04-19-2008, 02:32 AM
So once again with the Friday and the boredom and the writing of the stuff and the things that Are Not Work...
(Oh, and, the title? I saw Acyl do it first, and dammit, I'm *so* stealing it, because it's cool. Tales of the Legendary, yay!)
Cameo by Yukiyo, semi-cameo by Superball, and a bit of Evangelia and Alistair. Bob, if I've missed something with them, just let me know and I'll be
happy to revise.
Edit: I just realized that I fixed my local copy re: the perspecitve issues, but didn't update this one. Let's fix that.
TALES OF THE LEGENDARY
EMERALD BLAST
The intercom buzzed. Dr. James T. Bolstead, psychiatrist, glanced wearily at it, shook his head, and considered for a moment pretending he wasn't in.
Then his professionalism got the better of him and he sighed, reaching out to press the Talk button. "Yes?" he rumbled, much more politely than
he wanted to be. It had been a long day.
"Doctor? Your five-thirty appointment is here..." His receptionists voice was dubious, and well it should be -- he didn't have a five-thirty
appointment. His eyebrows creased, he opened his mouth to say just that, and at the last moment noticed a Post-It stuck to his desk calendar. "5:30pm E.
B. - c/o Azuria", it read. In his own handwriting.
He didn't remember ever writing it, but as his old friend Azuria was fond of pointing out, with magic all things are possible.
The "Thank you. -A." at the bottom in a markedly different hand clinched it. That blasted woman! He closed his mouth, lips settling in a firm
line, and took a deep breath. Then he sighed and pressed the button again. "Thank you, Cindy. Send them in, please."
"Yes, sir." A moment later the door opened and Cindy ushered his guest through. He covered his surprise instinctively; coming from Azuria, he
had expected perhaps a Circle of Thorns member, escorted by police or a M.A.G.I. agent, sent to him for psychological review prior to a trial, or perhaps an
ex-Hellions member wanting help reintegrating into normal society. He certainly didn't expect a tall, auburn-haired woman with piercing green eyes and
stripes of -- was that camo paint? -- stripes of paint across her face in a slash pattern and a tiara on her forehead, wearing a green mesh bodysuit,
black-and-red gloves and boots, and a ragged stuffed cat on her shoulder. A hero... and while he knew of several whom he privately thought could use his
professional services -- Superball came to mind most readily, though there were others -- it wasn't like Azuria to send one his way like this.
He rose and extended a hand in greeting. "Hello. I'm James Bolstead."
The woman crossed the room and shook his hand firmly as his receptionist closed the door. "Hi there, Mr. Bolstead -- or should I call you
'doctor'? I'm Rhea Samuels."
"Whichever you prefer -- James or Jim works too, I'm pretty laid back about it." He glanced down at the Post-It, then up at his guest again.
"I'm sorry to say, I'm a bit unprepared. My notes only say that someone with the initials E.B. was coming at five-thirty, and your name
doesn't seem to fit...?"
The woman laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not used to this yet." She produced a class-H licence card, passing it over to him.
"I just got this today, as a matter of fact. Azuria sent me here first. Anyway, the E.B. is my --" she paused, eyes twinkling, and continued in a
serious voice, "-- *hero name*. Villains beware, for Emerald Blast is here!" Then she grinned and winked. "What do you think? Too
cliche?"
James blinked. "Not as cliche as some I've heard, but it's near the top, I'll admit." He indicated the visitor's chair as he
opened his file drawer. Emerald settled herself easily, reaching up to adjust the toy on her shoulder with a gesture that suggested it was born of long
practice.
If I know Azuria, he thought while rummaging through the drawer, and suppresed a wry smile as he found exactly what he expected, filed neatly away with the
rest of the day's cases. He extracted the thin manila folder and opened it to find a single piece of notepaper within. He scanned it quickly, committing
the relevant facts to memory.
Dear Jim,
You may find this patient challenging. Her origins are relatively clear-cut --
she's perfectly willing to talk about it -- but her state of mind is decidedly
less reassuring. I think she's a case of Power Object Syndrome, keyed on
the stuffed cat -- Mr. Whiskers, she calls it -- with a heavy dose of trauma
over the top. Basically, she seems to believe the cat is alive and has the
powers. He supposedly talks to her, and she's the one he's chosen to help
him save humanity from ourselves.
(As an aside, no, it's not a true power object -- her abilities are innate, not
granted. We checked.)
We're going to issue her a class-H anyway, because -- despite what the
Army discharge paperwork granting her a medical had to say -- there's
nothing apparently *wrong* with her, and we need all the help we can get.
But I'd appreciate it if you could help her out, maybe untangle the wiring a
bit, something. You'll know how to handle it, I'm sure.
Thanks!
-A.
PS: tell your accountant to bill this one to M.A.G.I..
He blinked at the sparse note -- of all people, he would have expected Azuria to understand the need for detailed information! -- then turned his attention
back to his visitor. She was perched lazily in the chair, leaning back and regarding him with a mischevious grin, gently stroking the stuffed cat with one
hand and twirling a lock of her hair with the other.
"So, doc," she said abruptly, leaning forward to fix him with a stare. "How crazy does she think I am?"
"Well, now, what makes you think she thinks you're crazy?" Jim replied, inwardly cursing Azuria's ineptness.
"Oh, I dunno, little things. Like the wierd looks she gave me, or the fact that she sent me to a shrink instead of off to fight
EEEEEEEvvviiilll." She grinned at Jim as he winced instinctively at the hated appellation. "Sorry," she added in a friendlier tone. "I
don't mean it to be mean."
"No, that's quite all right. I've been called much worse." Jim leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Well, as it
happens, Azuria doesn't think you're crazy, and if she was crazy enough to suggest that, maybe it's time I insisted on a psych eval for HER."
He smiled gently. "However, she does feel that you could use my services. Do you mind if I ask about your past?"
"Nope. Ask away!"
"Well then. You were in the Army?"
"Yep. I was a medic." Rhea sat back, looking relaxed and downright cheerful, moving the cat to her lap.
"And I take it something happened?"
