Post by Power Girl on Jan 6, 2011 19:45:53 GMT -5
I drop my keys in the small wicker basket, where they rested alongside a handful of loose change and pocket lint. It told them on day one exactly how this was going to go down. Though the exact phrasing may have slipped my memory, I know it hadn’t been pretty. They had walked into my office, white colors, black ties, two button suits. Add a pair of sunglasses and they’d have looked like the men in black. But this was far worse, they we’re bankers. And they had come to take my company away. I told them exactly what I thought of their takeover. If they wanted a fight, they’d get one. A Knock-down, dragged out fifteen round massacre. Nothing but carnage. I’d been mad, furious, and I let them have it. But they didn’t even flinch. My company was being swallowed up, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it. They took my building, my equipment, and left me with a fifty million dollar bill to pay. They even had our intellectual property. It never had really hit me just how sickening that term was. To have your own thoughts and ideas, the genius of my employees and all the hours of work they’d poured into the scientific wonders, seeing all of that quantified, packaged and turned into nothing more than another bottom line on a quarterly report.
Maybe the worst part is that even after all that, I could still manage to say we got lucky. Not Lottery winning lucky, or Grand Slam at the bottom of the ninth lucky. We got a gritty, scrape by on the skin of your teeth lucky. For everything the bank had, there was one thing Starr ware had managed to hold onto. We held onto our Patents. The bank owned everything we had, but they couldn’t do anything with it. They couldn’t sell it, they couldn’t market it, and they certainly couldn’t understand enough of how any of it worked in order to copy it. I did what anyone would have done in the same situation. I took what I had to work with, and I played it to my strengths. Eventually, the Bank could have out lawyered us. They had a case, and it was just a matter of throwing enough money around to squeeze me out.
I don’t like being squeezed.
I’d made a move, and hitched Starrware up to one of the biggest companies in the history of big business. That was 6 weeks ago. The situation has started to reverse itself. I’m the one taking the fight right to the White Collar snobs. I’ve got back my equipment, and our building, as damaged as it may be. But I’m still stuck with all the wheels spinning. The banks holding onto the intellectual property for all its worth. And what it’s worth is about a half a billion dollars. Continuing forward on any Starrware projects would mean shelling out the cash to make use of the ideas and techniques the bank had seized ownership of. I told them it was going to be a bloodbath, but this 15 round massacre is wearing me out. Neither side has gone to a judge yet.
We’re stuck playing run around, messaging back and forth, exchanging files and insults in equal quantities. They won’t back down, I won’t back down, and until one of us gives in, I’m stuck. And it wears you down. I’ve played punching bag to gods, and been pummeled by alien warlords, fought off invulnerable monsters and traded blows with a clone of myself. And yet, I’d gladly take any of those punishments over spending 8 hours in a conference room going over spending records and copyright laws. This is what my day has been like for the past week. Get up, argue with the iron wall of American bankers &Co, go home. I’m beginning to see the appeal in robbing a bank. Because honestly, spite is enough motivation in this case.
An orange blur darts out and rubs itself up against my legs. Stinky has apparently decided that he wants my attention today. I dodge around him as best I can, trying not to lose a grip on the financial records from Starrware as I go, but its rough. The worst part is I know he’s doing this just for attention. It’s like he can sense my own stress and knows that it wouldn’t be complete without adding his own little cherry on top.
I drop the files off on the kitchen counter and immediately head to the bathroom. One benefit of super heroics is that you learn to change outfits really quickly, so it takes no time at all for me to disrobe and get a bath going. On days like today, I’ve got my own secret formula for relaxation. I pull open the drawers under my sink, and take a look at my private collection. I’m something of a sucker for bath products. I’ll grab almost anything once it catches my eye. Bath beads, body lotions, fancy soaps, bubble solutions, skin creams and everything else you could ever think off. Ninety nine baths out of one hundred, I don’t bother with any of it. But when I need that extra push to shake off the exhaustion of the day, this stash here is my secret weapon.
