A Super Mix of Super Heroes

Tuesday Morning, 3:07 am

Paul woke the next morning to a shrill phone ringing. He jerked up and knocked something off his bedstand then tried to answer his ankle weights. Oh, he must have knocked off his phone. He fell out of bed with a thump and scrambled around awkwardly in the dark. He followed the shrilling noise until he finally picked up the phone.

"Hel-" He turned it right side up. "Hello?"

"What do you mean by this? How could you have been so clumsy!"

Paul yanked the phone away from his now ringing ear. "Huh?"

"You had it in your hand, and you just left it there for some upstart to snatch up and grab all the glory??"

"Dad?" Paul croaked as the shouting took on a familiar tone. He peered at his clock. "Dad, it's three in the morning!"

A derisive snort sounded down the line. "You should be up by now. The news is already growing cold! And while you're lounging around in bed, you're getting known as some superhero saving little old ladies from purse snatchers! Well done indeed."

Paul pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. He could hear his mother in the background scolding and ranting. He yawned and turned off his alarm. There was no way he was going to be going back to sleep after this. He caught the phone between his ear and shoulder as he started changing. "Dad, I couldn't let him just get away! That wasn't a grand scheme worthy of a villain, it was just plain rude."

"Paul, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times! When you are on a job, you have to let other jokers do their thing. Your job is to pull of a grand grab and get away clean! You can play model citizen in your own time. Now you are on the front page as some kind of glittering hero saving purses - and it's only luck alone that your picture is blury - and some upstart is being fingered as trying to take the money and then burning it. Burning it! What a fool. If it was a hero caught on the wrong foot, all they had to do was give it back and run, and if they were a villian, scatter it over the street or just run with it. But no! They seem to be some idiot who burns a bunch of cash and bonds! I hate statement makers."

He'd finished getting dressed and walked out into the kitchen to put together breakfast while his father continued to scold in his ear. A few minutes later, a thump at the door said his newspaper had arrived. He fetched it and put it on the livingroom coffee table. Yep. There was the headlines about some fire super destroying "the people's hard earned money." He always wondered who these "the people" were. And there was his blurry picture. It was on the side and smaller, but it still made it above the fold. He sighed and went back to breakfast, yessing and noing into he phone as he went.

"-and don't fail us again! Your mother and I are very disappointed. Don't rest until you fix your bad name! Got it!"

"Yes, Dad," Paul said, but his father had already hung up.
 
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The scent of food was what awoke Asha. Her eyes blinked open as a breeze cooled her. She sat up, sniffing the breeze. The scent that awoke her didn’t come from the breeze. The breeze smelled heavy and like wet clothes.

The scent that awoke her was something almost comforting and warm. Much like Paul’s food. But if she remembered correctly, his work was only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Asha glanced at her phone. Her phone showed that it was 4:30 AM on Tuesday. It also showed notifications of postings about her outing last night from the newsletter she was subscribed to.

Asha sat up straighter as she opened the story, that already had three-hundred plus views although it was posted only an hour ago, and read. It accounted of two unknown individuals. The smaller account was of a man dressed as a discounted comic-book hero stopping a purse-snatcher. That led to a story about a speeding bank robber with odd motives. The article ended on listing possible names for the statement-making thief.

“If he struck again!” Asha’s flames sparked and the candles around her enlightened with her blue-white flames as she read the last line aloud. “I will not be striking again! And what kind of name is Blaze?” Asha huffed as she got up and settled herself to meditate. She would need it.
 
Paul finished fixing breakfast and neatly laid out Asha's portion should she desire it and sat at the table reading the newspaper and doing the crossword as he ate his spinach, red and green pepper, and mushroom omelette. Other than the fuss on the front page, there was not much of interest there. He left the paper on the table in case Asha would want to read it then cleaned up before returning to his room for a bit of exercise. Normally he did that before breakfast, but with the phone call... Well, his day was starting out ruffled.
 
After meditation, Asha was a bit more, settled. At least her flames were not threatening to ‘blaze’ out. Asha sneered at the name that rang through her head. She would have to ensure that next time that if people wrote about her, it would not be with such a silly moniker.

