Tales of the Parodyverse

Post By

killer shrike
Wed Jan 31, 2007 at 06:33:44 am EST
Subject
"On Her Own Two Feet"
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
 		Next In Thread >>

“On Her Own Two Feet”




Magweed trembled as she tried to bring her left knee closer to her chest. Tiny droplets of saccharine-scented perspiration beaded on her forehead, and small stains began to blossom under the arms of her Lair Legion Athletic Department gym shirt, “I… can’t.”

“Continue holding that position for eight more seconds. Seven… six…” Mr. Epitome counted down. He was on the mat beside her in a uniform identical to her own. His limbs were ropy and strong; squatting on his haunches made his thighs bulge out wider than the young girl’s torso, “… one… and rest.”

The Paragon of Power stood and marked the clipboard he carried. It was not a note of progress. Magweed had bent her leg at a further angle, nearer to her body, and for a longer period of time in previous exercises. She had backslid, and Dominic knew why.

He glanced over where the girl’s mother stood, trying to keep his face as impassive as possible, but the alien was observant as to subtle cues of body language.

“Is there anything wrong?” Miiri of Caph inquired for what was the third time since she had joined them for the girl’s physical therapy session.

“No. She’s fine,” Epitome assured her.

The concerned, and, to Dominic, criminally underdressed former pleasure slave looked past the big man and to her daughter, “Naari?”

“I am fine, Mother,” Maggie leaned over and took up a towel with her good arm, “Just tired.”

“It won’t be much longer,” Miiri smiled, “Mr. Epitome is almost done.”

“Actually,” the Exemplary Man corrected, “We have several more minutes of leg stretches before we move on to strength training. If you have things to attend to, you may want to come back later.”

“There is no place I would rather be,” the emerald hued young woman answered, never taking her loving eyes off Magweed as she slowly sat up to work on her toe touches.

Dominic nodded, but inwardly he was displeased. Spectators had impeded their progress in the past: Magweed spent more time focused on them than her exercises, as their concerned glances and overzealous encouragements embarrassed the girl. He had been able to get her father and brother out of his hair after their misadventure on the Tandem Nordic Track, but it was somewhat more difficult to request the departure of the woman who had just recently been united with her children after a harrowing journey across worlds to rescue them.

The session continued, though it was clear Magweed’s heart was not in it.

“Mother, have you seen Griffin? He was supposed to come find me when it was time to make Pop Tart Smoothies.”

Dominic was aghast, “What the he-?! What are Pop Tart Smoothies?”

“It’s a blended drink that Dreamcatcher and April make for us sometimes. It has Pop Tarts in it.”

“Foxglove,” Epitome hissed, unconsciously clenching his fist.

Miiri ignored Epitome’s Pavlovian pique to the activities of the Lair Legion’s Deputy Leader and instead spoke to her daughter, “I haven’t seen your brother.”

“Oh,” Maggie struggled to stand, “Maybe he forgot. He gets distracted sometimes. I might need to go look for him,” she stated innocently.

“We still have several more exercises before we’re finished, Magweed.”

“Can we do it later?” she asked, turning from Mr. Epitome to her mother. Dominic too, looked at the Caphan, though his stare was more perturbed than pleading.

Miiri, newly minted mother, found herself caught between two very powerful forces, one who could topple buildings and crush armies with his bare hands, and the other which was infinitely stronger than that. She pursed her lips, sighed slightly, and gave her answer.

“You need to finish your therapy with Mr. Epitome first. Then you can go with your brother and have your … Smoothies.”

“About that,” Dominic rumbled, ready to launch into a diatribe against the numerous caloric and nutritional concerns with such a concoction.

The woman cut him off with a magnanimous smile, “I’m sure they’ll make an excellent dessert for the children, and anyone else who wants.”

The Star Spangled Splendor rubbed his knuckles, but gave an acquiescing grunt.

“You should try them, Mr. Epitome. Glory calls them yunmmy,” Magweed piped up.

Epitome’s next grunt was a little less affirmative.

*****


“Have a seat at my desk, and turn on the computer,” Dominic told Magweed as they entered his cramped little office. He cleared the room’s other chair so Miiri could sit by her daughter, “We’re going to do a drill of manual dexterity.”

