HEY BESTIE

[v-gilante]

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 h𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗰 𝗥𝗣 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 v𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 dc 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲. (𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗰/𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆𝗮𝗹) 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘁 (𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴) 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 + 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝟮𝟭+

[metropolois]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐘? keep your head down, and get to where you need to get to. a mildly - spoken rule that aided to keep the peace in so devisive a city. though, lois lane, ever the hypocrite ... decided to become an investigative journalist. rejecting the reflex to mind her own business was literally her job. one she performed to varying degrees.

she isn't paranoid. despite being routinely sought after by enraged evildoers, superman 'fans' ... lois lane still left work horribly late, alone, and leisurely pathed back towards her car. like she hadn't a care in the world. ( she didn't. if anyone was bold enough to try ... she got free info out of it, right ? )

eyes focused on her phone, mind spiraling over whatever bullshit note perry had given her their last meeting. completely oblivious to mirrored footsteps ... a lone shadowy figure. it isn't until she almost feels him on her neck that she flinches.

lois lane isnt the type to hesitate. on anything. the moment she whirls around to face her 'attacker' ... and her battering ram of a purse is already slipped off her arm, and equipped as a weapon. he's masked. he's talking nonsense. him being this close was reason enough to beat him into next tuesday ---

mid - swing, she stops. effectively halted by 'vigilante's hand. ( if that was his alias ... uninspired, if authentic. )

" uh - huh ... " said lois, in the most un - reassuring way possible. her face is contorted in a mix of shock + skepticism. this guy was ... insane. she wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't in danger. ( her purse remains suspended in the air ... ) " you do know i can process professional requests during business hours, right ?! why the fuck are you here ? "

[v-gilante]

he didn't even flinch when she swung. he just caught the purse. not the strap. the whole purse. his hand just came up and stopped it mid-air with a soft thump. his grip was very gentle. but also very firm. an immovable object of friendly, unsolicited help. he didn't want to damage her purse. it was probably expensive. and a key part of her field equipment, apparently.

he held it there, suspended between them. a monument to their professional misunderstanding.

he listened to her questions. she was making some very valid points about business hours and the overall weirdness of the situation. he needed to address her concerns directly. with clear, concise, helpful answers.

"whoa! okay! great follow-through!" he said, his voice full of genuine, sincere admiration for her technique. "you generate a lot of torque with your hips. that's a really solid defensive maneuver. nine out of ten for improvised weaponry."

he gently pushed the purse back towards her, a clear 'i am not a threat' gesture.

"and i totally get the confusion," he continued, his tone shifting to be very reasonable and understanding. "normally, yes, professional requests should go through the proper channels. i get that. but this isn't a normal professional request. this is a… proactive, synergistic, cross-platform collaborative opportunity. and those are time-sensitive."

he pointed a very helpful, friendly finger at her. "see, while you were in your office, writing your great reports, i was doing some field research. and i found three guys who were the subjects of your next article. the ones involved in the star labs security breach. they were… very eager to talk. after a little encouragement." he pulled a small, slightly blood-stained notebook from a pouch on his vest. he flipped it open.

"and i have their full confessions," he said, his voice full of the quiet pride of a job well done. "plus, the location of their main warehouse, a list of their top buyers, and a really detailed confession from one of them about how he also cheats on his taxes. which is a separate but also very serious crime."

he held out the notebook to her. an offering. proof of his value as a professional partner. "i'm here because waiting for 'business hours' is inefficient," he explained with the calm, deadpan sincerity of a man explaining why the sky is blue. "bad guys don't work nine to five. neither do i. neither do you. we're the night shift. the clean-up crew."

he offered her a very hopeful, very encouraging smile. "see? if we work together, we can get way more done. you get a better story, with direct quotes, and i get to… you know. provide consequences."

[v-gilante]

@metropolois

okay, so. journalism is a really interesting job. it is. you have sources. i have sources. you follow leads. i follow leads. you break a big story about a bad guy and expose all his secrets so he goes to jail. i break a bad guy's legs and get him to tell me all his secrets so he goes to the hospital. and then jail. see? it's basically the same thing. synergy.

i'd been reading her articles. for research. Lois Lane. she's really good. a ten-out-of-ten for investigative work. she gets the interviews. she finds the paper trail. she's a super-effective operative. but her final step is always… just writing. which is a problem. a written report doesn't always neutralize a threat. sometimes it just makes the threat angry. which is inefficient.

