Soldier Boy & Stone: Hijinx Ensue
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Jag checked the time. He was so drunk that he had to look at his wrist for several moments before he realized he lost his watch. It didn't matter. It was sometime after last call. Of that he was certain. For Jag there were only two firm times of day: 'last call' and 'Jesus Christ, is it morning already?'
He was alone and not at all happy about it. The waitress rebuffed him pretty hard, and she wasn't even that good looking. Let her try to do better, he sniffed.
As he ambled down the main corridor in the residential wing of the Cathedral, Jag hummed a song that he didn't remember well enough to hum. It was Satisfaction, but he made it sound more like the theme to Star Wars.
Finding his door he tried with much difficulty to slide the key into the lock. "Want me to spit on it, sweetie?" he mumbled to himself then snorted out a chuckle.
The key finally slid into the lock, and it snapped off in his hand when he turned it. Jag hated keys. They were never strong enough. He tested the door knob and it crumbled in his hand like papier-mâché.
"Jesus Christ, don't they make anything to last anymore?"
Jag pushed gently on the door. With the door knob destroyed it swung open easily with only the barest squeak. He closed the door behind him when he entered, not bothering to turn on the light. He figured he could navigate his apartment in the dark just fine.
He tripped over something and tumbled to the floor.
"The fuck?"
He struggled back to his feet and stumbled toward the bedroom, removing his shirt as he went. He had difficulty pulling it over his head, so he ripped it in half and hoped it wasn't one of his favorites. The pants he decided to leave on. Too big of a job to remove them.
In the bedroom his bleary eyes could see the bare outline of the bed in the moonlight. He smiled in anticipation of a few hours of sweet oblivion and threw himself on the bed.
The mattress seemed lumpier than he recalled. Leave it to the DiSantiagos to skimp on the important stuff, like a decent mattress. Then the lumps talked, or maybe it was the alcohol.
“Well…this is awkward.”
In his stupor Jag instinctively cuddled with the warm mass lying next to him.
So the Greatest American Hero is a fruit. Stone sighed. It’s always the ones you never expect.
“Look,” the lumps said, “It’s cool. I mean there is nothing wrong with…that lifestyle. I just don’t roll like that. No offense.”
Jag's eyes opened wide with a start when he realized he wasn't alone. "Jesus H. fucking Christ on a God damned pogo stick", he called out as he leapt from the bed and crashed into the wall, buckling the drywall. His mind raced to piece all the information together and there could only be one conclusion. One of his old enemies had tracked him down with revenge on his mind. Well, if it was a fight they were after, then that was what they would get.
"You want me?" Jag growled to the stranger in the darkness, "then come and get me, bitch!"
“Kinky,” Stone replied in the darkness, reaching for his shades hanging on the plain wooden headboard and sliding them on his face. “But...no.”
He swung his legs over the side so his feet were on the floor and ran a hand through his hair. When he realized that Soldier Boy was still squared off, he shook his head and with a hand waive said, “Look, man, all due respect…I’m flattered but I just don’t swing that way. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Secret? Whuh?” The voice in the darkness was beginning to sound familiar, and not the least bit hostile. Soldier Boy flicked the light switch to find Nemesis’ super-powered buddy in front of him. What was his name? Rocky? Pebbles?
“Stone?”
Soldier Boy stabbed a beefy finger in Stone’s direction. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”
Stone’s eyes rolled behind his dark lenses. “Wrong apartment. Right.”
Welcome to denial, population one.
“Okay, Princess,” he sighed, rolling back into bed and folding his arms above his head. “Just do me a favor and close the door when you go. I don’t want anyone else to walk by thinking this is the George Michael Memorial Party Room. I’ve had enough weird for one night.”
Soldier Boy looked around the room. Nothing looked familiar other than the general layout. He wandered into the living area, flipped on the light and discovered the same thing there. He stood in thought, had to catch his balance a couple of times, and then he reached a conclusion.
Soldier Boy stood over Stone and bellowed, “What did you do with all my stuff?”
There were times when Stone was glad that, for him, sleep was an optional indulgence. This was one of them.
“Okay, big guy,” he said, once again swinging his legs off the bed and onto the floor only to come face-to-groin with the looming Soldier Boy. He held a hand out and shied his face away until the older man took the hint and stepped back a pace or two. The close contact was enough, however, for Stone to catch the whiff of alcohol, put it together with the antics and the rolling balancing act, and realize that this was indeed a likely case of drunken mistaken apartment identity.
