jeriendhal: (Default)
 This was one of those Should Be Obvious facts, but SecUnits are not normally invited to parties. And SecUnits, especially rogue SecUnits with hacked governor modules, are rarely (as in “never”) made the guest of honor at a party. But this was Preservation, where are the humans and augmented humans are almost suicidally idealistic, and entirely too many of them think of me as a friend.

So here I was on Preservation Station, in a conference room crowded with too many people (okay six, including myself) with food and drink along a side table that I can’t consume, and several boxes wrapped in brightly colored paper which I was dreading having to open.

They even made me a cake. I don’t know why, they just did. It had “Congratulations, SecUnit” written in large letters on it. Below that in much smaller letters it said, “We know you don’t care, but we do.” I suspect Dr. Gurathin put that in. I don’t know.

It was a double occasion. One, I had finally been officially recognized as a citizen of the Preservation Alliance. Which meant I was, very legally, a person. Which meant if I went around doing my job (ie: murdering anyone threatening someone I was hired to protect) I could be arrested for it instead of broken down for spare parts. Oh, and I also had what passed for Preservation’s government backing me up, which was actually kind of nice. I don’t know, it was complicated.

The other occasion was that I was going to be leaving on a Preservation transport tomorrow to rendezvous with Perihelion, aka ART, and its crew, to help them on a “research project” which was totally about charting a supposedly empty star system, and definitely not about beating certain corporations trying contacting any abandoned corporate colonies there, making sure the colonies had paperwork showing they had always been legally independent, so they couldn’t be taken in and made involuntary employees of whatever corporation found them.

But just in case someone got mad about it, ART and its crew wanted me along. Because the only thing more dangerous than a SecUnit doing its job, was a rogue SecUnit that actually cared about doing its job right.

Anyway, the party was incredibly awkward as everyone made chit chat and tried to be friendly while simultaneously not making eye contact with me. I used the conference room’s cameras to keep track of everyone. Dr. Mensah was there of course, as was Ratthi, Gurathin, Pin-Lee, Arada, and Mensah’s daughter Amena. They all kept glancing at me, then glancing at the boxes, and then back to me, and it was enough that I was considering writing a program to give canned responses when anyone tried to talk to me so I could safely start watching an episode of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon without being rude. Not that I cared about being rude. Ever.

After three subjective centuries and fifteen actual minutes, Dr. Mensah cleared her throat, and everyone started to quiet down. When the room was quiet, she began, “SecUnit, it goes without saying that we’re glad that you chose to join us here in Preservation. If you hadn’t been there for us, at the right moment in a time of crisis, everyone in this room would be dead, some of us several times over.” Which was true, but everyone knew that. I don’t know why she had to point it out. At least she left out the bits where I screwed up anyway.

“It’s even more impressive given the fact that you were often protecting us without the vital equipment you were designed to use,” Dr. Mensah went on. “With you leaving us shortly to travel with Perihelion, we would like to correct that.” She made a gesture towards the boxes.

I stood there frozen for a moment, until Dr. Gurathin popped in helpfully on the feed to state, You’re supposed to open them, idiot. There were three of them, two about the size of small shipping containers, and the other very large, about the size of a crate I would have been shipped in to one of my old assignments. I started with one of the smallest ones first. It was a box of two dozen surveillance drones, standard issue for any SecUnit. Except on just a visual scan I could see they weren’t standard issue. They were a unit design I’d never seen before. I wondered where Mensah had gotten them. Drones weren’t normally used on Preservation, and previously Dr Mensah has to specially order the ones I’d been using on the station.

The second box was an even bigger surprise. These were combat drones, another two dozen of them. Normally combat drones weren’t used by SecUnits, only by dedicated CombatSecUnits. And if surveillance drones were rare on Preservation, combat drones were unheard of.

“I know these must be a surprise to you,” Dr. Mensah said. “But given the sheer number of violent incidents you have been involved in, I thought it prudent you have to option to have them, if you needed them.”

