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Long days and short tempers


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It'd been a trying couple of months for Tasha, who'd gotten her derrieré handed to her attempting to foil a bank robbery. She'd been forced to sit in a special, high-security wing of the hospital designed especially for heroes with nothing to do but study(shudder) and watch television. Unfortunately the first thing she saw was the news, looping security footage of the bank robbery that she'd failed to stop. After tearing out her stitches tearing down the T.V. the hospital very politely declined to replace the device.


"After months in recovery, the heroine 'Mercy' former sidekick to L.A. based hero 'Justice' is being released with a clean bill of health after a failed attempt to stop an as of yet un-named villain." Similar lines were echoed by the small gaggle of reporters as Mercy is wheeled out of the hospital in full(and fully repaired) costume. Standing up she's assaulted with questions as she futiley tries to pull her cape free of the chair's wheel(it'd gotten tangled up in there somehow).

"Mercy! Is it true that you did more damage to the bank than the villain? Do you have something against Metro City Bank?"

"Is it true that you and your partner broke up over a man?"

"After such an embarrassing defeat have you considered retiring?"

Similar questions kept coming. Which was nothing special really, truthfully the story would have probably been scrapped for something more interesting that happened between then and the nightly news if it wasn't for Mercy's reaction.

"Oh screw you guys!" the heroine roared, twirling around and yanking on her cape hard, which sent the poor, unassuming wheelchair flying through the air only to crash into(and crack) the windshield of a nearby news van. "What happened to Justice is none of your business!!! I'm out there risking my life to save you idiots. I mean, I'm bullet-proof! What do you think would have happened to a normal person if they'd tried to stop that guy? Do I get a thank you?! Or ask for money? Or anything? No. I get made fun of and ridiculed for trying!"

"You'd have to actually save someone to get a thank you!" one of the reporters quipped back at Mercy as she continued her tirade, setting off a chorus of snickers. In a flash the heroine had him by the shirt and was floating in the air, dangling him ten feet off the ground. "I've saved lots of people!" she snaps back, shaking the man, "What have you done?"

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Although Pompadour's MRI had not turned up any broken bones or internal bleeding, his back had started to stiffen up during the afternoon. He was sure that it was just normal muscle stiffness, the Lady Doctor who had inherited his chart appraised him with hungry eyes and declared he should be kept over night for observation. The same Nurse from yesterday woke him to check his vitals and plump up his pillows. Nurse Rowena was a Jamaican lady in her early 60s, and seemed relatively immune to Pompadour's superhuman good looks. "The News People are all out at the front steps. I wonder if they're here for you?" Pompadour swung his legs out of bed, "Darlin', the News Crews are always for me, one way or the other." He pulled on some cotton pajama pants and loose cotton robe his agent had left for him, leaving the robe open, of course. He pushed his feet into the leather slippers also provided, and made his way down stairs.

On his way down to the main floor, he found time to check his hair in a mirror (perfect!) and score a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. Nasty... but you could still drink it if you put enough cream and sugar in it. A television in one of the lounges revealed why the news crews were here, Mercy was being released from care today. I remember when they brought her in, I was still doing my Therapy. They said that robber almost cut her in half. I'd almost forgot she was in here. Pompadour sipped his coffee, lurking near the main doors. I don't know if I should steal her press... this should be her moment. Almost cut in half... holy... Pompadour watched the orderly wheel Mercy out of the hospital, and the vultures descend upon her. Oh. This is not going well. He decided it was time to hobble into action.

His pace, slow and measured due to the ache in his back, nevertheless brought him out to the steps quickly. Pompadour brought himself up to Mercy's side with 'hair stilts.' He put a gently restraining hand on Mercy's forearm and leaned in to whisper in her ear; "Don't let these bastards turn your good work into a travesty... if you'll allow me..." Pompadour lowered himself back to the ground and stepped forward to address the reporters. He was shaking his head with a sad, disapproving expression on his face. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, you're not being very fair. Let's try to show a little decorum and objectivity please. Mercy was practically cut in half trying to help... there's no doubt in my mind that her actions saved police and civilian lives, almost at the cost of her own... so, maybe one at a time? No sleazy questions, please."

Pompadour's agent had discussed Public Relations with him at length... and he was ready to put her training to work.

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"I didn't get cut in half ok?! Stop saying that, I was...." The floating heroine spun on Pompadour, trailing off as her mind went when she laid eyes on him, "I.. um.. Hi I'm.. um.."

