07:00; Ah! The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything is this: Was the Universe Created entirely for the Proliferation of Biscuits? The Ultimate Answer to this query is as follows: For Tea Too.
07:30; This occurred to me as I sipped Earl Grey on an LPR balcony, watching the Defenestration Station’s field folk prying sleeping Excelsnore out of the pavement & forlifting E onto a fortified conveyance.
08:00; Little victory. Very little. That projection affects only Excelsoar. Perhaps only while he is in the suggestible state of pseudo-inebriation, perhaps not. Individual imprints for every super & tres unreliable.
08:30; Magic, science, religion, art; these are all deflections, fogs. Supers bull through them all eventually; robot doubles overcome, cryptic curses broken, psychological daggers turned aside, chimaeras eaten.
09:00; Eventually, disapparating in a shroud of gas and leading them a merry chase down a hall of mirrors will no longer work. It is vaudevillainous. Relying on homemade BORE – a destiny recipe for disaster.
09:30; If you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten. Can’t arrange a beating? Join them. Can’t join them? Start regulating them. Can’t regulate them? Micro-manage them. If that fails – become bfriends.
10:00; Sleeping with the enemy; a funny bed to lie in. Rose-tinted heroes see a heart of gold under the horns of iron. Sun-tinted villains believe in the black ichor under the halo of gold. I’m a very just bad man.
10:30; To Paradigm I am the scientist, struggling against a disordered world. To The Deadly Light Shade I am the devil’s apostate on earth, but worth a good game of chess every now and again. A ‘just’ man.
11:00; To Fin de Siecle I bar the new world order, but innovate in this age. To The Marquis de Made I am the upstart younger son of a Brit lord, but I can recognise vintages as they are poured. A ‘bad’ man.
11:30; In short, I’m either bad for good reasons or good with evil style. But some are sufficiently herculean of body & midasian of mind to ignore my lures. Which is why I have decided to turn myself in today.
12:00; Yes, hand myself over to the law. Reserve an unsweet suite in the Big House. Rest at Her Majesty’s Pleasure and the taxpayer’s expense. Or I would if I had not been waiting for last three hours today.
12:05; Have fooled super arrest squads with the old cardboard decoy trick. Have beaten charge of ‘innocent’ in the kangaroo Court of Injustice by summoning the devil as my advocate. I surrender – nobody.
12:10; Well, not nobody. There is Carole, Joan Justine’s secretary, her coffee a punishment itself. JJ herself, Parisian beauty of the judicial bench, has been making and taking quite a lot of localls since I came.
12:15; Finally shown in, I let it all out. Am so terribly sorry about violently cuffing dear sweet little Excelsoar. Admit I acted out of the heat of the moment when all E needed was love. Bless his spandex socks.
12:20; The stunned silence that follows allows me to observe Justine, up close, as I have never done so before. She ‘appears’ to be in her second score of years. Actually 85 years old, at least. Regal & rouge.
12:25; Her mother was the WWI veteran, Joan d’Ark, last of the major supers under the Church’s aegis. Where The Deadly Night Shade II conspired and spied, d’Ark tore up the big guns on the battlefield.
12:30; Then WWII – Joan Justine, Heavy Beam, Jesteryear – all still middle-aged gods today, gone their very, very separate ways. JJ smart; asked for clever things, like citizenship in her superheroine’s name.
12:35; Sat legal bar in the ’50s, became a legal prosecutor in the ’60s, a district attorney in the ’70s, a judge in the ’80s and, finally, a chief justice in the ’90s. Used her superhero history, but never as a crutch.
12:40; Don’t know her alter ego – doubt she has one anymore. Probably withered away like an appendix, or a virginal ugly person. She’ll judge the Projectionist’s, as before – and the public will fail to convict.
12:45; I wind the story down; a mental maestro’s malevolent mind attack on Excelsoar addled his brain to temporarily turn violently insane. Cortex cad? Saniac? The Marquis de Made? The Three Cerebros?
