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“For the millionth time, I used non-lethal junk on ‘em,” the Crimson Conservative said from her custom-made recliner.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Republicat responded, smoothly shifting from the fish pose to bridge position as she continued her yoga routine. “Are you planning on opening fire again if people protest this year?”

“’Protest,’” Connie grumbled. “Ya sound like that punk at the picture-takin’ studio. You know better; that wasn’t a protest, it was a riot ‘bout to happen, and all I did was hit some godless America-haters with a few beanbags ‘n rubber bullets. Paurdaic and the organizers of Hyper Con shoulda paid me for my services!” The redheaded giantess turned the page of the Daily Herald, then smiled. “Heh, ol’ Loeb hasn’t lost her touch; you oughta read her new editorial…”

“Who says I haven’t?” the feline/human hybrid asked, moaning in pleasure as her spine was enjoyably stretched. Her pink eyes shot to her friend and partner in crime fighting, knowing that the supersoldier did not like yoga in general, and hated when she made noise while doing it. “Sorry.”

Connie stopped glaring and returned her single eye to the paper. “Ya ain’t read it ‘cause you were in Italy, taking care of some Giminni business. Damn wops…”

“I can read the news and deal with a tentacle or two of an international crime family,” RC told her. “Speaking of tentacles, Baron Kave wants to get Shloggy’s opinion on something, so I said you would ask for him.”

The recliner creaked as Connie shuddered violently. “Like hell! You ask that octo-freak!” The supersoldier, as was her practice, was lounging around her apartment in nothing but a pair of boxers, and her skin broke out in goosebumps. She heard her friend chuckle and realized she’d been joking. “Laugh it up, fur-face… regular Morey Amsterdam, aren’t you?”

Republicat thought for a moment. “Oh, the guy from The Dick van Dyke Show?”

“He did plenty before that.”

The feline smiled. I‘m not a hundred years old, Connie, she thought, moving from bridge to the scorpion pose. She‘s never gonna realize what century she‘s in…

“What’re you smirkin’ at?” Connie asked, turning back to the front page of the paper and rereading the headline.

“Uh… a scene from The Dick van Dyke Show.“ She turned her head, but could not see what story her friend had gone back to. “What’s up?”

“Hrmph,” the Crimson Conservative exhaled disapprovingly, and grumbled something unintelligible.

“Bad news?” Republicat asked. She started to say more, but then her ears twitched…

Wings, her feral side told her. Wings… fluttering… prey!

“Yeah,” Connie said. “Not sure how ‘American’ this American Mom is if she’s makin’ a softie outta American Hero… or Prodigy, or whatever Smith’s calling herself now. Looks like they took down a buncha arms dealers ‘n Nazis, but Smith didn’t do more’n smack her share of ‘em around. The old Smith, American Hero, woulda… what’s your problem?”

Still in the precarious scorpion pose, Republicat’s pink eyes were dilated, and she was making the clicking sound that cats make when they are watching something they were planning on pouncing upon. Connie’s eye narrowed as she watched Republicat’s toned muscles twitch, her tail flick rapidly, her finger and toe claws tick, and she didn’t like it…

Because the scientifically-enhanced super-predator was looking at her.

“Alright,” Connie said, slowly lowering the footrest of her recliner. “I don’t know what’s got into that furry head of yours, but whatever it is, you just-gah!“

In a flash Republicat was there, in front of the stunned Amazon, razor sharp claws inches from Connie’s face. Before she could release a profanity-peppered stream of questions, Connie’s eye focused on RC’s hand, and saw what was fluttering within the cage created by Republicat’s bent fingers.

“A moth,” the Crimson Conservative said. “Congratulations, you just saved the whole friggin’ city from a bug. Now squish the thing and… wait, you’re not gonna-”

The feline popped the moth between her pointy teeth, the volume of her purring louder than usual thanks to the fact that she was joyfully chewing with her mouth open.

“Puke city!” Connie said, swatting her friend with the newspaper. “Go brush your teeth, dammit!”

Still purring contentedly, Republicat sauntered off to do just that. The redheaded Amazon shook her head as she watched RC’s tail disappear around the corner, then grunted loudly. “Aren’t there any dogs I can be teamed with?” she asked, raising the footrest again and going back to her paper.

　

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, it should go without saying, is the marvelous creator of this striking picture of my feline fatale. He makes great stuff for me, and will for you, too, if you’re willing to send some cash his way.

owns, well, Paudraic, as well as Paudraic’s Getaway, where Hyper Con will be held again this summer.

is the mastermind behind Hyper Con; more information on that fun event here: fav.me/d7ik36z .

compiled “Life in Angel Falls - Civic Life,“ which is where the city’s most conservative newspaper, the Daily Herald, is identified, as well as its editor, Lana Loeb (not sure if he also owns the paper and character, though).

is the owner of Jane Smith, aka Prodigy.

owns the intriguing American Mom.

fav.me/d7itpwy is the story Connie was reading about in the paper, featuring the above Prodigy and American Mom.

is where this scene took place, a metropolis created by .

Crimson Conservative, Republicat, the Giminni family, Baron Aldred Kave, and Sho'ologni'aggy (Shloggy) are my creations. I guess I also owned the moth, too, but it looks like I won’t be getting much use out of that particular character anymore…

Comments welcome, even if it’s to wonder what Republicat’s breath sometimes smells like.

Description

“For the millionth time, I used non-lethal junk on ‘em,” the Crimson Conservative said from her custom-made recliner.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Republicat responded, smoothly shifting from the fish pose to bridge position as she continued her yoga routine. “Are you planning on opening fire again if people protest this year?”

“’Protest,’” Connie grumbled. “Ya sound like that punk at the picture-takin’ studio. You know better; that wasn’t a protest, it was a riot ‘bout to happen, and all I did was hit some godless America-haters with a few beanbags ‘n rubber bullets. Paurdaic and the organizers of Hyper Con shoulda paid me for my services!” The redheaded giantess turned the page of the Daily Herald, then smiled. “Heh, ol’ Loeb hasn’t lost her touch; you oughta read her new editorial…”

“Who says I haven’t?” the feline/human hybrid asked, moaning in pleasure as her spine was enjoyably stretched. Her pink eyes shot to her friend and partner in crime fighting, knowing that the supersoldier did not like yoga in general, and hated when she made noise while doing it. “Sorry.”

Connie stopped glaring and returned her single eye to the paper. “Ya ain’t read it ‘cause you were in Italy, taking care of some Giminni business. Damn wops…”

“I can read the news and deal with a tentacle or two of an international crime family,” RC told her. “Speaking of tentacles, Baron Kave wants to get Shloggy’s opinion on something, so I said you would ask for him.”

The recliner creaked as Connie shuddered violently. “Like hell! You ask that octo-freak!” The supersoldier, as was her practice, was lounging around her apartment in nothing but a pair of boxers, and her skin broke out in goosebumps. She heard her friend chuckle and realized she’d been joking. “Laugh it up, fur-face… regular Morey Amsterdam, aren’t you?”

Republicat thought for a moment. “Oh, the guy from The Dick van Dyke Show?”

“He did plenty before that.”

The feline smiled. I‘m not a hundred years old, Connie, she thought, moving from bridge to the scorpion pose. She‘s never gonna realize what century she‘s in…

“What’re you smirkin’ at?” Connie asked, turning back to the front page of the paper and rereading the headline.

“Uh… a scene from The Dick van Dyke Show.“ She turned her head, but could not see what story her friend had gone back to. “What’s up?”

“Hrmph,” the Crimson Conservative exhaled disapprovingly, and grumbled something unintelligible.

“Bad news?” Republicat asked. She started to say more, but then her ears twitched…

Wings, her feral side told her. Wings… fluttering… prey!

“Yeah,” Connie said. “Not sure how ‘American’ this American Mom is if she’s makin’ a softie outta American Hero… or Prodigy, or whatever Smith’s calling herself now. Looks like they took down a buncha arms dealers ‘n Nazis, but Smith didn’t do more’n smack her share of ‘em around. The old Smith, American Hero, woulda… what’s your problem?”

Still in the precarious scorpion pose, Republicat’s pink eyes were dilated, and she was making the clicking sound that cats make when they are watching something they were planning on pouncing upon. Connie’s eye narrowed as she watched Republicat’s toned muscles twitch, her tail flick rapidly, her finger and toe claws tick, and she didn’t like it…

Because the scientifically-enhanced super-predator was looking at her.

“Alright,” Connie said, slowly lowering the footrest of her recliner. “I don’t know what’s got into that furry head of yours, but whatever it is, you just-gah!“

In a flash Republicat was there, in front of the stunned Amazon, razor sharp claws inches from Connie’s face. Before she could release a profanity-peppered stream of questions, Connie’s eye focused on RC’s hand, and saw what was fluttering within the cage created by Republicat’s bent fingers.

“A moth,” the Crimson Conservative said. “Congratulations, you just saved the whole friggin’ city from a bug. Now squish the thing and… wait, you’re not gonna-”

The feline popped the moth between her pointy teeth, the volume of her purring louder than usual thanks to the fact that she was joyfully chewing with her mouth open.

“Puke city!” Connie said, swatting her friend with the newspaper. “Go brush your teeth, dammit!”

Still purring contentedly, Republicat sauntered off to do just that. The redheaded Amazon shook her head as she watched RC’s tail disappear around the corner, then grunted loudly. “Aren’t there any dogs I can be teamed with?” she asked, raising the footrest again and going back to her paper.

　

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

　

, it should go without saying, is the marvelous creator of this striking picture of my feline fatale. He makes great stuff for me, and will for you, too, if you’re willing to send some cash his way.

owns, well, Paudraic, as well as Paudraic’s Getaway, where Hyper Con will be held again this summer.

is the mastermind behind Hyper Con; more information on that fun event here: fav.me/d7ik36z .

compiled “Life in Angel Falls - Civic Life,“ which is where the city’s most conservative newspaper, the Daily Herald, is identified, as well as its editor, Lana Loeb (not sure if he also owns the paper and character, though).

is the owner of Jane Smith, aka Prodigy.

owns the intriguing American Mom.

fav.me/d7itpwy is the story Connie was reading about in the paper, featuring the above Prodigy and American Mom.

is where this scene took place, a metropolis created by .

Crimson Conservative, Republicat, the Giminni family, Baron Aldred Kave, and Sho'ologni'aggy (Shloggy) are my creations. I guess I also owned the moth, too, but it looks like I won’t be getting much use out of that particular character anymore…

Comments welcome, even if it’s to wonder what Republicat’s breath sometimes smells like.