(a/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part A
Eric Burns
sabre at annotations.com
Wed Sep 5 23:38:42 PDT 2018
* Late May, 1996*
* Friday Evening*
* (Pacific)*
* Blue Moon Tavern*
Elizabeth Tirkoff had, against all odds, become a teacher. A Commandant
of an Academy, even. This on top of being a practicing psychologist,
psychiatrist, and therapist. *This* on top of being a figure of authority
and a role model for responsibility for young heroes and the greater
Metropolitan Boston Area.
This had its advantages. It also had its disadvantages. For one thing,
she'd become pretty well known in Boston. Natives had taken to calling her
Teach or Doctor T as well as her old codename of Healer. Elizabeth was fine
with all of that, so long as they didn't call her Liz. Very few people were
allowed to call her Liz. Not that it stopped them, per se.
Unfortunately, this meant Elizabeth's options for certain types of
activity were severely curtailed. Unless she used her prodigious mind power
and mental illusionary capacity to conceal herself, she couldn't go out and
do certain things without being recognized at the worst possible times. Like
when she was buying medication for a yeast infection, say. No one wanted to
be Teach or Doctor T or Gods help you Healer when you needed to grab
Monistat because most of your meals involved a pound of sugar and your
hormones were swinging cyclically. That's why G.I. Joe PSAs never featured
Lady Jaye at a pharmacy -- most people were just as happy to not know that
half of that battle.
More to the point, it meant that Elizabeth was expected to hew to a
certain standard of behavior whether on the clock or not.
So. If, say, Elizabeth wanted to get quietly drunk and brood, she had a
problem -- especially since responsible telepaths didn't affect the minds of
others when they were too impaired to legally drive a motor vehicle.
But, Elizabeth had advantages too -- one of those being the
Xolchaportation network, which meant after a rough couple of days rather
than drink alone in her room -- a prospect which depressed her more than the
past couple of days -- or, worse yet, facing life sober, she could go
elsewhere.
Elsewhere today was the Blue Moon Tavern in Seattle, Washington. There
were better establishments, but Elizabeth wasn't in a better establishment
kind of mood. There was the Big Time Brewpub, but setting Revolutionary
Anarchist Werewolves aside, there was too much chance of running into Team
Cynical in there. They wouldn't judge, but it would still involve talking.
Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to talk. She'd have Xolchaported to Hal's
in California if she were. She just wanted to drink her Wheathook and not
deal.
It was a dive bar, which meant smoking wasn't just allowed but
encouraged. Elizabeth had firm opinions about smoking, none of which she
cared about today. The ambiance was exactly what she was looking for, right
down to the grizzled old man playing a bass for no readily apparent reason
in the corner. Just her and her beer and loud bar-goers from college age
through old age, stale cigarette smoke and a cheap cigar--
Elizabeth paused.
Cheap cigar. Almost pipe tobacco rolled in leaves, really. Sweet
smelling.
Familiar.
"Fuck," Elizabeth muttered.
A dirtwater blonde in a black trenchcoat slid into the booth across
from Elizabeth. She was, without exception, the best looking thing in this
bar or on this street, even, yet no one seemed to notice her at all, not
counting Elizabeth. "Two government psychologists, a vampire and a telepath
walk into a dive bar," she said, taking the cigar out of her mouth.
"Right," Elizabeth said. "Did CUA ever get around to firing you?"
"Fuck if I know. Ask Dan Quayle. You?"
"I don't get a paycheck but I seem to still be on the MIB newsletter's
mailing list." Elizabeth sighed. "Hello, Chalandra."
"Hey Liz." She looked around herself. "Nice dive bar."
"Gets the job done."
"What job? Getting drunk?"
"I suppose so."
Chalandra smiled a touch. "So glad to see you're so glad to see me."
"Are you here as a drinking buddy, an old pal from the wars, a CEO
headhunting a prospect, or a therapist?"
