[OOC: Late? Hmph. An Outer God arrives precisely when he means to...
]
Salix sits in the center of his small apartment, meditating.
It is a practice he picked up shortly after his arrival on the planet, when he befriended a group of bizarre young people in California. They had espoused a number of views that Salix did not especially understand at the time, and their propensity for cutting the plants they grew into small pieces and then setting them on fire was a bit distressing, but they had seemed accepting of him, or at least of his clueless
homo sapiens alter ego, and had taught him much about being a human. He quickly learned that much of what they had told him wasn't actually true, but they had helped him tremendously, and he had grown fond of them and of certain practices of theirs—such as meditation.
He cannot close his eyes, since he lacks eyelids, but he has distributed a chemical into the thin layer of protective film covering his ever-open eyes that makes it more opaque, allowing in less light. He makes soft, humming noises. He is surrounded, predictably, by plants. Flowers, ferns, and other foliage litter his apartment—roses and violets and peace lilies, small bunches of wisteria entwined about poles set here and there, cobra lilies and a Venus flytrap, a fish tank full of sea grasses (but no fish)...
Aside from these, there are few other items of note in his one-room apartment. A wide bookcase stands against one wall, packed with medical texts and scientific journals, along with a single novel, given to him by one of his friends at the commune shortly after his arrival on the planet—Robert A. Heinlein's
Stranger in a Strange Land, of course. (He enjoys the irony of possessing it more than he enjoyed the actual book.) A television and accompanying DVD player sit on the floor—he lacks much furniture, since he is comfortable standing for long periods of time and can sleep in such a position as well. He doesn't watch the television much, but the DVD player has proved useful, for with it he can play the audio CDs of "natural" sounds that he uses both as background music for his meditation and as soothing noise for his many, many plants.
As the gentle chirping of birds begins on the CD currently playing, Salix's thoughts drift to events a few days prior. About two weeks ago, people on the edge of town, not far from a nearby forest, had begun to suffer attacks from the uncharacteristically aggressive local wildlife. Many were hospitalized, including the horribly mauled victims of a large wolf and a man pecked nearly to death by falcons, but thankfully none had died. It was not an especially high-profile case; the papers didn't suggest the involvement of any outside force that was affecting the animals. When Salix heard about the attacks, however, he took it upon himself to investigate.
Prowling through the woods, Salix "spoke" with the flowers and the trees, and he learned that animals throughout the forest had been behaving oddly for a while, especially animals near the heart of the woods. He suspected that someone was controlling the animals in some way—and his suspicions were confirmed when he was attacked. He had lived in forests for years when he first came to Earth, and never had he been bothered by the wildlife there; now wolves, hawks, and other animals dwelling amidst the trees were doing their best to tear him limb from limb.
He fought his way through the woods, subduing rather than injuring, until he found the culprit: a wild man, hairy and unshaven and dirty, who apparently had the ability to influence the minds of animals around him. Around the wild man's lair were purses, wallets, and other items stolen from the victims of his animals' attacks. The man called himself the "Beastmaster," and when Salix had stunned or bound most of his bestial minions, he had attacked Salix himself with an axe. He wasn't quick enough to dodge the first blow, which sank into his shoulder, but it was the only chance the Beastmaster got to attack—Salix quickly proceeded to pound him into unconsciousness.
He then bound the Beastmaster, dragged him from the woods, presented him to the police, discovered the "Beastmaster" was actually named Bob Wily, filed an assault charge against Bob Wily, and then wandered off to go try to staunch the flow of sap-like blood that was oozing from his shoulder.
In the present, Salix flexes his arms. He was pleased at the lack of pain; the wounds inflicted by Wily and his animal companions had apparently healed completely. Perhaps tonight he would go on the hunt against. Perhaps in the park...
The sounds of wind rustling the leaves of trees and owls softly hooting come to a sudden halt. Salix glances up, the chemical coating his eyes dissipating so that his vision clears.