I start grabbing bottles, not even glancing at the labels. Nor do I bother with instructions. Instead, I just take an armful and walk over to the steaming waters of my tub. From there, I begin my witch’s bath time brew. Taking a bottle in hand, I squeeze out some of its contents into the tub, giving a good solid squirt. I’m rewarded with a sharp citrus smell and a light orange foam that begins forming accost the surface. The next object is some kind of gooey oval. Smells like lavender and Kiwi. I toss it into the tub with a plop. Third comes what I think might be body soap, but its written in French so I can’t be certain. The woman on the bottle looks pretty happy, so I suppose that’s enough reason to give it a try. Its got a lemony aroma that positively floods the room as soon as I pop the cap. It almost makes my eyes water. I only add a small dash of it to my growing concoction. On it continues, till I’ve added at least a little of everything. The smell is so thick in the air that Stinky has retreated from sight. The tub is filled with a bluish green foam that covers the surface. Perfect
I slide myself in, feeling the strange sensation as my body makes contact with the hodgepodge assembly of feminine hygiene. It feels more like pudding than water, and the vapors are even stronger up close. As the warm gel covers over me, I let out a long sigh, letting myself go limp, soaking in the mixture, letting all the smells and textures roll around in the rub with me, feeling the caress of the tiny currents against my skin.
After a time, Stinky manages to make his way back into the bathroom, once the aroma has had a chance to disperse somewhat. My exhaustion has melted away that I can give him the attention he needs. I trace my heat vision accost the floor, keeping it dialed down to the intensity of a laser pointer. The pinpricks of light catch the feline’s eyes immediately, and he pounces, swatting at the dots as I move them to and fro. Soon the orange ball of fur has turned into a whirling mess of limbs, spinning about in a desperate attempt to catch the beams. I laugh, having to cut the heat vision before I double over from the giggles. I needed this. I cannot tell you how much I needed this.
Pulling the plug on the drain, I let the mixture start to flow away. I stand, finding myself coated in a thick ooze and smelling like a perfume store, the competing scents fighting still to overpower one another. Turning on the showerhead, I let the waters wash over me, clearing the gunk away, leaving behind the newly refreshed blond hairs beauty that is yours truly. Wrapping my bathrobe around myself, I emerge from the bathroom, a new woman. As I walk into the kitchen, I notice that the red light on my answering machine is blinking. Seems I’ve got a few messages waiting for me. Oh well. Better get this out of the way while I’m in a good mood.
The first is from the bank, thanking me for taking the time out of my day to meet with them, and requesting that we pick up where we left off on Monday. Well that’s good news. I need a few days off from this. The second message is from Katelyn, delivering a message from Tony. He wants to talk with me again, suggesting we meet over dinner. It brings a very slight smile to me. I’m not entirely sure what to make of Mr. Stark. His reputation as a ladies’ man is legendary. I told myself going into this that I just wanted to keep things professional, but he’s got a charm about him that is hard to ignore. At the very least, I have to give him that much credit. What the heck, I’ll think about it. Thirdly, I get a rather unexpected recording of Maxine. As always, she’s her usual chatty self. My finger hovers above the fast forward button, the temptation to make good use of it raising with each passing sentence. But she manages to stumble her way over to the reason for calling. This morning, there had been reports of a tropical storm brewing in the gulf.
Now, it’s a bit early in the season for that, but certainly not beyond reason. I recall seeing the morning News’s, and everything the experts knew about storms had told them it was going to be a windy day for the coast, but nothing they couldn’t handle. I recall this specifically because I’d been relieved to know that I could focus on my duties as CEO, rather than slip away to deal with a little rainstorm. But Now Maxine has her own thoughts, and in about ten times as many words, manages to get them accost. Her connection to winds has given her small insight to the storm, and it’s got a bad vibe rolling off of it in waves. She asks if I wouldn’t mind taking a look, while she checks with Roxy to see if the computer can make heads or tails of any of this.
While she may be talkative, the red heads got a good head on her shoulders, so if she thinks that this might be a nasty one, it’s not something I’ll ignore. I trust Maxine far more than I trust the meteorologists who can’t even figure out if it’ll rain tomorrow. I trade off my towel for my other work cloths, the white spandex sliding on comfortably, followed shortly by my boots and gloves, and finishing with the cape. I set out some food for Stinky, and check to dry off my hair and make sure it looks nice. After that, its time for takeoff.
The wind rushes past me, the roar of it blotting out the sounds of the city as they all fall away, leaving me alone in the sky. As I pass through the clouds, I kick up my speed, feeling the shudder as I push through the sound barrier. Now this feels good. First my bath time elixir, now a good chance to stretch. I have been so bundled down by work I have hardly got any time to fly, and it’s good to be able to really push myself again. The clouds blur past, the landscape racing to try and keep up with me. I spin and roll, diving and climbing. Forget the bank. They can batter me all they want, but so long as I’ve got this, the blue yonder and the rolling hills, I can take anything they can dish out.