“Both the surveillance and combat drones are unique designs,” Amena interjected. “They were all manufactured here on Preservation Station and have no corporate patented elements.”

“Most importantly the code controlling them was written by Pin-Lee and myself,” Dr Gurathin added. He sent a packet to me in the feed and I opened it. It was controlling software for both sets of drones, and as he’d said, none of it matched the standard architecture the company had used, or anything else I recognized. “I’m not going to say it will make them hack proof,” he continued, “But anyone trying to wrest control of your drones away from you would have a much more difficult job.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. I was having a serious emotion right now. Amena, Pin-Lee, and Gurathin had gone to a lot of trouble to build these drones for me. I could do my job without drones, but these would make it a lot easier. And knowing they were mine, built especially for me. Well…

This why I hate having emotions. My efficiency rating was dropping into the low 90’s and I wasn’t even being shot at. But the worst was yet to come.

“Open the big one!’ Amena demanded. So, I started pulling the wrapping paper off. I don’t why humans insisted on covering boxes with the stuff. It just opening them more difficult. I pulled the top off and…

Inside was armor. Nice, normal looking armor that any SecUnit would use. It was colored grey, with darker grey at the joints, and the design was again unique. It wasn’t company armor that was for sure. Company armor would be dinged up, scratched, obviously used and probably patched in areas a client wasn’t supposed to see. Company armor was cheap. This… wasn’t… It was brand new, shiny, and didn’t smell of dirt, blood and leaking fluids.

“Again, this is unique,” Ratthi explained. “For one thing, with your body’s modifications, you actually don’t fit standard SecUnit armor any more, or at least it wouldn’t be very comfortable for you. This set is custom fitted for your unique body type. Also it has several features that aren’t standard.”

“The armor is thicker by several millimeters than your old company armor,” Dr. Mensah said. “I’m told it was a tradeoff between maximum protection and running the risk of slowing down your reflexes. It’s most noticeable in the chest and back, and your helmet.”

“Given the number of times you’ve been whacked in the head and forced into an involuntary shutdown, that seemed like a good idea,” Gurathin added. Given it was Gurathin, that was said sarcastically, but I think he really meant it.

“The helmet has an enhanced senor suite to complement your drones,” Ratthi added. “In the back of armor is a small drone hive, which can recharge and repair your drones as needed, and can also be used to manufacture unique, mission specific modules for the combat drones, replacing their weapons with whatever you think you might need.”

“As you can see, there are no logos on it. Not even for Preservation,” Amena said. “We… we thought that would be important to you.” She went on, “It does have a programmable surface on it though. So, if you want to show off Preseration’s logo, or set it to a camouflage pattern, or whatever, you could.”

“It is important to me, yeah,” I said, before I could think better of it and keep my mouth shut. Yeah, I was having a big emotion right now, and I was hating it, even as I fought the urge to strip off my hooded jacket and put the armor on right now.

“Bear in mind this is a prototype,” Ratthi said. “Once you come back from your job with Perihelion I’m sure you’ll have a dozen suggestions for improving it.” He sent me the armor’s full specs on the feed. If I gave them to ART, I’m sure the big research ship could make me a brand-new set from its manufacturing unit. Though ART would probably also snark about how it could have made an even better design if I’d just asked it.

“There is one last thing,” Mensah said. “It would have to wait until your returned from your mission with Perihelion, but I thought it would be another gift you would appreciate.”

“What?” I asked. I hoped that I didn’t sound ungrateful. The drones alone would have been a gift I could never pay them back for. I couldn’t imagine what else they could give me when you included the armor.

“I have been talking with our engineering and medical personnel,” Mensah said. “I know that the company logo is something you hate intensely, to the point of editing it out of your memories. But it is part of you, literally etched into your structure.” She reached out to not quite touch my arm. “We can’t remove the logos in your structure, but we believe it would be possible to cover them. We would add a micro-millimeter layer over your existing structure, to erase the logos, to point they wouldn’t be visible even on a scanner.” Mensah paused then asked tentatively, “Would you like that?”