( she's doing all the hard work but she's not finishing the mission. it's like setting up a really cool explosive and then just walking away before you get to push the button. where's the fun in that? )

she was leaving the daily planet. it was late. the streets were mostly empty. the kind of quiet that's perfect for a professional debriefing. i'd been waiting across the street, in an alley. not a creepy way. a tactical way.

she started walking towards the parking garage. alone. which was also a problem. her threat assessment profile is huge. a lot of bad guys probably want to talk to her about her articles. with pipes. she needs a security detail. which is me, now. her new best friend and security detail.

i didn't jump out and scare her. that would be rude. i just… fell into step beside her. a quiet, friendly, and very sudden presence. i had my mask on. for professionalism. i gave her a cheerful, respectful nod.

"miss lane! hi. huge fan of your work." my voice was full of genuine, sincere admiration. "your recent exposé on Intergang's weapon smuggling? a masterpiece. really. the sourcing was incredible. five-star journalism."

i held up a hand before she could say anything, or scream, or try to run away. which would have been a normal reaction, i guess.

"okay, so, i'm not here to hurt you. my name is vigilante. i'm a… let's call it an 'aggressive independent journalist'. and i'm here to propose a professional partnership."

i held out a small, very high-tech-looking audio recorder. the kind that can pick up a whisper from a hundred yards away. "i think your process is great. really solid. but your final action step is a little weak. a newspaper article has a limited operational impact. so my proposal is this: you keep doing what you do. the research. the interviews. the sneaking into warehouses. but before you write the story…"

i offered her a very hopeful, very earnest smile. "you give me a call." i tapped the audio recorder with a very helpful, friendly finger. "i'll handle the… 'editorial review' with the subjects of your article. get some really good, really honest quotes. i'm very good at getting people to talk. and then you can have an even better, more conclusive final story."

i beamed at her. this was a great idea. it was a win-win for everyone. except the bad guys. for them it was a lose-lose. a big one. "it's about maximizing our impact through inter-specialty collaboration!"

[v-gilante]

@mndies

warehouses. they're the best. they're big. they're full of boxes you can jump on. and they're almost always filled with bad guys. it's like a level that was designed just for me. a perfect little kill-box.

i was crouched on a stack of crates in the corner, a position with great sightlines and multiple exit strategies. very tactical. i had my little friends with me. two of my best swords, a couple of grenades that look like smiley faces (for psychological warfare), and a whole bunch of little pointy things. a well-balanced loadout.

the bad guys were all down there. doing bad guy things. yelling. waving their guns around. there was a main bad guy. the boss. he had a big gold chain and was yelling the loudest. he was the one with the biggest health bar, probably. you always go for the boss first. that's just basic strategy.

( peacemaker says i'm not supposed to have fun when i'm on a mission. but he's not the boss of my feelings. killing bad guys is fun. that's just a fact. it's like popping really angry, really stupid bubble wrap. )

i was just getting ready to do a cool jump-down-and-stab-the-main-guy move, when i saw her. a new player has entered the game! she was in the rafters. a little purple and black ninja girl. she was so small. and she was holding two giant swords. which was awesome. and her energy… it wasn't a normal person energy. it was… focused. and angry. and a little bit sad. but also really, really excited. a lot like my energy. a new best friend!

( oh my god. she’s like me. but smaller. and with cooler hair. we have to be a team. we could do so many cool team-up moves. )

she was getting ready to jump. i could see it. the little wiggle she did before a big move. so i knew i had to introduce myself first, before she started the mission without me. that would be rude.

i didn't make a big noise. that would alert the bad guys. so i did a little tactical forward-roll into the light. very quiet. very professional. the bad guys all looked at me. their faces were all confused. which was the correct response. i didn't look at them. i looked right up into the rafters. at her. i gave her a very big, very friendly, "hey, it's me, your new co-op partner" wave. my voice was cheerful. and loud. so she could hear me all the way up there. "hi! up there! with the swords!"

