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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years ago

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Deja Vu pt6

Hey guys! Surprise!! Have twenty pages of Dee picking a fight on TV. For those who are new around, [here’s] the first chapter and for those who need a refresher [here’s] the previous chapter!

Summary: Remus and Dee confront The Prince on live TV. Things go downhill rather quickly.

Word Count: 10447

TW: temporary character death, blood,

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he thinks that people might not actually be worth saving at all.

There’s an electricity in the air, a buzzing so loud that he can almost taste it as he shifts his weight between his feet. There are so many people around him, nearly too many, packed together like sardines in all the crevices that they can fit. Remus wants so badly to kick his leg out just to see if with one nudge he could toppled the human domino train down all the way, but Dee gives his hand a small, gentle squeeze.

His hand is warm, his touch intoxicating in a way that no drug could ever hope to be. Remus has felt it before, in futures that never happened, but it still feels unreal as it's going on. He thinks maybe, possibly that he’s stuck right now, right this second and that his real body is somewhere else bleeding out on the ground.

But he also thinks, traitorously, stupidly, suicidally, that he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to keep feeling Dee’s hand in his right now.

Dee’s touch is featherlight, but Remus is hyperaware of every atom in his body at these moments: Dee goes on to talk about so many things, but Remus’s brain only hears touch, warmth, Dee, Dee, Dee. And the Shapeshifter has to say his name at least four times before Remus realizes that time is passing and he’s not passing with it.

It should be annoying-- Remus thinks that Roman would have tried throttling him by now--but Dee just gives him a wispy, honeyed smile and does it again, like seeing Remus short circuit is somehow the best sight in the world.

Which is sweet, sugary, splendid. It might even mean that Dee intends to stick around after those feelings fade away to the bitter acquired taste that is Remus’s company after a year. So very few people ever got past that: the kids at school had flocked to Roman’s cotton candy exterior and had eaten him all up and then got burned when they mistakenly thought that Remus was anything like his twin outside his face.

(He wonders even now if Roman still shares that face with him. Did he dye his hair? Get piercings? Or did he cover his mirrors so he wouldn’t have to remember Remus existed at all? Does Roman think about Remus nearly as much as Remus thinks about Roman?)

Oh wait, Remus knows the answer to that last one.

Dee squeezes his hand again, even without looking. He insisted on dressing presentably today: shining shoes and one of his new suits tailored to his exact size and a flattering face that just screams trust me with all your finances, I won’t rob you blind, Grannie! When they were getting their coffees, the woman in front of them had called him a gentleman and Remus almost choked on his drink at that. A pretty face, a kind gesture, a mask and Dee wore his like a skin walking alien and no one was any wiser about it. Except Remus.

He reaches over and steals Dee’s latte from his hand. Dee tenses, then relaxes and watches with an amused smile as Remus sniffs it.

“Not nearly enough vodka in this,” he decides and Dee laughs.

“Ah, yes, because the girl at the counter is surely old enough to be serving alcohol,” Dee says. “And the last thing I want to do is be on TV drunk.”

His nose scrunches up at the detestable thought, but Remus thinks it’s the exact opposite of what they should be doing. Dee? On TV? With no inhibitions? Remus listened to his late-night rambles on the flaws of society when there was nothing but sleep deprivation weighing on their souls and Remus was moved enough to find himself here today. There was something about his honesty, his psychological approaches, his confidence, that made him so trustworthy. He was a leader at heart and Remus was happy to follow him, even if it meant going right off a cliff.

(Not like he hadn’t done that a time or fifty before. And besides, Dee could grow wings if he wanted. He’d catch both of them and fly them to safety.)

“A dash of vodka is just liquid courage,” Remus says.

Dee turns his green eyes on him, the light through the window making sparkles in his irises, or maybe that’s just Dee doing subtle magic of his own. Whatever it was Remus decides he doesn’t ever want to look away again. Dee's eyes are priceless; Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Dee had stolen a hundred jadeite stones and shoved them in his eyes for safekeeping.

“Who needs liquid courage--” Dee says “--when I have you?”

Remus tips back Dee’s latte and slurps it so that his tongue burns right out of his mouth, because then at least there’s a reason for the mortifying smoldering all over his face. Dee reaches up and rubs the pad of his thumb over Remus’s cheek, tickling his mustache ever so slightly and laughs again.

“Darling,” he says. “You’re too easy.”

“You going to do something about it?” Remus challenges. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it right here, over this table, you know. Might wanna make sure little Timmy over there is covering his eyes first though. He doesn’t need his awakening until a few more years down the line.”

They’re close enough to the other customers that an elder woman with a pocket dog in her purse gives him a glare and a teenage girl in a sweater turns bright pink and stares out the window just a bit too hard. There’s a good chance that Remus could get both of them to do something more, but before he can open his mouth again, Dee is leaning in.

He’s using his usual height today, which means that Remus is just a bit taller, but Dee makes those three inches feel like hairbreadths. His breath is warm on Remus’s neck, and it sends shivers down his back when the phantom feeling brushes over his skin. He smells like cardamom, and Remus’s mouth freezes, his words long lost and forgotten in the prospect of Dee saying literally anything at all.

But in the end Dee just wordlessly hums and drops back to his flat foot.

It takes Remus a whole second to remember how to breathe. And another to realize that Dee took back his latte and was drinking it like he was entirely unaware of what he had just done to Remus, except that his lips slip off the rim on his cup and they’re curled upwards in that absolutely sensual smirk of his.

“It’s almost time,” the shapeshifter says moving on casually while Remus tries not to let his brain melt right out of his ears. “I should go get into place.” He peeks at Remus and glances away just as quickly. “You…you’re sure that you’re alright to do this, Remus? You don’t have to if it will hurt you.”

Remus wonders vainly if Dee was aware that the term “Martyr” was engraved on his ribcage, imprinted on his heart, seared into his soul. If there was ever a choice between himself and someone else getting hurt, Remus wouldn’t hesitate, and he never had. If Roman had ever looked, like truly looked, he might have noticed that, and then maybe things would have turned out even marginally different. But this time around, Remus nods at Dee and squeezes his hand back so hard that his fingers lose their blood flow.

“It’s not gonna hurt me,” Remus says, which might be a lie and not even a believable one, but they both pretend. “Besides, this means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Dee’s shoulders tense, and resettle, as if he’s reminding himself that Remus is not a threat. He licks his lips, chasing after the taste of espresso. “It does,” he says and it shouldn’t feel like Dee is telling him some big surprise secret, because they spent the past three days planning this whole thing out on the floor of their hotel room while Remus rolled that casino coin between his fingers and thought about how Dee’s hair looks soft and fluffy when he’s just waking up.

“Remus…” Dee starts. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet. About me. And… this.”

Whatever this is. He’s hesitating again, hovering like he’s on top of a fence topped with barbed wire and he knows that he needs to pick a side but can’t quite decide which side will hurt less: the spikes or the lava? Remus shakes away the unneeded thoughts to focus in on the trepidation in Dee’s expression, but as soon as he zeroes in on it, Dee smooths it out.

“Timing,” he says almost as if to himself. Then, “I’ll tell you after we do this. I owe… I owe you that much.”

Remus doesn’t think there’s a single thing that Dee could ever owe him at all. Not when Dee pulled his bleeding body off the balcony, not when Dee kissed him with all the tenderness in the world, not when Dee stayed with him in the face of literally everything. Dee can’t possibly owe him anything when Remus is the one standing here with a power that’s not even helpful unless it’s killing Remus, and Dee is out here trying to save lives with what he has.

But Remus is decently sure that if he opens his mouth to say any of that, what will come out will be something undoubtedly more emotional than they have time for and will probably scare Dee away entirely: a love confession, a proposal, matching headstones for their graves that they’ll probably be in much sooner than either of them would like.

“And Remus?” Dee says, like he doesn’t notice that he’s literally the only thing that matters in Remus’s little world. He gives Remus’s hand another meaningful squeeze. Then he pops up on his toes to brush a kiss to his cheek in a way that makes Remus feel like a middle school girl in a catholic school discovering how attractive boys are for the first time.

His heart beats so hard he thinks he can taste it around the coffee and whatever the hell it is that Dee tastes like.

“Thank you,” Dee says with sincerity.

“If we were characters in a book, this is the part where right before the author kills you off for dramatic effect.” Remus reaches out and clinks his cup with Dee’s. “Don’t make it that easy.”

Dee snorts in that very dignified way of his. “Of course, what was I thinking? My apologies. Here I was, assuming that the soothsayer might be able to help me to cheat Death but apparently I was mistaken.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there in your ear, Despacito,” Remus says pointing towards the earpiece he’s wearing. “You won’t be able to get me out of your mind even if you wanted me to!”

Dee smiles, quick and wonderful and Remus drinks in the sight like it’s the newest liquid craze, better than the latte in Dee’s hands, or the ice coffee in his own, or fresh drinking water in the middle of the desert. Dee’s hand drip, drip, drips right out of Remus’s, although the atoms in his fingers don’t stop tingling with sensation.

“I look forward to it,” Dee says as final parting and then he weaves his way out of the café. Remus bites his plastic straw and follows with his eyes until he can’t anymore. The people around them move out of the way for him because Dee gives off that aura of someone important and no one wants to be caught dead getting dirt on his freshly polished oxfords.

For all their planning, Remus still feels a little nervous with everything going on. They gathered as much information as they could about the day: the new registration office was being set up in a public library as a temporary location and it was closed for activity outside of the registration. Remus took particular pleasure in reading the heartwarming amount of public backlash about that from regular people who just really liked the library for some reason. The building is a lucky four stories tall-- which Remus thinks is nice. The library back in his hometown was two, poorly funded, and he’d been banned from visiting when he was ten because he’d seen the old librarian fall off a ladder and tried to help her by grabbing which did not go over remotely well.

The street is casual: a bunch of modern buildings with local shops and boutiques. Dee got sidetracked two days ago picking out new shoes from a window display and chatting with the owner who surprisingly was very informative.

“The Prince? My niece thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread,” the older woman said while packing up a pair of single strap monks.

“Oh?” Dee said conversationally which made Remus look up from where he was flicking through a rack of sun dresses.

“I think he has a few screws loose,” the woman said. “No child his age should be running around in a costume like that. He’s just inviting danger to himself, not to mention those around him. In fact, Linda-- you know Linda right? She owns the chocolatiering place on fourth street? It’s got lovely chocolate strawberries-- Linda said over our weekly tea that if she got the chance, she would punch him in the face!" the woman chuckled. "But I don't blame her at all. All this nonsense about super powers and abilities and someone might start looking twice at how her baby girl can get any animal to eat out of her hand."

Dee raised an eyebrow. And the lady waved off his unasked question.

"Magic ability or pure coincidence! I don't care about any of that! If that FBE comes knocking on Linda's door the whole group of us shop owners are ready to stand up against them. Linda’s little girl belongs right here with her family and not anywhere near some secret government building or on some watchlist like a criminal!"

They left after that and paid a visit to the chocolate shop on fourth street. And what do you know, the little shop received a generous cash award from a lesser known chocolate secret society group thing. Remus doesn't remember the actual name Dee used, but he does remember that they were selling dinosaur shaped chocolates and he bought a box just so he could bite the heads off all of them.

The main street leading to the library-turned-registration office was closed off completely and marked that way with crowd control fences, which might have been for the best. In just the two days leading up to the grand opening, the city’s population seemed to have doubled. Remus was moderately amused by it, watching from the window of their hotel room: people came from the woodwork, springing into the city with the rigour of a bunch of busy ants who were so completely unaware of the exterminator coming.

Dee didn’t let him try looking to the future more than a few times and to be very ridiculously honest, Remus is kinda grateful for it. Every time he looks he feels something off about himself, something he can’t put a name to, something he can’t put a finger on. It just seems that one minute he’s fine and the next he’s hacking up blood.

Which by the way, means he’s dying according to WebMD and Google. Remus doesn’t let Dee see the worst of it, but the nosebleeds are stronger, and Dee’s not exactly stupid. He can tell that Remus is using more tissues, that he’s holding them to his face longer, that he’s pale and tired and his hands are colder to the touch.

They don’t talk about it. Not really.

They should.

But if there’s one thing that Remus’s mother taught him, it’s that if you avoid talking about something for long enough it will disappear and you’ll forget about it.

Perhaps the biggest thorn in their sides-- both of their sides and their lungs and the back of their necks right through the medulas killing them instantly-- is the charming Prince himself! The character seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once: the news has him stopping burglaries and home invasions up and down the east coast, calming down violent criminals, and helping little old ladies cross the street, and flashing his award-winning, crowd-hypnotising smile at the cameras. And yet for all the several hours worth of footage that Dee and him had scoured through, neither of them can quite figure out what The Prince’s power is.

It’s mental, at least. Something to do with information based on what Remus can come up with. He can tell from the way that the guy reacts in the middle of any confrontation: there’s a moment where green lights flash in his eyes, flickering so quickly it might have been a trick of the camera if Remus hadn’t caught it so many times on so many different occasions. One moment he’s acting one way, the next he’s changing course entirely, moving or stopping or avoiding. Like he knows what’s going to happen.

Like he can see the future.

But somehow he avoided all the fun nosebleeds and the feeling of death over his shoulder. Like maybe when his power manifested people actually believed him! Like maybe his friends didn’t shove him away and maybe his mother loved him and maybe he stayed home and watched Disney movies with his brother all night when they were seventeen instead of letting him go to a party where everything went wrong.

Remus’s hands shook far more than they had any right to when he first made the connection, first made the comment, first made the joke out loud for Dee to laugh at without pay attention to what he was actually saying. Then he dry heaved into a trash can for fifteen minutes while Dee rubbed his back and pointedly waited for an explanation that Remus didn’t give him because Roman is nothing and no one and he doesn’t matter when Remus has Dee.

“Perhaps he’s a mind reader,” Dee suggested.

Whatever he ends up being, Remus decides that The Prince better hope he figures out some shit with Dee. Because if Remus has to enter the ring, he doesn’t think the Prince will be leaving it in anything other than a body bag.

“You seem very… invested in him,” Dee said when Remus told him as much over a breakfast of french toast and eggs at a dinner where the waitress didn’t tell them to stop making out in any flickers of the future he blinked at. Dee was choosing his words carefully. Too carefully.

“His face is very punchable,” Remus said, squeezing ketchup in his orange juice. “I’m surprised no one else sees it! Don’t you just get filled with rage when you look at him?”

The way Dee blinked said a lot, but Remus pretended not to notice as he used a straw to stir his drink and poured a bit of syrup in too. For flavor and fun. Dee doesn’t say anything more on the topic, and Remus doesn’t ask because he gets the feeling Dee will tell him the truth if he does.

And Remus doesn’t think that this is a truth that Dee wants to tell right now.

Maybe later. After Dee’s dragged the Propaganda Prince from his golden pedestal and Remus has had his fun in the mix. After they stop the FBE from their nefarious plans. After.

Remus tastes the word in his mouth and he’s not sure why it feels so foreign to him. It’s a strange mixture of bitter and unforgettable, of sweet and strange, of something he’s never tried before and might never get to taste again.

It’s better than blood. Less red too.

Remus taps his foot as he watches out the window of the coffee shop. There are a lot of people inside here and he’s not sure how many of them are regulars compared to how many of them want to just watch the possible freaks that have to walk down the street and enter the building pretending like they can’t feel all the world watching them do it.

Remus isn’t even one of the suckers doing it, but he can understand how it might make someone queasy. The number of eyes looking, watching, remembering them is something of a curse; the cameras are blatantly obvious and the gawking of the other people is unignorable. If things were different, Remus wonders if he might have been nervous about this, about entering the building, about taking a step out of line and telling the whole world what he could do.

It was supposed to be a secret, right? At least that’s what his mother had always encouraged him to believe. She told him to stop talking, to stop crying, to shut up and pretend nothing was happening, smile at the cashier, Remus, but don’t tell her that you can see her tripping over her shoe laces and cracking her head on the floor. When people asked his mother how her children were, she never had enough to say about Roman’s achievements.

Remus sticks his straw all the way in his mouth until it pokes his uvula and his eyes water.

She tried.

And in the end it wasn’t enough, isn’t enough, because now she talked so much about Roman that she didn’t even remember that he existed anymore. He’s grown up and she’s still the same.

He wonders if she would even recognize him if they passed each other on the street.

Something to think about. Perhaps he can convince Dee to take a trip with him to the other side of the country, to his hometown, to his old neighborhood. He’s sure that by now they have enough cash for a couple dozen eggs that belong on the outside of his old two story suburban house. After all this, after they save the day, after they put Princey boy in his place. After.

The clock on his phone ticks down, and Remus feels like his chest is going to explode if his heart gets any faster. The FBE registration office opens at ten a.m. and he’s not entirely certain the world will still be standing by ten oh five, but that’s what makes everything fun, isn’t it?

The coffee shop customers shuffle and move like a complex organism trying to rip itself apart but never quite managing it. Outside there are more people, pressed together, close enough to be touching, to be talking, to be nervous and excited and emotional. Camera flashes go off, news crews stand in the middle of the street with microphones interviewing the normal people who are treating this like a festival or a parade rather than the thinly veiled death threat it is.

They’re packed so closely together that Remus has a hard time seeing over their heads, and peeking at the temporary stage that’s been set up in front of the entrance to the library. There’s a podium on it, though, and decorations of a brilliant red, white, and blue, along with speakers and microphones being tested for the brilliant speech that the Prince is going to give for his adoring fans. There’s security and police patrolling everywhere, news crews and reporters and civilians watching with bated breath as the time draws near.

Part of Remus wants to wonder why here, why now, why did the Prince choose to come cross country out of the blue like this? Surely he could get just as much adoration from his fans in New York.

There must have been something that happened on the East Coast that drove him out here. Bad publicity that might make him look bad-- for a moment Remus entertains the idea that the Superhero managed to kill someone and now the FBE was graciously covering it up and sending him to Oregon so that he stays out of the way, stays out of trouble.

Too bad for him; Remus and Dee had claimed this part of the country as their own playground and they brought nothing but trouble with them.

Dee would take extra special delight in taking a bat to the Prince’s glass house reputation if the man let him. Remus would take extra special delight in watching Dee do it.

Remus tapped the screen of his phone again, checking the time. Dee should be in place by now, hiding among the normal people, slipping between the patrolling law enforcers, and plotting the best place to be in order to make his grand entrance.

((It was adorable watching Dee figure out what he wanted it to be: the man curled up in a sweatshirt with hair still wet from his shower and chewing the end of a pencil in between spitballing ideas at Remus. His eyes seemed to glow when he got excited, and they were hypnotizing to look at, swirling with all the colors: grey blue, jade, hazel, silver. Whenever he liked an idea he scribbled it down on a piece of paper and smiled with his fangs out and Remus had to resist the urge to kiss him again, lest they fall behind in their planning phase due to an excessive make out session.))

In the end, planning this whole thing wasn’t all that much different from their other heists: the casino where they met, the fancy banks, the jewelry stores, a privately owned winery. There was less of Remus looking at the future, true, but that just meant that they spent more time lying next to each other scouring the internet on their individual phones for relevant information and eating chocolate dinosaurs.

The clock strikes thirty-till ten and the whole world seems to hold its breath. Remus can feel it, the way the air holds itself and suddenly the whole coffeeshop, the patrons, the cashiers and the machines go quiet with anticipation.

“There!” yells a kid from a window seat, covered in chocolate from a partially devoured muffin and bouncing on the cushion. He presses both his hands to the cleaned window, as if he can phase right through it if he pushes himself hard enough. “There! It’s a car!”

“Where? I wanna see!”

“Is it The Prince?”

“The Prince! Move I want to see!”

Remus barely has time to brace himself before there are people pressing up against him, strangers shoving and pushing and yelling and trying to get to the window to see exactly what is going on. Remus himself leaves a nice face print to the glass that he suspects the long suffering employees are going to have blast cleaning later.

Assuming that the shop is still standing after all this.

Someone’s elbow goes into Remus’s spine and for a second Remus blinks and there’s a guy standing over him, pressing a hand to his pulse, and the manager at the front desk of their hotel is screaming again. Remus hisses out a harsh breath that fogs up the window and scrubs the thought, the concept, the memory from his mind. Because he’s not dead, he’s not dying, he’s not on the hood of a car. And the last thing he needs is to forget that.

The car that the kid had pointed out was actually a caravan of cars: black nondescript SUVs with tinted windows and tires thick enough to be bulletproof. The type of cars celebrities and CEOs and politicians ride around in when their limos are being deep cleaned. The crowd blockers leave more than enough room for the cars to parade through the street right to the stage. Someone outside even sets off a confetti cannon so it rains red and gold and white paper through the air.

Remus grinds his morals together and shoves himself backwards, knocking into about six more people who are swarming for his spot so quickly, so frantically, so vehemently, that Remus doesn’t actually make out any of their faces or forms or bodies. The whole shop was swarmed with people, but now all the bodies were pressed against the street windows and Remus thinks if they were on a boat, they would have capsized. He tugs the front of his leather jacket to straighten it and elbows his way through the front doors and out into the street.

Outside it’s not much easier to see anything. The cheering crowd is the most annoying thing ever. Although the hand made signs people are waving are a close second. Remus fights the urge to knock several of them out of people’s hands because the crowd control are watching like hawks and--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because he’s so busy laughing at the guy he misses the sign holder’s left fist coming for his face.--

-- “HEY! HEY!” one of the uniformed guys yells at him. Remus flips him the bird, and because Remus knows better now he manages to dodge the incoming fist and drive his elbow up under his attacker’s guard and right into his diaphragm. There’s an exhilarating feeling flowing through him as the crowd around him jostles and shouts and falls to chaos in a way that completely derails the plan Dee worked so hard to put together.--

--Remus tears himself back to the present, stumbling slightly over a swaying ground. He coughs into his fist as his body is checked by a passerby into the outside wall of the coffee shop. There are flecks of red, so small Remus wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for them. That’s good, that’s great, that’s fine.

He’s fine.

The crowd pulses and the volume of dissonant cheering increases tenfold. Remus wipes his hand on his thigh and looks up to see over through the crowd for what was happening, although he already has a good idea. The cars must have completed their slow circuit and the doors of one of them must have popped open for the guest of honor to step out.

Another burst of confetti shoots out filling the air with white pieces of paper that almost look like snow. Remus ignores them mostly as he slips through the crowd in ways that his body probably shouldn’t be able to move: under an elbow here, passing a shoulder there, winking at the college student his face is three inches from as he scoots between him and an older woman with a crying child on her hip. He feels his spine crack more than he hears it as he moves.

He makes it to the crowd barriers with an impressive number of bruises, a bit of coffee from an off balanced teenager, and a scrap where someone hit him with one of those stupid signs. He’s close enough to the stage that his skin itches, that his throat burns, that his toes curl; the Prince isn’t even looking his way but Remus thinks that the white of his super suit would look excellent covered in his blood. There’s a rapier at his side that glistens in the sunlight, silver and shining and ready for use although Remus has yet to see him actually use it as a weapon rather than a fancy prop.

The Prince is an actor on a stage waving to his fans, a red herring meant to distract everyone from the implications of the FBE headquarters right behind him. He blows a kiss to the crowd and Remus gets the urge to punch his face again.

Instead he presses up against the barrier wall, hooking his arms around the metal bars to hold himself in place and watches with his tongue in his cheek. He nods at the techie standing on the other side: a guy with hefty headphones, bright purple hair, and a mouth mask with an anime character on it from a show Remus vaguely recognizes. The guy squints at him suspiciously for a moment but ultimately just shrugs and goes back to writing something in a pocket notebook and leaning against the side of a News Crew van he presumably works for.

On stage, The Prince approaches the podium waving still and smiling twice as broadly as before. Remus isn’t sure how anyone can look at him and think “safety” when his charming show of teeth also makes it look like his mouth was going to split his entire head open. A police line-up stands along the wings of the stage, like he’s a real prince about to address a nation.

Someone Remus doesn’t recognize is also on the stage in a suit. The Prince grins and shakes the guys hand like they’re old friends. They pose for a camera flash for a moment, sharing a laugh that can’t possibly be that funny, and the new techie rolls his eyes so hard his head shakes. Another person from the crew joins him standing side-by-side and they share a short conversation that leaves the one with the headphones glaring.

The guy on stage claps The Prince on the back and offers him the podium with microphones before stepping back clapping enthusiastically.

Remus thinks boredly that it would have been funnier if Dee were up there, dressed up in a stranger’s skin and stepping back only so that The Prince never gets to see the knife Dee shoves in his neck. But Remus knows Dee better than that; he’d never kill, and he'd definitely never deliver a fatal blow when his victim didn’t know his name.

(Remus wonders distantly, when he realized how much names meant to Dee. Was it before Dee offered up his name at that casino? Or later when Dee was breathing into Remus’s mouth and Remus was trying to figure out what was wrong with himself? Dee wanted people to know his name, wanted people to remember him when he left, wanted them to recognize him-- but he also didn’t and Remus isn’t sure how to solve that puzzle yet so he sticks it in the back of his mind to work on when its just the two of them alone in a hotel room in the dark.)

The Prince winks to someone in the crowd and finishes his last wave. Remus glances back at the line of SUVs but no one else comes out of them-- which isn’t that weird? Remus seems to recall the Prince being very specific that he had a team and a partner and yet he’s up there all alone receiving all the glory.

Of course they could just be shy, but based on how little information there actually is about the team and partner existing, Remus thinks that maybe it’s a farce meant to placate children’s dreams of being on a super team with their super hero!

(Remus is not alone in this thinking either. Dee’s favorite website called AnxiTEA has several dozen articles written about how The Prince sucks and that he’s just doing all this for publicity and recognition-- along with a carefully worded warning that if The Prince begins losing either of those things, he’s most likely going to become feral and turn on them all.)

Remus adjusts the earpiece in his ear just as The Prince opens his mouth to start off that particularly exciting, bold, inspiring speech of his. But before he gets more than a syllable out, a shadow floods from overhead.

The crowd collectively gasps and screams, spreading apart in every which direction; Remus lets out a hefty groan as the guy next to him bowls into his shoulder and he nearly flings over the fence. The techie on the other side drops his little notebook in shock, and his friend pulls out a phone immediately.

The shadow sweeps downward through the air like the largest bird in history. Remus laughs as he watches, Dee’s wings glisten with black wings that glisten yellow when the sun reflects off them. In fact just watching him, Remus has a hard time believing that Dee didn’t grow up with wings attached to his back. He makes floating and flying and landing look graceful, ethereal, easy and breathless and exhilarating. Dee lands on the stage due left of The Prince, safely with his knees bent to absorb the shock. When he stands back up, his blond hair flows slightly in the kickback wind and his trustable dark eyes sparkle.

(He went with the black and yellow color scheme. That had been Remus’s favorite option. The black of his suit makes the shimmers of gold look expensive, dangerous, and untouchable. Although, Remus is a little biased on the front that he always thinks Dee looks dangerous and untouchable. He’s a caution sign, a warning, and Remus can’t wait for The Prince to ignore it.)

“Hello,” Dee says and Remus thinks he can hear his barely concealed laughter over all the crowd's confused chaos. The police line behind The Prince lurch into movement at the sound of his voice, but the hero himself throws out an arm and stops them where they stand with hands on their tasers.

Dee raises an eyebrow, a polite expression on his face. And the Prince mirrors him.

“Oh wonderful!” the hero says in a confident tone, in a reassuring tone, in a placating tone that tells the audiences watching that there’s nothing to fear from the black winged Angel that just descended down on them like a herald of Death. Dee’s eyes shine with amusement that Remus can pick out even from over here. “Another friend like me!”

The Prince offers a hand to Dee, a handshake. Remus digs his teeth into his tongue as he watches Dee take it from above, like he’s royalty allowing the poor publicity prince to greet him.

“Not quite like you, my dear Prince,” Dee says. “If the wings weren’t a dead give away already.”

The Prince’s lips tighten. Remus thinks that his expression screams “calculating”. He looks at Dee like he’s still trying to figure out if he’s a friend or foe, and Dee’s body language offers no hints at all.

Or well, maybe a few hints. Remus can see it, because he can see Dee: the tilt of his head is a challenge, the light in his eyes is condescending, the openness of his body facing the crowd speaks in volume of who he’s actually there for. Remus can read every bit of Dee and it sends a shiver down his back to realize.

The crowd bobs and murmurs, unsure of what to do with the surprise visitation. Several camera flashes go off like someone is trying to prove to themselves that the wings are real. The techie on the other side of the barrier reaches up and hooks a finger over his mouth mask as if he’s debating ripping it off to breathe easier. Remus digs his chin into the metal bars of the crowd barrier and wishes he had some popcorn.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Prince,” Dee says silky smooth.

“Good things I hope,” The Prince says back. “I would love to sit down and have a conversation with a fan as elegant as yourself, but I really must be getting back on schedule. I’d be happy to sign somethin--”

Dee laughs pleasantly, although Remus thinks he should be swinging to dislodge the superheroes head from his neck.

“You are a riot!” Dee takes a few steps forward. “You think I’m up here to get your autograph?”

The Prince’s eyes narrow slightly. “Aren’t you?”

Dee flexes his wings just as slightly, letting them shimmer so beautifully for the crowd up front to see. “Oh no. I must confess I’m not much of a fan at all. I’d really much rather skip to the debate portion of this.”

“The debate,” The Prince repeats like he hasn’t ever heard the word before. Remus half expects him to snap at that guy behind him to offer up a dictionary so he can read the Webster definition before he responds. But in the end the Prince merely moves his arm back and settles his right hand on the hilt of his rapier.

“I’ve been fascinated by you, Prince,” Dee continues, gliding around him and stretching his wings so that the police line is forced to take another step back or get bumped. Dee circles the hero much like a snake starting to coil around its prey before the final strike. He’s slow and methodical and Remus doesn’t think anyone can look away from him. He knows he can’t. “They call you a superhero. The first real life one to walk the streets.”

The Prince follows Dee’s motions with his head. “I have no control over what the media says.”

Dee gives him another condescending look. Remus thinks it’s eerily similar to the ones that his teachers used to give him when Remus insisted that the other kids shoved him on the playground when he did nothing to them first.

“Of course you don’t,” Dee says. “The media can be rather misleading at times. After all they said that my way of handling an out of control child with an arbitrary grasp on fire was fallible. Incorrect. Deplorable.” Dee stops just over the Prince’s left shoulder and tilts his head. “Villainous.”

The Prince blinks, stiffening.

“Oh,” he says. “You were the one at the mall. In Idaho.”

“Yes,” Dee says. “And if I had done nothing, that child would have continued to operate under the impression that killing is an acceptable punishment for petty thievery. And yet I’ve received nothing but bad press, criticisms, insults for what I did while you get praise and recognition from your… adoring fans. I would say that’s quite unfair don’t you think?”