The long-haired man in shades stood up and rolled his shoulders once before grabbing the jeans thrown over the back of the only chair in the room. As he pulled them on over his naked body he jerked his head towards the mini-bar in the living area.
“Make yourself useful and grab us a couple of beers,” he said.
"Jesus," Jag said as he marched for the front door, "this is my apartment. I'm in apartment 3."
He swung open the door. "See, apartment 3," Jag said as he pointed to the number 6.
The veteran hero stared at the number on the door and wondered why it didn't match. He was just beginning to come down off his high. "I think I might be drunk," he said as he closed the door and remembered something being said about beer.
Stone watched quietly as he pulled on an old light brown t-shirt with “Levon Helm – Midnight Ramble” on the front and “SECURITY” on the back. As much as he reflexively shunned authority in all its forms, there was something about the old fart that reminded him of the older combat vets he used to ride with sometimes. He was part of the authority here, but in some ways he needed more help than the rookies did.
Seeing that Jag had finally managed to mug the fridge for the beer, he shook the thoughtfulness out of his head and pointed at the widescreen. “Sean, one of the staff, did me a solid, recorded yesterday’s UFC. You know how to work this DVR thing?”
Jag broke out laughing as he handed Stone a beer. "I can't even find my apartment and you expect me to be able to run the starship Enterprise there? You must be more fucked up than I am." He plopped down on the couch, took a graceless gulp from the bottle, and then sighed as if all the cares of an entire world were trying to escape him.
Stone paid no mind, instead going for the remote to try and figure out the set-top box. The last time he’d recorded anything on television there was a big tape cartridge involved. The power button was easy, but it took him a minute to figure out that ‘list’ was the button to press to bring up a list of recorded programs. After that, navigating to the UFC program and playing it was simple.
Once it was running, Stone finally popped his own beer and sat on the other end of the couch from Jag.
The two men sat in silence for a while with occasional semi-coherent fight commentary from Jag. As time passed and Jag began to sober up his comments became more lucid and his interest in the fights grew in intensity. During the final bout Jag was on his feet yelling at the TV, berating both fighters.
"Look at that cocky son-of-a-bitch," Jag said as the victor raced around the ring howling in triumph. "He beats up a few guys and he thinks he's king of the fucking world. Of the top of my head I can probably think of a hundred guys and gals who could beat him stupid. Including a couple who would probably eat him afterwards."
Jag sat back down and clicked off the television. "I looked into you after Phi told me you were on the team. I was surprised by what I found out."
I’m sure, Stone thought as he finished his beer. He didn’t bother asking, though. He’d assumed a background check and subsequent guess-what-we-found hassle was waiting in the future when he agreed to join this circus. He didn’t figure it would be the old man laying it on him, though. He’d come to see Jag as much less…judgmental.
"When you were fifteen you came this close to becoming my sidekick," Jag said, holding his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. "I wouldn't have it. The shit I was fighting against in those days, well... it was no place for a kid. Let me just say that. Besides that, I'm no babysitter."
That unexpected bit caught Stone’s attention. He slowly turned to regard the older man through his dark lenses. “Is that so,” was all he said in reply, reigning in his sensitivity.
"One of the technicians at the Project knew a rich couple in the foster care program in Jersey. She was going to try to make something happen there. Not really sure what came of that."
Stone experienced a sudden vertigo rush. The Manters were dead going on ten years now. He’d been fifteen years old before running into anybody who gave the slightest damn about him, but it hadn’t been made to last. The terrible accident that claimed their lives and set him on his current course was just that, an accident, and he’d never questioned it. He’d never looked for the devil in it or for someone to blame.
Until right now.
He rose slowly, and when he spoke, Stone let the calmness of his tone and demeanor mask the kettle on the inside that had just begun to simmer.
“This technician…she have a name?”
"I'm sure she does," Jag said. "I'll be damned if I could tell you what it was. Mousy little thing, and not in a cute way. Just kind of..." He shuddered. Jag picked up a bottle cap, rolled it into a ball about the size of a bb, flicked it across the room in the direction of a waste basket and missed.
"Why do you ask?"
“That rich couple in New Jersey,” Stone explained as he grabbed another beer, “I was put into their foster care and eventually they adopted me for real. They were the only parents I’ve ever known.”
He twisted the cap off and took a swig before adding, “I might like to meet this person and thank her.”
