Quelling a riot

You have a three-hour break after Chemistry class, which is good because you're having trouble concentrating. You have to try and figure out what dark secrets Grandma thought could end her career, and that wouldn't have died with her last year. It's the only way to protect your self from ****; sure he's way too tough, but he has to pay for what he... huh?

You step out onto the commons and into a full-fledged riot. Two, maybe three hundred students are running around. Some of them are beating on each other, some are trashing the lawn furniture. Somebody's spray-painted nipples and a pussy on the statue of Victoria Woodhull, arguably the first woman President of the US, if only for fifteen minutes or so. Everything is a blur of students and bystanders and it would take an army of police to sort things out.

Or one superhero.

You're swept into the crowd before you can duck back into the building to change. There's no way a girl who looks more than half anarchist is going to stop them but you need some privacy. Your costume isn't designed to work with underwear and you'd rather not have public nudity listed among your powers. If only they would give you some breathing space... that's it!

Ignore me.

You're the center of an eight-foot circle of clear space. People aren't deliberately avoiding you, their eyes just sort of slide off and go elsewhere instead of looking. It's not ideal, but it'll do. Even so, you want to do this fast.

You quickly unlace your boots and pull them off; socks go in next. You pull your pants and panties down in one motion. Finally your tee and push-up come off. You grab your costume out of your backpack and stuff the clothes in. A guy stares wide-eyed for a moment, then loses you when he turns to his buddy. Bottoms on, neck loop over the head, pull back-strap and fasten. Put wayward right boob into costume. Pull on the boots and hit the stud that turns the leather stiff. Gloves on, then switch from sunglasses to infinity-eyes. You're you!

You put your backpack 30 feet up a tree where it can only be menaced by squirrels, then turn to the crowd. A few people look up and point, but nowhere near enough. You contact CUNT-ball.

"Can you amplify my voice? If so, how loud?"

"Approximately 85 decibels."

"Do it." You quickly spot the epicenter of the disturbance and hover fifteen feet above it. "LISTEN TO ME!" They do. "EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" That one isn't going over so well; they've got too much adrenaline to just turn it off. You need a way to distract them. "CUNT-BALL I NEED... STOP AMPLIFYING! Now, what do crowds do that isn't rioting?"

"Movies, theatre, concerts, dances, ..."

"That's it! CUNT-Ball, play some music karaoke-style and feed me the lyrics and music. Anything that'll get these people dancing." Four years of singing lessons are about to pay off. The music starts; you're not familiar with the tune, but it's a pretty simple one.

"Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, Gonna grab some afternoon delight, My motto's ..."

Oh shit, this is a sex song. But they're listening, and they're not fighting. You go for it. When that song ends it starts up an unfamiliar disco song; when the chorus starts "Let's get PHYSICAL" you realize that CUNT-ball has done it again. You try silent communication during the bridge.

Where are you getting these songs from, CB?

Your grandmother's play-list.

How many sex songs are there?

Quite a few, though she always ended with "Also Sprach Zarathustra;" the crescendo always pushed her over the edge and drenched me.

Grandma you geriatric tart!

Do you wish to know when she last had sex?

No! Just... (sigh)... keep playing.

When things finally settle down you seem to have created quite a few couples and the only crimes are disorderly behavior and public nudity. You ask a few people what started it and they point to a guy with a bullhorn at his feet and a coed's face on his crotch. You grab him by his shirt and lift him a couple of feet off the ground; the coed stands up and keeps sucking.

"Why did you start this?"

"I didn't start it, she did. Oh babe, that's good." He points at a conservatively-dressed girl who's locking lips with a conservatively-dressed guy.

"And...?"

"I was just starting a chant in support of making the campus a free-use zone and she started hitting me."

"Free use? You mean public sex, don't you?"

"Yeah. Just like we've... oh yeah... got. Thanks for supporting the cause. You've got a great voice, by the... oh right there... way. What's your super-name? Are you... no claws baby... busy later?"

You sigh in disgust and drop him; the co-ed falls. You consider shouting out that the party's over and it's time to get dressed, but realize it wouldn't work anyway. You get your backpack and start looking for a private place to change back.

"Hey, you!"

A police woman is calling to you. She's tall, blonde, a year or two older than you and sort of busty. She looks kind of familiar...

You give the "who, me?" gesture and float down to her when she nods.

"Did you do this?" She sweeps her arms to indicate the love-in around you.

"I'm sorry officer, but it started as a riot. I needed to get them doing something–"

"Don't sweat it; you're Nudge, right?"

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"Thanks for helping my sister Bunny last night. She's really stoked about being a super-model."

"You're Astonishing Girl's sister?"

"Yeah. Last night I was a kidnap victim. Anyway, thanks again."

She holds out her hand; when you take it she yanks you down, wraps an arm around your waist and puts you in a lip lock. With tongue. You're so surprised you take it, floating on your back at necking altitude. Music starts playing up your spine.

I kissed a girl and I...

Shut up, CUNT-Ball.