I… was having an emotion again. The biggest, worst emotion I’d felt since I thought ART had been murdered. Except it wasn’t bad, it was just overwhelming. I couldn’t answer her. I couldn’t even think. All I could do was watch as my performance rating freefalled as I stood there like an idiot, everyone staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

Then, one by one, Dr. Mensah, Ratthi, Ping-Lee, Gurathin, Arada, and finally Amena turned away from me to look at the walls, look at the useless food on the table, look at the armor, look at anything besides me.

Because they were my friends, and they knew I hated parties, and they knew I hated being stared at, and they knew especially how I hated having emotions. And that was okay because they understood.

It was still too much. I had to step outside into the hallway. After a few moments my performance level began to rise again, and I was able to ping Mensah and tell her, I’d like that.

Thank you, SecUnit,she replied over the feed. I’ll let everyone know. You don’t have to come back inside if you don’t want to.

I didn’t.

And that was okay. Because she and everyone else understood me.

jeriendhal: (Default)
  This work originally appeared on my Patreon page. Please consider supporting me on Patreon to this and other, original stories at least 30 days in advance of the public.

"Thanos' fleet has just entered Earth orbit," Shuri reported to her king and Captain Rogers, looking up from the console in her lab. She glanced over at Vision, who was laying back on the couch as the scan of the Mind Stone embedded in his forehead continued, his friend Wanda watching over him. "I'm not going to be able to remove that from his head before Thanos' forces land."

Rogers nodded reluctantly. "Then we'll have to go to Plan B then."

T'challa turned away from lab's windows, where he'd been staring out over the grassy plain that circled Wakanda's capitol. "I do not care for this plan, Captain Rogers. To send a single, ordinary man, to confront this mad Titan, is to send him to his death."

"He volunteered, and if it doesn't work, we can still put up a fight," Rogers said. "You put faith in your society's elders, don't you?"

T'challa nodded reluctantly. "In some things, yes."

"Then trust this one. If anyone can pull it off, he can."

But will one man be able to stop him? )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 This work originally appeared on my Patreon page. Please consider supporting me on Patreon to this and other, original stories at least 30 days in advance of the public.


* * *

"We won, Mr. Stark. We won, you did it, sir, you did it. ... I'm sorry... Tony…"


"Tony, you can rest now."



One man saved the MCU, but it isn't who you think. )
jeriendhal: (Sporfle)
SCENE: The Warner Brothers (and Sister!)'s Water Tower.


Yakko: Great news, everybody! Looks like we're getting a brand new, shiny reboot series!

Dot: Hurray!

Wakko: Oh, are we going to be back on the WB?

Dot: The WB network is gone, Wakko.

Wakko: Then who's going to be carrying us then?

Yakko: The good news is, we'll be on Hulu.

Dot: Oh, binge watching for the win!

Yakko: The bad news is, we'll be on Hulu.

Wakko: Why's that bad?

Yakko: The water tower's ISP is Comcast.

(Wakko and Dot groan in disappointment.)

Dot: Wait, if we're on the Internet, that means no more Broadcast Standards and Practices! And that means…

Wakko: No more Wheel of Morality!

Yakko: And all the barely concealed innuendo we want!

All: YAY!!!

Yakko: And best of all, Meg Syverud is doing the storyboards for our pilot!

Dot: Yay! Wait, who?

Wakko: Meg Sylveroof.

Yakko: No, no. It's Sliverude.

Wakko: I get pretty rude, if there's sliver in my finger.

Dot: (checking her phone) It's pronounced SIV-uh-rood, and it says here that she draws something called Daughter of the Lilies

Wakko: "Daughter of the Lilies"? Isn't that from a Bible verse?

Dot: AUUUUUUGH! I thought we were getting rid of the Wheel of Morality!