Chalandra considered the question. "Why does it have to be just one of
those things?" She grinned. "So. Tell me about your mother, Liz."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I just wanted some Monistat, Chal."
"What?"
"Never mind."
Superfluous Productions
and
Mason Kramer
in association with
Mademoiselle Muse, Inc.
Proudly Present:
Mason's Mazin' Mob!
and
the Adjusted League Unimpeachable
in
*Reflecting upon Refractions*
or
* Caustic Illusions*
based on
* "Mason's Mazin' Mob: Twisted Reflections"*
by
*THE* Mason Kramer
written, produced, plotted
and
kibitzed
by
*THE* Mason Kramer
(concept, plot, execution)
and
Eric, Lord Sabre
(scribbles)
Ain't No School
Like the Old School
*CONTINUITY NOTE*
Just in case there's someone A) still wondering and B) still caring
about where this fits into Superguy Continuity -- here we go! This takes
place immediately after the Twisted Reflections arc of Mason's Mazing Mob,
some time after the events of CalForce #150 and ALU Interstitial #1, some
time in between ALU #110 and #111, and a few years after the events so far
chronicled in the SfStory series "Trail Boss." Also, it's 1996 and Clinton
is President. So, that.
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Monday Afternoon*
* (Central)*
* Stately Ward Manor*
* Austin, TX*
Different heroes and other support personnel were moving throughout the
scene, assessing damage, rounding up and formally arresting accomplices,
performing triage and otherwise taking care of the battlefield that had once
been the home of Austin's superteam. Whether it would be again was, as of
that moment, an open question.
Mighty Guy was sitting with Mighty Dog, who was staying close to where
Mental was crouched next to Momentum and Dreamweaver. He was ruffling the
large heliumite dog behind the ears. "You're a good boy!" he said, very
loudly. "A very very good boy!"
"Am I? Hurrah!" Mighty Dog began wagging his tail, the breeze blowing
over a number of EMTs crossing through the scene. "I don't feel that good
today, Mighty Guy. Plus, I actually feel sick, which is new and kind of
ooky."
"I *know*. But you're still a good boy!" Mighty Guy looked at Mighty
Dog's flank, where the branded logo of 'Mighty Dog Dog Food' was still
visible, the fur having been burned off and the flesh seared by the red hot
heliumite branding iron. Mighty Guy frowned. He had the power of Mighty Fast
Thinking, which usually meant his thoughts outstripped his actual ability to
follow them -- but looking at that injury, Mighty Guy knew everything he had
to know, especially about the monster who had hurt Charlie. "A *very* good
boy."
Andy Awesome walked past the two, noting Mighty Guy taking care of
Mighty Dog -- normally when the two combined their massive and horrifyingly
potent powers, the destruction was total. That neither one was causing that
much of a disruption was frankly disturbing. He knelt down next to Momentum
and Mental, with Healer just behind Momentum, arms wrapped around her.
Momentum was somehow bolstering Dreamweaver's life force and the life force
of her two unborn children -- the young heroine's throat still having been
sealed off by the deadly allergens that she'd been hit with -- and
reinforced by an allergen-spiked epipen, which was one of the more evil
things Andy Awesome had ever heard of... and he'd heard of quite a few.
"We gave her a shot with a real epipen, and the EMTs gave her something
else, but it's not helping," Mental said. He was clearly very worried.
"Momentum and Healer are keeping her alive, but..."
"I know, son. Her system's been badly shocked. It will take time before
we can get the histamine reaction under control. In the meantime, we have to
get her breathing on her own again. I'm afraid that doesn't leave us with a
pleasant alternative."
*⸘"So, I need to have a tracheotomy?"‽*
Andy paused, and looked up. Dreamweaver was standing there, glowing
golden with light coming from Momentum, who was standing next to her --
Momentum herself being fed a greenish-gold energy from Healer. He looked
back down. All three women were still in their silent tableau keeping
Dreamweaver alive. He looked back up. "That's right," he said. "I'm sorry, I
didn't realize you were awake."