Jag stared at Stone through narrowed eyes and took the man's measure. Stone's words spoke of gratitude, but his demeanor said otherwise. Stone looked more in the mood to bite the head off a puppy.
"Damn, you're hard to read," Jag said. "I still know someone from the Project. I can ask her if she remembers a name. Then maybe you can meet that person and... thank her."
Stone nodded. “Good.” A pause, a tip of the bottle. “Thanks.”
He took a moment to study the older hero. The nature and importance of their relationship had suddenly become much more serious. There were answers somewhere in there. Right there, Stone swore he’d find them.
“You were pretty fucked up earlier. Feelin’ better now?”
Jag looked at Stone as if he were an idiot. "I was feelin' better when I was fucked up. That's the whole point of getting fucked up, ain't it? But... yeah, I'm doing better now."
He stood and stretched. "Thanks for the hospitality. Most people wouldn't have been so cool about me barging in like this."
“No problemo,” Stone answered wearily. There wasn’t enough labor in the world to tire him physically, but the past few minutes’ conversation left him oddly spent.
“Serious,” he added in commiseration, handing Jag a beer for the road. When the older man grabbed it, Stone held it just a moment and looked him in the eyes with a single nod. “Anytime.”
“Hey, your doors broke,” Jag said off-handed as he began his exit. “Again, thanks for the beer. I’m going to go make a turd.”
“You do that,” the younger man replied. Shaded, calculating eyes followed Jag’s retreat and he repeated under his breath, “You do that.”
There wouldn’t be any more sleep tonight. There wouldn’t be sleep for many nights. Stone was now in possession of something he didn’t have yesterday: a purpose.
Walking back into his bedroom, he went straight for the closet and started rummaging around in a large cardboard box. When he joined the team he’d been given a collection of gear and other stuff, technological and otherwise. For the most part, he considered them useless. So he’dput them in a box and stashed them away in the closet.
When Stone finally emerged he had in his hands a sleek black notebook computer. He took it to the living area and put it on the low table in front of the sofa. It started right up when he opened it, and after a minute he’d opened a browser window.
With stabbing gestures, Stone two-fingered his way to a search engine. He typed his query and pressed the enter key, and was rewarded with over a thousand hits. Some of them were years old.
He sighed. This is going to take a while, he figured, but as of right now there was nothing more important. Good thing he didn’t need to sleep.
He clicked the first link and was greeted with a Wikipedia page.
The Soldier Boy Project was a U.S. Department of Defense initiative started in 1967 in response to the perceived high death toll of U.S. military personnel during the various escalating conflicts of that time. Its main purpose was to create a super-soldier, a term often used to describe a soldier that operates beyond normal human limits or abilities. This individual’s purpose would then be to serve in multifaceted capacities including special forces commando, counter-intelligence agent, and a propaganda symbol to counter rising Communist…
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Comments
Must my people always be the
Must my people always be the butt of UFC-watching drunken frat boys? Must they?
(that being said I really enjoyed reading this!)
salute!
I laughed a LOT in the
I laughed a LOT in the beginning of this. Some really great lines.
“Well…this is awkward.” - I loved that!
...and I like the serious turn that it took. Very interesting and a super fun read.
Oooh, I like it! So Soldier
Oooh, I like it! So Soldier Boy may have inadvertently pointed Stone in the direction of some long-hidden skullduggery. In which case, a world of hurt may descend upon an unnamed woman in the Soldier Boy Project.
Heh. Good work!
I can honestly say that it's
I can honestly say that it's been a while that something I read made me laugh out loud, but this did it. Seriously, damn funny stuff. And a beautiful ending, to boot.
Excellent, excellent read, gentlemen.
OMFG that was funny.
OMFG that was funny.
This has got to be one of
This has got to be one of the funniest things I've read in a long time. Great job, guys.
--
Imagination is the seed of intelligence. Nourish it and watch it grow.
Classic! Just Classic!
Classic! Just Classic!
I can't wait to see their next interaction in a 'training scenario'. (lol)
Hmmm...this might gel very
Hmmm...this might gel very well with the project I told RLS about. That name is going to be very important.
a...hem
GM here.
Something I should know about?
I'm fine with players collaborating with other players not in the game. ...but absolutely no megaplots or things that will affect other characters in the game, without my stamp of approval.
...and that woman in question would affect another character.
Do either of you gentlemen
Do either of you gentlemen have a copy of this piece? Let me know if you don't and we'll dig it out.
I really need to figure out how to help KL with the database fishing.
restored
restored