Sapphire Blitzed

Comments to imagineer47@yahoo.com

Ricky hung up and put down his pencil. He looked at the oversize sketch he'd started after talking with Jim in the morning. The ugly overmuscled minotaur, falling backwards into the foreground, his bull's head tilted back at an awkward angle, punch lines tracing from the point of impact on his chin. The heroine floating in mid-air over him, one impossibly-long leg extended before the minotaur's chin, sweep line tracing the arc of the kick. Whoosh lines marked her incredible twenty-yard attack leap, her descent articulated by her long flapping cape. The heroine wore a tube top and tight miniskirt, windowpane highlights indicating the liquid-smooth glossy texture. A halo of straight black hair surrounded her face, a narrow band crossing her forehead. He'd been working on the sketch through his conversation with Angela, filling in the heroine's face.

It was Angela's face.

"Yeah, I wish," he smirked.

The voice made the hairs on the back of Angela's neck stand up. She put down the PowerBar and peeked over the row of cracker boxes toward the register. A large army-green canvas coat, baggy black pants and Doc Martens stood between her and Azmid, the man working the register.

"This is the second time this month," Azmid complained. "Don't you know this is supposed to be the quiet part of town?" He didn't seem particularly afraid.

The hot dog warmer went crashing to the floor. "Empty the register!" the robber repeated. He stepped forward, leaning over the counter; Angela could see by the reflection in the beer fridge glass door that the invader's gun barrel was up Azmid's nose.

"Okay, okay, no need to make a mess..." Azmid reached down gingerly, kachinging open the cash drawer. "Would you like a bag? Here..." he began emptying the register drawer by feel, unable to look down. This made it take longer.

Angela ducked down.

Well, this sucked. She'd been carrying the gems and shoes around with her lately, but hadn't thought as far as actually changing into a costume "in the field." She couldn't exactly strip naked in the snack aisle while someone held up the place. Besides, she didn't want Azmid to figure out she was the one who stopped the robbery last month. (And the way he looked at her gave her the creeps when she was fully clothed; the thought of him seeing her in her underwear made her skin crawl.) But she couldn't just let the crook get away with it...

Without thinking things through, Angela slipped out of her sandals and slipped on her Sapphire heels, then slipped on her Sapphire wristbands. Her mind raced for an idea; she didn't have much time... she heard the register slam closed. It was now or never. Angela slowly stepped out of the aisle. She'd planned to let out a mock gasp to announce her presence, but upon seeing the man there, his gun pointed right at Azmid's head, her gasp was real. He was huge. And dirty. And scary-looking. His eyes locked hers for an instant -- she felt his crazed determination bore through her.

She pointed at his foot. "Um, mister, y-y-your shoe's untied..." She focused a force-blast. His foot slid sideways a bit, but the man barely lost his balance. Her long-sleeve shirt reduced her power to a nudge.

"What the fuck? You throwin' things at me?" He shot a quick angry glance at her, but kept his gun in Azmid's face. "C'm'ere," he snarled. Angela stood, frozen. "Now!" he shouted. She stepped toward him tentatively, testing her power as she went; she couldn't levitate. In fact, she couldn't really control the force at all; she stumbled off-balance, leaning up against the rack of Car Traders. Damn, she forgot the tiara.

"Stop right there!" he barked. She froze, just three feet from him. To Azmid: "You! Out from behind the counter. Face down on the floor!" Azmid raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he quickly complied.

The robber's eyes drew up her form slowly; she felt them like a beast's tongue. "Hmm," he seemed to say, "sexy little shoes, tight legs in tighter leggings -- nice ass -- curvy hips, smooth bare tummy, snug long-sleeve baseball T cut off below a perfect pair of oranges, jet-black hair, beautiful frightened eyes..." His eyes locked hers.

"Take off your top." Angela jumped at the command, her hands trembling as they reached haltingly for the bottom of the cropped tee. "Now!" She peeled it off quickly and dropped it to the floor beside her.

