Posted by spiffy on July 29, 19100 at 11:09:57:
“B-but, sir!” I stammered, “I’m just a food critic! I can’t research a superhero!”
“I don’t care if you’re the Pope!” the Daily Trombone’s friendly publisher roared. “I’m out of reporters, and I want a column on Dancer! So move!”
And that’s how the strangest day of my life started.
I left the building and promptly realised that I had no idea whatsoever how to research a superhero. I was used to walking into restaurants, eating the food, and reviewing it. That’s all I was good at. What was I supposed to do? Go on the internet? Try to get an interview with the Lair Legion? Or, even more unlikely, track down Dancer herself? I was completely overwhelmed, and so I hardly even noticed when, out of habit, I walked into the first coffee shop I came across and sat down.
“Hi there!” a waitress greeted me enthusiastically a few minutes later. I looked up at her, and suddenly my stress melted away. She was beautiful, and the way she smiled at me made me feel as though we were the only two people on the planet. I glanced at her nametag, which said ‘Sarah.’ “Do you know what you’d like to order, or should I give you a couple minutes?”
“Ah... I’ll have a cappuchino,” I said, desperately wracking my brain for something significant to say to this vibrant, cheerful woman. Nothing came to mind, and she nodded, smiling at me before she walked away. My eyes tracked her as she moved around the shop, going from table to table and bringing life to patrons at each one. Finally, she came back with my order.
“Here you go!” she announced, placing the drink carefully in front of me. “This should get you charged up for a busy day!”
“You don’t know how busy,” I grinned ruefully.
“Really?” she raised an eyebrow. “What’re you up to?”
“I have to research a new superhero named Dancer,” I smiled openly now, ecstatic that I’d managed to start a conversation with her. “I have no idea where to start, though.”
“Well, that’s easy enough,” she said, sitting down across from me. I was taken aback. Wasn’t she supposed to be working? “I’m Dancer. Pleased to meet you!”
I blinked. Then I opened my mouth to say something. Then I blinked again. “What?” I finally managed.
“I’m Dancer,” she smiled warmly. “What would you like to know?”
“You can’t be Dancer!” I told her. “I walk into a random coffee shop, sit down, and my waitress happens to be the person I’m supposed to write an article on? That’s impossible!”
“Nope,” she contradicted me. “Just improbable.”
“Okay...” I said slowly. “Let’s say that you are Dancer. Why would you reveal your secret identity to a complete stranger?”
“The way I see it, we’ll spend the day together, and you’ll finally decide not to put my real name in the article because it wouldn’t be the right thing to do,” she informed me quite frankly.
“That’s not very likely.”
She shrugged. “We’ll have to see what happens, won’t we?”
“And how would we spend the day together, anyway?” I continued. “You’re working!”
“Well, as it happens,” she glanced at her watch, “it’s quitting time!”
I glanced at my own. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning,” I replied sceptically. “You can’t have started work more than two hours ago. There’s no way you’re boss would let you off this early.”
“No probable way,” she corrected me. She seemed unperturbed and was in fact removing her apron. “Why don’t you finish your coffee, then you can ask me some questions.”
I tried to think of a good reply, then, failing that, took a sip of my coffee.
Fifteen minutes later I was in a cab headed across the bridge towards GothaMetropolis York, terrified for my life.
“You should really relax,” Sarah told me, nodding at my whitened knuckles. “Stress lowers your sperm count.”
I released my death grip on the armrest and settled for hyperventilating.
“GothaMetropolis isn’t really that bad,” she considered. “I mean, if you ignore the mulititude of gangs, murderers, rapists and vigilantes whose names start with ‘Dark.’”
“Why are we here?” I managed to gasp, frantically looking from side to side to make sure a gang war wasn’t about to erupt around us.
“I figured that in order to prove that I’m really Dancer, for the sake of your article, I would introduce you to another superhero. Mayor spiffy is making a speech on the steps of City Hall in about five minutes.”
“We’re going... downtown?” I could almost feel my blood pressure rising.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. About six minutes later, we stepped out of the cab in front of City Hall. I tried to look casual and not let on that I was scared out of my mind. The sweat pouring off of my brow didn’t help that image, though. Mayor spiffy had already started his speech, and we edged our way right to the front of the crowd.
“... and I promise that, if no one tries to assassinate me during this speech, I’ll personally fund a new, fully equipped recreation center! How does that sound?”
The crowd didn’t make a sound. spiffy’s nervous gulp was amplified by his microphone.
“You’re friends with this guy?” I whispered dubiously. It was hard enough to believe that this awkward teenager was mayor of most american cities, but he was also friends with this stunning woman? When I was that age, the only beautiful women I knew were on magazine racks.
