Post by The Wonderful Wachter on Sept 17, 2012 4:07:04 GMT -5
Road to the Future
Fantastic
Fantastic
By The Wonderful Wachter[/center]
Le Edad de Plata
San Fransisco, California
It started over dessert. No. Not the usual argument that resulted in both parties going home unhappy, in silence. Nor was it the occasional social faux pas that happens in three out of five first dates. It was something much, much worse. Something by far, more devastating to a relationship. A super villain had decided to interrupt this special occasion.
The worst part?
It wasn’t the first time it had happened to him.
There they were, enjoying a fantastic, if unusual, dish of chocolate bacon mixed with an assorted amount of delicious sweets when the suddenly…. Unexpectedly… Out of nowhere… From both right and left field…the door to this fine, five star dining establishment burst open with… Well the glass didn’t exactly shatter open. It was actually pretty silent. Had more of a… plop, that’s it, a plop noise to it. A sticky substance of a color that will not be named shot open in a torrent of impossible force, gluing the upturned nose of the host to his stand.
In walked in the villain… like he owned the place. The nerve of the man. Who did he think he was? Doctor Doom? The Wizard? He was nothing. A nobody… Albeit, he did have a pretty unique gimmick. Worth a laugh if not for the fact the date had been going so well.
Oh, why did it have to be Paste Pot Pete of all the possible badguys? How could you impress a girl when the villain was a C-Lister, possibly even a D-Lister? Who could seriously be frightened of a bald man of slightly above average height and middling age clad in a purple body stocking with green accessories? He wore a back pack… with cords snaking out from it to his boots, gloves, and his guns… So bulky. And that gun. It looked like a toy. Open ended, he half expected when the trigger was pulled that a flag with the word “bang” on it would pop out. He belonged in a kid’s cartoon.
Except, well, the other patrons were frightened. They screamed and they shrieked (as civilians usually do). They jumped on tables and chairs. Not even trying to run for in three quick shots, Pete sealed the doors shut and then he shot the floor with a longer lasting fourth shot. His paste snaked across the restaurant, seeking moving bodies, gluing them to wherever they stood, crouched, and cowered.
Yet there were two who were not frightened. Two who had no reason to be scared for their lives or their valuables.
He looked across at his date, so beautiful and fragile, and he could not help but wonder how her clothes would look at the bottom of his suite’s bed. She was pale, very, very pale. And her hair was a glistening blond, silky in its softness. Her thin lips were drawn in a line, pursed but not concerned – he liked that. Of course she dressed to impress tonight. That shimmering blue dress of hers with its flowing lines and plunging neck accented her willowy form to a number past ten on the standard scale.
She arched a perfectly groomed brow at him, daring him to do something.
He couldn’t help but sigh… What a pain. The night had been going so well.
“Alright, folks, it’s not complicated. Jewelry, phones – if I’m lucky – priceless heirlooms, whatever other valuables you got, and any cash you’re dumb enough to still have on you,” Pete demanded of the guests.
The sticky substance had almost reached their table, the farthest from the door. Almost private just like he requested with a wide view of a sheer drop into the city of San Francisco. He should probably do something before it ruined his date’s dress.
“Everyone, stay calm,” he said as he stood reluctantly… He had to waste his time on this? “Paste Pot Pete is not a violent criminal when he’s on his own. Just remain still and I’ll handle this.”
“My name is Trapster!” roared the Z-Lister. Pete spun around to face him, trigger finger itching to blast him to the wall. And then something funny happened. He dropped his gun, both of them. His face paled. That dome he called for a head could have been mistaken for a fair approximation of the moon. “R-Richards!?!?”
He smiled that easy going smile that he had copied from his uncles, both of them. “You’ll always be Paste Pot Pete to me.”
The Trapster got a hold of himself. Pulling the guns back to his hand by their cords, he pointed them back at Richards. “And just what am I to call you now? Huh?!?” The hands shook from both fear and rage. “Psi-lord, Hyperstorm… Tattletale?!?!”
