Life can be tough as a hero. It's always weird to leave things unfinished when I stagger back to my apartment, barely able to keep my eyes open, after a long night of protecting my city. The comic books never show you this side of the superheroing gig. They always have these super vehicles, and super teams, and super everything. What they never seem to have is a super day job. It's one thing to work two jobs, it's quite another when that second job involves chasing down thugs and crooks and having people shoot at you. When they aren't throwing lightning or acid goo or other completely gross things. It's enough to make you want to shell out the chips for a week at the spa.
Mmm... the spa. I could use a trip to the spa. I swear, these high-jump boots are really handy, but if I land wrong one more time, they'll be able to hear my arches falling all the way in China.
Last night was especially bad. It was a Frayday, and I hadn't visited the Heroes' Guild in awhile. Between the surge of adrenalin (I wonder if it makes everyone twitchy like it does me), the Misters Tea I drank, and the handfuls of chocolate, I was on the king of all buzzes. Everything sort of blurred together, and by the time I crawled back home, I had destroyed a building (oops), and stayed out kicking bad-guy ass until 9 in the morning. What was I thinking?
My muscles were screaming bloody murder at me when I rolled out of bed at noon. Yeah, noon. I wanted to sleep longer, but my sleep schedule is screwed up enough as is, and I try to keep from utterly destroying it on my day off. I stumbled into the shower and just let the hot water beat down on me, trying to work out the kinks in my shoulders and back. It didn't really work, but it woke me up. Kinda.
Breakfast was a bland affair, just some corn flakes. Considering the amount of sugar I suck down during the week, I try to avoid it on the weekend. I'm trying to imagine those comic book heroes living my life. They'd spend all their time brushing their teeth and going to the dentist. I still remember the night I had a jawclencher. Holy crap. I spent two hours picking that junk out of my teeth. Let me tell you, it's hard to dodge a javelin thrown by some religious fanatic while picking cement-like sour sludge from a molar.
As I was putting my bowl in the sink, I noticed the pile of silverware. No dishes, just a whole lot of forks. Yeah, superheroing doesn't leave much time for cooking, so I eat a lot of TV dinners. I would have to do dishes. Well... "do forks". And I was out of dish soap. Figures. Of course, I had to buy more dinners anyway. And more toothpaste. Sheesh. Even my days off are busy. Luckily, I was able to pawn some industrial grade mops (whatever the hell that means), so I had some spare money.
Dressing like a normal person (for once), I left my apartment to the local grocer, and that's when it happened. It took me a minute to recognize her without her strangely elegant gown or trademark boots, but there was no doubt about it! The Baroness! Here! In the Stop-N-Shop! And me without any kind of weapon (or costume, or armor, or...). Then it hit me. She was wearing sweat pants, tennis shoes, and a really ratty tshirt. And... and she was buying generic laundry soap. I never pictured the Baroness going to the laundromat. Guess villaining pays about as well as heroing.
And I guess villains take the weekends off, too.
_________________The churches are empty / The priest has gone home / And we are left standing / Together alone
--October Project: "Dark Time"