Post by David on Oct 3, 2013 17:54:47 GMT -5
I was going through my laptop and discovered a few files of abandoned or just ill-starred DC2 projects that I'm 99.99% certain will never see the light of day, and thought it might be fun to share then rather than keep them hidden away from the world. I'm sure all of us have a few of these hanging around (and probably more that we intend to get back to--- me, included)!
Let's use this thread to post whatever unusable or discarded scraps we have laying about, to laugh at or bemoan or just get out there. It will be cathartic! And who knows, maybe we might just discover some value in returning to these lost masterpieces...
My first offering is from 2009. It was a Powers, Inc. story I was collaborating on with Ramon and Chris. It was intended to wrap up the era of "bwah-ha-ha" Powers, and introduce a Justice League-esque Superpowers book (sorta like the JLA that came after the Detroit-era League). It was my first attempt at these characters, and to write the humor associated with that book. I'm not too horribly embarrassed by it...
Not too long ago…
Oberon held the receiver to his ear, noting that all the lines on his phone were lit-up.
“I don’t care what you have to do, Weinstein, Booster gets top-billing or the deal’s off! Later, babe!”
He slammed the handset down, jabbed the next line and drawled: “Powers, Inc., this is Senior V.P. of Operations Oberon… Yes, Mr. Secretary, good afternoon… Fine, fine, thank you… No, Mr. Powers is still not back… Of course, I completely understand, and I’m sure Commander Heywood would have no problem with the modifications to his, shall we say, contract… Absolutely… Give Hank our best…You do the same, Mr. Secretary.”
Another line.
“What do you mean ‘plus-sized women’? There’s no way we can market Power Girl trademarked merchandise to ‘plus-sized women’, she’d kill me! Well, sure, the peek-a-boo window only works if you’ve got some cleavage, but she’d take it as if we were calling her fat…! Fix it! Yesterday!”
He disengaged the line, but before moving onto the next one, he called out to the anteroom through the open door of his office: “Ms. Wootenhoffer!” No response came, and with a little growl, he picked up the next line.
“No, Beetle, for the third time today, Emily hasn’t checked in… I told you I’d call you if she does, but her letter of resignation seemed pretty final. I already told you what it said: ‘I quit’ in big fat lipstick scrawled letters! Now quit bothering me!”
The handset slammed down on the cradle. The phone continued to ring. Oberon groaned, and yelled: “Ms. Wootenhoffer, hold all my calls!”
When the scruffy-looking janitor with the three-days growth of beard popped his head into the office, Oberon was sitting there with his head in his hands, looking frazzled.
“Ummm, Oberon,” Harry Jordan leaned on his pushbroom, glancing around Josiah Powers cathedral-sized office at the top of Powers Towers, and specifically at the window which afforded the occupants a spectacular view of San Francisco Bay--- and the Golden Gate Bridge, lit up in the night. “It’s after nine. Ms. Wootenhoffer isn’t here.”
Oberon looked surprised and glanced at his watch as if in disbelief. “Really?”
Harry nodded. “Plus it’s Sunday.”
Oberon frowned, cocking his head and regarding Harry with one wide eye: “She doesn’t work on Sunday, does she.”
“Actually, she’s been on vacation all week,” Harry told him with an apologetic look. “Ms. Lipshitz has been filling in, but I think she quit on Thursday. Something about the fight with Captain Stingaree in the lobby that day. I guess it freaked her out.”
“Oh.” Oberon nodded, remembering. “That guy was weird.”
“Yes.” Harry agreed.
“I mean, with the eyepatch and the cutlass, and the lisp… Do you think he was… You know…?”
“What, a pirate?”
“No, he was obviously a pirate… I mean, you know…” He hedged, trying to lead the clueless Harry, who could only shake his head.
“Effete? A sharp dresser? Flamboyant… Ohhh…!” Harry realized where Oberon was leading him. “You mean… English?” he whispered the last word conspiratorially.
Oberon just stared at him, blinking.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Harry added hastily.
At a loss, Oberon took a sip of his long-cold coffee, staring at Harry over the rim of the cup.
At that moment, Josiah Powers walked into his office.