Wait… You thought this story was about Reed Richards? You thought his date was Sue Storm? Hah. Not in a million years.
This is Franklin Richards’ tale.
Let’s rewind things for a bit, shall we?
“!?!?elatelttaT … mrotsrepyH ,drol-isP”…………ot mih gnirad……… ?trap esrow ehT…… .tressed revo detrats tI……
Her name was Rachel. She worked for some PR-firm and this date was part business and part pleasure. Just the way Uncle Johnny had taught him to enjoy. Definitely when taking them to a restaurant like Le Edad de Plata.
Le Edad de Plata was one of the fanciest restaurants on the west coast. Beautiful location high over the bay with a balcony wrapped halfway around the side to provide both a view of the water and the city itself. Startling silver trappings everywhere, expected from the name, made the place sparkle. Looking at it from below, it truly earned the name. And it showed just how much he was willing to dish out for this date.
Franklin was a young man who took after his mother’s side of the family in almost every way possible. Watching him as he grew up, it was hard to imagine that he was also the son of the famous Mr. Fantastic, genius extraordinaire. Blond, blue-eyed, average build of fit young man with broad shoulders… You could definitely see the resemblance between him and his uncle. Then there was the personality. He didn’t quite inherit his mother’s, let alone his fathers, flair for science. That was better left to his sister. He got the power instead.
Most powerful human being on Earth or so the theory goes.
Yet, as he grew older, his face became the face of a Richards. Spitting image of his grandfather they all said, beard and everything. His features thinned out. His hair took on a darker sheen, still blond yet lacking that shine of his mother and sister. He’d never be his father but the bone structure was there.
Today, he parted his hair to the side. He made sure his beard was perfectly trimmed. And then he dressed himself in his second best suit because his mother hid the first (he needed it for tomorrow, she said). His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He was bouncy with energy.
Not that he needed a new Public Relations Representative. Which was exactly why he could enjoy the pleasure part of their small talk.
“Shut up!” Rachel gasped with laughter.
“I’m serious. One of my babysitters growing up was a duck,” he laughed back, his lips parted in a wide smile.
“A duck.”
“He could even talk,” Franklin paused, recalling the days of the past. “I think he may have taught me my first swear words.”
“That’s too much.”
“Then I guess I probably shouldn’t tell you about the summer I spent in Latveria.”
“Was Victor von Doom your babysitter too?”
“No. He kidnapped me.”
Tears formed in her eyes and she nearly choked on her wine with a snort. Her soft smile was only for Franklin tonight. Yet another victim to the infamous Storm charm.
He tried to remember the last time he had sat down for a dinner date like this. A beautiful woman sitting across from him was not a rare thing but to actually enjoy it? Rachel was different. Tonight was different. There would be no call coming to tell him that the world was hours away from being destroyed or conquered. No villain will ruin his evening. He was off duty.
The world could wait.
“You probably had such a, well, excuse the pun… a fantastic life,” her gray eyes gazed into his, transfixed in their brilliance. “I wish I could have been part of the experience.”
Franklin sipped at his wine, feeling lightheaded for a second. His vision screwed up for only an instant. A bad feeling started to rise in his gut. Momentary headaches were never a good thing for him.
The waitress eventually showed up with the chocolate bacon as they continued to chat. A miraculous dish and one that he did not order. It had been Rachel’s choice and he whole heartedly approved. They chewed and they laughed. The best date he had in months. Potentially a keeper… But he’d have to be careful. The voice of his uncle warned him that if he screwed it up, he should expect some bad publicity.
Then the doors of Le Edad de Plata blasted open across the way and the substance that shall not be properly detailed started sticking everywhere.
