#excuse the inconsistency of Q. His hair

[landfilloftrash]

there’s comedy potential here

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Movie Moment

Q has just been recruited at MI6. Bond has worked there for years. When the pair meet by chance in Q's bookstore, sparks fly but neither is willing to admit it. A formal work introduction turns into an unofficial date at an art gallery and as Bond walks Q home in the rain, the two men screw their courage and take the opportunity to have a "movie moment."

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You can find the accompanying art by the wonderful 10kiaoi here.

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Word count: 3136

Warnings: NONE! Just 3k words of pure 00Q fluff!

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Q froze on his ladder as unfamiliar voices startled him, the pile of books balanced precariously between his hands and the top shelf wobbled slightly as he attempted to restock the thriller section of the little bookstore in which he worked.

“Are you… Are you James Bond?!” A hushed female voice murmured on the opposite side of the bookshelf that Q was filling.  

“...Yes.” Replied the hesitant, gruff voice of the man named James Bond. The voice reverberated around Q’s chest, making him waver dangerously on the rickety old ladder and forcing him to grip onto the bookshelf to prevent him from falling.

“Oh. My. God. You really are, aren’t you! They told us all about you in training! I’m such a fan! Did you really wrestle a shark on the bottom of the Mariana Trench?” The female voice practically hissed with excitement.

“...What?!” Bond replied again, as if failing to find an adequate response.  

“Will you sign my laptop case please?”

Q rose up onto his tiptoes, almost falling off the ladder again in the process of peeking over the top shelf to catch a glimpse of the man in the aisle opposite. He was tall and bulky with sharp features and dressed in an equally sharp suit: not his usual bookstore customer.

“Okay.” Bond replied blandly, following the girl over to a desk around the corner and out of sight. Q thrust the remaining books onto the shelf and stumbled down the ladder just in time to watch Bond’s dark-haired accomplice thank him and hurry out of the shop. Bond stood, looking slightly bewildered for a second, before turning and catching Q’s eye. “Excuse me,” he began, addressing Q and smiling a strained yet polite smile.

Q hesitated for a moment, clearing his suddenly dry throat before replying; “how may I help you, sir?” Bond’s cool steely blue eyes seemed to pierce through him and Q wasn’t quite sure how to react.

“I’m looking for a spy novel,” he began, striding closer to Q, his footsteps muffled by the thick faded red carpet, “and was hoping you had some recommendations.”

Q took a moment to weigh up the man standing before him; a stark contrast to himself. Everything about Bond was sharp - his eyes, his angular body, his suit, his neat hair - which created an almost comical juxtaposition with his own dark messy curls and soft, oversized sweater and chocolatey brown eyes, yet something in his demeanour told Q that he and Bond had a similar taste in books. “Follow me.” Q instructed, turning on his heel and leading Bond further into the shop.

He escorted Bond to the “spy thriller” sub-section of the store, slid a copy of John le Carré’s “The Night Manager” off the shelf and handed it to him. A satisfied, somewhat arrogant smile tugged at the corners of Q’s mouth as Bond scanned over the blurb and nodded approvingly. “Thank you,” Bond began again, his eyes flicking quickly down to the enamel name badge which was pinned to Q’s breast, “Q?” he questioned, understandably confused by the lack of name on his name badge.

“I, too, happen to be a fan of espionage.” Q confided, smirking subtly at the duality of his statement; Q’s love of espionage was not only satisfied through novels, but also through his recent appointment as head of Q-branch at MI6.

“Ah,” Bond responded softly, “well, I trust your judgement.”

The pair made their way over to the till where Bond paid for his book. “Let me know if I judged your taste in novels correctly.” Q concluded, blushing ever so slightly at his boldness in hinting that he would like to see him again.

“I will.” Promised Bond, gently opening the red-painted door of the bookstore and straightening his tie, the bell above the door tinkling and breaking the silence that threatened to shroud the shop once Bond had left.

“I didn’t catch your name.” Q called after him, blushing more noticeably now.

“The name’s Bond. James Bond.” He replied coolly, saluting in a lazy military style and smiling affectionately as the door swung closed behind him, the bell above the door tinkling again as he did so. Q bit his lip in an attempt to suppress the smile that was transforming his expression irresistibly as he watched James Bond walk away with the promise of return.   

 ---

Days passed without the return of Bond and Q was beginning to feel foolish for believing that he had a chance of seeing him again until he was handed the files of the double-0 agent to which he had been assigned quartermaster. Q’s breath caught in his throat as he scanned through the files labelled “007” in the semi-darkness of his office and stared down at the small black and white picture of James Bond, secured loosely to the pile of documents with a paperclip. Assigned to be James Bond’s quartermaster. The James Bond. According to his files, Bond had worked for MI6 for forever and Q knew that he looked vastly inexperienced in comparison. How had he not bumped into him before? All he had to do was find somewhere that he had the upper hand to re-introduce himself as his quartermaster. Why was he so nervous? This was a professional exchange, not a chance encounter like they had had at the book shop.

