The Stronghold

Parcel Or Letter?

I woke up and stretched, being careful not to hit Georgina in the head. She was sat up reading and gave me a disapproving look as I successfully tangled up the duvet and yanked it off the bed, falling to the floor in a cotton cocoon.

"Sorry," I murmured sleepily, crawling to the en suite, discarding my shell. My fiancée grumbled at me and pulled the covers back, resuming her book.

Getting to my feet and grabbing a few towels I started the water running for the shower, waiting for it to warm up. The mirrored cabinet to my left started to steam and I prayed that the thermostat wasn't broken again - the scald mark had only just faded away...

Under the flow of hot water I took some time to think, as I did everyday. Running over all the basic information in my head I satisfied myself with the knowledge that I wasn't insane.

"My name is Pepper Rogers," I murmured. "I am twenty three years old, nearly twenty four." I fell silent and continued my self-check in my head.

I have dark brown hair with random stripes of grey in it - that is, when it hasn't been turned blue by Shaade.

Aside from just being a normal human being with a superhero-inspired beard (I still haven't quite forgiven Georgina for persuading me to become Iron Man) I'm a genius. Genius, billionaire, inventor, very modest guy. I make my living running other people's companies using my many minions, and creating grand inventions with the help of my hoverpod, Kevin. He was made by my dad just before he died, a sort of stand in father that flies around your head and obeys your every command.

Throwing the shampoo up into the air and catching it with ease, just as I always did, my thoughts turned to Georgina. I was well aware that a goofy smile had spread across my face but did I care? Nope! I was allowed to act happy and stupid, it was what society would want for someone in love.

Georgina is a teeny-tiny bit shorter than me, barely having grown since she was thirteen. Which is a good thing because she's pretty damn tall anyway and I'm small for an adult male.

She has freckles (lots of 'em), blue-green-grey-sometimes-gold eyes, a heart-shaped face and shoulder length, light brown hair with a short fringe. Her normal expression is either a manic smile or a disbelieving, mocking look with one eyebrow arched. Despite her brash, irritable, sarcastic nature she's quite sweet when she wants to be. But she does give random, violent surprise hug attacks when you least expect it, or she jumps on your shoulders and uses you as a sort of springboard. Very odd - I seem to be the only person who doesn't mind her quirky, smartass ways.

I think the main reason she trusts me, aside from my stunningly good looks, charm and wit, is the fact that I saved her arm from being amputated. Josh, Shaade's husband, accidentally burnt her in a fit of alter-ego madness and it hasn't healed since. I crafted her a new, metal left forearm that's blue and dark grey in colour. It's a little like a gauntlet but can be used to communicate with people, to hack into things, to activate things that are fingerprint protected and to create shockwaves that send the thing (or person) she aims it at flying backwards. And trust me, it hurts if it's aimed at your stomach and you've both had a little too much to drink...

I made sure all the shampoo was out of my hair before turning off the water and immediately shook my hair dry like a dog would. It fell into my eyes and I brushed it back. Styling it could wait; I needed to find some respectable clothes lest any more journalists came a-sniffing.

Wrapping a towel around my waist and raking my fingers through my hair a final time I wandered out of the en suite, trailing water across the marble floor. Georgina scowled at me and shook her head, going back to her book.

"What's the matter?" I teased, wringing out part of my hair and flicking the water at her. "Afraid of a little H-2-O, are we?"

"When it's all over a tiled floor then yes, I am," she retorted. I thought for a second and then took her book out of her hands, darting away quicker than the speed of sound. That's another thing about me - I move really, really fast, a 5'8" man who runs like a cheetah on drugs.