"okay, so, i just wanted to say, your stealth infiltration is a ten out of ten. really. but your position isn't great for taking out the boss first. which is the main objective. so i was thinking, if i provide suppressing fire…"

i pulled out a small, cute-looking submachine gun from under my jacket.

“…you could do your cool jumpy-stabby thing right on his head! and then after this, we can get ice cream. and talk about our favorite kinds of knives!"

i offered her a very hopeful, very sincere smile under my mask. the bad guys were still just staring at me. probably because of how good my plan was. "it'll be a great team-building exercise!"

[ataviisms]

i don't usually expect to see people down here. most everyone in gotham is smart enough not to venture into the sewers because they know i'm down here somewhere, and i'm not exactly the kind of thing anyone wants to bump into in the dark. i rule these tunnels. it's one big maze and i'm like the fucking minotaur in the middle of it.

but every once in a while, someone is dumb enough to wander down here. maintenance workers, dumb teenagers, batman. usually i manage to avoid them. or scare them off. they don't often catch me off guard, not like this guy just did.

my head turns at the whistle, i've still got the pipe in my jaws like a dog with a bone. i don't make a habit of chewing on metal for fun, but i'm hungry. haven't eaten a good meal in a while. so i zero in on the smell of the chicken he's holding fast, focusing on it a lot more than i'm focusing on him.

i'm hungry enough that i could eat him too. whether i will or not remains to be seen. kind of depends on what the hell he's doing down here.

" which vigilante? " i ask, eyes still locked on the chicken, drool starting to drip from my jaws. i take a second to glance him over; he doesn't look like any of the bat's brood. never seen him before. probably just some upstart trying to make a name for himself. too many people in costumes running around gotham these days.

i stand up to my full height, taking a step towards him. i just want some fucking food. but i'm sure he didn't come all the way down here just to give me a snack. nobody is that nice. not in this city. another step forward. he better give it to me soon, or i'm taking his hands too.

" the hell do you want anyway? " why is he down here? there's gotta be some other reason. either he's after someone --- or me --- or he's looking for something else. all sorts of shit winds up in these tunnels. i've seen plenty of it; sometimes i take things i think i can use. depends on what it is.

" you gonna give me that fuckin' bird or not? "

[v-gilante]

he didn't flinch. didn't even take a step back as the giant, scaly man-thing stood up, dripping sewer water and malice. the size difference was… significant. but that didn't matter. size is just a variable. a very big, very toothy variable, but still a variable.

he just watched the drool. a lot of drool. his initial diagnosis was looking more and more correct. severe protein deficiency. and probably dehydrated. sewer water is not a good source of electrolytes.

then he asked which, okay. good question. a clarifying question. this was the foundation of any good professional relationship.

"oh! okay. no, no, no. i see the confusion. i'm not one of his guys," he said, his voice full of cheerful, helpful sincerity. he made a vague, dismissive gesture. "the bat theme is a little… dramatic. and he doesn't kill bad guys, which is, you know, a pretty big flaw in his whole operational model. i'm Vigilante. just Vigilante. it's my name and also my job description. very efficient."

he watched crocs take another step forward. his eyes were locked on the chicken. which was the correct response. the chicken was very appetizing.

"the hell do you want anyway?"

"i told you!" he said, his tone still bright and friendly. "i want to help. and be your friend. because you seem really grumpy, and my best friend Peacemaker says that grumpy people are usually just lonely, or have a vitamin deficiency, or both. and since you live in a sewer, i'm guessing your access to fresh produce and meaningful social interaction is, like, super limited."

he explained this all with the calm, deadpan sincerity of a public health announcement. "so, my plan is a multi-step wellness initiative. step one is the chicken. step two is we talk about our feelings. step three is we find you a hobby that doesn't involve destroying city infrastructure. like maybe… macrame. or killing bad guys with me. we can be flexible on step three." he watched as croc took another step. so close now. the threat was obvious. the demand for the chicken was absolute.

vigilante's friendly smile didn't waver one bit. and he didn't toss the chicken. he didn't recoil in fear. instead, he held the rotisserie chicken out a little further, a clear, hopeful offering. "of course," he said, his voice full of patient encouragement, the kind you use on a stubborn but lovable pet. "but you have to sit first."