The Prince’s nose twitches. Remus watches his hand on his rapier tighten, but he refrains from drawing and making the first blow in front of a billion witnesses. The cameras couldn’t draw away even if they tried.

“Perhaps if you had tried talking first, rather than jumping straight to violence--”

Dee tuts and presses a hand to his chest. “I so do love how much you know about what happened there! With all the completely accurate information and that confident tone you’re wielding, my prince, one might be convinced that you had been there and watched that child nearly kill three innocent people after I attempted the talking part first.”

The Prince’s jaw set.

“Oh? Nothing to say?” Dee lowers his chin to look The Prince dead in the eyes. “The truth is that the child in question decided to attack a man robbing a previously insured jewelry store-- most likely out of desperation-- and decided to attempt to burn him alive. The action of which nearly killed me and my… partner if it hadn’t been for a spot of good luck. Then when I attempted to help preserve the criminal from the life threatening third degree burns he was suffering, the child called me a villain and demanded I and another brave bystander back away from the man so that he could die.”

Dee’s eyes flash blue and green and then a cold steel blue before they settle back on the silent superhero. “You and your original way of thinking are an inspiration to us all.”

The Prince’s face twitches again, the whole thing this time, twisting into a not-very-nice expression for just the briefest of seconds before he remembers that there’s a captive audience watching this play out. He takes a deep steadying breath and lets it out again.

“I apologize,” he says. “I jumped to a conclusion. You made an acceptable call in the face of a diffic--”

“I made the only call,” Dee inserts harshly. “And I don’t want your apology. Words mean nothing.”

“What are you here for then?” The Prince asks, and Remus can’t help the feral smile that etches across his features. He leans forward as far as he can without tipping the fence because he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

“Oh, that would be simple,” Dee says. “I want you to explain to the world, why you are trying to get hundreds of people killed.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I don’t suppose you would.” Dee says. “I can’t imagine that you’ve had to do a lot of critical thinking these past few weeks.”

The Prince scowls and opens his pretty little mouth, but Dee waves him off with a clandestine motion. There’s a delicious looking smirk on Dee’s lips: something that Remus thinks he can spend all day staring at. He’s having fun up there with all the attention on him, having fun with people hanging on his every word, having fun leading The Prince around like a dog on a leash. A showboat, a leader, an actor-- but Dee’s the director too, telling the cameras where to point and what to frame because this is his show, even if no one else realizes it yet.

“I’ve been following the FBE for a while now. You can imagine that as someone with an ability I tend to be interested in politics that directly affect me, as all good upstanding Americans should.” Dee flutters his wings a bit again. “However, I can’t imagine why anyone-- certainly not someone with the brains such as yourself-- would purposely align yourself to their less than noble intentions. They aim to take advantage of people like us, and you are using your… well earned celebrity status to convince the people that this is acceptable. Good, even! Surely you don’t truly believe that the FBE and Madam Secretary of Defense have your best interests at heart?”

The Prince shifts his weight around, looking for all intents and purposes like he was ready to leap across the stage and make Dee eat his own words, in the end he just settled back down.

“I do actually,” The Prince says. “I’ve been working with them for a while-- all of my team has. Madam Witchall has been a great help in getting this project on its feet so that the FBE can provide aid to--”

"I guess what it boils down to is this," Dee says, steam-rolling everything else the Prince might have wanted to say. Remus can pick the irritation out of his clipped tone, simmering under the guise of being passion rather than anger. "How much do you trust your government? How much faith do you put in people, Princeps?

"This is, after all, the same congregation that sends military recruiters to the more impoverished schools in America and hounds kids until they believe that their only option to get into college is to sign up for the military. Is that what they did to you as well? Convinced you, you were dangerous and unable to control yourself and that they could help you?"

The Prince’s jaw tightens so hard that even Remus can see it from where he’s standing. He wants to laugh, but he puts his hand in his mouth instead. The crowd is murmuring, mesmerized by the sheer audacity of this shapeshifter to show up and question the morals of their beloved hero. It would be funny, if Remus doesn’t close his eyes and see Dee’s charred corpse from that kid at the mall not so long ago whenever he tries to sleep.

Hero idealization was a dangerous thing. It needs to be nipped in its bud before it strangles everyone; luckily there’s no one better with a pair of shears than Dee.

"I do believe that’s none of your business," The Prince says.

"But it is," Dee coos just a bit too sweetly. His words come out slick with honey. "Because you are also a person of ability and I happen to care a great deal about people with abilities."

"We have a duty to those less fortunate than--"

"We--" Dee cuts him off sharply “--do not have a duty to anyone for anything."

He takes a breath, recenters himself, and when his eyes open again, they’re a piercing green that pins the hero to place on the stage for everyone to see. "In case you’ve forgotten, my dear Prince, we are mere humans, too. Not everyone wants to grow up to punch each other in the face. Some of us would like to live a normal life, without being forced into superhero dramatics."

His easy dismissal is inviting danger to come knocking. Remus likes that about him, the fearlessness. Did it come from after he had met Remus, or was it something Dee had grown up with? A symbol of faith in Remus’s abilities or a symptom of delusion? The mystery is tantalizing on Remus’s--

--tongue. Remus savors the taste of it with a grin. It’s so much better than blood, so much better than slushies, so much better than french toast and eggs and only one step down from the taste of actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first. A flash of a camera? A pushing shoving motion? It's something and Remus tries to follow it but it’s gone in the next half blink and he’s not sure what it was at all.

Then everyone is screaming and the crowd is in chaos and Remus gets slammed into the barrier again and shoved along it for a sharp second before he hits the ground. The noise roars over his thoughts, over his breathing, over his ability to comprehend anything that’s not how he’s being stepped on by careless bystanders fleeing the streets. Someone trips over him, someone steps on his ankle, someone kicks the back of his head and his lungs burn and his eyes itch and he knows he missed something---

--Tongue. Remus savors the taste with a hint of confusion. It’s better than blood that’s in his throat, than slushies in his memories, than french toast and eggs and only one step down from actually kissing Dee.

Remus blinks, pressing against the barrier, his eyes catching sight of something else amongst the crowd although he isn’t sure what it is at first, and doesn’t bother caring, because something else is happening and he needs to know what it is that causes the crowd to splinter apart like shattered glass. Dee is talking on stage, winding up the toy Prince to dance to his tune, and Remus is watching with his heart in his throat and unable to hear a word of it.

Then Remus blinks and Dee is not standing on stage because the shapeshifter’s body is morphing exactly the way it shouldn’t be. The crowd screams, and Dee’s eyes are empty in a way that Remus has seen a million times and abhors unlike anything else in the world.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s actually fallen off it onto the asphalt ground below and there’s a spray of red mist in the air where he had been standing before. Remus is body-checked into the crowd barrier, and skimmed along it, until he hits the ground and feels himself get trampled over, but it doesn’t matter because he knows what he saw.

Dee is not standing on stage because he’s dead with a bullet in his head from---

---Tongue. Remus does not savor anything about the taste because whenever he closes his eyes the only thing he can see is Dee’s dead body and the only thing he can feel is copper clawing its way up his throat with the blind terror.

Remus leaps over the barrier, causing everyone around him to yell. The techie with the purple bangs in particular jumps back, but Remus ignores them in favor of watching, because Dee hasn’t seen him and doesn’t know what's coming and Remus wants to scream at the top of his lungs because watching Dee die never gets any easier to see.

It’s a bullet to the head. From the right temple through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s arms and unseeing blue-grey eyes stare at an empty sky.

The Prince is there too, mouth open and horrified, and even though everyone is screaming Remus can hear him start to say a phrase, a word, a syllable, “Re--”---

--Tongue. Remus’s mouth tastes like blood and absolutely nothing else because Dee is going to die from a shot through the head from a sniper, a shooter, an asshole and Remus thought maybe that Dee was over exaggerating before with his whole “the government is going to turn us all into weapons or eliminate us” rhetoric, but Remus thinks that he should have paid attention a little harder. Listened a little more. Believed a little better.

He stares at the building behind them, the library that’s being passed off as the FBE and the dark tinted windows that make the upper floors look abandoned completely. It’s like watching….it’s like…. it’s …

There’s a flash, a flicker. Then a heartbeat and then Dee is dying, dying, dead all alone and Remus feels himself body-checked back by a faceless person in the crowd and tossed to the ground to be trampled to death too.---

--tongue. Remus spits blood out of his mouth curling in on himself to stop anyone else from seeing because fuck him. He presses two fingers to his ear piece and pretends poorly that his throat doesn’t feel like someone took a pack of razor blades to it.

“Sniper shot, fourth floor, third window over,” Remus rasps. His heart pounds in his throat, in his skull, behind his eyes in a way that makes him want to tear his skin off to get the feeling to stop. Blood floods over his fingers, smearing on his chin, and across his sleeves no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it.

“One minute, forty seconds,” Remus coughs, and stares at the drips that hit the lower half of his shin, the toe of his boots, the asphalt.

Dee doesn’t react. Not at all and Remus wants to scream because he can feel time passing and he can’t stop the future from happening. He can’t, he can’t he can’t he can’t--

"You heard me, right?" Remus says maybe a little hysterically, because fuck, if they got this far and their mics weren’t even working and Remus just got the only person who ever mattered to him killed on live TV.

At this distance, Remus doesn’t know if he can make it, but even if he does, even if he tackles Dee down from the stage and the bullet misses them both it will go straight into the crowd, and there are people in this crowd-- people with lives, with families, with friends. They might have abilities, or they might not, but once that shot is fired the entire street will become a riot. Remus can hear the screams in his ears, ringing there so loudly it makes the present sound like a graveyard.

"I hear you," Dee says airily, acting like he’s talking to the superhero, but the words loosen the knot in Remus's chest, because he changed his speech, changed his stance, changed how much he knows about the future and now things will be different. The Prince eyes him rightfully warily, because Dee’s biggest weapons are knowledge and words.

"I hear you,” Dee says again directly to the hero, “I hear that you’ve been brainwashed into thinking that you owe something to the people who helped you control your ability, but the truth is… you could have done it without them, on your own. You certainly have the brains and the intuition for it."

He offers a hand out to the hero, casually, fluidly, and Remus almost laughs. He thinks if he opens his mouth again then only thing that will come out is blood and the people next to him will definitely notice that.

"Come with me, Prince of the People," Dee says right as the sniper lines up the shot. "Let’s discuss a better way to protect innocen--"

The gunshot is silent. Remus almost misses it in the collective intake of breath from every living thing in a ninety mile radius. Dee’s hand is out and the bullet catches the sunlight in a brilliant single flash.

-- through his brain at a downwards angle and Remus feels the blood sprinkle over him like sea spray straight from his darkest nightmares. He barely even notices, barely recognizes it, barely cares about it at all, because the next thing he knows Dee’s body is following it down right into Remus’s--

Dee’s skin ripples, his wings disappear. At this distance, Remus can’t tell what it turns into, what he impersonates, what he becomes that can fend off a bullet, but in the end it doesn’t matter at all because The Prince leaps forward with his sword drawn.

Remus blinks and the world feels like it tilts on its axis, spinning faster under his feet. He hugs the crowd barrier to steady himself. That… that isn’t possible. This isn’t what he saw. But there it is: The Prince wraps himself between Dee and the bullet, and draws his rapier so quickly that Remus almost misses it happening. It shouldn’t be possible-- It can’t be possible, but he’s faster than the bullet and somehow the piece of metal veers off trajectory into the stage at their feet and embeds itself there.

“That’s--” Remus’s breath catches, clumping up in a knot in the back of his throat that tastes a lot like blood.

The people in the crowd scream, the people near the front shove to move back, to get away, to find shelter and safety from bullets that were only targeting one man on stage. The police guard springs into actions that Remus can’t focus on because he’s so busy trying to remain upright when gravity is trying to drag him straight down to Hell.

“Are you alright?” The Prince asks, lowering his rapier.

“I--Dee--” Remus stutters.

“Was that... going to hit me…?” Dee asks in a tone that suggests that all the oxygen left the atmosphere.

“I don’t-- I can’t--” Remus swallows a mouth full of blood and it goes down his throat like thick, slow slugs trying to suffocate him. “I swear--”

“Have no fear,” The Prince says. “I’ll protect you. As long as I’m here, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

“Re,” Dee says. He sounds like he’s several distant planets away. Remus’s hands are red and sticky and he swears if he closes his eyes that he can feel the misty spray of grey matter over his face when Dee falls from the stage, when his body lands in Remus’s arms, when those empty eyes stare up at him and see none of the grief in Remus’s eyes.

“I watched you,” Remus chokes.

He saw it. He knows he saw it and it was real and Dee died and Remus was left all alone like every nightmare he’s ever had. Dee died up on stage in front of the whole world and Remus saw his whole world shatter.

It happened.

“You can’t see the future, Remus!” Roman yelled four years ago and Remus has proved him wrong a hundred billion times over since then. He shouldn’t have to keep reminding himself of that.

“You died,” Remus says. “You died and I watched and I’m sorry-- I’m sorry, sor--”

“That’s all I needed to know, darling,” Dee tells him.

“Pardon?” The Prince asks, realizing maybe for the first time that Dee isn’t talking to him.

“You’re clever, Prince,” Dee says loudly, and Remus hears him so clearly in his earpiece it stabilizes him even when the world spins under his feet. Dee shoves himself out of the hero’s hold, stepping back twice, and looking downright murderous. “Far more clever than I gave you credit for! Did you just try to have me shot? Killed? All so you could look like the dashing hero on screen?”

“What?” the hero says and because he’s an actor Remus almost believes that he’s confused and not threatened.

“You just tried to kill me!” Dee snarls. “In front of all these people?! Because I dared ask a few questions about your motives?!”

The Prince stares at him, and Remus imagines his insufferable mouth is twitching into an awkward smile, like this is a joke that he doesn’t understand but doesn’t want to be rude.

“I assure you that is not the case here,” he says. “In fact I believe it’s far more likely that you arranged to have yourself attacked on this stage to emphasize a point on your part. I suspect you might have some type of protection against bullets, but even if you did I could not stand idle when there is a chance of you being hurt.”

“How noble,” Dee says. “Throwing yourself in front of everyone and asking nothing in return no matter the situation. A true hero complex.”

The Prince’s grip on his rapier tightens, but he says nothing.

“You say such pretty words, Prince,” Dee says. “Tell such convincing lies. You want people to step up and join you in a game of play pretend without realizing there are deadly consequences when abilities get out of control. You want people to follow you, to sing your praises, to believe you can do no wrong…. You’re the hero, of course! They’ll be so enamored with you, they won’t notice you leading them straight off a cliff.”

For a second the world stops turning, time stops passing, the crowd stops moving. Remus feels every atom in the air pressing up against him, itching, pulling, compressing against his skin as his heart pounds in his chest like some type of creature trying to escape his ribcage. There’s a ringing in his ears made from the silence between Dee and The Prince and it’s louder than any scream that the crowd makes, any gunshot a sniper takes, any calm Dee fakes.

“And I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Dee offers a complimentary shrug and then he launches across the stage, aiming for The Prince’s throat.

[Chapter Seven]

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caitlinsfandomthoughts · 4 years ago

Text

Watching Star Trek TOS For the First Time! Season 1 Reaction

I’ve been a TNG, DS9 and Voyager fan for maybe 10 years but had never watched TOS until I decided that I would. And then I realised I couldn’t live with the possibility of the internet not being able to know my incoherent rambling reactions if it so desired. Most of these were written the day after I saw them but with the early ones it was later so sorry if I don’t remember your favourite.

Season 1:

The Cage: Be still my beating heart why must number 1 leave the show? Why?! Imagine a world in which Majel Barrett got to continue to be her in the Star Trek universe instead of Lwuxana (sorry I don’t love her) and Nurse Chapel. She’s so beautiful I love her. And she gets to where pants and be the second in command. While the episode for sure has sexist moments it does seem like there was more of an actual effort to present to future as having gender equality. When you compare this to the ultra mini skirted version of the actual show, it does feel like executives went through it to make it more marketable. It’s been noted by others that she is quite similar to what Spock’s character became: the cold, logical one, while Spock smiles in this episode. While I ended up loving Spock I still would’ve loved to see a woman in that kind of role, especially in the 60s. Although I’m not sure she would’ve been treated that well.

So Vina can’t like, get medical treatment from Starfleet doctors who know how to put a human body together? No? We’re just gonna leave her there? She’s too ugly? She’s better off living in a fantasy world where she’s pretty? Ok then…

The Man Trap: I don’t even really remember this one so I’d have to rewatch it.

Charlie X: Charlie sees women and becomes an incel, Kirk has to try and teach him not to be. This is a decent goal that somehow culminates in a space boxing match. Kirk loses his shirt. Sexual tension is presumably resolved. Uhura sings.

Where No Man Has Gone Before: The pants are back. Man becomes some kind of god and Kirk beats him up if I remember correctly.

The Naked Time: This is where The Naked Now comes from. This one was less sexual, which is probably a good thing, and less drunk, which is too bad cause I love drunk Crusher and Picard trying to focus on work while their brains won’t brain. Highly relatable mood. This one is where the immortal line “sorry, neither” comes from, spoken by Uhura in response to Sulu calling her a “fair maiden.” According to the internet that was an ad lib and I so hope that’s true cause it’s amazing. Also according to Spock Sulu is a “swashbuckler at heart” which is cool and all but I wish we got to find that out by him actually being a character that we know the personality of rather than a background diversity guy who gets to say a couple of lines sometimes. Also each to their own but shirtless Sulu is infinitely more attractive than shirtless Kirk.

The Enemy Within: Bad. Women at Warp podcast said it best, it’s bad because they say the evil Kirk is still Kirk and is needed for him to be a good captain/person. This could’ve been ok if he didn’t do something so irredeemable, or they could’ve not had him be defined as a true and necessary part of Kirk, but you can’t have both and sell it as an ok message. Rand not being able to look at ‘good’ Kirk after really makes it feel real, her acting in general makes it feel too real.

Mudd’s Women: Women take beauty pills that make them have makeup on and men find them too ugly to marry without them even though they are still beautiful. Also said women were kinda slaves but don’t worry about it! *hand waves*

What Are Little Girls Made Off: I don’t know what the title has to do with the episode. This is the episode where Nurse Chapel is introduced even though she was in a previous episode. And she’s taken more seriously than I thought she would be. Kirk gets an android version of himself made by a guy who he already doesn’t trust and doesn’t predict that maybe that’s not a good idea. Apparently to make an android all you need to do is put one person and one dummy on a giant plate and spin them around real fast. If only the guy who wanted to take apart Data in Measure of a Man knew.

Miri: Problematic. I think the crush angle could’ve worked if it was one sided, but Kirk played into it and it was creepy, and you know, also manipulative, assuming Kirk doesn’t actually feel the same way and is using it to get her to help them. That’s my more charitable interpretation anyway. Also McCoy doesn’t know how vaccines work. Also this episode doesn’t know what puberty is, or rather when it starts. If the virus is supposed to get to you then, that starts round the preteen age. Miri is older than that even though she’s not an adult.

Dagger of the Mind: This was the first one where I was starting to quite like it and it was feeling a little more like Star Trek to me (I know this is the first Star Trek but there’s a certain way 80s/90s era Star Trek feels to me). I really liked the beginning where it was setting up this whole maybe prisoners become violent because of how the prison treats them thing and that it was challenging the viewpoints of some of the main characters, although McCoy was already team prisons are bad and I love him for that. It then went more into the lobotomising asylum type story which was still ok. The guy turned out to be a doctor rather than a prisoner which I didn’t like cause I wanted the prisoners to be humanised. Although you could’ve done a “see anyone, even ‘innocent’ non criminals can be turned violent with this treatment” but they didn’t really emphasise that.

The Corbomite Maneuver: I don’t remember this. Kirk playing poker with some alien I think. Edit: I’m been informed this is the one where the alien turns out to be a lollypop guild kid lip-syncing to an adult’s voice, which I do remember, and probably thought it was some kind of sleep-deprived fever dream.

The Menagerie Part 1 & 2: I laughed so much when they wheeled Pike out and I finally got the Futurama reference in Where No Fan Has Gone Before. I mean I obviously knew the whole thing was a Star Trek Reference, but I had never seen that specific imagery before and now the joke makes sense! Also Pike wanting to go back there seems kinda wrong. I mean they say he’s a vegetable mentally I think but he doesn’t seem to be? I can kinda get that he’s got more incentive to be there than Vina who could probably be helped by Federation doctors but also, he hated that place and spent the whole episode trying to get out of it and it doesn’t feel like a fitting ending for him.

The Conscious of the King: And here begins Star Trek’s love affair with Shakespeare. The only thing I have to say really is, if I didn’t mishear something… a father and daughter played Macbeth and Lady Macbeth? A married couple. And no-one thought that was weird? She was the daughter of a dictator though so there was an Ivanka Trump vibe.

Balance of Terror: Romulans. Spock wasn’t sure that they were related to Vulcans till this ep, though he suspected it. How far back did they split for it to be unknown? I like that the Romulans were sympathetic and we had scenes with them just in their ship from their perspective, and they had some conflicting views with each other. And I really like how Spock was suspected as a spy cause racism and of course he wasn’t and saved that guy cause he’s the better person. That said I found this episode pretty boring and I don’t know why. I kinda wish it turned into a witchhunt situation and was more about the racism on the Enterprise, kinda like The Drumhead from TNG.

Shore leave: Wtf was this episode?! And I don’t ask that because the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland showed up, or that it was a random holodeck planet episode, that’s fine. When the White Rabbit appeared I was just like, ok it’s going to be one of those episodes, that’s fine. Holodeck episodes are fun, I don’t even mind a random magic alien or two appearing for no reason to wreak havoc, say by making everyone larp as Robin Hood, that’s all Star Trek, that’s Star Trek doing a Star Trek, what I didn’t like is this episode goes nowhere! McCoy sees the White Rabbit, we’re off to a good start, Sulu “Swashbuckler at Heart” sees an old gun that he geeks out on, cool. Kirk sees some woman of course. Also there’s some guy fending off a tiger. Random female guest star of the week rather than letting Uhura be part of the story gets her uniform torn by some guy. Then she imagines a princess dress and if that were me as soon as I realised I could think things into existence I would just imagine all my dream clothes. Kirk imagines an old student friend who is attempting very hard to be Irish (thank you Colm Meany for saving us from this).

Anyway so the planets a holodeck cool. And I’m like, Spock should beam down, I wanna know what he’ll see, this is where the episode could get interesting. And then it happens, but nothing happens, they don’t even make much of a deal of him not seeing anything. But then I thought what if! What if Spock didn’t beam down and this was another imagination?! What if he was some alien with some ulterior motive OR better than that we get to see Spock as imagined by whoever was thinking of him. You could go down a very fanfic road if it were Kirk’s imagined or desired view of him, or maybe you could show different people’s perceptions and then they still suspect he’s not acting like himself even though it’s how they see him, but its not quite right, cause it’s not actually how he is. Or at least I thought they were going to find out what was going on. But NOPE none of that happens. Instead leprechaun guy shows up again and Kirk just wonders off to fight him for the next fucking millennium! The uniforms they wore at the academy seem like they were made out of better quality material than that of a Starfleet captain’s. Poor Kirk must be having to replicate new uniforms every other day. Then they laugh I think, and sexual tension is presumably resolved. Then the aliens show up and are like yeah this planet is a holodeck we thought you’d like it also McCoy died but he didn’t and I’m like THEY DIDN’T CONSENT TO THIS. But then they decide to party.

It reminded me of a Red Dwarf episode called Better Than Life where they knowingly go into a virtual reality game which is basically the same as this planet. But over time Rimmer keeps sabotaging what he imagines cause he hates himself so much his brain won’t let him have nice things. And it’s still a comedy, but there’s an opportunity for exploring the character’s psyche with this setup that wasn’t done here and that made it boring.

The Galileo Seven: This episode was good!! In contrast to the last one it delivered on promises it made, it had a satisfying ending, it’s probably my favourite so far. The whole time I was like this should be about how Spock can be wrong and logic isn’t everything to be a good commander. But given the quality of the previous episodes wasn’t that great and Spock was always right about everything I didn’t trust them to do that. BUT I WAS WRONG. I thought it would be about how just because you don’t have emotions doesn’t mean you can disregard those of the crew. But instead it was about how he couldn’t predict their enemy wouldn’t act based on emotion rather than logic. And then he admitted he was wrong and helped the guy bury the other guy, and then they were about to die and McCoy was like at least I’ve lived to hear Spock say he fucked up. And then Spock jettisoned the fuel so that it might act like a flare but it gave them less time and I was like no you’ve learned nothing! Don’t just do things that severe without asking your crew. But then after they were saved it was described as an act of desperation rather than anything logical and Kirk was like that’s an emotion isn’t it? You acted on emotion? And Spock was like well yes but I’m not gonna say it like that.

I like that emotion was good actually. I think it’s a fine balance between the message of its ok to be different and using Spock as an analogy for racism, and inadvertently neurodiversity, but also not buying into the idea that emotions = weakness and lack of emotion, or emotional repression = objectivity. Even if you don’t factor emotion into your decisions (which would be impossible unless you don’t experience emotions at all) it doesn’t mean that you don’t have personal biases in your perspective. So I’m glad Spock was wrong for once.

The Squire of Gothos: This is Q this is Proto-Q. He does all the same things that Q does; he shows up in clothes that are way out of date (and he thinks they’re from 900 years ago when they’re clearly early 19th century) and he flirts with the captain. Oh and he has powers, maybe they were computer powers, but not all? And he goes on about humans being brutal, warmongering people but he’s kinda into it. He fights Kirk but there was actual tension so it wasn’t annoying like the one with the Irish guy. And then it turns out he was just a kid exactly like the Futurama episode, except he is a kid not 35. I think him being a kid makes the flirting seem weird though.

Arena: Kirk and the Gorn at Tanagra. Kirk fights a lizard because aliens wanted to encourage them to not fight by telling them to fight. I thought maybe these lizards could be proto Cardassians but then I thought they can’t be they don’t talk, but then he spoke so I thought they could be, but then he was the one who was invaded and was only defending his people so I thought they couldn’t be, unless that was actually just lies and justifications in which case they definitely would be, but then that would undermine the message of the episode so I guess not. I wonder how many leaders have killed each other before these alien’s negotiation tactic actually worked.

Tomorrow is Yesterday: This was fun. There were a lot of twists and turns. I wonder if it was before or after the moonlanding. Every plan just makes it worse and more and more people keep getting exposed to the future. Kirk could’ve easily just closed the door and beamed back at the end but instead opts to punch like six people. (I think this is where “a woman?” “Crewman.” Comes from).

Court Martial: What if Kirk actually did it though? Would that be more interesting? Maybe. At least here he has an age appropriate love interest. She’s prosecuting against him which is surely a conflict of interest. AND she has a uniform with a longer skirt! And it actually looks good, like it looks like an actual dress that she can sit down in and it still looks like a dress and not a crumpled up shirt. It’s elegant but it’s still short. I could see this being an option (for any gender) as a dress uniform but it would still make no sense when they’re serving on a ship.

Return of the Archons: I am LIVING for Spock in a medieval style hood. It’s giving me Peter Cook in a Mother Superior’s wimple in Bedazzled vibe, it’s not quite on that level of beauty, but it’s close. For some reason Sulu returned from the planet in 18th century gear but then everyone else is dressed like it’s the 19th century, with some medieval robes thrown in, and this annoys me more than it should. Maybe it’s because he’s a swashbuckler at heart. Apparently they had a completely peaceful society except for the nightly purge they seemed to have going on that is never mentioned again.

Space Seed: KHHANN! I liked this a lot until the end. I want to know the lore behind Data’s Dad having his middle and last name. Edit: Actually only the middle name is the same and the last name is just similar. I still think there’s lore there (excuse the pun), probably he’s a descendent of his cult followers or something. The story seemed to be eugenics bad and also the type of guy to basically be a eugenics cult leader would be super manipulative and abusive but just charming enough in a relationship. It does a pretty good job of showing the abuse in his relationship with the historian woman, how he switches between being loving and I guess charming, and flattering to being abusive and degrading. I wish that the historian woman could find someone that she can explore domination and submission with consensually cause that seems like it would be what she really wants. Anyway but in the end they just let him go? Like he tried to take over the ship but they were like here have a colony. They compared the place to Australia when the colonists arrived at Botany Bay and that it could be... I forget what the word was but basically ‘civilised’ and No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO STOP RIGHT THERE NO Australia was already populated and didn’t need eugenicist cult leaders who were demonstrably bad to show up make it ‘better.’ AND THEN the historian is given the choice to go with them and she does and its framed like it’s good? Or at least ok? When they just did a pretty decent job of showing how abusive and manipulative he was and she had redeemed herself by turning against him? So I get that they probably wanted to bring him back although they’re probably not gonna bring her back, but they could’ve easily had him escape instead.

A Taste of Armageddon: Suicide machines. I forget the rest.

This Side of Paradise: SEX POLLEN! Well it’s more fall in love pollen, I guess, for one character. There’s a woman and there’s the music and the soft focus and BUT WAIT then the camera cuts to Spock not Kirk! Because she has taste. It’s about this point that I think the ‘Spock’s the most popular but Shatner wants to remain the star so we’ll emphasise their character’s relationship thus inadvertently inventing slash fic’ might’ve started. It’s time for a love triangle! She makes Spock get the sex pollen, which is not getting consent, and then he falls in love with her and is climbing trees and is all happy. Kirk can’t get a text back from Spock. Then Kirk and two others get the pollen except Kirk didn’t, but he did, but anyway I thought everyone would be horny but they weren’t they were just brainwashed. Soon Kirk is all alone on the bridge, then he gets the pollen and is happy to live as a poly triad but then he gets angry and it’s gone. Then he calls Spock to the ship and approaches the situation in the only way Kirk knows how: Homoerotic punching! So they fight for not long enough and then Spock is cured but he’s a little sad, there’s sadness in his voice, it’s not quite so matter of fact. Then Spock’s gf gets sad and the sex pollen is gone too, Spock might still have feelings for her but he has responsibilities to the ship and “to that man on the bridge” which if he was saying to just mean once again the whole ship, and its mission and the captain in a professional sense, seems a little redundant, which would surely be illogical.

The colonists get sad that they haven’t done anything for years because the sex pollen made them unambitious but I would argue maybe the sex pollen was right and you were better off just vibing. This episode was more interesting and less silly than I thought the creator of sex pollen would be. At the end Spock says that for the first time in his life he was happy. While every other character could still easily become addicted to a thing like that they could at least know they would experience happiness or any feelings again in their life, for Spock it was going back to nothingness.

