TwiLyghtSansSparkles

No, no Electro. Just Chi. He could…um…. Oh! He could find the child/younger sibling of the man Electro tortured to death and give him/her an attack puppy to keep them safe!

Fluttershy vs. Quota. I think the winner is obvious here. And no, it's not too late for free watermelon. Moral Guardian turned his down, so there's more for everyone else.

Different powers, different forms of darkness, I guess. Sorry.

Don't worry, he will. He will. In the meantime, I provide this comic of Funtimes offering Moral Guardian a watermelon slice to anyone wishing to take the edge off of the Timeport/Quota atrocity contest.

I don't know if Quota topped Timeport, but he did his best.

A piece of paper. Timeport sparking killed him with a sparking piece of paper. Timeport’s fingers were soaked in it, his shirt crusted in it from when he’d landed inside that teenager. His hair was slicked back with drying blood, his fingers wrapped around Mister Meh’s still heart. “Did I top it, empath?” Quota nodded, managing to swallow his laughter long enough for a few words: “Yes. Holy hell, yes.” Timeport’s grin widened, if that was possible. Anyone else might call those pearly whites against the drying blood ghastly. Quota thought it made him look like an Epic. A real Epic. “All right,” Quota said, nudging the heart away. “My turn.” ----------------------- Luther Harris knew he shouldn’t be out this late. Though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, many Epics preferred to sneak about under cover of darkness. The more powerful ones liked to flaunt their powers in broad daylight, killing with a glance and walking away from the damage, promising protection for the brightest and leaving the riffraff to the wolves. Or, in Mocha Maxima’s case, killing the riffraff whose lattes weren’t up to standard. Stop that. She’s fine. She just got caught up cleaning, that’s all. They always spend a little extra time cleaning after an inspection. Mocha Maxima usually dumped the bodies back behind the— No! She’s fine. She’s never been cut. She got the top score last time. Luther nervously clutched his pistol, casting a few quick glances in all directions. His ears stung from the cold, but he didn’t dare pull up his hood. Granted, it wouldn’t impair his visibility much, but if one of CorpseMaker’s Epics ambushed him from behind, that small bit of impairment could spell his death. Then again, if Julie was gone…. Stop that! She’s not gone. She’s fine. She’s never been cut during an inspection. Her shop was just ahead, a squat brick building in a chain of squat brick buildings. A faint light glowed in the window. Luther relaxed slightly. Maxima always demanded each and every light remain on throughout her inspection and well after. If only the counter lights were lit, she had already left. Julie was fine. You don’t know that. Luther pushed open the door, jingling the small, pleasant-sounding bell above the door. He left his pistol in a locked box by the door and wiped his palms on his jeans, remembering at the last minute to announce his presence. “Mistress Maxima? I—I’m here for Julie—if she made it.” “Come and see her!” Luther’s heart jumped into his throat, then pounded at triple its normal speed. That voice, that male voice punched up a whole octave in an imitation of a female one, did not belong to Mocha Maxima. “In—in the back?” “Where else?” the voice sang. The note petered out on a laugh. Luther took small steps through the darkened shop. The air stank of stale coffee and burned sugar. It floated into his lungs in little sips. He passed the counter, reached out a hand, and steadied himself on it. He had to keep going. Had to find Julie. The light was stronger at the kitchen door, a grey plastic thing with a badly scratched and smeared window. There were figures through it, but Luther couldn’t make them out, didn’t want to match them to the laughter and the whimpers laced through it. He didn’t