February 12, 2016:

Wonder Woman meets with a legend..

Halls of Justice


NPCs: Cinderella

Mentions: None


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


Legends were a staple since the dawn of mankind.
Stories that were told and often modified to fit and fold the bill, sometimes to remake and made anew to teach lessons that span across a thousand lifetimes. Legends are born from something simple as helping a woman cross the street. Or picking a baby from the garbage can from which it was discarded. Legends could be born from the truth and told as a lie, again.. and again.. and again.. touching on the very inspiration in which we draw from and imagination that gives us the means and the will to thrive.

For even a man who was down on his luck, depressed and ready to rid the world has that imagination that when he's gone? The world would be a better place.

If one single man with an ill thought could hope, have that power, that will and dare to dream for others, what would happen if that was all gone? Done away, with just a single stroke of the blade that made these stories what they were.

The Hall of Justice was quiet this night. Most of the people who worked and often lived here gone out into the town for their week of couples celebration; valentines day. Galentines day. Guy movies or whatever it was called, they were out having a ball.

But, even when there was no one working the helms, the large screen within the Hall of Justice slowly begins to lower, the loud sound of static bellowing out like a warcry as an image begins to flicker.

Diana had nothing planned. Valentine's day was not of her acknowledgement, nor of any 'status': she was dating Batman.

But let's digress….

Pos training the straps of 'protection' that wrapped her writs and knuckles are slowly being undone as Wonder Woman exits the training room, winding one around the other and then discarding it in pasing in a nearby bin before having her silent thoughts and introspection brought forward to a flickering screen that reflects back upon cerulean gaze.

Upon that screen was a face. Gentle. One would recognize those features and not quite figure out where. At least unless they were a fan. The golden hair rests upon a bright blue dress, her makeup scoured and nearly drawn along cheeks that were once red but now pale. Her strikingly blue eyes matched Diana's own, but the backdrop of her eyes were red. She looked to be crying.

"Diana.." The Princess spoke, her hands outstretched, planted upon the screen. "Diana Prince? Are you there?"

A fist curls around the final wraps, the ones meant to be discarded from the training and instead are gathered upon opposing in the transitional removal. A glance and then away, trying to remove the scenario as a fluke but then..

It spoke.

And even with the expsed shoulders of the 'T' backed workout shirt one can see the flux and tension of muscles draw upon the Amazonian.

Pausing the contoura are all the questioning spectre can see in response as well as a single hand extending and the ribbon of wrapping falling into the bin beside her.

"Yes." The single word spoken with far more finality then the tense posture could give away.

"Oh my god! I can't believe it! I mean, they said that you would be here. Right at this very moment. They said that you would be -right- there and I could ask, at least beg you to help us! Because we're really needing it right now.."

The woman looked almost frantic, her fingers curling against the glass as she takes a step back. "And.." Her voice lowers a touch.

"I don't have much time."

The background begins to move as the womans hands disappear, it seems as if she were walking from the way her hair bounced.. no. Running. And once the background seemingly turned dark with only the view of the womans face, she wipes away a little at her face and smiles.

"You probably won't believe me. Some people don't think that we are real but in essense we are. In some place, some world we're as real as you. You can touch us. You can feel us. You can sometimes talk to us. And you know all about us, well.. not all but only what is written." She laughs a little, but the tears fall from her eyes.

"My name is Cinderella."

A moment. That' all it was was the back view of trapezius' fluxes and then relaxes beneath olive toned skin.

But then shouldrs shake.

As well as that of her head thatbears tendrils of sweat moistened ends of onyx hair that was trapped away from her face for the training session.

Over her shoulder that gaze now rests upon the screen, followed by that of her body to give it it's full attention. "You ask belief of a woman borne of a god believed fallacy by most?" But in the inquiry Diana's head tilts.

"What does one fantasy want of another?"

There was a look of abstract hurt upon the young Princess' face, her lips curling into a trembled frown but a show of relief was given as she lets out a little sigh. Diana was willing to listen, she recognized her. The laugh, or the lift and bounce of shoulders were probably just a touch of irony.

"A savior." Isn't that what they all want?

"We were all created for a reason. Mainly as lessons that parents would teach and pass down to their own. And their own would pass to theirs.. and theirs.."

A loud clacking is heard within the background, the screen fading black, only allowing the row of diamonds to be seen as if she were pressing her screen against her chest. After a moment, the sound stills and she pulls away, afraid. But she presses on.

"I suppose the same is for you, people speak your name and their imaginations soar. The inspiration flies.. but imagine a world without that inspiration. Imagine -yourself- without the lessons of wisdom that we.. and you yourself have taught, and imagine yourself unleashed upon the world as such." She pauses, her voice growing lower.

"We all are that important that the Powers that Be designated a Protector. Who kept our stories flowing. Who allowed us to live and be free without staining the design. And he turned on us. He kills us."

There is a brief moment that Diana's eyes fall from the screen, and seem in search. But there is nothing upon that cold stone marble floor that she will find to say in a moments notice… Given time and further talk from this… Cinderella though and she does.

"And what do you want of me?" Hands then lift palms up. But just before those hands rotate the knuckles show blistering, cracking and peeling. Wearing of the mind on the outside.

