"MCNICHOL!"
Leon looked up at the sound of his name being roared. It cut through the incessant cacophony of the precinct like a knife, and though the ambient noise
didn't stop, it quieted momentarily.
"Oh, is that you he's after?" the clerk behind the desk said with an impish grin. Leon matched it with one of his own.
"It is," he admitted, "though I usually prefer my first name being shouted, and under different circumstances." He winked.
The clerk -- one GAINES, R. according to her nameplate -- laughed and slapped his shoulder playfully. "Get outta here, Detective. That's the chief,
you don't want to keep him waiting."
"Tomorrow, nine o'clock?" he said, taking her hand in his own and raising an eyebrow.
"We'll see," she said, removing her hand and pushing his shoulder to spin him around. "Now scram!"
Leon let himself be sent on his way, grinning. "Not bad, McNichol," he told himself. "Less than an hour in town and already you've got a
date."
"MCNICHOL! FRONT AND CENTER!" This time, the shout rattled windows, and the secretary seated just outside the chiefs office winced but kept working
with an air of long-suffering patience.
Leon raised an eyebrow as he made his way across the crowded, bustling room. "Almost sounds like Todo got himself transferred as well." He stopped
by the secretary's desk and picked up his backpack from where he'd left it after checking in, favoring the tired-looking girl with a wink. She stared
back at him with flat eyes and jerked her chin at the door.
"The chief will see you now." It was delivered in a tone that suggested the speaker wasn't even conscious of saying it, and Leon couldn't
help but chuckle. He moved past the desk and stepped between two large filing cabinets flanking the doorway like beauracratic guardians.
"Close the door," the chief grunted from his desk, not looking up from his paperwork. Leon shrugged and did so, dropping his bag onto the floor next
to the visitors chair and collapsing into the chair with only marginally more grace.
The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked forward for nearly a minute before the chief finished reading the file. He closed it and dropped it on his desk,
then raised his gaze to meet Leon's. He was a wiry individual; Leon was surprised that a voice as deep and penetrating as the one that had summoned him
could have come from so slight a man. His salt-and-pepper hair was thick and he wore a bushy mustache, but no beard. That, and the round wire-frame glasses
perched on his nose, made him seem more a professor than a police chief. Leon found himself warming to the man almost instantly, and decided that that instant
charisma, like an old tomcat, must have been how this guy rose to his position.
"So how is Chief Todo?" Leon's new boss asked. Leon raised an eyebrow.
"Doing well, last time I saw him, sir." He straightened in his chair. "I didn't know you two knew each other."
"Oh, we go back a long ways," the chief said, leaning back in his seat. The wood and leather highback chair creaked softly. "He came over for
a course I was teaching at the Academy. You could say, in a way, that if it weren't for that you wouldn't be here."
Leon frowned. "I'm not looking for any favors --" he began, but was cut off.
"Don't worry, you're not getting any." The chief pulled open a drawer and rifled through it briefly, extracting a thick manila folder which
he tossed to Leon. "You have a reputation as a man who can get things done, who takes risks but makes them pay off, and most importantly, a proven
ability to keep his mouth shut. I need all of those." His grizzled face crept up in a lopsided grin. "If you are what Todo says you are, I've
got that, even if I -do- have to put up with a goddamn playboy messing with my clerks' productivity."
Leon blinked and opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, then clamped it shut at the warning glare from across the desk.
"Just read it, and tell me yes or no after you're done."
Wearing a puzzled frown, Leon opened the folder and began to read.
* * * * *
The clock had ticked forward twenty-two minutes when Leon closed the folder and sat quietly, his eyes staring at a point far outside the walls of the room. He
shook his head and handed the folder back to the chief.
"Well?"
Leon looked right at him. "Oh, I'm in." He grinned. "Are you kdding? Turn THAT down?"
The chief smiled grimly. "Good! Rebecca will expedite your paperwork and handle the FBSA. She's the only one, besides me, who you may discuss your
operations with -- aside from other members of the division, of course. You'll file your reports through her most of the time." He tapped a few keys
on the terminal built in to his desk. "You'll be active as of tomorrow. Any questions?"
"Just one, sir. That bit about 'licensed hero'? Does that mean I can wear a costume?"
"That's up to you. Whatever it is, just keep it tasteful. You may be operating outside the usual channels, but the PPD still has a reputation to
uphold."
"Darn. I guess that means the leather bustier is off-limits?"
A growl was the response. "Get outta here, McNichol. Todo was right about you."
* * * * *
"Back so soon, Detective?"
Leon winced.
"I thought you said nine o'clock tomorrow?"
Leon winced again and smiled a sheepish grin. "Heh. Well, um..."
Rebecca Gaines smirked at him from behind the fortress of her desk. "What's the matter, Detective? Catgirl got your tongue?"
"You're good," Leon admitted. "You must have known who I was and what the chief wanted the whole time."
"Yep."
"And you didn't say a word," he remarked admiringly. "Just let me waltz in and trip off all the landmines. Slick, very slick," he
said approvingly. He staightened up and smiled, a normal smile rather than is usual rogueish grin. "Hi, I'm Leon McNichol." He proffered a
hand.
Rebecca took it and shook it firmly. "Rebecca." She raised one eyebrow. "What, starting over?" she inquired.
"No, just admiring a skillful play," Leon said. "You're good. I admire skill." He cleared his throat. "So. What's
next?"
"The bane of your existence, Leon," Rebecca said sympathetically. "Paperwork." She produced a thick stack from the recesses of her desk.
