Story: Grin; Everybody's a Critic. (LONG!!) (683 hits)
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Submitted by Grin (View user info) at 2005-02-11 15:44:46 EST
Chapter One:
"See, I never understood the appeal of super heroes. Why do so many women like The Bullet? Super speed has a few obvious drawbacks." A knowing wink and the audience was overflowing with laughter and noises of approval. Silently, Roger gave thanks to his God for not letting him die tonight. It was far too important that he do well.
"Let's have a big hand for Roger Stevens!" Came the voice of Buster Dandy, the host of the hottest talk show in all of Crown City. With a pat on the back, Roger was escorted back onto the main set with the plush couch before the ornate looking desk littered with jokes written on sheets of paper, coffee mug, and assorted bric-a-brac. Roger sat next to the big time celebrity likes of pop-star Krista Bax and film star Bruno Coleman. Late Night with Buster Dandy was a big break for everyone who was an entertainer, especially comics like Roger. If you got on Dandy, you were on your way to the big time.
The set it self was made to look like a showy office with its furniture, fake plants, and a false window that overlooked a backdrop of a city at night that was made up of the combined skylines of Chicago, Crown City, and Miami. Buster turned to face Roger, who was trying not to gag on Bruno's cologne and squinting in the presence of the spotlights reflecting off of Krista's sequined bikini top and Daisy Dukes. Buster's gap-toothed smile seemed dwarfed by the size of his chin and lost in his freckles.
"So Roger," he began in his thick accent. "You've been a comic for how long, now?"
"Six years." Roger replied, trying to mask his tremendous nervousness.
"And this is your first appearance on our show, how ya liking it so far?"
Roger smiled, slyly. "Well if you keep asking me back every time Krista's on, I'll work for peanuts." A quick laugh around, and a slight smile from Krista resounded.
"And what's the name of the club you preform at?"
"It's Club 77, down on Revere Street."
"Beautiful. You heard that, everyone; Roger Stevens at Club 77. We're all out of time here, Goodnight everybody!"
Roger smiled at that last line. Any idiot knew that late night talk shows were taped during the day and broadcast in the evening. With a smile, a few handshakes, and a quick glance at Krista bending over to pick up a quarter, Roger was escorted out by security so as not to be mobbed by the audience. He stepped out into the bright summer afternoon. He had a few hours to kill before his dinner date with Candice, and decided to kill time in a coffee shop with a mango smoothie. Things were really looking up now. Good job, and an amazing girl. There was, however, still the bad job.
*************************************************************
It was early in the evening. Most respectable businesses were just shutting down, and one fellow's business was just starting. Grin stretched and felt his muscles pop and creak, it was time to start going to the gym again. He got lucky tonight, he thought, that Candice had to leave early. He slid into the red suit, and adjusted his mask. With a click and a twirl, his staff was at the ready. He slid out his window, climbed up the fire escape, and was out again.
He barely had a time to psych himself up and rehearse his mantra when he saw the blaze. Just up the road, and if he ran he could get there in time to make sure everything was under control. When he arrived, he noticed the blazing building that was once his local record store. The firefighters were struggling to keep it under control. Grin was about to turn and leave when he heard the scream.
He turned and looked. A young boy, couldn't be more than ten, was screaming his little lungs out through a window, begging for mommy and daddy. Grin knew he could get in and out faster than the firemen, and pole-vaulted into the open window. With a soft thud, he landed in the blazing room. The fire reflected off his shining costume, making it a more vibrant red. He scanned the room and found the boy huddled in a corner. He approached him quickly and non-threateningly, pulling his mask up to reveal his human face.
The boy, a young Hispanic child with closely kept black hair in a t-shirt and jeans, looked up at him, pleadingly. "I'm scared!" He screamed.
"Don't be." He smiled. "It's going to be okay." He picked the boy up, pulled his mask down past his nose, leaving the mouth open to breathe easier, and headed for the window.
With a resounding crash, a beam fell from the ceiling blocked their path.
So much for that, Grin thought through gritted teeth. He turned and ran for the stairwell, kicking the door down. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. When he was halfway down, at a landing, he heard the stairs crash down behind him.
No big deal, He thought, I don't plan on going back.
With another crash, the stairs before him plummeted to the ground in a rain of burning splinters.
"No!" Grin screamed, cursing silently so as not to further disturb the child. He scrambled to look for a way out.
Then he saw it, a small circle of unmarred flooring right in front of the door. Surrounded in flame like a halo. With a click and twist, he pole vaulted to the ground. He splintered the door with his foot, and ran into the street.
