Wonder City Stories

Wonder City Stories II #86

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 15:58:41 GMT

You Would Have Been Born Into Winter

Nereid was certain she was prepared for this. Simon had warned her about the protesters. Simon had offered to come with her; so had Megan. She had asked X to come with her, though, because she was worried that both Simon and Megan would stop to argue. She knew that X would keep her moving along, steadily, calmly, possibly letting out a withering bolt of sarcasm at need.

The blast of noise as they turned the corner nearly rocked her on her heels. She clutched X's arm.

"You okay?" X asked.

"Yeah," she said, not okay at all.

There was a guy on a stepstool, bellowing Bible verses through a megaphone. There were people lining the sidewalk for the entire block before the clinic door, most of them holding signs or posters with gruesome photos as tall as the protesters purporting to be fetuses. Some of them had rosaries and were praying loudly. There were other people roaming around with pamphlets and dolls and giant crosses in their hands, and some of them noticed her and started toward her.

Nereid wondered if hyenas ever got that sort of urgent faux-worried look, or if they were more honest as they closed in.

A couple of people -- a big guy at least as tall as Megan, and a smallish Indian woman -- hurried up. They wore bright orange vests labeled "Clinic Escorts."

"Do you have an appointment at the Para Women's Clinic?" the man said.

When Nereid and X both nodded, the woman said, clearly enunciating over the chaos, "Everyone in the orange vests are escorts for the clinic." She pointed at the words on her chest. "Everyone else is a protester. Would you like us to walk with you?"

Nereid felt, rather than saw, X nod, and nodded as well. "Please," she added.
( Cut for length; this is a longggg episode )

---

Note from the Author:

On January 22, 1973, the Roe v. Wade decision was handing down, giving women the power of choice, the power of decision over what to do with their own bodies, a superpower beyond any of the superpowers depicted in Wonder City Stories.

After 39 years, this power is still constantly in jeopardy.

Please keep this in mind when you go to the voting booth this year.

This is my (slightly early) contribution to Blog For Choice Day 2012. I encourage you to also blog for choice!

Please keep voting for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #14

Mon, 03 Jan 2011 18:07:13 GMT

An Uncomely Nakedness of Mind

"Hey, Ladybird," Megan said as she carefully lowered the tree ball into the hole she'd dug earlier, "I've got a local-person question for you."

Ladybird studied the effect of the tree in the floor of the new mall, her brown face stern and her long black hair pulled back in a tight bun. "Yes?" she said, gesturing for Megan to shift the top of the tree to the right.

"I kind of... I'm looking for a para therapist," Megan said, studiously not looking at Ladybird.

There was a pause, then Ladybird said, in an elaborately casual tone, "Wonder City has that effect on a lot of people."

Megan looked up at Ladybird to see if the tree was set correctly. Ladybird nodded briskly and indicated that Megan could free the root ball and fill the hole in. Megan said, "So, have any of your friends mentioned any, um, good ones?" as she tore the burlap. She picked up a shovel and began scooping soil in around the ball.

Ladybird looked around thoughtfully, eying the other soon-to-be en-treed spots under the skylights. "I can probably think of a few. Let's do that one over there next. Bring one of the birches, I think. I'll get you some names when I can get to my computer."

Megan finished filling the hole, stomped the soil down gingerly, and hoisted one of the birches, carefully balancing the tree so it didn't overbalance. They proceeded in near-silence for the next couple of trees before Megan ventured, "So I have another question for you."

"Yes?" Ladybird said, mixing some fertilizer into the latest batch of earth that Megan had dumped into the tarpaulin.

"If you had a... an issue you wanted to consult one of the Mystikai about..." Megan began.

Ladybird gave her a sharp look. "What sort of issue?"

Megan shifted the tree a few inches to the left. "A friend of mine may be... possessed by something."

"Oh," Ladybird said, looking relieved. "Is that all? Why not start at the top?"

"The top?" Megan said, staring at her blankly.

"Professor Fortune does free consultations about that sort of thing all the time," Ladybird said. "Three inches toward me."

"Really?" Megan said, shifting the tree obediently and feeling fairly elated by the news. Someone she'd heard of! Who she knew was competent!

"Yes," Ladybird said, nodding her approval of the tree placement.

Megan freed the root ball and filled the hole in. Maybe he would handle the whole problem. Maybe remotely. Maybe she could just go and tell him and come home to a sane and non-spandex G.