Dressed in another simple workout outfit, this time going for a navy color, Asha went to the kitchen. Paul was not in the living room or the kitchen, but an omelet and the morning paper were laid out nicely for her.

“Oh! How, considerate.” Asha blinked at the setting. She was not used to someone being so nice to her so early in the morning. Though she accounted it to the fact that it had only been three days of their new living arrangements. That was why he was being nice, to earn her good graces. “Well, it is certainly working.” Asha muttered as she sat down. Asha looked to the paper as she ate.

The picture of her speeding across the road was well taken. The photographer even caught the few sparks that lined her wheels when she sped away from the cops after her alleged thievery. Asha let a smile flicker on her face at how even this author could not identify her gender. Her father always told her brother that he needed to ensure complete coverage of his identity. Everyone knew the hero Flame-Bird was an impulsive egotistical male by his first outing. But with her first outing, everyone assumed she was a he. She seemed to surpass him in that already. The article kept going on describing the night’s events. Commenting on how the new fire super burned ‘the people’s hard-earned money’.

“Hard-earned! Good people!” Asha paused her eating to scoff at the article. “There are no good people. And if that small amount of money was so hard to earn, does that not say something about the people giving the money!” Asha slammed her fork down and stood up. “UGH! The nerve of these biased lying fools!” Asha picked up the paper and took it too the trash. She went to the trash and her flames eagerly consumed it, spurred by her anger. The ashes of the paper fell into the trash.

“That is what I think of the written words of the ‘good people.’” Asha turned and went back to her omelet. In the back of her mind, she did feel bad for destroying Paul’s property and hoped he did not catch her destroying it. Though as she angrily filled the rest of her mouth with her omelet and washed her dishes, those feelings were soon forgotten. But before she left for work, purse in hand, she left a little note for Paul.

Thank you for breakfast, Paul. It was satisfactory as always. If you are looking for your paper, I must apologize. It was ruined as I ate. But it is of no consequence. There was nothing good with such biased words.

Asha
 
Paul came out shortly after Asha left and found her note. Oh. That was nice of her to let him know. Although he wasn't sure how one could completely destroy a newspaper while eating... Oh well. It wasn't important. Whatever "biased words" meant.

He spent the rest of his time at home cleaning and letting Mr. Kuzco run around free. The little rodent enjoyed such freedom, and it was difficult to talk him into going back into his cage, but treats won him over in the end. Paul finished up his chores and packed a bag for work before heading out. He paused to think if he needed to write any notes to Asha, but he couldn't think of anything, so he went out to deal with his muscular clientele.
 
When Asha arrived at the work site, she immediately knew something was off when a Tesla car was sitting in the site’s parkway. Fancy cars meant fancy people; fancy people meant bad fancy problems. Even the drone of her coworkers was an apprehensive buzz. Still everyone worked. It wasn’t till they lunch bell sound that everything came to light.

“Everyone, please report to the employee parking lot.” Their manager’s voice crackled through the intercom. The buzz grew louder as everyone went to the lot. Asha drowned them out and focused on her breathing. Her manger and the company were honest, she did thorough research. Both seemed reasonable and profitable to work for. She had nothing to fear.

At the parking lot on the tall entry-way stood her manager and a man wearing a black pinstripe suit. She immediately recognized the man. Max Richardson was the owner of the Richardson Entertainment Company. She wondered what he was doing here.

“Hello everyone,” Their manager stepped forward. “I’m very pleased with your work and what you have done so far,” everyone froze as their manager paused and his face flickered. “But,”

“We will be cutting your project short.” Max Richardson stepped forward. “This area is needed for a movie shooting soon, and with the revenue the merchandise is already making, the promise of that versus the homes that could be built afterward, well the state preferred the latter.” Richardson smirked. Asha’s eye and her flames twitched. She fisted her hands.

“Because of this the current contract has ended. We will have to let some of you go, I’m sorry.” Their manager said sincerely as Richardson walked back into the building. “If those that we let go need anything or any help, please ask when I call. For now, please go collect your things.” Everyone murmured and speculated who was going to leave. Asha heard some of the stories and reasons people had for this job. There were those raising families, those trying to get a better life. Those just trying to survive.