Vembraces flash and palms are up and out with fingers splayed but as that occurs Diana is approaching the large screen, a twist of a single wrist and from implanted device to projection, Cinderella is now basically standing in the middle of the room and Diana's hands are nearly upon the image but in a way a child told said stories would try and grasp a reality…

"Killed you how?" A pause and the desire to touch falls away with a hand coming to Diana's side just upon outer thigh where it forms into a fist.

"Stop playing, speak fast and make sense. If you ask for a savior you may very well have one, but I do not play well with lies."

"You are one of us."

The words were a little bit of finality, a little sorrowful smile upon her face as she watches the screen. The way that Diana flicks her hand and brandishes her own version of magic is completely missed. For Diana could see her backdrop, or the way she holds herself there after.

It looked to be ten o'clock, Cinderella dressed in a ballgown of beautiful blue, shoes made of ice. Yet, the dress itself was torn near the bottom and tattered, covered, hair that was once pinned up now half fallen and nearly sheared. The closet itself was a vast grasp of darkness, yet one could see the elaborate shoes that remain a mess upon the floor that the woman half kneels, sits upon. And she was holding a mirror. A mirror in which she uses to speak to Diana. Gifted by the Powers That Be.

"I don't know how." She shakes her head almost sorrowfully.

"We just know that The Protector does." She lowers her voice a little. "Little Red Riding Hood was murdered as well as her grandmother and the Axeman. The wolf flayed open quite possibly with his own teeth. There is no order nor madness to the designs that The Protector now has.. but he was once a gentle man and my friend."

Her face crumples ever so sadly, as her breath catches. "He killed my Prince Charming.."

She shakes her head quietly, then speaks quickly. "The Powers that Be gifted him with the tools to make sure that we stay alive and keep the magic for the children going.. and he's turned it against us. I.. the Powers want you to save him, which would save us but most of us would rather see him gone.."

Those words were hushed, harsh, a look of anger clouding the sad and delicate features. "There are others upon this quest but you being as you are, once he is finished with us he will come for you all. And you all need to be united, even if you are not with each other.. your hearts.. they all need to be in /one/ place."

Diana did not back away from the digitally formed figure, instead slowly she walked around her, this Cinder (as that was all that was left of her now), and then stopped where she started. There was nothing of malice or pride in her gait, but that of curiousity and thought - every stride drawing a further depth and dance to the lines upon Aphroditic facade.

The final words are what brings Diana's attention back upon the image of the fabled entity, her bare feet pausing before glass slipper'd and then her tall figure into a crouch before, to bring them eye to eye.

"You can never be truly finished Cinderella. Even to Amazon's the stories have been leaked." Let's not say how Cinderella slain the 'man in the Moon' himself with her very beauteous wiles to keep outpast midnight and have what she loved, in turn bearing his light within shoes that take her distances of the 'moon and back' in heartbeats.

…another time…

"That can be done as it has been before."

The mirror's magic was effective to the point that as Diana moves, it remains upon her. Cinderella could see the woman walking, the mirror itself like a moving picture camera, watching the gait, frowning.. straightening her back. Was she being inspected?

True, there were many stories of Cinderella. Some told in a moments of salaciousness and some where she was a hero. The hero who stood up against her sisters and saw justice from the mistreatment and abuse she's suffered over the years. And the justice, in her heart and mind.. was beautiful.

"I know.." She quietly says. There was sadness there, her shoulders slumping as the mirror itself slowly begins to lower, the sound of an axe hitting the wood in the distance as splinters begin to fall upon the floor, into her hair.. a fleck landing upon the mirror..

"Diana.." Cinderella states, the look upon her face was true terror, her eyes widening so much that her mouth parts into a scream.. but there was no sound from her mouth…

..The only sound was the fall of the mirror and shattering of the glass as the screen.. the effigy of what once was Cinderella.. goes dark.

Johnny Storm heads out to Avenue of Tomorrow.

Every blow, every impact in the backdrop of the effigy of Cinderella can be heard and with it Diana's fisted hand tightens to the point flexor muscles above the silver bracers of submission foreshadow…

Lips part and despite her desir to 'not believe' a whisper passes. "Cinderella…" A rise of her opposing hand, not yet fisted, comes to rise to the digitaliized projection and then pauses as it breaks and shatters to curl into a fist as well.

"Hearts can always be in one place, but in worlds like yours - and ours, it is only a sign of weakness for evil to prey upon."

A pause in her seeming musings as Diana looks around, soothing a hand over her face and downward. "A cold shower would suffice.."

mother of Zeus, some times, some things….

Are just too much.


A little girl plays in her room, the dolls bouncing around within her lap as she mashes them together in the form of a kiss. "Oh I love you so much!" "No I love you more!" Muah muah muah muah!

"Alright Lyla, time for bed!" A woman calls out, stepping into her room to turn on the lights fully, a smile warming her face as she stares at the little girl.

But what they both do not see are the wall decals, decorated with the cartoon-y face of Cinderella, the paper itself crawling and crumpling until it's nothing but black dust.

Upon her bookshelf, where the story of the young woman sat begins to dissolve into black ichor, the only sound is the rest of the books that smack against each other in the absense of something that was once there…

"Mommy? What was that?"
"It's just.." The woman hesitates. "Shut up."

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