I stared at Rhea's eyes in the mirror, framed by my face with shaving cream lathered on my jowls, and sighed. It wasn't a dream (nightmare), it
wasn't going to go away. At least, not without effort, and time, and patience.
I'm not very good at being patient.
Rhea stuck our tongue out at me, causing me to twitch in surprise and drawing a sharp sting from the razor.
"Dammit, Rhea!" I hissed, wincing and turning to peer at the cut. It wasn't bad, but it burned like fire where the shaving cream touched it.
"Sorry," she said contritely, and sounded like she meant it. Well, she probably did; we'd learned the hard way that we both experienced whatever
our shared nervous system did, and I doubt she'd ever had opportunity to realize what a razor cut on the face felt like before.
She cut loose with the most minor of her healing powers, and the cut vanished instantly. I nodded my thanks and resumed shaving.
If the problem won't solve itself, then you need to solve it, I told myself firmly.
I'd grown up believing that any problem could be solved, that nothing -- nothing! -- was impossible, as long as you believed in yourself and never, ever
gave up. Giving up was a crime, a sin, the worst thing you could do. I blame my mother for this attitude, but perhaps blame is the wrong word. I can't
deny that it is directly responsible for me having a career instead of just a job, having a girlfriend and then a wife instead of being the perpetual
Non-Threatening Male Presence, recovering full use of my arm in the face of professionals claiming it wouldn't happen, and last but not least, retaining my
sanity in the face of this most recent impossibility.
I needed to solve the problem. I wasn't going to be doing that working at cross-purposes to my uninvited guest, and giving up was not an option.
"Rhea?" I said as I scraped at my chin.
"Hmm?"
"You and I have some pretty big issues. I think we need to start over."
"... beg pardon?" I'd startled her, and she was wary now, I could tell; her accent was coming through a little.
I finished scraping at the shaving cream, scrubbed my face with a damp towel, then regarded the mirror with my best professional smile. I'm not the social
type, but I can play one on TV, as the saying goes.
"Hi! I'm Brian, most of my friends call me Spud. And you are?"
"Very creeped out right now," was her response. I grinned.
"That makes two of us." I shook my head. "Okay, serious now. Look, you don't want to be in my head any more than I want to be in yours,
right? So we've got a common goal."
"I suppose...?"
"Well, then," I continued, "we should work together to get there. Instead of fighting each other all the time."
"We were fighting?"
I rolled my (our?) eyes. "You know what I mean."
She pondered that for a few moments, and I kept my mouth shut. Undoubtedly she was running the concept past the other voice in her head, and it was terribly
tempting, but I resisted the urge to snark about Whiskers. Unlike some others, who could say "Well, maybe he really does talk to her?", I knew the
truth. I'd created her, after all.
Not that I'd mentioned that yet, nor did I plan to.
"Okay," she said at last. "I'm not sure what difference it'll make, but Whiskers says you're trying to be nice, so I should do the
same." She took over for a moment, smiling at the mirror. "Hi! I'm Emerald Blast, but you can call me Rhea."
I chuckled. "Nice to meet you. Now that we're on the same team, it should be a lot easier to get our brains untangled."
She giggled -- something I'll never get used to, I don't think; sounding like a sultry Southern girl at times is bad enough, giggling like one is
beyond worse!
"I need to tell my wife about you," I told her.
"I was wondering if you were going to do that," she said. Was that a note of approval in her tone?
"You have to admit it's hard to believe."
She shrugged.
"I don't think my son needs to know, though," I added. "We've got enough issues with him and Julia's ex, we don't need to add
more. Or Dom, for that matter. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."
"Got it," Rhea said. "I keep quiet when they're around. No problem."
Everyone thinks she's a ditz sometimes, and she can be, but there IS a razor-sharp mind under the bubbles. I knew this, but it still came as a bit of a
surprise when she let it show. Ben had said it best, I think, when we were discussing her once. Something about her being as sharp as a tack, she's just
stuck on a different corkboard than everyone else.
