Pumpking

Issue 35

2 hours without incident

"What?" My outburst was louder, more abrupt and more horrified than I had originally given it credit for. I think I must have instantly flushed a deep red in embarrassment.

The mess hall grew quiet and several heads turned to look at my mortified, drowning expression. If it wasn't enough being called a play-boy model, my outburst had certainly drawn all the more attention to it.

"Oh man, no wonder I thought I knew you from somewhere- you're dead right, man—I can't believe I didn't recognize her," Fast-lane was making motions to indicate my breasts. rude, even if he didn't say the word. He paused, noticing that his comment had been noted, categorized and observed by far more people than intended.

About twenty heroes eating lunch were staring at me, at him and at Captain Strike.

I was going to hyperventilate and pass out of embarrassment. I could feel my dignity wavering like an uncertain flag in the wind, tattered and slowly tearing under the strain.

I was a fish, floundering in the midst of a sea of embarrassment, my face red, my legs beginning to tremble, my mouth working in a little, stumbling 'o' of horror--- thoughts and ideas whirling around in my head (one of which involved an airlock) and the thought that this was like a moment in a shopping centre when your skirt gets caught on the escalator and suddenly the whole world can see your underwear—just as I felt the minute shift from sinking to drowning—

"Oh man, what a good joke!" Fast-lane chuckled. His face was a little forced, his gaze sharp, his hands moving awkwardly, "You really got her, Cap."

And I was saved, people chuckled, shook their heads, muttered about childish office behaviour and I could chalk it up to boys playing a practical joke and save face.

Only the look that Captain Striker and Fast-lane shared was not one of boys playing a prank.

I think the symbiote actually growled.

"What--- playboy?" I kept my voice low, light, trying not to let the sudden viciousness show in my figure.

I don't think my body language said 'harmless, happy Dion' any more. But the hysteria died down and I was no longer commanding the attention of every person fortunate enough to be in the cafeteria.

They exchanged another glance. "You're... not her?"

I spread my fingers across the smooth metal surface of the neat little table, giving them my most endearing smile. "I'm very curious as to whom this Samhain is and where I appear naked in a porno magazine."

"I am not familiar with this Samhain of yours; but the magazine," The Count waved a hand in the air, briefly muttering some sort of incantation. A fizz of magic later and he was holding a worn magazine, summoned forth from my nightmares.

The magazine looked like it was a few years old, and there, on the cover, was me. At least a slightly photoshopped version of me. She was even dressed in the same bondage hero costume I was wearing.

"Excuse me a moment." I snatched the magazine and stared.

The main difference was that her get-up had a utility belt and she had purely decorative hat on. Her hair was longer than mine, her boobs more symmetrical but...

What the fuck was this? I could accept that heroes and weirdness went hand in hand, but this was really bizarre. I wanted to chalk it up to a coincidence or a practical joke, but my mind whirled around me, telling me that the magazine was genuine, the woman on the cover was too real, too flawed not to be me.