Thread: Out of the Blue (Mr. M & Adonia)

Restlessly, Claudia Reese spent an aimless hour in Central Park during her lunch, not quite seeing the rows and rows of vivid-hued kites fluttering from Sheep Meadow in an exceptionally strong breeze, bright and flamboyant against a backdrop of blue skies and cottony white fluff. She was far too worried about where her life was heading to enjoy the view, or to notice that there was some excitement among a crowd of people nearby. She had seen it all before. Probably some street band or dance troupe performing for quarters, she thought dismissively. At the moment, she was rather more interested in the newspaper she was reading as she sat on a bench under her favorite oak. Or rather, filled with envy as she read the articles in a special section of one of the citys dailies. The newspaper, incidentally, that she worked for. It was admittedly her favorite section. It was packed with articles on known metahumans-- some of whom were celebrities in the city, and others personae non gratae, even feared-- written by the top reporters of the company. It was these reporters shoes that Claudia would have given her eye teeth to be in. But as a relatively new, undistinguished and merely competent at least thats what her latest evaluation said reporter, she was doomed to frivolous assignments, like covering the new Cirque du Soleil in town for the entire week. Greedily, Claudia pored over the latest news, devouring photos of her favorites with their significant others or dates on the red carpet of premieres and charity balls, glancing over the section of newcomers who were recently making a splash, noting who were in town and who were abroad. AC-DC... now there was a wicked subject matter. A serendipitously snapped photo of him leaving AFTER the crime was a taunting reminder of the darker end of the spectrum. His most recent heist had been written about and blogged to death, and had made lively rounds on talk shows featuring metahuman experts. Now if SHE could get an interview with him... She shook off her daydreams, glanced at her watch, and flipped the page over. It would be time to head back to the office soon. In the next moment, a gentle breeze riffled the page back. Non, non, je nai pas fini, a feminine, lilting voice protested from somewhere above Claudia. I have not finished. Attendez s'il vous plaIt. Startled, Claudia twisted and craned her neck back. Hanging from her knees hooked over a thick branch right above her was a vision covered neck to toe in sleek, light-blue glittery spandex, almost like a second skin hugging the undeniably voluptuous curves underneath, a blue, equally sleek half-head helmet with Hermes wings semi-containing the long, thick dark hair, which, incredibly enough, flowed UP and back from her face just like the blue cape that should have been hanging DOWN from her shoulders. Because of the upside-down perspective, Claudia couldnt decide if the lower half of the creatures face that she could see was beautiful or merely pretty. Small white teeth bit into the lower lip in focused concentration. Claudia recovered her aplomb quickly enough. You havent finished what? she demanded. That article you were reading, the vision said patiently, her English melodically accented as she pointed at the page opposite where Claudia had been on. On the Heroes Welcome page. There. Vous voyez la? The full coral lips curved widely into an upside-down smile. Cest moi! Claudia looked down at the page in confusion. She had barely glanced at the section on new metahumans... but sure enough, with a small picture and equally small print next to it, was the article in question. Claudia squinted at the title. Youre--- youre La Brise? Just Brise will do, the vision grinned. I am not in France any more. The article went on to say in a couple of short paragraphs that the metahuman had stopped a robbery in progress, dangling the two culprits, their weapons mysteriously jerked away from them, from the bank lobbys chandelier until the police arrived. Witnesses claimed heavy winds inside the bank during the altercation, resulting in the two criminals being swept up as if by a vortex to the lower rungs of the light fixture which hung from the apex of the high ceiling. That IS you! The picture wasnt very clear either but there was no mistaking the glittery blue spandex and the curves it emphasized, the smiling face framed by wavy dark tresses. She stared at the picture, then up at Brise, her jaw slightly hanging open. Bien sur. Of course it is me. You can turn the page now. Brise held out her arms to the side, and in one graceful move she unhooked her knees from the branch, straightening out her long slender legs just as her body swung back and dropped the ten-foot distance, her feet landing on the grass with the sure-footed lightness of a cat. It was then that Claudia realized that a small crowd had collected around the tree, people pointing at the caped metahuman female. Brise swung around to smile brightly at Claudia. Thank you for sharing your paper with me, Mademoiselle Reese. Should you not be heading back to the office? Lunchtime is nearly over, non? Claudias jaw dropped even more. How--- A loud boom from the west side disturbed the tranquility of Central Park. Brise whirled around, tilting her head for a moment as if listening to something, then she said hurriedly to Claudia, I am sorry, but I must go. Wait a minute--- A sudden, strong current of wind swirled around Brise, sweeping up dried leaves and park debris in its wake, and at the same moment she spread her cape out, she rose swiftly into the air and at an angle towards the west side of the park Je doit aller! You know who I am! Wont you talk to me? Claudia shouted over the keening wind, holding her hair down as the vortex whipped around her. She started running after the metahuman, who was already moving over and past the tree. Tomorrow, perhaps, Brise shouted back. Be at your bench, same time. Leaving the gaping crowd below her, sparing a brief glance at the running Claudia, Brise glided over the park on a fluid, horizontal chute of air to the west. Amplified by special artifacts in her helmet, her control of gaseous elements ---in this case, atmospheric air-- enabled her to manipulate minute movements of molecules into any speed, direction and strength she desired. She was quite capable of the gentle zephyrs such as the one that had held aloft the kites of hopeful New Yorkers only a few minutes ago, or tornado-like maelstroms, although she had never had cause to use one. It would take all her mental and physical strength, even with the amplification rendered by the helmet, to initiate and sustain one for more than a few minutes, perhaps, theoretically, killing her if she maintained it too long. It was easy enough to trace the source of the boom. New York City traffic was stressful at the best of times, but something must have happened to explain the back-up of cars and crowds that formed on the corner of 68th and Central Park West. Leaving the green boundaries of the park behind, she followed the trail of stopped cars at a height of 15 floors, surfing left around an office building until the length of 68th Street was visible to her. She pulled up sharply on a swell of air, on a wave of cresting currents that lifted her up and fluttered her cape and hair as she hovered in a vertical position, and she stared in astonishment at the scene below her. The broadcasts on police channels streaming in through her helmet had prepared her to find a breached armored truck, but the money fluttering down like parade confetti on the mob below was entirely unexpected. Then her eyes caught sight of it--- of him. He was already on his way toward the water, leaving behind the deep canyon of buildings, the massive ten-foot silhouette of his armor changing from red and yellow flames into its sky-blue camouflage just as her gaze picked him up. Ah, tu es un intrepide, she murmured, large blue eyes narrowing behind the eye-windows of her helmet. But perhaps a little too bold for your own good, Monsieur Ayzee-Deezee. She was already moving after him, her exhilaration pouring out of her fingertips to stir currents around her to peak velocity until she was accelerating like a rocket, a horizontal blue streak of gaudy spandex headed towards a ten-foot mirage of blue sky. Cest trop delicieux! This time she was going to catch the baddest of the bad-- and in front of all these people too! On the ground, crowds looked up and pointed at the blue streak, craning necks and shading eyes to try to follow her trajectory, but she was going too fast now. In her wake was a wave of air so massive that uncollected money and garbage swirled and eddied down that street, blowing off hats and lifting skirts and flapping unbuttoned jackets. And that tsunami of air, swiftly gathering speed and force as it traveled, was heading straight for AC-DC along with its creator.