12:50; Justine knows about last night. She knows the real intellectual influence on Excelsoar was from a bottle rather than a brain. She knows the Defenestration Stations had to pry him out of the street today.
12:55; She has been calling around and keeping me waiting to, among other things, figure out why I’m not trumpeting triumph from the rooftops rather than confessing to carelessly concussing the flying creep.
13:00; She can continue to wonder. I leave, ”free and clear”, with assurances that no legal charges shall be pressed nor monetary charges levied. Also, that E is being ‘debriefed’. Compulsory psych, I assume.
14:00; Returning to LPR, I remove my hat & extract my new mind-reading mechanism. Four hours of thought lie trapped between my fingertips. As stated I like to make friends. From spare parts of old ones.
15:00; The secret-hunter intuitive mind-reading of The Monochrone and the factual-telepathy of Mister Scripts, all wired into an old radio & tape-recorder cassette set, made the hat heavy hat upon my head.
15:10; As useful as was heavy. Quick scan: Justine’s bank account number this, Carole’s affair that; all filed for later. Pertinent info: Excelsoar has been given a ‘time-out’ by the Jeans d’Armes; very literally so.
15:20; E currently confined in ChronoCell, ostensibly to caution, quite certainly to analyse; what happened to E’s clout in our bout? BORE is an ‘all-natural’. Nothing in the blood, brain, braun or bones to find.
15:30; Then there was the PP prison projections. Possibility of penalty perfection is low – current public polls are low on bringing in the PPs. They have yet to be apprehended, but the judging is already over.
15:40; The apprehension itself is already planned at several Parisian pinch points the ‘Protector’s’ projectionist theme perfidy will not permit them to passover: awards show, movie set, the Cannes film festival.
15:50; For my further augmentation JJ’s well-formed & well-informed mind ‘thought’ the last known location of Cortex Cad, Saniac, The Marquis de Made & The Three Cerebros at their merest mention. Ha.
16:00; Invisible me was a possibility. But I needed to be physically present to provoke the psychic thoughts that I wanted to read, like where the hard-to-hunt telepaths CC, S, TMDM, TTC are hiding. Haha.
16:30; Did I mention I took an imprint of JJ’s work-safe mindstate? No? I took an imprint of Joan Justine’s worksafe mindstate! Then I projected the thought that her hair smells like poo!! Muhahahahahaha!!!
17:00; Rigged up rudimentary radio projector with MOM’s BORE. Oneshot, entirely unconfirmed. Joan’s hair-twining during the rest of interview was circumstantial. The intercom call for shampoo was v real.
17:15; Read her brain like a book – Patch in Psylent Film’s power; sepia-tone pictures – excellent for espionage, atrocious for action. I need constant updates, like Banky Edwards and the Weather Channel…
17:30; … If Madame Justine had been calculating when to kill me, I would have been none the wiser. Also the psychic ‘poo-prompt’ projection was pre-recorded; perhaps praise for pre-planning, yes indeed.
17:45; But I require a greater utility to have the ability if I am to incubate incomprehension in my experiments. Realtime mindreading & mental overwriting is requisite to scald a psychic’s third eye while smiling.
18:00; While I committed a Svengali Trojan Horse classic, Sir Claude Claustrophile, playwright, had occasion to call at LPR, leaving his card and tickets for ‘The Thunder Grave’. And Paradigm’s style show?
18:15; Odd. Claude comments that he cannot attend (re-rehearsals), would not want the tickets to go to waste. SCC probably prevaricates, perhaps distracting from the invitation to dinner tomorrow. Or not.
18:30; Waste? Throws away a fortune in kid gloves; made by & from children. Waste? Digs his new Armourdrillo rig to destruction at fabulous expense. Waste? Shoots his bad actors – so SCC isn’t all bad.
