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I’m reposting all of my stories, starting with the Sylph stories. It’ll take me some time, because the object is to include the new art (which I have yet to complete…) with each chapter. Here’s chapter one.
{Breet!! Breet!! Bree-CRASH!!}
Sylph reached out and smacked her alarm clock before fully waking and realizing what she was doing. Her hand, powered by shoulders larger than her head, demolished the cheap plastic radio/alarm clock, smashed through the books underneath it, and flattened the nightstand on which they all rested.
“Oh, poo!” she muttered. Dad was not going to be happy about having to replace another nightstand… Sylph rolled over, the immense iron framework of her reinforced bed creaking ominously under her huge frame. The last time she had stepped on the bathroom scale (rated accurate to 600 pounds…) the wheel had spun and buried itself on the third revolution. She didn’t know how much she weighed, but she knew that it was far more than any other man or woman currently living. Not that she minded- most girls her age were constantly whining about their weight, but not Sylph. Not when she was brimming chock-full of superstrong, diamond hard meat and blood and bone. She grinned at that thought, the pretty, girlish features of her nineteen-year-old face looking absurdly out of place on her mountainous physique.
Stretching, Sylph heard one of the mattress springs give way under her, so she lightly stepped out of her bed, gingerly kicking a 500 pound curl bar out of her way. Her parents had had to put her room in the basement when she turned seven, as she was already so big that her concentrated weight on the floor had broken several floorboards and loosened a couple joists. That said, her room was comfortable enough. Wall-to-wall berber carpet kept the floor from getting too cold, and the room was furnished tastefully, if sparingly (her parents were neither rich nor foolish). What furniture there was- her bed, a large desk and chair, her dresser- was specially commissioned, reinforced to stand up to the casual pressures she could exert purely by accident. Not reinforced enough, she thought ruefully.
Padding over to her dresser, bunny slippers flapping on her relatively tiny feet, Sylph glanced around her room, once more. Her bed had all of the usual accoutrements you would expect-a large teddy bear her daddy called Mr. Rickles, several other plushies, a frilly duvet. Likewise, the rest of the room was typical of a teenage girl’s room. The desk had a good computer- a Macintosh, because her mom wanted her to be ready for school- and several romance novels. On the walls were several watercolors, a chalk drawing, and a gorgeous oil pastoral obviously painted by a very talented amateur. Most of the pictures featured woodland scenes, all but the chalk drawing had at least one unicorn, the equine bodies depicted with close attention to the grace and power of the musculature under the skin. The chalk drawing was a portrait of Sylph’s father pushing his spectacles back on his nose. About time to say goodbye to all this stuff, she thought, somewhat regretfully. In another couple of days she was going away to college-NYU-on an art scholarship.
Slipping open the top drawer, Sylph drew out a pair of panties and a bra. All her clothes-even her underwear-were tailored, mostly by Sylph herself, as her parents had realized long ago that normal clothes could never survive one of Sylph’s titanic workouts. At this point, her underwear could no longer be pulled up over her majestic quads and hamstrings- they were simply too large in relation to her waist-so she had modified them by slitting them up the sides and putting in buttons and button holes. The bras were slightly more adjustable, as she had designed them to be tied together with a leather thong rather than held in place by catches or snaps. Of course, she used as much fabric in one cup as most women used in an entire t-shirt, but that was beside the point.
“Sylph, honey- I’m off to work. Are you up yet?” came her dad’s voice from upstairs in the kitchen.
“Yeah, Daddy, I’m up. I’m just gonna work out a little, than I’ll come up and do my chores. Have a good day at work!”
“Okay, honey. You enjoy your last couple days of summer vacation.”
Now that Dad was out of the house, Sylph padded over to her workout room. The weights, acquired in bulk lots ever since she was six years old, totaled tens of thousands of pounds in enormous lead discs and extra long, reinforced bars. Sylph no longer used machines, not because they weren’t a valid way to workout, but simply because none of them could be built with sufficient poundages to even give her a decent warmup. Last night’s workout had been a breakthrough for her, she thought- it was as if a wall she had been up against had finally been battered down, and she had been able to pound out rep after rep with just over a ton on her left arm. The one-ton mark had been a challenge for her, and it had remained her single-rep maximum for nearly six months, but something last night just clicked and her body responded. She didn’t think one ton was going to be a challenge ever again.
