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Post By The Hooded Hood slips an extra chapter in, just because. Mon Sep 06, 2004 at 07:27:35 pm EDT |
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#170 Untold Tales of the Junior Lair Legion: Grounded | |
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#170 Untold Tales of the Junior Lair Legion: Grounded The Junior Lair Legion by Visionary Cast (left to right): Ham Boy, Kerry Shepherdson, Visionary, spiffy, Harlagaz, Fashion Accessory, (front) Glory. “I am not certain we should be here,” Glory the Mutt of Might gestured worriedly, whining a little to illustrate her concern at her dereliction of duty. “What did she say?” Fashion Accessory asked, finishing applying her suntan oil, lying on her chest and loosening the string of her bikini top. “Ham-Boy, you’re learning to speak Gloryeze?” “Um, I wasn’t listening,” Fred Harris admitted, colouring under his increasingly-uncomfortable meat cowl. “I was distracted.” “I bet you were,” smirked Kerry watching Ham-Boy try not to stare at the long golden-brown back of Samantha Bonnington. “And by the way, I think you’re starting to go rotten.” “Fear not,” Harlagaz Donarson called, striding from the surf and dropping his board down near the Junior Lair Legion. “I hast also been studying the sign language of our resident bitch.” “Hey!” objected FA. “He meant Glory,” Kerry pointed out. “I think. It’s Ham-Boy who’s been studying your sign language.” “I never,” swallowed Fred. “I… I was just thinking about a lesson.” “What do you want FA to teach you, Hammy?” “By mine reckoning, yon hound of heroism ist saying that she ist enjoying her day on the beach,” Harlagaz explained. “That’s not what I said at all,” Glory signalled. “Although it is nice and I like the game where you throw the frisbee or Ham-Boy, and I have to catch them.” “This is much better than staying in the classroom studying recent Lair Legion files just because we happen to be grounded for the rest of the century,” Kerry admitted, fiddling with a magnifying glass and focussing the sun’s rays on the tie string at Fashion Accessory’s hip. “This is far too nice a day to waste on studying anything.” She glanced over at Ham-Boy, “Well, studying most things.” “It art goodeth to be here under the blue skies,” Harlagaz agreed. “Tis days like this that maketh one wish to hew a longboat and set the coastline ablazing.” “Yeah, that was number one on my to do list as well,” agreed Kerry. “We should have told Visionary where we were going,” Glory worried. “He will be puzzled why we are all taking so long a bathroom break.” “He was pretty cross about us sneaking out and conquering Badripoor,” Ham-Boy noted. “He flunked spiffy.” Harlagaz sighed. “T’were the only thing to do in the face of such gross felonry. Er, the conquering yon nation, that is, not the flunking of the Coat Rack.” “And we don’t miss spiffy at all, not one little bit” blurted Kerry. She blushed as Fashion Accessory raised her sunglasses for a moment and looked at her. “I art still puzzled by this modern mortal realm though,” the demihemigod of thunder admitted. “Why hasteth we to weareth yon scraps of cloth fore we canst entereth the water?” “Ham-Boy was asking himself the same question,” Kerry tormented. “We have to wear bathing costumes because there’s enough flies buzzing round without attracting more insects,” Fashion Accessory explained. “Also, Kerry, stop setting fire to my bikini unless you want to be demonstrating what kind of attention a sudden femme au naturale would attract on a first hand basis.” “No-one ist botheringeth thou, art they?” Harlagaz demanded protectively. “I didst already smite yon bronzéd warrior when he didst cast glances upon thee, fair ones.” “That was a life guard,” Ham-Boy pointed out. “He’s supposed to guard the beach.” “Aye well, now he art guarding it whilst he diggeth himself from neath yon cairn of sand,” the Oldmansonson proclaimed. “Besides, we already have Ham-Boy to cast glances at FA’s fair ones,” grinned Kerry. “You’re only picking on me because we don’t have spiffy any more,” Fred objected. That cast a pall on the banter for a moment. “I doth miss yon Coat Rack,” Harlagaz admitted. “He wert a boon companion, and also useful to standeth behind if caught short by yon call of nature whiles on a mission.” The Juniors all winced at the memory. “Maybe we should tell Vizh about Hacker Nine hiding out in his Condo?” Ham-Boy suggested. “Then H9 could join us in the Juniors.” “After Visionary’s coronary, perhaps?” worried Glory. “We are so not the Juniors,” FA objected. “We have to find ourselves a cooler name. The New Battlers are snickering at us.” “Where?” demanded Harlagaz, looking round for a weapon. “Not now,” Samantha told him. “Generally.” “Hard to snicker with second degree burns,” said