"That's it," Ladybird said. "Stand back from the tree." When Megan complied, Ladybird raised her arms. There was a low hum throughout the building, and Megan saw all the trees twitch once, twice, and a third time, before the hum stopped.

They watched a few new leaves pop open on the tree before them while Ladybird took a long drink of water from the Ultimate Construction water bottle at her belt.

"Just one thing about Professor Fortune," Ladybird said, picking up the jug of dry fertilizer.

"Yeah?" Megan said, picking up and carefully folding the tarp.

"He's a licensed social worker," Ladybird said, retrieving the shovel. "But don't go to him for therapy. He's pretty terrible with everyone, and is worse with women."

"Oh," Megan said, her shoulders sagging.

---

From the Author:
Well, the final tally for comments in December was 68! That guarantees 2 posts/week through January. But it was so close to getting 2 posts/week through February! Because I'm a softie this way, I'm going to extend the commenting bonus potential for the month of January -- if January draws 50 comments total, I'll post twice weekly through February too. As before, if you provide a comment bonanza, I'll extend appropriately.

Wonder City Stories has also been nominated for the Rose and Bay Award! I'll let you know when voting starts. You should also feel free to nominate WCS for any other awards it qualifies for. I really don't mind at all. ;)

Vote for us at Top Web Fiction! It's just a few clicks!

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Wonder City Stories #49

Fri, 02 Apr 2010 15:57:24 GMT

The Trouble with Lizard Brains

The convention day ground to a close. Megan had talked to -- and been eyed, interrogated, or psychologically analyzed by -- a vast array of people. Supposedly, all of them were members of Draco familiaris. Not all of them were Reptilian-Americans; some were Reptilian-Europeans or Reptilian-Africans or Reptilian-Taiwanese. Most of them were simply taking in the view of the humans here, she concluded after a while, but most of them also picked up brochures from the Ultimate Construction table. Ladybird, who knew more about the capabilities of the company, put herself in the way of the serious questions about what Ultimate could do, but let Megan fend for herself under personal scrutiny.

Megan concluded, after about five hours, that this was some kind of test of her personality, and Ladybird would no doubt be reporting in to Ms. Revelle and Dr. Thomas in the morning. "Oh, yes, she didn't even punch out that guy who asked her bra size," Ladybird would say.

That one had been a close thing, though.

Megan had just loaded the few boxes of brochures still left to them, along with the accoutrements of the booth, into the van, when she heard, "So, come here often?" somewhere near her elbow.

She turned, opening her mouth for a retort, and found G grinning up at her. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Same thing you are," G said, plucking some invisible lint off her neat grey blazer and brushed down the front of the matching, somehow uncreased, trousers.

"I never figured you for a booth babe," Megan said.

G grinned, which deepened the laugh lines on either side of her mouth. "I'm not. I'm one of the professionals doing consulting and estimates in the 'back room' of our booth."

"I see," Megan said, viscerally regretting her lack of marketable skills and the ability to be in the 'back room.'

"You look like you could use dinner or a drink or both," G said.

"I have to go back to the office," Megan said, gesturing at the van.

Ladybird, overhearing as she appeared around the front of the van, waved her off. "You can unload tomorrow. It's after 5. Go on."

Megan frowned. "Are you sure?"

Ladybird nodded, climbing into the driver's seat. "I'm never one to stand in the way of a date."

Megan avoided G's gaze. "I guess I can, then."

G motioned for her to follow, and the two of them headed for the street.

"So, how much business did you get today?" Megan said, striving for non-datey conversation.

"I always do about half a dozen consults at these things," G said, taking the lead in the pursuit of a restaurant somewhere in the Wonder City downtown. "I'm the historical specialist, so I get a brisk trade since these folks have persistent tastes over time. Still, I'm going to have to do some research for a couple of them. Very specialized flavors, rather than my usual, 'Oh, you want a Victorian Egyptomania theme, with some Chinoiserie thrown in? Got it!'"

"Ever designed architecture for a supervillain?" Megan said.

"Not that I know of," G said, "but I wouldn't be surprised if I had at some point. There are always some sketchy folks coming in, paying cash, that sort of thing."

"I wonder how Ultimate handles that sort of thing," Megan mused.

"I expect they keep all their plans on file, just in case," G said, smiling. "The color of a supervillain's money isn't noticeably different from Joe or Jane Extremely Wealthy's money."

Megan was cranky enough to be in a mood to argue, but couldn't find any traction on this point. So she just sighed.

"Tired?" G said, glancing aside at her. "Would you rather head home?"

