Monday, October 13, 2008

"Never Special," Conversation, pt. 1, 403 words

(Note: it'll be getting pretty choppy from here on out. Much of the rest of the Never Special stuff written so far is half of a back-and-forth from Amanda and Ned's shifting perspectives. I'll be inviting Ned's author to provide his parts here, but no guarantees she'll want to do so.)

I smile a little, shrug off my own words as if they mean nothing. Everyone is new at it at one point or another, though you sometimes imagined heroes like Polaris being born with their costumes on and five years' experience in crime-fighting already under their belts... Diapers. Whatever it would be under, anyway.

The waitress drops off my green tea and raspberry pie – I couldn't believe they had raspberry pie, nobody has raspberry pie – directly opposite his, Nefarious's, coffee and cherry pie. I'm glad for the momentary respite she brings, as words die in her presence and I take a moment to drink some of the tea. Freshly brewed and scalding hot, but I'm long past worrying about burning my tongue or the roof of my mouth. I look over the rim of my cup as I drink and consider the mad genius in front of me.

I like the name. Nefarious. It's just one of those words that sounds like what it means, a sort of definitional onomatopoeia. Like "defenestration," assassinating someone by throwing them out of a window. It just sounds like a sinister word. The name doesn't suit him yet, not by far – "Nervous" would have been better – but he could grow into it. Be one of those dapper, gentlemanly villains who are so hard to pin stuff on, if he keeps his sanity about him. But he'd look cute with his hair mussed and wild, too, just all over the place like pictures of Einstein in his later years. Then again, I had a crush on the Fourth Doctor when I was just a little girl, so it's not like my standards are normal.

I set the cup down and force myself to ask the question that's been on my mind for a little while now, ever since we sat down here. I let a little laughter carry under my words as I ask, nonchalantly, "So is it a girl?" I'm more concerned about the answer than I even want to admit to myself.

Because it's always a girl for these types. Always. Read the comics or watch the movies. Some woman they fell hopelessly in love with from a distance, but who doesn't even know they exist, that kind of thing. Love can make you crazy, if you're the right sort of person, and I suspect the guy in front of me is just the right sort.

No comments: