Always Look On The Bright Side (Short Fic)

[Acyl]

This is actually in response to [url=http://
http://boards.cityofheroes.com/showflat ... er=6427429http://boards.cityofheroes.com/showflat ... 6427429">a call by Arctic Sun[/url] on the official CoH forums. He's looking (or rather, still looking) for player-submitted stories involving the Praetorians.
Normally I ignore such things, since, y'know, I never expect I'll get in. But...this one actually sparked an idea in my head, and a short idea besides. I figure it'll come in at 2000-3000 words, max. I'll probably finish this in the next couple of days and send it in. I don't believe it'll really get published, but what the heck, enh?
For now, here's the first chunk. Draft, of course, but hey.
Thoughts?
Always Look On The Bright Side
by Superball

Its not easy to laugh when youve got two feet of steel rammed through your gut.
I laughed anyway. Oh, it hurt like hell, I just couldnt show it. So I laughed, instead. The mask hid my face, but I grinned behind it.
Marshalling my strength, I pulled myself free. The blades slid from my flesh, slick with blood, but I didnt have time to grimace. Ignoring my bodys protests, I twisted to the side and smashed an armoured backhand into my attackers face. Metal met bone, and he went down with an agonised yowl.
I settled into a fighting stance, my boots touching down on the bloodstained street. With an effort of will, I kept myself from wincing. I couldnt afford any sign of weakness, not with the pack still circling like rabid lions.
You know, I quipped, you gentlemen are terrible hosts. You treat all tourists this way?
One of my opponents snarled, his mouth showing too many teeth. The others echoed his sentiment.
The odds were bad, very bad. Id beaten a dozen of them, but they just kept coming. They were toying with me, attacking one at a time, wearing me down. And they were tough, insanely tough. They looked like street thugs, but they were more than that. Each of them bore wickedly sharp cybernetic claws, and the bearing to match. Spines arched, hackles raised, looking for all the world like vicious oversized cats.
I grinned again, feigning amusement. It was supposed to be an easy run. In through the portal, a mile to the rendezvous point, then out again. This was supposed to be a deserted sector, an abandoned part of the city. The Praetorians werent supposed to be here in force.
Obviously, Murphy was having a field day.
Look, I said, you guys invade my world all the time. Cant I return the favour? Its only fair, right? Think of it as an exchange program or something
Id already missed my meeting with the local resistanceand my return portal. By now, the folks back home probably knew my mission had failed. But I couldnt count on a rescue party, not right away. I was on my own, and the only card I had left was my razor wit. Unfortunately, its hard to skin a cat on words alone, and the Praetorian troops were an especially tough audience. They werent so much as smiling.
Bah, Philistines. No appreciation for a well-honed stage act.
A blur of motion. I spun, just as another feral soldier pounced. I wasnt fast enough to dodge or block but his claws didnt touch me. They bounced off in a splash of lightning blue, repelled by my protective shield. That cost me, though. I felt the strain on my powers. I couldnt keep it up foreverin fact, Id slipped a moment ago, earning a bloody hole through my gut.
Shifting some energy into my limbs, I launched a counteroffensive. Simple punches and kicks, but with speed and strength boosted by my field. I sent the guy sprawling to the ground, but my victory was short-lived. His friends were already moving, abandoning the bad movie routine. They attacked as a group, screaming the name of their mistress.
BLOOD FOR BOBCAT!
I bit back a curse. Clutching my wound to staunch the bleeding, I threw myself into the air. I didnt have the strength for true flight, but I had just enough for an acrobatic leap. My aura flared as it boosted velocity, adding height and distance in a blaze of blue. Flipping over their heads, I landed on a fifth-floor fire escape, pausing to catch my breath.
Sorry, I apologised, I like catgirls, but Bobby aint my type.
My dance partners werent amused. Like all of Bobcats minions, they were a fanatical bunch, more loyal to her than Tyrant himself. So my little joke didnt exactly get rave reviews. They chased me, and I ran. Jumping off the fire escape, I sped down a narrow alley, running fast as my legs could take me.
But this wasnt a classic cartoon. I wasnt fast enough. Claws slashed across my back, ripping through my costume. I stumbled, fell, and they were on me. One of them tore my mask off, but I didnt give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear. If I was going to die, I planned to go smiling and spitting defiance.
I was also praying for a miracle, but I figured itd take a pretty big one to save my skin.
Heres a tip, boys and girls. Sometimes, prayer works.
And angels come in unlikely forms.
* * *
(NEXT: Superball is rescued, Superball speaks with his rescuers, important poignant thematic point is made, Superball goes home. What? I said it was a short story...)
-- Acyl

[Rev Dark]

Good so far, I like how you stay within the mechanics of the COH world, without slaving yourself to it. Perhaps not as manic as normal, but Superball's interior dialog isn't normally as out their as his external one.
Hmmm. Unlikely angel. Space Mage?