Leon shook his head and sighed.
"I used to let my partner handle all the paperwork," he said, and picked up a pen. "Oh, for the good old days."
Some minutes later, as he skimmed through the stack: "Rebecca?"
"Hm?"
"Do I want to know why the PPD is asking if I've ever attended an inter-species communication course?"
"Oh, that. Yeah, all the newcomers ask about that one." She shrugged and went back to her work.
"... you didn't answer the question."
"It's Paragon City."
Leon looked at her doubtfully for a minute, then shook his head and went back to his task.
* * * * *
The last of the sunlight had departed long ago when Leon stepped out of the precinct building into the employee parking lot, with Rebecca following.
"Y'know, when the chief said I'd be all set as of tomorrow, I thought he meant I'd get a night off first," Leon remarked, glancing at his
watch. It was past midnight.
"That's what you get for thinking," Rebecca pointed out. She nudged him forward. "C'mon, I'll give you a lift."
"I can walk, thanks though," Leon replied.
"I insist, Detective," she said, and guided him towards her car. Once they were safely inside, she turned to him and shook her head.
"You're new at this hush-hush stuff, aren't you?"
"I prefer the straightforward approach," Leon grumbled. Rebecca handed him a packet.
"There's the info on your assignment." She held up a hand as he began to protest. "I know, I know, zero interference, pick your own
assignments, all that jazz. Think of this as your primary goal, then. You just need to investigate them and file a report, the brass'll decide from there
if action needs to be taken."
Leon tipped the packet up and caught the files that slid out. "Not much here," he remarked. A set of grainy long-distance photos, a couple of bio
sheets lacking most of the detail, and copies of hero registration forms. It wasn't much at all, and certainly not enough to give him a sense of motive
for the investigation.
"It's all we have."
He nodded and put the files back in the envelope, and put that in his backpack. One photo fluttered out and landed on the floor; he picked it up absently.
"Okay then." He regarded Rebecca steadily for a moment, then grinned. "So. Where's a good coffee place in this city? My treat."
Rebecca returned the grin as she started the engine. "Both of us should probably go to bed, Detective. It's late, early day tomorrow and all
that."
"Sleep is overrated," Leon replied. He returned his attention to the photo as Rebecca navigated the city streets. It was in black and white and
showed an obviously female figure clad in tight-fitting body armor, with an opaque facebowl for a helmet and twin blades skewering an unfortunate Hellion. It
was impossible to tell from the angle of the photo if they were lethal wounds or not.
"Are they a danger to the city?" he asked quietly, almost rhetorically. Rebecca shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road.
"That's your job to figure out."
More to come...
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Mmmm. Interesting. These are local analogues to Leon and Todo, then. I hadn't been paying attention to their backstories before now.
Any way I can bribe you to bring Nabeshin -- excuse me, Watanabe Shinichi -- on stage?
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
Well, now, I don't see how I would have a problem with doing that. *grin* But I'm gonna need me a 'recommended reading' list, as it were.
Wikipedia's entry on him is a bit sparse, and I'm not familiar with the character at all personally.
For now, though, just imagine somewhere in the bustling chaos of the precinct station, an Afro is bobbing to it's own personal beat as it surfs the wave of
humanity.
![[Image: smile.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif)
--sofaspud
--
"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Quote:But I'm gonna need me a 'recommended reading' list, as it were.
Imagine Shaft as a white guy. Who keeps machine guns in his afro.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
One month today, Leon thought to himself as he stood at the tiny window in the bathroom of his equally tiny apartment, his toothbrush busily buzzing away as he
stared out over the gritty streets of King's Row.
He turned and spat, watching the toothpaste swirl and vanish down the drain.
"One month," he repeated aloud, and rinsed his mouth with black coffee, hot and steaming from the mug in his hand. He frowned at his reflection in
the mirror, sighed, and tugged open the reluctant drawer under the sink to retrieve his shaving supplies. Voices from the TV in the other room rose and fell
in cadence, extolling the virtues of some product or another. He ignored the noise as he lathered up and began to scrape industriously at the two-day stubble.
An explosion outside rattled the building. He sighed again and gripped the edge of the sink tightly. His head bent and he shook it slowly.
"Just one morning in peace," he remarked, turning his face up to stare at the ceiling. "Just one?"
As the rumble died down, car alarms began to wail, and the staccato pop-pop-pop of gunfire took the place of the boom. Leon took two steps to the right, which
put him into the main room of his studio apartment, and lifted his weapon from the stand by the door. Then he crossed to the window, threw it open, climbed
out on the fire escape, and shouted,
"PPD! KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF DOWN THERE!"
A bullet sparked off the fire escape next to his hand by way of reply, reminding him that he was dressed only in a towel and shaving cream, rather than the
usual body armor. Grumbling to himself about the injustices of the world, he raised his rifle, sighted carefully, and fired three times.
Then he ducked back inside and resumed his preparations for the day.
Outside, a brightly-costumed hero looked around in puzzlement, then shrugged and began tagging the three Skulls at his feet, all clutching at the mangled
remains of their weapon hands.
* * * * *
It was with considerably better cheer -- the coffee had kicked in -- that Leon entered the Special Investigations division headquarters. It was a cozy affair,
tucked away underground somewhere -- he wasn't quite sure where -- and decorated in Ragged Office Modern. Crates in the corners did double duty as storage
space as well as work surfaces, and the cubicles were hand-me-downs from the PPD Logistics Division, and hadn't come with proper fasteners; duct tape and
prayer were holding them together until the right parts could be scrounged.