Yakko: Hey, don't you worry! Unlike most of the hard-core Wheel of Morality fans, she's actually read the Bible!

Wakko: (sly grin) Even Ezekiel 23:20-21?

Dot: What so bad about that? (Checks her phone again. Which explodes) Woah! Now that's some hot verses!

Yakko: Speaking of verses, one thing Daughter of the Lilies needs is a theme song!

(Theme music starts)

It's time for Lil-ie-man-iacs!
We got action to the max!

So just sit back and relax.
The plot is pretty whack.

It's Lil-ie-man-iacs!

Here's our gal Thistle,
The hero you can see.
She's got claws and fangs and magic,
And a troubled history.

Ly-ra's an elven archer,
And has anger issues too.

Brent is just a meat shield.
Orc Dad Orrig runs the crew.

Gwen is laughing evil,
And disses Dragon Wu.

The schedule's slipped.
The artist's flipped.
The Drath are in your brain!

It's time for Lil-ie-man-iacs.
Use RSS Feed to keep on track.
So just go and settle back
Plot you will not lack

It's Lil-a-man-ie

A bit One Question-any

Yakko (spoken): Dart is cockamanie!

Lil-ie-man-iacs!

Those are the facts!

(The Warners pop out of the water tower, along with Hello Nurse dressed in a chainmail bikini)

Yakko: Hellllloooo Ti-fa-nii!
jeriendhal: (Default)
Inspired by DotL's October 10th page 

Lyra leaned over Brent's shoulder, looking at the illustration opposite the page he was reading. "No woman warrior has ever dressed like that," she noted with a grin.

"It's just a story," he mumbled, hunching down over the book.

"That bikini doesn't qualify as armor either. I figure it's a race between her being gutted, or catching pneumonia."

"Could you let me finish this, please?"

"Finish? You've been reading that same page for the last ten minutes."

"I know that!" Brent snapped.

"LYRA!" Orrig growled from across the common room.

"What?"

"Let Brent read book. Qvietly."

The elf turned from the orc bred male and stormed off towards the bar, muttering as she passed Thistle, "I bet you've got better taste in books."

The mage's blue eyes looked up at Lyra from behind her ever present hood, making her pause. It wasn't Thistle's usual expression of quiet deference, or worry. It reminded Lyra more of the first time they'd met, when she'd angrily informed Orrig's company (correctly as it turned out) that working with the drath summoning class was a bad idea. "Lyra," she said, softly enough that the elf had bend closer to hear. "Have you ever seen Brent read a book before?" she asked.

"No, that's why I thought it was funny that he..."

"...that he's even trying?" Thistle interrupted.

Lyra turned away, heading towards the bar again, feeling her cheeks burn in shame.

jeriendhal: (Default)
 

January 3rd, 2038


Bit of a sad day. All of the crew got sprung from the Recovery Center today, except me. I'll be on my own for another five days while I finish my recovery and rehabilitation. Commander Lewis and the rest of the crew talked about sticking around so I wouldn't be on my own, but I told them not to be stupid. They've been away from their families for nearly three years, and it's not like I can't see Mom and Dad every day while they hang out in Florida with me.


Decompressing )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 

Judy didn't mention her conversation with Raymond to Nick after he woke up. She told herself that it was a private conversation with a potential suspect, and Nick wasn't supposed to be involved with the case. Also it wasn't like he needed to stress out more about this.

Speaking of stress... )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 

Log En-- QUIT THAT!


January 1st, 2038



Sorry, gotta start over. New Year, new set of log… journal entries.


Yeah, I'm keeping up with this. Back on Mars it was the only way I kept myself sane and organized during the long periods where I had no communications with Earth. During the trip back, it was my way of decompressing from my struggles to survive on Mars. Now… Well it's a habit. Also I've got more, if less life-threatening, shit to deal with, and better to vent here than mouth off to someone's face.