"Nice..." he leered. He noticed her wristbands with their dangling sapphires. "What's with the jewelry?"

"Th-they're just... glass," Angela stuttered. "They were my grandmothers," she lied.

"Give 'em here," he commanded. She stood unmoving. She couldn't give up her gemstones. "Now!"

"No," she said quietly.

He raised his gun, pointing it at her head. Instinctively, she raised her hands to protect her face. He closed the space between them, reaching for her wrist with his free hand. The gems glowed; his arm was deflected away from her. "What the... are you crazy?" he sputtered. The nerve of this chick, pushing him away! He took another step, to one side of her, and shoved her down. Unsteady on her high heels, Angela collapsed to the linoleum, the wind knocked out of her.

"Stupid bitch," she heard him mutter. She lay still. She heard his boots take a few steps, pause, then walk out. The store's door chime announced his departure.

"You can get up now, he's gone," Azmid said a moment later. Angela got to her feet. Azmid openly stared at her from behind the counter. She covered her chest with her arms and shot him a "how dare you!" look, but he kept staring anyway. Angela bent down to retrieve her T-shirt and pulled it on. She turned to the aisle she'd been in before the robbery; Azmid's eyes followed her ass.

"Dammit! He took my bag!" Her book bag with her wallet, her shoes... and her costume.

Azmid scolded her. "Next time, if you're not going to kill him, stay hiding. Jumping out like that, I'm surprised he didn't shoot me on the spot. It's a good thing he's a professional."

Some thanks, Angela thought. For what? her concience chided. You weren't prepared, and you blew it. You're lucky you didn't get yourself and Azmid killed.

"I'm sorry. What do you mean, professional?"
"I mean he's robbed me before. Last year, when I worked the Quick Mart on 69th. Now if you'll excuse me I have to call the police."
"You mean you don't have one of those alarm button thingies?"
"Are you crazy? And have the police show up right in the middle of a robbery?"

Angela rode home, angry at herself. She would never be caught un-ready like that again.

The gemstones on her wrists peeked out from the sleeves of her baseball tee, and the ones on the straps of her shoes jostled from side to side as she pedalled home, glinting in the long light of the late afternoon.

"Honey, Ricky called while you were in the shower. He said to call him right away."
"Why didn't you tell me that five minutes ago?"
"I figured I'd let you get dressed before you talked to some boy."
"Thanks, mom," Angela whined.

"What's up, Ricky?"
"It's Jim. He called me from his cell phone. They wailed on him pretty bad."
"Who?"
"Dirk's buddies. They told him to call his friend Sapphire and get her to meet him at the old bowling alley tonight at 8 or they'd wail on him some more."
Angela checked the clock. It was already 7:30. "How's she gonna get there in time? Fly?"
"I think being late is the point. I hate to say it, Angela, but I think your friend getting involved just made things worse."
"We'll see. Let me call her and see what she wants to do."

This was just great. First a hold-up at the Quick Mart on the way home, now this. Her plastic top and skirt were in the bag that got snatched. As she raced around her room looking for something workable to wear, she said to no one in particular, "Gosh, I got the message about being prepared, no need to rub it in."

She couldn't wear any of her school clothes from last year. Dirk's friends might recognize her. They were too conservative and covered too much anyway. She was all out of bodysuits, thanks to the way the forcefield tended to eat through anything that covered her crotch or her chest. "And the way you tended to rip them open when you got home," her concience shamed her.

At least she had a set of wings. She pulled them down from the back of her door.

She had to hurry! She didn't have time to be picky. There in the top drawer, her black stretch-knit workout shorts and T-shirt. She grabbed the wad of black fabric and threw it on the bed with her wings, wristbands, and heels. She sat down in front of her dresser and quickly made up her face. Foundation, thickened eyelashes, heavy eyeshadow, black eyeliner, heavy rouge. 7:38pm. She was getting good at this.

Angela pulled on her old sweats and flip-flops to get out of the house. She couldn't let her mom see her going out in shorts and heels.

"Mom, can I borrow the car?"
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I start work at 9 tonight. If you want to drop me off and pick me up when my shift is over, you can have it."
"No, that's okay. I can take my bike and the bus."
"Going out with friends?"
"Yeah, meeting them at the arcade. Maybe we'll see a movie later. Guess I better get going. Have a good shift, mom."

Damn. She would have to get there under her own power.

As soon as she got out of the house, she ran for the park on the corner. She had to get changed and get going. Ducking behind a line of shrubs, Angela peeled off her sweatshirt and spread it out on the grass, then tossed the wad that would be her costume for the evening on top of it. She began separating the pieces.

"Uh-oh."

These weren't her workout clothes.

This was the hankerchief top and long skirt her best friend had talked her into buying. She'd only worn it to school once. The top had a nasty habit of flipping up in the breeze, and it was built for someone less, well, built; the skirt was so long she'd kept stepping on it, which pulled it down low on her hips and stretched it out. She forgot she'd kept it. Or maybe her mom had rescued it from the trash; she did that a lot. Of course, Angela's dirty clothes hamper was right next to her trash basket. She'd have to separate them when she got home...

Well, she couldn't wear sweats -- covered she was nearly powerless. She laid the top and skirt on top of the hedges as she stripped out of her sweats. The sharp-tipped leaves pinned the clothes in place.

Off came the bra -- couldn't wear it with the top. And she couldn't not wear the top -- in her haste, she'd grabbed a sheer bra with see-through cups. (Though truth be told that was just about all she bought anymore.) She grabbed the top from the top of the hedge just over her head. It seemed to be stuck on the leaves for a moment, then snapped down toward her.

On went the top. It hung from her neck like a bib, the sides tapering to strings that met in a knot in the small of her back. The bottom tapered to a point hanging in front of her navel. Angela smoothed it out, brushing off a few prickly leaves. She grabbed the skirt; it too seemed reluctant to leave the hedge, snagging in several places. She tugged it free.

Up shimmied the skirt. It was tighter than she'd remembered it, hugging her hips well. At least she wouldn't be hitching it up all night. She still stepped on the hem, though, until she slipped into her spike-heeled mules. "All this time I just needed the right shoes," Angela mused. She tied on her wings -- dual capes of translucent fabric that attached to her neck and wrists, forming drooping slit sleeves like an oversized harem girl's outfit when her arms rested at her sides. She tried to kneel to secure her shoes, but the restrictive skirt stopped her. Hmm. Bunching it up around her she hitched it up to get at the hem. She found the spot where she'd stepped on it before; the smooth stretchy fabric was worn through near the edge from too many brushes with pavement. Angela tugged, and tugged again. She heard a satisfying rip. She tugged once more. That should do. She smoothed the skirt back down and checked her handiwork. A straight tear right up the middle to just above her knees. The material naturally parted slightly, giving her much-needed freedom of movement. She kneeled to tie strings under the soles of her shoes and over and around her feet, securing the otherwise-slippery mules. She nudged her sweats and flipflops into a neat pile underneath the edge of the shrubs, then pulled the tiara off the top of the shrubs and settled it onto her head...

The energy rush washed over her; she wobbled momentarily, then shook her head clear. A quick check of wrists and ankles; her four gemstones radiated clear blue, bright in the late dusk of the unlit park. The numerous pinholes in the stretchy gauzey material caused by the sharp leaves of the shrubs went unnoticed.

Sapphire lifted off. She had trouble getting off the ground, but as she wobbled forward the breeze caught her skirt and parted it away from her legs; she felt her energy pick up with the exposure and gained altitude and momentum. She didn't want to be late.

Sapphire leaned forward, arms swept back, legs straight and feet together. She'd never gone this fast before. She hadn't felt this much wind since hanging off the back of Todd's Harley last summer. She felt like a missile. The back of her skirt hem whipped and snapped and stung her heels. The fabric of her windswept wings rhythmically rippled against her ass. The day had been overcast, and the evening was turning cool; she should be freezing up here, but she felt the familiar warmth of her gemstones. They glowed brightly as she pushed herself forward. All the while, the wind tugged at her top and skirt; the pinholes poked by the sharp shrubs became short tears.