Couple all that with the ratty furniture in the visitor's area -- complete with a scarred-top coffee table holding magazines from four years ago, plus
today's PARAGON TIMES -- and the bare-concrete floor, and it looked like an office building that was overdue to be condemned.
Still, Leon reflected as he hopped down from the teleporter platform, it was a damn sight better than the cramped nine-by-nine storage room that had, until
only a week ago, been their official home. He stopped long enough to fill his mug with the thick black ooze from the industrial-strength coffeemaker, grinned
at the Post-It stuck to the metal above the pot with "COFFEE?" scrawled on it, and proceeded to his desk, ignoring the four-day-old donuts next to
the coffee machine. He personally figured that by this point they were best suited as chew-toys for Fuzzy, their resident psychotic police
werewolf-on-a-leash, and not for actual human consumption.
He and his fellow members of the Special Investigations division kept wierd hours by any sane standard, so he wasn't surprised to find the base unoccupied.
He brought up his terminal, futzed a bit with email and suchlike, then opened a nondescript file and stared moodily at the pictures and data scrolling slowly
by on the screen. He leaned back and sat there for a time frowning, taking occassional sips from his mug.
A brief 'ding-dong!' issued from the overhead speakers; Leon leaned further back in his chair, his head popping out of his cubicle, and watched as
HE-AT, the division commander and nominally his boss, faded into view on the teleporter platform.
"Mornin', boss lady," Leon called.
"Greeting: good morning to you as well, Detective." HE-AT stepped down lightly from the platform and crossed the room, stopping at his cube wall and
politely keeping her eyes -- optics, he wondered? He wasn't sure if she was purely robotic or some form of cyborg -- averted from his screen.
"Query: What brings you in so early?"
Leon glanced at his watch -- 8:17 -- and shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come in and get some work done."
"Statement: You did plenty in Faultline last night. Mr. Temblor called to commend your performance."
Leon grinned. "Jim's an okay guy. Needs to keep a better eye on his girlfriend, though. She's trouble and a half."
"Statement: Agreed."
"Anyway, that's not what I'm working on at the moment." He rubbed at his temples. "It's that case we talked about before. I'm
not getting anywhere with the kid gloves on, and so far I don't have a reason to take them off. Not a legit one, anyway." He frowned. "To be
honest, I don't even have an illegimate reason. They haven't pulled anything any other licensed hero hasn't." He shook his head.
"Something stinks, and it isn't my dirty socks."
HE-AT cocked her head. "Statement: You suspect something."
Leon nodded. "Too damn right I do. Check this out." He sat up in his chair and tapped at the keyboard. HE-AT moved into the cube and took a seat
in the visitors chair, watching over his shoulder as he pulled together bits of the puzzle and put them on the screen.
"Look!" he said, stabbing a finger at the monitor. "We have data showing that there are several registered Sabres. They're working
together, it's obvious. That's nothing special, supergroups form in this city like weeds form on a lawn. But there's something funny about their
targets. Look at the list."
HE-AT did so. Leon could almost see her make the connection. "Statement: The distribution is skewed. Crey appears much less often in that list than
would be expected."
"Exactly! Now, check THIS out." Leon threw up a graph on the screen, showing a bar for each group that had been targeted by the Sabres.
"Observation: Crey is again skewed. The estimated value of their losses is much greater than the other groups."
"Bingo." Leon leaned back and shook his head. "I dunno for sure what the deal is, but they -- the Sabres, I mean -- they avoid Crey like the
plague for the most part. But when they DO hit Crey, they hit 'em HARD, and where it hurts. Or should." He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't
suppose you know any way to get Crey to cough up actual values, do you? I'm having to guess based on what little makes it to the media or trickles down
from upstairs."
"Statement: Negative."
"About what I figured." Leon snorted. "What makes all this more confusing is, I've worked with a couple of these girls. Robots. Whatever
they are. And I don't get any sense that there's a problem there -- not any more than with any other hero. All heroes are crazy, it comes with the
territory."
HE-AT looked askance at him. Leon shrugged.
"Hey, we're cops. We're crazy too, we're just trained for it."
"Statement: That is not reassuring."
"Truth usually isn't," Leon replied. He sighed. "Anyway, none of this adds up. It's bugging me. And that's why I haven't
filed my report yet."
"Query: What is your concern?"
Leon looked up at HE-AT. "I think we're being used. The PPD, and the Sabres." He scowled. "One of us is a catspaw, and right now I'm
damned if I know which one, or for what."
He returned to glaring at the evidence on his display, and might have stayed there all day lost in thought had another arrival chime not chosen that moment to
sound. HE-AT took a step back to clear the way as Leon unthinkingly leaned back in his chair to peer at the portal platform.
"Oh, great," Leon muttered as the hulking figure of MACH II faded into view, the spotlights above blazing off his polished white carapace. The large
red cross on his chest seemed to wink as the robot took a smooth, steady step forward. The coffee in the pot jiggled uncertainly as his massive foot came down
on the concrete floor.
"How'd he know I was here?" Leon muttered as he ducked forward again, trying to remain unseen. HE-AT regarded him, then cocked her head and said
nonchalantly,
"Statement: I authorized the installation of a tracking unit in your armor, sidearm, and motorcycle."
