21. Chapter 21

AN: Always happy to hear reviews from new readers. It's one thing to see the story's numbers go up, but it's much more encouraging to get some actual affirmation that real (probably) people (also probably) are reading and enjoying the story.

JRC1700 - You can't bring a functioning smoke bomb to a convention. That's a really easy way to get yourself thrown out, which would conflict with The Plan. Clearly the semi-functional version was the sanest decision.

Savvy Con attendees were treated to a great many sights as a reward for their willingness to pay the dubiously priced admission fee. There was the more mundane fare in the form of merchandise, both of the mass produced corporate variety and the creative but low budget fan variety. Artwork was available for viewing, again from both the corporate and private sectors. There were panels and signings, meet and greets aimed at a variety of different interests, and the convention staple: many, many attractive women dressed in form fitting outfits.

One such girl strode purposefully down the aisles of the dealers hall, long crimson hair cresting a familiar combination of a domino mask, cape, and tights, all attached to a pair shapely legs, purposefully left bare and prominently on display. Minor alterations aside, it was an ensemble that was instantly recognizable to anyone on the premises. Though, as the many appreciative stares she received in passing would attest, few wore it as well as the statuesque redhead in question.

Becky briefly glanced at her program and, upon confirming that she was on the right track, slid the small pamphlet into the hidden pocket of her cape before resuming her stride. She'd rehearsed this entrance a great many times in the days leading up to the convention, and had determined that she needed both hands free to achieve the optimal effect.

Becky smiled to herself as she quickly ran through the routine one last time in her head. She would come upon the Clincoln McCloud table, and its undoubtedly overworked occupants, sidle on up to her favorite pale haired comic book artist, and make herself known with a dramatic, and well-practiced flourish of her cape, simultaneously announcing herself and dazzling Lincoln with her exquisitely crafted, hand-made Lady Ace outfit (Thanks Leni!). She'd lean over, close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin, and in a soft, velvety voice, whisper, "Need a hand, Ace?". And then Lincoln would instantly pass out, falling forward into the relative safety of her ample bosom.

Becky's eyes narrowed as the familiar sight of Lincoln's artwork appeared in the distance. "Showtime", she thought, quickening her stride, equal parts eager and nervous to finally have the opportunity to put her plan into action. Unfortunately, it was not an adorable white haired boy that would fill her waiting chest, but crushing disappointment, as she arrived to find that booth was completely vacant. Save for a placard left on the counter. "We'll Bee Right Back!" It read, accompanied by what appeared to be a small deformed image of Leni wearing a bee suit.

Becky let out a long, frustrated sigh, and sat herself down on the counter, desperately trying to quell her frothing loins through sheer willpower alone. It was fine, she reassured herself. Clearly Lincoln was just off on a break. She'd just wait for him to get back. After all, how long could he possibly be gone?

Lori Loud was, at this particular moment, considerably less annoyed than she had been at any other time since the con had started. Given the literal bodies that had been left in the wake of her and her bestie, she was choosing to consider this particular state of mind to be a net win.

"Well, that was fun." Carol chirped, motioning for Lori to follow her.

After a quick, and covert roll of her eyes, Lori complied, falling into step alongside her fellow blonde.

"That nice paramedic said those boys just needed to get some rest." Carol giggled to herself. "Honestly, it's like they've never seen a couple of pretty girls before."

Lori shot her friend a suspicious, sidelong glance, unsure as to how genuine the statement was. Anyone with eyes could have seen that the preceding bloodbath had been over Carol, and Carol alone. Some might call this sour grapes, but when it became clear that the melee was going to be an extended affair, Lori had taken the opportunity to grab herself an overpriced hot pretzel and an Ace Cola (Deal Me Another!). No one had missed her. No one had even stopped her from crossing the circle of police tape that had been erected in an attempt to contain the conflict.

"Literally." Lori replied diplomatically, choosing to ere on the side of caution.

"Good news though." Carol continued, a grin growing on her face. "All those photo ops gave me a chance to collect information. He's here."

"He who?" Lori asked, disinterestedly, idly wondering if putting up Vanzilla as collateral would allow her to afford another pretzel.

"He. Him. The guy."

Lori's snarky rebuttal died on her tongue as she suddenly remembered why Carol had dragged her to this thing to begin with. Lincoln. Comic. Impending Disaster.

"O-oh..." She replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Wow Carol, you look amazing! So much better than Lori!"

"Yeah! She's like Lori. But better in every conceivable way!"

"Oh my gosh! Linky! Why don't we just let Carol be our new Lori? She's so much prettier and smarter, and her shoes never make weird noises like Lori's do!"

