Egbertman: PATROL!

[John Egbert]

For most sheriffs, one town isn’t big enough for two different law enforcers. Alternia can barely hold itself together with seven.

It’s a tough job on patrol after hours, when those in the force have hung up their uniforms for the day to enjoy an evening of solitude, but for a true hero, justice never sleeps (or at least that’s what John had diluted himself into thinking). Simple businessman and magician by day, but by night he would put on a new suit; one that someone should recognize as the symbol of an advocate of justice.

John glanced at his watch to check the time. Just two hours since he tucked Casey into bed and stuck out like a teenager once the parents were asleep, but his recent schedule change to patrol around as soon as he could seemed to pay off; with the two times he made his rounds, he hadn’t even spotted any contentious drunks, not even single litterbug! This was progress, and if the city wanted to stay looking perky and clean, he would have to keep an extra eye on everyone. Which was very difficult when everyone looked like tiny little ants way up in the sky.

“Right, I think it’s time to take a breather!” Egbertman deemed, moving an arm to disperse the large orbs of air accumulated at his hands and legs. Spotting a vacant rooftop, the blue-clad pyjama-hero lowered himself down onto solid concrete. A quick shake of the legs to get the feel of walking back and John was at the corner of the rooftop, taking a seat at the edge to allow his feet to dangle. A small adjustment of his silver shades against the street’s lights and he continued watching the streets, watching as the few night owls of midnight made their to their respective destinations. Peace for once.

[Dave Strider]

Dave took the elevator up to the roof. Technically, as an aviary-themed cheesy superhero ironically flashy vigilante, he should have flown. Truly, with the amount of technology he kept around like a real-life Batman, he could find a way to rig the CrowBro suit for a building-hopping super-jump. But honestly, he didn’t give a damn. Besides, if he were a villain (which he was, part-time) and he saw a man in a flaming-orange metallic bird suit jumping roofs like a parkour pro, he’d take extra measures to keep devious deeds on the down low. And he knew plenty of extra measures.

Besides, Dave thought, sipping at the tallest energy drink the convenience store had, the smooth ride gave him a chance to sit back and gather his energy for a late night of chaotic lawbringing. The ‘average joe by day, superhero by night’ thing was cool, but it made waking up a living hell.

By the time he hit the top floor, the can was empty. Rather than litter and give the cops another reason to teeter between thanking him and arresting him, Dave made a basketball-shot (“Ahlly yoop”) into the trashcan before strolling up the stairs. He knew which sides to step on to avoid the worst of the squealing metal; the roof was the best look out, and he endured the ranging creaks of the metal steps to check the cityscape each night. Cop lights and arson showed pretty well from the vantage…

…Except when there was an enormous blob of cerulean costume blocking the corner. It wasn’t an extreme problem, but standing on the edge of a building and watching the down from behind dramatic shades wasn’t quite as imposing when the famed Egbertman, captain of bubbly blue and award-winner for worst secret identity (that still somehow managed to be a secret), sat a few feet away.

As easy as it would’ve been to push the guy, superheroes (and ironically flashy vigilantes) didn’t kill other superheroes. Besides, then the cops wouldn’t have any excuses. They did, however, make episode-long super-duos. They could always share some ironically awful one-liners. It’d be a field day for Egbert. His mind made up, Dave strolled over to the corner and watched the city-scape over Captain Blue’s shoulder. “Playing I Spy with yourself, Egbertman?” he asked, taking a seat on the ledge beside John Egbertman. “I bet you’re losing.”

[John Egbert]

John nearly fell off the ledge at the sudden remark, quickly picking himself up with air support to sit up straight and cranks his neck towards the entrant. After all, he needed to look super reliable and not seem like he was slacking off. Because that was silly, a superhero is never off-duty.

However, his efforts to impress the new arrival was lost with the realisation of who had greeted him. The noteworthy orange feathers that seemed to glow even in the lowlight of the tops of buildings and those completely darkening pair of aviators which always made John ask himself how can he even see with those things on since they’re darker than the night sky itself; both clues to one who can be considered one of the coolest superheroes ever. Perhaps even cooler than Batman.

John couldn’t keep the smile off his face as CrowBro approached him and joined him on the ledge, his mouth seemed to be glued like that. “Wow, hey!” he greeted, immediately regretting he had said it. Obviously that was completely undignified for hero-to-hero talk, and someone that he had never really spoken to, only passed by during different vigilante acts, may not be so affirmative with informality. He cleared this throat, slightly deepening it. There was no occasion where leaving a good impression wasn’t important. “Not much to spy on unfortunately, everything’s so quiet – or at least as quiet as an urban city can get. So you can call it losing!” He gave a small laugh, even his defence seemed to crumble apart. “How about you, ran out of ‘corrupted’ politicians to take care of?” And by “take care of,” he meant kill. But he wouldn’t allow himself to think of that, this could be seen as superhero quality time.

