Book 2: Chapter 123: Insert Reference Here
Book 2: Chapter 123: Insert Reference Here
Gregoir showed up to the park in what Dan imagined the big man thought was a clever disguise; that is, in his civvies. The blonde giant favored Hawaiian shirts when out of uniform, enormous floral things that couldn’t quite button up over his frame. He wore a plain white tee beneath, stretched so thin that it was almost see-through. His jeans were worn and faded, and his boots were similarly weathered. His head was covered by a lumpy poor boy hat, and his eyes by a pair of gargantuan, reflective aviators. He strolled through the park at an easy, relaxed gait, unbothered by the gazes he drew.
Connor walked beside him, doing his best to imitate Gregoir’s easy demeanor and failing entirely. The boy didn’t know how to unclench, and nothing proclaimed that fact louder than his outfit. He wore a collared blue button-down beneath a dark waistcoat. The chain of a pocket watch dangled between the buttons and pocket of the coat. His slacks matched his shirt, and his shoes reflected the midday sun off their brightly polished surface.
Honestly, who wore business casual to a park?
It was clear as day that Connor was attempting to make a good impression with his appearance. Unfortunately, he’d chosen the entirely wrong crowd. The young officer stood out even more than Gregoir, looking rich and stuffy and stiff as a board. Dan had seen Connor dress down before, so the younger man obviously knew how. The issue was that Connor’s judgement tended to fuzz up around Gregoir.
Dan waved them over to his bench, feeling some budding anticipation. He greeted them, then pointed Gregoir in the general direction of the costumed do-gooder. Gregoir galloped off, Connor trailing him like a lost duckling, while Dan leaned back to watch the fireworks. They caught sight of the would-be vigilante when he rounded a copse of trees, following the park’s wide, circular path. The young teen missed a step when he noticed Gregoir’s mountainous form bee-lining towards him.
“Greetings young hero!” Gregoir booming voice carried across the entire park. If there were any doubts to his identity among the spectators, it was immediately dispelled. The metrics Dan had seen said something like 85% of Austin’s population had watched the cut-together video of Gregoir battling Coldeyes across the city. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that everyone knew who he was, the ‘young hero’ included.
Said young hero froze like a deer in headlights upon being called out by a famously powerful police officer. The APD had made out like heroes in the aftermath of the UT Massacre, but only in comparison to their federal brethren. The fear, the separation, between themselves and those they protected still remained an unresolved issue. Given the historical hostility between costumed vigilantes and the police, the young man was well justified in his fear of Gregoir.
The giant could not be deterred, however. Gregoir was not blind, nor was he a fool. Anyone with eyes could see that the young vigilante was all but quaking in his spandex, but Gregoir’s particular brand of charisma involved wielding earnest enthusiasm like a cudgel. He continued his approach, ignoring Connor’s whispered advice and the worried stares of nearby civilians.
“You! Yes you!” Gregoir pointed at the young man, who visibly flinched. “Could I borrow but a moment of your time?”
He stomped forward without waiting for a response, and clapped his meaty hand around the boy’s shoulders in what should have been a friendly gesture, had Gregoir not been so damn humungous. His hands were wider than the kid’s shoulders! He guided the young man down the path, loudly talking all the while.
“I’ve noticed a growing trend in the city— one that you seem to be a part of—and my friend and I were hoping to get some perspective from a primary source!” Gregoir explained, gesticulating towards Connor with his free hand.
Connor grimaced, following behind with his palm against his forehead. Dan noticed, with dawning horror, that they were approaching his bench.
“Tell me, young man, what does wearing this outfit mean to you?” Gregoir asked, poking the boy in his spandex covered chest.
The outfit was cheaply made and poorly fit, probably picked up on the cheap at a Halloween store. Superhero outfits weren’t really a thing in Dimension A. The bodysuit was probably part of a greater outfit that had been modified by the young man, repurposed to look like a stereotypical hero of the fifties.