Megan shook her head, looking at her worn-down self in the mirrored window of a skyscraper. "No. I'm hungry and tired, and the whole convention left a bad taste in my mouth, so I'd rather spend time with some congenial company." She smiled down at G. "If you don't mind me being moody."

G shrugged and grinned again. "I guess I've gotten used to these people. Though I expect you were much more interesting to them than I've ever been."

Megan rolled her eyes. "Those people are nosy fuckers. One asked me if I was biracial, and when I said yes, asked what races the mix involved. She looked like she'd bit into a lemon when I told her I didn't know."

G raised her eyebrows. "So the rumors are true?"

Megan's mouth twitched and she shrugged violently. "It depends on which rumors you mean. If you mean the one about not knowing who my father is, then yes. It made college a pain."

"Always filling in 'Other' on forms?" G said, steering them down Silver Guardian Street toward the edge of the financial district.

"Well, I'd probably have filled that in anyway," Megan said. "But in college, a lot of people lack the ability to read mind-your-own-business social cues. Purposely or not."

"Ah," G said. "Yes. I remember the ones that wanted to know if I was a lesbian, and then spent a lot of time deciding whether I should be a lesbian. And the lesbians who had to discuss whether I really should be propagating the butch/femme dynamic with my gender presentation. Usually in situations where one can't just walk out."

"One white man actually walked up to me with a piece of paper bag in his hand and stood there, just looking at me and then at it, then walked off," Megan said, returning to the subject of the convention as fresh rage rolled over her. "Ladybird told me to go to take a break right then or I think I would've tried my best to dismember him."

G looked at her with some confusion.

Megan was merciful. "Is my skin darker than a paper bag?"

G's mouth formed an "o" of understanding and horror. "That's over and above the usual offensiveness."

"Really? I figured it was par for the sexist, racist, whatever-else-ist dragon course, given the several that asked about my various sizes. I'm just boggled by how much of a free pass these people get to be assholes because they're a different species that happens to be huge, powerful, and able to eat humans in a single gulp," Megan said.

G gave Megan a fond, sad smile. "It isn't that. It's that they're clients, or potential clients."

Megan sneered. "I thought I gave that shit up when I stopped working retail."

G shrugged. "Clients are clients. None of them, human or dragon or space alien, treat you like you're a human being. At least, working construction, you don't have to kiss anyone's ass directly. The higher-ups do most of that for you."

"Except when they decide I'm a-number-one material for booth-babe," Megan said sourly. "What the shit is Ruth-I'm-a-fucking-goddess-Thomas doing trying to get business from these people, anyway?" She glanced up at the sign over the door they were approaching and paused. It read Tir Na Nog in fancy, gilt-edged Celtic script.

G followed her gaze to the sign of the "Irish" pub, then looked at the entirely white yuppie population of the restaurant visible through the windows. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and ran her fingers through her short hair. "Want to go somewhere else?"

"Nah, I'm starving, and I feel like shedding some mysterious brown on people," Megan said, mentally giving G points for having a clue. "It'll do them all good."

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Wonder City Stories #47

Tue, 16 Mar 2010 15:14:19 GMT

Here Be Dragons

"I can't believe I agreed to be a booth babe," Megan muttered.

"It happens to the best of us," Ladybird said. She was a tall, curvy, dark-skinned Indian woman with a paranormal green thumb who worked as a landscaper for Ultimate Construction. She twitched the branches of the potted boxwood to the left of the booth, and a bit of the plant grew to fill in a bare patch. "Remember that your job is to smile and nod and hand out brochures. Looking dour won't sell contracts."

"Okay, answer me this: why is the annual meeting of a lizard and snake collector's club considered to be an enormous industry event?" Megan swept her arm, indicating the grand ballroom of the Wonder City Plaza Hotel, packed to the gills with booths representing much of the major large-scale construction industry in the US.

"Let's just say," Ladybird said, plucking brown leaves off another potted plant, "that some people would call the American Reptilian Collectors Association the 'Reptilian-American' Collectors Association."

Megan gave her a puzzled look.

A short, balding white man in a tweed jacket with leather patched on the elbows who happened to be passing by halted and smiled at her. "Oh, my dear, you're new to the ARCA meeting, aren't you?" he said in a way that was surely meant to be kindly, but set Megan's teeth on edge.

"Yes," she said, glancing at Ladybird, who grinned, rolled her eyes, and shrugged.

"It's a fascinating event," he said, drawing closer. "Certainly an interesting -- and recent -- cultural development for them."

