By Gen X
I sat in my darkened room, writing with only the soft light from the computer. So, naturally focus gravitates upon the monitor, and it was of no surprise when I saw my fictives come out and sit upon my desk. The group slowly amassed as one by one the miniature heroes wandered in.
The Gen Nightwing fictive leapt down from my scanner. That was, of course, his spot. From that top shelf, he could see all the happenings below. His feet paused slightly on my monitor but then he jumped again this time towards an empty magic caffeine can with such precision that the aluminum didn’t move a bit under his landing
Robin wandered out from behind the monitor, yawning slightly. I noticed he keep coming from that shadowy corner and I had been wondering what he was doing up there. "Do you have to type so loud?" he grumbled and set himself down at the corner of the desk.
"I thought you bat boys were all nocturnal," I stated, not stopping the flow of clickity-clacks.
"I am, but I'm allowed to sleep. Have you ever tried to sleep with a jackhammer going off down the street?"
"Sorry," I offered weakly. I held out my hand and Tim hopped upon it. I carefully relocated him to a colorful basket leftover from Easter. Once inside, he snuggled inside the brightly colored substance and closed his eyes.
Impulse speed down from my top comic shelf, and quickly started running over the comics I'd left open earlier that day. He looked down to see what they were and he stopped in his tracks. His mouth flew open wide in astonishment, and he set to work rummaging through the other books. He grabbed a copy and ran in front of my screen with it. "That's me! Kewwwwwwwl," he exclaimed happily.
I smiled and nodded. "Yep, it's about fifty issues of you." I plucked the issue from his hand and removed it from the plastic. I set it down on the far side of my desk and watched as Bart walked over to it. "Why don't you sit down and read them. At normal speed so you don't tear the pages."
He looked at me suspiciously. "But what if I don't like it?"
"It's about you. You'll like it."
"Just me?" he asked, his eyes wide in astonishment.
"Well, no," I started, suddenly remembered the wide array of supporting characters in Impulse. "Carol and Max are in it too and sometimes Helen."
"What about Wally?"
I paused. "He's in it... sometimes, when there's a crossover."
Bart scrunched his nose up in confusion. "Crossover? Does that involve time travel?"
I smiled and gently tapped him on the head. "You'll find out."
"Okay, but I'm in it a lot right?"
"Yep, it's really good, I love it."
"You love it? Does that mean you love me?"
My eyes tilted up to contemplate that notion. "No, that's not what I said," but my decision went unheard as Bart was already immersed reading about...well, himself.
I turned my gaze down to the keyboard, and stared stupidly at the letters. What had been my train of thought? I watched, with my fingers on the home row keys, waiting for them to magically move. My index fingers twitched and were about to start writing something, when a pair of red boots landed on my F5 and F7 keys.
"Hi Roy," I said, annoyed. Somehow the archer always managed to make his entrance when I wasn't looking, so I never figured out where he was hiding. Not only that, he always managed to screw up the files I was working on as well, because he was obsessed with playing with my keyboard.
Long ago, we had had a talk about how the "O" and the "0" keys are not targets for him to shoot at and he'd been snippy ever since. My hand moved to nudge him off my keys but he was already walking away. He hopped onto the main part of my desk and stood by my mouse, surveying the stack of comic books. Impulse continued to read and pages flipped by at a normal pace
"Where's the justice? I tell you, it's bad enough that Wally got his own book, but this kid... sheesh! What's wrong with these writers?" He looked to Dick, still perched atop my coke can, for support. "I'm tellin' ya, what these people need is me! An Arsenal series, bay-bee! Don't you think so Robbie?"
Dick opened his mouth to respond but Roy cut him off.
"Oh, it's all rigged anyways, I mean that new Robin got his own book before you did. I mean, I know I deserve a cover, or at least a centerfold."
I laughed, and scoffed in amusement. "Yeah, Roy, you can be pin up of the month."
A faint breeze made it's way through my hair and I looked over at Bart. I grabbed the comic from his hand and frowned at him. "I thought I said normal speed."
"But..."
"No, buts, you behave or I'll have to find a Max fictive just to keep you in line."
Bart huffed but began reading at normal speed again. Meanwhile, Roy was pacing the desk, muttering to himself.
"Pin up of the month, eh? Now which month would I be?" He noticed me watching him and turned to ask, "Were you serious?"
I glanced at Nightwing who was watching with a bemused expression. "Sure," I responded, "just let me call those nice folks over at DC and tell them I want Roy in a wife beater looking all big and bad."
Roy gazed off in the distanced, picturing himself in two dimensional print while Dick and I tried not to laugh. "Yeah," he said dreamily, "but no wife beater. Lian won't like that. I can see it now. I could pull it off, look at these muscles." He flexed his arm holding it out for me. "They'll probably want promo shots, go get a camera."
