Hound55

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@AndyC Another good post. Though I have to ask...

<Snipped quote>

Was that intended to make me think that this is this universe's version of Hawkeye, or is that a happy accident?

@Master Bruce

Pixar's 'Suicide Squad'...

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Betty Brant

The Offices Of The Daily Bugle

Slender fingers type precisely as the brunette's eyeline drifted through the crack between her monitors into the office of the Editor-In-Chief, watching as J. Jonah Jameson kept clicking and harumphing from his own desk.

Subscriptions had been down, advertising revenue had been down. The Bugle had already lost many of it's more prominent journalists to other publications who had offered more. Those who remained, generally did so for reasons other than pay - whether it was a sense of loyalty and or opportunity that was provided to them by a true reporter spirit even if his reputation had started to decline as he had to make more decisions from the 'Big Chair'. Reporters like Ben Urich, whose own best days were behind him, but felt truly indebted to Jonah for the opportunities granted him.

Curiosity and boredom got the better of her and she went into screen mirroring and began to backdoor into his computer. She rose to her feet and asked sweetly.

"Jonah? I might do a coffee run, can I get you anything?"

She entered his console's details and password which she had access to for her extensive administration duties, and held her finger over the 'Enter' key waiting for J.J. to take his eyes off the screen and waited the gruff response she knew would be coming.

"Coffee run? From petty cash?!" His eyes went wide as he turned to face the young admin girl, watching his finances circle the drain. She tapped the 'Enter' Key, and if he weren't distracted he'd have screen briefly turn black and announce mirroring had been activated.

"At FOUR PM? Someone just went out at TWO! Do I look like I'm made of money, Brant!? Get your kicks and fixes in your own time!" He finished with an unintelligible growl.

"Yes, Mister Jameson." She offered sweetly. Re-taking her seat, and watching her right screen, where Jonah's actions all played out in front of her.

He was visiting a page called 'Tech/Sci: Amazing Fantasy or the World of Tomorrow' for some reason.

She continued to type out office-wide memos and perform human resources tasks that would normally be undertaken by a full team in a fully staffed office, whilst her attention strayed to what Jonah was looking at on the right screen. His cursor began to stray to click on a blog, a video was about to load when...

"Ah. I see young Mister Parker made an impression..." he voice came from behind her.

A rapid boss-key and suddenly the right screen went blank.

"I'm sorry, Mister Robertson?"

"Oh no. You needn't be. I was just saying, he must have made an--" He stopped as the screen flickered a message across the top of the right screen.

SCREEN MIRRORING DISABLED

"Hmm." He ran a scrutinous eye over the young administrative officer.

"I am SOOO sorry, Mister Robertson." Betty apologized forcefully. "You won't tell Mister Jameson, will you?"

"No... No, I won't tell Jonah." And he wouldn't. Betty Brant was not only generally trustworthy, she was quite frankly an integral part of the day-to-day running of the paper, and filled numerous roles herself, which was one of the main reasons the publication had still managed to stay afloat.

"Just tell me... how's he been behaving whilst he's been looking at that page he's in?"

"Mister Jameson? A lot of grumbling, some harumphs, a few grizzled mumbles."

"Could a secretary give a translation?"

"It was the same way he reacted when Ned Leeds won that 'Nellie Bly Cub Reporter' award for the New York Press Club that you wrote his tenure letter for. When he got worried that he was going to renegotiate his contract or watch him jump--"

Robbie offered only a considered "Huh..." in reply.

"So this Mister Parker, is he a Pulitzer winner? Disgraced big name writer from elsewhere who needs to start over on the cheap?"

"No. Nothing like that. So you're saying he hasn't come in yet..?"

"No, sir."

"He'd probably want to pretty soon, or Jonah won't like that at all. Hmm... Better go see what all of the grumbling is about then, I guess. He's probably just trying to figure out the best way to use him." Robbie steeled himself for a full face of bluster and walked into the Editor-in-Chief's office.

"Well, if he's not a Pulitzer winner or star writer, what made you ask if he made an impressi--"

The door closed behind him.

"Oh."

She settled back down to work. Betty had been a mainstay at the Daily Bugle ever since her mother's passing. Her mother being one of the most brilliant and tenacious journalists that J. Jonah Jameson had ever known. He'd long felt indebted to her for her efforts at the paper which stretched back as far as when Jonah himself was just a beat reporter, before he'd gradually bought in more and more to have a controlling interest as the paper's own value dwindled and became a monument to obsolescence.

She'd been working behind a desk here since she was fifteen, and at the 'guard tower' before Jonah's office within the year, that was two years ago and her role had only grown.

Jonah felt indebted to teach her the ropes and make her a crack reporter like her mother had been. Only her role had grown so much, and she'd taken on so much of the fundemental day-to-day operations that her presence was too indispensable to actually let her work any real stories or be paired with a reporter.

The elevator at the end of the newsroom opened and out stepped a nervous youth in a white office shirt, sportsjacket, tie and pants.

He slowly edged past each row of desks, looking around as if unsure where he was supposed to go as people kept working at their desks. Nobody raised their eyes or turned their heads to meet him, so he kept moving forward row by row until he hit Betty's desk - his brow raised with relief as he saw the editor's name on the door of the office behind her.

"Oh, great! Umm... I need to go in there. I-- uh, just started working here... at the Daily Bugle." A smile creased across his face as he said the full name of the publication.

"I'm Peter Parker."

He was perhaps a year or two younger than Betty herself, perhaps a year older than she was when she left school and started working here, where her mother used to.

"I'm getting the sense that what Aunt May suggested I wear to make a good first impression has me wildly overdressed..." He muttered to himself anxiously, looking around the office.

"Not that you don't really look nice in what you're wearing!" He stumbled back over himself.

Smooth... She thought to herself, an amused smirk crossing her face.

"Riiiight..."

"I--uhh-- I have some paperwork with me. Uhmm. Mister Jameson said I was supposed to bring this in. Oh... and-- umm... I have this too!" He produced a slightly smudged sheet of A4 lined paper which he slapped down on her desk, unsure of the submission process but trying to have confidence in his work.

"Err-- first... story..? Or article? Or news bit or whatever?"

"Copy." Betty corrected.