"Them?" Megan said. She watched Ladybird greet a tall, sleek-haired white man in a polo shirt and designer jeans. They seemed to be conversing, and Ladybird handed him one of the mini-portfolios.

"Oh, yes," the little man said, smiling out at the convention floor like a proud father. "Them."

Megan followed his gaze. The floor buzzed with low, well-bred conversation. A surprising number of people circulated among the booths -- booths that advertised construction contractors, plumbers, carpenters, masons, painters, landscapers, and architects, as well as windows, doors, tile, bathroom fixtures, brick, stone, steel, carpets, decks, and a bewildering array of other things that Megan had never closely contemplated in regard to building, like antique jewelry and rare orchids. Most of the people circulating were white and well-dressed, about an equal number of men and women, with some people of color sprinkled in. Some were clearly alone, some moved with enormous Hollywood-style entourages. She saw bizarre designer dresses rubbing elbows with flannel plaid shirts, Armani suits next to "Am I Missing An Eyebrow?" t-shirts. She could almost smell the money, old and new, oozing off these people. A large percentage of them were aesthetically lovely, with flawless faces and bodies.

"Who are they?" Megan said, almost under her breath.

"I call them Draco familiaris when I write about them," he said fondly, still watching them.

Megan blinked at him. "Dragons?" she said in a strained whisper.

"Oh, yes," he said. "They're everywhere."

"But... collectors?"

"Haven't you been reading your fairy tales?" he said in a tone that made her want to punch him. "Dragons in stories do nothing but collect. These are real people, of course, and have other pursuits, but they are very serious about their collections."

Megan watched another beautiful person -- this one androgynously Asian, ostentatiously wearing a Chinese-styled thigh-length coat of golden silk with, of course, dragons worked into the brocade -- take a set of brochures from Ladybird. "What sort of collections do they have, if they need whole buildings for them?"

"Oh, it varies from Draco to Draco," he said. "The younger ones tend to go for types of objects -- incunabula, records, even the stereotypical jewels. As they age, I find, they tend to specialize."

"So they don't collect the same thing all their lives?"

"Oh, my, no," he said, laughing. "Though the period of time they spend on a given collection varies. Some of the booths here -- over there, I think, and there, and there -- aren't here to sell, but to buy outgoing collections. One or two get sold every year in the American community, five or six worldwide."

A slender white man with white hair and sunglasses paused at the booth. Ladybird was occupied with a smiling middle-aged socialite whose blonde hair was a brassy shade Megan had only ever seen out of a bottle, so Megan politely excused herself to her pedantic companion and said, "Can I help you, sir?"

The white-haired man regarded her over the tops of his sunglasses. "You're the Amazon's daughter."

Megan tried not to grind her teeth. "Yes, sir, can I help you, sir?"

"Ah," he said, plucking up a brochure about paranormal-level shielding in walls. "A shame about your decision," he said cryptically before striding away.

She restrained herself from exclaiming or flipping the bird at his back only by reminding herself that she could be working for Captain Zip still.

The laughter at her side brought her head around slowly. The bald man was holding his belly and laughing. He had also insinuated himself behind the booth table. He seemed completely untouched by her best death glare.

"They're so blunt here," he said, wiping his eyes. "They're free to be, you see. It's their convention, their cultural space, if you will. Most of the rest of the time, they have to coax."

"What do you mean?" Megan said. She was trying to figure out how to get him to leave now.

"Well, when they want someone for their collection..."

"They collect people?"

He blinked at her. "Well, of course, I said they specialize as they get older. Most of them realize that the most rewarding collection is an ephemeral one, a human one. They specialize in a particular type of human."

Megan stared at him with barely concealed outrage.

He smiled. "It's quite remarkable, really. Many of their collected humans never realize they've been collected. Draco go to great lengths, sometimes, to keep them from discovering the true nature of their sponsors."

Finally noticing that Megan had turned less inquisitive and more hostile, he excused himself and wished her a pleasant day.

Megan was starting to put out more brochures when a short, stout, matronly white woman in a flower-patterned dress leaned on a corner of the table and smiled at her. Megan smiled back a little hesitantly.

"Isn't he a treasure?" the woman said in a confiding tone, glancing after the bald man. "It took years to persuade him to change institutions, but he finally did. A perfect example of the breed, if I do say so myself." She patted Megan's hand and continued on to the next booth.

Ladybird turned around a moment later. "Hey, close your mouth," she said to the dumbfounded Megan. "You're trying to catch customers, not flies."

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