masterofmidgets | I Was Getting Paid 11.50/hour To Do This

Work was dead quiet today, and I got bored to started writing Boostle. End product was this.

“You let us all down. You let Ted down. Where were you when he died, Booster?”

It had been days since Ralph had accosted him at the press conference, and Booster couldn’t stop running those words through his head. As much as he tried to persuade himself that Ralph, in his grief, had been striking out in any way he could think of, the accusation still haunted him.

“People don’t really think that, do they?” he asked Skeets finally.

“Think what, sir?” Skeets replied, a hint of bewilderment in his voice. Up until then, Booster had been sprawled on the couch in his apartment, to all appearances absorbed in the football game playing on his television.

“Ralph – he acted like I didn’t care about Ted, like I abandoned him. Do people really think that I left him to face Max on his own? That I…let him die?”

“It was a very confusing time, sir. And you had been out of contact with the Justice League for quite a while. If anyone does believe that, it is only because they are lacking in information.”

“Oh, that helps a ton, Skeets. They don’t know I threw my best friend to the wolves. They just heard that he died and I wasn’t there, and I have such a shining reputation, they assumed the worst.” Booster slumped forward, head in his hands. “I know I’m a little more opportunistic than most, but how they think I’m that self-absorbed?”

Skeets hovered anxiously around him, making soft beeping noises probably intended to be reassuring.

“You care too much about what people think of you. The recriminations of a bitter, grieving man do not mean the entire community is of the impression you failed Ted Kord. And even if it were true, you know that you did everything you could for him. It is not your fault, sir.”

“Right. That’s why I’ve got a pair of broken goggles sitting on my dresser gathering dust. That’s why his brains are all over the wall in Max’s office. If I’d done everything I could…Ted would still be alive.” His voice was harsh and low as he added, “I’m supposed to be a hero.”

Booster stood abruptly, face bleak, and retrieved his mask from the floor. The window was already open; he rarely bothered to leave through the door. It wasn’t as though he had a secret identity to protect. Or anyone to protect it from.

He paused on the windowsill, and without turning back said, “I’m going on patrol. Don’t wait up.”

Will be posted for real once I find a copy of 52 Week 7 somewhere to do a little dialogue fact-checking.

I Was Getting Paid 11.50/hour To Do This

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