"Roger-dodger, over and out?" He snapped back too quickly to have put any thought in.

Her smile widened.

"No it's-- it's called 'copy'." She clarified kindly.

"Okay... I've got to be honest. I've never worked--"

"In a newsroom?"

"Yeah, that either..." He looked around, feeling certain he was making an ass of himself he was making on his first impression, and hoping for minimal witnesses.

"It's okay. I'm Betty. I handle most of the administrative work for the paper, and a fair amount of the human resources and general daily operations work as well."

"That seems-- like a lot."

"Well, it keeps me busy. And between you and me, Peter, I happen to be very good at it."

He returned a warm smile and was about to respond when--

"I-- uh--"

"PARKER! Is that you out there?! Quit chatting up the admin girl and get your butt in here!"

The pair immediately started blushing, turning away from one another. Before Peter started stammering.

"I wasn't-- I mean-- I--"

"This is why you don't hire kids, Robbie! It's all puberty and hormones in here! PARKER! Don't make me say it twice! Get in here!"

"Brant! I want these office plants rotated! Get me something that absorbs pheromones!"

"I... don't think that's a thing, Mister Jameson."

His reply followed an unintelligible growl.

"I don't pay you for 'I don't think', Brant! Research! If it exists, I want them here by Friday! Unless-- they're that giant flower that smells like rotting meat. Anything else, get it in here!"

Peter went inside and the door closed behind him.

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

---

Gwen Stacy

New U Technologies Laboratories

"Now you do know how to properly clean those flasks and test tubes, yes, Ms Stacy?" Doctor Connors asked.

"I know that can SOUND patronising, but in your early days in particular it is important that you understand there are no such things as dumb questions, or overthought processes. It is a rare opportunity that high school interns ACTUALLY get such a hands-on opportunity in scientific endeavour, and trace residue from irregular cleaning habits can be a leading cause of variables in experimentation."

Curt Connors was a kind man, if a little overwrought and fastidious in his explanations.

Of course being the head scientist in charge of a project, as well as an internship mentoring the elite young scientists of tomorrow, there were worse faults to have.

"Do you use an acid or a base pre-rinse here, Doctor Connors? And I'm assuming it's then soap and water and rinse with the distilled water." Gwen replied.

"THREE TIMES." He clarified, now pushing the bounds of patronizing. "Three times with distilled water, and yes we use an acid pre-rinse. Still impressive, not all laboratories are the same, and I'm impressed you at least knew the points of difference."

As if on cue, a teenager crossed the floor, quickly put his bag in an open box locker and took off his sportsjacket and replaced it with a lab coat.

"Certainly the most impressed by our two interns this year." Doctor Connors remarked.

"Hi-- yes-- hey. Sorry about this, Mister Connors--"

"DOCTOR Connors."

"Doctor Connors. Sorry." He corrected, clearly flustered from the situation and his rush to get there.

"I just started a new job so that I could afford to begin this internship. It's remote and I don't normally have to go into the office, but today there was an orientation, they put my details on HR file-- you don't... care about the details... but it was a one off, sir. It won't be happening again. I'm really sorry about this."

"Well, you're going to have to make up everything that you missed. Understand as well, that I am not very happy. This position is an incredible privilege that most in your position would revel in the opportunity. You haven't made a very good first impression."

"Yes sir, I'm sorry."

"Yes, so I heard. Just do better."

The boy looked over at the other teenage girl intern and attempted to retrieve the same collection of apparatus that she had in front of her. She tried to shake her head with subtlety, but he didn't see until he had already got it and returned to a bench.

"Mister Parker, if you had BOTHERED to ask, you would have realised that the collection of test tubes and flasks in front of Ms Stacy, that you have attempted to copy from, are in need of a clean. You may as well clean them now as well, since you've soiled them."

He should have known. The second he realised we didn't have gloves it wasn't going to be actual experimentation. It's a private laboratory. Gwen thought to herself.

He certainly wasn't projecting a very good first impression.

As Doctor Connors had his back turned he quickly asked in a hushed whisper.

<sub><sup>"Quick! What did I miss?"

"The lockers, the emergency contact numbers, where the toilets are and the in-house method for cleaning test tubes and flasks - acid pre-wash, soap and water, three times distilled water rinse."</sup></sub>

The youth dared to turn and look at her whilst Connors back remained turned.

"Thanks. Peter. Midtown High."

"Gwen. Standard High."

The two students worked the rest of the evening in relative silence, both hoping to find their way to Empire State University.

---

Felicia Hardy

Penthouse Apartment - Unlisted Private Dwelling - Midtown, Manhattan

"No. You're not coming."

"But Daaa-aaaad..."

Felicia pouted. It did nothing in the face of the stern face before her.

"I do the work so you don't have to... and so that you can go to that fancy school. Empire State wasn't cheap... and neither was the donation that saw them look at you twice despite where your grades were. The least you could is get those grades back up now you're in the door."

"So if I get my grades up..?"

"Then maybe we'll talk about it... I don't like it, but one day you're gonna be your own woman, making your own choices. But while you're under this roof, it's my rules. So no, you're not going out until those grades go up. And that includes that frosh party on campus... But I don't know how you'd think you could come out on the job wth me anyway when you're failing electronics. I mean electronics, Flick, how do you think you'd do what I do if you don't get through that in the first place?"

"Alright, alright... I'll get my grades up in electronics. If I'm passing that THEN can I come out and join you?"

She pitched the negotiation with the corners of her mouth curling into a sweet smile.

The older man shook his head and sighed. "We'll talk about it..."

"Thank you, Daddy! Oh! Would you be willing to pay for a tutor to help me get on top of things?"

Walter Hardy waved a hand across her fully furnished bedroom, the decor fitted with everything and anything the younge blonde girl had wanted over the years.

"Does it look like I'd say 'No' to you, Flick?" He replied. He had an idea how this was going to play out. Some boy or another getting manipulated into pandering to her whims, he'd be introduced to some sucker who'd then be in their house doing her homework and getting strung along through the Felicia Hardy experience until he'd worn out his usefulness. "Door stays open, Flick." He dropped his one ground rule.