"WHAT?!" Leon stared up at his supervisor in outrage. "Now wait a minute, that's going too far! You don't have the right--"
"Rebuttal: Refer to PPD Special Investigations Procedures Manual, section five, paragraphs eighteen through twenty-two." HE-AT stepped back and
turned to leave, pausing only long enough to add, "Statement: Don't make me employ paragraph twenty-three, Detective."
"GOOD MORNING, MA'AM. GREETINGS, DETECTIVE MCNICHOL." MACH II loomed over the cube wall, stepping aside politely as HE-AT nodded a greeting and
continued towards her 'office'.
Leon fumed.
"SENSORS INDICATE YOUR STRESS LEVELS ARE ABOVE NOMINAL LEVELS. THIS UNIT IS CAPABLE OF REDUCING THEM THROUGH MANY MEANS." MACH II leaned down to
bring his cycloptic eyeplate closer to Leon's face. "STANDARD PROCEDURE IS TO EMPLOY PHYSICAL THERAPUETIC TECHNIQUES FIRST."
Leon glared into the unwavering optics of his partner. "Tell me you did -not- just offer me a massage."
"IF YOU PREFER, THIS UNIT CAN SKIP DIRECTLY TO THE APPLICATION OF TRANQUILIZERS."
"Unless that means you're buying the beer, I'll pass," Leon said, snorting.
MACH II remained silent.
Leon stood and yanked his jacket off its peg. "Let's get out of here. I've got my own way to blow off some steam."
"AS YOU DESIRE." MACH II fell into step behind him. As they reached the teleport bays, Leon spoke.
"Hey, Ed, you heard the boss lady back there. What's in paragraph twenty-three?"
MACH II regarded Leon steadily for a moment, then extended a massive manipulator gauntlet. A panel opened and a set of surgical implements popped out,
polished steel glinting with a dull sheen of disinfectant.
Leon scowled again. "I didn't sign up for this."
"THIS UNIT HAS A COPY OF YOUR AUTHORIZATION ON FILE. WOULD YOU LIKE A PRINTOUT?"
"Can it," Leon growled. "C'mon, let's go bust some Skulls."
* * * * *
BLAM.
Leon fiddled with the sights on his new rifle, then raised it to his shoulder again. He took a deep breath, let half of it out, and eased back on the trigger.
BLAM.
Nodding in satisfaction, he swapped in a new magazine, raised the weapon to his shoulder, thumbed a switch, and held the trigger back.
FWOOOOOSH!
"Son of a --!" Leon released the trigger hastily, watching the thirty-foot tongue of flame curl upwards and vanish. The targets on either side of
his lane rippled with smoky fire, burning entirely to ashes within a few seconds. The PA speaker behind him squawked angrily, but he ignored it.
"Nice shooting!" said a perky voice. Leon set his rifle down and turned. A redhead whose proportions matched the voice stood there, eyes looking
comically big behind yellow-tinted shooting glasses. She was leaning against the partition separating his lane from the one next to it, eyeing him amusedly.
"My, but that's a big gun you've got there, mister."
Leon grinned. "Well, it's all in how you use it."
"Doesn't bode well for you, then, does it?"
"That?" Leon affected mock suprise as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Oh, I meant to do -that-. Need to test these things carefully,
you know." He nodded sagely.
"Uh-huh." She straightened up. "Well, was it successful?"
"I'm not sure yet," he replied, "but I hope to get the chance to find out." Behind him, the ashes of the targets he'd fried
drifted slowly to the floor.
She shook her head, chuckling. Leon grinned and raked fingers through his hair, refusing to let himself look embarassed. "I'm Leon," he said,
offering his hand. She took it in a firm grip and shook it.
"Nene."
* * * * *
"I'm Leon," the all-too-familiar man in front of her said, extending a hand. She knew him, down to the smallest detail, even to the black shades
dangling from the front of his blue t-shirt; all of it matching with unnerving similarity her memories of another Leon.
It was crazy. It wasn't possible. But here he was.
"Nene," she heard herself say, accepting the handshake. He didn't recognize her, she could tell, and silently congratulated herself for her
self-control. When HE-AT had contacted her, requesting her expertise now that the fledgling Special Investigations division had a proper headquarters and
would need logistical and technical support, she'd of course jumped at the chance. Her own private kingdom, sequestered away within the vast bulk of the
PPD network, with all those resources to play with but without the antiquated oversight that working in TechDiv had? It wasn't even a question.
"Statement: You'll report to me, miss Romanova, but other than that it's all yours."
And it was glorious. She'd wasted no time in settling in, getting the equipment orders processed, overseeing the installation (often as not ordering a
tech aside to do it herself so it would be done The Right Way), and more. And then HE-AT dropped the unit roster on her desk.
Leon McNichol. There it was, staring out at her.
She'd known she had to check it out, of course, which was why she was at the range in the first place -- electronic sign-up systems were efficient and
cost-saving and altogether too easy to monitor... but she hadn't been expecting a perfect match. It should have been a coincidence, just someone with the
same name, that's all.
Leon was gazing at her expectantly, and she mentally rewound his conversation and played it back to herself:
"... as it happens, I'm fairly new in town, and could use a friendly face to show me around the city. How about Friday at eight? You pick the
place."
Nene blinked. Was he asking her out on a -date-? Oh, this was going to be -too easy-.
She cocked her head and smiled at him. "There's this place I've been thinking of, but it's probably too expensive..." Gently, gently
set the hook....
Leon beamed at her. "Nah, it's okay. Least I can do."
