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Message: <blockquote data-quote="ledded" data-source="post: 1725537" data-attributes="member: 12744">[PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Boys will be Boys][/PLAIN]… England, A week later… An animated Dr Z speaks to several of the SPARTAANS group. “Very well then gents, your training has gone smashingly. I do hope that some of the equipment we’ve been able to supply will be of some assistance. Smitty, er, ‘Ghost’, that Tibranium chain shirt should be able to stop everything but a wicked googlie, ahaha, um, yes… and Moose you should not have as much to fear from Ubermensch psyche-powers with that Helmet. Its construction should diffuse some of the energy prior to um… how was it you put it Artic Wolf?” “’Fore it scrambles all that goo in your itty-bitty brain-bucket” John/Artic Wolf casually replied, checking his own gear. “Not that it’d take much for you Moose”, added Smitty, smiling and working the action on his new Springfield rifle. “Ha ha guys. Very funny”, Moose grumbled petulantly. Frogbot’s motivator whirred as he popped out of reclamation mode, turning his head towards them. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” Smitty tossed a squint his way. “Yeah, laugh it up toaster-boy”. They all chuckled, Dr Z exhibiting a high pitched yortle, punctuated with a bit of snorting, as if unaccustomed to laughter. “Oh by Jove, boys, you are some live ones. All right, we should check on Hank. He’s made great strides in progress in working with Psimeld. Brilliant!” With that, they all left and crossed the room towards the main hanger area. Dr Z opened the door and they strode in. “’Ello gents, how ‘ave you been holding up with…” he began. Smitty, with his preternatural senses, felt something amiss and immediately grabbed Z by the lab coat, jerking them both to the floor. John sprang to the side and dove, sliding, while Frogbot quickly stepped to the other side as his hand, hinging upwards with a pop!, extended and unfolded a collapsible metal umbrella in front of him with one quick motion. Moose stepped in right behind them unknowingly, mumbling about getting something to eat, and caught a volley of hundreds of ball bearings full in the face and chest, the metal balls exploding outwards as they bounced and careened off of his heavy frame, spanging off of Frogbot’s umbrella. “Dingdang ol’ dang thar boys, heh heh, ‘loogout!’ Heehee”, giggled Hank, standing in the middle of the room, gesticulating at a few spherical masses of ball bearings revolving around the open spaces in the hanger. The boy, Danny/Psimeld, giggled out loud from where he stood on the other side of the room, covering his mouth in embarrassment. There were several other researchers in the room in various states of cover, behind low concrete blast walls, cowering behind large machines, and hiding under desks. There were numerous spots on the metal walls with a concentration of small dents; the concrete floors and blast walls were also chipped and marred in places. “Ooomph… vffy phhnny…”, mumbled Moose, then turned his head to the side and spat, a handful of ball bearings clattering across the concrete. He rubbed the gumball-ball sized welts forming on his face. “Ow”. Hank laughed uproariously, bending double and slapping his knees. Danny giggled, his small, slight form shaking with the effort. John squatted beside the door on his haunches, a big smile on his face. Dr Z struggled out from under Smitty, who was laughing softly as he lay on the floor. Z got to his feet, brushing his dusty lab coat and sweater, looking a bit rumpled and indignant. “Right then! You two! Cut that out immediately! That is no way to behave…” Hank, abashed, stopped laughing and stood quickly, breaking his concentration. Danny jumped and placed both hands behind his back, putting on his best “I didn’t do anything” child’s face. There were several clattering crashes as spheres of ball bearings fell to the floor, released of their impetus for flight, one centered over Z as it rained down on him. John and Smitty burst out laughing, Hank guffawed some more, and Moose opened his mouth with a rumbling chuckle, but cut short with an “ahh!” rubbing a spot on his jaw and checking for a loose tooth. Dr Z, attempting to maintain what little dignity he still had, put his hands on his hips and glared, ignoring the ball bearings as they continued to roll, bounce, and clatter on the floor around him. “Boys! Bloody hell! Someone could bloody well get hurt!” he started. Danny shook his head side to side softly, face serious, and subtly pointed to Hank with a hand cunningly held next to his hip. Hank stopped laughing, and stretched as if to yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his