The reporters were already pretty calm. After all, this story was safe enough that they didn't really have to worry about bodily harm(After all, mercy could only grab, lift, and shake one of them at a time and she already had someone) interesting enough that they could take an early lunch and call it a day.

Of course Pompadour's sudden appearance set off an entirely new round of 'out loud' conjecture and questioning.

"Pompadour! Do you have any plans to return to your evil ways? Are you trying to bring Mercy over to 'the dark side'?"

"Or is Mercy trying to stop you from reverting to your villain identity? Is she failing as bad as she did with the bank robbery?"

"Did Mercy approach you for tips on how to be a super-villain?"

"Are you the reason Mercy and Justice broke up? Did Justice take time off to have your love child?"

Luckily for them, Mercy was too distracted by her would-be savior to notice, the reporter that she'd snagged was now (calmly) dangling from one hand, looking annoyed as he wriggled free of his jacket to land safely on the ground below.

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Pompadour gently relieved Mercy of the jacket she was holding with a tendril of hair, and returned it to it's owner. "Alright, people, I know you want your story. Gather 'round, don't make us shout... I'm not in the hospital for the food, y'know?" That's right you piranhas... come in nice and close and breathe deep... Pompadour made some 'gather round' kind of hand gestures, and looked around to make sure that all the reporters were close enough to get a good snootful of his Manly Musk.

"I'm sorry to say, I got a whole lot of boring for you guys. My Sinister side is long gone, I can't even remember how to do the maniacal laugh any more. In fact, I'm in the hospital a little worse for wear because of a fight with a supervillain on Friday night. My agent made a press release about that yesterday, so that's old news. Anyways..." Pompadour turned to Mercy (hopefully she has come down to stand next to him). "Today is the first day Mercy and I have actually met, although we haven't been formally introduced yet..." He reached out to take Mercy's hand and shake it... and then proceeds to lead her through a bizarre, somewhat buffoonish ritual of hand-shake variants and greetings, putting on a bit of a show for the press. Pompadour, Mercy. Mercy, Pompadour. Good Morning! Good Afternoon! Good Day! Good Evening! How are you? Wazzup? Solid! ...finishing with the exaggerated, courtly gesture of taking her hand, and briefly kissing the back of it. "Alright, so I think we've been introduced now, so we can take your questions..."

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The younger heroine landed next to Pompadour, intent on telling him to buzz off and that she could handle these jackals on her own, but the closer she got to Pompadour the less it seemed to matter. What was important was the way the sunlight glinted off of his glossy hair.

"Get a hold of yourself! Mercy told herself firmly, shaking her head as she tried to think of something other than her rescuer.

Deciding that since he had everything under control she was about to take off when he grabbed her hand, shook, and kissed it in a gentlemanly manner despite it being covered by a glove that had punched through god knows what. Swearing she could feel a tingle on her skin despite the garment, the young heroine let out a soft giggle that(much to her horror) ended in an un-ladylike snort.

"I'm Mercy" she says in an air-headed manner a few moments after the introductions are made.

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The reporters milled about, somewhat disheartened. The prospect for getting something truly juicy, or genuine dirt was long gone, and while this might make the evening news, it wasn't going to be Lead-In material. A few more muckraking ploys were attempted, which Pompadour cheerfully ignored or disarmed. "I guess this is what people need to understand. When a normal person plays hero and fights off a mugger, the police will always remind people that it's dangerous to do that, because you don't know if the mugger has a weapon or something. Compare that to superheroes... if we see a supervillain committing a crime, we have no real way of knowing if we're getting in over our heads. The bad guy in the cape might be a Lieutenant of the Terminus, or you guys probably remember when Johnny Rocket 'caught' Mathew Broderick when he was in costume for a movie? Anyways... Superheroes go where Angels fear to tread, so cut us some slack."

The reporters frowned at the somewhat weak soundbite, and decided it was time to seek easier prey. They milled about, regrouped into their hunting packs, and returned to their assorted conveyances. Pompadour watched them go, giving them a hearty wave. Turning to Mercy, his smile became more genuine. "Hey, I'm sorry I jumped in and took over your press conference... I just thought it looked like you could use some back up. And I also wanted to say that I am a fan of yours. I mean, I really don't know if I would have the guts to take on a guy with freakin' lightsabers for arms. I think, maybe we could help each other a lot, though." He reached into his pocket, and fished around a bit with a look of concentration. "Ah, good... ok. Here's my card, give me a call later, you can block your ID if you want, not many people have that number so I'd answer it anyways. Then we can... talk. I think I have lots to learn about the practical side of being a hero, and maybe I have something to teach you about the business side of the cape."