[Dave Strider]

Watching John pick himself back up felt like watching him fall down stairs in front of Nick Cage. There was the surprise, then the attempted recovery of balance and dignity, and then that “oh damn” shock of knowing a beloved movie star watched him faceplant.

Even with the silly square-shade things blocking John’s eyes, the absolute awe shone through. Of course it would; Dave was wicked cool and devilishly handsome on his own, but the wings acted like a personal spotlight so that he absolutely radiated gorgeous badassery. John…Well, he looked like a comic book hero. Strange, but it suited him. If the guy could just wipe the goofy grin off his face he’d have the whole super-look down.

Dave simply nodded, the cool-guy’s greeting, and turned out to the city. From behind his shades he could switch between watching the streets and watching Egbert and look dead-focused the whole time. “Way to go, Egbert-man,” Dave said, catching himself before he forgot the ever-important identity suffix that baffled hundreds throughout the city. “Losing to yourself. Thousands of criminals in the city and we’re sitting on the rooftop that doesn’t show jack shit.”

John kept going, starting up a vigilante’s version of small talk. It felt more like the usual, even with the implied murder accusation. “No,” Dave answered. “Hell no. Can’t get rid of enough of ‘em. It’s like wearing a suit requires a guy to be bad or be a badass and they can’t manage the second one.” He leaned forward, taking a peek at the sidewalk under their feet. A few cars, a pedestrian or two. Nothing exciting. “What about you? Any criminals left to slap on the wrist and wag a finger at?”

[John Egbert]

Just as John expected to be, CrowBro made him on-edge. It’s not like his poker face put him off – he had always seen the other hero either from passing by or in horribly-lit pictures on the covers of newspapers – but it had to be the lack of movement that made him a bit nervous. Unlike him, who was always swinging his legs or playing with his trailing hoodie, CrowBro managed to look as stiff as a statue yet incredibly slack while doing so. It was somewhat… robotic.

John mentally shook the thought from his head before cooking up any theories of his metallic origin – but it would explain how he could be so heartless and kill off criminals, right?! – and physically gave his head a couple whips, nearly rocking his visor off his face. Quickly he shot his hands out to readjust them; he couldn’t have his identity revealed so soon! He faced the fellow hero as he continued on, and couldn’t help but to be completely amused by him. For a robot, he sure did talk like a rebellious teenager. He could just imagine how long he had to study cool kids in order to get the act down right. And it was totally paying off. Confusing, about suits and such, but it seems like he knows what he’s talking about so he nodded along. “I don’t really get what you mean, but it sounds like a hassle!”

He scratched the back of his hoodie, recalling what had been going on in this line of business. “No finger waggling this week, it seems like Mr. Pupa’s goons haven’t been up to much recently. Nor the Midnight Crew, I’m starting to think someone’s up to something by now!” He left the question hanging in the air, leaning back with his arms as support as he thought about that possibility more in-depth, nodding to himself as it added up in his head.

[Dave Strider]

John, like the little justice-puppy he was, shook something off his head. His shades nearly fell off with whatever it was (Dave guessed it was a stupid idea of some sorts. Or maybe a spider.) and John snapped to attention to push them back up. It was almost funny how much John-ness went right through the shades like some sort of Egbert-beam.

“Times-two Hassle Combo,” Dave agreed with a subtle coolkid nod. John got enough of it. Besides, friends or no, Dave wasn’t going to re-explain everything and make up a whole new colorful metaphor. You didn’t explain everything. You just didn’t.

The week’s report of dull, boring, and more dull made Dave do a double-take. “Really?” he asked, letting his surprise slip into his tone since it wouldn’t get past his shades. “Two major gangs sit on their hands and you’re starting to just think something’s up? Damn, Egbert, we can just assume they’re all up to everything.” Dave sighed, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees and let his fingers hang over a building like two small wings of finger-feathers. “Okay, so aside from waiting for someone to drop a week-old bomb on the city any day now, has there been any action? The Striders or the Felt? Or some freelance dumpass? Is the whole city in cahoots?” Of course the whole city wasn’t in cahoots. Egbert obviously wasn’t. And the Daves probably weren’t, though with that many Daves around, he could only be so sure.