Coffee spewed from Oberon’s mouth, and he nearly fell out of his chair; Harry watched the big, dark-skinned man walk casually past him, and sputtered an unintelligible greeting.
“Oberon. Harry.” Came the deep bass unheard in Powers Towers for the better part of a year. His usual tailored suit was missing--- as was every ounce of excess weight on him. Still a big, muscular man, the toned-down Josiah Powers sported a pair of plain khaki pants, a white polo, and was completely clean-shaven, save for a soul-patch above his chin. Gone, as well, was his perpetual scowl.
“Boss! You’re home!” Oberon came around the desk and ran to embrace his longtime employer, though given the disparity in their heights, ended up hugging Josiah’s leg. “I’m so glad you’re back--- things have been crazy! Okay, I know that’s more or less par for the course, but you were always there to help steer us through the insanity---.”
“Where have you been?” Harry interrupted, leaning his broom against the doorway and moving into the office. There was a barely-disguised undertone of resentment in his voice. “We needed you. Everything’s falling apart.”
Josiah glanced up from where he was patting Oberon on the shoulder, and the look he gave Harry was contrite. “I know. I’m sorry. I abandoned my responsibilities. I owe all of you an apology.”
Oberon flinched away as if zapped. He regarded Josiah with a look of deep suspicion, and even Harry was frowning, as if the words had been in another language.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Josiah Powers?” Oberon demanded. “The real Josiah Powers never apologized to anyone in his life…!”
“I know,” sighed Josiah Powers. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
Oberon yelped, and scurried behind the big, cluttered desk, pointing at his boss. “He did it again! Harry, call the team! He’s being mind controlled or something!”
“Was I really that bad?” Josiah asked, sadly.
“Yes.” Harry and Oberon replied in unison.
Josiah grunted, and turned his gaze to the panoramic view of San Francisco Bay, a faraway look in his eye. “Well, that person was a spiritually immature soul, ignorant of his karmic peril, and far too focused on the material world.”
Oberon ran screaming for the door.
Let's use this thread to post whatever unusable or discarded scraps we have laying about, to laugh at or bemoan or just get out there. It will be cathartic! And who knows, maybe we might just discover some value in returning to these lost masterpieces...
My first offering is from 2009. It was a Powers, Inc. story I was collaborating on with Ramon and Chris. It was intended to wrap up the era of "bwah-ha-ha" Powers, and introduce a Justice League-esque Superpowers book (sorta like the JLA that came after the Detroit-era League). It was my first attempt at these characters, and to write the humor associated with that book. I'm not too horribly embarrassed by it...
Powers, Inc.
Annual #1: “Finale: All’s Well That Ends…”
Written by David Charlton
Co-plotted and Editorially Supervised by Villalobos, HoM and Paugh
Cover by Ramon Villalobos
Edited by Ramon Villalobos
Annual #1: “Finale: All’s Well That Ends…”
Written by David Charlton
Co-plotted and Editorially Supervised by Villalobos, HoM and Paugh
Cover by Ramon Villalobos
Edited by Ramon Villalobos
“And though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.”
Lennon/McCartney, 1969
Lennon/McCartney, 1969
Not too long ago…
Oberon held the receiver to his ear, noting that all the lines on his phone were lit-up.
“I don’t care what you have to do, Weinstein, Booster gets top-billing or the deal’s off! Later, babe!”
He slammed the handset down, jabbed the next line and drawled: “Powers, Inc., this is Senior V.P. of Operations Oberon… Yes, Mr. Secretary, good afternoon… Fine, fine, thank you… No, Mr. Powers is still not back… Of course, I completely understand, and I’m sure Commander Heywood would have no problem with the modifications to his, shall we say, contract… Absolutely… Give Hank our best…You do the same, Mr. Secretary.”
Another line.
“What do you mean ‘plus-sized women’? There’s no way we can market Power Girl trademarked merchandise to ‘plus-sized women’, she’d kill me! Well, sure, the peek-a-boo window only works if you’ve got some cleavage, but she’d take it as if we were calling her fat…! Fix it! Yesterday!”
He disengaged the line, but before moving onto the next one, he called out to the anteroom through the open door of his office: “Ms. Wootenhoffer!” No response came, and with a little growl, he picked up the next line.