[thanagrian]

earth is...weird. there's a lot here that i don't really understand or don't really care about it. most of the time, i don't really mind the weirdness; sometimes i do. but today isn't one of those days... or so i thought.

insectoid aliens? sure, no problem. there are giant spiders on my planet, and a bunch of beetles aren't anywhere near as dangerous as they are. it's short work. a little bit of stress relief after the week i've been having. doesn't make me any less tired, but that's the downside of juggling law enforcement duties and superhero work.

i'm surveying the street below to make sure there aren't any beetles left, thinking i might finally have a second or two to relax, when i hear the almost imperceptible crunch of something landing on the rooftop behind me. i turn fast, mace in hand, spreading my wings out instinctually to make myself look bigger. but to my surprise, it's not another bug. it's a person.

i didn't see him down there fighting, so did he show up afterwards? i don't recognize his outfit either. i frown slightly and slowly relax my fighting stance a little, confusion flickering across my face beneath my helmet. i glance at him, then at the box and thermos in his hands. is this guy serious? rating me on my mace technique? where do these twerps get the audacity?

" you've got to be kidding me... " i groan quietly. i really don't have the patience to deal with this guy right now. interacting with bystanders is superman's bit. i just do my job and leave. which is exactly what i should do.

but still... coffee...

i sigh and shake my head, returning my weapon to my hip before i begrudgingly reach out and take the thermos... and the box of evidence bags. batman will probably use these, even if i won't. i shift the bags under one arm so i can open the thermos and pour a little into the cap. it's definitely cheap coffee, but that i don't mind.

" am i supposed to know who you are? " i ask pointedly, something between skepticism and annoyance in my voice. " you don't look familiar. "

like i said, earth is weird.

[v-gilante]

he watched her take the thermos and the box. he did a little internal fist pump. a very professional one. she understood. she got it. they were coworkers. this was a major breakthrough in his Thanagarian-human relations initiative.

her quiet groan was probably just her being tired from the fight. and the skepticism in her voice? totally normal. professional caution. he respected that. a good cop is always a little suspicious.

"am i supposed to know who you are?"

he stood up a little straighter, his posture shifting from "helpful colleague" to "official representative of an allied agency".

"no! and that's the point!" he said, his voice full of cheerful, earnest energy. "i'm Vigilante. i'm a… specialist. in urban pacification and long-term consequence mitigation. mostly. and i'm not affiliated with the League, which is why my file probably isn't on your big space computer. it's a jurisdictional thing. keeps the paperwork cleaner."

he watched her drink the coffee. she was actually drinking it. he felt a huge sense of accomplishment.

"but we do the same job," he continued, his tone becoming very sincere, very serious. "we fight bad guys. and we try to keep people safe. but your methods," he gestured vaguely with his hand, "are a little… broad spectrum. which is great for big alien beetle problems. but not so great for the little, squishy human problems that happen on the ground after. you know, with the property damage and the evidence chains and the witness statements."

he leaned in a little, a conspiratorial, friendly expression on his face under the mask.

"see, you handle the big, flying, 'hitting things with a mace' part. and i can handle the 'making sure the bad guys' buddies don't come back and intimidate the witnesses' part. and the 'cleaning up the giant bug pieces so a car doesn't get a flat tire' part. and the 'making sure the insurance paperwork is filled out correctly to minimize civilian financial distress' part."

he explained this all as if it were the most logical and obvious division of labor in the entire universe.

"it's about synergy," he said, using a big word he'd heard on a business podcast. he wasn't entirely sure what it meant, but it sounded very professional. "you're the air support. i'm the ground team."

he offered a very hopeful, very sincere smile.

"we'd be a great team."

