xVampire3go
Antlers
Captain Uni
Master Bruce
Eddie Brock
Sep
Moon Child
CabbageAngel
Mole
Wesley blinked repeatedly and winced, hoping the world would come back to him. Soon, his home began to reappear, first the outline of objects, then shaded silhouettes, and finally he blinked everything back into full living colour. He breathed deeply, relieved at the restoration of what he felt fairly certain was reality.
The Dodds family curse. It was becoming harder and harder to tell.
He left the bathroom and its mirror, feeling safe in the knowledge that his tie was on straight. Or at least fairly confident that it was in a straighter condition than he was. The living room’s television echoed; a cacophonous chaotic rumble that sounded like a jubilant crowd, which stood in stark contrast with the general ambiance of the empty mansion and its perturbed resident.
“Morph’? Was that you?” His call echoed out through the stark open halls, despite his being fairly certain it was. After all, who else could it be?
Wesley walked into the living room to confirm, after all, it’s not like he could really expect an answer. He saw an old 1994 Soccer World Cup game blaring on the television - the bright California stadium being a clear giveaway of the American hosted event. With live sport called off due to the sickness, sports networks had been desperately cycling through old classic moments to stir nostalgia and desperately capture the eyeballs and imagination of people trapped in their homes. With the pandemic over, people’s lives were returning to some sense of normality – but the carefully planned calendars of various sporting leagues had to be re-scheduled.
“Did you do this?” He looked down with a smirk.
Morpheus, the retired greyhound Wesley had adopted after Dian’s passing, merely yawned and stretched. Well within character, since the dog slept about sixteen hours of the day. The dog’s paws stretching once more onto the remote and this time rapidly turning down the sound on the television set.
Wesley turned back towards the tv set, just as the stadium’s advertising signage rotated over.
The world froze around Wesley and seemed to drop away.
The Dodds family curse. It was becoming harder and harder to tell.
He left the bathroom and its mirror, feeling safe in the knowledge that his tie was on straight. Or at least fairly confident that it was in a straighter condition than he was. The living room’s television echoed; a cacophonous chaotic rumble that sounded like a jubilant crowd, which stood in stark contrast with the general ambiance of the empty mansion and its perturbed resident.
“Morph’? Was that you?” His call echoed out through the stark open halls, despite his being fairly certain it was. After all, who else could it be?
Wesley walked into the living room to confirm, after all, it’s not like he could really expect an answer. He saw an old 1994 Soccer World Cup game blaring on the television - the bright California stadium being a clear giveaway of the American hosted event. With live sport called off due to the sickness, sports networks had been desperately cycling through old classic moments to stir nostalgia and desperately capture the eyeballs and imagination of people trapped in their homes. With the pandemic over, people’s lives were returning to some sense of normality – but the carefully planned calendars of various sporting leagues had to be re-scheduled.
“Did you do this?” He looked down with a smirk.
Morpheus, the retired greyhound Wesley had adopted after Dian’s passing, merely yawned and stretched. Well within character, since the dog slept about sixteen hours of the day. The dog’s paws stretching once more onto the remote and this time rapidly turning down the sound on the television set.
Wesley turned back towards the tv set, just as the stadium’s advertising signage rotated over.
FIFA IS FAIR P L A Y * FIFA IS FAIR PLAY * FIFAIS F A I R P L A Y
FAIR PLAY
The world froze around Wesley and seemed to drop away.
Terry Sloane
The eight men stood around the grave. What procession there had been was long gone. The Preacher moved on to the next funeral, marriage or baptism and the small group stood around occasionally breaking the silence with a memory or two.
Ted Grant had produced a flask from the inside of his suit; a rare sight, since the former heavyweight contender was still generally in the habit of treating his body like a temple. That said, it was being passed around with little regard for the recent sickness, moreso than carrying Grant through. Seems he had brought it more for the community of the occasion, than to drown in its contents himself.
Which Wesley was pleased to see. Johnny Thunder had been “Wildcat” Grant’s partner, after all, and Wes had no small concern as to how he would take the news.
As the flask was passed around, Wes took a small swig, even though he was usually tee-total and passed it on to Terry Sloane.
Al was telling some old story, reminiscing about his own swashbuckling days. A yarn they’d all heard many times before. Where Al had stormed in over his head and fists a blur, and even his partner Terry would not be enough – a truly rare occasion, when numbers were so great that even Hoover’s pet, the one they all playfully called Mister Terrific, was seen to not be enough – and further backup had been called.
Sloane took a drink from the flask and clapped a hand on Grant’s shoulder. Offering him a smile, and the flask. Ted took another belt and passed it on to Al, who was by now already drunk on nostalgia.
“And they called you, and this little kid in to bail us out.” Al said, far too obnoxiously for the cemetery environment.
“And I thought to myself, sure… send in the guy who was gonna fight Cassius Clay back in the day…”
“Ali.” Wes gently corrected, albeit too quiet for Al Pratt to hear now that he was in full swing.
“…but this pre-pubescent kid is going in with him? Ha ha ha!” The flask found its way to Rex Tyler as Pratt laughed.
“But you did it! You never did tell us how, exactly, but you did it!”
Grant had gone quiet. He reached out to Tyler to retrieve the flask before his turn. Sloane’s sharp eye watched as Grant took a heavy slug of its contents.
