Fictitious 52 #7

Man did I have fun writing this one. It's purely my two favorite things in the world.

1. Dialogue

2. Character creation.

It's also technically dipping into a well I already drew from, but this idea (in its much different original form) hit me and I just HAD to work with it.

Hit the jump for "Barten's"

 “Holy crap!”

A cold night air blows in as the door opens and a man in a dark blue and black costume enters the rundown bar. He slams the door behind him, obviously in an excited state for some reason the establishment's other patrons are unaware of.

“You slam my damn door again and I know something, Sneak,” says the man behind the bar, dressed in the kind of establishment-branded t-shirt one would expect a bartender of such a business to wear, save for the attached cowl he also wears over his face.

“The Abject! He's been busted!”

This gets the attention of more than a few of the oddly garbed men and women making up the bar's clientele.

“Bullshit,” one of them yells.

“Hey,” says the man the bartender referred to as Sneak. “Information gathering is what I do, thank you. And my info's good.”

“Yeah, yeah. What's the matter, Sneak? Business slow so you figure you'd go muscle in on the gossip column's racket,” says a man seemingly covered with fur. Two horns stick out of his head and a musical instrument hangs around his neck. The comment gets a laugh from the gathered patrons. “You know you picked the wrong person to spread rumors about. What do you think Abject's gonna do to your sorry hide when he finds out about tis?”

“Shut up, Pan, you're one to talk. When's the last time you so much as knocked over a convenience store successfully, huh?

“Look, man. We'd believe you if it was anyone else, but no one gets Abject. Not even Prominence has ever gotten near catching the guy.”

“Every Super Villain gets pinched at some point,” a woman in dark red and white chimes in. There's an amused smirk on her face as she does. “It's just a matter of time for the lot'a ya's.”

“Your gang hasn't yet, you sayin' you will,” comes a voice from the table behind hers.

“We ain't Super Villains, Fiddler. We're Super Criminals and we ain't ever getting' takin' in!” A cheer goes up from the rest of the occupants at her table as she raises a glass at the declaration.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he replies with a casual wave of his massively oversized right hand.

“Actually, Fiddler, I would agree with Fyear. It is not simply a matter of pure semantics,” a purple skinned boy speaks up from behind steepled fingers. “We Super Villains pay for our greater ambitions with a greater infamy and greater glory for any up and coming so-called-hero able to capture us. When you are content using your powers to rob the occasional liquor store you're a much smaller target than the man or woman seeking absolute uncontested domination of the cosmos. Really, you're the small fish in a big pond.”

“Smile when you say that, Mind. A girl could get the impression that you were tryin' to insult her otherwise.”

“Trying? It would seem that I have fallen short in my endeavors, then.”

“Aren't you too young to be in a place like this anyway?”

“'Cause we're all so damn concerned with the law, right,” someone yells and a roar of laughter goes up.”

“J'y'all kindly shut up 'n' let the man speak? I'm interested in hearin' what he has to say,” comes a voice from a dark corner. The occupants turn as one to the source of the voice, as it would seem none of them had even noticed him before.

“When the hell did you get here, Drifter?”

“Better question, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you went hero,” says someone who would seem perfectly at home in a normal dive bar, but oddly out of place here.

“Ain't no hero, Chain.”

“Sure ain't no villain neither.”

“No, cain't say as I am. Think Fyear, there, put the term as Super Criminal.”

“Like hell you are! You helped The Temporal Trinity stop Machinist Maxwell's plan last year. Hell, you even died in the process. If that's not switching sides I don't know what is.”

“Personal interest. Ol' Maxie's plans would have messed with my powers, and I cain't have that happenin', can I? Any'a you'd'a let him do it, your powers on the line”

No one says anything.

“Didn't think so. Anyways, Sneak. You were sayin' somthin' 'bout The Abject gettin' caught?"

“Thank you, Drifter. They went to the guy's house, his civilian house. He got away, but Prominence went after him, huge bust up in his lair. They took him in about four hours ago. Well, five hours ago, now.”

“TV's been on all day, we'd have heard about something like that, don't you think?”

“They're keeping it under wraps, Barten. They don't want anyone trying to bust him out on the way to Red Brook.”

“They're putting him in Red Brook? He's a techie, right? No powers of his own? He's gonna be dust in under a day in Red Brook, won't even make it to his trial.”

“That's some grade A bull! We can't let them do that, hes one of ours!”

There's a shout of agreement from most of the occupants, including Barten, though no one makes a move to go anywhere.

“None of you actually intend to attempt to do anything, do you,” Mind inquires.

“No one's stupid enough to try busting in to Red Brook. I mean, we could try to save him en route if we knew how they were transporting him.”

“I wouldn't! They've definitely got Prominence with'em and probably at least one more major player from the Union of Heroes. We don't have any heavy hitters around, even if we did, Abject's who we'd get to deal with Prominence. We don't stand a chance. Better he gets put in the RB than all of us.”

There's a general sigh from those who had wanted to mount a rescue of their comrade. Everyone else keeps quiet, though they seem a bit confused. Finally, Fiddler speaks up.

“Why do any of you care?”

“'Of course you wouldn't get it, Fiddler. You moved here.”

“Abject's a local boy, he got his start here, same as us.”

“Yeah,” shout the locals.

“He knows how the city works and he respects the rules.”

“Hell, he made a lot of'em. And he keeps uppity out of towners out.”

“Yeah, have you seen the villains who hang out in New York? We don't need any of those around.”

A shush comes from behind the bar, Barten has the remote in his hand and is increasing the volume on the TV. The occupants fall silent and turn to face the big screen hanging over the bar.

“This is Channel 9 News, with a special report,” the television announces, the station's graphic fading to a woman at the news desk.

“Good morning, I'm Patricia Blair. Approximately five hours ago at one twenty-three AM, local high school janitor, Michael Morrow. was brought into police custody.”

An image appears to the right of the reporter. It shows a smiling, bespectacled man in a blue uniform.

“Morrow is better known to the general populace as the Super Villain, Abject.”

“That's THE Abject you damn ditzy reporter,” someone shouts before everyone else shushes them. Under their breath they mumble “What's she doing on TV anyway. She's supposed to be a news paper reporter.”

The gathering of villains continue to listen to the report to its conclusion. When it finishes no one knows what to say. Sneak was right, about everything. The Abject had been caught. He was in Red Brook now, awaiting trial.

“End. Of a feckin'. Era,” Fyear says.

“Abject's a janitor?”

“Abject's black?”

“Explains why he can't stand Ku Klux Kenny.”

“Man, even other white supremacists can't stand Ku Klux Kenny.”

“The man's an idiot.”

The laugh that the gets quickly fades into a sad sigh.

“Jesus, Abject's in Red Brook.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Barten announces. “Given today's news, we'll be closing up shop for the rest of the day. Last rounds, locals drink free.”

When everyone's got their drinks, Sneak raises his high.

“To Abject. Let's all go out and raise a little hell today.”

“Abject,” everyone else says, knocking back their drinks.

Barten's Bar clears out, slowly as not to draw attention, but surely. Neutral ground for the super powered underworld, today they honor the end of a legend.