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"A fan? Of me?" another giggle-snort. What is wrong with me?! I never giggle! Mercy wonders to herself, finally managing the willpower to pull her hand away from Pompadour as the tingling makes it's way up her arm. "Yea, they're real ██████" she finally manages to sputter, glad her mask covers her blushing face as she takes the card, very careful not to touch the man handing it o her "Um, sure I guess? There's not much to teach, just hit the ██████ badguy you know?"

"You're leaving? Do.. you want to patrol or something?" Mercy asks nervously, slipping the card into her belt.

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Pompadour glances back at the hospital and makes a face. "They haven't released me yet. X-rays don't really work on me, because of something to do with my skin. When my back stiffened up yesterday, the Doctor who was supposed to discharge me said it was an 'ominous sign' and could mean I have an internal injury. Then she spent an hour doing something she called palpating to me, but that's doctor talk for groping. I told them it's just sore from supporting a collapsing bomb shelter for half the night. Whatever..." He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, causing his robe to open and show off more of his sculpted chest.

"Mostly I'm here because of my lawyer, not the doctor though. I should be released this afternoon. Give me a call sometime after supper, and we'll set something up." He smiles again, before giving Mercy's arm a quick squeeze and heading back inside the hospital. As he walks away, Mercy can see that he is moving a bit like he's in pain.

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"Oh. Okay. Yea." Mercy mutters in an embarrassed tone, crestfallen at being told no. Now I know what it feels like to be turned down for a date she thinks to herself sourly, taking off without another word.

With a loud 'whumph' a blast of air emanates out from where she'd been standing, easily able to knock a normal person down as she rockets away.

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Later that afternoon, Pompadour was in fact released from hospital. He still moved slowly, his back paining him. It's something of a pickle that my hair is stronger than the rest of me... that could start to take a toll on my body if I don't watch it. He was a ways from where he had parked his car on Friday night... assuming it hadn't been towed. Oh, that would be just wonderful... He flagged down a cab, and gave the driver the approximate address where he left his street-rod, and settled into the back seat with a sigh. I'm also going to have to do something about this back if I'm going to have a crash course in crime-fighting tonight...

He dug out his cell phone, and called his good friend "Tank" Hancock. "Hey Man. Do you know of any good holistic therapy places? Like massage and stuff? Something that would be open today? ...uh huh... uh huh... that sounds exactly awesome. What's the number? ...you're the best, Trev! I'll see you next week, k?" Another call booked him an appointment to see Madame Li, Karmic Adjuster. His day was definitely looking up; his car was where he left it.

Madame Li turned out to be a plump, middle-aged Chinese lady in an aqua kimono with gold trim. As her expert, iron-hard fingers explored his naked back, her mutterings became increasingly dire. Finally, she had his back draped in thick white towels that had been liberally soaked in boiling green tea. Her assistants seemed slightly alarmed at the request. Pompadour sighed in contentment as the wet heat soaked into his aching muscles. More steaming hot tea was poured into the towels at regular intervals. Madame Li returned with a younger girl. After removing the towels, the girl carefully stepped up on the table, and began to walk on Pompadour's back. After a few minutes, Madame Li frowned and motioned the girl down... Pompadour hadn't really felt the girls weight on him. A few moments later, the girl returned, with another assistant, each was lugging a heavy cinder block. Madame Li proceeded to strap the cement clogs to her own feet, and with a surprising grace, climbed onto the table, and began to tread on his sore muscles. Pompadour could feel his muscles relax under the relentless assault.

After a while, Madame Li stepped down, and slipped off her improvised shoes. Once again, she probed his back with expert fingers. She seemed happier, but not quite satisfied. Finally, she barked another command in Chinese to her assistant, who blanched and actually raised his hands and voice in protest. Madame Li would have none of it. She cut him off with one imperious gesture, and tapped the palm of her hand with another. When the man returned, and presented Madame Li with an eight pound sledge hammer, Pompadour understood why the man had been so reluctant. But now we're really cookin' with gas, he thought, happily.

An hour and several hundred dollars later, Pompadour sat in a restaurant Madame Li had recommended, enjoying a tasty Vietnamese soup called Pho. He mishandled his chopsticks badly, slurped his soup noisily, and eyed his cell phone, waiting for Mercy to call. Maybe he should have made a point of getting her number...

