Interludes

The house was still. Spice looked up curiously as something gray began to poke its head up through the floor. A low growl rumbled in her chest as the object slowly became a large man, who smelled very familiar. The growling stopped, and her tail began to wag furiously. 'That's a girl. I'm sorry I scared you," said Proteus, as his body slowly returned to its normal form of D.J Jackson.

He leaned down and to pet the excited black lab. 'Ah, the only woman I can truly trust." He grinned as the dog leapt up and knocked him over. Extracting himself from the dog, he walked over to the fridge, pulled out a Powerade, and began gulping. Looking at his watch, he hurried over to the t.v, leaping over the couch and turning it on. ". . . seems like you're always caught in second gear. When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year . . ."

"Whew, didn't miss Friends. That would have been disastrous." While watching his Thursday Must See T.V, D.J went over that night's events. His first appearance in San Francisco. I didn't really do anything. I just ran around annoying the real heroes. Ah well. It could have been worse. I could have been pistol whipped or k.o'd. At least I've got a nifty trick for getting in and out of places unseen. "Isn't that right, Spice? Yes it is! Yes it is!" D.J began wrestling with the lab, who was more than ready to take on the ex-astronaut.

The next morning, D.J walked into the Gateway to the Sky Flight School. "Good morning, Col. Jackson! How are you today?" The chipper secretary at the front desk seemed to be oozing joy.

"Fine Jennifer, fine. I told you it's DJ. I'm retired, remember?"

"Yes sir, but it's good for business." With a sigh, D.J walked into his office, grabbing the mail Jennifer held out to him as he passed. "Don't forget, you picked up Col. Brigantine's nine o'clock today."

D.J nodded and walked on. Chuck said he had some business to take care of today. That student of his is supposed to be a real terror. Well, he can't be all that bad. . .

D.J was staring at a stretch of trees that were steadily approaching, when he began to regret his earlier thoughts. "All right, Terrence, this is a bad view from the cockpit. See the ground coming towards us? That's bad. Let's correct this quickly." Suddenly the world began to spin steadily. "Well, Terrence, some people think this aircraft is incapable of spins, but you have proved them wrong. Shakers the taker, son, I've got the aircraft."

"Uh, yes sir, you have the aircraft." The sixteen year old Waldo look-a-like released the yoke and sat back very still in his seat, perspiration beading across his forehead.

"See, all you have to do is release the controls first, apply reverse rudder, which in this case is left, wait for it to begin to level, then gently apply yoke control. Things you want to look for here are reducing power, so you don't overspeed the engine, and a gentle pull up, so you don't over-gee the aircraft and rip off the wings." The plane's spinning stopped, and rolled level, the horizon once more visible. 'There, wasn't that fun?"

"Uh, yes sir. I'm sorry about that." Terrence sat afraid to touch anything in the aircraft.

"That's okay son, I put a T-41 into a spin once, so don't feel bad. I think we can call it quits for the day."

Two days later, D.J made his first patrol. His dark suit aided to a night time patrol, so he waited until well after 2100 hours. He pulled his quicksand routine and emerged deep in the heart of town, with a semi passing through his insubstantial head. After instinctively ducking, he chuckled. It's a good thing I can't be touched in this form. Would have been kinda hard for the drive to explain that he blew his tires out on a gray skull. he thought to himself. Now if I can just learn to navigate underground. Slowly, he walked in a direction that he hoped took him to the darker sides of the city. Sadly, it only took him a moment to find action. A woman being accosted by a group of three youths. None of them expected to have a huge hulking figure appear from out of the mists. 'Leave her be, boys. She's got better things to do then entertain you all night."

"What da &%^? Who's dis guy, Rico?" The obvious leader of the hoodlums turns to face Proteus, pulling out a switchblade. 'I think he's dat new super freak, Dead meat!" All three began guffawing in a drug induced laughing fit. Proteus looks at the three, deciding on the best way to handle it. First punk, knife, within two steps to my 12, solo; second punk, bulky jacket, probably packing standing three steps to my 11; third punk holding the victim, choke hold, most likely knife to the back, four steps to my 1; all three extremely high, and in for a big surprise; must do something about the hostage.