A small frown crept onto Rhea's face. "Well... sort of. I mean, the firebase was attacked, by a bunch of crazies. Insurgents, our CO said. I
didn't see much of it -- I was busy tending the casualties, and BOY were there a LOT of them, lemme tell you. I think the chow tent took the first hit --
mortar through the roof, BAM! Made a bit of a mess."
Jim blinked at the sheer casualness with which Rhea had rattled that off. "I ... see. Were you injured?"
"Nope. After the fighting was all over they -- the bad guys, I mean -- rounded us up and locked us in the comm shack. It was me, a couple of MPs with
bad luck, and five wounded. Everyone else was dead. They didn't give us supplies or anything, and of course the power was out, so none of the gear
worked. We lost two that first night."
Jimm watched closely, expecting some sort of emotion to show, but Rhea looked as though she was simply chatting while waiting for the bus. Every now and
again she'd stroke her stuffed cat, but that was it.
"And ... then what happened?"
"Well... it was pretty intense, y'know? One of the MPs just lost it, started punching and kicking the door, so hard and so much that he mangled
his hand pretty bad. They ignored it... but one of them had to have been watching, I think. Right after I finished setting the splint, they opened the door
and dragged me out to treat their wounded.
"After I was done with that, they locked me in a supply closet by myself... and I don't know what happened to the others in the comm shack. I
never saw any of them again."
There was a short pause.
"Anyway," Rhea continued, just as though she was telling a favorite childhood story instead of a harrowing tale of bloodshed, "I spent the
next night tied up in the back of a truck, along with a load of ammunition. That was pretty nerve-wracking, lemme tell ya. They cleared out of the firebase
and took me along. They needed a medic, y'see. One of them spoke English enough to tell me that. We drove for a few hours, very slowly -- I could have
walked faster, if, you know, my legs hadn't been tied up. We finally got to the top of a ridge and they stopped. I was looking back the way we'd come
and could just barely see the firebase -- it was distinctive, if you knew where to look -- and then the whole thing went up in a huge fireball. The ground
shook, the sky roared... it was intense.
"And then they were all screaming, and the truck blew up, and something hit me really hard in the back, and it felt like I was on fire... and then I
guess I blacked out."
Jim smiled invitingly. "Well, obviously you survived...?"
Rhea laughed. "Oh, I woke up without a scratch. In the middle of a crater, I might add, with the melted remains of a wheel rim as my pillow. That
part's not in the official paperwork -- nobody seems to believe me, I can't imagine why." Her eyes twinkled. "There were some locals there
when I came to, all of them staring at me -- and why not? It's not every day a blast crater appears in the local goat pasture, with a naked American woman
sleeping in the middle of it."
That got a raised eyebrow. "Naked?"
"Oh, yeah. As a jaybird. I mean, you get over routine shyness in Basic, right? But even so, I felt a little self-conscious. The locals were nice,
though. They gave me clothes, and some food, and made me feel welcome. Even gave me a cot to sleep on, in the corner of one of the huts. They were almost
treating me like some sort of VIP, it felt like. Of course, the whole blast crater thing might have been the reason.
"That's when I met Mr. Whiskers, and finally understood how I'd survived. He won't tell me how he knew where I was or where he was hiding,
but that first night I woke up and there he was, next to my cot, just waiting for me. And he told me how he'd come to help me when I needed it, so I could
in turn help him. He'd protected me from the worst of the truck explosion, and healed me afterwards." She smiled fondly at the cat in her lap.
"He can't understand why I was upset about the clothes, though. What can I say? He's a cat, they don't get the whole clothing thing to begin
with.
"After that it was pretty uneventful. I spent another two days in the village, doing what I could for their people. None of them spoke any English,
so it was hard for me to tell them I needed a phone -- which I don't think they had, anyway, so, yeah. The Army finally got around to finding me about
then, and lemme tell ya, the brass, they had a LOT of questions.
"Of course, I told them the whole story, just like I'm telling you. They didn't believe me. Big surprise there, huh? We had a couple weeks
of increasingly frustrated 'will you PLEASE tell us the TRUTH?' sessions, all that garbage. You'd think they'd want to use Mr. Whisker's
powers, but they kept insisting that it wasn't him, and I kept insisting it WAS, and then they tried to take him away, and he got mad at them and destroyed
the barracks..." She shrugged. "Nobody was hurt, but they decided we were too much hassle, I guess, and kicked me out for 'mental illness'.
Puh-leeze.
"So I moped around for a while before finally realizing what I needed to do. And here I am."
Jim nodded. "Indeed you are." He scribbled a couple of notes. "Let me ask about Mr. Whiskers, if I could. That's him there, I take
it?"
"Yes." Rhea held up a hand and continued. "The next question you're going to ask is, do I know he's a stuffed toy? Answer: I'm
not an idiot, thank you very much. He looks and behaves like a stuffed toy so people don't freak out. After that, you'll ask, well, how do I *know*
he's not just a stuffed toy? Answer: I can't explain it to you because Mr. Whiskers is very stubborn and won't talk to anyone but me. No, I
don't know why. Next you'll say something about, well, are you sure it's not all in your head, and then we'll have to get all philosophical,
and next thing you know we'll be firing off quotes from Neitzche and Kant at each other from ten paces, and someone will mention that jerk with the box,
which just ticks Mr. Whiskers off -- experiment on a cat? That's not cool -- and it'll all end in tears. Again." She cocked her head. "So
why don't we skip all that, hmm?"
Jim couldn't help it; he laughed. "Okay, okay, I surrender. No philosophical discussions on the nature of your cat, got it." He thought for
a moment, then shrugged. "Well, then, let's talk about something else. You channel his powers, hmm? Just what would those powers be?"
Rhea began to speak, then stopped, suddenly looking alert and holding up a hand. "Do you hear something?" she asked. Jim frowned and looked
around.