My flight takes only a few minutes, before Its time to descended downwards. The last fifty miles or so, the winds been picking up. The turbulence would be enough to knock a jetliner about, but I punch right through it. I see the city of New Orleans glowing on the ground, a pearl resting besides the sea. Even from here, I smell the sweet Cajun food cooking, and catch a few brief snippets of the pure songs of the south. But that’s not the only thing there is. The sky out to see is black as tar, the clouds thundering. The storm is no small ball, this thing is a hurricane. My eyes can cross the distances, and see it. The leading edge is a hundred miles out, the center even further. This is no small ball tropical storm.
This is a full blown hurricane. Its nasty, its angry, and its growing. The city is right in its sights.
As I hover, still a thousand yards above the city, I catch a whiff of a strange metallic scent. Like a mix of Ozone and battery acid. Its faint, so faint a blood hound might miss it if it wasn’t careful. But its there. You know, they say that smell is the sense closest to memory. And I know this smell. It brings back a strong flash of memory. I’ve smelled it around radiation dumps and atomic reactors. I focus my eyesight on the clouds, expanding my range of vision. What I see is unnerving. The whole system, this entire storm, has a faint glow of Gamma energy. So Unless Mother nature has learned a thing or two about atomic physics, there is something going on here.
Thankfully, there’s still time. An evacuation at this point isn’t going to help. More people will be caught in their cares and out in the open as they try to get away. No. At this point, the city needs to bunker down and prepare to take a heavy hit. But the Gamma energy has me worried. That’s not the kind of stuff you want to take chances with. Even in trace amounts, it could do serious harm to this area. I need Back up.
Tapping the gemstone affixed to my ear, I hear the computerized beep as the earring communicator turns on.
“Call Maxine”
The dial tone follows, along with the ringing. After a few moments, hear the freckled voice of the young woman who had enough sense to know something bad was brewing offshore.
“Hay Max. It’s me. I’m currently hovering over New Orleans. I-“
I have to wait for a second as she starts talking. And while I am sure she has some very important information, I’d rather cut to the meat of the situation.
“That’s wonderful. Listen, I need you to grab anyone on hand and get down here. This storm is huge, at least category 4, maybe 5. And-“
There she goes again. Glad to hear that I’ve confirmed her and Roxy’s estimates. And I can say I’m positively bursting at the schemes to know that their predictions we’re accurate down to a two percent margin of error. Yup. That’s Maxine alright. I strum my fingers and count to ten, waiting to get a word in.
“That’s not the half of it. The whole thing is glowing like Chernobyl. The entire storm is laced with Gamma radiation. “
Ah, now that set her off. I can practicly see the ideas bouncing to life in her head from here.
“Listen, I’d love to hear your ideas in person. I’m going to get the people here ready as best I can. You just Hightail it down her as fast as you can, alright?”
The message goes through and I sign off. I look at the storm again, and know that this is going to be a rough one.
And here I am, without an umbrella.
Maybe the worst part is that even after all that, I could still manage to say we got lucky. Not Lottery winning lucky, or Grand Slam at the bottom of the ninth lucky. We got a gritty, scrape by on the skin of your teeth lucky. For everything the bank had, there was one thing Starr ware had managed to hold onto. We held onto our Patents. The bank owned everything we had, but they couldn’t do anything with it. They couldn’t sell it, they couldn’t market it, and they certainly couldn’t understand enough of how any of it worked in order to copy it. I did what anyone would have done in the same situation. I took what I had to work with, and I played it to my strengths. Eventually, the Bank could have out lawyered us. They had a case, and it was just a matter of throwing enough money around to squeeze me out.
I don’t like being squeezed.
I’d made a move, and hitched Starrware up to one of the biggest companies in the history of big business. That was 6 weeks ago. The situation has started to reverse itself. I’m the one taking the fight right to the White Collar snobs. I’ve got back my equipment, and our building, as damaged as it may be. But I’m still stuck with all the wheels spinning. The banks holding onto the intellectual property for all its worth. And what it’s worth is about a half a billion dollars. Continuing forward on any Starrware projects would mean shelling out the cash to make use of the ideas and techniques the bank had seized ownership of. I told them it was going to be a bloodbath, but this 15 round massacre is wearing me out. Neither side has gone to a judge yet.
We’re stuck playing run around, messaging back and forth, exchanging files and insults in equal quantities. They won’t back down, I won’t back down, and until one of us gives in, I’m stuck. And it wears you down. I’ve played punching bag to gods, and been pummeled by alien warlords, fought off invulnerable monsters and traded blows with a clone of myself. And yet, I’d gladly take any of those punishments over spending 8 hours in a conference room going over spending records and copyright laws. This is what my day has been like for the past week. Get up, argue with the iron wall of American bankers &Co, go home. I’m beginning to see the appeal in robbing a bank. Because honestly, spite is enough motivation in this case.