Devil in the Dark: Spock calls Kirk Jim which I don’t think he has before, when he’s talking over the communicator and he’s worried he’s in danger, there’s some actual fear or urgency in his voice. Also the moment that got me was when Kirk wanted to send Spock back the ship cause he didn’t trust him to kill the creature and Spock was like “but… I’m not really as useful there I am here… so…” If I was writing it I would’ve played that up more but anyway, I like that they didn’t kill the creature. I like that McCoy said the thing. And also said “I’m starting to think I can cure a rainy day.” He’s my favourite.

Errand of Mercy: It’s kinda becoming the Kirk Spock show now, I like the ship but I miss McCoy. I like that the passive pacifists who Kirk was so angry with were actually more powerful. And KLINGONS! Oh yeah the orientalism, the yellow peril, it’s… it’s there all right. They were played a lot colder here, a little Cardassian maybe, still bloodthirsty but I don’t believe this guy has to do it himself to feel honourable, he can kill for sure but he’s fine ordering someone else to do it and being a chessmaster too.

The Alternative Factor: God this one was boring. But it does have a man with the worst beard wig I’ve ever seen. Now he’s stuck fighting the bad version of himself or something to save the universe. So remember that when you’re watching later Trek series, all of this could suddenly be destroyed if one of them gets tired.

The City on the Edge of Forever: UHURA GETS TO GO ON AN AWAY MISSION! Aaaand she doesn’t get to do anything :/ The usual three go back in time! To the 60s again! Oh wait… that’s meant to be the 30s? Oh. That’s some tall hair that lady has for the 30s. But at least said lady is a character, she’s a little perfect but she does things, she has strong beliefs, she might be written a little idealised, but she is still written like a person compared to almost every other Kirk love interest. “He says it (captain) even when he doesn’t say it” is an interesting line. So she has to die, I still think they could’ve just convinced her that you don’t make friends with fascists but ok. They never say what the Clark Gable movie is.

Operation Annihilate! Kirk’s brother dies, and so does his sister in law, leaving his nephew without parents. This is never resolved and the episode ends with them laughing about how Spock got his eyesight back.

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queermediastudies · 4 years ago

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Little Effort for LGBTQ Representation in a “Maximum Effort” Superhero Movie

In comic books, one of my favorite characters is and has always been Deadpool. He is “popularly known to be pansexual and isn't particularly choosy about the gender of his partner, much like he has no particular affinity to anything. While this wasn't reflected in the 2016 film starring Ryan Reynolds, both Reynolds and director Tim Miller have hinted that this might come up in the sequel” (Vijaykumar, 2016). After watching it, I feel that the movie succeeds on some marks for giving out adequate LGBTQ representation, but not for the character one might expect. The movie Deadpool 2centers around Wade Wilson’s “one or two moments” that make him an (anti)hero. After losing his love Vanessa from the first movie, Wade finds himself attempting to create the X-Force in order to protect Russell, a mutant teenager from Cable, an experienced and genetically enhanced time-traveling soldier on a quest for revenge. Most of the movie focuses on the drama that ensues after Deadpool’s vain attempt to die is foiled by his own mutant abilities, his grudging acceptance of life and a sense of responsibility for Russell only to then (spoiler alert!) die. Except he doesn’t. Yet, in all of the CGI fights and snarky comments and constant breaking of the fourth wall, the movie does actually manage to discuss some elements of LGBTQ identities and representation. There are two main topics surrounding LGBTQ issues that the movie Deadpool 2 focuses on: the alleged hypersexuality of bi/pansexual people and alternatively, the de-sexualization of queer couples already in a relationship. Deadpool’s‘R’ rating and the characters’ own desire to “Fuck Wolverine” by getting better ratings in the second film took away from the potential of better, full-fledged LGBTQ representation stemming from the titular character, however, the film manages to cover up some of its pitfalls by succeeding in portraying a healthy lesbian relationship between one of the already established characters in the franchise and threading subtleties that condemn conversion therapy and argue for acceptance of others.

At the start of the film, Deadpool makes a valiant, but luckily, unsuccessful attempt at suicide with the first two words being “Fuck Wolverine.” This merges directly into his habit of breaking the fourth wall and speaking directly to the audience and promising that he’ll be dying in this film too. Deadpool, played by Ryan Reynolds then goes on to explain what led up to this moment which can be quickly summed up as the love of his life, Vanessa, was killed and he feels responsible for her death. The fact that Deadpool only begins to show more signs of a queer sexuality after Vanessa (his love from the entire first movie dies) indicates that being queer means exhausting every other opportunity of expressing yourself. Without the director and actor Ryan Reynolds discussing it in interviews, the average viewer would have been largely unaware of Deadpool’s canon queer identity in the comics. GLAAD actually gave the first movie some flack for its “veiled references” to Deadpool’s sexuality, however, the second film does not seem to take the subject much further (Romano, 2018). It is easy to view Deadpool’s flirtatious manner with Colossus as simply a moment of weakness and used as a joke, rather than an affirmation of his queer identity and sexuality.

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The other, more direct aspect of LGBTQ identity that is given in the movie is between Negasonic Teenage Warhead and her girlfriend, Yukio. The following scene occurs just prior to Deadpool’s confrontation with Colossus.

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“The power-couple proves groundbreaking, proving to be the first truly open, explicitly LGBT couple in superhero cinema” (Armstrong, n.d.). Despite this being the first out relationship in a Hollywood movie, the moment isn’t treated like a groundbreaking moment. In some ways, this could be seen as negative, because it isn’t treated like a big deal, but Armstrong argues that it could also be a way of trying to prevent alienating viewers by “mak[ing] any LGBT representation too visible [then] make certain audiences uncomfortable” (n.d.).

In the article from Scott, Darieck & Fawaz, the authors explore queerness using the X-Men as an example (2018). The queerness in X-Men characters is even more pronounced for certain individuals, such as Iceman who are actually labeled as gay/bi/pansexual, alongside of Deadpool. There is a scene in the second X-Men movie in which Iceman “comes out” to his parents, except rather than dealing with sexuality, it is about his mutant status (Puchko, 2018).

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Exchange the word “gifted/mutant” for “gay” in the previous clip, and the movie would have passed for solid LGBTQ representation. This movie was filmed before “the character Iceman realizes that he has been in the closet after his younger self confronts his older self in Uncanny X-Men (in a messy time-travelling episode)” (Vijaykumar, 2016), but the franchise as a whole still works to entice LGBTQ viewers for the marginalization that mutants feel in society that mirrors the lack of acceptance for LGBTQ individuals. Going back to the film, although Deadpool 2fails at giving enough exposure and time to focus on Deadpool’s pansexuality, it still adopts many of the themes from previous X-Men movies that argue for acceptance alongside of Negasonic’s relationship with Yukio. The movie provides its own anxious teen serving as a symbol for queer youth and their fight against with bigoted condemnation through flame-throwing Russell Collins” (Puchko, 2018). Russell, or “Firefist” lashes out in violence because of the torture suffered at the hands of Essex House’s mutant-hating headmaster whose techniques are similar to real-life “pray away the gay” conversion therapy (2018). Given that Russell is seen purely as a victim, regardless of the violence he instigated and the reckless choices he made that led to Cable searching for revenge against him in the first place show how damaging the lack of acceptance is for people in marginalized communities. Russell was persecuted because of his mutant status, and despite the film not exploring the canon texts of queer visibility in the comics in any nuanced way, it still provides some representation what is still a hilarious movie.

I only just recalled the Celine Dion music video that came out before the movie that Deadpool did a music video to and is the song for the very Bond-esque opening credits for this movie. Check it below, both the music video and the opening credits.

Music video:

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Opening credits to Deadpool 2:

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Given that I’ve read the Deadpoolcomics, I saw the moments where Wade is flirting with Colossus as an affirmation of his sexuality in the most “Deadpool way,” that is, ridden with crude humor and sexual overtones. However, it is understandable to me where audiences would downplay those moments because the movie does not return to them or make them “a big deal,” when it needs to be in order to provide a critical and engaged LGBTQ character. Additionally, Deadpool’s character is very much an anti-hero. Although we see him have a couple heroic moments in this movie, he is still a mercenary who has a murder tally in the hundreds for the movies and thousands in comic books, which doesn’t bode well for overall positive LGBTQ representation. Also, given that the network Fox was subsequently bought out by Disney just prior to this movie’s release makes me concerned for the future of Deadpool and the X-Force as a whole because of Disney’s now long-running trick of the presenting their “first” LGBTQ character appearing in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scene in recent movies (Beauty and the Beast, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Onward). Personally, I identify as pansexual, so seeing a superhero movie where it was at least alluded to more directly, alongside an explicit lesbian couple appearing on-screen simply gives me great joy although I definitely want to see Hollywood go further in how it portrays queer characters. My biggest issue with the movie was actually that the character Yukio has already been portrayed in X-Men films and is actually at one point, dating Wolverine. Therefore, her relationship with Negasonic does not make any sense if one follows the movies and comics very closely, however, it is a sin I was willing to forgive because other than Yukio’s rather small presence in other movies, she shines in Deadpool 2.

References:

Armstrong, B. (n.d.). Deadpool 2 is Groundbreaking, But Still Lukewarm LGBT Representation. Retrieved October 2020, from Metzia.com <https://metiza.com/culture/lifestyle/deadpool-2-is-groundbreaking-but-still-lukewarm-lgbt-representation/>

Puchko, K. (2018). ‘Deadpool 2’ is the gayest superhero movie yet. That’s not saying much. Retrieved October 2020, from Mashable. <https://mashable.com/2018/05/20/deadpool-2-queer-representation/>

Romano, N. (2018). What Deadpool 2 gets right and wrong about Hollywood’s first LGBTQ Marvel heroes. Retrieved October 2020, fro, Entertainment Weekly. <https://ew.com/movies/2018/05/18/deadpool-2-lgbtq-superheroes/>

Scott, Darieck & Fawaz, R. (2018). “Queer About Comics.” American Literature 90(2), 197-219.

Vijaykumar, N. (2016). Wonder Woman and other LGBT characters in comics universe. Retrieved October 2020, from The Week. <https://www.theweek.in/webworld/features/society/lgbt-comic-characters-wonder-woman-deadpool.html>

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#queer media studies #deadpool #deadpool 2 #comics and zines #lgbtq representation #lgbtq relationships #wade wilson #ryan reynolds #pansexuality #xforce #xmen #hollywood films

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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10 Injustice Characters the DC Animated Movie Needs to Get Right

https://ift.tt/3fCncB7

As we wait an announcement pertaining to the existence of NetherRealm Studios’ Injustice 3, we at least know that Warner Bros. is set to adapt the games into a DC animated movie.

Ever since its release in 2013, the Injustice franchise has not only become a staple of NetherRealm’s roster, but the comic spinoffs have made it a beloved part of the DC multiverse. The plot revolves around a reality where the Joker was able to mess with Superman so badly that the Man of Steel gradually became a mass-murdering dictator, with the support of several members of the Justice League. Left without any other option, Batman brought in counterparts of the Justice League from the “mainstream” universe to help him fight a civil war against his former friend. It was a story that merged the Justice Lords two-parter from the Justice League cartoon with Marvel’s original Squadron Supreme comic series.

A popular prequel series was released, mostly written by Tom Taylor, that explained the five years in-between Superman killing the Joker in cold blood and Batman’s last stand. Sometime later, the game’s story was adapted into the comic Injustice: Ground Zero. And the Injustice universe has only continued to grow since then.

As snazzy as NetherRealm’s story modes are, they are going to have to make some changes to the narrative for the animated movie. It’s not like every character is going to stumble into exactly four best-two-out-of-three fights in a row before someone else is the focus. Knowing that there will be alterations, some characters are really going to need some tender love and care.

Superman (Both of Them)

Injustice: Gods Among Us didn’t invent the idea of an evil Superman, but things are a bit over-saturated these days. Face it, “Dark Superman” has been done to death, what with Brightburn, The Boys, Invincible, and everything Zack Snyder intended with his Justice League movies.

It’s important that the animated movie really get into the WHY of what turned Superman evil instead of the Joker just getting a tragic win over him. The Injustice comic nudged him over and over again with multiple betrayals and manipulations before he finally snapped and angrily broke every bone in Green Arrow’s body. Hit all that, or at least enough of it.

More importantly, Injustice is a story of two different Supermen. The mainstream Superman has to ring true. He has to be the beacon of hope and positivity that pop culture has been missing for the past decade.

Ultimately, as long as they don’t do that minigame where Superman blows up cars and the people in them with his eye-lasers, we’re cool.

Batman

In this DC take of Marvel’s Civil War, Batman is by default the better person when compared to Superman. He has a line he won’t cross and that means no murder and no tyranny. That said, he still needs to be portrayed as a flawed hero. He may be competent, but he still behaves like a total douche at times and deserves to take one to the chin every now and then.

Being a paranoid futurist who buries himself in contingency plans means alienating allies, friends, and even family members. There’s a great moment in the Injustice comic where he reveals that he infected Cyborg with a virus within a week of meeting (you know, just in case), which Killer Croc says is outright sinister. It’s this kind of behavior that led to Superman’s fall to darkness, because even if Bruce wasn’t behind any of the horrors, he still chose coldness and paranoia over being there for a friend who was going through some serious shit.

Harley Quinn

A hype trailer for Harley painted her as a major protagonist in the first game but the game’s story mode just didn’t measure up. The comics did a better job and the Ground Zero volume was specifically about telling the game’s story from Harley’s perspective. I’m not saying that she should be joined by her team of BFF henchmen from Ground Zero, but she should definitely be a prominent hero.

Similar to the Mark Waid comic series Irredeemable and Incorruptible (also about an evil take on Superman), Harley’s turn to heroism is the universe’s response to Superman’s actions. She’s done some horrible things and may never make up for her actions under the Joker’s thumb, but she’ll keep fighting to stop Superman’s atrocities.

Wonder Woman

While Batman did a bad job trying to pull Superman from the darkness, Wonder Woman succeeded in pushing him in. It’s noted here and there, but this Wonder Woman was also altered by tragedy. In this timeline, Steve Trevor turned out to be a Nazi traitor. His betrayal left Diana feeling much less optimistic and hopeful than her mainstream self.

Wonder Woman’s villainy isn’t as pronounced as Superman’s, but she’s definitely the friendly face who eggs him on and wants him to stand over all mankind. As Superman uses her to fill the void left from Lois Lane’s death, the power couple become very good at bringing out the worst in each other.

Damian Wayne

The Injustice game did Damian a little dirty, revealing deep into the story that the Nightwing fighting on Superman’s side was not Dick Grayson, but Damian. According to Batman, Damian murdered Dick. The comics dove deeper into that and made it more of a freak accident brought on by Damian being an impulsive and angry child. Still, Bruce and his son were unable to make amends due to their shared lack of warmth.

Later stories, and even Injustice 2, added more depth to Damian. It always made sense that he’d join Superman’s Regime, but there was a soul in there who would eventually see that this wasn’t the right path. In the comic Injustice vs. Masters of the Universe, which was treated as a sequel to Injustice 2’s dark ending, Damian took up the mantle of Batman to oppose Superman and even grew a long-missing sense of humor in the process.

Lex Luthor

The great tragedy of the DC multiverse is that Superman and Lex Luthor just can’t get along. They will always be at odds no matter what Earth they come from. The Injustice universe was the one exception, as Luthor was portrayed as fairly warm and altruistic. Much like Batman, he has contingency plans up the wazoo, but they don’t come off as creepy.

Seeing him there as Superman’s longtime friend who sadly has to stab him in the back brings back that multiversal truth about the duo. Just because this is a world where Superman kills and things get very bleak doesn’t mean it’s the worst world and that it isn’t worth saving. The mainstream Cyborg is reluctant to come to terms with this heroic Luthor, but he ultimately accepts the miracle that this universe created a Luthor worth befriending and even looking up to.

Hal Jordan

Maybe it’s just me, but I was never a fan of how Geoff Johns retconned Hal’s past and gave him deniability for everything he did as Parallax. I liked that a boring hero dude like Hal snapped, did some bad stuff, and then had to accept his failures in an attempt to be better. With Injustice, they gave us that exact Hal.

Games

Injustice Beat Zack Snyder’s Justice League to the Punch

By Matthew Byrd

Comics

Injustice: Year Zero Brings the Justice Society to DC Alternate Universe

By Jim Dandy

Overflowing with willpower and being an otherwise competent space cop, Hal is still something of a dunce at times, and he’s susceptible to manipulation in the right situation. He’s already following Superman’s lead, but having Sinestro pop in to indoctrinate him into the Sinestro Corps makes him actually interesting. Let Hal be the worst version of himself here so he can double back on it in the sequel and beg Guy Gardner’s ghost for forgiveness.

Shazam

Injustice may be the B-side to Mortal Kombat, but the game itself is fairly tame on the violence. Joker’s death isn’t actually shown on screen, Luthor’s end is fairly clean, and Grodd taking a trident to the torso is relatively tame.

But what we absolutely, positively have to see in the animated movie is Shazam’s death scene to really give an idea of how far gone Superman is. It’s bloodless from our point of view, but it’s grisly as hell and made worse when you remember that Shazam is a literal child under all the mystical power.

Batgirl

The Barbara Gordon version of Batgirl was one of the first DLC characters added to Injustice, but it’s unfortunate that she’s not in the main story mode — something the animated movie could fix by giving her a more prominent role in the fight against the Regime. Her ending gives her a kickass backstory where she returns to the cowl after her father dies at Superman’s hands. The comics go deeper into this, even making it so that Superman doesn’t directly kill Commissioner Gordon.

In this continuity, she was already wheelchair-bound as Oracle. She had to go under a very dangerous procedure under Luthor’s care in order to walk again. This is one of the storylines that could make for a captivating arc in the movie.

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred isn’t in either Injustice game. He’s already dead by the start of the first game. But I don’t care. Alfred needs to be in the animated movie because he is the heart and soul of the Injustice comics. While others bow to Superman, follow him, or even try to reason with him, Alfred Pennyworth doesn’t play those games. He will straight-up verbally clown Superman for his actions without flinching. He is not afraid of the Kryptonian, no matter how red his glowing eyes get.

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This comes to a head in the comics when Alfred takes a pill that gives him Kryptonian strength and he kicks the absolute shit out of Superman for ruining his family. I know I’m asking for a lot, but I simply need to see Alfred stomp a mudhole in Superman so hard that his own shoe explodes from the impact.

The post 10 Injustice Characters the DC Animated Movie Needs to Get Right appeared first on Den of Geek.

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britesparc · 4 years ago

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Weekend Top Ten #467

Top Ten Romantic Couples in Superhero Movies (& TV)

It’s Valentine’s Day this weekend. Woo, I guess? I dunno. I’m not generally cynical about holidays but Valentine’s Day does seem to be entirely focused on selling cards without any of the associated pleasantries of, say, Christmas or Halloween. I’d rather just try to be nice to my wife all year round. At least because of the apocalypse all the restaurants are closed so we can’t be tempted to pay through the nose for a set menu. Anyway, it gives me a strained excuse to tie this week’s Top Ten to something vaguely romantic.

Superheroes are often horny. This seems to be a defining characteristic of the artform. Whether it’s their descent from ancient myths, or their creators’ origins in writing romance books, or just a function of genre storytelling in the mid-twentieth century, there’s quite a lot of romantic angst in superhero stories. Pretty much every superhero has a significant other; Lois Lane even got her own comic that was actually called Superman’s Girlfriend, Lois Lane. It’s hard to conceive of many heroes without their primary squeeze, and often – as we get multiple media adaptations of characters – we can add diversity or a twist to the proceedings by picking a lesser-known love interest, or one from earlier in the character’s fictional history; for instance, Smallville beginning with Cark Kent’s teenage crush Lana Lang, or The Amazing Spider-Man swapping out Mary Jane Watson for Gwen Stacey.

Anyway, I’m talking this week about my favourite superhero couples. I’ve decided to focus on superhero adaptations – that is, the characters from movies and films based on superhero comics or characters. I find this a little bit easier as I don’t have a phenomenal knowledge of sixty years of Avengers comics, but I have seen all the movies a bunch. As many comics as I’ve read, and as much as I love various ink-and-paper pairings, I can arguably talk more authoritatively about the fillums than the funny books. And let’s be real here, kids: my favourite comic book romantic couple is Chromedome and Rewind in Transformers. Also if I split them in two I can talk about comic couples next year. Woohoo!

It really is hard thinking of these things nearly nine years in, folks.

So! Here, then, are my favourite movie-TV Couples in Capes. Obviously there’s a fair bit of MCU in here. And I’ve been pretty specific about “superhero” romances: so no Hellboy and Liz Sherman, sadly (and I do really like them in the movies, of which they really need to make a third). Some are civvies-and-supes; some are capes-and-capes. You’ll work it out.

Superman & Lois Lane (Christopher Reeve & Margot Kidder, Superman, 1978): who else? The most famous romance in all of comics, a combo so strong it remains the focus of pretty much every interpretation of the character, but arguably never better than here; so good are Reeve and Kidder that their fast-talking banter and inherent goodness set the template for a huge swathe of other comic adaptations to follow. She’s sarky and streetwise; he’s gormless and good-hearted. She leaps in where angels fear to tread, he’s an invulnerable alien in disguise. They have buckets of chemistry and an utterly believable (tentative) romance. They’re perfect performances and the scenes of Clark in Metropolis for the first time (including Superman’s balcony interview with Lois) are the best bits of an already excellent film.

Raven & Beast Boy (Tara Strong & Greg Cipes, Teen Titans Go!, 2014): on a totally different register, we have the comedy stylings of the Teen Titans. Raven and Beast Boy had a flirtatious relationship on the original Titans series, but on this longer-running and much more demented comedy follow-up, they were allowed to make the romance more official (I nearly said “explicit” but, y’know… it’s not that). The jokes and banter – BB the love-struck, jealous suitor, Raven the too-cool partner who feigns nonchalance – build and build, but every now and again they’re allowed a moment of genuine heartfelt romance, and it hits all the more strongly amidst the ultra-violence and outrageous comedy.

Captain America & Agent Carter (Chris Evans & Hayley Atwell, Captain America: The First Avenger, 2011): the premier couple of the MCU, Steve and Peggy spend a whole movie flirting (she sees the goodness of him even before he gets all hench) before finally arranging a date that, we all know, is very much postponed. Peggy casts a shadow over the rejuvenated Cap and the MCU as a whole, founding SHIELD, inspiring dozens of heroes, and counselling Steve to her dying days. She remains Steven’s true north (like Supes with Lois, Peggy’s an ordinary human who is the actual hero of an actual super-powered hero), guiding him through the chaos and tragedy of Endgame, until they both get to live happily ever after. Even though he snogged her niece.

Batman & Catwoman (Michael Keaton & Michelle Pfeiffer, Batman Returns, 1992): Pfeiffer delivers a barnstorming performance as Selina Kyle, all barely-supressed mania and seductive feline charm. The chemistry between her and Keaton is electric, and propels the film forward even when the Penguin-runs-for-mayor stuff gets a bit daft and icky. There are beautiful moments of romantic comedy when they’re both trying to cover up injuries they gave each other, and of course there’s “mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it” – a line that runs a close second to “dance with the devil” when it comes to Burton-Batman quotations (just ahead of “never rub another man’s rhubarb”). Burton, generally favouring the macabre villains over the straighter edges of the heroic Batman, nevertheless makes great play of the duality of the character, and how this is something he and Catwoman can share – both “split right down the centre” – but also how this means a happy ending for either of them is impossible.

Spider-Man & Mary Jane (Tobey Maguire & Kirsten Dunst, Spider-Man, 2002): whilst a lot of this is really down to the sexiness of them kissing upside-down in the rain, there’s a nice duality to Peter and MJ seeing through each other too: he sees the wounded humane soul beneath her it-girl persona; she sees the kind, caring man underneath his geek baggage. This arc plays out beautifully across the first two films (ending in that wonderfully accepting “Go get ‘em, tiger”) before sadly getting all murky and unsatisfying in the murky and unsatisfying third film. Still: that kiss.

Wonder Woman & Steve Trevor (Gal Gadot & Chris Pine, Wonder Woman, 2017): probably the film that hews closest to the Clark-Lois dynamic of the original Superman, to the point where it includes an homage to the alleyway-mugging scene as Diana deflects a bullet. Steve is Diana’s window into man’s world, showing her the horror of the First World War but managing to also be a sympathetic ally and never talking down or mansplaining anything. He’s a hero in his own right – very similar to another wartime Steve on this list – and very much an ideal match to the demigod he’s showing round Europe. And, of course, Gadot’s Diana is incredible, both niaive and vulnerable whilst also an absolute badass. There is an enduring warm chemistry to the pair, with a relationship which we actually see consummated – relatively rare for superheroes! The inevitability of his heroic sacrifice does nothing to lessen the tragedy, and no I’ve not seen Wonder Woman 1984 yet.

Hawkeye & Laura Barton (Jeremy Renner & Linda Cardellini, Avengers: Age of Ultron, 2015): I love these guys! I love that Hawkeye has a relatively normal, stable family life. He has a big old farmhouse that he wants to remodel, he’s got two kids and a third on the way… he’s got something to live for, something to lose. It humanises him amidst the literal and figurative gods of the Avengers. And they’re cute together, bickering and bantering, and of course she is supportive of his Avenging. I hope we get to see more of Laura and the kids in the Hawkeye series, and I hope nothing bad happens to them now they’ve all been brought back to life.

Wanda Maximoff & Vision (Elizabeth Olsen & Paul Bettany, Avengers: Infinity War, 2018): theirs is a difficult relationship to parse, because they’re together so briefly. They cook paprikash together in Civil War before having a bit of a bust-up, and by Infinity War they’re an official couple, albeit on the run (and on different sides). That movie does a great job in establishing their feelings for each other in very little screentime, with their heroic characteristics on full display, before the shockingly awful tragedy of Wanda killing Vision to save the galaxy, before Thanos rewinds time, brings him back to life, and kills him again, and then wins. Their relationship going forward, in WandaVision, is even trickier, because we don’t know what’s up yet, and at times they’re clearly not acting as “themselves”, defaulting to sitcom tropes and one-liners. Will Vision survive, and if he does, will their relationship? Who can say, but at least they’ll always have Edinburgh, deep-fried kebabs and all.

Batman & Andrea Beaumont (Kevin Conroy & Dana Delany, Batman: Mask of the Phantasm, 1993): woah, Batman’s back but it’s a different Batman, say whaaaat. Animated Batman has had a few romances, from the great (Talia al-Ghul) to the disturbingly icky (Batgirl, ewwww), but his relationship with Andrea Beaumont is the best. Tweaking the Year One formula to give young Bruce a love interest that complicates his quest is a golden idea, and making her a part of the criminality and corruptiuon that he’s fighting is a suitably tragic part of the Batman origin story. Conroy and Delany give great performances, him wringing pathos out of Bruce, torn between heart and duty (“It just doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” he wails to his parents’ grave, “I didn’t count on being happy”), her channelling golden age Hollywood glamour. The tragedy of them rekindling their relationship years later, only to wind up on different sides again, is – again – so very Batman. It’s a beautiful, earnest, very Batman relationship, a great titanic tragedy of human emotions and larger-than-life ideals. And they both look good in black.

Harley Quinn & Poison Ivy (Kaley Cuoco & Lake Bell, Harley Quinn, 2020): this one’s a little bit of a cheat, as I’ve only seen the first season of the show, where Harley and Ivy don’t even get together. But in the wider, non-canonical sense of these being characters who are part of the pop-cultural ether, Harley and Ivy will always be a couple, I feel; and there’s definitely enough in there already to see the affection between them, not yet consummated. They adore each other, are always there for each other, and as the season follows Harley getting out of her own way and acknowledging the abuse of her relationship with Joker – and finally getting over it in the healthiest way possible for a bleached-white manic pixie in roller derby gear. And all through this, holding her hand, is Ivy. They’re utterly made for each other, and I’m glad that they do get together in season two. I hope that Margot Robbie’s rendition of the character can likewise find happiness with a flesh-and-blood Ivy. Hell, just cast Lake Bell again. She’s great.

Just bubbling under – and I’m really gutted I couldn’t fit them in – was Spider-Man & M.J. from Spider-Man: Far From Home. Like Batman, I’m comfortable including multiple continuities here, and those cuties offer a different spin on a classic relationship.

#valentine's day #romance #top ten #love #superheroes #comic book #movie #films #dce #mcu #marvel

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (127/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[4 August 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Treekul had spent the last several days laboring over a hot alembic, preparing a reagent at Rehval's instruction. Her lavender skin was dirty with soot and sweat. Her lips were dry and her eyes bleary from lack of sleep and water. Lowering herself to her knees, she laid the bottle containing her finished project at Rehval's feet, and waited for him to examine it for his appraisal.

"The war goes well, Treekul," he said, ignoring her reagent completely. "Luffa hasn't left Federation space for over four months now. I've bottled her in. It's perfect."

Treekul didn't particularly care about the war. She knew Rehval was waging one, and that he was using his cult followers as soldiers, but she wanted nothing to do with either. She had been brought to this place against her will, and Rehval refused to let her leave. It might have been simpler for him to kill her, but Rehval seemed to fancy the idea of grooming Treekul as an apprentice in the alchemical arts. This didn't interest her much either. Treekul was an alchemical historian, not a practitioner. She had only played along so far in the hopes that Rehval would let his guard down and give her an opportunity to escape.

And so, she didn't particularly care what he thought about the small bottle of golden liquid she had laid at his feet. All that mattered was that she had done as he asked, and that he would trust her a little more than ha had trusted her yesterday. So if he wanted to congratulate himself on his military adventures, Treekul would play along.

"Is that what this is about, boss?" she asked. "Bottling up the Super Saiyan? Because I don't see what good it does you. From what you've told me, everyone you've sent into Fed space has gotten killed. You can't keep this up forever."

"I don't need to contain Luffa forever," he said. "The point is that I've proven that it can be done at all. A day, a week, a month. The duration isn't as important as the precedent it sets. In my own way, I've shown the universe that I can overpower Luffa."

"Sorry, but I don't get it," Treekul said. "The way you talk about the war, it sounds like more of a stalemate than anything else."

"You lack vision, my disciple," Rehval said.

"Maybe, but I think my vision would be a lot clearer if I got some food and sleep," Treekul said. Wearily, she pointed up at the bottle. "It wasn't exactly easy making that stuff. I don't even know what it's for."

"Ah, how inconsiderate of me," Rehval said. He clapped his hands, and a pair of Saiyan men entered the room and stood at attention. Rehval pointed at Treekul like she was an dead animal he wanted removed from his presence.

"Priestess Treekul has undergone a great trial," he told them. "You will attend to her needs, and escort her back here in six hours."

"Twelve would be better," Treekul yawned, rubbing her eyes for effect.

"Six will have to do," he replied with an unctuous smile. "We still have much work to do, you and I."

Treekul sighed and went with the acolytes.

*******

Treekul wanted a shower, but the Jindan Cult seemed to prefer sponge baths. As a priestess, she had enough rank to at least keep the male acolytes out of the room during this, although they insisted on women taking over their duties in their absence. Treekul at least managed to talk them down to merely standing by while she handled the sponge herself.

