Broke and Famous

by Elizabeth Gannon

  His entourage immediately agreed with him.

  Sometimes Thraex really hated people.

  Especially Capes.

  More heroes came down the hall, discussing something.

  “…things go for you and Wyatt on that mission last week?” One of them asked a boy who appeared to be a little younger than Thraex. “The one with the crazy Irish guy?”

  The boy laughed at his friend. “Took the dude into custody for repeatedly yelling ‘theater’ in a crowded firehouse.” He paused for a beat. “What do you even charge a guy like that with? The reverse would be illegal, but was this? I mean, I guess it’s disturbing the peace and trespassing, maybe?” He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Guy is nuts. I let Wyatt deal with him, it’s good practice for later.” He grinned like he was planning the most amusing practical joke in the world. “He’s going to be the best man at the guy’s fucking wedding, I kid you not. But don’t tell him, I want it to be a surprise.”

  Thraex followed behind them until they reached the main area of the auditorium, then he took a seat in the bleachers. As far away from the other students as possible, but one which still gave him a clear line of sight on the Westgates. In his experience, if you left them alone for too long, you tended to not get all of them back again.

  Trusting a Westgate to have a sense of self-preservation was like trusting a goose to play the fiddle. If you wanted to hear a tune, best to be the one to do it for them, and let a goose be a goose. Otherwise, it would never get done.

  Sasha waved at him shyly from across the gym, and Thraex couldn’t help but smile.

  That woman was just so adorable and appealing.

  The boy from the Freedom Squad remained in the doorway to his right for a moment, merrily whistling Left Banke’s Walk Away Renée.

  Thraex was a big fan of music from the 1960s. Since he’d grown up in a world of silent darkness, all music was “new” to him, and he could focus more on the tune and style, rather than only paying attention to what was currently popular.

  He liked ‘60s music.

  Elvis was his favorite, but he wasn’t picky.

  The boy casually glanced over at him, and his song stopped short. He looked down at his watch as if surprised. “Shit, is that today? Hot damn!” He strolled over and took a seat beside him on the bleachers. “I’m sure you get this all the time… but are you a butler? Because I’ve got a lot of shit I need someone to throw away for me. Tons.”

  Thraex snorted in amusement. “’Fraid not. You?”

  The boy smiled broadly. “I’m in pest control.” He extended his hand. “Peter Ferral.”

  “I’m…”

  “I know who you are, Thraex.” The boy cut him off. “I was born knowing everything I’ll ever know. That’s my super-power. It’s sorta like being precognitive, but really it’s just a matter of having a really good memory.” He leaned back on the bench, looking completely relaxed. “We’re gonna talk for a little while today, and then…” he shook his head, “no, I don’t remember us ever talking again, which is a shame, because this is going to be a really friendly conversation.” He gestured back and forth between them with his finger. “There’s a spark here, and I’m not saying that we could have been friends, just that we’ll have 11 more years to take that idea for a spin before I’m horribly murdered, and yet neither of us is going to bother.” He nodded, resigned but knowing. “That’s the way life is though, I suppose.”

  Thraex opened his mouth to reply to that, but was cut off as the boy whistled sharply to get someone’s attention. A moment later, a girl with brown hair sat down next to Peter.

  Peter looked at the girl and gestured at Thraex with his head. “This is Thraex. He’s working his way through school here as a custodian, so that he can fulfill his dream of being a butler.” He gestured at the girl. “This is Kristine. She and I are strictly ‘Hufflepuff’ in the Freedom Squad, we’re not even on the main team yet. You won’t be seeing more of her in your life either, I’m afraid. So, enjoy us while you can, because we pass this way but once.”

  The girl nodded at him in greeting, looking entirely unmoved about the prophesy that this would be their first and only conversation. “S’up.”

  Peter went back to whistling, waiting for the presentation to start. He obviously didn’t take himself or the world very seriously. “So, how do you like it here at the Academy?”

