Talyesin's Tales

Discussing recent events, Squirrelman, Doc and Julia Sterling made plans to investigate Dr. Hi-Q's ruined complex in Downtown, the betrayal of the Prince of Thorns in the UnSeelie Seeming, and the whereabouts of Doc Steele by way of the Shangri-Lalian Monastery of the Infinite. Upon leaving the Sterling Spire, Squirrelman ran into Darklight, and together they returned to the Kane Sanitarium to interrogate the ACPD officer who had borne the full brunt of the dark psychic energies surrounding Annie O'Day's murder. They determined that the murderer was a powerful sorceress, and decided to bring the case to the attention of the Crimefighters' League. Parting company, it wasn't long before Squirrelman heard a bank alarm...



Starring!

Matt Mattheson ......... as Squirrelman




I run.

Along the roof to the fire escape, jump off the fire escape to the building across the alley, up the wall, along the next roof, jump across a second alley, along that roof, off the edge, fall toward a flag pole sticking out of the building, use the pole to springboard me across the street, grab the streetlamp and swing myself up and onto the roof, across the roof and jump the alley and I'm on top of First Financial.

Look over the edge. Cops haven't shown just yet.

Down the front of the building, head first. Peek through the huge bay window.

Six or seven goons, taking orders from a woman I recognize.

Long and lean, killer legs, dynamite smile. Naturally green hair that falls in thick curls all the way down her back, skin the colour of mahogany. Dressed in a green unitard with a plunging neckline that leaves almost nothing to the imagination.

Chlorophyllis.

People have asked how I know she's a natural greenhead. I know this, because my predecessor knows this.

Back when he first started out as Squirrelman, he thought maybe he could reform criminals instead of putting their asses back in jail, time after time after time. Chlorrie was his first attempt. What didn't help was that there was a really powerful physical chemistry between them, and what started as casual flirting became a pretty intense attraction that they acted on. Chlorrie pretended to reform for a little while, even helped him on a few cases, but in the end, she loved money and plants more than she loved him, so, adios Squirrelly. All these memories are still loaded in my brain and I get a memory flash of her naked and moaning under me. Him. Whatever, it's something I'd rather not think about while I'm hanging from a wall head first, trying to think about how to take out her goons before she can throw some of her metaplant seeds at me and I'm wrapped in tanglevine or whateverthefuck.

"Hell with it," I say, jumping off the building to the bus shelter on the sidewalk, use that to bounce right back at the bank and through the glass front door. It smashes to pieces and gets their attention.

I'm already on the first goon before they have a chance to turn, tackle him by the head and drive him hard to the floor, punching him twice, fast and hard, kick off him and backflip onto the next guy, he topples over backwards and I keep him in a headlock as the third guy rushes me, use the second guy as leverage, kick up and catch number three in the jaw with both feet, his head snaps back and his eyes roll over white, I flip number two into another goon, and then the rest have finally pulled their guns out.

Bullets fill the air. Dodge. Twist. Twitch. Dodge. Dodge. Under a desk, lift it, toss it. They dodge, I get better cover.

"Lover!" Chlorophyllis says, pretending to be delighted. She loves throwing that in my face.

"Chlorrie," I say, jumping to the ceiling and dodging behind a column.

"What brings you by? Not that I'm not delighted to see you, hon," she says. I know she's giving her goons orders with gestures, but I can't see her. I climb down the column, knowing they'll be looking for me near the ceiling.

"Oh, you know the drill," I say.

"I certainly remember your drilling," she flirts back. Jesus, he was attracted to this?

"I notice you've got some new guys," I say. "Where'd you get them, Goons R Us?"

She laughs. "No, I put an ad in the paper."

One of the goons comes around the column and I kick him hard in the face, so hard he spins around twice before falling to the ground.

Bullets come my way but I'm already not there.

"Squirrelly, come out now, and I promise to make it quick," she says.

"Yeah, you were always quick to make it," I taunt back.

"Asshole," I hear her mutter. Then she yells, "What are you idiots waiting for? Get him!"

But I'm nowhere near where they think I am and everywhere near their boss lady. I jump down from my hiding place and grab Chlorrie by the hair.