First off, remember that bit at the end of The Hobbit, where Bilbo comes home and finds his asshole relatives had declared him dead and were trying to sell off all of his stuff? I kinda got the same problem After NASA declared me dead, my parents had to figure out what to with all of the stuff I'd put into storage prior to me leaving on Hermes. Some sentimental items they kept, a few personal effects went to the Smithsonian, and my papers (such as they were) went to the University of Chicago. The rest, well, they sold it off. Why not? No sense in letting my old dinette set sit around gathering dust and reminding them about their dead son.


Then two months later they got news that I was alive, and they've been scrambling ever since to get it all back. They stuff they donated to the Smithsonian and the UC was easy. Shit they sold on Ebay was a lot harder. I don't know why some memorabilia enthusiast would be so hot to own my vintage GenCon t-shirts, but they don't want to give them up. Okay, I can live without the shirts, but dammit, I paid good money for those 6th Edition and Pathfinder books, and I want 'em back!


Then there's more serious stuff. After i was declared dead, my parents also got the payout from my life insurance. And two months later after I was found alive again, the insurance company wanted it back. Which was a bit tricky for them, given no company wants "Harassed the parents of a world famous Not Quite Dead Astronaut" on their list of accomplishments at the annual stockholders meeting. Since it wasn't a sure thing that I'd make it back alive after being discovered, they settled on letting my parents keep the money until my survival was assured. Which means the day after I landed they served my parents with the lawsuit paperwork.  Assholes.


NASA's legal reps tell me they're working with the insurance company to fix things. They damned well better. Because otherwise once I'm strong enough to get out of this damned wheelchair I'm gonna show them how we take care of this sorta thing in Chicago. Which would be to sue 'em right back!


What, did you think I'd whack 'em with a baseball bat? I'd get arrested!


In happier news, I've been eating my fill of food. So much food. Steak, burgers, ham, chicken. Oh, and Chicago style pizza flown from Chicago, made by Pizzeria Uno (the original, not those franchise places). Real pizza, made as thick as a manhole cover and twice as heavy. And it was all delicious. Christmas dinner with all the Hermes crew, their families, and my parents was probably one of the best days of my life, after my rescue.


Also, fresh air. There's a little fenced off garden area at the Recovery Center. With Florida's mild winter temperatures it's no problem going outside even in December. The first time they wheeled me out I just… I just started crying. Outside, without a spacesuit, breathing air that wouldn't kill me, feeling the sun on my face without a visor between me and the warm rays. It was the best feeling in the world. It still is.


Getting choked up again. More tomorrow.


jeriendhal: (Default)
 

The clock by Judy's bedside said it was past 3 AM by the time Nick unlocked the door to the apartment they shared. Her ears twitched up at the noise but she remained still, waiting as she listened to Nick locking his service pistol in their gun safe, then entered their bedroom to strip out of his uniform and crawl into bed with her. His long, warm body wrapped around her, as he lay down nose to tail, his familiar scent tickling her nose. Judy's arms automatically wrapped around his brush as she buried her face in his fur, sighing in pleasure.


"You awake, Judy?" Nick asked softly.


"Yes. Is now a good time to talk?" she asked.


"No," he replied. Nick's body shifted, curling up behind her, his left arm draping itself over her chest as he rested his chin between her ears. "But there's never going to be a good time, so it may as well be now." His paw moved down to stroke her belly fur, and she reached over to grip it again. "What do you want to know?"


Sins of the Fathers )
jeriendhal: (Marty Greycoat)

The blood red evening sun was just edging towards the horizon when the call came over the radio.


"Zoo Adam-12," Clawhauser said, "10-54, body located in Zootopia Harbor. It was pulled up by the dredging operation. Forensics unit is on the way to meet you."


"10-54 acknowledged," Judy replied, picking up their car's radio mike. "Any more details?"


"It appears to be a small mammal. No further details at this time."