Kerry darkly. “So what do we do about H9?” Ham-Boy persisted. “Vizh is going to notice him sooner or later. At least when he gets the phone bill.” “You’d be amazed at what Vizh doesn’t notice,” Kerry assured him. “Although he seems to have some kind of radar geezer-sense when it comes to me slipping out in micro-skirts.” “Let’s keep Zach out of the micro-skirts then,” suggested Fashion Accessory with a shudder. “Whatever does Lindy see in him?” “If he joined up, you could pick on him instead of me,” suggested Ham-Boy hopefully. “And channel his talents to socially useful outcomes for the good of his country,” Glory yipped. “What did she say?” Kerry asked. “Er, I think she’s wanting to go walkies,” guessed Ham-Boy. “I was trained to rip the throats out of villains you know,” Glory growled. “Who’d have thought we’d miss spiffy?” FA frowned. “Verily,” admitted Harlagaz. And then the cry for help startled them from their reveries. Amazing Guy alighted on the lawn of Visionary’s condo and dropped the headmaster of the Lair Legion junior training programme beside his somewhat-skewed front door. “Thanks AG!” Vizh said as he worried which pocket his key was in, and if it was in any of the pockets he’d glued shut as an anti-Kerry’s-presents precaution. “Sorry to drag you away from the big cosmic crisis and all but I need to find where those kids have got to this time. Last week we had to pay a fortune in compensation to the shopping mall after Harlagaz stopped the armed man carrying the bank takings.” “Isn’t that a good thing to do?” AG checked, suddenly worried that stopping robbers might have gone out of fashion while he was offworld. “Not when the armed man is a bank security guard, and the thunderstorm took place between a china shop and a software house,” shuddered Vizh. “Okay, I’ll use my cosmic awareness to focus on where the kids are,” Amazing Guy promised. “It’ll take a few moments. The screwy weather conditions and stuff are playing havoc with my abilities. Hold on…” Visionary occupied his time by picking up the empty pizza bozes piled by the trash can and pushing them into it. He didn’t remember ordering this much fast food takeout. Then again, he didn’t remember buying the gold boob tube and hot pants and they were on his credit card bill as well. “Got ‘em!” AG noted with satisfaction. “Want to join me in picking them up?” “Oh yes,” agreed Visionary. “”Just let me grab a foam fire extinguisher.” Fortunately, the conversation at the door and the subsequent use of cosmic awareness to locate Vizh’s door key gave Hacker Nine plenty of time to grab the Dorito bowl and escape to the spare bedroom. Up on the Busiek Bay boardwalk the holiday crowds were shying away from a young woman dripping with blood, clutching her side and staggering. Glory was the first to get to her. “She needs medical attention!” the mutt of might yipped. Harlagaz was second, vaulting over the pier with a casual ease. “Be not afeared, milady. Succour is at hand!” That was when Ham-Boy pulled himself up a sausage rope to join them. “And there’s the sucker!” quipped Kerry. “Not now,” frowned Fashion Accessory, transmuting the hurt girl’s torn t-shirt into combat dressings. “Somebody’s ripped her up pretty badly. “Who did this?” demanded Ham-Boy angrily. “In… in there…” the injured woman gasped, gesturing back to the fitness club across the promenade. “A madman.” Glory streaked away towards the gymnasium, Harlagaz and Ham-Boy following as quickly as they could. “Don’t go there!” the wounded girl warned, gritting her teeth as she clutched the dressing to her side. “It’s a lunatic in a costume and metal mask, and he’s got some weird kind of powers! He’s killing everyone!” “Sounds like we should go beat the crap out of him,” Kerry admitted. “Metal transmits heat so easily.” “You’ll be okay here?” FA asked the girl. She looked at the gathering crowd of beachgoers. “Look after her. Phone an ambulance.” She pointed to a tanned young surfer at the front of the crowd. “And you, write down your phone number and leave it for me when I get back, okay?” Then Samantha and Kerry hurried after the others into the fitness centre. “spiffy?” “Wha? Whugh?” “spiffy? Mark? You’ve fallen asleep in your coffee again. I wouldn’t wake you only I think your fern is drinking it.” Mark Hopkins woke from a blurry dream about being chased by beavers waving copies of the Constitution and found the nightmare hadn’t gone away. He was still President of Badripoor, the most dangerous nation-state on the Pacific Rim. “Aagh!” Beverly Campbell looked down sympathetically at him. “You are allowed to sleep sometime,” she reminded him. “In, y’know, a bed. Okay, the palace is slightly in kit form and barbequed, but there’s all kinds of other nice places, luxury hotels and mansions and things.” “Every time I sleep there’s