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Mercy spent the rest of the day patrolling(I.E.: Flying around aimlessly). There was very little actual heroing to do in this town. Every time she spotted something someone would beat her to the punch(literally!) and don't try to help them, oh no. If they saw another cape they either assumed you were a villain or complained about you being a glory hog! Boy did she miss L.A.

All in all it wasn't a particularly interesting day, she shied away from going back to her dorm room, afraid one of the faculty would yell at her about her 'outburst'(they always called it that, no matter how much the guy deserved it) and wondering whether it was too early to call Pompadour.

I'll just call and see if he's been released yet. Nothing clingy about that... she tells herself, using the phone built into her mask.

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Pompadour snatched up his Blackberry and checked the display. Not his agent, not his tattoo artist... so it almost had to be Mercy. He took a deep breath. Just keep cool... you're not a total poseur, you fought a supervillain...

"Hello? ...Hi! ...yeah, they let me out. That Lady Doc insisted on 'palpating' me again. Handsy broad... No, I'm feeling pretty good. Got some kinks worked out, ready for tonight." The conversation seemed kind of odd. He was a little nervous, because he was talking to an actual superhero about going out and doing... super stuff. But Mercy sounded nervous too. I hope she's not worried about that whole Sinister Pompadour thing...

"Why don't we meet on top of the Mid Town Hilton? Say, 8:30? ...Great! I'll see you then."

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"Palpating? That sounds kind of dirty" Mercy laughs, relaxing a bit as she talked glad she wasn't interrupting anything. "8:30 is fine"

Hanging up with Pompadour she briefly wondered how he'd get to the roof but shrugged it off. If he didn't have a costume he could probably just take the elevator.

"I have time" she mutters spotting a burger joint and walking in. While it didn't garner quite the reaction she'd get in L.A.(where costumed crimefighters were a bit rarer, most people did stop talking and stare for at least a second as she ordered her food to go(after assuring the cashier she wasn't here to rob the place).

And so 8:30 rolled around with the young heroine's mask halfway pulled up, chowing down a burger with a large glob of ketchup on the white part of her costume.

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Pompadour parked his car on the street, and stared up at the building. Theoretically, he should be able to climb up the side of the building with his hair... no problems. He had memories of effortlessly moving through the city using his hair to grab, climb, and swing from buildings. But... that was The Sinister Pompadour, not him. He remembered doing it the same way someone else would remember watching it on a movie. His Sinister Self certainly had no hesitation about doing it... Pompadour's eyes slowly climbed the 12 story building. Apparently, my Sinister Self never considered the consequences of a long fall with a short stop.

Pompadour took the elevator to the top floor, and took the service stairs to get access to the roof. Looking around, he saw that Mercy had beat him to the roof. Of course... she can fly. I should get her to give me a hand with my city-travel skills. Catch me if I fall. He called out a greeting, before walking over and hunkering down next to her, with a big smile. "Great... I'm glad you made it." His hair, casually busy, picked up a napkin. "I've already figured out something I could use your help with... your being able to fly makes you uniquely qualified to give me a hand." He delicately wiped up the ketchup spill with the napkin, before favouring Mercy with another smile. "I'm not sure, exactly how I'm going to help you. I sort of figure I can give you some tips on dealing with the press, self promotion and stuff like that... but I can help you however you want, if I can."

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"Stain resistant my ass" Mercy muttered in annoyance as she wiped off the ketchup... only to find a pink dot where it had been. Putting her burger away she listens to Pompadour.

"I've already figured out something I could use your help with... your being able to fly makes you uniquely qualified to give me a hand."

Immediately the young heroine lets off a round of clapping, a smirk on her lips that disappears from view as she fixes her mask. "I can handle the press, no worries. Earlier was an.. isolated incident. But if you need help I'd be more than happy to give you advice or tag along on your patrols"

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"Well, If you're sure... it's just the pen is mightier than the sword, y'know? You gotta learn to keep your cool, and learn how to make those bastards do what you want." Pompadour shifts on his heel, and glances off towards the setting sun. He's wearing faded denim jeans, and a battered leather jacket over a white T-shirt. He's got his favourite black and white shoes on. "Anyways... one way or another, I'll figure out something I can do for you to keep us even."

