Simon (hornsofjustice) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-11-27 13:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot: give...thanks?, paz richmond, simon maeloch |
Who: Simon and Paz
What: their powers are hilariously compatible
When: Thanksgiving day
Where: S&S headquarters
Warnings: none
Status: ongoing
Why did this keep happening to him.
Simon couldn't understand for a second what he'd done to deserve the hits that just kept coming. First he did his job and delivered a pizza and grew horns, then he turned himself in for that boy and got beat within an inch of his life, and now he randomly started exuding some kind of green cloud.
He was mortified.
His hands were on either side of the sink, leaning in and looking at his haggard face in the mirror and trying his best not to let it get to him. People were walking in an even WIDER berth around him than they had been since Halloween. Well, other than those weirdos who tried really hard to touch his horns without asking first. People were just so weird. The one thing that kept plaguing him was this thought...
HOW MANY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD HAD THREE POWERS? THREE DIFFERENT AND UNPLEASANT POWERS.
Obviously he had been some kind of shitty horrible murderer and all around bad person in another life and this was his karmic retribution. That's how it worked, right? Karma was the biggest bitch of all.
His publicist had told him that if anything strange happened or he needed an escape he could always come to the headquarters and phone her, so that's what he did. He left his lovely family on one of the best days of the year for them to spare them the idea that he had become even more of a spectacle. He was in the headquarter's bathroom, hating his life and wishing he was home helping his mom lift the turkey in and out of the oven and watching football with his dad.
But no... nnnnoooooooo... he was standing in a green cloud. With horns on his head. And all of the sudden all he could do was laugh about it. It crept up on him slowly but when it was in full blast he knew exactly what was wrong. That first twitch of the corner of his mouth, a failingly stifled 'TCH' kind of laugh and then he slunk down to the floor and kept laughing. Oh Oxygen levels, such a blessing in times like these. If you can't laugh at yourself, what can you do?
His odd kind of pyrocreation had been always been a double edged sword, it severely limited the kinds of clothes he could wear and it made for inappropriate laughter at times... but in times like this no matter how inappropriate it was it was also uplifting.
The little boost of kind chemicals in his veins from the act gave him the energy to pick himself up off the ground and walk out the bathroom door with a goofy smile on his face. He'd figure this out, like he did everything, and his publicist would help. Even though she was terrifying.