Flipping on the radio, she noticed that her dad had been down here recently- the tuner was turned to some eighties rock station. Wrinkling her nose, she scanned through the FM stations until she found one playing some Godsmack. That was more like it. Sylph quickly stretched out, then took the web-pack off the wall. This had been one of her father’s ideas. It resembled a standard weight vest, but was made of airplane cargo webbing. It could hold literally tons of weight without breaking, which is what she used it for. Loading it full with six five-hundred pound plates, Sylph first held it against her mammoth chest as she did 100 crunches, than 100 elbow-to-knee side crunches. Flipping it onto her back, Sylph proceeded to do a further 150 fingertip pushups, slowly and carefully lowering herself completely to the ground before shoving herself back up with perfect form and an agonizingly slow pace. Just starting to feel the burn, now, Sylph grabbed two half-ton short bars and quickly banged off a thousand jumping jacks. Her parents hated her doing that when they were home, as the entire house seemed to jump in time with her.
Dropping her weights (her parents hated that, too, but it was just so satisfying!), Sylph took one of the long bars and loaded it up with five thousand pounds. Grunting, she picked it up and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she curled it to her chest. Inhaling deeply, she lowered it to her waist, then curled it again. And again. Ten times. One set. Then two. Finally, three sets and she gently placed the weight back on the floor. She giggled when she noticed that her dainty fingers had left deep prints in the thick titanium bar. As she went from one exercise to the next, focusing on her arms and shoulders today, her thoughts drifted to NYU. She had only been to the campus once, and she hadn’t been able to spend the night, as she’d wanted, because they hadn’t had any space large enough to accommodate her at the time. She’d met several of her professors, though, and they seemed nice enough. And the gym was impressive for what it was. She expected that her father would donate most of their weightroom equipment to the university so that she could continue her workouts. I hope so. Otherwise, I might get…flabby… That thought was so ludicrous that Sylph had to laugh.
Finishing up her morning workout, Sylph toweled off and turned off the radio, than headed back into her room to finish dressing. Pulling out a nice wrap-skirt and t-shirt combination, she suddenly realized that she had grown some since the last time she had worn these. Whole inches, in fact. Pulling the skirt around her waist, she realized that it left a positively obscene amount of leg and buttock still exposed. She tossed it aside on the bed and tried the t-shirt. Exhaling as much as she could, she wriggled her enormous arms through the sleeves and managed-barely-to pull the rest of the shirt down so that it just barely covered her massive chest. Sylph breathed a sigh of relief.
{rrrriiiiiipp!!}
So much for that shirt. Damn, I liked that shirt, too! Thinking for a moment, Sylph went to her closet and pulled out a button down blouse. Maybe she could get this to fit over her chest? The tent like arms were a little snug, but seemed to be holding out okay.
Reaching for the bottom button, she heard the seams creaking. Oh, no! she thought, desperately trying to relax the flexion through her shoulders, but it was to late as both arms and the middle of the back all tore free.
What now? she wondered, looking around her room. She simply didn’t have any clothes to accommodate her frame anymore. She was going to have to make more, but she couldn’t exactly go to the fabric store dressed like she currently was, in only her bra and panties. Than an idea struck. Going back to her bed, she whipped off the topsheet and started folding it. Another topsheet from the laundry joined it, and several safety pins from her sewing kit.
“Today,” she announced, “I’m having a toga party!”
And… chapter two is now available. This is Sylph in Moving Day
Enjoy!
“Ow!”
{THUD…}
{tinkle…}
{CRASH!}
“Oh, no. Sorry, Daddy!”
Bill rounded the corner to discover his living room in shambles and his beautiful nineteen-year-old daughter, as usual, at the heart of it sucking on her left index finger. I love the girl, he thought, but thank God she’s moving out today! I just can’t afford this on my income.
“Oh, honey…” he began, then started over. “What happened?”
“Well, I was stitching up some of my old skirts- you know, the ones I outgrew the other day?” Bill nodded. At least she was handy at crafts. They really would be out of money, otherwise, the way she kept getting bigger.
“Well, I missed a stitch and stabbed my finger.” That explained why she had been sucking on it.