---

After a lengthy search of possible locations, Q settled on the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. The moment the gallery opened the next morning, Q was there. He spent hours wandering through each room and choosing his favourite paintings before finally whittling it down to a few paintings in room 34 and eventually settling on The Fighting Temeraire painted by J.M.W Turner in 1838. A quick google of the painting’s history and connotations reassured Q that he could be as pretentious as he liked with his impressive interpretations. He liked to be pretentious; it gave him a sense of superiority that he knew he would lack the moment his eyes met Bond’s again.  

---

Q returned to the bookstore for his evening shift, shaking rain out of his hair as he hurried inside, and froze on the doormat as his eyes met Bond’s. He was leaning against the cashier desk with two books in his hands. “Evening, Q.” Bond greeted, smiling subtly.

“How long have you been here?” Q asked in reply, unwinding the scarf from around his neck as he closed the door and paced over to Bond, placing it on the desk next to him.

“Only a few minutes. I came in this morning and asked when you would be in.” Bond replied nonchalantly as he tapped his fingers lightly on the wooden tabletop; he had always been forward and upfront when chasing his heart (or lust for that matter) but he felt almost nervous to be here with Q again and subsequently felt the need to conceal this by acting overly casual. To Bond, Q felt safe. He was soft and gentle but he seemed to have a sarcastic, almost dangerous side to him that Bond knew he could draw out if he tried hard enough. After years working as a double-0 agent and living the inevitable life of inconsistency which came hand-in-hand with the occupation, Bond longed for something constant, and the hint of danger that he sensed from him seemed to draw him to Q. “You were spot on with the book, by the way.”

“What?” Q began, before realising that Bond was only here because he had asked him to review his book choice. “Oh, well I do have a knack for judging people’s taste in novels.” Bond uttered a low-pitched chuckle that shook Q to the core and threw him off his game again.

“Well thank you for introducing me to le Carré.” Bond continued, turning and leaning closer to Q over the desk. Q shuddered and took a step backwards, stumbling slightly over a box of books as Bond placed two new books on the desk. Q caught himself in time and took the money that Bond was holding out to him.

“So I’ll… will I see you again?” Q asked, silently kicking himself for being so obviously attracted to him.

“You will.” Bond replied, already halfway to the door, his heart beating a little faster than usual as he realised that he’d committed to seeing Q again. He turned back as he opened the door, smiling to himself as he was greeted with the sight of Q fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater and watching him leave.

Once outside, Bond instantly regretted not bringing an umbrella as the unusually large raindrops were already beginning to seep through his suit and soak his skin. He had barely taken a few steps away from the cozy amber light of the shop window when the door swung open again and Q called his name. “That suit looks too expensive to get wet.” Q quipped, holding out a large black umbrella. Bond chuckled and jogged back to Q, gratefully accepting the umbrella and brushing some of the rain off his jacket.

“Thank you, Q.” Bond replied affectionately. Q smelled of tea and cinnamon and everything homely and Bond could barely fight the urge to reach out and grab Q’s face and kiss him but he couldn’t be sure that Q felt the same way. “I’ll return it.” He concluded, feeling a dull ache in his chest as he stepped away leaving Q in the doorway of the bookshop.

Q’s chest ached as Bond walked away. That was a perfect ‘movie moment.’ If he lived in a fictional universe, Bond would have reached out and grabbed Q’s face and kissed him under the rain and Q would have wrapped his arms around Bond’s middle and kissed him back as they were both soaked by the downpour and it would have been perfect. But this was real life and in real life you don’t get to live out ‘movie moments.’ So Q retreated into the warmth of the book shop and made himself a cup of tea and tried to forget about the fact that his hand had been so close to Bond’s when he handed over the umbrella.

---

Three days passed without so much as a mention of Bond’s name until the day came to meet him at the National Gallery. Q was dreading it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get Bond off his mind. He felt like the epitome of a cliche. This was a professional meeting, not a romantic rendezvous. He needed to focus. Q took a moment to tell himself to snap out of his momentary anxiety and took the case containing a radio and a handprint-activated pistol and pulled his coat tightly around him against the cold as he began the walk to Trafalgar Square.

---

Bond ambled into room 34 and sat down as he had been instructed. Introductions to colleagues were usually just an exchange on names and a swift handshake carried out in the MI6 building, they were never as elaborate and mysterious as being sent to an art gallery with no idea who it was that you were meeting. An art gallery, of all places. It was much too romantic for Bond and he decided instantly that he would dislike (but begrudgingly tolerate) whoever it was that he was meeting until a familiar voice broke his train of thought. “It’s a little melancholy, don’t you think?” Bond didn’t have to turn around to realise that Q was standing so close behind him that he could just about feel his warm breath against the back of his neck as he spoke. He didn’t listen to any more of Q’s interpretation of the painting as he knew that he would be instantly engulfed by his chocolate-smooth voice and wouldn't be able to drag himself away to meet whoever it was that he should be meeting.  

“Excuse me,” he interrupted, turning away before Q’s deep brown eyes could convince him to stay.