“I wouldn’t say friends...” she considered. “I’ve seen him at the mansion while I was visiting, though. He’s usually too busy to say very much. But he thinks I’m hot, and it’s so darn cute how he blushes every time I talk to him.”
Then I heard a gunshot and instinctively dove to the ground. Strangely, I was the only one to do so. Then I realised that the shot must have been aimed at spiffy. I looked up to see the ferned teenager stuck waist-deep in the stairs that had collapsed underneath him while a bullet passed directly above his head. He eyed the bullet hole in the pillar behind him, then frowned at the crowd.
“No rec center for you!” he said disapprovingly, then went about extracting himself from the stairs. “That was a freaking miracle,” I could hear him mutter. “Or else...” his eyes scanned the crowd before stopping on the woman standing next to me. He grinned. “Thanks, Dancer!”
The last word he said was enough to convince me that my companion was, indeed, Dancer. After finally escaping from the ruined stairs, the most famous political figure in the country walked over to where we were standing.
“Hi there,” he nodded to me, sticking out his hand. “I’m spiffy.”
“I’m Adam Durst, of the Daily Trombone,” I slowly shook his hand. “Shouldn’t you be finishing your speech?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “No one actually cares what I say. They’re just don’t want to miss it if I get killed. Which I might have been, if not for your friend, here.”
“I’m sure you and your fern would have figured something out without me,” she said kindly. spiffy’s face suddenly flushed crimson, and I stifled a laugh.
“So, ah, what’re you guys doing, anyway?” spiffy said quickly, trying to mask his embarassment.
“Adam here is writing an article about me,” Dancer replied. “I’m just trying to help him out.”
“Hey, you want to quote me?” spiffy asked eagerly. “It’d be nice to be in an article that isn’t accusing me of ruining the country’s democratic practices.”
“Uh, sure, I guess...” I rummaged through my pockets for a notepad. “Um... why don’t you describe your relationship with Dancer?”
“I don’t actually know her that well. But she’s way, way out of my league.” His face, which had slowly been returning to its normal shade, suddenly turned very red once more.
“I don’t know, spiff...” Dancer laughed. “If you were a few years older, a little better looking and not quite so annoying, you might have a chance.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s teasing me, but you never can tell,” spiffy confided. “Men are slime, after all.” I jotted that down. “Anyway, I should get going... I have to be in Iowa in, um...” he pulled down his sleeve to reveal several watches, each labelled with the names of numerous states, “two hours. I have to announce an opening or supervise a demolition or something. Later!”
“He’s really busy these days,” Dancer told me as he walked away. “Especially now that he’s a member of the League of Regulars.”
“Member of the what now?” spiffy turned around.
“How about we get back to Parodiopolis?” Dancer suggested. I agreed, and we departed hastily.
The strangest part of the day didn’t occur on the taxi ride back to Parodiopolis (you wouldn’t believe how relieved I was to leave GMY), where I learnt about Dancer’s powers, nor did it occur in the streets of downtown, where we walked casually and talked about her motivations. Rather, the strangest part of the day came as we approached First Parodiopolis Bank and I noticed a brightly garbed woman walking parallel to us on the other side of the street. It was just as I noticed this woman that Dancer touched my arm, told me to wait a second, then crossed the street.
“Hi there! Are you planning to rob the bank?” I could somehow hear her ask cheerfully even over the sounds of traffic.
“Um... sorry?” the woman replied, stopping in her tracks and looking at Dancer with the most surprised expression I’ve seen in my life.
“I was just wondering because the way you’re dressed indicates that you’re either a superhero or a supervillain, and I don’t see any reason for a superhero to be walking towards the bank. So you’re planning to rob it, right?” Her logic was impeccable.
“No, of course not!” her too-quick and a touch over-indignant response was a sure indicator of guilt.
“Great, then you can join me and my buddy over there,” she waved at me and I waved feebly in response, “for pizza!”
“What?” the would-be villainess managed as Dancer grasped her by the wrist and led her across the street. And, before either of us knew it, we were sitting in a pizza parlour with Dancer asking the stupefied waiter for some reccomendations.
“So,” she turned to our new friend after ordering a vegetarian delight (which was, according to our waiter, delightful), “What’s your name?”
“Susan...” the newly-identified Susan replied hesitantly.
“Let’s pretend we didn’t hear that,” she nodded at me, then asked the same question again. Susan caught on.
“Oh! I’m the Terrible Tremor.” She looked at us somewhat meekly, as if hoping we’d appreciate the name.
“Not bad... I wouldn’t have gone with Terrible, though,” Dancer admitted. “Maybe Tyrannical or Tremendous. What are your powers?”
