A Public Battle Of Wits

"Our next guest has been making some big headlines recently, despite the fact that there's nothing big about him... except for the size of his blade!" Ron Healey enthused to his live audience, and then, putting his hand conspiratorially to one side of his mouth, continued archly, "If you know what I mean, ladies...." He waited for the laughter and the whistles to die down. "Let's give a big Evening Stage hand for New York's sword-swinging sensation, Joey Coia!"

Emerging from behind a shimmering purple curtain, Joey strode purposefully across the open stage to greet Healey in front of his desk. Like most late-night talk show hosts, Healey's set had an open stage area on one side, and an interview area on the other, with a big desk for the host to sit behind, and comfy seats for the guests beside it. On a whim, instead of shaking his host's hand, Joey reached back to grasp the hilt of the sword strapped to his back, the grip and pommel sticking up past his right shoulder. With a quick motion, he drew the sword, taking a step back, and flicked the point of the glowing green blade under the proffered hand. He had already returned the Jade Blade to it's sheath on his back, with unnatural ease, before the end of Ron Healey's silk tie fluttered to the stage floor.

Healey reacted the way any good talk show host would. A quick, sharp intake of breath was quickly followed with a smile and a joke as he reached down to pick up the lost fabric. "Gee, I'd call security, but I don't think they'd do much good. Thank goodness he's friendly!" The comic grimace that followed brought laughter from the studio audience, and provided cover for him to hiss at Joey as he shook his guest's hand, "Any more stunts like that, you'll never be on my show again." Then the two of them returned to the interview area, Healey behind his desk and feeling a little safer there, and Joey flopping into the nearest overstuffed armchair, a smirk on his face.

"So, Joey, Coia's an Italian name, right?"

"Yeah, my Father is half Italian, half Irish."

"Really? Makes for an interesting combination...."

"Makes for a whole lot of trouble." Joey grinned. "I've got the Irish gift of opening my mouth to speak any chance I get, and the Italian bravado to stuff my foot in it any chance I'm given."

The audience cracked up, cheering. A New York crowd always has it's share of Italian and Irish people, and both types are loudly proud of their heritage. Joey half-waved, and Healey looked like he was enjoying himself (although Joey knew you could never really tell with the talk show types). Once the laughter and hooting died down, the host fired off his next leading statement.

"Well," he said, pointing at the green sword in its scabbard that Joey had slipped around to his side so he could sit. "I can see you're well-prepared for any trouble your mouth might get you into."

"That's for sure."

"Does your personality get you into trouble with your other team members?" A flurry of laughter followed the question. "I mean, they're some pretty powerful people you hang around with."

"They're a good group. We've been through enough that we know each other pretty well."

"Indeed. Is there any concern, given that everyone knows who you are, that, well, someone might go through you to find out who everyone else is? The others all have secret identities, right?"

"Yeah, they keep their identities to themselves. Honestly, I don't know most of their real names. Not that it would matter. I've yet to meet anyone who could get me to tell them anything like that -- anything that would make them, y'know, more vulnerable." Joey held up pairs of fingers on either side of his head, wagging them to indicate quote marks, and exagerating his expression to mug for the camera. "Compromise their security."

"Well, sure, but I'm guessing they're not really an insecure lot." Laugh. "In fact that's quite a team you hang around with. Pretty aggressive name, too, Force Ten."

"Yeah, our publicist came up with that. Since we couldn't think of anything better, we went with that. At least maybe it'll make people -- super people, that is -- think twice before trying anything when we're around."

"Does it work?"

Joey leaned back, giving the question some serious thought before answering. "Hard to say, really, Ron. Certainly we've had a few small-time bank robbers and such just give up as soon as they hear we're outside, but I think the big guys are already so nutty they don't really care."

"Well, it sounds cool, anyway."

"Yeah, and it's a great way to pick up chicks." Joey flashed a half-comical leer at the audience, to more hoots and hollers, and even Healey cracked a genuine smile.

As the reactions died down, Healey shook his head theatrically. "It must be some life," he started, "and those are some friends you've got." He turned to look off-camera at his producer. "Have we got the graphic? Yeah? Okay, bring in the graphic."

Two black-clad stage hands wheeled in a large frame, like one of the old rolling chalkboards, but with a glossy, life-sized print instead of green slate. Healey got up from behind his desk and came around the right side of it, gesturing to his guest. Joey quickly moved up to the other side of the frame, which bore cartoon likeness of himself and his team mates.

"So," continued Healey, pointing at the images, "here we have some marketing materials from your publicist. Something for the kids, I see. That's you, right?" He pointed at the exaggeratedly short figure in green, leaning on a chubby sword, with the name "Jade" written underneath. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "We know what you can do -- you're the guy with the sword. Why don't you tell us about the rest of your team?"

Joey nodded, drawing his blade from the scabbard with a gentle wisking sound. Using the tip of the glowing green sword as a pointer, he indicated one of the figures. It was a tall man, cartoonishly athletic, with a regal rack of antlers sprouting from his head. "This here's Elkhart. He's pretty much the leader of our group. He's got a great head on his shoulders," -- scattered laughter from those who caught the unintentional pun -- "so no one ever seems to have a problem taking order from him." Joey paused for effect, then continued with a smile. "At least, in active situations. When he tries to tell me to clean up my dishes at the base, though, I usually tell him to stuff it."

When the laughter died down, Joey pointed at another figure, which appeared to be flying above the others. This one wore a full helmet, like a fighter pilot, with large goggles attached. "That's Skyhawk. He flies. He's also tough as nails."

"Really?"

Joey smirked again. "Yeah, except you wouldn't guess by the feathery wing pattern on his helmet and costume."

"You guys get along well, I see," Healey observed archly.