He doubted it was required though. Half the fun was in playing the guy in the first place. He hated thinking about his little girl in those terms, but he wasn't born without eyes, and if he was honest with himself it was likely his fault in the first place that she saw the world that way in the first place.

"Of course, Daddy. I'm just getting a tutor... Gaaaawd..." She rolled her eyes.

"Mmm." He murmured, leaving her to her devices. Walter had to prepare for another night's work.

Felicia scrambled for a bag. A tutor on short notice. Very short notice. The sooner she could find a rube to get her work caught up, the sooner she could go back out with her father. Feel the night on her face. Learn the real family trade.

"Where is it..? Where is it..?" She dug through her school bag, she'd had someone recommended by a teacher. A scrap of paper. The guy's name and phone number. 'Paulie'? "Ah-ha! Here!" She pulled the loose scrap from her bag, and lay on the bed with the piece of paper, pulling her phone off of the bedside table.

She dialed the number. She sat with impatient boredom as it rang until a voice picked up with a vague--

"Hel-lo..?" The voice on the other end asked, clearly not knowing who to expect from the unrecognised phone number.

Suddenly a tearful anxiety entered Felicia's voice that never met her eyes, as her posture remained bored on the bed.

""Hello? Is this... Peter Parker? Hi, my name is Felicia Hardy-- and-- and I really need help. I'm taking freshman electronics at Empire State University, and I got told by my teacher that he's gonna flunk me if I-- I-- don't get a good score on my next-- my next-- oh God..." Sobs and tears never breaking the eyes.

"Well, the thing is... I kind of recently got a new job, and I've started this internship, and between that and my... extracurriculars, I'm kind of time-short at the moment. I actually thought I took my number down from all of the noticeboards I had it listed on..."

"Please-- please I really need your help--!" She winced a little at herself in the mirror, laying it on too thick. But boys were easy. A little damsel mixed in and he'd come running. "I'm local! And I can't fail this class. Oh please! I'll send you my address now!"

She hung up the phone before he could further try and plead his way out of it.

She stood up from her bed, opened up a message to his phone number and dropped a pin for her location.

"Aaaaand, just a little nudge."

She grabbed her electronics text books from her bag and looked at herself in the mirror. She tried three different puppy eyed pouts in the mirror before making her decision to go with the second one. She licked her fingertip just to add a little extra moisture to the corner of her eye, before posing with her books folded in one arm under her chest, as she wore a pink-t with no bra, lifting the books underneath her chest 'just so' and taking a selfie of her perfectly posed look to add to the message.

The reply was almost instant. She snorted at the suddenness of his reply. "Too easy..."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean you got the number, and it's only Electronics. Be there in fifteen."

"Yeah, you will..."

---

Mary Jane Watson

The Watson Household, Forest Hills

"Are you all unpacked, Mary Jane?"

"Getting there, Aunt Anna."

"Well, if you need anything, let me know. You know you can stay here as long as you like."

Mary Jane Watson was relieved to finally be able to unpack from the cases. She'd been bouncing around various places and friends homes for a few months now looking for something, anything more stable.

Out there, somewhere, her mother and sister were struggling to make ends meet in that house. Her family threatening to drown her with their presence. She had to get out, however she could.

She related with how her mother must have felt when she decided to up and leave Philip after he hit her sister. She'd obviously never say it to their faces, but the sense of self-preservation felt much the same, even if it was under the weight of expectation rather than assault.

She'd never be able to be herself in that place.

She had little doubt that eventually Aunt Anna would let it slip where she was holed up, but until that day she had time to prove herself useful and buy back her freedom.

If she could get paying work, put together a decent enough amount, maybe they'd leave her alone if she sent back money to her mother and sister. See the value in letting her live her life elsewhere.

The thought made her feel guilt. But the guilt didn't mean she wasn't justified.

Her sister had been using her as free childcare for too long. Somehow, despite her sister having two children, she was able to keep more of her free time than the little sister M.J.

Finding work, re-enrolling to try and finish high school. It all seemed daunting, but still not as constrictive and frightening as the thought of either of her parents finding her and dragging her back.

"You know what you could do while you're here? I think it would be ever so sweet. May Parker has this nephew--"

"Aunt Anna," She giggled. "Can't I just unpack before you go looking to set me up with the local eligible bachelors of the season? This is Forest Hills, not Bridgerton."

It was just what she needed, the solution to every woman's problems as she could tell from her mother and sister.

A man to tie herself down to within hours of setting down in New York.

She loved her Aunt Anna, but she did wish she'd have a bit more sensitivity for her situation, all things considered.

"There's plenty of time for your free-living and fancy free niece to meet the local suitors, but just let her get settled first." She tried to cover her sincerity with a free-spirited laugh.

Aunt Anna poked her head back around the corner through her room.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just so glad to have you here. I might be a little over-eager to show you off. May is such a sweetheart, and she just talks about her nephew so much and he's your age, I just thought-- Forget I mentioned it. It's the last you'll hear about it."

"That's okay, Aunt Anna. I'm glad to be here too."

But it was not the last she'd hear about it. Not even close.

---

Felicia Hardy

Penthouse Apartment - Unlisted Private Dwelling - Midtown, Manhattan

Peter Parker was very much not what she expected.

Walter actually laughed out loud when he answered the door to the fresh-faced wide-eyed youth. The boy may as well have been damn near twelve, for how young and innocent-looking he'd appeared.

She is going to eat this boy alive... He thought to himself, as he provided introduction and directed him through the house to where his daughter would be.

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, before you start?"

"Oh, uhh... no sir, I kind of want to get this done as quick as possible. See, I'm expected back home. I called and told them I'd be late, extenuating circumstances and all. But yeah, I kind of just have to help her get back on track and get home in a hurry."

Walter laughed out loud again at the earnesty. "Geeeeeeez..." He uttered without further explanation. Barely able to believe the kid was for real.

The younger man was led through the house and to Felicia's room.

"Tutor's here, Flick."

She turned, trying to show excitement for whoever this rube Peter Parker was before getting her first look at the young man. She was so shocked she was unable to hide her disappointment.

"Make sure you keep the door open, Flick." Her father's voice left behind, as well as a laugh which confused the young tutor.

"Oh my God..." She cried out. "My tutor's a high school senior..."

