Hound55
Cyberlad
Half Pint
mickilennial
Ezekiel
Master Bruce
PrinceAlexus
Pilatus
Chronic
MST3K 4ever
"Sooo....on the Number Four, the Big Belly Double-Triple Cheeseburger....does that come with cheese?"
".....it's a cheeseburger."
".....so no?"
The withering glare that Rachel Roth gave the fat balding man on the other side of the counter could have curdled milk, but its effects were completely lost on him, as he scratched underneath the folds of his substantial gut that drooped out from the bottom of his shirt.
Amid all the bright primary colors and phony smiles from the crew of the Big Belly Burger, Rachel was something of an odd duck, a "bird of a different feather," her manager once described her in a mangled metaphor. With pale white skin and deep purple hair, it would be easy to assume she applied layers of makeup and coloring to match the classic goth style, but in truth she looked that way for as long as she could remember. Her looks weren't the only thing that set her apart from the everyday crowd; there was also her charming disposition, which had about the same effect on other teenagers as a citronella candle had on mosquitoes.
And of course, there was the fact that she was only half-human, and that her father was some kind of demon who had sired her to bring about Hell on Earth, but Rachel had learned to deal with one horrible fate at a time. And for the moment, the horrific fate she was dealing with was the dinner rush.
She had working part-time here for about six months, and conversations like this were tragically common. Whether it was asking questions easily answered by the big gaudy signs festooned around the counter, ordering items that the restaurant has never carried in its decades of existence, trying to use coupons from other restaurants, or demanding special treatment because they brought their kids on a Sunday afternoon, there seemed to be a never-ending litany of mundane torments afflicted on her by the general public.
When Jean-Paul Sartre said 'hell is other people,' he must have been thinking about the service industry.
"Oh, right, right," he nodded with what must have been a painfully rare moment of clarity. "So, what kind of cheeses do you have?"
"Calling it 'cheese' would be generous," Rachel began, "But according to the packaging at least, we have American, Swiss, cheddar, and 'fiesta.'"
The fat man nodded absently, before declaring "I'll take mine with Pepper Jack."
Once again, the pale, purple-haired girl fixed him with a glare that could strip the paint off a car, then reiterated, "We have American, Swiss, ch--"
"Friend Rachel!" Kori exclaimed as she practically erupted from the break room, a soda cup filled to the brim with mustard in her hand and a bright yellow smudge on her lips, "I have the most glorious of news! I believe I now have the solution to our worries!"
Even if she didn't have orange skin, long red hair that shined so brightly it seemed to be on fire, and bright green eyes whose whites were actually just slightly less bright green, Koriand'r--operating under the extremely creative alias 'Kori Anders'-- would have still stuck out like a sore thumb. That was partly due to the fact that physically, she was flawless in a way that would give beauticians and supermodels an aneurysm. Mostly, however, it was because her personality was a chaotic mix between a cliché sci-fi android asking what love is and a hyperactive puppy.
If she came off as if she was from a different planet, that would be because she was. Kori had crash-landed on Earth a year ago, and gotten herself inextricably tangled up in Rachel's life. From there, they had stumbled backwards into a career as low-level super-heroes protecting the people of Jump City, and things only got more complicated. Kori had moved in with Rachel into the loft above her foster parents' garage, which the two used as a makeshift base of operations for their vigilante activities. While the foster family was happy to take Kori in, they also asked that the two of them start paying rent to help make ends meet, and to cover any equipment or expenses they might need while fighting villains and evading cultists.
Thus, they found their way to the Big Belly Burger, the only honest paycheck they could find that wouldn't look too closely at their applications. For a few weeks, having a pair of super-heroes working at the counter brought in big business, but the novelty quickly wore off, and by now they were no more special than any other pimple-faced high schooler while on the clock. If the blow to their general dignity wasn't enough, it also took up a significant amount of time they could be spending on more important matters. If they ever hoped to find a way to transport Kori home, or take on the various cults of Rachel's demonic father, or deal with the sinister organization HIVE that wanted them as brainwashed weapons, or get ahead on any number of other threats and crises....then sooner or later they were going to have to find a better way to make rent than peddling greasy junk food to slack-jawed morons.
