Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Thu Feb 05, 2004 at 12:23:13 am EST
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New and hopefully not depressing: The Adventures of Alcheman #2
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“The Adventures of Alcheman #2”


Still Following One’s Muse


CBrCIF2 Chlorodifluorobromomethane Fire suppression agent
WC Tungsten Carbide high resistance and hardness (9.8 Mole’s scale) Who’s Moe?
KNO3 Potassium Nitrate saltpeter, used in gunpowder
CH13 Chloroform A carcinogen!!! Find less lethal anesthetic


Michael Wooster looked at the results of an hour of research and sighed. So far coming up with a list of molecular formulas that would aid him as a superhero was proving difficult. He had never been particularly adept at the physical sciences in school, choosing instead to pursue degrees in Education and Political Science. It was unfortunate that his tattoos hadn’t bestowed upon him abilities representative of a topic he understood, like the Legislative Branch or somesuch.

The power to tax is the power to destroy he wrote on his legal pad, in an effort to make himself feel somewhat clever after all the fruitless searching through the stacks of Organic Chemistry books rested before him. Michael sat at one of the tables in the Hogan Academy’s library. It was during his planning period, and really he was loafing on the company dime. His dereliction was hardly the most egregious in the study center this morning: Mr. Fundenstarten was on his twenty-second hand of computer solitaire.

The barrel-chested young man scooped up the books and prepared to return them to their shelf when a timorous voice came from nowhere, “Oh, please, Mr. Wooster, let me.”

Miss Calliope stood right behind Michael, so close he wondered how she avoided being struck when he pushed back his chair, “It’s easier for me if I return their books to their proper place,” she continued.

“My apologies,” Michael handed the texts to the school’s librarian, the weight of which caused the young woman’s shoulders to stoop even more than usual.

“Quite all right,” she grunted as she adjusted to the weight, “So, you are reading up on chemistry. Thinking of changing fields?”

“What? Oh no, my study is purely recreational,” he said while putting his notes in his bag.

“Oh, in that case may I recommend Nature’s Building Blocks: An A-Z Guide to the Elements, John Emsley, Oxford University Press. Oliver Sacks says it’s ‘full of enthusiasm’ and a ‘sheer delight.’”

“Did he now?” Michael said absently, “I’m afraid my knowledge of the periodic table is limited to that ditty by Tom Lehrer sung to the music of “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General.””

“I love Gilbert and Sullivan,” Miss Calliope enthused, somewhat off topic.

“Ah, yes,” Michael managed to worm his way between the woman and his chair to freedom, “Actually, it’s not from any musical. It’s a parody.”

“Parodies are a person’s way of capitalizing on someone else’s work,” she pronounced severely, “They’re lazy and unimaginative.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Michael said as he retreated to the relative safety of his classroom. Evelyn Calliope watched him go, sighed, and went back to her world amongst the stacks.

******


“Missus Wooster,” Marta knocked on the bedroom door, “Please open the door, please. I need to do laundry.”

Agnes Wooster groaned, “Go away, Marta. I’m too drained to get out of bed.”

Marta pounded on the door, “Missus Wooster, go to the guest room. It is clean. I put in portable wet bar. You can cry there.”

“Don’t you patronize me, Marta! How can you understand the pain I’m feeling? My very son has doomed this family.”

The Honduran woman would like to tell her employer that her son had been shot by leftist guerrillas fifteen years ago and she had neither the time nor the patience to discuss pain children could bring a mother. But as per her job description, Marta humored Agnes, “Yes, it is very bad, Missus Wooster. Mister Wooster is very selfish to want to be a superhero.”

“Oh, God, you should have seen that ghastly picture he drew of his costume. It looked like something one would wear at a leather bar.”

Marta’s cell phone rang. It was Gomez: her husband and the Wooster estate’s gardener. He spoke frantically to his wife, relaying troubling news. She swore in Spanish and hung up. Then she told Agnes the bad news.

“Missus Wooster, the twins are pulling in the driveway. With police.”

There was a pause before Agnes Wooster replied, “Set the table for tea, Marta.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Contact Mr. Wellfudge. We’ll probably need him.”

“Yes, Missus Wooster,” Marta had the family lawyer on speed dial.

“And check with Dr. Levin and see if he can schedule an appointment for me this afternoon. I’m going to need my prescription increased.”

*****


The Council for the Occlusion of Paranormal Experiences (COPE) was located in the Gundy Building set in downtown Paradopolis. The non-profit agency had been in existence for merely two months. There was still that fresh carpet smell in the office’s lobby.