He skidded to a halt, surrounded by the gawking faces of firefighters, police, and civilians. He quickly lowered the child to the ground, and he ran to the waiting arms of a plump Latin woman. In the blink of an eye, Grin was pole vaulting on to the rooftops, scrambling to avoid the searchlights and gunfire thrown at him by police officers too stunned to act faster...and just barely hearing the l
Chapter 2:
Roger returned home later than usual, the sun rising over the horizon. With a soft moan he threw himself on the bed, cursing the day Johnny Ripp was born. As soon as he closed his eyes, he heard the loud whump in front of his door and new he had to grab his newspaper before that crap burger of a neighbour of his grabbed it from him. With a groan, he heaved himself off his comfy, comfy bed and threw on his bathrobe rather than strain himself to pull off his leather costume. He'd grown accustomed to sleeping in it anyway.
With a slow plod and a grunting crouch, Roger Stevens retrieved his morning newspaper. He was about to return to the sweet bliss of a well deserved sleep when the headline caught his eye.
STRING OF RECORD STORE BURNINGS BAFFLE COPS
Roger raised a puzzled eyebrow. "String?" Unlike some crime fighters, he couldn't be everywhere at once, and was only aware of the one record store burning in his neighbourhood.
Better put a pot of coffee on, he figured, this could be a long one.
*************************************************************
Benjamin Miller was feeling lucky. The police had abandoned searching for clues in the charred rubble that was once a Music Mart record store, but Ben figured he could pick up a bit from some investigative journalism. Although with the amount of damage done, that would be difficult.
He dug through the CD's tapes, DVD's and what may have once been t-shirts.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
Ben froze. It couldn't be!
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Grin swooped down in front of Ben, twirling his staff.
"It's you! You owe me for that camera!" Ben shot back in awe and anger.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Grin pointed at the fat, beady eyed, short reporter's jacket as the hideous laughter resounded. His pointing grew more insistent as Ben hesitated before he finally pulled out a small tape recorder.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Grin extended hi hand and clenched and unclenched his fingers in a "give it to me" fashion until Ben finally handed over the tape recorder...and his beady eyes flinched as Grin crushed it under his heel.
"Why in the Hell did you do that?" Ben screamed in fury.
"Got an image to keep." Grin replied, matter-of-factly. "Dark and spooky, you know?" He gazed about him. "So what might you be doing digging around the burnt ruins of a record store?"
"Same thing you are," Ben replied, "looking for clues."
"Find anything?" Grin asked as he bent down to pick up a miraculously unmarred CD. "Ugh, Michael Bolton."
"That's just it." Ben replied. "All the CD's and merchandise that's been spared the brunt of it seems to be white performers. Caucasian."
Grin looked Ben in the eye from his crouched position. "Caucasian?" He stood and cast a more observant eye along the remains of shelves. No Ashanti, no 50 Cent, not even Ricky Martin.
"There's more to this than meets the eye."
Chapter 3:
It had been a month since he sold his soul to Satan. Cletus Durwood should have, by all accounts, been dead by now wether through the ravages of time, or fire. But seemingly the Fallen One was using him to collect more of those blasphemous minorities. He was unsure of exactly how this would fare in the eyes of the Lord, but he was sure that the greater good would prevail.
And he had so much work to do.
He had once thought that he could simply wipe the country clean in one fell swoop, but more and more foreigners came from across the seas to America, where AMERICANS belong. But he ran into complications.
For one thing, there were just so many of them. Secondly, there was the demon. That red skinned, golden faced, leering demon. And for a minion of he who gave him his power, he was awfully persistent in foiling Cletus' work. No, what was needed here was a strategy. The wheels began turning.
His own warehouse burning down in the advent of his powers, Cletus was now setting up shop in an abandoned fire station. Some might find it a bit of twisted irony. Some might find it the last place anyone would look for him. Some might find it appropriate.
Cletus just liked sliding down the pole.
Either way, it was here that he formulated his plan to wipe America clean. He would have to do it in stages, clearing out one area after another. After clicking on the radio last week, he decided on where to strike first. People singing songs of debauchery, minorities singing about getting in the way of the White man, young women prancing around half naked singing about taking the initiative in sex rather than serving men. Disgusting.
With that, he decided to purge the Earth of their music and return to true, old fashioned, American music. He would free the youth of America from the spell of these unholy scum. That was what he thought of when he felt the comforting heat, saw the soothing orange, and felt the sweet crunch of ashes beneath his feet as he burned the department store from the electronic's section outward. But he knew that the blasphemers would pump out more of their ungodly music.
He picked up a still unmarred CD case, showing a curvaceous young tramp wearing pants that left nothing to the imagination, and nothing else. Her dirty pillows covered only by her long hair.
"Looks like I need to aim my sight's a little higher." He drawled as the case burned with a heat so hot that there were no ashes. "Cleanser needs to cleans music itself."
