few people covered their ears. But, almost immediately, every person in the curious crowd turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
At exactly the same time. Sometimes it was just the one who could shout loud enough that had the most influence, but...this was just
creepy, like something out of a zombie movie.
Then again, get enough people together, and they did act as one, the archetypal 'ignorant masses'. The anti-super protests, and the way he and his assistant were pelted with garbage even when they were trying to save people, had pretty much proved that.
"Detective Goodman, SIR!" The lawyer jumped. How was it that someone with such a loud voice, and a stature that resembled stretched taffy – someone so
obviously there – could sneak up on
anyone? "May I humbly request why you are present at this crime scene when you are supposed to be...s....supposed to be...d-d-dead...?"
The color slowly drained from Meekins' face as he spoke. Then, giving a sudden stiff-lipped salute, he fell backwards in a dead faint. Stiff as a board, like someone just shouted 'timber!'. Phoenix burst out laughing. Detective Goodman gave the two of them, unconscious and then conscious, a really weird look.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"...And that's how I single-handedly saved Nick, again...I don't know what he'd do without me."
Maya grinned, finally stopping the waving and flailing that
should accompany such an epic tale of derring-do. At least she wouldn't draw any more attention from their fellow pedestrians, but looking around, they seemed relatively
normal for once. He could have walked around with his wings on full display and nobody would have given him a second glance. But he didn't intend to find out. Even after Maya declared herself Team Phoenix's official publicist, there was no way he'd be doing anything in hero garb other than protecting people.
"...Wow, Mystic Maya, did you really lift up Mr. Nick like that when he fainted...? That's so romantic!" Phoenix shook his head as she applauded. At least Pearls was entertained, but they still had to clear up that 'special someone' misunderstanding...there just never seemed to be a good time.
And a medium's spirit left her body while channeling, so she had no recollection of the events that transpired, but he was starting to regret filling Maya in. The robbery had been just yesterday, and he trusted his memory enough to know
that didn't happen...or the part where she received the Key to the City...or several other exaggerations, added to spice things up.
"Come
on, Nick!" For the third or fourth time, the two mediums had to physically drag him away from some more...what was the word they'd used...cos-players? All along the street, they were gathered in small groups, jabbering in a mixture of English and what he assumed were snippets of Japanese, swapping trading cards and bartering with brightly coloured snack boxes.
But it was the 'cos' part of these 'players' which kept drawing his attention; some costumes were so shoddily made, or required such vast swathes of spandex, it was like watching a (fashion) disaster unfold in slow-motion. And then there was the opposite end of the spectrum; the layers upon layers of heavy petticoats, the filigree armour, the carefully tended wigs that reached to the floor.
"But...right there, aren't they..?" He started, but didn't get to finish. Spray-painted cardboard wings, a moth-eaten pilot jacket, and goggles meant for swimming placed the player firmly in the 'shoddy' category. But...they were dressed as
him, weren't they? There was no mistaking that they were dressed like The Blue Phoenix, but
why? It wasn't like there was a Team Phoenix Power Hour on Saturday mornings, he wasn't some famous movie star...
"Hey, you!" He held up an arm defensively at a sudden camera flash. Seeing orange, he almost turned and ran; Lotta Hart had been hounding Team Phoenix since 'catching them in the act' at the museum. If she'd found out their civilian identities...then why were the two lens-hogs at either side of him smiling and making peace signs? He blinked to clear the stars from his vision.
"Nishe coshtumsh! Inshpired by the Myshteriosh Myshtic M?" Instead, looking into a set of grinning teeth with braces, he found himself dodging spittle from a scrawny teenager. His monochrome robes would perhaps account for his sweating, and the state of his bright orange wig. But the styrofoam sword, which was taller than its owner...that was lost on an 'old fogey' like him.
"I guess you could say that." Maya smiled back, looking proud that she'd been almost-but-not-quite recognized. "Mystic M is inspiring, isn't she? And brave...powerful...
beautiful..."
[Modest, too.] Nick thought, rolling his eyes. The fan had already moved on, distracted by some guy in a full-size Steel Samurai outfit, who was looking rather harassed. [I guess that's the price of fame...] Perhaps the cosplayer hadn't realized the character was more popular than ever, after the recent revelation that Sal Manella had enough ideas left to write one more movie.