“007,” Q interjected, placing a hand on his arm and quickly pulling it back as Bond froze. Of course Q had chosen an art gallery; it was eccentric and pretentious, exactly as Bond had imagined him to be. Bond tested his wit, harmlessly insulting him and complaining about his gadgets (which in reality, he thought were wonderful… he thought that anything Q gave him would be wonderful) and eventually held out his hand for Q to shake. It felt too formal and strange considering they had already met, but seeing as how his heart had almost stopped when Q’s hand touched his clothed arm he felt that this was the safest option.

---

Q placed his hand in Bond’s and shook it, feeling his heartbeat in his throat and his hair stand on end as the bare skin of his hand made contact with that of Bond’s. Bond’s hand was rough and his grip was tight and strong and Q couldn’t help but notice again the stark contrast between the two of them. He felt rather small and helpless besides Bond, but he was surprised by the fact that he didn’t seem to mind. “007.” He greeted again, feeling strange using his professional name.

“Q.” Bond replied in a tone that sent a warm shiver down Q’s spine. “So do you happen to know as much about the other paintings in here as you do about this one?” Bond asked, gesturing to The Fighting Temeraire.

“Not quite as much,” Q admitted, “but I can certainly make it sound like I do.” He concluded, his throat becoming suddenly dry as he realised where this was going.

“Well seeing as how we’re already here; please enlighten me.” Bond’s expression was soft and gentle, a contrast to his sharp appearance, and it was enough to convince Q that this was actually happening. He took Bond on the tour of the gallery that he had done a week previously and he and Bond played the game of “who can spot the most naked people in paintings” as they ambled through the many rooms.

---

Once the pair had spent multiple hours in the gallery and had made their way through every room, they began to struggle to find more reasons to stay together without it seeming so obvious. Reluctantly, they stepped outside into yet another downpour. “Bloody rain.” Q mumbled as the rain obscured his vision through his glasses.

“Here,” Bond offered, opening up Q’s umbrella that he had given him three evenings previously and moving closer to Q so that they were both sheltered underneath the fabric canopy. They stood so close together that Q’s arm was pressed against Bond’s, but Q’s hair still seemed to be getting wet so he swallowed what little pride he had around Bond and placed his hand in the crook of Bond’s elbow, pulling himself closer to him.

---

Bond slowed a little and smiled to himself. They had practically been on a date, even if it was unofficial, and now Q was pulling himself into Bond. His dark curls tickled the side of Bond’s face and his warm, unusually fast breath pulsed against Bond’s cold hand that was holding up the umbrella. He knew that to passers-by, they looked like a couple and Bond felt that ache in his chest again. Maybe Q did feel the same way about him. After all, they had spent an entire day together and he was now pulling himself into him. Bond tensed the muscles in his arm a little so that they gently squeezed Q’s hand.

---

Q felt Bond squeeze his arm and his heart rate increased even more. Maybe Bond did feel the same way about him. They were almost back at Q’s apartment now, having just turned down his street, and Q couldn’t bear to spend another week not knowing where he stood. This thought prompted him to grow a little more confident and he rested his head against Bond’s shoulder. Bond momentarily forgot to breathe and Q noticed this, smiling in an “I can’t quite believe this is happening” way. They walked on until they reached the entrance to Q’s apartment block, where the pair stopped and Bond turned to face Q, making sure to keep them both under the umbrella as a not-so-subtle excuse to stay incredibly close to the younger man. The sky had darkened as they had been walking and now they were illuminated by the orange toned twilight and similarly coloured streetlamps. Q allowed his hand to fall from Bond’s elbow, but Bond refused to accept the lack of contact and took Q’s other hand in his own. Q’s heart pounded against his chest; his feelings were definitely reciprocated.

---

Bond gazed down at Q, his wide, melancholy eyes revealing all of his feelings without him having to speak. He rubbed his thumb gently over the back of Q’s cold hand and hesitated. This was too good to be true. He’d always had his way with the countless women and men that he’d slept with, but no one had been good to him before. No one had actually loved him the way he knew Q could and it scared him. Q obviously noticed the fleeting expression of fear that had passed over his face as he placed his free hand gently against his cheek. “Bond?” he murmured, asking with that one word if everything was okay and simultaneously if this was what he wanted. Bond raised Q’s hand to his lips and placed the ghost of a kiss onto his fingers as a response. Bond felt him relax as he moved their hands back from his face before Q’s lips were on his and both of his hands were on his face and he was kissing him. Bond stumbled backwards slightly, almost sending them both toppling over backwards but caught them in time. Bond dropped Q’s umbrella onto the pavement so that he could place his hands on Q’s hips, pulling him as close as he possibly could to his body.

---

Bond was kissing back and pulling him in and it was raining and they had spent a day at an art museum and Q’s heart was thrumming against his ribcage as he and Bond stood outside his apartment complex, kissing. This was the ‘movie moment’ that he’d been dreaming about since they met a week ago. One week. Q marvelled at the fact that he’d fallen for someone so quickly and that someone had fallen for him so quickly. He removed his hands from Bond’s cheeks and wrapped them around his neck, rising up to Bond’s height on his toes and almost making him topple over again. This was the stuff of stories and movies and fairytales and it was just perfect.

