Fabula Zero Exposition
By Nick Davis
Published by Alt-World at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Nick Davis
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****
“Excuse me, sir? Are you OK?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jack, looking around blinking, standing just in front of the Ninjas. A petite blonde with a cute button nose, her hair pulled up into a pony tail, dressed in the uniform top of the local bookstore cafe barista stood smiling at him. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, yes . . . perfectly fine,” said Jack looking around him all confused. The warehouse, Doctor Dark, the Ninjas, and even the mighty Captain Avenger started to fade away, replaced with the more mundane tables, chairs and the wooden floor of his local bookstore cafe.
“It was just like you were jumping around and . . . like, talking to people who weren’t there,” said the Blonde Barista.
“I was?” said Jack, astonished, still trying to figure where all those Ninjas went.
“Yes, you were,” said the Barista. “It’s disturbing the other customers.”
Jack smiled weakly. Dotted around the cafe, several people were staring at him, including the girl who normally hides herself behind her infeasibly large laptop screen all day.
“I’m sorry… I was just writing and got a little carried away.”
“S’ok, could you just not leap around so much? It’s bad for the customer ambiance and that really upsets the Store Manager,” said the Barista, guiding him gently back to his table that was covered in a nest of coffee cups, savory snack wrappers, and Jack’s much abused chipped silver laptop.
“I like your accent. Are you Australian?” said the Barista.
“No I’m English… But its okay, I get that a lot,” said Jack fiddling with his laptop.
“So what are you writing?”
Embarrassed, Jack smiled awkwardly. “Well… I’m the lead writer for Captain Avenger. I’m just having some trouble getting my head around the script for the 50th anniversary story.”
“You write Captain Avenger?” replied the Barista excitedly.
“Yes, just been assigned the book. It’s the start of my run. I’m taking over from Ed,” said Jack with more enthusiasm.
“That’s really cool”
“It is?” said Jack.
“Perhaps this girl was one of those rumored nerd girls, a unicorn who thinks comic books are really cool, and she is cute too” he thought. “Wonder if she is free later?”
“Yeah,” said the Barista, smiling, “My kid brother loves this comic.”
“Oh” said Jack, feeling deflated.
“Could you . . . like, could you sign one of his comics for him? It would be a blast, and he can show all his friends in elementary school.”
“Yeah, sure, no worries…” said Jack picking his laptop up from the debris of his table.
“Listen, sorry about the mess. I have to go . .. comic book things to do and I think I really need to get some rest,” said Jack rather hurriedly.
“Sure,” said the Barista smiling, “Have a great day.”
“Err, yeah, thanks, you too,” said Jack as he stumbled through the revolving door and out into the street, “Real smooth, Jack, real smooth.”
***
Jack walked down the street towards where his Jeep was parked, slinging the messenger bag over his shoulder. Try as his might; he just couldn’t seem to get the tone of Captain Avenger right. He had no trouble writing him in the Team Justice Squad book. The fans raved how he wrote the Cap in that series and he won a Stanley for best dialog ever in a team comic for that year, which landed him the number one slot taking over the company’s flagship title now that Ed left. The manuscript was already three weeks late and he had spent all that time staring at a blank screen with a blinking cursor until the small hours of the morning. His production editor Joe was now frantically pushing him to finish it to get it out to the artist in time to hit Cap’s anniversary, and get the big changing of the guard issue out. All the elements were there. Ed gave him the black book of where the larger story arc was going, with his blessing and advice of 'Find you’re ending' and he even got permission from the Man himself to use a classic villain with Doctor Dark; it just wasn’t coming together. Everything he wanted and worked towards was just within his grasp and he just could not reach out far enough to get it. It was turning into a very cruel month indeed. He had to find some way to get out of this funk he was in, before they give the character to Jon or, worse, to Brian.
Just as he opened the Jeep door, his phone rang. The familiar 70’s Team Justice Squad TV show theme played announcing it was his editor calling for an update. Jack stared at the cell phone screen, unsure if he should answer the little buzzing device. He sighed—no good ignoring the problem and he did have something resembling an opening sequence of pages even if he couldn’t get the Ninjas to behave.
“Hey Joe, how is it going?”
“Jack, you Limey Bastard have you finished that script yet?” was Joes coarse reply.
“Define finished?” said Jack, climbing into his Jeep and rubbing his eyes. He felt more drained than he realized.