The leader decided to make the first move, jumping forward swinging his knife from side-to-side. Although it could have never penetrated his skin, Proteus still reacted from instinct, recalling his unarmed combat training. He could even remember the instructor droning, "You don't want to fight a guy with a weapon. But if you have to, wait for the swing, then step in and block the arm from moving. Get the weapon, and even the odds." As the leader swung the knife across his body, Proteus stepped in with paranormal speed, catching the thugs arm and holding it to his chest, pinning it there. Then with a flick of his wrist, he swung the leader into the second thug who was busy pulling out a saw-off shotgun. The two collided and both went down in a jumble of arms and legs, cursing each other. The third thug was so enthralled with the event that he never saw the fist that quickly engulfed his throat and pulled him from his only chance of getting out of this unscathed.

"Run, Miss, and call the police. There's a booth around the corner near the deli stand. Hurry." Then with a twist and shrug of his arm, he launched the third thug into the other two, who were almost free. The three tumbled into a large pile, once again cursing each other and trying to get up. It would have been comical, if it hadn't been for the crime they were trying to commit. The young woman stammered a thanks, then ran around the corner, once more in the street lights.

Proteus turned towards the three punks who soon extracted themselves and were standing. Two knives, a shotgun, and no chance in hell. "Look, boys, no crime has been committed. Yet. Just go home. It is a school night, after all. Don't push this further than it has to go."

The three looked at each other, and the leader slowly nodded. "Yeah, bet, chump. But you betta watch your back next time, sucka." The three began to strut off, talking amongst themselves. Proteus turned and started in the direction the young lady had gone. Inwardly sighing, he began counting. One, two, three. . . BOOM! The sound of the shotgun echoed off the alley walls. The blast caught Proteus full in the back and left him. . . angry. As the smoke cleared, the three thugs saw Proteus turn towards them, with no hint that the shot had any effect on him.

"THAT DOES IT! I gave you a chance. Sorry, boys, but isn't it past your bedtimes?" In a blur, Proteus was suddenly before the three. With a quick sweeping blow, he caught the thug with the gun and the other knife wielding thug both in the guts, pulling his fists back at the last moment. Both flew back six feet and landed with thuds, not moving. Turning towards the leader, who was now standing in a pool of his own doing, he turned the full weight of his stare on the unfortunate hoodlum. "I hold you responsible. You are their leader. They follow you. Well, if I ever catch you or them here again, I'm hunting you down, and we'll have a long talk." Reaching down, Proteus grabbed the dropped shotgun emptied the shells, and wrapped the metal around the leader's hands. 'Remember this, Rico. I'm watching you!" He then backed away into the darkness, fading into the mist.

Walking once more, through the streets, Proteus had to chuckle. Now that was fun. I hope he straightens up. Ah well, there's more work to be done, and it's only 2110. I wonder what Agent Kestler is doing right around this time? Grinning to himself, he continues to walk in search of crime.

"...and so most of them got away, but we did recover all the artwork and the drugs."

Matthew pivots on one foot, and began a series of kicks into the empty air. He stands in the living room working through several advanced katas. The faint roar of many people talking drifts through the floor from the restaurant below. Occasionally, a loud clank from the kitchen also penetrates into the room.

Matthew's grandfather sat in an old but beloved chair contemplating a game of stones. He makes an experimental move of one of the polished pieces, then retracts it and returns to pondering his move.

"This is a good thing you have done," the old man replies, speaking Chinese, as did Matthew. "It will serve our people well to have those drugs stopped."

"It will serve the entire city," corrects Matthew. "All of whom are my people, even if they think otherwise," he continues with some amusement. The young man drops his foot to stand with legs spread shoulder's distance apart. He launches into a routine of punches combined with several pantomimed throws.

"True," the old man concedes, "You always did hold to the American way of thinking." He pushes another stone forward, then again retracts the move. "Yet they do not think so highly of you and your friends. 'The man whom every hand turns against can not last.' This new sentiment, it is a danger to you."

"People are simply scared, and they're striking out at those who are different," Matthew replies. "This is not anything new - its in the nature of people to do such things if they don't think about it first. I expect this will all go away once people settle down again."

"Ah!" Grandfather said, lifting a stone and using it to punctuate his point, "But what if they do not, eh? 'The wise man prepares for the worst, and then is pleasantly surprised.'"

Matthew stops his routine briefly to give his grandfather a smile. "How many of those old sayings do you know?" he asks. "I don't think in all my years I have ever heard you repeat one."

Chuckling, the old man returns to his game. "More than enough." He pauses to dart a furtive look at his grandson. Matthew flows smothly through the forms, moving with a natural grace few could equal. Mucles bunch and flex through the exercise, speaking of hidden power in his arms and legs. The young man's eyes sparkle with amusement, though his face wears a look of serenity.