'Last Stand in Neo Olde Tokyo' would tie up any and all of the once-doomed show's loose ends. Production was apparently delayed because of the chaos caused by the Bang, but he couldn't wait for its release, if just so a certain fan might stop telling him about it whenever Pearls wasn't around to listen.
"You hear that, Nick?" he felt a medium's elbow in his ribs. It seemed they were moving again, the convention building and a banner proclaiming 'Welcome to Tonosacon!' coming into view. The crowds were getting even thicker and even more bizarre-looking, like they were approaching the epicentre of another Big Bang. "We're famous! Well, maybe not as famous as the Steel or Nickel Samurai, but it's a start, right?"
Famous? Phoenix was already feeling overwhelmed without the idea of legions of fans, and Tonosacon was only the
second-largest convention in L.A. He was only here because he felt he owed Maya for yesterday. A small village like Kurain wasn't too scandal-prone, but, after solving a minor dispute, she'd literally just stepped off the train when Ema's call came through. He'd feel guilty if he didn't repay that somehow, even if it hadn't been his request.
"Are you okay, Mr.Nick...?" Looking down, he met a pair of big brown eyes, focused on him worriedly. Having lived such a sheltered existence, he was surprised the little girl wasn't terrified by the gaudy costumes and bustling crowds. "You look pale...are you sick? Do you want me to...?"
"No, Pearly, Nick's just got a bad case of old fogey-ness. His poor brain just can't handle all these young people having so much more fun than him."
"Hey, I'm not-" Too late. He'd seen it coming since Maya first suggested they go. In such a large crowd, getting separated from the two Feys was inevitable...but also preferable. He'd long since given up understanding the subtle poetry of a Samurai Kick, and was content to just sit on the sidelines while the two had fun by themselves. Pearls was in good hands. And if he just stayed put, they'd be back any time, arms full of merchandise, begging for more allowance.
Putting his hands behind his head, Phoenix closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise of the crowds and the bartering stallholders. He probably shouldn't bother checking the prices for coffee...at least he could relax for free. They say crime didn't pay, but being a hero
certainly didn't pay. Unless you were using your powers to steal on the side, like the DeLites were probably still doing.
He smirked. Edgeworth probably...no, he
definitely knew they were still stealing. It must be driving him crazy, not being able to do anything...the smile faded. That was the way it was, wasn't it, with his powers; he didn't want them. Desiree, too, hadn't asked for the insatiable need to build that had plagued her since the Bang. He shifted in his seat; he hadn't asked for the knotted feeling in his back, from hiding his own gift or curse.
There was definitely an upside, though, wasn't there? Long days and nights spent working on cases, or drudging through legal textbooks, filled his head with nothing but the need to sleep. There'd been that one nightmare, certainly, but he'd never dreamed of flying. And now...well, maybe Broken Edge would find the same exhilaration in using his powers, eventually. For all Phoenix knew, maybe he already did. A man who would sneer at the word 'fun' just wouldn't admit it.
Then he felt someone or something poking him. He opened his eyes - surely the girls hadn't spent up
already? - but instead came face to face with two
other girls. They backed away a little as he blinked confusedly, whispering to each other in rapid Japanese. And just before he was about to ask if they were lost, one of them shyly stepped forward, holding out a magazine. "Mr. Naruhodou-san...you...sign this, thankyou?"
[Naruhod...oh...wait....] His palm found his forehead; he remembered now. Gyakuten Saiban, that Japanese game Maya played on and off. Sometimes he thought she played it just as an excuse to shout 'Objection!'...and to see him jump up, only just stopping himself from objecting right back. And apparently she wasn't the only one who thought the main character looked like him, so, even though he wasn't really in costume, he took the magazine.
"What...what the
hell...!?" With its reverse-opening cover, this was undoubtedly a manga. But, just laying eyes on the broken English title, 'Passion Dark Love on the Wing'...this definitely wasn't in the same league as 'Fighting Heart! Pink Princess'.
