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I think I'm still behind in the wordcount, but I've passed 5000 and a plot is starting to knit together.
Action scene! (sort of) and some seemingly minor stuff from Supervillain is coming back like a boomerang.
It was Saturday morning and Victor had left the House to get them danishes and coffee. Amanda had been practicing combat moves while he was gone and as she finished up, was thinking about the strawberries she'd bought Thursday afternoon. She was wondering whether to run them through a blender with some ice, or risk over-ripeness and save them for after-dinner dessert, when she heard Victor's key at the door. It was scratching at the lock, not turning.
In that moment of realization, Amanda's heart gave a single, painful pound before resuming its normal rhythm. Go to the door. No don't go to the door - it might not be him. It might be him, but with someone holding a gun to his back and his scratching a the lock to warn her. Check the cameras. Victor had shown her his latest toys the night before when she arrived. He was streaming the feed from the House's security cameras into a couple of the little handheld video games he'd rewired as notebooks so he could check the place from anywhere. Hers was sitting on the kitchen counter, past the window - curtained, of course, but thinly at this time of day, so as not to look as though they were hiding anything. The five yards to the kitchen took her ten seconds to cross flat on her stomach, ten seconds that felt like two minutes. Keeping below counter level, Amanda groped for the hand-held and opened a stack of security-camera windows, one atop the other. The first window showed Victor, slumped on the front step, and she felt another pang in her chest. Not yet. Check that every angle is safe before you go help him. She shuffled through he camera feeds -- No one else near the house. No one in the surrounding streets. No - wait, there was a car coming along the crescent.
The car hadn't yet reached line of sight with the house. Amanda dashed back to the front door, covering the distance this time in 1.5 seconds, unlocked it frantically and hauled Victor in. He'd held a newspaper under himself so as not to bleed on the front step and she pulled that in too before she locked the door again and turned her attention to her injured lover.
"It was one of those stupid damn things," Victor spluttered when he was able to talk. "It's just lucky I was on a bike and not in the car. Less to trace." A couple of thugs had held up the Zess-T-market as he was leaving with coffee, danishes and a newspaper. They'd started firing - "This is why I hate amateur crooks, they're so messy" - had injured several people, and had grazed Victor. In the confusion afterwards, he'd slipped out of the store and followed them, not wishing to risk giving a false name to paramedics while in a semi-conscious condition. "Besides, I was mad at them," he said. "I wanted to get their license so I could go settle things with them later." He'd noted the number as they drove off, and then realized he was bleeding in a parking lot in broad daylight, which was not the best position for one of his character. "I walked home steadying myself with my bike - I was too dizzy too ride it - but in the end I had to cut across some lawns to get here before I passed out, so I left the bike in an empty lot and crawled through the grass. I don't think I was followed, and the lawns soaked up the blood. If you can retrieve the bike things should be all right."
Amanda told him about the car and described it. "Wasn't theirs," mused Victor. "Probably just a coincidence. Good thing you brought me in though before they saw me." Gingerly, Amanda picked up the newspaper to dispose of it, and recognized a name in the top half-inch of a column, just above a bloodstain:
"....Masho Industries, makers of Flexikeratin conditioner and other hair products, under investigation for failure to comply with consumer safety regulations as well as..."
"Any mention of Maisie and Drew?" Victor inquired.
"I can't read the rest. I'll get another copy when while I'm out retrieving your bike."
"Well, don't get it from the Zess-T-Market," he said dryly.
She stuck out her tongue at him, relieved that he seemed to be recovering. As she made her way through the again-deserted neighbourhood to the empty lot Victor had described, a thought occurred to Amanda. She took out her mobile and called her home answering machine: sure enough, there were five panicked messages from her sisters. They were fleeing town for fear of being subpoenaed. She sighed. Victor had glammed the bike invisible, but less effectively than usual. She approached it counting her footsteps along the edge of the lot as per his instructions, but in truth she hardly needed to - the spokes kept catching the corner of her eye. When she looked directly at the spot, it was an empty patch, but closing her eyes bought the bike into sharp view, collapsed on its side in the grass. She knelt and grasped the handlebars, and the whole frame came into view as the glamour cleared like mist. She thought about things as she wheeled the bike back to the House: Victor was lightly injured and would pull thorough, but the loss of blood, or the damage to his arm, had sapped his ability temporarily. Temporarily, she told herself, for a mean and selfish part of her mind had momentarily wished Victor would loose that particular power; then he might give up his attempts at villainy against his better nature.
"I might have to cut this weekend short," she said when she got back and explained about the backlog of phone messages. They unfolded the pristine copy of the newspaper and looked over the article again for any mention of Amanda's wayward sisters. There was none, which was not really surprising - Maisie and Drew were dodgy and tangential connections at best; but they would still have to be soothed. Amanda decided to simply call them from her mobile that afternoon - she didn't want to leave Victor alone - not that he needed protection from her. After all, she had no really supernatural powers, and she managed. Most of humanity had no superpowers, for God's sake, and they managed.
A sense of family obligation made her listen to the messages again. At least her siblings made no claim that their lives were in danger this time. She went to the kitchen and began setting up a belated brunch of sandwiches and strawberry smoothies, leaving Victor to pour over the rest of the article.
The warehouse fire, said the paper, had demonstrated the highly flammable nature of Flexikeratin products. An investigation was being launched into the cause of the fire (irritatingly, The Obscurant was not mentioned, which he could only assume was a deliberate snub to a crime he felt rather proud of), with possible charges to be laid against the manufacturers for various forms of negligence and endangerment of the conditioner-using public. All surviving bottles of Flexikeratin products had been withdrawn from the shelves and were being held as evidence.