“I can, um, create vibratory waves with my hands,” she explained, not looking either of us in the eye. She obviously wasn’t used to talking about this sort of thing. Examining her face, I forgot for a second that she was a supervillain and thought to myself how pretty she looked under that mask. She looked up and caught my gaze. Suddenly I knew how spiffy had felt earlier, as my face heat up.
“With that kind of power, you could be fighting evil instead of committing it,” Dancer said with a touch of reproach in her voice. I tensed up, for some reason feeling overly protective of Susan... I mean, the Terrible Tremor. “How come you were going to rob that bank?”
“Not all of us have fancy jobs that pay all the bills,” Tremor replied scathingly, looking Dancer in the eye for the first time since we’d entered the restaurant. I thought the statement was somewhat ironic, considering that Dancer was a waitress in a cafe. “Sometimes people don’t have a choice-”
“Excuse me,” a man said from beside me. He was looking at Susan. I tensed again. “Could I speak to you in private for just a moment?”
“Um, alright...” She got up and walked a few meters away with him. She looked completely bewildered. I couldn’t blame her. However strange this day was for me, it must have been a hundred times worse for her.
“Do you know who that is?” I demanded accusingly.
“Roger Malarkey, head of a major Parodiopolis modelling agency,” Dancer replied flippantly. “I bet he wants to hire her.”
“What are the chances of that?” I was referring more to her outlandish garments than her looks, because she could definitely be a model in my eyes.
“Not very good,” Dancer admitted. “That probability took a bit of effort to manipulate. But I think it was worth it,” she gestured to Susan, whose face had suddenly lit up as the man handed her a card. She shortly rejoined us.
“This is the weirdest day of my life...” she muttered.
“Join the club,” I retorted sympathetically.
Our pizza arrived, we ate it and chatted casually (well, as casually as I could, considering I was seated with both a superhero AND a supervillain), the women disappeared into the washroom, and Dancer reappeared to accompany me outside.
“Where’s Susan?” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice, even from myself.
“She wanted to get home and out of that costume.” At that point, I decided to have a cold shower as soon as I got to my apartment. “Oh, but I got her phone number. Here you go.” She handed it to me. I gaped at her, then at the piece of paper clutched in my hand, then back at her.
“... how?” I gasped.
“I told her that you might be able to help her with publicity, being a reporter and all.” She smiled.
“No, how did you know I was interested?”
“You were staring at her the whole time,” she elbowed me playfully. “Give her a call one of these days.”
Two days later, in the Daily Trombone, the following article appeared.
My Day with Dancer
by Adam Durst
PARODIOPOLIS- Superbeings have been in the news a lot in these past weeks, and haven’t been presented with the best of images. Take, for example, the former Lair Legionnaire, the ferned wonder, spiffy, who has recently become mayor of, for the sake of saving space, Everywhere Else. He was elected because the country at large wanted a mayor that they wouldn’t care about if he died. His stubborn refusal to do the latter has made him rather unpopular, and he’s been blamed for the decline of many important American ideals. I have met spiffy, though, and I’ve found that he’s a rather good-natured young man. How did I meet him? It was just part of a wonderfully strange day I spent with the superhero called Dancer.
In a day and age where heroes include the mysterious DarkHwk who is rumoured to brutalise criminals and the vigilante Messenger who kills without remorse, Dancer breaks the mold. Rather than leaping into battle at the first appearance of a villain, she will seek alternatives to violence, giving even the most dangerous of felons a fair chance to stop before it’s too late. Her good humour and considerate nature contrasts sharply with the brusque, darker heroes that inhabit our streets. She takes down criminals with kindness and words rather than brutality and fists.
Echoing her costumed activities, Dancer’s personality in casual conversation reveals her as a warm and caring individual. In the time I spent with her, she was quick to smile and incredibly easy-going. Everyone she encountered was bettered for having met her. She is able to brighten a room simply by entering it, and she treats every person as if they were a close friend. The day I spent with her was much too short, and, as she left, I found that, even though we’d only just met, I didn’t want her to leave. Even so, the time we did share was strangely... nice, is the only word to describe it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Though I knew her for only a short time, she impressed me by showing all the qualities of great friend, and I hope to meet her again someday.
The article went on to describe Dancer’s actions thoughout the day, though never describing her powers in any form. I figured that having her powers announced in a high-profile newspaper wouldn’t help her in surprising her enemies. I also never spoke of her secret identity, because that just wouldn’t be right. And I never once mentioned Susan... but I called her the very next day. Improbable as it was, she had agreed to dinner tonight. Sometimes, the strangest days can turn out to be the very best ones.