Michael had chosen this meeting as the inaugural for his Alcheman costume (at least the prototype). It was a navy blue sleeveless tee, black dungarees, with a brown belt and boots, and grey work gloves. He was hoping after today he’d be able to accessorize a bit, maybe add an appropriately iconic belt buckle or a domino mask that wouldn’t keep coming dangerously close to slipping off his face.

The door opened and a slender man with curly red hair entered the waiting area, “Alcheman? I’m Cyrus Honig.”

“Hello, Mr. Honig,” Michael stood and shook hands with the man he had set up his interview with.

“Cyrus is fine,” the man corrected, “Why don’t we head to my office and we can talk about why you’re here.”

Moments later the two were in Honig’s office. Michael was surprised by its decor. He expected an organization that dealt with paranormal experiences would be less normal.

“So,” Cyrus said at he sat behind his desk and started taking notes, “How can we help you?”

“Cyrus, I have recently come into possession of superpowers. These tattoos,” he gestured at his bicep, “Allow me to take on the physical properties of the known elements.”

“I see,” he jotted something down on his pad, “And you want to know their source?”

“No, I’m aware of that.”

“Sorry. That was a knee-jerk reaction. We’re seeing more and more cases of mystery origins now. So you want them removed then?”

“Considering the amount of money spent and pain endured to get them, I think not. I’m here to see if there is a way COPE can provide me with the proper accoutrements to use my abilities to fight crime.”

Cyrus shook his wooly head, “Oh, then you’ve come to the wrong place. COPE doesn’t get involved in crime fighting, Mr. Alcheman. We’re here to help those people touched by encounters with the extraordinary ease back into mainstream society.”

“Yes, but-“

“You see, Mr. Alcheman,” Cyrus explained, “Thousands of people every year have their lives altered by paranormal events. Radioactive insect bites. Being told magic words. Clandestine government mutagenics programs with poor record keeping and even worse security. These people become prepotentally able.”

“They get super powers,” Michael clarified.

“Here at COPE we try to avoid the superlative super. It sets a standard most people are not able to meet. Our clients want a return to normalcy, as it were. No powers, no radical attire,” he eyed Alcheman’s costume pointedly, “Just a productive, fulfilling life.”

“I would argue that being a superhero is both productive and fulfilling,” Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“The data does not support this. The life of a super… ah, a prepotentally able hero is one of physical and psychic torment.”

“Can I see this data?”

“Not in its raw form. I’m still compiling it for my thesis,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “But I have some great anecdotal stuff. Would it surprise you to know that three of the members of the Lair Legion are diagnosed with addictive personalities? One even wets the bed.”

“I’m not interested in gossip. And I think you’re wrong. Superheroes can’t suffer from depression. Too many quips.”

“They are laughing on the outside, Mr. Alcheman, but I assure you on the inside it’s a different story. Let me tell you about a man called Steve. Steve came to us from a different time, one where he used his abilities in ways you wish to: dramatic and violent acts of ‘heroism.’ But on one such action binge he lost someone very dear to him and was himself put into a chrysalis state from which he only recently was revived. Sixty years had passed for the rest of the world, but he was still in the prime of his life. He could’ve returned to his previous lifestyle, but COPE was able to help Steve reclaim his pre- prepotentally able life. He might not be jumping out of airplanes any more or risking brain damage trading punches with other emotionally scarred victims of our Ubermenchean Paradigm, but Steve is finding his new mindset very rewarding.”

“What does he do?” Michael asked suspiciously.

“He’s a male model. And he performs in some movies. Art-house stuff, mostly.”

Michael Wooster couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “This, this is monstrous!” he sputtered, “At least HERPES is honest about their objective: it’s right there in their acronym.”

“Please, Mr. Alcheman. Not so vociferous; you needn’t fall into one of the stereotypical patterns of the Ubermenchean Paradigm.”

“I will be as vociferous as the situation warrants. And it’s Alcheman!” Michael stood, “This organization seeks to crush people’s dreams and take away heroes from the world!”

“Not everyone wants to be a hero, Mr. Alcheman,” Cyrus explained gently.

“Well, they should,” Michael huffed, and stormed out.

Cyrus smiled sadly and scribbled the rest of his observations from the meeting. Then he withdrew a manila folder from a stack, stuck his notes in it, and affixed a label on it. The Mr. Alcheman file was stored away in the cabinet entitled “Cases Pending.”



Next time: Alcheman tries to find a costume. We meet the Wooster twins. Two new enemies show up and an old parody of my second favorite prepotental villain of all time does the mysterious mastermind archetype that Cyrus would definitely object to.




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