Not that Arthur noticed any of this.
He made eye contact momentarily before shifting his gaze back to his soda. “Why can’t I do it, Ariana? Why?” He flicked part of the puddle, a streak of water arcing away in a line before forming up into a droplet again. “This thing was foolproof.” He kicked the case under the table.
“Well, there’s your problem,” she said matter-of-factly. “If it’s foolproof, a hero can’t stop you. Society needs heroes, neutrals, and villains. If everything is in order, everything works.” Arthur fought an urge to roll his eyes. She had gone to a villain-run university for a degree in art and, thanks to her ‘breadth of knowledge’ classes, bought the ‘balance’ theory as much as the next straight-A student.
“You’d just think,” Arthur began his rationale, “that people would want a villain who could smack around a few dozen heroes. At least to keep things interesting.” He gestured to the people on the street. “Instead we have a bunch of misfits whose idea of villainy is walking into a bank and asking politely for money, then waiting for a hero to show up and save the day.”
Ariana smiled wisely. “People don’t want unmitigated conflict, but controlled chaos isn’t much better. When World War Two ended, all those super heroes came back from Germany full of self-righteousness and sausage.” Arthur looked at her wearily. She always seemed to forget that, in terms of historical information, she got most of it from him. “When they were allowed to run wild, they lost track of Desecrator until he flattened half the city. The government stepped in, and then the heroes became too efficient. People died. And then the villains blew up a ton of Heroes’ Guilds. More people died.” She shrugged. “We all know that both sides have the capacity for being awful.”
“I know,” came his carefully modulated interjection.
“All I’m saying, Art, is the Bronze Age has barely started. Give it time.” She leaned across the table and onto her apron. “You’ll find a niche.”
Arthur made a face at that phrase. It cropped up whenever Ariana and Tim ganged up on him to join a mob or a street crew. They were trying to be supportive, and it irked him every time. “Can we just not talk about it at the moment? I’d rather not discuss how worthless I am.”
“Fine.” Ariana turned her head sideways, hiding her eye roll. The sigh, however, was quite audible. She shifted her weight in the chair and pointed at the folded note. “What does the lady have to say? Something uplifting in this dark time?”
Arthur had managed to keep the note out of his mind until this moment. Despair welled up within him. “Can we go back to how stupid I am?”
“Oh, no,” she said with a partial laugh, a smile forced down with great effort. It wasn’t meant as cruel, but her dark sense of humor must have loved the clusterfuck of it all.
“Damnation,” Arthur muttered as his head lolled backward. He brought his hands up to cover his face.
Once again, Ariana leaned on the table, apparently under the impression that proximity could fix his mood. “Come on. It could be so much worse.”
“I didn’t think she’d do it,” Arthur said as his hands fell to his thighs with an audible slap. “She threatened to, but I thought it was…” He shook his head. A joke? A poorly worded and ill-phrased joke that sounded suspiciously like a threat? “It’s like she knew I was going to fail.” He gestured to the note, not even noticing that Ariana was trying to look as sympathetic as possible. “And, instead of breaking up with me in person, she left a note with my best friend’s girlfriend.”
Ariana’s face immediately broke into a forced smirk as she leaned back in her chair. Arthur hadn’t noticed the hard gleam flashing across her eyes. “Still just your best friend’s girlfriend, huh?” Art slumped onto the table, arms supporting his head. She reached for the note, annoyed. It wasn’t like she particularly liked him, but his inadvertent dismissal of her friendship was a sore spot. And, even if she thought he was useless, at least she believed he liked her. Unfolding the paper, her eyes flitted across what could only charitably be called a letter. “Arthur. I quit. Kirsten,” she narrated. One of her eyebrows arched. “How fitting,” came the judgment as she put the note back onto the table.
“Mff mff mff,” Arthur said into the crook of his arm.
She looked at him. “Up here, Art.” Pointing at her ears, she continued, “My ears are up here.”
He lifted his head up and stared off into the distance. “I need to get her back.”