"Call them off Chlorrie, I'm serious."

"Oooo, I always liked it when you got a little rough."

"Jesus." I shake my head. "Drop 'em, or your boss lady gets it."

"I don't think so, lover."

She drops something and I twitch away but the vines are super-fast growing and one of them manages to grab my ankle and haul me hard to the floor. I slash it with my claws and backflip away from the bullets, bounce off a column and dive between the two goons who are too stupid to stop shooting as I dive past and they wind up shooting each other. Dammit.

One goon and Chlorrie left.

"Give up, Chlorrie."

"I'm not going back to Bendis, Squirrelly!"

"You keep this up I'll send you to the Kane."

"Fuck you, you shit!"

Ah, that's what I was waiting for. Panic.

I run along the wall, behind a line of columns, the last goon spraying the room with bullets. Up onto the safe door, hit the ceiling, along the ceiling, pounce straight down and land both feet on him, hard. Reach over, grab Chlorrie's wrists.

She's fighting, kicking, swearing at me. She's not much of a fighter, though, so I'm not really worried. Lousy traitor hormones are still attracted to her, though. Not much, but enough to make me glad she doesn't try seduction instead of blind rage.

The cops show up and take her away, the two who shot themselves get medivac'd. One more collar for Squirrelman

I head home.

Which is to say, I try to head home. About halfway there, a blur of white lands on the roof next to me. I twitch-dodge away, but I don't need to worry.

It's White Rabbit. She's tall and curvy and would be really hot if she wasn't covered in actual fur and had a human-sized human head instead of a human-sized rabbit head. Of course, that makes her a huge hit with the transhuman crowd. Not my style, despite my own fans in the transhuman set, but whatever drapes your cape. She's wearing her waistcoat and her gold pocket watch. Her nose twitches and she says, "Hey Squirrelman."

"Hey yourself, Rabbit."

I'm still a little twitchy from the fight, so I keep my distance. She's not a threat, she's just a messenger. She works for a guy who know some guys. Never does any dirty work himself, just organizes meetings.

"Seven Year wants to see you," she says.

"Oh yeah?" Seven Year is her boss, the guy who knows some guys. Also her lover, if word on the street is any good. They've been together since Jabberwocky and Chesire Cat turned them the way they are now. "What about?"

"Like I should know?" she shrugs. "You coming or what? I'm already late."

"For a very important... ah, never mind."

I follow her. Which is to say, she leaves and heads to the same place I'm going, but she gets there a lot sooner. Being able to jump nearly two blocks at a time will give you a hell of a lead.

The Red Queen is a mock-English pub a few blocks from UIAC, popular with the university crowd for imported beer that gets them hammered faster. Also, the decor is screwy - all the angles are off, the floor is warped, and the mirrors are funhouse surplus. The bar and all the tables, all of them crooked, have been enchanted or something to keep things from sliding off. The waitresses all dress in either Alice-style blue and white outfits or Red Queen style red and black outfits. My predecessor spent a lot of time here as a student.

And since Seven Year took over, every Friday night is transhuman night. Bored rich kids with cosmetic modifications to look like animals come slumming down here into Lower Uptown, to party with the common people, instead of trying to get into Furr-eez or Skritch, the popular Uptown transhuman clubs, which are always packed on Friday nights.

I head in the back way. There are a couple of drunk college kids making out by the fire escape door, and I slip past them, heading for Seven Year's office. I knock on the door and hear Seven Year's weird fractured echoing voice say, "Come in."

Seven Year got his name because of what happened to him when he was rescued from Jabberwocky's looking glass. Jabberwocky and Cheshire Cat had been kidnapping folks, prostitutes, hustlers, goons, whatever, and experimenting on them. Changing them. Forced metahumanization. Nasty stuff, all Alice in Wonderland themed. But Seven Year had only just been kidnapped, and the Ultras had caught onto Jabberwocky's plan, stopped them, pulled everyone out of the looking glass, only Seven Year was last, and Cheshire Cat had thrown something, and Ultragirl ducked, and as Seven Year was coming through, the looking glass had shattered.

And so had he.