"That's a rockin idea! Hey little bro, you could even make it official by marrying her!"

"And I'm Sam!"

"GAH!" Lori screeched as she forcibly pulled herself out of her mental funk. Nothing good could from from this. Only bad things. Terrible things.

"Everything okay, Lori?" Carol asked. Concerned, but clearly weirded out by her friend's behavior.

"FINE!" Lori replied.

"Then why are you screaming?"

"I'M NOT SCREAMING!"

"...Okay." Carol replied, seemingly unconvinced, but willing to let the matter drop. "Anyway, we're looking for the Clincoln Mccloud booth. Apparently our man's rocking white hair (totally called it) and a really snazzy Ace Savvy costume. And he's taking commissions!"

Lori winced at the ensuing squeal of delight that erupted from her friend. She had to nip this thing in the bud. And fast.

"S-so where are we heading, Carol?" Lori asked through gritted teeth.

"Seems like we're looking for aisle eleven..."

"OH!" Lori exclaimed, trying to sound surprised. "I know where that is!"

With that, she grabbed Carol by the hand and rushed off, dragging the blonde behind her.

"Keep away from Lincoln. Plan later. Protect family. Protect Lori!" Lori thought to herself, ignoring her friend's increasingly loud protestations as she dragged her in the exact opposite direction they should have gone.

Lynn let out a low, predatory growl in the direction of the latest batch of leers being sent her way. Despite the distance, and the ambient din of the convention around them, her message was somehow received, and those looks of appreciation quickly turned to looks of terror, with her former admirers quickly finding other sights to occupy them.

It was one of Lynn's secret shames that she had never felt particularly feminine. Growing up with sisters like Lori and Leni didn't help, given the attention they commanded by simply existing. She had told herself that it didn't matter, that she liked being who she was, and for the most part that was true. But there was always that small, uncertain part of her that wondered what it would be like if boys looked at her the same way they looked at her sisters.

Savvy Con had thoroughly destroyed any illusions she might have had as to that fantasy. She'd received more attention in the last few hours than she had in her entire life, and it had only left her embarrassed, irritated, and thoroughly creeped out. The first thing she was going to do when she got home, was ask Lisa for some kind of cloaking device, and never turn it off.

Lynn felt her rage abet somewhat as a familiar hand wrapped around her own, and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Everything okay, Lynn?" Lincoln asked, concern evident on his face.

"I-its fine." Lynn responded squeezing Lincoln's hand in return.

To her surprise, she felt a change in the air. The lecherous pressure that had suffused the air suddenly abated considerably. Puzzled, Lynn experimentally withdrew her hand from Lincoln's, and winced as the oppressive atmosphere immediately returned.

Panicking, Lynn once again grabbed Lincoln's hand, and let out a soft sigh of contentment as the perverse miasma receded once more. Lynn wasn't the most scientifically minded girl, but there was clearly some cause and effect at work here. Lincoln, for his part took her behavior in stride, which she appreciated.

Lynn gathered her courage and slid closer to Lincoln, as discretely as she could. Inches quickly became fractions, and soon Lynn was so close to Lincoln that it seemed that there were only atoms separating them, and nothing more. Again, Lincoln failed to show any kind of adverse reaction, and Lynn found herself smiling. Being here. Together. With her little brother. All the tension and frustration from the preceding hours seemed to just melt away. It was nice.

"J-just don't forget your promise." Lynn warned him, trying to ignore the burning in her face.

Lincoln laughed, causing his shoulder to brush against Lynn's bare arm. Lynn winced as a new wave of heat rushed through her body.

"Don't worry, Lynn", said Lincoln, turning to look at her with those warm, sincere eyes of his. "I promised I'd stick with you, and I meant it."

And Lynn believed him.

"Improvised smoke bomb!" Came a cry from behind her, and before Lynn could react in any way, her world went dark.

It took Lynn a few precious seconds to realize that she was still conscious. The sounds of the convention could still be heard around her, albeit muffled. She reached up with her hands and tried to touch her face, only to be met with mild resistance. Cardboard, it felt like.

Finding a proper handhold, Lynn yanked the offending object off her head, mildly mussing her hair in the process. A moderately sized cardboard box had been the culprit, apparently.

Lynn noticed several small scraps of paper drifting down to the ground. A quick glance around revealed that quite a few similar papers had already been scattered around her feet. She grabbed one as it lazily floated below her eyeline, and held it up for examination. "Smoke!" It read, in big, bold letters.

"What the heck?" Lynn murmured in disbelief. She turned to Lincoln, hoping to get his take on things, but he was nowhere to be found. The pale haired boy had vanished.