Rachel raised an eyebrow, turning to her friend and ignoring the fat guy at the counter, and the twenty other people in line behind him. "A solution to our problems? You've discovered the secret to overthrowing the stranglehold of the corrupt and exploitative ruling class in order to bring about a worker's paradise?"
"No, but I have learned of an exciting business opportunity!" she beamed. "During my allotted fifteen-minute breaking of the room of baths, I was speaking to our co-worker Trevor..."
"The one who keeps trying to take pictures of your butt when he thinks you're not looking?"
"Yes, the same!" Kori nodded enthusiastically, her cup of mustard sloshing over. "He suggested that we engage in the starting of a small business, and said that we could make the fortunes! According to the Trevor, we would be perfect for selling ventilation equipment!"
"...ventilation equipment?"
"Uhhh, excuse me," the fat man at the counter muttered, "I'd still like to order a--"
"One second," Rachel dismissed him before turning back to Kori. "Trevor thinks we should sell ventilation equipment?"
"Oh yes, he was very enthusiastic about it! He said we should sell exclusively ventilation equipment!"
"Wait," Rachel's expression soured. "...'exclusively ventilation equipment?' What did he say, exactly?"
"His words with exactness were 'you two could make tons doing Only Fans!'"
"Of course," Rachel gave a deflated sigh. "First off, no, we are absolutely not doing that. Second of all, that has nothing to do with air conditioning."
"Then I have the confusion," Kori puzzled. "If 'only fans' does not mean selling equipment for conditioning of the air, then what is it?"
"It's...." Rachel stopped herself, looked back to the line of people, then back at her expectant friend, "it's...just come here, it's--"
Rachel whispered the answer into Kori's ear, and the orange-skinned girl went pale with shock.
"....oh," she managed, before her expression brightened. "Oh, that is even easier than selling ventilation equipment! We--"
"Absolutely not."
"Hey, can I please--"
"Number four with Pepper Jack that this restaurant chain has never carried, got it," she turned back to the register. "Will that be for here or to go?"
"Oh. My. God, it's true!"
A tittering laugh rang out through the dining room, and all eyes turned to the smirking blonde that stood in the doorway, flanked by a half-dozen teenage girls and boys fawning over her.
"Oh good," Rachel muttered, "my evening wasn't going badly enough."
"Kitten," Kori narrowed her eyes. Kitten van Cleer was the daughter of Cameron van Cleer, a millionaire playboy who was touted as the "Bruce Wayne of the West Coast." Growing up the lap of luxury, Kitten was equal parts spoiled and rotten, able to buy the affection and adulation of everyone around her-- or more accurately, have her dad buy it for her. She'd been used to getting her way, right up until last spring, when every boy in school voted "that crazy hot orange girl" as junior prom queen instead of her. Since then, Kitten had devoted her time and considerable resources to making Kori miserable.
"You know, normally I wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this," Kitten began as she approached the counter, "but when I heard the heroes of Jump City had to resort to flipping burgers for a living? Well, I just had to see it. How the mighty have fallen, hm?" On cue, her nameless entourage laughed.
"You made the big mistake," Kori said indignantly, "for we are not engaging in the flipping of burgers! We are presiding over the registers of cash this evening. Friend Ralphus is the one who flips the burgers!"
Looking through the order window, a hideously obese wiry-haired old man gave them a big friendly wave hello, smiling wide through half a dozen missing teeth, before turning his attention back to the dozens of patties sizzling on the griddle.
"Well, it's nice to know you've found some friends your speed," Kitten said condescendingly, drawing another big laugh from her sycophants. "What are you two even doing here? Don't you super-types all have, like, secret underground headquarters or space stations or whatever?"
"Ours is under construction," Rachel said flatly, refusing to be antagonized. "Anyway, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to go to the back of the line. There are people waiting to order."