A pair of doe-eyed...he supposed they were males from their lack of shirts...were each looking into the other's eyes, their faces uncomfortably close. Surrounding them were black and pale blue roses, and butterflies of a similar hue. But the reason he kept looking at it was one character had flowing silver hair and black wings. The other, shorter one...blue wings...and short black hair in a
very distinctive,
spiked style.
The colour drained from his face, probably going along with his heart, which had sunk down to his feet. He had a sneaking suspicion what 'Blue Phoenix x Broken Edge doujinshi' might be implying...and what was that about 'rivals on the battlefield attracted by opposite energies'? He set the magazine down...and noticed someone caught between looking at him quizzically, and running and hiding themselves. "E-Edgeworth-!" Phoenix stuttered, his eyes instantly drawn to the bag the man was holding.
"Wright...I was not aware you were...interested such childish pursuits But then again I am not all that surprised." His smirk disappeared as he realized what the attorney was staring at, replaced with that sunken-eyed look, the same as when his side of the case was crumbling under a heavy contradiction. He hid it behind him. "...I am simply looking for the owner of this bag, then I intend to locate the exit. I appear to have become lost looking for the prosecutor's convention." A likely story.
It seemed Edgeworth did have a less serious side, but he'd sooner be outed as a superhuman than as a Samurai fan. And even then, he'd probably make his excuses, commenting on the elegant choreography resembling a ballet. It must be tough, having such an image to uphold, not being able to enjoy things for what they were, but for what they contributed to said image. Then he realized he was still holding the manga.
"Uh...th-th-this isn't mine, either! I was just...Take That!" Maybe it was from the superheroing he'd been doing, which made the instinct to run too strong to resist. It wasn't as if saying anything would have made much of a difference. But he did feel bad, leaving two confused Japanese students, holding some kind of weird fan manga, in the prosecutor's hands...
Edgeworth cleared his throat. Von Karma had maintained that a grasp of multiple languages was essential, in order to understand the laws of almost any country, but his Japanese was a little rusty. "Please excuse him. He's an idiot." he said, with the slightest hint of an accent.
The pair seemed suitably impressed, standing open mouthed before giggling and shrieking between themselves. He looked at them oddly; he never really did understand the reaction he seemed to instil in the female masses, but he took the same magazine Wright had been holding and a Pink Princess pen. The pair looked at him with awe and expectation, responding in Japanese; "Please sign this, Mitsurugi-san?"
He made the mistake of glancing at the cover when he looked down...his complexion was fairly pallid normally, but...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mystic Maya, are you
sure Mr. Nick won't mind?"
"Of course he won't, Pearly..." Maya answered, dropping the form into the box. Sometimes looking after her little cousin was like having another adult around...especially when she'd forged Nick's signature. It was easy to do after seeing him sign so many papers, but it wasn't like cheating or anything. "It's a foolproof plan. We'll win this for sure!"
It wasn't like he'd have to do anything
hard, either. All he'd have to do would be get changed in the bathroom, make up something about his wings being animatronic, and he'd easily take first place in the cosplay contest.
She snorted in amusement as someone else dressed as The Blue Phoenix approached to put their entry form in. It wasn't like they had much competition in the 'miscellaneous' category. Was that glitter on those cardboard wings? And the way they'd slicked their hair back like that...they could have at least worn a wig, then the colour might be right, too...
"Hey, woah, dude! Maya? I didn't think I'd see
you here! You're looking more gorgeous than ever!"
"L-larry?" She hadn't recognized him straight away, especially with his hair gelled in a poor imitation of Nick's, but it was him. If Nick was here, he'd probably be rolling his eyes and thinking how only 'the Butz' would enter a contest in such a crappy costume.
Larry just smiled at her wide-eyed hesitation. "I know! You're awestruck by my awesome Blue Phoenix costume, aren't you?" He puffed out his chest in an attempt to look heroic. But all the medium noticed was that the hastily cut-out Phoenix logo, attached to a dark T-shirt with safety pins, seemed dangerously close to coming off. She was awestruck alright, just not in the way he thought.
Oblivious as ever, he adjusted a pair of goggles that seemed more suited to a swimming pool than the air, and winked, sticking his tongue out. "If my originality doesn't win over the judges, then my good taste will, for sure! I mean, the Blue Phoenix is a
real suave guy...I bet he gets
all the super-chicks!" He stuck up his thumb enthusiastically. "I'm even president of his 100% un-official fanclub!"
