Posted by CrazySugarFreakBoy! submits a story that ISN'T a repost, so by all means, check it out! (After all, if you don't read it and reply to it, it'll probably make him feel bad. And then he'll cry) on January 12, 2001 at 22:46:17:
"You know, if this were I movie, you'd be played by Alan Rickman, and I'd be played by Kevin Spacey." The Hooded Hood regarded his host with a skeptical eye. Somehow, the man who now stood beside him had managed to dispatch an emissary to Herringcarp Asylum - to the REAL Herringcarp Asylum, the one which the Hood used as a base of operations, and had dimensionally displaced from the continuity stream shared by the rest of the Parodyverse, for the specific purpose of NOT receiving uninvited guests, such as the emissary that this man had sent. The emissary was an attractive young woman of about 25 or so, clad in white robes that appeared to be some sort of ceremonial garb, with piercing blue eyes, an almost porcelain Causasian complexion, sharply sculted features, and aside from her blonde eyebrows and eyelashes, absolutely no discernible body hair. After dispatching the Hood's assembled minions with little effort, displaying a brisk yet formal manner that she would maintain thereafter, she had informed the Hood that she was the Priestess Pelopia, the Disciple of Logos, and that The Word hereby cordially invited him to visit his humble abode, as a guest of the Order of Order. The Hood had weighed his options, and elected to ignore (at least, for now) the breach of decorum that The Word had committed, by sending his emissary to the Hood's private lair without receiving the proper permission to do so, and instead, he decided to indulge his would-be host, by playing the part of the Order of Order's cordially invited guest. As soon as the Hood had communicated his willingness to meet with The Word, the woman who had identified herself as the Priestess Pelopia, the Disciple of Logos, touched a disc-shaped object on her wrist, and the Hood suddenly found himself and his newfound companion in entirely different surroundings, in a place of stark blacks and whites and not even the least vestige of color whatsoever. The Word, the host who had extended his invitation to the Hood, so that the Cowled Crime-Czar might visit the Order of Order, matched his chosen surroundings perfectly, clad as he was in a costume of alternating white and black, with a mask that was clearly influenced by the Greco-Roman marble statues of old, and bore an oddly disquieting, tight-lipped smile. After properly introducing both himself and the Priestess Pelopia, who continued to regard the Hood without any trace of emotion on her face, The Word apologized, briefly but sincerely, for sending the Disciple of Logos to Herringcarp Asylum to retrieve the Hood, but the Hood's curiosity was sufficiently piqued that he was willing to overlook this minor rudeness, and the two gentlemen proceeded to sit down to a dinner that The Word's minions had prepared for them. However, even as the Hood and The Word exchanged pleasantries over their expensive gourmet meals, with The Word offering minor tidbits regarding the spacetime shortcut that had brought the Hood here (a Janus Juncture, he soon learned it was called), the Hood simply could not get inside the head of the man who sat, casually confident but with an unmistakeable bearing of total self-possession, at the other end of the spartanly furnished table that they shared. Once the two gentlemen had adjourned from their repast, the Hood felt no compunction about putting his point to his gracious yet inexplicably disturbing host. "Well ... now that we have had the chance to sup together, why don't you do me the courtesy of informing me why I bothered to humor your somewhat impudent summons." The tone of the Hood's words made it clear that this was NOT a request. And that was when The Word chuckled, the eerily congenial air of his voice matching the unnervingly serene smile on his facemask, and uttered the seeming non-sequitir that caused the Hood to blink in confusion. "You know, if this were I movie, you'd be played by Alan Rickman, and I'd be played by Kevin Spacey." The Hood folded his arms across his chest, even as The Word leaned against the railing, which separated him and his dinner companion from the inhumanly efficient and busy legions of the Order of Order, that moved with clockwork precision below them. "Indeed?" the Hood responded, his tolerance of The Word's evasions growing thin. "Be that as it may, it still does not answer my question. "And as I am certain you are well aware, it is exceedingly unwise to try the patience of the Hooded Hood." Even though he could not see the man's face, the Hood could practically hear the