[thebibliomancer]

Mythologi-Girls short: For the Dinosaur Who Has Everything

It was the second snow of the year in Colossopolis. First snow had come in July thanks to a weather control device built by the Flurry Fury. These things happened in this city.

But with first non-machine assisted snow came Maria Martinez, the Marvelous Mariposa’s annual secret gift exchange.

Those that ranked superheroes solely by powers might dismissively say that Mariposa’s only power was the butterfly wings growing from her back which gifted her flight. And sometimes sleep or poison powder that could be dusted from those wings, depending on era. Superhuman physiology could be startlingly inconsistent.

But Maria Martinez, the Marvelous Mariposa’s true superpower was alliteration. But also networking. She was friends with nearly the entire superhuman community. Even gruff loners with no friends who ‘work best alone’ like Nemea, grudgingly counted Mariposa as a friend.

She was the big heart of the Exemplars, the amazing, spectacular, and pick an adjective assemblage of heroes dedicated to protecting the world, Colossopolis, and the world again, for good measure. There was no mightier league of defenders on Earth than them.

Even the Mighty League of Defenders from the 40s would gladly admit that the Exemplars were, well, exemplars.

And this reputation owed to Mariposa’s efforts at building a bond between the team so they weren’t just some high profile heroes sitting at the same table. And she claimed that the secret to that was team building activities. Which included, among other things (such as an annual baseball game against another hero team), secret gift exchanges during the happy holidays.

So there came a day, like many others, where Mariposa herded everyone into the lounge where a variety of different holiday decorations signaled that this was certainly the most wonderful time of the year, as the bard said.

She did a quick headcount. There was herself, obviously.

Shieldmaiden and Jerboa sitting next to each other on a couch. Shieldmaiden had been vocally against letting the ex and sometimes current thief join the team and had kept a close eye on her while at headquarters and on missions.

The Archimage was on a mission to the space between spaces and probably wouldn’t be back until spring. Or he might arrive before he left. The space between spaces was odd like that. Filling in from the regular kind of space was Zxyqb, the alien enchanter. As in, the alien who was an enchanter, not an enchanter of aliens.

“I do that too,” he said with a triple wink. And then preceded to clarify that he meant romantically.

Out of kindness to human tongues, he went by Z or Q for short. He was the Archimage’s sometimes enemy, sometimes apprentice, and sometimes godfather. Space was also odd like that.

Z was sitting on top of the tv because ‘lol doesn’t understand human culture’ was the aesthetic he had chosen for this iteration of himself.

Founding member Al Wight, the Cobalt Champion, sat in a special reinforced end chair that could support his war machine of a body.

Last but certainly not least, not an official member of the team but still valid: Hank Higgins, Two-Fisted Science Adventurer. He had been Mariposa’s husband back in the day when it felt like they had to marry someone and it may as well be a friend. Now he was the Cobalt Champion’s boyfriend slash mechanic. And also a two-fisted science adventurer.

He had pulled a chair next to the Champion’s.

“Is this everyone?” asked Mariposa, shaking the top hat of the Mystifying Legerdemon. The hat had been an extra-dimensional storage space but after the Exemplars had freed the magical Hardaway Bunny from within, it lost its power and was now just a fairly fancy hat in the Exemplar trophy room and part time storage for slips of paper with names on them.

“There’s Clever Girl upstairs,” said Cobalt Champion. His servos hummed at the lower bound of hearing as he shrugged. “She’s not on the team but she is a house guest.”

“You know the unspoken rule for house guests. If they sleep on our couch, eat our food, and fight our home invaders, they’re close enough to team to participate in activities and chores.”

Mariposa told the HQputer to contact Clever Girl in the labs. In a nanosecond a link was formed between the vidscreen in the lounge and the one in Clever Girl’s special machine lab. On the activated lounge screen, a Compsognathus face loomed large sniffing at the corresponding screen curiously.

“Get down! Get down from there!” cried out the high-pitched synthesized voice of Clever Girl. The pink-feathered velociraptor spoke English only thanks to a device implanted in her throat. “You learned to beg at mealtime, you should be able to learn that you are not allowed on top of that!”

A floating mechanical hand, controlled by a device around Clever Girl’s wrist, picked the Compsognathus up and placed it on the floor.

She noticed the active vidscreen and the Exemplars staring at her on the screen.

“Naughty Thing!” she shrieked at the off-screen Compsognathus. “This is what happens when you sit on control panels! You activate vidscreens and lasers with your butt!”

“Actually, we called you, Clever Girl,” said Mariposa.

“Oh, hello allies of Cobalt Champion. Very busy currently. No time to help fight colorful rival tribe in human streets. Very busy.”

Clever Girl had learned that explaining exactly what she was busy with would be met with bafflement from anyone but the most science inclined. She had started imitating excuses she heard from others but after a few parroted excuses like ‘I have to wash my hair’, ‘lady troubles,’ and ‘I have been framed for murder by my dark reflection’, Clever Girl had decided that it was safer to just stick with ‘very busy.’ Which she repeated to emphasize the level of business.