He winced at the comment, not sure how to broach the issue.

"Uhh... Junior. Senior, next semester. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I turn seventeen in, like, two weeks..."

Her horrified expression made it clear that it did not make her feel better.

"Look, it's not that bad. Not to toot my own horn, but I mean, I'm VERY good at this stuff. And you're not that far behind. You can't be. It's freshman Electronics. We just have to get you to 'see' it, and you'll find it easy."

She was covering her face with both hands. She was pretty sure that he would take it as shame on her part. In reality, she was trying not to laugh at how easy this would be.

"I jus-- I jus-- I just need to pass this next unit. And now I find out that even a High School Junior would have a better grasp on this stuff--"

"Well, I'm not really... 'just' a High School junior. I mean, I won Science prizes and... a job... IN the industry..."

"Could you-- could you just... DO this stuff for me?" She sniffed. She removed her hands from her face and hit him right between the eyes with the eyes as her mouth curled into a smile that suggested they'd have a secret, held just between them. "Just this once..."

She reached across and rested her hand on his forearm.

Peter made an audible noise and scratched the back of his neck.

"This isn't how tutors work, Felicity"

She kept hold of the eye contact. He broke eye contact first.

"I mean... when's this due by?"

It took everything she had to not turn her widening smile into a laugh.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow???"

"I know, Petey... But it's just so... hard. It takes so long for me to just get it all so wrong..."

His hand went from his neck, rising through his own head like he was flustered. She gave him something extra to be flustered by as she arched her back as she got to her feet.

"I'll just get us something to drink, Petey. While you think about it."

She tried to hold her laughter as she left the room.

She'd undoubtedly left him a drooling mess of pubescence back in the other room. She decided to putter around the kitchen, leaving him wanting more of her. If she timed it right, he'd probably beg her to let him do her work for her. Show off that big egghead brain of his and how much he could help her.

She opened the fridge and thought about what she could have, arching her leg in contemplation as she flicked through the shelves, before grabbing a jug of juice and closing the door.

Just to find him standing there.

"Here. I looked over your last stuff. This should be about a 93%. Should scrape back into passing. Any more than that and there's no way I could pass it off as your work. If they hit you with a pop quiz just tell them you're still very much working from the book." He said flatly.

He didn't seem happy at all. And if he'd been drooling over her at any point there was certainly no sign of that now.

"I don't need a drink. Just the cash."

She hopped over to the kitchen counter where the money for the tutor was kept. She returned to him and put it in his hands and was about to thank him when she realised he wasn't finished.

"Felicity... Get it together. If you want to use me for this next time... Lose my number."

Her back stiffened with the shock of the admonishment from the youth.

She looked down at the page, as if expecting it to have some message giving away that it wasn't her own work for her teacher.

But no, it had been completed, all the way through.

"Sweet!"

---

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Been working away, but it's a five part thing...

...done most of the longer parts though. Should be done tomorrow.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

You spin a web, but is it or lies or stories?

@Sep

Yarn... or deceit..?

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

The goal is to churn out a Spidey post tomorrow...

See how we go.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Sep>

That's okay, I'll accept your backwater currency.

@Retired

*@Sep withdraws his retirement haggises*

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 3- Shattered Dimensions

Hey folks, is this still a thing? i had an idea for a Supe I'm calling Everyman, basically he has a poo-ton of powers, but has a few separate personalities and a bunch of weaknesses (a few of which being 1- His own sweat is his Kryptonite, he's claustrophobic, the more people he's around, the weaker his powers are, and he has performance anxiety so he deals with a lot of self doubt) the caveat though is that he duplicates himself so his "Clark Kent" is separate from his "Superman". Would this idea fit into the world at all?

@thatguy

It very much is still a thing... I'll be working on something this week myself,in fact, as we wrap this event up and find out the new status quo moving forward...

...stay tuned.

As for your character, feel free to put together an application.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Sep>

I will probably be too swamped to post for the next week or so: the play I'm directing opens in 7 days, so my free time between now and closing night is basically zero. I'll try to squeeze in another Logan post to make sure I don't go past the two-week limit, but i may need an extension.

@AndyC

Looking forward to whatever we get. Been great stuff so far!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Speaking of, everyone good? Anybody need some assistànce?

@Sep

I only have to work Monday this week, so I should have at least one to come this week.

So... all good on this end.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

"Calli! F'rchrisssake I wasn't gonna hit him!"

"Well, that's not what it looked like..." Her response prim, cold, closed off. Disappointed.

"Well it wouldn't, would it?" He held his hands out, as if his reasoning was self-evident.

"I don't get it. This isn't another of those stupid toxic masculinity macho--"

"No, no, no-- well, maybe, yes. It's one of those blurred line things. I mean... it probably factors in somewhere if you really think about it..."

She looked completely unimpressed.

"Where I grew up, I got the shit beat out of me a lot. Even when I was old enough and my powers kicked in to the point where I could have been putting kids into hospital." He tried to explain.

"And in these places where I grew up, the two easiest ways to protect yourself were to be a psychopath who throws his fists at everything... and believe me, I knew a lot of them... or have everyone believe you were a psycho who would throw his fists at everything."

"So you were pretending? Acting?"

"I would never say this to anyone else... but yeah. Truth is, I don't really like to fight. I mean, I 'can'. You don't grow up how I did without being able to at least a bit. But ever since my powers came in, I kind of lost my stomach for it, and I don't really like being around the types who actually would throw fists at anything."

"Well, what if he didn't fall for it? What if he decided he really did want to?"

"He didn't. So long as you're not stupid and overly aggressive it tends to keep you out of more fights than drags you into. Bein' around the kind of people who are up for a fight... that'll drag you into more."

"But what if HE DID, Andrew." Her exasperation palpable.

Banjo chuckled. "Then I'd better have found my interest in fighting pretty bloody quick. Nothin' will see you get your arse kicked quicker than not wanting to be in a fight you're caught in. But it wasn't gunna happen."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because, like I told you. I've been around people who are like that. And that guy... he ain't it."

"Because you hung around people like that?" She said. He spotted a trace of nervousness in her tone. The same kind of apprehension he'd often picked up on when he'd voiced his decision to be a defense attorney.

