PACHELBEL’S PILOT - III.a.

Slamming his tray of food onto the opposite side of the dining table, Eric Rogers gazed furiously as a wall of screens flickered through various footage upon all kinds of chaotic and disorderly scenarios- flashes of the city, colorful streaks of powers being splashed about, buildings ruined and wrecked: the telltale signs of destruction belying the passing hours of surveillance done behind the scenes.

After a long swig of tea, he placed it back on the coaster.

"That arrogant fool is getting on my nerves.

Always screwing things up during important sessions."

"Or anyone within a mile's radius." Rockweed had himself a scone, his beak chomping into its 'shrooms like grapes. "Can't figure out his problem even if I tried. Most metas DO have some quirks to them- the weirdest ones of which, aside from my pal Eclipse's bad attitude, tend to have positive influences on their lives."

As if on cue, a different set of video feeds were replaying before their eyes.

Amid the blurry visuals, the figures of Snarrk and Nicole sitting together at a booth with menus open to respective pages played out, one having the hologram emitter read upside-down as the latter readjusted on instinct.

"...At least, eventually."

Rockweed grinned broadly, licking some egg-soy-cheese combination that had accidentally gotten stuck inside his snout off his chin and down onto Eric's coat.

Eric clawed at a piece of tissue, peeling skin off nail before sighing: "It's like-"

He slumped his shoulders, meeting the dragon in the eye.

"THE SAFETY STANDARDS are sound, right? Minus the implication of an inside job with what the TWO BOZO CRIMINALS pulled a week back, let alone the five heroes I've been saddled with-

DID YOU KNOW THAT NICOLE HEATHERS… IS THIRTEEN!?!"

"THIRTEEN!?!?"

Rockweed gasped in exasperation, having his paws on the table- claws gnawing at his sagging cheeks.

"YEAH!"

Eric hollered back, hands extended across his shoulders.

"NAH!"

"YE-" Eric paused while he was ahead. "-HUHH?!"

"She's FOURTEEN." Rockweed scratched the scruff of his neck.

"JAPES!"

"IT'S TRUE! Her birthday was three months ago!"

Eric sat in silence, hands stroking his stubble. "I gotta trim this..."

He tapped his foot, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose as if they could somehow make the headache go away.

"Ehh. C'MON, DUDE- HOW WOULD YA' EVEN KNOW?!"

One of Eric's eyebrows crept upwards with a snort. Rockweed's wings turned rigid. His tongue flicked upwardly with a curl of the corners.

"THESE CLAWS-" He brought them on full display, polishing them off with a bright shine. "May not look it, but they're manicured to greatness FOR SOCIAL MEDIA."

"OH, COME OFF IT!"

Eric spun himself around, walking away in a fit of pure annoyance.

"TRUST ME! The last thing you need now is that kind of scandal. G-God forbid if that were ever to happen- not only would I no longer respect you, but even my own self-worth would collapse- so stop picking fights outside the tower, will ya?

...besides, you're a pushover- how's any of that gonna work for you?"

Watching his employer in a huff, Rockweed tossed the empty container, its remains evaporating within a wisp of steam and air particles, looking like an unfinished, smudged sketch, before wobbling back and forth.

Eric slammed his palms at the edge, "LISTEN. You may be 'Little, Miss Hand-Delights'-" He motioned with wiggling, envious fingers: "-but you weren't properly THERE to gaze upon the LUCIDITY YOU PEOPLE BRING ME!"

"WOAH."

The being in purple grooved his claws back and forth, stepping off with a cricked neck.

"What do you mean- 'YOU PEOPLE'?!"

Failing to comprehend, Eric groaned out in exasperation, throwing his hands up before venting out with the spirit of a loon: "FIRST OFF! Instructing a LITERAL CAVEMAN- to use a smartphone for the first time EVER is a feat to surpass the legendary."

He slapped his knee involuntarily. "That alone already drove him half mad! ENOUGH TO NEARLY PRY MY FINGERS OFF- LIKE WEEDS!"

"Uh-HUH."

"Then- moments after 'the incident'..." Eric emphasized the case with fingers denoting air-quotes. "My BOSS- Mister Reynolds, who- No disrespect- I know little of him, despite company records, but still... do you even know what Eclipse called him, the 'company manager' to MY FACE?!?"

"Dunno."

Eric leaned closer, in a hushed whisper:

"A WEASEL."

"-A weasel?"

"Yeah- those ferret-looking things-"

"Same genus, differing spirit-" Rockweed brushed that remark aside with a wing.

"And I-" Eric gave himself breathing room to really hammer the next point home. "-We have after-session evaluations, right? One-on-one. I get some QUALITY time with Eclipse from the trailblazing team- the 'SAVANTS' themselves, and WHAT DOES THE CSYGON make me do?"