Only, he didn't die. Something about the magic of the looking glass. I dunno, I'm not a theoretical thaumaturge. Anyhow, he looks like a person's reflection would look if the mirror was smashed, all broken and refracted and seventeen different angles of the same thing. It's a bit of a mindfuck spending too much time looking at him. Which is why I'm not too sure about the word on the street's accuracy about him and White Rabbit.

"Hey, Squirrelman," he says, his voice sort of like he said it eleven times and it was looped back over itself, a little crystal echo effect added onto it, and run through a blender. "Have a seat."

"No thanks, Seven Year."

"Man, this is how you repay my gracious invitation?"

"Alright already," I say, and sit down. More accurately, I squat on the chair in front of his desk. Maintains my squirrel motif and gives me a better chance of springing away in case this is a trap. I like Seven Year, he's honest, for a crook, and he's never gotten involved with a sting before, that I know of, but there's a first time for everything.

"What's this all about, Seven Year?"

"I got some info, figured you could use."

"Oh yeah? Why me?" I ask, but what I'm really thinking is, since when does he broker information? He's the guy who knows a guy, not a rat.

"You and that new team of yours," he says.

"What'll it cost me?"

"Look, Squirrelman, you want this info or not? Something big is going down and I just figured someone oughta do something about it. Someone could make quite a collar with the info I got."

"Why would you want to give my team a major collar?"

"Let's just say I don't mind the idea that the new team on the block would owe me."

"No deal, Seven Year. Thanks anyway."

I get up to leave. Whatever Seven Year knows, if it's that big, one of us will hear something about it, and we'll investigate it ourselves, without owing anything to a two-bit matchmaker.

"Squirrelly, wait," he says.

"I'm waiting."

"Look... shit. Free of charge, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because we got a nice little equilibrium going on in town right now, and no one needs open war in the streets, cops cracking down on everything, y'know what I mean?"

"I'm listening."

"Okay, look. There's some new players in town. Call themselves the Revolutionists. I don't know who's running with 'em, but a guy I know who knows a guy who did some goon work for 'em told me to expect a whole lot more business once they make their debut."

"So? Every new gang of bad guys with an axe to grind thinks they can burst onto the scene and shake things up in town."

"No, see, it sounded to me like these guys are planning to bust some folks out of somewhere. Either Bendis or the Kane, I figure. And that kind of business won't be good for business, ya follow?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I follow."

A prison break would mean the cops, and all us costumed crimefighters, would be pounding the streets in force, chasing down every lead, squeezing our sources. Poking into rumours that otherwise we'd let alone. Disrupting the natural criminal flow of things. A prison break would probably spark turf wars, gang wars, crime sprees. Not good for anyone.

"Okay, Seven Year," I say. "Thanks."

"Thanks for what?" he grins out of a hundred mouths. "You never heard nothing from me."

"Want I should rough you up a bit?"

"Shit. Yeah, I guess."

I grab him by the collar - which feels weirder than I could possibly explain - and throw him through his door. He crashes into the wall in the hallway where half a dozen witnesses stare at him.

"You ain't getting nothing from me, Squirrelman!" he yells at me, getting to his feet.

"You'll talk if you know what's good for you, Seven Year," I snarl back, loud enough for the witnesses to hear, hot-squeezing out my claws and stepping through the ruined door.

"Get the fuck outta my place, mask!" he yells. Three bouncers show up.

"I'm leaving, Seven Year," I say, heading to the end of the hall and opening the door so I'm silhouetted against the street light outside. I point a clawed finger at him and say, "Just remember what I said. You know anything, you better talk!"

I jump straight up and climb the wall. When I get on the roof I let myself laugh. Civilians always buy the "tough as nails crimefighter" routine. I'm just glad my mask hides my grin - I can never keep a straight face.

I head out, this time homeward for sure. If these Revolutionists are planning something like a major prison break, they've got to have some major muscle, or else they're phenomenally stupid. I've got to suppose they're not stupid, and they have some major muscle. I decide to tell the team in the morning. I'm hoping Kimmy has Rick and Lisa's phone numbers somewhere, so I can tell them to head to our headquarters tomorrow to work out our tech needs with Reed.

When I finally do get home, Kimmy's not there.