right hand. At the top of his yawn he jabbed a finger on his left hand towards Danny, and mouthed silently to Z that “it was all him, honest” while nodding his head unconvincingly. Dr Z took a breath, face turning red, and then jabbed a finger at Hank and stepped forward. Whatever tirade he started to deliver was cut short, however, by the roaring laughter of the team as a handful of ball bearings shot forward out of his sleeve to clatter onto the floor, and surprised, he lost his balance on the others, teetering comically on sliding feet for a moment before coming down heavily on his bottom. Moose grabbed his sides with rumbling mirth, the welts already starting to visibly subside. John helped Smitty up as they both gave in to gales of laughter. Hank giggled and walked over to Z, extending a hand. “Hee heee! Weeeelll dang thar Doc, dingdang ol’ wheee boom ya fell on yer bottom thar, dingdang ol’ funny, we’s just funnin’ ding dang ol’ aw hell it’s all just in good fun, ya know?” Dr Z looked serious, then broke into a sheepish smile, his temper giving over to amusement. “You silly buggers do need to be careful, but you’re right Hank, sometimes one does need to let off a bit o’ steam, right?” “Dingdang ol’ righty-o thar Doc”, rejoined Hank, dusting Z’s coat off as he helped him up. Z patted Hank on the shoulder and motioned to one of the lab technicians still taking cover behind a metal table and his clipboard. “Very well, we have a few things I’d like to cover”. “First, we have a new weapon I’d like to have your help with boys. You see, what it does is disrupt the continuity containment matrix by disassociative energy dispersion wave, thereby…” Smitty interrupted Z, lighting a cigarette. “English, doc, how ‘bout it?” Z looked lost for a second, and then shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh! Very well, layman’s terms and all that”. “Here’s what we figure: each person with this Enhanced Gifts or Talents, or supers, whatever you term it, has the unique ability to manipulate energy fields.” “You see, there are many, many types of energy types that radiate, move, et cetera all around us. Most are hard to measure, if at all. Like a radio, for instance. It can receive, interpret, and send back a certain type of wave that is invisible to the naked eye.” “Talents, like you ESSes, manipulate some of these energy fields, whether it be to rapidly heat or cool air to produce flame or frost, bend magnetism, or even manage to compress or increase the density of certain energy fields at the subatomic level, causing subcutaneous…” “Doc. English. E-n-g-l…whatever. Speak English”, Smitty broke in again. “oh, aheheh, sorry, yes, as I was saying, some ESSes, like Moose, increase the density of their tissues to ward off harm, and manipulate their own white and red blood cells to vastly improve their ability to heal harm, as most of you can. The variations so far have been endless. The difference between you and that aforementioned radio is the brain’s ability to process huge amounts of information, so that you can manipulate and contain these energy fields with no more effort than a normal human uses the hundreds, thousands of individual movements involved with using their hand to grip and pick up, say, a pencil, without breaking or dropping it. And you can learn, through repetition, training, or just plain willpower, and get better and stronger, whereas our friend the field radio does not.” “Great, somebody reach in my pants and tune me in already, I’m not sure I like this station…”, joked John under his breath to Smitty. “What this weapon does, from research we captured from overrun Nazi research stations in Vichy France, is interrupt the energy fields that Talents use to contain, or manage, this energy for a short time. Sort of like how an electro-magnetic discharge can make a radio unable to transmit, and even damage it’s circuitry. They say the Nazi’s have ubermensch who specialize in this ‘power’ but we’ve yet to see it. Anyway…” “I give you… the Power Nullification gun!” Z announced, with profound pride, and nimbly removed a sheet off of a tray that a lab technician held with a flourish. They all looked in, and Moose was the first to respond. “Um… did dat come in a box o’ cracker jacks? Like a really *big* one? Looks like sumthin’ from a Flash Gordon comic”. And indeed it did. It was pistol-shaped, but with unusual curves and smooth, bulbous protrusions. There were a set of concentric rings on the ‘barrel’, culminating into a small, open cone at the end. Various wires and small tubes ran here and there. “Ding ol’ daaaaaang man, itsa damn *raygun* ‘r sumthin’”, breathed Hank, the technician in him awed into near silence. John and Smitty merely shrugged at each other. “Well, it’s not