"Like what? I don't --"
The outside window exploded inwards, ripping the closed blinds clear off their tracks and showering the room with glass and fragments of brick from the
wall. Jim yelped as a jagged piece tagged him just below the ear, and instinctively pushed himself back from his desk just as a hulking, armored figure plowed
into it, driving it into -- through! -- the wall between his office and the lobby. He heard his receptionist scream even as he marveled at how lucky he'd
been -- a half-second later and his legs would have still been under the desk. His knees stung and his pants were torn, but his feet were still attached to
the rest of him.
For a few moments, the only sounds were his own frantic breathing, the merry tinkle of falling glass and crumbling brick, and the terrified sobs from Cindy
out in the lobby. He found a moment to feel relief that she, apparently, had been out of the line of fire.
Then the ... thing... moved. It groaned and wheezed in the mechanical equivalent of arthritis, servomotors and pnuematics whining and hissing, and rose to
stand on its clawed robotic feet. It was large, and vaguely man-shaped. Broader than it was tall, it all but screamed aggression and hostility, from the top
of its rounded dome of a 'head' to the ends of the sharpened manipulator claws that served as hands.
Across the office, Rhea lay crumpled in the corner, a thin trickle of blood oozing from one temple. She had not been so lucky as he, it seemed.
The robot turned, sweeping aside the remains of his desk with one massive arm, and stomped back through the hole it had made in the interior wall. With a
whir and a click, one arm reconfigured itself, changing from claw to cannon in the blink of an eye. The robot raised it, aimed, and fired, sending a bolt of
raw red energy sizzling across the room and out the former window at some unseen target. The blast left a purple afterimage in Jim's vision, and he found
himself frozen in fear. From outside, a minor explosion and a startled curse, followed by the sounds of combat: more energy blasts, a deafening roar, and the
frenzied whomp-whomp-whomp of more of these mechanical monstrosities stomping about.
The robot tracked its target and fired again, this time in a pulse pattern.
Don't move, Jim thought to himself, it's not after you. Just wait it out, stay out of the way, a hero will handle it any minute now. If you
don't move it won't notice you.
It was a mantra that many in Paragon City had become familiar with. Stay out of the way, let the heroes clean it up. And why not? One was always just
around the corner, it seemed like. Hell, he could hear at least one outside right now, obviously tackling whoever was responsible for the uninvited guest in
his office. Just a few more minutes and it would all be over.
Jim caught a flicker of motion -- and worse, so did the robot -- out of the corner of his eye and felt a sinking sensation in his gut. A giddy part of his
brain noted that Rhea must not have got the memo, even as she rose to her feet and brushed dust off her costume.
The robot paused, obviously evaluating this new potential threat. Before it could make a decision one way or another, Rhea acted.
"Go for the EYES, Mr. Whiskers!" she yelled, plucking the cat off the ground and hurling it like a football at the robot. The plush feline
missile bounced harmlessly off the robots carapace, arcing high in the air. The droids body languge evinced surprise, and Jim could only imagine what was
going through its circuits. Something like what was going through his own, probably: a befuddled "Bwah?"
While Jim and the 'bot were distracted, Rhea wound up and hurled a swirling green fireball, which smacked the robot soundly in the chest and detonated
in a brilliant flash.
"Ha HA!" she crowed triumphantly. "Take TH-- eeep!"
She threw herself flat as a fusillade of pulse bolts blew through where her head had been a moment before. The robot, decidedly unimpressed with her
attack, stomped forward and raised its arm with the apparent intent of turning her into paste. She let loose with another blast, catching it in the optics and
making it falter.
The stuffed cat completed its fall and Rhea scooped it up as she scrambled to her feet, ducking around the robot as it staggered and placing the cat back on
her shoulder. She raced across the room to where Jim still sat, taking a glancing blow from a pulse bolt from behind and nearly falling, and skidded to a halt
in front of him.
"New plan!" she chirped breathlessly, oblivious to the smoke rising from her back. "Run!" So saying, she grabbed Jim and lifted him
clean out of the chair, threw him over her other shoulder, and sprinted for the hole in the wall. Head bouncing, Jim watched behind dazedly as the robot took
careful aim, energy swirling and gathering at the end of its cannon arm, and clenched his teeth in anticipation of impending doom.
Then his vision was blocked as Rhea leaped to the side, and he got a close-up view of brick bubbling and glowing mere instants before a beam burst through,
scoring a charred line on the asphalt of the parking lot but missing both of them by scant inches.
Rhea dropped him unceremoniously behind a parked car, pushing him flat with surprising strength and a muttered "Stay down!" She moved over and
crouched behind another, but not before letting loose with a soothing pulse of green energy that left him breathless and uninjured -- and from what he could
see, doing a fine job of patching up her back as well.
Out in the parking lot chaos reigned. Curious despite himself, Jim watched as a team of two heroes slugged it out with a larger force of mechanical
monsters like the one in his office, and further back, a small group of costumed villains. Two of the latter were intent on the fight and occasionally
participating, letting loose with energy blasts and other things, while their two companions hurriedly shoveled money into bags. The twisted remains of an
armored truck lay on its side near them, cash spilled out like so much water across the street and dancing lazily in the wind.
At the front lines, the two heroes were systematically dismantling the robotic menace. Three sparking, smoking heaps lay scattered about, leaving only four
more to handle. The heroes, dressed in blue and gold, were a polished team, and even as Jim watched, another robot fell to the combined attacks of a small
girl wielding a large sword and an equally small girl wielding a lot of fire. Between the two of them, their target was sliced, roasted, toasted, and diced in
a matter of moments. It sparked and sizzled before falling over in flames, and the remaining robots stepped up to continue the fight.
Brick crumbled, and the robot in Jim's office stepped out. It appeared to have lost interest in himself and Rhea, for it was training its cannon arm on
the girl with the sword and powering up for another shot.
Rhea must have seen it too, Jim realized, because she leapt out from cover with a shouted "Look out!" and tackled the robots arm, spoiling its
aim. Instead of achieving a perfect headshot from behind, the bolt only grazed the other girls shoulder. She jerked and clutched at it momentarily, glancing
back to see where it had come from, and Jim could see her size up the situation instantly.