"Look, guys, I know how Dirk told you all what a... 'hottie' she was, but I don't know her..."
"Well, we know you're not fucking her!" the huge one behind Jim interrupted. The others laughed. Someone jabbed Jim hard in the ribs; he gasped.
"Yeah, she's not your type," #45 shot. He wore shoulder pads under his jersey. He always wore them. His name was Chad. Jim had actually talked to Chad once...
"Not manly enough," Tall Skinny joked. He wore a letterman jacket whose sleeves were too short. He'd been on the swim team the year before; last summer he'd had a growth spurt and he made the JV basketball team, but the story went that his parents were too cheap to buy him another jacket. He wore the too-small jacket as an excuse to beat the hell out of people who dared make fun of it.

"Yeah, well," Jim continued, "she just showed up that one time. I haven't seen or heard from her since. Ricky hasn't either. I don't even know if he knows how to get a hold of her. I don't think she's coming. I'm really sorry, guys." He tried to maintain the thin veneer of civility that the leader of the evening's adventure had established. But his voice still wavered slightly with the fear that at any moment the athletic thugs would drop the act and pound him. The huge one, wearing white jersey #64, moved into Jim's field of vision. He was a flabby mountain of menace.

"I'm sorry too, Jim," said Raymond. Raymond stepped from Jim's left very suddenly right in front of him. Jim looked up. Raymond flashed a sad, mocking smile. His chest was inches from Jim's nose. Jim felt like Raymond was crushing him with the sheer force of his presence. "We really wanted to meet her. And I don't want to hurt you." He stepped back. "We'll give her another ten minutes." The others were restless but acquiesced when Raymond turned and gave each one a look. Then, without warning, he spun around and karate-punched Jim in the solar plexus.

Jim gasped and coughed for air, his eyes bulging in panic and shock, his body twitching and heaving, the light post quivering.

"Jim won't last any longer than that," Raymond finished. His voice was cold.

Sapphire backed away from the edge of the roof where she'd been standing. Raymond's punch took her by surprise. Up until that moment he'd seemed almost nice to Jimmy, despite the smaller boy's captivity. Now she didn't know what to think. Raymond was unpredictable. He was dangerous. Never mind his four teammates. Up until that moment Sapphire thought maybe this was just another high-school prank, another case of the bullies scaring the nerd for a while just for laughs and then letting him go. She'd witnessed that kind of thing enough times, where the only goal of the intimidation was to see if the victim could be scared enough to pee his pants.

But this was different. This was serious. These muscle-heads intended to hurt Jimmy. They were out for revenge.

There were five football players down there. Five of them. Even the team's kicker was bigger than her. Even in dim sodium lighting and from twenty feet up, these boys looked huge. She could tell the only thing these boys kicked was ass. How did this get so out of hand?

She remembered Dirk. Beating on Jimmy. Leveling her with a six-pack. Dry-humping her. Collapsed in the street clutching his ribs. She didn't mean to hurt him like that, but he hadn't exactly given her a choice... and neither were his buddies now.

Her heart beat rapidly as she tried to think; her breathing became quick and shallow as her anxiety grew.

Nervous fingers played over the sapphire on her wrist. "Get a grip," she steeled herself. "They're just boys. Well, men. Whatever. They can't touch me." Make sure they don't, a voice inside her said. Images flashed through her mind, of her encounter with the three thugs in the alley, and the park after that, and their place after that. She forced those images out of her head. It wouldn't be like that this time. This time she would be careful. The doubting voice returned, "last time it was five stones against three punks; this time it's four stones against five atheletes. Careful isn't the word."

Returning to the edge of the roof, Sapphire took another look. Maybe she could hit them from here. Dramatic entrances were for invulnerable superheroines; she'd already burned... well, she didn't know how much energy getting here. She wasn't feeling any of the signs of trouble exactly, but her powers had failed her before and she didn't want to take any unnecessary chances. A sneak attack wasn't exactly fighting fair, but neither was five against one. Besides, girls don't fight fair.