exactly a… well, I guess it does fire a sort of ‘ray’, more like a particle emissive beam, well, ahem, I… well, they’re very new, and still in testing, but we hope to…” “I wunt one. Dingdang ol’ lemme have that ‘un”, said Hank, not taking his eyes off of it. “Well, like I said, it hasn’t been tested fully, and there’s the question of…” Hank reached forward quickly and snatched it off of the tray, waving it around as if to get a feel for it. Instantly, lab technicians began diving for cover, finding their former hiding spots. At least two doors were heard to slam, and the sound of a knob being unsuccessfully tried somewhere followed by whimpering sounded in the open hanger. Moose slowly and quietly slipped behind the nearest concrete blast wall and slid down to eye level. I may not have understood what that feller was sayin’, but I *ain’t* stupid.  “Dang ol’, you just point it like unto so, then dingdang pull this har…” The gun made a low humming sound, rising in intensity incredibly fast. “Hank! Wait! No! ohshhiii…” The gun discharged violently, the recoil jamming Hank’s hand backwards hard. There was no report like firearm, but a loud, warbling, bubbling squall emitted as it went off. The air following the barrel wobbled in their vision, as if they were suddenly looking at the world behind it though a sheet of roiling clear water, as a wave of energy shot forward. John sprang away, Smitty ducked and slid in beside Moose. Frogbot turned towards them at the sound of the yells. “Oui?” The beam struck him full on, and then as fast as it appeared, it was gone. He grunted, and looked down at himself. “Eet deed not work, mon ami, Frogbot is fine! It was quite tickly, no? Yes, I am fi…” Frogbot began, and stepped towards them. WARNING: movement actuators off-line. Switching to backup system… failing… balance indicators attempting to compensate… He moved his foot a couple inches, then fell forward, statue-like, and hit the ground with a loud, wet, thump. Hank stared for a second in surprise, eyes wide, then brought the gun up and looked down the barrel in awe. “Well dingdang, ol’ how’d it do that…” Z grabbed his arm and pulled it away from his face. “Bloody hell, yank, are you trying to kill us all? I plainly said that it wasn’t tested properly, you could have…” “So, can I have it?” asked Hank, pulling gently, but insistently, away from Z’s grasp. “Frogbot ees… Frogbot ees fine, mon ami! See, just now, I stand!” Query: Movement actuators online at 7%. Damage assessment?WARNING: Enhanced mobility offline, initiating self-repair. Repair estimate: 38 seconds. Frogbot stood, and then took a few shaky steps, trundling away to presumably repair himself. Dr Z let go of Hank’s arm, and sighed. “Oh very well, why not? Try not to implode you own brain with it, however.” Hank made a skeptical face and waved off Z’s concerns. “By the way, speaking earlier of letting off steam, since we’ve made such progress, does anyone fancy a pint or two? There’s a nice pub in the town nearby that I’ve frequented on occasion… interested?” Smitty stood up. “Sure.” “Beer? Hey, do dey got stuff ta eat, too?” Moose added hopefully. “Yeah, a glass of beer or two would go good right about now”, John added. Frogbot limped back. “I do not require ze same sustenance as your fleshy entities, but I would be quite happy to accompany you” “Yeah yeah frenchie, shuddup and let’s go” Smitty grumbled to Frogbot, slapping him on the back to get him walking towards the door. …… England, a short while later The jeep came to a stop and Smitty shut it off. They all piled out and looked at the pub nearby. The town was not very large, but held a concentration of troops as a stopping off point before deployment to Europe, many of them in temporary billets in the town. There were a few halftracks and a Sherman or two nearby, and both men and women of several Allied services were walking and standing around. “’Ello, ‘at's it boys. The place is right over there” said Z cheerily. It was not a large pub, but had grown a bit in temporary accommodations with the influx of soldiery in the last year. It looked crowded, mostly men, but a few local women, civilian and service, were among the crowd, much to the delight of the heavily drinking servicemen milling about all around. They began to walk towards the pub when Smitty’s inordinately powerful senses picked up on something. A woman, across the street, had glanced at them in interest and then quickly looked away. He stopped, and let his mechanical eye behind his one-way mesh eye patch focus in on her, let the flows of ability reach out and bring things into sharp, unnatural focus. Attractive. Familiar. Dressed as a nurse. I recognize that perfume. Hmmm. Yes, the one from the firing range, the one that brought me tea. Right before Arnhem. Looking this way again, trying to not let us notice.  