Only two ‘very busy’s was fairly promising.

“If you’re only very busy very busy, would you like to join us for the first half of the secret gift exchange?”

Clever Girl tilted her head in confusion so Mariposa explained the concept. And then explained it again. And then had Cobalt Champion explain it. And then forbade Jerboa from explaining it.

Mariposa wouldn’t have thought it would require so much explanation. But Clever Girl was a velociraptor from a lost world who was made super-intelligent by a glowing meteor.  You just couldn’t assume the same life experiences.

In the end, Clever Girl agreed that it would be faster to just experience it in person.

Clever Girl doubtfully hovered her helper hand over the hat in Mariposa’s hands. It delicately hovered lower and plucked a scrap of paper from within.

“And what do I do with this now? Do I eat it?” the velociraptor questioned. “Ha ha, that was a joke. I do not eat random items anymore. But first question was serious. What do I do with this now?”

“You read the name inside and keep it a secret.”

“Oh, it has writing inside. … I have read the name. Now what?”

“Now you have until the end of the month to get the person written inside a gift.”

“In this context, what is a gift?”

“Its… like, a present. No, that’s a synonym!” Mariposa chastised herself.

“I should obtain a… synonym?” The voice synthesizer was sophisticated enough to convey the skepticism.

“Okay. A gift is a nice thing you give someone. Something that you think they’ll like or something you think they need. You either make it or buy it but…”

“Yes, I have no money,” Clever Girl confirmed. “But I am good at making things. I can make something for the name written on this paper. Yes. Much to plan, much to do. Very busy. Very busy. Very busy. Very busy-”

And the very busy’s trailed off as Clever Girl walked out of the lounge, pondering and planning.

“Okay so apparently we have a dinosaur living in the tower, that’s cool,” Jerboa said. “Thirteen-year old me would be thrilled. But hey: I have experience with mad scientists from heisting and such and it is usually a red flag when they get that absorbed into a new project. Should we have… clarified like a size limit or a…. megaton limit?”

“Why do you hate fun?” asked Zxyqb, dismissively.

“How dare you.”

“Alright, alright,” soothed Mariposa. “Try not to piss off someone that might end up getting you a gift. And also: I shouldn’t have to say this but no spite gifts.”

She passed the top hat around the room and everyone selected a scrap of paper. The hat was passed back around to Mariposa and she took the last one.

She unfolded it, read it, and frowned.

Clever Girl.

This was going to be difficult.

“What do you get the dinosaur that has everything?” Mariposa mused.

“A storage unit?” suggested the Cobalt Champion.

The two heroes were on the moon, fighting a rabbit-person with a hammer. At some point, probably right before the end, it would all start to make sense, but now the two heroes were just going with the flow.

The Archimage had indeed returned before he left but had only had time to shout “MOOOOOOON!” before vanishing.

This morning, Mariposa and Cobalt Champion retroactively remembered that happening three weeks ago. Nonetheless, they flew to the moon to check it out. Given that the Moon was fairly big, it was astonishing that they ran into something the first place they looked but that’s the life of a superhero.

The Champion blocked a hammer blow that pushed him back, furrowing the ground. His retaliatory blow sent the rabbit-person soaring into the sky. Less impressive than it sounded due to the lower gravity.

“Why are we fighting rabbit people on the Moon?” the Champion wondered. “What happened to fighting bank robbers with gimmicks?”

Mariposa dodged another one of the rabbit-people, juking to the side and sticking out her leg so the over-enthusiastic moon lapine sprawled into the dust. “The economy?” she opined.

The Champion laughed, a harsh staticy sound. Another moon rabbit took a swing at him so the conversation lulled for a bit.

“I guess you got Clever Girl for the gift exchange,” he eventually said.

“She is hard to shop for!” Mariposa wished she could fly. This fight would be easier with some mobility. But physics are physics and they were on the no-air part of the Moon. “She likes building death machines, likes eating meat, and likes her pet Things. But outside of that…”

“She’s only known about human civilization for half a year,” the Champion said. A hammer hit him in the head and he paused to throw the offender. “It was very overwhelming for her. Discovering a whole world outside her valley. I tried to ease her into some movies but…”

Mariposa spotted a glowing whatsits half-buried in the Lunar dust. It was clearly some magical nonsense so she dove for it. Once she lay her hands on it, she felt a tingle pass from it through her gloves and then the rabbit-people were gone.

Well. Hopefully this made sense at some point, Mariposa mused.

“Wait. You didn’t start her off with Jurassic Park, did you?”

“It was Hank’s idea,” the Champion said, defensively.

“Don’t pass off the blame,” she chided. She patted some dust from her spacesuit. “How’d that go?”

“She went off and sulked somewhere after seeing the velociraptors.”

Mariposa wondered if seeing unfeathered giant shrink-wrapped versions of herself had hit the uncanny valley hard. “So she’s probably not going to be keen on movies. And we probably shouldn’t let her learn about society from media anyway. I wonder if I can just get… pet sweaters for her two compies.”