In a flash she was across the parking lot, standing before the first robot and brandishing her weapon. Behind her, her teammate continued the fight, taking
to the air and annihilating two robots at once with an impressive gout of fire, blown out from her lips and sounding like an afterburner with terminal
indigestion. The remaining robot on her side of the parking lot began peppering her with bolts, but she ignored them.
"Eva!" the flying girl called, "they're getting away!"
Indeed, Jim saw, the villains had finished packing up what money they could and had piled into an unmarked van, which was now burning rubber as it
accelerated down the street. The robot seemed to be on rearguard duty, and was doing its best to bring down the flying hero, but she dodged its attacks
without appearing to notice most of them.
"Stop them, Yukiyo!" Eva called over her shoulder. "I'll handle things here!"
"Right!" Yukiyo called, and turned into a blur, zooming off after the rapidly vanishing van.
The first robot growled and shook its arm violently, flinging Rhea up into the air as she lost her grip. She crashed down on her back and bounced, sitting
up with a dazed scowl on her face. "Ow," she complained absently. "That hurt!"
Eva whirled her sword and attempted a slice, but it was caught by the manipulator claw. She gritted her teeth and began to draw it out, the blade sparking
and grinding against the high-tech alloy, but the momentary pause was enough. A heavy pulse blast from behind smashed into her, driving her forward, and the
robot holding her sword backhanded her, knocking her back. She whirled free of the exchange with an angry red mark along her jaw and fury in her eyes.
A stuffed cat flew across Jim's field of vision, hitting the robot that had just backhanded Eva square in the optics, followed by a barrage of green
bolts that didn't do anything but annoy the 'bot... and give Eva an opportunity. Jim watched as the heroic girl dug her heels in and charged, blade
leveled, and shot past the robot as nothing more than a blur, screaming a challenge as she ran.
The robot staggered, then erupted in sparks from half a dozen rents that opened almost as if by magic. It fell back against the wall and shut down, optics
going dim. As a final insult, Mr. Whiskers landed (upside down, Jim noted absently) on the outstretched cannon arm, which promptly broke off and fell with a
bright shiny *ting!*, metal gleaming mirror-bright where the sword had passed through it. Rhea retrieved her cat, dusted him off, and settled him on her
shoulder with a decisive nod.
The last remaining robot loomed suddenly behind her -- Jim couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it approach! -- and swiped at her head. Battle damage
or poor aim caused it to miss; it hit instead Mr. Whiskers, sending the toy flying.
"MR. WHISKERS!" Rhea screamed. Before anyone could react, her face transformed into a mask of rage and she whirled to fix the robot with a deadly
glare. "YOU HURT HIM!"
A towering inferno, a veritable mushroom cloud of green energies, engulfed her, blasting outwards and causing Jim to flinch and avert his eyes. When his
vision cleared (except for an annoying blotch that danced around the periphery), Rhea was wobbling on her feet and clutching Mr. Whiskers to her chest, and the
robot was all but vaporized. Two metal legs were all that remained, rocking gently in the breeze, with smoke rising from where their knee joints should have
been.
The sudden silence was deafening.
Rhea staggered over to where Eva stood, breathing deeply to recover her strength, and straightened. Another green pulse washed out and left both her and
Eva whole once more, if a little ragged around the edges.
"Thank you," Eva said, her voice sounding as though she didn't quite know what to make of what had just happened. Her radio chirped and she
answered. Jim couldn't hear the other end, but this side of it was clear enough. "That's great, Yukiyo. Great work. Turn those two over, and
the money, and we'll put out the call to see if we can catch the others. Hmm? Oh, we're okay here. I'll explain later. Bye!"
She shut off the device with a decisive flick, regarding Rhea steadily. "Thank you," she repeated. "I'm Evangelia and that was Yukiyo;
we're with The Legendary. Is everyone okay? Was anybody hurt?"
Jim decided that was as good a cue as any and stood. "I think we're okay... my receptionist might still be in there, though." He crossed
over to the hole in the wall and joined Eva and Rhea in peering into the debris-strewn office. Cindy saw him and waved weakly from the lobby, where she was
standing on a pile of files and crumpled office equipment.
"Are you okay, Cindy?" he called.
"Do I have to clean this up?" she replied.
"... um, no, I think insurance will handle that, or maybe the janitorial staff..."
"Then I'm fine, thanks."
From the open window of the next office over came a disgruntled "Oh, sure, always the janitor gets to clean up the mess..." Jim ignored it.
The setting sun drew long shadows on the pavement as sirens began to approach. Citizens emerged from their hiding places, some stopping to congratulate the
capes -- which, Jim noted, Evangelia handled with aplomb, while Rhea seemed startled and ill-at-ease -- while others simply eyed the destruction, shrugged, and
went on their way.
Jim produced a pen and a business card, scribbling briefly on the back and passing it over to Rhea. "I'm going to tell Azuria not to worry so
much. I do want you and Mr. Whiskers to come back and see me, at least once a week if you can, okay? But other than that..." He grinned. "They
may call you crazy, Rhea, but if you are, it's the kind of crazy we need. And you can tell 'em I said that."
He surveyed the scene one more time, then stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the nearest bar to call his insurance agent and have a drink.
"Well... I've got to get after the two who got away, if we're going to catch them," Evangelia said.
"Mind if Mr. Whiskers and I tag along?" Rhea asked. "If we won't be in the way, that is...?"
Eva shared a quick glance with Alistair, who -- as best an invisible penguin could -- shrugged. "I assume she refers to that... thing, on her
shoulder, Raye."
Rhea's stuffed cat gazed sightlessly at Eva. She stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then made her decision.
"Sure, why not?"
"Great!"
"What's your name, by the way?"
"I'm the Emerald Blast, and this is Mr. Whiskers!" Emerald said, snugging her gloves tight.
"Well, nice to meet you, Emerald...."
As the two jogged away, Alistair stared thoughtfully after them. He could sense no magic, no life, nothing whatsoever in the toy on Emerald's shoulder.
He started after the pair, then stopped as he noticed the sign in the parking lot. "Psychiatry Associates", it read. "Licensed Mental Health
Counselors".