Chapter Four:
"So she comes up to me, after all this negative, bitchy attitude, and says 'so you were saying you're a magician?'" Some slight tittering from the audience who realized that Roger was, indeed, NOT a magician. "I looked at her and went; 'Yeah, here's my disappearing act....bye!'" He flipped the bird, then gave a wave and smile as the audience exploded in laughter and cheers regarding his appearance on Late Night With Buster Dandy. "That's it for me, be sure to try the magaritas!"
As it was every night, Roger strode towards his table in the back where the other regular comedians, his best friends, and his beloved girlfriend sat. Only after he seated himself and the MC gave notice of a brief intermission did Roger allow himself the luxury of scratching himself silly.
"Jeez, thank God I kept the receipt," he said through clenched teeth. "This new shirt must have had something spilled on it or something."
"An appearance on a talk show, and you can't just buy a new one?" Lou quipped, jovially. In all his fifty years, he hadn't even come close to getting on late night TV. But he liked it that way, his style would be violated by something as showy as a talk show.
Roger gave a smirk. "Now come on, you guys told me you wouldn't be jealous."
C-Money spoke next. "Damn, man. You gonna keep Candice around when Krista Bax comes knockin' on your door?"
Candice laughed. "She has to get through me, first." She jokingly clung tighter to Roger's arm, and he made a silent motion to simulate the cracking of a phantom whip. The table was enveloped by laughter.
Good times.
*************************************************************
Roger felt like crap. His muscles ached, he was sweating, and his belly was about to burst.
Maybe horse back riding and a Thai restaurant wasn't the best choice for a date.
Candice, on the other hand, looked amazing as always. Somehow she could master a horse far better than Roger could, and could stand the sweltering heat of pure curry with some rice and chicken added to it. Roger began to question the circumstances when she wouldn't amaze him, or look stunning. He smiled, and put his arm around her as they rode the elevator to his apartment. "I love you." He whispered in her ear.
She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "I love you too." The ride in the elevator seemed to feel like an eternity as he held her close, and kissed her gently, and simultaneously was over far too quickly. With a metallic ding, the doors parted, and they held hands as they walked down the hall to Roger's cozy abode.
As Roger took her coat and hung it and his own by the door, he noticed the flashing red light beside his telephone. He advanced on it, calling over his shoulder. "Sweety, there's some wine in the fridge. Could you grab it for me while I check my messages?"
Candice laughed as she spoke and strode toward the refrigerator, keeping her eyes on Roger and checking out his butt as he sat on the couch. "Trying to get me drunk?"
Roger smiled back. "Since when did I ever need alcohol to get any Candice lovin'?" Candice simply laughed and stuck her tongue out as she walked back to the couch, wine and two glasses in hand. Roger pressed the button to play back the answering machine's messages and that scary sounding electronic voice welcomed him.
"You have. One. New message."
Beep.
"Hi, Mr. Stevens?" The message began, sounding like an overly energetic Marketing type from a bad sitcom. "This is L. T. Smash, CEO of MVTV; Music Video Television. I caught your performance on Buster Dandy. Tres drole! Ha ha ha. Anyway, I was wondering if you, yes you, would be interested in presenting an award during the MVTV Music Awards which will be hitting Crown City in two, count 'em, two weeks! Give me a shout on my cell at 555-3487 if you're interested. Ciao!"
Roger was stunned, and Candice grinned so widely she almost resembled Roger's mask. "Oh...my...GAWD!" She squealed after a length. "You're gonna be on TV!"
"Well now, hold on, Candice." Roger replied, trying to remain calm. "Nothing's definite, yet. I should talk to my agent, first." Roger's agent was notoriously obnoxious whenever Roger agreed to anything that wasn't cleared by the agency. Besides, Roger was wondering how he could balance being Grin and an award show at the same time.
"Screw your agent!" Candice squealed, sounding like a school girl. "You call him right back and say you'll do it! My boyfriend's going to be on the MVTV Music Awards, holy shit! Two Weeks...Damn, I'll be in Hickoryville. If I give you my scrap book, can you get Kid Rock's autograph for me? Ohmygawd, do you think Evanescence will be there?"
Candice's ranting continued for a good five minutes, getting more high pitched and more accelerated by the second. When she finally paused for breath, Roger smiled and started dialing.
Sounds like fun, but something tells me this might be more than I bargained for
Chapter Five:
With the date over, and Candice leaving to pack for the "best shower in the state" competition at the Hickoryville Kitten Club, Roger was free to shed his daytime persona and assume the form of Grin. Grin, the laughing stalker of the night, he would call himself when he was feeling melodramatic. He knew he had to track down the arsonist responsible for the record store fires before anyone got hurt. And that's why he was soaking wet.