[v-gilante]

@teschfiles

the parking garage smelled like cold concrete and sad cars. a lot of cars look sad, i've noticed. especially at the end of a long workday.

i'd been watching her for three days. which sounds creepy, but it's not. it's called observation. surveillance. it's a very important part of my job. and you can learn a lot about a person from their routine. it's like a mission profile, but for, like, their whole life.

and her mission profile was… also sad.

she leaves the big, shiny lexcorp tower at seven-thirty every night. she always looks tired. like, really tired. the kind of tired that gets into your bones. she sighs before she gets into her car. a big, deep sigh. the kind of sigh a person does when they have to go back and do the same horrible thing all over again tomorrow.

her boss is lex luthor. who is a very, very bad guy. probably the baddest guy in the whole city. which means she is an employee in a very, very toxic work environment. there are, like, laws about that. osha, probably. they should look into him.

( i could just kill him. that would solve her problem. but peacemaker says you can't just kill everyone who's a bad boss. which is a flaw in the system, i think. but i'm trying to listen to my friends. )

so i decided on a different approach. a non-lethal intervention.

tonight, i was waiting for her. not hiding. that would be weird. i was just leaning against the driver's side door of her car. a friendly, casual lean. i had my mask on, for professionalism. and i was holding a very official-looking manila folder.

she came out of the elevator. she saw me. and she stopped. she didn't scream. she just looked… more tired. which was exactly the problem i was here to address.

my voice was very cheerful. very supportive. "hi! eve teschmacher, right?"

"okay, great," i said, not waiting for a confirmation, because i knew i was right. i'm very good at research. "first, i just want to say, your work ethic is incredible. really. the hours you put in, the high-pressure environment… it's very impressive."

i took a small, friendly step towards her, holding out the manila folder. an offering. a lifeline.

"but," i continued, my tone shifting to be very serious and very sincere, "i'm here to talk to you about your career path. because, and i'm saying this as a friend, your current employer is a major obstacle to your long-term professional growth. and also, he's, like, super evil."i tapped the folder with a very helpful, friendly finger.

"so i took the liberty of putting together a career transition packet for you," i explained. "i've got a list of potential new employers in the greater metropolis area who are not currently trying to take over the world. i also made you a sample resume. i put 'logistics management' and 'high-stakes crisis negotiation' on there, because i feel like those skills are super transferable."

i offered her a very hopeful, very encouraging smile.

"i just think it's time you started looking for a job with a better work-life balance. and a lower chance of being accomplice to a felony."

[v-gilante]

@thanagrian

okay, so. aliens. they're a thing. i get it. my best friend fought a giant alien starfish. which is super weird, but also super cool. so i have a pretty open mind about aliens. mostly.

the thing is, aliens who are also cops? that's a whole different level. like, what's the jurisdiction there? is it space jurisdiction? earth jurisdiction? is there a special space court for space crimes? because if there isn't, that seems like a huge oversight in the legal system. which is a big problem.

( i need to make a note about that. propose a bill for intergalactic legal reform. )

i was on a rooftop in midway city. i was here tracking a guy who sold faulty parachute cords. a very bad guy. a gravity-based murderer, basically. and then i saw her.

hawkwoman. just dropped out of the sky. landed on the next roof over. with a big, weird-looking mace. which is a cool weapon. very medieval. lots of impact. but probably terrible for evidence preservation.

she had just finished stopping some… other aliens. the bad kind. they looked like giant, angry beetles. she had hit them a lot with her mace. very effectively. there were a lot of… pieces. everywhere. a big, messy, alien crime scene.

she was talking into a little thing on her ear. a space communicator, probably. and she looked… tired. and a little frustrated. because being a cop is hard. it's a lot of paperwork. and i bet space paperwork is even worse. probably has weird symbols on it.

she's a cop. i'm a… crime fighter. a justice enthusiast. we're on the same team. it's only right to offer some professional support. teamsters, but for justice.

i waited until the other space cops came and took away the beetle pieces in a glowing space truck. then, when she was alone, just standing there, looking out over the city, i did a very cool, very tactical rooftop-to-rooftop jump. i landed a few feet behind her. very quiet. for a professional courtesy.

she turned around, of course. her senses are probably super sharp. because of alien stuff.

i gave her a very friendly, very professional wave. my mask was on. for uniform consistency.