"... oh dear."
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
(Oh, and, the title? I saw Acyl do it first, and dammit, I'm *so* stealing it, because it's cool. Tales of the Legendary, yay!)
Cameo by Yukiyo, semi-cameo by Superball, and a bit of Evangelia and Alistair. Bob, if I've missed something with them, just let me know and I'll be
happy to revise.
Edit: I just realized that I fixed my local copy re: the perspecitve issues, but didn't update this one. Let's fix that.
TALES OF THE LEGENDARY
EMERALD BLAST
The intercom buzzed. Dr. James T. Bolstead, psychiatrist, glanced wearily at it, shook his head, and considered for a moment pretending he wasn't in.
Then his professionalism got the better of him and he sighed, reaching out to press the Talk button. "Yes?" he rumbled, much more politely than
he wanted to be. It had been a long day.
"Doctor? Your five-thirty appointment is here..." His receptionists voice was dubious, and well it should be -- he didn't have a five-thirty
appointment. His eyebrows creased, he opened his mouth to say just that, and at the last moment noticed a Post-It stuck to his desk calendar. "5:30pm E.
B. - c/o Azuria", it read. In his own handwriting.
He didn't remember ever writing it, but as his old friend Azuria was fond of pointing out, with magic all things are possible.
The "Thank you. -A." at the bottom in a markedly different hand clinched it. That blasted woman! He closed his mouth, lips settling in a firm
line, and took a deep breath. Then he sighed and pressed the button again. "Thank you, Cindy. Send them in, please."
"Yes, sir." A moment later the door opened and Cindy ushered his guest through. He covered his surprise instinctively; coming from Azuria, he
had expected perhaps a Circle of Thorns member, escorted by police or a M.A.G.I. agent, sent to him for psychological review prior to a trial, or perhaps an
ex-Hellions member wanting help reintegrating into normal society. He certainly didn't expect a tall, auburn-haired woman with piercing green eyes and
stripes of -- was that camo paint? -- stripes of paint across her face in a slash pattern and a tiara on her forehead, wearing a green mesh bodysuit,
black-and-red gloves and boots, and a ragged stuffed cat on her shoulder. A hero... and while he knew of several whom he privately thought could use his
professional services -- Superball came to mind most readily, though there were others -- it wasn't like Azuria to send one his way like this.
He rose and extended a hand in greeting. "Hello. I'm James Bolstead."
The woman crossed the room and shook his hand firmly as his receptionist closed the door. "Hi there, Mr. Bolstead -- or should I call you
'doctor'? I'm Rhea Samuels."
"Whichever you prefer -- James or Jim works too, I'm pretty laid back about it." He glanced down at the Post-It, then up at his guest again.
"I'm sorry to say, I'm a bit unprepared. My notes only say that someone with the initials E.B. was coming at five-thirty, and your name
doesn't seem to fit...?"
The woman laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not used to this yet." She produced a class-H licence card, passing it over to him.
"I just got this today, as a matter of fact. Azuria sent me here first. Anyway, the E.B. is my --" she paused, eyes twinkling, and continued in a
serious voice, "-- *hero name*. Villains beware, for Emerald Blast is here!" Then she grinned and winked. "What do you think? Too
cliche?"
James blinked. "Not as cliche as some I've heard, but it's near the top, I'll admit." He indicated the visitor's chair as he
opened his file drawer. Emerald settled herself easily, reaching up to adjust the toy on her shoulder with a gesture that suggested it was born of long
practice.
If I know Azuria, he thought while rummaging through the drawer, and suppresed a wry smile as he found exactly what he expected, filed neatly away with the
rest of the day's cases. He extracted the thin manila folder and opened it to find a single piece of notepaper within. He scanned it quickly, committing
the relevant facts to memory.
Dear Jim,
You may find this patient challenging. Her origins are relatively clear-cut --
she's perfectly willing to talk about it -- but her state of mind is decidedly
less reassuring. I think she's a case of Power Object Syndrome, keyed on
the stuffed cat -- Mr. Whiskers, she calls it -- with a heavy dose of trauma
over the top. Basically, she seems to believe the cat is alive and has the
powers. He supposedly talks to her, and she's the one he's chosen to help
him save humanity from ourselves.
(As an aside, no, it's not a true power object -- her abilities are innate, not
granted. We checked.)
We're going to issue her a class-H anyway, because -- despite what the
Army discharge paperwork granting her a medical had to say -- there's
nothing apparently *wrong* with her, and we need all the help we can get.
But I'd appreciate it if you could help her out, maybe untangle the wiring a
bit, something. You'll know how to handle it, I'm sure.
Thanks!
-A.
PS: tell your accountant to bill this one to M.A.G.I..
He blinked at the sparse note -- of all people, he would have expected Azuria to understand the need for detailed information! -- then turned his attention
back to his visitor. She was perched lazily in the chair, leaning back and regarding him with a mischevious grin, gently stroking the stuffed cat with one
hand and twirling a lock of her hair with the other.
"So, doc," she said abruptly, leaning forward to fix him with a stare. "How crazy does she think I am?"
"Well, now, what makes you think she thinks you're crazy?" Jim replied, inwardly cursing Azuria's ineptness.
"Oh, I dunno, little things. Like the wierd looks she gave me, or the fact that she sent me to a shrink instead of off to fight
EEEEEEEvvviiilll." She grinned at Jim as he winced instinctively at the hated appellation. "Sorry," she added in a friendlier tone. "I
don't mean it to be mean."
"No, that's quite all right. I've been called much worse." Jim leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Well, as it
happens, Azuria doesn't think you're crazy, and if she was crazy enough to suggest that, maybe it's time I insisted on a psych eval for HER."
He smiled gently. "However, she does feel that you could use my services. Do you mind if I ask about your past?"
"Nope. Ask away!"
"Well then. You were in the Army?"
"Yep. I was a medic." Rhea sat back, looking relaxed and downright cheerful, moving the cat to her lap.
"And I take it something happened?"