another disaster,” spiffy fretted. “Mind you, I suppose that’s progress. The disasters used to happen while I was conscious more.” “You’re doing fine,” Bev told him. “The people love you.” “Honeymoon period,” the ferned phenomenon worried. “Next week they’ll be burning me in effigy. I hope it’s in effigy.” Bev admitted that things were proving difficult. “Difficult,” snorted spiffy, between exhaustion and hysteria. “Epitome and his ‘aid’ force, the criminal cartels expecting their agreements with Armageddon to be honoured, our international assets frozen or missing and the national debt reaching Pavarotti’s lasagne bill levels…” “You can still worry about all those things tomorrow,” Bev promised him. “I can pretty much guarantee they won’t go away.” spiffy leafed through the papers that had already conquered the desk and were now annexing the floor as well. “Look at all this. Military alliance offer from the Republic of Spango. Illegal and now missing consignments of uranium and sacred mud from Candia. Espionage activity, probably from Wakandybar. Compensation claims for the acts of the Belasco administration. Oh, here’s the one from Crown Princess Nastalasia, who claims to be the hereditary ruler of Badripoor since her great grandfather was deposed here in 1903. A polite and scary note from Akiko Masamune. A not at all polite threat from Count Fokker. Service charges from MODEM and B.A.L.D. A demand for tribute from Thighmaster!” “I think the caffeine in your fern might be affecting you,” Bev ventured. “You think?” spiffy challenged. “What do I do with my harem, tell me that?” “Um,” frowned Beverly uncertainly. “I’m not sure I’m really the right person to instruct you. There are probably manuals…” “I mean, what do I do with the three hundred and sixty women Count Medici had for his personal use?” “What did he do on the other five days of the year?” Bev wondered. “What do I do with VelcroVixen? She’s claiming asylum, saying she was coerced into working for Armageddon. She wants a personal interview with me.” “Do we still have capital punishment?” suggested Beverly. “I’ll pull the switch.” “What about those secret levels under the old palace?” spiffy worried. “Do I tell Epitome and his thugs they’re there and get them to find a way in and deal with whatever’s in there? Or do I keep them secret and try and sort them out on my own?” “Mark,” Beverly said firmly. “It’s two forty-five in the morning and you have a seven-thirty cabinet meeting. You’re exhausted. You’ve been carrying the whole weight of Badripoor on your shoulders for days now and you have to take a rest. Get some sleep. Come to bed.” spiffy looked up. “I mean go to bed,” Bev said quickly. “You need to go to bed. I’ll hold the fort here okay? I’ll call you if any more super-villains attack.” “Promise.” “You’ll hear all about it.” spiffy gave in. “Good night then, Bev.” He yawned, rising, stretching, and staggering from the room.” “Good night Mark,” Beverly Campbell said very softly. The interior of the gymnasium was in ruins, tangled with the wreckage of rowing machines and weight trainers. Half a dozen people lay in crumpled heaps around the room, and the last of the weightlifters was hanging limp in the grasp of the iron-masked attacker who stood beside the fractured wall-mirrors at the far end. Glory blurred towards him, barking warning as she came. Despite the mutt of might’s speed, the attacked brought around a thick wooden club and thumped her with it. She yelped in surprise before she was hurled out through the centre’s mirror-glass frontage. “Foul felon!” called Harlagaz, leaping forward. “Now shalt thou meet thy spleen!” The duster-coated man shouted something and gestured at the demihemigod of thunder. Harlagaz felt the wind hammered from him and he too involuntarily exited the building. In his case he managed to take out the support wall by the front door. Ham-Boy was left alone to face the enemy. Focussing his gaze he bombarded the adversary with hundreds of pork chops, pressing him away from the trainer who slumped to the ground. But the masked man shouted something again, gestured with the short gnarled club he bore, and the meat products evaporated around him. “Oh, a tough guy, eh?” demanded Fred Harris. He uncoiled a string of sausages, wrapped them round his adversary throat, and jerked. It was all going well until his metal-masked opponent flailed upwards with his weapon and brought the false roof down on Ham-Boy. “Right,” the enemy threatened, trying to catch his breath. “Every last one of you is going down!” “Not on a first date,” Kerry Shepherdson warned him. “Catch.” It was a sign of how much practise she’d been getting that the probability arsonist had worked out how to make a fire extinguisher explode. The cylinder detonated just as it impacted with the intruder, blowing