“Cordova,” Asha turned to their manager, who wore a deep frown as he gestured to his office. Asha nodded and followed. She was not surprised that she was the first to be let go. She was young and could easily find a job, especially with her work ethic. It was a sensible choice. She was not sad or angry, at her manager. She arrived in the office to see Max Richardson standing behind the desk looking at the crew board. He turned towards her when the door closed behind her.

“You must be Asha Cordova.” Richardson smiled and put his hand out. “I’m Max Richardson.” He smiled, that stretched the muscles on his face tightly. It reminded her of the small pause a snake made before striking its victim.

“You called me sir?” Asha focused on her manager. He was a stocky elderly man with a wide chest and fit form that took up space wherever he went. Though, around her she noticed how he seemed, smaller.

“That I did,” He chuckled. “But you can greet our guest.” He gestured towards Richardson as he sat down.

“Hello,” Asha quickly nodded at Richardson before facing her manager. “Sir, I want to let you know that I agree that letting me go is a logical decision that I support. If you can write a recommendation letter and refer me to other companies, that will be helpful.” Asha stated. The loud laughter coming from Richardson made Asha flinch.

“He said you were intense, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this.” Asha turned to Richardson to see him gesturing to her. Asha rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“I do not see how that is a concern of yours.” She stated sharply. Richardson straightened himself and put his hands together.

“Well, I would like to know the work ethic of potential employees.” His smile grew into a smirk.

“Excuse me?” Asha gaped.

“Well, I noticed that from your employee photo that you have very distinct and beautiful features. If you want,”

“No.” Asha rose a hand to stop the offer.

“I assure you that,”

“No.” Asha sliced the air with her hand, trying to slice the man’s confidence. She let her flames rise the heat in the room. “I do not appreciate a company that is the sole purpose for the loss of jobs at a workplace I thoroughly enjoyed, trying to gain my employment soon after my loss.”

“You speak as if your job was a loved one.” Richardson said tightly. He pulled at his collar as sweat beaded out on his forehead.

“And you strike your victims like a vulture rather than the snake you believe you are.” Asha spat before turning to her manager. “If you need anything else from me, please, do not hesitate to call.” Asha left the room. She ignored the pitiful looks as she gathered her things and stomped away. She wanted them to believe that she was angry over getting fired. That she blamed the company or the manager. Then they wouldn’t know that she was planning multiple ways to burn Richardson’s property.

When Asha arrived at the apartment, she was glad to find that it was empty and let her heat permeate the air around her. She stripped her clothes, put on some workout clothes, got her laptop, and settled in the living room. Her fire was blazing and itching to burn something (she considered burning the wheels of Richardson’s car but it was too soon). It would have been a good idea to meditate. But then Richardson’s smirk filled her mind, and she opened her laptop to begin her research.

“I’ll show him how to strike prey.”
 
Paul did not have a very good day. It was not nearly as bad as Asha's in some ways, he still had a job and steady (ish) income, but he was starting to regret said job. Most days, he loved working as a personal trainer! But then, most days he was working to train someone who wanted to be trained. This man had no actual intention of losing weight, at least not the hard, honest way. He wanted to make a show of things, take a magic pill, and poof into perfect shape. He didn't want to work for it, and when he wasn't running Paul ragged trying to keep up with ridiculous demands, he was threatening to sue Paul for false advertising since he had not yet seen any results in two sessions where he did minimal effort and ate three twinkies between attempted workouts. Paul had no doubt he was not doing the home exercises or following the diet he'd recommended, but what could he do?

Tiredly, he made his way home around four-thirty, feeling like it was closer to eight. He just wanted to go to bed. Comfort food. Definitely comfort food tonight. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and kicked his shoes off onto the matt. "I'm home," he called quietly to no one in particular. He didn't think Asha was home yet, but maybe Mr. Kuzco would care. He stumped his way toward his bedroom to grab a change of clothes then slouched into the bathroom for a hot shower.

Twenty minutes later, he felt a little more rejuvenated, though still pretty low, and he headed into the kitchen in loose pants, bare feet, and an open shirt. He'd button it once he got started cooking. For now, he liked the warm air on his chest.
 
When researching things, such as her job or where she had to live, Asha tended to block things out. She also put in headphones to ensure that nothing would hinder her. She needed total focus as she collected data on Max Richardson and planned her strike.