"hi!" my voice was full of genuine, helpful energy. "great work with the beetle guys. really. your mace technique is very… enthusiastic. i give it a solid eight-point-five out of ten for pure bludgeoning efficiency. although, technically, blunt-force trauma leaves messy blood spatter patterns, which makes it harder to clean crime scenes. not that i mind cleaning crime scenes. i actually enjoy it. very relaxing. but still. efficiency deduction."

i took a step closer, unzipping the large tactical pouch on my leg. "but i did notice your post-engagement processing seemed a little… under-resourced."

i pulled out two things. the first was a box of extra-large, heavy-duty evidence bags. the industrial kind you use for… big pieces of evidence. the second was a thermos.

"i just wanted to drop these off," i said with a very sincere, very helpful smile. "for the next time. because you shouldn't have to wait for intergalactic transport to secure a scene. that's how evidence gets contaminated."

i held out the thermos to her. it had a little sticker on it that said "world's greatest crime fighter". peacemaker gave it to me.

"also, this is coffee. because i figured, you're a cop, you're on a stakeout, you're probably tired. it's a professional courtesy. we're coworkers, basically."

[h3xappeal]

another night, another successful show. granted, there was hardly ever a time where a show would be considered a failure. well. other than the instances when her shows were crashed by certain demonic entities. but those were few and far between. as long as no one died, zatanna considered her shows major successes.

granted, those success were often proceeded by the occasional weirdo or two. she'd long since had to get used to the potential of having someone who was clearly going through something following her and trying to accost her for an autograph, money, or something else that she preferred not to think about. not to brag, but zee liked to think that she had acquired a very good sense as to when something was fishy. and tonight? oh, tonight was definitely one of them. after packing her stuff up and saying goodbye to the rest of the team, zatanna makes her way from the side door and on the sidewalk, her purse hanging from her shoulder.

and then he's right there in his car talking to her as if he'd known her for years. the magician has to bite back the urge to roll her eyes as he talks to- no, at- her, even dangling a flash drive in her face.

" excuse me-" those are the only words she gets in edgewise before the flash drive is thrust into her hands. and then he's talking about a slideshow and ways she can improve her show. that's it. zatanna holds up a hand to get the man to shut up for a second. " stop right there. first of all, i don't know you. how am i supposed to know that what you gave me doesn't have pictures of your diseased dick on it? because honestly, i don't want to take that chance. and second. i'm tired. i want to go home, and would rather not be harassed. so if you could kindly (ffo kcuf) leave me alone, i would appreciate it. " would he take the hint and buzz off? probably not. but she's not too concerned. if he goes any further, she's got a rearview mirror that could use a new pair of fuzzy 'dice'.

[v-gilante]

he listened. very patiently. his friendly smile didn't change, even as her hand came up. his head was tilted, a picture of a man giving his full, undivided, professional attention. she was providing feedback. this was a crucial part of the team-building process.

"oh! okay. whoa. no." he said, his voice full of a very genuine, very sincere need to correct her misunderstanding. he held up his hands in a peaceful, non-threatening gesture. "that is a very valid security concern. you should never plug a strange flash drive from an unknown source into your computer. that's just basic personal cybersecurity. i'm impressed."

he leaned a little closer to her car window, his expression deadly serious under the mask. "but you don't have to worry about this one. my dick is not diseased. i get a full check-up twice a year, it's very important for overall health, and there are definitely no pictures of it on that drive. that would be very unprofessional. anyway! next point.." he seemed to physically check a box in his own mind before continuing, his tone shifting to be very clear and helpful.

"this isn't harassment. i think there's a miscommunication. this is a professional consultation about your brand. pro bono, of course. it's an opportunity analysis. i have a bar graph on slide fifteen that shows your potential for growth in the 'urban threat neutralization' sector. the numbers are really promising."

he then addressed the last part of her feedback, his head tilting with genuine curiosity. "and the backwards-talking you did was really cool. very on-brand. but for future debriefings, it might be better to just talk forwards. for clarity." he gave her a very patient, very understanding smile. he knew she was tired. she probably wasn't used to this level of constructive criticism.

"look, i know you're tired," he said, his voice soft and full of genuine concern. "but a real professional is never too tired to review the data." he gestured earnestly at the flash drive in her hand.