smirk in The Word's next statement, which only served to infuriate him further. "I'll answer your question with a question. "After all, as you yourself have pointed out, I know a great deal about you, at least by reputation, if nothing else. "On the other hand, I must admit to being uncertain of how much you may, or may not, have heard about me. "So, before offer you a response that turns out to be redundant to that which you're already aware of, why don't you share with me the information you already have about me?" The Hood recognized this game, for it was one that he'd played many times himself. In the guise of offering knowledge to one's opponent, one makes inquiries of the opponent in question, without revealing anything about oneself in return. Even as he spotted the cards that the other player had hidden up his sleeve, the Hood opted to bide his time, and feed out just enough line to snare his would-be inquisitor. "Your name, and the name of your order, is indeed familiar to me, from my surveillance of the Lair Legion's and Goofball Gauntlet's private communications, since at least one or more of each team's members have done battle with members of your sect, whom I have noticed have focused an unusual amount of attention upon CrazySugarFreakBoy! "Your group, which is rumored to be religious in nature, has only recently surfaced, although it's suspected that, given the considerable degree of resources and planning which have gone into the moves you've made so far, your people have been around, and been organized, for quite some time. "Of your terrorist cell's objectives, all that has been concluded yet is that your little religion, or faith, or whatever else you may choose to classify it as, has as its central tenet that admittedly admirable goal of restoring much-needed order to a woefully chaotic universe. "And from the time I've spent in your company, I have concluded that you yourself are well-educated enough to indicate a prosperous upbringing, cultured enough to betray a probably extensive history of world travel from an early age on, and socially erudite enough that, given the obvious dearth of finances and materials that your little group has to draw upon, I don't doubt that the man behind that smiling mask is firmly ensconsced in the institutions of legitimate business and industry in the non-costumed world. "Finally, it took me all of about five seconds, after I saw you and the Priestess Pelopia together, to deduce that she is your daughter - which, when considered together with the level of temperance that is evidenced in your behavior, would indicate that you are either in your late forties or early fifties." The Word turned suddenly at the Hood's mention of his daughter, and the Hood wished that he could have seen the look of shocked surprise that he knew lay under the other man's mask. When The Word spoke again, his voice was a trifle less smug - all the better, as far as the Hood was concerned. "Hh ... thought I'd done my best to treat her no differently than I would any of my other disciples." He chuckled again, and walked towards the Hood, his unguarded moment now completely gone. "I suppose it takes another father to tell, though, doesn't it?" The Hood stiffened at The Word's indirect mention of his own daughter, and responded curtly. "I suppose." The Word nodded, and, turning from the Hood briefly, walked towards the table, which had been cleared mere seconds after the two gentlemen had concluded their meal. "You were correct to note that my agents displayed a ... concern over the Trickster. "Do you have any theories as to why they'd be interested in him?" The Hood paused for a half-second, before he realized that The Word was referring to CrazySugarFreakBoy!, then snorted in contempt. "No, but then, I can't conceive of why any intelligent human being would deem someone as insignificant as CrazySugarFreakBoy! to be worthy of even the least of their attentions." "A rather non-objective judgement, considering the number of occasions on which the Trickster has foiled your plots and plans." As the Hood's eyes began to glow an enraged green, The Word continued on, pacing distractedly as he spoke, his footsteps almost echoing the rhythm of his recital. "You demean the Tricker's worth because you fail to recognize the importance of his role. "Just as the Order of Order, and all of the Disciples of Logos and The Words that have gone on before Pelopia and myself, have served as the Tools of Order, so too have the Trickster, and all of the so-called CrazySugarSuperHeroes! who have gone on before him, acted as Agents of Chaos. "The Trickster is the very embodiment of the sort of Chaos that you and I both have spent our entire lives striving to eliminate, and