Dom was at work and our son was in his room, asleep if he knew what was good for him. It was possibly the best time I could ask for to broach the subject.
"Got a minute, hon?"
Julia looked up from her half-reclined reading position on our bed. "Sure. What's up?"
"I've got something I need to tell you."
"Oh, good, I've been wondering when you were going to get around to it," she said, closing her book and setting it on the headboard.
In the back of my head, Rhea's eyes went very wide, even as I gaped.
"You know?!"
"I'm not blind. You've lost weight, you're wearing tinted contacts, your friends have practically moved into our garage, all in the past few
days... is it the redhead? She's cute, but I didn't think redheads were your type..."
I had the sudden image of Rhea clapping her hands firmly over her mouth, as a giggle threatened to erupt from my mouth. I cleared my throat. "It's
not that!" Sure, Nene was cute, but Ben was not my type, not to put too fine a point on it!
"If you're chasing the other one, check her ID first -- I don't think she's legal yet. Tasty, but not legal."
"Will you quit it? I'm being serious here." I sighed. Julia likes to tease.
"Hey," she said, sitting up and leaning forward to put a hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"
Here goes nothing, I thought grimly, and told her the bald truth: that somehow I'd been infused with my City of Heroes character. That she was in
my head all the time. That her powers were real.
That, despite knowing how impossible it was, I wanted to actually go out and do something with them -- fight crime, protect the innocent, save the world --
rather than continue hiding them day after day.
After I finished, Julia was quiet for a bit, staring at me with a thoughtful look.
"Those aren't contacts, then." It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway.
"No."
"I love you, dear, but you're going to have to prove this one." She shrugged. "Sorry, but that's a bit much."
"He's telling the truth," Rhea put in. Julia twitched, startled.
I shrugged. "You know my voice better than anyone," I pointed out. Julia nodded, her eyes wide.
"That's the girl your friend drew for you?" she asked, indicating the framed print on the wall. Even Julia, who wasn't into comic or anime
art, had been impressed by the portrait. I'd need to find a way to properly thank Acyl for it someday, I noted to myself.
I nodded. "Yep. Emerald Blast, or Rhea." Despite the situation, I grinned. "Rhea, this is my wife Julia. Julia, meet Rhea."
I took a step back from the bed and closed my eyes.
Rhea took the hint, and with that gut-wrenching does-it-hurt-or-do-I-like-it sensation that I was slowly getting used to, our body changed.
"Hello!" Rhea chirped brightly, waving the stuffed panda's paw in greeting. To Julia's credit, she didn't faint or anything like that.
Well, I hadn't expected her to. She was made of tougher stuff than that.
"Um... hello, Rhea," Julia managed. Then, hesitantly: "Brian?"
"I'm here," I replied, and grinned at Rhea's discomfort at having my voice emerge from her throat.
Julia rose to her feet and stepped forward, peering closely at our face. "She has your eyes," Julia noted quietly. We nodded.
"This will take a bit of getting used to," Julia said at last. "Can you... can you change back, please? I'd like to talk to my
husband."
"You are," I pointed out, while Rhea looked apologetic and shrugged. "But we can't change back right away. It takes a while."
"Mr. Whiskers has to recharge his batteries first," Rhea clarified.
"That is so odd," Julia said. "Your voices, your eyes... very wierd." Then a startled look crossed her face. "Wait. So she's
with you all the time now?"
I nodded. "Yes...?"
Julia raised an eyebrow at me as her eyes twinkled. "I thought our rule was you'd check with me before taking another girl to bed?"
Rhea laughed. I sighed. It came out very strange.
"I didn't sleep with her," I pointed out.
"Technically, you have," Rhea countered, giggling. "Every night!"
"So have I, it seems. Brian?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Go away for a bit. Plug your ears, or something. Rhea and I are going to have a girl talk."
I whimpered.
"It doesn't work like that," Rhea said, adding, "Believe me, I wish it did. His job is boring!"
"Well, then, pretend," Julia replied. "Rhea? C'mon, I have some cookie dough ice cream in the freezer."