An orange blur darts out and rubs itself up against my legs. Stinky has apparently decided that he wants my attention today. I dodge around him as best I can, trying not to lose a grip on the financial records from Starrware as I go, but its rough. The worst part is I know he’s doing this just for attention. It’s like he can sense my own stress and knows that it wouldn’t be complete without adding his own little cherry on top.
I drop the files off on the kitchen counter and immediately head to the bathroom. One benefit of super heroics is that you learn to change outfits really quickly, so it takes no time at all for me to disrobe and get a bath going. On days like today, I’ve got my own secret formula for relaxation. I pull open the drawers under my sink, and take a look at my private collection. I’m something of a sucker for bath products. I’ll grab almost anything once it catches my eye. Bath beads, body lotions, fancy soaps, bubble solutions, skin creams and everything else you could ever think off. Ninety nine baths out of one hundred, I don’t bother with any of it. But when I need that extra push to shake off the exhaustion of the day, this stash here is my secret weapon.
I start grabbing bottles, not even glancing at the labels. Nor do I bother with instructions. Instead, I just take an armful and walk over to the steaming waters of my tub. From there, I begin my witch’s bath time brew. Taking a bottle in hand, I squeeze out some of its contents into the tub, giving a good solid squirt. I’m rewarded with a sharp citrus smell and a light orange foam that begins forming accost the surface. The next object is some kind of gooey oval. Smells like lavender and Kiwi. I toss it into the tub with a plop. Third comes what I think might be body soap, but its written in French so I can’t be certain. The woman on the bottle looks pretty happy, so I suppose that’s enough reason to give it a try. Its got a lemony aroma that positively floods the room as soon as I pop the cap. It almost makes my eyes water. I only add a small dash of it to my growing concoction. On it continues, till I’ve added at least a little of everything. The smell is so thick in the air that Stinky has retreated from sight. The tub is filled with a bluish green foam that covers the surface. Perfect
I slide myself in, feeling the strange sensation as my body makes contact with the hodgepodge assembly of feminine hygiene. It feels more like pudding than water, and the vapors are even stronger up close. As the warm gel covers over me, I let out a long sigh, letting myself go limp, soaking in the mixture, letting all the smells and textures roll around in the rub with me, feeling the caress of the tiny currents against my skin.
After a time, Stinky manages to make his way back into the bathroom, once the aroma has had a chance to disperse somewhat. My exhaustion has melted away that I can give him the attention he needs. I trace my heat vision accost the floor, keeping it dialed down to the intensity of a laser pointer. The pinpricks of light catch the feline’s eyes immediately, and he pounces, swatting at the dots as I move them to and fro. Soon the orange ball of fur has turned into a whirling mess of limbs, spinning about in a desperate attempt to catch the beams. I laugh, having to cut the heat vision before I double over from the giggles. I needed this. I cannot tell you how much I needed this.
Pulling the plug on the drain, I let the mixture start to flow away. I stand, finding myself coated in a thick ooze and smelling like a perfume store, the competing scents fighting still to overpower one another. Turning on the showerhead, I let the waters wash over me, clearing the gunk away, leaving behind the newly refreshed blond hairs beauty that is yours truly. Wrapping my bathrobe around myself, I emerge from the bathroom, a new woman. As I walk into the kitchen, I notice that the red light on my answering machine is blinking. Seems I’ve got a few messages waiting for me. Oh well. Better get this out of the way while I’m in a good mood.
The first is from the bank, thanking me for taking the time out of my day to meet with them, and requesting that we pick up where we left off on Monday. Well that’s good news. I need a few days off from this. The second message is from Katelyn, delivering a message from Tony. He wants to talk with me again, suggesting we meet over dinner. It brings a very slight smile to me. I’m not entirely sure what to make of Mr. Stark. His reputation as a ladies’ man is legendary. I told myself going into this that I just wanted to keep things professional, but he’s got a charm about him that is hard to ignore. At the very least, I have to give him that much credit. What the heck, I’ll think about it. Thirdly, I get a rather unexpected recording of Maxine. As always, she’s her usual chatty self. My finger hovers above the fast forward button, the temptation to make good use of it raising with each passing sentence. But she manages to stumble her way over to the reason for calling. This morning, there had been reports of a tropical storm brewing in the gulf.