* ⸘"I'm not. I do my best work when I'm asleep, remember? This time,*
*Healer's bridging us into the waking world. I understand about the*
*tracheotomy. I'm sure Mental does too."‽*
"Of course," Mental said.
* ⸘"Sooner rather than later might be good,"‽* Momentum said. *⸘"I
don't*
*know how long I can keep this up, and this is really cutting into my*
*shrieking and phobia-ridden nervous breakdown time."‽*
*⸘"You're doing fine,"‽* Healer said. *⸘"You're a natural at this. And
the*
*shrieking will still be there when we're done."‽*
*⸘"So long as it's still on the table."‽*
* ⸘"Absolutely. I'd never deny you a good shriek."‽*
"All right then," Andy said, leaning over the black-clad woman. He
slipped one of his special pen out of his awesomely cool pocket protector,
cracking it and slipping the end off -- that end was an awesomantium tube
with a sharpened, angled end, ready for what he had to do to get Dreamweaver
breathing on her own again.
Some distance away, Dangerousgirl shivered and looked away. "Wow that
freaks me out," she said.
"Really?" Roger/Melody said. The two were still blended -- Roger
possessing Melody and their two personalities merging into a well-dressed
female presenting whole. "Given everything, *that's* what's bugging you? You
burned your hand down to the bone earlier today."
Dangerousgirl looked at that hand. It was fine, albeit a bit sort
because all its calluses were lost, thanks to Roger/Melody healing her.
"Yeah, but my hand wasn't a *throat*. That's just ooky."
Roger/Melody chuckled. "Ooky I can believe -- oh, there goes the MECHA
Jet. Medivacing Phobos. Did Summer go with them?"
"Yeah. Everyone else is going to hitch on Awesome Force One, but all
the healing cats couldn't do much in Phobos's case. I guess they're helping
Burt, though."
"Good." Roger/Melody paused. "Wait, healing *cats*?"
"Yeah -- Anne Enger? Their healer? She has cats that swarm you and lick
you and then you get healed and... honestly, I dunno how it works."
Dangerousgirl rubbed her temple. "Hopefully they can help with a headache."
"Cats. Healing cats."
Dangerousgirl paused. "Yes, Roger--"
"Roger/Melody."
"Sure, why not. Healing cats. Why is that the thing that's breaking
you?"
"It's not breaking me." She looked over where Mental was still watching
Andy Awesome render awesome care to Dreamweaver. "But I really hope Tim
doesn't need healing."
Dangerousgirl opened her mouth, then closed it. "Point. Crap. Um... and
of course, Dreamy's going *straight* into intensive cat care as soon as they
can move her..."
"Yeah. This should be fun.
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Friday Evening*
* (Pacific)*
* Blue Moon Tavern*
* Seattle, WA*
"You didn't answer my question, you know." Chalandra took a long pull
off her beer.
"What?"
"About your mother?"
"You didn't ask a question. Technically speaking you spoke in the
imperative."
"You know something? I'm a CEO. I talk to lawyers and MBAs every day of
my life. And yet? You're *still* my favorite pedant."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "My mother was awesome. Loving. Caring. Even
when things went squirrelly because my telepathy was developing faster than
I could control it, she kept me grounded. Also, she taught me phone
phreaking when I was fourteen."
"Seriously? Cool Mom."
"Yeah. Though mostly she was sick of me calling home collect from
payphones." Elizabeth chuckled. "She taught me a lot of things. About three
dirty fighting techniques -- I considered myself quite the tough customer
until I met you and Badass, I'll have you know. Lockpicking -- just used
those skills in fact. Misdirection. Redirection. Situational awareness.
Double-talk and concealment. Heckfire, I first learned mental illusions by
adapting what she taught me to my telepathy."