So far, she found how the up and coming company worked in a studio building nearby. With some helpful knowledge that she learned from her cousin, she found out which bank held the company’s money and where Richardson lived. A plan was forming in her mind as the sound of the apartment’s water turned on.

Asha blinked and looked up. She turned her head but saw no one. When she took her headphones out, she heard the shower running. It must have been Paul, but did he not see her? Granted she was consumed in her research, so he probably thought she was busy. Asha sighed and put away her work. She would have to tell him of her current loss but make sure to ensure that she would be able to hold up her own with rent. When she was done putting things away, she heard Paul coming out of the bathroom. She looked in the mirror quickly, nodding in approval at the simple work-out t-shirt and black yoga pants, before going out.

“Paul,” Asha entered the kitchen, knowing that was most likely where Paul was heading. “I have some unfortunate,” Asha paused as she stared at the wide sculpted torso his open shirt revealed. She knew he was a fit man, but the sculpted physique was not what she expected. Her inner flames curled and the heat around her grew. “News,” Her voice was airy and hot, drying her lip. She quickly licked her dry lips.
 
Paul jumped when he heard her voice and turned to face Asha. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were home," he apologized. "I was not paying much, attention." Then he focused on her words, and a frown of concern wrinkled his brow. "Unfortunate news? What happened?"

It was only then that he finally realized she was staring at his chest and abdomen. Granted, he'd worked hard to get things this beautifully toned, but he wasn't accustomed to putting his body on display except for lessons and examples at work so people could see what he was talking about. He couldn't quite figure out her expression. Was she upset? He tried to casually button his shirt and accidentally popped off two buttons in the process. Hastily, he leaned down, grabbed them, and shoved them in a pocket before he finished buttoning.

His white shirt was now closed, but since it was one of his lounge shirts, it was worn and thin. He didn't realize that from her perspective, Asha could still catch glimpses of the muscles and smooth skin beneath.
 
"Unfortunate news? What happened?" Asha blinked and refocused on the situation at hand as Paul buttoned his shirt.

“I lost,” Asha paused to glance at the two buttons that fell off of Paul’s shirt. She saw him put them in his pocket. “My job.” She finished and examined the shirt Paul was wearing. It was worn and thin. She figured it was a favorite of his. “Take off your shirt and give me the fallen buttons. I can fix it.”
 
Paul caught the words "I'm sorry" before they left his mouth and suddenly found himself trying to figure out which statement to answer first. He decided on the shirt. Slowly, he started unbuttoning his shirt. He had buttoned it crooked, anyway.

"I don't want to take advantage or give you more work if you... you lost your job?" He frowned deeper in concern. "I'm sorry. At least you moved in here first so you have somewhere to stay until you can get a new one!"
 
“Thank you for your condolences,” Asha waved away Paul’s concern as she went to get her small sewing kit. She quickly grabbed it and returned to the kitchen, getting out the thimble, a small needle, and some white thread.

“But they’re not needed. I will have money to last rent for the next year,” “Asha spoke as she threaded the needle. “And a job may be in the works. But I wanted to let you know since it will change my schedule and I will be here more often.” Asha looked at him and held out her hand. “Consider this act as an apology for intruding your space and disrupting our schedules.”
 
Paul handed over the buttons and shirt quietly as he tried to digest that information. Enough money for the next year of rent?? Good gracious! Most people had trouble setting aside enough for three month's worth. He almost asked why she was sharing rent, then, instead of having her own place when space and schedules were so important to her, but he bit his tongue. That was none of his business.

"It is okay. I don't mind having you here as long as you don't mind. And schedules are made to be broken, right?" He attempted a shy smile. "Anyway, I'm going to make comfort food for dinner since I think we both had trying days today. Did you want anything in specific?"
 
“I suppose,” Asha said quietly as she blinked at the full view of Paul’s chest. His very formed pectorales were eye-level. Was she always so small? Asha pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as the thought of Paul looking down at her came to mind. For a moment she wondered if he enjoyed, what happened yesterday. She shook her head and focused on fixing the shirt. When Paul mentioned food, Asha smiled.

“Spinach puffs. And if there is a way to put meat in them that would be kind of you.” Asha said as she finished sewing the first button in place. She gave it a tug and it stayed. Absent-mindedly she nodded in approval.
 