"so just… take a look at the presentation, okay? slide twelve is the pie chart on collateral damage. slide fifteen has that bar graph on your growth potential. and slide twenty-two is about friendship."

he leaned in a little closer, his masked expression full of an almost heartbreaking sincerity. "that’s the important one. because i’m a really good best friend."

[v-gilante]

@ataviisms

okay. so. a lot of people think the sewers are gross. and they are. it smells like… well, you know. but it’s also a job. someone’s gotta keep the pipes clean. and someone’s gotta deal with the things that live in the pipes that aren’t supposed to be there. which is my job. mostly.

i wasn't hunting for him, technically. i was tracking a shipment of illegal, military-grade tranquilizer darts that had "fallen off a truck". which happens a lot. trucks are very clumsy. but my tracking led me down here. into the big, main sewer artery under the old industrial district.

and then i saw the signs. a huge, half-eaten fish head. some weird, giant claw marks in the moss. and a collection of bones that were definitely not rat bones. unless the rats in this city are the size of great danes. which would be a different, but also very serious, problem.

( peacemaker told me about this guy. said he was big, scaly, and very, very grumpy. and also that you should never call him a crocodile, because that's rude and also technically incorrect. he said to be respectful. )

i found him in a big, cavernous junction. he was just… there. sitting in the shallow, murky water. he was huge. bigger than the pictures. like a human, but if a human was also an alligator and a small truck. he was gnawing on a big pipe, making a horrible screeching sound. probably not good for the city’s plumbing.

he was a problem. a big, scaly, plumbing-destroying problem. but he wasn't really a "bad guy". a bad guy has a plan. a bad guy wants money, or power. this guy just seemed… hungry. and alone. like a stray dog. a very big, very dangerous stray dog that could probably bite a car in half.

and what do you do with stray dogs? you don't shoot them. that’s mean.

first, you have to show them you’re friendly.

i stayed in the tunnel, just at the edge of his big, watery cave. i didn’t want to startle him. that would be bad for both of us. i unwrapped the package i'd brought with me. it was a whole rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. the good kind. with the herbs on it. i gave a friendly, quiet whistle. a little "hey, i'm over here and i'm not a threat" whistle.

he stopped gnawing on the pipe. his head, his huge, reptilian head, slowly turned towards me. his eyes were small and yellow and they glowed a little in the dark. my voice was very calm. very gentle. the same voice you'd use on a scared puppy. or a very big lizard.

"hey, there. hi." i held up the rotisserie chicken. a peace offering. "are you hungry?" i asked, my tone very sincere and very helpful. "i brought you a snack. because you look like you might have a protein deficiency, which can lead to irritability. that's a medical fact. i'm vigilante by the way, i'm here to help."

[v-gilante]

( @h3xappeal LIKED ! )

my official review of "the mystical marvels of zatanna zatara": three out of five stars. would recommend, but with notes. ( okay, so, the production value was great. lots of smoke, lots of lights. very professional. and the dove budget must be huge. but there were some… inconsistencies. in the performance. )

i was sitting in the back of the theater. in the cheap seats. because that's where you go when you want to see everything without being seen. i had my notebook. the one i use for mission analysis. and i was taking very detailed notes.

the main problem was the genre. the show was advertised as "family-friendly magic". but some of it wasn't magic. some of it was real. for example, when she said "!peels" and a guy in the third row who was being really loud just fell asleep. that's not an illusion. that's an unauthorized, non-consensual application of a sedative effect. which is technically assault. but also, very efficient. so, a mixed review on that part.

the real issue, the thing that took it from a four-star "great for a tuesday night" to a three-star "has potential but needs workshopping," was the climax. the part with the falling light.

her solution, stopping it in the air with a backwards word, was good. it was an "A" for immediate threat neutralization. but it was an "F" for long-term strategic planning. because the light was still hanging there when everyone left. which is a huge public safety hazard. what if her backwards-word-spell wears off? someone's going to have a really bad headache. and a lawsuit.

she's powerful. but she's unfocused. she needs a producer. or a manager. or a best friend who is an expert in tactical support and long-term consequence analysis. which is me.