"And now you're teaching a whole new generation all those things and
more."
"Well, professionals are. I'm mostly teaching Ethics, Psiology and
other Practicals, and some Psych here and there."
Chalandra laughed. "In what universe aren't you a professional, Liz?"
Elizabeth drained her wheathook. She nodded to the server, who nodded
back.
Chalandra cocked her head. "By the way -- 'heckfire?' What the fuck is
that?"
"Well, aren't you just Miss Sweary tonight? Work with teenagers in a
classroom every day? You come up with new and interesting euphemisms. Plus,
I got tired of swearing in Hindi around them."
"Okay -- I'll allow it. So it sounds like you're a pretty good teacher.
As shown by that op -- I hear Dangerousgirl really stepped up in the fun."
"Bruce and Dianna taught Dani more than I ever did."
Chalandra took another puff off her cigar instead of answering.
The server put Elizabeth's fresh glass tankard down. "Anything for
you?" he asked Chalandra. "And are these separate tabs?"
"Nah -- it's all on *my* tab," Chalandra said. "And what's your
absolute worst scotch?"
"Sagamore's Unfortunate Cull."
"Awesome. A double of that on the rocks and leave the bottle."
"Your funeral, lady."
"Nah, that was a few hundred years back."
The server didn't rise to the bait, heading off to get Chalandra's
swill..
"Your tab?"
"I can put it through expenses."
"You own the company. You ultimately pay those expenses."
"Yeah, but don't tell the accountants that. It's more fun to get them
arguing about what I can get covered."
"You're not quite that much for rotgut normally."
"We're in a legendary dive bar. Rotgut's part of the charm. In fact, I
myself was sitting on that side of this barroom in 1959, in exactly the
right time and place for Theodore Roethke to vomit all over my lap."
"Well, his poetry was sublime."
"Oh yeah. It was a truly sagacious yarp." Chalandra looked sidelong at
Elizabeth. "How's Samantha?"
"Mm -- oh. Better. Much better. She'll pull through just fine. There's
not even going to be a tracheotomy scar. Tim's doing better too -- caring
for her and knowing the twins are okay are helping there."
"Tim's strong that way. But then, they're strong kids."
Elizabeth snorted. "They're not kids. Not anymore."
"Please. You're all kids from my point of view, and I'm a kid from
Vlad's point of view. Being a kid is in the heart, not the--"
"I know. They're not kids. Not anymore."
Chalandra paused.
The server walked back up. "One glass of ice with terrible scotch
added. One bottle terrible scotch." The bottle was green and gnarled like a
tree, as though it had twisted in a desperate attempt to get away from its
contents. The server put down a napkin as well. "No refunds."
"Thank you!"
He rolled his eyes, walking away.
"I like him. I can see why you come here."
"I come here for anonymous drinking," Elizabeth said.
"And how's that working out for you?"
"Drink your horror, Chalandra."
Chalandra took a puff off her cigar, then a hit off the scotch. "Mm --
perfect. So you're not a kid anymore either, then?"
"I haven't been for roughly forever, Chalandra. I was thirty when I was
twelve."
Chalandra laughed. "No you weren't. You're just remembering it that
way."
"I think I'd know before you."
Chalandra laughed again. "Just like your students know better than you,
right? Our self-perspective's always skewed. You know that. Well, usually.
Not on nights like this."
"Oh -- and what do I know on nights like this?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." She chuckled. "I'm waiting to
hear how everything that happened -- with Mirror Maid and the Mob and Alice
No-Last-Name and all the rest was somehow magically your fault."
"There's nothing magic about it."
Chalandra paused again. "Wait, what?"
"It is my fault, Chal. All of it. Maria. What happened to the Mob. All
of it. It's my fault."
Chalandra stared for a long moment. "Okay. *This* I have to hear."