Demons of the Past )
jeriendhal: (Default)
For the past couple of years I've been imagining in my head an AU where production of ST:TOS continued for five seasons instead of just the three. Season Four and Five would have been direct to syndication, as some clever fellow noted ST's Nielsen numbers and bought the show out from under DesiLu. To accommodate the change, and to get fans excited, there would be a theatrical movie bridging seasons three and four called The Revenge of Khan. It would be the same basic plot as ST:TWoK but without Spock dying, the Enterprise getting out of the way of the Genesis Device's detonation range by the saucer section cutting loose the engineering hull, and Sulu taking Chekhov's role as the Reliant's first officer.

In this universe around Season Five Sulu would be transferred to Star Base Bajor, allowing George Takei to star in his own series. Which would lead to a running gag of Sulu engaging in an endless series of "No really, I was there!" conversations with Major Kira as he described incidents from ST:TOS to her.

"So when we woke up, we found out that the crew of the ship had come aboard and stolen our science officer's brain."

"Stolen... his brain? What for?"

"Something about using it to run the planet's infrastructure."

"Okaaay. I assume you hunted them down for murdering him."

"No, no. He was still alive. I mean his body was. And so was his brain."

"So what, he's living in a jar now?"

"No, our ship's doctor put it back in his body."

"How?"

"It was complicated..."
jeriendhal: (Default)
A little 80's nostalgia, for Ryk Spoor



BLACK SCREEN


S/FX: The old tinny Starfighter video game opening music.


Centauri: (v/o) Greetings, Starfighter. You have been recruited by the Star League, to defend the Frontier against Xur, and the Kodan Armada. Get ready. Prepare for blastoff!


Some things should remain in the past )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 “Zoo Adam-121 Zoo Adam-12!” Clawhauser’s anxious voice came over the radio, “ Predator gone savage, female adult tiger. Address 312 Amazon Drive, Rainforest District! One bunny reported eaten !”

“Acknowledged, Central!” Judy called back. “Zoo Adam-12 enroute, ETA three minutes!” She hit the accelerator and the cruiser zoomed through traffic, siren blaring.

Sorry, this one is a bit (ahem) tasteless )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 Judy was just turning the corner into the financial district when she heard Nick cry out, “ Aw, no.”

 

“What’s up?” she asked, starting to slow down.

 

“Giraffe with the sign, on my right.” Nick pointed to an elderly looking giraffe standing on the sidewalk, maybe in his sixties, dressed in ragged looking, faded green fatigue pants and jacket. In his hoof he held up a sign that was about six feet on a side, filled with a dense screed in block printed letters, detailing what appeared to be a conspiracy between banker lemmings, intelligent reptiles on the moon, and “mind eaters”, whatever those were supposed to be.

 “Central, this is Zoo Adam-12. Investigating protester in front of the Lemming Brothers Building, Financial District,” Judy reported into their cruiser’s radio. She clicked off and asked Nick, “Somebody you know?”

Not everyone can be saved )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 Tundra Town, Icepick Eatery, 1 AM


 

“That’s a particularly forlorn look you’ve got there, Officer Wilde,” Judy teased, coming back with her coffee refill to the booth she and Nick had staked out in the corner of the all night diner.

 

Nick looked up at her, his chin resting on his folded arms, in front of the remains of a plate of pancakes and toast. “We are three hours into our fourth late-night shift this week, it is the middle of winter, so this neighborhood has gone from ‘below freezing’ to ‘hypothermia in five minutes or less’, and which also means my winter coat is coming in, which makes me itch. 

 

“But you’re so fluffy now,” Judy exclaimed, reaching over to squeeze his cheeks briefly. Nick stuck his tongue out at her in retaliation, then continued.

 

“Furthermore, I have finished my dinner and now must contemplate dessert,” he declared solemnly. “Alas, this greasy spoon only offers cake and pie.”

 “We could go to a donut shop,” Judy pointed out.

Clawhouser will steer them right )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 Zoo Adam-12, we’ve got a Code 237-D, Savannah Central , Clawhauser reported over the radio. The big cheetah sounded apologetic, Sorry guys, look like it’s in your apartment building, the Grand Pangolin Arms.

