I AM EMPOWERED, pt.12: The Twitter-based YEAR ONE prose dealie continues! (Patreon)

<Note: You can check out I Am Empowered's previous installments with this tag.

For my own reference: Yo, dude, you skipped the incomplete "Joining the Team" chapter, which will need to be revisited later.

And now, back to Emp's first-person narration in (old) Twitter-based 140-character format, taking place roughly around the beginning of Empowered vol.1. For the record, I think this is the very first chapter I ever wrote in this wacky experiment.>

CAPE PROTIPS

More Things They Don't Tell You About Caping: Beating up on normal-human thugs and minions is a maddening hassle. They're SO very breakable.

If I'm at full strength and punching with a closed fist, I can easily shatter a burly fella's jaw, if not the rest of his fragile skull. 

One time, a goon was blazing away at me with a VERY scary laser rifle—scary, even though it made, I kid you not, an actual "PEW PEW" noise. 

Flustered, I ducked and dodged until I got close to Laser Goon, then—'cause I was all freaked out, okay?—I hauled off and clocked him one.

Full, superstrong right hook to LaserGoon's stubbled jaw. The feel of his teeth RiceKrispying against my fist? Almost as bad as the sound.

My punch instantly transformed LaserGoon into Blubbering, BloodyMouthedGoon, curled up and sobbing—and bleeding—on the VillainLair floor.

Adrenaline subsiding, I ended up fluttering over him, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to jack you up like that, but you DID try to laser me, OK?"

Ughh: LaserGoon looked up at me, sniveling incoherently through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. He: Pathetic. Me: All guilt-stricken. 

I'd thought superheroing would be nothing but cut scenes of Righteous Triumph. Instead, I felt like I'd just kicked a puppy. (Repeatedly.)

I stomped his stupid laser rifle to bits, snatched up as many of his teeth off the floor as I could find, then hefted GoonBaby in my arms. 

Cut to the frantic crosstown run for Emergency Goon Dentistry, which wound up being more nerve-wracking than the actual fight, to be honest. 

That's why superstrong capes bend and mash minions' weapons: Not to be showy, but because it's easier than hitting the flimsy little doofi. 

Because I'm a big softie—or so I'm told—I seem to spend half of my combat time making sure I don't accidentally kill the shlub I'm fighting. 

I've had to spend more time in practice training to pull my punches than actually learning to throw full-power ones. Disappointing, huh?

So, when facing normal-human thuggery, I often resort to open-hand slaps over closed-fist punches, as much as the act's femme-iness bugs me.

Slapping: Not what A Real Superheroine should be doing, IMHO, but the alternative is either maiming or killing these porcelain-doll-y thugs.

I console myself about delivering dainty super-slaps by recontextualizing them as "Super Pimp Slaps", which sounds entirely more badass. 

Not that open-hand slaps or pushes can't still be lethal, if you send a mundane henchman rag-dolling wildly into a wall or through a window.

One time, in mid-super-scrum I accidentally batted one of Madame Mamba's Masked Minions right off the deck of a container ship. 

Listen: A DOZEN of the goofily dressed goons were all trying to kick my behind. YOU try keeping track of all your enemies in a minion melee! 

After I VORPPed the last of the bad guys down, I belatedly remembered hearing a faint, distant splash in the midst of frantic kickassery. 

Close-up on my frowny face as I lean over the ship's rail and spot the missing Minion, now busying himself with drowning in the harbor.

Naturally, since the poor doofus was rocking full henchdude drag—Mamba-logoed armor, goofy snake headpiece and all—he couldn't keep afloat. 

Floundering Mamba Minion finally goes under. Sounding my trademark battle cry—a loud, exasperated SIGH—I bail over the rail to rescue him.

This was not how I imagined my SuperCareer would go: BAYWATCHing a thrashing, burbling, snake-armored schmo to safety. Again: SIGH.

What BAYWATCH never showed me, re: lifeguardery: Drowning people, I've found, do not know the meaning of the term "inappropriate touching". 

Continually paused my awkward dog-paddle back across the harbor to pry desperately clutching Minion paws from places best left unclutched. 

I know the poor doofus was terrified and all, but his panicked gripping REALLY got on my nerves. "Those AREN'T floatation devices, dumbass."

By the time we finally splashed and flailed onto the dock, I'd been pawed, grabbed and felt up more thoroughly than any time since college. 

This WAS reminiscent of a freshman-year Halloween party, when I had to drag a clingy, crying, costumed Cassidy into the bathroom to vomit. 

At least Mamba Minion only puked good, clean sea water onto me, as opposed to Cassidy horking up warm PBR all over my Capitan Rivet outfit.

Clarification: I am abashed and ashamed to admit that I bowed to Halloween peer pressure and did, in fact, dress up as "Sexy Capitan Rivet". 

I betrayed both my own ideals AND El Capitan by letting Cassidy and her skeevy friends squeeze me into a riveted push-up bra and microskirt.

Yeah, I was REALLY paying tribute to my superheroic idol by tottering around in high heels, garter belt and a doofy-looking Rivet headpiece.

Later on, I'd discover that many of my douchebag male teammates DO, in fact, consider slutted-up "crossplay" to be a VERY pleasing tribute.

Close-up on my frowny face, viewing the hideous spectacle of Major Havoc hooking up with a civilian groupie dressed as Sexy Havoc(ette).

At least I got to wear El Capitan's trademark cape, as even Cassidy couldn't peer-pressure me into giving anyone a clear view of my behind.

Y'know, Capitan Rivet might look quite fetching, crossdressed in riveted stockings and heels. I, however, looked like a big, slutty idiot. 

Well, I certainly I got what I deserved: A) Exactly 2.5 bajillion slurred, moronic pick-up lines from costumed, highly hammered douchebros.

B) The thrill of hauling a semiconscious Cassidy all the way back to our dorm, shoeless and humiliated, PBR puke down my Capitan cleavage.

Happily, the Rivet headpiece disguised me in all the Facebook pics from that night, though my pudgy, stockinged thighs remain recognizable.

Next time on I AM EMPOWERED: Another short-ish chapter, this time about mood swings and anxiety attacks on the job.

Tomorrow on this here Patreon: Prrrrrobably a few more pages (and extensive work stages) from the stalled-out Empowered vol.12, possibly along with some commentary as to why the book is "paused" in such a state.