He sat there on the roof, in a low crouch, the rain coming down in drops as think as kidney beans, soaking through the leather of his costume. He'd have to treat it with something to prevent that in the future, like how he treated his staff. He was used to rain, with Crown City being on the coast and therefore receiving a lot of precipitation, but he had been sitting there for three hours now. He even broke in earlier and put up as many posters he could find of ethnic performers to entice the bigoted pyromaniac.
"Come on, Cleanser," he remarked to no one in particular, "show your self." He wiped the rain from the lenses of his eyes, and in that instant he saw the dancing orange within the record store. And with a resounding FWOOSH the store lit up. Grin hopped down from the rooftop, and hoped the few thousand layers of rain on his suit would protect him from the fire.
The door had already collapsed, but Grin allowed himself a showy entrance by standing defiantly in the door way, staff in hand, and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"CLEANSER! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Nothing.
"COME ON OUT, CLEANSER, SO I CAN KICK YOUR SORRY ASS!"
No response.
"Cleanser?.......Hey, Cleanser.....come on, this isn't funny."
Nothing.
"Okay, I'm coming in after you, then."
He rolled in the huge puddle formed in the street to coat himself in protective water, then dashed in.
Nothing. Cleanser was nowhere to be seen. Grin scratched his head. "Not like him to leave, knowing I'm here." Then he noticed the sizzling display he used to illuminate the store, knocked over, and the exposed wires. He deduced that the culprit...was himself.
"Ah, crap."
He was across the neighbourhood when he heard the sirens, kicking himself for being so stupid. He vented a little extra heavily on the thug trying to rob an ATM machine. As the creep lay there on the sidewalk, bleeding, he decided it was time to head for home.
At least until he felt himself being propelled across the street by the momentum of a fist the size of a baked ham. When the stars cleared, he rubbed his head.
"Who in the hell?" Not even Caiman was THAT strong!
"PATCHWORK SMASH!" Came the voice behind him. Turning, Grin saw the hideous gestalt of humanity thrown together into a grotesque mountain of a man. Its skin was a hideous, pale green, and covered in stitches. All it wore was a tattered vest and pair of jeans that Grin couldn't believe CAME in such a size!
"What in the blue hell? Some kind of meta-human Frankenstein?" He was smashed into an alley, his fall broken by a pile of rancid garbage bags that held stinking fast-food. The beast approached him in a slow plod.
"Heh, You talk good. Patchwork take your tongue, keep it, then Patchwork talk good too."
Grin gritted his teeth as he stood. "Okay, there's a new invention you should check out. It's called a verb." He doubted the joke had any impact, especially when he was slammed into the wall in a choke hold.
"Patchwork make you go away. Patchwork no like super man trying to stop steal food."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Grin gasped. "I had no idea you were there." He hoped the monster would believe him since even he couldn't believe he didn't see this monstrosity. The Monster's face turned to a blank stare.
Kill Him!
"What? I...I can't! I only need to defend myself....I can't just kill someone!" Grin raised a puzzled eyebrow as the beast spoke out loud to no one.
I said kill him! And bring me his corpse!
"No!" Patchwork dropped Grin to the ground, and clutched his own head as if he were fighting off a massive migraine. "I...won't...kill!"
I made you, I control you! Do as I command, you walking slab of stinking cartilage!
"Get...out...of...my...HEAD!!!!" With the shouting of the last word, Patchwork tore at his right temple and with a sickening, ripping, sucking noise tore out a small computer chip and crushed it in his meaty fist. He shot Grin an apologetic look and ran off into the night, his footsteps thudding loudly against the pavement.
Grin stood and rubbed his aching throat. "What the hell was that about?"
knowledge, there's no spell check on the board.
Chapter six:
Twirl, block, thrust, jab, pose.
The standard way Grin exercised. He started simply, merely that, then moved on to more complicated twirls and attack maneuver.
Twirl, block, thrust, jab, pose.
He had no idea how long he had been working out. Time had lost meaning here on the rooftop. It was as if he had always been training and forever would be so. He felt no pain, no sweat, no fatigue, nothing. He just repeated the same motions over and over, not bothering with anything more difficult, or even his Systema and street fighting.
Twirl, block, thrust, jab, pose.
He could feel the air being torn by his staff, hear the wiff as it moved about him. Felt the cold steel against his fingers.
Steel against his fingers? He was clothed just a second ago. And he watched in horror as it disintegrated in his hands.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Caiman seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He parted his scaly lips.
"Grin."
Grin froze, shaking. How could Caiman know who he is without his costume? Caiman opened his mouth impossibly wide and swallowed Grin whole!
And Roger woke up, screaming. He peered about his bedroom, pitch black against the night. he had taken a night off to recuperate after his fight with that muscle bound monster and write his speech for the music awards. He shook off the sweat from his body, and stood there in his boxers, shaking. He climbed out the fire escape and onto the roof, knowing he had to blow off steam, carrying his stereo with him.
