Before you scroll down, you acknowledge the usual, that you're an adult, and that two or more women having plenty of hypnotic fun isn't repulsive to you, and if it is, that you should have clicked on another story link. The story below actually evolved from a very interesting roleplay over yahoo messenger, and has since taken on a life of it's own. There are likely obvious references to many of the mcstories prevelant f/f writers, and they're all thanked for their inspiration. I hope you enjoy reading The Adventures of Silver Girl as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Life as a super heroine isn’t easy. There’s no rehearsing those death defying stunts. If your hand misses the railing then that’s the end. No film crew or law enforcement agency drives around the city carrying nets. If you’re lucky you fall in the dumpster, and not half in and break yourself in half.
You wouldn’t believe how many supers die from falling, tripping, or getting shot in the chest by an automatic weapon that some normal had hidden in their jacket. Normals bitch about four letter words, but when you’re a super, you know better.
Three letter words are the bad ones. Words like “Uzi,” “net,” and “pin” are far worse than any swear words if you’re a super. Sure, these suck for normals too, but a normal has a far smaller chance of being a victim of something like that. Of course, there are plenty of other words but it’s not like there’ll be a test on all of this later.
As for me, I go by the name Silver Girl and trust me, the name really fits. I have silver hair, right down to each and every last little strand. My lips are silver tinted and the rest of me turns more and more silver as I use my powers more and more. Once someone has even heard whisper that someone somewhere is named Silver Girl and ends up meeting me, there’s generally no need to clarify who I am.
Really though, my name wasn’t always Silver Girl, and people were always forgetting what it was. Sarah LaSilvas may be an amusing name in retrospect, but it used to just mean I had a lot of “s”es in my name.
But unlike so many famous supers, true and false, I can’t have a secret identity unless I’m willing to invest in a lot of hair dye and a lot of make-up. My colors don’t go back to normal unless I don’t use my powers for a very long time, and not using them is just not an option. My hair never goes back anyway, I flash fried it silver when I was only twelve.
So I may use Sarah LaSilvas on legal paperwork, but when people drop into the diner I work for by day and I’m their waitress, I don’t mind being called Silver Girl. If I did, it would be my own damned fault for choosing the name.
It’s not like I’m a very famous super though. I’m pretty new at the whole villains and vigilantes game. I’ve only been on patrol for around a year, and I still have a hell of a lot to learn.
Becoming a super doesn’t grant you an instant nemesis. That would be really damned inconvenient. You‘re supposed to get one of those once you‘ve been on the job for awhile so that by then hopefully you‘ll actually be able to hold your own. It also doesn’t mean that cops instantly like or even tolerate you. You play by the rules though and as long as you don’t start asking for special treatment, the police won’t shoot at you. Even if you’re a super and they’re trying to threaten a gal with magnet powers using only their guns, you still have to exercise caution and realize that they’re the one with the legal rights to be there.
More advice would also be not to choose a name or a look that screams evil. Dressing in an all black suit with a hood and calling yourself “the harbinger” while carrying around a huge scythe with a shotgun attached is going to grant you unwanted police attention. Police attention is almost never good.
Some supers say the police should just step out of our way altogether, but a lot of them won’t stop an asshole from stealing a woman’s purse. Myself, I have a contact or two on the force, so even if I’m not the most impressive super, I can get away with not having a badge.
There is a badged supers program, but the training is expensive and it’s a 24/7 commitment. I enjoy being a waitress too much to just give it up and have to always be on patrol. I’d probably get less sleep than I do now!
For all that I might bitch, I really do love being a super. I may not have stunt doubles, but I am a gymnast and a second degree black belt in Taekwon Do, so it’s not like I’m some clueless actress who just puts on a suit every night and looks like an idiot. There may not be nets to catch me, but there are fire escapes, gargoyles, the occasional flagpole, and my favorite: the tented entryway.
If you need to fall on something, it’s best that you’re able to walk again afterwards.
I will admit, I envy the super strong supers, and the ones that can fly, but I will never be hit by an airplane.
Very little is more tragic than a super flying up to dodge some super villain’s projectile or ray or whatever and getting hit by a low flying plane. Few supers can survive something quite that hard hitting.
In some circles, every woman is sure they’ll pass on their power, and wishes they could have that one mission and getting-to-know-their-partner-better sex with someone like Superman.
Well, that’s the straight ones anyway. I’m more of the type that counts the stars on wonder woman’s butt. With cloning technologies being what they are, and some supers being scientific geniuses, some of us hold out hope of half-cloning a half-Wonder Woman baby girl.
The life of a super may not be all fun and games, but every day you get to know you make a difference. Even when my patrols turn up nothing, the fact that the diner is protected by a super keeps a lot of people who would cause trouble out.
Sometimes I’ll skip patron and just stay all night to keep a girl safe when she’s sure a gang will jump her if she walks home. I would walk all of those girls home, but I have a couple of nasty knife scars, and metal chains swung in a joking fashion still make me wince a little bit if they get any where near the back of my head.
Jokes about needing over twenty stitches aren’t really all that funny until you get the stitches out, and even then… Taking a street gang on isn’t quite the same as taking down another super, even the supers with cronies.
There’s an unspoken code amongst supers: you only kill a super you know would kill you. Even villains generally follow this rule, because anything from hope of escape to a chance for vengeance are much better than death. I’ve never killed, super or normal, and I hope I never have to.
Self defense is one thing but there are a lot of ways to stop someone without killing them. Maybe I’m just a bit naïve. A lot of other supers give me a hard time for being a bit childish sometimes and dealing with things too much like a normal. I’m too soft, and I’m not always super enough to be very much of a help when the chips are down even when I do everything right.
Be that as it may, when the end of the night comes and I roll into bed to try to get some sleep before work, I know I’ve done my part, I know that I’ve made a difference, and I know that I would not be happy any other way.
Sarah LaSilvas or Silver Girl, whoever I am and whoever I’ll be, I’m doing my best. Super or normal, that’s all anyone can ask.
But being a super isn’t quite the same as being a normal. Sometimes, as hyper and hopeful as I can be, I really do worry. Am I enough? Will I be able to live long enough to call girls my age children and amateurs? Don’t I deserve a normal life?
So many nights as I fall asleep, I just lay there and worry. If I’m lucky, I’m worrying for nothing. If I’m not, well, I’ve made my choice. Whether it was the right one or not, I can just hope that I’m lucky.
For every 10 supers who break their spines on a dumpster, one will land inside. It’s a lot to ask for to be that lucky, but that’s what life is all about. Every night my last waking thought is that I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t, so I may as well just do it.
I never regret my choice to become a heroine, not really. Sometimes I just get scared, but I think that just shows that super or not… I’m still human.