A bar in Brooklyn
6 pm the next night.
Twelve large men stood with jaws clenched in uniform biker gear... their leather jackets embroidered with the word 'Brooklyn Bats' on the right breast pocket. The men’s faces were twisted in grotesque snarls, prominent canine teeth displayed proudly, as they stood in a semicircle around a single figure.
The largest of the men, anchoring the center of the formation, growled at the petite silhouette in pink-and-white spandex... though she appeared to have left her pants at home.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“I said, fuckface,” the woman growled through her pink ski-mask, “One of you assholes is going to tell me where I can find Deacon Frost… or I’m going to have to try very hard to keep one of you alive long enough to beat the information out of them.”
“Rglrr,” said Jeff menacingly.
“I don’t think you know what bar you just stepped into little lady,” the lead bloodsucker chuckled, “I think the boys and me are going to have to…”
“The boys and I,” Growled the diminutive figure.
“What?”
“I said,” Gwen muttered, inching forward into a tense, coiled stance, her eyes narrowing at the lead bloodsucker. “The. Boys. And. I. Fuckface.”
“Tss. Tss. Tss. Tss.” Gwen hissed with a frantic cadence through clenched front teeth, her tongue firmly against her incisors. The ringing sound of a pin dropping echoed through the oppressive air, and falling dust slowed to a crawl as Gwen burst into motion.
“Booow chicka ba bow bow bow,” Gwen sang out as she leapt backward, hands reaching back behind her waist. She pulled her arms back, two .45 automatic pistols clutched in her fists. The panning camera closed in on the safety switch. Both were…
“What do you mean I’m not allowed to use camera angles?” Gwen turned her head to the side, staring at an empty wall as her airborne body inched backward through air that moved like soft molasses. “Oh, you get to use phrases like ‘air that moved like soft molasses’ and I can’t even pan the camera to the safeties on my guns? Lame. Fine, we’ll stick to standard narrative prose from now on, but this better be the coolest fight scene you’ve written in your life, mister.”
Nothing happens.
“Did you really just leave me suspended in the air overnight because you didn’t feel like finishing the chapter?” Gwen shouted at the empty wall, “We are going to have a serious discussion once this fight scene is over, mister, about boundaries between an author and the 4th-wall-breaking characters he has COMPLETELY AT HIS MERCY!”
Gwen’s gun-clenching fists whipped around to her front. Dust eddies swirled in her wake as she snapped her sights onto the lead vampire’s body. Muscles clenched in her trigger fingers, and the crack of rapid gunshots, one following the other with metronomic precision, accompanied the flash of her barrels and the kick of recoil.
“Bowbow chicka ba bow bow bow,” Gwen hummed, as four shots struck the lead vampire on the chest, and Gwen curled into a backward roll. The man’s perforated body flew back to smash through the dingy bar, sending wood splinters and shattered glass scattering like shrapnel from a grenade.
“Growlgr,” said Jeff.
“This thing is biting my leg! Fuck, it hurts!” said the vampire attempting to shake off a diminutive Carcharodon latched onto his calf.
“Bowbow chicka ba bow bow bow,” Gwen hummed, landing in a textbook backward shoulder roll. Instead of following through with the roll, she slammed to a halt... her pantsless legs splitting into a perfect, violent circle. She used the momentum to flip her body right side up, arms splayed out by centripetal force, squeezing the trigger once each time her sights landed on an opponent. As the chamber on both pistols locked into the rear position, her clenched fists relaxed and both pistols were released, flying to the ground with a clatter.
“This is where the beat picks up and the synth horns start playing!” Gwen shouted, coming out of the maneuver in a graceful crouching ‘catwoman-pose’... her left hand stretching downward to scrape the ground while her right hovered clawlike near her waist.
“Just the drum track now,” Gwen whispered. The thick dust streamed through the air once again, as Gwen and six opponents still standing stared each other down.
“The music stops for a second.” Gwen muttered as the tension broke and one of the vampire thugs bellowed and rushed forward from the center of the now shattered semicircle. Swifter than the eye could see, Gwen’s right hand slipped behind her back and she rushed to meet her foe. The two passed each other, and when her opponent’s bulk ceased blocking her form, Gwen held a 1-meter long tsubo-less wakizashi, the silver coated titanium steel blade flashing in the dim bar lights. Gwen posed, glistening sweat visible through the holes of her mask as her brave vampire opponent stood stock still behind her.