Such a good-looking man, my grandson, the old man thinks. He will make some woman a good husband, but only if he pays attention enough to ever get married!

"Your friends, they fair well?" he asks, deceptively casual.

"Well, Odyssey checked Starlight and Proteus. Her healing ability took care of any damage the bomb might have done. She's holding up well under all this publicity - a truly remarkable woman."

"Married, is she not?"

"Yes. I've never really spoken with her husband, although I'd like to some day. I think someone mentioned a barbecue before we left..."

"The other woman, the Silver Avenger you rescued. She would be at this?"

"I expect so..." Matthew answers, a bit puzzled.

"Chow is a good family name..." Grandfather suggests.

Matthew stops his exercise once again to turn towards his grandfather. Arms on hips, he confronts the older man. "You are suggesting something?" he asks, "With all respect, Grandfather, I am not ready for such things, and I do not know if my being a superhero would be fair to any woman I might marry. This is why I want to talk with Odyssey's husband."

"It is not good for a man your age to be alone," the older man lectured in return, waggin his finger at Matthew. "You will make a good husband if I ever get you married. In my day, parents or grandparents arranged marriaged, and we made them work! But... this is American, I know. Still, I do not wish to die before seeing you wed."

Matthew relents and put a hand on his grandfather's shoulder. "You're not going to die any time soon, Grandfather. Come on, let's go out for dinner. After our success at the pier, I feel like celebrating."

The younger man headed off to the bathroom to clean up from his exercise. Grandfather stared after him, thinking. Suddenly he brightened, having come to a decision. He hummed tunelessly as he grabbed his hat and prepared to leave. His grandson needed help, not advice, and he was just the person...

It was somewhere between the canned pears and the canned beets that Cassie realized the woman was staring at her. Damn, and to think that at one time I used to hate grocery shopping because it was so impersonal, she thinks. No one ever wants to help you. Now what I wouldn't give to not have this woman staring at me.

Turning down the nearest aisle, Cassie hoped to hide herself from the woman's eyes. Much to her embarrassment she found herself in the beauty products section of the store. There three different women were perusing the boxes of hair dye, lotions, cheap perfumes and make-up.

Maybe they just won't notice me, Cassie hoped. After all, I've cut my hair. Chopped two feet off it to be exact. Armand - his real name is Joey, but since Cassie's new notoriety he's been telling everyone he's Armand, stylist to superheroes - just about had a heart attack when I walked in and told him to cut it off.

"I'm sick of tripping over it, falling over it and if I get one more phone call from Miss Clairol about how they have the perfect product to help manage my fly-away ends if I only act as their spokeswoman, I think I'm going to scream," she said.

Actually it had all been excuse. I really only wanted to do something, anything to get people to stop talking about me, Cassie thought as she tried to hide herself by looking with fascination at the many different types of lip-balm the store offered.

If the press from the museum fiasco wasn't bad enough, the latest round of media exposure was even worse. Sure, we recovered the paintings, stopped a drug shipment but all everyone was talking about Knightblade's capture and the warrant issued for Protector's arrest. And since I was one of the original Golden Gate Guardian not looking to make bail or on the lam, everyone wants to talk to me. "What do you think about the arrest of your teammate Knightblade? Did you know he was working for VIPER when you arranged for him to be at the museum benefit? What about accusations that you planed the heist from the inside helping Knightblade and VIPER?" No matter what I said or did, it is always being distorted into something untrue. Even when PRIMUS cleared me of any involvement it didn't help. The media just changed its line of attack. The topper had been when Gloria Steinman was quoted as saying my appearance with unreasonably long hair and spandex outfit just reinforced the stereotypes of superheroines as super-floozies.

The very next day I walked into Joey's salon. I didn't even have the guts to go all the way, Cassie thought as she read the ingredients on the back of the lip balm. What in the hell is triglycerate? Halfway through the haircut I just yelled at Joey to stop. He probably thought I was crazy, but I just couldn't do it. 'Course when I calmed down, he tried to make the best of things. Said I was a challenge to his craft. It looked great when he finished and my hair still went down to my waist, just not any lower. I don't even know why I cut it off to begin with. I just wanted to do something without having it analyzed by half-a-dozen commentators.

Well, maybe shorter hair will make it harder for people to recognize me, Cassie thinks as she puts the lip balm back. I can even wear it in a severe bun now without the weight of weighing down my neck, Cassie thinks giving the pencil in her bun a twist. I hope this doesn't come down. At least I can start paying less for hair conditioner. OK, maybe that woman is gone now. These ladies don't seem to notice me.