The green-tinted girl was nonplussed. Usually those involved her lacing her shoes in the ever bewildering number of knots Mr. Epitome had knowledge of, or tossing an egg back and forth.

Epitome scribbled a line on a piece of paper, “Type a search for this with your left hand,” he said, handing the slip to Maggie.

Miiri glanced over her daughter’s shoulder as she slowly tapped Video, Franklin Delano Roosevelt walking into the search engine’s field. Completion of that and a few more clicks of the mouse brought up grainy archival footage of a exuberant, patrician looking man in a dark suit half ambling, half shuffling towards the camera while being escorted by other dark suited men.

“I wanted you to see this, Magweed. This man’s name was Franklin Roosevelt: he was our country’s leader seventy years ago.”

“He was President?” the girl asked.

“Yes. That’s right. President Roosevelt is regarded as one of the best ones. And even though he’s largely responsible for the rampant growth of the socialist programs that have turned this country into a welfare state, and his capitulation to Stalin at Yalta led to four decades of struggle with a totalitarian regime whose soul purpose was the conquest and subornation of our Judeo-Christian democratic values, there are still things I admire about him.”

Magweed nodded out of politeness. She had no idea what Mr. Epitome was talking about, or why he was talking so much more than usual, but the girl could tell what he was showing her was very important to him.

“Roosevelt was an optimist, a very positive person. No problem was too big that couldn’t be solved, he felt. And he always encouraged people, brought out the best in them, because of confidence he gave off. He lead America through some very hard times, including a war.”

“Oh. Why does he walk so different?” she asked the question Epitome had hoped for.

“Because he suffered from a disease called polio. It made it so he couldn’t move his legs at all. He had to use a wheelchair a lot to move. But when he was out in public, he wanted to be seen as strong, as a leader, so he practiced so that, with help, he could walk short distances. It was hard work for him. He’d sweat so much it would show through his suit jacket, but he did it. And he smiled the whole time.”

Magweed studied the face of Roosevelt: its strong chin and longish nose. From behind his spectacles his eyes twinkled with intelligence, and perseverance. She decided she liked him, “Is he still alive?”

“No, he died sixty years ago,” Epitome said, as he cast a sidelong glance to Miiri, who was studying him with some bemusement, “But there are several books and videos available where you can learn more about him, if you wish.”

“Maybe I’ll do that later,” for now, Maggie was more interested in changing her clothes and reuniting with her brother. And, of course, the Smoothies, “Do we have anymore exercises to do?”

“No. We’re done.”

“Thank you,” Magweed said as she reached for her mother. Miiri took the girl in her arms and hugged her for several moments.

“Before you eat, you need to go back to the Lighthouse and bathe and dress,” she told her daughter before kissing her on the cheek, “I will take you, but first I must talk to Mr. Epitome.”

“That was an interesting lesson,” she told the Man of Might when they were alone.

“I felt it had some relevance for Magweed,” Dominic admitted as he shut down his computer.

“And her mother,” Miiri added before she bluntly asked, “You know of Xander’s prophesy: that Magweed may someday become the Queen of Faerie?”

“I don’t believe in prophesies,” Epitome stated, then amended, “However, I did read the magician’s declaration in the Legion’s case file of yours and Visionary’s and Hallie’s mission to the Mythlands.”

Miiri rose and stood directly in front of the Star Spangled Splendor, “I do believe in prophesies, Mr. Epitome, as much as I don’t want to in this case. Maggie has been through so much. She deserves an opportunity to be a child and to enjoy all that goes with that.”

“She does.”

“However, she and Griffin both come from an extraordinary lineage. Great and noble things will be expected of them,” Miiri raised her chin so she was staring Epitome straight in the eyes, “They will be able to meet such challenges.”

“Of course they will,” Dominic agreed with the barest hint of a smirk, “They’re Americans.”

The daughter of Caph considered the statement. Then she smiled back, “Yes. I suppose they are. Among a great many other things.”

The End


Posted from U.S. Company
using Microsoft Internet Explorer 6/Windows XP
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
Follow-Ups:

Echo™ v3.0 beta © 2003-2006 Powermad Software
Copyright © 2004-2006 by Mangacool Adventure