“Wait for it,” Gwen whispered.
“Rwol!” said Jeff, the sound muffled around the bleeding thigh in his jaw.
“Drop the Beat,” Gwen shouted as the brave vampire thug crumbled to dust. She stiffened, using her bare left leg to push off as she flips into a one handed plank maneuver. At the top of the plank, her unclothed legs cartwheeled at a nearby vampire thug, causing her feet to smash into the top of his head. Her feet landed firmly on the sawdust-covered floor, and Gwen’s torso swung upright, her momentum carrying her into a fencer’s stance. As she stood her left hand slipped behind her back. When it came out, a second wakizashi, identical to the first, thrust forward into the chest of her target.
“Bowbow chicka ba bow bow bow,” hummed Gwen as the vampire thug stared wide-eyed at the meter of silver-plated metal thrust into his chest, looked back up at Gwen, and burst into ash.
The four vampires that remained standing…
Swirling dust in the bar crawled to a halt. Gwen pulled out a silver sharpie. She squinted while looking upward and poked her tongue cutely out of the side of her mouth. She crossed out the word Four in the preceding line of text, added a sloppy caret symbol, and squeezed a two right above it. Two of the remaining vampires crumbled to dust.
“Sorry,” Gwen said, bringing a knuckle up to bonk her own head, “It’s really tough to fight when you don’t have panel walls to kick off of or dialogue boxes to hang from. All those flips were making me sweaty. We can continue now.”
The dust in the air returned to its naturally flowing state, and one of the last two vampire thugs charged forward. Gwen met him with a swift underhand toss, planting her left-handed blade directly between his eyebrows. The vampire burst into ash.
“Cooldown period for the music,” Gwen muttered and looked to the last vampire, “Drums, light horns, and a steady but quiet bass.
“Jeff,” Gwen said, “Are you done playing with that one buddy?”
“Rowg,” Jeff mumbled around the bleeding limb in his mouth.
“Oh my god, I can feel its teeth scraping against the bone,” said the vampire.
“The music ends with a single extended bass note,” Gwen said and brought her remaining sword in an arc, intersecting perfectly with the last vampire’s throat. The creature paused for a moment and then crumbled into ash.
“Jeff,” Gwen said, “You really shouldn’t put things like that in your mouth, you really don’t know where they’ve been.”
“Ptewie, Ptewie, blaaaah,” said Jeff.
Gregory, standing near the entrance to the bar, shook off his shock and turned to Elsa.
“I say, is she having entirely too much fun for what she’s doing?”
“Nah,” Elsa answered, “I think she’s havin’ just the right bit of fun with it.”
“Alright,” Gwen barked sharply, and twirled cutely back to the smashed-out bar, her adorable dimples a stark contrast to the surrounding devastation. “Aw, thanks for the compliment Bob!”
Gwen pulled out her trusty silver sharpie, peered down at the bottom of the page, and scrawled a brand-new sentence: Luckily, Gwen had only winged the main vampire, leaving him alive for interrogation. Instantly, a stray pile of ash near the bar swirled together, reconstituting into a living… if severely traumatized… bloodsucker.
Gwen grabbed the hunk of slowly healing meat, with a shredded leather jacket with the words ‘B o k yn ts’ embroidered on the breast pocket, and pulled it into a sitting position. What used to be a chest was now a bloodied mass of flesh perforated by wood splinters and glass shards, rising and fell rapidly as Gwen positioned her victi... er... new friend.
“Now,” said Gwen, “I believe I promised someone some beatings. But we’re not going to show it. This is smart (debatable) but silly absurdist comedy, not edgy vore-porn for 13 year olds."
Gwen pulled out her silver sharpie once again, looked downward, drew a long line, and added the words ‘Back at the Apartment’...
Back at the Apartment.
A few hours earlier.
“Can I come to the vampire bar?” begged Gwen, hanging from Elsa’s trenchcoat, “Please please please please please please please please please…”
“Eh,” Elsa answered, her face scrunched up as she looked down at the small girl, “I mean, it’s going to be really dangerous.”
“Please please please,” continued Gwen, “I’ve always wanted to have an out-of-context Matrix-style slow-motion fight scene against a bunch of nameless mooks! Please please please please please…”
Elsa looked at Greg, who shrugged as he put a jacket on.