Well, that was easy. Reel him in, girl. "Weellll... it's that new place, over in Talos...."
She watched him blink for a moment, but he pressed on, as she'd known he would. Leon never could pass up a challenge like that. She could practically
read his thoughts -- "Well, how much can a girl like that eat, anyway? Right? No problem." -- as he took her hand in his and gave a little bow.
"It will be my pleasure."
Nene disengaged her hand and beamed at him. It was that or burst into giggles, which would totally spoil the joke. "Great! You can meet us there.
I've got to get back to work now, though, so I'll see you then. Bye-bye!" She waved and backed away as she spoke, ducking through the door and
trying not to burst out laughing until she'd gotten far enough away that Leon couldn't hear her. The look on his face had been -priceless-; he'd
frozen with the word "Us?" locked on his lips.
As she walked, she took out her cellphone and dialed a number. After two rings, Ifrit picked up, and before she could say anything, Nene was off and running.
"You need to meet me down at Sylia's in fifteen minutes. We're going to that place in Talos we've been talking about night after tomorrow,
and we need to look our best!"
"... um, okay?"
Next up: Double date?
(Oh, and, Bob, I'll try to get Nabeshin in, there's certainly room, but without having teamed with him I'm at a
bit of a loss for his voice. Hint. Hint. *grin*)
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
*Glorious laughter* Oh, that was brilliant!
Hee! This is wonderfully delicious, and full of snarky goodness.
(edited cause I apparently can't spell)
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy
This almost makes me feel sorry for Leon, then I remember I'm his boss and all is well again. Good job Spud.
--
... although not as much as the people who had to look at my choice in ties. My motto is, if their eyes aren't watering at 20 paces, it isn't garishly
loud enough.
-- Dan Holdsworth
Finally got a chance to read this. Wonderful!
As for Nabeshin's voice, well... I'd suggest watching an episode of Excel Saga, but if you could do that you would have already. Just imagine "I'm Cool and I Know It" with a hint of DJ-style "smile"/smarm.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
Ok, thanks Wire -- you've officially shattered my brain.
"You're too damn cocky, kid."
"But how!? You're supposed to be dead!"
"I was, but MACH II fixed me up with his needles."
"THIS UNIT HAS STUDIED ACUPUNCTURE."
"But he was dead too!"
"That's beside the point. Oh, sure, a -normal- detective would have died. But I'm not a normal detective! I'm G D W! The GREAT DETECTIVE
WATANABE!"
"That still doesn't make much sense..."
"Hey, I'm the detective. Fuck off."
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Now I wish they hadn't blocked YouTube here at work, so I could see what WG just threw at you...
(ETA: Oh, it's just a search. NM.)
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
Quote: Bob Schroeck wrote:
Now I wish they hadn't blocked YouTube here at work, so I could see what WG just threw at you...
(ETA: Oh, it's just a search. NM.)
Wire's link is just a search, yes, but the specific bit is this one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vS2DwSlKnL4
It just shattered me. Completely.
--sofaspud
--
"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
wow, they went through the fourth wall like it didn't even exist. They may have even made cracks in the fifth wall (AKA: my sanity). But funny regardless
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy
Leon pulled up at the curb and hopped out of the car, a beautifully restored silver '68 Corvette Stingray. It wasn't his, not yet, but he hoped to own
it outright someday. And in the meantime, his gearhead buddy was willing to let him drive it "to impress the lay-dees", as the man had put it. Leon
glanced at his watch, nodded, and tossed the keys to the approaching valet. The young man slid behind the wheel and pulled away smoothly, leaving Leon on the
sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He watched the car move away, sighed wistfully, then straightened his shoulders and looked around.
Two towers soared high into the sky on either side of a plaza, here in an upscale district of Talos Island. It was the hottest new restaurant in town, and
further, it was located just across the plaza from the hottest nightclub in town. They were one and the same, in fact.
As a result, the plaza was populated with a swarm of people decked out in their finest, all waiting for their tables to become available or for space in the
club, separated from the road by a long red velvet rope and regularly spaced, tuxedo-wearing, unfailingly polite, and very large men. Uniformed hostesses
moved throughout, offering light refreshments and snacks, and a swing band was set up on a small podium providing live entertainment. A long red carpet ran up
the center of the walk, terminating at the fountain where the maitre'd stood, taking reservations, greeting patrons, and coordinating the staff with the
air of a conductor at a grand symphony. And all this was -before- one got inside the doors.
All in all, Leon reflected ruefully, it looked like two or three month's pay just to set foot in the place. He chuckled to himself.
"Hi Leon!"
Leon turned and blinked, startled. Nene Romanova and someone else stood a few feet away on the sidewalk. Leon whistled to himself. He'd known Nene was
cute, but now the redhead was stunning. And her companion no less so. He gathered his wits and stepped forward.
"Nene! You're beautiful!" He bowed, lightly, then turned to Nene's friend. "And I don't believe we've been properly
introduced yet. I'm Leon McNichol." He made a split-second decision to trust his instincts and offered a handshake, rather than a more formal
gesture. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Nene's impish grin and fought back the urge to match it with one of his own.
So the little mynx wanted to surprise him, did she? He wasn't worried. After her puzzling last statement at the range, he'd done a little poking
around and had a pretty good idea of what she was trying to do. He didn't mind. Even if nothing came of it, a date with two women at once? Girlfriends,
at that? Leon, he told himself with a mental grin, you are The MAN.
The woman accepted his hand gracefully, though he felt the faintest of tremors in her hand. Nene spoke.