"Just seems like everything around here is designed to humiliate a person," Treekul mumbled as she squeezed the sponge into a pot before drawing up clean water from another.

"Sure!" said one of the Saiyan women. "It's like the Thrice-Blessed always says. You gotta reduce an ore down to get at the true essence."

"Oh, I get it now," the other woman said. "For a minute there, I thought you were displeased with us, Priestess, and that was why you wouldn't let us help you. But making us stand around and watch is even more degrading than having us wash you off!"

"I'm not making you watch," Treekul grumbled. "As far as I'm concerned you two can go wander off and do something else, or at least turn around."

"Sorry, your grace," one of them said. "We have standing orders to see that no one harms you."

"Yeah, there's still some Saiyans here who haven't exactly... gotten with the program, you know?" the other one explained. "And if one of them lashed out in frustration, an alien like you might be hurt."

"Wonderful," Treekul said. "So where's Maro and Kocho? They're my usual babysitters, not those two men you replaced."

"I don't know, your grace," the first one said. "We normally serve the male priests, so we don't spend a lot of time with the acolytes who serve the women."

Treekul kept her head down so they wouldn't notice her frustration. She had talked Maro into escorting her to the shipyard. He thought she was only interested in meeting the technicians who maintained it, when her true motive was to gather information to plan an escape. But their schedules never seemed to line up, and then she stopped seeing him altogether. This was probably a simple duty rotation, but she didn't know enough about the cultist's work assignments to be certain, and she was afraid that it might be conspicuous if she asked too many questions about it. She could probably find another cultist willing to show her the shipyard, but that might also attract attention.

So she took a different tack, and chatted with the women about the compound's water supply. All she had seen of the cult was a series of natural and manmade caverns, connected by tunnels that were carved out of solid rock. Treekul had never seen the surface of the planet, but from they told her, it was an uninhabited wilderness. Work details were occasionally sent topside to gather fresh water from polar glaciers. So even if Treekul made it out of the compound, there wouldn't be a city of helpful natives to look for.

"Maro told me the skies were beautiful at night," Treekul lied. "Where I come from, there's too much light pollution to see the stars."

"I've never been outside," one of the acolytes said. "But I know there's no stars out there. Someone told me there's cloud cover over the whole atmosphere."

Foiled again. Treekul looked down and pretended to be very interested in scrubbing her left knee. She had no idea where Nagaoka even was in relation to the rest of the galaxy. The stars in the sky might have given her some clues, but now even those were denied to her. It was beginning to look like everything depended on getting herself a ship, and that all hinged on finding Maro.

*******

[4 August, 233 Before Age. Zenj I.]

Maro was his name. Zatte knew this because he wouldn't shut up about it, and she could hear his chatter over the communicator in her ear. All of the Jindan cultists were eager to prove themselves in battle, but that eagerness made them careless. Two miles away from the battlefield, Zatte watched Maro through the telescopic sight of her plasma rifle, and when she was sure that he was standing still, she opened fire.

Her ability to manipulate energy had a number of applications, but for combat, she preferred to bend light around herself as a nearly perfect camouflage. For this shot, she dropped that invisibility field, allowing her to focus her power on guiding her ammunition to the target. It was a difficult technique, one she was still struggling to master, but it allowed her to strike from greater distances. And it worked. She saw Maro fall through the scope, heard his blustery talk cut off in mid-sentence, and sensed his ki energy vanish in an instant.

Luffa was hurting. These groups of Jindan raiders were no match for her, but each one managed to get a few licks in, and she had been fighting them on planet after planet for weeks. Dr. Topsas had developed mycotherapy techniques to heal her quickly, but it still took a few days for that to work, and once it was done, Luffa would have to return to the grind. There seemed to be no end to the Jindan attacks on Federation territory, and no way to take the fight to them.

Luffa probably should have undergone mycotherapy after the last battle, but she wanted to take care of the cultists in the Zenj System first. And on paper, it was probably worth it. She was more than holding her own against the cultists, but Zatte could tell that Luffa's moves were sluggish and pained compared to her usual self. Normally, Zatte never even got a chance to fire her rifle in these battles. Luffa made a game of trying to defeat the enemy before Zatte could get off a shot. This time, Zatte had made five kills, and lining up for a sixth.

It was gratifying to assist Luffa this much, but it was troubling to know that she needed this much help. To a casual observer, the Legendary Super Saiyan would have seemed as invincible as ever. She was a gleaming yellow blur, dodging and deflecting the cultists's attacks, and countering their numbers with overwelming force. But Zatte could hear Luffa's grunts and stifled groans through the communications earpiece. She could sense that Luffa's power wasn't quite as high as usual. And she had seen her various injuries back on their ship.

It reminded Zatte of Luffa's defeat against the Tikosi. As horrific as that day was, Zatte kept reminding herself that it directly resulted in Luffa's ascension, and all of the good that came with it. Luffa was destined to prevail. Providence would see to that. All Zatte had to do was hold on tight and help Luffa along until her purpose was fulfilled.

She noticed one of the Saiyan cultists had broken off from the group. They knew there was a shooter, and this one was trying to track Zatte down. "Good luck," were the words she mouthed to herself. A ballistics team with advanced equipment might have been able to follow the path of her plasma bursts back to the source, but all this man had were his senses. Zatte doubted that even a Saiyan could pick up her scent from two miles downwind, and she had cloaked herself completely from ki senses and visible light. Even if he fired an energy blast in her general direction, it would have to be such a wide dispersal that she was certain she could deflect the worst of it. He'd just leave himself wide open for Luffa.

Take your best shot, she thought as she lined him up in her scope. He seemed to be taking his time, moving erratically through the air to avoid her fire while he prepared himself. And as Zatte waited for him, she noticed something.

It was a Zenjin ki signature, one so faint that she hadn't even noticed it until now. This part of the city was supposed to have been evacuated, but someone had stayed behind. Moving carefully, Zatte looked up from the broken wall she had been using for cover. Less than a hundred yards away, she spotted a child. A little boy, she thought. She had trouble telling when it came to Zenjins. Something about their antennae, and the patterns on the wings that hung from their backs like capes.

He was dressed in an imitation of Zenjin military garb, and seemed to be watching the battle through a pair of telescopic goggles. He reminded her of herself as a child, always playing soldier.

This was bad. If the Saiyan had sensed his life energy, the he might concentrate his attack in this direction. Zatte might still survive, but the boy would definitely not. Even if she managed to line up a shot and take out the Saiyan first, one of the others might pick up where he left off. And Luffa's hands were full at the moment.

There was only one choice. The Dorlun survival ethic placed self-preservation above all else. Luffa was xan-nil'Dor, chosen by Providence, so that made dying for Luffa a rare exception. To forsake that sacred duty for a child she didn't even know wasn't just a bad idea. It was heretical, a betrayal of everything the Dorluns believed.

Zatte leaped out from her cover and ran as fast as she could to reach the boy. Thanks to Luffa's training, she was able to cross the distance in only a few seconds, but using her top speed also meant that she had to drop her invisibility field. The Saiyan spotted her immediately.

"Who--?" the boy started to ask as Zatte snatched him up in her arms. She kept moving, slowing down only enough to restore her cloaking effect around them both.

"I'm Luffa's shadow," Zatte said between breaths. The situation was bad enough without telling him her name. She was zealous enough to bend and twist the survival ethic, but not that far. There were other Dorluns out there, she hoped, and there was no reason to tell this boy of their existence. Not that he was likely to threaten her people, but there was still the principle of the thing.

"I can't see!" the boy gasped.

"I made us invisible," Zatte said. Each Dorlun had a unique ability, and hers allowed her to bend light rays around herself. Now that she was close enough to him, she could bend the light around the child too, but she couldn't share her ability to see through the cloaking effect. To him, it looked like the whole world had gone dark. She wanted to explain this to him, to assure him that he was safer now that she could use her powers to protect him, but before she could speak, she was knocked off her feet by an explosion.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground, still clutching the child in her arms, and looking up at the Saiyan who had been searching for her.

"Well what do we have here?" he asked with a triumphant sneer. "I always knew the Super Saiyan was an alien trick, and here I find an alien supporting Luffa on the battlefield. Let me guess: she's really an android, and your job is to shoot anyone who gets close enough to see through her holographic effects."

"It's going to be all right," Zatte said to the boy. "You're safe as long as you stay close to me." From the way he trembled, she didn't think he believed her, but she wanted to say it anyway.

"Yeah," the Saiyan said. "That explains how she seemed to move so quickly. It's that invisibility effect you use. You make your puppet disappear and reappear, or even project illusions of her to throw us off-balance." He took a step back from her and pointed his short spear at her. "You're quite the little witch, aren't you, One-Eye? Better keep my distance, eh? I bet if I came any closer you'd use some other secret weapon on me."

He was right. In a pinch, Zatte could use her ability to burst blood vessels, but that trick only worked in close quarters. She had dropped her rifle when she ran to get the boy, and her speed and invisibility were useless with him standing right in front of her.

"You can't kill me," Zatte said, her left eye opening wide with conviction. "You'd be better off running away, or begging for mercy."

"Is that right?" he chuckled. The tip of his spear began to glow pale blue as he prepared his attack. "And why is th--?"

He suddenly noticed an intense increase in ki on the battlefield. Zatte felt it too, felt his comrades all scatter as golden balls of fire came streaking out towards them. Zatte had used her abilities to cloud the Saiyan's senses, so that he didn't know what was going on until just now, when it was too late. He tried to dodge the blast that now approached him, but it struck anyway, and when the light faded and the smoke cleared, he looked like he could barely stand. His clothes and hair were singed beyond recognition, and his skin was covered in burns and scorchmarks.

"I'm with her to the end," Zatte said, although she doubted that he could still hear her. "She and I will die together, so you'll never kill me unless I'm by her side."

He still had enough in him to step forward, no longer caring about any secret weapon Zatte might have. As he raised his spear, he suddenly stopped, and looked down at his abdomen to find a fist that had impaled him from behind.

"That was a mistake," Luffa said so quietly that Zatte only heard it through her earpiece. The man tried to turn his spear on Luffa's bloody wrist, acting more on instinct than any sensible plan, but then a golden glow appeared on her arm, which spread out to envelop his entire body. He made a weak, anguished cry of pain, and then he disintegrated like burning guncotton, and leaving only Luffa where he once stood.

"Are you all right?" Luffa asked, sounding more fatigued than she probably meant to. There was blood on her black racerback and yellow pants, and Zatte knew at least some of it was Luffa's own.

Zatte released the child and rose to her feet. "I'm fine," she said. "What about--?"

"Let's... let's get back to the ship," she said, then turning to the boy: "You can find your own way home, right, soldier?"

He was so awestruck that he almost forgot to answer, and Luffa barely waited for him to nod. "Good. Let's go," she said.

*******

[4 August 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

Treekul expected her next lesson to be an evaluation of her last assignment. Instead, she entered Rehval's laboratory and found him dressed like he was going to an expensive restaurant instead of presiding over a cult.

"I'd like you to wear this instead," Rehval said. He held up a black dress and presented it to Treekul before she could even step towards him.

"I thought the robes were specially treated to protect us from chemical burns," Treekul asked as she reluctantly accepted Rehval's gift. It was one of the few things she appreciated about her 'apprenticeship'. Her priestess garment was little more than strips of red cloth haphazardly arranged into a dress, but he had to cover her in more modest protective equipment for the lab work.

"Oh, we won't be slaving over the retorts this time," he said with a laugh. "I thought I'd treat you to something special. A little reward for your hard work."

She waited for him to tell her where to change, and when he didn't she simply headed for the bathroom and put on the dress there. She recognized the style as Camelian fashion. The neckline was square and the hem was in a sawtooth pattern. What truly grabbed Treekul's attention was what was attached to the dress. The price tag was still hanging from the inside of the back, and it identified a particular clothing store as its point of origin. She removed it, but folded the tag in with her usual clothes so she could look at it later. With any luck, it would help her figure out where to go whenever she found a way off the planet.

Rehval put his arm around her waist and led her to a room she had never seen before. Gold bullion lay in piles on the floor. A statue of a woman holding a torch-- also gold-- stood on a pedestal along one of the walls. A scarlet cloth hung over the figure's shoulders. Several paintings adorned the walls, including portraits she recognized from her alchemical history textbooks. In the center of the room was a small-but-expensive-looking table, with dinner served for two. A bottle of wine in a gilded bucket of ice served as a centerpiece for the occasion.

"There's not much to see outside of the caverns," he explained. "So when I want to share my aesthetics with someone, I bring them here." He picked up a gold coin and examined it idly while Treekul took it all in. "It doesn't compare to the villa I once had on Pflaume II, but I decorated the place myself, so I suppose it's a bit more personal that way."

"Where did you get all this money?" Treekul asked. "Wait, dumb question. You're an alchemist. You transmuted an equal weight of lead, didn't you?"

"Cadmium, actually," Rehval said. "It's a similar technique, but I find the procedure more sentimental."

"Where would you even spend it?" Treekul asked. "Unless you give this stuff to your followers when they do missions off-world?"

He laughed. "You're such a utilitarian, Treekul. No wonder you like to keep your hair so short. It's nothing but dead cells to you, waste material to be disposed of. It probably never occurs to you that you might look ravishing with the right style. Although I have to admit, I do enjoy the contours of your head... Anyway, the coins, the gold, they're all for show. Once I learned to counterfeit my own cash, I realized how pointless finances really are. But it still looks pretty, and it impresses other people. A big wooden chest stuffed with gold coins has a romantic touch, don't you think? A bauble I can show off to demonstrate my power."

Treekul's gaze lingered on the chest for a while, and Rehval moved on to a large bookshelf along the wall.

"Have a look at this," Rehval said. He handed Treekul a book bound in old leather, and the smell of the pages was enough for her to estimate the age of it. As she flipped through the tome, Rehval stepped behind her and craned his head over her shoulder. Then he placed his hands on either side of her waist.

"What is this?" Treekul asked.

"You're the archaeologist," Rehval said. "You tell me. I thought you would be interested to ply your trade a bit."

She shrugged and examined several pages. "Encryption 40... No, this is 41," Treekul said a few minutes later. "This was definitely encoded by an alchemist. I'd say... five hundred years ago."

"A layman from that era would read that text and think it was nothing more than a cookbook," Rehval said. Treekul didn't like how close his lips were to her ear, but there wasn't anything she could do about it.

"It is a cookbook," Treekul said. She studied another page more closely, then checked the table of contents to see if the rest of the book covered any other topics. It did not. "The encryption is authentic. Only a student of the Topaz school could have coded this, but when you decode the recipes you just get... different recipes. But it's all food."

"Yes, I know," Rehval said. He gestured to the table somewhat haughtily. "I used it to prepare our dinner."

"Where did you get this?" Treekul asked.

"One of my flock retrieved it for me," Rehval said. "I sent him to the Percel Nebula as a trial of courage. I keep it here with my other collections."

"What's so important about a cookbook, boss?" Treekul asked. "Unless there's another layer of encryption to this, it barely qualifies as an antique."

"You miss the point," he said. "The book itself is nearly worthless. What matters is that I sent a man to find it for me, and he braved many dangers to come back with it. I suspected he wasn't entirely devoted to my cause, but once he handed this to me, I knew that no traitor would go to such lengths for me. From that moment on, I knew that he belonged to me, body and soul."

Treekul bit her lower lip at the sound of this. Then Rehval released her, and headed for the table.

"By the way, I examined your potion," he said. "The formulation was nearly flawless. You have a real talent for alchemy, Treekul. Next time I'll have to assign you a formula that's actually useful. But for now, it'll make a fine addition to my collection."

It was then that she noticed the vial on the shelf where the book had come from. It looked exactly the same as the one she had given to him six hours ago, though it was impossible for her to be absolutely sure.

"Oh, I thought you might want to know that I've assigned a different acolyte to see to your personal needs," Rehval said. "I had to send Mero to the front lines, and he was just killed on Zenj I this morning, so I'm afraid he won't be coming back."

She lowered her head and tightened her grip on the book. With her back turned, she was grateful that Rehval couldn't see the look on her face. He was using her, just as surely as he was using everyone else in this mad cult of his. She could play along and try to win his trust, but she would only be sinking herself deeper and deeper into his game. Did he know that she was trying to use Mero for her escape plan, or would he have sent Mero to die in any event?

No, the real question she needed to ask herself was whether any of it mattered at all. Rehval didn't seem to care what she did or how well she did it. He just wanted her here, like some housepet, or the coins he wouldn't spend, or the book he didn't need, or the potions that served no purpose. She had flattered herself by thinking she could resist him, but in reality there was nothing for her to resist. She was like a rodent in a maze. Even if she died trying to oppose him, he would just shrug his shoulders and find someone else to toy with.

That was why he left that tag on her dress. He wanted her to find it, to make her think that he had made a mistake, that there was some slight opening in her prison. It was just a game to him.

"Well then, come sit down and let's eat," he said. "I'd like to tell you more about my collection..."

With a sharp breath, Treekul turned to join him. For now, there was nothing else she could do.

NEXT: GUWAR

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #lssjluffafic #luffa #zatte #trismegistus #treekul #zenj #nagaoka

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writingpaperghost · 5 years ago

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Like Father, Like Daughter (Part 3)

Also on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967815/chapters/54999472

Where Mayu meets the rest of Riku’s friends and bonds with Zero.

Going through class that day was... an interesting ordeal, to say the least. While for a bit, it seemed normal, like any other day. That was until about a half an hour into class, where Zero began to stir. Or rather, he began to go a bit stir crazy. Apparently, he wasn’t horribly keen on sitting through class with her. After trying to ignore Zero’s comments that were now starting to border on, if not crossing, complaining, Mayu began to wonder if her dad had to put up with this too.

“Do you really spend so much of your day here doing this?” Zero asks as Mayu appreciates the lull between classes, the gap between her literature class and her history class.

“Yeah,” Mayu responds, moving to organizes her notes, “I’m learning.”

“I guess that makes sense...”

“You really don’t want to sit through this do you?” Mayu was getting the feeling that Zero wanted to be just about anywhere other than in school with her. Not that he was really going to have a choice about it. “Maybe you could learn something from this.”

“I guess. What do you have next?”

From the seat to her left, Noa leans slightly, turning her attention to Mayu for just a moment. “Well, ready for history?” She asked, as if to answer Zero’s question. Mayu supposed Noa was always good at that, saying or doing things that always line up with things she would have no way of knowing. Zero makes a startled noise, but doesn’t say anything else.

Mayu nods as their next teacher enters, drawing their attention. Regardless of what Zero had said earlier, he still grumbled or commented throughout the day. At least he’d toned it down, Mayu wasn’t sure she’d have been able to focus if he hadn’t.

By the time school had ended, Mayu was thoroughly tired from what would normally have been a relatively simple school day. Somehow, she was getting the impression that Zero found school more boring than her dad’s job as a salary man, as ridiculous sounding as that was. Still, Mayu had things to do today, beyond just school, they had to meet with Riku, after all.

Mayu and Noa walked to the observatory from their school. It wasn’t necessarily close, but they found themselves making good time, regardless. When they got to where the observatory was, they were shocked to quickly find themselves somewhere else. It reminded Mayu of the sort of things you’d see a tv show, like the main character’s base. There was Riku, Moa, Zena, plus a woman who Mayu vaguely recognized as the woman with the sword from when she was a kid, though she couldn’t remember the woman’s name, and a strange sort of alien in a tracksuit. This was somehow not the strangest thing that she could be seeing.

“Hey Mayu,” Riku greets, “And your friend.”

“Noa,” Noa introduces, remembering they were never really introduced the day before.

They’re introduced to the women, Laiha, and the alien, who was Pega, they were also introduced to REM, who was an AI in Nebula House. Nebula House being this base. Mayu and Noa filled Laiha and Pega in on what they’d told the other three the day before. Then they continued where they left off, explaining how Zero had ended up on this Earth to begin with.

“That Birdon yesterday probably wasn’t summoned by the alien Zero’s looking for,” Riku comments thoughtfully.

“Probably,” Mayu dryly agrees, “Zero just really wanted to try to stop them. Despite the fact that he was hurt.”

“I hope that isn’t normal for him,” Noa adds, which caused Zero to loudly, or as loudly as he could in Mayu’s head, protest.

“It’s not!” Somehow, Mayu wasn’t entirely convinced.

But it wasn’t like Noa or anyone else could hear that protest, so Noa instead continues, “So then, what’s the plan? It’s not exactly like this alien’s just going to show up.”

They discussed the actions they could take, ultimately deciding that Zena and Moa would keep an eye out for an alien that matched the description that Zero gave. In the meantime, Zero could recover, and when he was fully healed from two days before and yesterday, he could help Riku if any kaijus showed up. Not that kaijus were a horribly common occurrence.

But that could change, if this alien could summon monsters, then that could mean an increase in kaijus. After all, in the past two days, there’s been an equal amount of kaiju attacks. While only one of those two attacks was caused by that alien, since they’d already determined that Birdon was just looking for their baby, that was still an increase from the usual amount.

Mayu just hoped that if a monster did show up, or really just when, it wasn’t when she was in class. She couldn’t just leave class after all, although she supposed if there was a monster that would technically be more important than class, but she’d still liked to limit how often she missed class, it was a pain to make up for. Not to mention it would be hard to explain to anyone.

Moa and Zena were the first to leave, as they had other things to do. Since they’d finished talking about the plan and how to deal with that alien, Mayu and Noa were going to leave themselves. Before they could leave though, Riku turns to Noa.

“Hey, uh, how did you figure out Birdon wanted their baby?” He asked, recalling the day before. Mayu didn’t think it was a huge leap of logic, when there’s a baby, the parent’s going to worry. She was pretty sure Noa had an inkling of that even before Birdon appeared. Noa was the one who first wondered if there was an adult monster nearby.

Noa pauses for a moment, eyeing Riku, before she responds, “Parent’s worry. They want to protect their children. If their child disappears, then they worry even more and want to find them.”

Riku thought about her response, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Then he adds, “Though I never thought I see Zero holding a baby, monster or not.”

“Oh no, my image.” Zero groaned, which resulted in Mayu breaking into a fit of laughter. The mental image of seeing, from an outside perspective, anyone as big as Zero holding something as small as that little Birdon chick... It was just a hilarious mental image. Mayu wished she could have seen it.

“To be fair,” Mayu managed to get out through all her laughter, “That was more my doing than Zero’s,”

“What?” Riku asked. Had he never thought that Zero’s host could be in control of Zero’s body too? If Zero could control Mayu’s body, than why couldn’t she control his? It all made sense to her.

“I thought that sounded a bit too much like something you’d say, Mayu,” Noa noted, tapping her cheek with her finger, “Judging by your reaction, I imagine that’s an unusual occurrence.”

“Well...” Riku began, “I mean, I never saw anyone else do that, all the other Ultras I’ve met it’s one or other, if the Ultra is even sentient outside of their host...” So, what they were learning were that Ultras were weird. Okay, not like they couldn’t figure that out on their own.

“Zero seemed pretty confused by it too,” Mayu explained thinking. Riku had added more logic to the shock than just what Zero had said.

Then Zero takes control, the act of removing her glasses in such a strange way no longer unusual to Mayu. Which was probably not a good thing and if she weren’t focused on other things, she’d probably be concerned at how quickly she got used to it. “It’s strange, people don’t just do that.”

“You’re one to talk. If you can control my body, why would I be unable to control yours?” Mayu asked. It’s strange that people think that it’d be so hard, was it really something that unusual?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Mayu decided to give that argument a rest, “You still get to deal with all the fighting. I highly doubt all that many kaijus are going to be that easily subdued.”

“Well, yeah, they probably won’t.” Zero mused, “Still, it’s weird that you managed to do it at all.”

Noa shrugged, “Don’t know what exactly you two are talking about, but I think the two of you will learn to manage.” There was probably also some cause for concern in how easily Noa has taken everything, but perhaps that was just Noa being Noa. It was always hard to tell.

That was... an odd thing to say. Really, it left both Zero and Mayu rather confused. Judging by Riku and Laiha’s face, they were pretty confused too. Surprisingly, it was Laiha who spoke up, questioning, “What do you mean by that?”

“Mayu’s smart and she’s determined, if she wants to make all of this-” Noa makes a wide, sweeping gesture, “-work, then she will. And Zero, well, I don’t know Zero very well, but from what I’ve seen, he’s a good person. He wants to help people, even though his solution seems to be punching the issue.”

Riku laughs, “That’s fair, but Zero’s determined too.”

“Well, two determined people can make quite the team,”

“Hey!” Mayu returns her glasses to her face, “We’re right here!”

Noa laughs, then places a hand on Mayu’s shoulder, “I believe the two of you will do fine.” That wasn’t incredibly reassuring.

Mayu and Noa leave Nebula House, bidding Laiha, REM, Pega, and Riku goodbye. Noa leaves to go her own way once they return to the main part of the city, as she had another friend, she was supposed to spend time with. That was fine, as Mayu had plans anyway. It isn’t until Mayu starts to head to the park that Zero even says anything.

“You’re not heading home?”

With her eyes, Mayu searches the park for the pathway she’s looking for. She continued walking towards it, soon breaking out into a sprint. “There’s somewhere I want to show you!” She said with the gleeful laugh.

Running through the trees of the park’s wooded area, she followed the pathway that was barely visible beneath the underbrush. She jumped over rocks and roots, running the path with precision that told of having ran over it numerable times. Soon she broke through the trees, coming upon a clearing. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches, dancing upon the surface of the pond that sat to one side, a little stream ushering water into and out it. Flowers grew in patches and clumps, coloring the ground with their hues.

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Mayu asks, walking to a rock by the pond, sitting on it. She looks over the pond, picking up and stone and tossing it, an attempt to skip it, though it ultimately just sunk into the pond with a resounding “plunk”.

“It is,” Zero agrees, “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

Leaning her head back, Mayu closed her eyes, letting out a breath. Then she replied, “Yeah, I come here all the time, just to get away. It’s nice. I’ve shown it to Noa, but I don’t really know a lot of other people to show it to.”

Zero contemplated her words. Mayu had taken everything that had happened the past few days in stride, it was odd to think she might have ever needed to get away from anything. Really, she seemed untroubled by most things. Sure, she didn’t want her parent’s to worry, and she was a bit nervous about being his host, but Mayu was very kept together.

“Get away from what?” He finally asks, after letting Mayu lose herself for a few minutes. Mayu shifts, leaning back. Soon she was lying on the rock, sprawled and perched precariously. “And don’t you have friends other than Noa?”

“From the world. From expectations.” She finally answers, “Sometimes you need to be somewhere you’re comfortable being yourself at. And not really. Noa’s the only person outside of family I really spend a lot of time with.”

“’Somewhere you’re comfortable being yourself at...’” Zero parrots, losing himself in thought. It wasn’t like Zero was unfamiliar with the concept, he knew just as well, if not better, than anyone else how tiring it is to keep up appearances. He was a hero, an Ultra who fought the bad guys and saved the day. Sometimes, though, keeping up that image was tiring. Keeping up the image of being the son of Ultra Seven, which in and of itself came with its own set of expectations.

“Sometimes,” Mayu said with a smile, “The expectations of the outside world becomes a bit too much, and you just need to be somewhere peaceful.”

She sits up and slides off the rock, spins in the center of the clearing, then flops down into the grass, lying on her back. She reaches into her bag, pulling out her phone and setting an alarm for an hour later. Then she closes her eyes and relaxes.

“What are you doing?” Came Zero’s voice, filled with curiosity.

“I’m relaxing,” She explained, “Just listening to the wind and feeling the grass beneath me.” She enjoyed times like this, where she was able to just take in the world at face value. But also, at much more, it was such a complicated thing.

“Relaxing...” He sounded uncertain, unused to this type of serenity.

“Try it,” At Mayu’s urging, Zero let’s himself slip into a relaxed state. It was... nice. Honestly, he kind of enjoyed it. Letting everything go, just being there and... being. Being Zero. While Mayu was there just being Mayu.

After the hour was up, Mayu left the clearing, planning to head home. To do so, she had to continue through the park, back the way she had come an hour or so before. Zero had been quiet, apparently still checked out from their relaxing session. That was fine, that was the point.

Now if only this weirdo would leave her alone. “I don’t know you,” Mayu says in her sternest voice, “I don’t want to know you. Leave me alone.”

“Come on,” The man, who Mayu thought had to be aware of how creepy he was coming off, bugging a teenage girl in a park. “I’m a great guy.”

“Go way.”

He reaches for her arm, pulling her to him as she struggled. “Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill.” Mayu found herself wishing she had more strength, to be able to manage to break away from this man.

She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew it was Zero. He took control, elbowing the man and soon knocking him to the ground. Zero, not even taking off Mayu’s glasses like he would normally, said to him, “When someone says to leave them alone, you leave them alone.”

Then Zero relinquishes control to Mayu, leaving her to sprint away from the man. When she reaches home, she calls herself on the other side of the door. Deep breaths, Mayu, deep breaths. As she walks further in, she noticed her dad was home. Strange, he must have got off early.

“Hey dad!” She greets, as odd as it is for him to be home this early, she still appreciated being able to see him more.

Her dad looks up, noticing her, then smiles, “Mayu, you’re home.”

“Yep,”

He looks hesitant for moment, before speaking, “Uh, Mayu, be careful out there. With monsters showing up the past few days and that, uh, other Ultraman, returning... I just want you to be safe.”

Oh, he’s worried about her. Well, of course, he probably saw that Zero was here and assumed something bad. To be fair, Zero was there chasing that alien who had been summoning monsters... Maybe he was suspicious as to why he hadn’t heard from Zero?

Biting her lip, Mayu spreads her arms and walks up to him, giving him a hug. “Don’t worry dad,” She said, steeling her voice to be as confident as possible, he didn’t need to know she was fudging the truth here, “I’ll be safe.” To be fair, she probably was safe with Zero, just maybe not from scrapes and bruises.

“Are you going to tell him?” Mayu’s eye twitched. Leave it to Zero to time something like that.

Mayu closed her eyes for a moment, giving Zero a curt response, “Now’s not the time.” She didn’t know when the time would be, but she’d find it, eventually, and tell her parent’s then. Just... not now.

“…Right.” He sounded unconvinced.

Pulling away, Mayu gives her dad a big smile, then leaves him, heading to her room. She enters her room, sitting down at her desk to draw. To relax in a different way than earlier. She very much enjoyed flowers, there was something nice about them. They were pretty and they had meanings. She had a book of them in her room.

“Thank you, for helping me back there.” She said, beginning to sketch on the paper with her pencil.

“It was nothing. You needed help; I gave it. I did something similar with your dad.”

“Well thanks anyway,” The two of them then sit in silence, for a bit.