“No, Beetle, for the third time today, Emily hasn’t checked in… I told you I’d call you if she does, but her letter of resignation seemed pretty final. I already told you what it said: ‘I quit’ in big fat lipstick scrawled letters! Now quit bothering me!”
The handset slammed down on the cradle. The phone continued to ring. Oberon groaned, and yelled: “Ms. Wootenhoffer, hold all my calls!”
When the scruffy-looking janitor with the three-days growth of beard popped his head into the office, Oberon was sitting there with his head in his hands, looking frazzled.
“Ummm, Oberon,” Harry Jordan leaned on his pushbroom, glancing around Josiah Powers cathedral-sized office at the top of Powers Towers, and specifically at the window which afforded the occupants a spectacular view of San Francisco Bay--- and the Golden Gate Bridge, lit up in the night. “It’s after nine. Ms. Wootenhoffer isn’t here.”
Oberon looked surprised and glanced at his watch as if in disbelief. “Really?”
Harry nodded. “Plus it’s Sunday.”
Oberon frowned, cocking his head and regarding Harry with one wide eye: “She doesn’t work on Sunday, does she.”
“Actually, she’s been on vacation all week,” Harry told him with an apologetic look. “Ms. Lipshitz has been filling in, but I think she quit on Thursday. Something about the fight with Captain Stingaree in the lobby that day. I guess it freaked her out.”
“Oh.” Oberon nodded, remembering. “That guy was weird.”
“Yes.” Harry agreed.
“I mean, with the eyepatch and the cutlass, and the lisp… Do you think he was… You know…?”
“What, a pirate?”
“No, he was obviously a pirate… I mean, you know…” He hedged, trying to lead the clueless Harry, who could only shake his head.
“Effete? A sharp dresser? Flamboyant… Ohhh…!” Harry realized where Oberon was leading him. “You mean… English?” he whispered the last word conspiratorially.
Oberon just stared at him, blinking.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Harry added hastily.
At a loss, Oberon took a sip of his long-cold coffee, staring at Harry over the rim of the cup.
At that moment, Josiah Powers walked into his office.
Coffee spewed from Oberon’s mouth, and he nearly fell out of his chair; Harry watched the big, dark-skinned man walk casually past him, and sputtered an unintelligible greeting.
“Oberon. Harry.” Came the deep bass unheard in Powers Towers for the better part of a year. His usual tailored suit was missing--- as was every ounce of excess weight on him. Still a big, muscular man, the toned-down Josiah Powers sported a pair of plain khaki pants, a white polo, and was completely clean-shaven, save for a soul-patch above his chin. Gone, as well, was his perpetual scowl.
“Boss! You’re home!” Oberon came around the desk and ran to embrace his longtime employer, though given the disparity in their heights, ended up hugging Josiah’s leg. “I’m so glad you’re back--- things have been crazy! Okay, I know that’s more or less par for the course, but you were always there to help steer us through the insanity---.”
“Where have you been?” Harry interrupted, leaning his broom against the doorway and moving into the office. There was a barely-disguised undertone of resentment in his voice. “We needed you. Everything’s falling apart.”
Josiah glanced up from where he was patting Oberon on the shoulder, and the look he gave Harry was contrite. “I know. I’m sorry. I abandoned my responsibilities. I owe all of you an apology.”
Oberon flinched away as if zapped. He regarded Josiah with a look of deep suspicion, and even Harry was frowning, as if the words had been in another language.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Josiah Powers?” Oberon demanded. “The real Josiah Powers never apologized to anyone in his life…!”
“I know,” sighed Josiah Powers. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
Oberon yelped, and scurried behind the big, cluttered desk, pointing at his boss. “He did it again! Harry, call the team! He’s being mind controlled or something!”
“Was I really that bad?” Josiah asked, sadly.
“Yes.” Harry and Oberon replied in unison.
Josiah grunted, and turned his gaze to the panoramic view of San Francisco Bay, a faraway look in his eye. “Well, that person was a spiritually immature soul, ignorant of his karmic peril, and far too focused on the material world.”
Oberon ran screaming for the door.