“Please please please please…” Gwen whined, “I will make you type out the word please over and over until the chapter is over four thousand words. Please please please please. I promise, there will be almost no plot relevance to the fight. Just mindless action so the reader can turn their brain off. Please please please please please please please…”
“I mean,” Greg finally answered, “I’ll be there. With my magic to protect her, what is the worst that could happen?”
“Yusss!” Shouted Gwen, springing to her feet and pumping her fist, “Not that I thought it was going to go any other way… I mean, this is a flashback. So weird getting used to the non-linear time in this fic.”
“Grwog!” celebrated Jeff.
Back at the apartment.
Right after the fight.
A teleportation circle flashed in the living room, depositing Greg in the center. Stepping around Emma... who was currently curled up in a fetal position on the floor... he petted Spot on his way past the couch and sidled up to kiss the top of Jean's head while she worked on her homework.
“Is Emma ok?” Greg asked Jean.
“She’s been like that since Jeff left with you and Gwen,” Jean answered, looking up from her homework and pulling her boyfriend in by the collar for a quick peck, “Did you have fun beating up sparkly vampires, dear?”
“They didn’t sparkle,” Greg grumbled.
“I’m kidding dear,” Jean rubbed her nose on her boyfriend’s face, “Where is everyone else?”
“Elsa decided to stay in town and shake a few more trees,” Greg gently pulled himself free from his captor and moved to hang up his jacket, “The vampire bars were both a bust… a waste of two perfectly good evenings.”
Greg walked back over, pulled out a stool on the same side as Jean, and sat down leaning on his girlfriend.
“Gwen said she would, and I quote, ‘Hang out with Elsa a bit in case the author changes his mind about the Yuri subplot,’ whatever that means.”
“That girl is odd,” Jean said, shaking her head, “But strangely lovable. I think she’ll get along fine here.”
“Fine,” Emma shouted, springing to a seated position. “If that adorable little ball of toothy skin doesn’t want to play with Momma Emma any more, I won’t sit around and wait for him to decide to visit me.
“Maybe I’ll go pick up some little booties for him,” she said, rising to her feet. “And a couple more sets of pajamas... ooh, maybe a cute blue onesie with a sock for his little shark fin... oh, and a cute little tuxedo... maybe some chew toys... about ten pounds of bite-sized tuna that I can feed to him... er, I mean so that he doesn’t choke on pieces that are too big.”
“So many things to do!” Emma smiled, grabbed her purse and her jacket, and rushed out of the apartment door.
“Yesterday was the first time she came to the apartment, correct?” asked Greg.
“Yes sir,” answered Jean.
“And she was here at 8 am this morning?” asked Greg.
“I’m pretty sure she was waiting outside for at least an hour before she knocked on the door.” answered Jean.
“She has it bad.” concluded Greg.
“I never thought Emma Frost would fall in love,” said Jean dryly. “Turns out all it took was a handbag-sized walking shark. That is such a hyperspecific fetish.”
“I wouldn’t call it a fetish, dear,” Greg chided, “It’s clearly a motherly sort of love.”
“Oh?” Jean said, her eyebrow rising as she looked at her boyfriend, “And how would you be able to tell the difference? I’m pretty sure the only motherly love you’ve ever encountered could definitely be described as a fetish.”
“This is why no one likes psychology students,” Greg grumbled, “Anyway, how goes the investigation into the Essex clinics?”
“It’s been… successful, I would say,” Jean sipped her tea and snuggled into her boyfriend’s armpit, “We raided two of the three locations on Bobbi’s list. We found loads of suspicious stuff there, as well as reams and reams of documents tying the clinic with administrative personnel at SHIELD… people that Bobbi has had her eye on for months. No cloning facilities though.”
“Oh?” Greg asked, “That successful?”
“Yeah, honestly, it was so easy it was like they were hoping I’d find it. I’m starting to think it might be a trap.”
“I’m not worried,” Greg answered nonchalantly, “You’re one of the most badass women I know. There are few things in this universe that would pose a serious threat to you. I almost hope the idiot responsible tries to lure you into a trap. Watching the man’s face as he realized his mistake would be supremely cathartic.”
“Speaking of badass women,” Jean pivoted expertly, “Bobbi is going to accept your Knight piece. She just wants you to talk to her boss before she does.”