him off his feet and smashing him through the mirror wall at the back. Into the torture chamber. “Eeew,” winced Fashion Accessory as she saw what a really nasty mind could do given a large enough budget and access to lots of weight training and aerobics machinery. Half a dozen victims still clung to life in some of the equipment. “And that’s an official eew.” “Thou!” Harlagaz thundered, crashing back in and coming for the enemy again. “Thou art going downeth, pal!” Glory came in from the side, and as the adversary raised his club to smash the demihemigod away again she jumped up and wrenched the weapon free. Then she yelped and dropped it quickly as she felt the pain spasming through her. Harlagaz steamhammered his fist straight at that metal faceplate. “Agh! Shieldeku!” the marauder shouted, and a glowing blue barrier caught the blow before shattering into evaporating fragments. Fashion Accessory gestured and the enemy’s garments propelled him up to bounce off the ceiling, setting him up for another hail of meat products from Ham-Boy. This time when the offal was covering the intruder, Fred Harris used his command of meat products to tighten the tubes around the foe. “Escapeku!” Nitz the Bloody gasped, wriggling free just in time to catch another glancing blow from Harlagaz. Even that was enough to sprawl him on the floor, ears ringing. He tried to rise but he couldn’t get his legs to work properly. “Excellent, you got him!” called the fitness trainer who Nitz had been holding before. “Hold him down, I’ll finish him off.” Harlagaz nodded but Glory jumped in. “Wait! This man smells very odd!” “Finish him off?” Ham-Boy frowned. “We can call the Legion and they’ll send in the OPS.” “No need,” the bronzed weightlifter told them, extruding Wolverine-style claws from between his knuckles. “We can kill the Priest of Zeku right now – AAAgh!” The cry came from discovering that his track suit pants were on fire. “Harlagaz, smite him,” Kerry Shepherdson instructed. Then, for clarity’s sake, and because she knew that thinking wasn’t high on the demihemigod’s combat to-do list, she pointed at the fitness centre employee. “Smite that one, I mean.” Harlagaz smote. Then a spitfire of fury leaped onto his back, her raking claws drawing long gashes in the Ausgardian’s nigh-indestructible flesh. It was the girl from outside. “I’m starting to think maybe we jumped into this the wrong way,” Ham-Boy admitted as he hauled her away using another of his sausage chains. “These fitness folk were running this place, weren’t they?” Glory worried the girl-thing to the ground. Fashion Accessory leaned over Nitz the Bloody. “You. Are you a good guy or a bad guy? And what do you think that whole mask and leather coat look is saying?” “Good guy,” the priest of Zeku assured them. “There folks are possessed by this baleful influence called Drak Zeku, which is like, sour god-force.” “Aye, I thought I didst recognise the taste,” Harlagaz admitted, thoughtfully hitting the weight trainer again. “Tis kind of like bad shrimp.” Nitz staggered to his feet and retrieved his cudgel. “Banisheku!” he shouted, gesturing at the screaming girl. Suddenly she slumped to unconsciousness like the other employees, stunned but purified. “Maybe we should have studied that Who’s Who update stuff Vizh gave us?” Fashion Accessory admitted, “but who knew there’s be a pop quiz?” “Banisheku again!” Nitz called, releasing the final possessed trainer. “Now we need to help these torture victims. “Healeku!” “We need to summon the proper authorities,” Glory signalled. “Zeku,” mused Harlagaz. “Ist he not an earth deity with an annoying habit of taking animal aspect? I think I didn’t once try to mount him at a party.” The Juniors stared at the hemigod. “He wast in the form of a giraffe, and I didst wish to race on him,” Harlagaz clarified. “But alas we didst come second.” “I’m Ham-Boy!” Fred Harris introduced himself quickly to divert what could quickly degenerate into a theological war. “Hi. And you are…?” “I call myself Nitz the Bloody.” “Of course you do,” nodded Fashion Accessory. “Now the mask and coat make much more sense.” “But we didn’t mean to stomp you,” Kerry assured him. “And also, if you very carefully take the strange package out of your right pocket and lay it on the floor and back away quietly, that would be good too.” “Just one of those classic heroes-meet-and-fight-because-of-a-misunderstanding things,” Ham-Boy told Nitz. “Sorry about that.” “Nothing weeks of chiropractics and dental work won’t put right,” the young priest of Zeku assured them. “You’re the Junior Lair Legion?” “I prefer to think of us as the more cutting edge, more fashionable new generation,” FA noted. “And I prefer to think of us as the non-dweeb version,” Kerry noted. She glanced at Ham-Boy. “Well, almost non-dweeb.” “Good