He instantly noted, from across the street, the slight increase in pulse by the thrumming of it in her alabaster neck, the ever so faint smile she tried to hide but still managed to twitch slightly into place, the way she subtly averted her gaze when she noticed him looking, a very soft flush coming to her cheeks, almost imperceptible. Coy. Nervous. Maybe she’s interested. Well, that’s… interesting. Smitty let himself smile, then gave a casual wave in her direction and jogged to catch up with the others. Out of the corner of his eye he noted her flush increasing, the tightness of her constrained smile, the nearly unnoticeable perspiration of nervousness on her brow, as she gave a small wave back, then turned, shaking out her hair and speaking to a doctor who was talking to her animatedly about some subject or another. Her body language, obvious to his senses, spoke how bored she was with the conversation. Smitty caught up and grabbed Moose’s arm. “Hey fellas, you go on without me. I’ve got something I need to go do, I’ll catch up with ya later, ok?” “Sure thing, Smitty. I’ll save ya some potatoes and a couple beers”, Moose replied, waving him off. “Yeah, ok, whatever, see ya…” Smitty shot back over his shoulder as he weaved his way across the street crowded with servicemen and honking jeeps, securing his ever-present Springfield against accidental collision. He closed in on her quietly, his senses noting how she kept looking askance across the street, as if searching for something or someone. She had not seen him approach, and she was obviously bored of the conversation with the doctor, but was suffering it nobly and casually. Her stance also indicated something else, maybe… disappointment?  Smitty stepped out of the crowd right behind her, a Ghost among men. “Hey, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! Say, I need to talk to you a bit, hello there partner, let me borrow the lady for a moment will you? Hey thanks, that’s a pal…” Smitty smoothly spoke to her and the doctor as he gently took her arm and subtly walked her in the opposite direction, leaving the doctor standing there sputtering to himself. “H-Hello there, do I know you?” she asked him, smiling. “Sure you do. I met you on the firing range. We had tea. Name’s Smitty” he answered, releasing her arm and offering her his hand with an open smile. She took his hand. “Margaret. My name is Margaret. My thanks, by the way, that old windbag was buggering on forever about this and that”, she answered. “My hero, a knight in olive drab”, she joked. Flushing again, just barely. I can feel her pulse rise a little. Very nice. Smitty realized the way she said her name, “Maah-gret”, in that proper English drawl, was the sweetest thing he’d heard in some time. He also realized his own pulse had quickened a bit, and released her hand. “We’ll, we all make sacrifices in the name of God and country”, he said flippantly, examining his nails with a mock-sigh, belatedly adding “oh, and Queen.” She laughed, a full, rich sound. It made his heart warm for the first time in quite a while. “Oh, a clever one, how can a girl manage in the face of such wit”, she barbed, rolling her eyes dramatically and smiling at him again. Smitty chuckled, then snapped his fingers and attempted to give a look like he’d just then had a Really Good Idea. “Say, we never did properly have that tea, and to be honest, I’ve grown a taste for it myself, but I’ve yet to find someone who can quite explain the significance of the whole thing, the brewing, milk, sugar, you know. I’m just a little ol’ ignorant American from way across the pond, in need of guidance in the matter. Care to help out a poor soldier in a foreign land?” She shook her head at him, amused, and answered. “Well, let it not be said that the Queen’s hospitality fell flat because Margaret Johnson refused such a gallant request. I know a good eatery nearby, kind sir, let us go there and I shall school you in the finer points of the national English beverage, after which you can count yourself much the wiser. For duty, and God and country, and all that”, she said, her fine accent lilting with playful sarcasm. “And Queen. Don’t forget”, Smitty added, offering her his arm. “Of course, and Queen”, she smiled, and took his arm. … Back at the pub...  “So I took off up inna air, boy wheee-howdy them krauty fellers was sur-prised, an’ I wham wham tossed ‘em dingdang ol’ mines at ‘em, and blammo them danged ol’ tankses just kerblooey”, Hank said as he related another story from their exploits, Z interjecting an occasional “Well I’ll be!” and “Bugger!” as he absorbed Hank’s hand-waving narrative from the front lines over the loud din of the pub. John helped himself to another pint, a bit disappointed that his healing ability seemed to process the alcohol nearly as fast as he drank it. Moose dug into a huge bowl of bangers and mash, drinking dark beer from a pitcher as fast as a normal man would a glass, happily and noisily putting away food and drink like a starved hound. A starved, 350 pound hound. It was nice to have a little R&R, especially with what they’d been through lately. Frogbot occasionally made a comment, then would drink in the strangest fashion. He would open his mouth, but by hinging his head backwards, keeping his lower jaw still, mouth open unusually wide. Then the android would pour in wine he produced from one of his various hidden compartments, without swallowing, and shut his face with a click of perfectly straight, square teeth. He would then say something about French wine, and cheese, and then fall silent for a while, only to repeat the process in about ten minutes as if he was on some kind of schedule. John took a long draw of his beer and spoke to him. “Ya know, Frogbot, my ol’ pappy used to have a sayin’ about fellers like you.” “Oui?” “He would say, ‘Ya know, John, ‘at boy jes ain’t right’.” Frogbot just stared at him with that pasted-on smile. “It’s alright there buddy, you’re a good fella anyway. For a frenchie”, John told him, draining off another glass. “Oui! And quite a Frenchman I am, France being ze greatest land in all the world, her shores be beautiful, her fields bountiful, her…” Damn John. Sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone. Nearby, several pairs of eyes stared at them, concentrating. Watching. Waiting. … A small eatery, several blocks away… They had talked the whole time, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Smitty hadn’t felt this good in quite a while, even though he secretly hated tea. It was nice to forget… things, and relax every now and then. He lit a smoke and offered it to her, then lit himself another, and slouched back with an arm flung casually over his chair. She took a sip of her tea, and a drag off of her cigarette.  “How’s the tea?” she asked him, smiling. “Wonderful. Beautiful. The best I’ve ever had”, answered Smitty softly, never taking his eyes off of her. His cup was still full, and getting cold. He just enjoyed looking at her, the way she blushed when he focused on her face, the quirks of her smile, the way her throat moved when she swallowed. They sat quietly for some time. “So, when do you have to get back? When do you leave again?” She asked, breaking the silence. “I get back when I get back. I’m dunno when I’ll be heading out again. Not tonight, that’s for sure.” She looked at him warmly, her eyes sliding down to the cased Springfield hung on his chair. “That’s quite an impressive gun” she stated, sipping her tea. Smitty glanced at it, having forgotten, just for a few moments, that it was there. “It’s just a tool, like any other. Well, better than most, but just a tool anyway. It’s no better than the man behind it”, he told her. She nodded. “They say… they say you’re incredibly good with your gun.” Smitty sighed, and then grinned rakishly.  “Yep, that they do. And I’m pretty good with this Springfield rifle, too, by the way.” She looked at him, her brows knitted in confusion for a moment, then a flush and a look of amused shock. “Smitty! You uncouth rascal! Whatsoever shall a girl do with such a barbarian!” she shot back at him, mock-slapping him on the arm. He covered her hand with his before she could pull it away, relishing in the feel of it. “Um, Margaret, well. See I, uh, well you’re… would you like to, um. Shoot. Ahem. Well, oh dammit…”, he began brokenly. She interrupted him, leaning in close to whisper, and he could feel her breath on the good part of his face when she spoke. “Smitty, would you please walk me home. I’d… I’d really like to go now.” His good eye opened in surprise, and then he smiled at her and offered her his arm, standing. “Mam, it would be my duty, as a duly appointed representative of the U-S-of-A…” “Oh, silly boy!” she countered, taking his arm and walking away with him, leaning her head onto his shoulder. He stopped, turning back towards the eatery. “One second, I forgot something”, he said, quickly stepping back inside. He paid for their forgotten check, leaving a generous tip, then as he turned to leave he noticed the Springfield, still hanging on the chair where he’d left it. He stood for a moment, staring at it. Then he picked it up, shouldered it, and returned to Margaret, who once again took his arm. He put his arm around her as they walked, and tried not to think about anything but how good she smelled, felt, sounded. …</blockquote>

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