I wake up at eight o’clock. Eight o’clock! Ridiculous. I can’t believe I slept that late.
Fortunately, I don’t have any classes to go to today. A good thing, as, remembering last night’s events, I have under twelve hours to complete a full superhero uniform.
What am I doing?
I don’t even know what I’m getting into.
My powers don’t lend themselves to fighting. I actively try to keep myself from doing psychological harm to other people. I’m probably the least likely person to go to if you want a fight. I don’t think I’d even be able to manage working as a counselor–I tend to absorb things, even when I’m actively trying to keep myself separate.
However, if you need something done…
I grab my sketchbook from the dresser. The image I produce is something akin to Peter Parker’s original design for his costume in the 2003 Spider-Man trilogy–before he realized that he didn’t have the resources to put it together. Tossing the sketchbook aside, I grab a sheet of scratch paper and scribble on it until I have something that looks vaguely like a peacoat with loose trousers and a hood, as if I was some half-baked fantasy character.
It doesn’t look very superhero, but it will have to do.
I make a mental note to add a scarf to cover my mouth as well and voila. I guess I have my first attempt. It won’t look good but hopefully it will be practical.
I can probably change it later, if I don’t like it.
Or I won’t.
So many things in my life aren’t broken, so I never try to fix them. Some of them could use a good fix, though.
Picking up the phone, I hesitate over the numbers, before calling Rebecca.
“Hey. It’s Lannis.”
“Don’t tell me you’re stuck too,” she says drily. I rub my forehead.
“Not really. I just have to resign myself to the fact that I just won’t have the ideal costume I would like to create before the deadline.” I run my hand through my hair. “Listen, if we have the time, would you mind meeting up at the gym? I just… I haven’t worked with you much, I guess, and I suppose I’d better get used to it. I don’t have much upper-body strength. I go everywhere on my bicycle. I guess I need more practice running. So we’ve got our work cut out for us, I guess.”
“Okay.” Rebecca says. “Do you have a migraine? You sound like you have a migraine.”
Everyone can call my bluffs now, it seems.
“It’s just stress. I’ll drink some tea and that might help.” I can practically hear her raising an eyebrow–or whatever equivalent gesture she makes. “I’m not sure what we’re getting ourselves into. But this is really my best option. I just… I have a very, very bad feeling about this, but I’m not prescient.”
“That’s ominous,” Rebecca says. I sigh.
“I’ll meet you at the gym. We can talk more then,” she says. That’s a promise. I can tell.
“Until then,” I say, and hang up.
Now I just need to figure out what type of fabric would be both durable and comfortable.