  Thraex rested his work boot on the seat of the bleacher in front of him. “I try to ignore it, most of the time. I just take care of the grounds and fix stuff for ‘em, because none of these other damn fools are gonna do it right. And…” He paused, finally processing the boy’s name. “Ferral.” He repeated. “Your family got old Professor Beardsly Westgate killed on a time travel field trip.”

  Peter Ferral had just made himself an enemy. For life.

  You didn’t kill a Westgate and get to walk away.

  Not unless you killed Thraex first.

  The boy looked down at the ground, happy mood disappearing. “Poor Professor Beardsly. I think the raptors got him.” He said softly. “I always liked him. He was the kind of scientist who was always railing against the ‘close-minded fools’ who belittled his research, you know? You don’t see that much anymore. He believed in the classics. Keepin’ it alive.” He held up his open hands to show helplessness. “The decision to leave him wasn’t my doing though, that was my parents. I wasn’t driving and they ignored my protests.” He paused for a beat. “If it’s any consolation though, they’re going to get themselves lost forever in space soon. So… karma.”

  “You gonna warn them?”

  Peter pantomimed weighing that matter between his two hands, then shook his head. “No. They wouldn’t take it well. We don’t get along anyway. But you know what that’s like, you’ve got family issues that top even mine.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “Honestly, I think everyone will be happier with them gone forever. Sometimes the old needs to go away if the new is ever going to have a chance to grow.”

  “I wish we could have just stayed at the Fortress of Liberty with Wyatt.” Kristine complained, not bothering to even eavesdrop on the other side of the conversation. Like most people who met Thraex, she was talking around him. He wasn’t their kind, and thus not important. “I hate having to deal with these rando pleb kids.”

  Peter looked at Thraex without missing a beat. “…No offense.” He added for the girl, then went back to whistling and bobbing his head to classic rock music. “You’d like my brother.” He told Thraex conversationally. “He’s a blue-collar, meat-and-potatoes kind of hero.” He gestured to his older teammates in the Freedom Squad, who were assembling in the gallery for the demonstration. “None of that fake corporate shit.”

  “I think your brother has a month in my calendar.” Thraex felt compelled to inform him, for some reason.

  Peter snorted in amusement. “You bought my brother’s swimsuit calendar?”

  “Probably.” Thraex shrugged. “I don’t know, I always keep mine on June, so I can’t be sure.”

  “Man who looks ahead. I respect that.” Peter nodded in appreciation of that thought. “I keep my eye on the horizon too, obviously.” He took on a curious tone. “Why June?”

  Thraex met his eyes. “You know everything, you tell me.”

  Peter smiled widely. “It is a lovely shot of her.” He agreed. “More women should wear white opera gloves while swimming. It’s a look. Not a popular look with people online or one which I’d attempt myself, but it’s definitely a look.”

  “Her mama made her do it.” Thraex defended. “Said it was for charity and that her normal suit was too ‘frumpy.’ Wanted to get her work more attention.”

  “Ah.” Peter nodded in understanding. “Well, the big ‘W’ of fabric cutout over her cleavage was anything but frumpy, and it definitely brought your attention to her ‘work,’ I’ll give you that.” He took on a wise tone. “But the reasons behind the art don’t always impact the art itself. You create something for one r
eason, but your creation goes on to have a life of its own, outside of your intentions. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s what tells you that you did a good job.”

  “She wore thigh-high white boots and opera gloves with a vintage blue swimsuit, which had a big ‘W’-shaped boob window.” Kristine deadpanned, reminding her friend of the situation, like it destroyed all defenses and artistic interpretations of the fashion choice.

  “She did indeed.” Peter nodded, looking amused. “Thank god women are getting more into the STEM fields, that’s what I say. And I think the calendar is going to get a lot of boys suddenly interested in science too.”

  Kristine snorted in amusement. “Particularly anatomy.”

  Peter chuckled, looking across the auditorium at Sasha. “She’s a good model though, you can really feel the emotion in her eyes in that shot. Like, ‘Hey there, I’m a world-renowned scientist in a swimsuit, and I’m really happy to see you!’”