“This isn’t going to go well,” he thought.
“A completed manuscript emailed to me. Since you’ve not done that, I guess you’re just finishing it right now, right?”
“Yes . . . no. No . . . nearly there though,” said Jack sheepishly, and then he told an outright lie. “Just having a little trouble finding the ending.”
“Do you have anything?”
“Yes,” said Jack truthfully.
“Then send what you have. I’ve got Michael on hold for the cover and Steven freaking out about fitting the pages into the work he has to do on Atlasman,” said Joe exasperatedly. He then added more quietly. “You have got something right?”
“Yeah Joe, just I’m in the Jeep and can’t send it now,” said Jack turning the key and listening to the whirring crank of a nonstarting engine. “Bugger. . . .”
“What did you say?” said Joe.
“Nothing. Jeep not starting, I’ll email you later, okay?” said Jack, head-butting the steering wheel.
“End of the business day Jack. I need something. I’ve already got Brian emailing me pitches over this issue, and the higher-ups are pushing me to go with him.”
“He would; that bald dude never sleeps,” said Jack, turning the car key. This time, the engine clattered to life. “I’ve got to go, no hands-free . . . can’t talk and drive. It’s the law.”
“Yeah, yeah. End of business today, Jack, I need something to get the artists started, and don’t forget you have the Baltimore Comic Con at the end of this week.”
“I do?”
“Yes you do Jack. You wanted a big tent appearance in your adopted hometown and you’re sharing a booth table with Brian.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“Does Brian know this?”
“Yes”
“And he is okay with this?”
“Yes.”
“Am I okay with this?”
“Sigh . . . yes.
“Okay, driving now so I will talk to you later,” said Jack closing his phone and sitting back in the vehicle. “Just great. Didn’t think the Con was until next month.”
Already Jack could imagine the long lines of people at the table, all clamoring for Brian’s autograph and asking Jack who he was and if he was from Australia.
“So much easier back in London working with Titan. Right, get home, tidy up and send Joe those first few pages. It should take Steven a couple of days just to draw all those Ninjas, and by then I should have something, even if it’s a couple hours of sleep.”
***
The Jeep rattled down the highway, the radio doing its normal trick of skipping between stations before settling on the popular music channel. Jack suffered through another sound-the-same heavy bass song, involving the word “baby,” “bounce,” and “hot booty call” played in a continual loop. Before long, the radio skipped again and found the conservative talk radio station. Much to his annoyance the radio it decided it liked this channel and stayed stuck on it for the next 20 minutes of the journey, making Jack scream at the grating presenter until he just shut the radio off completely.
“Excuse me, sir,” a hard hand tapped Jack on the shoulder.
“Huh? Wha? No . . .who?” said Jack, waking up in the driver seat of his Jeep. He readjusted his glasses and the figure of a State Trooper standing next to him came into focus.
“Where did the Mechaniod go?” he said confused.
“Mechawha? Sir, are you okay?” said the State Trooper his hands on his belt staring hard at Jack. “Are you intoxicated Sir?”
“No,” said Jack, looking around. He was in the construction zone, but neatly and very safely parked inside the concrete bollards that shielded the workers from the rest of the highway traffic. “Perhaps just a little too much coffee?”
“I am going to have to ask for your license and vehicle registration. Please remain within the vehicle,” said the State Trooper, his expression even sourer than before.
Jack sighed, pulled out his license, and fished around in his sun visor for the vehicle registration, which he duly handed off to the State Trooper. He watched in his side mirror as the man retreated into his cruiser.
“What the hell is happening?” he said craning his neck around to see of any signs of the Mechaniod or Captain Avenger.
“Okay Sir, your license is clean. I have to ask you step out of the vehicle, though,” said the State Trooper who almost magically appeared by his door.
“Erm, why?” said Jack, growing concerned.
“Sir, I found you fast asleep at the wheel of your vehicle, I am required to find out if you are cognitive enough to continue your journey, and I am asking that you do a roadside sobriety test.”
“Do I have to?”
“No, but then I will just arrest you and can you do it at the Barracks instead.”
“Well, in that case.”
For the next ten minutes Jack underwent several very odd balancing tests, from walking in a straight line, to holding his arms out and touching his nose. These tests repeated until the Trooper was satisfied that Jack was coherent.