it is precisely because he is the personification of Order's antithesis that ANY attempt to set the state of existence to rights MUST start with striking him FROM that existence. "Otherwise, if you attempt to improve the continuum without first removing his presence from it, all of your efforts will come to naught, as they've already done." The Hooded Hood strode over to where The Word had ceased pacing, and glowered at him with his still-luminous green eyes. "Such a bold pronouncement, from one who has yet to accomplish anything of comparable worth. "After all, your enlightenment regarding the CrazySugarFreakCretin's! supposed status within the cosmic hierarchy seems not to have furthered the ethos of your cause significantly, has it?" The Word shook his head. "Come now, you know better than that. "The sign of a truly masterful magician is that he never reveals his secrets. "The fact that you haven't seen any of the strings is the surest sign that the Order has concealed its responsibility for the deeds in question." The Hood turned on his heel to leave. "The Hooded Hood did not spare the time from his busy schedule, merely to be entertained by your attempts at illusory misdirection. "If you have no proof to offer of your organization's resume, then I shall kindly thank you to summon your daughter, so that she might return me to my domicile." Without moving to block the Hood's departure, or even glancing up from the small, transparent glass globe that he had picked up from the table's centerpiece, and now held in his hand, The Word called after him. "You've heard of the Valiant Vanguard, I take it?" The Hood halted in mid-step, but kept his back to The Word. "Of course I've heard of them. "The precursors to the Lair Legion. "They originated around fourteen to fifteen years ago, and disbanded roughly seven or eight years afterwards. "In many ways, they were the last gasp of the standard of respectable superheroism in the Parodyverse. "Nonetheless, I fail to recognize what any of this has to do with -" "You know why they died, don't you?" The Word asked, almost rhetorically, still admiring the small glass globe, as he turned it over in his fingers. The Hood turned in his tracks this time, now suspecting where The Word was headed with this line of inquiry, but he wanted to be able to test his theory, and to scrutinize The Word's bearing with his own eyes, when the man with the glass globe in his hand made the claim that the Hood was all but certain that he would, in fact, make. "The team's leader, the scientist who had immodestly dubbed himself the Renaissance Man -" "Dr. Leonard Day-Vincent," The Word appended, interrupting the Hood once more. The Hood started again, slightly agitated by The Word's verbal footnote. "He led the Vanguard into what turned out to be something of an ambush, as a result of which, a majority of the team's lineup was killed or permanently crippled. "Of those few that survived, many sustained injuries that precluded their returning to their duties as costumed crimefighters for quite a while afterwards, and most simply opted to move on from the so-called 'superhero' trade altogether. "If I recall correctly, Dr. Day-Vincent himself was so distraught by the loss of his comrades, and by his own culpability in their misfortune, that he took stock of the consequences of his actions as the de facto leader of the Valiant Vanguard, and wisely assessed that the world would be better off without that particular team of insipid do-gooders any longer, and he promptly retired his spandex-suited public persona, in order to pursue his private scientific researches. "However, I doubt that's what you're asking, is it?" The Word finally met the Hood's gaze with his own (not that the Hood could actually see The Word's eyes, thanks to the man's mask), and walked slowly towards where the Hood stood. "Hypothetically speaking, let's say you're the head of a global organization, one that's dedicated itself to the aim of restoring some sense to creation, and as a result, in order to mete out this specific aim, you'll need to implement a great many sweeping changes, so that you can reinstate the proper foundation. "You have to tear something down, before you can build it back up; it's a necessary principle you should be well-versed in, given the fact that it's the guiding paradigm which you yourself have chosen to employ so often in your career. "Unfortunately, though, whenever you threaten to undo the preexisting established fixtures of society and civilization, there are all of these various little self-appointed protectors of what's magnanimously deemed 'the public good', who come swarming like wasps out of a nest that's been disturbed, as soon as you make any