“What are your friends like, Zero?” Mayu asked after a while, pencil in hand, running it across the paper as the lines made an image take form. This flower wasn’t a flower she’d ever seen, simply coming from her imagination, mostly.

“My friends?” He responds as she reaches for her tin of colored pencils.

“Yeah, you know Noa, my friend, but I know nothing about any of yours.” She confirms, pulling a red pencil out to start giving the flower some color.

“They’re uh, an interesting group. We’re called the Ultra Force Zero.” Zero began, recalling his friends. Mayu continues to color the flower. “There’s five of us, Glenfire, Mirror Knight, Jean-Bot, Jean-Nine, and myself.”

Mayu finished coloring the flower with the red, for now at least and puts the pencil back. “What are they like?” She picks up a blue colored pencil and begins to color another part of the flower.

“Well, Glenfire’s a bit of a hot head. When we first met, he was traveling with some space pirates.” Zero was interrupted by Mayu questioning the existence of space pirates. After assuring her that space pirates were a thing, he continued, “Overall though, he’s a good guy. Likes to try to get on Jean-Bot’s nerves by calling him Yakitori'.”

“He called him Yakitori!” Mayu stopped drawing for a moment as she let out a laugh. She tried to compose herself. “Why did he call Jean-Bot, Yakitori, though?”

“Jean-Bot could turn into a space ship called Jean-Bird. So, I think Glenfire got stuck on the Bird in his ship name and he like to make fire jokes. So, Yakitori.” Mayu had returned to her drawing as she had calmed herself from her laughing fit as Zero explained the name to her.

“What’s this Jean-Bot like?”

“He’s generally pretty kind and caring. He and his brother get along pretty well, despite the rough start.”

Mayu returns her blue pencil to its home. From there she pulls out a green pencil, to color some leaves in. “What’s his brother like?”

“We had a rocky start with Jean-nine, he was known as Jean-Killer – “ And wasn’t that an ominous sounding name, “ – at first, but he managed to overcome his programming to save lives. He’s then embraced his role as a younger brother to Jean-Bot.” Mayu examined the drawing of the flower she had in front of her. Something was missing and she needed to stare at it for a moment, before an answer came to her.

“And Mirror Knight?” She prompts, reaching for her gold colored pencil.

“Mirror Knight is serene. Always calm, but cunning. He wasn’t himself when we met, but I managed to chase Belial’s darkness out of him.” Mayu placed a few marks with her colored pencil, before setting it down.

“Who’s Belial?” She asks quietly. She’s met with an unnerving silence. She picked up the colored pencil once more, putting it away and placing the lid back on the tin. “Not a very good person, I take it?” Between the silence and the rather ominous sounding name, Mayu thought that was an apt conclusion to come to.

“Uh, yeah.” Zero said, “It’s... complicated.”

Mayu picks up the tin of colored pencils and places them on her shelf. “You can tell me later then,” She gestures to the paper she had been drawing on, now that it was complete. “What do you think?”

“It’s a drawing of what you would call a flower.” Zero responded, confused.

Mayu grumbled, “Well, yeah. But look at it, does it look familiar?” Zero looks at the drawing of the flower. The shape of it didn’t tell him much, it looked quite a bit like a generic flower in that regard. But the coloring might have been what she wanted him to look at. The primary colors were red and blue, with little hints of gold here and there. But there was something familiar about the way the red and blue interacted with each other, the patterns they made.

“Is that... Is that based off of me?” He inquired bewildered.

“Yep!” Mayu chirped, “Personally, I like how it turned out,”

“I’m... uh, I’m flattered.”

“Zero, we’re friends. You helped me earlier.”

“Ah, right, we’re friends.” Jeeze, how odd of a thought was that? He could remember when she was six and waving goodbye to him after Belial’s defeat. Now, look how much she’s grown... Zero couldn’t help but feel pride at that thought. Oh, boy, he was getting attached again.

#ultraman #ultraman zero #igaguri mayu #my writing #okabe noa #like father like daughter

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naruwitch · 5 years ago

Text

Code Geass: Paladins of Voltron Chapter 4: Rise of Voltron Part 4

Lelouch and Milly's planet looked almost like a giant diamond from afar, the entire planet's surface shined like a thirty-carat jewel on a ring.

"Oh!" Milly swooned as the planet's sun glimmered off of it, "What I wouldn't pay to have that as my wedding ring."

"Milly focus," Lelouch chastised, "we're here to find a giant Lion, not admire the scenery."

"Such a spoilsport Lulu," Milly slightly pouted but then became serious, "seriously though, who's that C.C. character. What sort of name is 'C.C.' anyway?"

"Milly-" Lelouch sighed in exasperation as they pod landed on the surface, "Look… I'll explain everything later; right now, we need to focus on the objective."

Milly scoffed as the two exited the pod. The grass and vegetation that surrounded them shared the same glimmer, and shining metallic glow as crystal. Even some of the different bugs they spotted scurrying in the grass sparkled the same way. Far off to the left appeared to be a city made out of the crystal spires if the hole-like windows within them were any indication.

"It's like we landed on a living diamond," Lelouch observed as Milly activated the device Coran gave to them. "At least the air breathable. Which way to the Yellow Lion?"

"Um… looks like a few kilometers this way," Milly said as she started heading towards a bedazzled forest to the right.

"At least most of this is flat ground…" Lelouch muttered low enough so Milly couldn't hear.

After about a half-hour of walking along the forest path, they came across another crystal spire village. This time, however, they were close enough to spot some of the natives. From what they could see, there were three different types of people. One looked exactly like them, with no extra features or limbs. Another had pointed ears very similar to Allura and Coran. The only difference was that they had large feathered wings on their back in different colors, from speckled to solid colors. The third looked like a water creature, with scales lining their arms and legs, webbed hands, and gills on their necks. One thing that they all had in common, though, was that they all sparkled the same way that the crystal surrounding them did.

"Hope we're not trespassing like this…" Milly muttered nervously.

"Do we have to go through the village to get to the Lion, Milly?" Lelouch asked.

"Well," Milly said, looking at the map, "we can go around, but the fastest way is through the village, yes."

Lelouch bit his lip thinking about the best course of action. They had already been on the planet for a half-hour. This meant that they had another ninety Earth minutes. But they had no idea how much farther the Lion was either. "We have no choice; hopefully, they won't ask too many questions."

"What type of questions?"

Milly and Lelouch jumped at the voice from behind them. Turning around, they saw that a fish-like and a bird-like native had somehow snuck up behind them. They both had blue hair and gold eyes, the wings on the bird-like native were a mix of mahogany and brown like a Kestrel.

"Are you two aliens?" asked the fish-like native asked innocently.

"Err… well," Lelouch blushed, not quite sure how to answer.

"Were you sent by the Great Lion?" asked the bird-like native after he saw the device in Milly's hands.

"The Great Lion?" asked Milly, suddenly interested where this was going.

"Uh-huh!" the boys nodded, the fish-like being continued, "the Great Lion lives on that hill on the other side of the village. No one knows how long she's been there, but just yesterday, the light that surrounds her shined brighter than ever."

"The light that surrounds her?" Lelouch asked.

"Yup! Over yonder! The Lion's light protects our kingdom from the evil that curses the heavens," the bird-boy proclaimed.

Lelouch and Milly looked at one another; this certainly sounded like the Galra Empire. Had the Galra tried to attack this planet before? Did this Lion have some power that kept the Galra away?

"Can you take us to this Great Lion?" Milly asked with a friendly smile, "My friend and I are here to see her."

"Why?" asked the fish-boy, "Why do you want to see the Great Lion?"

"Well, young man," Milly bent down on her knees and smiled. Lelouch instantly knew that Milly had this covered, "what if we told you that there are others like your Great Lion out there?"

The boys didn't answer; they only looked at the blonde in wonder. Was it true? Were there more Lions?

"And… what if we told you that the sisters of the Great Lion need her help? And without her, the darkness that is kept from this world will spread to others? Once she has rejoined them, they can destroy this darkness forever and ever?"

"And you have come to bring the Great Lion to her sisters?" asked the bird-boy.

"Yes," Lelouch joined in, "if you take us to her, we can reunite them. Wouldn't you want to see your family again after thousands of years apart?"

It seemed to convince the two boys of how important the Great Lion was, and if there were more of them out there, that meant more protection for their planet.

"Destroy the darkness? That would be a glorious day!" bird-boy exclaimed in excitement, before pulling Milly's hand, "Come! We'll take you to her!"

Lelouch and Milly smiled in accomplishment. This may be easier than they thought.

o~o

Just like Milly and Lelouch, C.C. and Rai were having little to no trouble on their planet. However, unlike the diamond planet, the world they landed on was covered in thick forest and swamp, filled with a large amount of familiar and unfamiliar flora and fauna.

As they exited the pod, Rai led the way, keeping his eyes on the device at all times, although he did send curious glances at C.C. every now and again.

"Something on your mind?" she finally asked after Rai glanced at her for about the seventh time.

"Huh?!" Rai sputtered, nearly dropping the device, "Wh-what, are you talking about."

"Well, I'm sure you aren't glancing back at me just for giggles. This is about what happened back at the castle, isn't it?"

"We-well, yes, I-I mean you did just sneak onto the Blue Lion without us noticing, and Lelouch and Suzaku are the only ones that seemed to recognize you so..."

"I've already told you that Lelouch and I will explain everything to you when we retrieve these Lions. Better for it to be repeated once than multiple times, facts could get mixed up."

"I guess…" Rai muttered as they continued walking. They walked for about another ten minutes before the bushes to their right rustled. Rai jumped back in alarm before a creature leaped out before them that seemed to look like a mixture between a rabbit, chipmunk, and caterpillar.

C.C. smirked, "Careful boy, I hear they can smell fear."

"Heh, guess I'm a little jumpy," Rai laughed.

They continued through the jungle until they came to a calm river. However, what Rai was more interested in was the canoe parked on the shore. It looked like any other ordinary canoe except that the head of it was in the shape of a roaring Lion. They heard a moan to their left, turning to their left they saw what appeared to be an oversized sloth, almost as tall as Coran.

C.C. blinked in surprise at its size while Rai yelped and leaped behind her for cover. She rolled her eyes as if to say, 'Oh, what a gentleman, letting the woman fight his battles.' The sloth didn't attack them though and only seemed to study them curiously as Rai peaked out from behind C.C's shoulder. Really, how dangerous could a sloth be anyway?

"It's just a… whatever that thing is…" Rai said.

"A giant sloth?" C.C. asked bluntly.

"...Maybe?"

The sloth then seemed to notice the device in Rai's hand before smiling and walking over to the canoe. It then made a gesture to follow him.

"I-I think he wants us to get in his canoe," Rai said.

"Then let's go," C.C. said as he walked towards the sloth. Seeing Rai's hesitation, C.C continued, "I think we can both agree that compared to everything that's happened to both of us, this is close to nothing."

Seeing her point, Rai followed behind the green-haired witch to the canoe. Extending his paw like a gentleman, the sloth helped C.C. into the boat, and Rai followed right behind. Once they settled, the sloth began rowing the canoe gently down the river. As they proceeded down, more of the rabbit-squirrel-caterpillar critters popped out from the hedge surrounding them. They seemed to wave and sing to them in harmony as they glided along. C.C. couldn't help but giggle at how adorable they were, and even Rai smiled as well. They entered a stone archway that led into a long tunnel, and the top of the entrance had a very similar picture of a Lion, like the ones they first saw in the cave back on Earth. The sloth-thing certainly seemed to know why they were here and what they were looking for.

"I wonder if Lelouch, Milly, Rivalz, and Shirley are having as good a time as us?" Rai wondered out loud.

o~o

"WAAAAAHHHHH!"

"NONONONONONONONO!"

Unlike Lelouch, Milly, C.C., and Rai, Shirley and Rivalz's planet was anything but peaceful! They had arrived on the asteroid shaped planet just as the others had but were almost immediately shot down by Galra fighter jets. The 'peaceful' world they had been sent to was now a mining colony for the Galra. And they just so happened to be trespassing.

They were both currently screaming their heads off as Rivalz struggled to steer the Blue Lion out of range of the Galra lasers and missiles. However, it didn't take long for one of them to hit the Blue Lion, causing it to start crashing towards the surface. Fortunately, Rivalz managed to regain the Blue Lion's balance inches before they hit the ground, and the chase was at it again.

"I THOUGHT CORAN SAID THESE PLANETS WERE PEACEFUL?!" Shirley screamed hysterically.

"MAYBE 'PEACEFUL' MEANS SOMETHING ELSE IN ALTEAN!" Rivalz replied nearly in the same hysterics as Shirley.

After regaining balance once again, Shirley took a moment to activate the device with the coordinates. "Uh, according to these coordinates, we're right on top of the Orange Lion," she looked out the screen of the Blue Lion to see the opening to one of the mines that the Galra robots were heavily guarding. The Lion had pulled up a zoomed-in image of the entrance, "It's below there where they're mining for the ore. They don't even know the Lion is there… or maybe they just got here, and they're digging for the Lion? I don't know, what do you think, Rivalz?"

"Who cares? Just go get it! I'm dropping you down there!"

Shirley paled, "Me? Down there? No, no, nononono…!" she shook her head vigorously.

Rivalz gritted his teeth, "Yes, I'll cover you!" he gripped the controls and soared towards the entrance, dodging the laser blasts left and right. Those that hit did little to no damage to the Lion's mechanical body. When it hit the ground, it charged towards the cave entrance, crushing robots beneath its paws in the process.

Shirley, however, was having a full-on panic attack, "We-well what if the Orange Lion doesn't work? Wh-what if I- what if I can't get in the mine? What if I start crying? It's too late; I'm already crying!"

Rivalz could only send her a nervous, sympathetic look, "Sorry, Shirley, no time for questions!" Rivalz then hit a button on the dashboard, and Shirley disappeared into the floor, screaming. It felt like one of those waterslides where the floor vanished beneath your feet before the ride began, and just the anticipation of waiting for it to open made Shirley hate those slides. This felt ten times worse, considering that immediately after, she was spat out of the Blue Lion's mouth onto the hard stone surface of the planet. She narrowly avoided hitting her head on a rock as she rolled to a stop at the cave's entrance.

A series of lasers immediately came shooting towards her, but Rivalz and the Blue Lion quickly blocked them. Scared, but not wasting this distraction, Shirley scampered toward the platform that would lead her down into the mine. Fortunately, she remembered her dad had taught her how to hardwire a car if hers, or a friend's, ever didn't work for some reason. So it was easy for her to find the generator and start tampering with the electrical wires.

"Oh sure, just drop me off on an alien planet, that's cool, Rivalz, a great way to treat a lady," she angrily muttered to herself she picked and pulled wires. "It's only occupied with mean purple aliens that want to kill me but whatever. Just ignore them and go connect with a big, orange mechanical cat! Easy-peasy! Yeah, that makes total sense! Perfect sense!"

At some point in her rambling, she managed to make the cart work as it jerked downward. As it descended, the tunnel began to light up in orange-colored markings of a Lion just like on Earth. As Shirley gazed at the images, all of the fear she felt before began to fade away.

"Wow… cool!"

When the cart stopped at the bottom of the tunnel, Shirley quickly jumped out and leaped behind a pillar that the Galra had put in place to keep the cave from collapsing. It seemed the Galra had already made themselves at home on this planet. Along the walls of the tunnel were more pictures of Lions. It appeared that Shirley was in the right place. The roof shook as sounds of the fight above continued; it seemed Rivalz was keeping them busy, but how long would he last?

"Okay, I'm in a giant hole. Now what Shirley?" she asked herself. If she remembered correctly, all Rivalz had to do was touch the Lion drawings and then they started glowing. She didn't notice there were drawings on the floor as well until she stepped forward to reach the wall marking, unknowingly stepping on a floor drawing. The orange glow appeared once again, startling her. Turning around, she saw two more Lion drawings, the one she had stepped on and another further away from it. Then on the wall across from her appeared to end in a circular symbol on the wall.

"Oh… pretty! Now how do I get through that?" she asked herself before turning around to see a giant drilling machine becoming visible thanks to the cave's glow, "Hmm… that'll work!"

o~o

While Shirley got busy trying to get the drill to work, Rivalz and the Blue Lion got hit with another blast from the Galra cruisers. Rivalz prayed Shirley didn't take much longer as he was having a hard time keeping these guys at bay. Glancing back, Rivalz saw that one blast hit a little too close to the cave entrance, only to realize that they were aiming for that the entire time!

In desperation, he shot the Blue Lion into the air, which then used its tail cannons to blast them out of the sky.

'Hurry up, Shirley!'

o~o

Back on the diamond planet, the two native children had led the pair to a path that led up the mountain. Lelouch groaned at the number of steps they would have to take just to get there. As they approached the levels, though, Milly and Lelouch noticed that the two children had stopped moving, as if they were hesitant to keep going.

"Why'd you stop?" asked Lelouch.

"We are forbidden to go further than this," the bird-boy explained, "only those called by the Great Lion can climb the steps."

"And since you are the ones the Lion called, you have to do it," the fish-boy added.

Lelouch and Milly looked at each other with raised eyebrows. These people seemed a bit too superstitious, even for them. Their trains of thought were cut short though when the steps to the stairs, mainly the pictures of the Lions themselves, started glowing a bright yellow. It left not just Milly and Lelouch in awe, but the native boys as well. Had they taken a step back from the mountain, they would have seen that the mound in its entirety was lighting up in bright yellow light.

"I think that's your cue, Milly…" Lelouch said as Milly nodded in agreement, before smiling and started skipping up the stone steps.

"The mountain has never done this before!" the bird-boy exclaimed in wonder.

"The Great Lion is excited!" the fish-boy added.

Lelouch could only smile at their innocence.

Milly was panting a little as she made it up to the last flight of stairs. When she made it to the top, though, there wasn't anything there. There was only a large stone carving of the Lion at the very center. Walking towards it, she hummed in thought. Shouldn't the Lion be here?

Milly then yelped as the ground beneath her began to rumble, the craving of the Lion lighting up and splitting apart the floor. Milly quickly leaped to one side avoid doing the splits herself. When the top was completely open, Milly looked apprehensively down, seeing only darkness. Raising her eyebrow, she expected to see the Lion. She lifted her head and looked around, was something else supposed to happen?

Milly then shivered as she felt a soft purr echo from the hole, and immediately it filled with light so bright, Milly had to cover her eyes not to be blinded. But any apprehension that she felt before wholly vanished as well as she grinned and leaped into the hole, knowing full well her Lion was waiting for her.

"YAHOOOOOOO!"

Down below, Lelouch and the two children stumbled as the ground shook beneath them. Looking up, they see that the top of the mountain might as well look like a separate sun. Finally, out of the 'sun' emerged a stunning yellow feline mecha, the light itself had seemed to radiate off of it. Lelouch could only smile while the two boys looked on, their eyes sparkling in awe. In the distance, in the village where the boys lived, a chorus of cheers filled the air.

o~o

Back on the meteorite planet, below the surface, Shirley finally managed to get the drill thing to work, and it wasn't long before the wall in front of her came tumbling down. Jumping off, she could stare in wonder at what was in front of her. Just like with the Blue Lion on Earth, the Orange Lion was also within a forcefield of the same color. Its eyes glowed a bright yellow and seemed to have a little bit of red outlining on its plating. She also noticed that compared to the Blue Lion, this Lion seemed to have much more armor on. It reminded her of the more heavily armored Glasgows that were made more for close combat.

Out of everyone in the Student Council Shirley was the one who got scared the easiest (besides Nina), however looking up at the Lion, she strangely didn't feel fear at all, in fact, she felt completely safe and calm as if the Lion was assuring her of just that. Slowly, she began to approach the particle barrier that surrounded it.

"Okay, you can do this," Shirley told herself. She got closer and, though feeling a little ridiculous doing so, waved at it, "Um… Hi, I'm Shirley, and I guess I'm supposed to be your pilot… so um… yeah, I'm going to get you out of here… I hope…"

Shirley honestly wasn't quite sure what to do. When they found the Blue Lion on Earth, all Rivalz had to do was tap on the particle barrier and poof, the Blue Lion was free. She figured that would be the best place to start. So she tentatively touched the forcefield, and just like Rivalz, it reacted, glowing just as brightly as the one on Earth, releasing the Lion for the first time in a millennium.

o~o

Gritting his teeth, Rivalz spun in the air and proceeded to dive-bomb the Galra cruisers that continued to attack the cave. The Blue Lion let out a roar as it's jaws enclosed around the wing of one, ripping it off before it exploded. Hovering in the air, the Lion continued to shoot down any cruisers it saw with its tail cannon. Turning around, Rivalz's blood ran cold. Their next action made Rivalz's blood run cold.

"Oh no!" he shouted as he saw several cruisers aiming all of their ammunition at the cave entrance and around it. They were going bury Shirley alive along with the Lion!

Desperate, Rivalz raced after them, shooting as many down as he could, but one missile managed to fire just as the cruiser blew up, and there was no stopping its trajectory!

"SHIRLEY!" Rivalz screamed in horror as the missile made contact with the entrance, causing a massive explosion, thick black and red clouds of smoke filling the area, blocking the view of what happened. Sweat dripped down Rivalz neck, and his eyes could only look in horror as it finally cleared to not only reveal that the entrance had been sealed…

But half the mountain had collapsed into itself.

o~o

For Rai, it felt like the river they were on went on for miles as and miles, and if there was one thing that Rai did know, even in his partially amnesiac state, was that he hated waiting! And when he was forced to wait, thoughts would start forming in his head with no control whatsoever, just like a mob of hungry koi fish receiving their daily meal.

"I know the Princess said that this is supposed to be my Lion, but what if she's wrong? I mean, she's probably not wrong. She's a princess, but I'm not a pilot, even though... I've always wanted to be a pilot. I mean, I read all the fighter manuals, but never got to do the simulator. But, hey, I can't be all that worse than Rivalz-"

As the teen continued to ramble, the sloth looked at C.C. as if to ask: 'Is he always like this?' C.C. only shrugged in response as she had never gotten close to Rai until now. The canoe, however, continued down the stream into another long cave with more Lion carvings on the side and green moss growing along the walls.

"-but what if I get in there and it doesn't respond? What if I get in there and it's too big, and my feet don't touch the pedals? WHAT IF THERE AREN'T EVEN PEDALS?!"

"Well, if you keep rambling like that, you're going to get more than just your tongue in a knot," C.C. said with an amused smirk. Rai blushed in embarrassment. C.C. continued, "I might not know much about this Voltron that the Princess speaks of, but I do believe that you, Lelouch, and the others were brought here for a reason. If she believes the Green Lion is to be piloted by you, I see little reason to doubt her."

C.C. couldn't see Rai's face as his back faced her, but the teen now had a small smile of reassurance on his face, taking a little bit of comfort in her words. Before he could say thank you, he gasped as they finally approached the end of the river. The path that led away from it had thick curved vines and trees in the way, and the middle was what appeared to be a sizeable ancient temple also covered mostly in vines.

After the boat docked on the shore, the pair departed, waving thank you to the strange sloth that escorted them. They approached the stone temple, passing by two more large Lion statues on the way. The markings on the ground they also saw started to glow bright green as if sensing Rai's presence, creating a trail that led up the stairs of the temple.

As the two walked closer to the temple, more markings appeared on the steps, until they led into the most significant cluster of vines at the top. Rai seemed completely entranced as they stopped at the bottom like something was calling to him. Rai then swallowed, hesitation still very present in his head.

"Well?" asked C.C., smirking and folding her arms, "What are you waiting for?"

Hearing C.C.'s words, Rai quickly shook the nervousness away and ran at full speed up the steps to the top. After the stairs ended, he then proceeded to climb up the large vines, some with quite a bit of difficulty because of how thick they were. He was panting as hard as Lelouch would be after a light run when he finally reached the top. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Rai looked around, suddenly confused, there was nothing up here but vines.

Rai was about to leave in disappointment when a low growl was heard right below him. Looking down, he was soon greeted by a brightly glowing green light. He could feel the energy radiating from it. Grinning, he leaped down into the mess of vines, the lights shining brighter after he landed.

"WHOO-HOO-HOOOOO!" he cheered.

Back on the ground, C.C. was leaning against the pillars that led up to the temple. Suddenly the ground beneath her shook, and a roar filled the air, making her stumble. Looking up in bewilderment, she saw that at the top of the temple, the vines had begun to glow and shake. Then they suddenly dispersed, revealing a huge green Lion was rising in the air with burning yellow eyes.

In spite of herself, C.C. couldn't help but give an impressed smirk as the wind blew her long green hair back.

"What did I tell you?"

o~o

Rivalz was panicking. Now that the cave had been destroyed, likely killing Shirley, the Galra forces were focusing all their firepower on him as he struggled to outmaneuver them with the Blue Lion. Gritting his teeth, Rivalz attempted to turn around and fire at the ships again, only for the Blue Lion to get shot down by more lasers. He was completely overwhelmed!

"Oh, no, no, no! Going down! We're going down!" Rivalz panicked as they crashed to the ground. In desperation, he pulled the controls as hard as he could, which managed to have the Lion to roll along the ground and land upright. However, it was still somewhat damaged as it attempted to rise. Red warning lights flashed everywhere inside the cockpit. Rivalz shook his head as he had been jostled during the fall, only to look through the screen to see several missiles heading towards him.

"Oh, no!" he gasped. He could only close his eyes and look away, awaiting death and hoping it would be painless.

Before the missiles could strike, though, a massive mechanical beast came shooting out of the ground, landing between the Blue Lion and the rockets, which promptly exploded on the impact of the new arrival. From the clouds of smoke, a massive Orange Lion came clambering out before leaping into the air and crushing the Galra cruisers beneath it, causing them to explode.

It stood up and turned to face the Blue Lion. "Rivalz, you okay?"

Rivalz gasped, "Shirley! I thought you were dead! You jumped in front of all those shots to save my life?!"

Promptly a screen appeared in front of Rivalz to show Shirley in the cockpit of the Orange Lion. It looked identical to the one Rivalz was in, except the seat, all of the gadgets and buttons inside were orange colored. She didn't appear to be hurt if a little frazzled. She must have been in the Lion already when the mountain caved in.

"Well, actually, I was trying to get out of the way. Thankfully, what this thing lacks in speed more than makes up for in armor, and man can it take a beating!"

The conversation was brought to a halt, though when more Galra cruisers came flying down, shooting lasers at the two Lions.

"We've got incoming!" Shirley exclaimed, looking towards the shots with her Lion.

The two prepared to engage the enemy again when another screen popped up, this time in both their Lions. It was Allura. "Paladins! Please hurry back! I can't hold the wormhole much longer!"

Rivalz didn't need to be told twice, "Let's get out of here!" he exclaimed as he and Shirley blasted off into the air with their Lions the wormhole straight ahead. About halfway there, Shirley felt herself jolt forward as she was hit by one of the cruisers, causing her Lion to spin as it continued upwards.

"Oh no, not again!" she nearly wailed as she felt nausea begin again. She put her hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep the food down.

"Keep it together, Shirley, the wormhole's closing!" Rivalz said, just as the Lions made into them before it closed behind them.

o~o

The control room doors slid open as Shirley and Rivalz walked in, both groaning. Shirley was holding her head while Rivalz massaged his lower back. Lelouch, Milly, C.C., and Rai were already there waiting for them, alongside Suzaku, Kallen, Allura, and Coran.

"You made it!" Allura said with relief as they entered.

"Yeah," Rivalz frowned, flexing his arm, "Just barely, that was a nightmare! I almost puked out there! I felt like Shirley!"

"Think how I felt," Shirley retorted, "I am Shirley!"

"Yeah," Milly smiled, looking at Lelouch, "we had a tough time too," Lelouch smirked in amusement. C.C. rolled her eyes as Rai snorted a little.

"Did we find the Purple or Red Lions yet?" asked Lelouch.

"Allura just located them," Coran said, "there's a bit of good news and bad news. The good news is that both Lions are in the same place and nearby. The bad news is, they're on board that Galra ship that's now orbiting Arus… but wait! Good news again, we're Arus!"

Lelouch's eyes widened in shock, as did everyone else's, "They're here already?!"

"I thought you said it would take them two days to get here! Not two hours!" Kallen exclaimed in anger.

"Apologies," Coran said a nervous smile, "it seems my calculations were a bit off. Finger counting is more of an art than a science."

His explanation, though, was cut short as a large screen appeared in front of them, drawing everyone's attention to it. The image that appeared showed a purple-colored alien, one of the Galra. Much like the rest of his kind, he had purple fur and skin, long catlike ears, and in his right eye was what appeared to be a large round mechanical eye. His left eye had no pupil and was completely yellow. He had a healthy, muscular physique, making him look very intimidating.

"Princess Allura, this is Commander Sendak of the Galra Empire," the Galra addressed them, earning several gasps from many in the castle. Lelouch and Kallen were only ones who didn't seem afraid of him, only glaring at the Galra in defiance. The way he addressed them reminded Lelouch and Kallen of the nobles of Britannia back home. The very thought made their blood boil.

"I come on behalf of Emperor Zarkon, ruler of the known universe. I am here to confiscate the Lions. Turn them over to me, or I will destroy your planet."

#Fanfiction #AU #Code Geass #Voltron #C.C.#lelouch lamperouge #kallen stadtfeld #suzaku kururugi #rai (lost colors)#shirley fenette #milly ashford #rivalz cardemonde #princess allura #coran #galra empire

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terresdebrumestories · 5 years ago

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Clark Kent, of Krypton - 1/4: Kal-El

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 20 404 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onn, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [II. Shadow] [III. Superman] [IV. Clark Kent] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTES AND THANKS: Seven months of work and nearly a hundred thousand words! How's that for a first foray in a fandom, uh? I'm actually pretty proud of myself on that one, and I hope you all will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! But before we start, there's a number of people I need to thank:

@susiecarter, for getting me into this pairing (seriously, go read her stories!), cheerleading me through the writing process, and then betaing the whole monster in absolute record time!

@stuvyx for the AMAZING comic pages which you can find here and here, and for the banners used in the official @superbatbigbang masterpost. Go shower her with praise for her work! :D

The Mod Squad @superbatbigbang, whose instructions and work were impeccable and easy to understand even for me and my silly brain

The OfficialMovieSoundtrack channel on YouTube, for compiling the complete Wonder Woman score: I listened to this more than any other music while writing CKoK.

The jewish nerds of tumblr, who’ve been (and still are) spreading the word about Superman’s origins and the character’s original meanings and principles, which in turn had a rather large influence on Clark’s personality in this fic. I hope the bits with Martha will come off as respectful as I tried to make them.

And lastly, a tiny thanks to DC and Mr. Snyder, for deciding to cast Henry Cavill and his jawline as Clark Kent but also making him just not-how-I-wanted enough (and in the right way) to spark me into telling this story.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Lord Bel-Lor exclaims in lilting Council, with a hiccup of delighted surprise. “I would have expected the whole of El to know of this by now.”