A small frown crept onto Rhea's face. "Well... sort of. I mean, the firebase was attacked, by a bunch of crazies. Insurgents, our CO said. I
didn't see much of it -- I was busy tending the casualties, and BOY were there a LOT of them, lemme tell you. I think the chow tent took the first hit --
mortar through the roof, BAM! Made a bit of a mess."
Jim blinked at the sheer casualness with which Rhea had rattled that off. "I ... see. Were you injured?"
"Nope. After the fighting was all over they -- the bad guys, I mean -- rounded us up and locked us in the comm shack. It was me, a couple of MPs with
bad luck, and five wounded. Everyone else was dead. They didn't give us supplies or anything, and of course the power was out, so none of the gear
worked. We lost two that first night."
Jimm watched closely, expecting some sort of emotion to show, but Rhea looked as though she was simply chatting while waiting for the bus. Every now and
again she'd stroke her stuffed cat, but that was it.
"And ... then what happened?"
"Well... it was pretty intense, y'know? One of the MPs just lost it, started punching and kicking the door, so hard and so much that he mangled
his hand pretty bad. They ignored it... but one of them had to have been watching, I think. Right after I finished setting the splint, they opened the door
and dragged me out to treat their wounded.
"After I was done with that, they locked me in a supply closet by myself... and I don't know what happened to the others in the comm shack. I
never saw any of them again."
There was a short pause.
"Anyway," Rhea continued, just as though she was telling a favorite childhood story instead of a harrowing tale of bloodshed, "I spent the
next night tied up in the back of a truck, along with a load of ammunition. That was pretty nerve-wracking, lemme tell ya. They cleared out of the firebase
and took me along. They needed a medic, y'see. One of them spoke English enough to tell me that. We drove for a few hours, very slowly -- I could have
walked faster, if, you know, my legs hadn't been tied up. We finally got to the top of a ridge and they stopped. I was looking back the way we'd come
and could just barely see the firebase -- it was distinctive, if you knew where to look -- and then the whole thing went up in a huge fireball. The ground
shook, the sky roared... it was intense.
"And then they were all screaming, and the truck blew up, and something hit me really hard in the back, and it felt like I was on fire... and then I
guess I blacked out."
Jim smiled invitingly. "Well, obviously you survived...?"
Rhea laughed. "Oh, I woke up without a scratch. In the middle of a crater, I might add, with the melted remains of a wheel rim as my pillow. That
part's not in the official paperwork -- nobody seems to believe me, I can't imagine why." Her eyes twinkled. "There were some locals there
when I came to, all of them staring at me -- and why not? It's not every day a blast crater appears in the local goat pasture, with a naked American woman
sleeping in the middle of it."
That got a raised eyebrow. "Naked?"
"Oh, yeah. As a jaybird. I mean, you get over routine shyness in Basic, right? But even so, I felt a little self-conscious. The locals were nice,
though. They gave me clothes, and some food, and made me feel welcome. Even gave me a cot to sleep on, in the corner of one of the huts. They were almost
treating me like some sort of VIP, it felt like. Of course, the whole blast crater thing might have been the reason.
"That's when I met Mr. Whiskers, and finally understood how I'd survived. He won't tell me how he knew where I was or where he was hiding,
but that first night I woke up and there he was, next to my cot, just waiting for me. And he told me how he'd come to help me when I needed it, so I could
in turn help him. He'd protected me from the worst of the truck explosion, and healed me afterwards." She smiled fondly at the cat in her lap.
"He can't understand why I was upset about the clothes, though. What can I say? He's a cat, they don't get the whole clothing thing to begin
with.
"After that it was pretty uneventful. I spent another two days in the village, doing what I could for their people. None of them spoke any English,
so it was hard for me to tell them I needed a phone -- which I don't think they had, anyway, so, yeah. The Army finally got around to finding me about
then, and lemme tell ya, the brass, they had a LOT of questions.
"Of course, I told them the whole story, just like I'm telling you. They didn't believe me. Big surprise there, huh? We had a couple weeks
of increasingly frustrated 'will you PLEASE tell us the TRUTH?' sessions, all that garbage. You'd think they'd want to use Mr. Whisker's
powers, but they kept insisting that it wasn't him, and I kept insisting it WAS, and then they tried to take him away, and he got mad at them and destroyed
the barracks..." She shrugged. "Nobody was hurt, but they decided we were too much hassle, I guess, and kicked me out for 'mental illness'.
Puh-leeze.
"So I moped around for a while before finally realizing what I needed to do. And here I am."
Jim nodded. "Indeed you are." He scribbled a couple of notes. "Let me ask about Mr. Whiskers, if I could. That's him there, I take
it?"
"Yes." Rhea held up a hand and continued. "The next question you're going to ask is, do I know he's a stuffed toy? Answer: I'm
not an idiot, thank you very much. He looks and behaves like a stuffed toy so people don't freak out. After that, you'll ask, well, how do I *know*
he's not just a stuffed toy? Answer: I can't explain it to you because Mr. Whiskers is very stubborn and won't talk to anyone but me. No, I
don't know why. Next you'll say something about, well, are you sure it's not all in your head, and then we'll have to get all philosophical,
and next thing you know we'll be firing off quotes from Neitzche and Kant at each other from ten paces, and someone will mention that jerk with the box,
which just ticks Mr. Whiskers off -- experiment on a cat? That's not cool -- and it'll all end in tears. Again." She cocked her head. "So
why don't we skip all that, hmm?"
Jim couldn't help it; he laughed. "Okay, okay, I surrender. No philosophical discussions on the nature of your cat, got it." He thought for
a moment, then shrugged. "Well, then, let's talk about something else. You channel his powers, hmm? Just what would those powers be?"
Rhea began to speak, then stopped, suddenly looking alert and holding up a hand. "Do you hear something?" she asked. Jim frowned and looked
around.
"Like what? I don't --"
The outside window exploded inwards, ripping the closed blinds clear off their tracks and showering the room with glass and fragments of brick from the
wall. Jim yelped as a jagged piece tagged him just below the ear, and instinctively pushed himself back from his desk just as a hulking, armored figure plowed
into it, driving it into -- through! -- the wall between his office and the lobby. He heard his receptionist scream even as he marveled at how lucky he'd
been -- a half-second later and his legs would have still been under the desk. His knees stung and his pants were torn, but his feet were still attached to
the rest of him.
