Andrew (andrewwyld) wrote in superheroics,

Chapter 3 (draft)

On the opposite side of the city, a strange sight would be visible to anyone who wanted to look.  Strangely, no-one does.

A man is bent double next to, almost beneath, a tall woman.  He is grunting with effort.  Well, whatever; some people are into that kind of thing, but neither party seems delighted by this strange tableau.

"Why do you wear them, anyway?" strains the man.

"They're practical."

"Practical?  Four-inch heels?  Morgan, we're travelling in sewers.  Sewer gratings are part of the experience.  Getting stuck in them because of your practical footwear shouldn't have to be."

"Look, Tregetour, if those boots keep my nose further away from the sewage, a little struggling is a small price to pay.  Now keep pulling."

The Tregetour battles diligently.  The Morgan has forbidden him to use a screwdriver in case it ruins the finish, so he has to pry the heel loose with his fingers.  It is not working.

"You can't run in them, anyway," he pants.

"I can run in them!  You're just jealous because they make me taller than you."

Finish be damned, thinks the Tregetour -- life is too short for this.  He opens his pouch and extracts a huge tool.  Inserting it between the bars of the grating, and ignoring the Morgan's protestations, he levers the bars slightly further apart -- and the heel slides free.


The hissed argument which acts as a substitute for a screaming row has to be cut short as the two heroes enter a large sandstone building on the corner.  The Morgan is hobbling slightly.  She crouches down in a doorway and pulls her boots off, glares evilly at the Tregetour, and substitutes a pair of rubber-soled espadrilles.  They walk silently into the building.  The door should be locked and alarmed; it isn't.  Passing through it silently, they can see a sliver of light from under one of the doors leading off the main corridor.

They edge towards it, the Tregetour checking the doors on the way with a device of his own invention -- but they are all locked, and the rooms they serve stand empty.  Pulling a listening device from his box of tricks, he makes his way toward the light, while the Morgan continues checking the doors beyond.

They are almost ready to begin listening when they hear it:  the unmistakeable sneeze of a silenced pistol, followed by a clumsy, heavy thud.

They freeze.

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