Standing up to his full height, Pompadour sighs "Ok... I guess the first thing is, I don't know the first thing. I don't have patrols, or anything. I've got some super powers, but I don't really know how they work. There are some things I did as a villain that I'm not sure how to do now. That's why I wanted to talk to you... your partner was experienced, you can probably help me figure out the difference between my ass and my elbow. Honestly, my agent suggested I take up superheroics as a PR exercise. My fight against Donar on Friday night was a fluke, and I was operating on instincts."

His hair seems to expand, and inky tendrils wind their way out from... "So, here's how you can help with flying. When I was Sinister, I zipped all over the place swinging on lines of hair... I should be able to still do that, but I'm sort of afraid of screwing up at 800 feet. It would be really, really comforting to start out slow, with someone who can fly and is strong enough to catch me."

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"Swinging by... your hair." Mercy repeats, sounding a bit skeptical. She hadn't exactly been paying attention to her surroundings earlier. "That's gotta be terrible for your scalp."

Shaking her head she walks over to Pompadour, poking him hard in the chest. "We can take care of that later, but first you need to get your priorities straight. You're either a hero first and foremost, or you aren't one at all" the younger heroine tells him seriously, "There's no need to 'keep us even'. If I can help you I will. If I can help you help people that's even better. PR, advertising, crap like that? It's ok. A little skeevey but ok. Everyone has to eat, but it's something you get as a benefit of doing good things, you don't do good things for them." Mercy pauses a moment, feeling both a little embarrassed and a little hypocritical to be saying this next part "If I'm going to help you with anything I need to know that saving people is more important than money, reputation, or anything else. If not I'll consider you a danger to yourself and more importantly everyone around you and I'll do my best to take you down like any other thug I see on the streets."

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Pompadour stared at Mercy for a long time. Finally, his mouth opens and he utters... "huh."

"Well, I guess I wanted to learn. That wasn't what I was expecting... but yeah. That's what I needed to hear. It's like music I guess. Anyone can learn to play, but if you only pick up your instrument once or twice a month, you're not going to get good. I guess we're talking about passion... commitment." He frowns, and paces a bit... "Truth? I don't really know. Being a superhero was something my agent suggested I should do. My gut reaction was that she's crazy. But, that battle with Donar wasn't staged or anything, I was just there. At first, I froze, because I'm just not used to being the hero... but I pulled it out and got those people to safety. So... that's good right? "

Pompadour stops his pacing and gives Mercy a long look. "I'm going to need some time to think through my motives. I can tell you, with certainty that if I'm going to be involved in heroics, I want to do good. Even if I'm not going to be a full time hero, if I find myself in a position like I was Friday night, and I can use my powers to help out... I want to be sure that I'm actually helping. So... are you comfortable helping me on those terms?"

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"I dun wanna hear about you playing with your instrument" Mercy replies teasingly, "Look, I'm sorry to get all serious on you but it's the same speech I got when I started out." Right after getting threatened with super-jail the young heroine thought to herself sourly, "And I'd be happy to help you figure out your powers either way, just so you won't accidentally hurt someone with your awesome hair."

Digging into a paper sack she pulled out and offered Pompadour a burger, though now it's cold and probably not looking too appetizing. "And if you promise to be careful we could back each other up for a while and see if this is something you want to do. Though there's a real chance someone's going to mess up your pretty face and then where will you be?"

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Pompadour eyes the burger a moment, before declining. "I actually ate a few hours ago. I'm not sure how I feel about swinging through town by my hair with a full stomach, either." Pompadour begins pacing again... Mercy realizes that he's nervous.

"As far as super powers go, I know that I can do a lot of stuff with my hair. My physical body is a lot tougher and stronger than a normal persons, and my hair is even stronger than my arms. I'm not too worried about getting a punch in the face, I discovered a few months ago that I can't shave with a razor-blade any more, but I also learned that I can control how much hair I have on my face, too. I also understand that I have some sort of super-attraction powers, but that's even harder to quantify. What I don't know is how powerful or useful my super abilities would be in a practical situation." His pacing brings him back in front of Mercy. "So, we're agreed then? You'll help me to figure out what I can do, and if I have it in me to be a Hero... and I promise to use my powers only for good, or not at all?" He offers his hand, to shake on the deal.

"There's something else that occurs to me. You probably know I was a supervillain... and hopefully you heard that I wasn't in control of myself... the surgeries, chemicals and stuff that made me superhuman also made me totally crazy; a remorseless psychopath. I worry about that. I have a good friend, a guy I talk to every week... someone who knows me. He knows me well enough to know if there's a problem. He's promised me that if he thinks I'm reverting to my Sinister Self, or if he can't get a hold of me, he will call someone. What I don't know, is who he should be calling. Do you have a contact number? Either for yourself or super friends of yours?"

