Work Text:
August 24th: The Final Defeat of the Red Eye Gang at the Mysterious Abandoned Thorne Estate -
Brick dust covered all of them like stage snow and Carmine was shaking off excess energy, making his bag shiver on the sidewalk. She and the Invisible Boy waited at the bus stop, shifting from foot to foot and shedding grit and flecks of debris with every motion.
"I'm just saying that it's easier to socialize with our own."
"And I'm just saying that this," she tugged the cape and a shower of dust fell like mist, "isn't enough of what I am to make guys like the Spleen 'our own.' "
"Okay, back up. I never said the Spleen."
"I'm straight. Female. And a superhero. Even in this town, that's given me a limited dating pool. And you narrow it down more when you take out the married ones."
"You'd date the Shoveler?"
"If I weren't afraid his wife would beat me up." They both laughed a touch nervously. "Blue Rajah's an option, I guess. Mr. Furious not so much…what?"
He blinked at her again. "You do realize that the Blue Rajah is a screaming queen."
"Doesn't mean that Jeff is," she said as she stood to wave at the approaching Route 36 bus.
Dec 23rd: The First Annual Superheroes Non-Denominational Multicultural and Inclusive Holiday party held at VFW Post 457.
The benefit of being the Blue Rajah, as opposed to the traditional over-muscled, hit-and-run sort of superhero, was that he could get away with a certain level of eccentricity. Turban firmly straightened and gilded book in hand, he was no more unusual than any other person in the room and certainly less eye-catching than the Dancing Queen, who kept blindsiding people with his mirrored ball. Though given the number of people with spikes, studs, and capes ready to leap out and tangle unsuspecting passer-by, he was rather regretting his lack of body armor. Or steel- toed boots. He held the book in both hands carefully as he forged as direct a path as possible to a familiar green-streaked head of hair.
"Yule Greetings, Bowler."
"Rajah, hey, you made it. Don't eat the salmon."
"And how does this warm December evening find you?"
"Celebrating having finished all grading for both the classes I'm teaching. What can I say, I live the wild life."
His smile warmed to something more honest and he proffered the book, dropping his accent as he leaned close. "I found this. I, um, thought you might like it. Or not, you know, because I don't really know what you like and anyway it's not that big a d..."
"This is great! A collected works is always nice to have." She read the spine and laughed, "Should have known you were a Kipling fan. Thanks!" and she lurched toward him, the hand holding the book jerking hard enough to jab it sharply into his ribs. She shoved back, leading with her elbow, snarling up at someone he didn't recognize but who towered over them both. "You got a problem with walking or just with seeing, tough guy? Or are you just happier to pretend that I don't exist, is that it? I refuse to be othered or ignored or stepped on…" The stranger backed away as quickly as the crowd would allow and she followed in his wake.
Roy's hand came down heavily on his shoulder and Jeff turned to face a cloud of cheap whisky tainted with eggnog. "So how'd it go? The gift thing, I mean. Did she suddenly turn into a girl?"
"The gift was given with the intent of wishing her a Merry Christmas, not with any intent to feminize… not that I think she's isn't … oh, you do …" He crossed his arms and frowned. "I have absolutely no need to explain myself or my actions to you."
"Yeah well, you were quick enough to ask if I thought it was a good idea before we got here. C'mon, Mr. Romantic, I told you I sucked at love advice. Oh! That's why I was looking for you, the Shoveler managed to talk his wife into showing, c'mon."
Feb 12th: Celebration at Donnie's Bar immediately following the Second Final Defeat of the Red-Eye Gang
"Aha, there you are, my dear girl. The rest of the team is still at karaoke. Barkeep! A wee drop of something for the Blue Rajah, if you wouldn't mind."
"Hey."
He softened his tone. "Are you …okay?"
"Yeah," she drained the rest of the beer and started tearing the bottle's label off in strips. "Just nursing my wounds."
"Were you injured? Oh gracious, I'm so sorry, I didn't notice. I mean, not that I watch you or any… Um…"
She let him sputter to a stop in his own time. "Not this afternoon. This morning." The rest of the label came off in a sodden mass and she continued, "You remember Andy? The Biology grad student I was seeing?"
