Forrest & Saxon

“The art of the miniature is a precise one. Patience and stoicism are required,
making us English the ideal creatures for the hobby.” 
“First- assemble the figure. Next- wipe it down with rubbing alcohol.
The best paints to use are Vallejo Air Brush paints,
but applied with a normal bristle brush instead of an airbrush.”
“Many coats are needed to get the correct coverage. Don’t be afraid to layer--”

I’M HOME” Forrest announced her arrival by kicking
open the front door of the refurbished Norman tower she
and Saxon called home. Something deep in
her DNA prevented her from quietly entering a room,
it always had to be a five alarm fire. 
Saxon chose his words carefully, playfully pleading from upstairs.
 “Luv, you almost messed me up.
I'm recording a podcast on painting.
I can't play this game right now.” 
Saxon knew full well trying to temper Forrest’s
enthusiasm was a useless effort.
She clomped up the tower stairs loudly
to the balcony room where Saxon
had made his little art station.
Work tables littered with an “organized mess”
surrounded by rows of paints 
“I found a man! I’m going to keep him!” 
To little surprise, she had some unconscious
man slung over her shoulders,
her augmented strength
and cybernetic arms easily
handling the extra weight.
Boundless energy & superhuman limbs
made for a beautiful, but lethal, combination. 
“Fair is fair. Where did this bloke come from and is he dead?”
Saxon asked, only half paying attention.
“He’s breathing. He fell from the sky.” Forrest cooed
as she effortlessly tossed
the man onto their love seat.
Forrest decided she’d let him rest
before she started the interrogation. 
Sensing Saxon’s attention was elsewhere,
she added “He’ll be my new boyfriend.”
 
“Fair is fair.” Saxon added, nonplussed. 
The moment was punctuated by someone
yelling from down below-
“GODDESS! COME POSE FOR US!” 
“Not those damn rockabilly arseholes again! Tell them to slag off!”
Saxon barked. His concentration was fully broken.
“I need to finish this while the paint is still wet!” 
“Hmmm....I guess I’ll go sort them out.” 
Forrest approached the balcony, standing up
straight to project grace and pose.
The yelling continued from below,
the crowd getting rowdy.
She had posed a few times for local art
classes to make some additional cash.
Being part of the Nationalised Super Hero Contingent
left her comfortable, but often without
much extra coin to waste on outfits. 
The problem was, people who drew
her tended to become
intensely obsessed with Forrest.
Such as the small cadre of ne’er-do-wells
calling for her attention from below. 
It was a group of greasers, real chavs,
with sketchbooks and guitars.
They roamed the english countryside
robbing pedestrians with pocket knifes
and using the spoils to buy materials.
Super annoying! 

“Come sit for us! We must make art of you!”
The head greaser professed, slipping into bad poetry,
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not you!”
Forrest couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
She shouted down, “Better idea- You leave now,
or I’ll come down there and kick all of your asses!”

“PLEASE DO! WE’D LIKE THAT!”
The head greaser excitedly giggled.
Forrest didn’t doubt the pervert was serious.

“Very well.” She sighed before launching herself off the balcony.
With a whisper, she summoned her suit
of armor, utilizing her caster ability.
The pieces materialized and
wrapped around her body, cocooning Forrest. 
She landed flawlessly, her steel-clad body
easily absorbed the fall. 
“Ok boyos, let’s rumble!” 
***
Back up in the tower, Saxon finished recording
his tutorial podcast and put his earbuds in.
With the music blasting, he heard nothing of the ruckus outside. 
Sans distractions, Saxon was in his happy place. 
***

Forrest, less so. 
The fight had taken a turn. Initially, she was having fun,
dodging the greasers and solidly whipping them.
She was an artist in her element,
flipping around (despite the heavy armor)
and administering pain. 
But one of them, frustrated at being
handily beaten by a girl,
threw a jar of ink at the back of her head. 

The shock knocked Forrest to her knees. 
A second greaser shattered his
acoustic guitar on her temple. 
She was stunned and the trio stood over her,
ready to finish the deal. 
She was starting to think she was in over her head. 
Something was wrong with the code here. 
Forrest never lost to such level 1s. 
Summoning her strength, she prepared
to lash out when suddenly....
The head greaser levitated in the air,
blood spraying out of his nose. 
Forrest turned to see the blue man from her
couch, standing and awake, yellow eyes glowing. 
The other two greasers turned to run
but were lifted off the grass as well. 
Their gasps for air made a morbid cacophony. 
The Vekpire squeezed his fist closed. 
The three greasers exploded in a shower of red mist. 

Forrest watched from the ground, stunned. 
The Vekpire breathed in deeply and the
mists seemed to swarm directly into his nostrils. 
Then it was silent. 
 
TO BE CONTINUED