Paragon vs. Plastica
by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)
Chapter 8: A Friend Lends a Hand
"What's with you, Lori?" Cal said.
Lori halted guiltily by the cafeteria entrance, her arms full of books.
She'd called that morning to tell him she couldn't meet him for lunch. But
he hadn't gotten the message and gone ahead to the cafeteria anyway. "I'm
sorry Cal, but I can't do lunch today." She hefted the books. "I have a
big research project that's due."
He glanced at the titles. She'd gotten them from the UCLA library and
they all dealt with criminal pathology. " 'Sexual Dysfunction in the
Criminally Insane?' " he read, and grinned. "Whoa. That's pretty heavy.
Remind you of someone you know, maybe?" He walked around in front of her,
goosing her waist. "Do you have time for a quick cup of coffee, then?"
He was so innocent; he had no idea that she was Arctica, the same way
thousands of other Angelenos had no idea there were living, breathing
superheroes in their midst -- that is, until the latest crisis hit. But
that was why she loved him, and why she couldn't involve him in her life as
Arctica. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I just can't."
"What's wrong?" he said concernedly. "It's more than your project; you
look so... tense."
"It's nothing," she said, starting to walk towards her car.
"It is not." He caught up to her. "I drove by your house yesterday and
there were all these strange cars there and people going in and out. I
wanted to drop by, but thought I'd better not."
The Team would have been friendly, as long as they were in their mundane
identities; they all knew each others' SOs by now and were tolerant of
them. However, ALOSH would have been a different story. "Cinnabar's been
called away on a dig," she said, thinking quickly. "She'll be gone for a
few weeks, so we've decided to sublet the space. I was interviewing
roommates all day yesterday."
"They were kinda weird," Cal said.
Lori suppressed a smile. Yes, Dr. C'sungh and The Rattler were
definitely strange, even out of costume. But she had Cal to think of.
"That's why I told them they wouldn't work out."
"Oh." She threw the books in the back seat of her car and climbed into
the driver's seat. He began to look desperate. "What about tonight, then?
Are you free?"
*Oh please,* she thought. She wanted him to go away, not the least
because he was tempting her -- his tiny apartment, a rental, the
always-untidy bed, doughnuts in the morning... the perfect palliative for
her pain. But no. "I really can't. I have to go to the airport to pick
up a friend."
His expression turned determined. "Then I'm going with you."
"Cal!" she said as he climbed into the passenger seat.
"No buts. I haven't seen you in ages, Angelfire. What's a trip to the
airport? And any friend of yours is a friend of mine." He turned on the
radio. "We can have a cup of coffee there before the plane gets in."
She sighed, letting him have his way, but she was actually glad he was
coming along. In light of what happened in the past few days, he was a
welcome distraction. She was going to pick up Darlene Wilson, the team
member Fem-Fantastique had sent to help them, but of course she couldn't
tell him that. Gangly, innocent Cal with his rumpled thrift-store clothes,
the slight hint of beard always on his chin; he either wanted to be
a lawyer and work for a Greenpeace, or a reporter and write for Greenpeace.
Superpowers his age were already beginning to show the stress, in the skin
and eyes if not in their well-sculpted physiques; he still had the idealism
of youth. That was what made him so appealing to her.
At LAX they went straight to the gate where Darlene's flight was
arriving from the East Coast. It had been a full flight, so there were
lots of unfamiliar faces passing through the gate: businessmen, retirees,
tourists, other people who might be visiting friends or members.
Allison had talked only briefly to Darlene -- known as Cosmic to the
world -- and hadn't said what she looked like, so Lori felt more than a
little nervous. She'd never heard of Fem-Fantastique, but that wasn't
surprising since superpowers tended to work alone or in local teams.
At the end of the line was an exhausted carrying a diaper bag and
a baby in a carrier seat. Directly behind her was a woman with curly
dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin. She carried a 4-year-old child in
one arm, a heavy carry-on suitcase in the other, and a fold-up stroller
tucked under her arm. A second heavy bag had been slung over her shoulder,
and she wasn't even panting.
*That's her,* Lori thought. She made eye contact and waved.
The other smiled at her and waved back, then helped the settle the preschooler into the stroller, to the mother's grateful
thanks. She came forward to greet them, but Lori jumped the gun by quickly
running up and embracing her. "Are you Darlene -- Cosmic Girl?" she
whispered.
"Yes," the other said, puzzled but pleased by the display.
"We're going to have to play it straight, that's my boyfriend over
there. He doesn't know I'm Arctica. As far as he knows you're an high
school friend."
"OK," Darlene whispered, adapting quickly. "Oh, Lori, it's so good to
see you!" she said loudly.
"Same here," Lori said. They went over to Cal. "Cal, this Darlene.
She's the friend I was telling you about. She's going to be staying with
me while Cinnabar's out of town."
"Nice to meet you," Cal said, shaking her hand. His eyes lit up as he
took in her miniskirted slip dress and the close-fitting t-shirt she wore
under it.
"Thanks," Darlene said. She smiled at him in a distinctly flirtatious
way. Lori felt her hackles rise, but maybe she was just being friendly.
She was certainly nice enough to that lady with the kids.
They began the walk to baggage claim. Lori wanted to talk to Darlene
alone, but because of Cal all they could make was small talk about how
different Los Angeles was from New York. Lori saw that there was a
definite flirtatious component to Darlene's personality. She charmed
everyone she met with her long curly hair and mischievous grin. But when
she turned away, Lori saw the smile quickly vanish from her face and an
incredible sadness appear in her eyes. She wondered had happened to make
Darlene feel that way.
"I hope we aren't taking you away from anything important," she
whispered to her when Cal went to pick up her luggage.
"Don't worry about it," Darlene said. "Besides, I'm on a sabbatical of
sorts. The other members of my team thought this assignment would be good
for me."
"How so?" Lori said.
But Cal came back then with her suitcase, which, by its many odd-shaped
bulges, spoke of a fondness for clothes, shoes, and hair styling equipment.
Darlene took it from him as if it weighed no more than a packet of kleenex
"Thanks," she said cheerfully.
"You sure are strong," Cal said.
"I've been working out for five years." Darlene said. "I won the Miss
Golden title last year." Not only did she have an incredible body, she
was incredibly muscled as well. "I've got another piece of baggage, it
should be coming off the plane separately. I had it shipped fragile."
"What is it?" Lori said.
"My... computer," Darlene said after a slight pause and a glance at
Cal. Just then an airport baggage tram pulled up carrying a large,
many-banded black trunk, the kind commonly used to ship fragile scientific
equipment. The code RT-10 had been stenciled on it in large white letters.
"That must be it," Darlene said, lifting the heavy box by its handle. Cal
gaped; the crate had needed two to wrestle it off the tram.
"Shall we go?" Darlene said with a cheerful smile.
Cal still insisted on coffee, so it was early afternoon before they
finally dropped him off on campus. "I'll call you later, OK?" she said.
"Darlene needs to get settled in."
"Promise?" he said, looking stubborn.
"I promise," she said, giving him a kiss. He tasted like a hazelnut
latte.
"Sorry about that," she said when they back on the main road. "He's my
boyfriend, he insisted on coming along. He doesn't know what's going on
with the Team, but he's still worried about me."
"I know," Darlene said. "My girlfriend was the same way."
Lori didn't feel so bad about Darlene's flirtatiousness anymore. "Look,
we can go straight back to HQ, which is where Cinnabar is, but I'm a little
hungry. Why don't we stop and get something to eat first, and I can bring
you up to speed on what's happened. How do you feel about dim sum?"
"Sounds good to me," Darlene said. They headed towards Chinatown.
#
Plastica leaned out of her Maserati, her eyes glued to the
binoculars as she watched the jeans-jacketed make his way across
campus, hands in his pockets. Her sharp white teeth bit her lower lip.
*So that's what Lori Olson's boyfriend looks like,* she thought. She
lowered the binoculars, a thoughtful frown on her face. Carter McCale;
called Cal by friends and faculty. It shouldn't be too hard to get an
address and place of employment for him. She had the feeling it would come
in useful later on.
Her cell phone beeped softly. "Yes?"
"Sorry for interrupted, boss, but it's an emergency," Iza said. "We're
down at the agency, and guess who walked in. Chrystar."
Plastica breathed deeply to calm herself, even though she knew something
like this would happen eventually. "Did she bring the cops?"
