Classic Powers

‘I’ll stick with the Classic,’ you inform your trainer as you clock out after thinking about it through your shift, ‘I'm awesome either way, and with Classic I'm not going to get kryptonited, so I'm always awesome.’

“All right then,” he agrees. “Once you're done with your afternoon classes, we'll do some exercises, and then accept delivery.”

Oh, right, you did agree to that. ‘Sounds good.’ You go through your afternoon classes, having some issues paying attention, but at least the ring keeps the laughter down this time.

This time around, you remember the clothing problem, and strip in the relative privacy of a stall in the third floor library women's room before starting.

“Okay, so I want you to switch, and focus on how it feels,” the dragon ring begins once you are ready.

You tap the titanium ring twice with the thumb on your right hand, and again feel that strange pinching, like someone is grabbing your skin and pulling… except it's all of your skin, all at once. It's not painful, but… well, it is weird. You also feel that tension… and you go from a nude librarian to an emerald-clad Amazon.

“Great.” Your teacher continues, “Now, try to remember that feeling. Cancel the effect, and duplicate the sensation in your mind, without actually tapping the ring.”

You do your best to remember what it feels like… the pinching… and nothing happens. After a minute of sitting naked and trying to remember the feeling, your teacher interrupts, “That's okay, nobody gets it on the first _several_ tries. Activate the ring with your thumb and pay attention to the sensations…”

After twenty iterations of not getting it, your teacher calls a halt, “Time to stop; you're starting to feel the strain a bit too much. We'll need to pick this up tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I am the worst…” you complain as you get dressed, steadying yourself on one of the stall walls, as you are starting to feel a little light- headed.

“Hardly,” the ring chuckles, “Not getting it for the first several dozen tries is normal. And even without succeeding at the designated task… you're still exercising your soul, still running through the motions of the transformation over and over. Keep at it and you'll get there: The question is ‘when’, not ‘if’.” A breath, “Now let's go get my workshop-to-be.”

“Yeah, sure…” good thing you have the Bluetooth, you're too tired to speak without speaking as you wash your hands, “Oh, and I've been meaning to ask: What's up with the pausing to breathe?”

“Habit, mostly,” the old man in a tweed jacket where your reflection should be shrugs, “but also a little practicality. When I was alive, I needed to breathe. Now I don't need to, but speech sounds wrong without that occasional pause, so I haven't seen a need to break the habit.”

“I see…” you dry your hands off, and head down to pick up the RV.

As you're sitting in the designated parking lot, waiting, a stinky hand cups your mouth from behind as an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you out of the lights, “Don't worry girl, I'm not going to kill you if you're nice to m…”

That's as far as he gets, because you shoot up a couple feet and pack on dozens of pounds of muscle in a moment, break his hold as easily as an adult does a toddlers, reach behind yourself, grab him by the scruff of the neck, and bodily lift and throw the idiot.

As he goes screaming through the air out of sight into the night, the ring speaks up, “Hey, you got it! Good job. Now relax before you hurt yourself too badly. Also…” a sickening crunch echoes through the parking area, bringing a very abrupt halt to the screaming “...I'm not one to judge how a lady defends herself from a ****, but did you intend to kill the bastard?”

“Ah… no…” you wobble a bit and sit down, shedding the extra height and muscle… as well as the green covering, which is when you realize you destroyed another outfit… but getting up to do anything about it seems like a bad idea right now, “...but good riddance.”

“Okay,” the Ring pauses, "I can relieve the worst of the strain if you'll lend me your body a minute so I can get to the cards.”

“Yeah,” you begin in control, and “sure” you complete from ‘the back seat’.

The ring sorts through the index cards in your purse, and you get a good look at them: Dozens of simple 3x5 cards, each of which has some strange and highly detailed symbol written on it in faintly glowing gold. The man running your body quickly sorts through them, and collects two. One he focuses on: It starts to brown and he spins it away in the same direction you threw the ****. The other he focuses on and presses to your forehead as it bursts into flame… which fortunately…

Oh. “Hey, that feels better,” you say, finding out you're in the driver's seat again… you're feeling several drinks in, but you can operate. “What'd you do?”

“It's functionally an anesthetic.” He pauses, “Your soul still has the ‘pulled muscle’, but the bits of you that process that are taking a nap right now. Don't make any major decisions until you've had some real sleep, because you are not firing on all cylinders right now, but you can function.”

“And what was the other card?” You’re housed, but can still think.

“Oh, that…” he chuckles.