"I've KNOWN people like that." He clarified. "And it doesn't necessarily make them bad people. They just... grew up in situations which changed them that way. I wouldn't want to be that way."

"If it doesn't make them bad people, then why wouldn't you want to be like that?"

The clear pointed question skewering the issue. She'd gotten right to it. He snorted a half-laugh recognising what she'd done.

"Because once they start looking at the world like that. Defensive. Quick to violence. They become a hammer in a world of nails. Once you become the kind of person who's so beat up that you throw fists at everything... it can be hard for those people to know when to stop throwing them."

He smiled at her.

"Like I said. Doesn't make 'em bad people. But they're people who got pushed into a corner, found a means of survival for that corner, and then when they're out of that corner, that means of survival... it can lead to bad situations."

Things could get pretty bad. They'd been pretty bad for him, even if the physical scars had long since faded. But he'd never needed to be that way. He'd found another way.

* * *

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Myriad locations - PRCU}

Dance Monkey #4.044: Reckless

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Myriad NPCs. Chad provided by @Melissa}

Previously: Angry And Alone - Be Good Johnny

Banjo sat in the chair with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

Vincenzo looked on with a skeptical expression, surveying the terrain.

"Whaddaya reckon? Can anything be done?" The Butler, known to the island as 'Harry Holt' uttered.

"Leonardo... from pristine untouched marble pulled from Carrara quarries in Tuscany, could make the most beautiful sculptures you have ever seen. With this, Harry, this untouched mop. I must thank you! Vincenzo will make art, the kind of which you have never seen!"

He unfurled a barber's set, clippers, scissors of all kind and began to whistle whilst he worked.

"I guess I should be glad you didn't just tell him where my spare sheep shears are and set him loose with the handpiece." He said, wincing, as Vincenzo pulled a stray tangle with a comb, before divining that this marble certainly needed more spray.

"I told you we'd take care of you." His older keeper reminded him. "I'm more surprised that bird of yours never grabbed the shears and went after you herself. Her patience... boundless."

"I'm sure she'll love it!" The euphonious sing-song tone of their neighbour's enthusiasm brought the audience to a silence.

Banjo fell dark at the mention of Calliope.

The Butler had wrangled a handful of his neighbours over on the alumni island to come together into his home for the charitable effort of making him look halfway presentable.

Vincenzo was thrilled that his moment to shine was upon him. But it was his neighbour from the house behind, Margot, who had lent the most hours to the effort.

Not that she had any idea just how many hours she had sunk.

In a past life, Margot had been 'Margot Saunders' and that name had been up in lights on many a Hollywood marquee. She was one of the most glamorous actresses of a Hollywood era which truly worshipped the triple threat she presented as musicals took place of pride in the entertainment scene. Whispers and murmurings of how much longer she could sustain a career in the industry threatened the career and lifestyle she had grown to love, when she was given a gift from the gods. The Coronal Mass Ejection born from the darkness of the eclipse.

In the tabloids it would be reported that a newly hired makeup girl had seemed to turn back the career of the 'Nightingale' Margot Saunders. The truth she kept hidden. Her career revivified, as she returned to stage and silver screen.

For about a decade... as the genre itself fell into decline and her career became a relic inconsequential of her appearance or her age.

In fact her youthful appearance and apparent overeagerness learned from professionalism only left her the target of ridicule. An artefact of a bygone year unwilling to accept its time was over.

Because whilst Hollywood desperately wants women to remain young forever. It will still have deep skepticism of any who can.

A retirement thrust upon her and a limelight stolen from her, she had long ago picked up her not unsubstantial career earnings and looked for a place where she could have her secrets. To this island, where she had now been teaching a less than willing Australian for a few months now - before the senior dance had even been anounced. On Harry's request.

Of course she had no idea it had been a few months. The tragic irony of her hyperhuman power. Whilst it had presented her with the appearance of eternal youth, it had no impact on her mind. She had long since succombed to dementia, and her short term memory was at best spotty.

But she liked her affable, friendly neighbour who was always up for a chat. And the dance lessons had allowed her to revisit past glories - even if only between her own ears for brief moments at a time. Her long-term memory was fine, particularly regarding every minute detail of her own filmography and stagework. Her short-term memory was long gone. Margot had been told all about Calliope, even met her a few times, although the lessons remained a secret - intended to be a surprise for later. And had even been told of her returning home last time he was here. It wasn't her fault. He knew it wasn't her fault. But it all still hurt. Rolled into the big ball of pain he'd been going through since his leg forced changes upon him.

"Mate... it's al--" The Butler took an opportunity to grab a shoulder whilst Vincenzo changed his weapon of choice.

"It's fine." He grunted bluntly. "If nothin' else, she'll still get the photos out of it, eh?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, mate. I'll send her the photos."

"So, you wear the old fashioned classical tuxedo, eh? Vincenzo saw it hang as he came in. We will make this work, perfect, pristine, bellissimo!"

"You're sure it's not too short?" He winced, clumps of his hair dropping to the floor.

"Hey! Canvas! You no talk. You no know what you want. Vincenzo knows what you want."

"Canvas? I thought I was marble."

"Much-a the same. You do not have input on art. Art is being done to you. Sit there. Become beautiful."

Banjo turned his head to the Butler. "Sit here. Become beautiful. Are you kidding me?"

"Hey! You no turn your head!" With a firm finger he redirected Banjo's head to the front.

"It is for Vincenzo to have you make others turn their head. Yes?" The barber tutted as he applied the finishing touches to his work.

Banjo sighed.

"Hey! No sigh. Adds wrinkles." He murmured to the younger man, as he finished with shaping the back of his neck with a razor.

"That is true. It does add wrinkles." Margot added her own beauty tip from a bygone era.

"Now! You tell Vincenzo this is not a thing of beauty!" He gestured to the back of his head for the others to admire his work.

"Well, seein' as I'm sittin' in old mate's kitchen with a towel wrapped around me, and not in your barbershop, and there's nary a bloody mirror in sight. I'm just gonna have to take your word for it. Aren't I?" Banjo snarked.

"This is true! Mirror! He needs a mirror!" The Italian barber exclaimed.