  Thraex’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched. “I think I can safely put the ‘Why aren’t we friends’ mystery to rest now, fella.” He shook his head in warning. “I think I sure enough cracked that case.”

  The boy sensed the change of emotion and the danger he was now in. “Did I overstep?” He held up a hand in apology. “Sorry. No offense meant, dude. Seriously. Kristine and I both genuinely like Sasha, we’re just teasing. We’d say the same to her face if she were here with us now, and Sasha being Sasha, we’d all have a laugh about it.” He went back to his song for a moment. “Really nice to see a young student stick up for his teacher’s honor like that though. Warms the heart.”

  Thraex started to tell the guy to shut his damn mouth, but was interrupted by the shrill screech of microphone feedback.

  He uttered an oath and put his palms over his ears, suddenly getting a headache because some damn fool didn’t know how to use a microphone.

  Thraex was born in a dimension that didn’t even have electricity, and he could figure out how to use a microphone without blasting out everyone’s eardrums.

  The party responsible tapped the mic with his finger, paying no attention to the noise which echoed through the room.

  Someone from the Academy jumped up into the fighting ring and moved the man away from the speaker so that the sound lessened.

  The fella ignored that too. “Hello, loyal public!” His voice boomed. “Hi there, it’s your boy, Jaxx Brixton.” He paused to smile roguishly. “AKA ‘Rascal.’ I know that most of you have never heard of me, but…”

  His entourage and the people in the audience started shouting down that idea.

  “Oh, so you have heard of me!?!” Jaxx Brixton chuckled in mock surprise, like a great simpering idiot. “I was wondering, because it seemed like I didn’t get much applause the first time, am I right?”

  The crowd boomed to life, clapping and cheering louder for him.

  “Shiiiit…” Peter leaned back on the bleacher, sounding as bored and annoyed as Thraex felt. “Meet the superhero designed by a marketing team. He’s like a dozen stupid people… smooshed into a ball. A wet, moosh-y ball of stupid, wearing a cape.”

  “Now then...” Brixton began, holding up the mic too close to his face so that the entire room could hear every breath he took. “Thanks to an invitation from the ever-lovely Magnolia Lafayette-Dupree and her husband,” he pointed out the couple in the crowd, “I’ve been asked to put on a little demonstration here today. I’m going to show all you little heroes how things go when you’re playing with the big boys.” He condescendingly smiled his prickish smile again, showing more teeth than a gator at the dentist. “Because I’m the biggest thing to ever happen to this world. I’m the GOAT. Greatest of all time. I’m the real King! Way bigger than Elvis, am I right?”

  Thraex’s eyes narrowed in irritation.

  The crowd cheered anyway, delusionally thinking that any man could be bigger than Elvis.

  Peter swore again. “I remember everything I’ll ever know. Which means I was born knowing that there would come a day when that idiot would claim to be bigger than Elvis. Nothing can really prepare you for it, sadly.” He took on a thoughtful expression. “Of course, I’m also the one who told him that Elvis was his only real competition for the public’s love, which is probably why he keeps bringing it up. So, self-fulfilling prophecy on my part, I suppose.”

  “The smartest fighter in the world today.” Brixton continued. “A lot of these guys,” he pointed to his friends in the Freedom Squad, “they’re either thinkers or they’re brawlers. But me? I’m the best of both worlds.” He paused. “No, wait… I’m simply the best. Am I right?” He laughed again. “I mean, my god, look at me.” He turned to watch himself on the monitor which was set up next to the ring. “Did you ever just look in a mirror and find yourself unable to look away, because… wow. You sexy thing, you.” He held the mic up to his face again, so close that he must have wanted to know what it tasted like. “I can’t have a secret identity, because you can’t even imagine how hard it would be to disguise these cheekbones. And it would be such a crime to wear a mask which hid this face, that I’d have to arrest myself, am I right?”

  The crowd shouted their approval at that.

  Brixton took on a serious expression. “Hashtag ‘blessed,’ Hashtag ’Cape24/7.’”

  There was a rustling sound as his followers immediately set to work on making those trend on social media.