"No, she's calling herself a model, and she looks it. She's got a
portfolio and everything."
"A disguise," Plastica muttered. She hadn't considered this; she'd
thought Team Paragon would make a frontal assault. But it seemed Chrystar
hadn't counted on the intimate knowledge Plastica had of Team Paragon,
courtesy of Kylasha and her spies. "Well, if she wants to be a model, then
treat her like one. Play her along, then plastify her the same way as all
the others. I'll be down there as fast as I can. "
"But boss!" Iza said.
"No one is immune to the gas," Plastica, said feeling cocky. "It took
care of Xenon and Blue Cymbidium, it should take of her. Do the photoshoot
as normal, then send her to the showers. There's no way she could have
found out about that. She'll be as surprised as any of the other were. Or guys," she amended; the Fairfax Plastic Fantastic was processing
men in a separate room, purportedly as entertainers and waitstaff for a new
cruise ship.
"But what if she gives us trouble?" Iza whined.
"She won't be giving you any trouble," Plastica said. "Team Paragon
doesn't endanger innocents, and you've got a room full of stupid,
bubble-headed models who'd jump into a pool of gasoline to escape a forest
fire. And if she starts a fight, well, I've got the new gun in the trunk.
One shot and she's stiffed. Now keep cool until I get down there."
She cased her binoculars and turned the key. She'd deal with that later; already plans were brewing in her mind.
#
"Ms. Lubinski? You're next."
Gina put down the copy of Vogue and walked over to where the
receptionist waited. The other would-be models gave her envious glances.
*Eat my dust,* she thought. She'd taken a chance and dropped in on the
agency without making an appointment, but they'd been more than happy to
see her after getting a look at her skin-tight spandex miniskirt and
halter.
The studio looked rough and unfinished, as Gina knew it would. "Ms.
Lubinski? I'm Iza." A woman with cut in a geometric bob
stood up from a desk, extending her hand. Her lipstick was very red, her
skin pale; she looked like an art deco vampire. "Ms. Nyll is not here
today, but she gave us full charge of her studio. I've looked at your
portfolio. It was very impressive."
*What bullshit.* Gina suppressed the urge to laugh. They probably
hadn't even opened it. "Thank you," she said gracefully, with the toothy
vapid smile all models soon learned to cultivate.
"Now, if you'll put your purse down here, Tiger can start taking his
shots."
Gina stood on the crisp white paper, bemused by the amount of detail
Plastica put into the operation. She wondered if there really was film in
the cameras. Tiger barked out pose after pose for her to take as Iza and
Phanxine, the receptionist, conferred, heads bent and out of earshot. Gina
wished she had Allison's telepathic sense. But they were probably talking
about nothing.
After ten minutes Iza handed her a bikini. "Now we're going to do some
swimsuit shots. We want you to shower first, using the special soap and
shampoo we provide. It will give your hair and skin the high-gloss look we
want."
Gina tried to give a good impression of being pleased. "I guess this
means I got the job, huh?"
Iza smiled cryptically. "Yes, I guess it does."
Tiger escorted her to a small bathroom that contained a glass-walled
shower. "Take as long as you want, but not too long," he said. She
thought she saw a smirk cross his face as he shut the door. She waited
until the sound of his footsteps receded, then tried the knob. Locked, as
she knew it would be. She ran her hands over the surface. Her power gave
her the ability to test the strength and density of other materials by
touching them, and there was a steel core under that wood veneer.
Well, she'd expected no less. She touched the walls: ceramic tiles,
plain wood and drywall. If she got into serious trouble she could always
go through them, as Chrystar, though it might give her a headache.
She turned her gaze back to the open door of the shower. It had a
futuristic-looking plumbing set that reminded her more of a mad scientist's
lab. *I'm damned if I'm going in that,* she thought, remembering how
Aubrey had been trapped and helplessly transmuted. But if she wanted to
infiltrate Plastica's lair, it seemed she would have to.
She peeled herself out of her tight spandex clothes and hung them in
back of the door, then removed her bra and panties. But before she could
step into the shower it started on its own, gushing out a cloud of
pink gas.