"It looks great, mate. He's done a top job croppin' your mop, cob'." The Butler lent support.

"It looks spectacular, Vincenzo! You've done so marvellously!" Margot lent her glowing review.

"Ehh! Molte grazie! Ciao, a presto. I must go! One of Vincenzo's stories is about to start!" He rolled up his barber's tools, donned a hat and with a wave to the adults in the room bid everyone farewell.

"I can't help but notice, the bloke who cut my hair is headin' for an early exit before I can find meself a mirror..." More snark.

"Relax, mate. Like I said. Looks great. Now shower and suit. I'll see you off back down to Dundas myself."

Banjo hobbled off to the bathroom letting the towel hang off his shoulders for a quick clean before pouring himself into his suit. He let the water beat down on the back of his head and neck and run down his face, taking stray gulps that ran to his mouth before spitting it onto the floor, running a hand back and forth over his significantly lighter head to clear off loose hair.

He didn't really want to be doing this any more. All of it was for everyone else. And it was eating at him.

He was going to the dance because she'd said she still wanted to see how he'd look there. The effort she'd put into making this night work, so it wouldn't go to waste where he was concerned. But it wasn't really his scene in the first place.

Helping Zimmerman and maybe Big Steve..? As if he could. If they weren't beyond help altogether, he sure as Hell didn't know what greater wisdom he could hope to impart on anyone. Not in this field at least. He'd got beyond lucky. If you believed in luck.

And if you believed in luck he was right down the other end where that was concerned right now.

Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. He looked downright civilised now. Nudity aside.

The water stopped and he stepped to the bathmat a much neater complete mess than a few hours ago.

By the time he emerged in his tuxedo, sans tie, he saw the older pair dancing in the living room to pass the time. They uncoupled as he approached.

"Bloody Hell, kiddo! Made a new man out of you!"

Banjo did not care much for this new man at all.

"Let's get that tie done, eh?"

Banjo approached and did up his top button. His collar popped he watched once again as the older man tied the bow-tie, twitching his head back out of the way to avoid theolder man flipping his nose with the tie this time, as a smile creased across the Butler's face.

"I know, mate. It's not the same." He pulled the two sides even. "But there's worse things in this world than doin' things for others and bringing happiness to other people."

"Oh. Fuck. Off." He sighed.

"What?" The older man stopped and sized him up.

"Look. I'm fine. I'm goin' through the motions. But don't act like this is some after-school special or some learnin' experience or anything like that. It's some bullshit to get through. And I'm gettin' through it. That's all."

The Butler stepped back.

"And you're not my goddamn dad either. Acting like you've ever been teaching me any lessons in the first place, what? Just because she's around?" He pointed at Margot. "Who are you kidding, you're just a bloke who used to drive me around between schools. Where were you when I was actually AT any of them? Phantom. Ghost who bloody walks, mate. Til it was time to pick me up and drag me off somewhere again."

"Well, I'm here now. When you're at this one."

"Yeah! Because you live here. Amongst these people. And you're worried they're gonna judge you or somethin', so you've changed how you are and give a shit about being present or some shit. Which you never cared about before."

The older man looked notably hurt and just bobbed his head in sarcastic agreement with a screwface.

"Well, I guess you got me pegged, huh?"

"Mate. You're not that deep. I had you figured out years ago."

He gave a half-hearted chuckle with a sigh.

"C'mon. I said I'd take you back to Dundas. Let's--"

"Don't bother. I've got to go back to my dorm anyway. Pick up the other two. If I don't drag them out they'll probably never leave the room."

"There ya go. Ever the hero... what a martyr--"

"Not a hero. Never said I was a hero. Never even said I was a good person. I'm not trying to be. I'm just a regular bloke who wants to be left the fuck alone to live my own life. That's it."

"Whatever. Smile, you want me to snap this shot right..? Then we'll go."

"..." He glowered. Dark clouds filling his head.

He moved and stood by one of the bare walls, big grin as fake as any he'd accused Gil of having, whilst the Butler fired off some stills.

"You want to check these or--?" The older man flipped through his phone at the pictures.

"It's me in a monkeysuit... she'll be glad I made that much of an effort. Whatever reason she liked me enough outside of the thing..."

The Butler sized him up after his photos and considered what he was looking at. He grabbed the remote, flicked through and selected a golden oldie movie.

"Right-o. Margot, just gotta drop the kid off. Is it alright if you hang about and I'll see you home when I get back. We've got--"

"Ohhh 'That Girl'! Did you know that I was in this one... I remember when I first got given the script for this one and I said, 'I told you, I'd never work with that--'" The older starlet of the silver screen reminsced, taking a prime seat in front of the television.

"Ahh... she'll be right." He quietly said to the sullen younger man.

"I told you, I'll find my own way."

"And I told you I'd take you. And if I weren't a man of my word, we wouldn't be here."

Hard to argue that logic, however he felt.

"Besides, the ferries aren't as frequent this time of night, and my boat's quicker. Gotta get right 'round the other side of the island, remember?"

"Are you kidding me? I just got in this suit, I'm in no shape for it, and now you're gonna expect me--" The younger man had visions of having to launch his boat, barefoot and with his pants rolled up his legs.

"Relax. I got myself pier-space for the occasion. It's docked. I just don't usually."

Here it comes. Some stupid half-baked sentiment.

"Always figured launching the boat was part and parcel of the whole experience."

The two walked down towards the docks, where they could see the large fishing boat was indeed moored.

"What's with you, anyway? Somethin's... not right."

"I'm just pissed off."

"Nah. That's not it."

"What do you me--"

"I've seen you pissed off. Over the years, I've seen all ninety-nine flavours of you. I've seen 'pissed off', I've seen 'sullen', I've seen 'cheeky bastard', 'despondant', 'crying ugly tears'... that one's fun..." He mimicked the crying of a small boy complete with gasps and sniffing. "I-- I-- I-- jus-- I..." Then the rakish grin once again returned to his face just as quickly. "I've seen 'contemptuous', 'contemplative', very briefly I once saw 'content'. That one scared the shit out of me..."

"But this is something different." The grin left and was replaced with something else. A look of genuine concern. "Something new."