move to organize the world in which they live. "It doesn't matter to them that your aim will ultimately result in the betterment of all humanity, nor that the old system which they are struggling to defend is not worthy of their preservation, because they cannot accept that even the most laudable of ends will justify what they classify as less-than-acceptable means. "So, for these reasons, not to mention several others which we'll wait until a later date to discuss, the sole alternative becomes unavoidable: "To make the machine run smoothly, you must remove the obstacle that is blocking its progress." The Hood considered The Word's admission. "And yet, you allowed the Vanguard's leader, Dr. Day-Vincent, to emergence relatively unscathed." The Word sighed with undisguised regret. "Hardly unscathed, when you take into account that Leonard was already going through the pain of a failed reconciliation bid with his ex-wife, Sydney St. Sylvain, which was made all the more troublesome by the fact that she was also his teammate on the Valiant Vanguard, in her alter ego as the Fashion Fairy. "Besides which, the man was my friend. "I owed him a chance to rebuild, to start over." The Hood arched his eyebrows at this unexpected bit of candor on the part of The Word, but moved swiftly to the next discrepancy that he'd noted in his fellow arch-villain's acoount. "Even if this is all true, it still begs the question: "Why would the leader of such an organization systematically dismantle the roster of ONE team of costumed crimefighters, and yet, never make a move to impede the development and emergence of the team that followed in the first team's footsteps, only a few short years later?" The Word set the small glass globe back onto the centerpiece of the table, and folded his fingers together behind his back. "Let me put it this way. "Still speaking hypothetically, of course - if you were the head of such an organization, and you saw that the most hopeful of the Valiant Vanguard's successors was a team like the Lair Legion, would YOU have given them a second thought? "I remember going over their dossier, studying the intelligence reports I'd ordered to be conducted on them, and subsequently clicking and dragging them into a mental kill file, as soon as I got to the entry about Visionary. "I mean, exactly how was I meant to discern any potential threat in a man whose solitary defining characteristic was apparently being a dullard?" The Hood winced sympathetically. "Point taken." The Word shook his head, and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "And in any case, even though the Lair Legion's resume of accomplishment far outstrips my meager expectations of them, they've wound up serving my interests in the end anyway. "After all, only in a team so underpopulated with genuine talent could a CrazySugarSuperHero! hope to become such a shining star." The Hood gazed at The Word in a sidelong manner. "You seem to be contradicting your previous position, or else you didn't communicate it properly before. "Weren't you the one who emphasized the need to destroy CrazySugarFreakBoy!, since he's supposedly an emissary of the higher powers of cosmic chaos and such?" The Word pointed his index finger at the Hood, signalling that the Hood had asked precisely the question that The Word had hoped he would. "That's what the Order of Order has sought to do with all of the prior CrazySugarSuperHeres!, which is the very reason why we've failed so consistently in our mission. "No, the REAL challenge, this time around, was not to destroy the Trickster that Chaos would choose as Order's opponent, but rather, to CREATE the Trickster that Chaos would choose, so that Order could destroy him from within. "You mentioned my plethora of real-world resources and connections before, when you were theorizing about who I might be, beneath this mask? "Right now, I am doing everything within my power, and utilizing the full length, width and breadth of all those finances and materials and contacts that you referenced, in order to ensure that CrazySugarFreakBoy! becomes the greatest superhero of all time. "And before you ask, no, this does not mean that our fights are staged, nor that I'm in any way going easy on him, whenever any of my agents strike at him. "After all, I require regular proof that he is worthy of being elevated to such an iconic status, and by surviving my attacks, he not only passes the tests I have put before him, but he also becomes a more worthy opponent, and those qualifiations translate into an increased respect of, and dependence upon, his qualifications as a supposed defender of 'the public good'." The Hood had to admit - of all the answers he had been expecting, this certainly wasn't