"Should I ask for details or just a bottle?"
She leaned against his shoulder for a moment. He waved a twenty at the man behind the bar and pointed to the tequila.
Eventually, there were eight damp shot glasses lined up before them. He'd drunk from one of them. "And not only does he give me the 'living different lives' argument, but he puts the letter on my office door so my Freshman comp study group sees me open it. The only thing more gutless would have been breaking up with my voice mail." She slammed the shot and waved fruitlessly at the bartender's back. "I guess I can't blame him. Can I blame him? Other than for being a dick. I wouldn't date me. I mean look at me. Costume, the odd hobby, dad trapped in a bowling ball. I'm not the girl you take home to mother."
"Actually, I think my mother would be relieved to meet you. Delighted. Over-the-top, even." He shredded the corners of the cheap square napkin. "In fact, it's probably best that I keep any potential romantic partner as far away from her as humanly possible."
"Yeah, well, I have daddy issues."
"At least I've met him."
She peered up at him from under mascara-heavy lashes, but he seemed perfectly matter-of-fact. She ran a hand through her hair and stood, sliding the bag over her forearm on only the second try.
"You know, Jeff, I'm drunk. I'm a lot drunk, and I'm a little heartbroken and if you wanted, you could probably take me home and fuck me 'til I started puking."
"Yes, I probably could." She nodded and headed for the exit. He continued, speaking quietly in the general direction of the bartender, "Which is why I'm going to take you to your home, take off your shoes, tie back your hair into a ponytail, and lock the door behind me when I leave. .. No no, keep the change, thank you." He gathered her jacket and his own and followed her out the door.
May 5th: Crescent City Central bus station
Leatherette had Furious tied up in knots and the Samoan had already fled the scene, a burlap bag leaking fluttering dollar bills thrown over his shoulder, and she was at the point where she didn't even care if the police showed, if any backup showed or not, because the Blue Rajah had gone down early and hard. The Rhino was still wearing the damn fork in his ear, hadn't even taken it out, though it had stung enough to get his attention, to make him backhand Jeff across the room, off one grimy tiled pillar and into the wall by the men's room. She stood over him, straddling his jacquard tapestry clad legs and shot Carmine into the actual combat in silence, the ball leaving an echo of a shrill giggle as he veered through the floating plaster dust and into the bad guys and occasionally a good guy who didn't duck fast enough. He was bloodthirsty tonight. No, he was bloodthirsty every night, but tonight she didn't try to talk him down, instead pointing out structural support beams, spotlighting joints in armor, whispering instructions, targeting, and when her own strength wasn't enough to take down the Rhino, it was enough to take down the ceiling brace. A piling of concrete collapsed, bringing down a chunk of the floor above and that did the trick nicely, crumbling homeless guy funk and misspelled graffiti onto not only the Rhino but most of the waiting areas for lanes 4 through 7.
When it was all over but the janitor's bitching, the cops who took their statements didn't particularly care who did what. Her teammates just watched her make the Blue Rajah count her fingers again and again and if any of them noticed that she'd pretty much demolished a building and come near to killing a bona fide supervillain, they very carefully failed to bring it up.
May 26th: the lobby of the Outforest Theater.
"I'm just saying that independent films aren't necessarily better, but they are more willing to take risks."
"Pish tosh."
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"The Blue Rajah thing."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If I were doing the Blue Rajah thing, I would be forking you."
"Okay, see? The bad pun thing I can get along with. But not the effete thing, cause that's…"
"I think you would do irreparable damage to my image of all literature graduate study programs if you say anything not rainbow-tinged at this point."
"That's not it," she slapped his shoulder, "and you know it. It's just hard for me to think of dating anyone who says things like cheerio and pish tosh."
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk rubbing his arm somewhat gingerly and asked, "Are we dating then?"
"You just sat through a movie with subtitles. For most men, that's either dating or masochism."
"I happen to like Russian films."
"Dutch."
"I happen to like Dutch films."
"I think it's that you like me."
"I … you …" He ducked his head and murmured "Perhaps" to the sidewalk.
Without her boots, she wasn't tall enough, and she had to grab his collar and pull him down for a kiss.