For a few moments, the only sounds were his own frantic breathing, the merry tinkle of falling glass and crumbling brick, and the terrified sobs from Cindy
out in the lobby. He found a moment to feel relief that she, apparently, had been out of the line of fire.
Then the ... thing... moved. It groaned and wheezed in the mechanical equivalent of arthritis, servomotors and pnuematics whining and hissing, and rose to
stand on its clawed robotic feet. It was large, and vaguely man-shaped. Broader than it was tall, it all but screamed aggression and hostility, from the top
of its rounded dome of a 'head' to the ends of the sharpened manipulator claws that served as hands.
Across the office, Rhea lay crumpled in the corner, a thin trickle of blood oozing from one temple. She had not been so lucky as he, it seemed.
The robot turned, sweeping aside the remains of his desk with one massive arm, and stomped back through the hole it had made in the interior wall. With a
whir and a click, one arm reconfigured itself, changing from claw to cannon in the blink of an eye. The robot raised it, aimed, and fired, sending a bolt of
raw red energy sizzling across the room and out the former window at some unseen target. The blast left a purple afterimage in Jim's vision, and he found
himself frozen in fear. From outside, a minor explosion and a startled curse, followed by the sounds of combat: more energy blasts, a deafening roar, and the
frenzied whomp-whomp-whomp of more of these mechanical monstrosities stomping about.
The robot tracked its target and fired again, this time in a pulse pattern.
Don't move, Jim thought to himself, it's not after you. Just wait it out, stay out of the way, a hero will handle it any minute now. If you
don't move it won't notice you.
It was a mantra that many in Paragon City had become familiar with. Stay out of the way, let the heroes clean it up. And why not? One was always just
around the corner, it seemed like. Hell, he could hear at least one outside right now, obviously tackling whoever was responsible for the uninvited guest in
his office. Just a few more minutes and it would all be over.
Jim caught a flicker of motion -- and worse, so did the robot -- out of the corner of his eye and felt a sinking sensation in his gut. A giddy part of his
brain noted that Rhea must not have got the memo, even as she rose to her feet and brushed dust off her costume.
The robot paused, obviously evaluating this new potential threat. Before it could make a decision one way or another, Rhea acted.
"Go for the EYES, Mr. Whiskers!" she yelled, plucking the cat off the ground and hurling it like a football at the robot. The plush feline
missile bounced harmlessly off the robots carapace, arcing high in the air. The droids body languge evinced surprise, and Jim could only imagine what was
going through its circuits. Something like what was going through his own, probably: a befuddled "Bwah?"
While Jim and the 'bot were distracted, Rhea wound up and hurled a swirling green fireball, which smacked the robot soundly in the chest and detonated
in a brilliant flash.
"Ha HA!" she crowed triumphantly. "Take TH-- eeep!"
She threw herself flat as a fusillade of pulse bolts blew through where her head had been a moment before. The robot, decidedly unimpressed with her
attack, stomped forward and raised its arm with the apparent intent of turning her into paste. She let loose with another blast, catching it in the optics and
making it falter.
The stuffed cat completed its fall and Rhea scooped it up as she scrambled to her feet, ducking around the robot as it staggered and placing the cat back on
her shoulder. She raced across the room to where Jim still sat, taking a glancing blow from a pulse bolt from behind and nearly falling, and skidded to a halt
in front of him.
"New plan!" she chirped breathlessly, oblivious to the smoke rising from her back. "Run!" So saying, she grabbed Jim and lifted him
clean out of the chair, threw him over her other shoulder, and sprinted for the hole in the wall. Head bouncing, Jim watched behind dazedly as the robot took
careful aim, energy swirling and gathering at the end of its cannon arm, and clenched his teeth in anticipation of impending doom.
Then his vision was blocked as Rhea leaped to the side, and he got a close-up view of brick bubbling and glowing mere instants before a beam burst through,
scoring a charred line on the asphalt of the parking lot but missing both of them by scant inches.
Rhea dropped him unceremoniously behind a parked car, pushing him flat with surprising strength and a muttered "Stay down!" She moved over and
crouched behind another, but not before letting loose with a soothing pulse of green energy that left him breathless and uninjured -- and from what he could
see, doing a fine job of patching up her back as well.
Out in the parking lot chaos reigned. Curious despite himself, Jim watched as a team of two heroes slugged it out with a larger force of mechanical
monsters like the one in his office, and further back, a small group of costumed villains. Two of the latter were intent on the fight and occasionally
participating, letting loose with energy blasts and other things, while their two companions hurriedly shoveled money into bags. The twisted remains of an
armored truck lay on its side near them, cash spilled out like so much water across the street and dancing lazily in the wind.
At the front lines, the two heroes were systematically dismantling the robotic menace. Three sparking, smoking heaps lay scattered about, leaving only four
more to handle. The heroes, dressed in blue and gold, were a polished team, and even as Jim watched, another robot fell to the combined attacks of a small
girl wielding a large sword and an equally small girl wielding a lot of fire. Between the two of them, their target was sliced, roasted, toasted, and diced in
a matter of moments. It sparked and sizzled before falling over in flames, and the remaining robots stepped up to continue the fight.
Brick crumbled, and the robot in Jim's office stepped out. It appeared to have lost interest in himself and Rhea, for it was training its cannon arm on
the girl with the sword and powering up for another shot.
Rhea must have seen it too, Jim realized, because she leapt out from cover with a shouted "Look out!" and tackled the robots arm, spoiling its
aim. Instead of achieving a perfect headshot from behind, the bolt only grazed the other girls shoulder. She jerked and clutched at it momentarily, glancing
back to see where it had come from, and Jim could see her size up the situation instantly.