 

“Acknowledged, Grand Pangolin Arms,” Judy called back.

 

“Aw, shit,” Nick muttered. “I hate, hate, hate these kind of calls.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Judy agreed sadly. Domestic felonies were one of the worst part of policing, the bunny knew. She was willing to put that up next to being shot at, because at least being shot at didn’t happen anywhere near as often.

 

Scaring them... er. maybe not STRAIGHT. )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 Zoo Adam-12, Code 594, Clawhauser reported. Monster mash in Little Rodentia.

 

“Confirm, code 594, Little Rodentia. We’re on our way,” Nick replied, bringing up the lights and turning at the next intersection.

 

“Code 594 is Malicious Mischief,” Judy said, ears perking up as they zoomed down the street. “But what’s a ‘monster mash?’”

 

“If you’d grown up in Zootopia you’d know,” Nick said, grinning. “It’s one of those stupid kid’s games that can suddenly get real serious, if the wrong people get involved.”

 

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You going to actually explain it to me, or will I have to guess?”

 

“No need, you can see for yourself.” He pulled the cruiser to a stop and pointed at the wall marking the edge of Little Rodentia. NIck was rewarded with seeing Judy’s eyes widen in disbelief as she saw what was happening.

 

Oh, no. There goes Rodentio... )
jeriendhal: (Default)
 “Zoo-Adam 12, 10-20 at the corner of Antelope and River Ford. Looks like an SUV and a compact,” Clawhauser’s voice came over the radio. “One driver reported to be having difficulty communicating with bystanders.”

“This is Zoo-Adam 12. Acknowledge, accident at Antelope and River Ford. We’re on our way,” Judy said. She flipped on their cruiser’s lights and siren, pulling a U turn at the intersection and heading in the direction of the incident.

Apparently Nick's skill here is totally canon... )
jeriendhal: (Default)

Revenge of the Winter Warlock



“Good job, team! Good job, Rudolph!” Santa cried out heartily, as his sleigh glided into the workshop. Another Christmas was done, though it had been a near thing with that blasted snowstorm. If it hadn’t been for that kid with the red nose his sleigh would never had made it.


“Thanks, Santa!” Rudolph called back, shucking off his harness. Almost a grown adult now, and the poor colt still had his squeaky kid voice, so darned eager and happy to have finally found his place on the sleigh team.


“Welcome home, Papa!” Mrs. Claus called out, as the elves closed the castle door. “It’s been a long night. Why don’t you go to sleep? I will have hot cocoa for you in the morning.”


“I will, Mama,” Santa lied. “Why don’t you see that the team is bedded down?” With that he slipped out the door, just in time to avoid another godawful round of We Are Santa’s Elves, as they started cleaning and putting away the sleigh.


Ever wonder how Santa went from Kris to this? )
jeriendhal: (Default)
Robert darling, so good to you again,’ E greeted waving the heavyset super into her living room. The massive Art Deco statue Prometheus Ascendant towered over them both as the tiny metahuman fashion designer sat him in a chair.

“What brings you here today?” she demanded, continuing before he could get a word in. “Another patch job? I have upgrades for you and family’s suits that I absolutely must get to, but I’ve been busy, busy, busy with all of the new orders I’ve been receiving, now that the Metahuman Control Act has been rescinded. It’s so wonderful to be able to practice my Art again, instead of catering to skinny, vapid ‘fashionistas’ tramping up and down the runways in Milan like herds of starving elk.”

“No, no, it’s not a patch job. The suits you made for all of us are still holding up fine,” Bob said, running his hand through his thinning blond hair.

“Modifications then? If you’re going up into space it will take me a day to add standard life support gear, but anything else I do in a couple of hours,” E reassured him.

“No, we’re not going into outer space,” Bob said quickly. “I’ve got some questions for you, about the whole mess with Syndrome.”

Uncomforable Questions )

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