"Yeah, like me!" the balding man chimed in. "I want a--"
"This doesn't concern you, sir."
"Oh, I'm not ordering anything," Kitten stated, giving the restaurant and everyone in it a contemptuous glare. "All the food here makes you fat."
"Ah, a good idea!" Starfire nodded. "If I were you, I would avoid any more fattening foods as well!"
Kitten stared cold death at Kori, while Rachel suppressed a grin.
"Anyway," she resumed, "I came by to let you know that my Daddy is booking a party cruise on Friday night for my birthday. Absolutely everyone is going to be there."
Kori tilted her head to one side in puzzlement. "And you wish for us to attend, even though you have the hatred for us?"
Kitten burst out laughing, which prompted the same from her crowd of hangers-on.
"Ah-hahaha ohmygod noooo," she answered. "This is an un-vitation for you two. I wanted to make it nice and official that you freak shows aren't allowed anywhere near my party or my Daddy's boat!"
"I'm devastated," Rachel deadpanned. "How ever shall I live with the disappointment?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," Kitten said in a patronizing tone. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about the good time you'll be missing," Kitten said as she began to turn back towards the door, before looking over her shoulder. "Oh, and that I personally invited Frankie Crandall to come."
"You would not dare!" Kori blurted. Frankie Crandall was elected Junior Prom King the same year that Kori had ousted Kitten as Queen, and Kori had been head-over-heels for him ever since. "The Franklin would never tarnish our love by g'narff-blorking with you!"
"Calm down, nobody said anything about "g'narf-blorking,'" she said with a mocking playfulness. "We're all just going to dance to some music, maybe help ourselves to the wet bar that Daddy will conveniently leave unlocked...and who knows what'll happen after that.....nothing to worry your little tangerine head about. Frankie did seem awfully excited about coming, though. And when I say he's looking forward to coming, I mean--"
"Don't be gross, there's kids here," Rachel cut her off.
"Oh, I don't know what you're talking about," Kitten feigned innocence. "Your mind must really be in the gutter. The same place you get your clothes, I imagine."
Rachel rolled her eyes as Kitten's bunch of lackeys all had a good laugh.
"Well, I'll leave you to toiling away as wage-slaves," she waved, before turning once again. "Actually, now that you've reminded me, if Frankie isn't willing to play, I did just have a nice tutoring session with that cute goth boy from our creative-writing class. What was his name again? Mal...Malcolm? Malomar? Malachite?"
"Malchior?" Rachel asked with a slight gasp, the break in her composure just enough to give her away. Malchior was the only person at Jump City High that Rachel could stand talking to for more than a few seconds. Apart from Kori, of course. On most days.
Kitten smiled evilly. "That's his name! He's been such a good tutor, and I've been such an attentive student. Maybe at the party I'll take some time to thank him for all his hard work. Until then, enjoy yourselves, losers!"
As Kitten strutted out of the Big Belly Burger, her pack of suck-ups in tow, Rachel seethed and fought the urge to open a portal to the darkest pit of hell under Kitten's feet. Meanwhile, Kori clenched her drinking cup of mustard so hard it burst, splattering the two girls and the fat balding man in globs of bright yellow sauce.
"Hey! This is not acceptable! I demand to see your manager!" the balding man bellowed.
"Damn it, she's good," Rachel muttered.
As the snotty rich girl strode out of the Big Belly Burger, three figures watched from a van in the parking lot.
"Excellent, contact with the targets has been made. Phase one begins...."
"I still don't see why we don't just run in and smash them now that we know where they work!"
"Don't be dense! I want payback against those two just as bad as you...especially against that wannabe witch girl....but we've gotta play this smart."
"Quite right. Our last attempt demonstrated that they can overwhelm our efforts in a direct assault. Such raw power, when turned to our purposes, will be unstoppable...."
"So....what do we do now?"
"Now that the bait has been laid, we set the trap. We weaken the targets so they cannot escape...."
"And then we finally have them...."