Paul looked at the wall with a thoughtful frown. Meat in spinach puffs? That didn't sound right. That might destroy spinach puffs! But, then again, it might be nice. "I'll see what I can do," he decided with a nod. He turned and walked to the fridge and opened it up, his back muscles rolling pleasantly with the motion. "I was thinking of a nice burger with some light brioche buns, keep it simple, you know? And maybe a salad."

He looked through the contents of his fridge and pulled out the items needed for spinach puffs first. "Maybe the puffs can take place of the salad? Nah, keep the salad. It'll be nice and cool with all the hot to set it off. Hmm, endive salad, yeah! With... toasted breadcrumbs and walnuts. That would taste real good."

He was talking to himself more than to Asha as more ingredients joined the pile on the counter. He spent a few more minutes agonizing over the spinach puffs but finally closed the door and turned to Asha. "I don't think I have meat that could go in the spinach puffs, but I'll put it on my list!" And he did just that, jotting down the note on a pad hanging from the side of the refrigerator.
 
Asha nodded as Paul talked. Sewing his shirt was quick work and while the shirt was old, it was well taken care of. When she was done, Asha tentatively sniffed it. It smelled, comforting. Like grassy fields and cool breezes. She almost pressed her nose into it a second time.

"I don't think I have meat that could go in the spinach puffs, but I'll put it on my list!" Asha jumped at Paul’s words. She felt her cheeks heat as she pulled at her t-shirt.

“That’s alright!” Asha called out. “I am done with your shirt.” She held it out to him. She rose an eyebrow at the view of his broad back. She wondered how he would feel about her jumping onto it. But they did not each other for those kinds of thoughts. Asha straightened her shirt again and put a lock of hair behind her ear. “I hope the work is to your satisfactory.”
 
Paul turned around with a grin. "Oh, wow, that was fast. Thank you!" He took the shirt and pulled it on, buttoning it up the right way this time without losing any buttons. "I can sew a button, but I'm not very good at it. I'd probably still be working on the first one." He gave a low, happy chuckle.

Then he turned back to the counter and started sorting. "So, what kind of job do you have lined up? Are you going to take a little time for R&R?" He arranged everything and got started on the spinach puffs first, his hands rapidly turning a mound of spinach leaves and flat pastry squares into little molds of goodness in no time flat. These he arranged in a muffin tin and set it on the stove as the oven preheated. The burger meat was next, and he washed his hands again before he started adding to the meat mixture then grabbing it and mixing it with his bare hands.
 
“Some, personal jobs,” Asha answered slowly as she tucked a hair behind her ear and looked away. “There may be time for some rest, but my personal jobs require much, though. So, I might be working from here in the living room.” She tried to be as vague as possible to hide the truth of what she was doing. But she did want him to know what he needed to know.

“But how about you?” Asha said quickly, trying to steer the topic from her, activities. “How was your day?”
 
She was acting oddly cagey, and personal jobs didn't exactly pay well unless they were illegal, but he didn't want to press. He let it go, no matter how curious he was, and made a face as he started forming the meat patties.

"Oh... you know... a day," he sighed mournfully. "Some people are just too spoiled for their own good. It's funny, there's so much talk of this latest generation being privileged, but I tend to look back a generation for the truly privileged people." He shook his head. "But I shouldn't talk like that. It's rude and generic." He gave her a smile. "At least I got paid, right?"

Once the patties were formed, it was time for the puffs to go into the oven, and the patties to be cooked on the stove. He brought out his largest pan for that and cooked four patties at a time, leaving them to hiss and spit while he put together the salad.
 
“Rich or poor, young or old, anything can be spoiled rotten,” Asha said as she crinkled her nose. It was not at what she was watching. In fact, watching Paul cook was fascinating. His efficiency was amazing. She has seen men much smaller and more fitting in the space he occupied fumble more than him.

She was disgusted by the people who were spoiled and believed they deserved what they wanted. People like Max Richardson. “And if being rude is true honesty, then I would rather be rude. I would not pick a rotten fruit to spare a farmer’s hard work, so why should I deal with someone who was spoiled rotten just for money or for the sake of being polite.” Asha scoffed.
 
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