"Leon, this is Ifrit Barnes." A pause. "My girlfriend."
"Lovely to meet you, miss Barnes," Leon replied without a pause, and grinned to himself at the momentary flicker of a frown that crossed Nene's
face.
"Please, call me Ifrit," she replied, smiling. Leon nodded. She looked past him then, at the milling throng, and winced. "I had no idea it
would be so crowded."
"Oh, that's okay, I'm sure Leon made reservations. Right, Leon?"
Leon smiled at Nene. "Nope."
Her eyes widened. "Whaaat?!"
"Well, I tried," Leon admitted, shrugging, "but they're booked up three months in advance."
Nene's face fell. "Oh." More subdued: "I didn't think of that."
"We could go somewhere else," Ifrit offered.
"Nonsense!" Leon turned and indicated the carpet. "We came all the way here, after all. No harm in trying, right?"
"I suppose not..."
Leon smiled and nodded. "So, you lovely ladies go on in and enjoy yourselves, while I go see what I can do about a table. All right?" As he spoke
he gently steered them past the ropes, nodding in passing at the bouncer, who favored him with a quick wink as the large man unclipped the rope to let them
pass. "I'll be right back," he promised.
"This is not going at all to plan," Nene groused under her breath as soon as Leon was out of earshot. Ifrit grinned at her.
"Oh, I don't know," she remarked. "You're just grumpy because he saw through your little trick." She leaned forward and tapped
Nene lightly on the nose. "Cheer up. If nothing else, we still got to go out and have fun tonight."
"Welll... okay," Nene said, mollified. She accepted a canape from a passing hostess and nibbled at it thoughtfully. "Hey... these are pretty
good."
Ifrit sampled one of her own, a dark square with a blob of bright orange and yellow on top, and agreed. They watched Leon amble up the carpet to the
maitre'd's station and engage the older, dignified gentleman in conversation. It was impossible to tell from this distance, but the posturing
suggested outrage. Nene filled in the conversation in her head.
"Non! Eeet is not possible, sir! Non! I can do nothing without a reservation! You see how busy we are! Impossible!"
Leon left the podium and came back their way. He stopped in front of them.
"Bad news, huh?" Nene said. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Leon, I should've thought about that in advance." She turned to Ifrit.
"Where else did you want to go? We still have time...."
Leon coughed. "If you'd really rather go somewhere else, we can," he began. "But it seems a shame to waste a table on the rooftop
terrace." He grinned. "Those are really hard to get, usually. Need to be reserved months in advance."
Ifrit laughed. Nene's eyes bugged out of her head. "How?" she gasped.
"I'm the soul of charm and wit," Leon replied piously. "The old guy didn't stand a chance." He leaned forward, one hand behind
his back, and proffered his arm. "May I have the honor of escorting you, miss Barnes?"
Ifrit laughed again and settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Delighted, Mr. McNichol." Leon offered his other arm to Nene, who took it
numbly. The trio moved up the carpetway, to the maitre'd, who beamed at them as though they were visiting dignitaries and ushered them past, where a
smiling hostess waited to guide them to their table.
"Close your mouth, hon. You'll catch a fly." Ifrit's voice was low and carried a laugh with it, but her eyes remained straight ahead.
Leon grinned as Nene's mouth snapped shut with an audible 'clop'.
"So spill it, Leon," Nene said a little while later, as they toyed with the last remnants of the third dessert course. "You did something to
get us in here. Did you bribe him?" She leaned forward a little, eyes glinting. "Did you -threaten- him?"
Leon smiled slyly as he looked at Nene. "Trade secret," he proclaimed piously. Nene pouted at him.
Ifrit giggled.
Whatever Nene was planning to say next was cut off by a flash of light that lit the area bright as noonday sun momentarily, and a sustained, percussive rumble
that shook their wine glasses. Belatedly, the sound of air-raid sirens reached their ears.
"Oh, look," said Nene, deliberately putting a bored tone on it as she peered at the area where the War Walls were supposed to be. "Rikti."
"Nice," Leon quipped. "Dinner and a show."
The waiters responded promptly and efficiently, escorting panicked guests inside where the building itself would hopefully protect them. Leon glanced at Nene
and Ifrit and waved off the waiter heading their way. "PPD!" he said over the din, waving his badge. "They're with me."
Ifrit turned to Nene and smiled. "See you at the party, dear," she said, and rose. Not to her feet, but into the air. Flame burst and flared
around her momentarily, and when Nene's eyes recovered Ifrit was wearing her usual heroing outfit, her butterfly wings waving gently from her back. She
nodded brightly at Leon, swept down to kiss Nene in passing, and dived over the edge of the terrace.
"... that's hot," Leon said. Nene chuckled and shook her head.
"You have -no- idea."
Leon rose and went to the edge, peering down with a thoughtful frown on his face. He nodded and turned to Nene. "Okay, I'm going down there.
I've got my gear in my car, I just need to get to it. You stay up here and --"
"Can it, Leon," Nene said, pushing him aside and swinging a leg over the railing, followed by the other. "I'm PPD too, and if you think
I'm sitting this one out, you're dumber than you look."
Leon scowled at her. "And how do you expect to get down there?"
"Same way as you, dummy," Nene replied, and fiddled with her watch. The standard-issue jump pack shimmered into view and she slipped into it easily.
"You don't think you're the only PPD officer with a hero license, do you?" She favored him with a smirk and pushed off the railing.