[John Egbert]

As CrowBro continued with his near-sneering comments, John noted how the orange feathers on his costume seemed to look like it was consuming him, the cape-like overly large boa around his neck and draped over his back somehow working with the look. But what if he needed feathers to fly? He was sure robots didn’t need feathers, especially if he had a rocket booster or something on his heels, but maybe his creator wanted more decoration. Did he even fly?

John digressed once more. Despite the near-criticizing dilemma the other was making this situation out to be, Egbertman continued to swing his legs over the edge, unphased by the sarcastic remarks on how terrible of a superhero he was. Heck, he’d be dead if he had a real nemesis who was out for his head. He shrugged. “I’m really not sure! Every night I’ve been flying around to see if something’s been up, but so far I’ve got squat on all those guys.” And then a more optimistic thought, an index finger pointing upward with his soaring spirits. “Hey, maybe they’ve all suddenly come to terms with each other and want to find some peace between the gangs!”

[Dave Strider]

Finally, Dave gave in and turned so that his shades faced the same way as his eyes, because John just kept staring like some sort of creeper. It wasn’t even like he never would've seen a guy in a costume; he saw one every time he flew past his own bright-blue reflection. Dave wouldn’t call him out on it yet, but he’d at least return the staring.

…Hey, he could see his reflection in John’s shades. Nice. It took his attention off the goofy E-branded hoodie.

Unfortunately, it couldn't do the same for John's overly-optimistic opinion. “Oh, yeah, they’re all at peace,” Dave said, raising a single brow over his shades. “Completely believable. They probably set up a whole ‘Villainous Gangs Tea Party’ and put on their monocles and discussed how to solve their problems nonviolently over tea and crumpets. I bet even now they’re still wearing their top hats as a sign of devious-criminal brotherhood and volunteering at soup kitchens.”

That’s it, he wasn’t staring at John any more. The incredible cheerfulness burned through his shades. Dave snapped his head back down to the street below and, trusting that Egbert wouldn’t move, swiftly reached out and flicked the side of John’s head as he might a misbehaving pet. “I’d sooner believe they’re all committing crimes by tunneling from building to building like moles,” he said. “Or maybe that they’re onto you and keeping out of your sight.” After one more look at the streets below, Dave drew his feet back up to the ledge and pushed himself to his feet. “Either way, it doesn’t look like anyone is going to conveniently break the law right here and now. Maybe we should try and find the action ourselves.”

[John Egbert]

It was funny how all of John’s ideas seemed excessively silly once CrowBro added his two cents into the picture. “Okay, all of them on friendly grounds would be too much to hope for, but—ow!” Alas, his boundless optimism had been thwarted by a single finger. It did not actually harm him in the slightest, but the flick was a neutral surprise that sent a hand to the side of his head, as if to properly shield it from another ambush. His smile deflated to a more troubled look.

“Maybe my rounds have been too predictable, but even then, I’ve got a sky-high view of the city!” Egbertman settled his chin his hands, leaning down to stare at the concrete below as the other picked himself up. It was baffling, to say the least, and if this was one of his action films that he was highly fond of, one would say they’ve been quiet. Too quiet. The silence before the storm. Egbertman pulled off his hood and ran a hand through his hair, tapping the back of his head to think of where they could have been, first of all. People don’t just disappear completely, as even in the daytime when he was a regular civilian, he would spot some of these hooligans about. “Don’t be silly; people can’t dig in this city. The sewer system makes it so concrete underground is hard to penetrate with a shovel.”

The idea hit him.

With a snap of his fingers, Egbertman pulled up his hood again and cracked a grin, summoning a gust of wind to assist himself into the air to land back on his feet. “What if the gangs moved underground? No one goes down there besides maintenance, and it would explain how there hasn’t been much criminal activity!”

[Dave Strider]

And thank god, the flick worked just like it did with the crows. One more optimistic plot squelched in its early stages. 5 minutes saved without the use of time-travel.

“Sky-high must not be doing much good if you haven’t seen anyone,” Dave said. “I was joking about the underground thing, but hell, at this point we shouldn’t rule it out.” But the sewers…He hadn’t considered it himself (mostly because the snazzy suits that made the Striders look so pro wouldn’t fare well trudging through sewage), but the others…

John caught on just as quickly. He snapped his fingers and used air to get to his feet (show-off), deciding that instead of tunneling, the villains took the lazy path and used the already-dug underground sewer system. Dave nodded and awarded John a slow-clap at the very speed that you couldn’t tell was proud or mocking. “Congratulations, Egbert,” Dave said. “That is probably the first smart idea you’ve had tonight. That’s progress, bro; we’re making it happen.”