It must have been set to a timer. She held her breath as the cloud
swiftly enveloped her. *Well, here goes.* Blinded in pinkness, she swiftly
changed her molecular structure to approximate a lightweight material with
the surface sheen of plastic; at the same time she halted almost all atomic
movement in her body so she appeared stiff as a statue. Aubrey had said
the pink gas had an arousing effect, though Gina couldn't feel it. *Good
thing too,* she thought. *I might be too distracted to do my job!*
After a long period the gas was up through a vent in the ceiling,
leaving Gina to contemplate herself in the bathroom mirror: nude, stiff,
and shiny. She'd done a good job: she was almost indistinguishable from a
normal mannequin. She could exist indefinitely in this state without the
need to breathe or eat.
The door opened. Gina forced herself not to turn and look.
"I told you it would work." Plastica's voice. "Scaredy-cat."
"Hey, I didn't know," Iza said.
Chrystar tried not to flinch as Plastica lifted her by her arms,
standing her to face the door. If anything the villainess looked even more
bizarre in person: she had healing burns on her face, the bones of which
looked oddly misaligned, and her long electric-blue hair was now shoulder
length and a bright magenta color. Her model-thin limbs were as attenuated
as a spider's. *Hell,* Gina thought, *switch heads and you'd have
Lieutenant Ripley's latest alien enemy. *
"Hmm, she never got in the shower," Plastica said, running her
platinum-taloned fingers through Gina's hair. "She must have found out
about the process somehow... not that it did her any good." She pinched
Gina's nipples.
Gina suppressed a gasp. Though her body structure had been altered her
skin was still sensitive in this form, and the tweak caused the normal
amount of pain.
"Shame the others didn't have like this," Plastica said. She
cupped Gina's copious breasts, feeling them up like a connoisseur.
Gina bit back her revulsion. *She thinks I'm a mannequin. Therefore,
she's doing anything she wants to me.* The impersonal yet admiring
treatment sent an odd erotic sensation zinging through her.
"And you thought you were so smart, Chryssie," Plastica gloated, her
hands now caressing Gina's buttocks. One set of fingers darted between
Gina's legs to play with the two hardened grooves that had been her labia.
*Oh God,* Gina groaned. *If she keeps this up I'm going to move, or
twitch, or something!* But thankfully the fingers moved away, brushing
Gina's pubic hair as they did so. Phanxine stuck her head in the bathroom,
and grinned. "Looks like her collar and cuffs don't match."
Gina gave a silent groan; she'd used a black rinse on her hair to
disguise herself. "Take them both off," Plastica said. "I want her to
match the others."
*You bitch,* Gina thought as Phanxine sprayed her with a white
foam. Her skin tingled as it began to work. A few minutes later Iza
rinsed her off in the shower, and all her hair went with it. She was now
as smooth and bald as a real mannequin. *I'm going to have LAPD throw the
book at you,* she thought angrily.
Plastica patted her cheek. "Don't look so glum, Glass-Ass. You've got
a long and interesting career in front of you. Bet you'll have a lot to
talk about -- that is if you could talk -- with your friends Xenon and Blue
Cymbidium!"
*Noelani -- so that's what happened to her.* Gina had to know more. But
Phanxine was toweling her dry, humming to herself as she rubbed the rough
fabric across Gina's ass, and behind her Iza was wheeling a second victim
down the hall, a mannequin with the lush brown curves of a Brazilian beach
bunny. She stood stiff as a board on the dolly cart, her eyes dark and
dull as two chocolate kisses, fear-erected nipples trained at the ceiling.
*That's what I must look like,* Gina thought sourly as Phanxine wheeled
her away on a similar cart, to a loading dock at the back of the building
where two trucks waited. One contained male mannequins, the other female.
The males took Gina by surprise. *How many people does she plan on
transmuting?*
But Phanxine wheeled her inside the truck for female mannequins, cutting
off her view, and slid her into a storage rack. Gina felt her buckle straps around her waist and legs to keep her from jostling in transit. As
a final indignity she took out a black magic marker and scribbled a serial
number across Gina's denuded scalp.
*I'm going to kill you,* she thought.
This work is copyrighted 2002-2003 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com).
This work may be be freely distributed over electronic media provided no
fee is charged for its use. Charging a fee for this story, or publishing
without author credit or this notice violates my copyright.
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