With the first few notes of Darude's "Sandstorm" reaching his ears, he extended his staff.
Twirl, block, thrust, jab, pose.
Twirl, block, thrust, jab, pose...
***********************************************************************
Smoke screen. Michael Jackson's Thriller. The show begins. She walks rhythmically to the first few notes, cloaked in her silk cape with hood. Her boots with stiletto heels making faint clicking noises which she just barely notices over the music. With the song picking up and the loud fanfare to indicate that The Gloved One is about to sing, she sheds her cape and rides her silky smooth leg and black, leather corseted body up the pole, shooting the young college boy a sultry look, then sticking out her tongue in a playful fashion.
A pivot turn, letting her body wind down to the ground and arching her back before hoisting herself up the pole with her legs, spider like. Her long black hair dragging against a floor that Candice could only hope was clean. She had seen Show Girls and refused to lick the pole. She also did her best to ignore the cat calls of the horny losers in the club.
She leaned forward to grab the pole, and kicked out her legs, stretching them in the air as she slid down the pole. And the abridged version of the song ended. As the next song, Rob Zombie's Boogie Man, began, she undid the laces keeping her corset together and swirled it about before dropping to the floor. She shook, letting the audience know there was no silicone in her body, and hoisted herself up onto the bar hanging over the stage.
With a chin up, she hoisted her legs up to hang over the bar, then back-flipped off it, causing the audience to gasp and hoot in amazement. She grabbed the nearest poll and thrust her pelvis a few times, giving the audience a thrill. A furious looking turn, with her long black hair falling wildly, and she began to unlace her g-string. More cat calls as the unfurnished basement of her body was revealed. Finally, she turned on the shower. and danced her heart away, rubbing the water into her skin to the tune of Living Dead Girl.
As the song ended, and the announcer thanked "Diabolica", as her stage name was, for her performance, she quickly dug into her duffle bag and pulled out the slip on-tight pants and t-shirt, pausing to pick up the money thrown onto the stage, and she left to the back room. Fortunately for her, there was no champagne room in this establishment. Some men forgot the old Chris Rock joke of "no sex in the champagne room". The bouncers usually arrived just as she was about to break a guy's arm.
She lit a cigarette when she reached the performer's lounge, wishing "Nurse Naughty" luck, and sat down. She didn't MIND her job, per se; it was good money, but the cat-calls can get annoying. Roger wanted her to quit, of course, but it was easier said than done. At 24, she felt a little awkward going back to school, and wasn't prepared to get a minimum wage job. With her looks, charm, and act, she made a very good living.
Still, she loved Roger; the first guy to see past her looks and like her for who she was, not just because she had a great set of mamaries. Although the fact that he had so many late nights was frustrating. But she could find no evidence of alcoholism or drug use, she searched with all her skill. What was really puzzling was if they could move in together, especially with trying to balance being Nightstick and keeping it a secret from Roger. Although with the way he was so accident prone, that might be a mixed blessing.
With the night ended, she debated over patrolling in a new city as Nightstick. On the one hand, she had to get up early to perform again, and wanted to take in the city between performances. On the other hand, she needed the exercise and decided to keep at it. With her red scarf, black leather outfit, boots, and mask, she was out again. And didn't have to go more than a block before having to bust up a mugger, breaking his bones with her tonfas.
As he laid there, weeping, she flipped her hair and laughed. "That Grinning Ghoul's got nothing on me."
Chapter Seven:
The seat was comfortable, but so small that Roger couldn't so much sit as squat, spider-like within it. The heat from the lights was unbearable, and he swore the teamsters were shining it in his eyes deliberately. A few last touch ups of his hair and make-up, and the count down began for their return from commercial. He turned to face his interviewer, Stacey Wiser, a blond bombshell who looked like a silicone wet-dream. Judging by her incredibly young age, Roger questioned if MVTV was governed on the same principle as Logan's Run.
"Okay? We're back?" Stacey seemed to end all sentences in a question mark, and her snotty tone just barely covered the sound of the wind whistling through her head. "As you, like, know, I'm Stacey Wiser? And with me is local, like, comedian, Roger Stevens? Who will be presenting an award at, like, the MVTV Music Awards? Welcome, Roger."
Roger feigned a smile, wishing his interviewer had a few more brain cells. "Glad to be here, Stacey." He was truly honored to be hosting All Live Requests, but felt slightly out of place. His tastes in music were bit more refined than the target demographic of skaters and slackers. Although he had an admitted weakness for the performers who weren't just wannabe's screaming at the top of their lungs.
Stacey smiled. For someone, like, totally five years older, Roger was a real Baldwin. She decided to work him in her interview. "So, like, is stand-up comedy hard?"