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Mercy shrugged and after fiddling with her mask, started wolfing down the greasy monstrosity that was supposed to be a meal. She spends a minute chewing after Pompadour finished spilling his heart out to her, not because she had to really, but to give her a minute to formulate a reply.

She hadn't known he was a reformed villain. Something that two minutes on the internet probably would have remedied. Nor did she know anyone to call. Well, maybe she did technically, but the last time the young heroine had called 'them' they'd shipped her to here instead of helping find Justice.

"Justice would know what to do if she were here" the bitter, guilty thought leaps flits through Mercy's mind unbidden and unwelcome, quickly followed by others "How long has she been missing? And what have I done to find her? Zilch."

"Sorry, dunno know what to tell ya" Mercy finally replied, tossing the burger over her shoulder, having found that she'd lost her appetite. "Hire a shrink, keep a diary, try to keep an eye on yourself." Then, after an awkward moment of silence she adds teasingly, "If you're that afraid of falling why not start out somewhere lower instead of asking a girl to catch you?"

And from somewhere behind and below, just barely audible there's a soggy 'thump' and an angry "My car!"

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"I'm pretty good at reading people. You hadn't heard about what happened to me, you were surprised when I said I used to be a Supervillain. Listen: you don't need to worry. The treatments that gave me my powers made me crazy, The Raven and Deadalus whipped up a serum that cured me. I have no reason to think I might suddenly turn crazy again -I'm just not willing to take any chances. None at all."

"Well, based on how things happened last time, if my evil personality surfaces it will probably be a sudden thing... but I've got people watching me for signs that I might be having problems. Having an actual hero's number to pass onto my friend and my agent just struck me as a good idea... but I think I can trust them to come up with something."

"So...." Pompadour glanced over towards the edge of the building. "I probably could have picked a shorter building. This is just what came to my mind for landmarks. To be honest, I sort of thought I'd be able to just go ahead and start swinging, but every time I start to do it, it seems like a bad idea. We can start at a lower altitude for sure. So... this hero thing, you just pick a neighbourhood and wander around looking for trouble? Is that all there is to it?"

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Mercy laughed long and hard at Pompadour's words. "Worried? About what you and your hair might do to me?" she asks with a snort, "I think we're good on that. And randomly picking a place to patrol is one way to do it I suppose, though looking up crime figures and mapping out hotspots might work a little better."

"Go ahead and jump, I'll catch you" Mercy promises, stepping off the side of the building and floating there(albeit a little shakily).

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Pompadour walked towards the edge of the building, taking deep breathes and shrugging his shoulders to loosen tension. "You sure you'll be able to catch me, hey?" Tendrils of hair were already snaking out to brush against and tap the edge of the roof. I don't recall having a lot to worry about in terms of latching onto buildings... is my hair sticky, when I want it to be, or..? He found that his hair didn't seem to have too much difficulty latching into the most infinitesimal hole or crevice in the brick and concrete of the wall. Extending his hair, he used it to lift himself up... and then over the edge of the building.

A quick scan decided his next swing-point, and additional tendrils of hair uncoiled in preparation. Then, he let himself free-fall, extending his hair-line out, and riding the pendulum. Finally he released his first swing, with his heart in his throat... and lashing tendrils of hair already seeking out new purchase on the next building. The process repeats, and Pompadour careens down the street rapidly. However, a problem occurs! The Eagle Agency is eight stories taller than the nearby Mastodon Theater, Pompadour drops through the air, his flailing hair unable to reach any building. However... the flailing hair flattens out into great wide wings, churning the air and slowing his fall to a sedate pace. Pompadour allows himself to stop on the roof of the theater. He looks up at Mercy, and gives two thumbs up. "Didn't suck!"

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"Well, honestly I'm not that great of a flyer, it's harder than it looks to... crap" Mercy dove after Pompadour, quickly shooting past him as his hair fanned out, then landing beside him with a loud 'thump' on the theatre.

"Well it looks like your hair knows what to do even if you don't." the heroine muttered, dusting stuff off of her costume. The white parts usually ended up grey with just enough of the original color showing to let you know that the coloring was dirty and not on purpose. Giving up with a sigh she returns her attention to her protogé, "Well young ward, have you given any thought to a costume?"

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