Mary Sue's bunions hurt. That was the overriding thought in her mind, followed second only by the thought that things were bass ackward today: sort've like the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd.
Things had started out poorly, of course. She was a stodgy old-maid librarian by day, hiding like a terrapin in its shell in thick turtleneck sweaters, but she was a superhero by night. She'd put on her black costume and black face mask and sexy black tights and black cape and gone out to
fight evil and the Villain had said, "What are you, Bat Segundo?"
She'd snarked back at him rather ineffectually. Somehow, "Your mother wears Army boots!" wasn't up to the caliber of insult of being compared to That Other Hero In Black. Besides, she was a card-carrying member of the feminist army herself. She was vaguely embarrassed to have resorted to a sexist remark like that.
For what it was worth, Mary Sue's own mother had worn Army boots. And had frequently told her to "Drop everything and give me ..." Books. Books had been Mary Sue's escape from that life. But still, she considered herself a feminist and was still a little confused and in a muddle over why she'd insulted the Villain that way.
Then the Villain -- his name was Will of the Wisp -- had disappeared into thin air. His trademark escape. He was a prince of the Sneila and they could just do that: disappear.
But his disappearance had left her blinking somewhat confusedly behind on a rooftop. She'd walked to the edge, hoping he'd simply jumped off either to splatter deathfully below or better -- to at least be dangling by fingertips so she could heroically offer him her hand before he went splat. But no. No Will. No Villain. Just a rich lady five stories below promenading poodles down one of Gigopolis' more fashionable districts. Pink poodles with killer yaps, because she could hear them yipping all the way up here. And they had little sweaters that had goats printed on them-- why, she wasn't sure.
No Will. He'd wisped off again to fight her another night. Maybe she'd do better that night, in both the snarky insult department and in the actually-beating-the-villain department.
She sighed. Her bunions hurt. Time to go home. Her cat, named Galleycat because he hung out in he kitchen and was so fat he bounced when he jumped down off the counter, was probably hungry. Time to go home and go to bed. She'd mull over the meaning of the insult later.
And she brightened a bit as she headed home (by flying, of course, she had the superhero power of flight): as she remembered that she was, of course,Mary Sue. She always won the villain in the end. Beat the villain, she meant. She'd beat him. It was inevitable. She'd never lost a fight or a man. And that thought made her very happy.
Miss Snark really likes the idea of a librarian as a super hero but she's not sure about "deathfully" despite the fact that it sounds like just the place for several of her least favorite acquaintances.