In a flash she was across the parking lot, standing before the first robot and brandishing her weapon. Behind her, her teammate continued the fight, taking
to the air and annihilating two robots at once with an impressive gout of fire, blown out from her lips and sounding like an afterburner with terminal
indigestion. The remaining robot on her side of the parking lot began peppering her with bolts, but she ignored them.
"Eva!" the flying girl called, "they're getting away!"
Indeed, Jim saw, the villains had finished packing up what money they could and had piled into an unmarked van, which was now burning rubber as it
accelerated down the street. The robot seemed to be on rearguard duty, and was doing its best to bring down the flying hero, but she dodged its attacks
without appearing to notice most of them.
"Stop them, Yukiyo!" Eva called over her shoulder. "I'll handle things here!"
"Right!" Yukiyo called, and turned into a blur, zooming off after the rapidly vanishing van.
The first robot growled and shook its arm violently, flinging Rhea up into the air as she lost her grip. She crashed down on her back and bounced, sitting
up with a dazed scowl on her face. "Ow," she complained absently. "That hurt!"
Eva whirled her sword and attempted a slice, but it was caught by the manipulator claw. She gritted her teeth and began to draw it out, the blade sparking
and grinding against the high-tech alloy, but the momentary pause was enough. A heavy pulse blast from behind smashed into her, driving her forward, and the
robot holding her sword backhanded her, knocking her back. She whirled free of the exchange with an angry red mark along her jaw and fury in her eyes.
A stuffed cat flew across Jim's field of vision, hitting the robot that had just backhanded Eva square in the optics, followed by a barrage of green
bolts that didn't do anything but annoy the 'bot... and give Eva an opportunity. Jim watched as the heroic girl dug her heels in and charged, blade
leveled, and shot past the robot as nothing more than a blur, screaming a challenge as she ran.
The robot staggered, then erupted in sparks from half a dozen rents that opened almost as if by magic. It fell back against the wall and shut down, optics
going dim. As a final insult, Mr. Whiskers landed (upside down, Jim noted absently) on the outstretched cannon arm, which promptly broke off and fell with a
bright shiny *ting!*, metal gleaming mirror-bright where the sword had passed through it. Rhea retrieved her cat, dusted him off, and settled him on her
shoulder with a decisive nod.
The last remaining robot loomed suddenly behind her -- Jim couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it approach! -- and swiped at her head. Battle damage
or poor aim caused it to miss; it hit instead Mr. Whiskers, sending the toy flying.
"MR. WHISKERS!" Rhea screamed. Before anyone could react, her face transformed into a mask of rage and she whirled to fix the robot with a deadly
glare. "YOU HURT HIM!"
A towering inferno, a veritable mushroom cloud of green energies, engulfed her, blasting outwards and causing Jim to flinch and avert his eyes. When his
vision cleared (except for an annoying blotch that danced around the periphery), Rhea was wobbling on her feet and clutching Mr. Whiskers to her chest, and the
robot was all but vaporized. Two metal legs were all that remained, rocking gently in the breeze, with smoke rising from where their knee joints should have
been.
The sudden silence was deafening.
Rhea staggered over to where Eva stood, breathing deeply to recover her strength, and straightened. Another green pulse washed out and left both her and
Eva whole once more, if a little ragged around the edges.
"Thank you," Eva said, her voice sounding as though she didn't quite know what to make of what had just happened. Her radio chirped and she
answered. Jim couldn't hear the other end, but this side of it was clear enough. "That's great, Yukiyo. Great work. Turn those two over, and
the money, and we'll put out the call to see if we can catch the others. Hmm? Oh, we're okay here. I'll explain later. Bye!"
She shut off the device with a decisive flick, regarding Rhea steadily. "Thank you," she repeated. "I'm Evangelia and that was Yukiyo;
we're with The Legendary. Is everyone okay? Was anybody hurt?"
Jim decided that was as good a cue as any and stood. "I think we're okay... my receptionist might still be in there, though." He crossed
over to the hole in the wall and joined Eva and Rhea in peering into the debris-strewn office. Cindy saw him and waved weakly from the lobby, where she was
standing on a pile of files and crumpled office equipment.
"Are you okay, Cindy?" he called.
"Do I have to clean this up?" she replied.
"... um, no, I think insurance will handle that, or maybe the janitorial staff..."
"Then I'm fine, thanks."
From the open window of the next office over came a disgruntled "Oh, sure, always the janitor gets to clean up the mess..." Jim ignored it.
The setting sun drew long shadows on the pavement as sirens began to approach. Citizens emerged from their hiding places, some stopping to congratulate the
capes -- which, Jim noted, Evangelia handled with aplomb, while Rhea seemed startled and ill-at-ease -- while others simply eyed the destruction, shrugged, and
went on their way.
Jim produced a pen and a business card, scribbling briefly on the back and passing it over to Rhea. "I'm going to tell Azuria not to worry so
much. I do want you and Mr. Whiskers to come back and see me, at least once a week if you can, okay? But other than that..." He grinned. "They
may call you crazy, Rhea, but if you are, it's the kind of crazy we need. And you can tell 'em I said that."
He surveyed the scene one more time, then stuck his hands in his pockets and headed for the nearest bar to call his insurance agent and have a drink.
"Well... I've got to get after the two who got away, if we're going to catch them," Evangelia said.
"Mind if Mr. Whiskers and I tag along?" Rhea asked. "If we won't be in the way, that is...?"
Eva shared a quick glance with Alistair, who -- as best an invisible penguin could -- shrugged. "I assume she refers to that... thing, on her
shoulder, Raye."
Rhea's stuffed cat gazed sightlessly at Eva. She stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then made her decision.
"Sure, why not?"
"Great!"
"What's your name, by the way?"
"I'm the Emerald Blast, and this is Mr. Whiskers!" Emerald said, snugging her gloves tight.
"Well, nice to meet you, Emerald...."
As the two jogged away, Alistair stared thoughtfully after them. He could sense no magic, no life, nothing whatsoever in the toy on Emerald's shoulder.
He started after the pair, then stopped as he noticed the sign in the parking lot. "Psychiatry Associates", it read. "Licensed Mental Health
Counselors".
"... oh dear."
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
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