Dan didn’t really understand the modern obsession with spandex. Champion himself wore a tweed suit and tie, and he was essentially this dimension’s defining superhero. Over the years, media had twisted the image of the classic hero and turned it into something comical. It was an entirely fabricated meme, with little bearing on reality. While several prominent members of several vigilante teams did wear spandex, the overwhelming majority wore practical, armored outfits, dyed in whatever primary colors they preferred.
Dan thought the outfit looked a little dumpy, all told.
“What does my outfit mean?” the kid repeated, uncertainly. He sounded even younger than he looked. Dan ratcheted down his age estimate to somewhere in the mid-teens.
“Yes!” Gregoir confirmed enthusiastically. “Is it just a thing to be carelessly put on?” He gestured to his own clothes. “Or is it something you take pride in? Is it something that carries a greater meaning for you?”
“Is it a uniform?” Connor put in, quietly.
Gregoir snapped his fingers, pointing at Connor. “Exactly! Is it a uniform? Something that fills you with glorious purpose!?”
“Um.” The kid’s eyes flicked between the hulking figure of Gregoir, and the slim, stern visage of Connor. “I guess?”
“Excellent!” Gregoir boomed, giving the teen a hearty slap on the back. It didn’t send the young man sprawling, so Gregoir must have held back significantly. He led his prize to the bench beside Dan, and sat the boy down.
“Finding purpose is important,” Gregoir lectured. “It gives life meaning! It gives us the strength to carry on! Tell me, young man! For what purpose do you wear your uniform!?”
“Um,” the kid stammered again.
“Do not fear!” Gregoir cried out in encouragement. “Never shy away from your passion! Embrace it! Proclaim it! Admit it before all those who might judge you! That is what it means to be true to yourself!”
The words were nothing special, but something about the way Gregoir said them conveyed his meaning. The young man rallied his courage, puffed out his chest, and declared, “I want to be a hero!”
“Hah!” Gregoir’s laugh was good-natured. “Don’t we all? Tell me, young hero, are you part of this ‘New Hero’ movement I’ve been hearing so much about?”
Dan had no idea what the New Hero movement was. For all he knew, Gregoir had just made it up on the spot. It meant something to the teenager, though. He nodded, eyes wide in surprise at Gregoir’s apparent knowledge. Dan had seen this before. The kid had fallen under the big blonde’s spell. Gregoir had the unique ability to shout nonsense and have it seem sensible and inspiring. It had to be some esoteric application of his power.
“Yes sir,” the kid-gilante said respectfully. “You’ve heard of us?”
“I always keep an eye out for promising young men and women,” Gregoir declared proudly. “And from what I hear, there is promise to you!”
Gregoir had heard literally nothing about this person. Dan knew that for a fact. This point of information did not seem relevant to Gregoir.
The teen looked spellbound by Gregoir’s words. “You don’t have a problem with what we’re doing?” He gestured at himself. “With… this?”
“The outfit?” Gregoir asked.
The tiny vigilante nodded meekly.
“Of course not!” Gregoir said, looking incredulous at the mere suggestion. “Your group has done nothing illegal, nor morally condemnable. If you enjoy wearing bright colors and spandex while performing what is tantamount to community service, then who am I to condemn you?”
The teen cringed at the blunt assessment, then protested, “It’s more than that! It’s not just, I dunno, a hobby or something! We’re trying to do something real!”
“And succeeding,” Gregoir agreed, his voice more moderated now. “It’s rare for people your age to take an interest in civic responsibility. It’s why I’m so interested in you and yours.”
“Interested?” The vigilante’s face spasmed, making an indiscernible expression. “Interested how?”
Gregoir grinned brightly. “A fair question! Allow me to explain! You thought I was simply a curious citizen, like any other!”
His hand reached up, ripping off his cap and sunglasses with a flourish. A police badge, polished and golden, now hung from a chain around his neck. Where the hell—
“But it was I, Gregoir Pierre-Louise!”