The blank screen the TV presents while Salix played his CDs is gone—a man now appears on it. A man made of metal.
"Good evening, Hero," the man says. "The world is a dangerous place, as anyone who watches the news can attest..."
Salix suddenly feels rather ashamed that he doesn't watch the news more often.
"...But you have begun to do your part. To distinguish yourself. We have taken notice of you. We wish to offer you an opportunity. Heroes can accomplish great things alone, but far greater things in groups. Groups of heroes can accomplish great things, but groups with the right resources, connections, and organization can truly change the world, and turn back the rising tide of evil. It is this that I offer you. If you are willing to pledge yourself to bringing super-criminals of all varieties to justice, then at midnight, go to parking lot 17 of the Freedom Colosseum, and find a black van with the license plate 7DX510B. There will be a keypad on the side. Type your Social Security Number into it, and it will open. Go inside, and close the door behind you. Others like you will come. At 12:30, you will receive directions as to where to drive to meet us. Now, back to your regularly-scheduled programming."
The metal man vanishes.
"Hoot, hoot," say the owls that replace his voice, as the nature CD resumes playing.
Salix sits, staring at the screen for a few moments. He has neither spine nor eyelids, but if he had possessed both, the former would surely be tingling and he would likely be repeatedly blinking the latter in surprise, as well.
He wishes he had someone to talk to, to tell of the excitement that has suddenly swelled in him after hearing the metallic man's words. He has never really had any friends since the mid-60s, when most of his companions at the commune were arrested (or died). For a long time he had also not desired them, unwilling to associate with the aliens who surrounded him after the death of his own people—he had felt a strange animosity towards them, as if it had been their fault his race had died. He eventually grew out of such feelings, however, even if it had taken quite a many years, and at this moment he wants nothing more than to run up to someone and blurt out, "I've been invited to join a superhero team. I'm a hero!"
He eventually locates a clock buried under some moss that has gotten out of control, glances at it (the clock, not the moss), and sees that he had plenty of time until midnight. Time enough to go find someone to tell of his excitement and elation, even if they aren't exactly a friend...
One hour and several frightened and confused passersby in the park later, Salix returns home satisfied, the more floral elements of his body giving off the pleasing scents they did when he was happy.
He then proceeds to fuss about his appearance in the bathroom mirror for hours, carefully trimming and arraying the vines, moss, occasional flowers, and other plantlife covering his wooden body into patterns and arrangements he thinks others might find pleasing to look upon. He also finds a distressing amount of tiny insects living amongst his personal foliage—probably remnants of his excursion into the forest—which he painstakingly picks off one by one after dismissing the idea of bathing in insecticide as potentially very stupid.
And so Salix finds himself running slightly late. He wishes that he could fly, or teleport, or run with super-speed, because skulking all the way across town, trying to move in the darkness so as not to frighten too many more bystanders than he already has tonight, is not so much fun. But eventually his strange, loping gait, with the wind rustling the leaves and grasses and flowers on his body, brings him to the Colosseum parking lot.
Those few remaining outside the van—by now just Nitro and Joseph—see what looks like a couple of small trees fused together and shambling towards them, two thick branches swinging at its sides like arms. Its head protrudes forward, beneath a small canopy of leaves and other vegetable matter, with an almost lupine shape, though it lacks the nose, ears, and teeth of a wolf. Decorations consisting of curled vines and strange, spiky-looking blue flowers hang from its mossy, leafy back and curl around its limbs.
Salix hesitates when he lays eyes on the beautiful winged man and the flamboyantly dressed wrestler.
...Perhaps...I am at the wrong location... But a quick check of the van's license plate reveals he is not.
He approaches the angel and the wrestler with some trepidation. "My name is Salix," he says as he nears the pair, in a soft and airy voice that does not seem fitting for a seven-foot-tall tree creature. "Were you also summoned here?"