Fighting the urge to heel-stomp his ego, she instead offered, “You can do better. Kirsten’s eyes were too far apart. And she looked like a lobster.”
“No, no, I don’t want to date her,” Arthur said as he waved the thought away. “She got approval from the board a couple of weeks ago. I can use her to finally get my license.” He nodded to himself as he plotted before his thought process derailed. He looked at Ariana with confusion. “What do you mean, ‘She looked like a lobster?’”
She chose to ignore confronting the conspiratorial opinion held by almost everyone who had ever met Kirsten. “No one can say you’re one to waste time mourning.”
Arthur inhaled and stretched. “My dad kicked me out of the house when I was twelve. Mourn isn’t in my vocabulary.”
Neither is responsibility, Ariana thought. She stifled a smile and looked away from Arthur, the mere sight of whom may have caused patronizing laughter to spill out. She snorted derisively before adding a sarcastic, “Always thought that was a great way to ensure that Dark Saint’s only son turned out to love all things heroic.”
“I just wish that, for once, things could have gone my way,” Arthur uttered bleakly.
She looked at him. His eyes were still bloodshot from what must have been a terrible struggle to hold back tears. He looked like an utter mess, and, despite her better instincts, she felt sorry for him. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up so much.”
“Why not? It’s not like any self-respecting hero would.” A derisive smile crossed his face as he snorted in annoyance. No matter the attitude of the smile, Ariana thought it looked completely alien in a place where a grimace normally resided. “You know, Kirsten’s villain name is Frau Gefängnis. She has to dress up like a Nazi and talk like a furious German.” His hands flexed upwards in an exaggerated gesture of shock. “Her only qualification is she can kind of talk with an accent.”
“And now you’re thinking, ‘if something so stupid can get approval, why do my brilliant ideas go unheeded’.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair. “Actually, that hadn’t crossed my mind until now. Thanks.” He was lying, of course. Having thought that Kirsten’s proposal was abjectly awful, he had actually been bolstered by the idea that she might be laughed out of the office and he’d stroll in looking positively competent.
Ariana could feel her patience ebb. She placed her fingers on her right temple. “Everyone on this side of town dreams of being a super villain. It’s just not possible to fill all those fantasies.” She shook her head. “It’s all about finding something you can do and just sticking with it.”
Arthur knew where this was headed. “I’d kill to be a super villain right off the bat, you know. You and Tim don’t think I’m starting low, but I am. Starting as a regular villain is a step down from what I want.”
“I wanted to be a super villainess too, you know.” Ariana couldn’t tell if that was meant as combative or supportive. But she could practically feel her blood pressure rising, rendering the point moot.
“But you’re Bestowed.” Arthur said with a minor flourish of his hands. “That automatically gets you a Super Villain License.”
Ariana scoffed. “Yeah. For tax purposes,” she said with irritation. “Do you really want to get into this?” She threw up her hands in an exaggerated imitation of Arthur’s earlier flourish. “I have the lamest super power this side of the Human Sponge.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to be potentially combative or supportive. “They gave you a name.”
“Café Girl!” She laughed
, hollow and forced. Arthur shrunk back in his chair. He could feel a tingle in his arms. “What am I supposed to do with that kind of name and power? Wipe down tables and offer fresh scones to people?” Her voice trembled as it rose.
Arthur looked around at everyone. They seemed fairly enthralled in each other’s conversations, but also enjoying cold beverages. “Ariana…” His head snapped around to face her. “Ariana, please… lower your voice.”
She either couldn’t hear him or didn’t care. “The one time… the one time they summoned me to the Heroes’ Guild…” She came to a stop, gulping in air as she relived the memory.
“Ari, please… calm down.” Arthur was trying very hard to remain calm, the only way he had successfully been able to prevent her from getting angry in the past. “We don’t want another incident.” He felt the prickle travel up his arms and wash over his body at an alarming rate.