Kal-El, strategically stationed close to one of the potted plants meant to shelter the refreshments table from the dancing area, presses his lips together while the young Zod dignitary tries very hard not to sound too eager about incoming gossip. Kal swallows around a lump in his throat, but remains silent. His aunt and uncle’s Turn of the Year ball is one of the most important events of the year, and it wouldn’t do for him to cause a fuss.

He stands in place, fingers tightening around his drink, and darts a quick look around. Lady Ona-Set has found her customary seat a few feet to his right, advanced age and a rather poor sense of rhythm having long ago banded together to keep her from the dance floor. Further to the left, close to one of five internal balconies, Lady Ra-Ny and her spouse have gathered a small but agitated-looking group of Worker dignitaries from Lot and Zod’s delegations. They seem to be engaged in a rather heated debate, hushed as it is. But the rest of the guests have, for the most part, elected to dance or make good use of the balconies allowing them to gaze over the minuscule shapes of their lavish homes, several thousand feet below.

There was a time when El’s elite lived closer to their rulers. A long time ago, the Citadel of El was filled with habitations floor to mountain-high ceiling: the royal family lived in the last few city-wide floors, the lords and ladies shared the following quarter of the space, and the common people divided themselves between the Citadel grounds and the Outside. Then the Lords and Ladies of the Principality rebelled against King Hyr-El, who resolved the situation with a bloodbath first, and the destruction of a solid third of the Citadel’s inner buildings second.

Ever since then, the Stateroom of Peace has floated, alone, in the vast emptiness left by the old families’ houses; the new Citadel Lords and Ladies made new homes on the Citadel Grounds, and pushed former merchants to become Mountain Lords and Ladies in city-domes of their own. The Stateroom—which, as its name implies, is used for every Guild Council meeting and many other official occasions—also serves as a ballroom for religious occasions such as the Turn of the Year, during which all of Krypton celebrates yet another cycle of close collaboration between Rao, the Helping God, and his brother-husband Vohc, the Builder. These are, at least, the Stateroom’s official uses.

There is, however, a third—and chiefly preferred—activity that takes place here: gossiping. Kal has been privy to much of it throughout his near-thirty years of life, and he is largely unsurprised to find his family once again at the center of attention as Citadel Lord Bel-Lor proceeds to share the latest news of the Citadel Princes and Princesses of El.

It goes like this: two days before this very ball, a mysterious spacecraft crashed on Lady Mon-Ka’s property. The precise patch of land in question, bordering the Citadel, had been deemed unfit for cultivation and left in disuse for quite some time, rarely visited and even more rarely monitored. Perhaps that was why no one raised the alarm—or perhaps, as Lady Kam-Leang remarks, Lady Mon-Ka was simply suffering from the effects of the energy depletion afflicting all of Krypton, and could not afford to keep her sophisticated surveillance system in a functioning state. Whatever the reason, no one at the time thought to investigate the craft.

“No one, that is, but the Shadow of El,” Lord Bel-Lor says with a storyteller’s instinct for dramatics.

Kal drains his flute of liquor in one go while the Zod dignitary dutifully asks about the Shadow of El. Lord Bel-Lor declines to delve into much detail, aware as he is that extensive knowledge of the Shadow won’t garner him any favor at court, but there is more than enough there to earn several exclamations of surprise and one shocked ‘No!’. The Shadow of El, he explains, is a disturbance to the peace, a master criminal helping other criminals escape well-earned justice...but alas, the people of the Citadel have taken a shine to them.

“Something to do with old legends,” Lady Lin-Na says in a disdainful tone. “You must have heard of the Dark Sun.”

“Only in passing,” the Zodian admits. “I hear they are causing some trouble.”

“Inconsequential,” Lady Lin-Na dismisses, several other voices humming in approval, including her husband's. “But they did find their name in one of our old legends, in which Rao must go through a magical sleep, and a darker version of him—Rao’s dream self, if you will—takes it upon themselves to help protect the world during the sun’s long absence... Because the Gods may not interfere in the affairs of mortals in person, the Dark Sun casts a Shadow of themselves on Krypton, so that it may fight the monsters trying to take over the world.”

Several voices try to be the first to express their disapproval and disdain towards the very idea, Council and Ellon overlapping in the conversation until Lord Bel-Lor clicks his tongue to reestablish silence. Kal-El picks up another drink—his third this evening—and ignores Lady Ona-Set’s judgmental glare as he sips at it, knuckles white around the stem.

There is no true way to tell what exactly transpired in that disused field. What is known, however, is that by the time Lady Mon-Ka was made aware of the smoking ruins on her property, the Shadow of El had scooped the spacecraft’s pilot out of the wreckage and taken them to the Citadel. They appeared on the main external balcony with an alien in their arms and the light of the sun behind them, striking Lara Lor-Van and Jor-El almost dumb with awe. And the Shadow of El commanded them to take care of the alien, for the spacecraft had reached Krypton on the day of Vohc’s comet, and its pilot might therefore be an envoy of the God.

Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, known throughout El for their piety, took the alien in. By the time Kal-El emerged from his labs six or seven hours after dawn, groggy and sporting wrinkle marks from his pillow all over his face, the entire household was scrambling to accommodate both this badly-injured and unexpected new responsibility of theirs, and the ire of Zor-El, Citadel King of El and rather exasperated older brother, who had no patience for his younger sibling and sister-in-law’s latest religious fancy.

“I fail to understand,” the Zodri dignitary says in hushed tones while Kal braces himself for the inevitable turn of the conversation from this point on, “why Citadel royals would comply with a criminal’s instructions.”

“I forget sometimes,” Lord Dar Ran-No says with a smile painfully obvious in his tone, “how little of our internal politics is understood outside of El.”

Kal listens to the giggles that follow the word ‘politics’ and resists the urge to mime gagging into his glass. It isn’t so much Lady Ona-Set he worries about—she has little affection for Bel-Lor, or any of the Citadel Lords for that matter—but rather the foreign delegations taking part in the celebrations. What the Zodri envoy is about to discover will make its way into every available ear before the end of the night; no two ways about that. Kal can almost hear General Dru-Zod teasing Zor-El about it already. At the very least, however, he does have the power to avoid bringing even more attention to himself with an untimely departure. With a deep breath, Kal forces himself not to empty his Ulian liquor in one go, choosing instead to soothe the tense ache in his neck with a slow overview of the room.

The dancing is slow tonight, even by court standards, and most of the guests are still busy digesting the vast array of refined dishes they spent the better part of three hours sampling over the luxurious buffet. The light, as red as El’s famed sunsets, sparkles over jewelry and shining fabric. Lady Ra-Ny, her spouse and their group have retreated to one of the internal balconies, Warrior-looking men scattered in close proximity while Zor-El stands in the middle of the group. All over the dance floor, people laugh, voices loud and smiles sharp with the delight of mostly harmless gossip.

Behind Kal, the chuckles have faded, and as Dar Ran-No feigns reluctance to share his knowledge, Kal prays in vain for the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Something you must know,” the Citadel Lord says in a delighted tone that makes Kal slouch even further than he usually does, “is that Their Majesties have never been the sort to resist...scientific curiosity.”

More giggles, and Kal overhears two voices sharing the title of a certain book in hushed Ellon.

“A very specific sort of scientific curiosity,” Lord Bel-Lor chimes in, improper meaning exactly as clear now as it always is.

More laughter. Kal doesn’t quite screw his eyes shut, but he does look down at the ground, feeling redder than the sun. In his armpit and in his ears, blood pulses with the sharp painfulness of shame, and he forces himself to relax his grip on his flute of liquor or risk breaking it. It takes everything he has to use a polite tone to send away the servant offering him a drink, instead of begging them to leave him alone.

“I must admit,” the Zodri dignitary says with what sounds like genuine curiosity, “I am quite incapable of guessing what you are driving at.”

“Do you truly not know?”

“To be fair, Lord Bel-Lor,” Lady Kam-Leang says in an indulgent tone, “the young man doesn’t look much older than the Prince himself.”

“Prince Kal-El? What does he have to do with his parents’ scientific endeavors?”

At least two people snort at that, loud and undignified, and Kal’s face heats up even further, stomach sinking fast and low in his belly. Dar Ran-No’s voice sounds tight when he explains, in the usual embarrassing amount of detail, what exactly Kal has to do with his parents’ scientific endeavors.

“That is revolting!” the Zodri dignitary exclaims, in a strained hiss that sends cold shivers down Kal’s spine. “Who would even conceive of something so—so—”

“I believe it has been called primitive.”

Kal somehow restrains himself from muttering unflattering things into his drink, but only just. To his left, Lady Ona-Set sits with her eyes closed, head tilted toward Kal, mouth hanging slightly open; but the lady shows no sign of drooling. Old she may be, but the gene for degenerative hearing has been eliminated from the collective gene pool for almost seven centuries, and she has always had a reputation for gossiping. No need to encourage that particular trait with entertaining dramatics on his part, especially when she can’t possibly be having any trouble hearing when Dan Ran-No continues:

“Primitive or no, it was in direct keeping with their previous endeavors...and neither of Their Majesties has ever made a secret of it. When the—what was the word they used for it? I forget.”

“The birthing,” Kam-Leang supplies, voice curling with a sort of fascinated distaste around the archaic word. “That was what they called it.”

“Right,” Bel-Lor acquiesces with a scoff, “the birthing. Both Prince Jor-El and Princess Lara Lor-Van had been religious before, you must understand, but after the—uh—the birthing, they became quite convinced the child was a miracle of the Gods. A gift from Rao himself.”

“Surely they didn’t—”

“Oh, yes, they did,” Bel-Lor all but squeaks; Lady Kam-Leang and her husband both hush him.

Kal winces at the sound, fully aware that this particular piece of gossip has lost none of its power in the twenty-nine years since his birth. He doesn’t even need to put any particular effort into picturing the looks on the Ellon nobles’ faces: wide eyes and delighted grins, vaguely hidden behind fluttering fans and flutes of sparkling Nyen wine. They have sported it at regular intervals throughout Kal’s life, and he can only assume the Zodri envoy likewise looks very much the same as every other dignitary ever has: as enraptured as his predecessors were by the scandalous yet fascinating story of the last natural birth of Krypton. There is, however, more to this story, and this time Kal does down what is left of his liquor before they speak again, wishing for all the world he’d thought to grab some of the fermented torquats Dru-Zod brought along as a gift. At least he would have had something good to chew on while waiting out the night’s agony.

“They tried to have the child blessed by the priests of Rao—”

“They were, of course, refused,” Lady Kam-Leang states with piercing finality. “The official reason was that to give the child such a name was an affront to the Gods no priest could ever be tempted to forgive—”

“Truly?” the dignitary asks, genuinely puzzled. “I fail to see the problem with it.”

“Because you are unfamiliar with Ellon,” Dar Ran-No says, “or you would know ‘Kal-El’ is the light of the sun.”

“Although,” Lady Kam-Leang remarks, “things would perhaps not have been so bad if they hadn’t gone further still. For years afterwards, Their Majesties and their followers—yes, they do still have a handful of them—insisted on calling their offspring a miracle. A herald of great things to come.”

Kal is...acutely familiar with that line. It is old habit, by now, to swallow the bitter shame that comes with it.

“I heard rumors,” Lord Bel-Lor continues, “that Their Majesties wished to attempt birthing a second child, but it seems the Gods intended for the prince to be a one-time phenomenon.”

“Some people in the Guild of Believers have whispered that this must be a divine punishment for the Els’ arrogance. I do not know that I agree,” Dar Ran-No says in a slightly pinched tone, “but the lack of a second ‘miracle’ did certainly temper Jor-El’s dreams of having a messiah for a son.”

“But of course,” Bel-Lor adds, picking up where his fellow Citadel Lord left off, “if the other rumors are true, and Their Majesties are being plagued with a much more biological problem….”

At least one person chokes on a drink. Another one, perhaps two, coughs. Kal assumes the high-pitched, quickly-aborted laughter belongs to the Zodri dignitary, although he wouldn’t be able to swear to it. Face burning even as the rest of him turns to ice, he makes a tremendous effort to keep his gaze on the ground and take deep breaths until the corners of his eyes stop stinging. Inside his chest, his heart throws itself against his ribs like a wild animal trying to escape a cage, and Kal has to blink several times before he can bring the patterns on the floor back into focus.

The balconies are overcrowded, the object of too many mocking eyes and surrounded by the imposing silhouettes of Nyen Warriors. But they are the only place where Kal can hope to find a little fresh air—and peace, if he can be allowed to make use of the one occupied by his uncle and his friends, rather than any of the other four—until he has remained here for the full four hours required of him, and is allowed to retreat to the safety of his labs.

He braces himself and, carefully avoiding Lady Ona-Set’s suddenly alert gaze, begins to make his way around the ballroom.

“Good morning, Kal-El,” Krypto says when Kal emerges from his labs, with no sleep under his belt and Kryo on his heels. “Their Majesties wished me to remind you of the king’s visit tonight.”

Kal nods, always more tongue-tied than he’d like in presence of his mother’s hunit. Krypto has always been pleasant to him, programming far too stringent to allow even for the impression of disrespect in its tone; but it is an extension of Lara Lor-Van, and that is enough to keep Kal on his toes.

“I remember,” he tells the hunit, “thank you. In fact, I was on my way to wash up and rest. I should like to be fit for polite company tonight.”

“Good,” Krypto says the same way it always has, the one that makes Kal feel like he’s still a little boy. “Lady Lara also wishes you to know the doctors have officially released our guest from bed rest.”

“Oh,” Kal says, heart rate picking up. “I suppose that is good news.”

It will mean one more person to keep in mind, one more presence to navigate around in the palace, and Kal’s head aches just thinking of it—but it is still good that the alien didn’t die. They cannot, after all, be held responsible for Kal’s issues.

“Quite,” Krypto replies in its usual toneless voice. “Their Majesties ask that you remember the name of House El must not be tarnished. Dinner should be served at the customary hour.”

Stomach sinking to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, Kal nods around the lump in his throat, head lowering almost of its own volition. He stands still as Krypto, ever unaffected by displays of emotion, extends him bland wishes for satisfactory repose and floats away towards the main rooms of his family’s apartments. The Lesser House of El may have lost much of the respect they once enjoyed, after Kal’s birth, but their living quarters do still occupy a solid third of the Citadel’s upper dome. Even living here his whole life, Kal has gone numerous stretches of several days—once as much as two weeks—without encountering his parents. The sight of Krypto leaving him to go and report their conversation to his mother is as familiar an image as Kal has ever known.

He stands alone in the corridor for a moment, breathing in and out at consciously regular intervals while Kryo asks if he’d like a massage to be added to his personal agenda for the night. He nods, of course: a little help relaxing can’t hurt, after all, and he is going to need every ounce of confidence he can get today. That, and his sore arms will definitely thank him.

“Your heart rate is elevated,” Kryo says after a short silence.

“I know,” Kal says, heart picking up its speed again as he tenses in anticipation of Kryo’s predictable remark:

“I am compelled to let you know your current readings are quite far above average.”

“I know,” Kal says again, and breathes in deep to avoid snapping at it.

It isn’t the hunit’s fault, after all, that these reminders were programmed into it. Some things, Kal has changed over the years; but he never did figure out how to make the hunit less judgmental without messing up its programming beyond repair, and so the tone has stayed. It's proven useful in the long run, in that Kryo's unaltered demeanor hides all the things that aren’t the way Kal’s parents wanted them to be, but it doesn’t mean the hunit is never annoying. Kal has practice with this, though, and so it is simple—if not effortless—to keep his tone in check when he says:

“Don’t worry, Kryo, I’ll be fine tonight.”

“You are a prince of El,” Kryo says, automatically beginning one of the most irritating conversational routines in his repertoire. “You are—”

“Bound to interact with strangers from time to time,” Kal cuts in, “yes, I realize.”

“Irrational behaviors due to feelings of inadequacy—”

“Kryo. You are well aware I dislike it when you talk about me like this.”

Kryo goes quiet, but doesn’t apologize. Contrition is not a state hunit were ever designed to emulate. They are far too matter-of-fact for that. Kal, for his part, breathes in deep again, and forces his shoulders to unwind as he finally walks away from the access stairs to his labs and strides toward his rooms. He has Kryo perform a general scan to locate the rest in the household—only in the part of the Citadel assigned to Kal’s parents, however—and is all but scolded for it. The other hunits of the palace are complaining, it seems, about the frequency of pings of that nature they tend to receive.

“It is never a good thing to render house hunits dissatisfied.”

Hunits are devoid of emotion, incapable of satisfaction or dissatisfaction by design. What Kryo is truly saying is that Kal’s use of household scans is above average and will therefore be reported; but the emotional vocabulary makes the whole thing sound just a tad less pathetic, and so Kal sighs and nods rather than correct the hunit. Besides, his higher reasoning functions are begging further out of this conversation with every step he takes toward his bed. No point in trying to argue in these conditions. He is in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn, his entire being crying out for sleep, when the black-and-gray silhouette of his parents’ guest stops him.

The alien, standing by the guests’ library, is tall by Ellon standards, though the people of Zod might find them of average size. Their anatomical model is familiar enough to be reassuring: four limbs with hands and feet, shoulders on the broader side but still within the limits of what Kal would call normal. The muscles seem too well-defined to be natural, although Kryo maintains that all staff accounts state the alien looks perfectly Ellon-like under their clothes. Kal has never seen them out of their clothes, though, and so the impressive shape of the alien’s body retains all its power as far as he is concerned.

The main difference between him and the alien lies in the head. Where Kal’s is somewhat round at the top—though perhaps a little squarer than average around the jaw—with the ordinary short round ears of Kryptonians, the alien’s has two protruding appendages at the top, aligned approximately above where ears would be. They jut out of the alien’s cowl in menacing straight lines and narrow to frighteningly sharp-looking points. Kal...believes Kryo when it says the alien doesn’t actually possess ears—or horns—that look like this. The hunit is, after all, unable to lie to him. But that knowledge doesn’t quell the eerie feeling of strangeness that tightens Kal’s chest every time he looks at them.

The alien’s most noticeable feature, however, is not so much their silhouette as their stance. There is no hint of groveling in it, none of the wary tension displayed by visiting envoys from neighboring planets. Not that those envoys cower, exactly, but they are always clearly conscious of the galaxy’s painful history with Krypton, and therefore never fully at ease. This alien—Vohc’s alien, as Kal has heard some call them—carries themselves with the easy authority of a Citadel Lord in the king’s confidence. Back straight, head high; no hint of doubt in their own worth, their own place, their own right to remain.

The sight of it shrivels something already small and wrinkled in Kal’s soul, makes him want to shrink back in the darkness and hide from the alien’s presence...for, sent by Vohc or not, this alien certainly does seem capable of things Kal couldn’t even dream of; and the thought of being found wanting compared to someone who, according to the court, does not even have the decency to be from the known universe, let alone Krypton, is… distressing.

It is, therefore, unfortunate that acting on that self-effacing impulse would bring more shame to Kal’s house than his continued failure to prove himself worthy of attention.

“Good evening,” Kal manages after a deep, steadying breath, pulse hammering away so hard he can feel it in his clasped palms. “May I help you?”

In front of him, the alien’s head tilts to the right in what must be—might be; hopefully is—a sign of incomprehension, and Kal almost gives into the impulse to slap himself in the forehead. The alien is not from any recognizable planet, let alone a known species. They did not respond to any of the local languages stored in the House’s courtesy translators, never mind Council or Ellon. Why, then, Kal would be silly enough to assume they would understand is certainly a mystery for the ages. Not the first of its kind, it is true, but painful nonetheless.

Swallowing a sigh, Kal draws on his vague memories of learning Council as a child and starts again:

“I am Kal-El,” he says in Ellon.

He waits for a few seconds, taps his fingers to the middle of his forehead, and repeats: “Kal-El.”

“I am Batman,” the alien says.

The words are clearly unpracticed on their tongue, the gesture all wrong. No one in El would tap their chest to indicate personhood, after all. Still, these things can be forgiven; it is the alien’s grammar that poses a significant problem. None of the politeness markers fit their position: a nobody—for all anyone knows, at any rate—addressing...well, essentially another nobody, but of royal blood. Many at court would have had Batman’s hide for that sort of an affront, accidental though it may be.

Batman is lucky, though: Kal has dealt with much worse than people addressing him as if he were a lower-ranked but still respected guest. It is easy, then, to quell the sliver of pleased surprise—and the subsequent shame at how readily swayed Kal is—rising in his chest; to muster a stiff smile and a nod and, when Batman does not seem willing to communicate any further, flee toward his quarters.

It takes Kal a long while before he can fall into a nap, and then it takes an even longer time for him to wake up properly once the evening comes. It isn’t that El’s simple tunics of straight lines and slashed sleeves take all that long to put on, really. It’s just...well, frankly, it’s just that Kal is somewhat clumsier than average. He tends to bang into furniture and trip on his own feet more than other people do, and existing in a near-constant state of sleep-deprived grogginess does not help. Science is worth it, he knows. It doesn’t make it any less awkward to step into the Fire dining room almost three minutes late and watch six pairs of eyes turn to him.

Kal’s uncle, King Zor-El, is a proud man, taller and bulkier even than his brother Jor—a rare build, for Thinkers. He sits in state at the head of the table with an ease Kal knows he would never be able to replicate, gaze a strange mixture of fondness and disappointment. Force of habit, perhaps. Either way, Zor-El does not say anything about Kal’s tardiness. A simple raise of his eyebrow; the pinched look on Kal’s parents’ faces, the amused gaze that passes between Sol Ka-Zod—Kal’s aunt—and her stepdaughter...all of these are familiar enough to be set aside. Not easily, not quite. But they are set aside, and that means Kal is free to look around the rest of the room, and marvel.

The Fire dining room is one of the smaller, cozier rooms of similar function in the Lesser House of El’s apartments. At the back, a fire burns year-round, for the rooms closest to the center of the dome tend to be colder, and fire has always been Rao’s way of welcoming guests. In front of the fire sits the table, around which Kal’s family has arranged itself amidst the flowing lines of curved columns, floral motifs carved into the very bones of the building.

There, to the right of Kal’s usual chair, sits Batman. Their back is still as impeccably straight as it was this morning, their shoulders just as steady, their jaw just as strong. This time, however, the slant of their lips, below their cowl, curls into something...well. Perhaps not quite a smile. Not a smirk, either. But there is the seed of an expression there, Kal is fairly sure, that could become either of those things; and it is such a novelty compared to the usual reactions he garners that as he seats himself Kal can’t help but blush, looking down at his hands until he feels in control of himself again.

The meal is well underway by the time Kal comes back to himself, silten salads half-eaten and roasted keltar being rolled into the room. To Kal’s right, Batman has taken their gloves off to eat, and their hands look very much like Kal’s hands—a little bigger, maybe, in keeping with their owner’s size, but nothing strange. Nothing that would be out of proportion for a Kryptonian, at the very least. They catch the eye somehow, at least as far as Kal is concerned. Batman’s silhouette was so imposing this morning, so surprisingly regal for someone people have barely hesitated to classify as a barbarian; it is hard not to be surprised when it turns out they eat like a regular person.

It wouldn’t do to stare, however, and striking up a conversation right now would mean talking over the main guests, an ill-advised course of action.

“I don’t think the Melokariel Proposition will ever be accepted,” Kal’s father is saying when Kal finally dares to raise his eyes away from his plate. “Nor do I think it should.”

Kal darts a glance over the table, unsurprised to find his cousin raising her eyebrows quite high into her glass of Ulian liquor. The reaction is, Kal supposes, understandable. As the first in line to take over the throne of El, Kara has been invited to every single one of her father and uncle’s twice-weekly dinners since the tender age of twelve, and is therefore even more familiar with Jor-El’s way of gearing up for a fight. Or, well. A debate, as he calls it.

Notorious for his incompetence and disinterest in politics, Kal returns Kara’s gesture nonetheless. He might not know the ins and outs of this Proposition as well as she does, but he does know his parents, and the thought of another family argument beginning is about as annoying as it is stressful by now. At least he knows he won’t be asked to participate. Kal’s horrendous lack of social acuity, cultural refinement, or specialization has been exposed, discussed, debated, and condemned more than enough for a lifetime; he isn’t keen on sparking that particular conversation again by asking about the Proposition or, Rao forbid, trying to change the topic. He will get through this in silence, like he always has, and count himself lucky for it.

“Ever the retrograde, brother,” Zor-El says while a servant takes his empty plate and replaces it with the largest keltar of the lot. “If I were to listen to you, we would be working our way back to the days of primitive savagery.”

There is no need to look up to know Zor-El has nodded in Kal’s direction, the circumstances of his birth ever a sore point for the family. He dares a glance to the right instead, and blinks when he finds Batman looking down at the table coil they were handed along with their meat. There is nothing strange about the tool that Kal can see, though accidents do happen, so he turns back to the left when his father, having most likely run through his usual defenses of Kal’s conception—helped along by his wife, of course—snaps:

“In any case, the fact that Krypton does not possess the necessary resources to—”

“We have talked about this before, Jor,” Zor says in a warning tone. “Krypton will not debase itself by going around begging colonies for their scraps.”

“Ex colonies,” Kara points out, mild but clear. “The Green Lanterns saw to that.”

Queen Sol Ka-Zod elbows her stepdaughter in the side, but Kal has never seen his cousin heed that particular warning before. His aunt cannot be faulted for the gesture, as it is unseemly for an heir to the throne to dissociate herself from the ruling monarch so openly—even if only at the family table; but then again the only thing worse than that would be for Kara to have no opinion at all. As it is, the jab passes, and the conversation returns to its topic of choice for the past nine months or so: the Melokariel Proposition.

Kal, knowing no one will think to ask for his opinion on the topic, takes a look to his right again, and freezes. Batman, despite maintaining as dignified a posture as can be, is making an unimaginable mess of their food. Bits of it have strayed from their plate; the rest stains both their hands and their forks...and that is when Kal realizes this should have been an entirely predictable outcome. What were the chances, after all, that Batman learned to use proper cutlery on whatever backwater planet they came from? The cost of forgetting your manners—and therefore, your place—is high on Krypton, however, and Kal is too well-aware of this to sit there and do nothing. He reaches over, ready to take action, when Zor raises his voice:

“Mining the core is the only way to survive,” he says in a tone full of rebuke, catching Batman’s attention without effort.

“So say Peacekeepers,” Jor retorts—too loud, too fast. “They have always been quick to demand and slow to think, but—”

“Jor!” Kal’s mother exclaims, half reproof and half horror, at the same time as Zor warns:

“It would do you good to remember which Guild your queen came from, brother.”

Despite the fire, the atmosphere of the room grows chilly, and Kal has to force his fingers to relax as he closes them around his fork and table coil. He tilts his head to the side when the alien looks at him, left hand extended palm up toward Batman, coil hanging between his thumb and forefinger, and asks, “May I help you?”

Batman looks at Kal for a few moments—or at least, they keep still, with their optical lenses pointed in the appropriate direction—before they nod. Kal nods in return and, in a practiced gesture, lifts the keltar’s nearest limb with his own fork, loops the coil around it, and slices it off the animal’s body by spreading his fingers. Batman makes no sound, and does not give any indication that they watched Kal's actions particularly closely, but when Kal outfits them with a coil of their own, Batman imitates the gesture almost perfectly, and then repeats it with diligence. There is something surprisingly circumspect in the way they move, as if trying to master the gesture in as little time as possible. It seems strange, to Kal, who tends to observe things for far too long before he makes a move, but it works in Batman’s favor, and they are eating cleanly in no time. Just in time, in fact, to hear Kal’s father snap:

“If Tsiahm-Lo does vote in favor of the Proposition, he will truly lose the right to call himself the Wise King of anything, let alone Laborers!”

“Jor-El!” Sol exclaims, obviously shocked.

Even Kal’s mother doesn’t dare speak in support of her husband after that sort of claim, and it is easy for Kal to feel the assembly tense—even down to Batman—as Zor leans forward and says in a low voice:

“I would guard my words if I were you, Jor. There are those who would consider such a statement dangerously close to treason.”

The table is grimly silent for a moment, fragile balance poised on the edge of a knife, as Kal watches his father reconsider his words, swallow, and say:

“Forgive me, everyone. I don’t know what came over me. Obviously, I misspoke.”

On the opposite side of the table Lara, Sol and Kara all look distinctly relieved, though Kal can’t quite manage to relax his shoulders. He hunches in on himself a little closer instead, ignoring the way Batman’s attention seems to have moved away from their food and toward the conversation on the more interesting side of the table.

Kara is the first to speak again.

“If nothing else,” she says in a firm tone, “I don’t believe anyone should consider the Proposition without also considering its alternative.”

The rest of the table mumbles their assent, until Sol and Lara join in and, soon enough, the debate veers away from the Melokariel Proposition itself and onto the merits of Krypton’s old colonial programs. Kal, who has little interest in joining that discussion either, presses his lips together and turns back to his food for the rest of the meal. Batman requires almost no further help, except when dessert comes and they seem more than a little perplexed by the singing flowers set atop the cakes.

“You can eat them,” Kal says when Batman clears their throat and tilts their head toward their plate.

“You?” Batman repeats, head tilted, while gesturing with their hand like they’re bringing something to their mouth.

It isn’t the gesture Kal would use to signify eating, but context makes it easy to interpret. Kal repeats the verb for Batman’s benefit, rectifiescorrections their pronunciation to something more understandable than their first attempt, and starts thinking.

There is no telling when—or if—Batman will leave Krypton. The Shadow of El passed along no word of anyone else in the alien’s spacecraft, and no one has reached out to El looking for a lost companion since the day before yesterday. There is a possibility—how much of one is impossible to tell, but the chance is real nonetheless—that no one is coming to rescue them. If so, they will need to integrate. They cannot possibly be expected to remain incapable of communication forever, and the odds of anyone volunteering to take them to a neighboring planet are minimal at best. As for waiting for his parents to think of Batman’s well-being...Kal would frankly rather not. And yet Batman will need to adapt and find a place in Ellon society.

They will need to speak, Kal realizes. To learn the things they don’t know, to figure out the rules and customs of this place—for otherwise they leave themselves open to ridicule, contempt, or worse. As a man with experience dealing with two of these things, Kal finds himself loath to leave Batman to deal with them alone. Not when he knows he can, perhaps, do something about it.

Kal is no expert linguist. In point of fact, he isn’t even a teacher. He is willing to help, though, and willing to spend some time trying to figure out the best way to help Batman around...which, he guesses, makes him the only choice available. It might be a bad idea. He has other things to do, after all. Responsibilities he cannot shirk. He is a Citadel Prince of El, though, and those responsibilities do extend to taking care of guests.

He might not be the best choice for this, but if no one else will make time for the task, he will.