Back to our currently ongoing story in 4…3…2…
The Trapster got a hold of himself. Pulling the guns back to his hand by their cords, he pointed them at Richards. “And just what am I to call you now? Huh?!?” The hands shook from both fear and rage. “Psi-lord, Hyperstorm… Tattletale?!?!”
Silence reigned across the upper class restaurant goers. They stopped fumbling for their valuables. Hope was on their features. They recognized those names. They were listed in modern history books. And now they could place his face. One plastered on tabloids and respectable magazines alike. The celebrity superhero. The son of two of the original Fantastic Four, nephew to a third, and godson to the fourth.
The leader of the current Fantastic Four.
It was so much easier to think when he was willing them to ignore him. Their thoughts were chaotic. Directed at him to save them… Such a pain.
“They call me Fantastic,” Franklin said with a wink back at his date. That had been her suggestion. The paste started retreating from him and the people with but a blink.
“Mr. Fantastic?” Pete had to know he stood no chance. Obviously killing time to think of a plan on how to escape.
“Just Fantastic.”
“Captain Fantastic?” The Trapster kept talking, eyes glued to Franklin, unaware that his paste was almost on him.
“Oooooh. I always wanted to be a Captain,” glancing over his shoulder, he met Rachel’s gaze. “Write that down for me, will you?”
“Always the joker. Just like that uncle of yours!”
The Trapster never could get over his humiliation at the hands of the Human Torch time and time again over the years. Not since Johnny had coined the name ‘Paste Pot Pete’ and passed it along to the newspapers. Could drive a man insane. It had driven a man insane. More than once, the F4 had beaten him by verbally picking on his shortcomings, causing him to lose his temper.
However, Pete had been in prison a lot over the years. Been part of quite a lot of anger management sessions. Franklin watched as he took a deep breath and let it out over the course of ten seconds. The gun hand steadied.
“Pete, put the guns and the tank down. No need for you to get hurt. You know you can’t beat me.”
“Yeah? And just what puts you out of my league, huh. When was the last time you did something powerful?”
“I returned the moon last year when it was stolen,” Franklin replied completely deadpanned.
“That was you?”
“Yes.”
The people had started backing away during the course of the conversation. They knew High Noon was a comin’ around the mountain. They didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Only Rachel remained where she was. Completely content. Knowing there was nothing for her to worry about as she chewed on a piece of chocolate bacon.
The Trapster sighed. “Can I at least shoot you once? You know, so I can say I put up a fight?”
“Will you go quietly afterwards?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Do it. But make it quick. I’m on a date.”
Trapster squeezed the trigger of both his guns and streams of the adhesive paste shot at Franklin before the word “date” was out of his mouth. They wrapped around him, trapping his limbs together. Quickly, before he knew it, he was locked within a mummified cocoon that smelled oddly familiar. What’s more, it was a refreshing fragrance.
Just as quickly as he had been covered, the paste crumbled to dust. Franklin’s eyes burned brilliantly, wary that Trapster would betray him. Yet the wariness was unwarranted. As the light cleared from his vision, he observed Pete undoing the various straps on his uniform. The tank and guns were on the floor in seconds. Efficient.
Franklin lifted his fingers to his nose, remnants of the dust still on the tips, and took a sniff. “Do I detect a trace of vanilla?”
“You do,” Pete nodded as he finally took off his boots. “Latest addition to my new formula.” He tossed a capsule he drew from his belt at the host he had glued earlier and the paste started to shrink to nonexistence. “No sense in my victims being completely uncomfortable.”
“Cool.”
“Would you like me to unseal the doors or will you?”
“Already done.”
Indeed it had. No trace of Pete’s entrance remained. Not single drop of paste or speck of dust could be seen. The chairs had been readjusted. People began to return to their meals at Franklin’s subtle urging. And he had a date to return to.
But first he had to wait on the authorities…
Fantastic.
The first member of the All Star Fantastic Four has been revealed.
Come back next time for Road to the Future: Marvel to find out who else is a part of the World’s Greatest Heroes.