ref: a00feb029ddcea6188f4324169e5f2b6a389de4e
dir: /troff/xva-001.ms/
.ds CF [%] \" first numbered page (bottom)
.ce
.ps 14
.B 1
.SH
MADRIPOOR
.R
.PP
.ps 10
Pen scratches paper. Logan could ink for days, maybe weeks at a time.
No breaks. What did he care? It was work.
.PP
.ps 10
This was nothing like his life back at the X\-Mansion. In fact, he'd
found that he couldn't work there at all. Too many distractions. The
kids could not be persuaded that he needed silence in order to
concentrate. Some of his peers (if you could call them peers, since
his enhanced senses and healing factor afforded him an otherwise
unobtainable advantage over the competition) some of his peers
actually listened to music, or watched TV while they worked.
Podcasts, heh. Not this illustrator, bub. He'd black out the whole
entertainment industry if it were feasible. As it was, he simply drew
his blinds and drew his pages, his workspace illuminated solely by the
soft light of an unshaded desk lamp.
.PP
.ps 10
Deadlines were an issue. No pun intended. He found that he could
comfortably skip meals for upwards of a week before the hunger began
to intrude upon his concentration. Much beyond that and he'd need
some kind of snack. Mostly, he nibbled stale cheese at his drawing
board and got on with it.
.PP
.ps 10
Beer was another story. And his mini\-fridge was empty.
.PP
.ps 10
Logan stood up and his stool fell over. Symbolic. He locked up his
room and lit a cheap cigar on his way downstairs to the street.
Off to the liquor store for brews.
.SH
NEW YORK
.R
.PP
.ps 10
Piro slapped the dip pen out of Tom's hand.
.PP
.ps 10
"No. Again. What is the first thing we do when we are handed a pen?"
.PP
.ps 10
"Uh..." Tom floundered. "Write my name on my paper?"
.PP
.ps 10
"Wrong. Check to see if it's loaded. Never take another artist's
word for it. We always check."
.PP
.ps 10
Tom stooped to retrieve his pen. Removed the nib and checked the
barrel. Nothing. He slid his thumb over the sensor and logged in.
.PP
.ps 10
"Okay. Now it's live."
.PP
.ps 10
"Good. You may begin."
.PP
.ps 10
Tom wrote his name at the top of his paper.
.bp
.SH
THE OUTBACK
.R
.PP
.ps 10
Ororo had no way of knowing what they were saying on the Internet. To
be honest, she'd never even owned a phone (and in any case, there
would be no signal, out here). Her idea of keeping up with events was
watering her plants.
.PP
.ps 10
This made it especially awkward when it came time for her to manage
the school's social media presence. She had to admit she was
completely lost. Which was hard for her. Even Kitty was getting too
old for this shit. Logan had hit upon a scheme whereupon the exercise
might be pivoted into an opportunity for the youngsters to earn class
credit by helping senior ("Heh," he had said) staff foster the
impression that the school remained engaged with contemporary human
culture. And then there was the communications delay. The town's
connection was still only good for part of the day.
.PP
.ps 10
Ororo had chosen to post reviews of comic books.
.PP
.ps 10
Her decision had been implemented too quickly for Kitty to intervene.
She learned of Ororo's views at the same time as the rest of the
world.
.PP
.ps 10
You couldn't take it back.
.SH
NEW YORK
.R
.PP
.ps 10
"We're not just shitting these out for our health," Tom said, closing
the tab. He'd been passed a link to some bullshit blogger slamming
his latest work. "We spend too much time on these things to tolerate
half\-engaged criticism by posers who probably don't even
read the books."
.PP
.ps 10
"Relax, Tom," Piro said, delivering Tom's coffee to his desk.
.PP
.ps 10
"I'll fucking relax when I feel like relaxing, and I'll tell you
what," Tom said, not completing his thought.
.PP
.ps 10
Piro nodded, a rare concession.
.PP
.ps 10
He had no idea.
.SH
WESTCHESTER COUNTY
.R
.PP
.ps 10
There had been so many members of the team over the years that nobody
was really quite sure who was in and who was out. Permanently? Well,
who could say? The Professor hadn't left instructions before he
fucked off to outer space.
.PP
.ps 10
Kitty maintained the rolls as best she could, clicking and backspacing
over obsolete entries. She spent a fair amount of her time contacting
semi\-inactive X\-Men and confirming their non\-interest, current
whereabouts, recent
.I
noms de plume,
.R
and present pronouns. Other facts
and figures she considered extraneous. What with the secondary
mutations, alternate art teams, and corporate interference with
editorial, it was never a solid bet anyone would remain the way you
remembered them for long. It was always best to check. Trust, but
verify, as Logan might have quipped, back in the '80s.
.PP
.ps 10
It was almost a security strategy.
.SH
NEW YORK
.R
.PP
.ps 10
Plinth Mold had warned that recent earnings reports would prove
disappointing. No one in the office predicted that the remedy would
be so quick to arrive. Nor so severe. MASSIVE FICTIONS was getting
out of the comic book business permanently, and what would they do next?
.PP
.ps 10
Wait for it.
.PP
.ps 10
Piro informed the group that their new business model involved the
distribution of plastic trinkets fashioned after the "poop" \fIemoji.\fR
.PP
.ps 10
Tom was loving it.
.PP
.ps 10
"I'm loving it," he said.
.PP
.ps 10
Reader, it wasn't quite the beginning of the end, but if you've read
my other books then you'll have begun to suspect that the end was well
on its way. I'm not a fan.
.PP
.ps 10
The team brought their usual measure of professionalism to the
endeavor. Within weeks, MOLD INDUSTRIES, INC., controlled a majority
share of the plastic poop \fIemoji\fR market.
.PP
.ps 10
With this the boss was well pleased.
.SH
MADRIPOOR
.R
.PP
.ps 10
Back at his drawing board, Logan couldn't shake the image of what he'd
just seen, down the liquor store. A child's toy that looked just
like a cartoon piece of poop.
.PP
.ps 10
He sniffed the night air as it drifted in through his open window.
.PP
.ps 10
All he could smell was plastic.