18:45; Also received nine tickets for same event as apology by proxy from Excelsoar, compensation from the Defenestration Station and as gratis gratitude for UNDEAD from Paradigm. Fate’s drunk nudges.
19:00; At a sum of some thirteen tickets up, I call down the following for a night on the town; Open Palm, Reel Deal, Barbie Bay-Bee, Daisy Bloomers, Lulu Lollypop, ViVi LaBoom, Big Mama Mammary …
19:30; … Mitzi Creampuff, Zelda de Syn, Mandy Handy, Canary Mellow & Jerry Dipper. Dressed to the nines in stolen designs, our sum number is unlucky for some. A fast-paced life in a slow-motion walk.
20:00; The show is the upcoming summer Paradigm collection. The walls are decked with her most famous figures from shows past. The Jockey’s frictionless jodhpur pair. Cheshire’s invisible ‘Emperor’ duds.
20:05; Most famously, the style that averted a war and stopped a storm, that defined dressing dangerously and outlined the place for clothes in the Geneva Convention; the Excelsoar and Windsoar costumes.
20:10; British Windsoar & French Excelsoar are similar in name, power range, lack of intelligence & rabid devotion to country. So rabid in fact, that they both created costumes composed of the colours of …
20:15; … their respective national flags. Which, unfortunately for them, have the three same colours of red, white and blue. Mistaken identity issues eventually drove W & E sufficiently insane to wrestle over …
20:20; … the British Channel, or the French Channel, as those copycats call it. Weather conditions degraded; Excelsoar’s website claims he has water powers from a princely heritage of the Kingdom of Ys …
20:25; … whereas Windsoar’s blog attests to wind powers from an aristocratic background in the ‘Storm Saxon’ Saxe Coburg Gotha family. As both these ability announcements occurred around the same …
20:30; … as their writers pursued the respective roles of ‘Water’ and ‘Wind’ in then-reforming Elemental Five (later beaten by Aqualine and GasMass), they are dubious. But a superstorm formed nevertheless.
20:35; Ports froze solid & tornadoes eroded. Stormclouds massed & waterspouts exploded. Then Paradigm swandove off a high altitude private jet, punched two louts out & struck a backstroke back home.
20:40; Towing two unDarwinian dullards home, she proceeded to redesign. Excelsoar is the classic blue spandex, symbol a blue ‘E’ inside a matte black rhombus narrowest at the bottom, blue block below …
20:45; … Forming the now-iconic blue exclamation mark ‘E’ on a black background, blue overall. Windsoar had the same boots-cape-belt spandex, except in an entirely red-black colour scheme. Symbol …
20:50; …was the ‘W’. Unlike a regular font double-u, which really resembles a double-v, this really did appear as ‘UU’, thus resembling a black crown. Enclosed in an inverted triangle, it was extremely regal.
20:55; Thankfully, creative tailoring controlled these Cretan cretins & averted future conflict when United States citizen Eaglesoar ensembled red-white-blue, P redesigning to an all-white outfit & golden eagle.
21:00; Like Joan Justine, taking the cases of supers, Paradigm’s designs gained their fame. The fact that, also like Justine, she also works on more mundane models is what has won her international authority.
21:05; Such as designs deigned buxom, catwalked & worn by mannequins of major size & maturity. Not fat; fully-fleshed in hearty, healthy & hale fashion, promoted physically by muscular metahuman maids.
21:10; Current display: ‘dumpy’ demigoddess in white chemise, black business-casual jacket, waist defined by a red belt-sash, the distressed hem of the pencil-skirt making the models legs look alluringly long.
21:15; Next: ‘beanpole’ venus, in a summery floral print; full leg length indistinguishable in diaphanous decolletage of chest and calf, that makes this a tree in full bloom, green-veiled hat only adding to the effect.
21:20; Following: ‘unelite’ athlete in ergonomic, economic & aesthetic tennis top with patented superheroine standard ‘superbra’ below. Matching pleated skort, socks, and sneakers of a frictionless firmament.
