Fighting crime ain't all that it's cracked up to be.
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For Sabina -- the original Angry Lesbian Death Machine
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Author's Note
This story has been floating around in my head for a while and has always ended up as half finished. Well, after several starts and stops, I finally polished it off. It's an odd mixture of silliness, seriousness, and of course, sexiness. I hope you enjoy it.
Superhero Group Therapy
Part I -- Tragic Backstory
Chupacabra stood outside the door for a minute, listening to the voices on the other side, gathering the courage to enter. It had only been six months since what happened to her sister Esmeralda—the night she was assaulted. Perhaps it was too soon to come out of her shell.
But that was the fear talking. Taking a deep breath, Chupacabra twisted the door handle and pushed. She entered into a brightly lit classroom with six chairs arrayed in a circular formation. Only one of them was empty.
"Ah, it looks like we have everyone here." The woman at the twelve o'clock position motioned her in. "You must be Chupacabra."
Chupacabra nodded.
The room erupted in a chorus of voices. "Hi, Chupacabra."
A startled Chupacabra shrank back and stared at her shoes.
"No need to be shy," said the woman at the front, waving Chupacabra forward. "We were all new here once, right?"
Nods from all around.
"My name is Doctor Carla Young, and you can call me Carla if you'd like. Please, have a seat."
Chupacabra shuffled forward, spun the last empty chair around so that its back faced toward the center of the circle. She threw her denim-clad leg over and straddled the seat while slumping forward and resting her chin on the chair's back. Rather than gazing at the faces surrounding her, she turned her attention to counting the cracks in the tiles at her feet.
"Welcome to the superhero group therapy circle, Chupacabra," Doctor Young said. "We're sharing our tragic backstories this evening. If you feel comfortable, we'd love to have you join in."
Chupacabra dipped her chin once in a weak nod and promptly went back to staring at the floor.
"Eagle Man was just about to tell us his story," said Doctor Young. "Go ahead Eagle Man."
"Hi, I'm Eagle Man. I stand for truth, justice and preservation of the American way."
"More like preservation of the systematic oppression of women and minorities you misogynistic old vulture," a woman wearing a pink knit cap stood and said in a voice that was just shy of a shout. She had a hand on her hip and by the time she was done speaking, her face was a shade darker than her cap.
"Pink Pussy, please," Doctor Young said, "we don't all have to agree on what's being said, but we do have to agree that everyone gets their turn."
Chupacabra looked up to see Eagle Man glaring at Pink Pussy and puffing up his chest feathers.
Sitting next to Pink Pussy was an angry-looking middle-aged woman, dressed in black jeans and a black hoodie, working her jaw and slowly cracking her knuckles one at a time. She said nothing.
"Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted," Eagle Man said with a huff and a ruffle of feathers. "I am Eagle Man, and I lay the golden egg of freedom. Behold!"
Chupacabra watched with strange fascination as Eagle Man squatted and produced a shiny gold-colored egg from beneath his white feathered costume. Though whether it was actually solid gold or merely brass-plated she could not tell with the distance that separated them.
This little show prompted Pink Pussy to stand up again, pointing her index finger directly at Eagle Man and the golden egg that he cradled so lovingly in his arms. "More like you keep the means of production stuffed so far up your ass that it'll never see the light of day. Your game is rigged from the word go, and no one else even has a chance, you ... you ... bourgeois pig-dog."
"I lay the golden egg of freedom," said Eagle Man in a booming voice with a pronounced flourish, and a rolling of the R, "ensuring the success of our economy and our nation, you ungrateful hussy."
Eagle Man began flapping his wings violently. "Ca-caw! Ca-caw!"
Pink Pussy darted from where she was standing to confront Eagle Man, standing toe to toe. Eagle Man continued ca-cawing with his hands on his hips and his chest puffed up, while Pink Pussy crouched and hissed with the fingers of both hands curled as she clawed at the air in front of her.
Chupacabra thought for sure the confrontation would come to blows. However, the woman dressed in black who was currently sitting right in the middle of it all seemed completely unfazed and continued with the methodical cracking of her knuckles, still not saying a word.
"Eagle Man, Pink Pussy, please take your seats," Doctor Young requested without raising her voice even a little bit, as if this kind of antagonistic behavior was a common occurrence with these two. To Chupacabra's amazement both potential combatants complied, but not without a final hiss and a puffing of chest feathers.
"Perhaps we should move on to someone else. Angry Lesbian Death Machine, would you like to share your tragic backstory?"
The woman in black let out a long, low growl and continued cracking her knuckles.
"Okay, I guess that's a
no
from Angry Lesbian Death Machine. And that's alright. We don't want anyone to feel pressured here. We can share when we're comfortable."
The growling stopped, but the knuckle cracking continued and was now accompanied by a pronounced scowl.
"Millennial Girl." A bright-eyed Doctor Young turned and clapped her hands together. "We haven't heard your tragic backstory yet. Would you like to share?"
Chupacabra turned her gaze to the young woman with the over-sized glasses and dirty blonde hair held in check by a plum-colored knit beanie. Peaking out from under her partially zipped hoodie looked to be a vintage Nirvana t-shirt—a shirt that Chupacabra swore she had seen recently gracing the racks of a local thrift store.
"Um, okay," said Millennial Girl. "My tragic backstory ... um, let's see ..."