"Ooh, I like her already," Rhea said as my traitorous wife led the way to the kitchen.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
wasn't going to go away. At least, not without effort, and time, and patience.
I'm not very good at being patient.
Rhea stuck our tongue out at me, causing me to twitch in surprise and drawing a sharp sting from the razor.
"Dammit, Rhea!" I hissed, wincing and turning to peer at the cut. It wasn't bad, but it burned like fire where the shaving cream touched it.
"Sorry," she said contritely, and sounded like she meant it. Well, she probably did; we'd learned the hard way that we both experienced whatever
our shared nervous system did, and I doubt she'd ever had opportunity to realize what a razor cut on the face felt like before.
She cut loose with the most minor of her healing powers, and the cut vanished instantly. I nodded my thanks and resumed shaving.
If the problem won't solve itself, then you need to solve it, I told myself firmly.
I'd grown up believing that any problem could be solved, that nothing -- nothing! -- was impossible, as long as you believed in yourself and never, ever
gave up. Giving up was a crime, a sin, the worst thing you could do. I blame my mother for this attitude, but perhaps blame is the wrong word. I can't
deny that it is directly responsible for me having a career instead of just a job, having a girlfriend and then a wife instead of being the perpetual
Non-Threatening Male Presence, recovering full use of my arm in the face of professionals claiming it wouldn't happen, and last but not least, retaining my
sanity in the face of this most recent impossibility.
I needed to solve the problem. I wasn't going to be doing that working at cross-purposes to my uninvited guest, and giving up was not an option.
"Rhea?" I said as I scraped at my chin.
"Hmm?"
"You and I have some pretty big issues. I think we need to start over."
"... beg pardon?" I'd startled her, and she was wary now, I could tell; her accent was coming through a little.
I finished scraping at the shaving cream, scrubbed my face with a damp towel, then regarded the mirror with my best professional smile. I'm not the social
type, but I can play one on TV, as the saying goes.
"Hi! I'm Brian, most of my friends call me Spud. And you are?"
"Very creeped out right now," was her response. I grinned.
"That makes two of us." I shook my head. "Okay, serious now. Look, you don't want to be in my head any more than I want to be in yours,
right? So we've got a common goal."
"I suppose...?"
"Well, then," I continued, "we should work together to get there. Instead of fighting each other all the time."
"We were fighting?"
I rolled my (our?) eyes. "You know what I mean."
She pondered that for a few moments, and I kept my mouth shut. Undoubtedly she was running the concept past the other voice in her head, and it was terribly
tempting, but I resisted the urge to snark about Whiskers. Unlike some others, who could say "Well, maybe he really does talk to her?", I knew the
truth. I'd created her, after all.
Not that I'd mentioned that yet, nor did I plan to.
"Okay," she said at last. "I'm not sure what difference it'll make, but Whiskers says you're trying to be nice, so I should do the
same." She took over for a moment, smiling at the mirror. "Hi! I'm Emerald Blast, but you can call me Rhea."
I chuckled. "Nice to meet you. Now that we're on the same team, it should be a lot easier to get our brains untangled."
She giggled -- something I'll never get used to, I don't think; sounding like a sultry Southern girl at times is bad enough, giggling like one is
beyond worse!
"I need to tell my wife about you," I told her.
"I was wondering if you were going to do that," she said. Was that a note of approval in her tone?
"You have to admit it's hard to believe."
She shrugged.
"I don't think my son needs to know, though," I added. "We've got enough issues with him and Julia's ex, we don't need to add
more. Or Dom, for that matter. He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it."
"Got it," Rhea said. "I keep quiet when they're around. No problem."
Everyone thinks she's a ditz sometimes, and she can be, but there IS a razor-sharp mind under the bubbles. I knew this, but it still came as a bit of a
surprise when she let it show. Ben had said it best, I think, when we were discussing her once. Something about her being as sharp as a tack, she's just
stuck on a different corkboard than everyone else.
Dom was at work and our son was in his room, asleep if he knew what was good for him. It was possibly the best time I could ask for to broach the subject.
"Got a minute, hon?"