Raising his head at breakfast the next morning only to find Batman standing in front of him with the same serious expression they have always displayed is a surprise for Kal. He would say that he hadn’t expected the alien to seek him out quite that fast, but the truth is he hadn’t expected Batman to seek him out at all. Besides, it is long past breakfast time. Kal is still there, it is true, but that is only because he tends to work all night and barely emerges from his labs in time to ingest something before he collapses on his bed and sleeps most of the day away. Batman can’t possibly have missed that fact. Can they?

Whatever the reason, the alien does not seem ready to stop looking at Kal in a way that makes him feel as though his use of his table coil is being assessed and found wanting. This is not, it is true, an uncommon sentiment for Kal. Most of his life has been spent in self-conscious discomfort. But the familiarity of the sensation does nothing to prevent a blush from rising into Kal’s ears until he feels like they are about to catch on fire.

“Excuse me,” he tells the alien in an attempt to relieve some of the tension, “may I help you?”

Batman remains stock still for a moment. Nothing in their expression shifts exactly, except perhaps for a certain sense of...looking for something. ‘Hesitation’ seems like too strong a sentiment, somehow, though it comes closest to what Kal perceives. Deliberation, then. Batman indulges in a few more seconds of it before they nod and take a seat in front of Kal. Behind him, Kal feels Kryo hover closer, perhaps out of a sense of misplaced protection, but the hunit does not do anything else.

Meanwhile Batman has extended a hand and is pointing at Kal’s table coil, saying something in what Kal assumes is their birth language. He blinks, still a little too groggy to process this in a timely manner, and he is fairly sure he sees Batman’s lips tighten—a sure sign of exasperation on a Kryptonian—before they point at Kal:

“I am Kal-El,” they say. Then, pointing at themselves: “I am Batman.”

They point at the coil again then, and Kal blushes harder when he realizes the question was actually quite simple, and he should have understood it right away. He pushes past it, however, and answers with flaming cheeks:

“This is a table coil.”

“This is a table coil,” Batman repeats, pronunciation quite close to Kal’s.

“Table coil,” Kal repeats nonetheless, just to make sure the alien will understand that only these two words designate the object they are asking about.

That, and to make sure Batman won’t mispronounce it and accidentally refer to a very intimate part of the anatomy by accident.

Batman, as has been the case so far, proves themselves a diligent learner, and manages a perfect rendition on the second try. Kal beams. He doesn’t stop to think, then, that Batman may not have been asking for a full vocabulary lesson when he points at his fork and says:

“This is a fork .”

“This is a fork,” Batman repeats, eyes fixed down on the table.

Kal nods, grin widening despite himself, a thin bubble of pride growing in his chest.

“This is a glass .”

“This is a glass.”

Kal walks Batman through several other eating implements—a plate, a spoon, a napkin—ever more pleased when Batman keeps getting the pronunciation right in two, sometimes three attempts at the most. They name all the items set on the table, eventually, and Kal imagines things will stop there for a moment, but then Batman points at the table itself and says, “This is….” with a tilt of their head.

“This is a table,” Kal informs them. Then, because he can’t think of a better way to explain the question, he seizes his glass again and, with a tilt of his head similar to Batman’s, asks: “What is this?”

Batman nods at that, mouth slanting...well, not into a smile, maybe, but a more relaxed angle, at least. Something that seems to hint Batman has finally found something worth considering in Kal, and, well. It would be a lie to say it does not affect him. There is something—giddy, almost, but also rewarding about this. About knowing he is useful here and that what he is doing right now will be—perhaps ‘appreciated' is the wrong word. Batman would be well within their rights to consider teaching them the language a demonstration of basic courtesy on the part of their hosts. Even so, whatever Batman learns and remembers this morning will be useful to them in the future. The sentiment is exhilarating. It loosens Kal’s shoulders, make him more willing to smile as he tries to mime the concept of a room in order to explain the word ‘parlor’.

By the time they stop, almost an hour later—and then only because Kryo reminds Kal today is the day of his annual health examination—Kal has had time to fill his chest with so much satisfaction at a job well done he feels almost no self-consciousness at the gesticulating he has to engage in to explain that he needs to leave. Batman nods, somewhat less stiff than they usually seem to be, and then says two words—at least it sounds like two distinct words—in their language.

Kal, caught off guard, nods back, close-lipped and tenser than he would like to be, and doesn’t look back as he leaves the room at an appropriately sedate pace, Kryo hovering at his elbow. He is in the process of trying to breathe his heartbeat into something more acceptable when the questions—the sudden uncertainty—become too much to handle, and he asks, “That probably meant thank you, didn’t it? No reason for them to—”

To what, exactly? Mock Kal? Judge him? Insult him? None of these possibilities make any rational sense. Context, and Batman’s attitude, both point towards the alien’s words being some form of thanks but—but what if it wasn’t? Kal is familiar with his mind's tendencies. Its ability to twist even the most innocuous things into catastrophes has been a part of his existence for as long as he remembers, and he knows better than to listen to it without reserve.

But still, a persistent part of him asks, what if he made a fool of himself this morning and did not realize it? What if Batman was only indulging him and could not hold it back any longer? What if they found Kal the dullest, most profoundly boring creature they have met in their entire existence, and are now determined to avoid him at any cost? The chances are slim—very slim, even—but….

“You are panicking again,” Kryo says in its usual dispassionate tone.

Kal does not hush it, but he does think about it. These concerns of his are...irrational, most of the time. He knows this. Not always, though. Kal has made a mess of things without meaning to before, has been found wanting in many and varied respects—numerous times, even—and Batman...well. It did seem, for a moment there, like Batman didn’t completely despise spending an extended period of time in Kal’s company. That is a good sign. But others have pretended as much before, and Kal should have remembered that; should have paid more attention to what he was doing, put more care into remaining—unobtrusive. Yes, that would be the right word. He knows how dull he is after all, should keep it in mind lest he keep making the same mistakes he made today—too solicitous, he’s sure, treating Batman like an imbecile or...or whatever else he did, really. It will come to him, he knows.

“Kal,” Kryo points out again as they round a corridor towards the palace doctors’ offices, “you are panicking again. Calm down.”

Never has that particular command been of any help in the past, but Kal has long since given up on trying to get it out of Kryo’s programming. He bites down on his instinctive rejection of the advice and breathes in deep instead. Then he asks, “Would you calculate the probability of what Batman said meaning ‘thank you’, please?”

“Situational elements suggest an 85% chance that that would be an appropriate translation of their words,” Kryo replies. “The scarcity of available data means linguistic calculations might take as long as four weeks to process. Do you wish me to proceed?”

“No, thank you,” Kal says.

Eighty-five percent, he tells himself even as he knocks on the door to the doctor’s office. That doesn’t sound so bad. Granted, there is still a fifteen percent chance he misread the situation entirely. A fifteen percent chance Batman was seeking him for very different reasons—although he cannot fathom what those reasons might have been—and he only managed to annoy them beyond belief. Fifteen percent chances are more than enough to send his heart racing; more than enough to half convince him he should, perhaps, consider shutting himself off from the world for good, if only it would ensure he never made that sort of mistake again.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” the head physician says when she opens the door.

She gives Kal a familiar once over, takes his expression in—and this time, Kal knows he is not imagining the exasperation. Sighing, he follow her lead and tries to steel himself for the upcoming assessment and the myriad of little embarrassments that come with it.

The examination goes well enough, except for a few awkward bruises and wounds Kal has to admit he got from lugging heavy objects around in his labs—“If you’ll beg my pardon, Your Majesty, I know people lighter than these plants of yours,” the doctor says. Kal gives her an awkward smile and changes the topic; something new to be needlessly embarrassed about. The plants are nothing big, truly, nothing anyone would find really remarkable. Kal is known for being chiefly interested in botany, though, and most people do not associate this with sprained ankles or bruised ribs; so every instance of someone finding out must be followed by an uneasy reminder that Kal does not live a dangerous life at all but is, rather, ridiculously clumsy...and getting clumsier as the years go by.

Still, he does escape the doctor’s office eventually, relief more than palpable in every single one of his veins. Then he gets to his laboratories, settles down behind the floor-to-ceiling, one-way window, and proceeds to lose himself in work.

He is in the middle of a—lengthening—break several hours later, when Kara’s voice rings from the top of the stairs and bounces against the spherical ceiling of the comparatively minuscule room:

“I might wish to update your security protocols,” she says, her footsteps gradually losing themselves in Kal’s small forest of growing plants. “They barely reacted when I approached the door.”

“Of course they did,” Kal says without looking away from his current notes, “they know you. Besides, it wouldn’t do to give anyone the impression I’m trying to hide something in here, would it?”

Kara hums from where, if the rustling is to be trusted, she is poking at Kal’s morose-looking keva vines. Not that he takes poor care of them—he hardly does anything else with his days, after all. But Krypton’s atmosphere has been profoundly changed by the ever-more-intensive mining projects grinding away at its soil, filling the air with more dust than many plants find it possible to survive. Some biomes have been able to adapt on their own in the northern parts of the planet, where mining activity has been subdued by the lack of remaining material worth the effort. But El is one of the least-affected Principalities. The worst of the work is yet to come, here, and while the king—in his wisdom—has remained steadfastly convinced no problem could arise from an intensification of industrial production, Kal has always been more...anxious.

It was easy to combine this with his scientific curiosity and indulge in the sort of pet project none of his family members could truly disapprove of, despite his lack of formal education on the topic. Kara, for her part, has never quite seemed to understand Kal’s enthusiasm for his test subjects, and barely bothers to feign an apology when she accidentally snaps a leaf off a luat bush.

“They seem to be doing better,” she says with a polite smile even as she places the broken leaf back into the luat’s force-field, the atmosphere set to mimic a seventy percent air pollution rate. She wipes her hand clean with a nearby rag before she continues: “Perhaps you are finally succeeding.”

“We did move from a five percent survival rate to ten,” Kal replies without mirth.

“Ah. Well...at least there is progress?”

Kal tilts his head in concession, and then stiffens when Kara finally walks up to his desk and leans over his shoulder. The working lights, brighter than any other in the lab, must obstruct her view: she reaches for Kal’s papers, and although his first instinct is to grab after them, he knows better than to attempt it. Kara has, after all, been training all her life never to take no for an answer. Not at face value, in any case. Kal hesitates. Fidgets. At last, when he is sure Kara must have completed at least her second reading of what notes he has, he can’t help but ignore the skepticism in her expression and ask:

“What do you think?”

Kara’s lips purse into a doubtful expression, and she chews on her tongue for a second. Curbing her answer to sound more diplomatic, then. Perhaps Kal should warn her to get rid of the tell.

“I can’t say that I have much expertise in linguistics,” Kara says at last.

Biting down on a sigh, Kal reaches for his notes again, and meets no resistance from his cousin. He eyes his teaching plan for what must be the hundredth time today, and thinks.

Batman’s species is unknown on Krypton. Taking care of them has worked out all right so far, but nothing says they won’t be confronted with unexpected problems later on. They must be able to satisfy their basic needs on their own, which means they must be able to obtain food, drinks, sleeping accommodations and hygiene products. This implies naming said items, and learning how to ask lower-ranked individuals for services and thank them appropriately afterwards. Other things will come, such as asking for and understanding directions to various places, greeting individuals of various ranks and, of course, learning to make some form of conversation with the royal family without provoking an incident.

Kal is in the process of revising what he should focus on first and which verbal form to prioritize—desperately trying to remember his first lessons in any language in the process—when Kara sighs, sits on his desk next to him and asks:

“How long do you believe this will take?”

“A few months, I suppose?” Kal hazards. “They seem to be a fast learner, and they have more pressing motivation to learn Ellon than I did to learn La’u—”

“I never understood why you even chose to learn La’u when you didn’t have to,” Kara interjects with a wink.

Being ten years Kal’s senior means Kara was well into her La’u lessons by the time Kal started grasping the basics of Council, but he did hear his tutors rejoice about his prowess enough to imagine the sort of pains it must have caused Kara to learn it. Frequency-based languages are a struggle for anyone more used to words, but the fact that La’u uses deeper frequencies for more polite speech can hardly have helped Kara and her light voice. In any case, Kal himself struggled enough with the language that he cannot fully blame his cousin for her surprise.

Still, the specifics of La’u are not the point, and Kal continues:

“Hopefully they at least know what conjugations are, but we cannot be sure, and if they do not, it could add months of teaching in order for them to grasp the basics. And after that—”

“After that?” Kara exclaims, but Kal is surveying his teaching plan again and only half paying attention to his cousin when he says:

“Do not worry, I only intend to teach them Court Member forms, at first. That should serve them well enough until—”

“Kal, I wasn’t—don’t you think you are taking on quite a lot of responsibility with this?”

Something shrivels in Kal’s chest, a hopeful seed squashed to the ground by a distracted boot, and he hunches in on himself before he even realizes it. He does attempt to deflect the question with a shrug, but Kara would not be Kara if she could be satisfied with a non-answer of that sort.

“Kal. You are a Citadel Prince. You are a busy man—”

“I do believe you are confusing our timetables,” Kal mutters, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Even so,” Kara insists, after clearing her throat, “your plants take up quite a lot of time and work, especially the nocturnal ones.”

“I am well aware,” Kal tells the piece of paper he wrote Batman’s lesson plan on, “but even so, I am not half as busy as you are. I think I should be able to handle this.”

With a shake of her head, Kara clicks her tongue and rises from the desk, walking to the disused elevator shaft that crosses Kal’s lab and knocking on it with her knuckles. “You know I believe in this project of yours, Kal. There is a reason I wanted to get involved. I know you will continue to give it your best effort—but I also worry you might be taking on responsibilities that are not yours.”

“Batman is a guest under my family’s roof,” Kal points out, trying to keep his tone mild despite the sudden spike of irritation in his chest. “I do have responsibilities—”

“There are plenty of tutors in our service—”

“I’m quite aware,” Kal replies with more bitterness than he thought he had in store for the memory of his old teachers. “I remember my time with them, and I would rather spare Batman that.”

“I know you did not enjoy your basic studies,” Kara starts, “but perhaps if you hadn’t been so difficult, things wouldn’t have been so hard for you.”

Kal gapes for a moment, breath stolen by the sharp stab of pain in his chest at Kara’s words. She means well, he knows. And perhaps...perhaps, in some ways, she is right. It is possible—not probable, but possible—that Kal caving in to his teachers’ demands to specialize in the learnings of one Guild would have made his youth easier. It isn’t the done thing, after all, to ignore traditional limits the way Kal does. To defy genetic marking and engage in activities best left to those who were engineered for them. Still, what was he supposed to do?

The very source of his fame is that Kal does not have any Guild markers in his genome. That he is, in fact, the only Kryptonian to have lived without them in centuries and, if the way his life has gone so far is to be taken as an example, for centuries to come. Why Vohc allowed him to be created—why Rao did not do him the mercy of never allowing his mother’s pregnancy to come to term at all—is a mystery for the ages. Still, the fact remains that he would never have been accepted in any Guild, no matter how well he studied. Believers, Workers, Thinkers…none of them would have wanted him. Why else would Kal’s teachers have scoffed when he asked if he would ever be allowed to learn any of the Guilds’ languages?

It is most likely that Kara believes what she is saying. She has always been kind to Kal, and treated him as an equal, if something of an incomprehensible one. But the truth is that Kal’s tutors were ever unprepared for him—and he was a son of Krypton. How they would react to an alien, Kal would rather not find out. Not, in any case, if it means taking the risk of making Batman feel the way Kal did during his training.

Taking a deep breath, Kal forces himself to straighten his shoulders as much as he can and, sidestepping the ever-delicate subject of his former tutors’ treatment of him, says, “Perhaps you are right. Even so, I have already invested time and effort in this project. I should very much like to bring it to fruition. I have talked with Batman—”

“Is that his name?”

“It is. Though we cannot know for sure whether they are a he—or if this concept even exists where they come from.”

Kara concedes the point with a nod.

“They seem to be an interesting person,” Kal continues. “I would like to get to know them better, but I cannot do that unless they learn to communicate with us and I spend some time with them. Teaching them Ellon seems like the ideal way to accomplish both of these things.

Silence falls around them, and Kara fixes her gaze on Kal for a long time, a skeptical moue firmly set on her lips.

“Very well,” she says at last, sighing in defeat the way she would never allow herself to if Kal were anyone else. It fills his answering sigh with gratitude. “Although I fail to understand what makes him—them—more interesting than any of the other aliens you have met and failed to befriend before.”

She kisses Kal’s forehead before she goes, not noticing how still he has gone. He has to be still. He would cry if he weren’t, the shame of his own inadequacy catching up with him with the force of a laser blast. He tries to explain it later, only to himself—only in the privacy of his own head—but he can’t quite put it into words without finally breaking down into sobs: the way it felt to have Batman see him as a simple stranger, rather than a well-established failure .

It is, sadly enough, a practiced routine to ignore Kryo’s bland inquiries about his health.

It takes Kal some time, after his and Kara’s non-fight in his lab, to realize she must not have come to see him so they could discuss his newfound interest for the art of teaching. In fact, it takes him a full night of reflection—earning him several bruises and possibly a cracked rib that could otherwise have been easily avoided. Kara is busy all of the next morning, and Kal uses that time to sleep like the dead for a while longer, before he goes to visit her in the upper levels of the royal palace.

“I understand,” she says when Kal is done apologizing, eyes on the floor as if he were still a little boy of ten trying to live up to his adult cousin’s expectations. “I suppose I wasn’t at my best myself.”

Kal nods, struck mute now that he has said his piece, and waits for Kara to set what she was working on aside and add:

“I wanted to ask what you thought of the Turn of the Year Ball. You did not dance much.”

“You know I mislike it,” Kal says with an embarrassed shrug. “It accomplishes nothing save providing the court more fodder for gossip.”

He glances up just in time to catch Kara’s knowing look, and feels himself blush. It shouldn’t be an embarrassment, for her to know what the court has to say about Kal. He has been a source of gossip for longer than he can remember, after all, and she must have been aware of this long before he ever began to suspect there was something wrong with him. Still, discussing a source of humiliation is not the same as being aware of its existence, and for a moment Kal finds himself quite unable to speak.

“I understand,” Kara says with the same soft tone she always uses in these conversations of theirs. “I imagine you wanted some fresh air after that.”

“I tried, but the main balcony was rather occupied,” Kal remarks, forcing himself to take his hands out from behind his back, only to twist them together again at his front. “Lady Ra-Ny was there.”

“Well,” Kara says, her tone as mild as her eyes are sharp, “she does like her space. Did you see who else was there?”

“Lord Ko Li-Van of Ul, Lord Nej Tar-Plak from Po—along with his lady wife—”

“Ce-Qod? I thought she was too sickly to travel.”

Kal gives a nonchalant shrug, dragging his eyes back down to the ground, heart hammering in his chest.

“So did several others in their assembly,” he says. “One must assume she made an effort for the sake of the opportunity to meet your father.”

“Indeed,” Kara replies, thoughtful.

Kal glances up and finds her looking down at her work, though her pen hand is not moving.

“It seems quite a lot of Worker Princes and Princesses were hoping for the honor of meeting our king, this week. One can only wonder why.”

She looks up then, straight into Kal’s eyes, and he shrugs.

“Perhaps they were simply hoping to present him with well-wishing gifts for the Turn of the Year. I did hear some of them trade ideas among themselves. I believe Shadow’s limbs were invoked more than once; or, failing that, some form of garment patterned with Dark Suns.”

“Well, thank you, Kal,” Kara tells him after a long silence, features and shoulders as stiff as stone. “You always do pick up the best gossip.”

Kal, who knows the way his cousin looks when she needs to think on something, nods, and makes his way back to his family’s level of the palace.

Once he is back in his family’s dwellings, Kal decides it would be best not to put off his teaching project. The prospect of approaching Batman might be mildly terrifying—though the memory of their willingness to tolerate Kal helps—but it is a necessary step for anything to happen. Besides, teaching or no teaching, it would not do to leave Batman to their own devices like an inconvenient visitor one tries to get rid of, having been followed home.

He finds Batman, after some searching, in one of the smaller libraries of the palace, not too far from the guests’ quarters. Neither the apartments nor the library have seen much use in many years, and the silence around them is enough to set Kal’s nerves on alert, but Batman looks unbothered by it. They've taken a seat by one of the curved windows, relaxed pose incongruous in contrast to the stiffness of their clothes—perhaps Kal should see about having something else made for them—with a book on their lap and something close to a scowl on their mouth.

Kal steps closer, and recognizes the cover of The Adventures of Flamebird . The character is a rather popular hero in El legend: a servant of Rao who went around the world helping those they could—for their gender was never revealed, if indeed they had even had one—and did so well on their quest that the Sun God himself gave them a home atop the highest mountain of the world and allowed them to call themselves Xen-El: Xen of the light, under the protection of the Helper God himself. The story itself was nothing truly original, merely a collection of legends that had lived in El for millennia before Kal’s great grandparents were even conceived...but Kal spent many a solitary hour poring over this book, devouring Flamebird’s adventures, their discovery, and their friendship with Nightwing, who rose in service of Vohc and became the first true Thinker of Krypton.

The book itself, in fact, shows the wear of such a love. It is creased and bent where multiple sets of hands were cajoled into holding it open for Kal...and later on, from many instances of bringing it along on official travels or solitary explorations, until the order was finally given to find it a home in the guests’ library. Kal’s lips twist with the memories. There are entire sentences of the work still carved into his mind. They are not, unfortunately, the ones his parents wanted him to learn—these were lost to time, but Kal retains the vague impression of certitude coming from them, the edge of despair creeping into their voices until they could no longer cling to the hope that Kal would, one day, reveal himself as Rao’s heir and lead El back to its former glory. Nonetheless, some parts of this book Kal could recite without looking at them, and he cannot help but smile when he sees such a beloved item in the hands of someone he hopes to come to know and respect in the future.

Batman must be attempting to teach themselves Ellon with this book. It is a commendable effort, and something Kal might have attempted in their situation, but if the alien’s face is anything to go by the experiment is not quite yielding the expected results. Then again, as far as Kal knows, Krypton’s alphabet is quite unique in the galaxy, so unless Batman is somehow familiar with something similar, it is hardly a surprise that they are finding it hard to make sense of.

Stepping closer, Kal clears his throat and says, “I might be able to help with that.”

It is unclear whether Batman was already aware of Kal’s presence or if they simply have commendable control of their body’s reactions. Either way, they give no sign of surprise that Kal can see. The window does offer quite the vantage point over the library, it is true. Its round frame dominates a circular room, covered floor to ceiling with the yields of thousands of years of book collecting. The truly rare editions, made of organic fibers rather than the synthetic paper everyone uses nowadays, are of course stored in the master library. Still, this particular collection is nothing to blush at, and Kal inhales the dusty smell of many books collected together with a form of reverence, even as he waits for Batman’s response.

The alien, for their part, hasn’t moved at all since Kal entered, as if waiting to see what might happen next. The image puts Kal in mind of a predator surveying its hunting ground...although, perhaps, with more benevolence than most. It would seem...unlikely, to most, for a royal guest to keep track of people’s comings and goings around here. Then again, those same people would also deem it impossible for Kal to notice half as much as he does, and so he does not entirely dismiss the possibility.

He endures Batman’s scrutiny instead, resisting the urge to flush and hunch in on himself even further than he already does. Thankfully, after a long moment of contemplation, Batman says something in their own language—Kal could slap himself for expecting anything more, really. Of course, Batman wouldn’t be able to answer. That is the entire point of this conversation, isn’t it? Rao, Kal. Keep up.

“I would,” Kal starts, and winces again. Simple words, in this situation, must be best. He tries again: “I want to help you speak Ellon.”

Batman stays silent again, the cowl obscuring their expression in a way that leaves Kal at a complete loss. He does not have the strength to wait as long as he did the first time around, though, and so he steps forward, points at The Adventures of Flamebird and its colorful pages, and says, “This is a book.”

He might, possibly, have imagined the way Batman’s lips quirk into the not-quite-smile Kal is beginning to suspect is their best approximation of an encouraging expression. Regardless, no rebuttal or rejection comes, and Kal allows himself to sigh in relief when Batman dutifully repeats the word. Then, Batman gestures for Kal to sit down next to them and Kal takes a place on the windowsill with rather more giddy enthusiasm than he’d expected to feel.

“May I?” he asks, hand hovering over the book.

He waits for Batman to push the collection into his hand and flips through the pages to the beginning of Flamebird and the Secret Lake . There, he points at the illustration and says:

“This is water.”

“Water,” Batman repeats with a small nod.

Kal beams at them before he can think better of it, then flips through a few more pages to the part where Flamebird serves one of the old Lords of Krypton to prevent a servant from losing their place in the palace; points at the picture of a glass, and asks:

“What is this?”

“This is a glass,” Batman says.

Kal grins again, and goes through several more illustrations, naming objects and checking back on Batman’s memory at regular intervals. It is easy to find the material he needs, the book so beloved it feels like he might be able to find specific pages without even looking. At some point, he drops it in his excitement, and thanks Batman when they pick it up for him, but otherwise a solid half hour is spent on nothing but new vocabulary. Until, that is, Kal realizes he cannot possibly expect Batman to memorize all of this without any sort of support.

He manages to refrain from apologizing—although only because knows Batman would not understand the words—as he rises from his seat and goes to fetch Batman something to write on. He is not, technically, supposed to use the blank books stored at the bottom of the shelves, but then no one ever does, and he does not think they have been counted even once since he was born. He finds one with a black cover and the El coat of arms in silver embossing on the front, the lined pages inside ideal for a long list of vocabulary, and brings it back up to the windowsill.

“Thank you,” Batman says, and Kal gasps and blanches.

“Oh Rao, no, no! You can’t address me this way, you have no idea how much trouble—”

Kal cuts himself off, face and neck heated enough to cook on them. Of course Batman has no idea what they've done. Kal should have anticipated this, even: they did run into this particular problem before. Kal...well, he does not mind what is technically disrespect. Quite the contrary, in fact. But others? Oh, others definitely will mind, quick though they are to forget Kal is a Citadel Prince when their lust for gossip overtakes them. Batman, of course, is unaware of the problem, and does not have enough understanding of Ellon for Kal to explain it to them as of yet, not without running the risk of confusing them for a long time to come—which means the situation calls for some social gymnastics.

So, Batman is an alien. In theory, this would make them lower-ranked than any Kryptonian, let alone an Ellon in their own Principality. They are, however, also a guest of the royal family, however reluctant their hosts. This, in turn, will protect them from quite a lot of negative reactions, despite Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s disgrace. Servants’ modes of speaking are, of course, quite out of the question; but Batman cannot be allowed to address Citadel Lords and Ladies like equals either, or they will end up in a world of trouble. Which means they probably ought to talk like a Mountain Lord then, or at least as if close to them in status. It is, after all, unlikely that they will run into anyone ranking any lower than that while they are staying in the palace, and if they are to visit other parts of El...well, hopefully, they will wait until they can communicate better before they attempt it.

“Let’s try again,” Kal offers, once his grammar is decided. “’Thank you’.”

“Thank you,” Batman repeats, something in the way they move making Kal wonder if they have picked up on some of the social cues involved.

Regardless, they do not seem eager to question the new, quite different version of the phrase, and Kal beams again, hard enough to push the embarrassment of his earlier mistake almost out of his mind. He ignores the lingering traces of it for the time being in order to pull Batman’s notebook open, pen a rapid sketch of a glass in the left hand margin, and label the drawing in his most careful schoolboy handwriting. He hands Batman the pen when they tap his wrist, and repeats the word when asked, impressed when Batman adds notes in what looks like two different alphabets of their home world.

They archive the rest of what Batman has learned so far in the same manner, Kal flipping through the pages of The Adventures of Flamebird between words, finding his favorite illustrations without much effort, even though it has been years. After the words come sentences, and Batman puts them through the same process as the rest, writing down both the way they are to be pronounced and what Kal assumes is a translation below the Kryptonian letters. Then, after a while, Batman speaks again, in that strange language of theirs.

Kal turns back to them, only for them to point down at the book and repeat whatever they were saying. The words, obviously, are entirely opaque, but the sentiment behind them seems easy to interpret, and Kal decides to go out on a limb in order to answer.

“This is one of my favorite books.”

He clutches the book to his chest with a wider smile than he remembers sporting in years, excited to meet someone whose reaction to the stories does not range from fond amusement to open disinterest for a collection of children’s tales.

“Favorite books,” Batman repeats, and Kal beams again, closing the book to point at the cover.

“They are Flamebird,” he tells Batman. “The legends say they were the very first El of Krypton.”

Batman looks—not invested in the topic, perhaps, but mildly interested, if their mouth is any indication. No more disinterested than before, at any rate. And Kal—Kal has had few occasions to discuss a book he is passionate about in his life, his family not much for fiction. This, most likely, explains how he manages to spend over three hours talking Batman’s ears off about the book and why, in the end, even the mortifying certitude he must have bored the alien almost to tears isn’t quite enough to prevent him from seeking their company the next day.

Batman progresses much faster than Kal expected. It takes them only two weeks to remember the numerous words Kal plied them with during their first lesson—something of a mistake, perhaps, to throw so many words at them and expect they would remember them all so soon—and then only about a week after that to grow quite at ease in asking for what they need at the dining table. Where before Kal used to remain silent while his parents or the rest of his family discussed one topic or another, he is now able to put this time to good use helping Batman improve their mastery of Ellon with an enthusiasm he does not remember feeling for the rest of his work before.

He does not neglect his studies, of course, and Kara eventually stops feeling the need to ask if he is still fit to take care of his nocturnal plants. He does, however, spend most of his afternoons in the guests’ library with Batman, learning bits and pieces of Batman’s language through their alphabet of sound, and engaging in more and more complex discussions about Flamebird and the various legends surrounding them.

He convinces Batman to let themselves be measured—with their uniform on—during the second week, and presents them with a black and cowled variation on the latest fads in Ellon fashion, the slashed sleeves of their new tunic opening up to reveal lighter gray underneath, and the strange motif of Batman’s original outfit embossed on a breastplate similar to what even Kal has taken to wearing on a regular basis.

“Thank you,” Batman says when they receive the gift, although Kal is rather unsurprised to find their expression as mild as ever.

“You are quite welcome,” he says. “I know the old one is cleaned every night, but I also know how uncomfortable it can be to wear the same thing every day.”

He cannot be sure Batman truly glances up at him at the words, covered as their face is, but he does get the impression of it nonetheless. They have, after all, been spending almost all their time together these days—save for the one evening his uncle received a small group of Worker Princes and Princesses in the Stateroom of Peace, and Kal put his family’s absence to good use, excusing himself early to work on his nocturnal specimens. Such proximity makes it easier to understand someone’s expression, limited though their shared vocabulary may be, and so Kal is, perhaps, not caught as wholly off guard as he could have been when Batman asks, “Is this Nightwing?”

Despite having anticipated the question, Kal blushes. It is one thing to draw inspiration from a legendary hero for a friend’s outfit, it is quite another to have them pick up on it. Not that Kal is too concerned about anyone else understanding the reference, seeing as Nightwing had fallen into disrepute long before he was born.

“Perhaps,” he hedges, though it does not feel like Batman believes him.

Nightwing was once as popular a legendary character as Flamebird, at least in El. He was, after all, the very first Thinker, and Thinkers are El’s favored Guild. Many Els have been engineered to be Thinkers in the past, and Kal’s family members are no exception. Why, his father even married into his own Guild, a rather unusual choice for royals. But where Nightwing, and his patron God Vohc, was once revered and respected as a leader of the people and a Builder of great things, later centuries turned him from ambitious to proud, from charismatic to authoritarian, from an instigator of beneficial change to an agent of chaos.

In El, at least, it is Rao who now presides over the Gods, guiding them with his light to follow the rituals set thousands of years before by early Ellons. Flamebird, too timid and too tangled in the story of Nightwing, has also been largely relegated to the role of fairytale character, following in Rao’s footsteps with unwavering loyalty and teaching the young how to make their parents proud. A worthy goal, Jor-El used to say when Kal was little; and Kal’s destiny, his mother would add. To make them proud. Not that it did them—or Kal—any good but then the future is a hard thing to predict, and Kal did not turn out to resemble Rao in the slightest.

It was, perhaps, quite inevitable that Kal would never meet anyone who shared his preference for the older versions of the tales.

“I like it,” Batman says at last.

The tears catching in Kal’s throat are a surprise but he does, thankfully, manage to keep them from falling.

Weeks turn into a month, and then another beyond that. Batman continues to progress in Ellon at astonishing speed, his—not their, as he tells Kal at the end of his first month on Krypton—ability to pick up on a word’s meaning and the complex grammatical structures of Ellon beyond anything Kal has ever heard of. Not, of course, that many people are willing to discuss much of their lives with him, language learning included, but still. He did read a few books on the theory of language acquisition, after all, and from what he sees either Batman comes from an especially quick-witted species, or he is even more exceptional than Kal suspected.

Eventually, Kal’s parents start talking to him a little. Nothing more than idle conversation in between more important errands, but it is still progress, and an occasion for Batman to practice his skills with someone other than Kal. It...worries Kal, in the beginning. A selfish reaction, he knows—but Batman is smart, with a dry sense of humor Kal can’t help but grin at, and prone to engage in the sort of verbal sparring that makes Kal feel more alive, somehow. Talking to him—existing next to him—is a breath of fresh air. It is the very first time Kal has met someone who doesn't merely tolerate him, but rather, for some reason, seems to appreciate him.

So it is...understandable, perhaps, if not honorable, that he fears losing this once Jor and Lara start addressing Batman over the dining table. He won’t do anything to stop it, of course. Knows better than to keep someone he has come to care for more than he ever planned to from making new friends and building himself a life on Krypton and in El...but there is still a part of him that sighs in relief once it becomes obvious something about the Prince and Princess of El’s conversation displeases Batman. Not much. Not enough for him to shun them entirely. Just—just enough for Kal to pick up on it and feel selfishly, shamefully glad.

Kal is, in all honesty, not as good a person as he wishes he could be.

Nevertheless, Batman does not desert Kal, and when the time comes for him to be invited to one of King Jor’s minor receptions, he appears on Kal’s doorstep long before they are to join the rest of the palace’s occupants for the descent into the Stateroom.

He looks—well, Kal has always known Batman looked good, even in the strange, almost goofy outfit he brought from this Earth of his. Shoulders like his cannot be disguised by what is clearly thought of as a set of armor. The softer fabrics of El’s ceremonial outfits, however, the elegant work of the decorative breastplate and the geometrical embroideries—all of these combine to reveal a body no one would have to blush at. A body Kal may well be thinking of a tad more often than he is supposed to, hidden as it is behind its layers of clothes.

“I would offer my assistance,” Kal says when he has made sure he isn’t staring, “but it seems to me like you have everything under control.”

“Contrary to what everyone seems to think, there are things I am quite able to handle on this planet.”

Kal chuckles despite himself, and hides the smile that lingers on his face by busying himself with the fastenings of his tunic. It has only been a week since Batman started talking to him as an equal and while Kal should, by all accounts, maintain a proper distance between him and someone so insignificant in Kryptonian society, he finds he does not want to. What does it matter, that Batman is a nobody from nowhere, if he is Kal’s friend?

“Well, the outfit suits you well,” Kal tells Batman as he finishes putting his breastplate in place.

“Black does seem to be my color,” Batman agrees, a dry blankness to his tone that makes Kal smile again, “even when everyone else satisfies themselves with the darkest khaki s I’ve ever seen.”

It takes a bit of time for Kal to understand what khaki means and provide a decent translation. When that is done, though, he cannot help but agree with Batman as to the rather monochromatic state of Kryptonian fashion. Most fabrics that Kal is familiar with are dark and muted, as if the light had been leached out of them, so that the solid black and gray of Batman’s outfits seem almost bright by comparison. It is a good look on his friend, though, and Kal finds himself toying with the idea of saying so as they move to join the rest of his family at the entrance to the Way Down.

“It is a fancier name than it needs,” Kal admits, rubbing at his neck in embarrassment, once Batman asks about it. “But it is the only way to reach the Stateroom of Peace from here, so….”

“The only way?”

“There are the service elevators, I suppose,” Kal says with a shrug.

There used to be five of those, actually, disseminated at various points around the palace, until the lower botany labs were built and one of the shafts had to be closed; one of Kal’s ancestors disliked the coming and going of servants so close to them. Nowadays the serving staff use the four remaining—small and uncomfortable—service shafts, deliveries are made through a specific balcony, and Kal’s family uses the Way Down, voices echoing against the room-wide walls of polished metal. The feeling of it is rather like sitting in an egg meant to welcome forty adult Kryptonians, and Kal cannot help but wonder how much of his discomfort every time he goes down rests on that particular architectural choice and how much is simply due to what he knows he will have to face downstairs.

“You live in a fortress,” Batman says after a pause.

His gaze is still firmly set forward, his shoulders unmoved. Yet there is something in his tone that squeezes at Kal’s heart, a sort of tightness he isn’t sure he can figure out on his own. It leaves him nervous and tense, more hunched than he would like as he fiddles with the hems of his sleeves.

His father, when he notices it, pulls Kal's hands apart without a word.

“It is unbecoming,” Kal’s mother says with a shake of her head. “You must rid yourself of this habit, Kal.”

Kal leaves his cuffs alone and mumbles an apology, though he can’t help but try and explain himself.

“No one is as fond of these occasions as they would like to appear,” Jor-El replies as the seven of them step into the elevator, “but you cannot shame our House with that sort of ridiculous behavior.”

Resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his midsection—a much bigger embarrassment than simple fiddling—Kal nods at the ground. It is, in all honesty, a good thing that Batman is here. Kal has no desire for his friend to realize how pathetic he can be just yet—or perhaps ever—and so it is easier to keep his shoulders straight than it would usually be. Besides, while Kal has no illusion about the interest people may find in him—very little, if any—Batman still hasn’t tired of him. In fact, the alien has treated him with something not unlike a form of fondness, like tolerating a faulty but well-worn hunit. It isn’t much. Kal knows it isn’t much. It is, however, better than he remembers ever knowing elsewhere, and it helps him keep his self-consciousness at bay as he takes a small step away from his family and toward Batman.

They both stay quiet during the ride down, Batman having learned by now not to expect too much conversation from Kal’s parents. Brilliant scientists they may both be, but they are not teachers, nor very patient. And so, despite the keenness of Batman’s mind, behind that strange cowl of his, he has been forced to content with Kal as his only company...until, that is, rumors of his progress reached the Citadel Lord and Ladies, and he was invited to this latest function.

“Are you always this nervous?” Batman asks just before they exit the elevator.

Kal would like to have the conversational skill and the confidence to answer ‘often enough’, but in truth it is not that much of an exaggeration to say, “Yes.”

Batman, thankfully, is not prone to clicking his tongue, shaking his head or, indeed, acknowledging his emotions or opinions in any voluntary way at all. This is good, because while Kal is slowly learning to read the alien—the man, he should probably call him—it makes it easier to pretend Batman doesn’t think he is being ridiculous for this. Kal squares his shoulders instead, breathing in and bracing himself just as the doors to the Stateroom open and the members of the royal family are introduced by order of importance.

The Stateroom, far too vast for this fairly intimate assembly, has been divided in two for the night. At the front, closest to the exit of the Way Down, stands the royal table, at which Batman, Kal, and the rest of the family will sit on display for all the court to see for the duration of dinner. Then the assembly will move to the back of the room for the evening’s first dance—a mandatory exercise, Kal has been informed—and the other points of interest. There are professional dancers, two magicians, three jugglers, and one woman whose business is in fire; Kal would rather spend the evening admiring them all than dance for even a few minutes, but that is, unfortunately, not an option.

By Kal’s side, Batman seems decidedly unperturbed by the crowd, the noise, and the myriad of occasions one has to embarrass themselves in this sort of public setting. He moves the way he has always done, head held high as a king’s, back unbowed, step unafraid. He behaves, in fact, more like a prince than Kal knows how to.

As soon as the first nobles have paid their respects to the king and come to engage the mysterious resident of the palace, Batman slips into an almost liquid version of himself. His mouth stretches into a smile, the set of his shoulders mellows, and even his voice softens enough to become almost unrecognizable. It is like watching the man become another part of himself entirely, and Kal would gape if he were not as aware of their audience as he is.

He follows Batman at a distance instead, watching him charm Citadel Lord after Citadel Lady, easy and practiced despite the still-obvious gaps in his vocabulary. It is a talent Kal could never cultivate, and a deep sense of shame settles in his chest, almost obscuring the pride he feels in his friend’s talent. The assembly, predictably enough, pays him little mind. Kal is used to that treatment, however, and while it is never pleasant it is easier, with Batman here, to push past the stopping power of indifferent disdain and listen to the gossip circulating in the room.

If, that is, multiple talks of financial transactions can be considered gossip. Kal is...too well-known as an incompetent to join any of the conversation, but mining projects seem to be all the rage in El, and more than one Lord or Lady is already considering what to do for the king’s birthday, in six months’ time.

Slowly, Kal trails Batman through the dining half of the Stateroom, wondering if this was how Kara felt when she was first allowed in polite society twenty-five years ago. They make small talk with many people, Batman coming up with a new way of calling Krypton grandiose for each pair of ears that would not accept anything less, and answering countless variations of the question: “What is your favorite thing in El?”

No one, Kal notices, asks whether Batman misses his home planet at all. Not that he would answer—in Kal's experience, attempts to make the man open up about his emotions go about as well as punching the wall of the Citadel and expecting a door to open. Still, Kal cannot help but think the asking of that question matters, perhaps even as much as the answer. He might be biased, of course. Trying to bolster his own importance. Even so, he is glad he had the mind to ask this, at least once.

They make their way back to the front of the room, where the dining bell will soon call them and the rest of the royals. Cold golden light shines over the room in waves, like a winter sun filtered through water. It gives the whole scene an eerie look, as if seen in a dream, though Kal does not remember it feeling like this before. Eventually, he and this mellowed version of Batman catch up to a small group composed of Kal’s family, all caught in conversation with General Dru-Zod.

“You don’t like him?” Batman asks, tone flat enough to almost turn it into an affirmation.

“I don’t believe he is very fond of me either,” Kal mutters in return, trying and failing to sidestep the question.

He is under no illusion that Batman missed the evasion, of course. Still, the man has the kindness not to laugh at the childish sentiment, though Kal can’t help but feel like he wants to. Batman approaches the conversational circle, but Kal knows where his own place in this particular configuration is and stands by a nearby table instead, just far enough behind his parents to affect ignorance should any courtly eye wander his way. He can’t be sure Batman glancing at him through the lenses of his cowl is anything more than a figment of his imagination, but he does give a little shrug just the same. Just in case. It is good, after all, for Batman to have more interesting things to do than content himself with Kal’s company all day. This evening will do him good, and if it means he makes better friends than Kal in the process, well, it will have—it will be alright. Perfectly fine.

As it is, though, none of the speakers pay Batman much attention, and Kal watches General Dru-Zod as he clinks his glass against Zor-El’s first, and Kara’s second.

“To a most excellent deal,” he says.

The small circle sips on what Kal assumes is one of the Zodri wines the general is so fond of, unbothered by Batman’s empty hands. The silence settles around them as they savor the taste, Kal’s uncle swishing the wine around his mouth before declaring it absolutely delicious. Kara sways after her second sip, closing her eyes and saying, “Forgive me, this is perhaps a little strong,” as if Kal hadn’t seen her drink men twice her size under a table.

“Strong wine for a strong future,” Dru-Zod replies, self-assured. “This proposition is a boon from the Gods!”

“This proposition hasn’t been signed yet,” Kal’s mother counters in a quiet, yet firm voice.

Around her, the air tenses. Batman, caught between her and Dru-Zod’s piercing gaze, remains unmoved, while Kal’s shoulders bunch together even as he looks away. He knows these people’s faces well enough by now: there is no need for him to look at them to imagine the pursing of his cousin’s lips, the frown on his aunt’s face. The tightness of his uncle’s jaw when he hisses, “Sister.”

“I am but speaking the truth,” Lara replies, still in an undertone. “You and all your Laborer friends may rejoice all you want, but none of your pretty gifts will amount to anything if Tsiahm-Lo changes his mind at the last second.”

“Gifts have nothing to do with his decision,” Kal’s aunt replies in a mild, somewhat miffed tone. “His Majesty is perfectly capable of making his own choices, and no one here has any close contact with him.”

“Not directly,” Kara remarks.

Kal almost hears the air grow tense after her words. He cannot fathom Batman’s expression has changed much...nor that anyone else looks very pleased. Not with the heaviness of the silence around them. Still, he keeps his eyes turned away from his family, sweeping in wide arcs over the Stateroom and its crowd of milling nobility, the performers entertaining the crowd until the royal family finally feels the need to eat. Lady Ona-Set, robes swishing around her, wanders between tables, no doubt lamenting the excessively modern arrangements of cutlery.

“Nevertheless,” Jor says with a tone of finality, “it would do Tsiahm-Lo good, rethinking his position. The Melokariel Proposition is pure folly, and my father—”

Lady Ona-Set must have stirred some dust: something tickles at Kal’s nose and he finds himself sneezing three times in rapid succession.

“Perhaps we should not speak of this where a foreigner can hear,” Kara interrupts Jor, switching to Council.

“Perhaps you are right,” Dru-Zod replies, “although there is nothing much more to be discussed. Krypton has been stagnating for far too long, and this project will serve to revive it.”

“You are a fool if you believe that,” Jor retorts with enough feeling to turn Kal’s head towards him, “and so are the Wise—”

“Jor!” Zor and Lara hiss at the same time.

On his chair, Kal stiffens. It is not done, to openly disagree with the Wise Council. Their hearing is quite keen and their new militia, specifically trained in Kandor to help unify the planet under one rule, has lengthened the reach of their arm. El holds some power in Krypton’s politics and retains its own police force, still—as does Zod and the distant Principality of Quod—but even Kal has heard whispers of how briefly prisoners taken by the Council’s militia remain in Ellon prisons. When, that is, they visit them at all. Even for royals, it is not done, to openly disagree with the Wise Council.

For a moment, Kal thinks his family members will attempt to resurrect the topic and keep the conversation going. They spend a long time looking pensively at their glasses instead and then, without a word, the king leads his entourage up to the main table.

The meal starts quietly enough, but the conversation on Kal’s right picks up again by the time the first dishes are brought out. To his left, Batman eyes the various foods with a tight pinch to his lips, and Kal smiles, even as he points out his favorites as well as one thing he is not very fond of but believes Batman might enjoy. They are well into the meal—in silence, for Batman is not one for idle chatter—when Batman asks, “What does your grandfather have to do with the Melokariel Proposition?”

Kal almost chokes on his glass of water, and has to reach for a napkin with some urgency to cover the blunder. He is flushing, he knows it, and his heart is pounding hard when he answers with a question of his own.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Your grandfather,” Batman repeats without looking away from his food, perfect profile insufficient for Kal to figure out what he is thinking. “Your family was talking about the Melokariel Proposition earlier. Your grandfather was mentioned, but I fail to understand how he is related to it.”

For the barest moment, Kal gapes. He is, after all, widely known for his disinterest in the Melokariel Proposition, and his utter inability to change that fact. That Batman would have questions about it had never crossed his mind, let alone that he would come to Kal of all people for answers.

“I’m afraid,” he says with some difficulty, cheeks burning with too-familiar shame, “you misunderstand me. I meant I don’t know what the Melokariel Proposition is.”

Batman’s head turns toward him. The man’s eyes are invisible, and yet Kal still wishes he could squirm away from them.

“The Melokariel Proposition,” Batman repeats. “I have been here more than two and a half months, and I’ve heard it discussed at least twice a week since then.”

“Then,” Kal admits, shoulders drooping almost of their own accord, “you have a better mind for these sorts of things than I do.”

There is no change in Batman’s posture, no indication in his expression or on his face that what he has just heard displeased him. This does not in any way prevent Kal from feeling like a great divide has suddenly opened up between them.

Kal collapses at the door to the elevator shaft in his labs with a grunt of relief, and takes a couple of minutes to get his breathing back under control. His outfit rearranges into more palace-appropriate garments with a tickle, the slick feeling of dirty water and blood sending his stomach reeling. He wishes sometimes that he could just use one of the regular elevators for these outings of his. The scrutiny that would bring him, however...it would be ill advised, at best. And an unnecessary complication besides. So, abandoned shaft it is, though the necessity of the scheme does not prevent Kal from snorting, from time to time, as he tries to picture his parents’ expressions should they learn of this habit of his.

“Avoiding servants?” Kryo asks when Kal slowly pushes himself to his feet.

“Always a success,” Kal replies, and does not watch Kryo bob up and down in acknowledgment.

His entire body is sorer than it has been a while, bruises growing on top of bruises. Tonight was not a good night. Multiple incidents; he’ll have to tell his family tomorrow. A dozen plants dead. Significant structural damage—well, no, that he can’t share. They would want to see it if he did, and it isn’t as though Kal could show them. In any case, it will be at least three days until Kal can afford to leave his work again.

Three days might be pushing his luck a little, Kal knows. Two would arouse less suspicion. But the truth is, this is not an effort Kal is willing to expend, not when his only wish is to lie down and sleep for an entire week undisturbed. He may have to, at some point—Batman still has questions about the workings of El in particular and Krypton in general, and Kal is still the only one willing to answer him. Even that, though, has lost quite a lot of its appeal.

Teaching Batman about his surroundings used to be a breath of fresh air, a dream of spring in the middle of winter. Ever since the ball, though, Batman has been—it feels like something broke. And—it makes sense. Somewhat. Kal was—he has never been an interesting person to begin with. A subject of morbid fascination, maybe. A specimen for the study of Krypton’s society. A cautionary tale for those foolish enough to dream of following into Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s hubris-filled footsteps, reminding them that wishing for Krypton’s next great leader will only get them someone like Kal.

An interesting person, though? Not really.

The thought twists at Kal’s gut, but he swallows the hard truth nonetheless. Tears won’t change things that are, and so he gulps them down and makes himself face the facts while he walks to the showers at the back of the labs. He is uninteresting. That, he knew. But at the very least, Batman used to find him—useful. Tolerable, maybe. A companion of limited worth, but still preferable to complete solitude and then...well, then, Kal did not see Batman for almost two weeks.

Three weeks in, and they have finally resumed their usual study sessions, but it is easy to see the tone of them has shifted. There are as many questions as there have ever been, as many topics to touch upon. Batman still teaches whatever English Kal is willing to learn. But where before these moments flowed like long exchanges between friends, it seems to Kal Batman is now merely perusing a list of references, gathering information to examine it at a later date. Seeking pointers to guide his solitary studies rather than answers from someone he trusts. It is—it makes sense. Kal should have known it would happen. Batman has figured him out and moved on. He should have known. He should have. He should.

But he did not, and tonight more than ever the thought twists inside him, clawing at his throat and the corners of his eyes in a way it hasn’t in the three months and some weeks since Batman crash-landed on Krypton.

It is no use, spending so much time thinking of this. Kal knows this, and tries to push the thoughts out of his mind as he steps under the shower. Clearly, Batman was unwilling to bother with someone uninterested by the topic of the Melokariel Proposition. That is that; no more to say on the subject.

Although it does, of course, beg the question of why Batman has become so invested in that project in the first place. What does an alien who did not even come from this galaxy care about a strictly Kryptonian affair? Everyone, after all, keeps repeating the truth that no neighboring planet will be affected, let alone Batman’s distant and unknown solar system. Why, then, has the man developed such curiosity about it? That he did not know of Krypton’s existence even while passing by it close enough to crash on it after an accident, Kal can believe. Light-speed spacecrafts are all equipped with automated pilots, and Batman did say he was traveling on business, attempting to reach friends who had required his help. The lack of help, too, is unsurprising. Batman did not have any way to communicate for a long time, and no one—not even Kal, he realizes, wincing—thought to offer help in getting him back home.

But why would he grow so passionate about the Melokariel Proposition as to reject Kal on the sole basis of his lack of interest in it?

“Would you like me to order some breakfast to be brought up?” Kryo asks when Kal emerges from his shower in a hurry and immediately shoves himself into his now-anthracite tunic.

“In two hours, please,” Kal replies. “I have something to do, first.”

It must be the space making him paranoid. It must be. There is too much of an echo, down there, too much darkness, like a cave of insanely regular proportions. Still, the doubt clings to Kal’s skin as he strides across the space, drooping leaves brushing at his face and arms as he goes on, wishing desperately for answers—or, failing that, for some way to stop thinking altogether...two things he might, in fact, be able to find in the same place.

The Adventures of Flamebird has always been a source of comfort to him, well-worn pages and cover a soothing sight of their own by now. It would do him good to hold it, to lose himself in the myriad of tales it contains and the distant, unknowable lands of Krypton in its earliest days. It would ease his mind; soothe him enough, perhaps, to let him sleep and forget the night’s casualties, at least long enough to survive. And since the book has been residing in Batman’s bedchamber for several weeks now, perhaps Kal will manage to seize whatever feeble courage he has and ask some of the questions that, he can tell, will not leave him alone otherwise.

He has no desire to do it. Kal is many things, but brave is not one of them, and the fear of losing whatever shreds of Batman’s friendship he still has stops him in his tracks at the bifurcation between the guests’ quarters and the royal apartments. He is, however, a Prince of El. Not the most glorious of them, and not a particularly good one, either; but if he suspects something strange is going on in the palace, it is his duty to examine it. He must do this, and he must do this fairly—he cannot let his desire for friendship blind him to whatever reasons Batman might have to research a planet-wide project involving so much energy...and if those reasons come with ill intent, then Kal will have to stop the man. Friend or no.

Kal knows his duty, he truly does, but he cannot deny that relief washes over him, a few minutes later, when Batman does not answer the knock on his door. For a brief moment, the urge to forget about all of this seizes him, and he almost turns back. But tonight has been a bad night, and a dozen pe—plants have been lost by his fault. Four of them only saplings. He should have—done many things. He did not, and now they are lost, and that knowledge is what spurs him on to push Batman’s door open. The book can wait, though Kal will miss its presence tonight; his questions cannot.

Making no noise across the carpeted floor is an easy feat, with shoes as light and supple as socks. Even then Kal is wary. Batman, he has learned, sleeps lightly. And, these days, most likely in short stretches. The first, Batman has admitted to him directly. The second, Kal is forced to assume from what he has seen of the man. He naps at random times, and is irritated and bad-tempered when left to sleep longer than he meant to. He has the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere, without needing to adopt an even vaguely horizontal position. All of these are symptoms Kal recognizes from his own poor sleeping habits, ways to get some rest between his nightly work and the demands of a princely life. It is neither healthy nor agreeable, but Kal has grown used to it, and he is at least capable of recognizing the signs of it in another, when faced with them.

All of this, of course, can mean only one thing: something has come to disrupt Batman’s sleeping patterns since he distanced himself from Kal. Something that probably can’t be the fault of any other Kryptonian, for Kal is still the only one to speak to Batman with any regularity, and he knows perfectly well no work was given to the man besides making sure he does not accidentally insult his hosts, or his hosts’ guests. The question now is to find out what, exactly, that something is.

Kal, stomach heavy as a stone, crosses from Batman’s living quarters into his bedchamber without a sound, relieved to find the man asleep with his back to the door. He is snoring, too, soft and regular, and Kal allows himself a relieved breath before he creeps closer, knowing Batman well enough by now to realize nothing of importance in his Kryptonian life will be kept out of his reach.

Batman’s Earth outfit rests on a dummy by the bedside, mended torso, yellow belt and all. To the right of that, immediately left of the bed, the crimson glow of the moon washes over a pile of books—some Kal recognizes, some he doesn’t—with some kind of sharp-looking weapon and, at the top, a bracelet of some kind sporting the all-too-familiar symbol of the Green Lanterns. Kal can’t help but stare at it for far longer than he should before he grabs it, shoves it into a brand-new inside pocket of his tunic, and has to put all his focus into exiting as quietly as he came in.

He stops outside of Batman’s quarters for a moment, grateful for Kryo and its never ending watch as he tries to sort through his thoughts. A Green Lantern! In the palace! If anyone knew this—no. Better not think of it. Not, at any rate, until Kal has decided what to do about this information. He is not thinking clearly, he knows. Cannot possibly handle this information with the amount of care and objectivity it requires on his own, not without several days to ponder it, and he does not have that kind of time. This in turn can mean but one thing: he needs counsel, and not from Kryo, which does not know the meaning of affection. No, he needs someone whom he can trust, and someone who will understand, at least in part, the dilemma he finds himself in.

With a clear path in mind at last, Kal sighs, braces himself, and sets off toward the upper levels of the royal palace.

Kara’s pillow slaps him in the face with enough force to disorient him for a moment, and Kal only owes the lack of a second blow to the sharpness of her reflexes. She hisses imprecations at him for a while, until he pulls out Batman’s bracelet and cuts her short. Without a word, Kara reaches for the item, scowling when Kal pulls it out of her reach on reflex. She sits up straighter and asks:

“Where did you get this? I swear to the Gods, Kal, if you contacted the Green Lanterns—”

“Do you truly think I would be so foolish?” Kal hisses back.

There are those on Krypton who have managed to get in touch with the Green Lanterns and remained on the planet, but Kal has never contacted any of them directly, though he is working with them after a fashion. The Green Lanterns’ name may only serve as a curse in the higher circles of Krypton, but the general population is hardly fond of them either.

“Then where in Vohc’s name did you find this?”

“Batman’s room, as a matter of fact,” Kal admits.

Kara mutters something that sounds a lot like ‘Rao help us’ with the deepest scowl Kal has ever seen on her face. He supposes he cannot blame her for it. She looks him straight in the eyes then, still frowning, and Kal has to force himself to hold her gaze, to show her without words that he is not entirely careless but merely out of his depth.

Eventually, Kara’s face goes through a complicated movement and, with the twist of her mouth that signals questions too delicate to be dealt with immediately, she asks, “Are you sure no one else knows?”

Kal nods with a sigh of relief. He can’t know for sure what Kara’s advice will be, but whatever happens next, at least he can have some control over the situation, and maybe—hopefully—spare Batman the worst outcomes. Colluding with the Green Lanterns would send him to jail, at best—and not an Ellon one, at that. Kal may not be an expert on the topic, but he knows his uncle: there are not many things in this world that tighten Zor-El’s jaw with a mere mention, and the people who leave El for Kandorian cells tend not to come back.

“Good,” Kara says.

“Do you think the Lanterns could have sent him here on purpose?” Kal asks, heart in his throat. “I don’t think so, but I—I don’t know that I can tell what I wish to be the truth apart from what really is.”

Kara clicks her tongue as she scoots to the edge of her bed and crushes Kal into a brusque hug.

“They would have to be stupid to do that,” she says after she releases him. “Much though Krypton’s power may be….”

“Diminished?”

For once, Kara’s distinctly unimpressed look leaves Kal mostly unaffected. Krypton has been steadily declining for several centuries now, and the Wise Council’s reach has only grown upon Krypton these past decades, not beyond it.

“Let’s call it that,” Kara begrudges after a beat. “Nevertheless, we are still a force to be reckoned with. It would be foolish of them to come look for trouble our way when we have respected the terms of the Treaty. Especially with Leaark and Axor at each other’s throats, at any rate.”

Kal does not know what is going on between those two planets exactly, although he understands some kind of blood feud is involved. Still, it does not take a genius to grasp why the Green Lanterns would be keeping an eye on that rather than spying on a long-dormant enemy who has made no effort to communicate with the rest of the galaxy since the Independence Wars. The thought releases something in Kal’s chest, but only for a short while.

Just because Kara sees things this way, after all, does not mean her father would agree, to say nothing of the Wise Council. Kal wouldn’t expect them to care whether a friend of the Lanterns came to Krypton by design or by accident. And Batman...well, even assuming he was lying when he said he knew nothing of Krypton when he landed there, his species, his planet, and even his solar system have no presence in Krypton’s database. There is nothing, intergalactic law or otherwise, to forbid Batman from associating with the Lanterns from Earth, so why should he be punished for it?

But then, of course, there is also the matter of his latest activities.

“I think,” Kal says with a heavy heart, “we still need to keep an eye on him.”

Relating his reasoning to Kara only takes a few minutes, but Kal still feels like he has been speaking forever by the end of it. It is the right thing to do, he knows. Even for Batman’s sake—it wouldn’t do to let him involve himself in something as fraught as the Melokariel Proposition without at least a warning. That thought, however, does not do much to ease the feeling that he is betraying a friend, and he knows he has been too obvious in his worry when Kara loops an arm around his shoulders again.

“Perhaps you should have a conversation with him, and take his version of things into account before we decide what to do about him. If he is planning to do harm to Krypton, we will need to stop him...but I see no need to punish him if he is only an unlucky traveler a little too curious about things he does not understand.”

Kal nods, too afraid to voice the thought weighing on his mind: Batman seems too smart not to have any notion of what he is doing. Kal is still hoping all of this is an unfortunate misunderstanding, but already his heart sinks with the possibility of tragedy.

“He hasn’t been friendly toward me since your father’s latest ball,” he admits, glad that he manages to keep the tears clogging his throat out of his voice. “I doubt he would listen to me even if I tried to broach the topic...and it is too risky to have that conversation in the more public places of the palace.”

“Well,” Kara sighs, settling back under the covers, “the other you, then.”

#DCU #Superbat #superbat big bang #Clark Kent #Bruce Wayne #My Posts #SBB 2019 #DCU Fic #Fanfiction #fic: Clark Kent of Krypton

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