Roger struggled to keep from rolling his eyes, having heard that question countless times before. "'Hard" isn't the word I'd use. Although it's certainly not easy. You just go with what works, keep it topical, and pray it's funny."
Roger seemed a little stiff, but Stacey kept working, brushing the strands of blonde/vermillion/aqua/periwinkle hair from her face and batting her blue eyes under the layers of make-up. She straightened so her petite tank top could show off more cleavage and midriff. "So, like, you got a girlfriend?" Subtlety was not in her vocabulary...along with many other words.
Roger chuckled. "Yeah, Candice. She's the best. She's away on business so she won't be able to join me this weekend, though."
With that reply, Stacey decided to switch right to the video, immediately losing interest in her co-host. "Okay, so, like, you wanna take us to the next video?"
"Of course. Our next request is 'Homicide is Funny' by...Hey, Stacey, do you smell smoke?"
Stacey didn't have a chance to reply as fire seemed to envelop the studio. Roger steeled himself as technicians, teamsters, and teeny boppers fled the scene in a cowardly panic, knocking over lights and other paraphernalia which, in turn, only fulled the fire. He knew who was responsible before he saw the fire climb the wall behind him and take the shape of a swastika.
Roger clenched his fists in rage, and was about to take off to change into his costume when he felt the tug on his arm. It was Stacey, panicking. Her tacky makeup running down her face in a mixture of tears and sweat. The light from the fire reflected of her numerous piercing in an almost surreal way.
"What are you doing?" She screamed. "We need to get out of here!" Roger checked himself and realized he was still on live television, and very well couldn't change in front of witnesses or just abandon someone.
"I, uh, I think there's a fire exit this way. Follow me!" He jerked her arm and lead her down the hall, the heat making their skin stick together. They passed through numerous studios, dressing halls, and foyers until, finally, Roger saw the exit. He yanked Stacey toward it.
Only to have the way blocked by Cleanser himself. Arms folded and unmoving.
Roger scowled, knowing he was at a disadvantage without his gear, an identity to protect, and a civilian. He was prepared for the fight of his life.
And Cleanser stepped aside.
"My quarrel ain't with you, 'cept maybe for the harlot. But I'm giving you both a chance to repent and turn away from this deviltry you call music. You'd do well to take it."
Roger only nodded, pulling Stacey with him and out the door.
I know you're planning to do something big, you racist piece of trash. I'll be waiting, and ready, when you do.
Chapter Eight:
Dave stretched, popping the muscles in his back, and cursed himself for not lifting with his legs. He glanced about him, a scowl on his face. Sure, everything was just about ready for the big, fancy, award show, but what thanks did Dave ever get? A measly paycheck? Ha!
He leaned against the speaker he had just lifted off the trolley and lit a cigarette. He did a mental double check to make sure his thankless job was almost complete. The spotlights were in working order, the speakers set, all special effects equipment had been checked and double checked, and all fire extinguishers were fully charged.
He snorted at that last one. The new kid, the comic, was insistent about the fire extinguishers. He even threatened to walk out if the fire extinguishers weren't at full capacity. Who in the hell did this comic think he was? For one thing, he was new at this whole thing, and was just an upcoming comic. But the bigwigs were desperate for talent to present awards to the talent who received them, so they conceded. It wasn't a particularly unorthodox request, anyway. Dave himself had to run out and get Christina Aguilera's Flintstone vitamins and paint J. Lo's dressing room a blinding white.
Dave walked off the stage to call it a day. This was going to be interesting to watch, one way or another.
*************************************************************
Christina fidgeted in the seat of her limo, pushing her long blonde hair out of the way. She never much cared for all the hype of award shows, and found limo rides to be a tad boring. Still, at least it was her own limo and she didn't have to share it with anyone. Not Justin, who spread those rumors of them going out (ick!), or Brittany (double ick!). She sighed and leaned back in her seat. "Hey, how soon 'til we get there?"
The driver glanced back in the mirror, more to admire her curves than out of politeness. "Just two more blocks, Miss Aguilera."
She sighed louder. "Look, you can just call me Christina, alright? Miss Aguilera's my mother." She gazed out the window. Ever since that incident with the red guy and the alligator thing, she was nervous about returning to Crown City. But with the promise of increased security, her fears were swayed. The red guy did have a nice ass, though.
*************************************************************
Roger checked his tie in the mirror for the third consecutive time. He dabbed the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. Being a comic, he wasn't prone to stage fright, but that was always in front of a bunch of regular citizens in a small club. This was going to be TELEVISED, and with him surrounded by big time celebrities to boot. Worse yet, he KNEW something was going to happen tonight. He checked the fire extinguisher in his room, making sure it was full, and stepped out of his dressing room for some air.