  “And yes, I could be out there saving the day and rescuing damsels, but true feminism is recognizing that women can rescue themselves.”

  Thraex frowned slightly at that, unhappy with the vague “do it yourself, I’m busy” message of that statement.

  “Instead, I decided to come in here and give back to the little people who make my job so rewarding. You.” Brixton continued. “I’m going to teach you how to do the things that I do.” He laughed, like that was somehow funny. “Now, now, don’t go getting your hopes up, boys. Not even I can work miracles that big.” Despite his obvious attempt at overt inclusion, he still used the male pronoun for the entire crowd despite there being any number of women present. “You should be happy to just be in a position where you get to stand near me.” He nodded seriously, apparently about to make a point. “A lot of people have told me that. That they feel smarter when I’m around.” He raised his arms. “So, everyone? Just bask in me for a moment.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, as if sending out invisible rays of stupidity destined to infect everyone. “Bask… We’re basking in me right now… Soaking me in… Bask in the Jaxx…”

  Peter turned to look at Thraex. “You’re not basking, Thraex.”

  “…What an asshole.” Thraex decided after a beat, feeling both irritated and amazed by this man.

  “You’ve never met him?” Peter snorted, imagining what it must be like to be first introduced to someone this annoying. “Yeah, that dude’s so full of himself, one of these days he’s going to burst out of his own chest like the fucking alien in a Sigourney Weaver movie.” He demonstrated the scene by putting his arm under his shirt and then springing it outward like the Alien, and mouthed silent screams of pain and horror.

  “He’s phenomenally strong, and he’s also one of the smartest people in the world.” Kristine defended. “Don’t often see that kinda mix of brains and strength. Usually people are one or the other.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s a thinker, alright.” Peter started laughing at that idea. “Last week, he arrested someone on ‘suspicion of being Zorro.’” He paused for a beat to let that sink in, then shook his head. “I laughed my ass off, but I don’t think it was meant to be humorous. Honestly, I think that poor guy he arrested is going to get put away on that charge too. Jaxx is an idiot, but he’s very strong and people generally go along with his stupidity because he’s got a really short temper.”

  Brixton continued with some story that Thraex didn’t hear the beginning of. “…Moving silently, sexily, and sinuously through the trees like a mighty jungle cat, I snuck up on them
…”

  “Who’s a jungle cat?” Thraex asked Peter, gesturing to the stage with his hand. “How’d we get onto this?” He was morbidly curious, for some reason. “Weren’t we just ‘baskin’’?”

  Peter used his hand to hush him. “Shhh… this is getting to the good part.”

  “…I cradled her against my massive tree-trunk of a body, letting her cry her girlish concerns away.” Jaxx Brixton demonstrated the action, holding an invisible girl. “’There, there,’ I said in my virile baritone, sexily petting her little head, “I’m here now. Jaxx is here and you’re safe.’”

  Women in the audience swooned.

  “He’s one of those guys who is always trying to mention the size of his cock to you, in every conversation, no matter the topic.” Peter told him, sounding almost impressed by the ego that took. “A few weeks ago, he casually brought it up in a conversation Wyatt and I were having about The Little Liberty League cartoon show.” He made a face. “I just don’t get it. If you talk about your dick more than once or twice a day, that’s just too much.”

  Thraex crossed his arms over his chest, feeling both appalled but also strangely captivated by this clown.

  “…’No,’ she said in feminine alarm as I began to remove her clothes for her,” Jaxx continued, “’We mustn’t, I can’t…’ but her sleek nubile body was still pressed against mine, and I could feel her trembling desire against my masculine, sinewy bulk. I knew she wanted me, no matter what her mouth was saying.” Brixton looked out over the crowd. “You all know how that is, am I right? Some women should be kissed, not heard, am I right?”

  Cheers and laughter.

  “We made love in the moonlight,” Jaxx casually added, as if in postscript, “the howls of the wolves sounding as nothing compared to my ferocious passion and the cries of her ecstasy, as all ten inches of my rock-hard…”