Julia looked up from her half-reclined reading position on our bed. "Sure. What's up?"
"I've got something I need to tell you."
"Oh, good, I've been wondering when you were going to get around to it," she said, closing her book and setting it on the headboard.
In the back of my head, Rhea's eyes went very wide, even as I gaped.
"You know?!"
"I'm not blind. You've lost weight, you're wearing tinted contacts, your friends have practically moved into our garage, all in the past few
days... is it the redhead? She's cute, but I didn't think redheads were your type..."
I had the sudden image of Rhea clapping her hands firmly over her mouth, as a giggle threatened to erupt from my mouth. I cleared my throat. "It's
not that!" Sure, Nene was cute, but Ben was not my type, not to put too fine a point on it!
"If you're chasing the other one, check her ID first -- I don't think she's legal yet. Tasty, but not legal."
"Will you quit it? I'm being serious here." I sighed. Julia likes to tease.
"Hey," she said, sitting up and leaning forward to put a hand on my arm. "What's wrong?"
Here goes nothing, I thought grimly, and told her the bald truth: that somehow I'd been infused with my City of Heroes character. That she was in
my head all the time. That her powers were real.
That, despite knowing how impossible it was, I wanted to actually go out and do something with them -- fight crime, protect the innocent, save the world --
rather than continue hiding them day after day.
After I finished, Julia was quiet for a bit, staring at me with a thoughtful look.
"Those aren't contacts, then." It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway.
"No."
"I love you, dear, but you're going to have to prove this one." She shrugged. "Sorry, but that's a bit much."
"He's telling the truth," Rhea put in. Julia twitched, startled.
I shrugged. "You know my voice better than anyone," I pointed out. Julia nodded, her eyes wide.
"That's the girl your friend drew for you?" she asked, indicating the framed print on the wall. Even Julia, who wasn't into comic or anime
art, had been impressed by the portrait. I'd need to find a way to properly thank Acyl for it someday, I noted to myself.
I nodded. "Yep. Emerald Blast, or Rhea." Despite the situation, I grinned. "Rhea, this is my wife Julia. Julia, meet Rhea."
I took a step back from the bed and closed my eyes.
Rhea took the hint, and with that gut-wrenching does-it-hurt-or-do-I-like-it sensation that I was slowly getting used to, our body changed.
"Hello!" Rhea chirped brightly, waving the stuffed panda's paw in greeting. To Julia's credit, she didn't faint or anything like that.
Well, I hadn't expected her to. She was made of tougher stuff than that.
"Um... hello, Rhea," Julia managed. Then, hesitantly: "Brian?"
"I'm here," I replied, and grinned at Rhea's discomfort at having my voice emerge from her throat.
Julia rose to her feet and stepped forward, peering closely at our face. "She has your eyes," Julia noted quietly. We nodded.
"This will take a bit of getting used to," Julia said at last. "Can you... can you change back, please? I'd like to talk to my
husband."
"You are," I pointed out, while Rhea looked apologetic and shrugged. "But we can't change back right away. It takes a while."
"Mr. Whiskers has to recharge his batteries first," Rhea clarified.
"That is so odd," Julia said. "Your voices, your eyes... very wierd." Then a startled look crossed her face. "Wait. So she's
with you all the time now?"
I nodded. "Yes...?"
Julia raised an eyebrow at me as her eyes twinkled. "I thought our rule was you'd check with me before taking another girl to bed?"
Rhea laughed. I sighed. It came out very strange.
"I didn't sleep with her," I pointed out.
"Technically, you have," Rhea countered, giggling. "Every night!"
"So have I, it seems. Brian?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Go away for a bit. Plug your ears, or something. Rhea and I are going to have a girl talk."
I whimpered.
"It doesn't work like that," Rhea said, adding, "Believe me, I wish it did. His job is boring!"
"Well, then, pretend," Julia replied. "Rhea? C'mon, I have some cookie dough ice cream in the freezer."
"Ooh, I like her already," Rhea said as my traitorous wife led the way to the kitchen.
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs