Featuring: Headmaster McNeil, Daedelus
Where: On the road, in McNeil's Astin-Martin Vanquish/Freedom League HQ
When: Thursday night
There were definitely certain benefits to being a retired superhero and a multi-multi-millionaire captain of industry, not the least of which was having access to tech that most normals wouldn't see in their lifetimes, or possibly even that of their children's. As the auto-pilot kicked in, the Aston-Martin began to cruise towards the penthouse that McNeil and his daughter Callie shared, Duncan took the time to flip through the pages of the evening edition of the Freedom City Ledger, noting with dismay that a battle between Megastar and the Maestro had left the latter hospitalized with a fractured pelvis and numerous other injuries. Shaking his head, he muttered, "It's not the old days anymore... better try and track down Chris at some point. The boy's going wild...".
His ruminations, however, were interrupted by the beeping of the car's in-dash phone, and saying, "Answer" as he slid back and reclined in the rollback recliner seat, the optional massage making his leg feel a tiny bit better, he was surprised to hear a rather proper, slightly Mediterranean accented voice speaking to him.
"You called?", the voice said, in a somewhat irritated tone, "I just returned from a week-long excursion to L'Cote d'Ivorie. Apparently Simian was trying to create a group of super-apes, but her device was easy enough to reverse, given a little time. Your message said you had something pressing to speak with me about."
"Ah.... Daniel... I was hoping you'd get back to me at some point. I've got a student that, well, frankly, I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep his brain occupied. If I had half of the smarts he does, I'd still be in the suit and going strong. Problem is, he's got about zero percent self-confidence. I was hoping that you could maybe have a talk with him at some point? Maybe share a few pointers, give him some pep to run off of."
"Duncan, you should know full-well I don't do the whole mentoring thing anymore. I've tried and I've tried, and every time I get involved with a youngster with more talent than anyone knows what to do with, they go sour. I couldn't hack it as a father and I've not done any better since."
Scowling slightly and taking a sip from the brandy glass that rested in the cupholder next to him, Duncan replied, "Just so you know, Daedelus, this kid's about as much the polar opposite of Takahashi as you are Talos. And if that doesn't help, try this one on for size. He's got one of Mark's Centuritrons that he refitted into a suit like yours. He may as well have painted a damn bullseye on himself, but I'll tell you what, he could give YOU a run for your money when he's got the clamshell on. AND he fixed one of your replicators."
The line seemed to have gone dead, and a pall of silence hung in the car's interior, not a peep save for the super-quiet air conditioning. After almost five minutes, the voice crackled back to life, if only briefly. "One month from now, Duncan, and only then for a short while. I'm not going to get my hopes dashed for the millionth time. And we're now even for the Hades thing."
As the phone clicked off, McNeil sat back, almost laying down completely as the car wended it's way towards the city. Taking another sip of brandy, McNeil opened the paper back up to the Sports page. The Rockets won. It was a good night.
Summary: McNeil gets a phone call.