The Cobalt Champion held out an all-purpose radiation/magic/etc blocking containment unit for Mariposa to drop the glowing whatsit into it. “Well, they’ll like the gift even if she doesn’t. In that they love tearing at fabric.”

“I had wondered what happened to the curtains.”

A week later, moon nearly forgotten (Z had explained it but Mariposa hadn’t understood the explanation and had eventually stopped asking follow-up questions), Mariposa was stopping an eerily luminous legion of little dolls from robbing a bank.

It was that kind of whiplash - going from fighting aliens from an alternate dystopic moon one week to stopping a semi-automated doll heist - that kept life fresh. Some superheroes complained about how repetitive the life got, fighting the same villains month to month. Mariposa did not have that problem.

The doll heist ended as these things must inevitably. With a woman in a turquoise dress in handcuffs.

After a brief fight scene - page or two tops, if that's how you’d measure it - where Mariposa had to dodge the surprisingly agile dolls and their tiny knives, she pulled down a hanging advertising banner and used it to round up the dolls.

They would cut through that eventually so she took the bundled dolls and locked them in a filing cabinet.

Dolls restrained and bystanders not in danger of receiving tiny stab wounds, Mariposa found the Turquoise Fairy watching nearby.

She immediately offered her wrists when she saw Mariposa approaching.

“Coming quietly, Turquoise Fairy?” asked Mariposa, locking the handcuffs around the offered wrists.

“I do not agree to that name,” said Abella Guignol. “I don’t know why the press dubbed me that but I don’t agree to it.”

“You always wear a turquoise dress and you bring dolls to life like that movie,” Mariposa said.

“I wish! There are cell phones from 90s smarter than these semi-automated idiots!”

“What were you doing here today? I didn’t think robbing banks was your MO.”

“MO-st certainly not!” Abella scoffed. “I’m above scrabbling for money like the colorful idiots you fight. I’m an artisan!”

“Who sends dolls to attack superheroes.” She picked Abella up and flew her to the bank.

“It's the best way to stress-test them.” She shrugged and booted the filing cabinet open. She snapped and the dolls obediently climbed out one at a time and stood in a line. “Tsk. You broke Denver’s head.”

“Consider her stress tested. So what were you doing here today?” Mariposa repeated.

“Well, I’ve been working on their object recognition. I showed them various coinage and then sent them out to gather coins. From fountains and the street. Wherever.”

“... So you had them scrabbling for money?”

“No I- When you put enough layers- it's different when its an experiment, clearly!”

“And you, Abella Guignol, alias Turquoise Fairy, programmed or taught or whatever your little wooden robots to prioritize efficiency.”

“I wouldn’t personally term them robots. Seems reductive.”

Mariposa sighed. “So you taught them to prioritize efficiency so they went for a bank to hit whatever small change goal you set for them all in one go.”

Abella also sighed, but with much less frustration. “The dears do try so hard to meet my standards.”

“And since you were nearby, I can only guess you saw that the ‘experiment’ had gone off the rails but decided to watch instead of course correct.”

“If I hold their hands-”

“Their tiny, creepy hands,” said one of the bank tellers, coming out of hiding.

Abella narrowed her eyes but continued on. “If I hold their hands, they’ll never learn.”

“What am I going to do with you, Abella?” Mariposa shook her head.

“Historically? Take me to a cell for a couple hours until I can be deported back to the realm of magic.”

“So this is what monotony feels like,” she mused.

“Well, I for one enjoy our talks,” Abella deadpanned. “I do of course feel....”

“Sorry?”

“Well, more embarrassed. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

“I’ve been trying to think of a gift for a friend and she’s a hard shop. I don’t suppose you know Clever Girl?”

“Is she the purple one?”

“Pink.”

“Then I don’t think so.”

“She’s a dinosaur.”

“Maybe a damsel?”

“I think that’s dragons.

“Oh. Well. I always say that you can’t go wrong with a nice doll?” Because of course Abella would say that.

“I don’t know that she’s particularly into dolls but… You wouldn’t happen to do commissions would you?”

“Hm, well I don’t typically but for a good acquaintance like you who I’ve inconvenienced, I could make an exception. Do you need it soon?”

“By the end of the month. Probably not enough time for you-.”

“Oh, I could make a quality doll in a week. Not to brag but I’m a peerless craftswoman,” she bragged.

“Oh!”

“But gathering the materials would take some time. I’d need the first moonbeam of spring and I’m fresh out. And wood from a blood-blooming tree.”

“Okay. But what if you made a not-magical doll not made out of murder tree?”

Abella cocked her head and looked at Mariposa like she had suddenly started gibbering. “What would be the point of that?”

Mariposa was flying patrol over Colossopolis, on the lookout for ne'er-do-wells or a nice bagel, when a shadow suddenly crossed overhead.

The butterfly-winged hero reflexively dodged the taloned divebomb that crossed where her flight path had been.

There was another blue blur towards her so Mariposa looped to dodge. She ended the loop with a midair axe kick that nearly missed the winged woman who reared back flustered to avoid the attack.

Harpy of the Mythologi-Girls paused, her strong brown and tan wings keeping her stationary for a moment. Her expression changing from fluster to determination.