Leon watched Nene fall towards the ground below for only a moment before shaking his head and getting a move on. "Crazy, both of them," he said
aloud as he called up and slipped into his own jump pack. He hit the jets and scorched the tiles as the flames boosted him up and over the rail.
It was a long way to the ground, but it only took a very short time to fall; Leon hit the pack one last time and touched down hard, only ten feet or so from
where Nene was cursing under her breath and stomping out flames on the hem of her evening dress.
"A month's pay," she snarled, before giving up on the stubborn fire and ripping the lower portion away entirely, leaving her clad in the
equivalent of a very short miniskirt with a slit up the side. Leon noted that Nene had very nice legs -- and clamped his mouth firmly shut. "Not a word,
McNichol!" she snapped upon noticing his arrival.
"Wasn't going to say a thing, ma'am," Leon replied piously as he tried to keep his eyes where they belonged. "Car's this way,"
he added, jerking his head towards the garage. Overhead, Ifrit whirled and soared, raining fire down upon the startled Rikti troops. There were only a few so
far, but those foreboding portals were beginning to open up across the landscape and it would only be a matter of seconds, he knew, before more invaders
arrived. The crowd of civilians swarmed the entrances to the building, far too many present to actually make it inside, and Leon winced, imagining the
injuries that must be resulting from the panicked mob.
They rounded the corner into the garage at a dead run -- Leon noted with some indignation that Nene was not only faster than he was, she kept glancing over her
shoulder at him and slowing down so he could keep up -- and pounded across the asphalt to the valet booth. It was vacant. Nene didn't waste time with
anything so civilized as picking the lock; as Leon skidded to a halt behind her, she wound up and punched the glass window, which obligingly shattered into a
glittering cloud that scattered across the inside of the booth.
Leon raised an eyebrow, which Nene ignored. "Which car?" she demanded, as Leon leaned through the now-empty windowframe to retrieve the keys. He
scanned the pegboard frantically, finally finding them.
"Slot sixty!" he called back, snagging the keys and dashing off to join Nene, who already stood beside the sleek silver 'vette.
"You drive a Stingray?" Nene asked incredulously. Something about her tone caused him to glance sharply at her, but aside from what looked
suspiciously like laughter hiding behind her eyes, her face was composed.
"For now," he replied, sliding behind the wheel and keying the doorlocks as he started the engine. Nene slipped in on the passenger side.
"Hang on!" he barked, and floored it.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Nene couldn't help but chuckle to herself at the oddity of the universe. Universes? Whatever.
Of -course- Leon would be driving a Stingray. How else could it possibly be?
They roared up out of the garage, completely ignoring the "NO EXIT" signs liberally placed along the walls on their path, and burst out into the
street. Leon spun the wheel and slammed a downshift; the Corvette responded with a snarl of power and the chirp of tires on asphalt as it lunged forward.
Well, that's something, Nene remarked to herself. Local duplicate or not, he still drove like the Leon she remembered.
She didn't have time to think about it further; they rounded the corner to the side of the building where the ruckus was, and Leon braked to a halt. He
killed the engine and lunged out, swapping keys in frantic haste, looking for the right one. She kicked in enough speed to beat him to the trunk, trusting in
his distraction with the fight to keep him from noticing.
It wasn't that she was worried that much about protecting her 'secret identity' as Net Sabre, second-in-command of the Sabres of Paragon and the
most publicly visible member of the group; it was that she knew all too well what Leon's assignment entailed... and until she discovered who was behind it
and what they were after, she couldn't afford to let him find out.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Leon shrugged into his familiar leather jacket, which, Nene noted, hung much too heavily to be regular leather. He had shifted into cop mode, and with a
muttered, "Stay here, behind the car," he jogged across the street to a better vantage point, where he joined in the growing fracas with well-placed
shots.
Which weren't doing a damn thing, Nene observed, and sighed. Leon was no dummy. If she vanished from the scene and Net Sabre showed up, he could hardly
fail to put two and two together and get four.
She poked through the trunk, not expecting to find anything. The first thing she came across was a large, imposing revolver; remembering the monster that
-her- Leon had carried, she wondered if it was a coincidence or if a liking for big guns was just part and parcel of any man named Leon McNichol.
The gun had room for, and was loaded with, five rounds. She didn't suppose five rounds would do much good, and moved on. Outside the battle raged.
Heroes were swarming the area, protecting civilians as they scurried to find cover and engaging Rikti forces head-to-head on the ground and in the skies over
Talos Island. Nene eyed the fight, ran the odds, and came back with an answer she didn't much like.
There were simply too many Rikti, and as fast as they were going down, more were showing up. Even as she watched, another wave poured through the open portals
by the Rikti communications officers, and her eyes narrowed.
Well, now, that's new, she thought. They're screening them. And it was true. The forward elements were holding their positions, acting as a shield
for the communications officers, who were bringing more Rikti to the battlefield as fast as they could.
Faster than the defense forces could keep up with. Nene fiddled with her watch, bringing up a datalink to the PPD city monitor, and groaned. City zones were
red all over; current orders were to hold out while Vanguard tried to coordinate hero activity. Which didn't seem to be going all that well. Nene, from
her spot 'in the field', could see why. Heroes were tackling Rikti wherever they spotted them... but the Rikti were teleporting reinforcements in at
every hotspot. The net result was that the heroes were getting isolated and overwhelmed, one small group at a time.