"Naw, we're good buds. He's too tough for anything like that to bother him." Joey broke the fourth wall, and look directly into the camera. "Hear that, Skyhawk? I said you were tough!"

The audience reacted with bemused laughter. Healey gave his guest a quizzical look, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, I gotta butter him up after that crack about his helmet. Otherwise, he'll 'accidentally' drop me next time he's giving me a lift." Joey paused a beat. "At thirty thousand feet." The audience roared.

"So, tell us about this guy here," Healey prompted, pointing to a figure labeled "Rift". The character was tall and skinny, draped in a grey robe, eyes two red points of light in the black depths of his hood. His hands and feet were clearly mechanical, extending past the limits of the cloak's matte fabric. "He looks scary."

"Naw, that's Rift. He's a nice guy, alright."

"So, what is he, a robot?"

"Oh, no, he's a person, just like the rest of us. It's just that most of his body is machine. But he's still got a heart. Probably one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet."

"That machine body of his must be pretty strong."

"Yeah, he does all right. The coolest thing, though, is how he can extend his legs. And he can shoot his hands out, attached to cables, so he can grab things far away."

Healey took the opportunity for another joke. "Gee, that'd be handy in my kitchen, reaching for the dishes on the top shelf."

Joey looked at him sideways. "I never took you for the cooking type, Ron. Don't you have a cook for that sort of thing? I'd heard he's one of the best in L.A."

"You got me there, Joey. In fact, I don't even know what my kitchen looks like. I just had it made to my chef's designs. I didn't even look at the plans -- I just signed the cheques!" Healey paused for the audience's reaction, and then followed up with the zinger. "Heck, for all I know, he's got a hot tub in there, a plasma TV, and a Playstation!"

While the audience laughed at the joke, Healey caught a signal from his producer. He passed the message on to Joey in a low voice. "We're heading for a break. Can you finish the intros in three minutes?"

Joey shrugged. "Sure."

Healey turned back to the audience, smiling. "So, let's talk about some of my favourite members of Force Ten -- the ladies."

Joey pointed with his blade again. "Okay, well, the one in the colourful body suit is Samba. She's strong and tough." Beat. "And a very forgiving dance partner." Laughter.

"Next to her is Shamrock, in the green. You might guess by her red hair, she's a fiery fightin' Irish lass. Needless to say, we've had a few words by times. She's got a bit of a temper, and I'm a sucker for gettin' people going. But she can be a real sweetheart in the right circumstances -- I just haven't found any of those yet!" More laughter. "Seriously, though, she's a good person to have watching your back." Joey gave the audience another comical leer. "An' I sure like watchin' hers!" The audience erupted with hoots and guffaws, mostly from the male viewers.

"Over here is Umbra." He pointed to a tall lean figure wrapped in a cloak of darkness. "She's the Mistress of Shadows, and cooks a mean anticuchos."

"Mmmm, I'm not sure what that is," Healey interjected, "but it sounds delicious. I'll have to get my chef to call her for the recipe -- that is, if he can tear himself away from his Playstation." Despite his urge to hurry things up, Ron Healey had a hard time resisting a chance for a follow-up joke. The audience showed their appreciation with the kind of genuine laughter and applause that only comes from a well-timed joke. After twenty-five years in the business, those moments were the only things that kept him going.

Jade waited for the big laughter to die down, trying to keep his own laughter under control. He didn't really like Healey all that much, but it was clear he still had 'it', and wasn't afraid to use it. He gave a rueful shake of his head, and then pointed at the other female member of Force Ten.

"Finally, for the females, we have definitely the nicest person I've ever met." Jade pointed at a woman who seemed to be shooting a stream of circles off the edge of the page. "We call her Pulse, but sometimes I think we should call her Mom."

Healey raised his eyebrow. "Mom?"

"Yeah, she really is that nice. Of course, she can still blast you a good one with those pulse blasts of hers. And she'll give you a good tongue lashing if you get on her bad side. Definitely a Mom. And there's no way I wouldn't do the dishes if she told me to." Jade grinned with clear affection for the woman, while the audience reacted to the follow-up joke with almost as much laughter as they gave for Healey's.

For his part, Healey did his professional best to hide his frown of jealousy, and then turned the attention back to the big poster behind him. "Thirty seconds, Joey," he said, a little too curtly, and then covered with a broad smile. "Tell us about the other two."

Jade flustered for a minute at the abrupt change of pace. "Oh, uh," he said, regaining his balance. "That there's Dozen, with the trenchcoat."

"Why's he called Dozen?"

"Well, I think it's 'cause he doesn't like to keep all his eggs in one basket," Jade replied, trying lamely for a better joke. The audience didn't seem to appreciate it any more than he did himself.

"And this other one here. Is that a person?" Healey was pointing to what looked like an amorphous brown blob, with vague arm and head shapes protruding from the upper half. "It looks like the Jell-o Pudding monster."

Even Jade laughed at that one. "Yeah, he's a person. We call him Slime. That's pretty much his power, turning into pudding, only it looks yuckier in real life." Jade stuck out his tongue comically, like a little kid tasting lima beans.

He was pleased to hear the sympathetic laughter from the audience, as Healey wrapped up with a wave of his arms. "Well, we have to go to commercial now." Turning to Jade, and shaking his hand, he continued. "It's been nice having you, Joey."

Then Healey turned back to the audience, just before the commercial. "Joey Coia, everyone. Also know as Jade, from Force Ten." The audience showered both men with a round of applause.

When the camera lights went off, Healey turned quickly on his heal, shouting, "Wardrobe! Someone get me another tie!" Then he muttered, mostly under his breath, but still loud enough for his guest to hear. "Asshole."

Jade leaned on his sword, the green glow of its tip hidden by a full inch of floorboard, and chuckled.

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