want to open the door. “What are you waiting for?” The voice sang it again, and this time a second voice joined his. “Please, just let him—“ The words cut off with a small cry. Julie. Luther pushed the door open and, before he could change his mind, stepped into the kitchen. Mocha Maxima sat slumped in a chair brought in from the main shop. Her legs ended in two bloodied stumps, her arms draped across the metal counter as though she had decided to pause for a moment’s relaxation. A bullet hole in her chest trailed blood all the way down her front as her sightless brown eyes watched nothing at all. Julie knelt on the floor. Small cuts marred her skin, blood soaking through the green shirt of her uniform. She drew small, quick breaths, all of them thick with tears; her eyes flicked to Luther and then back to the floor. A young man in a green-grey cloak covered her hand with a booted foot. “Hi there.” He gave Luther a wicked grin. “Don’t worry about old Maxima there. She promised this shop’d stay running…even without her.” Luther stared. He should run over. Grab Julie. “Did you know,” the Epic continued, shifting the paring knife from his left hand to his right so it fell within view, “that she wasn't the only one growing the coffee? Couple others have a greenhouse, but they all sold to her. Ran this whole ring of coffee shops, and no one thought to ask if she had any help behind the scenes." He chuckled. “Well, until me, anyway. It’s amazing what a little fear can do. That, and her weakness. Expired coupons. How lame is that?" What do you want? The question was there in Luther’s mind, but he couldn’t force it through his lips. Julie was there on the floor, bleeding through her shredded sleeves, and he couldn't move toward her. His legs shook and he couldn't make them move. The Epic took a step back and flicked the knife toward Julie, causing her to flinch. “She hasn’t even tried to run since I started. Well, she tried at the beginning, but everything after that? It’s like she wanted it. Or…” His knife drew a long gash down her cheek, drawing a whimper but little more. He couldn't move. It was like one of those nightmares where the monster was there, ready to devour him, and he couldn't move. “…like she was too scared to run.” There was something in his words, but Luther couldn’t force his brain to puzzle it out. “I’ve kept her here a while now,” the Epic continued. He still hadn’t raised his voice. “And she’ll last a while longer. But since she’s been so much fun…I’ll give you a choice.” A pistol slid across the linoleum floor with a scratching sound, bumping against his foot where it came to a stop. “Go on,” the Epic said. “Pick it up.” No. There was only one thing he’d be forced to do with that gun, and he wasn’t going to do it. “I’m not going to make you shoot your sister, you slontze. Pick it up already.” Luther did as he was told. He could drop it. He could still drop it and take whatever punishment that entailed. “There’s one bullet. You can use it, or you can watch me finish with your sister before I start on you. Pick.” He looked at Julie, who gave a small shake of her head and flicked her eyes toward the Epic with the knife. He looked at Mocha Maxima, who stared at nothing, and then at the walk-in fridge. Was someone in there? Or was it just the one? His heart pounded. There was one bullet. Maybe one Epic. Could he die? Sweat soaked his palms. He had to do it now. Now, before he could talk himself out of it. "Come on." The Epic's smile was expectant. Gloating. "Pick already." Luther lifted the gun, aimed it at the Epic, and pulled the trigger. Click. A cold feeling settled in his stomach. He tried again. Click. Click. Click click. The Epic laughed. “I thought you’d try that." Another Epic stepped from the walk-in fridge. Dried blood crusted his clothes, his face, his hair, and an enormous grin split his face. He had a battle-axe hefted over one shoulder. "All yours, Timeport."