“Why does she want me to speak to her boss? I don’t need references. Her competence is painfully apparent. The woman successfully infiltrated a CEO’s penthouse with less than 12 hours notice on the first day that I met her. Her work was instrumental in saving my company, and everything I’ve seen from her since has been of the same caliber.”
“Not for that, silly,” Jean teased, “She wants you to talk to him about something he’s been badgering her for. Something called the revengers or something?”
“Ah,” Greg nodded, “I suppose we can work something out.”
Greg picked up Jean’s tea, took a sip, and immediately grimaced. The grimace quickly turned to a smile as his girlfriend looked up at him, and the muscle in his left eyebrow twitched as he put the cup back on the bar.
“That’s what you get for drinking my tea, Jerk,” Jean growled, poking her boyfriend's chest repeatedly with surprising violence.
“Wasn’t Bobbi worried about corruption at work?”
“Her immediate supervisor Maria and her big boss Nick were the only two she definitely confirmed were clean,” Jean answered, “But Nick, that’s the guy she wants you to talk to, is apparently really hard to pin down.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Greg nodded, “How are things going with your degree? Now that the Bachelor’s is out of the way, are you finding the Master’s work to be a little more fulfilling?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Jean sighed with relief. "Cognitive neuroscience is incredible, and being able to focus on something other than mindlessly testing out of the required coursework is such a relief. I’m only a month into it and I’m already in early talks with Ashley… sorry, that’s Dr. Kafka, my advisor… about my thesis. Combining clinical neuroscience with telepathy is likely to revolutionize the field.”
“You know, if you had just allowed me to make a donation…”
“This is my accomplishment, Greg,” Jean interrupted. “Having you cut a check to smooth things out would completely undermine the achievement. I suppose someone who earned an MBA and three PhD’s in six months wouldn’t understand that.”
“Wait, did you think I earned those degrees normally?”
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, no. No one is that amazing. I can see why you would be surprised. No, I used a complex series of spells that my mother taught me when I was eight to learn the material and complete all of the course work, and allowed the Old Man and Fiona to use their abilities to make sure everything was submitted properly.”
“Oh,” Jean cocked her head as she thought about it, “I suppose that makes a lot more sense. You’re brilliant, but I guess no one is that brilliant. Any chance you could teach me that spell?”
“Eh, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. The spell has a serious risk of repercussions.”
“You can’t just leave it at that, Greg.” Jean gave her boyfriend her 574th flat stare of the evening. “Why would your mother teach an eight-year-old... you know, I’m going to put a pin in that for now, but we are definitely going to come back to that. How dangerous is this spell?”
“Eh, well, it’s a spell that both enhances the user’s memory and slows down their perception of time, allowing them to memorize and comprehend text at a near instantaneous rate. If the spell isn’t tightly controlled, the mind can get… stuck that way… sort of. It’s great for learning, but trying to interact with your environment while the world is moving ten thousand times slower would probably be impossible.
“Either way, I wouldn’t have attempted it if Auntie Phoenix wasn’t keeping a close watch on me. It’s absolutely not suitable for combat, if that’s where your mind is going. The runes are incredibly complex, one slip up and the spell could go tits up in a hundred different ways.”
“Ok, now I understand the logistics.” Jean spoke in a measured tone. “Now explain to me why a woman who calls herself your mother would take that kind of risk with an eight-year-old boy?”
“Eh? Well, she was getting rather bored of trying to teach me all of her spell circles manually, it was taking me hours to learn the simple ones, and the more complex ones could take a few days. She had a lot to teach me, after all.”
“Greg!” Jean shouted. “Does the fact that your mother taught you such a dangerous spell, just because she was BORED…”
Jean stopped, took a deep breath, and released. When she spoke again, her voice was much less frantic.
“We’re not going to discuss this, you’ll just make excuses for her,” Jean put a hand up to forestall her boyfriend from speaking the excuses that were already on his lips, “Regardless, I’m not going to allow you to buy my degree. I want to earn this myself.”
“Fine,” grumbled Greg. “but what’s the point of being a bazillionaire if I can’t buy nice things… like prestigious universities… for the people I care about? I mean, I’m not obsessed with the whole ‘number go up’ metric that Emma loves, money is meant to be spent. If it can’t be used to make my family happy, and make the world a better place for our future children, what’s the point of it all?”
“Oh?” Jean said, her eyebrow rose as she stared at her boyfriend’s face. “Since you brought up ‘family’ and ‘children’...”