21:25; Spotlight: ‘unslim’ prima donna evening gown, bodice bedecked with diamonds, and wrap of the same colour, making the waist immaterial in the dark material. Floor-length frock devours thigh turbines.
21:30; Attention: ‘bridget jones’ of delightful muscle tone, dressed for business in a pink-pinstriped black pantsuit. Salmon shirt and socks, crimson belt drawing all eyes to the sexily sizeable appabellum asset.
21:35; … Look, testosterone drone, it is my finding that female fashionphelia goes towards lessing barriers in undressing women. Also an excellent avenue to win trust of, and later blackmail, male transvestites.
21:40; The smaller designers before the interval. Art Decolletage’s boxy ‘Tesseract’ night negligees. Beaulingerie’s edible underwear’s non-fat line. Pirate Pete and Plunderwear’s new ninja-proofed Plunderbra.
21:45; Quarter of an hour to canape-devour. Instead, I visit Saint Bright, sitting peaceably, with the VIPs. Experiment; I tell her: ”Loved, ‘Skepticalmity’, I, Third Track, On Your, ‘Gymnasty’, The, Album, a.”
21:50; ‘Saint’, unperturbed, is grateful I loved ‘Gymnasty’, the third track on her ‘Skepticalmity’ album. Ah, The Deadly Light Shade & her word recognition software. I’m talking at, rather than to, a hologram.
21:55; Quite perfect really; one expects Toussaint to be here, too big a star for anyone to talk to if she didn’t initiate it. Star Bright. If this light-based illusion is present, then apparently TDLS means to be also.
22:00; Our common cadre of delectable intellectuals reassembles, Open leaning on my shoulder as a hint to hold her, when The Monochrone and Psylent Film break in, in a doomed dash to doom everything.
22:05; This is why audience-Toussaint was a avatar, I assume; Paradigm’s Femme Fatale Fashions Parade was one of the police’s possible pinch points, predicting public Projectionist Protector’s appearance.
22:05; Not the cinematic or theatric thematic MO of the PPs. But TM’s & PF’s have had many captures and incarcerations at the hands of P and TDLS. Poor dears probably thought they were being original.
22:10; Paradigm, at the podium, is arrayed in a classic white costume, strapless with strong sleevecuffs and her patented, tastefully abbreviated-cape for the non-flier, reaching sweetly to the small of her back.
22:15; P is the supermodel of superb super taste. She has a hundred diverse styles and suits of both fashion and function, all associated together by the perfect ‘P’ monogram on belt, bracelet, boot or bosom.
22:20; The Monochrone, by contrast, is standing on the catwalk and spitting out stereotypical spiel, dressed in a baggy khaftan she has almost tripped over twice & a veil that keeps sliding in front of her eyes.
22:25; Silent-but-Deadly, Psylent Film looks on in Labour Day dismay. Blanched, head to toe, basic fashion tips he does not know. Resembles the Ice-Scream Phantom. Fabulous Four would eviscerate him.
22:30; P humours unstudied understudy talk. Gendarmes have closed off the building & evacuated all adjacent rooms. P receives some unseen sign, then shotputs a shoe in an unlikely shot, pulping TM’s face.
22:35; Where TM implodes off the catwalk, struggling to keep her skirts straight, PF advances. Physically & psychically strong, PF is an albino rhino of featureless figure and possessing a rage, often uncaged.
22:40; TM resurfaces sufficiently to sniff for sin. Announce audience’s atrocities, if P acquiesces not. An older gentleman who, smelling of silence, stands, presses a belt button, illusion incandensing into TDLS.
22:45; Incandescence condensing only description of The Deadly Light Shade’s holograms. As encore, six more Shades coruscate into existence, and proceed to do violent deeds upon TM’s personal person.