Mariposa could barely get out a “Giving up after two tries?” before Harpy’s uniform again blurred into a blue streak and Mariposa had to dodge another rake of her taloned feet.

It had become their thing, testing their respective airborne agility against the other. A creature of the air her whole life, Ciel- Harpy, was the superior six out of ten times. But the other four, Mariposa managed to surprise her and earn a look of awe.

And that was the second greatest reward.

After Ciel was satisfied with the back and forth, she flew down to land on a rooftop and gestured Mariposa down. No sooner had Mariposa’s boots crunched gravel, Ciel engulfed her in wings and planted a kiss on her.

And that was the greatest.

“Next time, you surprise me,” Ciel demanded.

They sat down on the roof ledge. Ciel put one wing around Maria like a blanket and nuzzled her head into Maria’s shoulder.

“You’re cuddly today,” Mariposa noted. “We usually mess around in the air for longer before you want to snuggle up.”

“Haven’t seen you around much lately.” It may have been a reproachful statement. It was hard to tell with Ciel. She was a soft-spoken woman of subtle expressions and long stares at the horizon.

“Sorry, busy month. Had to go to the moon to prevent… still not sure, actually. And then there was some other stuff. It’s always something or other.”

“We’ve been investigating a weird orange present stealing goblin,” confided Ciel. Where we meant the Mythologi-Girls team. “It turned out to be Ginger. Someone had shown her the Grinch. So she got Ideas.”

Ginger being the Teumessian Fox of legend. Early in her career that might have weirded out Mariposa but she was dating a harpy these days so weird was the new normal.

“How’s she working out?”

“She’s fun,” said Ciel. Not answering the question, not really. “You’re preoccupied. I can practically hear your brain ticking away. Tick tick.” She tapped Mariposa on the forehead with each tick.

Ciel was perceptive, for all that she seemed absentminded.

“A little preoccupied. I’ve been trying to think of a present to get Clever Girl for the Exemplar gift exchange. No luck all month.”

“Clever Girl? That pink proto-bird? I don’t know much about her.”

So Mariposa explained Clever Girl in brief. How a velociraptor had been exposed to a glowing space rock, became super-intelligent, was alienated from her kind by her intelligence, tried to capture Cobalt Champion a couple of times to reverse engineer him, how she ended up in Colossopolis after chasing the Champion, had a breakdown at discovering intelligent non-dinosaurian life, and had ended up living with the Exemplars.

After she recapped all of that, Mariposa was surprised to find Ciel crying.

“You okay?” she asked, pulling out a handkerchief.

“Yes. Sorry. Yes. I didn’t think I’d ever empathize so much with a proto-bird. When I appeared in this modern world, I had no direction, no family, no friends. I was a monster of the gods with no task and no gods. I was lucky to be found by M.A.G.I. I was lucky to help found the Mythologi-Girls. It sounds like Clever Girl had a similar situation. She’s lucky to have you and the Exemplars.”

She leaned harder against Maria who put an arm around her. They sat together, warm despite the winter wind.

“Okay,” Ciel eventually said. “Buy me a sandwich?”

After a month of trips to the moon, struggles against supervillains, one rather polite alien invasion, one rather less polite one, and a living statue that broke into Exemplar Tower for some reason, it was finally the day to exchange gifts.

Provided the emergency alert didn’t go off, calling the Exemplars into action. But it hadn’t so far.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Jerboa announced, disappointing Mariposa and her magical hat full of numbered slips.

Jerboa stood up and shoved a small wrapped box at Shieldmaiden. “Surprise, I’m your secret admirer!”

“Gift giver,” said Mariposa.

“Potato, potahto,” Jerboa said, flapping a hand dismissively.

Shieldmaiden took the box and shook it cautiously. “If this explodes…”

“Why, I would never!” Jerboa said, jumping behind the couch.

Shieldmaiden sighed but nevertheless ripped the wrapping off and opened the box. Inside was a very fancy comb. Shieldmaiden raised an eyebrow. “Well. Thank you? I sure hope you didn’t steal this.”

“I would seldom ever!” Jerboa protested. “For your information, I sold my thieves tools to buy that!”

“Well, unqualified thank you then. I will be sure to use it once my hair grows back.” She took off her hat and as said, her head had been shaved.

“Gasp! I sold my thieves tools to buy you a comb but you shaved your head to buy me a primo thieving tip? How gift of the magi of us!”

“No I- wait, how did you know that I drew your name?”

“Oh, I rigged the drawing so we’d get each other.”

“So next year Jerboa isn’t allowed to touch the hat,” Mariposa announced.

“That just means I’ll have to think of a way to rig it without touching it. Challenge accepted.”

“I shaved my hair to donate to one of those kid wig charities,” Shieldmaiden said. “I got you this.” She handed Jerboa an envelope.

The ex and sometimes current thief opened the envelope. “A gift certificate?”

“Its like money. You can buy your own primo thing.”

Jerboa moped.

Zxyqb floated off of the television. “Then I shall go next, shall I?”

Mariposa dumped out the hat. It’s time would come another day.