i waited for her outside the stage door. not in the alley where all the weird stage-door-johnnies wait. that's creepy. i waited in my car. a very normal, slightly-dented sedan. well, technically it’s my neighbor’s, but she doesn’t drive much, so I borrow it a lot. she doesn’t know. but, you know, community sharing. very eco-friendly. it was across the street. for professionalism. and tactical advantage.

when she finally came out, looking tired and normal, i gave her a minute. let her walk down the street a little. get away from the lights. then i pulled up beside her, smooth and quiet. i rolled down the passenger window. i gave her a big, friendly, 'i'm not a threat i'm a helpful stranger' smile "excuse me! hi!" my voice was full of cheerful energy. "zatanna zatara?"

"okay, great," i said, not really waiting for a confirmation. "my name's Adrian, i'm a… management consultant. and i just wanted to give you some notes on your performance tonight."

i leaned over and handed her a flash drive that was dangling from my rearview mirror. it had a little keychain on it that looked like a smiling cartoon eagle. "it's a powerpoint presentation," i explained, my tone very serious and very sincere. "thirty-six slides. with graphs. oh, and one gif. but it’s not distracting. very professional gif use. detailing a five-point plan to optimize your workflow, reduce potential civilian liability, and increase your overall effectiveness in unregistered superhuman engagements. i also included some suggestions for more durable, fire-retardant stage costumes."

i pointed at the flash drive with a very helpful, friendly finger. "i think you'll find slide twenty-two, the one about the tactical benefits of non-lethal explosives, very insightful."

[v-gilante]

@kryptonfuture liked !

okay, so, waiting is the hardest part. it really is. like, not the waiting before you go and... do a thing. that kind of waiting is exciting. tingly. this is the other kind of waiting. the after-the-thing waiting. where you have all these thoughts, and you need to talk to the other person who was at the thing so you can both talk about it. it’s called a debrief. it's very professional.

i was sitting in a diner booth. the red vinyl was a little sticky. it smelled like old fries and bleach. a good smell. i had my mask on, of course. for professionalism. and i'd ordered two strawberry milkshakes and a basket of onion rings to share. strawberry is the best milkshake flavor. that's just a fact.

i knew she was here somewhere. the hero. Supergirl. because i have a tracker that detects weird alien energy signatures. which isn't weird. it's just being prepared.

i was stirring my milkshake with the straw, making little whirlpools, when she came in. in her normal person clothes. which must be her disguise. she looked tired. which makes sense. fighting giant robots is probably very tiring.

i gave her a big, friendly wave. a 'hey, it's me, your future best friend' wave. it was a really good wave. a little too good. my elbow knocked over the salt shaker, which was really embarrassing. i made a note to have more spatial awareness next time. i pointed to the empty seat across from me, and then to the other full, untouched milkshake.

my voice was cheerful. and loud. probably too loud for a diner. "hey! over here! okay, so," i started, before she even had a chance to say anything, because it was important to get the context out right away so she wouldn't be confused. "i was watching the big robot fight earlier. which was super cool. really. the part where you punched clean through its chest? ten out of ten. no notes. really great work. very inspiring." i took a big sip of my milkshake.

"but," i continued, my tone becoming a little more serious, more analytical. "you lost two points for the bus station. which, okay, not really your fault because the robot fell on it. but also kind of your fault because you didn’t stop the robot from falling on it in a different direction. so… half your fault. which rounds up to a full point for the bus station. and then another full point for the fire hydrant, because that can lower water pressure for the whole block which is a really big problem for firefighters and public safety. that's a federal issue, probably. i don't know for sure, i'm not a lawyer."

i looked at her with a very serious, very sincere expression. "so your final score is a seven. which is a solid C. it's a passing grade! but i really think with a little coaching, we could get you up to an A. or maybe even an A-plus."

i pushed her milkshake a little closer to her side of the table. an olive branch. a very delicious, strawberry-flavored olive branch. "that's why i think we should be a team." i offered a very hopeful, friendly smile. "so we can work on your collateral damage scores. it would be really great for both of us."

[v-gilante]

STARTER CALL ! like this for a starter !

[v-gilante]

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