“I jumped to my feet…” That would have been the thud. Unsurprisingly, a couple of floorboards were cracked under her trainers.
“Then I pulled the needle out. It hurt so bad I threw it across the room…” Bill looked. Sure enough, the needle had blasted through the television (the tinkle he’d heard) like a shotgun shell and embedded itself deep in the brick wall behind it.
“I realized what I was doing at the last second, though, and I tried to catch it, but I tripped on the sofa.” That would be the 16-foot reinforced steel-and-wood framed couch now lying in twisted ruins in the corner of the room.
Bill just shook his head and rubbed his forehead. Sylph meant well- she always did- but she was just built on the wrong scale for the relatively fragile world she lived in. “Okay,” he muttered. “I can see how it happened. But Sylph, honey, you’ve got to learn to control yourself better. I have to go out and pick up the rental truck and trailer. While I’m gone, I need you to pick up this mess and get it out to the curb.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, sounding genuinely contrite.
“And then I need you to make sure all of your things are packed and ready to go. Especially your weight room!”
“Uh-huh. It’s mostly done. I’ve just got a couple more things to box up and I should be ready to go.”
“Good job, then. I’ll see you in about an hour,” he said. He kissed her forehead and left.
Sylph sighed looking at the devastated living room and shrugged her gargantuan shoulders. Might as well start with the little things, she thought. Walking over to the television, she unplugged the mammoth box and gently set it to one side, being careful not to crush it further. There was no way it could be salvaged, she knew, but she really didn’t want to spend the morning sweeping up shards of plastic and ballistic glass…
Looking at the tiny head of the pin sticking out of the brick behind the television, Sylph realized that there was no way she could get a grip on it- it was simply embedded too deeply. Unfortunately, enough of it stuck out that someone could scratch themselves or possibly tear their clothes on it. She decided it would have to go. Carefully, oh so carefully, Sylph forced her fingers into the mortar around the brick, then proceeded to squeeze her hands together ever so gently until she had a firm grip. A sharp tug, and the mortar still holding the brick along its top and bottom cracked and broke away and left Sylph holding the brick, now completely separated from the wall.
Dropping it into the trash, Sylph turned back to the television. The television had been something of a major luxury purchase for her family- a 65” rear-projection HDTV that had been modified at her father’s request to include a much stronger metal-and-plastic frame and one-inch thick ballistic glass covering the screen. The theory had been that Sylph would then be unable to accidentally break the television beyond repair as she was wont to do with so many other things in moments of distraction. Well, it made it nearly a year…
Sylph hoisted it up onto her left shoulder, snugging it on her enormous delt between her head and her left hand, grabbed the trash can with her right, and carried them to the back doors. Sliding open the glass doors, Sylph squatted down as low as she could and shuffled out on to the back porch. She wondered briefly if she could jump over the three-story Antebellum-styled house, but discarded the idea because she might land on something-or someone-unforseen on the other side. Grumbling, she hiked around to the front and set her first load down near the street. She felt a little bad for the garbage men who would be called to move this stuff- they’d probably need three or four large lads.
Heading back to the house, Sylph carefully slipped in the double doors and headed back to the living room. Sylph remembered when the sofa had been brought into the house. Several workmen had made several trips bringing it in sections, then spent some time bolting and soldering the entire frame together. It wasn’t going to come apart the same way, as the frame had buckled and twisted when she accidentally flipped it with her heel. Considering her options, she decided that the best method to get it outdoors would be to compress it down to a more manageable size and then carry the whole thing out through the back once again.
Setting to work, Sylph first folded the back of the sofa down over the seat. She left the cushions in place, figuring they would be easier to get out if they were compacted along with the rest of the couch. The metal frame groaned and the oak supports snapped like so much dry kindling, but the process went quickly. Next, she compressed each section further by forcing opposite corners together. Even though the sofa had been designed to hold literally thousands of pounds and each section was supported by series of triangular crossbraces, it simply could not resist the titanic forces Sylph used when she applied her back and chest to the exercise. After flattening a section, Sylph proceeded to bend it in half before starting on the next section, effectively accordioning the massive couch. Gently flipping it over, Sylph then folded each of the legs in against the utterly destroyed frame. When she finished, what had once been a 16-foot, extremely comfortable sofa had been reduced to a roughly three-foot wide by four-inch thick slab with roughly the same density as a block of concrete.