one of them. "And why, pray tell, would you wish to engineer a more effective CrazySugarSuperHero!?" The Word shook his head, and raised his hands. "No, no, no, not more effective ... more popular, more esteemed, and more trusted, yes, but underneath it all, nothing will be done to change the Trickster's essential Chaotic nature. "You see, I'm not just out to make the Trickster well liked ... I want to build him up so much, and put him on a pedestal so high, that the people will look to him, not merely as a hero, but as a savior, as their last hope, to the point that, if HE is defeated, they will lose ALL hope." The Hood nodded, discerning at last the end objective of The Word's seemingly counterintuitive plot. "And if the people were to lose ALL hope, because -hypothetically speaking, of course - a certain organization were to resoundly and utterly defeat the greatest superhero of all time, then it would clear the way for said organization to assume total and all-emcompassing control over humanity, since without hope, there exists the need neither for resistance, nor for free will of any kind." The Word's hand gestures were, for him, rather animated, as he detailed the logic behind his scheme. "It's all about symbols, really. "In university, I studied to become an etymologist, bit a bit of religious history research on the side. "Words always fascinated me ... I loved tracking their evolutions, from the obscurity of their origins in regional dialects, to the subsequent meanings they acquired, as they spread to other lands, other cultures, even other languages. "Likewise, religion was interesting to me, especially the ancient myths of the Greek and Roman societies, because I quickly grasped that religions, like the written words by which they were communicated, were attempts to clarify the world in which people lived, by means of translating that world which in those people lived through a language of symbols. "Ever since human beings began painting upon cave walls, our minds have run to symbols to explain the evidence of our own perceptions, to the point that, now, the collective subconscious of humanity itself is hardwired for symbolic concepts, so much so that the surest means of disseminating one's message in an eponymous and enduring manner is by way of a symbolic parable ... through myth, in other words. "By making the Trickster a figure of mythical proportions, I thereby give him power over the people. "And when I eventually depose him, from the throne of myth that I myself crafted for him, the people still yearn for someone to sit in that throne, to assume the mantle of that power over them. "If I were merely to introduce a counter-myth, of free will and resistance to the suppression of individuality as being futile concepts, the people would never suspend their disbelief long enough to listen to the tale. "But by starting the story off as a fable extolling the virtues of free will and individuality, with the Trickster himself serving as the ultimate patron saint of such Chaotic concepts, I've given my audience a narrative that they will willingly invest their self-concepts into, since they will be eager to cast themselves in the role of the CrazySugarSuperHero!, and to live out their desires for adventure and fun through his actions and exploits. "Ultimately, though, this will simply make it all the harder for them to DISBELIEVE the tale, when it concludes with the inevitable defeat of the Trickster at the hands of the Order of Order, for no matter how much my audience may WANT to deny the ugly truth presented by the allegory at that point, they won't be able to, because they will have invested too many of their own emotions into the Trickster, to stop caring about what happens to him." The Hood narrowed his eyes speculatively at The Word, as the obvious connection dawned upon him. "Those connections you have, with the industries of non-costumed commerce, or more specifically, in the realm of the media -" The Word knew exactly where the Hood was going with his speculation, and completed the Hood's leap of logic before the Hood himself even had a chance to finish his sentence, thus confirming the Cowled Crime-Czar's worst suspicions. "You thought it was a mere coicidence, that John Byrne and Howard Mackie were chosen to reboot the Spider-Man titles? "Whom did you assume 'The Powers That Be' at Marvel comics WERE, after all ... surely not just that pinstriped middle-manager, Bill Jemas?" The Hood blinked in astonishment, honestly impressed with The Word for the first time, before drawing himself back up to his full height, and crossing his arms over his chest imperiously. *A-Hem* "Yes, well, be that as it may, it's a far cry from degrading a hero that is