shauntae b

An unedited bit from a superhero project called "The Scarlet Ribbon". Just tossing characters at each other to see how they react. Bulletproof is a pain in the ass to write. She’s supposed to be a cocky young upstart, but she’s more of a loud, confrontational jerkface so far.

Still trying to figure out Ribbon’s voice, too.

I should write up some character profiles for this thing.

Any comments are appreciated.



Bulletproof waited for me in Ghost Town, on the corner of Johns and Tomasi. She wore civilian clothes, like promised. Seeing her out of costume was jarring. With out the spiked pink hood and neon makeup, she was very normal. Plain, even.

“Took you long enough,” she said when she saw me. “I was beginning to think you chickened out.”

She looked me over from head to toe and sneered.

“What?” I asked.

“I was expecting Peter Parker, not Tony Stark.”


My outfit was a bit much. I asked the Cloak for average college student. It gave me a fitted suit, wingtips, and oversized aviators--all red. Just another reminder of how I had little control over the Cloak. Over everything, really.

Bulletproof tugged at the hem of my jacket. “How much did this cost you, Miss Red Carpet?”

“Nothing.” I said.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Her sneer turned into a full blown scowl. “Do you have a job?”

“No."

“No job at all?”

“No. I don’t have the time.” Not many heroes had real jobs outside of mask. They got in the way. She should have known--it was common knowledge in the cape and cowl scene.

“So you just get shit for free, like every other rich ass legacy brat?”

The anger in her question punched me right in the gut. I mouthed a startled, silent, “What?” and shook my head. Where did that come from?

“I’ve got two jobs.” Bulletproof flashed two fingers at me. “Two! Because my dad was laid off and my mom’s too knocked up to work.”

Inside my head, the Cloak growled a warning. Too close. Any closer and it would strike. Tempting as it was, I didn’t want to start a fist fight with a girl that bench pressed Hummers for kicks.

“And my brother’s no help, either. He’s got college and my sis is only ten, so she can’t do anything. All my money goes to them. None of it to me.”

I held up my hands in surrender, but she kept going. Finger in my face as she shouted, “I do that and bust my ass on the streets. I get shot at and hit by cars and fried by crazy electric men!

“I go to school, too! I’m on the fucking honor roll!”

Where was she finding the time to do all of that? I could barely hold down feeding my fish.

“And no one gives me shit! You want to know why?”

There were many reasons I could list, but diplomacy demanded that I be polite.

“Because I’m not some legacy kid! I don’t have a name to fall back on when things fall down, like you. I don’t have guaranteed Guild membership or royalties. I’ve got to work for it.”

Neither did she have the constant fear of being abducted by her mother’s archnemsis. Or that quick trip to space Mom’s taking will end with her returning in a coffin. Or brainwashing.

But what did she know? She wasn’t a legacy kid.

“I don’t have anything that I didn’t work for. Unlike you, little Miss Rockstar.”

Red targets highlighted weak points on Bulletproof’s body. The words made a little more sense than usual. A few of them were in English, even. I was learning. Too bad I was too pissed off to be proud.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Bulletproof asked, “Or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like a stupid bitch?”

“They’re part of the Cloak,” I said, voice flat.

She blinked at me, confused. “What?”

“My clothes.” According to the info the Cloak was feeding me, the best target was her eyes. Long needles. Jab. Death. I pushed away that thought and cleared my throat. “They’re part of the Cloak.”

“So they’re part of your powers?”

“Yeah, they are.” Damn jackass. “They’re part of me.”

“Oh.” She looked at the sidewalk, the street, the lamp post—everything but me. “I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I sigh. No one did. “What do you want from me?”

“I just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

I sat on the curb. Pressure was building behind the back of my eyes, threatening to turn into a full blown migraine. “And what did you want to talk about?”

Smiling, she leaned over me and pushed down my sunglasses. “I want to be your partner.”

Oh, of all the terrible jokes, this was king. I searched for sarcasm in her face. A slight crook of the lip, an arched brow, anything to tell me that this was one nasty prank. Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“No.” I stood back up.

“Why?”

Because you’re an aggressive asshole. “Because I already have a partner.”

“Sureshot? Yeah, sure, he’s cool and all, but you’re never going to shine as long as you work with him.”

The Cloak brought back up the bit about her eyes and, again, I dismissed it.

“I don’t care about shining.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Bulletproof stretched her arms over her head. A strip of her stomach peeked between her shirt and jeans. It all was soft, round, no definition. Not what I expected to see on a human powerhouse.

“You’re a legacy,” she said, “You don’t need to try when you can just name drop.”

I wished I could drop Mom’s name, but thanks to Niven, that was impossible. It was her cloak grafted to my skin, not Mom’s.

“If you didn’t happen to notice,” I flicked my lapel at her. “I’m the Scarlet Ribbon, not Blue.”

“Yeah, but you’re still a Ribbon. You might be wearing that alien pyscho’s suit, but that just makes you cool.” The grin she wore bordered between obnoxious and charming. “You’re all Guy Gardner and stuff.”

“Who?” I massaged my temples. My stupid crap tolerance was near max capacity—I needed to go home. “Look, I don’t want to know. My answer is no.”

“Is it because I called you a stupid bitch?”

“Rich ass legacy brat didn’t help, either.”