“… Was when Starbucks had a power outage and they needed something to drink!” The glint in her eye was dying rapidly, swallowed up by the deepening irises. Arthur looked at his soda, the liquid rippling as though it was placed on a low-spin dryer.
“Ariana, please…” he pleaded. The occupants of a nearby table were chatting and had left their newspaper within arm’s reach. Quickly, Arthur grabbed for it as the other patrons were oblivious to the subtle signs he had learned to be all too aware of. He folded the paper over him as a protective shield. “Five times already…”
“They laughed at me!” she cried. Arthur hazarded a look. Her eyes became shark-like. He wondered why he had to be so stupid and destroy everything he touched. “An entire platoon of heroes laughed at me!” She slammed her hands on the table, and Arthur shut his eyes instinctively. It was like a subtle wave of pressure, detectable no matter what the weather. Impossibly quick, it was beyond Arthur and working its way through the patrons.
Those who were in mid-drink gagged and spat up liquid. Those who had just brought their beverages to their lips were shocked by the taste and snorted it up through their noses. The dog who had been lapping lazily at the dish hacked and stood up instantly, knocking over the chair of his mistress. Almost comically, a few patrons actually managed to do what would have been an effective spit take, spraying their beverages and hacking loudly.
It didn’t even take a full second for Ariana to realize what had happened. Immediately, her cheeks flushed and she looked painfully pathetic. Arthur gingerly folded the paper, and a solitary, thick drop of coffee rolled off the front page and landed with a plop onto the table. The shouting started. Anger and disbelief, confusion, the woman calling threats of a lawsuit as her dog licked her face. Waiters came outside and were immediately accused of orchestrating some kind of ruse.
“Number six,” Arthur muttered to himself as the threat of tears welled up in Ariana’s eyes.
Ariana stood in the manager’s office, staring at the floor. It was bizarre: she should be a pro at this considering how often it had happened. But it never really got any easier.
Gary Falstaff, the overweight and balding manager, rubbed his temples. His eyes were shut seemingly forever. “I assume you know,” he paused for effect, “what this means for you.”
She nodded and tried to affirm it, but the words got caught in her throat. After a moment, his eyes cracked open and stared at her. He was almost silly, in a way, a caricature of a fry cook, only with a button-down shirt instead of a tank top. With an intake of breath, Ariana found her ability to speak. “I can explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he said as he leaned back in his over-priced office chair. “You promised when I hired you that your ability would not be a hindrance.”
Another nod. Her eyes wandered around the office, suddenly unable to look directly at him. It was small and humid, the tiny fan circulating air futilely. It was oddly funny how he practically froze his clientele with air-conditioning and yet sweltered in his office. “I know, sir.” She swallowed. “But… I was off the clock.” It was a pathetic excuse, and she knew it.
“That doesn’t matter, Ari.” He leaned forward onto his desk, his dark-haired arms in contrast with his pasty skin. “You’ve been employed here for two years. You’re a fixture.” He tapped a pudgy index finger on the table. “So when you screw up as big as you did, even if it is off the clock…” The words trailed off.
Her mind worked furiously to make things right. There had to be a way. “You could take it out of my paycheck.” Gary shook his head. “I can put my tips toward it.” The head shake didn’t stop. “Or… I could just wash dishes or…”
“Ariana, you don’t have much of a paycheck to donate. And your tips, well…” He grunted. “More than one of the rich pricks had very expensive suits which even dry-cleaning may not save.”
There was a pause. “Probation?”
“I’m sorry.” He motioned to the door. “Your final check will be in the mail.”
She licked her lips and solemnly nodded. With an almost inaudible “thank you,” she left. The back room was thankfully devoid of life. She crossed to the back exit where the coats were hanging. Despite the heat, she had brought a light jacket to stave off the eventual chill of night. Movement felt good, even if it was away from a stable job. It at least allowed her to focus on something other than anxiety: rage.