"Man, you almost made THAT sound OFFENSIVE." Rockweed winced in plight, his wings stiffening ever so slightly; an uneasy expression worn by him.

"SHE MAKES ME- GET DRINKS." Eric retorted loudly, nearly taking the latter aback before lowering his voice to the point of mumbling. "Now, I understand a lady's gotta keep her physique in check, up to code, looking her best for the next mob of obsessives, but-"

"-BUT?"

The dragon raised an inquisitive brow.

"Did the laundry list- HAVE to be the size of A GODDAMN THESIS? The whole time wasted was a downright waste of MY TIME!"

"Sure, Sure." The reptile nodded his head, scratching his ear with a single claw.

"But GOD-the wait. Ugh. And then there's... you can't just SHOTGUN a smoothie like how it'll burn hot-"

He shuddered, exhaling forcefully as Rockweed lifted his head back and slung the contents upwards; the dregs from his slushy turned into dust in mid-air.

Eric exhaled the demon dubbed 'stress' out of his system, hands clasped together in between: "That's not to mention reiterating company ethics, codes and guidelines like some of these 'greaser heads' here- more than two-thirds of them don't have a conscience, so why bother? We have holograms for the most basic of things, WHY NOT HAVE A DAILY-SNACK PROCEEDING- SAVE FOR WHEN YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO TASTE SOMETHING? IS THIS AN AMUSEMENT PARK?"

"WOW. Your passion for this industry is truly, and duly... noted." The dragon shuddered with a tremble.

"I gotta sleep." The man corrected himself dryly, looking his associate half-dead in the eye. "Lack thereof ain't good for the body- an apparent notion that needs no re-emphasis, too..."

"Oh, come now- I still got my wings here."

Eric swatted the incoming wings, face buried deep within his hands: "I'm GRADED BY OVERALL PERFORMANCE, ROCKWEED. NOT MINE, THANKFULLY- BUT THEIRS. While I'm busy managing a lollapalooza, guess whose hands are still working? His. Not mine. Not hers. And yet you wonder how it affects the longevity of a schedule after each session?"

The dragon tilted his head sideways, eyes scrunched: "How YOU managed to stay SANE, is a true miracle. Still, no luck on the ladies, though?"

"Maybe so. Who cares when they need me TOO, huh?" Eric got himself all flustered, hand swiping at his fringe with crackling insecurity.

"Oh, stop being such a martyr, would ya? Ya might as well change your name from 'REM ROOKEY' to 'Tabloid junior' because, at this point, a different look would leave me unable to distinguish ya, OR GET OUT OF YOUR APARTMENT. If I didn't know better, it's like living itself has become a burden, too."

"Panic ALARMS?" Eric pulled out his phone, dangling it in front of him before pocketing it once more: "I'm gonna swallow pills, for when I gotta-"

"Yo- you good, fam?"

Eric snapped back, and upon regaining his composure, he muttered gruffly: "Everything will be GOLDEN once they start putting their abilities together and WORK TOGETHER. For the first time in FOREVER, yada-yada. NO MORE!"

'Unless Inferno kills someone', Rockweed grinned smugly to himself.

"ALL MY PROBLEMS will be... REITERATED." He said, in deep, throaty emphasis.

Rockweed slapped the palm of his claws together and opened both with a flourish, "Your mom. Sweetums. Babe. Darling. Honeybear."

"...STOP!"

Eric grumbled, twitching violently to the urge of smacking his familiar across the face. He rolled his eyes, scoffing irritably before slumping down on his seat.

"At this point, though? It's 'sign up or shut up'. Otherwise, we wouldn't have gone as far as hiring him in the first place, let alone having this sh-"

"-HEY. ROB ROGERS! Watch your frickin' mouth- and where are ya even planning ta' go without my help at this kinda hour, buddy?"

"I'M GOING-"

"-OUT." Eric waved him off, arm flapping a white flag of surrender.

Stalking forward in a firm voice, he cocked an eyebrow up. "Fine. Do as you please, but if things get bad enough between you and Inferno, don't complain when other organizations want you KICKED BACK.

Others will want to know what YOU CAN PUT OUT THERE. For GOOD."

They paused, looking at one another for a long moment.

"OK. Fine."

Eric stormed out of the company cafeteria. It wasn't really that he was overreacting, although thinking about it clearly didn't do him much good either.

But he knew right from wrong, he REALLY did. Still, to let in new blood at such a crucial juncture wasn't his ideal way to break things up again, not after all these years—they were out there, probably right now- and this was what he was stuck with: A mess of a bunch who appeared as wily and skilled as a blind amoeba being prodded every which way they turned, acting like it was going according to plan.

In effect, how did it even occur?