I did, too, but her "I want to speak to your manager" look kind of biased me against her. Still... He shut that thing up years ago.

Why must it be one or the other? Who says Quota can't have both?

Poor Maxima.

Kobold, did you have any plans for Mocha Maxima?

I think they're still adjusting to PP's new personality? I know! :D :D My birthday is four days after that, so I've been reminding everyone in my family so they'll get it for me. And if they don't, well, one of my coworkers got me a $25 Barnes and Noble gift card for Christmas, so I'm good. I vote Flashpoint or Mare. We've seen the Empire characters from Altermind's less-than-impressed perspective, and I for one think it would be interesting to see how his less-evil lieutenant reacts to everything (like Sam crying; rather than seeing Nathan's nervousness as a show of weakness, he saw Nathan as something of a kindred spirit, so I'd like to see how he takes tears from someone he's supposed to see as his inferior). Alternatively, Mare is relatively uncorrupted, so her perspective could provide some foreshadowing as to her future development: does she see Altermind's callousness and Lightwards' cruelty as something to avoid, something to overcome, or something to aspire to? As for favorites, I like Flashpoint in Portland. His earnestness is such a great foil for Altermind's villainy. I think it was his "Hi, cute girls!" reaction that won me over. In a city ruled by the cruel, the sort of thought process that leads him to see potential enemies as potential friends and someone he should revile as his equal is endearing. In The Dalles, I'd say I'm torn between Edgerunner and Frequency. Edgerunner is very human, and she clearly fights against her worst inclinations. Frequency is pure evil, but he does it in the most showman-like way possible, and his devotion to Koschei is pretty frightening.

No problem. (I say it like I'm purposely trying not to railroad everyone, but I don't know if I could if I tried. I can't even railroad my original fiction characters. All joking aside, you guys are good writers and you've come up with much better plot points by just staying true to your characters than I could have if I'd plotted out even a handful of scenes beforehand. Why would anyone want to squash that?)

This is awesome.

Weird, right? I actually had to work out several different scenarios to make Quota's next post less disturbing than the most disturbing one I could come up with. Proposal: We appoint Samantha Trattner the Official Epic Funeral Eulogy Writer.

I'm tempted to plead the fifth with Quota's next post, because Quota trying to impress Timeport isn't going to lower the bar for irredeemably evil. Then again, mail-mi didn't plead the fifth when Timeport did what he did (either time) so it looks like I'll have to write it. But yes, Remington does need to start shooting. Just as soon as he learns the weaknesses of every Epic who can't die, their immortality will encounter an unexpected error. (Still, though, I'm seriously tempted to just write about Sweetfrost and Icecreaminator eating ice cream all night. This….isn't going to be pretty.)

Also, because this is a bit overdue…. I'm considering adding Timeport as a repeat offender, though I'm not quite sure yet. He'll probably make the list twice by the time his next post is added.

A crime against humanity with feet?

If you turn your head sideways and squint really hard, maybe? The only chance Nighthound/Ray or Nighthound/Red have at turning into a healthy relationship lie in four little words: "And then Nighthound died."

Nothing involving Nighthound can be called a "pairing." "Pairing" implies there is some sort of chance for something vaguely romantic to happen. And yes, I realize that the Funtimes/Nathan pairing began when she sort of rescued/sort of kidnapped him. And I know the Shiny Sparkle/Autumn pairing only exists because Shiny Sparkle can explode Autumn's head if Autumn turns down a date. Still more romantic than Nighthound/anyone.

I agree with this more than I've agreed with anything else. Except for maybe "and then Nighthound died."

Every post in this little escapade has been to drum up anticipation for Quota and Timeport's eventual demises. That's what I keep telling myself. Mister Meh says he doesn't care….but he actually appreciates having a fan. Oh, right. They're about equal so far as powers go, but Saccharine is more mentally stable (ironically enough).

Hmm, you're right. And the ocean is out of the question, since it's already polluted enough….I suppose the only option is to open a portal directly to Hell and send the ashes there. I think….I think they do, come to think of it. Let me see... Funtimes/Nathan (matter manipulator/can't throw a punch) Voidgaze/Big Al (can cause explosions with a glance/can summon Sausage McMuffins from thin air) Shiny Sparkle/Autumn (can create sparkly explosions/good shot but no powers) Is there anyone I'm missing? (I'm not counting Red/Nighthound or Nighthound/Ray because those are more creepfests than actual pairings. )

To be fair, Scorch kind of earned it by being a moron. Not that CorpseMaker was in the right for murder...but I can see where he's coming from.

*hugs* Timeport....on a date...with someone far less powerful than he is. ....if you need me, I'll be under my covers clutching a shotgun.