Anger was welling up inside of her now, and she clawed her spare apron off the hook. Wanting nothing more than to just be alone and scream, she slammed the back door open and exited into the alley. Instead of heading to the street, she went deeper between the buildings. Tears of anger had replaced the others, and a fresh belt of fury whipped across her gut when she heard Arthur shout “Ariana! Ariana, wait!” from behind her.
“I don’t want to hear it, Arthur!” Her tone was dangerous, but she heard him continue onward.
“But just let me say sorry!”
At this, she stopped. She wheeled around, glaring at him. The sudden action brought him to a skidding halt. With a step forward, she shouted, “Why? What good would it do?”
It was clear he hadn’t thought that part through. He looked bewildered at first, then offered, “It would make me feel better.”
She looked at him, her tongue jammed between her gums and the interior of her lips. After a moment, she half-yelled, half-screamed, “I don’t want you to feel better!”
The sound had shocked him and made him stammer. “M-maybe I could talk to your boss…”
“And what?” She smiled in disbelief, the dark hilarity of the situation not escaping her. “Get my job back? You can’t even get your own job, you leech!” She turned once again and power-walked away from him. “I have tried to be patient with you. I have tried! But your constant whining just wears me down!”
“It’s not my fault!” Arthur had the audacity to be hurt by that statement. She could tell by his defensive tone. “The board…”
She cut him off, whirling again to face him. “Oh, yes! It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?” Accusingly, she pointed at him violently. “Do you ever, ever do anything to better yourself? Nope!” She threw her arms up in defeat. “Why would you when you can always blame someone else for the fact that you’re a complete idiot?”
Arthur’s mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to muster a defense. “I don’t…” was all he could say, which was fine as Ariana picked up right as he finished.
“Yes, you do!” Her voice was softer now, almost pleading. “Just resign yourself to something less than glorious for once!” She brought her hand up to her head in exasperation. “And please, please stop dragging Tim down with you!”
Once again, Arthur had the temerity to act hurt. “I don’t drag…”
“Then prove it!” Ariana was clearly pissed and was not going to let anyone guess otherwise. “Make sacrifices! Accept some responsibility for your own actions!”
Like a wounded child, Arthur stepped up to her. “What gives you the right to be mean to me?”
Ariana’s smile opened and she let out a laugh
. She looked around as though there had to be another witness to his perpetual stupidity. “Why not? Because I’m just your best friend’s girlfriend?” Her face brightened as though she had an idea. “Or, maybe I do have a right to be angry because you cost me my job!”
“How is that my fault?”
“You know if I lose my temper, I lose control of my power. It just happens.” She shook her head. “How could you not know that my experience at the Heroes’ Guild would make me flip out?”
Arthur was trapped. Even on a subconscious level, he had known that it wasn’t smart to get her too worked up if beverages were involved. The three of them had been banned from bars because of it. “Well… they over-reacted.” He crossed his arms, pleased with himself.
She squinted and approached him, head low and almost predatory. “I don’t know about you Arthur, but if I order a Coke on a hot day, I’d rather not take a sip of it and taste something that had spent time drying in a field in Ethiopia!”
“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m just jealous of you.”
“Of what? Me? Of this?” She threw her apron at him with the force she would have used for hurling a brick. Arthur instinctively threw his hands up to block it and managed to catch it as it rebounded off his arms. “Take it! Take it, you loser!” Arthur hazarded a look at her. Her eyes were wild and frightening. “And if I could give you my lame power, too, I’d give it up gladly!” She jammed her finger toward him threateningly. Arthur was sure he was going to have an instinctive fear of fingers after this. “If you think you have it bad, don’t even begin to imagine what my days are like.” She turned around and marched down the alley. “If you want my advice, start looking for a new apartment. On your own.”
Arthur watched her go, completely at a loss. He supposed she was right, that jealous had been the wrong thing to say. But he envied that she was born more special than he was, even if all she could do was turn any liquid she could see into coffee. She even had the whole rage effect going, strengthening her power beyond her line of sight and into her immediate vicinity. Ariana had everything he wanted: a power and a license.
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