Dick leapt from the magic can, unto my mouse, and ever so delicately stage whispered to Roy. "Roy, those people know what you look like, they draw you all the time."
"Yeah, you're right, man. I didn't think of that. I knew there was a reason I kept you around." Roy grinned devilishly. "Your mind and..." that's when he grabbed Nightwing's ass.
Shocked, Nightwing lost his footing and tumbled from my mouse unto the keyboard, sprawled out and trying to recover his bearings. Roy looked on amused, while I stopped, staring dumbfounded at the scene. Bart, obvious, continued flipping comic book pages.
Nightwing grabbed the ledge for the main part of my desk and pulled himself up. He looked at Roy, then looked back at me. I shrugged my shoulders at the turn of events. Dick ran his hands through his hair and then spoke. "Roy, look man, you're my friend and you know I love you," his voice descended to a whisper, "but, I thought we agreed that we weren't going do that. Not after that incident with the vodka and beer."
Roy looked at Dick dumbly. Then, comically, a little light bulb turned on above his head. "Oh, shit," and he started laughing. "You're not him are you?"
"Not who?" Nightwing demanded impatiently.
"Not Guinness Dick."
Nightwing turned to me and mouthed 'Guinness Dick'. I turned beat red and tried to divert my attention elsewheres but Dick tugged on my hair. I sighed. 'Slash fictive,' I mouthed back.
"Slash fictive?!?!"
"I'm trying to sleep!" Tim yelled from atop the computer desk.
"Slash fictive?" Dick repeated incredulously. "I thought you gave him back!"
"I did!"
"Can't you guys be quiet?" Tim moaned. He burrowed underneath the plastic grass in a feeble attempt to block out sound.
"Sorry," I responded. I turned to look at Dick. "I did give them back," I spoke quietly, "but Reccea cloned them and sent them back over here."
He tapped his foot impatiently on my desk. "So how long have you had them?" I leaned forward to whisper. "That long!?!" High above Tim buried his head in the Easter stuffing. Dick whirled around to confront my Slash Roy fictive. "And you, how long have you been here, and where's Roy?"
Slash Roy threw his hands up in supplication. "Look, man, I haven't seen me, or him, or whoever, since I got here."
"Then where could he be?"
Bart peeked out from issue four of Impulse. "Maybe he got eaten by the cat."
Three pairs of eyes turned to glare at him. "Or maybe not," and he slunk back down behind the book to continue reading.
Frustrated at the endlessly talking, Tim rose from the basket, hopped atop the scanner, jumped to the monitor, then shot out a jumpline and descended to the main part of the desk. "The last I heard," he said abruptly and perturbed, "the Slash Dick was in the closet."
Dick looked embarrassed and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. "Hey, kid, I'm sorry. Go back to sleep, we'll find him, ourselves. Right Roy?" He turned to Slash Roy who was chuckling to himself.
"Closet, ha," Slash Roy snorted.
Tim rolled his eyes and gave Dick a 'Yeah right' glare. Dick shrugged. Tim sighed heavily, and buried his face in his hand. "Can we just get this over with? C'mon Bart."
Impulse sat, still flipping pages while the trio headed towards the edge of the desk. "Bart!" Tim ordered again.
"What?" he yelled back.
"We're going to find the Roy and Dick, come help."
Bart looked up confused. He looked up and watched as Nightwing and Arsenal began climbing over the edge of the desk. He blinked. "They're right there."
"No," Tim said, tapping his foot impatiently, "the other Dick and Roy."
Impulse looked up from issue ten. He looked at Dick and Slash Roy, he looked at Tim, then back again. He looked at me and gave me a quizzical expression, then he shrugged, and flipped another page.
"Bart!"
"I can't! Max is in the hospital and I've just lost my powers!"
Tim started stalking over to Bart. "Would you put down the stupid comic book?" Tim had barely made it over to the other side of the desk when Bart grabbed the comic lot and zipped off to the top shelf. Tim threw his arms up wide. "Fine!" and Tim walked down to where Slash Roy and Dick where climbing down.
"Oh, you're a great leader kiddo," Slash Roy commented.
"Let's just get going."
I watched as they landed on my ottoman and subsequently the floor. They were serious! I whirled my chair around to face them. "But, guys, what am I going to write about?"
"Let them go," Bruce stated. I looked around to find him, to no avail. Finally, I stood, and found him atop my bookshelf, a vantage point even higher than the scanner. "They'll come back," he assured. "Go play with your Final Fantasy fictives and I'll keep an eye on them." He gestured to the tiny fictive party now walking across my floor.
I relented and turned my attention back to the computer. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a shadowy figure swinging through the air.