At that moment the young daughter of one of the women shopping whispers loudly to her mother. "Mommy why is Wonder Woman shopping in the store?"

Cassie turns bright red as she realizes with her hair in a bun and the suit she's wearing, she bears more than a passing resemblance to Linda Carter. Great, she thinks, now I'm being recognized as a hoaky adventure show actress and I'm not even wearing a star-spangled bathing suit.

The rest of the women look up at a mortified Cassandra Salvatore who is clutching her basket and wishing she was anywhere but here.

"No, no, Elizabeth that is not Wonder Woman," the mother says dragging her little girl away with her.

"But I saw her on tv," The girl whines, dragging against her mothers pull. "She was with all those people in costume."

"Elizabeth, behave!" the woman says, picking up her little girl. "This woman is not a superhero. I can't believe they allow people like you in here," the woman spits out at Cassie.

"What kind of role model are you, dressed up like a brazen bi...bimbo on television. I bet you think you're better than all of us with your hair and your looks and your powers. Well you're not! You're just mutant trash. Weirdo," the woman adds before turning and stomping off with her daughter. The little girl turns in her mothers arm for a last look and something breaks in Cassie's heart.

"How can someone hate me so much without even knowing me," Cassie whispers.

"Oh please," mutters another, younger woman, dressed in faded jeans and a t-shirt says. "You've got looks, a job and superpowers. How can you blame her for being jealous. She probably graduated high school and got saddled with a kid, a husband and house payment. Stop whining."

"I am not whining!" Cassie says, a slight nasal twang creeping into her voice. "Do yo' think it's easy havin' everyone in the world staring at yo' everytime you set foot outside your door."

The last woman in the aisle scatters as Cassie and unknown young woman in jeans face off over cotton balls and skin cream.

"Oh don't don't tell me you don't love it," the woman says, getting defensive. "Everybody in the world wanting to know what you think, what clothes you wear. They'll probably copy that munchkin haircut."

"Oh you thank it's so great do ya'," Cassie says - a tell-tale New York accent sneaking back into her voice. "Try having people calling you names when you walk from your front door to your car. Or the neighbors politely asking you if you've considered moving because your presence in the neighborhood is devaluing their property."

"So a bunch of creeps show their true colors," the brunette shouts back. "At least you don't have to guess that they're scum. You know. And hey, you get to hang around with true friends like that superhero, what's his name - Dragon Fist. Now where is a nice girl like me supposed to met someone like him. The supermarket?"

"Well, I'd suggest the produce section. I believe he eats very healthy," Cassie shoots back.

The two women stare at each other for a second and then start laughing. A worried clerk peeks around the shampoo display at the end of the aisle.

"Does my hair look really that bad?" Cassie says, choking back tears as she laughs.

"Only when you wear it up like an old maid," the woman says through giggles. "And maybe add a a white streak just to shock people. Does Dragon Fist really grocery shop here?"

"Actually I don't really know where he shops," Cassie says wiping her eyes. "Despite what the newspapers may say, I don't know all the intimate details of every superhero's life."

"Oh well just my luck that the one superhero I run into is female and married," the woman says, regaining her composure. "You know I never knew you had a New York accent."

"I try to keep that under wraps," Cassie says. "It usually only comes out when I'm upset."

"You must have really needed to blow off steam then," the woman says, leaning against her cart.

"It's been a tough month. But, no more whining," Cassie says smiling for what seems like the first time in days. "Blond streak you say."

"Now that I think about it silver would be better. By the way, my name is Toni. As you can see by the name my dad wanted a boy," she says smirking. "Lucky him, he got me instead."

As the two women talk, a store manager hurries up with the upset mother from earlier. "Excuse me, Ms. Odyssey, but you see we've had a few complaints and I was wondering, perhaps if you haven't finished your shopping for the day. I could escort you to a register."

Cassie turns to the man, looking contemptuously at him and the woman from earlier. "Frankly sir, I believe this store has lost its allure for me," plopping her basket into the manager's hands. "Toni, how about a cup of coffee."

"Forget coffee," Toni says tossing her basket at the manager. "Let's go have a beer. I know this great club. They'll totally dig you there."

PBEM Turns

By the way -- if anyone was wondering what I meant by "turn response" in my write up, here are three terrific examples by Bear, Jen, and Paul.