Action scene! (sort of) and some seemingly minor stuff from Supervillain is coming back like a boomerang.
It was Saturday morning and Victor had left the House to get them danishes and coffee. Amanda had been practicing combat moves while he was gone and as she finished up, was thinking about the strawberries she'd bought Thursday afternoon. She was wondering whether to run them through a blender with some ice, or risk over-ripeness and save them for after-dinner dessert, when she heard Victor's key at the door. It was scratching at the lock, not turning.
In that moment of realization, Amanda's heart gave a single, painful pound before resuming its normal rhythm. Go to the door. No don't go to the door - it might not be him. It might be him, but with someone holding a gun to his back and his scratching a the lock to warn her. Check the cameras. Victor had shown her his latest toys the night before when she arrived. He was streaming the feed from the House's security cameras into a couple of the little handheld video games he'd rewired as notebooks so he could check the place from anywhere. Hers was sitting on the kitchen counter, past the window - curtained, of course, but thinly at this time of day, so as not to look as though they were hiding anything. The five yards to the kitchen took her ten seconds to cross flat on her stomach, ten seconds that felt like two minutes. Keeping below counter level, Amanda groped for the hand-held and opened a stack of security-camera windows, one atop the other. The first window showed Victor, slumped on the front step, and she felt another pang in her chest. Not yet. Check that every angle is safe before you go help him. She shuffled through he camera feeds -- No one else near the house. No one in the surrounding streets. No - wait, there was a car coming along the crescent.
The car hadn't yet reached line of sight with the house. Amanda dashed back to the front door, covering the distance this time in 1.5 seconds, unlocked it frantically and hauled Victor in. He'd held a newspaper under himself so as not to bleed on the front step and she pulled that in too before she locked the door again and turned her attention to her injured lover.
"It was one of those stupid damn things," Victor spluttered when he was able to talk. "It's just lucky I was on a bike and not in the car. Less to trace." A couple of thugs had held up the Zess-T-market as he was leaving with coffee, danishes and a newspaper. They'd started firing - "This is why I hate amateur crooks, they're so messy" - had injured several people, and had grazed Victor. In the confusion afterwards, he'd slipped out of the store and followed them, not wishing to risk giving a false name to paramedics while in a semi-conscious condition. "Besides, I was mad at them," he said. "I wanted to get their license so I could go settle things with them later." He'd noted the number as they drove off, and then realized he was bleeding in a parking lot in broad daylight, which was not the best position for one of his character. "I walked home steadying myself with my bike - I was too dizzy too ride it - but in the end I had to cut across some lawns to get here before I passed out, so I left the bike in an empty lot and crawled through the grass. I don't think I was followed, and the lawns soaked up the blood. If you can retrieve the bike things should be all right."
Amanda told him about the car and described it. "Wasn't theirs," mused Victor. "Probably just a coincidence. Good thing you brought me in though before they saw me." Gingerly, Amanda picked up the newspaper to dispose of it, and recognized a name in the top half-inch of a column, just above a bloodstain:
"....Masho Industries, makers of Flexikeratin conditioner and other hair products, under investigation for failure to comply with consumer safety regulations as well as..."
"Any mention of Maisie and Drew?" Victor inquired.
"I can't read the rest. I'll get another copy when while I'm out retrieving your bike."
"Well, don't get it from the Zess-T-Market," he said dryly.
She stuck out her tongue at him, relieved that he seemed to be recovering. As she made her way through the again-deserted neighbourhood to the empty lot Victor had described, a thought occurred to Amanda. She took out her mobile and called her home answering machine: sure enough, there were five panicked messages from her sisters. They were fleeing town for fear of being subpoenaed. She sighed. Victor had glammed the bike invisible, but less effectively than usual. She approached it counting her footsteps along the edge of the lot as per his instructions, but in truth she hardly needed to - the spokes kept catching the corner of her eye. When she looked directly at the spot, it was an empty patch, but closing her eyes bought the bike into sharp view, collapsed on its side in the grass. She knelt and grasped the handlebars, and the whole frame came into view as the glamour cleared like mist. She thought about things as she wheeled the bike back to the House: Victor was lightly injured and would pull thorough, but the loss of blood, or the damage to his arm, had sapped his ability temporarily. Temporarily, she told herself, for a mean and selfish part of her mind had momentarily wished Victor would loose that particular power; then he might give up his attempts at villainy against his better nature.
"I might have to cut this weekend short," she said when she got back and explained about the backlog of phone messages. They unfolded the pristine copy of the newspaper and looked over the article again for any mention of Amanda's wayward sisters. There was none, which was not really surprising - Maisie and Drew were dodgy and tangential connections at best; but they would still have to be soothed. Amanda decided to simply call them from her mobile that afternoon - she didn't want to leave Victor alone - not that he needed protection from her. After all, she had no really supernatural powers, and she managed. Most of humanity had no superpowers, for God's sake, and they managed.
A sense of family obligation made her listen to the messages again. At least her siblings made no claim that their lives were in danger this time. She went to the kitchen and began setting up a belated brunch of sandwiches and strawberry smoothies, leaving Victor to pour over the rest of the article.
The warehouse fire, said the paper, had demonstrated the highly flammable nature of Flexikeratin products. An investigation was being launched into the cause of the fire (irritatingly, The Obscurant was not mentioned, which he could only assume was a deliberate snub to a crime he felt rather proud of), with possible charges to be laid against the manufacturers for various forms of negligence and endangerment of the conditioner-using public. All surviving bottles of Flexikeratin products had been withdrawn from the shelves and were being held as evidence.