You just HAD to wear a leather suit under your clothes, didn't you?
Chapter Nine:
"Me! Blah blah blah blah blah me! blah blah blah me! Blah blah blah Ben Affleck!"
That wasn't exactly what Jennifer Lopez said, but it was Roger heard as he read his Teleprompter, tired to remain calm, and tried to ignore Jennifer Lopez outdoing her classic green outfit. When she finally shut up, Roger began his bit.
"MVTV has given many young performers an opportunity to shine. Many of them have gone on to be known the world over. In this past year, we've seen many beautiful, talented young women fulfilling their dreams of stardom. And tonight, one of those young ladies will have surpassed her peers in the eyes of her fans." He went on to list the nominees, and paused dramatically as he opened the envelope for J. Lo to read out the winner. A warm hug and a tearful acceptance speech later, and Krista Bax was the Best New Diva.
That done, Roger decided to get to work. There were a few hours to kill before the award dinner, and he knew Cleanser would probably strike while the ceremony was still televised to make a statement. With a quick trip to his dressing room, he slipped out of his suit and slid on his mask. A quick peek out the door, and he slipped out into the empty hallway, sneaking and ducking his way through to avoid being seen.
He didn't get far before J. Lo came bursting out of her dressing room, screaming. One look at Grin's leering face and she screamed loud enough to shatter glass.
"Well well well," Cleanser drawled, his Southern accent seeming thicker. "Lookee here. Got me a Mexican tramp, and you again, Demon." He let flames spiral around his fingers. "I don't know who to burn first."
Grin didn't bother with a snappy comeback, instead going right to quick, successive jabs to Cleanser's form. Cleanser let a wall of fire come between him and his nemesis before shooting down the hall like a flaming meteor. "Catch me if ye can, Demon!" He laughed.
Grin turned to the fallen woman, helping her to her feet. "Are you alright?"
"I..I think so." J. Lo stammered.
"Good. Now get out of here, fast! I'm going after this freak."
"But...but why would anyone want to hurt me?!"
Grin shrugged. "Maybe he saw Gigli?"
*************************************************************
Eminem grew up in the mean streets of Detroit, and had to survive a lot as a kid. He was no stranger to fighting, since it was the only way to survive in his neighbourhood.
Of course he'd never encountered the kind of criminal element of Crown City. And realized that the thing chasing him would not stop, especially now that he was on the catwalks above the main stage. Nowhere to hide.
"Alright...alright...come on!" He shouted, bounding on his feet and extending his hands in a pugilist fashion. "Let's see what kind of man runs around in white tights and has the balls to take ME on!"
Cleanser only laughed, and strolled slowly towards Eminem. "Boy, you've been tainted by the Negro. To late to save ye now, gonna have to send you up to God's mercy." He clapped his fists together and they burst into flames.
Eminem was terrified, but didn't show it. Although he did let out a startled noise as the red thing leapt between them. The thing stared at Eminem, it's eyeless, toothless, leering smile only slightly more horrifying than the guy with the flaming fists.
"Will the Real Slim Shady please get the fuck out of here?"
Eminem didn't have to be told twice, and ran across the catwalk to the exit door.
Grin turned to Cleanser, seething with anger that burned as hot as the racist's Hellfire. "Enough games, Cleanser. We finish this now!"
Cleanser shrugged. "Alright." And was on Grin in a heartbeat. Both of them shoving the other's face away and clutching the other's throat.
"I'll rip out your heathen tongue!" Cleanser spat, hammering Grin's torso with his fists.
"Go to Hell, you Klan reject!" Grin screamed, trying to get Cleanser in a choke hold. "Use those sheets of yours to wipe your inbred ass."
Cleanser wrapped his arms around Grin and slammed him into the catwalk. "I...am doing...the Lord's work!!!!" He screamed in rage, kicking Grin's ribs with each word. Grin grabbed the supremist's foot and twisted with all his strength, crippling that foot.
"God wants you to kill innocent people, does he?"
Cleanser hammered Grin's face with his fists, flames beginning to lick at his form. "How dare you call those animals people? I am human! Me! Not them! And especially not you!" He hoisted Grin up over his head.
*************************************************************
"I am beautiful no matter what they say
Words can't bring me down
I am beautiful in every single way
Yes, words can't bring me down
So don't you bring me down today."
Christina had finally relaxed, her fears of more costumed nuts in this town finally swayed. She poured her heart into the song, smiling wider with each passing note. She lifted her head to begin the next verse.
"To all your friends, you're delirious
So consumed in all your doom
Trying hard to fill the emptiness
The piece is gone and...what in the Hell?!?!?!"
"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii...*WHAM!*"
Christina was stunned. Deja Vu. The music ground to a halt, and the collective gasp of audience members was almost comical.