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Monday Evening*
* (Eastern)*
* A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.*
* B-Tower Floor B-8*
* Conference Room*
* Boston, MA*
Bruce Rogers sighed. He was out of uniform -- though in a way, his grey
business suit was a uniform too. Or at least a disguise. "I wish I could say
I was shocked that this happened, but in hindsight it was a bomb waiting to
go off."
"I'm well aware," Healer said. She sounded exhausted.
"You're well aware?" Mandy asked. "Wait -- seriously? Because this came
out of *nowhere* as far as I'm concerned."
"Maria Mendez has had multiple traumatic events, coupled with her
isolation thanks to her mirror force." Bruce sounded cool, but not
hard-edged. If Mandy didn't know better, she'd almost think he sympathized
with the teenager. They were all watching her sitting on the floor of one of
the secure holding cells down in B Tower. She had barely spoken since she
was brought in, a robe haphazardly wrapped around her. She'd been nude when
she was captured, and she didn't seem to much care about changing that. "It
was a weakness -- one that could be exploited. She certainly never tried to
conceal her condition."
"And she was resistant to therapy." Healer rubbed her temples. "I
don't... I've got all these happy notes in her case files about the dangers
of her condition and the progression of her depression, but..."
"But there was nothing to be done for it," Bruce said. "The Mob members
don't attend as full time in-residence students of the Academy. They're
working heroes attending part time. And it's working well. But we had no
authority to force Maria to take a leave or go into therapy. Meanwhile,
Random Encounters knew exactly how to crack her open."
"She barely moves. She hasn't eaten since she got here." Mandy
shivered. "It's like she's dead inside."
"Maria betrayed her closest friends -- including a man she purported to
love. She's lost everything." Bruce looked at Mandy. "Why wouldn't she feel
dead inside?"
"Thank you for... letting us hold her here," Healer said. "I know we
don't have jurisdiction--"
"Her acts were dangerous and deadly enough to make a case for
terrorism," Bruce said. "That put it in federal hands. We're a licensed
holding facility for federal parahuman prisoners. It wasn't really
difficult." He frowned, slightly. "Random Encounters, on the other hand..."
"What about him," Mandy asked.
"He got routed into federal custody too -- but not ours. Someone's
pulling in a favor and I don't care for that. He knows too much about the
Mob, and they're in no condition to--"
"Don't worry about it."
Bruce blinked, and looked at Healer. "Elizabeth?" he asked.
She looked at Bruce, then Mandy. "Don't worry about it. I'm not."
Bruce looked at Mandy. Mandy shrugged.
"All right," he said, finally. "You're the expert here."
"Don't remind me," Healer said, taking a deep breath. "I need to go
talk to Momentum. She's overdue to scream at me."
"If you need help..." Mandy said.
"Of everyone in the building? I'm probably the one who least needs help
right now." Healer stood. "I'll talk to you both later."
Mandy and Bruce watched her leave. "She's pissed," Mandy murmured.
"Yes, she is." Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Oh God, you're doing the thing."
Bruce blinked. "What thing?"
"The squint. The 'and now it's serious' squint. Don't do the squint --
it's been a crappy day already."
Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it. "It *is* serious. I
remember..."
"Remember what?" Mandy paused. "Crap. Now I'm facilitating your
squint."
"I remember what Kid Solipsism told me after the incident with Faith
and Radian. Elizabeth -- *Healer* went down roads she'd given up, in her
anger and grief."
Mandy paused. "And you think she's going down those roads again?"
"I think... we need to remember that Healer isn't simply a beautiful
woman, gifted therapist, and teacher of superheroes. And every so often
she's reminded of that fact. When you walk in shadow... it's easy to get
lost, Mandy. I know that more than most."
Mandy looked at Bruce, then sighed. "This is why I hate that fucking
squint."
[End of Part A. Part B follows.]
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <https://lists.eyrie.org/pipermail/superguy/attachments/20180906/f53505e5/attachment-0001.html>
More information about the superguy
mailing list