22:50; Only one Shade connects – no hard light holograms, as of yet – but TM can’t sniff out which one is having the fun. Tip my hat to TDLS, panache partially, but mostly as my mental rig is stolen from hers.
22:55; PF & P grapple, P’s B-4 Braun already ahead but hindered by combat honour & an attempt not to injure PF. One despairs of heroes; P has self-defence on her side, why not a career-ending crippler?
23:00; Sigh. Instead, P conscripts an industrial-deco pole and, under the auspice of a fist deflected, sort-of jabs PF in an irisless eye. PF huge hands, with the fiddler crab claw thumbs, scythe around her skull.
23:05; PF’s finishing move; making a skull-bowl of brain porridge. The audience gasps in tense terror – I suffer a minor melancholia. Not scared Paradigm is in danger; I know that she isn’t, unfortunately. Sigh.
23:10; Paradigm’s B-4 potion protects from the psychic, psychologic, pharmacologic, phantasmagoric & fearful with Bravado formula. B-4 hasn’t failed to turn back PF’s attack before ; PF’s on rerun revival.
23:15; An audience breathless, P pulls pincer-fingers from her face, brings a knee up into PF’s midsection. As he folds up she is still holding his hands, she plants her shin on his shoulder, & pushes down hard.
23:20; A chitinous-sadist, chiropractical, crack occurs. Somehow still up, PF staggers, charges. Industrial-deco stick, still in P’s off hand, slaps PF’s scalp & sweeps his feet out from under, on the backswing.
23:25; TM’s bulk birthed a blade. Better with predicting people she can psychically intuit, she is having to keep up with the ‘merely’ mortal and mentally-protected wing chun whirlwind of Deadly Light Shades.
23:30; TDLS’s gang of doppelganger doubles shouldn’t be able to move as independantly, as they do. Each an individual in action, TDLS is hidden among her holographic hashishirrim, hand-delivering justice.
23:35; A cartilagonising, rhinoplastic rendering resounds. Nasal passage punched, TM turns from the true TDLS, steeplechasing across chairs and stairs, only to be full-body bola’d in a Brobdingnabian sense.
23:40; TDLS reels in her bola, TM’s olfactory area iron-flat. P picks up PF, his arms hanging at an odd cut-puppet-string angle, taking out his tactile telepathy & pressure-sensitive projection. No death. Sigh.
23:45; Not fond of mortification out of mere morbidity; it’s simply a good sign when something unexpected happens (except when fighting the Resurerection). As I consider inhumation of superhuman an art …
23:50; … watching the PP’s pathetic play, repetitive and derivative, is to watch paint splashed against a wall. As a student, later consultant, to 100 ‘Napoleons of Crime’, a 1000 ‘Masters of Space & Time’ …
23:55; … & a series of ‘World-destroyers’, I see no self-innovation. Dr Languedoc, Mr Misadventure, Prof Antartica, Operating System ‘Terror-Hurts, Terror-Bites’ – tried to change the world, never the self.
23:56; Saw nothing here tonight that Youtube couldn’t have put to a music montage. Self-learn opportunities lost. Then red dot lights up on TDLS’s back, and the gunman stands up and sights down the barrel.
23:57; Her hologram harem gone, the sniper dot centres on the real Shade. PP supporter, probably unknown to them, not part of their poor plan, quite possibly perfect person to penetrate TDLS’s protection.
23:58; Isn’t going to monologue – lesson learned from his idols – and despite Paradigm’s Pico reaction times from B-4’s Brain, she won’t quite be able to leap in front of the bullet with her B-4 Braun hard skin.
23:59; Mister Pistol tenses in shooter stance and cocks his … glock? Yes glock. Safety first to be undone. At the resulting gun click, Shade spins, demon quick. Her paranoid psychology super-accelerating …
00:00; … several scenarios in an instant, she suddenly stops & smiles. I, in conflict with conscience, countermand it & choose ‘cudgel the gunman’. Hate what heroes make me do more than hate what they do.