Nene scowled and was about to say 'fuck it' on the whole secret identity thing when an idea came to her. She reached into the trunk and retrieved the
screwdriver and Leatherman multitool from beside the spare tire, then raised her eyes to where the knot of Rikti portals was just disgorging another set of
troops.
Her eyes narrowed and she smiled.
"Ifrit, hon, how much do you love me?"
Ifrit blinked as her lover's voice came over the Riot frequency. She hurled a firebolt into a mass of Rikti and responded, "Tons!"
"Do you love me enough to tackle an insane PPD officer for me?"
Ifrit paused in calling down more fire long enough to raise an eyebrow. "... well, sure," she said dubiously, "but what will it do to my
reputation?"
"You're dating -me-," Nene replied pragmatically. "What reputation?"
Abandoning that line of banter, Ifrit flash-fried a squad of Rikti monkeys -- they looked like fire imps, dancing and screeching as the flames licked playfully
at them -- and instead asked: "Who would this insane cop be, and why do I think you'll be the cause of it?"
"It's Leon, of course," Nene replied, the sound of an engine starting in the background almost drowning her out. "And it's because
I'm about to destroy, at a guess, about five years of his pay."
Ifrit whirled in midair, ignoring the plasma bolts flying around her as the Rikti tried to bring her and the other flying heroes down, and her eyes went wide
in shock.
Leon scowled as he swapped out yet another magazine and began to unload it. So far the Rikti hadn't noticed him -- much -- but neither had he put a
significant dent in their forces. Hell, for all the good he was doing, he might as well have been throwing spitwads.
The sudden roar of a turbocharged engine redlining snapped his head around. He gaped in horror at the sight that met his eyes: Nene, clutching the wheel of
the borrowed Stingray with grim determination, leaving twin streaks on the asphalt as the tires hurled clouds of smoke skyward and the car began to -move-.
She shifted clumsily, but the finely-tuned machine took it, lurching only once before the tires chirped again and the whole thing lunged forward.
Straight towards the Rikti.
As Nene accelerated, her concentration was split; on one side, she was trying and mostly succeeding in remembering how to drive -- never mind that she'd
never learned stick and had to guess at what to do, or that the gas pedal was stuck to the floor by the Leatherman's blade. On the other side of her
consciousness, she was making use of an ability that she'd recently discovered was only -amplified- by her suit. Moment by moment, as she concentrated so
hard that sweat was breaking out on her brow, she was increasing the density of the machine that she rode in, hurtling down the street towards certain doom.
As the Corvette crested the curb -- instead of bouncing, it plowed -through- the concrete -- she used every ounce of her enhanced strength to ram the
screwdriver through the steering column, locking the car on course. Straight at the gathered knot of communications officers and portals still spewing more
Rikti troops.
Then, grateful for once that she was shorter than the average Sabre, she hurled herself head-first out the open window, and braced for impact.
"Request: I need that incident report on my desk by noon, Detective," HE-AT said, not unkindly but firmly.
Leon acknowledged the order listlessly, waving a hand in what he hoped she would translate as a "Sure, okay, I'll get it done," gesture, not
raising his head from where it rested on his arm, face-down on his desk.
He sighed. It had been a hell of an explosion, he had to admit. But the CAR! He'd deflected his pal once already, hinting broadly that he was a little
busy, could he get the car back to him later? But that wouldn't last, not long enough.
Oh, for cryin' out loud, it'll NEVER be long enough, McNichol! he told himself angrily. She TOTALED it!
His computer chimed at him. He raised his head and regarded it blearily.
"... the hell?" he said in complete bafflement a moment later. What in the world was a NEN-E-Mail, and why was it waving a cartoony arm at him from
his terminal screen? He contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged and whacked the 'Acknowledge' button.
"HIIIIII LEEEON-POOOH!" said an all-too-familiar voice. Leon physically recoiled from the screen with a startled curse as Nene's face popped
into view. "I just wanted to let you know that Ifrit and I had a -wonderful- time last night! Thanks for everything, it was a real -blast-!"
Leon growled and hit the 'Delete' button. It had entirely no effect, he noted.
"I wanted to tell you last night, but we got interrupted," Nene's video email went on in a slightly less perky tone. "I've been
promoted and we'll be seeing a LOT more of each other." She leaned forward into the camera, her voice taking on a sultry tone. "A -lot-
more." She sat back and winked. "Bye-bye!"
The image froze on her waving her fingers at him with a huge grin on her face, then crumpled itself into a wadded-up photo, which burst into flame and exploded
into a heart-shaped cloud of smoke before vanishing entirely.
Next up: Sabres, Scimitars, and spycraft, oh my!
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
Quote:Of -course- Leon would be driving a Stingray. How else could it possibly be?
it took me until this line to 'get it'.
my co-workers would like to know why I'm hitting my head on my desk.
Quote:The sudden roar of an overcharged engine redlining
'overcharged'? that thing got a Reflex Supercharger?
Quote:Nene, clutching the wheel of the borrowed Stingray with grim determination, leaving twin streaks on the asphalt
...oh no.
Quote:-- instead of bouncing, it plowed -through- the concrete --
oh NO!
that poor car.. and poor Leon!
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies
Eh, overcharged, turbocharged, there's no difference, right?
(I'll fix that. Oops.)
--sofaspud
--
"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
supercharged sounds like this
Turbo sounds like this - note the dominant Jet Engine Whine note
either would be acceptable for this situation.
....I need to go change my pants now.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies
Epic win. And about how I see Ifrit too :LOL