“I think that’s enough Al.” Sloane said.
“Enough? ‘s fine. We’re all just talkin’.” Al kept smiling and laughing.
“Al.” With a word, he quelled the smaller man. Without conflict, without condescension. His tone and inflection were perfect for getting his message across and understood.
And when it all came down to it, that’s what Terry did best. Sure, he had degrees in more scientific fields of endeavour than you could imagine, and yes, he was an athletic marvel who could do the unthinkable and make it look simple, but above all else he could connect with people.
He was an agent, just like any other in the taskforce, with no apparent leverage and yet he was able to talk Hoover and government handlers into giving them a considerable amount of latitude. Not enough to grant those who didn’t want ‘in’ their freedom, but he convinced them to make things far more comfortable than they had to.
At the time he’d wondered if perhaps there were something more there with Hoover, considering how enamoured he seemed to be with the man. But as time went on, Wes saw that most people seemingly wanted to please him and he was just naturally convincing – people want the popular guy to like them. Mister Terrific. And Terry Sloane also did pretty much embody the traits that Hoover had originally claimed he most wanted for his FBI, and therefore his JSA members. It was well worth the Director’s efforts to keep that man happy, on side and comfortable.
“Ted. It’s alright. We miss the kid too…”
Slowly the world restored to its all too temporary focus and Wesley found himself staring at the silent television and a soccer game over two and a half decades past. More deep breathing. The decline was happening so fast now and almost without warning. There was no medication. No respite. He turned and looked to Morpheus, bending down to pick up the remote from underneath his paws.
The two came face to elongated face. For a second he saw the dog’s face re-shape and start to take the appearance of a familiar World War I era gas mask. Wesley gasped. The dog licked his face, breaking his flawed reality. Quickly he picked up the remote before the truth could distort any more, a pat on the head the meagre reward for Morpheus temporarily restoring the old man’s sanity.
He held the remote out to the television and pressed at buttons, just as the remote turned to gold in his hands. His face once more contorted with a horrific loss of control.
The two came face to elongated face. For a second he saw the dog’s face re-shape and start to take the appearance of a familiar World War I era gas mask. Wesley gasped. The dog licked his face, breaking his flawed reality. Quickly he picked up the remote before the truth could distort any more, a pat on the head the meagre reward for Morpheus temporarily restoring the old man’s sanity.
He held the remote out to the television and pressed at buttons, just as the remote turned to gold in his hands. His face once more contorted with a horrific loss of control.
Ted Knight
The eight were dispersing to their cars. Rex had the smart idea to continue the “party” at a local bar he knew to be very discreet, Al was more than happy to second the notion and the rest merely fell in behind to prevent the two from getting into too much trouble.
Nothing ever changes really.
Wes hobbled along, whilst Rex tried to race Al back to their cars in the parking lot. Al never backing down from any challenge, and Rex desperate to turn back the clock to glory days of yore.
“You riding with me?” The aging scientist asked of the much older man.
“Looks like it.” Wesley replied.
“Noticed you were talking to Chas earlier.” Ted mentioned. “Everything all OK there?”
Dodds considered. He probably saw the irritation on his partner’s face, so Wesley decided to come all the way clean.
“I asked him about the autopsy. Given who died, I was a little too insistent. Insensitive. Stupidly so.”
Ted nodded his head, which told Wesley that he was right. It was unsurprising. Knight and McNider were probably the most solid unit back in the old JSA days too. Both were balanced and careful in their consideration. Charles with his surgical background, and Ted coldly logical with his own engineering roots. Both had each other’s backs at every turn.
Wesley got on well with both of them, but it was sometimes frustrating as they seemed surprised that other partnerships didn’t always find it so easy to be on the same page.
“He told me he has a line on the autopsy report, once it’s completed but couldn’t safely be involved with the cut. Which, all things considered, makes sense I suppose.”
Ted kept nodding his head, seemingly confirming things he’d already gleaned and following the explanation of facts.
“So…” Wes broke the silence.
“So, what?” The taller man asked.
Wesley stopped and levelled a weary older glare at the younger man, his eyes looking over the rim of his glasses. A glare that said wasting time was for the young.
The two understood each other well and had their own ways and actions.
Ted Knight saw himself as the family man, settled down and got married after the disbandment of the Justices for the Society of America. From what Wesley had heard, he’d had a few kids with his old sweetheart, before their marriage soured – whilst Ted continued in the adventuring business, using tips from a network of sources both in the FBI and local law enforcement. Wesley knew for a fact that anything that ever crossed the crime desk of any officer who went by the name “O’Dare” in the PD, chances were Ted already knew about it.
Wesley meanwhile, took full advantage of the breakup of the group. Dove headlong into his whirlwind romance with the lovely Dian Belmont, and whose leads on adventuring mostly came from his own prophetic dark dreams.
They both knew exactly what Wes was asking. Ted was just trying to make him come out and say it.
“The FBI’s not handling it, to the best of my knowledge. They’ve been informed, since the body’s flagged, but to my knowledge their attitude is pretty much ‘the less the public knows about the JSA these days, the better’. Unless it gets messy and needs to be cleaned up, it looks like it’ll be kept local.”
