My Apartment, Mid-City
Dear Diary,
My mom used to say 'Karma's a bitch'. But I've met her (or at least one of them) and she's really quite nice. A bit skittish, but nice.
'Karma's' are a type of person, who many claim are 'cursed'. Technically because their 'ability' is just there.
According to a study conducted by UC Berkley, led by a Professor Charles Xavior:
"There is no conclusive evidence showing when and why a 'Karma's' ability manifests... Appears to activate randomly... Happens to/around an individual/group whom partook in a single or multitude of malicious and/or self-perceived immoral behavior(s) toward another human being/creature and/or environment- without consequence of when such an act(s) occur(red)... Nor can we conclude how said 'Retributional Event(s)' are weighed via the offense which activates the ability.
The only two conclusive finding of this panel are as such:
A. The individual 'Karma' is not conscious of the activation of their ability nor in control of the 'Retributional Event'.
B. The 'Retributional Event' may effect more that the intended 'target'."
They fall into the 'Miscellaneous' group of Superpersons, but don't qualify for the Superperson tax exemptions or protection acts.
All are tagged in their teens and monitored.
They are not allowed to take part in communal celebrations or festivals. The UN says it's for the good of humanity.
I say that's crap. Don't be a dick. It's that easy.
Because of this, most lock themselves up at home. Shy away from public transit, peak hours at grocery stores. The suicide rate is pretty high for them. How bad does that suck?
So a 'Karma' named Daisy walked into a bar. My bar. A couple months back.
She got caught up in a downpour. I'm talking a displaced Niagara Falls (it's happened), or the time when Storm hit menopause.
It was a regular, local crowd. A little slow that night.
She looked kinda startled at first. Eventually, albeit warily, walked up to the bar.
Petite thing. Big brown eyes like a cow. Drenched.
She shyly asked for a menu. I tossed a look at the old bar rats. Their staring was making her squirm. We don't have menu's at Bunsen and Beaker. Whatever a person wants, we can make. No matter how profoundly obscure. How complicated. Or vile. Period.
It's a pain in the ass.
She ordered a hot toddy. Easy enough. I gave her a bowl of cashews and continued polishing glasses.
There was a poker game being played in back. A new cardy was doing exceptionally well. A couple guy's already quit the game. Paychecks lost to the pot.
A perma-peeved dude was crunching numbers at a table along the wall. Bunch of guys were watching the opening games of the Baseball season.
Nothing unusual.
Half hour goes by quietly. Rain hasn't let up.
I've moved on to restocking my wells.
This kid, couldn't be more than fourteen, sneaks through the back door. Stops behind the Mr. Perma-Peeve. Looked like he'd been meditating under a fire hose. Shivering so hard water's flying half way 'cross the room. He's whispering to Mr. PP (heh, funny) who's mostly ignoring him. Finally tells him to go wait back in the rain. He's not done yet.
The kid looks to argue but the guy's hand whips through the air. The crack resounded longer than the kid's yelp.
Everyone is on their feet.
In this world, there's a lot we've got to put up with. But not in our own fucking bar, we don't.
Daisy though, skittered backward. White as a sheet. No one noticed.
She bolted to the door. Tripped over a high-top table leg. A couple pint glasses flew into the air.
That caught our attentions.
The glasses bulleted in opposite directions. Weird.
You'd think it's normal in this world of Superperson's. It's not. And that's the funny thing about Karmatic retribution. Starts as a small, unintended act that snowballs.
We watched them ricochet around the bar. Off the loft at the back.
Bouncing here. And there. And everywhere.
One collided into the autographed bowling ball on the wall. The other knocked a plank loose... Like watching one of those 'Mouse Trap' competitions held by the Villains League of Ingenuity.
Mr. PP still engrossed in screaming. Poor kid cowering.
A loud pop.
The bowling ball bounced off Mr. PP's head.
...I didn't know those balls could bounce...
It continued. Dribbled toward the disrupted poker game. Hit the underside of a table. Sent a shot glass barreling through the air. It cupped into the socket of the new cardy's eye. Another pop.
Not a pleasant sound.
He shrieked. Daisy shrieked. Mr. PP didn't. He was unconscious.
The cardy was flailing about. A few aces dropped from the collar of his shirt.
The bar rats were already calling 911. I sighed. Now there'd be paperwork to do.
Threw the other players a dirty towel. They were caught between irritation and that adreneline rush that comes with a crisis. Told them to leave the glass alone. Let the paramedics deal with it. He was about to pass out anyway.
Took the pulse of Mr. PP. It was there.
Grabbed the hand of the kid and sat him between the bar rats. Set a bottle of "medicine" (read:bourbon) in front of 'em and an extra glass.
Daisy was sobbing under the table.
I crouched down. She shrank back. Clutched the stand like it was the only reason she was still attached to this earth. I handed her a clean towel. She whimpered.
I went back to the bar. Filled two more glasses with "medicine". Came back. Sat down cross-legged. Slid a glass to her.
"You could use a drink."
Then waited.
She picked up the glass once she was done sniffling.
Rest of the bar knew the drill. They're decent folks, really.
Paramedics showed. So did some cops. Statements were given.
The bowling ball and pints were taken as evidence.
The bar rats felt for the kid. Convinced him to be honest. The cops put a blanket around the kid. Promised to take good care of him. They were pretty gentle...
Some hot, muscly firemen strutted around. All in all, a decent show.
Everyone skirted around us like a plague was biting at their ass.
Worked for me.
Generally, people are terrified of 'Karma's'. It's that whole unknown aspect.
The 'incident' would be reported to the UN Board of Universal Befuddlementals and Counter-Action. Only two people were involved, so no investigation was likely. Just a note added to Daisies file.
We sat there until the circus was over.
Jules (bar-back) began moping up the blood. Zand and some of the guys straightened chairs. Then, one by one, they grabbed their drinks and joined us on the floor.
Everyone just talked. Laughed. Told stories. Daydreamed what they would have done to Mr. PP or the cheat if karma hadn't stumbled in.
Like I said. Decent folks.
You could tell a few of them were weary. After a bit, they mellowed out. Daisy began to laugh. Listened to the others. I got the feeling talking with people was new for her.
Eventually, we drew her out from under the table. Took the party to the bar.
And at the end of the night, we told her we'd see her tomorrow.
The rain had stopped. Everyone went home.
Bunsen and Beaker has a new regular now.
See? Karma's not a bitch, unless you are first.
I guess that's as good a moral as any to end this.
Cheers for a tomorrow,
Penny
No comments:
Post a Comment