"I'm--" He hesitated. Unsure how to parse exactly what was happening. He'd thought about it, how could he not. But never given it enough consideration to properly convey it to other people. It had been hard enough talking to Calliope.

"It sounds pissweak. But this leg. It's just completely changed how I've had to live and I'm not dealing with it. I'm pissed off all the time now. All the time. Believe it or not, I actually spoke to one of the shrinks here it's been bothering me so bad..."

_^"Shit..." The older man muttered. Knowing full well how unlikely it was for him to ever do anything like that.

"...I just. I feel like I'm in a box. I can't do anything that I want to do. I'm scared to stretch out and do anything, because... There's all these rules I've got to follow or my leg won't heal properly. If after all this time, my leg doesn't heal right and I knew I could have done more--"

"This is you..?" The older man asked. Before following almost incredulously. "You ARE in a box."

"Hey! Nobody puts me in a box!" Re-ignited by the thought of a force to push against.

"And yet... it sounds like you're in one, kiddo. So who put you in there?"

He didn't like the sound of that. But more unarguable truth, regardless how he felt.

"I-- guess I put myself in it?"

They reached the boat and the older man gave a shrug as if to say 'Well, what are you going to do about it?', before jumping aboard and heading for the wheelbridge. The younger man straddled the boat and pier by the rope, ready to cast off once the older man started the engine, considering his next action.

The engine turned over and he untied the boat and pushed off with a weak leg. He went into the interior and up the ladder, before joining the older man on the wheelbridge.

"It's not you. This. The way you've been. It's a shit colour for you."

"Well, yeah. But what am I supposed to do?

"It sounds very much to me like you're not livin'."

"I'm not! But how would I deal with that? If I'm the reason that I walk with a limp for the rest of my life?"

"I don't know if I should tell you this, because when you are healthy and right, that's not exactly the best for the people around you either... but--"

The older man sighed.

"What?"

"You're thinkin' about this all wrong."

The younger man screwed up his face skeptically.

"At the end of the day. Your leg's either going to be right, or it isn't. Right?"

"Yeah..?"

"Yeah. So you could do all the right things and at the end of it, it could still not heal right. Yeah?"

"Well, yeah. But at least I'd know that it wasn't because of me. Wasn't because I'd done anything dumb."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was talking to someone who cared about doing dumb things and making dumb mistakes."

"Not the same thing. Not mistakes. Sure, I may get myself tossed out of some schools because they can't take a joke, but its not like I didn't know they were going to do it when I was planning on--"

"Never known someone who puts more thought into doing dumb things than you do."

"Exactly."

"So what part of your plan had you getting hurled across--"

"Alright, alright..."

"--by one of the world's most wanted hyperhuman terrorists, no less. What part of your plan was that again?"

"I said 'alright', already."

"Face it, kiddo. You make dumb mistakes just like everybody else. Even if you choose not to look at it like this. What you need to be doing is find a sustainable middle. Do what you can to help the healing process, but don't stop living. Because if how you were back there is anything to go by, you're probably making life miserable for the people around you."

"Hey! She--!" He exploded.

"Not talkin' about her, mate. She had a genuine family drama, by the looks. There's other people on these islands too. Speakin' of..."

He pulled his phone out and fired off a text message.

"What?" He called out over a particularly loud wave.

"Just told those pair of roommates you have to not wait up and meet you there."

"--but yeah. Sustainable middle. Because what you're doing now. It isn't. And however your leg turns out tomorrow... well, there's gonna be a day after that. So how are you gonna be then?"

Banjo thought about it. However his leg turned out he didn't want to be how he was now. He knew that much. But surely he wouldn't be. The rules would all be lifted. He could--

No. It didn't sit right. The old man was right. Even with everything gone back to how it was, HE would know what happened. He would know that he could be changed, broken, from something as stupid as a threat to one leg.

This was unacceptable.

The old man spoke up as if he could read his thoughts.

"I'll tell ya, I suspect there's a handfull of Principals and teachers where, if they knew you could be broken and gotten to stick to the rules with something as simple as this, they'd have broken your leg long ago." He chuckled.

"You're not bloody wrong..." He mumbled to himself. Ever unwilling to concede a point.

"From you? Shit, I'll take it..." The old man said with a laugh, before throttling up as the boat skimmed across the waves, curling around Dundas Island's coastline.

---

Banjo hobbled across the campus at an irregular pace for him. He was known to take his time between classes, with a reputation for being late to all of them.

Anyone who saw him would likely have suspected he was up to something. After all, he seldom had any other reason to rush anywhere. Least of all because anybody was waiting for him and expecting him. This evening was somehow different.

Or they would have, if they hadn't seen something which would seem even more irregular.

Walking across the quad towards the A.R.C arm in arm were Aurora and-- not Lorcán. What was his name? Shit-- he knew it. Some dumbarse name like Tyler or Tayler or Ch--

Chad. That was it. Water polo jock. From Chadwick and his merry numbnuts band of dickweeds.

He was familiar with them from an afterparty for an intramural hyperball event. Banjo wasn't particularly impressed with how they talked. And if he were honest, Chadwick didn't seem particularly impressed by anything about Banjo either.

But 'Raw..?

He'd given her advice in regards to Lorcan the night before the Trials...

...and now this. Whatever happened after his brilliant advice it hadn't worked, that was for damn sure.

Well, that didn't bode well for his abilities to impart any brilliant wisdom on Zimmerman.

Don't. That shade of sorry for yourself, its a bad colour on you.

Without wasting another thought on them as they entered the A.R.C, he limped onwards towards the night's venue and the two familiar faces milling around outside; one stoic, the other pacing.

"There you are, man! We've been freaking out--!

"I've been fine."

"--people have been going in already, my Mom sent me this suit, and I don't even know how to tie a bow-tie... and everything's--"

"Stop." Banjo hobbled onwards, approaching the smaller man. "Here." His fingers slapped his own palm as he gestured for the tie.

Alex's eyes raised, as he handed it over. Banjo popped the smaller man's collar and perfectly duplicated the process the Butler had performed less than an hour ago, leaving two perfectly balanced equal sides slid to the centre.

"Is-- is it okay?"

Big Steve nodded to him.

"What? You think I'd give you a bum steer?"

The pair of bookish roommates shared unspoken looks between them.