After carrying the couch out to the street, Sylph saw that she was nearly done in the living room. She dropped the broken floorboards into the trash on her way to the garage, grabbed a couple of replacements (this was nearly a daily occurrence, these days) and a couple of flooring nails. She considered grabbing a hammer since her finger was still a bit sore from where she had stabbed it, but decided it would be a waste of time-and possibly more flooring materials, as well. Replacing the floorboards took a matter of only a couple minutes as she set them in place, carefully set the nails, and deftly flicked them deep into the hickory boards. She decided she would wait until after she had finished moving all of her boxes into the truck before polyurethaning them- it was entirely possible, after all, that she would be replacing several more boards before the day was done…
Finally all that was left to do was to sweep up the debris from the wreckage, a task that took longer than any of the previous tasks simply because it required precision much more than strength. Satisfied, Sylph went down into the basement to make sure everything was ready to go. The cargo crates her father had acquired were only rated for two thousand pounds, each, so she had had to use quite a few in the weight room. Most of her bedroom, however, fit comfortably enough within just two crates. The hardest part was going to be getting her bed out. NYU was willing to accept reasonable expenses for students with special needs, but Sylph’s particular needs went far, far beyond what anyone would consider ‘reasonable.’
Sylph proceeded to unbolt the frame, carefully holding the lagbolts with her left hand and using the awesome power of her right wrist to loosen and remove the nuts, only a couple of which, she was pleased to note, had been crossthreaded. She figured she would correct that little issue when she put it back together in her new dorm room.
“Sylph, we’re home,” caroled her mother’s voice from the kitchen. Sylph bounded to the top of the stairs and swept her mom up in a hug and swung her around.
“You got the day off work!” she cried happily.
“Yes, dear. Would you mind setting me down so I can breathe again?” Sheepishly, Sylph put her mother back on the floor. Sylph’s mother, Diane, was actually a little taller than her daughter at 5’8”, and it was pretty easy to see where Sylph got her genetic predisposition towards building massive muscles. Diane had been an amateur bodybuilder for several years, but had quit when judges started criticizing her for being too big. Given that she had been a ripped two-hundred sixty pounds at the time, she felt this was an indication that it was time for her to get out of the sport. These days, she worked as a paramedic attached to the Cleveland Fire Department, and was widely regarded as one of the toughest workers in the business.
“That’s better. Your father is backing the trailer up to the house. Why don’t we start collecting your boxes and get them loaded up?” It was easy to guess that Dad wouldn’t be much help, there. Although reasonably fit, Bill simply could not keep up with the amazing physical prowess of either his wife or his daughter.
“Sure, Mom,” Sylph agreed.
Loading things up went fairly well. Bill helped direct the much stronger women in order to make the most efficient use of space and strapped things down once they were in place. For her part, Diane carried up the lighter crates (of which there were only a few) and left her daughter to carry up the larger and heavier ones two or three at a time.
Looking at the impressive stacks of crates, Sylph’s mother cocked an eyebrow. “Geez, dear. Did you leave any for your old man and me to play around with?”
“A couple, I swear. Actually, I left one of my smaller weight sets- about 500 pounds in various denominations, a couple of short bars, a straight bar, and a curl bar. And, of course, all the old machines that Daddy likes to use.”
With the trailer finally loaded up, Bill tossed a set of keys to his daughter. “Alright,” he said, “your mom and I are going to take the trailer. You drive the Ford. Stick close to us and call us if you get separated.”
The Ford Bill referred to was the modified F-350 that they owned. The front seat had been adjusted and pushed back to accommodate Sylph’s deep chest. They had bolted a new set of restraints to the frame of the truck, and the pedals had been shifted to the center of the floor to make room so that Sylph could get both shoulders fully inside the truck when she was driving and extended by nearly six inches so that her feet could reach them comfortably.
They had barely gone a mile when one of the tires on the trailer, not designed for the fantastic load it was supporting or else slightly worn through overuse, burst. As Sylph watched in horror, the entire truck slalomed across the slow lane before coming to rest in the ditch. Sylph immediately put on her flashers and pulled up behind her parents’ inoperable vehicle. Bill got out and scratched his head. “Well, shoot. I think there’s a spare, but I don’t think I can put it on at this angle.”