Tim yawned once again as he trudged alongside Slash Roy. He carefully maneuvered upon the plush carpet. The group had been walking steadily for about five minutes. They meandered around piles of books and partially opened drawers. The darkness, usually inviting, was more of a hindrance, made painfully clear when Dick walked into the door.
He swore under his breath, and stepped back to survey the closed door. Slash Roy nudged it with his foot, unsurprised when it didn't open. He turned to Tim, "Okay kid, how'd you know he's hiding in here?"
Tim squirmed under Slash Roy's gaze, then remembered he could be sleeping now, and narrowed his eyes. "She said he was in the closet."
Dick quickly moved between the two fictives. He turned to Tim, completely aware that Roy was staring at his backside as he did so. "The question is, did she mean that literally and figuratively?"
"Won't matter unless we get this damn door open." Slash Roy started pushing against the door until Dick tapped him on the shoulder.
"Two things. One, you need to turn the door handle. And two, we need to pull the door open not push."
"Oh really," Slash Roy retorted upset at having been embarrassed, "and how do you know that's the way the door opens, smarty pants?"
Tim sighed and looked wistfully in the direction of the basket. He sat down on the soft carpeting and leaned against the door. Tim's eyes tracked the ticked Slash fictive and said wearily, "Because the hinges are on this side of the door. Which means, we've got to pull it open."
"We're screwed," Slash Roy stated and plopped down beside Tim. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, "I know we can just ask her, call for help."
So they did, and to no avail. There was no possible way for them to be heard over the chaos Impulse had started with the Final Fantasy fictives. Dick sat down to join them, back to wall.
"If Wally was here, he'd vibrate through the door."
"If Donna was here, she could just knock it down."
"If Suzie was here, she could slip under the door."
The trio sighed in union.
Slash Roy kicked a bit of carpeting. "Where's the metas when you need 'em?"
Dick got up from his seat and walked around in front of the door. He looked underneath it, then backed up about two feet away to look at the doorknob. Even if he somehow managed to get a line to attach that high from the ground, he certainly didn't have enough line to reach it. He looked around and it wasn't long before he started to climb the bookshelves.
When he finally got to the top, Dick hurled a bat grapple at the doorknob. It watched as it wrapped around making a satisfying clink. He tugged on it experimentally, and was pleased when it didn't come loose. However, he didn’t fail to notice that the line simply slipped around the knob instead of turning it.
Dick called down to his companions, who were still talking about how other fictives would break into the closet. "Tim, I have an idea. You and Roy go over to the dresser, I'll shoot you a line."
After Tim and Slash Roy were in place, Dick tied the end of the line wrapped around the knob to a batarang and hurled it over to Tim. Tim caught the line and sensing what Dick was up to started looking for a good point to anchor himself. Meanwhile, Dick leapt towards the door. He fell short of the doorknob but managed to grab unto the taut line, causing Tim and Slash Roy to stumble slightly.
"Okay guys," Dick called out. "You start pulling as hard as you can and I'll turn the knob. Nightwing moved to the top of the knob, and got as firm as a grip as he could. Then, he jumped, losing his footholds. With an already firm grip, his weight was just enough to barely turn the knob. The door flung open, faster than anyone had ever anticipated. Slash Roy, who had been the anchor, ended up falling on his ass after tripping over a few ceramic figurines. "He damn well better be in the closet," he muttered.
Unable to withstand the momentum, Dick lost his grip. Freefalling towards the floor, an insane thought went through his head, 'Thank god, the floor is carpeted.' Then, he fired out yet another jumpline watching as it embedded into the door, and he began to swing back towards it. Moments before his feet would have hit the wood, Nightwing realized that his weight (as slight as it might be) would be just enough to nudge the door shut again. Changing his plan, he swung his weight towards the side of the bookcase, then swore and let go of his line.
Too close to the bookcase and too far away from the dresser, there was no way he could get another line out. Instead, he grit his teeth, and braced for impact against the hard wood bookshelf. His feet hit the wood hard, and he instantly pushed against it. He did a forward summersault and fell the remaining distance to the carpet. He winced as he hit the carpet. Hard. He rolled trying to displace some of the energy and came to a stop when he hit the tiny throw rug. Roy and Tim watched awestruck, until Nightwing stood up. He took a few wavering steps. "Hey, I'd lay off the hard liquor!" Roy shouted from above. Nightwing ignored him and started to make his way towards the door.
The boys had only managed to budge it a few inches. The space was large enough for them to slip through yet far to small to let any of the light from the computer trickle it's way in. Hell, even the digital VCR clock couldn't be seen.
They were going where no fictive had gone before. Or at least, any that lived to tell about it.
.to be continued.