The alien enchanter extended thumb and forefinger on each hand and held them in a rectangle. He drew the hands away from each other to make a larger and then larger rectangle until a large box appeared in the shape.

Zxyqb pushed the floating box towards Mariposa. “For you, beautiful chairwoman, a token of my esteem.”

Mariposa opened the box. There was an alien skull inside with razor sharp teeth and an elongated cranium. “Is this real?”

“Of course. Only the worst space knave would attempt to pass off a fake. It’s a great challenge to beat one of these beasts in close combat and preserving the skull is no mean feat either. By possessing this, the galactic community will know that you’re the kind of person who could manage such a task, or has the respect of someone who could, … or bought it at a souvenir stand.”

“Okay. Thank you. What am I supposed to do with it though?”

“Paperweight?” Zxyqb suggested.

Mariposa put the skull down. “Okay, so who wants to go next?”

Hank Higgins, Two-Fisted Science Adventurer raised one of his two fists. “I drew Z’s name so I’ll go.” He pulled out an envelope with a gift certificate. “Sorry, I didn’t know what to get you. You drink music to get intoxicated and have six eyes. Your ways and biology are literally alien to me.”

“That is true. The way my liver functions doesn’t correspond to any of the physical laws of this planet. But thank you. I shall take this money and spend it on a hat. Love a nice hat. Did you know Earth is known as the planet of hats to the greater universe? Have a devil of a time cracking lightspeed but your hat technology is light years ahead of most planet’s.”

“I……. did not know that.”

“And that knowledge is my gift to you.” Zxyqb tipped an imaginary hat. “Who next then?”

“Since it seems we’re doing some sort of chain, I’ll go next,” said the Cobalt Champion. He pulled out a small box and passed it over to Hank Higgins.

Hank opened it up. “A reservation card?”

“Since I was lucky enough to draw your name-.”

Jerboa snorted.

“-Or because someone rigged it.” A synthesized sigh. “I scheduled us a fancy dinner date night. You always do say we should go out more.”

“I do. But you can’t eat. So until the date, I’ll spend every moment in my lab writing a sense simulation program so that we can both enjoy our night out,” Hank Higgins said, putting an arm around Champion. “Even if was sinisterly arranged by a former master thief.”

“Pfft, ‘former,’” Jerboa said.

Nobody stepped up to volunteer. “Who drew the Champion’s name?” asked Mariposa. She ran through the names that had already gone. “Clever Girl?”

The labcoated velociraptor looked up from a small computer she had been working on. “Oh. Apologies. I had been watching, of course but when I got what I feel was the gist of it, I decided to multitask. I have been listening. It is now time to present my gift or present to Al, yes?”

Clever Girl stood up and gestured at a massive and lumpy wrapped object bigger than a person. “Please, unwrap it.”

The Cobalt Champion tore the wrapping loose, revealing… a big piece of technology, vaguely weaponlike.

“I built you a proton cannon!” Clever Girl explained.

“You sure did.”

“Why not try it on?” she suggested.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to do inside… city limits.”

Clever Girl moped.

Mariposa reached behind her chair and pulled out a box. “By process of elimination that leaves my gift for you, Clever Girl.”

The dinosaur turned toward her.

“I kept asking myself ‘what do you get the dinosaur that has everything?’ and, well, open it up.”

Clever Girl tore open the box and pulled out a bomber jacket with an Exemplar E logo on the shoulder. The jacket had been heavily tailored to fit the velociraptor.

“And what is this?” she asked.

“The Exemplars used to have team jackets. Back in the 90s. And there were still a few spares in storage so I had one altered for you.”

“I see.”

“I hope you like it.”

“If she doesn’t want it-” Jerboa started before Shieldmaiden elbowed her.

“The reason we wore these jackets was that the 90s were a very chaotic time for the Exemplars. Weird changes in powers, personal drama, clones, things that seemed important at the time but didn’t really go anywhere. And in a small way, we wanted a symbol of stability, that we belonged somewhere and that people had our back. I kept asking myself what to get you because you have all the science stuff you could want, a nice lab, and two… pets? But someone reminded me that only very recently your whole world changed. So I just wanted to give you a token to remind you that the Exemplars are here for you. We have your back.”

Clever Girl stared at the jacket. “I am really quite moved! Thank you, Maria Martinez. I shall try it on.” Her floating mechanical helper hands helped her into it. “I appreciate your token. It may be outside the rules of this gift exchange but I got you a token of my own to thank you for my residence here.”

The helper hands dropped a box in front of Mariposa. She opened it up and pulled out a weapon looking red-colored pod-shaped machine.

“This is the prototype I built to test of concept the proton cannon for Al.”

“So, a kind of proto cannon?”

“Try it out?”

“Not inside!”

The emergency alert went off. Shieldmaiden ran over to a console. “A spaceship has just landed in the park. They are… demanding we turn over all of our snow?”

Mariposa stood and pointed. “This looks like a job for… THE EXEMPLARS!”

“Maybe bring the proton cannons?” suggested Clever Girl. “Also safety goggles. And some mild radiation shielding.”