Both Sylph and her mom looked at him bemusedly. “Somehow, dear,” Diane said wryly, “I don’t think that’ll really be a problem.”
“Huh?” Bill looked speculatively at the two women he loved best in the world. “Well, you could be right at that. I’ll get the spare.”
While her dad got the tire, Sylph went over to the trailer. Standing back a little from the ruined wheel, Sylph got a grip on the trailer’s frame, took a wide stance, and lifted.
“Oh God,” she grunted, “it would have to break under all the weights.”
Her mom came over and stripped off her floral blouse so that she wouldn’t get it dirty while she worked. Gripping the tread of the tire with one hand to steady it and the rusted bolts with her other, Sylph’s mom quickly removed all four and then the tire, handing each back to Bill in turn. Bill pocketed the bolts but nearly dropped the tire when the weight was transferred from his wife’s capable arm to his substantially weaker frame.
“Oops. Sorry, honey. I thought you had it.”
“No… problem…” Bill grunted through clenched teeth.
“Now to attach the spare,” Diane chirped, slapping the massive tire into place. Bill handed her the bolts.
“Be careful not to over-torque them, honey,” he reminded her. This was a serious concern, since they didn’t have a torque wrench that would release pressure when the maximum load was reached- all they had was his wife’s sensitive fingers and powerful wrists.
Finally finished changing the tire, Sylph gently set the trailer back on the ground, noting with some satisfaction that her quads were really feeling the burn. Moving to the front of the truck, Sylph and Diane each took ahold of the frame of the doors and carefully dragged the truck back out of the ditch and back onto the relatively flat shoulder.
“Hm. Looks like the spare is riding a little low,” said Bill, examining their work with a critical eye. Let me go get the pump.” Moments later he was back. There was no pump.
“We’ll just have to call triple-A, I guess,” he moaned.
“Umm. Maybe not, Daddy. Let me have a shot at it, okay?”
Going over to the slightly deflated tire, Sylph put her mouth against the valve and, using her tongue to just barely force in the plug, blew with all the force she could muster. The tire seemed to virtually leap to full inflation from the power of Sylph’s lungs. It took several breaths, of course, but the pressure she was able to create just with the contraction of her mighty diaphragm was more than enough to equal the most powerful of electric pumps. Her father, carefully testing the tire between her breaths, warned her when to stop to avoid over-inflating the tire.
Sylph got up and spit the taste of rubber and metal and road-grease out of her mouth. “Yuck,” she complained.
The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful, although they raised quite a few eyebrows when they stopped at a restaurant for lunch and Sylph and her mother together proceeded to wolf down in excess of five pounds of meat not including sides and drinks. Bill paid for everything on his credit card and they got back underway.
Arriving on campus, they spent the rest of the day unloading and moving everything into Sylph’s new dormroom, an immense single in the bottom of the chemical-free dorm. After another large meal, Sylph’s parents kissed and hugged their daughter and said their goodbyes.
“Any plans for tomorrow, young lady?” asked Sylph’s mother.
“I’m not too sure. I’ve gotta finish unpacking, of course, and then I thought I might check out the library. And maybe the gym…”
Probably the last one I’ll be able to do for a few days, as certain other responsibilities are piling up… Here’s Chapter 03.
{Cree-ee-eak…}
{Crash!}
“Oh, phooey,” Sylph grimaced. Obviously, the heavily built lounge chair was not as sturdy as it had first appeared. Glancing about, she saw that several people had already noticed the fresh wreckage she had created and were moving towards her.
“Hi there,” said a tall, sandy-haired boy. “You must be Sylph.”
“Um, yeah,” she admitted, reddening slightly.
“I’m Wade Thomas. I’m your student liason. Can I help you up?”
“Thanks,” she managed, “but I doubt it.” Ignoring his proffered hand, Sylph opted to stand unassisted. Sylph’s hand-tailored dress, a muumuu on any other woman, gripped her mammoth frame like cling-film. Wade suddenly appeared to notice the radical difference in their sizes and chuckled self-consciously.