point,” Samantha noted. She turned to Nitz. “So how old are you? You’re pretty young for a priest.” “I’m in my teens,” Nitz admitted, “And the priest of Zeku thing, well it’s new.” “Do you have to be celibate?” Kerry wondered. “Not that I imagine it’ll make much difference to your life.” “See, I was thinking that Nitz here is a new young superhero,” FA noted, “albeit a fashion-challenged one, and he’s just starting out. And with the spiff off ruling a country we’re like one major dweeb down on the team.” “Tis true,” pondered Harlagaz. “Yon Ham-Boy hath not the geekdom in him to carry yon awesome burden of making me look yet more cooleth.” “Standing right here!” complained Fred Harris. “You’re suggesting we just take Nitz the Bloody home to Vizh and say “Can we keep him?” Kerry considered. “The fake man will have an apoplexy.” She grinned. “So let’s do it!” “Um…” interrupted Nitz, holding his hand up. “Do I get a say in this?” “Why wouldst thou not want to bask in mine presence?” demanded Harlagaz. “Apart from the smell of sweaty leather,” Ham-Boy qualified the question. “Thing is, I’m not much of a joiner,” Nitz explained. “More of a loner.” “Again, explaining the outfit,” admitted FA. “Not that I’m not really flattered,” Nitz told them, “whatever it was you wanted me to join. Um, does it pay?” “Not a sausage,” Kerry told him. “Except in Ham-Boy’s case.” “So again, no thanks. I guess I’d just better…” And then Nitz was slammed to the wall by a shimmering wave of quantum force, and imprisoned tightly in bonds of energy. Amazing Guy swooped into the wrecked gym trailing Visionary behind him. “Don’t worry,” he called out. “I’ve subdued him!” “Be careful,” Kerry warned him. “He’s tricky. Squeeze harder.” “Stop!” woofed Glory. “He is not a bad man. Only very strange.” Visionary tried to interpret Glory’s yipping. “I think Timmy’s fallen down the well,” he suggested. “Metal-helmet guy’s not the baddie,” Ham-Boy explained. “We already did the misunderstanding battle. Now we’re onto the teaming-up and sorting the real villain part.” “Ah,” winced Amazing Guy. “Sorry. Cosmic awareness still set to tracking you folks.” He dropped Nitz to the ground as his force constructs vanished. Visionary looked around the devastated gymnasium. “Tell me you didn’t do this,” he pleaded. “It’s okay,” Kerry assured him. “We were totally saving innocents from demonic possession and rescuing all these tortured people and stuff. Why else would we cut classes and rush off to save the day, answer me that?” “Demonic possession.” Vizh hadn’t heard that one for weeks. “Yeah. It was really gross,” Fashion Accessory assured him. “Luminous vomit and everything.” “But we smithethest yon devils with the aid of yon mystic hero wearing the sacred coal-scuttle of Zeku,” Harlagaz added helpfully. “Nitz the Bloody, meet Vizh and Amazing Guy,” Ham-Boy said, trying to make the most of an awkward social situation. “Vizh, AG… Nitz the Bloody.” “He was in that homework you set us,” Glory wagged. “You people are all retarded. You know that. right?” Nitz said angrily. He was covered in bruises, he had the mother of all headaches, and he strongly suspected he’d have to beat dents out of his helmet. He’d really had enough of superheroes for one day. “Are you going to let him call the Lair Legion retarded?” Kerry demanded of Vizh and AG. “Transporteku!” Nitz shouted, and vanished in a burst of orange and green light. “That was rude,” frowned Fashion Accessory. “And after we’d just offered to let him join the group too.” “Join?” Visionary worried. “Who said there’s joining?” He turned and muttered to AG, “One down five to go was how I was looking at it.” “I just figured you’d want to make space available for more talented, brilliant young people,” Kerry said innocently. “If we happen to come across any.” She too turned, this time to FA, and muttered, “On the way to the bathroom of something.” There was a squeal of ambulance sirens outside, and Samantha hurried off to check everyone was being properly cared for. The crisis was over. “There ist just one thing about demonic possession,” Harlagaz worried. “Tis often that after tis exorcised yon victim remembers naught of it happening.” He looked around as the battered, shocked fitness trainers started to wake up and stare at their ruined centre. Outside the crowds parted as the black OPS vans started to arrive. The demihemigod turned to Vizh and gave him his best endearing smile. “Tis good thou art here, hoary old mentor!” “It’s a good job they’re grounded,” Amazing Guy noted. “Otherwise they might have got into real trouble.” Coming Next:  Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2004 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2004 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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