She crouched down to be less conspicuous. Her hand-split skirt draped over one knee. Holes on the sides and back of the skirt, started by the sharp leaves of the shrub near her house and lengthened to a by the whipping of the wind on the way, tore open further as the tight garment stretched over her kneeling form. Sapphire felt her breasts shift under the tight top as she leaned forward on one hand; two small tears extended to meet each other forming a keyhole on her chest. Her bikini panties creeped up a bit between her cheeks.

The plan was simple; knock all five of them clear, untie Jimmy, let him run for safety while she kept the jocks at bay for a minute of two, then make her own escape to the sky.

The girl extended her other arm slowly, palm forward, drawing a mental bead on the tall one...

"Oww! Fuck!"

Raymond looked over his shoulder; Scarecrow was sprawled out in the driveway, holding a skinned elbow.
"Quit screwing around, Scarecrow," Chad said from his seat on the curb.

Sapphire needed to put more into it; she'd only shoved Scarecrow five yards or so, but at least he wasn't getting up quickly. She turned to #45, making a subtle pushing motion with her outstretched hand.

"Hey!" Chad yelped as he found himself violently shoved off the curb. He landed hard on his shoulder, then was shoved again and again, sending him tumbling across the parking lot. He finally managed to stop himself some thirty yards away. "What the fuck?" he looked around, but all he saw was the dumbfounded stares of three of his companions up at the bowling alley entrance where he'd been moments before. Chad sat back on his haunches, stunned, then began brushing himself off and checking the scrapes on his arms. Marcus ran out toward him, and Tree took a few lumbering steps as well, looking around confused.

Without warning, Tree came crashing to the ground, apparently tripping over... his own feet?

Raymond tensed; his eyes darted around the parking lot. His body flexed, balanced and ready; he slowly turned around, looking right through Jim as he scanned for the threat. Instinctively, he stepped closer to his captive, looking over his shoulder in quick glances to judge the state of his crew.

"Talk to me guys," he called out.

Rats! Sapphire cursed. Raymond was too close to Jim. She couldn't hit him from here. She looked out over the parking lot; Scarecrow was already on his feet. She force-shoved him again; he staggered, falling to one knee. "Fuck!" he cursed, looking about wildly for his invisible attacker.

It was now or never.

Sapphire sprung from her crouch on the roof. For a horrifying moment, she simply fell, the skirt draped over her legs damping her power; but the air caught the skirt and lifted it, and she surged forward. She brought her arms out and up to stabilize her descent. She extended her right leg, pointing it to her desired landing spot, five yards to Raymond's left, where Chad had been sitting. From there she could knock Raymond away from Jimmy, toward Scarecrow...

Raymond heard a flapping sound, like a flag in the wind. He looked up to see a dark shape falling from the roof. Not falling, leaping. His head turned to follow the object's path as it arced downward to his left; dropping down into the sodium lamp illumination of the parking lot, it looked like a person. Like a girl. "Shiiiiiit..." he breathed.

Something was wrong; Sapphire's left leg was caught on something, she couldn't extend it. She felt a tug on her waist as she tried to straighten out; it was her skirt! The stiletto heel had poked right through the back of the fabric as she'd knelt on the rooftop and now she couldn't get it untangled. She heard and felt one, two, three rips as she pumped her leg trying to get her foot free, the asphalt coming up fast toward her...

Her right heel came down first, the stiletto twisting to the side as her foot planted solidly, snapping the retaining string. With her left foot still caught up underneath her, Sapphire tumbled forward, coming down hard on her right hand and collapsing onto her right shoulder and hip. Her left leg kicked outward as she rolled, finally tearing free a huge chunk of the skirt. Her tiara came loose, clattering to the pavement next to her; she felt a cold flash run through her. She came to rest on her back.

Dirk hadn't been shitting them. The girl was real. She was a babe. And she was crazy, jumping off a building.