Grin stood, and glanced about him. He noticed the cameras right away, and then the Diva behind him.
Well, so much for the mysterious image. He paused.
"Um...Everybody's doing the Michigan Rag?" He said to the cameras, doing a small can-can with his staff acting as a cane.
He was snapped out of his emabarasment by the flaming comet hurtling towards him. He dodged just in time. Cleanser stood before him, seething.
"Why won't you die?!"
"You didn't say 'please'." Grin sneered, shoving his fist down Cleanser's throat. Cleanser shot a fist at Grin's chest, and received a kick in the shins for his trouble. Cleanser roared with rage and pain.
"I WILL kill you! You and every damned Negro, Mexican, and every other mud race in this building!"
"Not if I can help it!" Grin spat, hammering Cleanser's stomach with his fists. "You racist piece of trash! I'm gonna fucking kill you!"
"Fat chance." He let loose a blinding flash of fire, causing parts of Grin's costume to melt and drip to the floor, revealing the bare skin underneath. Cleanser...was stunned.
"You...you ain't no demon." He whispered in awe. "You...you're just a man. A white man." His voice raised into an angry scream. "A damned Yankee!" His tirade was cut short by the staff punching him in the teeth.
"Civil War's over." He accentuated that with a hard punch to Cleanser's jaw. The racist fell to the ground, seemingly out cold. Grin turned to the audience, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Everyone out! Now!" He did not have to voice such a command, since everyone was pretty much fleeing anyway. He turned to the shaking woman on stage.
"Christina? Christina, come on, snap out of it." She turned to look at him trembling.
"BEHIND YOU!"
"I have had ENOUGH!" Cleanser howled, standing. "I'll burn this place to the ground!" At his command, the entire building became a raging inferno. Flames licked like pillars and the heat was maddening. Cleanser dove at Grin, pinning him against the wall and squeezing the vigilantes throat closed. "Let's see what kills you first, boy; fire, or me." There was a grim humor in Cleanser's voice as he applied pressure.
"No!" Came the female voice which registered on Cleanser's mind as the impact of the fire extinguisher made him relinquish his hold on Grin. He staggered back, shaking his head before receiving repeated angry, hateful jabs at his form.
"DIE!!!!" Grin screamed, hammering at Cleanser with insane rage, knocking him off the stage and into the flames. Cleanser screamed.
"It...it's too much! Too much! I can't control it! Fires of Hell! Fires of Hell had come for me! No! Noooooo!!!!!" His voice was lost in the roaring of the flames. Grin turned to Christina.
"Okay, we have to get out of here."
"How?" She screamed. "There's no way out! Oh God...Oh God, hold me?"
Grin could only concede, he was terrified as well. Then he saw it. "Climb on my back."
"What?"
He pointed at a large steel pillar made of girders that was to be used for a performance, the skylight above having been shattered from Cleanser's fireball. "If I could climb up that thing and onto the roof, we might make it out of here alive." Christina nodded and climbed onto the crime fighter's back, the melted leather still warm against her skin. Grin climbed up the tower as fast as he could while carrying the extra weight and with his sore muscles until finally they reached the roof.
On the rooftop, Grin reached behind him, his fingertips grazing Christina's cleavage.
"What are you doing?" She shot at him.
"I need you to grab my staff."
"What the...Listen, jerk, just because I dress in a revealing way does not mean I'm some ten dollar..."
"My QUARTER staff!" Grin interrupted. "The thing I fight with! It's strapped to my back! Pass it to me, please?"
"Oh...here you go."
With a click and a twirl, Grin pole vaulted onto the next rooftop and lead the pop star down the fire escape to safety. Once on the ground, Christina turned to hug her mysterious savior only to catch empty air, as he pole vaulted away into the night.
*************************************************************
Roger returned home immediately after his adventure at the award show, plodding across his roof to the fire escape. As he neared his window, he heard a familiar whistling. You've lost that Loving Feeling by the Righteous Brothers. He shook his head. It couldn't be...
He slid open his window, and choked on his breath. A pretty young black woman sat on his bed, smiled, and shimmered away into nothing.
"M...M...Monica?"
THE END.
User Reviews
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-02-14 10:56:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Will the Real Slim Shady please get the fuck out of here?"
PURE GOLD. Oh my Lord I haven't laughed so hard since last week.
Thank you for the closure on Cleanser! Looking forward to the next installment.
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-02-11 20:29:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Repost this as an eight part series. You'll thank me.
Submitted by engine13 (user info) at 2005-02-11 20:25:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good. But, way too long. You should break it up next time.
Submitted by Kazzerax (user info) at 2005-02-11 19:37:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Dude. "I need you to grab my staff." HAHAHAHA. Also, Eminem rules ass.