"EHHHHH!?" Maya retorted, her jaw dropping. "His own
fanclub!? But...but...doesn't the Mysterious Mystic M get
her own fanclub...?" She looked at him hopefully, turning on the waterworks just in case.
Tight-lipped, it seemed Larry wasn't sure what to say without bringing about more tears. Thankfully, there was a third person to break the stalemate, a thoughtful look on her face. "A fan...club? For people who like him?" Pearl's pretzel hairstyle bounced up and down as she did. "Wait 'til we tell Mr. Nick! He'll be so pleased that-" her hand went to her mouth. "Oops..."
"Huh? What does Nick have to do with...oh, ohhhh, I get it now!" Larry was grinning. Maya went to glare at her younger cousin, but stopped. She already looked as if she was about to cry, knowing the big mistake she'd just made. "And you thought you could keep it from me!? I'm not as dumb as I look, you know! I
made this costume myself!"
Still, at least it was just Larry, right? It wasn't like he was a supervillain...more like the type to get captured by one, and start blabbing before they start monologuing...
"But don't worry...I won't let anyone know Nick's a Blue Phoenix fanatic if he's gonna be all shy about it." ...Wait, what? Was he serious? Did he not
know...? Maybe it was her brilliant name idea. Either that or Mr. DeLite's brilliant disguise...or maybe just Larry's brilliant lack of common sense. He slicked his hair back down, getting glitter from his disintegrating wings mixed in. "I'll even let him join the club!"
The medium's shoulders slumped as she relaxed. Pearl's clinging to her turned into a hug. The crisis was averted, for the moment...their identities were still a secret.
"You've got me thinking about that Mysterious Mystic M, though...she is kinda mysterious, and mystical. I'd like to see what's under that mask of hers. And maybe the rest of her costume, grrrowl! OW! Ow! Hey, Pearl, not you too-OW! Dude, that
hurts! And watch the wings, I need them for the contest-!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Organizing a convention, even if it was only the second-largest of the year, was a highly complicated affair. There were lights to adjust and projectors to run, rooms and spaces to allocate, and even celebrities to take care of. Stage, screen, and marketing, amongst other things, collided at events like these. Properly organized, it was less like a collision and more like a quietly running machine, purring away in the background.
But nobody had counted on a small black hole opening up backstage. Or at least, that was what some people were suggesting. Things going missing, mostly food, had been blamed on other staff members or even vermin. Then the caterers invaded backstage, demanding to know if anyone had seen someone, somehow, running away with an entire buffet including a Pink Princess ice sculpture. But why would anyone steal
that, when there were thousands of dollars worth of equipment around?
And then, the worst theft of all...or rather a kidnapping. The pretty Japanese idol who was supposed to be hosting the cosplay contest, known by her stage name Ani Mei, suddenly disappeared. A few of the costume designers were still trying to comfort the distraught makeup artist who'd turned around to find an empty chair.
They'd called the Police, of course, but they couldn't tell the convention-goers, or there'd be mass panic. Tensions were already high; it had been nearly a month since the catastrophic Big Bang, but it was still fresh in everyone's minds. Still, even with the strange things going missing, a kidnapper was a more realistic possibility, wasn't it? A crazed fan couldn't have got too far...and the Police were here...
And a girl who didn't look too busy had suddenly found herself with a clipboard, drafted in to to check if everyone was still present. That wasn't really what she was there for...in fact, she probably shouldn't be there at all. But she asked for names and ticked them off all the same, acting every part like just another crew member, just so she could approach a certain person's door.
Penny Nichols adjusted her glasses. The 'special mystery' guest's name was written on a gold star taped to the door, denoting their celebrity status. There was another sign on the door -
'Do NOT Disturb (trespassers shall be eaten by a Grue)', written in green Sharpie – but she needed to ignore it, for once.
Her hand went to the walkie-talkie clipped to her belt, the temptation to back out, the means to say 'No' were both there...but she needed to know. For herself, too. She raised her hand and knocked. "Mr. Manella? Are you there? Mr. Manella?" She tried the doorknob. "Sal?"
The door swung open.