"Don't answer that..." He snapped, but he needn't have worried, they were still trying to figure out what he'd just said. "Your parents gonna expect some Happy Snaps? C'mon. Let's get in there..."

---

Limping inside, he waited a few seconds to watch as the first of the pair prepared to get photos to send home on the red carpet, before moving on and hobbling off inside without them.

Virtual band, elaborately decorated tables, the perfectly selected furnishings in their classy red, white, black and gold. The way the students had come together to complement the style.

He sighed.

It was perfect. It was everything she was hoping the trials would have been. And she wasn't here to see it.

He looked back to see if Zimmerman and Big Steve had managed to pass the cameras and make their 'Grand Entrance' yet, but it was still taking them some time. The 'paparazzi' snapping red carpet shots hadn't exactly made them a priority, so it was taking some time.

Almost on instinct he began his ascent up the stairs to the mezzanine and the bar. His hand on the cool gold railing. His pace slow, as he took in the sights and sounds. The music, the ambient sound of students enjoying the night. The sights, the sounds...

He needed a goddamn beer. Never before had he needed a goddamn beer like right now.

And then he saw Chad minus dickweeds making haste for the bar, cutting through.

He knew exactly why he was so eager. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. A voice inside tried to push back what he remembered overhearing from that night.

Don't. Just don't.

His lopsided legs kept taking him to the bar though.

Just get a beer. You need a beer. Leave it.

Chad minus dickweeds was at the bar now. Less than three metres ahead.

Don't... Don't say anything. You don't need to get involve--

"Hey. Noticed you're over there with 'R--'" he pulled himself up from using his overly familiar nickname for her, as he stepped to the bar. "Mitchell."

Leaning up against the bar, Chad slowly turned his head to face the accent that just assumed he could casually start up a conversation with him. The dark haired boy didn’t stoop to associate with lesser types who didn’t belong in his world, but he was bored waiting for his drink, so, he cleared his throat.

“And?” He questioned, brow furrowed, “What’s it to you?”

Banjo was well familiar with the disdain. He had his own reputation and had never done anything but lean into it, after all. So it wasn't foreign at all, the cadence, as if he was addressing something unfortunate that he'd stepped in.

"Just--"

God he hated injecting himself into people's bullshit like this. Don't-- Goddamit. You're already doing it...

"I don't know what's happened here. She's free to make her own decisions. But I know her-- she's had enough people passing through her life and leaving her..."

Ugh. The earnest words felt distasteful coming from him, so he changed gears. Grew colder.

"She's on my team. If I have to deal with a lot of tears after tonight. I'm not gonna be very happy."

Chad couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the attempt was laughable at best. Did this guy really think a few words would intimidate him? From the school’s laughing stock, at that.

“Listen, Bongo, mind your own fucking business and go run back to that little girlfriend of yours.” He paused, pretending to think for a moment, “Oh that’s right, you can’t, cause she’s gone and forgot to take you with her. Pity.” He caught the eye of the bartender, raising his eyebrows and smirking, the two clearly familiar with one another, “Whiskey, neat, and a vodka soda. Both doubles, make them strong.” He ordered before looking back at Banjo.

In his pocket, the hand that wasn't on the bar, curled into a fist. His mouth flattened to a single tight crease. He was out of shape; on one leg. He hadn't juiced in as long as he could remember, and he was looking at someone who was equally matched even if he had.

The growl from his gut wanted to cold-cock him here and now. Drop him with a cheapshot before he even knew what happened. He'd get back up in seconds. Without juicing, he wouldn't have enough in the punch. He'd be back up and would beat the shit out of him before he could take enough in.

A big part of him didn't care. A big part of him wanted him to know he didn't give a shit how big an arse kicking he took for the opportunity to drop him cold and see the look on his face.

But HE'D know. He'd know he could get to him with what... some softball shit-talking?

Fuck right off with that...

Besides, he didn't KNOW that he was right about him in the first place. He could have just been eager to get them drinks and get back to his date. Not bloody likely... sure. But he couldn't know for sure just yet. It was all just prejudicial because he knew the man.

The fist in his pocket uncurled.

“Do yourself a favor and just quit while you’re ahead.”

Banjo chuckled, a lifeless guttural growl that never met the eyes, and suggested he hadn't 'been ahead' for quite some time.

"You're right. She's not here. So I guess I've got way too much free time on my hands, eh?"

Banjo turned and ordered his own vodka soda from the barkeep.

"Like I said though, bird's free to make her own decisions. Just see that they are her own decisions, eh?"

The bartender brought the drinks over and as they each reached across, he knocked the second of Chad's drinks all over his wrist.

"Ah shit. Doesn't matter. Just remembered I shouldn't be drinking anyway, what with the leg and all. Take mine." He quickly offered.

Another chuckle, this time with a spark of something more. The corner of his lips curled into a shit-eating grin.

As the drink spilled all over the arm of his suit, Chad swore, shaking the liquid off as best he could. He seethed, glaring at Banjo, before snapping at the bartender and wordlessly pointing at the empty glass. Instead of arguing or imparting more choice words on the blonde boy, he simply ignored him, giving him the coldest shoulder he could manage. He wasn’t worth his breath anyway.

Within seconds a new drink was placed in front of him, and Chad didn’t waste any time grabbing the two beverages and walking away. But not before tipping Banjo’s drink in the process, proceeding to get it all over the bottom of his jacket and the top of his pants.

Banjo turned back to the bartender and ordered a 'virgin screwdriver'.

The junior at the bar blinked twice.

"You mean--"

"Yup."

Zimmerman rushed up, with Big Steve lumbering somewhere behind.

"Are you alright? We just saw--" Alex pointed at Chad as he stormed away through the throng of students. "Do you need to get changed?"

The full glass slid to the bar behind him.

"What? Nah, it's vodka. It's clean. And what it does leave the soda will pick it up."

He sipped from his glass of orange juice, a wry grin on his face. Happier that he'd had his suspicions confirmed than that he'd come away from the altercation dry.

Bloody eager to get that one 'strong', eh? Too bloody eager.

"Nah, I'm fine fellas. Looks like I'm keepin' an eye out for more than just you two tonight though, gents."