“Sorry. I guess you might be right, at that.”
A very prim matronly woman with a silver bun had finally reached them and was wringing her hands. “Oh dear, oh dear. I do hope you’re alright, young lady. I’m so sorry. We’ll have someone from custodial come deal with this immediately.”
“I’m fine, ma’am. Really,” Sylph replied dusting herself off. “Nothing damaged but my pride.”
“So,” Wade cut in, drawing her away from the distraught librarian, “you’re an art student?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s neat. Have you seen our student art exhibits over in the Washington Square East galleries?”
“Not yet. I just got in yesterday, and I haven’t really had a chance to acquaint myself with the campus. I saw the Storefront/Forefront exhibit a couple of years ago, though.”
“Hey, really? I had a piece in there,” Wade remarked, proudly.
“Wait- did you do Missing Persons?” Sylph asked incredulously.
“Wow- you remember it?” Wade held the door open for Sylph as they stepped out onto 78th street.
“How could I forget? That was a fantastic piece. Very subtle, the way the shadows seemed to indicate more people than were actually visible in the painting- your medium is normally photography, isn’t it?”
“How’d you know?” Wade asked, slightly nonplussed.
“Your attention to detail! It was incredible,” Sylph gushed. “It was like the background was actually alive.”
“Huh,” Wade mused, looking up the street. “Well, I wish the critics agreed with you. I got pretty roundly panned, actually.”
“That’s so unfair,” Sylph snorted. “Maybe the critics just didn’t understand what they were seeing.”
“Maybe,” Wade conceded. “Shoot. I was hoping we’d be able to get a cab, but it looks like the streets are just too packed. It’s going to take hours to get across town. I don’t think I can even get to my car.”
Sylph looked at him sympathetically. “Where are you parked?”
“I’m in one of the student lots about a mile from here,” Wade grimaced. “If I can’t get my car out in the next fifteen minutes, they’re going to charge me another fifty bucks for overstaying my welcome.”
“Hmm. Tell you what. Why don’t we hike there and see if we can get you out before you have to pay any extra, and you can tell me all about yourself on the way.”
Wade shrugged. “I suppose it can’t hurt. And walking is good exercise, right?”
Sylph laughed. “That’s the spirit. Lead on, MacDuff!”
As they walked, they chatted and Sylph learned that Wade originally hailed from Nebraska, had grown up as a farmboy (his nickname throughout his freshman year had been “Cornfed”), and had originally come to NYU on an athletic scholarship for, of all things, swimming. Sylph noted that she used to enjoy swimming, but that she really didn’t like to go in the water much anymore.
“Why not?” Wade asked curiously.
“Well, look at me,” Sylph commented. Wade looked. She was, as he had already noticed, very, very big. Unnaturally so, if he was completely honest. She certainly didn’t look unhealthy, though…
“I swim with about the same skill as a brick,” she said wryly. “I just don’t float, anymore.”
“What, even with those enormous airbags in front?” he bantered.
Sylph stuck out her tongue at him. “Those are pecs, wiseass!”
Wade grinned impishly.
Arriving at the parking garage, Wade was dismayed to discover a traffic snarl that reached around the block. “Oh, no,” he moaned. “We’ll never get my car out in time, now.”
Sylph, on the other hand, seemed utterly unperturbed as they breezed by the parking attendant and into the lot. “Which car is yours?” Sylph asked.
Wade pointed to a green Dodge Caravan. “That’s kind of a cute car,” Sylph commented as she sauntered over. “Why don’t you hop in and we’ll see if we can get her out.”
Wade shrugged and unlocked the doors with his key. He hopped in the driver’s seat and reached over to the passenger side door when he noticed that Sylph was still on his side of the car. “Hey,” he called. “What gives?”
Sylph winked at him. “Better buckle up. I’ve never tried this with a passenger, before,” she beamed. Confused, Wade reached over his shoulder and fastened his seat belt. At about the same time, he felt the minivan suddenly tip sharply towards the passenger’s side. Looking out the windshield, it appeared as if the world had suddenly turned at a forty-five degree angle for a moment. The sensation passed quickly, though, as the passenger side also lifted free of the earth and the vehicle started to move forward out of its space.
“How’s the ride up there,” Sylph called from somewhere underneath him.