beloved the world over, even one such as that puerile, wise-cracking, web-slinging wall-crawler, to elevating a hyperactive, attention span-impaired, post-adolescent bastard orphan of popular culture, such as that whore-spawned Dreamcatcher Kokopelli Foxglove, to the iconic status of a Superman." The Word chuckled once more, and clucked his tongue chidingly. "Don't you see? "All of those characteristic simply make him the PERFECT choice to assume the 'rebel hero' mantle for today's youth. "Yes, he may be more immature than Peter Pan, but then again, he's one of an entire generation of Lost Boys, who are apt to see him as the ideal candidate for the leader of their tribe. "Of course, you might be predisposed to underestimate his potential, since you've basically been cast as the Captain Hook to his Pan. "Maybe THAT'S the real divergence point between the two of us, then ... by many yardsticks, we two gentlemen of Verona essentially mete out the same arch-enemy requirement for our young Mr. Foxglove, in terms of being strategic supervillain foes who manipulate and cajole and pull strings behind the scenes, but the difference is, I KNOW who I am, and what I serve, and what the role is that I've chosen to play, by taking on the disguise and identity of a so-called 'supervillain', but you still probably imagine yourself to be autonomous, don't you?" The Hood responded with a flash of fury, his voice thundering through the Order of Order. "You ... DARE imply that I, *I* am a servant of a higher power!? "The Hooded Hood is a slave to NO man, to no FORCE ... not even to the GODS themselves!" The Word sighed with disappointment, and shook his head. "How little you understand ... quite honestly, I expected more, from a man of your keen intellect. "We're all subservient to something, but this servitude does not necessarily equate to slavery. "After all, I doubt weven YOU would content that our dependence upon the sun somehow makes us its slave. *Sigh* "And I had such high hopes for a partnership between us, too ... such a pity. "Oh, well - perhaps some sort of understanding can still be reached between the two of us, later on, but for now ..." With that, The Word turned his back to the Hooded Hood, and waved farewell. "The Priestess Pelopia will return you to Herringcarp Asylum." The Hooded Hood glanced over his shoulder, to find the Disciple of Logos already standing by his side, and in the blink of an eye, the Janus Juncture had returned the Cowled Crime-Czar to his proper place in the spacetime continuum. After escorting the Hood back to his secret headquarters, Priestess Pelopia strode over to where her father sat, his fingers steepled in front of his face, which she recognized as the pose that he assumed whenever he was lost in deep concentration. "I take it that all did not go as you had hoped, sir?" she inquired, her softly spoken words gently shaking him from his reverie. The Word gazed up at her, and slowly came to his feet, easing himself out of his contemplation mode. "Indeed it did not, daughter, but as I've always instructed you, setbacks are often more enlightening than successes, so I suppose I should take the lesson for what it's worth. "Still, out of all the so-called 'supervillains' out there, the Hood is the most brilliant one of the bunch, so I can retain a certain measure of hope that, eventually, he'll be intelligent enough to recognize the wisdom of our ethos." Priestess Pelopia nodded curtly. "How could it be otherwise? "You are The Word, and yours is The Voice of Reason." The Word smiled behind his mask, and understood that, for his emotionally non-demonstrative daughter, such a declaration of loyalty was the equivalent of a tearful hug. "Thank you, daughter. "You may return to your regularly scheduled tasks now." The Priestess Pelopia, Disciple of Logos, nodded her bald head once more, and marched briskly out of the room, leaving The Word to change out of his ceremonial garb, including the serenely smiling mask he wore, and into his tailor-made suit and prescription sunglasses, just before he activated his own Janus Juncture ... ... Which transported him directly into his office, overlooking the city of Seattle. He pressed the intercom, and spoke to his secretary. "Sally, have any of my appointments for today been rescheduled?" The voice at the other end of the intercom crackled. "Hmmm, let's see ... nope, looks like your itinerary for today is just as we discussed yesterday, Mr. Book." "Thank you, Sally," he replied, before releasing the intercom button. And with that, Gideon Book, President and CEO of Odyssey Opportunities, also known as The Word of the Order of Order, sat down to his desk, and began mapping out his plans. It was going to be a busy day.