RE: Otaku Melee - Steelport
02-07-2013, 07:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-07-2013, 07:24 PM by Elpie.)
”Sir, we’re running a hospital here, not a greenhouse.”
Superman could hear the phlegmatic voice of the doctor clear as day, could smell the potpourri of rubbing alcohol and blood that coated the emergency room, but his vision only registered a dull purple wash, with individual objects coming into focus only as they stepped in front of bright lights. He didn’t understand magic. Magic lacked the simple elegance of the systems in which he felt most comfortable, like science, or ethics.
“Yes, but you see, he used to be a, uh, a person,” insisted the police officer. “We assumed that qualified as a medical emergency of sorts.”
Super-hearing still more-or-less functioned. The doctor had a light arrhythmia, and his breath was labored.
“Hmm. Toss him on a bed somewhere. He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. We’ll get to him if things ever slow down.”
Super-Eggplant was tossed on a stretcher, and lay there bulbous-side-up. He could imagine the Planet headline:
LAST BERRY OF KRYPTON!
With the subheading:
JIMMY OLSEN NEEDS SUPERMAN’S HELP, BUT WHO WILL COME TO HIS AID WHEN THE MAN OF STEEL IS WORLDS AWAY—AND AN EGGPLANT!
Often in stressful situations like this Superman coped by “going Clark,” falling into the persona of the objective reporter, the third party. The most elegant solutions to problems tended to come to him not when he was thinking “What would Superman do?”—Superman had a fairly limited bag of tricks, all things considered—but thinking “What would Clark do?”
He wiggled his little eggplant legs, failing to resolve himself into an upright position. The sounds of Steelport interrupted his thought processes. Thousands of voices crying out in pain, hundreds of others screaming in triumph. Love, understanding, and humanity crushed under the unforgiving wheels of crime and misrule. A world without a hero.
Superman rolled off the bed, hoping he wouldn’t simply crack open. He bounced once, manifesting a dull black bruise on his purple skin, and then landed on his feet.
The world’s greatest hero put one comically unsteady-looking purple foot in front of the other.
It took him five minutes going like that just to get out the revolving door, then dropped on his knees on the sidewalk. It was noon. The shadows of the city had all vanished, and the sun shone yellow over Steelport, triggering refreshing photosynthesis on the leaves atop Super-Eggplant’s head. His vision was improving, a bit, or else his mind had adjusted enough to recognize the beauty of the architecture, the dignity of the people, the familiarity of it all.
Alternate Earth or something else altogether, some things never changed.
He “shut his eyes,” or elected to ignore his crude optical sense, focusing on his superhearing.
“You can have a Great White after dinner, okay, mijo?”
“No, there ain’t no ‘Bulk Discount.’ An’ if there was, your ass sure as hell wouldn’t qualify!”
“‘When I am well, like the doll said I would be, I ask my mother, “What name should I give to this doll who walked about the room and played for me, and looked after me when I was sick?” “There is no such thing and no such doll,” my mother says.’”
“Janice? I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Where are you going to go, huh? What do you have, if you don’t have me? You stupid fucking bitch!”
“The cats aren’t easier, you can just fill up the bowl when it empties. The dogs, they’ll just keep eating ‘til they get sick.”
“Fuckin' defense collapsed faster'n my dick when your mom walks in. An’ I’m out seventy five dollars--”
”I don’t know who STAG is, but I don’t think they have that, sir.”
Superman honed in on the sound of the Eggplant Wizard’s voice, some twenty blocks away. What would Clark do? Clark would do his job; he would get the other guy’s side of the story. The eggplant began to walk, vaguely cognizant of the looks he was getting from civilians. It’s a gourd! It’s someone’s thyroid! No! Superman was confident that this whole thing could be sorted out with a little communication. After all, he had come on a bit strong earlier.
He would have had more reason to hope if he were able to talk.
Superman could hear the phlegmatic voice of the doctor clear as day, could smell the potpourri of rubbing alcohol and blood that coated the emergency room, but his vision only registered a dull purple wash, with individual objects coming into focus only as they stepped in front of bright lights. He didn’t understand magic. Magic lacked the simple elegance of the systems in which he felt most comfortable, like science, or ethics.
“Yes, but you see, he used to be a, uh, a person,” insisted the police officer. “We assumed that qualified as a medical emergency of sorts.”
Super-hearing still more-or-less functioned. The doctor had a light arrhythmia, and his breath was labored.
“Hmm. Toss him on a bed somewhere. He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. We’ll get to him if things ever slow down.”
Super-Eggplant was tossed on a stretcher, and lay there bulbous-side-up. He could imagine the Planet headline:
LAST BERRY OF KRYPTON!
With the subheading:
JIMMY OLSEN NEEDS SUPERMAN’S HELP, BUT WHO WILL COME TO HIS AID WHEN THE MAN OF STEEL IS WORLDS AWAY—AND AN EGGPLANT!
Often in stressful situations like this Superman coped by “going Clark,” falling into the persona of the objective reporter, the third party. The most elegant solutions to problems tended to come to him not when he was thinking “What would Superman do?”—Superman had a fairly limited bag of tricks, all things considered—but thinking “What would Clark do?”
He wiggled his little eggplant legs, failing to resolve himself into an upright position. The sounds of Steelport interrupted his thought processes. Thousands of voices crying out in pain, hundreds of others screaming in triumph. Love, understanding, and humanity crushed under the unforgiving wheels of crime and misrule. A world without a hero.
Superman rolled off the bed, hoping he wouldn’t simply crack open. He bounced once, manifesting a dull black bruise on his purple skin, and then landed on his feet.
The world’s greatest hero put one comically unsteady-looking purple foot in front of the other.
It took him five minutes going like that just to get out the revolving door, then dropped on his knees on the sidewalk. It was noon. The shadows of the city had all vanished, and the sun shone yellow over Steelport, triggering refreshing photosynthesis on the leaves atop Super-Eggplant’s head. His vision was improving, a bit, or else his mind had adjusted enough to recognize the beauty of the architecture, the dignity of the people, the familiarity of it all.
Alternate Earth or something else altogether, some things never changed.
He “shut his eyes,” or elected to ignore his crude optical sense, focusing on his superhearing.
“You can have a Great White after dinner, okay, mijo?”
“No, there ain’t no ‘Bulk Discount.’ An’ if there was, your ass sure as hell wouldn’t qualify!”
“‘When I am well, like the doll said I would be, I ask my mother, “What name should I give to this doll who walked about the room and played for me, and looked after me when I was sick?” “There is no such thing and no such doll,” my mother says.’”
“Janice? I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Where are you going to go, huh? What do you have, if you don’t have me? You stupid fucking bitch!”
“The cats aren’t easier, you can just fill up the bowl when it empties. The dogs, they’ll just keep eating ‘til they get sick.”
“Fuckin' defense collapsed faster'n my dick when your mom walks in. An’ I’m out seventy five dollars--”
”I don’t know who STAG is, but I don’t think they have that, sir.”
Superman honed in on the sound of the Eggplant Wizard’s voice, some twenty blocks away. What would Clark do? Clark would do his job; he would get the other guy’s side of the story. The eggplant began to walk, vaguely cognizant of the looks he was getting from civilians. It’s a gourd! It’s someone’s thyroid! No! Superman was confident that this whole thing could be sorted out with a little communication. After all, he had come on a bit strong earlier.
He would have had more reason to hope if he were able to talk.