Now, it’s a bit early in the season for that, but certainly not beyond reason. I recall seeing the morning News’s, and everything the experts knew about storms had told them it was going to be a windy day for the coast, but nothing they couldn’t handle. I recall this specifically because I’d been relieved to know that I could focus on my duties as CEO, rather than slip away to deal with a little rainstorm. But Now Maxine has her own thoughts, and in about ten times as many words, manages to get them accost. Her connection to winds has given her small insight to the storm, and it’s got a bad vibe rolling off of it in waves. She asks if I wouldn’t mind taking a look, while she checks with Roxy to see if the computer can make heads or tails of any of this.
While she may be talkative, the red heads got a good head on her shoulders, so if she thinks that this might be a nasty one, it’s not something I’ll ignore. I trust Maxine far more than I trust the meteorologists who can’t even figure out if it’ll rain tomorrow. I trade off my towel for my other work cloths, the white spandex sliding on comfortably, followed shortly by my boots and gloves, and finishing with the cape. I set out some food for Stinky, and check to dry off my hair and make sure it looks nice. After that, its time for takeoff.
The wind rushes past me, the roar of it blotting out the sounds of the city as they all fall away, leaving me alone in the sky. As I pass through the clouds, I kick up my speed, feeling the shudder as I push through the sound barrier. Now this feels good. First my bath time elixir, now a good chance to stretch. I have been so bundled down by work I have hardly got any time to fly, and it’s good to be able to really push myself again. The clouds blur past, the landscape racing to try and keep up with me. I spin and roll, diving and climbing. Forget the bank. They can batter me all they want, but so long as I’ve got this, the blue yonder and the rolling hills, I can take anything they can dish out.
My flight takes only a few minutes, before Its time to descended downwards. The last fifty miles or so, the winds been picking up. The turbulence would be enough to knock a jetliner about, but I punch right through it. I see the city of New Orleans glowing on the ground, a pearl resting besides the sea. Even from here, I smell the sweet Cajun food cooking, and catch a few brief snippets of the pure songs of the south. But that’s not the only thing there is. The sky out to see is black as tar, the clouds thundering. The storm is no small ball, this thing is a hurricane. My eyes can cross the distances, and see it. The leading edge is a hundred miles out, the center even further. This is no small ball tropical storm.
This is a full blown hurricane. Its nasty, its angry, and its growing. The city is right in its sights.
As I hover, still a thousand yards above the city, I catch a whiff of a strange metallic scent. Like a mix of Ozone and battery acid. Its faint, so faint a blood hound might miss it if it wasn’t careful. But its there. You know, they say that smell is the sense closest to memory. And I know this smell. It brings back a strong flash of memory. I’ve smelled it around radiation dumps and atomic reactors. I focus my eyesight on the clouds, expanding my range of vision. What I see is unnerving. The whole system, this entire storm, has a faint glow of Gamma energy. So Unless Mother nature has learned a thing or two about atomic physics, there is something going on here.
Thankfully, there’s still time. An evacuation at this point isn’t going to help. More people will be caught in their cares and out in the open as they try to get away. No. At this point, the city needs to bunker down and prepare to take a heavy hit. But the Gamma energy has me worried. That’s not the kind of stuff you want to take chances with. Even in trace amounts, it could do serious harm to this area. I need Back up.
Tapping the gemstone affixed to my ear, I hear the computerized beep as the earring communicator turns on.
“Call Maxine”
The dial tone follows, along with the ringing. After a few moments, hear the freckled voice of the young woman who had enough sense to know something bad was brewing offshore.
“Hay Max. It’s me. I’m currently hovering over New Orleans. I-“
I have to wait for a second as she starts talking. And while I am sure she has some very important information, I’d rather cut to the meat of the situation.
“That’s wonderful. Listen, I need you to grab anyone on hand and get down here. This storm is huge, at least category 4, maybe 5. And-“
There she goes again. Glad to hear that I’ve confirmed her and Roxy’s estimates. And I can say I’m positively bursting at the schemes to know that their predictions we’re accurate down to a two percent margin of error. Yup. That’s Maxine alright. I strum my fingers and count to ten, waiting to get a word in.
“That’s not the half of it. The whole thing is glowing like Chernobyl. The entire storm is laced with Gamma radiation. “
Ah, now that set her off. I can practicly see the ideas bouncing to life in her head from here.
“Listen, I’d love to hear your ideas in person. I’m going to get the people here ready as best I can. You just Hightail it down her as fast as you can, alright?”
The message goes through and I sign off. I look at the storm again, and know that this is going to be a rough one.
And here I am, without an umbrella.