It took Wade a moment to find his voice. “N-not bad,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Might need to do some work on the shocks, though. I seem to be bouncing about a bit more than usual.”
Sylph grinned widely and sank into a half crouch, smoothing out her gait as she suspended the nearly two-ton vehicle above her head. “Is that better?”
“Much,” Wade replied in amazement.
Approaching the parking attendant, Sylph dropped much lower so that Wade could just manage to pay him by leaning out his door and dropping some change into the dumbstruck attendant’s hand. “You’re never gonna get that into traffic,” the attendant finally managed.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Sylph caroled. “We’re going to an art gallery. It’s only a couple of miles, so I thought we’d just walk.”
As Sylph turned onto the wide sidewalk, lifting the car far above her head so that she didn’t accidentally clip any other pedestrians, Wade leaned back out. “Are you sure about this Sylph? It’s more than just a couple of miles- it’s closer to, like, ten miles.”
“It’s sweet of you to worry, Wade, but believe me when I tell you that this isn’t really that much of a burden for me. Why don’t you just give me directions and we’ll see if we can’t find someplace to leave your car that’s a bit more amenable for us being away from it for a few hours.”
Wade, thoroughly enjoying his unique new perspective, graciously conceded to Sylph’s wishes and started directing her through the busy Manhattan streets, being careful to avoid areas with low hanging banners or other obstacles. Not far from the gallery, Sylph spotted a parking space on the street with a meter that someone had left nearly full. Carefully setting the minivan into the space, Sylph stepped around to Wade’s side and grandly gestured for him to step out of the car.
Smiling widely, Wade did as instructed, then turned to face the ravishing beauty who had saved him from the tyranny of New York parking fares. She was covered in grime and dirt from the undercarriage of his car. “Oh, no!” he wailed. “Hold on- I have some towels and some mineral spirits in the back. We should be able to get the worst of that gunk off before it completely sets.”
“I should’ve thought about this before I got under your car,” Sylph sighed. “I guess that’s another dress shot to hell.” Wade delivered the promised cleaning products and Sylph proceeded to quickly towel off her hair, hands, and face, wincing when the fumes from the alcohol got in her eyes. “Ow! That stings!”
Having cleaned up as much as she could, Sylph handed the soiled towels back to Wade and they proceeded into the gallery. Several hours later, thoroughly exhausted, yet strangely elated they exited the building. Wade thanked Sylph again for her help and asked her what her plans were for the evening.
“Tonight?” she mused. “I hadn’t given it much thought. I suppose I’ll go home and grab a shower, than I need to get some food. I’m famished.”
“So… Will I see you tomorrow?” Wade asked hopefully.
“You’d better,” Sylph growled playfully. “I still need help getting signed up for classes!”
Just another quick one for White0wlsuperheroine’s Heroine Appreciation Day:
Since she’d started working for Boglyn, the company’s already exceptionally good record of accident avoidance and worker safety had only improved, and Jesse Boglyn had no doubt that Sylph was largely responsible. For that reason, the construction mogul had done a couple of very intelligent things; first, he’d promoted her to site supervisor with a more than commensurate salary increase— he wasn’t about to let Sylph go without a fight— and, second, he started assigning her to jobs where her unique attributes could make the difference between a disaster and a spotless job completed. So far, he hadn’t been disappointed.
Well, that was a policy that was about to pay dividends; Sylph was just closing up for the night when she spotted a couple kids sneaking onto the site. They had managed to hotwire a forklift before she got to them, and they’d run off without disengaging the drivetrain. Unfortunately, the heavy machine had been aimed at a few barrels of propane, and Sylph, herself, just couldn’t fit inside the cockpit to turn it off.
She’d grabbed the back end of the lift with one arm and a wall with her other and, having learned since her first, ill-conceived attempt to resist both the weight and the power of the engine when she’d started working, hoisted the wheels off the ground. She remained in basically that same position for about an hour and a half until Wade, wondering why she hadn’t made it home for dinner, dropped by and rescued her.
“So… next time,” Wade quipped, “maybe you should call me before you engage in acts of stunning heroics, eh?”
“Smartass,” Sylph grumped, “you owe me ice cream.”
“What for?” Wade protested.
“For being an hour late!”
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