well this is it the second half! sorry it was so slow in coming, but i had a family emergency that took me out of state.
DISCLAIMER: if you recognize any charachters in this story then they don't belong to me. Jason however is a product of my own demented mind.
RATING:PG-13ish
FEEDBACK: will be framed in gold, and then placed in a special cabinet in my room were i can fawn over it.
Men Of Steele 02
by Henry
Villains always smoked.
Why was that? In every movie he could recall seeing at least one of the major villains, or his lackey, was a smoker. It left him wondering if tobacco consumption was one of the requirements of writing a good villain, like a pointed mustache, or some sort of facial disfigurement…scars, Scarface—Al Pacino, Sharon Stone, Universal…nineteen-eighty something.
Anyway, so villains always smoked, and it seemed like the hero was always mixed up in an inordinate amount of angst. Either his/her spouse had left; their kid had inoperable cancer; dead relatives were rising from the dead, or some giant asteroid was hurtling toward earth at three-quadrillion miles per hour, and the only way to stop the total destruction of man kind was to drink a Pepsi, go to McDonalds, and by Ray bands…Ray bands…Rainman; Dustin Hoffman, Tom Cruise; some movie studio—nineteen-eighty something.
Beep beep
*Laura get the alarm*
Hmm…he’d lost his train of though—Rainman, Pepsi…oh right heroes and villains, or rather the hero/villain stereotype.
Why did the hero, or heroine, always have to have serious drama going on in their life in order for the story to develop. Surely it’s was not impossible for truth and justice to be separated from tragedy and malaise. As far as he was concerned…
Beep beep
*Laura get the alarm!*
…as far as he was concerned movie villains need to be force fed Niccorette gum, and Oprah should be on permanent standby for the heroes. Oprah…Oprah Winfrey—The Color Purple; Danny Glover, Whoopi Goldberg, a Steven Spielberg production Warner Brothers nineteen eighty something…wait a minute Laura would know.
*Laura, love what year was The Color Purple released? Laura?*
Beep beep…”Clear!”
*Clear? What was clear…and why does my side hurt so much*
So, anyway, The Color Purple was a great movie, and a great example of the hero villain stereotype. The hero, or rather heroine, Whoopi Goldberg was practically weighed down with problems; an abusive husband, scads of unruly step children, poverty, and a missing sister were only the start of her problems…and the villain, Danny Glover, smoked…didn’t he? Strangely enough he couldn’t remember, but he knew that at some point during the film Glover had sported a mustache.
Beep beep
*Bloody hell Laura, if you insist on waking me up at this god awful hour, then at least have the decency to kill the alarm*
“Mr. Steele, can you hear me?”
*Of course I can hear you Laura, and I can hear the, continuous and maddening, beeping of that clock radio.*
Which begged the question as to why she wasn’t turning it off; it was beginning to bother him—the alarm—almost as much as her calling him ‘Mr. Steele’. She’d once explained to him that Remington didn’t have the familiarity or the intimacy that his sir name entailed since she’d been using it for years, but he’d always had the suspicion that she was just using it as a defense. Distancing herself, as it were, by using his formal title. In the beginning of their relationship he’d done the same thing, but eventually, as his love and admiration for her grew, he’d dropped the formality and simply called her Laura…mmm Laura—Laura Holt and her sultry lilting voice.
“Rem, sweetheart can you open your eyes?”
*Oh, Laura have I ever told you how wonderful it sounds to have you say my name like that?*
“Oh, Rem please open your eyes. I can’t lose you.”
*In a minute Laura love, I’m still bloody exhausted.*
“Miss Holt, if you’ll just come this way the police have some questions to ask you.”
*Hey who’s that? That sounds like a man…man…men—streetlight, alley, stabbed, someone bloody stabbed me, and Laura…*
Voices. Cloudy and indistinct were filtering through Remington’s head at a million miles per hour. In the midst of the electronic beeps and clicks he could here Laura talking to, some as of yet unidentified, male. She sounded distressed to say the least. He was able to make out only bits and pieces of her conversation.
“Please Miss Holt you need to leave the room.”
“Superman, me and my partner have a few questions for you and Miss Holt…”
“Of course officers, we’ll be right there.”
“Please, Superman…I can’t leave him. I have to know he’ll be okay.”
The man’s voice became softer, more comforting, at her plea, “Ms. Holt, this is one of the best hospitals in the country, not to mention the best trauma center on the eastern seaboard. Mr. Steele is going to be fine. I promise.”
“Alright…” reluctantly Laura allowed herself to be steered from the room, but not before giving her husband one final glance. God, how she wanted this all to be some terrible nightmare; she’d give anything to wake up warm and safe back in LA wrapped in her husband’s secure embrace. To hell with the government, and Trevanian, as soon as Remington was better, they were getting on the first plane out of this city. Mrs. Cox could take her money and her condescending demeanor and go take a flying leap.
“Ms Holt?” Laura felt a warm hand on her shoulder. A sad smile played across Superman’s strong features, as he motioned to the E.R’s main lobby.
With tear stained eyes Laura followed the superhero’s lead.
