Chapter Text
“What up?” said Clown. She had to raise her voice, a little. The buffeting of the winds made it hard to hear.
“Well, among other things, that would be ‘you’,” the chick in the black catsuit replied, from far below.
“True dat.” Clown was being held aloft by, for want of a better word, vibes. They were issuing from the outstretched right hand of the woman in the catsuit. “Maybe you could let me down?”
“Once we’ve finished our introductions.”
“Cool. They call me ‘Clown’.”
“And you let them?” Black Catsuit sighed. “A friend of mine in Harlem always used to rib poor Foggy Nelson for putting up with shit like that. And he was only named after the weather. Still, in your case, I can see the appeal.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, spy-babe.”
“Don’t I? Calling yourself a clown means you can tell yourself that it’s all a prank. Just pratfalls and water-pistols; someone with a wet face or a bruised behind, but no harm done. You’re a grown-ass woman, ‘Clown’. You know in your heart that that ain’t so. C4 isn’t a custard pie.”
“Fuck you, bitch.” Clown snatched a small metal sphere from her belt, and cast it down. Tiny, but a monster yield. See how much this smug wench likes it whe…
Black Catsuit raised her other hand. Vibes captured the sphere, which did not go boom on schedule. Black Catsuit held the globe suspended for a while, as if to make a point, before propelling it far out across Lake Michigan. Only a few mallards were troubled by the bang.
“My vibrations can suppress explosions, as well as smash stuff, and hold perps up. I’m essentially the anti-you.”
“Game, set, and match.” Clown’s shoulders sagged. “You got me good. And maybe…” Clown thought back to the fear in Riri Williams' eyes, when they had duelled in the diner. Long after the heat of the moment, that didn’t feel as good as once it did. “… maybe there’s a little in what you say.”
“There is.” Black Catsuit held her gaze. “An individual with your talents can go a couple of ways from here. An older woman with a skunk stripe and a European title offers you big bucks to do her dirty work…”
Clown’s expression brightened. “Cool.”
“… until she traps you in a concrete bunker to play Murderbowl with the other deadbeats on her payroll because that’s less hassle than an exit interview…”
“Less cool,” Clown conceded.
“… or, you can come work for me. Find a helpful direction to point your pyromania. Learn what it means to be the shield.”
“You’d take me?”
“I kinda have an obligation.” Black Catsuit blinked. “Long ago, a good man took me.”
“There’ll still be bangs?”
“I can promise you literal worlds on fire.”
Clown smiled radiantly. “Deal.”