[Acyl]

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Good so far, I like how you stay within the mechanics of the COH world, without slaving yourself to it.

---

I think that's largely 'cause I really do like the CoH world. Most of the characters I actually play and write about are fairly self-contained. But I've come up with a lot of others based on stuff from the game world, it's just that they've never stuck. Still...Superball, he's got some stuff with the Outcasts in his background, and all that, and there's this Mirrorshard Isis thing I wanna write eventually, also tying in with some fairly obscure game lore.
Personally, I'm not sure this is as strong an opening as it could be, pacing-wise...but enh. I don't want it to be too long, and not simply for submission guidelines. I remember workin' like mad once to cut a random drabble down to 100 words. Now, I wasn't writing this for anything, so...when faced with my editing...a friend went "WHY?" "Um, well, I feel like it should be a hundred words." "I liked your original better, the longer one." "Yeah. But...it should be a hundred words." "Man, why?" "It just should."

---

Perhaps not as manic as normal, but Superball's interior dialog isn't normally as out their as his external one.

---

It never is, and...well, I've actually got more of Four Seasons Shuffle - the other Superball story - written than I've posted. Maybe I'll get round to doing that... but yeah, Superball's real thought processes aren't as crazy as his behaviour. 'cause again, the behaviour is an act. Granted, he still has a sense of humour, so his real thoughts aren't always that far removed from what he says...but in combat, the degree of seperation's obviously a touch higher.
With a longer narrative, that's more obvious. Here...I don't know.
Hm, if word length allows, I may throw in a few more cat jokes. In fact, that may be a good idea, to give more clues whose minions he's fighting, before the narrative names them explicitly. I like gradual reveals like that...

---

Hmmm. Unlikely angel. Space Mage?

---

No...not any hero from homeline Paragon.
-- Acyl

[Foxboy]

the Praetorian Infamous, from Recluse's shining beacon of hope, Grandville.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

[Acyl]

Oooh, no.
But I've GOTTA use that idea...for something else...yeeees...yeeeeees...BWAHAHAHAHAHA.
-- Acyl

[Acyl]

Original post edited slightly, a couple more quips added. Now, what the heck, here's the reveal.
I was also praying for a miracle, but I figured itd take a pretty big one to save my skin.
Heres a tip, boys and girls. Sometimes, prayer works.
And angels come in unlikely forms.
* * *
All of a sudden, my tormentors stopped.
Hands released me. My battered body hit the ground, and the impact somehow shocking me more than all the other injuries. I heard them screeching, yelling, but not at me. I felt almost insulted, really. What could be more important than killing me?
I raised my head, but my eyes refused to focus. The sight didnt make sense, anyway. Above me were the crouched forms of Bobcats minions, the guys who had been ventilating my spleen. Badly-dressed dudes with claws on their hands? Check. Dark alley wherein I was bleeding to death? Check. But beyond that, the world didnt make sense.
There were colours, too many colours, like a riot in a curtain store. Those colours were on people, on costumes. People dressed like that had no right melting from the shadows, but apparently this lot hadnt got the memo. It was surreal. Not just their appearance, but also how they came. The brightly-clad figures capered in with backflips and cartwheels, feats of casual acrobatics. One balanced on a unicycle, while another walked down the street on its hands. I couldnt help but laugh. A real laugh, not one faked for the benefit of an enemy audience.
There was more than a little hysteria in my little giggling fit, but I think a man can be excused for light-headedness when hes just been saved by clowns.
Female clowns, too. One pulled balls of bright pink from her hair, juggling them with deft fingers before throwing them at the Praetorian troops standing over me. The flash of light obscured my vision. When my awareness returned, she was right beside me. Beyond her, I could see her sisters battling with Bobcats men, matching claws with hoops and tambourines. It looked like the circus was winning. Maybe they had lion tamers, too.
The woman reached a hand towards me, her skin white with make-up. Her face was white, too, except that was a porcelain mask. Absently, I noted the fact her dress had a long Victorian skirt, a singularly impractical garmentexcept her feet never touched the ground.
I could feel myself starting to fade from sheer blood loss. But I refused to pass out. There was something I had to figure out, something profoundly wrong with this picture.
Carnies. They were Carnies.
My brain finally supplied the answer, the label Id been grasping for.
Apparently, Heaven has a sense of humor.
* * *
-- Acyl